#and with how delicate humans are compared to clark

[rhinexstone]

I think one of the many reasons Clark likes Bruce so much is because the only being capable of killing Superman at any given time without any prep (partially because it’s already been done) is a human without any powers or special abilities

[oh-for-fic-sake]

I Didn't Know This Was A Date

You end up on a date unknowingly.

Masterlist

Warnings:Adult situations +18 ,Smut ,Masturbation ,Swearing

A/n: So I'm basing Clark's confidence issues on my own, I'm either overconfident and cocky or have absolutely none whatsoever and can got from one to the other in seconds. I have nothing against Lois as a character but I do think she is spoiled and a little selfish I don't want to make her mean and turn her into the typical rival, but at the same time I could see her getting a little too wrapped up in the whole hero thing and I am 99.9% sure that if they broke up she would find it hard accepting him moving on.

Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters​

I Didn't Know This Was A Date

You quickly cut across the field to your little blue farm house, heart racing as you replayed his words over and over. Squealing girlishly. Wow he was hot, soo hot and sweet he seemed shy but he definitely knew he was attractive. Shit this was so crazy but you trusted him. Martha had told you lots about her Clark, that he was shy and been raised a true gentleman, he was kind and it sometimes caused him problems smart, gentle and loving a true catch by the sound of it.

He had seemed all these things and more, you scaled the steps to your house running straight to the master bedroom pulling out a pink medium sized suitcase before gathering clothes you'd need, then your essentials pajamas underwear, make up bag and a hair kit. Finally you came to the dress you would wear on the night you smiled you would look stunning if you did say so yourself. After deliberating packing then repacking you looked up at the clock nine pm sighing you decided it was time for a shower then bed. Making your way to the bath room you were flooded with thoughts anticipating what was to come.

You debated on weather to epilate, honestly you couldn't be bothered but decided it would be best to just in case anything did happen between you a the blue eyed hottie. You quickly washed your hair epilating your legs then shaved tidying up the apex of your thighs a little not that it needed much doing to it, it was your legs you never bothered with. You couldn't help but moan as you used the shower head to rinse yourself,rocking forward as the spray hit your sensitive clit biting your lip as you imagined him there with you, a burning hand pushing you back against the cool tiles pinning you with one hand on your ribs fingers splayed almost covering your whole rib cage, you size kink was well and truly activated by the hulk of a man you hummed imagining how he would use his size and strength to hold you still ,use it to man handle you, manipulate you into any position, to fuck you anyway he saw fit weather you liked it or not.

You thought about how he navigate the shower head between your open legs forcing the spray on your heated core, angling it to graze you swollen clit. FUCK. You grunted head falling back to the wall widening your feet letting the warm water hit your bundle of nerves mouth open panting as you lost yourself in the fantasy, he'd tease you moving the water in small circles the back and forth letting it caress you from your ass all the way up to your tender clit leaning over you, crowding you with his huge form.

You shivered you wouldn't be able to escape, not even if you wanted to, his piercing blue eyes would be all you saw as you managed to open your eyes mewling softly , he'd have to audacity to still look a little shy as he toyed with you. Finally he'd let his hand slip down your body dragging the pads of his heated fingers in slow patterns, your hand followed as you held your eyes close imagining he was there instead, he would ghost them along your seam slow, prying your lips apart, but once he opened you up he wouldn't waste time spearing you with one then two digits stretching you, tormenting your walls as his thick fingers easing their way inside you crooking them forward scissoring them trying to prepare you for his cock, he would move slow at first then fast forcing you into a sudden climax.

"AH OH FUCK YES C-Clark shit hah!~" you cried out his name as you came across your own hand bucking and twisting as you held the water firm on your erect clit the whole time panting hard as you came down finally pulling the water away for a few moments the cursing as you returned it to wash away your mess that still clung to you.

Clark laid in bed his jaw clenched growling trying to keep quiet not wanting to disturb his mom, erect cock in hand furiously pumping it, he'd been at this now for nearly half an hour, the same as you. In this moment he didn't know if his super hearing was a gift or curse. He could hear you, crying out for him as you fucked yourself in your bed across the field, he could even hear the fucking vibrator be turned up a notch as you cried out high and desperately for him once again panting and groaning.

Fuck that was good but something tells you that once you get to bed you’d be forcing another few climax's out of yourself over him tonight.

He grunted as he closed his eyes concentrating on the soft whimpers he had half a mind to go over there and fuck you properly, pin you down and force feed you his cock....not that there would be any forcing from the sounds of it you'd be happy to oblige. That toy wouldn't compare to anything he could Would do to you, fuck you'd be so tight for him, even with how wet you'd be he'd have to be careful not to hurt you, that's not to say he would be gentle. No. He would be delicate enough not to break bones or tear you but that was about it.

He grunted tightening his fist until, it was slightly painful, just the way he liked it. He always put his pain kink down to the fact he couldn't ever really get hurt, he was indestructible, the man of steel, but when he first discovered this as a teen he thought he was weird for enjoying it so much, strange that he would get off faster if his sensitive erect cock was pinched and pulled at or squeezed painfully tight.

It then developed into a size kink, wanting to find the smallest woman he could that would give him that delicious pain and pleasure mix that he craved. He grunted biting his other hand as he panted harshly hearing you begin to come undone again moaning out for him, thinking about him.

He groaned throwing his head back hearing you finally come down from your high panting laughing a little hoarse from your screams, you'd be more than hoarse when he finally finished with you, you'd loose your voice completely after he hung your face off the side of the bed and plowed your throat he gave one final harsh pinch with the side of his thumb and pointer finger imagining breaching your cervix and came the hardest he thinks he ever has jerking his hips seeing stars for a second, he was so lost in his orgasm he thought he was going to fall out of bed.

He wondered what you was imagining, if it was the same as him, he could see it now him standing up right with you folded in half before him, hooking your bent leg over his arms as he pulled them up to your sides knees nearly at your armpits as he pulled them back, facing away from him as his hands threaded together cupping behind your neck holding your entire weight on his forearm as he pulled and pushed Into you pounding away

You'd cry and moan for him, begging him to slow down as it was to much, he wouldn't tho he'd just tell you to enjoy the ride and fuck you until you felt him for days, stuffing your tight little cunt full until you'd struggle trying to get away from him, it'd be impossible tho, you wont get away until he decided to let you which was unlikely, not until he floods your tiny pussy, even then he knew it wont be just the once, no it normally took four or five rounds to empty his balls and you'd be getting the full dose each time, weather it was down your throat, in your cunt or across your tits if he played his cards right he hoped he could spend himself in that prefect peach of an ass either way you was getting all of it.

"Oh-fuck yes yes fuck baby so tiny and tight for me fuckfuck fuck that's it ugh!"He came in thick powerful ropes, thankfully he had angled himself up towards his chest when he finished not getting any on the sheets cumming across his stomach and chest instead, he was a little shocked as a few drops had made it to his collar bone.

He was frustrated and hurt when he came here today, wanting his moms advice on how to get over Lois and now he was happy and for the first time in a long time hopeful, he could definitely see himself with you but didn't want to rush, he was finding peace with the fact that he had been falling out of love with Lois for a long time, all she seemed to go on about now was the next article she could write about Superman even going so far as to 'accidentally' fall out of a moving car into oncoming speeding traffic so she could,write about how she was saved. That particular one had made him very angry.

He panted resting an arm across his closed eyes catching his breath as his cock finally seemed sated for now, he listened he could hear the relaxed heartbeat of his mother he hadn't woke her which was good, he was embarrassed being caught as a teen and he would hate it even more now. He turned his head a little listening out for you he was greeted with you moaning drowsily about drenched sheets then a few moments later light snores you was out like a light.

He chuckled you'd fucked yourself into a coma just for him. He smiled moving his arm from his eyes a relief flowed through him. His mom was right you did like him, he might just be good enough for you after all, he was going to try and win your heart over the next week, determined to make Saturdays party you first time together he exhaled content tucking himself back into his boxers then made for the bathroom to clean himself up flushing the toilet roll away when he finished making his way back to bed hands behind his head.

Bottom line she wanted him to be superman day and night,she even started calling him Kal when not in the office. Then there was the sex now he wasn't against role play in the bedroom, quite the opposite but it would be nice to hear his name every once in a while, his human name the one he has grown up with and as for using his powers he didn't mind occasionally but they aren't toys or party tricks, it got exhausting, he sees being superman as a job in itself, but it was a job Lois never gave him time off of, he drew the line when he found it hard to relax and just be himself that was when he new he had to call it off.

He nearly lost who he was to a symbol of hope, he knew if that happened he would have grown to hate superman and everything it stood for which could only end in disaster. The whole situation had been weighing him down for the best part of a year as he tried to deny it, putting the break up off willing her to change and when she didn't he finally called it quits and has felt guilty ever since, until today that is.

After meeting you today and getting them nervous flutters in his stomach again he felt nothing but relief over it, he knew it was the right thing to do, this is what it should feel like, light and happy, care free and warm. For the first time in what felt like years he fell asleep with a smile across his face.

All day there had been casually flirting on both parts which gave him hope that you was interested in more then just a quick fuck still tho it was torture watching other men giving you looks and not being able to do anything ,you laughed a little nervous as he leaned in over the table as you waited for your food.

The next evening you found yourself in a quaint little diner near Clark’s apartment for dinner after spending the day exploring the city. Clark couldn't take his eyes off you, you were stunning dressed in a floral print button up shirt that you had tied in the front showing a small patch of skin of your tummy and high waist light blue jeans showing off your curves , he groaned inwardly the jeans were like a second skin cupping your ass perfectly your hair was down and you had spent most of the day tucking it behind your ears, a nervous habit he assumed.

"So Ma said you moved here four months ago bit of a jump what ,made you decide to come all this way?"

"Well my parents were separated , my mum was well-to put it bluntly she was like Lois, she wanted my dad to be something he's not and she destroyed him constantly chasing her version of perfection without any care to how unhappy she was making him in the end it drove him into a deep depression. One day he had a wake up call and threw her out he tried divorcing her but she wouldn't sigh the papers she kept trying to make his life worse didn't want him to move on she used me as an excuse to keep hanging around...Dad was well off I think that's the reason she wouldn't leave. When he passed away mum was left hardly anything even our housekeeper got more then she did, he really fucked her over for the hell she put him through. After the will was settled she kept harassing me for money and the house each week another sob story and another amount. One time I felt sorry for her and let her in she got me drunk and tried to make me give her the deeds for safe keeping that was the last straw after that I started searching online and after about a week I found the farm house It needed a lot of work doing to it but I liked that... I fell in love with it and put in an offer straight away. Three weeks later I was on the plane" he blinked it was a little sad you ran to the other side of the globe to avoid your mother.

"Wow did you ever tell her?" You shook your head

"No she came over when the the day before I left I let her in and she lost her shit screaming about where all the stuff was and I told her it had been packed she asked why and I told her that I was moving  she thought i was just moving across the county she flipped when i told her I was coming to America and never coming back, she asked where but I wouldn't tell her it ended in an argument she called me a thief and said some shit then left she was just angry that I like my dad had figured her out." He looked shocked how could a mother do such a thing, but then again money is the root of most evil.

"That must have been hard"

"No not really she hadn't been in my life since I was seven when my dad threw her out and I knew what she had done to him fuck I was the one who found him when he tried-I mean it wasn't a big loss" he picked up on the correction but decided not to push it.

"So you came over here to get away?"  You nodded sipping your pepsi

"Yeah in a way I should thank her its the best thing I've ever done, its strange and I still get a little confused at times as you saw with the whole,chip incident earlier but I  really like it over here, smallville is wonderful and much more laid back" he smiled biting his lip as your face lit up.

"Well I for one am glad you made the move" he winked at you you giggle blushing. Busying yourself fiddling with the straw in your drink.

"So my mom? When did you meet her?" You looked up quickly.

"Oh she came over the day I moved in, I was lucky she did i was freaking out it had just sunk in that I was over here completely on my own and didn't have a clue what I was supposed to do, I had nothing to eat the trucks were held up and I couldn't figure out how to turn on the electricity I just sort of sat on the porch with my carry on luggage and broke down she came over with a peach crumble and a bottle of wine and we spent the morning on the porch eating it from the tray and she showed me the fuse box in the basement which I didn't even know the house had to turn on the electricity then went back home coming over with more wine my stuff showed up at lunch time by that time we were both a little tipsy and we have been friends ever since, she helped me sell the fields on the property to the local farmers in return I gave her the small paddock on your side of the road that came with the house. Every time I get confused, need help or if I'm bored I'll pop over to bug her" he laughed not exactly sure what to expect but honestly he didn't know what he was expecting but you getting drunk and eating crumble together wasn't a scenario he could ever have imagined.

"Yes just nice to see a girl with a healthy appetite ,don't get that much around here" you giggled a little

You were interrupted when your food arrived. He watched as you closed your eyes moaning a little at your fully loaded burger grunting at the sound a little, fuck did you have to make them noises he though as he twitched a little, you stopped looking at him staring at you

"What? Is everything okay?" He snapped out of it

"Well I've never heard him referred to like that before!"

"Yes well the bigger I get the bigger the boobs" he blushed unconsciously glance at your chest you snickered catching him as he started to eat, he enjoyed your company as you spent the time flirting and getting to know each other, you were easy to talk to and laid back, full of funny stories about your home and the differences you'd noticed being here.

He was enamored with you the whole time. He told you about his work and the different articles he had written then just out of curiosity he brought up the topic of Superman wanting to hear your views

"Superman? He's the flying one the lycra and bed sheet right?" He bellowed a laugh slapping his thigh a little.

"I'm not wrong tho am I? I suppose I think he's cool  I think people should cut him some slack I mean he is doing more for others than most, leave the man alone you know?" He smiled nodding he found it refreshing to hear something other then the same old 'he should reveal himself' or the negative 'he's an alien and should go home'

"Yeah I agree, so you wouldn't want to know who he was? Or for him to reveal himself?" You leaned back in your seat then shook your head

"No honestly I'm not that interested, he saves people and that should be enough, he don't have to but he is and that shows that he is a better person then me but then again I’m lazy, as for revealing himself I think we owe it to him to let him have a bit of normality, I mean he was here his whole life, living just like one of us then suddenly one day he had to step up and kick the shit out of that other fuck nut. I feel a little sorry for him" you sighed he frowned that he hadn't heard before

"Sorry for him?" You nodded offering him some of your chips that he had been eyeing up.

"Yeah he was never really given a choice was he? One day he was normal like you and me living his life the next being called out by the freaky one with the buzz cut and lisp" he leaned forward stealing more chips fries off your plate.

"Well he did have a choice he could have stayed hidden" you scoffed

"With them holding the world as hostage, he had to think of his loved ones he must have a family and friends you can't live your whole life without having people you want to protect" he smiled wide his eyes soft, you were the complete opposite to Lois she felt like he should tell everyone who he was believing that if he proved he was one of you people would accept him more, not that most didn't but a few still held him responsible for what happened.

"So you wouldn't mind if he swooped down and took off with you?" You laughed

"To our first date?" you blushed at him not realizing he had classed this as a date but was ecstatic trying not you squeal in excitement.

"Depends, if I'm falling to my death I'd appreciate a lift, but if he did it for shits and giggles.... well there'd be more shitting then giggling I tell you that much I'm not one for heights" he roared up unable to stop the bellowing laughs from escaping

"You think I'm joking I threw up once because I wore heels.....okay I was a little drunk and the stairs were glass but that's not the point I am just uncomfortable with heights I don't even wear high heels anymore kitten heels only" he smiled shaking his head

"Gotcha no heights" he said stealing more fries off your plate making you roll your eyes.

Once you'd finished your food he lifted his glass to you, you followed suit raising your glass.

"Date? I didn't know this was a date Mr Kent?" He smiled sheepishly then cleared his throat nervously his voice wavered a bit.

"Well that's only if you want it to be?" You stared at him making him squirm a little then smiled nodding

"Yes I would like that But for the record if you'd asked me I wouldn't have turned you down" then tapped your glass with his

"R-really you would have said yes?" You smiled at his flustered expression it was strange how one moment he was confident then the next a sweet shy teddy bear, you knew it must be something to do with his ex but you was patient enough to wait it out, he has had his confidence knocked and you were determined to build it back up.

"Clark would you like to go out to dinner again tomorrow? Make it our second date" He stuttered flushing as you held on to his hand across the table then nodded smiling.

"Yes I-I'd love that" you smiled at that.

"About what?"

"So what do you think? Seriously?" He asked walking down the road as you left the diner you tilted your head a little staring up at him he squeezed your hand.

"Well we only met yesterday and you only came here to help me with my ex ,I just wanted to know what you really think about all this? About me?" He tried to keep his nerves at bay as he asked you, he wanted to know straight away what your thoughts were, as soon as the question left his mouth he wanted to take it back dreading your answer.

You felt a little sorry for him, what ever his ex had done had really knocked him, you hummed lightly, wanting to pick your words carefully, you had to get across that you really did like him and wanted to pursue him and not just for his looks either.

"Really? You really want to try? And not just be friends?" He said in slight disbelief you nodded

"Fine enough dicking about I like you, really like you, I'm really attracted to you Clark, not just your looks, your sweet, kind and I've had a brilliant time today laughing more than I think I ever have on a first date, it true we have just met but I'm not someone to waste time or beat around the bush, I like you a lot if I thought nothing would come of this I wouldn't be here...I know that you've been hurt but I-I do feel there's something between us, something has just sort of clicked and would like to explore it if you would like to." His heart soared at your words and his shoulders relaxed letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Like I said I felt something  and I definitely want to carry on and see where this takes us." He grinned wide tucking you into his side

"Good I was so afraid you didn't feel the same!" Silence fell over you, you could feel there he was thinking to hard, he took a deep breath and turned to you smiling then leant down ever so slowly,tentative and nervous giving you every opportunity to back away but you didn't leaning in closer to him wanting him to make the decision,  he made a slow decent licking his lip lightly,you braced yourself your breathing hitched as he descended towards you shifting a little, you cautiously rose to meet him but he hovered lips just above yours breath fanning across your lips unsure he was thinking to much you could see it you made the decision for him standing on your tip toes pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss, moving in sync he melted into the kiss before opening his mouth wrapping his arms around you pulling you flush against him groaning as he grabbed your ass in his huge warm hands tugging you towards him leaning down so you could plant you heels back on to the floor.

You mewled winding your arms around his neck locking your fingers together playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He licked at your lips coaxing them open once you did you whined as his tongue wrapped around yours twisting and licking dominating your mouth then he slowed his movements relishing in the kiss holding you tighter to him afraid you'd leave, you grunted softly then pulled back for air before gasping then dragging him back this time more desperate you dove straight in running your tongue across the inside of his mouth moaning fucking his mouth with your tongue trying to taste him as much as you could grinding against Him slowly making him shiver before biting at his bottom lip sucking it harshly. Then pulled away panting. His face glowed a bright red no doubt your did to, you stood by his side and he pulled you in under his arm squeezing your bicep reassuringly.

"So we are dating now then?" He asked still trying to calm his heart beat, yours was racing to which didn't help.

"I would say so yes." He smiled down at you resting his face on your Head kissing it every now and then unable to stop now.

"Good, I couldn't stand everyone looking at you today unable to do anything about it" you faltered as he growled the words out. You flushed, the possessiveness in his voice was enough to make a girl swoon.UGH.Panty dropping you all but melted at his words clenching.

"This" it was the only warning you got before you squealed he lifted you up wrapping your legs around his waist pinning you to the nearest wall grinding slow against you making you moan into him, your clit erect almost instantly as he rocked across it threw your jeans, the cotton of your panties becoming a damp.

"Oh really and what are you gonna do about it then?" You asked a cheeky grin he raised an eyebrow

He laughed a little as you wriggled against him trying to get away not wanting to seep threw onto your pale jeans his hands merely held you firm as his cock throbbed against you, you could feel it hot and twitching he rubbed harder moaning into your mouth as he took your breath away, kissing you deeper than before, almost trying to devour you as he licked into your open mouth then coiled his tongue around yours caressing it with a thrusting motions making you groan lightly.

He began sucking yours into his mouth pulling away he trailed a few light kisses down your neck then licked at your neck just below your ear nipping it before opening his mouth wide biting down and sucking heavily, you cried out arching into him pressing your core firmly onto his very eager cock making him hiss and pull away he grunted keeping your rocking hips still looking at his work a dark bruise forming on your neck high enough that it wont be getting covered any time soon he puffed out his chest a sense of pride then leaned forward kissing it softly making you sigh then ran his nose across it before speaking lowly into your ear.

"Oh my god Clark I'm so sorry! that is so embarrassing!" You panicked and felt like you could cry covering your crotch and ass looking around for something to hide it with he smirked a little he couldn't help being smug, that was just a little taster and you’d soaked yourself through.

"There we go now everyone will see that your all mine" you whimpered as your pussy shuddered he hissed feeling it. Then set you back down chuckling lightly as he spotted the wet patch on your jeans you followed his gaze and gasped mortified

"Nothing to be sorry for its very flattering! But here use this" shrugging off his jacket you accepted it gladly pulling it over your arms and holding the neck breathing in his scent, he groaned in his chest. It drowned you, the hem falling to your knees ,You looked perfect. He will definitely be putting you in his clothes more often, he cleared his throat tugging on his jeans rearranging himself then took hold of your hand walking towards his apartment. Yes today had been good but something tells him this week would only get better and better.

[kaitintr2001]

The nude stripped bareThe history of the body DAVID RIMANELLI

‘To be naked is to be deprived of our clothes, and the word implies some of the embarrassment most of us feel in that condition. The word nude, on the other hand, carries, in educated usage, no uncomfortable overtone.’ So wrote Kenneth Clark in A Study in Ideal Form. David Rimanelli argues that some artists have blurred this distinction. From Félix Vallotton to John Currin.

Kenneth Clark begins his classic treatise The Nude: A Study in Ideal Form by making a distinction between the naked and the nude: “The English language, with its elaborate generosity, distinguishes between the naked and the nude. To be naked is to be deprived of our clothes, and the word implies some of the embarrassment most of us feel in that condition. The word ‘nude’, on the other hand, carries, in educated usage, no uncomfortable overtone. The vague image it projects into the mind is not of a huddled and defenseless body, but of a balanced, prosperous and confident body: the body re-formed.” It has often been asserted that Modernism begins with Manet, in particular with those paintings wherein the vexations of the unclothed female body burst forth with a power of disquietude that appalled the public: Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe 1863 and Olympia 1863. The former picture had been exhibited at the Salon des Refusés, “to that extent, officially beyond the pale of art”, as another Clark – T.J. Clark – remarks in his essay Olympia’s Choice, whereas Olympia was the shocker of the official Salon of 1865. Both paintings display an uncertainty about the status of the nude female figure, an uncertainty that points perhaps towards Kenneth Clark’s distinction between the naked and the nude. These women fail to sustain the idealisation of the nude, slipping decisively into the embarrassing (for some) terrain of the naked. In other words, Manet deprives his models of the acceptable academic veneer of classical nudity, forcing them into the modern age, a naked age, disturbingly and yet ambiguously contemporary.

T.J. Clark continues his analysis by examining the silence of the contemporary Parisian critics concerning the obvious source of Olympia (Titian’s great nude, The Venus of Urbino, 1538), compared with their open acknowledgement of the source for Le Dèjeuner sur l’herbe (a work of Titian that was commonly attributed to Giorgione in the nineteenth century and known as the Fête champêtre, c.1510–11): “Critics certainly came to laugh at its mistakes and incoherences, and yet the best way to do so was to point out what Manet’s picture derived from - and how incompetently… But in 1865 none of this took place. If the revisions of the Venuscould be seen at all, they could not be said.” He goes on to say:”The past was travestied in Olympia: it was subject to a kind of degenerate simian imitation, in which the nude was stripped of its last feminine qualities, its fleshiness, its very humanity, and left as ‘une forme quelconque’ – a rubber-covered gorilla flexing its hand above its crotch.”

The complexity of Clark’s analysis of the reception of Olympia does not bear treatment in a short essay. Suffice to note that a crisis in the depiction of the nude was already, in his view, well underway in the academic nudes of the Salons - the vacuous, silly, trashy Venuses and nymphs of Cabanel, Bouguereau and Gèrôme, to cite only three relatively more distinguished examples – and that the scandal of Olympia was indeed her modernity, a prostitute plainly and unapologetically, rather than a fille de la rue gussied up as Phrynè or Danaë.

Kenneth Clark’s remarks on Olympia are much more modest, but still adumbrate the radical break that Manet’s painting constitutes:”The Olympia is a portrait of an individual, whose interesting but sharply characteristic body is placed exactly where one would expect to find it. Amateurs were thus suddenly reminded of the circumstances under which actual nudity was familiar to them, and their embarrassment is understandable.” Those amateurs would be understandably embarrassed to see nakedness in such familiar circumstances: in a brothel, where they are paying clients.

If the naked and the nude as archetypes stand at the outset of Modernism, then both became thoroughly discredited and disposed of by Modernism’s end. And yet the unclothed figure persisted in certain forms. Félix Vallotton had been a member of the avant-garde Nabis group in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and in such paintings as Femme nue assise dans un fauteuil 1897 and Femmes nues aux chat c.1898 he subjected the nude to the flattening and the unnaturalistic colourations that were also typical of his compeers Bonnard, Denis Sèrusier and Vuillard. But by the first decade of the twentieth century, his nudes begin to change. From the vantage of Modernist criticism and art history, they degenerate, becoming, on the whole, more academic. Yet with hindsight we can discern in Vallotton’s later nudes – and there are many of them – characteristics that render them very contemporary. Nu assis 1910 is stunningly prescient with respect to John Currin’s nudes of the 1990s. This woman looks very much like a stout bourgeoise, and her no-nonsense hairdo attests to her conventional background: no glowing, flowing tresses here, no savage, Baudelairean chevelure . Her face is ordinary, her expression smiling and bland; at best she’s jolie laide. But Vallotton does play oddly with the colouration of her flesh, a hint perhaps of his Nabis past. The flesh tones of the body are those of the morgue, grey and purple; the face, however, looks flushed, reddened, desirous, horny. The Nu assis is a sexed-up corpse, a banal succubus. Were the trappings of the exotic or supernatural more in evidence – as they are, for instance, in the nudes of Gustave Moreau or Fernand Khnopff – Vallotton’s odalisque would appear more acceptable and less disconcerting, because she would belong to a readily identifiable fin-de-siècle feminine typology.

John Curin Bea Arthur Naked 1991 Private collection, courtesy Gagosian Gallery

Vallotton’s Nu assis wreaks havoc on the idealised nude, but she doesn’t quite adhere to Clark’s description of the naked. Instead, wavering between academicism and almost gross realism, she comes off as a sly parody. She appears comfortable and confident in the amplitude of her dead flesh.The Nu allongè au tapis rouge1909 likewise plays fast and loose with the conventions of the nude. Writing of Boucher, Kenneth Clark notes: “The Venus of the dix-huitième extends the range of the nude in one memorable way: far more frequently than any of her sisters, she shows us her back. Looked at simply as form, as relationship of plane and protuberance, it might be argued that the back view of the female body is more satisfactory than the front. That the beauty of this aspect was appreciated in antiquity we know from such a figure as the Venus of Syracuse. But the Hermaphrodite and the Callipygian Venus suggest that it was also symbolic of lust.” In the Nu allongè, Vallotton explicitly alludes to the hermaphroditic figure and the many nudes that borrow its pose; for example,Velásquez’s Rokeby Venus and Boucher’s Miss O’Murphy.”Freshness of desire has seldom been more delicately expressed than by Miss O’Murphy’s round young limbs,” comments Clark with the barest hint of prurience, “as they sprawl with undisguised satisfaction on the cushions of her sofa.” Vallotton’s nude is less fresh, more prurient. As with the Nu assis of the following year, his Nu allongè displays a visual incoherence in the handling of the flesh tones. In this instance, the torso and swelling buttocks are of a mostly chalky white hue, while the face and the hands are curiously flushed. The face and hairstyle again do not suggest the comfortable distance of antique references, but are very much of a contemporary moment.

This is the Venus of a weekday afternoon tryst, a Céleste or Marie of the Parisian banlieues, having just refreshed her maquillage and awaiting her paramour. The face itself is weird, deliquescent; one eye looks like it’s about to slip with slatternly languor from its very socket. Her feet are very heavily shadowed, but the effect is simply that they are dirty.

Vallotton’s loyalty to the nude as subject remains constant until his death in 1925. It comes as no surprise that these paintings have been largely ignored, compared with the works of his Nabis period. Sometimes they are just bad, as with the Vènus marine 1913, a clumsy, ludicrous blond on the half shell, her expression wavering between vacancy and, perhaps, bitchiness. She’s a spoiled mondaine who travesties the goddess she purportedly embodies. But paintings such as this presage the later works of the Modernist agent provocateur Francis Picabia. Indeed, while Vallotton’s later nudes have remained obscure, recently it seems that Picabia’s “bad” figurative paintings of the 1930s and 1940s have achieved a prominence virtually eclipsing his acceptable Dadaist travesties of the teens and 1920s.’Dear Painter, paint me…’, an exhibition mounted at the Centre Pompidou in 2002, bore the subtitle ‘Painting the Figure since late Picabia’. Alison Gingeras, one of the curators, wrote:”Beginning with Francis Picabia’s late nudes from the early 1940s, the question of painting as a filter of mass media’s impact on both individual and collective sense of identity has emerged as a key preoccupation of the artists in the exhibition.” Among them were Sigmar Polke, Martin Kippenberger, Neo Rauch, John Currin, Luc Tuymans and Elizabeth Peyton.”These notorious paintings - shunned for their ‘regression’ into realism and their embrace of kitsch - drew their pictorial source from tawdry black and white photographs culled from soft-core pornography magazines.”Picabia’s Portrait de Suzy Solidor (1933) is an early example of this kitsch revanchism. Anatomically bizarre, his Suzy Solidor, with her heavy blue mascara and smiling, parted red lips, also suspires an unmistakable prurience; the crude, dirty shadows outlining her legs and arms betoken a dirtiness of another sort. Suzy Solidor may yet be recuperated as a Dadaist travesty. The somewhat more competent albeit trashy technique of Femmes au Bulldog, Deux amies and La brune et la blonde (all 1941–2) if anything renders these pictures more scandalous: rude, crude and dangerous to know. Picabia’s lewd nudes may lend a certain contrarian Modernist lineage to the work of John Currin, but one wonders if Currin, so conversant in the art of the Old Masters, is at all familiar with Félix Vallotton? I’ve already mentioned the Nu assis as an extraordinary precursor for Currin’s own “bad” nudes, and I could easily add Le Printemps 1908, an especially ugly and stupid-looking evocation of Primavera. But the most astonishing comparison is between Vallotton’s Etude de fesses c.1884 and Currin’s Bottom 1991. The corporeality of the Vallotton buttocks is almost repulsive as he expends all his resources of painterly technique on the depiction of stretch marks and cellulite. Currin’s painting, on the other hand, seems relatively restrained, evincing an almost Cycladic elegance and symmetry. Scarcely the sort of conclusion one would expect? Even in the case of one of Currin’s most deservedly famous, or notorious, early paintings, Bea Arthur Naked 1991, the sitcom star preserves a certain restraint, dignity even, that militates against the overtly camp/kitsch (or possibly anti-feminist) readings of the picture that so readily come to mind. Perhaps the Arthur portrait is going rather against the grain of the Currin mode, even as it was only coalescing in the early 1990s – the exception that, maybe, proves the rule of perversion. This cannot be said for Vallotton’s nudes – distorted, freakish, moribund and whorish in multifarious variations.

[ellana-ravenwood]

“I want a divorce” - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Well. The title is rather self-explanatory. Hope you’ll like it ;) : 

My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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                                                     ******

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for the youngest Wayne boy to barge uninvited in the Kent’s household. He’d come to play video games with Jon, or to just hang out with his friend. 

More often than not, he’d stay for lunch (and of course compare every single thing made with what his mom or Alfred make). And though he never called to say when he would come, apparently thinking it uncessary to do so, he was always welcomed. 

He was such a good friend to Jon, that neither Clark nor Lois minded. Both boys had a good influence on the other, as surprising as this might sound. Besides, Jon too, often went to Wayne Manor uninvited. 

Though unlike the Kents, Bruce grumbled about it all the time. 

Mainly because the kid always flew there using his powers. Your husband told Clark countless times to just ask and he would send a helicopter to fetch him…of course, only Bruce Wayne would think it reasonable to get a helicopter instead of his son flying discreetly there (he always made sure to land in the forrest next to Wayne Manor, so no one would notice him).

Yes, Damian was always welcomed in the Kents’ house, wether he was invited or not. Lately, Lois even managed to make him do the dishes, a feat that she was very proud of. 

Oh and if only she knew that you were the one responsible for that change in your son. One day Jon was visiting and helping Alfred to clean up after diner, and you were thanking him. That’s Superman’s son “betrayed” his friend and made a comment about Damian never helping out when he visited his house, which made you scold him and tell him that it was the polite thing to do to at least offer some help ! 

You’d never tell Lois of course. It was better that she thought she was the one convincing your son to do it. 

Today was one of those unplanned visit. 

Damian knocked on the door (which should have been the first sign that something was wrong, as usually he would directly climb through Jon’s bedroom window. What was it with those Wayne boys and not using doors ?). 

Clark was the one to open and was indeed more surprised that the boy knocked rather than him being here uninvited.

“Hello Mr. Kent, is Jon here ?”

“Mr Kent” ? Asking politely if his son was here and not just making himself at home by coming in ? Clark had no shadow of a doubt that this was your doing. You probably had a little conversation with him about the fact that climbing through people’s windows wasn’t very nice. 

Only you, could make your youngest son behave like that.

“Hi Damian. And yes, he’s upstairs doing his homework. Come on in.”

“His homework ? Maybe I should come back later, then ? I don’t want to bother him, or you.”

That genuinely rendered Clark speechless. Has his best friend’s son been replaced by someone else ? A form of alien body snatcher or something ? Since when did Damian care about wether Jon was busy or not ? Not that he would impose himself if he really was, but homework ? Damian would usually help him out with it so it would be done fast and then they could hang out. 

Clark was staring at the boy with his mouth open, not sure wether it was really Damian Wayne in front of him or not, when Lois walked past them and noticed the boy.

“Oh hey there Damian, coming to see Jon ?”

By saying that, she was expecting a sarcastic : “oh no, I came here to visit the neighborhood, I’m very interested in real estate” or something of the like, as obviously he was coming to see Jon. But she liked little snarky Damian, he made her laugh, which is why she asked him “dumb” questions on purpose sometimes. So she was very surprised when instead, he said : 

“I was, but he’s doing his homework so I should come back later when he’s not busy. I don’t want to be a nuisance or anything.”

Lois stopped in her track. For a few seconds, she wasn’t sure wether the boy was serious or just extremely sarcastic (just like you). But after observing him for a while, she could clearly see he was being genuine. She looked at Damian curiously. 

Which made the boy uncomfortable. Why were they staring at him like that ? What was their problem ? Were they having a brain aneurysm or something ?  Should he just…leave ? Or should he make sure they were ok first ?

But before Damian could do anything, Jon came downstairs and saw all of them bundled up at the front door.

“What’s going on here ? Mom ? Dad ? …Oh hey Damian !”

“Hi. Are you done with your homework ?”

“Oh yeah, it was easy peasy ! Hey come on, I just got to a new level in « Cheese Viking » and unlocked new weapons !!”

Jon ran back upstairs, not even noticing that his parents seemed to be frozen in their place, staring intently at Damian. Your son stared back for a few seconds, wondering what got into them, before following Jon up.

There was a few moments of silence, before Clark turned to his wife and said :

“Did he just…Was he just being…”

“Weirdly polite and considerate ?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Must be (Y/N)’s doing.”

“Must be.”

They both looked towards the stairs where their son and Damian disappeared just a few seconds before, and looked at each other again.

Damian was always more polite and nice when you were around. It seemed like you had this positive effect on your family, managing to get the best out of your children, out of Bruce. 

Around you, they always were more relaxed and happy, which made them act in a nicer way. Not because they were afraid of you and your wrath (well, maybe that a little, and it was well known that you highly disliked impolite people), but because you just had that soothing effect on them. 

They just felt better when around you, which made them behave in a lighter, more optimistic way.  To be honest, most of the time, you didn’t even make them behave in a nicer way on purpose, they just…became softer when you were around. 

Clark always saw a clear shift in Bruce’s mood, when he was out on long missions for the Justice League and wasn’t able to see you for days, even weeks at a time. It always made him more…More like when he first met Clark and you weren’t in the picture yet. 

He was moodier, less patient, more snappy and violent. 

More than once Clark asked “how is (Y/N) doing ?” to Bruce when the man was being particularly annoying and harsh, just so that he would lift up his mood (and by extension, get off his back a little). 

Bruce, as Batman or not, would always have a fond expression on his face, even a quick dumb smile before getting his emotions back in check, at the mere mention of you. 

The members of the Justice League often used your name to defuze delicate situation with the Batman. He could get so severe and unforgiving, they were very thanksful for your existence and the way you seemed to, even when you weren’t there, make him soften up. Make him more human, or rather, allowing this human side of him to surface without him wanting to immediately suppress his feelings so he would never get hurt again. 

Now of course he was still very much the intimidating and stoic Batman wether you were around or not, but he just had moments of...”weakness” (or strength, really), where his expression softened, and he let go of certain things he would usually not let go of. 

He’d still stare dagger into anyone mentioning that fact though. 

And this sort of soothing effect you had ? It worked on all your children too.

Dick got down from irattional anger more than once because someone said something like “what would your mom think of you right now ?”. 

Jason stopped killing because he saw how much it hurt you, and finally came to understand his father’s point of view thanks to you.

Tim would get out of his « focused » mode (the moments when he was so into something that he didn’t hear anything around him, and would forget to eat and sleep) if he heard your name, and talking about you and your worries for him would always be a sure way to get him to bed. 

Cassandra was less afraid to talk and show her emotions, when you were there. She felt safe and warm and minded less to show her true self. 

And Damian…Well Damian was overall just more agreable and polite when you were around. Because you made him want to be a better person. He wanted to show you he wasn’t the boy the Al’Ghuls raised, but your boy. 

One that was compassionate and that cared about others.

So yeah, he would be nicer when you were around. He was nicer overall, of course, compared to when he first came in your life…But he was also his father’s son, which meant that sometimes, he’d get arrogant, patronizing even. 

But oh well, you never wanted to change him per se, you just wanted to make him feel loved and safe. It was a bonus really, that thanks to that Damian showed his true color. 

He was never a ruthless warrior who killed without regret, and who wanted power. He was actually a very sensitive boy…but that of course, was a little secret between you, him, his siblings, father and Alfred. 

He couldn’t risk others to think he was a total softie, which is why sometimes he could be a bit…well, smug and annoying, really. 

Even with you, to be honest. There were times he thought he knew everything better than everyone else and drove you completely crazy. But he couldn’t be perfect. He was still a human. Of course sometimes he’d get on your nerve, especially as he was entering his teen years…

In any case, your presence made him want to be better, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t sometimes act all smug and all (he was his father’s son after all...Plus, you too could be highly sarcastic, petty and cynical, not letting anyone walk on your feet, and a bit too brutally honest at times). 

And with the Kents ? Especially with Clark and Jon (he always seemed to be a bit softer with Lois, and she was pretty sure it was because she somehow reminded him of you), he could be a little asshole. And he most definitely never cared about wether Jon was doing his homework or not. 

If he wanted to see him, then he’d just invite himself in the house without worries of inconveniencing them. 

So for Damian to act like he just did, unsure and worried he would bother them, both Lois and Clark were pretty sure you must have scolded him for some reasons…But oh, they were actually rather far from the truth.

************

“Are you okay Damian ?” 

“Huh ?”

Damian turned to Clark and looked at him blankly for a few seconds. They were around the kitchen table, eating dessert, and the boy was clearly someplace else, lost in his thoughts. Damian answered : 

“Yes, the pie is very good. Good job, Mrs. Kent.”

Ok. Definitely not the answer Clark and his family were expecting. It was clear that Damian didn’t hear a word of what Superman said, and just answered automatically to a question the man often asked him when it was dessert time.

“Um, Damian ?”

The boy looked up at Clark with a questioning look in his eyes, before the man continued : 

“Are you okay ?” 

There was a few more seconds of silence, where it seemed like Damian was pondering his answer, before he finally said : 

“...Yes ?” 

Which definitely didn’t sound convincing. And did not sound like something Damian would say. The boy was always so sure of himself...Lois exchanged a look with her husband and son, and they all stared at him. He didn’t even seem to really notice it, as he was once more deep in his thoughts. 

It wasn’t like Damian Wayne, to be daydreaming that much and answering questions half-heartedly like that. If a question annoyed him, he’d just get very snarky and be done with it. But here ? Right now ? He suddenly seemed like a little kid who lost his parents in a crowded mall. 

He was looking right through them, and a strange lingering sadness fell heavy in his eyes...Clark asked, once again : 

“Are you sure you’re okay, chum ?” 

The question seemed to surprise Damian, and he turned back to Clark. He just stared at the man for a little while, before answering in a low voice, almost a whisper :  

“I-I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t know ?”

“I-I came here hoping it would take my mind off of something. Playing video games with Jon usually makes me forget some of my worries. But-But it’s not working today.” 

Touched by the fact that Damian came to his house when he felt a bit overwhelmed, Clark answered, his voice soft and reassuring : 

“What is the matter, champ ?” 

There was yet another silent. Damian was staring at his pie, refusing to raise his eyes because...Oh God. Clark, Lois and Jon quickly realized why Damian was averting their gaze, and they had no idea how to react to that.

He was crying. 

Damian was crying. 

His tears falling heavily on his piece of apple pie. Out of reflex, Clark reached for his shoulder and...And something very unexpected happened. It kind of freaked the mighty Superman out.

Damian jumped out of his chair and into Clark’s arms, burying his face in his shirt and sobbing slowly. What the hell happened, to put him in such a state ? Even during very difficult time, Clark never saw the boy shed a tear. Never. 

“My-I think my-I...My parents, I think they’re going to divorce !” 

He managed to finally say in between hiccups, and suddenly everything made sense to Clark and his family. 

Divorce ? You and Bruce ? How was it even possible ? Clark never saw anyone as deep in love as you two were...What happened ? 

************

The night before, Damian couldn’t sleep and whenever this happened, he would walk around the Manor until he would get tired. He would usually avoid going anywhere near his parents’ bedroom, for obvious reasons...But he was getting very sleepy and didn’t even realize his feet were directing him towards there. 

Once he realized, he made a face and was about to quickly turn around before hearing anything that would make him want to vomit...When he heard his mom yell angrily, which was definitely not a sound he was used to hear coming from this room.

“Curiosity killed the cat”, the saying went. And Damian would soon realize that he would have rather not being so curious that day...

“How could you do this to me Bruce ?!” 

He heard you yell, and you sounded so mad...Damian’s heart skipped a beat. What did his father do ?

“Come on (Y/N), you’re being unreasonable !” 

“I am not ! You’re just being such a jerk, why ? Why did you do this ?” 

What did his father do ?! Damian, ear against their bedroom door, was listening intently, his heart beating faster than ever. He never heard his parents fight, genuinely fight ! He saw them argue a few times, but they never yelled at each others like that ! 

This had to be serious. 

“I had to (Y/N), and you know it !” 

“You had to ? Does...Does any of this even matter to you, Bruce ? Do I matter to you ?”

“You know you do !”

“Then why did you betray me like that ? Why ?”

“Because that was my only option !”

“No it wasn’t ! You could’ve...you could’ve...You know what ? I’ve had enough !”

“You’ve had enough ?” 

Damian’s mind was running a hundred miles per hour, trying to figure out what his father could have done to anger you so much ! It must have been something terrible ! And the tone his father used when he said “you’ve had enough ?”, it sounded like he was almost desperate...

“Yes. This is the straw that broke the camel. I’m done. I’m so done.”

“What do you mean ? You can’t be done we-”

“Yes I can. And I am. You know what Bruce ? I always knew you’d break my heart one day. I just...” 

Damian’s heart stopped. What was happening ? 

“I just never thought it would be in such a way.”

“(Y/N) I-” 

“I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. Any more of your lies. You said you would never do this, and yet...Yet here we are.” 

“I’m really-” 

“I said I didn’t want to hear you anymore. You went too far. You know you went too far. And I can’t find the strength in me to forgive you this time...I just can’t...” 

“So what ? You’re just gonna leave then ? Give up ?” 

“Yes Bruce. Yes. Exactly. That’s what I’m going to do. I gave you so many chances Bruce, so many. But you just never change, do you ? I hoped...I hoped I could convince you to...I...I was wrong.” 

“Clearly.” 

No ! No what was his dad doing ?! Damian wanted to burst into the room and yell that whatever Bruce did, he should apologies again and again, until you’d believe him. Why would he take such a cold tone now ? Why would he...Why ?! 

Oh but Damian knew his dad better than a lot of people. He knew that when cornered, his father could swallow up all his emotions and become a machine. He knew that if pushed far enough, his father would push back with triple the force. And so when Damian heard the coldness in his father’s voice, he understood that this was it. 

“I can’t believe I trusted you.” 

“It’s not my fault you were so naive. You can only be mad at yourself, (Y/N).” 

“How dare you say that to me ?! When I always supported you in everything you did ?!” 

“What do you want me to say, (Y/N) ?! You don’t want to hear my apologies, you don’t want to hear the truth, you-”

“The truth ? THE TRUTH ?! YOU MEAN THAT YOU’RE A TRAITOR THAT HOLDS NOTHING SACRED ?! NOT EVEN YOUR WIFE’S TRUST ?!” 

This was getting so out of hand. What did his father do ? What did his father do ?! Damian’s heart couldn’t stop from beating hard. What should he do ? Should he intervene ? But he never had the time to...

He had no idea what happened in there, but after a short silence, your voice raised again saying, lower than before, and clearly saddened : 

“So that’s it huh ? That’s all you have to say then ?” 

“Yes. You won’t listen to me anyway, no matter what. You’re done ? When I’m done too. I did what I had to. I’m sorry you got hurt in the process, but that needed to be done.” 

Another silence. A heavy one. A silence so deep that all Damian could hear was his rapid beating heart. When finally, you talked again : 

“Ok. So that’s how it is. Those are your last words ?”

“Yes.” 

“Ok then...Well, I want a divorce if that’s how it’s going to be !”

Damian’s blood froze in his veins, as he heard those words coming out of his parents’ room.

Wh…What ?

A divorce ? No. No this couldn’t be ! What was going to happen to the family, if you divorced ? And what did his father do to make you want to divorce ? It seemed like it was only the day before that he saw you two be grossly in love...And it was the day before ! 

What happened ? Or maybe...Maybe it was all just a facade ? 

Damian remembers reading somewhere that a lot of couples that want to divorce stay together just for the kids. Even if they can’t stand each others anymore, they won’t split up so they can raise their children in a “normal” household. 

And that definitely sounds like something you two would do,  if you fell out of love or something...Damian always thought you loved each others deeply, and that it would never end, but what if it did ? What if the love you both had for your children was the only thing holding you two together ? 

And what if whatever his father did, finally broke this bond ? Finally made you want to truly leave ? 

Divorce. 

The word sounded awful in his mind. And he felt like he was about to cry...What would happen, if you divorced ? With whom would he live ? He didn’t want to see less of you or of his father because you two weren’t together anymore ! 

Divorce. No. This wasn’t possible...And yet. Yet as Damian heard your footstep go to the bedroom door, he had to face the truth. 

Your son quickly hid in the shadows of the corridor so you wouldn’t see him as you exited the bedroom, as he was pretty sure he wasn't ready to face you just yet, after learning such an awful news...

You stopped at the door frame and turned around, saying : 

“I’m going to sleep in one of the guest room. The further from you I can.” 

“Fine.” 

“Fine.” 

And on that note, you slammed the door shut and walked, without looking back, towards the East wing of the Manor. Indeed, the opposite of where your room was...

When you slammed the door, it didn’t shut off properly as it bounced on the frame, and so the door was still slightly opened. Damian peaked in, and what he saw convinced him that you and his father were truly going to divorce. 

Bruce was sitting on the bed, facing the wall so that Damian could see his face. And he looked...broken. Sad. So sad. 

It could only mean one thing. If you did divorce, it wouldn’t be Bruce’s choice but yours. Which meant...You finally gave up. 

Damian had no idea what his father did, but he knew that he already hurt you many times. When he used to have his “dark days”. When he was unfairly harsh at times, too deep into his Batman persona. When...When...

Bruce wasn’t always easy and sweet on you. He could be a very difficult man to live with. But Damian always thought you could handle it, after all, you did for so many years...But he guessed that even the best snapped. 

Divorce. 

Damian hated that word. 

************

After witnessing you and Bruce fight, Damian definitely couldn’t fall asleep anymore. He couldn’t go to you, or to his father for comfort of course...so he went to the next best thing, his sibling.

He went to his sister first.

Cass opened her eyes groggily, and was met with a distressed Damian...Which instantly awoken her. She sat up in bed and said, tensed : 

“Damian, problem ?” 

But Damian wouldn’t tell her yet. He guided her through the Manor, and to Tim’s room before waking him up too (way more aggressively than how he woke Cass up). 

“Ah oh no I didn’t ask for licorice ice cream ! Please spare me !” 

Tim yelled, jumping out of his bed in a panic. For a few seconds, Damian forgot the awful thing he just witnessed to judge the hell out of his brother...But just for a few mere seconds, before his sadness crept once again in his bones. 

“What’s happening ? What is it ? Are we under attack ?!” 

Tim continued, rubbing his eyes and looking around the room haphazardly, grabbing his blanket as a “weapon”. Until he finally noticed Damian and Cassandra. He was about to get mad when he spotted his little brother’s expression. The hell happened, why did he look so heartbroken ?! 

An ancient “older bro” instinct grabbed his soul, and he grabbed Damian by the shoulders, looked at him right in the eye and asked : 

“What’s the matter Dam’ ?” 

************

“Don’t be ridiculous Damian, mom and dad would NEVER divorce, they’re much too in love for that !”

Tim said, wide awake now. Yes. This was just ridiculous. Everyone could see how in love his parents were. They always rubbed in in everyone’s nose, wether intentionally or not. 

“Well I thought so too ! But then I heard them arguing, father said that mom was being unreasonable, and mom said that she wasn’t, and talked about wanting a divorce !”

“You actually heard her say that ? Are you sure you didn’t just have a nightmare ? I get super vivid one sometimes too, especially about our family breaking up into pieces...” 

“No Tim ! It wasn’t a nightmare ! It was real ! A real nightmare !”

“So it was a nightmare ?” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes and said : 

“Not nightmare. But looks like nightmare, if really real.” 

“Oh...” 

It baffled Cass, that Tim could be the smartest of them all, and sometimes the most dense one. The girl turned to her little brother, and asked : 

“What happened ? From beginning to end ?” 

And so Damian said the entire story, of how he surprised their parents’ fight. When Tim still looked unconvinced, he dragged him all the way to the guest room you were deeply asleep in and...

Faced with the reality of what was happening, Tim almost had a full on panic attack there and there. 

No. No no no. His parents couldn’t divorce ! With whom would he live ? ...No, he couldn’t even think about having to chose ! No. No this couldn’t happen. 

Tim, when he was very young, already witnessed his biological parents’ divorce and...it was so destructive ! It ruined his chance to ever have a normal home ! Tim always been convinced that his biological parents’ divorce is what lead them to take all their bad decisions, what made them so bitter and dangerous, and what ultimately killed them.

Because they didn’t have that “other half” to rely on...And Tim was sure of all this, after he witnessed his “new” mom and dad being so damn in love with each others. Supporting each others every day, and helped each other walk on the path of life. 

Without you, Bruce was but a shadow of himself. And vice versa. So how could this be possible ?! Tim refused to believe it. He simply refused to. 

And yet, here, faced with you sleeping in the guest room, he had to admit the truth. You never slept elsewhere than in your shared bedroom. Never. Because neither you nor Bruce could sleep if the other one wasn’t there (you always repeated that to your children, kind of grossing them out at times). 

You needed to feel each others’ warmth to sleep and yet...yet here you were, deeply asleep in the guest room. Did that mean you didn’t love their dad anymore ? And that Damian was right, you two were really going to get a divorce ? 

Breathing heavily, Tim fell back first against the wall. His brother and sister rushed to him, mimicking what they saw you do with him whenever he had a panic attack. 

Helping him find a regular way to breathe again...But the more Tim thought about it, the more he panicked. Who was going to soothe him if you and Bruce divorced ? If you weren’t there anymore ? But would he stay with his dad ? What if he went with you ? No, Tim couldn’t quite ever forgive him if he left his father alone, as Bruce was more prompt to fall into darkness than you were...but then, who would soothe him during his panic attack ?! 

Cassandra laid her hand on her brother’s forehead, and breathed heavily. Slowly, Tim followed her breathing and calmed down. But he couldn’t move quite yet, so Cass sat next to him, and Damian sat on his other side. 

“What are we going to do ?” 

Damian asked, voice broken, tears slowly welling up in his eyes. Tim, still a bit winded, didn’t think twice before putting an arm around his little brother’s shoulders, and everyone knew this was a desperate situation when Damian curled up against him, as both of them were rarely affectionate. 

“Don’t know.” 

Cassandra said, curling up on Tim’s other side. 

“What are we going to become ?” 

“Don’t know.” 

“Is it our fault ? I read somewhere that 60% of divorce happened because of the kids.” 

“I read somewhere that 70% of couples stayed together because of the kids.” 

“So either way, they’re unhappy because of us ?” 

“Maybe.” 

Your three youngest children, curled up against each other in the dark corridor, didn’t manage to reassure each other this time. They usually always were able to...but this time, they got even more depressed. 

Divorce. 

What was going to happen, if you really got a divorce ?

Cass raised her eyes towards the door of the room in which you slept peacefully. Much too peacefully to her taste...You always said you couldn’t sleep, if Bruce wasn’t there. And he always said he couldn’t sleep properly without you. So why were you sleeping so deeply ? 

There was only one explanation to that. You fell out of love with him. Or something of the like. 

And the word “divorce” suddenly became very real. 

************

The next day, they found their father sitting alone at the breakfast table. When they came in the room, he left hurriedly, and went down the Batcave...this early ? This was odd. 

Damian decided to leave for the Kents’ household, in the hope that it would take his mind off of things...But it didn’t work. 

Instead, he found himself crying in Superman’s arms, about how his parents were going to divorce. And when he told the entire story to Clark, Lois and Jon ? Their faces said it all. 

It definitely didn't look good. 

Clark thought that if it was any other people, then it wouldn’t be so bad. Sometimes, your words could go further than what you really thought, you know ? Especially when angry. 

Only Clark knew you. Both of you. Very well. And he knew it was neither of your style to get that worked up over nothing, and it was most definitely not your thing to threaten to divorce lightly. 

And so, as Damian cried, all Clark could do was try to comfort him, knowing that if you and Bruce were really getting a divorce, that poor little boy would forever be heartbroken...

************

Damian came home a few hours after going to the Kents, heart even more shattered than before, as he didn’t find the solace he was looking for in his friend. 

On the contrary, he only found pity, which was the worst thing possible right now...

When he came back to the manor, Cass and Tim were still there.

But this time, Jason and Dick joined as well. Cass and Tim called them, in the hope that they would have some sort of idea of how to fix things. 

************

Neither Jason nor Dick had any idea how to fix things. 

They couldn’t quite believe their ears, when their little siblings told them about the fight their parents were in. 

“Well, couple fight all the time right ?”

Dick tried to say, hoping to find a positive light to put things in. 

“Not like that. And not our parents.” 

“I’ve seen them fight often.” 

“But it wouldn’t last long. While it has already been a night and half a day right now !” 

Damian said, anxious. The fact that he was counting down the hours since he last saw his mom and dad together was saying something. 

“But lately they haven’t had time to see each other often right ? They were very busy ? Maybe that’s why they fought ? Cause they missed each other and were frustrated that they couldn’t see each other ?”

Dick tried, but instantly regretted it as he saw a look of horror in his little brother’s eyes because...Oh but yes. Yes, Dick understood instantly what Damian, and all his siblings, were slowly understanding. 

They were putting two and two together. You and Bruce hadn’t seen much of each other lately, while you always made sure to spend time together...That could only mean that...that...

That morning,  you were nowhere to be seen, and Alfred said that you apparently went out early. You ? Out ? Early ? Without saying bye to your kids ? Or to Bruce ? Yeah. There definitely was a problem. 

Dick didn’t really know what else to say, to try and rationalize what Damian just told them. Because the kid seemed so serious and heartbroken, he couldn’t make it up ! 

Besides, what kind of sick joke would that be ? No. Neither him, nor Tim or Cass were that good of actors. They all seemed devastated. They were clearly not lying. 

And Dick had no idea how to deal with the news. No funny jokes came to his mind, no way of lightening up the atmosphere. Instead, a big ugly anger started to rise within him...because how could you guys do this to them ? 

Dick, when angry, lost all sense of what was rational and what wasn’t. And as he was trying to keep his fury in check, so that he wouldn’t make it worst for his precious siblings, he couldn't help but indeed forget the rational part of his mind...and forget about how this split up would hurt you and Bruce a lot too. All he could think about, was him, his brothers and sister, and how this would forever break their family ! 

And it made him so...so angry ! 

Jason hadn’t said a thing yet, lost in his thoughts. So..what, that was it ? His parents were going to divorce ? Just like that ? 

The role model, the relationship goals he set for himself would just like, vanish in the air ? Years of wanting something just like his parents had would shatter ? 

Did real love not exist ? According to what Damian said, you have had “enough”...but weren’t you suppose to be THE person who could deal the best with Bruce’s shit ? If even you gave up on him...Then who would ever take their chances on someone like Jason ? 

Jason had no illusion about who he was; He knew he was a difficult man to live with too, but he always found hope, solace, in the fact that even a VERY difficult man like his father found love. 

True love. 

And now...now they were getting a divorce ?! 

What could he believe in anymore ? If even the greatest couple he ever saw was breaking-up ?! Jason couldn’t let that happen : 

“Well, it’s not by staying there and lament our loss that anything will get fixed. Do you guys know where dad and mom are ?” 

“I think dad left an hour ago for the Justice League’s watchtower. And we haven’t seen mom since this morning...”

“Ok...Ok well let’s go up then !” 

“Up ?”

“Yeah, let’s go to the watchtower. Talk to dad. Find out what he did, and try to find a solution to make mom forgive him.” 

“Jason, she really sounded mad. And like it was the last straw. She slept in the guest room without problem !” 

“So ?” 

“So she...she might...not...want to be with him any-”

“Shush. We don’t truly know what happened. I admit it’s odd they slept in different rooms, and that it sounded like a really bad fight. But maybe there’s a way we can still salvage their marriage ?”

None of his siblings looked convinced, but Jason wasn’t about to give up on his ideal of love. And so he dragged them to the zeta tube that would take them to the Justice League’s headquarter. 

************

As soon as they arrived, Jason’s convictions faltered. 

Because their dad wasn’t working at a computer, or doing anything...instead, he was eating ice cream at the kitchen table, looking like a sad puppy. 

Could it be that...Could it be that their mom really got enough of him, and was truly the one that was leaving ? What if when she left this morning, she decided she would never come back ?! 

This would be the end of their family. And their balance could be so fragile...Without you, or Bruce, who were the center pillars of it all, everything would shatter. 

Before your children could go to Bruce though, Clark reached him. He too, just came through a zeta tube, and he immediately spotted his gloomy friend. 

After hearing about everything from Damian, he had to go and try to lighten his friend’s mood...

“Hey Batman.” 

Bruce didn’t answer, not even looking up, continuing to eat his ice cream. When was the last time Clark saw Bruce eat something sugary like that ? Oh, right. Long ago. When you broke up for a short while, when Dick was still really young...Oh. Wow. Well this couldn’t be good. 

“Are you okay ?”

“Oh yeah. I’m great. I’m a big happy ray of sunshine.” 

Ooook. Sarcasm. That was...good, right ? 

“Listen, Bruce, I-”

“Clark, I’m really not in the mood. Leave me alone please.”

Wow, this was serious. He didn’t even budge when Clark used his real name instead of “Batman”, and he just called him “Clark” too. This had to be serious. 

Superman raised his head, and saw your children looking at them from afar. He smiled sympathetically to them, and turned back to Bruce, not ready to give up just yet. 

“Bruce, you know you can talk to me right ?”

Batman glared at Clark, and Superman got the shiver...wow, if a look could kill right ? But behind the annoyance in Bruce’s eyes, there was something else. And Clark was pretty sure it was sadness. So he persisted : 

“Listen, Damian told me what happened so-”

“What happened ?” 

Bruce had suddenly straighten back up, and looked at Clark suspiciously. So Clark continued : 

“Yes, yesterday night.” 

It was the first time in his entire life that Clark witnessed Bruce lose complete control of his emotions like that. The Bat’s face fell, and he averted his friend’s gaze before saying : 

“Ah. So you know.” 

This made Clark utterly sad. This confirmed that something indeed happened, and given Bruce’s reaction, it must have been bad... 

“Clark, I swear I didn’t mean to. But she forced me to...I didn’t...” 

What happened ? Did Bruce cheat on you ? But this didn’t sound like a thing he would ever do...But what he said just now made it sound like...And now that he was thinking about it, and according to what Damian said you two argued about, the way Bruce betrayed you...

Maybe ? Maybe Bruce did go too far ? Clark could imagine him cheating on you in only one way. If it was for a mission. If he “had” to to get intels. And even then, it really didn’t sound like him. But given the nature of the argument, and what he just said...

Maybe Bruce did really cheat on you. Even if he didn’t want to. And that would definitely be the last straw for you, the last time Bruce put his “mission” before you and his family. 

But wasn't this all “Dark Bruce who thinks his mission is more important than his family” a thing of the past ? Didn’t you already got into a big argument about it long ago ? 

“What happened, Bruce ?” 

But Bruce never had the chance to answer, as the zeta tube near your children started and...you appeared. 

You seemed completely surprised to be face with all your kids, and started to smile at them but...but then you saw Bruce, sitting not far away, and you frowned, looking elsewhere.

Something was most definitely up. Neither your kids nor Clark ever saw you two act this way...Or rather, they did saw you do that before, childishly not talk to each other after a stupid fight, only, the fight you had the day before wasn’t “stupid”. And you seemed more serious about it all than usually. 

Clark was about to try and pressure Bruce more so he would talk, when Jason exploded. He couldn’t keep it in anymore. He just couldn’t. 

His dream of having a perfect relationship like his parents one day went up in flame, and the salvation he found in his family was threatening to break. 

If his parents divorced, Jason just knew his family would never be the same again. That they would all go their own way. That...That...He couldn’t handle it. And so he exclaimed : 

“What the hell is up with you two ?!” 

This made you jump in the air, as you weren’t expecting such an outburst from Jason, and surprised Bruce too, who was already ready to ignore you and go back to his ice cream. 

You both stared at Jason for a few moments, when you finally said : 

“What ?” 

“Between you and dad. What’s up ? You’ve been acting weird since this morning, and yesterday you slept in different rooms ! And apparently you rarely saw each others lately ! So what is happening ?!”

“We were just...rather busy lately. As for yesterday we-”

“Don’t lie to us mom ! Tell us the truth ! No bullshit about being busy or whatever, tell us what is really up ! And why you’re divorcing !” 

You blinked once. Twice. And...You turn to Bruce. He looks back at you, and you can see he’s as lost as you are. You say :  

“Divorce ? Who talked about divorce ?” 

Damian comes forth and yells : 

“You, you did ! I heard you in your room. I didn’t mean to eveasdrop I promise, it was an accident. But I heard everything. And you’ve been acting so weird lately…You didn’t even kiss father in front of us in days ! You were so distant lately ! And yesterday you slept in different bedrooms ! And you fought ! You said Father betrayed you like never before, and that you wanted a divorce ! And this morning you left without a kiss for him or us, and when you came up here you...you were about to ignore him ! It was clear ! And you glared at him ! And father is eating ice cream ! He only does that when he’s sad !” 

Your children were now staring at all of you, and you could see on their faces that they were downright panicking. And sad. Utterly sad. And that’s when you realized that, this time...you might have went a little bit too far. 

To your defense, you had no idea Damian heard you and Bruce fight. Or you would have instantly went to him. You give him a guilt ridden smile and...

Damian is sure of it. You really are going to divorce. If not, why would you look at him like that. Why would you look to apologetic ? It was clear that you didn’t expect any of them to find out like that, maybe you and Bruce were preparing a big announcement, which is why you slowly-

“Your father and I are not going to divorce.” 

Your voice cut right through Damian’s thoughts, stopping them right in their tracks. He looks up at you and...he’s completely lost. What was happening ? 

You looked at Bruce, who was slowly walking towards you, and then you turned back to your children : 

“I’m um...sorry you misunderstood me.” 

“What is there to misunderstand mom ? You said you wanted a divorce. Don’t lie to us please, if you are getting one please tell us.” 

“I’m not lying Jason. Let me explain...First of all, we were really truly busy lately, and genuinely didn’t have time to see each others. Believe me, it was hard for both of us. Which is also probably why what happened yesterday was so...virulent. And oh my god I think you will all be very cross with us once you’ll find out the truth. Very cross with me. Um...uh...” 

But you weren’t saying anything. Why weren’t you saying anything ? Between you and Bruce, you were always the one that was able to express things the best to your children. So to see you speechless was worrying...Were you thinking of a way to explain that you and Bruce will stay together, not get a divorce, but simply didn’t love each other anymore ? 

Dick could only think of that, as he saw you struggle to find your words. Because if it wasn’t something important, then you wouldn’t find it that hard to say something. He never saw you having that much trouble to say something. This must mean that things were bad between you and Bruce...

Their father was next to you now, looking at you struggle, when he finally helped you out : 

“Your mother was mad because she lost seven times in a row at Uno.” 

Silence. 

None of your children move, and it seems that they all forgot how to breathe. 

Clark, who is also next to all of you (for support), feels like his brain just turned off. 

Wh-What ? 

Silence. 

No one moves, nor speak. 

What did Bruce just say ? 

Silence. Stretching. 

Minutes pass. And no one speaks. Nor move. 

Silence...Heavy, endless. 

It feels like years went by, when :

“What ?” 

Tim finally asks, utterly confused, breaking this odd haze that engulfed all of you for a few minutes, as everyone was trying to wrap their brains around what Bruce just said. 

“Your mother was mad at me because she lost seven times at Uno.” 

“Yeah ok they got it Bruce, you don’t need to repeat how many times I lost !” 

“Just get over it (Y/N) ok ? It’s just a game !”

“Oh ! So it’s conveniently just a game when YOU win huh ? But when I do, then we should have another game !” 

“Oh my God we’re not going to talk more about all that are we ?!”

“Well you know what ? Yes we are ! We are ! Because that was the greatest treason of them all !”

“(Y/N), you’re being ridiculous again, and-”

“YOU PROMISED NOT TO USE YOUR +4 CARDS AND YOU DID ! Worst, you had two of them ! And then you had a reverse card, and then a +2 yellow, and then...You didn’t even give me a chance ! While you said you would !” 

“You were always wining at that game, I had to win at least once !” 

“Oh, so then you proceeded to win SEVEN TIMES IN A ROW with low blow like those huh ? It was sheer dumb luck.” 

“Oh so when I win it’s dumb luck, but when the great (Y/N) Wayne wins it’s strategy ?!” 

“I won’t be called (Y/N) Wayne for long if you keep going on like this, you-”

“STOP !” 

Damian’s scream stopped you and Bruce right in your track, and made you turn to them. Somehow, as you both got fired up about a stupid Uno game, you completely forgot how serious the entire situation was. 

All of a sudden, you’re reminded of it, as your children stare at you, disbelief in their eyes. 

“You guys were...you guys were fighting that bad about a game of Uno ?”

You and Bruce exchange an ashamed look, and your husband says in a weak voice : 

“Not any game of Uno. The ultimate game to decide all game. If I won that last one, it meant I would win forever as we would stop playing Uno and move to another game, and your mother is a sore looser.” 

You don’t even glare at him as he says that, aware that this all situation goes beyond your stupid competitions. But you nonetheless store it in your mind, next time you win at a board game against him, then you’ll throw it back in his face for sure ! 

“Why would you stop pla...wh...HUH ?!” 

Tim was understandably confused. Of course all this would only makes sense to you and Bruce. It was an old tradition between you two, whenever you both couldn’t sleep and were yet too exhausted to make love, you’d play a bored game. Something easy that didn’t require too much brain power. 

It would usually tire you out to the end, and you’d fall asleep playing...however, both you and Bruce could get highly competitive, and more than once you spend entire nights playing and ended up fighting like children. 

Only this always happened very VERY late at night, and rather rarely still, so of course no one witnessed such fights, were you both would blow everything out of proportion (to be honest, it was also kind of part of the game...you both knew you were being ridiculous and extreme, this was part of the fun ! “The make-up sex was always brilliant”. Sometimes, you two had a funny idea of romantic). 

But of course, that, your kids didn’t know. And of course, when Damian heard you yesterday...OF COURSE he would fall on one of your worst fight, as Bruce really DESTROYED you at Uno (sheer dumb luck!). 

You admit you might have gone a bit overboard. But it was because this was suppose to be your last few games of Uno before you’d move on to the next board game ! Of course it would infuriate you that you’d lost all of them ! Even more so since Bruce totally did some jerk moves !

Damian looked at both of you, and all the emotions you read in his eyes made you feel even guiltier. Poor little one, you made him go through so much with your silliness...

“But father looked so sad when you went to sleep in one of the guest room...”

He says, and you can’t help but say : 

“Ah yes, well your father always gets sad when we don’t sleep in the same bed, cause he’s like an attention starved puppy and he-”

“Oh my God stop !”

Dick yells, and he’s clearly FURIOUS. 

“Can’t you see how serious all of this is ? Damian, Tim and Cass have been thinking that you two were going to divorce since last night ?! Do you have any idea how hard this thing has been for them ?! Why would you two put yourself in such a state after playing a damn game of Uno ?! This makes NO SENSE ! You’re ADULTS, why are you like this ?!” 

He rambled for a few more minutes, scolding both you and Bruce about how dumb it was that you’d fight that bad because of this, and you and your husband slowly realized how indeed serious this all was. 

Granted, they could have just come and talk to you, and things would have been cleared up but...no. This was you and Bruce trying to find excuses for yourselves. For acting like petty children. 

Because of course, in your children’s eyes it would seem like a serious real fight. After all, you rarely yelled at each others like that. And yes, you did really get carried away by saying you wanted a divorce, and by going to sleep in another room but...the bastard put a +4 cards while he promised he wouldn’t !  

However, this time all thoughts of this stupid game left your mind (every game you lost was “stupid”, every game you won was “awesome”), as you listened to your son yell at you and Bruce. 

When Dick finally ran out of breath, he fell in a nearby chair and grumbled some more about how ridiculous this all was, but he was also clearly relieved. 

His family wouldn’t break. 

The divorce was a false alarm. Ugh. Sometimes, he forgot that you and Bruce could be extremely petty and childish. Because you were always there, supporting your kids, and seeming so strong...That he forgot that you were also just humans, and had big flaws too. 

Especially when it came to you. He tended to forget your bad sides more than his father’s. After all, Bruce had some pretty obvious flaws. But you ? You were good at hiding them. It was easy to forget how extreme you could be about some things !

Out of breath after yelling so much, Dick just sat there for a bit, beyond relieved even if he was still mad. 

Cass called you both “morons”, which really meant a lot. She was definitely on the same level of anger than Dick was, as she would have never called you that if it wasn’t the case. 

She left the Watchtower hurriedly, and you made a mental note that you and Bruce needed to go see her when you’d get home, and apologies deeply. You hadn’t realized that such a silly thing could be so devastating to your children...

But if they genuinely thought you two were going to divorce, then you could totally understand them. 

Tim went to sit next to Dick, unable to say anything. He wasn’t mad, he was more...utterly stunned by how childish the mighty Batman and his wife could be. This would definitely require a long time to get over. 

But he was most definitely the smartest of them all, as he made a mental note to use this entire event against you one day, if he did something that would get him scolded by both of you. Oh yes. “That time you made all of us think you were gonna divorce” would surely get him out of ANY trouble. 

Damian stared at his parents for a bit, before screaming in rage, surprising everyone, and hitting his father in the guts to then proceed to hug you and him tightly. 

Bruce didn’t even dare to say “why did you only hit me ?!” as he was trying to catch his breath after such a punch, and held his son too, trying to convey his apologies. 

“My poor little baby...” 

You whispered while soothingly running your fingers through your son’s hair, knowing that he always found the gesture calming. Your “poor little baby” was crying softly in your arms, the stress of those past long endless hours of thinking his family was going to break pouring out all at once. 

When he finally calmed down, he tore away from you and said : “you guys are dumb !” before running through the same zeta tube Cassandra went in. You were pretty sure this two would sulk together, which was good...You didn’t particularly want any of them to be alone right now. 

Clark knew you and Bruce couldn’t even think about actually divorcing. You two ? Well he knew it was true love. And though he definitely had his doubts as Damian told him some pretty bad things that happened the night before, and as he saw his friend sad and eating ice cream...Deep down, he knew it wasn’t possible. 

Clark never saw two people as in love as you two were. Not even his love for Loisn which was deep and unconditional, could compare. He knew that. You and Bruce, it was truly meant to be, and it would just have broken his heart if you genuinely would have gotten a divorce ! 

He was so glad it wasn’t true. But was also utterly exasperated by the truth. Who the hell plays Uno in the middle of the night anyway ?! He walked away shaking his head, thinking that you and Bruce would never NEVER ceased to amaze him. 

For better or for worse, really. 

The last one to react was Jason. You and Bruce didn’t dare to leave and do what you had to do in the Watchtower, as you weren’t sure your son, the only one that didn’t react, was ok. 

He just stared at you blankly for long minutes, and you were about to ask him if was alright when he suddenly bursted out laughing. 

Which most definitely took you by surprise. Um...What ?

Jason was laughing out of relief. That the true love he imagined in his head was really existing, and that he could hope for it. But he was also laughing because all of this was just so ridiculous ! 

Him and his siblings had been worried sick, on the verge of breaking from the inside at the mere thought that their parents were going to divorce...And all along it was just them having a fight like five years old would ?

Oh that was just too damn funny ! And so he laughed. He laughed and laughed for a long time. When he finally calmed down, he said : 

“Oh I swear. You guys are too much.” 

You and Bruce weren’t sure how to take this, so you simply smiled at him. Jason, still chuckling a little bit asked : 

“So hey, when I was a kid, and you said I had to go to bed and leave you cause you were going to play monopoly, and I was too young to play such a complicated game...You guys were truly playing monopoly then ?” 

"Uh ? Oh. Monopoly. Yeah, no, we were having sex. Your mom hates monopoly.” 

There’s a few seconds of silence, where Jason stares at you. Dick and Tim, who were still here, give you a “are you fucking kidding me look ?” and Bruce realizes maybe now wasn’t the time to tease them...But you can’t help but smile, and try to muffle your laugh as best you can in front of your sons’ horrified expression. 

And of course, of course Bruce starts to laugh too. Now. IN the worst of moments...You two always laugh at the worst time possible ! Goddamnit ! Your kids were really going to get mad at you for a while, if you kept going like that ! And they would have every reason to ! 

Oh well, for now, you thought it was very funny, how they reacted to the discovery of the fact that “playing monopoly” meant you were having sex. You’d worry later about apologizing. After all, they were already super mad about this entire mess of an event. 

Oh, miscommunication. It was quite a thing really. And as both Bruce and you tried to muffle your laugh, but not very successfully, it was clear that you had made up. 

You hunched over your husband as your fit of laughter was playing around with your balance, and he caught you. And seeing both of you laughing together, and clearly as in love as ever reassured your sons for good. 

But for good measure, they still left and yelled an angry : 

“Ugh, you guys are the worst !” 

As they exited the Watchtower, leaving you and Bruce giggling like teenagers.  

Aaaah. Sometimes, rarely though, you two could be such children. And even if you’d take things MUCH TOO FAR, it was still always refreshing to see the both of you understand each other so fully...

Fin

__________________________________________________

I often talk about how petty and childish my main Batmom can be at times, but I never really wrote anything about it…well here we go. Like I said, there’s a reason why her and Bruce get along so well, they’re both so damn dramatic and reach such extremes at times XD. Anyway, hope you liked this ! (??) I wrote this very quickly, as usual with bonus stories. It was just a little bit of fun, a silly story not to be taken too seriously (she says, as to find an excuse as to why this is so shitty).  As usual, feedbacks and reblogs are very welcomed <3. 

By the way, this was loosely inspired of an ask I received from an anon’, but I didn’t put the ask at the beginning as I usually do because I didn’t want the “twist” to be spoiled. 

[gesichtlesen55s]

Face Reading Awards: 9 Reasons Why They Don't Work & What You Can Do About It

Give me 5 minutes with anyone and I could tell you more about their character than a 10-page. I've "read" thousands of individuals who tell me I know more about them in a few minutes than their spouse, family or friends ever have. Am I the only one who has usage of this ancient secret? No, anyone can perform what I do simply by learning the Art of Face Reading. I have trained hundred's of people in a one-day Gesichtlesen workshop or in a 5 part webinar, the step-by-step procedure for learning this wisdom. "I look to each day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of these character." Martin Luther King Jr. Maybe you have had a gut feeling about someone? Perhaps you have asked yourself what is this person truly like? Well, most of us read people at some level. Since the beginning of time we have used our instincts to survive and we have evolved into very sensitive Human Beings. Unconsciously, most of us read faces. How would you like to read faces consciously? The Art of Reading Faces gives you the tangible tools to recognize a person's true character. How is it that a cartoonist can draw several angled lines on a full page and you know exactly who they're portraying? I'm sure you'll know the difference between Joe Clark and Brian Mulroney just by the angle of these jaw line. Aren't these characteristic traits of their personalities? Why do movie directors hunt high and low for a certain look in an actor? Is it since they fit the role? Imagine if a soft baby-faced person was picked to portray a rough, rugged cowboy in one of your favourite classic movies. I'm sure you would feel that the story line was good however the actor will not fit the part. Are you starting to obtain the picture? Face reading, like body language, gives you a respected edge in unspoken communication. This is probably the most powerful ways of getting to know yourself and others in all your relationships. When you see the core potential of an individual, additionally, you will see their peak potential. "Being an investigative tool, face-reading is being used by an increasing number of police and investigative agencies in Europe and THE UNITED STATES, says Trout, a former U.S. police officer." The Vancouver Sun - Sept. 18th, 2004 Now, you are probably saying, enough questions. Give me some answers on what I could do this! The form of a face gives you the blueprint or structure to the characteristics of these personality. What is the structure of the face? Or, let's compare this to a car? Could it be solid and practical like a Mac truck or delicate and sensitive just like a Ferrari? The basic structure of a face or perhaps a vehicle provides you with the clues with their true potential or the maximum performance of the automobile. The features of the automobile and face provides you with all the important details. The first thing I do in Face Reading is 'cut' the persons head off and set it on a table. Don't take me literally!!! Does the top stand square and steadfast or does it roll around just like a ball? That is so simple! Just watch a kid play with blocks or those games where they put shapes into the holes. Does a square fit into a round hole or a square hole? Quite simply, does their personality or characteristic trait fit the role or job descriptio Business Name: Face Reading by Antoanela Tocari Business Address: Löwensteinerstr. 74/6, 74182 Obersulm, Deutschland Business Email: facereading@antoanela-tocari.com Business Contact Number: + 49 (0) 159 016 975 96 Business Website URL: https://www.antoanela-tocari.com/

[maidenxfmight]

home is where the heart is

Who: Kara Zor-El, mentions of so many people guys I’m sorry. Particularly Alex, Donna, Peter, Nia, Jon, Kon, and Lar in that order. When: Post-siege, over the course of one week Where: The bottom of the Atlantic Ocean What: Kara builds a fortress Warnings: Loss mention Words: DON’T LOOK AT ME it’s 2,760

The humans said “home is where the heart is.”

When Kara was little, her heart was in Zor-El’s lab, ducking between table legs and helping him with calculations. It was down in the markets where there was always fresh fruit and smiles for the House of El. It was in Alura’s arms, warm and tight around her, supporting her even when she’d caused her own troubles. Home was Krypton, and she never thought she’d lose it.

Home was Krypton for thirty-six years, because The Phantom Zone was a prison sentence. Twenty-four years served while coming to terms with the fact that she would never have a home again for the rest of infinity.

Then home became Alex. It became Donna, Peter, Nia, Jon, Kon, Lar, and so many others.

Day One:

She woke up to Alex, and left the moment the conversation hit a lull. Her sister sat beside her with sad eyes and hands that were too cold to the touch. Her smile was soft but unsteady and Kara could hear the way her heartbeat would vary in pace with each turn of the conversation. There was no way “I’m sorry” would ever fit the space gouged out by Kara’s words, but Alex seemed to accept them nonetheless.

Kara couldn’t, not yet.

She needed to think, to yell and scream until her voice was raw without placing that burden on those who’d already taken the brunt of her uncontrolled anger. Before she could think twice, she’d left Alex in the medical bay and found herself standing in front of her pod.

Home. Not really, it was a prison, but it held pieces of a place she once called home. Her hands wrapped around one of the Kryptonian crystals clinging to its underside, one that had continued to grow as it sat in the DEO desert facility. She pulled it off delicately, feeling the base separate still in tact.

Red kryptonite echoed if this world won’t be my home, I’ll make it. Kara blinked back tears.

She could make something somewhere for herself, right? She hit the Atlantic Ocean going faster than humans could process, and kept her momentum until she hit the ocean floor, planting the crystal and watching it glow a soft blue. Home.

No.

Her home sat in the medical bay, probably still processing her sudden absence.

Day Two:

One crystal turned into two, turned four, turned eight. They grew until they formed a hollow inside. Kara sat cross-legged in front of them and watched. Her vision blurred, but at the bottom of the ocean the moisture in her eyes was simply sea water, the pressure in her chest was only the depth. Her heart beat was lost in the pulse of the sea.

The crystals arched into an entryway, with Kara’s gentle hands prodding them where she wanted them. It could almost be a home, but they were cold to the touch. The shifting blues and reds were but an echo of Krypton. The last remains clung to her pod for a timeless infinity before being plunged to Earth, and even there they didn’t quite fit. A protective film closed over the entryway; a makeshift door, the water from inside rushing out. Kara stepped through, her hair clung wet to her face and her cape dripped steadily onto the new crystal floor.

It was cold. Soon there would be rooms full of what remained of Krypton. There would be beds and Sun Eaters and everything the Fortress of Solitude had but different, but hers. Only hers, though. The thought sat heavy in her chest. Hers were the only footsteps echoing off cool crystal, the only heartbeat filling the silence between breaths.

Her home was usually so alive, filled with the clattering of plates and the drone of the news on their television. She had Donna, always, with her quick-fire wit and her smirks Kara would groan about, but always with a responding smile.

The crystals were beautiful, but home?

No.

Her home lay in a bed in New Jersey, probably refusing to lie still, and worrying too much for her own good.

Day Three:

The crystals were beginning to stretch upwards.

It could almost be the Argo City skyline, with its curved spires and cool-blue hues. But the sunlight didn’t reach so low. There were no pods zooming between the highest reaches, and the whole thing only took up a small postage stamp on the great expanse of the ocean floor. There were no markets and the only thing Kara could hear was the gentle push of the water around her, and the creaks and groans of the crystals as they grew.

It wasn’t even comparable to New York City. Though subjectively more beautiful by miles, the city far above was beautiful in a different way. It had bustling street corners, families walking their dogs, laughter and living. Kara could see it all from the highest rooftops.

Her stomach dropped at the thought, her hand freezing over the Kryptonian symbols of the newly formed control panel. She thought of boxed skyscrapers reflecting the orange-yellow-red sunsets off their mirrored windows, the way her heels would kick up against the edges of concrete. How cinnamon and sugar would melt on her tongue, how she was always right on the edge of laughter and it had everything to do with the company she shared.

She released a shaky sigh as her hand finally fell to the buttons on her control panel. Her alphabet had been stuffed into relics, only seen when herself or Lar traced it into existence, keeping its memory alive through love and perseverance. It should feel familiar and warm, and it did, but the buttons felt cool against her fingertips. Familiar, but home?

No. Her home was probably sitting alone on a rooftop, his mask pulled up to just underneath his eyes, lips set in a frown.

Day Four:

Her trips to the surface were sporadic and quick, afraid someone would catch her heartbeat and follow (but who? Clark hadn’t approached her in so long she wondered if he even remembered what it sounded like. Jon had tried and failed, Kon harbored anger just as well as she did, and Lar...she can’t imagine he would want to hear it anymore). But the rooms were growing empty, and she could feel the space of them in her bones.

Clark wouldn’t miss a few relics, and she had her own.

An old television found its way into one of the rooms, out of place amidst technology far beyond that of which what Earth had even dreamt. Kara was almost giddy as she arranged crystals around it, ran wires and fiddled with hands that had been idle for too long until an image blurred to life on the screen. It was the Channel 2 news, showing a grainy image of Dreamer pulling an elderly woman from the rubble of her home.

Kara swallowed once, twice, the image on the screen blurring before she smacked the crystals on top of the television. They flew off and embedded into the wall of the room, cracking then growing until they were fully incorporated, raised like scar tissue against the otherwise pristine surface.

The image remained for a moment longer, the cameras zooming in on Nia’s face. Like a ghost, it faded until nothing was left but the black screen and a memory.

Kara stifled a sob, pressing a hand hard to her chest. Why had she even brought human technology into her fortress?

Because maybe, maybe the crystals alone would never be home.

Her home was on the surface, being the hero she was always meant to be.

Day Five:

She was on the surface. The cold Antarctic air breached even the impenetrable facade of the Fortress of Solitude, and Kara almost wished she could properly feel it. It would feel better than the hollow twinge in her chest, or the warm prick at the back of her eyes, or the familiar tension pulling at her shoulders.

Clark had a whole collection tucked away in the various rooms of the Fortress. They were amassed over a lifetime of being hero across many galaxies, of fighting alongside friends, of collecting what was left of a home he never had the opportunity to know. Some of them were familiar, and Kara traced her fingers over them with quiet reverence. Her game was a conscientious give and take. Her hands wrapped around the things she knew he’d understand missing, with the quiet promise to explain herself later.

They’d never talked about them. He’d spent so long collecting, did he ever think to ask about their history? He had a veritable encyclopedia at his fingertips, the crystals be damned, and he’d never thought to open it.

Kara wondered how many times he’d talked about them with Jon. She could see the two of them walking the halls, Jon young and eager and far too excited to follow in his father’s footsteps. Rao would smile kindly on both of them. The House of El, said to have descended from the Sun God himself, would live on. Their legacy was burned into the stars, and kept safe in the walls of the Fortress.

Her heart thumped against her chest and she closed her eyes against the gleam of the Fortress’ crystals. The future of the House of El deserved to know his family, his history. He deserved better than to be cast aside as less. She let her hearing stretch and stretch, beyond the crack of Antarctic ice, beyond the pitter patter of familiar heart beats, one by one, until she found Jon’s.

Kansas, of course.

Kara pressed one of the crystals from her own fortress against one from the fortress, copying generations worth of knowledge. Somewhere in there was a hologram of her father, and the entire history of their family. It was home but...

She’d have to remember to add to it. Her family had grown.

Home was sitting on a couch in Kansas, letting himself be loved just as he deserved to be.

Day Six:

Kara sat cross-legged on the floor of her fortress. The crystals still grew around her, but their progress had slowed. A new Kelex bot buzzed around her, doing much of the work she’d been doing herself over the course of the week spent at the bottom of the ocean. The control panel had lowered until it was even with her, a myriad of crystals pressed into various slots. A translucent blue screen hovered just above the panel, Kryptonian spelling out the history of each member of the House of El as she scrolled through them.

It was long and proud, and for the first time all week, Kara felt herself smiling. It was soft, tentative, something marked by a loss that could never been confined by words.

“Hi, Mom.” Her voice scratched from lack of use, and the hologram of her mother offered nothing in return. They were just ghosts. They were stories told in languages long lost, memories burned into crystals and hearts that could never be anything more than that ever again. Kara could find a home in memories, but they would never be enough.

She moved on, her father’s face replacing her mothers, then Kara, then Clark, then Jon, then...

Nothing. The history ended with a small outline of Jon’s lineage and his accomplishments; he was going to college, and there was some pride in the way the Kryptonian words described his studies. But there was a space after Jon’s entry that fell heavy on Kara’s shoulders. She thought of leather jackets and rounded sunglasses, of how anger coiled familiar in the curl of fingers into palms.

She thought of sitting just on the outside, watching love but not necessarily receiving it. There was no more clear of an indication than a blank space on a family tree that shouldn’t be blank at all. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keys of the control panel: there was nothing under Kon-El, or Conner Kent. Accessing the CADMUS files proved more fruitful, and Kara froze.

Her breath stalled and her brow furrowed and oh, she didn’t need red kryptonite to recognize this feeling. But then, she hadn’t been much better, had she? She could still hear the way his voice had dropped as she told him to get out, and the scratch of understanding was easier to acknowledge now that she could think straight.

Kara found an image of Jon and Kon together on her phone, easily transferring it into Sanctuary’s systems (the name was inherent to the fortress, Kelex had informed her). He was smiling and the curl of his hair across his forehead matched Jon’s. She changed the name from an experiment number, deleted the Kryptonian equivalent of questions marks, and updated it to Kon-El. His file was then moved to the docket containing the rest of her family history.

He belonged among them.

She backed out of his file and looked at the family tree as a whole. Was that home?

Almost. Home was probably somewhere thousands of feet above New York City, wondering why he didn’t have a Kansas to which to escape.

Day Seven:

It was done. The crystals had groaned to a halt, and a new fortress sat sprawling across the floor of the Atlantic ocean. It shimmered blue and red and it felt so much like something Kara needed. It reminded her of crystals caves and the shimmering sprawl of Kryptonian landscapes. The colors danced against the steady movement of the water around it, capturing what little sunlight made it to such depths and amplifying it ten fold. It was stunning.

Kara took stock of each room, mapping the expanse of it the best she could. Most of them were empty. She had a blank slate, ready to be filled with memories and relics and things that were only important to a very select few. What she’d gathered from the Fortress of Solitude barely filled any space at all, and the small bits she had for herself were dwarfed by the amount of empty space.

It was everything she needed, but she found herself spending most of her time in the control room. Her fingers idly traced over a translucent screen displayed in front of her. Left in their wake were blue lines, slowly sketching out the shape of a face.

When she was small, she had an art station in her room. Zor-El would complain quietly to Alura when they thought she was in bed; Els were scientists, respected across twenty-eight known galaxies. They looked to the future, and they didn’t get caught up in flights of fancy. Alura had explained that science wasn’t stifled by creativity, and Kara could still remember the way her father couldn’t contain a smile when she’d hand over her sculptures and drawings.

As long as she passed her exams, she could sketch the Argo City skyline to her heart’s content.

It’s what she had meant to do, as she sat on the floor of Sanctuary, but her fingers moved of their own accord. She traced the gentle slope of a nose, the firm lines of a jaw. Messy hair appeared over soft brows. When she got to the eyes, she paused.

She tried, and erased, and tried, and erased, and tried...

She tried to remember Lar when he was happy. It wasn’t hard, he smiled about as much as she did. He took joy in discovering everything there was to learn about their planet, in the quiet moments they shared between the chaos of their lives, in the way the moonlight played across the space of the pillow between them in bed.

But no matter how hard she tried, the eyes were always sad. Sad like a proposal pressed against his chest, like her words cutting into his kindness without mercy. Sad like planets lost and friends left in time. Sad like finding love and losing it all in one breath.

Sad like zhaomodh w rrip eh meaning something to both of them, but dying between them as just another ghost.

Kara’s full hand pressed against the sketch, the ridges of her fingerprints outlining blue across Lar’s face until they took over, the sketch ruined. A sob lodged itself in her chest and she couldn’t breathe.

This was Sanctuary. She was surrounded by pieces of home. But no.

No, no.

Home was watching sunsets and loving so purely, while expecting nothing in return.

Sanctuary’s floors were cold. Kara was cold.

She wanted to go home.

[chimmychanga1225]

Superbat: Mirror Killer continued... (4)

Bruce felt as if an explosion went off in his mind as he woke up. The ringing in his ears was almost unbearable, but nothing compared to the major headache coming on. "Urrgh", he grunted, slowly sitting up in bed.

He opened his eyes, catching sight of some short dark hair peeking out from under the sheets. Bruce vaguely remembered getting to his building but after that, the night seemed like a blur. Assuming he had called a guest over and maybe had one to many drinks, Bruce didn't think anything was really out of place.

He pulled himself out of bed, not making a sound. Bruce was just about to start searching for his clothes when he realized: they were on him?

"Useless", he grumbled shooting a glare at that unmoving mass on the bed. Without bothering to wake or tip his partner, Bruce put his shoes on and walked out of the house.

It was a little surprising to learn that he hooked up with his new neighbor, but it’s not like it would be the first time his hook up was close to home. Bruce shut the door as quietly as possible to not alert the other man. Once he faved away from the door, Bruce threw an arm over his face, his eyes stinging slightly.

The sun was blinding to say the least, but not as blinding as the fact that three other cops from the precinct were about five seconds away from kicking down Bruce's door. "Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

The one preparing his leg to kick down the door stumbled over, looking as white as a ghost. "Bruce", he asked, practically shell shocked.

"Can I help you", Bruce asked with a polite tone which ultimately was wasted when staring down his icy glare. "Y-you were late", one of the other cops spoke up, barely able to push out a sentence through the intimidation.

"And since when", Bruce began, stalking closer to the policemen, "did being late to work warrant my door being kicked in?"

"Don't be upset with them Bruce. I asked them to check on you", a voice called from behind the fuming detective. Bruce turned his furious glare to his unusually soft spoken friend Diana. "Its my fault. Don't get mad at them."

"Diana", Bruce asked helplessly confused. Since when did Diana know where he lived? "Is there something wrong", he asked, concerned about his troubled friend.

"We should talk."

—————

Bruce brought Diana inside once the whole ordeal with the other officers had been dealt with. He escorted her to the couch and quickly moved to the kitchen to grab a drink.

"Want anything to drink", he asked casually, his head still throbbing. His back was toward Diana whose calm and steady mask crumbled.

"Pennyworth's dead", Diana dropped on him, and, without skipping a beat, she moved on. "Committee chose you to succeed the position. It's gonna take a few months for the information to be processed, so there will be a stand in."

Bruce froze mid reaching for a glass. It was only a second or two hesitation before he finally brought down his glass from the cabinet. He closed it gently before continuing to look for a drink. Preferably something with alcohol.

"Bruce", Diana exclaimed, trying to take the other out of his haze. Only when he finished pouring some whiskey into his glass did he turn to the other.

He took a long look at her face. Usually Diana's presence was enough to fill a room. She could command the attention of the entire vicinity without raising her voice. She was elegant but not delicate. She was composed but never reserved. She was kind but tough. Diana didn't crumble.

Bruce was in a sick form of awe for a moment. Diana's face was no longer one of ice, but it was warm. Her cheeks burned pink from how tightly her hands held them. Her eyes welled with tears that continuously flowed out. Her voice didn't maintain a single octave and cracked multiple times. Bruce snapped himself out of it, chastising himself for viewing her in such a cruel way.

"Diana", Bruce began, slowly approaching where she sat on the couch. He took a seat next to her, not sure what to say next. Pennyworth was dead? The sentence itself seemed so ridiculously unbelievable.

Bruce, at a loss for words, hugged her, cautious of the state she was in. They stayed like that for a while, waiting for the sniffles to slowly die out and for the tears stained on Bruce's jacket to lose their warmth. Bruce pulled away and held Diana's shoulders firmly.

"What happened", he asked.

"Bruce", Diana began, looking more confused than ever, "Why are... he was your father."

Bruce finally felt a painful sting in his heart not only from Diana's words, but also from her tone of shock and her look of disappointment. "Is that all you can ask? What happened?"

Diana felt bile rise in her throat. "He raised you, Bruce. He loved you, cared for you. Every action he took, had you and your well being in mind. And you just want to know what happened? What about grieving, Bruce? Crying? Or something!! Would it fucking kill you to not be so stoic all the time and at least act like you have some shred of humanity left in you?!"

Diana breathed heavily, glowering at Bruce's unmoving expression. "Tell me what happened, Diana. I need to know."

Diana brought her furious eyes down to the floor, understanding where Bruce might be coming from, but not anywhere close to accepting it. "He was beaten to death with a crow bar. The on site team thought it might have been the joker again, but a murder across town at the same time says otherwise. The joker already laid claim to it, but no one stepped up for Pennyworth's attack."

Bruce felt a fire ignite in his stomach and burn through the rest of his body. "Was there a resemblance to the previous case?"

Diana frowned. "What previous case?"

"Jason Todd's case", Bruce replied quietly. He got up from his seat and walked in the direction of his room. "Diana, I'll be at work soon, so while I'm not there, look into Todd's case for me."

Bruce left for the shower, hurriedly closing the door behind him and turning on the water. Diana was seething at Bruce's blasé attitude, but she refused to let out her current frustration. She didn't want to lash out anymore at Bruce or even waste the breath on him. She knew what he was like. Why expect him to change now?

"I'll be going", she muttered mostly to herself since Bruce was already in the shower. She hurriedly left the home, her heart feeling heavier than when she arrived.

—————

Bruce waited until he heard the door to his apartment slam before he shut off the water he pointlessly ran. As if the fire in him suddenly escaped, Bruce's fist swung out to hit the mirror, sending shards flying throughout the bathroom.

A thud sounded through the complex next door and heavy footsteps followed. In seconds, Bruce heard frantic knocking at his door.

“Bruce”, a man yelled from the other side. Bruce groaned, not wanting to deal with anyone at the moment, but he obligatorily opened his door. “What”, he asked gruffly.

“I heard a crash? Is everything okay”, the handsome man asked. Bruce head rang a little bit more as he recalled his memories of last night. Clark.

“Everything’s fine Clark. I just stumbled into my mirror by accident”, Bruce admitted, tightening his bath robe. As if only just now realizing Bruce’s not completely decent state, Clark looked straight up toward the sky, face burning red. If Bruce wasn’t as frustrated from earlier, he might have laughed.

“Are you hurt”, Clark asked the clouds, still refusing to look anywhere near Bruce. Bruce, amused by Clark’s embarrassment, grabbed Clark’s chin and forced the taller man to look at him. “I’m fine”, Bruce said with his signature dazzling smile.

Clark, still greatly resembling a tomato, smiled in relief. He grabbed both of Bruce’s hands, about to give the man a hug when something wet caught his attention. “Dammit Bruce, this isn’t okay”, Clark exclaimed more out of worry for the detective than actual anger. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah, it’s inside. Come in”, Bruce said, giving enough space for Clark to enter. Clark still gripped tightly onto Bruce’s bleeding hand. Almost uncomfortably tight. Bruce hissed quietly in pain, but Clark almost seemed to be in a trance as he looked at Bruce bleeding hand orb wide eyes.

Blood seeped our from the cut to Clark’s hand. The red color completely drenched the uninjured hand and started to drip on to the cement ground, it’s color permanently staining it. The sun reflected off the blood, in the most mesmerizing way...

Bruce attempted to tug his hand away, hoping to end Clark’s horrified fascination when Clark gave him a blank stare. “What do you think you’re doing”, he asked monotonously.

—————

So that’s all for now. I’m not too sure about this chapter. I feel like this was a filler more than anything. Please let me know if you liked this or if you didn’t. I need feedback because idk what I’m doing. Thanks for reading!!!!!

[kissykiwi]

green eyes, red handed (part 2)

wherein y/n finds harry confusing. (college au, 2700 words)

[previous]

Y/N’s head swam as she walked out of class, full of education and politics and society.  They had a paper coming up, three topics possible from the entirety of the work, and she couldn’t figure how she’d be able to pick when she had so much to say about all of it.

“So, what are yeh thinking for the upcoming essay?  Worth fifteen percent, y’know.”

Y/N was startled to be addressed by the low, thick voice of the person she apparently bothered so much, and cut her eyes sideways as Harry bounded up beside her.  How fun, swinging back in the other direction.

“I was thinking of the one centering around justice,” she said warily.  She might wanna kill him half the time, but when they weren’t at each other’s throats he was a pretty good study partner, and Plato was not a joke.  “Figured that I could expand on the definition by taking the classical ambiguity of it.”

“Tha’s not a bad idea.”

“Yeah.  Do me a solid and don’t steal it, will ya?”

Harry laughed as Y/N raised an eyebrow in a perfect arch.  A girl down the hall fumbled her books.  

“Now, now, didn’t say it was good, did I?” he quipped, tone remaining light.  Y/N could see this for what it was, the peace offering that followed every spat and kept them on careful even ground, but she was ready to accept it.  Their relationship had been like this for three years now, and she had learned how to prolong the amiable Harry that came between fights, and how much she preferred him.

“Fine then Plutarch, what’re you doing?”

“The use of fantastical arguments in philosophical debate.”

“Dense,” she said, surprised.  They only had about three thousand words, and he was certainly taking quite the bite.  It was a gentle reminder of how much was hiding in that thick skull of his.

“Behind this pretty face is quite th’ mind, Y/L/N,” Harry sighed dramatically, pushing the door open for them both.

“It’s behind a face anyway.”

“See I could get mad at tha’ comment, but because I’m a kind and gentle soul, I will instead do as Clark asked and pass along the message that everyon’s stoppin’ in Fleming and then settin’ up in Old Quad for lunch.”

Definitely offering the proverbial olive branch then.  Often Harry would skip letting her know when these plans would happen (and Ginny always forgot) and she’d make it halfway back to her apartment before she knew that her friends had snagged a coveted slice of lawn.  In return, Y/N offered him a careful smile and a thanks.  Harry quirked a corner of his mouth back, opened it to say something, but was interrupted before he could.

“Y/N!”

Turning about, she saw black hair, blue eyes, an unassuming smile.  It was Mitchell, from her Human Skeletal Biology course.  He was sweet, so sweet, but nice and naive had never much been her thing and as many times as she’d tried to let him down gently, he just kept coming back.

“Mitchell, hey,” she said, voice kind and decidedly lukewarm, turning back towards Fleming and a now farther ahead Harry as the new addition came to her pace.

“Hey!  I know you said you were busy last Thursday with schoolwork and all, but I thought new week, new schedule, right?”

Y/N bit her lower lip hard, frustration sparking in her gut.  No matter what she tried he wouldn’t take the hint, and she was inching ever closer to the cruelty of brutal honesty.  There were days where she just wanted to say yes, fine, let’s go!  But she knew how uncomfortable she would be saying yes, had been down that road before often enough to tell.  Sometimes people just weren’t compatible, and two conversations with this guy had told her that he didn’t have enough pushback to keep her interested.

“Listen, I-”

“”Oo’s this then?”

Y/N looked up at Harry, caught off guard by his sudden interest and the arm he’d thrown about her shoulder.  Casual physical contact wasn’t out of the question between them (they were in the same friend group after all) but the warm bicep pressing into the back of her neck was certainly more than usual.  She suppressed the urge to lean back into the touch.

“I- This is Mitchel.  We have ANT334 together,” she replied.

“Ah, Mitchell.  I remember hearin’ ‘bout this one.”

“This one?”  She could see Mitchell’s face turning, a sour expression creeping across his features as he repeated what Harry had said.

“Yeah mate, one of ‘er boys. What were yeh sayin’ though?”

Now Mitchell was positively frowning, mostly at Y/N.  “I- nevermind, actually.”  Though it was just the time for food he turned away, booking off down the hall towards the doors they had all just entered through and away from the student commons.  Y/N turned towards Harry, a confused look on her face.

“When did you ever hear me talk about him?”

“Y/L/N, yeh bitch about how he’s not gettin’ the message two t’ three times per hour every time he asks yeh out,”  he said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but I never thought you actually listened.  Looks like I won’t have to worry about him anymore, anyhow,” she said, thinking with some measure of relief of the displeasure on Mitchell’s face.

“And we won’ have t’ listen t’yeh anymore. Everyone wins!  Now hurry up ‘n get yer food, I wanna get a spot in th’ shade before Todd sprawls out and declares it all as his.”

Instead of getting annoyed, Y/N picked up a sandwich and some juice and paid in an example of decision making in record time.  Harry was right, Todd was an absolute slut for getting out of the sun, and she wasn’t much for the heat that seemed to ramp up as summer folded into early fall.  She and Harry both got irritable in the heat, so shade was probably the best idea.  Harry seemed pleased to have her agreeing, and they walked out to their friends in a warm and unexpected peace.

Old Quad was beautiful.  Lush, bright green grass (and props to the grounds crew for that, because it was pretty well trafficked) boxed in by the big, old founding buildings of their school, all dark stones and gothic arches.  The corners left spaces to get in and out but it felt like a universe inside the universe of the school, filled with cool breezes and big trees and the noises of college students taking a breath between classes.  The ever present crowd of students fanned out across the lawn for the peak noon lunch hour, but the blindingly pale hand of Ginny waving ecstatically from under her favorite oak tree showed that their friends had grabbed prime seating.

“This way,” Y/N mumbled, grabbing Harry’s hand distractedly as people flowed around them.  Their friends liked to call Y/N the gazelle because of her careful feet and how good she was at picking through a crowd- ironic when compared to her inability to walk over flat ground but then there you were.  Harry, on the other hand, had enormous feet, both of which were left.  Last week he’d fallen on a girl and squashed her sandwich, and the starry eyes she’d given him had inflated his ego to truly unbearable proportions.

“Holding hands?  My god, maybe world peace is realistic after all,” Clark laughed as they walked up to the group, Ginny staring with raised brows at their connected hands.  Y/N rolled her eyes and plopped onto the blanket laid across the grass, leaving Harry to take his hand back.

“More like keeping him from taking out half the quad.  I’m fairly sure the lovely young lady from last week is still thinking of ways to incorporate falling into a pickup line.  If he dazzles any more that way, we’ll never have another lunch in peace,” she replied, plastic crinkling as she unwrapped her lunch.  

“Not my fault tha’ these eyes make women fall in love, darlin’,” Harry replied smugly.  Y/N maintained eye contact with him as she took a large bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly.

“Nope, still wanna strangle you.  Who does that work on again?”

Todd sighed happily.  “God, Y/N, we need to bottle whatever keeps you from falling over sideways for this twat and vaccinate the rest of the campus with it.  You know that guy I’ve been trying to get closer to in physics, the cute tall one?  Came up to me and asked for Harry’s number this morning.”

“Well-” Ginny started, but Y/N was faster.

“Oh, not Andre, really?  I liked him, too.”

“I’m gonna ignore tha’,” Harry said breezily.  “Sorry though mate, ’s shit.”

“Yeah,” Todd shrugged.  “I gave it to him though.”

Idly, Y/N wondered what Harry might do.  Clark liked to say that Harry played with his food, never settling for long with one partner and keeping them on their toes if he ever took a brief landing, and she didn’t know if she could stand watching him flirt with the guy Todd had been on about for nearly a month now.  It seemed like the whole blanket agreed, breath held as they waited for Harry to reply.  Y/N could feel Ginny’s eyes on her.

“I’ll put in a good word for yeh then.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed in her pocket, undoubtedly from Ginny based on the elbow sneaking into her side, so she pulled it out to read.

>>babe u just visibly relaxed u have it SO BAD

>i was worried abt todd u absolute psycho

Ginny rolled her eyes, about to reply, when across the way Clark decided to ask “what’s so interesting there ladies?”  Her ginger head snapped up, almost hilariously conspicuous that they were discussing someone sitting on the blanket, and which meant assuredly that Y/N would have to save it.

“Your weak dick game, actually.”

Clark squeaked out a highly offended noise as Ginny dissolved into giggles, halfheartedly trying to convince him that that probably wasn’t what they were talking about, and Y/N was so amused by the overplayed outrage that she only barely noticed the boot nudging at her thigh.  It was Harry of course, poking at her with a delicately extended foot from where he was already draped in a long line on his side.  When she looked over, he beckoned, and since she was feeling generous she scootched over so they could talk.

“There’re free coffees for the next month of Classics with yer name on ‘em,” he said as she leaned down towards him, his breath blowing the ends of her hair like a light breeze.  Y/N gave him a doubtful look.

“That so?  What’s the catch then?”

“Yer notes.  Been readin’ em over your shoulder, ‘n they’re a damn sight more coherent than mine.  Jus’ lemme see ‘em to piece together my essay, that’s all I’m askin’.”  Y/N’s eyebrows stayed up, but she’d never been one to turn down caffeine and Harry didn’t skimp on good coffee.

“Make it coffee for the whole semester and I’ll keep letting you see them, how about that?”

Harry grinned, a certain amount of relief seeping through, and nodded enthusiastically.  From there it was easy to melt into a discussion about outlines, Y/N leaning down towards him to sketch out some tweaks on his main themes, Harry pushing up on an elbow to point at the book in her lap as he suggested the lines he thought would work best.  Neither saw it, but across the quad people were staring- here a sigh over Harry’s smile, there someone missing their mouth as Y/N brushed hair out of her face with a careless grace.

“I don’t mean to break up this weird, academic ménage à trois between you two and Plato, but Duncs just texted to plan next Monday Meal,” Todd called from across the blanket.  

Monday Meal was a longstanding tradition among the friend group, masterminded and orchestrated by the fourth roommate in the cellblock, Duncan.  He was a nutrition sciences major possessed of serious doubts as to his friends ability to care for themselves, and he’d decided about halfway through their first year that if they all died of scurvy he’d feel in some way responsible.  So once a week they all got together to eat (“vegetables, Todd, a human can’t subsist on mashed potatoes alone”) and have a beer after the gauntlet of a Monday.  It was where both Todd and Hil had come out to everyone, where Ginny and Clark were locked into a closet together so they would get together already, where hookups and Potential Serious Things™ got to be brutally scrutinized for a minimum two hours.  It also required everyone to bring something, on a rotational basis after they all realized that Hil would never learn to cook if they didn’t make her bring something besides beer.  It had been cancelled for the week (Duncs was out of town for his mother’s engagement party), but next week was on.

“Y/N and I already have a stuffed cabbage planned, so tell him that,” Ginny said, pushing herself up.  “But right now, we have some grocery shopping to do.  Up you go bubs!”

She grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her onto her feet.  Y/N quirked a brow, resisting the urge to sigh.

“I’ll see you all later,” she said flatly, nudging a goodbye to Harry with the toe of her boot.  He tapped her ankle before Ginny had her off.

“We went grocery shopping yesterday,” Y/N sighed as soon as they were out of earshot.  “What’s actually going on?”

“When are you going to accept that you have feelings for Harry?”

Oh, but Y/N didn’t like this.  Ginny was serious, dead serious, in a way that her bubbling smile almost never gave way to.  

“Ginny, I don’t,” Y/N groaned, rubbing at her temples.  Ginny grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into one of the archways.

“Y/N, I love you.  You’re one of my best friends, and we tell each other everything, which is why when I say this please know it’s because you’re important to me.  You like him, you’re in fucking denial about it, and it’s tearing you up.”

“Wh- I’m fine!  I am fine, and I’m not in denial about anything.”

“You fought this morning.  The two of you.”

This stopped Y/N, and she frowned slightly, tilting her head to stare at Ginny.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“He’s always nicer to you and you’re always more careful talking to him.  Because you think it’s something you do to make him mad and you want to change it.  Because you like him.”

Y/N let her head drop. Sighed.  Rubbed her face.

“So what if I do Ginny?” she finally replied, voice noticeably weary to her own ears.  “It doesn’t-- it doesn’t matter, even a little bit.  He’s him and I’m me and we don’t get on and no amount of feeling whatever I feel or parsing out why is going to change it.”

This time it was Ginny’s turn to frown, and she reached forward to put her hands on Y/N’s shoulders, pull her closer with a soft little hum into a hug.

“Oh, peaches.  I know you hate to hear me say it-- and maybe that’s you protecting yourself, you are basically a pill bug-- but I don’t think he’s mean because he doesn’t like you.  I think you make him nervous honeybun, you know how strong you are.  It scares guys, especially ones like Harry, especially with what he was like when we met.”

Y/N rubbed her face into Ginny’s shoulder, mushing her lips together instead of replying.  The soft slide that her cherry chapstick produced was enough to ground her, let her whisper a soft “maybe.”

“What did you even fight about peaches?  It can’t have been much, usually it takes you two longer.”

Y/N had to breathe unhappily through her nose at the “usually”, no matter how fair it might be.  She took a moment before responding.

“I don’t really know Gin.  I was talking to the Professor, made a joke or somethin’, and as soon as Harry was in he was on my case.”

Ginny nodded, face thoughtful, then said, “Is this the classics prof, the one that half the campus wants on?”

Y/N had to roll her eyes at that.

“Yes, Professor Morrow is the one everyone else is drooling after.  What does that have to do with anything, you creep?”

“Harry was probably jealous, peaches.  You know he’s good at makin’ you laugh, bet he likes to be the only one.”

[xtruss]

Environment: Humans Are Overzealous Whale Morticians

We hastily dispose of dead whales, ignoring the ecological significance of their carcasses.

By Bob Goldfarb | August 10, 2022 | Nautilus

The Public Domain Review/Flickr

When, at the dawn of the 19th century, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark traversed western North America, they encountered a wondrous bestiary: the “fleet and delicately formed” coyote, the “bear of enormous size” which we call the grizzly. Yet few creatures impressed them more than the “Buzzard or Vulture” their party captured near the mouth of the Columbia River. The bird was massive, more than nine feet from wingtip to wingtip, and garish, with an “iris of a pale scarlet,” a “pale orrange [sic] Yellow” head, and feathers of “Glossy Shineing black.” Just as striking was the bird’s diet. “(W)e have Seen it feeding on the remains of the whale and other fish which have been thrown up by the waves on the Sea Coast,” Clark reported. Marine creatures, he added, “constitute their principal food.”

That Lewis and Clark first encountered a California condor by the sea was no coincidence. Once, condors soared across much of the continent, merrily scavenging dead ground sloths, mammoths, and glyptodonts. When human hunters wiped out these giant herbivores during the Pleistocene, condors nearly went extinct themselves. But they never quite vanished. Instead, they survived along the Pacific Coast, feasting on the last megafauna carcasses still available: marine mammals, particularly the blue, humpback, and gray whales who migrate along North America’s western rim.1 That we know Gymnogyps californianus as the California condor—as opposed to, say, the Kansas condor—is the nomenclatural legacy of dead cetaceans.

We are removing what is natural from a natural place.

Whales, like wolves, elephants, and beavers, are keystone species, animals who disproportionately shape ecosystems. While alive, their fecal plumes fertilize phytoplankton, the microscopic plants that oxygenate our atmosphere.2 In death, whales who settle on the ocean floor attract an astonishing necrobiome, the community of scavengers who feed upon the dead: hagfish, mussels, limpets, isopods, sleeper sharks, chemosynthetic bacteria.3 Some, like bone-eating Osedax worms, subsist exclusively on benthic carcasses. Whalefalls are oases in the abyssal wastes, as enticing to life as a Saharan watering hole. Not every dead whale, however, comes to rest in the depths.

Those whales who drift ashore—buoyed by internal gasses, conveyed by currents—support complex ecosystems of their own. Vultures and seabirds peck at eyes and blowhole; sharks strip blubber in the surf. In Namibia’s coastal deserts, jackals and hyenas gnaw at dead seal pups, dolphins, and whales.4 When, in 2020, a minke whale—nicknamed Godfried, for a beloved local author—washed ashore on a Dutch islet, he was visited by 57 species of beetle, 21 of whom had never been seen on the island before. In Russia, scientists have documented 180 polar bears feasting on a single bowhead.5

When The Going Gets Tough: When Pleistocene-era warming melted Arctic sea ice, polar bears likely survived by scavenging cetaceans. Perhaps that is how they’ll survive modern climate change, too. Photo by FriedChicken99 / Shutterstock.

Once, coastal necrophages could count on a steady supply of whale carcasses. (California’s famously huge grizzlies, now extinct, may have attained their gargantuan size by feeding upon the same marine mammals who supported condors.6) Today, however, washed-up cetaceans are comparatively rare. In part, that’s because industrial whaling—“the largest removal of biomass in world history,” per one researcher—ravaged the leviathans. Blue whale populations have plummeted by up to 90 percent, and sperm whales endure at just one-third of their historic numbers. Scavengers can’t eat nonexistent animals.

But the dearth of whales isn’t entirely responsible for the dearth of whale carcasses. We humans also tend to be overzealous morticians. Rather than letting stranded animals fulfill their ancient roles, we hastily dispose of their remains, depriving coastal ecosystems of nature’s greatest windfall. As one group of scientists put it in a recent review of cetacean carcass management, whaling and whale-removal have together “led to radical changes in the abundance and availability of large marine biomass inputs.”7 In other words: Our shorelines miss their whales and dolphins.

Lately, some researchers have begun to pay closer heed to the value of stranded whales, and to encourage coastal managers to let carcasses lie. Granted, not every beach is an appropriate resting place for a reeking, 50,000-pound corpse. When circumstances allow, however, permitting dead whales to decompose in situ may be preferable to disposal. “Can we do better than the way we manage carcasses nowadays?” says Martina Quaggiotto, an ecologist at the University of Stirling and the review’s lead author. “We are removing what is natural from a natural place.”

In 1979, a pod of 41 sperm whales stranded on an Oregon beach—“hemorrhaging under the crushing weight of their own flesh,” wrote Barry Lopez, who attended the spectacle. The whales, it was clear, couldn’t be saved, and the numinous visitation became a profane exercise in bureaucratic wrangling. What law-enforcement agency should manage crowd-control, which scientists should be in charge of obtaining tissue samples, and how would the state dispose of the corpses? “If buried, the carcasses would become hard envelopes of rotting flesh, the internal organs would liquefy and leach out onto the beach, and winter storms would uncover the whole mess,” Lopez cautioned. (Officials ultimately decided to burn the whales, then bury the charred remnants.) A dead cetacean on a public beach was no longer an ecological cog, but a logistical nightmare.

More than 40 years later, our management of dead whales is no more coherent. As Quaggiotto and her colleagues note, every country, state, and municipality obeys slightly different protocols. Some whales are carted off to the landfill, incinerator, or rendering plant, where their oily fats may be extracted for soaps, pet foods, and biofuel. Some are towed to sea, weighed down with scrap metal, and sunk. Some are buried. Some are cleaned for museum display. In 1970, the Oregon Highway Department infamously dynamited a gray whale, flattening an Oldsmobile beneath a chunk of flying blubber and leaving 75 bystanders flecked with putrescent meat. Detonation, needless to say, is no longer anyone’s preferred alternative.

Each dead whale was a great gift of nature.

In some cases removal is a matter of public safety, given that a dead whale is the world’s most alluring shark bait; even a buried cetacean may leach shark-beckoning plumes of carbon and ammonium into the ocean.8 Often, whales who strand alive are put out of their misery with pentobarbital, a drug that renders their bodies toxic long after death. In one horrifying incident, a 2-year-old Australian shepherd fell into a coma after she excavated blubber from a humpback who’d been euthanized three weeks earlier.9 (Today many veterinarians prefer potassium chloride, which doesn’t leave behind dangerous residues.)

Mostly, whales are removed for a prosaic reason: They stink. The aroma of dead cetaceans has been described as “the worst garbage smell you can think of,” “death in a dumpster,” and “like a dead animal but multiply that by 10 and then add fish smell to that and then feces.” The journalist Sarah Gilman took a more literary tack: “a throatier version of seashore rot that tastes like backwash from a mildew-darkened garbage disposal.”

As a result, authorities seldom let carcasses lie. Some countries, like Belgium and France, actually require officials to usher dead cetaceans off to a waste-management facility. In the United States, Quaggiotto found that just 28 percent of cetacean carcasses remain in situ—nearly all of these, surely, on remote beaches in wildlife refuges, national parks, and Alaska. In heavily developed Florida, Megan Stolen, a stranding investigator and scientist with the Blue World Research Institute, estimates that less than 5 percent of dead whales and dolphins get to stay put. The removal of a bottlenose dolphin can be a tourist attraction as enticing as Epcot Center. “Daytona Beach during spring break on a Friday afternoon, that’s fun,” Stolen says wryly.

Our tendency to remove carcasses, however understandable, is problematic on a few levels. In Australia, disposing of a single small whale costs around $20,000 AUD (nearly $14,000),10 and some large humpbacks have run more than $115,000 It’s also tremendously labor-intensive. Stolen’s team once elected to chop up and bury a humpback on Melbourne Beach. Because heavy machinery would have destroyed sea turtle nests, they dug the immense grave by hand. “It was about eight hours of digging with a five-man crew,” Stolen recalls.

We may wish to restore our coasts, yet our broken world doesn’t make it easy.

The refusal to let bodies be bodies has ecological implications, too. Deprived of coastal carrion, California condors have turned to the gut piles left behind by hunters, which are often tainted with bullet fragments; today lead poisoning accounts for half of known condor deaths.11 Similarly afflicted are Andean condors, the California condor’s cousins, whose 10-foot wingspans shadow South America’s Pacific lip. Like their North American relatives, Andean condors once depended on coastal cuisine, then turned to cattle and other terrestrial carrion after industrial whaling eliminated their preferred repast. But it hasn’t been a smooth transition. To access their inland scavenging grounds on the Patagonian steppe, many condors must wing over the Andes, fight powerful headwinds, and traverse one of the wettest rainforests on Earth. Condors on the Pacific coast, scientists note, “​​expend more time and energy than their historical counterparts” hunting for carcasses, which, along with the coastal development that has overwhelmed prime foraging grounds, is among the reasons that they’re endangered throughout much of their range.12

Nor are condors the only scavengers to get crowded out by humans. This was illustrated by a clever 2012 experiment, in which Australian researchers placed dead fish along two sets of beaches—some near towns, others in more rural areas.13 While fish on remote beaches were quickly claimed by native raptors like whistling kites, the urban carcasses lingered much longer, and were only belatedly scavenged by nonnative foxes and rats. The implications were troubling: Many coastal necrobiomes are too impoverished by people to take full advantage of carrion.

Yet letting scavengers feast can be fraught, too. In California, scientists typically necropsy cetaceans to ascertain their cause of death and collect bone and tissue samples. Sometimes, though, bodies wash up near nesting colonies of snowy plovers, threatened seabirds who lay their eggs in sandy hollows. Cutting open a whale on a plover beach, says Moe Flannery, a senior collections manager at the California Academy of Sciences who investigates cetacean strandings, risks attracting ravens, coyotes, and other scavengers, who might prey on plover eggs and chicks once they’re in the area. Some land managers prohibit necropsies near plover beaches altogether, even if performing one would theoretically benefit scavengers.

Plovers have always contended with predators and the carcasses that enticed them, of course—but today their populations, diminished by development, are more vulnerable to hungry mouths and beaks. We may wish to restore coastal necrobiomes, yet our broken world doesn’t always make it easy.

Millennia ago, we humans were as dependent on whale carcasses as condors. Coastal Indigenous peoples around the planet—the Arawak, the Maori, the Inuit—exploited stranded cetaceans for food and tool material. In one Spanish cave occupied by humans some 14,000 years ago, researchers unearthed barnacles that grow only upon the skin of right whales, a molluscan testament to our ancestors’ scavenging prowess.14 To Patagonia’s Fuegians, each dead whale was a “great gift of nature.”

“For as long as there have been humans,” Rebecca Giggs points out in Fathoms, her meditation on cetaceans, “the whale has been a portentous animal.” Precisely what a dead whale portends, however, has changed drastically. In the Anthropocene, carcasses aren’t always divine gifts; sometimes they’re curses of a sort, the rotten fruits of modernity’s diseased tree. Whales and dolphins are diced by ship propellers, drowned by fishing gear, starved by the plastic bezoars that accumulate in their guts. Pods of pilot whales, agonized and disoriented by the clamor of naval sonar and seismic energy testing, hurl themselves onto beaches. A symbol of nature’s bounty transmutates into a symptom of its collapse. We jettison dead whales not just because they’re smelly shark attractants, perhaps, but to escape the evidence of our sins.

The True Paleo Diet: Until very recently in Earth’s history, the sight of animals feasting upon washed-ashore cetacean carcasses was a common one—and in the absence of these bodies, entire webs of life collapse. Photo by Bob pool / Shutterstock.

Our treatment of dead whales mirrors our treatment of most dead animals. Highway maintenance personnel haul roadkill to the dump, a reasonable safety measure that also disguises the violence of automobility. In Spain, regulations imposed in the wake of Mad Cow Disease require farmers to incinerate livestock rather than letting their bodies nourish vultures. Our “aseptic” approach to carcass management has short-circuited processes, like scavenging and decomposition, that have buttressed ecosystems since the dawn of microbial life. Because objects interred in landfills don’t readily break down, many coastal dumps have become tombs for the unprocessed corpses of whales and dolphins, as eerily preserved as pharaohs in their pyramids. “It’s kind of a joke among marine-mammal people,” Megan Stolen says. “When life on Earth ends and the aliens come down, they’re going to wonder what the heck these humans were doing.”

And the management of dead cetaceans will only grow more vexing. Many whale populations have grown in recent decades, meaning there’s more future carrion in the sea; some groups of humpbacks, for instance, have nearly recovered from whaling.15 Less happily, climate change is already wreaking havoc on marine ecosystems. Along the Pacific Coast, a recent rash of stranded and emaciated gray whales may be symptomatic of dwindling Arctic food supplies.16 Warmer oceans may also give rise to more infectious diseases and, with them, “mass mortality events.”17 For some creatures, the carcass boom may present a grim opportunity. During the Pleistocene, when warmer temperatures melted Arctic sea-ice and left polar bears unable to hunt seals, Ursus maritimus likely survived by scavenging cetaceans.17 It’s some solace to think that the great white bear, the poster-species for global warming, could yet endure the Anthropocene on a putrescent diet of bowheads and grays.

In a sense, says Quaggiotto, humanity’s relationship with stranded cetaceans must come full circle. A dead whale furnishes vital data about the health of our oceans; reconnects us to nature; and nourishes the scavengers whose waste-management services support our own health. A dead whale, as our forebears knew, was both tragedy and gift, an object to be cherished and learned from, not reflexively discarded. “For looking at the future of carcass management, we must also look to the past,” Quaggiotto says.

Our coastlines may be impoverished, yet we can still restore wildness to the processes of death.18 In May 2010, biologists in Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park spotted a 41-foot-long female humpback carcass sprawled across a beach and, sensing opportunity, set out cameras to monitor her fate. Over the next four months, brown bears and wolves feasted almost daily, inscribing networks of pawpaths onto forest and beach.19 The “blubber bonanza” became a site for ursine reproduction—cameras caught a pair of bears mating—and even innovation. In July, a researcher observed a young bear scrubbing his muzzle with a barnacle-encrusted rock, like a post-prandial diner dabbing himself with a napkin. It was the first time a brown bear had ever been documented using tools.20 “That carcass seemed to be a beacon calling to these huge bears—and, of course, they got huger and huger,” says Tania Lewis, wildlife biologist at Glacier Bay. “We can never underestimate the importance of the marine ecosystem for the terrestrial ecosystem.”

The Glacier Bay humpback was both a cornucopia and an anachronism, a glimpse of the resplendent necrobiome that predated industrial whaling, coastal development, and aseptic carcass management strategies. The feast lasted until early September, when park staff severed the whale’s head to perform a necropsy. Unmoored, the body lolled into the tide and drifted away; later, it would wash up down the beach, where wolves gnawed the bones. As the whale floated into the sunset, observers on the beach noticed a passenger: a seafaring brown bear, still trying to chisel off a few last morsels of blubber before the bounty bobbed away.

References:

1. Chamberlain, C.P., Waldbauer, J.R., Fox-Dobbs, K., & Risebrough, R. Pleistocene to recent dietary shifts in California condors. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 102, 16707-16711 (2005).

2. Roman, J. & McCarthy, J.J. The whale pump: Marine mammals enhance primary productivity in a coastal basin. PLos One 5, e13255 (2010).

3. Engelhaupt, E. After you die, a universe eats your body. Popular Mechanics (2022).

4. Skinner, J.D., van Aarde, R.J., & Goss, R.A. Space and resource use by brown hyenas Hyaena brunnea in the Namib desert. Journal of Zoology 237, 123-131 (1995).

5. Laidre, K.L., Stirling, I., Estes, J.A., Kochnev, A., & Roberts, J. Historical and potential future importance of large whales as food for polar bears. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment 16, 515-524 (2018).

6. Miller, J. Awakening the grizzly. Pacific Standard (2018).

7. Quaggiotto, M., et al. Past, present and future of the ecosystem services provided by cetacean carcasses. Ecosystem Services 54, 101406 (2022).

8. Heiss, J.W. Whale burial and organic matter impacts on biogeochemical cycling in beach aquifers and leachate fluxes to the nearshore zone. Journal of Contaminant Hydrology 233, 103656 (2020).

9. Bischoff, K., Jaeger, R., & Ebel, J.G. An unusual case of relay pentobarbital toxicosis in a dog. Journal of Medical Toxicology 7, 236-239 (2011).

10. Tucker, J.P., Santos, I.R., Crocetti, S., & Butcher, P. Whale carcass strandings on beaches: Management challenges, research needs, and examples from Australia. Ocean & Coastal Management 163, 323-338 (2018).

11. Puper, B. California condor deaths are rising due to lead poisoning—again. Kcbx.org (2021).

12. Lambertucci, S.A., et al. Tracking data and retrospective analyses of diet reveal the consequences of loss of marine subsidies for an obligate scavenger, the Andean condor. Proceedings of the Royal Society B 285, 20180550 (2018).

13. Huijbers, C.M., Schlacher, T.A., Schoeman, D.S., Weston, M.A., & Connolly, R.M. Urbanisation alters processing of marine carrion on sandy beaches. Landscape and Urban Planning 119, 1-8 (2013).

14. Álvarez-Fernández, E., et al. Occurrence of whale barnacles in Nerja Cave (Málaga, southern Spain): Indirect evidence of whale consumption by humans in the Upper Magdalenian. Quaternary International 337, 163-169 (2014).

15. Zerbini, A.N., et al. Assessing the recovery of an Antarctic predator from historical exploitation. Royal Society Open Science 6 190368 (2019).

16. Wolfe, D. Gray whales are dying along the Pacific coast. Cnn.com (2022).

17. Sanderson, C.E. & Alexander, K.A. Unchartered waters: Climate change likely to intensify infectious disease outbreaks causing mass mortality events in marine mammals. Global Change Biology 26, 4284-4301 (2020).

18. Kaminsky, I. Rewilding death: The plan to restore the necrobiome. bbc.com (2021)

19. Lewis, T.M. & Lafferty, D.J.R. Brown bears and wolves scavenge humpback whale carcass in Alaska. Ursus 25, 8-13 (2014).

20. Deecke, V.B. Tool-use in the brown bear (Ursus arctos). Animal Cognition 15, 725-730 (2012).

— Ben Goldfarb is an environmental journalist whose work has appeared in The Atlantic, The New York Times, National Geographic, and many other publications. He is the author of Eager: The Surprising, Secret Life of Beavers and Why They Matter.

[barpurplewrites]

What once was...

{{So this was written for @a-monthly-rumbelling Smut prompt. It contains very little smut, (My smut Muse has departed for sunnier climes I’m expecting her back once the UK thaws), and its not entirely RumBelle.

It’s RushBelle dreaming of their past lives as RumBelle.

Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking either.}}

-x-x-x-x-

Dreaming was one thing, but this felt so very real.

-x-x-x-

It was the smell that reached him first. The delicious aroma of a good strong coffee, rich dark and brimming with caffeine. His skin sparkled in the light as he reached out to wrap his hands around the china cup that contained the blissful liquid. Some distant part of his mind noted that his skin didn’t look quite right, neither did his fingernails, but he dismissed that in favour of his prize. The first sip was closer to heaven than he ever expected to get. His groan of contentment was sinful.

“I take it I brewed it correctly?”

He cradled the cup to his chest, so he could inhale the steam as he spoke.

“It’s perfect Belle.”

The name felt both familiar and wrong on his tongue, but those perfect eyes and that smile, those he knew as well as his own. Belle swung her hips as she moved closer, a teasing pout on her lips.

“From the sounds you were making, a woman could be forgiven for thinking this coffee was the true love of your life.”

He’d never put a cup down so quickly in his life, he didn’t even mind the small amount that slopped into the saucer. His scaled fingers wrapped around Belle’s waist and her gently pulled her into his lap. She was still playing coy and pouting, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that reassured him this was all a game. He took her delicate, but work roughened hand in his clawed fingers.

“Sweetheart, coffee is a mere fleeting pleasure, how can it compare to smile that lights my mornings,” – he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand, - “the companionship that brightens my days,” – she smothered a giggle as he kissed the inside of her elbow, - “the intelligence that eclipses every scholar in the realm,” – her hand found its way into his hair as he nuzzled at her neck, - “and a passion that makes my sleepless nights an orgy of debauchery.”

He barred his teeth in a playful snarl as Belle tugged his head back by his hair. She traced a teasing fingernail along his neck.

“That passion doesn’t have to be kept just for night time,” – his head lolled forward as she eased her grip, - “Unless you need more of your darling coffee.”

With the hand around her waist he pulled her in close, so he could rub their noses together; “Belle, why would I want hot bean juice when I can have you?”

She shrieked in surprise as in one smooth move her hoisted her in his arms and bounced to his feet. He made to stride to their bedroom, but Belle wagged a finger in front of his face; “Bedroom is for night time. This room is for day time. Take me on the dining table.”

She’d given voice to one of his most secret fantasies.

“Oh Belle, you wonder. Belle”

He plundered her mouth for a kiss and was met with the passionate ferocity that he had loved instantly about her.

 “Isabel! Izzy! Wake up!”

Izzy sat bolt up right and snapped her eyes open in time to see Nick jump back. You would have thought after all the time they had worked together he would be ready for her electric shock wake ups. God knows she’d fallen asleep across enough desks in his company, at least with the consoles on Destiny she didn’t have to worry about having keyboard face, or paper stuck to her cheek with drool.

“Wazztup?”

Rush raked his hand through his hair and cleared his throat; “You were talking in your sleep. Good dream was it?”

Izzy shifted in her chair, painfully aware of the dampness in her knickers that was proof of just how good a dream she’d been having. She so wasn’t going to tell her boss she’d been dreaming about him, sort of, they had both been in that odd-looking castle, but they hadn’t quite been themselves, had they? Nick was waiting for an answer, so she grasped at the only safe for work element of her dream.

“Yeah, it was about coffee.”

Not a total lie, well done Izzy.

Rush grinned at her; “Aha, prophetic. I was just about to head down to the mess and collect our first ration of Destiny grown coffee-a-like,” - Izzy paused in rubbing the sleep from her eyes to pull a face, - “Don’t be like that, Rivers tells me it is at least as good as any dime store’s cheapest instant.”

Izzy yawned and dropped her chin into her hands; “I’ll take week old truck stop, as long as it’s got caffeine in it.”

“TJ assures me it has loads of that, hence why we’re on short rations until we readjust.”

Izzy snorted; TJ had been shocked when she’d found out just how much coffee her and Rush were used to drinking in a day. Their withdrawal freak-outs were something of a legend on the ship, she was surprised that their weren’t taking their first taste of Destiny Java in the med-bay hooked up to every monitoring device TJ could find.

She yawned again which made Rush wave a hand at her; “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Rush dipped a clumsy curtsy that for some reason reminded Izzy of her dream. He turned on his heel and left quickly. Izzy’s eyes lingered on his backside as he walked out of the control room, for a crazy instant she wondered what he would look like in leather trousers. She squirmed in her seat again as a flush of heat raced to her face.

“Okay. Stop lusting after the sexy Scotsman and focus, Izzy.”

She reread the last passage of the file she had been translating before she fell asleep.

“The path to Ascension has taken its first steps in the lives that have been lived before. Who once was met, will be met again and again, until as one they rise to the next plane together.”

Izzy looked at the door Rush had walked through and bit her lip. If she’d read that anywhere else she would have dismissed it as hippy nonsense, but she was living on a spaceship, a few million lightyears from Earth, that had been built by a race of people who humans had worshiped as gods. She was living that Arthur C Clarke quote that Eli liked to use.

Was it possible she had met and loved Rush in another life?

-x-x-x-

Once he’d left the control room Rush had taken a quick detour into one of the bathrooms. After checking that the room was empty he’d pulled his shirts free of his belt and leaned his bare back against the cold bulkhead. His hissed through his teeth as the cold metal hit his heated skin. Fucking hell! Izzy fuelled the dreams he had when he finally gave into sleep, but his frenzied imagination was nothing compared to hearing the woman herself in the grip of an erotic dream. He didn’t believe for a moment that she’d been dreaming about coffee. True he’d had some very intense dreams about a Grande Americano, but he didn’t think he’d ever moaned and whimpered like that.

Fuck; she’d called him sweetheart.

And now his brain wasn’t fighting for blood flow with his other head he realised that when she’d said that she’d sounded Scottish, she’d sounded like him. Just like she had when she’d been dreaming and called his name.

Except she hadn’t called his name, she’d said Belle, a diminutive of her own name. Why the fuck had he thought she’d been talking to him? She never called herself Belle, she was always Izzy, or Doctor French. He frowned, for reasons he couldn’t pin down at the moment the name Belle felt like it belonged to him.

Okay, that was a little crazy even for him.

He threw himself away from the wall and tucked his shirts back in. The last not-entirely-appropriate dream he’d had about Izzy she had sounded Scottish, and he, well he’d sounded Australian. He’d not told a soul about that dream, the only person he might have mentioned it to as idle chat was Izzy herself, and considering the staring role she’d had and the content of the dream he’d walk over hot coals before he told her about it.

He ran his hand over the bulkhead; “What game are you playing with us now, hey Destiny?”

He didn’t get an immediate answer. He never expected one from the ship, she’d reveal her secrets in her own time. He blew out a sigh as he patted the wall and headed at a jog toward the mess. He’d promised Izzy something close to coffee and he didn’t want to keep her waiting.

-x-x-x-

“Woah! Where’s the fire!”

Eli rolled his eyes as Rush didn’t even break stride after barrelling into him. There was a grunt from the mad scientist that he was choosing to interpret as an apology. He threw a quizzical look at Greer and asked; “Did I really just see Rush running to the mess?”

Greer nodded; “Yup. He must be fetching coffee for Izzy.”

“Rush doesn’t fetch anything for anyone. Ever.”

“He does for Izzy. Even back on Icarus, right from her first day now I think about it.”

Eli looked thoughtful for a second; “Those two ever, I mean are they, y’know?”

Greer chuckled; “Not as far as we know. You want in on the betting?”

“You run a book on anything. How longs it been going?”

“Since Izzy’s first day on Icarus.”

Eli shook his head; “Nah, if they haven’t yet, they ain’t gonna.”

They dodged to one side as Rush walked by his gaze concentrated on the two cups of almost coffee in his hands. Eli had never seen that level of concentration on Rush’s face unless he was in front of a whiteboard or a console.

“On second thoughts, I put a week’s still rations on them being together within the month.”

[gesichtlesen55s]

9 Face Reading Mistakes That Will Cost You $1m Over The Next 10 Years

Give me five minutes with anyone and I can tell you more about their character when compared to a 10-page . I have "read" thousands of individuals who tell me I understand more about them in a minute than their spouse, family or friends ever have. Am I the only one who has access to this ancient secret? No, anyone can perform Weiblichkeit what I do by simply learning the Art of Face Reading. I've trained hundred's of people in a one-day workshop or in a 5 part webinar, the step-by-step process of learning this wisdom.

"I look to a day when people will never be judged by the color of their skin, but by this content of their character." Martin Luther King Jr.

Have you ever had a gut feeling about someone? Perhaps you have asked yourself what is this person truly like? Well, we all read people at some level. Since the beginning of time we've used our instincts to survive and we have evolved into very sensitive HUMANS.

Unconsciously, most of us read faces. How would you like to read faces consciously? The Art of Reading Faces gives you the tangible tools to identify a person's true character.

How is it a cartoonist can draw several angled lines on a page and you know exactly who they're portraying? I'm sure you'll know the difference between Joe Clark and Brian Mulroney simply by the angle of their jaw line. Aren't these characteristic traits of their personalities?

Why do movie directors hunt high and low for a certain look in an actor? Could it be because they fit the role? Imagine in case a soft baby-faced person was picked to portray a rough, rugged cowboy in another of your favourite classic movies. I'm sure you'll feel that the story line was good however the actor will not fit the part. Are you currently starting to obtain the picture?

Face reading, like body language, gives you a respected edge in unspoken communication. That is one of the most powerful ways of learning yourself and others in every your relationships. When you see the core potential of an individual, you will also see their peak potential.

"As an investigative tool, face-reading is being used by an increasing number of police and investigative agencies in Europe and North America, says Trout, a former U.S. police officer." The Vancouver Sun - Sept. 18th, 2004

Now, you are probably saying, enough questions. Give me some answers on how I could do this! The shape of a face gives you the blueprint or structure to the characteristics of their personality. What is the structure of this face? Or, let's compare this to a vehicle? Could it be solid and practical such as a Mac truck or delicate and sensitive such as a Ferrari?

The essential structure of a face or perhaps a vehicle gives you the clues to their true potential or the utmost performance of the vehicle. The features of the vehicle and face will provide you with all the important details.

The first thing I really do in Face Reading is 'cut' the persons head off and set it on a table. Don't take me literally!!! Does the head stand square and steadfast or does it roll around like a ball? That is so simple! Just watch a child play with blocks or those games where they put shapes into the holes. Does a square fit into a round hole or perhaps a square hole? Basically, does their personality or characteristic trait fit the role or job descriptio

Business Name: Face Reading by Antoanela Tocari Business Address: Löwensteinerstr. 74/6, 74182 Obersulm, Deutschland Business Email: facereading@antoanela-tocari.com Business Contact Number: + 49 (0) 159 016 975 96 Business Website URL: https://www.antoanela-tocari.com/

[theglintoftherail]

Review: The 1972 Annual World's Best SF

For years and years, I’ve been collecting editions of the Annual World’s Best SF anthology series edited by Donald A. Wollheim, which ran from 1972 to 1990. A couple of years ago I decided to commit to reading or rereading every single one of them - and to reviewing every single story in each of them on Goodreads. As of now, I’ve gotten through 10 of them and reviewed a total of 107 stories, which can all be found here!

I’m doing this partly to expose myself to a wide range of SF in order to grow as an SF author, and partly  because there are so many great SF authors whose work didn’t just stick around in public consciousness for one reason or another. I’ve found so many authors that I absolutely love and had never heard of before. (And because those authors are not widely read, it makes me feel like a total SF hipster, which is perversely enjoyable.)

Here are the reviews of the stories from the 1972 edition:

The Fourth Profession, Larry Niven

Well what do you know. I’ve read a few things by Larry Niven and straight-up disliked most of them, but this one was very fun. A few mysterious aliens have landed on Earth, and a bartender happens to get one of them way too drunk and is given pills that essentially give him superpowers. It’s well-paced and funny, with likeable characters and surprisingly high stakes. The ending didn’t quite live up to the rest of the story, but I still liked this a lot.

Gleepsite, Joanna Russ

The editor’s intro to this one recommended reading it twice or even three times, and I’m glad it did, because it’s pretty much impenetrable on the first read – but once I figured out what was going on, it was really cool and fairly chilling. It packs a huge amount of worldbuilding and characterization into about five pages. I’d hate to spoil it so I’ll just say, it opens on a woman with bat wings pedaling dream machines in a polluted dystopian wasteland where most of the men on Earth have died, and goes all sorts of even weirder places from there.

The Bear with the Knot on His Tail, Stephen Tall

Eh. Maybe it’s just that this story is closing in on 50 years old, but it was really just a bog-standard ‘humans discover the first alien life and oh no they’re in trouble’ story. I really thought there was going to be an interesting twist at the end – I even thought I could see how they were setting it up – but nope.

The Sharks of Pentreath, Michael G. Coney

In the near-ish future, overpopulation has resulted in a system where at any given time, two-thirds of the population is kept in Matrix-style tanks and can interact with the outside world via tiny robots, and people swap out on regular schedules. The story’s about an innkeeper at a popular tourist destination who is currently in non-Matrix-mode and who is kind of a dick. I always like SF where the speculative part is just a backdrop to a character-based story, but there was something about the whole concept that just didn’t feel quite right to me - and honestly, the main character was just too much of an asshole for his ‘I learned a lesson’ moment to ring true for me.

A Little Knowledge, Poul Anderson

Three human criminals stranded on a planet of extremely pacifistic aliens kidnap an alien space pilot so that they can sell forbidden technology to a warrior race. I loved everything about the premise, the characters, the worldbuilding, the plot resolution, etc – but the pacing was bizarrely bad, particularly when compared to how strong everything else was. Huge exposition dumps, lengthy scenes that were interesting but have little plot importance followed by rushing through much more significant events, more exposition, etc. Still worth reading, but man, somebody should have taken a scalpel to this thing.

Real-Time World, Christopher Priest

A group of research scientists in an enclosed space station are secretly being manipulated by the people who sent them there, via carefully controlled feeds of news and information personalized for each of them. I loved this at the beginning, but then a bunch of additional SF concepts and twisty plot elements were added in, and then more, and then more. Which could have been cool, but in practice it just wound up making kind of an incoherent hash of what could have been two or even three good stories.

All Pieces of a River Shore, R. A. Lafferty

Perfect from start to finish… almost entirely. An eccentric Native American collector of Old West and Native American artifacts has run across a few impossibly detailed, several-foot-long paintings of the banks of the Mississippi River. He has a theory that there are even more of them out there, and that they might actually depict the entire span of the river when put together. I loved everything about this – but the final cymbal-crash line that explains the mystery pretty much requires you to have had personal experience with 1970s information storage technology. I had to google the story to figure out what the hell was going on, and once I did, it was like “Oh! I see, awesome!”

With Friends Like These . . . , Alan Dean Foster

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, there was a galactic war in which the humans, fighting on the side of the good guys, destroyed the enemy so thoroughly and terrifyingly that the rest of the galaxy forced them all back to Earth and barricaded them in there. But now the bad guys are back, so the other good guys plan to free these mythical monstrous warriors. I wasn’t mad at this, but I personally dislike the trope of ‘humans are the most exceptional race in the galaxy.’ (Also, in general I feel like 70s SF throws a lot of psychic abilities shit around when there’s no real need or justification for it, so that aspect was also annoying.)

Aunt Jennie's Tonic, Leonard Tushnet

A research chemist interviews his old-country hedge-witch-style aunt in order to discover the secrets of her medicines. There was a lot I liked about this, but the main character was just too much of an idiot for me to be fully immersed in it. “I’m purposefully not even writing down the parts of these processes that I think are bullshit, even though there’s no real reason not to” plus “I didn’t make any backup copies of my notes on this incredibly valuable medicine recipe” equals how the hell did you ever manage to become a research chemist in the first place.

Timestorm, Eddy C. Bertin

Did you know that changing the past in a way that you’d think would be beneficial might actually cause something terrible to happen? A guy gets transported to a future place where aliens are doing things to Earth’s past that seem bad, he stops them, oh no they were actually helping. Like the third story, this was either unoriginal at the time or feels unoriginal now that we’ve seen it a million times. And the collection of things that the aliens were manipulating was weirdly arbitrary – stopping the birth of Hitler and the birth of… the Marquis de Sade? Really? And of course, since this was written in 1971, it opens on the assassination of JFK.

Transit of Earth, Arthur C. Clarke

Ok, well this almost made me cry. A Mars exploration mission is doomed and they’re going to run out of food/oxygen, so everyone but one man takes suicide pills early in order to give the man enough time to record a rare astrological phenomenon before he dies. The story is written as a combination of his notes of the transit of Earth plus his personal reflections on life and death. It’s really great. (There is also an almost completely throw-away suggestion that maybe just maybe there are also aliens on Mars, which added absolutely nothing to the plot and probably should have been edited out.)

Gehenna, K. M. O'Donnell (aka Barry N. Malzberg)

This was gorgeous. It’s three vignettes about characters with intersecting lives – all of them go to the same party, and their meeting there changes their lives in various ways, but each story also takes place in a just slightly different world. It uses parallel universes as a metaphor for how everyone’s experience of the world and their conception of themselves is totally different from what other people see. The fact that the stories are taking place in parallel universes is established at the beginning of each vignette by a device that I thought was really cool – each character takes the subway down from Times Square to get to the party, and the stations they pass are all numbered differently. (I looked up another review of this and the reviewer described it as ‘funny’ and ‘an amusing puzzle,’ which is hilarious to me – I thought “how could we have read it so differently” and then realized that that’s exactly what the story is about…)

One Life, Furnished in Early Poverty, Harlan Ellison

Earlier in this project I read Jeffty is Five, also by Harlan Ellison, and this is so similar that I would have known immediately that it was the same author even if I wasn’t already aware. You can never go back to your lovingly-described childhood which specifically involves a lot of comic books and radio dramas and delicious no-longer-produced candy, but you desperately want to because your adult life is boring, but if you try to, it will have terrible consequences, because childhood is delicate and precious. This story is good on a technical level but that theme just doesn’t do anything for me at all, so I didn’t love it.

Occam's Scalpel, Theodore Sturgeon

The mysterious head of a shadowy criminal organization is about to die, and his personal doctor is worried about the right-hand man who is primed to replace him, so he goes to his brother for help… but what kind of help? There are a couple things in this story that are awfully convenient, and it does rely on a super-genius being tricked in a way that an actual super-genius would almost certainly see right through, but I liked the concept enough to overlook those things.

Favorites: Gleepsite, All Pieces of a River Shore, Transit of Earth, Gehenna

[superherooneshotsandsuch-blog]

Superman - “ET” by Katy Perry

Based on the song "E T." by Katy Perry

Requested by MARVELLOVER4LIFE

***********************************************************************************************

You're so hypnotizing.

Could you be the Devil?

Could you be an angel?

The first time you saw Superman was on TV as he was destroying Metropolis. (not on purpose of course, he was fighting Zodd) You started writing about him and researching him and that was how you were discovered by the Daily Planet,  but the first time you MET Superman was at work, on your first day. To be fair, you met Clark Kent first. Clark worked in the cubicle right next to yours, so as Perry was showing you around on your first day, those magnificent, angelic blue eyes found your Y/E/C ones and made you stop in your tracks.

He smiled at you lightly, and you instantly gave him a smile back and blushed slightly. You had NEVER been so attracted to a man in glasses. You hear Perry snicker to himself lightly. " Y/N, this is Clark Kent. Clark, this is Y/N. She will be working in the office next to you and she will be covering anything and everything Superman."

He looks back from Perry to you and smiles even brighter. "Really? How'd you get into that line of work?." He tilts his head slightly and you can't help but fiddle with your fingers slightly and fight the urge to bite your lip and go on a rant about how he is your favorite superhero EVER, even out of the ones you read about in comic books. "Well, I think he is a hero who is here for all of the right reasons, but most people don't agree. But, thankfully, Perry here does, so ... here I am, defending what ... and WHO ... I think is in the right", You reply shyly. Once you finish your statement, you look down at the floor a little and you swear that you see a slight smirk coming from Clark.

"Well, I have a meeting to get to ... it's called lunch", Perry says and smirks at his own attempt at humor. Clark laughs and gently nudges your arm with his hand and looks you in the eyes, hinting to you to laugh too. You laugh hesitantly and Perry smiles, satisfied. He turns to walk away but then turns back to the two of you. "Oh! Kent! Will you finish giving her the tour?" Clark starts to say something but before he can even get out one word, Perry yells, "Thanks Kent!", and heads off to his lunch break. You giggle lightly and turn to Clark who is staring at you.

"What?", you ask quietly, still smiling.

"Oh. Uh ... nothing", he stutters but then grins back.

"Have you met him?", you ask, shyly trying to make conversation.

"Who?", he asks confused.

"Superman."

"Oh, no I haven't", he turns back to his computer and keeps typing with a stupid grin on his face.

"Why do you keep smiling like that? Do I have something on my face or something!?"

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship that quickly turned into a relationship. But what started it all was on that first day when he let you sit there and talk to him about your favorite superhero like the fangirl that you were, and he sat patiently and listened while he kept grinning like an idiot.

The first time you met Superman, he saved you from falling debris as you were covering another Superman story for the paper. An oil factory had caught on fire and you immediately raced to the factory because you knew HE would be there. As the taxi dropped you off, you ran toward the large fire and soon enough you found yourself snapping pictures and not paying attention to your surroundings until it was too late.

A pipe that had been hanging on a crane, above your head, had been creaking but now it started to fall. You looked up and gasped, you barely had time to close your eyes when you felt a sudden impact hit your chest and then two extremely strong arms around your back as well as the strange sensation of ... flying?

You finally dared to open your eyes and you saw a red cape flowing in the wind. Your heart raced but you smiled to yourself. 'Why did this feel so familiar?' you thought to yourself. You felt the sudden urge to bury your nose into the crook of your savior's neck and sigh contentedly. Then, you heard a chuckle that you had heard a million times before, but you just couldn't place it.

Soon, you found that you were slowing down and that you were on the ground again. Well ... not the ground, but on a rooftop. By this time you had placed the laugh and you knew exactly who Superman was.

"Now I understand why you look so good in blue, Clark", you open your eyes to see an extremely startled Superman. You laugh out loud at the confused expression on his face and get on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. Then, you playfully slap him on the same cheek. "You let me fangirl all over you! I'm such an idiot!"

"Yeah, but you're a cute idiot", he grins as he rubs his cheek. "That almost tickled", he teased as you couldn't help but smile again.

Your touch, magnetizing.

Feels like I'm floating

Leaves my body glowing.

"Clark!", you squeal as he attacks your neck with delicate kisses. He gently picks you up and takes your giggling form to the bedroom and throws you on the bed. "Clark, stop,I really do have to go to work."

You two hadn't done much physically, yet, but you had a feeling in the pit of your stomach that wanted him so desperately. You don't fight it as he climbs on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. "I don't think there will be many stories to chase about Superman today", he smiles softly as he looks your body up and down, making you blush.

You giggle but then gasp as you feel his calloused, yet soft and warm hand sends chills down your spine as his fingertips brush the skin on your waist, under your shirt. "Clark ...", you whisper and then bite your lip as you look up into those eyes that you loved so much. He smiles, "Do you want to?".

You nod your head softly, you were nervous but you felt so comfortable around him that his aura seemed to calm your nerves slightly. He smiles and presses his lips against yours hungrily.

***************************************TIME SKIP**********************************************

You woke up the next morning to the warm sensation of Clark's shallow breath on your chest. You found that you were wrapped around him, legs around his torso and arms around his head, and his face was cradled gently in your neck. You smile to yourself before gently kissing his forehead. It felt as if you were floating on air. You never wanted to leave that bed again.

They say, be afraid

You're not like the others

Futuristic lovers

Different DNA

They don't understand you

(This part takes place during the Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice movie)

You struggled to get in the door of you and Clark's apartment with both arms full of groceries. You planned to actually make a nice meal for dinner. Clark hadn't been eating with all that had been going on lately; it was really upsetting him and it bothered you to see him this upset.

As you finally managed to unlock the door and nudge it open with your foot, you yell into the apartment, "Clark?! I brought ...". You turn your head and see him watching the TV with slumped shoulders and a frown on his face. On the screen is a clip of people burning a makeshift doll, on a stick, that is supposed to look like Superman.

You gasp slightly and quickly drop the bags of groceries on the table next to you and run to grab the remote and turn off the TV before turning to his still slumped figure on the couch. His hands are clasped together and his forearms are resting on his knees as he seems to be zoning out with an empty look in his eyes.

"Clark, I thought we said you weren't gonna watch that stuff", you whisper as you walk closer to him. As you get closer, he looks up at you and you can't help but think about how much he looks like a wounded puppy. "It's all that's on TV, Y/N", he mumbles back, staring into your eyes.

You gently wrap your hand around the back of his head and pull it into your stomach as your fingers play with his hair. He wraps his arms around your torso and cuddles his face into your stomach. After a minute of just holding each other silently, the silence is broken when you say, "They are only afraid because you are different. They don't know you like I do. Or like your mom."

"They shouldn't be afraid of me."

"But they don't know that.", you say soothingly.

You twist your body and end up laying down on the couch, his face still on your stomach as you lay on your back with the rest of his body wrapped in between your legs. "I love you", you whisper while still playing with his hair.

"I love you, too", he smiles lightly and sighs as he laces his fingers with yours.

"One more thing, Clark ..."

"What's that?"

"You're a better human being than most people ever dream of being."

Kiss me, k-k-kiss me

Infect me with your love

And fill me with your poison

Take me, t-t-take me

Wanna be your victim, ready for abduction

Boy, you're an alien, your touch so foreign

It's supernatural, extraterrestrial

"Clark!", you squeal and blush as he smacks your ass lovingly as he walks through the kitchen. "I'm calling in sick to work today. You should too. Perry said that we could use a day off." You smile as you think about spending the day at home with him on the couch.

He comes back up behind you and puts his hands on your hips and pushes against you lightly, making you lean over the counter slightly. You blush again and tense up a little but still manage to giggle, "What has gotten into you?!" He smirks and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. You bite your lip  as his right hand makes its way under your shirt, his touch sending electricity up your spine. No feeling could ever compare to how he made you feel. How could the rest of the world not love him? You think to yourself.

"What are you thinking about?", he asks gently, yet seductively.

"How lucky I am ...", you whisper," ...and how you should DEFINITELY take the day off."

You smile as you lean your head back to kiss him fully on the lips.

[gracesomersartps]

How have different artists explored the human condition and the question of what it means to be human?

Homo Sapiens can be described as upright walking mammals with opposable thumbs and extraordinarily complex brains, we are animals that share our environment with many other species. However we often insist that we are different from or superior to the other life forms we share the planet with. It has been argued that some of the most distinguishing ‘special’ features of out kind are our use of clothing, speech, upright stance, advanced intelligence, and capacity for thought and morality.

Humans have shaped the world around them for many years, we have bred plants and animals to be specific to our needs, built homes, towns, entire cities. We have adapted to the world as well as adapted the world to us. Something that other animals have not been able to do to the extent that we have. Our advanced intelligence has allowed us to make all of these changes to our environment and therefore thrive as a successful species. Yet the question arises – are we still an animal? Or have we evolved to something ‘more’?.

Charles Darwin wrote a critical essay titled ‘The expression of emotions in man and animals’ in which he explores the differences between humans and animals and questions how much we really differ to each other.  

“But man himself cannot express love and humility by external signs, so plainly as does a dog, when with drooping ears, hanging lips, flexuous body, and wagging tail, he meets his beloved master.

Nor can these movements in the dog be explained by acts of volition or necessary instincts, any more than the beaming eyes and smiling cheeks of a man when he meets an old friend.”

Here, Charles Darwin has compared the emotional expressions in an animal to that of a human and interestingly raised the point that he believes both species’ actions cannot be defined as instinctual, meaning they are something ‘more’. This is exploring to what extent other animals have capacity for emotion and thought and comparing it to our own capacity, suggesting that this intellectual capacity may be one of the defining factors of being human.

This complex argument relates to the question I wish to explore – What does it mean to be human, and what is the human condition? I am exploring what makes us different from other animals, if we are truly superior to other life forms and what defines our identity as Homo sapiens.

Antony Gormley explores the idea of the human condition and expresses themes of human instinct, life, and vulnerability through his sculpture titled ‘The Iron Baby”. It’s size is true to life as Gormley used his own baby daughter as a cast for the piece.

The tiny little bundle of metal has been describe as being alike a small bomb, I find this interesting and agree. Bombs have the connotations of time running out, danger, and the need to be gentle and very careful around them. In a strange way the same can be said with a baby, they are growing up, changing and developing as a human so fast and sometimes to mothers it’s all too quick, time is ticking closer till the day they become independent like a bomb ticking closer to explosion. 

But while still a tiny child they are helpless, many things present danger to them and they need gentle care, a person will be extremely careful when holding a baby in their arms as they are aware a single fall could kill the infant, alike holding or handling a bomb, being careful is key and dropping could result in disaster. The growth of a human is simply part of the human condition but Gormley expresses the importance of it and places focus of how unique and precious the small baby’s life is.

The sculpture is made from iron which is concentrated earth, the core of our planet. This connects the human child to planet earth and Mother Nature, as it is literally a product of those things. This in a way links to the argument of our relation and differences with nature around us, the fact that the baby is made from Mother Nature compels me to feel that we are as much of a part of nature as any other animal, not higher nor lower, simply equal.

And despite humans having advanced capacity for intelligence, we too alike animals have vulnerability in our lives. Gormley expresses vulnerability in the Iron Baby in several ways, one being its cold, lifeless appearance. The iron is a dark, dull material that makes the baby seem dead, if not on the brink of death and clearly in need of comfort and help as it lies in its foetal position. The venerability communicated through the small cold looking baby compels viewers to want to rescue and nurture it- revealing the natural human instinct in all of us.

Humans have free will of action and thought but we also hold instincts that are undeniable in most cases, one of them being the need to nurture our children and protect our family – an instinct developed to ensure survival of our species. However the small iron baby could also arise the argument of whether our need to nurture is non instinctual and based on love and human specific compassion that other animals are unable to express.  

Humans interact with the world around them in a way which could be described as special and unique to our species. Our power to manipulate, farm and build as well as conjure complex thoughts and ideas that aid our understanding and exploration of our environment.

William Forsythe explores the concept of humans and their interaction with the world around them through installation art. His series of installations titled “Scattered Crowd” consist of speakers playing  calming ambient music in rooms filled with white, opaque balloons suspended from the ceiling, in varying sizes and varying heights.

This installation is partially a performance created by its own audience, the entire point is how the viewers react. Some choose to peacefully wander through, others lay underneath and gaze upwards, many gently touch, and most children pull, push and play with the balloons. This is what Forsythe intended to be presented through his piece, the way in which humans choose to interact with the world around them. The balloons are delicate and easily burst, humans have to make the conscious decision not to destroy what is around and react according to their thought and emotions towards the art work, and by doing so are demonstrating their capacity for thought, emotion and decision making.

Interestingly by viewing the audience we can see different behaviours reoccurring in specific groups of humans e.g. the playfulness of children and delicacy of the adults. Personally I feel that by creating an installation that encourages the audience to interact with it Forsythe has represented how humans have intricate intelligence and complex thoughts and emotions that guide them through life from birth to death and everything inbetween. Although this is primarily presented by the audiences interactions, I think the intricate maze of balloons themselves can also be symbolic of the complexity of human nature and mind as well as how complicated life can be. 

While Forsythe focuses on behaviour and the mind of humans, artist Kate Clark tackles the subject of human condition and the meaning of being human in a very different manner. Her unique taxidermy sculptures that combine real animals with the facial feature of humans create an unsettling contrast.

Clark uses real animal pelts to stitch these creations together however instead of paying for perfect pelts she uses the ones with imperfections such as holes or decay and implicates the imperfections into her work. She uses white plastic clay to sculpt the face and then takes the facial skin from the animal pelt and overlays it using even the real eyelids and eyelashes. This keeps the appearance true to the animal and smoothly integrates the human qualities with the animal qualities. 

Clark pays special attention to the eyes in her sculptures, taking time to make them beautiful and realistic. She believes that humans have extremely developed communication skills and that our species evolved with distinguishing facial factors because of this. 

“Every detail of our face evolved to be so communicative, the whites of our eyes, the hair removed from the face, everything brought forward was able to increase our civilised communication” - Kate Clark

Due to this the facial shape and eyes are important aspects to her in her sculptures as they are identifying to the human face.

Kate Clark’s sculptures unsettle humans balance between man and animal, it forces us to see ourselves in animals and sympathise with them. When we see ourselves in these animals we are lead to see animals in ourselves, challenging the idea of our differences and similarities to animals. The fact that the animal pelts are real however (of course) the human faces are not, brings about the topic of how humans value their own species above animals. We mostly find it acceptable (although it unsettles some) to have dead animals preserved and displayed in this artistic way, however if the face were real human it would cause much larger controversy and anger many people.

Personally I believe most species value their own above others, its simple survival, however if we also follow this value then again we find ourselves relate-able to animals. Kate Clarks sculptures have the incredible ability to be enchantingly beautiful yet lay deep in the uncanny-valley, they draw us in with their human like qualities yet push us away with their disturbing nature and the uncomfortable subjects that they challenge. 

Gormley, Forsythe and Clark address the subject of the human condition and what it means to be human very differently and all of their art works evoke different thoughts on different themes.

Gormley’s sculpture challenges human life, vulnerability, and allows the viewers to experience the compelling need to nurture the baby, this explores the idea of instinctual reaction vs a compassionate reaction that is something more meaningful than simply instinct. 

Forsythe’s installation explores human emotion, thought and decision making in relation to the world around them by using a labyrinth of balloons to encourage viewers to interact and therefore become part of the art. Alike Gormey, the audience is a vital part to his artwork because part of the meaning lies within how they react to the pieces. His installation raises the question of whether we humans have a complexity to our existence that defines us as a species and makes us superior to other creatures.

Clark uses shock factor in her uncanny sculptures, they challenge our relation to animals and wether we are superior or equal to animals. Human’s faces are the central point of communication, therefore by seeing facial feature of a human in the animals we find ourselves naturally more relatable to them. Alike Gormley this reveals yet again that humans have many natural, instinctual reactions, we often claim that animals survive almost entirley on instinct if we ourselves have instinctual reactions this may suggest we are closer to animals than we want to believe we are.  

There are still many questions that are unanswered, for instance we do not know for sure if animals act primarily on instinct, it is possible they act as much beyond instinct as we do however their lower intelligence perhaps means we are lead to believe otherwise. We know animals experience emotion, thought and make decisions but how much more developed is our ability to do all of those things? And does our advanced development mean we are superior to them? Does it define what we are and what it means to be a human being?

In response to Gormley, Forsythe and Clark’s work, can I answer the question of ‘What does it mean to be human?’ with simply ‘intelligence, thought and emotions beyond instinct, and difference from other animals’? Personally I think that the question its self is not answerable, simply open to debate, exploration and opinion.All three of the artists have focused on smaller aspects of human condition and meaning of being a human, but the entirety of both of these things are so much larger than that. The meaning of being human may well include our ability to act beyond instinct and at a level above other animal’s ability, and may also include our complex brains with advanced intelligence, but it cannot be defined by only that. Being human is something that consists of so many factors that it is not possible to comprehend the answer all at once. 

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3 Individuals Charged in Twitter Hack

TwitterInc.’s worst-ever hack started months previously with a teenager on a telephone, according to an indictment filed Friday by federal authorities charging 3 males in connection with the episode.

The three were charged in connection with the July 15 hack, including a 17- year-old juvenile whom authorities have accused of masterminding the scam.

Graham Ivan Clark, of Tampa, Fla., was apprehended and charged as an adult Friday with orchestrating the hack that sent Twitter’s security group scrambling over numerous hours on a Wednesday afternoon two weeks ago. As the world viewed, prominent accounts, consisting of those of Joe Biden, Elon Musk, and

Apple

Inc., were taken over, one by one, to promote a cryptocurrency scam.

According to district attorneys, people familiar with the investigation and Twitter’s own account of the incident, the hack started with a phone conversation. The criminal activity, district attorneys stated, started more than 2 months before the prominent scam brought it to Twitter’s attention.

On Thursday, the microblogging company said that the hackers basically talked their method into the company’s computer network, calling up Twitter staff members and utilizing “social engineering” strategies to deceive workers into revealing details that they should not have actually shared.

They then learned delicate info about how Twitter runs and used that knowledge to gain access to other parts of the system, eventually getting the capability to prevent Twitter’s securities and reset the passwords of lots of user accounts.

In overall, 130 accounts were targeted. The hackers tweeted from 45, accessed the direct messages of 36 and downloaded the information from seven, Twitter has stated.

Mr. Clark began his work on burglarizing Twitter’s network on May 3– months before the high-profile hack, prosecutors declare.

In Between then and July 16, he offered access to Twitter accounts to brokers who would then find purchasers for them. Mr. Clark himself took over 17 prominent accounts, consisting of those of Bill Gates, Barack Obama and Mr. Musk, used them to make more than $100,000 promoting the bitcoin fraud, said Hillsborough County, Fla., State Lawyer Andrew Warren.

” This was refrained from doing on an impulse,” Mr. Warren stated in an interview. “This was an arranged, highly advanced attack and fraud that took 2 1/2 months of preparation and execution.”

The event was investigated by numerous law-enforcement agencies, consisting of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Secret Service and local and worldwide firms, Mr. Warren said. That investigative full press led to the charges being submitted within 2 1/2 weeks, an incredibly short period of time, he said.

” We value the speedy actions of police in this examination,” Twitter said Friday.

The investigation is continuous, Mr. Warren said.

Likewise charged were Mason Sheppard, 19, of the U.K., and Nima Fazeli, 22, of Orlando, Fla., who the Justice Department described as brokers in the criminal activity. Both were charged by the U.S. Department of Justice on Friday.

The hackers all fulfilled in an online forum called OGUsers, where access to a variety of gaming, social media and other kinds of accounts are purchased and offered, detectives say.

In an interview with The Wall Street Journal prior to his arrest, a British male who declared to use the same alias as Mr. Sheppard, “ever so anxious,” described himself as an OGUsers broker who thought that he was paying a Twitter employee for access to these accounts.

Earlier this month OGUsers had thousands of conversation threads providing to offer access to taken Twitter accounts, many of which were inactive.

Account-takeover professionals, such as those who congregate on OGUsers, have actually been running under the radar for years, accessing to accounts at gaming and social-media business and refining their abilities on telephone company, too, where they concentrate on a kind of telephone-number-takeover called SIM switching, said Allison Nixon, chief research officer at cyber-services business System 221 b.

” A great deal of these guys enter into online fraud at a really early age and the justice system is not equipped to make them stop what they are doing,” she stated.

Messrs. Clark and Fazeli were detained on Friday morning. They couldn’t immediately be grabbed remark.

High-profile Twitter accounts, consisting of those of Barack Obama and Elon Musk, were the target of an extensive attack that security specialists are calling the worst hacking occurrence in the company’s recent history. WSJ’s Euirim Choi reports on the hack, which looks various from other security breaches. Pictures: Robyn Beck/AFP through Getty Images, Sean Gallup/Getty Images and Dado Ruvic/Reuters (Originally published July 16, 2020).

The case shone a light on the security practices of a business that is dealing with pressure from numerous fronts. Earlier this year, activist investor Elliott Management Corp. pushed Twitter to discover a full-time president, which is run by Jack Dorsey, who also functions as chief executive of the payments company.

Square

Inc.

Twitter likewise has come under pressure from President Trump, who accused Twitter’s fact-checking system of censoring him after the business flagged some of his tweets about mail-in voting as needing a fact check.

After a series of security issues more than a years back, Twitter entered into an approval decree with the U.S. Federal Trade Commission, promising to improve user-privacy securities.

Twitter hasn’t had a primary details security officer considering that December2019 The company has about one-tenth the employees of.

Facebook

Inc. and 5%the yearly earnings of its social-media rival. Twitter has 186 million everyday users, compared with Facebook’s nearly 2 billion.

After this latest hack, observers say there is still work for the business to do.

” It truly demonstrates that despite the advances in innovation and the controls to secure it, the human link is still the weakest link and often the most targeted,” stated Michael Coates, the president of Elevation Networks Inc., who was Twitter’s leading security executive till 2018.

— Jim Oberman added to this article.

Compose to Robert McMillan at Robert.Mcmillan@wsj.com

Copyright ©2020 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Scheduled. 87990 cbe856818 d5eddac44 c7b1cdeb8

%%.

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The 100 Season 7 Episode 7 Review: The Queen’s Gambit

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This THE 100 review contains spoilers

The 100 Season 7 Episode 7

Lindsey Morgan (who plays Raven Rayes) directed a crackling episode of The 100 that treats us to a heaping pile of wonderful character moments and more mysteries than you can shake a stick at. Sheidheda continues to prove why he had a reputation as a master strategist and Emori comes into her own as a leader on Sanctum while Murphy struggles with the opposite impulse. Meanwhile, some of the most formidable women on the show found themselves imprisoned on Bardo, and Jackson helped Madi lay down her burden as Commander and simply be a kid.

Gabriel took a deal from Anders to join the Cypher Team rather quickly – so quickly that I’ve got to think his plan is to gather intel and play double agent. If he had stopped to consider it and searched his soul a bit, turning against his friends would be more believable. Anders’s offer of knowledge alone wouldn’t be too bad, though this isn’t Gabriel’s first war and he’s no dummy, so he would never believe it was just that. But the Clarke intel clearly gave him pause.

Time dilation allows the writers of The 100 to get even funkier with time than ever – remember The 100’s first major time jump at the end of season 4 into season 5? It was such a shock! We were so sweet and innocent back then. Now we time jump all the time! This episode’s use of dilation is judicious, allowing Gabriel three months to learn about the Anomaly Stones and hopefully all things Disciple, while some of The 100’s best warriors (minus Indra) train to become even deadlier.

Sadly we have to wait to see the new and improved fighting force of Hope, Diyoza, Octavia and Echo (even writing that makes my skin prick up), but this episode gave those four actresses plenty to work with, and they did not disappoint. Hope and Diyoza threw down emotionally and physically, with Diyoza getting Hope to realize that 15 years of training and a heart full of vengeance is nothing compared to her mother – but it’s also no way to live. Diyoza was far more frank than I expected both about her crimes and Hope’s biological father, considering how much she sheltered Hope when she was a kid. But it was also interesting to hear Hope discuss the positive part of her mother’s military record, saving thousands of people at the Battle of San Francisco.

These scenes were both a great action set piece and such a human exchange between mother and daughter, seamlessly bridging the gap between multiple actors portraying Hope over time. The exchange kicked into high gear when Hope referred to deceased Sky Ring prisoner Dev as her father. That’s a move that feels right for the beautiful relationship we watched, but it’s got to be a gut punch for Diyoza to hear that the man her now-25-year-old daughter considers her father is a person she has never met and never will.

Echo and Octavia finally buried the hatchet, or machete, as the case may be. This was clearly driven by Octavia and all the evolving she’s done in the last couple of seasons, both in the regular timeline and across time dilations. O made it clear that while Hope may have misgivings about Echo, she’s bringing her own loyalty to the equation. The warrior formerly known as SkaiRippa and Blodraina  has forgiven any and all transgressions, and sees Echo as family.

While that was a lovely surprise, and Marie Avgeropoulos and Tasya Teles did an excellent job, The 100 writers owed their actors more than cribbing the “it’s not your fault” forced hug from Good Will Hunting, even using those exact words. It was an earned moment and likely one that will make the next time we see them working alongside one another much more fluid, but that felt goofy, cheap, and possibly unintentional, rather than like an homage.

We finally see Bellamy again and it’s in a flashback – and one that feels like it’s a few years too late. Seeing Bellamy forgive Echo, her regret over her worst sins, Bellamy extending a place within the group, Echo’s hope for loyalty, and their first kiss, it’s everything that we sort of assumed happened on the ring during those five years – but never saw. While much of the hate Echo gets is based purely on shipping, this particular issue lies with the writing. When Echo came back a member of SpaceKru and in a relationship with Bellamy, it was the ultimate in telling rather than showing.

While I’m glad to finally see this pivotal scene, it feels like too little, too late. Always clear that there are no good guys, The 100 chooses its real heroes and villains not by any sense of morality but by whose perspective it assumes. Interiority is pivotal, but it’s something Echo almost never gets. We heard Echo was family, but the audience never saw it firsthand, so those five years of supposed relationship development and character evolution were hearsay at best.

Emori and Murphy’s dynamic become more pronounced this episode, in one of my favorite non-mysterious plots that’s moving right along at exactly the right pace. Emori is actually fantastic at being a fake Prime, using her now-extensive experience in bridging cultures and the studiousness we saw her apply to becoming a pilot to the task of bringing peace to Sanctum. Jackson’s new role as psychologist allowed him to make the subtext on Emori’s background into text, asking her about her motives. From a plot perspective, I understand why things had to go to hell, but seeing Emori try to bond with Nelson (and briefly find tentative success) was promising, so I look forward to watching that relationship develop.

Sheidheda’s evil plan for Nelson to ally with Nikki worked, thanks to old hatred dying hard, the delicate nature of Sanctum’s peace, and Sheidy ably detaining Murphy, who portrays the (apparently?) more credibly Daniel Prime. The chess match between Murphy and Sheidheda was a good little misdirect for what turned out to be his true plan, keeping Daniel from the Reunification Ceremony. It also laid groundwork for whatever confrontations they’ll have later when the Dark Commander inevitably tries to kill Emori and take over Sanctum.

While it might seem obvious that Murphy wouldn’t fold, he did exactly that last season, though it was so out of character for who he had become that fans kept waiting for a secret plan that never came, at least not until after Murphy had betrayed everyone several times over. All that is to say, let’s hope this season continues to be a more character-driven send-off for one of the show’s absolute best characters, rather than an unearned plot-driven regression.  

Finally, Clarke and friends landed on Bardo, only to learn the same devastating news that sent echo into a murderous rage: Gabriel tells them Bellamy is dead. The bond between the core group is so strong, but Clarke and Bellamy have been the leadership duo that lean on each other more than any other pair. With Abby and Kane gone and new kids coming onto the show, they’re now Space Mom and Space Dad. Eliza Taylor (playing Clarke) said it all with one look. While supposedly nothing breaks Clarke, this might be the closest she comes, especially so soon after burying her mother.

The episode leaves us with far more questions than answers. Where is our beloved and definitely-probably-we-hope-not-dead-Bellamy? How the heck did Second Dawn leader Bill Cadogen get here from Earth and survive this long? What do they want with Clarke and how do they know she’s the key? Who is this supposed war against? Where is Gaia? It says a lot about this season that we’re still deep in the exposition on our seventh episode, while simultaneously revisiting a character and group from way back in season 4. Onward!

Other notes…

Soccer exists in space! The game truly is…universal (OK I’ll show myself out!)

Shoutout to Lincoln!

Anders confirmed that Orlando hanged himself in the cabin, saying, “it appears we need to rethink our penal system.” How is this the first time someone took their own life on Penance?

Nikki with the very real talk: “Don’t kid yourself honey. There’s no innocent people at the end of the world.”

I believe this is the most Diyoza has ever spoken about her major act of terrorism. She apparently was actually trying to do a good thing. Wasn’t she from the same time as Second Dawn? Might that come up during the back-door pilot when we see Earth before it was destroyed (the first time)?

Murphy’s explanation of the flame keepers all banding together to kill Sheidheda and Lexa coming after to unite the clans makes it sound like they were one right after the other. But I feel like timeline-wise there should be another commander between them just due to Indra’s age…Am I forgetting my Grounder history here? Help me out folks!

What did Nelson’s parents originally name him Sachin as in…Sachin Sahel, the name of the actor who plays Jackson?

Apparently Azgeda warrior’s scar themselves before war to signify that the pain is over? I’m fuzzy on what that means and how Echo did this – what did she use? After Hope had a tube in her arm I thought Echo was going to dig a weapon out of her face.

Nikki somehow seems to know Russel is dead, plus there’s the notes in the food. It seems like ole Sheidy is working the crowd far more than what we/our friends are seeing.

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