i went with bruce and diana because i have so few excuses to write diana and i, personally, am finding it to be a travesty. also this is definitely not angst i turned it into hurt/comfort because of course i did
2) “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
Bruce rubbed at his mouth - the gouges in the gauntlets caught the three-day-old stubble smattering over his chin, and his lips curled in distaste. He was supposed to be writing a report. He couldn’t quiet convince himself to start tapping at the keys, and he told himself it was because he was tired.
“That’s where you disappeared to,” Diana said, pleasantly. She was always saying something pleasantly. She came to lean against the console, sliding him a bagged sandwich and an iced coffee. “Enjoy. It is a very good sandwich.”
“Thanks,” Bruce muttered, sliding it to the side.
Diana pushed it back with a raised eyebrow. “Eat, or I tell Clark about Nova Scotia.”
“You threaten that every time,” Bruce said, flatly.
“Because it is hilarious, and I always secretly hope you’ll let me tell him about it.”
Bruce leaned forward to take a sip of the coffee. “When I’m dead, princess.”
When he didn’t immediately reach for the sandwich, Diana sighed, and pulled it out of the bag, holding it in front of him. “Here. I will feed you.”
Bruce scowled. “Put that down, I can feed myself.”
“I see no evidence supporting that,” she said, and now she was grinning. It was always hard not to laugh with her.
“Shouldn’t you be in Boston, not pestering me,” he groused, leaning forward to take another sip from the coffee.
Diana shrugged. “I enjoy pestering you. Is it both hands that are hurting?”
She nodded to the coffee. “You won’t pick it up. You’re in pain.”
“I’m used to it,” he said, with a wry twist of his mouth. She didn’t seem to find it very funny.
She lifted his hand, gently, and started working off his left gauntlet. He hissed when she pulled it over his fingers, and she gave him a pensive look he couldn’t quite decipher. The she was holding his hand, studying it. Her fingers were warm.
“Arthritis,” he supplied. “From my night job.”
“I see it on commercials,” she said, ghosting a finger across one of his swollen knuckles. “It looks painful.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it,” he grunted.
She rubbed a thumb over his knuckle. “My lasso,” she said, softly, “was made from Gaea’s girdle. It comes from the earth. Pain, and suffering… comes from being out of touch with the earth. Out of balance with its beauty.”
“I remember,” he said, with a grim smile. “Nova Scotia?”
She laughed, a sound like bells. “If you do not mind being honest, you can wear it. It would bring you… temporary relief. Granted that you don’t fight it.”
He looked a the golden, shimmering lariat Diana held in one of her hand - the idea of being compelled to speak the truth had always slighted him. The lasso had always seemed like a stripping of fundamental agency, of choice; instead of relying on someone to make the choice to be honest, it forced them to. But, perhaps, like with Diana herself, there might have been more to it than that. He would never pretend to understand how either worked.
He offered her his arm, and she looped the cord around it. It brightened at the contact, sparking like coals, and warmth flooded him - it was like sitting in a patch of summer sunlight, with the breeze rushing through the leaves of trees and the sounds of birds.
The snarling mess of his left knee - which he’d probably need surgery for - was painless, the metal in his spine holding him together innocuous, the ugly ache of his right shoulder missing entirely. Hundreds of fractures and breaks reduced to nothing, hundreds more wounds stretching over his skin benign. It was like nothing he’d ever felt.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
Diana’s brow scrunched. “Does it hurt?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Just… new. Been a while.”
First time in over half a decade where nothing’s hurt, he thought. But Diana didn’t ask, so he didn’t say it. The lasso didn’t force you to speak, unless Diana wanted you to.
“Good,” she said, sliding off the counter. “Enjoy the sandwich, Bruce. I’ll be back… soon.”
And then she was gone, footsteps loud and regal. Bruce leaned his head back against the chair, and breathed.
hi most of the joji blogs i used to be mutuals with either deactivated or completely abandoned so if you’re a joji/max blog (cancer crew/ian blogs are cool too) maybe like or reblog this post so i can follow you ???
Summary: Dance Practice for the Yule Ball and Y/n and George are paired up to practice. Just flufffff! Also need to tag @notgreengrass for being the editor over my posts, and helping me with the ending. I have no idea what I would do without you, tysm for making my writing that much better!
Word Count: 1578
Pairings: George Weasley x Reader
The Yule Ball, as McGonagall described it, was a tradition that only happened during the Triwizard Tournament in which boys and girls — third year and up — attend a formal dance. The partying was what George was fine with, but the aspect he was had trouble with was the dance class. Sure, on the outside he joked around about the ordeal with his twin brother, but on the inside, George was terrified. It wasn’t because McGonagall was forcing everyone to learn how to do the Waltz correctly, no. It was because of the person he longed to dance with.
Y/n stood just across the room with all the other girls. It was a sunny day, and so her y/h/c hair looked glossy from the diamond-like reflections of the large window. Her smile was captivating, radiant even, as she laughed at the sight of McGonagall and Ron dancing together. Her hips were swaying ever so slightly to the soft music bouncing off the stone walls of the room.
I KNOW, RIGHT? Like, I don’t think everything of his is perfect and I kind of side-eye him a bunch sometimes, but the more I get into Star Wars, the more I genuinely enjoy what he has to say and his motivations/methods for how he tells his story.
PLUS HE REALLY LIKES MAKING THINGS THAT KIDS ENJOY and you know how I feel about kids having joy and wonder about things.
Today marks 5 years since the very official Twitter Welcome Committee made everyone aware of who Eleanor Calder was on Twitter and what her role was going to be going forward.
So Eleanor had been on Twitter for over a month on 17 March 2012 and had tweeted herself 260 times, but that didn’t stop everyone under the sun affiliated with Louis from “welcoming” her to Twitter. This was, miraculously, the day before she flew into NYC to spend the week with Louis. Even MORE stunning: it was the same week Up All Night was released in America and the summer headlining tour was announced and tickets went on sale.
It should be noted, this all began 30 minutes before the signing in Somerdale, NJ began (read: the exact time when the Twitter and Tumblr fandoms were most active waiting for pictures/fan reports).
Eleanor begins to tweet her own update accounts and 1D Fans around 1:30 pm EST ( x )
Dan tweets Eleanor “The lady that doesn’t tweet is now on Twitter! Hiya lovely how are you? Xx” to which Eleanor replies “I am indeed! Hello! I’m very well thank you :) how are you? Receovered from your lads holiday?! Haha x"
17: Woody Darling, Jay’s best friend, then tweets Eleanor for the first time 3 minutes later ”@amassive1Dfan no @eleanorJCalder and @DaniellePeazer had their own party #nottobeseenwiththeoldies x" ( x )
17: About 45 minutes later, George, Woody’s son, tweets Eleanor for the first time “glad to see you have joined the revolution ell, hope you are ok :)” to which Eleanor replies “Georgeee! I’m fine thank you babe :) I recognise your picture, is that from new year?! Xx” ( x )
17: George replies to Eleanor “I am glad to hear it :) yes it is - it was such a good night! Hope all is well and you’re behaving yourself! Haha x” to which Eleanor replies “I’m always on my best behaviour! Hope your thumb has fixed itself! See you soon xx” ( x )
17: Eleanor begins to call out fake twitter accounts ( x )
17: Louis tweets Eleanor directly for the first time at 7:24PM “Miss you ! X” ( x ) 17: Eleanor responds to Louis’ tweet 10 minutes later “Miss you too, got your biscuits! X” ( x )
18: Louis finally follows Eleanor on Twitter ( x )
18: Em, Eleanor’s cousin and a 1D fan, tweets her for the first time “You have so many followers already, lordy Lord!xx” to which Eleanor replies “Crazy!! Xx” ( x )
18: To make sure she authenticates who Em is, Eleanor tweets her 6 minutes later “Don’t forget it’s Grandma’s birthday today toooo! Xx” ( x )
18: Danielle (Liam’s then girlfriend) tweets Eleanor like Eleanor just got a twitter account yesterday “Really happy to have @EleanorJCalder join the Twitter World! I can now tweet about our antics and tag her in it! Xx” to which Eleanor replies “Woohoooo! :) #coffeeeverywhere xx” ( x )
18: Danielle tweets “@Real_Liam_Payne has said he’s not going to follow @EleanorJCalder unless we can get #therewasacrazymoose trending….let’s gooo! Xx” ( x )
So Louis didn’t follow Eleanor UNTIL EVERYONE HE KNEW WELCOMED HER TO TWITTER.
They coordinated this effort around a fan signing event, the album release in the U.S., and the announcement of the summer tour.
They used 3 of the 9 perception management strategies:
– Employ actors and organizations that will lend authenticity to the campaign
support – Supporters of the campaign should come from multiple levels –
personal, professional, public, private, etc.
– The flow of information should be centralized at the top of a chain of
And nearly 5 years later, this is very much like how they reintroduced Eleanor to the current scenario. In both cases she was:
She was waiting in the wings to be introduced to the fans when the timing was right
She was authenticated by accounts known to be “official” by fans
She participated just enough to lend credibility to the authentication
Recap stories were written about her and Louis’ “relationship” to date to remind fans of who she was and why she was important
Their tactics this time around aren’t quite as overt as asking fans to trend something stupid to get Liam to follow her (*cringe*), but they had Louis’ sisters accounts like pictures hours after the official Danielle and Louis breakup confirmation in the Sun. They have public “friends” following Eleanor update accounts (James Arthur) and James Corden following Eleanor on Twitter.
It’s all the same pieces working in the same way to create a story that, on the surface, seems plausible, but in reality is just smoke and mirror social media activity to give the press enough to write a story.
I know this isn’t anything knew, but the date reminded me of just how coordinated both of these little campaigns were and how easily they promoted the agendas of 1DHQ both times.
(And, sadly, I don’t think they went to the same effort again to pull the rug out from under Elounor after 4-6 weeks. I think this will last several months).
So I have this headcanon that the Gryffindor Quidditch team always throws stuff at one another.
It started out as a way Charlie meant to improve Wood’s reflexes, on and off the pitch, which Oliver then continued on with when he became captain. His Keeper potential was first spotted, after all, when McGonagall slipped on some slime Peeves had left behind, dropping the tower of books she was carrying in her arms, which were saved by an eleven-year-old Oliver Wood, who slid the length of the slippery corridor on his stomach Superman-style just to catch the books before they landed in the slime. From then on, even snowball fights are serious business.
Naturally, Fred and George would be tricking the others by pretending to throw a practice ball one way but then throwing in another. They notice Wood never misses these saves. Then one day, at breakfast, Fred throws a salt shaker at Wood and he catches it without glancing up from his plate. Pretty soon, it becomes a challenge to see “What won’t Wood catch?” and it eventually extends to the whole team in all directions. It becomes a sort of in-joke. They regularly throw ink bottles, books, food, Percy’s prefect badge, dungbombs, potions, pets, Ron, at each other just to keep their reflexes up. It is no surprise when Katie goes as far as throwing things at Peeves in Order of the Phoenix now, is it?
It goes beyond the pitch, but more than that, it goes beyond Hogwarts. When Oliver visits Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes the first time, it’s no accident that no less than twenty-seven pygmy puffs just happen to be zooming his way from odd directions.
At some point, it turns a tad sinister, mostly as payback for all the early morning practices. When Wood misses out on Angelina’s birthday because of a match, he is woken by room service at 2 am, just to find himself face to face with a Muggle tennis ball machine. He finds himself delievered random balls by waiters, owls, confused Muggle postmen. A while later, he peels an orange and finds not delicious fruit but another wretched tennis ball inside, with newspaper cutout letters spelling “Constant Vigilance” on it.
He becomes paranoid, it’s like a slap bet he never signed up for. He can’t get an ice cream that doesn’t turn into a tennis ball in a cone by the time he walks out of Florean’s. He tries to flee but to no avail. Years and years later, when Percy is Head of Transportation, George asks him for permission to turn a tennis ball into a Portkey. “How many people will be transported?” he asks. “None”, George replies simply. Before long, Oliver is found by a random ball materializing in thin air fifty feet above him while he is in the middle of nowhere on holiday. Just when he thought they had grown out of it, there it is, zooming at him once again, like that salt shaker Fred had thrown him when they were kids.
I blame @blvnk-art for this fic. I was thinking on it this morning, especially Hermione deciding to shave her head and my muse smiled on me, threw a gallon of glitter on my head, and voila! The story poured out.
Rated T for bad language, some lime innuendo (it’s very light and Ace safe) and adult situations.
Hermione slipped out of the bed she shared with Ron and
padded softly to the boy’s bathroom. She still felt grotty from yesterday, even
after a scalding hot bath for an hour. While lying in the bed with Ron, his arm
a comfort across her hip but sleep escaping her once again, she came to a
She closed the heavy door and picked up the brush she
brought with her out of the beaded bag that was her lifeline. Her hair, the one
thing on her that stayed when she wasted away, was officially a lost cause. She
dropped the brush into the sink and pulled back her hair, trying to talk
herself out of the decision made.
She had no logical argument to keep her hair, not when it
had grown nappy, knotted, kinked beyond any ability of magic or potions. Exhaustion
and pragmatic consideration made it an easy choice when she was standing in the
boy’s bathroom of Gryffindor tower and Harry’s razor sitting in front of
her. One casting from the wand she hated
with all of her soul sharpened the blade on the muggle safety razor and she
went to work, with the wand in her hand and then the razor in the other.
I NEED THIS OMG OKAY SO it’s George or Fred (I love George but either is fine) where you’re muggleborn and George flirts with you a lot in class cause he has a crush but umbrigde is not having it nah fam so she gives him detention for one of his many mini crimes and makes him write lines of “I will practice blood purity” and Reader is pisssedddddd when she finds out
(A/N: HAS CUSSING)
You sit in your normal spot in DADA, at the table beside the Weasley twins’. Umbridge carries herself into the classroom and stops at her board. “Today we will be reading from the book. Pages 243-263. There will be no need to talk.” “Are we really doing this again, Professor? Miss (your last name) is more interesting and she’s dull as a rock,” George says with a small smirk. “These books are so predictable I can’t tell it apart from the Weasley twins,” you add, smirking slightly in George’s direction. “Brutal,” Fred mutters.
“Quiet! If I hear another word from any of you, there will be consequences!” Umbridge squeaks. You roll your eyes and return to your reading. You feel a tap on your shoulder and look down to see a note slipped under your book. You quietly open the note and read. “Maybe you do have more personality than a rock.” “Sadly, you’re still predictable,” you write back, passing the note back to George.
His mouth fell in fake shock and he placed his hand on his chest.
“George Weasley!” Umbridge screeched. “Detention after class!”
“Oh no,” George whispered sarcastically. Class was dismissed and everyone left except for George, who had to stay for detention.
You were curled up in an armchair when George returned from detention. “That foul git!” he yelled. “George!” you yelled, getting his attention. You motioned him over and he sat on the arm of your chair. “What happened - wait, what’s on your hand?” You looked down to see a phrase etched into his hand. “I will practice blood purity.”
You gasped. “Did she carve your skin?” “She made me write that over and over and the pen did it to me,” he whispered. “She did fucking not,” you seethe. “She did.” You storm out of the room and find McGonagall. “What the hell? Do you know what Umbridge is doing in her detention?” you scream. “Miss (your last name), I suggest you calm down before I put you into detention myself.” “She makes you write lines and the pen etches into your skin. You write with your own blood,” you say as calmly as you can. “That is unacceptable. Thank you, (y/n), you may return to your common room.”
You leave her office and make your way back to the Gryffindor common room. George is laying down on a couch, clutching his hand. “Hey, let’s get that cleaned up.” You help George up and to his bathroom after grabbing a first aid kit from your room. You mum knew you’d need it. “This is going to hurt,” you say, washing his hand out with alcohol. He flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. “I know it hurts,” you whisper.
You wrap his hand up and close your case. “I’m so sorry she did that.” “It was worth it, actually.” “You’re an actual idiot.” “You like an idiot. What will your parents say?” George gasps. “I do not,” you say, crossing your arms. “Guess I’m not an idiot then.” You blush. “Would you like to join me in Hogsmeade next trip?” you ask. “Absolutely,” George replies.
A/N: sorry this is really short! I got inspired randomly and this is what the result is :)
Today was freezing. It was at least 5° outside, if not less. It was also a Hogsmeade day, but no one was complaining, any snow day was a great day, (y/n) got dressed in an oversized gray jumper, blue jeans, and grabbed her thickest robe. “That jumper is like four sizes too big,” Hermione had said. “Yeah, I know. It’s not mine anyway,” she laughed. They walked out into the common room. “Then who’s-” “Is that my jumper?” George asked, looking at his girlfriend. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just the warmest thing I’ve got,” she said quietly. “It’s fine, plus, you look cute.”
(y/n)’s cheeks reddened. George winked. “Stop it! You know that makes me blush!” (y/n) elbowed him. “That’s exactly why I do it,” he winked again.
She and George left Hogwarts and entered the beautiful snowy village. She slipped her hands into his and looked up at him. He was smiling. “You look like an idiot,” she said, laughing. “It’s worth it,” he replied.