FLYBOY

HAL JORDAN, THE GREEN LANTERN

[flyboylantern-blog]

“Well lately, I’ve had this problem right? I eat, and I drink, and absolutely nothing tastes as good as it does in Coast. I’m beginning to wonder if whoever did this was targeting me personally, making stuff just good enough to drive me insane.” He grins and shrugs his shoulders as he leans his elbows on his kitchen counter, takes a pull from his own bottle. He won’t discuss his homesickness any more than that--he’s afraid that if he opens that particular gate he’s going to break and fall right into complete uselessness, and he can’t afford that. Besides, Zatanna didn’t come all the way over here to listen to Hal drunkenly ramble on about the way the ocean looks first thing in the morning, high in the air. He’d been shouldering a lot of blame over the whole invasion, he can’t really imagine what someone who actually understands things like alternate dimensions and magic must be feeling right now. 

“Trust me, you’re not interrupting anything.” He snorts and makes his way back out onto the balcony, leans against the railing. “Just star gazing and binging old episodes of America’s Next Top Model. I keep wondering how long it’ll go before Tyra says something about how great the President is that I didn’t remember her saying before.”  He laughs lightly and shakes his head, gestures to one of the two lawn chairs sitting outside. “Please, feel free to make yourself comfortable in my high class patio furniture. Only the finest at Casa Jordan.” He lets his gaze fall back to the black sky then, feels the familiar but still insistent pull of the ring unsuccessfully trying to find Oa in the cosmos, before turning back to her. “It might be an asshole thing to say, so I’m sorry in advance--but it’s kinda good to hear I’m not the only one who feels like they’re gonna go crazy.” 

[captcinmcrvel]

@flyboylantern

There were a lot of legends in space. Quill had started up a culture of Footloose worship, the Kree remained a species that were treated with reverence and something like fear in standard conversation, the Ravagers changed between being petty thieves and insanely talented bounty hunters depending on who was telling the story. The Lantern Corps were no exception to that rule. Each of them were governed by an emotion, of that everyone could settle, but the strength of their kind relied almost entirely on the wielder’s makeup because of that.

Carol knew more than enough about how dangerous a well honed person could be. After all, she was one herself. That was why she hadn’t intentionally sought out the Lanterns when she was in space. Carol Danvers didn’t step down from a fight, but she didn’t go looking for one either - except for tonight. Tonight, she had chosen to go beyond the border of the city and punch some demons in the face, because she was grounded since New York became a world unto itself, and she was bored out of her mind.

She was just about to consider retreat - the demons spawned a little too quickly for complete comfort - when she spotted something green out of the corner of her eye. “Wow,” she said as she flung another photonic blast towards a group of demons, tearing through several of their kind. “Small world. I wasn’t expecting to see one of the Lanterns here. Bet this is the worst gig you’ve ever had, huh?” Definitely more than he signed up for, at least.

[flyboylantern-blog]

Hal used to laugh and roll his eyes whenever Barry would complain of being bored after a couple of seconds, that the world didn’t move fast enough for him and sometimes that bordered on torture. He knew what that felt like to a certain extent--he was a pilot all the way down to the marrow of his bones, he’d joined the Air Force so that he could fly and fly fast--but he was sure would never know what it was like to feel every second so viscerally ticking by, small eternities. He hopes somewhere his best friend is laughing, doubled over with it to the point of tears in his dumb clear blue eyes, because he definitely knows it now that he’s trapped in New York City under the dome or wherever the hell it is they are--he’s bored out of his mind, he’s missing the way Sinestro would at least taunt him when they fought, rather than that horrible sound the demons make. 

At least blowing up demons allows him to throw his weight around a little bit, he can’t exactly go punching civilians in the face, no matter how much of a dick they’re being. So he speeds out into the wasteland at nearing his top speed, like a green comet against the dark, nearly starless sky--until he happens upon just what he’s looking for. A huge horde of them, all teeth and claws and so much--saliva? He doesn’t want to know. This particular fight is already taken, and even though he’s never been any good at math or probability--he’d say the hero on the ground is probably outnumbered. He comes up next to her and is surprised to see the infamous Captain Marvel--he’d half believed she didn’t really exist and was just a way for the Nova Corps or someone like them to keep the Lanterns out of their sectors of space. 

“Didn’t expect to see the infamous Captain Marvel either. Hope I’m living up to my own hype.” He grins and constructs a cage which catches two demons, which he proceeds to smash against another three of them. “Yeah, I don’t know about you, but this is the longest I’ve been grounded in a long ass time. It sucks, and I hate it.” He huffs and smashes through another few with a construct hammer. “Who the hell is even left up there, if you’re here and I’m here? We’re gonna get back up there and have to deal with about a thousand violated intergalactic peace treaties. Took me three damn months to settle things on Mars.” 

[flyboylantern-blog]

“Green Lantern.” He says and offers a hand, grinning. “I gotta admit Torch, I wasn’t sure you’d be able to live up to the amount of hype you were getting, but I’m impressed. You a pilot? Cause you fly like one.” He’s sure that there are people in the city, MJ and several members of the Avengers and the Justice League, who have dreaded this meeting of like minded individuals--perhaps actively prevented it even, and he wonders if they’re gonna have just cause for that by the time it’s over. Hal’s met enough flyboys in his day to know that not every single one of them is a winner, some are just cocky assholes. “And you throw one hell of a get together, the only list my name is going on is the leaderboard for amount of demons smoked in one evening.” 

“Wait, wait, okay, you gotta watch this. You’ll love it.” Hal grins probably just the wrong side of manically, but it’s rare that he actually gets the chance to show off, go full stand back and peep the light show, TMZ’s got the footage. A new horde of demons, probably freshly spawned from whatever mud pit creates them or whatever, is heading in their direction--a perfect canvas for him to paint green light over. He soars back up into the sky and focuses all of his will through the ring, which forms a life size green jet around him, familiar in all of the right ways. His blood is practically singing through his veins at that point, and he doesn’t hesitate before pulling into a dive and screaming through the crowd of them, sending them flying in separate directions with that awful half growl half scream sound that they make. He pulls it up and starts climbing into the air again, doing a wide and impressive loop before coming down to the ground again and letting it dissipate. 

[flyboylantern-blog]

“And I treasure it every time, don’t let anyone tell you you’re a bad friend Jase.” Hal rolls his eyes, but the fact that some life already seems to be returning to the kid’s face makes a small smile pull at the corner of his lips. Hal isn’t here to save Jason from his emotional trauma--he has enough of his own to know that that’s something he’s gonna have to do on his own when he’s ready for it--but he is here to be a warm body, something solid to lean against until it doesn’t seem as large and overwhelming. It’s best way he can think to show that he gives a damn, short of asking Jason what any of it was like--what’s keeping him from sleeping for days on end. Those are answers he doesn’t want, that he doesn’t need rattling around in his brain--he sees the image of Sinestro’s yellow glow mixing with Doom’s face, of finally getting back to Oa and having be desolate, littered with the bodies of John or Guy or Kyle. 

“I’m sure as hell not your mom, and I’m sure as hell not Alfred. I’m just here to drink your beer and stop your stupid ass brain from running out of control.” Hal grins wolfishly and shrugs his shoulders, flips Jason the bird as he stands and heads towards the fridge for the beer in question. “You wanna live off take out in filth, that’s all you bro.” A life of surfing couches and splitting between space and Earth has kept Hal from accruing enough stuff to make a real mess with, so he likes Jason’s place--it’s chaotic like the man that lives in it, but there’s a warmth that Hal can’t pin on one thing or the other, just the kind of feeling that Jason probably cultivates as a reminder that he’s a human being, that he’s alive. He flops himself down on the couch and scrolls through delivery options on his phone, and by the time Jason re-enters the room he’s got Thai food on the way and he’s a couple minutes into a re-run of one of the Mission Impossible movies. “Do you think Tom Cruise is here somewhere? And if he is, do you think he’d be down to clown with the Green Lantern?” 

[flyboylantern-blog]

For a minute it’s sort of gratifying--Diana is always the picture of composure and strategy, like something out of one of those massive classic novels that Hal never got around to reading and she probably lived through, and yet she feels like she’s going to crawl out of her skin as well. It makes him want to go back into that room and find Batman and crow about how look! i’m not as immature as you make me out to be you phenomenal douchebag, we’re all going through it--but he feels like doing so would probably negate that point, so he lets himself be dragged along, presumably to get his ass handed to him for the next hour or so. “You don’t need to apologize, Diana. If anyone understands the feeling of being restless it’s me--this is the longest I’ve gone without being in space since I got my ring. Feels like I’ve been wearing my skin like it doesn’t fit right.” He shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t taken pride of place in the limited space of his brain.

He brushes it aside and grins wolfishly, cracks his knuckles. “So, are we going hand to hand?” He constructs a green light version of Diana’s God Killer sword, twirls it around in his hands like he has any idea what to with it besides what he’s seen in all three Lord of the Rings movies. “I could do my best to keep up with you with one of these, but I’m gonna be honest--you might find a better competitor in one of those demons.”

[flyboylantern-blog]

@kindkara

“Hey soldier,” Hal drawls and sidles up to the man outside of the bar they’d both been drinking inside of minutes earlier, a playful smirk on his face. “Saw you with that guy in there, how up tight was he?” He leans against the brick wall of the alleyway, an arm above his head to expose the lean muscle of his torso, covered only by his flight jacket and the thin white fabric of his favorite ace-in-the-hole white t-shirt. The man’s eyes roam appreciatively before he shrugs his shoulders and says, “Some people just don’t know what they really want until you show them.” Hal nods his head at the statement, chuckles deep in the back of his throat before flitting a hand over the man’s chest. “Right? It’s almost like, when he says no, that really means no.” 

He shoves him back against the wall and the smirk turns savage as he lands a punch directly to the guy’s nose, accompanied the satisfying sound of bone breaking under his fist. “You’re nothing but a disgusting lapdog for a maniac, and you’re a creep? Something tells me you’ve had this coming for a long time, bro.” He punches him again when he hears the tell tale whoosh of air that usually indicates Clark--who he can’t remember making plans with for this evening but would be a welcome sight regardless. He turns, but there’s a woman where Clark hypothetically should be standing, wearing the symbol that he was pretty certain was exclusive to the one person--which raises about a thousand questions. Questions he doesn’t get to ask before his creep his in the hands of the young woman, who’s eyes are flashing red. “Since when were there two of you?” He manages, raises an eyebrow. “Are there two of you? Is this a magic spell gone awry, Clark?” 

[flyboylantern-blog]

@daemonlegacy

Hal doesn’t think he’s asking for the world here--heaven forbid he just wants something to take his mind off of his imminent doom for an hour our two--but as it turns out, getting stood up for something as simple and non-committal as dinner and a movie doesn’t feel any better than it did when the city was back on Earth and there was far less rioting in the streets involved. He could go home and wallow in his sorrows and cheap beer, a tried and true method perfected after many similar nights, but that seems even worse and even lonelier without the promise of Barry zipping in through his door after about an hour with a kind word and an arm casually slung around his shoulders. No, the best thing he could do right now is chalk it up to the universe continuing it’s time honored tradition of slapping him in the face, and shove any sorrow deep down into the pit of his stomach and bury it under work. 

He’s got the ring running more atmospheric analysis against known sectors of space that he’s visited, hovering a few feet above the roof of an apartment building. For once he’s grateful that he’s alone, that he can huff whatever hurt nonsense he wants to underneath his breath without anyone to ask him what he’s talking about--but the universe can’t just hit once, it’s apparently after the sucker punch as well. “Look kid, can we skip you using SAT words to insult me today?” Hal rolls his eyes at Robin underneath him, spine straight and arms folded across his chest in a dead mirroring of his father, before turning his gaze back to the ring’s readings. “I get enough of it from your old man.” 

[flyboylantern-blog]

@mjolnirmade

Hal is reckless--that’s like, fact number one that people learn about him. He is the man without fear, highball, the greatest Earth Lantern there ever was--and you don’t get those titles without pulling a few stunts, and ever since Doom revealed the list at that party--effectively cementing his own power for the time being--it’s felt like something Hal has needed to do. He cuts his dives a little closer than he normally would because he likes the rush of the ground screaming towards him, he takes on larger groups of demons because he needs something to do--some way to prove to himself that he’s doing something to get himself back to his city and his friends. 

But not every risk has rewards, as is evidenced by the fact that his shoulder is very much not where it’s supposed to be, and is currently supported by a sling constructed out of green light. He's hoping that this clinic is open, and won’t ask too many questions about the whole masked man emanating green light thing--otherwise he’ll have to do it himself and he knows from experience that is going to hurt worse than anything. The door is open, luckily, and he manages to push it open with his good arm with only a sharp wince through his teeth. “Hey, please tell me you’re not shut up for the night--” He says when what he hopes is a doctor appears. “This--hurts.” Eloquent as always Jordan. 

[flyboylantern-blog]

@stcrm-breaker

“Is it just me, or are these things getting more vicious?” Hal huffs as three more demons start stalking towards him, apparently looking to avenge their fallen comrades that just got mowed down by Hal’s green gatling gun. He doesn’t exactly feel sorry for them, as far as he’s concerned they are standing in between him and Coast City, the sky and the stars and everything he holds dear. Definitely falls under the “those who worship evil’s might” category, if you ask him, and besides--he’s always operated under what the Guardians don’t know won't hurt them. 

He breaks the construct of the gun and goes for something more personal, a classic green light sword--but he doesn’t get the chance to use it before a huge--ax? Is flying past his eyes and into the chest of one of them. “Hey buddy, nice aim but I totally have this--” He starts saying, but proceeds to trip over one of the bodies near his feet when he sees just who exactly is wielding such a weapon. 

“Thor, you are Thor and I am definitely Green Lantern, thank you for that--by the way.” He says in quick succession, immediately flies to his feet. He can’t help but hear Carol’s voice in his head, her bell like laugh followed by “Such a gay disaster, Jordan.”

[resistancepilots]

[flyboylantern-blog]

@zatannaxannataz

The whole reason Hal chose to rent the place he’s living in currently is the view--his balcony is just high enough that the light pollution is lessened, and even though he knows these aren’t his stars, and he’ll never get used to not being able to reach them, it’s comforting to step outside and see them there. In this case he’s grateful for the illusion, he’d rather have something than nothing at all--if he couldn’t see the stars, he thinks he might have lost sight of his purpose a long time ago. He's currently nursing a bottle of beer slowly, letting the warm summer air wash over some of his newer bruises and getting lost in the sounds of the traffic beneath him coupled with the soft background noise of his TV--it’s as close to peaceful as he could think to get, as he wants to get. He’s never done well in the stillness--it brings up things he would rather not think about. 

He turns his head when he hears a knock at his door, pulls himself up from the plastic lawn chair he’s set up as furniture outside. He’s not surprised to see Zatanna standing there--they’re good friends and Hal is always a safe bet for taking someone’s mind off of the terrors of the things going on around them. “Hey Z,” He smiles warmly and steps aside so that she can enter. He’d apologize for his place, it’s what he’s used to doing--but by now his friends are familiar with the way he lives, a byproduct of splitting his time between Earth and space normally. “There’s beer if you want it, it’s not the worst drink I’ve ever had.” He leans his arms on his kitchen counter, meets her eyes. “What brings you out this way?” 

[flyboylantern-blog]

@cftorch

When Hal was younger, he used to demand that his father tell him bedtime stories about Chuck Yeager--about the flight where he broke the sound barrier. Martin was always more adherent to the facts, but all Hal really wanted to know about was that moment of breaking through--of flying so fast that sound itself couldn’t catch him, that light and time and the sky itself broke open for those fractions of seconds. Hal’s never wanted that more than he has being trapped here—lately he flies as close as he can without stalling, and imagines shattering the whole illusion like a pane of glass--of burning green light in the vacuum of space and finally being able to breathe again--racing the stars in their movements just because he can. 

He’s hovering just now, where the air is thinner and everything starts to get soft around the edges. He flexes the fingers on his hand, the ring a constant reminder that he needs to get out of here. He doesn’t care how much willpower it takes anymore, he’s past pulling his punches--he’s the man without fear, he is the leader of the Green Lantern Corps, and it’s about damn time he started acting like it. “Beware my power, asshole.” He says under his breath, grits his teeth in determination. “Ring, give me atmospheric breakdowns--I wanna know what’s keeping me here, all the way down to the chemical formulas--there’s gotta be someone here who can make sense of it.” The ring showers green light over a section of the sky--but his attention shifts when he feels a sudden warmth from beneath him, sees white flame flash of light. 

“Damn it,” He huffs and figures that he sure as hell better check out whatever that was. He dives towards the ground where he saw the flash and sees what used to be several demons, all smoldering and in various states of ash. “Now this is what I call a party, screw whatever Doom was trying to pass off!” 

[thcjackpot]

@flyboylantern​

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.

[flyboylantern-blog]

“I don’t know, I got that hot waiter’s phone number and I’m pretty excited about what that offer entails.” Hal grins and shrugs his shoulders, hums like he has to consider it. He wonders if she has some kind of sixth sense that can tell when Hal is starting to miss John or Barry too much--he’s so used to having to keep an eye on his best friend at events like these, (for all his grace on his feet, Barry Allen didn’t really do well in social situations, Hal keeps half expecting to feel his hand on his shoulder and hear him begging for them to just skip out and get pizza instead) or feeling John’s eyes on his back watching out for him, that it almost doesn’t feel completely real without either of them there. “But I guess you’ll just have to tide me over until that happens.”

He slings an arm around her shoulders and lets himself be dragged towards the photo booth in question, a wolfish grin on his face. “Now, when your beautiful date inevitably asks you in an insane jealous rage about the gorgeous guy you were so close to, feel free to tell her that me and hot waiter are very serious. Or that me and Thor are very serious, I’ll leave that up to your creative powers.” He laughs, feels lighter than he has in a long while now--the night may yet go to hell, the man hasn’t even showed his face yet, but right now everything is golden around the edges and he has one of the best people he’s had the pleasure of meeting in this hellscape by his side,  and he’s going to ride that as far as it will take him.

“Do you think Doom personally insisted that this party have quirky touches like a photo booth? Stormed into his office and declared it had to be instagram friendly or so help him?”

[flyboylantern-blog]

most of my hal threads are pretty old so hit like or comment for a starter from the resident lean green meme machine ! 

[caydesixs]

Hal Jordan in Harley’s Little Black Book #2

[flyboylantern-blog]

@oflove-andwar

Justice League meetings have always been borderline torturous for Hal--they’re usually just an excuse for the Bat to go on and on about plans and backup plans and plans for if the backup plans fail, and if they aren't about that they dissolve into arguments, from which city truly has the best coffee and doughnuts to where blame for the current predicament can really be placed. Normally Hal feels like a school kid counting the seconds until recess, rolling his eyes at Barry across the table even though his best friend is normally an active participant in the both types of conversation as a mediator, or wishing he could draw as well as Kyle could so at least he’d have something for his hands to do. Or that he could send Kyle or John to these things in his place. 

Today’s meeting is relatively tame, just making sure the individual data that everyone has collected about the situation is brought into one place, and ascertaining who or who isn’t going to be at the party in case anything happens. Hal only feels like he wants to fall asleep on the table once, and apparently that span of time is enough for him to miss something, because before he can fully ascertain what is going on a hand is grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him away, muttering something about space and target practice. He doesn’t know what Diana is annoyed about, and he’s trying really hard not to laugh at Wonder Woman annoyedly huffing things under her breath, but he’s never going to overlook the chance to spend time with her. 

“You could have asked me to come and I would've said yes.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “We’re friends, Diana.” 

[daemonlegacy]

the sky lights up for an evening in the heart of new york city, not that it’s ever dull or dimly lit here, as though its residents ever sleep, ever calm, ever shut down their electric bulbs long enough to realize they barely need them with starlight this bright or with the moon still reflecting the sun, full and wide and pale like the sheen off a sword. everything is cut clean and crisp, sharp eyes, chic cuffs, suits and dresses and gold and jewels and photographers and reporters and people, people, people– and all damian can think about is how much time they’re all wasting attending this party when they should be out on the streets taking advantage of the distraction to find the edges of this dimension, or learn more about the demons, or doom’s suddenly quite impressive guard, or what the whole catastrophe is all about. there’s 14,400 seconds in four hours and damian is counting each and every one, giving himself only this allotment of time at maximum to stay here, without being discourteous.

eighteen years old now finally, the youngest wayne male knows he ought to look forward to something like this, he ought to bubble with brilliance, revel in the luminescence of social royalty and peasantry around him, but in truth, he finds this and everyone here exhausting; insipid conversations and awkward flirting, horrid dancing and he can hear a music being played from somewhere, frustratingly just a hair out of tune. his teeth click and lock together in an effort to keep himself from murdering someone just to relieve stress, so he ends up wandering away from all that, past tables and chairs and groupings of laughter and bedlam, the commotion coalescing into white noise rushing against his ears, and he finds himself trailing just past a carrier with drinks.

and he thinks, fuck it. the concept of getting drunk has never been overly appealing to someone like him, a war machine like him, a demon head boy like him, a robin like him, a weaponize half-clone, born in a bottle, bred for a worldwide kingdom he’ll never reach for now– he’s never gleaned any interest in the concept of killing off brain-cells, each one burning with enough potential to conquer any enemy he stands against. but he’s getting dizzy already, and the headache is beginning to throb at the base of his skull, and he has 13,843 seconds still left on his time-clock, and maybe he’s seen his father pick up a glass of champagne one too many times not to try and emulate him ( because who wouldn’t want to be just like bruce wayne? )

he snatches the glass off the tray as the carrier moves past him, quick enough that she doesn’t even notice, and manages to bring it just a breath above his lips, before someone quick plucks it from his fingers, swiping it away from him before he can taste or react. perhaps his brain-cells are already dying, but his fury boils and he rounds on them in disgruntlement. “tt! hey!”

[flyboylantern-blog]

Hal may feel out of place among the rich and famous of New York City, and he sure as hell doesn’t trust Doom as far as he can throw him, but people he can deal with. People are easy for Hal to be around, make him feel like he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for a fraction of a second. People find love and find Hal Jordan charming as hell. He makes his way around the room with ease, dances with MJ and Diana in succession before making his way over to the tables with the food, where he makes a waiter laugh so hard that he nearly drops his tray and slips his number into Hal’s jacket pocket on his next lap around the room. Even if later in the evening Doom decides to announce himself supreme overlord of the heavens or something, Hal could say he had a pretty good time before the world went to hell again. 

He wanders away from the crowd after a while--he may be good at parties and groups of people, but he’s never been good at enclosed spaces that aren’t colored with the promise of adrenaline high. He’s had just enough champagne that everything is a little soft at the edges, and even though they may not be the right stars, he’s struck with the desire to see them, just for a moment. It’s not an uncommon occurrence when he’s like this--when he was back in Coast City he used to sneak onto the airfield and lay on his back on the hot runway, just look up at them and repeat the names and shapes of the constellations, cast himself as the hero in their stories, now he’s just struck with the open longing to be in their vicinity again--no one really knows that starlight is the purest form of light you could ever be close to. 

He’s on his way towards an exit or something akin to it when he comes across the youngest bat-person, the one that they’re all seemingly either afraid of or enraged by. He’s better at sneaking alcohol than Hal was at his age, but then again he’s probably had ample time to practice with all of Bruce’s parties at the manor. He lifts the drink without even a flinch from the server, but Hal is just quick enough to snatch it from him before he can get any of the liquid from the flute. “C’mon, do you really want to get wasted for the first time in front of your dad? And the President? You’re practically asking for enough blackmail material to last you until you’re dead.”