#it all changes when he realizes Clarke might not make it

[imshii-kin]

Good Luck

Chapter # 6 Foggy Fears

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

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Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 (You are here)

I realized at that moment that there are some whose dread of human beings is so morbid they yearn to see monsters of ever more horrible shapes.

- Junji Ito

(Once again, this chapter was changed quite a bit.)

!!TW!! Death, Blood, Car accident, Sudden switch from first person to second person.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

'Dinner was too quiet.' Louis thought as she picked up the plates from the table, slowly bringing them to the sink.

'How could I have missed it?' She thought as she began to scrub the plate in her hand. 'She's my daughter. How could I have not seen it?'

Her grip tightened on the plate, her acrylic nails painfully dug into the plate. 'Am I such a horrible mother that I couldn't even notice my daughter ███ █████ ██?'

Snap

Louis looks down at her broken nail, a stinging pain accompanying the sudden loss of her red nail.

"Mom?"

Louis jumps, quickly turning her head and letting out a sigh of relief when she sees Jon. Placing a hand on her chest, she gives Jon a shaky smile, "Oh, Jon, be careful you almost gave your mother a heart attack."

Jon simply nods, as if not hearing his mother, "Um, Conner is... here." He muttered.

Louis's smile drops briefly before returning with a strained one, "Oh? Really? Well invite him in, it's been forever since he's come to visit."

Giving his mother a concerned look, Jon makes his way back out of the kitchen.

Louis sighs as soon as Jon leaves, running a hand through her hair.

"It's all my fault," She whispered, "It's all my fault..."

──●◎●──

The movie had ended, though Y/n barely noticed. All she could think about was how... ѳЧҭ ѳf ҁћӓГӓҁҭЭГ Clark had acted during the car ride. This wasn't the calm, happy-go-lucky superhero Y/n grew up with in the comics, he seemed so different. More stressed and less stable the Clark Kent from the comics. It all led to one thought;

If he's like this, how would he react if he found out about her reincarnation?

'I just want to go home.' Y/n ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts made her feel guilty, was she being ungrateful? Was Y/n even really Y/n? What if she just took over this Y/n's body? Was it her fault Clark's 'daughter' was gone?

What if he found out-

"Y/n? Are you ok? The credits ended a while ago." Clark's hand on Y/n's shoulder felt like fire. "Let's get going, okay?" Clark said softly, dipping his head down to look into  Y/n's eyes. "I'm sure Bruce (the prick) is anxious to have you back at the manor."

With a hesitant nod, Y/n stands up slowly. "Yeah... You're right, we should go." Clark smiles warmly, complete 180 from earlier. "Before that, I was hoping we could stop by the store on our way back." Clark rubs the back of his neck bashfully, "I might have promised your mother to get groceries while I was out, and the market is on the way to Bruces Mansion." His eyes seem to light up, "Oh! They might even have that snack you like so much! We can pick it up as well."

Y/n nods, "Yeah, I don't mind,"

Clark's smile widens, "Great! Let's get going then!"

Sighing, Y/n follows Clark to his car, 

'DC has Walmarts?' Y/n thought as she followed Clark into the supermarket.

The Walmart looked normal for the most part, there didn't seem to be too many people (probably because it was relatively late and this was still Gotham). Clark grabs a cart before heading into the supermarket, Y/n following closely behind, immediately he heads over to the dairy section browsing the milk and cream aisle.

"What's your favorite creamer?"

Looking over to Clark, Y/n raises a bow "Hmm?" she hums confused. Clark smiles, "I figured I could get some while we're here for when you go back to Bruce." 

An 'ooh' escapes Y/n's mouth before turning to get a better look at the creamers. In Y/n old life, she honestly preferred sweet things and would often put way too much creamer in her coffee, but as of late she's been enjoying less sweet things. 

"Mmm, I think I'm good for now,"  Y/n responded, not missing the way Clark frowned.

"Oh."

Clark grabs a few things before leaving, and you awkwardly follow behind him.

The rest of the shopping trip continues like this, Y/n felt like tearing her hair out, it was just so awkward and uncomfortable. Eventually, the pair ended up in the electronic section of the store.

"- game you really like!" Clark's voice bleeds into existence, breaking Y/n's train of thought. Glancing over, Y/n sees Clark holding a bootleg version of Minecraft. "Y/n? Did you hear me?" Clark frowns a bit, his eye's losing that spark again. "Y/n. I know you have a lot on your mind, but you-"

"AAHHHHHHH!!!"

You and Clark jump at the sudden scream, Clark's eyes quickly scan the store for the source of the screaming.

"OH GOD-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"THEY'RE IN MY HEAD, MAKE THEM STOP!"

More and more screams start popping up, Clark quickly pulls you close to him and you can feel your heart pounding. What was going on??

"MY SKIN IS BURNING, I'M BURNING ALIVE!"

"I'M FALLING, I CAN'T STOP FALLING!"

"SPIDERS!"

A mist seems to slowly cover the ground, screams of desperation continue to fill the air, only growing more and more unsettling.

"Shit," Clark mutters, he grips your shoulders and swiftly turns you around to face him. 

"Y/n. You need you listen to me." His voice was serious, "No matter what you see, it's not real. Do you understand? It's. Not. Real." 

Y/n's eyes widen, Fear Gas, the mist was fear gas! This was bad! Very very bad! Unlike Clark, Y/n wasn't immune which meant Y/n was about to experience the full effect of the gas.

"Y/n! Y/n just remember! It's not real- it- ot- rea-"

The world seems to blur as a burning sensation enters Y/n's lungs.

__

You sigh tiredly as you walk along the worn-down sidewalk, comic book in hand. It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was go home and rest. Stopping at the crosswalk, you take a few glances from side to side, you never know when a truck could just barrel through you because you didn't look. 

You step onto the asphalt road.

Your heart was pounding for some strange reason, it suddenly became really hard to breathe. A loud honk rings in the air. Looking to your left, you see a dark blue truck heading towards you, its headlights illuminating a path where you were dead center.

The vehicle's driving was so erratic, you didn't know which way to run. Ultimately, whichever direction you chose didn't matter. The result would undoubtedly have been the same.

The impact was fast, you didn't feel anything at first.

It didn't last very long, though.

You lay on the asphalt road, gasping for air, trying to gain back all the air knocked out of you. That didn't do so well for your broken ribs, of course. The taste of blood indicates that some of your teeth might be missing, based on your guess.

You can't see much of your surroundings either. Aside from that dark blue truck's headlights blinding you, your vision was growing dark.

For a brief moment, you could see the man step out of his truck and go over to you. Then, everything in the world went dark.

__

"-waking up! She's waking up!" a boyish voice rings in Y/n's ear. A pounding headache seems to accompany her as she slowly sits up in her bed.

A few seconds after Clark enters her room. He looked around until he spotted the suitcase next to her closet, he went over and started to put her belongings in it.

"We are leaving." Clark states firmly, "And tomorrow you and I will be having a talk about what you saw." He seemed upset, extremely upset.

Clark... where are we going?" Y/n asked, though she already knew his answer.

"It's dad, not Clark, Y/n." That was all Clark said as he dragged you downstairs towards the manor's doors. 

Bruce was standing by the door with a perplexed look on his face. He seemed stressed and a bit frustrated. Looking over, Bruce glared at Clark, quickly walking in front of him as if to intercept him, but Clark just pushed him aside.

"Clark put her down, we need to talk about this! Her condition could get worse!" Clark ignored him and walked out the door to his car, Bruce hot on his tail.

"I don't need a man who puts his children through hell and back to lecture me or tell me how to parent my kid Bruce." Clark and put you in the car with the suitcase. Then he got in himself and started the car.

"How about you start focusing on how not to kill your own kids before you start worrying about mine"

──●◎●──

Jon gasps. This... this couldn't be right. It was... no it was impossible! But... it was, it was here and it was possible. This changes everything...

──●◎●──

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝚎𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚌. 𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍.

𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!!!

█████ 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

TagList - @blublock404 @no-sleep-for-insomniacs @rosecentury

[cheralith]

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part ii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, some fluff if you squint

word count ; 4.3k

notes ; at long last, here's the much waited part two! truly didn't expect the first part to blow up like it did, but i'm ever so grateful for all the support and the patience for those still here!

parts ; one two three (tba)

“Lyla, show me the nearest florist from here.”

“The nearest flower shop? That’s gonna be Business is Blooming on 27th Street—”

“27th Street?!” Miguel exclaims, his shock at the distance startling him and making his hands accidentally tighten the belt he was fixing much too tightly. He lets out a strangled choking sound and quickly loosens it before his legs lose oxygen, a feat that he’d hate to do just minutes prior to an event that could possibly change his life for the better. “That’s at least fifteen minutes away and on the opposite side of Clark! I’m already late, aren’t there any other ones closer?”

Lyla’s smaller holographic form pieces together on top of his full-body mirror that displays him in a formal-casual attire consisting of a cream turtleneck, black dress pants buckled with a coffee brown belt and topped altogether with a sepia overcoat that hadn’t seen the light of day since he bought it all those years ago. She puckers her grinning lips, a little amused at the rarity of Miguel in such an outfit and thinking he looks like a cup of coffee.

“Well, there’s always that crowded grocery store on Main?” she suggests as she examines her fingernails, instantly changing the pattern of them with a snap of her fingers. “But that’s gonna cost ya another twenty minutes and you’re already what—? Ten minutes late?”

Miguel fights off a groan at her teasing. “Lyla, I’m serious. Are there genuinely not any other ones around here? Any local ones? C’mon, this is Nueva York, there has to be at least one.”

“You could always try the marketplace. But then again, it’s Sunday so might not really be wise to take your chances,” Lyla shrugs.

Miguel even wonders if men these days still even have the dignity to give their partners flowers after realizing there is a significant lack of florists in today’s day and age. He wouldn’t be like them; flowers are a timeless gift everyone enjoys and he thinks if he can’t get it for you, he might as well not call himself a man at all. 

His eyes go to spot the window in the reflection of the mirror where the sun is beginning to finally set and the city’s nightlife is rising from the dead. Buildings of all heights buster from every corner and the open road that eradicates much of the land dissolves a weary pit in his stomach, obviously annoyed at the many obstacles that block his path. Miguel takes another glance at the clock, the minute hand inching closer and closer and closer to 6:00. The initial plans were to leave the apartment by 5:30, acquire some gifts for you and then travel to the restaurant by 6:00, but seeing as how he’s still trapped in his abode, Miguel thinks that he can only do so much.

But he realizes that’s for Miguel O’Hara, renowned Alchemax geneticist and full-time father. Miguel O’Hara, an everyday citizen, couldn’t possibly crunch so much in such little time.

For Spider-Man, however…

Lyla eyes him suspiciously and purses her lips when Miguel looks at his wrists and then at the window again. “I don’t think that’s wise, Miguel.”

“What’s wise?” he replies coyly, going to quickly shovel off his clothes to replace them with a familiar blue and red attire.

“I know whatcha gonna do,” Lyla says and glitches around him as he searches for his suit. “But it’s not gonna end well, I’m tellin’ ya right now, mister!”

Miguel shakes her caution off, too occupied with shuffling on his superhero suit onto his body before neatly tucking his other outfit into his hammerspaced pocket. “It’ll be quick, I swear. I just need to get her some flowers and then I’ll be on my way. Lock up the house for me, yeah?”

“You’re not gonna make it,” Lyla shakes her head. “Just ditch the flowers and get her something on the way instead.”

But the last of Lyla’s words don’t make it to Miguel’s ears, as he’s already slinging and gliding himself out of the window and toward the given address of the florist. Lyla can only watch in artificial disdain as Miguel’s figure grows smaller and smaller through the passing seconds. She sighs, rolling her eyes as she flickers off the apartment lights before disintegrating.

The roar of the city life grows louder and louder the more Miguel comes closer to the center of it where the flower shop lays. People gather in clusters bustling about all over, making him a little weary of himself as he stares at them from above a high tower. He’s not exactly an ordinary passerby that can easily maneuver their way through so easily—especially not with this getup. Spider-Man is also a name that rather became widespread across the city of Nueva York, meaning that even if one person were to see the flash of blue and red, he’s up for trouble. 

The evildoers tonight seem to be at cease, thankfully. He hasn’t heard of any malicious plotting or future events that will take place today by any of the supervillains that hunt him down like deer recently. Then again, there’s always smaller crimes still waiting to be stopped, but he’s sure the cops will come around for those. Miguel convinces himself it’ll just be a one time thing.

Yet when the familiar song of police sirens blare through the city, he twitches at the thought of leaving such miscreants in the hands of police when he’s sure he can take them down like an army of ten men.

But the police have ten men on them, so truly he can just leave it alone, right? He’s essentially in front of the flower shop that’s seated below an apartment building. All he has to do is just jump down, get the flowers, and leave in the nick of time. He doesn’t have time to dilly dally with low-rated criminals. 

Then again, when he spots the gang of robbers in two white vans speeding down the road at a blistering speed without any caution for pedestrians, Miguel grits his teeth. On their tail is a rally of five police cars that keep gaining and losing them by the second and Miguel isn’t sure whether the irritation was from his indecisiveness or the fact that if he didn’t do anything, there will be consequences.

Perhaps do both to ease his mind? No, he can’t do that. You’re most likely on your way to the restaurant, all dolled up and fresh-faced. He still would need the time to fix himself up in some dingy public bathroom. A cop car that’s been hiding in the corner joins the chase—that’s surely more than enough to take care of them?

Miguel’s eyes go back and forth... back and forth between the two sights. Anxiety is doing little to help his situation and a mist of sweat begins to form on his skin the more the seconds tick by, making the innermost part of his suit much more uncomfortable and moist. A clock hangs by an awning nearby that displays the haunting time of 6:03 PM, just twenty-seven minutes shy of the designated 6:30 meeting time.

He glances one more time at the chase, swallowing a thick lump in his throat when he sees the vans hurdle full speed toward an open street of walking pedestrians, all ignorant of the fact to what beholds them in just mere seconds.

Miguel curses under his breath.

It’ll only be this for today, no more after that.

Fatigued eyes go to watch as the last people leave the restaurant, leaving you isolated in your little corner both embarrassed and hungry due to the heavy lack of food served on your platter for tonight. The other waiters begin to scrub the tables and booths free of crumbs and topple the chairs onto them, indicating that tonight has drawn to its close. You think you’ve memorized the entirety of the menu at this point, considering it’s really all you’ve been averting your eyes towards to avoid the looks of others.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see the waiters and waitresses pitifully gossiping about you and a heat flashes onto your face by how incredibly desolate you’ve looked in the past three hours. Internally, you thank them for their patience and how they’ve tolerated your excuses for your date’s tardiness-turned-absence, knowing that it must be a pain to look after someone that hadn’t even ordered anything besides water for the time she had been here.

You don’t even wait for your waitress to come to your table for the nth time tonight, going by your own initiative to pack up your things. Your phone is still devoid of any notifications from Miguel, as well, even after the four calls, occasional text checkups, and last minute voicemailed question of a needed rescheduling if he so desired. 

What remains is just a grayed out Read, 7:47 PM underneath all the text bubbles.

“I… sincerely apologize if I loitered at all,” you murmur with your head half-down to the young host who shuffles the menus back into the lectern. “This was truly the last thing that I had expected from him…”

You instantly take back that statement the moment it leaves your lips. If anything, you should’ve known that this would’ve happened. Foolish you were—you’ve been with Miguel for the past three years, this was everyday behavior for him. You suppose this is how Gabriella must feel constantly and another heartache pits itself within you at the shared feeling.

The host shakes his head sympathetically. “You wouldn’t be our first case, I’m sure you didn’t have any ill intent. If anything, I’m the one sorry that he made you wait that long,” he replies with evident pity. “Whoever he is, he must be a dick for leaving such a pretty thing like you alone all night, ma’am.”

“Oh, he’s—” you fall short on your words, not even having the energy to sorely defend Miguel’s name. “Never mind…” you mutter.

“Do you need a cab?” asks the host, “Well actually, I’m about to clock out for tonight. I can drive you home, if you want. It’s the least I can do for you after tonight.”

You’re about to reply to him to turn down the offer, as you suspect he’s the type of guy to use women in these situations to his advantage, but the doors suddenly burst open to reveal the one and only in a hazy state and what seems to… flowers clutched in his hands? The petals, however, are corrugated and some have even completely drooped down from their stem. The paper that is supposed to guard them is wrinkled and torn at the corners. Almost all of the bouquet is wilted, much like your own composure for tonight. 

Miguel isn’t much better. Hair and clothes a little damp, he’s frazzled and evidently guilty, as his face pales when he sees your contrasting appearance. You’re adorned in an a-lined, half-sleeved royal blue dress that made you look so regal in comparison to your daily white blouse-black pants outfit that he's seen too much of. Not to mention additional details of your styled hair and accessories just brought out the best of your beauty that was wasted on essentially nothing this evening. 

“Mr. O’Hara…” you breathe when he passes through the door. The first thing that you notice automatically when his face properly comes into view is a sharply jagged, yet thin cut on the side of his cheek. “Did someth—”

“(Y/N), I’m so… so sorry,” he chokes out. “Something c-came up at work and they asked me to help them out… I’m sorry, I know I should’ve said no, but they were kind of on my ass about it and I got so caught up with it, so I wasn’t able to text you and—”

“She waited three hours,” the host drones and juts his thumb toward the dining area where all the chairs are laid atop the tables. Its lights flicker out, leaving only the foyer and smaller hallways lit so dismally in the night. “Until closing. She didn’t order anything in the meantime, so not only you left her alone tonight, you left her alone and hungry.”

“Hey listen, bud,” Miguel snaps at the host. He points a finger at him with irate in his eyes. “Not your business, so stay out of it.”

The host scoffs with a smirk on his face. “Not the first time I’ve heard that and certainly not the first time I’ve seen this happen. Guys like you always—”

You raise a hand to stop their bickering, afraid of what might happen if things escalate further as you really didn’t desire to do anything more than just sleep off your feelings. Both men stop and turn to look at you with concern on their faces.

“Do you still need that ride home?”

“Are you still hungry?”

A frustrated head shake finally silences the both of them. 

“I’m fine, thank you for the offer, though,” you say quietly to the host. You turn to Miguel, who swallows at the sight of your tired eyes. “May we talk outside? I’d hate to stay here any longer than I need to.”

Miguel attempts to excuse himself one more time, but when you begin to pace yourself toward the door without waiting for him, he realizes he can’t exactly make any more decisions of his own any more this evening. Not after choosing his heroic duties again and again for tonight instead of tending to you.

The moon and stars tonight have made their presence with the special guest of light rain coming in for a visit. The whisper of a drizzle ghosts itself on your goosebumps skin and the chill of a wind nips at your flesh. 

Miguel is quick to follow you. “I’m really sorry again, (Y/N),” he utters so softly that it makes your heart ache with familiarity. It’s the same tone of voice he’s used with Gabriella when at times, he wasn’t able to make it to her events or practices like he promised. “Are you still hungry by any chance? I know a good 24/7 diner that’s pretty close here.”

Without turning around, you politely shake your head and begin to search for any cabs coming your way. “I’ll be okay. I think I have some leftovers in the fridge that can suffice.”

The thought of you eating alone like he did on a night that you shouldn’t be sends shivers of guilt down Miguel’s spine. He curses himself at his past actions—deciding that it was stupid to catch those robbers who didn’t even put up much of a fight, to stop that gang brawl that was happening on the corner of 5th that was resolved the moment the elderly shopkeeper began to yell, to help that old lady that was certainly taking her sweet time to cross the street. They were such unbelievably mild crimes that he didn’t need to attend to, but did anyway even with the thought of you in mind.

Perhaps he should’ve had more faith in technology, because he’s sure Lyla was going to have much fun taunting him for the rest of the week. 

“You can keep the flowers, too,” you say softly when a cab begins to pull up. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I have a vase to store them in unfortunately.”

Miguel’s grip on the dismal bouquet tightens, not even trying to fight your refusal as you get into a cab. He stops the door from closing just as you’re about to, trying one last time to make up for his actions. 

“At least let me pay for your cab,” Miguel whispers.

You know he’s sorry. You can see in his eyes the familiar gleam of woe that he’s given to his daughter. Your eyes go to flicker at the cut again, but you know that if you ask, he’s sure to give one his many excuses because it isn’t the first time he’s shown up with an injury before. And you don’t want to put yourself through that wall of verbal familiarity. 

With sorrow gentleness, you pry his fingers off the edge of the car and shut it, putting a physical barrier between you and Miguel. The eyes of the driver goes to pitifully glance at your state before beginning to rev up the engine.

You don’t even have the courage to share a glance towards Miguel one last time before the cab begins to drive off—your wallow of disappointment is deep enough as it is.

The rest of the week is agonizingly slow; Miguel dares to say it’s torturous, even.

He’s thankful you’re still acknowledging his existence and talking with him, but your conversations lack the usual warmth and gentle playfulness they often had. It was already lonely enough dealing with the lack of a third person like him at home, but the feeling of isolation felt even more scarring this time because when he came home late after your babysitting session, you didn’t bother with small talk with him, the only thing that made him realize he didn't have to do everything by himself alone.

You didn’t ask how the late shift was, how were the bosses treating him, if he was getting enough rest… no, you only kept him updated on his daughter's schoolwork and any future events regarding her and her only. Your words never included him or you, only finishing off with a goodbye and have a nice night.

At least you were still kind enough to fix him the usual leftovers.

Work itself wasn’t much better. Conversations were brief and the lab in which you two worked privately was filled with silence that was only broken with the occasional demands and directions of lab work. Sometimes a forced cough would sneak its way through Miguel’s lips if the silence began to disturb him too much. He attempted to make some at the beginning, asking how your day was and whether your father was on your tail again, but he was met with short, sharp responses. 

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m not sure.”

Never have such words been so agonizing before. Ironic that they are because Miguel often hated it when people rambled and preferred it when conversations got to the point. He supposes, though, you get to the point too fast for his liking nowadays.

When he tried bringing up an explanation for Sunday’s events, you’d quickly shut it down as tenderly as possible, saying things along the lines of “It’s alright, your schedule is hectic. I can understand.” or “I just hope your work didn’t give you too much trouble.” You’re so polite about it that it hurts him. Miguel would much rather have you lash out and insult him than have you soften the landing that does barely anything to ease him because it feels like you’ve put on that mask you put in front of others—professional and orderly—and Miguel didn’t want to be seen as just a mere coworker, let alone your boss, to you.

His pride bites at his ankles. Lies coming out of his lips too regularly, he had to fib to Gabriella the morning after her sleepover when she asked about the date that you had fallen sick and weren’t able to make it. The disappointment on her face mimicked yours too eerily. She asked him if they were going to reschedule it. Miguel could only shrug his shoulders—he wasn’t even sure if you wanted anything to do with him after that event. 

At least nothing changed with you and his daughter. He’d still home to an apartment with you helping with homework or her helping with dinner or tucking her into bed. That’s all he could ask for right now.

Miguel still had the chance to redeem himself this week. There was the annual banquet held at a banquet hall to celebrate the yearly achievements Alchemax and those associated had accomplished, as well as discussing major plans for the future. It was a boring, yet formal event used for connections and idle chatter, something Miguel usually didn’t look forward to. Lyla suggested to him to convince you to go and that Gabriella would just have a one-time babysitter while you got to enjoy (or in your case, put up) with his company as he redeemed himself best as possible. You’re not one to talk with others you’ve never met, so he knew that you would most likely stick by his side for a sense of familiarity. 

It took a while, but you murmured you’d go under your breath to shake him off your tail. Miguel was elated, but it was quickly shut down halfheartedly by the reminder that you were still somewhat upset by Sunday’s incident, saying you’d take a cab to the banquet instead of driving with him like he offered.

No matter, as long as you were there by his side.

Miguel made sure that this time, he’d be out the door much earlier than the last, promising to never keep you waiting longer than a minute. A text on his phone pings that you’re near the back entrance, where the parking lot was so it’d be easier to find you. He swerves a little too harshly into the lot—either from nervousness or excitement or both—at the mention and had spotted you near the staircase adorned in a floor-length blushed, ivory pink halter gown with luminescent tulle, making you look like the human embodiment of an ocean pearl.

His eyes are so fixed on you that he didn’t realize he almost knocked himself straight into an oncoming BMW. The owner, a crabby old man he recognizes from human resources, swears and honks at him, making Miguel hide his face before hurriedly parking a little more safely. 

When he approaches you, he drinks you in your full glory. Everything about you is so fresh… so exhilarating. You’ve done your hair with a couple of clips this time, with more subtle jewelry this time. Your makeup looks tidy and perfect and Miguel enjoys the way it emphasizes your best features instead of morphing them. If only he was wiser on Sunday, he would’ve been able to savor a different version of you in blue. 

Nevertheless, you still manage to take his breath away with just a simple breath like you always have. It’s just that it was only recently had Miguel realized you had that ability and he’d be alright experiencing it again and again if it was with you.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you say and wave a soft wave in front of his face to break his trance. Somehow, you begin to grow self-conscious. Perhaps he didn’t like it? Maybe it was too revealing… the slit at the halter neckline did somewhat peek at your cleavage and you weren’t used to baring your shoulders out. “I-is everything okay?”

Miguel blinks a couple of times. His surroundings finally come into focus like your figure, making him realize how long he had been staring. “Apologies. I… never got to tell you this on Sunday, but I hope to do it now, (Y/N)... ” he clears his throat and straightens his posture, remembering to act everything out as practiced, before softly whispering with evident fondness that, “You look beautiful, tonight.”

A spark of surprise shocks your features for a brief moment, before your usual modesty is displayed again. Eye contact is broken, for you can’t fathom the thought of someone like Miguel O’Hara, favored in every possible way, would be complimenting you so casually. “Oh um. Thank you,” you choke out halfheartedly. 

Miguel leans over slightly over your figure and tucks a lock of stray hair behind your ear. If he wanted to truly make up for what happened, he was going to have to go all out tonight, even if that meant rocketing out of his comfort zone. He just barely catches you hitching a breath at the semi-intimate of physical contact as he tries his best to hide his own when he murmurs in your ear again. 

“I’m not saying it out of manners, I’m saying it factually,” he mumbles, eyeing the passersby that stare in wonder at you. Some ego swells inside of him at the jealous looks that are given to him. “You’ve bewitched me and many others already.”

You stray your gaze away at him with your hands fiddling at the skirt of your dress. “You didn’t have to, but thank you for the dress, by the way,” you murmur timidly. “I’ve never heard of a brand called Lyla, but I admit, this dress of theirs is rather nice.”

Miguel furrows his brows at the mention before Lyla briefly appears on your head, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before disappearing. It doesn’t take Miguel long to realize that Lyla had shipped something so pristine to you without his permission, though he supposes that she had done him and you a favor given how majestic you look tonight. 

He lets out a soft breath of a chuckle before shaking his head. Maybe he’ll give her some upgrades in return.

You turn your head behind you, not knowing what he was looking at. “Is something wrong? Is there something in my hair?”

“No, no. Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts…” Miguel interjects before offering his arm to you. “We should get going. I’d hate for a dress like this to go to waste for only my eyes.���

Internally, Miguel wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be greedy and have you all for himself, savor your every move tonight, have you and him be the only ones in this place. He didn’t want anyone to look towards your direction and have you look at anyone else besides him. A little venomous thought of people not realizing you had so much more potential than they realized embeds in himself, and that their awe for tonight was too artificial. He wanted more and to give you more, but then again, he’s still Spider-Man at the end of the day, the impossible man that somehow does it all and faces the consequences head on. He can only offer a regular day citizen like you so much.

But for now, he’ll make do with what he can. Not as Spider-Man this time, but as Miguel O’Hara.

a/n ; hi yeah don't panic, there'll be a part three lmfao i lied lolol. most likely it'll be the last part to this little series i've got going, too, since i think making it a fully fledged series would kind of lead some things astray for me. that doesn't mean the end of the miggy o'hare writings, however! still will most definitely attempt to write for him bc bro's GLORIOUS

thank you all for the patience for part ii, and i hope to see that part iii comes out asap! i'll give updates for it as always, but in the meantime, thank you for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and infinitely appreciated ( ˘ ³˘) ♡ !

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @toofsfairys @raeisthebae (for those with strikethroughs, i'm not able to tag you for some reason :(!)

[secretidentie]

When Bruce confesses his feelings for clark, Clark comes to the only logical conclusion.

He's dying.

During a mission, Clark gets injected with Luther's new liquid kryptonite. The dosage didn't seem lethal and Clark just wants to sleep it off but Bruce insists on giving him a checkup at the batcave.

At first Clark is just enjoying his friend's company but then he hears Bruce's heart rate speed up. If something is scaring batman then it must be really bad. "is everything okay?" he looks up to see an anxious batman. Oh no this must be really bad. He prepares himself to hear that Luther used a new type of kryptonite, that he lost his powers forever or even that Lex has his powers now but instead he hears ".... Yeah, everything's fine.... I just have to tell you something.... I....this is hard to say but......... I. Have. Feelings.....for you I mean. I have feelings for you."

In all of Clark's years as a hero nothing could have ever prepared him for the possibility that Bruce would not only reciprocate his feelings but also confess first. I felt too good to be true. So obviously Bruce was lying. Clark had assumed that the world's greatest detective probably knew about his crush (coz its kinda obvious) but decided to spare him the rejection. So he concludes that something has changed and caused Bruce to pretend to like him out of pity. And it could only be whatever is in those medical reports. Then the realizations hits him. He must be dying.

Obviously Bruce didn't tell him because he wanted Clark to be happy and live out his fantasy during his last days. So considerate. That's why after finding out he only has however long to live, Clark decides to do everything on his bucket list (including writing a bucket list) that he's always wanted to do with Bruce without Bruce realizing Clark knows he's dying so he doesn't break the illusion. If he only has a few days left he might as well make the best of them.

[unclewaynemunson]

It's October when the autumn chill officially dawns over Hawkins. Wayne wakes up to fogged-up windows, and his bones protest loudly when he stretches to get up and make himself some warm coffee. It's too early in the year to turn on the heating; if they start that now, they'll be bankrupt before it's even January. So while the coffee is brewing, he shrugs off the old shirt he uses as a pajama, and puts on as many layers as he'll need to keep himself warm: first an undershirt, then a soft flannel, and then a faded brown sweater that's been sitting uselessly in his closet all through the summer. It's patched up at the elbows to conceal the holes that have fallen into it, but still warm and comfortable, which is all Wayne can really ask for.

'Ed, got coffee for ya!' he calls out when he's changed into his jeans and the coffee is almost ready.

Some muffled noises sounding vaguely like 'lemmesleeeeeep' emerge from the other side of the thin wall.

Wayne chuckles as he turns on the gas, deciding he might as well make scrambled eggs for breakfast; a thinly-veiled excuse to heat up the trailer by using the stove.

'And eggs in a minute!'

Another string of muffled sounds emerges from Eddie's bedroom, 'stoocold' being the only semi-decipherable one.

For a moment, Wayne feels guilty. He knows, deep down, that this is nothing more than his Eddie being dramatic. But that doesn't change his wish that he could simply turn on the heat without giving it a second thought and make Eddie's Sunday morning just slightly more comfortable. He doesn't care about the chill in his own bones, he's had worse. He doesn't care about the condensation on the windows, that is now changing into thick droplets that are gliding down to the windowsill, leaving traces of soot in their wake. He's not even sure if he'd ever want to live in a real, proper house. But the one thing he does want, is to get his nephew through the season warm and comfortable without having to count every penny.

Eddie finally emerges from his bedroom, with only his head peeking out of the blanket he has wrapped himself in, and a sleepy look in his eyes. The phone starts ringing just as Wayne greets him, and Eddie, who's closer to it, shuffles towards it.

Almost immediately after he picks up, his eyes shed their drowsy look and light up in a way that Wayne has come to know all too well, while his mouth curves into a wicked grin.

'No, sir, he's not here,' Eddie says into the phone, his eyes wide and innocent. 'When he didn't come home last night, I assumed he'd be spending the night with you. I guess he must have a secret lover we both don't know about.'

Wayne abruptly turns off the gas and barges towards Eddie, who barks out a laugh while he jumps back as far as the phone cord allows him.

'Just joking, Mr. Clarke, he is here!' he calls out in an annoyingly triumphed tone. 'And he can't wait to talk to you, here he is!'

Wayne playfully shoves Eddie against the wall as he takes the phone from him.

'Sorry for my menace of a nephew, Scott,' he says.

He hears a chuckle on the other side of the line, slightly distorted through the horn. It's as if his hand has a will of its own, clenching around the phone and pressing it almost painfully close to his ear; like he'll be able to catch the sound of Scott's laughter better if he could only press himself tighter to his phone.

'Luckily I'm used to middle schoolers, nothing I can't handle here.'

Wayne snorts and turns towards Eddie, who is now shamelessly staring at him from above his blanket-cocoon a few steps away from him.

'Scott says you should stop behavin' like a damn middle schooler,' he grumbles.

'Yep, that sounds exactly like something sweet Scott Clarke would say,' Eddie remarks, that devilish grin still plastered on his face.

'What can I do for ya, Scott?'

'Well, I just came downstairs for breakfast, and when I looked outside, I realized this is our first proper fall day.'

Wayne directs his gaze to the wet kitchen window. He hadn't even thought to look through the droplets on the glass; but now that he does, he realizes Scott is right. The trees around Forest Hills are definitely showing more yellow and orange than they did yesterday, and some patches of fog are still lingering a few feet above the wilted grass and muddy roads. The skies are a light shade of gray, telling Wayne that even though it'll be cold, it won't likely start raining anytime soon.

'I was wondering if you have any plans for today?' Scott's continues in his ear. 'We could go for a walk in the forest, admire the colors, see if we can find some cool mushrooms... What do you think?'

Wayne wonders whether he's imagining the nervous edge to Scott's voice, merely hearing in there what he wants to hear.

'I'm free all day,' Wayne says. He clamps the phone between his ear and his shoulder, needing both his hands to fumble around in his chest pocket and find a cigarette and a lighter. 'You wanna come over after breakfast? I can make a thermos of coffee and we can head into the woods here, I know a nice path around Lov- around the lake.' He can feel Eddie's gaze burning on him, but he refuses to look at his nephew, instead closing his eyes as he places the cigarette between his lips and lights it.

Scott is kind enough to pretend like he didn't notice Wayne's unfortunate stutter.

'A walk around the lake sounds perfect,' he says instead, his voice still as chipper as ever. 'I'll be at yours in an hour. Enjoy your breakfast with Eddie.'

'Real smooth, Uncle Wayne.' Eddie's amused voice cuts through the silence as soon as Wayne has hung the phone back on the hook.

'Don't be ridiculous now, boy,' Wayne grumbles. 'He's my friend.'

'With whom you're gonna hang out at Lover's Lake. Like friends do.' The sarcasm is dripping from Eddie's voice.

'I liked you better when you were still asleep in your bed,' Wayne remarks.

Eddie laughs loudly. 'You shoulda thought about that before you made me come out of it to freeze to death.'

Wayne crosses his arms and shoots Eddie an unimpressed look. 'Are you gonna do anything today or just spending your whole day makin' fun of me?'

Eddie shrugs – or rather, that's what Wayne supposes is happening underneath the moving blanket. 'I'm gonna take the kids to the pumpkin farm with Steve.' He lowers his voice and leans closer towards Wayne, continuing in an conspiratorial voice, 'We call that a date. Maybe you and Mr. Clarke should stop being cowards and come join us. Make it a double date.'

Wayne doesn't say anything; he simply rolls his eyes and walks back to the stove, lighting the gas underneath the frying pan again so he can direct all his attention to his eggs.

---

An hour later, Eddie has left – with a pit stop at the Mayfields' trailer – to pick up Steve. Wayne has done the dishes, dried the windows and filled a thermos with fresh coffee. By the time Scott parks his car in the spot where Eddie's van had been earlier, most of the fog outside has disappeared. Wayne watches him get out of his car through the kitchen window, but he doesn't come outside just yet, afraid it'll make him seem too eager.

Scott knocks on the door and then lets himself in, like he's done many times over the summer that now lies behind them. He's wearing a woolen coat in a dark gray color, with a simple black scarf around his neck.

Wayne feels his hands twitch with the desire to wrap themselves around Scott's waist, to tug him close and bask in the warmth of his body. Would his scarf feel as soft as it looks? Would he smell like fresh autumn air? Would his touch be as warm as the quilt on his couch?

'Oof, it's chilly in here,' Scott remarks, rubbing his hands together.

'I don't get cold that fast.' It's only partly a lie.

'I like the sweater.'

The easy and earnest compliment catches Wayne off-balance; he doesn't know what to do, where to look, where to keep his hands. He wants to escape Scott's approving gaze and hide away somewhere no one can perceive him.

Instead, he clears his throat and thanks the heavens for the fact that Eddie has already left.

'Ready to go?' he asks.

They head into the woods and Wayne leads the way as they stray further from the trailer park. Their feet easily find a rhythm that feels natural to both of them, avoiding the bigger puddles on the path and stopping every now and then to admire toadstools, dewy cobwebs, and fallen leaves in beautiful colors.

As they make their way around Lover's Lake, Wayne ponders what exactly the difference is between what Eddie would call a hangout, and a date. He doesn't exactly have a lot of friends who he hangs out with. He has his colleagues at the plant, of course, who he'd always kept at a distance, which proved him right when they were all too ready to come for his Eddie last March. He has some neighbors he's friendly with; he helps them with a thing or two around their trailers and in return they share a beer or a smoke with him. But he wouldn't call that real friendship either. He has learned long ago how dangerous it can be to let people come too close. Some people only wanted certain things from him, others would judge him when they'd find out a thing too many about him. And the pain of losing a rare, true friend became all too clear to him back in Vietnam.

After that, he mainly stuck to himself. And then it became him and Eddie against the world. He never needed anyone else. He was good at being alone, after all. There was a certain level of comfort to be found in loneliness.

So this thing with Scott – whatever it is – is not something he can compare to anything else. The only thing he knows is that it's definitely not lonely. And that he doesn't want to mess it up and lose the only true friend he's had in decades.

'What's on your mind?' Scott asks when they sit down on a fallen tree at the edge of the lake to enjoy their coffee. 'You've been quiet.'

'I'm always quiet,' Wayne points out.

It makes Scott chuckle softly before he takes a sip of his coffee.

'Not as quiet as you think,' Scott says. 'Today, you're thinking loudly. I can almost hear your thoughts.'

Wayne carefully places his own mug on the tree, then grabs himself a cigarette and lights it, all to buy himself some time. But even after a long drag and another sip of coffee, he still doesn't quite know how to voice his thoughts.

'Was just admirin' the fall colors,' he decides to say instead, when the silence starts taking too long.

He can practically feel Scott's eyes on his face as he stubbornly stares over the water in front of them.

'It really is the perfect day to do that,' Scott finally says. Apparently he has decided he'll let Wayne get away with it this time. Or maybe it isn't like that. Maybe he decided that he'll allow Wayne the time he needs to sort out his thoughts before he can voice them. Maybe he understands that Wayne sometimes needs a while before he's ready to talk about things. Maybe he decided that he didn't want to intrude. Maybe he decided that he values spending time with Wayne, no matter if they're talking or sitting in silence. And maybe this fall will be a little less cold than the ones Wayne has gotten used to, because when he risks a glance towards his left, he sees Scott wearing a smile that's appreciative of the nature around them. It's a smile that warms Wayne from the inside, in a way that the heater in his trailer has never managed to do.

[suzukiblu]

i am literally for real obsessed with your timberkon pink kryptonite fic so i definitely would love to see another sneak peek, but i'm also loving all the superfam stuff you're putting out!!! something that i wish you would write because i love your works (and have since the darcy lewis stucky days) and i think you would do amazing things with the pairing is jaytim, but i know thats not everyones cup of tea

(i realize now that you were probably aiming for an ask rather than a reply so here it is in your inbox too hskdhsh)

Thank you! ❤️ And oh, asks and replies were both fine for this, no worries. I try to just specify in-post whenever I have a preference but it's not gonna bother me either way.

I DO like JayTim to read, but I've never really felt a particular bug to write it myself? At least not yet, anyway, that may one day change. Though I miiiiight still put Kon in the middle because I am who I am and all, haha.

I'm planning to update the pink K fic on AO3 tomorrow, though I'm pretty sure I've already posted enough of chapter two in excerpts on Tumblr to have posted basically all of it by now and I'm trying to avoid doing that with chapter three, sooooo instead please accept the beginning of this very niche Superfam omegaverse pack dynamics AU instead. I've been looking for an excuse to post this whole big long thing anyway, lol.

Read-more for length, 'cuz there's kind of a lot here, haha.

.

The representative from the wet nurse agency shows up fifteen minutes early with an unusual-seeming omega who can't be a day over nineteen, being generous. Bruce makes a note to look into the agency's hiring practices a little more closely. The current situation is something of an emergency, unfortunately, and he's only had time to run the intermediate-level background checks so far.

Maybe this isn't the prospective wet nurse, he halfheartedly hopes, and they're just another representative; one who's in training or just here as backup. The kid smells like milk, though, and also why the hell would the agency send out an omega representative? Omegas are typically secretaries and clerks and almost all do in-office jobs, where they're "protected" from the outside world.

The practice is stupid and demeaning and borderline abhorrent, but it's a step up from the days when an omega couldn't get any job that wasn't as a nanny or a sex worker or some fucked-up combination of the two. Clark being an actual reporter is something that was practically unheard of two lousy generations back, and even now Clark is still an unusual exception in his field. Typically, an omega writing for a newspaper would be doing gossip or advice or something domestic, not investigative journalism.

So no, there's no way that this particular omega is anything but a wet nurse candidate, unusual-seeming and concerningly young or not. And Bruce had insisted on the candidate coming to meet them in person, even when the agency had very unsubtly implied that it would be better to just have the milk delivered.

Bruce is absolutely looking into this agency's hiring practices. An omega this age should barely be presented. One who's already allegedly producing enough milk to be a viable wet nurse for what they're requesting . . .

It's concerning, yes.

"Master Bruce, the representative from the Waterton Agency and her associate," Alfred introduces politely, gesturing between Bruce and their guests. He doesn't look or smell disapproving, even in the mildest notes, but Bruce knows he is.

Of course he is, with an omega who might be being either abused or taken advantage of or outright trafficked in the manor.

Bruce should've run a better background check.

"Hello, Alpha Wayne. My name is Ellen Travers," the agency representative greets tightly as Bruce steps into the parlor. She's a harried-looking blonde beta with graying hair who looks very unhappy to be here and is doing a very bad job of hiding the nervous dissatisfaction in her scent.

She doesn't introduce the omega.

Bruce puts on his stupid "Brucie" grin and strides right up to Travers, sticking a hand out to shake. She puts on a weak attempt at a polite smile in return and takes it.

"Hello there, Beta Travers, thanks so much for coming out here on such short notice!" Bruce greets her with a lie of cheerfulness, but Travers continues to smell nervous and upset and her smile is no less forced. And the omega . . .

The kid smells downright sullen, which is not a typical scent to catch off an unfamiliar presented omega and doesn't do anything to make him seem any older.

And yes, he's definitely unusual. He's much taller than Travers–about Bruce's own height, in fact–and has a very broad build and a surprising amount of muscle on him on top of that. Bruce knows full-grown alphas who'd kill to be built like this kid. He's also much more "handsome" than "beautiful", and frankly couldn't look less like the kind of sweet and pretty little things the agency had advertised on their website if he tried, much less the soft and maternal type Bruce had been expecting to actually have show up, given the specific requests he'd made.

Well, it does make sense. Bruce obviously wasn't going to provide the agency with either a Kryptonian genetic profile or a Kryptonian pup's exact dietary needs in search of a suitable wet nurse, but the nutrient requests that they'd made would likely necessitate an omega of a similar build to Clark's to supply–hell, the kid even resembles him a bit, funnily enough. They've already had four agencies tell them that they simply didn't have an appropriate candidate on staff, and the milk samples they'd been able to provide hadn't proven very helpful.

Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, but Martha had at least had the advantage of having a pack bond with him. A packmate's milk always does miles better by a pup than a stranger's or any kind of formula ever could.

Though she'd had some very odd cravings while nursing him, she'd told them. And Clark had still grown up underfed, even with formula and yellow sunlight to supplement–the Fortress had observed marked evidence of childhood malnutrition in him, he'd said.

Occasionally Bruce wonders what a properly-nursed Kryptonian raised under a yellow sun from infancy would've actually turned out like.

The thought is . . . well. A thought.

A thought that still makes him leery of how Jon Kent might grow up, sometimes.

Those concerns aside, though, the really unusual thing about this omega isn't either his physique or his face. Bruce is perfectly used to omegas with "nontraditional" looks after knowing Clark and Diana this long, to say nothing of various other Justice League members or other superheroes and villains he's known, or of both raising and reuniting with Jason. But this omega isn't as demurely dressed as mild-mannered Clark Kent would be; he's wearing opaque sunglasses and an alpha-cut studded leather jacket and alpha-style jeans and an inconveniently inaccessible plain black T-shirt with no sign of a nursing bra underneath it, nothing soft or appealing in either his clothes or his posture. If anything, he looks aggressive; tense and guarded and ready to start some shit. Even Jason usually puts up a temporary illusion of traditional omega mannerisms when he's meeting strangers as a civilian, if only so he'll be underestimated. This kid isn't even pretending to make the attempt.

And the kid smells completely and undeniably stray, too. Bruce can't catch a single note of packscent coming off him. Not even the scent of whatever pup got him milked up enough to qualify for this job. Unbred omegas sometimes lactate in heat or when under stress or if someone in their pack either has or adopts a pup, but a stray who doesn't smell particularly distressed or anything like he's on his cycle shouldn't be producing any milk at all.

At least not without using the kind of stimulants that Bruce explicitly forbade when filling out the agency application, anyway. Those medications are necessary for some omegas, obviously, but in this situation . . .

Kryptonian pups don't respond well to getting anything like that in their milk, they've already very thoroughly learned.

The omega also has spiked stainless steel piercings in his ears, snake bites under his mouth, and two curved barbells in his left eyebrow. All his other jewelry is heavy alpha-styled rings and bracelets, and his nails are painted a chipped black. And he is, notably, not wearing any kind of collar or necklace, and his neck is completely unmarked.

Bruce is in no way oblivious to the obvious message that an uncollared and unbitten omega's neck presents when left so obviously bared. Especially on a stray one who's dressed like an alpha and standing like he's expecting a fight.

He cannot imagine why this kid is working as a wet nurse.

None of the theories that come to mind bode particularly well, though.

"This omega is our most fitting candidate for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, her smile turning increasingly forced. Bruce thinks he can safely translate that expression as that of a beta who did not in any way agree with that assessment but was stuck following orders. "She fulfills all of your nutritional requests, including the necessary iron content and the prioritized fats and proteins, and, of course, is not taking any manner of lactation-inducing stimulants or supplements."

"He," the omega corrects, sounding dubious. Travers's mouth tightens. Bruce knows a lot of old-school traditionalists who won't call a male omega "he" or a female alpha "she", no matter what said omega or alpha's preferences happen to be, and makes another note about looking into this agency more thoroughly.

Much more thoroughly.

"She isn't available for direct nursing, unfortunately, but her milk is a perfect match to your requests and she produces both excellently and reliably; her supply will be more than enough for your needs," Travers continues as if the omega hadn't spoken, and the omega's lip curls in obvious annoyance as he rolls his eyes with no attempt to hide his exasperation even in the presence of an unfamiliar alpha.

Bruce thinks of Jason with a brief pang, and pushes the thought aside. It's not the time.

Maybe he could've asked Jason for help with this, if he'd been a better father. A better alpha. A better . . .

But he wasn't, so now there's an annoyed stranger standing in his parlor instead of a content packmate curled up in their nest.

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head and blinking down at Travers with a deliberately surprised expression. "The consultant made it sound like you'd need multiple donors, for the amount we're asking."

If one goddamn barely-presented kid is actually producing enough milk to even half-feed a Kryptonian pup . . .

"This omega produces sufficient quantities for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers replies with another forced smile. She must know how ridiculous a statement that is, when she's talking about a stray kid and not a fully mature omega with at least a couple of litters under their belt who's well-established in a stable pack, but she says it with conviction all the same.

"Oh, good!" Bruce says brightly, because he's supposed to be a stupid knotheaded playboy who wouldn't know a damn thing about nursing either way. "That'll be convenient, then."

Frankly, he only wishes one omega could produce what they need right now, but requesting that much milk from one agency for just one pup would be immediately flagged as suspicious, and definitely turned down outright. They're still looking for other candidates under false names, but at the rate they're going, they're going to need to keep supplementing with formula, which already hasn't been going well.

If Clark could get milked up himself, this wouldn't be a problem, of course. A Kryptonian omega could easily produce more than enough for one Kryptonian pup, especially under a yellow sun. Clark nursed Jon without a problem for years and was actually overproducing when he was, Bruce knows very well.

Unfortunately, that's not an option anymore. Not since . . .

Clark would never forgive himself if something like that happened again.

Never.

And Kara and Karen are both alphas, and Jon's a beta and only ten anyway, and the only other living Kryptonians they know of are either remorseless criminals imprisoned in the Phantom Zone or the sickly little pup who's slowly wasting away upstairs.

Formula and concentrated yellow sunlight haven't been enough. Clark can't get milked up anymore. They haven't been able to synthesize any appropriate supplements either in the Fortress or in working with the Justice League or STAR Labs or even in collaborating between them.

And the pup is just getting weaker, and quieter, and sicker.

A human wet nurse probably won't even help that much, at this point, but . . .

Well, it's the best chance they have to keep the pup alive until they can synthesize something. Maybe the only chance, now.

"We strive to provide to our clients' convenience, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, and the omega rolls his eyes again. Bruce is less and less convinced of him being an adult in any way but the presentation of his pheromones.

It's rude to address an unfamiliar unpacked omega directly, especially as an alpha. Technically Travers is chaperoning them in a professional situation, though, and Bruce has increasing suspicions about this omega's personal standards so far as "manners" go anyway.

And everyone knows Brucie Wayne is stupid and shameless, of course.

So he flashes the kid a grin, and he says, "Well, it's great to meet you, we appreciate you making the trip! What's your name, Mr. . . .?"

The kid blinks at him, clearly surprised both to be spoken to and to be called "Mr." instead of "Miss" or "Ms." or even "Omega". Travers looks absolutely scandalized.

Bruce really doesn't approve of the kind of traditionalists who won't introduce an omega or use their stated pronouns, though, so fuck if he cares.

"Her name is Carly, Alpha Wayne!" Travers interjects quickly, her tone a little bit too bright to be genuine. "Short for Caroline."

"Just Carl," the kid corrects, shaking his head. Travers's mouth tightens again. It's not a very typical omega name, so no surprise.

It occurs to Bruce to wonder if Carl might be a trans alpha, which he probably should've thought to wonder as soon as he saw how he was dressed and got an impression of his personality. Obviously the kid's at least not currently on HRT if he's working as a wet nurse, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him being transgender all the same.

Actually, affording gender-affirming care is definitely a reason that a kid like this one would be working this job, especially if said kid's family weren't supporting them. Wet nurses make more money than most other fields that omegas without a diploma can expect to get into, at least short of sex work, and Carl is very obviously too young to have graduated college yet.

Actually, Bruce still isn't even sure if he's old enough to have graduated high school yet.

He's going to burn down this whole damn agency if they're knowingly employing a minor as a wet nurse.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," he says easily. Carl's eyes narrow consideringly, and then he folds his arms and smirks, crooked and casual.

"Sure," he says. "Nice to meet you too, Wayne."

Travers looks agonized. The last non-alpha stranger who called Bruce "Wayne" instead of "Alpha Wayne" was a beta terrorist who was in the middle of kidnapping him, and he's not sure any omega who wasn't an active supervillain ever has, so he's not surprised by her reaction.

Carl is still watching him with the same cocky smirk, though, an obvious challenge in the expression and his posture both. Bruce puts another point towards the possibility of him being a trans alpha, though he's not stupid enough to actually ask if he is, especially not in front of someone the kid works under. Presentation aside, Carl might not be out, and Travers is currently at least professionally following traditional manners, so Bruce doesn't have much hope for this agency being all that progressive and doesn't want to accidentally get the kid fired.

Though if Carl is a minor, Bruce is going to have to see if he can't slip him a business card and find him another job. Especially if he's going to be burning down the agency he's working for.

"Why aren't you available for direct nursing, if you don't mind me asking?" he asks in a curious tone, because he still can't smell a pup on the kid and most wet nurses who aren't nursing their own pups do direct nursing, and he wants intel about the agency's typical practices. Carl shrugs.

"Stubborn tits," he replies, pushing his chest out as he gestures at himself with no apparent sense of shame or self-consciousness, and Travers looks increasingly agonized. Bruce is just increasingly missing Jason, himself. "Milk flows too slow and the pups always get all fussy and stress out about it. Which, whatever, pups are weird anyway, they're not really my thing."

"'Weird'?" Bruce repeats, carefully noting the lack of possessives in reference to any potentially dysphoria-triggering anatomy. Still not a confirmation, but another point. Carl shrugs again.

"I'm afraid Carly doesn't bond appropriately with pups, Alpha Wayne," Travers interjects quickly, and Carl scowls at her. "She has an unfortunate detachment disorder."

"I 'attach' fine," Carl grumbles sourly, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just don't like kids."

Travers grimaces. Bruce keeps pretending to be an oblivious idiot. He has met omegas who don't like children. They exist.

They're just all deeply, deeply traumatized people. Or clinically insane.

Or both, frequently.

So . . . "detachment disorder" seems likely, yes.

Bruce doesn't consider either sex or gender to be the end-all be-all of a person, of course, but there are certain biological imperatives that no one can deny as existing, and a lactating omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–really, just about any omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–is not ever going to say they "just" don't like kids. Usually the problem with omega wet nurses is them liking kids too much, in fact, and getting distressed or depressed when the parents wean the pups and they won't be seeing them again. The decent agencies have psychological support for that in place and typically offer paid leave between long-term clients. The Waterton Agency does up to a month, which is one of the reasons Bruce chose it.

So yes, Carl is almost definitely traumatized.

Though really, a wet nurse who won't be around much isn't the worst thing, considering. Neither Clark nor Jon started developing any especially noticeable powers until they were older, but they can't assume anything based off a sample size of two, especially when said sample size is made up of biological relatives. And even if they didn't have to worry about that, well, the manor is frequently full of vigilantes and the cave is right underneath it. There's a lot that a regular guest could notice, especially over however long they might need to be nursing. Especially because nursing is a quiet, out-of-the-way activity that takes a while, and it would be very easy for someone to forget to keep their voice down or to not do a damn quadruple-backflip off a chandelier at the wrong moment.

And there's a reason Clark and Lois brought this problem to the shadows of Gotham, as opposed to staying in bright and sunny Metropolis with it. They've got something to hide right now, and a lot to figure out.

Plus if even a molecule of kryptonite gets involved in this situation, even secondhand . . .

Power Girl and Supergirl and Steel are the ones taking shifts watching Metropolis right now, and everyone is just going to leave it at that. Superman isn't coming out for anything less than the apocalypse.

"Well, the Lane-Kents will probably want you to meet the kiddo either way, if you don’t mind," Bruce tells Carl, offering an easy shrug. "Peace of mind, you know how it is."

"Not really," Carl says. Bruce debates slipping the kid a psychiatrist's business card, but he'd probably take it as an insult.

"Er, yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says awkwardly. "Actually, we were expecting Alpha Lane to be with you . . . ?"

"Lois is currently stuck in Metropolis traffic thanks to Metallo bashing up half of downtown this afternoon and Clark is upstairs getting the kiddo around. Little guy just woke up from his nap," Bruce replies with a pleasant smile, making another note of how Travers left off the omega member of the couple's last name, and also apparently doesn't expect to be meeting said omega at all. He is increasingly regretting choosing this agency, though he may yet manage to do some good in the world by subtly dismantling it. Or maybe just by buying it outright and doing a little restructuring.

Or a lot of restructuring.

"Wait, it's not your kid?" Carl asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression. Travers looks pained. The Waterton Agency isn't Gotham-based, so Bruce isn't sure why she apparently expects Carl to be up on the Wayne pack's current members, especially considering how she keeps talking over and outright ignoring him. Bruce has a hard time picturing her bothering to provide the information herself, at this point.

"Oh, no, just doing a favor for some visiting friends," he replies smoothly, still wearing the same pleasant smile. Which is a lie, of course, because actually the Lane-Kents are part of his secondary pack and "visiting friends" therefore in no way covers what they are to him. The Wayne pack is both his primary and his family pack, obviously, and the Justice League is a loosely-connected tertiary pack, but his secondary pack lacks both an official name and public recognition, because explaining to the public why Brucie Wayne's secondary pack is two award-winning reporters from Metropolis, a random museum curator in Gateway City, a decorated Navy SEAL, and occasionally a cat burglar with commitment issues is just not going to work out for anyone's secret identities.

And that even without counting how everyone knows about Lois Lane and Steve Trevor's respective very public connections to Superman and Wonder Woman, much less ever explaining anything about Selina. Bruce, meanwhile, still isn't sure how he ended up in a pack with any of these people. Clark and Diana definitely have a lot to answer for either way, though.

Mostly he blames Clark. Diana has more decorum. Clark is just . . . Clark, so now Bruce gets a scarf and cookies from Martha Kent every Christmas, never mind that he's technically Jewish, because God forbid he ever tells her that and she starts sending him Hanukkah presents instead. He cannot handle eight nights' worth of Martha Kent's colorfully-wrapped scarves and lovingly-packaged cookies. That's just not a thing he can do.

He doesn't even celebrate holidays, except when Dick cons him into it. Which admittedly he's been doing more often again the past few years, but–

This is off-topic, Bruce reminds himself, but then gets distracted as Carl cocks his head a little and frowns over something. Bruce instinctively wants to brace himself for trouble at the sight, because that frown actually very strongly reminds him of Clark's "what the hell weird and concerning thing did I just notice with my super-senses" frown, but A) Carl doesn't have super-senses and B) Bruce just heard the stairs creak, which means the actual Clark is finally on his way down to meet them. No one else in the manor would ever make the steps creak any way but deliberately except for Lois or Jon, and Jon is out on a walk with Damian and Titus while Lois is, again, currently stuck in Metropolis traffic. So: Clark, definitely.

Also Clark tends to make the stairs creak a lot louder than either Lois or Jon do, given the very notable size difference there.

"Has Alpha Lane authorized you to make decisions for his pup's care, Alpha Wayne?" Travers asks with another forced smile. Bruce is resolving to check specifically her background too, at this point.

"No, no, that won't be necessary, good ol' Clark's right here," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's his pup too, and he knows much more about ones this age than I do anyway."

"Yes, well, omegas tend to get a little . . . irrational about the idea of sharing their pups with a wet nurse," Travers says "politely", like she thinks she's stating a fact. Bruce would say something cheerful-sounding and subtly insulting back, typically, but Carl's frown is deepening and he looks a little bit . . . odd, maybe, or . . .

There's a strange little pup-call from the stairs, very quiet and echoing in unusual registers but still recognizably one all the same, and just as recognizably resigned-sounding. It's a pup-call that clearly expects to go unanswered, at this point, which is something that Bruce would like to never hear again in his life, given the option.

Though it's better than a pup who's given up on calling at all, he supposes.

He tries not to grimace at that thought, though he's sure Clark's grimacing enough for the both of them right now after hearing a call like that. The pup is starving, and they just can't feed him properly. At this point sending him back where he came from might be kinder.

Honestly, if Bruce didn't know exactly who his parents were, he might've already insisted on that.

It's just–

The pup calls again, even quieter. Travers looks perplexed.

"Er," she says. "I apologize, Alpha Wayne, but is the pup ill? We can't be around them if they are, it's against agency policy."

"Oh, the kiddo just sounds like that," Bruce replies dismissively, and then lies, "Vocal chord deformity, apparently. We're not sure what caused it, pediatrician thinks it's something genetic."

Well, it is genetic. Jon calls in exactly the same registers, and according to Martha and Jonathan so did Clark.

So it's genetic, yes. Just not a deformity.

Carl's expression looks–odd, still. Bruce isn't sure what to think of it, but it makes him a bit wary. A detachment disorder doesn't imply an actual negative reaction to the presence of a pup, obviously, but . . .

Clark steps into the parlor with Lor-Zod sitting on his hip, the pup no older than two or so and looking small and listless in his arms, his dark skin all washed out and his previously bright eyes gone dull and tired. When he first crash-landed in Metropolis in the rocket he'd been wrapped up inside, Clark said he'd popped out of it energetic and excited and clamoring for attention in toddler-level Kryptonian, but he's been slowly fading ever since, wasting away without the nutrients that they just can't provide him. He's probably only made it this long thanks to the sun.

Again, Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, though he was already at least three by the time they got him, which probably helped. A pup Lor's age is capable of eating solid food, obviously, but milk or formula is still a major part of a pup's diet until they're four or five, if not older, and the longer the better. Hell, most kids still at least semi-regularly nurse for as long as their dam can manage to stay milked up, or even until they present themselves. No one can wean a damn toddler and expect them to thrive.

Or even survive, in Lor's case.

Lor opens his mouth in another weak, resigned little pup-call, and Clark's own mouth tightens as he restrains himself from answering it and giving the pup false hope for milk he just doesn't have, and Bruce steels himself to–

Carl croons.

Travers startles. Bruce is . . . surprised, a bit. A detachment disorder doesn't really imply the kind of omega who'd croon at a pup they've never seen before in their life, after all.

It's an unusual and unpracticed croon, as if it's a sound Carl doesn't make very often, which Bruce supposes would make sense. Lor responds to it immediately, though, shifting weakly in Clark's arms and pup-calling again.

Carl, with absolutely no manners or decorum whatsoever, sweeps right past Travers and Bruce and Alfred and just plucks Lor straight out of Clark's arms. Which–forget the kid calling him "Wayne"; that's a damn etiquette breach. Hell, Clark probably only didn't take Carl's head off for snatching up his pup without permission because he's so clearly dumbfounded that he actually did it.

Bruce is slightly less dumbfounded due to having spent five seconds in the kid's presence, but still, what is he–

"Carly!" Travers chokes in horror. Carl very obviously doesn't even hear her and just starts purring at Lor and cuddling him close in a way that really doesn't even slightly imply "detachment disorder".

And then Bruce figures out what was "odd" about Carl's expression, before.

"Huh," he says, a little bemused. "Did he just go into feral drop?"

"Alpha Wayne, I assure you, this is not the Waterton Agency's standard of behavior!" Travers sputters, sounding even more horrified, and Clark just blinks and tilts his head.

"I think he did, yeah," he says, looking perplexed. Carl continues ignoring everyone in the room except for Lor and just purrs louder at him as they both nuzzle into each other. Lor makes more very distinctly Kryptonian pup-calls at him, and Carl croons back with no apparent concern over their strangeness, sounding absolutely goddamn enamored.

That is definitely not a detachment disorder, Bruce thinks. There is no possible way that an omega with a detachment disorder just went into full feral drop over a pup at first sight.

Or possibly first sound, he's realizing.

Bruce is perfectly aware that omegas can feral-bond with distressed pups whether they mean to or not, but he's never seen it happen this fast outside of a warzone or a natural disaster. He's heard hearsay and read studies about particularly compatible sets that have done it under less stressful circumstances, but distressed and starving pup or not, he wouldn't have even expected a human omega to be capable of bonding with a Kryptonian pup like that.

Or at all, frankly. Deliberately created and carefully cultivated pack bonds are one thing, but . . .

Lor chirps, the sound still a little quiet and fragile, a little weak, but also undeniably hopeful, and Carl gives him a low, rumbly purr in reply and yanks up his inconveniently-cut T-shirt to expose his chest with no trace of hesitation or modesty. He's already leaking sweetly-scented milk, already adjusting his grip on Lor to let the pup get at his chest as easily and comfortably as possible, and Lor latches without a moment's hesitation and immediately starts to nurse.

And then Lor purrs. Carl just watches him with undeniable adoration, still paying no attention whatsoever to anyone else in the room.

Alright, then, Bruce thinks carefully.

Well, that just happened.

"Thought you didn't like kids, Carl?" he inquires casually, putting on an easy grin, and Carl finally seems to come up enough to remember that the rest of them exist, though he still doesn't actually take his eyes off Lor.

"I would literally become a supervillain if this kid asked me to," he replies dreamily, keeping Lor cradled in one arm and tracing a finger down the pup's cheek with a soft, besotted expression that's unmistakable for what it is even with the sunglasses on. He looks like he might just burn down the world if someone tried to take Lor away from him right now, and his pheromones are so all-encompassing and so cloyingly sweet that Bruce genuinely might need to see a dentist after this.

"Well usually I'd say we keep Batman in the loop on that kind of thing around here, but if the kiddo asks, it only seems fair," he jokes with a laugh.

"I would drop-kick Batman off a roof for you," Carl informs Lor lovingly as he strokes his cheek again and then skims a fingertip along the little barely-visible scar splitting his eyebrow. Lor keeps purring sweetly and Alfred coughs to conceal a low chuckle. Clark looks a little pained to be watching one of his pups nurse from another omega so easily and eagerly, but his mouth quirks in amusement at the comment anyway. Bruce doesn't dignify any of them with a response, because he is an alpha with dignity and also is in no way threatened by a passing comment from a barely-presented kid who clearly isn't even combat-trained.

. . . although he also isn't going to be stupid enough to try coaxing Lor away from the omega he just feral-bonded with just yet either.

Then Tim walks by the doorway, takes one look at Carl with Lor, and trips over literally nothing and into a full faceplant on the foyer floor. Bruce pauses, then raises an eyebrow.

"Alright down there, Timmy?" he asks. Tim scrambles back to his feet, looking more genuinely mortified than he's ever seen him.

"Fine!" he blurts. "Fine. Everything's fine. All the things are fine. Uh. What? Who?"

"This is Carl," Bruce says, gesturing to the kid. "Wet nurse from the Waterton Agency. And his escort, Beta Travers. Carl, Beta Travers, this is my son, Tim Drake-Wayne. And also Clark Lane-Kent and his pup, Chris Lane-Kent, who I'm assuming you've figured out are your prospective clients."

"Yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says with a grimace. "We gathered."

"Ngh," Tim says, looking at literally everything but Carl and Lor. His face is bright red, which is an unusual amount of embarrassment for him to be showing just over tripping. Typically he masks that kind of thing a lot more effectively. Bruce would almost think he was actually embarrassed by watching Carl feed Lor, but Tim's literally never been affected by anything but passing curiosity when seeing a pup nurse before, so that seems unlikely. And he's a male beta, if still an unpresented one, so it's not like he's got any reason to care all that much about it anyway.

So his reaction does seem a little odd, yes.

Hm.

"Chris," Carl coos adoringly down at Lor. Bruce is in no way stupid enough to think that he absorbed any of the rest of that introduction or has even noticed Tim's presence at all. He wouldn't even put money on him having noticed Clark's presence, in fact, except as a pup-delivery system. The kid is very clearly in love with the pup in his arms and doesn't give a damn about any of the rest of them at all.

Detachment disorder. Sure.

[thevindicativevordan]

One of the most consistent traits of Kara is that she's more angry and hot-headed than Clark. Given you see Clark's own wrath as his big sin, is there a way to keep it distinct from him?

Clark's Wrath is rooted in disappointment. Disappointment in humanity for frequently falling short of what he wants them to be, disappointment in himself for frequently not being able to live up to what humanity wants him to be, disappointment in his friends for being content to waste their gifts on endless Crises and other pointless crap. Disappointment that he can't seem to change the world for the better, permanently reform his Rogues, that the other surviving Kryptonians are often as alienated from him as humanity, that the universe doesn't seem to align at all with the simple morality his Smallville parents taught him.

Superman's Wrath is born from the realization that it really is a Neverending Battle he has chosen to wage, one that even someone as powerful as him might not be able to win. And even Superman has his bad days in that war, days where his Wrath at the evil of life threatens to overwhelm his hope for a better tomorrow. On those days it's his compassion that sees him through, if he can't seem to make a difference on a planetary scale, then he can at least try and help one person the way Ma and Pa helped him. They made a positive difference in his life - he has to try and make a positive difference in at least one other person's.

Kara's Wrath is rooted in something different: grief.

Her entire life has been ripped from her. Her father is dead, her mother is dead, her homeworld is destroyed, her city slowly died despite her best efforts. Even her baby cousin Kal-El is something of a stranger to her, too old to be a peer, too human to be Kryptonian. All of that eats at her heart, and she can't help longing to get back all that she's lost. At the same time she can't stop lashing out in anger at the life she's forced to live. Instead of living the life of an El, a noble on one of the most advanced civilizations in the universe, she's stuck living in the shadow of her baby cousin on a galactic backwater that frequently becomes a warzone. Despite her and Kal constantly risking their lives, Earth frequently rejects them both.

Trading the majestic spires of Krypton for the primitive skyscrappers of Earth? Her family, friends, her people, her culture, all lost in exchange for a race of ingrates that frequently spit on her and her cousin? You'd be plenty angry too. Luckily her grief has also enhanced another trait: Supergirl's compassion for outcasts, refugees, people like her who have lost their homes and loved ones. Kara wasn't able to save Argo but she never stopped trying, hammering those lead plates until her hands bled. When it comes to attempting to save who she can, when she can, she'll never stop trying either.

[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 4/24

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries.

ONE TWO THREE

FOUR

                It’s an old mini-documentary, not one that was super popular but it’s centered around the working stunt artists of Hollywood and there’s Bradley Bradshaw looking about ten years younger and almost hotter, except Jake thinks he likes his laugh lines and more mature body. He realizes the fact that he’s familiar with Bradley Bradshaw’s body enough from sight alone to identify a possible time lapse confirms that he definitely has a problem. He knew that already, but he’d still sort of hoped it had maybe gone away.

                No such luck

                “What got you into doing stunt work?”

                “My dad was a stuntman, he was a bit of a daredevil and specialized in car racing and tricks. He was good.”

                “Ah, yes. He died during filming didn’t he?”

                “Yeah, about twenty years ago now. Car accident on set when the brakes failed.”

                Jake does a mental calculation, that would make it over thirty years ago now, so sometime in the mid to late 1980s and he wonders if he can find out more details of if he’s starting to maybe become a little too much like one of those obsessed fans who can’t identify reality from fantasy.

                “You were a child actor too…”

                “Oh god, please don’t tell me you have footage of that.”

                “We do, but it’s not exactly relevant to the subject were interviewing you about.”

                “Thank goodness for small mercies!” Bradley laughs, and it’s a little tinny through the speakers but it’s still gorgeous, Jake would love to have Bradley laugh with him like that. Fuck.

                “Well, how about you show us some of the work you’ve been doing recently? I’ve heard you’ve become something of a rock climbing expert?”

                “I don’t know if I’d use expert, but I’m okay.”

                Of course he’s modest about his skill, and Jake watches as Bradley climbs the wall, racing up so fast it might as well be a fucking horizontal surface. He repels down effortlessly and Jake wonders just what Bradley’s workout regime entails to stay flexible and as strong as he needs to be for the activities that he’s seen him partake in.

                “So if people wanted to get into stunt work where would they go?”

                “There are schools for it, and workshops and plenty of training opportunities. Staying fit, strong and flexible is all important, but you also need to know choreography and rolls and falls, and then there’s the camera angles. It’s quite involved at the end of the day, but it’s a job I love.”

                The interviewer is then talking to someone else and he shut the window and despite it being against his better judgement he searches out Bradley Bradshaw’s father’s death and winces at the fact that he was only three when he died. Married to Carole Clarke and holy shit, Oscar award winner and silver-screen beauty and also somehow Bradley Bradshaw’s parent, although she died much too young… God. If he’d lost both his parents before he even turned ten he doesn’t know if he’d have survived to adulthood.

                Then he finds it, where Pete Mitchell fits in, best friends with Nick Bradshaw. He’s obviously been around Bradley Bradshaw as he grew up. Potentially even raised him if there was no other family, and he wonders if that is the case just how Pete Mitchell balanced raising a kid while also travelling the world directing films. Unless Bradley simply travelled with him of course, which is entirely plausible.

                He wants to see him again.

                It make no sense but it also doesn’t change the fact.

                He messages his agent and asks him to get Bradley Bradshaw’s number. Doesn’t specify why, doesn’t need to.

                The number sits in his phone unused.

…            …            …           

                Bradley reads through the contract, and he can’t help but frown, because there are clauses in here that are usually removed. His staff know that there are non-negotiables and the fact that they haven’t been removed could be simply human error, or it could be because they believe they don’t need to be removed. He doesn’t let people do their own stunt work unless they’re low risk, have sufficient training or experience in the activity. He rings Brigham in the office first, his skill at ability assessment the most crucial when drafting the contract.

                “Hey man, what’s up with the contract you just sent me?”

                “Ha! Knew you’d call me. I win the bet! Not even three hours!”

                “Brigham! Focus!”

                “Sorry. Just, this cowboy film, did you read who they’ve got starring in it?”

                Bradley ignores the little flip his stomach does and quickly flicks to the part which details the names of the actors and of course, of course, Jake Seresin’s name is there, staring at him in black and white and oh…

                “Jake Seresin, Javy Machado and Callie Bassett.”

                “Oh.”

                “Oh is right. So, no, we won’t need a stunt double for Seresin. He used to compete and is probably better than any of us. He knows what he’s doing around horses.”

                Oh boy does Bradley know what Jake can do around horses. He’s not worried about that at all. Brigham is still talking though and he forces himself to concentrate.

                “Though Machado and Bassett need doubles. Was thinking Rueben and Natasha, they’ve both worked with horses before.”

                “Yeah, they’d work. You’ve already gotten the backgrounds?”

                “Yep. Large working ranch, going to be a bit of legwork to get around it and scope it out, but they’re making every accommodation possible, definitely the easiest contract negotiations I’ve had in a while.”

                Huh.

                Interesting.

                “Seresin was always pushing for a more active role in the last film I worked on him with. Was there any push back about me having veto power?”

                “Nope, none at all. Don’t know why you’d use it though. He’s well suited to it, even sent a recent video of him riding and roping and doing fancy looking shit. However the other two are nowhere near as confident, in fact they’ve never even ridden a horse. So we’ve got that challenge ahead of us…”

                “Okay… well, you’re in charge of scheduling. Tell me when and where.”

                “You ever been to Texas?”

FIVE

[ultra-puzzlemaster]

A bit late but for the @layton-npc-appreciation-week, I wanted to talk about Beth from The Last Specter:

Mostly because I've only now realized how important she's for the plot, years after playing LS for the first time.

Spoilers for Last Specter/Spectre's Call ahead!

So Beth worked as a maid for the Barde family, but got fired shortly before Evan's death, then started working in the Triton household. Which means she's the one who can tell you the most about both families and how things changed when the Specter appeared. And she does so!

Her first and perhaps most important action was actually before the game started. If you remember what Luke says…

That's right, she's the one who let Luke know about the flute being sold at the black market! She may not be aware of it but it's thanks to her that Layton and the other get to meet the Black Ravens and learn about Barde, and ultimately

In fact, if you think about it, perhaps she could have told them even more about this flute if they had asked her, since:

She already knew Arianna was the one playing it all along.

But that's not all! She has a role that might be less important for the professor but crucial for us players.

Indeed, she's the one giving us the biggest clues about Doland being an impostor:

In game, Layton realizes and proves he's the mastermind thanks to Luke's notes, which we sadly can't see.

But if we listen to Beth and help her, she'll tell us how Doland suddenly changed after the Specter appeared: his beautiful penmanship became nearly impossible to read, he started going out who-knows-where a lot, didn't gave her clear instructions like he used to, and got mean to her.

Another character, Jasmine, notices and mentions Doland's change in character but she doesn't say much except "he ignored me and my puzzle do you want to solve it?" while Beth gives us an entire puzzle based on Descole's awful handwriting.

And it makes sense: since they work together, she's the most likely to see the cracks in his act, and since he doesn't really care about her, she didn't get kidnapped nor blackmailed.

Other notable things she can tell us include:

Mentioning the oracle and that Doland knows about it.

Another clue that there's something hidden in the cellar, and that when Emmy thought she heard voices it wasn't just her imagination. (also the poor woman started to doubt her own sanity because of Descole)

She confirmed (although was there any doubt about it?) that Barde's death and his will are very strange, even if they were confirmed by the famous police officer Third-Eyed Jakes. She doesn't say it in front of Luke but she suspects that Clark killed Barde and now his ghost is haunting the house.

Speaking of Jakes, she informs you later that Clark left with him.

If you go see her before going to save Arianna she'll tell you that both Clark and Doland left without a word. Layton knows what's going on.

Not a hint but she also has this line:

Poor Beth struggles with Fake Doland's instructions and bad temper to the point she has to repeatedly ask Layton to help, she gives him puzzles (which he likes) and then feels guilty about it. This woman deserves a break. And someone to tell her it's not her fault Doland was so rude to her.

There's a lot more to talk about: how working under a manipulator's supervision affected her self-esteem, how her role in the story was overlooked, how the game treated her character… (I could probably make a whole post about sexism, working classes and the devaluation of social work… but not today)

I'll end with this picture from the credits where we can see Beth regained her place in the Barde's family:

If you've read to the end, thank you very much!

And remember: whoever you are, whatever you do, you matter, and you're more important than you may think.

[cvldbones]

guess it was a lawless land

Summary:

“You’ll come get me, right?” she asks, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but he swears she’s blushing a little bit. “When you find someone good. I want in, too.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course I will.” She clinks her empty beer bottle against his own, and it feels like a vow. So, when he hears about the Marcus Kane campaign, his very first call is to Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy gets into politics because he likes being right.

It’s a perfectly reasonable decision, as far as he’s concerned; he has great opinions, and a lot of them. If he were probed to give another, albeit far more vulnerable answer, he’d say that he got into politics because he wanted to be able to make a difference. It sounds corny even in his own head, though, so he’d probably never admit that aloud, but the point remains.

The world has not been kind to him – his mother didn’t get the proper medical care she needed because she couldn’t afford health insurance, the foster system nearly bankrupted him and almost ruined his relationship with his sister, and the process of not only applying to but also attending college as a first-generation nontraditional student had felt like it might kill him. It would be nice, he thinks, to change some of that. Maybe not all of it, maybe not all at once, but – baby steps.

When he finds that once he’s finished his history degree at GW, he isn’t ready to stop going to school yet, he’s not horribly surprised. He worked so hard to get to this point, and so he lets himself think, for the first time, of what he wants to do with his life, and he decides to embrace the more optimistic part of him. Lets himself latch onto the idea of making real, tangible change.

So, he stays, and he gets his master’s in political science, and he starts interning on campaigns. And the second he’s there, he realizes that this is it. The thing he’s meant to do. His voice is important, in those rooms; they take him seriously, not because he’s someone’s kid or nephew, but because he’s good at this. He keeps being referred up, further and further, and so his first real, full-time gig outside of grad school is on the Jaha campaign.

Even though he starts off in more of the volunteer coordination side, Cartwig – Jaha’s Chief of Staff – realizes he has a natural aptitude for the writing. He starts working with their communications team, mostly on speeches, shadowing the Communications Director, and learning as he goes.

That’s where he meets Clarke Griffin.

Read more on AO3!

[mamawasatesttube]

Hi! It was very cool and interesting to read your Supergirl guide, I didn't know most of info on it! Thank you for making it!

If you can, can you make it more high contrast? It was very scary when I stopped reading and my eyes stopped working suddenly 😅 (they needed rest for beginning to work again). I googled and it sounds a bit like eyestrain so maybe it will be easier to understand what happened. (Sorry, English is not my first language)

Anyway! Thank you for sharing this information! I think Cir-El is my favourite now

yeah asdkfj that was one problem with working with colors picked from the supergirl logo 😭the colors are def kinda rough! the original post has all of the text from the images in the alt text, if that helps.

i'm not sure if there's much point in editing the images themselves now because the post has already spread the highly saturated version around, so even if i change the og it'll still be like that in all the reblogs. BUT i can do you one better and just put the plain text here:

Who's That Supergirl? A brief guide to distinguishing the various holders of the Supergirl mantle in the Postcrisis era!

“There’s more than one...?”

•Indeed! Kind of like how there’s been a bunch of Robins, there have been a few Supergirls. They are:

•Kara Zor-El, precrisis edition

•Precrisis Kara was Linda Lee Danvers!

•Matrix (Mae Kent)

•Linda Danvers (an homage to Linda Lee Danvers)

•Cir-El (very briefly)

•Kara Zor-El, again (postcrisis edition)

•Postcrisis Kara is Linda Lang!

“Why are there so many Supergirls?!”

•During “Crisis on Infinite Earths”, the original Supergirl, Kara Zor-El, died.

•This is because DC wanted to relaunch Superman as the “Last Son Of Krypton” – no more other Kryptonians, no more Krypto the Superdog, no more of Clark’s boyhood as Smallville’s Superboy. (Look up the Byrne run on Superman if you’re curious about more!)

•However, “Supergirl” as a concept was still a character niche with potential. She could no longer be Kryptonian, but a female ally of Superman’s with similar powers could exist, in theory, especially as the mandate got more relaxed and Byrne left Superman books.

•Therefore: the first non-Kryptonian Supergirl appeared!

Matrix (Mae Kent)

•First introduced in Superman vol 2. #21 (“The Supergirl Saga” #1)

•From an alternate dimension where she was artificially created to be a hero, but her world died. She returned to the main universe with Superman.

•A shapeshifter made of “protoplasm” – she can turn invisible or take the shapes of other people, but shifting form takes a toll on her!

•Dated Lex Luthor (until she realized he sucked and then nearly murdered him! Go queen!)

•Supergirl from 1988 - 1996

Linda Danvers

•First introduced in Supergirl vol. 4 #1 (1996).

•Mae accidentally fused with a human girl named Linda Danvers while trying to save her life. She also gained the powers of an “Earth-born Angel”, including wings made of holy fire.

•(Lots of angel/demon stuff happens in Supergirl vol. 4. If that’s your jam, you might enjoy it!)

•At first, as a human, Linda has the form of Linda Danvers (a short brunette), but can transform into Supergirl (Mae’s taller, blonde form).

•(Yes, the Supergirl who goes to Dante’s Disco Inferno with Young Justice is Linda.)

Linda Danvers, Continued

•From Supergirl vol. 4 #51 (December 2000) onwards, Linda and Mae are no longer fused.

•Linda retains some powers of her own, but not as strong as they used to be, and no more of the angel stuff. She also no longer shapeshifts – she uses a blonde wig as Supergirl, but is shorter than she used to be.

•Linda’s powers are an homage to early iterations of Superman, who could not fly but could leap an eight of a mile, etc!

•This version of Linda wears the white crop-top costume!

Precrisis Kara (Surprise!)

•In Supergirl vol. 4 #75 (December 2002), due to dimension travel shenanigans, precrisis Kara’s rocket lands on postcrisis Earth, and Linda finds her!

•Precrisis Kara doesn’t stick around too long before she goes back to her own timeline, but she does make appearances in a couple other Superman and Superfamily-related comics at this time, alongside Kon-El and Linda.

•As a nod to the way Linda Danvers was an homage to Linda Lee Danvers (precrisis Kara’s human identity), when she returns to her own timeline, Kara says she likes the name Linda Danvers, and throws in “Lee” for “Leesburg”, the town Linda Danvers lived in.

Postcrisis Kara

•Linda Danvers retires from heroics in Supergirl vol. 4 (May 2003).

•Mirroring her precrisis origins, postcrisis Kara arrives in a rocket in Superman/Batman #8 (May 2004).

•The “Last Son” mandate is over – Kara Zor-El is Kal-El’s cousin, a fellow survivor of the destruction of Krypton.

•Kara is eventually taken in by Lana Lang, who offers to let her be her “niece”, Linda Lang.

•In her human disguise, she wears (the then-deceased) Kon-El’s glasses. 🥺

•Postcrisis Kara wears a blue crop-top costume!

Cir-El (Mia)

•First appears in “Superman: The 10¢ Adventure” (Jan. 2003)

•A human girl who is experimented on and given powers based on Superman’s genes, and told she is Superman’s daughter. She is sent back in time from the future to meet Superman.

•Her mind is split between Mia, the normal girl who resents Superman and what’s been done to her, and Cir-El, Supergirl, who has powers and believes Superman is her father (until Kelex runs some tests on her and confirms otherwise).

•She has a few adventures in Metropolis before ultimately realizing she is a pawn in a scheme by Brainiac 12 to take down Superman, and, horrified, destroys herself to ensure it never happens.

Thanks for reading! Here’s some of my favorite caps of the family with Supergirls! (Caps: 1: Cir, Traci 13, and Nat Irons asleep together. 2: Kon teaching Mae to play Magic The Gathering. 3: The Superfamily in "Superman Vs Darkseid: Apokolips Now!". 4: Lana Lang with her arm around Kara as Linda Lang.

[distort-opia]

We constantly talk about how joker wants batman to understand their roles in the universe and kinda break the 4th wall like he did

But if that happens, what then? Would that change something in their relationship? Would that bring any sort of satisfaction from joker? How would it change things?

Oh, this is a very interesting question. Though I don't know if Joker truly wants Batman to break the fourth wall in the same way he does, since that's simply not who Batman is. In my understanding, Joker wants Batman to recognize how much he needs Joker as a counterpart, to admit the fact they're inescapably connected; he doesn't want Batman to usurp his own role as cosmic trickster. As usual, Joker wants and doesn't want to win. He needs Batman as he is and victory would mean Bruce ceasing to be exactly that.

But what would happen if Bruce got some awareness of the fictional nature of their world? God, that'd be so difficult for him. Even though he's had encounters with Fifth Dimension imps like Bat-Mite and Mr. Mxyzptlk, who tried to warp reality and treat him (and Clark, most often) as fictional characters in a story, manipulated for their own enjoyment, there were still ways to defeat these entities and regain free will. Hell, Bruce has faced plenty of gods and has even been one at some point, has confronted the idea of fate and of incomprehensible amounts of power multiple times, but it was always something within his own reachable world. If Bruce realized he's trapped within a narrative with absolutely no way of controlling his own fate, and that the death of his parents, his suffering, other people's deaths and pain, all of it is for the entertainment of an unreachable audience... that'd certainly be a very difficult pill to swallow.

While Batman's foundational belief is already that yes, maybe things don't have an inherent point, but that we create our own meaning, that's when one has that capacity to begin with. If the meaning you create is one dictated by someone else, what then? Joker's reaction is to embrace the absurdity as part of his madness and keep on living, but I don't think Bruce would be able to resolve it like that. It could go different ways... him trying again and again to enter our reality and failing, rightfully assuming he's being written that way. Him assuming he's going crazy and that perceiving us as the audience is a symptom of it, or that someone is attacking his mind. Him trying to live with it and this being something that brings him and Joker much closer, since they'd be the only ones to perceive this truth about their reality. Him having this knowledge erased so he can keep going without breaking down, him ending his own life over it.

Either way, it might not even bring Joker any satisfaction at all; it might terrify him if Batman validated this fleeting perception of unreality, that he most often buries. When Joker's fourth wall awareness is brought up, it's more often framed as him wanting to see it as a part of his insanity (there's a bigger meta I wrote on this here). Joker himself doesn't want to think there's absolutely no meaning in his world; he prefers to frame it as madness, and fixates on Batman as his life's point because otherwise there'd be nothing to stay alive for. So if Batman showed up and was like "Did you know we're both fictional characters??" Joker would probably be like "SHUT UP NO WE'RE NOT. That was supposed to be just me being crazy, you're not meant to see it too!!"

In the end this is a very interesting question, Anon. It would make for a fascinating story premise (which would be all kinds of philosophical and meta). Thank you for the ask!

[wizardofahz]

WIP game:

I am curious about "A Question of Identity" and "Monsters in the Mirror" if you please. Thank you!

Sure thing! You picked some angsty fics to ask about. 😈

A Question of Identity is a WIP in which tragedy makes the Danvers sisters do a lot of assessing and rebuilding of their senses of self. I suppose it's kind of an alternate ending to season 3. I've posted a couple of sneak peeks in the past (1, 2), and here comes another one.

Kara hears the entrance of the Fortress of Solitude open. There’s only one other person who can open that door. For a moment she considers leaving. She doesn’t have the energy to interact with anyone. She doesn’t in the end. She also doesn’t have the energy to care if her lack of resolve worries Kal. “I thought I might find you here,” Kal says from behind her. Kara doesn’t bother turning around, just asks, “What do you want, Kal?”  “I wanted to see how you’re doing and to ask if there’s anything I can do,” he offers. Many people have offered Kara the abstract “anything.” It’s a nice sentiment, but Kara has found little solace in it thus far. “There’s nothing anyone can do.” “Kara,” Kal says as if there must be something he can do but quickly pauses when nothing comes to mind. The name elicits a laugh from her that surprises them both. Perhaps calling it a laugh is generous. It’s more of an escape of helpless emotion. Kara.  That’s her name.  But what does it mean? Is she Kara Zor-El? Is she Kara Danvers? Losing Krypton had been traumatic. In some ways though, the necessity of total reinvention had helped. Kara Danvers held little of the trauma of Kara Zor-El, no hints of alienness, invisible by design. It had only been in recent years between becoming Supergirl and a reporter that she had started to let the latter seep into the former. Who is Kara on Earth? Who is she without Alex?  Once upon a time, Kara thought about moving to Metropolis to be with Kal. Alex had protested being left behind. But Alex is gone now. Kara could move to Metropolis. But all she wants is Alex back, Alex who made this planet home. “There’s never been a Kara Danvers without Alex,” Kara says out loud.  The non sequitur has Kal looking confused. “There was only Kara Zor-El,” Kara continues and, without realizing it, switches to Kryptonian. “There is only Kara Zor-El, who has lost her family, her culture, her planet. Kara Zor-El, who does not exist on this Earth. Kara Zor-El never had an Alex Danvers. Except that’s not quite true, is it? Because Alex did know me. All of me.” Kara only realizes she’s switched to her native tongue when she looks at Kal El, looks at Clark Kent, who has only ever known this planet and looks apologetically lost. “Do you understand anything I am saying right now?” she asks. There’s no malice in her voice, only sadness. “I--” Clark begins sheepishly in English. “Only some of it. I’m sorry.”  “It’s not your fault,” Kara says tiredly because it isn’t.

Monsters in the Mirror is about guilt and facing the consequences of one's actions. It's set in season 2. I do have an old sneak peek, but to be honest, it could do with more editing. Here's a more updated sneak peek.

In her apartment, M'gann watches Alex pace back-and-forth, full of unsettled energy. In the end, it's no surprise when Alex changes course and heads for the door. “You know what? Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.” “Before you walk out that door--because if you really want to, I won’t stop you--I just want to say one thing," M'gann says. To her relief, Alex stops with her hand on the doorknob. She doesn't turn around, but M'gann senses hope that maybe her words of wisdom will make a difference. M'gann continues, “If you want to keep running, that’s your choice. But I don’t think you do. You came to me for a reason. You could have gone to Kara or J’onn. You know they would welcome you with open arms at any time"--at this, Alex's head dips in guilty acknowledgment--"but you came to me instead. Kara and J'onn know guilt, of course they do. But they know the guilt of surviving what has been done to them. You chose me because I know what it's like to live with the guilt of what I have done. So don’t tell me I won’t understand.” Alex slumps. She rests her head against the door. She stays like that for a while until she finally musters up the words. “I killed my dad,” Alex says quietly. M'gann wants to believe that she misheard. She knows enough about J'onn and the Danvers to know how important family is. No wonder Alex has been spiraling. M'gann waits for Alex to continue, knowing a break in momentum may mean the rest never comes at all. “I always knew that I would do anything to protect Kara. I just... I never thought that would mean killing other people that I love." Alex pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath. "And maybe the worst part"--She hesitates again. Clearly what's coming next is the part she really doesn't want to face--"is that I’d do it again. For Kara, I would. What does that say about me? If I’m capable of killing my dad, then what won’t I do? Who wouldn’t I hurt? J’onn? My mom?”

And thus ends our double dose of angst.

Thanks for the ask!

[skylarmoon71]

Winchester - (Supernatural / Smallville Crossover AU) - Chapter 3

They’ve gotten quite accustomed to the fact that you always have your nose in a book.

Sitting in the Talon with Clark and his friends, you flip another page as they converse back and forth.

“Are you kidding me, Jaws was awesome!” Pete argues. 

“Come on, I mean I was gullible enough as a child, but sharks aren’t as man eating as the stories portray. They just assume that we’re seals.” Chloe inputs. 

“I’ll remember that the next time I hear about a shark attack.” Pete snarks. Lana and Clark are laughing. Lex is smiling. 

They’ve been comparing movies for a while now. 

“What about you (Y/N), what’s your favorite movie?” 

“Beauty and the Beast.” You reply before you even realize. 

For a moment your eyes are still running over sentences, that’s until you process the quiet. Looking up, all eyes are trained on you. Clark looks a bit surprised and Lana as well as Chloe look about ready to gush. Your cheeks flush. 

“I-I mean Die Hard. I-I just love all those explosions.” You cover, you know they don’t believe a word, you just dive back into your book in hopes that the topic will change. 

Another hour or so of movie references and recommendations and the group is dispersing. Clark has offered to give you a ride back which you accept happily. Jumping into the truck, you buckle up as Clark pulls out down the street. 

“So Beauty and the Beast huh?” 

“I-I was just joking! I’m hardcore n-not some princess! I slay monsters!!” 

You’re trying really hard to defend it, but Clark suddenly becomes aware of some of your more delicate traits. Like the fact that your laptop has a pretty little floral casing, or some of your clothes are an assortment of pink or purple. 

Maybe it’s the creative jewelry that you tend to wear. You do have a tough exterior for obvious reasons, but there are more feminine sides that you apparently don’t want others to see. It might have something to do with the fact that you grew up with two brothers. It might just be ingrained into you. 

He knows one thing, he’d like to get closer, learn more. 

“I was gonna set up my projector in the loft, do you want to come over to watch a movie?” 

“I guess it depends on the movie.” You mutter. 

He smiles to himself. 

“I’ll make sure to get something that you like.” 

You hum, still a bit skeptical, but you agree. 

“Alright then, make sure you have popcorn, and gummy bears.” 

“I’ll be sure to grab some.” 

You look very content and he makes a mental note not to forget anything. 

After you’ve returned to your place and secured your books and computer, you relax. Sam and Dean haven’t called with any tragic news, so you can guess that everything is going smoothly. 

Moving to the kitchen, you intend to make yourself a snack, but the familiar flapping of wings catches your attention. You peek into the living room, not very surprised. Gabriel is seated on your couch with a bag of gummies in his lap and your remote in his hand. He leans back when he spots you. 

“Hey squirt.” 

You giggle, racing over and dropping on the couch next to him. 

“Gabriel I missed you!” You hug him and he laughs, ruffling your hair. 

“Me too, Castiel was a pain in the ass. He says I need to stop messing with the two stooges.” You playfully hit his arm. 

“Hey, give them some slack.” 

“Fine, fine.”

You both relax on the couch. 

“So what have you been up to, bubble gum? Bust any monsters lately?” 

“Nope, but I did find an alien?” 

“An alien, nice. Korugarians, Coluans, Cathexis or Kryptonian?” 

“Hmm, actually I’m not sure. I never even asked. I’ll be sure to do that next time.” 

There has been frequent mention of Kryptonite, so it’s possible that he’s Kryptonian. 

“Sounds like you’re having fun.” 

“Lots of fun. I’m gonna watch a movie tonight.”

“Oooo, with who?” 

“Just a guy I know.” 

Gabriel smirks and your cheeks get red. 

“N-Not like that we’re just friends!!” 

“Whatever you say.” He’s wiggling his brows and you huff, grabbing the pack of gummies from his lap as you take off running. 

“Hey!! Those are mine!!” 

Gabriel’s visits are definitely entertaining to say the least. 

A few more hours of messing around with him and you’re heading over to Clark’s place. Gabriel had been nice enough to give you a ride. Now standing outside of the barn you wave at him. 

“Thanks Gabriel.” 

He salutes.

“Anytime. Now don’t you go staying out late young lady, you have a curfew.” 

You laugh and he winks, disappearing. 

Sliding your hands into your pocket, you head to the loft. As you walk into the barn you call for Clark. He leans over the railing. 

“You made it.” 

“Sure did.” You hoof it up the stairs, watching his little set up. 

“I have to admit this is cool. It must be nice to have all this space.” 

Clark nods.

“It comes in handy.” 

He gestures to the couch, and you take notice of the blankets and cushions as well as the snacks. You immediately head for the sweets, not that he’s surprised. Once you make yourself comfortable, Clark follows, his remote in hand as he plays the movie. You’re already digging into your snack. When you see the title you’re blushing again. 

“Beauty and the Beast..” 

He nods. 

“I was feeling a bit nostalgic, figured I’d brush up.” 

It’s a poorly constructed lie. You pout and he smiles. 

“Let’s enjoy the movie.” 

You don’t have the nerve to complain. The second it starts you’re already glued in. The introduction of characters feels like the very first time that you saw it. The melodies and interactions are just as beautiful as ever. You’ll never get tired of it, their voices, that love story. 

Clark knows he should be paying attention to the film rather than shameless gawking at all your cute expressions but he can’t help himself. When he first met you, you were headstrong, put together. Almost fearless. He supposed he just assumed that you had no interest in anything cute or romantic. But he was wrong. It’s clear that he has a lot to learn. 

It takes him a moment to realize the movie is over. You look so content and he can’t help but ask. 

“Why do you love this movie so much?” 

Your expression changes to something more thoughtful, and a bit shy.

“I can’t fool you, can I?” 

“Nope.” 

You smile. 

“I just really like her character. She’s a bookworm too.” 

Clark smiles at the comparison. 

For a while you wear such a light expression, but then your eyes seem to fall. 

“The story of her falling for a beast, I guess in a way I’ve always wanted it to be possible. Having someone love you like that despite knowing the scariest sides of you. Unconditional love like that has always been sort of out of my reach.” 

You grip at the covers. 

“I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic.” You mumble. 

Love given your job description has always been somewhat impossible. People who got close usually never lived long enough. Surrounded by the things you were as a child, well, it didn’t exactly set a foundation for lasting relationships. This is the longest you’ve been in one place with friends and it hasn’t imploded in your face. 

At least not yet. 

You’re still a bit anxious that it might happen. 

Clark’s touch pulls your focus. His hand is gentling covering yours and you look up. 

“We both can relate to that.” 

You smile when you realize what he’s referring to. You can’t help but feel grateful. 

“Thanks for this Clark.” 

He nods. 

“Anytime.” 

[utilitycaster]

I spaced on sending this when you initially made the post, but if you were ever so inclined to make that full list of recommendations on metafiction/the liminal space of tangential genres, I would be very interested to see it! (the original list was 100% some of my favorite books/media)

Oh man I've been uh. bad at reading as regularly/much as I'd like for the past few years, something I'm attempting to remedy, and I've never been the biggest of film buffs, and as such that covers a lot of the high points.

(obligatory reminiscing): Truly the the most "not actually a real problem" tragedies of my life is that I was a teenager before the Goodreads era and so I was shaped, indelibly, by whatever Collected Science Fiction Anthologies of the Latter 20th Century my local library had circa 2004. As a result there's like a thousand 70s and 80s sci fi stories the titles of which I cannot remember but which are etched deep within the recesses of my brain. Occasionally I have enough details to go to some thread on the internet and say "pretty please can you find it," but often I don't. There's definitely one I'm thinking of in which a group of scientists keep doing an experiment to change the time line and they keep believing that it fails, but as a reader you clearly see the list of names and various details is changing. This is not super helpful to anyone other than to say "go read short speculative fiction." ANYWAY here's a few more.

On the topic of short fiction, Sword Stone Table is a collection of short stories inspired by Arthurian legend which I read last year, and not all of them worked but there were enough to make it worth it (and it's a quick read). Hilariously, the coffee shop AU was one of the more metafictional examples.

A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. I don't remember this well but I own a copy and might re-read it; I distinctly recall purchasing it because she made a chapter in the form of a PowerPoint presentation and got interviewed by NPR about it since she could see how many people quit reading at that chapter thanks to eReader data, and I was like "sounds cool". I love when authors are hostile to their audience in a way that's good for them, and I remember enjoying that chapter very much.

I mean your bio quotes Calvino so I'm assuming you're good there but like...I have not read all their work, but I trust Calvino, Borges, Le Guin, and Susanna Clarke to always deliver.

Jules Feiffer's A Barrel of Laughs, A Vale of Tears; Diana Wynne Jones' Fire and Hemlock (among other Diana Wynne Jones books); The Phantom Tollbooth; and the various works of Ellen Raskin (best known for The Westing Game but I read so many of her books) are middle-grade or YA but they are in fact a big reason why I eventually became a college student who would read House of Leaves and Calvino for fun and why I became an adult who devoured Piranesi in one sitting.

The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson

It's also been a hot minute since I read Possession by A. S. Byatt but I do remember loving it at the time.

For...the best I can put it is "popcorn reads?" low postmodernism? mass-market metafiction? Fun shit? Jasper Fforde is your guy.

Technically The Princess Bride is metafiction. Fun fact: a good friend of mine in college did not realize it was not legit a translation when he read the book. His undergrad thesis was in part about translation. We made fun of him for this.

David Mitchell's literary universe, notably Cloud Atlas. David Mitchell is a very good writer who does tend to have a pretty dark interpretation of our world's future and so I sort of fell off following his works because they were particularly depressing but like, that's a me problem because he's immensely talented. (note: did not see the film adaptation, cannot speak to that.)

I am also going to plug the Teixcalaan books (two so far, starting with A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine which is a bit of a stretch but I'm doing it anyway because I think it’s underappreciated (it occupies the same space in my mind tbh as Ada Palmer’s Terra Ignota and to an extent Yoon Ha Lee's Machineries of Empire, both of which I’ve mentioned before, of an incredibly intelligent SF story with queer characters and relationships that was well received but just doesn't have the buzz of some other modern sf series). It’s not metafictional per se, but it does have an incredibly strong theme running through it of engaging with narrative and controlling it (honestly? Similar to Black Sails in that regard.) The Teixcalaan Empire is hyper-aware of language and legend, naming patterns are a number and a word, and the cool thing to do is write complex forms of poetry. The second book also has a character purchasing an indie comic and drawing all sorts of interesting comparisons to her ongoing situation... a little bit like Tales of the Black Freighter within Watchmen.

Run Lola Run/Lola Rennt (I watched it as a non-German speaker with subtitles and enjoyed it)

[just-an-enby-lemon]

D&Dads but with DC Dads.

We can either have a Bruce who already has too many kids dealing with his three youngests Damian, Tim and Duke disapearing and maybe being the ones directly connected with the Doodler since Damian is very Oak-Garcia coded idc and Duke's bio dad is kindda of an eldrish figure. Or a Bruce who has no idea how to raise a kid and is emotionally repressed af wich is a problem because he just adopted young impressionable Dick that may be in danger after making his own vigilante gang in the Forgotten Realms to make his father proud.

Either Clark who is very close with his adorable son Jon but also has problems stabelishing boundaries (Louis does all the grouding) and while Jon is too good of a kid to use it to hurt others that means the kid is always putting himself in danger situations specially when he feels the responsability to be just like his dad. Or Arthur who just had the realization that since they've been raising the boy Garth IS his kid and him never telling Garth that might be causing self-esteem problems to the kid.

Either Ollie losing Connor and Mia in the Forgotten Realms when they were finally making progress in ther relationship. Or Ollie losing Roy just as he started having problems with his ideas of pareting being confusing and not the best. Or even Ollie lost Lian on the Forgotten Realm, his grandkid means a lot for him, not only that but it was his first time babysitting her in a year because he was finally fixing his relationship with Roy.

Either Barry losing the rambouchious twins Don and Dawn and also his uncle/kid Bart. The trio totally became a team in Fort Knights. Or Barry losing his nephew Wally when they were still trying to navegate the changes their relationship would have now that Barry had assumed a parent role instead of being a cool uncle.

[vonderbarr]

It's been awhile since I've done a cat update! In December we adopted a kitten. He was found outside of a haunted castle (or a building that is referred to as a castle), so we named him Edgar. He is definitely more of an Eddie.

He has a little Clark Gable mustache and his nose is a heart 🖤

He is very sweet and cute.

Oscar just turned 10 and hates him.

Eddie is, of course, obsessed with Oscar. We did all the things you're supposed to do when introducing cats, but Oscar is a big ball of anxiety that hates change so it's been difficult.

There are brief moments of peaceful co-existing.

But Oscar started spraying for the first time in his life and has been prescribed anxiety meds that I can't make him take on a regular basis. I've tried literally everything. I can manage to put a calm cat probiotic on his dry food and that helps some. I've also bought a motion capture camera to make sure he's using the litter box on a regular basis. We have two, but Oscar prefers one and Eddie prefers what Oscar prefers so I double clean that one. I've gotten really good at neutralizing cat pee.

It's been stressful, but we're going to make it work. We started letting Eddie out at night instead of sequestering him and it went all right, but Oscar's starting to get squirrely so we're putting that on pause.

Sometimes they play/fight and it's difficult to tell which. The vet said that Oscar might not know either. Oscar makes noise, but he's a talker and I've never heard Eddie hiss. I watch for ears going back and hissing/growling. If I see that I separate them, but most of the time it seems like playing.

We have feliway, we have catnip and toys and silvervine and meds and we're doing all the things. Oscar is just a really anxious cat and I didn't realize how anxious until we brought Eddie home.

We're working on it.