#diana's writing

[the-peruvian-whovian]

An alternate Barbie movie ending *spoilers, obviously*

.

What if instead of choosing to become human, Barbie decided to become Weird? The story was already leading up to "weirdness" as complexity and depth, and setting up a very common womanhood conflict: being pretty vs. being expressive.

Weird Barbie isn't "pretty" anymore because she's been played with too hard and mutilated. But what if we establish those "alterations" of Barbie as creativity instead of destruction—little girls cutting and coloring their Barbie's hair and tattooing their skin with markers as a form of self-expression? That would tie perfectly with the theme that it's more important to "be yourself" than it is to "be pretty". In the original movie, even though her human (Gloria) wasn't chopping up her hair or burning her clothes, she was still altering her by imbuing "weird thoughts" in her like death and depression.

What if Stereotypical Barbie (Gloria's Barbie) and Weird Barbie (let's make it her daughter Sasha's Barbie) worked together to heal the mother-daughter rift? Like, let’s say Gloria finds Sasha weird and creepy for chopping up her Barbie’s hair and coloring it green and scribbling over her face as a kid, and for being brooding and off-kilter as a teen because she, Gloria, prefers a more traditional expression of femininity for herself. And Sasha thinks her mom is sterile and uncool, hates her girliness with deep reactionary internalized misogyny because the mere presence of her mother's traditional femininity feels like an expectation and a box for her. But their Barbies make them realize they are both strange and out-of-the-box in their own ways, and that they are both capable of hurting each other with mutual misogyny and contradictory expectations. Through the story, they find a way to appreciate each other’s different expressions of femininity, and their different rejections of it.

And then the climax could have been the CEOs forcing Stereotypical Barbie into the box to keep her pristine and sterile and pretty to be admired for all time, but never again be an extension of playtime, creativity or an avatar for a young girl's imagination. For a double whammy you could even make this be an allegory for Gloria’s (and many mothers') anxieties about aging (!!!), which is once again about the conflict between being pretty vs. being expressive. You can have Barbie's big moment be her choosing to be present for the human women she cares about instead of a future where being looked at is the most important thing!

We could still have the interaction with Ruth Handler at the end, but instead of Ruth giving Barbie her blessing to become human, she gives her a blessing to become Weird. A creator giving her creation the blessing to become something beyond what she intended—paralleling Gloria's experience of motherhood with her daughter. Both Ruth and Gloria navigate misogyny/oppression while being the imperfect creators of autonomous beings who choose to become something they didn’t intend. This way, we even take a little corporate responsibility for the way Barbie has been used to enforce femininity on young girls, but it still keeps that tender moment that makes women feel like they can be anything they choose to be, beyond patriarchy's expectations, and even beyond their mother's imaginations.

We could have that scene edited alongside a conversation between Gloria and Sasha where they accept each other and heal their rift. Since Barbie is sort of a representation of Gloria's inner child, that gives this moment a intergenerational feel: an older woman blessing a mid-adult woman, a mid-adult woman blessing a teen girl. I loved Gloria's "being a woman is literally impossible" speech in the original movie, but I wish the story had shown Gloria and Sasha go through any of the struggles she listed in her monologue to make it hit more emotionally for me within the narrative. In this version, maybe Gloria is a stay-at-home mom and Sasha is angry that her mom isn't feminist enough, or maybe Gloria is a career woman and Sasha is angry her mom doesn't spend enough time with her. Maybe Sasha wants to express her fashion choices and sexuality and Gloria acts out against it because is afraid Real World patriarchy is going to eat her alive. But in that weird nether world between Barbie World and the Real World, with Ruth Handler and their Barbies looking on, they can come to have grace for each other and accept that their choices are both valid and impossible. That they've both just trying to cling to each other to survive the contradictory expectations of women, and that ultimately their best allies are each other.

If you end THAT with a montage of moms and daughters throughout time, with that sad Billie Eilish song, I would ABSOLUTELY cry.

[deehollowaywrites]

She's here! Little Nothing is loose in the world, available in your format of choice from Queen of Swords' website or your favorite bookseller (it's always a great day to shop small).

A few spots I've been lately talking about the book, writing, and all things weird horse girls: Queer Words, Heather Rose Jones' Lesbian Historical Motif Index (fascinating concept and website!), and Tales from the Trunk.

Happy reading <3

[ghostbsuter]

"Excuse me?" Jazz's voice echoes in the meeting room in space. She gains the attention of the heroes immediately and sees them tensing up in at her appearance.

Behind her, he swirling green portal is open, waiting for her to return.

A blond, coat wearing man, curses upon seeing her and gives a half bow. "Princess Jasmine," he speaks up, eye twitching.

"What brings you here?"

At the greeting and reveal of her title, few others fall into bows, the lady at the head of the table, wonder woman?, gives her a smile.

Her eyes pin the green skinned man to his seat, who in return tilts his head at her.

"My brothers birthday is soon," she focuses on the man again. "I'm simply here for a present."

The man tenses, another curse slipping. "Ah– king phantom, right? I wasn't aware his birthday would be so soon."

Jazz ignores him, calmly walking to the Martian and placing a picture of Mars before him.

"The tales of your people have brought much interest to my brother. He became a big fan." She tells, sharing her intentions at his light poking.

"I ask for a signature, it would make his day."

Martian Manhunter, alien hero, and once upon a time, a father even smiles. He's delighted yet feeling a deep-rooted sadness. The tales of his people continue to spread in the afterlife, it seems.

Jazz leaves quickly after, not before giving Diana a number, they are cousins after all.

Danny will love her present.

[platitudinalteen]

More memes based on my wip, because it's fun, lol.

[zylev-blog]

Amity Park is just like Themiscyra and Atlantis in the sense that it’s own nation. Amity Park has magical borders set up by witches and warlocks hundreds of years ago. (Some of these families were the Constantine and Fenton-Nightingale)

So Danny already knew Diana and Arthur before they joined the Justice League. In fact, he had practically grown up with the two, and had become best friends since the time they could talk. Danny, however, saw no point in the Justice League and refused all offers to join them when asked.

Several years after the League was formed, they needed some help. Diana and Arthur immediately thought of Danny, but agreed with the rest of the League to summon the Ghost King. Diana and Arthur knew that Danny was Ghost King, so they said nothing about knowing the man.

When Danny arrives, he looks around at the heroes and then turn to Diana and Arthur. “I told you I didn’t want to join your merry band of idiots.”

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #127

Clockwork knew it was getting dangerous for Danny in his dimension. His parents were getting dangerously close to finding out his secret and unfortunately this timeline they were leaning towards not accepting him. He decided to step in before things got out of hand and sends Danny to another dimension. He sends Danny to live with his granddaughter, Diana, and gives her a cryptic message.

Diana is unsure about the teen that was dropped off seemingly randomly by her grandfather. It takes her quite a while to decipher as she had to return home to decipher the last part of it. When she’s done she’s slightly horrified to find the kid that’s been staying with her for months is a baby ancient. Specifically the ancient of space. She vows to protect him at all costs.

[yupekosi]

hello dp x dc fandom i have. a concept for u

so one of those 'Phantom meets the Justice League' fics (maybe with Ghost King!Danny?) and Danny's trying so hard to be as Mature and Adult as possible so they take him seriously and he makes a good impression. he's practiced this with Clockwork he can Be Professional he's totally got this

most of the League is ranging from diplomatic to outright suspicious (cough cough Batman) of this powerful unknown entity who apparently comes from an entire species of extradimensional creatures they had no idea about

J'onn J'onnz, local telepath, is watching this go down knowing full well that Phantom's thoughts are swinging wildly between 'holy shit i'm in SPACE this is so cool i get to meet the JUSTICE LEAGUE oh man they're so awesome' and 'ancients PLEASE think i'm a Mature and Capable Adult'.

(EDIT: i don't plan on writing this shower thought into a fic but if anyone wants to, feel free! just plz give credit in the notes or something :3)

[therandomartmaker]

Clockwork is Kronos AU or smthn? Prompt?

idk, but something or other leads to Danny being introduced/introducing himself as Kronos’ son (youngest or! oldest for shits and giggles because i think it’d be really funny for Diana to just go, why are you older than Zeus, child)

and everyone’s like “Kronos had a son he didn’t eat?”

And Clockwork just drops a green stickynote that says “the rest of them are going to be little shits, of course I have a favourite child,” ‘cause obviously he looked into the future to know what his children were like and chose to give them trauma in response to that.

and Danny’s just so fucking tired, says i love you too, dad and then deals with whatever threat or issue he’s put through

and Diana is now on the hunt for her uncle (?)

[mediumgayitalian]

part two

———

Getting outrun for seven miles by an eight year old is a uniquely humbling experience. Compactly humiliating, coincidentally, is being outrun by an eight year old while dragging along a bouquet large enough that it cannot be adequately contained with two hands and must therefore be carried between two people.

Lee is having something of an afternoon.

“It starts in seven minutes!” shouts Will, at least twelve solid yards ahead of them and running backwards. He does not appear even to be sweating. “Hurry!”

“Could not be hurrying more if I tried,” Lee wheezes.

(It’s not that Lee isn’t a good runner. He is. It’s that Will is freakishly fast, because he has dimples when he smiles and has endeared himself to the dryads, who have been teaching him how to sprint like the hopped up little Energizer Bunny he is. Michael has been calling him Soda Boy for ages, on account of how he so closely resembles a can of pop that has been vigorously shaken, which he hates. Remembering it brings Lee some peace.)

“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!”

Clamping his mouth shut in a desperate attempt to preserve energy, Lee surges forward. Michael matches him, having to run significantly faster to keep up with his long legs. Their panting forms a discordant melody of despair. Poetic.

When they stumble through the door, chests heaving, Lee considers collapsing to the ground and weeping for joy. He will never run again. If a monster chases him, he will simply fight or accept his fate. He has reached his quota.

But, for perhaps the first time in his life, there is no time for dramatics. The lobby is devoid of the massive crowds it held earlier, shadows eerie in their absence, and only the final tail end of a line shuffles through the stage doors.

Despite his internal vow, Lee sprints forward to catch up with them.

“Hold it,” says a man in a venue volunteer! vest, holding up a hand. He glances at them, resting his gaze on Will’s messy hair, Michael’s scuffed shoes, Lee’s wrinkled shirt, and pausing for quite a while on the giant bouquet. The narrowed eyes and thinned lips are familiar. Lee stiffens.

“Go on in,” the man says to the middle aged couple in front of them, who’s crease-free jackets read ‘Dance Mom’ and ‘Prop Team Dad’ respectively. He shoos them inside, complimenting the honest-to-Apollo corsage in the woman’s hand, chortling along to the man’s joke. The laughter drops from his face the second the couple is guided through the doors, and the man turns back to the three of them.

“The show,” he says, nose upturned, “has begun. I can’t let anyone else in lest they cause any…disturbances.”

“The show starts on three minutes and forty-seven seconds!” Will protests, sticking his watch in the man’s face. Completely oblivious to his murderous look, he continues, “Forty-six seconds! Forty-five! Time’s-a-tickin’, let us in!”

The man bares his teeth in a smile. “Regrettably, you are too late. You’ll have to wait for the intermission.”

Will blinks at him. He looks at Lee, at the doors, then back at the man.

“But…we’re on time. And if we come back later, we’ll miss my sister’s dance!”

The man shrugs. “This will be a valuable lesson, then.” He purses his lips, glancing again at the bouquet. “Perhaps be more prepared, next time.”

Will turns back to Lee and Michael, crestfallen. He swipes quickly under his eyes, squeezing his thumb into fists, but the tears well up anyway. “We’re going to miss it?”

Michael snarls. In one quick move he shoves the massive bouquet entirely into Lee’s arms, yanks Will by the shoulders to stand behind him, and gets right in the man’s face.

“You listen here, you slimy ratbag, you had no fuckin’ trouble letting those last scragglers in so you better clean up your act quick before I —”

A loud crashing noise makes them all jump, interrupting him. Nearly crushing the flowers, Lee whips towards the source of the sound. One of the competition banners has been yanked down, metal frame collapsing on the tile floor. Fastening screws rattle to a slow stop beside it.

“What the —”

Another banner crashes to the floor. This time, the little hands that tore it down are a touch too slow to dart away, a blonde head not quick enough to duck behind a corner.

“Hey!” the man shouts. Shoving Michael aside, and moving quicker than Lee can think to stop him, he sprints towards the corner Will disappeared behind. “Get back here! You can’t do that!”

Lee curses, trying to manoeuvre the flowers to see and run at the same time. Michael runs ahead of him, on the man’s heels, chanting shit shit shit shit under his breath. Lee’s brain takes the initiative to alternate, chanting fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck every time he takes a breath.

They’re going to get kicked out for sure. Diana is going to kill them and it’s going to be justified, because Lee is going to have to live with the noble look he knows Cass will have on when she realises they’re not there to watch. The shakey, practiced smile she’ll slap over the disappointment in her dark eyes.

Shit shit shit shit indeed.

“Lee! Michael! Over here!” whispers a voice. Lee whirls around to face it — boy does he ever feel like a puppet on a stick right now — and, for the second time in as many minutes, feels his head pound at the disorienting frenzy of emotions that bubble up when he sees his baby brother’s face. Will stands half inside a doorway Lee hadn’t noticed on the way in, tucked in the shadow of a corner.

He is fast, holy shit.

“What the hell are you doing,” hisses Michael.

“Getting us inside! Hurry up!”

Lee doesn’t need further prompting, clock ticking in his brain. Gods, how long do they have left? Thirty seconds? Less?

“Most big theatres have sideline entrances,” Will explains after Michael helps shove the giant bouquet through the tiny door. He guides them, upright to their hunching, down a tight corridor. “They’re for performers to pop up in the audience without being seen. Mama and I race each other to find ‘em when she did shows.”

Lee had forgotten, for a moment, how much of his life Will has spent in and out of theatres, bars, stages. Naomi Solace has been growing more and more famous since…half of his life, at least. Lee remembers hearing about her four years ago, when she’d done a smaller show in Queens. A friend of his had gone.

Michael reaches out and tugs the mostly-undone ponytail he’d wrestled Will’s hair into that morning. “Good job, kid.”

He grins over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

They stumble into the darkened audience in the nick of time. The second Lee steps out of the cramped little corridor, dragging the stupid flowers (he is, in fact, regretting his choices at this point in time; when he has a free moment he will add this to the list of reasons he will be kicking his past self’s ass if the Hephaestus cabin successfully recreates DeLorean time machine) along with him, the stage lights come on. An announcer’s voice calls out, “Entry 109, Competitive Open Solo: Cass Hasapi.”

“Fuck,” Michael mutters. A quaint family of four gasps. He sneers at them. “Fuck, you see Diana?”

“No, is she maybe —”

“I think that’s her hair —”

“That person is way too tall, what are you —”

“I swear to the gods, I am going to kill you both,” whispers a beautifully familiar voice, and then Lee is being dragged. “Sit the hell down and shut the hell up. Will, baby, c’mere.”

Will climbs happily over the two empty seats, settling onto Diana’s lap and curling under her chin. He sticks his tongue out when Lee and Michael follow in behind him, struggling with the bouquet, muttering about favouritism.

“I’ve literally known you for six times longer than you’ve known him,” Michael mutters, sticking his tongue out right back. A grandmother with a severe bob whirls back and hushes him.

“Yeah, I’ve had all that time to get tired of your bullshit. Shut up.”

Before Michael can retort — Lee is sure he has an eloquent and devastating response, Lee has been helping him practice — soft piano drifts out from the speakers. A light turns on, pointed at the stage.

All four of them snap their mouths shut.

In the centre of the stage, Cass stands, poised. Her back is turned to the audience, arms extended above her and tilted to the right, as if reaching for the setting sun. Her hair, braided loosely back, brushes the edge of her thickly draping purple costume. Her knees are bent and locked and one bare foot sticks out like she’s trying to balance herself, like she’s mid fall.

A gravelly, male voice sings lowly along to the piano. How do you know which time might be the last? She moves along the dip of his voice, dragging her limbs through the rigid air. What I would give just to see you again? She moves with a swooping twist of her heels, twisting at the waist. Under the heat of the stage lights, her face contorts, forehead deeply wrinkled, mouth parted, breathing quickly. I’d walk to the depths of a world down below and demand to get back what some circumstance stole. She holds herself with such tension that Lee finds his own shoulders hiking up to his ears. Her chest moves rapidly, hands shaking, knees buckling. His breath goes stale in his lungs.

When the chorus starts, hard and heavy and sudden, I turned back one last time just to prove you were there, Cass hits the floor. He gasps with the rest of the audience, clutching the plush armrest, but it’s intentional, part of the dance. ‘Cause the last ray of sun made Eurydice cold. Collapsed on the floor, limbs bent, dress askew, she crawls, begging, towards the audience. Did she know? Did she know? Did she know? Did she know?

Cass does not move gracefully. She moves like a beached, gasping siren dragging herself back to the depths, like someone climbing out of a pit. Every movement looks heavy and painful. She looks at the audience and Lee is surging forward before he can stop himself, breath hitching, brain screaming: help her! help her! help her!

If I knew how it’d feel back then, I wouldn’t take another step.

Her body twists again, hair escaping her loose braid and sticking to her neck, her forehead. She claws at her throat like she’s suffocating, eyes accusing everyone watching like they’re holding her under. Each movement of her arms swell and sway on the beat, bare feet slapping the ground with every hit of the kettle drum. If you can see me it’s all in your head, but it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then.

Everything ends.

The piano fades out, the drums hit their last beat. All that’s left is the wretched guitar, taught like strings snapping, taught like the tense pull of her suspended muscles.

But I opened the door and went down the stairs; I turned back one last time to prove you were there.

As the last word fades, she drops. Not slowly, not evenly, but like whatever was holding her up crumbled to dust. Like she was shot. Her purple dress pools out around her like dark Hyacinth. She lays completely, entirely still.

The lights cut. The air in the audience goes heavy.

They come back on and no one says a word. Lee realises, as it drips onto his hands, that he is crying. Diana is, too, tear tracks too fresh to dry on her face, and Will is leaned forward so far he sways precariously. Michael’s hands are pressed harshly to his eyes.

Trancelike, Lee stands. All eyes snap, abruptly, towards him, but he ignores them. He looks straight across the rows of chairs and locks eyes with his sister, upright now, heaving, standing hesitant. She looks at him, and then beside him at Michael, and then at Will in Diana’s lap. They scramble quickly up next to him, and without any of them saying anything, they begin to cheer.

Cass’s face lights up.

With permission, much of the audience claps. No one stands as they do and as they continue hooting and hollering the claps fade quickly, replaced with stares and murmurs, but Cass still stands there, beaming, looking away and looking back like she can’t believe they’re there. That someone is there, that someone watched her, her, from beginning to end. A hand tugs on his sleeve.

“Can I sonic?” Will asks, raising his voice to be heard.

“Level four,” Lee allows.

He needs no further permission, grinning. He lets out a piercing whistle that makes everyone around them shout in alarm and Lee’s ears ring. But Cass laughs, loud and bright, so it’s worth it, and when Will looks at him in question he nods. The second whistle is definitely beyond a level four, but Lee doesn’t care. Cass looks the happiest he’s seen in a long time.

———

None of them care too much about staying for the other performances. But Cass has two more dances with her studio classes, spread out as they are, so Lee remains doomed to two hours of an aching ass and performances that come nowhere near Cass’s masterpiece. Will seems intrigued, though, by some of the pieces, so he grits his teeth and bares it. Besides, the rolled eyes he shares with Diana and Michael every time someone does something exceedingly cliche or tries and fails at depth (someone, often, being one of Cass’s teammates, shocker) makes it somewhat worth it.

By the time the judges call the last entry, though, Lee is ready to book it out of there.

The lights come back on and pop music plays through the speakers as dancers, in track suits over their costumes, congregate on the stage. Lee stands and stretches, letting Will stand on his shoulders and jump off into Michael’s arms to get some of his energy out. (And, also, ‘cause tossing a small child between them is fun. Diana jogs into the aisle so they can throw farther, but they all decide against it when a security guard glances over.)

After what feels like eight million years, the judges finally lumber over to the stage. The building voices hush as they climb the steps, standing in front of the gathered studios with cabled mics and stacks of foreboding envelopes.

“Welcome, dancers and families,” starts one judge.

She blabs on for several minutes about what an honour it was to judge and how wonderful everyone was. Blah, blah, blah. Lee spaces out about the time Diana’s eyes glaze over, and he looks instead to the gathered stage, observing. There are five different studios that he can see, each with about forty to fifty dancers. Mostly young women. They sit tangled together, legs on legs, arms around shoulders, feet tucked under thighs. Cass, he notices, sits on her own, at the very back of the stage. She sits straight-backed and proud, though. Chin lifted, braid resting over her shoulder.

Impossible to miss.

Two of her group dances win Diamond (Diana explains to them that this is Very Good. She thinks). Most others do not get this honour. Lee notices especially the older couple to their left looking quite sour. The glee he feels is indescribable.

“The winner for our open solo, for all age groups, was actually unanimous. It’s been a while since that happened!”

A girl near the front of the stage, who Lee recognises as the one to make a cruel joke about Cass’ mother, preens. Her solo was boring as hell. He’s not sure what she’s so smug about.

“With a score of 97.6, congratulations to Entry 109, Cass Hasapi!”

The four of them scream like lunatics.

They don’t even wait for scattered applause. Each one of them clambers up on the pristine chairs, covering them with scuff marks, and yell at the top of their lungs, jumping and cheering like chimps in a cage. Cass goes red, but she can’t hide her smile as she stands and accepts her award, grinning over at them. Michael holds up his camera and snaps a photo of her, pink-cheeked and wild-haired, glowing.

———

“Cass!”

Will sees her before the rest of them, sprinting towards the changeroom doors at top speeds and leaping up into her arms. She catches him easily, spinning them both around, pressing a thousand kisses to his hair and face.

“Hello, my darling! Hello hello hello!” Every word is punctuations with a kiss, or rather a press of her wide smile to anywhere she can reach. In seconds his cheeks are stained with her lipstick. “Oh, it has been weeks, darling boy, I missed you!”

Will clings to her sweater, face buried in the crook of her neck. She holds him just as tightly.

(Will has seen Cass more than Lee, in the past few months. He knows she’s made a few sudden trips to camp. But he also knows that she was the first one to welcome him into camp, the day his mother dropped him off, and when he was claimed she was the first to bring him home. She loves to tote him around, too, to have him trail after her for cabin inspections, holding the clipboard, or paint his nails when she’s bored. He misses her something fierce in the winters. She holds on tightly when she comes back home.)

Squeezing him one last time, she turns to the rest of them. Despite her wide smile, her mascara runs.

“You came,” she says, voice wobbling.

Michael clears his throat. “No shit.”

His voice wobbles, too.

“Come here, you goober.”

He’s the next to cling to her, inserting himself under her arm. She presses a kiss to his temple and he pinches her ribs, complaining, getting louder when she digs a knuckle into his hair. Diana jogs up and separates them, as she always does, flicking Michael on the forehead and pressing a kiss to her sister’s cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, squeezing her hand.

Cass’s tears spill over again. “Thank you.”

Lee clears his throat. He feels, suddenly, like a doofus, holding a bouquet of flowers the size of him, but Cass looks at them and grins again, chuckling.

“You sell your kidney for that or what?”

Lee snorts. “No, we exchanged Will. This is a clone.”

“Did not!”

Lee blows a raspberry. “Did too. Clone.”

“I’m not a clone! I’m me!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Ya-huh!”

“Alright,” Cass interrupts, rolling her eyes fondly. She kisses the tip of Will’s nose again and sets him down, turning towards Lee, hands outstretched dramatically. “Hand me my dues.”

Because she is, at the core of her, a true daughter of Apollo, even though the amount of poise and grace that bleeds from her at any given time contradicts almost directly with the guy who beams Pocketful of Sunshine directly into their brains at five in the morning every single day without fail, she kneels with a flourish. Because Lee is, at the core of him, also a child of Apollo, he goes unquestioningly along with the bit, pulling out one of the flowers to knight her before resting the entire bouquet in her arms. She has to hold it with both hands.

“You guys are ridiculous,” she says, grinning.

“They are ridiculous,” Diana stresses. “Dumbasses were damn near late getting this for you. They already had flowers, mind you. They’re just dumb.”

Will holds up his hand with his watch. “I kept us from being late!”

Diana squishes his cheek. “Thank you, sweetpea. You’re already smarter than your brothers combined.”

“Stick out your tongue again and I’ll grab it, you little snitch,” Lee warns.

Will, darting to hide behind Diana, does not heed his warning. Because he’s a little shit. bc

The walk out of the building in a gaggle of movement. As other dancers and their families walk by, glowering at Cass’ flowers and at Cass in general, Lee makes a point to catch their eyes. To smirk. To let them know, without saying a word — you were wrong. Of course you were wrong. Look at how she’s better than your bitter ass without even trying.

It warms him inside, truly.

“I’m thinking,” Diana says, walking back to the car, “that we stop at Dairy Queen on the way home. On Michael’s dollar. Will, look real excited so Michael can’t say no.”

“I am excited,” Will says, turning to face him, “so that’s real easy.”

Michael sighs. He taps his foot on the pavement, glaring. He sighs again. “You’re getting s plain cone and that’s that. You understand me?”

Will takes that as code for ‘begin negotiating’. Diana joins him, the two of them chasing Michael to the car, yelling about Blizzards and sundaes. Cass falls into step next to Lee, adjusting the flowers.

“So,” she says, shooting him a small smile.

“So,” he intones.

“Diana told me you snuck the boys out of camp.”

“…Yes.”

“Organised the whole trip, basically.”

“It wasn’t hard. I just told Michael to pack his shit and he listened, for once. So.”

“Lee.” She waits for him to open the trunk, letting him stuff the ridiculous flowers inside before facing him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. “Thank you.”

“I don’t —”

He swallows past the lump in his throat. How can he say it? How can he tell her about being fourteen and older than half the unclaimed kids in Hermes, still reeling over camp as a whole, and the fear that had dissipated from his chest when she stood in front of camp and said, firmly, he’s ours? About the hours she spent listening to him ramble about Pokémon, learning the game for him, mailing him cards she finds around? About the letters she sends him every week without fail, even though she’s swamped with her own shit, because she remembers the night he cried, months and years of being weird and lonely and unlike anyone else he knew? How can he explain the bubbling in his chest, the ache for her, because of her?

“Of course, Cass.”

She opens her arms and he falls into them, forehead on her shoulder, arms tight around her waist. She grips around his back, pressing a kiss to his hair. His throat is dry, choking back the thickness of his tears.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Lee.”

[bruciemilf]

One extremely underrated friendship dynamic is Bruce and the Gotham city sirens!!

Like. Please. I wanna see that dork be besties with these three badass, kick ass ladies who absolutely invite Bruce for movie and gossip night and facemasks.

Batcat ships the hell out of Harlivy, - Bruce, father of disaster bicon Tim Drake, picks up the vibes in a SECOND.

" I just don't understand. How can Ivy NOT see it? Harley's one bank robbery away from proposing and adopting 20 hyenas."

Selina scoffs, "You're, like...Kidding, right? Clark's been hot for you this entire time. You're his strongest kryptonite."

" If Clark was in love with me, I assure you, I'd be the first one to know."

Selina, glaring at the home-made lunch with ' Love, - Clark ' on top: Well. No one can say you picked ''Batman" for nothing.

SHOPPING SPREES!!! SO MANY SHOPPING SPREES! Give me a cliche, but adorable montage of these four cat walking in their chosen outfits. Give me Harley being an absolute menace and make Bruce chase her through the store for his credit card.

The sirens literally dare Bruce not to pick something grey, dark blue, or black. He loses. Loses miserably. He has to bail them out early for that.

Like, they still need to maintain that rivalry in their public lives, but behind the scenes they're just gossiping about villains and heroes alike on their brunch. " Now, I don't mean to be rude, but-"

" Oh please. You're the shadiest bitch I know. You make a thunderstorm look like a party, B."

" Harley, I know you, and your definition of 'party' doesn't check ONE box for normal."

" Come on, Bruce. We both know I don't know what that word means."

The Batkids are glad Bruce is making friends and actually touches some grass, but it'd just be so adorable to me if they were sorta jealous. Bruce is gone at least once a week. They're BATDAD DEPRIVED!

Clark plucks some flowers from his farm's garden, flies over to the manor, and asks, " Oh! Hey kids. Where's Dad?"

The batkids, grumbling: Girls night

[mrsmikaelsxn]

New Girl

masterlist

pairing: gilbert blythe x female reader

warnings: just fluff, somewhat love triangle with billy, some jealousy, kissing

summary: you had just moved to avonlea from london, you were a beauty with fancy clothes and a lovely accent, who just so happens to have two boys take interest in you

a/n: there is such a lack of gilbert fanfics on here, he is such a sweetheart and needs more attention

song: angeleyes - abba

Walking up a hill from your new home, you follow a path you saw that helps lead you to school easily. You were dressed in a gorgeous light blue dress that somewhat stuck out around you. You had a ribbon in your hair and some jewelry with white gloves.

You truly didn't know what to wear, back at your old school this was the normal clothing.

You saw a pretty small white flower, you picked it and tucked it behind your ear. Smiling to yourself you continued down the path until you hear your name being called.

"Excuse me! Miss!" you stop walking and turn around to see a young boy, he seems to be around your age. Your eyes quickly scanned his features and you had to admit he was rather handsome.

"Hello, sir!"

"Gilbert- please, call me Gilbert," he smiles.

"Well then, it's a pleasure to meet you, Gilbert. I'm y/n," you smile at him.

"You're new here? You have a pretty accent"

"I am, and thank you. I just moved here from London," you blush.

"Wow, is it nice there? I've been wanting to travel."

"Well honestly I suppose it depends on where you are and what part you're talking about. But overall I like it," you explain looking at a squirrel you saw running in a tree.

Gilbert seemed to not be able to look away for you. He was in awe of you, he has never encountered a girl with such beauty as you.

"Perhaps you would join me in my walk to school? If that's where you're heading?" you suggest.

"I would love to"

You both arrive at school and see everyone already there. You put your small bag on a hook in the cubby area. All the students turn and look at the two of you. It quickly goes quiet and they start to whisper.

You smile at them nervously and start to fidget with your gloves.

Gilbert leans over to your ear and whispers, "don't worry about them, they just don't get a new classmate that often." You nod and introduce yourself. The girls giggle at your accent and the boys ask you to say some words they think would sound funny with it.

Gilbert also took notice of Billy Andrews who was in the back watching the scene. Gilbert also noticed the way his eyes lingered on you, longer than he liked.

He then saw Billy start walking towards you as the boys started to walk outside and girls went to their little corner. They all told you to come sit with them but before you could follow, someone stepped in front of you.

"My, my, what a pretty girl you are. I'm Billy Andrews," he says holding his hand out. You put your hand in his with the intention to shake it, but to yours and Gilbert's he gently picks it put and places a kiss on your knuckles.

Perhaps you would find this sweet, if it were Gilbert doing it. But this boy seemed rather arrogant in your opinion.

"Oh- um- thank you and good to meet you... I must be going now, the girls are waiting for me," you nod your head over to the girls watching in the corner. You see Diana and Anne smiling at you waving their hands over for you to join them.

You slip away from Billy and go sit in between them. "I love all of your dresses," you say to them. They were different from what you grew up with but that's what made you like them.

"Ours? Look at yours! You are very beautiful and that outfit is miraculous!" Anne exclaims as the other girls nod their heads.

"Why thank you," you then lean over towards her when the other girls broke off into some converstations, "your red hair is lovely, did you know? It suits you perfectly," you whisper.

"Oh you don't know how much that means to me!" Anne smiles so happily you can't help but do the same.

The day ended and Gilbert had a clenched jaw while he was thinking about Billy telling the other boys that you would be crawling to him in no time. Gilbert may or may not have accidentally stuck his foot out as Billy was passing by.

Gilbert saw you walking out of school and jogged over to you. "Hey! How was your first day?"

"It was magnificent, it was very different from what I am used to," you admit.

"Figured it would be, do you mind if I..." you look over at him as he continues, "walk you home?"

"Of course not!"

This then became a routine with the two of you, you both had grown very fond of each other and were very close.

Today, Billy was flirting with you again, and Gilbert mistook your actions for you flirting back. That day on the walk back, you got in a small argument.

"You were flirting back!"

"What? No I was not," you shook your head.

"Even if you weren't why wouldn't you?!" Gilbert didn't understand why you never went out with Billy, most of the girls had a crush on him.

"Because- because I fancy someone else!" you take a step closer to him, leaving only a few inches between you two.

Gilbert stops as his eyebrows raise, "who?"

"Oh Gilbert, you complete idiot," you sigh while shaking your head, but before he could respond you grabbed his collar and connected your lips to his. He quickly responds and puts one hand behind your head, and the other around your waste. You could have melted right there as you leaned into the boy. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, loving how soft it was.

Gilbert was about to faint, he had been dreaming of this happening since he met you. As you were pressed on him while your lips molded with each other, he prayed that you couldn't feel how fast his heart was beating. You slowly pull back and rest your forehead on his.

"You, Gilbert, I fancy you," you whisper to him, breathlessly.

"I like you as well, darling," he smiles connecting your lips again.

[deehollowaywrites]

This is the second year I've made a little Halloween-season zine, and this one's riding the upstate Gothic wave. A few poems, some repurposed strange literature, atmospheric photography, and an excerpt from a ghost story I'm working on... all for free on itch.io!

Happy Halloween, friends.

[ghostbsuter]

Sometimes.

Just sometimes.

Bruce, tired father of too many children, wished for a small break.

Just a tiny one.

He pinched his nose, cowl covering his head and expression and glared.

"I can't believe you snitched on me!" Billy batson, freshly revealed teen and sitting on his usual spot during meetings, hisses.

"If I have to get parented, so do you!" Danny fenton, also freshly revealed teenager, glared right back.

"Boys." Both their attention snapped to wonder woman, still tense and warry.

"Do you two have adult supervision, at least." Batman asks, feeling slightly more drained than before, he can feel Nightwing's stare at the back of his head, coming closer.

"Do the voices count?" Danny asks, to which Billy nodded. "Yeah, do they? Zeus has strong opinions, and many kids. He probably can parent, somewhat."

They shrugged both, like they hadn't just opened another whole can of questions.

"Wait!" Danny snapped his fingers, "what about clocky? He sends us on time missions, has his own lair, and lets us hang around. That counts? Right?"

The other teen nods in agreement.

(Knowing both are black haired and blue-eyed teens, he already knows Dick will never let him live this down. Deceived by children, for YEARS.)

(So much for being the greatest detective.)

(The text he sent to Alfred is between him and his butler dad.)

"Or—"

In the end, the two agreed reluctantly to stay around for a while. The Kents, the Allens, Diana, and the Waynes have opened up their homes to house them permanently.

Much their amusement, they declared, that to make no one jealous, they'd switch homes every other week or so.

That alone smelled like chaos.

Whatever, it was Diana's first week.

(And if the house of mysteries appeared in front of them sometimes, that's also between them and a very suffering John constantine.)

.・゜-: ✧ :-

A continuation

[platitudinalteen]

Damian realizing that the Teen Titans make up rumors about him to haze new recruits>>>

“Why do you look so frightened?” Damain asked calmly, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

“Scared?” Arlo repeated with a guilty expression, shaking his head quickly. “No. No, of course not. Who cares if the Teen Titans say you hate everyone and everything and dispose of kids who make mistakes?”

Damain’s expression remained stern and guarded, completely unreadable. “Is that what they say?” He mused curiously. “Interesting.”

[zylev-blog]

Danny is Diana’s daughter. Well, not anymore. Danny decided he was a boy, and Diana didn’t want to burden him with the sexism of the island, so she took her son out into the world as Wonder Boy. The Justice League, who didn’t even know she had a son, was shook. Meanwhile, Danny is living his best life, getting to know the other teen heroes. That is, until some evil fruitloop named Lex Luthor kidnaps him and uses his DNA and Superman’s to make two clones. Mama Diana is pissed.

[fantastic-nonsense]

I wouldn't mind the heavy focus on warrior Amazons so much if they were allowed to be competent instead of just being used as red shirt cannon fodder. But it seems DC only hypes up the Amazons as deadly fighters so other characters can look more impressive when they take them down.

Oh and Happy New Year.

Happy New Year! Forgive me if I use your ask to talk about a piece of the Wonder Woman mythos I've wanted to discuss for some time, because your complaints offered me the perfect segue to write a nice, in-depth meta on it and I couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Honestly, I think a lot of people (both creatives and readers) either don't know, forget, or fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the Amazons' warrior status. So they often get reduced to "deadly warriors who strike first," "supposedly deadly but generally incompetent warriors when outside of their own books," or "militant man-haters" by a lot of people. None of which are true.

The Amazons are incredibly competent warriors and have been since Marston's first portrayal of them in the 1940s, so I don't inherently mind them being shown as such. However, where people get bogged down is insisting that they be shown as deadly and trigger-happy offensive fighters who are happy to strike first and hard, which fundamentally goes against the philosophy and thematic messaging built into Amazonian lore.

DC's Amazonia, lore-wise, is traditionally framed as an Aphrodite vs. Ares "peace and love vs. violence and war" story. In Marston's original rendition of the Amazon's backstory Aphrodite is not only their patron goddess but also their sole creator; it was only after Crisis on Infinite Earths and George Perez's long-overdue lore expansions that the rest of the goddesses became co-creators and co-patrons of the Amazons. Regardless, Ares and his domain are consistently invoked as what the Amazons don't want to be like or engage in. That behavior is the antithesis of what Amazons are supposed to be. This lore informs literally everything about how the Amazons view both their combat abilities and their duty to the goddesses.

The contemporary Amazons are, for the most part, women who died in terrible and traumatic ways at the hands of men (usually through domestic violence, murder, or as conquests of war). When the goddesses created the Amazons by reincarnating these women via the Well of Souls, they specifically charged them to become their champions. And what did these goddesses want? They explicitly wanted justice and protection for women in a violently patriarchial world. The Amazons being warriors is thus specifically tied to an understanding of necessary self-defense and protection (both of themselves and other women), not offense.

Which of course is what lands the Amazons on Themyscira in the first place: invoking the goddesses' ire by not obeying these commands after their rebellion against their enslavement by Heracles and his men crosses the line from the necessary battle to achieve their liberation into wanton violence and revenge:

"The battered Hippolyta prayed to her goddesses and found the courage and inspiration to free herself. Athena had reminded Hippolyta of the Amazons' purpose and mission—but not all of the Amazons remembered. Or cared. They yearned for vengeance. For retribution against those who violated them...and under Antiope, many found it." -Wonder Woman: Our Worlds at War (2001)

And as Hippolyta and Menalippe tell Antiope:

"No, Antiope. Never vengeance; never again!" /// "That is Ares' way, Antiope. We achieve no glory by embracing the Dark God's power!" -Wonder Woman (1987) #1

The Amazon way is promoting a society based on love, equality, truth, and peaceful conflict resolution, not vengeance and violent combat. It's a philosophy that defines Diana's mission in Man's World as an ambassador, teacher, and living example of her peoples' way of life:

Enraptured, they listen to her dissertation on equality between the sexes, tolerance, peaceful coexistence. Social Philosophy 101, Amazon Style. -Wonder Woman (1987) #170

Diana's gods-given mission was to spread the Amazonian ideals of conciliation—to give those living in the World of Man the proper tools to peacefully coexist with each other. It was her life's purpose to teach the possibilities of respect and love by being a living example of an upbringing founded in those ideals.

Truth-seeking, diplomacy, and peace are the Amazonian way of dealing with conflict, not violence. And when you are forced to engage in combat (and you should be prepared for that eventuality because sometimes it will happen), your goal should be self-defense and de-escalation, not offense and prolonging the conflict longer than necessary.

This is also, as an aside, why Diana (and specifically Diana in her capacity as Wonder Woman) does not usually carry offensive weapons like a sword and why her primary "weapons" are the Lasso of Truth and protective bracelets. She's the official representative of her peoples' culture and personally deeply believes in that cultural philosophy. Other Amazons have different views on the matter, including her mother, but Diana grew up completely separated from the World of Man and fully immersed in that belief system, which deeply informs how she views her mission as Wonder Woman.

Personally, I think many (but not all) of the problems re: depicting the Amazons in the modern era come from various writers attempting to solve contradictions that don't exist. They see "kickass trained warriors living peacefully on an island" and see that as a contradiction they have to solve: why do they train if they're pacifists? Why do they fight if they're peaceful? In reality, it's not a contradiction: their status as warriors and champions is specifically tied to self-defense and protection (both of themselves and others), but given the choice they don't want to have to take up arms to protect people because that goes against their fundamental cultural philosophy. Outsiders and meddlesome gods are the ones who force them to do that! What they want is for everyone to be treated with love, respect, and understanding so they don't have to!

And there's a lot of problematic elements built into the concept's execution, but this is the core thesis behind the split between Hippolyta's Themyscirans and Antiope's Bana-Mighdall. The Themysciran Amazons have had their fill of violence and war; they just want to live in peace. But a) they were specifically tasked with guarding Doom's Doorway when they were taken to the island, a duty which necessitates perfect combat readiness, and b) their history is littered with examples of people refusing to leave them alone. So they train, in case someone decides to take shots at them, but otherwise live in peaceful isolation. Meanwhile, the Banas looked at that same shared history and went "we need to take the fight to the outside world. Offense is the best defense, and the only way to protect ourselves and the other women of the world is to actively seek vengeance for the violence women face." So they chose to actively intervene in Man's World, fighting constant battles and exacting revenge for any women mistreated at the hands of men.

...which is also why Artemis was such a necessary and interesting addition to the Wonder Woman mythos (even if she's often handled...poorly), because she and Diana represent two diametrically opposed views of how to protect and represent both their cultures and the women of Man's World, but that's a rant for a different time.

Anyway, the Themysciran Amazons' martial pacifism as a cultural value isn't a contradiction; it's one way of looking at a history filled with violence and victimization and saying "no more." And it's a pretty subversive way of doing so, which (well-written) comics tend to note!

So yes, the "Amazons are warriors" mentality has always been there and has been solidly emphasized at various points throughout Wonder Woman's history, and it should be acknowledged and shown that they're all incredibly competent in battle when they're forced to engage in it. But the way in which it gets emphasized is what defines whether a writer has a solid understanding of the history and baggage that comes with depicting the Amazonian struggle and the socio-political issues embedded in their lore. And unfortunately...many writers just don't seem to get it.