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schweeeppess · 5 years

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Callout Post

So this is what the title say it is, but not a bad kind of callout post :D It’s a post to show my mutuals my absolute love for y’all, and I hope it’s worth it? Sorry in advance if I forget anyone, or don’t have much to say! I love you all!

@mizmahlia: Gosh where do I start? M&Ms, you were the first person who sent me a prompt when I popped up on this site and you gave me so much courage and motivation to keep on writing when I was still a small blog (well I technically am one again now but that’s my bad 😂), and I’m forever grateful to you for that. Honestly you were someone I admired even before I had Tumblr--I read some of your stuff over on ff.net and was in love. Back then I didn’t even dream that I’d get so close to someone that’s as awesome and supportive as you. Whenever we talk it’s always a great exchange, whether I’m telling you about that crush I have or we’re just goofing off about DC. You’ve been a positive influence in my life for about three years now, M&Ms, and I’m so grateful to you for that. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d have kept writing if it weren’t for you, so thank you. You’ve been there the entire time to watch me grow as a writer, and I literally can’t thank you enough for being part of my story. Lots of love goes your way, M&Ms.

@an-all-write-life: Sunbeammmmm! Your nickname should say it all, sis, but I don’t know if even that can properly express just how wonderful and awesome it is to know you. I started following you when you were doing the ships for a celebration (I think it was 600+?), and fell head over heels for your stuff. I don’t really remember how we got to talking, but we did, and I don’t regret that for a minute. We started off just talking about Batfam and Marvel (oh my God do you remember the football touchdown dances????? 😂😂😂), but then discovered each other’s just fantastic taste in books and had even more to bond over and talk about. Like, Minho? A whole sass master. Nothing can out-sass him. Evan? A whole ball of deadly killer who suffers extreme social anxiety. Target is his worst enemy. You were another positive influence I had in my writing. Your reblogs were enough, but when you added commentary it encouraged me even more. I haven’t known you as long as I have M&Ms, but you’ve become a great part of my life all the same. Thanks for putting up with this mess of mine 💙

@crazyfreckledginger: My CDS, my gold in the flames, my diamond under pressure! I think you were the one who reached out when we started talking, and I couldn’t be happier that you did. You’re such an awesome and great person that I have the extreme pleasure to know, even if you don’t see that all the time. Your work is great and every time you write it’s amazing. THAIGO IS TIM, SIS, YOU CAN’T TELL ME HE ISN’T!!!!! You tease me the most about my crush and I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re someone I’m comfortable with and someone I talk to who cheers me up when I’m feeling down, even though you might not know it when I am down. You’re just such a great and kind person that ever interaction, whether you’re feeling down or great, is always a wonderful, enjoyable one. Thank you, CDS, for simply being part of my life. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

@boosyboo9206: Oh, O. (haha, puns :D) I remember that we bonded over a YJ post that got way too long, and another that I made to help you with S2 feels, and a fic I wrote. You were the one who popped a message first and from there it evolved into alternating screaming about Jason and Lobdell’s godawful writing, crying about Wally, screaming about fanfiction, normal conversations without yelling or crying, and just an amazing friendship to have made. You I hinted to about my past and something traumatic that happened, and only you have I told about that. You didn’t react the way I thought you would and surprised me by understanding and reassuring me about it. You’re a wonderful person that I have a privilege to know. Thanks for being a great friend and support.

@pure-leafs: Siiiiiiiiiiii, the person who has not made me get invested in a mascot that gives children nightmares, the person who’s probably as awkward as I am, the brilliant writer with the sometimes red hair, my good Gritty friend! I’m not sure how we started talking either, but man am I glad we did. You’re funny and kind and a sarcasm queen. You’ve been there when I feel down, and have supported me through some of my decisions. You’re a confidant and an amazing friend to have. Not to mention your writing! You haven’t written something in a while but I take immeasurable joy in rereading your stuff :D Thank you, Si, for being a friend.

@avengerdragoness: Jules the dragon ruler! Gosh I’m saying this a lot lately but I’m (again) not sure how we started talking? Just that we did, and shared a couple of laughs over Jason’s dumbass and John Mulaney. I think you’re the only one I really vented to about my dad’s side of the family, and you were so supportive and awesome throughout it. Talking to you took an edge off my body I hadn’t known about, and I’ll forever be grateful to you for letting me open up about that. We don’t talk as much anymore, but your friendship is still one I value and treasure regardless ^^ Thank you, Jules, for your support and care.

@red-balistic: Redddddd! Your stories are gonna be the death of meeee! ALL OF YOUR ANGST FOR MA BOI TIMMY I JUST---BKDSFAGHN. We started talking by you reaching out after I encouraged you to post your writing, I think? It started on the notes section of Buried Among Ashes and evolved into a awesome friendship and companionship that I will never regret and always think on with a spark of joy. You’re always there to cheer me up if I feel down, or give me some advice I didn’t know I needed, and I want to thank you for that. You’re such a cool and uplifting person to know, and I’m grateful every time we talk for it. Thanks, Red, for your cheer and encouragement ^^

@angstytodd: Alex. We started talking only recently, but that hasn’t been something I regret in the least. You’re a very real, very strong person who knows her limits and when she needs help, and I admire you so much for that. You’re a great person to know, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have you as a friend and part of my life. You’re awesome, Alex, and thank you for your companionship and support.

@queen-fighter: PAISANAAAAAA! I think you reached out to me about being Mexican? No se, but I’m so happy that you did. It was awesome a saber que I wasn’t the only Mexican here who had a great love for the Batboys. We didn’t talk often, and we still don’t, but every time we do it’s always a pleasure that I enjoy. Tienes un personalidad tan amazing. Te quiero paisana!!!!

@v01d-ch1ld: I can’t remember how we started talking either, but I’m pretty sure you reached out about your story, or asked for advice? I offered to be your beta and from there we started talking. We don’t talk as much anymore but I think that’s my bad. Pretty sure that’s my bad. Really sure that’s my bad. My bad! Sorry about that! You’re a very calm and down-to-earth person who’s going through some rough stuff, but carries it like a soldier. I respect you for that, and it really is great to know you. Your writing is improving every time you write, and I couldn’t be happier to have been a part of your growth the way someone I admire was for me. You gave the the opportunity to be, and thank you for that.

@pythiaaa: Hey, Pys. We haven’t spoken in a long time and that is entirely my fault. Ever since out last conversation I’ve been staying away because I thought that you would want me to, that you didn’t want to hear from me or see my blog title at all or ever again because it utterly sickened you. It was an assumption I made on my own and I’m sorry. I’m sorry because with you all I ever did was assume. I assumed you understood just how busy I’d become in school, that you were okay with the long pauses between our interactions, and that you knew why I could only ever really to force myself to make at least a couple of minutes for you when I felt you needed me. I’m sorry for that. It was such a wrong and unfair thing to do to you, and I’m owning up to it. I’m sorry for everything I did wrong, for every way I hurt you without intending on it, and for the distance I hadn’t realized I put between us. I included you in this post because you were a very important part of my life. I opened up to you the most about my feelings, even if it didn’t seem like it, and you supported me and helped me feel better about myself. You encouraged my writing and always commented if you could. You’re part of the reason I got to where I did, whether or not you realized it, and I wanted to thank you. Thank you for being part of my life for as long as you were. Thank you for the support and kindness you gave. Thank you for the encouragement. I’m not telling you all of this now thinking it’ll fix everything because I know it won’t, but I wanted you to know regardless. Thanks, Pys.

#callout post for my mutuals #love you guys

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lopithecusfanfiction · 6 years

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The Mark of Superman

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3401 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Summary: Lord Superman makes sure Lord Batman knows exactly who he belongs to Warnings:

Extremely Dubious Consent

Dub-con bordering on non-con

Emotional/Psychological Abuse

Physical Abuse

Emotional Manipulation

Manipulation

Author's Note: Since the SRB is done posting, I’m going to post the entire fic on Tumblr now. If you haven’t read it yet, please enjoy!

See the wonderful art this fic was based on by Yamada (art blog: lord-yamada) here! Yamada, it was a pleasure to write this for your wonderful art. You know how much I love Lord Superman and Lord Batman. ;) I would like to thank my beta mitzvah (Melting) for beta reading this story. I really appreciate the thorough look through and all the pointers and suggestions that you made. It helped flesh out this story a lot and I couldn't have done it without you! :D The title is a play on “The Mark of Cain” because the art has the Superman symbol burned into Bruce’s skin and because I feel like it. ;P

Written for the SuperBat Reverse Bang 2018

“There’s another small group of rebels forming in New York. We’ll need to gather information to find out where their base of operations are and take them down.” Clark looks over at Bruce, making eye contact through the cowl. “I want you to do that, Batman.”

Bruce gives Clark a brisk nod, watching Clark as he continues onto another topic. It’s only been six months since the Justice Lords were formed and within those few months, all they’ve done is put the fear of God into innocent people. Or maybe people no longer believe in a God. Maybe all that’s left is Lord Superman.

Bruce is startled when he hears Diana’s voice calling him and he blinks, moving his gaze to her. She repeats herself. “Do you have anything to add, Batman?”

“No,” he says, simple and to the point. He really doesn’t have anything useful to add. One of the first things Clark had done “for him” was lobotomize the Gotham rogues. Clark had seemed to take the most pleasure out of burning holes into the Joker, muttering something about how the Joker will never be able to hurt Bruce or his children again. Or maybe it was Selina Clark had the most fun with, snapping her neck whilst growling that she can never have Bruce. Bruce doesn’t know anymore.

Clark’s eyes are on him, boring into his skull as if the man can read Bruce’s thoughts. The alien doesn’t look happy with him. “That’s it for now. You’re dismissed.”

Bruce stands slowly, anxiety thick in the air. No one wants to make Superman mad, no one but Diana who isn’t afraid to purposely antagonize the alien into anger, and everyone is always walking on eggshells whenever the man is around. Somehow, they can tell Bruce has made him angry. Bruce isn’t really sure what he did to make Clark angry at him suddenly, but he doesn’t want to deal with it in this room. His eyes flit to the empty seat, the one with the lightning bolt on it, before turning away and leaving the room, his back hot with the feeling of Clark’s eyes staring at him.

He doesn’t even make it halfway to the transporters before he’s grabbed by the arm in a strong grip. “Come with me.” The menacing, angry tone of Clark makes Bruce’s heart speed up. He has no choice but to do as told.

Clark brings him to an abandoned hallway, one that is rarely used anymore. It leads to the cafeteria. No one has eaten there in months, too many memories of Wally being there constantly, food stacked so high one would wonder where the speedster put it all. No one wants to think about Wally nor do they want to actually eat with one another anymore. This is no longer a happy place.

“What is it?” Bruce dares to ask and the hand gripping his arm tightens. It makes him glad that he had put extra padding in his suit, ever since Clark killed Luthor.

Still, Bruce is startled when Clark spins him around and slams his back into the wall. “What had you so distracted?” The alien demands, both hands on Bruce now.

“Nothing,” Bruce claims, not meeting Clark’s eyes. He doesn’t recognize them anymore. They are void of their usual warmth, their love. He misses the days when Clark would look at him as if he meant the world to him, when Clark would kiss him passionately, softly. The days when they would hold each other after a long fight, lying in bed, ignoring the world for a few hours. He misses the days when his chest didn’t hurt with heartbreak.

“No,” Clark starts, leaning in. “You were thinking of something. Tell me.” The Kryptonian’s voice has gone gentle but Bruce isn’t fooled. It’s just a ploy Clark uses, to get Bruce to lower his guard. It works every time. He loves Clark too much.

“I was thinking about you,” he says low, almost inaudible. It’s not the whole truth but Clark will like hearing it.

“Oh?” A smile forms on the man’s lips and for a brief second Bruce sees the old Clark, the one he fell in love with. “What about me?”

Bruce forces a smile back. “How much I love you.”

Clark’s smile disappears almost instantaneously. “You’re lying.”

“What?”

Clark’s eyes grow hard, angry. “You were thinking about Wally, weren’t you?” Bruce shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest but Clark doesn’t allow him to speak. “That’s why you looked over at Wally’s seat, right?” Clark’s tone has gone harsh, accusatory. One of the alien’s hands travel down to the left side of Bruce’s hip, thumb pressing into the Superman symbol burned there. Bruce flinches as Clark growls, “Do I have to remind you again who exactly you belong to?”

“No!” Bruce gasps, not able to get away from that thumb. “I wasn’t thinking about him, Clark. I was thinking about you, only you.”

Clark gets in his face, baring his teeth and eyes turning red. Bruce can feel the heat of those blazing eyes on his skin, radiating from the frightening look. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!” He flinches again as that thumb presses harder, sharp, hot pain shooting up the side of his body. Clark had given him that scar just yesterday, when Bruce was caught talking about Talia to Dick, and how she was in Gotham trying to play out one of her father’s schemes again. Clark had gotten jealous, dragging him forcefully up to their room, and used heat vision to burn the S into his skin. “It was about you and how you lobotomized the Gotham villains.” Bruce’s voice shakes and he swallows, trying to control the wavering. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest. Clark’s thumb eases and eyes turn back to blue, but mistrust radiates from them. A dull ache throbs where Clark’s thumb had been. “God, Clark, Wally was the same age as Dick. They were best friends. Wally was more like a son to me. You know that.”

Clark’s hand suddenly comes up and grips Bruce by the throat, pushing his head back against the wall, chin up. Clark doesn’t squeeze but the pressure is threatening. “Don’t talk back to me.” The hand then moves and slides Bruce’s cowl off his head, revealing Bruce’s face. Clark’s hand cups his cheek. “You know I get like this because I just love you so much, right?”

Bruce resists the urge to swallow, his mouth filling with saliva. It would look too much like a hesitation to Clark. Bruce cups Clark’s cheek back. “I know. I love you too. I would never hurt you.”

Clark watches him closely, eyes roaming over Bruce’s face. The man’s eyebrows furrow, eyes shining with concern. “I just don’t want to lose you, Bruce.”

Bruce smiles at him, forced and fake. “And you won’t.” There’s silence between them as Clark holds Bruce against the wall, bruising grip still on his arm. Clark’s eyes stare into his, not moving. Bruce finally swallows.

Clark’s fist flies out and punches the wall right next to Bruce’s head, causing Bruce to flinch and suck in a surprised breath. Clark gets in his face, breath warm as he talks. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” He turns Bruce around, slamming him against the wall and pressing Bruce’s face into it with a hand on the back of his head.

“What are you talking about?” Bruce grinds out, eyes shut from the pain in his head caused by getting it slammed against metal. There’s a dent in the wall where Clark’s fist collided with it.

Clark’s lips press against Bruce’s ear. “I see the way you look at me. With pity filled eyes. With rage and sadness.”

“No,” Bruce protests, breath inhaling in sharp gulps, fear crawling its way up into his chest.

“Yes,” Clark hisses and Bruce’s blood goes cold. Clark’s other hand reaches around and starts pulling down Bruce’s pants to the Batsuit. “I’m going to show you exactly what will happen if you ever leave me.”

“Clark please,” Bruce pleads and for a brief second, Clark hesitates.

Clark looks at him, eyes narrowed. “Do you not want it?” And Bruce can hear the implication in that voice, the implication that if he says anything other than “do it” that it will only make Clark angrier. Bruce doesn’t want Clark angrier.

Bruce closes his eyes, feels his heart breaking even more, and finally says, “No, I want you. Only you.”

He can hear the smirk in Clark’s voice when the alien replies. “Good.” Bruce’s pants are pulled down to his knees, exposing his soft cock. Clark’s hand wraps around it and the alien scoffs. “You don’t love me anymore at all.”

“I do,” Bruce says but his voice sounds small and defeated.

He can hear Clark shuffling behind him to pull down the pants to the Superman outfit. Then, Clark pushes the top of the Batsuit up a little, exposing the S burn. One of Clark’s fingers traces it. “I don’t know if I can believe you. You look at me with disgust.”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I’ll always love you, Clark.”

“Hmm,” Clark hums, spitting on his finger and then reaching behind Bruce to slide it into his entrance, mouth close to Bruce’s ear. “You do look at me like that, but I know how to remedy it.” Another finger is entered into him, almost completely dry with just enough spit to ease it in. It’s painful and Bruce sucks in a strained breath through clenched teeth. “You will love me again, Bruce.”

Clark is pumping two fingers into Bruce slowly, stroking Bruce’s cock to try and awaken it. Bruce closes his eyes and tries to will himself to get hard but it doesn’t work. It’s not until Clark pulls his fingers out, makes Bruce suck them until they are dripping with saliva, and sticks them back into him that he starts to stir, the painful burn easing.

Reaching back behind himself, Bruce grabs a hold of Clark’s head and pulls it forward, kissing the alien on the lips sensually. Clark now has three fingers in him and he’s starting to enjoy it somewhat, finally fully hard. Bruce pulls away from Clark’s mouth and looks the man in the eyes. “You don’t need to make me love you. I promise, Clark, I love you with everything I’ve got.” Clark looks Bruce in the eyes and Bruce suddenly feels like crying but instead he swallows hard, Clark removing his fingers. “You’re the only one for me.”

And that’s the problem, Bruce thinks as Clark smirks in satisfaction, lining up to Bruce’s entrance. I love you too much. I would do anything for you.Please come back to me, Clark. A tear slips out of Bruce’s eyes as he closes them, waiting for Clark to enter him.

“You’re now ready.” Clark’s emotionless voice concludes.

It wouldn’t matter if Bruce told Clark that he wasn’t ready. Clark doesn’t care and will continue no matter what. The knowledge of that hurts but there’s nothing he can do. He just knows he still loves the man, even after everything Clark has put him through and when Bruce’s next words are out of his mouth, they almost shock him. “Don’t leave, just, don’t ever leave me either.”

Bruce doesn’t know what he would do if Clark abandoned him, so he decides to not think about it. Instead he focuses on the pressure of Kal’s body behind him, the warmth coming off it, and the pure rage in those eyes. He’s trying so desperately to keep Clark happy and he still hopes that someday his beloved Clark will return to him.

Clark pushes in hard, Bruce gasping at the strength, and Clark’s smile felt against Bruce’s ear. “Never,” Clark whispers to him.

Clark had pushed into him with spit as the only thing slicking up the alien’s cock, causing pain to shoot up Bruce’s back. Bruce arches off the wall, breathing in a shuddering, sharp breath. A trickle of blood runs down his thigh, a throbbing ache radiating throughout his lower back and upper legs. The only mercy Clark shows is waiting for Bruce to catch his breath before the man slowly starts pulling out and then slowly going back into Bruce, more blood dripping down the inside of his thighs. The worst part is, Bruce is still hard. He’s enjoying the pain, feels like he deserves it.

He dismissed Superman killing Lex Luthor, stood there as Clark lobotomized the villains of his city, and contributed to the worlds destruction at the hands of the Justice Lords. He’s just as bad as Lord Superman, just as responsible. He’s earned this as his punishment, this torture before he finally dies at the hands Lord Superman.

Clark pushes in one last time before stopping, panting in sync with Bruce’s own drawn in breaths. The alien reaches around and grabs a hold of Bruce’s hard cock, the tip already leaking greedily. Bruce wants more, he wants more pain, more punishment. “I’m always amazed by how much you enjoy me hurting you. Sometimes,” Clark strokes down the length of Bruce’s cock and Bruce moans with pleasure, “I wonder how far I can go before I really break you.”

“Kill me,” Bruce mutters, fluttering his eyes open. “Are you going to eventually kill me?”

Clark chuckles, the vibrations traveling through the whole alien’s body and into the cock buried in Bruce’s ass. Bruce tenses at the feeling. Clark had stopped moving, allowing the head of the man’s cock to rest on Bruce’s prostate. Bruce groans and Clark’s chuckling ceases. “Of course, not. I would never kill you, Bruce. I never want you to leave me, remember?”

“Then what are you going to do when I die?” Bruce asks, concentrating on Clark’s hand stroking him slowly.

“You’re not going to die,” Clark says, pecking Bruce’s ear.

“I will eventually. Maybe not in battle but age-”

“Who says you’re going to grow old?” Clark interrupts and Bruce’s eyes snap open completely, shocked. “I’m not going to let you get old, Bruce. That’s nonsense.”

Bruce is about to ask Clark how exactly he plans on keeping Bruce young when it hits. “The Lazarus Pits?” Bruce asks, horrified. Clark is licking at his neck and the alien hums in confirmation. “Clark, you can’t-”

“I can.” Clark lifts his head and looks at Bruce’s profile. “Of course, I can. You’re never leaving me.”

“But the pit messes with your head, Clark, I don’t want-”

“I don’t care what you want,” Clark snaps and squeezes Bruce’s cock painfully, pulling out and shoving back in roughly. The mixture of spit and blood has made the movements smoother, easier, but it still aches and throbs. “When I say you’re never leaving me, Bruce, that means you’re never leaving.”

Bruce’s heart sinks to his stomach, causing nausea. He shuts his eyes dejectedly, realizing that he won’t even have the escape of death to get him out of Hell. Bruce hangs his head, leaning against the wall. “What if I did it myself?”

“Did what?” Clark asks, beginning to stroke again.

“Killed myself,” Bruce answers.

Clark starts laughing. “You wouldn’t dare. I’d still put your body in the pit, bringing you back.” Another tear escapes from Bruce’s eyes and one of his hands curl into a fist. “Awe, don’t be like that, Bruce. We’ll be together, in love, for eternity. Isn’t that what you want?” Bruce doesn’t answer and Clark kisses his temple. “Of course, it is.”

The alien begins to really fuck him then, pulling back and pushing back in roughly, groaning and panting with pleasure. Bruce’s eyes have screwed shut again, a large lump lodging itself in his throat as he thinks about spending forever with this version of Clark, in this Hell. Does he not deserve death, to finally rest and be gone from this world? Has he done so much wrong in his life that this is his fate for now on?

The people of the world would be right. There is no more God. There’s only Lord Superman.

Bruce gasps as Clark’s cock hits his prostate, the first time Clark has probably done it on purpose. Clark’s hands are on his dick, stroking in time with those brutal thrusts, the head leaking precum profusely. Sweat is dripping down his body and when he tries to look behind himself, all he sees are red, glowing eyes staring back. Bruce’s heart stutters in fear, despite Clark saying he would never kill him. But it’s not the dying he is afraid of anymore. It’s watching Clark fall even more, seeing how far gone he really ends up.

Bruce is panting uncontrollably now, Clark’s cock hitting his prostate with every entry. He’s close, even with the pain of the whole thing, and he wants to cum but is too afraid that if he begs for it, Clark will leave him without finishing. The Kryptonian is in a cruel state of mind right now and Clark has done it before. Clark would do it now as well.

It’s not too long before Clark starts to stutter into the end, thrusts becoming awkward and uneven. Soon, Bruce is feeling a hot liquid being pumped into him and it’s enough to get himself off. Especially when Clark’s fingers are rubbing at the head of his cock, playing with the slit there. He’s cumming onto the wall with long, white spurts, body shaking uncontrollably and low moan escaping his throat. They stand there, sated physically, for a few seconds before Clark finally pulls out of him.

Bruce immediately drops to the floor, onto his knees. His hands are still splayed on the wall but his head is bowed between his arms. He feels Clark kneel down beside him and Bruce tries to hold off the tears for now.

“You’re mine, Bruce. Don’t ever forget that,” Clark tells him and stands.

Bruce looks up, vision blurring with unshed tears. “Clark?” Clark stops and turns around to face him. “Please, don’t leave me here.”

Clark crosses his arms. “And why shouldn’t I?”

Bruce tries to think of something, anything. His legs hurt and his ass is on fire, pin pricks crawling up his back. The sex was too rushed, too forced. Bruce’s stomach turns upside down at the thought of actually liking it, about how fucked up in the head Bruce really is. He’s just as insane as Clark. “I don’t think I can get back to my room on my own.”

Clark takes a step towards him. “And what? You don’t want to be seen out here, humiliated?”

“Please…” Bruce begs because he has no other choice. Clark will leave him here, all by himself, until Diana or J’onn find him. And he can’t let that happen because Diana and J’onn can never know about this. Clark has made it perfectly clear to him before that if anyone would find out about how they have sex, how rough it can get, Bruce would lose all respect from the rest of the Lords. That they would look down upon him, as if he were weak and never listen to another order that he gave again. Bruce can’t lose that. He can’t let them see him as below them. He can’t lose control of them. It’s the only thing he can control in his life. So Bruce isn’t above begging in this situation.

Clark is staring at him and Bruce prays internally that Clark isn’t feeling that cruel. Finally, the alien drops his arms and approaches Bruce, lifting him up by one arm. “Fine.”

Clark helps Bruce back to his room and during the journey, Bruce pretends it’s his Clark who is helping him. The Clark who had love for others. The Clark who cared and did everything in his power to save people. The Clark that Bruce would have wanted to spend eternity with.

Clark deposits his aching body onto Bruce’s bed and then walks away. The alien stops in the doorway, turning back to face Bruce. “I love you, Bruce.” There’s an edge of sincerity in the Kryptonian’s voice but it’s hidden behind the coldness of it, the threatening untone being heard clearly.

“I love you too, Clark.” Bruce stares the Devil in the eyes. “Forever.”

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed this story! Again, make sure to go check out the art here!

#DC Comics #SuperBat #Superman #Batman #Clark Kent #Kal El #Bruce Wayne #The Mark of Superman #My Fanfiction #sfw

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arrogantbrattyprototype · 7 months

Note

*Goes over to the house and knocks politely, before being unable to contain her excitement and resorting to yelling.*

"ODD WALL'S?! COME OUTT!"

(@juliejoyfulflowersforever)

....? I'm not answering the door- okayokayfine stop giving me that look Home.

-grumbles walking to the door, opens it-

#beta wally #beta wally ask blog #not canon #wally darling

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resplendentgoldenwings · 7 years

Text

All That Remains, Chapter 8, Six Weeks

rating: teen

characters/pairings: Iris West, Francine West, Cisco Ramone, WestAllen

warnings: grief, suicidal ideation

summary: Iris struggles through her first month without Barry, all the while unaware of a little surprise that Barry has left her. angst, h/c

beta: asexual-fandom-queen

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Six Weeks

Iris surveyed Barry's apartment. It wasn't like the cozy two bedroom place she shared with her best friend, Linda. Barry's place was spacious with hardwood floors, recessed studio lights, bay windows, two bedrooms and a nice long hall. Light and air flowed through it making it an easy, cheerful place to be in.

It was beautiful she'd helped Barry with some of the decorating, creating a whole pin board of ideas when working on her thesis got to be too much, helping him select plants, art and rugs. Iris felt as comfortable here as she felt in her own place, even now.

Now she surveyed the space considering the chores that needed to be done.

There was a stack of mail, about a week's worth, sitting on the table next to the door; his answering machine flashed seven messages -only Barry Allen had a home phone and an answering machine in 2015 and his plants needed watering. She kept her eyes away from the mantle and the far living room wall. Both were decorated with pictures of them, pictures of a life that was over.

After the wake, Linda had brought her here. Drunk and exhausted Iris had collapsed into Barry's bed, falling asleep in seconds. She'd woken to a dry mouth, headache, a glass of water and two aspirins on the bedside table. She'd gulped down the water, taken the aspirins and listened to the sound of Linda getting ready for work.

When the other woman had knocked on the bedroom door, Iris had feigned sleep until she left.

Linda was already doing plenty by staying here at Barry's, with her. She didn't want to distract the fledgling journalist from work as well, the other woman hadn't even completed a full year at CCPN. Iris didn't want her best friend worrying or distracted at work, not at her dream job.

Iris picked up the stack of mail. Electric bill, gas bill, phone bill, junk, junk, she froze at the next:

A large, thick, creamy colored envelope addressed with a fancy curling script and wedding bells, addressed to Mr.Barry Allen and Ms.Iris West. The return address brought a lump to her throat: Canon Photographers. Her hands started to shake, and she dropped the envelope into the wastebasket.

She knew there were appointments that would have to canceled, but she couldn't deal with that now.

Instead, she hit the play button his answering machine.

"Hi, this message is for Mr. Barry Allen, I'm calling from the Garfield Conservatory. You contacted us about hosting your wedding on May 12th, 2016-" Iris hit the fast forward button as tears sprang to her eyes. She sighed with relief when the next message was about a dental appointment; she could call and cancel that. She wrote down the number, and the third message started. Another wedding photographer, the message was short, finished before she could hit fast forward. The fourth was also about the wedding, as was the fifth and the sixth and even the seventh.

Iris found herself rooted to the spot, listening as friendly, chipper people offered to help arrange a future that no longer existed. Listened as she started to tremble, as her grief surged, heart breaking with this fresh reminder of future charred beyond recognition in a matter of hours. Each message calling up the agony sitting just below the surface of a skin stretched too thin. Pulling at her until it poured forth in a keening wail.

They had both been eager to plan the wedding. The date, that was easy, May 12th the date of their prom, their first kiss, the day she'd confessed she still loved him seven years later and he said he'd still felt the same. The day they'd come back to this very same apartment and made love for the first time, the day he proposed. The perfect date for a spring wedding.

"Oh God." Why had they waited so long? Why had she ever thought it was ok to delay until after college? She could have switched schools, canceled her gap year, finished grad school faster. Why had she ever waited? Why had she ever believed she had time?

"Oh, Barry."

She sobbed his name and sank to floor, one word expressing so much grief,

Francine came by with lunch and found Iris asleep on the floor exhausted by her misery. She let her mother coax her into eating a meal she barely tasted and then bed. The last thing she heard as she drifted into sleep was her mother's voice, heavy with sadness as she made the first of many phone calls.

The next, two weeks passed in a haze of grief. She spent more time alone in Barry's apartment than any of her family and friends wanted. She couldn't work. The thought of her meta-human blog her ill. She couldn't imagine putting together a pitch, contacting magazine publishers or looking for story ideas. Her mind couldn't fathom it. After a week she tried going to Jitters for work, but Barry's ghost was there waiting for her.

She could see him, sitting at his favorite table, savoring the warmth of the late afternoon sun on a fall day as it warmed his lean frame, a Flash and apple turnover sitting on the table before him. The same Barry she had always known, long and lean with the same dark hair and green eyes, but a man rather than a boy, handsome and charming, her man.

Barry's ghost was everywhere in Jitters. She couldn't just curl up with her memories and let them hurt her if she was there to work. Iris never made it past the front door.

She'd never known that a life could be completely consumed by pain. She'd scoffed at the idea of dying from heartbreak, but when you woke sick and crying every morning spent the day holding back tears, went to bed the same and woke to do it all again, well it didn't seem so impossible.

She wore his favorite pullover, slept in sheets rapidly losing the mingling of their two scents, and tried not to cry. Linda spent the nights there with her, being a true best friend and Wally came to visit during the day when he could, Joe came by in the evenings.

At the end of two weeks, Henry came and packed up Barry's things. Iris wanted to help, but she couldn't. It had been Barry's apartment, but their home as a couple.

They'd first made love in his apartment. She could still recall his lips, his touch, the flush of heat through her body as his hands moved over her skin, the unexpected, but not unpleasant stretch of him inside and the way her pleasure had rung through the halls unmatched by anything she'd experience before enriched -not by any special expertise, but by the depth of feeling they had for each other.

On Saturday mornings they cuddled on his couch and plotted their future together. In the evenings after a long day at Jitters she'd be at the kitchen table writing pitches for articles. When she felt too tired, too drained to write Barry was there to keep her company or bring her a cup of coffee to keep her going. "The world news Iris West's voice." He'd said that to her after a series of especially painful rejections.

They'd spent a weekend in his kitchen making ravioli from scratch, pasta and all. It hadn't been perfect, but it had been made with love.

She could sit at his dining room table, close her eyes and see his warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners with happiness. There had been times when she'd teased him about the crow's feet destined to grow around those eyes, but she loved that smile.

She couldn't help Henry pull it all apart.

So instead Henry sent several boxes of Barry's thing to the apartment she shared with Linda.

Francine came by daily, made sure she ate and showered and she did eat and shower because she didn't want her mother to fuss. She watched What Dreams May Come and cried. She watched The Constant Gardener and felt a cathartic longing when Justin Quayle was finally executed by the same men who'd murdered his wife. She watched Singing in the Rain hoping to feel Barry's presence and was angry when she didn't.

Iris fought with her mother that day.

She uploaded every picture of Barry from her phone to her computer, sent them to the drug store to be printed with duplicate copies. She backed up every picture she had of him or the two of them together to an external hard drive. She had four voicemails from him, Iris recorded them into one long message and played them on loop until she fell asleep at night. She did all this while wearing his favorite shirt and wrapped in his too big bathrobe though his scent had long since faded from them.

When she went to the drug store to pick up her pictures, Iris dressed in all black –not that it meant anything anymore- and glared at everyone who spoke to her or looked at her.

The cashier at the drugstore, a cheerful young woman with a pleasant smile, commented that the guy in her pictures was cute and asked if Barry was her fiance.

"He's dead," Iris growled before snatching her pictures and felt some satisfaction at the devastation on her face. She tried to take off her engagement ring, put it on a chain when she got home, but couldn't.

She spent a lot of time asleep and chalked it up to depression.

She spoke to her family and friends, but they all seemed so unbothered Iris kept her misery to herself. She talked to Henry and sometimes her mother. Henry, because he was about as miserable as she was and she couldn't bring him down any further. She talked to her mother because well, her mother was a therapist and had been depressed for years herself.

She received a card from Malcolm after two weeks telling her to hang in there, and he called her once a week just to see how she was. He didn't try to pressure her into doing anything or being anyway. He just checked on her, it was nice. She didn't mind talking to him about Barry. He and Barry had been casual acquaintances. She couldn't hurt him with her memories, unlike Wally who thought of Barry like a brother or Joe who'd been delighted when they'd learned that Barry would officially become a part of their family.

A 30,000 check came from the life insurance company. Francine paid her bills out of it.

Cisco appeared on doorstep. His hair lank, face gaunt, circles under his eyes -heavy and black, mouth a tight miserable line. Guilt surged, he'd meant what he'd said when he called Barry best friend. He'd found some of Barry's things at the lab and decided to bring them over.

She invited him to have a seat, talk to her about Barry. Listened to him talk about The Flash and enjoyed it, memories that weren't hers, memories that didn’t hurt.

"He was my good friend," Cisco finished.

"Best friend," she corrected gently and was surprised to see him smile. "Caitlin really was just trying to help wasn't she?"

Iris looked away as she asked that.

"Yeah. Barry would be in a lot of pain sometimes, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, lacerations. He wasn't in any danger, but it was hard to watch-"

"-I remember."

And she did, Barry unexpectedly insisting that they stay in some nights, or cuddling up to him only to have him wince away and blame any injury on clumsiness. She'd almost started to worry and then it mysteriously it stopped.

Guilt washed over her.

"I owe Caitlin an apology."

"She'll understand."

She wrote Caitlin a long email apologizing for taking her anger out on the other woman.

Caitlin wrote back: 'My fiance died in the particle accelerator accident. I know how hard it is, I know how you feel.'

The guilt she'd been feeling surged at that response. Caitlin had known Barry for two years, been his main doctor during the coma, she would never hurt Barry. Cisco and Caitlin really did just want to help. The guilt was a pleasant distraction from her grief and Iris started planning something she could do to thank the two scientist.

At the end of that first month, Iris looked at herself in the mirror and saw her chin and cheekbones standing out at sharp angles, her color ashen, and hair that looked like straw. She'd been sleeping too much, not eating enough, not exercising and not getting enough sunlight.

She considered doing a face mask, deep conditioning her hair, taking a walk. She looked like she was falling apart. No wonder her mother came to see her every day.

Iris told herself to shower, dress, do that face mask and a miserable angry part of demanded to know why and then proceeded to tear through every answer that she had. Reminding her that there was no point, that nothing felt good or right anymore. Barry was dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Making herself look perfect wouldn't bring Barry back, just like it hadn't helped her mother when she was a kid. Barry would always be dead and she would always be miserable.

By the time that miserable angry part of her was done Iris was crying as if she'd only just found out. She put on Barry's favorite top, wrapped herself in his robe, plugged in her earbuds crawled into bed and put on her recording of his voice.

She tried it again in two weeks and actually managed to eat breakfast, which she threw-up. The same thing happened the next day and the day after that. The third day she threw up her lunch too. When she heaved up the breakfast bar Linda coaxed her into eating on the fourth morning the other woman looked at her with worried frown.

"Iris, I don't know how else to say this so I'm just going to spit it out. Are you pregnant?"

"What?"

"You've been throwing up, you're tired all the time and you look terrible."

"Gee thanks. I'm just nauseated from not eating right."

"You haven't been in our stash." The two friends shared a collection of sanitary napkins, tampons, and panty liners, Linda was right she hadn't been in it. Barry had been gone for more than a month and she hadn't had a period.

"I'm stressed, stress changes your period."

Linda took a deep breath.

"Let me see your phone."

It took them several minutes to find her mobile. She'd let the battery run down and misplaced the charger. Linda went into the living room and plugged it in there setting it down on the coffee table.

"Linda I'm sure it's nothing. I don't want you to be late for work." Iris sat down on the couch, and Linda sat down beside her.

"I already told them I was coming in late today."

"Alright," Iris said with a sigh.

"I know how unhappy you are. I see it, but if you are pregnant you have to face it sooner or later and sooner is always better than late with pregnancy"

"Except I'm not. We were always careful; we always used condoms."

"You know condoms aren't 100% and I know you aren't on the pill."

"Well, we didn't just use condoms. I tracked my period; we didn't, you know, have intercourse if I could get pregnant."

"Never, not even once?"

"No, we-"

-Except for May 12th, the day Barry proposed had fallen into that fertile period. She'd wanted him so badly. They'd used condoms, but as Linda had pointed out, they weren't 100%.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Iris pressed her fingers to her lips.

"What is it?"

"My period was already a few days late, before- before everything. I-I just forgot about it."

Linda put an arm around her shoulders, and they both stared at her phone waiting. When that first sliver of red showed in the battery, Linda snatched up the phone powering it on, and Iris gripped her friend's arm.

It had been a month and a half since Barry...and she had already been late. That was two and half-months. Stress didn't do that.

She thought back over the past six weeks, the morning nausea, the constant state of exhaustion, her breast- she touched them gently now over her shirt- they were tender...Iris felt a strange crawling sensation in the back of her head, and her shoulders began to rise, meeting the heavy sense of dread settling over her.

Her phone finished booting, and she watched Linda's thumb come down on the little flower icon for the period tracker.

"76 days late."

Iris felt her eyes go wide and then she started to cry. Linda's arms came around her around her.

"It will be ok. We're going to take care of you."

At that moment Iris West felt many things, but none of them was ok.

A/N- Alright so we’re finally gettng to the meat of part one. I’m super excited about the remaining chapters.

Thanks everyone for reading. Please take a moment to comment and if you like this fic give it a reblog.

#The Flash #WestAllen fanfiction #Iris West #Barry Allen #WestAllen #AGDoren writes #All That Remains

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eiswolfzero · 7 years

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Girl I’m just curious do u have batflash stuff that like you don’t upload?? Like even if you think it the world thing it the entire world I am begging you please upload it or at least send it to me I’ll hit you with my email I am desperate for batflash

Hands down the best ask I have received ever

However I’m sad to informthat I barely don’t upload anything that I create BUT there is anotherunfinished story I started writing but will never finish because I stoppedliking it. It’s about Wally getting an acid burn and receiving a huge ass scaron his side that didn’t heal correctly (but it never got that far in the WIP Iwrote)

I could upload it but it’s not finished, hasn’t been BETA-ed and probably reads very badly since I didn’t reread it again haha

If you’re VERY desperate for more batflash I could always link you to my Flash rp blog where I and my very own Bruce have had several threads that you could enjoy for the time being. (I did start saving them in Word Doc but I’m not finished because it’s so much and I didn’t format it to look pretty)

On another note...I just started a new ff and I’m already nine pages in

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mysteryshelf · 7 years

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FRIDAY SF & FANTASY - The West Woods

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by YA Bound Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

The West Woods

by Suzy Vadori

Genre: YA Release Date: September 22nd 2017 Evil Alter Ego Press

Summary: Magic, sacrifice and the quest for freedom.

Courtney Wallis wants nothing more than to escape St. Augustus boarding school. After uncovering a well-kept secret about the school’s founder, Isaac Young, Courtney turns to the school’s magic to convince her dad to let her leave. Things take a turn when she meets Cole, who lives in the nearby town of Evergreen. He gives her hope that things might not be so bad. However, the school’s fountain has other ideas, and binds Courtney to her ambition, no matter the cost.

As Courtney struggles to keep the magic from taking over, she and her friends get drawn into the mystery woven into the school’s fabric. Everything seems to lead back to the forbidden West Woods. Together, she and her friends seek out the spirits of the past to ask for help, and find themselves in much deeper than they’d bargained for. If they succeed, Courtney could be free of the magic. If they fail, she may never be the same.

Add to Goodreads

The Fountain on Goodreads (The West Woods is the prequel)

Buy Links:

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/West-Woods-Fountain-Book-ebook/dp/B074V3B7G1/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1505703590&sr=8-1&keywords=vadori

Amazon CA – https://www.amazon.ca/West-Woods-Fountain-Book-ebook/dp/B074V3B7G1/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1505703610&sr=8-1&keywords=vadori

B&N – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-west-woods-suzy-vadori/1126995781?ean=9781988361109

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-west-woods

Interview with the Author

What initially got you interested in writing?

I’ve always been a writer. I like the challenge of choosing the words. Later, I enjoyed making the words evoke feelings. I always knew I would write books, but it wasn’t until I was on maternity leave with my third child that I finally sat down and finished the manuscript for The Fountain.

What genres do you write in?

I write for Young Adults, though because my books have both romance and mystery in them, they are read by all ages, which has been lots of fun.

What drew you to writing these specific genres?

The world of Young Adult books has changed so much in the last decade and it’s exciting to be able to be a part of the new fiction. Teen fiction now challenges so much about the world in creative ways. I write books I think my own kids will find exciting.

How did you break into the field?

After my first novel was complete, I looked around to find a Young Adult writing community in Calgary, Alberta, where I live to figure out where to go next. I didn’t find what I was looking for with Young Adult writers, but I started volunteering with a multi-genre festival called When Words Collide. At the time, they put on 2-3 hours of Young Adult programming during the festival annually. I accepted the honor of becoming the Program Manager for Middle Grade/Young Adult, and five years later we’ve grown this part of the festival to thirty hours of programming during the weekend that the festival is held. I now have the community of authors I’d been looking for, and I am proud to have been part of building this amazing, supportive crew.

What do you want readers to take away from reading your works?

No matter what it is that I’m writing, I like to keep the readers guessing. If you think the plot is going to zig, it’ll probably zag. I find life is like that, and I like thinking about what would happen if everything wasn’t as it seems.

What do you find most rewarding about writing?

I love hearing from readers who’ve connected in some way with my books.

What do you find most challenging about writing?

I move at a warp speed pace in life, which I love. Publishing is an industry that doesn’t move like that, and I have to make an effort to accept the pace. I suppose it’s therapeutic for me to slow down every now and again. Also, time is a story’s best friend. As much as I’d like my writing to tick along as efficiently as everything else in my life, the writing and editing always gets better with time, as your mind works out the kinks in the plot. There is nothing better than coming back to a manuscript after stepping away for a month or two.

What advice would you give to people wanting to enter the field?

Do it! And do it your way. There are many different models of how to make a living as a writer. I haven’t met two authors who have structured their careers in exactly the same way. Build your writing career the way that will work best for you, and don’t let others tell you that you can’t. There’s room for all of us.

What type of books do you enjoy reading?

I love Young Adult novels. I like to read as many as I can to keep perspective on what’s out there and how the genre is changing. I also beta read for many friends and colleagues in different genres, which is lots of fun. I love reading books written by authors I know personally. Their books give a window into the way their minds work, which is always neat, no matter what genre they write. If there’s nothing in my “I’ve promised to read” pile (which is rare), then I choose either historical fiction for pure enjoyment, or the latest best seller, to try to understand what about it captured folks’ attention.

Is there anything else besides writing you think people would find interesting about you?

I like to set goals, and am always working on something new. I have my Sommelier’s license (wine connoisseur), run half marathons and do triathlons. I love to cook, and rarely follow a recipe or make the same thing twice.

What are the best ways to connect with you, or find out more about your work?

You can find me on my website, suzyvadori.wordpress.com, Twitter/@vadoris, Facebook/Suzy Vadori Author, Instagram/Suzy Vadori Author

About the Author

Suzy Vadori is an Operations executive by day, Writer by night. The Fountain is her debut novel for Young Adults. Suzy is an involved member of the Calgary Writers’ community, service as Program Manager for Young Adult at When Words Collide (a Calgary festival for readers and Writers) since 2013. Suzy lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with her husband and three kids.

Author Links:

Website│Goodreads│Twitter│Facebook

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FRIDAY SF & FANTASY – The West Woods was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

#author interviews #fantasy book #shannon muir #the pulp and mystery shelf #ya fantasy #young adult fantasy #pulp and mystery shelf

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