#hm. idk what to tag for here. godspeed

[blorb-el]

reread tower of babel the other day and. in bruce's little contingency files, he notes that the countermeasure he made for barry should work fine for the other flashes. and then. there is a picture of bart. bruce's countermeasure was shooting a vibrational bullet into the flash's spine, which would release some kinda machine to induce superspeed seizures. bruce hopes there will be no permanent side effects.

bruce was prepared to shoot a... 13 year old? in the spine. when wally's freed he says 'there were days i prayed just to die.' mm yeah sure hope that wouldn't have permanent side effects on a 13 year old. anyway. good comic! fucked up though

jla secret files and origins 3, "blame," 2000, script dan curtis johnson, pencils pablo raimondi, inks claude st. aubin and dave meikis, colors tom mccraw and digitial chameleon

[babacontainsmultitudes]

OH MY GOD btw idk if you saw my tags in my second rb of that post but im SO SORRY that it looked like i was telling you to "chill" for a second i would never say that, that's so dismissive 😭😭😭

tumblr hates me and hates when i talk in the tags of my mutuals' posts apparently

i thought ur post was very good & i was TRYING to express agreement and talk about my thoughts in the tags. so sorry if it seemed like i was trying to shut u down at first. godspeed o7

[In reference to this post]

LMAO Clay I shit you not I was in the middle of writing an ask to *you* saying, first of all, no worries at all about the fucky tumblr tags haha this is the hellsite and I read that tag as sarcasm anyways so dw dw lol I know you're not like that haha 🫂.

And second of all, that I was nodding very emphatically reading your tags yeah I'm also quite conflicted- increasingly so frankly, and I can relate to your description of being *so* sad from it that it kind of falls flat? As for like, whether I find it satisfying from a narrative standpoint or not, *honestly* as more time passes the more I can feel my own opinions going from positive to... Mixed? I agree that the Swifts deserved more time, period (absolutely) and that there was so much left unexplored... And that it would have felt more satisfying if we got more with them...

Hm. With the interaction as it was, I honestly think I would have liked it much more if it happened like, midway through the season? Giving Nicky enough time to step up and really prove himself to Taylor? Though of course we return then to the issue of that family not having enough time in general!

Conversely... I think I could have been happier with Taylor's decision happening at the end here and simultaneously been *less* uh absolutely heartbroken if it had been delivered differently like, tonally? I suppose I feel like... Combining all of their previous interactions prior over the course of the season, the complications surrounding Nicky's abandoment to begin with (listen could my man have sent a letter now and again abso-fucking-lutely but bro also had all his friends turn against him and was tortured by the FBI who he didn't want hurting his family like it's not so black and white at all), and maybe most of all the fact that Nicky genuinely *was* trying to be there for Taylor post-reuiniting in Hell... Combining all those things, it's not that I think Taylor is wrong to decide still that his dad wasn't there for him before so he doesn't want him now, as sad as that is I think it's still very understandable and certainly *interesting*, but the *cruelty* in how he delivered that blow is what came as a bit of a shocker to me and just doesn't feel good to me with. Well with all those other things I mentioned. Again, that's if we're keeping this interaction at the very end here, having Taylor chew out his dad the way he did way earlier could have been great.

IS. Is where I'm currently at with that I think? Yeah lol. Like there's more thoughts for sure but I would surely go on several tangents haha.

[kleeboy]

Okay, I’ve not posted writing anywhere in a long time, and from memory never once on tumblr so let’s change that. Also, the fact that like 850 words is the longest piece of writing I’ve done in, hm, over a year? Not a fan of that. Just joined a writers club so we’re gonna fix that one too.

Cause this is drafty and just some preamble I did for fun instead of schoolwork I’m not going to put it in any tags, I’ll just fling it to the void. I can get into more organised posting habits when (if) I do it regularly. If this ends up on your dashboard, congrats! Or sorry. Idk, your call. If I let my perfectionism have its say I wouldn’t even be posting this so who cares. I made a thing, and you can enjoy it or suffer it at your leisure.

Anyway here’s the equivalent of a cold open based on that post I made about EOS being a kid who breaks into John’s house. No guarantees I’ll continue it, but no guarantees I won’t. Godspeed.

~

The echo of distant thunder and the rain that drummed on the roof made the perfect background noise to the book John’s nose was stuck in. A heavy, handmade blanket lay on his lap, and the combustion heater cast a warm glow across the side of his face.

He glanced up, checking the time on the clock hanging above the hall door. If he had turned to look out the gap in the curtains, he would have seen into the front yard. Instead, he went right back to his reading and remained peacefully unaware of the child that slipped away from the window and down the side of the house.

The little girl wormed her way under the gate, leaving a muddy streak down the front of her pinafore and reopening one of the scrapes on her knees. Blood mixed with rainwater and ran in red trails down her shin.

Inside the gate was a plain metal box set on the wall. She could open it if she reached, but she wasn’t tall enough to use what was inside by herself. She would need something to stand on.

The back garden was small, thriving, and colourless. Any flowers had wilted, or perhaps had never been planted in the first place. The shed tucked into the back corner was so small it looked like a corrugated iron closet.

I’ll plant pansies along here, the girl thought as she hopped from flagstone to flagstone down the garden path. She took care not to tread on the gravel between them, sick of things sticking into her feet.

Lightning flashed, making the storm clouds glow from inside. A heavy stream of water ran from the corner of the shed roof, pooling beneath and threatening to drown nearby plants. It was perfect for rinsing the dirt and blood from her legs. The consistent, icy water soothed the sting of her grazes, but she couldn’t stay there forever. When she got inside the house she would find something to cover them up.

More relief came in the shed handle being low enough for her to reach. The shrieking of metal against metal the last time she had jumped to open a shed door still haunted her. This way she could move it slowly, the latch only making a whispered scraping sound.

Inside, cobwebs and grot layered every inch of the shed. A few tools had been used recently, but even the broom had gathered a layer of dust. If she hit something with that, it would positively explode with insects. Maybe even a spider or two.

A stack of buckets sat under the shelves. Perfect. She pulled them out and tried to take the top one, but it didn’t budge. They were stuck right together. It would be less effort to take them all. She flipped the stack over and climbed on top of them to see the higher shelves.

Something blue hanging over the edge of the topmost shelf caught her attention — a rope. As she dragged it down, something metal nearly hit her in the eye. It wasn’t a length of rope, but several elastic cords tangled together, each tipped at either end with a hook. Even better.

She gathered anything else that she might need — a pair of loppers, a spade as high as her shoulder, a proper coil of rope. To her delight, she even managed to pull a claw hammer from tucked away in a corner. The broom would have to stay put, unfortunately. It was far too unwieldy.

As she brought them all down the garden path, she stumbled, planting a foot straight into the gravel. She winced and dropped the tools to assess the damage. When she found no new cuts, she picked her arsenal up and continued to the back of the house.

There was no way to the front yard except the way she came, but an alcove on the other side offered a hiding place deep enough that she wouldn’t be seen from the back door. She carefully rested the tools in the corner there and returned to the shed for the buckets.

She properly shut the shed door so it wouldn’t swing open in the wind like a big warning flag, and took one last opportunity to stick her aching feet in the pool of water collecting at its base. Finally ready, she picked up the buckets and made the march along the flagstones once last time.

Standing on top of the makeshift step-stool brought her eye level with the latch on the metal box. Its hinges squeaked as she opened it, exposing the panel inside.

The sky cracked like a cannon and the rain pelted down even harder. It drenched the ground under the eaves just as much as everywhere else, and the spray of water flecked the switches inside the box.

There were rows of them, each labelled with their functions, but she had eyes only for one. The largest, set in the middle and above the rest.

She tugged the ends of the ribbon in her red hair, letting it fall loose so she could push back the locks plastered to her face. With the bow securely re-tied, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

Lights out.

She turned off the main circuit breaker.