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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 1/11

I can’t believe this day is finally here! I have worked so hard on this, and I am both nervous and excited to post it. This is a re-write of Someone to Watch Over Me. I changed the title because the focus was no longer on Emma’s “imaginary friend” watching over her, but equally on Emma and Killian and how, when, and why the wardrobe brings them together. There’s also a theme about growing up and loss of innocence, which is why I took the title from one of my favorite poems, “Nothing Gold Can Stay” by Robert Frost. For those of you who loved the original fic, I haven’t done away with little!Emma and little!Killy. As a matter of fact, there’s more of it with parts from Killian’s point of view, where the original was just from Emma’s.

The biggest change in this is that I have completely thrown out canon. Emma and Killian are the same age in this, and the plot focuses on Neverland. I had just finished re-reading Barrie’s Peter Pan with my daughter when I started this, so it became a mixture of Once’s Neverland and Barrie’s. I love how that part in particular came out, and I hope you all do as well!

Massive thanks to the mods of the @captainswanbigbang ( @optomisticgirl , @phiralovesloki, @shippingtheswann , and @spartanguard). @optomisticgirl in particular helped beta when my original had to bow out and also encouraged me when I doubted myself (enduring really long pms in the process!) @shippingtheswann, I just don’t have words to express your beta skills in this! Emma and Killian’s relationship as kids would not be what it is without you, for one, and you just overall made me so much better as a writer. @distant-rose, thank you for encouraging me to write Milah the way I envisioned her and helping me create an awesome pirate crew for Killian. And finally, every single one of you in the discord chat for your constant encouragement, advice, and sprinting.

And now I will shut up and get to the fic! Therefore, tags at the end :)

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons . . .

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical major character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian

Words: about 3k in this chapter

This fic is complete and will be updated every Monday.

Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 10

Emma’s palms are damp with sweat as they clutch the small duffel in her lap. Another social worker, another foster home. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins had been nice enough, but their biological sons? Emma shudders as she thinks of their sneering taunts and cruel pranks. She loosens her grip on her duffel bag so she can rub her thumb over the birthmark on the inside of her left wrist. Sometimes the flower-shaped mark becomes red and raw from the nervous habit.

Sighing, she watches the scenery go by outside the car window. Emma tries to keep her mind blank, knowing that getting her hopes up will bring nothing but pain. Yet she can’t help the anticipation swirling in her stomach.

The social worker pulls into a modest gravel drive just off the busy highway. The house looks old, and so does the woman who stands on the porch that spreads across the entire front of it.

“That’s Martha,” the social worker tells Emma, “she’s your new foster mother.”

Emma steps out of the car hesitantly, her eyes trained on her feet. Martha tells her hello, but she only mumbles a response. Instead of looking at her new guardian, Emma takes in the front of the house. Dingy white paint covers cracked shingles, the banister lining the porch is broken in places, and the red brick steps are crumbling at the corners. Emma doesn’t really care about any of that, however. Not when brilliant blooms crowd the ground beside the steps and in front of the banister. Emma reaches her hand out tentatively to feel the soft, blue petals.

“Those are forget-me-nots,” Martha tells her, “they’re my favorite flower.”

“The blue is so bright,” Emma says shyly.

“Aren’t they?” Martha leans down closer to Emma, chuckling as her knees crack. “Despite these old bones of mine, I tend these flowers carefully. Want to know why?”

For the first time, Emma looks directly at Martha, and the woman’s kind hazel eyes put her at ease. She nods silently.

“My Alfred, God rest his soul, gave me a bouquet of these before he left for Korea many, many years ago. Forget me not, Martha.”

The woman chuckles, and Emma tries out a tiny smile. “And you didn’t?”

“No,” Martha says, as she rises, extending a hand to Emma, “and he came home to me. We raised two kids in this old house, and now that he’s gone and my children have moved away, I get a bit lonely. I’d like us to keep each other company, Emma, if you want.”

Blinking in surprise, Emma looks at Martha’s hand, then at her face. She’s never had a foster parent or social worker ask her what she wanted. The question gives her the courage to take Martha’s hand.

Emma examines the woman as she takes her inside and shows her around the house. Martha looks to be in her seventies with brittle gray hair and deep wrinkles. Yet her smile is kind, and her hands are soft as they gently give her slim shoulders a squeeze. The house is at least a hundred years old with cracked, peeling paint, and scuffed hardwood floors. A monstrous, black pot-bellied stove radiates heat from the corner of the main room. Like most old houses, one room leads into the next, and Martha gently steers her through the doorway next to the stove. She tells her this will be the room she shares with Lindsey, the sullen teenager with a permanent scowl on her face. Emma looks around, taking it all in through her wide jaded eyes. There’s a fireplace in this room, but it’s bricked up. A small space heater instead runs in the corner of the room. Martha tells her this used to be the dining room, and a set of French doors line one wall. A long, low piece of furniture sits in front of it to block the door, but through the beveled glass, Emma can see the foyer and the front door that she knows leads out to a massive front porch complete with a swing.

Martha shows Emma her bed, and she’s surprised to find that she gets the larger one. A massive double bed of thick, dark wood with tall posts. Lindsay’s twin bed, just a simple metal frame and mattress sits in front of the room’s one window.

“Lindsay couldn’t sleep in that huge bed, so I got her that cot,” Martha explains with a shrug. She sets Emma’s bag beside the bed and then pulls a small step stool from beneath it. “This thing is so high off the ground, you’ll have to use this to get in. It’s a very old bed.”

Emma eyes the stool and tries to hide how pleased she is with the bed. It’s ornate and obviously an antique. It’s like something out of a movie. She’ll feel like a princess sleeping in that bed. All her life, she’s wanted more than the cots or metal twin beds she usually gets in foster homes. She flings her duffel right on top, lest this Lindsay change her mind and steal the bed away.

But the best thing of all is the wide space between the bed and the hardwood floor. No monsters can lurk there. In this bed, in this room, with Martha who tends flowers despite her creaking bones, maybe she’ll finally feel safe.

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

Martha wears a faded house dress covered in tiny blue flowers and blue terry-cloth house shoes on her feet. She dons an apron to make supper, and Emma thinks of old black and white TV shows. Maybe this place won’t be so bad. Maybe Martha will one day tell her, “I love you, please stay. And why don’t you call me grandma?”

Emma tries to push that fantasy aside. If it doesn’t come true, she’ll be disappointed. Again. Martha asks if she wants to help with supper, and she eagerly agrees. Martha lets her pour the macaroni noodles into the boiling water on the stove, warning her to go slowly so she doesn’t burn herself. She then lets Emma stir the noodles so they won’t stick together while she expertly chops an onion into tiny pieces.

“These are the chicken pot pies,” she explains next, handing Emma a fork. She shows Emma how to slowly poke the fork into the crust to make each family member’s initials. Emma grins as she presses the fork into hers, then turns the fork sideways to make three more straight lines. “E” for Emma.

Martha’s kitchen table is of chipped formica that was probably once a bright blue but is now faded. The metal chairs with matching blue leather seats are like something out of the 1950s. Emma sits at the table with Martha and the other foster children the woman has taken in. Besides Lindsay and Emma, there’s also a little boy named Tyler with wide eyes and a sad, fearful face. His parents and sister were killed in a car accident, and he’s only here temporarily while his aunt and grandparents argue over who gets to keep him. Emma has a hard time imagining family, much less one who will want you so badly they would fight about it.

Martha hands Tyler a little plastic box shaped like a loaf of bread. She tells him to take out a card and pass it around the table. On each is a Bible verse, and they can’t eat until they’ve each read one. Lindsay rolls her eyes but does as Martha asks anyway.

Emma’s verse reads, “When my father and my mother forsake me; then the Lord will take me up.”

Martha takes a surprising interest in hearing about each child’s day. Lindsay’s eye rolling, Tyler’s quiet sadness, and Emma’s nervousness doesn’t phase the woman at all. After the meal, everyone helps clear the table and do the dishes. It’s a small kitchen, and several times Martha bumps softly into Emma or brushes against her. Each time, the woman laughs and gives her a tentative side hug. When she does, the elderly woman’s scent washes over Emma. It’s a distinctive smell that Emma can’t quite place, but it’s comforting and makes Emma want to bury herself in a bear hug with the woman. However, she refrains. She can’t seem too eager; it might scare Martha and then she won’t want to keep her.

The bathroom in this house is in an odd place: off the kitchen. When Emma goes to brush her teeth, she sees two jars on the pedestal sink. Inside one is a pinkish cold cream, and in the other is powder with a fat, fluffy puff resting on top. Emma lifts both to her nose and sniffs deeply. Yes, the combination of the two. That’s Martha’s scent. Emma eyes the makeup puff as she screws the top back on the cream. She simply can’t resist it, she lifts the puff and starts patting the powder onto her face. She starts and almost drops the puff when Martha suddenly steps into the room. Emma wilts. This will be her shortest stay at a foster home ever. A new record. She waits silently, heart pounding, for the yelling, frustration, and inevitable punishment.

But a smile simply deepens the crows feet around Martha’s eyes as she chuckles softly. She wets a washcloth and swipes it across Emma’s face.

“This pretty face doesn’t need makeup,” she tells her with a sparkle in her eye. “Of course,” she continues, “pretty is as pretty does.”

Emma cocks her head to one side and wrinkles her forehead, “What does that mean?”

Martha pats Emma’s cheek gently, “It means our hearts are what make us truly beautiful. The way we treat people and the things we do are far more important than what we look like.”

Relief washes through Emma when it sinks in that the woman isn’t going to punish her or even yell. Lessons on true beauty aren’t exactly what Emma is used to in a foster home, and she’s not quite sure how to accept it. Martha helps her off the stool, then takes her hand. She leads her to her room, tucks her in, and says a short prayer. Emma bites her bottom lip, wanting so badly to request a hug, but afraid to do so.

“Could I give you a hug and kiss good night?” Martha asks, and Emma thinks that the old woman looks just as nervous as Emma asking.

Emma beams and pulls her arms out from under the covers. The woman gives her a good, firm hug. Over her shoulder, Emma notices for the first time a large, ornate piece of furniture in the corner. There are a large set of doors in the top half, and two drawers on the bottom.

“What is that?” Emma asks in a shaky voice, pointing, when Martha releases her from the hug.

“It’s a wardrobe,” the woman explains, as she tucks the blankets back around Emma. “Old houses didn’t have closets, so people put their clothes in those.”

Emma says nothing as Martha brushes a kiss to her forehead and tells her goodnight, but she eyes the wardrobe warily. It’s the perfect place for monsters. She squeezes her eyes shut as Martha brushes her hair back from her face. Emma tries to tell herself that the boys at the last place were probably making things up. There’s no such thing as monsters . . . right? Yet she can’t forget the panic that had clawed at her when she was locked in that dark room . . .

“Sleepy, huh?” Martha chuckles, tucking her hair behind her ear. Emma lets her believe she is, waiting to open her eyes after the woman is gone.

A few minutes later, Lindsay comes in, rubbing her wet hair with a towel. Instead of pajamas, she’s dressed in tight jeans and a skimpy tank top. Emma sits up in bed and watches curiously as the teenager slips into a pair of boots.

“What are you doing?” Emma asks as Lindsay slowly and quietly opens the window.

“None of your business, kid,” she snaps, tossing a backpack out the open window. “Just don’t snitch. Got that?”

Emma nods as she pulls the blanket to her chest. Why should she care what Lindsay does? The teenager disappears out the window, and Emma falls back against the mattress with a sigh. She can’t remember the last time she had a room all to herself, and it makes her a little nervous.

She eyes the wardrobe warily, sitting up in bed and scrambling back against the headboard. She clutches the handmade quilt Martha had tucked around her in sweaty fists. Did it just creak open a little? She squints in the dark. Through the open slit of the wardrobe, she swears she sees a pair of bright blue eyes, the color of the forget me nots in Martha’s yard, looking at her. She gasps and throws the covers over her head. She counts to twenty slowly, squeezing her eyes shut. The wardrobe door makes another long, rusty sound. After another count to twenty, she slowly eases her head out of the covers.

The wardrobe door is shut tight.

Killian: Age 10

The sea is calm as glass, the air still and stifling. The sailors are antsy and on-edge, praying to every deity for wind. Rowers are sent to the galley every day to make some headway, and it’s exhausting work. Killian isn’t big or strong enough at just ten years of age, but Liam, at twelve, is. The elder Jones collapses into his bunk each night with sore arms and blistered hands. Killian prays the wind comes soon so he can have his brother back.

Perhaps his absence is why Killian’s mind is so distracted lately with thoughts of ginger curls and hazel eyes. His mother’s touch was always so gentle, her voice soft and lilting, her smile and eyes bright. He remembers her being sick; her eyes losing some of their brightness, and her laughter coming less often. But she still smiled. She still held him whenever he crawled into her sick bed. She still kissed him with her soft lips.

Killian remembers she would sing, too, with that lilting voice that was so different from his father’s deep, critical one. Every night, he was lulled to sleep by her lullabies. He begins to sing one now as he knots rope.

She stepped away from me

And she moved through the Fair

And fondly I watched her

Move here and move there

And she went her way homeward

With one star awake

As the swans in the evening

Move over the lake

Killian jumps as an empty bottle of rum shatters against the railing to his right.

“Shut up, boy, and get back to work!”

But to Killian’s surprise, the other sailors yell at the first to leave him alone. The lullaby reminds them of home, they say, so let the boy sing. And sing he does, passing the long, weary, windless days. The sailors who normally terrorize him are lulled by the bright, clear voice that only a child can possess. It changes the morale of the crew to such an extent, that the captain even sends him below to encourage the rowers with his songs. That is the best development of all, for now he’s near his brother; the only family he has.

A few nights later, Killian Jones can’t seem to get comfortable in his hammock. The ship creaks and sways, men snore loudly all around him, and the air smells, clogging his nose and making him gag. Nevertheless, his days are so brutally exhausting that sleep comes swiftly. Even last week when he was forced to sleep on his stomach because of the bloody lashes criss-crossing his back, sleep had claimed him easily.

But not tonight.

He shifts again, his hammock swinging with the motion. In his new position, he sees something in the hold that is completely out of place: a large, wooden wardrobe. No one would keep such a nice piece of furniture in the damp, dark hold. Killian furrows his brow in confusion - the large, bulky thing isn’t even moving an inch as the ship sways, which should be impossible, and it surely wasn’t there when he first went to bed.

“Liam, Li-am!” he whispers, poking at the hammock above him. Liam just mumbles in his sleep, something partially intelligible along the lines of leave me alone, Killy. Exasperated, Killian huffs and swings his scrawny legs over the edge of his hammock. He moves silently and cautiously across the wet wooden boards, his hand trembling as he reaches up to grasp the knob on the door of the wardrobe. He opens it a crack and gasps when he hears voices, female voices, on the other side. He glances behind him, but when he sees that no one else is awake, he crawls up inside the wardrobe. It is deeper than he expected it to be, and instead of a back, there is another set of doors. Killian is comforted to still see the ship’s hold through the open door he just crawled through, so he turns back around and pushes slowly on the second set of doors, opening them only a little.

He sees a bedroom, lit with soft light from a bedside lamp. A little girl about his age, with blonde hair the color of buttercups is being tucked into bed by a soft, wrinkled old woman with a gentle smile. Killian watches, fascinated, as the woman asks for a hug. He’s been surrounded by nothing but rough, loud men for so long, that he yearns to receive a hug for himself from someone so soft and warm. The little girl smiles as the woman embraces her, her eyes shut tight as she relishes the hug. But then her eyes, the color of seafoam, open and he quickly shuts the wardrobe as quietly as he can. His heart pounds in his chest as he hears the little girl ask the woman – her grandmother? – about the large piece of furniture. The girl’s voice wobbles as if she’s frightened, and Killian hopes she didn’t see him.

He thinks that maybe he should go back to his hammock, but he can’t get those sea green eyes out of his mind, nor the way the girl’s hair had shimmered like gold from the lamplight. He’s never thought long on any lass, or found any of them pretty. Most women he sees on his occasional stops in port are loud, brazen, and considerably older. This one, however, is different. She’s his age, for one, and there’s a softness about her that he hasn’t known since his mother was living. So finally, he musters up the courage to open the door a crack once more. This time, those green eyes lock on his, and the girl gasps and dives under the covers. He frowns as he pulls the door shut once more. He hadn’t meant to frighten her.

The next morning, he thinks he’ll talk to Liam about the wardrobe and the little girl on the other side. But when his brother teasingly upends his hammock, depositing him unceremoniously upon the floor, Killian rolls over to find the wardrobe is gone.

tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @courtorderedcake @xhookswenchx @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @lfh1226-linda @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @superchocovian @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree @delirious-latenight-laughs @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @snidgetsafan @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @jennjenn615 @nikkiemms

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs canon divergence #cs neverland au #childhood sweethearts #angst #soul mates #magic wardrobes #little!emma #little!killy

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rachel-wayne · 4 years

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I got this question on A03, answered it there and decided to post it here as well. Answer is beneath the cut because holy hell it’s long.

Let me start off with Rachel Dawes and how she... like leaves this bad taste in my mouth? I'll start off with events/implications/whatever coming from Batman Begins.

I'll start off with Bruce and Rachel being childhood friends but their interactions always seeming... like super cold? I think this is due to my own experience with my mother "encouraging" me to be friends with a co-worker's kid. So I'm kinda inclined to read that as Rachel's mom encouraging her to be friends with Bruce and thus not see the friendship as "real".

Moving on to Joe Chill's trial times and starting with a note that I think the acting in that bit is like... the worst in the movie, which probably helps a lot with my perceptions of motivations/etc. Like Rachel and Bruce's talk in the manor just is so... awkward. I don't know if they're trying for a "calming / placating" tone but it comes off more like disinterested and insincere to me. Specifically Rachel's "We all loved your parents Bruce" line is just... man that needed another take.

A bunch of the last paragraph is probably just be due to most of that scene being not very well done info-dump on "why the hell is Gotham letting the Wayne killer out?"

It seems super odd to me that Alfred isn't going to Joe Chill's hearing, either on his own (given his clear close relationship with Thomas and Martha) or as support for Bruce. Yeah Alfred and Bruce argue at the start of this segement, but I see that more as "two people figuring out how to interact as adults instead as a kid and an adult" then "real" arguing.

Also it seems clear that Alfred and Rachel know Bruce is not gonna take the hearing well... so why is he going with a person who can't be by his side during said hearing or, perhaps more importantly, when Chill walks out as a free man? (He could have said ANYTHING to those reporters!)

Moving ahead... I kinda like the whole "dude look beyond yourself" bit of Rachel cutting across traffic to drive Bruce down to see how Gotham is rotting and to try to get him to man up. But... well I'm not sure what the "right" response is to a friend saying he's not a good person, that he's wanted to kill someone for years and was going to follow through on that... but it's DEFINITELY NOT slapping him and then LETTING HIM WALK AWAY WHILE HE's STILL ARMED AND YOU JUST ALL BUT POINTED TO A DUDE AS RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS PARENTS' DEATH.

(Also weird side note - I was looking up Batman Begins clips to refresh my memory and realized my mental timeline was messed up. I could have sworn Rachel saw the gun BEFORE she took Bruce to Falcone's bar? What the hell brain.)

So that scene especially makes me think VERY badly of Rachel. Like... honestly what did she think would happen? Like the best case scenario is she thought Bruce would wander around and somehow not get mugged and return to the manor all fired up for social reform... but I'm the kind of person who goes more towards the worst cases scenario. So again, that makes me think badly of her.

That also leads into the fact that Rachel was pretty much the last person seen with Bruce before he vanished off the face of the earth. Yeah Falcone and all those people at the bar saw him, but you think they're gonna come forward? Rachel's the last "decent" person to have seen Bruce... and somehow I don't think Alfred would maintain a cordial relationship with her if she'd admitted to dropping Bruce off in the worst part of Gotham. So again due to towards thinking the worst, I'm inclinded to believe that Rachel either claimed not to have seen Bruce after Chill's death or to have left him somewhere other then right outside Falcone's.

Moving forward to Bruce's return to Gotham... he doesn't interact with Rachel until running into her at the restaurant and she doesn't seek him out despite "hearing" he was back. It seems odd that she'd just accept that "oh he's back and a rich fool" given knowing him as a kid and an angry young adult.

Next time I rewatch Batman Begins I'll have to remember to keep an eye out for more, because I know there's more, but I'll end my look at that movie with Rachel kissing Bruce at the end. That whole scene just seems so fricking manipulative to me? Also the whole "man I loved" just makes me question when the hell she actually knew Bruce as an adult.

Moving on to the Dark Knight, most of the issues I have with Rachel in this movie boil down to the fact that it seems to me she's giving everyone mixed messages? Again I need to rewatch the movie, but my memory is that it seemed Rachel didn't make up her mind till like right before her death and she kept giving off mixed-messages to Bruce and (to a lesser extent, or at least a lesser extent that we see) to Harvey.

I can't point to why right now, but the Bruce/Rachel/Harvey love triangle mess just... felt like Rachel was stringing the two along? I mean it's probably supposed to be her conflicted and changing her mind as time goes on an events happen, but that's how it came off to me.

With regards to Rachel & Harvey's kidnapping - given the fact that Batman and Gordon arrive within a very short time of each other, despite Gordon being in a police car and Batman in the Batpod, I always assumed there was a somewhat substantial difference in how far it was from GCPD to Rachel and GCPD to Harvey. So I interpreted Batman going after Rachel as him going after the one who was further away / harder to get to in time.

Also with regards to Dark Knight, I feel that knocks down the "not wanting to be second in Bruce's list" thing you mentioned. Like yeah, Harvey doesn't go out beating up criminals, but he's protreyed as a man who puts the city first. This didn't factor into my decision to do what I did with Bruce Dawes, but I thought I should mention it.

Oh, last but not least -- I don't like the whole "Rachel was going to wait for me" bit of Dark Knight. I think it makes Batman a weaker character. (I think the Mask of the Phantasm did a better job of doing the "Batman can't love" thing.) Also I feel like I read a few fics which just went to gag levels with that idea.

I'm not going into as much detail or refreshing my memory via YouTube as much since Dark Knight went down pretty differently in Scilicet...

So you start off with a canon that makes me not the biggest fan of Rachel Dawes. Next you take the step of going "okay I want to semi-gender bend this canon and smush it together with other canons"

Before you start changing events around you get canon moments which... seem to change a lot when you do nothing but swap around genders. For example some of Rachel Dawes' lines/actions come off much darker when it's a guy saying/doing them. Specifically everything in the car after Joe Chill's trial, ESPECIALLY the slaping. I'm sure part of this is just due to society being more easily able to go "oh that's not right" when it comes to m -> f attacks/abuse/etc then f -> m stuff.

Then... I just kinda let my evil side take over when I started writing. As previously mentioned I like to think about the darker implications / side of things / etc. Bruce Dawes actual got worse and worse as the series went on, some of it due to that dislike of canon-Rachel Dawes and some of it due to hitting Rachel with the angst bat and slapping big "THIS PERSON IS NOT MENTALLY HEALTHY" labels on her, as I see a big part of Scilicet as Rachel actually healing instead of just ignoring her injuries and pretending she's fine.

So to try and sum things up. It's partially due to having issue with Rachel Dawes and partially due to it being some extra trauma for Rachel. Okay that's a lot of text and I have many other things I should be doing today, so I'll end by saying thanks for the comment/question!

#Bruce Dawes #Rachel Dawes #Question & Answer Time

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trulycertain · 4 years

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Unpopular opinion: god, Batman v Superman had some really good ideas that it chucked down the U-bend, and there are parts of it I really enjoyed. I don’t regret seeing it (and yes, I watched the Extended Cut. All three hours). I was just discussing this with @masutrout, and here’s a slightly abridged version of my thoughts.

Look, I know no-one sets out to make a bad film, and with so many moving parts, a film getting released at all is a miracle. I know it’s not down to one person and (I’m quite glad) it’s not up to me, because I have no idea how to make films. But if I had, say, a magic lamp and a wish for an ideal BvS and DCEU in general... Here’s what I liked; here’s what I’d magically tweak in a parallel universe; here’s a rant. A 2.2k rant. An Extended Cut rant.

I know it's all desaturated and so on, but I genuinely really love Snyder's style. Dude can set up a shot, and he knows how to use chiaroscuro. In theory, I totally get why they'd look at him and go, "his shit is like comics brought to life, pick him." I wish he'd just... allow a bit more colour into it and let people colour grade properly, because the Metropolis/Gotham Clark/Bruce contrast could've been played up beautifully with visual language and colour too. I mean, I know he can do overwrought iconography and imagery, look at how they went to the trouble of CGI'ing Clark's cape in every scene because it was such a banner, and the pop of red.

I'll admit, I wasn't always all-in on Affleck's performance, though it was one of his best in his back catalogue (I am one of the few people I know who has zero problems with him as an actor and tends to find it more the material, but I grew up on Kevin Smith films and his shtick works for me, even if he has a manner. I'm not too discerning). But. A Bruce who's tired and broken-down and greying and has lost even more, and still in the aftermath of that, tries to find hope and "I can't let this happen to anyone else" again, in the wake of one more death? God yes give it to me. A Bruce who's taller than Clark and just plain tall in general, because maybe Kryptonian ideals are different and because it'd give Bruce one more thing to desperately play down? God yes. Just... in general, middle-aged Bruce but without a lot of the Batfam stuff (which I like, I have a love for several of the Bats, but my favourite stories are always solo) with a regimen of painkillers and who's turned Wayne from an "I'll just jump into the water feature" jackass to a schmoozer and flirt and maybe a drunk. Take out the branding. I wanted Bruce as a broken idealist, not a fascist. It's actually way more fascistic than the original Dark Knight Returns, even. But goodness, the whole idea of an established, tired Batman is good. There’s a reason the comics and animations keep coming back to it.

"Superman was just a story. Superman was just the dream of some farmer from Kansas." I forget the exact phrasing, but everything about that idea, and this idea that Superman is as much an ideal for Clark to live up to as everyone else, and he’s daunted by it? Yeah. There’s something in there.

I loved everything about Jeremy Irons' Alfred. Seriously, everything. Tech guru, little less RP, little rougher around the edges, clearly has some scars of his own. Absolutely biting, even more than most incarnations, and gets all the best lines. Yes, keep that, it'll do.

I liked the voice changer... halfway. To me it makes way more sense than putting on a voice, which is a bit daft and way more variable. I just wouldn't have gone that heavy on the processing, so that Bruce sounded less like a hacker from 1999. I also thought it was a good way of representing how Bruce desperately tries to emotionally distance himself when he’s the Bat, and how his anger has made him colder.

Batman as just a rumour or an urban legend is great, and a wonderful contrast to Superman, who’s this bright, transparent... common god. Bruce never did it for credit, he did it to get it done. It’s stretching the bounds of credulity, sure, but in this strange, semi-operatic storytelling with heavy myth feel, it makes a bunch of sense thematically.

Bruce meeting Martha Kent, and their first meeting being him saving her life. Even this broken-down Batman who thinks he’s a mess. Actually, just more Martha in the DCEU in general. I mean, I get why they didn't lean into it so much because they maybe wanted Bruce and Clark to feel more like equal peers, rather than Bruce being too dadly, but... god, again, more Martha. In JL, in something, if nothing else. Martha who's lost a son (Jason); Martha who later has a son in another city trying to do good and is worried as hell about them (Dick's canonically in Bludhaven PD at this point); Martha who is one of about five people in the world who knows who Batman is and hasn't spilt that information; Martha who saw Bruce at the cemetery and might have some really interesting things to say to him, angry or forgiving; Martha who is one of the few people who's seen the good in the Bat (when Bruce himself couldn't)... Man, I was so, so glad that fic leaned into that. I would read a regular comic book of just Martha and Bruce Being Reluctant Friends and Worrying A Little About Their Kids, But Maybe In An Enemies-To-Friends Way Because Holy Shit You Had A Fucking Spear What the Fuck.

No, really, wait, I’m going to go on about Martha again. The scenes in BvS where she was basically saying, "God, don't kill yourself for them, come home, if they're gonna hate you they don't deserve you..." On the one hand she could've been a contrasting voice to Jon, but this way also makes sense. "I know you want to help but please don't kill yourself..." It was always both parents in the comics who affected him equally, even if the Donner films had his father's death, iirc. It was Martha who pushed to keep him, Jon who taught him not to break people and show off, Martha who taught him how to cook and be gentle with things and in Superman: Birthright, which MoS is heavily, badly based upon (I love that miniseries, time to read it again) she researches alien sightings in the hope he won't be alone. I get why they went for a more "grounded" Kryptonian uniform thing, but Martha made his costume, in the original canon. In all canons, she was a huge help in creating the "Clark Kent" persona (yeah, sure, maybe a woman would have something to say about making yourself quiet and shrinking in a room and having to look helpful and nonthreatening all the time, but Snyder and Goyer were never gonna be the kind of people to explore that and even Waid, whom I love, barely touches on it). Every other film or comic book is crap, dead, or crap and dead dads. Clark's relationship with his mother and father is hugely important.

Getting to see Bruce doing the society beat, and just a little more philanthropy would've been great. You don't have time to build that character? Sure, OK. Take out the Flash dream sequence and the sleeping-with-random-women, maybe don't have a totally unnecessary but kinda hilarious shower scene, and replace it with some identity weirdness where Bruce and Clark are stuck interacting as civilians a little more. Or something about what the hell happened with Jason and the manor, though I don't mind most of it being unexplained. There, still building character, still serving a purpose, you can fit a brief scene into your three hour movie. Civil War had a ton of "Steve Rogers and Tony Stark brood or sit in rooms talking to each other."

If they were going to throw away all the secret-identity potential, they could at least have done it interestingly. That scene at the gala made it clear how hard they both had to act, and Jesus, the idea of Clark eventually, finally finding someone else who has to lie and cut off what they can do, who has to bumble almost the way he does... That could've been interesting and also maybe worried the shit out of him. Or made him want to talk to this crazy billionaire who goes round combat-booting people in the face and try and get what his deal was, which could've led to more interesting misunderstandings.

And then there's Diana, who's not a bumbler but a "nothing to see here, rich eccentric" type too (no wonder she and Bruce had weird insane chemistry in that "sizing each other up/I know exactly what you are" way), and why the hell does Clark basically never see her? I actually don't mind the whole "she's only here for her photo and never meant to get involved, so she's only needing to chase Bruce," that makes sense, but after Doomsday?! In Justice League?! She understands what it is for the world to be frightened of you, resistant to you, the urge to go and hide where it's safe with your family, the loneliness. I mean, just imagine MoS!Clark meeting her and the goddamn relief of it. And the way it could've played off the whole Jonathan Kent is a creepy "kill em all" weirdo now thing, if they insisted on keeping it.

Similarly, please god please show Clark being a journalist more. Perry chewing him out more. A mild hint of office politics. That's the perfect place to leaven a rough film with a dose of humour. People wouldn't have been so bothered by "Is she with you?", which is actually not that terrible a line next to some Marvel "zingers", except for it being so tonally inconsistent. A gentle thread, a few moments of it. Maybe have Clark save someone and have to scrabble to keep his identity a secret, like in MoS - maybe a minute, you could go for some physical humour or a mild sight gag. Obviously, this'd be pre-bombing the courthouse. Relatedly...

Take out Nairomi and the branding. They serve very little purpose, story-wise, basically never come back into the plot, and only serve to make Clark and Bruce look like dicks unnecessarily when if you want to inject flaws, you have a ton of opportunities to do it with how they deal with people and their loved ones, how they deal with perps, and their brooding moments.

Seriously, Bruce kicking the shit out of people and investigating shipments from the Black Zero and World Engine crashes would be enough to worry and piss off Clark, as would the whole "I am the night"/lack of transparency shtick. I mean, for a start, John Byrne retconned their first meeting that way in the 80s and that issue is actually great (Clark is trying to arrest Bruce when they meet, because he's young and idealistic and maybe a little up himself and he's been Supes for about five and a half minutes). Look: Clark is being revered and hates it. He blames himself for Black Zero, at least a little. He has excellent reason to be desperately projecting brightly-coloured not-a-threat and also hate that someone else is terrorising a city and violence is being revered, especially when Metropolis and Gotham are still so raw. I mean... Snyder and Goyer did the fucking stupid offensive 9/11 comparisons. Look at how that affected people and still does to this day; emotions run bloody high, and the entire point of Clark is that he's still human and terrified and guilty. And with Wallace O’Keefe and all the threatening notes... look, there's already a good plot in there!

Meanwhile, Luthor clearly knows Bruce has been sniffing around the K shipments and could've just tipped off Clark about that as well, saying, "He clearly is gonna use it for his own power, and with how sinister and opaque and violent he's already been, he's gonna hurt people." Having his heritage used against people is one of Clark's worst nightmares, it was implied pretty clearly in MoS, and you'd still have the righteous anger. No branding needed. Kryptonian artefacts and the entire masked violent vigilantism are already enough "this is someone who thinks he's above people and can decide their lives" to piss Clark off. He could even investigate that as himself rather than Supes. You need it to be an unanon tip-off and Keefe wouldn't have access to that information? Sure, OK, just filter it through Mercy Graves and make her a "worried confidential source." I mean, she's in the movie and completely wasted. Why not actually, you know, do something with her? Clark wants to believe the best in people, and he might dislike Luthor personally, but he doesn't know Luthor's out to get him yet - or wouldn't, if the writing was better. Again, Birthright, the text Goyer repeatedly ripped from, did this brilliantly. The brand... it's overkill. Grimdark overkill.

I actually... look, I had a really fun, if baffled, time with this movie, but goodness I’d like to see what it could’ve been. And now all the film sites are waving goodbye to Batfleck again while running DC retrospectives due to Birds of Prey, and Cavill’s blue tights are in doubt, it seemed like as good a time as any.

#tru goes dc #batman v superman: dawn of justice #batman v superman #bvs critical #but also kind of positive?#i'm trying to be positive here too #dceu #dc #meta #ie me rambling

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lopithecusfanfiction · 7 years

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A Life So Changed: Chapter Forty-Six

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2993 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Author's Note: Hey, so I have an announcement to make regarding this story (before you worry, no, I’m not abandoning this.) I have given it some thought last night and I think instead of holding myself to an every Monday update schedule, I’m going to change it to an every week update schedule. So, you’ll still get an update every week, it just won’t always be on Monday. The reason for this is because, as you’ve all probably noticed, I’ve been struggling lately to keep up with the Monday updates. My mental health hasn’t been all that great for the past few months because of certain reasons and trying to keep up with posting a new chapter every Monday is taking a real toll on it. I’ve been under a lot of stress for months and I’ve decided that if I can lower my stress level with at least one thing, this story’s update schedule is the one I can afford to change. So, I’m not abandoning this story, that will never happen as long as I am physically able, but I just feel really bad for people waiting for an update on Monday, but not getting one until another day during the week. So, for now on, instead of expecting an update on Mondays, you can expect an update on any of the weekdays, with one update a week (the week starting on Sunday.) I hope you all understand and that you aren’t too disappointed. I really like having a set update schedule but I gave it quite a lot of thought, and for my own mental health, I feel like this is the best decision. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Chapter Forty-Six:

Bruce stands by the door in the foyer as he watches Alfred and Clark carry suitcases down to it. There aren’t many, after all, Jonathan and Martha Kent are modest people and so didn’t bring much. Still, it gives Bruce a sort of satisfaction to see the four bags being placed by the front entrance, ready for when the Kents get back with Kara from the museum. It should be any minute now, Clark having texted Kara of when they were coming back. He received a text back twenty minutes ago.

Clark places the last bag down and stands there, looking them over. “That should be the last of them.”

“Thank you for helping,” Bruce says, pushing off the wall. Clark frowns at the bags. “You don’t have to be here when they get back. I can be the only bad guy if you want.”

Clark shakes his head. “No, I need to prove to you that I want this, us.”

“Yeah, but I’m not so cruel as to torture you.” Bruce places a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Just helping with the bags has been proof enough.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Clark says, still looking at the bags. “It hasn’t been nearly enough.” The alpha looks up at Bruce. “I’m not screwing it up again.”

“And I’m telling you that you won’t if you leave. They already don’t like me, I don’t care if they get mad at me for doing this,” Bruce says. “Clark, if it’s anything that I know, it’s fear. I don’t want to force you into something that you are afraid of.”

Clark locks eyes with him and shrugs sadly. “Sometimes you have to face your fears. I was thinking,” his eyes drop to the floor, “that if they disown me-”

“Which they won’t.”

“If they do, then they really didn’t love me after all, right?” Clark looks back at Bruce, sadness shining in his eyes.

Bruce grabs a hold of the alpha’s hand and squeezes. “They won’t.”

Clark’s head turns to the front door. “They’re here.”

Bruce and Clark, along with Alfred, wait by the door. The Kents and Kara walk in all laughing, Jonathan talking about one of the exhibits they had seen at the museum. The three of them stop in their tracks when they see the bags. Martha is the first to talk. “What’s this?”

“Kara,” Bruce begins. “I think Barbara is waiting for you in your room.”

Kara looks between the five of them and nods hesitantly. “Okay.” She flies off, not even bothering to make it look as if she isn’t in a hurry to get out of there.

The tension immediately goes from ten to a hundred within seconds. Martha speaks again. “Why are our bags out here?”

Bruce eyes Clark quickly, who isn’t looking at anyone, and then back at the Kents. He opens his mouth to inform them that they can’t stay here anymore but before any words come out, Clark’s voice fills the room. “Alfred and I packed your bags for you.”

“Why?” Jonathan asks. “We still have two more days here.”

“Because you can’t stay here anymore,” Clark says. “You’re leaving today. I’ve gotten you two a hotel room in Metropolis that you two can stay in for the rest of the two days. Unless, that is, you want to try and exchange your return tickets for an earlier flight.”

Martha looks over at Bruce, anger in her eyes. “You’re kicking us out?”

“No, Ma.” Clark steps in front of Bruce. “I am.”

“It’s not your house, Son,” Jonathan says.

Clark nods. “It might not be my house but Bruce is my future mate, whether you like it or not, and you have only been treating him badly and disregarding his and my wishes since you’ve been here. I’ve tried over and over again explaining to you why I want to be with Bruce, that it isn’t just because of the baby, and you two won’t listen. I’m done trying and I’m done watching you treat Bruce like this.” Martha opens her mouth, finger pointed at Bruce to no doubt blame him for all this, for placing such an idea into her precious son’s head. But Clark interrupts her. “Stop Ma. Please, just stop.” The beta’s mouth closes slowly and her hand lowers to her side. Bruce sees Clark swallow thickly. “Alfred knows where the hotel is and has offered to bring you there.”

Clark then turns and ushers Bruce out of the room with him hurriedly. They don’t speak to one another until they reach Bruce’s bedroom and after Clark closes the door, his arms wrap around Bruce tightly. “That was so hard,” he whispers, face buried in Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce can feel Clark’s heart beating rapidly and he enfolds Clark in his arms as well. “Some alpha I’ve turned out to be,” Clark murmurs bitterly.

“You’re Kryptonian. We don’t know how alphas worked on Krypton,” Bruce reassures.

Clark lets him go and sits down on Bruce’s bed. “Kara doesn’t act like this. Like some… weakling.”

Bruce goes and sits down next to Clark. “Kara doesn’t have the same fears as you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Clark wrings his hands together, staring down at them intently. “I should be better than this.”

Bruce crosses his arms. “I thought I was supposed to be the self-deprecating one and you were supposed to be the one that cheers me up and tells me I’m not a worthless piece of shit.” Clark has no reaction to Bruce’s attempt at a joke and instead continues to stare at his hands. It worries Bruce and he straightens, placing a hand on the alpha’s shoulder again. “Hey, are you okay?”

Clark shrugs, his hands turning into white knuckled fists. “M’fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Bruce shifts so he can face Clark better. “Talk to me.”

Clark shakes his head. “Can’t.” Clark’s muscles tighten under Bruce’s hand and the alpha starts breathing deeply, all focus on his clenched hands. Despite Clark’s muscles being hard as rock, the Kryptonian still begins to shudder the slightest bit and Clark opens his mouth to take in more air.

“Hey.” Bruce tries to turn Clark towards him but the alpha is unmoving. So instead, he gets down onto the floor, on his knees in front of Clark, and grabs a hold of those fists. “Hey, Kal, stay with me.”

Clark pulls his hands away from Bruce. “I’ll… hurt you.” Bruce doesn’t try to touch him after being told that. Not because he believes Clark will actually hurt him, but because he wants to respect the fact that Clark doesn’t want to be touched.

“Okay,” he says instead, placing his own hands on his thighs. “Breathe through it, Kal, just like all the other times.” He watches as Clark tries to control his breathing but it still speeds up, threatening to turn into hyperventilation. “You’re doing fine. You’re okay.” It takes five minutes for Clark’s breathing to finally start coming in gasps and another five for the shaking to intensify. Clark’s eyes never leave his hands and his muscle stay tense. Bruce sits there and waits through it with Clark, occasionally encouraging the alpha to breathe and that he is okay. It takes another twenty minutes before Clark’s lips start to quiver, for tears to start rolling down his cheeks, and for his breathing to turn from hyperventilating to hiccups. His muscles relax slowly as the panic attack comes to an end.

“Can I touch you?” Bruce asks gently and Clark shakes his head. “Do you want something to drink? Some water perhaps.” It takes a few seconds before Clark answers, a short nod of his head. Bruce stands and grabs the cup on his side table that he had there from last night. He goes to the bathroom, rinses the cup, and then fills it with cold water. When Bruce gets back out to Clark, he kneels in front of the Kryptonian again, handing the water over.

Clark unsteadily brings it to his mouth and takes a sip. It’s another minute before Clark’s small voice sounds in the room. “You can touch now.”

Bruce is immediately up and sitting beside the alpha again, wrapping his arms around Clark’s broad frame. Clark turns towards him, burying his face in Bruce’s shoulder once more. Bruce cards his fingers through curly, black hair. “Have you been having those more frequently?”

Clark sniffles and shrugs. “I haven’t,” he swallows, “been keeping track.”

Bruce pushes away from Clark and holds him by the shoulders. The alpha looks exhausted. “Have you been sleeping?”

“I don’t need sleep.”

“Yes, you do,” Bruce says sternly. “You might not need it physically but you do need it mentally. When was the last time you slept?” Another shrug from the man. “You don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?”

Clark rolls his eyes in defeat. “I… haven’t slept since last week.”

“Last week?” Bruce asks in alarm. “Since when last week?”

“Since my parents got here.” The alpha says it quietly, not looking at Bruce.

Bruce studies Clark’s face, seeing the tired lines under those blue eyes. “You’ve been just as stressed about it as I have, haven’t you?” Bruce immediately feels guilty. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

For the hundredth time, Clark shrugs. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Oh Clark,” Bruce sighs. “This is exactly what I mean when I say the both of us need to communicate better.” Bruce cups both sides of Clark’s face and the Kryptonian blinks at him. “Listen to me. Don’t keep something like that from me again, okay? I want to know how you’re feeling. I want to help you.”

“You’re not exactly up front about your feelings either, Bruce.” Clark pulls his face away and Bruce’s hands fall. “It feels like pulling out teeth just to get you to open up. It always has been and it hasn’t changed. Look what happened the other day. You got sick because of the stress and also because of the stress, you haven’t been eating. Have you even had anything to eat today?”

Bruce looks away and down to his bed. He says quietly, “I had a granola bar.”

Clark stands and runs a hand down his face in frustration. “That’s not enough, Bruce.”

“I know,” he murmurs.

“Then why?” Clark turns to him and Bruce meets his eyes. Clark runs another frustrated hand down his face, sighing. “Why do we keep going in circles like this? I’m trying and I know you’re trying too, but I keep feeling like I’m running into a brick wall or taking one step forward and then two steps back.”

“Don’t you mean two steps forward and one step back?” Bruce asks.

“Oh no,” Clark says, shaking his head. “I mean one step and two back because we’ve made zero progress.”

Bruce leans forward and rests his head on his hand, elbow on his knee. “I feel like we’ve made progress.”

Clark has started to pace and Bruce’s eyes follow him. “Oh right, that’s why you’re still not eating, I’m having panic attacks more often than not, and we almost broke up even though we aren’t dating to begin with. Great progress, Bruce.”

Bruce chuckles and gets up, approaching Clark and stopping him from his pacing by grabbing a hold of his shoulder. Bruce lets go. “Then what do you call what happened downstairs just now?”

“A coward’s approach.”

Bruce grabs Clark’s hand. “You’re not a coward.”

“Yes, I am, Bruce.” Clark pulls his hand free and wipes at his eyes, a tired sigh escaping the alpha’s lips.

“That’s not what I see.”

Clark huffs, eyeing him. “How?”

“You risk your life every day to save people, Clark. That’s not being a coward.” Bruce gives the Kryptonian a reassuring smile and Clark rolls his eyes. “Irrational fears don’t change that. Your fears, Clark, are just that, irrational. It doesn’t make you a coward. It just means it’s something you need to work through.”

“Well, I feel like a coward.” Clark sits back down on Bruce’s bed heavily, the bed frame giving a load groan of protest against the force. Clark glares at it and Bruce smiles at how cute Clark is.

“Please don’t blame my bed for not being able to tolerate your powers.” Clark rolls his eyes again and Bruce, once more, takes a hold of Clark’s hand, pulling on it. “Come with me, you coward.”

“I thought you were trying to cheer me up,” Clark mutters but stands anyway.

“I am but I think we need to do it in a different environment, doing something that I think we both need desperately.” Bruce pulls him along, never letting go of Clark’s hand. Clark follows him willingly, down the flight of stairs and to the study with the grandfather clock in it.

Bruce opens the grandfather clock and Clark asks, “We’re going to the cave?”

“We are.” Bruce makes his way carefully down the stairs but suddenly he feels his feet lift off the stone flooring. The next thing he knows, he’s being set down by Clark. Instead of complaining, he just gestures for Clark to follow and walks in the direction of his destination. He looks around the cave. It’s been a long time since he’s been down here and it feels exhilarating to be back. “You and I have been under a lot of stress lately and to be frank with you, seeing Superman disesteem himself isn’t a fun sight.”

“Okay, so what are we going to do down here then?” Clark asks.

Bruce walks into the workout room and gestures around. “We are going to take our stress, our worry, our anger, whatever, out by working out a little bit.” Bruce walks to the bathroom that he had set up next to the workout room. He opens a locker and pulls out some shorts and a t-shirt. “I don’t have any that will fit you but you’re welcome to workout naked if you want.”

Clark chuckles. “I’ll just take my shirt off. I don’t sweat, remember.”

“It’s not about sweating.” Bruce throws Clark an extra pair of shorts. “It’s about being able to move and be flexible in them. Try to squeeze into those.” As Bruce changes, he watches as Clark struggles to get into the shorts. “Those are not going to work, are they?”

“I don’t think so,” Clark says, handing them back.

Bruce takes them and looks the alpha up and down. “Well, you are wearing boxers. I suppose you can just wear those.”

“Okay,” Clark says, not arguing. He leaves Bruce to finish changing into his workout clothes and walks out of the bathroom. Bruce hears the distinct sounds of fists hitting a punching bag and when he enters the workout room again, Clark is hitting it, black boxing gloves snug on his hands.

Bruce approaches. “Please don’t break any of my equipment.”

Clark eyes him from the corners of his eyes and punches the bag again. “I won’t.” He goes back to concentrating on the bag, hitting it a bit too hard but not enough to break it. “Are you sure you should be doing this while you’re pregnant?”

“There are no ill effects to the baby by working out.” Bruce says as he watches Clark. “There are plenty of omegas who do it.”

“Just omegas?” Clark gives the bag a couple of rounds of punches, low growl escaping his throat.

“Well, I was generalizing but you know what I mean.”

“I suppose I do.” Again, Clark hits the bag hard, another growl coming from him. With one more powerful punch, the bag goes flying off the hook and hits the opposite wall, sand spilling from a torn seam. “Damn it!” Clark wipes an arm over his forehead and Bruce raises a quizzical eyebrow. Clark eyes him again. “Sorry, I’ll fix it. I promise.”

One corner of Bruce’s lips quirk up. “Maybe you should stick to weights.”

“Maybe,” Clark mumbles, heading towards the dunbar. He lies down on the bench and starts bench pressing the amount of weights that were already on it, growl coming from him with every push up.

Bruce takes a seat on a yoga mat and continues to watch the alpha with a raised eyebrow, amused. “Do you want to talk about something?”

Clark replaces the dunbar on the rack roughly, a loud clang echoing throughout the cave, sitting up. “Gosh, no! I’m just… damn it, I’m just frustrated and angry.”

“Angry at anything particular?” Clark rolls his eyes and gives Bruce a look as if he should already know that answer. “Yourself?”

“No!” Clark stands and begins to pace. “At everything! At… at my parents and, yes, at myself, okay, Bruce? You happy? I’m pissed because all of this, everything, is a mess.”

“Then let’s fix it.”

“We’ve tried that!”

“And I thought you wanted to keep trying?” Bruce asks gently.

Clark’s shoulders slump and the alpha stops pacing, facing Bruce. He kneels on the mat, eyes downcast. “I do but… I just feel like I keep messing it up.”

Bruce gazes at Clark’s despondent eyes. “I do too.” Clark looks up at that, locking eyes. “I feel like that too. So… let’s do better.”

“How?”

“By first, working out so we can calm ourselves. After that, then we can figure out how to be better at this, figure out what to do. One step at a time Clark.” Bruce cups one of Clark’s cheeks. “It’s not going to be an overnight fix. It never was going to be that. We’ve just got to work harder now and I’m willing to if you are.”

Clark stares at him, eyes wide and unreadable. Without a word, Clark pounces on him, knocking him down onto his back. Clark’s arms wrap around him tightly and Bruce finds himself doing the same to Clark. They both hold onto each other desperately, not caring how much time passes.

A/N: Thanks for reading!!

#DC Comics #SuperBat #Superman #Batman #Clark Kent #Kal El #Bruce Wayne #A Life So Changed #My Fanfiction #sfw

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mysteryshelf · 6 years

Text

BLOG TOUR - Alice and the Assassin

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

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

Alice and the Assassin

by R.J. Koreto

on Tour April 1-30, 2018

Synopsis:

In 1902 New York, Alice Roosevelt, the bright, passionate, and wildly unconventional daughter of newly sworn-in President Theodore Roosevelt, is placed under the supervision of Secret Service Agent Joseph St. Clair, ex-cowboy and veteran of the Rough Riders. St. Clair quickly learns that half his job is helping Alice roll cigarettes and escorting her to bookies, but matters grow even more difficult when Alice takes it upon herself to investigate a recent political killing–the assassination of former president William McKinley.

Concerned for her father’s safety, Alice seeks explanations for the many unanswered questions about the avowed anarchist responsible for McKinley’s death. In her quest, Alice drags St. Clair from grim Bowery bars to the elegant parlors of New York’s ruling class, from the haunts of the Chinese secret societies to the magnificent new University Club. Meanwhile, St. Clair has to come to terms with his hard and violent past, as Alice struggles with her growing feelings for him.

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery Published by: Crooked Lane Books Publication Date: April 11th 2017 Number of Pages: 280 ISBN: 1683311124 (ISBN13: 9781683311126) Series: Alice Roosevelt Mystery #1

Get Your Own Copy of Alice and the Assassin on Amazon & Barnes & Noble & add it to your Goodreads list!!

Read an excerpt:

I had a nice little runabout parked around the corner, and Alice certainly enjoyed it. It belonged to the Roosevelt family, but I was the only one who drove it. Still, the thing about driving a car is that you can’t easily get to your gun, and I didn’t like the look of the downtown crowds, so I removed it from its holster and placed it on the seat between us.

“Don’t touch it,” I said.

“I wasn’t going to,” said Alice.

“Yes, you were.”

I had learned something the first time I had met her. I was sent to meet Mr. Wilkie, the Secret Service director, in the White House, and we met on the top floor. He was there, shaking his head and cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief. “Mr. St. Clair, welcome to Washington. Your charge is on the roof smoking a cigarette. The staircase is right behind me. Best of luck.” He put his glasses back on, shook my hand, and left.

It had taken me about five minutes to pluck the badly rolled cigarette out of Alice’s mouth, flick it over the edge of the building, and then talk her down.

“Any chance we could come to some sort of a working relationship?” I had asked. She had looked me up and down.

“A small one,” she had said. “You were one of the Rough Riders, with my father on San Juan Hill, weren’t you?” I nodded. “Let’s see if you can show me how to properly roll a cigarette. Cowboys know these things, I’ve heard.”

“Maybe I can help—if you can learn when and where to smoke them,” I had responded.

So things had rolled along like that for a while, and then one day in New York, some man who looked a little odd wanted—rather forcefully—to make Alice’s acquaintance on Fifth Avenue, and it took me all of three seconds to tie him into a knot on the sidewalk while we waited for the police.

“That was very impressive, Mr. St. Clair,” she had said, and I don’t think her eyes could’ve gotten any bigger. “I believe that was the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen.” She looked at me differently from then on, and things went a little more smoothly after that. Not perfect, but better.

Anyway, that afternoon I pulled into traffic. It was one of those damp winter days, not too cold. Workingmen were heading home, and women were still making a few last purchases from peddlers before everyone packed up for the day.

“Can we stop at a little barbershop off of Houston?” she asked. I ran my hand over my chin. “Is that a hint I need a shave?” I’m used to doing it myself.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said, with a grin. “That’s where my bookie has set up shop. I’ve had a very good week.”

***

Author Bio:

R.J. Koreto has been fascinated by turn-of-the-century New York ever since listening to his grandfather’s stories as a boy.

In his day job, he works as a business and financial journalist. Over the years, he’s been a magazine writer and editor, website manager, PR consultant, book author, and seaman in the U.S. Merchant Marine. He’s a graduate of Vassar College, and like Alice Roosevelt, he was born and raised in New York.

He is the author of the Lady Frances Ffolkes and Alice Roosevelt mysteries. He has been published in both Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. He also published a book on practice management for financial professionals.

With his wife and daughters, he divides his time between Rockland County, N.Y., and Martha’s Vineyard, Mass.

Catch Up With R.J. Koreto On his Website, Goodreads Page, Twitter @RJKoreto, & on Facebook @ ladyfrancesffolkes!

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Giveaway:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for R.J. Koreto. There will be 1 winner of one (1) Amazon.com Gift card. The giveaway begins on April 1, 2018 and runs through May 1, 2018. Void where prohibited.

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BLOG TOUR – Alice and the Assassin was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

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martens-movie-reviews · 6 years

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Release Date: March 25, 2016 Running Time: 3 hours 2 minutes (regular cut is 2 hours 31 minutes)

“It’s been nearly two years since Superman’s colossal battle with Zod devastated the city of Metropolis. The loss of life and collateral damage left many feeling angry and helpless, including crime-fighting billionaire Bruce Wayne. Convinced that Superman is now a threat to humanity, Batman embarks on a personal vendetta to end his reign on Earth, while the conniving Lex Luthor launches his own crusade against the Man of Steel.”

Because of the anticipated release of Justice League on Friday November 17, I’ve decided to write reviews of all of the movies that make up the DC Extended Universe so far. There have been a lot of talks about how long this franchise will last, but as a comic book fan, and huge lover of movies, I never want movies to be bad. I’m hoping that it’ll be amazing. You can find the dates for when the reviews for the other DCEU movie will be released at the link here. I wrote the review for Wonder Woman around the time it came out, and it can be found here.

DC Extended Universe – Source: Warner Brothers Entertainment

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice Trailer – Source: Warner Brothers Entertainment

Cast & Crew

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice was directed by Zack Snyder, who I’ve already summarized his previous work and work since in the Man of Steel Review.

It was written by Chris Terrio and David S. Goyer. I’ve already mentioned Goyer’s work as well in the Man of Steel Review, as such I will go over Terrio’s work. Chris Terrio previously wrote the 2012 film ‘Argo’, and has since worked on the Justice League movie, the sequel to that movie will be released in the future, and Star Wars: Episode IX set to be released in 2019.

From Left to Right: Henry Cavill as Kal – El / Clark Kent / Superman, Gal Gadot as Diana Prince / Wonder Woman and Ben Affleck as Bruce Wayne / Batman – Source: Warner Brothers Entertainment

Cast includes Jesse Eisenberg, Amy Adams, Henry Cavill, Ben Affleck, Laurence Fishburne, Diane Lane, Callan Mulvey, Scoot McNairy, Holly Hunter, Gal Gadot, Jeremy Irons, Kevin Costner, Ray Fisher, Jena Malone, Ezra Miller, Michael Shannon, Lauren Cohan, Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Review

I will start by saying that I find the idea of Batman and Superman fighting for any reason to be kind of silly, but I was interested in the idea. If this movie would have been just Batman v Superman, and not ‘Dawn of Justice’, I think that this movie would have been a much better film, and wouldn’t have split the audience as much. There were too many rushed storylines in the overall film, and making everything a little convenient, and stupid. They made Lex Luthor a joke for over half the movie, and then made him somehow have little surveillance clips that featured Aquaman, the Flash, and Cyborg that he had managed to get, implying that he knows everyone’s identity.