#kent customer care

[loverboybrightsideghost]

one of my favorite clark headcanons that i have (that is completely unsupported by canon) is that he's transgender by kryptonian standards. martha and jon kent raised him as a boy and as he grew up he never had any reason to doubt it at all, he was like yeah i'm a boy, makes sense. and then he gets to the fortress of solitude for the first time and it turns out how Gender works on krypton was just Different enough that clark doesn't really fit the kryptonian standards of whatever he was supposed to be. bonus points because this makes him feel like even more of an outsider as a kryptonian, even if he's the last one left.

[palakro]

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[urdreamydoodles]

DC Comics Characters x Fem!OC

How they handle your relationship with your dog

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth & Zatanna Zatara

Bruce Wayne aka. Batman

- Bruce’s reaction to Mr. Pickles was a mixture of mild confusion and reluctant acceptance. “You chose… this?” he asked, gesturing at the small, fluffy dog that was currently gnawing on one of Alfred’s expensive loafers. But as Mr. Pickles wagged his tail and barked up at him, Bruce sighed and crouched down, carefully scratching behind the dog’s ears. “I suppose you’re harmless enough.”

- Though Bruce often claimed to be indifferent, he developed a subtle bond with Mr. Pickles. The dog had a knack for curling up at Bruce’s feet during late nights in the Batcave, his soft presence providing an unexpected comfort amidst the darkness. “He keeps me grounded,” Bruce admitted quietly one night, watching the tiny dog doze against his boots.

- Alfred, ever the enabler, ensured Mr. Pickles was well cared for, preparing gourmet meals and tailoring a small bed that perfectly matched the manor’s decor. Bruce protested, but you caught him sneaking the dog treats when he thought no one was watching. “He’s part of your life,” Bruce muttered when you teased him, “which means he’s part of mine.”

- Bruce admired how much joy Mr. Pickles brought to you. He often found himself captivated by the way you lit up when playing with your dog, your laughter filling the manor with a warmth that even he couldn’t resist. “You’re beautiful when you’re happy,” he said one evening, his voice low as he watched you cuddle Mr. Pickles.

- Though he’d never admit it, Bruce became fiercely protective of Mr. Pickles. He once had Lucius Fox design a custom GPS collar after the dog wandered off during a walk. “I can’t have anything happen to him,” Bruce said gruffly, avoiding your knowing smile. In his own way, he had grown to love the tiny fluff ball just as much as he loved you.

Kal-El (Clark Kent) aka. Superman

- Clark was instantly smitten with Mr. Pickles. The moment he saw the tiny ball of fluff, his face lit up with childlike wonder. “He’s adorable,” Clark declared, crouching down to let the dog sniff his hand. Mr. Pickles responded by leaping into Clark’s lap, earning a delighted laugh that made your heart flutter.

- Clark’s gentle nature made him an instant favorite with Mr. Pickles. The dog would follow him around wherever he went, yipping happily whenever Clark picked him up. “Looks like I’ve got a new best friend,” Clark teased, cradling the dog like a baby as you rolled your eyes with a smile.

- One of Clark’s favorite activities was taking Mr. Pickles on long walks around Smallville. The two of them would explore the open fields together, with Clark pointing out every interesting sight for Mr. Pickles to investigate. “Look at him go,” Clark said, laughing as the dog chased after a butterfly, his tail wagging furiously.

- Clark adored how much you loved Mr. Pickles. He often watched you play with the dog, his heart swelling with affection at the sight of your laughter. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said softly one evening, pulling you into his arms as Mr. Pickles snuggled against your legs.

- When Mr. Pickles got into mischief, Clark was the first to come to his defense. Whether it was knocking over a lamp or chewing on your favorite shoes, Clark always managed to find the humor in the situation. “He’s just curious,” he said with a grin, scratching the dog’s ears. “Besides, how can you be mad at this face?”

Barry Allen aka. Flash

- Barry was ecstatic when he met Mr. Pickles. “Oh my god, this is the cutest dog ever!” he exclaimed, crouching down to pet the fluffy little dog. His enthusiasm was contagious, and Mr. Pickles responded with equal excitement, jumping up and licking Barry’s face as he laughed.

- The two of them quickly became inseparable. Barry’s boundless energy matched Mr. Pickles’ playful nature perfectly, and the two of them would spend hours running around the house together. “I think he’s my spirit animal,” Barry joked, watching as Mr. Pickles sprinted in circles, barking happily.

- Barry loved to spoil Mr. Pickles with treats and toys, often coming home with something new for the dog. “I couldn’t resist,” he said sheepishly, holding up a squeaky toy shaped like a lightning bolt. Watching Mr. Pickles wag his tail excitedly made it all worth it.

- Barry adored seeing you interact with Mr. Pickles. “You’re like the ultimate dog mom,” he teased, grinning as you brushed the dog’s fur or taught him a new trick. But there was a softness in his eyes as he watched you, a clear sign of how deeply he loved both you and your furry companion.

- On lazy days, the three of you would pile onto the couch together, with Mr. Pickles sprawled across both of your laps. Barry would drape an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he said, “I think this is what happiness looks like.” And in that moment, you couldn’t help but agree.

Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman

- Diana was utterly fascinated by Mr. Pickles. “Such a tiny creature, yet so full of life,” she mused, crouching down to study the dog with a mix of curiosity and admiration. Mr. Pickles, in turn, wagged his tail enthusiastically and licked her hand, earning a soft laugh from the Amazonian princess.

- Diana treated Mr. Pickles with the same respect she afforded everyone in her life. She spoke to him gently, as if he were a noble companion rather than a slightly clueless ball of fluff. “You have a brave heart,” she told him one day, stroking his fur as he barked at a passing squirrel.

- Walks with Diana and Mr. Pickles were nothing short of epic. She’d take him to serene parks or lush forests, marveling at his unbridled joy as he explored his surroundings. “He reminds me of the animals on Themyscira,” she said with a fond smile. “Free-spirited and full of wonder.”

- Diana loved how much joy Mr. Pickles brought to your life. She often watched you with a look of quiet reverence as you played or cuddled with your dog. “You have such a kind heart,” she said one evening, her voice filled with admiration. “It’s no wonder he loves you so much.”

- At night, Diana would often sit by the fire with Mr. Pickles curled up in her lap, her strong hands stroking his fur gently. “He is a reminder of the simple joys in life,” she said softly, glancing at you with a serene smile. “And of how lucky I am to share those joys with you.”

Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman

- Arthur’s first reaction to Mr. Pickles was a hearty laugh. “This is your dog? He’s like a walking puffball!” he said, grinning as the tiny dog barked up at him. But when Mr. Pickles jumped into his arms without hesitation, Arthur’s expression softened. “Alright, you’re pretty cool for a little guy.”

- Despite his rough exterior, Arthur had a soft spot for Mr. Pickles. He’d carry the dog around like a proud dad, often making jokes about how Mr. Pickles was his “new sidekick.” “Watch out, world,” he said with a chuckle. “The King of Atlantis and his trusty fluff ball are coming through.”

- Arthur loved taking Mr. Pickles to the beach, where the tiny dog would frolic in the sand and chase the waves. “He’s got more guts than most people I know,” Arthur said proudly, watching as Mr. Pickles barked at the crashing waves. “Must be hanging around me too much.”

- Arthur adored how much you loved Mr. Pickles. He often teased you about spoiling the dog, but there was a warmth in his eyes every time he saw you fussing over your furry companion. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said one day, pulling you into his arms as Mr. Pickles yipped happily at your feet.

- On quiet evenings, Arthur would sit with you and Mr. Pickles on the dock, the ocean stretching out before you. With the dog curled up in his lap and your hand in his, Arthur would glance at you with a soft smile. “This is all I need,” he said simply, his deep voice carrying the weight of his love for you and the life you shared.

Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern

- Hal’s first encounter with Mr. Pickles was filled with unrestrained laughter. “You’re telling me this little fluff ball runs your world?” he teased, crouching to meet the dog at eye level. Mr. Pickles responded by yipping excitedly and pouncing on Hal’s boots, instantly winning him over.

- Hal had a knack for turning everything into a game, and Mr. Pickles was no exception. He’d use his Green Lantern ring to create glowing balls of light for the dog to chase, laughing every time Mr. Pickles tumbled over himself in pursuit. “I think he’s got a future as a cosmic explorer,” Hal joked, ruffling the dog’s fur.

- Despite his devil-may-care attitude, Hal took his role as “dog dad” surprisingly seriously. He’d call you from missions just to check on Mr. Pickles. “How’s the little guy holding up?” he’d ask, his voice softening in a way that made your heart flutter.

- Hal loved the way Mr. Pickles brought out your playful side. Watching you roll on the floor with the dog or giggle as he chased his tail was enough to make Hal pause and admire you. “You know,” he said one day, his voice laced with affection, “you’re even more beautiful when you’re happy.”

- When it came to mischief, Hal and Mr. Pickles were a dangerous duo. Whether it was sneaking snacks or orchestrating harmless pranks, Hal would always defend the dog with a mischievous grin. “What can I say?” he said, shrugging as you raised an eyebrow. “The little guy’s got good taste in chaos.”

Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow

- Oliver was immediately skeptical of Mr. Pickles. “You’re sure he’s a dog and not just a walking pillow?” he quipped, but his teasing faded the moment the tiny fluff ball curled up in his lap. “Alright, maybe he’s got some charm.”

- Despite his gruff exterior, Oliver had a soft spot for Mr. Pickles. He’d often find himself talking to the dog during quiet moments, his voice low and comforting. “You’ve got it easy, buddy,” he’d say, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “No rogues, no arrows. Just love.”

- Oliver adored how much you loved Mr. Pickles, even if he pretended to roll his eyes at your antics. He’d watch you play with the dog, a small smile tugging at his lips as he muttered, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” But his eyes always betrayed his affection.

- Walks with Mr. Pickles became a cherished routine. Oliver would take the dog on hikes, carrying him in his arms whenever the terrain became too rough. “What? He’s got tiny legs,” he’d say defensively when you teased him about it.

- Mr. Pickles had a knack for defusing Oliver’s stress. After a long day, Oliver would sit on the couch with the dog nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing calming both of them. “He’s not so bad,” Oliver admitted quietly, glancing at you with a rare softness.

John Constantine aka. Hellblazer

- John’s first reaction to Mr. Pickles was a bemused smirk. “Well, aren’t you a fancy little thing,” he said, crouching down to inspect the fluffy dog. Mr. Pickles responded by yipping and licking his outstretched hand, earning a low chuckle from the mage.

- Despite his dark and chaotic nature, John had a surprising way with animals, and Mr. Pickles was no exception. The dog would follow him around, tail wagging furiously, even as John grumbled about tripping over him. “You’ve got yourself a little shadow,” he told you, his tone half-exasperated, half-amused.

- John’s protective streak extended to Mr. Pickles in unexpected ways. He once placed a magical ward around the dog’s bed after a particularly harrowing encounter with a demon. “No bloody hellspawn is messing with this little guy,” he muttered, lighting a cigarette.

- Watching you with Mr. Pickles brought out a rare softness in John. He’d sit back, cigarette in hand, and watch as you cuddled the dog, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “You’re too good for the likes of me, love,” he said quietly one night, his voice tinged with both reverence and regret.

- John had a knack for turning Mr. Pickles into an unwitting accomplice in his schemes. Whether it was using the dog as a distraction during a con or charming his way out of trouble by pointing to the innocent fluff ball, John always managed to keep things interesting. “He’s got potential,” John said with a wink, ruffling the dog’s fur.

Roy Harper aka. Arsenal

- Roy’s first reaction to Mr. Pickles was pure delight. “You’ve got a dog? And he’s this tiny?” he exclaimed, scooping the fluffy pup into his arms. Mr. Pickles responded by licking his face enthusiastically, cementing their instant bond.

- The two of them quickly became partners in crime. Roy loved teaching Mr. Pickles silly tricks, like how to “high five” or roll over dramatically. “He’s got flair, just like me,” Roy joked, beaming as the dog performed his latest trick for you.

- Roy had a playful rivalry with Mr. Pickles when it came to your attention. “Oh sure, cuddle him first,” he teased, feigning jealousy as the dog climbed into your lap. But his grin always gave away how much he adored seeing you happy.

- Walks with Roy and Mr. Pickles were always an adventure. Roy would let the dog explore to his heart’s content, encouraging him to chase leaves or investigate interesting smells. “You’ve got to let him live a little,” he said, grinning as Mr. Pickles barked at a particularly stubborn twig.

- Despite his playful demeanor, Roy had a deep appreciation for the way Mr. Pickles brought joy to your life. “You deserve all the happiness in the world,” he said one night, his voice unusually serious as he watched you cuddle the dog. “And if this little guy makes you smile, then he’s alright by me.”

Koriand’r aka. Starfire

- Kori was utterly enchanted by Mr. Pickles the moment she saw him. “Such a precious creature!” she exclaimed, scooping the dog into her arms and nuzzling him with unabashed affection. Mr. Pickles responded by wagging his tail furiously, clearly won over by her warmth.

- Kori treated Mr. Pickles like royalty, often referring to him as “the noble guardian of our home.” She’d adorn him with tiny accessories, like a golden bow or a small cape, much to your amusement. “He is most regal,” she declared, beaming as the dog strutted around proudly.

- Walks with Kori and Mr. Pickles were filled with wonder. Kori loved introducing the dog to new sights and experiences, marveling at his reactions. “He approaches the world with such curiosity,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “It is a quality I admire greatly.”

- Kori adored seeing you with Mr. Pickles, often commenting on how much love you brought into both of their lives. “You have a way of making everything brighter,” she said one day, her voice soft as she watched you play with the dog. “It is a gift, and I treasure it.”

- Though she was gentle by nature, Kori became fiercely protective of Mr. Pickles when necessary. She once used her starbolts to scare off a stray dog that was bothering him. “No one will harm our little friend,” she said firmly, cradling Mr. Pickles in her arms as you smiled at her protective streak.

Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl

- Kara’s first meeting with Mr. Pickles was a whirlwind of squeals and excitement. “Oh my Rao, he’s so tiny and fluffy!” she exclaimed, gently scooping the little dog into her arms. Mr. Pickles, always eager to make friends, licked her cheek, prompting a delighted laugh from the Kryptonian.

- Kara adored how Mr. Pickles’ unassuming nature brought her a sense of normalcy. Despite her superhuman powers, she’d lie on the floor, letting the dog climb over her, tugging playfully at her hair. “You know, you’re one of the few who can keep up with me,” she teased, booping his nose.

- Walks with Kara and Mr. Pickles were something of a spectacle. Kara, determined to give the pup the best adventures, would sometimes gently float above the ground, holding Mr. Pickles in her arms as they explored treetops and open fields. “He deserves to see the world from above,” she said, her eyes shining with joy.

- Kara often marveled at the way you cared for Mr. Pickles, finding your bond with the little dog heartwarming. “You’re such a good mom to him,” she said one night, watching as you tucked Mr. Pickles into his tiny bed. “It makes me love you even more.”

- When trouble arose, Kara’s protective instincts extended to Mr. Pickles. Once, during a fight with a rogue alien, she paused mid-battle to make sure the dog was safely out of harm’s way. “You’re not laying a finger on him,” she growled, her eyes glowing red with determination.

Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke

- Slade was initially unimpressed by Mr. Pickles. “That’s not a dog,” he grumbled, arms crossed as the tiny fluff ball barked up at him. But when Mr. Pickles fearlessly climbed onto Slade’s boot, demanding attention, Slade couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, maybe he’s got some guts.”

- Slade’s relationship with Mr. Pickles was unexpectedly tender. Late at night, when he thought no one was watching, you’d catch him scratching the dog’s ears or letting Mr. Pickles nap on his lap. “He’s quieter than I expected,” Slade muttered defensively when you teased him about it.

- Mr. Pickles had a knack for softening Slade’s rough edges. The sight of the hardened mercenary kneeling to refill the dog’s water bowl or throwing a ball across the yard was enough to make your heart swell. “Don’t get used to it,” he warned, though the small smile on his lips betrayed his affection.

- Slade admired your patience with Mr. Pickles, often remarking on how you handled the dog’s occasional mischief. “You’ve got the kind of patience I don’t,” he said one day, his voice low. “It’s one of the reasons I can’t stay away from you.”

- Despite his gruff demeanor, Slade would go to great lengths to protect Mr. Pickles. When the dog wandered too close to one of his dangerous weapons, Slade immediately scooped him up, cradling him protectively. “You’re lucky I like you, fluff ball,” he muttered, carrying him back to safety.

Kent Nelson aka. Doctor Fate

- Kent found Mr. Pickles endlessly amusing. “An extraordinary creature in his own right,” he mused, watching as the dog chased his own tail. Mr. Pickles seemed equally intrigued by Kent’s golden helmet, often barking at it from a safe distance.

- Kent’s mystical abilities became a source of entertainment for Mr. Pickles. He’d conjure small, glowing orbs for the dog to chase or create harmless illusions that made Mr. Pickles bark with delight. “Even the smallest beings deserve a touch of magic,” Kent said, smiling as the dog pounced on a shimmering butterfly.

- Despite his lofty demeanor, Kent had a soft spot for Mr. Pickles. You’d often find the two of them sitting together in quiet companionship, Kent absentmindedly stroking the dog’s fur while lost in thought. “He has a calming presence,” Kent admitted, glancing at you. “Much like you.”

- Kent marveled at the way you cared for Mr. Pickles, often likening your nurturing nature to the compassion of the gods. “You bring light to even the smallest lives,” he said one evening, his voice reverent. “It’s a gift I will never tire of witnessing.”

- When danger threatened, Kent would spare no effort in ensuring Mr. Pickles’ safety. He once cast a protective ward around the dog during a battle, ensuring no harm would come to him. “No harm shall befall what you love,” he promised, his voice steady with resolve.

Rachel Roth aka. Raven

- Rachel was initially indifferent to Mr. Pickles. “He’s… small,” she said, raising an eyebrow as the dog sniffed at her boots. But when Mr. Pickles nuzzled her hand, she couldn’t help but let a small smile escape. “Alright, maybe he’s not so bad.”

- Rachel’s quiet nature seemed to resonate with Mr. Pickles. The dog often curled up beside her as she read, his presence a comforting weight against her side. “He’s surprisingly peaceful,” she admitted one day, scratching behind his ears.

- Watching you with Mr. Pickles brought a rare softness to Rachel’s expression. “You have so much love to give,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

- Rachel occasionally used her powers to entertain Mr. Pickles, creating small shadows for him to chase or levitating his favorite toy just out of reach. “He’s surprisingly persistent,” she noted, a hint of amusement in her tone as the dog barked at the floating object.

- Despite her dark and brooding nature, Rachel became fiercely protective of Mr. Pickles. When a magical threat loomed, she enveloped the dog in a shimmering shield of energy, her voice steady as she assured you, “Nothing will harm him. I promise.”

Zatanna Zatara aka. Zatanna

- Zatanna fell in love with Mr. Pickles at first sight. “He’s absolutely enchanting!” she exclaimed, picking up the fluffy pup and twirling him around. Mr. Pickles responded with a delighted yip, instantly smitten with her playful energy.

- Zatanna’s magic became a source of endless amusement for Mr. Pickles. She’d conjure floating treats or make his toys dance, her laughter filling the room as the dog barked and chased after the enchanted objects. “He’s a natural performer,” she said, winking at you.

- Zatanna loved how Mr. Pickles brought out your nurturing side. She often watched with admiration as you fussed over the dog, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re incredible,” she said one evening, resting her head on your shoulder as you brushed Mr. Pickles’ fur.

- Walks with Zatanna and Mr. Pickles were always magical. She’d enchant the path ahead, creating shimmering lights and gentle breezes that made the experience feel otherworldly. “He deserves a little magic in his life,” she said, smiling as Mr. Pickles pranced happily beside her.

- When danger threatened, Zatanna’s protective instincts kicked in. She once cast a powerful barrier around Mr. Pickles during a confrontation, her voice firm as she uttered the spell. “Nothing will harm our little star,” she vowed, her gaze fierce yet tender.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( chrono || non-chrono )

And they must have a Clark. Kon can’t imagine how they couldn’t. 

He can’t imagine how anywhere couldn’t, if it came to it. 

Yeah, that’s a healthy thought, Kon reflects resignedly as Alfred shuts the car door and goes around to the driver’s side to slip into his own seat. Alfred starts the engine and pulls out of his parking spot, and Jon nervously grips Kon’s sleeve. He twists his wrist to grab the kid’s hand, and immediately ends up with Jon pressed completely against his side and resuming his earlier sniffling buried against his bicep. It’s whatever, obviously; Kon figures if the kid cries on the suit a bit, he can just get it . . . dry-cleaned, he guesses? Probably this is a dry-cleaning thing? 

God, who knows, Tim got the damn thing for him. It might need to be cleaned by a hyper-specific radiation or fresh water from snowmelt on the Alps or a custom-designed spray from the Batcave, for all he friggin’ knows. 

“Hello, Mr. Kent,” Alfred says as soon as the aid workers on the street have directed the towncar out of the immediate area of the refugee camp, his voice wryly but politely amused, and Kon feels an immediate rush of relief. Thank fuck, yeah, okay. Not that he really thought Alfred of all people thought he was actually a version of Batman, just . . . yeah. Just–yeah. It’s a relief. “Dare I ask why you informed the aid workers that you were Master Bruce?” 

“I did not, but I winked at a pretty lady while wearing a very expensive suit and holding a traumatized kid, so apparently some assumptions were made,” Kon admits sheepishly, and Alfred’s mouth quirks in the rearview mirror. 

“Do tell,” he says. 

“Please tell me Batman isn't gonna pull the ‘no outside capes in Gotham’ card over this,” Kon says, dragging a hand through his hair and slightly wrecking the carefully slicked-back style he had it in. At this point, he does not care. “My Batman knew I was in town.” 

“Oh, did he?” Alfred asks, still seeming wryly amused. 

“Mine too!” Jon blurts, straightening up a little as he leans back a bit from Kon. He keeps a hand on his arm, but Kon figures that’s no surprise. He’s a pretty familiar face, considering. Like, double-familiar, in a sense. 

“Ah, yes,” Alfred says, glancing carefully at Jon in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, young man. May I inquire after your name?” 

Well, shit, Kon thinks as Jon wilts immediately and tightens his grip on his sleeve, then buries his face in his bicep again. Not ideal, probably. At least, explaining Jon as a person is probably gonna be a whole thing, and not a thing the local Batman is gonna be thrilled to hear. 

Could be worse, admittedly. Could be “oh, Lex Luthor cooked me up in a basement”. 

Yeahhhhh. Well, at least Alfred actually recognized him, so apparently he does exist here. So like, at least they’ve only got to get through one of those explanations. 

“Jon Kent,” Jon says quietly, and Alfred . . . pauses. Kon does not let himself wince or look guilty or anything even remotely similar. Look, he’d have forewarned them if he’d had the option, okay? 

“I see,” Alfred says carefully. “May I inquire, young Mr. Kent, as to who your father might happen to be?” 

“Clark Kent,” Jon says, his voice still quiet and grip on Kon’s sleeve probably at hydraulic-press levels by now. “And my mom's Lois Lane.” 

“Ah,” Alfred says. “Please don't take this question the wrong way, young man, but would you happen to be adopted?” 

“No,” Jon says, setting his jaw stubbornly. 

“I see,” Alfred says. Kon–sighs, for lack of a better idea, and just wraps his arm around Jon. 

“I got you, Jonno,” he says, trying to sound reassuring. He’s not as good at that as Clark is, which is immediately proven by Jon tearing up and just clinging to him, full super-strength and all. A less invulnerable version of him would definitely bruise. 

And literally any baseline human would get their fucking spine crushed.

“I’m not dangerous,” Jon mutters. “And I’m not gonna hurt anybody. You know I wouldn't, right? I–I know you haven't had me yet in your reality, but–” 

Wait. 

What? 

“–but I'm not bad, I wouldn't hurt anyone, I promise, you know you and Mom wouldn't ever have a kid who was bad!” Jon chokes past an almost-sob, and Kon’s stomach sinks like a rock. 

Okay. Jon does not, in fact, have a version of him in his reality. 

Fuck. 

Also, apparently has some really concerning ideas about biological determinism and nature versus nurture and whatever else, but like, he’s like ten, that’s–normal, or whatever, that’s–

Fuck. 

“Jon, kiddo, no, I’m not–” he tries, and then the car dashboard lights up with a low, melodious sound, and Alfred presses a button on the steering wheel. 

“Report,” Batman’s voice says neutrally from the speakers, and Kon immediately winces. 

Well, this is gonna go just great, isn’t it. 

“Well, it seems Batman doesn't yet have to worry about an interdimensional territory dispute,” Alfred informs him dryly. “Superman, however . . .” 

Fuck his entire fucking life, Kon thinks. 

So much for not having to give both of the awkward explanations. 

“. . . Kent,” Bruce says, sounding immediately exasperated and also way less “Batman”, which Kon wishes he could assume were a good sign. “Why the hell did you tell the aid workers you were me?”

[brucewaynehater101]

The creation of the crown of the united empire, one that evokes all of the shiny hats of the various empires and respects their histories and cultural contributions is actually a bonding activity that Tim manipulated the planets into participating in to promote interspecies cooperation and understanding among disparate planets that previously had either only violent contact with one another or little to no contact with one another.

The creation of the crown is one of several such activities that Tim and his life partners have prompted in one way or the other because they'd rather that the people of the empire get along not just because they like their baby emperor and his consorts but also because they like and maybe even respect one another.

Another activity is a space version of the Great British Bake off with amateur bakers from all across the empire coming together to show off their skills. There is also a version for each individual planet. One of the judges in the empire bake off is Mary Berry, this is the true reason why she is no longer on earth's Great British Bake Off. If Kon and the Kent's relationship improves then Tim will have Ma Kent on the show either as a contestant or as a guest judge. Tim is currently on the fence about inviting Alfred as a guest judge or participant.

You're so right for this. Tim would need to find a way to allow planets (who may have differing feelings about each other) to socialize and bond. He's got trade routes set up between them, but he'll need to do more to help them along.

As someone who is learning about different planets, species, and customs, Tim will need to be careful when he learns about them. Because he doesn't know them, he may fall victim to generalization, stereotypes, and specieism if he isn't careful (which he probably is). Learning about the shit people say about the others is just as important as learning what's true. By learning about the stereotypes and other shit, he can have focuses campaigns to combat these perceptions.

I'm curious how he might invoke different customs/traditions/cultures into wider celebrations or events for the whole empire. Are there holidays from certain planets that he makes into empire-wide holidays? Does he add in certain traditions of each planet (like using purple sashes when celebrating a win) for his events?

I'm also curious about what other events he can add. Due to the species having different biology, it may not be wise or fair to have sport-like competitions. If so, he may have to divide sports into separate brackets (like the weight or age brackets of some sports, but this would be for different abilities (some may be able to breathe under water, be unable to life certain weights, have powers, etc).

MUSIC. Music competitions, concerts, etc. would be hella cool to see. There's gotta be a ton of variations and unique instruments

[dangerousduckcloud]

take my hand, i'll fly you to the stars - a superbat oneshot

Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, doesn't know that Bruce Wayne is Batman. Bruce Wayne, Gotham's billionaire, doesn't know that Clark Kent is Superman. So when Superman confesses he kissed Bruce Wayne in front of Batman one day, there's only one reason as to why he began acting weird with him. Batman's homophobic. or: two idiots in love that don't know how to communicate and instead make their own assumptions.

Read it also on AO3

I know I should be writing for 'Flowerbeds' but I got a bit of writer's block and I had this idea in my head for a while so I began writing a bit to get inspiration for the fic, but I got too much inspiration for this fic and so I wrote it all. Sorry.

English is not my first language.

𓆩𓆪 Being a reporter comes with a lot of benefits; you are privy to information before anyone else. You uncover truths, bring down empires. You’re the voice of the people, helping to be heard those whose voice is underwater.

You fall in love.

Although, well, maybe that last one is not exactly tied up with the job description, but for Clark Kent, Daily Planet reporter, it sure felt like it. Born out in space and raised in a Kansas farm, the possibilities of being invited to a Wayne Charity Gala were close to none. Nonexistent. Zero. He would’ve been turned away by security the moment he set foot in the vicinity had it not been by his neatly plasticized reporter ID, confirming his name on the list.

Though, for most, ‘invited’ might be a bit of a stretch, more like Cat Grant had gotten sick and there was no one else available to cover the event.

Point is, he’s here now. His tall, broad figure easily ignored by the one percent that with just one glance at him knew he didn’t belong; they could sense his suit was off the rack, his glasses from the dollar store, his watch older than most people here, a gift from his Pa when he turned eighteen, a Kent heirloom that’d been passed down every generation from father to son.

So, no. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t have an expensive watch, or a custom-tailored suit, he barely had an apartment that didn’t leak every rainy season, but that didn’t matter. He was here to do a job, hoping ‘Clark Kent, clumsy Daily Planet reporter’ would strike enough pity with the guests to grant him an interview.

“Mr. Paul!” Clark squealed, his voice breaking at the end, an ability he’d perfected over the years to sound natural, his pen ‘accidentally’ falling from his hand, clattering to the polished marble floor. The stifled chuckles were still loud enough that he didn’t need to make use of his super hearing. “Do you have anything to say about the recent allegations regarding your company’s involvement in money laundering?”

Clark liked to believe he was a good man, with honor and a strong sense of justice. He cared about the safety of every single soul that wandered this earth, be it human or animal. Yet he still allowed himself from time to time to take pleasure when nagging people about their criminal activities.

The mighty, haughty smile on Mr. Paul’s face fell, a sour look replacing it.

“There’s not much I can say that hasn’t been on the news already. We discovered the person behind it all and we’ve left the police to handle the matter.” A generic, simple, memorized answer that Clark was sure his PR team had advised him to learn by rote. The words covering the reality that he most likely had paid someone enough to not do anything about it.

“There are rumors the money was found on one of your bank accounts off shore.”

“It’s just that, rumors.” Mr. Paul said acerbically. “Such a brilliant mind as yours should know better than to believe what the common mouth spews. A shame, Mr. Kent, that quite an outstanding reporter as yourself has been reduced to writing gossip columns.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually. To stop the rumors. Wouldn’t you want an outstanding journalist writing on your behalf?” The man had a reply ready on his lips, only to die down before it could come to the light. His mouth was left open like a gaping fish, the gears on his mind working overtime. “That is, if you’re telling the truth.”

Saved by the ring, the executive lift of a finger to politely shut him off, a frown on his face at whoever the caller ID showed on the screen. “One moment, please.”

Mr. Paul walked away to an open balcony facing the vast gardens, and despite the intensified chattering, clinking of glass flutes and the live orchestra, Clark had no issue eavesdropping on his conversation.

“—Don’t care how. That fucking bald asshole backstabbed me—I said I don’t care. I want him to pay.”

So Luthor was involved in the money laundering. He shouldn’t be surprised.

The rest of his conversation fell back on stocks and irrelevant information Clark couldn’t care about.

He checked his watch for the umpteenth time that night; he was itching to step out of the ballroom and the gala had started just two hours ago, but the main event of the night had yet to make an appearance, the only reason he hadn’t bolted out of the place the second he stepped foot on the marble floors. The reason Perry had sent him here and get something noteworthy to print.

Bruce Wayne. The man every reporter couldn’t get a serious answer out of him that wasn’t laced with an innuendo or the most mindless reply one could think of.

Bruce Wayne. The Prince of Gotham, labeled as the hottest man in the world by several magazines for over ten years straight.

Clark knew about Bruce. Everyone did. He hadn’t had the opportunity to meet the man, but he’d done his research: orphaned at eight, disappeared at sixteen, came back at twenty-three. More children than brain cells, according to some people.

Single. Hot.

Of course, Clark was an alien, but he had eyes and they always had a feast with every photo published of him that were now stored in a secret folder on his phone. He’d watched all of his past interviews to learn about him, about topics he’d already talked about, about what holes in his stories he needed to clarify, what projects he needed to update on.

And he’d re-watch them again. And again. Despite not needing to after the first time. His notebook was filled with Clark’s somewhat legible handwriting on charities, school fundings and medical breakthroughs involving the company.

And in between the words, the laughs and the smiles, he discovered something else.

Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne was a liar.

The man wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be. Every single word that left those plump, pinkish lips shaped like a heart and oh so perf— was a lie. Idiotic on purpose. To keep up the façade of a bimbo. But why? Business advantage, perhaps?

The moment he noticed that, he thought he was seeing things, he was becoming as paranoid as his nightly, battyfriend tends to be, reading too much into everyone’s words and actions thinking they all had second intentions. Still, he shared his findings with Lois, who thought it was his slight, minimum, non-existent ‘crush’. And with Jimmy, who thought the man used to have a brain until he started getting hit so many times in all his vacationing accidents he was surprised he was still standing.

No, it wasn’t anything like that.

And Clark intended to find out why.

Bruce Wayne, the man running circles around Clark’s mind (simply because he was a mystery, not because he was almost as tall as Clark, with a stretched suit barely doing its best to hug around his arms and torso without ripping apart and expose his toned muscles to the world, a torso he wanted to discover what would it feel like under his hands, holding tight and drenched in sweat while they both—), had barely stepped one foot in the ballroom before he was swarmed by potential opportunists—err, shareholders, businessmen, reporters and gorgeous single men and women and mothers with single children that would do anything to get their daughters married off to the richest man in Gotham.

All lovely people, Clark was sure.

Brucie didn’t seem to mind, though. Not externally, at least. While on the outside he was all smiles, handshakes and flirtatious jokes, Clark could hear his rapidly beating heart, he could see the way his eyes were scanning the whole place, as if looking for an excuse to escape.

And Clark could easily make a beeline towards the horde of people, throw in one or two questions to which he would probably not receive an answer and twist his responses to whatever way fit him better if only so that he could get back to his hotel room and sleep the night away (yes, he could fly in less than a minute to his apartment in Metropolis, but he wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity of being pampered).

But in lieu of interrupting his conversation with a stunning blonde woman holding him by the arm attempting to seduce him and act like a disreputable reporter, Clark opted to take another walk around the venue, staying out of view.

If he wanted a good interview, or at least a quote with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, he needed to wait, not corner him like a wild animal.

Maybe the staff had re-stocked the baked brie?

In the few formal events Clark had been invited to, he loved to wander around the food table, eating the hors d’oeuvre and trying not to make faces to some of the ‘delicacies’ rich people loved to eat.

“I recommend the stuffed mushrooms, they’re my favourite.” A deep, alluring voice brought a shiver down Clark’s spine, making the man jump in his place, not expecting to have anyone approach him, much less him.

“Mr. Wayne!” Clark had fought with a lot of ethereal beings in his life as a superhero, but no one had come closer to portraying the same kind of divine beauty Bruce Wayne possessed, so out of this world the pictures didn’t do him justice. “It’s—Uh, pleasure to meet you!”

He chuckled. “Bruce, please. Mr. Wayne was my father.”

“Bruce, then.” Clark’s smile was so wide it almost split his face in two, shaking Bruce’s hand with so much enthusiasm until he heard a groan from the billionaire. “I—I’m so sorry, I—”

“Quite a strong hand for a reporter.”

“I… Exercise.”

“I noted.” Bruce’s gaze travelled over every part of his body unabashedly, keeping his injured hand close to his chest. This time, Clark wasn’t pretending to be clumsy, he was flustered and anxious. “Usually, I would rather be left alone, but why is it that a Pulitzer winning journalist favours to hover the food table rather than getting an interview with me? Am I that uninteresting?”

“Not at all, Mr—Bruce! I was just… Wait, you know about me?”

“Of course. I read all about your piece on ecological alternatives to reduce carbon emissions. I’ve been a fan ever since. In fact, I implemented quite a few of your ideas on my companies.”

He wrote that almost a decade ago.

He’s been noticed by him for that long?

“Thank you, Bruce. It’s good to know someone like yourself cares about the environment.” Ever the journalist, Clark already had his trustful pen and paper in hand, riffling through the notes from the night to find a clean page. “If you let me, do you have something else to comment on the topic?”

“Well, my parents always taught me to give back to the world that helped us be where we are now.” His words were sincere, coming from the heart. “Be it the people or mother nature, and without her, we’re nothing. So I urge people, but most importantly my well off peers to research how we can help heal our world.”

Are these words coming from the same man who last week said turtles can’t have sleepovers because they always sleep at home?

“And the charity held next month, it’s all due to your youngest son, right?”

“Yes!” Bruce’s face lit up like a child on Christmas day. “Damian is such an animal lover. He brought to my attention there aren’t a lot of animal sanctuaries in Gotham, and the few that exist don’t have the support they need. So, we will be raising money and awareness to help them rebuild their buildings, to give those precious dogs and cats a proper place to live while they’re waiting to be adopted. And to encourage people to adopt and not buy pets as well. He won’t be able to attend as it’s a school night, but he always volunteers in one of them during the weekends.”

His eyes shone with pure love and pride, a broad smile exhibiting his perfect white teeth. A real one, not the kind where it seemed as if it physically pained him to smile when talking to others.

He was gorgeous. And Clark wanted, needed to taste those lips, to savour the cherries he’s been picking off the three-layers cake that now had red stains of where the cherries had been, as well as the shape of his fingers around the icing.

Rao, he needs to know what else those fingers can do.

“You never answered my question, though.”

Yes, Bruce, I will marry you. “Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you want to interview me?”

How could one man hold so much power? To look at him with those blueish-grey eyes and turn him into putty? To ask him one thing and Clark would spill the secrets of the universe without a doubt. “I didn’t— I mean, I wanted to wait for the right moment. With all those people...”

“Well…” Bruce took a step closer, wandering fingers taking hold of his red tie to pull him even closer, feeling the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. Clark’s neck tingled with excitement, his burning body only comparable to the sun’s heat. “You got it. Now, why don’t we go somewhere quiet and… Finish this interview?”

𓆩𓆪

Life had gone back to normalcy —or as normal as it could be for an alien on Earth. But at least, he’d gone back to Metropolis.

And life had also found a way to ruin his chance to sleep with the most handsome man on earth, though.

Bruce didn’t wait until the gala was over, he barely cared he’d been in there for less than thirty minutes before he took Clark’s hand and paraded him around the room on their way to the exit, the warm summer night greeting them on their way out. They’d gone back to Clark’s hotel room, as it was just a block away from the building they were in.

He felt as giddy as a teenage boy getting his first kiss. And turns out he can sweat, as proved by his clammy hands he hoped Bruce didn’t find disgusting. The billionaire didn’t wait a second after they closed the door to start kissing him, touching him everywhere. Clark held his face in between his hands, feeling the strong but delicate skin under his fingers, the small nips and cuts that littered his face.

Why did he have so many of them?

Bruce had already unlatched his belt, pulling down Clark’s pants painfully slow while leaving a trace of wet kisses on his abdomen when he heard it.

‘MOMMY!’ A small, distressed girl was all he could hear. ‘HELP!’

He needed to reach her now, to aid her and taker her some place safe.

But he couldn’t fly out of here just like that.

He stopped Bruce’s hands from pulling the clothes down any further, earning a confused look from the man. “Is something the matter?”

“Yeah. No! I’m, uh.” Clark didn’t know what to do, what to say as to not hurt the man’s feelings. “I forgot… Could you wait here, just a second?”

Before Bruce had the chance to nod, he’d already ran out of the room, clumsily pulling up his pants. The moment he was out of sight, he flew out of the hotel and to the source of the calls for help.

Only to find a girl too scared to go down a slide in the park.

“Are you kidding me?” Clark muttered under his breath. He was glad the girl was in no danger, don’t get him wrong, but he wished she’d chosen another slide closer to the ground.

At least he got a beaming smile his way when the girl noticed him.

Before the girl could take up most of his time, he flew back to the hotel, expecting to find an empty room and lingering traces of what could’ve been. And even though it wasn’t the case, he was still surprised to see Bruce sitting at the end of the bed, briskly typing through his phone.

“You’re back.” He said, raising his head once he heard the door opening.

“Yeah.” Clark replied sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that, I just…”

“No need.” He stood up, a hand raised to politely ask him to quiet down. “I got thinking… It would actually pain me to use you as a one-night stand. And I can’t assure you this could become a regular thing. You deserve better than me.” Bruce placed a soft kiss on his cheek, staying there for more than a second. “I’m… If you ever need an interview, or help with anything, I won’t say no to you.”

And with that, he left. And Clark was chiding himself for letting him go. For not trying to change his mind instead of standing there like an idiot. That he didn’t mind.

But when he thought about it, he did mind. Because there’s no way he could’ve had a taste of Bruce Wayne and not becoming addicted to him like nicotine.

Hero life had taken an unusual rare break as well, with little to no serious attacks but an attempted robbery here and there.

“In more recent news, Gotham’s billionaire, Bruce Wayne was held for ransom two nights ago.” The T.V droned out, taking away Clark’s attention away from the game of Scrabble he and Flash were playing.

Like all nights for the past week, the night-watch at the Watchtower had been long and dull, a sense of pride in his chest at not being needed anywhere in the world. But he still had to stay in there the whole night just in case. “When questioned after his rescue, the man had this to say:”

“Oh, this was real? I really thought they were pretty bad strippers.” The image on screen showed a dirty, bloodied Bruce, with a lip split open, messy hair and a shirt halfway unbuttoned, his tie loose. “So that’s why they taped me up? It wasn’t a kink thing?” That explained the reddened area around his mouth.

Before he could embarrass himself further, a very tired man in a chauffeur outfit asked to have no more questions, guiding Bruce back to a shiny limousine waiting for him.

Was it simply a game for him to appear so dense in front of the cameras?

Back in real life, Flash chuckled, his mouth half-full of a protein bar. “Can you believe someone like him owns half of a city?”

“He’s not that bad.” Clark felt the urge to defend him in his stead, arranging the letters on his tile rack to see if he could form a word with his remaining letters. “He’s a nice guy, actually.”

A nice guy that put Clark’s feelings first, even if they weren’t exactly what the reporter wanted.

Oh the computer behind him, the click-clack of the keyboard stopped momentarily. Taking advantage of the slow nights, Batman thought it best to update the Watchtower’s security system, bringing Robin along, the one you would rarely see without an energy drink. According to Nightwing, the kid was a prodigy with computers, maybe even more than Batman.

“Wait, so you know him?” Flash asked, his hand halfway through placing a tile on the board.

“I’ve… Met him. Once. We, uh...”

“Oh, Sups! There’s a child present!” Flash chuckled. “Our Sups has a crush! It’s his pretty face, isn’t it? Can’t be his brains.”

Despite not facing them directly, Clark could hear Batman putting down his coffee mug with more force than necessary, his super hearing catching on a low, muffled chuckle from the kid.

“I… No.” He sighed, placing I and R on the board to spell ‘liar’. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Guy’s already being kidnapped every other day; he wouldn’t be able to leave his house for the rest of his life if somehow word spreads that he’s dating Superman.”

Flash’s smile waned, slow fingers placing carefully each tile to form ‘soul’. He was unusually quiet for someone that always had something to say, even more if it came to the love lives of everyone in the League. “Cape life’s not easy, is it?”

Clark knew he wasn’t talking about fighting villains.

𓆩𓆪

Bruce knew, sensed chaos bubbling in his son’s mind, sure to ensure as soon as they got home.

Tim had been suspiciously quiet all the way home from the zeta tube location to the Batcave, a leg going up and down repeatedly. And he knew it wasn’t the caffeine from the energy drinks he so desperately wanted him to give up drinking.

“Don’t.” Was the only word he grumbled the moment the waterfall came into view. The dark tunnel gave way to the lights on the cave, his speed slowing down.

“Don’t what?” His question was innocent.

“Don’t say anything.”

“Say what about what?” And he would’ve believe he didn’t know what he was talking about if he was younger, when Tim still needed a booster seat while on the batmobile, but he’d learned to read his face, his big eyes full of naivety that drew the attention away of his true intentions. Bruce was giving him what Dick once so eloquently named ‘the bat-glare’, but his only response was a meek smile, an inconspicuous hand reaching for the door’s handle, waiting for Bruce to unlock it.

He couldn’t hold him here the rest of his life, could he?

With a loud and theatrical sigh, he unlocked the door, and the teenager hurried out of the car and up the stairs leading to the manor, not caring about Alfred’s ‘no capes inside the house’ rule. “DICK, YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS.” Was all he heard before the clock closed.

There goes Bruce’s peace.

Making use of the few remaining minutes of tranquillity, he sat on the computer, his cowl removed and hanging behind his neck.

So, Superman had interacted with him in his civilian identity.

Question is, when? How? Why? Everyone had agreed they would reveal their identities when they were ready. And Bruce was forced agreed not to investigate them, as they knew he could easily discover it. And he’d kept his promise.

Kind of.

He knew, and understood, how if discovered it would be a total break of their trust in him.

But he also knew this kind of information could be necessary in the —hopefully not probable— case any of them ever went rogue.

Thus, with Barbara’s help, they’d written a code to analyse every bit of information online and compile possible candidates on who was who. Information heavily encrypted and hidden.

Information he was now opening.

Surely this is something he’s allowed to do? It involves him, after all. It might even be Superman’s way of letting him know he knows, and Batman doesn’t.

He scrolled past the names of people that were likely a fit for Superman’s physique and relevant events in the kryptonian’s file. There were quite a few, but the stats always showed a probability below sixty percent. Besides, the names were unfamiliar to him. He could’ve used an alias, but the data didn’t fit his criteria.

All except one.

Clark Kent.

His file had a ninety-eight percentage of being Superman.

Clark fucking Kent. The reporter. The one he almost slept with if it wasn’t interrupted by an Arkham breakout.

He almost slept with Superman.

Before falling into a state of stupefaction at this revelation, he needed to confirm the facts first: he was adopted by a couple in Smallville, Kansas, moving to Metropolis… Right around the time Superman was seen for the first time in the city, but strange sightings and miracle rescues had already happened in Smallville before that, starting when he was around his pre-teen years.

Upon further inspection on his adoption, Bruce was met with an unsuccessful result, as there hadn’t been any records of him before the Kents adopted him; no birth certificate, no archives on his staying at any orphanages, it was as if he didn’t exist for the first few months of his life.

And the adoption agency only handled one case before going bankrupt just weeks after opening. His.

God.

He almost slept with Superman. He was sure of it now.

The man he’s been dreaming with ever since he met him.

When the echoes of hurried steps going down the metal stairs reached his ears, he closed the file, heart beating frantically with this new information, yet his years of training allowed him to keep a stoic face.

“Superman what?” Dick asked, rushing to his side, with Tim closely behind.

“Irrelevant.” Bruce said as he stood up, taking off his gauntlets.

“B, you have to date him.” Dick jogged until he was in front of him, impeding him to escape to the showers. “Can you imagine how cool it would be to have Superman as your dad?”

“What about Batman already being yours?”

“No offense, B.” Tim said, making him turn to looks at him. “But you’re just a regular guy with an unreasonably amount of money enough to buy this.” He gestured with his thumb to the screen behind him, leaning on the desk of the computer.

“Yeah! And Superman is Superman!”

“Hng.”

“Oh, you know we love you.” Dick hugged him from behind, the acrobat’s arms keeping his unmovable, and Bruce knew he was done for when he saw Tim on the computer, fast fingers gliding over the keyboard. “And you’re our favourite… After Superman.”

“And Wonder Woman.” As much as he would forever love to know his second oldest son was home, this was not a good time.

“And Wonder Woman.” Dick agreed, his chin resting on Bruce’s shoulder.

“So...” Jason grabbed a marker from the desk, flipping it on his fingers and getting worryingly too close to Bruce’s comfort. “Why are we dissing Bruce?” Taking the cap off, he drew something on Bruce’s forehead.

He loved his children. He did.

“Superman has a crush on Brucie.” Tim answered, gaze still on the computer. Jason’s laugh resonated through the whole cave, and maybe all this wasn’t as awful as he thought if it meant to hear that sound again in these walls.

The finishing touches to Jason’s art was what he assumed a moustache drawn on the top of his lips, Dick strained his neck to see the result and he couldn’t contain his chuckle, only stopping once they heard a gasp from Tim.

“The reporter?”

Three heads turned to see what he’d discovered, a quarter of the screen occupied by the photo of a brightly smiling Clark that made Bruce feel warm inside, and a blinking ‘98% MATCH’ in red going off and on.

Shit.

𓆩𓆪

“KENT!” Perry’s shout shook the building. And while Clark had perfectly crafted his butterfingered persona and was content when real accidents occurred to keep his cover up, he didn’t appreciate how the sudden yell made him spill the coffee he’d been craving all morning. “KEEENT!”

If years of working for the man had taught him something, was that making him yell for you a third time was a sure way to get yourself thrown to the worst tasks no one wanted to do. Hurrying up, Clark rushed to the editor in chief’s office, closing the door behind him. And before the fastest man alive (he refused to believe Flash was faster than him) had a chance to speak, he was already being thrown his newest assignment.

“Pack your bags, you’re going to Gotham. Again.”

“What for? I can’t, Perry, I’m still working on my investigative piece—”

“You can do it later.” Perry said, lighting up a cigar. “You’re going to another Wayne Gala. The man loves to throw his goddamn parties...”

“And why can’t Cat do it?” Clark complained, an arm pointing to the woman’s desk, visible through the office’s window.

“Wayne asked specifically for you.” The phrase shook him, rose tinting his cheeks. Why would he ask for him specifically? “And the man owns the company, so we can’t exactly say no to him.”

Had he been thinking of their past encounter?

No, it was because of his past article regarding the gala, focused on the actual event rather than the gossip running around, as even the official account of the Wayne family had shared his reportage on their social media.

Surely, it was simply that. Not because Bruce wanted to see him. Or talk to him. He just wanted good publicity for his family and his company.

𓆩𓆪

Once again being shunned by the magnates who could afford to buy a new suit for every event, Clark was casually eating a stuffed mushroom waiting for the horde of guests to stop hogging Bruce’s attention.

The man had been on time for the gala this time, the reason of the event having so much importance to one of his children was the speculated reason for it, something that warmed Clark’s heart. Not many people would care about their children’s interests and beliefs.

He saw Vicky Vale, Toby Raynes, and even Robinson Sprang along with other reporters trying to get a word from him, pushing and shoving each other in efforts of getting their questions answered.

Clark didn’t worry, he’d promised he’d get an interview if he asked, and he hoped the billionaire was a man of his word.

Besides, he’d asked for him to be here. He wouldn’t do so only to ignore him all night.

But the melted cheese and toppings from his appetizer now felt too sticky and plain with the bewildered and flustered look Bruce gave him when he saw him.

It was almost as if he didn’t think he’d show up.

That didn’t him make feel all that confident any more.

Clark left the rest of the mushroom on a small plastic plate, pulling out his creased notebook and a pen he needed to shook a few times to get it to work. He needed to have a backup plan in case his ‘free interview’ card didn’t work.

On this occasion Bruce hadn’t come alone, instead he had the company of two of his sons, his oldest Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson and the third oldest, Timothy Drake.

Both had made their rounds around the ballroom shaking hands with everyone important on site; magnates, investors, the commissioner, even the Mayor was present. And once their presence wasn’t necessary, they’d ditched their father to make a beeline towards the food table.

“You think we should?” Clark heard one of them say. He didn’t need to use his super hearing as the kids weren’t talking particularly low.

“B’s getting lonely and I can only handle so many ‘father-son’ days when Damian’s not around.” The youngest one groaned. So, they’re playing matchmaker, that’s cute of them. “But do you really think it’s him? He doesn’t… Well, you know.”

“If you think about it, it’s the same tactic Bruce uses.”

Whatever they were talking about, Richard’s sentence shut him up, an audible click of his mouth closing and swallowing down any counter opinion he was forming. Clark’s placed his focus on the main event, taking photos of the few areas set up for dogs to be running around freely without tripping with the attendants, taking notes of everything useful for his article, as well as grabbing a business card of the shelters to add them on the note if people wanted to adopt or volunteer.

An hour had turned into two and he’d yet had no chance to speak with Bruce. Clark had rounded the hall once, twice, thrice even. He sat down for a moment to play with an injured chihuahua missing a back leg doing her best to convince him to take her with him to Metropolis.

She was close to winning.

And during those two hours, Clark had noticed the Wayne kids were always somewhere near him, sometimes catching them looking at him.

They couldn’t know about that night, could him?

Of the few times he eavesdrop in their conversation, he never once heard his name, or anything related to him. In fact, he didn’t understand much of what they were saying, as they’d switched to another language he didn’t recognize (that didn’t even sound human, (and he was supposed to be the alien here)) after he caught them spying.

He was on his way to fill out the adoption papers when someone caught his attention.

“Excuse me. You’re Clark Kent, right?” That was Timothy who approached him. The poor kid had more bags under his eyes than a Christmas tree, his face looking a second away from falling asleep in the middle of the Gala. Just what could be so dire to keep a billionaire kid staying up all night?

It couldn’t be parties, Clark was sure. Unlike their parent, none of the Wayne kids old enough had taken to be the life of parties. They rarely were seen in one if it wasn’t hosted by Bruce.

There wasn’t much about Timothy Drake online besides what he wanted there to be; son of the deceased Jack and Janet Drake, taken in by Bruce, suspected to be Wayne Enterprises next CEO, despite barely being legally able to drive.

“That’s me, what can I do for you?”

“We want you to interview our dad.” Richard said, standing behind Timothy. The acrobat also led a private life, albeit a bit more public than that of his brother. He was the son of the world renown acrobats John and Mary Grayson, whom sadly passed away in an ‘accident’ at the circus, taken in shortly after by Bruce. A gymnastics prodigy outshining everyone in all his school competitions during his youth, a mystery to everyone why he never made a career out of it to go to the Olympics despite being highly sought after prestigious team coaches and colleges. “We liked a lot your past coverage, he could use someone interested in something other than his looks.”

Well then, he got the wrong person.

It was a simple and logical request, (he knew the way people treated Bruce, after all), but there was something in the back of his head that was telling Clark not to trust them. At least, not to believe those were their only intentions. The way they smiled and shared a look was unsettling, the kids knew how to be creepy if they wanted to, and there was something in the twinkle of their eyes that only spoke of mischief. Clark might not be a top-notch detective as his nightly friend, but he’d learned to tell when people weren’t being fully sincere.

He wasn’t opposed to the idea, he was here to do that after all, but he first needed to know what he was actually getting into, why they actually wanted him to interview him, instead of Raynes or someone equally ethical.

However, before he could even reject their proposition, the sound of glass shattering and screams put him on alert, barking echoing around the ballroom. “Oh, great. Not another one.” Timothy mumbled. Were Gothamites plainly this desensitized about criminals taking in hostages?

His eyes were scanning for somewhere to hide while changing into his suit when the cold end of a gun’s barrel was pressed to his back. “To the centre! Now!” Clark complied, if only to not risk the chance of the man accidentally shooting one of the kids. Kids that were much calmer than they should be.

He’s never coming back to Gotham.

The trio moved to the centre of the ballroom, where every attendant and shelter workers were huddled in a circle. “Everything of value in the bag!” Another man shout, holding a dirty, ragged bag in a hand, a semi-automatic gun in the other.

Clark ‘tripped’ with his shoelaces to take the opportunity to slide behind all the hostages, to make his disappearance easier in case things went awry —more than they already are.

There were only three armed men inside. Another sitting in a car Clark assumed must be the getaway. His x-ray vision didn’t reveal any dangerous objects besides the guns being waved in front of his face, but there was something about the car that didn’t make sense to him.

The car had the trunk open, waiting to be filled with the spoils of the night. The thing is, they’re not taking that much stuff to requite the extra space; wallets and jewellery are not that big, after all, it will all fit in the empty seat on the back seats, so what could be the actual reason? Kidnapping, maybe?

But who?

“I love playing rough, don’t get me wrong.” Ah, it had to be him. “But even I think this is a bit overkill.”

“Shut up!” The man holding Bruce by the scruff said, pushing him to the floor and letting the end of his gun crush his hand. Bruce’s howl of pain mingled with the cry of Timothy, ready to get up and run to help his father. He was stopped by Richard, who held him by down by the back vents of his suit and sat him down, hushed whispers being exchanged. It was the only reaction the kid had shown so far tonight.

They’d already taken Bruce outside, leaving only the guy still collecting money, walking backwards towards the exit, his gun pointed at the attendants. The split second he took to turn to bolt out of the place was his mistake, colliding with a body as strong as steel that almost made him pass out. Clark swiftly took his gun, pulverizing it in his hands, the scraps falling to the ground. “I don’t think you were invited to this party.”

The kidnapper’s eyes were wide, full of fear. Clark didn’t need to use any strength to knock out the assailant, a simple hit with his index finger was enough for the already concussed man.

A rumbling vehicle speeding down the driveway was heard outside. Clearly the other men wouldn’t bother waiting for their partner. They already had what they wanted, the things in the bag were just a bonus they could afford to lose.

The car had, of course, not make it far before Clark stood in front, his extended hand pressing down the hood enough for the back to go up in the air for a second before falling. Yet before it could crash on the cobbled path, the kryptonian rushed to hold it and gently drop it, lest he hurts Bruce even more.

Clark made sure the delinquents were unconscious and unable to escape before opening the car’s trunk. “Are you alright, Mr. Wayne?”

Despite looking a bit green and having a broken finger, he didn’t seem to have any other serious injury. Not recent, at least. Clark used his x-ray vision again to check for anything that would need urgent treating, but he was met with the sight of all of the man’s bones broken in several places, several times, some not fully healed correctly.

Just in what kind of accidents was this man getting into?

The billionaire, in turn, was oblivious to the revelation he’d just had. Awestruck and eyes wide, Bruce accepted the hand Clark lend him to get off the trunk, careful not to put too much pressure on the broken finger. “Superman.” He whispered. “I… I’m fine. Just a broken finger. I’ve had worse.”

“No doubt.” Clark mumbled. Wayne looked at him curiously, but shook his head after a second, his dazzling smile back in place.

“How can I pay back the man who saved me?”

“It’s not necessary, Mr. Wayne. I’m glad to be of help. Please, let me take you to a hospital so that you can get treated.”

“No need, I’m sure the ambulance will be here soon.” And true, a siren in the distance was getting closer. “Besides, my sons will worry if they don’t see me, but…” He placed his good hand on Clark’s shoulders, standing on his tiptoes to reach him and place a soft, warm kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Superman.”

𓆩𓆪

Batman hates him. There’s no other way to put it.

It’s not particularly difficult to make the man broodier and angrier, Clark thinks. He just never expected it would be because he’s disgusted by his choice in romantic partners.

He’s never said it outright, but he shows it in the way he’s began to distance himself from the man every time they are together in a mission or in a meeting debriefing. If his hands happened to slightly touch his, or any other part of his suit, Batman pulls away as if he was burned.

Tonight was his turn to keep watch at the Watchtower. And with his unlucky luck, he’d been paired with Batman to do it. It was as if he was back again in elementary school, being forced to do a project with a friend he’d had a brawl with earlier —but this time he doubted ice cream would bring them closer again.

“Evening, Batman!” Clark greeted him once he saw the man walk in on the Observation Deck towards the computer, ready for a night of sitting down in front of the screen until sunrise, waiting for an attack to happen. Clark had been hovering on the air with his legs crossed looking at the Earth through the windows, but his feet touched the floor the moment he saw the dark figure.

Despite always keeping up his appearance of unbreakable, it was clear the bat had had better days. He was weary, walking slowly and grunting with every slight movement of his shoulders.

He hadn’t seen the vigilante in a while, as the man was ever busy with all the criminals running rampant in Gotham after they escaped recently. He and Wonder Woman had offered to help, of course, but being the stubborn bat that he was, he never accepted, despising the presence of other supers in his city.

Which was the topic he wanted to talk about.

“Superman.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of me being in Gotham last week. I know you don’t like it when we step foot in your city, but…” The man’s hand twitched slightly at being reminded his rules had been broken. “I was visiting some friends, and happened to hear the screaming. I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. I hope you understand.”

Silence filled the room. On the window behind the kryptonian, the dark shadows cast on earth were being eaten away by the slowly rising sun. He should get back home soon if he needed to catch up on some sleep before heading to work —not that he needs to, it’s purely habit at this point. He, as much as anyone else, loved the calm feeling of nothingness sleeping brought.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

The man had always been cold, talking only if needed, but for Clark it wasn’t hard to notice how colder he’d begun acting towards him. He wouldn’t even spare a glance to him.

He never thought Batman would be homophobic.

Clark was conflicted. He didn’t want to get involved into his companions’ personal matters and preferences, but this was something he couldn’t simply ignore, this wasn’t a pineapple on pizza situation, but something far more urgent and relevant to attend to. Clark would always stand up for the people, for humanity, and it didn’t matter to him if they loved the opposite gender, the same, or both or none, the only thing that mattered to him were their actions.

And it raised the question; had Batman ever acted on this belief? Was the man that claimed to fight for justice and peace used it as an excuse to commit hate crimes? Clark didn’t want to even imagine how many people had been wrongfully incarcerated for this—

No, he wouldn’t. He’s a man of honor and integrity. He wouldn’t let his ideology get in the way of what’s right or wrong.

Unless he’s the one deciding what’s right and what’s wrong.

He didn’t know how to approach him. He was distressed. Even though they don’t know each other names, he’d always considered him a reliable ally —how ironic, now.

But now it all made sense. He’d seen Batman work with the Red Hood a few times, and if the red bat symbol embedded in his chest wasn’t misleading, he was also part of their growing colony, probably one of the kids that’d taken the mantle of Robin throughout the years.

He’d also seen how distant both of them were. And he knew Hood was involved in some kind of a ‘romantic mess’ with Arsenal, as Green Arrow once told him in passing.

“I’m surprised Batman hasn’t threatened you already.” Flash nonchalantly mentioned days later. “Or has he?”

“What?” Clark turned to him, his cape slightly billowing. Was it common knowledge the man’s narrow-mindedness? “Why would he do that?”

“’Cause you slept with his boyfriend?”

Clark had to rewire his brain for a second. “What did you say?”

“Oh, come on!” Flash gestured with his hands, bits of granola flying around from the energy bar he was eating. “It’s an open secret those two are dating! How do you think Spooky gets all his toys?”

That would explain why Batman has suddenly turned so hostile towards him.

But… No. It doesn’t explain why he’s also distant with the other guy who’s also dating a man. And he didn’t want to believe sweet Bruce would cheat like that. At least, he didn’t seem the type the other night.

But if it was true… Why would Bruce flirt with him so carelessly if they were indeed in a relationship? Could it be to throw off rumours about them? That would explain why he’s getting kidnapped so frequently.

But he was still acting even behind closed doors.

If Clark hadn’t bolted out of there, would he have found another excuse to leave? Or keep up with the act?

He’s starting to feel used, even more if they’d had a one night stand.

This is all a mess.

He’s a mess.

He should go to the one person that could have the answers.

Even though he’d promised to never come back to this city if he could help it, he still found himself coursing through the high polluted skies in Gotham City, his need for an answer far outweighing the necessity of spending an hour and a half in an uncomfortable bus seat to avoid detection from the bat.

It didn’t take long to find the man he was looking for. He simply needed to keep an open ear for any gunshots heard, as he knew the vigilante wasn’t opposed to using guns.

Clark was concerned about the number of shots heard in one night.

“Red Hood.” Clark said before the man could get on his bike.

“Boy scout.” The vigilante’s stance was calm, leaning on his bike with his arms crossed, yet the beating of his heart gave away he was startled. The robotic voice from the helmet’s modulator reached him. “What brings the Man of Tomorrow to our lovely, green city?”

Walking from out of the shadows and ignoring the sarcasm, he got closer to him.“We need to talk.”

“About…?”

“I know about you and Arsenal.”

Without using his vision to invade his privacy and look under his headgear, it was hard to gauge a reaction out of him with the helmet on. The silence stretched for several seconds, ambulances in the distance filling in the quiet.

“And that concerns you, because…?”

“I… First, I want to say that it’s alright. And if you ever feel that you’re not safe, you can always count on me if you need help.” Clark heard a small ‘what the fuck’ coming out of the helmet. “I don’t know what the extent of your relationship with Batman is, if he’s your father or just a mentor, but whatever it is, you shouldn’t have to be shunned for being yourself”

He raised a hand, only to drop it again. “Look, man, I appreciate the feelings and whatever. But I must know, what the fuck you’re talking ‘bout?”

“I… I thought Batman was mistreating you because you’re dating a man?”

“What?” The robotic voice was high pitched, a low chuckle coming out. “You think B’s homophobic?”

“He’s... Not?”

“Of course not. Hell, me dating Arsenal is probably the only thing he’s approved of ever since I came back.”

Clark wasn’t sure what he meant for ‘came back’, but it wasn’t something of importance right now.

“But then… Oh, so the rumours are true?” Clark sags, coughing to cover up his voice breaking. He felt as if a kryptonite dagger had been stabbed right trough his heart. Bruce wasn’t interested in his feelings in the slightest, he simply had an agenda to keep up. Bruce had tried to sleep with him even though he’s with someone else and in turn he’s also now on the bad side of the Batman.

“What rumours?”

“Batman’s dating Bruce Wayne.”

Hood’s boisterous laughter was hear through the whole alley, placing his hands on his knees for support.

“You’re on your own, boy scout.”

𓆩𓆪

Being a reporter comes with a lot of detriments; you’re exposed to compromising situations. You can easily paint a target on your back.

You get your heart broken.

Although fancying a known playboy wasn’t on his list of reportage to cover and he had no one else to blame but himself, he would still find himself laying late at night wishing to go back in time and not going to that damned gala in the first place.

He hated the bats. He hated Gotham City and he hated everything that’d ever come out of that place.

“Why the long face, Smallville?”

“How would you approach a long time friend that you’re not sure he’s either homophobic or utterly mad because he thinks you slept with his boyfriend?”

“You could’ve just said ‘fine, thank you Lois.’” She joked, leaning on the edge of his desk and taking a careful sip of her coffee. “I suppose talking like two adults is out of the question?”

“He’s an… Angry person, overall.” Clark was reclined on his chair, the eraser part of his pencil lightly tapping his chin. He was supposed to be working on his investigative piece, but with every word written on the page, his mind would find a connection to both Bruce and Batman, unable to keep the topic out of his mind. “He’s part of my… Game night group. He’s a night person. You can see why it’s not easy to simply confront him. I don’t want to create tension between the rest of the group.”

“Ah, I see.” Clark was glad Lois had discovered his identity —he wasn’t in the first place, worried about what it could mean to him and his parents if she ever went public with this information, but she’d vowed to keep it secret and Clark knew she would. And now it was easier to come with her regarding issues arising within the League that he didn’t need to keep dodging around the truth so much that her help wasn’t even useful in those cases. “I’m sorry, Smallville, but I don’t think there’s much you can do besides talking with the man. Maybe he’s not as batty about the situation as you think.”

Clark chuckled at the concealed pun. He bit his lip and his eyes were drawn towards the latest issue of The Daily Planet resting on his desk, half of the front page a flattering photo of Bruce taking up most of the page, his first Wayne Enterprises branch in Metropolis to begin construction next week.

It was painful to know that smile with the dimples he’d been charmed by was just a façade.

Several weeks had gone by since the gala fiasco and the man had already been kidnapped twice. His lucky star —or now that he thought about it, his lucky bat— had helped him leave unscathed just a couple hours later.

Of course Clark would only find out about it in the evening news, as he hadn’t step foot in Gotham since he met with Red Hood. He’d already broken Batman’s promise once and he didn’t want to know what he’d do if he did it again.

The clear sky was painted in a deep blue with tiny, bright freckles adorning it. Clark had taken a couple of minutes after his rounds to admire the vast space that surrounded them and tried to imagine where his home world was once located.

Out of the corner of his eye, a shadowy figure was making its way from rooftop to rooftop, a familiar grappling gun on the silhouettes hands. Clark didn’t bother to be quiet, letting the wind flap his cape and rippling through the silence.

“Funny seeing you here.” Batman grunted in greeting from where he was crouching, pulling out a pair of binoculars and pointing them to a lit window in the building opposite them. “You know, I don’t step foot in your city per your request. I thought the sentiment would be the same.”

“Red Hood told me you did.” Clark’s cheeks tinted red at being caught lying. He coughed and was thankfully saved by the man’s next words. “I’m following a string case of murders and the leads brought me here.”

“You could’ve told me, at least.” His only response was a silent side eye before returning to the window, where the figure was moving left and right until it seemed to lay down on a bed and the lights were turned off.

Clark, being an alien, wasn’t sure if Batman wasn’t one. Or at least a magical being. Autumn was approaching and the winds were picking up speed each night, but despite that, the bat’s cape wasn’t doing noise in the slightest like Clark’s did. “I apologize for my comment the other day.” He wasn’t sure when his body and brain had decided to talk before he agreed on it, but he couldn’t stop now. “I didn’t know you two were...”

“What are you talking about?”

“You, and Bruce. I didn’t know you two were a thing. And you don’t have to worry about me, I won’t get in the way.”

“We’re not… You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Clark crossed his arms, a heated, non-lethal glance thrown to the man standing up. “Because then I’m not sure why you’ve been acting so austere with me. Even more than usual. If you hate me because I kissed the man you’re dating or if you hate me because you’re a bigoted idiot, then please let me know and stop with these childish attitudes.”

He waited one, two, three seconds and the man had barely moved. Clark didn’t know what he wanted to come out of this, but he thought he’d at least would be giving a response. “Figures.” Clark scoffed, walking past the man and doing everything in his power to not shove him with his shoulders, not knowing if he would actually hurt him.

He’d already taken off in the direction of his apartment when a familiar voice called out a name that had no right being said by him. It was a name that’d never come from him, but it strangely seemed to belong to him.

“Clark.” Batman said again, and it had him taking an 180 turn and almost break the sound barrier to reach the man. He expected to see the knight with a smirk on his face, with something on his phone linking everything from Clark to Superman and ready to threat him with leaking the information if he ever did something.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to see the man without his cowl.

“Bruce?”

“I don’t hate you.” The man who spoke wasn’t Batman, nor it was ‘Brucie’. It was simply… Bruce. “Quite the opposite.”

Taking long strides, Bat- Bruce walked until he was so close to him they could almost melt into each other, placing his hands on his cheeks. He didn’t need to stand on his tiptoes this time, as Clark was hovering in the air low enough to be at the same level as him. “Totally the opposite.”

And as the sun rose beside them, they shared the first of what would be a myriad of kisses.

[stardewremixed]

Alex headcanons

Wanted to be a knight when he was a child. Horse and lance, sword and suit of armor. Shiny. Made one out of tinfoil, scraps of Evelyn's fabric, and a broom stick. Neighbor kids made fun of him. He didn't dress up again.

Joined a yoga class on a dare. Well actually because he saw a pretty girl through the window and straight up walked into the glass. The instructor made him take the class. Something about balance and coordination.

Almost thought about joining the army right outta high school. He barely passed and wasn't sure college was for him. But the thought of dying while his grandparents (his only relatives) still lived qnd didnt have anyone to take care of them was too unnerving. He didn't want to leave them all alone. Still likes war movies sometimes.

Conscientious about his scent. Keeps his pit hairs trimmed. Religious about showering after working out. Keeps a spare deodorant in his truck. Leaves a trail of cologne - clean, just-out-of-shower scent, not too weighty, a bit soapy, rainforest mist like.

Has helped Sam out with his community service before because this man weirdly loves digging fence posts.

Also loves carrying things - groceries for his grandma (or the pretty farmer), barrels of ale and whiskey, folding tables from festivals, tools up a ladder, etc. Both arms full. Things normal people can carry on multiple trips. Alex gets it all and doesn't break a sweat. Would carry the farmer too (if she'd let him - and you know he's carrying her bridal style on their wedding night).

Loves a challenging ropes course. Can rappel down a wall or a mountain side. Can complete a obstacle course faster than anyone else. Would give Kent a run for his money at army crawling. Absolutely goes nuts about hiking, bouldering, free climbing too. Would probably do spelunking too if... he wasn't a teeny but afraid of the dark... because...

Kept a nightlight in his room until he was a teenager. It's why he never did sleepovers with the other kids. That and he hit puberty early. Towering over grade schoolers was only cool for like a minute. But you can reach things on the top shelf, I guess.

Occasionally freelances for the Adventurer's Guild. Gives guided hiking tours up into the mountains above the Valley or secret woods for tourists. He would be enthusiastic too - swinging his arms and waving his hands around while telling stories and pointing out cool sights.

His hugs are big, and leave you feeling wrapped up, but in a good way. Like a cozy warm blanket. You feel safe and loved.

He's a cuddler... while you watch TV together, while you read books together (yes, he likes sports magazines and biographies of his heroes), and while you sleep. He's definitely the big spoon and makes you feel cherished. That's until he starts snoring... lightly. You'll have to nudge him to stop. And those arms do get... heavy. And he's definitely elbowed his companion in bed before.

He's a bit of a wimp when it comes to shots. It's why he would never get a tattoo or get his ears pierced. He doesn't like needles. (They might also remind him of his mom and her treatments when he was little).

He once posed for a campaign poster for a lumberjack festival. Lewis had little success. Only a dozen young girls showed up on the bus that day. No actual woodchoppers. Needless to say, Alex kills it in plaid. Think Brawny paper towel guy vibes without the facial hair.

Also did a modeling gig for Pierre once to sell some winter gear. Haley took the photos. Alex is a natural in front of the camera. Again, lots of female visitors... erm... customers to the town for a period of two days. He may or may not have autographed the ad for one of the ladies.

He's shouldered a lot of responsibility from a young age. His dad ran out on them. His mom was sick. His grandparents aren't the healthiest. Alex has picked up odd jobs since he was eight. Recycling bottlecaps. ♻️ Washing cars. Lemonade stand. 🍋

Delivering newspapers was one of his first real paying gigs. Granny gave him one of George's old newsboy caps. Alex wore it with pride. He's got an incredible swing for it. Also led him to be interested in baseball. He played three seasons in Little League as a pitcher before he became fascinated with gridball. 📰

It was actually Grandpa George who got him into gridball. Watching games together on TV, critiquing the players, talking technique. Male bonding stuff. He wants to take George to a pro game one day, proudly wheeling his Gramps into the stadium. 🏈

One of his first jobs as a young adult was at the local hospital. It's how he paid for his first apartment. He wheeled people up from their appointments to get picked up at curbside. Just like with his mom when he was a young teen. It felt like a good way to keep giving back even after she was gone. New moms. Dialysis patients. Kids with broken legs from falling off a skateboard ramp...

That's how he met Sam actually. (I like to think these two would be sort-of friends). Sam talked about music and boarding and surfing. Alex talked about the high school Alma Mater fight song and baseball and weightlifting.

Sam and Alex built an epic sandcastle village on the beach one year at the Luau. Both were bored. Vincent helped too. It was impressive... until high tide came in. Haley snapped a photo first at least.

Inspired by Grandpa George, he took a dance class. That's how he met Haley (when they were late teens). He was her favorite dance partner. He could actually lift her without dropping her. And he didn't step on his toes. He's actually pretty light on his feet. Tried tap dancing too but that wasn't as successful (or cool looking).

Named MVP for his high school gridball team. Would've gone on to play in uni but just didn't have the grades. And he needed to stay close for Granny and George. Still keeps his trophies from every sport he's ever played in his room.

Would challenge anyone to an arm wrestling contest any day. Has actually made some money at the Stardew Valley Fair this way. Out of towners might underestimate him. Amateurs! Shane is the only one who's come close to besting Alex and only then because he was drunk. Sober Shane might have stood a chance.

Bought George a big recliner with his very first paycheck from his adult job. Comfy cushions, high quality leather, great arm rests. George never sits in it because he had his mining accident shortly after and so it sits unused in a storage closest somewhere collecting dust. Still every once in a while, George wheels by and thinks about his grandson's thoughtfulness.

Will carry any of the Farmer's picked produce back to the bins, trekking across the fields, or will personally deliver products to Pierre's. By the armful. Corn, lettuce, bushels of broccoli, squash, grapes, tomatoes. He can carry 3 or 4 buckets at a time. Or by the basket. The big round baskets that the average person can only carry one at a time.

Likes the smell of freshly washed cars. And the air after it rains. New leather on a ball. Granny's freshly baked cookies.

Would literally be your shoulder to cry on. No seriously, people have. His mom before she passed. Evelyn after her frustrations with George. Haley after a boy she liked dumped her. Even Emily after one awkward moment as she was taking out the trash behind the Saloon and felt overwhelmed about a disturbing vision she had. He is always willing to comfort those he cares about.

Doesn't really cook but he can make a mean cheesy macaroni casserole. It's one of the few recipes he learned as a boy that has stuck with him.

Feels strongly about cheating in sports. And popping pills to make someone stronger. Especially because his mom was ill. He knows there are people out there who really need medicines. Illegal drugs are a disgrace to the profession.

Would absolutely spend his days fixing up the farmhouse, repairing the barn, sprucing the greenhouse, patching up the chicken coop while the farmer worked the fields and orchards and took care of livestock. I have this longstanding belief that Alex would make an excellent handyman in the Valley. Maybe it starts out as an apprenticeship with Robin. He's gifted with a sander, a wrench, a saw. And this man looks great in a backward cap, tight jeans, and a tool belt. He likes to feel useful, stay busy, and work with his hands. Painting your bedroom and repairing your shower leak would be his first projects once moving to the farm.

[choking-on-ice]

Superscienceshipping (because I've been going through the reblogs & it sounded nice) Incorrect quotes & something I cooked up at the end: Lex: Where are you going? Kara: To get MYSELF a gift cause somebody didn't get me one! Lex: I told you I did! Its coming here on Friday! Jimmy, knowing full well that Lex got Kara an engagement ring: eating popcorn (Seems OOC to me, but it's one of the better ones I got.) Lex: Where’s Kara? Jimmy: Around. Lex: Around? Lex: You don’t have any idea, do you? Kara, dropping down from above: Did you know there’s a space above the ceiling?

Kara, holding out a cookie for Jimmy: Look! This ones a heart, that’s how I feel about you! Jimmy: *Ugly crying* Kara, holding out another cookie for Lex: This ones like Michigan, that’s how I feel about you! Lex, throwing their hands in the air: What does that mean?! (Presume this is recently after Lex's involvement with Task Force X comes to light. There's a lot of complicated emotions between the 3.)

And the thing I cooked up (Crack AU where Digital!Jor-El, the Kents & Brainiac are stuck awkwardly co-parenting Clark & Kara. Assume Brainiac got the Brain & MM to help make himself a custom organic body, & has chilled out significantly): Kara: "Father, can you please pass the salt?" Brainiac, Lex Jimmy : both reach for the salt at the same time Everyone at the dinner table: "..." (Brainiac is disappointed in half of his daughter's choice of partners. He approves of Lex for his intelligence, but doesn't really care much for Jimmy.) Now that I think of it, how would Brainac react to the Leauge of Lois Lanes & Mr Mxyzptlk? I have the mental image of him being interested in their stuff, & meeting other versions of himself. The other Brainiacs might consider him the Patti of their group.

Like fr I love this cookie scene so much lol, something about Lex having to deal with two people that basically communicate via shitpost 90% of the time is just *chefs kiss*

Also I take this "pass the salt" scene and raise you the exact same, but it's Monsieur Mallah, The Brain, Brainiac, and the Kents who watch as Kara, Lex, and all of Jimmy's pseudo father figures reach at the same time. (Kara gives daddy energy to me) ((also maybe Steve is there cuz I think his and Jimmy's relationship is heinous yet great))

[sarahowritesostucky]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Word count: 2101

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, dom/sub elements, alpha Steve, beta Bucky, hurt/comfort, wedding night, alternate history, nobility/royalty au, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage, enemies to lovers

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, eldest son James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

12. A Sojourn in London

This Chapter: He imagines his life, spent stifled and serving Steve in mundane ways, watching some faceless omega inevitably claim all of Steve’s sexual interest and produce children for him while Bucky slowly goes insane from the boredom of an unimpressive, domestic life.

Bucky and Steve might be high Society in America, part of the Senatorial ruling class, but they aren’t actual royalty. The Duke and Duchess of Kent however, are. And their living accommodations reflect it.

The carriage pulls through to the inner courtyard at Kensington Palace, and Steve offers his hand to help Bucky down. He takes his arm as they’re guided into the palace and shown the way to a grand ballroom. Bucky has to double check that his mouth is closed a few times as he looks around.

There are lots of other people, all just as finely or better dressed than Steve and Bucky are. Bucky catalogues the number of diamonds and other jewels that he can see adorning the heads and dripping from the throats of all the ladies, quickly deducing that, outside of the British Museum’s Crown Jewels exhibit, he’s never been surrounded by such wealth. “Jeez,” he mutters to Steve. “The Queen’s not making an appearance, is she?”

Steve chuckles and mutters back, “I don’t think so, Buck.”

Bucky smiles politely at the first two couples who come up to introduce themselves and chat. The Lady Cavendish is alpha and there with her beta husband. Another, Lord Barrows, is with both of his triad. The alphas both talk with Steve and eventually Bucky joins in. But the group gets quiet when he does. Lady Cavendish seems taken-aback. “My,” she says, looking unsure if she should be amused or annoyed. “You Americans certainly have relaxed manners.”

Bucky frowns, not understanding her meaning but pretty sure that he’s just been insulted. Steve’s hand comes out and pulls Bucky in against his side, almost possessively. “You’ll have to forgive my husband,” he says. “He’s never traveled enough to acquaint himself with European customs.”

Lord Barrows and his spouses smile and nod, and Bucky is left both confused and annoyed. He can’t help feeling that he’s being laughed at. “What?” he asks, peeved.

Steve squeezes him the tiniest bit tighter against his side at his tone. “It’s customary in British society for Spouses to wait on their Headship for invitation into the conversation,” he tells Bucky.

Bucky can tell from Steve’s tone that he’s trying to appear in-control to the other people. He can also definitely tell that Steve is waiting for him to blow up. Though he does feel indignation zip through him at hearing such antiquated nonsense, Bucky doesn’t say anything more than, “Oh.”

Steve seems relieved. His hold on Bucky relaxes. “That’s alright, darling. You didn’t know.”

Bucky wants to make a face at Steve calling him ‘darling’. It’s so obviously faked. Sure, Bucky understands that airs have to be put on at Society functions, but he’s not used to it with Steve. He doesn’t like it. “I’d be interested to know what other customs I’m ignorant of,” he muses, then pauses to look at the other two alphas. “That is, if I’ve been ‘invited into the conversation’?” He looks wide-eyed at Steve, pretending like he cares.

Steve’s lips quirk the barest amount, but he nods and says, “Of course.”

“Oh thank you, husband,” Bucky simpers. He doesn’t think the other guests are aware of how close he is to gagging. He looks back over to Lady Cavendish and her husband. “Well?” he asks. “What else should I know?”

“Your fashions are more liberal,” Lady Cavendish says. Now she looks mostly amused by Bucky, if also somewhat disapproving. She nods to her beta and says, “What do you think, Dear?”

Lord Cavendish perks up at his chance to speak. “Yes, I had noticed that.” His eyes run up and down Bucky’s outfit like he’s found several things lacking. It makes Bucky uncomfortable, and he has to fight not to squirm and look down at himself. “Your wrists are covered,” the other man notes. “No beta in London Society would be caught in public with such an ill-tailored jacket.”

Bucky flushes. “It’s not ill-tailored,” he snaps. He’d noticed after a turn of the ballroom that all the other married betas’ suits and dress sleeves don’t reach past their wrist bones, leaving their wedding wristbands on full display. “It’s what’s fashionable.”

Cavendish Shrugs. “In America, perhaps.”

“In the twentieth century!” Bucky scowls. “Christ. Get over yourself. Not everyone needs to advertise themselves like property.”

Lord Cavendish doesn’t say anything back to him, just stands there smugly at having gotten such a reaction out of Bucky. His wife, however, says, “Well I never,” as if that fully-encapsulates her disdain for Bucky’s attitude.

Maybe it does, because the next thing Bucky knows, Steve is gripping him by the back of the neck, jostling him in a classic scruff. Bucky’s mouth falls open at the domineering gesture, a surprised sound leaving him without his permission. The shock of the action outweighs any outrage he might otherwise feel. “I’m sorry,” Steve is apologizing to the group. “Please, do excuse us.”

The two other Headships titter as Steve steers Bucky away. Bucky goes red all the way to his ears, he’s sure of it. Steve has gotten him out into the hallway before Bucky can manage to react in any way, which is good news, because he’s not sure what he might have yelled at those people, if given the chance. He jerks out of Steve’s hold the second they’re alone in the hall. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he yells, relieved when Steve lets him go. “Scruffing me? In front of a whole room full of people?!”

“Bucky, calm down.”

He glowers at Steve, feeling like his head is going to explode. “What the hell, Steve!”

Steve steps into his space, pressing him against the wall. “Lower. your. voice.”

Bucky would scream, if Steve hadn’t just Voiced the specific command to do the opposite at him. “How could you do that?” he hisses instead, feeling betrayed. “How? Are you trying to humiliate me?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. Of course not. It’s their custom, Buck. I couldn’t be seen to do nothing when you spoke to them like that. I told you: everything’s a lot more formal over here.”

Bucky growls. “You didn’t have to do that.” He hasn’t seen an adult, let alone an adult beta, be scruffed by their Headship in public in he doesn’t know how many years. It’s a demeaning, authoritative sort of thing. Bucky feels like crawling into the ground, knowing that a ballroom full of British Society just witnessed it being done to him. “I hate you,” he spits.

Steve sighs. “No, you don’t.”

“I do!”

“Shh!” Steve looks reproachfully at him. “I can’t let you disrespect our union in front of those people, Bucky.”

“I wasn’t!”

“To them, you were.” Steve looks pointedly at him. “And you know it, too. You were being rude.”

“So what?” Bucky snaps.

“Seriously?” Steve frowns at him. “Do you want me to have to discipline you? Because I will, if you keep this up in public.”

Someone nearby clears their throat, and both Steve and Bucky’s heads turn to see Lord Barrows standing there. “Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all. He steps over and pulls something from under his dress coat, handing it to Steve.

Bucky’s eyes widen when he sees what it is. “The fuck?” he breathes before he can help it. “You carry a cane on you?”

Barrows smiles at Bucky like he’s a misbehaving child, but he speaks to Steve. “It’s a switch. I thought you might need it.” His eyes flick over Bucky, then Back to Steve. “See you at the dinner table, yes?” He turns and starts walking away.

“Um, yeah,” Steve mutters. He waits until Barrows is gone before turning back to Bucky. He holds the switch between them, looking just as shocked as Bucky feels. “Well.”

Bucky’s belly flips at the implicit threat of the implement. He doesn’t like seeing it in Steve’s hand, wants to knock it to the floor. “Christ,” he mutters. “These people live in the fucking dark ages.”

“They’re strict.”

“Ya think?” Bucky scoffs.

“All Senatorial Households have canes,” Steve says. “Even your family must’ve.”

“Not as an amenity for dinner guests to use!” Bucky snatches the switch from Steve’s hand and holds it in front of his face. “You’d seriously hit me with this?”

“Senator?” Both Bucky and Steve’s heads whip up again. It’s Lady Cavendish this time. She looks distinctly interested in what she’s interrupted as she informs them, “Dinner is about to be served. Everyone is convening in the dining room.”

"Butt out!" Bucky snaps.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “We’ll be there presently.”

Lady Cavendish affords them one last, curious glance, then nods and hurries out of sight. Steve turns his attention back to Bucky. He looks very displeased. He holds out his hand. “Give me that. Now.”

Bucky gulps. Slowly, not wanting to, he gives the switch to Steve. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Steve’s fingers curling around the handle. “Are you going to hit me?” he asks, surprised by how tiny his voice sounds when it comes out.

Steve sighs heavily. “No, Bucky. I’m not.” He sets the switch aside. “I’d never hurt you like that. Not for anything so minor.”

Privately, Bucky wonders what infraction would be serious enough in Steve’s book to warrant such a punishment. He decides against asking. “I don’t want to go back in there,” he says instead. “They’ll all think you were out here punishing me.”

Steve arches an eyebrow. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Hey!”

“Come on," he says, with a bit of a snicker. He takes Bucky's arm and guides him back out to the ballroom. “Try and act like a properly admonished Spouse now, would you?”

Bucky makes a low growling sound, but says nothing. They are only steps away from entering the dining room, after all.

Dinner isn’t much better than the ballroom, unfortunately. The upside is that, once again, Bucky's not expected to participate in any of the conversation. So he can just focus on eating his—delicious, he must admit—food. The downside is that he has to wait for Steve to serve that food to him.

He's taken aback when he first notices it: the footmen bringing the courses out and setting them down only in front of the alphas. Bucky stares at a triad across the table as the Headship moves some of the food from her plate onto her beta’s plate, and then some onto her omega’s. Bucky flushes, suddenly remembering how that’d been one of the customs he’d observed when his father had brought him to a British state dinner when he was younger. Seeing it again, and especially with Steve sitting next to him as his Alpha, is oddly mortifying. Bucky has to wait while Steve is served his dish and the lid is pulled off. Steve looks over at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Seriously?” Bucky hisses. The other Spouses all have polite phrases that they use to ask their Alphas to be served. Steve smirks at Bucky as he waits for a response. “You’re enjoying this,” Bucky accuses, and the alpha shrugs.

“Maybe a little. Here.” He takes Bucky’s plate and gives him well over half the portion. “I’m not actually going to make you say it.”

Bucky grunts, angry but also a little bit pleased that Steve is ladling over most of the spinach puffs. I’d rather starve, is what he thinks, but out loud he says, “Well ... good.”

The rest of the dinner is spent in a similar, mildly-torturous fashion. Bucky sits quiet and pretty and lets Steve serve him each course, and he observes all of the Triads with their proper etiquette and rigidly defined roles, how insipidly all the beta and omega Spouses behave. He imagines his life, spent stifled and serving Steve in mundane ways, watching some faceless omega inevitably claim all of Steve’s sexual interest and produce children for him while Bucky slowly goes insane from the boredom of an unimpressive, domestic life.

When the Headship of the Triad directly across the table from them makes a rather obnoxious joke about omega suffrage—and Steve laughs along, mind you (Bucky doesn’t care if it's forced or not)—Bucky makes up his mind that he’s not going to let this happen to him. He’s not going to become one of those beta Spouses across the dining table, not going to resign himself to a life as an invisible Second who takes only what he's given and says 'thank you' for it.

Omegas and betas don’t have the right to divorce their Head of Household, but Alphas can choose to initiate the process if they wish. With the dowry to protect his family now permanently secured, Bucky makes a decision right then and there to do everything he can to drive Steve away.

If he can make Steve want a divorce, he’ll be free.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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[palakro]

Enhancing Health and Wellness: The Role of RO Water Purifiers

In today's fast-paced world, maintaining good health and wellness has become a top priority for individuals. With the rising pollution levels and the prevalence of water-borne diseases, ensuring access to clean and safe drinking water is crucial. This is where Palak RO play a vital role for RO water purifier. RO, which stands for Reverse Osmosis, is a technology that effectively removes impurities and contaminants from water, providing pure and healthy drinking water.

[theender36]

Recently watched Superman: The Movie (1978) for the first time in well over a decade and it really is a great movie so I got some thoughts that I want to put somewhere before I forget.

The cold open of theater curtains showing a mockup of an old Superman serial featuring Action Comics is a great nod to the character's past. Then the title flying out of the old theater screen is a fantastic visual as well as a good transition to kickstart the credits sequence accompanied by the iconic music

The set design of Krypton is phenomenal; the glowing clothes, the crystalline look, and the streamlined technology feel alien and futuristic in a unique way, although it is a little odd that everything is so white except for Kal-El's baby blanket.

The trial of Zod, Ursa, and Non has the striking combination of visuals that are the trio being held in a spotlight by spinning rings and the stern Kryptonian judges' faces being projected onto the otherwise dark dome surrounding them

Marlon Brando keeps pronouncing it "Kryptin" for some reason. Like when I'm joking about watching "The Batmins"

Genuinely very sad goodbye scene from Kal's parents

Pretty much every wide shot in Kansas is super beautiful

As is the custom, Ma and Pa Kent bring Clark up right. I appreciate the moment where Clark tells Pa about how he gets so mad at bullies that he wants to tear them apart because first off, you can tell from how he says it that he knows it'd be wrong to do that. And second, Pa doesn't yell at him for having those feelings, he tries to help him deal with them.

Clark doesn't just bail on Martha to go find himself, and he makes sure she'll have help on the farm while he's gone

The sequence of the Fortress forming itself has amazing practical effects and editing

Maybe it was because I was watching the Blu Ray version with extra scenes but the abstract montage of crystal Jor-El teaching Clark about the universe and his abilities and giving life lessons ran a little long but it was cool

Clark is very much playing up his meek, clumsy identity but him being Reporter Clark Kent as a person is not totally an act. He makes sure half his paycheck goes to Ma back home because he wants to make sure she's taken care of and he tries to be polite and helpful around the office, which tracks with who he is at his core

I think Lex being a business tycoon/scientist is pretty integral to the character but I don't mind this version's "Napoleon of crime" shtick. I like that Gene Hackman's hair being a wig in-story is hinted at when Otis is poking around the spa and he finds a spare hairpiece

I know everyone knows this already but Christopher Reeves is a perfect casting choice and he does an amazing job at making Clark and Superman superficially different but obviously the same person at heart. Even when he says something a little corny as either one, there's so much sincerity to it

Clark feeling a little guilty about enjoying being a hero is on-brand. I like that Jor-El reflects Johnathan Kent by encouraging him but also giving guidance so he doesn't lose who he is.

The moment of Jor-El saying "I've sent them you. My only son." is veering very close to the common Superman-as-a-Jesus-allegory mistake but it's the only time in the entire movie I remember it doing that, so I can't harp on it too much

Lois is just a force of nature and the only reason Clark can keep up with her as Superman is because she's starstruck

This version of Superman and Lois are down just HORRENDOUS for each other

The flying date scene is great and I think the poorly-aged flying effect is countered by the nighttime background and the chemistry between the characters. That being said, the "can you read my mind" poem is just. What. Why is this

The scene of Lex, Ms. Teschmacher, and Otis attempting to tamper with the nukes and then having to do it again because Otis screwed up is so goofy I forgot they were villains

Great moment when Superman shows he can be intimidating by just staring down Otis.

I like that Superman is saved by Ms Teschmacher because she believes in him which is a surprise to Lex because he only believes in himself

Really great effects in the scenes of the destruction from the San Andreas fault

This shot is underrated

The moments of Superman realizing Lois is dead have so much weight to them and are amazingly shot

I kind of wish they explored the consequences of him "interfering in history" because otherwise it is sort of just a convenient deus ex machina

Everything ends tied up very nicely (except the Zod squad but after two hours, nobody's thinking about that) and sometimes that's all a movie needs

It's astonishing really how much they manage to fit in this movie considering they give a lot of scenes more time than you'd expect

Overall, movie good.

[sleepyguywriting]

Moving To Metropolis

Synopsis - Clark Kent is getting a late start in life. Growing up as an outcast made him fearful of life beyond Smallville, but when Clark decides he wants more, he'll have to move to the big city to make it happen. Is it ever too late to become a hero? University AU. Characterizations based on MAWS.

Chapter 1 - MetU In The City

"When I was younger, Metropolis was sold to small town, farm boys like me as an idyllic city. A place where dreams flourish, where your ambitions can go even higher than the buildings that scrape the sky. It's a place with no limits; where a person can be who they truly are," I shift in the cafe chair that seems two sizes too small for me to sit on, rubbing my hands together to hopefully take care of some of the sweat on my palms.

"Miss Stevens, I'm sure you can take one look at my application and see that I was an outsider in Smallville. I was a benchwarmer on my high school baseball team, president of the chess club, and I could probably count the times I went to any school functions on one hand-“

“You’re not making a very good case for yourself, Mr. Kent,” Miss Steven’s interjects, pointing the end of her ballpoint pen at me.

Oh, man. She’s right, I just told her I was an outcast that I wasn’t involved in after school activities. Are my ears turning red? Is my face!?

“Thaaat's why…,” I elaborate, “That is why I initially thought that college wasn't for me. After high school, I worked on the farm with my Pa and I thought that's all I was cut out for. But the city still calls for me, and I wonder to myself... 'who would Clark Kent be in Metropolis?'"

I pause for a moment, taking a sip of the latte in front of me.

"Well, and that's what I'm hoping you'll give me the opportunity to find out."

Across the table, Miss Stevens is scribbling down notes as I'm talking, her face remaining neutral so not to give away how the interview is going. The modest cafe we agreed to meet at is alive with customers around us-- people chatting at booths, some tucked away with their laptops typing, and some in their own world. Once Miss Stevens is done writing, she meets my eyes, her own narrowing like a predator locked in on its prey, before saying,

"We've covered why you want to attend MetU, but let's get more specific: why do you want to major in journalism?"

My real answer, the answer I gave my folks when I applied for MetU, the answer about using my powers for good, is not the one I give her. Instead of spilling the whole truth, I opt for a "close-enough truth",

"I want to make a real difference. Not just in Metropolis, but in the world. Majoring in investigative journalism will allow me to get to the real issues of society, and maybe start the path of fixing them," another pause to fix my glasses, then, "Mainly, I just want to help as many people as possible, and talking to people, listening to their story, well, that's what I'm good at anyhow."

The corner of Miss Stevens' mouth upturns at this as she continues to jot down more notes.

"I see, and what makes you think you can help people? What makes you so different that you'll be the one to change the world?"

I smile at this, my response falling from my mouth as if it's the most natural answer in the world, "I am different, but that's not what makes me think that I can help people. The truth is that anyone can help people, you just to make the choice to do it."

"I think I've heard all I need to hear, Mr. Kent," Miss Stevens closes her folder and stands up, sticking her manicured hand across the table for a handshake. I follow suit, and stand up so suddenly that my chair kicks back with more force than I intended, knocking it back into the table behind me. Luckily, no one was sitting there, but all the same I wince in embarrassment as I shake Miss Stevens' hand. I collect the chair as she continues,

"We'll be in touch soon with our decision. Keep an eye on your mailbox."

After thanking her for her time, I'm left in the Kansas City coffee shop alone, my future no more certain than when I came in. I've done all I can do, so now I just have to... wait. Great. I am so NOT good at waiting.

Fresh fall air hits my face as I step out of the coffee shop, sighing heavily. If I can't get into Metropolis University, I'll have to figure out what else I can do in the city. Moving there won't be as exciting if I have to take a part-time job until I have enough experience for a career.

I step into the dank alleyway between the coffeeshop and the building next door, my mind racing with "what-if" scenarios as I head deeper in. Once I'm satisfied that no one will see me, I launch into the air.

Man, I wish everyone could experience flying. It is freeing.

No matter how much my mind has on it, a simple trip above Smallvile always does the trick to put things into perspective, and it's no different here, on the way back the Kent Family Farm. I can hear Pa's voice in my head as cool air whips around me,

"Everything will work out, son, it always does."

The clouds float by as I stick my arm above to let my hand graze them. I whoop and holler as I blast forward towards home, unable to stop myself.

It never gets old.

Just like that, in a matter of just a few minutes, I'm back home in my backyard, my landing impact rustling trees and the ground beneath me. Ma comes out to the porch of the farmhouse at the sound of me landing. She's got a green dish towel tossed over her shoulder, indicating she was either peeling vegetables for dinner or washing dishes. I could probably put money on the latter as she's got her sleeves on her beige plaid shirt rolled up to her elbows. Combined with her white hair tossed into a bun, I'd say she's been chorin’ all day at this point.

"How'd it go?" She asks as I lean down to hug her and kiss her cheek.

"Alright, I think, dunno," I shrug. Ma pats me on the shoulder for reassurance. I’m vibrating with anxiety.

"I'm sure they love you, Clark," she responds. She brings her hands up to rest on my cheeks, "what's not to love?"

"I'm just worried. I did my best, but... what if that's not enough?"

"It's enough, hon. I'm sure of it. Now, go help your pa finish up chores so we can eat."

I nod in response and with a gust of wind and a flash of color, I’m with Pa tossing hay bales onto a trailer. I've had several lectures from Pa on shortcuts, so, instead of using my superspeed to load the trailer faster, I start picking up bales and carrying them one by one. As I'm carrying a bale, Pa drops a bale onto the trailer and then turns to me,

"I'm sure gonna miss your help around here, son," He starts, wiping his forehead sweat with the sleeve of his denim shirt.

"I don't even know if I got in yet, pa, ya might never get rid of me," I joke as I lift another bale and start carrying it to the trailer.

He laughs, "I would thank my lucky stars if that were the case, I'd never have to lift one of these damn bales again. But, I know you. You need to be out in the world, you need to live your life. It's time."

"Thanks, Pa."

"And, well, if you ever do strike out in that big city, you'll always have a home here with your ma and I."

"Thanks, Pa," I repeat, setting the last haybale onto the trailer.

A week and five days later, a blue and yellow manila envelope with a large "MU" plastered on the back arrives in the mail.

[baddecisionsgoooo0]

Super Doo Au Prompt #1

So, as I mentioned in an earlier... ( I don't know the term. Post? Tumbl? Crack? Blog?), Superman only got his super powers after eating some of Ma Kent's baking.

For this prompt, the Kent's live in/around Coolville/Crystal Cove, and Clark became friends with the Scooby gang while growing up. Through a number of events, the Scooby gang receives powers, and forms the core of the justice league with Superman.

Characters:

Shaggy is obviously a speedster, taking the place of the Flash. He can run real fast, and has to eat far more than a normal human can.

Scooby could be a Kryptonian super dog. If he is, then he belonged to Clark growing up, until Shaggy and Clark "married" and raised Scooby as their son. Eventually, Shaggy and Clark "divorced", and the judge (The school children) awards equal custody. (It was a highly controversial decision, and regular fist fights still break out even though none of the children are still in school)(Shaggy and Clark are best friends though)

Alternatively, Scooby could be able to transform into other animals, as well as be an excellent mimic. He could also turn into a larger version of himself.

Velma could be the girl in the chair. However, I propose something different. Hot Dog Water is the girl in the chair, and Velma is a cyborg-like character. Hell, both Hot Dog Water and Velma could have enhancements. They are also dating b/c obviously.

Daphne is Batman. Flat out. She funds the gang, knows a ridiculous amount of unique topics, and has a bit of a ditzy public persona. Either no additional powers, or maybe something that makes her really lucky.

Fred is difficult. On one hand, he could be Batman with how much he loves traps and in certain timelines is rich and acts like an absolute himbo. On the other, he is a bit of a himbo. So instead, he gets powers to control metal, somewhat.

Something that will let him tinker with the Mystery Machine, let him fully construct traps, let him lift large objects with ease. Eventually someone thinks to put some metal in a rope, and Fred now controls ropes. (The amount of sex/bondage jokes are outstanding, and Fred just smiles and nods along. He has no idea what anyone is talking about. People make a comment about kinks and he's just like "??? there are no kinks in this rope???". Fred is a human golden retriever.)

Scrappy could be a Bizzarro clone of Scooby, or just be part of a junior team.

The Hex girls absolutely get saved one time, and make custom theme songs for each of the gang as thanks.

Vincent Van Ghoul is like John Constantine. He uses his acting career as cover while he deals with demons. He is also unimpressed with the... lackadaisical attitude of the gang.

The Parents:

Ma and Pa Kent have that midwest farmer attitude. If you're there, you'll do your work and eat your fill. Family is the most important thing, and you leave 30 minutes to an hour after you say goodbye. You also leave with about twenty various leftovers. (Oh, we'll never eat this pie. And I know chocolate chip is your favorite. I made too much mashed potatoes, take some, etc.) They never throw anything away (It could be useful), and they always tell people to watch out for deer as they leave.

The Kents know Clark has super powers, so when he starts having helpers, they figure out who it is pretty quickly. Que Clark telling outrageous lies to protect his friends and his parents pretending to believe him. Ma Kent always piles Shaggy's food much higher than everyone b/c "he's a growing boy" and not because she knows he needs way more calories. Pa Kent asks for Fred's help around the farm because Fred can move tractors easier. Etc.

For the rest of the parents, they should be caring, but a little oblivious. except Fred's parents. Fred's parents being evil and him not realizing because he can be very oblivious to his loved ones is funny. Like, "Oh, my parents aren't evil, they just *insert terrible excuse that a five year old wouldn't fall for*"

Ages:

I would say it could start 14-15 for that sweet, sweet puberty angst. and also to start the threats small. As the gang gets more used to their powers, they can start going further afield.

That's all I've got for now,

Tune in next time for more cracked out ideas.

[loisinherlane]

Kon and Ma and Pa + 73?

kon + ma + pa / everyday america by sugarland

oh, woah, everyone's dreaming big oh, woah, but everyone's just getting by that's how it goes in everyday america

"Conner, load up the truck, will ya?" Pa asked, gesturing at the boxes of produce still sitting on the porch. Kon obliged before Pa got it in his head to try to do it himself when he'd already thrown his back out once this week.

The Kents had learned with Clark to be careful in when and what they said. Superhearing wasn't something that could be turned off, even when they wanted to. Ma and Pa had mastered the art of telling each other problems with a single look. Unfortunately, Kon was starting to learn that look as well.

If Pa couldn't work the farm, they couldn't get paid. If they couldn't get paid, Pa couldn't see the doctor. It was a catch-22 of farming. If things went south, they could maybe cash in on their crop insurance, but that didn't help them in the meantime. The farmer's market could tide them over for a little while, especially with Ma's bees churning out the local honey.

"I can run the stand today, Pa," Kon offered. "I think I've done it enough times."

"Yeah, and those baby blues pull in all the customers," Ma snorted. She was still placing last-minute labels on the honey jars.

"Nah, I can do it," Pa insisted. He groaned as his back creaked and moved towards the porch. "But you can tag along. Wouldn't kill you to learn a little more about work."

[ledarth]

Le Puppy...

Judith Fero.

────────────── ·  ·  · ♡

❝ Why does it take a survivor to live? I don't want an existence sprinkled with great memorable moments, I want a good one. I'll make a good one. And I accept that it will be sprinkled with bad, heartbreaking memorable moments. That's how it should be anyways. ❞

Age:: 24 years old.

Height:: 169 cm.

Born in Benin. Raised in the South of France. Studying for her PhD in the U.S.A.

Polyglot:: Goun, French, English, Spanish and Archaic & Post-Cicero Latin.

Alignment:: Neutral Good.

Sexuality:: She cares little for gender but does need for a connection to form before any sort of sexual desire arises.

Hobbies:: Strong Swimmer since youth, Books were her home once so Literature holds a special place in her heart, Photography and Cinema she is newer to but she has been delving into it earnestly.

Trained in:: Kajukenbo, Nikkyu currently (brown belt with two stripes).

Specie :: Varies on the verse.

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals: Currently mortal. (But an unaware werewolf who hasn't killed anyone yet thus not triggered the curse. This way she can still be turned by a vampire if before the curse is triggered, probably killing the potential gene in the process)

Teen Wolf: Mortal. Substitute Teacher at Beacon Hills High.

Shadowhunters: Mundane-yet-Sighted in the employ of the Paris Institute formerly but now transferred to the New York Institute as a Intelligence Analyst so fully trained to protect herself.

MCU: Interning as an Intelligence Analyst for S.A.B.E.R, somehow, following a M.A Thesis labeled: "Towards a communal grand strategy and foreign policy vision to approach extraterrestrial and extra-dimensional threats." that Bruce Banner actually read and heavily critiqued which led to some interesting Twitter Exchanges. The subject of her current thesis being: "Exolinguistics as a tool of diplomacy and understanding extraterrestrial and extra-dimensional history and customs." Perhaps leading towards a typology of the currently known extraterrestrial and extra-dimensional nations/people/populations.

DC(CU, Series and) Comics: Mostly Broke Gothamite though currently writing for the international politics section of the Gotham Globe. Currently living in downtown Gotham and relatively near crime alley. (Former member of We Are Robin depending on the timeline.)

The Blacklist: She's an Intelligence Analyst newly transferred to the task force who happens to be related to a number through his daughter with whom she went to college with in London. Number 171: Yusuf Idowu, known as Ijapa (The Turtle in Yoruba). Head of one of the biggest drug cartel in Nigeria, moving mostly cocaine with growing importance in Europe, especially Southern Italy and the the Netherlands. He is stopping by the U.S.A as a neutral ground between him and some head of a Central American drug trafficking syndicate to hopefully begin a partnership. Ijapa's choice to increase foreign partnerships comes from a growing interest in establishing a certain hegemony in Nigeria, thus controlling the flow of drug in the Gulf of Guinea.

To Be Added.

Personality:: Not particularly eye catching, Judith carries a rather cold aura. She will deny having a resting bitch face but will admit that smiling doesn't come naturally to her. It's more so brought out of her, by people, by events. She makes herself irremarkable à la Clark Kent, camouflaging in what some would call 'basic' pieces of clothing and an inherent discretion. It's not that she can't make herself noticed if she so wills, no, she likes making herself a wallflower, quiet, forgettable. It allows her to leisurely observe others, she notices but only states so if she has a reason to. It makes her seem trustworthy to others too, capable of keeping secrets, of compartmentalising when it comes to her own emotions. Panic though, does silence her, takes away her voice and freezes her body for so very important seconds before she can get it back together. When interacting with others, she tends to be introverted though perfectly adequate in social settings, even drawing people to her, rarely out of her features but her achievements, her poise, her discourse, do stand out. She will happily entertain a heated conversation or trade barbs but has little interest in polite niceties and small talk at the coffee machine, rather quiet on the job. She consumes alcohol for the experience in terms of flavor, not particularly seeking the buzz and having a pretty good tolerance born out of downing a good chunk of shots in undergrad. Patient, she is able to enjoy the process of things, no matter how long and drawn out, no matter how frustrating on the moment. Curious, she is eager to learn, to pull things apart and get in there to figure it out but also to peek, to peep, to keep an open hear. She likes to have the in, to know what is happening in the room where it happens but pays little more than passing interest to what she believes is just gossip.

Backstory:: To Be Written.