#he gets sent to krypton

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #25

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Family Reunion

Clockwork sends an adult Danny, newly appointed Ancient of Space, on a mission through time again. Except this time, it isn't located on Earth, but a distant planet he's never even heard of before. Clockwork didn't tell him any specifics on what he was supposed to do or when he was supposed to return to his own time, just to blend in and have an experience. He would know when it was time to return.

Needless to say, he has a blast! His core is bursting with happiness at getting the chance to explore this unknown corner of the universe with a sky full of constellations he's never seen and fascinating locals. Considering he might be here a while, he buckles down and learns all about their culture and their traditions and even eventually learns their language without having to use the two-way translator Clockwork gave him.

He spends decades there, not even having to worry about how he never appears to age, the people here being incredibly long-lived. However, he eventually meets someone. Someone he falls head over heels for. He gets married. He has kids. He watches them slowly grow into adults as well. It isn't until one of his sons informs him that he's expecting his own child(1) that Danny feels a tug at his core.

He ignores it, but over the course of a few weeks, it's gone from the occasional pull to a full-on yank at his entire being, along with a sense of dread that something was going to happen to this wonderful little planet. To his family.

He becomes restless and loses so much sleep, it's a miracle he can even stand. His family are worried for him, but he assures them that he's just feeling a little under the weather. One night, he's sat up in bed, unable to sleep again. His gaze is fixed lovingly on his spouse, but nonetheless sad.

He doesn't miss when all the soft sounds of the night stop and a green glow appears behind him.

"It's time to leave, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"There isn't any way I could stay? I can't bring them with me?"

"I'm afraid not. There are some things that can't be changed or stopped, even when they fall into your domain. I'm sorry."

"Why send me here just to make me abandon them like this? What was the point?"

Clockwork is silent, but when Danny turns to look at the ghost, he's gone.

Danny takes a few more precious days to spend time with his family. Kiss his spouse. Hug his kids. Feel the strong kicks of his grandchild he won't be there to witness the birth of.

The night he leaves, he places a letter on his spouse's nightstand, gently kisses their forehead, and disappears in a flash of green, never to be seen again.

Years later is when Danny gets the news. That the planet Krypton is no more and that his family is gone. He searched the Ghost Zone for them, but he never knew the location of Krypton in the cosmos. Their afterlife is beyond his reach, in a place that isn't even on the Infamap.

He nearly drowns himself in grief when he finds a sliver of reprieve in the form of a news broadcast. An extraordinary man in blue and red with the kryptonian symbol for such emblazoned on his chest is shown fighting off multiple enemies at once. He is the spitting image of his father and Danny as well.

He had a grandson. His grandson was alive.

✦

(1) This was Kara, not Clark. Danny left before he even found out about Kal-El being in the oven, so there will be a misunderstanding at first. Then Kara pops up later, and Danny just bawls his eyes out that he had two surviving grandchildren without even knowing it this whole time. How he first meets either of them is up to you!

(*) What this means power-wise for Clark is yours to decide. As well as what Clark already knows about his grandfather from the stored information his father left him. What his father thought of Danny disappearing without a word is also up for you to decide.

[callmeimlost]

Open to requests? Stand ready for my arrival 👹

May I request a Main!Mark x Starfire!reader? Like maybe reader is a kryptonian and Tamaranean mix, just super OP. Like imagine Starfire!reader coming to earth, becomes a famous hero, becomes the symbol of hope, and Mark becomes super nervous to meet her, but turns out she’s really kind and fun

(And maybe a cameo of Cecil, losing his mind trying to find weaknesses for these OP aliens that keep crashing into earth 💀🤚)

Just imagine Starfire!reader teaching Mark about krypton and Tamaran, while he teaches her about earth. And how Starfire!reader would help him after all his battles, and how she’d make him feel better by always just being there for him

(If this is too confusing, or if you’re just not getting the vision then that’s okay. Have a nice day 💕)

✷ PLANET HER:: mark Grayson x Starfire!reader

WARNING:: reader is very OP, cannon gore, mark & reader teach each other about their planets, bubbly! Reader.

SUMMARY:: after crash landing onto earth and being held by GDA to make sure your no true threat, you meet Mark Grayson who is utterly smitten with the idea of introducing you to life on earth !

MEIMEI YAPS:: this was all written on my phone bcs my iPad sucks rn, so sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. Also im so sorry it took me this long to write I was sick and then I went to a concert yesterday and had no time 🫩💔.

The smell of dirt and copper filled your every sense, the distant shouts, the sound of your planet falling apart at your own feet; it felt like a fever dream, truly unreal. Even with the two suns that hung over Tamaran like twins; yet even then a chill wracks through you, unsettling and churning in your stomach.

You felt the bile itching at the back of your throat, how your legs felt like jelly, or even your fingers shakily gripping at your family as you were sent into the endless abyss of space. You had floated through orbit; for how long? You couldn’t remember. The many planets you had passed by, even picking up on languages before setting off once more. Nothing habitable for you, nothing to make you stay longer than short of a day or two.

You had grown used to the impending trash looming around as you fly through, swatting at the debris of asteroids and trash floating from planets that had been long abandoned. Like an endless cycle of floating through nothing, before you had heard word of planet- earth, an odd sounding planet but nonetheless you were willing to try.

It had taken you days to fly to Earth, you had known you’d made it when you had seen the odd shaped metal floating not too far from the blue and green planet. And without hesitation you had set off onto your decent. At the speed you were going you could’ve been sick at just how hard you had pushed your self.

Breaking through the mesosphere the heat on your skin sizzling against your skin bothered you none, bringing a sense of comfort though it pales in comparison to the twin stars that hung in the sky of tamaran. Your skin felt like it was buzzing within the moment you hit the stratosphere, the air thin as you hover slowly.

Taking your time to now get closer, the air or lack there of, makes your head spin and your heart burn. You could feel your body dropping quicker than your brain could respond. Wind whipping past your face as your ears ring. Black splotches cover your vision as you realize there was no possible way of willing your body to catch itself from the whiplash inducing crash it was going to make.

You didn’t hear it; but you definitely felt it. Your body laid out in a crater sized hole in a rural field; the raw dirt and smell of flowers and grass had been the only comfort as you were lured into the darkness of your own sleep. Earth wasn’t off to a great start at all, your first impression on their people was slightly destructive, you didn’t mean to! How would you know that the spikes green stuff would be there?!

It was odd; waking up somewhere you hadn’t fallen asleep, almost panicked at the realization. The sterile walls, the smell of antiseptic. It felt powerful, protected. Your hands twitching at your side as the clatter of cuffs to the handles of the frame to this mysterious bed.

Your palms feel warm and tight balled in fists as you yank at the cuffs, the metal bending at the sheer strength of your incessant tugging before pulling harder out of frustration you break the handle of the bed frame making you yelp softly at your wrist that was not old still in the cuffs but now had a metal bar latched to the other end.

You can only hold it up as you look at it dumbly, before you could even try to further free yourself from the bent out shackle the door to the room slides open with an almost comical sound. A man; no- a handler. A man who looks to not know rest, the distant yet stern look in his eyes, and the crisp look he had told you that he was in charge; and he had done this to you, and it makes you press yourself harder against the pillow behind you.

The chilling blue eyes he held that pinned you to your spot and kept your mouth sealed shut, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn’t- at first. He lets in a heard of doctors who check these odd shaped projectile machines that move and fill up the once quiet room with loud medical noises. You watched with curious eyes and a pinched brow as the man steps forward at the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t ask you any questions, he only looks to the doctors flitting his gaze between them and you as he speaks in a tone you could tell he was talking about you but not to you, and the very few words you do understand stem from him mentioning Tamaran. He speaks quick and with purpose and it confuses you but you, but the small broken sentences you can make don’t seem to help either of you much.

But you improve! Only at the expense of a poor doctor trying to check your vitals when you use the Tamaranian way of exchanging language when you lay one on him. And even more to the dismay of Cecil because the moment you start forming true sentences he learns you are just lollipops and rainbows; well- for someone who grew up on a planet where warriors are practically bred.

And with that you had spent little time under Cecil’s watch from what you understood you had only been under watch for the purpose of making sure you were no real threat to Earth, you were almost harmless had it not been for the fact that you could probably blow half of the building up with only a few beams of that green light glowing around your fists when you train.

But it was a surprise not only to Cecil but you as well when Mark Grayson stumbles upon you in private training he watches you with curiosity, his skin buzzing with warmth, you were intimidating. How easy everything seemed for you, the way you effortlessly move around and can be efficient. When Cecil catches Mark he felt like a kid being scolded for eating snacks before dinner.

“who was that?” Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off of you even as Cecil was practically guiding Mark out of the vicinity, he didn’t need two stupidly strong aliens consorting around with each other seeing as Mark is a loose cannon and you are emotionally driven. Cecil would only glare at Mark before spatting “Earth’s second biggest gain and potential enemy” and it wouldn’t be long before Mark would see you again, just not necessarily in the presence of Cecil.

When you were trusted under the guise that you were to work for the GDA you were propelled into the hero scene and became popular amongst the younger crowd, he’d see you on the news when he was on patrol, how you had taken the lizard league down on your own, how you mainly worked solo jobs.

He’d see how truly easy you made it look, how you knocked around people way bigger than you, how you could take a punch and not react let alone show any weakness; and when he finally met you face to face he was practically sweating out of his suit.

You were prettier up close, you emanated an aura that could be ignored- well for the purpose of Mark’s job in that moment it wasn’t time to be star struck but do his job. Cecil had sent the two of you with a group of astronauts to Mars where you’d make yourselves stay hidden unless something where to go wrong and god did Mark try to convince himself he was petrified to spend any time alone with you; he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of another really strong alien who could understand at least a fraction of how he feels.

When the two of you are sent of to take the two day flight to mars the two of you sit quietly the first few hours as Mark as unserious as it sounds tried to be as nonchalant and mysterious as he could because in his eyes that’s what you were. It wasn’t until you offered to make food for the two of you had Mark let his guard down. You were a mystery to him; your words polite and tone soft, your stride was strong and though you didn’t speak much, your presence was quiet and slightly refreshing.

The first time you and Mark had truly tried to teach each other about your planets was when you laid out a plate of food that had looked odd and almost inedible. Mark put on the best smile he could as you watched with eager eyes “on my planet it is much like a turkey on your planet” and Mark would have worn a small smile at how cute the excitement on your face was had it not been for the fact that he’s pretty sure he watched the food on the plate move….

But for the sake of not ruining the small connection he just gained between the two of you he sucks it up and eats the food anyways- even if it was squishy and salty with an off putting color. “Do you have any meals on Earth that your family likes?” You had now seated yourself across from him curling your knees to your chest as you watched eagerly waiting to learn.

The two of you sat for the rest of the ride happily exchanging stories and history of your planets. How Mark knows that Tamaran is 26 light years away and that you’re actually Tamaranean royalty; is beyond him. He wondered if Cecil knew these things, or if it too personal? He didn’t know, so he never told; keeping it between you and him.

Though Mark does catches the looks of bewilderment when he explains that technology had not evolved that far on earth to the point of spacecrafts as advanced as ones on other planets that fly lightyears faster than a helicopter or an airplane. He didn’t know wether to feel pity or almost laugh when he realized that on Tamaran you didn’t have cell phones or internet, and you didn’t speak as fluently accurate; so when you watch him looking at pictures of Debbie and Nolan on his phone it was like he had grown a second head.

Plucking the little device out of his hands between your index and thumb as you tilt your head looking at the boxy metal piece of technology in your hand. “This is your communication?” Though it was more of a statement it came out as a question and it makes a small curious grin grow on Mark’s lips. “Cecil didn’t teach you about the power of a phone?” It sounded outlandish at first but Mark realized exactly who he was talking about; the man who only had time to stress out over everything else going on in the United States.

You only shake your head as you fill grip the phone looking down at the screen. “It is like the projectors we have on my planet….but trapped in a box” you swipe the screen and watch as another photo comes up, a picture of Mark with people who looked around his age all close together smiling happily. “Are these people your companions ?” You look up at Mark who looks at the photo’s with a smile. “On Earth we call them ‘friends’; companion sounds….formal”

Regardless of the fact you continue to let Mark show you many different photos of his friends and family, every time he showed you a picture he could feel your body temperature rising almost as if it were radioactive, yet you watch with curious eyes as he turns to you with a hint of amusement in his eyes “can I teach you how to use it?”

The explanation on how to work a phone was like a battle of with his brain; you were curious what every button does and what certain apps do. To say Mark had to test his wits with answering every question you have to the best of his ability without sounding like a complete fool. The two of you laughed at the others lack of under within certain contexts of conversations neither would have thought you’d have.

The two of you had been so caught up in his phone and how to work it that when it had eventually died, Mark would come to find out the astronauts were gone. The only thing left behind were a track of prints. “Shit!” And that’s when Mark also realized you were impressionable as you float by his side testing the curse word on your tongue and it makes Mark sigh as he realized how much of an influence his bad vocabulary would also have on you…..poor Cecil.

When the two of you eventually land on mars; the two of you work well together, though mark did have to worry a few times… It had never occurred to him before that sometimes the two of you were very emotionally charged, letting your moral compasses guide you rather than logic. And when the two of you learn of their disappearance the two of you go searching when you stumble upon the underground palace that belonged to sequids.

You watched Mark pull open the small hat hatch door that led underground, seeing the many little creatures slimy and sticking to helmet and suit of Mark as he tried to pull off the creature’s with yelps and shouts; watching him squirm makes you giggle as pull the last sequid off of him. “Are you okay?” You ask gently as the dull thump of the parasite on the group makes Mark shiver in disgust before he hums.

The two of you looking at the creatures with completely different looks on your faces, Mark had to do a double take when he saw the way you coo at the pink little membranes that squirmed disgustingly. “You think those things are cute?!” He whisper shouted he was flabbergasted on how you could such a thing to be anything but gross. But the way you nodded and stepped closer made his heart leap out of his ass.

“They are adorable!” You’d chime in quickly but quietly not to trigger any of them to attack “on my planet we keep creatures like these as pets….or we eat them!” Mark’s skin almost turned green at the idea of ever eating one of those things. “Maybe we should keep you at a distance from those” he’d chuckle cautiously as he watches you look at the pink beings with almost heart shaped eyes.

He almost has to tug you away with each carefully placed step you took towards the small creatures. And when the two of you find yourselves with your hands up surrounded by Martians who had clearly been in some kind of distress due to said pink creatures after you had basically shot it down from jumping on you, with that in mind the martians take you into their leader when you finally meet face to face with rage astronauts you and Mark were supposed to be watching and protecting.

After getting the run down on what exactly sequid’s were and what they do, Mark could clock the dark cloud looming over you at the deeply disturbing story. He had watched your once pouty smile slowly fall into a deeply disturbed frown and once he sees the look on your face he immediately feels the frown on his lips weighing down on his lips as well.

The Martian’s had practically disappeared from Mars due to the insurmountable amount of sequids had plagued the planet and had latched onto their kind before completely taking over the mind and body.

“I should have eaten them when we saw them” you mumbled to Mark and had it not been for the serious matter at hand he would’ve burst into laughter; but he had to be serious. “No eating” he says back and it makes you roll your eyes and slightly kick the flooring your very efficient plan being shot down.

“Tell me, how are you able to resist them” the Martian asked as he stands towering over the two of you and it leaves an uncomfortable pit in your stomach that makes you reach for the sleeve of Mark’s suit clutching slightly for some sort of comfort. “I come from the planet Tamaran” you answer quickly as Mark stutters slightly before dumbly answering “I’m part viltrumite; ever heard of us?” An impending and almost embarrassing silent beat passes by before he answers.

“I am the emperor of Mars, of course I’ve heard of you!” And that makes you step back slightly letting go of Mark’s sleeve so unaware that invincible belonged to an empire, to a race of people who didn’t have the greatest track record in space. “Well if you know us then you know; we like to help out wherever we can. Which is why; we were sent to help protect these astronauts” you could tell that even in costume; Invincible was just a boy at heart.

The slightly distressed look on his face as he tries to talk his way out of this. “So if your all good, we can finish our science and head home” he points towards the way you had came step back a few steps before the two men who had captured you blocked your paths. Your brows scrunch as an encroaching feeling of heat along your skin spikes. “Impossible! Human’s are sent to immediate execution!” The emperor shouts taking a step closer flickering between you and Mark.

“We cannot risk them coming into close counter with a sequid!” He urges in frustration you frown looking at your feet, you weren’t all too sure how Mark handled situations like these; but you knew for a fact that you were not a failure, you will not leave these people here to die, you will not die, and neither will invincible. You were sure of it. “I understand” you heard Mark say in an almost disappointed tone that makes your brow twitch.

He was onto something; brute force, maybe. But it was still something! And by the time you make it back to the surface hoards of martians had been chasing you through the thick clouds of dirt cloud your eyes you keep up and almost pass everyone before you yell over your shoulder you can see one of the human’s falling behind with a petrified face. “Flying sounds real efficient right now invincible!” You push yourself of the ground using the leverage to pick the woman up and a man before Mark follows behind you back into the ship.

As you and Mark try holding off the Martian’s as the smoke rises the two of you were practically clearing house until Mark had practically gotten tossed right under the ship. “You try and get that thing off the ground, I’ll hold them off. Can you do that?!” You ask over your shoulders as you feel anger growing in your stomach. Your eyes were glowing green and Mark didn’t know if he should be concerned or do what you say; regardless he would try.

He gets the ship up in the air in no time as he gets hit with the heated beams you could hear the pained grunts he let out making you return the favor, hearing the jets buzzing you take off towards the ship as you make your quickly awaited exit, you see Mark fly back down for a Rock that makes you laugh. “What’s that for?” You ask sitting on one of the wings. “Just thought I’d get something out of this whole ordeal” he shrugged holding the rock out to show you.

You tilt your head with a sad smile, Mark didn’t have to look at you, he could feel a sense of sadness lingering “it reminds me of the color Tamaran” you run a finger over the rock letting the dirt of mars stain your finger a burnt chalky orange. “Do you miss it?” He asks finally looking up at you with sympathy dripping from his words. “Sometimes…but i can’t go back” you swing your feet back and forth enjoying the lack of gravity with each moment.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not about why you can’t go back home; because he wasn’t there yet. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he’s too scared he’d overstep so he took the silent route instead. The two of you enjoyed the ride back home. It was better than awkwardly sitting together for hours.

Though when the two of you got back to Earth and checked in with Cecil it seemed he wanted the two of you to work together more often, keeping an eye on not just the two of you; but Mark’s own father. With the disappearance of the Guardians of the Globe and their unsuspecting deaths everyone searching for answers publicly and privately.

You had only met Omni-man in passing once or twice, not one for help or conversation you seemed to steer clear of him regardless of the fact that he was invincible’s father. When it all came spiraling down; Omni-man had officially lost it. Chicago was in ruins, people were trapped under collapsing buildings, cars and debris filling the streets.

Cecil had sent you out to do damage control as much as you could, the fight had ripped through subways, killed pilots and cracked a fucking mountain. When you had seen how much damage was done you were pissed. Nothing could have prepared Cecil for an angry alien basically standing over of him shouting. “You have to get this under control, he will kill him! You’re just sitting here watching it!” It was an outrage, how could he just stand there and watch like this was peak entertainment?

You had been so caught your own anger you hadn’t realized the woman who watched you with wide eyes on the brink of tears. “You know Mark?” She asks weakly and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest as you nod walking closer gently taking her hand into yours gently “Me and Mark went to Mars together. He was my first…friend on Earth” the word sounded weird falling from your lips but it felt like the right word.

“I’m so sorry this happening; I’ll see if can do anything to help Mark” squeezing her much smaller and weaker hand gently “I’ll do whatever I can” the gleam of hope flickering through her eyes makes you give a firm nod without saying anything else you look to the other workers amongst you watching Omni-man practically brutalized his own kin.

You took off towards the mountains, your body practically buzzing with heat and anger, your eyes and hands glowing and buzzing the closer you get to the fight- more like pummeling; but you had decided you were going to stand a fighting chance, and you were going to help Mark in anyway you can.

You understood that that the Guardians of the Globe was Earth’s protectors, and the track records Viltrumites had back on Tamaran Omni-man had a huge target on his back now. You’ve watched neighboring planets be destroyed and fallen victim to the empire you had so desperately prayed stayed far away from your home.

You were angry, these people, Mark; close to or already being dead- it pissed you off, how could you come to a planet like Earth and want to destroy it? Ruin the little peace it already holds? Every sharp turn, no matter how hard you pushed yourself to fly faster it still didn’t feel fast enough. You had grown to care for Mark since you’ve met, dealing with his small rants about some silly little earth cartoon on paper, or even sprinkles of him talking about school work.

So the moment you see Omni-man looming over the onyx haired boy whose face was practically swollen shut, blood covering his uniform. You could feel your insides churn at the sight, the bile sitting at the back of your throat, how your body tensed and fists tighten. You don’t hesitate to throw yourself into the mix; tackling the man off of his own son.

Thinking back; had you been human you’d had died. The brute force the two of you exchanged wasn’t much; but who could really beat a viltrumite who had been alive for centuries that had conquered planets and killed for strength? He had broken your arm and had finally flown off. Even with the sharp pain running through you in searing waves with every inch you moved, you still found yourself laying beside Mark’s feeble body checking if he was still alive; once you had fully recognized him as breathing and alive you had accepted exhaustion and passed out beside him.

And from then on you had an unwavering loyalty to Mark, going as far as to wheel your own IV around in the hospital to marks room and sit by his side watch trashy TV on mute because remotes still confused you, sometimes apologizing for not doing more, complaining about Cecil, just even eat dinner. Debbie had started to see your face way more often after the fallout of her family.

Even at times you had become very protective over him, going as far as to stand outside of his room and glare at Cecil for the poor job he was doing taking Mark under his wing. And eventually when Mark had woke up you two were glued at the hip. In return for helping him during his fight with his dad he’d help you emerge in Earth culture!

He teaches you about social media, slang, he at one point had to use parental controls in order for you to not accidentally call or text any of the numbers he gave you. You did break the first phone Cecil got you, you were very concerned when you got a call from Mark but couldn’t see him, his voice barely audible from how low your volume was making you shout into the line before ultimately throwing the phone out of stress.

He taught you how to make ‘Earth food’ though it was debatable on if it truly mattered what you ate because truly….you ate anything; and that kind of scared him. Having to explain why eating burnt toast or something that has been in the fridge for clearly too long was not something people on Earth do, he got an odd stare and a shrug before you reluctantly threw it away.

You do teach Mark about your planet, the history, the environment, how you were born into a planet where being warriors was normal; brutality was not frowned upon as much as it is on Earth. Though you have questioned him on why people don’t kill their enemies you had to have a serious discussion on why that isn’t exactly always okay.

Mark takes you to different countries, states and cities to show you how much fun Earth was; Breakfast in Paris and Dinner at Mark’s with Debbie with food from her favorite Mexican restaurant. The field trips were always great, he enjoyed watching the way your hands and eyes glow green when you got excited to experience new things.

Eventually when things start to get sour between Mark and Cecil especially after going through that rough patch with his dad, finding out about Oliver, and most of all Cecil not trusting Mark. Mark had been nothing but good! He could do no wrong in your eyes. The day Mark parted ways with Cecil you dipped in solidarity.

You help him train Oliver, you adore the small boy. Sometimes Mark comes to you for advice when he needs help with how much Oliver starts to pick up the ideologies of their father and how fast he’s even rapidly growing. You try your best to help make his work load less heavy. With the year he was having you don’t know he hasn’t found the time to lose his shit.

Mark appreciates you more than he has probably said it; feeling just slightly less alone because of the random alien that crashed into Earth like a meteor and just stuck around. Although you do have a slight innocence to you now; Mark looks back on his first encounter with you and can’t believe how nervous you made him when really you were in a way….kind of like him.

[proneterror204]

Dan-el god of death 2

Danny was so exited! Clockwork had sent him to an Alien planet! Well technically he was the alien, but he was on another planet! From the looks of it their culture had just entered its medieval era and was ending a massive war. Danny was sent to cleanup all the resentful undead and evil cults, but surly Clockwork wouldn't mind if he experienced some culture. Right?

Due to Clockworks amulet he could translate their language and his name came out as Dan-el. Which was close enough. Apparently alot of the people had seen his fights with the undead. He hung around and taught them somethings and learned about their culture, religion, and most important their stars. Till one day he looked around and had an "Oh Shit" moment when he discovered maybe he had gone to far and taught to much. He had to leave.

Clockwork sent him back to Krypton( Why did that sound so familiar?) multiple times. Each time Danny found himself in new era's. Then Danny noticed something. As the people, Kryptonians, thanked and praised him, he started to feel it. He started to notice that he was getting stronger in and out of time travel. He wondered why?

Clockwork told him. He told of how Krypton had dubed him the god of death. How they told the legend of his deeds on and off Krypton. His fights with Plasmius and Pariah Dark, his half death, and his powers. All went down as in Kryptonian mythology of Dan-el the god of death. Then he learned of Krypton's fate and the last Kryptonians. (Danny cried)

A week later as Danny lay in bed failing to go to sleep, he felt it. Someone still believed.

[puppetwoman17]

Just thinking about Billy potentially knowing Jor-El and then becoming drinking buddies. He heard about Krypton exploding from Adam while in the suspendium bubble. He gets a letter from Jor explaining everything, including Kal being sent to Earth.

When the bubble pops and Captain Marvel meets Superman for the first time, he’s haunted by the fact that he looks just like a younger version of Jor-El.

It’s draining to see your friend’s face even though you know he’s dead. It’s even more draining to know you never got to say goodbye

[annlyticalarchive]

CHAPTER SEVEN: Warmth of Different Kinds

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue |Chapter Six | Chapter Seven (Here) | Chapter Eight

w/c: 4.1k

a/n: I might’ve injected a bit too much mutual pining into this one-

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Mark said as he paced in front of you. He’d been pacing since before you even started properly explaining. “You crash-landed in a spaceship. In Kansas. As a baby.”

“Right,” you confirmed, arms crossed, watching him circle like a storm cloud.

“Mister and Missus Kent found you, adopted you, and raised you.”

“Correct.”

“You’ve had your powers since you were…”

“I think the earliest I was told was two.”

“Since you were two. And you’ve just been using them in Smallville this whole time?”

“Not all the time,” you defended quickly, “but yeah.”

He stared. “And then you moved here for your dad… and kept using your powers to help. Okay, I get that. But pets too?”

You blinked. “I had to save the cat, Mark.”

“You had to save the cat,” he repeated, like he was trying to process something incomprehensible. “And you using your powers is what got Cecil to notice.”

“The weird government guy, yeah. You work for him?”

“Kind of. But anyway, that’s why he asked me about you.”

“He asked about me?”

“Well—more like implied. Dropped hints, really.”

You gave him a look. “Not creepy at all.”

Mark shrugged with a sneer. “Welcome to working with Cecil. Anyway, that’s when you went back home. Touched your ship, got—”

“A weird vision,” you said. “There was this guy. I couldn’t understand him, not really. It was all in some language I’ve never heard, but… I felt like I should know it. Like I used to.”

“And your suit appeared, right? With the same crest as that guy. Think he’s related to you?”

You hesitated. “M-Maybe? But it’s not like I can ask.”

“Right. So all you could understand were three words, what you think are names.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Kala-El, Jor-El, and Krypton.”

“And this guy placed you in the ship, sent you away from the planet, and then—boom.”

“Mhm. Exploded. Just… gone.”

Mark let out a long sigh and raked his hand through his hair. Judging by the state of it, not even his old overdose of gel could save it from how much of a mess it currently was.

He finally stopped pacing and looked at you, expression softening. “That’s a lot.”

You gave him a small, tight shrug as you fidgeted with your fingers in your lap. “Tell me about it.”

A quiet beat passed between you. Neither of you quite sure what to say next. But your own curiosity gnawed at you.

“Do I get my story?” You asked as you looked up at him.

“What?”

“You lied to me about yourself too, Mark,” You frowned at him as you crossed your arms, “I told you everything about me, I want know everything about you. Tit for tat.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Oh,” you said aloud, unsure how else to respond. You genuinely didn’t know what to say. Every part of your mind spun, trying to find something appropriate, knowing how much Mark hated pity.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice heavy, from his spot beside you on the couch. He’d sat down around the time he started telling you about the fight. The fight with his father, Omni-Man. About how the truth shattered everything he thought he knew about his life.

He told you how his powers came in during high school. How his dad started training him almost immediately afterward. How proud he felt at first.

Then came the stories. Teaming up with Atom Eve, fighting alongside Rex Splode, becoming part of the new Guardians. Then things so unbelievable, you’d laugh if his tone wasn’t so damn tired.

A mission to Mars with brain stealing aliens. An accidental engagement in Atlantis. Fighting aliens from another dimension.

Then came the Viltrumites. His visit to an alien world. The meeting with his father again, and the discovery of a half-brother he never asked for, but brought home to his mom for them to raise anyway.

He told you about the another Viltrumite who came to Earth, Anissa, who tried to convince him to join their empire. How it turned violent when he refused.

Then his tone shifted. He told you, briefly, how his mom and little brother had been attacked by someone named Angstrom Levy. But he wouldn’t elaborate. His voice closed off. When you gently pressed, he just made a face, one you’d never seen before, and shook his head.

So you dropped it. Even if something about it twisted your gut. Something about the way he shut down.

Now the silence was heavier, but not uncomfortable. More like the kind that settles after both people have finally had a talk they desperately needed to have. And it seemed both of you did.

You looked at him, arms resting on your knees. “You’ve been through hell.”

Mark gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Sometimes it still feels like I haven’t made it out of hell yet.”

You were quiet for a second. Then, softly: “I’m glad you’re still here.”

He glanced at you then. “Yeah… me too.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mark felt a bit guilty.

Telling her everything, his past, his secrets, the scars he usually kept buried, left him with a strange twist in his gut. Not just because he’d kept it from you, he was glad he could finally tell you, but because, somehow, it felt like he was one-upping you.

He’d always known you were adopted. You never tried to hide it. In fact, you wore it like a badge of honor, your family, your roots in Smallville, the people who raised you. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about home always said more than your words ever could.

But then Cecil came along. And whatever door he cracked open in your life… it didn’t close.

It was like a floodgate, one you didn’t even realize existed until it was forced wide open. Suddenly, you were homesick. Not for Smallville, but for something deeper. A place you’d never known. A family you couldn’t remember. A whole world that, by the time you looked for it, had already turned to dust.

And now, it seemed like you were alone in the universe.

Mark let his head lean back against the couch and turned slightly to look at you. You always insisted you were good at hiding your emotions, but right now? He could read you clearer than the headlines you would write.

There was a faint frown tugging at your lips. Your brow furrowed just enough to show how deep in thought you were. And your glasses, askew and slipping down your nose, made you look more like the quiet intern you pretended to be than the superpowered enigma Cecil was likely tracking. To his absolute displeasure to put it mildly.

Finally, he said softly, “You okay?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. “Yeah,” you lied instinctively. Then paused. “No. I mean… I don’t know.”

Mark gave a slight nod. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“I guess I just…” You trailed off, staring down at your hands. “I thought finding out the truth would feel like closure. Instead it just feels like anything but.”

He sat up a little straighter. “You don’t have to carry all that by yourself, you know.”

You looked at him then, meeting his eyes. There was no pity there. No judgment. Just something solid. Steady.

Something more real than he had any right to get.

“You’re not the last one anymore,” he added, almost an afterthought. “You’ve got me. And your friends, Jimmy and Lois. And your parents.”

You gave a watery laugh at that. “Thanks, Mark.”

“Anytime.”

A pause. Then:

“You really did save that cat, though?” he asked, lips twitching.

“I had to,” you said indignantly. “She was stuck in a tree. And it was raining!”

Mark shook his head, grinning now. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, well.” You pushed your glasses back up. “Get used to it.”

There was a much more pleasant silence that followed, warm and comfortable. 

But then he saw you make that face. He’d watched you work a few times, and each time before you asked a question, you’d make this face. Your nose would scrunch, your lips would press into a tight line, and you’d look at someone with such an intense gaze it made him nervous.

“What can you do?” you asked him quietly.

Mark blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”

“I want to talk about something lighter, I’m tired of thinking about things I can’t change,” you said, scooting a little closer to him on the couch. You smiled in that way you always did, like you were trying not to smile too wide, and then you reached up and straightened your glasses like you didn’t just knock the breath out of him. Something about the gesture, so you, made his heart stumble. “And I’m curious. So, what can you do?”

Mark squinted at you, feigning suspicion, but there was already a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you asking me to brag?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged, your shoulder brushing against his as you leaned in, and Mark had to summon every ounce of self-control not to lose focus. Because it was just enough to make it impossible to ignore the heat where your shoulder met his. You always did run impossibly hot.

“So. Spill.”

Mark leaned back into the couch, exhaling slowly to keep his cool. “Alright, fine. Super strength, obviously. Flight. Super speed, I can break the sound barrier. And I’m durable. Like… really durable.”

“How durable are we talking?”

“Like… ‘get punched through a mountain and survive’ durable.”

Your eyes widened as you let out a hiss of breath as you remembered what he’d told you. “Right-“

Mark gave a sheepish nod and a small grimace. “Still hurts like hell, but yeah. I heal fast, too. Broken bones, bruises—give it a few hours or days, I’m good as new.”

You gave a low whistle that made him weirdly proud. “Okay, that is cool.”

He pointed at you. “Your turn.”

“What? You’ve already seen what I can do.”

“Sure,” he said, grinning, “but I want the dramatic list.”

You grinned, clearly enjoying the attention despite yourself. “Alright. From what I’ve gathered: Super strength. Flight but I’m still working on it. Super hearing. X-ray vision. Heat vision. Cold breath. Oh—and indestructible. I don’t think I’ve ever even skinned my knee.”

Mark let out a short laugh before he could stop himself. “Wait, you can see through things?”

You gave him a flat look. “Walls. I’ve only looked through walls. And do not ask about the super hearing. I hear everything. And I wish I didn’t.”

He snorted, nearly choking on air. “That’s not what I was gonna ask!”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I want to see it.”

“W-what?”

Mark turned toward you fully on the couch, legs folding under him a little as he leaned in with a grin. “Come on. You said you wanted to lighten the mood, right? Let’s play a game. ‘How many fingers?’”

Besides, it’d give him something other than your effect on him to think about.

“I-I’m not playing a game with—”

“C’mon,” he coaxed, giving you a smile that he knew worked a little too well. “I want to see if it’s for real.”

You sighed, but the corner of your mouth twitched, your gaze already dropping to his abdomen.

Mark stayed still, arms tucked behind his back, watching your expression shift. There was something surreal about it, knowing someone was literally seeing through you. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not when it was you. But it was intense. The way you stilled, eyes slightly unfocused as you peered deeper. It sent a familiar shiver up his spine as he felt warmth begin to curl too low as his breath hitched.

Your brows pinched slightly, your gaze sharpening as you focused. He saw your pupils dilate, then narrow, as a faint, unmistakable shimmer sparked in your irises.

Blue.

“You’re changing them,” You said softly. “You cheat.”

He felt a flutter of awe he didn’t dare admit, but he happily took a distraction to deal with the very unwelcome feeling that had reared its head.

“Huh,” he said aloud, grinning when your expression relaxed and you blinked, focusing on him again.

“What?” you asked, already wary.

“Did you know your eyes glow when you do that?”

“They glow?” You reached up, as you touch your eyes as if to test.

“Yeah. Blue. It’s subtle, but cool.” Mark’s voice was a little softer now.

You dropped your hand, looking almost sheepish. “Most things I can see through,” you admitted. “Ma and Pa figured it out early. Had to start saving up to buy lead foil for Christmas and birthdays.”

Mark laughed, maybe louder than he meant, and the sound bounced off the walls, lifting the intense warmth that had began to fill the space, turning it into something lighter, something that should be between friends.

“Lead foil?” he echoed between chuckles.

“Hey, it’s not cheap!” you shot back, but your smile was unmistakable. “You ever tried being a seven-year-old with X-ray vision in a house during Christmas?”

Mark held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, you win. I’m sure that was brutal.”

There was a quiet beat after that. Not awkward, just calm. Peaceful, even. And in that stillness, Mark looked at you again, really looked.

How could he have ever thought, even for a second, that you were anything like his father?

All of it. Your uncertainty, your strength, your warmth, all was written plainly across your face. No mask. No hesitation. Just you. And for a moment, Mark truly forgot everything else.

“You know,” he said softly, “I think you’re doing a pretty damn good job of being you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and the sight hit him like a punch, sharp, breathtaking, unforgettable. He locked it away in his memory.

He swears he didn’t mean to lean in. But he did.

But your knees were touching. Your hands brushed, just barely. His breath caught when your fingers curled over his, faint, tentative, and gentle.

And then, without warning, you shot to your feet.

Clumsy. Sudden. Like something had yanked you back from the moment.

Mark stood up, too, blinking. “W-what? What’s wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Something’s happening.” Your voice was tight, urgent. Not scared, but focused. “Downtown. There’s screaming. It’s—” You paused, hand pressed lightly to your temple like you were suddenly overwhelmed. “It’s bad. I can’t tell exactly what, but it’s big.”

Mark straightened immediately, the heat in his chest replaced with something colder. Sharper. “How bad are we talking?”

You met his eyes again, the softness gone now, replaced by steel. “I have to go.”

“I’m coming with you.”

You hesitated, only for a second. Then nodded.

“Then suit up, Grayson,” you said as you turned heading toward your bedroom with quick steps.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It wasn’t until you were halfway through tugging your skirt back on over the main body of your suit, that your hands faltered.

Reality sank in like ice water through the fabric.

You’d leaned against him. Smiled at him. Your hands had brushed, and you’d let yourself imagine something for a moment. The warmth in his eyes, the soft curve of his smile, the way his voice dropped just a little when he said your name through laughter, you’d let yourself believe maybe it wasn’t just you.

But it probably was. Of course it was.

You stared down at your skirt, now wrinkled in your grip, and tried to ignore the shameful burn behind your face. 

Stupid. 

You were smarter than this. Smarter than to read into things that weren’t there. Just because he’d sat next to you and opened up didn’t mean he felt anything.

You were just someone who understood. Who could relate.

Someone like him. Not with him.

With a sharp breath, you forced your thoughts down, back where they belong, shoved them into the corners of your mind where you kept all the things you didn’t want to think about. Like the blurry visions from your ship. Like the fact that your entire planet was dust and ash and ghosts and you’re all that remains.

There were people out there who needed help. And you had a job to do. Maybe if you threw yourself into it hard enough, maybe if you focused, you could forget how your heart had fluttered like a bird trying to fly out of a cage it built for itself.

You hated the idea of using hero work, a tragedy you can still hear, as a distraction. You hated feeling like you needed anything to distract you. But right now?

Right now, it was the only thing keeping your chest from caving in from embarrassment.

So you tugged and attached your cape into place, wiped the emotion from your face, and told yourself this was about saving lives.

Not about a boy who smiled at you like you were something more than you were.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You led Mark downtown. Although it didn’t take much leading, sirens already echoed through the air as fire trucks raced below you both, lights flashing wildly in the dusk light.

And it didn’t take long to see why.

An apartment complex was burning. Not just a unit. Not a floor.

The entire building was engulfed in flames.

Black smoke billowed from broken windows, curling into the sky. Screams seemingly echoing down the block. The stench of burning plastic, scorched wood, and seared metal hung heavy in the air. The kind of smoke that clung to your lungs and burned your eyes. Even from the sky, you could feel the heat radiating up to meet you.

You’d dealt with fires in Smallville. Hated the way the sensations attacked each and every one of your senses. But this fire, was the worst you’d ever seen.

Below, firefighters scrambled to uncoil hoses and set up ladders, but the flames were too high, too hot. Windows burst out with the heat, sending glass raining onto the sidewalk. Debris crumbled from the upper levels, crashing into the street with a sound that made your teeth ache.

You hovered mid-air, scanning the structure. Your super-hearing focused. You could hear them.

Eight.

Eight heartbeats. Eight distinct voices. Some small and trembling, others hoarse from smoke.

You didn’t hesitate.

Not even when Mark called out your name, “Wait—!”

You dove.

The rush of air tore at your skin, but you didn’t stop, didn’t falter. You crashed through a second-floor window like it was tissue paper, the glass glinting around you before vanishing into the inferno.

The heat was instant and suffocating. Like stepping into the core of the sun. You could feel your suit cling tighter against your skin, moisture from your breath evaporating instantly in the dry air.

Smoke curled through every corner, blinding, disorienting. The walls glowed with angry red cracks. The floor beneath your boots groaned like it might give way at any second.

But you could hear them. See them through he walls.

A baby crying. A child sobbing. A man shouting for help with a rag pressed tightly his mouth.

You pushed forward, muscle memory guiding your steps. You tore a flaming door off its hinges and stepped into a room thick with smoke. A young woman was curled in the corner, shielding two children with her body. One of the kids was coughing so hard it sounded like their lungs might collapse.

“Hey,” you said, kneeling beside them. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The mother, maybe she was a sister, you couldn’t tell, looked at you like you were a miracle. Her eyes wide and glistening in the flickering firelight.

You gathered all three of them gently, carrying them back to the hole you’d made in the wall. But you paused just before exiting.

Turning your head toward the open windows down the hall, you narrowed your eyes.

You took a breath.

A deep one despite how thick the air was with ash.

And when you exhaled, the air dropped to freezing.

A visible burst of white mist flooded from your lips and swept down the hallway like a winter storm. The windows shattered outward with the sudden change in pressure, and the fires in those rooms hissed violently, smothered and dying out. The temperature dipped drastically in the rooms closest to the building's edge.

The effect was immediate.

From below, firefighters surged forward, now able to enter the floor through doors and side stairwells. You could hear the radios crackled to life.

You leapt into the air with the three civilians in your arms, lowering them to the nearest medic with gentle care.

“Five more,” you said. “Young. Higher up.”

Then you shot back into the sky, Mark meeting you halfway.

“You’re insane,” he said, wide-eyed. “You could’ve been trapped!”

And a small part of you understood his worry. Cause despite both of you knowing you were indestructible, you didn’t know if your lungs were as well. 

But a larger part of you knew that the civilians didn’t share even the smallest portion of your abilities. So you didn’t care about yourself.

“They would’ve died,” you replied shortly, spinning midair and diving back in through the fourth floor.

The hallway was half-collapsed, flames roaring down the corridor like a beast that knew it was cornered. A door bulged from heat, its knob glowing red.

You punched through the wall instead.

Inside, three children and a man were huddled in a bathtub, the metal scorching hot but the porcelain barely holding together. The man had curled around the others protectively, and they all screamed as you burst in.

“Shh, I’m here. You’re safe,” you said, voice steady, gentle despite your racing heart. “We’re getting out. Now.”

One of them reached for you with a soot-stained hand, tiny fingers trembling. You scooped them up and cradled all four carefully in your arms, shielding their heads as you turned.

This time, Mark met you at the broken window, his eyes wide with alarm as he saw your cargo.

“Go!” you told him. “Get them to safety!”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t have to.

He took the man and a child from you, careful but quick, and shot down toward the waiting medics. You did the same quickly following his path downward.

But as you set them down, you could still hear it.

One heartbeat.

Still inside.

Top floor.

You flew up like a missile, crashing through a collapsed ceiling and into the topmost apartment. The roof above had started to cave, chunks of it burning and falling.

You found him, a boy, maybe ten or eleven, trapped beneath a beam. He wasn’t crying anymore. Just breathing shallowly. His eyes fluttered open as you landed beside him.

“You’re safe,” you said softly. “I’ve got you.”

Your fingers curled under the beam. It was searing hot, metal warped from the fire, but you lifted it without thought, tossing it aside. He coughed weakly as you scooped him up into your arms.

And then the roof gave way.

It happened too fast to think, an entire section collapsed above you, falling like a guillotine.

You turned your back, arms curling tight around the boy, and braced.

Flames engulfed you.

Smoke swallowed everything.

The floor beneath you finally gave as well and you crashed through three floors, your body shielding the child all the way down, until you slammed into the lobby with a force that cracked the marble tile.

You blinked through the dust and ash.

He was alive.

Coughing, but alive.

You smiled, dazed, and stood with shaky steps as the firefighters rushed in to take him.

You stepped outside.

And the crowd that had formed across the street went dead silent.

You were scorched and covered in soot, but standing. Cape torn. Eyes still glowing faintly from your x-ray vision you’d used to pinpoint the people and make sure you didn’t agitate any breaks or fractures. Smoke from dying embers that couldn’t burn you rolled off your skin.

Mark hovered just above the building’s wreckage, watching you with an unreadable expression.

You looked out across the chaos, emergency vehicles, medics, people crying, people clapping, and for a moment, you just stood there. Breathing. Scanning the crowd, making sure that everyone that needed help was getting it.

Until you finally moved.

Back into the air, next to Mark, who still hadn’t said anything.

You hovered beside him, silent.

And then he muttered, voice low but certain:

“Y’know, Lois had it perfect.”

You frowned at him as you tilted your head, “What?”

“Calling you Superwoman. The name is perfect.”

[evilwickedme]

What I need people to understand is that while the entire Krakoa arc was metaphorically Zionist, making every mutant a metaphorical Zionist for a very long and very popular time, prof x and Magneto have been literally Zionist since the 80s. They met in Israel. Like

Uncanny X Men 161 was published in 1982, which means they first met in the early 60s. Xavier was asked to come help with a particular patient who, after the trauma of the Holocaust, is trapped inside her own brain. It isn't clear how long Magnus has been living in Haifa - when Claremont writes his backstory it's not mentioned - but he wasn't summoned here, he came to Israel on purpose, like many other Holocaust survivors.

Once Xavier has helped the patient, Gabrielle Haller, escape the prison of her own mind, the three of them go sight seeing across Israel. It's practically an ad for Israeli tourism with "theoretical" debates about mutants in the middle!

What you need to understand is that Claremont has been the most influential writer of the X Men not just by virtue of being the longest running writer on the title (or really any marvel title), but also because he solidified and canonized the concept of mutant-as-minority metaphor. And while he was drawing on other injustices to inspire him (such as the evangelical anti-gay crusade that inspired God Loves Man Kills), his own Jewishness and especially his visit to Israel when he was in his early 20s were probably his strongest influences.

In chapter 16 of from Krakow to Krypton, Chris Claremont gives an interview. He explains how he got to Israel, which involved essentially a Zionist outreach program that sent college kids, especially Jews but not only, to work on a kibbutz for couple of months during their breaks.

He tells a little anecdote about his last name not being Jewish, but once he clarifies that he IS Jewish, he gets put on plane.

(I do not recommend this book for many reasons, including the fact that it's riddled with typographic errors like this.)

This experience of Israel post Six Day War wasn't just jarring to him as a Vietnam War era American - it was also influential because of the large amount of Holocaust survivors in the kibbutz, and his interaction not only with them, but also with them watching Holocaust media.

His experience in Israel changed him as a person and influenced his writing at marvel, a place he had briefly worked at before his trip already. It inspired him to create Kitty Pryde, and it inspired him to make Magneto into a Holocaust survivor:

What's that? Magneto was also inspired by literal ex Mandate-era terrorist and Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin? Damn. I wonder if that gives Magneto any more Zionist coding.

What's important to me that people understand is that you can't separate the Magneto you love from Zionism. Before Claremont, Magneto was a joke, a two bit villain with no depth or motivation beyond mutant supremacy for its own sake. He was easily defeated by the X Men. Claremont transformed him - first, into a formidable villain; then, into a sympathetic one, with the introduction of his Holocaust survivor backstory in UMX 150; and finally, into an ally of the X Men, a man whose goals are ultimately aligned with his people even if his methods differ, in God Loves Man Kills and the overall arc in Claremont's books in the 80s.

I could go into the Krakoan Age and explain the Zionism there, but honestly I don't need to - it all builds on this moment, on a young college kid visiting Israel and meeting Holocaust survivors and a "cute babe in a miniskirt with an Uzi" then going on to write the Uncanny X Men for 16 years, and being so good at it it becomes one of the flagship titles of the company. And it's all right there on the surface.

Magneto was a Holocaust survivor. He tried to rebuild a family in Europe, and it got his daughter murdered in a pogrom. So he went to Israel for safety. Like many, many other Holocaust survivors in real life, Magneto is a Zionist. Deal with it.

[ickbite]

OFF THE RECORD SIM JAEYUN

PAIRING: superman!Jake x Reporter!reader, no romance but lowkey leading into it... click here for part 2 :) (currently not written)

AUTHORS NOTE: 3.4k words, getting back into writing so it's not beautiful but its something...

-----------------------------------

     When working as a news reporter, you’ve learned a thing or two about the world. Mostly that you are never safe… ever. In a world with superheroes and villains, civilians are the next target, getting involved with affairs that are far above them. It’s difficult to do anything nowadays, you couldn’t even go to the gas station without the fear of a villain blowing it up! 

     It’s important for you to stay neutral no matter what, writing articles about supers and villains and questioning if it's possible to love them despite the law breaking and dangers to society. You don’t write puff pieces, your articles are sharp, sometimes cynical. “Who’s protecting us from our protectors?” had been your most-shared headline last year. You still get death threats in the comments section… 

     “Guess what Y/N,” a brunette man walks in, glasses sitting perfectly on his face with a smug look. 

     “What do you want, Jake?” You ask. Jake Sim is one of the most brilliant and irritating people you’ve ever met. While you try to stay neutral in your articles, Jake dismisses them. He’s Pro-Hero, especially when it comes to the hero of your town, Superman. 

     Superman has made himself known to the public a year before, when an alien tried to make Earth the new Krypton with ships that drilled the Earth’s core. Superman happened to show up and save the day and you almost got a death sentence when the floor of your building collapsed (thank god you called in sick that day). 

     Jake put a file down on your desk, “New Superman sighting, he saved a jet midair with no casualties. Honestly, he deserves a national holiday… Superman day, what do you think?” 

     You sigh, “or… I could write about how air traffic control failed and a flying man had to fix it.”

     “You’re allergic to giving him credit,” he teases, dropping into his chair next to yours. “It’s okay. One day, you’ll admit you’re secretly in love with him.”

     “I’m not in love with anyone who can punch through a mountain,” you mutter, turning to your screen. “Too much risk. It makes for a great article, but a terrible relationship.”

     “I think Superman is more important to you than you lead on.” 

     And before he can retort, your boss walked out of his office, looking at the both of you and sighing, “L/N, Sim, I sent you a case file. You’re covering a media safety seminar downtown — Channel 7’s rooftop studio. Live taping, a few influencers, city PR, maybe a politician if we’re lucky. Nothing glamorous, just smile-and-wave coverage.”

     “Media safety?” you echo flatly.

     “Irony Isn't lost on me,” your boss says, already walking back inside.

     Jake’s grinning again, “bet Superman shows up. Wouldn’t miss a rooftop photo op with his favorite reporter.”

     “Bet he’s smart enough to avoid a clickbait trap,” you mutter, standing and grabbing your coat.

———

     The rooftop of Channel 7 glistens with sunlight, too clean for what’s about to happen.

     You and Jake stand shoulder to shoulder near the back, covering a press event about media safety. The backdrop is the skyline of Metropolis, with a few local news anchors droning on into microphones about “trust” and “responsibility.”

     Jake shifts beside you, bored out of his mind, “we could’ve just emailed in a quote and skipped the rooftop sunburn.”

     “And missed this riveting speech?” you deadpan, watching a pigeon land on the teleprompter.

     He smirks, “let me guess, you’re going to write about how this was a metaphor for the false sense of security in hero-worship culture?”

     “Don’t tempt me.”

     But then, the monitors blink.

     The lights flicker. The mic squeals. Then the air changes. You feel it, like pressure pushing into your ears, the metallic tang of a coming storm. 

     “Smile, Metropolis.”

     Her voice.

     Livewire.

     The LED screens burst into static, then show her glowing face, eyes wild and electric-blue. She floats across the rooftop’s giant display like a phantom made of lightning.

     “Time for your scheduled broadcast: an explosion. Featuring me, and maybe that walking lightbulb you call Superman.”

A pulse hits the rooftop, and the next thing You know all the power goes out.

     Cameras melt. Mics explode. A light fixture falls, nearly crushing a cameraman. Jake grabs your wrist and pulls you backward instinctively as the rooftop devolves into chaos.

     “What the hell—”

     “She’s using the grid,” you shout. “She’s inside it!”

     Livewire drops from the sky like a thunderbolt. She lands hard enough to crack the tiles beneath her boots. A cyclone of wires twist behind her like robotic snakes.

     “Oh look,” she purrs, stalking across the floor. “Reporters. My favorite critics.”

     Screens around the rooftop flicker to life again, showing your face. Your headlines.

     “‘Who’s Protecting Us From Our Protectors?’” she quotes with a sneer. “God, you’re dramatic.”

     Your blood runs cold.

     She raises a hand, crackling with white-blue electricity. A bolt forms in her palm, aimed directly at you.

     You can’t move fast enough, but someone else does.

     A blur of color, red, blue, gold, slams into you, tackling you to the floor just as the lightning hits. You land hard, dazed, the world spinning. Your head’s in someone’s chest, strong, unbreakable.

      Superman.

     “Stay down,” he says, voice low, urgent.

     And then he’s standing. Rising. Facing Livewire with fists clenched.

     She sneers.

     “Took you long enough.”

     Their fight is explosive.

     Livewire is faster than you thought. She zips between cables, surging through lights and wires, firing bolts with sniper precision. She launches them at civilians. At the structural beams. At the edge of the roof.

     Superman intercepts every single one, but he’s slowing down. You see it, the singed edges of his cape, the way his shoulder rolls like it hurts. He’s tired. One of her hits lands, and he stumbles. Blood drips from his mouth.

     This makes you gasp. You’re pretty sure no one has ever seen Superman bleed.

     Livewire pulls energy from the rooftop’s emergency generators, a swirling orb above her head, glowing like a miniature sun.

     “Let’s end this with a bang,” she snarls, her hair floating upward like static. “One rooftop barbecue, coming up.”

     She hurls the orb toward the center of the platform.

     You barely have time to scream when

Superman flies straight through it.

     He crashes into her midair, redirecting the blast upward. The sound is like thunder cracking open the sky. The rooftop shakes. The explosion lights the skyline for miles.

     When it’s over, Superman crashes back to the floor, cape torn, shoulders heaving. But he’s still standing.

     Livewire is gone, unconscious, tangled in a melted antenna.

——-

      Silence stretches over the rooftop.

     You sit up slowly, your heart racing. Superman turns, meeting your eyes.

     He’s bleeding, his knuckles are raw, and one eye is swelling.

     And yet

     “Are you alright, Miss L/N?” he asks softly.

     Your breath catches. The way he says your name. Not as a god, not as a symbol, but like someone who knows you.

     Still, you don’t dwell on it.

     You nod, “I… I think so.”

     He nods once. And then, still limping slightly, he launches into the sky.

     You watch him vanish into the clouds, heart pounding. Something inside you shifts.

     You’ve written so many articles about Superman — about power, risk, fear. But at that moment… he didn’t look like a threat.

     He looked like a person.

⸻

     Back at your desk, still shaken, you write without thinking.

     He bleeds, he flinches, he protects without asking for applause.

     Maybe Superman isn’t a god. Maybe that’s exactly why he matters.

     Jake walks in twenty minutes later with two iced coffees, “so… heard the Channel 7 rooftop is toast.”

     “It was Livewire,” you say absently. “She nearly killed me.”

     Jake leans against your desk, brow furrowed, “seriously? Are you okay?”

     You nod, glancing at his face. There’s a faint bruise on his jaw, like he bumped into something during the panic.

     “I didn’t see you after the first lightning hit,” you say.

     He shrugs, “I, uh… got stuck in the stairwell. Total system failure.”

     You don’t question it, you’re too tired and spun out.

     “Superman showed up,” you say softly.

     Jake smiles like it’s obvious, “obviously he did.”

All you feel is your own confusion. Your own surprise that maybe, just maybe… you don’t hate Superman after all.

———

     The newsroom was still buzzing after the Livewire attack, every screen flashing images of the rooftop chaos, sparks flying, screams echoing, and then the miraculous figure of Superman swooping in to save a passenger jet midair. The city was alive with chatter, but you were drained, your fingers aching from typing out the breaking news article titled “When Power Strikes: Civilian Voices on the Livewire Rooftop.”

     Your editor slid a thick folder across your desk with a sharp glance.

     “L/N, You’re interviewing him.”

     You blinked, nearly spilling your coffee.

     “Interviewing who?” you asked, already guessing but hoping you misheard.

     “Superman. He’s doing a rare press appearance, he specifically asked for you.”

     Your heart skipped a beat. You looked over at Jake, who was leaning against a desk, pretending to read something but clearly eavesdropping.

     He gave a small smirk, “guess they want the real take, huh?”

     You swallowed hard. Interviewing Superman was a huge opportunity, but you weren’t about to write a glowing fan piece.

⸻

      Later, you were led into a conference room atop one of the city’s tallest skyscrapers. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the panoramic city skyline, peaceful, glowing under the afternoon sun, fragile beneath the calm.

     The room was quiet except for the soft hum of security guards stationed outside. Inside, a table stood empty except for a pitcher of water and a single chair facing the window.

     Then, suddenly, the air shifted.

     A soft whoosh filled the room.

     And there he was.

     Superman.

     He entered with effortless grace. His cape billowed softly behind him, his blue suit gleaming despite the faint bruise darkening the skin beneath his eye. There was exhaustion in his face, but his posture remained commanding.

     When his gaze met yours, it felt like he already knew you like he’d read every article you’d ever written, even the critical ones.

     “Miss L/N,” he said, voice low and warm. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

     You struggled not to let your breath hitch.

     “You… you asked for me?” you managed.

     “I read your work,” he said simply. “You ask the hard questions. You don’t sugarcoat things, I respect that.”

     You felt an unexpected warmth, almost an invitation, as he gestured toward the chair.

     “This won’t be fluff, I promise.”

     He smiled, “Good. I don’t do fluff.”

     The interview began cautiously, questions about his origins, his mission to protect the city, his views on justice. But as the minutes passed, the tone softened, and the conversation deepened.

     “You put yourself in danger every day for strangers who might not even want your help. Why?” you asked.

     His eyes darkened, a flicker of vulnerability surfacing beneath the strength.

     “Because they can’t fight back. But I can.”

     “Even if they turn on you? Even if they question your motives?”

     “Especially then,” he said quietly.

     You swallowed and leaned in.

     “Are you lonely? I mean, someone with this kind of responsibility, it must be isolating.”

     He hesitated, a shadow crossing his face.

     “Sometimes. But then I remember moments like this. When someone writes the truth, even if it’s harsh, it reminds me there’s still honesty in the world.”

     Your heart clenched. For the first time, the invincible superhero seemed human, real. You looked down at your recorder, voice barely above a whisper.

     “Do you ever wish you were… just normal?”

     He met your eyes, and something unspoken passed between you.

     “Every day,” he confessed. “But then I probably wouldn’t get to talk to you.”

     Your chest tightened as your breath caught in your throat.

⸻

You stormed back into the newsroom with your press badge still clipped crookedly to your shirt and the interview recorder clutched in your hand like it might vanish if you let go.

“Where have you been?” Jake asked, spinning lazily in his chair, only to stop and do a double take. “Whoa. You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I interviewed Superman,” you muttered.

Jake blinked. “And?”

You dumped your bag on your desk, flopping into your chair.

“And he’s… weirdly thoughtful.”

Jake raised a brow, amused. “Thoughtful?”

You glared at him. “He quoted my article. Said I write ‘honestly.’ I didn’t know Superman had time to sit down and read op-eds between saving planes and punching lightning girls in the face.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk. “So what you’re saying is… you’re blushing over Superman.”

“I’m not blushing,” you snapped, trying (and failing) to stop the heat rising to your cheeks. “It’s just surprising. He was… not what I expected.”

Jake grinned. “Let me guess. You thought he’d be a meathead in spandex, but instead he was charming, articulate, and told you your opinions mattered.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Exactly. Which is suspicious.”

Jake just laughed under his breath. “Or maybe he just thinks you’re cute.”

You threw a crumpled sticky note at his head.

⸻

A few days later, you found yourself on assignment outside the Metropolis Energy Sector’s main building — a newly built LexCorp branch with rumors of shady tech being tested underground. You didn’t want to be here. It was too quiet. Too perfect.

And in your world, perfect was a warning sign.

You were half-listening to a PR drone talk about solar conversion rates when the ground trembled beneath your heels. Just once. Then again. Then harder.

Screams erupted. Concrete cracked. The street outside split open like a zipper and a massive hunk of machinery — all gears, pulsing green lights, and hydraulic legs — crawled up from below.

“Prototype AI Defense Unit gone rogue,” someone shouted.

LexCorp security scrambled, ushering civilians away as the mech aimed something that looked suspiciously like a cannon. You ducked behind a news van, heart racing, every alarm in your body blaring at once.

“Of course it’s today,” you muttered.

The mech charged the cannon.

Then—

A streak of red.

A sonic boom.

And him.

Superman slammed into the machine like a meteor, bending its arm backward before lifting it clean off the ground. The mech fought back, spewing blasts of kryptonite-charged energy. He flinched—actually flinched—but didn’t back down.

You stared. He was struggling. He could lose.

Before you could move, debris fell from above—ripping loose from a nearby building. You heard your name being shouted, but didn’t have time to react.

Then arms. Strong, warm, impossibly fast.

And you were flying.

Your hands clutched at fabric — red cape, blue suit — as he pulled you out of the collapse and landed gently several blocks away.

For a second, it was just the two of you on a rooftop. Heart hammering. His face closed.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice steadier than yours.

“…Why do you always catch me?” you asked breathlessly.

He smiled, gently setting you down.

“Because you don’t look where you’re standing.”

You half-laughed, shaking. “You’re bleeding.”

He wiped the corner of his mouth, looking surprised to find blood there. “It’ll heal.”

You looked up at him, really looked. Tired. Bruised. Still standing.

“Why don’t you just let people think you’re invincible?” you whispered. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”

He met your gaze. “I don’t want people to think I’m a god. Just someone trying.”

Your throat tightened.

“You’re… not what I expected,” you admitted. “Again.”

“And yet, you keep showing up.”

You didn’t answer. Not at first. But your voice was soft when it came:

“Because every time I think I’ve figured you out… you say something like that.”

He paused. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” you said. “But I think I want to.”

A long silence.

Then:

“That’s enough for me.”

He took off into the sky.

And you stayed on the rooftop long after he was gone, hand still clenched around the edge of your notebook, heart still racing.

⸻

Scene 5 – Night Talk: “Superman’s Not That Great”

You stayed late at the office again, typing up your notes from the incident. Jake strolled in from the break room with a cup of something that wasn’t coffee.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Another Superman moment?”

You didn’t look up. “He saved me again.”

Jake flopped into the chair next to yours and threw his feet onto the desk. “You really know how to get in trouble.”

You smirked, but your eyes stayed on the screen. “I don’t know what to do with him.”

Jake tilted his head. “With Superman?”

You nodded. “He’s—ugh. He’s too good. It’s annoying. He makes me feel like the world might actually be okay for five seconds. And I hate that.”

Jake was quiet.

You glanced up, suspicious. “What?”

He stared into his cup.

“That’s dangerous,” he said.

You frowned. “Why?”

He looked at you. A little too long. Then shrugged.

“Because guys like that don’t exist. Not really.”

You scoffed. “So what, you think I’m being naïve?”

“I think… Maybe you’re starting to want to believe in someone. And that scares you more than any villain could.”

You sat in silence for a beat, his words unsettlingly accurate.

Jake stood, walking past your desk. But before he disappeared down the hallway, he added:

“Just be careful, Y/N. Even Superman has secrets.”

You didn’t see the faint flicker of guilt in his eyes as he left.

You didn’t mean to be on the rooftop again.

Not consciously.

You told yourself it was for the article, the follow-up piece to the Metallo incident. You needed quotes. Details. Verification.

But a small, traitorous part of you had noticed that this rooftop, the one overlooking the LexCorp building, was quiet at night. And more importantly…

He always showed up.

“You’re here late.”

His voice cut through the stillness behind you, low and unmistakable. You didn’t even flinch. Your heart did, though.

You turned slowly. He stood a few feet away, cape fluttering gently in the warm night breeze. City lights painted gold across his suit. His expression—calm, curious, almost… fond.

“Didn’t realize you did rooftop drop-ins,” you said. “Thought you were busy bench-pressing satellites.”

“You were thinking about me,” he said.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You were writing about me. I can hear your keyboard from five blocks away.”

You laughed despite yourself, “that’s invasive.”

“It’s a gift,” he said, tilting his head. “But I try to use it wisely. I don’t read minds. Just… vibrations.”

“Convenient.”

“Also helpful when journalists wander into dangerous locations at night.”

You folded your arms, cocking a brow. “So what, you watch me now?”

“Not always,” he said. “Just when I’m worried.”

Your heart flipped.

“You’re worried about me?”

“I saw you fall through a ceiling last month. I think it’s warranted.”

He stepped closer, but you weren’t backing up. Superhero or not, your pride was stronger than anything else. 

“You’re hard to write about,” you admitted softly.

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I can’t figure you out. You say things like… ‘I’m not a god’ and then fly off like one.”

“And what would make me less confusing?” he asked.

“If you were more flawed.”

He chuckled. “I have flaws.”

“Like what?”

He hesitated. Then:

“I fall for people I shouldn’t.”

The breath caught in your throat.

“Like journalists?”

“Especially journalists,” he murmured.

There was a pause. A thick one. Charged.

You glanced down at your feet. Then back at him. “I’m not the kind of person heroes fall for.”

“Maybe you’re not the kind of person who lets people fall for you.”

You swallowed hard.

“You don’t even tell me your name.”

“If I told you, I think you’d look at me differently.”

“Would that be a bad thing?”

He stepped closer. Close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

His gloved hand brushed your cheek—gentle, barely there. Your heartbeat ricocheted in your ears.

“I think about you more than I should,” he said. “Even when I shouldn’t.”

You didn’t say anything, you only moved closer to him. How close could you get to him before his tough exterior was back up?

Apparently close, because if it had not been for the explosion that lit up the city behind you,making your body lurched forward, something would have happened between you.

“Go,” you said, breathless. “It’s okay. Go.”

His jaw tensed. “Be careful.”

Then he was gone.

Gone before your lips could touch. Before the question in your chest could be asked.

You were left staring into the smoke-streaked night, lips still parted, breath still caught.

And your heart?

It was no longer neutral.

[ovenproofowl]

Can we talk about this for a moment? Because this scene hit for me on such a poignent level.

We've seen so many versions of Superman's origin story be it in the form of comics, cartoons or live action and nearly every one of them involves a flashback to baby Kal-El being shipped off in a pod moments before Krypton's destruction. But, in this show, Clark never learns who Jor-El really is. He doesn't know his parents were trying to save him, hell, he thinks his whole species are a bunch of monsters who were trying to invade Earth.

And then this scene comes along and it's just executed in a such a *chef's kiss* manner. Jor-El saves Clark from the ship's explosion, probably mirroring exactly what happened to him when he was a baby. That Kal-El. My Son. Live. really feels like it carries an echo of the same words spoken to him before he was sent away from Krypton.

Clark doesn't know any of this, he doesn't know what he is or where he came from, and instead of showing that to us in a flashback from his past, we instead get to watch as Clark re-experiences what it would have felt like to be sent away for his own protection. To be shot out in an escape pod moments before an explosion that would have otherwise killed him. Of having his father sacrafice himself yet again to keep his son safe.

It's reinventing the past through the present. It's telling us the same story, delivering the same heartbreak, just in a different packaging this time around. And the show pulls it off flawlessly.

Oh my god I'm not okay.

[mauvecardigans]

at last a hint! a smidgen of a morsel of lore!!

they really dropped two lore eps in the first season and decided to drop it immediately without further comment, damn

[13keithxpidge13]

AU where a Damian multiverse variant ends up in the main DC universe timeline, having run from his world which has been enslaved by Kryptonians and he belongs to the son of the ruler of his world, Jon-El, son of Kal-El, the ruler of New Krypton which was once Earth.

He fled, managing to escape through a multiversal portal the rebellion of his world had been working on after he escaped his slavery, and was sent to a world that would most likely be able to help and overthrow the reign of the Supermen.

Only problem is, this variant of Damian is in love with his worlds Jonathan. Despite his forced enslavement, and the pain he had endured, they truly did love one another, even if Jonathan’s version of love was wrapped in blankets of obsession and possessiveness.

“How?” Jon asked him one day, several days after the alternate version of Damian arrived. “How can you still love him? Even after all he’s done to you—to your world?”

Dami got a distant look in his eyes, eyes that were a dull green ever since he arrived, but seemed to just get the slightest bit lighter at the mention of the one who had stolen his heart, forcefully or otherwise.

“Because,” Dami laughs bitterly. “Somewhere inside of me, somewhere despite it all, I still believe that one day I will wake up and he will smile at me sweetly again. That everything that has happened will be a dream. That he’ll be the Jonathan I fell in love with when we were children. It is a foolish dream, I know, but it is the only thing that keeps me going, anymore.”

It is a fools dream, to be sure, but a dream that is the only thing tethering him to the mortal plane. He knows that Jonathan will never be who he once was, knows that it is foolish and stupid to think otherwise, but lying to himself rather than admitting the truth is the only thing keeping him upright, and it is the only thing that will continue to get him through the rest of the days that he has left.

[superman-the-secret-third-thing]

Crazy Things that happened to Golden/Silver/Bronze Age Superman that he just shrugged off

-He's a clone of a clone and the original Superman died years ago.

-The universe is an infinite time loop, once the big bang occurs it happens again. He has lived through his childhood and early adulthood twice.

-He can't die of old age so if he wants to die he'll have to kill himself.

-He's indirectly responsible for a nuclear apocalypse that laid a planet completely barren, but doesn't remember it because it happened in a time bubble where he was turned back into a baby and sent on his way to earth.

-He's partially responsible for Kandor getting bottled- he went back in time and tried to organize an effort to evacuate the planet, but he forgot to check the name of the city he was in, so their entire fleet got sucked up by Brainiac.

-He cries uncontrollably on his birthday, not because of Krypton's destruction, but because Kryptonians have a tradition of being sad on their birthdays. He hypnotized himself to forget this for some reason.

-He's doomed to be haunted by a white woman with double initials. He once tried to go back in time and not encounter Lois, only to encounter an even crazier bitch who tried to attack him to expose his identity.

-Despite having a rule against killing, he accidentally built a fully sapient and self-aware robot as a teen and killed it without mercy while it begged for it's life.

-Wizards are real

-He attempted to prevent the assassination of Abraham Lincoln but failed, watching John Wilkes Booth shoot the president while he stood frozen.

-His eyes rolled so far back into his head he looked at his own brain.

-A clone of himself, identical in every way except for his super powers committed suicide via gunshot.

-Mxyzptlk made a fake wife and son for Superman and acted like Mxy had just removed the memory of his marriage instead of just making them up wholeheartedly. He turned out to be the kid but the wife was a fully sapient magical construct who dies on the floor.

-Bizarro is the Christian devil, the Yeti and Mary Shelly's inspiration for Frankenstein

-A mob wanted to make superman guilty of murder, so they resurrected a guy from the dead for ten hours, so he can get superman to punch him at the exact right time to fall dead again. He got hit by a car so plan B was Boxing Match + Suicide capsule

-The Kryptonians once built an exact duplicate of Krypton as a decoy to distract space pirates who wanted to rob the planet. Superman found it, an unknowingly activated the booby trap, killing every sentient robot duplicate, including his parents. He didn't know that they were fake at the time.

-If you smash a potted tibetan plant over your skill at a right angle, you can see exactly one hour into the future

-Superman robots explode f they hear a language that isn't English.

-John Corben, Metallo and Bruce Wayne, Batman look exactly like him.

-His love interests always have LL initials. Lyla Lerrol (Kryptonian Actress), Lois Lane (Human Reporter), Lana Lang (Smallville Resident), Lori Lemaris (Mermaid telepath) and Lahla (Thorone Dissenter)

I'll post if I can think of more.

[guesswhoisofftheirmedsagain]

More of my Royal / Wings TimKon AU :]

Og post here (og post is more Kon’s POV of them meeting, this one is more Tim’s POV)

Tim sighed as he got ready, today was the day he was ment to leave to go meet his future husband. He heard Dick humming as he preened his feathers, gently fixing up his wings. Tim felt like he wasn’t ready to go, he was being sent to Krypton 2 weeks early to prepare for the wedding, and to see if he and his soon to be husband would even get along. Bruce didn’t like sending him without any guards, it made Tim nervous too, but if that’s what it took to show the humans they weren’t aggressive, so be it. Damian had volunteered to go with Tim, to protect him, but both Bruce and Tim had said no. Damian was still a nestling, even if he claimed otherwise, there was no way Tim would ever let him get into any unnecessary danger.

He would just have to make it two weeks, then he would see his family again at his wedding. He could do this. He looked over himself in the mirror, his royal garments made of soft fabric, his perfectly preened feathers, his talons trimmed and shiny. He looked every part of Prince. Making his way down to the foyer, he said his goodbyes to his family, and almost teared up as Alfred handed him his bag. It was beautifully made, the nicer materials used for it. It belonged to Cass, but she had insisted he take it with him.

He flew off, towards the edge of the forest. He stopped just before reaching the tree line, scanning for where the human prince would be. Once he found him, he could only find himself looking. Oh no. He’s hot. Or technically, oh yes? Score? Tim’s future husband is attractive, even without wings. After a moment to collect himself, Tim glides down to the forest floor, probably best to not fly out, and just walk to him. Should be less intimidating that way. Tim folded up his wings the best he could, not wanting to scare Prince Kon.

After taking a deep breath, Tim leaves the protection of the trees, of the forest, of his home. He approaches Prince Kon at a semi slow pace, watching his arms flex under his suit as he got down from his horse. Tim can definitely feel Kon staring at him, and Tim knew this would happen. Humans weren’t used to seeing creatures like Tim, so he was probably freaked out. Tim couldn’t blame him, he could imagine the disgust he must feel having to marry a creature from the Great Forest. While they didn’t particularly find humans all that weird, humans were often very afraid and put off by creatures of the Great Forest. Many of the residents having hunted humans who wondered into the territory in the past, most of them having evolved attractive human forms to lure in their prey. While they had stopped many years ago, long before Tim was even born, those evolutionary traits were still there.

Tim watched Prince Kon’s eyes pass over him, taking in every detail. Is he preparing himself for the possibility of Tim attacking him? Tim’s wings twitched unconsciously, trying to prepare to fly away in case of an attack on him. Did Tim accidentally give the prince the wrong impression? He hoped not, he himself looked over Prince Kon, unable to admit to himself it wasn’t just for possible battle preparation.

Prince Kon was tall, taller than Tim, he had soft curls that fell onto his forehead, gold jewelry that complemented his tan skin, his eyes a light blue, that reminded Tim of the open sky on a sunny day. He looked strong, probably some type of sword training. He didn’t have any visible weapons on him, which was both a relief but also could be a bad sign.

Tim finally stoped a few feet in front of Kon, his body tensing, although he didn’t let it show, his wings ready to take flight if needed. Then Prince Kon bowed and introduced himself before Tim could say anything. Tim kept his wings tight against his back as he bowed back the human way, and introduced himself. Normally, their bow would involve kneeling and spreading their wings fully to touch against the ground. It’s a position of vulnerability for Winged creatures, it was most difficult to take off when so close to the ground. Bruce had told him to not bow like that that, even when he had met the King, Prince Kon’s father, he didn’t bow like that. It’s a sign of not just goodwill, but of trust and these humans hadn’t earned that trust yet.

Prince Kon offered to help him get onto the back of his horse, which Tim was thankful for, having never ridden one before. He never needed to, flying was much faster and more enjoyable. The saddle was large, but not made for two people, so Tim tried not to flush as he sat with his chest against Prince Kon’s back. He held his arms around Prince Kon’s torso, and, god he could feel his muscles. Tim knew his face was definitely red, grateful that Prince Kon couldn’t see him, having to look ahead. He could feel his pulse under his fingertips, his heart beating fast. He was probably nervous, to have Tim’s talons so close to him, Tim could easily tear through his suit and flesh. Tim’s heart was racing too, holding onto Prince Kon tighter as the horse sped up to a galloping pace. He wondered if Prince Kon could feel Tim’s pulse against his back. He hoped not.

——

Kon couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty boy holding onto him for the whole ride back. It was quite long, so Kon slowed to check on Prince Timothy a few times, who confirmed he was fine each time. Kon loved his voice, it was so lovely to listen to. Kon was able to tell that Prince Timothy was being careful of his talons, fully aware that he could accidentally hurt him. Kon wondered what those talons would feel like running gently across his skin. He wondered if his feathers were as soft as they looked, he wanted to pet his wings. Kon hoped that eventually, Prince Timothy might actually let him.

[jayvikstolemyheart]

Weird thought: DC AU where Viktor is the Kryptonian Superman… but he’s still disabled. He’s super strong but he needs a cane and he keeps breaking them cuz of said super strength.

The idea came from looking at Superbat stuff and then thinking “Personality-wise Jayce would make a good Superman and Viktor would make a good Batman… but how do you handle the matter of Viktor’s disability?”

So I decided Viktor needs superpowers

Viktor was the first natural-born baby on Krypton in centuries, but because of that he was born with a disability. His parents loved him, but it did not help the situation. Not that that lasted long since Krypton was quickly destroyed and Viktor was sent off in a baby spaceship.

He was found and adopted by Czech-immigrant farmers who always wanted a baby but weren’t in the financial position to do so until it was too late.

It was clear that Viktor had difficulties moving but they were limited in what they could do for him since 1. A doctor/hospital could quickly figure out that Viktor isn’t human, & 2. Viktor is invulnerable so surgeries and needles weren’t an option anyway. The parents researched what they could to make canes and help Viktor, but yeah.

Viktor had a hard time growing up, being a disabled kid with nerdy interests who was the adopted child of immigrants. He was often frustrated by his parents’ orders to avoid using his powers. But it also grew an affinity with the other kids who were lower in the social caste. And the disabled people he met who didn’t have the satisfying knowledge that they were secretly all powerful like Viktor.

Childhood was far from perfect, but it instilled Viktor with the dream of helping people like himself. To bring a positive change to the world. That partnered with his intelligence caused his parents to put all they had into getting Viktor to the ‘big city’ to a good Uni so Viktor could work to his goals despite the risks.

He’s in a new place where he can hear lots of people in danger. Viktor knows it will take years to achieve systemic changes. He could help people now with his powers. Plus, he’s an adult now, in a big city where it would be hard to narrow down the identity of a mysterious new superhero.

Viktor’s version of Superman would always fly/hover over the ground so as not to put pressure on his bad leg. He keeps all his mobility aids at home. Partly for identity reasons, but also probably internalised ableism with wanting the hero to be an “ideal”. He targets low income areas and disabled people as those he protects the most, but he’ll still help most of the city.

(Maybe a news article calls him “The Herald of Justice” and people shorten that to the ‘the herald’ and it sticks) (but then the Superman aesthetic might be diminished so I’m not sold on it)

As for Jayce, he’s probably not Bruce Wayne rich but wealthy/techy enough that he can create his Batman-esque suit with utility belt and all the gadgets. His family used to be higher class but have fallen down about so he still gets invited to socialite events but mostly out of obligation. He’s gotten a bit more popularity thanks to his good looks but he’s mostly seen as a pretty face that whose family will be caste out of high society within the next generation unless he gets some success.

Because of this, his secret identity is hidden by the fact that he’s considered pretty face from a no-name family, not special enough to be something like Gotham’s knight, the (Batman-equivalent I’m worried I changed too much.)

Jayce stays quiet with the costume on, to avoid anyone recognising his voice. The result of this is that everyone thinks he’s this grimdark serious hero and is able to strike fear into criminals’ hearts. All the mysterious gadgets and booby traps help as well.

I think the two would greatly admired each other’s hero identities. And when they inevitably meet would be very surprised by the other’s true personality. They basically have the opposite attitude that their superhero alter ego presents.

It kind of goes from ‘from-hero worship/admiration-to-disappointment-to-reluctant work partners-to-newfound respect (after realising the true heroic qualities in the other)-to-friends-to-pining/yearning/lovers????

I’m not entirely sure about their civilian identities yet so I’m not sure how those versions would interact but I think Viktor would be scared to reveal his identity cuz it means revealing his disability which would go against the hero identity he’s created (at least in Viktor’s eyes)

Jayce would never think less of Viktor! But he might wonder if Viktor isn’t that serious about Jayce since the other man won’t reveal his identity. Or maybe Jayce worries that he’d disappoint Viktor with his “upper-class, dumb puppy” reputation.

So angst, miscommunication, secret identity stuff, yearning, admiration, etc. ensues!

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 KNEEL BEFORE TRAUMA: The Forgotten Horror of Zod, Ursa, and Non

You don’t remember fear. You remember cosplay villains. You remember emotionally compromised genocidaires. You remember purple chin titans crying over adopted daughters they tossed off cliffs for a two-for-one Soul Stone coupon.

But fear? Real fear? It walked through a White House wall in 1980 wearing vinyl and daring their  planet of imbeciles to say one more goddamn word.

Let’s not pretend. You didn’t survive Zod, Ursa, and Non. You were allowed to live.

🩸 THE DEMON GENERAL, THE SEDUCTRESS DEATH PRIESTESS, AND THE MUTE MURDER MONSTER

Call them what they were.

Zod was not a “Superman villain.” He was the devil who read Nietzsche, passed judgment, and stepped out of the void. He didn’t want your city. He wanted your knees.

Ursa was not “a femme fatale.” She was the eroticized weaponization of judgment. A dominatrix of destruction with the cruelty of a mythic succubus and the eyes of a woman who’s already decided what your corpse will look like. You didn’t “flirt” with Ursa. You flinched and prayed your soul didn’t twitch loud enough to be noticed.

Non was not “a big brute.” He was a mute, unthinking death golem. A human extinction event in a leather tunic. He snapped necks the way toddlers snap glowsticks — with glee, with ease, and without understanding why the adults were screaming.

Together, they weren’t a threat.

They were a prophecy.

🛐 KRYPTON DIDN’T BANISH THEM BECAUSE THEY WERE DANGEROUS

They exiled them to the Phantom Zone because death was too merciful. Too final. Too… easy.

This wasn’t rehabilitation.

It was containment. Mythological. Eternal. Dimensional.

Krypton put them in a mirror dimension because they were too pure in purpose to kill — and too horrifying to live.

They were ideological weapons with abs.

And when they returned? They didn’t monologue. They judged.

💥 SUPERMAN DIDN’T FIGHT THEM

He murdered them. In a holy rage. With bare hands, brute grief, and his family name burned into every punch.

Don’t let modern apologists rewrite it. Superman didn’t hold back. He didn’t negotiate.

He sent:

Ursa into a pit.

Non into an abyss.

And Zod?

Zod looked him in the eyes and said, “Kneel.” And Superman broke his goddamn neck in front of the American flag.

Not because it was patriotic. Not because it was strategic.

Because Zod made Ma and Pa Kent feel fear. And that had to be erased.

🧠 THIS IS WHY YOUR FATHER SHUT OFF THE MOVIE

He didn’t turn it off because it was scary. He turned it off because he remembered.

He remembered what real villainy looked like.

It wasn’t a slow monologue.

It was the instantaneous sense of being smaller than language. The suffocating gravity of a presence that doesn’t want to kill you.

It wants you to kneel.

📉 THE MODERN ERA HAS NO IDEA

Today’s villains get:

Redemption arcs

Spotify playlists

Gay-coded twink aesthetics

Motivational speeches at the UN

Zod didn’t need a backstory. His backstory was your future. Burning.

🚨 URSA NEVER BLINKED

If you were in a room with Ursa, she would smell your fear before your sphincter did. And she would tilt her head — not like a curious lover — but like a panther who just noticed the cage door was unlocked.

She didn’t want men.

She wanted submission.

And the thing that haunts you? She never once raised her voice. Not to shout. Not to scream. Not even in combat.

Ursa killed with indifference. That’s what made it feel like sex and death at the same time.

🧷 NON HAD A NAME BUT NEVER NEEDED IT

He grunted. He growled. And then he grabbed.

Your neck.

Your spine.

Your very dignity.

Non was autism-coded apocalypse. Not out of trope, but out of elemental programming. He was the answer to a question nobody asked:

“What if Frankenstein’s monster was loyal to Satan and hit like a tactical nuke?”

⚔️ THE PHANTOM ZONE WASN’T PRISON

It was Krypton’s equivalent of the devil’s basement. A place you don’t speak of. A dimension you whisper about.

And he let them out.

They didn’t escape. We got sloppy. We poked a hole in hell and laughed about it.

And three gods of wrath stepped through in vinyl and asked the planet to beg.

🛐 ZOD’S ORDER: “KNEEL.”

The most dangerous word in cinematic history.

Not “die.” Not “suffer.” Kneel.

Because Zod wasn’t trying to kill Earth. He was trying to subjugate the idea of Earth.

He was a fascist not because he loved order, But because your resistance was an insult to his existence.

He needed your spine on the ground to justify his breath.

🩸 SUPERMAN HAD TO KILL THEM

And let’s be real:

If Ma and Pa Kent had seen those three descend on Earth? They’d have loaded a Kryptonian shotgun and blown zod and his backup dancers skulls open just to avoid being remembered by Zod’s rage.

Superman didn’t save the world. He avenged his parents. He sent those monsters back to nowhere — not as a soldier, not as a hero — but as the only surviving son of the people who raised him right.

He didn’t just end them.

He ended the possibility of them.

🧠 TL;DR

Zod wasn’t a villain. He was a living fascism virus with heat vision.

Ursa wasn’t “hot.” She was the final orgasm before planetary annihilation.

Non wasn’t “strong.” He was silent trauma given form.

Superman didn’t win. He survived. And humanity barely got to exist afterward.

💣 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog if you know what true villains felt like 🩸 Save this if you’ve ever whispered “kneel” and meant it ⚡ Share this with someone who thinks Thanos was scary 🛐 Bookmark it in honor of the trauma that taught you silence

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is Blacksite Literature™, mythic villain psychology, cultural horror doctrine, and dark cinematic satire protected under artistic reverence law and postmodern canon commentary.

If you’re offended: They wouldn’t have even noticed your fear.

🛐

🛡️ BLACKSITE LOYALTY DRILL™ 🛐 CHALLENGE: “WOULD YOU HAVE KNEELED?”

Ask yourself:

Would you have looked Zod in the eyes and said “no”? Would you have survived Ursa’s gaze without flinching? Would you have stood your ground as Non lumbered forward with no words — just breath?

If not? You’re not a hero.

🔥 Reblog if you'd kneel 🩸 Save if you'd scream before surrender ⚡ DM if you understand that some villains don’t need a motive. Just a memory.

🛐

🔁Reblog to keep my signal to mankind going strong.

[jesncin]

Coddling Colonizer Guilt

"Performative diversity is when MAWS features a Native American variant of Lois Lane in the multiverse episode only to end the season on a Thanksgiving episode."

...is something I like to joke with my friends as a shorthand for referencing MAWS' squeamish approach to politics while still trying to reap the clout of "diverse representation". I want to get my thoughts out there and perhaps start a discussion over why this feels off.

Some disclaimers: Firstly, I'm not Native American. Understand this is an observation I'm making from an outsider perspective with no personal authority. I'm just a disappointed Asian Lois Lane fan. Secondly, I know the MAWS crew/creators had no malicious intent in any of these (what I consider) poor writing decisions. I'm simply here to challenge and analyze these narrative and visual choices.

MAWS takes a fairly controversial take on Superman mythos so far. Unlike Superman's historic roots as an allegory for Jewish immigrants with Clark coming from a Kryptonian socialist utopia (leading the imperfect people of Earth to a better tomorrow), MAWS chooses instead to reimagine Superman as a descendant from a planet of "alien invaders". If the leaked(?) concept art (warning potential spoilers for s2) is to be believed, Clark is the direct descendent of the leaders of the "Kryptonian Empire". Supposedly gone are the parents of Superman being scientists that warn of the destruction of their home planet- instead we have the "proud, loving, brilliant" "leaders of the Kryptonian Empire".

While we don't know if this is the direction the show is going in, there are already cryptic hints of it being planted and thematic elements set up that point to it being a possibility. Clark had spent a majority of the season wondering what/who he is (being incapable of talking to Jor-El's hologram because of a language barrier) only to find out his supposed origins in episode 9. He's devastated learning that he's an alien invader and, once he regroups with his friends, angsts about believing he's a weapon sent from Krypton to invade Earth. Asian-Lois Lane and Black-Jimmy Olsen assure White-passing-alien-man Clark Kent that he's different and not like other colonizers. Clark ultimately saves the day, proving he's an exception. It's curious then that the season ends on Thanksgiving.

As I've mentioned before, MAWS is exhaustively squeamish with getting political. Whatever happens in the show that resembles "themes" is quickly contradicted with very little consistent internal logic. One minute Superman is supposedly a threat that "wipes out good American jobs", should "go back to where he came from" and Lois makes a hope speech about how we shouldn't treat people who "are different" and "don't look like us" (??) with cruelty (so Clark's an immigrant going through xenophobia?) and the next he's a redeemed colonizer (a more prominent thematic arc). One minute Clark is "different" and scared of being othered- likened to a gay couple and allegorically closeted, and the next his friends call him out for being a lying liar for not disclosing his marginalized identity within a week (the narrative frames Lois and Jimmy as being in the right). This show's writing is non-committal with what it wants to say, and largely goes on vibes. That is to say I don't think the writers intended for the themes of colonizer guilt to accidentally tie into Thanksgiving as a set piece for their final episode.

I'm sure the reason the writers chose Thanksgiving as their final episode is because it's "relateable". Half the episode is dedicated to slice of life family reunion shenanigans and the dang turkey still not being cooked through. But in choosing Thanksgiving, the writers told on themselves here with their biases. The existence of Thanksgiving implies the existence of genocide (of Native American people) by colonists in the MAWS universe. And yet Black Jimmy Olsen doesn't know what racism is (Mallah and the Brain give him a judgmental stare as Jimmy admits he can't relate to being violently marginalized) and Asian American Lois Lane doesn't understand immigration and xenophobia (constantly being entitled to Clark's immigrant identity, being incapable of comprehending why he would keep it a secret, because secrets are lies). The MAWS crew wanted a "relateable" set piece but in doing so ended up reinforcing the historical revisionism the holiday entails. A foreign colonizer sharing a meal with his friends of color on Earth, whose culture, history, and identity are all white washed.

I would like to challenge this idea that Thanksgiving is somehow the "relateable" choice. Why pick this holiday? Why not celebrate Thanksgiving as a National Day of Mourning (as some Native Americans do)? Why not pick any Jewish holiday as a nod to Superman's creators (ignoring this version's colonizer interpretation for a second)? Why not pick Lunar New Year, a holiday celebrated by many people including Koreans (Seollal in South Korea)? It could've been another fun opportunity to showcase Lois' heritage, and create a fusion of cultures from Jimmy and Clark's families. At its most non-political and secular, why couldn't they pick any weekend? This is what happens when a show doesn't consider its world building and setting in a holistic way. MAWS will nod to xenophobic rhetoric, portray allegorical queer marginalization, and make the vaguest nods to systemic bigotry (Prof Ivo displaced a whole neighborhood! Yet we never hear from those figurative displaced people). But it does nothing to discuss any of that on a deeper level. Its characters of color don't know what racism is and Thanksgiving is just a fun family reunion, guys.

All this and they had the audacity to sneak in a Native American Lois Lane in the multiverse episode?? Why is she, out of all the Lois Lanes in this screencap, the only one in full traditional wear? Why isn't she in a smart casual business fit like Black Lois and STAS white Lois? Would she not have been recognizably Native American to the non-Native audience otherwise? Isn't this tokenizing? Do you think she has a xenophobic dad in the military like Korean American Lois does?

But that fits MAWS' approach to diversity, doesn't it? Surface level cultural nods, maybe make Lois wear a hanbok one time, and let the audience eat it up. Never mind that both Korean American Lois and Native American Lois have been stripped of their culture and history in every other aspect.

I use the word "relateable" a lot here, but I think the important question to ask is "relateable for who?". 'Immigrant' is too charged a word, so MAWS universalizes Clark's marginalization to "being different". Superman isn't even an immigrant in this version, that was all a smokescreen for the twist that he's actually a descendent of colonizers! Being wracked with colonizer guilt is way more relateable to the white audience than being an immigrant, surely. Thanksgiving is more relateable than celebrating any culturally specific holiday our "diverse reimagining" could have represented. Characters of color being functionally white (in a way that doesn't threaten middle America) is way more relateable. MAWS is a show that doesn't want to delve into Native American history. It would rather put a Native American Lois hologram on a pedestal and call it a day.

[c-optimistic]

Hey, i saw you tagged something with "#Kara has been okay with dying for a very long time#makes me wanna write about it" and I just thought I'd pop in to say that if you write about it I would love to read it :D

The Phantoms lie.

She knows this, she knows this. But the truth is, the Phantoms do more than just lie.

They twist memories, create waking nightmares, force you to relive the most painful things your own mind can conjure up.

(And Kara’s mind is a dark place.)

She can distinguish it at first, what’s real and what’s not real. There’s a lot giving away the fake memories, the implanted thoughts. Little details that give Kara enough distance from what she’s seeing to recognize it’s not real.

Things like cruel smirks on Alex’s lips that she never wore in reality.

Things like J’onn’s distrustful eyes following her, like Nia’s disgust when she appears, like Brainy’s disappointed shake of his head when she takes another step.

But then, she loses focus. She loses her grip on reality. Because she sees Lena’s tearstained face, hears her blaming Kara for lies and betrayal and loss and...it’s all true. It’s true, and she finds she can’t tell the difference between the Phantoms’ lies and her own bitter memories.

(She takes another step, needing to keep moving, needing to find a way out, needing to get home.

The lies, the memories, and the hurt all follow.)

It’s cold in the Phantom Zone. Cold, dark, and utterly silent. There’s nothing but the sound of her boots against gravelly soil, chattering teeth, and guilt and blame ringing in her ears, the voices of her friends and family shouting at her, not wanting her, hating her.

(The Phantoms lie. She knows this.

She has to know this.)

There are no signs of passing days. There’s no rising and setting sun, no waxing or waning moons, no indication that time passes at all. At first, she tries to count, to create her own sense of time, using the numbers to block out the voices and the visions, but she loses track, loses focus, watches everyone she loves die and wishes she died with them.

(The Phantoms lie.

She thinks she knows this.)

Kara takes another step. And another.

(It’s painfully cold. Her thoughts make her feel colder.)

A step. She has to keep moving, even if she’s unsure where she’s going. Why is she still going?

(The Phantoms lie.

But lies with a foundation of truth are always easier to believe.)

Kara stops, surrounded by images of all her dead loved ones, and she drops to her knees to join them.

///

When she wakes, she’s in a small cave-like structure, a glow emanating from a fire that gives off no heat.

And the man who has rescued her, the man in the robes and defeated eyes, is her father.

When he notices she’s awake, he’s careful to shift, appear as non-threatening as possible, smiling benignly at her. And Kara just lays there, staring, wondering if she’s dead or if this is just yet another ghost sent to haunt her.

“Kara,” he says finally, breaking the silence, his voice cracked from disuse, tongue clearly not practiced with the single word he utters.

“I’m dead,” Kara guesses, sitting up, watching the robed man who has taken the guise of her father carefully. “Right?”

“No, you are not dead.”

“But you’re not him,” she says, not really accusatory, just stating a fact. He looks at her sadly, like she’s hurting him.

“I am Zor El,” he says, almost like he believes it. “I am husband to Alura. Brother to Jor El. And most importantly, father to Kara Zor El.”

Kara gets to her feet shakily, stepping as far back from him as she can, back pressed against the cave walls. “No, stop. Zor El is dead. He died. He put me in a pod, alone, and sent me off, and he stayed to die with Krypton.”

Like I should have, she doesn’t say. I should have died too.

“You’re not real,” she tells him, meeting his gaze defiantly. The robed man, the man who calls himself Zor El, the stranger, lets out a sigh and hangs his head.

“The Phantoms lie, Kara,” he tells her quietly. “You know this.”

///

They begin their journey. Her hallucination tells her there’s some sort of outpost. A place she can perhaps send out a message, they merely need to get to it. He tells her he will go with her.

He tells her to be strong.

(And she wonders if this ghost knows what she’s thinking, if he can look into her mind and read those dark thoughts she can’t seem to shake.

Because even as she takes step after arduous step, she is focused on a singular notion: perhaps the universe would be better off with her dead. Perhaps fighting had no use at all.

Perhaps, in those endless days, dark and cold and alone in her pod, aimlessly floating through the vast expanse of space, she should have given up. Perhaps it would have been better.)

Ghost-Zor El doesn’t touch her, but she feels his heavy gaze on her, and she turns to him.

“The Phantoms lie, Kara,” he reminds her, giving her a smile that brings back memories of her father, of sitting in his lab and learning more about his work, of listening to his stories, of watching him when he wasn’t paying attention. “You should know this.”

///

Stay warm, he tells her. Find shelter, he reminds her. Conserve your energy, he advises her.

Rest, he says, rest and keep fighting to get home—back to those you love.

She doesn’t ask him how he knows she has loved ones, people she desperately wants to get back to. She merely listens without complaint, obeying thoughtlessly to his suggestions, and lets her mind go blank.

“Are you real?” she asks him after what feels like several days, but could have been weeks or months or years.

Her hallucination never comes too close to her, but he smiles her father’s smiles and that’s enough for her. “The Phantoms lie, Kara,” he says softly, his voice lulling her to sleep. “Don’t forget this.”

///

Everything aches. Each step takes energy she just doesn’t have. It’s as though all the weight she’s always carried, all the grief and pain and regret, has finally become too much, sapping her of everything she has left.

She buckles under the burden, but before she can fall, she feels a strong grip around her arm, dragging her up back to her feet.

“You must keep going,” her father’s ghost tells her, his eyes sad, no warmth from where his fingers are closed around her arm. “This is not where you fall.”

“But it can be,” Kara murmurs hopelessly. And it occurs to her, she’s not quite sure what she’s still fighting for.

A sister who she overshadowed and whose family she ripped apart? Friends who were terrified of her and what was capable of? And Lena—Lena, who Kara has loved from the day they met, but who she has hurt so completely that the CEO will never be the same?

(Kara has been okay with dying for a long time. Okay with dying in her pod. Okay with dying to save Earth. Okay with dying to protect those she loves.

And here now, she’s okay with dying with her father’s ghost—finally, finally joining him.)

“The Phantoms lie, Kara,” the fake Zor El says firmly, forcing her to take another step. “You must remember this. The Phantoms lie, and you must live.”

She stares up at him blankly, and obeys. She takes one step. Then another.

Another.

Another.

And on and on.

She keeps going.

///

Time passes. She’s not sure how much. But her apparition father no longer walks a distance away from her. Instead, he practically holds her up as they keep going, his repeated promises than she can do this all she can really hear.

“I wish…” Kara manages weakly. “I wish you were real.”

Her ghost father chuckles, clearly hearing what she can’t say. (I wish I were with you. I wish I wasn’t alone. I wish, I wish.) “Ah, but I am real. I’m the best parts of you, daughter,” he says. “Resilience, strength, commitment…hope.” He says the last word with some force, as if needing her to understand. “You are good. You are kind. And you try, more than anything you try.”

“The Phantoms lie,” she reminds him quietly. He laughs again.

“Yes, but I am no Phantom.”

And they keep walking.

///

“I have hurt so many,” she says, half carried by the fake Zor El. “I cause nothing but damage and pain. Why would they even want me back? Lena especially?”

“I don’t believe love is as simple as you make it seem, Kara,” the fake Zor El says. Another step. And another. And on and on.

“Love? She hates me. I ruined her life. I lied. I betrayed her.”

“Sometimes we stumble,” the fake Zor El said gently. “Sometimes we fail. But as long as we learn, as long as we get up and try to do better, there is always hope.”

A step. And another. And on and on.

“I do, you know. Love her,” she adds when her fake father seems confused.

He smiles brightly at her, and it’s nice. Even though he’s not real. Even though she’s only partially sure she’s not dead and this isn’t all in her head, even though he’s at best a hallucination and at worst a trick of the Phantoms, it’s nice. Because she’d never thought she’d have the opportunity to tell her father about the woman she has fallen for—the scientist like him, the innovator like him. The woman who made her feel more at home, more like herself, than anyone else.

“Hold onto that love, Kara,” he says, helping her take another step. “If there’s one thing the Phantoms cannot destroy, it is your love.”

She nods, though she doesn’t quite understand. And they keep going.

///

She knows she’s reaching her limit physically. There’s only so much even she can endure. Between the cold, the bone deep weariness, the ache settling in her chest, and the energy sapped from her very being, she’s running on no more than fumes.

She tells herself it’s just one more step. Just one more.

Just.

One.

…more.

“Father, are you—” She stops.

She’s completely alone. The ghost is gone.

Kara trembles, choking not only on the dusty, frozen air, but on her despair. All she wants, all she wants is to stop.

To fall to the gravelly dirt.

To curl up.

To give up…

“Kara!”

(She falls to her knees. The Phantoms lie, she thinks. But what a mercy, what a kindness, she’s going to die with her name on Lena’s lips.)

“Kara! Brainy, we found her. Alex, you’d best come quick.”

(The words make no sense. The Phantoms lie. They lie. They lie, lie, lie.

She looks up, and an angel stands before her. Lena, with wide, desperate eyes. Lena, with hair in a messy ponytail. Lena, in dusty, dirty clothes.

Oh, she’s a sight. She’s an angel. She’s everything.)

“Kara? Kara, we’re here. We’re going to take you home.”

(The Phantoms…have never lied like this.)

“Lena?” Kara manages shakily, unsure if she’s dreaming, hallucinating, dead even. “Are you real?”

Lena doesn’t answer, instead she rushes forward, falls to her knees too, and pulls Kara into a hug. She envelopes Kara in her scent—sweet and flowery—envelopes Kara in her warmth. Her heartbeat is strong against Kara’s chest.

She’s so alive. So present. So very real.

“Lena, my father, he…” But she doesn’t finish what she wants to say. After days, months, weeks, years (she doesn’t know, she can’t tell) of being lost in the Phantom Zone, her body finally caves under the weight of everything she’s gone through.

And she lets go. Falls into Lena. Lets herself be supported. Her eyes close, she breathes in Lena’s scent, and she thinks, even if this is just a lie, just a dream, it’s a good one.

And she knows no more.

///

When she wakes, her first thought is that she’s still dreaming. That the Phantoms lie, and that their lies are growing more and more impressive.

She’s laying underneath a sun lamp, nestled comfortably in her own bedroom, wearing soft pajamas and enveloped in her favorite blankets. There’s gentle music playing from somewhere in the living room, but otherwise that’s all she hears.

(The silence is eerie, disconcerting. She’s unused to such quiet, always assaulted by thousands upon thousands of sounds each and every moment. What a blessing, she thinks wryly, that the Phantoms would lie to her this way—would give her this much peace after so much pain.

And she wonders if this is what dying feels like.)

“Kara,” says her angel suddenly, and Kara turns her head, noticing for the first time that there’s a chair set up next to her bed, that Lena is there, watching her. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“Am I dead?” Kara asks. Lena’s eyes widen but she shakes her head. “Are you…are you real? Is any of this real?”

Lena slowly reaches out, giving Kara every chance to say no, to pull away, and she takes Kara’s hand into her own, threading their fingers together.

(She’s warm. Soft. And her touch stirs something inside Kara.

It’s familiar. Hers. Something lost in the Phantom Zone.

Or at least, something she thought she had lost.)

“I’m real, Kara,” Lena says. “We all are. And we’re here for you okay?”

“You found me?” Kara asks, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “You came for me?”

“Always,” Lena swears.

(The Phantoms lied.

But love, love she thinks always tells the truth.)