#its going to happen and its going to be wonderful

[jungkooklover777]

𝑀𝑦 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑜 ; clark kent / superman

summary: an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

pairing: fem!reader x corenswet!clark kent + journalist!reader x journalist!clark kent.

trope: office romance + coworkers to friends to lovers.

genre: fluff + some angst + slow burn romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + minor alcohol consumption + near-death experience + misogynistic remarks towards reader (from a jealous coworker who’s also a man r we surprised) + idk shit abt journalism.

word count: 11,031.

random disclaimerrr: heyy haha… heyy… how y’all doin… ik ik it took me for-fucking-ever bc in all honesty, i forgot about dat doe. & i lowk had writer's block but ITS OUT NOW SO YAYYY!! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jungkooklover777

A knock sounds at your already open door, causing you to pause your typing and look up.

“My office in five.” Your boss and an editor-in-chief— Perry White— commands.

You send him a nod and he’s on his way back.

It was a chill day until the cloud of quiet chatter evaporated and was replaced by a thick blanket of excitement.

“What is going on out there.” You curiously mutter.

You think about entering the crowd but you decide against it as you remember your initial task.

Perry may be a fair boss but his agitation takes on several forms, you do not wanna be caught on the receiving end of it.

You knock on his door and open it.

“Alright, Kent— oh. Here she is.”

You can’t see how this ‘Kent’ guy looks but he’s definitely a little over 6 feet. His gray coat outlines the broadness and muscly look of his back.

Damn, he’s kinda big.

He turns around and the only thing you can think of is Squidward whining in frustration, Oh no, he’s hot!

His eyes are a remarkable shade of blue, a lovely bunch of black curls sit atop his head, and his skin reminds you of the nice sand accompanied by the local beach.

Kent’s sporting a pair of black framed glasses and he’s the handsomest “nerd” you’ve ever seen.

You hope your ogling isn’t obvious.

“L/n, meet Clark Kent. Kent, this is Y/n L/n.”

This Greek God of a man shakes your hand and it’s warm. So. Warm.

He smiles and goddamn it is beautiful. It’s so perfect with all his perfectly straight, perfect shade of white teeth.

AND HE HAS DIMPLES?! HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT!

“It’s nice to meet you.”

And of course, an attractive voice that matches his equally attractive face. It’s deep and confident and you’re crushing so hard on him right now.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You calmly say.

“Get acquainted well because you’ll be showing our new guy here the ropes. Starting now.”

Your heart drops down to your ass and you retract your hand.

Of course this had to happen to you.

“Oh, okay.”

It was in fact not okay but it’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter.

You exit first and are met with so many faces outside the office. Comically, they all look away and pretend to do something important.

Now you realize why there was a crowd earlier, because of the handsome new guy.

You ask him to wait for you while you go grab some things from your desk.

“Okay, Clark—”

You’re gone for literally 1 minute and the poor guy’s already being swamped.

There’s a blonde girl, bit of a ditz. Twirling a strand of hair while giggling over something seriously unfunny.

She’s accompanied by a guy who’s much shorter in comparison to Clark.

He’s yammering away about how he’s always wondered what it’s like to be on a farm…

“I mean, I was at one for the DP but they didn’t have much internet so we couldn’t cover much. And the smell?” He shuts his eyes and wrinkles his nose in disdain. “I can’t imagine how it was for you, man.”

You watch in horror as he takes a sniff, yes; a sniff at Clark and hums, “You smell great, though! What is that, uh, aftershave. Or sum’?”.

Clark responds with a nervous laugh at his sudden proximity. “It’s Polo by Ralph Lauren. Uh, the blue one.”

“Whaaat?” The guy laughs in surprise.

Clark folds his lips inwards and raises his brows in an awkward manner.

What do you say to that? Truly.

What an idiot, you cringe internally before coming to his aid and kicking off his first day.

It’s the end of Clark Kent’s second week. He’s a great addition to the Daily Planet team and you have to say, he’s really nice.

His first few days were spent showing him around. Perry’s office, your office, the newsroom, break room, copy room, mail room, bullpen, so on and so forth.

You were sure Clark could use a better mentor but he thought otherwise. ‘You’re a good teacher, I like learning from you.’ He said.

He was very quiet at first, kept to himself and didn’t approach anyone unless he absolutely needed to.

You were the only person by his side almost every hour he worked so it made sense to just go to you.

The more you talked to him, the more he got out of his shell.

A friendly relationship blossomed and soon, he was a willing participant.

You like to drink something in the morning while you work and you didn’t realize Clark took a mental note of that.

Since your first week together, he brought you something everyday.

“As much as I appreciate this, you’re not the drink guy.”

You were worried he thought you’d expect him to do this all the time now but he denies the notion.

“Oh it’s no big deal, I pass by a cafe on my way here so it works out. Plus, I know the owner so I get a discount every time I go.”

You smile at that. This little tradition has become an essential part of your day, it’s how you start it. It’s also special to you because it’s just for you.

Your crush on him grows by the day but you can’t help it! It’s so hard not to like this guy.

He’s still a bit shy at times but you think that’s part of his charm, and he’s got you good. He’s just Clark, a sweet guy from a small town with big arms dreams.

“So, what are the plans for today?”

He asks this everyday in hopes of going on a side quest with just the two of you.

Alas, that doesn't happen nearly as much as he'd like but at least he still gets to see you whenever he likes.

“Today, we’re going to a meeting.” You answer as you quickly send out one last email.

You grab your purse and Clark brings his notebook to the conference room.

He pulls out a chair for you and you smile gratefully, whispering a ‘thank you’.

Perry and the other senior position holders make their way in and take their seats.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Perry announces that at the end of the meeting, there will be a spot open for another editor-in-chief.

Instantly, there’s hushed chatter of who can be nominated to fill the slot.

You’re positive you hear your name among the many different routes of conversation. You don’t notice Clark glancing at you when he hears it, too.

“L/n.”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you and want to fuse with the chair you’re sitting on.

“She’s our most talked-about reporter and has been here for almost three and a half years. How she’s doing better than most of you at this table, I have no idea. Great work, Y/n.”

You purse your lips in an awkward smile at the jab towards everyone else layered between your praises. “Thank you, sir.”

Clark allows his lips to be pulled back in a small grin, unable to hide his happiness for you.

You know some people in the room are envious of you and are incapable of witnessing your success, but you’d be damned if you let them ruin this moment for you.

The rest of the meeting goes by smoothly and it’s time for Perry to announce the new editor-in-chief.

“Of course, it came as no surprise for us to come to unanimously nominate Y/n L/n as one of our new editors-in-chief.”

You know you should be happy and a small part of you is relieved that your hard work paid off, but you’re not entirely sure.

You’ve only been here for 3 and a half years and this is a huge promotion.

Are you ready for this? How do you know you’re ready? When do you know you’re ready?

You force yourself to get out of your head and express your gratitude.

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” You smile as you shake their hands, accepting their approval.

You still had some time before accepting the offer but it felt like you had to take it.

The reality is: you don’t know what you want.

Most of the people leave but some stay behind.

“Congratulations, Y/n. You definitely earned it.”

Remember the envious people that were mentioned earlier? This guy— Mark Callahan— is one of them.

He sticks his hand out for you to shake but you clock his underlying tone.

“Thanks.” You smoothly move past him to the door with Clark following.

“Bitch.” He mutters to himself.

Clark stops dead in his shoes. “What did you just say?”

Mark smirks lazily and the few of his dastardly henchmen eye you with jealousy.

Your eyes are a bit wide, lips agape at his sudden change in attitude. “Clark..?”

This is Clark Kent. The shy, dorky, kind of an aloof guy with long legs, a killer smile, and a nice heart.

You never thought he could get mad. You haven’t even see him annoyed up until this very moment.

Mark takes a step towards you but Clark is quick to get in between you and him.

He pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek and chuckles. “Relax, man. I’m not gonna hurt your little girlfriend.”

Clark steps forward, his height giving him the upper hand as Mark’s ego forces him to maintain eye contact, even if he has to tilt his chin up a bit.

“You couldn’t even try.” He softly yet subtly mocks.

Mark tightens his jaw and you can feel the tension growing.

You tentatively reach out and put a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “We need to go.”

He maintains eye contact with Mark for a moment longer before budging and walking out.

Clark’s jaw is set and you see the faintest twitch of the muscle, his face stern and hand sweeping his curls.

He holds the elevator for you and you gulp nervously.

“What… was that?” You dare ask.

He assures you it's nothing but you can feel the intensity of his annoyance radiating off of him. It fills the elevator when you step in.

You don't know how badly his blood boils at the thought of someone being so casually disrespectful towards you.

His hands were clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He forcefully wipes his hands on his trousers and tries to cool down.

You let that go but can’t let go of how badly he gave you the butterflies.

You couldn’t even try.

That part replays in your mind.

It was the way he said it, like he was so sure of himself.

He was obviously putting Mark in his place but for you? He did that for you?

Your lips fold inwards to conceal the squeal (read: scream) that's begging to be released.

As the elevator arrives at your floor, Clark extends his arm for you to get out first then follows you out.

Chivalry isn’t dead?!

You don’t know much longer you can contain yourself.

“Hey, Y/n?” Clark calls out.

You swiftly turn around on your heels. “Yeah?”

He stares at you for a moment, like he’s gathering his thoughts carefully.

He has so much he wants to say. Every time you thank him for bringing you your morning drink, he wants to say, you deserve nothing but the best. He wishes to say how beautiful you look everyday, how smart you are when you're feeling doubtful.

Instead, he holds it all in and says something a friend would say. It doesn't mean anything less to you, he knows that. So he says something so kind, it leaves you with heart eyes.

“You deserve that promotion.”

In all the time you’ve spent here, not many people have said anything like to you.

There’s the fake compliments said out of spite. You’ve already gathered a mental list of who fits that category.

Then come the words of encouragement, said by a select few genuine people. Perry and your best friend, Lois are— were the only members of this group.

Clark being an addition to this list is obvious, it was only a matter of time, but it means so much coming from him.

You blink and feel lightweight.

“Thank you.”

He gives you that award-winning smile you love seeing so much and is on his way to work.

You feel distracted as you work, smiling like an idiot every now and then when his words ring in your mind.

You deserve that promotion.

Resting your head in your palm with your elbow extended in a comfortable position, you sigh dreamily; staring blankly at your loading computer screen.

“L/n.”

You immediately straighten your back and set both hands on the keyboard, suddenly irritated with how slow the network on your computer is.

“Sir?” You acknowledge him by poking your head out from behind the screen.

“Good work on the Stenson article,” He shows the newspaper bundled in his hand. “It’s gotten Star’s attention.”

You’re impressed with yourself. “Oh.”

He angles his head down to where he can see you through the space above his glasses. “You okay?”

You nod in a way that is more convincing yourself of what you’re saying than him. “Mhm. Just, uh… surprised because they’re our rivals.”

Knowing The Daily Star has its eye on you is a bit unnerving but what kind of opps would they be if they didn’t.

He hums in thought. “Well, I thought I’d stop by and let you know.”

“Right. Thanks.”

You track his movements until you’re sure he’s gone and smack some sense into yourself.

“Focus, Y/n. Focus.”

You are invited to attend a conference in Washington, D.C. along with a few handpicked journalists.

As you await for the plane's landing, your mind wanders back to the new guy. You wish Clark could’ve came.

You just think he would’ve had so much to learn and experience, nothing else…

A rattle echoing through the jet brings you out of your thoughts.

The captain makes an announcement but you feel like something’s off.

It’s the reporter in you, a 6th sense.

Another shake and now everyone’s a bit nervous, worried looks painted across their faces and yours.

You open the flap to your window and see nothing but soot. Dark gray matter surrounds the jet and it’s so thick, you can’t see past it.

You start to smell it soon and so does everyone else.

“What’s that smell?”

“It smells like… like smoke?

“Is something burning?”

The captain makes an announcement telling you to not to panic but of course that ironically makes everyone panic.

Oxygen masks drop down and you don’t waste any time grabbing yours but the dread spreads all over you when you take a deep breath in.

Suddenly, the jet jolts forward and it feels like you’re diving into something. It’s going headfirst into the direction of the ground so quickly and you can’t make sense of anything.

The passengers frantically scream and descend into chaotic paranoia as they hold on to dear life. Your heart pounds in your chest, threatening to jump out.

This is it, you think. This is how it ends for you: in a freak accident.

You close your eyes in fear and hope the impact crushes you so quickly, you don’t feel any of it.

A quick and easy death is a death that is most favorable.

Suddenly, you feel the aircraft being lifted up. The speed of which is swift yet steady, unlike the previous moments when it felt like you were falling to your deaths.

You don’t dare look out your window in fear of it all being a figment of your imagination but someone else does.

“We’re… we’re saved.” Someone calmly informs.

The plane is set down on the ground and the doors open up automatically.

Your eyes widen when you see a man in a blue suit and red cape step onboard.

He’s kind-looking. The steely blue eyes somewhat familiar, maybe it’s his aura.

“It’s alright, everything’s okay.” He smiles and you’re taken aback with how eerily familiar the action is.

“Is everyone alright? Nobody hurt?”

Everyone shakes their head simultaneously as if in a trance, left and right.

He nods in consideration. “That’s good. You all can step out now, it’s safe.”

Nobody moves. No one can! They’re still trying to wrap their heads around this miracle.

There’s this man— in a cape, no less— and he’s asking if everyone’s okay from what could’ve happened.

There’s no doubt in your mind that somehow, he is singlehandedly responsible for saving you all.

Someone in front dares to speak everyone’s mind. “You saved us.” They say as they make their way to him.

The mystery man looks at the passenger with a humble look.

He puts a comforting hand on their shoulder and escorts them out, everyone else following suit.

Everyone else but you. You’re frozen in a whirlwind of emotions, mostly shock.

You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice him coming up to you, his striking blue eyes steady on your form.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

You whip your head up at him and realize you’re the only one onboard the plane.

“Umm, yeah. I-I think.” You furrow your eyebrows as you feel your foot stuck in a comatose position.

“Can you stand?” He gently asks.

You go to stand up from seat when a sharp pain shoots through your ankle.

A quick breath is drawn from your teeth and he notices immediately.

“Your ankle.”

“Yup.” You hastily grit out.

He looks at you in contemplation for a moment before doing what he has to do.

“Do you mind if I carry you out?”

You pause your unsteady breathing and look up at him through your lashes.

I didn’t hear that.

“Uhh…”

There is a right answer but you don’t know if it’s the answer.

He’s strikingly handsome, so unfairly dashing.

He’s looking at you with those kind eyes and waiting patiently for your word.

“No. No, I don’t mind.” You clear your throat gingerly.

The soft curve of his lips make you feel a bit at ease for a moment.

He holds his hand out for you to take and gently pulls you into him when you do, wrapping that arm around your back. He bends down to hook his other arm under your knees and lifts you so effortlessly, you feel yourself swoon at his display of strength.

Your brain goes quiet and you can’t think about anything else but him. You’re starstruck by him.

Is this a bad time?

He looks straight ahead as he walks towards the open doors but the slight curve of his lips gives the impression of a soft smile.

Soft gasps and wide eyes paint the picture of surprise and you’re immediately flushed so deeply into embarrassment.

The man holding you doesn’t say anything but he silently shares your opinion.

As he walks down the ramp, you look anywhere but at him and the very obvious audience in front.

The symbol on his chest catches your eye and you’re analyzing it. It appears to be a red diamond encasing a capital letter of the same color, an ‘S’.

You wonder what it stands for, what it means to him.

People make room for him as he walks to a spot where you can comfortably rest.

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you and it bothers the hell out of you, but you bear with it for the moment.

He finds a bench within the stagnant ocean of people and sets you down on it, an apologetic expression framing his face.

“I’m sorry.”

You peer up at him in surprise. “For what?”

He sets his hands on his hips, subtly tilting his head to the left and you see behind him the wandering eyes and gossipy mouths.

You snort softly, shaking your head lightly at their antics.

“It’s not your fault. They’re just… trying to figure out what just happened.”

He nods, turning back to the plane with a determined look.

“The ambulance is on its way.” He says as he turns back to you.

You nod, not wanting to look away from his eyes.

The air is thick with so many unanswered questions left unasked, but your throbbing ankle takes a backseat to it all.

This man is a miracle in the flesh and he’s filled your mind with so much curiosity, you don’t know what to do with it.

“You’re gonna be alright.” He says it with such confidence that you believe him.

And he’s gone, flying upwards into the air and in a direction one can only point to.

People crowd the spot he just stood in and stare up in awe at the phenomenon: a man just flew right to the sky!

What a headache and headline this is going to be.

Your ankle was as swollen as an orange, thankfully like the ones that are really small and are known as ‘Cuties’ or whatever the hell.

There's a brace on it to keep from hurting as much but the swelling's still got a long way to go.

You're currently icing it as much as you can before it falls off when you hear a knock on your window.

You hold your breath and lean ahead a little, trying to hone in on the knock truly being real or a part of your imagination.

It's when you hear it again that you decide, nope, totally real.

You move slowly, setting the ice pack on your dresser before carefully moving your leg and setting your foot down on the floor.

Eventually, you make it to your window and look through the blinds to see what could be causing that noise.

You softly gasp. “Holy shit.”

It's the guy from earlier, the same man who may or may not have saved your life. But he's floating, literally standing on air.

You pull your blinds all the way up and open your window, not hiding the shock on your face as you stare at him dumbfounded.

He titters softly, finding your reaction amusing.

“Can I come in?”

You wordlessly step aside with your mouth slightly agape, not really grasping the gravity of the situation.

He flies right into your bedroom while you budge the window back down and close the blinds.

With his back turned against you, you take this chance to make yourself look more put together. Your hands find their way into your hair and subconsciously pat down your body to press the fabric of your clothes as flatly as possible.

He’s studying your room and now you’re even more self-conscious even though it’s relatively tidy.

“I’m sorry for showing up here unannounced.” He says as he turns around to face you. “I hope I don't come off as a stalker.” He snorts softly.

You laugh along, nervous. “I was just icing it before...” You trail off, making a gesture towards the window.

He nods, clicking his teeth. “Ah, right. Sorry, once again.”

You shake your head. “No, don’t be. It’s okay.”

You move to sit back down on your bed and continue icing your ankle.

“You left your purse.”

He reveals the black purse to you and you gasp at the revelation, so relieved as you thought you were going crazy looking for it.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” You say as he chuckles softly and hands you your purse.

“No, don’t thank me. Just doing what’s right.”

Something about his words makes you pause. The familiar syntax reminds you of someone who’d do what he just did.

You don’t even look inside to see everything in order because oddly enough, you trust it is.

Your grin makes the man in front of you feel strangely victorious.

“Not many would do what’s right.”

He squints his eyes and tilts his head to the side, as if to disagree. “I think we all deserve a little grace every now and then.”

“You have faith in humanity?”

You don’t mean to start a conversation about the moral dilemma of being human but his response intrigues you.

“I do.” He answers with such confidence that you believe him.

“At least that makes one of us.” You look back down at your hands applying pressure to the pain.

“Why don’t you?” He asks with genuine wonder.

You tilt your head at him, intrigued. “Are you really asking me that?” You squint your eyes playfully. “I’m an investigative reporter. I’ve seen and heard things that have made me come close to quitting.”

“Why haven’t you then?” He cheekily asks with a smirk of his own.

You're taken aback with his playful wit exuding a flirty vibe.

You'll bite.

“Because even though my job can be draining, I still love what I accomplish.”

He's delighted with your reasoning, appreciating your love for the game.

“Well said.” He nods.

You tilt your head up, the reporter in you wanting to talk to him more.

“Your turn.”

He raises an eyebrow at your proposed question.

“What do you do?” You ask.

He clicks his teeth lightly. “Well, you’ve seen me fly. I can hear well over the distance and lift very heavy things, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He knows that’s not what you’re asking, you know he knows that.

You smile, shaking your head at his quips. “As in your occupation, Mr..?”

He stands with a knowing smile. “I’ll tell you next time.”

You blink, startled by his suggestion. “Next time?”

He walks towards your window and you follow, opening it for him.

“Until next time, miss L/n.” He says with a wink,

And he's gone.

You're left staring at his fantastic display of power, soaring into the night sky before he disappears into the clouds.

You've never been this fascinated with anything before, but he isn't “anything” or “anyone”. He's a phenomenon, man with great power.

You don't see that often.

You wonder who he really is, where has he been all this time? What's his story?

So many questions, so little time but you'll hold him to that promise of a next time.

“Next time.” You murmur in confidence that he'll find you again.

Lois enters your office with a particular pep in her step, a knowing smile on her lips as she sees you.

You don’t look up from your work as you know there’s nobody else that can enter your office that way. (even perry knocks, lois)

“Sooo?” She asks, strangely enthusiastic.

“So.” You reply uninterested, flipping through pages.

She stares at you like you know what she’s talking about before bombarding you with questions.

“Who is he? What’s he like? Where's he from—? Wait, he’s human, right?”

Your eyes widen just a fraction before you dial it down.

You can't tell anybody about your encounter with him. At least not until you've had some questions answered.

A hurried breath is pushed past your lips, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance at your friend’s prying form.

“No comment.” You say plainly, not indulging her.

Clark walks by with a new drink of the day and sets it down on your desk, a sweet smile on his face.

“For you.”

You know those certain people who just have you on automatic smile as soon as you see them? He's quickly becoming that person for you.

“You are such a nice guy, Clark.” Lois shakes her head in amazement.

She can't believe men like him do, in fact, exist.

That causes a noticeable blush to coat the tips of his ears and spread thinly across his cheeks.

He's humble. “I appreciate that Lois.”

This tradition is a declaration of friendship, a bond he claims to regard just as much as you do.

A sip of it simultaneously warms your heart and reawakens the butterflies lying dormant in your stomach.

“I agree.” You softly smile. “You’re committed to keeping up with this.”

He looks down and pushes his glasses up with an index finger, clicking his teeth together shyly. “Well, I’m no guy in a cape.”

There he goes downplaying his efforts and staying humble, as usual.

“How’s your ankle?” He asks as he eyes it.

You look down like you just remembered. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine. The swelling’s gone down a lot so I’m good to come back.”

Lois watches the news on one of the tv’s in the room play a clip someone managed to record of said guy fly up into the air, departing with a sonic boom.

She leans into Clark a bit, looking straight at the tv with that same damned topic on her mind. “Clark, do you think he’s handsome?”

He clears his throat lightly, sniffing as he tries to figure out how to answer that wild question. “Well, I— uhh… um— he’s, he’s… conventionally attractive.” His tone gets pitchy at the end, like he's asking, not telling.

“Lois.” You sigh.

“What? He’s so cute guys, I don’t know why no one else is talking about it.”

You take a peek at Clark and find quite a bit of blood rushing to his face.

“Clark, are you alright?”

“Huh— yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m good! I’m fine, it’s just uhh… hot.” He nods, trying to look convincing.

Lois doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s hot.”

“Oh my god.” You groan.

“No, like, seriously.”

And it’s your fault for knowing how serious she is.

“Do you guys think he’d go for me?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure.” You nod with a fake smile. “He’d be all over you.”

She bursts out laughing, her focus on the poor guy in your midst. “He’s as red as his cape.”

You turn your head to see and it’s true, he’s super red in the face and just refuses to make eye contact.

“I’m just gonna go… do that thing Perry wanted.” He sends you girls a quick nod and smile before basically running out of y’all’s presence.

You watch him go and find his vulnerability endearing. He’s not afraid to show his feelings but like in typical Clark fashion, gets a little embarrassed when he does.

She purses her lips apologetically.

You shake your head at her. “Lois, if you were a man...” You raise your eyebrows and push air out in yet another sigh.

She takes your lack of words as a sign to contemplate the idea, then says, “You’d be my first target.” with a nod and serious look.

“Get out.”

You hadn’t anticipated your savior to be the subject of fascination so soon. Later on in the afternoon, in fact.

“L/n, you’re a firsthand witness. What do you think?”

Everyone’s eyes are on you as they wait for you to tell your story. You haven’t felt this nervous since your interview with this place.

You clear your throat a bit, feeling your nerves on fire.

“I believe he stopped the plane from crashing.”

You don’t need to be a telepath to know what they’re all thinking: you’re fucking crazy.

Of course, that’s an impossible thing to do but not everyone in this room was there.

“You think… he was responsible for saving everyone that day?” Perry asks, intrigued by your line of reasoning.

“Yes. He opened the doors and immediately asked if everyone was alright and if anyone was injured.”

A few people murmur in doubt but you continue.

“I sprained my ankle somehow and he offered to help me off and took me to an area where I could wait for an ambulance.”

They eye your gloved ankle, unimpressed. (it’s not like you’re here to knock their socks off anyway)

“He helped you off the jet? How?” Someone asks.

“He, um… carried me out.” You quietly say.

The atmosphere shifts and you can really feel and see just how shell-shocked everyone is.

“He carried you out?!”

“As in, in his arms? You were carried out in his arms..?”

You immediately jump to your defense. “I’m not sure why and, or how that matters.”

They’re incredulously adamant about it. “How come? You’ve not only had a conversation but also came into close contact with him—”

“And that’s where your focus lies?” Perry cuts in.

You look at him in thanks and he nods in acknowledgment.

“I dunno.” A board member sighs. “Some mysterious, muscular man coming to save the helpless woman story won’t run headlines.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Perry feels a headache coming on.

“You asked about my encounter and I told you. I’m not here to be a headline.”

The man who thought of that “brilliant” idea is coated in embarrassment, feeling annoyed at receiving the heat.

“Anyone have any useful ideas?” Your boss asks with his thumbs pressing down on his temple.

There’s some chatter about this man and how he managed to save the plane, if he did. Some even discuss if he’s capable of being a potential threat to the country.

“You’re dismissed.” Perry says with a pointed look.

You leave with your head down and jaw tight, coming to sight with Mark.

“Excuse me.” You drop the hint of ignoring him but he doesn’t care.

“Going somewhere?” He asks with a smug expression.

You still push past him with him only to turn around and tail you.

“Yeah. Some of us have jobs to do.”

You don’t care how you look and/or sound.

You just got reduced a damsel-in-distress by a board member while your boss ignored him. Granted, he stuck up for you when it came time but he also dismissed you like you weren’t needed anymore.

Mark pokes a tongue into his cheek, his frustration with you at its boiling point. “And what’s yours? Playing hooky with Superman?”

You don’t know whether to be offended or question the ridiculous choice of name for the man, first.

You choose the first option as it’s the most relevant.

“What did you just say to me?”

He smirks like he just found a pressure point on you. He takes a step closer. “You heard me.”

He actually thinks he's got you this time.

“What, got nothin' to say now that Kent isn't here to save you?”

All that annoyance you were feeling just know? Yeah, that's amplified by a thousand now that he brought that up.

“I can stick up for myself, and I definitely won’t take any shit from you.” You spite. “If I took that promotion back then, you would’ve been fired and on your ass in less than a minute.”

You're pulling rank but it isn't rage-bait if it's true.

He's seething now. A vein protrudes from his forehead and he inhales deeply to try to keep himself together as much as possible.

“Oh, I know how you got that promotion.” He spits that venom so carelessly with the most malicious intent.

You squint your eyes in suspected belief.

Mark continues his verbal assault.

“Yeah,” He nods. “It wasn't that hard to figure out why the old man favors you so much.”

You were right, it had been what you were thinking.

The envy in him has always given off a strong stench, he literally gives the evil eye to those better than him in every way possible.

At your loss of words and hurt expression, he smirks before delivering what he thinks is the final blow. “I’m willing to bet you slept your way to the top.”

In this very moment, you realize you don’t have to listen to his shit any longer.

Your strike his face, open-handed; hard. A powerful smack resulting in a red handprint on his blanched face.

The ear on that side of his face rings piercingly loud and in his disoriented state, nearly collapses onto the floor.

A chorus of sharp gasps and sound grimaces snap you out of the adrenaline-fueled rage consuming you.

It seems that you’ve gathered quite a crowd of spectators. The horrified look on your face isn't nearly enough to convince your innocence to anyone just joining now joining in.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Perry's voice booms.

You shakily inhale, meeting his accusing gaze and you watch as he tracks a path between you and Mark writhing on the floor.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his pathetic acting.

“Get in here. Right. Now.”

With your chin up, you walk right past the whimpering mess on the floor; your heel almost crunching his fingers if it weren't for his reaction time.

You know you shouldn't be the one to feel embarrassed but there's still a part of you that does.

After all that you've put into this place, some overzealous, whiny little piece of shit wants to humiliate you by attempting to slutshame? In this day and age?

You huff in exasperation of being on your way to overstimulation by the very quick turn of events.

You're already sat when Mark comes in and Perry shuts the door, but not before yelling at everyone to get back to work.

You feel your victim to your far right, not wanting to sit down.

“Sit down, Mark.” Perry says before looking at him quizzically. “And why are your hands covering only one side of your face?”

You bite back an explanation and a smirk.

Mark doesn't say anything but instead opts to show, he drops both hands hesitantly to his sides.

Perry's reaction is nothing short of priceless. He thinks about exclaiming but when side-eyeing you and carefully assessing your careless reaction, he clocks it.

“I was counting on you being bitch-slapped one of these days but I was not expecting you to be dumb enough to try her.” He dryly chuckles in half admiration and half disappointment.

“Sir? You're actually siding with her right now?”

You close your eyes and mentally prepare to be fired.

Perry’s expression is that of a Don’t try me and Mark actually takes it seriously this time.

Wonder what’s the difference in you giving him that look and Perry…

“What happened, L/n?”

You open your eyes nervously and take a breath, preparing yourself to speak your truth.

“I slapped him… because he accused me of sleeping my way to the top for the promotion.”

There’s about a few seconds of silence before Perry speaks up.

“What.” He just says but it’s his tonal shift that makes Mark sweat.

“W-well, I just said that in the heat of the moment.” He chuckles nervously. “I didn’t mean that—”

Perry pinches the bridge of his nose to try to calm himself down. “I have no tolerance for this kind of behavior, Callahan. You know that.”

Said boy clears his throat and sniffs. “Y-yes sir, I do—”

“Then why did you do it?” Perry’s eyes bore into his with such intensity, it makes you a bit uneasy as well.

Mark opens and closes his mouth trying to come up with an answer to that obviously rhetorical question like a fish.

At his lack of words, your boss scratches his forehead. “Here’s an easier one: what did you think you were accomplishing by demeaning her character like that?”

Still no answer.

He puts a finger on Mark's chest, pressing into it as he says, “I’ll tell you. She is your superior because she, unlike you, gets it. She gets this job, what it means to be a reporter.”

His condescending tone towards the other male isn't unheard of but it sure as hell surprises you a lot.

Mark tightens his jaw and turns his head to look at you in malice. “With all due respect, sir, you should understand why I said that.”

“I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing.” His gruff voice reverberates through the walls, causing you to straighten your back.

Perry then carefully and slowly says, “Get the fuck outta here, you’re fired.”.

Mark dares to speak up even now. “But, sir—”

“Right now!” The older man barks his orders and like the sad little puppy Mark is, follows one last time.

When he leaves, Perry sighs and turns to sit down in his chair. He pours himself a drink, offering one to you.

You stare at him wearily before declining but he pours you a drink, anyway.

He silently takes a sip, prompting you to do the same and you feel the smooth, mellow taste of Brandy.

He groans, satisfied with the drink.

You set your glass down, feeling your nerves becoming slightly undone by the aftertaste.

It’s momentarily quiet, the awkward silence now comfortable.

You’re the first to break it. “Am I being fired?”

This is apparently funny to him because he laughs. Yes, he wheezes before giving in to the chest-laugh every man his age has.

You awkwardly chuckle along, not knowing if that's the right move.

He sighs in satisfaction once more.

“Y/n,” He begins warmly. “I can't fire you after that shitshow.”

Anyone else would think that statement was made in fear of being seen as an asshole who doesn't stand in solidarity with women but not you.

Perry White can put on a show of being a bitter old man but now's not one of those times.

“You did what you had to do and since I'm being honest,” He leans in a little like he's about to share a secret. “I'm glad you gave me a reason to kick his ass out.”

That brings a soft smile on your face, one that expresses your gratitude.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Most bosses wouldn't give a fuck.” The word rolls off your tongue with such smoothness, you forgot to code switch.

He takes no mind and instead lets you talk informally, he gathers you deserve that much.

“I'm not most bosses.” He wittily replies with a wink and tight-lipped smile.

“No, you are not.” You say with an appreciative nod.

You ignore everyone that didn't need your help for the remainder of the day.

As Mark took the walk of shame, it made you feel a little better when you saw people who you've never spoken to give him dirty looks and shake their head at him in disapproval.

Even though he got at least half of what he deserved, you still felt the aftermath of his words. They stung and it just made you think, how many other people feel that way?

You drowned yourself in work, you felt as if you're now obligated to work twice as hard.

Then you hear him.

“Y/n?”

You move your head from your hand and look up above your computer, spotting no other than your trusty colleague and friend.

“Clark, hey. What’re you doing here?”

“Hey, I was just about to ask you that.” He says with a boyish smile and points at you.

You smile back instinctually. “I'm just finishing up some stuff, meeting deadlines.”

“Ah.” He nods.

You eye the time and decide to save what you have left, planning to resume tomorrow.

“I was doing the same.”

You put on your jacket and grab your purse, walking out with him.

“This late?”

Poor guy, you hope he doesn't have a workload as big as yours if he's staying until almost 2 am.

“Yeah.” Clark sighs tiredly. “Perry gave me Mark's last assignment.”

You pause locking your office door, not expecting that answer.

Clark pretends not to notice.

As you enter the elevator (before clark, of course), you make light conversation.

“So ready to go home to my bed.” You tip your head back close your eyes, letting yourself rest for a moment.

“For real, I was about to fall asleep at my desk if it wasn’t for you.”

Both of your eyes open. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I was the only person here but then I saw your lamplight on so, I figured why not fight it for as long as I can.”

Had he stayed this long for you?

“Clark…”

You feel guilty and why wouldn’t you? He was basically waiting on you to call it in and stood by the entire time.

“It’s okay! No harm done.” He insists.

He was actually meaning to go home the same time you were, so he could talk to you.

He knows how pathetic that sounds but he'd rather be a pathetic man with a crush, even if that sounds elementary.

Instead, he opts on telling a half truth. “I needed the extra hours anyway.”

You turn to face him. “You did?”

Uh oh. He wasn’t supposed to say that.

Stupid sleep-deprived brain making him say things he’s not supposed to.

“Yeah, cause my research and work ethic is different from Mark’s.” He purses his lips and nods lightly.

Though he may look confident on the outside, he’s freaking out on the inside.

What was he supposed to say, the truth? Yeah, I was out late saving the planet one country at a time. That kind of stuff tends to get tiring if I have to wake up on time, ha ha ha.

He hopes you believe him and don’t inquire any further so he won't have to come up with another lie.

You hum before yawning lightly. “Makes sense.”

Clark watches you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and notices how you close your eyes when you yawn.

He also notes that you're really comfortable around him. You don't think twice about saying certain things in front of him.

He likes being the reason you let your guard down, he does the same around you.

You can see him staring into the side of your face so you turn your head, meeting his warm yet intimidating stare.

Your lips automatically purse into the friendliest awkward smile you have and he returns the sentiment.

You both then look away simultaneously. You look up at the countdown whereas he looks down on the shining metallic floor.

There’s still 25 more floors to go before you meet the garage parking lot.

The atmosphere grows a little awkward but is forgiven as there’s a shared understanding: you’re both fucking exhausted.

Though, there is something Clark wants to talk to you about.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening then closing as he thinks about how to bring this topic up.

“I heard about what happened.”

You slowly turn your head to him wordlessly, waiting for him to continue.

He stares back at you and you notice how blue his eyes look under fluorescent light.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, affected by the outburst as anyone else who gave a damn.

You’re touched.

“You don’t have to apologize, Clark.” You say as you look down at your shoes, suddenly growing shy of his eyes.

“I know,” He says. “But I care.”

The sentiment doesn't go unnoticed. Your lips turn up appreciatively.

“I know that as a woman, I'll be undermined at times but that was seriously a low blow.” You vent. “Even for him.”

Your disappointment isn't hard to assess. Even though you knew he'd be the one to say something like that, you still would've liked to be proven wrong.

Clark feels for you, you shouldn't have to feel alienated by your colleagues.

“I'm sorry nobody spoke up. I would have.”

“I know.” You say. “Thanks, Clark.”

“Of course. Anytime.”

You think about how nice it is of Clark to say this but you’re reminded of his absence prior.

“Where were you today, by the way. I barely saw you.”

He lies straight through his teeth. “I was out running some errands.”

He was actually stopping a country from getting actively bombed but that’s a story for another time.

“Perry still giving you the Miranda treatment?”

He chortles at your reference. “What can I say, I make a great Andrea.”

“You do. Who’s your Emily?”

You both take a moment to think about this.

“I got nothin’.” You say.

Clark agrees, although he’s come up with an alternative approach.

“There’s Mark, but he’s more Emily to your Andrea.”

You make a motion to wrap your hands around your neck and pretend to choke yourself.

It gets a good laugh out of him.

You blow a soft raspberry. “I just want my Nate. Without the “I'm insecure and feeling jealous because my partner is having it better” part.”

You look up at him and say without thinking, “You’d make a great Nate.”

You’re so tired, very exhausted from the day taking a toll on you, which explains why you’re just saying random shit.

Clark feels hot, like his whole face is on fire. He chuckles bashfully, very obviously failing at trying to not let that affect him so much.

The elevator dings and you both look up, finding the doors to open and reveal the garage parking lot.

“So, what do you mean by that? Exactly.” He furrows his brows and pushes his glasses up.

You step out, feeling all of your nerves turn to ice as you realize the weight of your words. “Oh, you know. You'd be a supporting and secure boyfriend.”

He's stumped, left watching as you walk to your car.

You wave goodbye before getting into your car and he returns the gesture.

You turn to face him, walking backwards. “Good night, Clark.”

He feels the blood wash over his heart like the ocean returning to shore.

“Good night.” He murmurs fondly.

“Dude, this is a terrible idea.” Jimmy scolds. “Your worst one yet, and you barely have those!”

But Clark isn’t listening, he’s already made his mind up.

“If I like her as a man then I have to respect her as Superman.”

Okay, that was a bar, Jimmy concedes.

“Besides, she wouldn’t tell anyone.” Clark adds.

Of course you wouldn't tell anyone about Clark’s identity, he knows that.

“I know that,” Jimmy sighs. “But think of your relationship with her as Superman from a journalistic standpoint.”

Jimmy just wants the best for his best man, he wants Clark to really think about this. l

“She won’t let her bias for you stop her from doing her job, even if that means asking questions you can’t answer directly.”

Diving headfirst into something like a romantic relationship without going over the logistics is bound to crash and burn.

But it’s you, the same woman who understands him. You see him, know him. You’re not one to hide how comforted you feel when he’s around, he literally hears your heart rate when he dotes on you.

You must feel the same way. Right?

But how would you react to this? Would you still feel the same? Would you still view him as the same Clark who goes out of his way for you?

After some careful consideration, Clark comes to a conclusion.

“Okay.” He says.

Jimmy closes his eyes in relief, sighing at the fact that his friend chose his mind over his heart.

“I’m going to tell her everything.”

Jimmy slaps a palm across his forehead all wide-eyed, not believing he got bamboozled this way.

He now has to watch his best friend throw everything away for the ruzz (reporter huzz).

Clark feels a weight lifted from his chest at this decision. He's always wanted to tell you but his moral obligation was to this planet, regardless of what heart entails.

He walks to your office, stopping just before the door to check on his appearance. He moves his head to the side, inspecting his hair. He then fixes his tie and glasses.

Satisfied with himself, he knocks and waits for your approval.

“Come in.”

Clark pokes his head in comically.

Your eyes flit up and when you see him, giggle at his silliness. “Hey, you.”

His chest warms at the sight and sound of your delight.

You seem so easygoing, truly content when you smile or laugh. Do you know that?

His takes in your face.

Your hair shines from the light, cascading down your shoulders and framing your it nicely.

Your eyes are on him and every time you look at him, he feels as though he can tell you anything. And though they're beautiful, his favorite part about your face have to be your lips.

You're a very expressive person so your words and reactions make up everything about you.

He loves seeing them pull you into a smile and laugh, especially when he's the reason.

It’s like a reward, seeing you joyful because of him.

He's momentarily distracted by the sight, always on the verge of forgetting his objective as soon as your pretty lips move around.

You say his name like you're in the middle of something.

He blinks, shaking himself out of his daydream. “I'm sorry, what? I was not paying attention, I'm sorry.”

It's refreshing to see a man apologize so much but it feels weird coming from him.

“It's too early for this, I know.” You jest kindly. “I was asking what can I do for you?”

“Oh! Right, why I'm here.” He chuckles, embarrassed.

Get it together, Clark he warns himself mentally.

“I, um... I wanted to ask you something.”

You lean your elbows on your desk, giving him your undivided attention. “Sure, what's up?”

He walks to your desk, taking out a sticky note folded in half. He hands it to you.

I have something I want to talk about, meet me in the mailroom? Lunch on me ;)

You can't with this guy sometimes. Asking you to lunch via sticky note?

“That is seriously the cutest thing ever.” Lois coos.

You've been smiling since he gave the note to you, grinning at him as he walked out of your office.

You even did a celebratory squeal before containing yourself.

“Isn't it?” You giddily ask. “Ugh, he's so cute.”

Lois nods in agreement, wondering when she's gonna find her own Clark Kent.

“What do you think he wants to talk about?” You ask.

Lois looks at you bewildered. “What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?”

You stare at her expectantly, blinking.

“Oh my god.” She groans. “He's gonna tell you how bad he wants you, Y/n!”

“He is?” You say, hopeful.

She nods ecstatically and spins you around in your chair to face her. “Think about it. You two have been dancing around this unspoken attraction between you for how long?”

You instantly give her a time period. “Almost a month.”

“That was rhetorical.”

“Oh.” Your lips pull to the side, sheepishly. “Sorry. Continue.”

“The point is, he obviously feels for you. It was just a matter of when he’d get the balls to make the first move.”

You nod along, finding her logic unarguable.

“Okay. Okay, so I just walk in and tell him—”

“No, no, no. What? Don't do that! He's the one asking you to come over so let him go first.”

“Right, right.” You blink. “Let him go first, you're right.”

Lois puts a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “You're nervous, and that's okay. Just breathe, be calm, cool, and collected. You're Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.”

“I’m Y/n L/n, investigative reporter at the Daily Planet.” You repeat like a mantra.

Lois smiles encouragingly, being your best hype-woman.

“You’re fucking amazing.”

You close your eyes and blindly trust her. “I’m fucking amazing.”

“You’re the baddest bitch here and you know it.”

You blow air deeply, feeling yourself relax a bit. “I’m the baddest… bitch here and I know it.”

“Fuck yeah, you do!” She exclaims and you find yourself smiling, shaking your head at her theatrics.

You fucking love this girl.

“You got this, okay? Don't think too much, it'll feel natural once you let him talk.”

You feel like you’re about to get in the boxing ring with your everything that could go wrong.

“Go get him, tiger!”

It's lunchtime and for the first time in history, you're not hungry.

You can't even think about eating out of anxiety.

You walk towards the mailroom and suspire when you go to twist the door handle.

You're immediately met with the dreamy pair of eyes you were hesitant to see.

You shut the door behind you, none of you want to be the one to move first.

“Hi.” He hums.

“Hi.” You say, equally as soft.

He clears his throat lightly and gestures you over, some sandwiches and sodas decorating the table.

“Panera?” You say with glee.

His lips pull back at your reaction. “Yup.”

You reign in your excitement, remembering why you came here in the first place.

“So.” You hint subtly.

“Sooo.”

You tilt your head at him, narrowing your eyes playfully at him. “Sooo, what'd you have to tell me?”

He clicks his teeth. “That's the question.”

You tip your head back and half-whine, half-laugh. “Oh my god, stop baiting me!”

Clark finds humor in edging you on like this, how often does he get to see you so highstrung?

“Okay, okay, alright.” He airily chuckles. “I'll stop.”

You blink patiently, the remnants of a grin on your face.

He soughs, building up the confidence to tell you how just much he feels for you.

“Okay.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze.

He's caught, mesmerized by the way your attention is on him. He doesn't realize just how heavy his stare is until he watches you squirm.

“Clark..?” You call out to him thinking he's spacing out.

“Sorry.” He says on default, though he's not really apologetic for anything at all.

You're just so—

“Beautiful.”

Your breath catches in your chest and he's mortified.

“I, I just said that... outloud.” He stammers.

You watch him scramble for a way out.

“I'm sorry— not that you aren't beautiful, which you are. You so are.”

He cringes at himself and you hold back a simper, finding him so endearing.

“I just, um... Alright, here's the thing.” He claps both hands together softly.

“Mhm.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and to show you're just as serious about what he has to say.

“I... I have, uh— wait, no. That's not right.” He mutters to himself.

You come closer, standing right in front of him. “Clark.”

He looks down, stunned at your proximity and stops babbling.

“Just say it.” You coax gently. “Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work through it, together.”

Together. He thinks about the good ending, the one where you do end up getting together.

As you look up at him with those kind eyes, he feels everything he has to say come right out.

“I can't stop thinking about you.” He confesses.

You blink, startled by this even though you were expecting it.

“I like you, a-a lot, and I have so much to tell you.”

Clark's eyes flit between yours, desperately searching somewhere for you to feel the same.

He hears your heartbeat skyrocket, he feels your hands shake slightly from the adrenaline. The smell of your perfume thickens the air and he can't get enough. He can almost taste the color of your lips with how close they are.

He gulps, growing jumpy from your silence.

“Say something, please.” He whispers.

Another moment of quiet, not voluntarily. You're just trying to find the right words, yourself.

“I... I feel the same.”

That familiar megawatt smile graces his lips and you feel the tables turn, you in his previous postition and he in yours.

“I have for a long time.”

His eyes crease at that and he can't help the laughter bubbling out of him.

You laugh with him, not believing this is happening right now.

“You have no idea how long I've been holding that in.” He tells you, leaning on the table behind him.

“Not longer than me.” You suppose.

His eyes quirk up, silently asking you to go first.

So you do. “Since you started bringing me my daily dose of energy.”

He hums.

“Now, you.”

He looks at you with the fondest expression ever, you hold yourself back from kissing him stupid.

“Since my first day.” His voice thick with honey.

Your eyes soften and though he's won, you don't take this as a loss.

“Seriously?”

You don't mean to be so anticlimactic but how else does one react to feelings of romance being reciprocated?

As if Clark Kent couldn't get any more attractive, he takes your hand with the utmost care and rests it right on top of his heart.

“Can you feel that?” He asks while gauging your every little microreaction.

It speeds up gradually as your hand connects with the fabric of his shirt, pure electricity binding you together.

You nod, involuntarily fighting the tears you sense.

“Aw, don't cry.” He cradles your face in his hands and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by his affection for you.

“Come on, let me see you.” He ducks his head down, trying to catch your shy eyes.

When you finally do, he smiles so brightly that you swear it's like looking directly into the sun.

“There she is.”

You chuckle weakly, sniffling once.

He lets go of your face and can't resist the temptation of not touching your arms. He rubs them up and down a couple times, feeling goosebumps arise in their wake.

“Can I have a hug?” You ask, looking back at him through your lashes.

He feels his heart stop right there, that look sends him over the edge and you don't even know it.

Clark wordlessly leans down and pulls you in, his strong arms wrap around your waist comfortingly while you reach up on your toes.

You rest your head on his shoulder and feel your hearts beating under each other so passively, a sigh escaping the confines of both your mouths simultaneously.

Something about this feels like déjà vu, like you've been in a similar position.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Remember that conference I was supposed to go to in DC but got cancelled because the jet almost crashed?”

He pulls away with a straight face, hiding the absolute chaos unfurling behind those eyes.

“Yeah..? Why?”

You look at the door then back at him.

“I haven't told anyone about this but afterwards, Superman came by my place.”

“What? No way!” Clark gasps.

You nod cooly.

“So, what happened? What'd you guys talk about?”

You tell him how he stopped by to return your purse but something has been bugging you since.

“I just don't know how he got my address.”

“Oh, that's easy.” He doesn't feel like playing this game anymore, too many sweats. “I know where you live.”

You’re perplexed and then some because what does that mean?

“What are you saying?”

He puts both hands on your shoulders and gives you a riddled look that says, Come on, think about it. You know what I’m saying.

A lightbulb turns on in your head but it can’t be. There’s just no way you’re thinking what he’s thinking.

You’re too flabbergasted to say a word. You just stare at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed as you say it out loud.

“You’re… you’re— you,” You chuckle dryly, your head spinning a bit. “You’re Superman?”

He doesn’t give any indication of agreeing with you but his silence does.

Clark’s trying to get a read on you.

You then cover your mouth with both hands, muffling an excited ‘Oh my god!’.

He feels reassured.

“You’re Superman!” You whisper-scream.

“Yes, yes. I am.” He nods while checking the door to see anyone coming in.

You just stare at him in wonder, taking this all in.

It all makes perfect sense.

Who else would be selfless enough to protect those who can’t protect themselves? To have integrity the most Clark Kent trait you can think of.

You know Clark has a big heart but this? This is next level.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He looks at you like the answer to that is simple, which to him, is. It’s always going to be simple if it involves you.

“I don’t want to start this on a lie.” He reveals as those damned blue eyes fixate on you.

You can fly right now.

He leans in ever so slowly, tracking any detail on your face that may give away the impression of not wanting him in your space.

When he finds none and is absolutely sure, he puts a hand on your cheek and asks, “Can I kiss you?”.

“Yes.” You sound softly and it’s as if a prayer has been answered.

Your eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips for you, you anticipate them to be just as soft and lush as they seem.

He believes he’ll finally be able to understand the languid nature of your mouth and decipher its meaning.

Sparks fly when you make contact, it strengthens the electricity that makes your chemistry.

The kiss is a breath of fresh air, the kind that blows in quietly; peacefully.

He’s sweet, undoubtedly so. His palms hesitantly splay across the curves on your waist. You smile at the soft touch and he does as well.

Your hands are on his chest and you can feel every pulse, flutter, and pang of his heart.

You think it’s poetic; the influence you have on his heart, both figuratively and literally.

He rests his forehead on yours and you look up at him from under your lashes.

He’s about to speak up when he hears something, something you don’t.

His ears perk in the direction of the distressed sound and he turns his head apologetically.

“I have to go.” He regretfully informs.

You reach up to kiss his cheek and rid him of guilt.

“When you come back, I’ll be right here.”

Clark hugs you once more and asks, “You’re my hero, you know that?”.

You chortle and respond with, “Is that Superman talking or you?”.

“Both.” He pulls back with a kiss on your head, winking at you with a cheeky grin.

He runs out the door and leaves you with the ghost of his touch and words that form a sappy smile on your face.

Superman may be the world’s hero, but Clark Kent is yours.

[on-the-clear-blue]

So do yall know about Jon Breaks Bad News? Guy that calls people for other people to, y'know, break bad news, sometimes in a funny way sometimes for serious stuff...the reason why I am saying this is because like any other DP fan I have the urge to say "But what if my favorite ghost?"

--

Danny, l a ring down as he reads the message: Hello is this Jason?

Jason, fully still in "I cut off mafia boss heads and put them in a duffle bag" days: Who the fuck is this.

Danny, not even a little bothered: My name is Phantom, from Phantom breaks bad news, are you Jason?

Jason, honestly confused what is happening here: I...how did you get this number?

Danny, sipping a smoothie: i am just going to assume your Jason, Tim says that you broke into his house and beat him up in scaled panties, and that your whole gimmick is a rip off of the guy who killed you, B misses you and would still love you after all...why did you wear underwear while breaking into some guys house?

Jason, feeling like he just got flashed banged: Ex-fucking-scuse me? Tim that little bitch, I swear to- he fucking stole my dad and my fucking suit he doesn't get shit to say!

Danny, looking to Jazz off camera: So you broke inot the house to beat up the guy who slept with your dad and stole a suit? What was he going to a wedding?

Jason, feeling like he is having an aneurism: I...I am going to hang up.

Danny, stretching like a cat: Okay bye, love you.

Jason: confused sqawking before hanging up

Danny, dead pan looking to the camera: He didn't say it back.

---

Babs, infront of the computer in the clock tower: Keep going that way Batman, the target is just around the corner...hang on i am getting a call.

Danny, now floating upside down: Hi this is Phantom from Phanton breaks bad news, is this Barbara?

Babs, eyes widening as she scrambles to start tracing the call because its coming through the bat network: Who is this? How did you get on here?

Danny, looking to Sam and Tucker off camera: I just picked up the phone, are you Barbara? Because I have bad news for you.

Babs, getting frustrated because every time she finds an avenue of finding the caller, it goes dead a second later: It...it is, who is this?

Danny, watchingnas Tucker gets an evil smirk on his face, typing hard on his PDA: Like I said, my name is Phantom of Phantom breaks bad news, this message is from a dude named Jay? Saying, get your redheaded ass back home you can play with the leather clad bastard man later, you have a college exam later, your father would be disappointed. What are you doing for college?

Babs, freaking out because what ever was blocking her started to counter hack her: U-uh...Library stuff, Sorry did you say Jay?

Danny, popping the 'P': Yup, payed me 50 dollars to call! I love you bye."

Babs, confused as the counter hacking stopped dead: I...what?

Danny, still haven't hung up: Say it back.

Babs, so utterly confuaed: I-i love you too?

Danny, grinning: great thanks bye.

Babs, wondering what the fuck just happened.

In Amity Park

Danny talking to Sam: Could you see what Tuck was doing during all that?

Sam, who in turn was lounging in a bean bag reading a book: Yeah...something about batman files? I wasnt paying attention, he'll tell us if we need to worry.

---

Bruce, running around all of Gotham, trying desperately to solve the Riddlers puzzle to save some hostages, getting a call over coms: What is it.

Danny. Looking over at Ellie who was in camera frame, floating above him: Wow someone's grouchy, take a cough drop dude, Anyways my name is Phantom from Phantom breaks bad news,I got hired from a guy named Edward to tell you some.bad news? Is this Batemen?

Bruce, skidding to a stop, tapping into another com level: Oracle, he is back

Danny, blinking a bit as the call went silent: Hello? Fuck did he hang up on me?

Bruce, growling as he speaks: Speak, You said that Nigma sent you something to tell me?

Danny, scrunching up his nose: Your a real people person arnt you...Your buddy Edward says, you got duped, it isnt actually him and your being scammed into not looking in the right places, and that he is offended that you would think such a low quality riddle is from him.

Bruce, eye twitching: What. How could this not be him we...unless...

Danny, batting away Ellies hand as she tries to steal the Fenton phone they are calling from: Oh he just payed me more, looks like he is...actually on vacation? And who ever bitch with a bad bob is running around with his name isnt actually him, if you dont believe him check...I think that is in Cuba?

Bruce, switching coms once more: Oracle, look into Cuba, The real Riddler may be there actually, Robin, go back to the cave and grab the extra strength Clayface spray.

Danny, at the same time, looking at Ellie who makes grabby hands at the phone: No i am- no i am not done yet- okay you can do the next one but- ugh fine but let me hang up first.

Bruce, finally returning to the call: Phantom are you still there? Phantom...Fuck me sideways in a gondola.

Babs, pulling a face that could be felt from over the coms: Could never pay me enough to sleep with your stinky goth ass, go see the Cat or Supes later if you want to get-

Bruce, blushing slightly: Silence. I didn't mean to say that, try and find Nigma then get back to tracking Phantom.

---

Ellie on the phone this time, Danny over her shoulder this time: Hello this is Specter from Specter breaks bad news is this Bateman?

Bruce pausing giving a presentation, looking up at the intercom of the watch tower: Of course you are able to call here.

The rest of the JL, looking around at each other: Batman what is-

Ellie, leaning back into Danny: Yeah, so i got a message here from you kid Dick, which b-t-dubs, is a super bad name to give to your child, like come on man.

Bruce holding his head in his hands because he has been subjected to these two for years at this point: I didn't name him, he came with it already when I got him...just speak, get this over with.

Ellie, giggling: Pump the hate breaks Bates, Dick here says that Fuck you for being a horrible father, you are a narcissistic, sociopathic, middled aged man baby that cant seem to keep the goth furry inside and causes untold emotional and mental trauma on anyone unlucky enough to meet you, he hopes you die alone and you are undeserving of love...also that if you replace the pop tarts you ate he takes everything back and he would love you forever.

The JL, completely speechless because some little girl just absolutely roasted batman but also since that roasting was written by a grinning Nightwing that is sitting across from batman

Bruce, after taking a few deep breaths: I really dont like how my children use you two to air grievances with me.

Ellie, humming: Oh yeah, we also got one form Tim, Tason Jodd, Damian Al Ghul (specificallynot Wayne), and...Jarro? Also, like five more from this Dick guy.

Bruce, slumping into his chair: I am revoking Tim's computer privileges...its that bastards fault about telling the others about your services...

[killishin]

clark kent x journalist! reader. 📝💭

just a small drabble, i needed to write something fast before the writer's block shackled me again. great fucking movie omg.

"let go!" you scream as you pull your bag from the thief who mistakenly thought of you to be an easy target.

you usually considered it a rare sight to see crime so normal like robbery to happen in metropolis, its always some huge monster or a metahuman trying to challenge superman and consequently wrecking a good portion of the city. its a wonder your city isn't already in ruins.

but you did not meant for that rare crime to happen to you when you thought that. now you're in a tug of war with a thief.

"give me all your —"

"i swear to god you say that one more time—"

you would beg to see some red cape right about now.

and oh how fast the universe listens.

"please drop that." asked the man in blue, calmly and gently as he placed a hand on the man's shoulder, smiling like his smile is enough to turn the thief over a new leaf. maybe it is.

the man did, terrifyingly slow as something wet passed down his pants. his trembling legs looked ready to bolt faster than a cat's.

"stealing is wrong—" just as superman removed his hand from his shoulder, the man bolted faster than you could blink and you huffed as you stepped back with a huff.

superman simply sighed before turning to face you. now superman is calm, superman is all blinding smile but clark, no clark is panicking. that is his coworker he just saved, someone he has a tiny (huge) crush on and he has to leave a good enough impression. he can't mess this up.

"having a good day?" he might just laser his own damn eyes.

you paused to raise a brow and he cleared his throat, "i mean— im sorry that happened."

you fixed the strap back on your shoulder and smiled up at him, your tense muscles relaxing as your body realises there is no imminent danger anymore. you finally look past the cape and the huge 's' on his chest, big blue eyes full of hope and good and a smile capable of seizing any heart that it catches.

you get the hype.

"thank you. thank you for that." you softly said in gratitude and he is sure his ears must have reddened beyond saving, "its no problem. its what i do."

"im sure your job entails much bigger things than stopping a newbie mugger." you chuckled softly and he finds himself smiling along, his eyes following yours.

"no, my job is to save anyone i can."

you smile again, wider this time as your eyes narrow playfully, "do you naturally sound that heroic or do you practice them in your head?"

"i practice them." he admits and you hum with a laugh.

"well, i wouldn't want to uh— hold you from duties." it did hurt you to let such an opportunity go without an interview but he saved your ass, you don't want to bug him and ruin your impression, how much ever fleeting it might be for him.

but he does want you to ask questions. he wants you to talk. anything to prolong this even by a minute.

"don't you wanna ask some questions?" he hurriedly asks and you pause in your steps before you lean back with a confused furrow in your brows.

"questions?" now would be a good time for the earth to swallow him because who fumbles twice?

"how'd you know i'm a journalist?" you question skeptically and he laughs nervously, screaming internally.

"i uh— I've read all- some. some of your brilliant articles. about me. caught my eye, you know. so i just know you." he explains poorly and your brows raise as an amusing smile dances on your lips.

"there are a lot of reporters who write about you, you know them too?" your tone is a touch teasing and his body freezes for a moment.

"no— i mean some, yes."

"so i'm one of the blessed favorites?"

"maybe."

your lips spread into a wide grin and you step closer as you pull your recorder out, "i promise to write only good."

"i wouldn't mind even if you didn't."

"i sound like more than just one of your favorites." you wink and he almost sank to his knees right there.

"what? no— uh what?" his laugh became even more shaky and nervous but you placated his nerves by waving your hand.

"no i just really appreciate your thorough and unbiased articles. journalism isn't and shouldn't just be praises— they are a way for the truth–" he paused when he finds you staring at him, that familiar fondness and admiration in your eyes when you look at him as clark. "..what?"

"no no— its just- i did not expect you to be so...passionate. it's refreshing and... well it feels good to see my field being appreciated. in the right sense." you sighed with a smile, smiling so wide that it hurt your cheeks, "thank you."

his eyes glint under the city lights, something warm, something tender and yearnful as his gaze chases your smile.

he gives you the interview you wanted, even answering the tougher, more daunting questions. then he drops you right on the rooftop of your apartment building, like a gentleman.

though, in your mind, it might mean nothing to the superhero, the little interaction left a huge impact on you. your views and opinions challenged and renewed under the honesty of superman's love for humanity. it was raw, it was simple, it was untainted.

the following day your article was a tad bit more positively biased towards the man in the cape, than you usually were.

to jimmy, it was understandable why you were happy. you just secured an exclusive interview with superman.

so why the hell was clark doing happy dance in his seat reading your article?

dividers by @cafekitsune

[sporr1]

WARSAWİAN (2)

Welcome to Warsawian, your ultimate guide to exploring the vibrant city of Warsaw! Whether you're a local looking to uncover hidden gems or a visitor eager to immerse yourself in the rich culture and lively atmosphere, Warsawian has you covered. From the latest events happening today to an extensive list of things to do, this platform is designed to enhance your experience in Poland's capital. Craving a cozy spot to enjoy a cup of coffee?

Warsaw Event today

Experience the vibrant pulse of the city with today’s captivating events in Warsaw. Whether you are a local resident or a visitor exploring Warsaw, there’s something exciting happening around every corner. From cultural exhibitions to live music performances, the choices are plentiful and diverse.

If you're looking for a unique way to immerse yourself in the local culture, check out the art exhibitions taking place in various galleries. These venues showcase both established and emerging artists, allowing you to engage with the creative energy that defines Warsaw.

For those interested in outdoor activities, today's event schedule includes bustling markets and festivals that highlight the rich flavors of Warsaw. You can discover local artisan products, sample Polish cuisine, and meet friendly vendors eager to share their stories.

Don’t miss the opportunity to connect with fellow enthusiasts at workshops and gatherings that celebrate the city's heritage and creativity. It’s the perfect chance to network and learn more about the dynamic community that makes Warsaw so special.

Make today unforgettable by marking your calendar for these exciting happenings! Whether you want to indulge in a cozy café experience after the events or take part in guided tours, the options for exploring Warsaw event today.

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When it comes to experiencing the vibrant culture of Warsaw, there is no shortage of exciting things to do. From historical landmarks to modern attractions, the city offers a rich tapestry of experiences that cater to all interests. Don’t miss the chance to explore the stunning Royal Castle, or take a leisurely stroll through the picturesque grounds of Lazienki Park, where nature meets art in harmonious splendor.

If you’re keen on diving into Warsaw’s artistic side, consider visiting the POLIN Museum of the History of Polish Jews. This fascinating institution not only narrates the history of an essential part of Warsaw's heritage but also celebrates its cultural evolution through the years. Additionally, the dynamic street art scene in neighborhoods like Praga adds a contemporary flair that art enthusiasts will adore.

As you venture through the city, be sure to check out various local events. A Warsaw thing to do can lead you to unique markets, concerts, or festivals that highlight the city’s lively community spirit. Engaging with locals and fellow travelers at such events is a wonderful way to immerse yourself in the city’s culture.

After a day filled with exploration, unwind at one of Warsaw’s charming cafes. Whether you’re sipping on an expertly crafted coffee or indulging in a slice of traditional Polish cake, the city’s café scene promises a delightful experience. If you're wondering where to go, our guide on the Best cafes in Warsaw can help you find the perfect spot to relax and recharge.

Warsaw Cafe

Immerse yourself in the vibrant café culture of Warsaw, where each establishment tells its own unique story. Whether you prefer a cozy nook for a quiet read or a bustling spot for people-watching, you'll find it all in the heart of the city. Exploring these cafés is not just about enjoying a cup of coffee; it’s an opportunity to experience the local lifestyle and connect with the passionate baristas dedicated to their craft.

As you wander through the streets, discover some of the best cafes in Warsaw cafe, each offering a delightful menu that caters to all tastes. From artisanal baked goods to innovative specialty drinks, there's something for everyone. These hidden gems are often favored by locals, ensuring an authentic experience that goes beyond mere tourist spots.

Don't miss out on the chance to participate in one of the many cultural events held in local cafés, which often host live music or art exhibitions. This creates a lively atmosphere where you can enjoy Warsaw event today while sipping your favorite beverage and mingling with fellow enthusiasts.

So, when planning your list of Warsaw things to do, be sure to include visits to these charming cafes. Explore their unique atmospheres, indulge in homemade pastries, and take a moment to appreciate the artistry that goes into every cup of coffee.

Best Cafes in Warsaw

When exploring the vibrant city of Warsaw, a visit to its delightful cafes is essential. These cozy spots not only offer a perfect retreat after a day full of exciting Warsaw events, but also serve as cultural hubs where locals and visitors alike gather to enjoy the unique ambiance.

For those looking to experience the city's culinary charm, Warsaw boasts an array of cafes that cater to all tastes. From traditional Polish pastries to exquisite coffee blends, these establishments promise a delightful experience. One of the best cafes in Warsaw, Café Bristol, serves delectable desserts and elegant coffee options, making it a must-visit.

Another gem is the lively Kawiarnia Relaks, where you can unwind with friends while sampling their homemade cakes and organic beverages. With its warm atmosphere, it’s the perfect spot to take a break while you contemplate your next venture into the myriad of Warsaw things to do.

Don’t forget to explore local favorites like Charlotte, known for its artisan breads and flair for modern twists on classic dishes. Whether you are here for a quick coffee or a leisurely brunch, these cafes encapsulate the spirit of Warsaw and are an experience not to be missed.

Make your visit unforgettable by indulging in the finest offerings at the best cafes in Warsaw. It's not just about the coffee; it's about immersing yourself in the rich culture and hospitality that makes this city so enchanting. Don’t miss out—visit today!

[peascrabbles]

have you read or seen Dune? in its desert planet setting, if you thump on the ground, you'll summon these ginormous sandworms that gobble you up. nayway THAT'S WHAT'S HAPPENED TO THIS THING HERE i swear it was meant to be a quick summary blurb but it got away from me dear lord. This turned out to be a functional partial outline for a prologue, completely unrefined, but imma just let it hang out here as is.

in this au, every "version" of them - dragon sylus, onychinus boss sylus, master of fate, foreseer, dr zayne, dawnbreaker - would exist in the same universe but in different, sometimes overlapping timelines, similar to canon. Their souls trapped in an endless cycle where one is always doomed to die, the wheels of fate turning against their will. While their existing lore provides a loooot of scaffolding, here's part of a potential alternate scenario for their first meeting based on the setting of Sylus' myth.

Ancient Philos, the beginning of it all. Zayne is a wandering healer who comes across a heavily wounded dragon while seeking a flower that grows in the remote forests between the Ivory City and Tarus. Deep scuffs in the bloodied earth, toppled trees, suggesting a rough and sudden landing. He's hesitant to approach at first until it pierces his mind. Help me. Its voice is how he's always imagined dragons to sound, noble and resonant, but this desperate plea catches him off guard. Startlingly reminiscent of the children in the neglected outskirts of the Ivory City he's treated, their grasping hands at his coat, seeking warmth and care that they've been denied time and again.

He sets up camp beside it, stokes a fire, mortar and pestle retrieved from his pack, as well as his entire stock of healing herbs; he'll need all he has for a creature of this size. The night is whittled away as he tends to its injuries: sealing blade punctures, applying ointment on the raw indent of chains around its neck and the infected patches around its belly, akin to bedsores from patients who've laid in one position for too long. The dragon doesn't so much as emit a sound other than rasping, laboured breaths, content to watch him with an exquisite ruby eye. Zayne is exhausted by the time dawn comes, but packs up to leave when he's done all he can to help, unwilling to take his rest anywhere near it. As he walks away it enters his mind once again, a caress at the edges rather than the intrusion it made earlier. Stayrus, it says. A word he's never heard before. Something in the language of dragons? Or its name? Though he's not sure if it can read his thoughts, he silently thinks of his own name in parting.

During his travels over the following months, spanning a vast continent, he wakes to find objects next to his bedroll that weren't there the previous night. Messily carved bone charms, gritty to the touch, surface licked clean by a rough tongue. Fragments of broken pottery with pictographs of animals that live in the area scratched onto them. Gleaming coins from forgotten currencies, jewellery beset with gemstones. He has no doubts about the origin of these mysterious gifts, but he does wonder about its intentions. If this is a dragon's expression of gratitude. As it becomes a steady preoccupation in the long stretches of his journey where he has nothing to do but muse on the matter, he contemplates what it might take for Stayrus to reveal itself.

Perhaps a gift of his own?

He leaves a lock of his hair before going to sleep, tied into a bundle with a long strand of grass. As he hoped, it's gone in the morning. In its place, a pristine obsidian scale. A piece of me for a piece of you. This he can recognise well enough: the dragon understands the principle of trade and equivalent exchange. He writes his observation in the back of his leatherbound journal, alongside a growing catalogue of the dragon's gifts and other foraged clues.

One of the early entries, a sketch of its footprint obtained on a night he slept on soft earth which would retain the shape of its approach. Much smaller than he'd remembered. Wedged between some other pages, folded in a leaf, a strand of silken white hair which he noticed entirely on accident, a bewildering discovery. There had been no hair on the beast either, last he saw. In the margins of his records he muses on whether it may have a different form to the massive, four legged beast he met—it would certainly explain why it could follow and leave its gifts without waking him.

Unseen dragon companion or not, Zayne's work doesn't stop. He traverses the treacherous expanse of Philos to far-reaching settlements, providing aid wherever it is needed, whether as a temporary resident at a clinic for a town of hundreds or stopping to assist a nomadic encampment he meets on the road. The gifts don't come on the nights spent at inns or huts, near other humans. He begins to anticipate the day he embarks on the road again, to set up his bedroll in a clearing somewhere under the stars and open sky, no longer eyeing the shadowed treeline with wariness. He rests with a fragile and honest sense of anticipation, or would he dare - a certain comfort, of not being quite alone.

Zayne also continues to test their common ground of trade. Stimulus and response.

Once more, a lock of his hair, for a scale. He writes: it'll give the same item in return for the same.

A loaf of bread from his dinner ration, for a dead deer a few paces from his head, neck snapped, still warm. He writes: Its diet is in line with expectations.

A rusted copper brooch he found on the wayside for a glittering silver bracelet embedded with emeralds and sapphires. He writes, bemused: It is rather generous with adornments and precious accessories, will accept unequal value in the exchange.

Eventually he runs out of trinkets to offer it. He doesn't retain much in his possessions. However, his curiosity is far from sated, and so he digs into his personal belongings, parting with what he can afford to give. He becomes a little greedier, too, in his efforts to glean more about this elusive creature.

Written at the top of a new page one day: Experiment - grooming. He pulls out a spare comb. On his numerous rest breaks, he demonstrates its use, brushing through his long hair til it's free of knots. His objective was twofold; to determine how closely he was being watched while the sun was out, and to learn what it might do to groom itself.

He wakes the next morning with the comb gone. Nothing is left in its place. Instead, his face is wet and sticky, covered with a thick and clear substance, and somewhat chafed. Still on his back, he swipes the liquid onto his pointer and middle finger, scrutinising it in the light.

Undeniably, it is spit. Dragon's spit.

The excess dribbles down the sides of his face as he stares up into the blue. It - it had come close enough to lean down over him, extend its tongue, stroke it all over him. Cleaning him, how it would for itself or its kin. He tries to imagine what it would've looked like, hovering over him. He hasn't even seen this other form. A haze in his strained imagination. Head of white hair, spiraled horns, a long and rough tongue telling by the rawness of his skin, black scales.

Worse and less novel things than being licked by a dragon and living to tell the tale had happened on his travels, and he doesn't feel disgust so much as small wonder at the experience. Ever the rigorous scientist, he collects the spittle in a glass vial, and writes down: It may be willing to trade services as well. To do… investigate any unique properties of its saliva.

He wanders off the path to find a running stream, and thankfully does come across one, even deep enough to wash his body clean as well. He wonders if it may find the act insulting. As he bathes, Zayne comes to a decision. He must see this dragon with its own eyes, speak with it, for he knows it is capable. This most recent trade was rather too intimate, considering he still didn't know what the beast looked like.

By the time he dries himself and is on the way again, the seeds of a plan have already begun to germinate in his head.

Character who doesn't get to die & character who doesn't get to live. Is that anything.

[movrningstxrs]

CRITICAL HIT

PAIRING: jason todd x fem!reader

SUMMARY: what happens when you take a hit that’s meant for jason? only his worst nightmare come true

NOTES: 2k, established relationship, vigilante!reader, language, canon-typical blood and violence, medical inaccuracies, jason is not having a good time, slight angst with a happy ending. reader’s alias is nightingale (original, i know), and she’s black canary’s protégée because i love her

REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

To the others, watching you and Jason fight was like watching a dance. Agile, graceful, and not a single step wasted or unnecessary. The pure rhythm and harmony that you two managed to achieve was truly awe-inspiring, yet it was only made possible after so many years spent fighting together, side-by-side, surviving death and other tribulations. Thus, it was no wonder that your relationship blossomed from simple ‘dance partners’ to something more.

Although it was difficult to name the exact label that defined your relationship—what with Jason being so selective with the information regarding his personal life and you choosing to simply follow your partner’s lead—it was clear to everyone that there was a mutual and ardent love shared between the two of you.

You changed Jason for the better, though you often argued that he didn’t need ‘fixing.’ He only needed someone kind enough to love him, to be there for him, and to listen to him, patiently, lovingly, and with grace. You just happened to be that person.

And God help anyone who dared to hurt Jason Todd’s person.

“I think that’s almost all of them,” you announced with a sigh of relief.

The rusty and dilapidated warehouse was littered with various goons, bloodied and beaten, and all of whom were in the process of being swiftly restrained after a successful raid on the illegal weapon shipments being stored there. The battle had been drawn out and arduous, but it was finally over, and all that was left was to wait for the GCPD to come and collect their soon-to-be jailbirds.

“Good job, everyone,” Bruce commended. “Remain vigilant as we wait for Gordon and his men to arrive.”

“Roger that, B,” Dick said with a playful salute, Tim and Damian responding with their own tired nods of affirmation.

“Got it, Batman!” you cheerfully confirmed.

“Heard,” Jason acknowledged, wincing as he rolled his shoulder and assessed the damage from the bullet that had clipped him minutes earlier. It hurt like a bitch, but in his line of work, it was minimal at worst, which was a lot more than he could say for the sad schmucks that lay before him.

And to think, the two of you had missed date night for this. Surely, Bruce owed you guys a nice luxury dinner, preferably on his black card, but that was a point of contention for another time. For now, all Jason wanted was a hot shower and some sleep.

“Hood, can you help me with this?” you requested while struggling to secure the last guy.

“Sure, birdie,” Jason replied, the answer coming easily to him as he settled next to you and retrieved the zip ties from your awaiting hands. The cute, appreciative smile that you sent his way was enough to spontaneously lighten his mood and ease the weariness soaking into his bones.

One last task before the two of you could go back home and wash the grime and exhaustion of the night away. One last task before you were free to be in his arms again. One last task before the call of sleep lured him in like a siren to a sailor, welcoming him into its gentle and peaceful embrace.

One last task, Jason repeated to himself.

And maybe if he wasn’t so distracted, tired and struggling to cope with the fatigue of tonight’s events, Jason would’ve noticed the slight movement coming from the corner of his eye. Maybe he would’ve reacted faster, like he normally would, the moment the crook drew one of Jason’s very own guns from its holster and pointed it squarely at the vigilante’s chest with a wide, bloody grin. And maybe—just maybe—if Jason had moved the slightest bit sooner, you wouldn’t have felt the need to throw yourself in front to protect him.

BANG!

A single gunshot thundered through the warehouse, rattling the broken windows and carrying through the open rafters, before your body crumpled to the ground with a pained, choked gasp.

Jason, meanwhile, merely snapped.

He had no time to truly register what had happened before his brain went into complete autopilot. His body launched itself forward as his fists connected with the man’s face over and over and over again. Blood began to mar his hands, and his knuckles bruised with every crazed swing he took, but Jason didn’t care. He only wanted the man to hurt, to feel a fraction of the pain that he had inflicted on you.

“Red Hood, stop! You’ll kill him!” Dick attempted to reason as he fought to pull Jason away.

“That’s the point, dickhead!”

“Are you serious right now? Reevaluate your priorities, Hood!” Tim argued, ever the rational one. “Nightingale’s in need of immediate medical attention, or she’ll die! Is that what you want?!”

“Don’t fucking say her name!” Jason snarled through gritted teeth as his anger quickly redirected to the younger male.

“Enough, all of you!” Bruce commanded, immediately defaulting to the stoic and efficient leader that he was. In his arms, you could quietly be heard gasping for low, shallow breaths, as a tight layer of gauze was crudely wrapped around your chest in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

God, while he had been too busy letting his anger and rage control him, Bruce had been the one to render you first aid. As the damning realization hit him, Jason’s body instantly went numb. He dreaded to think what would’ve happened if it was only the two of you. Had he truly been so careless as to let you bleed out while he enacted some stupid form of vengeance? Were his priorities really so skewed?

Some partner he was, Jason thought bitterly.

“She’s still breathing, but she’ll need to be operated on,” Bruce explained as he began to make his way toward the exit. “Robin, Red Hood, you’re with me. Nightwing and Red Robin, you two will stay here and report to Commissioner Gordon on tonight’s mission.”

A noise of confirmation left everyone’s mouth as Jason trailed behind Bruce like a dazed, lost soul. No longer was he the big bad Red Hood that Gotham’s criminal underbelly feared and loathed. Instead, in his place was the scared and broken boy who had faced a distant, ticking countdown and ultimately failed to save another woman in his life.

“Here,” Dick interrupted before Jason could get too far, handing back to him his gun.

“Keep it for now,” Jason instructed, staring at the weapon in disgust. “I-I can’t—”

“Yeah, of course,” Dick gently reassured as he placed a comforting hand on his brother’s arm. “It’ll be okay, little wing. She’ll be okay.”

Jason could only pray that he was right.

The journey back to the Cave passed by in a rushed blur. Rain pelted against his helmet as Jason pushed his bike to its absolute limits. He was an emotional wreck as he weaved through Gotham’s late-night traffic with reckless abandon, his mind entirely focused on one concern: your safety.

By the time Jason arrived back at base, Alfred had already been notified of the situation, as the Cave’s medical bay had been immaculately and meticulously prepared for your operation. And as Alfred readied to roll you away on a stretcher, donned in a sterile set of gloves and scrubs, he turned to Jason with a meaningful look.

“I shall do everything in my power, Master Jason,” the old butler promised him.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Jason replied, his smile strained.

All he could do now was wait.

“Aren’t you a sad sight,” Damian noted the second Jason discarded his helmet. The latter was clearly distressed, as the dark shadows underneath his eyes only helped to showcase the pure devastation reflected in his features, and his tall and imposing stature was rendered useless with the way he anxiously curled in on himself.

“Yeah, I wonder why?” Jason sarcastically scoffed.

Damian lightly pursed his lips before trying again. “She’s stronger than you think. She’ll make it through this. So stop looking so pathetic and have some faith.”

“I know that. Fuck, I know that!” Jason cried in anguish. “I just can’t stop replaying that damn moment in my head!”

Similar to a broken record player, the scene of you jumping in front to protect him repeated itself over and over again in his brain. Like gasoline to a fire, his insecurities weaponized the scarring memory to mock and taunt him. Again and again, they condemned him, telling him that he was weak, that he would never be good enough, and that he couldn’t save anyone, no matter how hard he tried.

It was his gun, his inaction, his fault.

“If she was the one in danger,” Damian thoughtfully put forth. “Would you have thrown yourself in the way to save her?”

“Of course I would!” Jason snapped. “What kind of question is that?!”

“There you have it,” Damian stated, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “You two are a pair of reckless, lovesick fools who’d readily die for one another in a heartbeat. Exasperatingly cliché and disgustingly sweet in my opinion, but that’s beside the point. What happened tonight was a choice. Because she loves you enough to have made that choice. We are vigilantes. Injuries and even death are a part of our daily lives. What matters is not how they happen, but how we decide to handle and overcome them.”

“…When the hell did you get so mature, demon brat?” Jason questioned wryly, feeling the weight of tonight’s tragedy slowly lift from his heart.

“You must’ve been in a far worse state than I had initially realized. If you haven’t noticed, I’m clearly the most mature out of all of us,” Damian retorted as he turned to leave, the fabric of his cape dramatically flaring out behind him. “Father included.”

Hours would come to pass as Jason remained ever watchful and vigilant while seated by your side. Alfred, the miracle worker that he was, had successfully managed to stop the bleeding and save your life. For that, Jason was forever indebted to him, even if the older gentleman would never allow for such a ‘silly’ claim. Still, Jason was so grateful.

Before long, a low groan escaped past your lips as your eyes started to slowly flutter open, and Jason held his breath as you tilted your head back to meet his concerned gaze.

“Jay,” you began. “My body hurts.”

“Y-yeah, getting shot will do that to you,” Jason mused, his words punctuated with a tearful laugh.

“Oh, Jay. I-I’m sorry,” you said mournfully. “Please don’t cry.”

“How could I not?” he rasped, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. “Pretty bird, you almost died!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you apologized for the second time. “But when I saw that he had a gun pointed right at you, m-my body just reacted on its own. I don’t regret it, though. Not if it meant protecting you.”

“My girl. My brave, stupid girl,” Jason eventually relented, a soft and affectionate chuckle leaving his body when he noticed your slight pout of mock offence.

Cradling your hand like fragile glass, his thumb found solace against the steady thrum of your pulse, a soothing and concrete reminder that you were here, present, right next to him, and undeniably alive. A minute of comfortable silence lapsed before Jason finally made his decision, steeling his nerves as he brought up the one topic that never seemed to ever fully escape the back of his mind.

The way he said your name was so sweet. “Have you ever thought about marriage? W-with me?”

You blinked once, twice, stunned, before a comically flustered expression took over the entirety of your face. “O-o-of course I have! Oh my gosh, right now?!”

“No, no! I mean, sure! I-if you want!” Jason sputtered as he struggled to temper his nervousness. “J-just whenever you’re ready. Tonight made me realize that I can’t live without you. So, will you marry me, pretty bird?”

With a smile so heartwarmingly bright, there was no doubt or dishonesty in your voice as you answered, “I would be more than happy to marry you, Jason Peter Todd.”

[hmslusitania]

The world felt so lived in. It wasn't a car commercial film, you know? there was cracked paint on Lois's door jamb, and the Kents' house looked like a house anyone I know might've grown up in in the 90s, and everyone was driving shitty, normal cars.

(more spoilery thoughts under the cut)

Also loved all the little world details like Lois's license plate being Delaware and the highway sign giving exit directions to Gotham (as a die hard Gotham-Metropolis twin cities on either side of Delaware Bay truther). The confrontation between the Justice Gang and Supes taking place in the Stagg Industries building despite (iirc) Simon never once actually being mentioned by name (of course, neither was Sapphire, but we also got to see her for like 10 seconds, six of one, half dozen of the other). The billboard for Big Belly Burger and the Kaiju being originally spotted in a Jitters. Markovia being the third country visible in Eve's map leak. Like the movie had whole and total respect for the fact that it is part of a universe, and that that is not Our universe trying to put up with superheroes, but a universe all its own and there's something absolutely refreshing about seeing that in a giant live action format.

Tiny disconnected thought -- Lois said she was just some kid from Bakerline, so like... was General Lane stationed at whatever Fort surely must exist in Metropolis's proximity or is DCU!Lois not an army brat?

Anyway:

A lesser film more cued into public perception of DC comics rather than the vast richness and opportunities actually available would've had the Mr Terrific role just be Bruce, or would've had it be a character called "Mr Terrific" but who was actually just Batman clone 328. And instead it was actually Mr Terrific, badass and surrounded by his T-spheres as intended.

Jimmy!! I have no words!

Lois and Clark having a big dramatic emotional scene while crazy technicolour battle was happening outside the window, both of them completely unfussed about it.

Perry just sitting and listening to Jimmy and Lois's pitch for their article while all of Metropolis is evacuating around them, also unbothered.

Rex!!!! Joey!!? Like has that kid been seen anywhere since that BoP arc in 2003?

Spending the whole movie wondering why Clark was letting his dog live in the Fortress, alone, without any training or manners, only to Understand Completely in approximately 10 seconds at the end.

I did also appreciate the Ultraman fakeout and him being a clone instead of from Earth-3. It's too soon to be pulling in the multiverse, y'know? But for my money, since he was cloned "wrong" I'm going with he's gonna come out the other side of that black hole as Biz, because I think that would be fun. Although, y'know, with the sick '90s flow, could also be angling closer to Henshaw. I look forward to seeing.

The Engineer was so perfectly unsettling, and since she's not dead, and they've apparently got an Authority movie on the docket upcoming, I have to assume she'll be part of that, right?

And final thoughts before I make myself go to bed:

Nicholas Hoult was extraordinary as Lex, truly he was, and also I barely noticed because David Corenswet was so phenomenally perfect as Clark. It is the only time I've ever seen a live-action Superman lean into the part where Clark says "golly" as an oath, and fully sell it. Like of course Lois (Rachel Brosnahan, also perfect) would have difficulty admitting to herself/him that she's in love with him. He's ridiculous. He's a ridiculous person. Absolutely absurd. Physical embodiment of hopepunk, and also broke into her apartment to make breakfast at night. Did you know, he can be a real jerk sometimes 🥺

[saint-starflicker]

I think of sort of like:

Process. Everything written down is on the other side of fear. At the same time, while it's common to claim that "you can always tell" when something is a hashtag aspirational fantasy as opposed to processing trauma, I'm going to give the benefit of the doubt that some traumatized people can simply be unskilled writers. That doesn't mean they shouldn't write it out anyway, and I don't even think there should be a disclaimer that "the person who wrote this has all this trauma" because then even somebody who is writing it to get their jollies off can just make that claim without it being true; and then somebody who is genuinely traumatized shouldn't be pressured to divulge that in exchange for being less harassed or less criticized.

Scope. How many people did this work qualifiably fuck up in front of? If it's a fanwork for a fanbase of 50 people and nobody took anything into offline interactions, then it can be understandably disappointing but that is still Euclid; But if it's somebody wealthier than the Queen of England whose outrageous success has changed publishing and cinemas as an industry, it's Apollyon.

Framing (Extradiegetic/Doylist). Magical realism has some amount of disability and rape as tropes, it's not an exploration of stigma or trauma, it's just casually there more often than in some other genres—So did Laura Esquivel and Isabel Allende fuck up representation of situational mutism for everybody? Or is there a cultural context that would benefit readers outside of Latin America to wonder about before we criticize and stereotype?

Form, Style, and Literary Devices (e.g., Diegetic/Watsonian framing). This can be discussed analytically or as a matter of personal preference or personal taste, how the use of the medium and the honing of the craft has designed this, that, or other effect to be interpreted.

Diverse interpretations. Did Lady Macbeth henpeck a contemptible pathetic husband into murdering a good friend, or did she support him in his pursuing what he really wanted to go for that she knew he needed encouragement to do because they're just that close and that's their marriage dynamic? Not everybody can be Shakespeare, but pretty much every fictional text can be interpreted in multiple ways. Nonfiction can get more straightforward about it, I think that's expected, but while misreading fiction has happened too (the interpretation of Horton Hears a Who as anti-abortion; Fight Club and Project Mayhem as hashtagging life goals), there tends to be the saying that if a fiction author wanted to explain what everything in the story meant or what its message was then they would've written an essay instead of a story.

depiction isn't endorsement but not all depictions have the same merit

[permian-tropos]

so today i saw the tweet above and i’m opening with that because it made me want to stop being quiet about this issue

Pathologic 3 has been (perhaps obviously, and I’m a fool for not noticing) using AI generated art

this is the tweet I saw that called attention to it:

yes the man has too many fingers if you look closer, what a fucking frustrating thing to miss when I was peering at it wondering if it was lore, wondering who he was supposed to be—Daniil even comments about the man in the poster

I have heard IPL has had financial trouble partly caused by Nikolay Dybowsky, and that after he left bc he’s a groomer and domestic abuser who tried to kidnap his son from the kid’s mother, and finally got into legal trouble for that, I assumed they were going to be struggling a bit. But they also have to put something out for the fanbase to drum up interest which leads to maybe cutting corners.

Actually, I’d heard that AI art was used in one of Dybowsky’s smaller projects, Franz, I didn’t play it myself bc frankly what I heard of it sounded like it was playing as an abuser and justifying your actions, and not in a way that critiques abuse, but perhaps just a self-indulgence for the dev. If it had AI art that meant it was lazy too.

When he left I hoped that the artistic laziness would maybe leave with him too. IPL always presented themselves as caring a lot about art, and Pathologic is very much about the fact art is a connection between creator and audience.

Pathologic draws from the special verisimilitude of the theater; it’s obvious that anything happening on a stage isn’t real, but it feels a certain kind of emotionally real because it’s being performed live, because there is pressure on the performers to get it right. Cleverly, Pathologic flips this dynamic on its head by making a game where you are the actor and the story feels more real because of the pressure you feel to perform it right.

Which is exactly why AI art is so destructive to the message of the game. If the stage isn’t deliberately crafted, there is no meaningful interplay between creator and player. It’s just reduced to another commodity to Consume, an experience being sold to you. I think I can speak for a lot of the fandom when I say that Pathologic felt special and I stuck with it all these years because it managed to be much more than a product and commodity. We crave real art.

I’m so disappointed that this is the direction IPL is going after finally getting rid of a really toxic presence in the studio. They had a chance to revitalize this game and it feels like they’re wasting it if they’re generating art assets (and who knows what else!) with a machine.

[elainsgirl]

My favourite moment in the book that was meant to “end elriel” and confirm/foreshadow Gwynriel is when Azriel follows the sound of Elains laughter, followed closely by them sharing a charged glance, can’t forget the iconic moment where his shadows were ready to strike Nesta because she insulted Elain, that has to be tied with Az going still when he learnt Nesta and Elain had a fight.

And for the books that were meant to “set up elucien” and show how perfectly “compatible” they are, I gotta say my favourite moment is when Lucien stands there absolutely dumbfounded with Elain whereas Az actually figures out what was amiss, that however comes second to Feyre looking at Azriel and Elain spending time together in the gardens and wonders “why not make them mates?”. Can’t forget the memorable rescue and truthteller scenes which were brought up in every single book since acowar.

“Oh but Az looked at Mor with heat and longing!” Yes, in one chapter. He then later proceeds to:

Make sure he’s the first to wish Elain a happy Solstice

Makes everyone wait for Elain before eating dinner (a huge sign of respect across many cultures)

When Elain is uncomfortable due to Amren, Its Azriel who pokes fun at Amren which prompts Elain to give him a relieved smile, he’s the reason the light returns to her eyes.

He then belts out the most joyous laugh feyres heard and calls Elains gift “invaluable”

Spends his time sitting with Elain and listening to her talk about her garden plans.

Do antis realise how stupid they are for bringing Az “longing” for Mor in acofas against elriel when Gwynriels still ship their precious fave with a man who wanted to eat Elain out? Or eluciens wanting Elain w Lucien, when she was ready to give into Azriel whilst her mate was upstairs, not giving a single f*ck about him? Imagine shipping something so embarrassing and pathetic yet having the absolute audacity to bring up a moment that happened 2 books ago where its made very clear by the author that there has been a shift in Azriels feelings? Where she literally wrote how he no longer stares at Mor with Longing?

[jmdbjk]

We know they're cooking...

I'm imagining them working with various people, making connections, and when the work day is over, accepting invitations to go out for a meal and/or drinks. I can see Namjoon and Yoongi definitely accepting those invites.

[so who took this pic of Jimin? hmmmmm?]

Jungkook is probably really cooking... literally, cooking for everybody. I know he is.

I know its barely been a week since they've arrived here but I hope they are all able to get out and live some life in between their work days and go see some concerts and just have some normal experiences while in the U.S.

I hope they've gone to the beach to watch the sunset already. I hope Jungkook's rented a Harley and happily riding the streets.

Maybe Yoongi will get a chance to run over to Vegas and see the site where the proposed baseball stadium might be built for the Athletics baseball team when it moves there. I have no idea at what stage is the planning.

I wonder if Jimin and Jungkook will take the opportunity to go ahead and film some AYS episodes while in California.

Whether or not they do, sounds like they have enough for a few episodes in the can from Switzerland and Vietnam. Will this be the way they convey their military stories to us? Ten episodes of Are You Sure where they let us in on their new set of inside jokes? Never ending laughing at the situations they found themselves in? It's easy to laugh now, I bet it wasn't funny while it was happening.

They already used all of JK's music in the first season of the show. Other than songs from Muse (yes to hot humid scenes in Vietnam with Be Mine playing, rollicking on the beach in their birthday suits... oops sorry what was I saying?) Other than that, what music/songs are they going to use for the soundtrack for these new episodes? HMMMM????? Could there be some new music for that in the works too?

[dsudis]

I’ve been reading Brother Cadfael, and that’s gonna be… very, very nuance I think.

Cadfael is at the wrong life stage for the typical companion experience—he is, for the 12th century, very widely traveled, has experienced the wonders the world holds, and has voluntarily chosen to retire from all that, to return to the small quiet place he comes from and commit himself to its smallest, quietest version by taking monastic vows.

Now, I’m not saying it wouldn’t happen, because Cadfael still has Big Protagonist Energy, and never met a call to adventure that wasn’t worth bending his vows of obedience and stability into a pretzel shape to answer, especially in the earlier books.

But he still took those vows, and they still matter to him, and he is ultimately someone deeply rooted in one place and time who has no desire to go see everything else there is in the universe. He’s seen it; more is just more to him, not something fundamentally life-altering. So as a companion he would have a good time, and he would pull some role reversal and Teach The Doctor Something, and then he would gently but firmly require to be returned home in time for Vespers.

Brother Cadfael is an ideal Christmas Special companion, is what I think I’m saying here.

Just because it suddenly occurred to me Midge Maisel would be a fantastic companion. Though the actual main character of the last thing I did is Sam Vimes, which..... Hot take but i'll place in the Alright category. It'd be cool, but he has too much counter-narrative power of his own for it to Really Work in the proper companion format, y'know. Cool but something else.

[confusedfandomuser]

Itty bitty burger man

I blame my undertale phase and my love for the bitty aus, this fic has been going on my mind since last week saturday ;¬; Also sorry for the crappy writing you'll be reading since it'll be my first time actually writing a fanfic ( ˘･з･)

"This bastards- they aren't even helping! this isn't fair!" You yelled at the computer, seeing your character die from the killer and your teammates not bothering to help nor heal you.

Slumping against your chair while sighing, you wonder why you still play this game even after all the rage you accumulate from having crappy teammates or gameplay.

"Ughhh.. This is so stupid... I'll just go do something else, maybe the chores or play another game...?" You mutter to yourself as you think before shaking your head and deciding to do some cleaning to lessen your work.

Standing up from your chair, bones popping a bit as you stretch your body from the prolonged sitting you've been doing while playing.

You left your room and headed straight to the kitchen, then you stood infront of your sink, contemplating why are you doing it just now. Rolling the sleeves of your sweater, you start cleaning the dishes.

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

Static- Crackle.. Pop!

The computer screen glitches and came a small blocky arm stick out of it, then the computer glitched more and spat out the owner of the arm.

A small dazed character sat away from the computer screen, clutching its tiny head in its hands now, the burger hat on its head tilts to the left a bit more from the stumble it got from being spat out of the computer.

Shaking the dizziness away, the small blocky robloxian slowly stood up and looked around cautiously. The surroundings he was in was more larger and scarier yet it looks like a normal bedroom.

He then turned around and saw a familiar display on the much larger computer screen infront of him. Its the cabin with different people in it that he doesn't know or is familiar with.

Staring in daze at the computer screen, clueless on what he's seeing until he saw the timer ontop of the screen hit to 0.

The screen became black and then an intro happened to which he recognized as his son, eyes widening as he looks at the display. Blinking slowly as he tried to process what he's seeing, he got up from his sitting position and looked to the side, finally noticing the mouse.

He starts to walk over to the mouse and moves it carefully until it hovers onto the symbol of an eye to which he guesses he can spectate the others.

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

He stared blankly at the screen as he watches what he presumes to be a gameplay of a world he once knew was real and was instead now a game.

His face slowly darkens until his eyes are the only thing visible, he's spiraling into insanity as he thinks back to what he experienced before he got into this world.

Was it all fake? His sufferings, his emotions, his life, was it all fake? For the sake of entertainment for others? This continued until something happened.

Creaaak....

The door opened and came a giant, his head snapped towards the opened door, staring at the much larger being than him.

"Huh..?" The giant replied in confusion as he started to shake in fear, wondering if something bad will happen to him.

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

Ummm.. This will be the end of this chapter I guess..? I can't think of anymore scenario that will happen in this one, so I'll probably get back to it after like a week?? But either ways, thanks for reading my first fanfic!!

[kurapixel]

uhhhh twitterLOG because i have forgotten to crosspost all of these

bonus tsukumo twins in the butler + maid collab. would you trust the food tehy bring you?

bonus2 moeblob animegirl eating burger takumi for a friend who i was trying to lure into work call .

( you will see what they were talking about soon)

i dont really mind any other interpretation of my works (also think its more fun to let people cook slkdjf) but if anyone wanted notes

(1) was thinking too hard about how takumi stabbed eito in the chest hole at the end of r0 and also eito's "i just couldn't help myself"... i just think he was so absolutely delighted for takumi to finally see him and not just his mask after masking for the entirety of the run...

(2) i wanted takumi to just grab eito's tongue tbh, so the scenario that i cooked in my head is: takuei where they're about to get sexy but eito tries to start monologuing and takumi thinks eito would enjoy kissing too much atp in their relationship so he grabs his tongue to shut him up (fond/exasperated "enough, you").

eito's capable of holding back vomiting, so I have to wonder: would he vomit because he feels free enough to, or because he's testing takumi--that if takumi can't handle that much he doesn't really care about him? would he vomit On Purpose (i.e. revenge for tonguegrab, whether takumi knows its on purpose or not)? would he hold it back because he thinks he wouldn't get another chance with takumi? (it wasn't meant to fit into any route specifically so imagining the context within any routes is fun...)

completely alternate read courtesy of jun is they're piercing eito's tongue. (though if it happened before the above setting instead it'd give a nice reason why takumi is so fixated on eito's tongue.....)

(3) crop of a piece for ending 011. another one of my pieces that i'm trying to represent an ending with. tried to frame the broken device that held shion as a moon, and was trying to pay careful attention to the color contrast of the full piece. it's a bit of a different rendering style than my usual

(4) crop. takumi's arms are actually tied up with a leash and he's on eito's lap... was originally going to have eito just enjoying having his way with takumi, but i'd thought itd be more fun framing it as eito being mad at someone walking in on them with the lighting + eito's expression

(5) crop of a second scenario piece. since eito's not above manipulating takumi for even innocuous things like asking him to guide him to the cafeteria (and he would manipulate instead of asking outright because he's so so so afraid of rejection), and is also the kind of idiot that overestimates his own ability and doesn't fully plan things out --he was so close to being gangbanged by invaders in r0 after all--i thought he'd manipulate situations so that takumi would do things he wants but he'd also end up in over his head.

in this case, i was thinking hed tell takumi he remembers where some rare materials are during exploration (knowing how they'd have to get there), and they end up crossing a river together, and oooooh takumi you have to help me cross (it ends up being a bit scarier than he anticipated, and combined with the close contact he almost vomits. i'd like to think it finally gets through to takumi just how vulnerable he is and the situation pulls at takumi's savior complex ridden heart. but then again.......... lol) (it probably slips eito's mind because of how shaken he is that they also. have to cross again to get back and he almost definitely vomits the second go around slkdjglksdjg)

(but yeah. thinking about how in 003 you can hear him stumbling around...)

(6) tsukumos! besides the charms, its the only other time i've drawn them. i just thought they were super cute haha

(7) on god its blowing up as of this writeup

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

Why don't we stay back, and let her go ahead?

Here's cool art

and some related analysis/ranting below;

Kris and Ralsei's relationship is just as significant to both characters as Kris and Susie.

(so is Susie and Ralsei, but that's way easier to argue.)

So, this is not to downplay Susie and Kris. They are so incredibly important and wonderful and meaningful. Obviously.

But with Ralsei, Kris gets the one thing they can't with Susie, it's private.

And if the piano tells us anything, Kris values their privacy over even their autonomy.

As much as Kris loves their time and their friendship with Susie; it is something they're always sharing with us. We are present for every bonding moment and experience they have, and thats not mentioning how much of the Kris Susie knows isn't fully them.

But Ralsei knows, thus is capable of having a separate relationship with Kris, and one with Us.

Something very under discussed and yet I think it absolutely necessary for understanding Ralsei is that we, by definition, have never seen how he acts when we aren't watching, and this extends especially to how he treats Kris.

What has been called a preference for the Player is what I'd interpret as a fawning fear response, he is wary of Us and our power. He'd prefer to befriend us but he doesn't know our intentions and is playing it safe in hiding information for the Party's sake. If he refused to go along with violent playthroughs, remember that would be abandoning Kris alone with us after we've proven ill intent.

If Kris is our Cage, Ralsei is their Keeper, and our jailer, as the one who knows enough about our logistics to create pockets of respite for them and constantly checks in and knows the thing that answers isn't always them and is hiding just as many secrets as they are.

Who's just as much an object in his own life as they are in theirs.

And Ralsei is aware, to some degree, he's failing in this role. If that chapter 3 dialogue, and the chapter 4 Gerson tea party is anything to go off of. Susie has Us and Kris looking out for her, but there's no one as aware as he is of Kris' situation to make sure they're eating and sleeping properly. (no one willing to step in at least)

Our relationship with Ralsei's is just that: ours. It does not matter how suspicious and fake we find him or how badly we want to kiss him on his adorable fluffy face, we cannot influence whats happening between him and them.

We don't know what Kris and Ralsei's dynamic is really like, and thats what makes it so significant. It's important developments happen away from our prying eyes, on their own terms. For two characters who get to have almost nothing to themselves.

And then people somehow concluded Kris hates him and he only cared about the Player because even in the 'its not about you' story we cannot stop making it about us for five fucking seconds.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

noticed near chapter 4 ending's kris keeps out of the screen's last prophecy just barely enough so they could see it but not the player. lowkey makes me wonder if it was completely their intent to not let us the prophecy's end just as ralsei was protecting susie.

Yeah, I noticed that too! Good eye!

Honestly, one potential detail I LOVE about this scene, and the whole idea behind it, is that it's a rare example of the concept of Dramatic Irony completely flipped on its head. Normally, dramatic irony describes a situation where the audience/player knows something the characters in a story do not know, and that lends extra emotion/weight to that situation, because we can infer what will happen while the characters have yet to realise what's in store for them. It makes tragic stories that much more tragic, because we see what's coming and are powerless to avert it or warn the characters about it.

In THIS instance, however, it is the CHARACTERS who know something that the AUDIENCE/PLAYERS do not know. This doesn't even have a name, as far as I know, and I did look to see if it was defined or had a term associated with it, and could find nothing. If anyone DOES know what this is called, do let me know!

Anyway! We have this fascinating situation where AT LEAST two of our three protagonists are aware of the final prophecy and are behaving with that knowledge in mind. Now! A conventional story might have Susie and Ralsei clumsily explain what it is they know, as if explaining it to someone who doesn't know (i.e. us), and it'd come across all stilted and awkward... but of course, we're NOT supposed to know what the Final Prophecy says, and so... they DON'T discuss what it says. Why would they need to? They know, they know the other knows, discussing it further at that time would be pointless, and makes perfect sense for the scene and with regards to how actual people talk about knowledge they're already aware of.

This is especially unorthodox in this capacity, because it means that the characters we control have more knowledge about their own fates than we do, and that means we're flying completely blind. We might have to actually rely on and listen to what Susie and Ralsei say, glean what knowledge we can from them, and use that to inform our choices. But there's every chance we could end up unwittingly stumbling into the final tragedy without realising it, but the CHARACTERS would be able to see it, while being unable to avoid it or directly warn us about it! It's actually brilliant when you think about it, the way this makes absolutely perfect sense within the context of Deltarune's story, its themes, its plot, it's everything. It's a masterstroke, plain and simple, and it can't really be replicated in any other game, or any other medium for that matter.

I can't wait to see how this is going to play out!