“Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree?“
Holy shit this fucking super power. The avengers did Quicksilver WRONG.
Holy shit
The brilliant thing about this isn’t just the CGI, it’s the clever little touches of humor– mussing the boy’s hair, saving the goldfish, drinking the soda can, the moonwalk, lining up the dart with the dartboard. I notice new details every time I see this clip. You can watch this scene with zero context and still fully enjoy it. You don’t need to know who he is or who he’s saving or why. There’s a guy who runs real fast and he’s saving people from an explosion, and he’s having a blast with it, and that’s all you need to know. It’s entertaining and fully comprehensible even if you know nothing about the movie. That’s damn good filmmaking.
Before Kara came, he took her for flights over the ocean and above the mountains, and her parents allowed it because he was like family and he was dependable and would never drop her or bring her to any danger.
He was in control of his powers, so they were never something Alex feared.
Only something that made her giggle (when he jump-started their old oven with his eyes) or shriek with excitement (when he took her flying above the ocean and let her toes skim the surf) or giddy with pre-teen mischief (that one time he bench pressed Eliza’s car single-handedly, just to entertain her).
“Clark, put it down!” Eliza had hollered out the kitchen window, but there was absolutely no concern or conviction behind it: just barely-concealed joy, that her daughter was laughing that hard, that earnestly.
As Alex got older – “an official teenager,” she’d called it, alternately grim and proud about it – her time with Clark became, of her own choosing, more serious.
“Do you miss it? Your planet?” she’d ask, because even though she’d asked as a child, Eliza and Jeremiah had shushed her with warning looks and cookies; but now, sitting in the back of Clark’s pickup truck, looking up at the stars with her cousin-alien-superhero-friend-brother, she was old enough to hear the honesty behind the way he sighed.
“I don’t remember it, Al,” he’d told her honestly, and even though her heart ached for him, she got that old familiar thrill in her chest that rose up every time he called her that nickname that nobody else did.
He’d taken off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, and she wondered how anyone was stupid enough to not get that those were the same eyes, in stiff collared shirts or in a silly red cape.
“I was thinking, though. For your birthday, I could take you to the Fortress of Solitude. You’ll be an official teenager,” he’d smiled down at her, without the condescension of most adults she knew. “I don’t think your parents can make the ‘you’re too young’ argument anymore.”
“Well, yeah, plus I’ll be with Superman, so like,” she shrugged, barely suppressing a giggle-guffaw that made had them both laugh helplessly.
It was nights like that, that Alex missed most – aside from her nights with her parents, of course, because those were all torn asunder – when Kara arrived.
Because when Kara arrived, Alex suddenly wasn’t closer to being a grownup by choice, because she was proud of her thirteenth birthday, or of finally being a high schooler, of not being a freshman anymore.
No.
When Kara arrived, she was closer to being a grownup because suddenly, caring for a younger child who had lost everything while Alex had everything, was her new responsibility.
So when Clark started treating her more like a grownup, after Kara arrived, she wasn’t proud like she used to be.
She was bitter.
Bitter, because it was only in contrast to Kara.
The younger one, the needier one. Well, needier, and simultaneously needing nothing, because this Earth, really, was (literally) beneath her.
Just like it was beneath Clark.
Alex had never felt that way, though – beneath him – until Kara arrived.
They never talked about it – how close they’d been before Kara got to Earth.
How when he’d come to visit Eliza and Jeremiah, he’d always make sure to bring a new college sweatshirt for Alex – her collection was more than a little extensive – and souvenirs from all across the globe.
How he used to let her call him, even when it was way past her bedtime, so they could talk about middle school drama and her latest science fair project breakthrough.
How she was the first one he told when he got that promoted at that job at that weirdly named newspaper that he loved so much, because she was family, and family should always find out first.
They never talked about it, until Kara saw that look in Alex’s eyes when Kara had considered, even briefly, moving away from National City to be with him.
The coldness in Alex’s voice when she talked about Clark abandoning her.
Because yes, he had abandoned Kara with Eliza and Jeremiah, if one wanted to look at it that way. He had.
But he’d also abandoned Alex.
“You have to call him,” Kara told her sister, later that week, snuggled into each other, mid-spoon deep into their ice cream pints on Sisters’ Night.
And though they hadn’t mentioned Clark since they’d had it out and made it up, Alex knew who her sister was talking about immediately.
“Why?”
Kara took a massive spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Alex rolled her eyes deliberately at the way Kryptonians never got brain freeze.
Another joke she’d used to have with Clark, during their ice cream eating contests. Her stomach churned.
“Because you weren’t just angry at me. You were angry at him, too. For swooping in here and leaving again. Like he left me with Eliza and Jeremiah and you. And, like he left you.”
Alex stiffened at that, but Kara stood her ground, even seated and tucked into her sister’s side.
“I know you two used to be closer. Before I came. And I don’t know. I think it would be nice. Healing, maybe. For you to talk to him.”
Alex tried to shrug it off. “I just saw him. Sometimes we go half a year without talking.”
“Exactly the problem,” her sister had booped her nose, and the shrieking and tickle fighting that ensued couldn’t wipe the thought from Alex’s mind.
She called her cousin the next day.
“Alex, hey. Is everything okay?”
She recognized his tone immediately: his I’m-Clark-Kent-Of-Course-I’m-Not-Superman-I’m-Just-Answering-A-Regular-Phone-Call-From-A-Regular-Person-Who-Most-Certainly-Doesn’t-Work-For-A-Clandestine-Alien-Fighting-Organization-That-I’ve-Spent-Years-Hating-And-Have-I-Mentioned-That-I’m-A-Clumsy-Nerd-And-Most-Definitely-Not-Superman?
She couldn’t help but smirk. Kara had the same type of voice when she was at CatCo.
“Yeah, no, everything’s great. You have a minute?”
She wasn’t the one with superhearing, but she imagined she could hear him shifting away from his desk; ever the polite farm boy, the family man with no family.
Except James and Lois.
Except, sometimes, Kara; and except, sometimes, her.
“Yeah, of course. What’s up? Kara okay?”
“Yeah, we’re all fine, I just… do you remember when I was a kid? And you’d take me out flying? Or bring me food from different cities, different countries? Kara does it, now, but you… you stopped. You ran away, really, when Kara came to Earth. From her, but also from me. I know it was painful, and it wasn’t something you expected or maybe even wanted. And I know how much you love her, now. I just… sometimes I remember when we used to have adventures together. Alex Danvers and Clark Kent, super secret investigators, remember? I was science and you were journalism. And I don’t know, you were just here, but it was like you weren’t really… here… and… sometimes I miss my cousin, Clark. And it… oh, whatever, I’m rambling. This is stupid, I’m sorry. Kara told me to call you, but I’m… I’m sorry, you’re busy, you have better things to – “
“Alex.”
“No, really, it’s – “
“Alex.”
“Clark – “
“Alex! Look out your window.”
She turned with a furrowed brow, and it only took a moment for a broad smile to take over her face.
Clark Kent was hovering outside her apartment.
Phone in hand.
Grinning.
Waiting.
“Wanna go for a flyby over the ocean?” he asked into the phone, and she saw his lips move very slightly out of sync with hearing it relayed through her phone.
She rolled her eyes – being a nerd must be genetic – and laughed as she hung up on him (he looked offended, which only made her laugh harder) and tossed open her window.
“If you drop me, I’ll kill you.”
“If I drop you, your sister will kill me first. After rescuing you.”
Alex considered this, nodded, and grinned. “Too true.”
“But Alex: I won’t drop you. Not again. Okay?”
She felt the rush in her blood that she always felt when she was about to step off the edge of solidity and let gravity take her into her sister’s arms, her cousin’s.
She hadn’t felt it with Clark in proximity in years.
Wind tossed her hair around as she nodded and stepped out her window into the safety of her cousin’s arms.
That’s how I see myself as an actress. I may not be the best in the world, but I love my craft more than just about anything, and I will give everything I have to it, whatever the cost .
I think a lot about who I am to other people in the world–particular who I am to strangers as a mere concept in their lives.
Today this woman called our information desk and said, “my son’s band is playing tonight. I want to come see him, but he never answers his phone…..I want to be there. Have you heard anything about his band?”
And I felt so bad for this lady but I’m not in the music scene around here so I had to tell her no, sorry.
Five hours later, I’m hiking and run into a group of guys setting up for some outdoor performance, and as I watch them unload the drums it hits me.
“Hey,” I said, “are y’all in a band?”
They said yeah and smiled and I told them “one of your moms called today. She wants to watch you play, but she can’t get a hold of you. Call your mom.”
And they all pulled out their phones and started discussing whose mom it probably was as they presumably dialed their own.
And now, unless we meet again and recognize each other, that’s who I’ll be forever to those guys–some mysterious courier for mom-messages who came out of the woods and told them their mom called.
I didn’t even tell them why their mom called me. Who am I to their mom?? Nobody even asked. They just took my word for it and called their mothers.
i walk into starbucks and order a pumpkin spice latte with 13 shots of espresso. i tell the barista that i intend to transcend humanity and become a god. i ask for no whip cream
you say this jokingly but i had a customer actually order a pumpkin spice latte with 9 shots of espresso (also no whip) and when i asked her to verify that she did indeed want 9 shots of espresso she looked me dead in the eyes and said “i have 5 kids”
I once had a woman come in and ordered an Americano with 19 shots of espresso. The drink took ages. It held up the line. I asked her why, and she shrugged and said “I just don’t care”. We still talk about that woman. We never saw her again.
new cryptid: exhausted woman at starbucks
Actual conversation I had at register:
“Hi, welcome to [Starbucks]! What can I get you, today?”
“How much is it to fill a Venti with Espresso?”
“I- I’m sorry?”
“A venti cup. How much to fill it with Espresso?”
“Oh. uh. Well, it’d be I suppose… I only have a button for a Quad. I don’t have special pricing for twenty ounces of espresso in a single… drink.”
“Price is the furthest thing from my mind right now. How many ‘add shots’ is that?”
*deep breath of fear* “It’d be a quad with,” *clears throat* “uh, sixteen additional shots of espresso. But, ma’am, I should tell you that the shots will start to get really bitter if they have to sit and wait for us to pull twenty of them-”
“Taste means nothing to me.”
At this point I am truly fearing for my very existence in the presence of what must clearly be an eldritch being.
“Oh. Well, okay.” I put on my absolute best customer service smile to hide my terror and accept that I must face this dragon, fae, or demon with dignity. “We can certainly get that for you! The price will be _____.”
She begins to pay, I shit thee not, with golden dollar coins. We are a block from Wall Street, and this eldritch demi-being is paying for an unholy elixer with golden coins. My life will end soon, I am sure of it.
“Do you still have the ‘Add Energy’ packets?”
My heart began to race at this request. “Yes ma’am.”
“How many can I add?”
Futile though it is, at least I know the rote response to this. “For health reasons, we won’t add more than one per drink and we cannot sell the packets individually.”
“One then.”
I alter the order and tell her the new price. She pays, dumps the change and five golden dollars into the tip box. I write the order on the venti cup and pass it silently to the girl working the hot beverage station. Normally we called and pass, but this was … not something to be spoken aloud.
My fellow takes the cup, not thinking anything of the minor break with protocol, until she sees the order. She stares at me. “No.”
The woman, which I call her for no other greater insight into her terrifying being is within my grasp, simply stands on the other side and says, calmly but with a commanding tone I expect of Admirals in bad movies, “Yes.”
My fellow barista pales before her task. But we are dutiful, we are true to our task, great though it may be. She sets about clearing the two brand new Matrena’s of all distraction, and sets two tall cups in the ready position. The energy packet is emptied into the venti cup, and the shots begin pouring.
The barista was damn near shaking. This woman’s gaze felt like the fires of the sun. Finally, the shots are pulled, the cup is filled, and the hand off takes place.
Our visiting Incomprehensible takes it to our milk bar and adds a dollop of cream. Satisfied, she proceeds to down what must have been half the damn cup.
Then she smiled at us, like a benediction and I was honestly filled with joy. And horror. She left, and we knew nothing more of her after that.
When I talk with other former employees, we quickly begin talking about “The Company” as if we’d never l, perhaps knowing that part of our soul still powers that awesome and terrible corporate machine. And when I share this stroy, other Baristas at first act shocked but quickly settle and comes the chorus,
“Yeah, I had one like that.”
Okay, Starbucks lore is my new favorite genre of literature. Please collect all these and more into a book.
THIS. I saw a post the other day that literally said if you do it to a fictional character, you’ll do it in real life.
No. Just NO.
I’m so glad someone put it into words.
Lin-Manuel Miranda is a legend, and he’s absolutely right.
And I really feel like there are parts of fandom that don’t get or don’t believe this, and I think that’s troubling. I’ve seen arguments that people shouldn’t have dark fantasies, or that bad impulses in themselves make a bad person. I’ve seen so much shaming over thoughts.
And if you get to a point where it’s bad to have dark thoughts and it’s bad to wonder what something would be like and it’s bad to put yourself in the shoes of anyone who isn’t “pure”, if fiction is no longer a realm where you can confront and explore, but an ongoing test of moral purity… well, maybe not everyone’s brain works like mine, but I feel like that takes away something incredibly important to being human.
Question of Smoke 