#like Clark is comfortable enough with them to use his power in such a casual manner

[spill-that-anxietea]

Also, I love the causal use of Clark’s superpowers in front of Jimmy and Lois now. It must be such a weight off of his shoulders that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around them and can just do his crazy shit without them batting an eye.

[lunasfics]

Found Family - Under the Blossoms

summary: You’re new to that concept, it’s one thing you have yet to fully adjust to. The concept of people actively choosing to love you as you are, people who care if you disappear without a trace, people who see your flaws and shortcomings and still choose to see the good in you. 

this is sort of a continuation to found family! read here

pairings: Batfam x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 2k

request: "I neeeeeeed more Wayne-Kent daughter stuff. Your first post was truly amazing. Can I request a fic gets really upset about something and she hasn’t been home in a couple days. Everyone is looking for her but she’s hiding somewhere far away, maybe in Japan surrounded by cherry blossoms and a koi pond in the forest. Clark finds her and brings Bruce with him to see if she’s okay. You can change anything that you want but just the premise of the reader missing. Thank you!!! " requested by @ashdoctor

a/n: hi! i would first and foremost like to thank the sender of this request because I have had the worst writers block and this kind pulled me out of it :).also this not not proofread so sorry in advance for any typos,,,, anyway, this is kinda focused a bit on bruce and y/n's relationship cause they're both like. fucked up and complicated lolol but yeah I hope you like it! ALSO! i based the old japanese couple on a haikyuu character kita shinsuke, cause why not i thought it'd be fun

“Shit.” 

“Well I’ve flown through all of Gotham and Metropolis twice, and did a once-over around the country, not a trace. I’m getting really worried.” 

“She has to be somewhere, how long have we been searching?” 

“Going on day 3.” 

“Fuck.” 

“I’ve checked every landmark I’ve taken her to see during our training, I haven’t seen her once.” 

“We’ll keep looking.” 

The comms have been flooded for the past two days with nervous chatter and consistent but pointless updates in regards to your unknown whereabouts. Clark and Connor have been doing the physical searching while Bruce has hacked into any and every surveillance camera he could in hopes of the system picking up your face somewhere, anywhere.

Your siblings have taken over Gotham patrols, Barbara occasionally taking over the online search while Alfred forces Bruce to get some sleep. 

You’ve been living with him for well over six months now, adjustment has gotten easier for you, and you’d gotten more comfortable in going off on your own to explore. Now, Clark never has a problem with this, encouraging you to explore as much as you could, “The world has so much to offer, soon you’ll understand why we care so much for keeping it safe” he’d say. 

Bruce however felt it was reckless to use your powers so casually, you shouldn’t depend on them the way you do, that it's a liability to your civilian life. It’s not something you should be so careless about, “Your safety and well-being is not someone you should take lightly.” 

Naturally, you are too stubborn to see this was purely out of worry, that he actually cares for you. You’re new to that concept, it’s one thing you have yet to fully adjust to. The concept of people actively choosing to love you as you are, people who care if you disappear without a trace, people who see your flaws and shortcomings and still choose to see the good in you. 

Maybe that’s why you reacted the way you did during your last conversation with Bruce. The seething anger that heated your bones, the dense lump that formed in your throat as you spoke. The unpleasant pit in your stomach as you slammed the cave door behind you, the sweaty palms and the inexplicable reflex within you that told you to keep yourself guarded. To not let these people close enough to stab you in the back, to protect yourself and your skills. Do not allow yourself to be held back.  

So now here you are, on some farmland in a tiny town in Japan. You weren’t sure this town has had access to any recent tech for at least the past ten years. It was a refreshing change, it reminded you of all your favorite things about Smallville. The smell of the crops and the way the cherry blossoms bloomed along the outskirts of the fields in the spring. The pink of the petals was soft and peaceful, the wind blowing softly through them released a pleasant floral smell that made you feel at peace. 

Arriving there was an experience, you just flew and flew until you found yourself in a field at the crack of dawn, opening your eyes to an elderly Japanese couple standing over you, concern etched into their aged faces, confusion was evident in the way they spoke to you, but so was kindness. 

Mr and Mrs Kita were kind people, taking you in without question because they knew you were in need. They told you their story, about their grandson and how he goes to school in the city.

And so they invited you in and were delighted to find that you speak Japanese, although their dialect was different from yours, they welcomed you with open arms. You’ve worked in their fields the past two days, finding peace within yourself, and as nice as it was, you missed your family. 

Back in the house, the couple observes you as they do everyday, you pay no mind as you continue to harvest crops. 

“She’s a bit of an odd one, isn't she?”

“I quite like her, honest worker, though she seems as though she carries a heavy burden.” 

“Yes, I noticed that. She's quite adorable, she almost reminds me of our Shinsuke.”

“I do see it Dear, perhaps they’ll meet when he visits for the summer.” 

“I do hope so.”

“I’ve got something.” Bruce stood in his seat, gloved hands clicking away relentlessly as the batcomputer, pulling up a global map of movements that have broken the sound barrier within the past week.  

Clark stood behind him, eyeing the screen that was littered with red lines, the United States being full to the brim given their recent search. There were more streaks around the world leading to the landmarks, all which Clark could recall making. However there was one that stood out to him, a singular streak that abruptly stops in the middle of Hyogo, Japan. 

“What could she possibly be doing in the middle of Japan” 

“I really don’t know Clark but we need to go now. Wait for me outside, I’ll update the others.” 

All that was going through Bruce’s mind was seeing you again, having a rational, calm conversation where he isn’t so wound up from a failed mission and where you don’t feel so backed into a corner. 

Bruce Wayne isn’t very much a man of expressing feelings, granted, over time he has improved immensely, but he is nowhere near perfect and neither are you. You’re two people, a father and his daughter who are trying their best to be better for each other and for those you love. 

Bruce is a man who at times tends to lack patience, there are not many things he isn’t good at, unfortunately being emotionally vulnerable is one of the things he could use improvement on. 

That’s probably why he let you go that night instead of chasing after you, and it’s probably why he stayed silent while Lois was telling him off when he first told her and Clark that you were missing. 

If he’s learned anything in his time as a father, it’s that he’d do better, and he will continue to be a better father today than he was yesterday. 

Regardless, he knew he needed to get his daughter.

For one hour every day, at one o’ clock, you went and sat under the cherry blossoms, inhaling the comforting floral fumes, feeling the defined rays of sunlight peak through the branches of the tree and onto your soft skin. 

You knew the soft breeze by heart now, the way it felt softly dancing through your hair, the cool sensation of it against your hairline as it kissed away the beads of sweat formed by the day of work in the sun. You had decided last night that today you would go home, as peaceful as it was there you missed your family. You missed your dads and brothers and sisters, you missed the civilians you’d help on patrol. You missed helping people, but more than that you missed your family. You missed baking for them and laughing with them, learning about life and society with them by your side every step of the way. You had decided that today at sundown. you would leave everything in order and organized for the Kitas and bid your farewells, of course you would visit soon, they’re  kind people who took care of you when you needed it. 

You immediately knew something was off when you felt a sudden gust of air, uncharacteristic for the climate in this area. You knew for certain something was off when you heard the familiar swoosh of that cape. 

You turned slowly and sure enough, you saw Bruce, walking towards you in long powerful strides, Clark not far behind him. 

His steps are aggressive, almost sloppy, his strides large and powerful, his walk having more purpose than you’d ever seen it. 

You prepared yourself for the lecture, the mental image of his condescending glare as he breaded you for your lack of self preservation, your recklessness, how this could have compromised your identity, how you're stupid, so so stupid. How you don’t think. How you’re not worth it, a lost cause-

Two strong arms wrapped themselves around you before you knew what was happening. The scent of cologne and the faint smell of metal filling your senses, why isn’t he yelling at me? 

“I was so worried. We all were. Please, don’t do that again, we’ll talk it through next time. I’m sorry.” His voice was gentle, not what you were expecting, his voice was kind, so much so that you felt your eyes glaze over, a wet sensation making its way down your cheek. . You were crying. There was that puddle of warmth pooling in your chest, that sense of security and safety. Clark came up behind you and held you tight, the feeling intensified. 

Ah. Now it made sense. His steps weren't aggressive, they were nervous, emotional.

“You really had us scared there, kiddo. Next time, come to Metropolis, or Smallville, or the tower, anywhere with anyone, but talk to us. We’re always going to be here for you because that’s what family is.” 

Tears fell from your eyes, though you didn't understand why, tears were typically for sadness, but you weren’t sad. These were tears of disbelief, of joy, of love. How funny it is that you never, not once thought you could possibly be cared for like this, that you could ever obtain a proper family like the kinds you learned about. You decided then and there that you would be damned if you ever lost them, if you ever left this. 

“I’m sorry I left, I shouldn’t have. I was going to go back today– the people. The people here have been taking care of me, I was going to help them and say goodbye.” 

Clark shook his head, “You don’t need to apologize, it’s okay, Y/n. Why don’t you go say goodbye, and we can have dinner with Ma and Pa. Sound good?” 

You nodded gingerly, feeling like a small child, you never got a childhood, you didn’t get coddled nor did you get spoken to in a loving manner. You were never reassured nor were you truly shown kindness until the night they saved you from that lab. 

The world is a cold and scary place. You’d seen some of humanity's worst, you were created by them, you were intended to be one of them. You’ve found that within the world there’s kindness, there’s love, there’s peace. 

You pulled away from them and made your way through the field and into the house, smiling at Mr and Mrs Kita sitting at the dinner table playing a game of chess, Mrs. Kita stood and smiled at you, as if she already knew. 

“I want to thank you both sincerely for your hospitality, I can’t thank you enough for the kindness you have shown me,” your voice shook but you continued, “I promise to visit again soon, and anything you need, please let me know and I will give it to you.” 

Mr. Kita laughed and shook his head, “You owe us nothing, if anything we owe you, the fields look better than I’ve ever seen them, you’re always welcome here.” 

Mrs. Kita smacked his arm lightly, and smiled and pulled you in for a hug, “That isn’t the only reason, what he means is we will always welcome you here with open arms, Dear, be safe.” 

You hugged them and retreated back to your dads, joining them on their way back to Kansas, where your loving family was already waiting.

Bonus!

“My goodness! Did you see that scary man in the cape outside? How cold he looked.” Mrs. Kita shuddered as she laid next to her husband. 

“Yes, I did, and my, that bulky fellow in the blue? He could do without the leggings.” 

“I think they do him quite a service… from behind at least.”

“My goodness Yumie, have some class Dear.” He shook his head.

She laughed, “Well, you don’t have it like you used to, old man. I’d like something to look at every so often, why don't you go buy yourself some leggings?” 

He scoffed, “Not happening, Woman. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. They best not keep Y/n from visiting or I’ll fly to the states and get her myself.” 

The room erupted into giggles and laughter, it was peaceful in the small farm in Hyogo that night.

Taglist! Went ahead and just reused the one from the first chapter! If you'd like to be removed, send an ask to let me know!

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag @biadoll21 @blublock404

[cjsmalley]

Danielle is Sent to Check in on Clark and Connor:

The Portal opened in the living room; Clark tensed but only a young woman came out, one he actually recognized.

“Hi Superman,” Danielle, Princess of the Infinite Realms, said breezily, ignoring that he was currently not in uniform, “sorry to drop in but Dad wanted to do a surprise visit, see how things are going with Connor. He’s busy though so…” she shrugged carelessly.

Clark nodded; he supposed that made sense. He certainly wouldn’t abandon someone like Connor to a new living situation and then never check up on the boy.

“Welcome,” he replied, “call me Clark, it’s my human name.”

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized sincerely, “you can just call me Dani, since Dad isn’t here too.”

Clark nodded, “Well, do you like hot chocolate Dani? Connor’s on his way back from the farm and his grandparents.”

Dani smiled and nodded like a younger child.

Clark made three cups of hot chocolate and carried them out to where Dani had taken a seat on the sofa.

“Do you send Connor to the farm often?” she asked casually enough, blowing on her hot chocolate, but Clark was a reporter and heard the real question ‘how often do you send him away from humans?’

“Once or twice a week, to help work out his powers,” Clark answered honestly, “the farm’s pretty isolated, even for Smallville, so he doesn’t have to hide as much. Ma and Pa know what to do and I got with him as often as possible anyways.”

Dani nodded, sipping her drink, “Next question: is he in school?”

“Bruce has paid for several private teachers, who’re all buried under NDAs and contracts. Connor has his lessons in the morning. If I’m not working, we work on controlling his powers. If I am he goes to either his grandparents or Bruce. Once we’re all, including Connor himself, comfortable with his control then we’ll get him into a school.”

“Okay. Good. Does he have any friends outside of me?”

“He’s friends with Bruce’s kids and the proteges of a couple colleagues; he doesn’t have any civilian friends yet. He doesn’t feel comfortable yet.”

“Humans are very squishy,” she agreed in understanding, before confiding, “Mom hired me tutors too, ‘til we were comfortable with my control. And me and Dad aren’t nearly as strong as you and Connor—well,” she pouted, like a smaller child displeased, “Dad might be now. I’m still not.”

Clark nodded, “I’m sure you’ll be a strong as him one day then.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she shrugged again, “you know how I’m a clone—like Connor right? Half human half something else?”

“Yes?”

“Luthor at least had experts working on the clone project that made Connor and he was a result deemed good enough to invest more care into. My…creator was just one nutjob working alone and off some extremely unstable DNA to begin with. That’s why he had to add Mom’s in.”

“Christ,” Clark murmured.

“He was perfectly happy to use me to save the perfect clone,” Danielle explained, grimacing in guilt and a little grief, “I wasn’t the only clone, Clark. Just the one to survive long enough to meet Dad—another scheme by my creator to get more DNA—and Grandpa Jack and Grandma Maddie made a stabilizing agent while Dad used his own ectoplasm and more of Mom’s DNA to hold me together. Injections every twelve hours.”

Clark’s stomach dropped, “Connor—he’s—”

“Stable,” she assured, “we got the cloning files for his creation. He also wasn’t the first, just the first success past the embryonic stage. His creators wanted him stable.”

Dani reached into the pocket of her sweatshirt and pulled out a thumb-drive, handing it over, “All the information we got from the labs that were working the cloning project plus the notes Grandpa and Grandma Fenton took while they ran their own tests, making sure he was okay. Uncle Tucker had to decrypt a lotta the files so that’s why we didn’t get it to you sooner. We’ve kept copies too.”

Clark took the tiny object and nodded his thanks.

Connor arrived at that point, coming in through the door like a human; he grinned when he saw Dani, “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself,” she grinned back, “Dad wanted me to check in with you and Clark so sorta official business this time. Then he said I’m free for whatever.”

Connor nodded, taking a seat and picking up the third cup of hot chocolate, “I’m happy here.”

“Good to hear. Just have to check, you know?"

"I get it."

The Expansion of the Already Long Post

[river-bottom-nightmare]

on the second floor of wayne manor, to the right of the generations of family portraits and above the old billiards room that has been converted into, more-or-less, a movie den complete with a popcorn machine, nestles the library of wayne manor.

it's not particularly grand or particularly sweeping. instead, it's rather crooked in every direction, bookshelves built this way and that, crawling up the walls like ivy, brimming with novels of any and every sort. a couple plush armchairs and a loveseat were shoved into the corners, an afterthought.

at first, clark couldn't quite imagine bruce in this room. how could he? the musty smell of books permeated the place; clark had only ever known bruce to have machine grease and oil smeared on his fingers and clothes. the armchairs, the bookshelves, the walls themselves seemed to curl in towards the center of the room, as if offering an embrace of the dreamiest sort; bruce threw all the master bedroom furniture up into the attic and replaced it with the sort of soulless shit clark had only ever seen in magazines aimed to please middle-aged majority shareholders. the minute clark stepped into the library, he felt a dozy sort of beauty drape over his shoulders, feeling old and sad and more comfortable than nearly anything else he's experienced. bruce wayne was to clark kent what a pump of adrenaline was to most other people.

and yet.

"i spent half my childhood up here," bruce admitted. "i know for a fact i've read every crime or mystery book we had. then i started collecting them."

thick, calloused fingers skimmed over the bones of the shelf closest to them. bruce turned, enough so clark could enter behind him, but still making sure he had to brush past the other man to get there. (bruce thought he was being crafty. clark wanted to hook his chin over bruce's shoulder and give him a hug.)

with a casual sort of grace that had bruce flicking his eyes over, clark settled into the loveseat, leaning back and simply taking in the room. he shut his eyes, trying to hear a younger bruce shifting on the plush fabric of the chair across the room, greedily leafing through the pages with his hair falling over his forehead.

it's easier than clark had thought. then again, bruce had always felt a bit like midnight velvet, the kind of handsome that felt more at home in black and white. a thin-faced boy—a boy by candlelight, a boy whose hours were so filled with stories that he likened himself to one of those dark knights on the pages—isn't too far out of reach.

clark kent is someone who reads and writes for a living, who knows full well the sheer power words hold, who knows just what they can reveal about other people, who twines them around his lips threads them through his fingers and uses them to do more good in the world than his abilities ever could. clark kent is someone who knows exactly what he's asking when he says, "which is your favourite?"

and bruce, shrewd as he is, picks a worn blue volume from the shelves, sits next to clark, and flips the book open so they can read.

--

in which the author foists all of her longing into a nonsenical little snippet that is less superbat and more me missing the library

tag list: @woahajimes @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @screennamealreadyused @clamityganon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical @queenofbooknerds @scattered-winter

[listentothelittlebird]

Another scrapped scene from Code Bat - Superman meets Bizarro, and some alternate scenes from the fic How Are You? 

Word count: 1371 words

Enjoy!

Clark was wary of this meeting.

The week had been crazy enough - starting with Batman contacting him, to meet him at an abandoned warehouse.

He had not expected his friend to show him blue kryptonite, as well as a burly figure wearing his colours.

A red-haired Amazonian was standing guard above his obviously weakened form.

“I’m Superman,” Clark tried for a calming smile, “This is Batman. We’re here to help-“

“Stay where you are,” the woman raised her battleaxe threateningly, “I know of your names, but I do not trust in your reputations.”

“Artemis of Bana-Mighdall,” Batman intoned. Of course he went for intimidation. Artemis’ eyes narrowed. “I know who goes in and out of Gotham. I followed an unidentified distress signal to this location. When I arrived, I did not see your third member,” Batman explained.

“Your teammate is injured. Superman has the resources and the means to help him. The question is, will you let us?”

A beat of silence, glare met by glare, before Artemis lowered her weapon. “I will stay by him,” Artemis declared, “Wherever you take him.”

At the Fortress of Solitude, Superman learnt his name: Bizarro.

“He was used as a weapon,” Artemis spat in disgust, “He was simply a tool to them. Red Hood and I are the closest thing to a family that he has.”

“Considering that he lacked a mentor, he has an impressive grasp on his powers,” Batman stated. He was rewatching footage of Bizarro fighting Artemis and Red Hood in Gotham on the fortress’ computer monitor.

“He does,” Artemis nodded, her gaze solemn, “Unfortunately, even as his teammates, we have not helped him much in learning more about his powers. He has an incredibly distinct powerset. Even if I share some in common with him, I suspect that the way they are used or called upon varies greatly.”

Clark frowned at Bizarro’s resting form, deep in thought.

-

One thing led to another, and now Clark was leading Bizarro around his home, his bulky frame easily fitting through the farmhouse doorways designed for his own Kryptonian build.

Kon and Jon were out visiting his parents with Lois. Bizarro would have time to get used to his new home, before it was filled with people once more.

Artemis followed them around with a protective hand on Bizarro’s shoulder, scanning his home with a hawk’s eye. It was a big risk, to reveal his identity to both of them - but he found it was a risk he was willing to take.

In the end, Bizarro settled himself in the barn, intrigued by the hay and seemingly comforted by the bigger space. Artemis spent the time fiddling with her communicator. It seemed like she was trying to contact Red Hood, without much luck. It had been a week since the rescue - a week of radio silence from their third member.

The next day, Clark checked in on the two Outlaws to find Artemis talking loudly over the communicator.

“You should have at least told us you were still alive!” Artemis scolded, sharp and to the point, “Where are you now?”

“In the base,” came Red Hood’s reply. His voice was modified even through the call, “And you?”

Artemis huffed. “Superman… offered his hospitality to Bizarro,” she admitted quietly, “He has welcomed him into his home, as part of his family.”

Red Hood paused, then hummed in acknowledgement. “You should come get his stuff from the base, then,” Red Hood suggested, “At least, whatever he wants to have with him over there.”

“Of course,” Artemis stated curtly. There was another pause from Red Hood, then a laugh. The sound was what gave away the man’s youth.

“Arty,” Red Hood started, “You know Biz is still our teammate, right? I bet he’ll get cabin fever in no time. We’ll still have missions and shit together, this isn’t goodbye. He just deserves some comfort, a home he can go back to after adventures.”

Artemis considered Red Hood’s words, before letting out a small “hmph” in acknowledgement. “Do you wish to speak with Superman?” Artemis questioned, eyeing where Clark had came to a stop, at the wide threshold of the barn doors.

“I… yeah, I’d like to talk to the guy,” Red Hood agreed, “But I wanna do that face to face. Bring him here to the base with you, would you?”

“We’ll be right there,” Artemis promised. 

The Outlaws base turned out to be just on the outskirts of Metropolis, an underground bunker where sounds where muted by the rush of traffic above.

The steel doors to the bunker slid open, with Red Hood greeting them with a snarky grin. He was well-built, and there was a lock of white hair above his forehead, but even his tall and bulky frame were not enough to hide how young he was. He was no more than a few years older than Kon.

Bizarro had been rushing in for a hug, but he stopped in front of Red Hood abruptly. “Red Him hurt,” he pointed out with a sad pout.

One of Red Hood’s hands was in a wrist brace, and he was leaning his weight on one leg, the other in a protective boot that went all the way up to his knee. There were probably more injuries hidden under his leather jacket, if the way he was moving slowly was anything to go by.

“I’ll heal, Biz, don’t worry about it,” he stated dismissively. His voice was naturally low, but for now lacked the growl that came with hostility. He turned to regard Clark himself, who had come in casual clothing, sans his glasses. 

Red Hood held out his good hand, and Clark was unsurprised at his firm grip and rough, calloused hand. “You can call me Jay,” Red Hood stated, smirking at Clark’s shocked expression, “Hey, you’re opening up your home for Biz. That’s the least I can give you.”

Clark found himself sitting with Jay at a table, with Bizarro and Artemis sorting through things Bizarro wanted to bring to his new home. Jay was sipping tea from a teacup dwarfed by his hand. It was a domestic sight which he had not expected from a man known as an anti-hero weapons expert, and who was notoriously dangerous to cross paths with.

“You’re probably curious as to why you didn’t find me when you found my teammates,” Jay started without preamble, “I activated the distress signal, but by the time I was done with taking care of the thugs, I was pretty injured. I had the bright idea of leaving to take care of my own wounds.”

Jay huffed, “It wasn’t a really bright idea,” he gestured to his visible injuries, “I only stuck around long enough to make sure nobody with ill intentions found them, then I booked it for home.”

“Home,” Clark echoed, frown no doubt obvious on his face. Jay smiled, “Aye. Just because I used to run solo doesn’t mean I’ve got no fam. They’re just not about this life, you know? Needless to say, it was kinda hard to get away from them until I was deemed healthy enough to get back out and about.”

Jay glanced back at Bizarro, at Artemis fussing over him. “Again, thank you,” Jay stated, making pointed eye contact as he turned back to face Clark, “Opening up your home for Biz… he deserves somewhere to call home. Somewhere besides here, at least.”

“I try to help as much as I can,” Clark shrugged. Jay hummed at that, with a knowing smile, although Clark had no idea exactly what he knew.

Jay’s smile dropped into a serious frown as his teammates left the room. “It goes without saying that you’re gonna have to deal with me and Arty, if Biz ever gets hurt by you or your kids,” Jay warned coldly. He seemed to close his eyes, then, shaking his head, “But from what I’ve heard about you, I’m fairly sure that that’s not gonna happen.”

“It won’t,” Clark assured, wholly confident of this.

Jay smiled, and slowly rose to his feet. “C’mon, maybe you can help decide what Biz should bring and what he should leave here. If you can convince him, of course.”

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

The Perfect Bad Boy (Pt. 03 of 18)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Summary: Working as a lifeguard in the Hawkins Community Pool, you try to fit in after moving from New York. Things were going pretty well when you notice you've been under someone's stare. Billy Hargrove, Hawkins' bad boy, has been staring at you since day one. You never intended to have anything to do with him, judging by the reputation he has. But Billy won't leave you alone, determined to show you his feelings are different this time...

As if your heart flooding you with confusing feelings wasn't enough, there are weird, strange animals lurking in the woods... But those have to be just part of the wild live of the woods surrounding Hawkins... Right?

<- Previous part (02)

Next part (04) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

×

Like a Damn Train

You're walking back to where the guys are with your milkshake in hand, side by side with Monica. The day was calm, and this is a good way to end it. You're at this cute snack bar, all painted in pastel blue and pink colors, and some lights to match. It has two different spaces, but the inside is almost empty since it's a bit hot today, so people rather sit on the outside. But despite having enough empty tables for everyone, you're all leaning against the cars, chatting and laughing. You're a party of ten people, double the number of those who came with you, the others just stopped by.

You do feel a little cast aside since you don't really know the people or situations they're talking about. But Monica is kind enough to stand by your side, being sure to explain what's needed for you to engage in the conversation. Her cousin Jason is here too, as is her boyfriend, Christopher, who has always an arm around her shoulder.

“I'm telling you. That girl is trouble. She's a compulsive lier. I can't believe I dated her for almost a year.” Clark complains about his ex, who decided to use her spare time this summer to try and get back with him. “She called me once, in the middle of the night, crying, saying she crashed her car and was bleeding to death. I almost crashed mine trying to get to her as fast as possible and when I did, guess what? She was completely fine.”

“I always warned you about her,” Monica says, and the others nod.

“I should've listened.” Clark nods to himself. “From now on, I will listen to Monica.”

“Always listen to Monica.” She repeats in a meaningful tone, looking at you and raising an eyebrow.

“What?” You shrug your shoulders, sucking on your milkshake.

“Nothing." She dissimulates.

“It's about that Billy guy, isn't it?” Jason asks, gesturing his soda can at you.

“Yeah, you've been talking to him a lot lately.” David, one of those who stopped by and decided to join the party says. He's been giving you glances since he got here, but you're pretending not to notice. He'll get the hint soon enough and let it go.

“We're friends.” You simply say, leaning against Monica's car. David was at the pool today, you remember because you had to tell him not to dunk his friend. And that means he probably saw when you stopped by Billy's chair to ask him if he saw your whistle, which he had found on the floor near the girl's locker.

“Friends? With Hargrove?” David laughs. “Not possible. The guy only thinks about one thing. I doubt he even has a brain.”

“Well, he gave me a ride home when my car wouldn't start, so... He's not that much of a jerk if he bothered to help.” It's not your intention to defend Billy, but it feels wrong to let David say these things when Billy has been so nice to you. You know you have to keep an eye open just in case, but so far, it's being as he said it would be. Just two people who work together trying to get along.

“And why do you think he did that? I assure you it wasn't out of kindness.”

“She's the new girl in town. Maybe he thought she lived too far and offered help.” Christopher says, shrugging his shoulders. “You can't read minds, David, you don't know what inside people's heads.”

It's clear David isn't very welcome here. People don't seem very comfortable around him, and all his comments get some kind of snap. “Are you kidding me? It's Hargrove we're talking about here. He never talks to a girl unless he wants something. And we all know exactly what that is.”

“Since when you're the expert?”

“Since I know how guys think, Monica. Don't act like you got everyone figured out just because you're coursing Physiology.” He says, and his tone makes Christopher shoot him an angry stare.

“Mind your tone when you speak to my girlfriend, David.” He mutters, and David rolls his eyes. It's cute to see how he defends Monica, and it makes you smile. They're a freaking power couple, looking so good together.

“I'm just saying–”

“I know this sound.” Jason cuts him off, making everyone shut up to listen to... God knows what. “The car. There's only one car in Hawkins that makes this sound.”

“Billy's car.” Mon states and everyone looks at the street at the same time, and seconds after his Camaro speeds through, like a lightning bolt. “There he goes.”

“Was he looking over here?” Candace asks.

“At that speed, everything he sees is a blur.” Her sister Alice mutters.

You're not really paying attention, eyes glued to the now empty road, not sure why.

“I can't stand him. His presence alone makes me sick, the bastard.” David continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can do better, (Y/N), trust me.”

“You're envious of him.” Candace states and her sister follows with a laugh.

“Why in the hell would I be envious?”

“Because he's way hotter than you are.” The words come out of your mouth before you can think. “Basic psychology, isn't that right, Mon?” You elbow her, who giggles and nods.

“Couldn't agree more.” As she speaks, you hear the car again, as if it's coming back. The same noise they said belongs to Billy's car. But since you're not the expert here, it could belong to any other car, so you don't give much thought about it.

“No shit.” Jason mumbles.

“What a way to ruin the night,” David complains, rolling his eyes. His dirty, greasy hair sticks to his forehead, and he pushes it back.

“Unbelievable,” Monica says, looking at something behind you.

No, no. It can't be him... Right? You don't move, looking at your milkshake, completely ignoring how everyone seems to be staring at you.

“Hargrove.” David hisses, in a low voice.

You turn your head to see if this is really happening, and the moment you spot him, you look away. He was in a hurry to be somewhere, what is he doing here?

“Go talk to him,” Monica tells you.

“What makes you think he came here to talk to me?” You're quick to snap back, sucking what's left of your milkshake and putting the empty plastic cup on the hood of her car.

“Because he's coming this way and you're the only one here who speaks to him.” She speaks fast, wide eyes.

“Fine.” You raise your hands in surrender when she starts pushing you away from her car. “I'll go and say hi.” You give two steps backwards, shrugging your shoulders, and making sure everyone notices how casual it is. Then you turn on your heels, walking towards him, but slower, just in case he'll walk right past you. But he doesn't, he stops when you do, not quite keeping the distance he should. “Hi,” you mumble, suddenly very much aware of the eyes on your back.

“Hi.” Billy flashes his bright smile, the one that makes you think he's happy to see you. As if he hasn't seen you in a very long time. “Hanging out with your party, huh?”

“Yeah.” You gesture at where they're standing, trying to get a grip of yourself. C'mon, to hell with what they say. Or think. “I needed a night out. What about you?” You take a look at him, trying to be quick about it. He's wearing a black jacket and a dark red shirt underneath, which is unbuttoned. “Judging by the clothes and how fast you were going, you must be heading to a date. Or a party.”

“Second one.” He looks at something behind you. “Decided to stop and get some fries. Join me inside?”

“Mmm...” You're not sure if you should leave Mon and the others, so you take a look at them. And you see David's face, shamelessly staring as if it was his business. “Oh, we were just talking about you.” You raise your voice a little, and you both make the way to the small group of people. Monica has a funny look on her face. “Right, David?”

“Only bad things, I hope,” Billy says, eyes quickly scanning through the party. He knows he's not welcome, but he doesn't seem to care. Why would he? He just walked in like he owned the place. “I have a reputation I'd like to keep.”

The expression on David's face is priceless, and some people cover their mouths, hiding a laugh.

“Let's get those fries,” you say, pulling Billy by his jacket. “But only if you're paying.”

“Obviously.” He gives one last look, straight at David, before following you inside. Only half the tables are occupied, so you pick one on the back, next to the window. “I'll make the order.” He says as you take a sit. Through the corner of your eye, you see the crew moving more to their left, just where they can have a better view of your table. Looking at them, you wave, smiling. Monica won't stop talking about it tomorrow.

“So. What kind of wild party are you going to?” You ask when he comes back, seating across from you.

“Tommy's. Wanna come?”

“No. It's not my kind of party.” Monica told you about Tommy, that in some ways he's far worse than Billy. Guess you shouldn't judge this Tommy only by what you hear, but since you have nothing else to compare it too, you'll stick with what you've heard.

“It figured.” He shrugs his shoulders, penetrating eyes burning thought your skin.

“Let's eat quickly then. So you can go to your party.” You don't understand why he came all the way back here. Just to eat fries? He was going to a party and stopped for some fries? You'll have to ask Monica about it. Maybe there's a psychological explanation.

“I'm not going anymore.”

Okay. That's even weirder. “Why?”

Billy only smiles, and you're starting to notice it makes you feel funny. You don't like staring for too long, so you have to find something else to focus your attention on... But there's nothing so you just look down at your hands. “You know that David guy is into you, right?”

“What? Of course not.” You take a look through the window, catching some of them staring. Monica is one of them, obviously. “I mean, he was staring, but... I don't know. I'm the new girl after all, and in a small town like Hawkins I get that people are a little curious about the outsider.”

“That wasn't a curious look, believe me.”

“You can't really talk about it, right? You're the heartbreaker of Hawkins.”

Billy leans forward, and when the waitress comes with your fries, he doesn't even seem to notice. You don't get why he's staring for so long, like memorizing a map. “I will be straight forward with you, (Y/N).” He starts, his voice suddenly darker, as if the game was over and whatever he's about to say is a matter of life and death. “I like you.”

That makes you giggle, completely ruining the atmosphere. “Okay. You like a lot of girls, Billy. I thought you said just friends.” You're a little disappointed. Guess you were just a little bit excited about maybe, just maybe, befriending Billy, not sure why though.

“No. I don't have to like them to–”

“Let me stop you right there.” You burst out. “I don't need the details.”

“I never liked any of them. Why do you think I never met any girl more than twice?” What can you say to that? Shrugging your shoulders, you keep your eyes on the fries as you eat. You have no idea where this is going. “But you, you hit me like... bang.”

“Like bang?” Raising an eyebrow, you repeat and giggle again.

“Like a damn train.” He's not joking, he's dead serious. “Since the day you walked into the pool, I couldn't help but stare.”

“Billy, I–”

“I always hated when girls started talking about their lives, their friends, their families, but you... I want to know you. Your favorite color, your favorite hairstyle, your favorite ice cream flavor.” Drumming your fingers on the table, you give a quick glance at your friends, looking for Monica as if you could send her a message through your mind, asking for help. “And it's so freaking bizarre because I never thought it could happen to me. I thought about approaching you as I usually do, try to seduce you. It would be so much easier if that was everything I wanted, but it isn't.”

“Uhm...” Okay, you're completely lost here. More than you were on the first day at the pool. “Pink. I like to let my hair down. And chocolate.” You try to remember the order he spoke, despite feeling like this is the stupidest thing to say right now. But you don't know how to react. Nobody was straight to the point like this, all of them always had some kind of game. Pretending they don't care, acting like they're superior, acting like they're stupid... Everyone who ever tried something with you had a strategy. But this guy, town's bad boy, who leaves a long trail of broken hearts wherever he goes, he's just putting all the cards on the table. And you were caught off guard.

“I noticed the first two.” He gestures at you. You're wearing a pink shirt and your hair is down, flowing down your shoulders.

“You don't know me enough to like me, Billy.” You sigh, not sure what do say next.

“Only time will tell.” Billy smiles again, biting on a frie. “Just give me a chance.”

“What about the 'just friends' agreement? I was totally down for that.” Friendship is easier. So much less complicated... And it would give you a one hundred percent security that Billy wouldn't hurt you. Not that you'd ever allowed him to get close enough to do that... Right? Right. “Friendship always comes before any... Romantic relationship. It's just the natural flow of things.”

“If that's what you think, we'll start off as friends then.”

Damn it. The smile again. What the hell is wrong with you today? Monica is getting to your head with all her 'mission' thing. “Friends,” you repeat because it would be so mean if you just backed off now. He did help you when your car wouldn't start. And he's paying for the fries.

“(Y/N)!” Someone yells and you immediately look through the window. It's Jason. “Let's go, we're leaving!”

Already?

You mean... Great. You need to get home to think. “I have to go,” you say, standing up after grabbing a few more fries.

“I can take you home.” He offers.

“I'm not sure. Wouldn't it be a little mean to them?” Part of you wants to go home, leave Billy and this whole talking behind, get back into reality. Get a grip on yourself and think this through. But there's something else, a tiny piece that lit up when he offered you a ride.

“You already came with them. I don't see why you can't leave with someone else. I will let you ride shotgun.”

“You really think I'll go with you just because I'll ride shotgun? I can call shotgun with them, you know?” You giggle, eyes suddenly locked on his.

“With them, it's just a possibility. With me, it's a fact.” The guy is cocky, no doubt about that. “Would it change your mind if I say please?”

“Begging doesn't suit you, Hargrove.” You snap, smiling. “I'll let them know.”

He winks at you before you turn to leave. You change your mind a couple of times before you reach Monica and the others. But now you're sure. You want to go with Billy. You haven't finished the fries yet, anyway.

“Guys, you can go. Billy will give me a ride home.” You say as some of them get into Candace's car.

“Ok,” Mon smirks, giving you a look that means she'll want all the details later.

“What?” David speaks up, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “Monica, I thought you said your friend was smart.”

“Are you calling me dumb?” You gasp, unable to believe your ears. Who the hell does he think he is? The guy doesn't even know you.

“If you're really considering letting him–” He gestures at the snack bar, straight at your table. “–take you home, yes, sweety, you're pretty dumb.”

“David shut the hell up.” Monica has a finger on his face.

“Who do you think you are to put of your nose in my business?” You raise your voice, stepping forward. You're not the one to be insulted and keep quiet. “This is my damn life and I do whatever I want. You're not even a friend of mine so back the hell off.”

“I'm trying to put some sense into your empty brain and you're turning it on me?” He looks around as if searching for support. But half the group is by Candace's car, and those who are closer don't seem to back him up.

“The hell is going on?” Billy yells startle you a little and you turn your head to see him coming from the snack bar.

“Isn't it obvious that nobody here wants you around?” David barks at him, making an abrupt gesture towards Billy.

He stops by your side, towering over you.

“David here just called (Y/N) dumb,” Christopher says in a provoking tone. “Right, David? Do you have anything else to say or did the last sentences drained out your intelligence? The tiny little bit you have of it.”

“You called her what?” Billy steps forward, slightly hiding you with his shoulder. He's angry suddenly, raising his voice.

“Drop the gentleman act, Billy. Everyone knows what you want.” David comes forward too, throwing his empty can on the floor. “But if she wants to go from the new girl in town to another of Hargrove's sluts, that's all her choice.”

You're about to speak up when Billy moves, closing the distance between him and David, pulling him by the collar of his shirt and punching his jaw hard. You heart skips a beat and your stomach burns. David falls to the ground, a hand coming to his chin. Everyone gasps, hands covering their mouths. You see when Billy is about to move again, so you grab his arm.

“I told you. If you didn't quit being an asshole someone would put you in your place.” Jason says as he speeds away in his car, giving Billy a thumbs up.

But you barely notice the commotion, trying to understand what just happened.

“Call her that again and I'll make sure to break your nose the next time.” Billy barks, looking down at David, who awkwardly crawls backwards before standing up and walking away.

“C'mon.” You start pulling Billy, noticing how the muscles on his arm are tense, even through the jacket. “Let's go.” You move to stand before him, seeing the anger in his eyes as he watches David stumble to his car. Why is he so pissed? “Bye, guys. See you tomorrow.” You say, pushing Billy's chest, sighing in relief when he finally gives up and starts walking back into the snack bar.

Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it pounding against your chest. Billy gestures for you to walk in front of him as he gives one last glance at David's car as he speeds away. Running a hand through your hair, you notice how people are staring as you sit back on the table.

“That was unnecessary.” You burst out, still feeling hot from all the sudden commotion. You have your eyes set on Billy as he sits across from you, anger still clear on his expression.

Nobody ever did that for you. And you have dated before. Only two guys and for a short period of time, but still... You're surprised he'd go through all that trouble because of you, a girl he barely knows. “But thank you.” He's still so mad, like he's caged inside his rage. He keeps staring through the window as if waiting for David to return. “Billy?” You call him, standing up and moving to seat beside him, touching his shoulder. It seems to drag him out of his thoughts, and he looks at you, the anger vanishing, turning into something else. Something you can't name. “Thank you.”

“David is an asshole.” He simply says.

“He is.” Your eyes fall on your arm, still on his shoulder, so you move it away. “Nobody ever stood up for me like that. It's not that I can't deal with an idiot like him, but... It was nice.”

“Whenever you need, princess.”

The name and the smile make your stomach burn again, and you look down just in case you're blushing. As much you appreciate what he just did, you can't let any kind of feelings build up. “So...” You pull the plate with the fries closer, taking one and biting it. “You gonna be my bodyguard now? Beating up whoever calls me bad names?”

“I will if you want me to.”

You know he's smiling even though you're not looking. Biting your lip, you clear your throat. “I think that's ok. But I doubt David will cross my way again.”

“He better not.”

The rest of the night goes by calmy. When you're done with the fries, he gets you another milkshake even though you tell him you already had one. You stand by his car until the milkshake is over, and that's when you finally head home.

His car is do damn fast. Way too fast. You're looking at the road ahead, wondering how the hell he can drive at such a speed. “Billy, would you slow down a bit?” You ask, happy when he complies.

It's a little past eleven when he stops by your place, and you take a deep breath before opening the door. “Bye. See you tomorrow.” Smiling you step out of the car, walking around it. But you stop when you see he's getting out too.

“What? I'm gonna walk you to the door.” He shrugs his shoulders, and you look down as you both slowly walk to the front door. Once you get there, you awkwardly turn around, looking at him, noticing how the dim light from the porch lights up his face... He's cute. More than cute. He's... Very handsome.

Alright, stop staring now.

“Thanks again for the ride home... And for defending my honor, Billy Hargrove.” You mutter, your voice is strangely low.

“Anytime you need.”

“Yeah...” Clearing your throat, you gesture at the door behind you. “Gotta go.”

“Sure.” Billy looks down at you, and he suddenly moves closer. But before you can push him away, or even process what he's doing, you feel his lips on the apple of your cheek. It's almost unreal how his lips are soft. Billy doesn't come out as soft... He's rough, the bad guy. But this... This is confusing. You're sure you're blushing this time, frozen, as he pulls away. “Good night, (Y/N).”

“Good night,” you mumble, turning the door handle. But it doesn't open, so you try again. “Shit... Oh, it's locked.” You search on your pockets for the key, excited to get in and get the hell away from Billy. This is unfair. He knows the effect he has on girls. You struggle with the key, sighing in relief when the door finally opens.

“Did I just make you nervous?” He asks as you step inside.

“Good night, Billy,” you repeat, giving him a half-smile before closing the door.

Today's events are getting to your head. What Billy did was... Badass. Hot even. You're a girl, how are you supposed to feel after a guy punches someone to defend you? It's only natural, right? Right. Shit, you really need to talk to Monica.

Running a hand through your hair, you turn around, ready to take a shower and get some sleep. But your aunt's image by the stairs scare you, and you hit the door with your back.

She has a smile on her face, bright and wide. “Hello, honey. Who was that guy?”

[enithinggoes]

Wanderer’s Refuge, chapter 1: departure

Chapter 1: Departure

This is a story about a family, not a bloodline, not a union officiated by the state, but just a group of people sharing their lives and experiences in such a way that their presence and company gave each other a powerful sense of safety and belonging.

The story may start at the door to a building called “St. Evans’  house for wayward children”, with a white haired, pale blue-eyed baby in a basket, on the basket was a note, “her name is Agatha Clarke, the doctor said she would never be able to walk, I am so sorry.”

The girl was taken in, and the orphanage took care of her, in a way that she wouldn’t have described as either good or bad, but certainly lonely and highly regulated. When a subtly glowing mark appeared on Agatha’s left temple, changing from time to time, the nuns told her everyone had those somewhere on their body, but it was “rude” and “uncouth” to have it showing, so she was instructed to keep her hair long to keep it discrete.

Agatha Clarke had a quiet and still childhood, she was carried everyday from the girls’ shared bedroom to the classroom. But during recess, unable to play with the other children who wanted to run around, she preferred to stay in the classroom, which also functioned as a library, both due to her interest in storybooks and wanting to cause as little trouble to her caretakers as possible.

The only break in that quiet was the regular noise and rattle from the adjacent train station, while most other youths in the dorm found it loud and annoying, seeing the trains from her window enraptured the young Agatha, she would often daydream about taking one of those and going anywhere she wished, or even places she could barely imagine from her dimly lit room, a fascination with the inner workings of those wonderful machines joined her love of fairytales and stories like that of Rapunzel and before she was 10, Agatha could draw a detailed diagram of a boiler room on her own.

On sundays, Agatha was left for a few minutes outside to “take in some sun rays”, one fateful day when she was thirteen, she met a person from the outside for the first time, someone her age, even.

“H-hi…” a stranger put her hand out towards Agatha, “I-I’m a girl!” she had an intense expression on her face, not aggressive, just very focused.

“Hello, erm… so am I.” answered the girl, a little confused about the greeting, did everyone outside the orphanage introduce themselves by stating their gender? Nevertheless, she was still excited by the prospect of meeting someone new, “my name’s Agatha Clarke, what’s yours?”

“Ursa Martin” the girl with wild black hair said, some tension leaving her body as she casually sat next to Agatha on the bench, still, she did stutter a bit when she said“I like your hair.”

The girls talked on the bench for as long as Agatha could stay. First, Agatha asked the outsider about her life, what she did for fun, what the world was like, Ursa thought the world was an angry place, where bad people would always try to hurt you and you had to be ready, but that just made finding people you could trust even more important, she said she liked exploring the town, going around alleys and rooftops and finding the most hidden places she could keep to herself. Next, it was the white-haired girl’s turn to speak about herself, but she mostly kept to what she knew about machinery and fantasy. Though Ursa left in a hurry when she saw the nun coming to pick her new friend up, she promised they’d meet again.

They met up again next week, and the week after that, it became a tradition of sorts, every Sunday they would sit down and talk about their lives, their tastes, their fears, Agatha found joy in the bravery and the wild stories of her new friend, and Ursa admired the gentle kindness and wonder in Agatha’s eyes. In about a month Agatha told her friend about having already read every book in the library that interested her, and the next week Ursa just “happened” to find a few books to bring to her as a gift, something she would do often in the years thereafter. In one of them, a book of legends, supposedly from centuries in the past, the white-haired girl found drawings similar to the mark on her temple, the stories talked about those markings being a reflection of the person’s soul, and they would change during childhood but become more fixed as development advanced.

In the stories, the mark could be used to determine what kind of sorcery was available to the person, a gift from the heavens. Agatha couldn’t help but try to use sorcery herself, but she didn’t know how, so she just put out her hands and close her eyes to try to concentrate on the things she liked, when she opened them, at first it seemed like nothing had happened. But she soon heard a ticking noise, originating from a small, metallic wind-up man, its stiff legs jolting forward and down to make it walk steadily forward.

Agatha let out a little squeal of happiness, and she examined the toy’s bolts and gears to find it was virtually indistinguishable from normal iron. She hid the toy in her cupboard, not wanting to show it to her caretakers if it was tied to the symbol she was told to hide.

As she slept that night, she had an idea, she’d seen designs of three-wheeled chairs that could be moved by hand-cranks in her books, but she knew she had no way of getting enough money to buy one for herself. However, what if she could build it just with her sorcery?

Agatha started practicing at night, building things of escalating size and complexity, from toys, to pocket watches, to model trains, slowly but surely, she started learning, she found out that she needed to picture all the intricacies of what she was creating in her mind, so higher complexity could exponentially increase difficulty, she also discovered that if she left more than a few creations out she’d quickly become exhausted, so she needed to work on her stamina.

On the night of her 14th birthday, she heard a knocking on her window; she opened it and saw Ursa, just floating about 10 feet off the ground!

“W-what are you doing!?” Agatha asked, alarmed.

“I came to see you!” came the answer, “you told me today was your birthday, right? I hope I didn’t get the date wrong…”

“No I mean how are you doing that?! Are you flying?” she asked in a sort of whisper-yell

“Oh, uhh, when I think hard about a place I want to go, I just sort of… float up there, it’s alright as long as no grown-ups see me do it,” said Ursa, worryingly casually.

“So you can do sorcery too?” Agatha was now more curious than startled

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone can, we’re just not allowed to, apparently it’s a crime against the country because it’s too dangerous and unstable, but I think that’s kind of bull.”

“Oh… could you… Bring me outside? I’d like to see the city, please.” She felt embarrassed, but the chance of seeing more than the orphanage and the street in front of it just seemed too good not to try.

“Of course!” a sudden blush appeared on Ursa’s cheeks, “let me just, hold you up like this.” She grabbed Agatha in a princess carry, and together they floated up to the roof as Agatha was awestruck by the steam coming out of the taller girl’s body, especially her legs.

Once they were up Agatha could see the lights, both of the stars above and the streetlamps below, they were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and they convinced her she had to find a way to live outside the orphanage someday.

She told her Ursa of her plans, her dreams of being able to move by herself, the time she was spending practicing every day while the other youths played at recess, and finally, with her eyes growing heavy, she leaned her head against Ursa’s shoulder and asked “could you bring me here again someday?”

“Of course,” Ursa smiled and put her arm around the white-haired girl, “of course I will.” Agatha felt safe under her friend’s arm, and the warmth from her body was comfortable enough for her to fall asleep without thinking of how she’d come back down.

When she woke up, Agatha was back on her bed, like it was just another normal day, but her determination to build herself a wheelchair had been redoubled. She started to fill her cupboard with as many creations as she could when not actively practicing so she could improve her stamina. To reach towards higher levels of complexity, she started building individual pieces of the design she’d been studying and manually assembling them, conceptualizing how they fit together.

Over the months, she got better and better, from wheel to wheel and crank to crank, just two weeks before her next birthday, Agatha finally got her wheelchair to fully materialize. Just in time to realize she had another problem, what would she do, just say “hey this showed up in my room”? She’d done a surprisingly good job at concealing her practice until now, but this would definitely raise at least a few eyebrows.

When night fell and Ursa came to visit, and she’d often been for the last year, even being there to watch and support Agatha while she practiced, she had an idea. “How about I bring it to you? It’s your birthday this month right?”

“Don’t you think receiving an anonymous expensive birthday gift is still a tad suspicious?”

“No, no, no. Not anonymous. Listen, what if I delivered as if it was from your parents?”

Agatha put a finger to her chin, quizzical. “That… might be good actually.”

Two weeks later, a package arrived, wrapped up haphazardly in green gift paper, with a simple red bow and a note which read “from Mr. and Ms. Clarke”, Agatha feigned surprise and amazement when she saw the contraption she could really describe better than her own face, still, internally she thought “thanks mom and dad, at least you gave me a surname I could use for this.”

Her caretakers were amazed, but they tried to say as little as possible about it being marked as from her parents, maybe to keep her from going after them, or just from being upset at never having me them.

Either way, now Agatha was much more mobile, she still had trouble with inclines or the stairs of the orphanage, but it was an enormous improvement, she was even allowed to move around the block on sundays, during which she would have pleasant jaunts with Ursa, who showed her the train station up close. This was it, this was her next project, she would learn to make her own train.

“What the heck would you do with a train?” questioned Ursa, “what tracks could you put it on?”

“Well… I don’t know, I’ll make my own tracks.” Answered Agatha, and she knew it was silly, no train made its own tracks on the fly, but she still wanted to try and create one.

The girls were somewhat scared of being discovered, but for some reason they just couldn’t resist going out at night together sometimes, Ursa would pick her up and they’d go explore the town and just have fun together, one of these days, they went to the boarder of a nearby lake to stargaze and skip little pebbles across it, Ursa was behind Agatha, leaning over her with her hands on her shoulders.

“Have you ever seen the ocean?” said Agatha.

“Nah, never really been gone out of town. Do you want to?”

“Yes, I’ve seen pictures of the waves, but it seems like the kind of thing you’ll only appreciate in movement.” She heaved a little sigh. “I’m sure it won’t happen for a long time, though. To travel I need money, and I’m not planning on marrying a man anytime soon, so I’ll need to find a job, but most of those available to us don’t pay really well.”

Ursa hung her head in front of her friend, peering into her sky-blue eyes, an intense expression on her face “I’ll take you there… I promise, by the time you’re 18, I’ll get enough money and we’ll go together to the beach, ok?”

Agatha backed away, hiding a giggle “thanks but, why would you do that? I know you’re not doing great either. So why make that kind of promise to someone like me?”

Ursa walked around to her front, getting down on one knee so they could be on the same level, “well, of course I wanna do this for you, because I…” she got closer, holding onto Agatha’s shoulders, “I love you.”

They shared a tender kiss somewhere no one could see them, under just the watchful gaze of the night sky.

After that, they started dating, and became bolder with the visits, to the point where Ursa brought books directly to Agatha’s window. About a semester after, they did something that would change their lives forever.

“So, you’ve been having a hard time with you magic thing right?” asked Ursa from the window.

“Yeah… It’s just that I feel like my progress has been slowing since I have no records of the limits of sorcery, maybe what I’m trying isn’t even possible.” She said, looking up from a small model train that refused to move

“I think I might be able to help with that.”

“How? Have you brought me any new books?” Agatha’s face lit up a little.

“Not exactly, but I might have something better, you see, I’ve been scoping out a spot where we could get some really good info about magic, not just fiction and records of dubious authenticity, I’m talking real historical records baby, the kind of stuff they hid when sorcery was banned! I’ve found a way into the imperial archives and I know there’s nobody there from 11PM to 5AM BUT they check their storage every morning so I can’t bring it to you. My plan then, and I understand if you think this is too risky, but I could sneak you into there, then you could spend hours looking at whatever you’d like and we just sneak out at about 4AM!” Ursa sounded very excited as she spoke, it seemed like she’d been planning this for at least a few weeks, Agatha was hesitant, but very curious, and she didn’t want to have her girlfriend’s (she felt a tingle of joy thinking that) work go to waste.

“If you’re sure we can do this, I’ll trust you, should we head there today?”

They left at about 10PM, floating slowly between the roofs of houses, Ursa commented “I got inspired by you and I’ve been practicing this, wouldn’t wanna drop you am I right?” with a little smirk.

They stopped close to the central district police station, Agatha asked “so the archive is here?” some nervousness creeping into her voice.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either, but I’ve got it on good authority that they keep the archives on sorcery here, maybe the cops use it for something?”

They waited in silence for two hours, seeing all the staff leave around 11, but they wanted to be sure.

“Okay, see that open window?, we’re gonna squeeze through there and then I’ll take you to the archives okay?”

“Okay”, and with that, and a slight smile, the girls began their infiltration, it went surprisingly fine, Ursa had really done her homework in preparation for this, once they were in, they breathed a sigh of relief and Agatha was set down on an empty chair

“Alright.” Ursa whispered conspiratorially, a little excited by the adrenaline of sneaking into a place like this, “We’ve got all the time in the world, so I’ll read the titles and you tell me what you like.

Agatha just gave a thumbs up, still somewhat afraid of making noise

“Ok, “treaties on the legality of sorcery”, “magic in war throughout the ages”, “the fundamentals of magical warfare”…”

“I guess I should start with the fundamentals.”

“Okay! Then I’ll take magic in war.”

They were thick books, and both Agatha and Ursa spent the next few hours going over them, on hers, Agatha learned of the meaning of the symbols on people, there was a chart in it relating different kinds of symbols to different types of sorcery, all sorcery has an “essence” and a “shape”, the essence defining what your sorcery manipulates and the shape defining where it goes, each person had a symbol combining one essence and one shape.

There were too many essences to go over right now, but only three shapes, these were:

“Command”, which meant projecting sorcery outwards and manipulating it in the environment, it allows the sorcerer to produce large amounts of their essence and direct it at long ranges, this shaping allows precise control in a large area of effect and overwhelming attacks. Though it does leave its user vulnerable to surprise attacks from outside their line of sight, this can be mitigated by Command’s lesser known ability to sense their essence around them.

Notable historical example: Jack Austen, “the devil’s hand” a mad flame sorcerer known for taking sadistic delight in the burning of both people and structures and unnaturally red fingers, supposedly a curse put upon him after he once incinerated an army of 500 men he was a part of by himself when their commander insulted him. It is said the curse still runs in his descendants today.

“Imbue”, which meant infusing their sorcery into their own bodies and objects they directly touch, it allows the sorcerer to take in the properties of their essence into their bodies and equipment, it has the lowest range of the shapes, but can easily be used to protect oneself and improve mobility. One thing that can be used to circumvent this shape’s weaknesses is using it to make powerful essence-infused weapons that can heighten one’s range

Notable historical example: Lucius Wolf, “the untouchable”, an acid sorcerer able to maintain his body completely as a viscous liquid capable of quickly dissolving any people or objects he came into contact with for multiple days, supposedly walked at a slow steady pace through a castle to completely melt its lord in front of their whole guard, who repeatedly impaled him to no effect before he simply walked out.

“Create” The rarest of the shapes and perhaps the hardest one to use effectively, it allows the sorcerer to create complex structures and even sentient constructs with their essence, though this takes a large amount of time, with proper preparation the sorcerer can affect the battlefield without ever being present, though maintaining a construct for extended periods of time can induce fatigue, their creator is free to make them temporarily disappear and instantly reappear to save energy, the most powerful sorcerers of this shape could somehow keep their creations in existence after their death.

Notable historical example: Dorothy Clay, “The saint of green valley”, a common baker who supposedly awakened enormous latent magical reserves after her village was attacked, creating dozens of mud golems she molded with her own hands that then spread out over the village, rebuilding all the destroyed  homes and protecting the villagers from any further attacks for 200 years

Agatha learned that sorcery used to be commonplace, used in every war and considered just a part of human capabilities, “a gift from the heavens”, as the book said, and though it focused on its uses for warfare, it seemed as though people used it just to make life more convenient or express themselves and make art. She found it wonderful, and wondered why no one had told her about this.

Moving on in the book, she found just what she was looking for, advice for training with sorcery, it said: “when conjuring, one must take the phenomenon they wish to induce from inside their mind to the outside world, for this, focus must be placed in all of the sorcerer’s senses, the shape, the sound, the smell and the texture of what they wish to create, in the case of “imbue”, imagining what having a different body would be like is also important. However, perhaps even more than the senses, the emotional resonance of the sorcery affects its efficacy, understanding and evoking whatever a spell symbolizes to the sorcerer is key to creating spectacular effects that can change the course of a battle.”

The night was passing quickly, with the girls leaning on each other’s shoulders, enjoying a quiet moment of curiosity and transgression together, almost forgetting about the danger by now. Suddenly, someone appeared at the door.

It was a tall, well-built man with a tired eyes and a brown overcoat, he had a scar over his right eye. The man’s expression went from exhaustion to surprise to irritation in just one second as he clenched his fist for a moment before pointing at the girls with a leather-gloved hand, saying “who are you and what are you doing here?”

Both of them knew that it was not a good idea to answer with their full names, yet they were somehow unable to stop themselves from doing so, Agatha adding “we just came here to try to learn more about sorcery!”

“Alright, I’m taking you in. Breaking and entering and research of forbidden practices.” The man responded, reaching into his pocket

Before he could do anything else, Ursa had already grabbed Agatha and said “not a chance!” before jumping through a window, releasing a burst of steam from her feet that multiplied the force of her jump and turning her back to the glass to protect Agatha and her face from the shattering window. Despite clearly feeling a lot of pain from that slam, Ursa Martin didn’t stop for a moment before turning her feet towards the nearest wall and bouncing on it with another burst of steam to get as far away from the cop as possible. With adrenaline coursing through her whole body, she was able to move quick and unpredictably, softening her collision with the wall and then launching herself again towards the other side of the street.

He tried aiming his pistol at the girls, trying to immobilize them for capture, but with Ursa bouncing non-stop from wall to wall, he had no chance at an accurate shot, and the longer he tried to aim, the farther away they would get, so he grit his teeth for a moment before shouting “STOP!” deep and commanding.

Ursa felt the circuits of her brain get interrupted, and her muscles froze up as she flew uncontrollably at a hotel building. Agatha was left unaffected, still completely able to move as usual, but to do what ? Flail desperately before they crashed straight into the wall ? This was it for them, there would be no escaping with their broken bones if they even survived going head-first into this stone building’s second floor.

She held tightly onto her girlfriend, desperately hoping that she’d be able to save them, that something would get them out of here alright, she thought of travelling together, of seeing the ocean, of the wonderful machines she heard from her orphanage room that could take her anywhere, she closed her eyes and tried to think happy thoughts as she braced for impact.

But there was no “Thud”, there was only a familiar loud whistle of steam and a rattle she knew very well. The girls were sitting together, in the conductor’s room of an impossible machine, they were rising, and tracks were forming just a few meters in front of them and disappearing behind, Agatha wanted to move forward once they were above and clear of most buildings, and so the machine obeyed, they were flying, and they could go anywhere.

And so they did, breathing heavily and moving unstoppably through the night sky to a destination unknown, though what they did know was that this was the day that began the rest of their lives.

[sparkly-angell]

Hi! Could I ask for a Superbat prompt? Fake dating? Thank you!

Hey anon, remember me? When you asked this five months ago? Here it is. (Im sorry it took me so long, I got into univerity (finally) and life became a wreck!) 

Hope this is enough apology: superbat, fake date, 3k, pure fluff ;)

Prompt me | Ko-fi | AO3 version  🌻

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No way.” 

“Bruce, no one will recognize you, please–”

“I’m not doing it.” 

“You just have to stand by my side and smile every now and again.” 

“Why don’t you ask Diana for it?”

Clark’s mouth clamped shut. Because she’s in Themyscira sure as hell wasn’t going to make Bruce suddenly decide that yes, he was giving up his weekend to go with Clark to a school reunion back in Smallville and pretend to be his plus one because Clark accidentally bought two tickets. He knew it was no use to try and convince Bruce, but it wasn’t like he had a choice, not really.

“Please, Bruce, it’s just one night. I’ll even get Ma to make that family recipe pork roast I know you love.” 

Bruce’s eyes shifted from the CCTV screens to him, calculating, before they got back to work, and back ignoring Clark.

“Go bother Lois.” and with that, he started tapping on his keyboard as immaculate as always.

“Lois is covering a big story this weekend.” Not a lie, but Clark didn’t want to ask Lois for this.

They’ve broken up over five months now, but no way things wouldn’t turn awkward if she said yes.

Clark sagged his shoulders, feeling resignment wash over him. Guess he ought to look for someone else. He was sure Barry would be excited to go with him. He glanced at Bruce again, his eyes never leaving the screen, deep in concentration as if Clark had never been there to bother him in the first place. He smothered a sign.

“Yeah, ok. Sorry to bother you. I’ll go see if Barry would like to go, then.” he turned and walked hopelessly up the stairs to the mansion. Maybe Alfred would take pity on him and offer a few of his delicious cookies.

The tapping of the keyboard stopped and Clark heard Bruce’s chair swirling around.

“Barry is your second option?” Bruce asked incredulously, “Barry?”

 Clark frowned, “Why not?”

Bruce let out a series of unintelligible noises before taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. “That kid has a crush on you, Clark.” he got up from the chair and ran a nervous hand over his hair.

Clark’s eyes widened. “He what?” 

Bruce scoffed and shook his head. “It’s so obvious even a blind man can see it.”

His face fell to the ground. Well, if it couldn’t be Barry, who would he be taking? No one felt quite as right as Bruce, but he already said he wouldn’t…

Bruce met his eyes but quickly averted it, clicking his tongue. “Stop with the long face. Ok, I’ll go with you. But just this time–and I get to chose your suit.”

Clark smile threatened to split his face in two as the butterflies inside his chest somersaulted cheerfully.

“Thank you, Bruce, you won’t regret it!” he sprinted excitedly the remaining stairs all the while shouting, “I’ll tell Ma to buy some pork!”

-

Clark was panicking.

He paced from one side of his apartment to the other, trying to quench his nervousness back inside. Not that his apartment was big, no, it wasn’t even 7 meters in length, but he needed to move to distract himself while he waited for Bruce to pick him up.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut and let an exasperated groan.

Why again did he invite Bruce, of all people? 

He hadn’t realized how stupid his decision had been until the postman came baring a fancy, expensive looking box for him that morning. Inside had been the deep blue suit he now wore. It had come with a note.

‘Please, wash up before putting it on, don’t mess it up. I’m picking you at 6pm.’

He looked at his watch again. 6:15pm.

Ok, he breathed, only one minute since he last checked time. That’s progress.

Bruce was late, but that’s fine. He’s always fashionably late, isn’t he? Yes, that was it. It’s not like Bruce forgot about it. Right? He even went through the trouble to get Clark a proper suit, which, indeed was the finest cloth his body has ever come in contact with.

He slumped on his bed, ignoring the painful crack it let out. If he was being truthful, he actually appreciated this few minutes Bruce gave him. At least he could get comfortable with the fact that he would have to pretend to be Bruce’s boyfriend for a night.

His face heated up instantly. Clark abruptly let his elbows fall on his thighs as he massaged his temples soothingly. Ma would be calling him dramatic, but this felt necessary.

How was he, Clark Kent, the worst liar on the planet Earth (except when it came to his identity) to pretend not to have a massive crush on Bruce Wayne, so that Bruce doesn’t notice, while pretending to be in love with said man, at the same time?

Clark was considered super by some, but this decision was just plain stupid. Maybe super stupid.

A single, clean knock came from his door. Clark spurted to his feet and straightened his clothes, trying to make it even and stop it from looking like he had just been lying on his bed pitifully. One last look in the mirror told him his glasses were a little off, so he quickly adjusted them.

Ok, he breathed out. He was ready.

…Or so he thought. Clark’s breath wasn’t so much as taken but punched away from his lungs as his eyes skimmed over Bruce. He had knew his friend looked good in suits, Clark even saw it face to face a few times before, but for some reason, Bruce looked especially gorgeous in Clark’s hallway lights.

His suit was a smart grey, that hugged him in all the right places, not that Clark would expect anything less. Black slick shoes that looked just bought and a expensive looking watch finished the look. But what had caught Clark’s eyes was his tie, which matched the exact colors of Clark’s own suit.

Clark hoped to anyone listening that his blush didn’t look as bright as it felt. He looked at Bruce’s eyes, blue, sparkling eyes and felt a pang of love mixed with a small dose of lust washing his body. Clark cleared his throat and gave him a shy, trembling smile.

That seemed to snap Bruce out of his own world too. A light blush spreaded over his cheeks as he averted his face away, schooling his expression before facing Clark again.

“I knew the blue suit would look good on you.”

Clark froze with his heart in his throat, watching Bruce walk back towards the flight of stairs he’d just climbed.

-

Clark couldn’t say he missed most the people from his high school years. Of course, there were some people he still talked from time to time, who had also moved to Metropolis and who he would go out with and have a coffee. 

Whenever in Smallville he met with the ones he was closer and decided to take on family business. But it wasn’t many people, he was never one of the popular ones, never want to have the spotlight in his face, specially with his powers flowering in his teens.

So it didn’t make much sense that they were getting all this attention from everyone in the party.

They’ve traveled to Smallville by one of Bruce’s jets, stopping on the Kent’s farm, and from there, they went to the school with Pa’s old truck, not to call too much unwanted attention. The travelling was mostly quiet, they went over the plan as Clark gave Bruce a quick once over of his classmates and his old school. He told Bruce he was a hundred percent sure no one would recognize him. Smallville wasn’t one to keep up with news, specially in the business department. So he needn’t worry.

What Clark didn’t expect was that, even so, they still stood out a lot.

“Maybe is the suits.” Clark whispered to Bruce once the girl who had been talking with them excused herself to the bathroom. Bruce scoffed.

“But these are really simple.” he shook his head in confusion. Clark bit his lips, holding back a laugh, “What’s so funny?” He scowled at Clark.

Clark only shrugged and shook his head. Bruce wouldn’t get it.

“It’s definitely our clothes Bruce.” he couldn’t help the smile that broke his face. God, they were totally overdressed for this reunion and Clark could barely hold back his laugh.

“Or maybe they are stunned that small and shy Clark Kent became a gorgeous tall man that wears good clothes and has a handsome rich man as partner.” Bruce leaned over him, voice flirtatious as he smirked playfully. Too close.

Clark gulped dryly as a crimson blush crawled over his cheeks. This was all an act, he reminded himself, Bruce was doing it for their flirting façade to continue.

He smiled back and tilted his head to the side.

“Of course, that’s very humble of you, dear.” he winked. He could do that too. Two could flirt. Clark might not have Bruce’s experience, but he could follow a little flirt.

Even if his heart kept drumming desperately. 

“Clark? Is that you?” Clark turned around following the source of the woman’s voice. He’d completely forgotten about the other people around them, but smiled once he found himself face to face with Lana. 

“Oh, Lana! How are you?” he gave her a quick friendly hug before getting closer to Bruce’s space. Faking it or not, Clark felt a lot more secure near his friend. 

“I’m fine! Just got here, actually.” her eyes fell on Bruce. She smiled, “And this is…?” 

“Bruce, Clark’s partner.” he held his hand out and shook hers cordially, giving her his best captivating smile, “Nice to meet you, Lana.”

She smiled back, a faint blush covering her beautiful high cheeks. Clark held back the urge to roll his eyes. Of course everyone would be enchanted by Bruce.

“The pleasure is all mine.” she said, voice but a purr. “So? How did you two meet?” She turned back to Clark.

“Work. Bruce is my colleague.” 

“Oh? A journalist as well?” Lana took a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving them.

“Not quite.” Bruce winked, knowing full well how mysterious he sounded and sneaked a hand over Clark’s waist. His heart jumped, eighth time that night, but Clark leaned into it casually.

Lana raised an eyebrow.

“That makes a woman wonder.” she taps her chin amusedly a few times before dropping her hand, “Well, it was nice seeing you again, Clark, and you, Bruce. I’ll catch up with the others, maybe we can talk more later, what you think? It’s been quite a while.”

“Sure it has.” Clark smiled as they both watched her dazzle away.

“You didn’t tell me Lana was your ex when you told me about her.” Bruce deadpanned right on his ear. Clark didn’t know how he still had blood to continue blushing like that.

“How did you know?” there was no point denying it, now that Bruce said it out loud. 

Bruce scoffed and gave him his signature ‘why do I even need to explain’ expression. “It’s written all over you two.”

Clark groaned miserably and Bruce squeezed his his hand over his hips compassionately. Clark blushed, suddenly reminding himself Bruce still had a possessive arm around him. And if he was truthful to himself, he enjoyed the feeling very much.

“Let’s go for another round and later we can get some air, what do you think?” Bruce suggested leading them towards another couple. He raised his eyebrow and smirked, “This is not so different from my galas, it’s quite fun.”

“I thought you hated the galas.” Clark frowned.

“It’s gratifying to see people taken aback by my presence. Especially when they don’t know who I am.”

Clark rolled his eyes foundly. “You are horrible, Bruce.”

Bruce’s smile only grew. He winked again, now directed at him.

“You know it.”

-

“I can’t wait to go home.” Clark said with a sigh. He sat down on his school’s front steps, resting his chin on his hands. All the houses from the main street in front of them were already closed and sound asleep, the only thing illuminating the village were the scattered street lamps, that gave the impression of golden auras hovering the houses. Clark loved it.

It was probably somewhere near two in the morning. Most people already left, a few were too drunk to move, and others were enjoying what was left of the reunion. Not Clark and Bruce.

Bruce rested back into his elbows, also observing the lights from afar. He looked astounding. His coat was gone, he left it inside somewhere, and had his dress shirt sleeve rolled up to his elbows, which, in Clark’s opinion, shouldn’t be as sexy as it was. Bruce had a distant look on his face, eyes probably miles away from where they where.

“Thinking of Gotham?” Clark asked, half joking because he knew the Bat always had his city in mind.

Bruce turned those deep eyes to him. Clark’s breath hitched.

“Honestly? No.” Bruce admitted with a faint voice. His eyes traveled over Clark’s face until going back to his eyes. He let out a vague laugh. “I was thinking about that pork Ms. Kent promised for lunch tomorrow.”

Clark’s eyes widened at the confession. The cricketing around them seemed to lower to a whirring as even the crickets chosen that moment to end their day.

“You’re going to love it.” Clark said, recomposing himself and smiling softly at his friend.

“There isn’t one thing Martha Kent’s ever done that I don’t love.” Bruce whispered, and Clark’s heart threatened to jump from his chest. He broke their intense glaring, feeling a pang of regret stabbing him on the chest.

The night was ending, and so was their relationship, even if fake. Tonight had been both a blessing and a curse, because for all Clark had enjoyed dating Bruce, it was all an illusion and soon reality would put him back to his place, now with a small taste of what could be.

Bruce seemed to notice his glooming state and schooched closer, so they were both sharing the same warmth. Clark burned.

“I should have invited Barry.” he blurted out without thinking. Bruce stiffened next to him, yet Clark didn’t dare turn his face to look at him.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice had now an anxious edge that wasn’t there before. 

Should he say it? Clark was already in a bad place, maybe confessing his feelings wouldn’t matter now.

“Because this part would hurt much less. Wouldn’t hurt at all.” he whispered into the night.

Bruce fell silent and Clark squeezed his eyes shut. He could almost hear that big brain putting the pieces together. Clark only had a few seconds before Bruce got up and left him for good. Maybe it was a bad idea after all.

Too late to change it now. 

Bruce interlaced his fingers together and held tight even as Clark gasped and snapped his face in Bruce’s direction, alarmed. He didn’t dare say anything about it, he didn’t want to break this moment. He even stopped breathing at some point.

“You know why I said yes to come here with you?” Bruce asked breaking the silence softly. Clark waited for an answer, still clammed. “I got jealous of Barry getting the opportunity I’ve been wanting for months now.”

“Bruce…” but Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head lightly, a few locks of his hair falling over his eyes.

“Just– don’t. Let’s just stay here a little while, ok?”

“Ok.” Clark receded. He contemplated the street for a moment before he leaned closer to Bruce, feeling joy bash over him as Bruce embraced it. Their hands a solid connection between them and their hearts, both beating in insane rhythms, yet it easily became Clark’s favorite song.

Bruce rested his head on Clark’s shoulder, the pressure making his heart beat faster, if that was even possible. Clark hummed approvingly and stretched his arm behind Bruce, supporting their weight and successfully getting closer to Bruce.

His smell was intoxicating this close. It was sweet but with a characteristically twinge of something spicy, and if Clark took a deeper breath, he would be able to sense the steel and the kevlar from his uniform.

Oh. Bruce’s face was so close to his, closer than it has ever been. Clark’s cheek was pressed against his forehead, it was just a matter of turning, only a few degrees, and he could– and he would–

“Bruce,” he whispered sounding almost desperately to his own ears, but he was past the point of embarrassment now, “can I?”

Bruce contemplated the question silently and Clark hoped he didn’t have to specify what he wanted, but not long after, Bruce nodded. If Clark didn’t know better, he would say Bruce was shy.

Slowly, afraid of scaring Bruce, Clark turned his face until they were nose to nose. His throat constricted, excitement flew through his veins as they shared one last look, blue eyes unfazed and determined, looking past Clark’s own eyes, looking inside.

He felt raw, exposed. He never wanted this feeling to end.

Clark’s eyes fell, focusing on the one part of Bruce he’d been trying the most to ignore the entire night. His lips were perfectly drawn, soft, Clark could tell only by looking. He leaned forward, only a few inches, and got surprised when Bruce was the one to close the remaining distance.

Yes, soft, was the first thing in Clark’s mind as their lips came together, dancing to the silence music of their heartbeats. Clark’s chest exploded in tiny shatters of relief and love and passion and lust, all mixing into one big emotion that was Bruce.

His hand instinctively found its way to Bruce’s cheek, cupping gently as his thumb caressed him lovingly. They broke apart, forehead against forehead as they breathed hard, not so much from lack of air, but from the intensity of what they just did.

“Why don’t we go home?” Clark rasped out, voice overwhelmed with emotions. Bruce gave him a tiny, intimate smile.

“I’d love to.”

[princess-of-riviaa]

Can you do #18 with Clark Kent and Bucky Barnes?

fantasygirlsuniverse said: Can i send more than 1 request? If so 8 and 18 with Clark would be amazing!

i sincerely apologize if this is out of character for Clark, this is my first time writing him and I’ve also never actually seen any of the Superman movies

the threesome was your idea

you were smart about when and where you suggested it. Thor had given Bucky and Clark some of his Asgardian mead. the men had had around five shots and were clearly tipsy when you suggested it

you saw the way both of them looked at you in the light of day. Bucky would always steal a glance in your direction during training and Clark would always find a need to go to the library whenever you were there studying or writing. you flirted casually with both of them and, though they weren’t the best at flirting back, they still tried. there was a heat between you and both of the men and it came to a head at one of Stark’s parties

Bucky, Clark, and you are alone in the loft, the music and chatter from the party a floor below loud enough to be heard up there. neither man replies when you suggest your idea, but there is a wild spark in both of their eyes when you say “threesome” and you know they’re into the idea, though neither one of them wants to be the first to admit it

so you move towards the couch they’re currently occupying and straddle Clark’s lap, loving the feel of his thick, powerful muscles underneath you. he’s surprised at your bold move but you kiss him before he can say anything. there’s a moment of hesitation before he kisses you back. you begin to grind against him and his cock responds within seconds. his bulge presses tight against your heat and you know his cock is just as big as the rest of him

you break the kiss just long enough to look over at Bucky. he’s watching the two of you hungrily, looking like a wolf about to pounce on his prey. you lean over to kiss him and you love the contrast of how the men taste. Bucky lets out a low groan, almost inaudible, but the sound registers within you and makes heat spread to your core

you turn back to Clark and kiss him again though don’t let go of Bucky. he leans towards you and seems to understand what you want without having to say anything. he gives your neck soft, sweet little pecks. 

you continue to grind against Clark and he grips your hips tightly, pressing you tighter against his growing erection. you push your tongue into Clark’s mouth and he grants you access, his tongue dancing with yours. 

at the same time you reach over to Bucky and palm him over his jeans. there’s already a large bulge straining against his jeans and he breathes out a string of curses against your neck.

it isn’t long before you’re on your knees, one cock in each hand. you go back and forth between them, giving both aching cocks much needed attention inside your mouth. you run your hand up and down one shaft while deepthroating around the other. you do your best not to choke as you struggle to adjust to their sizes--both of them are huge, and you’re half aware that it’s going to be a fit of a struggle to fit either of them inside of you

by the time they’re both comfortable enough to be vocal, you’re soaking wet

“you look so good with your mouth wrapped around our cocks,” Bucky grunts, and the low timber in his voice when he talks dirty to you is filthy enough to make you moan around his length, which makes him throw his head back and release a string of curses

“come here,” Clark breathes out, his eyes half-lidded after a good ten minutes of you pleasuring him. “it’s our turn to make you feel good.”

you don’t need to be told twice. you release both of them and fling your cocktail dress off before climbing on top of Clark. he kisses you deeply, a kiss you feel all the way down in your toes. a second later the tip of his cock is pressing against your entrance and you sink down on top of him, both of you moaning at the pleasurable tightness

it’s only a matter of seconds before you feel the unmistakeable coldness of Bucky’s metal arm grab onto your hips from behind. with his flesh hand he begins to tease your asshole. his metal hand spreads your cheeks while he preps you

all the while Clark is slowly rocking up into you, making you moan and sigh with every gentle thrust

after a few minutes, Bucky is satisfied that you’re stretched well enough to fit him. you gasp when you feel him line himself up with your hole and a second later he’s inside of you

the feeling of both Clark and Bucky inside of you is almost enough to push you over the edge. your orgasm is nearing with every passing second

the men fall into a rhythm and increase their pace together, watching you writhe between them

“you feel so tight, baby,” Bucky breathes out

“you look so beautiful when you let us pleasure you,” Clark cooes, his loving words and tone at odds with the rough way he pounds into you

you cum seconds later. they follow quickly after and the feeling of both of their seeds filling you up simultaneously almost makes you cum again

they both quickly decide that they’ll do whatever it takes to have you like this again

[cdelphiki]

Bewildered was the only word Damian could use to describe how he felt.

Because just that morning, he hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge what the day even was. But now, after he’d spent the morning playing video games with Jon, chatting with his Father on the phone, and then having a rather lovely lunch, people were showing up at the apartment.

Lots of people.

People Damian knew.

That he’d call family, if pressed.

...Plus Drake’s insufferable friends.

Which was just weird. Kon and Stephanie were there among the attendees, right along side Jason, Cass, Duke, and Alfred. 

So yes, Damian was bewildered. Or befuddled. Or just plain old confused.

Alfred he understood, of course. Even if the two of them had barely spoken since Damian got whisked away to the Kent’s, Alfred had always been one to remember things. And despite their relationship’s rocky start, Alfred had always been someone stable and supportive in his life. So, actually, he thought himself stupid for not realizing Alfred would actually remember.

It was the rest of these people that startled him.

He’d felt off kilter ever since he’d answered the door, an hour before, at Jon’s insistence that “it’s for you, D.”

Which, that was just annoying. The x-ray vision. The flagrant use of powers within the privacy of the apartment. Damian wasn’t used to it. Clark and Jon just…. casually floated around, sometimes. Used heat vision to heat things up. Speed to get chores done in a blink. And x-ray vision to look at and find things.

Damian was becoming progressively more amused by the exasperated glances Lois shot him, though, whenever one of them forgot that the rest of them couldn’t just look through the fridge door to see how many eggs were left.

It usually made him grin, actually. And he’d caught himself giving her the same look, a few times.

When Damian opened the door, however, he kind of wished he did have x-ray vision. Just so he could have had those precious few seconds to prepare himself.

Because on the other side of the door was Tim Drake. Just standing there. Holding a neatly wrapped gift with a card on top, and surrounded by all those people.

“Uhh,” Damian had stammered, a horrid habit he’d acquired from Jon, no doubt.

“Hey,” Tim had said, offering a lopsided grin as he pushed the gift at Damian, “Happy Birthday, gremlin. Gonna let us in?”

So Damian did, and it’d been a literal party ever since.

Which was what was so bewildering.

He’d never had a birthday party before.

Not like this.

They had cake and ice cream, as a group, and suddenly it made sense why Lois and Clark had made such a large cake. Before Damian was allowed to blow out his candles, he had to listen to the group sing him a ridiculous song, and it made him nostalgic for that first birthday he'd had away from the League.

Back when it was just him and Grayson and Alfred.

Grayson had sung this same song, all off key and squeaky, entirely on purpose, just to annoy Damian. But it’d been that gentle teasing, The kind Damian had come to associate with Dick Grayson. The kind that made him ache for his older brother, wishing beyond hope that the man would just hit his head and suddenly remember everything. Even though he knew that was not how brain injuries worked.

But just as the song had done on his 11th birthday, it made Damian feel warm inside on his 14th. It filled, just a little, that empty spot in his chest. The one that so often burned, with a soft almost…. happiness he had a difficult time describing. But damn was he going to cry again today. Especially not in front of all these people.

It was one thing to cry in front of the Kents, but like hell would he make such a mistake in front of the Bats.

“Clark,” Damian asked, once everyone had finished their cake and Clark and Lois were gathering the plates to wash, so they could ‘open presents,’ as Jon had shouted so enthusiastically. Brat probably knew whatever Damian got would be stored in their room, and therefore was basically his, too.

At least, that had been his reasoning, a few weeks back, when Damian caught Jon using his nice markers to draw the most horrific drawing of his dad he’d ever laid eyes on. ‘A school project,’ he had said, ‘we have to draw our favorite superhero.’ Damian had just scoffed and criticized both his misuse of the expensive Copics, as well as his predictable selection of his own father as his favorite superhero.

‘Isn’t Batman your favorite,’ Jon had said, to which Damian scoffed, ‘Yes, but Bruce Wayne is not.’ It had effectively shut Jon up. And relaying the price of each marker had also caused Jon to hand them back over, not wanting to replace any by ruining them.

“Yeah, bud?” Clark asked, smiling as he rinsed off each plate at lightning speed, even while he spoke to Damian. They were alone in the kitchen, and even though it was an open concept apartment, the group was being loud enough that Damian was confident in their privacy.

“Did you invite everyone?” he asked, resisting the urge to look away or pull his hood up. He hated his tells, and he tried his best not to show them.

“No,” Clark said easily, now drying the dishes off and putting them away in the cabinets. Why have a dishwasher when you have a Clark, Lois always said. “Tim did, actually. This entire party was his idea.”

“Tim Drake,” Damian asked incredulously. Because that made no sense. Damian had just been curious whether he should thank the Kents or Alfred for the party. It had never even crossed his mind that Tim might be the culprit.

Because what the hell??

“Is there more than one Tim?” Clark asked, clearly amused, now just leaning back against the sink to chat.

Well, yes, there was more than one Tim, Damian thought, but it was true that he didn’t personally know another Tim. It’s just, never in a million years would he have expected Tim Drake to be the one to do something so…. thoughtful. To be the reason Damian felt at peace for once, in a world without Dick Grayson, that is. And without Father around.

“But… Tim hates me?” Damian whispered, failing to prevent his shock from showing on his face, “Why would he….”

When Damian trailed off, Clark just frowned. “I don’t know what all has gone down between you two,” Clark said slowly but softly. In that same tone he always used when comforting Damian. He kind of hated that he liked it so much. “But I can tell you this: He does not hate you. I’d venture to say he actually loves you.”

All Damian could do was shake his head. Because no. No no no no no. That wasn’t right.

That couldn’t be right.

Tim Drake did not love Damian. Tim was the one who always rolled his eyes whenever Damian started speaking at family meetings. He was the one who groaned whenever Damian crashed one of his cases. When he had to team up with the Teen Titans, and Damian was there. When Father assigned them to patrol together. When he just remembered Damian existed, in general.

And it’s not like Damian didn’t deserve it. He realized, now, how wrongly he had treated his ‘brother’ from the beginning. Pushing him off the dinosaur had been unforgivable, he now knew. The fact Tim even tolerated him enough to simply groan and roll his eyes at his presence was more than Damian deserved, after breaking so many of his bones for no good reason.

So, no, Tim Drake did not love Damian. It was impossible. If their roles were reversed, Damian would never forgive Tim. Ever. Would be glad to be rid of him after this whole thing went down between Father and the rest of them, pulling Damian out of Gotham and Tim away from Father.

“Damian,” Clark said, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulders and pulling him in a little, “whatever is going around in that head of yours is wrong, okay? Tim cares about you, pal. Otherwise he wouldn’t have reached out weeks ago to make these plans. All those people over there care about you. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t, okay?”

Resting the side of his head against Clark for a second, the only acceptance of the half hug he’d show, Damian looked at the group of people sitting in the living room, carrying on and laughing about whatever dumb thing Jason had just said.

Steph noticed he was staring, and she smiled brightly and called, “Come on, birthday boy. Come open your presents, and be prepared to be amazed by my awesome gift. Everything else on this table pales in comparison, I promise.”

“Shut up,” Jason said, tossing a chip at her for the comment, “I’ll have you know my gift is very thoughtful and incredible. The demon will cry I tell you. Cry.”

“Pfft,” Tim said loudly, “Mine’s the best. Kon already confirmed it.”

“That’s cheating,” Steph screeched, “You can’t use powers like that!”

It just devolved into chaos from there, as the lot of them continued arguing. Clark squeezed Damian’s shoulder and said, “Go on. I don’t think they’ll stop until you open them all and declare a winner.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, even though he was smiling a little, “it is not proper to play favorites with gifts. It is the thought that counts, I have been told.”

“There’s the Alfred in you,” Clark said fondly, pushing Damian toward the living room.

The gifts were all incredible. Well, some more-so than others. Jason got him a gift card to one of the local art supply chains, as well as a copy of one of his favorite books. Alfred got him a set of teas, all of his favorites from when he was living in the manor. Steph got him a cartoon-style Robin figure, which was just insulting and kind of hilarious.

But when Damian opened Tim’s gift, he make sure to pay attention to his brother’s face, without making it obvious he was doing so. Tim’s expressions were carefully blank, but Damian could tell he was doing that to cover up for anxiety and excitement for whatever he had gotten Damian. And once the item was fully unwrapped, all Damian could do was gawk.

Because in Damian’s hands was a set of extremely rare natural pigments. He actually hadn’t even heard of half of the pigment sources, that was how obscure they were. But they were some of the most vibrant colors he’d ever seen. Bright purple, rich orange, dark blue, deep red, just to name a few of the colors he saw.

They were…. incredible.

He actually could not wait to mix some of them up and try them out.

“I got them in the gem world,” Tim explained, “a lot of those are made from materials not found on earth.”

When Damian realized what that confession meant, he almost did cry. Because at some point, months ago, before this entire fiasco had even begun, Tim Drake had seen a set of pigments while stranded in another dimension and thought ‘hey, Damian would like those,’ and then got them. Stored them away and waited for his birthday, and then planned an entire party when he realized the Bats were not doing one.

Just that realization threatened to set him over the edge again, but instead he just smiled.

He smiled and started to think that, yeah. Maybe Tim didn’t hate him.

Damian definitely didn’t hate Tim.

[bellamygateoldblog]

rate best to worst parental figures of the 100

worst → best (I tend to ramble throughout this, sorry!)

19 — Nia : I mean I don’t think an explanation is needed here lol. She burned Echo’s parents alive, it’s implied she then renamed her Ash, before forcing her into the identity of another child and filling her life with assassination and espionage. Mother Of The Year?

18 — Aurora : so firstly we have Octavia- who’s existence shouldn’t be. It was so incredibly irresponsible and selfish to subject her child to this life. If the ark hadn’t been dying and Octavia never caught, would she had been expected to grow old and die under the floor? Would Bellamy have spent his life, even after Aurora was long dead, being nothing more than his sister’s keeper?

And Bellamy- to manipulate your six year old son into believing it’s his responsbility to protect and care for his sister, so engrained into his mind and sense of self that he still lives by this mantra well into his 20s, to treat Bellamy being Octavia’s whole world as normal, having him go through his life with this small girl attached to him, entirely dependent on him, placing such a heavy weight onto a child- it’s UGH. No words, just a grunt.

He gave up his education and his personal life and he became a father when he was six years old. She took his life away.

This early family dynamic is at the root of ALL of Octavia and Bellamy’s major character traits, struggles and flaws, it drives them still, it’s effects are still felt and reinforced. BOO.

17 — Raven’s unnamed mother : And here is where I go off on a rant criticising the writing more than the actual mother. Just like Octavia, Raven was raised by another child, except in this case her mother is emotionally absent and said child is the same age as her (or younger) and thus i expect their experience and maturity levels are matched through their lives. Could this have bourne some co-dependency? Perhaps, but it’s never talked about i think because Raven’s backstory is practically a Schrödinger’s cat scenario with all the retconning that goes on. Like here- we recieved some more information in season six that directly contradicts what was already established of their mother-daughter relationship: “she never used me.”

*deadpan narrator voice* She did, however, use her.

That’s if we choose to accept this one as canon and not that one, god this writing is atrocious. Raven’s mother was neglectful, so much so that the only way she ate is through a boy sharing his own rations with her. Raven believes “she only had [her] so she could trade [Raven’s] rations for moonshine.” SHE DID USE HER DAUGHTER.

Furthermore, in season one she defended her mother (context: when a remark was made about selling sex in exchange for supplies), she tells her not to “dare talk about [her] mother that way” and i get the impression she at least respected her, but in season six she straight up calls her “a drunk who sold herself for booze.” In fact in season six she goes from being deluded one second- “she never used me”- to being scarily desensitised by a harsh reality the next, the same way she was in early seasons, speaking casually of her mother’s alcoholism. WHAT IS THE TRUTH? None of what we know of Raven’s family and backstory can coexist and yet here we are, talking about Raven’s family and backstory as if the writers ever cared enough to make it actually coherent.

16 — Murphy’s unnamed mother : did love him once, very much so, but let her grief poison her and turn her against her son. Another alcoholic/addict mother to add to the collection. We don’t have a lot of details about her, but the knowledge that she blamed her vulnerable little boy who had no control over his own health for the death of her husband who made his own conscious choice is enough for me to place her down here. The source of Murphy’s lack of self worth, *implied* intrusive thoughts, and difficulty connecting with others, and just in general sometimes being a total jackass. Yeah, it’s all her fault.

15 —  Clarke : like mother, like daughter. She electrocuted her child,  but what I find to be remarkably horrific about this is the simple fact  the device is the same one used to torture her in the  beginning of the season, the same one used by the so-called ‘villains’. She felt and endured the pain herself, and then decided subjecting her own daughter to that same treatment was an acceptable and necessary choice-  before leaving that decision completely redundant later by switching allegiance  and having Madi lead the army afterall. Madi was dependent on Clarke, the silent agreement is trust and respect, and this one singular  action showed Clarke violating everything it means to be a guardian and  protector. Also, she never apologised to Madi for this, nor did their relationship experience strain as a result when both of those  things absolutely should’ve happened. That’s my main gripe with the  relationship, the other being that it’s bourne of the same strain of  co-dependancy as the Blakes.

Something about Madi wanting to go to  school and be a regular child and Clarke responding to that with an ultimatum doesn’t sit right with me. At this point nobody cares about the Commander. Nobody- literally every single grounder is asleep- and, as her mother, Clarke has the right and the power to have Madi take out that damn flame to preserve her safety and youth and she doesn’t. She continues to let Gaia train her 12 year old for a dead position. Clarke is just as much culpable for the Sheidheda fiasco as Spacekru are for putting the flame into Madi’s head in the first place. That thing should’ve been removed as soon as it was no longer necessary. Clarke’s young, she had a child practically sprung upon her, and i want to give her the benefit of the doubt- but I won’t.

14 — Abby : I had no idea where to put Abby on this list and I think i’m being too generous but she’s a tricky one because I don’t think she’s necessarily a bad mother, not compared to the others on this list anyway, but the harsher aspects of her personality along with the high-stakes environment leads to the natural break down of her relationship with her daughter. I got the impression they were once close; Clarke is seen reaching out for her mother for comfort and validation multiple times during the first couple of seasons and she’s devastated and betrayed at the knowledge of what was Abby’s culpability in Jake’s death. Over time this falls apart. Abby never harms her biological daughter, but does have a very weird rival-like relationship with her, imo this being because they’re so similar. I can see so much Abby in Clarke and vice-versa. And they clash because of it, and Abby just doesn’t have any authority over Clarke, and over time their relationship distances to a point it lacks emotional value and other characteristics that make mother-daughter dynamics unique and meaningful. They love each other, no doubt about that, Abby’s been prepared to throw others to the wolves for her daughter a few times, just as Clarke does later in life. But the relationship between Abby and her daughter is strained from the beginning of the series, which makes her position as Clarke’s mother complicated.

Upon meeting Abby, Raven instantly viewed her through an almost idolistic lens- “relax, it’s a compliment, Abby’s a badass”- making me believe she latched onto this idea of The Mother She Never Had, and Abby’s first thoughts when encountering Raven were literally that she reminded her of her own daughter- “reminds me of someone.” This dynamic is absolutely intended as mother-daughter. While a mother-figure to Raven, though, Abby has directly and intentionally caused her harm. She’s electrocuted her, she;s then tried to avoid acknowledging her wrongness for that action- Raven in this moment of torture is as betrayed as Madi was by Clarke- she’s also hit her and while in a systematically higher position than her no less. These instances automatically make me wince away from the relationship because in no way does it come across as comfortable and safe for Raven. On the other hand, they’ve had a bunch of heartfelt moments even though they’re disguised as harsh jabs taken at one another. They’ve expressed the hard truth when nobody else will in times of the other’s vulnerability.

There is a stark contrast though between how she treats Clarke and how she treats Raven and the lack of biological relation, i think, is a buffer for Abby. IMHO i think her care for Raven is conditional, but unconditional for Clarke.

I don’t know what i should be feeling about her motherly-ness.

13 — Kane : I didn’t pay much attention to Kane’s dynamics, honestly, because I just didn’t like him, but as far as I’m aware he tried to do well by Octavia, Bellamy and Clarke, somewhat self-righteously and blaming, but trying is trying and he is always framed as in the right and morally superior so I guess that’s gotta count for something. This was all ruined during season five, though, with him attempting to have every one of them killed among other things. He didn’t appear concerned or reluctant- or anything about any of them.

12 —  Hannah : I think it’s safe to assume Monty had a good relationship with both of his parents pre-show. Hannah came across as misguided and manipulative towards Monty often, though, which i think came from both a place of love and desire to protect, but also, at points of most controlling, from a place of desperation and fear having already lost her husband. Honestly all I remember is not liking her very much so i’m placing her here in the middle/neutral area with Indra and Jaha.

11 — Indra : I place her here because we don’t actually have a lot of information about her relationship with Gaia. And I view her relationship with Octavia as mentor-mentee and eventually friends. They’ve had some sweet heart-to-heart moments, but i’ve always struggled to see the maternal connection. Octavia might be the daughter Gaia never was to Indra (I think Gaia might’ve even said this in the actual show?) but such a fond and pronounced memory of Aurora still exists within Octavia and with her very narrow-minded vision I don’t see her prepared to replace her or at the very least share that position with other people in her life. Indra is a stoic character, but it’s almost as if her emotional expression is reserved for Octavia. This speaks something of the closeness of their bond, but also tells us the climate between her and Gaia is more distant and troubled. There’s love there though- she was, afterall, planning to die so Gaia could live. Is this the only intended motherly sacrifice we’ve seen on the show?

The Blodreina of it all, while on one hand strengthened one dynamic, shattered the other. Indra is someone Octavia respected, trusted and listened to. I have to believe she was in the position to guide and advice her through the entireity of the time jump, but instead we saw her stand by and let Octavia slip further and further into her own darkness before turning on her in the most critical moment. And she might’ve tried and nothing worked, but really? You want me to try to make sense of this myself? The writers were on a quest to villainise Octavia and the fall of this relationship was a product rather than an intention.

10 — Jaha : he created a treasure, i’ll give him that. Admittedly we don’t know an awful lot about Wells or about his relationship with his father, but we do know he risked his own life to take care of Clarke, similar to Bellamy and to Raven who both also came to Earth to protect someone they loved. Both of those examples had terrible parents, so Wells’ goodness doesn’t necessarily mean we can credit Jaha, and as far as i can remember Wells never actually defended his father against the angry delinquents. Does him choosing to follow Clarke over staying with his father in space mean he must really love Clarke, or could it ellude to a certain father-son relationship not being as comfortable as it could be? When Jaha’s handed another child later on, he stops Kane giving him extra food because of something along the lines of: ‘he needs to learn the world’ so I think his parenting style may be more of the tough love and respect type. Wells is practical and strives to maintain order and squash rebelliousness thus his butting heads with the rest of the delinquents, but he has people’s best interests at heart (letting Clarke hate him rather than Abby, for example) and those are very Jaha characteristics i can see he inherited/observed and imitated.

9 — Monty and Harper : we only have a handful of information on this. Jordan has fond memories of them, but so does Octavia and Bellamy about their mother and we all know the truth about that one. Jordan is a backwards Octavia. Monty and Harper were all he had growing up, he wasn’t forced into hiding, but I can’t imagine it was a fun existence for him to grow up in isolation- watching the faces of other children behind the glass and never being able to wake them up to play. BUT his childhood is different to Octavia’s in a few ways that make a big difference and land them further up the list: 1) he’s clearly educated, 2) he has two loving parents even if they are all he has, 3) he has knowledge about the Earth, it’s story and the people from it so has a much stronger and more complex understanding of morality, meaning he’s less judgemental, and he’s also better prepared to interact with others by the time this oppurtunity arises.

They get points for leaving him in Bellamy’s hands, but are automatically relegated a few places for making Clarke his god mother.

8 — Bellamy : yes Bellamy is on this list because yes he is Octavia’s father and nothing you say matters. So every child he’s ever ‘adopted’ has died, but he tries his best to think of these children when nobody else was ever doing that. Octavia’s damaged and her more toxic traits have a tendancy to become amplified in times of high emotion, especially in the vicinity of her brother, but he was just as much a victim in all of this as she was and Aurora is entirely to blame for the disaster that is the Blake sibling relationship (I mean neither of them even had a frame of reference of what siblings look like, how were they to know how to relate to one another?).

He tries. He’s more equipped to and committed than most on this show to helping vulnerable people, he’s proven time and time again he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect and love his sister, he gets it wrong sometimes, his efforts can be misguided and recieved differently than he might’ve intended them to be. But the facts are: he understands what it means to be a parent, he knows what it’s like to lose their child, he knows what it’s like to pour himself into someone else and hope for the best of them.

7 — Luna : she founded a clan and those people were, in a sense, her children. She kept them safe for years, it was peaceful, life was simple and fulfilling. Clarke observed her interactions with the actual children that lived there and they loved her, she was good with them. Her people respected her.

6 — Monty’s father : yet another heroic father to add to this fucking collectio-

5 —  Ginger dad : in one of the most heartbreaking scenes on this show to date, he does the David Miller thing, or i guess David Miller does The Ginger Dad Thing, and sacrifices his own life to pump more air into his child’s lungs.

4 — Murphy’s unnamed father : in a place you’ll be executed for petty crime, risking it all and stealing something as valuable as medicine just to give your son a chance at more life is commendable. He loved his son (literally) to death. It’s his memory and his sacrifice, like with Raven and Clarke, that pushes him to survive.

3 — Jake :  I think the show has demonstrated quite nicely that Clarke is a daddy’s girl. Jake The Good Engineer, Jake The Good Father, Jake The Hero. He inspires Clarke so much she goes to prison for it. And, like Sinclair-Raven, Clarke’s consciousness dreams him up whenever she’s in an intensely stressful situation and/or feeling hopeless about life and void of direction in general. This was a comfortable and secure bond, and his death marked the beginnings of Clarke’s entire story.

2 — David : easily one of the best fathers on the show, i mean he gave up the oppurtunity of claiming a spot in the bunker just so he could give his son better odds of surviving, he gave up the possibility of being in the bunker with his son. Another fatherly sacrifice for the collection. He loves Miller unconditionally, even when Miller himself feels like a disappointment.

1 — Sinclair : this was an obvious retcon, but still good as long as I don’t think about it. A cute father-figure, the mentor that took a chance on her, the first (or second) person to pick her. Everything about this relationship is sweet and healthy, a nice diversion from the usually exhaustingly complex dynamics. Their relationship was so meaningful, in fact, that it was him who Raven’s dying mind manifested to encourage her to go on living. 10/10.

(and don’t think i don’t peep that bad/cruel mothers, good/heroic fathers pattern here. These writers WACK…)

[teenybeanielinguine]

Outlander S4 - A Reflection

With that explosive finale behind us and a long Droughtlander ahead, I’m taking a moment to look back on this season and reflect on the good, the bad, and the ugly.

(I’ve had some time to unpack and process, so be warned: this is a LONG review, with mild spoilers for The Fiery Cross.)

The Good:

I understand that this was a divisive season for many fans, but I personally loved it!  I could write a whole book about everything I loved, but for the sake of time, I’ll confine my praise to the best part of this season: the amazing cast of actors who bring my favorite characters to life.

Caitriona Balfe reprised her role as Claire Fraser with stunning success, and really sparkled when she shared the screen with her fellow cast members; her most powerful moments this season were definitely the mother/daughter conversations she had with Bree and Marsali.  Though she handles tragic scenes with ease, I hope she is given a chance to enact lighter, happier sequences in Season 5; Jamie and Claire need more laughter and teasing, less heart-felt speeches and drama.

As our leading man, Sam Heughan played Jamie to perfection; he managed to tell entire stories with his eyes alone.  Same as with Balfe, he captures tragedy easily, but I want him to stretch out a little and show off his acting chops.  There will always be drama in Claire and Jamie’s lives, but please sprinkle in some more fluffy moments, so we can see Heughan laugh!  Jamie’s roles as patriarch and leader are also going to be significantly expanded in the next season (the last few moments of the finale teased that a bit), and I can’t wait to see Heughan tackle that challenge.

I’ve been tentative about Sophie Skelton in the past; after all, Brianna is one of my favorite characters, despite her polarizing nature, and I was worried about her portrayal.  But Skelton nailed everything (the rape scene and its aftermath, in particular, were deeply chilling), and I have complete confidence that Bree is in safe hands.  In the finale, we saw Bree finally become a mother and reunite with her husband (not gonna lie, I’ve had that reunion on a loop ever since it aired); these two events are going to play major roles in her character growth (so excited for next season!).

Richard Rankin was a tour-de-force as Roger; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen every time he appeared.  Any issues I had with his character were purely a result of writing and production choices, and despite those issues, Rankin still managed to make the character wonderfully, emotionally, lovably human (for further evidence, please refer to the idiot hut).  Roger’s journey is one of the most difficult transformations in the series, and next season will be challenging for Rankin; I’m particularly interested to see how he handles Roger’s growing relationship with Jamie.

All the leads were supported by a strong set of secondary characters, from Duncan Lacroix as the miraculously resurrected Murtagh to David Berry as the fabulous Lord John Grey.  John Bell was one of my absolute favorites, with his spot-on portrayal of Young Ian (that proposal! the emotional goodbye!! running the gauntlet!!!).  Ed Speelers played Stephen Bonnet in a way that brought back shivery memories of Black Jack.  Honestly, there was no weak link in this cast.  Special shoutout to Braeden Clarke (Kaheroton) and Tantoo Cardinal (Adawehi/Nayawenne in the books); hopefully we’ll be able to see even more powerful and complex First Nations characters in the coming season (to this effect, may I humbly suggest showing Young Ian’s time among the Mohawk?  Would love to see that first-hand rather than having the character describe it after the fact; also, you can never have too much John Bell).

This Season’s MVPs: Lauren Lyle and César Domboy.  Marsali and Fergus are never more than side characters in the books; you never hear the story from their POV.  Thankfully, the show saw a chance to expand their roles and took it.  And oh boy, did Domboy and Lyle deliver! Their nuanced performances just blew me away (”If Not For Hope” comes to mind).  I hope that we see even more of them going forward.

The Bad:

No adaptation is perfect (although if you have found one that is, please message me immediately).  It is especially difficult when the adaptation in question has to fit an 880-page book into a mere 13 hours; to put it into perspective, the audiobook version of Drums of Autumn is a whopping 45 hours long!  Though I like to nitpick and criticize, I am not so arrogant as to think that I could have done a better job, and I am very grateful to the writing and production teams who tackle this impossible task. I am also strangely content with most of the deviations they’ve made from the source material (Murtagh as a regulator is particularly genius, with really interesting implications for next season).

That being said, there is some room for improvement.  And one area that definitely needs some fine tuning is Claire and Jamie.  This year, some very vocal fans found issue with the fact that we didn’t see our main lovebirds enough, and there weren’t enough sex scenes, and why weren’t they in this episode?!  For me, none of those things were an issue, especially given that we saw Jamie and Claire way more than any other characters this season.  I don’t think we need more J/C time; I think we need better J/C time.

I wish the show would stop beating us over the head with Jamie and Claire’s epic love; we know their love is deep and everlasting, that’s why we keep coming back! (That, and the kilts.)  But we need to move on from soap-operatic speeches and tender love-making; those were more interesting in the early days of their marriage, when their love was a new, fragile thing.  Show me instead the easy comfort of a long-married couple: the teasing, the laughter, the bone-deep happiness.  Balfe and Heughan have such great chemistry when it comes to that kind of thing, but we’ve only gotten snippets of it this season!  Rather than another over-the-top, tear-jerking scene where Jamie and Claire reassure each other and reaffirm their love (again), give me Claire cuddling up to Jamie under a snowbank after his back gives out and telling him stories.  Or exchanging amused looks with him when Young Ian does/says something silly.  Or Jamie teasing Claire about that time she hit him in the head with a fish while he was trying to fight off a bear (true story).  Or Claire teasing Jamie with her new breeches (I’m not going to say no to sex scenes entirely).  Get rid of the excessive drama (this couple already has more drama than they know what to do with); bring on the fluff!

Speaking of moving on, the show needs to let Frank Randall go.  By this point in the series, he’s been dead for a few years, and quite frankly, good riddance (pardon the pun).  His character was cast in a sympathetic light for narrative purposes; the producers wanted to make him the antithesis of his ancestor, Black Jack Randall, so they carefully omitted the fact that he was at times a racist ass with a string of mistresses (my apologies to any Frank fans; as you can see, he’s not one of my favorite characters).  The problem is that they took it too far, painting Frank as a martyr and putting first Claire, then Jamie, at a big disadvantage.  Despite this mistake, I’m fine with using Frank to flesh out Brianna’s character (his only redeeming quality is his aptitude for fatherhood), but that should have happened very early on in the season, before Bree makes the journey through the stones.  That journey is a pivotal point for Bree; she is driven not only by a need to save her mother, but also by a deep curiosity and longing for this birth father that she’s never met.  In the book, she even goes so far as to abandon the name “Randall” and adopt “Fraser” for the journey.  But that sentiment was lost entirely by the decision to have Frank accompany her on the voyage, narratively speaking.  We no longer get the feeling that she’s eager to meet/bond with Jamie; even worse, the writers had her casually dropping Frank’s name into every conversation!  No matter how great Tobias Menzies is, we have neither the time nor the will to keep devoting so much energy to a deceased character (who isn’t that critical to the future story, btw).  Heading into Season 5, we need to make our final, belated goodbyes to Frank Randall.

One 20th century man we should have seen more of instead was Roger Mackenzie.  As we dove into Season 4, I was so excited to see his developing relationship with Brianna; remember when they were super cute together, a million years ago in Season 3?  But too much focus on exposition meant that we didn’t see them until three episodes in, and instead of the slow burn I had anticipated, we got a lot of unnecessary drama.  Why on Earth is Roger a misogynist all of a sudden?  What happened to the sweet proposal where they both decide they’re not yet ready for marriage?  The lack of screen time meant that Bree and Roger’s entire relationship development was crammed into one episode; coupled with poor writing choices, the result was a shaky romance that was hard to root for.  I was lucky enough to have the books as a safety net; I know exactly how deeply they love and respect each other, despite the mayhem onscreen.  But the fans who hadn’t read the series (and even some who had) didn’t understand why these two were an endgame couple, and I don’t blame them.  That last reunion scene helped cement their relationship a little, but not enough; unfortunately, Season 5 is going to have to waste some of its precious time rectifying this misstep.

Which brings me to my last point: the pacing.  With so many new characters and so little time, it is more important than ever that the show learn to juggle all the storylines more smoothly.  The pacing of this season was so uneven, it gave me whiplash.  Gone are the days when Claire and Jamie were the only focus; from now on, their ever-growing family is going to continue complicating matters.  Outlander needs to evolve to meet this need if it wants to keep up. (Also, could we revert back to a 16-episode format, like in Season 1?  Please and thank you.)

The Ugly:

I will readily admit that I am new to this fandom.  I got hooked on the show during summer 2018 and devoured the books shortly thereafter.  When I joined Tumblr in the fall, it was because I wanted to celebrate this story with likeminded people and geek out over the upcoming season.

The actual experience was a bit more jarring (suffice it to say, I didn’t know hate-watching was a real thing that people did).  I don’t want to chastise or implore certain fans to adopt a more positive outlook; I’ve seen a lot of posts about that already, and I’m not inclined to add to them.  Instead, I’d like to share some of the guidelines I impose on myself when I contribute to any fandom (I’m not saying these will or should work for everyone, but they have worked for me):

Love, not hate.  To me, a fandom is a community that comes together out of love.  Knowing this, I try my best not to express any feelings of hate within that community; I don’t think it’s an appropriate place to share those feelings, and I don’t want to diminish the fandom experience for anyone else.  If I find that I no longer love or even like the show/book/movie that the fandom is centered on, I disengage from the community entirely, because I no longer consider myself a fan.  And that’s perfectly fine; there is no rule that says that once you’re in a fandom, you’re in it for life.

If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.  Despite the fact that I love the subject matter, it is not an absolute, unconditional sort of love.  I often find myself disliking certain aspects or getting frustrated by opposing views (this is doubly true when it comes to adaptations).  I let myself express these dislikes and frustrations only if I can see the silver lining; in other words, I allow myself to say a few negative things about a character/scene only if I can supplement them with a good dose of positivity as well.  Too much uninterrupted negativity borders on hate.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  I’m a very anxious person with self-confidence issues, so I have a hard time expressing my opinion online, even anonymously.  That’s why I’m never going to tear anyone else down for doing so.  I may disagree with you, or dislike the way you expressed yourself, but I’m going to be respectful even if it kills me, because that’s how I would want other people to interact with me.  Even with the Internet as a buffer, I think it’s important to remember that we are all human, and all equally capable of hurting others and being hurt ourselves.

Again, these guidelines work for me, but it’s completely subjective.  And even though my experience in the OL fandom hasn’t been a bed of roses so far, I’ve still met some amazing people with incredible things to say.  My favorite fandom moments of the season? @futurelounging‘s beautiful thoughts on episode 12 and @breefraser‘s hilarious criticism of Roger’s sartorial choices.

I’d love to hear from other fans!  What worked for you this season?  What would you have changed?  Favorite fandom moments?  If you choose to reply, please be kind and respectful.

[101flavoursofweird]

61 and Professor Layton

((Sorry this is so late! Thanks for the prompt! II used this prompt to make a part III in an AU where Emmy  turns on Bronev at the sanctuary and saves Aurora.))

61: “This is all my fault.”

Beware Bronev’s horrible parenting skills and angst from Emmy under the cut!

When Layton suggests Aurora could attend the local girls’ school, Aurora’s answer shocks us all. “But I am not… a girl.”

“W-what?” Luke almost slides off the professor’s office settee.

I’m sitting beside him, but not close enough to help him up. The last time I touched him, just trying to take his cardie… he flinched.

He straightens himself and stares at Aurora as if she’s sprouted a second head.

The professor simply nods. (Maybe we’re not allshocked.) “So, you’re…”

Aurora’s eyes are hooded. Since she’s wearing casual clothes again, it’s easy to forget she’s existed for over a million years. Not technically a teenage ‘girl’, but then, she spent most of her time trapped in the ice.

“I meant to tell you sooner…” She falters. It’s been two weeks since we left Froenborg. One week since Desmond disappeared from hospital.

Shame weighs heavy on Aurora’s face. She manages to gaze at the three of us in turn and admits, “I’m a golem.”

“Ah…” Luke tries to recover from his stupor, to comfort her. “Like the ones you… you told us about at the sanctuary?”

Aurora tilts her head. “We are not quite the same. From what I remember, they are more… mechanical in appearance, built for labour and later-“ She clasps her hands over her heart. “-combat… I was designed to resemble an Azran, so that I might mislead the descendants who came after them… C-can you all forgive me-“

I surge to my feet. “There’s nothing to forgive!”

She falls silent. The professor and Luke glance warily at me. Dammit- I’ve done it again. Might as well power on now…

“You have nothing to apologise for, Aurora.” I storm towards her. “The Azran locked you away- and your memories. They used you to enact their plans.” I take her clasped hands, pulling them apart and down to her sides. Her palms are so soft compared to my own. “None of that was your fault.”

I see my reflection in her eyes as she whispers, “And neither was it yours.”

She’s wrong… Isn’t she?

I think back to my uncle.

He’d stay up long into the night studying the Azran, letting me fall asleep in his office. I’d wake up in my bed the next morning.

For all his grouching about how utterly asinine it was for me to learn cooking, he’d still test my food.

He would train me until my bones broke, though he would always bandage me up afterwards.

One time I recall him praising me for punching my archaeology teacher in the nose.

He shot down my suggestions for a ‘bird’ codename. “ You might as well wear a Targent name tag!”

When I was bullied by the older recruits, he ordered me to fight back. I was rewarded with ‘my own uniform’ for my success in finally overcoming them.

If I sneaked out, he bolted the doors and windows shut, so I had to find a way to bust in without alerting him.

He let me date whoever I liked, as long as it didn’t interfere with ‘our’ ultimate goal.

He looked ready to strangle me that day I nearly got arrested, but he relented when I stammered that I’d been saved by Professor Layton.

My chumminess with Inspector Grosky, on the other hand, he did not approve  of.

Constantly, he reminded me that the professor and Luke were targets, not friends. I was growing too fond of them and my fake identity. (“Becoming the mask,” as Desmond would say.)

To them, I was- still am-  Emmy Altava, Professor Layton’s assistant.

To Uncle Leon, I was always Emmeline Bronev. His adopted niece, who he treated like a tool.

I snort and squeeze my eyes shut. Tears would be a relief I don’t deserve.

So I have a tragic past. Doesn’t everyone? That doesn’t excuse Desmond’s actions.

Mr I-Lost-My-Own-Family-So-Allow-Me-To-Threaten-Yours manipulated Clark, Jakes, Whistler and Randall. Three of those four kidnapped children. I should join the club since I held a blade to Luke’s throat! Luke still has the scars to prove it.

“Yes, it was,” I correct Aurora. “I made a choice-“

“Your choice saved the world!”  Aurora cries. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever heard from her. She’s not a machine, or a manipulator. All I see before me is young girl.

My breath hitches and I hug her. Finally, I let the tears flow.

I wipe them away when I release Aurora. Luke looks teary too… and why is the professor covering his eyes?

He fixes his hat and returns to the matter of Aurora’s future. “Whatever you decide to do, we will support you.” He smiles at Aurora, but it reaches me as well.

I’ve only just escaped my past. I haven’t put much thought into the future.

Dariya mentioned working for the World Times…

“Yeah!” Luke skips over to grab Aurora’s hand. “If you want to go to school, I can help you study!”

“Thank you, Luke,” Aurora says earnestly, “but I don’t think I would… fit in at a school.”

“Of course you will! You’ll make lots of friends!”

“It’s not that.” Aurora picks at the ends of her hair. “I was created as I am, and I’m uncertain if I will ever change. People may notice…”

Luke’s eyes widen. “You mean you… you won’t get any older?”

Aurora smiles down at him sadly. “One day, you will be taller than me.”

Luke takes a moment to process this. Then, he swings their linked hands. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll still be friends! Right, Professor? Emmy…?”

“Of course,” the professor agrees. “Time and distance can’t tarnish true friendship.”

…But betrayal and the law can. Thanks to my ties to Targent, I doubt the police will ever trust me again, especially Superintendent Grosky. That distrust will extend to Professor Layton if I accompany him on any more cases.

Hopefully, Grosky will let me off the hook, but that’s going to take time.

We have time now. And freedom. No more Azran, Targent, or missions. The world is ours to explore.

“Righto,” I tell Luke, grinning. I don’t have the heart to tell him my plans yet.

“What’s that noise?” Aurora glances at the window when we hear a tinkly tune.

Luke rushes to the window and gasps, “Ice-cream!”

Aurora echoes, “Ice-?”

“Ice-cream! Come on, Aurora! You have to try some!”

He drags her out of the office… and then darts straight back in. “Professor, can we borrow some money? Please?”

Chuckling, the professor gives him a five pound note and Luke charges out before they miss the ice-cream truck.

“Will they be alright on their own?” I wonder.

“I doubt anything will impede Luke in his pursuit of ice cream,” the professor laughs lightly.

We watch from the window as Luke waves down the ice-cream truck. Standing on his tiptoes, he orders four ice-creams: One strawberry, one vanilla and two chocolate.

He passes the strawberry one to Aurora. She takes a tentative bite- somehow avoiding a brain-freeze- and the look that crosses her face is pure bliss.

I ask, “Do you think she’ll ever age?”

“Only time will tell,” the professor says sagely. “For now, at least, she’s here and she’s safe.”

“So… does that mean she’ll be staying with you?” (At this rate, Hershel Layton will have an orphanage by the time he’s fifty!)

The professor hums and folds his arms. “I’d be more than happy to accommodate her. The problem is, I only have one spare room. Luke often uses-“

“Luke won’t mind,” I say. “He would do anything for her…”

Outside, Luke chats to Aurora as he wolfs down his chocolate ice cream. He’s juggling the two other cones in one hand.

“Wouldn’t you?”

The professor’s question catches me off guard.

“Of course I would!” I retort, turning from the window to face him. He’s grinning as if he’s solved a 90 Picarat puzzle while I’m still stumped.

I huff, “What…?”

My jaw drops as his so-called solution dawns on me. I point a finger at my chest.

He nods, still grinning.

I gaze out the window again, at the ancient Azran girl I chose to protect.

Aurora and Emmy Altava?

…The professor has most definitely lost his marbles.

[lascljs]

How to unlock all lego batman 3 characters

#How to unlock all lego batman 3 characters series#

Some of the characters’ abilities overlap, but enough of them change things up so you can take down the bad guys with whatever power you wish. The Flash’s speed allows him to travel across an area at an impressive pace, Wonder Woman can fly at a moment’s notice (which also triggers the old Wonder Woman theme to play) and Robin’s array of suits are enough to tackle all manner of situations. However, casual DC fans will certainly be able to appreciate the differing abilities of the various playable characters. The comic-book aficionados, though, will eat it up and those that are new to the wider DC universe can get to know the likes of Solomon Grundy and Firefly. One of Lego Batman 3’s problems is that for the first couple of hours, new character introductions are sparse and then there’s a flood of superhero arrivals, which could lead to the uninitiated becoming overwhelmed. While Marvel rake in the cash at the box office and make household names out of Black Widow and Nick Fury, DC’s lagging a bit behind, meaning that a few of the cast members here won’t be instantly recognisable to the general populous.

#How to unlock all lego batman 3 characters series#

While the previous releases in the series saw some characters in the DC universe crossover into The Caped Crusader’s world, this goes all out.įrom Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern, to Martian Manhunter, Cyborg and The Flash, this is a DC fan’s dream. As Brainiac is predominantly known as one of Clark Kent’s foes, Lego Batman 3: Beyond Gotham really does come good on its subtitle. Lego Batman 3: Beyond Gotham is no different.īrainiac, using his shrink-ray and the power contained within the many Lanterns’ rings, is planning on collecting worlds across the galaxy and Batman, along with his multitudinous allies, must stop the extraterrestrial android’s evil plot. Then, why is it that after years and years of the exact same formula, the Lego series doesn’t suffer the wrath of the video game playing public? Well, because they’re generally fun! Sure, some changes would be welcome to freshen things up and take the series out of its comfort zone, but it can’t be denied that, for the most part, you’ll play with a smile on your face. Mainly because there have been a number of them already released in 2014. I could start this review by simply saying, “Another year, another Lego game”, but I’d be telling a lie.

[tony-luvv]

(SuperIron) First Impressions

Prompt: Clark thinking back on the first time he met Tony Stark and just how wrong his guess was as to just who Tony was (arrogant, selfish, playboy, etc) and how that all changed little by little when he is forced to work with the avenger to stop a villain as per Batman’s request. He couldn’t help but smile at the man standing in front of him now, teary eyed as Clark slipped the ring onto his finger.

AN: this took for ever to write and it went one direction and then another but I finally did it. Thank You @raquel6354 for this prompt and sorry for the wait.

Ao3 and Fanfiction Links available

He knew his mother would be disappointed in him, and he tried. He really tried to not let the media influence him but for some reason, Tony Stark rubbed him the wrong way and got under his skin. Of course he never met the man, only saw him in passing when he was doing his work as a reporter or saw him on TV but for the most part he was basing his opinion off of gossip rags and it bothered him.

It wasn’t until Bruce and the Justice League that his opinions started to change.

“I don’t understand why we have to work with Mr. Stark.” Clark was not throwing an adult sized temper tantrum no matter what anyone said.

“Honestly Clark, I don’t understand what the problem is, Tony’s a good guy. Did he sleep with your girlfriend or something?” Bruce had his back turned, looking over some stuff while he prepared for Tony to come by their headquarters. That was another thing, why did Tony Stark know that Bruce Wayne is the Batman? The team had decided a while ago that it was easier to know one another’s identities for missions (mostly so they didn’t have to sit in costume and act stupid around one another all the time). Otherwise the Justice League is pretty tight about keeping their identities under wraps. But when Bruce told him about this meeting with Stark regarding collaborations among the Justice League and the Avengers he made no move to protect his identity.

Well now it seemed he was going to get some answers.

Loud hulking footsteps were coming from the entrance to the bat cave. Bruce turned away from the computers and smiled at the Iron Man armor walking towards them. The mask looked pretty intimidating with its blank metal stare. When Iron Man was about four steps from a casually dressed Bruce and a fully decked out Superman the armor open up and Tony Stark stepped out dressed as casually as Bruce. It was different from how the man normally looked out in public. Instead of Armani suits that cost more than his life savings and expensive designer shades he had on some well-worn jeans and a long sleeve tee.

“Batsy!” Stark stopped in front of Bruce and thrust out his hand. From where he was standing off to the side and slightly behind Bruce he didn’t see his teammate’s reaction but he did reach out for the other’s hand. Tony was smiling and shaking the others hand when suddenly Bruce tugged him forward into a bear hug. “Brucey-kins nooooo! You’re messing up my image.” He grumbled and attempted to push himself away from the other man who seemed to be smothering him.

Clark was speechless, he never thought of his teammate as affectionate. Bruce just let of this vibe that screamed Don’t Touch and he always seemed so serious that seeing him smother the Avenger’s billionaire like this was downright strange.

It took a lot out of Clark to keep his jaw from hitting the floor at this moment, watching Tony pout as Bruce rocked and petted his head in the comforts of the taller man’s arms. “Are you done yet?”

“No.” Clark honestly didn’t know if he should leave the room or not, Bruce was rubbing his face in Tony’s soft hair and making happy sounds. Footsteps were approaching and Clark had to drag his gaze away to see who it might be.

Alfred was entering the cave, drinks set on his serving tray. “Master Wayne please release Anthony, you’re upsetting him.” Bruce grunted but didn’t make any moves to let go. “Don’t forget you have another guest present and Anthony did come for other reasons than getting smothered to death.”

“Right!” Bruce allowed Stark a bit of leeway but kept an arm around his shoulders as he turned them to face him. “Superman, Iron Man. Tony, Superman.”

“Hey man, I’m normally cooler than this but it’s really nice to meet you. Thanks for all you done for the world and keeping this idiot safe.” Clark was thrown by how genuine the guy was with him. He reached out for the hand Tony was offering him and returned the sentiment.

Now that greetings were out the way they all went to gather around the meeting table and set to work. Again he was left shocked on the side lines as Bruce and Stark got to work hashing out the collaboration details. Working on guidelines that calls for interference or borderlines for what each team considered their jurisdiction. Often enough the genius would ask him for his input or if he had any arguments towards his ideas. For the most part Tony Stark was considerate and professional about their work as superheroes.

He even found himself enjoying the meeting, him and Bruce normally butted heads on a lot of things which made problem solving a bit difficult and meetings were a drag to deal with. But Tony made it different somehow, they bantered but casually, shooting ideas around the three of them and making suggestions that would benefit everyone involved. Tony took into account everyone’s fighting styles and their strengths and try to pair them up according to those traits. Overall he learned a lot about team dynamics and was actually a little excited about this collaboration effort.

Maybe he did judge the man a little too quickly.

Three months later and things were going great. The Justice League and Avengers had a few sit down meetings where the teams got to meet the other’s they’d be working with and ran a few drills together. They learned that even though Aqua Man and Thor got along swimmingly, they didn’t work well together when it came to combat. Particularly their fighting styles, their unique powers hindering instead of helping one another.

Wonder Woman and the Hulk were a power house team that could take down any army by themselves, plus Hulk thought strong lady’s hair was super soft and Wonder Woman adored Hulk. Both came to an agreement that Wanda needed more training with her newly acquired powers before she took on some bigger missions. Vision worked well with everyone but volunteered to stand by until he two could learn more about his powers.

Steve and Wonder Woman didn’t do well together on the field, and neither did Clint and Clark so they worked around it.

A few missions came up where they brought in some help from the other team depending on who was available and who needed the help but for the most part everything was going fine.

And then it wasn’t.

The people weren’t happy. Super powered individuals running around doing as they pleased wasn’t sitting well with the governments. Bruce and Clark both knew this was an issue. It’s how they met. People were afraid of Superman and wanted him to face the courts. But it seemed as though America was the loudest to voice their questions or complaints. While the Justice League was off the radar in Superman’s hide out, the Accords were being served to the Avengers front door.

And for most we know how that turned out.

The League had been sitting around Superman’s hideout or as Aquaman liked to call it, The Fortress of Solitude, when he heard it. Zoning out of the meeting and focusing on his super hearing he pushed all the unnecessary chatter away. Using all his concentration on focusing on that voice, Stark’s voice.

“-se…��” There was a hitch in his voice, was he hurt? In distress? He was starting to wor – “…Bruce, somebody. Help me.” He was–he was sobbing.

“Bruce!” He quickly turned to the other man, completely cutting off the conversation the others were still engaged in.

“Bruucee? FRI-FRIDAY? Please…” another broken sob.

“Clark what’s–”

“We need to go, it’s Tony. 

“WHAT!?” Bruce jumped from his chair, marching over to the alien. “What’s going on?”

“I can hear him, he’s calling your name.”

“Take me to him. Take me to him now.”

Diana stood from the table, “I’ll follow in the jet. Just keep your tracker on you.” Everyone quickly jumped into action. Clark and Bruce took off to put their gear on before taking off. Diana and Arthur following behind them in the jet, Arthur coming along in case for any reason they might need back up. Barry and Victor staying in the lair on standby and to prep medical (you never know with these kinds of things).

Bruce and Clark arrived first to an abandoned base, stranded in the middle of a snowy tundra. The second his feet hit the ground Bruce was racing into the base, “TONY! TONY WHERE ARE YOU?” His shouting echoed and bounced around in the empty concrete walls. Clark was following behind Bruce when they came across these pods with five people sitting in them. Bullets shot into their skulls and a single screen resting in the middle of the room, static running on the screen.

“TONY! DAMN IT TONY ANSWER ME!” He took off again. Clark took another look around the room, “TONY OH MY GOD. CLARK!” Running off in the direction Bruce went he ran down a corridor and then turned the corner into an open room.

His breath caught in his throat, tucked in the corner suit crumpled and broken was Tony. Left arm curled in tight, right had free of armor and holding his head down, sobs wracking his entire frame. Bruce was crouching down next to him, trying to get the other man’s attention. It took a little but it seemed Bruce finally got through to him.

“Come on Tony, please look at me.” Finally Tony peaked up at him, he looked awful. A bruise consumed his right eye, blood trailing down his face from the gash on his left temple and busted nose, mixing with the tears streaming out of his eyes. Bruce was mask free, inching closer to his friend. “Tony…”

Tony’s eyes finally started to get some focus and fixed themselves onto Bruce. For a moment everything was still, Bruce was holding his breath, waiting for Tony to react. “Bru-” the name got caught in his throat but it must have been what the man needed because he was quickly on top of the other man. Hands never stopping as they ran over the other. Checking him for injuries while trying to pull him close for a hug. “Bruce, you-you’re here. Wha-Ah! Ow ow oww.”

“Shit, Tony, fuck. I’m sorry. You’re hurt. Where? Is it your arm? Jesus. What happened!? Tony, who did this? I’ll-” Bruce was bouncing between emotions, nervous concern, guilt, then he was back to being worried. When he started asking the real questions his voice dropped into something dark.

“Bruce. I wanna go home…. Please.”

After that everything seemed to go in a blur. Carefully they worked together to remove the disabled armor from Tony except for the part wrapped around his broken left arm. Bruce asked him to get Tony to the jet while he gathered the suit remains. As carefully as he could he lifted Tony into his arms, said man was quite aside from a hitch in his breath. His right arm clung to his neck, face hidden in his shoulder.

They made their way through the base and outside to the jet where Diana had just landed. She was lowering the ramp when she noticed Tony in her arms.

“Superman, does he need medical.” Diana’s face was coated in concern, you could tell she wanted to check on the man that had become a friend to all of them over the past few months.

“I’d gather the supplies, Bruce is going to want to take a look.” Diana nodded and then briskly climbed back into the jet. He looked down at Tony, the man hadn’t moved since he picked him up. He was trying to figure out if the man was still conscious when the breeze picked up and caused the man to shiver. Not wanting Stark to get sick on top of everything else that’s happened to him Clark quickly carried him inside. Arthur was standing in the arch way to the cockpit, eyes questioning but not pressing for answers.

Suddenly Bruce was boarding the jet and dropping the broken armor off to the side. His strides brought him quickly to Clark who handed over the injured man. Despite what pain he must be in Tony was quick to reach for Bruce and settle in his arms. Bruce sat against the wall in one of the seats tucked off to the side, Tony securely in his arms. For a moment he took a second to just sit a breath, knowing Tony was alive and safe now in his arms.

The next month was crazy, if Bruce wasn’t with Tony he was in the in the gym or in the streets, fighting off his aggression. Clark found himself spending more and more time with the genius. Tony didn’t like being alone after what happened. His nightmares were awful and sometimes it got to be too much for Bruce. Seeing his friend in this condition and not having been there to prevent it, Bruce really started to beat himself up. So Clark stepped in, he cared for Tony, not as deeply as Bruce (he didn’t think anyone would top Bruce’s love for Tony) but enough that he would lay in bed curled around the genius while Bruce terrorized the villains of Gotham.

With most of the Avenger’s on the run from the Accords, the Justice League with Batman and Wonder Woman in the lead took on the responsibility they had so foolishly hid from. While Tony was healing, Bruce, as Batman, worked hand in hand with the Accords council, attempting to navigate the laws in place and fix them to help, guide and protect the Super Hero community while also taking the people into account. Diana there and helping him through it all.

Of course Bruce was still there for Tony but without the outlet of Steve Rogers face to take his aggressions out on he wasn’t being much help to the other man.

But Clark didn’t mind, sitting with Tony watching movies and making him coffee didn’t bother him. When Tony got quiet Clark would talking about the story he was working on, making jokes on how egotistical he must be to write stories on himself.

When this would happen Tony would make his way closer to him on the couch, until he was basically curled under his arm, looking down at his notes with him.

The longer Clark and Tony spent together, the less his nightmares haunted him. Yes they still happened but Clark’s presence eased his mind, cutting back their frequency.

It had been three and a half months since they found Tony in Siberia when he asked to go to the compound.

“Clark.” Said man looked up from where he was making them sandwiches at the breakfast bar. It was lunchtime and it was just him and Tony today. Bruce caught in meetings, Diana off doing what she did, and Clark had the day off. Tony was sat across for him in one of the bar stools, watching him make ham and cheese sandwiches.

“Yes Tony?”

“Will you go with me to the compound?” Clark was surprised, since they got back Tony had been avoiding all things Avengers related. Only accepting calls from Rhodes and checking on his braces, making sure they were helping him. He would text with Vision but never accepting his calls, his voice got to be too much sometimes. Happy was monitoring some Parker kid for him, sending him daily reports even though Tony hacked his phone so he could see all the messages Parker sent Happy.

“Only if you want me to,” he waited, Tony nodded a quiet I do whispered, “okay then. When would you like to go?”

“Do you have time this weekend?” He was almost timed, the way he asked.

“This weekend is perfect, I’m all yours.” Clark didn’t miss the little smile that formed on Tony’s face, nor did he miss the way it made his heart flutter.

Clark drove them, Tony’s arm is still casted and he was content to sit in the passenger seat and watch the scenery. When they pull up to the building it’s weird. Clark would relate that experience to pulling up to a haunted house. It’s eerily quiet. The breeze is nearly none existent. The building big but empty, the Parker kid never lived here from what Clark could understand. Rhodes was staying somewhere else while he was going through physical therapy, and Tony had told him not to long ago that Vision was with Pepper. Educating himself while traveling with the CEO, helping her out when he was able too.

Clark gave it a moment, silently watching Tony take in the building and process whatever was going through that head of his. Taking his time, he climbed out of the car they borrowed from Bruce, walking around to the other side he opened Tony’s door. “You ready?”

Tony closed his eyes, probably burning the image into his mind before sighed. Climbing out of the car he stood beside Clark who closed the door for him. Both men looking at the building like it would eat them alive and spit their bones out. Clark was so caught in the moment he almost startled when Tony grabbed his hand, he looked to the other but Tony continued to look straight ahead, “Let’s go.”

Together, hand in hand they entered the building, walking the empty halls. A fine layer of dust had started to appear but there was still things lying around, showing that a team once resided here. Sam’s running shoes by the door, Wanda’s jacket laying there on the back of the couch. Natasha’s weapons everywhere and Vision’s recipe book still open to whatever he was ready to try cooking that day Ross came to their doorstep.

Clark and Tony took it all in, walking passed it all until they got to the hole in the floor. The one Wanda created using Vision as nothing more than a tool. Tony’s hand squeezed his own. “I’m selling the building, handing it over to the accords.”

“I think that’s a good idea, it’s not your job or responsibility to take care of it.”

Tony looked at him, smiling, and “Thank you.” Clark smiled back, giving their connected hands a light squeeze. He leaned forward, projecting his movements and allowing Tony every chance to move away. When he didn’t, Clark leaned in those final few inches and kissed him.

“You’re welcome.” He stayed close, taking in those beautiful brown eyes that he so greatly misjudged all those months back. Tony was nothing like he pictured, yes he put up a display to the general public, but he had too. Seeing the way he was beaten and let behind, hurt by his team. It was a shield, to protect himself, he saw the difference now. When he would go out and act a certain way for the crowd but stand there and fake pout when Bruce smothered him.

How he handled the press, saying everything that was needed to protect himself while giving them what they wanted. It was different from seeing him in an interview versus the man that encouraged the team to work through issues in meetings and work through every opinion. He, like many, had been blinded by what Tony wanted the people to see. If he weren’t part of the Justice League he would still be living under the notion that Tony Stark was just some arrogant billionaire playing at being a super hero to boost his ego. He would have missed the amazing man he is. The one whole loves his friends with all his being. The man that works like a leader but is treated like an add on. A man that has been wronged left and right so many times but still finds the strength to get up and help others, even though they’ve never given him a reason to do so.

And Clark loved him. He only hopes he can do right by Tony and maybe one day be worthy of being loved back. But for now, they’ll take it one day at a time. “Come on, let’s wrap this up, this place gives me the creeps.”

Tony laughed, soft and sweet as Clark started dragging him away, “Yeah, okay. Let’s go home.” Clark’s heart swelled, hearing Tony say that. He was ready to say the hell with it, pick Tony up and fly out of their but a sudden tug on his hand stopped him in his tracks. He looked back at Tony who was looking across the room, “There’s a box.” Clark followed his eyes. Across the room, on the floor was a box that sat innocently on the ground outside Tony’s office door. Quickly using his x-ray vision he looked inside the box, a paper and phone. Nothing dangerous and he told Tony such.

For the first time since they exited the car, Tony dropped his hand in order to go investigate the box. “There’s no return address.” He flipped the box over, inspecting it. “Help me open it?” With his cast, Tony wasn’t able to pry the box open so Clark quickly came over and opened it for him. Just like he saw, there was a paper and old flip phone in the box. He gave Tony the letter without much thought and grabbed the phone, looking it over and opening it up. When he looked up Tony’s hands were shaking.

“Tony, what’s wrong? What’s it say?”

“It’s from Steve.” Tony’s voice was empty, no emotion. The only reaction being the subtle shake of his hands where they held the letter. Clark was going to say more, turning to Tony, he wasn’t sure what he was going to say but they were interrupted. Almost like a summoning, the phone rang, an old basic ring tone and the screen lighting up. Steve flashed on the screen. It rang, the sound echoing around the empty room as it blared with noise. So badly did Clark want to answer the question, demand answers of Rogers. Ask him what nerve he had to do this. But that option was taken from him.

On the fifth ring Tony snapped, with his good hand, Tony snatched the ringing device from his hand. Without another thought, he turned, pulling his arm back he threw the phone as hard as he could. Watching the device fly into the wall, and break into pieces, Clark watched. Tony was panting, the rage coursing through him making him look as though he was vibrating.

“FUCK YOU!” He screamed at the broken phone, he dropped the letter. Letting it fall to the ground as he turned and walked away. Presumably back to the car. Clark bent down, picking up the letter and reading it. He too felt rage build the longer he read the words on the page. This wasn’t an apology, it was bullshit.

“The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine.” WHAT AVENGERS!? Rhodes was in therapy, Vision is still learning to be human. Who’s that leave? T’Challa and Spider-Man were never made members, Thor and Banner have been MIA since after Ultron was dealt with. Everyone else is with Rogers.

“My faith is in the people, I guess.” You mean the people that listen to you right? Because the people of the world are afraid of you. The letter continued, more bullshit that Clark couldn’t believe he thought was needed to be said. Before he knew it, his eyes were glowing and he was burning the remains of the letter. Tony didn’t need that, speaking of…

He ran outside, looking for the other man when he finally turned and saw him. He was crouched low against the building, head in his arms. “Tony …”

“Fuck him! Fuck him and his half ass apology. FUCK!” Clark got his good arm loose, grabbing it he pulled him up and into his arms. Tony immediately changed his hold so he could wrap his arms around Clark’s neck. In return Clark wrapped his arms securely around Tony’s waist, allowing the shorter man to hide his damp face in his chest.

While Tony breathed, attempting to calm himself down, Clark gently lifted them into the air. The hovered over the ground and when Tony didn’t make any protests, even though it was obvious he feet were literally no longer touching to ground he continued up. He brought them higher, clearing the roof of the compound and high above the trees that surrounded it. They were a good thirty feet above the compound when he stopped. Leaving them suspended above the ground a good three to four stories up.

“Tony, no matter what they say or what they do, I will always be here to lift you up.”

A laugh punched out of Tony, it was sad and weak but it was still a laugh. “You know,” he brought his good arm down to whip at his face, “most people would mean that theoretically, not literally.” Now he was leaning far enough back that they could see each other. Tony’s eyes were red and wet, eye lashes clumping together from the tears that were drying on his cheeks.

“Well I’m different.” He smiled, gazing down at Tony as he laughed at him. They were going to be okay.

A year and a half had nearly passed since that day. The Rogue Avengers were still Rogue, the Justice League was a united front with Iron Man. Every day super heroes and super villains were coming out of the works.

But today, today was about them. Today was Tony Stark and Clark Kent’s wedding day. It was a beautiful event, private with only friends and family. A guest list that remained under a hundred people. Clark stood at the altar, suit sharp. Diana stood tall as his best woman, while the other Justice members stood in line behind her as his grooms men. Minus Bruce, who was walking Tony down the aisle like a proud papa bear. Barely holding himself back from crying. Rhodes stood as Tony’s best man, Pepper, Happy and Vision in line behind him.

Parker and his Aunt were among the guests in the crowd, along with his mother. The warm spring day was beautiful as they read their vows.

Tony was staring up at him, talking about how Clark had been the rock he needed when times were hard. Clark listened, smiling the whole time, “… but the moment I knew I loved you and wanted to spend the rest of my life with you was when you told me you would always be there to lift me up. Clark Kent, I promise to love and hold you for the rest of my days, as long as you continue to lift me up.”

Teary eyed, Clark gave his vow. Explaining how like so many others, he judged you without really knowing you. That he was blessed the moment you stepped out of that Iron Man armor and let Bruce ruin your image by smothering you like the mother hen he is. The crowd laughed along while Bruce blew rather dramatically into a tissue. Alfred, rubbing his back with resignation. “Since that day I’ve only found myself falling more and more in love with you. I promise you, I will lift you as high as the heavens as long as you promise to love me like I love you.”

The priest went through the rest of the ceremony and then they were slipping matching wedding bands onto their fingers.

“You may now kiss the groom.” The cheers of their friends and family was nothing compared to the love they poured into that kiss. But that one kiss was just a promise of more.

[dustedmagazine]

The Dusted Mid-Year Exchange: 2018 Edition, Part 1

In our fifth annual switcheroo, Dusted writers review each other’s favorite records, venturing out of the genres where they feel most comfortable to wrestle with excellence outside their frame of reference.  As always, assignments were made at random with the only rules being: a) you can’t review your own pick and b) you can’t review something you’ve already written about for Dusted.  

Unlike in past years, there was no clear favorite in 2018, although artists including Marisa Anderson, Olden Yolk, DJ Koze and Kacey Musgraves made multiple lists.  And perhaps most heartening, a number of writers amended their mid-year favorites after listening to other writers’ picks.  We hope you’ll also be able to find some new favorites among the artists we highlight.

Today, we’ll run the first half of the mid-year blurbs (alphabetically) from Marisa Anderson to Joelle Leandre & Elisabeth Harnik.  We’ll cover the second half of the alphabet tomorrow, then close our feature with individual writers’ best of lists through the first half.

Marisa Anderson — Cloud Corner (Thrill Jockey)

Cloud Corner by Marisa Anderson

>

Who recommended it? Eric McDowell

Did we review it? Not yet, but it’s assigned.  

Ben Donnelly’s take:

"Slow Ascent" is one of the titles in Anderson's latest batch of profound electric guitar explorations. It's a good phrase to summarize her career and style, hiking higher with each release, wandering further from the trails. For the second time, she's tracking a few extra instruments into her miniatures without disrupting the solitude, keyboards and acoustic strings mostly matching the cracks and chime of her main axe. Her fingerpicking has a fractal aspect, where intricate and rapid patterns can create a cycle that's relaxed and gradual, as on the title track and other lilting numbers. "Lament," a slide blues with a dissipating tempo and skeletal keyboard notes is forceful in its minimalism. She's becoming a master of small contrasts. Nowhere better than the closer "Lift,” where folks sounds step aside for a plucky scale that spirals up, offset by sweeps that sound like brushing the harp of an open-lidded grand piano, but take focus as a harmonized electric. Her brilliance is ever more in focus.

 The Armed — Only Love (Throatruiner)

ONLY LOVE by The Armed

Who recommended it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes. Jonathan Shaw said, “The Armed will likely be delighted by the divisive responses Only Love generates.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

You almost wish for anyone who’s potentially up for the Armed’s pummelling, exuberant, often frantic, tremendously maximalist take on hardcore and assorted associated genres to come to the record totally blind, and not just because “Witness” comes leaping out of the gates so forcefully. It can be fun to start digging around and register all the distancing tactics, purposeful obfuscation, sense of play, and weird links (to everything from Converge to, err, Rubicam and Young), but the visceral impact of Only Love is powerful enough that all that context should be saved for later. It’s one thing to start filling in context, it’s another thing to hear something as ferocious and compelling as “Role Models” (“NO INS! NO OUTS!” yell-chanted in a way I’m pretty sure even little kids would find appealing, if you could sneak this synth-spiked bomb past their parents) in the context of trying to figure out the game, if there is indeed a game here. After the roiling chaos of the first few listens subsides the sheer number of hooks packed inside these songs really settle in your mind, anchored by Ben Koller’s incredible drumming (possibly commissioned on false pretences) and just as adept at etching out a multi-part climax like the seething “On Jupiter” as just full-on sprinting on the likes of “Heavily Lined.” And then there’s “Fortune’s Daughter,” maybe the strongest earworm I’ve encountered yet in 2018. Who are the Armed and what are they up to? It’s not that I’m not interested in the answer to that kind of question, it’s more that as long as they keep making records as good as Only Love I’m happy to believe whatever they tell us (or don’t).

 Bardo Pond — Volume 8 (Fire)

Volume 8 by Bardo Pond

Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes, Jennifer said, “The sound, vast and muscularly monolithic as ever, seems more like a demon summoned periodically from a ring of fire than the product of any sort of linear development.”

Isaac Cooper’s take:

Like fellow travelers Yo La Tengo’s There’s A Riot Going On, Bardo Pond’s Volume 8 is stitched together from jam excerpts and spare parts, but unlike Riot, Volume 8 is remarkably cohesive and propulsive. Even at its droniest and spaciest, there is no shortage of momentum or sense that Volume 8 is a collection of barrel scrapings to tide over the diehards; it stands with any of Bardo Pond’s releases. The guitars on “Kailash” and “Flayed Wish” howl and wail like Lear on the heath, while the rhythm section pushes on, determined as Sisyphus. Two shorter pieces, “Power Children” and the gorgeous solo guitar piece “Cud,” act as a brief respite before the entropic and monstrously heavy closer, “And I Will”. Musical improvisation is one of the best means we have of tapping into the murky world of the unconscious, and Volume 8 demonstrates that while there’s plenty of chaos and darkness down there, it’s also the source of inspiration and transcendence.

 Cut Worms — Hollow Ground (Jagjaguwar)

Hollow Ground by Cut Worms

Who recommended it? Ben Donnelly

Did we review it? Not yet...

Patrick Masterson’s take:

“Amid all the noise nowadays, there’s precious little that still makes me feel the way those peoples’ songs do, and aspiring to reach that level is a big part of what makes me do this to begin with.” This is Cut Worms’ Max Clarke in a charmingly earnest Medium interview last fall on some of his biggest influences – John Lennon, Bob Dylan, Lou Reed. Maybe you’ve heard of them; maybe you’ve heard of the level of cultural influence they have exerted on us all. And if you’ve heard the Alien Sunset EP that was released just after the interview ran, you’ll easily be able to see where Clarke was coming from in the time that he spent putting the homespun eight-track wonder together, splitting halves between Chicago and his current Brooklyn home. It’s a beautiful record that doesn’t overplay its hand, choosing instead to let the simplicity of his natural ear for a melody do the talking despite the humble recording quality. He was never going to reach the mythical heights of his influences plying away at that trade forever, of course, but his art was all the better for sounding so self-assured in its limitations.

Hollow Ground, however, is a Trojan Horse of the most exhausting variety. Those same reference points – the Beatles, Dylan, solo Reed – still apply, only here they spring forth in an aggressively augmented form with a backing band and a more fleshed-out sound that’s like saying, “Alexa, give me every pop music trend of the 60s at once” or, more accurately, like listening to someone too young to have experienced the decade but old enough to be familiar with its most basic cultural signifiers play an album’s worth of icons. How do we know? Check the new versions of Alien Sunset’s “Don’t Want to Say Good-Bye” and “Like Going Down Sideways”; they’re wholly different, coldly unlovable remakes of the intimate originals. Even his lyrics feel unconvincing; Clarke uses the pet name “baby” on 60% of the songs here, which, look: I don’t need to stare into a wordless void with Bill Basinski to feel something and there’s an evident surplus of genuinely touching heartache present, but that’s an affectation of the most irritatingly trite variety.

For a certain kind of person, Max Clarke is the perfect person; for that person, Hollow Ground will resonate simply, perfectly. I am not that person. I will never listen to this again – likely not individual songs, certainly not in full. Does that seem unduly harsh? Does it feel too personal? Does the cut worm forgive the plow? Guess we’ll see. Ask again when there’s a follow-up.

  Sarah Davachi— Let Night Come on Bells End the Day (Recital)

Who recommended it? Bryan Daly

Did we review it? No

Bill Meyer’s take:

Sarah Davachi puts out albums often enough that it’s hard to catch up, so please cut Dusted some slack for not getting to Let Night Come on Bells End the Day until now. The Canadian composer and multi-instrumentalist has followed All My Circles Run, an all-acoustic minimalist chamber piece, with an overdubbed solo recording for electric organ, acoustic piano, Mellotron and synthesizers. Like some ecclesiastic initiate, she has followed a solitary path to arrive at a place that is one with the cosmos. Her slow-morphing tones, incremental melodies, and exquisitely voiced harmonies don’t just sound like they should be played in a chapel; they erect a virtual space around the listener that only lets the ineffable through.  If Andrei Tarkovsky was still around, he might be writing a movie to wrap around these sounds.

  DJ Koze — Knock Knock (Pampa Records)

Who recommended it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? Yes. Jennifer Kelly said it “has a humid, organic air, even its most rigorously electronic tracks seething with jungle-y vitality and caressing warmth.”  

Ian Mathers’ take:

Like a lot of his peers, DJ Koze has been active and prolific for years without ever putting out that much in the way of “proper” albums, which probably goes some way towards explaining why Knock Knock, only his third, sounds so relaxed, confident and casually accomplished. With stellar vocal turns by everyone from Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner to folkie José González to Róisín Murphy (who’s rarely put her imperious purr to better effect than on the two perfectly-matched tracks she’s on here), 16 tracks in total and a lengthy running time, Knock Knock feels like a bit of a Statement from the producer. Which makes it maybe even more impressive that some of the best stuff here (like the sad jam “Pick Up” with its perfectly deployed vocal sample, or the almost-Avalanches style “Baby (How Much I LFO You)”) is just Koze without a high-profile guest vocalist. The whole thing has a friendly warmth and subtle propulsiveness that makes for compulsive listening; if this isn’t Koze at the peak of his powers, it sure feels like it could be.

 Tashi Dorji and Tyler Damon — Leave No Trace: Live in St. Louis (Family Vineyard)

Leave No Trace: Live In St. Louis by Tashi Dorji & Tyler Damon

Who recommended it? Isaac Olson

Did we review it? Yes, Isaac said, "While these performances are undoubtedly chaotic, they never feel purposeless.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

That guitarist Tashi Dorji and percussionist Tyler Damon have a limitless supply of ideas isn't surprising, but it's remarkable how well they've organized them into sensible packages on Leave No Trace: Live in St. Louis. Neither of the quarter-hour tracks here are exactly linear, but they do progress both coherently and unhaltingly. “Leave No Trace” offers the most noise, with the first half of the piece continuously crescendoing. The disappearance of one artist or the other simply means the soloist has more volume to cover. The pair spend the last two minutes together, Damon crashing away while Dorji sounds like two guitarists fitting blips together.

“Calm the Shadows” works differently. While not a suite, the song comes in sections, with Dorji and Damon filling in an outline as they go. The pair respond to each other, and work mutually on an unpredictable but discernable path. The slow build to the noisy section lets the chaos function as a thesis statement with the back half of the track the understanding of what to do with it. Dorji's pointed playing through that section answers the early rumble without making anything easier. Damon's sounds complete the thought. When “Leave No Trace” works so hard to slowly heap sounds before smashing through it all, the effect is amplified but the control of its predecessor. Dorji and Damon are a few albums in now and, while there wasn't much doubt from the start, they seem to be working in a rare place right now.

 Holland/Parker/Taborn/Smith—Uncharted Territories (Dare2 Records) 

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Not yet.

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

It feels like a math puzzle. How many distinct ensembles including duos, trios and quartets can be formed out of four musicians?  But hearing it in practice as master bassist Dave Holland, free jazz titan Evan Parker, pianist Craig Taborn and drummer-vibe-ist Ches Smith assemble and disassemble into improvisatory groups is quite another thing. “Trio No Tenor” on disc one takes a luminous shimmer from jangling metallic percussion, abstract interpolations of piano and the shape-shifting tone of plucked, hanging bass tones. “Duo Bass Tenor” on disc two is far more fluid and contemplative, as long bowed bass notes underline the fluttering explorations of sax; its two old friends finding space in each other’s musings, darting in to challenge and interject and locating points of agreement even in occasional dissonance. The quartets, though, are the most astonishing, (I like #5 from Disc 2), as extraordinary, unruly energies careen off one another, extemporizing, reacting, reaching over and in between each other in a dense mesh of sound that seems, nonetheless, uncrowded and precisely choreographed. Only three cuts were composed ahead, the rest worked out in two days of live improvisation. Uncharted indeed.

 Quin Kirchner — The Other Side of Time (Astral Spirits)

The Other Side of Time by Quin Kirchner

Who recommended it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? Yes, Eric McDowell said: “ Kirchner sidesteps novelty and navel-gazing by putting pyrotechnics second to, well, music.”  

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Kirchner leads from behind on this sprawling two LP solo debut, his drumming feverishly hot but held in check so that others — saxophonist Nate Lepine, bass clarinet player Jason Stein, trombonist Nick Broste and Matt Ulery — can take the spotlight. Interplay between the two reed players is intricately, acrobatically fine. In opener “Ritual,” Lepine jets off with Stein in hot, asynchronous pursuit, Kirchner executing a furiously syncopated undertow, part samba shuffle, part continually exploding roll. “Brainville,” the Sun Ra cover, swings and swaggers, bass and drums in arch, stylized conversation. Kirchner is, maybe a drummer’s drummer, but this is not a drummer’s record, except on two lovely, timbrally varied “Drums & Tines” tracks, where layers of kit rhythms and kalimba intersect in fascinating geometric patterns. Kirchner clearly reveres another band leader whose instrument didn’t always occupy the top of the mix; Mingus’ “Self-Portrait Three Colors” cuts the drums to brush-on-snares, while giving Broste a chance to wail, the two reedists to evoke lush dance-hall sensualism, the bassist to pluck out dark blots of body-moving tone. Kirchner is not the façade, but the architect and also the guy who holds up the building.

 Joelle Leandre & Elisabeth Harnik — Tender Music (Trost Records)

Tender Music by Joelle Leandre / Elisabeth Harnik

Who recommended it? Eric McDowell

Did we review it?  No

Isaac Olson’s take:

The best part of listening to improvised music is hearing the moment when the musicians lock in and the music takes on a life of its own, when the thrill of discovery dissolves the boundaries between performer and audience. There are many such moments on Tender Music, an improvised set from bassist Joelle Leandre and pianist Elisabeth Harnik. A few examples: the swelling tension that emerges at the one and a half minute mark of “Ear Area I,” the rising anxiety and tentative conclusion of “Ear Area IV”’s final minute, and the march that closes out “Ear Area VI”. Between these peaks, Leandre and Harnik evoke Cecil Taylor, Morton Feldman, blues, bop, classical and more, sometimes all within the space of two or three minutes. Fortunately, Leandre and Harnik are attentive enough players that their restlessness never comes at the cost of coherence. Leandre and Harnik are formidable soloists whose use of extended techniques coax ear-tickling, unexpected timbres from their instruments, but it is when they’re playing together, and more or less “normally,” that Tender Music is at its best, that the melodic and rhythmic invention of both players shines brightest, and that they’re able to speak to each other, and to us, most clearly.