#wally is a momma's boy

[junespriince]

The unfortunate son of John Constantine au

Wally: I wanna go home!

Bruce, flying the plane while Diana rest her arm: stop complaining, we have a mission to finish.

Wally, whining: but I don't wanna, I want my dad, where's Robin? Why do I have to come along without a friend!! Let me go home!!

Bruce: Jordan, next time you leave Allen get kidnapped along with J'onn and we have to find him, I'm taking your spleen.

Hal: he is 6yo, and bored you wouldn't let me get him his chem books that are for long trips, what do you want me to do?

Bruce: use your ring to make them.

Hal: I didn't memorize that large book, if I get one thing wrong he'll know, this is his special interest B.

Wally: we're so slow, I wanna go and run, I want to go play!!

Clark: do we need a speedster, truly?

Bruce: yes, every league had one if we don't it could be make things worse.

Arthur: well, what do we do?

Oliver: well his dad is that magic freak... Hey kiddo you want to see a magic trick?

Wally: magic doesn't exist and you're the freak not my dad, loser.

Oliver: you little sh—

Diana: hey, child ears are listening.

Zatanna, on call: child ears, wha?

Wally, getting happy: momma!!

The league:

Bruce: where are you, we're picking you up.

After awhile

Wally, on zatanna's lap giggling: again, again!

Zatanna, been doing magic tricks: is this your card?

Wally, amazed: it is!

Oliver, grumbled: thought magic doesn't exist...

[writing-good-vibes]

you know what they say about dead men

ever wondered why corey has daddy issues? look no further. another instalment of the road trip, at last, just in time for the one year ends anniversary !! divider by @/firefly-graphics

WARNINGS for corey cunningham x michael myers relationship, age difference, smut, unsafe kink practices, alcohol consumption, mentions of daddy issues, and mild mentions of unhappy/unstable childhood, implied child abuse and dysfunctional parental relationships.

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (if anyone else wants to be tagged in corey related things, just let me know !!)

Wally Cunningham is dead; mangled in a motorcycle crash in 1999, leaving behind a wife and son. Corey had carried that with him since he was old enough to ask why he didn't have a daddy like the kids at school did.

Joan chose the details carefully, spinning a cautionary tale about how dangerous the world was, how his daddy wasn't smart enough to keep out of trouble, how it's so much better for Corey to stay at home, safe and sound, with her. To stay at home where she can look after him. And Corey believed her, for a while anyway. Why wouldn't he?

In a dirty dive bar in Florida, Corey is finishing his fourth beer of the night before ordering another one. Michael sits stoically beside him, his gaze focused impossibly on the mirror behind the bar from beneath the trucker hat pulled low over his eyes.

Beneath the sound of shouts and jeers and idle chatter, the AC unit rattles steadily, keeping only some of the balmy heat at bay. Corey sweats, curls sticking at his temples and an itch working it's way down his nape, but he he doesn't take his cord jacket off.

"Hey, Wally," someone shouts. It's not an uncommon name, especially for men of a certain age. There's probably a handful of Walters and Wallaces in this bar alone, right?

Still, Corey glances over his shoulder, taking a long swig from his new beer.

The man who shouted had just arrived, and in the time it took Corey to turn around, he's snaked his way through the throngs of patrons to a table in the corner. He claps an older man heartily on the shoulder as he sits down.

Corey's jaw drops, and he dribbles some of his beer down himself.

The older man -- and he does look old, these days -- is startlingly familiar. Corey would know him anywhere, he's seen him a thousand times over in his dreams. He still has a beard, though it has long since greyed. He's wearing a bandana tied over long, equally grey hair. A motorcycle jacket is slung over the back of his seat. Of course he has a motorcycle jacket.

Corey wipes the beer from his chin and tells himself to stop staring, but he can't help it. Corey doesn't believe in ghosts, besides the ones that live in his head, but there's no other explanation for what he's seeing. No explanation that he's got the guts to take.

Because Wally Cunningham is dead. He was mangled in a motorcycle accident in 1999, leaving behind his wife and son. Corey has carried that with him every day of his life. He dealt with the school yard teasing and pushed the grief of every empty father's day deep down. He managed just fine when he learnt to tie his own tie and how to shave on his own. He managed just fine when Momma married Ronald and they all played happy families for a while until the precarious honeymoon phase passed. Corey has managed just fine.

So why is Wally Cunningham sat in a dive bar in Florida, laughing and joking, like he hasn't been dead for more than 20 fucking years.

For a split second, something like elation passes through Corey. That's his dad. His dad who was an All-American man. Who fought in Vietnam. Who would of taught Corey how to ride a trike, and then a bike, and then maybe even a motorcycle when he got old enough. Who would have played catch with him in the yard and coached him to join the baseball team. Who would have made Momma loosen her grip. "You can't keep your eyes on him every second, Joan. Let the boy live," his dad would have said. His dad who had loved him and it was just a terrible, tragic accident that tore them apart.

But then those familiar, safe daydreams fade, like smoke on the breeze. Like they'd never existed at all. His dad is alive, and he hasn't seen Corey in over 20 fucking years.

Without thinking, Corey gets up, leaving Michael sat on his own at the bar. In his haste, desperate not to lose sight of the old man at the table in the corner, Corey forgets to put his beer down, and his knuckles clench white against the glass.

"Wally Cunningham?" his voice is pitifully hopefully. It feels like a betrayal.

Wally turns away from his friends, a congregation of similarly aged-looking bikers with bandanas and bruised knuckles, and looks up at Corey, scowling. "Who's asking, kid?"

Corey swallows thickly around the growing grief in his throat, "I'm Corey."

Wally raises an eyebrow. For a long, disgusting moment Corey can see that his name doesn't ring a bell. The dots aren't connecting.

Until they do. "Corey? God, haven't you grown." Wally looks him up and down, taking in the sight before him. Corey wasn't vain, especially not now, but he has to resist the urge to shrink under his father's narrowed eyes. His hair is a little shaggy since he hasn't got around to trimming it lately, his thrift-store jeans are forever the wrong size, and his tarnished silver belt buckle glints just barely under the smoke-hazy bar lights.

"Well, it's been 23 years." 23 years of mourning only to find that the coffin was empty all along.

Wally nods in muted agreement. "What are you doing here?"

Wally's reserved reaction feels like the single spark that starts a bonfire, drawing in oxygen while Corey struggles to breath. "I should be asking you that. Momma told me you were dead, she said that you died."

Wally has the guts to chuckle, "She did? That doesn't surprise me, she always was fucking nuts. Well, boy, I'm still kicking"

His friends laugh along, but otherwise stay out of it. When Corey thinks about this conversation later -- and he will be thinking about it later, turning it over and over obsessively until he does something stupid over it -- he'll wonder how many of them knew Wally had a son at all. If he ever mentioned the life he'd left behind in Illinois, or if he wiped the slate clean with each state line he crossed. Just like Corey did nowadays.

Corey shakes his head as he connects his own dots, "You're not dead. You're not -- you've been alive this whole time."

Wally tries to be warm, but it doesn't suit him, "Not the brightest bulb in the box, are we? I guess you must take after me, son."

Corey's deep scowl says otherwise; Wally can see Corey is very much Joan's boy. He always was. "You left us, me and Momma."

"Son, your mother told me to leave, so I did. That marriage was a mistake, it's a good job I left her when I did, or I don't know how it would have ended, but it'd wouldn't have been good, I can tell you that --"

"You left me!" Corey shouts, cringing when his voice breaks. "You didn't just walk out on Momma, you walked out on me, didn't you?" His fingers tighten even more around the beer bottle, just a little tighter and --

Suddenly, Corey feels a presence behind him. He knows it's Michael, knows his outrage must of have stirred him from his thoughts and led him over, eager -- if Michael could ever be described as eager -- to be close by in case Corey makes a scene.

Michael clamps a hand down on his shoulder, pulling him away from Wally by a couple of paces. The friends sat around his table shift uneasily in Michael's hulking, scarred presence, a fact Corey revels in as he leans back into Michael's touch. His fingers loosen on the beer bottle.

There's a tense moment of silence as the reality of this strange situation settles over them all. It reminds him of the tabloid shows Momma used to watch when he was little, the ones she shooed him out of the room for: Long lost son, meet absent father.

Finally, "This a friend of yours?" Wally gestures.

Friend. Corey's lip curls into a smirk, "He's my --"

What exactly is Michael? Boyfriend sounds too juvenile, and lover too tender. Daddy crosses his mind, as a sick little dig, or my old man. He doesn't think any of those would go down too well here, though. Partner is ambiguous, but too formal. Accomplice is fitting, very fitting, but he can't go around saying things like that in public. Cult leader is what it feels like sometimes, but a bit too grandiose for their current predicament.

"Yeah, this is Michael," Corey settles on. The pause he used to gather his thoughts was loud though, and something like doubt crosses Wally's face. But he was never fucking there, so he can go fuck himself if he thinks his opinion matters now. He can think what he likes, for all Corey cares -- and oh god, he cares, he cares so fucking much it makes him sick. Wally's probably right though, in one way or another.

"So, what are you doing in this neck of the woods? You left Illinois?" Wally tries again.

Illinois is so far behind them in the rear view mirror that it scares him sometimes, but Corey is headed West, and he isn't stopping -- for anything or anyone -- until he reaches the very end of the line. "We're just passing through," Corey shrugs.

They talk for a while, but Corey doesn't sit down at Wally's table. He doesn't accept a drink when someone goes for another round. He sneers instead of laughs when Wally's friends try to crack jokes. He stays stood in front of Michael, leaning just slightly against him when Michael takes his hand off his shoulder. Michael doesn't complain, doesn't move, just listens silently to the faux-casual conversation going on in front of him. Waiting.

Against his already-scarce better judgement, Corey does agree to stay in town for a few days and meet Wally again tomorrow. They have a lot of catching up to do.

Corey doesn't believe in ghosts, but still doesn't shake Wally's hand when he offers it, scared of what it might feel like. So, instead he smirks, a crooked gesture, and turns to leave, taking Michael with him.

The motel room is quiet and dim, the nicotine-stained bedside lamp casting a sickly yellow glow over the pair while the corners of the room stay shrouded in darkness. A safe and secret place to hide away.

Corey talks and talks, half to himself and half to Michael, wanting to purge every little thought in his head until there's nothing left.

"I don't fucking need him, I never needed him! I never needed him. I don't fucking -- oh fuck -- i got by fine, didn't I? That fucking piece of shit, never fucking needed him. I wish he really was dead, dead in the fucking ground. We should -- that's what we should do, I'm gonna -- please -- And who does he think he is? Talking to me like he didn't fucking walk out on me, on his baby. Can you imagine leaving a baby all alone? Leaving me with Momma. And he didn't even care -- he never fucking cared! -- didn't care that she was gonna swallow me whole. And he knew, he fucking knew, how bad M-Momma was and he s-s-still left me. He ne-ever loved me, did he? Because you wouldn't leave someone like that if you loved them. He never... he never... Why didn't he love me?"

Corey's talk turns into tearful babbles even as he keeps rocking his hips down against Michael's upward thrusts, fucking himself past the point of stupid. Rage and grief gnawing such a deep, deep pit in his stomach that he wants it filled immediately. Wants to fill it with the type of pain-pleasure that Michael delivers without even trying. Wants to choke on it, hot and heavy and ruinous.

But who was Corey kidding? The gaping black hole inside him wasn't new, it hadn’t been gouged out by tonight’s revelations. No, no it had been there for as long as he could remember, and it was Wally who had carved it out, taking it with him when he left and leaving Corey wanting.

"Doesn't matter, anyway. I don't care -- I don't -- I don't fucking need anyone. 'Cause I've got you, right? No one ever gave a shit about me, but I'm still here. I - I don't need them. Don't need anyone. I fucking saved myself. No, no, you saved me. And it's just me and you and we're gonna -- it's gonna be -- You'll never leave me, right? Please don't leave me, please don't -- I wanna be with you. I wanna... You wouldn't leave me. No, no, no, not like him, you're not like him -- you're more of a man than he'll ever be, and you're a fucking monster... Oh, god -- FUCK -- Oh, you can keep me forever and ever and ever and --"

Michael pushes him down onto his back. Corey chokes on a gasp as the angle changes and Michael sets a new, more ruthless pace. Ploughing into him -- too hard and too fast and too much -- as Corey's mouth stops working, his grief-stricken rambles melting into moans.

This happens sometimes, Michael losing patience when Corey runs his mouth, but usually Corey has enough sense to know when shut up. Corey's on the edge and he knows that Michael knows that, knows it when a rough, scarred hand closes around his throat, pressing dangerously on either side of his windpipe.

Corey sucks in a breath until he can't anymore.

The motel room is quiet and dark, once Corey reaches over to shut off the lamp.

He's still sniffling quietly, his sweaty skin sticking to Michael's as he arranges the older man's arms around his shoulders. Michael keeps them there limply, silently, as Corey wraps himself around him.

Abandonment feels so much worse than grief ever had. Wally wasn't dead, he just never wanted Corey. Wally wasn't dead, Corey just wasn't good enough.

Corey's fingers clench. There's a knife on the nightstand, and in his duffle, and one tossed onto the floor along with his clothes. His fingers relax. There's a snub-nose .38 revolver in the glove compartment of their truck.

"He'd deserve it, wouldn't he?" Corey mutters, "Just like she did..." He blinks up at Michael through wet lashes.

Michael doesn't say anything.

He agrees, Corey decides, smiling.

[badgloomverse]

During the ride to the city, the group is separated in two, with Cirrus, Nim, Purple, Rylie, Evets and Xela in one car.

Which means....

that Petunia, Hobo, Wallis, Harold and Seaweed are in the other car.

Aka the mom and her three children + the estranged secret dad

Imagine the shenaningans

That's prime fanfic material, we have potential sibling bickering, harold and seaweed picking on wallis for being a momma's boy, petunia being waaaay too familiar with hobo and the kids looking at each others like "is mom really flirting with the hobo we picked off the street", and so on

[kiankiwi]

THANK YOU TO @austinbutlersbaby for making me a MOODBOARD FOR OUR QUIET WORLD AU!!!! We talk all the time discussing scenarios Ollie, Noah, Gracie, Aus and us get into!!!

OLLIE/OLIVER/OLLY WALLY: aka bubba! the oldest blonde bub, the spitting image of Austin. Autistic and deaf like Austin too. He’s very quiet and keeps to himself but loves his siblings to death. A total daddy’s boy

GRACIE/GRACIE GIRL/GRACIE-BUG: the second oldest!, neurotypical, 2-3 years younger than Ollie, always wants to help her big brother, is a tough girl getting in fights against her brothers bullies. A mommas girl

NOAH/NUGGET/NoNo: the middle baby! , our surprise baby, came along when Ollie was already 17 and Gracie was 15 almost 16! The wild child! The most hyper! He’s the one that gives us the most heart attacks and the one we take to the hospital the most! He’s the daredevil baby! He absolutely loves both his siblings and is absolutely spoiled! Prefers his big brother Ollie instead of either of his parents!

Charlie/Charlie Girl/Baby Girl: the VERY big surprise baby, the ACTUAL youngest! She’s deaf like Ollie and aus and aus is SO excited to have another deaf bubba and he’s so excited to show her signs. Baby girl is OBSESSED with her big brother Ollie and her Finny (Olllies husband)

Finn/Finnigan/Beginagain/Finny: Ollie’s husband, they met in college

[alteredsilicone]

I just realized it makes most sense for Eir to have the closest relationship with the Lotus... he had two moms and he never gave in the fear of Wally, to him love comes naturally. idk he's just a momma's boy (and yes that is why he worked for Suda, mom vibes once again).

[holylulusworld]

Reblog for tags.

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags  

@lyarr24​

@akshi8278​ 

@spnfamily-j2​​

@irmcpar​​

@negans-lucille-tblr​​

@deans-baby-momma​​

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@roonyxx​​

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@thevelvetseries​​

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@mrspeacem1nusone​​

@ria132love​​

@caligraphee​​

@the-witch-in-silence​​

@justanotherwinchester​​

@multisuperfandom​​

@magssteenkamp​​

@tranquility-or-chaos​​

@jxackles​​

@michellemxndes​​

@addictedtofictionalcharacters​​

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@lessons-of-red

@wykkedwitch

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@liloxclu

@wirdbeimaufhebengebunden

@creepzeyecandy

@kiki13522

 @deansonlywife

@pank0w

@curlycarley

@evilunicorns4minions

@emerza

globetrotter28 

esposadomd

@hauntedwitch04

@sunshine1035

@buckybarnessweetheart

@chriszgirl92

@vmpz8sauceee

@lecwife

@whatsup-200

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

______

Soldier Boy Tags

@lessons-of-red, @syrma-sensei

The Boys Tags

@Leigh70 

@fallen-wolf22

@lyarr24

@akshi8278

@stephv213 

@sexyvixen7

@jojoesq

@black-rose-29

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@creepzeyecandy

@deansonlywife

@pank0w

@globetrotter28

@esposadomd

@hauntedwitch04

@spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

@chriszgirl92

____

All works tags

@yolobloggers

@shikshinkwon

@miraclesoflove

@mogaruke

@shatteredabby

@soryuwifeyxx

@letsdisneythings

@i-love-superheroees-blog

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@anaelsbrunette

@sabascio

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@wally-darling-hyperfixation

@zxph-yr

@belovedcherry

@matsumama

@emoryhemsworth

@buckybarnesplumwhore

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​

@princesssterek​

@xoxabs88xox​

@wandering-spiritash​

@riathearora

@the-loml-got-nailed

@greeneyedblondie44​

@gh0stgurl​

@charmed-asylum​ 

@fallen-wolf22​

@thegirlnextdoorssister​

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187​

@black-rose-29​

@caplanbuckybarnes​

@wykkedwitch​

@sexicherri3​

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@sultryfandoms

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@JeremyRennermakesmesmile

@papichulo120627

@blackhawkfanatic

Cabin at the lake (7)

Summary: You have a much-needed vacation. There’s only one problem…

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Assistant!Reader

Warnings: SB being an ass, tension, arguments, vacation hijacking, misogynism, slow burn, cocky SB, boner, language

A/N: Another short drabble with these two.

Cabin at the lake (6)

Cabin at the lake masterlist

“Do you want a smoke too?” Soldier boy dips his head to glance at you sitting in one of the chairs outside your cabin. He offers a joint to you, a smirk on his lips. “It will help you with the pain.”

“Get fucked,” you grumble and snuggle into the blanket you wrapped around your body. Just a little longer and you can go back inside the cabin. At least, you hope so.

Soldier Boy tried to fry some bacon, and now the cabin stinks like you’re living in a smoker. “I was nothing but nice to you, sweetness.” He has the guts to look offended. “The least you could do was be nice to me. How about you sit in my lap?”

“Why are you still here?” You growl. The drugs stopped working, and now you are cranky and angry. “You’re a waste of air and space.”

“Aw, you say such nice things,” he purrs your name and pats his lap. “If you come here and let me rub your shoulders, I promise to leave.”

You quirk a brow, not trusting Soldier Boy. “You promise to leave if I let you massage my shoulders? Where’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He crosses his heart. “Come here and let me take care of you. It’s my fault your hand is broken and that the doctor fucked with your meds.”

“If your hands wander, I’ll break your pretty face!” You warn him before getting up to walk toward the lounger Vought's minions delivered for him this morning. The moment you want to sit on the end of it, Soldier Boy grabs you by your waist to bring you into his lap.

You squeal and try to wiggle out of his iron grip. “Let go of me! That wasn’t the deal.”

“Relax,” he purrs and nuzzles his face in your neck. “I want to help you. I have magic in my hands. If you let me knead the knots out, you’ll feel like you ended up in heaven.”

You snort. “What can go wrong? I’m already in hell with you around.”

Soldier Boy smirks. He has you in his lap. One of his arms wrapped around your waistline to hold you against his chest. “You won’t regret letting me take care of you. Sweetness, you’ll feel so good after I put my hands on you.”

Your round feeling something else than his hands poking your ass. You harrumph and slap his thigh. “A boner wasn’t what you promised to me, asshat. Let go of me.”

“Can you feel what you do to me, sweetness? That’s all for you,” he whispers in your ear while eagerly rubbing his aching cock against your ass.

“You fucking pervert! There I was, believing you could act like a decent guy and help me with my pain! Pain you caused,” you growl, and slap his thigh even harder. “You’re a real pain in the ass.”

“Aw, sweetness,” he groans against you. “If you ever let me fuck you, it won’t be your ass I’ll go for first.”

You sneer and ram your elbow in his stomach. He doesn’t even flinch. Soldier Boy chuckles and simply holds you tighter. “Let me give you that massage now. If my hand slips and ends up in your shorts, it’s an accident.

Tags in reblog.

[sonosvegliato]

sorry i really love bart he’s like my special guy. he’s a momma’s boy through and through (she calls him sunshine!) and he really truly is a jack russell terrier to his core. he’s rude in the foot-in-mouth disease way but he’s funny about it and he’s known by other supers as “the really annoying kid who shows up sometimes”. he has had beef with wally. he’s had beef with barry. kyle hates his ass. gotham rogues are canonically afraid of him. it’s fucking hysterical. he’s everyone’s special little boy and once you meet him you’re hooked. he’s impatient and abrasive and kind to a fault and he takes pride in being annoying. tim and kon and cassie need to keep him on a baby leash most of the time, except if kon is holding the leash he’ll get sucked into whatever bart wants because that’s his bff and who could say no to that face? he’s the sweetest boy you’ll ever meet. he’s the weird coworker who will do anything you ask him to if he thinks it’s funny enough. he’s everyone’s best friend and worst enemy at the same time. that’s my bart allen pitch thank you

*throws paycheck* done. take my money

[riottrabbit]

“With Wally out of the picture, Corey became Joan’s sole obsession, and obsess she did. Joan rarely let Corey out of her sight. She strictly forbade him from participating in any after-school activities and sports were entirely out of the question. Corey went to school, he came home, and that was his life. When Joan worried school was becoming too intrusive in their relationship, she would lie and tell Corey he had an illness and demand he stay home so she could care for him. Sometimes Joan even tampered with the thermometer to read hotter than his actual temperature to further convince Corey that she was right

“But, Momma, I feel fine,” he’d plead, desperate to get out of the house.

“Listen to your mother. She is the only one who will take care of you. The *only* one. You are a sick boy, a very sick boy, and you will stay home with your mother.”

At home, Joan had complete control. That’s where she thrived. She dressed Corey every morning until he turned thirteen, and he had little say in the matter. Even when he turned thirteen, he had to beg his Momma to let him pick out his clothes.

Joan fed Corey each night at six sharp. Always a dinner served with milk. Then she tucked Corey into bed at 8:30 pm on the dot, never a minute later.”

Halloween Ends: The Official Novelization. Chapter 3: Corey Cunningham.

[secondgenerationnerd]

Bby YJL playdate (and of course, Ceridian in the washer because we love to see it)

🥺🥺🥺

————————

This is probably a bad idea.

“MOMME! IT GUPPY AND PUCA!!”

Shaking her head, Artemis smiles as she changes her daughter’s diaper, “Jani, your brother is one of a kind, you know that?”

“Mappy.” The one year old wiggles on the changing table. “Pu-cah. Gubby.”

“That’s right, sweet girl. Puca and Guppy and Matty. Are they your boys?” Artemis asks, fixing the toddler’s clothes.

“Mah boys.” Jania agrees. Carrying her out to the living room, Artemis arrives to see her son tackle his best friends with a hug.

“Mappy!” Two-year-old Ceridian squeals. His little gills flutter as he laughs. “Papa! Mappy and Puca do whirr-pool wif me?”

Kaldur helps the boys up, “Guppy, they can’t breathe underwater. They don’t have gills like us.”

Before he can pout, Ceridian’s pulled away by Jania. Artemis gives the former leader an odd look as she hugs him hello, “Whirlpool?”

“We were visiting my stepfathers family. Guppy ended up in their washing machine and turned it on.” Kaldur sighs, looking at his son with love, “He tried to get his teacher to show them whirlpool summoning.”

“This from the man who yelled at us, Wally. Called us impatient.” Dick shakes his head, setting Barbara on the couch. Unfortunately, the West apartment isn’t very accessible to get up to, but they couldn’t have a proper play date without her.

The speedster shakes his head, sighing dramatically, “The unjust limitations we faced.”

“From my memory, I stopped you all from blowing yourselves up. Several times.”

“Which Artemis and I are thankful fo—Luca John! Off the counter!”

The dark haired mini boy wonder looks at his mother, reaching up to the fridge. He gives her a charming smile, “I safe, Momma.”

“Off please—Dick, will you get your son? He’s going to crack his skull”

“My son?” Dick grins, scooping the little boy up and throwing him into the air, “Not in a million years.”

“Dadee!” Matty and Jania come running into the room, sparks following them as Brucely follows. Wally catches them and pulls them out of the dog’s way. “We no do it.”

“Huh?…Kaldur? Your son’s in the toilet.”

“Ceridian! That’s not how we talk to fish friends!”

Yeah….definitely a bad idea.

[itsanerdlife]

How did you meet your new bf?

It's a little bit of a long story peaches. But I'll tell you.

I met Walter (wally) in kindergarten. Ahh yes back in elementary, as two tiny little peas. The first thing he said to me ever was, "I like your bow." When we stood next to each other in line up. My childhood best friend knew him as well. He was a very shy boy, growing up. I knew walter all our lives. Funny enough, our sperm donor's actually knew one another before they had us. Our mom's even partied together back in the 80's. Our two aunts, from our sperm donor's sides, are best friends too. His whole family knows exactly who I am and always has since we were tiny little peas. We had always been friends on social media, as it got bigger and bigger. First Myspace, he always complimented me, was friendly and sweet to me. Than it was Facebook and he'd still continue to comment on my photos or status' and being the very sweet boy he always been. Than we were friends on Snapchat, he'd send me funny stories or compliment my photos. One day in 2014, in April. He posted a story of him and listening to this Joe Nichols song I love. So of course I replied to it and said something along the lines of "That's one of my favorite songs." and he replied back. So we got to talking about some of our favorite music. I mention my undying love for Brantely Gilbert, and he tells me "I won tickets to his concert next month." and I just ugh, I died cause what a lucky man. And I told him this, how i was jelly he was so lucky. We talked for a few more days, prolly about a week or so. Than one day he asks me, "Would you want to go to the BG concert with me?" I stared at my phone for so long, before I asked him if he was sure. He said he really wanted to go with me like a date. I didn't even hesitate, I said absolutely I'd love to go on a date with you. This man picked me up, still remembers what I wore, we still have pictures from that date. Had our first kiss during Playing For Keeps. I knew he was going to be the love of my life, standing in this arena at 22 years old, with a boy I'd known all my life. He knew it too, took me on our second date the next night, to meet his momma and all his friends. We were engaged four months in and suffered our first miscarriage. By 23 and June 13th which was supposed to be our wedding day, we were starting new lives with different people. I walked away, and never got over him. Never in my life, never with anyone did I ever give up on him. I stirred the pot with his girlfriends, made sure they all knew who I was and that he was never really going to be theirs. 8 years later, we live together happily. Planning our best lives together and can't wait for yall to see what's coming with this life I have. I'm thriving in ways I never thought I would in this life.

Oh and to mention, we’re seeing Joe Nichols Saturday together. You know since that’s how this all started in the first place.

[uuberwachen]

do u have any rocky, dennis, mary ellen or wally hcs??? desperate asf 🤚🏽

oh MAN nobody ever asks me about my hcs,,

unpopular opinion but I like to imagine Mary Ellen (and by extension the bride book in general) does not exist. I pretend I do not see it.

And. By Wally I assume you mean Wally Wood - I don't see wally and mr. wood as separate I'm sorry jdnndc. I might talk about wally in a separate post bc he's such an involved character

BUT actual hcs here we go

Rocky:

I prefer how he's described in the book! He's kind of like a 50's greaser, puffy slicked back hair with a sneer and everything. I think he'd have a new Yorker or Boston accent bc of that

Probably the brawn to others' brain. Rough and tough on the outside, but he's not evil. He's a gentle giant. I like to imagine he has an affinity for plants :)

Dennis:

His sweater is from Amy! She used to wear it a lot but when she outgrew it she gave it to Dennis and sewed a little heart patch onto it to signify it was patched with love!

I don't think his voice sounds much like goofy - I actually think of it as high and rather soft, maybe almost country sounding? He looks like a valleyboy tbh.

TOTAL mommas boy. he loves his family and is very against violence but if you hurt someone he loves you're probably gonna die. I very much believe slappy got Murdered by him

[junespriince]

Do I have 6 new AUS for birdflash? Yes. But I'll only talk about single mother Iris raising Wally and dawn & don on her own because why not, I can choose what happens, DC can't stop me.... Does me I have to kill off Barry because I will not make him a deadbeat,,,, welp

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Little Robin and Momma Bird

 In honor of First Day of Spring 2021 which for comic fans is the birth date of Richard John-Grayson Wayne, Member of the Flying Graysons, Bruce Wayne’s Adopted Son, Barbara Gordon’s classmate, Wally West and Roy Harper’s best friend, Princess Koriand’r’s true love, the first Robin, The Boy Wonder, Leader and founding member of the Teen Titans, Nightwing, Protector of the City of Bludhaven, Renegade, Ex Apprentice of Slade Wilson, Agent 37, Big Brother to Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne, in varying times and places Father of Mar’i ‘Nightstar’ and Jacob ‘Jake’ Grayson and above all else and beyond all those titles, son of John Grayson and Mary Elizabeth Lloyd Grayson; here’s what I hope is something short and sweet. 

 Now with long intro out of the way, the following is dedicated to @mothnem @lightdusk96 @hood-ex @thattimdrakeguy @tarisilmarwen @fireflyxrebel-writes @nightglider124 @nyxqueen97 @wisegirlandseaweedbrainforever @arabian-batboy @meara-eldestofthemall @robxstar @bluerene and so many others for being my friends in light of this occasion. Please like, comment and especially reblog for any corrections and constructive criticisms. It’ll be very appreciated. 

  Please Enjoy....  

 The sun gleaming and bright rays shone through the small trailer window, lighting the small bedroom with many bright colors of its own decorated throughout. The beige carpet, still an ever bit of simple yet practical use of being the floor, was littered with small shapes of varying sizes, almost all being made of plastic. In particular, these spread out toys were action figures, representing the recent phenomena of spandex clad and awe inspiring individuals that are the ‘Superman’ from Metropolis and the rest being merely the few robotic and unnatural opponents he faces in protecting the oppressed and those in need. The resident of this small bedroom was for all accounts a fan of Superman, something not too unprecedented given the caped champion’s crusades in correcting the wrongs and dangers Metropolis and the larger world face the best he can ever since his first day to the public. 

   And given these are action figures of Superman, it shall be of no surprise said resident was indeed very young; a small acrobat of the famous Haly’s Circus currently asleep and softly snoring away in this room’s bed, blankets draped and covering almost every part of him, even his face. It’s his 7th birthday as of today, this wonderful first day of Spring. Now if only something or someone can get him awake to enjoy such a day. That’s where a certain Mrs. Mary Grayson enters our picture. 

  As she gently pries open her son’s bedroom door as to not awaken him, clad only in a grey t-shirt and black pants as used for pajamas last night, Mary carefully trudges across the beige carpet towards the bed being occupied by said son. Sure, both her and him have slept in until nearly 9:30 am as of now since their family group, the Flying Graysons, have a day off from practice for today, but frankly had Dick remembered that today’s his birthday from earlier, he would been by now sneaking into his parents’ neighboring room, awaking them both his father John and her up about said day, probably  the best he can think of for a gentle reminder. But due to recent influx of performances across the West Coast, Dick lost count so now it was Mary’s turn to gently remind him and in the best way she knows how. 

  As Mary’s bare feet carefully skirt around the action figures spread across the floor, even picking some up along the way (maybe reminding Dick to next time pick up his toys before bed will come in later tonight), she eventually reaches her son’s twin sized bed and the red, green and yellow pattern blanket that draped over the little guy overnight. In her right hand was a blue fine point marker pen with washable ink while her left gently leans to one end of the blanket where a small tuff of black hair sticks out. Gently caressing her left hand the black mass, Mary can hear a content giggle coming from under the blanket, no doubt her son feeling the familiar, loving motion John and her regularly do as parents can. On normal moments this happens, Dick would playfully push the hand ruffling his black hair away. This time, he just simply lightly giggles in his sleep. Mary was sort of banking the hair ruffling being enough to awaken her son to this bright and beautiful first day of Spring. As soon as her hand though stops with the affectionate ruffling and once more snores are heard coming from Dick, her lips turn into a soft yet mischievous smile; it was time for Plan B. Sure Enough, when looking over to the other end of the blanket and seeing her son’s own two feet, so far socked but with her there not for too long. That marker in her hand has its cap screw off. 

  On some occasions when she was basically passed out from a long night on the trapeze, Mary wold wake to find the soles of her feet with scribbles and doodles all across, most of them featuring the Flying Graysons logo prominently. She almost immediately knew the culprit behind such drawing but often times just leaves it be and even walks on her two feet with drawing and all since the marker ink easily comes off so it was overall no big deal. Besides, her son was just having some harmless fun so why would she dare try ruining that; sure she was strict on some parts of his behavior but this ain’t one of the them. Now though, as she lightly tugs the two socks off her sleeping son as to not awake him, revealing two velvet soles and the ten toes and with her marker in hand, it was time for payback if you may. 

  Starting with lightly drawing smiley faces on his big toes, Dick’s reaction was almost immediate as a slightly louder giggle comes from the blankets and his toes clench. Mary briefly backs off the marker until the toes relaxing and using her free hand, she lightly grabs unto the big ones, leaving his feet still. With that, she can proceed with the rest as sure enough, various other faces across his other toes are drawn along with flowers and even an elephant on the arch of his right foot. As for that last one, the giggling had reached its loudest and looking upward, Mary couldn’t help but smile at the results. Plan B was a success, Dick was awake and laughing his head off due to the scribbling.

   “Momma!” he yells between hearty giggles, “That tickles!” 

   Mary grins a bit, “Oh really?” 

  She continues with that elephant on Dick’s right foot, now holding him still with arm entrapping his ankles tightly, making sure he can’t pull his feet back from that blue marker as it continued its path. Though Mary notes that even then, Dick wouldn’t want to. He had not once told her to stop, indicating that he was enjoying this instead. Frankly, after a long time doing this to her, she couldn’t blame him. All Dick does on his part is lay his head on the pillows, the blankets off of him, allowing Mary to see him clad in a similar style of PJs to hers only with the coloring being a blue t shirt and grey sweat pants instead. To the left of him was his precious stuffed elephant Peanut; ever since being first given that on his 4th birthday, he keeps it close to him whenever going to bed. All this time afterwards, Mary still hasn’t been able in getting her son a second stuffed toy like Peanut much to her disappointment but hey that’s a thought for another time, she has one more spot to draw before she can move on for the rest of the day, the arch on Dick’s left foot.

  At first, Mary thought of drawing the Flying Graysons logo for the finishing touch but instead opts for a more casually yet fitting wording. With that in mind, her blue marker makes contact with the velvet of her son’s arch and starts its ink dripped path. By now, the 7 year old was still in full hysterics over his Momma’s drawings but he will admit, at least it was better waking up from his trapeze swinging dreams like this rather than the sun’s rays shining on him as it usually happens. Finally though, he feels the marker stop and opening his ocean blue eyes, sees his mother put the cap back on. Putting the marker away in her pocket, Mary places a soft kiss on her son’s forehead while giving him another hair ruffle. This time, now fully awake, Dick gently pushes her hand away. 

  His blue eyes meet his mother’s own blue eyes and a wide smile stretches on his face. 

  “Thanks Momma” he chirps happily in Romani Chib. 

  Another motherly kiss, this time his cheek, “You’re welcome, Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about your special day today, My Little Robin” 

  As Mary stands and makes her way back to the door, Dick stretches his arms, letting out a yawn from his mouth doing so. 

  “Breakfast will be ready in 5 minutes” Mary states with a warm smile on her face.

  “Cereal, Momma?”

  “Any type you like that we have of course” 

  “I’ll be there soon” Dick says, a wide grin on his face. 

 Mary has a humming giggle of her own before making her own to the kitchen to no doubt prepare her son and her’s bowls for the day. Though of course, they were just getting started. 

  Dick swings his feet to step off his bed and begin trudging to his breakfast, he briefly wonders on what his mother drew on him before putting the marker away. As such, flexing his leg to where he can see the soles and toes of his two feet, Dick smiles of all nice stuff Momma left. Indeed, there were flowers on the balls of his arches, goofy faces on each of his ten toes, what looks like a circus ball on his right heel, a trapeze bar on his left heel, a short yet cute elephant on right foot’s arch and at least the words on his left arch. 

‘Happy 7th B-Day Little Robin, Love Momma’ 

  Now that was love from a mother alright. Dick certainly will never forget this. Now to get the table without stepping on his toys on the floor. 

[reverseflashes]

Your "Barry Allen my beloved" gif led me to this thought, but what if the Flashes had lockets instead of rings to store their suits in? Suit stored in one half, photo of the Flash fam in the other half ✨

OK BUT THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER!!!!!!! <333333

I can definitely imagine every one of them putting a group photo of the whole Flashfam because they are a big loving family and I also can see them having a photo of a person that is special to them.

For Wally, it’s definitely his wife Linda and the kids; for Bart, it could be a photo of him and Max together or his grandma Iris, for Barry, I mean we all know he’s his momma’s boy but his relationship with his dad is very special and Barry didn’t get to have many photos of Henry growing up so him carrying his dad’s photo with him is very heartwarming.

And Hunter wasn’t a Flash and but he wears the same suit as them so I’m thinking he’d carry a pic of Ashley; Eobard was a Flash but he has no friends and he wears the suit 99.9% of the time so he doesn’t bother svhadgcfg

I’m joking but fr, I kinda feel bad for my demon baby, he doesn’t have anyone that he holds dear to himself like that.

They usually still wear the ring after they suit up so what do you think happens to the locket? I don’t know the right word in English for it but it might blend in with the suit somehow. Or the locket could be a part of the suit, it wouldn’t be very visible to anyone but them but it could be attached somewhere where they can easily tap on it to change back.

I love this idea so much though!! And it’s very in character for them; they are very protective of each other and very sentimental like that. :’)

Thank you so much for sharing this!!!! I know I told you this before but I really love reading your posts, headcanons, your opinions in general (and i’m a big fan of your fics too, you’ve written some of the softest, most beautiful fics i’ve read there is like. flowers inside your mind i just know it <333333 :’)

[hopetofantasy]

CPM REWATCH - SEASON 3 - VLOGS (1)

Ah, yes, the season everyone is waiting for. This one was less focussed on the socials and real life events, but more on the Broerrrs YouTube channel. So why don’t I start with an analysis of them? Yup, here we go!

°

Vlog 1: ‘Can you stick someone to the wall with duct tape?’

Perfect parallels: 

Jens and Robbe goofing off in the alley (climbing the wall, teasing each other) in this vlog before S3, Sander and Robbe doing the same (hanging off the ledge, taking weird pics) on their insta after S3. 

Robbe’s “It smells kinda like graffiti here, doesn’t it?” and him starting off his season with a graffiti spray session where Sander spots him.

Nod to the OG: Robbe hanging like Jesus on the wall and Jens stating ‘It smells like sins’, both references to the religious undercurrent of the original S3 (birth, rebirth, homosexuality seen as a sin, Isak’s religious mom, OHN, ...)

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo deliberately touching Robbe’s private area ‘as a joke’. Him also making ‘duct tape tits’.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +2, falling off the wall whilst ripping out his leg hair with the tape.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Robbe mouthing "Help" towards the camera. 

°

Vlog 2: ‘Can Robbe and Moyo actually dance?’

Perfect parallels: Jens referencing Fortnite as a game they like to play in this vlog, seen by the various scenes in S1 and in S3 where they mention/play the game.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Moyo catching the dance moves pretty quick, mainly because the actor (Noa) is a professional dancer - yet tries to act like he can’t.

°

Vlog 3: ‘Can you make a rapsong with random words?’

Perfect parallels: 

The boys making the rap ‘Eenvoud’ in this vlog because of the random words challenge, but actually producing the music video later on.

Jens saying "Is it Friday already?", because he does ‘#vettigevrijdag’ on his insta, where he eats fatty stuff on Fridays. Which Robbe and Sander later stole after S3 with #vettigezondag (= 'fatty sunday').

Lost in translation: 

Almost all words rhyme in Flemish, but not in English (= Broer-Roer, Wisselkoers-Broers, Wijzers-Ijzers, Sneeuwwitje-Ritje-Hitje).

“Ik heb slaaptekort, want ik slaap te kort”: Meaning he has sleep deprivation (’slaaptekort’), because he’s sleeping ‘too short’ (’te kort’). It’s a play on words and doesn’t rhyme if translated to English.

“Matti’s” is slang for the dialect word ‘maten’, meaning ‘buddies’.

Funny coincidence: The words they pull out: ‘sleep deprivation’, ‘creative’, ‘iron’ (surname: ijzermans - ironman), ‘Saint-Nicolas’, ‘Broerrrs’ coincidentally refers to a lot of things in Robbe’s season. 

°

Vlog 4: ‘Can you eat a sandwich while wearing a mouthpiece?’

C is for culture: 

“Uw moeder is een hoer” (= "Your mom’s a whore"): A wildly spread expression to either joke with your friends, hurt people's feelings or try to stir up fights. It’s the Flemish equivalent to the ‘yo momma’-jokes.

"Sandra Kim": The only Belgian winner at Eurovision Song Contest. She won with ‘J’aime La Vie’ in 1986, while she was only 13 years old. To this date, the singer still holds the record as youngest participant/winner, because they lied about her age before any restrictions were implemented. 

Lost in translation:

“Breedbek-kikker” (= "broad mouthed frog"): slang for someone who is very talkative and boast about themselves (= has a ‘large mouth’).

“Pollepel” (= "ladle"): dialect word for serving-style spoon.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +1, spilling on himself during the challenge.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo and Jens joke that Robbe wants to show his D to the boys and viewers.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The sandwiches are with choco (spread).

°

Vlog 5: ‘Do Robbe and Moyo have make-up skills?’

Where’s Wally? Moyo mentioning Keisha, it’s been a while since we’ve seen/heard of her.

Oopsie: They’re claiming that it’s Keisha’s make-up, but in reality she would’ve had a different color of foundation, because of her darker skin.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Jens scoffing to Moyo “Are you sure this make-up isn’t yours?”, because he’s got some applying skills.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it/Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +2, Robbe blowing on the eye shadow at the beginning, getting some in his face and coughing. Smudging his own cheeks with mascara.

°

Vlog 6: ‘Which hypes are overrated?’

C is for culture:

“Wat hebben we geleerd vandaag?” (= “What have we learned today?”): A catchphrase made famous by Piet Huysentruyt, a former tv chef. In his program ‘S.O.S. Piet’, he went to people’s houses to try and fix the mistakes in their recipes. He always ended every episode with a summary on what they learned. 

The planes flying over so closely: An indication that they’re near the airport in Deurne (district of Antwerp). This is the smallest of the five Belgian airports. There has been controversy around this infrastructure, since it’s build too close to residencies (a lot of noise/carbon emissions) and originally planned to be removed. However, in recent years, more airlines chose the airport as an option and thus got more visitors. The future of Antwerp Airport remains unknown.

Perfect parallel: Jens calling Robbe a ‘biologist’ since he seems to know a lot about lemons in this vlog, him studying biology with Yasmina in S3. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo copying Robbe’s hand movements, because he did it in a ‘feminine’ way.

°

Vlog 7: ‘How agile are Moyo and Robbe?’

Funny coincidence: Robbe saying “Who do you think I am? Spiderman?”, whilst his surname translates to ‘Iron Man’, another Marvel character.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo and Jens joking that it’s *again* Robbe who knows what ‘downward facing dog’ is. Both of them making subtle, underlying innuendos, due to Robbe's weird face when Moyo rubbed his temples. Jens' “That’s how you like it”, when Robbe said “I’ll be the bottom one”. 

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +3, Robbe hurting himself whilst somersaulting, constantly falling backwards in a yoga seat position and falling down hard from Moyo’s hands. 

[backtothestart02]

Camera Shy - 1/? | westallen fanfiction {moved from Patreon}

A/N: I really love this premise. I hope you’ll like it too! :)

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Synopsis: AU - Iris is a model with a history of no good photographer exes. So when Barry Allen, her new photographer, wants to take her out, she immediately refuses - save some life-or-death situation. 

...

Chapter 1 -

The slow hum from the alarm clock suddenly became a full siren, jerking Iris West out of her deep sleep. She jumped up, sending her arm flying towards the sound, effectively throwing her phone, glasses, and jewelry from the day to the ground. She grumbled into the palm covering her face and pulled back the covers, shivering for just a moment before trying three times to get all the items back on the bedside table. When the task was successfully completed, she pushed her hair out of her face and headed for the bathroom, her over-sized t-shirt just barely skimming the top of her thighs.

The sight that greeted her in the mirror wasn’t particularly pleasant, but she knew after smiles, make-up, and fashionable clothes were applied, she’d be looking at a whole different woman.

“Smile, Iris. Today you’ll be posing for a photoshoot in STYLE magazine. After their scandal last month, they’ve hired a new photographer that is squeaky clean and with entirely honorable intentions,” she quoted the e-mail her best friend had shot her at two in the morning.

She’d wanted to call the landline that Wally insisted on having for God knows what reason. But that would startle Linda and wake up their two-month old son, so she resisted. Not everyone needed to suffer because she was about to.

Did she already dislike the new photographer she’d be working with? Yeah.

Did she have good cause? Yeah.

Of course, she hadn’t met him, but every photographer she’d worked with was the same.

Scumbags. Pigs. Lecherous, arrogant, and sometimes… Abusive.

She pushed that last adjective to the back of her mind. There was no point remembering that experience after she’d finally gone through enough therapy to get past it. Besides, that was over three years ago. Not every photographer was abusive, she’d allow that. Every single one of them was worthy of disliking, though. She’d take that to the bank.

The only possible difference was that a newbie might take the assignment seriously for once and act like a professional. She’d appreciate that, even if he was still the scum of the earth in his free time.

Showered, make-up applied, and a fashionable get-up on her curvy figure, Iris headed for the door just as a knock sounded on the other side of it. One peek through the peephole told her everything she needed to know. And despite her previous irritation, she smiled at the sight of Linda Park-West waiting for her in the hall.

“Hello, best friend,” Linda sang, extending her hand with the hot beverage Iris loved and shaking a small paper bag that undoubtedly contained a blueberry and lemon poppyseed muffin. “You’re welcome,” she said after Iris had locked up and they were walking with arms looped down the street.

“You’re forgiven,” Iris said.

“What I’d do wrong this time?” Linda asked innocently as a grin spread across her face.

Iris shot her a glare, and Linda burst out laughing.

“Relax. This one’s different, I promise. He’s a real good guy. Momma’s boy, good grades, total geek.”

“I’ve dated creepy geeks before, Lin.”

“I’m not saying you need to date him. Just give him the benefit of the doubt as a co-worker.”

“If he’s professional, I’m professional. You know that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Iris ignored the sarcasm, and they continued walking in silence. By the time they reached the tall glass doors of Central City Studios, breakfast had been consumed, lipstick had been reapplied, and smiles were back in place.

“Good morning, Ms. West, Mrs. West,” the older receptionist said at the desk. Both girls smiled and murmured a good morning in return. “Oh, Ms. West!” She rose from her seat to call after her. Iris and Linda both spun around, pointing to each other in mock confusion, since they’d told the older woman multiple times how she could call them by their first names. “Iris,” she caved, and Linda waved goodbye to her friend as Iris returned to the front desk.

“Yes, Frances?”

The woman bristled slightly.

“Mr. Stueck wants to see you in his office as soon as possible.”

Iris stilled. “Do you know what it’s about?” she asked softly, telling herself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe she was getting a raise!

Talk about conclusions.

“I don’t know,” Frances said, pulling Iris from her thoughts. “But he wasn’t angry, so keep that in mind, dear.”

Frances pushed her glasses further up her nose and went back to her work at the computer. The phone rang and she had to pick it up before Iris could say another word.

Iris pouted but did as she was told, wiping the expression off her face before she reached her boss’s office at the end of the hall. She heard laughter from inside, which was a rarity. Mr. Stueck wasn’t always serious, and he certainly wasn’t usually mean, but laidback wasn’t usually something that was part of his daily work demeanor.

The door swung open just as she was reaching out to knock on the wooden slate. She found herself standing face-to-face with an attractive, tall, young man. He might have been younger than her but was definitely not older, and he looked as stunned as she felt. It was an awkward moment of subtly gathering air before her boss interrupted them.

“Iris! Good, right on time.”

All smiles – which was even weirder – Mr. Stueck gripped the younger man and Iris’ arms and looked at them both, drawing nervous smiles to both their faces as they snuck glances at each other from the older man’s antics.

“Iris, I’d like you to meet Barry Allen. He’ll be your photographer for the STYLE shoot this week and next.”

Her heart stopped and her face fell. Those were two pieces of news she did not want to have heard.

“Two weeks?”

“Mhmm.” He nodded enthusiastically. “They were so impressed with your work in our last two shoots, they’ve decided they want you as their star model for all the clothing pieces, possibly jewelry as well.”

“I…see.”

She tried to be happy. She really did.

But being stuck with a photographer one-on-one every day for the possibly next two weeks?

“This could be your big break, Iris. And what’s good for you is good for us. I’m so proud of you.”

She forced a smile. “…Thanks.”

Mr. Stuek sighed contently, not catching her inner battle in the slightest.

But Barry did. She could feel him watching her, and disapprovingly watching her boss in return.

“Maybe you want until the end of the day to decide,” he suggested gently, making her meet his eyes.

“The end of the day!” Mr. Stuek laughed. “She doesn’t need time to-”

“Mr. Stuek, isn’t it part of your company policy to not force assignments on your employees if they feel uncomfortable doing them?”

He shifted slightly. “Well, yes, of course! But Iris can’t possibly feel-”

“So, to be sure, you’d want her to think on it all day and come to you with an answer before the end of her shift.”

His jaw dropped.

“Maybe just until lunch?” Iris offered up. “I can call you from STYLE Studios, since I’ll be shooting there today, at any rate.”

“B-B-But they can’t make you their star model today and then bring in someone else for the remainder of the line!”

Iris waited, unused to her boss’s intensity, but certain it would pass soon.

“Fine,” he said with a giant sigh. “Check in with Helen and Rachel, then head over to STYLE Studios with Barry here.”

She froze. “O-Oh, I don’t need to- I mean, I can-”

“Not one more word out of you, Ms. West,” he said, and she knew he meant business. He was a first name kind of guy, except in the rare circumstance that he was about to lose his temper – for real.

“Go. Both of you,” he said, and no more than a moment later they’d both been shoved out of his office into the hall and the door had slammed closed behind him.

Barry managed a slight chuckle after a moment and turned towards Iris, expecting a laugh from her as well. What he got was an unexpectedly cold glare.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, then walked with purpose in the direction of – presumably – Helen and Rachel.

He wondered if it would be very difficult to get her to go into the same car with him.

“I’m driving,” she said, snatching the keys out of his hand when they reached his car in the parking structure. His shock almost left him standing sans-car and sans-Iris in the cool parking area alone.

She sped out of the spot and out of the structure, down the road to STYLE Studios and Barry could only think one thing to himself.

 What a woman.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.