#Clark Concrete Works

[clarkconcretes]

Concrete contractor

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[trensu]

Steve had always wanted to be a skilled fighter. The schools that churned out the best fighters all happened to be schools for holy warriors. It was possible that Steve maybe sort of lied a little (with the help of his friends Robin and Dustin) to get into this school by claiming he was full to the brim of religious fervor but hadn’t decided who to pledge his sword to yet. It shouldn’t have worked, if he were honest with himself, but by some stroke of luck it did, and he finished his training as one of the top combatants. 

The issue now was that he had to pick a god whose crest to carry. There were all sorts of gods. Gods of water, gods of air, gods of agriculture, war gods, cat gods, plant gods...the list was endless. And while Steve was one of the best fighters around, he was most definitely not one of the best researchers. Thankfully Dustin and Robin were very clever and knew where to find details about the many gods in existence.

“So what kind of god do you want to follow? Maybe we can start there,” Robin asked.

“Uh…a good one?”

“You’re no help at all, you know that?” Dustin grumbled.

They suggested a local god known as Carver who stood for righteousness, but Steve turned that down. It didn't feel like a good fit. They suggested a love god by the name of Chrissy, who valued love of all kinds, romantic, platonic, familial...Steve had been tempted, very tempted, because Steve had always carried an excess of love in his heart. Robin had vetoed that one stating that Steve was already too reckless with his love and she wouldn't stand by and watch him break his own heart over and over again.

Dustin suggested a god of knowledge, Clarke, who blessed and guided those with curiosity, imagination, and a knack for invention. Steve shot that one down immediately. He was never one to be overly imaginative or curious; he preferred to deal with concrete things. Out of their quickly dwindling list, Robin reluctantly suggested Hargrove, a war god favored by a nearby kingdom, but if Carver was ill-fitting, then Hargrove was outright repellent to Steve.

"C'mon, Steve, you gotta pick someone!" Dustin huffed in frustration. 

Robin thunked her head against the table in the library where they were looking up deities. She was obviously at her wit's end too. Steve, however, just dug his heels in with a particularly stubborn scowl.

"I can't just pick anyone!" Steve said. "If I'm going to pledge my sword to someone, it has to be someone...someone good. Someone that, I don't know, someone I can believe in, even when--no especially when things go wrong. That’s the whole point!"

"Yeah, I get that," Robin sighed, a mix of fond and annoyed, "but this is the eighth book we've gone through and the only one left here is called the King of Darkness which is hardly going to--huh."

Robin paused mid-rant to look at the page more closely. Steve and Dustin both huddled around her to peek into the book as well. Dustin also made a sound of curiosity.

"That's weird," Dustin said.

"Right?" Robin asked enthusiastically.

"What? What's weird?" Steve didn't get what caught their attention.

"This god only has a couple of sentences," Dustin explained, "And they don't really make sense. Something about dark creatures and the undeserving? The grammar and structure is all weird though."

"It looks like a half-assed translation," Robin added with a nod. "We should find the original text."

"Yeah! And if we can make a better translation, we could get it added to the next edition and they'd have to put our names on the book," Dustin said excitedly. Robin's eyes lit up at the thought and they both rushed off to the stacks to track down any original sources.

"Guys! Guys, what about my..."

The librarian hushed Steve, irritated. Steve groaned in defeat.

"...godly choices. Yeah, fine," Steve slumped back on his seat. "I need to find non-nerd friends."

Two days later, Robin and Dustin finished translating a slim, dusty book. They were nearly vibrating in their seats as Steve reviewed their notes on what they found. Dustin gripped his arm and gave him a shake.

"So? What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Robin slung her arm across Steve's shoulders. With more tenderness than Steve expected, she said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, he doesn't really fit with your whole style, but it could work."

"Yeah," Steve said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, this feels right."

--

It took longer than Steve would've liked, but eventually he managed to track down a small, crumbling shrine. It was an alcove carved near the entrance--no more than a crack in the stone really--of a cave at the edge of a lush forest. He almost missed it, it was so drowned in overgrown crawling vines and weeds. It bore a modest statue, no bigger than Steve, standing atop an equally modest plinth. There was a spot that obviously held a plaque once, but it must’ve been dug out by thieves at some point.

The sight of it made something in Steve's chest twinge; a strange pang of melancholy at seeing a god so forgotten and abandoned. It surprised him as he had never been particularly religious, but there was just something about this one that drew him in.

It was the middle of the day, so Steve quickly made camp and took advantage of the light to begin clearing the shrine. He started where the plaque had been, scrubbing off the dirt and moss that had filled the indentation. He knew a good smith; he could commission a new plaque to be made. After that, he weeded the immediate area around the plinth where worshipers would typically lay their offerings and pray.

By the time he finished that, it was late afternoon and he decided that was good enough for today. He had to eat and get a few hours of sleep so he could be alert once night fell. When he curled up on his bedroll, he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. He was going to offer himself to his god tonight, and with any luck, his god would accept him.

--

He woke to a multitude of high pitched squeaks and the sound of many, many flapping wings. The sun had just fully set, and the stars that could be seen through the canopy burned brightly. Steve took his time to fasten on his armor and scabbard properly, and fixed his hair so not a strand was out of place. He took a few deep breaths to calm an unexpected bout of nerves before going to the shrine and kneeling.

His god had no official prayers. Or rather, the prayers for his god were forgotten. Robin and Dustin did their best to find anything prayer-like but it had been in vain. They suspected that most of the god's holy items and lore were purposely lost. Lacking that, Steve decided it was best that he introduce himself.

"Um, hi," he started and immediately winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to...this. I couldn't find any of your…holy words? Prayers? The right ways to speak to you, I guess.

"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm a fighter. I finished my training a few weeks back. I was the top of my cohort when it came to combat. I'm good with my sword and I know how to take a hit. I can turn just about anything into a weapon if it's needed."

Here Steve paused for a moment, straining to hear but there was nothing other than the typical sounds of a night out in the woods. Steve took a breath and plowed forward.

"I want to be more than a fighter, though. I don't want to just wave a sword around for nothing. I want it to...to matter. So I spent a lot of time trying to decide who to wield my sword for. It took me a while, but I found you. I want to be your shield and sword, if you'll have me."

Steve stopped again to listen. Nothing. Robin warned him this might happen. Gods didn't always accept warriors who offered themselves to them, and forgotten gods weren't always reachable. It was fine, though; he’d try again tomorrow night. Steve turned in just before dawn, eager for night again.

--

Steve worked on clearing the vines tangled around the statue's legs and feet. He yanked out the thick, scraggly vines, and carefully picked apart the prickling thorny ones. There was a particular gnarl of vines that didn't seem like they had a stranglehold on his god's statue. They were healthy and strong, and the way they curled and grew looked more like a caress than an invasion. He decided to leave those on, though he gently rearranged them while removing the more invasive vines so they looked more decorative.

When night arrived with the sound of squeaks and wings, Steve went to kneel at the shrine. He introduced himself again, gave the same spiel as the night before. Still he heard nothing. He scratched the back of his neck in mild insecurity.

“I guess I should tell you I didn’t find you on my own. My friends Robin and Dustin helped me. They’re way smarter than me, you know? Total nerds. I can swing a sword like nothing, but books and research? Yeah, that never works out for me, so they helped me look up all sorts of gods.

“There’s a lot of them. Way more than I thought. Dustin and Robin both recommended me ones or vetoed others. They were getting frustrated with me because I kept rejecting the ones they gave me. 

“Then Robin found you. Kind of by accident, to be honest. But she did her research thing and I knew that I wanted to carry your symbol. It took me forever to find this shrine. Robin said this was probably the only shrine you had left, so I had to find it. 

“Dustin kept saying it was on the other side of the forest, but obviously he was wrong. Not that he’ll ever admit it, the little shit, but whatever. I’m sorry your shrine was abandoned like this, but I promise I’ll fix it up. I’m good with my hands, I can do it.”

There was no response to his admittedly disorganized ramble. It was fine, he told himself. He needed to be patient. He’d come back the next night.

–

Around the statue’s waist there was another tangled mess of vines, except these vines had died and rotted to dark sludge. There was fungus growing on it, and it reeked. It was gross. Steve scrubbed at it for hours because the rot had stained the stone. He was able to get rid of the rot and most of the stains before going to catch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon.

Night fell and Steve was kneeling for the third time. He repeated most of what he said the previous two nights. There was still no response. He thought maybe he was pushing too hard. He’d never been the super talkative type anyway. He could share the quiet night with his god, if that was what his god wanted.

A few hours passed when he was startled out of his near meditative state by the sound of snapping twigs. He leapt to his feet, hand on his scabbard. Someone–a man by the look of it–stumbled out of the woods. He was pale and dark haired, dressed in ragged clothes that were probably awful even when they were new. He looked like a vagabond. 

Steve stepped in front of the shrine, protectively. The stranger grinned at him and Steve could already tell he was not going to enjoy the conversation that was about to happen.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Steve asked firmly, cutting the man off before he could speak. The smile only grew wider.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir,” the man said, adopting the annoyed huff of a wealthy lord. Steve scowled.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second!”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Steve responded, somewhat smug. The man paused and then snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Steve repeated shortly. The teasing grin was back, and Steve felt his scowl deepen.

“Nothing and no one, m’lord,” the man bows mockingly.

“I’m not a lord.”

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me. You’re certainly as demanding as any lord I’ve ever met.”

“Oh fuck you,” Steve snapped. “I’m a holy warrior.”

The man laughed at him outright.

“Well that doesn’t sound very holy warrior-ish. Are your type allowed to swear?”

Steve grinded his teeth and decided it was not worth it to continue this conversation for much longer.

“Look, if you’re here to steal, I’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s exactly what someone with something to steal would say.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m on a pilgrimage and I don’t want to spill blood on holy ground. So.” Steve wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Leave. Please.”

“Holy ground? Here?” the man barks out a laugh. “Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Yes,” Steve says shortly, placing himself more firmly between the shrine and the man. “Please leave. There shouldn’t be violence done here.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. This place used to belong to the King of Darkness. It’s said he was so evil that nothing grew here until he was run out and defeated by the god of righteousness. You know the one. Really plays up the holier than thou thing by making his hair all gold and glowy? Gotta say, you could give him a run for his money though.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No really! Your hair is great. Way better than Carver, even with the glowy thing.” 

“Not that!” Steve said in frustration. This guy really liked the sound of his own voice and Steve was starting to get a headache. It was near dawn and all he wanted was to spend the last hour or so in the quiet night with his god.

“So you agree your hair is better than a god’s?” The man tsks at him. “That’s pretty blasphemous. Are you sure you’re a holy warrior?”

“No! I mean, yes. Wait,” Steve growls at his own bumbling. “No, I’m not better than any god. But I am a holy warrior. Kind of.”

“Kind of.”

“Look, I’m working on it so I need you to leave. You’ve insulted him enough already.”

“Your god is the King of Dark–”

“Call him that again, and I will draw my sword,” Steve said, voice steely. “He’s the Lord of Night, and I won’t let you insult him at his own shrine.”

The man goes quiet for the first time since he showed up. He looked almost surprised, his mocking grin gone. His eyes flicked over to the dilapidated statue and then back at Steve.

“Lord of Night doesn’t sound much different than what I called him,” the man said lightly.

“Well, it is,” Steve told him. “Now, will you please leave?”

The man stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, alright.” And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

The tension that had built up in Steve’s shoulders drained away. He went back to kneel in front of the shrine again when he noticed the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon. He cursed under his breath then was hit with a wave of embarrassment at cursing in front of the shrine and the whole situation that had transpired.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said, abashed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

–

It happened again.

now with an additional snippet here and here

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you'd like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[superbat-love]

Sci-fi Horror AU. At first glance, Bruce seemed to have it all—a respected career as a scientist at a top research facility, a large home in a coveted district, and a loving partner employed at a prestigious law firm. However, beneath the surface, Bruce was trapped in an unhappy relationship and suspected his partner of infidelity.

The only source of solace in his life was his work studying Subject 1938, also known as Kal-El. The tiny alien blob seemed to have formed an attachment to Bruce, often chirping excitedly whenever Bruce held him.

One evening, Clark, Bruce's partner, announced plans to dine with a client. Bruce noted Clark's overdressed appearance, unsuitable for a business meeting, and simply nodded in response. Little did Bruce know, that would be the last time he saw Clark and Kal-El.

Clark never returned home, prompting Bruce to report him as missing. Despite months of investigation, the police found no trace of them. Clark was initially suspected to have stolen Kal-El for monetary reasons, but there was no concrete evidence. It was as if both of them had just vanished into thin air.

Then, unexpectedly, Clark reappeared at Bruce's doorstep one day. “Where have you been? Do you know how worried I was?” Bruce exclaimed.

Clark smiled. “Don’t cry, Bruce. What’s important is that I’m back now. Let’s go and have dinner together, okay?” Overwhelmed with emotion, Bruce could only nod in response as Clark enveloped him in a hug and buried his face in the curve of his neck, chirping with affection.

[librarycards]

hello! i apologize in advance this is probably something that you get asked a lot. but do you have any recs on literary magazines to submit to? im a trans poet, ive been writing for over a decade but never shared anything and ive been wanting to try to send my stuff to get it published somewhere. obv ive been google searching but theres so many big and small publications and i was wondering if you have ones you like especially and/or tips on how to choose a magazine/journal to submit to. thanks a lot! <3

no worries, thank you for reaching out!! i've been publishing for like 8 years + an editor for almost 4, so i always appreciate the opportunity to help people new to the world find ethical publications that will treat their work with the care it deserves.

first and foremost: there are going to be pubs out there that are awesome and i don't know about. you may be the one to discover them for yourself! one aid in finding the best mag for your work is the wonderful, writer-created chillsubs. it's a fantastic platform that keeps a huge list of mags and presses and their relevant stats, and lets you create an account and bookmark those you're interested in. everyone i know uses them, and it's very worth it given the sheer volume of mags out there.

i also have some recs of my own, ofc. i'm going to list them below. if they pay (which i prioritize) I'll mark them with a $. some are trans/queer focused and some aren't, but all are pubs i've either edited and/or published with and can confirm their ethics + respect for writers.

manywor(l)ds - my mag! i'm co-founder and eic. break genre _ shapeshift with us. ($)

Sinister Wisdom - old, well-regarded lesbian+ lit mag, now open to everyone who is/loves a dyke. I'm guest-editing an issue on Madness with them, now open for submissions!

fifth wheel press - run by a beloved friend and comrade of mine. i've published here. excellent transparency, care, great for first-timers. ($).

kith books - headed by trans literary icon kat blair. a mag/press/community centered around bodymind non-conformity and noncompliance.

Honey Literary - QTPOC-centered, unabashedly pop-culture + social justice oriented. the vibes are simply immaculate.

Whale Road Review - not queer/trans focused, more oriented toward....'grown up' poetry/prose/pedagogy papers. Katie Manning (eic) is a fucking gem.

Graphic Violence Lit - just had my first experience publishing with them, and their care + consideration for the whole writer is amazing. they publish boundary-pushing work.

beestung - one of the brainchildren of Sarah Clark. nb/gq/2s SFF. I just edited a few guest issues w them and have published with them. amazing work. ($)

A Velvet Giant - genrequeer work. the editors are experienced, enthusiastic, and amazing at promoting writers long after publication. it's a family! ($)

Ethel Zine + Press - handmade with love by Sara Lefsyk (as you can see, trans/nonbinary/2s sarahs dominate indie publishing, as well we should :3). Sara is a sensitive and care-full editor and bookmaker whose every publication is a work of art.

Protean - pro- as in proletariat. awesome left mag with a mix of politics and culture and everything in between. they take reprints! ($)

Mudroom - publish your work along with a picture of your mudroom/shoe rack. very responsive editors who will hype you tf up. ($)

The Institutionalized Review - for psych survivors. the editors concreteness of vision and dedication to their community know no bounds.

Just Femme + Dandy - queer and fashion-focused! led by the inimitable Addie Tsai. They pay *handsomely*. ($)

In addition, there are also some "big" mags I have had excellent experiences publishing with and wanted to shout out. These are harder for a beginner to break into, but worth keeping on your radar + have been fantastic to me as a writer.

Electric Lit

Split Lip Magazine

The Offing

Nat. Brut

Santa Fe Writers' Project

Bodega

New Orleans Review

Augur Magazine

I hope this is helpful to you + others! the literary world is ever-changing and this is just a snapshot. Hopefully you find some that you like!

[soul-controller]

The Man of Steal

For Superman, it seemed like his desire to enjoy his normal civilian life as Clark Kent was an impossibility. Any time he planned to have any sort of family event with his wife Lois and two sons (be it dinner or a simple trip to the movies), there always seemed to be some sort of interruption from the news that begged for the assistance of the crime-fighting vigilante.

This was proven to be true once again as the Kent family began to assemble for their family dinner. Just as Clark started to help himself to Lois’ home-cooked meal, the television in the living room suddenly went off as a breaking news bulletin appeared. With his innate desire to protect others and save them from danger, the superhero couldn’t stop himself from leaning past the dining room table and taking a closer look at the screen. For several minutes, the man intently listened to what the news reporter had to say. According to that anchor, it appeared as though a museum a few towns over from Smallville had been broken into by a criminal.

When the reporter first brought up the fact that it was one individual stuck in a stand-off with nearby police surrounding the museum, Clark had originally decided to just allow the cops to do their job so he can spend time with his family. But as the news anchor began to include more details about the museum, Clark’s attention was immediately piqued when she stated that the museum had just recently opened an exhibit devoted towards educating everyday individuals about Superman and his home planet Krypton.

As soon as the reporter began to discuss the fact that the museum had a priceless amount of Kryptonian relics on display, Clark gave an apologetic look towards his wife and kids before quietly sitting up and rushing into his bedroom to pull his suit on. The threat of having some criminal get their hands on some Kryptonian equipment rightfully caused Clark to be alarmed. While he dedicated his life towards using these powers for good, Clark was fully aware of how detrimental Kryptonian items could be with others. In fact, it was for these exact reasons that he recalled how he didn’t even offer his blessing towards the museum’s exhibit when they first proposed it to him. Of course, his prediction came true and now he was going to have to fix it before countless people could get hurt! So as he pulled on his suit and took one good look at himself in the mirror, the man wasted no time rushing out of his house before pushing off of the ground and rapidly flying off into the night.

Within a minute, the hero was able to rapidly traverse across several miles of farmland and make his way to the museum. As he quickly made a hero landing onto the concrete road outside of the museum, Superman made his way up to a group of officers to get an up-to-date report about what had occurred so far. According to the head officer in charge, the unknown criminal had accidentally tripped a security laser upon breaking into the museum. With the assistance of drones that could look through the glass atrium in the middle of the museum, the police were able to determine that the man was working alone yet heavily armed with an armored suit and a high-grade weapon. As such, a stand-off was afoot with the police attempting to convince the man to surrender and prevent anyone from getting hurt. Unfortunately though, these talks had quickly stalled and the criminal refused to surrender, instead deciding to further barricade himself deeper into the museum.

Given the tough situation that the police were in, Superman was quick to offer his services due to his skill set and innate bulletproof skin. Although there were a few officers there who gave him sneers and angrily told him off for “invading their turf”, the Smallville resident tried his best to remain positive and cheerful in order to help bring another criminal to justice. Luckily, the chief in charge of the operation got his men in line and gave the superhero the go-ahead to help remedy the situation. After giving a slight nod in the chief’s direction, Superman levitated himself back into the air before flying up to the top of the several stories high museum.

Upon setting himself back onto stable ground, Superman quickly traversed across the museum’s metal roof until he approached the glass dome in the middle of the museum atrium. As he peered around, it didn’t take long before he saw the criminal walking around in the bulky armored suit. Not wanting to inform the man of his arrival though, Clark opted to quickly use his laser vision to cut out a portion of the window so he could slyly sneak through the hole to surprise the villain. Upon doing so and quietly setting the portion aside, the hero carefully squeezed his bulky and muscular physique through the cut-out section of the glass. Once he was through, the hero slowly levitated his way down to the ground floor and hid for a moment to conjure up a game plan.

As he quickly looked around, Clark decided to sneak attack the man with a high-speed collision to hopefully disarm him and destroy his suit so he could be easily apprehended and delivered to the police. Narrowing his eyes and taking a moment to prepare himself, the man then wasted no time as he flew at top speed and his body crashed through the long aisles of museum displays. Before the criminal could even turn to look at the source of the noise, the hero’s extended arms immediately collided with the metal suit and easily pushed him against the wall. But given Superman’s extreme strength, that wasn’t all as the force of his movement caused the duo to crash through the concrete wall before Clark gripped onto the collar of the suit and threw the man to the ground.

While the confused criminal grimaced and groaned from the impact, Clark wasted no time tugging off the suit piece by piece until the villain was left in nothing but his normal clothing. Upon peering down to examine the culprit behind the robbery though, Clark found himself shocked to see that the man’s appearance was quite unusual. Most of the villains he faced were these imposing figures who had bodies that were packed to the brim with a musculature that could rival Superman’s own physique. But looking down, Clark instead found a man who had no sort of muscle definition or impressive physical features.

Taking a look at the man’s overall physique, Clark was baffled to find that the criminal was stuck with fragile-looking arms and legs that seemed to indicate that he would be tired from even a simple jog down a street block. The man seemed young, yet with his high hairline and partial balding, Clark presumed that the man was in his mid to late 30s. To make matters worse for the man, the criminal’s pale white face and body was also ravaged with a vast array of scarring and tattoos that caused Clark to surmise that he was some sort of low-level gang member. Despite the gang affiliation though, it seemed like the poor man had been unable to pack on any muscle and was instead treated like a punching bag and guinea pig by the higher-level members based on the intense scarring that resembled knife cuts.

As the man began to stir back into consciousness, Clark opted to try and take a more gentle approach with the criminal. Clearly the man posed no physical threat to him, so he tried to be as delicate as possible upon extending a hand towards the man and quickly pulling him up to his feet. With the man looking around in pure horror as he saw his unsuited self and Superman’s imposing body, Clark tried his best to calm the man’s nerves and indicate that he had no desire to hurt him further.

“Hey, don’t worry, no more fighting needs to happen tonight. Given the threat level of that suit you were wearing, I just had to disarm you as fast as I could and figure out who was operating it,” he calmly said, looking down at the frail individual and trying his best to give a reassuring smile. “So, what’s your name?” Clark inquired, trying his best to form a connection to the criminal. In many ways, the frail and anxious man reminded Clark of his own son Jordan. Clark’s relationship with Jordan was currently strained at the moment, so the superhero father felt a strange desire to view the criminal as a stand-in for his son and thus try and be a positive influence to help the man change his life and be the best version of himself he could possibly be. If he was able to successfully do this for the criminal, Clark was hopeful that he could replicate the same thing with Jordan and fully reconnect so they could be as close as they once were.

Although the criminal remained tense and quite uncomfortable being in the hero’s presence, he eventually decided to answer Superman’s inquiry. “It’s Darren,” he said, a thick midwestern accent coming from his throat.

“Gotcha, well it’s nice to meet you then Darren. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances, but alas here we are,” Clark said, finishing his sentence with a heavy sigh. “Your plan though, it’s over now Darren. I don’t know what you were trying to do here tonight, but let’s just end this now so no one has to get hurt in the process. Alright?”

After silently nodding his head in agreement, Darren shifted his head down in apparent shame as he slowly began to make his way back into the main atrium of the museum. As he passed through the large hole into the concrete wall though, the criminal opted to continue speaking once more. “I was just trying to get some quick cash to help pay for my mom’s hospital bills. She’s not doing good and I don’t have the money to keep paying for her tests,” he solemnly said, causing Clark behind him to frown in sadness.

Despite his innate desire to bring criminals to justice, Clark couldn’t help but feel severe empathy for the man. It seemed as though all avenues of Darren’s life led to disappointment and struggle, so it was no wonder why the man had no other option to resort to a life of crime! As such, Clark’s warm heart left him eager to try and help fix one aspect of Darren’s hard life.

“You know, I actually know some people who work at Metropolis General Hospital,” he began, tilting his head and looking down towards the captured criminal with a light smile. “If you wanted, I could definitely pull some strings and help get some of your mother’s tests covered for fr-” he continued, the words unexpectedly being interrupted as a sudden impact into Clark’s gut caused him to stop speaking. As he watched Darren pull his elbow back up away from his stomach, Clark’s eyes widened. The man had truly just said anything so he could get Clark’s defenses down and try to make an escape!

Watching as the man quickly fled on foot through the museum, Clark’s eyes began to rapidly redden due to the intense rage he felt about being tricked. Although he felt no pain from the impact due to his general invincibility, he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed about being so easily fooled. But rather than allowing his laser vision to come out in full force and quickly stop Darren in his tracks, Clark mentally pulled back due to the fear of accidentally killing the man. Instead, he stood back up onto his feet, dusted off his dusty shoulders, and pushed off the ground to begin flying towards the still-sprinting criminal.

Given his rapid speed, it didn’t take long before Superman was catching up to Darren. To be fair though, the task was fairly easy for Superman as Darren’s frantic clumsiness had caused him to stumble over the tipped over display cases and trip over the various artifacts that those cases had once held. As he extended his arms out in hopes of quickly capturing the man now lying on the ground, Clark was eager to get the standoff over with so he could return back to his family before they finished dinner. While he thought about what he was going to do once he was back home on his farm, the man was unaware of Darren’s quick motion towards grabbing a hefty rock that had been held in one of the cases. In fact, he only ever picked up on this face as Darren turned towards to face Clark and immediately slammed the superhero in the side of the head with the artifact.

As a momentary pain rushed through Clark’s head, he quickly moved back to an upright position and stood back onto the ground so he was directly above the criminal who was still lying on the ground. However, as he waited for the pain to fade away, the hero was quickly overcome by a severe tingling sensation throughout his entire body. With this sensation rushing through his body, the man’s many years of crime-fighting and battles with intergalactic foes came back to the forefront of his mind. Bizarrely, the feeling felt both familiar yet incredibly foreign at the same time.

So as Clark directed his attention back to the criminal, his eyes quickly began to widen as he saw what had become of the artifact that had hit him. Instead of the blunt and gray rock that he had felt smashed against his face, it appeared as though his angular jawline had actually caused parts of the rock to crumble! By doing so, it appeared that a special Kryptonian artifact had revealed itself to be hidden within the rock - a small piece of red kryptonite!

Immediately, the tingling sensation that he felt began to make sense. Although he hadn’t ever experienced the effects of red kryptonite for himself, his extensive research about his home planet caused him to immediately recall some basic information about the rock type. The rock itself had a wide array of effects on Kryptonians according to his own research, but all of the examples Clark had read made it abundantly clear that this was a terrible type to encounter. As such, the man tried his best to reason with the criminal and get him to set the rock down.

“Hey, you got a good lick in there huh,” Clark inquired with a chuckle, rubbing his temple where the rock had made an impact as he returned back to standing on the ground. “Now let’s not do anything stupid here Darren. That rock isn’t safe for me, and by default, that means it’s not safe for you as well. So just toss it aside and I’ll forget all about this little outburst of yours!”

However, the criminal refused to agree to those terms, instead rushing directly towards Superman with a deranged and enraged expression on his face. Preparing to just stand tall and immediately disarm the man, Clark angrily scowled while putting his hands on his hips. Watching as the man gripped the rock in his right hand, Clark waited for the man to be in close enough proximity for him to hit him and cause him to drop the rock. With him now only a foot away, Clark immediately jumped into action as he lifted up his arm and immediately brought it down on Darren’s outstretched right arm. As expected, Clark breathed a sigh of relief as the rock quickly slipped out of his grasp and began to fall towards the floor. Unfortunately though, Darren apparently had quick reflexes, as he was able to reach out his left hand and quickly capture the kryptonite once more. Before Clark could fully comprehend the swapping between hands, the superhero suddenly felt the pressure of the rock make an impact against his broad chest.

Understandably, Superman feared the wild card nature of the rock’s power and thus instinctively pushed out his arms in order to make contact with Darren’s torso and send him flying away from him. However, as the motion was completed, both men were suddenly overcome with a dizzying sensation that rendered them momentarily with a full-body numbness and an inability to see. As both of these things made their return to Clark though, the man was suddenly shocked as an intense full-body pain coursed through his body as his back suddenly made impact against a concrete wall.

Grimacing as he slid down the museum’s wall, Clark let out a deep groan after his crumpled body made an impact onto the glass-covered floor. As he gingerly tried to sit himself back up, the sudden sounds of a deep bellowing gasp and chuckle caused Clark to grow alarmed. Peeling open his eyelids to finally take a look around the destroyed museum once more, Clark directed his attention towards the source of the noise. Upon doing so though, the superhero was immediately shocked to find himself somehow staring at his own smiling body!

Looking down in an extreme mix of confusion and fear, Clark gasped in shock as he looked down and now found himself looking at Darren’s own frail, pale, and scarred body. “Wha- how did this happen,” he cried out, notably triggered by the thick and surprisingly deep Midwestern accent coming out of his mouth. “That damn kryptonite, it must have swapped our bodies Darren!” Upon turning towards the imposter inside his body though, Clark immediately shivered in fear as that alarmingly wide smile remained stuck on his former face. Watching as the imposter cockily swaggered towards him, the superhero was shocked as the real Darren began to speak once more.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about buddy, I’m Superman!”

Like what you read? Please consider signing up for my Patreon to read more stories and support my work.  

[xythlia]

FANFIC WRITING RESOURCE MASTER POST

so in the spirit of wanting to see writers thrive I've decided to make a big master post of every single resource I use in order to create my works. It can be really hard to find concrete resources and it's frustrating to feel like you just don't know how to do something or how to get started but no worries hopefully you can find answers in this post ^⁠_⁠^

ON WRITING SMUT

› writing resources to keep on hand while you write

The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut Fic by QuinnAnderson on AO3

The Sexy Thesaurus by Laurel Clark

Lewd Vocabulary in Erotic Fiction Survey by KJ Scott (from a survey done on r/fanfiction)

75+ Ways To Say Heart Pounded by Kathy Steinemann

Ways To Describe Breath & Breathing by Kathy Steinemann (everything on her site is super helpful tbh)

21 Other Words For Vagina by Lisette Marshall

The Gay Sex Positions Guide (be advised this is a photo guide!)

Writing Sex Scenes by Michael La Ronn (video resource)

GENERAL HELPFUL WRITING TOOLS

› things that can help when you feel stuck on certain words, want to avoid repetitive sentences, or check your spelling and grammar

Reverse Dictionary (search for words based on their definition)

Related Words (help you find words related to another word or phrase)

Describing Words (find adjectives)

Words to Use (reference that groups subject related words by parts of speech)

Wordhippo (has synonyms/antonyms/ect based on different definitions)

Netspeak (search for words you don't know yet/internet slang)

OneLook (thesaurus/dictionary)

Fighters Block (overcome writers block by setting it up as a game to achieve a certain word count)

Scribens (lesser known spelling and grammar check but does more! Helps prevent word repetition, rephrasing, vocab enhancement, + other stuff)

THE BASICS OF WRITING

› helpful resources to give you a solid foundation for your writing

7 Fundamentals of Writing by Michael Stover

Fundamentals of Writing by Jim Westergren

RECOMMENDED BOOKS

› this section is books on writing I recommend reading, you can either purchase them or if you know how to pirate you can get them that way too

On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King

On Writing Well by William Zinsser

The Elements of Style by William Strunk & E.B. White

Ernest Hemingway on Writing by Larry W. Phillips

The Writers Journey by Christopher Vogler

[butmakeitgayblog]

Always, Lexa has loved her. 

In every lifetime. In every iteration of her.

Forged in the fires of hell and phosphorus embers of perdition, Lexa, a demon, walks among them. From the dawn of man crawling from their caves on bended knee, to the concrete skylines of the new world, she watched them flourish, thrive, and crumble. Smelled the smoke of their burning Eden while sipping their sin like the finest opulent wine.

"Kiss me harder," Lexa whimpers against the heat of Clarke's milk and honeyed mouth as hands work their will below.

In every lifetime she is different. A different face. A different name. Golden blonde bleeding to silver, burnt amber to black. A village healer who seeks to comfort. A coven leader who works her incantations in vain. A conjurer, a shawoman, a witch by so many shifting names. From the days when beasts roamed free and she, only a nomad protecting her clan through a veil of ancient mystics, to Clarke Griffin of the new age, the midwife with a strange knack for saving lives already thought lost to this realm.

"Fuck, Lex," Clarke sighs, rolling her hips into the thrust of Lexa's fingers hard enough to rattle the bones.

From the beginning, Lexa has watched her hone her craft, over decades and centuries and long lost millennia. Has watched her conjure and harness death in the smoke of fire-stoked chants, as her beating heart burned at the stake. Has kissed the choked, 'May we meet again' from the blue of her lips, felt the cold of her skin as she drowns on the riverbanks by their righteous hands in the never ending cycle of loving her, and losing her, and patiently waiting for that someday when she is reborn again.

"I've missed you." Lexa feels her tears turn to ash in the chalice of Clarke's kiss; quenching and searching and chasing after so many years without. 

Hell doesn't burn quite so lovingly in the lifetimes when she loves her back, returning Lexa's kisses and aching for her touch with equally wicked smiles. When she breathes her passion and pleasure against the warmth of Lexa's lips and lays her body among the ruins of their blasphemy. Back arched and legs spread as she pants for Lexa to fill her more, to take her rougher. To pour her sinister lust into her. The lifetimes where Lexa gets to hold her, taste and touch her, to feel her wrapped tight and wet around her fingers… Those are lifetimes that bring color to the grey of Lexa's damnation. When power seeps from her like a sieve of midnight fury, tasting of blood and summer sweet dandelions on Lexa's tongue. 

Clarke gasps in pants and sacred salt, hands breaking the circle upon such consecrated ground. "Don't let me forget, baby. Don't let me forget you."

Beyond her earthly bindings, the truth of her remains. The unwavering essence that calls to Lexa from the four corners of the Earth whenever she returns to her. 

Her soul remains true in every lifetime, in every iteration

And always, Lexa has loved her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Or, Demon Lexa falling for every reincarnation of Witchy Clarke over the expanse of eternity, but mostly I'm just here for the aesthetics 🎃

[owl127]

So I was at this women’s basketball game—it being March Madness and all—and this player that I find really really cute (she actually kinda looks like Lexa), wasn’t warming up. When the game started she went through the tunnel and back into the locker room which is kinda weird because even if you’re injured normally you still sit on the bench. But at halftime she came out and I noticed she had earplugs in and after a little Google I found out she has a concussion so she was probably in the locker room because it was too loud on the court. The rest of the game I was thinking about how someone could totally write a fanfic where Lexa is on a sports team, gets hurt, is sad she has to sit out, but has a little mid game locker room rendezvous to cheer her up and give her a thrill. Would you please please pleaseee be that someone?

(Ao3)

Lexa’s ears itched to remove her headphones, but the shadow of a headache had started behind her eyes, so she let the noise canceling headphones do its magic. She walked behind the starting team and watched with a frown the pile of windbreakers grow at her feet on the bench while she remained covered. She fiddled with the dark red zipper, the squeaking of rubber against shiny vinyl grounding her while the visiting team entered the arena. Lexa looked away, her eyes darting at the faceless crowd of silver and maroon. The muffled noise of the fans, something she looked forward to at each game, mounted on the pain growing between her eyes. The blinking lights of the stadium did not help with the building dizziness, but she forced a smile as she waved back at a bundle of little girls with signs with her name shining in bright silver glitter.

Lexa Woods.

She bit her lips at the thought of disappointing little girls.

On the other side of the court, the away team warmed up. Lexa looked for a familiar blonde braid, but they were in a huddle, and the amount of blonde heads was borderline offensive for basketball.

“Oi!” A ball came in her direction and Lexa held the pass in pure reflex, but that didn’t stop her frowning at Anya. “You look miserable. Smile for the cameras. It’s the fucking final fours, Lex.”

Their team captain’s shouted words were not as encouraging as Anya thought, and Lexa threw the ball back on the court.

“I’ll be out of here in a minute,” Lexa said and pointed to her headphones. “These are not working as expected.”

A rare sight of kindness flashed over Anya’s face, but it was gone just as fast. She sat next to Lexa, her mouth close to Lexa’s covered ears. “We’re here because of you. No one doubts that. We’ll win this so you can crush it at the final.”

Lexa bit her lip. They needed to win, and her concussion needed to be fully recovered for that to happen, and none of that was a guarantee. She nodded, and the movement didn’t help with her growing headache.

“I’m going back in,” she excused herself, standing up. Anya’s face softened, nodding.

“Your head okay?” Anya asked at the same time a wave of nausea hit Lexa.

Lexa moved her palm in a so-so pattern, and before their couch yelled at her, she backtracked her steps into their home locker room. She didn’t look up at the calls for her name while ducking into the tunnel, focused on escaping the noise.

The locker room was messy, with open bags and unfolded clothes littering the floor. The smell of bleach and foot powder was familiar, with a hint of synthetic eucalyptus from the shower row. Lexa finally took off the headphones, her ears popping in relief. Layers of concrete and tile protected her from the loud crowd, and Lexa closed her eyes. 

She could have made history tonight. Instead, because of a single nasty call at her last game, she cannot even watch from the bench.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, her lips trembling in frustration. She wanted to punch something.

“I know, right?”

Lexa’s neck turned at the voice, her vision blurring for a second as she focused.

She must be hallucinating, because in front of her was Clarke Griffin, point guard of the Arkadia Comets, and the usual pain in Lexa’s ass whenever they played. But why was she here and not on court? Her brain finally caught up with the full image and she noticed the clutches under Clarke’s arms and how her left foot didn’t touch the floor.

“I watched your last game.” Clarke’s dimples showed at a half smile. “I’m surprised you made it to the game tonight,” Clarke said as she sat heavily next to Lexa with a long sigh and the clacks of her crutches against the wooden bench. Her hands immediately massaged her injured thigh.

“What are you doing here?”

“There are stairs to the visitors’ locker room, and I really needed to pee. Can you believe they built this building for like, healthy people? There are stairs everywhere.” 

“I meant…” Lexa pointed at Clarke’s whole deal, and differently from Lexa, the other player didn’t wear a uniform or a windbreaker, just a hoodie with her university’s colors.

“Pulled muscle. Bad enough to knock me out. I didn’t want the sponsors to see me with the crutches.” Clarke nodded in the direction of the plastic supports. Lexa noticed a bright blue athletic tape poking out from Clarke’s joggers all the way to her lower abs visible under the hoodie. Her cheeks flushed, and when she looked up, Clarke smirked at her.

“How did it happen?” Lexa cleared her throat, ignoring the way blue eyes went up and down her body.

“Not as hilariously as the block that took you down,” Clarke said with a shit-eating grin that Lexa wanted to wipe off.

“That was a fault!”

“Sure, babe.” Clarke adjusted in her seat, massaging her thigh again. “I’m sorry you can’t play tonight. I was looking forward to destroying you.”

That made Lexa smile. “In your dreams, Griffin.”

“Oh, but my dreams about you are quite different, Lex.”

And there she was. Griffin always played the mind game to destabilize Lexa. Whispers on the court, faces from the bench; Lexa hated it. She also felt a little joy in it, but ultimately, Clarke Griffin was a distraction.

“I’m sorry you’re missing the game, too,” Lexa said, unsure if her face showed her reaction to Clarke’s comment. By the way Clarke lounged on the bench and shifted closer, Lexa must have blushed.

“It was a good run,” Clarke said.

“You don’t think you can win?” 

Clarke snorted. “Do you?”

“I trust my teammates,” Lexa said and crossed her arms. If Griffin didn’t have any loyalty to her team, that was her problem.

“Don’t get me wrong, darling—” the thin hairs on Lexa’s neck bristled at the pet name — “I love those bitches. But I dragged a bunch of future dentists and teachers to two final fours. You have other girls making draft picks in your team while I average astonishing zero bench points every game.”

“But you’ll be the first draft pick.” The truth rolled out easily on Lexa’s tongue, and she suppressed the bite of jealousy at the thought. 

“And you’ll be second, unless they go insane.”

And here they were, top two draft picks dusting in the locker room while the semi-final roared above them.

Lexa shrugged, running a hand over her loose hair. Her usual braid or ponytail was a no-go with her headache, and her hair kept falling into her eyes. “If I get top four, I’ll be happy.”

“You will.” There was certainty in Clarke’s voice. “We are one of the lucky ones.”

“I know.” There was no hiding the struggle of women’s basketball. Sure, the league had promise and potential, but it was a shadow of the sponsorship and compensation of the men’s league. With limited teams, getting a spot as a professional was already an achievement.

“So, can you help me back to my locker room, princess?” Clarke asked, pointing to her crutches. Heat rose to Lexa’s cheeks, and she crossed her arms.

“Why are you always like this?”

Clarke, halfway to standing, sat back down on the bench. “Like what?”

“Why are you so, so…” Lexa searched for a word, but unwelcomed suggestions jumped to the front of her mind like “hot” and “sexy”, and she ended up going with, “infuriating! Why do you flirt with other players only to mess with their game?”

Clarke huffed, an unusual pink dusting her cheeks. “I don’t flirt with other players.”

“You’ve been pretending to flirt with me in every game for a year!” Lexa didn’t know she needed to vent about something tonight, but Clarke gave her the opening she needed.

“Wait, wait,” Clarke said, raising her hands in surrender. “One, I don’t do that to other players. Two, I mostly do it with you because I know it won’t affect your game. I need to have something against your resolve, and flirting with a straight girl is harmless enough. Besides, you’re hot, Lex. Wow, why don’t you react like this on the court?”

Lexa’s cheeks burned, and she rolled her eyes. Once she stepped on the court, nothing else mattered and Lexa would be hyper-focused on the game. But tonight, not being under the spotlight and off her game, Lexa was not immune to Griffin’s tongue. Compliments—Griffin’s compliments! She needed to change this line of thought.

“What on earth have I done for you to think I’m straight?” Maybe that wasn’t the correct shift in the conversation. Clarke lit up like a Christmas tree, her mouth opening for a second, then closing again, settling on a half smile.

“You never reacted to me before.” Clarke’s voice was a full octave lower, and Lexa might be in trouble. Lexa swallowed and fidgeted with her jacket zipper. “And maybe, yeah, I’ve been flirting with you not only because of the games,” Clarke confessed, the heat in her cheeks darkening.

Was Clarke flirting with her again?

“I was kind of hoping you’d be able to play tonight,” Clarke continued, “so I could watch you all night instead.”

Yes, that was flirting, Lexa’s concussed brain detected. She didn’t move as Clarke shuffled closer, their thighs touching.

“I tried to find you early on, but all your teammates were wearing braids,” Lexa said. At 21, Lexa should have a better control of her mouth, but alas, there she was confessing her charms to her rival.

“They wanted to show me support.” Clarke’s voice was close, and closer still as she said, “So you were looking for me?” But the expected grin or tease was not behind her words. Lexa gathered the rest of her courage and chanced a glance at the fellow point guard, finding nothing but… admiration?

Kiss her, Lexa’s obviously concussed brain offered, and Lexa’s heart race in adrenaline as she ignored the thought.

“You’re the best player,” Lexa reasoned, swallowing as Clarke invaded her personal space. “Of course I look for you on the court.”

“Well,” Clarke said, and her hand, a tad larger than Lexa’s, reached for Lexa’s own. “I look for you outside of the court, too. I watched the video on your channel about your work against bullying in your town’s high school. That was inspiring.”

Lexa’s heart swelled with something akin to fondness, but she blamed that on the concussion. “Thank you.” Lexa whispered, the moment asking for softness.

“You, Lexa Woods”—Clarke’s large hand closed around Lexa’s, warm and steady—“You are inspiring.”

It wasn’t every day that the league MVP said she was inspiring.

Kiss, kiss, her brain supplied.

Lexa didn’t have to wait for her body to listen to her brain. Clarke was MVP for many reasons, and not hesitating was one of them.

The kiss was soft and warm, and Clarke’s hand tugged lightly at Lexa’s neck. For the first time that day, Lexa breathed easily. It lasted a moment, as Clarke showed to be dexterous with her tongue, and then Lexa was breathless.

“My team will be here at half-time,” Lexa whispered when Clarke finally, reluctantly, pulled away.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to kiss me again?”

Lexa wished she could say no to that smile, but she was learning that denying that smile was harder than to block Clarke’s 3 pointers.

“It means we can’t do it here,” Lexa said.

“I’m staying in town for an orthopedic appointment tomorrow morning. You could always stop by my hotel later tonight.” Clarke reached for her clutches and stood. 

“My team will want me around after the game.”

Clarke smiled, one eyebrow raised. “Would you rather be in a noisy bar with your team celebrating, or watching the British Bake Off with me while making out on a king bed?”

Lexa’s cheeks warmed. “The British Bake Off?”

Clarke made her way out of the locker room, slow and steady. “We can watch it on mute, which helps with your headache, and watching it always makes me… hungry.” Clarke delivered the last word over her shoulders, licking her lips for extra dramatic effect. Lexa felt her face heating as Clarke limped out of the room.

Hours later, Lexa’s team had gained their place at the final. Her headache was under control, and her utmost satisfaction had nothing to do with the chocolate cake they ordered from the 24h hotel service.

[allhalesterekstilinski]

I want to talk about the Teen Wolf siblings, particularly their age differences.

Brett is a freshman in season 4. We don’t know how old Lori is, but later she says Brett only accepted the scholarship at Devenford if they would accept her as well. This means either Devenford includes some middle school as well as high school, Lori was smart enough to skip a grade or two, Brett and Lori are 9 months apart, or they’re twins. It’s also possible she’s a couple years younger and was only recently accepted, but since he bargained for her from the beginning, I don’t think it’s as likely.

Based on the short audio clips from “Motel California” it sounds like Boyd and Alicia were close in age, both pretty young, but when we see her body she looks a little older. I would assume he’s older since he was in charge of watching her.

Malia and Kylie were close in age based on the framed photo in her room. In “Ghosted” Kylie has mysteriously aged from about 7 to about 12. Though this is likely due to forgetting information and not caring enough to fact check their own work.

The same could be said for Theo and Tara. They seem to be close in age, but the actresses playing Tara look like different ages. I would guess in season 5 flashbacks she was 11 or 12 when Theo was 9, but in season 6 she looks 17.

Isaac is 16 in season 2 and Camden would have been 24. There is a discrepency unless I’m missing something. Since season 2 is early in the year I’m willing to bet Camden would be 25 later in the year. If Isaac is 16 and Camden would be 24, that’s an 8 year gap. But if he graduated in 2006, he was born in 1988 and is approximately 6 years older. There’s no concrete evidence of when either of their birthdays are, so perhaps Isaac’s birthday is before Camden’s and there’s a short period of time the gap is 7 years. The calendar puts his birthday in February.

Kate said that growing up Chris always tried to make her look like the bad guy.  In 3B Chris says he was 18-years-old 24 years ago putting Chris’s birth year about 1969. Kate was born in 1983. That is a 14 year gap. Either she exaggerated or lied, which I would believe, or Chris was an incredibly shitty brother, which I would also believe. Could you imagine 17 year old Chris blaming 3 year old Kate for him coming home late one night or breaking their mom’s favorite vase?

We don’t know how old Gerard is. Alexander was 27 when he died. Alexander was 19/20 years older than Chris, so Gerard was probably in his early to mid twenties when Chris was born. A lot of actors’ ages coincide with their character’s approximate age. Michael Hogan was born in 1949, so if Gerard is around his age, he’s 20 years older than Chris and 34 years older than Kate. But then he would one year older than Alexander. Not impossible, but he is likely older.

Hayden is about 16 in season 5 because she can drive. The youngest a cop can be is 20, so at the very least Clark is 4 years older. It sounds like Clark had been her guardian for a while, so the gap is likely larger.

If we are going to believe the “In Memorium” video from MTV, Laura was born in 1982 and Peter was born in 1976. We never actually know how old Derek is. Jeff said his ID, putting his birthday in November 1988, was fake, but why? What is the significance of it being fake? It served no purpose and I think Jeff just wanted to fuck with us. Especially because it’s not canon in the show, he said it outside of the show. And if we believe the calendar that makes Derek a Christmas baby, why would he make himself only a month and a half older?

I’m going to assume Derek was “with” Kate leading up closely to the fire, meaning late 2004. If Derek was 16, or almost 16 if his birthday is Christmas, that would put his birthday in 1988. So in the pilot he’s 22. In the script he was meant to be 19 but then he was aged up because Jeff thought it was more important to traumatize him than find a way around it. In 3A Cora says she’s 17, which would put them at a 5 year gap. Laura is 6 years older than Derek and 11 years older than Cora. And if Cora was 11 by January of 2005, she was born in 1993.

I don’t know if this is canon or fanon that Talia raised Peter. Regardless, he is about 5 years older than Laura, 12 years older than Derek, and 17 years older than Cora. But Talia would have to be at the youngest 8 years older than Peter, and that’s if she had Laura at 13. In “Visionary” she appears to be about mid-forties. If this is within a year of the fire, then Peter is 26/27. The gap between Peter and Talia could range from 8 to 20 years.

I’m just so interested in these dynamics.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: The first thought Clark has as he blinks up at the indifferent gray concrete of the ceiling above him is that there must be kryptonite somewhere in the room. His head is splitting, a sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes; his ribs ache, and there’s a dull throb in his left knee. -- Clark and Bruce are cursed to feel each other's pain. Some revelations ensue.

Author: @burins

[rosefinch07]

Ok so post-blue beetle movie jaime

He's grieving his dad, bc closure doesn't erase grief

He gets approached by the justice league

He's warring with himself bc on one hand he just wants to be a normal guy, one who really thinks he should be working so he can help support his family

On the other hand he already has khaji and while khaji and him see eye to eye, there's still some things that are going to come out of left feild. There's still fear and confusion surrounding khaji and jaime's dynamic as AI and host

ALSO

On an individual level, superman is the most likely to try and recruit him first, given how he can just pop on down from kansas on a weekend trip seeing his parents

Just,, Clark in civvies (but who literally says "hi im here from the justice league") showing up at the reyes house with some homecooked food or something like "Please hear me out"

Rudy just shuts the door before Jaime wakes up from a dead asleep "nap" that's khaji getting more and more attatched to jaime's body

Flash gets to be on the other end of Jaime Finding Out He Has Hella Toothies Now And Khaji Likes Biting When Startled

Which, not fun

Batman almost gets shanked by a blade popping out jaime's arm in the same motion where you try and stab someone behind you when you have something vaguely stabby in your hand when someone sneaks up on you when he tries to speak to Jaime bc "Jaime you never said we could not use lethal force we just agreed that we weren't killers"

Jaime hearing a tap at the window

He looks up

It's fucking nightwing

He groans, buries his head in his hands as the suit wraps around him all sluggishly and vaguely the texture of molasses, looks back up with a glare and some limbs rising out of his back to be stiff and imposing as a sign of danger, and goes "What. Do. You. Want." Bc he is Sick and Tired

Why did this turn into Jaime having body shenanigans im not usually into body shenanigans

Nope you know what I'm rolling with this consider this ramble officially SIDETRACKED

One thing I've written about before is khaji being able to take over control of the suit specifically when jaime's in the blue beetle suit, and it's not controlling jaime, it's controlling the suit

Theres a difference

One is internal and the other is external (note that internal can still happen it's just not exactly Ideal)

I need Jaime to get knocked back in a fight and he loses hold of a little of his humanity between sliding on the floor and making claw marks in like concrete or something, literally BARES HIS TEETH, and his tibial spurs extend and also make marks in the concrete and he gets up, stretches in a way that is a product of fucky bones, and gets back in the fight

I have,,, such brainrot for this character istg

[stardustizuku]

Part 2: The Alter Ego Of A Heroine And It’s Relationship To The Protagonist

You can’t have a good Love Square, if you don’t have likable protagonists.

It’s very easy that when emotions play a role, for hearts to be swayed one way or the other. So you have to have very concrete and powerful characters that you will not hate – even if they mess up.

If you don’t have them, much like any Love Triangle, you will begin to hate one of the options. Then, trying to insinuate, whoever is left of the couple as ending with this less-liked-character will just end up pissing everyone off. This delicate balance is even more imperative in the Love Square.

Therefore, we need not only a lovable protagonist, but one we really want to root for – and Marinette has been suffering in that department for quite a while now.

So, we have to talk about her. Unfortunately, despite her being central for the show to work, she’s probably the second most character that suffer from the terrible writing of this show (and we all know who’s the one who suffered the most).

So, to understand what went wrong with her character, we first need to clear the bases and talk about Alter Egos.

An alter ego is the “alternative version” of someone. The Superman to Clark Kent, the Spider-Man to Peter Parker, the Batman to Bruce Wayne. They represent the hero version, the other self, the better version if you will, of protagonist were supposed to root for.

In magical girls, these better versions are key to understanding our Main Character. While, yes, there’s many magical girl like Sugar Sugar Rune or Sakura Card Captor that don’t place emphasis on the Alter Ego, MLB definitely does.

You see, the Alter Ego is better. Brighter, happier, have a sense of justice and are able to confront the world. While our Main Character doesn’t have these characteristics, or at least not as external. The alter ego represents everything they wish to be, while the real them hides underneath.

And it’s this push and pull between two of them that becomes a core, of sorts, for the story. For two main reasons. One, it explains the character. And two, it represents the theme.

A very good example of this – is Madoka. What makes a magical girl, a magical girl, in this universe?

You make a wish. Something you want more than anything. And that wish is what fuels your hearts to fight against the ghosts of the peers that came before. And if you lose sight of what that wish originally was – your soul gem cracks.

When Ayaka realizes that saving everyone is useless, her soul gem cracks, because proving that Mami was right and Homura was wrong was what drove her to be a magical girl.  She became a Magical Girl to prove Homura wrong, that she could be happy being selfless.

When Homura’s goal to save Madoka is over, and she despairs over how she didn’t save her (only doomed her to an eternity of fighting), her soul gem cracks. She becomes a demon. She became a Magical Girl to save Madoka, so it makes sense she would become something worse when it turns out she didn’t.

Magical girls, are just that. A wish. Usually fighting the “failed versions” of themselves. Rue, who couldn’t have Mythos heart. Utau who hid half of her personality to please others. Sara, who couldn’t find love.

Magical Girls are a wish. While they become magical girls to save the planet, there’s something behind it that they guard deeply and wish to protect even more. And conflicts with their “true” self.

Other examples, are…

Princess Tutu is the representation of Ahiru’s love for Mytho. Ahiru wanted to save him, so it only stands to reason that her Alter ego is one that collects his heart shards, desperate to make him whole again. That’s what she fights for - For Mytho's, and eventually her own, happiness.

Sailor Moon is the representation of Usagi’s past as Princess Serenity. It’s her bonds that transcend space, it’s her duty to protect the earth like she couldn’t protect the Moon Kingdom. While this doesn’t happen in the first seasons, by the end of the series, it’s her deep connections and love for the rest of the sailor scouts that drives her to bear the weight of saving the world. These connections and bonds to her past, are what make her step forward and become a ruler again, and the reason she keeps fighting for Earth. In the future, we even see that Usagi, becomes Princess Serenity – her past. By becoming the queen of Neo Tokyo.    

Amulet Heart is the representation of Amu’s “I want to be” self. Her desire to be sporty and happy, easy to mix with people. She has many others and through them all she aims to find herself. Who she really is, and where she fits in a school that idolizes a fake version of herself. Because in truth, the “real” amu doesn’t have a personality. She constantly feels like she copies others, but never truly finds who “she” is. But her Shugo Charas help her do exactly that. Break out of her shell, become someone very uniquely her. To the point that she eventually (in the manga) develops entirely new shugo charas. Because her ”I want to be self” has changed, and by defector, her. She became a Magical Girl to finds herself.

Pink Pearl Voice is representation of Lucia’s duty as a princess. She has seen her people be in distress and knows the weight her actions have on her nation. Her purpose is to fight those who want to hurt her kingdom. To return peace to the seven seas. While her true self, Lucia, just wants to be happy, free. Fall in love with a human – even though its forbidden by her kin. So, who should she be? Fall in love, or follow her duty? Again, in the manga, she becomes Agua Regina, the ruler of the seven seas, pointing to the fact that falling in love and ruling, aren’t as opposed to each other as she once believed.

So, with all this as context, what exactly is ladybug’s purpose? What does she represent? Why did Marinette decide to become Ladybug?

Again, it’s not “Just to save the world” or “because they’re forced to”. And the ones whose premise is that, are the most dark and disturbing magical girls there are (princess tutu, madoka, and utena)

So, Marinette has something, right? Something she fights for? To protect her friends? Her country? Her school? Her family? Is it pressure from her parents? Or is it herself? Why pressure herself, and to this extend?

What exactly would have been her wish when she became Ladybug? Why would she have accepted a deal where herself is in jeorpardy, and continue to accept it as more and more burdens pile up on her?

What’s stopping (in season 1-3) from ditching everything and asking Master Fu to find a new ladybug? Realistically.

Aaaaand, you probably have an answer.

But here’s the thing.

It's either an answer that came post-season 4, which again it’s too damn late. Or, outright not an actual reason given by the show.

Because the reason a lot of Aus, fanfics, and fancomics work  are because they answer this question. Reality is, canon really doesn’t have much of an answer – except a very vague “sense of justice” Marinette has. There’s no clear answer. According to previous actions, we can speculate why. But we don’t have a real reason.

Is it because she was bullied? Is it because she got made fun of? Or is it simply her good nature? When has she expressed this outright or even sat down to talk about it with anyone?

We don’t know what Ladybug represents.

We don’t know why she keeps fighting evil. Why she takes on this mantle that’s slowly eating her away. And without knowing this, we really don’t know Marinnette herself.  

And this is a Marinette-exclusive problem, may I add.  

In the case of Chat Noir, it’s easy to find his reason to fight, and very early on - Season 1 early on.

He wants to be free, wants to be able to escape his home that feels like a prison, but still craves a place that will welcome him as he is: a mischievous trickster who messes up sometimes. Represented by a cat with a bell, meaning a cat with a home. A mischievous person who craves a place to belong

And that place is Ladybug. She offers that, while Chat Noir lends him the means to show that “true self” he can’t allow to others. He would never give up his miraculous because it would mean losing all that.

But Marinette doesn’t have that.

The closes thing we get to a “ideal self” is the fact that as Ladybug she gets to be the leader and the confident girl she always wanted to be, because she’s clumsy…But I have to say, that doesn’t really make sense. Its implied, in the first season, when they run for president, that she’s a naturally born leader. And if it weren’t for Adrien making her nervous, she’d be much more capable that she is right now.

Which makes the Marinette we have as of now, an amalgamation of many different MC tropes all stitched together with the world’s flimsiest needle. It’s a poke away from entirely crumbling.

We have:

I have a crush on my idol classmate

I am clumsy and ditzy

You can’t bully people! That’s wrong and you’re a meanie!

But also I’m kind hearted and will offer a helping to hand to those ostracized by society

Except if they’re the villain or the villain’s minions, they’re bad

I am a natural born leader and inspire others

But also I have no self steem and constantly doubt myself

I am soo shyyy

But also I will be weird abt my crush

And while these definitely can work together and form something coherent. They didn’t. They tried, and a very big emphasis on TRIED here, to give some of these aspects a backstory – like the stupid Kim Backstory about obsessive behaviour – but again, too little too late.

And even if, big if, it never really gets explored beyond this surface level. Did she talk about it with Chat Noir? Did she talk about it with Adrien? Did she ever stop to think or reflect on it?

It seems to me more like an effort from the writers to shrug off Marinette’s creepy behaviour by trying to justify it via trauma, rather than confront it and have a serious conversation about what it might entail.

But probably the most frustrating part - is that it could absolutely still have worked. If anyone gave a crap about admitting they f-ed up and working to fix it.

*Sighs*

 I liked the Marinette from the PV. She reminded me a lot of Ahiru. A kind and cheery girl, with a golden heart, who secretly crushes on her idol prince. Probably someone who would be kind to a fault, trying to brefriending even the ultimate boss.

But Marinette right now wouldn’t. Or at least I think she wouldn’t. I mean, she hates Chloe and Lila, and would never offer to help them. Never has opened up and has an antagonistic rship with them.

But she did help Ivan that first time. And we see her forgive people who aren’t explicitly villains.

But she WAS really nasty towards Kagami when they didn’t even know all that much about her.

And this is not a sailor moon/fish eye situation where Adrien and Marinette are dating, or a lost memory thing that happened in the first part of sailor moon R. She’s just – mean bcs this girl has a crush on the boy she likes.

“It makes her a complex character-!”

It makes her confusing. You can’t know how she’ll act, so you can’t understand her and her actions. It alienates her.

Not really Magical Girl, but a good example of an extremely weird girl, who we understand is Rozemyne from Ascendance of a Bookworm. She has wild and unpredictable reactions – but we understand her internal logic. We know she’ll offer help when she can, but draws a hard line between friends and acquaintances. She wouldn’t jeopardized her loved ones for people she barely knows.

Something like that is missing from Marinette.

Unfortunately, at this point we only have one defining characteristic of her.

The one thing you’re sure won’t change, the one thing you can trust her to be no matter the circumstances. Her defining characteristic:

Adrien

Her feelings for Adrien are the only true constant.

We can’t trust her to be kind, bcs maybe the girl is crushing on Adrien and we’ve seen how she treat those girls. We can’t trust her to put art before anything, bcs we rarely see her design. We can’t trust her to be smart, clumsy, a good leader, a crybaby or happy.

The only thing we can trust about her, is Adrien

Which could work. Many other magical girls base their character around their love interest. It’s not an automatic recipe for disaster. An MC with heavy focus on romance can work.

Ichigo Monomiya, for example, is someone whose crush is a big part of her character AND motivation. She wants to protect Earth (as in nature) because it means so much to Aoyama and her main conflict comes from how she doesn’t want him finding out about her being a Mew. Her story revolves around how much she wants to spend time with him - but is unable to.

And Ahiru’s entire wish is for Mytho to be happy at the cost of her own. For a while the only motivation she seemed to have was Mytho and we knew little abt her aside from that.

Marinette basing her entire identity around Adrien may not be a bad thing (writing wise) if the writers acknowledged that’s what they’re doing. If they allowed conflict to build upon it.

Maybe a explore who she is without Adrien, and how he affects the perception Marinette has on herself. Who does she become without him and more importantly,

Why can’t she get together with him?

Real, why can’t Marinette get Adrien?

Well, the show  has told us many times why. Awful consequences, the end of the world, etc etc.

But what I’m asking is why Marinette can’t get closer to Adrien? Even as a friend?

What’s stopping her from confessing? Or giving the first step? Being ladybug? Her own nervousness?

There’s usually a reason why these things can’t progress. Nervousness, after four seasons, shouldn’t have been one.

I mean, it worked on the first few episodes and even seasons. But at some point, her nervousness just became unrealistic, and it falls to the point of annoyance and even blatant fetishization by Thomas’ part – for a girl obsessed over a boy.

Again, Ichigo took steps to get closer to Aoyama since day one. The only reason why she can’t confess, isn’t because she gets nervous or can’t seem to talk to him. It’s because she’s scared that when Aoyama finds out she’s half-cat, he’ll be grossed out and won’t want to date her.

And if we talk about shyness and clumsiness, Ahiru comes to mind. Someone who also messes up when her crush is involved.

However, Ahiru gets competent the more time she spends with Mytho. By the end of it, even if she’s scared or nervous, she jumps headfirst into danger to protect him. She’s able to have conversations with him, and even gets close to his friends. She breaks out of her crush so much, that she’s willing to accept that Mytho is not meant for her.

So, no. Shyness and clumsiness when writing a character, isn’t a good answer.

What about her being Ladybug and the responsibility it comes with it, impeding her from finding love?

Well THAT plot point doesn’t get explored. At least, not with Adrien.

It only ever gets explored until season 4 and with MAY I REMIND YOU Luka. That she’ll always be distant or unable to connect with someone because of how much she has to keep from him. And it’s also kinda weird, when you juxtapose Luka and Aoyama.

Aoyama is the main love interest in the anime Tokyo Mew Mew. He was often sad and disappointed that Ichigo couldn’t put priority on him.

In one particular episode, he asked her out to go to the movies and was waiting for Ichigo, but a fight broke out and she was unable to go meet him. Mid-fight she does try to contact him but a jealous alien breaks her phone, making her unable to tell him she’s going to be late.

The iconic scene where she comes late to her date, and Aoyama is still waiting in the rain, will always be ingrained in my mind. The music, the writing, it all builds up to this point. You can see how much they long to be together, but there’s this impossible barrier for them. Caused entirely by circumstance. If Ichigo were normal, if she weren’t a hero, if she were just like other girls, she would be with the man she loves.

But she can’t. So she has to hide. Hide parts of herself, and her life. Even as she confesses that she loves him, she’s hiding her tail and ears. Worried that he’ll hate her but still trying to reach out.

And Aoyama forgives her. He says “I love you too”

It truly showed how they can’t be 100% together. That there’s a gap they can never truly fill.

But Aoyama /tries/. He doesn’t break up with her, doesn’t get angry, he hears how truly sorry she is and sees how anxious she’s getting - and accepts it. He forgives her. Because there’s things, they still don’t know about each other, and neither are ready to share.

That’s why Luka’s reaction Is weird. Wanting the whole truth from your gf is strange. And yes, Marinette is an asshole for still crushing on Adrien - but Luka knew! And he still accepted her. But he draws the line at Marinette having a secret he won’t tell her 2-month boyfriend and not even her closest friends KNOW?? And, it gets even worse, when you know that the secret of her “being ladybug” is something he’s known for a long a time. (And so has Aoyama by the way)

So a fundamental part of Marinette’s struggles were shoved into a padded 30 min episode. Where the blame is placed entirely on her.

I know they’re trying to fix it in season 5, an attempt to make her more proactive and give her a backstory and the like.

But this is your protagonist.

You shouldn’t be trying to fix her five goddamned seasons in. This should have been something addressed in – at LATEST – the second season. The villains also have this problem, but this is much more saveable in their case. We’re not supposed to care much for them to begin with.

And as I said, both the protagonist Alter Ego, and the Theme of a story are extremely linked together. If anything, they should have been able to fall back on their theme. What were they trying to say?

If, say for the sake of argument, Ichigo is an unlikable protagonist, maybe by just leaning into the Nature and Ecology theme of the show, you can build a new personality.

This is what star vs did – they gave Star character development as they developed the theme of intergenerational conflict and colonization.

So, SURELY, if Marinnette is a bad protagonist with no real reason for her Alter ego –

The writers can fall back on their theme to write a cohesive protagonist for the overall story of theme they’re trying to talk about

Right?

Spoiler. No.

PREV << MASTERLIST >> NEXT

[sunny-desk]

4,252 Days Chapter 1: Day 1, Pt 1

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Fic Summary: FTWD re-written to include an OC named Gemma who has a platonic relationship/friends with benefits situation with Nick Clark and then goes on to be with Troy Otto. Chapter Summary: Gemma sees a guy run into the road and get hit by a car Word Count: 1177 Author’s Note: This is a big commitment, hopefully I stick with it. I'm excited. Gif from here.

“Please say you’re calling with good news.” Gemma can feel the pre-emptive disappointment radiating through the phone, almost hotter than the 8AM summer sunshine beating down on her as she walks along the street.

“Hello, Olivia. It’s so good to hear your voice. I’m doing well, thank you. How about you?” Sarcasm and semi-fake niceness hung on every word.

“Stop stalling, we saw each other an hour ago, you know how I am. How did it go? Did they suspect the undercut? Because I told you, Gem, it’s silly but it’s true, they’ll judge you for it.”

“It went great, Liv.” Gemma replied simply, not wanting to keep this going and make her friend more annoyed at her than she knows she already is. “No undercut suspected, zero tattoos spotted. I have to go in for a bit of training tomorrow but after that it’s a long weekend before I start properly on Monday.”

Olivia lets out a sigh of genuine relief through the phone, Gemma can tell she’s smiling as she talks. “That’s great, Gem! Really, that’s so great. I have to get back to work but I'll see you back home later, okay? We can talk about it more then. Maybe plan a way to celebrate a little? Alcohol free, of course.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Talk later.”

Gemma hangs up the phone, puts it in her navy blazer pocket and pulls her hair out of its low ponytail, replacing it with a high one, showing off the undercut Olivia spent 10 minutes stressing about helping her hide this morning. Working in a posh office where she has to hide even the most basic parts of herself isn’t exactly the dream but beggars can’t be choosers. She needs this job. She needs to get back on track.

She can already picture her life a few months from now, a little bit of money in her pocket, new clothes she’s been in need of for weeks, finally able to pay Liv the rent she’s owed. An apartment of her own is the real dream but that might be thinking too big right now and living with Liv definitely isn’t a problem. She can picture it though. Flat screen TV, dark green sofa, huge fluffy rug that feels like you’re walking on a cloud. A bit of saving and hard work at a job she’s pretty sure is going to be mind-numbing and it'll be real before she knows it. There’s a smile on Gemma’s face as she walks down the street thinking of the future. Things might finally be looking up.

-

The loud screech of tyres and the distant thud as something hits the hard road takes Gemma out of her daydream and back to reality. It’s like time freezes for a few seconds as she stops in her tracks, taking in the scene before her.

Black marks on the ground lead up to a small silver car stopped in the middle of the road. Its windshield is smashed and Gemma is pretty sure there’s a small dent on the bumper too. The driver is sitting there, shock on his face, probably not sure if what just happened is his own fault or the fault of the person who just bounced off his windshield and is now laying almost unconscious on the concrete. The other people in the area have stopped too. Some look annoyed that their morning has been disturbed, others look horrified.

There’s a quick rush as time starts again and Gemma runs towards the car and the fallen boy. On closer inspection, he looks rough. No shoes or socks, a half-torn, baggy, white shirt, ill-fitting jeans, hair that seems to not have been brushed in a few days. Gemma peers over her shoulder at a building across the road. She’s been living in the area long enough to know where that boy came running from. It likely wasn't the driver's fault. But it probably wasn’t the boy’s either.

He’s laying on his back, staring up at the sky. Gemma leans over him.

“Hey. Can you hear me? It’s okay. You’re okay,” She says, though she’s not sure that’s true. He looks quickly around him, as much as he can while still laying flat on the floor, and then looks Gemma in the eyes for a second, like he’s checking for something. “Just stay still.”

Looking up, Gemma realises that other than the driver, who took a few seconds to build up the courage to get out of his car and check the damage, she is the only person who has rushed over to help.

“What the hell are they all doing? See a lad get hit by a car and just stand there, seems reasonable, ugh,” she mutters angrily to no one in particular. Looking around quickly, scanning the small crowd, she spots a woman with her phone in her hand and points, “Oi, you, phone someone! Now!”

“No, I’m fine,” the guy mumbles as the woman lifts her phone to call and begins walking over. She hesitates slightly at his comment.

“Ignore him. He’s been hit on the head. Call them.”

He starts trying to sit up, probably faster than he should. Gemma crouches down and reaches out, preparing to attempt to catch him if he starts falling backwards. She makes a mental note to buy some work trousers that she can properly bend in with her first pay cheque. Liv can have these one’s back, if they survive the day.

“I’m fine. I’ll just.. I’ll walk it off, you know. Thanks.” He’s distracted when he says it, not fully in the moment and not looking at Gemma but instead surveying the area once again, searching.

Gemma pretends not to notice. “Walk it off? In whose shoes?” She says it playfully, trying to distract him from whatever this is. He doesn’t seem right. And he can’t just get up and walk this off.

He pauses and takes a look at his grimy, bare feet. “Have you never heard of shoeless hikes? You should try it sometime. It’s great, really.”

Gemma smiles slightly. “Sure it is. Listen, just lay back down, okay? Or at least just stay sitting. You don’t know what could be wrong. The ambulance will be here soon.”

“Nothing is wrong. Uh, I’m Nick, you’re British, it’s.. Tuesday..?” He counts on his fingers. “Well, it’s definitely a weekday. See? Everything..” He starts looking around mid sentence, “...is,” distracted again, more searching, “… fine.”

Gemma follows Nick’s gaze and realises he’s looking at the old abandoned church longer than he’s looking in any other direction. So her assumption was right, that is where he came from.

“I’m Gemma. It’s Wednesday. Stay put.”

Nick turns his head back in her direction. He slumps like he’s lost his fight, exhausted, or has decided whatever he’s worried about doesn’t need worrying about right now. He doesn’t say anything as he lays back down on the floor, giving up his attempts to leave. The shrill sound of an ambulance siren can be heard in the distance.

-

As the ambulance pulls up, accompanied by a police car a dozen feet behind it, the driver of the car finally finds his voice. He’s been standing there for a few minutes, nervously smoothing out his work suit, trying to think of what to say. He speaks fast, trying to get everything out before anyone official gets within hearing distance.

“Listen. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you, okay? You seem fine.” He turns to Gemma. “He’ll be fine, right? Nothing needs to come of this. I’ll just... be on my way.”

“Spineless.” Gemma mumbles under her breath before looking back at him. She may not think the incident was necessarily his fault but there’s a way to handle it and it’s not this. Looking directly at him, eyes cold, she continues, “I don’t think you’re going anywhere mate, the police are right there. They’ll want a word, I’m sure. And look at him. Does he look fine?”

Nick is still laying on the floor, not moving much. It's like the adrenaline and shock have finally worn off, leaving him aching all over, able to feel what just happened to him.

Gemma continues. “And unless you fancy running some more people over, I don’t think driving off in that thing is a good idea, do you? You won’t be able to see anything out of that window.”

The man turns back to his car, noting the huge area of smashed windshield, and runs his hand through his already slicked back hair, uncomfortable. Nick ignores what Gemma has just said and looks at the slightly dishevelled man, mumbling a response, “It’s whatever, man. I have bigger things to worry about.”

Gemma looks to Nick, wondering what those bigger things are. You’d assume it was potential head injury or internal damage from being thrown onto the concrete by a hunk of speeding metal but Gemma doesn’t think so. Nick was concerned about something, being hit by a car wasn’t anywhere close to the forefront of his mind.

Before the man can decide what to do the police and paramedics have closed the distance. The police go straight to him, the medics to Nick.

“Okay then, what do we have here?” Says the commanding voice of a tall blonde woman striding over. She’s carrying a large bag of any potential medical supplies Nick may need immediately and is being followed by a man and a stretcher.

“His name is Nick. He ran out into the road and got hit by a car.” Gemma quickly responds.

“Nick, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Let me take a look at you.” The paramedic bends down to Nick. She checks his eyes and makes a ‘hm’ sound.

“I feel fine.” Nick says while she continues looking him over. He doesn’t sound fine. His voice has gotten weaker the longer he’s been laying there.

“Right, okay,” unsurprisingly, the paramedic isn’t convinced. “We should check you out properly anyway. Getting hit by a car can cause a lot of damage you can’t necessarily see. Let’s get you on this stretcher and then we’ll be right on our way to the hospital, okay?” She says it firmly, it’s not really a question. But Nick doesn’t seem to be in a position to argue anyway.

Gemma stands back while the paramedics get Nick up onto the stretcher and as they walk him the short distance to the ambulance she instinctively starts to follow. No one questions her getting into the ambulance with them and taking a seat, not even Nick, who looks over to her but seems to mostly be in his own world now, thinking about who knows what. Maybe he’s thinking about nothing, in too much of a daze. Or maybe, like Gemma, he’s thinking about the church.

[qcomicsy]

Bruce wayne platonically sleep with both Clark and Diana pass it on.

It started as the three of them were responsible to supervise a very particular thing on a random mission, it went for literally days. They played cards. Gossiped about their coworkers. Had a heart-to-heart (to-heart-to-heart-to-heart-to?). Clark cried a little. Played cards again. Diana cheated except she didn't because she would never, but Bruce was bored and butthurt so he said it anyway and "Clark stop laughing this is a serious matter". They ate whatever the jl freezer had. It tasted horrible. They talked about their family's. Clark is a good father. "Bruce it's going to work it out if you're just open it up-". They fought.

and then made it up because otherwise Clark would get sad. "How long it has been?" "42 hours". They waited in silence. "Bruce you should sleep". "No you won't stay awake a second night in a roll while we sleep. No I don't care how much your ninja training prepared you for that, I also don't care if he's going to do It anyway. Diana which side are you on?" Bruce stayed awake a second night in a roll. Clark woke up in a bad mood. It's nice how they're one of the few people who ever saw Superman in a bad mood. No they will never talk about it out loud. Diana made coffee. "It's not strong Clark. You have the taste buds of a child, don't look at me like that". They waited a couple of more hours. "How long it has been? I'm calling Jon-". Batman and Wonder woman play chess. Clark still is on his phone, he waits patiently as Jon tell him about his day, only giving his input every now and then. When they run out of things to say, Clark tells him to be good to his mother, that he loves them both and he's going to be back soon. He waits Jon to hang up. "Who's winning? Oh he's fine but Lois already went to work,". Batman won 5 times and Wonder Woman won 7. He's sulky about it.

"Let's do a re-mach again Alfred will make cookies".

"Ok".

They made it up for real this time.

"Bruce you should take a nap". "He wont". "I wont". "I know but he should". It's getting cold and didn't they had a warmer? Oh yeah of course it broke, they should really fix that thing. Diana wonders if she's ever going to get used to this type of weather. She misses home, not the one made of concrete, the one she danced with her sisters, she wonders what they're up to- "Oh thanks Clark". The fabric of this cape is really soft. "Thanks-

"my mom made it"

"his mom made it"

Clark glares at Bruce. They laugh. It's night again. "Have I ever told y'all...". "Yes Clark". "Oh". Now it's time to Diana glare at Bruce. "But tell us again". He does.

Diana laughs and in the same breath "When I was a child...". When she finishes Bruce hums "My father he...". "There was this girl...". When they blink it's day and when they blink twice is night again.

This time Bruce is going to sleep. Clark it's not playing. "You look like a mess". "He's right-" Diana adjust Clark's cape in her shoulders. "Even the bravest soldier needs a rest. You'll be no help if you keep going like this". Bruce want's to tell her they're not soldiers, they're a bunch of delusional misfits with too much power on their hands. But there's a curve in Diana's brow and a frown in Clark's lower lip that wisely tells him not to. He's exhausted. "I'm fine". "I won't argue about that". They do.

Bruce sleeps in the fourth night. He refuses to lay down so he just slauches in his chair, grumpy. Clark is not happy about it. Diana is not going to babysit a grown man. He'll sleep however he likes. They whisper. They don't need to have their faces close to eachother, they both have super hearing. But they do it anyway. It's comfy and Clark's shoulder is warm. Bruce might be having a nightmare. Clark reaches to the nape of his neck without thinking, thumb slowly caressing his cheek. "It's what ma uses to do". Present tense. Diana smiles. She does a small nod without taking her head of his shoulder.

They talk. Clark's heart is so big Diana swears she can feel it. They wait. Diana's knowledge transcends time and space and make Clark feels small in a good way. He almost feels like a child again. The world's too big fill with unthinkable wonder. It's when he realizes, he's a boy from a farm listening to a goddess. It doesn't feel as intimidating as it sounds. He misses not being expected to know it all. To do it all.

Bruce is awake but he's pretends he isn't. And Clark is aware but is pretending to not notice. He doesn't ask Clark's to take his hand off him. Nor does it take it himself. So Clark stays there. Diana is talking about art, culture and war and the good and bad of it all. Bruce it's breathing deep and his heart it's calm. The moment seems frozen on time.

It almost felt human.

It happens on the sixth day. Clark and Diana had an arm wrestling context. Clark won five times and Diana won two of it. He's trying not to get up to his head or overthink the possibility of her letting him think he won. Or the fact that with their sleep schedule no outcome would even come close to a honest result. She's not usually the type to lie and let him take the victory like that. "A fair match is a fair match" but she's has done it before. He's pretty sure of it. Batman is stuck in front of his computer, he misses his family. He misses his family but he won't say it. His jaw is clenched, he checks his phone every ten to ten minutes. But he won't say it. So he's keeping himself occupied.

Diana looks at the window and sit on the couch as Clark stretch himself before he sits next to her. Its noon. It's almost over. Bruce let's out a frustrated sight and turns off the computer crossing his arms to himself. He looks at them as Clark finishes stretching and lays his entire weight on Wonder Woman's side. There's few people there are able to handle him like that. And even fewer times where they actually have the time and the freedom to do it, so he's saving every opportunity that he gets. Bruce is staring at them. Clark lays his head on her shoulder. Bruce is staring. She mindlessly circles her arm on his neck resting her hand in his hair and messing his curls with the tip of her fingers. Bruce is staring. Clark looks at her to check if she's seeing it too, but her eyes never leave the unbreakable glass of the window. He looks at Bruce as he rest his head on her shoulder. There's a grown ass man dessed as a bat in the middle of a conference room crossing his arms glaring at an alien made of steal who's resting his head on a demigoddess who's humming a comercial dingle to herself, all of that, because he's to petty to come in and enjoy the moment. Clark wants to laugh about that.

And he does a little.

"You know, you can join too." He humours.

"Hn."

He's still glaring. Clark wonders if he's blinking.

He listen to Diana's heart. It's beating slowly, he's listening because we kinda wants to listen Bruce's, too. But the fact that Diana's heartbeat is matching the strokes in his hair caught him in a surprise. He's about ot say it when Diana goes unprompted.

"For a man who's willing to die for those he love you're sure afraid of showing intimacy."

It sounded like a teasing but her voice is cristal clear. It was obviously directed at Bruce but she's not even looking at him. And Clark want's to laugh because the man in his front it's unshakeable but his mouth twitched.

Clark still wonders if it was or wasn't a tease when she doubles down.

"Scary cat."

Clark chuckles.

Now she's looking at him.

Bruce lays on his back unmovable.

"Didn't know it was a requirement."

"There's a lot you don't know."

"Enlighten me."

"You're smart enough to get it."

Bruce takes a deep breath. The type no one would noticed, well no one but him. He's frustrated and Clark notices. But Bruce always look frustrated, so Clark knows it's not at them. The man eyes exchanged between his and Diana's.

"It's almost over".

"That's good."

"But we will have to stay a little more."

He can hear Wonder woman's other hand scratch the surfice of the couch with short nails something so small that he just silently registers it.

"How long." She's using her Wonder Woman voice. They all have one. All super-heros he means.

Some villains too.

Funny enough not many anti-heros do.

She's not even asking.

"I like this as much as you do."

"I never said I hate it."

"Neither do I."

"But I'm not happy with it." There is, Diana's voice. The tired one, the one he only heard five years into their friendship.

Batman drops the act.

"Me too." He takes of the cowl and passes his both cloves hands over his face and stays there as if he's analysing if he should say it. "I'm going to lose Damian's PTA and Cass's Ballet."

Silence.

"It's the third..." When his hand reaches his mouth he stops himself.

Silence

"So it's 16th." Diana helps.

"19th."

"Three days."

"Yes."

"Here."

"Yes."

"Until it's done."

"Yes."

"Have you warned the others?"

Batman just looks at her.

She doesn't bother to answer.

Silence again.

It's crushing. Clark misses Lois. He doesn't know if Jon has eaten, he called yesterday but no one picked up. They must've been sleeping. Kara promised check in. He misses his wife. He misses his wife and his house and his dog. He hopes Jon is feeding Crypto well because he forgot once, but he hopes Jon's be more aware now even if he's not there to remind him. He's kid is grown. He should send a message. And he should call Kon. But Kara promised check in. But that doesn't really matter because that's not the reason why he should call. And he should call. He won't, but he should. And Clark Kent was supposed to go back to his work after being "sick" four days ago. And-

"I mean it is cozy"

He hears his voice saying, it's the first time he intervene in a while.

Both Di and Bruce smile.

"He wouldn't know." She follows.

And that's enough to Bruce to join in. He sits besides them with the silent over-confidence he always has. But he clearly has no ideia about what to do with his hands. At first he puts on his own thighs, then he tries to rest in the back of the couch behind them, his hand nudges wonder woman's arm so the retreats it. Clark want's to giggle, instead he just take it on his own.

Clark was fourteen when he noticed men aren't supposed to be as affectionate as he was.

There's a akward wait between them. It's not the first time they do it, it probably won't be the last. But he always like to check. So he waits. There's a small squeeze, lighter than a feather and Bruce's weight slowly rests on him.

Clark's hand is too soft for someone made of steal.

They're exhausted. They all are, but they're not supposed to say it. Clark is resting on Diana's shoulder and holdings his hand and Bruce refuses confront what that does to hi heart. It's something too warm, too fuzzy and tender for him to grasp. Men like him aren't supposed to get that.

They sat in silence. Two of the most important beings of the universe and a spoiled brat. It's a joke. But he doesn't feel like laughing. He's not worth it. God knows he's not. But Clark's hand is soft and Diana's voice is crystal clear. So he stays anyway.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hoping it never does.

Diana's reciting the constellations name's. More to herself than to any of them. She knows the star's first names. He knows the scientific one's. He kinda wants to correct her, just to be a brat. But his eyes are closing and clark is warm.

Bruce wakes up the next day with Clark's cape on his shoulder and no one at his side.

He smells coffee from the kitchen and hears Clark's voice faintly complaining from the hallway.

And he's horrofied.

He's horrofied because that's the comfiest and safest that Bruce has ever slept in his entire life.

And he can't stop thinking about it.

[nitewrighter]

Scoops! (Part 1)

Okay, so this fic is of course mainly taking place in the My Adventures With Superman continuity of Superman, but I also wanted to incorporate some aspects of comics Lois in there as well. It also takes a lot of inspiration from Gene Luen Yang's Batman/Superman: The Archive of Worlds, and I wanted to adapt elements of that comic to My Adventures with Superman. So it's a mish-mash! This is my first time writing for Superman in anything other than a shitpost, so I hope you enjoy!

Read it on AO3 here!

-----

“Eyes up, Smallville,” Lois was bobbing a little where she stood. She was in yoga tights and a loose cutoff tee that was apparently a souvenir from a monster truck rally called ‘MeTRUCKolis.’ Her wrapped fists were squared up in front of her. Clark loomed before her, his own legs slightly bent, wearing a beat-up white t-shirt and sweats.

Clark adjusted his glasses and took a steadying breath. “Okay,” he said, bringing his arms up.

“Ready?” she asked. He liked that little flash of fierceness in her eyes.

“Mm-hm.”

Bap. Bap. Bap. She had been talking him through proper blocking, and, from what they could observe, Kryptonian nerve endings seemed to follow a lot of the same logic as human ones, and she was always quick to correct his form or stance. Obviously she didn’t have the same hand-to-hand prowess as that skull-helmeted orange and black guy with the swords, but it was still a good opportunity to actually observe the patterns of a proper fighting style rather than be blindsided by a flurry of blows.

Bap.

Watching Lois, blocking her strikes, he could see there was clear logic to her movements: an awareness of space and a conservation of energy that seemed so far beyond him simply because he still had barely a grasp on what he was able to do to begin with. Rolling with the force of the punches was definitely instinctive for him at this point, but he was still trying to parse out how exactly his own invulnerability worked. Frankly, he didn’t really like the current approach of, “Oh, I guess that doesn’t kill me,” but it wasn’t like he was actively trying to lower whatever unconscious mental blocks he had on what probably could be hurting him a lot more if he let it. He could feel the roughness of Lois’s fist wrappings, the warmth of her skin through them, could feel his own flesh yielding, if only slightly, at the impact. He knew she actually packed a significant punch compared to the average person, but she was holding back in her own way. There was the instructive element to it, but caution, as well. After all, how hard would you want to punch someone who not only was your boyfriend, but whom you had also seen make a massive impact crater on concrete?

Bap. Bap.

Lois was a ruddy, flushed mess, but in Clark-vision she was a dewy and glowing warrior goddess, hair sleeked back with her own sweat. They had been at this for the better part of an hour—their training session interrupted only twice by Clark having to rescue several construction workers downtown when an I-Beam’s crane cables snapped loose, and later to fly a little girl and her grandfather to a hospital when the grandfather had a stroke. He had been trying to get better about letting certain things resolve themselves—Metropolis had firefighters, crisis hotlines, and paramedics, after all—but he had also gotten practiced enough with his super-hearing that he had a much stronger grasp on where the location of certain cries for help were coming from—say, if that stroke victim was also in an affordable housing unit.

Bap. Lois’s fist made contact with his left pec.

“Clark, shoulders,” she said for what was definitely more than the tenth time, “And you’re not even trying to evade.”

Clark wasn’t sure how practical evasion was when he was, in fact, significantly wider than her. Her fists were pretty centered on him as a result. He was great at evading while in flight, maybe because momentum was such a strong factor that impact could easily wrest from his control and he didn’t want to make himself into a missile by getting blasted out of the air, but here, in the laundry room basement of Lois’s apartment building, on a mat graciously lent to them by Steve Lombard, in close quarters with a much smaller (but much fiercer) opponent, there wasn’t a lot of space to evade, nor really a strong physical need to. Lois was going in for a hard left hook now.

“I don’t know if this is really working,” said Clark, finally dipping to one side with superhuman speed, sending Lois stumbling forward, but she righted her own momentum and easily pivoted into a back kick.

Careful, Clark instinctively caught her foot before it met his jaw, letting his own hand briefly follow the arc of the kick so she wouldn’t hurt herself with the sudden stop. He stood there, awkwardly holding her by the brightly-colored trainer.

“Okay, now counter,” said Lois.

“Counter?”

“You have my foot. I’m off-balance and vulnerable. Flip me, or something.”

“Lois, I’m not going to flip you.”

“We have a mat!”

“Look,” Clark let her foot go, “I know you mean well with this, but I never really thought of my powers in terms of fighting. I don’t like thinking of my powers in terms of fighting.”

“Well, don’t think about it as fighting, then,” Lois regained her stance and put her hands on her hips, “Think of it as… stopping a fight before it becomes a fight. We both saw that footage, the more you get hit…”

“The more I get hit,” Clark conceded.

“Right, you get discombobulated, and then overwhelmed. And it’s clear even if you can take those hits, that actually taking those hits uses up energy for you. There’s just a lot of surface area like this,” said Lois, splaying her fingers across Clark’s chest.

Clark gulped at the physical contact and Lois caught herself, a drop of sweat hanging on one lick of hair at her temple, and cleared her throat, putting her hands on Clark’s shoulders and guiding them so that he was standing at more of an angle. “You have to give your opponent less of a space to hit. You just keep coming at people fully sheeted forward, it’s no wonder you’re getting shot or laser-blasted in the back all the time.”

“I’d just rather the laser blasts hit me than…”

“Than the other guys shooting at you?”

Clark’s brow went between a furrow and a crinkle and he glanced off. “I mean, they’re less bulletproof.”

“Clark…” Lois started and then a sigh escaped her. It was one of her ‘I worry about you’ sighs but this one was clearly combined with the actual physical exhaustion of punching him for at least 45 minutes. “I’m gonna get some water.”

“Right…” Clark itched at the back of his neck. “How do you know Krav Maga, anyway?”

Lois gave him a kind of sad sidelong glance before taking a long gulp from her steel water bottle and Clark put 2 and 2 together.

“Oh….” he said quietly.

“One of the closest things we got to quality time, me and my dad,” she shrugged, wiping her mouth. A pause passed between the two of them, a silent, mutual acknowledgement that they didn’t have to re-open that can of worms right now. “Honestly I’m out of practice with Krav Maga specifically, though,” Lois added, “These days I just kick box down at Irons Gym twice a week.”

“I’d like to see that,” the words came out of Clark unthinkingly.

A catlike little smile spread on Lois’s lips.

“I uh—I could probably learn a lot more about proper stance and counters and, um, surface area by watching you in action,” Clark added. Were his glasses steaming up?

“Invitation’s open, Smallville,” she said, setting her water bottle down on the washing machine.  She rolled her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, clapping her wrapped palms together, “Obviously this wasn’t as productive as I would have liked, but we can finish off by showing you my ultimate move.”

“Ultimate move?” Clark blinked a little helplessly.

“Did you know you like, almost never use your legs in a fight?” Lois was hopping in place a little, bouncing her weight between her feet, loosening herself up.

“Again, I don’t really think of my powers in terms of—”

“Think fast!” Lois rushed him, launched herself into the air, twisted in mid-air, and caught him around the neck in what would have been a brilliant scissor-leg takedown if… it actually took him down. Instead, he just kind of ended up rolling back to a near-limbo position to account for her momentum, then brought himself back upright. To her credit, she did keep furiously twisting and squeezing and trying to use her own center of gravity against him the entire time he was doing this, and Clark really wasn’t sure if it was the flight or the super-strength doing most of the work in making her ultimate move… not work… but once he was standing up straight again, she slackened with a frustrated groan, leaving her basically dangling off of him by one leg yoked over his neck.

“…I see what you were going for, there,” said Clark after a beat.

“It would have worked,” Lois’s voice was half a grunt from her semi-upside-down angle, “If you weren’t… y’know.”

Clark thought, Lois, you can choke me with your legs any day of the week, before blurting out, “No, I’m sure! It’s a great move!” and then quickly scooping an arm under her, “Uh—here, let me—”

Getting Lois back to an upright standing position from her current entanglement was a bit like wrestling a large fish out of water, but he managed to set her down with her looking only somewhat sulky.

“It really was a great move,” Clark tried to reassure her.

“It’s not that,” said Lois, readjusting her sports bra, (which made Clark quickly glance off, face burning), “I just… wish we had a safe environment for you to actually work on this stuff! Actually get a grasp on what you can do and how… there’s still so much we don’t understand.”

“I know,” said Clark, not wanting to say If I wasn’t what I was, we wouldn’t be spending one of our few days off like this. Even when I’m not Superman-ing everywhere, this is still eating up both our lives.

There was a familiar fanfare message chime and Clark, desperate to break that chain of thought, quickly stepped over to his duffel bag and grabbed his phone, reading the text on the screen. “Oh hey, Jimmy’s finally done with his thing.”

“His ‘thing?’”

“He wouldn’t tell me what it was,” said Clark, putting the phone back in the bag, “But he wants us both to come over and check it out.”

“Well, obviously we can’t go over there all sweaty, Smallville,” said Lois, grinning, “Looks like you’ll have to use my—-”

Clark zipped upstairs in a blur and after about 15 seconds zipped right back down, super-scrubbed clean, in a completely different outfit to account for the cold weather, and hair still slightly damp.

“…Shower,” Lois finished flatly.

“There’s still plenty of hot water left,” said Clark.

“Cool, thanks,” said Lois, not even remotely trying to hide her disappointment.

——

A shower, a change of clothes for Lois, and short tram ride later, they were at Jimmy and Clark’s apartment building.

“So, when’s Jimmy going to use his Flamebird bucks to get a penthouse?” asked Lois, as they both got in the elevator.

“You know he hasn’t really talked about the money that much,” Clark shrugged, “I dunno if he’s still trying to figure out what to do with it, or if he’s just letting the fact settle in, or what. Then five days ago he starts working on this thing and he’s just been kind of hyper-focused and really secretive about it since then.”

“Secretive, huh?” Lois brought a hand to her chin thoughtfully as the elevator dinged open, “Think he’s being mind-controlled or something?”

“Oh no, definitely not,” said Clark as they walked down the hall, “He gets exactly like this when he’s editing one of his longer video essays. I remember this one time back in college when—” Clark suddenly paused and tilted his head, squinting slightly, as he often did when his super-hearing was picking up something unusual.

“Clark?” Lois looked up at him.

“Some kind of… fizzing sound…at the docks…” Clark murmured. He stood stock-still in that hallway for about thirty seconds before straightening his head again and shrugging, continuing down the hall. “Well, it’s gone now.”

“Look at you, not flying off in a panic every time you don’t know exactly what something is,” said Lois, proudly.

“Baby steps,” said Clark, smiling.

The door to Jimmy and Clark’s apartment swung open before either of them could knock.

“Hey Ji—” Lois started.

“You’re here,” said Jimmy, breathlessly, “Come in, come on! Come in!”

Both Clark and Lois were hustled into the apartment, which was noticeably messier than usual with multiple boxes and foam packaging and those weird plastic air bags which never pop as satisfactorily as bubble wrap.

“Online shopping…?” asked Lois and Clark shrugged.

“Nothing so simple!” said Jimmy, clearly over-caffeinated and already across the apartment, forcing Lois and Clark to follow him, “I’ve finally been able to realize my vision!”

There was a mania in Jimmy’s voice that made Clark and Lois exchange glances and wonder if the whole experience with Monsieur Mallah and the Brain had rubbed off on him more than anticipated.

“What vision?” asked Clark, but they had already reached his and Jimmy’s room and Jimmy was bent over his desk.

“Lady and Gentleman,” he said deeply and dramatically, slowly pivoting around, “I give you, the one, the only,” he was holding something a little bigger than a shot put ball, covered with a dish towel, “the state-of-the-art, the one-of-a-kind, next generation in Flamebird content creation,” he whipped the dish towel away to reveal a silvery dome embraced by an incomplete disk, “Scoops!”

Clark and Lois stared at the object in Jimmy’s hand blankly. It seemingly stared back with its indifferent camera lens at the front, flanked by two triangular metal plates.

“S-Scoops…” Jimmy said, as if they should both know what he was talking about.

Clark and Lois looked up from the object to Jimmy, still clueless.

“It’s a news drone,” said Jimmy.

“Ohhhh,” Clark and Lois said at the same time.

“So it’s like… a new camera?” said Lois.

“Camera? Camera?!” Jimmy held Scoops close, aghast, “Scoops is voice-commanded with a learning AI, has a whopping six terabytes of still image, text-by-dictation, or video memory, is VPN secured and encrypted with its own personal cloud, equipped with the latest in hover-mag suspension systems, is synced with an app on my phone, and tops out at 45 miles per hour.”

“Do we also have to call it ‘Scoops’—” Clark started.

“Yes, yes, you do,” said Jimmy.

“Wait—” Lois glanced back at the boxes, “Jimmy, you put this together yourself?”

“Well, I saw the hover-mag drone frame at the AmerTek pavilion two years ago at the Metropolis Tech Trade Conference, and the processing is mostly AmazoTech AI hardware that wasn’t approved for mass-market release yet but it turns out with the company collapsing, there were a handful of people willing to look the other way and dig through lab storage for me. The lens components and digital recording are a combination of my own favorite camera companies and a handful of bits I had to 3D print myself. And I had to teach myself to solder,” Clark glanced at his hands, noting several bandages on Jimmy’s fingers and a a moleskin blister pad at his left hand’s heel. “So, I mean the components were all there (except the 3D printed ones), I just put them together.”

“But, why wouldn’t the AI tech be approved for mass market release yet?” said Clark.

“Knowing Ivo, probably branding stuff—glossy AmazoTech user interface kind of things, probably,” Jimmy was turning Scoops over in his hands, buffing away at any smudges on the chassis with his dishtowel, “But it responded just fine to my programming.”

“Can I ask how much did this cost you?” asked Lois

“Money is no object when it comes to solving mysteries and changing the face of news as we know it,” said Jimmy, smiling, which both Lois and Clark interpreted to be ‘A lot.’

“Isn’t AmerTek a weapons company—?” Clark started, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s not all weapons,” Jimmy shrugged, “Plus I figured Scoops needed a pretty hardy chassis with all the crazy stuff we get into.”

Clark and Lois still looked more concerned than convinced.

“All right, fine, I’ll give you a demo,” said Jimmy, clearing his throat, “Scoops, activate.”

The lens at the front of Scoops glowed to life and the two triangular plates flanking the lens hovered off of the drone’s spherical dome. Jimmy gently released the drone and it hovered into the air between the three of them, prompting “oohs” from both Lois and Clark.

“Oh, and Lois, can you stand right there?” said Jimmy, positioning Lois at a slightly more open area of the room.

“Me?”

“Yeah, when you hear the cue, just start acting like you’re doing a news report.”

“Oh! Um, okay,” said Lois.

Clark just kept a wary gaze fixed on the little drone now hovering over their heads. Scoops didn’t seem particularly threatening, but Clark definitely had some concerns about something made with both AmerTek and AmazoTech hardware.

“Great start, Scoops, now begin live feed on… Lois Lane,” said Jimmy, taking out his phone.

Scoops seemed to process this command for a second, then shot out the window in a tinkling explosion of glass.

There was a beat of silence. The three of them looked out the jagged hole in the window, watching as the little drone rapidly shrank into the distance through downtown Metropolis, towards the industrial district.

“It was not supposed to do that,” Jimmy said very quietly. He watched the drone zooming off into the distance for several seconds before he realized Clark and Lois were still watching him. He caught himself. “Small hiccup! Not a problem! I’ll simply recall Scoops using my phone.” He demonstratively hit a button on his phone screen, put one hand on his hip, and waited. A long, silent minute passed.

Clark was squinting out the window. “I.. um.. Jimmy, I don’t think it’s coming back.”

This was when Jimmy’s face finally dropped. “Oh come on!” He was tapping at his phone furiously, “It was doing great in the test runs!”

“Do you know where it’s going—?” Lois started.

“I’ve got both its camera feed and a GPS locator for it on my phone,” said Jimmy, “But Clark, can you—?”

“On it,” said Clark, before zipping out of the room in a blur, leaving a flutter of loose papers in his wake. A few heartbeats later and a blue-clad, red-caped figure was soaring after Scoops. Jimmy’s phone pinged. “GPS feed, let’s go!” He said, hooking his arm in Lois’s and sprinting off out of the apartment.

——-

In theory, Clark knew with enough speed he could easily overtake the drone, snatch it out of its course, and yank it back to his and Jimmy’s place, but it turned out the drone had a significant lead on him because he first got sidetracked first swooping a bike messenger out of the way of a taxi that had run a red light, then giving directions to those tourists, then taking that little old lady’s big box of dead batteries to the e-waste recycling center—okay, in retrospect she could have found a nice neighborhood boy for that last task but come on, he was right there, what was he going to do? Say no? But okay, yes, that did turn into taking the whole apartment building’s dead batteries and Lois would say, ‘Clark look at yourself, you are literally taking people’s garbage, we’ve talked about prioritizing,’ but he was already on the way and proper disposal of batteries was important too, wasn’t it? It reduced fire risk and kept toxins from leeching into the soil, so he was basically preventing future crises in Metropolis. Plus, it wasn’t like Scoops was actually in any danger, it was just… on the run, apparently. Gone rogue. The guilt did hit Clark pretty hard once he got back on task. Poor Jimmy seemed so excited about Scoops, and had obviously been working really hard on it—for all his feelings about AmazoTech, Clark wished he could have been more supportive in the moment. At least the drone’s distinctive hover-mag whir made it pretty easy for him to quickly relocate it, but something was irking at the back of his mind as soon as he got a visual bead on it once again.

The fizzing sound from earlier, he thought, watching the drone, It’s going toward where the fizzing sound was.

The drone suddenly dropped into a sharp descent and Clark shifted his position in the air to drop after it. The Metropolis docks. Scoops was now hovering around, seemingly searching among the massive shipping containers. Clark floated after the drone, feeling a bit of unease at his environment. Shipping containers could easily create close quarters, definitely weren’t fun to be slammed into, even with invulnerability, could clatter over and hurt someone if he hit them with enough force, and provided a lot of coverage for people to hide behind and within that super-senses couldn’t account for 100% of the time.

“Scoops?” Clark felt a little ridiculous calling after it, but it responded to voice commands, didn’t it? “Scoops?” He called again.

He heard a low grunt of pain on the other side of one of the shipping containers and quickly hopped over it to see two shipping yard security guards on the ground, one unconscious, the other groaning in pain. Both had steady heartbeats, but there was a faint smell of electricity in the air, and burnt hair.

“Sir?” He dropped to one knee.

The security guard grunted. “The… the bracelet…” was all he managed before passing out. Clark set his jaw before picking them both up and quickly moving them back to a safer location where hopefully their coworkers would find them, then followed the sound of Scoops’ hover-mag whirring as quietly as he could, realizing there was now a metallic resonant quality to the sound—it was coming from inside one of the shipping containers. The sound of the hover-mag had stilled to one location. He reached the source—a shipping container at the very edge of the pier, the doors were swung open. Clark leaned in to peek inside. There were a couple of crates scattered around the interior of the shipping container, of varying age and make.

Unconsciously, Clark set his feet back on the ground.

There was a woman in the shipping container, her back to him, thin hands clasped around Scoops’s chassis as the drone’s single camera eye stared down at her as if to say, ‘Now what?’ Slung across the woman’s back was a chunky chrome gun that seemed nearly as big as her whole torso, but what really caught Clark’s eye was the gleaming art deco spider bracelet on her wrist. All the guard had said to Clark was ‘the bracelet,’ which made wariness prickle on the back of his neck. Why the guard would mention the bracelet rather than the almost comically huge gun was beyond him. So… she wasn’t friendly, probably. But still, he knew he didn’t understand the situation, and just because someone had a very very big scary gun, and had probably knocked out two security guards, that didn’t mean they were incapable of reasonable discussion.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask for that drone back,” he said, putting his hands on his hips, before pausing for a second, and adding, “Please.”

She turned to face him and he froze.

She was in a sleek black outfit, with a cropped black jacket, a low-cut, side-slit black dress over charcoal web-patterned leggings, and short boots. Her hair was bleached white and probably medium length, though it was hard to tell, with short blunt bangs at the front and the back swept up into two sleek, asymmetrical victory rolls. She turned around and gave him a too-familiar catlike little smile on too-red lips, the construction of her face utterly unmistakeable.

“Lois…?” The name came out of him dumbly and he immediately realized Superman always called her ‘Ms. Lane,’ always. She had Lois’s fierce pixie features, looked to be a handful of years older, but there was a sense of both sharp awareness and unfathomable exhaustion behind her eyes that filled him with dread. She had seen things—things she could never bring to share with another human being. It was an exhaustion he caught in his own face in the mirror sometimes, when he had been Superman for just a little too long that day, and the awareness that the world was just so much was weighing on him heavier and heavier.

That catlike smile turned pitying. “Very close, Boy Scout,” she said, before, with a shift of her shoulders, she slung that massive gun down to her hip and hauled it up to point at him.

“Okay,” Clark put his hands up, “Ma’am, I think you should know, you’re not the first—”

She blasted him in a blinding ray of neon coral and day-glo yellow, the force of it slamming him into the shipping container behind him, the steel buckling with a protesting shriek at his impact. Clark still wasn’t sure how his invulnerability worked, exactly, but in that moment, when that beam first hit him, full on in the torso (Surface area—again with the surface area), the image of the charred remains of a skeleton flashed to his mind and his train of thought became a throbbing panicked heartbeat of ‘This would kill a human, this would kill a human, this would kill a human.’ He wasn’t sure if it was 3 seconds or an eternity had passed before the beam ceased and he practically peeled off of the side of the shipping container to drop on the ground with a sad thud.

“The BG-80 Toastmaster,” said the woman, stepping toward him slowly, “Courtesy of Earth-Zero. With some modifications.”

Clark struggled to his elbows and knees and coughed, smoke rising off of him.

She tsk-tsked. “Oh you are squishier in this universe, aren’t you?”

“Look,” Clark’s voice was thick, and it took some effort to raise his head and one hand from the ground to try to motion at her in an ‘I mean no harm’ gesture,  “I know the League of Lois Lanes doesn’t trust me, but whatever’s happening—”

“You think I’m with the League?” she said with a bitter laugh in her voice. She blasted him again. In the back.

Somewhere in the mind-numbing blaze of pain and the sensation of the concrete crumbling underneath him as he was slammed to the ground, he thought, Huh, that really is a lot of surface area. The second blow at least managed to kick better survival instincts into gear. This isn’t your Lois, he had to tell himself, She is very much an active threat. She wants to hurt you. She has hurt you, she is hurting you, so you have to get over the face and the voice and the everything else and act so she doesn’t hurt you or someone else again. The gun—just heat vision it—just concentrate, you’re close enough and it’s big enough that you don’t have to worry too much about hitting her—no, wait—what if it explodes? You don’t know what it’s made of—

There was a series of clicks and Clark looked up at her, willing the heat behind his eyes, but the muzzle of the gun was glowing red now and again, he got caught up in that exhaustion, that pity, in her face. She wasn’t with the League of Lois Lanes? Then what did she want? Why was she here? And what did Scoops of all things have to do with it all?

“Don’t worry,” she said dispassionately, “I’m not hitting you with anything you can’t take.”

“But—” Clark started. But she fired again. The blast wasn’t that overwhelming neon this time, but red, red, red. And then everything went black.

[the-boroughh]

(Pinterest TOS post- if this image is flagged here too it will just make my point even more concrete- that the sites we all frequent just want to erase literal reality)

So we all know censorship/TOS changes amongst the internet love to cause removal of LGBTQ+ content no matter if it’s “adult content” or not- Tumblr and Pinterest specifically come to mind.

These two websites remove content related to that demographic like it’s their fking drug of choice to do so.

And this pisses me off of course- having people be told their content is a violation just brings up the fact society thinks they’re a violation. They do this while allowing those bots that I won’t mention by name to swarm us in abundance.

But I don’t post queer content- I consume it, but have never been very involved in the internet community related to it. Yesterday, though it’s happened before, I felt what it’s like being told my experience is a violation, and this time something snapped inside of me:

Pinterest alerted me I violated their TOS of “adult content” with this image:

“Amanda and her cousin, Amy” by Mary Ellen Clark. 1990 Valdese, North Carolina

Let’s move past the fact their claiming two 9 year olds in bathing suits is “adult content” and look at the bigger picture- I violated their TOS by adding a photo to a board that was taken by a very well known photographer across the globe for street + social photography. A photo that doesn’t have any “adult content” in it, and instead is documenting the way a lot of kids outside of the pretty suburbs live.

The photographer of this photo documented children who lived lives most of you couldn’t even fathom; ones who sold themselves on the street and ones who had babies while the rest of their age group was playing Nintendo or chatting about George Michael’s hair at a sleepover.

I was so excited and in awe when I saw the photo above: for the very first time in my life, I saw a photo of two kids that reminded me of myself. The life I lived, while the rest of my age group lived in their pretty suburbia & had mommy + daddy home everyday to cater to their every need. I saw through not only this photo but many others in her series, my life in beautiful pictures- I never really realized I hadn’t until this moment.

This photo, and the others surrounding Mary Ellen Mark’s work, document the lives so many people/kids like me lived within: they document the reality typical society can’t bear to look at. God forbid you look at us and really take us in- we’re just oh so shameful, right?

Just like the LGBTQ+ content tumblr and Pinterest love to censor, remove, block- our lives fucking existed. Children like this? They existed and currently still exist. Just because it doesn’t fit your world view doesn’t mean you can remove it… maybe if sites left photos like this alone, someone could come along and go “wow… she’s like me” just as I had the opportunity to do. Maybe they could gain the opportunity to realize that they’re not shameful to society- they too, are just a part of it as the kids they go to school with.

For the first time in my life, my childhood was displayed in someone’s photography and for the first time, I didn’t feel so alone.

So fuck you Pinterest, and thank you Mary Ellen Mark💗