#so I thought I’d bring others down Memory Lane with me :D

[dark-door]

My fictional crushes over the years

I have no idea who needs to see this, just thought it might be fun and a trip down memory lane for me 😅 please don’t judge too much

1. Age 6-7sih

Kisshu-Tokyo Mew Mew

Just look at him! He was sexy and cute! I’ll never understand Ichigo...

2. Age 7ish

Leon Oswald-Kaleido Star

The episode where he climbed up to bring Sora to the stage...I’m not the same since then...

4. Age 8

Koji- Digimons 3

He’s just like some other characters on the list, maybe just a bit more sweet

4.Age 8-9

Hiei- Yuyu Hakusho

He stole the show for me, and every time he wasn’t in the scene I got mad, so sexy...and that voice! ( but frankly didn’t know he could be shipped with Botan)

5. Age 10

Uchiha Sasuke-Naruto

Well...after Hiei, it shouldn’t be surprising...

Sasuke was cool and sexy as hell for a 10 year old, but man, when I saw this:

It was another sexual awakening...

6. Age 12

Haku-Spirited away

Yeah, he was a strong contender then, how I wished to be Chihiro...

7.Age 14

Rem-Death Note

I saw the movie first, before the anime, and also I watched in dub in my native language, where they essentially gave him the same sounding voice actor as for Haku and Sasuke...So...until like I was 20, I thought she was a he...still sexy though

8. Age 16

Ulquiorra Shiffer- Bleach

Pretty much watched Bleach only for him...and I’m still having a hard time accepting that he’s dead

9. Age 17

Sanji-One Piece

Man, I was in love with this man...to the point that my walls were covered in images of him

10. Age 17-18ish

Jem Cartsairs-Mortal Instruments

First non anime character on the list...I didn’t and since then still don’t understand the hype about Will when there was Jem...

11.Age 23

I took a small brake from fandoms, but as it goes, people always go back

Gaara-Naruto

He’s like everything...and I’m so glad the Gaasaku ship and fandom is so great, in cannon he was so great and in fannon even greater :D

And we caught up...No more crushes since the beginning of this year, since I also have to maintain these :D

I’d like to see other’s take on this!

#kisshu #hiei #leon oswald #koji digimon #uchiha sasuke #spritied away haku #ulquiorra shiffer #one piece sanji #jem carstairs #gaara #crushes

[travel-hopefully]

A collective post of everything I watched on Netflix in 2020

I finally found the watch history function on Netflix which I wanted in order to reminisce over the TV/film I watched over the last year, including the good and the bad. I’ve included a little round-up of my thoughts for each, as lockdown has got me with plenty of time on my hands. If anyone has watched any of the below feel free to give me a message- happy to discuss anything!

Travelers (season 3) - this was an unforgettable show with some great characters and definitely put me through hell (in a good way), I am a David x Marcy shipper for sure!

IT Crowd (season 4 & 5) - my favourite comedy show ever, and I mean the UK version

Explained (random episodes) - interesting bite-sized episodes on a variety of topics

Sherlock (season 3 & 4) - it kinda went downhill from season 4...and doesn’t help that there is no season 5 in sight

Unforgettable - must be pretty forgettable cause I couldn’t remember watching, a typical revenge plot romp I think

The Mind, Explained - same as for Explained above, except more pyshcological

You (season 2) - binge-worthy! I love to hate Joe Goldberg.

Don’t F**k with Cats - wow, this was disturbing but so gripping.

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle - geniunely a good remake and rather amusing

Sex, Explained - as for Explained but a little more intriguing ;)

The Stranger (season 1) - full of suspense and a good binge watch but ultimately full of plot holes with an unsatisfying conclusion

Gavin & Stacey (season 3) - a classic which I only started watching in 2019

Sex Education (all of it) - comedy gold!

Unbelievable (limited series) - very harrowing, an emotional rollercoaster based on a real-life rape case

Atypical (all of it) - light-hearted and fun to binge

The Sinner (season 1) - it was okay... wasn’t spectacular compared to other similar dramas I’ve seen

Love Is Blind (season 1) - cringey but satisfying

In the Shadow of the Moon - I hardly remember this one :)

Dunkirk - a stand-out historical movie

The Stepfather - typical killer stepfather plot but rather enjoyable

The Super - an interesting premise, but not that super

Saw VI - all gore not much plot

Doctor Who (random episodes) - no words needed :D

Louis Theroux and Louis Theroux’s Weird Weekends (random episodes) - I love his style of interviewing - what a man!

The Revenant - a lot of... well, not much

Nightcrawler - it was decent, but something was missing which I couldn’t put my finger on

How To Get Away With Murder (seasons 1-5) - probably my biggest new watch of the year, a rollercoaster of suspense, drama and murder, another season to go...

Ocean’s Eleven - fun but cheesey

Blumhouse’s Truth or Dare - creepy faces and an interesting ending

Eli - it started one way then went another, I wasn’t convinced

Star Trek (2009) - I couldn’t really get into this one...

In the Tall Grass - a lot of running around in grass

Bloodride (season 1) - i loved this, a quirky idea, i binged it

Apostle - intense, a satisfying religious cult horror

The Platform - great idea, not sure on the ending

What Keeps You Alive - what happened in this one again?

History 101 - didn’t watch many episodes :P

The Prodigy - a decent child possession horror

Into the Night (season 1) - really enjoyed this, a highlight of the year for me, hoping for a season 2

It - pretty chilling and creepy, but a tad cheesey

Jurassic World and Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom - the first one has a brilliant dinosaur fight scene, the second one has too many plot holes and inconsistencies to take seriously

Knowing - a Nicholas Cage sci-fi/apocalpytic classic, pretty decent

Stranger Things (random episodes) - i tried to get my bf into the show but sadly he still isn’t much of a TV fan

Miranda (random episodes) - such fun!

Black Mirror (seasons 1 & 2) - another one i introduced the bf to, i got a bit further with him on this one, the very first episode being the highlight

The Last House on the Left - a decent remake, but nothing outstanding

Dark (season 3) - this, my friends, is one of the greatest shows of all time. want a timey-wimey story where everything is connected and has an amazingly satisfying conclusion? this is the show for you!

The Silence - a bad ‘A Quiet Place’

Geostorm - i’m a fan of disaster movies but this one wasn’t in the same league as some of the greats

Panic Room - a mum and kid hides in the panic room when a group of thugs break into the house, it was enjoyable but not all that memorable

Prisoners - a very long film with some enjoyable parts but overall unsatisfying

Girl on the Third Floor - it was okay, i can’t remember much of it

The Woods (season 1) - another Harlan Coben adaptation- not as good as ‘Safe’ or ‘The Stranger’ but still a gripping thriller

Time Trap - a fun time-travel film with some interesting turns of events

72 Dangerous/Cutest Animals (random episodes) - just ‘cause i love animals

Slasher (all of it) - some very gory deaths, especially in season 3. quite disturbing but keeps the suspense up throughout.

2012 - a guilty pleasure of mine, realistic or not

Kingsman: The Secret Service - a fun spy film, will be looking to watch the second one soon

Blackfish - this was harrowing, it really made me think, but overall i’m on the side of tilikum

Unsolved Mysteries (season 1 & 2) - watching some of these my jaw dropped, love theorising on this kind of stuff

Down to Earth with Zac Efron (season 1) - Zac is great in this, he seems so chill and literally ‘down to earth’

The Call - I love this film, seen it 3 times now

Contagion - very relatable right now, interesting to see the parallels with todays situation

Next in Fashion (season 1) - i didn’t get too far with this, i found it a little superficial

Searching - another of those internet web-cam based films. decent but not memorable.

Non-stop - another Nicholas Cage classic, this time a suspense thriller

Freaks - as the title suggests this one was rather weird, i didn’t quite gel with it

The Perfection - wow, that was an experience. definitely memorable, even if some characters make questionable decisions...

Extraction - not usually a fan of action-type thrillers, but i actually enjoyed this one, plus it has Chris Hemsworth in it!

Line of Duty (season 2) - full of suspense, a great build-up in the first 5 episodes, but the way they tied it up really grated on me 

Insidious - watched this one with my sister. a genuinely good horror film on rewatch with an amazing cliff-hanger

A Quiet Place - another one watched with my sister. labelled a horror but its more sci-fi, either way its a classic. bring on the second film!

The Dark Tower - disappointing mostly.

Gladiator - i’d never seen this before and now i understand the hype- what an epic movie!

Criminal UK (season 2) - didn’t disappoint following the exceptional first season

Venom - a fun comedic marvel film, definitely need to watch more from Marvel in the next year- i need an order to watch them in as don’t know where to start

Our Planet (season 1) - chill David Attenborough to put on in the background

The Equalizer - a great action revenge thriller plot with a badass Denzel

Merlin (random episodes) - who doesn’t love a trip down memory lane with some nostalgic bbc merlin?

A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010) - pretty scary remake

The Witcher (season 1) - rewatched in order to familiarise myself again before season 2 - i didn’t realise how funny the show was until this time round, gotta love Jaskier!

American Murder: The Family Next Door - this was haunting

The Haunting of Bly Manor - phenomenal, emotional, creepy, heartbreaking - i much preferred it to Hill House

Abducted in Plain Sight - seriously, how naive are the parents in this? i could have a rant for hours about this!

The End of the F***ing World (seasons 1 & 2) - very bingeable, Alyssa makes me laugh too much, i love how relatable the show is

Fractured - didn’t expect much from this consipiracy-type film but it kept me guessing right till the end

The Ripper (limited series) - very intriguing, but the mysogyny in this was shocking

Inconceivable - a typical mother looking for her baby revenge plot but still entertaining

The Midnight Sky - i’d heard rave reviews for this but was disappointed by a lacklustre plot which was sacrificed for award-winning cinematography

Killer Women with Piers Morgan (season 2) - a pyschological interview series which looks into the mind of murderers, rather interesting

May the Devil Take You - scarier and jumpier than i thought it would be!

So 2020 obviously gave me a lot of time to watch a s**t load of stuff and looking back at it i feel like i got a decent amount of my watch-list ticked off! And obviously this is not including shows watched on other media so there’s that too (a special shout-out to the William Hartnell era of Doctor Who which I watched this year on BritBox). In all, 2020 has definitely introduced me to a few new fandoms and progressed my love for others. 

#personal #mine #netflix #watchlist #potential spoilers #spoilers #travelers #it crowd #sherlock #unforgettable #you #jumanji #gavin and stacey #atypical #saw #doctor who #the revenant #louis theroux #how to get away with murder #star trek #bloodride #apostle #oceans eleven #the platform #it #jurassic world #miranda #black mirror #dark #slasher

[captainseaweedbrains]

Prompt: this bag said it would keep my food cold for 3 hours, it lied.

Thanks for the prompt, friend! I hope you like it. It was a lot of fun to write! :D 

Can be read on Ao3: x

Katniss and the No Good, Lousy Rotten Day

Katniss was having a no good, lousy rotten day and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed with three bottles of wine and pretend that she didn’t get chewed out in front of her whole department and had her budget threatened. That her car didn’t die in the left-hand turn lane on the busiest intersection in town. And that she most definitely didn’t catch her no good, lousy rotten boyfriend cheating on her in the supply closet with one of the interns. Nope. None of it happened. Today was fine.

“Rough day?” Peeta asked when she limped in through the door, her hair disheveled and her pants soaked because—oh yeah, she fell in a puddle when her heel broke stepping out of her Lyft, twisting her ankle in the process. Such a great day all around.

Grunting, Katniss hobbled over to the kitchen table, the closest piece of furniture near her, and collapsed into a chair. Her ankle throbbed. Her ass was sore and wet. But most hurt was her pride. It had taken a beating like no other today.

No good, lousy rotten day.

“Rough day?” Peeta asked again from the couch, watching TV. From the sounds of it, he was watching some cooking challenge show. She threw her broken shoe at him because he sounded way too smug for someone who clearly had eyes. To make her day even worse, she missed him by a lot and hit the sole lamp in their living room, causing it to fall off the side table and crack in half. “Waita go, Everdeen,” he chuckled, shaking his head. She groaned in darkness now, the only light now coming from their TV. She couldn’t even aim right today, her one natural gift gone. Destroyed by the day’s shittiness.

No good, lousy rotten day. 

Peeta patted the spot next to him on the couch, his smile welcoming under the TV’s light. She considered hobbling off to her bed and telling him not to disturb her, but she really needed her best friend’s comfort after this hellhole day. His arms were open and she hobbled right into them, resting her head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing circles up and down her arm, like he always did when holding her like this. Her eyes closed at the touch, his hand bringing on a familiar warmth only Peeta seemed to emulate. He didn’t ask why she was wet or why she threw a shoe at him. Years of friendship didn’t require instant explanation. He knew she’d spill once she had calmed down enough to explain without getting super worked up again. Sometimes that took minutes, other times hours, but she always told him everything eventually. 

She was so lucky to have him here.

They sat together in darkness, their bodies pressed together as they watched TV. Katniss was right. He was watching a cooking show. It wasn’t the type of thing she’d pick for herself to watch, but watching Peeta watch it was something else entirely. He always denied doing it, but he liked to list back the recipes the contestants spoke of, like saying them aloud will help him commit it to memory, and critique certain techniques he didn’t agree with. Peeta was an intense Food TV junkie and it amused her to no end how seriously he took it.

Tonight as he parroted back the recipes, she focused on the way his deep voice reverberated, the way his free hand would motion to the TV in exasperation because a contestant thought it wise to use the microwave instead of setting a low flame. Her arms tightened around him, content. Nothing was better than familiarity on a no good, lousy rotten day and next to her family, she knew Peeta best. He was a constant in her life and she was so grateful for it. At least some men could be depended on. 

The show switched to commercials and he looked down at her at last, his eyes asking if she’s ready to talk. 

She was.   

Katniss extracted herself from his embrace, a bit reluctantly because her damp clothes caused a chill and Peeta was her infinite amount of warmth. “Why waste money on a heater when I have a Peeta?” she used to tease in college when they were living together in the world’s shittiest apartment, barely scraping by. Everything used to break down and both their families were tight on money to just loan out a couple hundred for repairs. They had to make do with what they had and most times in the winter, it meant huddling together in the same sleeping bag for warmth.

“So today…” Peeta started for her, twirling a bit of her braid around his fingers.

“...was the shittiest of shitty days to have ever shitted,” she finished sourly, always one with her words. 

His eyebrows knit together in concern, a frown tugging at his lips. His silent concern was enough to break the dam and she went on to explain how both Snow and Coin chewed her out in front of the whole department, questioning if she was even qualified to lead a group of its size. Then when she tried defending her reasoning, they casually mentioned budget restraints and perhaps cuts would have to be made for next fiscal year in order for the company to stay afloat. 

“And then my car died at Six Corner on my way back from their office,” Katniss continued, feeling more lousy as she went on. “I know you kept telling me it was a death trap on wheels and that I should have gotten a new car years ago, but please don’t tell me ‘I told you so’ because I don’t think I can handle that right now.” At this point, Peeta had retrieved her emergency stash of Ben & Jerry from the freezer and she was stuffing her face into the double-chocolate brownie goodness with agusto. 

“It was the worst,” she continued, mouth full of ice cream. “All these cars were blaring at me and flipping me the bird, like I purposely let my car die in the left-hand turn lane! Don’t say anything!” she snapped, pressing a sticky finger to his lips. His eyes widened at the touch, but he remained the good listener he always was, letting her blow off steam and stuff her sorrows with ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.

“But that’s not even the worst of it,” she sighed, blowing at her bangs that desperately needed a trim. “Cato cheated on me.” It was hard looking at him for that. Peeta warned her from day one not to get involved with Cato, saying he wreaked of sleazebag and booze, but she just shrugged his concerns off, wanting something entirely different from her failed relationship with Gale, and she was far too into the crazy sex they had to pull the plug. Cato was the rebound mistake she let linger for too long. And now she got hurt because of her own stubborn stupidity. 

“Katniss, I’m so sorry.” Much to her relief, it sounded like he truly meant it. His deep voice didn’t seem to carry any contempt toward her and he reached over for a hug, pulling her close. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him, her face pressing into the crook of his neck. Peeta gave the best hugs. His warm, strong arms easily encased her, reminding her of being wrapped in a really soft blanket, and he always smelled faintly of foods—sweet sugars or savory spices, it didn’t matter. He always smelled of it and she loved that about him. A little taste of home. 

His large hand rubbed circles on her back now, not saying anything else as she sat there in his arms, the cold from the ice cream container numbing her still damp pants. They sat like that for a while, his TV show returning and ending. Another episode started up, but Peeta didn’t push her away. He never did. Even when she dug her own grave, Peeta was climbing in next to her, offering a hand of support.

“It’s stupid,” she mumbled dejectedly into his shoulder, his shirt soft against her cheek. “I knew he was a jerk, but I didn’t think I’d care this much, you know? Why do I care this much?” 

“I think we naturally expect the good from people,” he said quietly, still rubbing her back. “It sucks when we’re proven wrong about them.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe she subconsciously expected Cato to be a semi-decent guy and not cheat on her. Was the bar really that low for her now? She tucked her head back into his neck, needing another moment of this before facing the reality that yeah, her standards in the past few years have really gone down.

“Hey, Katniss?” he asked after sitting like this for a while.

“Hm?” 

“Can we move your ice cream? I’m all here for your sweet fix and hugs, but it’s getting a bit cold down there.” And in true Peeta Mellark fashion, he was able to get her to laugh on one of the worst days she’s seen since moving back after her bad breakup with Gale. Teasing if he wanted her heating pad to warm him back up, she moved the melting ice cream on the coffee table and smiled at him. 

She was so lucky having him in her life. He’d been such a constant in her life, always caring about what was going on, offering his advice where he could. She’d done a lot of shitty things in the past, some even toward him, but Peeta never held it against her. Even when she rightfully deserved his anger, he was still there. After all these years. Ready to lend a helping hand.

This was why she loved him.

Wait, what? Her eyes widened in surprise. The thought had come so quickly, but it felt natural to think. Like it’d been sitting there, deep in her head, for a while. Of course she loved him. He was her best friend! She’d told him “I love you” countless times over the years, most being when she had food coming her way, but this felt different, staring at his white bluish face. This felt like the other love. That love. The one she remembered feeling with Gale and before him, Thom. 

She chewed at her thumbnail, her eyes darting away. 

This was bad. Really bad. This was how her and Gale had started and that went south fast. They weren’t friends anymore, the breakup was so bad. If something like that happened to her and Peeta… She wouldn’t know what she’d do without him. Without his kind words and affectionate gestures. The idea was hard to swallow. 

“Feeling better?” he asked, smiling a little, unbeknownst to the world shaking revelation happening in her head. His hand squeezed hers in good spirit.

Katniss looked at how his hand rested over hers, her tiny fingers peeking out. Her pulse quickened. Like the dam he helped open earlier, it felt like something else had broken inside her, flooding her with emotions she didn’t even realize she’d been feeling. His hand felt so nice resting over hers like that, and a small part of her wished he’d take it and press his lips to it. Like the gentlemen did in those silly period dramas he was always having her watch when it was his turn to pick a movie out. Would he be weirded out if she did that to him? Just picked up his hand and kissed it? 

Stop it! her mind screamed, resisting any urges of kissing her chapped lips over his hands. Friends are off limits. These things never end well. 

“Katniss?” he asked, that concern back in his voice and—okay, yeah. He really needed to stop talking so she could process this flood of emotions.

“Hmmm?” She looked up at him, her eyes still wide.

“Are you feeling better? Do you want me to order a pizza? I’ll even order your nasty pineapple pizza, if that will cheer you up.” God, could he please stop? He never let her put pineapple on their shared pizza unless she really needed the pick-me-up. He really was too much. 

“Mhm,” she smiled a bit too brightly. “Sounds good. Love pizza. You know how pizza makes me horny—I mean happy! Pizza makes me happy!” Now he was looking at her like she’d grown another head. “Pineapple pizza is perfect, Peeta,” she breathed. “Thank you.” 

He still looked at her strangely, but shook his head in amusement at her weirdness and shoved at her playfully before getting up to go order the pizza.

“Mind if I talk about the betrayal I felt today?” he asked from the kitchen, the sounds of drawers opening as he looked for a pizza coupon. 

“Bold word to use on a girl who found her boyfriend in the supply closet with the barely legal intern,” she said, her voice sounding high-pitched. “Can it top that?” 

“Absolutely.” His head popped out from the small service window dividing the kitchen from the living room, his phone pressed to his ear. “This bag”—He held up a purple lunch bag she recognized from his many online purchases—“said it would keep my food cold for three hours. It lied. It wasn’t even two hours and my smoothie felt like it’d been baking in the car. You can bet I gave them a strongly worded review and—hi! Yes, I’m calling to place an order.” He smiled that charming smile he always wore whenever they went out to eat somewhere, despite being on the phone, and god. She knew he was handsome, but how had she not noticed the dimples in his round stupid face before?  

Katniss leaned forward on the couch, her hands pressed to her forehead, and groaned. She was totally screwed.    

Stupid, no good, lousy rotten day.

#everlark fanfiction #the hunger games fanfiction #everlark fanfic #jroseley #asks #my writing #prompts #I hope you like it!

[otpnessmess]

Daminette December Day 5: “Fire”

Guess who decided to completely forgo studying to write instead :D For those who asked for more backstory on Day 2, here it is! It can still be read on its own, however. There’s also mention of a car crash near the middle, nothing long or explicit but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Now, enjoy!

Ao3 - Masterlist

-

Marinette had always loved fire. Dangerous as it was, what with being able to consume entire rooms in seconds or entire forests in very few hours when it wasn’t controlled, it brought good memories to her. 

When she was a child, her parents used to take her camping during the summer holidays. They would close down the bakery for a week and camp out in the countryside. She would help her papa collect materials to make a campfire, making a circle with rocks, and piling the logs, sticks, and pinecones they had found in the middle of it. Her favorite part was always seeing it lit up. The blue and orange flames hypnotized her, the crackling sound of burning wood lulling her into a calm state. After they finished setting it up, the three of them would sit in front of it at night and sing happily, her dad occasionally adding more wood. They did that until it was time to have dinner or go to bed.

Marinette had fond memories of those times. 

She also associated fire with the smell of home. The giant oven where her parents cooked the bread every morning made its wonderful smell spread throughout the whole building, and she loved it when they let her look at it while it was being cooked. The little girl simply found herself drawn in by the intricate patterns of the fire, even if trying to commit them to memory was futile, as they kept disappearing into thin air before she could. 

One of the first dresses she had designed, when she was 12 years old, had been a homage to this particular aspect of her childhood. A beautiful gown with several tulle layers that tried to emulate the color range of the flames. Reds and oranges and yellows with very delicate touches of blue made up the skirt, while the top was a deep red corset with an asymmetric neckline. Young Mari had been very proud, and had made that dress as soon as she had been able to save up money to buy the materials she needed.

These were some of the main reasons why Marinette liked fire so much. 

But it’s well known that an innumerable amount of good can always meet its demise in the hands of one single bad thing. 

No matter how many compliments you receive on your outfit for the day, the one mean comment from that person that doesn’t like you will be the one to stick with you.

You can do several good deeds and favors to people. They will always resent the one time you couldn’t help them.

No matter how many good memories you associate with something, how pure the feelings you attach to it are. One bad experience will bring it crashing down.

And crash it did.

The smell of singed flesh and smoke was making Marinette dizzy. She couldn’t see anything but she could hear screams and calls for help. Was that her maman? She wasn’t able to tell. Where was her papa? He had been driving when a car derailed from the next lane over, colliding straight into the side of their car where Marinette was leaning against the window. 

Her body was screaming at her to move, to get away from the intense heat surrounding her, yet it hadn’t been able to. 

Mari thought she could hear someone calling for her, telling her to hang in there. She was trying her best, but the smoke was filling her lungs and she could feel the agonizing pain from her burnt skin. Turned out, trying her best wasn’t nearly enough, and the girl lost consciousness not long after.

Only to immediately wake up again with a scream.

Breathing heavily she tried to move her hands around to check where she was and started panicking a little when she couldn’t. She noticed something was holding her down and tried to squirm her way out of it.

“Shh, Angel. It’s okay, it’s just me.”

That voice made Marinette quickly snap back to reality. The something now felt like two very familiar strong arms, and they were gently holding her close in a tight hug.

“Damian…” She finally breathed out and relaxed against him, letting the warmth of his body seep into hers. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. It’s only 2, and you know I wouldn’t let you wake up from one of those nightmares alone.” Her boyfriend was trying to soothe her by running his fingers through his hair. “Was it the same one again?”

Marinette weakly nodded, still burrowing her face on his chest. Her little birdie smelled like home, a mix of his cologne and the baked treats Mari gifted him with every day. She knew she was safe with him.

Damian hated seeing his love like this, terrified and curled in on herself. It made him feel small and useless. Even if living together now let him be there for her every night, helping her settle back down and fall asleep again, he was powerless against the nightmares. They would keep on coming no matter what they tried to do. Provided, they had become much less frequent after she had agreed to start seeing a therapist (she had smacked him with a wooden spoon when he tried suggesting it that way, perhaps he shouldn’t have snickered), but they hadn’t been completely eradicated.

“Stop that. " Marinette could almost hear all of his thoughts spiraling down, as they always did whenever something happened that he couldn't fix. She felt slightly guilty about making her boyfriend so worried, but at least it wasn't as bad as it once was. Damian's reassurances that he didn't mind staying up with her whenever those awful dreams of hers didn't allow her to fall back asleep had managed to diminish the urges to bottle it up so she wouldn't bother him. 

Mari carefully cupped his face and used her fingers to ease the lines on his face. "If you keep frowning like that you'll get so many wrinkles before you're 25, birdy. It's not worth it."

"I was frowning 24/7 by the time I was 10, Angel. It's a little bit late for that." He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist, burrowing them further under the covers. Marinette had yet to let go of his face, but he knew what she was trying to do and closed his eyes. "Like what you see, Nette?"

As he received a rewarding giggle, the man felt himself completely relax under her delicate fingertips, her hands tracing the lines of his face in adoration. Mari would do this all the time after she found out it calmed him down. 

"Actually yes, even if my eyes have never been able to see you, my hands know you well. You know you're beautiful, mon petit oiseau. Have I not told you that enough?" She ran her fingers delicately over his lips before stealing a sweet kiss. "I love you Dami."

Marinette was aware that uttering those magic words usually made Damian forget about everything else and just focus on fighting her over who could give the other more affection. Lo and behold, this led to a war of kisses that had them rolling around in bed laughing. His favorite spot to leave kisses had always been her neck, and he enjoyed teasing her way too much. 

"That tickles! Ahhh, stop!" The giggles and whines echoed off the walls of their shared bedroom and Damian relented and let her go. Though not before kissing her once again on those lovely pink lips of hers. 

"Aww, you're no fun, Angel." He settled back under the covers while stroking her hair. 

"Don't think I forgot about what happened the last time you had too much fun, mister, Chloé said my neck looked like a murder scene and laughed for an hour before helping me fix it." 

"That wasn't my fault, You looked too beautiful and I couldn't resist." He pouted more out of habit than anything. Around the time they had started to become close, he had unknowingly started to mimic Marinette's expressions, at least until one of his brothers pointed it out, and now it just stuck with him. 

"Sure you were, you giant baby. I don't understand how anyone could think you're dangerous, you're a softie." 

Well, in all truth, she did know how. One of the reasons she loved it when they were alone was because he was so carefree then, he didn't have to cater to any kind of reputation. Damian didn't need to be Talia Al Ghul's son, or Bruce Wayne's son, or even Robin. He was just Damian. A guy a little bit rough around the edges, but devoted to Marinette in every way. Just as she was to him. 

"Only for you, Nette. Only for you."

Long forgotten were the nightmares and the fire in Marinette's mind, and as she snuggled closer to Damian's chest, letting his heartbeat lull her back to a (hopefully) peaceful sleep, the last thing she heard was a soft "I love you too Habibti. Always."

-

That’s it for day 5! Thank you for reading, and let me know what you thought of it! Also, I love all of your lovely comments and I cannot express how happy they make me. Love you all <3

Tag list

@daminette-december2019 @tbehartoo @18-fandoms-unite-08 @vixen-uchiha @thesunanditsangel

#daminette #damian x marinette #damian wayne #daminette december #maribat #marinette dupain-cheng #marinette dupain cheng #ml x dc #liswrites #day 5

[allisondraste]

Writer’s Review

Thanks for the tag @kagetsukai.  This was a fun trip down memory lane.  My first published work was In January of 2008 and it was for Inuyasha and my most recent works have been for Fallout 4, but for the funsies of direct comparison, I chose my first Dragon Age fic (published in 2010 when I was SIXTEEN GAH) and a very unintentionally similar scene I wrote back when I started Temperance in 2019.  ;D

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

In return I shall tag @potatocrab @laurelsofhighever @adventuresofmeghatron and anyone else who might wish to cringe at their own old writing.  As always, no pressure.  I’m just following the rules. 

I’m gonna stick this under a read more because it’s very long. 

Excerp from Hunger, a short fic for my warden Eliya Surana and Alistair. 

It sounded again. It was more recognizable this time. It was a laugh or a chuckle. It sounded human, or possibly elven to her ears. The thought of bandits waiting like tigers ready to pounce upon them and cut her throat, then Alistair, Leliana, and Morrigan (if they dared). Then they'd rob the camp and leave the corpses to the darkspawn and beasts of the forest.

They thought of being decapitated didn't sit well with the red headed elf. In a rush of fear and adrenaline, she leaped forward toward whoever was laughing and charged up and electricity spell holding it to whatever she'd made contact with. She hoped to scare whatever it was into submission. She didn't understand how successful she'd been until she looked down.

She was straddling what was definitely human, definitely male, and definitely…

"HOLY CRAP IT'S YOU," she said with an embarrassed yet relieved shout as she held the spell to the man's face and it had revealed his identity. It was Alistair and she'd obviously startled him.

"No, no don't hit me! I bruise easily," he said putting his hands in front of his embarrassment flushed face.

"I'm SO sorry," she said not thinking to get up off of him in her disgruntled state, "I thought you were a bandit and you were going to cut my throat and then kill everyone else and take all of the FOOD. Why were you laughing?"

"I was… uhh… laughing… err…at… haha… you," he said in a meek manner like she'd kill him if he said it, "Though now I know to never ever ever EVER do that again EVER."

Eliya gave him a confused eyebrow raise, her pointy ears twitching slightly in a quirky involuntary manner. "At me? Why?" She wondered if it was because she was elven. Despite being accepted by the humans in the Circle, she had lived in Denerim for awhile and was quick to accuse humans of racist beliefs. She hadn't thought Alistair to be… that way after being around him for several days, but she had to question his motives.

"No, no, its not what you're thinking," The stunned boy said apologetically. Alistair obviously knew what she was getting at, "Its not because you're an elf. I swear it! I heard you rattling around and talking to yourself. I thought it was funny because I knew what you were doing. It seemed like déjà vu for me because I went through the same hunger thing. I… couldn't help it."

"Oh," Eliya said with a relieved chuckle, "That's good because I really didn't want to beat you up."

Alistair laughed but when he saw the stern expression on the girl's face he stopped. "Wait are you serious," he questioned.

Eliya looked sternly for about five more seconds but then busted into a hysterical laughter.

"We're even now," she said between laughs. And they sat there laughing at the predicament.

Excerpt from Chapter 3 of Temperance, a scene between Liss Cousland and Alistair 

The air was slightly too cold for her liking, teeth chattering as the wind nipped at her cheeks and nose.  Despite her discomfort, she found the courtyard ideal, ferns and flowers illuminated only by moonlight. She wondered how the plants survived the frost that coated them each night, the hardy little things.  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and allowed her muscles to lose their tension.

The calm lasted only briefly, as she heard a rustle in the grass behind her and footsteps approaching.  She turned on her heels abruptly, balling her hand into a fist, and jabbing forcefully in the direction of the noise.  A man’s voice yelped in pain, and there was a thud as the figure, now in focus, fell to the ground. Liss moved to restrain the potential attacker, sitting atop him with her fist at the ready.  

“No no no!  Please don’t hit me again, I bruise easily,” the man, whose features Liss could now see more clearly, pleaded.

He was a young man with sandy hair, brown skin, and dark hazel eyes wide with shock and perhaps pain at the punch she had landed against his torso.  He did not appear to be armed, or dangerous for that matter. Then again, she knew better than to let her guard down.

“Who are you,” she demanded, fist still at the ready, “And why were you sneaking around in the courtyard?”

“My name is Alistair,” he answered nervously, “I had come outside for some air, as one does, and I noticed that someone else was out here.  I, uh…well I was hoping not to alarm you. I guess we see how well that worked out.”

“Alistair?” The name sounded familiar, and she stood up and stepped back as she realized who the young man was, “The Alistair?  King Maric’s son? The Grey Warden who helped stop the Blight? That Alistair?”

He stood up and dusted the dirt from his pants.  “The one and only.” He grimaced as he attempted to straighten up his posture, massaging the place on his abdomen where Liss’ fist had fallen. “Maker, that hurt.  Who are you, anyway? Do you always go around attacking people?”

“I’m Elissa Cousland, and I’m so, so sorry,” she laughed nervously, bringing her hands to her face to hide the embarrassment.  “I just couldn’t sleep, so I came outside for a walk. I heard footsteps, and I thought- well… I don’t know what I thought.  It’s been a long year, and I’m a little on edge.”

“I’ll say,” he said pointedly, before flashing a grin, “I think it’s safe to say we’re all a little on edge, what with the war and the Blight.  Better to punch first, ask questions later, huh?”

“I suppose,” Liss answered, still laughing at herself, “Though it’s probably not the best way to make friends.”

I did not even realize that I’d accidentally rewritten a similar scene with different characters, under slightly different circumstances.  I get a HOOT out of rereading Hunger because there are so many anachronisms and so much telling instead of showing. I think I’ve also gotten better at taking a deep point of view and letting the character lead me rather than standing at a distance from the POV character.  I’m glad to see I enjoy having Alistair tackled by cagey women for a decade now.   This was fun. 

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair #surana #cousland #my writing #humor

[hyungwonmyheart]

Of the Sun - Six

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Seonghwa / Female Reader Genre: Fantasy!AU (D&D inspired) Words: 3,915 Tags: dungeons & dragons, fantasy!au, high-elf!Seonghwa, human!reader, dragon!Yunho, secrets unfolding, fluff towards the end Summary: This part of your journey finally leads you to Yvemoore, the very place where you and your companion, Seonghwa, had business to attend to. Little did you know, the person you were both looking to find...was one in the same. A/N: I know it’s been months since I updated this, and anything for that matter, I’ve just been trying not to rush myself anymore. Anyway, I had fun with this and I really enjoyed bringing in a new character! And there are more adventures to come!

It was late. Dusk had quickly approached in the mountains, and the cold weather was setting in. In the last town, Seonghwa had bought you a new coat, one fit for the temperature as you traveled further north. Being a sun elf, Seonghwa wasn’t partial to the cold, but this was where Yvemoore was located and the place holding the business you both had to attend to.

You trudged along the road, but soon you saw looming silhouettes of large buildings through the trees. Your heart was pounding as Yvemoore grew closer. You readjusted the bag on your shoulders and pushed through your weariness, walking even faster than Seonghwa.

Seonghwa noticed your determination now that the city was in your sights. You had been traveling nonstop for two weeks, only resting in the evenings.

You would have been there sooner, if not for the ten days you spent mentally recovering from the shock of your bandit incident. It had taken some time to feel normal again. Yeosang helped with that, as he became a fast friend during your stay. Seonghwa had been your rock, of course, and you had accepted reality with their help. It was hard to say goodbye to your new friend, but Yvemoore was waiting for you.

When you entered through the city gates, your eyes lit up at the sights. The street lamps were glowing brightly, town guards were stationed on various corners, and the nightlife was bustling. You came upon a street full of bars and hotels lined up, with entertaining melodies and savory scents filling the air. A small group of young ladies, dressed warmly and stylishly, passed by a bar only to attract some hoops from a few men standing outside. The women rolled their eyes and continued on their way.

You had never been to such a large city; it put the last one to shame. You really felt like a small town human. You clutched the hilt of your sword. It gave you strength, and a reminder of why you came here. He said he could be found on Marigold Lane. You searched the street signs as you strolled through, fascinated the more you walked. Seonghwa seemed to know where he was going, though. His steadfast pace was heading in a particular direction. That’s when you saw it.

MARIGOLD LANE.

Peering down the rather wide road, it looked like a row of businesses, each with two floors above them that seemed to be where some people lived. But where will I find him here? He didn’t specify...That’s so like him, you thought haplessly as your eyes roamed around. You noticed a tall figure walking out of a shop and locking its door.

Everything felt as if it were moving slowly around you as your eyes honed in on the person’s face.

If you were paying attention, you would have seen Seonghwa open his mouth to say something along the lines of, “Yun--”

Within seconds and without regard to your lover, you were bolting down the cobblestone street and screaming, “YUNHOOO!” You tackled them into a tight hug, causing them to drop their keys.

The figure seemed stunned for a moment, as was Seonghwa. He was frozen in his tracks a few yards away as he watched you pull back from the person and grin up at them.

A young-looking man with stark white hair was smiling down at you once he got a good look at whomever had approached him so...rambunctiously. He said your name in surprise before bringing you back into another hug. “It’s so good to see you,” he cooed before his eyes drifted to the elf. He tensed in your arms. Suddenly putting you at arms’ length, Yunho moved away and held out a friendly hand towards the other male. “Seonghwa! You came!”

You turned your head as you were left alone to watch the two greet each other. You blinked in confusion. “You two know each other?!” You gaped.

“I should be saying the same,” Seonghwa said, voice lower than usual.

Yunho let out a nervous laugh at the situation. “Wait, were you two traveling together?”

“Yes…” You both answered in sync before sharing a glance.

“I was just going out for a drink...Care to join me?” Yunho asked.

You went to accept until Seonghwa cut you off.

“I’d prefer to speak privately,” he demanded in that stern voice you’d grown to love.

Yunho fetched his keys from the ground and went back to the door he had just exited. “By all means.” He glanced over your face and reached up, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. “You’re freezing! Hurry, come inside.” He shot a smile over to Seonghwa as he began to unlock and open the door. “I know how much you hate being cold, too. Let’s get you both warmed up.”

You bounced inside and followed Yunho upstairs as Seonghwa relocked the door behind him. You didn’t notice the uncomfortable expression on his face; you were too excited to finally be reunited with Yunho. All you had endured had been for this moment.

Once up the stairs and into an ornately decorated living room, you shrugged off your hefty backpack and coat while taking a curious look around.

“I would have never expected the two of you to arrive at the same time...Together! How interesting!” Yunho exclaimed, going over to a fireplace to start warming the room up even more.

“Yes, this is very interesting, indeed,” Seonghwa commented, removing his own bag and trenchcoat.

You sat down in a chair near the fireplace. It was only then when you realized how cold you actually were. Your teeth chattered, and you fervidly rubbed your hands to warm them.

Yunho heard the noise and suddenly insisted, “You need a hot bath. How does that sound?”

You would have thought someone offered you a treasure chest of gold. “That would be lovely!” Bathing in cold streams grew old after such a long journey. Your eyes met Seonghwa’s gaze, and you were struck with a strange feeling. You couldn’t put your finger on it as he looked away to the fire. You felt bad for taking advantage of Yunho’s hospitality, and… “But I just got here. I don’t want to--”

“Hush,” Yunho said with a smile. “You’re not imposing in the least. After all, you traveled all the way here to see me. We’ll have plenty of time to talk once you’re done.”

You looked to Seonghwa again. “Is that okay?”

The elf shook his head, still staring at the flames. “It’s no problem for me. Go ahead.”

You gave a half-hearted smile, grabbed your bag, and followed Yunho to the bathroom. Then came the sound of water running before a door shutting. Yunho strolled back into the living room and gave Seonghwa a grin. “My dear, old comrade! It has been years since I last saw you...” He did a once-over of the elf and boasted, “and the years have been good to you!”

“Come now, you’re just saying that,” Seonghwa teased sarcastically. He sat down in the chair you vacated.

“I’m not! Trust me, a dragon knows beauty when it sees it,” Yunho said, pulling another chair over to the fire. He sighed in relaxation, yet couldn’t resist asking the question, “How did you meet her?”

“I saved her life,” came the monotonous response.

Yunho burst into laughter. “Why am I not surprised?!”

Seonghwa crossed one leg over the other and clasped his hands in his lap. “You two seemed chummy. I mean, she’s always been a chipper one...I’ve never seen her quite this enthralled, though. It’s strange.”

“‘Strange’? Well, we haven’t seen each other in almost four years. She was obviously looking forward to seeing me.”

“Really? It’s only strange because she never mentioned you.”

Yunho shifted in his chair. “How long have you been traveling together?”

“A few months,” Seonghwa told him.

A smirk came to play on Yunho’s lips, “I’m assuming you also didn’t tell her about me by her reaction. It goes both ways.”

Seonghwa wanted to tell him off, but held his tongue. He had a point. Nevermind that, he had to move on. “She said she was returning a sword to someone in Yvemoore. Why?”

“Why?” Yunho repeated.

“Yes. Why exactly did you leave your sword with her?”

“Hm? She didn’t tell you that either?”

Seonghwa shifted slightly, clearly peeved that you didn’t. He obviously wanted Yunho to get to the point and answer his damn question.

A smug look came to Yunho’s expression. He figured he might as well tell his former companion the truth. “When we first met about four years ago, she was living with a blacksmith and his wife. From what I understood, they took her in after losing her parents when she was too young to care for herself. I came to commission the blacksmith for a new sword.” He stared off into the distance, fondly recalling his memories. “She was a spitfire from the get-go. The weapon I wanted was to be made of a specific metal that could be found in a mountain nearby her town. She accompanied me to mine the ore; showed me where it was and the best way to get it. She knew a lot about the area, so we spent most of our time together while the blacksmith crafted my sword. I was there for six months.”

“That’s quite a long time to forge a sword.”

Yunho chuckled. “If I am to be honest, I stuck around longer than I should have. We had grown so close, and I didn’t want to leave her. She couldn’t come with me...you know that. Alas, the time came for me to continue on my travels, and I left my prior sword with her. I told her it could be a keepsake.”

“She said she wanted to give the sword back to you.” Seonghwa then inquired, “And how did she know she would find you in Yvemoore?”

“I learned of an illness spreading throughout her town. Her guardians succumbed to it. When I heard of this, I sent a message to her saying that I would be here for a while, if she didn’t get sick first.”

“I’m looking for a friend. They’re the closest thing I have to family now.” Your words from the day Seonghwa met you rang through his head. You had lost so much. Oh, how happy he was to be by your side, never to leave you lonely again. “Well, she’s not ill,” he reassured Yunho. “She made it here safely.”

“Thanks to you, old friend,” Yunho exclaimed, clapping a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Now. I have business with you that doesn’t include our little human.” He smiled kindly. Too kindly.

Seonghwa tensed, suspicious of his tone. “Why did you call me here?”

“Your parents have been trying to find you. They get quite upset when you go off on your excursions without having a way of contacting you besides through me.”

The elf rolled his eyes. “I do that on purpose.”

“They know you do,” Yunho laughed. “They wanted you to know your younger sister is to be married in four months' time.”

Scoffing at this news, Seonghwa moved to tap his fingers repeatedly on the arm of the chair. “You couldn’t have told me that in the letter?!”

“You wouldn’t have gone! That’s why I’m here to escort you!” Yunho chortled. He grabbed a nearby messenger bag and dug around to retrieve an envelope. He tossed it towards Seonghwa. “Here's the invitation I've been waiting to give to you for three months. Your presence would be appreciated.”

Yunho was a friend, but he was also an excellent swordsman amongst other things, as in being a mythical creature...Seonghwa would hate to have to fight him all to avoid his family. Letting out a huff of annoyance, he leaned back in his chair and frumped down a bit. “Appreciated? All I’ll be hearing is their nagging about how I need to find my own spouse.”

“They just want to see you settle down and carry on the family legacy. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to find your own sweet, elven bride?”

Seonghwa tensed, but figured now would be the best time to tell Yunho. “I don’t need an elven bride when I have a human one,” he bravely asserted.

As the seconds passed and those words sank in, Yunho’s eyes grew wider and wider. “Excuse me?!” The shadows cast on his face by the fire turned ominous.

“You heard me. ‘Our little human’ is ‘my little human.’”

“This better not be some game to you, Seonghwa, or else I swear to the Heavens that I will send you there,” Yunho said lowly, his demeanor suddenly dangerous.

“I assure you that she is the love of my life, and I want nothing more than to spend my days with her. She is in good hands,” Seonghwa informed him, earnest and true.

Yunho narrowed his eyes on the elf.

Seonghwa was left exasperated. Out of nowhere, all of his jealousy bubbled over. “I. Love. Her. How do I spell that out to you? Besides, you two were acting more like lovers than we were! How do I know you’re not going to take her from me?!”

There was a long pause. Yunho tilted his head. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yes! Tell me right now! What are your feelings towards her?!”

Yunho grew quiet, merely watching Seonghwa with dancing eyes. He’d never seen him so flustered before. He eventually stood from his seat and crossed the room, heading to a cabinet. Fetching two glasses and a bottle from within, he filled them with a dark liquor. "She merely intrigues me," he eventually said, coming back to offer Seonghwa a glass.

Seonghwa hesitantly took it, but watched Yunho carefully as he spoke.

"She's a resilient human. Strong, amusing, all around lovely. I fancy her, Seonghwa, but not in the way you seem to. And I would never dare take her from you if you love her as much as you claim." He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped slowly.

"...But you called her here."

"For her safety. It was the only way I could think to save her. She would be alone otherwise." Yunho lifted the glass to his lips before pausing to chuckle, “It’s not me you should be worried about, though. Wait until your family hears the grand news.” He sipped the drink.

A clear look of disgruntlement settled on Seonghwa’s features. “The expectations they have for my life are suffocating,” he grumbled. “Why do you think I practically disappear for months on end?”

“I’ve known your family long before your birth, and I know they have little restraint when it comes to voicing their opinions,” the humanoid dragon spoke, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze. “I feel I may understand you better than they do. You long for freedom, and yet you still do their bidding in the end.”

“Not always…”

“Oh? Tell me, when was the last time you defied them?”

Seonghwa shifted uncomfortably.

Yunho smiled knowingly. “Will you attend the wedding?”

“Seonghwa,” your voice fraily called from down the hall.

The elf leapt from his chair, gladly avoiding the rest of that conversation. When he appeared in the door of the bathroom, his face was ridden with concern. “What’s wrong?!”

You were clinging to the door frame with one hand while the other kept your body covered with a towel. “I’m lightheaded,” you murmured. “I think the water was too hot.”

Seonghwa kissed your forehead, bringing you into his arms. He glanced behind him where he knew Yunho was now standing. “Is the spare room upstairs all right for us?” He asked his friend.

“Of course,” Yunho answered. “Take her up while I’ll get an extra blanket.”

Helping you out of the bathroom, Seonghwa led you up the staircase to the third floor. On the left, there was a guest room with a large bed, wardrobe, and a few extravagant decorations. You laid down and immediately wrapped yourself in the linens already on the bed.

When Yunho had returned with another oversized blanket, he handed it to Seonghwa who in turn covered you from your neck to your toes. “Is that better?” Seonghwa asked.

You nodded. “Thank you both,” you whimpered, curling up into a ball on your side. The room had finally stopped spinning.

Seonghwa smiled in response, though his eyes were still troubled by your sudden frailty. Going from being so cold to overly hot could mess with a person’s body.

“Of course,” Yunho said, standing in the doorway. “If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

Seonghwa went to stand from leaning against the bedside when your hand shot out from the blankets and grasped onto his wrist. He looked at you in alarm.

Your bottom lip pouted. “Please don’t leave me,” you begged.

The chuckle that came from Seonghwa’s lips was involuntary and harmless. “I’m going to get your things and I’ll be right back, silly girl,” he cooed.

“I’ll grab all your things and bring them up. That way you won’t have to leave her side,” Yunho reassured him, immediately trotting downstairs.

Seonghwa sat down on the mattress and gently moved your hand from his wrist to interlock your fingers together. “Yunho must really care for you because he’d never do that for me,” he joked.

“Yunho’s like my big brother,” you mumbled. “He’s always had a soft spot for me.”

“Ahh, so you know that.”

“But yours is bigger, right?”

Seonghwa’s breath nearly hitched in his throat. Just what were you asking? “What?!”

“Your soft spot for me. It’s bigger than Yunho’s?” You opened your eyes and glanced up at him.

He now realized what he thought you were asking and what you were actually asking were two totally different things. “It is,” he said tenderly as Yunho walked back into the room.

Yunho set everything down at the foot of the bed with a heavy ‘thud.’ Going to the other side of the bed, he patted the top of your head and said, “We’ll talk in the morning. For now, get your rest.”

“Okay,” you answered. You squeezed tighter onto Seonghwa’s hand.

After excusing himself from the guest room, Yunho closed the door and his footsteps descended down the staircase.

You sat in silence for a while with your lover, but then it came time for Seonghwa to pull away. Before you could protest, he said, “I’m going to get you clean clothes to sleep in and change out of my own, okay?”

As much as you didn’t want him to move, you told yourself he wasn’t even leaving the room. He would be back in no time. “Nn,” you approved, retracting your arm back into the blankets.

Once he had disrobed and redressed both of you for sleeping, Seonghwa turned off the light and approached the bed. He buried his way into the covers and held you close. Your head rested on his shoulder while his arm was wrapped around you.

You had almost lulled off when he began humming softly. You thought back to the days following the bandit incident, when you were at your lowest point, and how he used to cradle you and hum this tune. You had been in such a strange state of mind that you never really paid much attention to it besides how soothing his smooth voice was. “You hum that tune a lot,” you uttered into the darkness.

Seonghwa twirled some of your hair with his fingertips. “It’s my favorite lullaby,” he informed you. A few seconds passed. You felt his chest swell with air before he began to sing in elvish. It was the same tune he would hum. It almost felt haunting, yet oddly calming, and you forced yourself to stay awake as it went on. This was your first time hearing his voice singing the words, and you knew that you were falling in love with him all over again.

You fidgeted with the blanket hem to stay conscious. When he finished and the silence filled the room again, you glanced up at him. “What does it mean...if you don’t mind me asking?”

He shook his head, as if it was absurd for you to insist he would mind. “In your language, it would translate to:

Quiet now, my darling child, For the time of slumber is upon you. Dream of fields with wildflowers, Trickling rivers, and the beaming sun. Run amongst the foliage of memories, Holding wisdom outweighing your years. Grow to be wise and cunning, Live with strength in your heart, As those have before you. Sleep well, my darling child, For your ancestors watch over you.”

You smiled as he explained the meaning. “It’s lovely,” you replied. “I never knew you could sing like that.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “I was formally trained in music growing up. It’s just not something needed for adventuring.”

“Singing always livens up an adventure!” You exclaimed. “How many times did you let me sing as we traveled, and yet you never told me you had such a great voice?!”

“You weren’t singing songs I knew!” He defended. “Besides, I’m not that good.”

“Oh, hush, you are!”

Seonghwa embraced you closer to his side, bringing your lips firmly against his.

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you felt the passion behind the kiss. You felt yourself growing dizzy again and forced your mouths apart before you got carried away. “Teach me the song?” You asked breathlessly. “In your language.”

A soft laugh escaped him as he abided by your wish to end the kiss. “I can do that,” he agreed.

Almost an hour had passed when Seonghwa finally told you enough singing for that night. You had learned most of the song, including what each word and phrase was, as well as the inflections you should use. You were actually picking up on it quite quickly, but he felt you growing tired again.

“But I want to finish it,” you whined through a yawn.

“Tomorrow, sweet-love.” When you lifted your chin for one last kiss for the night, he gladly obliged.

Your body grew heavy with sleep while Seonghwa stared at the ceiling for a long time. He couldn’t stop thinking about his discussion with Yunho. He hardly cared what his family had to say about him, but what he didn’t think he could handle was anything they had to say about you. You were the one he wanted to protect. And then, the thought of his younger sister’s face when he didn’t show up for the wedding--well, that also wore on his heart. He could put up with his family long enough to make an appearance, and then he would whisk you away to live happily ever after somewhere.

The more he thought of it, the more it was what he wanted.

Seonghwa knew the right thing was to introduce you to his family as his lover, as the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Hiding you would only show his cowardice. No, he was going to take you to his hometown to meet his family, and to have you on his arm at the wedding. He loved you more than anything he’d ever loved in his life.

You were going to meet his family, and they were going to love you, too.

#ateez fanfiction #ateez fic #seonghwa fanfiction #seonghwa fic #yunho fanfiction #yunho fic #kpop #kpop fanfiction #d&d fanfiction #dungeons and dragons fanfiction #of the sun

[hithelleth]

Ship history meme

Embrace your past and get to know your friends’ fandom origins!

Rules: Post gifs of your fandoms / ships starting with your most current hyperfixation and work backwards. (Bonus points if you share any stories about how or when you got into that ship! But not necessary!!) Then tag anyone whose fandom history you’d like to learn about!

I was tagged by @jadedbirch - thank you! <3

Under the cut, because my history of shipping, or multishipping (because you know me, but I only put in gifs of single ships, b/c tumblr gif inserting function hates me), is a bit long even with only hyperfixations.

1. Victoria Hughes/Lucas Ripley (Station 19)

Ah, yes, I’m back in this hellhole, rereading fanfic, because Grey’s & 19 are back and easy to watch legally without jumping through hoops and I know I’d said I wouldn’t but then I was bored and now I have all these feels again. (I’ll say a few things on it in a separate post when the season’s done in three eps.)

Anyway, this one slammed into me last spring out of the blue, but how could I not ship it when it checks all the right points? 

2. Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston (Timeless)

Another Kripke show, and third time being the charmed, Kripke and co. actually learned from their past mishaps and actually made a good show (except the finale, but what finale? I don’t know it.)

So, there’s this tall, dark, brood, and bad (or maybe not) and lil’ miss goody two shoes (or maybe not) who get each other, what’s not to ship?

3. Bellamy Blake/Roan (The 100)

(No gif, b/c it’s a minuscule ships with maybe 5 gis and tumblr is a bitch, nothing shows up in search and apparently now you can’t save & reupload gifs - which is a good thing, finally, should’ve done it sooner.)

Oh, boys! My boys. I love(d) them so much. The last ship I have written extensively for - even the most extensively after Revolution (I, mean I only published one short oneshot, but the 35K monsterfic that is 3/4 done is still there in my drafts and I still think about it and them, because dammnit.)

Also very good with Clarke thrown in, or just Roan and Clarke (which I also managed to publish a fic for and kudoses that still come on the regular keep my writing heart at least hibernating and warm - here’s to hoping it wakes up from hibernation one day and I can write again.)

4. Shelby Wyatt/the Haases (Quantico)

Yes, all of them. Even Claire, because why not. And I’m sure if they had had the sister on the show, I’d have shipped her with her, too. 

(I mean, I’d say I only shipped Shelby separately with each of them and I didn’t think of also poly shipping them, but that would be a lie and hardly the worst thing I’ve ever thought of shipping.

I hardly said anything about it on here because that was the peak of Moral Purity Wars time on here and Shelby was wildly hated across fandom, ugh, so I jsut squealed a lot inwardly. 

5. Grant Ward/Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons/Sunil Bakshi (Agents of Shield)

Ugh, then there was this shitshow I loathe. But for a while there, there were good things. And now we’re really getting into my multishipping tendencies. 

I started with Fitzward, surfed Skyeward, and then hurled straight into Bakshi/Simmons, also managed to write a ton of fic for the first and the last, but none for the middle. 

(That was also the era when I was into highly questionable stuff, like I may or may not have half a notebook of a Ward/Simmons/Rumlow fic somewhere, oops. But I have no regrets, so we understand each other. And that isn’t the worst thing that’s ever come across my shippery imagination, either.)

6. CM2 or Charlie/Miles/Bass (Revolution)

(gif mine)

The best fandom had the best ships! 

Who even got me into this show? It may even have been @lglorien​ who mentioned the new Kripke show when we were both binging SPN that summer. And then she didn’t even watch all of it and left me to suffer on my own. 

Well, not on my own, because I found the best fandom along the way, so yay!

Anyway.

If you think knowing Miles was Charlie’s uncle stopped from shipping them from the moment she stepped in The Grand in the pilot and he was an asshole to her, you don’t know me. Then Miloe flashbacks happened in ep. 3. And I simultaneously started shipping that and noticed Charlie and Bass have things in common (mainly, Miles being an asshole to them, as it turned out later.)

But there were so many other good ships (Jeremy x everyone, yes?) and some random minor ones, including one or two of only my own concoction. 

And nobody hated anyone for shipping. The best of times, really. 

7. Elijah Mikaelson x everyone (TVD/TO)

Elijah is very shippable with anyone, but Elijah/Elena - there’s a lady who’s not on tumblr anymore (Hazel) that got me into this, and Elijah/Elena/Klaus - the fault of Sandrine_Shaw on AO3′s fics - were on top of my faves (and still are, TBH.) 

You know, when itsy bitsy vulnerable human dares (the nerve! negotiate with a big bad original? Elijah was impressed. And so was I. The rest was history. 

And for the second, well, when the two Original dumbasses keep falling for the same version of one woman, the solution is rather obvious. 

8. Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester/Castiel (SPN)

Yes, I was a Wincest shipper, that shouldn't surprise anyone. Because the early seasons had their charm. And then Cas showed up and jumped onto a Destiel bandwagon as well. So, yeah. 

9.  Buffy Summer/Spike (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) 

There were a few years when I had to much work and studying to watch things, so now this trip into shipping history brings us to early 2000s/1990s. 

I liked Buffy/Angel well enough, but Buffy/Spike was it! I mean, he went to get his soul back for her. That scene when he’s hugging the cross haunts me to this day. Enough said. 

10.  Harmon Rabb Jr./Sarah MacKenzie (JAG)

Oh, god, Harm and Mac! Ship of all ships. The show tried to throw three different women at him and the third stuck. And we had to go through 8 seasons of slowburn then. A+++++

And, um, yes I shipped Mac with Webb for a while, too, because it’s me. 

But yeah. As far as I’m concerned Harm and Mac are happily married and managing their careers and NCIS: LA can bite me with their BS in last season finale. . 

11. Xena/Gabrielle (Xena: Warrior Princess)

Back when my very catholic grandma watched Xena and Hercules with me and also shipped Xena/Gabrielle, because ‘sometimes girls like girls, it’s nice’. Good times. 

I also crosshiped her with Herc, a bit. and definitely had a thing for Xena/Ares. Yep, my ship type started showing early. 

***

I’ll stop here.

Obviously, there have been a lot of other ships, but I tried to stick with the major fixations, otherwise we’d be here all week. (I haven’t even mentioned Marvel, or for that matter, books, so many books.)

Tagging: @lglorien, of course, @eveningspirit​, @wellwhataboutme​, @bea2me​, @stargazerdaisy​, @vesperass-anuna​, @elemenopew​, and anyone else who wants to do it, my mind is drawing blank, forgive me. And, as always, feel free to ignore.

Anyway, this took a lot of work, but it was satisfying. What a trip down the memory lane! So many feels!

#shipping #tag meme #about me #shipping history

[ffxiv-sandwich-basket]

Forest Name [RP]

(( Rating: PG ))

(( Trigger Warning: Mentions of child endangerment, depiction of extreme poverty, and graphic illness. ))

(( Genre: Slice of Life, Angst ))

(( Cast: Isey Lightmother of @the-firetouched​ and Bljn Oakloom ))

Isey Lightmother | Since taking up residence at the Ichi-go Ichi-e Clinic in the Goblet, Isey spent some of her free time attending to what refugees she could in Pearl Lane. She hadn't been around of late, thanks to a slow trickle of resources...but she was here now, handing out bread and directions to lodging she trusted that would take them in for the chilly desert night. Highlander faces are common here, but she feels kinship with them. Rarely does she see a viera -- >> Isey Lightmother || -- so rarely, in fact, it stops her suddenly in her tracks. She looks upon the young woman, malnourished with matted hair, and something in her heart keens like hot, striken metal. She kneels down before the woman and tries to catch her gaze. "Can I help you, daughter?"

Bljn Oakloom was surrounded by a worn leather bag and what seemed to be some personal effects; a metal mug with precisely fifteen gil, a half-eaten piece of bread that's long gone stale, and a folded pile of clothes. The only thing among these objects that didn't seem dirty or worn was a single blitzball magazine, yet the girl neglected it. She was trying to pull her tunic down over her bare knees, shuddering from the cold. Peach blossoms floated onto her blanket; her only protection from the hard >> Bljn Oakloom | ground. When Isey came over, her pale green eyes went wide. She'd seen only two other Viera in her time here, yet they'd all but noticed her. Looking upon Isey, her face - caked in dead skin and dirt - was turned away. "D. . . do have food?" Her voice was heavily accented as she pushed her mug forward. "Food, p-please. . ." There was color to her face at least, but she was still a resident here. If 'resident' could even be used in that context.

Isey Lightmother | It is dangerous, to feel her heart dig so fiercely into old roots again. The shadows there could drown the light. It did once. And yet. <"Do you speak the Old Tongue, my child?"> she asks. She hands over two of the honeyed buns she had been carrying in her basket, which she sets on the ground nearby as she sits before the young one. Isey's clothes are heavier, but her legs are ever bare; the feeling of tight fabric against her knees is still foreign. >> Isey Lightmother | She takes a moment to observe the woman...and it takes her 130 years of life not to gasp aloud. The young skin. The bright eyes. She had lived long enough to know the difference between a seasoned sister and an untested youth -- and while this girl had seen hardness, she was...a /girl/. <"You are far from home,"> Isey says. <"You must be strong to have come so far.">

Bljn Oakloom grasped at the buns shortly after they were set down, more eager to accept food from another Viera. Though, before she took a bite, her gaze shifted warily to Isey. Promptly, the first bun was scarfed down. It was only halfway through it that she responded. <". . . yes, I do. My mother spoke it, as did my sisters."> Something was vaguely familiar about Isey, but she chalked it up to her weakness from hunger. It didn't help when she went for another bite, she gagged, completely unprompted. >> Bljn Oakloom managed to stop herself, covering her problem up with a hand in front of her face. Trembling still. <"I'd gotten a ship to let me pass to the Sea of Ash."> How she'd managed, she didn't clarify. <"I came here from Vesper Bay."> Her eyes suddenly carried a sullen look. <"Strong? Maybe. Perhaps I'd be elsewhere if that were the case."> Despite her light, young voice, her vocabulary was well-extended in the Viera's Old Tongue. Isey Lightmother didn't dare hope to think Bljn's accent in Old Viera was familiar as her own bones. There was no time to think of this. Reflexively, she reaches out once the girl begins to gag, though she has long since learned that even her own kind may no longer accept touch as a means of communication without first asking. So she decides to be useful first. She takes the thin, picnic-esque blanket from beneath the breads in her basket and spreads it over Bljn's legs to try and stop some of the cold. > Isey Lightmother | Doing so prompts her to pause. She is not a stranger to disease and injury on this street -- but the particularity of Bljn's condition is even more familiar. <"Perhaps,"> she says, regarding strength. <"But it would seem you have scars from a battle few survive, in truth."> Indicating the leg. <"I have seen many a babe die from this...you came here alone?">

Bljn Oakloom gently grabbed the blanket with a soft word of gratitude. Her first bun is finished slowly. Before she spoke, she sniffled, the cold making her nose run. <". . . I did come along,"> she admitted. <"I've had to. A Garlean helped me escape the metalmen's camp, but the metalmen had made me ill. . . I'd received treatment in Dalmasca, long after she couldn't. . ."> Slowly, she shook her head. The toes of her right leg were curled, the leg itself bony and without muscle. She was only >> Bljn Oakloom | wearing one sandal, which was upon her left foot. <"I think my weaving work has helped me survived. I've made little coin, but it was enough to board a ship from Lea Monde."> Isey Lightmother | The Metalmen. Yes. She was rightly familiar with /them/. While her face remains neutral, her silver lake eyes darken. <"Weaving honors Her,"> she says approvingly -- an old-fashioned way in an old language to say that Bljn's craft was well-respected. <"Many die under Her Boughs without well-woven tents and clothes."> She peers at the young woman for a moment, one of her usual Isey silences. <"I am Isey. Hearthmother. How may I call you, daughter?"> Bljn Oakloom took another bun, though she paused at the name. She was in the process of rubbing her eye, though her hand slowly lowered. <"You are a Hearthmother?"> However, she stopped herself. So badly, she wanted to share her forest name. So badly, she wanted to tell her everything. . . but would Isey be ashamed? Would she feel guilt? The last thing Bljn wanted was to turn away the company she'd finally gotten. Pearl Lane was filled with people but she was ever so alone. <". . . Bljn. I am Bljn."> >> Bljn Oakloom: <"I have been in Ul'dah for half of a year now.">

Isey Lightmother: <"I am,"> she says. Somehow these words still tasted true on her tongue. <"I try, still. For the disparate village of Viera who has left Her Boughs. We all have reasons. Not all of us had choice."> She tucks in the blanket where she can to try and help Bljn, but the cold was beginning to get to Isey, too, as the sun sinks further. <"Half a year,"> she murmurs. <"On these dusty streets...you are braver than I."> Her voice is warm but her gaze is serious. <"Where do you go?"> Isey Lightmother: "When the night fully comes?">

Bljn Oakloom pulled her good knee up to her chest, wincing at the shift in her wasted leg. She glanced away and huffed. <"If you are sure of it. . ."> A pierced ear twitched. <"For the night? I sleep here. I tie my bag around my wrist and sleep on top of it. My spare clothes cover me.">

Bljn Oakloom glanced down, her pale brows knitting together. <"A woman had bought me a few nights at the Hourglass Inn. . . but I wasted it. I'd gotten sick on the bed. . . so, they threw me out.">

Isey Lightmother listens as a Hearthmother listens: face neutral, gaze amenable. She leans in slightly. But her heart is beating so fiercely she fears Bljn can hear it. <"Bljn,"> she says softly. <"Perhaps many say this to you. But I say this as  Hearthmother to a child of the village."> For all are children of the village. Yes...even they. <"Let me help you. I work for the Ichi-go Ichi-e Clinic, and they know many besides. I cannot..."> She pauses and her gaze slides away for a single moment. >> Isey Lightmother | Memories have their way. Her son was not much older than her when he.... <"It may sound selfish to say, to one who has borne this hardship. But I cannot bear to see you here, freezing, when I am capable of helping. Many here I cannot help. They do not know me. I do not know them. But you..."> She bites her lip a moment. <"Your accent. Your tattoos. It is...deeply familiar.">

Bljn Oakloom looked to Isey warily. She just wanted to make sure. She just wanted to /be/ sure. <". . . you would do so,"> she began slowly. <"For me? For someone of Nyyr-ijla Village?"> It had been four long years; Bljn was three summers old upon receiving her tattoos, with Isey there to witness it. Now, they were faded and smudged over with soot, but they still carried her story. Cautiously, she looked around. <". . . the name my mother gave me was Bjork. Do you remember me, Hearthmother?">

Isey Lightmother blinks, and this is the only expression of emotion she has at first. She gazes upon Bjork, now Bljn, and before long, she brings up a hand to her mouth. Her eyes mist. The will of the Wood, surely this must be? For all the horror this must signify...she lingers not on that just yet. Then, if Bljn would allow, she would calmly place her palms on the young woman's shoulders. >> Isey Lightmother: <"Yes. /Oh./ You were so serious. You had a gaze toward coming rain."> An idiom that means something like 'you were not gonna take shit from anybody, not even god.'  <"That She would weave our paths together again..."> Only by great will does she keep her voice steady. <"Will you come with me? Away from here, at least? I will not stop the path of Bljn. But let me help you back onto it.">

Bljn Oakloom scowled, but only to stop the oncome of tears that pooled in her eyes. Tears of anger, sorrow, heartbreak, and loneliness. <"I never thought I'd see you again,"> her voice came, cracking at the end. Furiously, she rubbed at her eyes. But could she trust her? Could she know she wouldn't sell her off somewhere? No. . . she wouldn't. She couldn't. That wasn't the Isey she knew, who had seen her as Bjork, still a little kit on her mother's teat. Now she was a young woman on the dark corner of >> Bljn Oakloom | Pearl Lane, yet Isey didn't seem to change at all. Out of desperation or perhaps out of frustration, she was already reaching for her splintered wooden crutches. <"Yes. I will go with you, yes. Where. . . where are we going?">

Isey Lightmother: <"First, somewhere where our jungle skin will not turn to ice,"> she says dryly. <"Somewhere with food. Then, we will decide."> Together, as two women full-grown, though vastly different in experience.

Bljn Oakloom: <"I think. . . yes, I think I would like that very much.">

#ffxiv rp #ffxiv stories #ffxiv viera #isey lightmother #bljn oakloom #rava viera

[hows-it-holed-up]

Perfunctory Photo Recap: The O.C. 2x14

Up until now I’ve only been doing these recaps for pilots, but getting stuck watching only pilots – which are usually the absolute worst episodes – of series I love sounds pretty grim. So as of now, any iconic episodes of any show are fair game. ERGO, despite the fact that The O.C. has what I’m fairly sure is a phenomenal pilot, I’m skipping ahead to the February sweeps episode of the show’s second season: “The Rainy Day Women.” If I remember correctly, it’s extremely emotionally satisfying and I will probably spend the last 15 minutes just pressing my hand to my own sternum and sighing. 

My Disclaimer: None of these posts will be in any way comprehensive, because I’m lazy. All of them are probably going to have spoilers of some sort for the entire series…or at least what I remember of it from when I last watched it an eon ago. Exactly what you want in a recap!

California, Here We Come: Kirsten and Sandy (aka Mom and Dad) have been fighting because the former love of his life needed some PRETTY INTENSE legal help, and he jumped at the chance. Kirsten understandably doesn’t love this! Meanwhile, Summer is about to jet off to Italy for her BF Zach’s sister’s wedding, because somehow we’re still pretending like this is a thing. Plus some other stuff is going on with some other characters blah blah who cares. Welcome to The O.C., bitch!

I read somewhere that Josh Schwartz always hated this title sequence – that he could never find something he was super satisfied with and just kind of acquiesced to this. Meanwhile the rest of us are screaming the words to “California” while we head bang and strum our air guitars, every episode.

In the first big scene, we catch up with Mom and Dad, who have been struggling for a few episodes because an old flame came back into his life asking for help, and he dove in head first. 

Kirsten is not pleased. This Rebecca situation was so heartbreaking. Sandy Cohen’s whole thing is that he always does what’s right. This was one of the only times in the series it felt like he had other viable options and he was obviously misstepping. I’m with Kiki here. 

Oh hello Olivia Wilde! I forgot you were in this show! She’s insanely beautiful, obviously, but those mid-aughts pencil-thin eyebrows didn’t do anyone any favors. Not that I would know anything about this personally, of course.   

And not doing the show itself any favors 15 years out: this “Marissa is a lesbian but it’s definitely just a phase” storyline. I remember thinking it was a little gratuitous and questionable even back in ‘05. 

Speaking of questionable plots: We’ve been strung along for half a season watching Seth trying to win Summer back and her rebuffing him. And Summer’s right – it WAS pretty annoying! Seth’s still at it, heading over to her place as she’s packing for Zach’s sister’s wedding in Italy, but...not really having anything to say! (i.e. still not there to advance the plot.) 

We get a brief interlude to watch Julie Cooper think about how she could snip the tip off her husband’s penis. 

And then we’re back to the real story. Although I’d honestly rather stick with Julie because:

SANDY. NO. THIS IS NOT APPROPRIATE! You cannot spend the night in a hotel room with your ex. You also cannot drink wine on the floor of said hotel room with said ex! Stop it! 

Seriously. You know what could happen. 

Anyway, Seth thinks he’s figured out how he might actually be able to move the needle with Summer. He’s bought his boat back and is going to take her...sailing in the pool? Sure! Foolproof!

I had a literature professor in college who would bring this show up in class every week, linking it to whatever we were reading at the time. He didn’t do this because he thought he was bridging some kind of gap between us and the material – only about 1/4 of the class even watched this show. He just did it because it made him happy. This “objective correlative” reference really made me think about him and chuckle.  

At the airport on her way to Italy, Summer sees a little boy playing with a horse on top of some comic books. I guess she’s like, “Even though I’m only supposed to be 17 my biological clock is already ticking,” and she ditches Zach and heads to Seth’s. 

Checking in with our other couple, Sandy has finally (sort of) come to his senses and headed home – after Rebecca straight up ran away from him because she was about to get caught by the cops. Helps when the universe just makes decisions for you, I guess!

Ehhhhh I mean it started a little! 

Anyway, they kiss, and it’s very sweet. And we’re all breathing a sigh of relief.  And we won’t sic Julie on him just yet.

Meanwhile, their son is on the roof attempting to adjust the satellite. He’s put on a Spiderman mask because it’s all he’s got to protect his head from the rain, somehow, and he’s decided the only safety precaution he needs is A ROPE TIED AROUND HIS MIDSECTION. Things, predictably, go awry. 

HOW did Seth not get literally sliced in half by this? He must have slid like 30-40 feet from the top of the roof to where he’s dangling. I have no interest in doing the calculations to verify this statement, but I’m pretty sure we’re at least looking at some internal bleeding here.  

Anyway, Summer arrives, finds Seth dangling in the back, and:

The emotional payoff for this arc, now that it’s FINALLY concluded, is excellent. And what a delightful way to anchor it for this character. 

It’s hard not to love this scene – it’s heartwarming. But with the benefit of 15 years and a rewatch, it also seems like this must have been VERY uncomfortable to film. Like apart from having to hang upside down for who knows how long, how was there not water dripping down Adam Brody’s (or more likely, this stunt person’s) nose the entire time?? Somebody call OSHA!

Musings from the Poolhouse:

- This show is disguised as a teen soap, but it’s so much more than that. Between its overarching commentary on privilege and the status quo and its own self-awareness (exemplified by winks at the audience like show-within-a-show-cum-commentary-on-itself-AND-reality-television, The Valley), The O.C. is one of the cleverest series ever to grace network television. Despite a few things not aging particularly well, it’s still a really fun experience to watch it. Except for season 3. Skip season 3. 

- Julie. Cooper. JUST. YES. YES YES YES.  

- Marissa’s face when Alex is talking to her about having to do things like take out garbage and pay rent made me LOL. 

- I may have been projecting a little bit about the kid with the horse at the airport. He was very cute. And I think my own ovaries have kicked into high gear.   

- There was an entire (C? D? E?) plot in this episode about Lindsay’s paternity and moving to Chicago and some other stuff I can’t bring myself to care about. Ben McKenzie and Shannon Lucio had like negative chemistry, so despite the show’s best efforts to make us invested in that relationship, it just wasn’t landing. I remember caring way more about her storyline with her mom, Caleb, Kirsten, even Seth. So, shrug, she’s moving to Chicago I guess! 

- Josh Schwartz is so good at music! Apart from Phantom Planet (obviously), I clocked Blind Melon, Louis XIV, Boyz II Men, Bell X1 and Matt Pond PA (covering Oasis) in this episode. A real auditory journey down memory lane. Did I miss any?

#tv recap #spoilers #the oc #2x14 #the rainy day women

[marylorson-blog]

“Rolling Thunder”  excerpted from Signals: a performance memoir 

                                      Featured May 2020 on          Unfictional https://www.kcrw.com/culture/shows/unfictional

I wasn't a bastard but I still felt kind of illegitimate. Dad and Mom had eloped, three months after meeting. My sisters from Mom’s first marriage loved him like mad, but then one day Dad vanished, before I could form a single memory of him. 

I've always wondered why that day was the finale. How do you walk away from a beaming little two-year-old face, one that looks like you?   I was there, but unaware. I want the scene.   

My sisters say: Dad was great.  

Mom says: All you need to know is he walked away. 

Dad said: Mom kicked him out that day, that he crammed his suits and stereo into the Mustang  and rushed to the city for a meeting, paying a kid twenty bucks to guard the car, which was empty anyway when he came back out. 

Later, once I knew him, I asked: “Was there another woman?”  

His answer: “There must have been.”   

THEY BLAMED IT ALL ON ALCOHOL. 

Mom said: infidelity wasn't the only problem; unofficial-seeming “bill collectors” were showing up at the house.  

My sisters said: Dad made life fun, played the piano, adored Mom. But skillets and invectives would fly in the night...and then Dad went missing, with hundreds of thousands of some investor’s dollars. 

By the time my sisters were 8, 10 and 11, they had lost two fathers.    

Mom hadn’t worked since modeling before her first marriage. She borrowed tuition for a full-time secretarial course and sent me to stay with her brother, another charming alcoholic with money problems and a fed-up wife. Mom and the girls stayed behind, in the lovely house on Manor Lane. 

I rejoined them fifteen months and few blocks but a world away, in a garden apartment behind the Country Club. Mom kept the crystal chandelier and her gown from the Kennedy Inaugural, and a suite of heavy furniture that wasn’t made for small rooms. 

Sometime later, Dad called Mom for a friendly chat. He was glad to hear she was in love and admitted that he and his girlfriend had a baby. He asked her to sign some papers for a Tijuana divorce. Sure, Mom said, and I’ll take the trip too. She came back with castanets and a tan. I remember understanding that my parents would never get back together.

I had Dad's nose and hair and musicality, but couldn’t remember a thing about him. Mom said I was lucky I didn't know what I was missing. The older girls talked about their happy chapter with my dad all the time, but I’d wait alone out front for the Mustang that didn't come.  

One day, though, he showed, and this was my own first memory of Dad: Christmastime, Chinatown, and three wrapped presents: a Dancerina doll, a Polaroid Swinger, and a camel hair coat from Saks. The surviving Polaroids show a serious dad and a manically happy me.

Dad promised that now he was going to bring all his kids together regularly. He'd repeat this song on our scattershot dates over the years, but that visit WAS the beginning, of our intermittent, fond, indulgent, dishonest bond.  After that, I lived in obsessive anticipation of the next visit, never knowing when it would be. 

(Band in)

A Dancerina doll, a Polaroid Swinger, and a camel hair coat from Saks. Dad gave me these, and went back to wherever he went.

During Kindergarten: I roomed with Mom, but she was out most nights. The big girls had the other bedroom. I wasn’t allowed in, but from the other side of the door I’d smell and listen attentively. Incense, patchouli, cigarettes, maybe pot? Talking, laughing, singing Joni Mitchell, CSNY...yelling, hitting, screaming, cursing. I swear I could hear the brushing of their long tresses, the swinging of their unhindered double-D breasts...meanwhile people kept mistaking me for a boy.

“You have your father’s thin hair,” Mom complained, so she took me to the barber on the corner, who gave me a buzz cut... and rationalized it this way: “It don't matta if she looks bad now; it mattas what she looks like when she's 18.” Mom thought this was a riot. There was none of this “you're beautiful because you're you” bullshit with Mom. You either looked good, or you didn't. 

THERE IN THE CATHODE LIGHT, NOBODY BEAMED UP BRIGHT                      ENOUGH FOR HER TO LIKE  NOONE TO WALK BESIDE 

YEAH, YOU HARDLY KNEW US                                       

 THAT WAS JUST OUR LIFE/THAT WAS JUST OUR LIFE

Then, In first grade we moved to Carol Avenue, and I almost had another sister!

 Jeanne! Jeanne! Jeanne! Jeanne!....Jeanne!

We had a great time together.

MOM MET HER FATHER AT THE GIANT STEP

A PIANO BAR IN NEW ROCHELLE                                   

SHE'D GOT MY DEADBEAT DAD THE GIG, 

AND HE SHOWED  UP                                                           

WENT DOWN SO SHE COULD GRAB THE TIPS, 

AND LET ADMIRERS BUY HER DRINKS                                  

LED BY THE VERY HANDSOME ED DESONNE

Mom was passionate and needed a rescue; Ed DeSonne was a prosperous investment banker. Both were raising broods of four alone. Ed wasn’t divorced yet, but soon he and Mom got engaged, and we were going to be like the Brady Bunch, with martinis. In the meantime, he was paying the rent on our roomy townhouse on Carol Avenue...

YEAH, IT'S NEVER SIMPLE

BUT WE'LL GIVE IT A TRY; MAYBE BE ALRIGHT

Jeanne too was the youngest of four. She was fearless and funny, and once the parents were married, she would be my roommate. But until then, I had to spend a few more nights with one or another of my unwilling sisters.  One such Saturday, Knockout Diane was supposed to watch me while Shy Karen sister went to a party, but Diane sneaked out. Karen wailed, but Mom had plans with Ed, who arrived in a cloud of aftershave and tapped his shiny toe in the foyer. Mom appeared in glamorous good cheer and ordered me to kiss him. I didn't wanna. 

“Go ahead: give him a little kiss,” Mom said, and Ed reached out gamely, but I wound back and fired a fierce little first-grade kick right into his suited shin. 

Today we'd say I was “acting out.” But back then, everybody just yelled. Then the grownups... went out. And the television...went on.  And then: Ed DeSonne disappeared, changing the channel on a whole other level.

 ED, WE HARDLY KNEW YE…

In first grade you learn to add 2 plus 2. I overheard the word “funeral” and didn’t see Jeanne’s dad for a week; these factors equalled --to me-- that he was dead. When Mom announced it, the big girls wailed like the world was ending. But I just said: “I know.”

I wasn't glad Ed was dead, but I wasn't sad, either. I didn't know how much we lost.         

Mom told everyone the aneurysm happened while Ed was driving; years later she told me the rest of the story.  She also told me that, in her grief, she'd called MY DAD, as a friend, and that he'd sneaked away to be there with her at Ed's funeral.

In the instant it takes for a blood vessel to pop, Mom became bereft, unemployed, and homeless. And our family dispersed like seeds in the wind. 

Diane went to live with her father in the city. The rest of us were taken in by another divorcee with a sun-porch we shared for the nervous, chilly months it took Mom to save up a security deposit.  Karen cried endlessly,  Mom cooing in her ear and breaking Valiums in half.  Fightin’ Joni moved in with her best friend. I got caught standing on our hosts’ kitchen counter in my loafers, stealing cookies from their Charles Chips tin.

But worst of all, Jeanne was sent into foster care.   

I only saw her once again after that, but we’re Facebook friends now. 

While we were staying with the other family, Dad got tickets for the TV show "Wonderama", for me and our host's daughter, and she won the big prize! Our moms picked us up, tipsy on high heels, loading the prizes in the back of a Checker, ignoring candy-starved Moonies in white shirts and dark blazers who tried to sell us carnations.  

(BEAT, then energy back down)

Mom found an apartment. It was in Tuckahoe, so we switched schools. I was in 2nd grade; Joni, 7th; Karen, 9th. I got sent to the principal's office for wearing pants; he showed me a paddle, said next time he'd use it. But maybe it wasn't just the trousers. 

Men landed on the moon. “Evil Ways” was in heavy rotation. And “Spinning Wheel.” Our apartment sat at a dead end by a highway. At night the passing cars projected an abstract slide show on our bedroom wall. In the living room, Mom would light a candle and drink wine. The apartment often smelled of the burned bottom of a saucepan.

That Christmas Eve, Mom fell asleep and the candles burned all the way down, through the tablecloth, and into the nice oak table. I woke up when the fire department arrived. 

YEAH, WE HARDLY KNEW YOU//IT WAS JUST OUR LIFE/THAT WAS JUST OUR LIFE

Karen was 15 and wanted privacy; I was seven and wanted company. One day these opposing desires clashed at a bedroom door, both sides pushing until the big kid won, my middle finger slammed in the door jamb.

The top was hacked completely off. Mom raced me to New Rochelle Hospital, where the surgeon told her to retrieve the tip of my finger or I'd have a stump for the rest of my life. Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Karen tried to flush my finger, along with her shame and horror, down the toilet.

Thanks to low-rent plumbing, my fingertip didn't disappear, and the toilet water even kept it alive. Mom carried it in a baggie back to the surgeon, who successfully reattached it. (Now, there’s a parent's errand.) They kept me in the hospital for a week, because I was hyperactive and the doctor feared I'd bang the stitches open.

It's possible I was on painkillers, because when Dad appeared he was like a dream, swinging down the hall with his great suit and smiling blue eyes.  He'd stopped at the gift shop, and gotten me a dozen long stemmed American Beauty roses and a music box. When you opened it, a ballerina pirouetted to this song: 

OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING/ OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY/I'VE GOT A BEAUTIFUL FEELING/EVERYTHING'S GOING MY WAY 

The roses died, of course. I kept that box, though, long after the ballerina broke off and the inside felt was smutty with lipgloss and melted JollyRanchers. Didn’t see Dad again for another 4 years..

#memoir #musical #70s culture

[terresdebrumestories]

Clark Kent, of Krypton - 4/4: Clark Kent

FANDOM: DC’s cinematic universe. RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 27 147 (Fic total: ~98k words) PAIRING(S): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (main focus is on Clark, though). CHARACTER(S): Kal-El | Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jor-El, Lara Lor-Van, Kara Zor-El, Zor-El, Martha Kent, Alfred Pennyworth, Diana Prince, Barry Allen, Arthur Curry, Victor Stone, John Stewart, J’onn J’onn, plus a quick cameo by Lois Lane. GENRE: Alternate Universe (canon divergence), transition fic with romance. TRIGGER WARNING(S): A great deal of anxiety and self loathing, especially in parts one and two. Some descriptions are heavily inspired by my experience of dysphoria-induced dissociation. SUMMARY: Batman crashes on Krypton a few days before the Turn of the Year celebrations and Kal-El's life takes a sharp turn to the left, on a path that will ultimately lead him to becoming Clark Kent.

OTHER CHAPTERS: [I. Kal-El] [II. Shadow] [III. Superman] ALSO AVAILABLE: [On AO3] [On Dreamwidth]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you, still, to @stuvyx​ for the wonderful illustrations and to @susiecarter​ for the beta :D

Wonder Woman—“Call me Diana”—retrieves a long wrap-up dress from a bag hidden on a nearby building, tucks her hair into a tight bun, and takes Kal to a nearby shop for what she introduces as one of humanity’s best inventions and the shop advertises as ninety-nine different flavors of ice cream.

“I should probably warn you I haven’t had ice cream before,” Kal says as they sit down after Diana paid for their order. “I have no idea what it might do to my—I don’t know how well I’ll digest it.”

“Well,” Diana says with a smile, “we’ll just have to keep an eye out for unfortunate symptoms.”

Kal chuckles as Diana dives into her five-flavored mountain of ice cream with gusto, and for a moment they are entirely focused on their respective desserts. Kal can’t help but let out an exclamation of pleased surprise at the deliciousness of it, and laughs at himself when a few heads turn his way. Across from him, Diana is chuckling into her chocolate chip mint, and she winks when she sees Kal blush.

“Ice cream was one of the first things I discovered when I joined the world of men,” she says with a fond smile, eyes going just a little distant with the memory. “Everything was so...gray. The ice cream was delicious, though. Plain vanilla. I remember telling the vendor he should be very proud.”

Kal follows her in an amused chuckle, and tries the cherry and chocolate flavor he took such a long time to settle on. It might, possibly, be his favorite so far.

“I don’t think I can fault you for that reaction, you know. This is delicious...though, to be fair, I haven’t had food I really disliked, so far.”

He’s not overly fond of seafood, but that honestly has more to do with the fact that he can’t keep it down more than fifteen minutes than with the taste or texture of it. Fortunately ice cream doesn’t seem to be having any adverse side effects so far. Kal gives himself a second to appreciate that, before he caves in and says:

“Please don’t think I’m not enjoying this but...why did you bring me here?”

He can’t possibly imagine Diana as the sort of woman who would have more than a passing interest in someone like him after all. An eye-catching costume is not enough to erase who he is in the slightest.

“Can’t I simply check on a new colleague after his first mission?” Diana asks with a smile that leans too far to the cheeky side to be entirely innocent.

Kal resists the urge to rub at his neck, but only just. He is, after all, acutely aware of the vast gap between Diana and him—doesn’t know the exact shape of it, of course, but the very way Diana carries herself is more than enough evidence for him to go on. She must see something of his feelings on his face, too, because in an instant her grin softens into something a tad less teasing.

“If I’m to be fully honest,” she says in a conspirational tone, “I have to admit I’m also very curious about you.”

“About me?”

Kal catches himself before he points at his forehead—not the ideal gesture to blend in—but he couldn’t restrain himself from blinking even if he wanted to. What is there even to be curious ab—oh.

“Oh,” he says once the avalanche settles. “I—I don’t know how...ready I am. To talk about...home,” he finishes, rather lamely.

He’s been—it’s easier, these days, to talk about it with Martha, sharing tidbits of the world he grew up in whenever he discovers something new with her, comparing their faiths while observing Martha’s customs...but that’s different. That’s just—they have things in common. It’s easy to share with Martha because she shares so much of herself already: all Kal has to do is answer in kind, and make sure he’s as much of a support for her as she is for him. It would be another thing entirely, to answer Diana’s questions—to dig into his memories for something vaguely academic, to try and order his thoughts into something...coherent and understandable. It is a work he’ll have to start on, eventually. There will be others with questions about where he came from, what he did, why he came to Earth. Right now, though, even the thought of it is too much to stomach.

Diana, however, doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“That’s all right,” Diana says with the kind of indulgent chuckle adults tend to reserve for silly children. “Like I said, I’m actually more curious about you.”

“Me?” Kal blinks, wrong-footed despite himself. “What could you possibly want to know about me?”

Diana gives an elegant shrug, settling back in her seat with studied nonchalance, but Kal doesn’t miss the sharpness of her gaze, the thoughtful pursing of her lips as she looks him up and down. The once-over makes him blush from the scrutiny—although, he is quite relieved to note, there is no sexual undertone to the gesture—and he has to remind himself that fiddling with his napkin is actually a possibility now that no one’s there to reprimand him.

“Anything you’d like to tell me,” Diana says, eyes still alert. “Bruce is the most tightly controlled man I’ve ever met—I’d like to know what it takes to impress him so much.”

Kal all but chokes on his chilled water, spluttering when he spills a good quarter of his glass on his lap as a result. Batman, impressed? By him ? Either this is a cruel joke, or Diana has Kal confused with someone else—anyone else, really. Kal is so far—he wouldn’t even be able to impress the public version of Bruce Wayne, he’s sure of it, so for Diana to think he’s impressed Batman ? Rao, the thought would make him laugh if it didn’t come attached to the certainty of failure where he and Diana being friends is concerned.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Diana, “but I think there’s some kind of misunderstanding here. I’m not—he’s not—”

“Oh, I daresay he is,” Diana cuts in with a brilliant grin, “but you don’t have to believe me—and we don’t have to keep talking about him either, unless you’d like to?” She pauses just long enough for Kal to shake his head. “Well then. Tell me about you. What do you do?”

“I’m sorry?” Kal says, stumped by the turn of phrase.

“As a job, I mean,” Diana clarifies. “What kind of civilian identity did you build for yourself?”

“Oh,” Kal says, wincing a little while his hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck. “I, uh—I don’t really have...one...anymore?”

He sinks into the booth bench with every word, red leather creaking under him while Diana’s face grows increasingly tight with something that might—just might—be like righteous anger. Not that Kal is very eager to stay and find out—she won’t harm him, he’s pretty sure, but he’s never dealt well with being scolded, and he’s got a feeling that coming from someone as eminently admirable as Wonder Woman, it’d be even worse.

“Sorry?” he offers, stumbling through the word as his brain waddles through his abrupt shame for even a scrap of competence. “I just don’t—”

“Kal,” Diana interrupts. She’s firm but not stern, and Kal wonders what it is, then, that makes his stomach sink like a stone when she says his name. “You have to have one. Even a flimsy one will do, but you can’t—no one can wear the uniform all the time. No one. You’ll go crazy, if you don’t have anything but the cape.”

Kal nods in silence, and doesn’t have the heart to tell her he already knows what that feels like. He stirs the conversation away from that particular topic instead, exchanging stories of his first few days on Earth—without sharing Martha’s name—for Diana’s first adventures in what she calls “the world of man” over a hundred years ago, and laughing in horror when she tells him about her first contact with the other members of the League.

“You can’t be serious,” he tells Diana, and this time her snort of laughter has absolutely no mirth in it.

“Oh, I am. It’s a good thing I’ve had time to learn how to think before I speak—had I been fifty, maybe even forty years younger, Lex Luthor’s scheme might actually have worked.”

“Well,” Kal says, “I’m glad it didn’t happen to me...I don’t know that I’d have handled it as well as you did.”

“Luckily, we won’t have to find out.” Diana shrugs, her mood brightening again. “Luthor is in prison, his creature dead underground, and we are all very, very grateful for John’s perfect timing.”

Kal sighs in belated relief, glad that he didn’t have to discover an Earth where Batman and Wonder Woman had been at war—or worse, still were. He cannot imagine the state of things if Diana hadn’t forcibly manhandled Bruce into a long conversation about everyone’s goals and principles, and while it’s a pity the two of them—three, with the Green Lantern’s timely intervention—had to kill what sounds like a perfectly innocent Mlrn to protect Earth, at least the planet remains safe; that’s all that matters.

“That we are,” he agrees. Then his suit vibrates with a time alert, and Kal winces. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I promised my host I’d be back for dinner, so….”

“Oh,” Diana says, “yes, of course.”

She insists on paying, which is objectively a good thing despite his unease at owing anything—even something as small as that—to someone he barely knows. Kal doesn’t exactly have money to his name, not even cash. He promises Diana that he will pay for their next ice cream—the width of her smile enough to soothe a wave of panic when he realizes he didn’t even ask her if she wanted there to be a next one—and then sets off toward Kansas.

He and Martha share a small celebratory dinner, Kal blushing his way through the recounting of his story and making an embarrassingly enthusiastic sound when Martha gets her apple and rhubarb pie out of the oven. The dessert is more than worth it, in Kal’s opinion, and Martha's fond laughter doesn’t hurt at all, either. In fact, Kal even finds himself expressing his delight more than he usually would, just so he can hear her chuckle again—it works like a charm, and Kal keeps the game up until he thinks, unexpectedly, of his parents’ faces the last time he attempted to make them smile and the mirth slides right out of him.

“Oh, by the way!” Martha says, either not realizing what’s going on in Kal’s head or offering him an out from it. “Batman called while you were away—don’t look so shocked, dear, he’s had my number longer than you’ve had his. And it isn’t like he can phone your suit, now, can he?”

“Right,” Kal says, surprised at his own reaction, “of course. Did he leave a message?”

“Only that he wanted to talk to you,” Martha says. “You ought to call him—and figure out a way for him to call you. I’m too busy keeping this farm afloat to take on a job as your secretary.”

Kal promises not to make a habit of it, taking the dishes off the table as he goes, and speeds through the washing up before he goes into his room, sits on the open windowsill, and has the suit patch him through to Bruce’s phone.

“We need to procure a phone for you,” Bruce says in Ellon, in lieu of greeting.

He still speaks in the slow, slightly too-well-articulated way Ellon nobles do—a sharp contrast to Kal’s definitely Shadow-inspired grammar. But he’s taken to using more familiar forms again these days. He’s willing to meet Kal as an equal—perhaps a friend, even, someday—and the deliberate increase in grammatical proximity is enough to turn the fond eyeroll threatening to overtake Kal into a grin, a feeling like warm water in the bottom of his stomach.

“Hello, Bruce,” he says, bringing his knees up to his stomach as if to trap the soft heat there. “Martha and I were just talking about this, actually. We agree, really, it’s just—I don’t really have money and—”

“And you are talking to a literal billionaire,” Bruce retorts with clear exasperation, “and worrying about pennies.”

A beat passes, during which Kal’s mouth gapes open and then closes again all on its own. It isn’t—money is not...well, it is the problem, but—it’s not Martha’s money that’s the problem. Sure, Bruce has more of it than he could even think of spending for the rest of his life, but….well. It still leaves Kal uncomfortable to take money from him, is all. He hasn’t quite figured out why, yet, but the feeling is there. He barely has time to wonder how to explain all of that, though, before Bruce concludes:

“As I thought. I’ll send it over tomorrow.”

“All right,” Kal says, because there really isn’t anything else to say when all has been decided. “Martha said you wanted to talk?”

Silence, brief but all the sharper for it, until Bruce breathes in like he’s gearing up to dive—not that Kal is meant to hear it, probably—and says:

“There’s video footage of this morning.”

“Oh.”

Possibly not the most intelligent reaction Kal could have had—in fact, he should maybe have anticipated that. Still, getting caught on camera is—there’s a reason Shadow’s suit was programmed to deal with nearby recording equipment whenever he got out. To be filmed, to give anyone the occasion to study him, could have spelled his death back on Krypton. He isn’t as fragile now as he was then, that’s for sure, and the likelihood of anyone linking what that Daily Planet reporter has dubbed The Superman to Martha Kent is too low to be of concern just yet, but old habits die hard.

“I, uh—” Kal attempts when Bruce doesn’t seem interested in using any more words, “I thought that—um. It went...well. I mean, I suppose there’s room for improvement—”

“You don’t say.”

The words knock Kal right out of himself, into the small space that never quite ceased to exist between himself and Shadow, the brand new emptiness between Kal and the Superman. It’s—it’s a familiar space, but it was never particularly comfortable, and finding it here when he’d hoped to be rid of it forever leaves Kal almost breathless with the pain of it. He blinks, throat tighter than it should be, and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he should not—should not —be surprised when Bruce says:

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

“Look,” Kal tries, eyes drifting to the endless sky as if there could be some comfort there, “I’m sorry. I realize it wasn’t perfect—”

“You were thoroughly unprepared,” Batman cuts in, “and it showed. You had no idea what the fire would do to you, did you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“It could have made you explode, for all we know,” Batman continues, without acknowledging Kal’s words, the calm of his tone one more reason for Kal to wince. “You put your life in danger—”

“The suit is fireproof, actually,” he points out, barely restraining a roll of his eyes in time. “I’m not entirely stupid, you know. I’m not convinced by your explosion theory either.”

“My point is,” Batman replies through what sounds like painfully gritted teeth, “that you went into this without preparation, putting not only your life but also those civilians’ lives in danger, and—”

“And if I hadn’t done anything,” Kal interrupts, finally finding his voice when a flash of anger rises inside him, “they could have died anyway—I heard some of the firefighters talk, you know, and even if—”

“Kal—”

“You forget I wore Shadow’s suit long before I came up with the Superman’s!”

There is a short pause while Kal gets his breathing back under a semblance of control, too incensed to even think of being embarrassed by his own outbursts. He can feel the heat high in his cheeks, the burn of anger in his armpits, and it feels like he’s trying to cough up glass when he continues:

“I couldn’t have allowed myself to stand by and do nothing any more than you could have remained inactive back in El! Now, I may be—inexperienced, and sloppy, reckless and a simpleton and all those things you think I am, but I’m not—I’ll train more, if you want. I’ll do research and I’ll plan ahead better, but you can’t—don’t you ask me to stand by when I have the chance to really help people, because I won’t.”

The line remains silent for a long while after that, Kal’s mind swinging wildly between the wilting shreds of his anger and the absolute terror of thinking maybe this is it—maybe this is when both of Bruce decide they’ve had enough of the ridiculous stranded freak from El. Even with that, though, even thinking perhaps this is the last he’ll hear from the first true friend he’s ever had...Kal can’t make himself regret what he's said.

Oh, he’ll train all right. Bruce...he’s got a point—a sizable point, even, though just thinking it feels like pulling teeth at the moment—and more preparation would probably benefit everyone in the long run. Gods, does the thought chafe; not by itself, but because of the way it came about, and—the point is, Kal will train. He’ll...sulk about Bruce’s opinions for a few days, and maybe even grumble about it for a while but he—he will, if that’s what it takes. But he’ll still help in the meantime, prepared or no, and if Bruce has a problem with that—well, then they’ll have a real fight on their hands.

“Fine,” Batman says, with an explosive sigh that startles Kal badly enough that he almost cracks the phone receiver in his hand. “Fine. You keep helping. But I’m sending you some reading—and don’t think for a second I won’t be quizzing you on it.”

“Fine.”

There is the sound of flesh brushing against flesh on Bruce’s end of the receiver, and Kal pictures him rubbing the bridge of his nose—an impatient gesture he’s never seen Bruce indulge in outside of his Cave—before Bruce takes a deep breath and, in a voice that’s almost back to normal, asks, “What do you think of Diana?”

“I like her,” Kal says with a shrug, slipping into the new topic with no small amount of relief. “She’s nice.”

It isn’t simply that she was much more positive about Kal’s first performance as a helper than Batman—or Bruce, for that matter. It’s...well, she seemed to care, is all. She had pointers to offer, advice that, now Kal thinks of it, differed greatly from Batman’s in tone, but not so much in content, and she asked about Kal’s life outside of his new costume—didn’t quite tut at him about it, either, though Kal got the feeling she wanted to. And even then...somehow, he doesn’t think that would have been so terrible. Diana has—Gods, Kal would probably get in trouble with someone if he said it out loud, but there’s something old about her. Not just in the wealth of experience she seems to have, or in the yearning for long-gone happy times, but also in the...shamelessness of her. There were moments in that ice cream parlor when Diana reminded Kal of the elderly members of El’s court, who would laugh criticism of their oddities off and tell whoever the concerned party was that perhaps they’d live long enough to learn wrinkles came with a definite lessening of self-consciousness. Diana didn’t get the wrinkles, obviously, but there is an unrestrained part of her that makes it feel, just a little, like they’ve already settled on her soul.

Must be a stark contrast to Batman’s way of doing things, Kal muses. Of all the things to be said about the man, good and bad, ‘unrestrained’ doesn’t even come close to the list; quite the opposite. And it isn’t—it doesn’t make him a poor teacher, or mentor, or friend or—whatever it is he wants to be to Kal. He’s good at all these things—too good for Kal to follow, most of the time—it’s just. Sometimes, both Bruce and Batman are hard to keep up with, and now they’ve gone and finally found the button to press to get Kal angry enough to push back. It sounds like a recipe for disaster, really, and so Kal keeps this train of thought to himself, humming when Bruce tells him Diana would like to meet him again.

“In fact,” Bruce continues, like the words are being torn out of him, “they would all like to meet you.”

“...All?”

“The League.”

“The—oh.”

Martha, passing through the hall with a hefty bucket full of vegetables, pauses on the threshold and clears her throat, waiting long enough for Kal to meet her eyes—he must look more panicked than he meant to, judging by her light frown—and mouth ‘they want to meet me!’ in awestruck English. He has to clarify who he means, but then Martha breaks into a gigantic grin and pads toward him in socked feet to set a hand on his shoulder.

“Congratulations,” she mouths, and Kal is in the process of nodding when Bruce asks:

“Are you still there?”

“Oh—yes! Yes, I, uh—I’m here. And I’d be very honored to meet the Justice League .”

In front of him, Martha's grin grows even wider.

“Great. The Cave, next Friday. Three PM, New York time.”

“All right. What should I—”

A dull clicking sound. Kal pulls the receiver away from his ear and stares at it for a second, trying to slow-blink himself out of his stupor. To be invited to the League’s headquarters—of course, Kal was hoping to meet them. It’s just—he’d have thought he’d meet them individually first and then maybe, if things went well, be invited more officially later on. But no. It’s happening now.

There is a non-zero possibility that Kal will be sick at least once before the day comes.

Looking down reveals Martha still standing in front of him, close enough to hug—Kal half wants to, half fears overstepping some kind of boundary if he does—and still frowning at him. It isn’t the sort of frown that means disapproval, but it still makes Kal’s heart beat just a little faster. He swallows, ready to ask what’s going on and hopefully diffuse the situation, when Martha says, “Let’s go milk the cows, shall we? I’ll teach you how to do it by hand if you want.”

Nodding, Kal follows Martha to the door and, after slipping into a well-worn pair of boots, follows her to the barn. The Kent farm isn’t exactly a small one, but its main strength is crops, not dairy, and sixty head of cattle don’t call for a fully automated process, so the next two hours are spent letting eager cows into the milking stalls in batches of six, cleaning them up, hooking the milking machine to their udders, and waiting until they’re done to repeat the process with the next group. Both Kal and Martha remain silent during that time, focused on trying to deal with the cows’ insistence on trying to lick every inch of Kal’s face they can reach, even if it means they have to strain against the barriers holding them. By the end of it, though, they manage to get the animals back out in the field with minimal fuss—although Kal has to physically carry one of them out of the way—and are left with one unmilked cow standing in the stalls for Martha to demonstrate on.

“Wash your hands first,” Martha says as she pumps soap in her own palm, “then wash her up.”

She kicks a stool close to the cow while Kal complies with her instructions, careful not to get anything on his hands that would ruin the experience. He’s been here long enough to know the dangers of getting any germs into the milk, after all. He watches Martha get in position, wincing when she mutters imprecations directed against her lower back.

“Jon and I always used to talk about sinking a pit here,” she tells Kal over her shoulder, snorting along with him when he leans against the stall’s barrier and the cow gives him a big lick on the cheek. “Something to put the udders at arm level and reduce the backaches, but...well, he’s dead, and these things cost money.”

“I could do it,” Kal says, gently pulling the cow’s tongue away from his nose and letting it suck on his fingers instead. “I’d need to read up first, but between the speed and the muscles, I’m sure I could manage something.”

Shaking her head, Martha laughs and motions for Kal to pay attention before she bends down to the task, explaining how it works as she goes. Kal has to keep half of his attention on her and half on her patient, who, despite the terribly impractical configuration, is still trying to reach any piece of Kal’s exposed skin.

“I’d tell you to shed a sleeve and let her do her thing with your arm,” Martha says after a few minutes of that game, once she’s done with the first two udders, “but I’m afraid she’s already been more than spoiled enough for the day.”

Laughter bubbles out of Kal before he can even think of catching it, and he gives the cow’s ribs a fond pat while Martha gets up and pops her spine back into place.

“A smile, at last,” she says, stretching her arm. She’s smiling, too, just enough that Kal doesn’t blush too much as he looks down at the ground. “Now, are you going to tell me why you were wearing such a long face? I thought you wanted to meet the Justice League.”

“I do!” Kal says—promises, almost. “I do.”

It isn’t a lie. He’s been trying—he’s been wanting to make a real difference somewhere long before he came to Earth, and the Justice League does exactly that. Of course he’d want to meet them now he’s got what it takes to join. They help so many people already, the six of them, so helping them would be—but that’s the big question, isn’t it? Can Kal really help them? Sure, he’s strong, and he can see and hear a truly ridiculous amount of things nowadays; but if his time as Shadow has proven anything, it’s that material means are far from the only thing needed to be an efficient helper—let alone a hero.

Kal explains all of that while fumbling blindly with the cow’s udder, the way he has to almost press his cheeks into its flank to reach his goal a convenient excuse to avoid meeting Martha’s eyes. Not that he needs to, when he can still hear her snort, but it does make things...mildly less uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Martha says, sounding anything but. “Did you think Bruce told me nothing about you before you came here?”

A pause, while Kal gapes.

“That boy may be genetically compelled to make everything into a secret, but he knows when a little sharing is necessary. I know how you got that patch job.”

Kal’s hand flies to his side without thinking, the skin barely ever itching anymore now that the scar is fading. It was quite the sight when he first came to Martha’s farm, purple and raised, stippled in curving lines like worms trying to crawl into him—and then the sun happened, and now it’s on the verge of being indistinguishable from a rug burn. It...would be a lie, to say he’d thought Martha could know any more about it than what he’d told her—which is absolutely nothing—but then again it would also be a lie to say the revelation truly surprises him. Knowing Bruce, it was quite foolish of him to expect anything else.

“It isn’t the same,” he tells Martha, pushing his shoulders into a shrug. “It’s—”

“Well, you’re going to have to explain that one to me,” Martha retorts, leaning against the cow’s stall the same way Kal did earlier, “because from what I heard there wasn’t that much difference between that Shadow of yours and Batman.”

“Of course there was!” Kal protests, barely even noticing when he gets to his feet. “There was a huge difference!”

“Where?”

“Everywhere!” Kal exclaims, wincing when his outburst startles the cow and he has to rescue the milk bucket before it can spill over. “See? You know what he’s like, what he can do! I can’t even stand in a barn right!”

“Kal-El,” Martha scolds, and Kal doesn’t know what it is about the name that makes him want to shrink into himself, sink into the ground until he vanishes entirely.

“Please don’t call me that,” he manages through the knot in his throat.

With a blink, Martha pauses—just long enough to take Kal’s face in and nod. It’s a relief, really, because the absolute truth is that he has no idea what brought on the abrupt sensation of loneliness, inadequacy, the background noise of sheer misery that used to color every instant of his life on Krypton. Fear rushes forward at that thought, a bone-deep sort of horror at the idea that he could, somehow, be made to go back to the life he used to lead in El, even as he misses the place so much, and his heart rate doesn’t lower back to something reasonable until Martha says, “Don’t you think that means I’ll let you go on with this self-deprecating nonsense. Just because you mean it doesn’t mean it’s true, do you hear me?”

He does, the words piercing through his chest and crawling up his throat with a slow, agonizing heat that makes him close his hands into fists, clench his jaw. Blink, against the moisture of his eyes.

“So you’re not Batman; so what? No one else is, either! Even his kids—”

“He’s got children?”

Martha gasps, and actually slaps herself in the forehead with a low groan. Kal watches her face redden, her shoulders stiffening to a worrying degree until she sighs, releasing the pressure all at once.

“Two sons,” she explains with the sort of tone reserved for things one is unwilling to share. “One of them’s a police officer in one of Gotham’s neighboring cities. Blü-something. The other...he’s been in the Wayne mausoleum for a few years, now.”

Dead. Taken from his father before his time, leaving nothing but mementos behind—an empty room, Kal supposes. A few treasured objects and many more casually abandoned around the house on the fateful morning. A brother and a father, mourning together until Bruce got down to the cave and its damp air, its red lights...the echoing clang of feet on the spiraling...metal...staircase.

The suit in the glass case.

Oh, Rao—the suit.

There’s—Bruce must have buried all the proof. Destroyed it, maybe. Kara burned almost everything her mother had left her, except for a ring she’s never taken off since. Kal wouldn’t have—couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to—but they’re a different sort of person, Bruce and Kara. There’s no proof, but the theory makes sense, and Kal presses a hand against his mouth to make sure the words won’t spill out—to make sure he won’t take the conversation further than it should go.

Martha knows—must know, at least. If she’s known Bruce since before—she has to know. That doesn’t mean she is the one Kal should talk about this with.

“My point is,” Martha says after the long, heavy silence has settled around them, “that the fact that you can’t be Batman is no indication of a supposed lack of qualifications for this sort of job. Would you say Wonder Woman has no qualifications?”

“Well, no, but—”

“You want to help in the same way that they do, and you have the power to do it,” Martha cuts in, the firmness of her tone belied by the softness of the palm she settles over Kal’s cheek. “Those are the only qualifications you need. You can learn the rest with them.”

“I don’t know—”

“Son,” Martha cuts in again, and the word pushes a shiver down Kal’s spine, “you’ve learned the English language and the essentials of American culture in less than two months; you’ve learned to use hands that can lift a tractor to catch an egg without breaking it in less than that—of course you can learn what they need you to learn.”

“Martha,” Kal tries, mountain rocks in his throat and burning water in his eyes, but Martha’s grip on his cheek tightens, even as her other hand comes up to cup his face too.

“I don’t know who put it into your head that you’re not just as good as anyone else in this world—and better than some, believe you me—but they were wrong. I haven’t seen a single thing about you that wouldn’t make any parent proud. And—and I don’t know,” Martha says, voice catching on something wet just as Kal closes his eyes, feeling like he’s about to rip out of his own skin, “maybe your parents aren’t proud of you—some people are idiots like that. But I ’m proud of what you’ve accomplished before and since you came to Earth. I’m proud that I was there to help you through it, and I’m very proud to say I consider you family.”

The burn in Kal’s eyes spills over onto his cheeks, and he leans down until he can hide his face in Martha’s shoulder. With a great sigh, Martha reciprocates the gesture, looping her arms around him, and they remain locked into a teary hug for a long, long, long time.

Superman gains traction. Kal told Bruce he’d prepare and he meant it: he doesn’t wait for Bruce’s books to start reading up on the best ways to deal with a house fire, first aid techniques, and as many anatomy books as he can get his hands on. No world has ever waited for anyone to be done with their education to keep on turning, however, and in the following week Kal gets involved in a variety of car accidents, three forest fires, four hold-ups, and twenty-three cases of pets of various shapes and sizes stuck in increasingly unexpected places. He also helps many people with their groceries or everyday tasks, but that’s more being a good neighbor than anything else, so it doesn’t particularly count as, uh, ‘heroing’, as Martha jokingly puts it. On Thursday night, he even helps a doctor give birth to her own baby by the side of a dirt road in northern Vietnam—it consists mostly of doing what he’s told in labored English, but he does still come out of it with an undeniable sense of...poetry, almost.

Not that the actual affair was very glamorous—between the blood and gunk and other various bodily fluids, no one should be expected to look good while giving birth. But there is a sense of pride there, an awed accomplishment at the thought of having contributed, even just a little, in the making of a new life. He wonders, for a while, if that was what his parents felt when he was born—if they at least enjoyed that part of the whole ordeal, before they became entirely disenchanted with him. That is, of course, a question he’s unlikely to ever get an answer to—but even then the pride doesn’t leave him for the rest of the week.

On Friday, Kal wakes up with one of the worst cases of jitters he’s ever experienced, and he’s about to explode from it when Martha takes pity on him, drags him to the kitchen, and proceeds to teach him how to make apple crumble and gooey butter cake. He does have to leave eventually, though, and at one in the afternoon, local time, he walks through the door, runs out of Martha’s backyard until he’s at a comfortable distance, and jumps into the sky with as much force as he can manage.

He gets a little disoriented by the sonic boom at first—he’s never provoked one by jumping before—and figuring out how to fly on purpose proves tricky enough that Kal almost crashes down into a wheat field. He catches himself at the last second, though, rises until he’s just below the cloud cover, and heads toward Gotham.

He enters Bruce’s cave via a door installed under a lake, and touches down right next to the landing platform for Bruce's plane. There’s a motorbike there that Kal has never seen, parked next to a muddy blue four-by-four, but other than that, the cave remains as it was in Kal’s memories. He floats over the water in silence, popping up to get a closer look at the bats sleeping on the ceiling, and touches down again when he reaches the upper level of the cave.

Kal was right, before—this is a space that only pretends to be an armory. What weapons he can see haven’t been used in a while, and the suits on the back walls are all variations of Bruce’s Batman uniform—older versions, perhaps. And there, in the middle—Kal swallows. The build of the suit is slight, shorter than Batman’s. A younger person; he should have deduced that much from the get-go. A younger man. There are scratches in various spots on the red and green design, a bullet hole in the right shoulder...and the words in dulled yellow, mocking Batman—Bruce—every time he goes through that cave reminding him—Gods. No wonder the man tries so hard to make himself as engaging as a prison door.

Someone gasps to Kal’s left, and he turns to smile at the Flash—Barry—who is all but gaping at him through the glass. Kal exchanges a smile with Diana, too, who is standing by Bruce’s large office chair, and then he floats inside the room, multiple monitoring screens glowing as red as Krypton’s sun. Arthur and Cyborg have settled over a small console with a game of...checkers, and John the Green Lantern is apparently completing crosswords while sipping on a cup of tea. In his chair, Bruce—or, well, Batman, at the moment—doesn’t seem too pleased about the rest of the group’s nonchalance, but he must have decided it wasn’t important enough to point out, because he doesn’t protest when Barry zips from one end of the room to the other with a crackle and a strong gust of wind.

“Oh my Goooooooooood,” he says in a high-pitched voice, grin almost too big for his face. “You can fly!”

“I can fly too,” Cyborg points out, only for Barry to spin toward him.

“Are you ever going to fly me anywhere, Victor?”

“I’m not your personal jet, Barry.”

Barry makes a show of turning his nose up in the air before he turns back to Kal, “Victor is a bit of a killjoy sometimes,” he says in a stage whisper, “but I like him anyway, I don’t know why.”

“Lay off, Barry,” Victor protests—without heat, though he does duck his head to hide something that looks suspiciously like a smile.

“If you could all settle down.”

There is more than a hint of command in Batman’s voice and Kal, after a lifetime of conditioning, doesn’t even blink as he orders his suit back into civilian clothing and uses the excess material for a lightweight chair. (“Oh my god,” says Barry, and though he’s the only one who actually makes a sound about it, Kal still notices at least Arthur and John raising an eyebrow.)

“First item of business,” Batman announces, as soon as everyone is seated and mostly turned toward him, “everyone’s monthly—what, Barry?”

“I have new items I’d like to submit for consideration.”

“I’m sure we can all wait until after the meeting to ask about the pie,” John says, amusement lacing his tone, before anyone else has a chance to speak.

“Smells like apple crumble to me,” Diana says—Kal isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees her smirk, just a little, when Batman’s jaw twitches.

“Okay, well, about the crumble—”

“Later, Barry,” Victor says.

Kal sees him frown when Arthur catches his eyes with a ‘how do you deal with this’ sort of expression, but the topic does seem to be effectively dropped for the time being, which allows Flash to continue:

“Second proposed item: I’d like to officially challenge Superman here to a race. Employing the scientific method. For science.”

“Done,” Kal says before Bruce has time to speak, “if we can keep this meeting on track.”

Kal smiles at Batman, whose face immediately hardens into a scowl. Kal expected as much, but the sight still stings, and he has to bite down on a sigh. Clearly, they won’t be going back to being friends right away. He nods at Batman anyway, just a small tip of the head to confirm his support, and makes sure to keep his body language as professional as possible while Batman readjusts his notes. Good thing the physical attitudes communicating seriousness and attention are mostly the same in El and in the United States.

“Thank you, Superman,” Batman says like the words were stuck to his tooth and took it along for the ride when they exited his mouth. “First item of business: monthly reports.”

The groan that erupts from the table is at least as much attitudinal as it is audible, but Batman remains steadfastly undeterred, and Kal manages—though not without some trepidation—to keep his face mostly neutral. Reporting on anything, let alone anything of importance, is, after all, a first for him. He listens to everyone’s accounts of their months intently, sinking further into Superman’s solemn demeanor with every word that passes. By the time his turn comes, Kal’s nerves have left him entirely, and he’s able to give his own report without a hitch. Batman, of course, doesn’t exactly praise him, but he doesn’t ask too many follow-up questions or point out any flaws in Superman’s account, which definitely counts as a win.

Diana said, in the ice cream parlor, that the Justice League didn’t have an established hierarchy as such, and the truth of it is apparent in the comments of various degrees of utility made during reports, and the haphazard way they’ve all settled in Bruce’s space, without regard for who sits where except each of their preferences. There is, however, very clear leadership in place, and that’s why Superman is utterly unsurprised that no one even thinks of protesting once Batman suggests moving on to the second item.

“Which is the League’s headquarters.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to having more space,” Arthur says where he’s reclining against something that doesn’t look like it should be reclined on. “Hopefully somewhere a little less creepy.”

“You’ve got to admit the cave is a little...” John sweeps the space around them with his gaze, the satiny fabric of his uniform shimmering with the movement, before he purses his lips and concludes with: “Gloomy.”

“We’ve already agreed to change headquarters,” Batman says, causing a smirk to bloom on Diana’s face—there is mischief in her eyes when Superman catches her gaze, but she grows serious again as Batman continues. “The question now becomes where we want these headquarters to be.”

One of the screens behind Batman changes with a click, discarding what Superman thinks might have been old reports in favor of a set of blueprints and simulations. The projected building looks old-fashioned, from what Superman knows of Earth architecture, but also quite large and isolated from the rest of Gotham. Smaller windows and annotations hint at plans for private quarters, training facilities, and even something of a restaurant—who would have staffed it, Superman has no clue, but he knows Batman well enough by now to realize there are probably multiple possibilities built in the project.

“The original plan was to use the foundations of Wayne Manor to build the League’s headquarters for all of us, with room to grow—”

“Assuming anyone wants to join,” Arthur snorts, and while the others look at him with various levels of reproach, he clings to the provocation until Superman says:

“I’d like to.”

“That’s our third item,” Batman says, cutting the tangent off before it has a chance to get out of control. “The point is, we—that means you too, Aquaman—agreed it would be best for any headquarters of ours to leave room for several more additions. Building over Wayne Manor would allow for that, as well as future expansion, if needed. It does have a few downsides, however.”

“We’d be based on American soil,” Diana says, as if on cue. “That gives your government leverage against us, should they decide the Justice League needs to be leashed.”

“It’d make Gotham even more vulnerable,” Victor adds. “This city already has the highest concentration of megalomaniacs with weird gimmicks the world over—and that’s not poetic license. We settle in on Wayne property, the wrong kind of people are bound to hear about it someday, and then what? We got lucky with Steppenwolf, but I’m not too crazy about hoping the next guy will be that stupid.”

“Precisely,” Batman says with a terse nod. “Not to mention building headquarters on my private property makes the League legally and financially vulnerable should anything happen to me.”

“Enter: Superman.” John grins, winking in Superman’s direction. “Our good prince in primary-colored armor.”

Superman acknowledges the joke, but doesn’t respond to it one way or another, well aware that now is not the moment for it...and not entirely sure he finds it funny, besides. Behind Batman, the screen changes again to a picture of Kal’s ship, a staggering mass of dark greens on the black backdrop of space, sunlight barely reflecting off the material. It’s strange to see it from this angle. It’s inspired by wildlife, as are the vast majority of El’s—of Krypton’s—designs, and from what Superman has learned he suspects the Justice League members are also thinking of whales when they look at it. Still, from the outside—it never did feel that massive from the inside. Not even when he first stumbled upon it as a teen. Now, silhouetted against Earth’s golden sun, it has taken on an otherworldly sheen, a mysticism brimming with potential that makes Superman shiver.

“There are several points in favor of this project,” Batman begins. “First of all, it would address our concerns about the repercussions of the Justice League’s presence on geopolitical relationships—”

“Displace them, you mean?”

Superman is not the type of man to squirm under surprised gazes, but he does experience a very Kal-like shiver when the others turn to him. He does manage to keep his cool, though, and keep his voice in the lower register he picked for that persona as he explains:

“The ship is still well within Earth’s space territory, so that shouldn’t be a problem. But do you really think knowing the Justice League is hovering over them won’t catch the attention of some other governments? It doesn’t seem likely that China or North Korea will be very enthusiastic about this initiative.”

“He’s got a point,” Arthur says. “And that’s without even talking about other so-called local government.”

“Green Lantern archives corroborate J’onn’s story,” John interjects from his seat. “If there’s still life left on Mars, the Corps doesn’t know about it.”

“Regardless,” Batman says with a slight nod in John’s direction, “we’re going to have to start thinking about what to tell the press if and when they find out about the two literal aliens working with us. That’ll be a point for another meeting, however. Right now, we’re discussing our headquarters. Political problems aside—and I think we can all agree there will be plenty, regardless of where we settle down—that kind of vantage point would bring tremendous advantage to the League.”

“And how do we get people to and from your little watchtower?” Victor says, slapping Barry’s hand away from his pocket and what turns out to be a packet of sweets. “I might be able to go to space, assuming my circuits don’t freeze, but the rest of you are kind of stuck here.”

“I’m pretty sure J’onn mentioned something about teleportation,” John offers, pulling his phone out of Rao knows where, presumably to check on previous notes. “I could ask him about it during his next Settler’s appointment—it’s due next week, anyway. Speaking of,” he adds, turning to Kal, “you and I need to have a chat, and soon.”

Kal blushes. It doesn’t take as long as he’d feared to explain his situation to the League—they might never have moved from one planet to the other, but they’re all familiar with the concept of immigration, and since John Stewart is the only known Green Lantern of Earth, it’s obvious he’ll be the one to supervise Kal’s settlement project.

“You know,” John tells Barry when he asks about it, “keeping track of where he settles down, what name he uses in his day-to-day life. That sort of thing.”

Oh, Rao. The name thing. Kal had completely forgotten about that. And this isn’t like Superman, either—he can’t just toss it to the press and call it a day, if only because he has less than no desire for the press to know who he is out of costume...although of course, the whole thing would probably be much simpler if he had any idea what sort of name he’d like in the first place, but—

“That’s not the point,” Batman says. “What we’re here to discuss is—”

“It’s to know if we want the headquarters to be your house or this—what did Victor call it? The watchtower,” Arthur interrupts, voice booming with boredom loudly enough that the one glass wall of the room shakes with it. “Personally I’d rather sleep on a cactus than on your bed, so I’m in favor.”

“I mean, the idea of living in your manor’s cool and all,” Barry tells Batman with a slightly apologetic grimace, “but you can’t beat a space station. I’m in, too.”

“We’re not voting today,” Batman grits out—Superman hears the leather of his glove creak as his fist tightens on his lap. “We’re assessing—"

“I think you’ll have a better chance just sending a report over to the team,” Wonder Woman mutters while Barry tries to engage Victor in a debate over whether Superman’s ship has the potential to be as cool as the Enterprise.

“I’ll do that,” Batman replies, jaw still tight enough to chew glass. “In the meantime, our third item?”

“What is it?” John asks, clearly trying to maintain a minimum of professionalism while Superman attempts to stare Barry into behaving himself a little better.

“The Superman’s relationship with the Justice League.”

Superman really, really doesn’t blush—but the part of him that’s Kal does, and it takes him several seconds to get his face back under some semblance of control when both Barry and Diana pronounce themselves in favor of him joining. Arthur and Victor are mostly acting indifferent, and John says something about papers and regulations, but at least no one outright objects to the idea. No one, that is, until Batman says:

“You’re all assuming we’ll be offering him a position. We haven’t decided that yet.”

Superman stares, flabbergasted, while at least two of the other League members protest on his behalf. Someone says something about the advantages of having one more flying person on the team, but the rush of blood in Superman’s ears drowns the words out—and he’s fairly sure Batman is in the middle of a very, very rational explanation when he asks:

“Why?”

There must be more strain in his tone than he meant to leave there, because the assembly instantly falls silent, eyes turning to him with something that looks a lot like apprehension on his behalf hovering around the edges. Batman, if at all possible, straightens even further.

“You’re too green.”

“I’ve been in this sort of business for eight years,” Superman replies, and he’s entirely positive he doesn’t imagine the way Barry gasps at the rebuke.

“You don’t know anything about Earth—”

“You didn’t know anything about El when you decided to investigate the Melokariel Proposition,” Superman points out while Barry—or Flash, or both of him—makes a frighteningly high-pitched noise.

“I knew what I was doing,” Batman grits out, though it’s difficult to say whether the change in his voice is due to frustration or sheer disbelief that anyone—let alone Kal—would dare to dismiss two of his arguments in a row.

“Well, so do I,” Superman replies, turning toward Bruce as the world narrows down to their conversation. “You can quiz me if you’d like—I’ve spent the last week learning about first response efforts and human anatomy. I’ve learned Spanish—”

“In a week?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impo—” Batman grunts, quite obviously frustrated.

In the microsecond he takes to pinch at the bridge of his nose Superman hears Aquaman snort and recline further into his seat.

“Look, that’s not the point,” Batman says after a brief pause. “The point is, you’re rash, impulsive, and untrained—”

“You trained me yourself!”

“We have no idea how far your strength goes!” Batman counters, voice rising to match Superman’s volume. “You keep taking unnecessary risks—”

“We’ve talked about that robbery, Batman,” Superman all but groans, a small part of him proud that he didn’t resort to calling the man by his first name. “It was neither a risk—”

“They shot you in the face!” Batman shouts. “You could have died!”

“I accidentally wrecked a tractor by standing behind it!” Superman shouts back, rising to his feet as soon as Batman does, too incensed to worry about propriety, or strength, or anything that isn’t the sun-hot burn of irritation in his veins. “And even if it had really been a risk, which we both know it wasn’t—that man would have died! Putting myself in that bullet's path might have been many things, but it was not unnecessary!”

“No one would have blamed you for taking some time to assess the situation!”

“I would have!” Superman allows himself three harsh, heaving breaths, before he repeats: “I would have.”

The silence around him is absolute, as if even Bruce’s machines had felt the tension in the air and decided to make themselves even more discreet than they already were. Wonder Woman is looking at them in a way Superman can’t quantify as anything but skeptical, and the other four are mostly just gaping at the sight—but in all honesty, at this point both Superman and Kal are too incensed to care.

“Meeting adjourned,” Batman says at last, more tense than Kal has ever seen him. The rest of the League hesitates for just a second, until Batman barks: “Everyone out.”

Wonder Woman doesn’t look like she’s putting particular haste into leaving, but she’s the only one. Barry barely mumbles something about seeing the rest of them next time before leaving in a flash, Victor hot on his heels. John floats out with reasonably dignified haste, and Diana throws a Look at Bruce before she walks out of the room, the blue car’s engines roaring to life just as she reaches the threshold.

“That meant you, too,” Batman says, pushing Superman to snort, throat still tight with the fight.

“Yes, I gathered that. I just wanted to say—you’re the one who invited me here. If you didn’t want me around, you could just have said so.”

He should—it feels like he should be able to pursue the conversation in a calmer, more rational manner. Like he shouldn’t let the burn in his throat and in his cheeks get the better of him...but Batman doesn’t answer—Bruce doesn’t answer—and Kal deflates out of Superman’s persona, eyes burning as he turns on his heel and flies away like a coward.

He hides away in the settlement ship afterwards. The cold there is too intense for anyone on the team to bear—except maybe Diana but why would she come look for him here in the middle of the Arctic?—and even if it weren’t the security system won’t let them in until its commander, which is Superman, orders it to. It’s the perfect place to be left alone with his thoughts, to have time to think things through...and, Kal realizes, the perfect place to be miserable.

It doesn’t start out that way—the distance is a great idea at first, and the relative silence of the Arctic makes for a helpful dampener for the noises of the rest of the world. In time, Kal is sure, he’ll come to relish the opportunity for some quiet. Right now, though, on the heel of Batman’s not-so-subtle rejection, the mix of Federal and Ulian alphabets on the command consoles and walls turns from comforting to a painful reminder of Kal’s many, many inadequacies. In the end, he all but flees the ship and decides to run around the world for a while.

He goes from one country to another, plucking people out of disaster zones after natural catastrophes, hurricanes after floods after earthquakes, until his head buzzes with it. Eventually, though, the rush of purpose, the heady sense of accomplishment, fades away. There’s no room for Kal’s struggles when Superman is busy proving to the planet that he’s here to help and here to stay. There’s no room for Kal’s anger when Superman has to be mild, even-tempered, unthreatening in every possible way until everyone forgets he could blow them to bits with something as simple as a sneeze. To an extent, Superman’s calm demeanor, his self-assurance bleed into Kal enough that he can almost fool himself into thinking he’s over the whole thing until, three days in, he realizes Superman is on his way to turning just as rote and automatic as Shadow was, in his last few days.

The realization brings him up short—jerks him out of a feeling that’s as terrifying as it is familiar—and Kal has to spend a long time ranting about the whole ordeal to Martha before he’s calmed down enough to stop panicking. He’s destroyed a full tub of ice cream by then, something he tries to apologize for until Martha tells him not to sweat it.

“You know I’m happy to help, sweetheart,” she says with a shrug when Kal looks at her with intense puzzlement. “And besides, I’ve got to admit there’s something a little funny about someone with your build complaining about a stubborn coworker with his mouth full of French vanilla.”

Kal tries to resist glancing at Martha’s helping of black cherry ice cream, but she tuts at him with an exaggerated grin, clutching the carton closer to her chest before she warns:

“Don’t even think about it, young man. I have a spoon and I’ll smack you with it if I have to.”

Kal could steal the entire thing from her if he wanted to, of course. He could rob Martha blind and be out of reach within minutes, if he really put his mind to it. But the very thought makes him snort, and he concedes the point—and any claim on the black cherry—with raised hands and a rueful grin. The exchange does have the benefit of lightening his heart, though, and Kal’s next sigh is more contented than anything else as he lies back against the couch, careful not to press too hard against it. He’s not...it’d be a lie, to say that he’s forgotten all about Bruce’s attitude two days ago—or that he hasn’t noticed there’s been nothing but radio silence between them since—but it’s grown a little lighter all the same, and Kal is ready to appreciate that.

“It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?” Martha says, after a bit.

Kal groans and lets his head fall backward.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Martha, fully aware that he sounds more sulky than genuinely pained by his own attitude. “I just can’t get it out of my head—he was so—urgh. Sorry.”

“I’d tell you to stop apologizing,” Martha says, the hint of a chuckle in her voice, “but I doubt it’d do much good...What if I told you I’ve got the perfect distraction instead?”

Kal lifts his head back up at the words, looking at Martha with undisguised curiosity only to find her sporting a grin that wouldn’t be out of place on—what’s the phrase again? Oh, right. The canary that got the cat. No, wait—the cat that got the canary. That sounds more sensible. Either way, Martha looks a little proud of herself, like she’s about to pull the best prank the world has ever seen on Kal; and it’s only trust that she won’t do anything to hurt him that keeps him from making his excuses and retreating to his bedroom.

He obeys Martha’s gesture to follow her instead, tailing her outside and across the yard to the storehouse, inside, and then up an old wooden ladder to an empty hayloft. The walls of it are raw, bits of straw lying discarded on the floor among bird droppings and something that looks an awful lot like a dead mouse in the dim light of the evening. Kal follows the slant of the roof from a set of wide doors to the left-hand wall, and then down to a pile of brand-new cans of paint.

“I wanted to wait for a special occasion,” Martha says when Kal looks at her in incomprehension, “but I figure it’ll do the most good now.”

“Uh, Martha, I…I’m not sure I understand….”

Even in the fading light it’s easy for Kal to see how Martha’s face grows more serious, her smile just a little smaller, and yet...more important, somehow, at the same time.

“Look, I know this arrangement was supposed to be temporary,” she says after taking a deep breath in, “and I’ll understand completely if and when you want to move somewhere else, but I thought—I wanted to make it clear that I want you to have a place on this farm and in my life. Permanently.”

“What?” Kal asks, take aback. “But the hay—”

“Most of it is stored above the barn already,” Martha says with a dismissive shrug, “and a lot of the rest I just hand over to Mr. Abernathy because he helps with the harvest. I’ll figure something out for what’s left—or you can help me build a new shed, if you’d like. Either way...I figured this would be a better use of the space. If you’re interested, that is.”

Kal tries hard to keep the tears that well up in his eyes from falling onto Martha’s shoulder when he presses her into a shuddering hug. The fact that his own shoulder feels damp, however, means he doesn’t really mind too much when he fails.

Kal spends the next day in the hayloft, in between Superman’s interventions, one ear on the radio and Kryo’s alerts from the Ship as he scrubs the walls and floor squeaky clean, sanding them only slightly over human speed. He’s mostly done with the preparation work by dinnertime, and laughs himself silly as Martha recounts the work she and Jonathan had to put in on the farm after a particularly nasty storm.

“I’m very glad I was forced to sleep by an open oven door in my twenties rather than later in life, let me tell you,” she says, and Kal snorts at the mental image—a disheveled all-but-newlywed Jonathan with his clothes covered in paint and wood shavings, collapsing on the floor next to his exhausted veterinarian of a wife, huddled in front of a working oven in the last dregs of autumn.

The picture is as heartwarming as it could be distressing, the biting cold and fear of failing to finish the repairs before winter long since worn away from the memory—and Kal smiles at his hands, clutched around a mug on the table. Martha chuckles, too, emptying the last of her hot cocoa with a satisfied smile before she says:

“He’d have liked you as much as I do, you know. I’ve got absolutely no doubt about that.”

Kal looks down at his cup again, heat creeping up his neck and into his chest, sweeter than anything as it spreads into his limbs and makes him feel almost as invulnerable as he actually is. I’m proud to call you family, Martha said all those days back, and to hear—for her to think—Kal swallows. It isn’t—it won’t ever be the same as hearing this from his birth parents. To hear Jor-El or Lara Lor-Van say anything even close to that—he breathes in deep. Just the thought of it aches, the pain barely dulled by a lifetime of training; and not just because it’s impossible, either. There is too much pain there, too much unanswered need and longing for an about-face not to cut deeper than Kal cares to find out.

Martha’s words, her easy acceptance, the unconditional nature of her affection and of her care—of her love, even—won’t ever be the same as receiving such a sentiment from anyone in the El family, but it doesn’t hurt the way that would. It doesn’t—of course, it can’t exist without taking Kal’s entire history into account...but the pain there feels more like healing than an infection, a necessary step on the path of recovery. Kal sighs with it, one hand coming up to rest on his chest before he realizes it, and Martha frowns again.

“Are you all right?” she asks. “Should I not have—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Kal hurries to reassure her. “It’s just—there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, I think. In the future. I just—I need to give it a little more thought before I can really...share it, so to speak.”

“Oh,” Martha answers, clearly trying to rein her wariness in, “of course. I understand.”

“Thank you, Martha.”

It takes a bit of time before they can go back to the easygoing mood of their early evening, but Martha’s yellow kitchen—with its pale chairs and the chips in the wooden cupboards and the homemade pottery dishes drying on the rack next to the sink—has become such a place of freedom to Kal, of safety, that he doesn’t even realize he could fear failing to recover the mood until they’ve already done it.

Four days after his disastrous first encounter with the Justice League, Kal decides to swallow his pride and be the bigger caped crusader in this ridiculous feud with Bruce. Well, technically he did sort of come by that decision on day three, calling Bruce in the middle of sanding the hayloft’s loading doors. He didn’t really commit to it, however, and after a few calls had gone to voicemail—to his immense relief—he gave up and decided to wait more.

This time, though, he’s truly decided to make things right; so, after Bruce has ignored four more phone calls and Kal has moved Martha’s old but serviceable pull-out couch out of the living room—“I’ve been looking for an excuse to change it for ages, and Bruce saved me the money for a replacement tractor, so just take the damn thing off my hands, please"—and into his new spot on the farm, he turns the suit back into Superman’s costume and flies towards Gotham City.

He makes a pass over Blüdhaven on his way in. It isn’t, strictly speaking, on the way, but night is falling over there, and spending the past four days thinking about little else but Batman gave Kal more than enough time and reason to wonder about the mysterious son who exiled himself here. He doesn’t intrude—wouldn’t know how to introduce himself even if he wanted to—but he does take a look at the city. It doesn’t seem that different from Gotham, similar signs of poverty and political neglect marring the streets despite what Kal has seen described as tremendous efforts on many people’s parts to help the citizens make better lives for themselves. It seems almost too on-the-nose a project to take up for Batman’s son, but then who’s Kal to judge? He certainly can’t claim to have only picked easy projects in the past.

He leaves the city behind, eventually, promising himself to come back, and heads to Batman’s cave. It’s a relief not to have to dodge any alarms that he can detect, especially when the more paranoid part of his brain had become convinced he might be facing lethally dissuasive measures upon his return. It is a surprise, however, to fly and in and run into Wonder Woman as she all but stalks out of Batman’s main operations room with an impressive scowl on her face.

It melts away when she sees Superman standing there, though, and the force of her smile is almost enough to stun as she says:

“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you, but you’re very good at being elusive, Superman.”

“I apologize,” Superman tells her with a bow of his head. “I’m afraid I got sort of...caught up. In various matters.”

“’Various’ wouldn’t be my first choice of word to describe Batman,” Wonder Woman says with a wink, “but I suppose to each their own.”

“I suppose so,” Superman concedes. Then, reluctant to leave the truth unacknowledged: “he made some good points, you know. Mostly good points, in fact. I guess I just sort of...overreacted, a little bit.”

“Well,” Wonder Woman says with a small smile and a shrug, “as long as you’ve made your peace with it.”

Superman has a feeling the Cave may sound like he did the very opposite of that in the next few minutes, but he nods anyway, unwilling to drag things out. Diana replaces Wonder Woman, then, grin tipping further into mischief, a spark of almost childish glee blinking to life in her eyes as she says:

“Once you’re done, the others and I would like to meet you again—properly, this time. If you don’t mind.”

“You mean—as civilians?”

Kal flinches when his hesitation makes Diana blink, but he doesn’t let it push him into pretending he’s not feeling slightly off-kilter, even if it means Diana’s smile is slow to come back.

“Yes,” she says, “as civilians. Would that be all right with you?”

“Oh...sure,” Superman says, the role pushing some of Kal’s hesitation out of his posture. “That’d be great. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Well, then, do let us know when you're done here and I’ll send you my location.”

Smiling again, Wonder Woman offers Superman a small rectangle of thick, embossed paper introducing her as “Diana Prince, head curator,” with the British Museum’s logo in the upper right corner. Two phone numbers line up at the bottom, and Diana taps the second one, which, Superman guesses, must be a mobile phone. Nothing he’s seen so far makes him think this could be a personal number, but it still feels nice to have this tiny piece of connection to her, one that doesn’t go through Batman, or Bruce. It isn’t much, of course, and it isn’t like Superman—let alone Kal—resents Bruce’s presence or anything of the sort. It’s just—it’s nice to feel like he’s putting down roots, is all.

“I will,” Superman says, and waves goodbye as Diana floats out of the cave and into the early afternoon sun.

Then, breathing in, he makes his way through the cave and up the stairs. He walks there, unwilling to risk upsetting Bruce by flying, and can’t help but pause in front of the glass case where the suit looms over the rest of the room. It’s almost menacing in its emptiness, the gloves gripped tight around a discarded weapon—but Kal remembers who used to wear this, now. Tries to imagine what it would have been like, for him to lose Kara. What it would have felt like, looking at the clothes she died in—for that is exactly what these are, the yellow words leave no doubt about that—and the mere thought of it burns at the corners of his eyes. Not just the familiar salt-sting of tears, but the other heat, too, the one that pressed at the backs of his eyes after the tractor, and a handful of time since, after his argument with Bruce.

Kal swallows it down, turns to the main den and its Krypton-like red light, and sighs as he knocks on the glass door.

“I ate one of them,” Bruce says, clearly distracted by something under his microscope, “so spare me the lecture, please.”

“I’m fairly sure Alfred prepares two sandwiches because one isn’t enough,” Kal retorts with what he hopes is a passable effort at keeping his voice even. Ish.

Besides, even slightly wilted, the sandwich on the forgotten tray looks delicious, and not saying something in favor of eating it would feel almost as bad as snubbing the food a second time. It might be a bias, but it isn’t one Kal cares to correct—and if Bruce’s expression is anything to go by, not one Bruce cares to dispute, either.

“What are you doing here?” he asks instead, sounding more wary than actually sullen.

“I...I wanted to talk to you about the, uh—the meeting. The other day.”

Scowling again, Bruce turns back to his microscope, shoulders tightening with a shift of muscles that's actually audible to Kal. Kal blinks himself back inside his body, the surprise of the sound all the more unwelcome for how rare these things have become, and he closes his eyes against the abrupt burn in them. He hasn’t found out what that sensation is leading up to, yet, and he’s got no desire to get on with that part of his evolution, let alone within a small enclosed space where all he wants to look at is Bruce.

“I’d think you made your stance very clear,” Bruce says, tone flirting with the edge of a mutter, as if he were trying to make himself sound more...professional than he really feels like being. It brings a smile to Kal’s mouth as he answers:

“I did. So did you. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m wondering whether maybe we didn’t get it all wrong anyway.”

“I don’t get things wrong,” Bruce protests, head coming up and away from the microscope, the white lenses of the cowl retracted to make observation possible.

Other than that and his general demeanor, Bruce is in full Batman regalia—almost ready for a meeting. Part of Kal wants to rise to the same level—keep the suit and the solid voice and the straight shoulders on—but the last time he did that turned out to be...well, he doesn’t want to use the word ‘disaster’, but doesn’t quite find himself able to come up with an adequate alternative. So, ignoring the instinctive urge to make himself bigger than he is and let Superman handle things for a while, he turns the suit back into jeans and a plaid shirt, a white t-shirt peeking through the open lapels. He keeps his posture natural, without straightening his spine but without slipping into the excessive slouch he’s been practicing either. Nothing but Kal, wrapped in all his shortcomings and surprisingly irritable temper.

“Maybe you don’t,” he tells Bruce, “but you don’t always see everything either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying,” Kal replies with a shrug, struggling to keep his arms uncrossed and shoving his hands in his pockets instead. “You didn’t realize I was Shadow until I took the helmet off.”

Bruce snorts at that, which, considering the exact circumstances of Shadow’s unmasking, Kal can understand, however begrudgingly. The point, however, was to remind Bruce of his own potential for failure, and that’s been accomplished, so Kal doesn’t dwell on it. What he says instead is:

“I don’t always see everything, either.”

What gave him away, Kal will probably never find out. Possibly nothing. He can’t have been the first to notice the memorial in the middle of the cave, although now that he thinks of it he might well be the first to have actually hinted at it out loud. Alfred, after all, has been in Bruce’s service since Bruce was a boy, and would have no need to ask about what happened, let alone figure out a way to let Bruce know he knew. None of that, of course, tempers the glare Bruce fixes him with, and so there’s nothing for it but breathe in deep, and hope for Bruce’s mercy when he says:

“I know what the suit means. Some of it.”

It’s remarkable, really, what super senses allow you to pick up on. The Kal that lived on Krypton would never have realized just how deeply tense Bruce grows at the words.

“Get out,” he growls, but this time Kal forces himself to stand his ground.

“No.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but no. We’ve been putting off this conversation long enough.”

“I haven’t been putting anything off,” Bruce replies, slipping around Kal to get to his computer and busy himself with...something, presumably. “There’s nothing to say here. You’re not ready to join the League—”

“Actually,” Kal says, raising his eyes to the ceiling in the vain hope that Rao will find and help him even here, “I think you’re the one who’s not ready.”

Bruce reacts, perhaps a little predictably, like Kal just stabbed him in the back and then insulted his House, which is to say that he whips around and stares at him with what, on Bruce, is practically a slack jaw. Sticking to English for this conversation was definitely a good idea, then, because this has to be the most intense display of emotion Kal has seen on Bruce’s face since the night they left Krypton and—and then Bruce slams him into the wall.

It isn’t painful, of course—nothing really is, these days—and it only worked because Kal wasn’t actually expecting it, but the sheer rage on Bruce’s face stops him from saying as much. He did come here to make things better, after all, and if that requires gritting his teeth through a number of uncomfortable moments, then so be it.

“What,” and Batman’s growl is rumbling out with no small amount of threat in it, “is that supposed to mean?”

“You heard me,” Kal repeats, forcing himself to keep his voice as level as possible without dipping into Superman’s register. “I think you’re not ready for me to join the Justice League.”

“How dare you—”

“I’m not like him.”

Batman—Bruce—stops again, gaping, hands still caught in the collar of Kal’s shirt as his mouth opens and closes on empty air. Kal doesn’t need to actually listen to his heartbeat to guess it’s probably going for a speed prize right about now, and so he continues instead, softening his voice:

“I don’t know what happened to him, exactly. Only that he was your son, and what the armor tells me.”

“Stop,” Bruce manages, voice as rough as broken glass.

“I’m sure he was as well-trained as it was possible to be—”

“Shut up—”

“I’m not human, Bruce.”

“Shut up— ”

“I can’t be killed.”

“ Shut up! ” Bruce shouts, pushing himself away from Kal with enough force to send himself stumbling into his super computer. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don’t know what—he was—don’t you dare—”

“Bruce,” Kal tries raising his hands in appeasement, and freezes when Bruce physically recoils from him. “I wasn’t—I’m not trying to insult him, and I know it hurts—”

“You know nothing about J—you know nothing about him,” Bruce spits, somewhere on the edge of a scream, the beating of his heart a painful sound at the back of Kal’s hearing. “You don’t even know what it’s like to have a family!”

The last word explodes into the shout Bruce was clearly struggling against, clattering against the walls of the room like a gunshot. It leaves the same sort of silence behind it, too shocking to even remember there is a world outside of stillness, and Kal almost—almost—fails to notice the soft padding of Alfred’s footsteps on the other side of the door, the sharpness of his inhale.

What he couldn’t miss, even if he wanted to, is the way Bruce tenses and then crumbles under all his armors, sagging down against his desk and then onto the floor, breathing harsh and heavy, the tremors in his hands so fine it takes Kal’s super senses to see them. Kal stands there for a second, ignoring Alfred entirely, until he finally gathers the courage to take the few steps that separate him from Bruce, kneel, and allow a hand to hover close to Bruce's knee.

“You’re right, I barely know what it’s like to have a family,” he says—the sound Bruce makes then is...Kal can’t tell if it’s a protest, or pain, or some mixture of the two, but the rawness of it makes him wince in sympathy. His chest aches. “I don’t—you know what my life was like. I’ve only ever had Kara, and things with her were...complicated.”

Not for lack of love so much as lack of understanding. Caring about someone in a way that doesn’t suit them sometimes leaves scars just as deep as not caring would; that much, Kal knows.

“I’m learning, though. I’ve got Martha now,” he says, unexpectedly delighted by how much he means it. “Martha...and you.”

This time, the sound that rises from Bruce’s throat is definitely wounded. Kal’s hand crosses the gap towards Bruce’s knee and squeezes it, perhaps a shade too far on the strength scale. Bruce doesn’t protest, though. Doesn’t react at all, really, except for the way his head bows further, his hands retreating towards his chest.

“I don’t know—I have no idea how you feel about him. But I do know how I felt at the thought of Martha getting hurt because of me.”

“That,” Bruce manages from the confines of his knees, “that’s not—I don’t—”

“All right,” Kal concedes readily, unwilling to let this scene go on longer than absolutely necessary, “you don’t. But just in case you did—I’m invulnerable, Bruce. I can send over the data from the suit and the settlement ship if you want. I don’t think even a bomb could hurt me now, and my muscles aren’t anywhere close to being done mutating.”

“I’m not—”

“Fine, you’re not,” Kal cuts in, unable to restrain his irritation in the face of Bruce’s shaken stubbornness. “Well, in that case, you’re going to have to get over yourself, Batman. I want to help people, and that’s what I’m going to do, with or without your blessing...and you won’t be able to say I’m too green forever.”

Kal hesitates, but he does give Bruce’s knee a last squeeze before he straightens up. He’s not quite sure Bruce really does tell him to get out, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take a genius, after all, to realize this conversation—inasmuch as it can be called that—has been more than hard on Bruce’s nerves, and Kal has no desire to add to that. Bruce’s answer will come when he’s ready for it. In the meantime, leaving him in peace so he can lick his wounds and sort himself out is the least Kal can do.

He leaves the room with an apologetic grimace for Alfred, who is going to have to deal with this particular mess through no fault of his own, and flies out of the Cave before his suit is even done rearranging into Superman’s uniform. From there, it’s only the work of a moment to pick his phone up and send a text to Diana:

Do you think we could push the get-together back until tomorrow?

He’s expecting to get a text back, and startles when the suit alerts him to a phone call instead.

“Diana?” he asks, slowing down as he picks up. “Is something wrong? Does tomorrow not work for you?”

“Tomorrow is fine,” Diana replies, dismissive. “I’m just concerned about the reasons behind the rain check.”

Kal files the new expression away for later use, holds onto a sigh, and says, “It’s just...I realized something. When I talked to Bruce. And now—there’s just something I need to do, and I can’t—I don’t want to postpone it.”

“Fine,” Diana replies, a thin layer of puzzlement still in her voice. “I’ll let everyone know, then.”

Superman hums into the receiver, glad to have this sorted out, and flies on toward Kansas.

Kal comes down a few minutes later, wincing when he botches the landing and takes a large chunk of gravel out of Martha’s driveway. He’ll have to refill the pothole as soon as he’s done, but right now the problem is simply not important enough to stop him, and after a quick check, he strides into the house, half determined and three-quarters terrified this is going to go terribly wrong. Martha is in the middle of a phone call when he enters the kitchen, washing tomatoes while she arranges the next meeting with her D&D group—she’s tried to take Kal with her a couple of times, but they didn’t have any sort of cover story ready, let alone a name to give people, so after a couple of missed sessions, Kal just insisted he’d survive one night alone per week. So Kal busies himself by getting two mugs out and reheating some coffee in the microwave.

Martha doesn’t realize he’s there until he actually starts the machine, and when she does she takes one look at Kal’s face and says, “Mary-Beth, I’m going to have to call you back, I’ve got a call I don’t want to miss coming in.”

Kal tries to wave her away, signal that he can wait, but in less than a minute Mary-Beth has made her goodbyes and Martha is setting the phone down, taking a seat in front of Kal at the kitchen table, and saying:

“All right, what’s wrong? How did it go with Bruce?”

“It...went,” Kal says with a grimace. “I said what I had to say and he—I knew it was going to be a painful conversation—well, a painful moment—but that. Um. It, uh—it went. Okay. Ish. I think.”

“Oh, Kal,” Martha says in a sympathetic tone, one hand coming up to rest on his wrist, “I’m sure Bruce will come around. I know he’s stubborn, but—”

“Oh, I’m stubborn too,” Kal says with a barely restrained snort. “One of the many things I've learned about myself here. I’m sure we’ll work this out somehow. It’s—that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

Martha straightens in her chair with a little surprised ‘oh’, undoubtedly puzzled by the sudden formality in Kal’s voice, but doesn’t say anything further. She gives Kal an encouraging nod instead, and he takes a deep, bracing breath before he says:

“This is something—I’ve been...coming to this for a while, I think. But it didn’t quite—I hadn’t really put my finger on it until today. See, Bruce and I, we talked about...about family—well, he shouted, but it’s not like I don’t—”

“Kal,” Martha interrupts with a squeeze on his wrist, “big breath, then slow down, please.”

“Oh. Um. Sorry.”

Chuckling at himself, a bit, Kal gives himself time to blink, take another couple of deep breaths, and try again:

“So. Bruce and I talked about family and I—it, uh. Got me thinking. See, I...I haven’t had any contact with my parents since I left Krypton. Haven’t had a proper conversation with them since—wow. Sorry, I, uh—wow.” Wiping at his eyes, Kal manages a chuckle at himself anyway, eyes carefully kept on the tablecloth. “Sorry, I didn’t—it’s touchier than I thought it would be.”

At least, he thinks while Martha quietly passes him a tissue, his voice is still stable for the moment. Mostly stable, at any rate.

“Anyway,” he manages after a while, trying to keep his words...well, understandable, at least, “Kara—my cousin Kara, the one who writes—she’s, uh. I don’t really...have a real relationship to anyone beside her. Back on Krypton, I mean. But then...I had this talk with Bruce, and I—he said I didn’t know what family was, and—”

“He what?” Martha exclaims, shocked enough that her coffee cup almost topples to the ground. Kal catches it, and raises a placating hand:

“No, no, I—it’s fine. He was right, for the—please sit back down. He’s—he wasn’t wrong. But...he wasn’t entirely right, either. Because I realized—as we talked, he and I, I realized that...I’m learning. About family. Thanks to you. What I’m saying is—I consider you family, too.”

Kal chances a glance up when he hears Martha sniffle, and when their eyes meet she makes the kind of choked-off sound Kal has only ever heard from people too profoundly emotional for words. He’s far from done with what he wants to say—hasn’t reached the real crux of the matter, yet—but the sound gives him enough courage to keep looking at Martha as he continues:

“I haven’t—I don’t think I’ve told you this before but...I’m supposed to pick an Earth name. It’s intergalactic law for people who migrate to a planet that hasn’t got proper awareness of the rest of the universe yet. And so—because I consider you like a mother—I was wondering if you’d be willing to, uh...pick it.”

“Clark,” Martha blurts out immediately, the name all but bursting out of her through a sob. “It’s—with Jonathan, before—if we’d conceived a son, we’d have called him Clark.”

Something fierce overtakes him, too strong and too encompassing to be called joy—it rushes through his veins at the speed of light, makes him straighten up and grin and cry at the same time, fills his heart and lungs with warmth and light brighter than the sun. It flows through him like the best, most brilliant tsunami in the history of the universe, makes his palms and armpits tingle with it, and in an instant he’s got Martha gathered in as tight a hug as he can give her without hurting her, sniffing and laughing and sobbing all at once until, finally, he finds just enough breath to say:

“Hi, Ma. I’m Clark.”

“Oh, shoot,” Kal realizes, a few hours later. Or—Clark. He’s still not used to it, still goes giddy with the joy of it, but he’s sure it’ll only grow easier to think of himself that way as time goes by.

He and Ma—and that transition is so much easier than the other one—have cried their fill and had a celebratory dinner; and through all that, it hadn't even occurred to him, not until just now.

“I need to tell Bruce!”

He’s off so fast, after that, that he actually has to turn back around and give Martha a kiss on the cheek and a promise to do the dishes when he comes back, before he’s off again. Less than a few minutes later, he’s flying over Gotham, almost surprised to find the sun still up over the city, and making his way toward Bruce’s cave.

He finds it occupied, of course. Kal—Clark—might have only brushed shoulders with Bruce Wayne, but nothing in those few minutes, let alone the glimpses he’s caught on TV or in the occasional tabloid, has given him any reason to think Bruce would ever consider Bruce Wayne an acceptable person to be in times of crisis...and it isn’t like Clark hasn’t prompted a significant one. So, all in all, it isn’t much of a surprise to find Bruce hard at work under the hood of the Batmobile—“People keep calling it that—I should get it patented.”—despite the late hour. Or, well, late for regular people; it’s probably barely afternoon for Batman.

Batman, who, for better or for worse, doesn’t react when the main doors open to let Clark in, or when he lands next to the car. Or, in fact, when he clears his throat no less than three times, with increasing volume. Clark waits a bit longer, mindful of the very heavy, very solid piece of metal over Bruce’s very human head, before he reaches down, seizes the underside of the car—

“Don’t even think about it.”

Clark tries to bite down on his grin at the sound, but even he realizes he’s not very successful when he speaks next. There’s something heady about causing Batman to break his resolve, after all, and for all his newfound strength Clark is still, for the most part, just a guy.

“Sorry,” he says, not quite managing to sound as sorry as he should. “It seemed kind of necessary.”

Stony silence, only disturbed by the occasional click of tools—some he recognizes, some he doesn’t—answers him, and Clark reminds himself sternly that it’s his fault Bruce doesn’t want to talk to him right now. He does still have to count in his head a for a bit before he trusts himself to say:

“Look...I’m not here to reopen that conversation.” The silence from under the car becomes, if at all possible, gloomier. “I just...I don’t know if you’re aware—you probably are, being you—but I have to pick a human-sounding alias if I want to stay on Earth. Legally speaking.”

Not even a hum.

Clark closes his eyes, and doesn’t let himself feel frustrated or flustered at the result of his own actions. Instead, he tightens his fingers into fists once, twice, and makes himself say: “In my case I was—I think I’ll probably just change it altogether. My name I mean. On my intergalactic papers.”

Bruce’s...whatever a plank on wheels is supposed to be called. It squeaks, at any rate, when Bruce rolls from under the car and fixes Clark with a Look that is, in all honesty, far less somber than it could be.

“I wanted you to know. First.”

Nothing really...changes, in Bruce’s expression. His eyebrows don’t rise, his mouth doesn’t grow softer or tighter or—he doesn't show any of a dozen possible signs of modified attention or reaction to someone the human body is capable of giving without a word. Still, whether it's Clark’s imagination or something else entirely, it’s like the atmosphere of the Cave changes around him. He wouldn’t know how to quantify it exactly—it seems weightier, that much is sure, but other than that...well, other than that, there’s nothing that seems to matter much but the intense hazel of Bruce’s eyes on him.

It seems, eventually, like one of them is going to break the silence—they both open their mouths to do it, in any case—but they never get the chance.

“Ah, Mister El,” Alfred says from where he’s bringing in what must be Bruce’s evening meal. “What a pleasure it is to see you here—you should have called ahead, I would have had something ready for you.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Clark says with a polite smile, “I’m quite all right. And, uh...it’s no longer Kal-El, actually.”

Clark turns back toward Bruce for the next part—can’t fight against the overwhelming sense it makes to do so. Bruce—Bruce Wayne, Batman—of all people, knows the importance of a name. He’s known Kal-El, and Shadow, and Kal, and all three of those men have considered him a dear friend. Their dearest friend, in many respects...and it makes sense for him to be the first person to know, after Martha. It makes sense for Clark’s birth, of sorts, to be witnessed by the very man who made it possible in the first place.

“Hi,” he tells Bruce. “I’m Clark Kent.”

It is, perhaps, a little overdramatic to offer his hand in greeting, like they’ve never met before...but then they are both dedicated to parading around in form-fitting costumes to fight crime, so perhaps overdramatics can be a shared language of theirs, if they let it be. And besides, overdramatic or no—corny or no—Bruce does reach out, clasp Clark’s forearm with strong, greasy fingers and say:

“Bruce.”

Clark meets Diana in the Alps, in the sort of landscape that would almost look right at home in El if you could just paint it with a red overlay. The mountains here are shorter, of course: humans don’t have the same tools krytons do when it comes to digging into the earth, let alone setting a second major tectonic event in motion. What the region lacks in height, though, it more than makes up for in palette, and Clark takes a moment to drink in the view before he actually touches down on a wooden deck.

The restaurant, which Diana assures Clark would be much more populated if it were winter, oversees a series of long slopes, one or two with jagged rocks strewn in the middle: rivers of green rushing downwards, the thin blue ribbon of a river cutting through them in the distance. Pushing further, Clark spots many kinds of wildlife, from mammals to insects, and a variety of flowers just as wild and hardy-looking as the vegetation of El was.

“Looks great, right?” Flash—well, no, Barry: he’s in the plaid jacket again—says behind him.

“It does.”

Grinning, Barry motions for Clark to follow him, and they walk across the large deck to a picnic table close to the southern guardrail where John, Victor, Arthur and a man Clark has never met have joined Diana around...hot cocoas, going by the smell. They’re several minutes deep into a heated debate about whether or not certain places count as mountains—the unknown man is arguing, extremely soberly, that Earth can’t even pretend to play in the same category, and the table erupts in protests—Arthur, specifically, yells something about things depending on where you count from—just before Diana abandons her posture of distinguished remove only to say, “Perhaps we could ask Superman to referee. Being the only one of us from outside the solar system should make him an impartial enough observer.”

“Well,” Clark says with a shrug and what he hopes is a suitably apologetic grimace, “I don’t know about the mountains on Mars, but where I’m from, we call that a hill.”

“Don’t let the French hear you say that,” Victor all but snorts. “They’ll get upset.”

“The French get upset too easily, sometimes,” Diana says, but there’s no bite to it, and a moment later she tempers her words further: “But they do know how to cook, so there is that.”

Clark gives a polite nod along with the rest of the table, and peers at the drinks menu with more than a little curiosity. Barry has time to instruct him not to worry about price—“Diana usually pays when we enter her income bracket.”—before Clark settles on another hot cocoa despite the balmy weather, and a dessert consisting entirely of egg whites in custard.

“I imagine Bruce helps, when he comes along,” he half asks the table once the waiter has gone with his order.

He’s not prepared for Arthur’s explosive laughter, or for John to snort into his coffee. The stranger doesn’t smile, but he does tilt his head, just a little, and says, “It seems you have a rather different experience of him than we do.”

“That’s...quite likely, I guess,” Clark says. Can’t expect Batman to treat him the same way as people he’s been colleagues and friends with for years. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where I’ve left my manners, I’m K—I mean. Clark. I’m Clark. Sorry it’s—new. Haven’t done the paperwork yet.”

“Oh, that’s why it sounds so human,” Barry says while John pulls out his phone to make a note of it. “I was wondering if we’d get another J’onn.”

The stranger inclines his head towards Clark again, and a diffuse sense of ‘well met’ greets Clark's thoughts. On autopilot, Clark reaches for the pleasant sense of camaraderie he’s carried as emotional background noise since he set foot on the deck and draws it just a little tighter around his mind, mingled with his own desire to make the acquaintance a pleasant one, and almost doesn’t realize what he’s doing until J’onn’s eyebrows tighten, just a little.

“Sorry,” Clark says, causing eyebrows to draw up around them, “force of habit.”

“What’s force of habit?” John asks. Diana squints:

“Cutting J'onn out of his thoughts, I’d assume.”

“Sounds fishy,” Arthur remarks, and Clark decides that’s his cue to explain before someone—oddly enough, his bet would go to Victor rather than Barry—decides to pick up on the humor of that word in Aquaman’s mouth:

“I used to—uh. Operate outside the law, back on Krypton,” Clark explains. “My family didn’t receive off-planet guests all that often, but I encountered enough of them—and enough of them were—what’s the word for that?”

“Telepathic,” John supplies.

“Right. Enough of them were telepathic that concealing what I was thinking about became a reflex.”

Not, Clark confesses in the semi-privacy of his head, that I particularly intend to lose it. I highly doubt you’re the last telepath I'll encounter, and they can’t all have good intentions.

That does sound quite reasonable, J'onn answers. And if anything, you feel far less defensive about it than most of the others did.

No explicit thought or image passes between them, but for a short second a distinct Batness hovers in their connection, and Clark doesn’t really feel like struggling against the grin blooming on his face.

“Great,” Arthur sighs, sounding exceedingly—but not falsely—put upon. “I guess we’re going to have to get used to you talking over our heads, then.”

“Not at all!” Clark promises. “At least, it’s not my intention. I mean...it would be rude, for a start.”

“Yeah, not even Batman tries to do that,” John remarks as he stirs the remnants of his cocoa. “And besides, you’re assuming that J'onn would be okay with that kind of behavior, which is rude.”

“Aquaman doesn’t know me as well as you do,” J'onn points out, but John snorts and shakes his head.

“We’ve worked with you enough for him to realize that. Just because B—Bruce is being a stick in the mud about having new people join in—”

“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite,” Arthur says—Barry and Victor erupt into an eerily synchronized groan, and Clark hears Diana’s discreet sigh as easily as a tempest. “You haven’t exactly been fighting him about any of it.”

“Must we really have this conversation again?” Diana asks, mostly rhetorically, before she turns a vaguely fond but still exasperated expression in Clark’s direction. “They’re always bickering about which one of them comes the closest to being able to go toe-to-toe with Batman.”

“It’s not about that!” Arthur and John protest with identical looks of horror.

“Isn’t it?” J'onn asks, making Barry laugh at his quiet disbelief.

“It absolutely is about that, and I don’t know if you guys noticed yet, but Clark has got you beat by—what’s the Earth’s circumference again?”

“Just over forty thousand kilometers,” Victor deadpans.

“Yeah, that, at least.”

Blushing, Clark drops his gaze to his hands on the naked wood tabletop, cocoa still steaming in the half-full cup. The others are watching him, he knows. There’s a special kind of silence that happens when people who’d gotten quite comfortable forgetting—or ignoring—that you were there are forcibly reminded of your existence. Reactions after that vary, though not a lot around Ka—Clark—but the silence? That’s always the same.

This one doesn’t last long, however, thank Rao, because Diana lets it live for all of five seconds before she says in a vaguely wondering voice, “That was a surprise indeed.”

“I don’t know what came over me,” Clark mumbles, the tips of his ears heating up even more than they already have. “I’m not—I’m usually better at listening—”

“Oh, people listening to Bats isn’t the problem.”

Arthur pauses when the waiter comes back to clear their table and ask if they’d like something else—sodas and another hot cocoa are ordered—but as soon as the coast is clear it’s John who picks up the thread.

“Bruce is very good at making people listen when he puts his mind to it—”

“Because we’re terrified of him.”

“You’re terrified,” Victor says, bumping Barry with his shoulder hard enough to make him waver in his seat. “Some of us just don’t care enough to really fight him.”

“Let’s call it that,” J'onn murmurs.

Clark is fairly sure Diana heard him, though her poker face is too good for him to pierce it, and he’s left with the strong but unprovable feeling she’s currently doing a great deal of internal eye-rolling at everybody else’s expanse.

“The point I’m trying to make,” Barry insists as he rights himself, “is that even Diana’s never gotten that kind of reaction out of him, and she’s notoriously unafraid of basically everything. Even Bats.”

“Oh, well,” Clark says, forcing his shoulders into a small, dismissive shrug, “I must have caught him on a bad day.”

“He doesn’t have bad days,” the table replies with frightening unity.

“Officially,” Diana concludes. “We’re all well aware he’s only human—though he is quite skilled at making people forget it—but he is, without a doubt, the most stubborn person I’ve ever met in my entire life, and I’ve been in this world for over a hundred and fifty years.”

“So, what’s your secret?” Barry asks, and while more than one other person around the table chastises him, even J'onn gives the impression of paying closer attention.

Clark, keenly aware of their gazes on him, slouches under the pressure and focuses on keeping his fingers still, his hands flat on the table. What kind of question is that, anyway? ‘What’s your secret?’ Ha. As if Clark had somehow tamed a beast, when all he’s done is stumble into the path of a brilliant man who ended up leading him—quite by accident—to his salvation. There’s no secret there, nothing but nearly three decades of misery and then the most extraordinary stroke of good luck the universe has ever witnessed.

It isn’t—Clark has a life outside Batman, now. He meant what he said, about being Superman with or without Bruce’s blessing. He’s got Martha, and Alfred, and Earth-appropriate papers coming right up—might even get to tie himself legally to Martha as a cousin or some other kind of distant relative, if he’s lucky. Eventually, he’ll be able to actually go out, make friends. Oh, he’s...he might never turn out to be the kind of outgoing person Bruce Wayne is, but Clark is already miles and miles away from who Kal was, just by existing, and that’s only going to get better as time goes by. So yes, he does have a life outside of Batman—has not actually depended on the man for a while now—and it’s a pretty good life, so far. But he’s also not naive enough to think he owes that existence to his own effort.

“Well, whatever it is,” Arthur chimes in before Clark has time to figure out how to deflect the question, “I would love to be able to annoy the guy half as much as you do—that was magnificent!”

“It really wasn’t.”

Arthur doesn’t blink at him, or even show any outward sign of pausing, for that matter; but he doesn’t interrupt when Clark continues either.

“Just because things got...loud...that doesn’t mean he didn’t make good points.”

“Oh, come on!” Barry protests, Victor’s mouth twisting wryly in the background. “He acted like you were a regular human who ran into a burning building with nothing but a t-shirt and boxers on! That’s ridiculous!”

“And the lot of you acted like the very purpose of his existence was to annoy you,” Clark retorts before he can even think of stopping the words.

Silence shrouds the table, Diana carefully sipping her cocoa on his right—though Clark can tell her eyes aren’t leaving his face—and the atmosphere is more than a little awkward, especially for a second meeting. Still, as he’s heard Alfred say: in for a penny, in for a pound. So he refuses to allow himself to hesitate, sinking into the comforting certitude of Superman to keep himself going.

“Experience matters—being careful matters, if not for our own sakes then for the sake of the civilians we could fail to help or outright harm if we’re not serious enough about what we’re doing. The goal of an organization like the Justice League is to help everyone, isn’t it? Gather as many helpers as can be found to help as many people as can be reached. Isn’t that right?”

“It is,” Diana says, setting her cocoa cup back down on the table.

She doesn’t share the others’ look of contrition, but a glance at her confirms her expression has gone from surprised to speculative—Clark would falter at the sight, but Superman meets it head on, determined to get to the bottom of this, even if it hurts his relationship with the Justice League. It will, in the long run, bring more good than bad anyway, he’s sure.

“Well, there you have it, then. You don’t build something like that without discipline, and dedication—and paperwork. We are all adults here; we are all capable of recognizing that. So I may disagree—strongly disagree—with Bruce about a number of things, but I’ll still be taking him seriously, because he did make good points, and if I’m not going to listen to them, then what even is the point of being part of a team with him?”

Breathing in deep, Superman closes his eyes and forces his hands to unwind, his heartbeat to slow down. Superman is not supposed to get angry, not supposed to yell at teammates—or, if he’s going to be realistic, at anyone. A man who can destroy a tractor without even noticing could easily kill a person he’s annoyed with, no matter his intention, and while people may forget he has this ability as long as he keeps his temper under control, he has absolutely no doubt a little bit of shouting would do wonders to jog their memories.

Fortunately, once he does convince himself to look at his—possibly, one day, if he’s lucky—future teammates, they don’t look scared. Arthur, Barry, and Victor have sunk down in their seats, a little, and John seems very absorbed by his fingertips. J'onn’s face is impossible to decipher, and not just because he manages to make it feel totally blank despite having specifically chosen features for himself. Overall, this is a better reaction than Clark was anticipating, and he turns to Diana with a cautiously optimistic smile...only to find her looking at him with a disturbingly cryptical grin, something sparkling in her eyes as she says, “So, that’s your secret.”

“What? What’s his secret?”

“He likes Bruce.”

“Well, yes,” Clark says, Arthur’s smug grin making heat rise on the back of his neck, “of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

“Batman doesn’t usually do friends,” Victor remarks with a wry twist of his lips, “but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go back. Dinner with the old man.”

Clark watches Victor get to his feet, mutters of encouragement and good wishes for the evening rising from the table, and waves goodbye just before he takes off, without even considering the nearby cable cars. Barry yawns, then, glancing toward the sun where it is already dipping down towards the mountains, and says:

“You know, I’d love to stay longer—I still have like, three million questions—but I’ve got a thing tonight and I think I’d like to nap a little before it's time for that. Also, laundry.”

“Anything we can help with?” Diana asks, but Barry shakes his head.

“Thanks, but it’s not really Flash-related. Haven’t forgotten about your analyses, though—they’re still processing. Should have the results for you tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Barry.”

Barry nods, makes his way off the deck, and, once he’s out of view from the inside of the restaurant, takes off at a run, the blur of him zipping through evergreens until Clark can’t see it anymore—not without a better idea of where he’s going. Then Arthur gets up too, making some noise about going home as well since everyone’s leaving, and pretending to be terribly inconvenienced when John offers to drop him on the coastline on his way back. Soon enough, it’s only Clark, J'onn, and Diana left to pay the bill and tell the waitstaff their friends decided to hike back down the mountain.

“For my part,” Diana tells them afterwards, “I was thinking of hurrying up to the top and catching the sunset there. There’s a great view of Mont Blanc and Geneva below, if you like that sort of thing.”

Clark does and, apparently, so does J'onn: less than a few minutes later, they’re up the mountain and looking down at the whole valley of Geneva. The city sprawls along a wide lake, lights on against the early night of mountain villages everywhere: it looks like a piece of night sky itself, from up there. Clark refuses to look closer, just so he doesn’t have to shatter the illusion. Higher up, Mont Blanc and its surrounding peaks are aflame with the sunset, wide streaks of light slashing across the darkening sky, and Clark absorbs it all—imagines he can see actual red in there, hear a m’ro moo in the distance. He’s growing used to the nostalgia, little by little. Has mostly managed the trick of not letting it cut him down, of acknowledging it and moving on...But even like this—even with training, and a growing number of sunsets and sunrises there to help...there may never cease to be a part of his heart, the part that will never forget having been Kal, that looks at all this beauty and misses another kind of wilderness all the more strongly because he never felt able to enjoy it while he could.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, well aware of the twist to his lips.

“It is indeed.”

J'onn’s voice sounds different, then, and when Clark turn he’s almost not surprised to find a green-skinned man in place of the neutral, purposefully forgettable features from earlier. He has no eyebrows, or any sort of hair Clark can see; and J'onn’s outfit doesn’t keep much from view. But his eyes glow with the same red as Krypton’s sun, and the color is enough to take Clark in completely. J'onn doesn’t quite smile—whether that’s a personal quirk or a Martian thing, Clark wouldn’t know—but he does say:

“The colors are very reminiscent of my home planet...though they are perhaps somewhat less orange here than they are there.”

“The sun was always golden on Themyscira,” Diana offers, a hint of sadness tinging her smile. “A divine gift, I assume. Greece is—the sunsets there come close, but they’re not the same. Nothing ever is.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is.”

“You mustn’t be too hard on the others,” J'onn says after a long silence, when all that remains of the light is a thin lining of orange over the snowy mountains. “They’re young, and impulsive.”

“They’re too set in their ways for them to get used to being part of the League quickly,” Diana says. “Especially Arthur.”

“Well, he’ll have to learn, won’t he?” Clark asks. “All of us will, if we’re serious about keeping the League afloat, and I am. Even if I’m not—this could change things. Really change things. But—”

“But there’s too much room for error if we’re allowed to run around on a whim,” Diana concludes. “And error with people like us would be...well. I imagine you’ve had more than enough time with Bruce to expose all the ways in which a rogue group of super-powered people could do far more harm than good.”

Clark didn’t have to wait for Batman’s arrival in his life to realize that unfettered power could be a dangerous thing. Krypton was more than enough of a master class in that; and hearing your aunt fall to hear death in the dead of night—dismissing it as a bad dream and not realizing that was what it was until entire months have gone by—has a way of driving a lesson home. Now is not the time for that conversation, however, and so Clark nods, holding a sigh in. The Justice League is a good idea, he’s convinced of that. But it will only be a good thing if everyone involved, including him—even if he doesn’t ever get to actually join—is willing to put effort towards that goal. Even if said effort results in paperwork.

“Don’t worry,” J'onn tells them when the lull in conversation becomes noticeable. “I’m confident we will all rise to the occasion...It doesn’t seem like any of us is the type to leave their home unprotected.”

“Home,” Clark murmurs. “I suppose that’s what it’ll be, eventually.”

It isn’t, just yet. He likes his life here, has no intention of leaving in the foreseeable future, but home? Home is still a place far off among the stars, with mountains so high they might as well be touching the sky, and a sun so red it changes all the colors of its world. Home is, still, a place too vast to name, where he was small and scared and all but invisible...and yet it is a place he misses still, part of him longing to go back, to see his parents again, to—but those are useless dreams, and Clark shuts them down with a deep, shaky inhale.

“It’s not so bad, you know, once you grow used to it. Plenty of this to experience, and the neighbors are fairly decent.”

“Oh, I know. So is my housemate, actually,” Clark tells Diana, unable not to mirror her smile, even if he tried. “Speaking of her...it’s my turn cooking tonight. I think I’d better get going.”

“Of course,” J'onn says with a solemn nod. “As for the future—I realize we share neither a culture, nor a membership in the League, but I know something of what it is to be an alien. So does Diana—”

“In a manner of speaking,” Diana interjects with a little smile, “but as J'onn was about to say—we’re here if you’d like to talk. Or drink.”

“Diana is very fond of wine.”

“And whiskey. And vodka. And I rarely say no to a good rum.”

Clark laughs at the way Diana winks, the faint sense of fondness floating around J'onn. He didn’t get to talk with the League as much as he wanted today, but they were good conversation, and so he’s still smiling when he floats upwards—Diana congratulates him on his progress with a teasing tone—turns towards Kansas, and heads for Smallville.

Clark comes back to Smallville just in time to put himself between Martha and the stove and bicker with her about not letting him skip out on chores, while she insists she won’t just sit around being hungry when she can just fix dinner and let him take care of something else later on. Which is fair and perfectly logical, but Clark makes sure to keep being contrary, just so he can see Martha’s grin widen as the conversation goes on. Later that evening, after Clark is done doing the dishes, Martha sits him down in front of the TV and announces it’s time to keep furthering his pop culture education.

“You have a choice: we can stick with Star Trek and watch the animated series, or we can go for something a little different and have ourselves a Star Wars marathon.”

Clark looks at the cover, and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s still set in space.”

“There was a fad, and I’m a nerd, sue me,” Martha replies. “We could skip ahead and watch Buffy or the X-Files, but you said you wanted to maybe take a break from long shows, so….”

“Let’s go with Star Wars , then.”

“Great. Could you get the lights?”

It would be a lie, so far, to say that Clark has been as enthusiastic as Martha is about the shows and movies she’s shown him. He doesn’t dislike them, far from that, but he has to admit that a good part of the fun in these is watching Martha mouth lines as they are said on screen, and listening to her impart a veritable encyclopedia's worth of obscure knowledge about fictional characters, the fictional universes they live in, and the people who dedicate an astonishing number of hours to loving those things. It isn’t the only part of pop culture he's discovered, of course: he enjoyed Clue immensely, especially the bit with doing the voices—“Oh, I’m definitely introducing you to my D&D group.”—raged at Chutes and Ladders, and got his butt properly handed to him in no time flat the one time Martha had him playing Risk. The shows and movies are definitely Martha’s favorite part, though, and watching her enjoy them is a delight in and of itself...Clark can’t wait to see what it’s like when she’s let loose in the middle of like-minded people.

Of course, they’ll have to wait until his new papers come through before they can think of actually letting anyone meet Clark. But it’s nice to make plans for the future, even if they’re frivolous ones about watching movies with new people. It’s the small things that keep you going, after all, like hoping Luke Skywalker will finally get some closure from the man who killed his father—

A sound prickles at the edge of Clark's hearing.

“I think Bruce is coming.”

“What?” Martha exclaims, looking between the front door and the screen, where Obi-Wan Kenobi is searching for Darth Vader in the Death Star. “Right now?”

“He’s in the plane,” Clark replies, getting up from the couch and trying to make sure he hasn’t left anything embarrassing lying around. “Shouldn’t be more than five minutes, I think.”

He’s not entirely sure why this urge to neaten up has even seized him. Rationally speaking, he could stay on the couch with Martha and keep watching; but the thought of Bruce looking at the place and thinking Clark is responsible for any sort of mess is far too distressing to be ignored, and so he doesn’t try to stop Martha when she pauses the DVD in the player and goes to put the kettle on.

Four minutes later, at the most, Bruce Wayne knocks on the front door.

It’s Clark who answers, far more flushed than he needs to be, and what is even going on with—

“Oh, hi, Bruce.”

“Hi. I, uh—I was wondering if we could. Talk. For a bit.”

“Uh,” Clark says, intelligently, looking at the TV first and Martha second—she looks more than a little perplexed, though whether by Bruce’s presence or Clark’s behavior, it’s difficult to say. But she gives a little shrug anyway, so Clark concludes: “Yes, sure. Let me just—”

Clark gestures down at his socked feet, and then almost topples when he bends to put shoes on, which would be embarrassing under any circumstances; here, now, combined with the way neither Bruce not Martha are saying anything while they wait, it has the potential to become thoroughly mortifying. Still, eventually Clark manages, and then he’s vaguely waving in Martha’s direction and stepping out through the front door and into the balmy air of an early August evening. He follows Bruce away from the house, toward the fields, and when the silence between them becomes too tense to bear, he makes himself blurt:

“I’ve got a room now. Of my own. I mean, it’s, uh—it’s above the storehouse. If you’d like to...I don’t know. Sit down or something.”

“Certainly,” Bruce says in Ellon, more formal than they’ve ever been with each other—then he winces, almost too quick for even Clark to see, and chooses much more casual, downright friendly grammar to add: “Lead the way.”

Nodding, Clark does as he’s told, and they finish the walk to the storehouse and up the ladder in silence, until Clark is sitting on the faded couch and Bruce is looking around like he’s trying to appraise the place. Tension grows between them again, threatening to push Clark into another bout of insanity, when Bruce apparently decides it’s his turn to try and produce some semblance of conversation, in English this time:

“I like it, Clark. It’s very midwest. Very you.”

“Thank you...I guess.”

Bruce nods, short and decisive, and then his shoulders straighten, and his hand lets go of the hem of his blazer. When he looks back at Clark next, there is no hesitation at all in his posture. Clark adjusts in response, slips into Superman’s demeanor without even having to think about it, and remains entirely neutral when Batman says:

“The League has voted in favor of accepting your offer of an off-planet base. They sent their responses along tonight, as well as a number of suggestions, questions and requests regarding the actual process of installation...John has volunteered to ask around for transportation devices—he mentioned something called Zeta beams?”

“That makes sense,” Superman replies with a slight nod. “They’re limited in range, but they’re cheaper and easier to maintain than other systems. Probably the best choice for a test run, and they’ll be safer for any civilian who may come in contact with them, too.”

“That’s settled, then. I’ll put the team’s feedback together and send you a summary so you can prepare your answers before we have another meeting.”

“A meeting?” Superman asks, puzzled. “I thought you didn’t want me joining the League?”

There’s a brief pause, Batman’s lips pinching together as he gives Superman a flinty look, but Superman doesn’t move from his place on the couch, afraid a single shiver of his muscles will bring whatever bridge they’re trying to build crumbling into dust between their fingers.

Eventually, Batman says, “The League will have no choice but to work with you on this. It makes more sense to sit us all around a table than to have me keep acting as a go-between.”

“Of course,” Superman agrees, finally getting to his feet so he can extend a hand for Batman to shake. “Well, I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to working with the lot of you.”

“The League could say the same,” Batman answers, stiffer than ever despite the steadiness of his gaze, the confidence present in every nuance of movement in his hand. Then, as if taking a plunge he adds: “Wonder Woman informed me I have you to thank for everyone’s speedy responses. I don’t know what you did, but I’ve never had Arthur take less than four business days to answer an email from me, so...thanks for that, Superman.”

“You’re...welcome.”

Batman nods again, either oblivious to or unconcerned by Superman’s slack jaw, and turns around to leave with such a flourish that it almost feels like he’s swung a cape over his shoulders. Deflating, Clark sits back down on Martha’s old couch, feeling vaguely disappointed with the proceedings. Sure, it makes sense for Batman to let him know about that sort of development, and if Clark had been opposed to working with him, he wouldn’t have offered his ship as the League’s headquarters, let alone fight fought to be considered an acceptable candidate to join. Still, he’d have hoped—that is to say, with how their last conversations have gone, he’d have thought—oh, but it probably doesn’t matter.

And then, a second later, it definitely doesn’t matter because when Clark tries to figure out where Bruce’s plane is, he realizes not only has the thing not moved, but there’s also a distinct crunch of graveled earth under expensive shoes. Well, he can’t really hear the expensive part, but it’s Bruce. Everything he wears is expensive. It’s also deeply, deeply irrelevant right now, at least compared to the question of why on Earth he hasn’t left yet. Frowning, Clark floats down from the loft, landing behind Bruce without a sound—and grinning when Bruce grunts but doesn’t seem startled at all.

“Is everything all right?”

“No,” Bruce retorts, almost a bark. Then, switching to Ellon after a long silence: “About—when you came to the Cave and— fuck .”

A deep breath as Bruce turns his back to Clark.

“His name was Jason,” he tells the sky, which is almost entirely pink with sunset. His son’s name sounds odd, next to Ellon words, but Clark has had more than enough time to realize some things in his life are easier to speak of in English, and he doesn’t begrudge Bruce the reverse. “I—I was not there. That—that—bastard took him, and t—”

Bruce cuts himself off with such force, Clark is almost afraid he’ll chip his teeth. He takes a tentative step forward, hand reaching out to touch, but stops himself at the last second. Who knows, after all, if touching Bruce right now would be at all helpful? Clark waits instead, tries to leave space for Bruce’s harsh breathing, for the sort of feeling that blocks the throat and traps the words inside. For the sort of sound that feels like if it starts, it’ll never stop again.

“I was not there,” Bruce repeats, deflating, hunching under the weight of it all. “My boy died, alone, because I was not there. Because I took a vow—because Batman exists to save people, to help them, but I—whatever exists between Batman and Bruce Wayne, it’s never brought anyone anything but pain. And that is the thing that trained you.”

This time Clark does reach up—touches the fingers of his right hand to the back of Bruce’s left elbow, and, with as much care as he can manage, positions himself just a little closer to Bruce: just close enough that he won’t have to speak above a whisper for Bruce to hear what he’s got to say. He clears his throat, fearing for a moment that the words really will stay stuck inside—or will cut through his throat like razors and leave him to bleed out here in the grass, in the first place where he’s ever felt like he could fit in.

“You know,” he says, with his hand still on Bruce’s elbow and his eyes firmly stuck to the ground, “I used to hate it. The—the thing in the middle. It just—it never managed to really be Kal, it was never strong enough to be Shadow...I thought...I thought it was—thought it would be better for everyone if it just...stopped existing. Disappeared, and left Shadow free to complete his mission. To be—well. Essentially: Batman.”

Clark forces a chuckle, and it scrapes at the inside of his chest, at his throat, until he almost decides to switch back to English and the—not quite the ease of it, but something like it, at least. He’s the one who forced this conversation on Bruce, though, without pausing to think about the circumstances in which he’d have preferred to have it—if at all—let alone the language. The least he can do is let Bruce decide what words to use for the rest of it.

“I don’t—I can’t express how much I hated it. I thought—it felt like it could never—be. Like I had to be something else, always, or I’d just be some sort of terrible—”

“You’re not—” Bruce starts in English, twisting around to look at Clark’s face. “There’s nothing hateable about you. You—”

“It’s okay,” Clark cuts in, sticking to Ellon even if Bruce won’t.

He’s still not sure he’ll manage to say what he needs to say properly with this specific language, but now that he’s started it seems...important, somehow, to say all of it in his mother tongue. Especially when he realizes, as he says it, that it really is okay—or, at least, far more okay than it’s ever been before.

“It wasn't, for a long time. I certainly wasn’t okay when I tried to become a second Batman. But then—then we came here. To Earth, I mean. And then—then I met you. Not Batman. Not Bruce Wayne. Just you. The guy in the middle.”

Clark smiles, just a little, when Bruce’s mouth all but falls open, color leaching from his face.

“You were the first person who saw me. Batman saw Kal, and then he saw Shadow, but it’s you who—you were the one who helped me when I had no option but to learn to be myself. You helped me learn what I needed to know, and then you introduced me to Martha and—look,” Clark adds, when Bruce’s face goes entirely white and his eyes widen in something far too close to horror for comfort, “I’m not saying—you didn’t turn me into Clark. Of course not. But you—you made it possible for me to...I don’t know. To become him. Become me. And I’m not—it doesn’t...erase anything, or cancel anything out. I know that. I’m not expecting it to. I’m just saying—it’s not pain. What you, Bruce, brought me. It isn’t pain, or anger, or sadness, or—it’s quite the opposite, in fact. Like...a sheltering rock in a storm. Maybe I’d have survived without you, but, Rao, I’m glad I found you.”

“You say that now,” Bruce mutters, blood rushing back into his cheeks, his neck, his ears.

Clark watches Bruce’s skin change color and wants to hug him, press him close until all the affection he feels, all the love and friendship and hope he’s found here, on Earth, flood from his chest into the man who made all of it possible. He wants to gather Bruce to him and keep him there until he realizes exactly how much he’s done. It wouldn’t erase the pain in Bruce's past—nothing would, Clark knows—but maybe, just maybe, it would help soothe it a little, and that would be worth it.

Clark ignores the urge, however—doesn’t listen to the part of him that wants to kiss Bruce’s forehead; as if it could solve anything—and reaches for Bruce’s elbow again instead, giving it a friendly squeeze. He settles for smiling down at Bruce in as sincere and reassuring a way as he can manage, leaning into him for comfort—his or Bruce’s, he’s not sure—until they both realize how close they’re standing and step apart at the same time, breathing like they’ve been underwater all this time.

“Thank you,” Bruce says in strained English, still flushed but more...stable, now, than he was when he first arrived. “That was—thanks. For...sharing.” Bruce clears his throat. “I should go back to Gotham. I’ve got things to do.”

“Yes, of course,” Clark replies, his whole skin buzzing with a sort of electricity he doesn’t remember ever feeling before. “Well, goodnight, then. Let me know when you’ve got a date for the meeting.”

“Will do,” Bruce replies, more softly than the words really require. Then, almost hesitant: “I’m going to need my arm back.”

Clark lets go with a sheepish chuckle, face blooming with summer sun-heat, and watches Bruce walk back toward the front yard, bypass the house entirely, and climb into the plane, taking off in the general direction of Gotham. Clark watches him go far longer than a human could—has to force himself to stop, after a while—and then he spends longer still just standing there next to the grazing field and grinning at the stars.

Martha has situated herself back on the couch when Clark comes inside, nibbling on popcorn with her giant book of crosswords, the screen still frozen on Ben Kenobi’s quest for Darth Vader. She waves Clark’s apologies away as he sits down, making room for the bowl of popcorn between them and grabbing the remote before she asks, “What did Bruce want, anyway? It must have been important, for him to come all the way here.”

“Oh, the League’s decided to use my ship as headquarters. He was just here to let me know.”

“He made a four-hour flight just so he could tell you something that would have fit into a text?”

Caught by surprise, Clark almost doesn’t catch the popcorn bowl in time to prevent a fatal fall to the ground. When he looks up from his near-blunder, Martha is still staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Clark flushes again, not quite as pleasantly as before—though not in a painful way, either—and manages a shrug that he hopes is convincing. Somehow, he hadn’t thought of that, and now the very knowledge is throwing a wrench in his thought process, making his mind sputter and...well, not die, but definitely not work as it should.

“I mean,” he manages after a while, “there was...something else we needed to talk about it’s just—that wasn’t the only thing, is all.”

“Yes,” Martha says like she thinks Clark hit his head somehow, “but he still flew for four hours—eight, with the trip back—just to have a, what, thirty-minute chat with you in the barn?”

“I think I should get a job,” Clark blurts out.

As diversions go, this one is absolutely disastrous—he doesn’t need to see Martha’s face go a stony sort of blank to realize that. She’s a kind woman, however, and so she pretends not to notice the fumbling—or the way Clark’s fingers are millimeters away from denting the metal bowl they’ve used for the popcorn. For a few seconds, silence floats between them while Clark tries to figure out where to go from there...but then, as it turns out, he must have been thinking about this a little, because his mouth starts working as if on its own:

“I can’t just rely on your generosity forever. And it’s not that I don’t like living on the farm, it’s just—I don’t think I want Superman to be the only one who helps, you know? Super strength can do a lot of things, but it won’t solve everything.”

“So...are you thinking about going into politics?” Martha asks, filching a fistful of popcorn even as she turns to face Clark more completely. “Because that might mean more scrutiny than you’re ready for.”

“Oh, no! No, my cousin is a politician, I’ve seen what that can be like—no, I don’t think leadership is the thing for me.” Clark shudders. “I do want to help, just...not that way.”

Martha hums, and makes a bunch of other suggestions—working for a non-profit, being a teacher, a social worker, a foster parent...none of these options really catch Clark’s interest, but the conversation does last long enough to prevent another go at discussing Bruce’s reason for flying all the way to Kansas, which Clark counts as a win.

He’s not sure he feels ready to share the delightful strangeness of the warmth in his stomach with anyone—not sure what to do but savor it, grinning at the ceiling of his loft until he falls asleep with a smile on his lips and a contented hum on his tongue.

Clark flies into Detroit later that week so he can meet with John and start filling out his paperwork. There’s a lot of it, predictably, and in a language Clark never learned, which makes the whole process even longer than it would normally be.

“I realize it’s stupid,” John says when they set aside the paperwork in favor of a coffee over his extremely shiny kitchen table, “but J'onn is the only other alien—well, non-Terran—I’ve met, and since he was able to read it without a problem, I kind of assumed—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll learn it,” Clark reassures him cheerfully, almost surprised by his own persistent good mood. “I can recognize a couple of words already.”

John’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead, but Clark just smiles and keeps filling out his application for a Corps-territory passport, since his Kryptonian one has been revoked. (It hurt, somehow, to read about it in Kara’s latest letter. It isn’t like he hadn’t expected it, but it caught him by surprise anyway.) The good part is, once that’s done, the Green Lanterns will be the ones to take care of inserting Clark Kent into American databases—which is a blessing, because Clark doesn’t have the slightest idea how he’d manage that.

“We just do the legal bits, though,” John warns when Clark shares his thoughts. “If you want to convince people you’ve always lived...wherever you want to settle down...you’re going to have to ask for J'onn’s help.”

“I haven’t decided where to go yet,” Clark replies with a shrug, refusing a third cupcake with a polite smile. “I’m not even sure what I’ll do with myself—I don’t know how to do any Earth job. Well, aside from some farming, but that’s not a career path I’m interested in.”

Oh, he’ll do it, if he has to. If Martha needs the help, or if he can’t find another job, but...well. Part of it is that he genuinely does want to help more than one person, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to do that as a farmer. Another part—more selfish, more shameful—is that after a lifetime of only barely ever leaving his house for anything but crime-fighting, he has no desire to settle down in another place where he’d see the same hundred faces for the rest of his life.

“Well, what do you want to do then?” John asks. “Me, I’m an architect—I like it, but it’s not for everyone.”

“I want to help,” Clark replies, aware of the petulant note in his voice but strangely incapable of keeping it out. “I want to—Krypton’s government is quite...corrupt. On multiple levels. I’m used to helping people, smuggling information pamphlets out, and getting them off the planet when they become compromised...I think I’d like to do something like that. Not the smuggling-people-out part, necessarily but...making sure the public has access to information, even if it means annoying a few people in the process. It’s not like I can’t take it, after all.”

John looks at him for a long time, every line of his face speaking of someone focused on an idea—though what idea, Clark doesn’t really know. He sits there, trying not to fidget too much, until John, as deep in thought as he was before, asks:

“Have you ever heard the term ‘muckraker’?”

“Can’t say I have, no.”

John grins, and ends up sending Clark away with a lot of reading recommendations, the names of three different universities in various cities, and a promise that he’ll be welcome to stay with John if he ever needs to spend time in Detroit again.

Not exactly the afternoon Clark had anticipated, but not exactly a bad one, either.

On Saturday, five days after Bruce’s strange visit to the farm—and the loft, where his smell lingered the first night, caught in a closed space while Clark, for some reason, never quite got around to opening the back doors—Clark receives a text from him that only says ‘[email protected]’, followed by a string random numbers and letters, which, Clark reasons, must be a password. It takes a few minutes before he manages to access the mailbox, but once he does he’s not that surprised to find a single, tersely-worded message with a fifty-seven-page PDF attached.

He’s in the house’s living room, with the brand new couch all to himself while Martha is out in town for her weekly book club. He takes the time to sip from his coffee before he scrolls past the main title—“Project Watchtower”— takes a look at the table of contents, and promptly chokes on his coffee, laughter stinging at the corners of his eyes until he has to set his suit-made tablet aside and double over with it. It takes him a while, but eventually Clark does get himself back under control...just enough, at any rate, to send a quick text to Bruce’s number:

‘How much did part three hurt to write?’

‘My teeth may never recover,’ comes the near-immediate response.

Clark snorts again, scrolling down the file past ‘I. Technical Concerns’ and ‘II. Political Concerns’ to go straight to ‘III. Personal Concerns’ which he’s absolutely certain will turn out to mean ‘questions Batman deemed unprofessional but felt compelled to include anyway’. And, indeed, the first item on the explicitly unordered list doesn't do much to change his mind about that.

‘You can tell Barry replicators are not a real thing,’ he texts Bruce.

‘Not unless I want him to come up with another ridiculous science-fiction related questions. How do you even know what a replicator is?’

‘Martha describes herself as a veteran nerd.’

Clark chuckles to himself as Bruce’s side of the conversation turns into a ‘currently writing’ bubble, sipping on his coffee again while he gives the following questions a cursory look, dictating answers where he can and marking things to look up in other places. He’s on the cusp of sinking into complete focus—and moving back up to the more serious questions—when his phone vibrates with a new alert.

‘I still didn’t expect her to teach you about that first.’

‘If I recall correctly, she said I might as well turn to Wikipedia and scientific journals for ‘the high brow topics’ and let her take care of my cultural and hands-on education. What’s a TARDIS?’

‘Let me guess,’ Bruce replies, again without pause, ‘Barry?’

With a snort, Clark shuffles around on the couch until he’s no longer sitting but rather sprawled on his back, tablet resting on his belly and propped up against his bent leg. It feels a little bit like surrendering to some form of temptation—like waking from a luxurious nap and sinking back into bed with a beloved book in your hands—and his smile widens, warmth bubbling in his stomach with the delightful fizz of a soda bottle. He smiles down at his tablet as he types an answer, still technically working even though he’s looking for ways to appall Bruce more than he is actually trying to answer questions.

‘Arthur, actually. Should I be surprised? I have no idea what this is referencing.’

‘An alien,’ is Bruce’s instant reply. It makes Clark frown despite himself.

‘Far be it from me to complain,’ he writes, ‘but I don’t think you’ve ever replied to my messages this quickly. Is there a special occasion?’

He doesn't send it. He stares down at the tablet for a long time instead, the texting app that wouldn’t exist on a human-made item blinking at him in bright, textured colors, and hesitates. He’s not sure why he hesitates, exactly. It’s an innocent enough message—one he’d have no problem sending Kara, for example. But here, and now, he can’t help but think maybe he should try to sound less—less. Less something, surely, though he can’t quite put his finger on what or why. It’s enough to keep his fingers away from the ‘send’ button, at any rate, and he stares at the screen for a moment longer, hoping against hope that Bruce will send something else and spare him from having to make an actual decision.

He does want the conversation to keep going—has never had any objection to talking to Bruce in any capacity, or at any length—but, perhaps, not quite that way. Still, Bruce doesn’t seem in the mood to say more. So after a while, Clark erases the unsent message. And despite—or perhaps, a tiny voice whispers at the back of his mind, because of—his vague awareness of the implications, he decides to ask:

‘What are you doing?’

The next alert is for a picture of Bruce’s feet in very expensive shoes, propped up on what looks like a very expensive table surrounded by a bunch of people in very expensive suits. Clark may have grown up in ridiculous wealth—even more so, perhaps, than Bruce—but Krypton’s wealth is very different from Earth’s and he’s never been rich here. Besides, it isn’t like he ever felt like he belonged in El’s palace either. He certainly would never have dared to flaunt his disdain for it the way Bruce seems to be doing now, at any rate.

‘Playing stupid in a meeting,’ Bruce writes a few seconds later, the ‘currently writing’ dots hovering for a long time before he adds: ‘Intensely boring work.’

There’s another break while Clark tries to figure out how to respond to that, and then, to his utter bafflement, Bruce sends:

‘I’m not good with people.’

Clark stares down at his tablet, blinking just to make sure he hasn’t misread the message—it is, after all, not related to anything they’ve been saying so far, and hardly news besides. Bruce Wayne might be excellent at wrapping people around his little finger—as evidenced by the general tone of fond dismissal most tabloids seem to adopt when they discuss him—but neither Batman nor Bruce has ever struck Clark as particularly skilled in the art of interpersonal relationships. Or, well. Sincere interpersonal relationships. To point that out would be rude, though, and potentially misconstrued, and so Clark sighs in relief when the next message comes:

‘I was harsher than I should have been.’

Another pause.

‘During the meeting.’

Oh, Clark thinks. That meeting.

‘You apologized for that already.’

‘No,’ Bruce sends.

Then, after a pause:

‘I didn’t.’

Another blank.

‘I let you know you were right about’

‘about him’

‘but I didn’t say I was sorry’

‘so’

‘here it is’

‘it wasn’t fair of me’

‘to make it sound like you were bad at your job when i’

The suspension marks continue to hover at the top of the screen for a while, and then they vanish, leaving Bruce’s sentence unfinished and the air brimming with a certain sense of...finality, somehow. Or maybe a sense of opportunity. Like Bruce isn’t going to say anything further—he probably isn’t, Rao, this must have been like pulling teeth for him—but it’s up to Clark to decide whether he’s going to let it drop or not. Whether he’s going to make something of it or not.

And he’s nowhere close to knowing what he’d want to make of it, but he does know he is very much not okay with the conversation stopping here—wants to keep Bruce talking as long as he can, just to feel that sense of connection between them, the faint, pleasing tingle of knowing Bruce is thinking of him.

‘It’s all right,’ he says, after spending enough time deliberating he’s half afraid Bruce will be done with his meeting and too busy to answer. ‘I figured as much.’

Rao, how grateful can you be for the possibility of picking your words with care? (Quite a lot, as it turns out.)

It takes him a long time to find enough courage to add:

‘I care about you, too.’

Bruce doesn’t reply to Clark’s last message. It was, Clark reminds himself, always a possibility. A very predictable one, at that, and so he decides not to mind at all. He reads books instead—runs to and from Kansas City multiple times just so he can go through all their books on journalism and law and, when there’s really nothing left for it, politics. He hasn’t been able to let the idea of journalism go ever since John suggested it; and maybe he’ll regret it later, but for the moment it feels right, and he’s determined to follow his gut wherever it’ll lead him. It’ll do him good to let himself be led towards something as opposed to away from things, for a change.

The whole business takes about a week, and even then only because he’s alternating between that, Project Watchtower, and the related email chain where Barry piles food suggestions on him, Victor keeps making subtle references to things he claims to be too cool for, and Arthur routinely shoots down every single one of Diana’s suggestions to create a group chat.

That bit is, obviously, not really work, but it does lead to several lunches and outings, and it’s still good for Clark’s horizons to expand. It makes Martha chuckle when he tells her, just a touch of sadness in the sound. Having seven whole friends is a new thing, though, new enough he feels compelled to swear on Rao he’s not inventing them when he writes to Kara. He is damn well going to enjoy it as much as he can.

He’s sitting at a library table and trying to figure out how college application forms work—he hasn’t really discussed it with John, but he’s starting to figure Earth out well enough to realize he won’t be able to just fake a degree, especially when the programs he’d be most interested in, as a student, don’t come with online courses.And then his phone rings and nearly makes him jump through the roof. Grabbing at the table to prevent it from clanking back down and alerting the entire library, Clark manages to stop himself before the top of his head climbs past the tops of the bookshelves and, feeling redder than his cape, answers the phone.

“Bruce,” he manages, just a little more breathless than he’d like. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

“Are you free?” Bruce asks in strangled, almost brittle English.

Clark frowns, spine straightening without even thinking about it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bruce says, with the sort of haste that says something is definitely wrong. “I’m just—”

“Bruce, where are you?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Kent,” Bruce retorts, but there’s that brittleness in his voice again, and Clark almost forgets to exit the library like a normal person.

Flying to Gotham barely takes him more than a few minutes nowadays. Fifteen, tops, when he lets it—and he’s definitely not going to let it right now, so he’s fairly sure he’s the reason Bruce is running his fingers through his hair and muttering ‘shit shit shit shit shit shit shit’ to himself when he lands on the deck next to the lake house. It’s a bit of a surreal sight, in that Clark has definitely never seen any of Bruce’s personae this messy, not ever—and also in that the second Bruce realizes he’s not alone he physically stops in his tracks and cycles through at least three different colors before settling for a blank face with a very, very bright red overlay.

“What is it?” Clark asks in Superman’s voice, just in case the house is somehow compromised. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Bruce hisses through his teeth, taking three steps toward Clark before he doubles back, grabs a package off a glass table, and brandishes it like a shield. “Your papers came through—John had to leave for some kind of emergency with the Lanterns, so he left them with me.”

Clark, mouth opening on a quiet gasp, drops out of Superman’s posture and costume all at once—sinks down into the Kal-esque slouch he’s decided on for Clark Kent’s public persona instead, and proceeds to open the thick envelope with even more reverence than he’d anticipated. He takes them all out, one by one—driver's license, ID card, passport...and a birth certificate in appropriately faded paper. He brings it up to eye level with trembling fingers, the world dissolving into a blur when he sees Smallville listed as his birthplace, Jonathan and Martha Kent as his parents.

Wiping at his face doesn’t do anything to slow the tears, or the sobs that turn into chuckles—or maybe the other way around. After a moment Bruce must take pity on him because his hand settles on Clark’s shoulder, thumb squeezing in the dip above Clark’s clavicle as he clears his throat and, in a shaking voice, says, “See, nothing wrong.”

Clark manages a strangled noise that might have become a word with some practice, shaking his head for emphasis even as he tries to stop the helpless giggling that's taken him over. Bruce’s hand is warm on his shoulder, solid where Clark feels suddenly fragile, and he leans into it just a little harder than is entirely appropriate, glad that it’s Bruce here with him to receive the news.

“I’m sorry,” Clark manages at long last, “it’s just—you sounded so nervous….”

“I don’t sound nervous,” Bruce retorts, but there’s no heat in the words.

And even if there were: the Earth’s sun has given Clark an eidetic memory. He’d know Bruce was lying anyway. As it is, all he does is snort and wish he had some kind of handkerchief as he sniffles and wipes the last tears from his eyes, and then sighs like he’s been dragging a small moon behind him for years and has finally been allowed to set it down.

“Thank you,” he tells Bruce in Ellon, making sure to use the most respectful and affectionate forms he can think of. “For everything you’ve done...and for being here.”

“It was my pleasure and my honor,” Bruce replies, surprising Clark with his truly commendable use of an Ellon form he has to have learned after their return to Earth. “Actually...I was wondering if, perhaps, you would like for us to celebrate this together.”

For a moment—just the one, earth-shattering moment—Clark’s heart turns loud enough to drown the universe in its rhythm. The Earth, the Milky Way, Krypton itself all cease to exist, swallowed into a heartbeat like glorious bells, a warmth like the sun filling Clark’s veins and squeezing at his guts and his heart and every inch of him in between as he digests the way Bruce spoke the words—shy, almost reverential in tone as much as in form. This is—this would be how an Ellon would offer...lifelong commitments. The kind of arrangement of the heart that can’t, won’t be broken by anything except, perhaps, those who entered it. Clark feels his face grow redder and redder with it, his armpits and neck prickling with the emotion until even his sun-altered body is sweating.

“Bruce,” he manages, feeble and almost too low to be heard, “I don’t think you—”

Bruce makes a face like he’s about to jump from a roof to another one too far away, knowing the gap is too wide and there’s no way he’ll make it, but unable to allow himself to back down anyway. It’s remarkably close to the face Clark imagines he pulled the first time he jumped down from the Citadel’s dome, the first time he flew his own h’mori as a child. The same face he might be wearing, right now, as he allows himself to trust Bruce’s dedication—to believe the man really, truly knows what he is saying.

Bruce, after all, wouldn’t have become Batman—let alone survived this long in the uniform—if he’d been the kind of man content to be anything less than excellent at anything he decided to learn.

“I would love to celebrate with you,” Clark tells Bruce, offering just as much of himself as Bruce offered him.

The feeling is heady, terrifying and intoxicating, not unlike flying: the mad rush of a fall with the absolute certitude he will be caught at the bottom, and land, safe and unscathed, in a place where there will never be any doubt of his welcome. Or, well. Not enough to make him leave, at any rate.

He watches the realization bloom on Bruce’s face, far redder than any shade Bruce Wayne has ever sported, and all the lovelier for it.

“Well,” Bruce says, clearing his throat hard enough Clark can’t help but wince in remembered sympathy, “what do you say to ice cream?”

He’s switched back to English, but it doesn’t do anything to dispel the joyful, brimming tension between them, and Clark reaches for just a little bit of Superman’s strength and bravery. Just enough of it to take the second plunge—always the scariest, in his opinion, because by then you’ve had time to realize exactly what you’re risking—and says:

“Before that, though...can I—”

“I’m not a blushing princess, Kent,” Bruce cuts off, the attempt at irritation just enough to pull Clark from his stupor. “You don’t have to court me or anything.”

“Fine,” Clark sighs, glad for the way Bruce’s grumbling makes some of the nerves go away. “In that case...I’d like to kiss you, if that’s all right with you.”

Bruce’s features all but scream ‘duh’, and Clark snorts, giddy with it, before bending down to kiss Bruce's lips and forget, just for a while, that fear even exists at all.

#DCU Fanfiction #Superbat #Clark Kent #Bruce Wayne #Superbat Big Bang #SBB 2019 #Fanfiction #My Posts #fic: Clark Kent of Krypton

[superfreakerz]

Are you still up for a story request? May it be about our ship already in their 80's, reminiscing all their wonderful memories together while up in a hill doing stargazing. I think of this idea 'coz my grandparents anniversary will be in Jan 14. So excited! 😘😘

January 14th, you say? Then I am just in time! ;D Also, I’m sorry in advance if this is too sad, idk why I’ve been writing some angsty things lately. I hope you like it!

“Trip Down Memory Lane”

Rated T for mentioned character death?

Summary: A night under the stars with her husband recalling their old memories together was just what eighty year old Lucy needed to get rid of her fears.

Trip Down Memory Lane

The walk up the hill was hard, especially for Natsu, as he helped wheel Lucy up the hill. Her legs were weak, and she wasn’t able to walk long distances anymore. Not that he minded. She was still the beautiful girl that he’d fallen in love with, even with the gray hair and wrinkles adorning her face.

Aging was a vital part of life. If Lucy was being honest, there were times in her life in which she had trouble believing she’d live up until her eighties. With all of the dangerous jobs and battles she’d fought, could anyone blame her?

But here they were, still alive and breathing. Their lives were peaceful- well, as peaceful as they could be considering they were part of the most rambunctious guild on Earthland. Every day they managed to go to the guildhall and see their friends, who were aging just as graciously as them. They were blessed with two beautiful children, Nashi and Lucas, who were now fine adults. And despite their old bones, they still made time for some dates.

Once they reached the top of the hill, Natsu laid a blanket on the grass before helping Lucy out of her wheelchair. They slowly lowered themselves onto the ground, gazing up at the starry sky. This spot was special to them. Natsu had surprised Lucy many years ago by bringing her there to look at the stars, knowing that it was something she loved to do. Since then, they’d found themselves perched on that hill at least once a week.

Lucy’s lips curled into a smile. They were deep into the forest, far away from all the hustle and bustle of Magnolia’s streets. It was so relaxing.

“We’ve been here so many times,” Lucy said, her voice quiet as if not wanting to disturb the peaceful aura around them. “And yet, I never grow tired of coming here.”

Natsu laughed before joking, “Yeah, because you aren’t the one walking up this damn hill every time.”

“Oh hush. You know I’d do the same for you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

The two smiled, locking their fingers together. Lucy silently noted that the callouses on Natsu’s hands had long disappeared ever since they stopped training and going on jobs. They still held a hint of firmness to them, but not as much as before. He was aging too.

“Do you remember the first time you brought me here?” she asked, a frown stretching over her face. She’d hoped he remembered, but his memory was slowly deteriorating. He remembered all of the big things, but he’d forgotten so many of their smaller moments. Moments that were precious to her. Even though they didn’t talk about it, she knew it was happening. They both did.

Natsu nudged the girl, giving her a grin. Even after seeing that smile for over sixty years, it still managed to make her heart leap in her chest.

“‘Course I do, weirdo,” he said, his hand tightening around hers. “This is where I told you I loved you for the first time. It’s also where Nashi was conceived. That, or Gray’s bathroom. I hope it was here, though.”

“Me too,” Lucy replied with a laugh. “We’ve shared so many memories together. And not just here.”

“Yeah, we have.”

“They weren’t all good ones,” Lucy said, her mind reeling back to all of the times that life had crushed her spirit. Breaking Aquarius’ key, the night Natsu and Happy had left to go train for a year, the entire Alvarez war, they were all memories that brought a frown to her face. Still, everything had worked out in the end, so she couldn’t be too upset about it.

Natsu nodded. He had some bad memories of his own. Igneel’s death, the time he watched Future Lucy die right in front of his eyes, the day that Happy died, there were too many times to count. But all of those times had made him the man he was today. The man who had the world’s most beautiful wife, the two greatest children, and a guild he had been in since he was a child.

“Remember that time the gang switched bodies?” Natsu asked, a grin spreading over his face.

Lucy snorted. “Of course I do. I was terrified! I thought I was going to be stuck as Gray for the rest of my life! There were literal ice cubes coming out of my mouth!”

“Thank god we somehow managed to switch back, because I don’t think I woulda fallen in love with you if you were stuck in that prick’s body.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding, kidding!”

Lucy still nudged the boy before turning her gaze back to the sky.

“Remember when I was sick and you uprooted a whole tree for me to see?”

“Hmm. Nope. Don’t recall.”

“What!?”

“I’m just messin’ with ya, Luce! Of course I remember that! Happy and I got beat by Gramps because of that!”

The two smiled sadly at the thought of their old master. It had been years since he had passed away, Laxus taking his place as master. They were sure that he was watching over them, face-palming every time someone in the guild destroyed something while on a mission.

“Tell me some more memories you remember,” Lucy said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Natsu frowned, noticing that the smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes.

“Remember that time we met Ichiya and the others from Blue Pegasus for the first time? And how the guys were all over you and Erza? I wanted to turn them to ashes because of that!” he said, recalling his old jealousy. He didn’t get jealous as much anymore, knowing that no matter how other guys felt, he had Lucy all to himself.

Lucy shivered, the thought of Ichiya sniffing her freaking her out. “Believe me, I remember.”

“What about that time after we beat Erigor and we were starving for days because we couldn’t find any good food?”

“I remember that too! Erza made me try that weird monster she sliced up even though it tasted disgusting!”

“Sounds like Erza!”

The two laughed, the sound filling the air. Natsu turned towards Lucy, only to find tears sliding down her face.

“Lucy? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I'm… I’m scared, Natsu,” she answered, holding his hand tighter.

“Of me forgetting things?” His wife nodded. “Who cares if I forget a couple of things, Luce? All that matters is I remember the important stuff.”

“But what if you forget those too? What if one day, we come up here again and you don’t remember why this place is special to us? What if you don’t remember that we have two kids? What if you don’t remember me?”

Lucy covered her mouth with a hand, sobbing. The thought of her husband not remembering her was heart breaking.

Natsu quickly sat up, gently pulling her up into a sitting position with him. With his hands on her shoulders, he stared into her eyes, the moonlight washing over her features. His eyes trailed over every strand of hair, every wrinkle, every feature of hers.

“N-Natsu?” Lucy called out. “What are you doing?”

“I’m committing all of you to memory,” he answered, still looking her over. “You’re scared of me forgettin’ you, right? I know that I could never forget you. That’s just not possible, Luce. But if you’re so worried about it, then I’m gonna do my best to make you worry less about it. So, I’m gonna make sure I get every detail right so I can remember you forever. And when the kids visit next time, I’m gonna do the same thing with them. And even with Gray and Erza, and everyone else at the guild. I’ll make sure I won’t forget anyone.”

Lucy’s cheeks warmed as she smiled through her tears. “I hope this works.”

“It will. Look, Luce. I can’t promise that I won’t forget anything. The truth is, I will forget some stuff. But I can promise you that I’ll never forget the moments that count the most. And I’ll never forget you.”

Lucy nodded, and they both laid back down on the grass.

“Remember that time you challenged Erza to a fight and lost right away?”

“Which time?”

Lucy laughed, snuggling closer to her husband as she stared at the stars. Their bodies were aging, there was no preventing that. It was a scary process at times, but their wrinkles, gray hair, and in Natsu’s case, deteriorating memory, were signs that they made it through their worst of times and managed to live long, happy lives together. They were signs of their perseverance.

Their time left together was short, they both knew that. But they were going to make each day a fun adventure anyways.

#fairy tail #nalu #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #ftfanfiction #requests #trip down memory lane #tdml

[the-walking-memelords]

Vows

Rating: G

Word Count: 3362

Pairing: Louis X Clementine

Louis and Clem work out their wedding jitters for their big day.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

The rapid sound of his pencil tapping against the paper was the only thing filling the silence of the empty dorm room. Louis sat slouched over the desk, head in hand. The blank page stared back at him almost mockingly. There were so many things he wanted to say but none could escape his mind onto the page. Time was running out. He kicked himself for putting this off for so long. The wedding was only a few days away but Louis had no idea what he would say to her. He leaned back in his chair, that beautiful face distracting him from what he was doing.

Clementine, the love of his life. Louis became lost in a daydream as he thought of spending the rest of his life by her side. Waking up to her golden eyes was already blissful, but to be accompanied by that golden ring seemed to make life even sweeter.

The feeling of him falling in love was interrupted by the feeling of him actually falling. Louis quickly grabbed the edge of the desk to prevent his chair from completely tipping backwards.

“This is no use.” He muttered to himself.

He gave up writing for now as he decided to go see someone he knew he could talk to about anything. Though of course, Marlon was less talkative these days.

---

Purple Snapdragons stuck out of the dirt around the worn wooden cross. Louis sat under the midday sun at the foot of the dirt mound. His eyes traced the carved letters spelling the name of his best friend.

“Hey, Marlon.” He spoke to the grave.

“I’m sorry it’s been a while since I came to visit you, we’ve just been so busy with the wedding and other stuff I haven’t had the time.”

He laughed to himself. Part of him thought this was stupid, but deep down he just hoped that somehow Marlon could hear him.

“Everyone’s been good, all excited for the wedding. Oh- I hope you don’t mind that Aasim is my best man.” He let out a sigh.

“I wish you were here, man. I don’t blame AJ, of course, I love the little dude. Though, he isn’t so little anymore. He’ll be eleven this winter.” Louis never thought he could be a dad, but Clem always assured him he was doing a good job.

“I love them both, so much. Clem and AJ are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just don’t want to screw this up. Makeshift as it is this is our wedding.”

Heh, wedding jitters.

“I’ll think of something.” He decided

“Tell Mitch and Brody I said hi.”

---

It was as if all inspiration had left him. His fingers laid motionless on the piano keys, unable to find any notes to play. He ran his thumb over the carving they had made the night before everything went to hell. He remembered that night in such vivid detail. The good and the bad, though he chose to only think of the former.

He could still recall the heat in his cheeks when she called him cute...

The feeling of his heart skipping a beat when she said she like-liked him...

The softness of her lips the first time they kissed…

“Louis?”

Louis’ trip down memory lane took a detour when the voice of his adopted son called out to him.

“Uh, hey little dude. What’s up?”

“Violet told me to check on you, make sure you were getting your vows done.” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, a behaviour he picked up from Clementine.

Shit.

“Tell Vi I’ve got it handled. A little more time and I’ll have the whole school sobbing at the wedding.” He said with his usual dramatic flair.

“You’re stuck, aren’t you?” AJ wasn’t falling for it.

“You’re gettin’ too smart for your own good, kid.” He scooted over on the bench, giving AJ a spot to sit.

“I just don’t know what to say. They’re so many things I want to say, but none of them seem right.” He grit his teeth in frustration.

“Well, you could tell her why you love her.” AJ suggested.

“Tell her how happy she makes you and why you want to stay with her forever.”

“That does seem like a good start.” He couldn't hold back a chuckle.

“When did you turn into a love guru?”

“...I don’t know what that is.”

“Heh. Never change, Alvin Junior.” He put his arm around AJ’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug.

“I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you back.” He said, wrapping his arms around Louis.

They broke the hug and stood from the piano, each smiling at the other.

“C’mon, AJ.” He said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“We got shit to do.”

“Swear.”

---

---

---

Clementine held her breath as Violet struggled with the zipper on the back of a peach-coloured dress.

“It’s no use, it’s just too small.” The blonde huffed.

“These dresses are made for high schoolers, of course it’s too small.” Sighed Ruby as she dug through more of the school’s old costume bins.

“Well, we have to figure something out. She can’t just walk down the aisle in those mud-stained jeans.” Violet helped Clem out of yet another failed dress.

Clementine shuddered against the draftiness of the old theatre. A simple white tank top leaving her arms exposed to the chill.

Clem crossed her arms, her eyes finding a fascination with the floorboards.

“It’s okay hun, we’ll find somethin’ to make you look right beautiful for your wedding.” Ruby assured, noticing her silence.

“The dress isn’t what I’m really worried about.” She confessed. Letting out a heavy sigh, she sat down on the edge of the stage.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say to him.”

“Oh, God. You haven’t written your vows yet either? You two are just made for each other.” Violet was the most stressed out wedding planner in the apocalypse.

Clem didn’t respond. Instead, she fiddled with the ring on her finger. The slightly tarnished gold band was adorned with several small diamonds. The slight looseness of the band caused the heavy diamond setting to slip upside down around her finger.

I need to get a chain for this.

She found herself playing with it often, not wanting to lose it by not paying attention and letting it slip off.

She remembered the day Louis proposed to her.

He had been acting odd that entire day. Nervous and jittery. He was quick to pull her away from the others once her watch shift ended just as the sun began to set. She remembered catching Violet’s wink as he tugged her along. She couldn’t deny that she teared up when he showed her the ring that had belonged to his mother. Tears of happiness spilling down both of their faces when she said yes.

“Just write about how much you love him and that you’ll be together forever and all that.” Ruby continued to dig through the boxes.

“It has to be special. I can’t just say something generic and pretend it came from my heart.” She laid back onto the stage, staring up at the sunlight that peeked through the holes in the roof.

“I just didn’t think I’d ever be getting married. Once the world died I figured all of that stuff died too.” She ran her fingers through her loose curls, spying her hat laying a foot away.

She reached to arm out to grab it, holding the damaged cap in front of her as she sat up.

I need to take better care of this.

Her dad’s hat was filled with rips and holes and covered in stains from all kinds of muck. The D on the front peeled nearly halfway off.

She could hardly remember the voices of her parents. The mental image of their faces was tainted with the dead eyes and rotting skin of the walkers she found in the Savannah herd. Her memories of the old world didn’t even seem real anymore, like some kind of happy dream or alternate reality.

I miss you both.

You too, Lee.

She blinked back a few tears as she placed her hat back on her head, wearing the brim low.

“Don’t beat yourself up over the past.” Violet took a seat next to her, speaking as if she could read her mind.

“Now’s the time to think about the future.”

To Clem’s surprise, Violet pulled her into a hug. She returned the hug, then after pulling away with a smile.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you initiate a hug.” She laughed.

“Yeah? Well, don’t get used to it.” The blonde joked.

“You’re gonna be happy whether you like it or not, damnit.”

“Thanks for doing this for us, Vi. You didn’t have to make things so elaborate.” Violet was the one who insisted on a whole ceremony, flowers and fancy clothes in all. It was already more than she ever could have asked for.

“You and Louis are my best friends, and I’ll be damned if I can’t put on an epic wedding for you guys.” She smirked. “Thank you, Violet.” Her voice caught a bit in her throat as she choked up a bit. She could never be able to explain how much this meant to her.

“Oh c’mon, enough with the waterworks. We still gotta find you a dress that’ll knock that dork’s socks off.” Violet stood up, offering her hand to Clem as they both went to give Ruby a hand.

“I know what I’m going to write about.” Clementine decided. Her heart swelled in anticipation for the upcoming event.

“I’m glad.”

“Hey, guys? I think I found something.” Ruby called from a mess of searched boxes. The two girls rejoined the third, who unveiled her latest find.

“So what y’all think?”

A wide grin formed on Clementine’s face.

“It’s perfect.”

---

---

---

Louis adjusted his suit jacket in the cracked mirror, frowning at how large it appeared on him.

“You look fine, Louis” Violet assured, quickly checking her own slightly town jacket.

“Now c’mon we need to get you out there so I can check on Clem.”

She practically shoved him out the door.

“You’re taking this very seriously, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

“Almost as if you care or something.”

“Don’t push your luck.” She said impassively, continuing to lead him to the music room.

“You finished your vows, right?”

“Yeah, of course I did.” he fiddled with the slightly crumpled paper in his pocket. Louis had gone over the words again and again until they were burned into his brain, but he still couldn’t bring himself to leave the page behind.

“Good, now get in your spot.” With that Violet rushed off to find Clementine.

The music room was decorated in an assortment of wildflowers. The red petals of the Indian Blanketflowers were mixed with the bright yellow of the Black-eyed Susans. Each bouquet sat in an old glass jar on tables and shelves outlining the room. Chairs were lined in short rows, leaving a gap in the middle as the aisle.

“Nervous?” Aasim asked him.

“You can bet your ass I’m nervous.” He said matter-of-factly.

“Yet at the same time, this is the best day of my life.”

His heart fluttered in anticipation. Louis hadn’t been able to see her since that morning as they were hurried away to prepare for the event.

“I’m happy for you, dude. You guys are really good together.” Aasim gave him a pat on the shoulder as they awaited the arrival of the bride.

---

Clementine played with her hands restlessly as she sat in the desk chair in her room. Her ring was absent from her finger, left with AJ for the ceremony. She kicked her bare feet from under the long hem of her dress.

Her wedding dress was scarlet red like the colour of a rose’s petals. Long flowing silk ran from her collarbone to the floor tied just under her ribs with a sash. Her arms were left bare in the sleeveless gown.

“I’ve never worn something like this before.” She told Ruby, who was busy arranging Clem’s curls into a stylish updo, leaving a few locks to hang around her face.

“Do you think Louis is going to like it?”

“Like it? Louis is going to love it, just like he loves you.”

“All done.” Ruby held a hand mirror in front of her.

Clem ran her fingers over her styled curls.

Ruby did a great job.

“Thank you.” She smiled, giving the redhead a hug.

A knock on the door slightly startled them both as Violet entered the dorm. Her eyes widened when she saw the bride.

“You look amazing, Clem.” Violet gasped.

Clementine’s anxiety began to turn to giddiness as she twirled for them, letting her skirt flare out in every direction.

“I’m ready.” she declared, putting on the white flats they had found for her and taking her bouquet.

“Your future husband awaits.” Violet said as she held the door for her.

---

“Attention, everyone.” Violet called to the group.

“The bride has arrived.”

Louis’ jaw immediately dropped. She was gorgeous. A gown so simple yet so elegant.

She picked me.

He could barely believe it.

This living goddess actually picked me.

Heat crossed both of their faces as Clementine made her way down the aisle.

She tried to focus on her steps, dreading the idea of tripping over her skirt. Her eyes were deadlocked on his, finding nothing but love. She walked past their smiling friends until she reached the man she loved. She passed her bouquet to Ruby, letting Louis take her hands in his.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, making her heart jump even more than it already was.

“Alright, everybody.” Violet smiled, pulling a few small cards out of her pocket.

“We’re here today because two of our amazing friends fell in love and wanted to be able to unite in the way of the old world, and what kind of friends would we be if we didn’t support them and throw a kickass wedding?”

That earned a few woots from the audience.

“But today isn’t about us. Today is about Clementine and Louis getting married and being a family.” She nodded to Louis.

This is the moment he had been preparing for. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he gazed into her stunning golden eyes. Louis abandoned the paper in his pocket. He knew what he was going to say.

“Clementine I…” He began, his breath slightly catching in his throat.

“You and AJ both mean the world to me. I never thought I could have this kind of family.”

“I never thought there would be someone like you who would want me.”

“Someone who could really see me for me, not just some stupid jokester who plays the piano.”

“This family is more than I ever could have asked for, and I promise, I will protect you with everything that I am 'til the day I die.”

His tone was serious but his smile never faded.

“And I vow to keep making my stupid jokes, and keep playing my stupid piano, and make you laugh every day because it is the most beautiful sound in the world.”

Clementine giggled as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I vow to hold you tight through whatever this crazy world decides to throw at us, and whatever that ends up being, we face it together.”

He squeezed her hands tightly, their foreheads pressed together.

“Forever and ever.”

“Wow.” Violet mumbled.

Clementine wiped the tears from her eyes. It was her turn to speak.

“Louis, I love you more than words can say.” She choked back her tears.

“The day AJ and I arrived here at the school was one of the best days of my life, even if I didn't know it at the time.”

“I was scared at first, I wasn't sure if I could open myself up to someone again after losing so many…”

Her eyes fell.

“But you? You sparked a light in me I didn't think I had anymore.”

“I know there are things you still blame yourself for, stuff you wish you could take back even though you don't need to.”  

“But that was forever ago.”

She saw him begin to tear up. She knew he still blamed himself for AJ getting shot all those years ago.

“Today is a new day, and today I vow to be by your side for the rest of our lives.”

“I vow to be there whenever you need me, and to be just as much of a rock for you as you've been for me.”

“And I just have to thank you, Louis, because you taught me how to live, not just survive.”

Tears rolled down the faces of both the bride and the groom.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Even stone cold Violet could be heard sniffling a little.

“O-okay, that was beautiful.” Violet cleared her throat.

“AJ, it’s time for the rings.”

AJ hopped up from his seat. Two rings, one adorned with diamonds paired with a plain gold band salvaged from a supply run rested an old red pillow in AJ’s hands. He excitedly held it up as Louis held his mom’s ring in his hand.

No, it’s Clementine’s ring now.

“I, Louis,

take you, Clementine,

as my wife.

With this ring, I thee wed and with all I am and all I have I honour you.”

Louis slipped the ring onto her finger, the gemstones sparkling in the sun that peeked in from the windows. It looked so natural.

“I’m sorry that it doesn’t really fit.” He saw how the band slipped loosely around her finger.

“It’s still perfect.” Clem assured with a smile.

With a shaky hand, she plucked the second ring from the pillow.

“I, Clementine,

take you, Louis,

as my husband.

With this ring, I thee wed and with all I am and all I have I honour you.”

She repeated the vows, truly meaning them with all of her heart as she slipped the ring onto his finger.

The matching rings were a symbol of their love. Two small pieces of jewelry that meant so much more than they appeared. Their love was their bond, and the rings were proof.

It was time.

“By the power vested in me by Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Violet threw her unused cards over her shoulder.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Louis hardly waited for Violet to finish her sentence before he pressed his lips to his new wife’s. Clementine wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her slightly off the ground, her toes barely touching the hardwood.

The cheers of their friends were loud and wild. When the kiss broke, the newlyweds swooped in on AJ, pulling their boy into a tight hug.

The rest of the day was a party. Everyone danced and sang and had the time of their lives. For one day, they managed to make it feel like the world had never ended.

The whole gang enjoyed some of Omar’s specially made stew in place of an unobtainable cake. They didn’t mine. Everyone enjoyed Omar’s cooking. By the time the sun set the party was calmer. Tennessee played a song on a guitar as the couple slow danced.

The two moved with each other in small circles, swaying back and forth to the music.

“I love you, Louis. So much.” She whispered.

“I love you too, darlin’.”

Clementine rested her head on Louis’ chest as he held her. To her, the world only existed in that one room. That one moment. Surrounded by their friends as she rested in her husband's arms while he whispered the lyrics to the song in her ear.

Cause it’s you and me,

And all of the people

With nothing to do,

Nothing to lose.

And it’s you and me,

And all of the people

And I don’t know why,

I can’t keep my eyes off of you.

#clouis #louistine #louisentine #fanfiction #fluff #my writing

[syao]

Natsukashii

Pairing: Neji x Tenten Read Time: 23 mins. A/N: I turn a year older this week, so I thought I'd celebrate with my favorite Naruto couple set in a similar but much happier universe. I blame old age for my mushy escapism. :D

"Three… four…" Hyuuga Neji paused slightly when he heard a sound that seemed off from the expected flutter of wings. It was a sound of bouncy, light footsteps—a child's, he decided—approaching him at three o'clock position.

Soon enough, he heard a high-pitched "Uncle Nejiiiii!" shatter the forest's stillness, sending the frightened flock of birds away.

He let out a sigh before fixing the sternest expression he could muster. It was a role only he in the whole Hyuuga clan could play convincingly: that of an unimpressed, unflappable bad cop to the good cops that were the rest of his relatives.

"Himawari-sama, what did I tell you about heading to the forest on your own?" he rattled off before his ever-sunny niece could leap into his arms.

She freely did so anyway, and pounced on him like a kitten wrestling its favorite toy on the ground. He had no choice but to drop his walking cane just so he could cushion her tiny body with both hands.

(But for the record, the suspicious twitching on his mouth absolutely did NOT mean that he approved of this rambunctious, unladylike behavior.)

"Well, Himawari-sama?" he pressed, not willing to let her off easily.

"Um… to never, ever do it until I graduate from the Academy?" She looked up at him, eyes wide in innocence.

"That is correct." He coolly eyed her up and down— the miniature mishmash of genes of Konoha's most powerful and most elite. "And that is set to happen only five years from now. So, pray tell, why are you here in the forest on your own?" He could not sense the aura of either of the child's parents nearby.

"The twin bun lady!" cried his little niece breathlessly, cheeks flushed. "Uncle Neji, the twin bun lady in the picture came back!"

The picture Himawari was referring to was that of Team Gai during their genin days. Maito Gai beaming at the camera while proudly clasping both of his boys on each shoulder. Rock Lee reluctantly taking a break from his daily 25-kilometer warm-up run long enough to get a photo with his beloved team. Him looking at the photographer with an expression that says, "Get this over quickly. I have an unfettered sighting of your most critical chakra points, you know."

And the only rose among the thorns. But boy, was it a thorny rose. The bright and high-spirited Tenten, both hands pumped, as she gave a gaping, open-mouthed smile for the camera, uncaring of the photographer's pleading to 'act like a girl more'.

He recalled how Tenten's almond brown eyes flared up when she first heard the photographer's appeal for more feminine restraint.

"You're a guy! Why would you know more about how to act like a girl than I do?! Now watch me do a wrestler victory pose! Harrrr!"

And he, who till that moment had rarely taken an interest of other people outside his clan, couldn't help but silently follow the exchange. Until that moment, all the girls he knew bowed their heads and smiled and followed whatever the adults tell them to do.

But not this girl.

And as years passed, he would come to learn that she was actually different from most other people, too— men and women alike, as she would forcefully insist whenever less-discerning folks would try to look down on her elite shinobi skills.

It had been two decades since that picture was taken. And until now, it was the only photo decorating his spartan-like room. It was probably for that same reason that his little niece had taken a world of interest at the spunky girl who seemed to not be much older than her in that picture.

"She looks strong! Is she really strong, Uncle Neji?"

"No one in Konoha can beat her long-range precision," he would honestly answer. "And no one can surpass her knowledge of weaponry and tools."

"Is she brave, Uncle Neji?"

"Extraordinarily so."

"She has twin buns for her hair, too! So cute! Don't you think so, too, Uncle Neji?"

"I… y-yes."

"Then you should marry her— oh no, Uncle Neji! Why did you blow hot tea out of your nose? Grandpa, Grandpa! Look at the neat trick Uncle Neji showed me! Nose fountains!"

Himawari's palm waved up and down his face, sparing him from a further embarrassing walk down the memory lane. "So… let's go see her?"

"H-Huh?"

"The twin bun lady. Let's go see her!" She effortlessly untangled herself from his hold, handed him back his cane, and proceeded to pull his hand towards the direction of the forest edge.

Like a puppy sheepishly trailing its owner, he clumsily followed her lead. "Are you certain it is her? She hasn't been in town for many years."

The little girl let out a distinct sigh of impatience not many would try with the great Hyuuga prodigy. "I know what I saw, Uncle Neji! Mama and I were bringing Papa's lunch to the office when we saw her chatting with Papa and Uncle Shikamaru." Her free hand grabbed the protruding upper tuft of her hair into a makeshift pigtail. "Her brown hair's on braided twin buns. She was wearing tassel earrings and a long, pretty white dress…"

Against his better judgment, he found himself greedily taking in the descriptions as his mind weaved together an image of his niece's alleged twin buns lady.

"...and she was talking about the weapons on the table so happily!"

Bingo. It was her. He didn't know anyone else who had the capacity to talk about weaponry with the pride and affection a mother held for her firstborn.

"What was her name again?" Little wrinkles of concentration formed on the child's face. "Mama already said it when she greeted her. It's like a repeated syllable, um…"

"Tenten. Her name is Tenten," he finally answered, to the little girl's delight.

"Yes, yes, Tenten! That's twin bun lady!"

"I may have ruined things for us forever, but doing this… don't you think this is a bit too much, Neji? Don't you think this is a bit too cruel?"

The memory of her words halted him in his tracks, startling Himawari who until then found ease in making her grown uncle do as she pleased. She turned to him, puzzled. "What's wrong, Uncle Neji? Is your back bothering you again?"

"I… should probably greet her tomorrow instead," he finished lamely, avoiding her curious gaze. "I do need to rest as well."

Himawari looked slightly disappointed, but her concern for her favorite uncle won over. "Okay. I'll walk you home, Uncle Neji." She marched by his side, as if guarding his unreliable hips from giving out beneath him.

"Thank you, Himawari. We'll come see her tomorrow instead." Neji made a mental note to give Rock Lee a ring so he and his son could accompany them. He knew the father-and-son' tandem's outrageously high-level energy would make things less awkward for him and his former teammate.

"I'm sure Tenten must be in bed right now and resting, too."

"Yep, with him."

His neck whipped hard towards his niece. "HIM?! Him, who?!"

"Oh, you know. The short man with black hair that makes him look like whole garlic head? Wears red glasses? He was with her when she paid Papa a visit and they're going to stay together in her old apartment…" Himawari's voice trailed off when she saw her uncle frown worriedly, as if not liking what he just heard. "What's wrong, Uncle Neji?"

"It's nothing." But her uncle was wearing a rare troubled look on his handsome face. "If you will excuse me, Himawari-sama. I need to speak to your father."

Wow, I guess Uncle's injuries aren't bothering him as much as before, thought the little girl as she watched her uncle briskly make his way towards the village center.

Read the rest on ff.n

#SyaoWrites #NejiTen #hyuuga neji #tenten #neji x tenten

[formlesscopycat]

1--50 because I always like learning more bout you guys :PPPPP for xxx, maybe your favorite fic? Or Distance of the Falling Sun :D

Thanks for making me answer all the asks, I really enjoyed doing this, a jog down the memory lane is always beautiful. Also, this gives me a chance to make up for misunderstanding RuRu’s prior request (so sorry, babe).

1) How old were you when youfirst started writing fanfiction?

I started writing headcanonsin my native language when I was 12; I posted my first fic when I was 15.

2) What fandoms do you writefor and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

I’ve written for FinalFantasy VIII (Seinoa, Seifistis), Slam Dunk (SenRu), Lovely Complex (OtaRisa),Kimi no Todoke (Kazehaya/Kuronama) and Wallflower (SunaKyo). I’m currentlywriting for the love of AoKise (Kuroko no Basuke).

3) Do you prefer writing OC’sor reader inserts? Explain your answer.

I prefer OCs. I find readerinserts kinda weird.

4) What is your favouritegenre to write for?

Romantic comedies.

5) If you had to choose afavourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be andwhy?

Love is a Scheme (forWallflower fandom) is my fave multi-chapter that I’ve written. One is becauseI’ve managed to finish writing it and two, it has all my favorite elements:denial of feelings, enemies to lovers, love confessions, meddling friends. Ihad so much fun writing that story and readers have loved it, too.

6) If you had to delete oneof your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

Perhaps that lame attempt ata songfic I wrote for Final Fantasy VIII fandom, ugh. No particular plot andinfused with bad grammar. But no matter how much I cringed at my earlierstories, I can’t bring myself to delete them because I still come back to thesefics sometimes if just to see how much I’ve grown as a writer over the years.

7) When is your preferredtime to write?

Daytime.

8) Where do you take yourinspiration from?

Poetry, quotes, metaphors,old songs. Also, from personal experience, sometimes.

9) Inyour [Distance of the Falling Sun] fic, what’s your favourite scene that youwrote?

Two.

The two of them are idiots in love, this, Kise is sure. He lifts hishead and meets Aomine’s face with a smile. Happiness sweeps across Aomine’sfeatures too, as he thumbs softly on the skin under Kise’s eyes, wiping awayhis tears.

“If only you told me sooner,” Aomine tells him with a smirk, theirfaces only inches away from each other.

“Excuse me, but you should’ve said something too.” Kise shoots back.

“Are we bickering again?”

“We’re not.”

(My fave scene because itfeels authentic AoKise, dorkos snapping at each other right after confession>.

10) Inyour [DotFS] fic, why did you decide to end it like that? Did you have analternative ending in mind?

There’s supposed to be a“Zero”, because the prompt is actually, “write a story with a countdown from 10to 0″. I tried to push for it but my sentences refuse to work out so I ended itat one.

11) Have you ever amended astory due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

I haven’t.

12) Who is your favouritecharacter to write for? Why?

Currently, it’s Aomine.Ironically, I don’t like him at first but now, I’m totally captivated by thischild, my heart is his. I think he has the best character development in KnB,with that gripping heart-wrenching backstory. I find it easy to write his tendencies and basicways. He’s flawless but at the same time, flawed in so many ways. If I peeloff his layers, I always find wonderful gems. I like going through the heads of flawed characters.

13) Who is your leastfavourite character to write for? Why?

Um, none.

14) Howdid you come up with the title for the [Distance of the Falling Sun]? - You canask about multiple stories.

I wanted to play with metaphors,heh. ‘Distance’ because Kise is chasing after Aomine, always yearning forAomine’s affections and he thinks Aomine is beyond his reach. ‘Falling Sun’because this is really about Kise, ‘burning’ with unrequited feelings.

15) If you write OC’s, how doyou decide on their names?

I take the names of myfavorite characters from other fandoms. For example, in my fic, Where YouBelong, Kise’s father is named ‘Takenaga’, he’s actually from the anime,Wallflower. Aomine’s mom will be named ‘Sayuri’, from Memoirs of a Geisha. Ialso employ the help of Google, to see if the meanings behind the names Ichoose will actually fit my OC.

16) Howdid you come up with the idea for [DotFS]?

I chanced on the prompt onTumblr and immediately, the angst muse overwhelmed me. Also, this doujin. Ijumped on the ‘unrequited love’ theme because it’s something that I personallyexperienced. With this fic, it’s structure first before the plot instead ofvice-versa and that came as a big challenge, I never thought I’d write it down.I only have the shaky idea for ten, three and one but how to fill in the rest,I don’t even know. Months after, the muse have shown mercy.

17) Post a line from a WIPthat you’re working on.

Waiting–he’s done enough of it to endure through its pain, a furnacerefining his patience like silver into flame.

(From ‘Worth the Wait’, anattempt at RinHaru, Idek.)

18) Do you have any abandonedWIP’s? What made you abandon them?

I’ve two. One is an AoKise. Ijust felt like there’s something lacking with the plot and I tried to think ofways to patch things up but sadly, nothing ever seemed to work. It upsets metoo, that I suddenly lost the interest to finish it because I’ve already hit6,000+ words.

19) Are there any storiesthat you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

I want to do a sequel for IHear You through these Walls, the Kise side of the story, what he thinks of hiscute neighbor next door and what really happened between him and Haizaki.

Worst Birthday Ever – theAomine and friends part as they plan for Kise’s birthday. While WBE has lightangst, The Making of the Best Birthday Ever will be full of bickering idiots.And a little Aominecchi guiltrip (because of the phone call) will be explored in the sequel.

Rest is for the Weak – Aominecaught the flu because of the kiss. He puts the blame on Kise and  demands for Kise to care for him, too. It’smostly Aho having the time of his life, supremely enjoying Kise’sattention.  

20) Are there any storiesthat you wished you’d ended differently?

In that first fic I’vewritten, the MCs used to be lovers. They had a shot at being together again butin the end, they chose differently and still went their separate ways. I wishthey’ve been together.

21) Tell me about anotherwriter(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

There are so many but I’ll gowith these writers whose stories I always come back to, again and again:

Ashbear (FFVIII, Squinoa) –Writes with superior plot and superior characterization. She’s my childhoodfanfic hero. A decade later, I still find myself re-reading her stories, and onsome occasions, I still leave a comment, a plea, hoping she’ll finish‘Somewhere in Between’.  

Aki Midori (Slam Dunk, SenRu)– I always go back to her deathfics like a deranged masochist. Her storieseffin hurts like hell but so, so addictive.

For KnB, there are too manybut I’m all for these amazecakes authors:

Beautiful Thief (AoKise) – Iowe it to her fics which nurtured and nourished the AoKise monster in me duringits infancy.

DigimonDestined (AoKise) –she weaves beautiful imagery with her words, I’m weak for her rich descriptionsthat put me right into the heart of the situation and into the big mood.

dawnstruck (AoKise) – shewrites with short sentences but her writing style has this magical allure to itthat drives all the feels home.

Himi (KagaKise) – writes withlovely, complicated and realistic emotions that are eye-opening and gutwrenching.

22) Do you have a story thatyou look back on and cringe when you reread it?

The first two fics I’vewritten. It’s a wonder how readers have endured and managed to leave some nicewords.

23) Do you prefer listeningto music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

Hush, I need Silence.

24) How do you feel aboutwriting smutty scenes?

I haven’t tried, heh, andjust thinking about it makes me uncomfortable primarily because I can’t bringto words something that I have very little knowledge and experience of. I maytry to do some research but I don’t think it’ll come as authentic if my heart’snot really into it. I can insinuate love making but to go into the territories ofexplicit, I’ll have to pass ;D Even as a reader, I shy away from E-ratedstories. When I make rare exceptions, I skip the smut or I don’t dwell too longon these parts of the story. I’m pretty much contented with my ships being allkissy-kissy and touchy-feely when they get physical.

25) Have you ever criedwhilst writing a story?

Yes, because I can’t describea scene that’s just so vivid in my head. I see my words and shat, I want toshoot myself.

26) Which part of your [DotFS]fic was the hardest to write?

Eight, Seven, Four. At four,dammit, I’m almost done! Something has to be written, something has to work.Luckily, four walls of the empty room, heh.

27) Do you make a generaloutline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

I make a general outline, Ineed to see the full picture before I get myself invested in a plot. I workwith tunnel vision, slowly from the ground up. There has to be a working title,too, before I get past 500 words.

28) What is something youwished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

That consistency in verbtenses matter.

29) Do you have a story thatyou feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

I would want all of mystories to get so much love heh, but setting aside my weaknesses as a writer, I’vealways been drawn to small, semi-active or defunct fandoms so my expectationsaren’t really that high…As long as I’m getting some, I’ve been happy with thelove I get.

30) In contrast to 29 isthere a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

I’ve breached lewd levels withMy Favorite Costume but then, I’m glad it got nice loving from readers.

31) Send me a ficrecommendation and I’ll post it for my followers to see! (The asker is to sendthe rec not the answerer)

I’ve never been happier, thatyou enjoyed DotFS. You want angst and Teiko!Aokise, I’m stoked when the ideahit me, I can finally gift you a fic that you might actually like.

32) Are any of yourcharacters based on real people?

Some scenes are loosely basedon first hand experiences.

33) What’s the biggestcompliment you’ve gotten?

“Your storytelling is impeccablysubtle; you show but don’t tell. As I was reading, I could see everything in mymind as if I was there with the characters and living through them. The littleshock at the end was bloody brilliant.”

This comment is quite memorable andimportant to me because it’s for the first-ever angsty-fangsty story I’vewritten way back when (for Final Fantasy VIII fandom (my first love)), withonly 600 words. I was young, had just started writing and simply doing it because I deeply love the characters. This comment made me so happy years ago,and had sparked a bigger desire in my young-once heart to put my ideas intowords and throw ‘em all out there for people to see.

34) What’s the harshestcriticism you’ve gotten?

The reader said that she was terriblydisappointed with the ending I had. She said she followed the story with highhopes but the ending just, meh.

Well, I was young, it’s formy first fanfic and I’ve written all chapters of it before I posted so I’m notreally that open to changes and suggestions. But looking back, yes, reader wasdefinitely right, the ending sucked.

35) Do you share your storyideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

Close to my chest. I’m notreally that confident with the things in my head, I mostly feel I’m getting judged when I share my ideas.

36) Can you give us a spoilerfor one of your WIP’s?

In Where You Belong, therewill be a scene where they celebrate Kise’s birthday and everyone but Aho gothim a gift.

37) What’s the funniest storyyou’ve written?

Maybe, Rest is for the Weak?You said Aomine was strangely acting like a mother hen in that one.

38) If you could collab withany other writer on here, who would it be? (Perhaps this question will inspiresome collabs!) If you’re shy, don’t tag the blog, just name it.

I’d love to work with any ofthe friendos in the AoKise~ discord.

39) Do you prefer first,second or third person?

Third person. I like tellingstories through the bird’s eye view, it gives me a lot of control.

40) Do people know you writefanfiction?

For sure, my mom will disownme if she finds out about the things I write. Only two people in real life knewthat I do fanfics. I told one friend during high school and a cousin who is somuch into anime accidentally found out.

41) What’s your favouriteminor character you’ve written?

Ranmaru (Wallflower) in Loveis a Scheme. With his charms, he successfully made his friend jealous out ofhis wits which resulted into an awkward confession.

42) Song fic - What made youdecide to use the song xxx for xxx.

I only wrote 1 songfic forthe heck of it. The song was very popular at that time

43) Has anyone ever guessedthe plot twist of one of your fics before you posted it?

I haven’t encountered suchcomments from my readers..

44) What is the last line youwrote?

Can’t you see how he looks atour Ryou-chan like he’s looking at fireworks?

45) What spurs you on duringthe writing process?

Thinking I’m getting closerto fluffy, lovey-dovey scenes gets me going. The fluff scenes are my ‘checkpoint’,my pit-stop for every leg of the writing journey.

46) Ireally loved your [Distance of the Falling Sun] fic. If you were ever to do asequel, what do you think might happen in it?

Hey, thank you for the love!If there will be a sequel, it will be a countdown beginning from 1 to 10, set10 years into the future, in Aomine’s POV as he recalls the ups and downs, thejoys and pains of his beautiful relationship with Kise.

47) Here’s afic title – [The man who never lied (or morelike, what would a story inspired by that song be about? :D)]. Whatwould this story be about? (from Ruru’s ask too)

Mmm. Ok, first, I love Maroon 5 and ADAM LEVINE! I’ll write an AoKiserunning along these lines: What Kise would give up for Aomine to achieve hisdreams… What Aomine would give up just to keep Kise’s love. Or, Aomine is tornbetween choosing to follow his dreams of becoming an NBA player or keeping thelove of his life. On the premise that he can’t have both because real life islike that… you can’t be thoroughly happy XD

(Because I’ve read a lot ofstories wherein Ao gets to be NBA star and gets Kise too. Not that I don’tthink he deserves all the joys of this life, but I want to explore this Ao whogets to give up his dreams for Kise. Ofc, I’ll make him choose love overdreams, heh.)

48) What’s your favouritetrope to write?

Enemies to lovers.

49) Can you remember thefirst fic you read? What was it about?

Yes, I do. Its title is Giftof Love (FFVIII fandom). It’s inspired by O’Henry’s The Gift of the Magi. Lotsof angst and fluff in the end.

50)If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life,which would it be and why?

Angst. I love writing journeys that explorethe depths of human emotions and I think there’s no better way than angst tobring me there. But with happy endings. Always with happy endings. Because thatis the whole point of my shipping, to see my children struggle in the midst ofthe storm, turbulent waters raging all around, and see them dock safe and soundto happy couple-land.

#ask #answered #fanfiction #writing #blahs and thoughts #so much fun #thanks for asking

[megamanxfanfics]

Did the Risk pay off?

Did you enjoy my little April Fool’s Joke? Did anyone even notice it??

Sorry about that. It’s not usually like me to joke like that, but the reason I did so was because its probably the last time I’d have the opportunity to ever pull an April Fool’s Prank about this project again.  That is to say, I am very confident that by next April Fool’s Day - 2022, I’ll be long done with Season VI.

It’s a little sad to say that, but mostly triumphant on my end. There was a little truth in that 4/1 post. I Did go on a Marvel bend and rewatch the entire MCU for funzies, and I was taking a long ass time on getting out Ep. 13, but believe me. I wasn’t over or burnt out from X at all.  I just needed a little time to figure out how to execute what I wanted to do properly.  I’m mostly satisfied with the turnout. =D

For those of you who haven’t read S. VI - Ep. 13 yet, I highly suggest you do so, because there will be Massive Spoilers ahead.  Since the tail end of Ep. 11, I set X up for a risky fanficky side-adventure.  And now that I’ve committed to it and it’s officially out there, the only question that’s left to ask is... Did the risk pay off??

First, I guess I should admit that my planning for the 2nd Arc was always hazy, even after finishing up Ep. 7, when X defeated the Nightmare Zero.

I knew in Ep. 8, we were going to have a lot of Zero getting reacquainted with the gang and that I was going to have to resolve the plot hole of X5′s Bad Ending, lining up with the way he acts in X6 - as a Zero fanboy.  So the returning Memory thing factored in big time.

Ep. 9 was Zero’s first mission out while X recovered.  My plan was to always have X get in that portal and face Dynamo.  But what would come after was a giant mystery to me.  

I didn’t want X to keep bumping into to Dynamo every time he got in a portal.  And I also didn’t want him to keep bumping into High Max either.  All of High Max’s dialogue and interactions thus far indicated that he wants X dead, and based off of the rules I set up for the Portal Dimensions, X couldn’t just leave in the middle of a fight.  That’s also not his style.

So in a way, I kind of wrote myself into a hole.  I’d either have to end High Max early, (which I didn’t want to do), or I’d have to get creative.

Then something clicked out of nowhere.  Something that could be very Nostalgic and Special, but would it work??  When X gets to the Fire Portal, he could face a Nightmare Vile from X1.  Then in the next portals, he could face Nightmare versions of his other bullies from the rest of the games. X2 - Violen & Agile, X3 - Bit & Byte, X4 - Double...  It could be great!  But what purpose would it serve other than Fan Service?

It’s a great question that I’m still asking, but ultimately - my alternative was to have X face High Max prematurely and lose [where it would be very hard to have High Max spare him.] Or to have X prematurely defeat High Max, which again I really didn’t want to do.  And Dynamo was way too injured to just keep taking beatings from X.  That’d get very boring and annoying very fast.

So I went for it.  It took 2 episodes to get there, but in Ep. 11 X took on Nightmare Vile...  And honestly, I thought it was great!  While he was doing that, Zero was facing Blaze Phoenix, which was equally exciting to me.

Honestly, in Ep. 12, I wanted to get right to it and call that one Nightmare Lane, but X & Zero needed to recover and I already had planned on them talking everything out, which I was putting off again and again.  That episode named itself once their conversation about X5′s encounter in Antarctica really got going.  I also really kinda loved that ending with X’s failure in the Inami Temple portal.

This set us up for Ep. 13, which I wanted to be an Action-Packed showstopper. So that was the plan all along for this episode, once I committed to the Nostalgic Nightmare idea.  My goal was for X to get to Double, and I made it there. It worked out.  But this is admittedly a very dense chapter.

Part of the point of these Nostalgic Nightmares is to show X’s growth after all this time.  He’s been whining and complaining this whole time about how the Nightmare is too tough, but guess what? He’s already so much stronger than he ever was to previous threats like Vile, the X-Hunters, the Nightmare Police & Double.  I felt like this could be a much-needed confidence booster for him, but also serve as a dual purpose for the bad guys to wear him down, psychologically.  Any excuse I can have to make the villains banter, I’ll also take.  I really like how this is all build up to Metal Shark, but will it pay off is the question?  Will I be able to stick that landing?  Time will tell.

I'm looking forward to writing Ep. 14. Honestly, I wanted to have a whole fight with Double and then some aftermath planned as the true closer to Ep. 13, but upon rereading, it was already dense enough.  [Frankly, it probably could’ve ended when Zero was about to set off to the North Pole Area, but that’s fine.]

Also, I really surprised myself with how good X’s meet up with Phantom was. [His Rescue Reploid name in the game was the ONLY reason for these MMZ Easter eggs.] But now I’m so happy that I’ve been including them, because I’m feeling a bigger picture coming about for when I end this Season.

Levy was just this flirty inclusion to spice up the Alia & X dialogue at first. Anything else with her would be a bonus. Fef became a very necessary device to keep Hal & Kassy safe, while they’ve been stranded in the Magma Area for so long.  Making him a junkie derelict was an interesting choice too. And of course, Phantom was in the Portal at the Central Museum revisit.  I always had this vague sense in my mind that X was going to have a very harrowing rescue mission that kept failing at every revisit, but then he’d bump into Phantom who was holding his own and he’d get this giant sense of hope. Boom. Grainy Effect. Episode ending right there on Phantom.

But of course, in execution that couldn’t happen with the rest that I had planned and that’s fine.  Still, I was surprised at their dialogue with each other. Phantom was really impressive and cool.  Just the premise of this exhausted warrior, whose resigned himself to protecting himself for days, only to bump into X and consider him a fool for getting stuck here with him.

But no. Now, Double has entered the Portal.  And X knows there’s a way out.

[I also never thought about the fact that Phantom would be stuck in the room with him during the fight, so now I’ve got some thinking to do.] lol

Harpy’s save will be next and I don’t mind spoiling that he’ll be in the Recycle Area.  [I did my best to keep to their elements, but the X6 stages didn’t really lend for that.]

Phantom was always gonna be in the Central Museum, because that is game-dictated. Levy could’ve been in the North Pole, I suppose, but the Inami Temple is ridden with females, so it made the most sense to me to make that her domain. Fef being in the Magma Area was spot on. I love that it was his old hangout spot - Dark Haven.  So teen-angsty/broody.

Harpy being in the Recycle Lab is kind of just a circumstance thing, but we’ll talk about it when we get there.

I wanted to go over the writing process to this one, but this is already getting quite lengthy.  I guess I can say that it was straight forward, writing through X’s battle against Violen & Agile. I always wanted Isoc to come in right after, to give us the hint that he’s Serges 2.0. But then, that revisit to the Amazon Area got draggy...  I did my best, but I had to make cuts.  I liked what I did once he got in the portal. His refight with Bit & Byte was pretty cool.  Bringing Marty into it was a fun choice. I did like, how X got his moment of catharsis after all.  [I know there’s a real lost-opportunity with not including iX, but honestly that’d be too much.  If I ever write iX again, I think it’s best if I save him for the Mega Missions series.]

This thing fell apart when I got to the Central Museum revisit. I didn’t want to write that at all... In my script, I had marks at the bottom of the doc for what he’d say in the other totems IF he revisited.  And here we weeeeere.   Yet again, I was in the same position as last year at this time, when I wrote out Ep. 3.  I handled it better, then!  Playing over and over again to find right parts of the stage I wanted to write was annoying.  I bet I missed out on Rescue Reploids too, or Zombie Reploids at this point, but it’s fine.  It’s been so long, they probably just died.  I could always edit that in post, that X passes a bunch of dead bodies.  That’d make for some spooky atmosphere.

At this point, I re-analyzed the entire chapter and decided it was high-time for Zero to wake up and go about his original directives.  Time to add to the layers. It brought parts to life, for sure.  It even cemented other transitions, which was really cool.  I liked that I gave Douglas something else to do other than just, be there...

Once I was actually writing Zero’s stage, it did start to feel like a different episode, but I had a goal to reach and damn it, I was gonna get there! lol What’s good about this is that it moves Zero along in the stage without it being a real pain in the ass.

And that basically takes us to where the episode left off.

For the broken Central Museum part, I wrote X’s interactions with Phantom first. Then, with every Totem, I caught up to it as I could.  Once the Zero layering came about, things pieced together.  Same goes for any extra Villain narrations. The episode definitely started a certain way, and I wanted to keep that up as much as possible.  While also having Alia commentary, when appropriate and necessary.

I like this one. There’s a decent balance amidst all the nonsense I set up for myself.  And I definitely think that all these Portal Revisits are more interesting for X’s Nostalgic Nightmare encounters.  It spins the premise around that they didn’t just create a Nightmare Zero, but also a Nightmare Vile, a Nightmare Violen, a Nightmare Bit, a Nightmare Byte and now a Nightmare Double.  The possibilities are endless.

Yes, X’s mission is a complete side-quest, but guess what?  It makes you think that if he didn’t do this, the Nightmare would be that much worse for everyone later, down the road.  It’s Preventative Action.  It’s pretty neat.

Also, again - every Investigator thus far has been relatively good, but mislead in thinking that X was the enemy.  So once he’d explain it to them, they'd be at a standstill, and pretty much at a loss for motivation.  Go figure that Zero actually battles the evil ones with Infinity Flea and Blaze Phoenix.  But he’ll get a real taste for the good/mislead dilemma soon enough with Blizzard Wolfang.

Then we’ll see how I handle Metal Shark when I get there.  I’m looking forward to it.  I can’t believe I’m almost up to the 3rd Arc already!

But that’s exactly what I was getting at at the beginning of this rant.  This is definitely gonna be my last Season.  [Unless we get an X9 that suddenly ends all cliffhangers.] So with that said, I think the Nostalgic throwback was the right thing to do.  Show us that growth and remind us of where he’s been in a short time span, before we end things proper in MMX’s final season.

I’m getting misty eyed thinking about it already. =P

I’ll see you next time for Episode 14.

#MMX Fanfics #Season VI Diaries #Did the Risk Pay Off? #Nightmare Revivals #2nd Arc talk #MMZ characters #Writing rant #It's almost over