#flyboylantern

[ text -> big bad green machine ] does bats look different to u today { image }

[ text -> big bad green machine ] i feel like he has a certain panache all of a sudden

[ text -> big bad green machine ] btw can u pls will me into existence a pet or something, my new-ish landlady has a thing about real dogs being not allowed here but im so alone in this apartment i want to die

one of the most admittedly superficial disappointments clark kent has ever suffered through in his less-than-roller coaster of a personal life has been the recognition and gradual acceptance of the fact that as a kryptonian, certain celebrated inebriates across the planet hold less of a desired effect on his physicality than he ( or others ) might have wished for; his eyes never become glassy enough, his speech never moss-covered enough, the shining, unalterable steadiness of his towering figure indomitable. he can’t get drunk-- at least not by normal means, nothing short of diana’s dionysus-inspired brew has been able to even so much as render him dizzy, and it’s a tragedy really, a calamity, especially in moments like these, in bars like this, around so much noise and giddiness, the levity and spirits filtering through the air enough to bring even the most stoic of faces to a laugh.

his inability to lose himself inside the bottom of a mug isn’t usually what keeps him from the bar scene anyway however, that being plenty accomplished by his natural-born awkwardness and introversion ( the chagrin of one of the world’s mightiest heroes being socially inept something he’s often lightly teased over, with very little hope of recovery ), but occasionally there are brief nights he holds in wooden booths, ordering whatever has the highest alcohol content available, laughing at all the truly terrible karaoke-- but only when he’s around the right sort of person, only when he’s mingled his own personal glow with that boyish green hue.

he doesn’t do it for himself though, obviously, doesn’t surround himself with petulant, disorderly chaos for his own amusement, as though sticky floors and beer guts is something he wants to come home to his apartment smelling like in three hours from now, but he’s here because his friend sometimes needs to unload and for someone like hal, unloading is a sin, a sacrilege, a profanity, a leakage. hal thinks himself a locked box, buried emotions and ideas deep within the ocean of his whirlwind personality, and perhaps sometimes he’s correct, but then other times clark can bring him here and coax that twisted, knotted ball of twine in his gut to uncoil and relax, fade back into the relative harmony they attempt to establish here in battleworld.

it’s not much and it’s not flawless, but superman could take out a whole garrison of demons in a single afternoon and still feel useless if he can’t help save his friends from their own personal issues.

he watches hal down another shot and chuckles, fingers making tiny little designs in the precipitation on his own glass. “i don’t think you quite understand the rules of this game, buddy, you’re supposed to only drink when you’ve actually done the thing, not just thought about it a lot. it’s called ‘never have i ever,’ not ‘never yet but maybe someday’. you can’t honestly tell me you’ve been to the rings of saturn.”

Obviously MJ was attending Doom’s party, that went without saying, and with Daisy as her date, she was honestly pretty excited to be there. Sure, their president was sketchy and the entire premises of the party was questionable, but she intended to have a good time! So far she had done that through dancing and eating a lot of good food — she was steadfast in sobriety, had been since she was a teenager — but MJ learned to have fun without a crutch. Naturally, that lead her towards Doom’s photo booth. It was a fun addition, an easy way to keep memories of the night, and when she spotted Hal as she walked towards it, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “I have the best proposition for you that you’re gonna get all night,” she informed him seriously. “Me, you, and the photo booth,” she said with a grin.

There was no realistic way that Hal could never say no to taking amazing photos with MJ. They weren’t currently dressed in their superhero garb, they couldn’t show off excessively, but hey, MJ was a great time nonetheless! Daisy seemed to think so, and so had the complete strangers that chatted her up earlier. “I’ll hang them all up on your wall,” she added, winking dramatically.

Iron Spider was definitely not a commonly known superhero, and honestly, that was how MJ preferred it. She wasn’t in the superhero business for the glory or fame — she got some acknowledgment from her acting gigs, and a lot from her position of knowing so many damn heroes publicly — and truthfully, MJ had no desire for people to realize she was either Iron Spider or Spinneret. Her reason for fighting was pretty damn simple, to protect and liberate people, and so the public knew that it was possible to defend yourself whether you had the capability of lifting millions of tonnes or could barely lift a five pound weight. MJ had proudly worked her ass off for that, and lately, it seemed like triple the work to keep from getting disillusioned. Strangely, your ex-boyfriend becoming a terrorist (whom wanted to wipe out humanity) did not exactly inspire faith, but she was steadfast, still defending everyone she could. Normally, she dressed as Spinneret, webbing her way through the city, but with the demons, a lack of armour was a dangerous choice, especially alone. Luckily, the suit Tony had built her was her own, free to use anytime, and MJ was confident the demons couldn’t mess her up too much.

As she flew through the city, scanning the ground with Jasmine’s aid, she noticed a signature that she was familiar with. Green Lantern was always someone MJ was pleased to see, and without hesitation, she plummeted through the sky and landed beside him. “Hey,” she greeted from inside of the suit. Honestly, talking to people whilst separated by metal would never be something that MJ grew accustomed to, but the whole ‘invulnerable’ angle was necessary these days. “I have a really pressing question,” she informed Hal seriously. “What do Green Lattern’s even do? You gotta show off, man.”