i kept seeing this idea in several fanfics and it just stuck with me: that Bucky has always been a big nerd for anything sci-fi. there are stacks of books on his nightstand and more crammed in the shelves of their apartment, asimov, frank herbert, douglas adams and so on and he always carries a beaten up paperback with him to read in between briefings
I was having feeling about young justice and so I drew this massive doodle dump. I was originally trying to keep it season 1 related, but I gave up halfway through. (I would’ve drawn more but it was a late night…)
The original six Team members know Kaldur is undercover.
Imagine Dick and Kaldur talking in an abandon warehouse. “So
we are in agreement?” Kaldur asks.
‘no we are not’ said Megan’s voice form inside the boys head. They
“I can’t believe I forgot the mind-link”
‘I can’t believe you would go undercover without telling us.’ Conner replies.
So now the original 6 know. As long as they’re in a room with a villain/henchman that act like Kaldur betrayed them. But once that guy is unconscious….
“How could you betray us,” Megan said in a very fake hurt voice. “We were a team. We were family!” she gave in a gentle shove. Conner stood off to the side, stone faced. “Look at how much pain you’re causing Conner!” Conner moved forward, and playfully hit Kaldur’s arm
“I trusted you.” he said- completely monotone.
‘Guys just because the bad guy is down does mean we don’t have an audience.’ Nightwing sighed over the link.
Tim, La’gaan, Cassie, Jamie, Gar, and Bart watched in confusion from where they were tied and chained together. “What is going on” Beast Boy asked.
It's my birthday and I'm wondering if it'd be possible for you to write an ultra small piece of the big three hanging out at the Watch tower? Make them tired and/or drunk (that's nearly not possible but… work with me lmao). From Batman's or whomever's point of view you wish!
It’s after two in the morning for the East Coast but the Watchtower’s facing the sun, radiation washing virtually every surface if not for the almost spotlessly invisible protective glass that makes you feel like you’re in open space, and Alfred, he thinks with a smile, would probably find it mildly funny that the AI responsible for the up-keeping of the station is called Pennyworth. The original name was PJH-B but after everyone started jokingly calling out to ‘Pennyworth’ and after PJH-B started replying, Bruce took the very silent liberty of changing the code and replacing it with A-Penny. No one would go looking, no one would ever know, but every time A-Penny finished its duties at the end of the day, the small notification that read A-Penny has clocked out for the night brought the same smile to his face.
“It’s funny,” Diana says and it comes out as a slight drawl, even though it’s still more elegant than anyone has ever managed. The glass in her hands reflects the sun and the tablet’s surface turns into a mural. “We drink now… for no reason. But we didn’t drink for Bruce’s birthday a month ago.”
They were too busy picking up the slack after New York had almost been completely demolished on Clark’s birthday and, anyway, they still made time to quickly check in with him while he visited his parents back in Smallville. Aside from quick remarks the Wayne family in Gotham had be used to accommodate on February 19th, however, no celebration had been prepared for Bruce Wayne’s birthday, part of it possibly because Mr. Wayne had reportedly been seen celebrating on his own on some private island away from the city. The media wasn’t sure which island but they had intel about the specific drink combinations consumed, so it had to be accurate intel. Alfred wasn’t new at this, after all.
“I don’t know about that. Stopping an alien invasion…,” Clark pauses. “Again. Seems like a good reason to celebrate.”
The almost finished bottle is dark green and the liquid inside as clear as water. Someone’s someone brought it as a present for the team at Hal’s birthday party because someone’s someone’s planet was famous for their heavenly brew and brew, Bruce thinks, ended up being just a synonym for booze. He knew, of course, because he had analyzed every single component before even allowing it to be stored anywhere near the Justice League’s headquarters, but the ever so slight dizziness he keeps telling himself he hasn’t had for the last ten minutes indicates this wasn’t just alien booze. This was strong alien booze.
“So how come Batman,” Clark starts and the last word comes out as an inside joke between the three of them, too grandiose and holding myth to be real, “can’t get drunk easily?”
“Because Batman,” Diana continues with the same tone, “is desensitized to anything that might compromise his judgment.”
And it’s true, and Bruce silently agrees, and he doesn’t say how this isfunny to him. He should be desensitized to alcohol but a year has passed and League business has taken up most of his time and Scarecrow with his chemicals are scheming silently somewhere away from Gotham and Alfred keeps swapping his glasses with ginger ale during parties and, if he’s completely honest, he’d probably still get that headache he’s not admitting to even if the glass in front of him was filled with nothing more than watered-down beer.
Pennyworth, his mind slips back. Make a note with Pennyworth to start alcohol tolerance conditioning again. He doesn’t know if he means the AI or the butler.
“If it makes you feel any better, Jordan’s birthday would’ve stolen the spotlight from anyone else in the vicinity,” Bruce says after a while. He specifically remembers a power ring-made
hanging from the Watchtower’s ceiling and Hal smashing it again and again… and again. He didn’t like it all that much, it was clear, but every once in a while Bruce would move his head a few mere inches while reviewing field reports, and the fact it bothered him made Hal become both an enthusiast and a pro at
punching over a single night.
“It doesn’t,” Diana raises one eyebrow. “You deserve to be celebrated too. You’ve been a staple amongst this team. Weak excuses to avoid people from being happy you exist in their lives isn’t enough.”
Clark’s smile turns to a good-hearted chuckle that reverberates all around them. He places the back of his hand on his mouth as if he wants to show he didn’t mean to interrupt. “Batman doesn’t have a birthday,” he whispers in a conspiring tone, leaning in. “He wasn’t born. He was molded.”
Batman laughs this time. It starts as a barely contained smile, then a wider one, then a noise that can’t be restrained as he joins in both Diana and Clark’s cheers. It’s not that funny, a part of him thinks, which only reinforces the silliness. He does his best to avoid acknowledging the same part, the one that wears the cowl the firmest, that reminds him of a certain painful night over and over again. The bottle’s level lowers some more so the numbness blissfully sets in. A sense of belonging has always been part of this room, this huge round table with its big insignias carved behind every chair and its big Seven making team decisions all the time, but right now the world ‘family’ is louder than it’s been recently and maybe it’s not just the alien liquid that’s burning up Bruce’s chest.
||January BPC: Just One Word|| 26. Bookstore. This one came from the bookstore I work at! And I am the Happiest Camper because it only cost $1.50 because clearance and discounts. These are the real bookseller life perks, in case anyone was wondering.
Imagine waking up with your husband, Sebastian, before he goes to work. It’s his first day at his new job, and you can tell he’s nervous. You go to the kitchen to make him a cup of coffee and a bagel for breakfast. When you get back upstairs, he’s pulling his favorite tee shirt over his head. When he sees you’ve made him breakfast he stops to smile, and tells you how lucky he is to have a wife like you.