#seeing colors

[thedaily-beer]

Madtree Seeing Colors Double Juicy IPA (Picked up at Kroger in Cincinnati, OH). A 3 of 4. Smells of orange citrus and some fruit cocktail-like notes, and up front it's quite clear this is big at 9.5%. Still, it lives up to the juicy name and manages to drink quite easily.

[sadnessunderthebridge]

In SoulmateAUs do you think babies who are born but die not too long later have soulmates who feel their deaths?

Like the ones where it's like your soulmates' first words to you are on your wrist or whatever, but like technically those babies were born and technically had soulmates.

Do you think their soulmates who never had words or such on their skin and wondered if maybe they just weren't good enough to have a soulmate or they didn't deserve a soulmate but in reality it was just that their soulmate died as a baby and didn't get the chance to ever say anything to them?

What about the ones where you don't see color until you meet your soulmate? That means that if these people had soulmates that died as babies, they never get to see color.

I'm currently having an existential crisis about this, and I'm not sure why.

[teenwolfsoulmateszine]

Introducing… our soulmate, Flynn!!! @flynnifox

Incorporating the seeing-colors trope with Stiles and Derek you can find Flynn’s full art in “Anchored”, the Teen Wolf soulmates zine! You can order your copy November 25th!!

You can follow the stars in just ONE MONTH!!!

[paganpianist]

I think I'm a defective synesthete cause I only see the colors whenever I play the piano (I mean I can with other instruments but piano is my main one), it's harder when I'm listening to songs/pieces and it's easier to see colors if I'm listening to music, if I'm trying to get the right notes from that music to play it.

[suzibuchanan]

Not my kind of synesthesia, but even so ... a kind.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Seeing Red

Fandom: DC, Batman, Batfam, Superman

Word Count: 2069

TW: Whump, Pain, Reader Death, Mind Control, Drugged, Angst

Part 1 of Seeing Colors: Seeing Red, Seeing Green, Seeing Blue (Coming Soon)

Bonus: Seeing Red (Alt. POV)

As you ran across the Metropolis rooftop, you couldn’t help but think about how different this place was compared to Gotham. Here, everything was bright and full of life, whereas back home, even in the day the city was bleak and gloomy. These differences were perfectly represented by each city’s hero as well. As Superman, Clark was an uplifting, positive presence that spread hope throughout the world. Your father on the other hand….. his Batman persona was a dark, menacing presence that inspired fear wherever he went. Of course, you never saw him that way. Even when you were little and he first adopted his new nighttime identity, you always just saw your father behind the cowl. Which is why you could never bring yourself to call him anything else. It was always simply Dad. Never Batman, never Bruce. Just Dad.

“Y/N.”

Speak of the devil. You put a hand to your ear, answering the hail on the comms. “Yeah, Dad. No sign of him yet.”

“Well, be careful and stay alert. There is no telling what he might do in this state.”

“We know, you told us.” Jason grumbles. Then switching frequencies so your father is no longer part of the conversation, he continues. “But come on, it’s not like the boy scout would really hurt any of us.”

“You weren’t there last time, Jay. This stuff is bad news.” Dick sounds worried as he chimes in. “It alters his mind into a completely different person. Bruce and I were barely able to snap him out of it last time.”

“But this time we have the antidote. We just have to get close enough.” Tim interjects.

“And just how are you planning to do that?” you ask.

“Distraction. That’s why I wanted to be paired with the Demon Spawn. I was going to use him as a projectile and throw him.” Jason states matter-of-factly.

“Tt, I heard that, Todd!” Damian spat from his end of the comms.

“You were supposed to. That’s why I said it on the group frequency.”

You rub your temples in annoyance as you cut Damian off before he can retaliate. “Guys! Come on! Your bickering is bad enough in person. I don’t need it vibrating in my eardrums.”

Everyone quietly mumbles a half-hearted apology. You had thought you had finally found the perfect configuration to reduce arguing when splitting up the teams: Dick and Damian together, Jason and Tim together, and you and your father going solo. However, you had sorely underestimated their professionalism when it came to the comms. You love your brothers immensely, but they really know how to get on your last nerve.

Suddenly, Tim’s panicked voice cracks over your comms. “He’s here! Jason, watch out! We need backup now! Please-” You hear a loud cry of pain as the line goes dead.

Frantically, you take off running across the rooftop you are currently standing on. After grappling down to the street below, you sprint as quickly as you can towards your brothers’ location. Turning the last corner, you immediately dive out of the way as Jason is flung roughly against the wall, inches from where you were just standing. Bending down to check on your brother, you see his helmet has been smashed open but he seems relatively okay if not slightly dazed. You turn back to face Jason’s assailant and come face to face with Superman.

You had never personally seen Clark infected with Red Kryptonite before, but Dick had told you stories. But nothing he told you could have prepared you for seeing it with your own eyes. The man before you was not the Clark you knew so well. This wasn’t the man who had babysat you when you were a child or took you flying whenever you asked or gave you advice about your family. No, this was now a man who would kill you and every member of your family just because he could. As evident by the way he had hurled Jason against the brick wall or how he was currently chasing after Tim with his laser vision.

Though not as skilled of an acrobat as Dick, Tim was doing an impressive job of flipping and spinning out of the way of Superman’s blasts. However, while it seems as though your brother had managed to dodge most of the direct shots, his Red Robin suit is littered with scorch marks and his arm dangled limply at his side, probably dislocated if not broken. Tim finally notices your arrival and signals you. He wants you to go along with Jason’s plan but use him as the distraction.

You hate leaving Tim in the line of fire, but you know he is right. At the moment, Superman is solely focused on him, not even registering your presence. It is probably the best chance any of you will get to surprise the Man of Steel. Slipping your hand into your pocket, you grip the small vial each of you had been given. Ever since the last time Clark had been exposed to Red Kryptonite, your father had been working on an antidote to reverse the effects. Supposedly all someone needed to do was to get Clark to inhale some of the gas contained inside the vial. That theory had never been tested but, considering there was no other option, you had to trust your father knew what he was doing. He usually did.

But just then, Tim slips and tumbles helplessly to the ground. Superman approaches him slowly, hovering a foot above the ground as his eyes begin to glow red. Tim looks at you, frantic and scared. You know you are too far away to reach him in time, so you do the only thing you can think of. Scooping up a rock as you ran, you hurl it as hard as you can at the back of Superman’s head. It bounces off harmlessly, but it does the job. As Superman whips around to face you, you silently curse to yourself. You really didn’t think through what to do next, but you know you have to do whatever it takes to protect your brothers. Oh man, this is gonna suck.

Putting on your bravest, most confident face, you yell, “Hey, Supes, you think you’re so tough? Well, why don’t you try me on for size.”

Just as you hoped, Superman soars angrily towards you. However, while you had planned on dodging at the last second and spraying him with the antidote as he rushed by, he anticipates this move and manages to grab the front of your suit just as you start to cartwheel out of the way.

With you firmly in his grasp, Superman blasts up hundreds of feet into the air. You scramble to keep ahold of the vial, waiting for a chance to use it. As he finally slows your ascent, a smile flits across your lips as you raise your arm – and Superman’s fist slams into your chest, bursting through armor, skin, and bone. You look down in horrified disbelief to see the spot, right in the middle of your bat insignia, where his wrist disappears into you, his fingers brushing violently against your heart and lungs as they are buried in your chest cavity. Pain rolls through your body as you struggle to catch your breath. You weakly grasp his arm as you slump forward, this action just driving his fist deeper into you. Blood begins to drip from your gaping mouth and your vision blurs. Somewhere far below, you can hear all four of your brothers screaming your name. You guess Dick and Damian must have arrived at some point during your skyward flight. But there is nothing they can do to help you while you dangle so far above their heads.

The Kryptonite-crazed Superman just sneers at your limp form as he scoffs, “Not so tough now, are you little girl. Any last words before I rip your heart from your chest?”

You weakly raise your head to stare into the eyes of the man who was like family to you. They were burning red and filled with a hateful rage that you never imagined you would see on his face. Your lips softly move, but no sound comes out. Superman pauses, seemingly amused you are still coherent enough to take him up on his offer, and he leans closer to try to make out what you are struggling to say. Drawing up the last of your strength, you slam the vial (which is still clutched in your hand) directly into his face. He roars and shakes his head in surprise and distress. But after a few seconds, thankfully, you see the red slowly drain from his eyes until all that you see staring back at you is the oh so familiar blue.

“Cl-Clark?” you manage to choke out.

“Y/N?” he asks, trying to get his bearings. It is only then that he realizes his hand is still buried in your chest. “Oh my god! Y/N!” He tries to carefully remove it, but your howl of agony stops him immediately. He pulls you into his chest and floats down until he can lay you gently on the grass. Your head lolls to the side, your body too weak to hold it up anymore. From this angle, you can see Dick half supporting, half-restraining Jason as he struggles to get to you. Tim is frantically speaking into his comms with a hand resting firmly on Damian’s shoulder as your youngest brother just stands stoically, eyes never leaving your wilted form. It is better this way. They don’t need to see the damage up close. Please don’t let this be the version of me seared in their brains for all eternity.

Clark hovers above you as he tries to assess the extent of your injuries, hand still residing in your chest. You struggle for a moment but finally manage to softly mumble, “Dad…. where’s my….dad?”

“He’s on his way. Just hold on.” Clark lightly runs his free hand over your hair to sooth you just like he used to when you were a child.

“Not you– don’t blame….”

Tears fill Clark’s eyes as he stares down at you. You know that he will still blame himself for what happened, but you want him to know that you understand it wasn’t really him. That you knew he would never hurt you. There was so much else you want to say, but you are struggling to fight off unconsciousness at this point. You want nothing more than to give in, but you know there is a good chance that if you let the darkness claim you, you will never wake up.

Suddenly, you hear a familiar rustle of a cape and two black boots step into your field of vision.

“Hi….. Dad….”

Your father kneels down next to you and tenderly cups your cheek in his hand. As he tilts your face up to him, he murmurs, “Hey, babybat. It’s going to be okay. Help is on the way.”

“Wow, thing….not good.…if you using tha- tone” you try to chuckle but it comes out as a ragged cough, your whole body shuttering with the effort. Your words have started slurring as each breath becomes more and more difficult. You slowly reach up and thumb the edge of your father’s cowl. He understands immediately and rips it from his face, tossing it aside. You smile softly as you stare at his bare face, running your thumb lightly against his jawline. He reaches up and covers your hand with his. Glancing slightly over his shoulder to where your brothers were still waiting, you whisper, “Please….take…care of……..them….They’ll need…..you…..” Your father doesn’t answer but he curtly nods once.

You hear a vehicle approaching but you don’t have the strength to look. Clark and your father are arguing above you about what to do but it sounds like they are in a far-distant tunnel. The world is fading to black around you and each breath is getting fewer and farther between. You gently tap your thumb once against your father’s face to get his attention. His eyes fly to you instantly.

Mustering whatever strength you have left, you manage to force out, “Thank you…..for….the life….you gave….me. I don-don’t…. regret a sec– of it……..” Your hand slips from your father’s face just as the darkness finally swallows you.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Seeing Red (Alt. POV)

Fandom: DC, Batman, Batfam, Superman

Word Count: 2443

TW: Whump, Pain, Reader Death, Angst, Mind Control, Drugged

Note: Thank you to @lanatheawesome for requesting the Alternate POV!

Part of Seeing Colors: Seeing Red, Seeing Green, Seeing Blue (Coming Soon)

Bonus: Seeing Red (Alt. POV)

Everything had seemed to pass in a blur. One minute, Clark had been investigating Luthor’s latest laboratory, and then….. nothing. Now, all he can remember after that are flashes, tinged in a burning red glow. As if trying to shake off a dense fog, he blinks a few times as he tries to recall what happened and where he is. As his eyes come into focus, he finally notices you just about a foot in front of him. The look on your face sends a wave of terror and concern through him. It is one he has never seen on you before, especially not directed at him. Fear, uncertainty, and, most of all, pain. So much pain.

Your mouth moves slightly as if trying to gain the strength to speak and he can see blood spilling out from between your lips. Then, slowly, painfully, you choke out, “Cl-Clark?”

“Y/N?” he responds, still unsure what is going on or where the two of you are. He glances down and his heart freezes. No! “Oh my god! Y/N!”

You are hovering hundreds of feet in the air, which isn’t that concerning given his powers, but what is concerning is the manner in which youare staying in the air. Clark’s arm is currently jammed into your chest so far it disappears almost up to his elbow. He can feel your heart as it gently beats against the back of his fingers and, to his absolute horror, he can feel it gradually slowing down. As gently as he can, he tries to dislodge his arm from your chest, but the sobbing howl of pain that rips from your lips at the movement stops him immediately. And even when he freezes once more, a low, continuous moan sounds in your throat and it tears Clark’s heart in two.

Suddenly, it all comes rushing back. Someone throwing a glass vial at him in Luthor’s lab, the feeling of the red Kryptonite taking over his system, tearing through the city as he destroyed everything in his path, slamming Jason into a brick wall as he attempted to hit Tim with his laser beams, then you…. You had offered up yourself to save your brother and you had gotten Clark’s fist through your sternum for your bravery. He remembers, as if in slow motion, the feeling of his knuckles contacting the Kevlar of your suit. How it offered no resistance to his superstrength. Neither did your flesh or bones as his fist continued through the armor into your chest. And yet, through the pain and the betrayal, you had never given up on him. You somehow managed to find the strength to smash the antidote against his face. You had saved him even as you were dying by his hand.

As gently as he can without jostling his arm, he pulls you into his chest. He can feel a slight tremor traveling the length of your body and he flinches. He cannot even begin to fathom the amount of pain you must be in at the moment, yet you are somehow managing to not completely fall apart or freak out. But then again, Clark expects nothing less from you. You are too much like your father. Bruce. Oh, God. How is he going to be able to handle this?

Slowly, Clark floats down to the ground, holding you as still as possible. As you return to earth, he lays you softly in the grass. Your head falls weakly to the side and as your eyes focus on something in the distance, Clark sees tears welling up in your eyes for the first time. He glances at what you are looking at and spies the rest of Bruce’s kids standing a few hundred feet away.

Dick has his arm wrapped around Jason as the other boy struggles weakly against him. Jay’s busted red helmet lay at their feet and Clark can see blood drying where it had flowed down his face, probably from when Clark had thrown him against the wall. Even from here, Clark can hear Dick murmur softly, “There’s nothing we can do for her, Jay. And going over there will just upset her. And you’re hurt too. Stop struggling and think about what she would want.” Clark watches Jason still slightly at his brother’s words and softly nods.

Shifting his gaze to Tim, Clark thankfully notes that he is on the comms calling Batman. Frantically, he cries, “Bruce! We need you here. NOW! She… I don’t… It’s bad. Please, you need to get here now!”

He rests his hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder, but Damian doesn’t even seem to notice. His gaze is locked firmly on your face and he barely even blinks as he takes in the sight before him. Tim finally notices and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “She’ll be okay, Dami.” His voice is shaky and filled with uncertainty.

“No. She won’t be.” The youngest boy replies bluntly. Unlike Tim, Damian’s voice is firm and stoic as there is no doubt in his tone that what he said was true. Clark knows Damian had seen and experienced more in his young life than seasoned heroes twice his age and he recognized death when he saw it.

Clark turns his attention back to you. Your breathing has slowed significantly since he first came to his senses and it is growing more rasping and labored with every inhale. Using his super hearing and x-ray vision, he quickly notices your lungs are filling with blood. And as he is assessing what can be done to stop or at least slow the bleed, he hears you softly mutter, “Dad…. where’s my …. dad?”

Once again, Clark’s heart breaks. Suddenly, he doesn’t see the brave warrior laying before him, but the tiny six-year-old he first met all those years ago clinging to the back of her father’s cape. He vowed that night to always watch over you and care for you, yet here you were, your life draining away because of him. Choking back tears, he runs his hand over your hair like he did when he was trying to put you at ease back then as he whispers, “He’s on his way. Just hold on.”

You must have heard the regret and sorrow in his voice because as you nod, you mutter, “Not you- don’t blame….”

It was the final straw. The tears he had been holding back slowly spill down his cheeks. Even through all your pain, you still were looking out for others. You had every right to condemn Clark for what was happening. He might not have been in control of his actions, but it was still his fist currently residing within your chest. And yet, you were using some of the last of your strength to make sure he knew you did not blame him for this. He is about to respond when a movement out of the corner of his eye steals his attention away. Bruce has arrived.

Your father races through the alleyways until he bursts into the opening where the rest of his children are standing. He falters slightly as he sees your prone form on the ground with his best friend’s arm thrust through your chest. His eyes flicker up to meet Clark’s and the Kryptonian just hopes that he can see the sorrow and regret that is etched on his face. Clark watches a myriad of emotions flash across the bottom half of Bruce’s face before he steels himself and rushes to his daughter’s side.

As soon as he is close enough for you to see, Clark feels you perk up slightly beneath his touch. There is a hint of a smile in your voice as you whisper, “Hi….. Dad….”

Bruce kneels down and cups your face in his hand. Ignoring Clark completely, he rubs his thumb across your cheek as he murmurs, “Hey, babybat. It’s going to be okay. Help is on the way.” His tone is soft and soothing in a way Clark has only heard in the direst of situations and only ever directed at one of Bruce’s children.

You must have been thinking the same thing because you say in a labored, slurred voice, “Wow, thing….not good.…if you using tha- tone.” The chuckle at the end quickly morphs into a ragged cough as your body convulses violently. Clark tries to hold you still as gently as possible, but your moan of pain returns, louder this time.

Yet, when you regain some of your composure, you reach up and touch the edge of your father’s cowl. Bruce rips it off and Clark gets an unobstructed view of the pain and heartbreak that is radiating off him. Clark turns his head to give the pair of you as much privacy he can while his hand is still lodged in your chest. But he can’t help but overhear you whisper, “Please…. take… care of…….. them…. They’ll need….. you…..” Always the most caring and thoughtful big sister, even at the end.

Suddenly, the emergency vehicles that someone had remembered to call, came rolling up. Bruce looks to Clark and in a low voice, so you hopefully don’t hear, he mutters, “How do we do this? Do we have them take her to the hospital with you still….-” he can’t bring himself to say the words so he just moves on “- or do you remove it first?”

Clark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he tries to find the words to tell his best friend the reality of the situation. “Bruce… I am so sorry but… There’s nothing…. They can’t- No one can fix this. I can see the damage, I can feel it, and it’s…. it’s too great. I don’t even know how she’s still-”

Clark and Bruce’s attention immediately snap back to you as you tap your thumb once on your father’s face. He bends down closer, gathering you in his arms as much as he can without hurting you further. A fresh line of blood trails from the corner of your mouth as, in a voice that is barely more than a last gasp of air, you say, “Thank you…..for….the life….you gave….me. I don-don’t…. regret a sec– of it……..”

As you choke out the final word and your head falls to the side, Clark feels your heart slow to a stop against his fingers. Horrified, he exchanges a look of alarm with Bruce before your father turns back to you, clutching your face and begging you to look at him. But your eyes have already turned glassy as they stare blankly ahead. As Bruce crumples down on top of you, pressing his forehead firmly against yours as he continues to plead with your still form, Clark slides his fingers over and begins squeezing your heart with his hand. He knows it is a futile effort, that even if he can get it restarted manually, the blood filling your lungs would make it impossible for you to breathe. But he tries anyway.

And he doesn’t stop as he hears a shout, and a small figure appears at your side. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise Clark that Damian is the first break and come to you. As much as the boy tries to stay aloof and keep a distance between himself and the rest of the family, he knows how much his sister means to him. But instead of reaching out to you as he expected, Damian gently places his hand on Bruce’s back. The man turns his head slightly to look at his youngest son, silent tears streaming down his face. And then, he wraps his arm around Damian and pulls him into his chest.

In seconds, Dick, Jason, and Tim arrive. Dick just stares down at you in disbelief. His permanent smile and joyful light in his eyes are gone, replaced with disbelief and pain. Jason is glaring hate-filled daggers at Clark, and truthfully, Clark can’t blame him. Even as he continues to try and restart your heart, he knows that each and every one of them should hate him. Just as he hates himself. Every one of their reactions just adds to Clark’s regret and sorrow. But Tim…. Tim is the most heartbreaking to see.

He collapses to the ground a few feet from your body, sobs already racking his lean frame. Dick tears himself away from you and bends down to comfort his brother. Even with his super hearing, Clark can only just make out Tim’s words through his wails, “It’s all my fault. She was just protecting me. It should have been me.” Clark didn’t think he could have felt any worse at that moment, but hearing this proved him wrong.

Softly, Clark whispers, “Bruce… I’m-”

But the other man cuts him off. “You need to go. We’ll talk about this later but for now…. Just go.” His voice is wavering and thicker than usual as he tries to speak past the pain in his chest. And as much as Clark wants to stay and comfort his friends, his family, he knows Bruce is right.

With one final squeeze to your heart, a final goodbye, Clark removes his arm from your chest. Part of him was expecting some sort of reaction but of course, there was none. Corpses don’t have reactions.

Clark glances at everyone one final time and then takes to the sky, putting as much distance between himself and this nightmare as he can. In moments, he arrives in the Arctic just outside the Fortress of Solitude. It was the only place he could think of to go at the moment. But as he raises his hand to open the door, he sees your blood still coating his arm up to his elbow. The thick, crimson liquid streams down his outstretched hand and he flashes back to the look on your face as he punched through your body.

Dropping to his knees, he buries his fist into the snow, desperately trying to remove your blood from his fingers, from the grooves in his hand, from underneath his nails. But after a moment, he realizes that it feels just the same as when his fist was buried in your chest, and he yanks it out as quickly as he can. Still kneeling in the snow, tears begin to roll down his face as he stares at the hole he created. And as Clark mourns the loss of a person he loved like family, he watches as your remaining blood drips from his hand onto the snow until he is left just seeing red.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Seeing you re-blog Seeing Red has given me minute hope that you might write seeing blue 🥺

Hi anon! 💖

So this is a very loaded ask with a lot of explanations behind it so please bear with me. (Also, while it was originally going to be called Seeing Blue, this last part will now either be Seeing Clear or Seeing Clearly)

First, I always try to reblog any and all reblogs others do of my fics where they have commented so that is why Seeing Red was recently reblogged.

Second, I know I have been promising the last chapter of Seeing Colors for a long time and I am so sorry it still isn't finished. It is something that weighs on me a lot because people have been so supportive and loving in regards to this series and I feel like I have let them down 🥺

Third, I've got it about 80% finished at this point, but I just am stuck in the middle and haven't been able to figure out how to bridge the beginning and end.

Fourth, I have been going through a LOT of personal and work stress the last three months. It has taken up a vast majority of my time and emotional energy so I haven't had the time or mindset to write much lately.

Fifth, I've become very discouraged with posting on Tumblr. My fics get decent likes, less than 10 reblogs, and practically no feedback or comments. Also, anytime I post ask games, GIFs I make, or original posts, they are almost always completely ignored. While I completely understand I am not owed any interaction on anything I post, it just has worn me down over time and really started making me feel like all people care about is my fics and couldn't care less about the person behind them (I know this is probably not true, but it hits on a lot of IRL insecurities I have and has been damaging my motivation and mental status). Because of this, the free time I have had to write, I have been focusing on an original story I hope might be able to be published at some time in the future (hey, a girl can dream).

Anon, I know your ask was not meant with any kind of malice and I am so sorry if my response seemed rude or aggressive. It is all just things I have had on my chest lately and it all just sort of spilled out. So I am sorry.

Thank you for you reading my fics (or at least my Seeing Colors series) and thank you for your interest in this series. I will try my best to finish it soon. 💖