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americancowgirl19 · 3 years

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Old Times

Summary: You find your purpose in hopes of easing your conscious.

Warnings: angst, fluff, this is a part 2/sequel

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 1,878

A/n: I thought I would tag you two since you mentioned you guys wanted a part two; @pleasestophoney @graysonswonder

Masterlist - Part One (Eight Year)

Fuck whoever said knowing was the better choice. Knowing sucked and you wished that you were back to being in the dark about the things you’ve done. Sure, when you couldn’t remember your mind filled in the blanks for you. You would imagine what you had done. You’re imagination was far more merciful compared to the truth.

Your memories returned to you mainly at night, although you got flashes during the day if you were ‘lucky’. As time passed you became more and more aware of how dangerous and deadly you had become. In the last eight years, you were a merciless killing machine that made the Joker look like a fucking kitty cat.

The more you remembered the more you considered handing yourself over to the members of the League that wanted your head. You understood their need for revenge. Hell, if someone had done to you what you had done to them, you’d be demanding justice yourself.

You shared your father’s rule of no killing, at least you did before you were taken, but you knew you’d break that rule if someone killed anyone in your family. In fact, if you weren’t so scared of reverting into a mindless beast you would have torn the Joker apart for killing Jason. But you feared if you killed him, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

“What’re you doing out here?” Dick questions groggily. You turn your head just enough to see him in your peripheral vision. You had been sitting on the balcony of your shared apartment in Bludhaven for a couple of hours now.

It was one of the rare nights Dick had come home early. Bludhaven was quiet thus prompting Dick to return home to you sooner than usual. Since your return a couple of months ago, Dick continued being Bludhaven’s Nightwing.

You weren’t ready to join him as Nightshade. Although, that didn’t stop you from using your enhanced hearing to keep track of him. If he was in a trouble he couldn’t get out of, you could get to him within a minute. Luckily he hasn’t needed you yet. You doubted he would. He has survived eight years without you.

You felt guilty for not staying in bed with him. You only got him to yourself so often but you didn’t want to keep him up with your restlessness. He needed his sleep.

Dick joins you on the patio loveseat. He looks at you before sliding his arm around your waist. You shuffle as he pulls you onto his lap. His natural warmth engulfs you. You almost moan as you settle into his comforting embrace.

“I have the day off tomorrow,” Dick mutters, resting his head on yours. You hum snuggling closer to him.

“You have the day off or you’re taking the day off?” You wonder.

“Either way you’ve got me all day tomorrow... later today,” He corrects himself noticing that it’s technically early morning instead of late at night.

“You don’t have to take off work to babysit me,” You mumble.

“I don’t have to do anything but I want to spend the day with you tomorrow,” He tells you. Having grown up with his stubbornness, you let it go. “It’s gonna be a sunny day. I thought I’d take you to a market in the next town over,” A small smile comes to your lips. “Do you wanna try and get some more sleep?

“I was actually debating pouring a stiff drink,” You admit. “I’m gonna have to see if Wally will talk to me and give me some of that strong shit he drinks cause what you have tastes like water,” Dick scoffs.

“You used to get fucked off of three beers,” Dick mutters.

“Then I got super metabolism and cheap drinking went out the window,” You grumble. Dick kisses the crown of your head.

“I’ll give him a call,” He whisper.

“Diana sent you an email while you were asleep,” You tell him. He hums questionably. “They’re making a memorial for the fallen... I wonder if they’ll ask me to be a guest speaker,” You snark sarcastically. Dicks grip around you tightens. “I guess they figured since I’m ‘back-to-normal’ there won’t be anymore mass superhero killings,” Your eyes become misty. “She was nice enough to put a list attachment,” You voice shakes. “Katherine, John, Oliver... Donna,” You clench your eyes as you slowly breakdown.

“Hey, hey, stop,” You shift to straddle his waste. You cling to him, your head falling into his neck. He pets the back of your head and rub circles into your back. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s alright,” You try to keep collected even though you’re falling apart. “Y/n, look at me.. Please, baby,” You reluctantly pull from his neck. He presses his head against yours. “Tell me what to do, how can I help?”

You didn’t know how to answer, so you just move your head back to the crook of his neck. His arms lock around you as tightly as he can hoping that he can hold you together.

How could you come to terms with what happened? It’s not like there’s a shrink that could be trusted with the information in your mind. It’s not like that many people knew what you were going through. You just wanted to be normal again.

When you calmed down, Dick continued to hold you tightly. You would sniffle here and there but other than that neither of you made any noise. When you slowly began to drift off, Dick stood from the loveseat. His hands held you securely to his chest as he carried you back to bed.

When you both laid down, you faced each other. There was hardly space between you but enough to look at each other. The light of the moon gave just enough light to be able to see prominent features of his face.

“It won’t be like this forever,” He promises, brushing his fingers across your cheek. Your eyes slowly begin to close.

“Do you think there’ll be an antique shop by the market tomorrow?” You wonder.

“I’m sure we can find one,” He whispers, tugging you to his chest. You snuggle close, lightly kissing his peck.

When the sun rose, neither of your were necessarily in a hurry to leave the comfort of the bed. It wasn’t until a little past noon did you two finally get up. You tried to be uplifting and happy as you went through the market but settled for content and not sobbingly falling apart.

You had nearly a half an hour of peaceful normalcy until you picked up on someone following you. You didn’t know if Dick noticed but you began directing him to a secluded alley. You were halfway down when you sensed something coming toward you.

Instinctively, you spun around and pushed Dick behind you. You hand flew up and caught the red arrow. Toward the end of the alley stood someone you used to get along with but now looked at you with murderous intent. You pushed Dick a good few feet away from you seconds before the arrow exploded. The explosion only singed parts of your outfit.

“Roy!” Dick snapped, glaring at the redhead.

“Why do you get to walk away?” Roy snapped, gripping his bow. “You hunt us down and kill us for eight years.” He snarls.

“That wasn’t her, Roy” Dick tells him. “She didn’t have a choice,”

“How convenient for her,” Roy snaps. You cast your gaze to the ground in shame.

“What are you doing here Roy? What do you want?” Dick asks, standing with you shoulder-to-shoulder.

“I want justice,” Roy snaps. “You don’t get to slaughter people and just walk away,”

“It wasn’t her,” Dick growls, clenching his fists. “She wasn’t in control, she-”

“I’ll stand trial,” You cut Dick off. His head whips around to you. “The league will decide what happens,”

“They’ve already voted on what to do with you,” Dick reminds both you and Roy. “They know you weren’t in control. You’re just as much a victim as the others,” You look at Dick, your mind reeling.

“Then lets get the bastard that pulled my strings,” You say. You turn your head to Roy.

“They’ve already tried finding the ones that took you,” Roy says.

“Yeah, well they didn’t have me,” You tell him. “I have a better chance than anyone at finding them. You want justice? I want redemption. Let’s avenge those that died,” Roy stares at you, obviously intrigued with the idea. “I can’t do it alone, I’ll need help,”

“We’ll need a team,” Dick says. “Those we trust,” He emphasized. The last thing he wanted was someone convinced you were the problem and trying to kill you in your sleep. He would already have his hands full with the mission and keeping an eye on Roy.

“Have anyone in mind?” Roy tilts his head.

“A few,” You mutter.

Within a couple of weeks, your team was put together. You convinced Conner to come so that you would have added muscle and someone strong enough to stand against you should the ones you’re going after rescramble your mind. Wally joined mainly to keep the mood lifted and tensions as low as possible. His naturally happy aurora would hopefully keep Roy from turning against you all and to keep him fighting with Dick.

Plus him and Conner were your friends before all this happened and were the few that remained by your side after all these years.

The last to join was Jason. You added the Joker to the list of people you needed to take down. You wanted him because one, he’s your brother, and two, he’s willing to kill. He knew how to do what needed to be done and most of the people you were going after didn’t deserve a trial nor a second chance.

The six of you were a large and qualified team. You knew not to underestimate you opponent. You knew how to work together. And you all had a reason to fight.

For the first time you felt like you had a purpose, a true and righteous purpose.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Dick, dressed in his Nightwing, costume questions stepping up to you. You smile, readjusting your mask.

It didn’t feel right to become Nightshade again. You weren’t that person anymore. You were someone else now. Tim redesigned your costume as you donned a new name.

“This is something I need to do,” You tell him. “I don’t know if it’ll settle the nightmares or ease the guilt but hopefully it’ll give others a sense of closure if we get them and prevent this from happening again,”

“Ok,” Dick mutters, nodding. “If this gets too much, step back and let us handle it,”

“Please,” You smirk. “Without me, you idiots would be running around like chickens without a head,” Dick smirks widely. “Don’t worry so much, baby, it’ll be like old times,” You wink kissing his cheek. The simple kiss isn’t enough for him. His arm instantly slings around your waist and pulls you against him.

Dick presses his lips against yours. You breathe slowly through your nose and lean against him.

“Just like old times,” He murmurs against your lips.

#Dick Grayson #Dick Grayson x Reader #Dick Grayson x Female!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #Nightwing #Roy Harper #Conner Kent #Jason Todd #DC Comics

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dccomicsimagines · 4 years

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Mirror Image - Young Justice Imagine

Requested by Anon - Can you write where the reader is the male twin of Artemis; who looks just like Sportsmaster, and is planning to dye his hair while thinking negatively to himself because of the unconscious reactions that his mom and sisters give him? And what their reactions would be when they find out?

***

You sighed, unlocking the door to the apartment. It was late, probably around ten o’clock. You had to meet with a group from school to work on a project. Gotham Academy was all about group work. It made you miss your old school. You were still wondering how you and your twin, Artemis, got scholarships. It was suspicious.

“Who is it?” Paula, your mother, asked. She rolled out into the hallway. Her smile dropped when she saw you. You saw her eyes flash dangerously.

“Mom, it’s me.” A wave of exhaustion washed over you.

“Oh, sorry con trai.” Paula relaxed. Your heart lifted slightly at the nickname. Her smile returned. “How was your project? Did you get your work done?”

You kissed her cheek as you went to the kitchen. “Good. We’ll ace the project for sure.” Getting a drink from the fridge, you cursed your genes again. Why couldn’t you have looked more like your mother? You hated that your appearance always made her think of your father first.

“Artemis is in her room. Will you make sure her homework is done?” Paula watched as you quickly finished your drink.

“Yeah, sure.” You placed your cup in the sink and left to Artemis’ room. The door was shut with soft music playing inside. You bit your lip before timidly knocking on the door.

“Mom! I said I’m working on it!” The door opened. Artemis gasped. “Dad.” Suddenly, her fist went flying toward your face, but you ducked just in time.

You caught her fist. “It’s me, but thanks for that.” Your heart sank. “Mom wanted me to make sure you have your homework done.”

Artemis yanked her fist out of your grasp. “Sorry, you just look so much like him since you got your last growth spurt.” She crossed her arms, blushing in embarrassment. “I’m working on it.”

“Do you want help?” You found yourself asking her, despite the urge to go lock yourself in your room.

She made a face that reminded you of the time where she almost stabbed you in the eye with one of her arrows. It was caused by a fight that your father instigated between the two of you. Now you really wanted to run. “I got it.”

“Fine. Night.” You hurried away and escaped to your room. Locking your door, you sighed, leaning against it. The mirror on your wall glowed from the streetlight drifting in through the window. You glared at it. It shined back your reflection and even you almost thought you were your father for a brief second. You pulled off your shoe and tossed it at the mirror. It shattered, sending glass everywhere.

“(Y/N), what was that?!” your mom asked, her voice coming down the hall.

“Nothing, Mom. My mirror just fell off the wall,” you said through the door.

Paula knocked on your door. “Are you alright?”

You debated opening the door, but then you thought about how her eyes would narrow as she would first see your father instead of you. “Yeah, don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.” Paula sounded hurt. You heard her roll back down the hall.

“I can never win.” You whispered, closing your eyes tiredly.

***

You adjusted your mask. “Remember we’re not related. Green Arrow just happens to be our mentor. That’s how we know each other,” Artemis said sternly.

“Yes, you tell me everyday.” You sighed. Artemis relaxed and led you to old phone booth zeta tube in an Gotham alleyway. “And keep my mask on.”

Artemis turned to look at you. There was the flash of pure resentment before it faded. Even with the mask on, you still looked very much like your father. “You look way too much like Dad.”

“I get reminded every day.” You nodded for her to go in first. She bit her lip. Guilt flared in her eyes. It made you only feel slightly satisfied. She went inside. The computer spoke and she disappeared in the gold light.

You entered the zeta tube. The computer’s voice echoed as you closed your eyes at the bright light. You started walking forward to find yourself suddenly walking into the cave.

“Woah, did you and (Y/H/N) come together today?” Kid Flash aka Wally teased at Artemis. He made kissing noises. You shook your head, smiling when Artemis flipped him off. Wally laughed before zooming off to somewhere. The scent of freshly made cookies floated in the air.

M’gann flew into the room with a plate of cookies in her hand. “I tried this brookie recipe.” She stopped by you. “Want one, (Y/N)? It’s half cookie half brownie.”

“Sure, thanks.” You took one and bit into it. It was still warm, melting into your mouth. “This is great, M’gann.”

She blushed. “You’re welcome.” She flew away. You watched her go to Artemis and offer her a cookie. Finishing off the cookie, you headed to the training room. Conner was inside, lifting weights.

“Hey Conner.” You joined him. He grunted in response. “You want me to add another weight to that? Looks too easy for you.”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Conner gave you a look that made you glad he didn’t have heat vision.

“You okay?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you don’t sound fine.”

“Are you okay?!” Conner dropped the weight. It crashed to the floor with a loud echoing boom. “I said I’m fine.”

You flinched, frowning. “I get it. I’ll leave you alone.” You turned toward the door. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Conner sighed. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat, picking up the weight to put it away. “I...I went to see Superman. He still won’t talk to me.” You turned back to him, surprised.

“What an asshole.” You smiled, sitting down on the bench. Conner kept his back to you.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” Conner chuckled. You watched the tension drain out of his shoulders. “It’s just hard. I was always meant to replace Superman if he should fall. It never occurred to me that he wouldn’t want to meet me.” Conner frowned, crossing his arms. “I can’t get away from it. I get reminded every time I look in the mirror.”

You nodded. “I get it.” Conner looked at you curiously. “I look a lot like my dad to the point everyone in my family thinks I’m him for a second before they see me.” You realized Artemis would kill you for mentioning your family, but you figured it was safe as long as you didn’t mention your family was also Artemis’.

“Most people would be happy to look like their father.” Conner sat down next to you. You gave him a sad smile.

“My father is not a good man.” You swallowed hard.

Conner snorted. You both fell silent for a long time. A weight left your chest for a time, knowing you were with someone who first saw you for yourself. However, reality came crashing back as Batman’s voice called everyone to the mission room. Conner got up to leave first, but stopped and looked back at you. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“You’re welcome.” You followed him, getting a rare genuine smile from Conner.

***

“What are you doing here?” Cheshire hissed in your face as she sat on your chest with her knees on your arms to hold you down. “I told you I don’t need your help.”

“Jade, it’s me, (Y/N).” You groaned. Jade had grown since the last time she tackled you way back before she ran away from home. You had grown too, but she was still making it hard for you to breathe.

She relaxed and climbed off you. “Sorry. You just look so much like our father.”

“Right.” You coughed, sitting up. The mission had gone haywire, and you got separated from everyone else. You were just about to get your bearings when Jade jumped you. “How are you, sis?”

Jade snorted, taking her mask off. She offered you a hand. You eyed it before taking it and getting to your feet. “You joined the Justice League group with Artemis, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, and you joined the League of Assassins.” You shook your head, rubbing your sore back. She hit you hard. “I can’t believe you work with Dad.”

“Shut up. It’s the job.” Jade crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Does your group know who our family is? Artemis desperately doesn’t want them to know. She let me go last time we met to prevent me from spilling the beans.”

“No.” You glanced around, taking in the surroundings. “They think we only know each other because of Green Arrow.” You frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Jade just smirked before putting her mask back on. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She patted your shoulder. “It was nice to see you, little brother.” She threw down a smoke bomb and disappeared. You coughed, the smoke going straight into your lungs. “You should change your face. They’re going to find out if you keep looking so much like our father.” Her voice echoed in the room.

You caught your breath. “Where did you...” Suddenly, something hit you hard on the back of the head and everything went black.

***

A bright light blinded you as you opened your eyes. Your head throbbed like it was being run over by a semi truck. “He’s awake,” Batman said as a black form appeared in your vision. The soft surface you laid on shifted.

“Oh, thank god.” Suddenly, you felt arms wrap around you. From the voice, you guess Artemis was hugging you. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.” She smacked your arm.

“Ouch.” You moaned, blinking as the room came into focus. You sat up. The clean white walls of the cave’s med bay surrounded you. It made you want to puke. “Don’t hit me.”

Suddenly, a bright light shined into your eye. You jumped, but a heavy hand rested on your shoulder. “I’m checking your pupils.” Batman turned off the light and slowly you were able to see again. “They’re dilating normally, but I suspect you have a concussion at least.”

Artemis held you tighter and you felt sicker. “Is there a garbage can?” You swallowed hard, a metallic taste forming in your mouth. Artemis jumped away from you and stuck a bucket in your face just in time.

You felt Batman rubbing your back as you gagged. Artemis went to the door. The rest of the team’s voices floated in, but Artemis wouldn’t let them in. It was at this point you realized your mask was off. Your heart sank.

Once you were done, Batman took the bucket away and handed you a glass of water. “What happened?” he asked.

You sipped the water, glancing toward Artemis. Batman followed your gaze. “Artemis, go call Green Arrow,” he said pointedly. She blinked in surprise before stepping out of the room. Once the door was shut, Batman turned back to you.

“I got separated from the others.” You sipped more water as your mouth dried out. “And Cheshire jumped me.”

Batman stared at you. You hated that you couldn’t see his eyes. His mouth was a firm line. “Your sister?”

You swallowed hard, glancing at the door in case Artemis came in. “Yeah, she thought I was my dad, but then she relaxed when she saw it was me. We talked a little, then she disappeared with a smoke bomb and I got hit in the head.” You touched the back of your head, wincing at the lump there.

He frowned. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head only to have the pain in your head intensify. “Ouch.”

“Take it easy.” Batman examined the lump on the back of your head.

“She asked if I was on the Team with Artemis and I said yes. I asked if she was with the League of Assassins and she said yes. That was it, I didn’t betray the Team.” Your eyes widened, chest tightened.

“I know you wouldn’t. Calm down.” Batman pushed you to lay down again, moving your head so you didn’t lay on the lump. “We’re going to have to do a few scans to make sure you didn’t crack your skull. Your mother has already been called and is up to date on the situation.”

You sighed. “Damn it. I don’t want to worry her.” You closed your eyes, suddenly very tired.

“Rest now.” Batman patted your arm. You tried to relax, but a nagging memory of your father popped into your head. He laughed, saying you were very much his son, pride radiating from him. You didn’t remember when that happened.

“How long did it take everyone to find me?” you whispered, eyes still closed. Batman was still nearby, washing out the bucket.

“Twenty minutes. Why?” Batman came back to your side. You heard him set the bucket on the bedside table.

“Was I alone?” A long silence followed and you knew your answer. “Sportsmaster was with me, wasn’t he?”

Batman cleared his throat. You opened your eyes to look at him. “He was, but he ran off when Superboy attacked him. The rest of the team didn’t see him.”

You sighed. “Great. Just great.” You closed your eyes, hating your face once more.

***

Artemis glared at you from the doorway of your bedroom. At least you knew the hatred in her eyes was for you alone this time. “I can’t believe Superboy saw you with your mask off and next to Dad.”

“I was unconscious, Artie. What did you want me to do?” You shifted on your bed, staring up at the ceiling that was way too familiar for comfort. A week of bedrest was way too long.

“Wally was asking me why you look so much like Sportmaster,” Artemis exploded, throwing her arms in the air. “I told him I don’t know, because I don’t know you!”

You flinched. Her words stabbed at your heart. “It’s okay. I can explain it when I finally get off bedrest.”

“Robin’s been snooping around too!” Artemis kicked a shoe on your floor. It slammed against the broken mirror that you had placed on the wall again. The mirror crashed to the floor, breaking the rest of the glass.

“Artemis!” Paula rolled down the hall with fire in her eyes. “Leave your brother alone. He needs his rest.” She saw the broken mirror. “Clean this up now!”

Your sister stormed off. “It’s fine, Mom,” you said. Paula came to your bedside and rested her hand on your forehead. “Mom, I have a concussion, not a fever.”

“I know.” She frowned. “I don’t like that your father hit you.”

“We don’t know if he did.” You bit your lip, looking away from her. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her eyes flash. She wasn’t seeing you again. Exhaustion washed over you, deep into your bones. “I’m tired.”

“Yes, rest.” Paula left the room. Artemis came in and cleaned up the glass. You pretended to be asleep. Your heart burned with the determination to take Jade’s advice and change your face.

***

You stared at the box of hair dye as you stood in the boys’ locker room at the cave. It took you a long time at the drug store to get up the courage to buy it, and now you had to work up the nerve to use it.

Today was your first day of freedom after the week on bedrest. The lump on your head disappeared, but you still felt a dull ache once and a while. However, you promised yourself that you would change your appearance today. The cave seemed the safest place to do that. No one was here at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the box and read the instructions. It was complicated, but you took out the different bottles. You took off your shirt.

“What are you doing?” Conner’s voice sounded from behind you.

You screamed, dropping one of the dye bottles into the sink. Luckily, you didn’t open it yet.

Conner snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously? I scared you?”

“I didn’t think anyone was around.” You lined the bottles up. Blood rushed to your face, unable to look at Conner. He came over and picked up the dye box. You waited for him to say something.

“You’re going to have to do your eyebrows too or it will look strange,” Conner said, picking up the instructions.

You looked at him with wide eyes. “So you’re not going to talk me out of it?”

“Why?” Conner blinked. “It’s not like we’re doing plastic surgery or something. Hair color isn’t that big of a deal. M’gann does it all the time.”

“M’gann’s a shapeshifter.” You bit your lip. Nerves made you jumpy.

Conner grunted, shrugging his shoulders. He set the instructions down and picked up the first bottle. You smiled, glad to have the help.

***

“I’m home,” you called as you entered the apartment. You had a skip in your step. Your hair a new, shockingly different color. Thanks to Conner, the dye job turned out better than you hoped.

“Con trai?” Paula came out of the kitchen with a plate in hand. Upon seeing you, the plate dropped to the floor. “What did you do to your hair?”

“What? I like it.” You smiled when the look of anger and disappointment didn’t come over her. She was finally seeing you first. You could have danced from joy.

A deep frown came to Paula’s lips. Your joy faltered. “Wash it out of your hair now.” She pointed to the bathroom.

“It’s not going to work, Mom. I’ve already washed my hair and it’s here to stay.” You shrugged, hiding your pain behind indifference.

Artemis appeared in the doorway. “What the hell, (Y/N)?” Her eyes almost popped out of her head at your hair.

You smiled, happy when she saw you for you. It was working. “What? It’s my hair. I can do what I like.” You looked at Artemis. Her jaw was on the floor. “Now you don’t have to worry about everyone thinking I look like Dad, huh?”

“Is that why you did this?” Paula asked, taking your hand. “(Y/N), I’m proud that you look so much like your father. He was...is a handsome man.”

You wondered if she was sane. A bitter laugh escaped you as you pulled your hand away from Paula’s. “Seriously?” You looked at Artemis who was scowling. “Both of you never see me first. It’s always Dad. Don’t think I don’t see it.” You snapped at Paula before she could speak. The hurt look on her face made you hesitate, but your pain kept you going. “It’s always this flash of anger and hate before you finally realize it’s me. I’m sick of it.” You spun away to your bedroom, but Artemis grabbed your arm.

“That’s not true...” she began, but you jerked your arm out of her grasp.

“You know it is.” You narrowed your eyes dangerously at her. “Come on, weren’t you just yelling at me the other day for having my mask off and making the team wonder why I look like Sportsmaster?” Her eyes dropped. “Yeah, can’t say anything, can you?” Your voice was colder than you ever heard it be before.

Hurrying to your bedroom, you slammed the door and locked it. Your cheeks were wet with what you thought might be tears, but you told yourself it wasn’t. You didn’t care, yet your cheeks stayed wet for a long time.

***

“(Y/N), I have dinner,” Artemis whispered through your bedroom door. “It’s your favorite.” Your stomach rumbled at the thought, but you stayed lying on your bed.

“Go away.” You turned on your side to face away from your door.

Artemis sighed loud enough for you to hear. Little scratching sounds came from the door before it opened. “You’re going to eat. I don’t care.” Artemis came in. You turned to find Paula’s credit card in her hand. She used that to open the lock, a trick Jade had taught you both.

You narrowed your eyes at her. She glowered back at you. “I’m not hungry, Artie.” You laid back down and turned away from her.

“Look, I’m sorry.” She set the tray of food down on your bedside table. The smell made your stomach growl loudly. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I was ashamed of you because you were unlucky enough to look exactly like Dad.”

You turned and took the food, unable to stop yourself. “Whatever,” you mumbled between bites.

“Don’t whatever me. I’m trying to make amends.” She crossed her arms. “And I like your new hair by the way. I mean I was shocked at first, but you do look good.”

Raising an eyebrow, you eyed her as you took a bite of food. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips. “You should talk to Mom. She’s hurt, and she cleaning the kitchen to the point where nothing will be left if we don’t stop her.”

“Can I finish eating first?” You laughed, happier than you had been in a long time.

Artemis giggled, plopping down beside you and stealing some of your food. “You’re always thinking about food.”

“I’m always thinking about food? You just stole some.” You nudged Artemis, making her laugh. Suddenly, you felt she was your sister again and for the first time in a long time, you were comfortable in your own skin.

#artemis #artemis crock #artemis crock imagine #artemis imagine #male reader #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #young justice #young justice imagines #jade nguyen #jade nguyen imagine #cheshire #cheshire imagine

349 notes · View notes

miraculous-mare · 4 years

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Brooklyn Brawl

Hi guys, long time no see! This fic is based on a request I got in January that I’ve been chipping away at for past month or so, which said: how about a dickinette salt fic? the class gets attacked while in Gotham and Marinette who is already dating dick helps fight back in civilian clothes and they end up flirting in front of the entire class and maybe Lila gets exposed because she told people she was dating Robin? Alya and Adrien salt

I changed up some key details, and it’s not so much a salt fic as it is a slightly salty fic. I also based Dick off of Young Justice!Robin from season one since I was rewatching that show when I started writing. I imagine this taking place in an AU where Guardian!Marinette and Bee!Chloe are part of the Team, but use different Miraculi when they fight with them in order to maintain the whole ‘covert ops team’ thing. Marinette uses the cat and Chloe combines the ladybug with the dragon. If you’re asking where Adrien is, I truly have no clue, but I quite like this AU so I might expand on that later. Happy Maribat March, and enjoy! Tagging @mochegato because your comments always push me to write, and I want to say thank you.

Word Count: 3.7k slightly underedited words

Ever since Marinette walked out of the first year assembly that marked the start of her time in Lycée, she’d been dreaming about her class senior trip. After términale was officially over and she’d sat all her exams, Marinette, along with Mme. Bustier’s class, would be flying to New York City for an entire week. At the time, Marinette couldn’t wait to go shopping with Alya and the girls, to watch Kim and Alix race across the Brooklyn Bridge and maybe even to hold hands with Adrien as they explored Times Square. When Lila joined their class and Marinette’s friendships all shattered around her, she began dreaming of a different week, one she would mainly spend on a bench in Central Park, lost in her sketchbook. Then things changed again, and Marinette became much more acquainted with the US than she ever expected to be at seventeen, mainly due to her… extracurricular activities. As she got off the plane, she hoped she could spend her days keeping her head down, giggling quietly with Chloe as they wandered behind the rest of their class (who were all too preoccupied with Lila’s tall tales to pay any attention to them). If she were lucky (which, regardless of her powers, she new she rarely was), maybe Bast and Lightning Bug would even be able to sneak away for a rooftop run one night, perhaps along with some of their American… acquaintances.

But, as usual, things didn’t go in Marinette’s favor at all. Rather, Chloe came down with a terrible stomach flu the first night of the trip, and couldn’t join the class on their trip to Brooklyn Bridge. Instead of joking around with her best friend, Marinette was forced to dawdle behind her classmates as they posed for pictures together and clamored to hear of Lila’s latest adventures. Today, she appeared to be recounting the forbidden friendship-turned-love affair between her and Robin, one of the world’s most well-known heroes.

“We met when I was fourteen, before we moved to Paris. My mom was stationed in Gotham.” Yeah, it’s not like all US embassies are in Washington DC, Marinette thought. “He landed on my balcony and it was love at first sight.” You mean back when he was dating Zatanna? Right… “Of course he told me his identity straight away, and taught me how to fight” Marinette actually let out a scoff at that one— Like Bruce would ever let that slide. “But I’m supposed to keep it a secret. I only told you guys all this because I trust you so much!”

As if on cue, her cronies began to fawn over her the minute she stopped talking, Alya taking it upon herself to scream particularly loudly. Marinette regretted leaving Tikki at home to tend to Chloe, because she really needed a moral compass right now. Instead, all she had was Trixx snarling in her backpack, almost begging Mari to call Lila out. But Marinette Dupain Cheng would not succumb to the whims of a tiny mischievous goddess today, thank you very much. Not when her day had already gone so horribly and pushing Lila would do nothing but worsen it. Not when she had a rooftop date planned for the evening that she would not, under any circumstances, risk compromising. “Staying out of things won’t make anything better,” she muttered to Trixx, “But it might stop them from getting wo—“

Marinette hadn’t finished her sentence when she felt a familiar shiver run the length of her spine. “oh mon dieu…”

Looking up, she watched Killer Frost land on the archway on the far side of the bridge. The woman was staring off into the distance, too preoccupied with what she saw to pay mind to the tourists. Usually, Ladybug would take that as a sign of greater trouble, but Marinette saw it as an opportunity to get civilians to safety. She immediately turned to the nearest person, pulling them aside to explain the issue before instructing him to get as many people off the bridge and to safety as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. As he walked off, she moved to the next person, speaking quietly and moving slowly. The last thing anyone needed was for Frosty to be alerted to her actio— “AHHH! IT’S KILLER FROST!”

Of fucking course Alya had to notice. You’d think after a lifetime of being chased by Akuma, the girl would know not to draw the big bad’s attention. But common sense was not her strong suit, and now Bustier’s class was standing on an otherwise deserted, easily collapsible, bridge, Killer Frost smirking down at them.

“What are you all waiting for?” Mari yelled at her classmates. A couple of them swung around to look at her, but most of them continued to stare. Summoning the authoritative tone she usually preserved for her masked outings, she tried again. “Run!”

That seemed to do the trick. One by one, her classmates came out of their stupor and began following her across the bridge, Mme Bustier close behind. Marinette heard the crackling of ice forming and a soft swish of something sliding across it, but continued to lead her classmates in the other direction. The group was almost halfway back to land, approaching the second archway, when Marinette stopped in her tracks, feeling the ground shake beneath her. Looking up, she saw Mr. Freeze at the end of the bridge, boots clanking with every step towards them. She doesn’t have to look back to know Killer Frost has them trapped from behind.

Marinette looks around, her limited options racing through her mind. Jumping overboard would take too long and was too dangerous. Transforming, even with Trixx, would doubtless reveal her identity. She could alert the team, but Freeze was now staring her down as he levied his freeze ray at her, so she’d have to act fast.

Swinging her arm, Marinette let her bag fall to her side as she ducked. She ripped the zipper open and shoved her hand inside, smashing her thumb against the button as quickly as she could. As she did, she braced herself, certain that Freeze had already fired at her and waiting to be engulfed in ice. But the overwhelming rush of cold never came. Instead, Marinette felt a body land in front of her and heard the hushed gasps and cheers of her classmates. When she opened her eyes, they met Aqualad’s, suddenly stood in front of her and using his water bearers to block Freeze’s attacks.

The minute their eyes met, she felt a soft touch in her mind and memories flooded her senses. She saw Kaldur announce a lead on Killer Frost the ex-sidekicks would have to handle (lest the remainder of the Team get exposed in such a public fight), heard M’gann volunteer to come along as backup in the Bioship. She watched Wally split off to investigate a disturbance while Kaldur took to the river and Dick to the rooftops, hoping to corner the escapee before she started anything they couldn’t stop.

Mari! She heard Miss Martian cry the minute her telepathic bond was fully established, and knew that if she looked up she’d be able to make out the faint outline of the concealed Bioship fluttering above them. You okay?

Now that Kaldur was pushing Mr. Freeze back, she could take a second to regain her bearings. She found her class cowering in the middle of the bridge behind her, heads swiveling around in an attempt the keep track of the fight. Overhead, she found Robin had forced Killer Frost onto the archway again. He kept trying to knock her over with his Birdarangs, swinging from the bridge cables as he went, but she’d dodge them by jumping onto makeshift ice platforms. Whenever he stopped, she’d send flurries of snow at his head. So far, he’d been able to flip and jump out of her way, but Marinette wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last.

Hey! I heard that. Came his voice in her head.

Sorry baby bird. There’s only so many cables, you know?

Marinette could feel his glare on the mind link. Kaldur, she thought, what can I do to help?

Clear the civilians, he grunted, don’t do anything to expose yourself. She watched him block another attack before jumping into action.

“Hey, everyone,” she yelled, waving her hands above her head to gain the class’s attention. “The bridge archway collapse any minute. We need to take cover.” At her words, a majority of the students dispersed, crawling toward the sides of the bridge where they could easily jump into the river if need be. At least Akuma attacks made them sensible. Only Alya remained standing, her phone out as she frantically recorded the fight around her. Mari registered Kaldur mentally cursing at the reporter, then saw Freeze’s attention shift to her through his eyes. Reflexes kicking in, Marinette lunged at Alya, managing to throw them both behind a pillar. Half a second later, a ray of cryogenic liquid shot through the air where Alya had been standing, and Marinette breathed out a sigh of relief. Alya wasn’t as thrilled.

“Bitch! I was filming!” She screeched, frantically checking her phone. She was clutching Marinette’s wrist, nails digging into the other girl’s flesh. “You could have ruined my footage!” Marinette was about to bite back, but Dick’s sparking anger in the back of her head drew her back to the reality.

“Just film from here,” she muttered. “So you’re not in danger. Besides,” she continued when she noticed Lila crouching a few feet away, “you need to be able to protect your bestie.” That seemed to placate Alya, and she released her grip on Marinette to scoot closer to her friend. Now free to get back on the field, the superhero turned her attention back to Robin, who was still evading Frost’s hits. That is, until Marinette noticed the villain’s aim shift, and she realized what was about to happen a split second before it did. She mentally called out to him, but it was too late: Robin was halfway across the bridge, aiming for a cable, when Killer Frost fired at the edge of the archway on which she stood, where the bridge cables connected. They froze through entirely, and Marinette could hear them reverberate for half a second before they all snapped. Robin, who’d been swinging across the bridge ready to snatch a cable, now came barreling towards the ground.

As Marinette watched him fall, time seemed to slow down around her. Stretching her leg out, she slid across the half-frozen concrete, arms extended to catch him as he neared the ground. When he landed in her grip, she pulled him back under the archway, out of Frost’s range.

“Wow, I didn’t know such pretty birds fell from the sky!” Her voice, laced with humor, was enough to snap him out of his reverie. She knew Dick didn’t mind heights, but no one liked falling, and she didn’t want him getting to caught up in it.

“what are you, my guardian angel?” He said wryly, but she didn’t miss the appreciative tone in his voice.

Marinette scoffed. “Aren’t angels the ones that fall from heaven?” She flashed him a smile, and her toothy grin reminded him more of Bast’s snarl than of Marinette’s quick humor. He almost forgot they were in the middle of battle until Kaldur’s voice rang in their heads.

I didn’t think I’d have to say this, but you can’t flirt with him in front of everyone! Marinette rolled her eyes, but her attention flitted back to the fighting around her. Aqualad was pushing Freeze back, but was struggling now that Killer Frost, thinking Robin was down, had begun firing at him from above.

I just wish I could help.

Hold on, Dick thought back, eyes zeroing in on Alya’s camera. The reporter had trained it on the two, and he knew this interaction would be online. Maybe we can give the people a show…

She catches his train of thought easily, though she wont deny the mind link played a role. It’s no sooner she’s agreed than he’s swinging away, angling himself so the camera has a good view of their exchange.

“Thanks for the assist,” he grumbled at her, tone suddenly serious. “But you know I always land on my feet.”

“I thought only cats could do that,” she challenged, “and they eat little birds like you, remember?”

“you talk a big game. Can you fight to match?” He made sure to keep a playful lilt in his voice, if only for the onlookers, and saw Marinette tense convincingly at his words.

“Of course I can. I just need the right weapon.” She held her hand out expectantly, and Robin, feigning shock, made a show of pulling his cape away, giving her access to his utility belt. Smirking at him, she grabbed the extendable bo staff, turning around to face the fight. “see if you can keep up, baby bird.” And just like that, she dashed away. Not bothering to hide the smile on his face, Robin followed.

As it happened, they’d made it just in time to join the fight. Aqualad, distracted by Killer Frost, had lost track of Freeze, who was now aiming his cold gun at the hero’s back. Robin’s Birdarang managed to knock the weapon out of his hand just in time. From there, the fight ended quickly.

“Hey birdie!” Marinette called, running towards him, “Make me fly.” In his head, she whispered maneuver seven, And he immediately got ready to lift her into the air.

As she launched herself towards Mr. Freeze, she pointed her staff straight down. As she landed, she rammed it straight through his helmet, pushing down until the glass cracked beneath her weight. Marinette pulled away, watching the villain pant for a moment before she realized he couldn’t simply freeze himself like he usually would in these situations. Robin was already on it, grabbing the freeze ray from where it landed and shooting it at the man’s head, saving his life and effectively putting him out of the fight.

Meanwhile, Aqualad had managed to take down Killer Frost, wrapping her in jets of water and sending a surge of electricity through them. The shock was enough to knock her unconscious, and he was in the process of dragging her towards the others. He made a show of looking Marinette over, appearing shocked at the bo staff in her hands.

“I see Robin made a friend,” he commented wryly. Marinette knew she would get a stern talking-to for pulling this stunt, but she figured her classmates were too dumb to make anything of it, and any incriminating evidence posted on the LadyBlog could easily be corrupted by WayneTech.

“I like to help when I can,” she shot back, just as much sarcasm in her voice. “Though, I have to wonder, don’t these two usually have an accomplice?”

Before anyone could answer, a yellow blur shot past them, and Kid Flash appeared, holding a tied up Captain Cold for them to see. “Indeed they do. Caught this one trying to break into the Star Labs Facility in the City. The others were probably just a distraction.”

Marinette’s classmates had started to trickle out of hiding once the fight ended. With the arrival of the new hero, they began to cheer, circling the group. Alya pushed past them all, shoving her camera in front of her. Lila, looking more nervous than usual, followed closely behind her.

“oh mon dieu!” Alya screeched. “You’re all amazing fighters. You did such a good job, even with Marinette in the way.” As she finished speaking, she gave her old friend a disgusted look, and Marinette had to wonder if she truly believed what she was saying or if she was just playing it up for attention. “I’m sorry about her, she doesn’t know how to step out of the limelight.”

“It’s alright,” Robin said, tone harsh.

Calm down, Marinette thought, It’s not worth it.

He made sure the camera caught his next words. “Marinette actually helped us a lot.” He swung an arm over her shoulder, smirk flashing across his face for all to see. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to fight alongside a gorgeous girl.”

Said ‘gorgeous girl’ blushed a deep shade of red in spite of herself, biting back the urge to kiss him then and there.

Alya, on the other hand, did not seem to know when to stop. “What? How can you say that about her? Especially in front of your girlfriend!” With that declaration, the class began muttering amongst themselves. Lila tried ducking behind Alya, but the attention was already on her.

“What are you doing?” Lila hissed. “I told you that was a secret!”

Alya’s eyes narrowed, and she fixed Robin with a determined stare. “Just because he—“ she spat out the word “— doesn’t want people to know about your relationship doesn’t mean he can flirt with other girls in front of you. Or at all, actually. Come on girl, don’t let him treat you like that!”

Robin’s face looked more and more shocked the more she spoke, but before he could respond a peel of laughter broke the air. Kid Flash was doubled over beside him, looking at Alya like she was a comedian.

“H-her?” He pointed at Lila, still shaking from his laughing fit. “His girlfriend? No way!” Lila stood quietly, eyes downcast, though she had the gall to look insulted at that remark. “No offence, kid, but I’ve seen Robin’s girlfriends, and you’re not really his type. He prefers black-haired, blue-eyed girls, you know? Preferably those who can kick his ass and have some magic powers.” He turned to Marinette, a devious smile on his face.

If you say anything I don’t appreciate, she whispered across the mind link, I will kill you. And I won’t even bother to make it look like an accident.

His eyes widened at her thoughts, but in true Wally West fashion he disregarded all warning and pushed forward. “Kind of like you. You really helped take down Freeze over there?” She nodded harshly, and his grin only widened. “Figures he’s all over you. Robin’s like that with powerful women. If you ever want his number, let me know.” Hearing Wally’s laughter echoing across the mind link did not, surprisingly enough, weaken her resolve to commit murder.

Perhaps sensing her bubbling anger, Kaldur took the opportunity to step in. “Now that we’ve established that Robin is indeed single, it’s time for us to leave.” His voice, commanding as it always was in battle, captured everyone’s attention. Even the class, though utterly confused at the heroes’ declarations, remained quiet. “The police will arrive soon to take your statements. If anyone is hurt, they’ll be able to direct you to medical help. We apologize for this disturbance, and hope the rest of your trip is less eventful. With that, the superheroes all hefted an ice villain across their shoulders and made to leave. Marinette, realizing she still clutched the bo staff, held it out to Robin.

“nah, keep it,” he told her, “consider it a thank you.” With a final wink, he disappeared after his teammates.

Uh, bye Mari, M’gann’s voice echoed in her head. And, good luck with this mess. I can sense a lot of anger here. Call me if you need anything okay?

Thanks, Mari thought back, just before the alien’s touch slipped away and she heard the faint woosh of the bioship flying out of range. When she focused back on the class she found them dead silent, staring at Lila. Marinette noted duly that Alya was still filming

“What?” Lila yelled, trying to keep the panic from her voice. “He had to do that. What would we do if my identity got out, huh?”

Marinette could, and likely should, let these lies slide like she usually would. She should try not to let it get to her, and focus on the evening ahead with her American (and extraterrestrial) friends. But the rush of battle was still flowing through her, and Trixx was very strongly urging her to react, and, really, Marinette Dupain-Cheng did not have half the self control she claimed to possess. So of course, she just had to respond: “Hide your identity from who? The class full of people who obviously already knew about it, given that one of them brought it up first, or his superhero friends who he would have definitely told already, especially if you’ve been dating him in and out of the mask for four years now? Sounds a little odd to me, and I’m still confused about why he would need to flirt with another girl just to hide your relationship. Though I’m sure you have an incredibly logical explanation for all of this, right Lila? Hey, maybe Alya can post it on her blog and people can debate on just how much bullshit you’re spewing” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and as she finished speaking she quickly turned on her heel, swinging her newly-acquired bo staff over her shoulder and walking off the bridge toward the approaching convoy of NYPD cars.

Behind her, she could hear her classmates’ angry voices beginning to rise, drowning out Lila’s sputtering excuses. Marinette was no fool, of course— she knew most of them would be back in the liar’s web by tonight. But that didn’t make calling her out any less fun, and now that her days with this class were extremely limited, she figured these small pleasures were worth the backlash. Besides, maybe the encounter would teach Lila to keep her mouth shut for the next few days—and if Marinette was going to think of a way to catch one of the fastest men alive by tonight, she needed the quiet.

Please let me know what you think! this is my first full piece I’m publishing for this fandom and I would love some feedback. I’m trying to write and post Maribat March prompts every weekend, so look out for that as well. PS. If you have a link to the discord or the list of prompts, I would greatly appreciate either. Thanks for reading!

#maribat #Dickinette #ml salt fic #kind of but not really #mlb x dc #Imbri's writing

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bestwestallenfics · 3 years

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Forced to Slow Down

If Iris wasn’t in the mirror during the death of the speed force, and helped Barry through it; rather than kicking him out of their home.

So, my second-ever fanfic! You can also read it in ao3 from here

It is constant.

The lightning through his veins, the warmth of electricity in his hug everytime it holded her, and eyes flaking with an uncontrollable force much bigger than any man could bear behind them. It was a constant being, moving with them, living with them, breathing with them, even loving with them. She was his spark, his lightning rod as he says, and he was a lost soul, running to a reason, to her, with every lightning filled step.

But it was gone.

Now he was just a normal person. He was powerless, broken. Iris never minded him having powers but he did. He believed it was his reason, his mission. And losing it scarred him, more than he would ever admit to her. But she saw.

She saw how much pain he was in everyday. She felt his shakiness caused by pushing himself to his limits. She saw his ragged and painful breaths filled with the need to get rid of that humanly helplessness. She heard his small “c’mon”s that he whispered under his breath in the field to get up when put down, body aching in agonizing pain. She wiped his tears that fell unstoppingly after the day he saw his mother die again in his arms, holding her like he would lose her next. “I’m not ready to tell Iris,” he said to Wally and she felt her breath shorten when her brother pitched it to him. He was afraid that she would accuse him, she would say that it was his fault that he changed the future (that they used to dread but now waiting for eagerly because that meant they would see Nora again) and that he keeps making selfish choices that affected them.

But she wouldn’t. Not this time.

None of this was his fault. He saved the universe for god's sake, and he gets what in return? His mother dying? Again? She knew that he still believed he was the reason for Nora’s death as well, trying to even stop him thinking it when they lay awake at night. It was a lot to bear, and it should never have been his burdens. Not now, certainly not in the endless time periods that he experiences. It is a lot for a human to take, even if it's a metahuman.

She gets the call from Barry in her lunch break. His voice cracks a little when giving her the news. Joe’s shot. He is fine, but he would have been finer if Barry didn’t kill his mother again. He doesn’t say that, but she hears anyway.

“Hey dad, you okay?”

“Fine” He doesn’t even give her a head kiss like he always does when she is right to be worried. This actually comforts her more. His dad was okay, I mean, it was one of many bullet wounds that he had to endure in his lifetime. So she lets it go.

“Hey, what happened?”

“There was gunfire. I wasn’t fast enough to stop all the bullets. He’s-he’s fine but it’s- it’s my fault that he got hurt.”

His watch turns yellow.

“Babe, your speed is getting worse, what should we do?”

“We can use facial recognition algorithms, metahuman trackers. I’m gonna find Ragdoll and stop him if I have to use every last resource in Star Labs to do it.” She nods, feeling that so familiar boss voice coming out again.

“We should keep him safe in every way we can.” She says calmingly, like she does in every team work with her husband. She trusts him, speed or no-speed, so she doesn’t get really worried. But Barry shifts in his place, clumps his hands together. He trusts her, but he doesn’t trust himself.

“In every way, I promise. You won't lose your dad Iris, I swear-”

“I know, hey, slow down.” She puts a hand on his shoulder while he holds the bar chair and sighs slowly. She notices that he is trying to stable himself, shuts his eyes to stop the world from spinning. His watch beams red and his breathing gets ragged.

Like Caitlin said, emotional reactions also trigger speed lost. And as it leaves his body, it has physical symptoms. It exhausts him, like if he was in flashtime non-stop. He feels awful and it is visible in him. She can still feel him shake under her hand.

“You should sit down, Barr.” she says, slowly helping him stand. Even if he doesn’t open his eyes, he shakes his head negatively.

He can’t slow down. He can’t. Everytime he does, someone gets hurt, someone gets killed. His mother got killed, his father got killed, his daughter got killed, his best friend got killed, Iris’s fiancé got killed, love of Caitlin’s life got killed, Cisco’s brother got killed, everyone gets killed, everyone always gets killed, and it’s because of him.

That’s the exact thing that happens that night. Joe gets killed. Almost. He survives. But it’s no different. Barry runs, but he slows down, and it almost kills him. He goes to witness protection. “I can’t protect you anymore Joe,” he says, because he has to. He needs to accept it himself. He can’t protect anyone anymore, but he tries.

He always tries.

Iris learns it later. She is terrified, but she understands. She always understands. “She should break everything and yell at me, I ruin her life” Barry thinks, but she doesn’t. She uses David to call Joe’s hotel undercover, and talks to him. Barry holds her hand the whole time for support. The weak electricity still tries to get to her like it always does, but she likes the warmth of her best friend more. She needs Barry Allen, not the flash. She always needs Barry Allen and only Barry Allen.

They return to the loft. She smiles when she sees the mint chocolate chip ice cream stocked in the freezer. It’s not from Happy Harbour, (since Barry can’t speed there in a minute anymore) it’s from the ice cream shop two blocks away, but it doesn’t matter. It’s still lovely, and it warms her heart just as the time Nora brought her the mint chip ice cream when out with her dad.

Nora’s dad however, goes upstairs to shower. He stayed with her for hours to make sure she was okay, but he was sweaty and tired. So she forces him to take his shower. She suggests helping him, but Barry rejects her. She scoops some ice cream to the cups she excitedly bought when Nora was there, imagining her daughter would love to eat ice cream with her and gossip at least once a week. They did use these cups eventually, just Nora wasn’t there to see it.

After she finishes her cup, and let’s be honest, two more cups, she notices she can hear the water is still running. “Honey?” she yells, waiting for the assurance that she usually gets. But she doesn’t.

She hurriedly makes her way upstairs to find Barry just leaning onto the wall in the shower. She can see his eyes are closed even though he leans his forehead to the wall while really cold water runs down his body. He only really used this cold water when Zoom broke his back, because he wanted to make the aching stop and Caitlin said to him that cold water might help since the speed force burnt the injury in order to fix it.

He breathes heavily in between his arms positioned to the wall to hold himself upright. He didn’t even use the shampoo she notices, because if he did, it wouldn’t be in its place. He always forgets to put it back into its place like Iris forces him to. She likes these little organized parts in their life, it helps to ground her because their life is never organized.

“Babe, you okay?” His eyes snach open when he realizes that she is there watching him. He turns his head suddenly, and it breaks all of the balance he so hardly acquired. She catches his wrist before his legs have a chance of slipping under him, now her own hand shaking with worry.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just-” he stops to take a shaky breath and the tightness of it goes through both of them, “everywhere is spinning. I tried to take the shampoo but my legs felt like they were splitting in two everytime I moved.”

He bows his head, almost feeling ashamed. He definitely knows what she will ask, so he answers without even letting her talk.

“I didn’t want to bother you, I know it was hard for you today already.” He is in front of her, in the position of a child that’s waiting to be grounded. Her heart aches for him, being this vulnerable in front of her, that he rarely did. He must be in a really bad condition, she realizes. So she tightens her grip on him to take him out. He feels cold and she doesn’t want him to risk getting sick, since he could now.

“You never bother me Barr,” she says in a bored manner. So many years, and he still fears that he is a burden for her.

He gets out, lets her wrap him in towels and dry him off, just trying not to fall between heavy breaths. This sight makes her even more worried -if that was even possible- and she augments her speed. She finds the most comfortable clothes for him, knowing that it aches when it hits his body. Then she helps him get to bed.

He slouches to the mattresses with a sigh, wincing in pain when his head hits the pillow. Iris wants to actually use a hairdryer, thinking that a damp hair would worsen the ache, but he seems exhausted.

“How bad is it?” She asks while lying next to him and trying to get much of the wetness from his hair with the towel still at hand. She doesn’t expect him to tell the truth, he never does, but he stays quiet, and that’s more than an answer she could ask for. He pushed himself so hard today, Cecile even told them afterwards that the stress she could feel from him was enormous. Cecile even tried to stop him for a minute, trying to calm him so he wouldn’t have a panic attack, but her fear for her significant other was far more grave. So she let him run with everything he had, and when things were okay again, when they were telling goodbye to Joe, she let him stay and watch protectively even though she could feel the pain coming from his hardly standing figure.

Iris doesn’t have to have Cecile’s powers to feel how much he’s suffering, she never had to. She always knew Barry in and out, and even though she was in love with every single piece of him, all she wanted to do was to stop his hurting. It was generally psychological in the first 25 years of his life but after becoming the Flash, psychological pain morphed with tremendous physical pain. It was always too much for anyone to bear.

She just held him closer and hoped that he would sleep. He cling onto her heart's warmth and let it replace the hotness of his electricity that’s abandoning him. His head found its way to her belly and he just kept on breathing steadily with her until he managed to lose consciousness. Tomorrow was going to be harder, they knew that, but at least in that moment and every moment in between every breath, they had each other.

Thanks for taking the time to read! My second fanfic ever. Just a week away from season 7 yay! Please let me know what you think!

#barry allen #barry and iris #westallen fanfic #westallen #iris west #iris west allen #grant gustin #candice patton #fanfiction #fanfic #the flash #hurt/comfort

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elareine · 4 years

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clock ticking (sudden silence)

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Temporary Character Death, Loss, Grief/Mourning, Age Difference, Identity Reveal Summary: For twenty years, Dick Grayson has waited for his timer to begin ticking. When it finally does, there are only two issues: Jason is thirteen. And the timer only reads eighteen months.

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The thing about the timer was: It didn’t tell you anything about your soulmate, only how long you would have together.

Dick had heard people talking about how they ‘sensed’ who it was before they ever met the person, how they just knew their soulmate(s) would be sweet and gentle and fiery and perfect. Some even said it came to them in dreams, the vague shape of a face they loved more than anyone else.

Privately, Dick thought that was bullshit. It was a timer, nothing more. They all had the same lettering, the same number system, everything. There was no way of knowing what the other person would be like.

When he had been a child, he’d thought he would meet his soulmate in the circus for sure. He couldn’t imagine anything different. Perhaps it would be an audience member, coming up to meet him after the performance. Maybe one of the countless children that tried to sneak in to watch, one of the ones that looked so poor, the circus owners decided to turn a blind eye and allow them some joy, therefore helping Dick meet the love of his life.

But deep down, he’d always thought it would be another acrobat. Someone joining the circus. Someone who knew the sheer joy of flying, the thrill of danger and an audience. Someone to become part of his family.

That dream crashed spectacularly, of course. Try as he might, Dick never found quite another dream to replace that one. Would they be handsome or beautiful? If they were his soulmate, he would think so for sure, and that was all that mattered. Would they be kind? Supportive? A rock to lean on?

He’d told himself that it wouldn’t matter until his timer started, and maybe not even then.

Bruce’s timer, for example, was ticking. Dick had spotted it for the first time months into their partnership. He’d been confused, had asked if he had met Bruce’s soulmate—where were they?

In those days, Bruce had still been willing to answer Dick’s questions. He said: Sometimes, even soulmate relationships didn’t work out. It was a chance, a hint, nothing more. With him being a vigilante, the choice to be together wasn’t as easy as kids’ movies made it out to be.

(He had never actually mentioned the name of his soulmate. Back then, Dick had thought he knew anyway. Now, he wasn’t so sure.)

(He also thought Bruce had been full of shit that day.)

His teenage years were pretty good, romantically speaking. Sexually, too. Some lovely puppy love, a bit of experimentation, the conclusion that yep, he was going to continue using the gender-neutral ‘they’ for his future soulmate, but probably not in the plural sense.

Still, he kept waiting for his timer to start ticking.

He heard about the new kid before he ever met him. He and Batman weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time, but. Rumors spread, and soon, so did videos of the kid in the Robin mantle. Seeing how Dick was now twenty and very much not built like that anymore, the conclusion that he had been replaced was pretty much inevitable.

It would be accurate to say Dick didn’t react well to the news. Bruce had every right to take in another child, but how dare he call him Robin? Nevermind that Dick himself had moved on from that title. It wasn’t Bruce’s to give.

So his first time meeting the kid was already tense as hell. The fact that his timer started ticking the exact moment he laid eyes on Jason didn’t help.

Dick was panicking.

Jason was thirteen.

He was tiny.

Okay, he wasn’t, he was pretty average for his age, he went up to Dick’s chest, even, but the keywords here were ‘for his age’ because Jason was thirteen.

Dick wasn’t a pervert, okay. There was nothing sexy about a teenager that had just hit puberty to him. His replacement, nonetheless. His brother.

But maybe all of that would’ve been fine. They could’ve become friends or made sure to meet up later in life when the age difference wouldn’t seem so monumental. Seven years wasn’t so much once both of you were out of puberty. Dick could’ve morphed from a big brother figure to something closer over time. He’d have enjoyed that, probably.

But none of that would happen because the timer only had 18 months left from the day it began.

Dick didn’t say anything to Jason. When the younger sought him out, he kept their interactions short. His ongoing problems with Bruce were a good enough reason to stay away from the manor, from Gotham, and to never talk about this. Either he would die far away from the kid, never to be mourned, or Jason himself would die, having lived unencumbered by soulmate that was way too old for him. It was better that way.

His friends found out in one of the worst ways possible: by accident, two days before the timer was due to stop.

Jason had disappeared over a week ago. Dick had tried to warn Bruce, had fully intended to at least be in Gotham and try to stop it from happening because although these things were rarely wrong, he knew he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for not trying—but Jason had disappeared so much earlier than he’d thought.

In a way, that made it worse. If Jason had indeed been kidnapped (and according to Bruce, signs were that he’d left on his own, but you never knew what the incentive for that might’ve been), then Dick didn’t want to imagine the torture Jason would have to suffer in the week before he died.

He still did, of course. That was why Kori and Wally had caught him staring at the ticking time bomb on his wrist.

There was no need to explain, no way to hide what was happening. Kori sighed, “Oh, Dick,” and Wally was wrapped around him in a hug faster than Dick could tell that he was fine.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Dick looked into Kori’s beautiful green eyes and seriously considered the question. A speedster, an alien, a man trained by the world’s greatest detective. Together, they had saved the city—heck, the world—from certain disaster more than once.

But they couldn’t fight against fate. Dick shook his head.

Eventually, they made to leave, and truthfully, Dick was glad. He didn’t know how to talk about this. How to tell them that no, he had no idea where his soulmate was because he had rejected him, hadn’t even kept a close watch.

But Kori turned around.

“Just,” she closed her eyes, “is it one of us?”

Understanding her fear all too well, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “No.”

At least there was that. No one here would miss Jason.

Bruce didn’t tell him when he found a lead, he just went. Dick wasn’t even mad about that. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Bruce, either.

Besides, when he got the alert that the Batplane had taken off and saw his timer tick down its last hours, he already knew that Bruce would be too late.

00:02.

Dick watched the last hours tick down on his timer. Now that it was happening, he would give anything to be in Ethiopia. He barely knew the boy—nothing beyond his history and that he was Dick’s soulmate; that he was Robin—but he knew that Jason didn’t deserve to die alone.

Bruce hadn’t reached out to him at all. Neither had Alfred.

00:01.

It was agonizing.

00:00.

Jason’s last hour had begun. Dick set the stopwatch on his phone for sixty minutes. The timer didn’t go into so many details. He’d tried to find out just how accurate it was; the results had been dispiriting. Jason could, as of now, be dead. Or he could live and breathe and hope for another 59 minutes.

The whole time, he prayed for his display to change. That Bruce would do the impossible once more, defeat fate, and buy Jason more time. Buy themmore time, now that Dick suddenly and painfully realized that he wanted there to be a them so badly, in any way he could get.

His stopwatch beeped. It was over. Dick hadn’t felt a thing, couldn’t have told you when his soulmate died, but it was over.

When he heard about what actually happened, it was worse.

Here’s a secret Dick never told anyone: He still wished Bruce had not even tried to revive the Joker. The old bastard had died that day like he deserved—unmourned.

Once Dick went through Jason’s things.

Bruce wasn’t home—gone on one of these trips he took these days, the ones filled with revenge and darkness in a way they hadn’t been before. If Alfred knew what Dick was doing, he didn’t comment. And after all, Dick thought mutinously, why shouldn’t he be here? This had been his room, once upon a time. He had a right to see what happened to it.

There were books there now. So many books. Jason hadn’t been choosy; classic French literature was crammed in next to space operas and cowboy romance. When Dick idly pulled one out, he could see scrawled comments in the margins. Apparently, Jason had considered “The Great Gatsby” to ‘suck ass.’

The room itself was much more orderly than when Dick had been responsible for tidying it. No way to tell if that was because Jason was a neat-freak or because Alfred had cleaned it out since his death, though.

It took Dick a second to realize what was missing. There was only one photograph, Batman and Robin heading into the night. Where were the family pictures? Dick remembered his own collection: his parents, the circus folk, his friends, Bruce and Alfred and Babs and Clark…

Maybe Jason had taken them with him when he left.

Still Dick’s eyes searched the room, hungry for something more personal than books and tidy clothes on a hanger. Finally, he saw it: a simple brown teddy bear, almost hidden by the curtains.

“Hey, little buddy,” he murmured, crouching down. “What’re you doing in the corner like that?”

In his mind’s eye, Dick could see Jason arguing with Bruce—or maybe just quietly seething in anger—, finally throwing the bear into the corner, his decision made.

Dick hesitated, but—he couldn’t leave the bear. It shouldn’t lie here, abandoned in a mausoleum. It went home with him that night, and to every home since.

It was such a fucking cliché, but after that, life went on.

Dick could see the empty space Jason left behind in Bruce’s life, in Alfred’s, hell, even in Tim’s, in Gotham itself—but the only thing for him that had changed was the nature of his guilt.

Eventually, he started dating again, unwilling to be chained to the ghost of a what-if. It was okay. People had relationships after their soulmates died. Sure, there were forums full of people complaining that nothing compared to dating The One. Wasn’t like Dick had anything to compare it to, though, so he was in the clear.

He and Babs really gave it a try. There was no universe in which Dick wasn’t glad that they did. She would always be one of the most important people in his life.

After they split up, the responsibilities keep piling onto him. Being a full-time vigilante with duties to more than city, to more than one team, heck, even to an international spy agency—it kept him busy. Distracted. Until fate found him again.

Dick’s timer was ticking again, only this time, he genuinely had no idea who had set it off. Maybe he’d been too busy, too numb to notice during patrol. It wasn’t unheard, people gaining a second chance at a soulmate. Dick just hadn’t exactly considered the possibility for himself, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

It read two years.

Dick wanted to throw something against the wall. Why? Why would he only be granted so little time? How much of it had he already wasted because he hadn’t noticed when it started ticking?

How many chances would he be granted, just for his love to leave him? Was this to be his doom?

You sound like Batman.

Dick stopped and pulled himself up. The last time this had happened, he’d been twenty, unsure of his place in the family and the world, ill-equipped to handle an already devastating situation.

That wasn’t him anymore.

This time, he would take whatever time they had. And when it ended, he’d be grateful for it, and keep living his life.

He just had to find them first.

There was a new vigilante in town. For months, he was but a rumor of a red helmet and dead bodies left in his wake—until he made his big move.

The takeover of the Penguin lounge had been well-planned and viciously executed, and there wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do about it, not when all the Red Hood’s minions were loyal to him and his precautions excellent. He stayed far away from Batman and Robin; he seemed to have an understanding with Catwoman; his policy seemed to be to protect the street workers.

Somehow, he’d moved himself to the bottom of Batman’s list. Still, Dick knew he made Bruce uneasy. All their attempts to find out more about the man failed. Even when Tim managed to listen in on the club’s communications for almost a whole day, all they got was a name: Red Hood.

He was a rumor, until the day he sought out Dick on the rooftops.

“Red Hood.”

“Nightwing.” The other man’s voice was metallic, a voice modulator giving nothing away about its original timbre. “What brings you to Gotham?”

“Helping out on a case.” Nightwing’s connection to Batman wasn’t a secret. Dick would be astonished if there was still a citizen left that didn’t know Nightwing and Robin I were the same person. “What brings you to this roof?”

“You’re going after Sionis.”

“Yes.” Or at least, he was now.

“He hurt one of my own. He’s mine now. Stay away.”

Dick did his best not to snort. That was bullshit. His own interest in the Sionis case had been cursory at best. If Red Hood had just waited three days to eliminate him, Dick never would’ve noticed.

“What about him is so interesting that it warrants you coming out of hiding?”

The helmet tilted to the side. Dick would be damned if he could tell you why he found the movement so provoking, but he did. “Who says it’s Sionis I’m interested in?”

“Uh.” Dick was sure his eyes were wide behind the domino. Was Red Hood… hitting on him?

“Tell Batman to stay out of my business.”

With that, the other man shot a grapple and vanished. Dick made no move to follow him.

Dick expected that to be it. He returned to Blüdhaven, leaving Gotham and its secrets for Bruce to deal with. Except that particular secret seemed to have singled him out.

The first time he saw Red Hood in a fight in his city, he did nothing, merely observing the other’s fighting skills critically. Not bad. He had clearly been trained in a variety of fighting styles and was quicker than you’d expect for a man of his size. His left hook was good enough to rival Bruce’s.

Dick was still pretty sure he could take him in a fight.

“Are you just going to watch?” Red Hood called out, gripping one of his attackers by the throat and dangling him into the air.

“I dunno, you seem to have it pretty well in hand,” Dick sniggered.

“Never mind.” Red Hood dropped the now-unconscious man, turning to disable the next one with a well-placed nerve strike. Dick noted that unlike some of the scenes he’d seen in Gotham, Red Hood seemed to have no interest in killing these men. That implied he had some sort of value system. Interesting. “Please leave. That was terrible.”

Dick eyes the entrance of the alley. A group of armed thugs was gathering, clearly ready to strike. Decision made, he jumped from the roof, landing right beside Red Hood. “Sorry, but I can’t let you have all the fun.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You come into my city and then complain when I help you?”

“Oh, is that what you call this? ‘Cause all I can see is you standing around and jibbering.”

Dick thought the criminals he was currently sending a few thousand volts through might beg to differ. Between the two of them, they had the entire gang out in less than ten minutes.

It was, Dick reluctantly conceded, fun.

It became something of a regular occurrence after that. Nightwing would drop by Red Hood’s territory whenever he was in Gotham, and Red Hood would return the favor with regular visits to Blüdhaven. They’d banter, punch out some criminals, collect whatever they had come for, and go their separate ways. Not exactly a friendship, but something easy. Comfortable.

Until the night they busted a heroin ring in an abandoned warehouse and found some kids hiding three rooms down.

Dick saw the boy first. He couldn’t be more than twelve. His body was skinny, and not in the way teens sometimes got after a growth spurt.

Not knowing what else to do, Dick gave a wave. “Hi. I’m Nightwing. What’s your name?”

“I don’t want to tell you.” As soon as he uttered the words, the boy tensed, visibly expecting punishment.

Dick smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll tell you a secret—Nightwing’s not my real name, either.”

“Well, duh.” The teen scowled, but he did look less afraid. Then he looked over Dick’s shoulder and asked: “Who is that with my sister?”

Dick turned around to see Red Hood kneeling and… wearing a blonde wig? He blinked.

The little girl in front of him hiccuped, still crying but visible distracted by the big shiny helmet. Wearing a wig. Where had Hood even found that?

“That’s Red Hood,” Dick told him, trying to sound as if all of this was perfectly normal. God, he hoped the kids hadn’t heard the fighting. What a terrible time to pick this warehouse.

“What’re vigilantes doing here? Is something happening? Were there guns?”

“Sort of. I’m afraid this place isn’t safe, but we can bring you somewhere else for the night,” Dick said.

Red Hood looked up and suggested: “The sisters on St John Street. They’re good people.”

“No one will separate you,” Dick added. “Just help. Get you some food, somewhere to sleep safely.”

The boy looked at them. “We’re not going back to—to—”

“You won’t have to,” Red Hood promised, and Dick nodded. Not if he had anything to say about it—and once he would investigate whoever it was that they were running from, he would have.

“How about we accompany you?” Dick suggested.

The boy looked hesitant, but the girl suddenly gave a giggle. “You can’t walk like that,” she told Red Hood.

“Why not?”

“You look silly, dummy!”

“Well, that’s very rude of you to say.” And just like that, the wig still perched on the helmet, Red Hood stepped out onto the street. He was walking rather uncannily like a model, Dick noted with some amusement.

The girl followed him, still laughing and pulling her brother along. “No! Take it off!”

“But I feel so pretty!”

The distraction worked, and the walk to the center for vulnerable children passed quickly. Only there did Red Hood take off the wig, making a big show of stuffing into his belt to hide his ‘shame.’ “Your wish is my command,

The girl’s priorities seemed to have changed, though. “C’mon,” told her brother, “they said there’s food in there.”

But the teenager hesitated, looking at Dick. “Are you sure they’re okay?”

Dick was about to reassure them again, heartbroken by the hesitant hope in their eyes, when Red Hood said: “Yeah. I stayed with them a few times when I was your age. They get it.”

He didn’t mean the boy’s age, Dick realized. Jesus.

“Okay.”

Dick let them head in alone. They needed to see that they would welcome on their own, vigilante accompanying them or not. He would talk to the workers in a minute or two.

Red Hood’s metallic voice broke the silence. “So, I’m assuming you’re going to look into whoever did this to them.”

“You bet. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. You better be quick.”

Dick had already planned on that, but: “Why?”

“I do not like child abusers, and I clean up after myself.” With that statement, Red Hood gave a little wave. The casual movement was belied by the suppressed rage that suddenly seemed to pour out of his every pore. “See you.”

Dick stared after him, undecided.

He had allowed himself to be judge, jury, and executioner once, and never regretted it. Not once had he since felt the desire or need to be in that position again.

Didn’t mean he didn’t get it.

In the end, he decided to head inside. The kids needed him, and they were what was important here.

Still. Life had just become a lot more complicated.

“We should eat.”

“Sure. Let’s have a picnic. Just you, me, the stars, and the person we’re staking out. How romantic.”

“Shut up.” Red Hood casually dropped a lunchbox next to where Dick was sitting. “You haven’t eaten in all day.”

“I’m not in danger of fainting, you know.” Still, Dick couldn’t help but open the box. “Pasta salad?”

Red Hood shrugged. “Carbs.”

It honestly smelled terrific. Red Hood had even brought a fork. Dick was ready to dig in when he realized something.

Red Hood was still wearing his helmet.

“So… you’re just going to sit there and watch me eat?”

Red Hood crossed his arms. “Well, if you say it like that, it just sounds creepy.”

“Yeah, exactly. You don’t want any food?”

“I’ll eat later.”

Dick considered him. “I bet you I could get that off you in less than two minutes.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to.”

For the first time, the other vigilante turned his back to Dick. There was what Dick recognized to be a trigger device at the back of his helmet. Dick shuddered. Red Hood would rather have his head explode than someone see his face without his consent.

“Okay, don’t take it off then. That looks like it would spoil the meal.”

“My point exactly. Do you always talk so much when there’s food on the table?”

Dick grumbled, but he did start eating after that. Damn. That pasta was goood.

Three days later, Red Hood shot a man that was about to decapitate Dick with an ax. He even left the criminal alive. Dick tried not to be charmed.

“Well, fuck.” Red Hood stared at the little dot on Dick’s display in dismay. “Guess it’s back to Blüdhaven for us.”

“Looks like it.” Dick sighed. Just what he’d needed. His ride was back in Blüdhaven since he’d taken a detour through space on his way here. Looked like he’d need to borrow one from Bruce. It was that or public transport.

As if he’d read his thoughts, Red Hood asked: “Want a ride?”

“You got a car?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, but no.” Hood fiddled with something on his belt. For a minute, nothing happened. Then Dick heard the noise of a smooth motor approaching. Red Hood made a ‘ta-da’ motion with his hand as a red and silver machine turned the corner. “I got a bike.”

Dick whistled. “Wow, my little brother would love that.”

“He got one of his own?”

“Nah, he’s thirteen, just a kid.” That may be slightly too much information to give out, but Dick had honestly stopped caring at some point. “It’s all about skateboards for now.”

“Is he turning his sick tricks in the local park or on the rooftops?”

“You could always just meet him.”

Red Hood snorted. “I have no desire to meet any more bats or birds.”

“And yet you keep hanging out with me.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “Dunno why I keep doing this to myself.”

Suddenly feeling defensive, Dick crossed his arms. “Hey, we’re not that bad.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You haven’t even met them.” Or Bruce wouldn’t be trying to milk Dick for information about their meetings.

“Oh yes I have.”

Red Hood froze. Dick pounced. “When?”

But it was no use. “Look. I’ll make you a deal. We don’t talk about Batman anymore tonight, and you get to drive.”

Dick considered that. “If I say no, are you just going to leave?”

“Yupp.”

“Fine.”

Ten minutes later, with Red Hood’s arms wound tightly around his middle, the bike humming between his legs, Dick couldn’t even be mad.

Sometimes, Dick worried. Red Hood was too casual about his own life. Even as he made friends—not just Dick, but Roy and Kori and Artemis and, somehow, a Superman clone—he threw himself into the kind of situations that made even Dick take a step back and evaluate.

He was too reckless. It was as if his life didn’t matter. If Hood went on like this, he’d be dead within a year or two—Dick froze.

Could… could Red Hood be his soulmate?

His timer had begun ticking again before he met the other vigilante on that rooftop. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have passed him on the street one day before that, though. Or rather, one night: It must’ve been in his Nightwing garb. If Red Hood knew, or suspected, that would explain why he sought Nightwing out.

Granted, the odds were slim. But it was possible.

Funnily enough, Dick never once asked himself whether he wanted Hood to be his soulmates. Why wouldn’t he? Underneath that anger, he suspected Red Hood to be one of the kindest men he’d ever met, and he’d been nothing but supportive to Dick.

Still. He had to treat this with caution.

Look. Dick knew he should be with his friends and/or family, celebrating his birthday, not out here, jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Blüdhaven. It just felt… right, this year. Days like these, Dick couldn’t bear looking at what was left of his friends. All he would do was count the empty spaces. Patrol was safer, somehow.

Of course, the one time he was looking for a distraction on his birthday, he didn’t find any. Blüdhaven was weirdly quiet. It took Dick two hours to figure out why.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, bemused.

Red Hood, visibly startled, turned around—then swore when the two-bit criminal he’d been cornering took the chance to sprint off into the sunset. “Dammit, was that necessary?”

“Eh, you’ll catch him. So?”

“I was in the area, and I didn’t expect you to—never mind. What are you working on?”

Dick shrugged as casually as possible. “Nothing in particular. Just patrol, business as usual, you know. How about you?”

“I was following a lead, but it just fled for the hills.” Red Hood sighed, always a funny sound through the helmet.

“Ooops,” Dick said, not apologetic at all. “How about that. Whatever are you going to do with your evening.”

He’d meant it as a joke—there was always more crime to hunt down—but the other man paused. “Actually. There’s something I wanted to show you.”

‘Something’ turned out to be yet another rooftop perch, this time in one of the poorer districts. Dick didn’t get what was so special about this until the first family left their house. Another followed, and another, until there were about thirty people gathered, nearly half of them children.

“Watch,” Red Hood murmured.

One man put down a large bag and took out an object. For one terrible second, Dick thought it was a missile—but no. A rocket, but one of the harmless variety.

The kids cheered as several of the adults prepared the fireworks. The first rocket went up, bathing the street in the light of its beautiful golden rain. It was quickly followed by a serious of smaller, purple blasts, underlined by a wheel of blue lights.

“They do this once a month,” Red Hood told him. “To bring some light to the city.”

Dick pressed his shoulder companionably into the other man’s. “This is neat. Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Ah, there was the embarrassed grumbling again. Dick had learned to tell. “Shut up already and watch, you’re louder than the fireworks.”

He didn’t move away, though. Dick counted it as a win.

“It was supposed to be me,” the woman whispered, over and over again.

Dick kept his grip on her shoulder tight to keep her from running to into the fire and to her soulmate. He’d seen the body. There was nothing they could do. “I’m sorry, but—”

“You don’t understand!” she yelled, suddenly furious. “That’s my wife! My soulmate!”

He wanted to tell her: “I do understand.” However, did he really? Jason had been more of a concept than a real person.

(Red Hood, however little information Dick had about him, was very, definitely real. Dick tried not to imagine the kind of hole someone like that would leave in his life.)

Instead, he said: “She wouldn’t want you to follow her.”

With one last anguished cry, the woman collapsed against his chest.

As he watched the police car drive off, Dick considered going home. As far as he was concerned, this night could go fuck itself. But… he didn’t want to be alone.

“Can’t be easy, something like that.”

Relief flooded Dick at the metallic voice even before he turned around to greet the other vigilante. With Red Hood, he wouldn’t have to be alone. He knew that deep in his bones.

“No,” he replied belatedly. “No, it can’t be. Isn’t.”

“Are you alright?”

Dick frowned. “Yes? This hasn’t been a great night so far, but patrol is nearly over, so—”

“You’re bloody.”

“Oh.” Dick lifted his hands and studied the scratches that now marked him. “It’s fine.”

Red Hood, though, took one of Dick’s hands in his and studied it as if to inspect the wounds. “Those are gouges.”

“She was desperate.”

“Understandable.” Red Hood dropped Dick’s hand. It felt cold. “I think if I lost my soulmate, I would go searching for them in any way I could. Try to save them, somehow.”

There was something pointed about these words. Dick couldn’t quite grasp it. “Destiny doesn’t negotiate.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Brought me here, didn’t it?”

And that was—

Dick closed his eyes, just to think for a moment. The way the other man was behaving, there was good reason to think he might suspect himself to be Dick’s soulmate. All Dick would have to do was ask, and maybe, just maybe, something he’d wanted for a very long time would be within his grasp.

But Jason’s shadow still loomed over him. He couldn’t forget that boy. He mustn’t. It was the least of what he owed him.

“I had a soulmate before,” Dick told him.

Red Hood cocked his head to the side. “Had?”

Somehow, his tone was more surprised than emphatic. That didn’t exactly fill Dick with confidence, but he continued: “He died. My timer was set for only eighteen months. He was—he was just a boy, really.”

Suddenly he realized he was crying. It was the first time he’d let his guard down, really down, about this, and something about Red Hood made it impossible for him to pull it back up.

Embarrassed, he covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Gloved hands settled on his shoulders. “Hey, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to—“

“I fucked it up, Hood. Left him alone. It was selfish and stupid and I—I can’t—” Dick stopped talking. It wouldn’t come out without sobs, anyway.

Red Hood’s hands stayed on him during the minutes he cried silently, pressing down hard enough to hurt Dick, to anchor him; but he didn’t say anything. He just waited, and when Dick was coherent again, he asked: “What happened?”

“He died,” Dick said simply. “I murdered his killer, but that does not bring him back.”

There was a long silence. It should’ve been tense, nervous, now that even the last of Dick’s secrets had been exposed. Instead Dick felt resigned. Either this would be too much, even for the Red Hood, or not.

This was who he was. There was no changing that, no matter how hard he’d tried.

“Well, fuck, now I’m not even slightly angry with you anymore, what the fuck.”

Dick frowned. That… wasn’t what he’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“You know I fully intended on some kind of revenge plot here? I thought maybe a dramatic reveal in front of all of the bats, you know, or at least something accompanied by a lot of yelling and triumph, not to mention bloodshed,” the Red Hood told him almost conversationally as he stood back and began fiddling with the mechanism at the back of his helmet. “But no, you have to go and be a much better man than I thought, Dickie. Of fucking course.”

All the alarm bells began to ring in Dick’s head. “What did you just call me?”

The helmet came off.

“…Jason?”

They were so different. Hood was taller than Jason; a man instead of a boy. His hair was dark, yes, but there was white streak running through it. His jaw had filled out, his bearing straightened, his eyes turned slightly greener.

And yet.

Dick knew.

“Yeah. Uh. Surprise. Guess you didn’t know? I wasn’t completely sure before today.”

Dick filed the notion that Jason thought him (or the rest of the family, for that matter) capable of just quietly ignoring his resurrection away for some other day. Right now, he was too busy trying to breathe.

“Dick?” There was concern in that voice now. “Are you okay?”

“Am I—” Breathing. “How?”

“Maybe you should sit down?” Jason looked like he expected Dick to faint any minute now. Dick admitted that might not be too far from the truth ‘cause what the fuck, but it didn’t matter right now, because: “You died.”

“Yes.” Jason ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Don’t ask me how or I got out of that grave, I don’t either.”

Dick didn’t know what to say to that.

“Talia al Ghul rescued me,” Jason continued, talking more quickly as if wanting to get it over with. “I wasn’t whole, so… Lazarus Pit. And then she trained me and told me a whole bunch of stuff, some of which turned out to be true, some of which didn’t. And now I’m here.”

“But—” he whispered. This was dialogue straight out of a terrible Hallmark movie, but he needed to know. “My timer—”

“Dick,” Jason looked at him with a steady gaze, “my timer has read the same time ever since I met you.” He lifted his wrist and pulled off the leather glove.

46:04.

Dick stared at it helplessly. That was the kind of number he’d only ever dreamed of. And it was supposed to be his and Jason’s?

His and Jason’s. Because Jason was his soulmate, returned to him from the dead without Dick’s knowledge or help. That, finally, what was got through the shock, rattling Dick back into reality.

Dick looked him into the eyes—and God, those eyes; if there hadn’t been that helmet, that modulator, Jason would’ve had no way of hiding himself—and said something he’d wanted to say for seven years: “I’m sorry.”

“I told you I’m not angry anymore.”

“I should’ve been there for you,” Dick insisted.

For the first time, Jason looked away. “In a way, you were.”

“I was what?”

“There with me. I can’t speak for what was happening when I was dead—don’t remember, mostly glad about that—but when I clawed my way out of that grave, I had no idea who you were. I had no idea who I was, really. But I saw that timer and knew that someone, somewhere, was waiting for me.”

Dick couldn’t help himself, reaching out with trembling hands to finally, finally pull Jason close. Burying his head in the other man’s shoulder, he whispered tremulously: “I was, Jason. I didn’t even know it, but I was.”

Strong arms wrap around him to hold on just as tightly. For the first time in years, Dick felt his head quieten.

Still he had to ask: “How can you forgive me?”

“Okay, one? As an adult myself now, I completely understand why you freaked out. Teenagers are babies. A+ not taking advantage of me.”

Dick chuckled wetly.

“Two… I’ve seen you open your heart again. Tim, he’s actually your brother. Your friends.” Jason was talking into his hair ear now. Maybe it was easier that way. “You keep doing that, Dick, just opening up and taking people in and being vulnerable, and I don’t know how you do that, really, it’s kinda worrying, but—I cannot blame you for being tired just one time of losing people.”

“You should,” Dick told him, “I do.”

“Yeah, well, no-one said you were smart.”

That got a laugh out of Dick. He let it shake through him, then asked: “Why did you hide when you came back?”

“I didn’t want to see Bruce. Still don’t.” Jason’s voice was matter of fact.

Dick knew they would have to talk about that. Not now. “Why come back at all, then?”

“It’s my home. Also, I didn’t want to just give up on you, you know?”

The side of Jason’s neck was naked and vulnerable without the helmet. Dick pressed a kiss there in gratitude.

“When I didn’t know if you figured out my identity or not, I wanted to see what happened,” Jason continued. “I figured, this situation is fucked up and all, but it’s also a chance.”

“A chance?”

“My last turn as a vigilante in Gotham was kinda a shitshow. So I thought I’d just prove that—that I could be what you want. That I could do better. I don’t know if I can ever be good, not the way you and Batman want me to be—”

“Jason,” Dick interrupted him, pulling back to look at Jason; his voice fierce with the obviousness of what he had to say, “you are exactly what I want. If I had ever taken any time to know you before, I’d have known that, and I wanted you since I got to know you as the Red Hood. If you think there is any way I am letting you go again—“

Now they were talking in circles. Jason seemed to notice that, too, for he cupped Dick’s jaw mid-sentence and kissed him.

It was a hesitant kiss, slightly at odds with the confident way Jason acted otherwise; Dick realized with a pang that, of course, his teenage years hadn’t lent themselves to the same experimentation that Dick’s had. Still, he was so gentle, not letting go of Dick even as his hand trembled on his face, and the soft sigh he let out when Dick cupped his nape was nothing short of sweet.

There was a softness in this that warmed Dick from the inside out.

When they pulled apart, Dick had to giggle. This night had been an emotional rollercoaster; he felt air-headed and silly with it. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

“Not good for the reputation,” Jason agreed, his voice low. Dick liked it.

“Come home with me?”

“Sure.”

When Dick looked surprised at Jason’s easy acceptance, Jason shrugged. “I’ve been dying to take that mask off of you. Knowing you, it’s glued on with a special mixture only you got the remover for, though.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “Oh,” Dick said, remembering something. “Actually, I got someone at home who would love to see you.”

“Don’t tell me you got a kid that I somehow missed.”

“Nah. Better.” Dick smiled. “A bear.”

The next morning, after he woke up in Jason’s arms; after they showered separately and ate breakfast together and just tried to parse out what this meant for the rest of their lives—that morning, Dick looked at his timer and saw that it now read 07:22.

Jason seemed fascinated by the change. “I think I read a study about mismatched timers before. There’s a theory that they reflect our choices really more than our fate, and are meant to influence our actions—maybe I should look it up…”

“I think,” Dick said firmly, “that we should cover the damn things up and never look at them again.”

Jason considered that. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”

#jaydick #elareine writes #well that only took a year or so

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

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Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 2

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 1

Master Post

There were several points a bit more tangentially connected to my arguments in part 1. As a result I decided to leave them until now and hit them up in bullet points.

These are arguments against the superhero genre chiefly perpetuated by the tryhard trinity of Osvaldo Oyola , J. Lamb and Noah Berlatsky.

On the topic of the genre portraying ‘might making right’, the truth is this is part of the ancient inspirational aspect of these figures and can be found in stories like Rama and Sita, Rama of course ultimately never giving up his quest to be reunited with his lover. Which was not a Western influenced story.

Yes the genre involves ‘punching as conflict resolution’. I’m sorry, but that is part and parcel of the genre and the wish fulfilment/fantasy/narrative entertainment value of the stories. If you DON’T like that then frankly it’s like complaining that a romance story involves kissing.

It has been claimed that a black hero wouldn’t punch someone but again, the genre is entirely about people with powers using them to help people by preserving their life. And if they have no other choice but to K.O. a mugger who’s going to stab someone then a black person, or any decent person, would/should do it. But examining the meaning and repercussions of that realistically given the fact that they aren’t white in a white society is something that could benefit the genre.

A common critique of the genre is that crime happens sometimes because of a racist system, therefore fighting crime innately supports racism. Look, obviously we should remove institutionalised racism from the law. At the end of the day though if someone of any race is committing a crime which HURTS people they should be stopped, the reasons which drove them to that should be taken into consideration, but Spider-Man shouldn’t NOT stop a mugger because they’ve been driven to do that through desperation. There is often no time for that and without being able to talk to or trust strangers he or other heroes need to act in the moment.

Superhero fiction on one level is childish, but on a deeper level they’re representative of universal truths and desires which are often boiled down to fairy tales or simple stories. The above shitheads also claims that superhero fiction is written and consumed by children, when the truth is that in the last 20-30 years the opposite has been more true. THAT is partially why sales have been dwindling over the years.

Superman’s values are innate to the heroic and altruistic desires and ideals ALL humanity has expressed throughout its history. They are not inherently ‘white’

Apparently superheroes are white constructs because they reinforce the ‘status quo’. To quote the Atlantic article (see part 1) again:

“What status quo do superheroes reinforce? These heroes fight because everyone is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The only fascists here are the supervillains who disagree.”

Also Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman were created specifically to change the status quo of the fictional worlds they were created in. At the same time the entire Marvel pantheon were about changing the status quo of the genre by introducing people who were flawed and different and more human than the DC heroes

Superheroes, despite the assertions by the above fuckwits have at times interrogated the justice system. But generally their lack of interrogation is I think for the same reason their science is so wonky. They don’t know better. They just boil it down to the simplest terms. Muggings and villain threats abound. Hero prevents those. They don’t know enough to tackle something much deeper than that. This ties into the fundamentally flawed aspect of most critiques wherein they are looking to superheroes as intellectual pieces of academic and critical study when...that’s not what they are...at all…

One of the above douchebags once said:

An African American Superman, with kinky, close-cropped black hair, thick, half-reddened lips, high cheekbones, and wide nostrils all bathed in dark Lindt chocolate, resists White supremacist logic, negates Black inferiority mythology, and threatens the established order. Superman’s disconcerting physicality, tempered by his omnipresent cheerfulness calmed and invited White comic readers to imagine themselves as gaudy Caucasian perfection, the Anglo-Saxon ideal. Static in panel, without speech bubbles or thought balloons, Superman Black warps the absurdly developed skeletal striated muscle and eternal hopefulness fans rejoice into a clear and present danger to the American experiment, an unholy figure derived from Tea Party paranoia, Barack Obama’s calculation and Terry Crews’ musculature. Public Enemy’s prescience abounds – were Superman Black introduced on the game-changing Action Comics’ cover, White America would have yet another reason to fear a Black planet.

This entirely depends upon who is doing the perceiving. To someone of a different mindset a Black Superman could be just that. The same thing Superman is except he happens to have black skin.

Also, the author needs to take a major chill pill, Jesus Christ.

Here is another quote from one of them:

Only in White male power fantasies can people blessed with skin privilege and bodies carved from living marble wield heat vision or super speed or unbreakable claws against indigent criminals from broken homes who lack high school educations.

This is again grossly incorrect because the idea of individuals having superhuman abilities and using them to fight criminals predates American society, and if one accepts figures like the Hydra to be stand-ins for threats to human life then the superhumans have been fighting what the criminals represent for eons before the advent of American society. The criminals they use their abilities against are rarely stated to lack education or come from broken homes, but yes okay let’s say that they are that.

Having super humans go up against them and defeat them isn’t a white male power fantasy because their abilities are used to subdue and NOT kill. Injure perhaps but in real life sometimes force is sadly necessary and if someone is robbing a bank or holding a gun to someone in an alley it is justified no matter what skin colour anyone involved in is, or what society you find yourself in, for the perpetrator to be stopped in order to safeguard life. Just because the perp resorted to what they did due to social ills beyond their control, that doesn’t justify their actions at that moment. Stealing someone’s money or trying to murder them is never ever going to be acceptable no matter if we live in a white society or not.

Only in White male power fantasies would women display abundant porcelain cleavage or don starry microskirts to fight crime.

Yeah um, preeeeeeetty sure that actually that’s more of a male SEXUAL fantasy and less than a WHITE male POWER fantasy. That was never the topic of conversation.

Shuttle diplomacy or natural resource husbandry rarely bring metal-faced technological sorcerers to heel in superhero comics; superheroes often save planet Earth through fantastic violence judiciously applied.

Yeah, that’s part of the narrative FANTASY element of the genre that is intended to be escapist. Condemning it for being otherwise is asinine.

More than this, guess what, there are people whom Dr. Doom is a metaphorical stand-in for. And an awful lot of them legitimately can’t be negotiated with. I am of the belief that in the REAL world we should negotiate and use force when there is no other choice and even then only use what is necessary. But the Dr. Dooms and Lex Luthors of the comic book world represent grander themes of evil and social ills, whilst at the same time existing to challenge the heroes physically and mentally. They represent the unmovable types of evil that legitimately can only be dealt with via physical means.

This was the type of circular logic I talked about before. It is looking at the villains as stand ins for EVERY type of situation and therefore the super hero’s use of violence as ‘problematic’, when in reality the superheroes’ use of violence isn’t problematic because it is justified by the extreme circumstances they find themselves in.

Because those situations don’t exist in real life...like in World War II...which was literally about people using force in the face of failed negotiation to halt the advance of fascism…

I submit that the superheroic reflex to subdue evil with violence directly descends from Thucydides and Alexander, from Richard the Lionheart and Dwight Eisenhower.

Yeah...except it isn’t. Again...it came from the same place as Hercules and Sun Wukong, and those came from the natural human biological imperatives to survive.

Superheroic morality requires Western Civilization’s literary canon and political history to justify its callous disregard toward collateral damage. To be clear, superheroes routinely consider innocent noncombatants’ lives (if not their property) when they confront cosmic despots or sociopathic steroid abusers, but comics document the never-ending battle in colorful tomes largely sold after Nagasaki and My Lai, after the time when total ignorance of American military supremacy was vogue. When Wally West as the Flash pulls a hysterical single mother out of her overturned silver 2001 Honda Civic and carries her to safety from Apokoliptian cannons at breakneck speed, comic fans favorably regard his heroism; any dialogue from the frazzled thirty-something file clerk will remind readers how grateful she is to escape otherworldly horror with her life. Superhero comics don’t care about the destruction of this woman’s sole transport; when the gas tank explodes behind the Flash’s blurred strobe, this woman loses her credit cards, her driver’s license, her insurance documents, her six-year-old daughter’s vanilla birthday cake with its beloved artificially flavored strawberry icing. The comics don’t recognize the heroism of this brave woman’s seven-month struggle to rebuild her finances and maintain her identity following Darkseid’s incursion; all we know is for that poor woman, the Flash saved the day. He’s a superhero. Isn’t she grateful?”

Collateral damage and the disregard for it IS regarded. Hence the existence of Damage Control. Furthermore, that is AGAIN part of the escapism and fantasy element of it. THAT is the suspension of disbelief element of superheroes and taking it THAT realistically and criticising it for it is frankly just mean spirited and simply looking for an excuse to hate it.

Furthermore the reason the rescued woman isn’t focussed upon is because it’s not HER story. If you write a story about a protagonist THEY are your focus. Everything is for their benefit. That’s true of older non-white folktales as well.

And yeah readers are supposed to regard the Flash as heroic and the woman grateful because her kid’s birthday cake isn’t realistically as important as her life!!!!!!

This is criticising superhero fiction for being unrealistic even when it is being actively so The woman WOULD probably be grateful that she’s not fucking dead!

I wouldn’t mind seeing the survivors of something like this try to rebuild their lives. And superhero fiction has focussed upon that from time to time, but again...that’s not the point of the story. Criticising the genre fro this is like criticising Harry Potter for having the audacity to focus more upon Harry’s trauma in the wake of Cedric Diggory’s death than his parents’. Harry is the star. He gets the focus.

Superman is a White boy. Superheroes are White people. Superhero morality exacts the Melian Dialogue’s ‘might makes right’ overwhelming force realpolitik with every onomatopoetic Biff! Bam! Pow! gut punch and karate chop combo.

See what I’ve said before about how superheroes are not fascists and how force is often necessary

There exists no genetic propensity for group violence in the human genome. None.”

Er....yeah...there kinda is...that’s part of why wars happen.

racially-informed vigilantism.

This phrase in one of the articles itself sums up it’s own contradictions. Racially informed vigilantism is just one type of vigilantism, a type the superhero doesn’t subscribe to. A superhero would sooner join the likes of the Joker than the KKK style vigilantes and would be all too happy to apprehend them.

One of the articles seems to be conflating basically ALL criminals super heroes fight with people who’re labelled criminals due to racial profiling. Yes superheroes operate to an extent like police officers but you can’t truly complete the analogy whatsoever.

Few of them have legal sanction, which is partially why so many refrain from actually killing anyone as officer’s are allowed to do under certain circumstances. More than this when they take down criminals their methods are entirely different from regular cops. Apart from very loud and overt super villains who may or may not be on a rampage, most of the time when they tackle regular criminals it’s due to them either being informed of a crime that is going to happen (like a hijacking or something) or they literally see something happening whilst on patrol. They don’t profile people beyond what their super sensory abilities or logical observations tell them. Which is to say if someone is following someone else a little too closely then maybe, just maybe they are planning something. If their Spider-Sense or super hearing or something alerts them to something they will act.

Taking that, ignoring it, and then supplanting the superhero for a regular cop who would racially profile people and/or supplanting the criminals they tackle for racial minorities because those are the people who (stereotypically in the real world) would be targeted as criminals is very inappropriate. Not least of all since superhero comics obviously don’t present a wholesale realistic depiction of the real world so what they present isn’t entirely interchangeable with that. And what is more, erasure of minorities was so prevalent that overwhelming majority of all the criminals they ever encountered were themselves white, so again exchanging those for racial minorities who’re profiled as criminals is highly questionable.

It’s all just such a MASSIVE reach!

But I think the panels also work to point out that Miles himself “does not belong” in the superhero tradition. He, like most black and brown superhero characters in mainstream comics, is an outlier. In other words, people like Miles or Trayvon are unfortunately more likely to be victim of a “heroic” vigilante than to be one.

This is conflating the superhero vigilante with the majority of real world vigilantes who are overly violent (and frequently hard conservative) individuals who do take overly simplistic views of the law and use those to profile people. And it’s doing so whilst taking superheroes too literally, bringing their own personal interpretations to the mix and then overlaying them onto the superhero concept before finally accepting it as fact.

Police officers use violence against racially profiled people who exhibit unrest due to a societal system stacked against them. Well shit, Batman punches the Joker. It must be the same thing obviously!!!!!

Look. Without our stories, without the true nature and reality of who we are as people of color, nothing about fanboy and fangirl culture makes sense. What I mean by that is, if it wasn’t for race, X-Men doesn’t make sense; if it wasn’t for the history of breeding human beings through chattel slavery, Dune doesn’t make sense; if it wasn’t for the history of colonialism and imperialism, Star Wars doesn’t make sense; if it wasn’t for the extermination of so many indigenous nations, most of what we call “first contact” stories don’t make sense. Without us as the secret sauce, none of this works, and it is about time that we understand that we are the Force that holds the Star Wars universe together. We’re the Prime Directive that makes Star Trek possible. We are… in the Green Lantern Corps? We are the Oath. We are all of those things. Erased, and yet without us? We’re essential. This is an incredibly important project, because it puts front and center, not only a community that has long consumed and given power to these practices and consumer categories, but it’s a community without whose suffering and struggles, none of [these narratives] would make sense.

I agree with a lot of this but there are some problems with it.

a) X-Men makes sense also because they are a stand in for almost ALL marginalised groups. Racial minorities, disabled people, queer people etc.

b) Actually Star Wars makes complete sense with or without colonialism or imperialism, at least the kind which directly relates to the issues of racism. Imperialism, conquest, these are things which are much older than American society, dating back to even before Ancient Rome. It’s about freedom fundamentally and freedom is a desire shared by ALL human beings innately because at the end of the day we are animals who wish to be free and not caged. Being caged metaphorically within a tyranny is thus something we abhor

c) The Star Wars universe doesn’t begin and end with the story of imperialism. It’s about how Democracy can be turned into an dictatorship and how that has to be prevented, or re-addressed once it happens

When white comics readers claim that they did not need white characters to relate to and enjoy comics (as a way to argue against positive race-bending), that point to their love of Luke Cage or Spawn as evidence of their ability to enjoy characters across race, what they are failing to note is how black, Latin@, etc… identities in the superhero genre are framed by a system of white supremacy.

Again I don’t understand this one. I as a white reader can enjoy Luke Cage rescuing someone from a burning building because doing that is part of white supremacy????

It presumes a white power fantasy is inherently different to a black one. But the power fantasy element of the superhero relates to them having powers and using them to help others and defeat villains. A power fantasy by another race would still have that because it is inherent to the human power fantasy. Non-white power fantasies would logically have all that and more!

Much like Noah Berlatsky explains in his book Wonder Woman: Bondage and Feminism in the Marston/Peter Comics, 1941-1948, part of what made Marston’s original Wonder Woman stories so wonderful, was his expectation that girls and boys would identify with the heroine, to value and idealize her compassionate strength and victory through submission, rather than through cyclical and ultimately futile fisticuffs of male dominion.

Many female readers enjoy the action scenes. Action scenes are good because it enables us to have a healthy outlet for aggression without taking it out into the real world. It is also NOT an inherently male dominion thing. Again this is THEIR projection. Fighting and violence is innate to human beings because we are animals biologically programmed towards it for the sake of survival. That goes for males and females. Furthermore far from fisticuffs just being about male ‘dominion’ the Wonder Woman, Batman and Superman comics were a reflection of impending war. A war that sadly required violence to be solved. That’s what the superhero typifies. Wish fulfilment action in situations where violence was (usually) a necessity. Diplomacy is good and should be our first resort. In life though sometimes things do come down to necessary violence.

There are many ways to craft a racial minority superhero, but if we consider racial authenticity as a foremost concern, today’s Hollywood is simply not prepared for that intellectual labor. The real diversity conundrum isn’t how to include the minority metahuman in the existing comic framework; that’s an art project, a casting decision solved by calling Michael B. Jordan’s agent. The real question is how to write that superhero in a way that moves the medium forward, past the Reaganomics antiheroes of Alan Moore and Frank Miller and past the hyper-emotive Silver Age redux of Geoff Johns and Brian Michael Bendis. Respectable, authentic diversity in superhero comics should redefine the nature of the meta-protagonist to his powers and his audience, with exhaustive attention to cultural detail. I’m not convinced that a Black superhero would wear tights. I strongly doubt that a Black superhero would solve conflicts with his fists. The Black superhero knows that his community watches him religiously, and that any false move will have public repercussions he cannot expect or control. If anything, the Black superhero template plays out on our nation’s cable news channels at all hours. President Barack Obama, with all his clipped vocal inflections and measured language and natural equivocation and faulty dealmaking and perfect family and limitless patience is the closest public figure to a Black superhero America has yet experienced, an international celebrity unthinkable before his ascent. Watching President Obama today, one feels expectation crush into his bones like a gravity well. No matter the political stimuli, Republicans oppose him. The concept of the Obama Presidency struck American conservatives like a Bernard Hopkins’ kidney punch, and in return, President Obama absorbs the vitriol of our coarse public debates more than any President to date (and progressives never tired of calling his predecessor a National Socialist). The agony and the ecstasy of Grant Park has given way for many Americans to the sobering fact that American authority, her global military supremacy and international economic primacy, is controlled and represented by a Black man. Disliked, hated, or worse, the Establishment is Black. I need the Black superhero in print and/or on-screen to reflect that paradigm shift. Superheroes in the popular imagination are Establishment figures; if the Black superhero I’m presented can’t interrogate what it means when the Establishment is Black, of what utility is her story?

A minority hero wouldn’t wear tights or punch people...why?

What do tights have to do with anything? As for solving problems with his fists this is conflating the threats superheroes face with ANY threat, when they are almost always situations which legitimately do require necessary physical force to resolve. If the black superhero patrols an area and sees someone about to stab someone else, yeah he should punch the stabber to save the innocent person if there is no time for anything else.

This is basically asking for the core foundation of superheroes (which transcends racial constructs and is innate to human wish fulfilment and mythic tradition) to be scrapped in favour of something else entirely. Barrack Obama isn’t a superhero. He is many, many things but what Mr. Lamb here is asking isn’t so much for a different template but for something just wholesale different. He doesn’t actually WANT a superhero story in the first place!

Super heroes aren’t establishment figures. Superheroes don’t uphold the law regardless. They uphold the law in so far as a greater need to safeguard innocent lives. Conflating them as inherently establishment figures ignores their origins and over literalises what they do.

At the same time the utility of their story is first and foremost as a story: to entertain and inspire.

It is inherently worthwhile for a little black kid to sit down and open up a comic book where someone who looks like them is being a good person, is helping people, is defending the weak. I agree that minority heroes shouldn’t just be white heroes who happen to have different skin colours. I think they need to reflect the realities of what it means to be black or Asian or Pakistani in white society is necessary and a superhero should do that and should have that inform how they interact with their powers. It doesn’t mean the whole genre needs to abandon what it fundamentally is or that those minority heroes should not do the things a superhero fundamentally do.

Ultimately, yeah these characters were created within a white context, but my point is fundamentally the same thing was created in non-white contexts as well throughout history.

Super Heroes are a HUMAN power fantasy Part 1

Master Post

#Osvaldo Oyola #Noah Berlatsky #Marvel #DC #DC Comics #Marvel Comics #Super Heroes #Superheroes #Wonder Woman #Robin Hood

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ambiengrey · 6 years

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What Kind of Jerk Would I Be? #7

All the things you need to know: summary.

<--previous

Spitfire.

PALO ALTO

February 14, 23:48 PST

Team Year Seven

Artemis was down on her knees, scrubbing vigorously at the red striped carpet underfoot. Dirty soapsuds clung to the yellow gloves she wore, to the sponge, to the rug.

She sniffed, rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand, leaving bubbles behind without noticing.

She scrubbed some more, then left behind the now shiny circle of rug to move onto the next patch.

A knock, potentially at the door, stopped her short just as she threatened the rug with a spongeful of water. But it was a quiet sound and, in the stunning silence that followed, Artemis thought she might have imagined it.

Finally, she decided she had, and took to squeezing the sponge out over the rug. Soapy liquid dropped onto the fabric and Artemis sighed. This was going to take a small eternity. But she’d started and insisted on doing the whole thing, so...she had to see it through. Or, at least try to. There were too many things she’d been leaving unfinished lately.

Another, very distinct this time, knock sounded at the door and Artemis frowned up at it. It was nearly midnight, she knew – who in the world could be bothering her at this hour?

With a heavy sigh that was trying and failing not to sound annoyed, Artemis pushed herself up to her feet, leaving wet handprints on the knees of her jeans without caring. She plucked one yellow glove from her hand as she approached the door, and opened it just as another knock sounded. It ended a little feebly as she pulled the door away from one darkly gloved hand left hanging now pointlessly in the air.

Her visitor was tall, his hair as dark and lengthy as ever, a familiar-looking set of sunglasses perched on his nose despite the clear lack of sunlight.

For the shortest of moments Artemis couldn’t do much more than stare at the apparition in front of her – because it was so ridiculously absurd that, of all the places to pop up, it’d be her front door. Wasn’t there like a manor of people – well, alright, four, or, two if you wanted to be technical – just watching the front door for any sign of his silhouette beyond the glass windows?

Artemis clicked her tongue at the grin tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“Who am I talking to?” she said, narrowing her eyes and raising one eyebrow at him. “You-know-who, or…secret ID You-know-who?”

He chuckled, the sound a vague, faded version of an old familiar cackled he’d been infamous for. “I think the second one,” he said, forever smiling, as he reached for his sunglasses and pulled them off his nose. His eyes were still so blue. “You-know-who doesn’t walk around in civvies anymore. It’s just Dick now, sunglasses included.” He waved them back and forth before pocketing the eyewear.

“Hmp,” she snorted, but smiled as well. It was good to hear his voice. “Well, stay out there freezing, if you’d like,” she said, and stepped aside for him to enter.

“I’d like,” he replied cheekily, crossing the threshold, looking around her apartment as he did, quick blue eyes taking in everything just as they’d been trained to. Artemis took distinct notice of something as well – the way he never turned his back to her, keeping one hand out of sight.

He was turned to face her as Artemis shut the door and Dick gave her another quick once-over. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, kind of choppy-looking in their layers now, and she had a fresh tan, like she’d recently been in the sun a long time… Probably a mission, he figured, but it wouldn’t have been today. The puffiness was leaving her eyes, the red rims of her dark grey orbs only detected by his blue ones because they’d been looking for it. Her jeans were dirty, and that was Wally’s sweatshirt, its sleeves rolled up and over several times so they’d stay up above her elbows. Her upper arms were wet, above where she was wearing the yellow gloves, one of them removed now to answer the door with a dry hand.

“I like your nose,” he commented, tapping the side of his own.

She frowned, wiped at her nose, removing the bubbles that had been left behind. “Hmp.”

“Spring cleaning?” he inquired with a bemused smile, raising an eyebrow at her.

Artemis scoffed, pulling off the other glove as well and dropping it into a bucket at the edge of the rug. “I spilled some wine,” she shrugged.

Dick made a face, sort of pursing his lips, sort of frowning, but he nodded like he got it, and looked down and around in search of the cleaned patch. “Across half the carpet?” he asked, seeing the spots of soapsuds from one edge towards the bucket where Artemis had been working.

Briefly she narrowed her eyes at him, unable to tell if he was being obnoxious or genuinely confused. She rolled her eyes. “It was bothering me. So I cleaned it.”

He looked back up at her with an expression that clearly said, Across half the carpet?

“It was too clean. It bothered me, so I decided I’d wash the whole thing,” she shrugged again, annoyed.

“Okay,” he said easily, with a shrug of his own and a quirk of his mouth.

She nodded shortly, crossed her arms and relaxed her weight onto one leg. Dick looked around a second time, not offering up anything for conversation. That was decidedly odd, Artemis figured – generally he was chattier than this.

What are you doing here, anyway?

She’d get there, she decided, or if she didn’t, he would.

“With gloves, though – really?” he asked abruptly, his tone plainly amused.

Artemis glared good-naturedly at him, “Yes,” she replied flippantly, sparing one hand a quick glance before curling up her fingers to hide her nails.

“Oh,” Dick replied, a knowing air to his voice.

With a sigh she waved him off with a hand though the air, “I’ll make coffee. You can tell me how you’ve been,” carefully not saying ‘where you’ve been’. She stuck her hands into the sweatshirt’s pockets.

“Sure,” Dick grinned, and stepped a little aside for her to pass – not that there wasn’t any room, but he was being careful not to let her see what he had behind his back. She’d noticed, too, by the roll of her eyes, which, Dick thought, she probably hadn’t thought he’d seen, but really she should have known better. Humouring him, he thought, she made her way to the kitchen ahead of him.

“I like your nails,” he commented, having seen them neatly trimmed and painted green. “It fits your skin.”

“Oh,” Artemis said shortly, watching her nails as she flicked the switch on the kettle with one finger from ‘off’ to ‘on’. Belatedly she added a mumbled, “Thanks,” and then, because it was Dick and he was Dick, she felt the need to explain herself – explain that rude undertone that had crept into her voice. “Wally…” she started, haltingly, her voice almost catching in her throat as she said his name. Thinking it came a lot easier, and she’d thought on it often. But how many weeks had it been since she’d said it? “Picked it out,” she trudged on, in a quiet voice. “Thought it…would look nice,” she shrugged.

“Yeah?” Dick said, just as quietly. “He…wasn’t wrong…”

Artemis didn’t add that she’d found the teal green colour a little gaudy after the first wear. She didn’t go into detail about the pathetic tearfest she’d indulged in upon finding the little bottle discarded in a drawer somewhere earlier today. She didn’t admit that she’d been wearing the yellow gloves so as not to chip her nails, because, watching her fingers on the kettle switch, she was becoming increasingly fond of the colour. It was nice, and yes, it did…match her skin. Just as Wally had said, too.

I know, Arty… Dick thought, watching the archer’s back. She still stood as straight as ever, her shoulders back; she was regal-looking in her stance, even though she was just standing in her kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, intent on making coffee. I was there when he picked it… at a flea market in Gotham on one of the rare days he and Dick got to spend time together. …I missed him, too, but… Hm. How to go about this?

The slobbering sound of a licking tongue, footsteps padding heavily across the wooden floor, pulled Dick from his reverie, and he turned just enough to see Artemis – and Wally’s – white dog trotting up to him, tail wagging.

“Hey, Brucie!” he grinned, genuinely happy to see the dog. He dropped down to his haunches, his free hand patting the dog’s head before his fingers took to scratching him behind the ears. Bingo.

Artemis had turned around and crossed her arms as she leaned back against the counter, watching Dick with Brucely. That dog could sleep through anything. And generally did, too. Most days he didn’t bother doing more than cracking an eye to watch Artemis pass before he went right back to snoozing. When Wally was still…well. Well, Brucely hardly bothered getting up for him, either.

“How’ve you been, boy? Been good, have you? Took good care of Arty?” Dick chuckled.

But Dick. The dog would wake up scant minutes after his voice sounded through the apartment and come rushing out of his hidey-hole to meet the ex-Boy Wonder with enthusiastic licks and doggy-hugs.

“Traitor,” Wally would scoff, grinning, and Brucely would bark as if to say he knew Wally was only kidding and he still loved him, before he went back to enjoying Dick’s tickling fingers.

Brucely – Bruce – had been exactly the right name for him.

“I bet you have,” Dick said, looking over at Artemis. She’s still alive, after all, on the tip of his tongue, but his grin faltered a bit as he decided against saying those words aloud. Despite the news, it wasn’t a proper joke to be making at the moment. He got to his feet instead, pretended the sudden lack of vigour on his face was on account of his following question, “So… how is Bruce? My Bruce, I mean.”

“You haven’t even spoken to him yet? Or – or been home?” Artemis said, unable to keep a bite of incredulity from her tone.

Dick shrugged nonchalantly, “We’ve spoken. I just haven’t been to see him or anything. I had something else to do first…”

Artemis raised one delicate eyebrow at that. Behind her, the kettle stopped boiling with a soft click. She ignored it. “You’re gone for more than half a year – just…off the grid, not a word. Then you waltz back…into our lives,” her crossed arms came undone and she shrugged with her hands in the air, stepping away from the counter. “And your very first stop, isn’t your…dad,” she insisted, “It’s me,” a pause, as she left that to sink in for a second. “…Something you’d like to tell me, Dick?”

He fought not to smile, the grip behind his back tightening a little.

“Not…tell,” he replied carefully, “So much as, something to give you.”

Artemis’s eyes narrowed. She’d known he knew she’d caught on to his little game. He’d been moving strategically for all of the ten or however minutes he’d been in her apartment, careful not to turn his back to her, indiscreetly hiding something behind it. Purposely hiding something behind it. So she knew, of course, that he wanted her to comment on it. Wanted her to ask what it was.

Naturally, thus, Artemis had made a point of ignoring it. She hated being baited – something Dick was not entirely unaware of, either.

But Dick had been trained by the Batman. Manipulation was an art form and he was drowning in talent in that area. Since openly hiding the thing behind his back hadn’t been enough to entice her, or aggravating her, into asking what it was, however, he’d manipulated the conversation so the only logical, following comment she could make, had to be a question – what do you have to give me? What is it? What-what-what – leading him straight to the grand reveal of whatever he was hiding. Just as he’d wanted.

Artemis scowled. She’d missed Dick.

It wasn’t that she had no more connection to the rest of the Team – M’gann was still her best friend, practically her only one, but Dick… Dick and Wally. Dick and Artemis. Dick and Artemis and Wally. The three of them had something…else. Some other, some more…“special” connection. After Wally…after he was gone, Artemis had almost thought she and Dick would rely a little more on each other. The old clichéd “being there” for each other bit. But he’d left. He’d left, and finding comfort with Wally’s parents had turned awkward very quickly, and Artemis was alone again. Alone with her thoughts and her memories that no one would understand, because no one knew Wally the way she had, except for Dick, maybe, but…he was gone.

Seeing him standing in her doorway—

“If I hit you,” Artemis said abruptly, deciding to ignore the bait after all. “Just once, but, really hard, right on the nose…would you forgive me?”

Dick blinked at her, and then laughed, doubling over once as he chuckled – cackled almost. What was with that sound? What was it doing at the edge of his laughter? Artemis hadn’t heard that youthful echo in years. Even before Wally—

“Get in line, Arty,” he said at last, shaking his head, still smiling. “I can think of at least three other people – four, if Alfred has no restraint left – who have first dibs on that,” another laugh, like he didn’t mind at all.

Artemis frowned. What was so important he needed to see her first? Before his family?

“Come on, Arty,” he sobered up, no longer smiling, exactly, but it was hardly a frown on his handsome face, either. His eyes looked so… serious. “I don’t know how to bring it up. I don’t know how you’ll react. You have to ask me what it is.”

“Now I really don’t want to,” Artemis mumbled under her breath, though he’d probably heard anyway. She bet his ears got training, too. She sighed, rolling her eyes again – not sure if it was at him or herself, though. “How is this more important than going home, Dick?” she had to ask.

“I was a little late,” he answered at once, as if he’d had it waiting in the wings. “I had to get this to you today, so,” a one-shouldered shrug. “I had to stop here first. I promised.”

Well. He was nothing if not bound to his word.

“Fine,” she conceded, crossing the space between them, watching Dick’s face light up with a grin. “What do you have to give me, Dick?” amusement coloured her tone despite herself, making Dick’s grin grow even wider.

He pulled it out with a flourish to hold it up between them, right under her nose.

Artemis suddenly found herself staring at a single flower, its five scarlet-red petals brilliantly bright, framed by lily-pad shaped leaves, tied close to the flower’s stem with a thin string.

Her mouth dropped open with surprise, and she glanced up at Dick. “Who did you ‘promise’ to bring me a flower for?” she asked incredulously, fingering a delicate petal with two fingers.

“Wally,” Dick started, and Artemis’s eyes snapped up again, watching him through her lashes suspiciously, a knot in her throat.

He swallowed, eyeing her just as carefully, but then traipsed on as intended, “…had always wanted to give you one. It’s called Spitfire.”

She slipped the flower from Dick’s fingers into her own, blinking at the hotness in her eyes. She bit her bottom lip.

“She’s my little Spitfire, Dick,” she’d overheard Wally say about her once, not long after they’d started dating. He’d been whispering, sounding happily far-off. She’d paused outside the doorway, bemused at what he’d called Robin, until the Boy Wonder replied with a hiss, “Dude – secret identity!”

“Duuude!” a clap as Wally covered his mouth at an inhuman speed. “…Sorry…”

“Never mind, I don’t think anyone heard…”

A small smile crept across Artemis’s face as she looked at the flower, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “Thanks,” she mumbled, breathing in deeply, trying hard not to think about his face, only because she didn’t want to burst into tears in front of Dick.

“Sure,” Dick replied easily, stuffing both hands into his pockets, taking a quick, discreet breath himself in anticipation of what he was about to say. “He’d have given it to you himself, if he weren’t—”

“That is not funny!” she snapped at once, her voice sounding strained around the lump in her throat. She hit him against his chest, but he hardly flinched even though she’d put a fair amount of force behind the punch – wherever he’d been, he’d definitely been keeping up his training.

A throaty laugh escaped him unbidden, Dick’s lips curling into the smile he’d been trying hard to hide.

She scowled at him, making to turn around and stomp off to hide the tears that were threatening to form so much as because she wasn’t in the mood to look at him anymore. What was he thinking making jokes about Wally being—

Being dead. Hadn’t he been his best friend? What the hell?!

Dick’s hand emerged from his pocket to catch her by the arm, though, effectively stopping her in her tracks. He spoke quietly, but seriously, smiling kindly all the while though she wasn’t really looking at him, “If he weren’t on the other side of a dimensional wall.”

Artemis blinked. The what-now?

Slowly she turned her head just enough to watch his face comfortably, her grip tightening around the flower in her hand.

“Dick…” she said, her voice low, the tone somewhere between a plea and a warning, like she wasn’t sure which one she meant for it to be herself. But her eyes, dark and grey, were undoubtedly filled with a deep, desperate plea. A ‘dimensional wall’? her thoughts were whirling. What the hell does that even mean?! He’s… ‘stuck’? Like – in another dimension? Stuck, but…but alive? “If this is some kind of joke…” she whispered faintly.

Dick’s smile grew, a short delighted laugh escaping him. The faintest echo of his youthful exuberance bubbling to the fore again. “Arty,” he implored. “I wouldn’t kid. Not about this,” he squeezed her arm, willing her to believe. “You know that.”

She blinked, and the tears she’d been hopelessly trying to hold back, slipped free, trailing down her cheeks.

“You’re not…”

“I found him, Arty,” Dick said, his smile finally growing again, unable to keep his elation to himself. He wanted her to know, to understand – to be happy, the same way he was.

She sobbed, unable not to, and clapped her free hand over her mouth.

Dick laughed again, and pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders. “You… he’s… he’s not—” she sobbed against his chest.

“No, he’s not,” Dick replied. “And I’m going to bring him all the way home. I promise.”

Artemis’s reply was a cross between a sob and a laugh.

Dick grinned, squeezing her tighter, “He says happy Valentine’s Day, by the way.”

End.

#wally west #artemis crock #spitfire #dick grayson #young justice #cartoon young justice #insert writing tag here #thursday's throwback has far to go #(sometimes I still think about this fic #and all the things that could happen after this #and all the sub-sequent v-day's #but I haven't had any motivation to write any of those ideas #I like to think I'll revisit this after yj's s3 though #be a little bit more canon-compliant about wally's comeback #if he does come back?)

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fallenqueen2 · 7 years

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Where He Belongs [Prt.1 of Earth-X AU’]

My version of what happened to Earth X’s Barry Allen and how the SS came about thanks to Kara and Oliver.

Part One | Part Two

Kara leaned against her husband and gently traced the outline of the brunet who was frozen on the screen in front of them.

“He’s just as beautiful as I remember him being.” Oliver said in a somber tone that had Kara swallowing hard.

“He looks so happy there, with that woman.” Kara hissed as she swiped her fingers so Iris West was cropped from the photo and all that remained was Barry Allen with a beautiful laugh on his smiling face.

“He’s happy with his versions of us as well, but none of them can make him as happy as we can, as we did.” Oliver wrapped his arm around her waist holding his wife close him as the images of Barry Allen and their counterparts showing up on the screen next.

“He’ll be happy here, away from all his battles and enemies. We can keep him happy like before.” Kara longed for their third to rejoin them; she never forgot the day he had been taken from them. The day they knew that this world would be theirs and that the people running it were not worth saving. After everything they did for the Earth and it’s people, they turned their backs on them when they needed to save their Speedster.

“He’ll try to change us, appeal to what goodness is left in us.” Oliver warned as they watched him talk down a gunman and held the crying man close before letting the cops take him away.

“We’ll pretend to let him, let him think he is changing us but in reality will we will be changing him.” Kara promised as she trailed her fingers up and down Oliver’s neck as they watched the Speedster on the security feeds they had tapped into.

“I do love your mind.” Oliver purred as he kissed Kara’s head before he backed off when her eyes glowed red as her anger increased.

“He and that West girl will be married in a few days, we can not let that happen. If he is married to her then he will fight against us stronger than before.” Kara hissed at the sight of the two inside a church helping with planning the decorations.

“Then we will take him before his wedding, imagine the outrage that will happen when the groom doesn’t show up to his own wedding.” Oliver smirked.

“I do love your mind darling.” Kara grinned and with one last look at Barry smiling innocently on the screen the two got to work and sent out the orders to prepare the portal.

~~/~~

“Hey Oliver, I got your message.” Barry skid to a halt in front of Oliver who was leaning against the alley wall.

“Thanks for coming Barry.” Oliver pushed himself off the wall, heart beating faster at seeing this Barry in person, he was almost the exact same as their Barry had been.

“Of course, so are you going to come to my wedding?” Barry bounced on his feet looking excited.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” Oliver stepped closer to Barry, glad when the Speedster doesn’t notice in fact he leaned a bit closer with a happy smile on his face.

“I just can’t believe it’s finally happening, after everything we’ve been through…” Barry’s smile faltered for a moment and it took everything Oliver had not to wrap the brunet up into a tight hug, to kill those who had hurt the Speedster like this.

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. You’ll be with the people you love soon enough.” Oliver promised as he cupped the back of Barry’s neck, not being able to help the grin that appeared when the small needle sunk into Barry’s skin. The Speedster winced at the sudden sting and looked up at Oliver with a confused look on his face before his eyes started to glaze over. His knees gave out but Oliver caught him and held him close to his body, fingers carding through Barry’s hair in a gentle, intimate gesture.

“Ollie?” Barry’s voice gave out as his eyes rolled up into his head as the drug took hold and he went limp against Oliver’s body.

“When you wake up, you will be where you belong Barry I promise you.” Oliver pressed a kiss to Barry’s forehead before lifting the unconscious man up into his arms before he stepped into a swirling red portal that disappeared behind him.

~~/~~

“Where is Barry?” Oliver entered STAR labs, the Speedster was supposed to meet him at the shop to get their suits ready. Barry didn’t show and he wasn’t answering his phone.

“He was supposed to be with you?” Cisco looked up from where he was fiddling with his bowtie.

“Well he didn’t show and he’s not answering his phone, I can’t even track it.” Oliver explained and Cisco frowned.

“That’s not good, oi Harry!” Cisco cried out as he moved towards the computer bank.

“What? Can’t you tie a bowtie on this Earth?” Harry strode into the cortex with a smirk on his face.

“Help me track Barry.” Cisco shouted over his shoulder, as Oliver was proven right when Barry’s cell didn’t show up anywhere on Earth.

“I’m hacking into his phone records.” Harry said as he tapped at the screen with Oliver looking over their shoulders trying to tone down his worry. He had hoped that Barry was just fighting some criminal and his phone was smashed in the fight, but his Flash suit was still in the cortex and it was worrying when Cisco had no idea where Barry was either.

“It seems he got a message from… You?” Harry pushed his glasses up as he looked over at Oliver.

“I didn’t text him anything.” Oliver’s worry just spiked up as he looked at the text message Barry had gotten from him, telling him a location to meet.

“The feeds to that alley way were knocked out during that time, I hate to say it but it looks like Barry got taken by someone. We have to call the others in.” Cisco ran a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath as he sent out an SOS to the others.

It didn’t take them all long to gather in the cortex, Iris showed up with the ladies, Alex and Kara included while Wally flashed in followed by Sara, Mick, Jax and Stein.

“What’s going on?” Iris demanded, not liking the way Oliver, Cisco and Harry where looking at each other.

“Barry’s been taken, they pretended to be me and lured him out. We can’t find him anywhere.” Oliver gritted out, his fingers lacing with Felicity even as she gasped at the news.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Kara asked worry shining in her eyes.

“I mean he is literally no where on this Earth!” Cisco exclaimed gesturing to the tracking system he had going even as Caitlin looked at the computer.

“There has to be something we can do.” Wally had his arm over his sister’s shoulder as she looked pale and in shock.

“That something is going to have to wait looks like we got company!” Cisco’s eyes widened as the security feed showed a small army of soldiers wearing red and back marching through the halls of STAR labs. A blonde in a black and red skintight outfit with a matching cape and a mask covering her face hovered in front of the group, leading the way.

“Who the hell are these guys?” Sara asked as she and the others geared up or activated their powers, all aimed towards the entrance that the invaders were heading towards.

“No idea, but I have a feeling they are the ones who took Barry.” Oliver aimed an arrow at the door, letting his anger at them taking Barry fuel his strength.

“You’re not wrong about that Green Arrow, Barry Allen is where he belongs now.” A distorted female voice came from the floating blonde as the invaders entered the cortex, taking aim at the gathered hero’s.

“He belongs here with us!” Iris snapped, protective of her fiancée.

“That’s where you’re wrong little girl, he only knows pain here but with us he will know peace in the world we created in his name.” The woman sneered as the red lens of her mask glowed brighter and beams of blue light flew towards Iris, Kara jumped in the way and met the blue beams with her own heat vision.

That’s when the invader’s opened fire, Wally sped Felicity and Iris out of the way as Caitlin let Killer Frost take over and the fight broke out as everyone dodged bullets and took on the invaders. Kara cried out as the masked woman threw her against a wall while the woman floated above the floor. Kara coughed as staggered to his feet, using the broken wall to help her stand up.

“Just stay down, you will never get him back.” The woman breathed frozen air towards Kara who jumped up into the air to avoid being frozen and frowned at the other woman’s words.

“We will get him back, he’s our friend!” Kara insisted not caring as the woman threw her head back laughing loudly.

“Your friend, that means nothing compared to what he will be to my husband and I!” The woman sneered making Kara jerk back in surprise at her words.

“We’re done here, our message has been delivered! Besides I have a Speedster to go see.” The woman called out and smoke covered the room, when it cleared the invaders and the woman was gone.

“What the hell just happened?” Jax questioned as he and Stein de merged.

“I have an idea, I know those logo’s and trust me. It’s nothing good and if they have Barry, things could get a lot worse.” Harry ran his hands through his hair as he rested his gun on the nearby table.

“How much worse are we talking?” Oliver asked, the blonde woman’s words ringing in his mind still and hating that he wasn’t out there tracking Barry down.

“They are from Earth 53 also known as X, it’s closed off from the other earth’s because well… It’s basically a world under the rule of an iron fist of Meta powered people known as the Supreme Syndicate. If they… Convince Barry to use his Speedster powers, let them figure out how he and the Speed Force work together… They will invade and conquer all of the Earth’s one by one.” Harry explained as he crossed his arms, shuddering as he remembered the images he had seen from the rare photos of Earth X.

“And they have Barry.” Iris sank down into a chair looking pale and her hands shaking as Felicity and Caitlin hurried to her side.

“Not for long they won’t.” Oliver promised and it seemed to spur everyone in action. They would find Barry and bring him home.

~~/~~

Barry moaned softly as he slowly opened his eyes, his head fuzzy and his limbs heavy. Barry’s head was lifted up thanks to a strong hand on his neck and then a cup rim touched his lips making them part.

“There we go, slow sips.” A familiar voice rumbled and Barry gratefully drank the water, it helped clear his head and he found he could focus easier now.

“Oliver?” Barry asked confused at the sight of the red and black decorated room, it was unfamiliar but the sight of Oliver smiling down at him was something slightly more familiar.

“Where are we? What are you wearing? You’re not going back to the League of Assassins are you? It was not a good look for you.” Barry rambled as he took in the black and red outlined leather outfit Oliver was wearing.

“I’m not in the League of Assassins Barry.” Oliver sounded amused and fond. Barry squinted at Oliver, something was wrong here but Barry couldn’t seem to put his finger on it well until he literally put a finger on it. A weight was around his neck and his hands flew up to touch a metal collar before Oliver could stop him.

“What is this, Oliver why do I have a collar on?” Barry asked fear flashing in his eyes as he tried to run over to a mirror but he couldn’t and his fear turned into panic as he realized that it was a power damper collar.

“Oliver what on earth is happening?” Barry exclaimed as he bolted to his feet, well he tried but it appeared he had a cuff around his right ankle keeping him chained to the bed he had woke up on.

“…I’m not on my earth anymore am I?” Barry whispered as realization sunk in.

“You’re on Earth 53 or Earth X to be precise.” Kara’s voice rang out as she sauntered into the room; her outfit black and red just like Oliver’s.

“Earth X? Why would you take me?” Barry asked trying to contain his panic and his worry about his family and Iris, oh god they were suppose to be getting married!

“We watched the other Barry’s on the other Earth’s but you, you Barry are the one who is the closest to our Barry, to what our Barry was. We needed that light back in our lives, we need you by our side like you once were.” Kara sat by Barry’s side, hand cupping his cheek and Barry swallowed hard conflicted at flinching back from her touch but this was Kara and the way she was looking at him made him feel wanted and happy.

“What happened to your Barry?” Barry whispered getting a bad feeling in his stomach.

“Our world started off the same way yours did, but we were all together on this Earth. We teamed up as Superhero’s to save the world, protected the weak and the innocent. We were an amazing team and then we were an amazing triad when we married each other.” Kara ran her fingers through Barry’s hair watching as Barry’s eyes widened and his cheeks turned pink at the news of the three of them having been married.

“We were happy, so happy.” Oliver whispered as he clenched his fists and turned his eyes downwards.

“What happened?” Barry whispered fighting back the urge to tug the two versions of his best friends in close for a comforting hug.

“The world we protected for so many years turned on us. When Barry needed their help they turned their back on him and let him die, they didn’t deserve to be protected after they let our husband die.” Kara hissed, her red painted lips turning into a sneer and Barry winced at hearing about his counterpart’s death and how easily it could happen to him on his Earth.

“So instead of helping them we decided on a different path. Together we created the SS, the Supreme Syndicate and we took the choice away from the people who turned their backs on our Barry. The weak don’t need protecting here because they are eliminated before they can cause us to lose anyone else we care about.” Oliver was up on his feet now and the curtains on the large window were drawn back and Barry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Oh my god.” Barry whispered when he spotted the red skies and the giant banners that had giant ‘SS’ printed on them, showing that they had conquered their Earth, all because their Barry had been taken from them by the people they had been protecting.

“So you see Barry, we have taken over this world but that didn’t bring our Barry back so instead we decided to bring one here. You are so much like him, you both are a ray of sunshine and have so much faith and goodness in you.” Oliver settled on Barry’s other side, hand resting on the Speedster’s knee.

“So you kidnap me? I’m not your Barry and my friends, family and fiancé will find me.” Barry said confidently, he was at odds with himself he wanted to help heal this Kara and Oliver but he also really wanted to get home.

“Those weaklings? Doubtful, don’t worry Barry we’ll take good care of you.” Kara pressed a kiss to Barry’s cheek as Oliver injected him with the same drug as before. Barry made a strangled choking noise as the drugs pumped through his veins leaving him to slump against Kara. Kara stroked the brunet’s hair, cooing softly as Barry succumbed to the drugs and fell unconscious between the two superheroes turned super villain’s.

“We’ll take care of you Barry, better than anyone on your Earth ever could.” Kara promised as Oliver pressed his own kiss to Barry’s other cheek as the two curled around the unconscious Speedster on their bed.

#supergirl #Arrow #The Flash #legends of tomorrow #crisis on earth x #AU's #Earth X Oliver Queen/Barry Allen/Earth X Kara Danvers #Barry Allen/Iris West #SuperFlarrow #no nazi's in this one #kidnapping #Barry can't catch a break #Possessive behaviour #ao3 #FallenQueen2

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peachraindrops · 6 years

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Lemon Pledge and Skimpy Shorts (Hart of Dixie Fanfic)

No real plot but I hope yall like it. Zoe/Wade.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything related to Hart of Dixie except a few pervy fanfics and a yearning for more.

The minute Zoe Hart crashed his Friday night guitar hero jam session in her raggedy nighty and messy hairdo, not giving a damn what he thought about her, Wade knew he was in trouble. He’d never met a woman before whose pants didn’t fall right to the floor upon being introduced to the Kinsella charm. Until Zoe that was. Even after their sloppy little make out session on Miller Road it still wasn’t until months later when he realized he was in love.

Yet again it was Friday night, only this time months later. They were still at the peak of their sexual frustration and at each other’s throats but not in the way he would like. It was only a matter of time before something happened between them. Both had been on edge around each other all week and insults were hurling at rapid rates.

It was one of the rare Friday nights he wasn’t working, since Wally doing some emergency electrical renovations and the Rammer Jammer was closed for a few days.

Lavon talked him into staying at the Plantation for the night, playing video games and having some beers. It was like any other weeknight that he wasn’t working honestly.

Lavon groaned. “No no no. Lavon Hayes did not just lose again.”

Wade chuckled. He knew by Lavon’s referring to himself in 3rd person that he was distraught. “On that note mayor, I’m gonna go. Might I suggest you take this time to practice so you can keep up?” He joked, mooching one more beer out of his fridge for his walk home.

On his way out he vaguely heard the game starting again and some grumbling coming from the living room. He cracked open his beer, dropped the cap in the trash and took off down the path toward the edge of the property.

He couldn’t help but notice that the carriage house was lit up and Zoe had opted to stay in for the night too. Maybe this was his chance to make his move.

One of his favorite Jason Aldean songs escaped the house. It was one of those ‘sexy country’ songs that people couldn’t help but dance to, the kind you play on a Friday night to relax and unwind from a long week and apparently Zoe Hart was no exception.

He’d seen Zoe on the dance floor of the Rammer Jammer from time to time, but nothing like this before. She had shorty shorts on that were so tight they left nearly nothing to his imagination. Her tank top was skimpy and there was no way she could have a bra on under that little thing or he would have been able to see it.

Her hair was pulled up on top of her head, as messy as it was the first night they’d met. She had an old washcloth in her hand and bottle of lemon Pledge in the other. She was cleaning.

There was obviously a part of him that knew he shouldn’t be standing outside of her door, watching her. He realized how creepy that came off and didn’t intend on standing there for as long as he did. He walked up to the carriage house meaning to knock and give her a hard time before he officially retired for the night but seeing her so comfortable threw a wrench in those plans.

She pulled a step stool out of the corner and climbed up, barely able to reach the ceiling fan she was going for. Seeing her stretching up trying to clean the blades of that ceiling fan was all but doing him in.

As she cleaned each blade she rotated her ass to the music, letting small moves he had never seen her do before escape. As she sang along to the music the corners of her mouth pulled up into a smile. She was in a world all her own, more relaxed than he had ever seen her and it was unusually attractive. Watching a woman clean had never ‘done it’ for him before and he didn’t think it ever would but it did, no matter how that made him come off.

Instead of interrupting her and hassling her like he originally planned to, he left her to it. She was so wound up most of the time this is exactly what she needed. He was just impressed she had this mode at all. Zoe Hart surprised him again.

Once he made the short walk around the pond, he walked into the gatehouse, stripped down and picked up his guitar. He loved unwinding with his guitar. But then he realized he loved Zoe Hart and thinking about her dancing around in her skimpy pajamas more.

Review and let me know what you think : )

#hart of dixie #zoe hart #wade kinsella #fanfic

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lucyariablog · 7 years

Text

A Content Marketing Love Letter

Almost eight years ago to the day was one of the worst days of my life.

The business I had started 2.5 years earlier was on its last leg. It wasn’t just that we weren’t making money, but we were losing enough money that I started to question whether our family would have enough to pay certain bills.

The downtrend was apparent, but on this day … nail met coffin.

This was the day that one of our biggest clients, the one we delivered our best results to and was the most revered of all our case studies, decided not to renew our service (we provided qualified leads for content agencies).

I called the client, received the “official” word, and hung up the phone. In a daze, I walked out of my home office, and then wandered outside and into the yard.

I can’t remember how long I was back there … it could have been five minutes or five hours. I could hear my two boys (then 8 and 6) laughing from inside the house. I think they had just come home from school.

What would I do? What would we do?

It’s a strange feeling when you feel deeply sorry for yourself. Maybe you’ve felt it before … failure that rolls onto you like the ocean waves. Slowly, it overtakes you.

Looking back on it now, it all seems so silly. I mean, this is the definition of a first-world problem. Sure, it wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t the end of the world … except that’s exactly what it felt like.

I guessed I’d just go back and get a “real” job, which was fine except for the fact that I was unmanageable. I left an executive position 2.5 years earlier, put the shingle out, and vowed I’d never do it again. And here I was, considering going back to the corporate world.

A few days went by. I promised myself I wouldn’t make any decisions while in an emotional state.

That week I received an email from one of our blog subscribers. She worked at a fairly large B2B company. She said she absolutely loved the blog and felt like she found her calling around content marketing. She’d been doing content marketing for years but called it something else. She was glad there was a name for it now. Regardless, she wanted to implement a strategy and process in her company, and wanted to know if I could help.

“That’s nice,” I thought … a consulting gig would help.

Then, for whatever reason, I started going through all the emails I’d received from subscribers over the years. The content marketing blog I started in April 2007 was really taking off, and the audience was anything but shy.

The @cmicontent blog I started in April 2007 was taking off & the audience anything but shy. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

And there it was … email after email, the audience telling me what they would buy. While I was so busy trying to perfect a failing product, the answers were right in front of me.

“Joe, our marketing department needs ongoing content marketing training. Does anyone do that?”

“Joe, why isn’t there a content marketing conference? I’d like to meet people who are going through the same challenges that I am.”

“Joe, is there any benchmark research on how marketers are using and succeeding with content marketing? I need to get buy-in from my boss.”

“I like AdAge and B2B magazine, but they never talk about content creation and distribution issues. Are there any media companies that focus on this? If so, I’d like to subscribe my team.”

The proverbial lightbulb had been switched to the “on” position.

Birth of Content Marketing Institute

Next to my computer was a cocktail napkin (I still can’t recall why). On that napkin, I wrote something to the effect of this:

In three years, we will run the leading online destination for content marketing, the leading content marketing magazine, and the largest content marketing event on the planet.

Just over six months later, in May 2010, Content Marketing Institute was born. The concept took off immediately. People came to the site. Social sharing was off the hook. It was hard to believe it was working.

In May 2010, @cmicontent was born. The concept took off, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

Michele Linn bought into the vision and took over editorial. Robert Rose, always open to a disruptive idea, assisted with the vision and agreed to run consulting and training. Pam Kozelka, my wife and co-founder of CMI, took over all the operations so I could sell, speak, scale, and write. Joseph Kalinowski brought his design chops.

Chief Content Officer (CCO) magazine launched in January 2011. Clare McDermott, who for whatever reason agreed to edit the magazine, took charge of the brand with Angela Vannucci who became the project director.

I called Kelley Whetsell, event director extraordinaire, and explained to her the vision for Content Marketing World. She reserved a small space at the Renaissance Hotel in Cleveland, Ohio, based for 100 to 150 people. I honestly didn’t know if we could attract 100 people to Cleveland for a small content marketing conference.

I didn’t know if 100 people would show up for a #contentmarketing conference. 660 people did. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

Just a few months later, 660 people showed up at the conference and we were bursting at the hotel’s seams.

Cathy McPhillips came on to run marketing. Lisa Beets agreed to run our annual research. Peter Loibl agreed to come over from Crain’s to run sales. Laura Kozak formalized a process for the website. Jodi Harris came on to help Michele with the blog and our content projects. Mo Wagner brought her social media savvy. Amanda Subler generated more buzz around content marketing than we could possibly imagine.

As we scaled, we added more talent, but even better human beings like Kim Borden, Karen Schopp, Lisa Dougherty, Krissy Leskovec, Dave Anthony, John Hanson, Wally Koval, Ann Gynn, Marcia Riefer-Johnston, and many others.

By the fall of 2012, just two years after the worst day of my professional career, we had achieved our “cocktail-napkin” mission, and indeed built the leading online destination for content marketing, the largest magazine property, and the largest in-person content marketing event in the world.

It’s the community

I love the CMI team. They are family to me and always will be.

But I tell you this story because, to put it simply, CMI exists because of you.

CMI would not be “a thing” without you … your feedback, your honesty, your ability to challenge the status quo.

When I teach people about what it takes to build an audience, I don’t think of an audience as a nameless, faceless crowd. I think of Andrew Davis, Jay Acunzo, Ann Handley, Ardath Albee, Jay Baer, Arnie Kuenn, Ahava Leibtag, Jesper Laursen, Kazuo Watanabe, Pam Didner, Pamela Muldoon, and so many others.

When I teach people about building an audience, I don’t think of it as a nameless, faceless crowd. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

I think of the time Andy Crestodina stalked me at Content Marketing World 2012 to hand me a printout of his Content Chemistry book (I still have it, Andy).

I think of Carmen Hill and how she always willingly spends her birthday at CMWorld every year.

I think of Marcus Sheridan, an incredibly raw and talented speaker that we gave 20 minutes to in 2011 … who became our keynote in 2012 and went on to affect so many people around the world in such a positive way.

I think of amazing moments like Pam and I crying behind the curtain before I went out on stage for CMWorld 2011, and how two days later three delegates came to me crying and disappointed for having to listen to that vulgar Kevin Smith performance (yes, that happened). And I’ll never forget seeing Amanda Todorovich’s face when she received Content Marketer of the Year, presented by her two beautiful daughters.

Content marketing has become a real, professional practice … maybe the most important practice in marketing, because you had the strength and courage to seek out a better way to communicate. You believed that marketing, as we knew it, was broken and there was (is) a better way.

Being witness to this and being able to serve you has been a wonderful and humbling experience. It’s a gift … one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. I don’t know if I’m deserving of it, but I will accept it nonetheless.

My journey

You are smart, so you’ve probably seen where this is heading (if you didn’t already scroll to this part of the story).

Starting Jan. 1, I will be ending my active role in CMI operations. On that exact date, I’ll be taking a 30-day, internet-free sabbatical and spending every possible second with my family. After that, I’ll be taking some very special (bucket list) trips with members of my family and will be working on some non-marketing writing projects (and other shenanigans). I’ll also be increasing my involvement in our nonprofit organization, Orange Effect Foundation, and will continue to raise money for children who desperately need speech therapy and technology equipment to help them communicate more effectively.

I’ve been given a very rare gift in that I can step away and focus on some things that I may have been neglecting over the past few years. As Alexander Hamilton says in the musical Hamilton, “I am not throwing away my shot.” My plan is to truly lean in to this and see where the journey leads me.

Some community members may not know this, but CMI was acquired in June 2016 by UBM, one of the most successful event and media companies in the world. UBM saw amazing value in the business, and CMI found a wonderful home. The partnership with UBM is the reason I have the opportunity to take some time off. Hopefully you’ve noticed that there haven’t been any changes to the CMI team operations or the way we interact with the community. UBM has done a great job in continuing in the spirit that Pam, I, and the rest of the team started so many years ago.

So, while I, of course, will be at Content Marketing World in 2018, I’ll be moving away from my other duties, including the podcast. I can do this because, to be honest, I have complete faith in you, the community, and the CMI team. I’m excited to see what you do next, and how our very important mission continues to evolve.

I have complete faith in the community & the @cmicontent team. I’m excited to see what's next. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

It’s never been a more exciting time to be a marketing professional. We are the ones who will define the future business models, not just for marketing, but for our entire organizations. Building loyal and trusted audiences through the delivery of truly valuable information is the key to making this happen.

Although I won’t be active at CMI, I won’t be gone. I’m here for any one of you with anything you need, just like I always have been. You just might not be seeing my avatar as much on the site.

If you have any questions, please leave them below and I will answer as promptly as possible.

With love and content,

Joe

“Patience, persistence, and perspiration make an unbeatable combination for success.” – Napoleon Hill

Want to see Joe’s motivational words from Content Marketing World 2017 and learn from hundreds of presenters? Sign up for CMWorld’s video on demand.

Cover image by Joseph Kalinowski/Content Marketing Institute

The post A Content Marketing Love Letter appeared first on Content Marketing Institute.

from http://contentmarketinginstitute.com/2017/10/content-marketing-letter/

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hotspreadpage · 7 years

Text

A Content Marketing Love Letter

Almost eight years ago to the day was one of the worst days of my life.

The downtrend was apparent, but on this day … nail met coffin.

I called the client, received the “official” word, and hung up the phone. In a daze, I walked out of my home office, and then wandered outside and into the yard.

What would I do? What would we do?

It’s a strange feeling when you feel deeply sorry for yourself. Maybe you’ve felt it before … failure that rolls onto you like the ocean waves. Slowly, it overtakes you.

A few days went by. I promised myself I wouldn’t make any decisions while in an emotional state.

“That’s nice,” I thought … a consulting gig would help.

The @cmicontent blog I started in April 2007 was taking off & the audience anything but shy. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

And there it was … email after email, the audience telling me what they would buy. While I was so busy trying to perfect a failing product, the answers were right in front of me.

“Joe, our marketing department needs ongoing content marketing training. Does anyone do that?”

“Joe, why isn’t there a content marketing conference? I’d like to meet people who are going through the same challenges that I am.”

“Joe, is there any benchmark research on how marketers are using and succeeding with content marketing? I need to get buy-in from my boss.”

“I like AdAge and B2B magazine, but they never talk about content creation and distribution issues. Are there any media companies that focus on this? If so, I’d like to subscribe my team.”

The proverbial lightbulb had been switched to the “on” position.

Birth of Content Marketing Institute

Next to my computer was a cocktail napkin (I still can’t recall why). On that napkin, I wrote something to the effect of this:

In three years, we will run the leading online destination for content marketing, the leading content marketing magazine, and the largest content marketing event on the planet.

In May 2010, @cmicontent was born. The concept took off, says @JoePulizzi. Click To Tweet

I didn’t know if 100 people would show up for a #contentmarketing conference. 660 people did. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

Just a few months later, 660 people showed up at the conference and we were bursting at the hotel’s seams.

It’s the community

I love the CMI team. They are family to me and always will be.

But I tell you this story because, to put it simply, CMI exists because of you.

CMI would not be “a thing” without you … your feedback, your honesty, your ability to challenge the status quo.

When I teach people about building an audience, I don’t think of it as a nameless, faceless crowd. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

I think of the time Andy Crestodina stalked me at Content Marketing World 2012 to hand me a printout of his Content Chemistry book (I still have it, Andy).

I think of Carmen Hill and how she always willingly spends her birthday at CMWorld every year.

My journey

You are smart, so you’ve probably seen where this is heading (if you didn’t already scroll to this part of the story).

I have complete faith in the community & the @cmicontent team. I’m excited to see what’s next. @JoePulizzi Click To Tweet

Although I won’t be active at CMI, I won’t be gone. I’m here for any one of you with anything you need, just like I always have been. You just might not be seeing my avatar as much on the site.

If you have any questions, please leave them below and I will answer as promptly as possible.

With love and content,

Joe

“Patience, persistence, and perspiration make an unbeatable combination for success.” – Napoleon Hill

Want to see Joe’s motivational words from Content Marketing World 2017 and learn from hundreds of presenters? Sign up for CMWorld’s video on demand.

Cover image by Joseph Kalinowski/Content Marketing Institute

The post A Content Marketing Love Letter appeared first on Content Marketing Institute.

A Content Marketing Love Letter syndicated from http://ift.tt/2maPRjm

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