#kal fic

[ky-landfill]

[secretidentie]

Superman and batman have been dating for years. Bruce knows Clark's identity(obv) but since Clark said he likes how down to earth he is, Bruce decides he can't just say he's a billionaire playboy and holds off on revealing his.

At some point Bruce (after immense brooding) decides to just tell Clark but at the last minute backs out and makes himself out to be a normal middle class guy who just works at WE.

Sure he kinda looks like Bruce Wayne but Clark just assumes "celebrity look alike ig" and he's never seen Wayne up close anyway so he doesn't even really consider it. Since Bruce already knows everything about him, Clark decides to take a week off work to visit Bruce's family and get to know them better.

Obviously this sets Bruce into panic mode. He somehow convinces Alfred and the kids to go along with operation-perfect-family and crams them into a middle class home and forbids visits to the manor unless it's an emergency. So Bruce has to keep up this everyman relatable ficade while making sure none of his kids snitch, Clark is trying to get to know his boyfriend better while trying to leave a good impression on his family and the whole batfam learns what it's like to have to share as a family by living in close proximity to each other and they learn more about the lives of the average githamites they protect.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Don't Kill My Vibe

Title: Don’t Kill My Vibe

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Clark Kent x BestFriend!Black!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: You help Clark ease the pain of his broken heart.

Warnings: mention of a breakup, recreational drug use (marijuana), friends-to-lovers trope, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids

A/N: This is an AU where Clark Kent is not superpowered and Superman does not exist. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

It wasn’t the first time Clark asked to try some bud, but it was the most pathetic. His gorgeous blue eyes were puffy from crying over that woman. As much as you wanted to say, “I told you so," you didn’t want him to feel any worse about the failed relationship with his reporter beau, Lois Lane.

And yet again, you think to yourself, ‘Fuck Lois Lane’.

When he showed up at your place an hour ago in sweatpants, sneakers, and a button-up pullover, you were surprised to see he opted for something other than his normal flannel and jeans. His hair was mussed, and he avoided eye contact with you. Something was wrong.

You dragged him into your apartment, turning down your Spotify playlist on the Bluetooth speakers so you could talk over the mellow tunes. While you flopped down on your couch, Clark sat down slowly and sighed.

You were already elevated, having taken a couple of puffs from your blue and red glass bowl earlier, so you were struggling to pay attention to everything he was saying. You tried to put on your ��I’m not high” face and nod enough, saying “Oh wow” occasionally. But, in actuality, your eyes were as red as the Devil’s dick, and Clark wasn’t stupid.

His eyes looked from yours to the tray on the coffee table that held your various assortments of smoking apparatus, grinder, lighter, and stash box. Leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, he motioned his chin toward everything and said, “I know you’ve said no a million times, but I could use an escape. And before you say no again, know I’ve tried all the tricks in the book to get over somebody, and nothing is working.” 

“I have a feeling there’s another thing you haven’t tried either, but whatever,” you rattled on, waving off his confused expression. “Fine. It should be illegal for you to use those puppy eyes when asking me for something, by the way.”

So here you are, preparing a strawberry cone for you and Clark to share. You were always weird about people using your favorite bowl. You also figure that for a first-timer, it would be the easiest for him to start with. Twisting the end after filling the cone, you reach for the lighter and ashtray.

“First things first,” you purr, using your phone to turn the music up. “Now, watch what I do. I’m going to draw the smoke into my mouth and then hold it for a few seconds, or as long as I can, before blowing it back out. Ready?”

Clark nods as he turns toward you, tucking one leg under the other. Now that you have his full attention, you suddenly feel flustered. Casting your eyes downward, you take the cone into your mouth and light the end. You inhale deeply and take it out of your mouth. Savoring the citrus flavor of the strain, your tongue licks your lips, and you exhale. 

You close your eyes and take a few breaths. After a moment, you hear Clark’s voice breaking through your haze: “Everything good?”

Your eyes pop open, and just like nothing happened, you perk up. Handing him the cone, you blink as he holds it like someone who has never smoked. You’ve known Clark long enough that you have a suspicion that is probably true for him. 

He’s polite, almost to a fault. He screams Boy Scout, altar boy, and ‘promise ring’ all at the same time. What can you say? Clark was a good boy. And you were getting him high. You little devil! 

Clark takes a short pull from the pink-colored joint and manages to hold it for about two seconds, then attempts to exhale. A small plume escapes his mouth, he inhales sharply and has a coughing fit. You take the joint back before he drops it and sit it in the ashtray.

Rubbing his back, you try to talk him through catching his breath. You grab your water bottle and hold the straw to his mouth when he nods his thanks. He sips the water, then clears his throat loudly, burping up a bit of smoke. He laughs quickly as he sees it exit his mouth, reminding you of a little surprised dragon.

“That was fun,” he sputters, his voice deeper than usual.

“It gets easier, Clark. Trust me, coughing is normal. And most of the time, coughing gets you higher,” you laugh, picking up the joint to take another hit.

You inhale, exhaling into the air, and hold it out for Clark to take again. He sips from your water bottle and gives it to you in exchange for the joint.

Holding it between two fingers, he brings it to his lips. You watch his mouth curl around the tip, and your brain conjures up the vision of what else that boy’s mouth can do. He takes the joint out of his mouth, holding his breath for a few seconds, then blows it out slowly. He gives it back to you and leans back against the couch.

“I don’t think I feel any different yet. How long does it take to kick in?” he asks, crossing his arms and pouting.

It being his first time, he is completely unaware that he is already high. His body language is different; Clark Kent doesn’t slouch even a little. He also certainly doesn’t fidget; his hands suddenly become very interested in the material of his pullover.

“You’ll feel it sooner than you think,” you mumble, the joint between your lips as you speak.

Twenty minutes later, Clark tells you exactly what the last straw was that ended his relationship with Lois. He pauses to take a hit, handing it back to you as he exhales. “But it was always whatever she wanted. I treat her like a queen. And she goes and blows Jimmy-fucking-Olsen. Then she lies about it after Jimmy comes clean to me. I…,” he trails off, looking over at you and shaking his head as he laughs.

“What?” you question when you realize he stops talking.

“Nothing. I just… I think I’m high,” he giggles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling when he smiles at you.

“Besides being high, can you describe how you feel?” You press, wanting to know just how high he is.

“I feel lighter. Clear…er? Is it clearer or more clear? Whatever. I think I also just figured out how I want to finish that article on The Wayne Foundation,” he explains, leaning back so he is lying on his back with his head on your lap. “Is this ok? Your lap looked so comfortable,” he wonders aloud, looking up at you.

That’s when you realize three fundamental truths at the same time. 

1. Clark is single. 

2. Clark is literally in your lap.

3. The crush you have on Clark is swiftly turning into lustful infatuation.

Bringing yourself back to the present, you smile at him and say, “Yeah, of course it’s ok.” You focus on the heat radiating from your best friend as he makes himself comfortable so close to your thirsty pussy. 

“You are the best,” he replies, closing his eyes as your hand finds its way into his curls.

“This cool?” you dare, hoping that you can continue to push the boundary between friendship and something more.

As if the groan from the back of his throat wasn’t enough, he voices his satisfaction. “More than cool. I love having my hair played with. Feel free to go to town on me.”

Oh, the importance of phrasing.

This man is not going to make it easy on you.

You’re explaining to Clark about that episode of Bob’s Burgers where Bob and Linda accidentally get high after eating cookies laced with marijuana at their accountant’s office. “So, anyway. Bob, Linda, and the accountant build a pillow fort from the cushions on his couch, and somehow it makes them feel safer which I get because pillow forts were the height of safety when we were kids. And sometimes, people feel safer thinking about the simplicity of their childhood,” you rattle on, leaning forward to grab your water bottle and forgetting about Clark’s head, which is still very much in your lap.

An oomph is spoken into your boobs, and you shoot straight up to a standing position and knock Clark off your lap and onto the floor. 

“Shit!” he cries from his spot on the floor.

“Fuck, Clark! I’m so sorry! Are you ok?” You cringe, your hand touching your forehead as you watch him pull himself up.

“Hey, hey. It’s cool, I’m fine,” he reassures, his hand grabbing yours to take it away from your face. With the other hand, he grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Tilting your head up, he smiles and counters, “Are you ok?”

Yeah. Fine. My tits were just thrust into your face for a bit there. Oh, and you have no idea that I like you. And that pesky curl is falling into your pretty eyes again. And your handsome face is close enough to-

One second, you’re staring at his smile; the next second, you’re attacking his mouth with yours. His lips are just as pillowy and soft as they look. At first, the kiss is timid. Surprise gives way to need as he deepens the kiss. His tongue seeks solace as it slides against the seam of your lips. Granting him entry, he licks into your mouth like an explorer discovering new lands. 

His hands find their way to your hips, bringing you impossibly close. He feasts on every whimper that leaves you, peppering in some moans of his own. This is the kiss of a man waiting for a moment like this. At least, that’s how it feels.

Begrudgingly, you slowly break away from Clark. His kiss-swollen pink lips beg to be reunited with yours, but you must prove this is real. You look up into his dilated eyes, noting how blue is almost completely taken over by black. 

You open your mouth to speak, but Clark beats you to it.

“Unless you are about to tell me you don’t want this, please just kiss me again,” he breathes, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what’s more intoxicating. This drug or having you so close to me.”

Instead of worrying about what this means, you throw caution to the wind. Tilting your head, you slot your lips with his, devouring the subtle whimper that escapes him. From nervous to commanding, you feel Clark’s demeanor change as his hands wander over your body.

He picks you up by the waist, your legs instinctually wrapping around him. With you in his arms, he walks blindly to your bedroom. Once he lays you down, he covers your body with his. The hard length against your mound gives you pause, but you quickly recover as you angle your hips to meet his.

Clark breaks the kiss to sit up and remove his pullover and shirt. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he watches you scan his torso while you bite your lip. Leaning down, he tugs at the hem of your shirt, wanting you to get rid of it. 

You oblige, now topless in front of your best friend for the first time. You don’t have time to freak out over that information because Clark hooks his fingers in your leggings, his eyes begging for permission. You raise your hips, and he pulls them down your legs along with your underwear. 

You sit up as he chucks his sweatpants, his heavy erection now visible. Your first thought is, “Now that is a pretty dick.”

“Thank you,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” You wonder aloud, already knowing the answer.

Clark smiles, nodding at you before coaxing you to lay back. He sinks between your legs, holding them open to kiss your thighs. He teases you a bit, licking and nipping at your mound and outer labia until you wiggle your hips and whine. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Patience, please,” he cautions, shaking his head at you. He winks at you, diving fully into your snatch and sucking your clit between his lips. 

You throw your head back in ecstasy as his tongue slides over your swollen button. Humming while sucking on your nub is a fucking power move, and your hands tangle in his hair. You dig your heels into his back as he laps up the juices that accumulate at your entrance. Looking down at him as he worships at the altar of your body, you are taken aback as he peeks up at you over your mound.

With your eyes locked on each other, he watches as he tips you right over the edge. He groans into your pussy, his mouth and chin soaked, as your walls contract around nothing. The euphoria of being high mixes with the joy of being with someone new for the first time.

But this isn’t just anybody; this was your best friend. Warmth and comfort exist between you, allowing you to feel safe enough to fall and that Clark will catch you.

You come down as he plants a kiss on your mound, grazing his lips up your tummy. When he is back above your face, he runs the tip of his dick across your wet folds. He maintains eye contact while he slides in for the first time. 

Once he is fully seated inside you, he lets you adjust to his size before he withdraws slightly and thrusts forward. The wet squelch of your pussy and the smack of your bodies against one another are music to your ears. Clark’s grunts as he fucks into you only fuel your impending second climax.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Too good. Not going to last long,” he warns, sitting up on his knees as his hands go to your waist. Throwing his head back, he growls and picks up the pace, using your body like his personal fucktoy.

Your back arches as he repeatedly hits that hidden bundle of nerves. A searing fire erupts in your belly as your cunt clamps down on his dick, spasming and coating it with your cream.

“Good girl! That’s it. Fucking come for me, just like that,” he encourages. “Oh, shit. I’m right fucking behind you. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck.”

You lock your legs around his waist, keeping him right where he is as his dick spasms and fills you to the brim. Your hands smooth down his big chest, feeling the muscles ripple as he comes down from what is probably the most intense orgasm he has ever felt. He stills soon enough, breathing back to normal as his softening length slips from you.

Flopping down next to you, Clark wraps an arm around you. You curl into his side, an arm across his stomach, and a leg thrown over his. Contented silence fills the room as you both take in this unforeseen turn of events.

Clark’s hand makes idle patterns on your back as you lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. You close your eyes for only a moment, missing Clark smiling at you. He gives you a quick peck on the top of your head, causing you to tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“You hungry?” you guess, feeling a bit peckish yourself.

“Yes!” he exclaims.

“Good. I know a great place down the street that makes the best samosas. Does Indian food sound good?” you ask, already tasting the rich spices of the food.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, picking up his arm to let you get up from the bed to grab your phone, watching your hips sway as you walk out to the other room.

Once back in bed, you order various dishes for the both of you. While you wait for the food, you pass a joint back and forth and steal a kiss or two. You decide there is plenty of time for you and Clark to talk. There is no use in killing the vibe for heavy stuff.

With the way Clark is looking at you, there’s not much to talk about anyway. 

🍃The End🍃

A/N: I would love to know what you think!!! Feedback is appreciated!

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[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[frownyalfred]

me dropping in random pieces of lore like JK Rowling: actually in eye in the sky the only reason J’onn isn’t around helping Kal control Bruce’s mind via telepathy is because he was forced to use his powers on Bruce (to reveal the location of his bases, children, fall back resources etc) and Bruce, under torture, reversed the telepathic link out of pure desperation and broke J’onn. Made him catatonic, or near to it. Not on purpose, maybe, but through the sheer weight of his horror at revealing those locations to Kal and the Regime. And J’onn, on his way out of Bruce’s mind before becoming catatonic, acquiesced to Bruce’s silent plea and erased the memories with the last of his coherence. So Bruce had a jagged hole in his mind on purpose. And I’m sure it hurts.

[blackynsupremacy]

CLARK KENT HELPING YOU TAKE OUT YOUR BRAIDS HEADCANONS

pairing: henry cavill!clark x blackfem!reader

fandom: DC

this was brewing in my head while actually taking out my braids today. plus, i wanted to give my baby henry a shot at this.

summary: it’s that time again! time to take down those 1-2 month old braids to prepare for your next fresh set. the only problem is, it’s raining, you’re tired, and you know it’s gonna take forever. yeah even getting your hair taken down, washed, detangled, and dried can be a hassle. fortunately, your fiancé, clark kent, is always happy to help with the process.

contains: lots of words, some things are based on true events, self insert, fluff, romance, established relationship, you and clark are simps, you and clark being fine, nudity but no smut, clark being a green flag, cuddling, kissing.

taglist: @rosiestalez @afrowrites @afrogirl3005 @simply-the-best23 @jkr820 @zombiehe4rt @elitesanjisimp @sabrinasopposite @gxuxhdjdu @tryingtograspctrl @ellethespaceunicorn

(i know i didn’t ask if ya’ll wanted to be tagged, but y’all are mutuals that consistently interact with my posts, so this is how i’m showing my appreciation! thank you! let me know if any of yall want to be tagged in my next blurb. again thank yall and i love my mutes)

• work was work today.

• it’s raining like hell.

• but good news, you’re getting your hair done this weekend! ain’t nothing like a fresh set of braids.

• the bad news, you gotta take out the old braids, wash/condition/detangle, and blow dry your hair all before your appointment. (yk how these new hair stylists be)

• girl, you’re dead tired, but you know you need to start asap!

• good news again though! your man clark kent is already home and you know he’s always down to help with your hair.

• ya’ll have been dating for 4 years before he popped the question a month ago on your anniversary.

• one thing about clark kent, he’s gonna hype up your hair no matter what style.

• he believes you’re stunning whether you have braids, twists, a lace front, locs, a slick back ponytail, a silk press or, your natural. he loves it!!

• he loves to watch you style it on your own or if you’re following along to a youtube tutorial.

• you’ve taught him a thing or two like taking down braids, detangling, applying edge control, and even helping you to wash and condition it!

• he catches on pretty fast and follows your instructions to a tee.

• his love language is acts of service and when it comes to your hair, he wants to make sure he does it properly.

• he told you he wants to continue learning because he can see himself helping out with your future daughter’s hair, so why not start with his future wife?

• this man is going to be the death of you.

• you see clark sitting on the couch with his laptop. as soon as he hears the door shut followed by your sigh of exhaustion, he’s already putting that to the side and zooming in your direction to take your bag, umbrella, and jacket off your hands.

• this man is teeth rotting sweet. how’d you get so blessed?

• he greets you with a warm embrace and plants a kiss atop of your head. he peeps that new growth, but he won’t mention it until you do.

• you both take a seat on the couch and have a brief conversation about each other’s day. you sigh again and run a hand through your hair one last time.

• “it’s about that time, clark. i’m getting my hair done soon and i need to start taking my braids down, but i’m so tired!”

• you whine and lean your head on his broad shoulder before you peer your “please help me” doe eyes into his blue ones that were hiding behind his glasses. he doesn’t hesitate to keep that eye contact either. it’s so intense yet intimate. you almost look away because even after 4 years, clark can still get you a bit flustered from time to time.

• “baby, would you like to help me out again? i promise you’re not gonna have to do all the work. i just need some assistance to get this done faster.”

• you playfully pout and bat your lashes. you already know the answer, but this brought you joy. you knew he was waiting for an opportunity to help with your hair again.

• he shows off those pearly whites before he enthusiastically responds, “i’d never thought you’d ask. you go change into something more comfortable, i’ll handle the rest, and we can get started.”

• he lays a chaste kiss to your lips and pats your behind to signal for you to handle your business and you don’t hesitate to do so.

• by “handling the rest”, clark gathers the necessities: 2 pairs of scissors, a detangling comb, 4 hair ties for sectioning, a plastic bag from that one drawer in the kitchen, your satin bonnet, and an order of chinese takeout placed on doordash.

• clark was waiting on the couch and he gleamed when he saw you come back clad in a white tank, no bra, grey cotton shorts, and one of his oversized, plaid flannels.

• as soon as you found yourself comfortable on the couch, clark handed you a pair of scissors and ya’ll got to work at cutting the braids shorter before you both section off your hair into 4 parts and start unbraiding from the front.

• you started on the right side, while clark took over for the left.

• you obviously know of clark’s abilities, his extraterrestrial heritage, and his intense duties as superman. he makes sure his powers can be of help in the most important areas of his life, one of them being your relationship.

• he’s had some practice with unbraiding and his fingers moves like clockwork. he moves at a delicate, quick pace and uses his keen eye to make sure your hair doesn’t get tangled or pulled, so there’s no unnecessary breakage. braid by braid, each one is removed out of your head and into the empty, plastic grocery bag that’s placed between you two.

• he’s seen you sometimes get it tangled and you would be quick to just cut it off, but with his aid, you’ve been doing that less frequently.

• after about 30 minutes, clark can already hear the doorbell ring and footsteps walking away. the food’s here.

• he opted for contactless delivery this time because he knew he just had one more braid….and done!

• he urges you to give your hands a break from unbraiding your side and to wash them because your dinner has arrived. he chuckled as you perked up hearing that because you were hon-grey!!

• he also takes it upon himself to gently place your satin, royal blue bonnet on your head.

• it’s his absolute favorite because it’s patterned with his iconic red and gold family crest!

• you have a friend who owns a small business of designing bonnets, durags, and head scarves with the cutest patterns imaginable for black nerds like you.

• they got some with superheroes, anime characters, hogwart house symbols, disney, you name it!!

• 2 years ago, you asked them to commission a bonnet to match his heroic attire.

• this was to show him that you’re proud of his kryptonian roots and that you 100% support him being one of the world’s most selfless heroes along with the other members of the justice league.

• you sometimes worry for his life, but he always tries his best to make it back to you in one piece.

• but girl, that bonnet had him geeking when you showed it to him!! his face heated with a bright hue of pink before he plants a billion kisses all over your face. his voice never ceasing his appreciation and eternal love for you.

• you both chill for a few minutes to eat and watch some tv.

• you stretch your hands, placed your bonnet on the coffee table and resumed to unbraiding the last strand on the front before sectioning it off with a hair tie and starting on the back of the right side. it seems that time moves slower (or faster) as your fingers meticulously unravel each braided strand.

• clark is half way done with his entire side. his brows raise at the sound of your soft groan of what seemed to be pain and exhaustion.

• “babe, my fingers are starting to cramp and so are my arms.” you gripe and pause your movements to massage out the stiffness in your fingers.

• clark also pauses what he’s doing. he delicately grasps your hands into his, sprinkling tiny pecks on each aching knuckle. his pink lips lingers on the rock that adorns the fourth knuckle of your left hand before those baby blues gaze into your own eyes.

• you could clearly see your worn reflection in his pupils, but you lovingly smile as you know what he’s about to say.

• “c’mere, beautiful. let me take care of the rest while you sit and relax. it’s just a few more and it’s nothing i can’t handle, so it’ll be my pleasure.”

• that��s true. clark’s an invincible kryptonian. unless your hair was laced with some green k, a cramp within the joints of his digits wouldn’t be possible. if you ask, he would one day take out your braids all by himself without you having to lift a finger and he’d be in pure bliss of taking that burden off your plate.

• he spreads his thighs apart. the large palms of his hands encircle around your waist to shift your body in between his legs before his fingers get back to tenderly remove the last remaining braids.

• as he does so, you simply enjoy each other’s presence. ya’ll would be cracking jokes, planning suggestions for the wedding, your jobs, and a myriad of other topics to kill time.

• about 30 more minutes pass by and your braids are finally out! he leans back feeling accomplished and marvels at how much your hair has grown over the month.

• “may i?” he politely asks. his expectant eyes glancing into yours for approval.

• “of course, kal.” you grin. it’s like seeing a child light up in a candy store, he’s so elated.

• you feel more at ease and lean into his touch as his fingers lovingly caress through your natural hair and scalp.

• you know that he just wants to feel your hair in it’s natural state. it’s not out of a fetish, but out of pure fascination, so you let him!

• you love that even though you’ve been together for 4 years and he’s helped you with your hair on multiple occasions, the curious kryptonian wonders why he always has to ask you before touching your hair.

• as a journalist, he’s gonna conduct his own research.

• he educates himself and he understands the history of that one boundary in your community, so he always asks you before touching your hair or he waits for you to offer.

• he’s not even human and he understands the basic human decency of not to reach out and touch someone’s hair out of nowhere.

• you sigh in relief and thank clark with a kiss before you go to dispose the plastic bag of worn out braids to the kitchen and into the large garbage can. you turn around and lean up against the sink.

• now it’s time to wash, condition, detangle, and dry.

• clark already knows the next step. he stands from his position on the couch and stretches his back muscles. he moderately saunters to the arched threshold that separates the kitchen and living room. his tall stature works in his favor as he casually raises his arms with his hands gripping the arch that’s a few inches above his head.

• you know exactly what pose i’m trying to poorly describe to the best of my ability. it happens to be one of those non-sexual turn ons that men do without them realizing.

• you go into a bit of a hypnotic state as you stare at his bulging biceps. you also take notice of how his white t-shirt raises up to expose a small section of his sculpted abdomen. the raven tresses on his skin that perfectly matches the messy curls on his head form a trail straight down to his—

• the trance is broken by the baritone voice of your fiancé.

• “my eyes are up here, angel. were you even listening to me?” he flirtatiously quips and tilts his head with a playful smirk curving on his lips, lowering his arms to cross them over his chest.

• like some suave lady killer, he approaches you and places his index under your chin to shift your gaze to his.

• girl, not you getting caught in 4K! you know that man is fine, but you got to finish off your hair. there’s no time to waste when it comes to that, so you must stay focused.

• you can’t help, but feel the heat of embarrassment rush on your melanated cheeks and giggle nervously before you confess.

• “i’m sorry, clark! after all of these years, you still get me sprung. now, what were you saying, boo? ”

• “it’s no worries, (n/n). don’t doubt that you’ve got the same effect on me too.” he blushes himself, beaming at the compliment and pecks your forehead, nose, and lips before he resumes his question.

• “would you like to wash in the sink or shower?”

• he bursts into a joyous laugh as you don’t hesitate to choose the shower.

• of course he was hoping you’d say that, but you shut down the idea because you just want to kill two birds with one stone, wrap this up, and cuddle in bed.

• he understands where you’re coming from and it’s no pressure at all. you both love when you two get down in the bedroom, but you share a common belief that spending quality time is the key to true intimacy.

• he takes your hand and leads you both to your shared bathroom.

• he puts his glasses on the sink, switches on the shower and checks for the perfect temperature that’s not too hot for your scalp, but not too cool for your body.

• you go to obtain large drying towels, african net wash cloths, and disposable shower caps. you then seek out the shampoo, conditioner, and detangling cream to nourish and clean your hair.

• you return to the bathroom with the items and clark gets your second opinion on the water temperature. you get a feel and let him know that it’s just right before you both strip of your clothes until you’re both completely naked. you make sure your engagement ring is placed in the velvet box it came in and set it on your drawer before you both step under the running water.

• clark reaches up to detach the shower head. before making a move, he asks if you need any further assistance in this step and you gladly accept, closing your eyes as he handles the shower head to pre-rinse both of your heads for a well deserved cleaning.

• as he puts the shower head back where it belongs, you let him know that you want to do the shampooing for both you and him.

• yep, clark uses your products on his hair!

• one time after your fifth date, he hugged you and his sensitive nose stealthily picked up on the natural, sweet, and intoxicating scent of the hair lotion that seeped into your scalp. he thought at first it was your perfume, which he loves too, but he was mistaken!

• “my god, you smell amazing.”

• clark takes you out to dinner and feeds your ego! okay, kal-el!

• he couldn’t get enough of it!

• this aroma— it was like something fresh and made from natural ingredients without any harsh chemicals.

• it reminds him of the homegrown warmth and love that his parents, jonathan and martha raised him up in back in smallville.

• if it wasn’t so soon (or the fact that he hasn’t told you his secret then), he would literally fly you out there in 10 minutes.

• when you moved in together, he would sometimes sneak a bit of your shampoo and conditioner in his hair routine once or twice a week until you finally caught up to him!

• you scolded clark a bit for using your products without permission because you would’ve let him use a little if he’d ask and plus, that stuff was expensive!

• he looked genuinely remorseful and apologized. “i’m sorry, (f/n). it was wrong of me to sneak like that, but i just wanted to use it because it’s like i’m taking a part of you with me everywhere i go. that way even though we’re apart, i don’t feel so alone in this universe anymore.”

• that almost had you crying and throwing up. he’s as big a simp for you as you are for him, so you couldn’t stay mad at him!

• you had an agreement to share or double up as long as you both are putting in for it.

• it was definitely no problem for clark because besides it’s sentimental value, it does wonders for his hair! it looks healthier, shinier and it feels softer compared to those 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner concoctions that he’s been using since high school.

• he loves your weekly beauty supply store excursions. he doesn’t care if the 6 items in your cart is $35, he’s paying for it all!

• clark’s aqua pupils observes from behind as you pour a generous amount of shampoo into your palm, rubbing the other against it, and massaging the bubbly, white substance through your scalp. your fingers work to make sure every single hair on your head is lathered in the coconut scented liquid and he notices that you’re careful not to tangle it.

• his own trance is broken by a “your turn! now lean down a bit, my love.” you’re now waiting for him to follow through, leaning his head down and forward to make his now drenched, dark hair right in your view and in your reach.

• he exhales at the contact of the cold shampoo descending on his scalp. as your fingers massage through his hair, his eyes close and a smile of ecstasy plays on his lips.

• your touch, the scent of the product, and the fact that if he opened his eyes again at this very moment, your breasts would be right in his face is clark’s idea of his personal heaven.

• you both take turns to rinse your own hair and each others to double check that all of the suds of the shampoo are gone.

• you repeat the process again, but this time it’s with conditioner. once that’s applied, you both put on the shower caps to let it rest and do its thing.

• you both use that time to talk some more and thoroughly clean your bodies of the filth of the work day using the african net wash clothes and aromatherapy body wash.

• after one last rinse of ya’lls hair, you cut the water off and grab the towels set out to wrap around your soaked bodies and dripping hair before walking to your shared bedroom.

• fortunately, you and clark have your own respective hair dryers, so that step doesn’t take too long before you take on the final boss: detangling.

• still clad in your towels, you and clark apply the detangling cream through your scalps. as he uses his comb to effortlessly rake through his noir mop, you just kind of stand and stare at the detangling brush in your hand.

• if you’re tender headed, you’ve probably lived the nightmare over and over with your heavy handed mother tugging the comb through the knotted ends, jolting your head and neck forward as you whined in pain. of course she got mad at you for that and said that it didn’t even hurt.

• you’re grown now! with your own bills, home, car, job, and man. there’s way more stressful things in the world than getting some knots out.

• you start the teeth of the comb from the root of your hair and hear the wet stickiness of the detangling cream as it glides to the end.

• okay, we’re getting somewhere! no pain or the pulling of knots for the next few strands near the front. now let’s start on the back. comb one, comb two, comb three—

• “ow, ugh!” you yelp. cringing as you hit a knot at the end.

“ woah! sweetheart, are you alright?”

• clark immediately halts his actions and puts his comb down. he takes one step behind you to examine the situation.

“please, lord, don’t tell me it’s tangled that bad.”

• you attempt to comb without breaking your hair out and the more you try, the more painful it gets. your arms and hands started to stiffen again.

• you lowkey wanted to cry because you just want this to be done and sleep peacefully in clark’s arms for the rest of the night.

• you immediately ask clark for help and he once again, comes to the rescue. he was gentle and comforting, but straightforward when it came to getting those knots.

• he talks you through it to make this a little easier.

• “i’m so sorry, honey. this is gonna hurt a bit, but we’re gonna knock these out and go straight to bed in no time, okay? i love you.” he kisses your temple before he proceeds with the task.

• several minutes of detangling are over! clark gets a second shower of kisses all over his face as you thank him again.

• you discard your towels and replace them with your nightclothes. clark’s shirtless with his sweats and you’re comfortable in another one of clark’s shirts with a fresh pair of cotton shorts.

• you put your hair in an afro puff ponytail and as always, you let your fiancé do the honors of placing your superman patterned bonnet on over your hair like a king crowning his queen.

• he looks at you with such pride and joy. seeing you happy feels so good it hurts. it makes him feel as weak as when he’s around green k. maybe even more.

• clark wouldn’t feel too comfortable to wrap his hair up just yet, so you suggested he uses a satin pillowcase instead.

• speaking of pillows, you look at the clock and realize it’s gotten late. you and clark shut off the lights and retire your exhausted bodies into your bed.

• you lay in a fetal position and turn to face him. kryptonians don’t usually need that much sleep as humans do, so you weren’t surprised that he was still awake.

• you both gaze and admire each other in comfortable silence. your hand reaching to his jaw. your brown toned fingertips caress the pale yet angelic face of the man you love. he closes his eyelids and leans into your warm touch.

• like a magnet, you drew closer to his face until your, full yearning lips rested on his. it doesn’t take him a second to melt into it, his hands clinging to your waist to rest your figure on top of his. your palms find themselves to rest on each side of his jawline.

• between each kiss, the moonlight illuminates the wide smiles you exchange to each other.

• after you two get your fill of each other’s affection, you lay your head on clark’s chest with his arms still acting as a shield around your back. he pecks your temple and is pulled in by the music of your steady heartbeat. he looks down to see your eyes pointed toward his and your hands folded flat on his chest.

• “thank you, clark. thank you so much for your help, your patience, your kindness, your love, and your compassion. not to mention that you are so fine, you still get me giggling like a schoolgirl at my big age! whether you’re superman, clark kent, or kal-el, i just thank you for being you. i love you, clark kent and that’ll never change.” your lips curve with a beaming smile.

• “(f/n), you need to know that everything i do, i do it for you and i’d do it again. you’re the most beautiful person and i’m not just talking about your stunning beauty. your heart is golden. despite everything that we’ve been through, it’s always been you. you understand me, you give me grace and hold me accountable, you still believe in me when i don’t even believe in myself. that’s how i knew i had to ask you to marry me, so i love you more, (f/n) kent and that’ll never change.”

• “look at us! we’ve only been engaged for a month and it sounds like we’re exchanging vows already.”

• “that sounds like a great start to me.”

• you both laugh and he gives you one last lingering kiss on your lips. your heads drop and your eyelids close before you take your peaceful slumber in each other’s presence.

[bones4918]

So basically, after some very helpful person on twitter sent me more details about the Star Wars in universe calendar, I recalculated my clone wars timeline a little. Very little has been moved around, but now you can look at the war through the lens of a 10 or 12 month calendar, and multiple galactic holidays are timelined too!

[diabolicalworldwriter]

there's something sadly funny about the way that Kaladin goes into literally every situation thinking "Too bad I'm not cool anymore 😔"

I mean. I get it. Depression fucks your brain up and you feel detached from yourself and any skills you have or had. The PTSD and chronic fatigue are keeping him from doing things he once managed with far less effort. And it's rather impossible to feel like you can just... do things like you used to when you're struggling at a basic level to simply be.

Still, literally everyone who knows him is like "Kaladin you're so storming cool" and he goes "They're referring to the person I was, who is dead. I'll never be cool again. I'm sorry."

The most hilarious thing? He walks into these moments, thinking 'too bad', and then he does the most objectively amazing thing possible while everyone else just watches in awe.

Kaladin, three seconds after absolutely changing everyone's outlook on life: Aw, it's too bad the person I just was died again. Guess I have to find something else to be cuz I sure can't pull that off anymore.

[crazybiscuit]

Give 'em Pumpkin to Talk About

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader (ft. Jon and Conner Kent) Summary: Ma Kent sent Clark home with way too much pumpkin to carve... Warnings: No warning, just fluff and family bonding :) Word Count: 1459 Credits: @strangergraphics thank you for the dividers! A/N: This is actually my first official fic, so I hope you all enjoy it. There will likely be mistakes but I will revise all of the fics I'll be publishing this month at a later date.

“Clark, these pumpkins are ridiculously massive,” you remark dryly, staring at the three large pumpkins taking up the entirety of your dining table.

Clark lets out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ma insisted that I take them with me for the kids…”

“Did you fly them here? Never mind, don’t answer that, I already know the answer…,” obviously he's Superman so this would’ve been easy for him, but it's difficult to wrap your mind around how strong your husband is at times.

He clears his throat, sensing that you don't seem too upset, “Do you think the boys will like them?”

You're still a little disturbed to see your kitchen overtaken by pumpkins but you can’t help but let out a small laugh, finally setting down your purse on a chair by the kitchen island, “No doubt Jon will love them, that's for sure. Not sure about Conner..."

"I didn't know your parents grew pumpkins... Are these naturally grown?” you ask, approaching the table to touch one of the toddler sized pumpkins curiously.

Clark is amused by the question and nods, walking up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “They don't, a friend gave them to them but they are in fact naturally grown."

He stays quiet for a second before continuing, "You know these pumpkins are actually fairly small compared to our record holders.”

You try to hide your shock as you look back at him with a small smile, "I'm not sure if I should be horrified or impressed, Smallville."

He chuckles, kissing the top of your head before letting go of you, “I'll have to show you the contest one of these days."

He begins to grab his coat and car keys as he glances at the time, "I’m going to pick up the boys, Conner's going to be landing soon and Jon probably wants to greet him at the airport."

You nod, kissing him quickly, careful not to hit his glasses, "Alright, I'll get started with dinner in the meantime. Be quick!"

About 40 minutes later, you recognize the familiar sound of a small child running down the hall and you set down your knife to wipe your hands. You then hear the usual sound of Clark fumbling with his keys and you hold back an amused smile, walking towards the door. Before he even gets the chance to find his house key, you unlock the door and open it.

Clark jumps slightly, feigning shock to maintain his persona, and lets out a slight laugh, “Oh! H-hi, Darling.”

"Hi, Love," you greet him again, glancing at the two boys with him, "You should consider carrying less keys when you go out."

You give the two young boys a smile as your son runs up to you, hugging your waist, "And hello, boys. How was school?"

Conner gives a wave, removing his sunglasses, and drops his backpack by the door, “Alright. I got out early, so not too eventful.”

Clark walks past you and Jon, carrying Conner's suitcase to the guest room. You give Conner an apologetic smile, running your hand through Jon's dark hair, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Conner. We figured buying you a flight would be less suspicious than having you show up here using your abilities-"

Conner smiles, shrugging, "It's fine. I get it, I'm just glad I can be here for the weekend."

You turn your attention back to the nine year old next to you, "How were your classes, Jon?"

The boy brightens up, “We had a quiz today and I got 100 on it! And Ms. Sally also let us pair up for science class!”

Jon keeps talking for a while longer and Clark ruffles his hair when he finishes, "That's great, kid. Conner, I set up your bed and put your bags in there."

"Alright, if you boys are ready, I almost finished dinner and then Clark has a surprise for you two."

Once you all finish eating dinner (on the kitchen island because of your pumpkin problem), Clark finally shows the boys the pumpkins and the carving has begun.

"How many pumpkin pies do you think we could make with each one of these?" you ask jokingly as you scoop out the filling of Jon's pumpkin, glancing at Clark and Conner, who are basically done hollowing out their pumpkins.

Conner glances up from his work, Jon practically hanging off of him as he works on his Jack-o'-lantern, as he responds with a small smirk, "Too much."

"There's no such thing as too much!" Jon exclaims, stepping away from Conner, letting the teen breathe, "When can I start cutting?"

You smile slightly, "Soon, I still need to hollow out your pumpkin."

The nine year old nods, surprisingly patient. Clark notices your struggling to keep up with his and Conner's super speed and he carefully takes your hand, "I'll finish that up. You start tracing the face for our Jack-o'-lantern."

You hesitate slightly, not wanting him to work for you, "No, it's al-"

Your husband cuts you off with his sweet smile, "I insist. Anyways, I trust your artistic skills over mine any day."

With that, you resign and begin tracing a fun design on your shared pumpkin, "Boys, do you think I should make a cat or a witch?"

The two kids look up from their tasks, sharing a glance. Conner speaks up, looking back down at the sketch he's helping Jon with, "Why not both?"

You thought about it for a second before nodding, "That's probably a good idea actually. There's a lot of blank space to use."

The next few minutes are filled with small talk as everyone starts focusing on transferring their sketches onto the large pumpkins. Clark helps Jon to the best of his ability, struggling a little to recreate the design Conner helped Jon with. Luckily for the Superman, his son didn't seem upset at all with his mediocre art skills.

The peaceful atmosphere, however, has given you the urge to mess with your poor husband, seeing he is likely too focused on his artwork to notice your scheming.

You glance at the large bowl of pulp and seeds sitting on the counter next to you and you grab a handful, motioning to the boys to be quiet. Conner's eyes widen slightly, catching on to your intentions and he pauses his sketching for a few seconds. Jon, on the other hand, is less discreet, giggling at the prospect of his father getting pranked.

Unfortunately, this giggling caught Clark's attention, "What's wr-"

You drop the pulp on his head, causing him to flinch for a few seconds as he processes what just happened. A few seconds later, he begins to laugh and turns to face you, "Alright, you asked for it!"

This marked the beginning of a food fight in your pristine kitchen, as Clark throws pulp back at you. You let out a small yelp, feeling the cold and slimy filling hit your skin. Conner grins and teams up with Jon, throwing their own handfuls of pumpkin pulp at Clark and you. 

You feign a gasp of offense as the boys betray you, "How could you? After I offered you both cookies!"

Your cries of playful outrage fall on deaf ears, "Sorry, mom. This is war!"

The food fight ended surprisingly soon as you all ran out of ammo, the seeds and pulp covering nearly every inch of the dining room. Each one of you is also covered in an absurd amount of pumpkin.

"White flags?" everyone nods, still laughing.

"I'll quickly clean this up, you three start carving so we can put these outside tonight." 

You glance at Clark, a little surprised, "You sure?"

"I've got it, It'll be faster like that anyways," he says, leaning down to kiss you smiling. You happily kiss him back and allow to pull away to clean.

It takes him barely ten minutes to clean but by that time, Conner has finished his detailed pumpkin and you are about halfway done guiding Jon through his pumpkin carving journey. 

"Thank you so much, Love," you say, smiling as he begins carving your design.

"It's really no big deal," Clark responds.

By the time you are all finished, you have three drastically different pumpkins: Conner's being a detailed design of his favorite horror villain, you had decided to go with a more simple design of a witch with her cat, and Jon had a cute (though a little sloppy) design of Superman and Superboy on his pumpkin.

“Are they going to fit on the balcony you think?” you ask, both staring at the carved pumpkins.

“We’ll make it work,” Clark responds, kissing your cheek as the boys take pictures with their pumpkins.

[newvegascowboy]

"Hit me," Red says, apropos of nothing.

Although, Arcade muses to himself after a second of reflection, Red's motives are usually too impulsive and insane for Arcade to understand anyway.

"Why?"

"Because I want to see something," Red says. "So hit me."

"I'm not going to hit you, Red."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm-" Arcade cuts himself off. The word busy dies on his tongue. Red wouldn't buy it - they'd cornered him in a shady section of the fort, taking an over long break and debating the wisdom of having a smoke, free from under the eye of doctors who might tell him that he knows better. Like a specter, Red had appeared to alleviate his boredom. Or enable bad decisions. With Red, one never knew. "Because," Arcade finishes lamely.

Red grins, because it's a shitty excuse, and they both know it. "I know you're hidin' some muscle under that ratty old lab coat." One finger prods at Arcade's chest. He resists the urge to slap it away. "So use it."

"Usually if I hit someone, they've done something to deserve it," Arcade says.

Red's ever present smirk broadens. "Haven't I?"

Grudgingly, Arcade mutters, "Not lately."

"I could call you mean names if you like."

"You're a child." To Arcade's embarrassment, it comes out sounding fonder than he intends. This time, he does push the offending finger away.

Red huffs a little laugh, tilting their chin up. "I've been called worse."

"No doubt," Arcade says mildly.

"Prick."

Arcade laughs, a short snort of laughter he attempts to cover by looking away, towards the courtyard of the Fort, where Followers and Freesiders alike are bustling about. It's an overcast day - not cool by any means, humid and warm, but the world is taking advantage of the absence of the Mojave's merciless sun, however brief. Maybe, if they're lucky, it'll rain. The monsoons are fabulous, short lived, destructive and violent like everything else in this godforsaken desert, but Arcade would welcome the change of pace.

He turns his eyes back to Red, damnably two inches taller than him and always standing in such a way that forces Arcade to acknowledge it. "Work on your playground insults, cowboy. I'm not that easily riled."

"Liar," Red laughs. It is, regrettably, true. At least when it comes to Red. "Besides, I'm saving my better insults for when I need 'em."

"Do you anticipate needing them soon?"

Red shrugs. "You never know."

"No, you don't anticipate much," Arcade says. "Not much of a planner."

"I find that life is more exciting when it surprises me."

"I might agree with you," Arcade says, "If the surprises that usually involve you didn't take the form of bullets."

"Not always bullets. Sometimes bombs."

"Wonderful," Arcade says dryly.

"Come on," Red says, drawing the word out in a petulant whine unbecoming an outlaw of their fearsome reputation. "Don't be such a homebody. See something new."

"Where exactly are we going that you expect me to get into a fist fight?"

"The Ultra Luxe."

Arcade's mouth twitches. He glances Red up and down. "The Ultra Luxe," he repeats. "Tell me, are you planning on wearing dirty jeans and chaps, or did you have a set specifically made?"

"Ha ha," Red says bitingly, rolling their eyes. "I own nice clothes, asshole, I just don't run around the wasteland in rhinestones."

Arcade eyes the portion of Red's unbuttoned shirt, displaying a generous slash of tanned and muscled skin. Their rosary dangles from their neck today, glinting in the weak sun, over a belt buckle that reads 'Cocky'. "Maybe you should," he murmurs.

"I thought I was the one antagonizing you?"

"Do a better job," Arcade shoots back. "Or have you lost your touch?"

Red sniffs, drawing back and crossing their arms. "Prick," they say again.

"Why me?" Arcade asks. "Why not Veronica? Or Boone?" Or Cass, Red's one-time paramour - but he doesn't know if they're on speaking terms. Arcade isn't sure he knows the story there, and isn't sure he wants to.

Red snorts. "Boone? He's worse than I am for what I have in mind."

"And Veronica?" She's better at a fistfight than Arcade, that's certain.

"I already asked. Apparently, her version of a good night at the Luxe doesn't involve bloodshed."

"Neither does mine," Arcade mutters. Red only smiles. Sighing, Arcade pulls off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. "If I hit you, can we be done with this conversation? I do have work to do."

The look on Red's face says that Red does not believe him in the slightest, but they nod, stepping back. Arcade replaces his glasses and shrugs out of his lab coat, laying it over a nearby crate. He unbuttons his cuffs rolling up his shirtsleeves, and tries to ignore Red's smirk.

"I like the show, Gannon, I do. Really feel like I'm gonna get it."

"Keep running your mouth, and you will."

Red's grin turns sharklike. "Is that supposed to turn me off?"

Lifting his fists, Arcade sighs. "I don't think anything does," he says, and swings.

His fist hits nothing but air. Red sidesteps his first swing with ease. Arcade frowns, stepping forward and swinging again. Boots scuff the gravel as Red steps back, moving with an ease that someone their height, with the broadness of their shoulders and dense muscle, should not be inclined to possess. They continue for a few more blows, Arcade swinging and Red deftly sidestepping, until Arcade drops his hands.

"I thought you wanted me to hit you?" He huffs.

"Yeah, you're doing a piss poor job, aren't you?"

Red doesn't seem offended, a small smile picking up at the corner of their mouth. Warm leather flexes as Red's gloved hand squeezes his knuckles, then drops and gently pushes his fist away. "Never knew you had it in you to fight dirty, Gannon."

Growling, Arcade steps forward, going low and from the left. It's a low blow - Red's blindspot - but he's seen Red in action enough times that he isn't surprised when their left hand flashes up and catches his fist.

And - Arcade should know this. He knows how good Red is in a fight, knows that Red is intimately familiar with the anatomy of violence and anything involving it. If there is one thing Red does best above all, it is killing. Their blind spot would be a legitimate weakness if all Red's instincts didn't scream for them to compensate. If anyone managed to land that blow, Arcade has no doubt it would be the last thing they ever did.

"Maybe I just knew you wouldn't let me hit you."

Red's eyebrows raise the barest fraction. Arcade clears his throat, but doesn't glance away. "Well," Red says. "I am vain, I'll give you that much. I'd hate to let you ruin my good looks. You telegraph the shit out of your punches, by the way."

"Are we done here?"

"No." Red steps forward. Arcade's mouth thins. Gloved hands sieze Arcade's wrists before he can drop them. One boot slides between Arcade's legs, nudging his feet apart. "Bend your knees a little," Red murmurs. "There, like that. You're under-rotating your hips. Not putting as much power behind a punch as you could be. Gotta throw your body weight around a little, Gannon."

Red is close enough that all Arcade can smell is the mix of sweet tobacco and clove, leather and smoke that clings to Red's skin. There's something spicy underneath - pine, maybe. Cologne. Abruptly embarrassed, Arcade attempts to pull back, but Red's got a hold of his hands and their grip is firm.

Glancing up from under the frame of his glasses, Arcade watches as Red pulls his hand up. The knuckles of Arcade's right hand gently make contact with the left corner of Red's jaw. "There," Red says, voice soft and oddly intense. "You win."

Arcade doesn't have it in him to pull away. "Are we done?" He asks instead.

Slowly, Red releases him and steps back. They watch as Arcade unrolls his sleeves and retrieves his lab coat from the crate. Arcade shakes it out, lookjng for an excuse not to look at Red. Their little scuffle had gone unnoticed by the Followers at the Fort, but Arcade knows Julie will hear about it somehow, and will have stern words with him about fighting in the compound. What she doesn't understand, and what Arcade barely understands himself, is that it is seemingly impossible not to give Red exactly what they want. They talk around it, bicker and argue, and no matter how sound Arcade thinks his logic or willpower is, somehow he always caves.

When he finally looks up, the odd intensity that had possessed Red is gone, and they're smoking idly while leaning against the wall. Their eyes are turned out towards the compound, but they glance his way when Arcade looks up. Pushing off the wall, Red says, "I'll pick you up at seven."

"What?" Arcade says. "I never agreed to go to the Luxe with you!"

Red only blinks slowly. "Are you gonna wear that old lab coat," they start, "Or do you have something specially made?"

Arcade flushes. "You are such an asshole."

Red laughs and begins their retreat towards the gates. "Seven," they call, then turn on their heel and jog out of the fort.

Arcade sighs. Seven.

[dio-icarticaae]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Superman - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Steel (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, John Henry Irons/Clark Kent, Natasha Irons/Kara Zor El, Kon El | Conner Kent & Natasha Irons, Kon-El | Conner Kent & Kara Zor-El, Clark Kent & Kara Zor-El, Miles Duncan/John Henry Irons, John Henry Irons/Clark Kent/Lois Lane Characters: Clark Kent, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Natasha Irons, Kara Zor-El, Miles Duncan, Perry White, Ron Troupe, James "Jimmy" Olsen, Lois Lane, Steve Lombard, Lex Luthor, Bibbo Bibbowski, John Henry Irons, Lori Lemaris Additional Tags: Social Media, POV Outsider, Twitter, Superfamily (DCU), Humor, Texting, Daily Planet (DCU) Summary:

lizard @izziead hey has anyone else looked at Superman’s twitter acct recently? Cause it’s a bit weird REPLYING TO @izziead: june @jjamie wdym all Supes does on his account is retweet PSAs and JL announcements his account is sooo boring. REPLYING TO @jjamie: fabulous @shintstir Is this boring to you? [image ID: screenshot of superman liking a tweet saying “ACAB”] REPLYING TO @shintstir: june @jjamie WHAT?!?

Or: Clark forgets which account he's using. Oops.

Inspired by this post by @penny-anna

[ky-landfill]

[viking-raider]

The Golden Egg - Cotton Candy Fluff

Summary: It's Easter! So, you and Henry have an Easter Egg Hunt. One for Kal, then go head-to-head against each other, to see who can find their eggs the fastest.

But what happens, when Henry finds the Golden Egg, you left him.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Soft!Henry, Fluff, Kal, Short Person Joke, Competition, Easter, Competitive!Henry, Domestic Bliss, Instagraming, Surprise Ending

Inspiration: It's Easter. I wrote this in an hour. This video of Good.Boy.Ollie on instagram.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

“So, explain this to me again?” Henry laughed, folding his arms over his heaving chest, as he laughed.

“I wanna do an Easter Egg hunt for Kal.” You repeat to yourself, narrowing your eyes at your near hysterical boyfriend.

“The Bear doesn't get the concept of Easter, let alone an Easter Egg hunt, babe.” He howled, his curly head rolling back with its mirth.

“So!” You huffed, pouting at him. “I think it's cute. I also want us to do one. To see who can find the most. The fastest.”

Henry sobered up a tad at that. “All right, babe. You're on.” He smirked, cupping your face in his hands and gently kissing your forehead. “Which do you want to do first?”

“Kal.”

“Done.” He nodded, dropping his hands and looking over the colorful sea of plastic eggs and prizes to put inside of them, that you'd come home with a short time before. “You know, my fans would absolutely eat this all up.” He remarked to himself, biting the corner of his lip and thinking it over, then glanced at you.

“Can I film it?”

“If you want to, Puppy.” You replied, grabbing a four pack of jumbo eggs and ripped it open.

“Sweet, I'll be right back. While you figure out what you're doing--” He waved his hands over the cluttered dining table. “Here.” He chuckled, before rushing off.

Looking over the prizes, you picked out a cute dog toy. It was made of rubber and looked like a throwing stick. You had gotten it cause Kal was a beast of a chewer, when it came to his toys, and this one was supposed to be nearly indestructible. Fitting it inside the bright yellow, jumbo egg, you dropped a couple of Kal's favorite peanut butter and blueberry treats in with it, so he had something to sniff out, then closed it.

You had a reasonable amount of the eggs filled up for the hunts, when Henry finally came back into the dining room, kissing the back of your bent head.

“Everything is set up.” He informed you, casting his eyes over the booty. “You want some help?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” You replied, tilting your head back, smiling appreciatively at him.

“Is there a method to your madness?” He asked, pulling up a chair beside you.

“The eggs on the right are Kal's.” You motioned to the cluster. “I don't fancy getting a squeak toy or dog biscuits, during my hunt.”

Henry's face twisted and he shook his head. “No, I don't either.” He snorted, dropping some chocolates into the egg he grabbed.

“All right, here we go!” Henry exclaimed, grinning, as the two of you finished hiding the eggs, all while his phone recorded on a tripod, he planned on editing everything down later on. “Kal!” He called out and smiled, as the Bear came charging through the open slider and into the backyard.

“Are you ready to do your hunting?” He asked, bending over to scratch the Akita all over.

You and Henry had made sure to hide his eggs in, more or less, obvious places. But a couple had Kal working for them, like one small egg slipped between the braided fabric of his rope pull. Kal was slow at first, sniffing at the eggs, letting out little snorts as his nose picked up the scent of his treats inside of them. You were worried for a bit, that it was a flop. Making your heart sink. But when Kal found the stick toy, it was as if something magical sparked inside the Akita.

And he went wild.

Kal started zooming around the entire yard, diving into the manicured bushes and making them shake as he ran between them and the border fence. He rooted around the patio furniture, nearly knocking over Henry's big, green grill for a hot pink egg that was there; containing three different treats. He finally tackled the last egg, one of the jumbos, behind a large stone planter.

Bouncing around it so ecstatically, Henry couldn't take it from him to open and reveal what was inside.

“Kal.” Henry cracked up. “Let's see what Mama put in it for you, Bear!” He finally managed to swipe it away from the pup and crack it open, discovering the surprise. “Oh my god! Look, Kal!” He dissolved into a fresh fit of laughter, holding out a plush, taffy-pink, pig.

Kal bounced on his front paws, so he stood on his back legs and took the toy out of Henry's hand, finding the noise maker with his mighty jaws and causing the lightly stuffed pig to scream out a stream of oinks.

“Do you like it, Bear?” You giggled, grinning at him, relieved that Kal's egg hunt had ended so well.

“That pig is going to drive us bonkers, until he murders it.” Henry said, wiping tears from his bearded face.

“I know it is, but I couldn't help buying it.” You confessed, watching Kal go to town on the poor thing. “Look how cute it is, and he clearly loves it.”

“Right, well.” Henry sighed, composing himself. “Kal's hunt is over. Now, it's time for our Battle Egg-royal!” He proclaimed, a competitive expression coming over his face. “You're going first. So, go inside and I'll hide your eggs.”

“Very well.” You nodded, kissing his cheek.

“Mind yourself!” He called, as you headed inside with Kal. “No cheating!”

“I would never!” You huffed back at him, feigning insult.

Henry grabbed the basket of eggs he had made for you and got to work hiding them all over the backyard, pausing in front of camera for a moment, a cheeky look on his face, even though it wasn't live, he couldn't help it.

“No, watching my stream, babe!” He laughed, then went back to hiding the rest of his eggs.

Satisfied with where his eggs were, Henry opened the slider and called you back outside.

“I have the stopwatch pulled up on my mobile.” You said, handing it over to Henry.

“All right.” He nodded, taking it from you. “Ready. Set.”

He stood there for a moment and you stared at him.

“Henry!”

“Huh? Oh, right. GO!”

Rolling your eyes, you shot off the patio and started searching the area. Henry trailing after you. You found the first egg balanced on a stone column that a pot of flowers were situated on. Shaking it, you heard the egg-shaped chocolates inside. Henry held out your Easter basket, so you could store your found eggs and not worry about holding them or accidentally rediscovering them. You found a jumbo egg next, inside Henry's grill, which had you giggling.

“Oh, that's so cruel, Henry.” You huffed, finding your last three eggs lined up in a row, on top of the fence, out of your reach.

Henry smiled at you, triumphantly, his nose wrinkling cutely. “Hop, short stuff.”

“You'll pay for this later, Cavill.” You warned, narrowing your eyes at him and jumped for the eggs, just managing to grab them, without knocking them into the neighbor's yard on the other side.

“I doubt you can put anything out of my reach, Bean.” Henry quipped, winking at you, then glanced down at your phone. “Eighteen minutes.” He smiled, kissing your cheek. “Not a bad time, babe.”

“Thank you, now get your butt out of the yard!” You said, pointing towards the house.

“Yes, ma'am.” He nodded, obediently. “I'll take your basket inside with me.”

Biting your lip, you glanced around the yard and quickly got to work, trying to find the hardest places for him to find his eggs. Wanting payback for the shenanigans of those eggs on the fence. You even moved a few eggs a couple times, feeling like they were too easy to find, before you finally let Henry come back into the yard with you.

“It took you longer to hide them, than find them, sugar butt.” Henry commented, amused as he scanned the yard, trying to give himself a head start.

“I wasn't making it easy for you.” You said, setting up the stopwatch. “Ready. Steady. Go!” You barked, jumping up and down.

Henry quickly hurried off the patio, his first target was his grill. You had put an egg there for Kal and he had put one there for you. So, he had felt you'd follow that theme. But, alas, when he opened the hammered dome, he found it egg free. Eyes narrowing, he looked around and under it as well.

Still, no egg.

“Come on, Puppy.” You laughed, wickedly. “I said, I wasn't going to make it easy on you.”

“True.” He hummed back, shooting a narrow eyed look at you, before slowly scanning the yard again. “AH-HUH!” He exclaimed, spotting a small point of neon yellow under the hedge, that led towards the side of the house.

Making for the egg, Henry happened to catch the flicker of something out of the corner of his eye in the process and came to an abrupt stop. Turning towards it, he gently parted the flowers in the stone planter and reached inside, plucking out a pastel green egg. He held it up with a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling in the mid-afternoon sun.

“Two already!” He said, dropping the egg in his basket, and grabbed the other one.

From there, your strategy steadily went downhill. He found three more eggs within a span of a minute and five after that. You looked down at the stopwatch and felt your stomach clench. Henry's hunt was six minutes in and he had found almost all his eggs, leaving him on course to beat you.

“There you are, little bugger.” Henry grinned, finding the turquoise egg in the drain spout. “What's the time, love?” He asked, dropping it into the basket with the rest.

“Fifteen minutes.” You informed him, sighing.

Henry's arms shot up into the air. “Yes, I win!” He grinned, wiggling his muscular body in a victory dance.

“No.” You shook your head at him.

“What?” He frowned at you. “You found your last egg in eighteen minutes and I just found mine at fifteen, baby.” He explained to you, his arms falling back to his sides. “I beat you by three minutes.”

“But you missed one, Bear.” You told him, calmly.

“Where?” Henry snapped, blinking at you.

“Right there.” You said, pointing to a gold egg resting peacefully in the grass, at the edge of the paving stones, near his grill.

Henry's eyes narrowed at you. “What is this, babe?” He asked slowly, cocking his head at you. “There wasn't one there, when I started my egg hunt.”

“I don't know what to tell you.” You remarked, biting the inside of your cheek, fighting the twitching of your lips. “Perhaps you need glasses, old man.” You teased, as he crossed over to the egg. “Why don't you open it?” You suggested, once he had it in his hand.

“You do know it's Easter and not April Fool's day, don't you, honey?” He asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at you.

“Oh, I do.” You nodded, finally allowing yourself to smile at him.

Henry looked at his still recording phone. “If this thing blows up, you know who to blame, guys.” He quipped, popping open the plastic egg and found a folded piece of paper inside. “What, are you proposing to me?” He chuckled, saying it for shock value.

That was until he finished unfolding the paper and concentrated on what it was.

You move to stand before Henry, smiling up at him, while his mouth gently fell open and his eyes grew. “Happy Easter, Henry.” You cooed at him, resting your hands on his hips.

“Is this-” He gulped thickly, looking between you and the paper. “Is this—real?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, tearing up, seeing his blue eyes start to glisten and his breathing shutter as he became choked up, emotional. “I found out last week.” You explained to him, taking the sonogram from him. “So, I thought this would be the coolest way to tell you. To train you for future Easter egg hunts with the help of our four legged son.”

Henry caught you up in his arms and spun you around, his blue eyes blurred with tears of overwhelming happiness, while burying his face into your neck as he held you tight against his body. He sniffled into your neck and you hugged him tight, feeling content.

“Christ alive, I love you.” Henry cried, tears dripping down his bearded face, as he set you back down on your feet, then looked over at his phone, just then remembering it was recording. “We're pregnant!” He announced, beaming.

[blorb-el]

[in the style of the Finding Nemo seagulls] Id fic? Id fic? Id fic? Id fic?

ok id fic!!

the backstory is over the weekend i needed a break from editing wsbf, and i found a prompt on the dc kinkmeme, along the lines of: omega bruce foils an assassination attempt on kryptonian ambassador kal. this is probably a one off thing in this verse, it is not a story it's just a little. warmup

1.5k, gen, superbat, omegaverse, i was gonna leave this completely unedited but @januariat as usual saved my life

So this is it, Kal thinks, gasping for breath as he presses vainly at the side of his robes, trying to stem the blood. Krypton’s last hope, Krypton’s only hope, and he’s failed. Around him there’s noise, chaos, as Mala and Tor race after the assassin, as the humans’ voices rise in alarm. There’s another being next to him. Kal flinches as the black-garbed one presses primitive bandages to his side. There’s nothing he can do but wait for his skilorrosh, the death vision Telle grants as Flamebird frees his soul from his body and bears it home on her wings to Rao.

Can Flamebird even find him here, on this strange world? Is he doomed to be lost to Kythona’s darkness? It seems like it; there’s no warming red glow the poets of the brain-vaults had described, only cold and darkness and pain pressing in on his vision. Kal closes his eyes. Mother. Father. I’m sorry.

And then - radiant gold, beyond anything he’s ever imagined possible.

When Kal had been a young child, perhaps five or so, he had snuck into his father’s lab and found himself floating. Antigravity was nothing new to him - Jor had discovered the principle years before his birth - but his father had been experimenting with augmenting the machine, passing the energy through different wavelengths of light. Kal’s whole body had felt, for a brief moment, as though Rao himself had taken hold of it, like he was stronger than a drang, faster than a photon. And then he had gone out like a light, along with the power supply of half the city of Kryptahnugrhahs.

This overpowering, blinding sensation is the only thing that has ever felt close. His blood is made of lightning, his nerves fire. The scents and sounds of the room explode into infinite detail, and he jerks his hands to his ears instinctively, accidentally shattering the rock hall of the floor. He curls tighter, helpless against the smell of blood and panic in the air, Tor and Mala’s Beta and Omega scents united in fury, the mass of human scents impenetrable and alien. There’s one close to him, the one that’d been helping, pressure against his side, a little stronger. Kal curls into it, instinctively reaching for the wrist.

Something feels wrong with the glove as he touches it, though. It bends, and then the pressure’s gone, the hand withdrawn. Kal - had he hurt them? He curls tighter, distressed, an almost childlike whine escaping. He doesn’t want to hurt- 

“Just breathe,” a low voice murmurs near him. There’s something touching his face. Kal turns his hand into it blindly. The sounds around him - they’re fading a little. But so is the pain. Kal frowns and moves a hand back to his torso, where the bullets had gone in. His tabard is still slick with blood, his body’s…

It hurts. But it’s a lot better.

That low comforting voice starts to count, and Kal does his best to time his breathing to it. The noise and chaos is more distant now. Kal opens his eyes. It’s one of Earth’s protectors kneeling above him, the mysterious one in the mask. The Batman. The opaque, unnerving white lenses of his mask have been retracted, and his eyes are fixed on Kal’s.

“That’s it,” the man says reassuringly, and there’s a hint of a rumbling purr to the words. Kal blinks, the uproar of talking and breathing and heartbeats easier to filter out in favor of the man before him. There is something strange - the briefings had said that the planet still practices caste-based discrimination, and yet - this man has the alien but unmistakable richness to his scent, concealed though it is under neutralizers, the reassuring timbre to his voice common to the human Omegas of Earth.  

Omegas, on this backwards planet, would not be first responders, would not be public servants. Would not be what the briefings had called ‘super-heroes.’ And yet this man is an Omega.

He’s staring up into the man’s silvery-gray eyes, washed out like the color of rain, when the noise takes a sharp upturn. Batman looks away. Kal smells his fellow ambassador’s scents before he hears their voices. Mala is first to reach them, pushing through the crowd, fury roiling in her scent. “You animals,” she snarls, and Kal notes with alarm that she’s pulled the concealed raygun General Zod had insisted they carry. He pushes himself upright.

“Stand down, Mala Ro-Zan,” Kal growls, or tries to growl, anyway.

“We will not stand down,” Tor growls back to him Lurvish, teeth bared at the humans surrounding them. His diplomat’s staff has reformed into a vikhirn, its three points gleaming in the dim red light. “The outsiders shot to kill you, moliom! We came to them on our knees begging for help and the savages-”

The vikhirn’s deadly points of light focus on Batman’s cowl as Tor levels the weapon at the Omega, and something inside Kal snaps. “Stand down,” he roars, Alpha markings burning gold-bright across his skin. There’s a reddish haze across his vision, and he distantly realizes that he’s a few inches off the ground. Mala bares her teeth, furious, but centuries of civilization fold beneath millenia of evolution and her claws slide back beneath her skin. Tor, as a Beta, is less affected; he stops in his tracks, low challenge-growl beginning in his chest, but when Kal stalks towards him he ducks his head.

The hall’s fallen silent. Kal takes the vikhirn from Tor and inputs the dissolution override; the sunstone crumbles to sparkling dust. He holds his hand out to Mala for her raygun.

“No, moliom,” Mala rumbles. “I will not leave us defenseless in this - khaovrrosh.” She leaves the insult in Lurvish, the older language impenetrable to Lantern translation, but with the open disdain in her eyes as she looks at the assembled humans, Kal doubts that the insult will be lost on them. His Alpha hindbrain has retreated but it’s close under his skin, tense with the danger of the situation. Later that night, writing his report, Kal will look back on his loss of composure with some embarrassment. But in the moment it was the only thing he could have done, with the lightning still racing through his veins and the knowledge that Krypton is doomed if the mission fails. The last of the surge of power fades, and he drops to the ground, trying not to stagger. Mala moves in to support him, albeit begrudgingly. 

“A human has tried to kill our ambassador Kal-El-jran,” Tor says to the crowd of diplomats, tense. “Your kind has-”

“Stop, Tor,” Kal says. With the all-consuming radiance and the adrenaline of nearly dying gone, he feels exhausted and drained, his side throbbing with pain. But if he doesn’t take back control of the negotiation, Tor will continue with the formal withdrawal. For Rao’s sake, it seems like he’s the only one who remembers what’s at stake here. Kal straightens, leaning on Mala, and looks Tor directly in the eye. “Unless I’m much mistaken, a human also saved my life.” Kal nods to Batman, who’s retreated back into the stone impassiveness he’d greeted the ambassadors with. Kal looks at him a moment too long. His head is starting to ache, and he’s distantly aware of swaying a little on his feet, of Mala moving closer to brace him. “I - move to - let Rao set on the proceedings for today, and - convene tomorrow under a fresh sky.” The formal words are hard to remember.

Wonder Woman, the lead negotiator for the humans, frowns in soft concern. It’s a stark contrast to her warrior’s garb and poise. “Of course. Kal-El-jran, may we offer any medical assistance?”

“Your kind has done quite enough,” Mala snaps, her claws briefly poking into Kal’s side before she retracts them swiftly. Kal can’t quite bring himself to care. Dizziness is beginning to overcome him; he closes his eyes but that makes the swaying worse. Tor says something about having medical facilities on their ship, and there’s another arm around him, steadying him.

“Just promise me we’ll still be on this planet when I wake up,” Kal mumbles to Mala. “Swear it.”

Mala breathes out sharply in frustration.

Kal stops moving. He’ll collapse on the damn floor if he has to, damn Kryptonian pride.

“We will be,” Mala says. “Come on, Kal-El.”

There’s something still worrying him, though. “Did they catch them?” Is there any danger to his fellow Kryptonians, to this tense, frayed distal pack they’ve cobbled together?

“Yes,” Tor says, steadying him up the ramp. The serenity of Kryptonian architecture soothes the ragged edge of his Alpha a little, his instincts recognizing it as safety, even as the throbbing in his side is growing. Kelexo are hovering by the doors, and move in to support him.

“Good,” he tells the ceiling, as a Kelex rolls up his sleeve and injects his arm with medication. “I think - I think I’m going to pass out now.”

[frownyalfred]

i need less 'i can make him better' superbat ficts in the world and more 'i can make him worse'. And I'm not talking evil injustice superman and gotham war batman i mean like both are dark dark people and recognize the darkness in each other and want to see how far down the abyss they can go down together. i need a Kal-El that never learned to human well or if at all and came to earth as a colonizer. I need a Bruce who instead of becoming batman pretty much becomes a mafia don and Gotham is his kingdom. The bad part is that i have read ficts with them individually scratching this itch, but never as them both in it together.

oh, I love this idea so much??? symbiotic darkness? you rarely have one of them being evil, and never both of them in the same fic. I also have such a soft spot for Mafia Batfamily AUs, it really fits them so well.

[blackynsupremacy]

red k!clark the type of fuckboy you be otp with and tries to throw some game, but playing hard to get is not working in your favor.

y/n: i gotta call you back because i need to take a shower.

him: without me? 😏

(we all know this corny ass line)

y/n: …yes. 🙄

him:

y/n: … ykw 😶🙄

him: *already outside your house* 😈

weak in the knees… girl, STAND UP!

note: i imagine y/n as meagan but this is just my hc! ☺️