#daily planet folk love clark kent

[weirdheadcanons]

Bruce Wayne Vs Daily Planet

So, our Mr Paranoid Dark Knight finds out about Superman's secret identity.

Dorky Reporter Clark Kent.

But that has to be a front, right? No way he is actually that nice and nerdy. The nice part is part of the whole Superman persona, the nerd thing must be a cover like his own Brucie.

Bats, being Bats, is paranoid about what might happen. A god working among humans. So what might happen when a human annoys him too much? What happens when the god doesn't have the world worshipping him?

Bruce buys the Daily Planet. Starts hanging around the office as Brucie. Flirts with Lois. Trips Clark. Cancels interviews he promised Clark. Vetoes certain stories Clark worked on for no reason. Is basically a pain-in-the-ass boss for no reason except to see how the kryptonian god will react to a lowly human pushing him like that.

Only, the rest of the Daily Planet reacts before Clark can. This asshole billionaire is messing with their resident weirdo? Nope, no way.

[nouearth]

small things like these.

pairing. clark kent x male reader.

word count. 12.2k.

summary. a moment like having a cup of overly-sweet, sugary coffee spill all over you was one of the reasons why you'd been charmed by a clumsy man named clark kent.

content warning. fluff, eventual smut, corenswet!clark, top!clark, bottom!reader, strangers to lovers, brief lois lane mention, yearning!friends, clark has a sweet tooth, kissing, rimming, blowjobs, praising, sweet verbal, size difference, body worship, breeding, sweet and passionate love-making!

a/n. i recommend listening to the normal people soundtrack while reading!

I: MAY.

It all started with a crash.

The smell of gasoline was poisoning. Cars were lined up like dominos, passing gas from one engine to another, and the scent was festering in Clark’s nostrils, its rotting smell seemingly quadrupled by the summer heat. That was the charm of the city. The smell, and the constant scream of car horns as traffic began piling up. In the eyes of his folks, Clark can see his Ma and Pa doubting his sanity had they ever witnessed Metropolis. His Ma would shake her head in disapproval at the size of his apartment, and his Pa would be overstimulated into disbelief as the trio held hands and swam their way through the swarm of people who were simultaneously being chased in pursuit by one reminder: 

FASTER! YOU’RE RUNNING LATE!

“Oh, crap—“ Hugging the coffee cup to his chest after switching arms, Clark rolled his sleeve up to check his watch. Quarter to nine. “Crap, crap, crap, crap!” Panic finally set in, charging Clark forward into the sunny abyss of office-workers.

This would be the last time he would grab coffee right before work. He’d paid for the consequences already by nearly missing his morning meeting multiple times. Heavy emphasis on nearly as his shoes would audibly skid from turning from one corner to another upon the race he had against the clock, as the slippery leather of his shoes would nearly make him take a tumble if he hadn’t corrected his footing once he began sprinting to his cubicle, and as he sat down in the uncomfortable seat of his chair, only to rise back up once Mr. White made his entrance, nearly missing roll-call. Out of relief, Clark would take a sip of his Frappuccino. The whipped cream deflated from the race, though its vanilla flavor was unaffected as the foam happily danced on his tongue, mixing deliciously with the sweetened coffee. he would feel himself replenished with energy the more sips he took. “Damn you…” He would gulp, licking the vanilla foam off his lips, repentant in his mutter, “Why do you taste so good? Right when I’m supposed to let you go, you reel me back in…”

Clark was a certified Metropolitan.

“Sorry—I’m sorry—‘Scuse me! Passing through—“ 

Nearly there. The man was a mountain of muscle, sturdy and well-knit upon first glance, but Clark used his muscles for good, to protect others in situations where they needed him for leverage, not to harm. Upon instinct, he turned a shoulder for a woman to pass through, sparing little contact, then another when a father chased after his kid. It was hectic, his cup of coffee almost losing his grasp in midst of the scuffle, but Clark managed to find a silver lining in the crowd in midst of the clock ticking: the revolving door to the Daily Planet, an entrance Clark has become irrevocably beholden to. 

“S-sorry!” 

A man yelled out, “Watch it, asshole!” In midst of bumping shoulders.Few met his height. Many would either desire to have his height, or to be in the arms of the man who towered over 6’4. Though, in the morning of Metropolis, most if not all deemed it a nuisance.

Breaking out of the herd of people, Clark felt liberated. His legs moved in larger steps, and his elbows spanned from his sides like how they normally should as he ran into the revolving door and pushed against the partition to turn. He checked his watch again. Three minutes left. “Come on, come on—“ One hand squeezed his cup of coffee, and the other clasped his ID badge. His fingers felt slippery from the condensation of his drink, so he squeezed harder, pacing forward to the elevator, then faster when the elevator opened with only a single patron, you, occupying the space.

Faster. 

Clark’s thighs were on fire. 

His watch, two minutes.

Faster. Almost there. 

Clark let out one last breath as he was nearing, holding it out in preparation to stop the elevator door from closing. A relief of a smile came to spread across his face when it opened to accommodate his charging entrance from a few feet away. Usually, he was met by an expression of irritation by anybody who was occupying the elevator, but you looked bewildered, your eyes opening wide milliseconds later upon realization. 

Fear, as your mouth opened to shout, “W-wait! S-slow down!”

It was all in slow motion, watching your face contort to a various of expressions, and then nothing, as Clark clenched the cup of his drink with the force akin to batter hitting a home-run, popping the lid off the cup in process, and spilling the Frappuccino onto the frightened man, with extra vanilla whipped cream and all. All you needed as a cherry on top of your head, and you were ready to be sold as a Monday lunch special.

Maybe his beginner’s luck was running out of flame.

II: MAY.

Luckily, not many people seemed to use the bathroom in the morning. They must’ve gotten it all out of their system before coming to work. You were bent over the sink, wiping your face with god-knows how many paper towels.

“Just my luck…” You grumbled, squinting at your reflection in the mirror as you wiped the corners of your eyes, then your forehead, and then your ears. No matter how many times you’d lave your face with water, you felt sticky, gross, and worst of all, you looked like a mess. You still had your hair and clothes to clean, the smell of vanilla syrup sickening to your nose. The latter was definitely going to require an insane amount of bleach and arm grease to get the coffee stain off.

The door swung open not too long after, and in came the culprit who’d painted your clothes in brown and white, wide-eyed and panicked like he was searching for a lost puppy, then apologetic and defenseless as if he was the puppy that ran away.

“Shoot, I’m so, so, so sorry—“ He brought his hands to his head, pulling at the messy dark curls of his hair. You side-eyed him, responding with nothing but silence, and then a crinkle of the paper towel as you squeezed out the water. 

“Save it.” Your tone was pointed, though you didn’t necessarily mean for it to come across as aggressive as it did. It was already a bad start to your day. Your milk expired, you ran out of frozen breakfast food, and the bakery you liked to visit in the mornings temporarily closed for renovations. All forewarnings to this very moment, where you had been cleaning whipped cream out of your hair. You held out another damp paper towel towards the man, and then waved it when he simply stared, or rather embarrassingly gawked at the mess he had created. “Get my neck.”

“Y-yeah… Of course.”

Silence. You weren’t sure how long you two have been at it, but you’ve managed to fill the trash can half-way with the paper towels. In complete, utterly awkward silence. His touch was delicate, the paper towel gently cascading over your neck in small swipes, even though you’d shown him that you were more than capable to pierce through him with your glare alone. Laser beams would ricochet off your reflection, bounce off the tiled walls of the bathroom, and somehow strike him through the heart and tear that oversized vest right off of his large frame.

The anger only settled when the man repeated his nth apology, moving onto wipe your hair clean. You closed your eyes to calm yourself, breathing out a deep sigh, because it was a mistake. You were having a bad start to your day, and… so was he? Wouldn’t be a surprise. Mondays were notorious in fucking up the week.

“It’s… fine. Not like you meant to do that.” You looked at him through the reflection, his brows scrunched from hyper-fixating on every lock of hair that was blessed with his whipped cream. Was he always this handsome? And why is he towering over you? Why is he so close? 

“Who gets a Frappe in the morning though?”

“I—Black coffee doesn’t really help me stay awake.” A nervous laughter now that you were making conversation with him. It was the complete opposite of how he physically looked. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. “Nor does it taste that good.” He muttered, cleaning the last lock of your hair.

“I would tell you to watch your sugar, but I’m guessing… you got that down?” You didn’t mean to make a comment on his broad body, but the difference in stature was laughable. “(M/N). You?”

“I-Uh, Clark. Clark Kent.” He washed his hands in the sink next to you, lips opening to what you could presume to be another apology. You’ve only met him for fifteen minutes, but you were beginning to catch his habits.

“Okay, Clark.” You stepped forward, crossing your arms, and you could feel the rattle of his gaze as he glanced at you from the reflection. “I work downstairs, at the gift shop. You can apologize by bringing me lunch for a month straight.”

“Wait—A month?! T-that’s kind of expensive, don’t you think—“

“Hey, you can make it yourself. Get it from the supermarket. Scraps from a restaurant’s garage bin nearby. I don’t really care.” You leaned against the counter, stifling a smile as Clark looked rather charming flustered like this. “If you were really sorry, you’d be committed to making up for it nonetheless.”

“That’s a little extreme for someone you don’t know…?”

You shrugged, then turned on your heel. “Spilling a drink on someone isn’t exactly an ideal way to introduce yourself, you know.” Dusting your fingers of water droplets, you began your exit. “Also, I need a new shirt.”

“W-wait—“

“See ya, Mark!”

“It’s Clark!”

Maybe his luck was just beginning.

III: JULY.

“So…? Ready to guess?” The smile on Clark’s face was filled with anticipation. He watched you chew the contents in your mouth in an obnoxiously poised manner, an inside joke between the two of you as you two had been binging on cooking competition shows. You tilted your head in thought like the pretentious judge on one of those shows, pausing mid-chew like something strange had collided with your tastebuds, then continued as if it had faded away. “Come on, I’m dying here.”

You swallowed, taking a sip of water to wash down the bread. “Hey, I need more than a bite to figure the ingredients out!”

“(M/N), you’ve practically eaten half of the sandwich already.” Clark took his half of the sandwich and sank his teeth into the pillowy bread. 

“Look who’s talking.” You rolled a piece of white bread in between your thumb and index finger until it formed a ball, and playfully threw it at Clark’s shoulder. “I didn’t get to eat dinner last night.”

It was a strange feeling in Clark when you said that. His chest swelled a little, as if his heart kicked it from within. “Why’s that?” He slowed his chewing to clear his ears, putting aside his tastebuds for his attention.

“Well, they’re expanding the gift shop, so they’re asking me to work longer hours to help out. No one else said yes, and I need the money, so there was no question about it, you know?” He watched you dust off your fingers on a napkin. He knew of your habits now. Take a sip of your water, which you did, then fully settle your arms onto the table, unabashedly gazing into his eyes to give your tastebuds a break. His eyes altered to the tip of your tongue, peeking out to lick a crumb off your lip, and Clark mirrored onto himself.

It was a secret vaulted in the deep abyss of Clark’s stomach - well, not so much considering Jimmy liked to run his mouth - but your eyes were his favorite parts about you. Even when they were seemingly set aflame on the day he’d met you, your orbs have since had a way to reel him in like bait and never seemed to have let go. He would find himself free-falling into what soon felt closer to home with every second that would pass by.

“Doesn’t mean you have to skip dinner, though.” 

There was a breeze. Gentle and swaying like the jazz music playing in the balcony of the café. It sifted through your hair like sugar would through fine mesh. One got caught on a few strands—wind— and it blew back to recognize your features with the sun, beaming on features that Clark would someday have the courage to say he adored.

“Why? You thinking about bringing me dinner too?” He doesn’t like that you tease him so effortlessly. Clark also doesn’t like how easily flustered he gets, which prompts the cycle of teasing to begin with. 

With hesitation, he tried it himself once, saying something about how you looked good enough to eat or something when you styled your hair back for a change. Though, what came out was something along the lines of: “You look like you eat good enough,” and Clark would rather forget that interaction even happening.

“Haven’t stopped bringing you lunch, if you think about it.” The memory of his first meeting with you brought a smile to his lips, and yours as well, because you two tend to sync thoughts. 

“Yeah, two months now… When’s that going to stop?”

“It’s a routine now. I don’t think I can find it in me to suddenly stop feeding you.”

“Hm, you’d make a good boyfriend, Clark.”

“Yeah…”

IV: AUGUST.

“Nervous?” 

The powdery top note of your hairspray tickled your senses. You counted in your head, holding back a layer of Clark’s hair in your palm. One, two, three, four… Once you reached thirty, you released, sealing the pushed back fringe in place with another layer of the grooming product. 

“How can you tell? Do I look nervous?!” He’d been chewing on his lip, playing with his fingers, moving in his seat. It was like a toddler, but unlike a toddler, Clark was an adult. An adult who had enough awareness to refrain from making any sudden movements while someone had a scalding hot styling iron in their hand.

“Clark, you haven’t stopped shaking your leg since you sat down—“ You delicately pulled a curly strand to the front of his forehead, and it was another reminder how easily Clark could pursue a career in Hollywood. If only journalism hadn’t been such a strong passion for him. Though, with the way his nerves had been electrifying his body—maybe he made the right call in the end.

“Oh—Sorry… I’m just—I don’t know. What if I mess up? I say the wrong thing to Lois, and then she hates me forever? Then what? She tells the entire office about what a terrible—”

“Whoa, I think you’re thinking way too far ahead here. What happened to you being Mister Optimistic all the time?” You ushered him to get up from the seat, and then handed Clark his dress shirt and tie. “Besides, I don’t think Lois would do that. If you like her, that must mean she has some type of soul.”

“I guess so.” Clark muttered, changing into his shirt. Perfectly tailored to his body contrary to the oversized button-downs he was used to wearing. “You wanna hang out after?”

“Uh… you sure you’re going to be free? And not… you know,” Your brows raised, giving Clark a knowing look, and it was that flush of skin that you secretly adored coming in hot, boiling on the apples of his cheeks as Clark quickly deciphered what you meant.

“I don’t sleep with people on the first date, (M/N).” It was priceless. The horror on Clark’s face upon the accusation, his orbs retracting like he’d seen a spaceship landing on earth for the first time. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his confession while tidying up his living room. 

“I know a lot of people do! I just had to make sure.” You waited on the couch as Clark changed, replying to missed messages, scrolling through updates on multiple social media accounts, until you heard Clark approach from behind.

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat, announcing his presence, and you turned upon the sound. “Looks okay?”

It was Clark.

It was Clark, but a more refined version of him. Not that he was sloppy in the first place, but simply… you could see him clearer, his own confidence radiating like it had finally discovered an escape to its freedom. His eyes, clear blues that sparkled even when the approaching night began casting shadows through his blinds and onto his glasses. It helped that you styled his hair back too, framing his face for the whole world to admire, and most importantly, for his date to as well. You reminded him to stand tall, and he took that into consideration through his posture straightening, and his chin raising.

“Y-yeah, you look… great.” It was infectious. His smile while he admired himself through his mirror. His dimples smiled back at him, and you felt your own lips curling on their own, like you’ve eaten a candy that was too sweet for its own good. “Lois is going to love it.”

Cavity-inducing.

“Yeah? Oh—I have to pick her up soon. So, you’ll be here, right?! I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if it goes well—“ Clark let out one last breath, then a shake of his arms, and he found his nerves rattling up again despite as he approached the door.

Ten steps closer than before to Lois.

“It’ll go well, I promise!” It was his moment. Clark’s moment. Yet, you felt weird about it. You wanted to look at him for longer, a sudden greed to keep him in his apartment for longer.

“All right… wish me luck.” He turned to look back at you, appreciative in his smile, but his eyes looked guilty, meaningfully longing akin to the way he had looked when he spilled his drink on you.

That’s right.

“Good luck.” Apologetic, you remembered when he finally exited the room, and closed it shut.

Clark gave you cavities.

And like all cavities, you needed to get rid of them.

You needed to get rid of Clark.

V: DECEMBER.

It was partially his fault, wasn’t it?

There was no doubt in mind that you and Clark have been spending less time together. Clark was never a big texter, but he found himself messaging you a lot more often to make up for the fact that he had rarely seen you the past few weeks. Lunch was spent with Lois, dinner was with Lois, drinks were with Lois, binge-watching TV… with Lois.

“You’re always talking about Lois…”

It was why he preferred meeting up, because you never answered your phone, especially these days. If he was lucky, you’d spare him more than four messages a day before saying goodnight.

You never liked saying goodnight, and neither did Clark. By preference, Clark liked to fall asleep on the phone with you where he would catch your snores, and the embarrassment of it all would keep you awake for a little longer, at least until it was Clark’s turn to retiring for the night. It felt safe, knowing that he wasn’t - to some extent - alone in his bed. That he could mumble your name in his sleep, and you’d toss in bed, his voice ricocheting off into your own dreams.

It felt intimate.

“Hey, give me a call whenever you get back. Lois and I found this really cool aquarium you’d really like! I got a turtle keychain for you too.”

“(M/N)? Hey, I totally forgot about dinner last night! Work’s gotten so busy, and then Lois wanted to go out, and my parents were calling, so—Let me make it up to you? We can go to that diner you’ve been talking about.”

“Hey, (M/N)! Didn’t see you at the shop today… Doing okay? Not sure if you got the sandwich I left for you on the counter. Or maybe someone had stolen it. But text me? Let me know?”

“It’s Clark. Why am I telling you—I saw you the other day, but… you seemed like you were in a rush? I’m guessing renovation is taking a toll on you? Give me a call…”

“Hey, uh… Listen, If I did something… Will you let me know, please? I-I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening here, between us, but… I just. I miss—”

Clark didn’t want to seem obsessive. Absolutely not. 

But this was getting out-of-hand. He was panicking. He’d been panicking for the past few weeks since this whole charade had started. It was only right for him to worry like this, about his best friend. To go from aligning his lunch breaks with yours to sitting stone-faced at his cubicle with a half-eaten sandwich in his Tupperware was a huge disruption to his routine. It was like the world had turned against him in solidarity. Knowing his own mind, Clark deserved it.

There had been a farrago of missteps, too many of them to count, for Clark to simply shrug it off and see the silver lining through them for the next day, for the next week, or for the next month. It wasn’t like before he’d met you, where he would simply get caught in a long line of office workers waiting for their coffee, and then received a free pastry because they had messed up his order twice. Or how he would sleep through his alarms, where his body clock fortunately alerted him awake before traffic would begin to dominate the streets. 

No, this was different.

He’d earned a raise since then, for his great work on profiling the Superman, but it was all he did now. When it wasn’t Superman, it was being Superman, and Clark wished there was someone to talk to. To celebrate with, now that he can splurge a bit more on himself. To vent towards, about how it was obvious that he’d been holding Lois back since their relationship started. To shout with while he watched a movie because the killer had been in the main character’s house all along. To lament towards, because Lois had called it quits, yet in spite of that, it wasn’t as painful as the way you had been treating him. To scream out the month’s omen with, because maintaining this double-life of his was wearing him down.

Moments of happiness, catapulting his memories of you with laughter and warmth, had felt like a wound. A piece of him was broken. He felt hollowed out - a pineapple without its core - more so than ever, losing you as quickly as he had became friends with you, as quickly as he had fallen for you. Spineless, if he just watched you slip out his fingers and float away.

He needed to bring you back. He needed to tie you around his wrist like a balloon, like how his Ma and Pa would when they took him to the fair as a kid. At least if you float away again, he’d chase after you like he should’ve the first time.

If luck was on his side, you’d let him hold your hand and cruise the winter sky together. And if a miracle was in the palms of Clark Kent, he’d reckon voyaging the four seasons as one would turn over a new leaf.

VI: DECEMBER.

The air was frigid. The glass pane of your window shivered against the cold, frost webbing your reflection from corner to corner as you peered out into the city. Noses red and cheeks flushed, symptoms of the freezing cold as they endured the walk home. Careful steps across the sidewalk, into the street, as flakes of white fell to the earth. 

For an alien, it would summon silence. Those sparkling crests that would melt upon contact—an invasion they would yell in terror as the flakes seeped into their skin like acid. But for humans, people like you, it brought laughter. Giggles pierced the air, couples holding each other close to gather heat, but to also keep each other from slipping, and the world had only felt warmer despite the snow’s best efforts.

Your smile reflected off the joy radiating off of multiple passersby. Kids with their guardians. Dogs with their owners. Parents with their own parents. The holiday was nearing, spirits ramping in midst. As the streets emptied, leaving you in nothing but the cruel howl of the wind, you couldn’t bring yourself to caring about your favorite celebration. There was little need for your participation if you didn’t have anyone to spend it with.

To be completely honest, it was your fault.

Clark was happy. He was happy to have someone who shared the same interest in him. He was happy that Lois could bring the best out of him, either out of his work or out of his personal ambitions. Lois would make Clark the man his parents would be proud to see after silently agonizing over months on whether the city would be good for him. He was happy to share this new chapter in his life with you, and you had little patience to see him blossom.

You couldn’t bear it, knowing that it could’ve been you.

God, you were being childish. This felt like high school all over again, except… not really considering you weren’t out in high school. You’ve watched enough coming-of-age films to know that the audience would’ve deemed you immature. Worst of all, you would’ve vented to Clark about how foolish the main character was being.

Your romantic experience had been limited to silently crushing on guys in your classes to hooking up with strangers through an app. Maybe that explained why you were acting out. Why you preferred isolating yourself from the root of your happiness instead of surrounding yourself with it. When was the last time you were ever in love? With the family dog? With her puppies? No, actually in love… with a person, with a man.

“Fuck.” The ice cream in your mouth suddenly stung the back of your jaw the longer the spoon sat in your mouth. You’ve been looping Clark’s voice messages, debating on whether it was too late to reconcile, whether he was too upset at you to even want to have you step a foot inside of his apartment. 

“I miss you. I really miss you.”

You winced, groaning in discomfort, tensing your jaw as the voice message looped like some kind of hypnotic spell. “I miss you. I really miss you. Miss you. Miss. You. (M/N). I miss you.”

The sweetness bulldozed your molars. It was unbearable. You tended to your cheek, holding onto it as you hastily slipped on your coat and beanie.

Throbbing. Your gums.

Your hand yanked the door open, and you marched outside, into the blanket of snow.

Beating. Your heart. 

The cavity was returning, and you needed Clark’s help.

VII: DECEMBER.

Clark had mixed feelings seeing you at his doorstep.

This was not how it was supposed to go. He was the one that was supposed to be drenched from the snow. Shivering like an unkempt toy, with severed electrical currents making him twitch at the modest breeze, at the welcoming warmth. He peered down at you, where you met his gaze. Clark registered a broken and a contrite heart, and he could only respond in complete silence. Frozen in place because the visit was unexpected, but also because you made his heart swell to the point of nearing combustion, and it took all his might to control himself from pulling you into a hug.

“Hi.” You sniffed, wiping your runny nose. There was a stark contrast between your body temperature and Clark’s, he could feel the frost biting his own skin.

“Hi…” Clark took a step closer, but he couldn’t cross the distance between you and him, halting as if there was an ice barrier. No, control yourself, Clark. “I—Come in.”

A wet layer of skin; narrow hills from your eye bags, past the apple of your cheeks, and down to your chin. Crystals would form along your tears if you hadn’t insistent on wiping them clean. You never liked being vulnerable with him. With anyone, for that matter.

Clark stepped aside to welcome you in. You passed one glance at him, hesitant and apprehensive, but the warmth reeled you in, one shoe at a time. He was so close to you. Your arm nearly brushed against his, close enough as if it had almost nudged his elbow.

“You’re freezing—I-I’ll make some coffee.” He headed towards his kitchen, then paused to glance back at you, resembling the skittish reporter you first met as his indecisiveness staggered his following steps. “No, Tea? Hot water? I don’t know—“

“Clark, that can wait… Uh, how about we talk… first?” Clark could see it. He could see how you felt like a stranger in his apartment, a place he’d nearly asked you to move in as his roommate considering you spent so much time here. 

You carefully took off your coat, and Clark immediately went to your aide to gather it into his arms and put it on the coat rock. Though, not before letting the smell of your cologne linger in his nose, because god, he missed this. 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s… talk.” He gestured towards his couch, tidying up the sweater that was beginning to feel constricting on his body.

Other than a tiny Christmas tree hiding in the corner of his living room, not much had changed. Everything was right where you’d last seen it, including a polaroid Clark took of you and taped to his ‘Wall of Memories.’

Out of instinct, you sat at your side of the couch, and Clark sat to the left, right beside you. Your palms ran over the cotton upholstery, then paused when your finger dipped into a ripped hole you had accidentally created when you two were watching a horror film.

“So… how are you?” Clark was staring. He didn’t mean to, but seeing you beside him felt… unreal. Maybe he was dreaming. The space next to your hand looked inviting, so his own hand naturally found its place, laying it there with his pinky finger barely grazing yours. You’re real. His pinky twitched when your finger brushed against the tip, and you pulled away. No, no. Come back.

“I’m good, well—long story, but…” You sighed, and Clark was patient as you took a moment to gather your thoughts. It was unlike you. Not that it was bad, but it was extremely attractive how outspoken you could be, especially regarding subjects you were passionate about. It was like you rode the ocean waves, swam with large strokes because you had a goal in mind, to convince Clark that mint chocolate chip was the best flavor of ice cream and whatnot.

“Before we catch up, I’m sorry… I don’t really know what I was doing, but it was my fault. I’m childish, I know that. I pushed you away because I was jealous… of Lois. And—please don’t hate me, but I hated how you looked at her. And how she looked at you.“ You breathed, your eyes casted downward like you were ashamed of being capable of human emotions. Then they clenched, because you heard how incredibly thoughtless you were being, yet that didn’t stop the tears from forming.

“And I was supposed to be happy for you, Clark. I mean, I knew I didn’t have a chance to be with you, but I somehow convinced myself that one day, you’d look at me with the same amount of affection you’d look at Lois. I would wait, and wait, and it was getting… painful. I mean, who am I kidding? I should’ve let you adjust first before growing impatient, but it felt like I was being replaced, and I was afraid of the inevitable, Clark—“

Now, you were floating. And out of fear, Clark felt his hand come alive, and spider close to your hand again. Tie him before it’s too late. It was up to Clark to change the trajectory of your descent. The pinkie that had lain next to your own crossed over and locked over yours. The barrier of ice that had been building between the two of you shattered into a million shard and he was frozen. A million of them pierced into Clark’s skin when he took your hand into his, and the clasp of your hand into his had bonded.

“Clark, what—“ Your eyes widened, letting in fragments of Christmas lights to highlight the glossy sheen of the tears welling in your sight. 

Without questioning it, Clark pulled you into his chest and felt the crumbled wetness stain his sweater. One by one, his fingers loosened to let go of your hand to support your body with his arms. Strong, thick arms wrapped around your body, fitted snug against you like a vest. There wasn't any resistance from your end, so he held you longer, then tighter in case you’d let go of him. 

It had never felt so good holding someone’s weight.

Two hearts pulsed against one another, and then as one as Clark buried his head into your neck in silence, while you rested your cheek against his shoulder. You clutched yearningly at his back, and Clark ran his palm over yours. Completely different motions, yet they told the same story, the same ending.

“I missed you.” In harmony, Clark’s voice mixed with yours. Clark often marveled at it, how often he came into sync with you as a pair. Another, when you mustered up the remaining energy to blindly breathe out a sweet laugh against his neck, and he followed, his soft lips inking your skin with a grin.

He didn’t want the hug to end, but it had to sooner or later. Clark needed to see you, as much as he needed to touch you. Releasing you from his hold, he settled for the middle. Large hands found their way back to the vacancy of your own pair and he leaned his forehead against yours, watching your eyes come back into focus as you gazed upwards, officially sharing his yearning.

“What are we doing, Clark?” It was dangerous. There was a heat to his cheeks that needed to connect with the one festering on your own. A dryness to your lips that needed a fresh paint of balm. Clark silently leaned closer, yet your gaze steadied, like you were silently anticipating something. “Lois…”

“We’re not together anymore.” He revealed once to his parents, and that was that. It was a strange feeling bringing up his relationship with Lois again, considering they’d both healed from it and moved on as friends. It was better that way, felt better too. 

Your lips parted for another question, but Clark was quick to answer. “November...”

“I’m sorry—“ Undeniably, Clark’s patience had run its course. He didn’t spare a single second for you to catch your breath. Instead, letting gravity pull the weight of his head until his nose pressed against yours. Multiple forewarning bumps to your septum that made you crease your nostrils, a charming expression he’d later marvel over. 

Clark allowed himself to sink further into you, applying all of his weight to push you back into the cushions of his couch to then finally capture your lips for one yearning kiss. It was cathartic. He’d wanted this for months. His mouth on yours, his hand into yours, and now that it was finally occurring, Clark wanted to savor the moment. Your body was reacting prosperously, opening your legs to close the distance between Clark’s body and yours. You wrapped them around his hips, condensing him groin to groin. Gentle tremors rattled down Clark’s spine as he pressed into you, mouth and hip, stirring wondrous feelings that ignited from the bonded bodies. First with the utmost uncertainty, then with a starry vehemence upon catching your delightful little sounds in his lips, in his mouth, on his tongue. He swallowed, releasing your hands to tuck his left beneath your head. A cushion, or a reminder to him, as his thumb carefully caressed your cheek, that this was real, that this was happening. You gasped, occupying your free hands around his neck because you felt yourself slipping. Whether it was off the couch, or from your original state of delusion, Clark was going to catch you no matter what.

“I love you.” Scratch that, he was never going to let you go. Not this time. You had no doubts about that as he repeated those three words into your mouth like you needed convincing, then kissed you again to lock his stubborn pleas in place. His glasses bumped against your face, but the feeling of his mouth on yours felt too good for you to complain.

A breather, you pulled away soon because Clark was stealing your oxygen, and you needed to tell him before you would embarrassingly faint from overdosing on the simplicity of his kisses. You took one look at him, gently pushing his head back before your hands had taken his cheeks hostage and cupped them, analyzing what made you fall for him in the first place. Thick dark curls that fell gently over his forehead. Clark’s eyes fluttered shut when your fingers ran through them, the pressure of his scalp gratifying like a long stretch in the morning. Wide frames that were too big for Clark’s face, but had he gone any smaller, they would’ve completely hid the beautiful blues of his eyes. You straightened the crook of his glasses, grinning because the bewildered look on his face resembled a puppy’s. His physical appearance made your heart skip more than a couple of beats, yes, but it wasn’t the main attribution to your attraction.

Your hand trailed from his neck, to his chest, then to his heart. Boiling, his heart was pulsating rapidly like yours, and you sighed.

Because it was here. This was why you fell in love with him.

“I love you.”

His heart was making popcorn, and the scorching heat was rising to Clark’s cheeks. “Thank, god.”

Clark pressed one kiss to each of your palm before leaning back into you, and continuing where he left off. Your laughter was eaten up by his mouth. Suddenly ticklish as Clark catapulted your lips with an uncontrollable laughter of his own. His body shook with yours, heart pounding at one’s chest to bond with the other as he held you close once again.

Nothing was funny. Just simply relieving.

Now tighter, drawing you into his arms when the collective laughter was enough for the couch to move a nudge and roll your intertwined bodies onto his floor. Clark could laugh all night long with you, something that could pull a world record if there was someone to verify the interaction, but something began aching inside of him when he was reminded of your hips against his, groins rubbing in simultaneous pleasure. He maintained his position on top of you, in between your legs, and seized the opportunity to press against you. When your laughter was interrupted with a stifled whimper, without a doubt, Clark was a goner.

“Can… I?” He leaned up, his curious palms on your inner thighs kept you spread on the floor. You watched inquisitively, anticipating, hardly masking it with a low-effort grin.

“Can you… what? Not sure what you’re asking, Clark.” Your elbows supported your body, leaning onto them as Clark bit his lips at your obvious teasing. You wiggled your hips while his hands did their best to avoid touching you there, anywhere but there, until you gave him permission. Chewing, because he was trying his best to control himself upon seeing your crotch twitch with agony.

“Come on…” His palms roamed the back of your thighs, then towards the front again, because he needed to occupy the anticipation of his sweaty hands. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m not a reporter like you, Clark. Unfortunately, I was never good at deciphering clues or hints. You pulled him down by the collar of his vest, wrapping your legs back around his hips because you loved making him flustered. “Give it to me straight.”

“I—“ Clark surrendered at the touch of your lips on his. Gentle and sweeping, you kissed him like fall of snow, and he melted, whispering into your mouth, “I… want to make love to you.”

His voice registered sweet, in both mind and body. Your tastebuds bloomed when he kissed you again and slipped a tongue in without much warning. Your pants felt tighter as Clark began his antics again and ground himself against you, eagerly rubbing his larger bulge over your own. Clark was a growing cavity, festering right down to the root, but it was no longer painful.

It was indisputably pleasure.

“I’m all yours.”

There was something hidden in Clark’s gaze, something that his glasses had been unfairly shielding from you. You reached up to put aside his glasses and felt your breath hike when the quick glimpse of his gaze matched the avidity of his mark to your neck.

He refused to part from you. Even with the eagerness of stripping you, he needed to be in close proximity. Knit vests off, Clark returned to mark at your neck. Sweaters tossed, he quickly studied your figure and where you were most sensitive with his tongue and palms Wet and warm, you whimpered. Pants kicked, he helped you out of them while he clumsily stumbled out of his. Slow down, you’d laugh with him, and Clark would find his balance with a hug from you before he could embarrassingly take a tumble. A trail of clothing led to his bedroom, where you laid on the bed while Clark sat on his knees, decorating your entire body with the tiniest, yet wettest kisses. He palmed himself to this, squeezing his erection to the restricted pulsation of your own. Every time he ran a marathon of licks up your leg, your briefs twitched. Clark neared closer to your thighs, then inner thighs, every lap, and the twitching doubled.

“Clark…” It accidentally came out as a whine, and you were grateful that it did because you’d been keeping an eye on his clothed erection, watching it unfurl from a stuffy mass to an intimidating thick shaft where it began outgrowing his original side tuck and throb against his left thigh. It would be more than a handful, two if you were being pessimistic.

“Baby, be patient… I missed you.” The pet name came out of nowhere. They didn’t have nicknames for each other, but Clark felt good calling you that, and seeing how your cock began pulsating rapidly at the sound of his voice, he’d reckon it felt just as good hearing it for the first time.

After teasing you with multiple sequences of nearly kissing your bulge, Clark finally caved in and pressed his mouth to where the tip of your erection was hidden. Its location marked with a tantalizing wet spot that made him moan when he could taste your salty leakage through your briefs. Mouthing it, licking it, you watched Clark with an open-mouth, finding yourself mimicking his licks to the open air as you imagined his own erection was in your mouth. You played with your nipples, and it was heaven. You could get off to this. Clark could too, as he began rutting into the mattress, laving the center of your briefs with his wet tongue.

“I wish you could see yourself right now. You look so sexy, so…” Clark never finished his slurry of a sentence, clearly high off of his desire to ruin you. Your lids felt heavy, pinching and twirling your nipples to his languid mouthing like it was your lullaby. His voice came to a complete halt, a beat of silence that you’d come to query, until your eyes immediately widened at the warmth of his mouth surrounding your cock, finding your unspoken question answered.

“O-oh, Clark.. .That’s—mmf!” One hand was fondling your balls, while Clark’s other was stroking himself through his briefs after tossing your underwear to the carpet. His mouth was full. Warm and breached with your stiff shaft. His cheeks hollowed, and your body arced toward the ceiling as a result of holding your moans back. 

On the contrary, your body was trembling. Cold tremors electrified every bone in you as Clark explored your cock with his thick tongue, building your excitement to a rattle. He’d secure you in his mouth, sucking and refusing to let you go even when your fingers laced and pulled at his hair, a lazy attempt to push him off, but it only encouraged him to suck harder, lick at the underside of your cock, at your veins, swirling over the glossy tip, tasting the salt you’d produce solely for him, because of him. “S-stop, I’m going to come if you keep—“ 

“Sorry, you just taste so good…” Reluctantly, Clark pulled you out with a subtle pop, wiping his remaining saliva on the back of his hand. Your cock was twitching in a shiny coat of spit as you and him both watched his masterpiece of a tongue have its remaining effect on you.

“My turn…” It was a declaration. You crawled forward onto all fours while Clark watched in anticipation. He sat up on his knees upon you reaching for the waistband of his briefs. With a slow pull, his large erection sprang free with a heavy bounce, and your pupils dilated. “Jesus, Clark…” You removed his briefs, tossing it to join the floor, and he sat back on his knees while you marveled over his girth. Its size submitted you into silence. A tint of envy, but mainly of wonder as you couldn’t possibly imagine fitting him inside of you.

“Hey, you don’t have to…” Clark could see the fear in your eyes. The intimidation. Though, he would never admit that he was extremely turned on from watching your expression morph into utter astonishment. His cock, however, couldn’t care less. Thick and mighty veins blasted from the base of his raging hard-on to the very plump tip of the bulbous head. It was as equally as inviting as it was intimidating.

“I want to. I’m just… kind of jealous, that’s all.” You laughed to yourself, wrapping a firm grip around Clark’s shaft and watching in awe at how you couldn’t close your fingers around him, even when you had adjusted your hand. Clark’s cheeks were scalding. Was there an adjective to describe someone who was embarrassed, but extremely aroused right now? He’d have to look it up, but he was that. He watched how your mouth practically salivated for him, working him in slow strokes because you were careful not to anger this phenomenon of a creature.

“You’re perfect, wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Where would be the fun in all of this if we all looked the same?” You hummed at the comforting words, somewhat feeling guilty over your cock hardening over such a sweet consolation. 

Nonetheless, it wasn’t something you were going to dwell on. You knew Clark loved your body, he would’ve inhaled you whole if he could. As a token of appreciation, you nuzzled over the underside of his cock, lining gentle kisses over the veins that made you the hungry, desperate man you were displaying for him. “I love you.”

Clark would burn this image of you, drooling over the sight of his cock, over the tense of his muscles as you licked his abdomen, sucked at a birthmark on his hip, then hollowed your mouth out to accommodate his erection. “I love you.” He exhaled from his gut, nearly seeing the whites of his eyes as you didn’t spare a second in warming him up to your throat. 

“Baby, slow down… You’re going to choke—“

“Mmfggh—“ Sweet sounds. Delicious noises that made his spine tingle, that made his muscular chest puff up as it swelled with so much selfish pleasure. You looked up at him with such pureness, a determination that Clark was afraid to shatter if he made you stop, so he simply watched. Petting your head, brushing strands of your hair that threatened to obscure the parts he’d loved most about you. Your eyes sparked with glee as the salt of his cock watered your tastebuds. You let your hands roam free on his body. One palm admiring the toned muscles on his stomach, the other stroking the inches of flesh that haven’t been in your mouth yet.

Then, your eyes filled with tears, as you became overzealous from your mouth blooming with arousal and heat as you took more of Clark. Past the tip now, your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock to make room for his large shaft. Your cheeks hollowed while you sucked, and you could taste Clark leaking on your tongue again. Thick and salty pre-cum dancing over the bed of sprouts.

“Baby, careful…” Despite his warning, Clark couldn’t help but thrust every now and then into you.

It was difficult stuffing Clark inside of your mouth, but you proceeded. Further and further, you sank your head. Clark carefully held you while his gaze marveled at the warmth of your mouth. You’d splutter into a gag when you lodged him into the back of your throat, cramped and gratifying despite the tears in your eyes. Clark was quick to pull you back in case you choked on your own spit, and he knew you. He knew you were the type to take on a challenge. Before you could complain about him pulling you away, he brought you up for a kiss, meeting you half way as he bent forward. His hand was on your nape, tenderly massaging in case you pulled a muscle, and he smiled at your fluster when he pulled away. A thin line of spit connected the pair of lips, a display of devotion for one another. “You did so well.”

While Clark laid you on the bed once again and reached for lube out of his bedside drawer, you were kissing at the underside of his jaw. He’d left a mark on your neck, so it was only fair that you made your presence known as well. Your teeth nibbled on the stretch of skin as your lips wandered off to suck on a patch of skin on his neck. The smell of his body wash was strong in your nose when you buried your face into him, suckling until Clark’s neck had skipped the initial stage of turning pink, and instead, an ardent red. “Don’t finger me too much. I want to feel you.” Your cock throbbed in anticipation.

“No way, (M/N). I’m going to hurt you if I don’t.” He sealed off any potential retorts from you with a smooch to your lips, and then affectionately bumped his forehead to yours, sparing you a teasing smile. “And I promise you, you’d still feel me even if I spent an hour warming you up.”

Your heartbeat spiked.

You brought your knees up after he placed a pillow beneath your lower back. Clark took his sweet time lubing his fingers and erection. There was an obvious motive behind the gaze he’d spare you. A smugness in the curl of his calming smile. He made sure you were watching as he bucked his hips up when he slimed his cock with a glorious amount of lube. The remaining lubricant was used to lather your rim, and then the surface of your lips as he brought his hand up-close.

“It’s cake-flavored. Haven’t used it yet.“ Clark said with a laugh, pressing his lubed thumb to the center of your mouth.

“Of course it is. What’s with you and sweets?” Your lips parted to let your tongue peek out and take a swipe at the wet layer of his skin. Artificially sweet at first, but it wasn’t unpleasant enough to detract you away from it. After taking multiple samples of the lubricant, you closed your mouth around Clark’s thumb, and that was when the base notes hit your tongue. The scent of vanilla tingled your sinuses, as well as the artificial flavor of the sweet commodity spreading pleasantly on your tongue the more you sucked. It tasted more like marshmallows than a cake, but you weren’t complaining. You pushed his thumb out with your tongue and nodded in approval. “Tastes nice. Why do you need it to taste like cake though—“

“Because I like cake.” With a push of your thighs, Clark was back on his knees again. He haunched over to face your exposed entrance once you locked your arms around your legs, holding your knees to your chest. Then, he flattened his tongue over the smooth surface of your crack. One stripe to sample the quality of the flavor. Another to discover the depth of vanilla blossoming on his tongue. And then another few laps, because your bare flesh tasted infinitely better than whatever was mixed in that bottle of lube.

“Clark…” You wished you could properly watch him. For now, you had to settle on blindly watching the top of his head from the opening of your legs, dark curls bouncing as he eagerly devoured and lapped up the layer of lube that slicked up your opening. His tongue swirled over the rim of your hole, teasing at first, to sample you again, then he pressed his mouth to your entrance. The movement of his languid mouth nipping and mouthing made you pucker. It was an automatic reaction, you clenched, then opened, and Clark seized the opportunity and slipped his tongue inside of you, officially tasting you. “C-Clark! That’s—Mmf!”

Clark was under hypnosis. Everything that was said to him, that was plead towards him while he ate you out was drowned out by the sound of his slobbering. Two palms on your asscheeks stretched you out while Clark thrusted his tongue inside of you like daggers. When you clenched around his tongue, Clark pulled back to carefully push a lubed finger inside of you, spreading you back open. “I wish you could see this right now, (M/N). Your hole’s so pretty.” He looked up at you, lips beaten red and his fringe tousled, while he pumped two fingers inside of you now, smiling at the way your body had a mind of its own, floundering within your own hold, completely stripped of insanity and instead, disheveled over the smallest touch. “You look so pretty.” Your cock twitched in solidarity. 

For someone who made it seem like he absolutely got no action, Clark was a natural talent in pleasing you. His fingers were thick and deep inside of you, curling at various spots you hadn’t even brushed once in your lifetime. You bit your lip, writhing in suppressed arousal, and Clark would watch in awe as he simultaneously licked around your rim and thrusted his fingers inside of you. Three now, spreading, twisting, and churning in and out of you smoothly with the help of a fresh paint of lubricant. His thick pecs bounced with every draw of his fingers, sweat beginning to form over his neck and shoulders as the heat between you and him only escalated. He broke out into cold sweats, watching you unravel your sanity before his very eyes, and Clark was eager to be the cause of your destruction, for you to equally ruin him.

You’d let your legs collapse onto the bed a while ago, but it was fine, because once you were properly warmed up, Clark took matters into his own hands and balanced your feet over his shoulders, pulling out and orienting his hips before you. He slicked his cock in another layer of lubricant, the smell of vanilla mixing pleasantly with his arousal, and he leaned for a sweet, but confirming, pushing your knees towards your chest in the process.

“I love you.” He softly whispered into your mouth, forehead to forehead. Words of affection that you couldn’t possibly imagine growing tired of. Your stomach was in knots, your heart tugging one way, and then another, as you two shared a gaze. A silent one, but surely meaningful because you felt close to tearing, looking into his sweet, adoring eyes. It nearly ripped when he repeated those three words again in your ear, gentle like the kisses he was adorning the shell of your ear, ticklish like the way he had been tracing your rim with the tip of his cock.

“I love you…” It came out as a purr, and you gave his shoulders a loving squeeze. I’m all set.

Upon the completion of your breath, Clark pushed his hips forth. Slowly, you felt your hole opening. Wider, as it took in Clark’s hot pulse. Gasping, as it was a struggle to fit the head of his cock inside of you. Your body naturally reacted in pushing back the intrusion out of your body, swelling around the plump glans and clenching to prevent him from moving any further. “C-Clark—“

“M-mm, relax—“ He grunted in the depth of your mouth, distracting you with another open-mouthed kiss. But Clark was persistent. He was nearly there. One more push, and he was in. He used the back of your thighs as leverage, pushed your legs further back, and pushed with careful might. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to break through the barrier that refused to let you two bond. Clark was pushing. You were pushing back. It was a battle for territory, a toll on your body as you broke into cold sweats. You inhaled at the increasing soreness, but nonetheless endured because you’d endured worse. 

You’d lived through the loneliness that was your life without Clark, and that was absolutely unbearable compared to this. The thought of spending eternity with him reconciled you with near pleasure. You two would go on to do everything together. Holding hands with him in public would be a no-brainer as you helped him shop for a new suit. You’d celebrate his promotion over dinner, either homemade or a fancy restaurant, because Clark deserved the luxury of life. And if all things go well, he’d reward you for staying by his side and supporting him with a ring. Nothing too grand or magnificent, because you were never too keen for the lifestyle of the wealth. And knowing Clark, he’d ramble about how he could buy another engagement ring if you weren’t happy with it, completely forgetting to ask you about the inevitable: Will you marry me?

Exhaling once more, you brought a hand to his nape and gently pushed his forehead to yours. Then his nose squished with yours when you felt your body arched off the bed in response to Clark finally breaching inside of you with one tantalizing thrust, goosebumps fluttering over your skin and amplifying the soreness by tenfold. “H-hh! Clark!” You choked out, straining your neck as your body felt like it was burning. Scalding with pleasure and pain all at once.

“I got you. I got you, baby…” Clark slipped an arm beneath you, cushioning your body when gravity pushed you back onto the bed. He began lathering your neck in pacifying kisses, stilling his hips while doing so. “Doing so well, doing so good. You feel so good, you know that? You make me feel so good.” Clark was drunk on the grasp you had around his cock. So tight, you felt so tight, and he anticipated what you’d feel like beyond the first few inches of him.

“You’re okay?” For moments now, he’d been kissing you to divert your attention from the pain. Wiping beads of sweat off your face with the back of his hand. Massaging your chest and playing with your nipples. Anything to get your body to relax. Though, the most effective remedy was when he gazed into your eyes and rambled. Clark knew that. He felt your muscles loosen when he’d make a silly joke, or when he’d bring up a memory about losing his shoe at work. Touching was the easiest effort and you loved the weight of his palms on you, but you were most sentimental about Clark finding other ways to temporarily shift your mind to a sanctuary. All in all, the power of his humility was a force to be reckoned with.

“I’m okay… Just been a while.” Your lips slurred against his, kissing Clark again, extremely appreciative of his patience. “Think I’m all good now. You can move.” You confirmed with a gentle pat to his cheek.

“I’ll make you feel good.” It was a promise.

Clark kissed at your ear. “I’ll make you feel like you won’t want to stop when we’re about to end.” A symptom.

His lips moved to your neck. You shivered at the ghosting of his mouth, of his tongue, before he’d rightfully claim another spot on your neck as his own. 

Clark reeled his hips back until only the tip was left inside of you. You whimpered at the emerging heat, but it was beginning to become bearable.

“I’ll make you feel like you were made for me.” You felt yourself split into two when Clark brought himself forward. A gasp slipped when you felt your hole stretch. And then continued to push itself to its limits as he worked himself inside of you with gentle and subtle thrusts, until Clark was an inch deeper. The grasp you had on his shoulders was extreme, egg-shell white as the sweat in your palms threatened to loosen your grip. The husk in his voice trembled while you swelled around him. Rapid pulsations embraced the thick veins of his cock, seemingly massaging him out of appreciation, a token of your gratitude because pleasure had finally materialized in the loss of your agony.

The toned muscles of Clark’s thighs slapped into the back of your sweaty thighs with every thrust. A salacious sound that wouldn’t cease. Louder. Harder, when Clark was comfortable enough to properly move inside of you. “Because you are.”

Properly stir your insides. Your face said it all. Your sight blasted as you watched Clark with dilated pupils, mouth agape like you had better counter to the flattery of the man’s words. Instead, you found yourself choking back on them. Words. They would’ve been affectionate words. They came out as stifled moans because it was embarrassing for Clark to see you like this. Grunts when Clark lodged himself deeper inside of you. He was just as motivated by a challenge as you were. The challenge of making all sorts of delightful noises fall from your mouth out of your own will.

Sweat dripped off of him like he’d just returned from a blacksmith.  A sweltering fire would heat him up. Not to burn him, but to make him pliable enough for the blacksmith to shape the perfect man out of Clark’s flesh and bone. A chisel to carve out the deep dips in his upper traps, where your palms loved occupying. Another at his waist, where you’d hold Clark to help him dig you deeper. Then a hammer, used to forge the sturdy muscles on his athletic body. Deep hills and valley, crafted over his pecs and abdomen to let his sweat drain onto your body.

“You’re made for me, as much as I’m made for you.” Clark murmured.

A vow.

With that, Clark mounted you, both of his palms grounded to the space by your shoulders to stabilize his catapulted position. He pushed his full weight on top of you. Your legs folded towards your chest, alongside the sink of his body, until your knees signaled the end of their mobility. A kiss to your left calf to keep you alert, a bite to the other to warn, and Clark propelled his hips forward without the intention to stop. Further and further, your mouth and eyes widening as he tunneled through your contraction, until his cock was deeply-rooted fully inside of your hole. Clark settled himself inside of you with a yearning groan, and you retaliated with staggered cry.

“C-Clark, I feel so… full. Honey, fuck—” Your skin prickled with goosebumps knowing that Clark had fully breached your hole. There was no doubt about that, yet your hand snuck down to blindly confirm the achievement, to see if you could slot your hand between his pelvis and your ass. But Clark was pressed flushed against you. No gaps. Only the thick hairs of his pubic region came into contact with your fingers, and your cock twitched.

You were completely and utterly full to overflowing.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. You feel so good. So warm. So… tight.” Clark huffed out a few breaths and slid his cock nearly out before slamming it back into you. 

“U-uh-huh.” You panted at the sight of his arousal. How gratifying it was to Clark, being inside of you, to the point where his eyes would roll back, and then feel the need to slow his deep thrusts, because he was close. You could tell. You could feel his cock throbbing harder. Veins hotfooting a nearing high as you stimulated his aching muscle, and you were stroking your leaking dick to the feeling.

“I love this… I love you. I love making love to you.” His cock hammered your insides, the thick head of it raking past your sweet spot. It made your cock tremble, your glans crying out with thick, teary pre-cum. When your moans hiccuped a pitch, Clark realized he had mined gold.

“C-Clark, I love you—“ Your firm cock slid through your closed fist every time he moved, the creaking of bed springs following every motion of his thrust. It wouldn’t be long before you made a complete mess on your body. “Oh, god—“ Clark clasped his mouth around your tongue, greedy to feel your moans ricochet off the walls of his cheeks, and into the depth of his throat. Veins charged his arms as he pinned your hips to the bed. You were floating, higher and higher. The roam of your hands, over his sweaty pecs, his shoulders, his neck, his abdominal muscles, his arms—you were stimulating Clark’s body so he doesn’t stop. Motivating him to blind you with his devotion, starry skies and all.

“P-Please, Clark. God, that’s so good. You feel so—“ Forehead to forehead now, Clark was watching you passionately through heavy lids, alternating his gaze from the silent plea in your eyes, to the beaten and swollen muscle of cock in your jerking fist. All while he throbbed inside of you, overwhelming you with the pulsating of his thick cock veins, making love to your hole with the refusal to stretch his approaching climax.

So close, you were so close. You held Clark by his neck with one hand, and refused to let him pull away.

Faster and faster, his cock consistently drilled into your prostate, drumming against it with a deep swivel of his hips and more, until you couldn’t hold back your cries. Your pulse raced as your cock twitched with your heartbeat, speeding the flicks of your wrist to outpace Clark’s thrusts. 

It was a tense battle to see who’d erupt first. Harder. Harder. Faster. You were a mess, and so was he. You made him a mess. A drunk intoxicated by carnal desire. Sweat clung onto his fringe, yet he had never looked so attractive, powering into you like a madman, impaling you with his love, with his devotion, with all of his might, brute force, through gritted teeth. You gripped him hard by his biceps, unsure of whether your cries of pleasure were heard between the thunderous sound of his thighs connecting to your asscheeks and the creaking of bed springs. You took a chance to cry out again, to warn him that you were close. 

“C-Clark, I’m going to come…” The bubbling feeling had been too irresistible to delay any longer. Clark locked eyes with you upon your alert, and groaned. His tongue came out to skim the bottom of your lip, and you strained forward to cover his mouth with yours, sealing the pair of lips in a slow kiss, contrary to the rapid rhythm that had overtaken the rest of your body, and it stole your breath and made you all dizzy. Your cock only needed three more pumps.

Clark panted a few quick breaths, bracing his body in anticipation by clutching onto your hips until his fingers had turned white. “Want to see you come from my cock…” What you heard in his murmur was beyond want. 

It was need.

Two. 

You reminded Clark that you were going to come.

One. 

His forehead pressed hard against yours, and he switched his gaze to your jerking fist.

“Clark—“

“Let it out. Show me how much you love me.”

You yanked your hand a millisecond before the inevitable, and Clark watched in pure bliss, maintaining his thrusts as your cock erupted with white. Thick shots of cum catapulted across your body with the aid of Clark’s thrusts drilling semen out of you. Layers of creamy ropes messily inked your body from abdomen to chest, and that was all it took for Clark to spill his load inside of you. 

His hand like claws on your waist, he pummeled your insides for a few more seconds, delivering your ass with powerful thrusts, and you sobbed out in between breaths, clutching a bundle of his hair in both fists. Finally, Clark grunted, unloading himself inside of you with a scalding bite to your lips. You felt his cock pump, his balls jolting as it drained itself inside of your cavity, filling you up with an unspoken affirmation that you were his. He pushed his cum deep into your hole, powering through the cold tremors overhauling his body, and resumed thrusting inside of you. 

Shallow and slow, but enough to spread himself all over your walls. Enough to remind you of the memory when you had been claimed as his, in case you’d ever forget.

You shuddered, dropping your legs to wrap them around his waist, because you could never forget. Couldn’t if you had tried. Not when he was milking his orgasm into you, dumping his warm seed into your hypersensitive hole until he filled you to the brim. Not when you prevented him from pulling out, because you pressed the heel of your feet into his lower back, and countered his thrusts with swivels of your pelvis, gluing him shut to you. 

Until you were bonded to him.

“I love you…” Lethargy in his voice, his eyes closed. Clark worked so hard, and you immediately rewarded him with a slow kiss, embracing him close to you after.

“I love you.” He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, evidently gratified by your response as you felt the corners of his lips tug into a smile. You murmured sweet praises in his ear, petting the back of his head to calm the electrical currents stimulating his body.

“We… have a lot of catching up to do, by the way.” Clark suddenly spoke, and your eyes weakly opened, inquisitive over the strange tone in his voice.

It was also funny. How absolutely massive the man was, yet in your arms, he was cuddling up to you as if he wasn’t aware of his own weight plastering you.

“Yeah? Something on your mind, or you wanna save that for tomorrow?” You idly twirled a piece of his hair around your finger, windmilling it out of affection.

“I mean, I guess so? It’s been on my mind since we’ve met. And it’s been killing me on the inside.” The stubble on his chin tickled you when he lifted his head to look at you. The expression on his face suddenly made his warning seem all the more significant.

Concerning, as you propped yourself on your elbows and frowned. Despite your risen position, he was insistent on continuing to rest his weight atop of you, not that you had minded. “You’re kind of scaring me, Clark. What is it? Did you get fired or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I—It’s just…” He stammered, then heavily exhaled. Thoughts of regrets plagued his mind at first, but he trusted you. You could see it in the light of his eyes. “Okay, here it goes. You know... how I’ve written multiple articles about Superman?”

“…Yeah? Got you on Perry’s radar, didn’t it? He seems to only like talking to you, which is impressive. Not surprising though—”

“Yeah, well… It’s just—there’s a reason why… he only sees me.”

“Why? Is it because he saved you or—”

“Clark, what are you doing with your eyes?—“

“Wait, holy crap—“ 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[bruciemilf]

i have a no capes au stuck in my head

clark kent goes to gotham to interview battinson and half way thru realizes that battinson never really had a chance to actually live, to enjoy life, so instead he decides to go sightseeing with battinson for the rest of the day they're together.

im talking trying out the best hotdog places, going bowling, ice skating and rock climbing, having dinner at 3pm and if any paparazzi comes over to try anything, clark will give them the scariest fricking glare. the day ends with them sitting on a rooftop, staring at the beautiful sunset.

bruce finally gets to see the beautiful part of gotham, that gotham isn't all guns and violence. clark stays the night and in the morning, alfred and bruce are shocked to see breakfast already cooked (apple pie). after breakfast, clark goes "ready for sightseeing day two?"

NO CAPES AU MY BELOVED- Bruce is just... Incredibly nervous to meet Clark Kent, aka his favourite Daily Planet reporter; He's heard Clark rip into billionaires and pick his teeth with men like Bruce. Sure, - Bruce ACTUALLY puts his privilege to good use, but will that be enough?

That's how he ends up hiding under his desk with his security team and secretary trying to fish him out; I'd also love it if WE's security staff was made of like. Macho gym bros with valid energy.

" Come on, bro! He's not gonna be THAT bad."

" Dude, don't call Mr. Wayne " bro" , bro!"

" Nah bro, he likes it. Come on Bruce- Bro, I'll tell Rachel to bring you your anxiety meds. We got you, dude."

Bruce's secretary has no time for this foolishness and drags him to Clark by the ear. Bruce is naturally so shy and introverted, but Clark has all the patience in the world.

Everyone in Gotham already knows Bruce because that dork goes out with his kids ALL the time; I need Gothamites to hype him up so badly, especially the old ladies at food trucks and little restaurants.

" Did you know that little Brucie here used to volunteer at soup kitchens all the time with his folks? And now his rich butt does the same with his kids! You should write about that, cuz that Lex guy could learn a thing or two"

" Bruce here? Paid for that son of mine to go to college, - hell, 60% of kids can afford school cuz of him! Oh don't tell me to be quiet, I said what I said and said right!"

Bruce sports a permanent blush the whole time and Clark definetly wants to pet his hair. Give me Battinson marvelling at just how far Gotham improved with his help, thought.

It's still the same old heavy aired, monochromatic block of shadows, but during daylight? Bruce loves feeding the ducks by the park. " Evil. Evil creatures. Feed." While throwing food at them, and Clark has to struggle not to laugh sjsjs

Give me Bruce who stops mid date (is it a date, Clark wonders. He hopes it is.) To stop and say hi to garbage collectors (they're on first name basis, Clark notices) and off the clock sex workers who flirt just to send him in an embarrassed frenzy.

But everywhere they go, they all regard Clark with the same gaze. Take care of him, it reads. And yeah, Clark wants to say, that's all I really want to do

Clark NEEDS to get Bruce in Metropolis; Because he has the cosiest apartment if Bruce doesn't like being outside. With... Just as fun attractions...

[thevindicativevordan]

thoughts on Superman: Secret Identity? I personally LOVE the art as well as it’s interpretation of Clark and family. It’s also a great rebuttal towards Zack Snyder’s claim that DCEU Superman is what a “realistic” Superman would be like

One of my all-time favorite Superman stories. If the story doesn't hook you the drop dead gorgeous art from Immonen absolutely will. Every time I read this all the wind gets knocked out of me when I see his amazing double page spreads.

Problem with most "realistic" Superman stories is that they all usually ignore the big caveat: if Superman was "real" he would grow up in a world alongside the fictional character Superman! Beginning as a pitch for a Superboy-Prime story (yes that Prime), Busiek set out to tell the story of "Clark Kent of Kansas", an ordinary kid who gets teased growing up because he shares a name with the most iconic superhero on the planet. Clark is a loner and an outcast who has trouble fitting in, and doesn't find the constant jokes about his name all that funny, nor does he actually like or care about his famous namesake. Then one day while out camping by himself, Clark wakes up from a nightmare to discover he can fly. Not just fly, he has all of Superman's powers: super strength, nigh-invulnerable skin, heat vision, enhanced senses, the whole works. What he decides to do with his gifts shapes the course of his entire life, and attracts the attention of the government.

At his core this Clark has the basic decency you'd expect from Superman, but he isn't a saint or morally unimpeachable. In line with being a realistic take, this is a Superman you could feasibly see yourself being, a Superman who is relatable. Plenty of folks who woke up one day to find they had Superman's powers would probably first use their powers for fun, but eventually I do think many would attempt to be a hero. After all our entire pop culture is built around the understanding that people with superpowers have a responsibility to use their powers to help others, and many would want to imitate the heroes they've seen in film and video games. Contrasting with so many other "what if Superman was real?" stories, Secret identity manages to stand out by it's level of maturity. It tries to reconstruct Superman rather than just mock him as being stupid or outdated. When Clark becomes a writer, marries a Lois, or dons a pair of glasses it feels believable because Bueisk acknowledges the criticism about those tropes, while still incorporating them. Glasses aren't going to fool anyone Clark works with daily, but perhaps they might throw off any government agents he unwittingly crosses paths with in the street.

Realism is often correlated with darkness and cynicism in people's minds. You might be surprised to learn that Secret Identity does have elements of both in how it explores human nature. Wendy Case blew up gas lines throughout the town of Pickettsville, in an attempt to force Clark out into the open, because she was so desperate to make it to the big leagues and he was her meal ticket. Yet Clark can't find it in himself to hate her for it, pitying her instead while still reserving the majority of his sympathy for her victims. Agent Mallory was willing to capture and imprison Clark for the "crime" of using his powers to help people. Mallory was so terrified of what Clark might do, that he was willing to actively push Clark into facing off with the government over their attempts to capture him. At the end Mallory proves himself to be decent, letting Clark walk away from helping the government and destroying all the information they had collected on him. Mallory even surprises Clark by letting Clark know that Mallory discovered his secret identity, but hasn't shared that information with anyone and will keep his secret.

Not that this story shy's away from letting you know that yes, there are some real bastards out there:

Scenes such as Clark discovering the victims of government experimentation, including a dead baby, hit me hard the first time I saw them. Usually Superman stories don't enter that kind of storytelling territory, but Secret Identity does and is all the stronger for it. Superman as a character is frequently said to only work in feel-good wholesome stories, stories that are only about how great he is or offer a rose-tinted worldview on human nature. I don't believe that hogwash because some of Superman's greatest stories are extremely dark, and this one of them. Here we see a perfect example of how Superman can work in a "dark and realistic" story. He comes face to face with the evil humanity is capable of, but he doesn't become evil himself. Torching the lab, but still carrying out all the soldiers who were attempting to stop his escape, Clark remains good even despite the efforts of the government to bend him to their will. Seeing that others can be bastards doesn't make him decide to be a bastard himself.

When it comes to Snyder this story is everything he wanted to do but actually succeeding. This is the story that manages to answer the question of "what if Superman was real?" in a way that doesn't break the character the way Snyder did. Clark never discovers that he's actually from Krypton, he doesn't meet Lex Luthor, he never publicly reveals himself as a "superhero", he comes into conflict with the government, and the story takes pains to acknowledge that there are costs to being Superman. Missing his wife giving birth to their twin daughters because he has to go rescue hostages is part of the deal that comes with being Superman for Clark. Whereas Cavill is utterly passive, hiding because Pa told him to, putting on the suit because Jor-El told him to, here Clark is the one who chooses to keep his identity secret, to keep saving people even when it would be more prudent to give up his heroics. Choices are made and consequences are dealt with, reaching an accord with Mallory and the government happens because Clark takes the initiative to make it happen. Compelling protagonists are ones whose actions shape the story, not protagonists who merely sit back and let events happen to them.

Another thing that struck me as I was reading this was how similar this take on Clark Kent is to Peter Parker. At the start he's a bullied outcast who can't even make friends with the "nerds". He's got his own Flash Thompson in Mike Aurie, who picks on Clark Kent but is enamored with the rumored "Superboy". After getting his powers, his first thought is to use them to travel, or to spy on girls. Eventually he uses them to help others, his first act of heroism being to save someone from drowning in a flood even though it's the middle of the day, but also plans on taking Wendy Case's offer to secure fame and fortune for himself and his parents by going public. Only after Case betrays his trust by attempting to take a photo of him without his consent or knowledge, does Clark back away from that plan. What separates the two is that Peter had let himself be warped by bitterness, he had all the hallmarks of a supervillain in the making until the spider bit him, whereas Clark didn't have Peter's entitlement issues.

In the final issue, as an old man who has been replaced by his twin daughters, Clark reflects on the meaning of the title: Secret Identity.

This right here is key to Superman's appeal, it's the foundation of the character, the part that comes directly from Siegel and Shuster's childhood experiences. Having different parts of yourself for different situations, and rarely does anyone outside of your immediate loved ones ever get to see the "whole" of you? Who can't relate to that on some level? We all have different personas, different "capes" we put on and wear at different times. Befitting his status as the Everyman+, Clark simply takes that to the next level, but that aspect of him is the way in for me and countless other Superman fans. It's an important aspect of Batman and Spider-Man too, even in stories where Clark has been outed I think on some level that separation of identities, manifesting in how he acts depending on "who" he is, needs to be there.

Beautiful story about someone with a remarkable secret life, this is an easy recommendation for newcomers or people who are already hardcore Superman fans but somehow haven't read this yet.

[watchtower-feed]

First Nemesis

    You're a new up-and-coming supervillain and you're looking for your first nemesis. You're thinking of starting small. Like that reporter from the Daily Planet that keeps messing up your villain name. What was his name? Yeah. Clark Kent.

    A rookie reporter who grew up in the middle of nowhere Kansas. There's no way he would see a direct attack coming. Even moreso an indirect one.

    You're hitting a small fry but that doesn't mean your methods are gonna be cute. You  decide to go with the classic kidnap-your-loved-ones strategy. That one never fails.

    You're standing in front of the sign that says Kent Farm and take out your phone to dial away. Of course, as a supervillain, getting such personal information on a lowly Daily Planet employee was nothing. The phone rings twice and a cheerful but polite voice greets you. It aggravates you even more.

    "I know what kind of person you really are, Kent. And you will rue the day you messed with me." You pause for a dramatic moment and then menacingly whisper, "But only after your parents do."

     You hang up. The hand gripping your phone shakes. You're grinning like an idiot because that was one of the best threats you've ever given. Much better than how you practiced it in front of your mirror.

   Brimming with adrenaline, you stride to the farmhouse and knock boldly. It's still early in the morning so you expect them to take a while to answer the door. But then it opens and an couple greets you. Already in their work clothes.

    "Can we help you?" asks the man you know as Jonathan Kent and his wife, Martha Kent, looks at you from just a step behind him.

    You suddenly revert to yourself. Your civilian self. "O-oh! Hello! Umm... Good morning. I hope I'm not disturbing you.."

     The old man chuckles a little but it's only half meant. "This is basically lunch time for folks like us." It's only 7:30am. You clearly remember calling at that time so Clark Kent wouldn't be able to punch in for work at exactly 8:00am like he always does.

    "Oh yes. Well, umm... I.. I know your son... He's a..." The couple visibly tenses as they wait for you to continue. You notice this and you wonder if this isn't the first time their son has messed with a supervillain and used them as leverage. "..reporter for Daily Planet."

    Confused looks. The couple looks to each other then at back you. Their brows are raised and it's more obvious now that they're questioning you. Deeply questiong the very existence of you at their doorstep.

    You suddenly snap. What are you doing? You have a plan! You're supposed to be a supervillain! You knit your brows together and stomp one foot in as you push the door the back. Jonathan takes a step back and Martha holds onto his shoulders. You shout at the top of your lungs, "Your son has been getting my name wrong in his articles at the Daily Planet and I demand justice!"

    Your pulse is beating profusely and your whole body is tense. You stare at the old couple but they're not cowering in fear like you expected them to be. Instead, Martha had her brows furrowed and her mouth was frowning. "Oh, dear," she says. She gently wraps her arm around yours, "I'll make us some coffee," and leads you to the kitchen.

    You find yourself going blank as you're seated in a quiant little kitchen with worn-out yellow walls and furniture bordered with pale teal. Martha goes to the counter and suddenly you all hear a loud booming sound that came from outside. It's enough to make you jump out of your seat, ready to run or fight, but the old couple just stares out the window and then collectively shakes their heads.

    "Can you please tell him we have a visitor? And that he should behave himself." Martha looks sternly at whoever it was outside while her husband had already left through the kitchen door.

    You can hear faint yelling from outside and try to listen in. "Oh don't worry about them dear. It's just my son--"

    "Your son?!" you jump out of your seat. "He's already here?"

    She looks at you for a second before she shakes her head. "You told him you were coming but he didn't even think to tell us. My goodness that boy.." Martha continues to mutter about her son while she walks back to the kitchen counter.

    The backdoor creaks open and in walks Jonathan with a huge disheveled man trailing after him. He's wearing a flannel shirt that's obviously two sizes too small for his torso and pants that don't even reach his ankles. His hair is a mess and he's struggling to put his glasses on upright. As soon as he walks in, he narrows his eyes at you, struggling to recognize where he's seen you before.

     Your offended meter has definitely reached its peak and is now erupting. You stomp your foot and point at him while you appeal to his mother. "Do you see the disrespect? He doesn't even remember who I am?!"

    Clark Kent's jaw drops as he looks to you then his mother, then back to you. "You told my ma?!"

     "Clark Joseph Kent!" Martha snaps and slaps his arm with a tea towel. "Who told you you could yell at guests in this house?" Clark is absolutely flabbergasted. He gets another whip with the tea towel. "And why have you been bullying this young lady in the newspaper? What has she ever done to you?"

     You suddenly think about it. You had your chin resting on your hand as you mull it over. "Actually, nothing. I haven't done anything to you," you say out loud.

    Clark huffs as he straightens himself, trying to take back some control in this situation. "I'm sorry about how rude I'm being-- or been but who are you?"

    All three pairs of eyes are on you now and you take your own pair of eyes and look at your hands all the way down to your feet. You're in your civilian clothing.

     "AHHHH!" you burst out without thinking. Hands gripping the sides of your head. After all that research. All that planning and scheming. All that waiting for your scheduled flight. You forgot to come here wearing your supervillain costume. You're a civillian. You're doomed.

    The Kent's worriedly look to each other as they watch your meltdown ensue. All too suddenly you start bowing, spitting out rushed apologies about a mistaken identiy, and taking slow but long strides toward the main door. But before you could make your escape, thick bulging biceps block your path and you look up to find a very pissed off Clark Kent. He's using his other hand to massage the bridge of his nose while his eyes are forcibly closed.

     "Just hold on a second here..." he grits through his teeth. "You can't just barge in here and think you can run away just like that."

      Another tea towel whip hits Clark's arm. "Would you stop tormenting the poor girl? Sometimes you forget you're bigger than a gorilla."

     Jonathan finally decides to step in. "Now, now. How about we sit down and clear this all up over some coffee?"

    "Umm," you finally pipe up. An escape has finally formed inside your head, "I forgot that I really should be going. I might not get a flight back to Metropolis today. So..." You bend your knees to try slip past Clark but he blocks you with his knee against the wall and his face is suddenly closer. You can now very clearly see the irritation etched on his face.

    "Nonsense," Jonathan answers. "My son can take you back." Both of you quickly swivel your heads to Jonathan with wides eyes. "What? You're going back to Metropolis, aren't you?"

    "Yeah, but I didn't exactly drive here..."

    "Pfft. What? You flew?"

    All eyes snap toward you and the longer they stare at you, the more you can feel your insides squirming. You force out a nervous laughter. "It's not like your son can fly, right?"

     Jonathan's booming laughter breaks the tension like hammering through glass. "He can't even fly a kite. I'd drop dead if I ever saw this boy of mine fly."

    Martha laughs along with him and you can see Clark doesn't like being the butt end of a joke. So you laugh too.

    In the end, you did end up having that cup of coffee with your nemesis Clark Kent no less, but only because you had to wait for Jonathan so he can drive you both to the train station. Turns out Clark didn't bring his passport.

[chernobog13]

Here it is, folks, the penultimate Superman theatrical cartoon!  This one debuted in theaters on June 18, 1943.

Our story opens in the office of Perry White, editor of the Daily Planet:

Prof. Henderson: “--and while on a hunting trip my father discovered what are now known as the Henderson Caverns.”

Prof. Henderson: “More than 40 years ago he mysteriously disappeared while exploring them further.”

Prof. Henderson: “Recently, I found these maps and charts he left--”

Prof. Henderson: “--suggesting there’s still greater wonders and mysteries that lay beyond in this vast, underground world.”

Prof. Henderson: “Now, if your paper will help finance the expedition, I will take Miss Lane and Mr. Kent with me, and guarantee the Daily Planet exclusive rights to the story.”

Clark: “Sounds like a great story, Chief.”

Lois: “I’d love to go!”

Perry: “Well, let me see...”

Perry: “All right, it’s a deal!”

Prof. Henderson: “Thanks, Mr. White!  We can leave immediately!”

The next day, at the entrance to Henderson Caverns, the expedition gets ready to embark.

Prof. Henderson: “Careful now.  Those are explosives for the blasting we’ll have to do.”

It’s safety first, I see.  Everything else is safely loaded in wooden crates, but you’re packing dynamite in a flimsy leather briefcase.  And stowed safely, as well.

Prof. Henderson: “We’re shoving off, Kent.  Meet you in the Blue Grotto!”

Lois: “So long, Clark!”

Clark: “See you later, Lois!”

Of course, since you’re transporting dynamite you might as well use a torch for light instead of battery-powered lamps.

Lois: “It’s beautiful!”

Prof. Henderson: “According to the map, this next grotto is the furthest any man has ever been.”

Lois: “Is that to be our base?”

Prof. Henderson: “That’s right.”

Looks like this expedition is getting off to a great start!

[cdelphiki]

Father came the next morning, just as he’d promised on the phone. 

Yesterday, Damian had been looking forward to this. A lot. He hadn’t seen his father much since moving to Metropolis, so the prospect of spending the entire day with him had been very exciting. Even if they were going to stay in Metropolis. Sure, Damian missed Gotham, but it was his Father he’d missed most.

But after his and Tim’s conversation the night before, Damian’s excitement had turned to apprehension. 

He wasn’t afraid of his father. He knew Father would not hit him in public. That wasn’t something he’d ever done. To any of them. He wasn’t even afraid he’d hit him in private. Because, really. Father had to be pushed. 

It was just the realization that…that was a possibility. At some point. In his life. That the man who claimed to love them all was capable of such a thing…

Well. The thought had kept Damian up all night. 

“You all right?” Clark had asked, at around 4am when came out to the living room, where Damian was swatching out the paints Tim got him. He’d never been one to just stay lying in bed when it was obvious sleep was never going to find him. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, mixing up his next color to swatch out. So far, each color had been insanely vibrant. Very saturated. They were interesting paints, for sure. He’d probably need to mix in other paints to help balance them out, though. His oil paints might mix well with these. That should be what he tested out next. 

Clark stood behind him and watched him work for a moment, his hand resting on Damian’s shoulder. It was incredibly relaxing, and since Clark was likely listening to his heartbeat, there was no doubt the stupid alien knew that and that’s why he kept it up. 

Honestly, the lack of privacy he got in this house. 

“I don’t know what you and Tim talked about,” Clark said slowly, after a moment, “but clearly it’s bothering you. If you want to talk to me about it, I’m right here.”

Well, okay. Maybe he got some privacy. It’s not like Clark could help the fact he could hear Damian’s heart-rate. It was probably as natural and normal to Clark as Damian seeing someone produce tears or hearing their breath catch. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, maybe a little more testily than Clark deserved. But it didn’t deter Clark. No. Instead, he sat in the chair next to Damian and left his arm back around Damian’s shoulders. 

That was probably one of the many things he liked about the Kents. No matter how bratty he got, how much he snapped at them, or how rude he became, they never walked away from him. 

He’d almost cried, right then. 

But Clark saved him by asking, “So what are you going to paint?”

They’d spent the rest of the night… morning? The rest of the morning chatting about everything pointless. Damian explained how the paints worked and showed Clark his process for creating a piece, and Clark helped him decide on what to make. 

In the end, he’d painted a simple skyline of Metropolis. And just to make Clark smile, he’d added a tiny little Superman, flying above the city. 

Just a dot of blue with a smudge of red, really, but it’d helped him finish off his sleepless night with his own smile when Clark declared, “This is the best painting of me I’ve ever seen!” 

It was just another reason why he really liked the Kents. Because when Father showed up just after breakfast, Damian felt relaxed. Such a stark difference from his feelings the night before. 

Sure, he was exhausted, but he didn’t feel like his blood would shake right out of his veins or his heart would quit beating entirely with the stress and anxiety of the night before clutching away at his chest. 

When he answered the door and saw Father standing there, holding a wrapped present and smiling awkwardly, he was even able to smile back. He quickly put the present on his bed, then rejoined his father in the front room, eager to get going with their day. 

“Dinner’s at six,” Clark said, just as Damian was about to follow Father out to the car. While it had been phrased innocently enough, they all knew Father had just been given a curfew. 

That didn’t particularly matter to Damian. He knew the day with Father would not last forever. And, honestly, he didn’t want it to. He still needed… time. To process everything that had happened. 

Father, on the other hand, seemed particularly perturb at Clark, and Damian just barely caught him mumbling, “He’s my kid, Clark. I’ll keep him as long as I damn well please.”

Damian frowned, but didn’t comment as he climbed into the passenger seat of Father’s car. He wanted to have a pleasant day with his Father. Not one spent in the middle of a fight between Clark and Bruce. 

He really did not want to be forced to choose between the two of them. 

Thankfully, Father did drop it. Eventually. They spent the thirty minutes it took to get to their destination in silence, Father tightly gripping the steering wheel as he fumed. But once they pulled into the parking lot of the Natural History Museum, his shoulders relaxed and he turned to face Damian. 

“How does this sound, for at least the morning,” Father asked, scratching at his neck for a second before dropping his hand and asking, “Clark said you hadn’t been here yet.” 

“I’ve been wanting to come,” Damian said, letting a small smile onto his face, “There’s an exhibit about the t-rex right now.”

“You like dinosaurs? I didn’t know that.”

Damian shrugged and got out of the car after Father, then trailed along beside him as they went inside. “Apparently most American children learn about them at a young age. It was never part of my curriculum, but I’ve been reading up on the Mesozoic Era lately. It was a natural diversion in topic.” 

“Hm. Any particular reason for that course of study,” Father asked, just as they got in line to purchase tickets. 

“No,” he admitted, leaning back against the wall behind him, “Got lost on Wikipedia and found it interesting. Clark got me a card at the library so I could check out books on the topic.” 

Clark had actually been thrilled when Damian started showing interest in history. It’d only started a few weeks ago, thus the lack of visiting the Natural History Museum already. 

He knew had the entire Kent Family had a whole day off at the same time, they would have visited already. Clark didn’t like going out like that unless Lois could come, too. But every time they thought they had time, something came up. Usually Superman related, but sometimes Daily Planet related. 

Regardless, Clark had wanted to encourage Damian’s independent studying, and had brought him to the library one afternoon after school to get him his own library card. 

The name they used for it was fake, of course. Couldn’t have the librarian knowing the son of Bruce Wayne was living with Clark Kent in Metropolis, and being a minor he didn’t need an ID to get a library card. Just a self-proclaimed parent or guardian to apply for one for him. 

‘D. W. Kent’ was the name Clark had written down. When the librarian asked what ‘D.W.’ stood for, Clark had said, “Nothing, that’s his name,” putting on a thicker Kansas-country twang. The dopy, farm boy smile he followed up with sold it to the point the librarian obviously thought Clark was empty-headed, and Damian was left grinning, trying his best to hide it from the librarian. 

“Fake a country accent,” Clark had said, after they left the library, “City-folk are thrown by it and it’s automatic points against your assumed intelligence. You can get by with a lot.” 

It’d made Damian realize that Clark was more clever than Father gave him credit for. He’d already known the man was smart, but Clark could play up his perceived persona just as well as Father could. And that playboy wasn’t the only persona that worked for throwing people off a secret identity. 

“You could always purchase any book you wanted with your credit card,” Father said dryly, “I didn’t cut you off. Then you could keep it when you were done.”

“I don’t have any place to keep it,” he said, shrugging again as he pulled his weight off the wall to move with the line, “there’s not much room in the apartment, Father.”

“There’s plenty of room at the Manor,” Father nearly grumbled. Petulantly. Like a child. 

That was something Father did a lot, wasn’t it?

Why had Damian never noticed?

“I enjoy visiting the library,” Damian said instead of address any of that. He honestly did. It was fun. He could, and did, get lost in the stacks whenever he went. Clark usually found a quiet place to sit and work while Damian and Jon wandered around for as long as they wanted. Lois had even brought them once. It was great.

His day wasn’t, though.

The rest of the day went pretty much in the same manner, to Damian’s reluctant disappointment. 

They went out for lunch after the museum, then to the horticulture center across town for the afternoon. Father attempted small talk throughout the outing, but always managed to bring the topic back to Damian moving home. In a very indirect way.

He never once said, ‘Damian, come home,’ but instead pointed out how, in Gotham, Damian would be able to do something better or more often. Like when Damian had mentioned having to adjust to a bedtime, Father had said, “Bedtimes are pointless. It is why you don’t have one in my house.”

Damian had wanted to argue that he had, in fact, had a bedtime in Father’s house. He just never followed it. And Father was wishy-washy about enforcing it. 

But he was so exhausted. And the more he thought about it, the more his mind was comparing Clark to Father. Lois to Father. The parents they were to the parent Father was. 

And he was just so exhausted. He did not want to think about any of that.

Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t argued with Father about anything, all day. Pulling an all-nighter had really taken a toll. And really, the entire day before it, too.

It came at the end of their day, however. The real toll his exhaustion would take. 

Because Father had worn him out throughout the day, as well. Damian was fairly certain even had he received a full nights rest, he would have reacted in exactly the same way. 

They arrived back at the Kent’s apartment half past six, late for dinner, of course. But Damian doubted Clark actually cared. Not about them being late, at least. After Father parallel parked, he turned off the car and turned in his seat to face Damian fully. Damian raised an eyebrow, and just sat there, waiting for his Father to say whatever it was he wanted to say. 

He hadn’t been expecting Father to be quite so direct, though.

“Are you about ready to come back home?” 

“What?” he asked, because what did that even mean? It wasn’t up to Damian when he got to go home. At least, he didn’t think it was?

Father frowned, but rephrased the question to, “How much longer do you want to spend in Metropolis?”

And it left Damian no less confused. Because, again. “I- That’s not really my choice, Father.”

“Of course it is,” Father said, frowning harder now as he shifted some in his seat, “No one can keep you somewhere against your will, Damian.”

Damian blinked. And stared. Then he noticed his mouth had fallen open a little, so he snapped it shut. Because what made Father think this was all against Damian’s will? Damian had kryptonite in his utility belt. If he really wanted to get away from the Kents, he could. Now that he knew them, though, knew Clark better, he knew that they would never hold him against his will. If he demanded to be returned home, Clark would do it.

He might report Bruce to the authorities for abuse, but he’d return Damian home… 

But why would Damian fight to go back home? When Father never fought for him? At all? Father had made exactly one protestation about Clark taking him. One. Then he just dropped it and walked off. Hadn’t even said goodbye. It took Damian texting Father to even hear from him for the first time. 

Clark was willing to fight Father, his self-proclaimed best friend, although Damian was starting to doubt that was the case anymore, just to bring Damian to what he thought was safety. 

That’s what this was all about, after all. Deep down, Damian had always kind of known that. He knew that the first night, when Clark was flying him to Metropolis. He understood that Father had messed up, but he hadn’t quite connected it to him. And hadn’t really cared about his brother’s pain…

But he understood now. He got it. 

Besides, Father had never once shown any interesting in Damian coming home. The last time he’d seen Father, he’d asked, “Why can’t I live with you?” and what had Father said?

Absolutely nothing.

He’d looked away and ignored the question. 

Father had never fought for him. 

Why was he starting now?

“Damian, I love you,” Father said, soft and gently, as he reached a hand out to… do something. Damian wasn’t sure. Stroke his hair? His cheek? Whatever it was, he didn’t allow it to happen, because he backed up, pressing his back against the door behind him.

Father withdrew the hand like he’d been stung, but he didn’t immediately revert to anger, like Damian had been expecting. Instead, he just looked at Damian quizzically and asked, “Damian? What is it?” 

And all he could do was shake his head. Because he didn’t know. He wasn’t afraid of Father. All it would take was calling out Clark’s name, and he’d be there in an instant. 

No. He had nothing to fear from his Father. 

But that phrase just sounded so wrong coming from his father’s mouth. So alien. More alien than Damian’s best friend. And it set off alarms in Damian’s head.

Because had Father ever said that before?

Yeah, he decided. Exactly once. 

What was even happening? What was Father trying to pull, here? Why would he… Was he trying to manipulate Damian?

That’s what-That’s what abusers did. 

Manipulate those around them.

And Father was-

“Damian?” Father asked, reaching forward to touch Damian’s knee and shake it, slightly. 

Damian knew his face had likely drained of its color. What color it had, that is, with him being as sleep deprived as he was. He’d had a good look at himself in a mirror earlier. He looked like absolute shit.

“Father,” he started, then paused to clear his throat before continuing, “it was never about me. It’s always been about you.” 

Bruce gave Damian the most confused expression he’d ever seen on his father’s face, and said, “I don’t follow.” 

And before Damian could think better of it, his mouth was saying, “Do you love Tim?”

It was a valid question after all. 

“What?” Father asked, and Damian could see a touch of annoyance in his face now. Tim was likely a touchy subject for him. 

Damian didn’t care. 

“It’s just, you say you love me. But I’m pretty sure you said that to Tim, too.” He’d adopted Tim, after all. Damian hadn’t been a choice, so it only stood to reason that Father must love Tim. 

Father just turned his head slightly, like he wanted to look away, but couldn’t, so Damian added, “You’re supposed to. Tim, and Jason, and Dick. We’re your kids.” 

And he hadn’t. Father hadn’t. He’d said these things, he’d made them all feel safe and loved and protected, then turned around and betrayed each one of them. 

How could, how could he do that? How could Damian deal with it? Why would he want to?

The answer to that was, he absolutely wouldn’t. 

In fact, the only thing he wanted to do in that moment was going inside and curl up in his bed and sleep. Because he could feel the burning in his face, feel the stinging the preluded the one thing he didn’t want to do in front of his father, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Damian?” Father said hesitantly, reaching a hand out again.

But Damian shook his head, forcing him to drop it, as he said, “And—just—how can I trust you, Father? You, you don’t even seem to care, about what you did. About any of it.”

“What are you talking about?” The exasperation in Father’s voice was just enough to help Damian clutch onto a kernel of anger. 

“Tim,” Damian growled, “I’m talking about Tim.”

 “Tim and my argument has nothing to do with you,” Father said, softening his posture and his face as he did. His voice sounded like he was trying to be reassuring, too.

But he wasn’t.

He was the exact opposite of reassuring. 

In fact, it was affirming Damian’s thoughts and that just plunged him deeper down the drain. There was no returning now.

“It- it wasn’t an argument,” he cried, trying and failing to hold onto his anger and only his anger, “It was- it was abuse. It was wrong. 

And Father reacted in the same way he always did when confronted. With agitation, bordering on anger of his own. “Damian.” 

“I thought, when I left… when I told Mother I chose you, I thought I’d left that part of my life behind me,” Damian said, turning around in his seat so he was facing forward again. So he wasn’t looking directly at the man he knew he was either severely pissing off or hurting possibly irrevocably. He didn’t care. That’s what he’d done to Tim. And Jason. 

“I thought, I’d never have to worry about angering a parent again. Angering my family. Because… because I make you angry a lot. I’m really good at it. Sometimes I do it on purpose, but most the time not. And… before. I didn’t have to worry about it. You’d yell, you’d ground me. Sometimes I’d laugh, and you’d storm off and pout.”

“Damian,” Father said, this time quieter. Void of the anger he’d been expecting.

“But… apparently I should have been worried. I… can’t…”

“Damian.” 

Damian looked over, and wiped the tears away so he could see. And his father was staring at him with absolute desperation in his eyes. Like he were able to hear Damian’s thoughts. See right inside Damian’s head and see the connections Damian was making. The realizations.

The decision that he’d rather stay with the Kents. Stay where being a brat didn’t result in anything happening, but maybe Lois or Clark telling him to ‘watch the tone.’ Where he could do whatever he wanted, and was encouraged. 

Where he didn’t have to wonder, ‘is this what’s going to set him off?’ 

He’d spent the first ten years of his life with that fear. He couldn’t do it again.

“You’re— you’re Dad. If you, if you did that. To me. I don’t think I’d ever recover from it. I can’t-” do this, he tried to finish, but his words were choked off by a sob. And this was the absolute last place he wanted to cry. He’d already cried yesterday. Why did he have to do it again, today? 

“Son, If I can-” Father started, but Damian unlocked his door and pushed it open, unwilling to stay and listen. 

He couldn’t do this. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes as he slid out and shut the door behind him. If Father tried to follow him, he hadn’t noticed, because as soon as he entered his code into the door, he ran as fast as he could, taking the stairs up to the apartment. 

Clark had obviously been listening in, or was at least tuned into Damian, because he had the door unlocked and open as soon as Damian entered the hall outside. 

“Damian,” Clark started, but stopped when Damian shouted at him.

“Leave me alone,” he screamed, mad at himself for still crying. Jon and Lois both looked at him, startled, but he could tell Jon had probably been listening, too. Damian hated their powers. “You had no right to listen.” 

He ran into his and Jon’s room and slammed the door behind him, then just collapsed onto his bed to hopefully get all of this out. Maybe he’d just fall asleep. 

But of course, he didn’t. Because life wasn’t fair. Nothing was ever fair. Why did Father have to be like this? He was a superhero, for crying out loud. He was supposed to be better. 

Damian had looked up to him his entire life, because he was a superhero. And superheroes didn’t stoop to the levels of the criminals they were sworn to fight. They didn’t have questionable morals and use lame excuses. 

Superheroes weren’t abusers. 

That’s what villains were. 

“Damian,” Lois said, as she knocked gently on the door Damian had no idea how long after he’d come to hide, “Damian, sweetheart, can I come in?”

“Go away,” he said, burying his face into his pillow as Lois opened the door, anyway.

“Honey,” she said, so sweetly, so kindly, that it made Damian look up. And when he saw his own hurt reflected back at him, he burst out in tears again. And before he knew it, she was sitting next to him, scooping him up into a hug, even though he was almost as tall as her. 

How she managed to make him feel both so tiny and so loved and protected in the one move, he’d never know. What he did know, though, was that it made him cry even harder. 

They sat there, like that, for what felt like an eternity. Whenever Damian thought he was getting ahold of himself, he got himself worked up again about something else. About how much Lois cared. Clark, too. And he remembered how in his four years since leaving his Mother, not once had he ever felt this loved and cared for.

Except for the short time he was with Dick. 

Which just set him off harder. 

Because Dick was gone. 

But he did eventually calm completely down. Except for the weird hiccupy sniffles he had going on. 

He was absolutely, completely, emotionally drained. It had been nearly 36 hours since he last slept, and that on top of the two very exhausting days, he could barely keep his head up. If it weren’t for Lois holding him up and brushing a hand through his hair, he’s sure he would have burrowed under a blanket already and passed right out. 

“You want to tell me what happened?” Lois eventually whispered, her voice a soothing rasp coming from right above his head. 

“Nothing,” he replied, which was an obvious lie. Clearly. He’d been living with the Kents for a while now, and this was only the second time he’d cried. There was no way she was going to take ‘nothing’ for an answer. 

Damian couldn’t come up with anything else to say, though. Because nothing had happened. It was a delayed reaction. A response to stresses he’d been dealing with since the start of this entire fiasco. 

He’d once heard, ‘if someone goes from 0 to 100 over spilled milk, you should ask how long they’ve really been at 99’ and he never understood it before. 

Now he did. 

Because he’d been building this up for months. Bottling it all away, ignoring everything and everyone just to avoid it. To the point that all it had taken was a little push from Father. A tiny little comment, that Damian might have once rolled his eyes at and argued back against. 

“Do I need to go all Mama Bear on Bruce?” Lois asked, with a hint of a smile on her face. 

It made Damian smile, too. A little. “No,” he said, pausing to sniffle, “He didn’t do anything.”

“Nothing?” she asked, clearly not believing Damian. Maybe Clark had told her everything Father said. Maybe he hadn’t, and she was just speculating. Regardless. 

“No, he’s just- He’s acting like it’s my fault I’m here,” Damian sighed, curling in on himself a little more, but not pulling away from Lois’s hold. Why couldn’t his own mother had been like this? It was nice. 

“What do you mean?” 

“He’s acting like…” he said, pausing to gather his thoughts. But they were all a jumbled mess, still trying to sort themselves back out after that massive break. “Like I’m being—I’m—He isn’t even sorry for what he did.” 

How could he be blaming Damian for choosing to live away from him when he wasn’t even sorry?

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, squeezing him a little in a hug, before relaxing again.

“He hit Tim,” he whispered, looking down at his arms. Staring at his watch, that his father had given him three years before. As an inheritance gift, upon his supposed death. Before, seeing the too-big watch always reminded him that his father had remembered him. Had cared enough about him to leave him something as cherished as his father’s watch. 

And when he’d come back from time, he hadn’t asked for it back. 

Looking at it always made him feel better, even if he always wished he could have the man instead of the watch. Now it just made him wish he had the man he’d imagined he was, back when he was ‘dead.’ Instead of what he got.

“Yeah,” Lois agreed, “He did.” 

“And Jason,” Damian added, “And Dick. And he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think it’s wrong.”

“He knows it’s wrong, sweetie,” Lois assured, resuming her petting of Damian’s hair.

“No, he said-” Damian started, but Lois cut him off.

“You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t know it was wrong. He would have fought Clark harder. But he didn’t fight, did he?”

Damian shook his head, and managed to whisper out, “No.” 

“Because he knew he was having trouble controlling himself. He knew you would be better off here, for now.”

“So why is he blaming Tim?” 

“He’s hurt, darling. At least, that’s what I assume. I don’t know him as well as you do. Or as well as Clark. He’s not a bad man, not inherently. He’s just…” she sighed, then shook her head, “I don’t know. Making excuses for himself, I think.”

“Excuses won’t fix anything.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“But hey,” Lois said, a minute later when Damian didn’t respond. She sat up, and took Damian’s face into her hands so they were looking right at each other. “We’re going to figure it out, okay?”

Damian frowned, so she pat his cheek and smiled a little, “We will. Clark and I will help your father however he lets us. We’re not trying to keep you away from him, we’re just giving you a safe place to live while he deals with whatever is going on.”

“Yeah.”

“Because we love you, darling. We really do.” 

“I,” Damian started, but his throat closed up on him as his eyes pricked. He had no tears left to give though, so he pulled his face away and rubbed at his eyes. “Thank you,” he eventually managed to get out.

Lois seemed to hear his unspoken words, anyway, because she smiled at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t you get some sleep, all right? You’ve had a long couple days. I’ll make sure Jon is extra quiet when he goes to bed.” 

“Okay,” he said, as he let her pull the covers up and over his body. She tucked them in right under his chin and gave him another kiss on the cheek before saying, “Good night, D. 

And Damian took a deep breath. One that seemed to fully fill his lungs for, perhaps, the first time in months. 

He had cautious hope that his father would, somehow, fix whatever was going on. Lois said they’d work on it, after all. And he trusted Lois.

But if that didn’t happen. If it took too long. More than four years, Damian wasn’t going to despair. He loved living with the Kents, and he knew he could be happy right there. And that thought alone was enough to help him drift off into a quiet sleep. 

-

First six parts of this found on Ao3: /works/19310035/

[superman86to99]

Adventures of Superman #505 (October 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMAN! The Reign is over, and Superman does what we’d all do after being dead for several weeks and coming back to life: no, not visiting your parents, making out with Lois Lane.

Or more than making out, since the next page starts with a caption that says “Later...” and lets us know that they both had to take a shower. (NOTE: Check Don Sparrow’s section below for artist Tom Grummett’s definitive take on what happened in that scene.)

Their post-resurrection bliss comes to a stop when they remember a little detail: Clark Kent is still presumed dead. How are they gonna explain his return without making the extremely smart residents of Metropolis suspect that Superman and the guy who looks like Superman but with glasses are actually the same person? Superman’s mind immediately goes into “wacky bullshit excuse” mode and he starts spitballing ideas, like claiming Clark lost his memory, or was carried by underwater currents, or was abducted by aliens. Honestly, I’m pretty sure that last one would work, since there have been THREE major alien invasions in the past few years, but Lois thinks no one would be dumb enough to fall for that sort of thing. Really, Lois? No one?

At this point, Superman picks up some supervillain activity with his super hearing, so he gets dressed and goes there (though it would have been pretty intimidating for the criminals if she’d shown up in that shower rug). A bank uptown has been taken over by Loophole, a S.T.A.R. Labs accountant who stole a gizmo that allows him to phase through walls. When Superman shows up to arrest him and his henchmen (are they all villainous accountants?), Loophole literally puts his first through Superman’s chest, instantly killing him. RIP Superman, again.

Nah, Supes just swats Loophole away and breaks the gizmo, causing him to get his crotch area stuck inside a vault door. Now he has to change his supervillain name to “DickVault”.

(I freaking love Maggie Sawyer, btw.)

After that, Superman goes to one of the areas trashed by his fight with Doomsday and helps clean up the junk that’s still laying around there. It’s then that he finally reunites with his best friend and most valued ally: Bibbo Bibbowski. (Jimmy Olsen’s there, too, unfortunately.)

Bibbo also introduces Superman to the dog he named in honor of his home planet, Krypto -- and it’s Krypto who provides the most significant moment in this issue. The little mutt starts barking at some debris from a destroyed building, leading Superman to examine it with his X-Ray vision and find some kids underneath.

Turns out the kids had been trapped there since the Doomsday fight, leading some random passerby (fine, Jimmy) to wonder if Clark could be stuck in a similar situation. Superman and Lois look at each other... giving Superman an idea and providing the premise for next week’s issue.

Character-Watch:

First appearance of Loophole (real name Deke Dickinson, C.P.A.), who would become a running joke in Karl Kesel’s Superman and Superboy comics. While his phasing powers are tech based, he also has the metahuman ability to somehow convince attractive women to be his girlfriends/henchwomen despite being a balding little dweeb. In this issue he’s dating a blonde named Sheila (who wears a mask, so maybe she’s actually hideous), but I’m pretty sure he had other girlfriends in future issues.

Plotline-Watch:

As I said... holy shit, five years ago: no one draws Supes coming back to Lois after an extended absence like Tom Grummett. This scene is almost a remake of the one from that issue when Superman comes back from his time traveling jaunt. There’s also a callback to Man of Steel #25, when Lois hears a tap on her window and thinks it’s Superman, but it’s just some dumb bird. This time she gets it the other way around:

Don Sparrow says: “There’s a cute visual callback to the last time Superman returned after a long absence on page 18, when Superman is reunited with Jimmy. It’s a near identical pose to Action #643, where Superman returned from exile in space (and in that moment, infected Jimmy with Eradicator-based space sickness, womp womp).” I think he’s instinctively throwing Jimmy up in the air, hoping the cold of space will kill him. Unfortunately, both murder attempts were unsuccessful.

As seen above, Maggie Sawyer wasn’t too convinced that “Fabio” here was Superman at first. That changes when he calls her “Captain” even though she was recently promoted to Inspector, and she’s like “only a dead man wouldn’t know all the precise ranks for the local authorities!”

The surviving non-Supermen are seen arriving at S.T.A.R. Labs for medical care after the Engine City showdown. Don again: “There are some mild continuity issues stemming from Superman #82, which perhaps wasn’t completely finished being drawn while Tom Grummett worked on this one, as Steel’s costume is almost entirely intact, when we last saw it a week ago, it was in tatters. Ditto the Eradicator, who was a wizened husk, and now is apparently a scorched Ivan Drago.” Let’s assume Supergirl worked her clothes-shifting magic on Steel’s armor and the Eradicator’s, uh, hair.

There’s a short scene where Superboy is visited by his reporter pal Tana Moon, who tells him she quit WGBS and is leaving Metropolis. Awww. Goodbye, Tana. Or should I say... aloha?

Meanwhile, Lex Luthor Jr. has a scene with Dr. Happersen where he says he intends to control or destroy anyone who wears the “S” symbol. Basically, if he can’t date them, they should be dead. He also instructs Happersen to help Cadmus’ Director Westfield get in contact with disgraced genetician Dabney Donovan. Get ready for a whole lot of clone-related shenanigans in the near future.

And now, more Don Sparrow-related shenanigans after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

This issue is another favourite of mine, but I suppose all these issues around the Death and Return are faves when I really think about it.  My copy of this issue had the holographic fireworks cover, and it’s a good one.  I like that Superman and the Daily Planet are in natural colour, rather than holograms.  The cover credit goes Karl Kesel, Tom Grummett and Doug Hazlewood, so I’m not sure what the breakdown was (or if that’s just a handwritten cover credit, just in case?

The story opens with one of my favourite sequences ever, with Lois waking up on her couch, having fallen asleep following the events in Coast City.  I love the detail as she opens the curtain, we see her engagement ring, indicating she knows her real fiancée has returned.  This sequence is followed up by two pages of splashes of the passionate reunion of the best couple in comics.  All beautifully rendered as they float, locked in a passionate, sunrise kiss.  Just lovely (so lovely that I am willing to overlook a small colouring error, as Lois has black hair instead of reddish brown for one panel).  [Max: I can confirm that they fixed that in the collections.]

What follows is a very cute scene, and one of some debate among Superman fans.  There’s no overt evidence of what happened, all we get is a cryptic caption reading “later…”.   Again, I give credit for the subtlety of the writers, as they depict this scene in a way that can be read either way:  maybe Clark and Lois made love, and the “later” we are seeing is afterglow, or maybe Lois had a shower since she just woke up after sleeping in her clothes. Then, after calling his parents while Lois showered, Clark had a shower himself.  I feel like today’s writers wouldn’t feel the need to be so subtle, and might lose the sweetness of this scene.  

In previous posts, I’ve talked about my friendship with artist Tom Grummett, and how as a boy, I would wear him out with all my dumb fanboy questions.  Once I got older, and our relationship became a little more collegial (just a little closer to collegial, since I in no way consider myself anywhere near his level of skill or success) I would really try not to geek out too much when we would visit.  But the one question I had to ask was about this scene, and what their intention, or interpretation of it was, as I was always curious.  Once I had explained to him which issue it was (the guy has drawn hundreds, so they might not all spring to mind immediately!) he admitted that his assumption was indeed that they had sex.  So there you have it!  [Max: Hot damn! Another Superman ‘86 to ‘99 exclusive, folks!]

However you wish to read this scene, the choreography, and facial expressions as they horse around is really sweet and fun, and such a nice, light tone compared to the do-or-die pace the books had been for the last two years or so.   Their easy joking, and back and forth banter really do a great job of showing them as a real couple.

It’s a very nice pose on Supergirl as she lifts off, simultaneously spurning Superboy’s romantic complaints.

I quite like the design on Loophole, and his gang.  Loophole himself kinda harkens back to the silver age villains of the Flash as Loophole has a unique hairline, is an older man, with a pretty average build, which was rare for villains in the 90s. His gimmick is pretty cool, too, though we immediately see its vulnerability.

The tearful reunion of the now-sober Bibbo and Superman is also a great moment—if anyone rose to the challenge of living up to Superman’s example in his absence, it was Bibbo.  I discuss the scene in more detail in the observations later, but the image of Superman whipping away the debris on page 20 is a great visual, with the dust clouds creating great motion and urgency.

On the whole, a great first issue for the return to the never-ending battle, even if it brings us closer to Grummett’s last issue on this title (for a while).

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

Could Superman referring to the Death and Return storyline as a dream, while stepping out of the shower be a reference to Dallas, and their famous about-face after an unpopular season, where Bobby Ewing emerged from the shower, alive and well, dismissing a yearlong storyline as a dream?

A coy semi-reference to perhaps my favourite line in the first Reeve Superman film on page 8, where Supergirl says “Easy steel, we’ve got you, then later adding, “ok, you got me”.  

A little more issue-to-issue dissonance with Superboy reversing himself from the end of Superman #82, where he said clearly that Kal-El was Superman, with Superboy pointing out that legally, he’s Superman and not Kal. [Max: I think he’s talking strictly in the legal sense, since he helps Superman deal with the legal problem on the next issue and all.]

For all the times that Superman has used his heat vision on guns (as he does on page 11), we’ve never seen rounds get burned off, firing on their own because of the heat.  There might be an idea there.    

An odd sorta-cameo by Erik Larsen’s Savage Dragon, who Superman apparently defeats in the waterfront district. An eagle-eyed reader asked Larsen about it in issue #6 of Dragon’s own book, and he nixed any proper crossover rumours, saying it was just a shout-out from Larsen’s buddy Karl Kesel.  Eventually they’d meet in Superman/Savage Dragon: Chicago, a so-so crossover in 2002.

A slightly bawdy joke from one of the Loophole gang, on page 14, as the moll of Deke Dickson calls Loophole a “weiner”.  

GODWATCH: A stirring moment when Superman detects the faintest of life-signs, thanks to would-be super-pup, Krypto, and responds “God willing” when someone asks if anyone is alive in that wreckage.  The love and concern in Superman’s eyes when he says he’d “rather die” himself than let little ones perish is a tear-jerker moment for sure.  Bonus points for the cuteness of Superman heaping praise on Krypto, with the line “if that dog could fly, I’d put a cape on him…”

Question:  Does Jimmy know? He comes up with the solution to the Clark problem very conveniently.  Maybe he’s smarter than we (and by we, I mean Max) give him credit for? [Max: It was all Krypto! Okay, I’ll concede that maybe Jimmy is as smart as a dog.]

[davidmann95]

Superman year one 2?

Folks. As the Superman guy. As YOUR Superman guy.

I am duty-bound to take the L here. Superman: Year One is Bad, Actually, and I was a cretin and a credulous fool to let myself be convinced it might have ever been otherwise.

I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that there are still good elements here. It definitely isn’t the full on woo-rah celebration of American jingoism it threatened to be at the end of #1, and the extremes of the dialogue present in the first issue aren’t here either (though that provided something of a distancing that might have been valuable here). The art’s extremely on-point, there are still solid moments of wonder and looks into Clark’s vulnerable headspace - albeit not at all on-par with the first issue. And if there were complaints to be made that this was Miller trodding ground that’s been tread before, they’re well and truly out the window now.

So here’s the thing: this is a comic where Clark learns not to kill by watching a bunch of evil brown people get blown away in loving detail, and the first thing he does in the Superman costume is be passively invulnerable at a series of threats until an evil merman gets so grumpy he swims away instead of fucking his daughter like he’d been planning on.

God help me, at nearly each turn I feel like I can pinpoint the good intentions going through Miller’s head. The basic idea of Clark wanting to serve and help the world however he can, and as a dumb 18-year-old in a world where the idea of the superhero doesn’t exist he decides to enlist, but realizes over the course of training that their ideals and goals don’t at all measure up to his? I’d go so far as to call that lightly inspired, especially for an out-of-continuity take, and I’ve seen a few redemptive readings on Twitter that this is Miller lambasting himself for Holy Terror by showing the gunning down of clearly-coded ‘enemies of America’ as something Superman wouldn’t do. But it’s still something that’s done by his good guy military pals. And Clark on the road to becoming Superman taking a pit stop along the way in the realm of the classic mythology that preceded him? Inspired outright, but it goes into all the crassest, most unpleasant and regressive elements of said mythology along the way without a vestige of self-reflection, culminating in the bluntest instance I’ve maybe ever a seen of a woman outright, verbally being presented by herself and others as a prize (which not only sucks in its own right but is bizarre when framed as the next stage of Clark’s romantic development after the relatively fleshed-out, wholesome relationship with Lana Lang in #1 - who is never brought up here as Clark moves on without her knowledge, definitely making him a terrible boyfriend). And as the cherry on top, this issue seems to suggest I misread the first issue and maybe baby Kal-El actually did brainwash the Kents into adopting him.

So yeah, it’s what we expected all along but I was lured into believing it could ascend beyond. Worst of all, I’m still definitely getting the finale: I’ve already been bamboozled - however much of my own accord (though hand to God, I don’t think even Miller’s most ardent critics could have foreseen threats of mermaid incest and I don’t believe I can be judged for having not seen that coming) - into putting my money down for the worst of it, and I’d be completely lying if I claimed I wasn’t fascinated to see how the last issue, even with 60+ pages given the extreme decompression, will between what we can reasonably guess and the solicit cover all of:

* Him stepping down as the new ruler of Atlantis

* Posidon’s presumably impending revenge

* Clark getting into journalism as a profession

* Moving to Metropolis

* His public debut as Superman

* The creation of Clark Kent as an identity

* The introduction of the Daily Planet

* Meeting Lois

* His first duel with Luthor

* A teamup with Batman and Wonder Woman against the Joker

[logancreatesworlds]

Coffeehouse Shenanigans (Clark Kent x black!Muslim!reader)

Author’s Note:  Hello all!  So I made this little tidbit since I was thinkin’ about coffee. 😂☕  But, in any case, this is my first black Muslim reader so I’m excited!  Anyway, enjoy!

You sighed softly as you walked down main street, briefly looking up at the blue sky.  It was blue like always, and perkily spotted with puffy white clouds.  Below the sky was your new home.

Metropolis.  

Sighing softly, you opened the door to a small coffee shop and briefly checked your watch.   

8:15 am.  

You just had to be at the Daily Planet by nine to start your new job.

Father hadn’t been too pleased when you said you would be a reporter, but mother convinced him to give you a chance to make your own life.

Empire Coffee, in your opinion, was the best coffee place in Metropolis.  They had everything you wanted on one menu, and the atmosphere was always light.

After quietly waiting in line, you walked up to the familiar cashier.

“Hey Alisha,” you greeted.

“Hey (Y/N),” she replied, her 4b curls bobbing when she smile, “I assume you want your usual?”

You took out your wallet and smirked, “I love how you know me.”

“Okay.  One chocolate frappe with one chocolate muffin.  That’ll be $7.58.”

You hummed quietly as the taste of hot chocolate invaded your taste buds.

Mother always did say you had a sweet tooth.

“And that marks another villain taken down by Superman!”

Your eyes zeroed in on the TV, on which a reporter - as usual, was praising Superman for taking down Metallo.

You could not lie to yourself.  Superman was intriguing.

Sure, many were scared of him.  He could crush everyone if he wanted.

Yet, he used his powers for good.

Perplexing indeed.

“I said I wanted a nonfat mint latte!”

You looked over to see Alisha trying to calm down a pissed off customer.

“Sir, that is nonfat,” she replied.

“Bullshit,” the angry customer snapped, “I can taste the fat.”

For the love of Allah and everything above, how on earth do you taste fat?

“Sir, that - ”

“Whatever.  Just go get your manager.”

Asshole...

“Sir I - ”

“NOW!” 

Okay.  Enough is enough.

“Hey!”  You yelled, getting out of your seat, “She’s going to get the manager.  Either wait, or leave her alone.”

“Stay out of this Muslim,” he growled, “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Anything that concerns my friends,” You replied, pointing to Alisha, “concerns me.  Back off.”

“And just what will you do if I don’t?”  He asked with an arrogant smirk, “Blow me up?”

“Ah, a terrorist joke.  How original,” you spat sarcastically, “And no sir, I won’t blow you up - that is, just as long as you don’t shoot up a school full of children.”

The man growled, grabbing your arm in a tight grip.

“You little bitch,” he growled, “I will fuck you u - OW!”

Someone grabbed the man’s hand in a tight grip.

“Let her go,” the man in the glasses commanded.

The man shakily released you.

“S-she started it.  I didn’t do anything to her - ”

“You have done nothing but cause a disturbance ever since you walked in here.  Get out, or I will call the police.”

“You traitor,” the guy huffed, “Guys like us are supposed to stick together - ”

“’Guys like us?’”  ‘Glasses’ parroted with a snort, “Let’s get something straight.”

He grabbed the man and hemmed him up by the shirt until he was looking him straight in the eye.

“We are nothing alike,” he growled.

The mysterious man then let your assailant go, who swiftly left the shop.

“Are you okay?”  He asked you.

“I am now,” you replied, getting a good look at his eyes through his lenses.

Cobalt blue...

“Thank you,” you said gratefully.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

“I-I’m (Y/N),” you said, holding your hand out for a shake.

“Clark,” he responded, shaking your hand with a kind smile, “Clark Kent.”

“That was nice of you to...defend me.”

“You seemed like you had things well in hand.  I just didn’t want him to hurt you.”

“Well danger is my middle name,” you replied perkily, “I’m a reporter now.  Daily Planet.”

“Daily Planet?  You’re the newbie Lois told me about?”

“That’d be me,” you answered, “Mr. White said I have good journalistic instincts and integrity.”

“Well Perry is a good judge of character.”

A compliment.

Shy, but cute.

“Well I should get down there,” you said, grabbing your coffee, “Don’t wanna be late for my first day.”

“At least...let me walk you there,” he said shyly.

Your smile widened, “Okay.”

As the two of you walked a couple blocks to the Daily Planet, Clark told you a little bit about himself.

Kansas was his home state, and he was a farm boy at heart.

Despite how simple he appeared, you continuously had to brush off the feeling that there was more to him then meets the eye.

Yet, you couldn’t help but think there was something about him that was...heroic.

Oh well, you thought, putting off the feeling until late, just coffeehouse shenanigans, I guess... 

Author’s Note: Aaaand that is all folks!  I know this was kinda short, but I just wanted to wet my feet a bit with writing Superman.  Hope you guys like it.  Enjoy!

[kineticallyanywhere]

Idea for a Superman origin movie

built around two solid points: 1) Lois Lane is the lead character; and 2) The audience dose not know who is playing Superman going into the movie.

So the movie centers around a young Lois, who’s desperately trying to get a job as a reporter at the Daily Planet, despite a hiring freeze as the printed journalism business struggles to keep up, and despite the fact she has no prior journalism experience (at least, not outside of an expensive degree that has yet to start paying for itself). Even though no one at the Planet will even return her calls, she barges in in the middle of a work day, trying to get an interview. She bounces off a lot of people (a number of them tall guys with dark hair and nice eyes who she barely notices) until she tracks down Perry White, who tells her, sarcastically, that he’ll hire her on the spot if she can bring him a properly sourced article revealing the story Metropolis’s new hero, who just yesterday stopped a runaway train with his bare hands. 

She gets to work. Her friends tell her she’s crazy. Her sister bails her out of jail at least once (maybe a montage of times). Her father, General Lane, threatens disownment and/or military arrest. This “menace” broke a muggers arm last week, and is wanted for vigilantism. If she really does find out the identity of this man (who’s been gaining notoriety with every feat) and brings it to a newspaper before the military, her father would have to take action. (This country is his family, after all.)

But the more Lois looks into this ‘super man’, the more she likes what she sees. It’s hard without credentials, but she’s been collecting eye-witness reports for months trying to find the pattern to track; the pattern that everyone’s been looking for. She has dozens of interviews with police, and store owners, and caught criminals, but it’s in the interviews of the regular folk that she finds the pattern:

This man is kind. 

Every headline is about a larger-than-life figure who catches falling statues, wins chases with cars, and stops bullets with his pecs. In the words of the innocent people of Metropolis though, is someone else. Someone who flies broken cars to the shop from the highway during rush hour. Someone who takes a sobbing child from the scene of a bike accident and drops off a smiling one with their parents. Someone who's been spotted leaving flowers by the headstones of the ones who didn’t make it out of that train crash. Someone who sits in a secluded corner of the park and plays chess with the old woman who’s husband can no longer leave the house. Someone who literally pulled a dog out of a river and a cat from a tree. 

So, to find the Man of Steel, Lois searches for kindness - and she finds it everywhere. She finds all the coats freely shed for someone cold. She finds all the grocery carts paid for by the previous customer. She finds lonely veterans offered a seat at the family table in restaurants. She finds hate symbols painted over with cute cartoons and symbols of love. She finds dozens and dozens of volunteers who help clean up and serve food and rebuild after train crashes and car wrecks and robberies. 

She finds Superman.

And then she finds a man in the park.

He’s not doing much, just sitting on a bench with his head in his hands. The copy of the Daily Planet on the bench next to him speculates on the dangers of super humans, as it has every day for the last two weeks. Some have even suggested that the Man of Steel is an alien, though those theories have only barely broken into mainstream. Whatever this man is worrying over, whatever weight is on his shoulders, seems much heavier than a newspaper, though. Lois hasn’t worried herself with the same issue’s as her prospective employer, either. Thoughts still on the group of teens she’s just passed, each promising to beat up on some boy for their friend, are still fresh on her mind, and she takes the spot next to the stranger on the bench.

He’s not a stranger, though. Lois recognizes him. She doesn’t know his name, but she saw him that day at the Daily Planet months ago, and she’s seen him across the police tape at scenes she’s investigated. He wrote today’s front page article: “Man of Steel, or Menace of Steel?”

He’s politely flustered when she sits down, and she promptly tells him that everything about his article - she’s already read it, of course - is absurd. She doesn’t care who “made him write it”, the entire thing is just plain wrong. She finds herself repeating stories she’s read and re-read at all hours of the morning. Stories of regular people who’d told her how they’d been inspired by Superman. How they’d taken leaps of faith toward recovery and new lives thanks to Superman. Teenagers have chosen to live because of Superman. She quotes sources, and sources of people, including herself, who have said that the city of Metropolis - maybe even the world - was so much better because of Superman.

“Superman?” the reporter asks.

“It’s just something I’ve been calling him. He’s got that big S on his chest, right?”

The reporter laughs. He hasn’t smiled the whole time, only looked at her with wide eyes. His smile is... nice. His glasses are dumb though.

“Yeah,” she admits, “it’s a dumb name.”

“No,” he says. A weight has fallen off his shoulders while she was flipping through her notebooks. He sniffles a bit. Lois had just torn into his article with all the fury she could muster, is he crying about it? No, he’s smiling, still. “I really like it. Have you written all this down?”

Lois Lane writes it all down. Her new friend (who proofread the hell out of it because Lois is driven as hell but can’t spell) Clark Kent turned it in to his boss. The newest headline reads:

The Story of Superman -by Lois Lane

She's getting paid more than Clark in under a year. He just seems to be so distracted all the time. Maybe she should look into that...

[emeraldnebula]

In light my recent posts about the idea of creating a brand-new superhero love interest for Superman (the real one, not the impostor parading about in “Rebirth”), I thought it might be fair to share with you some old message board posts from the official DC Comics message boards, circa 2001-2005. This was back when the Superman fandom hadn’t atrophied to the point where only the regressive nutcases were running the show, so there were still some voices of sanity active at the time.

Even 13-17 years ago, DC’s arrogance, inability to accept criticism over their failures, and insistence of stagnation was a major sticking point, and it led to lot of debates over what needed to be updated about Superman to keep it alive, what was absolutely essential, and what needed to be kicked to the curb. I copied and pasted a lot of these conversations into Microsoft Word (I knew nothing of screen-capping at the time), so there’s some choice posts that, I think, are even more relevant than ever in light of “Rebirth” being a failure in every respect.

Some of these posts will be anonymous, as I no longer remember who exactly posted what. But some posters were fairly notable fan personalities, such as comic book blogger Bizarro Mark Engblom, a fan from the Silver Age days:

“ I wouldn't lose much sleep if Perry and Jimmy went the way of the dodo bird. I think they worked better in the age when newspapers were actually a vital element of our society, but they're now (at best) a quaint anachronism. An optional feature of our lives, rather than the necessity it was in past eras. Lois? The current interpretation of Lois is an annoying shrike, but I would think she would need to be around in some capacity. What that is, I have no idea. As it stands, she occupies a much more prominent role that I would ever give her. The real trick seems to be separating the “essentials” from what I like to call “furniture.” Essentials: Krypton explodes, Jor-El and Lara send their baby Kal-El (the baby's age never mattered much to me) to Earth, found and raised by the Kents as Clark Kent in Smallville. Grows up to become Superman. Furniture: Perry White, Jimmy Olsen, various Fortresses, super-pets, kryptonite, villains, blah, blah, blah. Of course, just as in my home I'm more fond of some pieces of furniture than others, it's still just furniture and, ultimately, expendable. From my perspective, there is precious little that absolutely must remain in order for it to still be Superman. Whenever the Superman experience starts to become more about rearranging the same old furniture than advancing the narrative into new territory (or, to beat the analogy to death, “buying some new furniture”), you know the franchise is stuck in a rut.“

An anonymous fan, quoting previous poster Cooky La Moo:

“You know, I kind of like the idea of The Daily Planet, Perry and Jimmy BEING an anachronism. Perry as an old-school newsman standing like Canute against the tide of time. The Daily Planet doesn't HAVE to be a great metropolitan newspaper, it could be seen as a somewhat eccentric throwback to a simpler age, sneered at by other media types, but respected when it can pull in stories like the debut of Superman. Maybe it could become “old-fashioned” in the same way that people see Clark's character itself as being “old-fashioned.” Or, like Cooky said, make the Planet a news agency. Or a web-based news site. How are magazines like Time doing? Are they being superseded like newspapers? Of course, is it necessary for Clark to be a reporter? With 24-hour news media, he doesn't need to be at a newspaper to get access to news stories. Could he be a teacher? Perry a principal, Jimmy a student teacher? Or some other profession? I've always thought that Perry, Lois and Jimmy should form something of an artificial family of some sort, so I think the characters should stay, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't get other jobs. You know the thing that annoys me? The fact that we sit here discussing issues like this when DC just doesn't seem bothered. What's going on?”

Two posts by DC forum regular Kilgore Trout:

“ The strict adherence to “continuity” is what got us to the point we’re at now. It has become impossible to just tell a story WITHOUT going through 16 years of “continuity” to make sure you’re not stepping into a pile of shit that someone left laying there 10 years ago. To me, continuity means this: Strange visitor from another planet [which is destroyed—along with his family—in a horrific cataclysm] rocketed to earth as a child. Raised by kindly older couple in the heartland of America. Has powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. Works for a great metropolitan newspaper. And who, disguised as Clark Kent, fights a never-ending battle for Truth Justice et al…. Everything else is superfluous. Superman should exist inside AND outside of the DCU. The age of anal-retentiveness needs to end. The books are completely stifled under the weight of 16 years of step-by-step continuity. This isn’t the life story or autobiography of a real person. Superman’s story used to be BIG and GRAND. It wasn’t mired in small details and the mundane goings-on of normal folks. The “Hi, honey! I’m home!” approach isn’t working anymore and it’s why I am looking forward to Birthright and the promise it holds.“

“ Here's a simple solution... AFTER they revamp the current Moderateman and change him BACK to Superman, they can actually explain the Lois and Clark relationship in a way that would finally make sense. Here’s how: YES, Superman IS the OLDEST and most RESPECTED Superhero in the DCU BECAUSE of his MANY YEARS of service to and for humanity. And that would require that he's been around for over 60-some odd years, so here's my thought: Lois Lane is a woman that Superman USED TO have a thing with. She aged. He barely did. She is NOW about 60 and is his oldest friend and confidant. Nothing more and nothing less. The end. No marriage and no messy divorce. Just good friends and still an important part of the mythos.”

Responses to the above, from anonymous posters:

“ Kilgore Trout, I’m sorry but, huh?!? what do you mean exactly? Are you talking for TPTB up at DC to just reboot the titles to have it so that now in Post-Post-Crisis, both Kal and Lois have aged but within Kal's case though, the higher-ups have made it so that he has retained his youthfulness in his physical appearance, and so that Lois is now a grandma in the new DCU too? Yeah, I suppose that if done right it could work in the end. It would sure give another gal a shot at becoming his lover (Lana Lang, Chloe Sullivan, Wonder Woman, etc.).”

“ Do we NEED Lois and Clark to be lovers? Okay, sure we do at the moment, assuming there's no reboot on the horizon. But if things started again, do we NEED a Lois/Clark ‘ship? Yes, I know. They've been an item forever. Their names are linked together in the public consciousness, but...what if, in another universe, Clark and Lana ended up together? Or Clark and Chloe? What if—Shock! Horror!—Lois and Clark were just good friends, maybe even best friends, but platonic friends nonetheless? I know that the secret identity causing trouble for Clark's relationships is an important part of the mythos, but can that be played out in another form other than a love triangle? Could it work with friends like Jimmy and Perry if their roles were beefed up? Thinking about it, that sort of situation perhaps works best in a romantic relationship, but that relationship doesn't have to be with Lois. I know, I know. Lois is an important character. I think a lot of the problems are down to poor characterization and a lack of vision for the supporting cast. But sometimes, and especially in conversations like this, it’s worth throwing out ideas and thoughts and seeing if any of them stick, even if they're not how things have been in the past. We hear a lot about redefining Superman, but of all the aspects of the mythos, Clark's character is perhaps one of the things that doesn't NEED changing. Maybe Lois’ role IS something that could change…. (Is there a devil's advocate smiley?)”

Post by Elroy the Cat, specifically citing the Lois/Clark marriage as a death knell:

“ The more fundamental problem with Lois in current continuity is not whether she's married to Superman or not. It’s whether readers can understand what the fuck Clark sees in her, because Lois is either annoying or more annoying, depending on the writer who's handling her. She's a difficult character, apparently, for male writers to pull off successfully. And that's a problem, because you can [and already do] have readers going, “This man could have ANY woman he wants! Why this troll?” It's distracting, and no one has thought to explore whether or not it speaks of a deficiency in Clark that he should seek to be loved by someone as clearly flawed as Lois is. Great story there…but then you'd have to have a real writer to write it. Having said that, the marriage as an idea is only as good as its usefulness to the greater story. Presently, it’s about as useful to the greater “journey” of the character of Superman as shoes are to fish. And therein lies the problem. Bottom line: the marriage is the nail that makes an eventual total reboot of this version of Superman inevitable.“

Another anonymous post in response to infamous forum troll Michael “ManoftheAtom” Sacal, pretty much backing up Bizarro Mark Engblom’s previous argument:

“To me, all Superman needs to be is… An infant rocketed to earth from a dying planet. Raised by the Kents. A reporter. And THAT’S IT!! I don't understand what these “established guidelines” are, exactly. So you guys are saying that if Superman is rebooted 1000 times, he always has to live the same exact life in each and every one of them??”

Excerpt from another anonymous post, again in respose to Kilgore Trout vis-a-vis DC’s pet failed decisions:

“I could not have said it better [following a laundry list of bad ideas DC implemented]. Actually the addition of each of these things was usually a part of a good story. But retaining them after the story as part of the Superman legend has created this disaster that I describe as clutter. Besides, kids who are getting their driver's licenses today (and probably giving up comics) were not even born at the time of the Crisis. It is time to relaunch, have another Crisis, or simply designate everything since the last Crisis as having occurred on some alternate earth (like the GA's Earth 2 or the SA). Then start writing comics for the next generation. Superman could discover Kryptonite again. He could be a bachelor and play the field. He could marry Lana instead of Lois (and that would not require a divorce)—in this brave new world maybe he had been a Superboy before becoming a Superman. He might have a cousin, fly in space, or travel in time. Or maybe not. But there would be room to do new things without having to screw up everything that has gotten him to where he is today.”

Again, some of these suggestions are from longtime fans whose readership stretched back decades. And even as far back as the early 2000s, there were those pondering if perhaps the Superman franchise needed a drastic makeover. I can’t imagine those sentiments are any less now in the wake of DC’s regressive tactics.

[aion-rsa]

Superman & Lois Easter Eggs are a Love Letter to Every Era of DC History

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article contains Superman & Lois spoilers.

Superman & Lois Episode 11

If you just tuned in to Superman & Lois episode 11, “A Brief Reminiscence In-Between Cataclysmic Events” a few minutes in, and perhaps without having seen the previous episodes, you might be forgiven for thinking that this is in fact the pilot episode for a brand new show about the Man of Steel. While every other Arrowverse superhero began life with a fairly detailed origin story episode (or season!), by the time we first met Tyler Hoechlin as Superman and Bitsie Tulloch as Lois Lane, both characters were meant to be well established in their world and careers. The actual first episode of Superman & Lois reminded us that these two were so “seasoned” that they’re already the parents of twin teenagers!

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So there are still plenty of questions to be asked about the backstories of our title characters, and “A Brief Reminiscence In-Between Cataclysmic Events” is a big step towards that. But it’s so much more than a “how did Lois and Clark meet/Clark’s first time in costume/Superman getting established in Metropolis” episode. It’s a genuine love letter to both of these characters, and one that successfully encompasses the entirety of their 83 year history.

Oh, and it manages to do all of that while ALSO still moving the main story of the season forward nicely. It’s an incredibly versatile episode, and a fine piece of storytelling in its own right, making the well-worn beats of the Superman origin story feel fresh and vital, without losing sight of everything else the season needs to do.

Young Clark Kent and the Fortress of Solitude

The opening of this episode, with young Clark trudging through the arctic, carrying the sunstone and trying to figure out both his and its purpose, is the first of many nods to Richard Donner’s 1978 superhero movie masterpiece, Superman. Clark is even wearing a similar red check flannel jacket to the one Jeff East wore in a similar scene.

Jor-El

The concept of Jor-El as an AI that runs the Fortress of Solitude (as well as the Fortress itself stemming from a Kryptonian artifact) also traces its roots back to Donner’s Superman film. That was the first time we got the notion that Clark had to learn about his powers and alien heritage from the collected memories of his biological father and his people, and it’s updated nicely here.

Man of Steel

Clark’s first flight in the arctic, with Jor-El’s words ringing in his ears, well…again, Donner’s Superman. But specifically the way it’s presented here with Clark’s powerful takeoff and unsteady first moments it feels a lot like a similar moment in Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel.

The Fleischer Superman Costume

While we did hear Superman say “my mom made it for me” in the first episode, here we get to see more of why that actually happened. Clark’s current suit definitely feels like something slightly alien, perhaps the Kryptonian ceremonial wear it was hinted as being in Donner’s Superman (the first place to use the “S” as a Kryptonian house crest), Man of Steel, and recent DC Comics. But for the majority of Superman’s comic book history, it has always been the case that Martha made Clark’s suit for him.

Superman & Lois splits the difference, though, with Martha having made Clark’s first costume…one that happens to look exactly like the first screen interpretation of Superman ever: the classic Max Fleischer animated Superman shorts which first arrived in 1941. If you haven’t seen these, please do so. They’re gorgeous. Spending more time with that suit in this episode is a real treat, and it’s a perfect illustration of why “less is more” with superhero costuming.

It even kind of explains why the “S” on the original suit wouldn’t be the perfect Kryptonian symbol that Clark and Supergirl wear in the present day: Clark probably helped her design it from memory, since the first time he would have seen his family crest was when the Jor-El hologram appeared to him in the Fortress!

Also, this may or may not have been intentional, but Martha telling Clark “go save the world” before his first adventure also happens in J.J. Abrams never-filmed Superman screenplay, which despite it’s reputation, when it gets stuff right, it really gets it right. I wrote about that in much more detail here.

First Day on the Job

The episode cheats ever so slightly by reusing footage from the pilot with Superman catching the green PT cruiser and chatting with the citizens of Metropolis. But it’s worth repeating that this is a gloriously realized homage to the cover of Superman’s first appearance in 1938’s Action Comics #1. But everyone knows that, right?

But here we go one further, with the revelation that this wasn’t a random flashback, it was truly Clark’s first act in costume as Superman! Again, a nice little tribute to Action #1.

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane…

Superman changes back into Clark in a phone booth. I’m not sure at what point in Superman history that the “changing in a phone booth” became such an accepted bit of pop culture lore. It did happen in at least one of the aforementioned Fleischer Superman cartoons, and infrequently in the comics themselves, and almost NEVER in live action. In fact, Donner’s Superman even had a quick sight gag about this, when Christopher Reeve’s Clark is looking for a place to change for his first public act in costume, and gives one of those “modern” (for 1978) non-enclosed phone booths a bemused look.

A passerby notes to Clark that Metropolis’ new hero flew “like a bird or a plane.” This of course nods to the famed narration first popularized by The Adventures of Superman radio show (more on that in a minute) and the Fleischer cartoons: “It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s…Superman!”

The Daily Planet

We don’t spend a heckuva lot of time at The Daily Planet on this show, but when we do it tries to capture the manic, bustling energy that we saw in Donner’s Superman (wow, that keeps coming up a lot…and with good reason).

Also, how good is Paul Jarrett as Perry White?

Lois Lane

Lois showing Clark the ropes at The Daily Planet is something that goes all the way back to their earliest appearances. I will die on this hill: Lois is slightly older than Clark, and is also the more experienced and better reporter. Even with “all those powers” (the real ones know) she’s at least one step ahead of Clark in the reporter game.

This one might not be intentional, but the montage of Lois and Clark on the job together reminds me very slightly of a montage page from John Byrne and Dick Giordano’s Man of Steel #2, where Lois, trying to track down Superman during his early days in Metropolis, keeps showing up just after he has left.

Lois and Clark staying late on the job has echoes of both the pilot episode of 1993’s Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman and the “rooftop scene” from Donner’s Superman. It is the former in that it’s the first indication of a romantic attraction brewing between them (and significant because up until that point in history it was ALWAYS the case that Lois was attracted to Superman and not Clark). But there’s also a hint of the latter in their playful but wary flirtation.

But that’s subverted further with Lois’ exclusive interview with Superman. Just as in Donner’s film, Lois lands the first exclusive interview with the Man of Steel (there it was in private for later print publication, here it’s on TV). But again, Lois isn’t interested in Superman, because she’s already in love with Clark. It completely eliminates the old “love triangle” where “Clark loves Lois, but Lois loves Superman, but Superman wants to be loved as Clark” which has been a staple of the legend for years. This isn’t a bad thing, mind you.

One more thing from that lovely evening scene with Lois and Clark working late: when Clark is getting ready to leave, Lois asks him “what’s your hurry?” In Superman II, when Lois was suspecting the truth about Clark, she asked him “What’s your hurry, Superman?”

Atom Man

OK, the inclusion of Atom Man is some next level stuff. The character first appeared in 1945 on The Adventures of Superman radio show. There, he was “Heinrich Milch” (hence the “Henry Miller” of this episode), a Nazi empowered by Kryptonite in his bloodstream.

We met a different Atom Man in the second Superman movie serial in 1950, the appropriately titled Atom Man vs. Superman. There, Atom Man was the alter ego of Lex Luthor. One of these days I’m going to get around to writing about Columbia’s Superman serials, but today is not one of those days.

The Atom Man we meet here is based on the visual design from Gene Luen Yang and Gurihiru’s EXCELLENT (seriously, I can’t stress enough how absolutely great this book is) Superman Smashes the Klan. That Atom Man was based on the “Henry Miller” version of the character, and thus the racist nonsense spouted by tonight’s villain is appropriate.

One other cool thing about the use of Yang/Gurihiru’s Atom Man? In Superman Smashes the Klan, Supes is rocking a version of his costume that looks very much like the Fleischer suit. The folks on Superman & Lois know exactly what they’re doing. One callback to the movie serial version? It seems that Henry Miller is bald and stocky, much like the very first screen Lex Luthor Lyle Talbot was in Atom Man vs. Superman. It’s like an Easter egg singularity!

Now FLY (do not walk) to your local comic shop to buy a copy of Superman Smashes the Klan which, in what will probably be my final mention of The Adventures of Superman radio show for tonight, is loosely based on a DIFFERENT adventure from the radio show. Anyway, it’s great and the best Superman story to hit comics in approximately a decade or so. Thank me later.

Morgan Edge, Tal-Rho, and Zeta-Rho

This episode continues and reinforces the “nature vs. nurture” debate around Morgan Edge that began last week. Here, the mirroring of his journey with Clark’s is made even more pronounced. Clark was given good guidance by Jonathan and Martha, and those lessons were only reinforced by Jor-El, while Tal-Rho just had those impulses amplified by Zeta-Rho in his desert fortress. Jor-El sent his only son to escape a dying planet in the hopes that he could help another one. Zeta-Rho sent his only son to revive a dying planet at the expense of a vibrant one.

The “headband” that Tal-Rho is using to insert himself into Superman’s memories (and Supes has a matching one) feels like a subtle nod to the fact that headbands were the height of Kryptonian fashion in the comics from the late 1940s until John Byrne’s reboot in 1986.

The apparently successful “turning” of Superman at the end of the episode had better be a red herring. This show has faked us out so many times in its final moments, I really can’t imagine they’re gonna do something as obvious as giving us an “evil Superman” for even one episode.

Other Cool Kryptonian Artifacts

When Clark returns to Smallville and tries to meet up with Lana, there are two films playing at the theater: one is an instalment in the Harry Potter franchise. The other is Friday Night Lights, the movie that inspired the TV show that has been a surprisingly strong influence on a lot of elements of Superman & Lois.

For the Smallville fans, there’s a “Teague’s” sporting goods store visible on the street, as well, possibly a nod to Jensen Ackles’ Jason Teague character from season four of that series.

Yes, Lois does indeed call John Henry Irons at the end of the episode. Steel is coming back!

Clark Kent is a Seinfeld fan! It’s canon! Why is this so significant? Jerry Seinfeld is a noted Superman fan, and on the famed TV show (the greatest TV comedy of the ’90s), there was a very visible Superman magnet on his refrigerator in many episodes. Wait…that causes reality problems that are going to make my brain hurt.

Was anyone able to catch the names of the books on Clark’s nightstand? They look like old sci-fi paperbacks, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

I didn’t spot any significant names in Clark’s yearbook, but I’m old and my eyes are going, so if you spotted anything, please let me know in the comments!

The post Superman & Lois Easter Eggs are a Love Letter to Every Era of DC History appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3hcrosr

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1315

Monday, March 1, 2021

 Hi folks. Long time no write.

 I have been mostly isolating at home during the pandemic trying to keep myself and my family safe from Covid-19. I do go out and walk around our neighbourhood to get fresh air and exercise. I don't wear a mask outdoors like I do when I absolutely have to go into somewhere other people will be, like the drug store or my dentist's office. I get anxious when people come too close to me masked or not, but I also get angry when there is plenty of space to keep a safe distance and people don't move away. I have verbally admonished someone for being too close but have decided that I will keep my big mouth shut from now on and just get away from them myself. I don't know if I can keep my trap shut if I was confronted by the guy my brother did at work. This young guy came into the liquor store wearing a mask with a swastika on it. That would make me very angry. Angry enough to confront him? I don't know. I would like to be brave enough to ask him "are you for real with that mask?". Or "are you a Nazi?"…"you know the Nazis lost, right?". My brother would not serve him. It could have been worse though. That racist could have gone through his check-out without that ugly symbol on his mask and he wouldn't have known he was serving a bigot. I think it's better when you see them coming.

 My thanks to Doug for lending me his comic books to read.

 Daredevil #26 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Marco Checchetto (art) with Mike Hawthorne (pencils) Adriano Di Benedetto (inks) Marcio Menyz (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). This book may have been put into Doug's sub my mistake but it gave me a chance to catch up with what's happening with the Man Without Fear. This is part 1 of "The Black Kitchen" which ties into Marvel's "King in Black" mega event. Knull is now on Earth and is wreaking havoc. Kinda reminds me of the "Maximum Carnage" event back when I was reading on the regular. Here we have Venom symbiotes running amok in Hell's Kitchen. What I found interesting was the current situations of the main characters. Matt is in prison after being convicted of murder. He can still wear his mask to conceal his secret identity inside. Not true to life but hey, it's comic books. Elektra is now protecting Matt's turf as Daredevil and she's got super scary horns. Wilson Fisk is still mayor with Typhoid Mary as his head of security now. The big shocking ending is that symbiotes get into the prison and one bonds with Matt. Another symbiote bonds with Mary and she attacks Elektra. This sets up overwhelming odds for the good guys as any good comic book will do. Stay tuned.

 Action Comics #1028 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) John Romita Jr. (pencils) Klaus Janson (inks) Brad Anderson (colours) Dave Sharpe (letters). Bendis closes out his run on this title with so much schmaltz you're going to need a shovel to get through it. Jimmy Olsen is the new owner of the Daily Planet. What the nique? Conner Kent goes to the farm team. Jonathan Kent goes back to the future and the Legion of Super-Heroes. I don't know if a new art team is going to come on board but I sure hope so.

 Detective Comics #1033 - Peter J. Tomasi (writer) Brad Walker (pencils) Andrew Hennessy (inks) Dave McCaig (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). The art on the first page with Batman and Robin tumbling in the foreground with flashback panels behind gave me goosebumps. It's why I will always love reading comic books. Batman beats Hush by giving him a good old fashioned beat down. The rest of the Bat Family is saved and Bruce can take a breather. Now that the Wayne fortune is lost to him I'm curious to see where Bruce ends up after he moves out of the mansion.

 Batman/Catwoman #2 - Tom King (writer) Clay Mann (art) Tomeu Morey (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). The jumping back and forth in time is a little confusing for me but I really like this Black Label story. The relationship between these lovers is more than complicated especially where the Joker is involved.

 DC kicks off 2021 with a plethora of comic books taking their characters 10 years into the future with their "Future State" event. Doug decided to check out the following.

 Future State: Superman vs. Imperious Lex #1 - Mark Russell (writer) Steve Pugh (art) Romulo Fajardo Jr. (colours) Carlos M. Mangual (letters). The story opens with a meeting of the United Planets inner circle. They are debating the inclusion of the planet Lexor which is lorded over by Lex Luthor, the supreme anal pore that we all know and loathe. Lois Lane is Earth's representative and she votes to reject Lexor's membership until Superman lobbies to allow his arch foe's planet to join so that the poor inhabitants don't suffer from Lex's villainous ways. It's a morality tale of Unity, Progress and Compassion.

 Future State: Robin Eternal #1 - Meghan Fitzmartin (writer) Eddy Barrows (pencils) Eber Ferreira (inks) Adriano Lucas (colours) Pat Brosseau (letters). In this future Gotham City the Bat Family has been decimated. Bruce is dead, Dick is in Arkham and Jason now works for the law enforcement agency that killed Batman. No mention of where Damian is. I have a feeling that the son of Bruce will show up later as a big surprise. Tim's the last man standing and he's vowed to continue the tradition of keeping Gotham safe. Too bad he doesn't live long fighting against the super cybers. The last panel reveals why this book is called Robin Eternal. Hint: the Lazarus Pits are involved.

 Superman: Worlds of War #1 -  This $7.99 US anthology of four stories starts off on Earth and ends up on Warworld.

 "The Many Lives of Clark Kent" by Phillip Kennedy Johnson (writer) Mikel Janin (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours) & Dave Sharpe (letters) is my favourite one simply because I loved the art so much. This is where we find out why Superman is missing from Earth.

 "Time and Effect" by Brandon Easton (writer) Valentine De Landro (art) Marissa Louise (colours) & Dave Sharpe (letters) features the new Mister Miracle poking around Warworld. Why? We don't know. Guess we'll find out if we keep reading.

 "Midnighter: Future State" by Becky Cloonan & Michael W. Conrad (writers) Gleb Melnikov (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours) Travis Lanham (letters) has Midnighter running around creating a bloody mess everywhere. It could have just as easily been Lobo or Wolverine in this piece.

 Finally "Do Not Go Gently" by Jeremy Adams (writer) Siyam Oum (art) Hi-Fi (colours) Gabriela Downie (letters) features the new Black Racer trying to free the slave labour on Warworld. Unless you're a Jack Kirby Forever People fan you wouldn't care.

 As a fan of Mikel Janin's art I would have felt ripped off having to pay for the three fillers in this comic book just to have his work in my collection.

 Future State: Catwoman #1 - Ram V (writer) Otto Schmidt (art) Tom Napolitano (letters). Selina is still Catwoman ten years down the line as she attempts to rescue Gotham City citizens being transported to a reformatory by train. Similarities to Nazi behaviour is an easy way to make the bad guys evil. All the previous Batman related Future State books say that Batman is dead but this one has a surprise at the end. Hey, it's Bruce in shackles.

 Future State: Dark Detective #1 - Mariko Tamaki (writer) Dan Mora (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours) Aditya Bidikar (letters). This title blows the whole Bruce/Batman is dead plot device clear out of the water. I can see why the bad guys controlling Gotham City wants the populace to think that, but how are they going to keep up the charade when Batman is clearly running around fighting crime? I like that Batman has lost the cape in this one. This $5.99 US book has a back-up story by Matthew Rosenberg (writer) Carmine Di Giandomenico (art) Antonio Fabela (colours) & AndWorld Design (letters) that I liked even more than the feature. It follows Cole Cash AKA Grifter as he tries to dodge the law. He gets arrested and meets up with Luke Fox AKA Batwing and a whole lot of fun ensues. The Huntress showing up at the end makes this more appealing.

 Future State: Dark Detective #2 - Mariko Tamaki (writer) Dan Mora (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours) Aditya Bidikar (letters). This issue explains how Bruce Wayne/Batman "dies" and how Bruce continues to fight crime. I was disappointed that the back-up story didn't follow up on Grifter and Huntress but was a different story about Jason Todd/the Red Hood now working for the bad guys as a bounty hunter capturing masked vigilantes. It starts with him bringing in the Vigilante and ends with him teaming up with a ruthless Ravager to stop an old school Red Hood gang leader stealing from the rich to give to the poor. Rose has no qualms about killing their bounties but Jason brings them in alive, that's why their nickname is "dead or alive". Har. I like Jason's Akira bike.

[dukereviewstv]

Duke Reviews Tv: Smallville 1x17 Reaper

Hello, I'm Andrew Leduc And Welcome Back To Duke Reviews Tv, Where We Are Continuing Our Look At Smallville. Sorry I've Been Gone For A While I Had To Take A Break From Writing Here And Focus Mainly On My Main Tumblr Page, Duke Reviews For A While Because It Got To Be Too Much For Me...

I Couldn't Focus On Both Pages And Not Live My Life Which Is What Running Both Sites Were Doing To Me And I Just Had To Stop For A While. If Any Of My Followers Feel Like I Betrayed Them Because I Left Them Hanging I Would Like To Say I'm Sorry But Anyway While I Was Gone, This Happened...

(Start At 2:33, End At 3:05)

And While My Thoughts On This Are More Mixed Than What Other Smallville Fans Think About This, I'm Just Going To Shut Up And Get To Today's Episode Which Is The 17th Episode Of Season 1, Reaper..,

This Is About A Guy Named Tyler Randall Who Is Resurrected After A Piece Of Meteor Rock Collides Into Him At His Time Of Death, Granting Tyler The Ability To Turn Anyone He Touches Into Ash. At First He Uses His Powers To Help The Terminally Ill By Putting Them Out Of Their Misery...

But "Absloute Power Corrupts Absolutely" And Soon Tyler Gains An Addiction To What He Does, Can Clark Stop Him Before He Kills Whitney's Ailing Father?

Let's Find Out As We Watch Reaper...

The Episode Starts In A Hospital As Tyler Randall Visits His Ailing Mother Who Has Asked Him To See Her Because He Wants Him To Help Her Kill Herself And That If He Loves Her He'll Do This For Her...

And So, Even Though What She's Doing Is Wrong In This Reviewer's Opinion, He Does Help Her Die, Only For A Nurse To Call Security Who Ends Up Knocking Tyler Out Of A Window...

To His Death...

With His Body Taken To The Morgue, The Coroner Finds A Metor Rock Shard Embedded In His Wrist (From The Bracelet He Had On) Which He Decides To Remove Only For The Energy From The Rock To Be Enough To Bring Tyler Back To Life...

Turning The Coroner To Ash With His New Powers, Tyler Gets Off Of The Table And Walks Away...

A Few Weeks Later In Smallville, Martha And Clark Are Delivering Produce And Flowers To The Home For The Sick And Elderly Where They Talk About Clark's Upcoming Fishing Trip With Jonathan Which Clark Is Not Looking Forward To...

(Start At 0:51, End At 1:08)

Going Inside, They Visit An Ill Woman Named Mrs. Sykes Who Has A Dog Named Pepper Who Clark Feeds While Martha And Tyler Deliver Her Produce And Flowers...

However, When Mrs. Sykes Goes Through A Bout Of Serious Pain, She Takes A Liking Of Tyler When He Gives Her Her Pills And Promises To Bring Her Some White Roses Tomorrow...

Meanwhile At The Luthor Mansion, Lex Gets Another Visit From Lionel's Assistant, Dominic Who Is There For An Internal Audit As There Has Been Some Accounting Irregularities In His Division And Lionel Wants To Know Where The Money Went...

Which Leads Lex To Tell Dominic To Tread Carefully As Though He Denies It, He Still Is Lionel Luthor's Son...

Visiting The Talon, Lex Runs Into Clark Who Is Reading A Fishing Magazine For His Fishing Trip With His Father Which Leads Lex To Tell Clark About The Time He Went Fishing With Lionel...

(Start At 1:48, End At 2:25)

Seeing Lana Cry, Clark Goes Up To Talk To Her Where She Tells Him That's Whitney's Dad Has Just Had Another Heart Attack...

But Despite That Bit Of Bad News, We Cut To The Kent Farm As Dominic's Investigation Leads Him There, Introducing Himself To Jonathan, Which Leads To Him Asking Questions About The Crash Involving Lex's Porsche Before Telling Jonathan That While Lex Was Researching The Crash He Ordered An In-Depth Profile Into The Kents...

Having No Clue About This, Dominic Leaves Despite Jonathan Asking Him About What Lex Found During His Research?...

Visiting Whitney's Dad In The Hospital, He Tells Clark And Lana That Whitney Hasn't Been By To See Him Yet Which Has Lana Wondering...

Andrew(Singing In The Style Of Rockapella) Where In Smallville Is...Whitney Fordman?

Returning To The Farm Afterward, Clark Tells His Dad About The Metropolis Sharks Tickets That Lex Gave Him For Them Only For Jonathan To Relay His News That Lex Was Doing A Profile On Them, But Clark Tells Him That He Knew But Lex Promised That He Moved On...

One Thing: How Did Clark Know This?

Only Thing I Can Remember Was One Argument When Lex Asked Clark Questions About The Crash But He Never Outright Told Clark That He Was Investigating Into His Family So How Did Clark Find This Out?

Mad That Clark Didn't Tell Him Or His Mom About This, It Leads To An Argument Between Father And Son Which Leads To Clark Telling His Father To Stop Treating Him Like A Kid And That He Doesn't Like Fishing And That The Only Reason He Does It Is Because It Makes Him Happy...

Clark Tries To Apologize, But Jonathan Just Walks Away. Meanwhile At The Old Folks Home, Tyler Pays Mrs. Sykes Another Visit...

(Start At 3:09)

The Next Day On The Farm, Clark Gets Breakfast With Martha, Who Has Decided To Not Play Referee On Jonathan And Clark's Fight But Suggests To Clark That They Work It Out As She Doesn't Want To See Them To Drift Apart Like Jonathan Did With His Father...

A Few Hours Later At School, Chloe Tells Clark About Mrs. Sykes, Telling Him That While The Official Story Is That There Was Some Sort Of Fire And All They Found Were Her Ashes, She Thinks That It Was Spontaneous Combustion Which Leaves Clark And Pete Skeptical...

Visiting The Kent Barn To Talk With Jonathan About The Sharks Game On Sunday But Jonathan Tells Lex That He's Still Going Fishing On Sunday With Or Without Clark.

(Start At 1:53)

Finding Whitney At School, Clark Talks With Whitney About Why He Hasn't Visited His Father At The Hospital (Despite Whitney Knowing That It's Really Lana Asking And Not Clark) And Whitney Tells Clark That It's Because It Hurts Him To See His Father So Weak In That Hospital Especially Since He's The Strongest Man He's Known In His Life Also He Doesn't Want His Last Memories Of His Dad To Be The Sick Man In The Hospital Now...

After Finishing Talking With Whitney, Chloe Finds Clark To Show Him A Story In The Daily Planet About Tyler Turning The Coroner Into Ash And Disappearing Which Leads Them To Investigate Mrs. Sykes Room, Where Chloe Takes Pics Of The Ashy Shadow On Mrs. Sykes Bed..

While Clark Wonders Where Sykes Dog, Pepper Is As He Doesn't Hear Her Barking And....

Yep, Turns Out Tyler Also Killed Pepper...

You Know, Joe Bob Briggs That Did TNT'S Monstervision And Is Now On Shudder Doing Stuff, Once Said That One Of The Main Rules Of Horror Films Is That You Can Kill As Many People As You Want To But You Never Kill A Pet Because It Makes People Upset And Boy, Was He Right...

Yeah, I Know We Didn't Actually See The Dog Killed On Screen But No Offense, I Just Don't Like It When People Kill Dogs In Movies And Tv Because 1. It's Not Needed And 2. It Just Pisses People Off, Hell, Look At All The Animal Organizations That Jump At The Drop Of A Hat...

Seeing The White Rose On Sykes Dresser, Clark Believes It May Have Been Combustion But It Wasn't Spontaneous...

Dropping Off Some Extra Produce That She Didn't Want To Go To Waste At The Old Folks Home, Martha Runs Into Tyler Who Turns The Food To Ash When He Forgets To Wear His Gloves...

Telling The Manager To Call The Cops, Tyler Turns Him To Ash Too And Intends On Doing The Same To Martha As He Follows The Oliver Queen Method Of "No One Can Know My Secret" But Luckily Tyler Is Stopped By Clark Who Scares Him Off...

Taking Martha Home, Jonathan Tells Clark That She'll Be Fine And The Police Are Looking For Tyler, However Clark Doesn't Think They'll Be Able To Find Him Because 1. He Had No Heartbeat And 2. He's Too Powerful With His Powers...

In Fact, If Anyone Should Be The Spectre Right Now It's Tyler...

A Few Hours Later, Clark Visits The Talon To Warn Lana About Tyler Only To Say Thank You For What He Did With Whitney As He Wants To Get Together With Her After Work To Talk...

As Lana Takes Off, Lex Enters To Tell Him That He's Rescinding The Offer On The Sharks Game So Clark Can Go Fishing With His Dad As It's Obvious That Jonathan Wants To Spend Time With Clark And It's Not Something He Wants To Come Between...

Too Little, Too Late, Lex...

(Start At 2:40)

Later At The Graveyard, Lana And Whitney Have A Meaningful Talk Which Ends With Whitney Deciding To Go To The Hospital To See His Father. But As Whitney Leaves, Lana Runs Into Tyler Who Tells Her That He's Not Going Hurt Her Or Anyone And He Wants To Do Is Give People Peace...

Overhearing Whitney's Conversation With Lana, Tyler Promises To Help Whitney And His Dad Move On Before He Disappears...

Meanwhile At The Luthor Mansion, Dominic Continues His Audit With Lex, Who Offers Him A Drink Before Telling Him That He's Getting Tired Of This Game Dominic Is Playing...

(Start At 2:45)

Getting The Toxicology Report From A Friend Who Works With The Medical Examiner, Chloe Reveals That It Was A Bunch Of Painkillers In His System And The Fragments Of A Meteor Rock In His Skin That Made Tyler Come Back From The Dead, She Also Discovers Some News That Might Get Tyler To Back Off Of His Crusade...

But There Are More Important Matters As Lana Enters To Tell Clark That Tyler Is On His Way To The Hospital To Turn Whitney's Father To Ash...

Entering His Father's Hospital Room, Whitney Is Confronted By Tyler Who Throws Whitney Into A Sink So He Can Get To Work But Before He Does, Clark Zooms In...

(Start At 2:22)

The Next Day In Metropolis, Lex Talks With Lionel At A Secret Location...

Later That Evening, Lex Arranges For Whitney's Dad To See His Son Playing With The Metropolis Sharks On The Smallville High Field As Jonathan Arrives To Tell Him What A Nice Thing He Did For The Fordmans...

(Start At 0:53, End At 1:20)

Talking With Clark, He Admits To Lana That He Got Lex To Get The Sharks For Whitney As Lionel Owns The Whole Team Which Leads To Lana Kissing Clark On The Cheek...

Talking With Jonathan After, Both Him And Clark Make Up As The Episode Ends...

And That's Reaper And It's A Good Episode...

The Story Was Interesting, The Characters Were Mostly Well Written, The Villain (If You Can Really Call Tyler A Villain, It Seemed Like He Wanted To Help People More Than Just Kill Them Willy Nilly) Was Good And I Didn't Have That Many Problems With The Episode So I Say See It...

Till Next Time, This Is Duke, Signing Off...

[thisdayincomics]

September 19

The Micronauts originate in the Microverse, a microscopic universe full of strange planets like the human-inhabited Homeworld which is made up of diverse spherical habitats that are linked together in the fashion of a molecular chain. The original team comes together in response to the threat posed by dictator Baron Karza who gained control of Homeworld through the creation of the Body Banks where life-extending brain transplants are performed on the rich and inhuman genetic alterations on the poor. Commander Arcturus Rann returned from a thousand-year deep space voyage in suspended animation with Biotron, his robot co-pilot on the HMS (Homeworld Micro Ship) Endeavor, to discover Karza has slain the royal family, descendants of Rann's parents Dallan and Sepsis who are now worshiped as virtual gods. What follows is an epic war across the Microverse pitting Rann and his allies against Karza. In addition to Biotron, Rann's team of "Micronauts" includes Princess Mari of Homeworld, who, with her brother Prince Argon, are the only survivors of the slaughtered royal family. Known to the team as Marionette, she falls in love with Rann and leads the team on occasion. The alien gladiators Acroyear and Bug also join Rann's cause, and although completely different - one a noble armor-clad warrior prince and the other a wisecracking insectoid thief - the two become best friends and staunch allies of all Micronauts. The last member of the original team is Microtron, Mari's robot tutor. Their adventures begin in Micronauts #1 (September 19, 1978).

In 1951, California exhibitor and B-movie producer Robert L. Lippert released a 58-minute black-and-white feature starring George Reeves and Phyllis Coates called Superman and the Mole Men. The film prompted the first television season to go into production in August/September of the same year. The series discontinued production, however, and remained unaired until September 19, 1952, when cereal manufacturer Kellogg's agreed to sponsor the show, as the company had previously done with the Superman radio series. The success of the series came as a complete surprise to the cast. To promote and advertise the show, cast members Reeves, Hamilton, and Larson were able to gain extra money by appearing in Kellogg's commercials during the second season. However, Noel Neill was never approached for these because sponsors worried that scenes of Clark Kent having breakfast with Lois Lane would be too suggestive. From the beginning, the series was filmed like a movie serial with principals wearing the same costumes throughout the show to expedite out-of-sequence shooting schedules and save budgetary costs. For instance, all scenes that took place in the "Perry White Office" set would be filmed back to back, for future placement in various episodes, which was often confusing to the actors. Money was further saved by using Clark's office as Lois's office with a simple change of wall hangings, thus dispensing with additional set construction. Other scenic short-cuts were employed. In the last seasons, for example, few exterior location shoots were conducted, with episodes being filmed almost entirely in the studio. Reeves's red-blue-and-yellow Superman costume was originally brown-grey-and-white so that it would photograph in appropriate grey tones on black-and-white film. After two seasons the producers began filming the show in colour, a rarity for the time. Episodes follow Superman as he battles gangsters, thugs, mad scientists and non-human dangers like asteroids, robots, and malfunctioning radioactive machines. In the first episode, Superman's infant life on the planet Krypton, his arrival on Earth, and his nurturing by a farm couple are dramatized. In succeeding episodes, he conceals his super-identity by posing as mild-mannered Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent who, in times of crisis, dashes into the Daily Planet's storeroom, or alley, sheds his street clothes, and reappears in superhero tights and trunks (all at super-speed) to rescue hapless folk from the clutches of evildoers.