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mysteriousgod · 3 days ago

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Aliens, Babies, Bedtime! What Resident Alien Taught Me

"Hey Google, the kids are in bed," I say. The living room lights dim, the hallway and staircase lights turn off, and the TV turns on.

Bedtime is a taxing routine. My daughter has decided to make teeth brushing a horrible experience for everyone in the house. My son needs his eczema lotion applied. They pick out their books, we do all the voices, we tuck them in, give hugs. It doesn't end there. Next, I clean the kitchen and my wife cleans the living room. Finally, we rest. Some nights we'll play a board game, or work on a puzzle. Other nights, most nights, we watch a TV show.

Like many, I was first introduced to Resident Alien through the SYFY series starring Alan Tudyk. I don't know where I was or what I was doing, but I was listening to WNYC. I could've been driving home from work; I could've been making breakfast; I could've been cleaning up from dinner. I could've been Brian Lehrer, or maybe it was On the Media. Either way, someone was talking about the brilliance of the show, Resident Alien.

I had seen the tile pop up on Netflix many times, looking too silly for my wife to appreciate, but maybe silly enough for me. While my wife likes emotionally-driven, traumatic series like the one where the little boy gets abducted, I tend to like more light-hearted fare. This was my in--WNYC was talking about it; it must be good!

We had just finished another misery-inducing show, so I said to my wife, "Can we try Resident Alien? They were talking about how good it is on WNYC. And it has an 8-something on IMDB!" I felt like Ralphy asking for his Red Rider BB Gun.

"We can watch the trailer," she said apprehensively.

I navigated to the trailer button in Netflix and played it.

"Do you know who Alan Tudyk also plays? Hei-hei from Moana," I said.

At its conclusion, my wife uttered an unconvinced, "Kaaay."

I don't watch much TV by myself; the only time I really watch is with my wife at the end of the night after the kids go to bed. Judging by her reaction, we would likely be watching this for just one episode before she decided she wasn't into it.

Eventually, we finished the first season, and as the opening credits faded on and off in the opening sequence, I noticed I had missed: Resident Alien was based on a Dark Horse comic series by English author Peter Hogan and Steve Parkhouse."

"It's a comic?" I said, Googling it immediately.

I'm a fan of graphic novels. I'm currently in the long-term throes of the IDW TMNT series (which is 10/10 by the way). I previously read Watchmen, the graphic novel adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird, George Takei's They Called Us Enemy, Epileptic, by David B, American Splendor, Persepolis, and others.

I ordered the first Omnibus. It arrived a few days later.

I was surprised to learn how tonally different the show was from the comic book. The show was light-hearted, silly, zany. The comic, however, was nothing of the sort. Instead, it was serious, mysterious, noir.

Much like the show, the comic revolves around Harry Vanderspiegel's relationship with the fictional town, Patience, Colorado, as he is stranded on Earth following a failed mission. He never appears in human form in the comic, but it is illustrated brilliantly to indicate that humans don't see him as the reader does.

Unlike the show, Harry isn't an idiot--not at all. He has a deep understanding with humans, and while he is hesitant to interact with them at first while he waits for his rescue, he does so with earnest.

The show is now in its fourth season, which is to be its last as it has officially been canceled, probably for the better. Everything that made the show charming and clever and insightful has been lost since the third season as it, like many other TV comedies, compounds and doubles down on its comedy at the sacrifice of more interesting plotlines. What began as a crime comedy is now just a comedy, and a bad one at that.

I see connections between Resident Alien and Dexter, although Dexter was always a little campy to begin with. Both characters have a deep, dark secret. The secret is fun and interesting until...it's not. Until it's discovered by others and the focus of the show shifts from the protagonist doing what the audience loves--solving crimes, living two lives--to running and trying to protect themselves once their secret is known. Both Dexter and Harry have offspring who turn their lives upside-down, who offer a glimpse into their ever-expanding, complicated world. Let's be honest--a new permanent character is never a good sign for a TV series. Babies are often thrown in when the plot reaches its end as a way to keep it going (see Roseanne, The Cosby Show, Boy Meets World, Friends, must I go on?).

An essential component of the show just never really made any sense either. In the show, Harry the alien kills the human Harry in order to adopt his identity. He literally and painfully transforms into a human in the first episode and has difficulty learning to walk and talk to adjust to his new body. However, a little boy, the mayor's son, is able to see his true form. It's the kind of thing that's handled conveniently and inconsistently.

In the comic, Harry the alien adopts the identity of a retired doctor who he later discovers has been murdered. Harry's appearance is explained more as a sort of mind control. Harry shields his alien form from others as an illusionist performs tricks. The mayor's son isn't present in the book (the mayor is quite old). The role of seeing Harry beyond his illusion is given to Asta, who sees his face as a sort of blur.

I love the way both the show and the book handle the relationships and do justice to the Native American characters. As well as treating the characters with respect, the showrunners have also made a great effort to include indigenous actors. It's such a cool juxtaposition between Harry, an extraterrestrial alien, and Asta, the Native American woman of Earth, both outsiders, yet both exploring humanity at its core. It's no surprise they end up together.

While perusing Reddit, I came upon a post on the Resident Alien subreddit lamenting that the show was too female, a critique rooted in misogyny, yet accidentally brushing against something worth examining. "Why would any man watch this?" he asked. Big Black is an idiot caricature, Harry's an idiot, the mayor is an idiot. Even the mayor's son is an idiot to be saved by a much smarter girl. The only redeeming characters in the show are women. I think this is a fair criticism, but rather than making it unappealing to men, it should be unappealing to everyone. That said, I think the show is decidedly female, while the comic is decidedly male, and while neither lens is inherently better, the tonal split reveals how gender shapes narrative focus and emotional depth.

In the show, Harry, through time-travel or something, impregnates himself? Or something. I don't know. It's not well-done. He also makes babies with a bird-like alien species. In the comic, however, Harry and Asta produce a baby together. Asta takes the lead here, deciding for herself if she would like to keep the baby. Harry is excited to be a dad, but he leaves the decision up to her entirely. Eventually, she decides to keep it.

Knowing what I know about babies' roles in pop narratives, I worry about Harry and Asta's story. In the most recent edition, Volume 9: The Book of Love, the author and illustrator write about their approach to handling childbirth. In the introduction, Peter Hogan writes about how he recently became a dad and wanted to explore his own struggles through Harry's experiences. Despite a grand majority of media portrayal of pregnancy and childbirth being written and orchestrated by men, Hogan and Parkhouse's seems more honest. We see Harry eager to become a dad, damn the consequences of an alien-human baby. I kind of wish Hogan had spent more time on this. Like many imminent dads, Harry asks the wrong questions during labor. He's a good dad, utterly exhausted after spending a day with Clover, but still tender and present. He shows no resentment that the baby appears entirely human, nor do we see much of his anxieties about the issue.

On the contrary, we do see Asta's anxieties. She decides that they must leave town if the baby appears different. Additionally, in a sequence in which her father dies in a dream, the baby is wrapped in a hooded animalesque onesie that conceals her entire body except for her face, begging the question, what's being hidden beneath? Is there an alien in there?

I tend to think of most alien stories as race-oriented at their core. As the host of an NPR podcast might say, there's a lot to unpack here. We have an English author writing about an extraterrestrial alien's relationship with a Native American woman (doubly a marginalized person) while also exploring murder-mysteries in subrural America, avoiding entirely the political trappings of these experiences.

In Asta and Harry's story, I am reminded of Adulthood Rites, by Octavie E. Butler. Unlike Dawn (the first installment of the Lilith's Brood series), Adulthood Rites explores the experiences of Lilith Iyapo's alien-hybrid son, Akin, who, unlike the other constructs (the word used to describe human-Oankali hybrids), is more human than Oankali (I like how his name literally means "similar" and "related by blood"). Like many bi- or multiracial children, Akin comes to a point where he picks one--he chooses the be human and aligns himself to better the human race against the Oankali. Similarly, the short story, "Where I'm From," by Misa Suguira, explores a Japanese-American girl who is frustrated that people see her as Japanese before they see her as American (see the perpetual foreigner). I wonder what Clover is going to do when she discovers the truth about her life?

My kids are finally old enough that when we're at the pool, my wife and I don't need to hover over their every move. My daughter plays in the big pool with her friend, while my son plays in the kiddie pool with one of his. My wife reads her book, and I read mine, our eyes glancing every paragraph or so to make sure our kids are in sight. In one sitting, I finish Resident Alien, Volume 8: The Book of Life, not just for the sci-fi intrigue or sharp dialogue, but because it's a story that, like parenthood itself, explores what it means to be part of and raise something new in a world that doesn't always make sense. I don't know what Clover will grow into, but I can't wait to find out.

Additional Reading

Resident Alien Omnibus Volume 1, by Peter Hogan and Steve Parkhouse

Resident Alien Omnibus Volume 2, by Peter Hogan and Steve Parkhouse

Resident Alien Volume 7: The Book of Love, by Peter Hogan and Steve Parkhouse

Resident Alien Volume 8: The Book of Life, by Peter Hogan and Steve Parkhouse

Lilith's Brood, by Octavia E. Butler

The IDW TMNT Series, by Kevin Eastman

Source: Aliens, Babies, Bedtime! What Resident Alien Taught Me

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mysteriousgod · 3 days ago

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you're going to be the death of me — Clark Kent

summary: you like to make your boyfriend scared for your sanity. your latest crazy idea? you want to free fall from altitude, and have him chase after you. also, clark figures out you're pregnant before you do. notes: beware, this is 5.7k words of pure tooth-rotting fluff, it’s actually sickening how in love they are. word count: 5.7k words content warning: f!reader lovingly bullies clark kent and clark loves it. he's stupidly and disgustingly in love and he's such a good boy for you. implied service top!clark. sort of sick fic, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff, nothing but love and affection between reader and clark. reader gets sick and clark takes care of her. suspend your disbelief for this fic pls, it's purely self-indulgent because the idea of clark being able to know you're pregnant before a pregnancy test can pick it up makes me go a little insane. blink & miss it suggestive implied content +18 (masturbation, f! receiving)

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“You want to what?!” Clark’s voice is incredulous, climbing higher the longer he spoke. You look at him like he’s being silly.

“You heard me,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “I want to free fall and for you to catch me,” you repeat, as if maybe it would be easier for him to understand if you’d said it again, slower and patiently.

“Baby, you know I love you, but that’s insane.”

You truly don’t see the problem. He is one of the fastest man alive, if not the fastest, and you trust him with your life, so what’s the issue? You tell him as much, thinking you’re making some really good and valid points, but he still looks at you with a blend of concern and disbelief. He looks like he doesn’t know whether to check your forehead for your temperature or to try and wake you up.

“I just– love, please, do you even hear what you’re saying?” He’s starting to sound like a broken record.

“No, do you even hear what I’m saying? Because I feel like you don’t get it. You can fly, you’re super fast, you’re the strongest creature on Earth, and I want to feel what it feels like to free fall. Truly free fall. I don’t want security belts or parachutes or whatever. I want to fall, and I want you to wait at least five seconds before flying to catch me.”

He’s spluttering now, not even making any sense, just looking at you helplessly, his arms stuck between wanting to shake some sense into you and holding his head.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he ends up saying.

“I love you too, Clark,” you reply patiently. “But that’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes either! Baby please, give me your pocket mirror, I need to check if I’ve grown grey hair in the last ten minutes talking to you.”

You don’t, but you get on your tip toes and take a peek at his glorious head full of hair and offer helpfully: “No, not a single grey hair in sight. Still young and strong like an ox and very handsome. So, is that a yes?”

He throws his arms in the air and makes a choked noise at the back of his throat, and leaves the bedroom. (You don’t miss the blush on his face at your compliment, though. It’s always so funny and rewarding to fluster him.)

“Come back to me when you start making sense again!” he yells over his shoulders, leaving you confused and feeling quite frankly, a little upset that your loving boyfriend had dared tell you no. well, he didn’t say no, but he also didn’t say yes, and honestly, you don’t know which is worse.

Clark thinks you forgot about your incongruous idea. He thinks he’s safe now, but you’re just waiting for the right time to ask him again in a way he won’t be able to say no to.

“How was your day, baby?” he asks you, handing you your favorite (Superman) mug. It took quite a long time but he finally stopped flustered every time he saw you buy Superman paraphernalia. It was about time, honestly, because if he wants to be with you, he has to accept your huge crush on Superman, the world’s mightiest hero. You know they’re the same person, but it doesn’t keep you from having a tiny crush on Superman too.

“It was good,” you say, wondering to yourself whether enough time has passed. No, not yet, you decide. “No, actually, it was horrible. Awful, terrible, no good, very bad.”

“Oh no,” he says, eyes drooping in a gentle frown. “What happened? Are you okay? Wanna talk about it?”

You pout, batting your eyelashes at him. “It’s just…” you sniff. “You weren’t there! Do you know how terrible that is?”

“I– you–” he stutters, before giving up, face bright red and voice impossibly high. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“You love it though,” you say smugly. “Don’t deny it, my love. You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The deepening of his blush confirms it for you. He does – he loves how you bully him, how he can’t have a single moment of peace when he’s with you. You know, because his face is an open book. You also know it because deep in the night, when your bedroom door is closed and he’s on top of you and deep inside you, caging you in between his strong arms and he’s panting against your ears, he tells you how much you drive him crazy. How much he loves it, and how he’s going to punish you for all the pranks you play on him.

Great, now you’re blushing too.

“Just… drink your tea,” he says, brushing a hand through the mess of his curls.

You’re smiling gleefully as you take a sip of your perfectly brewed tea, the way you love it. You’ve trained him well. “How was your day?”

“Dreadful,” he replied, deadpan. “I was so scared of what else you’ve got in store for me, waiting for me at home.”

“Give me a kiss,” you say. He obeys near instantly, appearing at your side and bending slightly to reach your lips.

Sometimes, you have to remind him who has the upper hand in the relationship.

(One time, he said, “Give me a kiss,” but he ended up giving you a kiss, because you’d been too lazy to move. That’s what he gets for thinking he can order you around.)

There’s a knock at the bathroom door. “You’re okay in there, sweetheart? Can I come in?”

“Ueugh,” you reply.

He must have taken that for a yes because the door opened and he entered.

“Oh my darling,” he coos. Simply from the tone of his voice you can tell you must paint a terrible picture. Frankly, you don’t feel like a pretty picture. No one feels pretty, shirtless and on their knees, hugging the toilet bowl to their naked chest. (You were shivering and burning so badly you had to shed your shirt.)

“Don’t look at me,” you say as miserably as you felt. “I’m not sexy, go away.”

“You’re always sexy to me,” he mutters as he pushed his sleeves and slowly approached you. It makes you smile, how he knows you well enough that he knows he needs to reassure you about that, otherwise you’re gonna keep thinking about how he agreed with you when you said you weren’t sexy. He’s a good boyfriend, you think to yourself, before your stomach protested being ignored and you dry heaved into the toilet. Ugh, so glamourous. You’re lucky love makes people blind.

His hand is warm and steady against your burning-freezing back. “You’re okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs.

“I don’t feel like it,” you whisper, throat aching and sore.

“You will be,” he says, so convinced you have no choice but to believe him.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. The day had started perfectly fine. Clark brought you breakfast in bed, you guys cuddled while watching rom-coms that Clark swears he doesn’t like yet always cries at the end of, and then you had lunch with him, something you’ve eaten countless times before, and then you had a nap while Clark went out. And when you woke up, you were so nauseous you thought you were on a boat at first for some reason.

You barely had time to get to the bathroom before you got sick.

That’s how Clark found you, maybe ten minutes after, shivering and cold and burning and sick and absolutely miserable. Even the ceramic of the toilet got warm under your body temperature, not giving you any relief anymore.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked, so gently it made you want to cry, even though you’re never this sensitive. It must be the sickness, making you all disgustingly emotional.

“No,” you reply. “I don’t know anything.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” he whispers, his hand rubbing your back in soothing circles. “We’ll figure it out, and you’re going to be okay.”

“Clark, can I ask you something?” you ask him.

“Yes, of course baby, anything you want, anything you need,” he says earnestly, looking ready to give you the entire world if you’d asked him.

“Can you let me fall from a building and then catch me?” you ask, and if your voice is suddenly a thousand times more pitiful and weak, it’s just a coincidence. “Please?”

Let it be said that you’re not a woman who lets opportunities pass through her fingers.

He laughs incredulously, knees on the bathroom floor, hand supporting your back and the other running through his hair. “You’re incredible, baby, you know that? And I don’t mean it in the amazing way, more like I can’t believe you.”

“That’s not a no,” you whisper weakly.

“Will it help you feel better if I said yes?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“No takesies-backsies,” you warn him menacingly, even though you’re not quite sure how menacing you can be while naked and on the floor and reeking of vomit.

“No takesies-backsies,” he confirms. “You just focus on getting better, I’ll handle the rest.”

And he does. He handles everything. From cleaning you up and cleaning the bathroom, making you herbal tea and preparing toasts and soup and anything he thinks you can handle with your febrile stomach. He even goes out to buy some electrolytes — the electric blue ones, your favorite.

Even when you start feeling better, after a second nap, he’s still there, still taking care of you.

“I called Ma,” he tells you. “She gave me a recipe for a drink she says has always helped her feel better whenever she felt too sick.”

You drink it to make him happy, but you’re genuinely surprised at how good it actually is.

Later that night, when you’re both in bed and ready to fall asleep, and you’re laying on top of him like the world’s clingiest blanket, you whisper: “Don’t forget about your promise.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied, hand in your head massaging your scalp with talented fingers.

Your sickness is a mystery. As strongly as it’d come, it went away but Clark still looks at you wearily when you eat something that’s not liquid.

“I’m fine, dumbass,” you tell him.

“I don’t like being called dumbass.”

“Yes, you do,” you say with a snort.

He sighs, shoulders dropping. “Yeah, you’re right. I love being your dumbass.”

You smile. “So when are we going flying?”

He looks at you like you’d just suggested hugging an angry mama bear. “Not yet,” he says. “Not until we’re sure that you’re not sick anymore. I don’t want to take any chances. But I promise you, I won’t forget.”

Stupid sickness, you mutter to yourself. But also, thank you sickness, because without it, Clark would’ve probably never accepted in the first place.

“What even brought this on?” he asks you, curiosity clear in his voice. “I thought you hated heights.”

“I did, but I don’t know. I thought about how I’m literally the only person on Earth who can truly free fall and not die, so I thought to myself, I shouldn’t miss that chance, you know? With great power comes great responsibility and all that jazz.”

“Are you comparing having a superhero boyfriend to having super powers?”

“Yes. That’s exactly it.”

“I hate that it makes sense. So what, my responsibility is to save the world and yours is to use me for your fantasies?”

“Basically.”

“God, I love you.”

You grin happily. “I love you too, buddy.”

He looks at you, exasperated. “Buddy, really?”

You shrug. “It’s a cute word.”

He shakes his head, but his lips betray his amusement. He loves you. He loves you so much it’s making him go stupid.

A week later and Clark finally – reluctantly – deems you fit enough for the craziest idea you’ve had so far.

He made you wear a thousand layers anyway, because he says it gets cold up here, and he’s planning to take you somewhere really high, both so that no one calls the cops on you thinking you were trying to do something tragic, but also so that it’s far enough from the ground that should anything — God forbid – happen, he would still have time to catch you.

“Why do you act like you think you can’t catch me on time? You’re going to get me nervous,” you tell him.

“I know I can catch you, don’t even joke about that. I’m just planning contingencies. I don’t think you understand how scary this is for me.”

“But why is it scary? I trust you, and you trust your abilities. You’ll never let anything happen to me.”

“I know that, but do you know how scary it is to think that the slightest mistake on my part could result in you getting hurt, or worse, in you dying? I know I can catch you, I trust my abilities, but I love you too much to not feel even the slightest bit scared.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he says, cheeks a little red.

“I didn’t think about it like that. I’m sorry for pressuring you into doing something you’re not a hundred percent comfortable doing. I love you too, and I guess, if roles were reversed, I too would be really scared.”

“You didn’t pressure me into doing anything, darling. I want to do this for you, because I can see how happy it would make you, and if there’s anything I was brought into this world to do, it was to make you happy.”

You blush. “I thought you were brought to this planet to bring hope.”

“That’s just a side quest,” he whispers, and hearing him say such a modern and ‘niche’ word is so jarring you can’t help but laugh.

“You’re such a nerd. And I love you so much.”

“And I didn’t even have to catch you yet.”

It’s not the first time Clark takes you flying, of course, but he usually keeps it to a minimum. As in, he doesn’t take you too high up, because you were usually too scared for anything higher than that.

And he was right, it was cold up here, and you were glad for all the clothes he’d made you wear.

“You can look. It’s safe, I promise,” he says gently, coaxing you out from his neck where you buried your head. His arms were strong and steady around you, holding you with ease and confidence. “I would never let anything happen to you.”

You trust him, you do, but you realize now, thousands of feet above the ground, that maybe you bit off more than you could chew. You swallowed thickly.

“Don’t let go of me yet,” you warn him. “I didn’t say go yet.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

You nod, more to yourself than anything else, and finally unglue your face from his neck and crack open one eye, stealing one glance before closing it back up.

“We’re so high up,” you say dumbly.

“We are. And I’ve got you, I promise.”

“How do you do it?”

“I don’t really know,” he says truthfully. “I’ve just always been able to do it, I guess. Must be in my genes.”

“It’s really pretty though. So I can see why you would love doing this.”

You’d only gotten one small peek but it was enough to render you speechless. You were still in the city, and the nightscape was breathtaking. Everything looked so small this high up. It’s like someone had made a lego set of Metropolis.

“Look up,” he whispers. “You haven’t seen the best of it yet.”

When you do, you gasp. The entire nightsky so close it felt like you could touch it. This high up, the light pollution didn’t reach the sky. You could see the millions of stars scattered across the ink of the sky. You felt small, compared to them.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” you whisper in awe.

“Yeah,” he says, throat slightly choked up. “Gorgeous.” You look down and see that he’d been staring at you all this time, and you flush bright red.

“You’re so corny.”

He smiles timidly. “I can’t help it. You bring it out in me. And seeing the stars reflected in your eyes…”

It’s your turn to smile bashfully. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for asking me to do this, sweetheart.”

“I should be the one to thank you.”

“Too late, I did it first.”

“Give me a kiss,” you say, like you always do whenever he has a good argument and you don’t have something to say to your defense.

“Happily, ma’am,” he whispers right against your lips, before pressing his against yours.

You could have the entire world at your palm right now, and it would all pale in comparison to knowing that this man was in love with you.

He floats in the air, so smoothly you almost forget you’re in the sky, with nothing but a superhero boyfriend as your security link.

“Ready?” he asks again.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Hold on tight,” he says, and you squeeze your legs and arms around him tighter like an overgrown panda, and he chuckles. “You’re lucky I don’t need blood circulation to survive.”

“Shut up,” you say.

“Where are we?” you ask, a little disoriented. When he flies you never know which way is up.

“In the middle of nowhere. No one here within a hundred mile radius to bother us.”

Excitement and anxiety wage war against each other inside your stomach, and you think your nerves are winning.

“Do we have to do this?” you ask meekly.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” he quotes back to you. “But if you’re really scared, we don’t have to do it. We don’t have to do anything you don’t like.”

“No, we got all the way here, we’re gonna do it,” you say more boldly than you feel.

“Atta girl,” he praises, and you preen. “You can let go of me anytime, and I’ll give you a three-second head start.”

“Hey! I said five seconds.”

He raises a brow and looks at you knowingly. “You really want me to wait five seconds?”

“...no.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, with crinkling eyes. “Though, whether I wait five seconds or five minutes, I’ll always catch you. No matter what.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay,” you breathe out. “I got this.”

“You got this,” he confirms with a nod of his own. “You can do anything you put your mind into.”

“I know, I know. I’m a strong, independent, capable, cute, sexy, gorgeous woman. I can do this.”

“Yes, we all know we need to be cute, sexy and gorgeous to be brave,” he teases.

“Shut up. Okay, I’m ready, you can let go now.”

Reluctantly, he unwraps his death grip around you (for all his talk, he was just as scared as you). Instinctively, you grip him tighter. You don’t look down, because you know it would be a grave mistake. “Catch me, okay?”

“Yes, baby. I’ll catch you if it’s the last thing I ever do in my life.”

“Okay, okay,” you say.

“You’re stalling, darling.”

You frown at him. “FIVE, FOUR,...” you scream, just to get back at him, and it’s funny how his entire body reacts, alert and ready.

You let go when you say three.

“What the- what the hay!” you hear him sputter. “One, two…”

You giggle, even as your stomach feels like it’s flying upwards and you’re suddenly catching up speed and the wind bites every inch of your exposed skin.

It happens too fast for you to really understand what’s going on. The speed, the wind, the cold, the excitement, the adrenaline pumping in your bloodstreams.

And then, Superman is flying towards you, so fast he looks blurry, and you’re in his arms and he’s holding you so tight you feel like you’re going to let out a squeak, like those chew toys that Krypto adores.

“I got you, I got you, I got you,” he repeats against the crown of your head, not letting up his hold on you even when he brings you both to a gentle stop and he starts floating in the air.

You’re shaking, you realize. “Wow,” you say.

“Baby, you know I would do anything for you but holy moly, never again. This? Never again. I’m not sure I would be able to handle it.”

You just laugh. You don’t understand what’s going on. It all happened so fast you’re not even sure you remember how it felt in the moment. “Wow,” you repeat.

“Baby? Can you say something else so I know I didn’t accidentally break you?”

“I want an encore,” is all you can mutter out.

He lets his forehead falls against yours, tension seeping from his pores, shoulders dropping as he chuckles with relief. “There’s my sweet girl I know and adore. Let’s go home now.”

“Golly, you’re freezing,” he says, swearing under his breath.

You are both back at home, in the bathroom, and he’s taking off your clothes like a madman.

“Chill, lover boy. I know I’m sexy but I’m not going anywhere. You can take your time.”

“This is not funny,” he mutters grumpily. “You could get sick. We need to get you warm ASAP.”

You just watch him passively, letting him take care of you any way he sees fit. The bathtub was already half full and steaming. You suppose you were feeling a little cold. But you don’t tell him because he would only start fussing even more, and this fussing is the perfect amount. You don’t want anything more. Honestly, who wouldn’t like being undressed by a man this hot? He wasn’t even out of his Superman costume yet. His mind was on you and only you.

It’s like he can’t help it. Once you’re completely naked, his hands pause for a few seconds as his eyes take you in. You make a silly dramatic pose, and he chuckles.

“Up in the bathtub, you go,” he mutters fondly, lifting you with ease so he can place you in the bathtub. The water is, of course, at the perfect temperature. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Your entire body is a traitor. You blush from the tip of your ears straight to your chest. And he watches it as it happens. His eyes follow the trail your blood leaves behind, and his eyes stutter a few seconds in front of of your breasts. His gaze makes you feel hot all over, and your nipples perk up, standing to attention.

He shakes his head, like he’s getting rid of unwanted thoughts, even though you desperatly want to know what is it he thought about that made him so stiff and hard against his trunks.

“Will you join me?” you ask him coyly, spreading your legs apart in the water – not far enough that it’s obscene, but just enough that it’s inviting, teasing – with one hand covering your crotch, knowing it would drive him crazy.

He swallows thickly. “No, I can’t,” he says, very slowly, like it’s costing him dearly, to say no. “You need to warm up first, you’re still so cold. I should be taking care of you.”

You pout, petulantly. “Fine.”

You make yourself at ease in the bathtub, shimmying to get comfortable. You close your legs, but you don’t move your hand away.

His breath audibly hitches, and his eyes go dark. “Are you…” his bulge is so big inside his pants that it must be physically paining him. It makes your lips water.

“Am I what?” you ask, pretending to be clueless. It works well around him.

“Have I ever told you how you’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart?”

“Only about a thousand times,” you tell him helpfully.

“Clearly I didn’t say it enough. Because baby, you drive me crazy. In the best possible way.”

“Should I stop?” you ask innocently.

“Goodness no. Never stop.”

You grin like the cat that got the canary when he strips down and finally joins you in the water. His reasoning? He’s good at multitasking, and he’s not one to let you take care of yourself when he’s right there.

“Clark, baby,” you whisper in the middle of the night. Your eyes are still closed and you’re blindly reaching for him with your arm. You accidentally smack his arm.

“Mhm,” he grunts. “Yes, baby?”

“Do we still have those cucumbers?”

“What cucumbers?”

“The ones I pestered you to buy me because I saw it online, and then I ended up hating it. Do we still have them?”

“No, b’by, I threw them, remember?”

You whine.

“What’s this about?”

“I dreamt of them, and I started craving it. This sucks. Why did you throw them?”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, you were the one who told me to throw them away.”

“Well why did you listen to me? Why did you have to be the world’s best boyfriend?”

“I have to confess, I’m not sure whether you’re mad at me or in love with me.”

“I’m mad. No, both, I don’t know.”

He turns towards you in the bed and gathers you in his arms, and nuzzles your neck with his nose. “I’m buying you those pickled cucumbers tomorrow. And I’ll even get you all sorts of pickled food, if you want. You like kimchi, right? I’ll get you that too. Is that what you want, baby?”

“Yes please,” you say, feeling irrationally sad. “Thank you Clark, you’re the best. And sorry for waking you up.”

“No problem. You know I wouldn’t bother with sleep if it weren’t for you. I would miss you too much if I stayed awake while you slept.”

That does you in. You sniff. “How did I ever get so lucky?” you ask pitifully, and he makes a soft cooing nose.

You’re being strange lately — that is to say, stranger than usual. And Clark is too much of a gentleman to say anything about it. Even when you suddenly refuse to eat eggs and when you make him eat his breakfast away from you because the smell was bothering you.

Not even when you cried three times during a comedy movie. Clark had specifically picked a movie that didn’t have a single sad scene, and yet you cried anyway.

Clark started seeing you differently, too. Not in a bad way. It was like he’d fell in love with you all over again. And when he thinks you’re not paying attention, his hands would often find themselves on your — still — flat stomach.

Honestly, the strangest thing yet was the hunger. The insatiable hunger whenever you saw Clark. Clark would be minding his own business, changing his clothes, and you would be there, ogling at him so intently his senses would pick it up.

And he would — happily — oblige, every single time. He says it’s his job as your man to make you happy. He makes you so happy you truly think you see stars.

“You know I love you, right?” he whispers softly against your ear. You’d climbed on his lap while he was reading a book on the couch and refused to move since then. He took it in stride, and merely held the back of your head with his large hand while he kept read.

He closes his book and discards it on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I know. I love you too. I just, I really love you so much, and it feels like I’m going to implode from how much I love you.”

“I wish loving me wouldn’t cause you this much distress,” he says softly, after taking in your words.

“It’s not distress,” you tell him. You don’t want to make him feel guilty for how much you love him. “It’s not bad. It’s just… encompensating. I feel like if you took away my love for you, it would be akin to removing my skeleton.”

He chuckles. “I’m your skeleton, now?”

“No. My love for you is. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to survive.”

He smiles softly, tenderly. His eyes are shiny. “I love you too,” he says. “So much that I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Give me a kiss.”

“Gladly.”

You’d been craving lobster all week, so later that day, he took you flying to the nearest sea harbor restaurant, and bought you every single item on the menu. He refused to let you dirty your hands, even with the gloves, and handfed you.

“What is it, baby? Does the world need Superman again?” you ask him, trying — and failing — to keep the sadness out of your voice, when you’d seen him perk up and get really quiet, the way he always does whenever he hears someone calling for help.

He shakes his head no but he puts a finger on his lips, gently shushing you. He had a strange look on his face. Awed, but also scared.

“What is it?” you whisper, curiosity piqued. You didn’t like it when he didn’t tell you everything right away. It was most probably a bad habit to have, but you didn’t care when he keeps indulging you every single time.

Except this time. He’s scarily still, body alert. His muscles were taut, almost ready for battle.

“You’re scaring me,” you say, frowning. “What’s going on? Are Martha and Jonathan okay? Talk to me.”

“Everything’s fine, baby,” he says, voice thick. “My parents are just fine. I can hear them bicker over who gets the last slice of pizza.”

“What is it then? Why won’t you tell me? Is it me? Am I… sick?” The thought dawns on you like a boulder. “I’m sick, aren’t I?”

“Goodness, no, baby. You’re perfectly healthy.”

“Then what is it? Why do you look so scared? What did you hear?”

“A second heartbeat,” he finally confesses. “Coming from you.”

Your first reaction is to laugh, and make a joke. Your second reaction is to gape at him.

“What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I’ve known for a couple of weeks now, but I didn’t want you to find out through me. I wanted you to find out on your terms. But sweetheart… I think you’re pregnant. No, I don’t think, I know. When you’ve been getting so sick lately, I asked you if I could use my x-ray vision on you, just to check if anything was wrong. That’s… that’s when I first saw it. Saw them.”

“You… you’re kidding.”

But the look on his face says he’s not. And everything suddenly starts making sense.

“I’m pregnant,” you finally say. The words are spoken out loud for the first time. Impossible to take them back, it’s real now.

“Yes, you’re pregnant,” he repeats, and his eyes are so wide and full of love and fear. He’s sitting next to you now, holding your hands carefully.

“How is that possible? We’ve always been so careful.”

His smile slightly dims. “I suppose, with me being me, rules are a bit different.”

You chuckle slightly. “Why did you look scared?” you ask then, suddenly feeling self-consciously. “Do you not… want this?”

“God no, how could I not want anything that you’re creating? How could I not want you, in all of your forms? I’m just… I guess I was worried you wouldn’t be happy. Because we’d never talked about it, and I know you took your birth control and I wore condoms. I thought… I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“It’s true I never really thought about it, but it’s here, now, isn’t it? That changes everything.”

“Yeah, it does change everything, doesn’t it?”

“Are you… are you sure I’m pregnant?”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Now that I’ve heard their little heartbeat, it’s impossible for me to hear anything but their heartbeat and yours. You’re all I see, all I hear.”

“Now I know why I woke up that night craving pickles,” you chuckle wetly.

Pregnant. You were pregnant. You and the love of your life have created life against all odds. There was a mini Clark swimming inside of your womb right now. The thought is as surreal as it is heady.

“And why you’d been so emotional,” Clark adds with a loving smile.

“A baby,” you repeat, not as much in disbelief as a few minutes ago. Now that it’s here, now that the truth is out and between the two of you, you realized you didn’t mind it so much. “He’s going to have a superhero as a dad.”

“And the greatest woman on earth as his mom,” Clark says. You don’t know if it’s your hands shaking, or his.

“We have to get married,” you say suddenly.

“W-what?”

“We have a baby. We already live together. I’m already basically your housewife, even if you act more as a housewife than me. We’ve been together for years. It just makes sense, doesn’t it?”

He’s smiling so wide it looks almost painful.

“Well, when you present it that way… let’s get married, then. Just the two of us, or in front of the entire world if you so wish.”

“Just the two of us. Martha, Jonathan, Kara, Jimmy, Lois. Krypto can be the ring bearer. The Justice Gang can come too, except Guy.”

He laughs at that. “You would trust Krypto with the rings? He’s going to eat them and the basket with it.”

You giggle. “Shh… this is my fantasy. Anything is possible in my fantasies.”

“There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to make all of your dreams come true, baby.”

Clark’s excited now, you can see it in the shine of his eyes and the curve of his smile. His apprehension and fears all melted away.

You’re overtaken with a feeling of pure bliss, and you laugh. “We’re pregnant. You and me. We loved each other so much we created a miracle.”

“You’re my miracle. Anything else is just a bonus.”

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