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dccomicsimagines · 3 years

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My Business - Clark Kent x Reader

Requested by Anon - A superman x reader imagine with the prompt: "I found your nose! It was in my business."

Requested by warblinglion0 - Hi! Could I request a Clark Kent imagine please??

***

Clark closed his eyes against the blowing snow. He flew over the city, using his super hearing to guide him. The city was quieter than normal. The snowstorm had shut almost everything down.

He sighed, swooping down to help a woman carry home groceries. “Thank you, Superman,” she shouted once she was at her building. Clark waved at her and took off into the sky again.

Most of his day was spent helping stranded people with the storm. He had already written his article about the impact of the storm on Metropolis’ sewer system. Perry could forgive boring content when the storm created a slow news day. Clark snorted. He bet Lois found some kind of amazing story in this weather.

He landed on the top of the Daily Planet. The cold air felt sharp in his lungs. It reminded him of winters at home. He looked out at the snow covered city, thinking of turning in. A cup of hot chocolate while watching that documentary he felt would give him an edge in a story he was researching. He felt warm already.

“Get lost, jerk.” Your voice hit his ears. Clark’s eyes widened in surprise. It was like he was subconsciously listening for you sometimes. Your voice always came to him in the moments he never suspected.

He floated into the air, searching for you. You sounded too close to be at your apartment across town.

“Stupid, country bum,” a man’s voice echoed near you. Clark heard a door slam. He flew faster before slowing when he found you trudging through the snow in the street. His stomach dropped at how underdressed you were. You didn’t even have a coat on.

He almost flew down to you, but he stopped himself. People couldn’t see Superman around you. Too risky. He quickly flew to his apartment only a block away. Changing into regular clothes, he made sure to pick up an extra coat for you before zooming back to you.

***

You wrapped your arms around yourself and cursed your situation. Why didn’t you bring a coat? Why did you decide to go the the club during a snowstorm? You shook your head, feeling the snow settled on your head. Everything was shut down. You shivered, crossing the street to make the long walk home.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing out here?” Clark’s voice made you jump. You spun around, seeing him run over to you. Ironically, he was dressed for the weather. Funny since he couldn’t feel the cold. “Where’s your coat?” He had an extra coat over his arm, which he quickly wrapped around you. You slipped your arms in the sleeves, noting how warm it was.

A shaky laugh escaped you. “I found your nose. It’s in my business...again.” You tapped his nose before struggling to zip up the coat. Your fingers were already numb, burning from the cold. Clark shook his head, smiling as he zipped it for you.

“Come on. It’s too far for you to go home now. My place is nearby.” He wrapped a strong arm around you and led you home. “Now why are you out in this weather?”

He was so warm and his big frame blocked the wind. “Well, I got invited to a club by some friends of Lucy’s.” You bit your lip. “I thought I’d go, but then one of the guys started making fun of me when I didn’t know what...” You stopped yourself from spilling the embarrassing conversation. “Never mind.”

“You’re always getting in trouble.” Clark unlocked his building’s front door and held it open for you. You hurried inside, stomping your feet to knock off the snow. Shivers rocked your body, you could have swore ice was forming on your body.

“And you’re always popping up to help.” You rolled your eyes. “I never would have thought my good old brother, Pete, would ask you to keep an eye on me so much. Do you two even talk that much anymore?”

“We do.” Clark bit his lip. Pete Ross didn’t call him that much, but they always caught up when Clark went home for a visit. It was actually during one of those visits that Pete asked Clark to keep an eye on his younger sibling who got it into their head to move to Metropolis. Pete thought you were in over your head, and honestly, most of the time you were.

You pulled Clark’s jacket closer as you both headed to the elevator. “I mean there was that time where I was in that bad roommate situation, so you helped me move. Then I wanted to rent that one place for really cheap and you stepped in to show me how bad it was. Of course, then you came in with that offer to live with Lucy Lane in a nicer part of town.”

Clark blushed slightly. “Well, it’s the least I could do. I mean you’re practically family, (Y/N).”

Your stomach soured slightly. You were afraid he only saw you as Pete’s little tagalong sibling. Who could blame him when you felt so helpless most of the time? “I personally think it’s because you want to make up for breaking up my mud mask business in the fifth grade.”

He laughed hard, almost doubling over. “You were taking mud from the pond and mixing it with your mother’s perfume. It made three people break out in hives.”

“I had a warning label on it.” You smiled at his reaction. “And it was five dollars a bottle.”

Clark shook his head. “Ma actually bought one from you. She didn’t use it though. In fact, I think she still has it sitting in the garage.”

“Too bad for her. Lana swore by it. Said it cleared up her acne just like that.” You snapped your fingers, chuckling along with him. The elevator doors opened and Clark led the way down the hall to his apartment.

“In all seriousness though, you shouldn’t have went out with a storm on the way. The city shuts down during snowstorms.” Clark unlocked his apartment door and pushed it open to let you in first.

“The club was still open.” You wandered inside, flicking on the lights to take in the bland surroundings. The only personal items were a framed newspaper article and three family pictures of the Kents.

“Stupidly still open, yes.” Clark shut the door and locked it. “I’ll make some hot chocolate. Make yourself comfortable, (Y/N).” He took off his coat and shook it out before pulling off his shoes. You kept the coat on, still warming up.

Clark went into the kitchen and you trailed behind him. “Were you as helpless as me when you first moved here?” you asked suddenly as you took a seat at the counter. Clark blinked, turning to look at you while he turned on the stove.

“Yes. I had no idea what I was doing and I had a few tricky situations myself.” He smiled. “I’m glad I can help you not to make the same mistakes I did.”

You hummed. He turned back to start warming up the milk. “Of course it was easier for you. Being Superman and all.” Clark flinched, looking at you with wide eyes. You laughed at the sight. “I know. I know. We’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s the thing we know, but never speak of.”

Clark sighed. “I don’t think that made it easier for me.” He cleared his throat, turning back to the stove. “It was hard to hide my powers. To have some much noise around me all the time. Not to mention when I decided to become Superman.”

You watched him, noting the tension in his shoulders. Part of you wanted to go hug him, but you resisted. You didn’t know how he would react. “I remember the first time we knew for sure that you were something special. It was during winter break one year. You, Pete, and Tommy Johnson were trying to go ice fishing at the lake. I followed you because you wouldn’t let me come and I was being stubborn.”

“You fell through the ice because you walked on the thin part.” Clark hummed, getting out the chocolate mix.

“No one would have noticed, but you heard me scream.” You crossed your arms. The chill from the freezing water felt like a permanent scar every time you thought back on that day. “I went under the ice and I couldn’t find a way to get out.”

“I dived in after you.” Clark mixed in the chocolate slowly. You wondered if he was remembering how cold the water was too, even though he didn’t get cold. “I had to break through the ice once I found you. Pete and Tommy ran over to help. I let them pull us out. Tommy couldn’t believe I broke through the ice, but Pete told him it was thin there too.”

“None of us said anything about it, but you did save my life that day.” You took a deep breath, slipping off your chair. Taking off his coat, you were finally warm enough. “We always knew, but never really talked about it. I remember I tried to ask Pete to ask you to lift this big rock for me and he slapped my face.”

“He slapped you?” Clark spun to you, staring at your cheek like Pete just slapped you right this second. You chuckled and touched your cheek. It had stun a lot. You cried at the time.

“Pete was protecting you. Like I said it’s the thing we all knew, but never talked about.” Your face burned at the concern on his face. “I’m fine, Clark.”

Clark bit his lip, turning away to grab two mugs out of the cabinet. You snorted when you saw he had a superman mug. “Ma gave this to me. She thought it was funny.” He handed you a filled mug and turned off the stove.

“It is if you know.” You took a sip, licking your lips. “This is good.”

“Thanks, I learned from the best.” Clark took a sip of his own hot chocolate. “I was going to watch a documentary for work if you want join me? Otherwise, we can just watch regular TV, I’m not picky.”

You headed into the living room and made yourself comfortable on his couch. “The documentary is fine. I like learning.”

“I bet Mrs. G just rolled over in her grave at that.” Clark laughed. “I remember how you made her so mad that her face turned completely red like she was going to burst into flames.”

“Good times.” You laughed, relaxing as Clark sat down beside you. Shyly, he grabbed a blanket and covered you and himself with it. You hesitated before cuddling into his side.

Clark paused. You saw a mixed expression of emotions cross his face. “You comfortable?”

“Yep.” You took another sip from your mug. Clark relaxed and turned on the documentary. The two of you snuggled while the snowstorm raged outside.

***

The next morning, Clark was startled to hear eggs frying in the kitchen. He slowly got out of bed and was about to leave his bedroom until he remembered you. Quickly, he pulled on an old Smallville High t-shirt. No reason to scare you with his bare chest.

You were in the kitchen. Clark stopped in the doorway, his breath taken away. He had forgotten he had given you a shirt of his to wear. You turned when you heard his gasp. “Good morning.” You waved innocently before turning back to the stove. “I hope you don’t mind that I made us breakfast. I figured it was the least I could do since you let me stay here last night.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to send you out into the storm.” Clark sat down at the table. His body threatened to burst into flames. Why did you look so good in his shirt?

“You could have flown me home.” Clark watched you as you made a plate for him. He almost groaned at how domestic it was. Part of him wished you could be here every morning. However, the other part of him knew you were Pete Ross’ sibling. Off limits.

Clark cleared his throat. You set the plate in front of him. “Thank you.” He dug into the food to distract himself from the racing thoughts.

You laughed and made a plate for yourself. Clark tensed when you sat down right next to him. “So it’s still snowing outside,” you said, picking at your food.

“It is.” Clark glanced out the window at the winter wonderland outside. “I’ll have to insist you stay here.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have to insist.” You met his eye, winking at him. “But what are we going to do all day long?”

Clark took a big bite of eggs. His heart fluttered at your wink. “I do have to write an article, but after we could...I don’t know...maybe break out that game we used to play?”

“You still have that? And you have it here?” You gasped, clapping your hands.

“Ma sent it to me a year ago. Said I might need it.” Clark chuckled. He avoid mentioning that Ma only sent it after she found you out were moving to Metropolis. Come to think of it, Clark wondered if Ma knew something he didn’t. Then again, she always did.

You went into a story about when you all first played the game. Clark listened, remembering it himself. You, Pete, and Clark played the game for the first time in the basement of his house while there was a tornado warning. A warm fuzzy feeling came to his chest. Clark decided then and there that he would call Pete once you went home and ask him for permission to ask you out.

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #superman #superman x reader #superman imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert

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stxleslyds · 3 years

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Has Jason met the Flashpoint Universe's Thomas Wayne? Like, actually spoken with him or voiced an opinion on the guy? If not, how do you envision their interactions?

Hello friend! I really like your questions; they make me read new stuff!

To answer your first question, nope, Jason Todd from main continuity hasn’t met Thomas Wayne from flashpoint! The only issue in which they “appear together” is Batman (2016) #71, but Jason only appears there when Barbara calls him so he can team up with the “Batfamily” to help Bruce. And that’s where this iconic Jason panel comes from!

Now, as a little heads up, I haven’t read flashpoint but I have done my research on Thomas Wayne’s story in Flashpoint. What I have read, though, is Batman vol.3 issues, 21, 22, 50, 58, 60, 69, 71-77, 80-85. I read that to answer this question Batman is not necessarily a book that I follow, from those I think I had previously read four or five issues.

("City of Bane" was so boring, confusing and stretched out too long. It would have been an easier read if Tom King stopped writing everything in pauses, I really don’t know how to explain it, but between that and the “Bat” “Cat” stuff I was ready to cry).

But because I read all that and did my research on Thomas Wayne, I believe I can give a pretty solid answer to your other question, “If not, how do you envision their interactions?”

I think Jason’s first impression of Flashpoint Thomas Wayne would have been, “I now understand why Bruce is so scared of killing the Joker, he just won’t be capable to handle himself and go on a killing spree. Suppose being not strong-willed runs in their blood”

Then as time passes by and he gets a glimpse at Thomas’ actions in main continuity I think that Jason would have reached the conclusion that Thomas was pathetic, crazy and dangerous. I can really see Jason writing down Thomas’ name in his own “to kill” list.

I really don’t think they could have gotten along from the very start. Yes, they both kill criminals but Thomas is deranged compared to Jason as he is now. (I will be talking about Jason as if he were a solid mix between UtRH and RHatO Jason).

Jason kills criminals such as drug dealers that sell drugs to children, rapists, people who work for the wrong kind of people and monsters, or things like the Untitled. Thomas on the other hand kills every kind of criminal, and sometimes he thinks that killing innocents and children is a means to an end.

In the Batman run, Thomas wasn’t happy about Bane killing Alfred but those were the rules, basically, he stepped aside from protecting Alfred because Bane had set a rule that said that if any of the Bat-People stepped foot in Gotham Alfred would be killed, and Damian went to Gotham so Thomas was like “oh well, time for Alfred to die, I guess”. After Alfred was killed by Bane, Thomas took Damian hostage and decided to use him as leverage now that Alfred was dead.

Thomas was nasty. But, I kinda started explaining Thomas’ thinking process from a weird place, so let me give you a little context if you haven’t read this arc.

Thomas Wayne is the Batman from Flashpoint. Flashpoint isn’t another universe, it is like a re-written main continuity universe so that Thomas is main continuity Bruce’s real father. How are they both in main continuity? Flash and Reverse Flash nonsense, I am not a Flash person so that’s the best way I can explain it. Reverse Flash and Flash did something weird and Thomas ended up in main continuity after they deleted the Flashpoint “timeline”.

Thomas Wayne asked Bruce while they were both in Flashpoint that he stopped being Batman, he told Bruce to find happiness and leave Batman behind because it would only bring him pain and suffering. (Batman vol.3 #22)

When Thomas Wayne woke up in main continuity, he got to see Bruce proposing to Selina, and going on a double date with Selina, Lois and Clark. But he also got to see that Bruce and Selina didn’t get married. That was what made Thomas Wayne go to Bane so he could help him break Bruce’s mind so Bruce finally let Batman go.

Yeah, Thomas really thought that the best way he could make his son give up the vigilante life was by helping Bane take over Gotham and breaking Bruce’s mental stability (or whatever he has left of it).

By helping Bane take over Gotham, Thomas was actually working with people like Joker, Riddler, Scarecrow and other villains. So, from that alone Jason would have been like “Who the hell is this guy and how can I kill him before Gotham falls apart?”.

I have to be honest though, I am really happy that Tom King didn’t include Jason in this stupid story, it just wouldn’t have made sense because even though Gotham was falling apart and villains were roaming free and terrorizing Gotham’s people, King actually made the “Batfamily” fight only for Alfred (who was already dead) and then they all got beat by Thomas. Tom King never made anyone care for Gotham itself, and no, I am not counting Selina and Bruce because those two were fucking and having drinks while Gotham fell apart, they only showed up at the very last second.

But your question wasn’t about my thoughts on this dumb story, it was about Jason and Thomas interacting. Well, I think that if Tom King had invited Jason to this party, he would have shot Thomas without hesitation and then would have told the “Batfamily” to get their shit together because Gotham’s people were suffering while everyone was looking away.

Thomas was working with Bane and letting Gotham’s rouges do whatever they wanted, Jason would have killed Thomas instantly! There would have been no talking, no “What are your thoughts on the Joker being alive after he killed me that one time? Do you think Bruce was right?”, Jason would have wasted no time on that because he would have seen his city fall apart at the hands of Thomas and Bane AND Bruce’s negligence. Oh, yeah, I blame Bruce too, I can’t really help myself, I hate that guy.

So, that’s what I think Jason would have done if he got to interact with Flashpoint Thomas Wayne.

Now, there was one thing in Thomas’ whole speech and idea that I kinda thought UtRH Jason (mostly) would have agreed on.

“All of you. He made you. Children fighting for him. An addict spreading his poison. Trying to make himself seem normal”.

Alright, Thomas, I hear you, you are one crazy mf but I see your point! That’s what I think and what I think Jason would have thought if he heard him say that but he would have killed Thomas anyways. Thomas really fits among the type of people that both UtRH and RHatO Jason would kill, so even if he kinda agreed with that statement Thomas would have been done for, no hesitation.

I wish I could have come up with something else but really, I don’t see Jason ever agreeing with Thomas’ ideals as a whole. While Thomas’ initial motivation to kill was to avenge his son then he went on a path of pure destruction, killing just to kill, and that has never been Jason (Battle for the Cowl and Batman and Robin vol.2, I don’t know them), in UtRH he expressed his desire for Bruce to kill Joker but he also said that he didn’t want Bruce to go on a killing spree, that wasn’t going to solve anything! No matter what Zdarsky tried to tell us with his two interpretations of Bruce and Jason’s perfect worlds, Jason has never wanted Bruce to kill every one of his rouges so then they can become a happy family.

That’s just an obscene lie. Jason knows better than everyone else that Gotham is corrupt beyond salvation and that killing Batman’s rogue gallery won’t solve Gotham’s problems. If it were that easy Jason would have done that a long time ago.

Anyway, I hope this isn’t a lame answer, I just don’t think that Jason would want to see or hear more about Thomas in general.

Thank you for the ask! I hope you had a great day!

#jason todd #red hood #batman #bruce wayne #thomas wayne #alfred pennyworth #flashpoint #dc comcis #asksss

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coeurdastronaute · 3 years

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Nerd 15

Previously on Nerd

It hadn’t been a particularly good sleep. Lexa felt like she woke up every hour or so, each time checking to make sure the softly snoring girl beside her was still there, still asleep. Despite her own tossing and turning, Clarke didn’t seem to move much, just curled up tightly into herself, against Lexa’s side. Lexa kind of liked the feeling of the other body in her bed. She kind of liked that she was the person Clarke wanted.

Sometime after the tenth to twelfth time she woke up, Lexa realized the sun was up, and she couldn’t fight with her body waking any longer. Clarke didn’t move, and the night weighed on her girlfriend.

With a certain effort, Lexa decided to extract herself from the bed, even though Clarke didn’t seem to notice. It actually appeared as if Clarke was a very sound sleeper, as Lexa moved around the room and bumped the edge of her elbow on her desk and hissed at the contact. But as she stood still, she realized Clarke didn’t budge a bit.

Lexa scrolled through her phone as she tugged on some fresh clothes, checking over her shoulder quickly to make sure Clarke wasn’t peaking for some weird reason. She didn’t want Clarke to know how curious she was about the party before she arrived, but a part of her was incredibly interested in what might have panned out.

Like a thief, Lexa tugged on socks and buttoned her pants as she danced through the door in her attempt to remain as quiet as humanly possible. It took her a minute to close to door, watching it slowly inch toward the clasp, and finally it clicked nearly silent. She pushed her hair out of her face and slid into the bathroom, shoving a toothbrush into her mouth as she leaned against the counter and scrolled through the feed of Bellamy Blake’s infamous party.

As she scrubbed she watched the night happen in glimpses. She watched her girlfriend taking shots. She watched her girlfriend in that bikini. She watched her girlfriend look like she was desperately chasing an escape and numbness and it made Lexa mad for her. Lexa spit and rinsed and brushed and decided it was a good idea to scroll through Bellamy’s posts and she couldn’t understand how Clarke could like such different people. Bellamy Blake held week long parties and won state championships and got scouted. Lexa made movies and played board games and couldn’t figure out how to take a bra off.

With a final rinse she called her sister, hoping the time difference would mean she was awake, but as she bounded down the steps, she was met with a voicemail and furrowed. She needed research and information. Anya knew about all of this.

“You’re up early for someone having a sleepover with their girlfriend,” her mother greeted her as she looked up from the newspaper spread out across the kitchen island. Her father looked up over the edge of the sports section before looking back down.

“I told you we didn’t have to worry,” he muttered, flapping the paper out. Lexa rolled her eyes and took a seat.

“It wasn’t a sleepover.”

“Your girlfriend spent the night in your bed. I’d call it a sleepover, and I’d say we’re pretty cold parents for allowing it.”

“I appreciate it, but nothing was going to happen.”

“Good, because we discussed how alcohol can alter perception and consent--”

“Yes, yes,” Lexa sighed and reached for an apple as her father droned on yet again, hoping to avoid another sex talk. “I know, Dad.”

They all remained in a respective silence while working past the moment. It was weird, to want to talk to someone, let alone to have anything to talk about, but Lexa felt this need to figure something out, though she wasn’t sure what it would be. She wished her sister had just picked up the phone.

“So is Clarke…”

“Still asleep.”

“Did you have fun at the party?”

“I wasn’t there long,” Lexa shrugged. “I was at Luna’s working on our submission until late. Gus was there, so I knew people.”

She didn’t mention Michelle from math and her bikini. That felt inappropriate.

“How’s Clarke doing?” her mother pressed, sipping from her coffee again, warily watching her daughter.

“She’s… I don’t know. Sad. Mad. Stuck. Overwhelmed.”

“It was nice that you went to get her. I appreciate you telling us what’s going on instead of trying to sneak around. Anya did that. I can’t tell you how many times I had to pretend not to notice boys sneaking around the yard.”

“Really?”

“We trust you both,” her father explained. “We just appreciate you doing making us have to stretch it so far.”

“And we like Clarke, so we’re happy to help.”

“I don’t really know what else to do, you know?” she muttered, wiping her mouth and leaning against the counter, her knee coming up on the stool. “I think I’d be a little upset too if I were in her shoes, so I would want to probably do a bunch of stuff, but also I don’t want her to be upset.”

Lexa’s father looked at her and then to his wife. She cocked her head and gave him a look, to which he returned a shrug and ushered her to do something. They were stuck as well because no parenting book prepared them for teenagers. And Anya was very different.

“You can’t do anything,” he finally offered.

“Tim!” his wife warned.

“It’s true. You can’t make this better. It’s between Clarke and her mother and her father. But you can be there for her, and try to encourage her to be healthy about grief and pain. You have some experience, I’d say.”

Lexa looked back at him and clenched her lips, worrying the bottom one as she mulled over his words.

“And as much as we love what you want to do and be for Clarke, please don’t forget who you are in all of this. You have needs nad you have goals. Someone else’s wellness is not entirely on your shoulders.”

“I know.”

“But just be around. That’s all anyone can do. Be of service to others.”

“Your father’s right though,” her mother continued. “You can’t fix it, just be there. It’s a boring answer.”

“If Dad were dying would you have an affair?”

“Jesus, Lexa.”

“What?”

“I’d haunt you,” Tim decided before turning back to his paper. “I’d haunt you really hard.”

“I’m done with both of you today,” she decided, tossing her part of the paper in his lap as she walked through the living room. “It’s not even eight and I’m retreating to my office. I hope you’re both proud.”

The pair shared a smile and shrugged as she disappeared down the hall.

“You know, just because we gave you one sleepover, I hope you don’t get too comfortable asking. This was an emergency. It’s always okay in an emergency, and you know the difference.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I have golf in a bit, but this afternoon we could do some driving practice if you wanted?”

“Sounds good,” Lexa smiled.

For no reason at all, except maybe utter relief that she didn’t have to deal with the same problems Clarke did, she hugged her dad’s neck lazily over the back of the couch before making her way back upstairs.

XXXXXXXXXX

The vague memories of the night lingered like the stale taste of terrible vodka and beer, and Clarke smacked her lips, hoping to find any kind of liquid to get rid of the dry mouth. But her eyes felt heavy and glued shut, and her stomach felt like it was currently on the spin cycle, so moving wasn’t entirely feasible.

It had been dumb. It’d been stupid, even. Possibly as far as moronic, to go to Bellamy’s party, but it was the best alternative and boy did it feel nice to escape. Even the current state she found herself in was a welcomed punishment from feeling fine and being unable to exist in the world. Her current physical ailments felt like finally, the universe was manifesting itself, and she could fix the swirling stomach and cottonmouth. She could fix the spinning and soreness and bruises from God-knew what happened last night.

There wasn’t much else to be done, she suspected. Fix this moment, this hour, this day, and hope to survive to another one. It all had to end at some point.

Clarke finally managed to open her eyes, a feat she was certain no other human could have accomplished. She looked around Lexa’s room and gratefully accepted the water bottle and aspirin waiting beside the bed.

It took until halfway chugged, that she realized she was empty and the room was quiet. So she took a breath and held her stomach, certain she could hold it down. Carefully, she dressed, stealing Lexa’s old track sweats and an older soccer shirt, before making her way down the hall in search of something to fill her stomach.

“Someone else’s wellness is not entirely on your shoulders.”

“I know.”

Clarke paused at the top of the stairs when she heard the family talking. It felt like it was about her. She knew it had to be. It made her want to vomit.

“But just be around. That’s all anyone can do. Be of service to others.”

“Your father’s right though. You can’t fix it, just be there. It’s a boring answer.”

It was hard to be the subject of needing things. Clarke wasn’t someone who needed anyone. She wasn’t someone who wanted or needed to depend on anyone, and yet there was a girl, a girl who was too afraid to make a move, who imagined the world in terms of movie scenes and interpreted her own existence in the great world as a cosmic joke, always waiting for the punchline-- and this girl wanted to fix things.

“If Dad were dying would you have an affair?”

“Jesus, Lexa.”

“What?”

It hadn’t been a joke, but it made Clarke smile. No one expected that Lexa was serious, and she wanted to know the answer. There was shuffling and moving, and Clarke crept her way back to Lexa’s room.

She felt even dumber than she thought possible for going to see Bellamy. She wouldn’t do it again. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. The words echoed in her head. She meant it, she was certain. She wouldn’t.

“You’re awake,” Lexa grinned as she quietly closed the door behind her only to find her girlfriend sitting in her bed.

“I’m never drinking again.”

“Mhm, we’ll see.”

“Don’t be mean to me, I’m sick.”

“You’re hungover.”

“You don’t know what it feels like, do you?” Clarke accused, accepting the orange and another bottle of water that was handed to her as her girlfriend joined her in bed.

“Don’t see much appeal.”

“It always seems like a good idea at the time…”

Lexa just shrugged and crossed her legs. She ran her thumb along the faded script on the side of Clarke’s knee.

“I should head home,” she decided softly. “Sleep this off and such.”

“You could sleep here. I’m just going to work on the car a bit. Maybe go for a run. I have homework to finish.”

“I have to go home at some point.”

“Maybe.”

“It was very sweet of you to come get me.”

“I’m just glad you texted.”

“I’m not going to be like this, you know?”

“You can be however you want.”

It was a sweet sentiment that Clarke didn’t have the mental capacity to sit with, she decided, because she wasn’t ready to decide to be anything. But tomorrow, maybe, she’d think about it. She knew what she didn’t want to be, and that seemed like something, at least.

“I texted Raven to come get me.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I needed last night to cleanse myself, I think. I need today to regroup.”

“You have a very weird process,” Lexa decided.

Clarke just chuckled and leaned forward, burying her face in Lexa’s thigh and sighing.

XXXXXXXXXX

For the moment, the very tiny, very quick moment, everything felt like it was caught up, and Lexa allowed herself a few moments of quiet in the garage, because come hell or high water, she was going to finish the car by the last day of school. SATs were done, finally, and something that didn’t need to be explicitly worried about until scores were released in a few weeks. Her prom outfit was already purchased and prepared. Homework and studying were done. Sports were over for the season and conditioning wasn’t set to start for another two months, though she’d start her own soon enough. Her girlfriend was at work and then going off to a cheer competition for the weekend. Luna was putting the finishing touches on their film school application project. And anyone else that might ask Lexa to do anything was promptly ignored.

Two weeks before spring break, and Lexa was feeling high on her on efficiency.

All in all, Lexa decided that she had at least three days to power through as much as she could with her dad in a final push before sending it off to the paint appointment.

She hadn’t counted on her sister though, and as her phone blared, interrupting the music playing over the speakers, she smacked her head on the body of the car and slid herself from under it, grumbling the entire time.

“Don’t you have fancy plans. It’s a Friday night,” she chided the eldest.

“I’m getting ready, I was just thinking about you.”

“Gross.”

“Because I ran into a girl that asked about you and I had no idea you had a friend at CMU, let alone a drop dead gorgeous film student.”

Lexa furrowed and twirled her wrench around before trying to dive back in under the seat and finish installing the seatbelts in the back. It dawned on her then and she snorted.

“That’s just Costia.”

“Ohhh, just Costia-- who the fuck is Costia?”

“I met her when I came to visit last fall remember? You were the one telling me to make a move but I was very drunk, something you did to me as well?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“At the party. I posted a picture…” she grunted and twisted. “She found me on Instagram. We talk about movies and I’ve shown her some of my stuff and junk.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

“Just not many freshman looking to hang out with high school juniors.”

“I’m clearly advanced.”

“Clearly,” Anya rolled her eyes over the phone.

“I’ve been talking to her about film programs and applying--”

“Here? You’re thinking about coming here?”

“Fuck!” she hissed and sat up, doing her best to suck on the cut that came to her thumb from her maneuvering. “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a serious inquiry, Lexa thought to herself. She was set. She had a plan with Luna. They’d had it since they were ten, and there was really on reason to deviate from it. But then a stranger liked her stuff, and this stranger made stuff Lexa liked. And the stranger became a friend who gave her some screenwriting tips and pushed her to get better at it. And the stranger told her the east coast was just as important to film.

But it didn’t matter.

There was a plan.

“You should seriously consider it. It’s a great program I hear. Come out for spring break!”

“I should stay here.”

“And do what? Work on that car? Dad already told me he’s sending it out for interior and paint. You’re pretty much done anyway.”

“Mom and Dad have conferences that week. I was going to watch movies all week with Clarke.”

“Bring her too. Sounds like she needs an escape.” Anya was getting excited, and Lexa was tugged along for the ride. “You can crash in my dorm. Even just for a few days, not the whole week.”

“Mom won’t like me missing so much time to study.”

“Call it a college visit for a potential school.”

“Luna will lose her mind,” Lexa shook her head and pinched her thumb to try to stop it without a bandaid.

“Fuck Luna. I’m going to ask Mom if she’d rather you were here, supervised by me, or home alone for a whole week.”

From the change in volume, Lexa knew she was texting immediately. She sighed. It would be fun to see the school as a potential option. It might even be nice to catch up with Costia. It would even be better to see her sister, who just at the moment, she realized she’d missed since her last visit.

“Should I ask Clarke if she wants to go?” Lexa finally ventured, returning to her work.

“Definitely.”

“Should I really consider your school as an option?”

“You should.”

She had a plan, Lexa remembered, and there was no point deviating, but she did want to see her sister.

“If they say it’s okay.”

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watchtower-feed · 3 years

Text

First Nemesis

You're a new up-and-coming supervillain and you're looking for your first nemesis. You're thinking of starting small. Like that reporter from the Daily Planet that keeps messing up your villain name. What was his name? Yeah. Clark Kent.

A rookie reporter who grew up in the middle of nowhere Kansas. There's no way he would see a direct attack coming. Even moreso an indirect one.

You're hitting a small fry but that doesn't mean your methods are gonna be cute. You decide to go with the classic kidnap-your-loved-ones strategy. That one never fails.

You're standing in front of the sign that says Kent Farm and take out your phone to dial away. Of course, as a supervillain, getting such personal information on a lowly Daily Planet employee was nothing. The phone rings twice and a cheerful but polite voice greets you. It aggravates you even more.

"I know what kind of person you really are, Kent. And you will rue the day you messed with me." You pause for a dramatic moment and then menacingly whisper, "But only after your parents do."

You hang up. The hand gripping your phone shakes. You're grinning like an idiot because that was one of the best threats you've ever given. Much better than how you practiced it in front of your mirror.

Brimming with adrenaline, you stride to the farmhouse and knock boldly. It's still early in the morning so you expect them to take a while to answer the door. But then it opens and an couple greets you. Already in their work clothes.

"Can we help you?" asks the man you know as Jonathan Kent and his wife, Martha Kent, looks at you from just a step behind him.

You suddenly revert to yourself. Your civilian self. "O-oh! Hello! Umm... Good morning. I hope I'm not disturbing you.."

The old man chuckles a little but it's only half meant. "This is basically lunch time for folks like us." It's only 7:30am. You clearly remember calling at that time so Clark Kent wouldn't be able to punch in for work at exactly 8:00am like he always does.

"Oh yes. Well, umm... I.. I know your son... He's a..." The couple visibly tenses as they wait for you to continue. You notice this and you wonder if this isn't the first time their son has messed with a supervillain and used them as leverage. "..reporter for Daily Planet."

Confused looks. The couple looks to each other then at back you. Their brows are raised and it's more obvious now that they're questioning you. Deeply questiong the very existence of you at their doorstep.

You suddenly snap. What are you doing? You have a plan! You're supposed to be a supervillain! You knit your brows together and stomp one foot in as you push the door the back. Jonathan takes a step back and Martha holds onto his shoulders. You shout at the top of your lungs, "Your son has been getting my name wrong in his articles at the Daily Planet and I demand justice!"

Your pulse is beating profusely and your whole body is tense. You stare at the old couple but they're not cowering in fear like you expected them to be. Instead, Martha had her brows furrowed and her mouth was frowning. "Oh, dear," she says. She gently wraps her arm around yours, "I'll make us some coffee," and leads you to the kitchen.

You find yourself going blank as you're seated in a quiant little kitchen with worn-out yellow walls and furniture bordered with pale teal. Martha goes to the counter and suddenly you all hear a loud booming sound that came from outside. It's enough to make you jump out of your seat, ready to run or fight, but the old couple just stares out the window and then collectively shakes their heads.

"Can you please tell him we have a visitor? And that he should behave himself." Martha looks sternly at whoever it was outside while her husband had already left through the kitchen door.

You can hear faint yelling from outside and try to listen in. "Oh don't worry about them dear. It's just my son--"

"Your son?!" you jump out of your seat. "He's already here?"

She looks at you for a second before she shakes her head. "You told him you were coming but he didn't even think to tell us. My goodness that boy.." Martha continues to mutter about her son while she walks back to the kitchen counter.

The backdoor creaks open and in walks Jonathan with a huge disheveled man trailing after him. He's wearing a flannel shirt that's obviously two sizes too small for his torso and pants that don't even reach his ankles. His hair is a mess and he's struggling to put his glasses on upright. As soon as he walks in, he narrows his eyes at you, struggling to recognize where he's seen you before.

Your offended meter has definitely reached its peak and is now erupting. You stomp your foot and point at him while you appeal to his mother. "Do you see the disrespect? He doesn't even remember who I am?!"

Clark Kent's jaw drops as he looks to you then his mother, then back to you. "You told my ma?!"

"Clark Joseph Kent!" Martha snaps and slaps his arm with a tea towel. "Who told you you could yell at guests in this house?" Clark is absolutely flabbergasted. He gets another whip with the tea towel. "And why have you been bullying this young lady in the newspaper? What has she ever done to you?"

You suddenly think about it. You had your chin resting on your hand as you mull it over. "Actually, nothing. I haven't done anything to you," you say out loud.

Clark huffs as he straightens himself, trying to take back some control in this situation. "I'm sorry about how rude I'm being-- or been but who are you?"

All three pairs of eyes are on you now and you take your own pair of eyes and look at your hands all the way down to your feet. You're in your civilian clothing.

"AHHHH!" you burst out without thinking. Hands gripping the sides of your head. After all that research. All that planning and scheming. All that waiting for your scheduled flight. You forgot to come here wearing your supervillain costume. You're a civillian. You're doomed.

The Kent's worriedly look to each other as they watch your meltdown ensue. All too suddenly you start bowing, spitting out rushed apologies about a mistaken identiy, and taking slow but long strides toward the main door. But before you could make your escape, thick bulging biceps block your path and you look up to find a very pissed off Clark Kent. He's using his other hand to massage the bridge of his nose while his eyes are forcibly closed.

"Just hold on a second here..." he grits through his teeth. "You can't just barge in here and think you can run away just like that."

Another tea towel whip hits Clark's arm. "Would you stop tormenting the poor girl? Sometimes you forget you're bigger than a gorilla."

Jonathan finally decides to step in. "Now, now. How about we sit down and clear this all up over some coffee?"

"Umm," you finally pipe up. An escape has finally formed inside your head, "I forgot that I really should be going. I might not get a flight back to Metropolis today. So..." You bend your knees to try slip past Clark but he blocks you with his knee against the wall and his face is suddenly closer. You can now very clearly see the irritation etched on his face.

"Nonsense," Jonathan answers. "My son can take you back." Both of you quickly swivel your heads to Jonathan with wides eyes. "What? You're going back to Metropolis, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I didn't exactly drive here..."

"Pfft. What? You flew?"

All eyes snap toward you and the longer they stare at you, the more you can feel your insides squirming. You force out a nervous laughter. "It's not like your son can fly, right?"

Jonathan's booming laughter breaks the tension like hammering through glass. "He can't even fly a kite. I'd drop dead if I ever saw this boy of mine fly."

Martha laughs along with him and you can see Clark doesn't like being the butt end of a joke. So you laugh too.

In the end, you did end up having that cup of coffee with your nemesis Clark Kent no less, but only because you had to wait for Jonathan so he can drive you both to the train station. Turns out Clark didn't bring his passport.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #superman imagine #superman x reader #watchtower-feed #This came to me in a dream lol no i was conscious

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memoirsofanerdygirl · 3 years

Text

The Gold in the Abyss - Chapter One: Going Over His Head

Summary:

London, 1991.

Katherine Clarke -- Auror, Slytherin, and in desperate need of Severus Snape’s help. A mysterious shadow has poisoned two victims with an unknown substance, slowly decomposing their stomachs from within. When more bodies turn up in cramped London alleys, she has no choice but to ask her former professor for assistance.

As Britain is plunged into war, Kate and Severus are forced to confront their demons of guilt and fear. Caught between two sides of a hopeless conflict, can they learn to respect one another, and, in time, perhaps even care for the other?

Warnings: Language, implied attempted rape, mild graphic depictions of violence/gore.

Notes: (feel free to skip this, it’s just to cover my ass) The Harry Potter Universe, all its characters and places are owned by J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, nor am I making any profit from this story. All original characters, I own. This story does contain adult situations, language, violence, and sexual situations. If any of these offend you, please do not read.

Okay, now for the real notes. So, this idea has been floating around for quite a while now, and I’m super, super excited to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy! And remember, comments, reblogs and general reactions are ALWAYS appreciated :)

~~~

The bookshop was tucked away in a corner of Diagon Alley, hidden around the bend of a back road that branched off the main shopping street.Small, but stuffed from floor to ceiling with old and new volumes alike, topics ranging from Guide to De-Ghouling to the latest editions of The Dark Arts Outsmarted.

A sign with a bubbling cauldron and the words ‘The Melting Plot’ dangled above the entrance. Kate pulled open the door and entered. It smelled of old books and the unmistakable scent of a cooling charm -- artificial freshness, like the crisp air in the frozen aisle of a grocery store. All the same, she was glad for the rush of cold air that dispelled the muggy mid-August heat.

She slipped her wand out of the sleeve of her lightweight jacket and stuck it in her belt loop. Her armpits were damp with sweat. At least there would be no stains in the loose blouse underneath. She shrugged off the jacket and draped the olive material over her arm.

The bookkeeper was a spindly old man with a knotted hulihee beard, two bushels of coarse grey hair broadening his jaw to three times its size, but leaving his chin bare. He gave off whiffs of tobacco when one stepped too near, but he did, at the very least, know the store like the back of his hand. He looked up at her through thin rimmed spectacles.

“Research,” said Kate. “Poisons.”

He jerked his head toward the back right corner of the shop.

She nodded. It suddenly occurred to her that in all the times she’d been to The Melting Plot, she had never asked the man’s name. Hadn’t been able to stand the stench long enough.

The Melting Plot wasn’t large at all; perhaps, if she had to guess, half the size of Flourish and Blotts. Besides Kate, there was only one other patron present at the moment: a rather beefy man clad in deep violet robes. He barely glanced up at her as she breezed past his aisle.

Secluded from the busy areas of Diagon Alley as it was, the shop’s customers were a medley of sporadic regulars who forwent the noisy din of Flourish and Blotts for the empty silence of The Melting Plot. Kate, however, came for the prices. Two-for-a-Galleon days were simply too tempting.

Coming upon the aisle in the back, she sighed. She didn’t have the faintest idea what she was looking for; she had only the patients’ symptoms to go off of, and even those weren’t much. Vomiting. Bloody urine. Comatose state. How in the world was she supposed to find the poisonous culprit?

Encyclopedia, she answered herself. That had always been a good place to start.

She proceeded down the aisle, her finger brushing over the spines of the books as she quickly scanned the titles. Dark Arts Discovered by Eglantine Pickering… Vampires and Bats by Garrett Puckett… She was halfway down the aisle before she found a relevant title and plucked it off the shelf. She rested her foot on a bottom shelf, balancing on one leg, and propped the heavy book on her knee. She began to read.

Barely five minutes in, and already it was hopeless. Like finding a Knut in a pile of dragon dung. She flipped idly through the pages, and when she heard the front door creak open again, she peered through the aisles for a glimpse of the newcomer.

A flash of black between the stacks. Clacks of a forceful stride on the wooden floor. There was a low murmur, and Kate heard the bookkeeper wheeze, “ ‘Course,” and then the squeak of the backroom door opening and closing. Likely some customer picking up an order. She returned to the book in her hand.

A Compendium of Magical Poisons, it was called. An antique, too; the textured leather spine gilded and ridged. She snapped the book shut to inspect the front and back covers. It would make a fine addition to her collection.

Might as well.

She exited the aisle for the till. If it didn’t prove useful, it could always be used as a coaster for her tea. Or given to Tristan; Tristan knew all sorts of muggle markets that sold old items for a vastly inflated price. One of the advantages of being a muggleborn, she supposed.

The bookkeeper reentered from the backroom, carrying a small stack of books. “Four Galleons,” he said. “You want wrapping?”

The clink of coins hitting the counter. “Yes.”

But… she knew that voice. Deep, deliberate. Always the hint of a sneer. She snapped her gaze up from the item in her hands. “Professor Snape?”

He was exactly as she remembered him. A tall, sharp frame draped in black robes buttoned up to his neck. Lank black hair lay limp against his pallid face, upon which a sharp brow was quickly rising. “Miss Clarke. What a surprise.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed.” As his critical gaze swept over her, Kate was suddenly very conscious of her flushed face, slightly oily with sweat. And Lord, her hair -- she hadn’t washed the dark brown mess in three days, too busy stressing over the new case. She instinctively raised a hand to sweep her hair over one shoulder. It was surprising, him having recognised her without her signature schoolgirl fringe.

“It’s been six years, hasn’t it?” he said.

It… had. Six years since she’d left the confines of Hogwarts. “Yes. Yes, indeed,” she said.

The bookkeeper eyed them both with a twitching eye as he finished wrapping the books in brown paper and tied the package with a string of twine.

Snape whisked his purchase off the counter. He gave her a curt nod and turned for the door.

But -- he -- “How are the students?” she called. The least he could do was to finish their bloody conversation.

He turned around. “Simply charming,” he sneered.

“Wonderful.” He had never liked teaching, much less his students. Kate knew that. For four years, she had watched him stalk the dungeons. She’d watched him smirk in glee when a student answered a question wrong, watched him dock points by the bucketful when they made a racket in the halls. She, for some miraculous reason, had been on the receiving end of his withering stares only a handful of times. Owing to her Slytherin status, perhaps. Merlin knew she had never been a Potions Extraordinaire like Snape.

Potions… Could she…

“My cousin” -- she fished for something to say -- “my cousin is a first year student this year.”

“Your cousin.”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Splendid.” His nostrils flared. “Another shabby Weasley to add to my excessive collection.”

She bit back a retort. They were a little shabby, and she admitted as much. But when Snape said it like that, sarcasm dripping from each word, it made her stomach twist. Regrettably, defending them would have to wait. For now, she needed Snape to tolerate her.

Which, judging by the fleeting glance he cast toward the door, was going none too well.

“Perhaps,” he tucked the package under his arm, “we shall meet again in another six years.”

She smiled. “I doubt you’ll have to wait that long.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, I was wondering whether I might… consult your expertise.”

His brow arched up high on his pale forehead. “My expertise being…”

“Potions.” Kate made her way toward him, past the till and the bookkeeper. “You see, I’ve been assigned a case involving an unknown poison -- I’m an Auror -- and, well, unfortunately it seems that an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ N.E.W.T in Potions is not quite enough to find the antidote.”

“I can’t imagine it would be,” he said coldly.

It was her turn to lift a brow.

“Haven’t you contacted the St. Mungo’s Healers? They’re always eager to offer their services to the desperate.”

Kate forced a wry smile to her lips. “I have. A team has already begun to look into it. But, according to my father, we’ll all be dead in our graves before they find a cure.”

“And anything your father says must be true.”

Her smile was difficult to maintain. “He works at St. Mungo’s. Claims a horde of pixies could get it done faster. So, frankly, I am desperate. Two lives hinge-- ”

“So I’ve heard,” he interrupted. “I do read the Daily Prophet, Miss Clarke. ‘HIT Witch Janice Bulwark mysteriously discovered unconscious, admitted to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries’, no?” He recited the headline.

Kate averted her eyes, muttering under her breath. She thought Kingsley had managed to get the reporter to keep the whole thing under wraps. “Yes, that’s the one.” She glanced at the bookkeeper, who was still eyeing them grittily. She caught a strong whiff of tobacco and resisted the urge to scowl. “Listen,” she said, “it’s rather sensitive information I’m about to share with you-- ”

“I’d much rather you didn’t,” said Snape. “I have no intention of involving myself in Ministry matters, much less a murder investigation.”

“Yes, but we have never seen anything like this before, and I’ve already exhausted every other option. I’m doing research in a bloody bookshop, for Merlin’s sake.”

He smirked. “Then I hope you are still a swift reader.”

Git. Kate lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Their stomachs are being decomposed from within, Professor.”

His ink black eyes studied her woody brown ones. “I’m afraid I must disappoint you,” he said smoothly. “Term begins in a few short weeks, as you may well know, and I must prepare for the students.”

Prepare for the students? That was a load of dragon shit, and they both knew it. Snape’s gaze glinted, challenging her.

So, this was how he wanted to play things.

“Of course.” She smiled. “I understand.” She held up the thick encyclopedia in her hands. “Well, I had better go pay for this before the man suspects me of theft. Wonderful to see you again, really.”

The slightest twitch of his brows was the only sign she had surprised him. Abruptly, he turned and departed the store, leaving a very amused Katherine Clarke to watch the door swing shut behind him.

“You’re right about the stealin’,” the old bookkeeper grumbled. She caught another whiff of tobacco. “You going to buy it or not?”

“No,” said Kate firmly. “I don’t think I will.” She had too many books as it was. Besides, if she was right, she would soon possess a resource far more useful than a tatty reference book.

***

In the end, Kate did purchase the book. She had a terrible soft spot for beautiful books that left an even more terrible dent in her Gringotts account. She strode a little ways toward the main street before she stopped, shifted her paper-wrapped package more securely under her arm, and turned on her heel.

A swift pop, and she appeared once again in a back alley. Blaring honks and the rumble of traffic sounded from up ahead.

Exiting onto Whitehall, she wove among the pedestrians until she came to a row of black spiky railings that flanked two flights of descending stairs labelled ‘LADIES’ and ‘GENTLEMEN’. She took the stairs to the right and quickly emerged into the underground public toilets. Dim lighting concealed most of the grime on the black and white tiles, and the mirrors that were supposed to have hung above the three sinks were respectively cracked, nonexistent and spattered with a brown substance that looked suspiciously like spit and chewed tobacco.

Merlin, did everyone enjoy tobacco?

Despite being the main entrance to the Ministry, the Whitehall public toilets were quite disgusting, and the only reason Kate could think why they wouldn’t perform a few simple cleaning charms on the place was that it kept Muggles at bay. In all the years she had used the toilets, she had only ever seen four, perhaps five Muggles wander in. They had been chased out by the unsavoury sight, or else quickly Confounded and sent back overground. Today was no different. Of the dozen or so people queued up by the stalls, all bore some sign of being a Ministry employee.

Dawlish nodded at her from the next queue over. “Alright there, Clarke?”

“Just popping in for a quick chat with Scrimgeour,” she returned.

“Thought you were out on assignment.”

“I was.” She stepped forward in the queue. “Quite productive, actually. Lunch break?” she asked him.

He nodded and patted his stomach beneath his beige suit. “Genevive came ‘round.”

“What about the baby?”

“Helen’s with Gen’s parents.” His wiry brown hair looked grey under the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’ve got a holiday next weekend, so they decided to come down for a fortnight.”

“Excellent.”

Dawlish stepped into a stall. “It will be, as long as my mother-in-law quits smoking,” he called. “Terrible for Helen’s lungs, I told her.” There was a flushing noise and he was gone.

Again, she thought. Again with the tobacco.

It wasn’t long before Kate joined the throng of Ministry workers ambling toward the golden gates at the far end of the Atrium. The crowd was much thinner than the morning rush, however, and within minutes she was striding into the Auror Headquarters on Level Two.

Dawlish had gotten there before her and was already settling in his cubicle, a small mountain of paperwork before him. He adjusted the framed picture lovingly placed in the corner of the cubicle -- a smiling brunette cradled a pig-tailed toddler, both perched atop a broomstick -- then set about dipping his quill in ink to begin the first page.

“Oi, Clarke -- ” Gawain Robard twisted around in his chair, “ -- look at this.” He gestured at a chubby faced witch with cropped pink hair.

The girl grinned cheekily and squeezed her eyes shut as Kate turned to watch. The enormous mane seemed to sprout out of her very neck; bushels of tawny hair laced with grey grew and grew until they framed the girl’s face like a lion’s mane. The girl brought her hands up to her eyes and formed two circles, like glasses, and set her lips into a deep frown.

Kate snorted, then broke into a laugh as the girl growled in a spot-on imitation of the Head Auror.

“Brilliant, eh?” Robard gazed at the girl proudly. One half of his face was gnarled with raised white scars.

“Stunning,” she laughed. “Though I’m not sure Scrimgeour would appreciate the comedy.” She wracked her brain for the girl’s name… Tina… Tink… Tory, was it?

The girl flushed and brought her hands down. The mane retreated. “Bloody terrifying, he is.”

“Who -- Scrimgeour?” Kate asked.

She nodded, her hair turning to an apple red. “You know, I was getting myself some tea from the break room the other day -- adding my milk and sugar and everything -- and he appears next to me and he says -- ” the girl deepened her voice, imitating him, “ -- ‘Ought to use less milk. Have a mind to save the budget.’” She leaned against Robard’s desk. “I wasn’t quite sure what to say. He seems to hate me most out of all the A.T.s.”

Robard propped an arm on the back of his chair. “Well, there are only two of you. The man’s got to pick one, hasn’t he?”

Kate frowned. “Only two Trainees? I thought he hadn’t finished sorting through applications. Didn’t he have seventy some odd left?”

“Dunno.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped black hair. “Anyway, I’ve got a pair of missing twins to find.” He spun back around in his seat.

“Godspeed.” The Auror Trainee’s hair bloomed back to an offensive pink.

Kate could distinctly remember meeting the girl not a week ago when the two A.T.s had first stepped foot in the Headquarters. After all, it was difficult to forget meeting a metamorphmagus, especially one with hair that rivaled the most garish of Valentine’s cards. But she could not, for the life of her, recall the girl’s name.

“Can I get you anything, Ms Clarke?” the girl asked, stepping out of Robard’s cubicle.

Kate had the sudden, fleeting image of a hook nosed, sharp faced man sneering at her over a cauldron. She hadn’t been addressed as ‘Miss Clarke’ for six years, and now… twice in one day. “Just Kate,” she said. “Er -- actually -- could you… ” She gave a small laugh. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Tonks,” said the girl brightly, offering a hand to shake.

Kate took it gratefully. “Welcome to the Auror Headquarters.” She smiled. “Where we discuss murders over tea.”

Tonks grinned, and her hair turned yellow.

Merlin’s pants. The girl was like one of those Muggle mood rings.

“Is Kingsley in?” Kate asked.

“Don’t think so. I saw him dragged out by a group of Obliviators ‘bout an hour ago. A little irritated by the looks of it.”

Then he’d have to wait, she decided. Time was of the essence. She bid Tonks a quick goodbye and wove to her own cubicle to set her package down.

Kate’s cubicle, directly across from Kingsley’s, was cluttered. Very cluttered. A pair of reading spectacles rested lens-side down atop various open books. An unopened Chocolate Frog sat beside a red case folder labelled ‘BULWARK/GOLDHORN’, from which various photographs and documents threatened to burst. A marked map of London’s warehouse district was pinned to her cubicle wall, and next to that a rather crude drawing of a gnome Ginny had recently gifted her. Kate bent to pick up the scraps of parchment that had fluttered to the floor, set adrift by colleagues sweeping past her desk.

Someday she would find time to tidy everything up. Someday, when this whole decomposing stomach debacle was sorted.

She made her way to the back corner of the room where the Head Auror’s Office was located. Kate knocked softly on the door. The blinds looking out toward the cubicles were drawn.

“Enter,” grumbled a voice on the other side.

Scrimgeour’s office was rather dark; grey storm clouds twisted and gathered in the windows behind his desk, pregnant with heavy rain. He scribbled a few last words on a lavender coloured memo before it folded itself into a neat paper aeroplane and zoomed out the door just as Kate closed it behind her.

“Clarke.” Scrimgeour fixed her with a steadfast gaze, his mouth turned down in a deep frown. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat low on his ridged nose. “What’s the matter? Something gone wrong with one of them victims?”

“No, no,” she said. “Conditions unchanged, last I heard.”

“Comatose.”

She nodded. “Fortunately. Or they’d be in quite some pain.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“The St Mungo’s task force isn’t working fast enough to save them -- Bulwark and Goldhorn.” It was the truth, plain and simple.

“Aren’t they?”

Kate approached his desk but did not sit down; she rested her hands on the back of the chair before the table. “It’s been made very clear that they’ve only got a list of three possible poisons. Three, sir. It’s been a week and a half. Therefore,” she steeled herself, “it is my hope that, with your permission, I may bring the Potions Master Severus Snape in as a consultant on this case and work on an antidote myself.”

“Severus Snape? What -- the Death Eater?” His tone was incredulous.

“Former Death Eater, sir.”

Scrimgeour huffed a laugh, shaking his tawny head. His maned head looked too large for his rangy frame. When he saw that Kate’s expression was quite unchanged, he stilled.

She took the chance. “He is a brilliant Potioneer. A specialist in his field. In fact, I believe his knowledge of poisons and antidotes surpasses even that of the task force’s.”

“With all due respect, Clarke, you can’t expect me to believe that you and Severus Snape can produce an antidote faster than the task force. They’re a group of highly skilled Healers. They’ve studied poisons for years.”

“And with all due respect to you, sir, you have never been taught by Severus Snape.” Her straight, stubborn brows drew together.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, revealing small rows of snaggled teeth. He let out a suppressed sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor instead.”

She ignored the comment. Her feelings regarding her house were muddled, and it was much easier to ignore them instead. Besides, no use crying over spilt potions. “Please, sir. It can only help the investigation.”

“Your job is to catch the wizard, not to cure the patients.”

“And the antidote will help us to do just that. You know it will. The sooner we find the antidote, the sooner we catch the wizard.” Kate released the chair back and slid her hands into the pockets of her trousers. “If you require it, I can have a copy of his professional record owled to you, but that will take time. Precious time I’m afraid the victims don’t have.”

Lie. She was quite sure she would not be able to obtain a copy of Snape’s record at all. The man certainly wouldn’t provide it willingly.

Scrimgeour narrowed his yellowish eyes behind his spectacles. “And if, in the end, you find you’ve spent too much time mixing cocktails in the dungeons and the case goes cold -- what happens then? What happens when you find you’ve lost?”

“I won’t -- ”

“Shacklebolt is an excellent Auror, top of the line. But no wizard shy of Merlin himself could conduct interviews, formulate theories, inspect crime scenes, subdue the Prophet, investigate suspects and catch the perpetrator singlehandedly.”

“But he won’t be, sir. I am in no way deserting him. I’m merely pursuing an alternate method of investigation in addition to the established method.” Kate took her hands out of her trouser pockets. She hastily swept her dark hair over one shoulder. “I’ve had a chat with Kingsley already. He agrees that it would be extremely helpful to have Snape on standby.” Her mouth dried slightly. She tried not to swallow.

Scrimgeour pulled his frown deeper and inspected Kate for a few quiet moments. Then his spectacles shifted as his ridged nose twitched in resignation. “Shall I inform him, or shall you?”

Warm satisfaction spread through her chest. “Oh, no, it had much better come from you.”

“Very well.” He pulled a blank sheet of parchment from behind his desk.

“Thank you, sir.” Kate returned to the door and pulled it open.

His rumbling voice called her back. “Remind me what grade you received on your Potions N.E.W.T.?”

This she couldn’t lie about. Scrimgeour had her records. “‘Exceeds Expectations’, sir.”

Scrimegour’s busheled brows lowered. “I see.” The doubt in his tone was unmistakable. “I don’t need to remind you that two lives rest in your hands. However you decide to proceed with the case, whether through investigation or experimentation, will determine whether they and their families receive justice. If you fail, it will reflect poorly on our department.” His yellowish eyes blinked at her in the dim office. “Be careful, Katherine.”

She dipped her head. “Of course.”

***

Kate had been right about Kingsley. Admittedly, he’d been rightfully irritated at her not having waited until after he’d got back to ask Scrimgeour, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She’d even gotten him to confess that having Snape on hand would be useful. At least he hadn’t given her one of his ‘honestly, Kate’ looks. The last time she had gotten one of those was three years ago when she’d still been his trainee.

The keys jangled as she inserted one into the lock and opened the door to her flat. The bloody things were a nuisance, but living squarely in the middle of Westminster, it was a necessary sacrifice.

It was dark and quiet inside her flat. Street lamps outside cast a small pool of light by the window. Late night traffic grumbled past; Trafalgar Square never slept. Kate dropped her briefcase by the door and hung the keys on the coat stand. As she passed into the small kitchen, she dropped her linen jacket on the granite counter.

She had already eaten dinner with Kingsley, working on the case while nibbling on Ministry canteen sandwiches. Four empty wrappers lay crumpled on the table before they had looked up and realised it was nearly ten. But the brain burned nearly twenty percent of one’s daily calories, which meant an extra supper for her after a long day’s work.

And so it was that Kate rooted around the fridge, the white light casting an eerie glow on her pale face. She spooned down a bit of leftover curry from the Thai place down the street. A quick wave of her wand and the dishes were washed. She crept down the creaky hall to the bedroom.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, but all was dark inside. White noise rumbled in the chambers. Kate eased herself through the crack in the door, then shut it behind her. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before creeping to the dresser across from the large bed. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled the drawer out, inch by inch. The ancient wood squeaked, loud enough to be heard over the white noise.

A groan from the rumpled sheets on the bed. “Kate?”

Damn. She gave up and yanked the drawer open the rest of the way. “Sorry to wake you,” she whispered. “I was trying to be quiet.”

“It’s fine. Just got back from work?” His American accent was slightly slurred with sleep.

“Yes. Kingsley and I had some business to discuss.” She pulled her nightclothes from the drawer and pushed it shut again.

Mark grunted. Kate could just make out his lean form struggling to sit up.

She shushed him. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right there.”

“No, no, it’s okay, baby. I’ll wait up for you.” But he fell back against the pillows and tried to conceal a yawn.

Kate shimmied out of her work clothes, carefully folding the white shirt and trousers and draping them on top of the dresser.

“What was the business with Kingsley about?”

“The new case.” She slipped into her nightshirt. “We brought in a new consultant today.”

Mark hummed sleepily and dragged a hand up to scratch his beard. She climbed into bed next to him.

“Come here,” he said. He opened his arms and waited until she settled in to continue. “Who’s the consultant?”

His chest was too high for her head; her neck scrunched uncomfortably when she laid against him. “My former Potions Master.” Kate shifted her arm under her shoulder, then changed her mind and wriggled it out.

“The mean one or the fat one?”

“Mean one. I actually haven’t heard from the fat one in a while.” She grunted as she shifted positions. “But Tristan says he keeps getting letters from him.”

“Really?”

“Apparently Slughorn wants a special invitation to one of his concerts.”

His beard scratched the top of her head as he looked down at her. “You okay?”

She removed her arm from under her shoulder for the third time and stilled. “Sorry.”

“So, what’s the plan with him? Your Potions Master?”

“Not sure yet.” Well, she did have a general idea, but the specifics would ultimately come down to how difficult Snape was set on being. “How was your day?”

“Good.” He rubbed her back, up and down. “Went to the Leaky Cauldron to get some writing done. Five thousand words and half a chapter finished.”

“Excellent. Has what’s-his-name found the killer yet?”

“Not yet. That’s in Chapter Thirteen.”

Kate laughed softly. “Thirteen, you say?”

“Yeah.” His fingers wove into her dark hair.

For a few minutes they were silent, white noise thundering over the sound of their breathing and the traffic outside. His chest rose and fell; Kate’s neck cricked awkwardly.

“I kept staring at our spot at the bar,” he said suddenly. “At the Leaky Cauldron.”

She thought he’d fallen back asleep. “Our spot?”

“Remember -- the day we met? You were sitting on the third seat from the left end of the bar -- ”

“You remember which seat I was sitting in?”

“Of course. How could I not?”

Kate huffed in amusement.

“You wore those robes -- I think they were blue, yeah, navy blue -- and you were reading that ratty copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“And the ring too. Don’t forget the wedding ring.”

She could hear the grin in his voice. “Didn’t stop me from asking you out, did it?”

“Not sure what that says about you, Mark.”

“But I knew it was a fake.”

“Did you now?”

He hummed. “I was people-watching that night. There was no way I would’ve missed something as obvious as that.”

“And yet,” Kate propped her chin on his chest to look up at him, “I distinctly remember you ordering two bottles of firewhiskey, throwing me the worst pickup line, and proceeding to get me exceedingly sloshed.”

“You weren’t that drunk,” he protested. “You were still sober enough to help me with my novel.”

“Well, we both know it only sold so well because of me.”

“Really?”

“Most definitely. The murder mystery wouldn’t’ve been half so believeable if I hadn’t mixed in a dash of first-hand experience.”

He chuckled. “Of course, baby. All because of you.” His arms tightened around her back. His voice was husky when he spoke again. “My life is perfect because of you. So, so perfect.”

She could almost feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She didn’t know how to respond.

“Sleep, sleep, baby,” he murmured. “I love you.” He kissed the top of her head. “My soon-to-be wife.”

And suddenly the ring on her left hand felt cold as ice. She could think of nothing to say without sounding like a lovesick chit, so she settled for sliding an arm around his stomach. “Goodnight, Mark.”

He merely hummed in contentment.

It took less than five minutes for him to drift off again. Kate’s head rose and fell in time with his chest. A powerful snore escaped his mouth. Wrapped in rumbling white noise, she let her thoughts race.

She’d been wrong before, when she’d thought Snape looked the same. Their exchange had lasted mere minutes, his words, tone, attitude all as she’d expected, but his posture, his body language… Taut, shallow breaths through the nose, fingers gripping his package so tightly they turned white…

Of course, noticing such details was part of her training, but even without it, she would’ve recognised the signs for what they were -- silent, creeping fear.

The fear of the unknown. The knowledge that something, at any time, could attack her from anywhere. Like stumbling down a pitch black corridor and feeling a hand latch onto her ankle.

Merlin.

Kate slid from the bed. For a moment, she teetered on the edge; she was being ridiculous and dramatic. Crawling back into bed was the right choice, the reasonable choice. Kate watched the sleeping man in the bed, his golden brown hair nearly black in the darkness, his beard freshly trimmed, his chest bare. Her left thumb reached for the ring around her finger.

Perhaps a cup of tea would do her good.

The warm beverage didn’t take long to make. Soon, she was cradling the mug in her hands, though not daring to drink for fear of burning her tongue. Waiting a few minutes would do the trick.

Out in the sitting room, there was no white noise. A siren wined in the distance. Kate leaned against the window frame, looking out over Trafalgar Square. Despite the late hour, pedestrians still dotted the brightly lit square; some gathered around the colourful fountains, while others stopped to admire Nelson’s Column, an imposing Corinthian column upon which sat the Admiral of the same name. He hopped the twig ages ago, but his mark was long since made.

Kate blew on her tea. The warm steam tickled her nose. Some marks, she knew, never faded. The sight of her former Head of House had only reminded her of the fact.

Even now, bundled in her soft cotton nightshirt and her hair cascading around her shoulders, she could still feel his hand on her breast. Gripping. Pinching.

Hyatt Travers.

Her stomach turned over. She set her mug on the window sill.

The Death Eaters swallowed Slytherin house like a riptide. She knew, because fighting the current had come with a steep price she’d paid in full.

Her hands itched in restlessness. Kate picked up her mug again, scraping the rim with a nail. She looked at her knuckles. It was too easy to picture his blood and hers, drops flying from her fist as she’d drawn back to strike him again. The blinding frenzy. His spit in her face, a mouthful of saliva and blood from his broken teeth.

The scars from that night were still there, faint but clearly visible between her knuckle ridges.

Mark asked about them once. A rough encounter with an illegal dealer a couple years ago, she told him. He hadn’t suspected anything then, but since then… Her random bursts of resentment were impossible to overlook.

From the window, Kate watched a couple amble across the Square, arm in arm. The woman turned her face up to his, and the man gave her a chaste kiss. Kate smiled, but it soon disappeared.

When her moods came -- as they inevitably would -- Mark would sit her down on their bed, poking and prodding with this tranquil voice. He was trying to avoid a row, but it was like a bloody piece of plastic wrap smothering her. She tried to contain herself, really, but her voice raised of its own accord, the tears came unbidden, the swell of anger unwelcome. And when he shushed her or pulled her to his chest, she just … she couldn’t. She didn’t want to be quiet. She didn’t need a hug.

Kate took a large sip of her tea. The hot liquid prickled her tongue.

Oh, Mark… He would never look at her the same way.

That night -- her violence -- was a secret to keep.

***

Loud beeping woke Kate in the morning. She felt better after a quick face wash, but last night’s sleeplessness lingered as she plodded into the kitchen. Mark was seated at the small square table, dressed in only a shirt and boxers. He sipped a mug, transfixed by the glowing picture box pushed against the corner counter. A blonde woman chattered on screen as images of rubble flashed behind her.

Kate gazed at the box for a long moment; it was called a telephone, wasn’t it? Well, tele-something, that much she knew. “You’re up early,” she said.

Mark glanced up. His brown gaze swept over her nightshirt clad form. A blush rose in her cheeks. “I’m meeting Steven and Wilson for some ball at nine. Told you last week, remember?”

She did not. “Football?”

He pushed his floppy brown hair back from his eyes. “They’re muggles. Can’t play Quidditch.”

“Shame.” She spotted a covered plate on the table. “Oh, what’s this? Breakfast?”

“Toast and eggs. There’s coffee in the pot, if you want it.”

Kate pouted playfully. “No baked beans?”

He grimaced. “I will never understand you Brits.”

“No matter. I’m sure I’ll survive.” She gave him a quick peck and settled down to eat. Mark turned back to his tele-box, downing the rest of his coffee.

She had just finished her toast when Mark interrupted.

“Incoming.” He was looking out the window.

With the way the table was pushed against the wall and window, Kate had to stand and move behind Mark to get a look outside. In the distance, above the narrow alley the window faced, two spots flapped toward them.

“Two owls?” She settled back into her seat. “You know, we’re much too popular to be living in such a busy muggle area.”

“I’m the one paying the rent -- ”

“Just having you on, Mark,” she smiled. “The concealment charms’ll hold up.”

And though Mark’s gaze followed the sweeping path of the owls as they swooped into the alley, to the Muggle passerbys down below, they were nothing more than thin air. Mark pushed the window open. A beastly eagle owl fluttered in, followed by a rather plain barn owl.

Tied onto the first owl’s leg was a bundled copy of the Daily Prophet. Kate reached over her eggs and untied the string. It took a few tries; several of her nails had broken during a nasty tumble in a duelling simulation a week ago.

“It’s for you.” Mark slid the letter from the barn owl across to her.

She hummed in acknowledgement, but opened the newspaper instead. She hoped Kingsley had taken care of the stray reporter. A quick scan of the paper confirmed her hopes: there was nothing about the case. In fact, the only interesting headline read, ‘GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION’, but she gave it no mind. That was Moody’s case.

“Here.” She handed the Prophet to Mark, then took up the letter on the table.

The letter was merely a small square of folded parchment sealed with flimsy black wax. Katherine Clarke was written in sharp lettering, as if the author had tried to stab through the paper as they wrote. She broke open the seal. There was no greeting, no signature, but she didn’t need them to know exactly who had sent the letter.

She couldn’t help it; she snorted.

Mark looked up at her. “What?”

Kate set the paper next to her plate. “Seems I’ll be visiting Hogwarts soon.”

For, written on the yellowed parchment in a cramped, spidery scrawl:

Potions classroom. 25th August. 4pm.

Without Rufus Scrimgeour, if you please.

~~~

Notes: Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. No promises on when the next update will be, but I’m working on it :)

~~~

#severus snape #severus snape x oc #snape fandom #snape community #professor snape #pro snape #hp fanfic #fanfic #original character #auror #auror fanfic #snape x oc #the gold in the abyss #snapedom #ministry of magic

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odos-bucket · 3 years

Text

So to continue my thoughts on Clark and Bruce adopting Jason together (begun here)

They go back to crime alley the next day. Bruce brings a copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel for Jason, who seems vaguely surprised to see them again. He isn’t as wary as he had been when they’d met in the middle of the night, and even sits beside Clark when they get onto the bus (though both end up giving their places up to other passengers before they can reach their destination).

At this point Clark and Bruce are focused on the idea of getting Jason enrolled in school, so the intention with this get together is to familiarize him with some potential institutions. Bruce was up all the previous night researching Gotham boarding schools, and reaching out to faculty members.

Despite all the preparation, the whole thing goes terribly.

Jason seems fine on the bus, but is tense and anxious during the actual school visits. He’s engaged by the classes and lectures he sits in on, but overall feels out of place, and is distrustful of pretty much everyone he ends up interacting with. He’s feeling conflicted, because he loves school, and he knows he’ll be pissed at himself forever if he really has this opportunity and ends up letting it slip by. But on the other hand he’s justifiably paranoid about perceived kindness from strangers (and yeah maybe it’s a little easier to trust Superman than it would be just anybody, but he still doesn’t really know the guy). And even if there isn’t some hidden catch to the offer, he’s not sure he can get on board with living somewhere where there’s a curfew, where his activities would be monitored. The idea of ceding any amount of control in his life at this point makes his skin crawl. He figures he owes it to himself to at least see if this is something that could work out, but goddamn if everything about it isn’t overwhelming and kind of horrifying.

And that’s all before other people start making themselves problems. Everywhere they end up going there’s bullshit to deal with from students, teachers, and administration.

Because of course the people running facilities designed to cater to Gotham socialites don’t treat Jason right. Even with freakin’ Batman and Superman with him he gets suspicious glares and withering looks.

None of that is any less than he expected. What really gets Jason is how put off everyone seems to be by his questions. He comes into every office with a list of things he’s curious about (Batman isn’t the only one who stayed up the previous night to prepare). He wants to know what percentage of the student bodies are there on scholarship, how the meal plans work, what the curfews are, how tightly regulated students’ time is outside of classes, what his life would be like if he put it into their hands.

The administrators don’t like the ‘interrogation’. Which is absolutely insane, because really they should expect any prospective student to have questions. And they should be prepared to answer them. That should be a part of their job, right??

But there’s this attitude of, “We don’t need to explain ourselves to the likes of you,” of, “Just be grateful you have a place here at all.” And that’s what puts Jason over the edge, has him realizing that this isn’t something he’s going to be able to deal with.

It’s after he gets more or less the same reception at the third place they’ve visited, that he finally just has to leave. He can’t take it, he can’t stand it, he has to get out of the office before he bites somebody’s head off.

He gets outside as quickly as he can, and feels some relief breathing in the fresh air (fresh by Gotham standards at least). He feels so stupid for believing he could have this. Really he should have known better. And he hates feeling stupid more than anything.

Superman trails out after him. And Jason can’t figure out what he’s still doing here. And he’s embarrassed to be upset in front of him. And he’s angry that he feels embarrassed when he doesn’t have any good reason to be. And-

“Jason.”

His name ends up cutting through the disorientation he hadn’t quite realized he was experiencing.

Superman is in front of him, just far enough away that he can’t reach out and touch him. Jason stares at him.

“This is shit,” he says, trying to keep his voice casual.

“What happened?”

They had offered to go in with him to meet the dean of the first school. Jason had turned them down, and they hadn’t offered any of the subsequent times. He hadn’t exactly been keeping them apprized of what was going on either, even though questioning him wasn’t something they had given up on after it had failed to yield anything the first time.

“The same thing that always happens,” Jason says. “No one really want someone like me at their fancy school.”

Superman’s eyes narrow.

“What happened?” He asks again. “What did he say?”

“Doesn’t matter… Look, this has been fun and all, but I kinda just want to go home. So if you don’t mind-“

Batman appears with them as quickly as he’s able to disappear. Neither see where he comes from. He’s just suddenly walking toward them, meeting them, and continuing on without slowing down.

“We’re leaving,” he grunts.

Jason hesitates briefly, confused. But then his thoughts catch up to him enough to realize that leaving is exactly what he wants to be doing, and he hurries after Batman.

The heroes are deeply engrossed in their own conversation as they make their way off the grounds. It’s soft, and urgent, and Jason assumes it has something to do with the fate of the world, which he’s vaguely interested in. But he doesn’t think they’d appreciate him asking questions about things that don’t directly concern him. So he says nothing.

As they get closer to the street he realizes he’s not sure what happens next. He’s feeling tired, and frustrated, and he both really wants to be alone, and doesn’t want them to leave him. Mostly- at least so he tells himself- he wants to make sure that they don’t leave him without bus fare. He’s pretty sure they’ll give it to him if he asks, but he’s also hoping that he doesn’t need to ask.

Once they’re off the property, Batman turns around to face him.

“Jason, I’m so sorry. I don’t know exactly what Dean Sterlins said to you, but if it was anything like what he was saying while I was in there, it was way way out of line.” He starts off sounding tired, and ends up sounding angry.

Angry grownups are something that Jason generally tries to avoid, but Batman’s anger doesn’t feel particularly dangerous, and as he goes on it shifts into something more like urgency.

“Please believe, we never would have knowingly put you in that situation. I- Were the others the same?” There’s a hint of resignation in his tone that suggests he already knows the answer to that, so Jason doesn’t feel the need to do more than shrug.

Batman sighs, and it comes out as such an unexpectedly sad sound that he almost snorts out a laugh.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Superman asks gently.

Because he had been holding out a stupid hope that if he stuck with this long enough he might find something worthwhile. Because he didn’t want to give them a reason to believe he’s more trouble than he’s worth. Because it didn’t occur to him that they might genuinely want to know until literally just now.

He shrugs. The heroes exchange a look.

Jason’s grip on the book Batman gave him tightens slightly, and he clears his throat.

“Look, uh, I’m sure there’s somewhere else you guys need to be. I appreciate you taking the time to…” He gestures around. “You know.”

“There’s no where else we need to be today,” Superman says.

“Oh… Okay?”

“There’s one more place we’d like to take you,” he continues. “If it’s all right with you. It’ll be the last one.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. He kind of just wants to go home at this point. The optimistic ‘maybe the next place will be different’ feeling he’d had at the beginning of the day has long since shriveled. And curling up with his new book sounds pretty nice right now.

But at the same time, the last three visits have all included opportunities for free food. It stands to reason that this next one will as well. That should make it worth it even if he already knows with near certainty that they can’t be heading somewhere where he might actually have a future. Plus, Superman has this dumb, hopeful look on his face that it’s hard to say no to.

So he takes the bus with them to a fourth location. The ride’s a little less than half an hour long, and the building they arrive at looks different from the campuses they’d been to earlier. It’s not huge. The architecture is pretty simple by Gotham standards. It’s more immediately recognizable as a school.

They go inside, and Batman stops to exchange a few brief words with a woman in the front office.

“There’s a seventh grade English class starting in about ten minutes,” he informs Jason afterwards. “Would you like to sit in on it? We can meet back here afterwards.”

Jason agrees eagerly. This was the part of the last three trips that he’d actually liked. Maybe he can get in and out without needing to sit down with any deans or headmasters.

He attends a class where the students aren’t wearing uniforms, where he gets a few curious glances, but no lingering glares. He gives a note from the woman at the front desk to the teacher, and a few kids offer him greeting nods or smiles before the lecture begins.

The class is more than halfway done, and he’s been deeply engrossed in a discussion about The Giver- which he has never read, but now fully intends to- when all the observations he’s been making about this place click together.

The class ends, and he meets his chaperones back in the hall- where Superman is entertaining a group of ten year olds- to inform them of his realization.

“This isn’t a boarding school,” he says, once the rest of the kids have shuffled on to their next classes.

“No it is not,” Batman agrees.

Jason scowls.

“I stopped going to regular school for a reason,” he reminds them. “I can’t do this. As in literally can’t. I tried!” He’s trying not to sound upset, but it feels like they’re teasing him with this one.

“School’s a lot to manage without a stable living situation.” Batman says.

Jason huffs out a low agreement.

“So we were thinking…” He looks around, as if confirming the hall’s emptiness, before stepping into Jason’s line of sight. “We were thinking you could come and stay with us, and we could bring you to school here.”

Jason’s mind doesn’t process the offer fast enough for him to react immediately. Even once he’s sure of what he’s heard he thinks he must be misunderstanding. He looks up and at each of them try to draw clues from their expressions, their body language. It’s nearly impossible to do with Batman. Superman looks open, honest, and… hopeful. But that’s how he always looks, so does it really even mean anything?

Unable to make any useful interpretations, he asks the only question his mind has been able to form.

“What?”

“Would you like to come and live with us?” Superman says clearly.

Jason continues to stare for several seconds.

“Both of you?” He asks, because that’s interesting, and far easier to comprehend than the idea that someone might want him.

Batman clears his throat, and Superman-

-Superman blushes, which is enough to distract Jason from all the bizarre turns this day has taken.

“And, um, and our son,” he adds. “We have a son. He’s about five years older than you.”

The gears in Jason’s brain turn and click together.

“Robin,” he says quietly.

The vigilantes exchange uncertain looks, like they’ve been doing all day.

“Nightwing now,” Batman says, barely loud enough to be a whisper.

Jason just nods, because this is insane, and despite being born and raised in Gotham, he doesn’t always have a prepared response to insanity. A long moment passes, and all three of them stare at each other.

“Y- you want to foster me?” He says the words so so carefully, like he could chase the reality of them out of existence if he misspeaks, like he’s sure he hasn’t understood them properly.

“We do,” Superman says, quickly enough that the breath that had caught in Jason’s throat as soon as he’d gotten the question out can escape before it gets the chance to make him light headed. “We really do.”

Jason can’t imagine how this will work. He’s pretty sure it’s not a process that can be undergone with fake identities. Does that mean they’re willing to let him know who they are? Or maybe there’s some kind of exception for super heroes. He understands the procedure well enough to know that it’s bound to be a bureaucratic nightmare.

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying before he’s done thinking it through.

Today has been weird, and exhausting. But he likes this place. And he’s pretty sure he likes these people. And really, he would be crazy to say no, wouldn’t he.

“Let’s try it.”

#batfam #batfamily #superbat #bruce wayne #clark kent #jason todd #dc #my writing #batman #superman #batman and robin

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berjhawn · 3 years

Text

Day & Night - Ch. 6 - Clark’s Truth

Warnings: manipulation, lies, brainwashing, misunderstandings, regrets, etc

(A/N) I hope you guys enjoy this, it took me a minute to get everything where i wanted it. if you do please do not hesitate to let me know :D

Day & Night Master-list

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

The sound of Bruce’s cell phone getting a text woke him from a deep sleep. He glances at (Name) sleeping soundly naked next to him and he smiles softly. He gently reaches out and moves some hair out of her face so he could admire her sleeping form. After what had happened with her finding out he was Batman, he had been worried that things like this wouldn’t happen again. That she wouldn’t trust him enough.

She had proven his worries wrong. He had thanked Diana for the advice after everything had settled. Of course, she was more than happy to help. Bruce silently rolls over to reach out to his nightstand and grab his phone. Unlocking it he sees a text from Diana and his brow furrows. Reading the contents, he lets out a heavy sigh. Clark knew.

If Clark knew, it was almost time to reveal everything he and Connor found out about what Lois had done. There was more than enough evidence proving that (Name) had told him the truth. The more Bruce thought about how Clark had treated her when she told him the more infuriated, he became. How could Clark be so stupid. Everyone knew (Name) didn’t lie. It was one of her best qualities.

Setting his phone back on the nightstand he rolls back over to wrap his arm tightly around her waist. He gently pulls her closer so that she was nestled against his side. Bruce was going to have to tell her about what he was going to do with Clark. She had told him not to worry about it all, but Bruce couldn’t help it, He wanted to clear her name. Clark also needed to know the truth.

Bruce is pulled from his thoughts by the sight of someone standing on his balcony. His head shoots towards the windows to see Clark standing there with a pained expression on his face. Bruce looks back at (Name) and gently kissing her forehead slips away from her and rolling over tosses the covers back. He almost forgot he was naked for a moment when he reaches out to grab his robe.

Slipping his arms through the sleeves he closes it around his waist and tying the strap makes his way to the door. Opening it he slips outside and says, “Not here, meet me in the study.”

Clark’s brow furrows as he looks past the dark knight into the room to see a familiar head of hair laying peacefully in the man’s bed. Clark feels his anger rise as he turns back to look at Bruce.

“Do not wake her up.” Bruce warns as he narrows his eyes at his friend. “I’ll meet you in the study.”

And with that Bruce closes the door and glancing at (Name)’s sleeping form smiles softly before he heads down the stairs to where Clark was probably already waiting steaming with anger.

Walking into the Study he sees Clark staring out the window and Bruce sighs.

“Clark, sit down.” Bruce says as he walks over to sit in his office chair.

“How long Bruce?” Clark asks not moving from his position by the window.

“A few months now.”

“Just a few months?” Clark scoffs as if he is insinuating that it has been longer.

“Yes, we met in the diner she was working at. We started dating soon after that.” Bruce answers honestly.

“You expect me to believe that?” Clark argues and Bruce feels his anger start to rise.

“I’ll leave the cheating to you.” Bruce states making Clark furrow his brows as pain and regret fills his eyes. “Look Clark, I don’t want to fight.”

“Why her Bruce?” Clark asks pain filling his eyes.

“Why not?”

“You knew better than anyone how I felt about her.” Clark replies his voice cracking.

“You ruined your relationship with her all on your own Clark.”

“I know I hurt her. I didn’t mean too.” Clark says as she slowly moves to sit down in the chair opposite Bruce.

“Tell me what happened.” Bruce asks and Clark’s eyes meet his in confusion. “I’ve heard (Name)’s side and I believe her. I’m going to give you a chance to tell me yours. When you are done, I want you to listen to what I have to say.”

Clark thinks for a moment and Bruce folds his arms over his chest.

“Lois and I were once again separated at the time when Diana brought (Name) to the watchtower. From the moment I saw her I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The light that shown around her was intoxicating. I was drawn to her in a way I can’t explain. So, I took a chance and asked her out. For a while everything was perfect. We were happy. Then I started to notice that she was forcing herself.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asks leaning forward to rest his arms on his desk.

“It was little things at first. Forced smiles at things we would talk about. Forced laughs. I could tell that something was wrong. When I tried to talk to her about it, it would end up in a fight. Things were worse on days I would go visit Jon at Lois’s house. I knew her and Lois didn’t like each other, Lois didn’t hide her anger or disappointment with me that I was trying to move on.

“She would call all the time under the pretense that it was Jon that wanted to talk to me. (Name) never said anything about it because she knows how much Jon means to me; but I could tell it was starting to get to her. Then one night when (Name) was at the Watchtower with you and Diana; Lois showed up at my apartment with tears in her eyes saying she couldn’t do it anymore. She wanted me and wanted to give us another chance.

“I said no, then the world became foggy and I don’t really remember what happened. I woke up the next morning naked in bed with Lois, and (name) was standing in the doorway. I panicked. I jumped to my feet and tried to explain myself to her, but it was like she wasn’t there. I mean her body was there, but her mind was gone.

“Her eyes were pitch black and all the warmth and sunshine I felt from her was gone. I was so shocked I didn’t even try to stop her when she left. Of course, when she was gone, I made Lois leave. I still don’t know what exactly happened that night. From then on when I tried to talk to (Name) her eyes would just darken, and she’d avoid me. That was until Conner showed up.”

Clark takes a deep breath as he leans back in his seat to look up at the ceiling.

“I didn’t know how to react to the news that he was a clone of me and Lex. I took it even worse when I was told that he was also a part of (Name). When she told me that, it made sense considering Conner’s anger issues and even his kindness. I see her in him more than I do lex or even myself. That’s why I pushed him away. I couldn’t look at him and not see her.

“Things only got worse when she tried to tell me that Lois was responsible for Lex having her DNA. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. And I lost her. (Name) disappeared after that and at first, I wanted to go after her, but then I realized that maybe she’d be better off without me. From the pictures I’ve seen I guess I was right.”

“You know she was telling the truth about Lois right.” Bruce says and Clarks brow furrows.

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Clark, I have proof that it was Lois.” Bruce announces and Clark’s eyes narrow.

“I asked Lois, Bruce. I listened to her heartbeat. She wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t do it.”

Bruce brow knits as he leans forward and hitting a button on his desk watches as a secret computer pops up and scans his face and eyes. After hitting a few keys Bruce brings up the video feed and then motions for Clark to come to his side of the desk.

“Then what is this?” Bruce questions as Clark joins him in front of the monitor.

“That’s not possible. Lois lied to me.” Clark breathes out anger and disbelief in his eyes.

“There had to be a good reason for Lois to do what she did. We’ve been researching everything that happened around then, and I think there’s something you should know.” Bruce pauses as he turns back and types some code into the keyboard.

“We?” Clark asks.

“Connor, the boys, and I. (Name) is not involved.” Bruce concludes.

The scene changes and as Bruce zooms in on Lois’s face, they can see that there’s something wrong. Her eyes were dark, like she wasn’t in control of her body.

“Lois was manipulated?” Clark asks tilting his head.

“We think Lex used some sort of new technology that manipulates the brainwaves causing the victim to do whatever the wielder wants with them having no recollection of the events that have transpired. Lois didn’t know what she was doing. So, she didn’t lie to you. Neither of them did.”

Clark moves from the desk back to the window as he tries to think about what to do next.

“I think you and (Name) should talk.” Bruce says taking Clark back. “You both need closure. Then we can go after Lex and figure out how he did it, and why.”

“She won’t talk to me.” Clark sighs folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t even know how to face her after finding all this out.”

“I’ll talk with her.” Bruce replies standing up to move over to Clark. “I make no promises though. Especially since she has no idea the boys and I looked into all this.”

“I feel bad for you when she finds out.” Clark jokes making Bruce smirk.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself that (Name) and I were together.” Bruce apologizes taking Clark back.

“I know you had your reasons.” Clark replies slowly turning to look at his friend. “Just promise me you’ll take better care of her than I did. She deserves all the happiness in the world.”

“I will.”

Will Continue -

63 notes · View notes

dented-nado · 4 years

Text

Sweet B

Short drabble of Bruce trying to be, what he thinks would be a “better” boyfriend for Clark!

---------------------

It was still baffling to Bruce, even after 2 years of living with Clark, sleeping in the same bed as him, that this sunshine man adored by so many, had somehow ended up being with him of all people.

Bruce didn’t do relationships. It wasn’t that… on a deeper level he craved that kind of closeness with another person, it was that it was just hard. Probably harder for him than most. He had been going to therapy to quite a while now, but he still just struggled with being honest and vulnerable and communicating with his partner.

Clark was always so patient. So, kind. He seemed to understand it took Bruce some time to come around… so he’d wait for him.

But Bruce… Bruce felt like Clark shouldn’t wait for him. Shouldn’t be so patient.

Because he deserved better.

He deserved a partner that knew how to do “the little things” that would make him happy.

A partner that would leap into his arms and kiss him to welcome him home every day.

In short…

Bruce was half terrified of Clark becoming bored or frustrated and leaving him… and hoping on some level that he’d “wake up” realize he could do better and find someone that could be all of that and more.

Bruce loved Clark so much it hurt.

It hurt because he wanted to be so much more than he was. Even if Clark would never ask him to be anything else.

Just because Bruce had stopped actively pushing people away… didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling not to think those things. Think about how those around him would be better off without him in their lives. Would be better off if he hadn’t somehow tricked them into wanting to be around him.

He thought through all these things, as he did often, as he found himself gazing at Clark fast asleep next to him. Bruce felt slightly, quietly soothed at the large arm that was draped across his waist as the larger than life man’s chest rose and fell peacefully.

“I want to give him everything.”

It had been so long where he felt this strongly about someone, to the point where his chest ached and his breathe stuck in his throat. When the occasional thought of Clark not being in his life one way or another crossed his mind, it was enough to make him begin to tear up.

It was bad. He lectured himself for it, but he couldn’t help it.

He adored this man.

He just wished he could show it better.

What did most couples even do? What would Clark like? Could he… pull it off?

In true Batman fashion, the next day Bruce was quietly forming a plan…. Researching… strategizing…

While Clark was gone and when he wasn’t focused on his typical CEO or Batman business, he was reading article after article, research papers, opinion pieces… he felt a little silly reading extensively about “love languages” and “Cute cuddling and positions to try in bed”… actually he felt ridiculous and wound up deleting his search history every 10 minutes after he fully read through something.

“But this is for Clark.”

He knew Clark had a hopeless romantic in him. The one-time Bruce brought him flowers because that’s what he usually did for second dates, Clark had gone pink in the cheeks and admired them gleefully for a solid 15 minutes gushing about how “I’ve never gotten flowers from somebody before! Now I get it! This is so sweet!”

But knowing that made Bruce even more confused as to why the hell Clark had decided he liked him that way in the first place. He had to be the opposite of romantic.

That was going to change. Starting now. He’d throw down every possible romantic gesture he could.

Then maybe… maybe he’d feel like he was giving Clark back enough for everything that he gave him.

He was about to head down to the Batcave, Clark was about to head off to his monitor duty shift.

Bruce felt a knot in his stomach, but he had made his choice… he was committing to this.

“Clark…” He called out before the man could take off.

“Hmm?”

Bruce approached him, tugged him down slightly by tugging on the part where his cape attached to his suit.

“I’ll… I’ll miss you.” He followed this statement up with a friendly peck on the lips. He really wished he hadn’t stammered, but practice made perfect he supposed.

Clark blinked at him a few times and looked at him quizzically before leaning in and returning the kiss.

“I’ll miss you too B, I’ll see you in the watchtower in a bit.”

“I… look forward to it.” Bruce responded, trying to make a move of straightening Clark’s cape despite it being perfect already.

He read about couples making moves to straighten the others clothing in order to encourage closeness. It was a little awkward however when your partner was in a skintight suit.

Clark gave him a funny look before affectionately moving some of Bruce’s hair out of his face just before disappearing in a blur.

Bruce took stock of how the plan had gone so far on his way down to the cave.

He had been more awkward than he intended, however, Clark seemed to return the gestures, so perhaps this would just take more acclimating to and wasn’t a total flop.

It was joining Clark up in the watchtower before a league meeting, he was dreading the most.

Clark had lamented in past when Bruce had banned any shows of intimacy while they were around other league members, and both were in costume. He had never pushed it though… yet Bruce’s rules were strict to the point of many of the core league members not even knowing they were together as a couple.

Clark had respected those rules, and Bruce had appreciated it… and yet…

He was going to break his own rules. He was going to break his own rules for Clark’s sake.

Still… it was terrifying to him about showing something like that in front of his work colleagues. He envied all the couples that had no problem showing the world how they felt about each other. Even if it looked incredibly sappy and sometimes, he wondered if they were showing off…

Clark would like that, wouldn’t he? To be openly loving and affectionate?

Clark already hid so much of himself… and he was making him hide more…

Bruce shook his head as he made his way into the meeting room. He couldn’t go into beating himself up if he wanted even a chance at pulling this off.

“Spooky has arrived!” Hal announced as usual.

Bruce grunted.

Clark turned to him to make his usual distant acknowledgement of Batman’s presence, only to pause and look incredibly confused as he realized Bruce was making a beeline for him.

“You’ve got this Bruce, just like you practiced.”

He wrapped his arms around Clark’s left arm and stood on his tip toes so he could reach Clark’s cheek and leave a small kiss on it.

“Hi~” He greeted in a very un-Batman way.

He was worried for a second as Clark looked at him in pure shock with slightly pink cheeks.

“Br… Bat… wha…” Clark stammered.

Bruce faltered for a second, heartbeat picking up nervously before he made an attempt to smooth it over.

“I told you I’d miss you.” He slowly unwrapped himself from Clark’s arm, running his right hand along it affectionately before briefly gripping his hand as he pulled away. “Can’t a guy say “hi” to his partner?”

He let go and sat down… slightly proud that he had Clark stammering so much.

“I… uh... but you… um … h…hi…”

Batman smiled at him, ignoring the rest of the core team looking a mix of bewildered, amused, and slightly terrified.

“Well what do you know… spooky’s heart isn’t made of ice after-all!” Hal said with a big grin because of course he had to comment on it.

“Or maybe it was made of ice, but leave it to Superman to thaw it! That’s so… cute.” Barry added.

Bruce nearly grimaced at the cute comment.

“This is for Clark this is for Clark, do it for Clark.” He told himself, forcing himself to try and smile ‘adoringly’ at his partner, but he was slightly concerned due to the way Clark’s eyes were darting all over his face, it might just look… scary.

A long silence blossomed in the meeting room.

“Uh… not to interrupt the love birds, but you know your leading the meeting today, right big blue?” Hal commented cockily breaking the awkwardness.

“OH, yes of course. I was … just thinking.” Clark cleared his throat, clearly trying to move to act full Superman and not think about what just happened.

Bruce relaxed and followed suit, able to slide easily back into the comfort of the distant cool and logic of Batman and make comments and critiques where appropriate.

When the meeting ended, and everyone began filtering out. He noticed Clark waiting around… probably there were some questions coming.

So, Bruce waited too, and stood to meet Clark as soon as the room fully emptied.

“Soo… what was that about?”

He had freaked him out, the mission might be a failure.

Bruce thought about it and chose his words carefully.

“I decided…that my previous rules about not being “out” in costume in front of the league were no longer necessary.” He paused. “I… perhaps shouldn’t have sprung it on you, I apologize.”

Clark scratched the back of his head. “Well I mean… okay yes, I’m surprised, I’m… happy that you want to be out about it, excited even but” He furrowed his brows in concern. “B… is something else going on?”

Bruce tried to will his heart beating in his chest to calm down because he knew Clark could hear it.

“I… just want to be around you more.” He said vaguely.

This didn’t seem to completely get rid of Clark’s worries, but he sighed and let it go.

“Okay. We can be around each other more.” He said with a soft smile.

“Good.” Bruce said, feeling more awkward than ever.

He reached out and grabbed Clark’s hand, trying to be “romantic” but he realized, it once again just looked awkward as they stood there with stiff arms and locked hands.

“Uh…” Clark looked down at their locked hands. “You want to get lunch?”

Bruce took a deep breath and pulled himself in, so he was once again clinging to Clark’s arm.

“Sure.”

“Hmm…” Clark replied as they began walking to the watchtower cafeteria.

Bruce couldn’t help but notice glances their way as they walked. It had to look weird… Batman clinging to Superman. He tightened his grip in nervousness without meaning to.

“Hey… B, you don’t have to hold on to me if you don’t want to.” Clark said in a calming, hushed voice.

He had noticed he was uncomfortable; he was trying to give Bruce a way out.

But no… he couldn’t stop now; he had already committed to this.

“…I want to.”

Clark didn’t seem convinced at all. “...Okay.”

Bruce was quickly losing confidence. What if he couldn’t pull this off at all, what if, if anything he was just turning Clark off him because he was just so hopelessly bad at being a good partner?

He bit his lip, trying desperately to think of a way to salvage the situation. He spotted a nearby utility closet. That was a trope in romance movies, isn’t it?

Quickly scanning to ensure no one was currently looking he pulled Clark’s arm, opening the utility closet and pulling it open and yanking them both inside, ignoring Clark’s confused stammering.

“Bruce! What...??”

He pulled his cowl off immediately pressed his lips to Clark, practically climbing on him, at this point hoping to force his way out of the horrific awkward feelings he was having.

He stopped when he felt Clark’s hands on his waist gently pushing him away. He parted, face now fully betraying him in showing his nervousness and uncertainty.

“Bruce, what is going on with you?” Clark said, now looking fully worried.

Bruce’s heart sank. Of course, him, trying to act affectionate… it was so unnatural, so transparently bad, he’d already screwed it up.

“Are… are you dying??”

“What?? No!”

Clark looked wide eyed.

“Am I dying?”

“No!” Bruce bit back. “Why would you even think that?”

“You’re just… acting so weird, it makes me think like… you’re worried you’re not going to see me again?? Why else would you be forcing yourself like this??”

Bruce went still and slowly hung his head. He was really this bad, that Clark would think that something bad was happening before thinking Bruce just wanted to show Clark how much he appreciated him?

He wanted to be mad, but he was just sad.

“…I know I’m not a good partner…” Bruce began, trying to will the knot out of his stomach.

“Bruce… what are you…?”

“I have trouble expressing myself, every time I try to feel affectionate, I feel like I’m doing it wrong, so I don’t attempt it half the time. I never let myself get close to someone, so I don’t know how to act. You… you deserve so much more than that.” He rambled, looking down at his feet.

“oh B…” Clark uttered bringing a hand up to Bruce’s cheek.

“I…I want to give you so much, be so much more for you. Other couples make it look so easy, but it’s so stupidly hard for me.” He admitted almost in a whisper. “I thought… maybe if I threw myself in the deep end, out of my comfort zone… maybe I could be the kind of partner that you should have.”

“Bruce, I love you all of you, you don’t need to force yourself to be uncomfortable for my sake.”

Bruce sighed. “I knew you would say that you damn boy scout.”

“Because it’s true. Bruce, I don’t mind that you don’t want to always be open about us being in a relationship, I understand. And I know all of this is harder for you, and that’s okay.”

Bruce went stiff under Clark’s hands that now rested on his shoulders.

“‘Okay’ isn’t enough. Clark… I know you love romance; I know that just because you respect and understand my rules around not being out, doesn’t mean I don’t know that you would still want those things.” Bruce half-snapped. “You… you can’t keep just putting up with things when I’m being selfish!”

“You’re not being selfish Bruce, its not selfish to have boundaries!” Clark said gripping his shoulders tighter and bending down so Bruce was forced to look at him. “Sometimes, yes, I wish I could say how much I love you every of every day. Sometimes, I wish I could say ‘leave my bat alone because he’s actually the sweetest, kindest man I know’ and sometimes I get pissed off when people treat you like you don’t have feelings or aren’t human, yeah, sure. But there’s no point in going around with you on my arm or announcing those things if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m not forcing myself or making myself miserable by not doing that because I’d feel absolutely horrendous if I forced you out in front of everyone when you’re not ready or don’t want it.”

It was now Bruce’s turn to stare at Clark in shock. “But…”

“Besides, your already do a lot to show your affection in your own way. Like… when we’re sleeping how you’ll curl up against me, or how sometimes when we’re both working in the bat-cave you’ll quietly put your hand on my back or hold my hand… or when you’ll give me the sweetest smiles in moments when you think I won’t notice, or how you’ll laugh openly around me…”

Was Clark… swooning? Thinking about him??

“The point is Bruce… you already do all that effortlessly, I think it’s sweet that you’re willing to go to such lengths for me, but you really don’t have to, okay? Especially when its uncomfortable for you.”

Bruce looked over Clark’s face for a second before sighing and leaning forward so his forehead was on his boyfriend’s chest.

“You have a way with words that I envy sometimes.”

Clark chuckled and ran his hand through Bruce’s hair. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t all bad though…” Bruce said with a quiet smile.

“Oh?”

“It was fun being able to make you all flustered in front of the league… and kind of funny seeing some of the reactions.”

Clark’s chest rumbled as he chuckled. “Well I guess those situations give you the upper hand, so of course you’d enjoy it.”

Bruce joined in on Clark’s chuckle. “It’s true. Maybe that’s the secret formula. There was that one time you were being flirted with by someone you saved that you were being polite as always in turning down and I barely held myself back from kissing you right there as a big “fuck you” to them.”

“You know what, that’s happened to me more than once when you’ve been flirted with or are putting on your “Brucie” show.” Clark admitted.

“We’re hopeless.” Bruce admitted.

“We are. But that’s okay.”

Bruce looked back up at Clark. “But really… Clark… it’s not all forcing myself for your sake, I really… I really do want to get better, learn to be more open again. It’s just… hard.”

Clark kissed the tip of Bruce’s nose, causing it to wrinkle slightly out of Bruce’s control.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day Boo. You don’t have to figure it all out right this second or change on a dime. I know how you are, and how you get frustrated when you can’t get a handle on something right away. But if you really want to be more open, we can slowly try things, but you have to promise to tell me when your uncomfortable.”

Bruce grumbled. “Fine. But you can push me a little more you know… I don’t need to be treated like I’ll fall apart if you hug me in front of green lantern or something…” Bruce gruffed stubbornly.

Clark laughed and pulled Bruce into a hug right there. “Okay okay. It’s a deal.”

Bruce paused. “I did already sort of blow a massive hole in the “slow” thing now that the whole league knows…”

“Well… everyone knows Dinah and Oliver are together and they aren’t clinging onto each other all the time.” Clark pointed out.

Bruce knew it wasn’t Clark’s intention, but now he felt like more of a doofus. He groaned.

“I don’t know how to relationship.” He admitted.

“Well… to be honest, neither do I. Sometimes I wonder how me, an alien, managed to deserve someone like you.” Clark said with a slightly sad smile.

How he deserved him?? Bruce almost felt relieved that Clark had some of the same thoughts, but at the same time he didn’t want Clark to ever think he was unworthy.

“…We need to work on you referring to yourself like “alien” as if it’s a bad thing.”

Clark scratched his neck. “Ingrained habit I guess.”

“You work on stopping doing that and we’ll… both work on reminding each other we’re not unworthy or not good enough to be in each other’s lives.”

Clark’s gaze softened. “Okay... I can do that.”

Bruce moved to re-open the closet door before pausing. “Clark…”

“Yeah?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “I love you”

Despite the closet being dark Bruce knew Clark was beaming at him. “I love you too sweet B!”

#superbat #superbats #batman #superman #manman #clark kent #bruce wayne #clark x bruce #bruce x clark #batman x superman #writing #ficlet #drabble #my writing #dc fanfic

210 notes · View notes

2996-sana · 4 years

Text

Seeking Arrangement - Rosé

Part 1

The pitter patter of the rain served as background noise for Y/N and Lisa who was sat on their couch munching on some cucumbers, eyes glued to the Kdrama playing on the TV. Y/N let out a dramatic sigh as she watches Ko Moonyoung and Moon Gangtae lock lips for the first time. The sound was not lost on her best friend who shot her a grin.

“Are you going all soft again, Y/N?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the teasing tone in Lisa’s voice. This was not new as she was always on the receiving end of Lisa’s jokes about her being such a hopeless romantic. Though Lisa found this amusing about her best friend, she thinks there is strength in Y/N’s ability to believe in love after the shit her ex-girlfriend Suzy put her through. Could you really blame her? Being in love was without a doubt one of the best feelings in the world in Y/N’s book. For her, it was an overwhelming yet warm feeling that stretches throughout your whole body once it enters your life and leaves you feeling like you’re on top of the world (but its all fun and games until your partner cheats on you).

Despite this though, she was not in a hurry to find love. In fact, after the tragedy that was her last relationship, she just wanted to lie low and have fun for a while.

“Shut up. You’re lucky you’re in a stable relationship,” Y/N scoffs.

Lisa and her girlfriend Jennie have been together for 2 years now (3 years next month) and Y/N envied the love shared between the two.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. No one can resist you for too long,” Lisa tries to reassure her best friend, wrapping an arm around her.

Y/N grimaced, “Eh…I don’t really want anything serious at the moment. Especially after Suzy.”

Lisa pretends to gag at the sound of Y/N’s ex-girlfriend’s name, “I agree. Have fun and take it easy. You should like…I don’t know…find a sugar daddy or something.” They both chuckle at Lisa’s words, knowing she would never even think about it.

•

It was hours later on her bed while typing out a reply to some guy she matched on Tinder that she realizes how hard it was to find a worthy candidate to waste her time on. These boys lacked substance and were coming at her with the same pick-up lines. She wonders if they all got them at the same Fuckboy Convention. It didn’t help that she rarely matched with girls either.

She groans at the reply that came through.

Wyd tho? U tryna fuck?

“The audacity of these boys,” she mutters under her breath, closing the app.

As she stares at her ceiling zoning out, she remembers Lisa’s words from hours ago. A sugar daddy. She laughs at her best friend’s ridiculous idea. She could never.

Unless? No. It’s stupid. She doesn’t wanna give out any sugar AT ALL.

But she was bored out of her mind. For the past 3 months, she has been cooped up in her bed wallowing in self-pity while listening to the very suspicious sounds coming out of Lisa’s room. There were also only so many pep-talks she could give herself until she grew tired of her own words. It was this that fueled her to sit up and turn on her laptop. After all, she considered boredom as an invitation for her to find something that would raise her serotonin levels. And what is the value of life without a little fun? She owed herself the first few months of her breakup to relax and take care of herself after all the mental damage, but now she needed a little play. She needed both the loud and quiet joys of life, peace with a little bit of wild mixed in. It was needed to feed her soul.

She also couldn’t lie that she craved some sort of human connection and validation. Yeah, she definitely was not proud of that last one.

Y/N stared at the keyboard, not believing what she was able to type into Google.

How to find a sugar daddy?

What she found out during her deep dive in the wondrous world of sugar daddies and babies was the number one site to find one was called Seeking Arrangement.

So that is where she found herself, blinking at the statement written in bold.

100% Free to Join!

To hell with it, she thinks as she begins to fill out the application.

30 minutes later, she nods in approval as she scanned through the photos she chose. She would totally hit herself up if she was a sad middle-aged man desperate for companionship. As she hits submit, she was met with pictures of men – and surprisingly women, although there were considerably more men – complete with their basic information.

Looking for a woman to spoil.

Looking for love.

Looking for a loving companion.

Looking for a good time.

It was nothing she didn’t expect to find at a sugar baby site but it was the net worth of the men and women displayed on her screen that caught her eye. She was almost tempted to message one of them but couldn’t find it in herself to do so. She rolls her eyes at the thought.

She spent hours researching and signing up for a sugar baby website and she still finds herself being stubborn about making the first move.

Glancing at the clock, she realized that it was almost 4AM. She decides that she was going to wait for someone to message her first instead. Besides it gives off the vibe that she’s hard to get and that’s always a little bit sexy, right?

•

"Y/N! Wake up! I made banana pancakes.”

Slowly opening her eyes and stretching, her foot meets a hard surface. The cold metallic feeling on her foot was enough to remind her of her antics 7 hours ago. She hides her face on her hands, sighing. Why did she think that was a good idea?

Once she was out of her room, she was met with the sweet smell of banana pancakes and nutella. She dragged herself to where the smell was most present and found herself in the kitchen where both Lisa and Jennie sat on the counter. Jennie threw a gummy smile her way while her best friend simply nodded at her presence, busy stuffing herself with her girlfriend’s banana pancakes.

“Vas happenin’, love birds?” she greets them with a faux British accent.

“What kind of dollar store Zayn Malik am I hearing right now?” came Lisa’s reply to which Y/N’s response was to smear Nutella all over her best friend’s face.

“Yah, Y/N!” Lisa whines as she hits Y/N on the shoulder.

Y/N gasps as she prepares to retaliate.

“Children! Stop it.” Jennie scolds the two. She was used to the duo’s playful fighting but she also knew it could go on for hours if she doesn’t put a stop to it.

Both were quick to stop but stuck their tongues out at each other.

Y/N grabbed her plate to return to her room. She glanced at the couple making sure they were preoccupied enough not to notice what she was up to.

You have 11 unopened messages!

A loose grin formed on her face at the notification. Not bad. She hurriedly opened her inbox to find the different men who deemed her worthy to reach out to.

It was all pretty tame, it being the typical greeting. She sighed, already bored. It wasn’t until she reached the bottom of her inbox where a small gasp came out of her. She sat up and read the sender’s name.

Rosé Park. A woman.

She excitedly clicked on the woman’s profile.

It only took the woman’s profile picture for Y/N to realize that this Rosé Park was the type of woman she fantasized about. For starters, she was a brunette and the woman was a blonde. She was a sucker for blondes. Who could resist a good brunette and blonde wlw duo?

Santana and Brittany. Rose and Rosie. Clarke and Lexa. Piper and Alex. Need she say more?

Basically, Rosé Park was a dreamboat. Something radiated from her pictures that Y/N knew rendered her irresistible to both men and women. She could outshine any of these men on the site any day. It also only took her profile picture to realize that the woman was a big deal. Her outfit looked straight out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Why would gorgeous and rich 25-year old Rosé Park want to talk to a normal and boring 23-year old like her?

Y/N composed herself, fighting back a smile, before returning to her and Rosé’s chat.

Hi, gorgeous. I passed by your profile and knew I had to talk to you. Looking forward to your response x

Y/N’s blush seared through her cheeks and for a minute she thought her face was on fire. She suddenly felt awkward, demure, and coy; even going as far as attempting to hide her rosy features behind her slim fingers even if no one else was around to see her. She blames it on the fact that an insanely beautiful woman complimented her. So naturally, it took her at least 5 minutes of over-analyzing every possible response for her to actually send one.

Hi there :) You’re one to talk. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

To her surprise, three little dots indicating Rosé was typing appeared beside the woman’s picture.

Haha, cute.

Hmm what brings you to this site, Y/N?

The woman’s question made her pause. She doesn’t even know the answer to that. Was she supposed to make some shit up?

Um I was bored.

She facepalms herself as she hit send. Really? Your brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to come up with a more interesting response, Y/N?

Y/N thought she blew it as 45 minutes has passed and no response from the blonde bombshell came. She internally cursed herself for her boring response to the woman. Rosé probably thought she was an airhead.

•

It was 10PM after binge watching another Kdrama with Jennie and Lisa that she remembered being left on delivered by Rosé. Her mood quickly sours as she realizes she ruined her chance at getting to know the beautiful woman. Thinking to distract herself with the depressing fact, she goes to check if any of the men messaged her back. Sure, a man could never fill the void of a woman but she really needed to talk to another human being besides Lisa and Jennie.

Y/N was apparently in for a surprise because what awaited her was a message from the woman.

Well, I hope to provide some sort of entertainment for you ;)

I’m not one to beat around the bush Y/N. I think you’re stunning and a good lay in bed. That’s a really good source of entertainment for the both of us, no?

Jesus Christ. She was not expecting that.

Y/N knew what being a sugar baby entailed but she was still brought to a shock at how blunt Rosé was being and so early on into the conversation. The thought of being with Rosé like that, being able to feel her skin against hers, the godly sounds that it would elicit…

Her private thoughts made herself blush. It seems like if there was anything Rosé was good at it was making Y/N blush. But her unholy thoughts about the woman didn’t create a cute soft pink tint on her cheek like a healthy outdoors glow, it was beet red. Y/N figured that Rosé was probably highly practiced at the art of seduction. Rosé’s looks although a masterpiece sculpted by all the deities that exist… well, nothing so pretty could possibly harm you, right? But it was that combined with Rosé’s choice of words that had anyone she chose to even focus her attention on jumping through hoops to please her. So, she swallowed her pride and forced herself to play it cool, putting on a mask that she thought would appease the woman she really wanted to impress.

I like the way you think, Rosé. I like to think I make great company in bed too ;) Give me a time and place and I’ll be there.

•

That message was what lead Y/N to the 21st floor of Seoul Forest Trimage Towers, one of Seoul’s most luxurious and exclusive apartment complex, standing outside of Rosé’s penthouse two days later.

All the reasons not to go through with it and just leave came flooding in. Y/N can feel the soft panic growing inside her body as she wills herself to breathe in and out, not quite ready to ring the doorbell just yet. But before she could finish her fourth exhale, the door was opened to reveal the woman who has not left her mind ever since signing up for that damned site.

“I grew tired of watching you hyperventilate so I thought I’d do you a favor and open the door for you.”

Y/N almost choked on air as she looks at Rosé for the first time. The pictures on her profile did not do her justice at all. The woman could have graced every billboard or magazine in the city and she wouldn’t even question it.

Y/N did not say anything - did not know what to say. She was conscious of the smirking woman standing before her, dressed in a white dress that stopped just above her knees.

“Do you wanna come in, Y/N?” Rosé’s voice was dripping with amusement, eyebrows raised. Shyness wasn’t usually Y/N’s gig so what the hell was going on?

“Yeah, sure.”

Once she entered the threshold that Rosé called home, she immediately noticed how fancy and expensive everything was. She was immediately drawn to the large window overlooking the whole city. The glass was so clear that it looked like a high definition screen at the movie theatre.

Rosé quickly picked up on her fascination, grabbing hold of Y/N’s hand and leading her to the glass window. “Cool, huh? I picked this unit because of the view. The city below is so far away it's like another world. This penthouse is my cocoon and the window, well, the window shows me as much detail as I want to know.”

Y/N could only stare at their joined hands and then to the woman beside her, intoxicated by her words. “It’s beautiful, Rosé. I’d kill to wake up to this every way. You have great taste.”

“Yeah I do have great taste huh?” Rosé looked her up and down, biting her lip before chuckling. (Y/N swears she saw the gates of heaven open at the sound)

•

A few hours later after a candle lit dinner prepared by Rosé herself and a bottle of wine, Y/N finds herself straddled in the living room couch being kissed roughly on the neck as pure pleasure runs through her entire body.

“Fuck,” she pants as she feels Rosé grind on her. Unable to control herself anymore, Y/N holds Rosé’s head in her hands and pulls her into a fiery and passionate kiss.

“Someone couldn’t wait,” Rosé smiled against their lips.

With a laugh, Y/N pushed Rosé down on the couch, switching their positions, not breaking the kiss. Y/N’s hands slowly work their way around her body, tugging on Rosé’s dress.

“Off.”

Rosé sat up slightly, allowing Y/N to pull down the zipper of her dress, feeling skilled fingers unhook her bra. Rosé tears it off herself before reattaching their lips. Immediately, Y/N’s hands found itself on Rosé’s breasts as she tugged on her nipples.

Rosé gasps against her lips causing Y/N to pull away, making her way down and sucking on the skin surrounding Rosé’s breasts before soothing it out with her tongue.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I’m not complaining,” Rosé giggles but whimpers midway as she feels Y/N’s tongue latch onto her nipple.

“Probably the wine.”

Y/N couldn’t help but think that their bodies fit together as if they were made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm.

Y/N’s hands drop to Rosé’s thighs, caressing her from above her panties. Rosé moans at the feeling of the soft silk rubbing against her as Y/N’s mouth still busied herself with her nipple.

“Oh my god.”

Rosé grips her hand tightly onto Y/N’s hair as she feels the wetness between her legs. “Take your clothes off. I wanna see you.”

Y/N stops devouring her nipple to pull her shirt off. Rosé drops her hands to the zipper of Y/N’s jeans pulling it down and slipping her own hand in.

“Good to know I’m not the only one dripping wet,” she teases.

Before she could begin her sweet torture on Y/N, she feels hands finally moving inside her panties and her mind went blank.

Fingers toyed with her nub making Rosé bite down on Y/N’s shoulder. Thumb continuing to rub Rosé’s nub, Y/N slipped two fingers in. Rosé moaned so loud that Y/N swears it was enough to get her off.

Pumping her fingers around Rosé, Y/N felt a smirk making its way on her face. She couldn’t believe she was on top of the godly woman seeing her face all scrunched up in ecstasy. She feels Rosé pulling her in for another heated kiss as she picks up her pace inside the woman. With every moan and whimper coming out of Rosé’s mouth, Y/N feels her own wetness.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Y/N mutters under her breath.

She could feel Rosé getting close as the woman’s grinding on her fingers became sloppier and her breaths became more uneven. Burying her face on Y/N’s shoulder, Rosé tries to stifle her moans as she finally comes undone.

Y/N slowly leaves feathery kisses up and down Rosé’s neck as she waits for her to come down from her high.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” she hears Rosé trying to catch her breath. “I honestly wasn’t expecting you to take charge tonight.”

“Maybe I’m just full of surprises,” Y/N grinned, pressing a kiss on Rosé’s temple.

Rosé slowly sat up as Y/N leaves her place on top of her. “I guess you are.”

They both sat in silence as they picked up their clothes scattered on the floor before putting them back on. Rosé was the first one to break the ice as she reaches for her purse on the wooden table. It was at that moment Y/N remembered why she was even there in the first place. Disappointment stabbed through her like a knife. Somehow during the duration of the night, she made herself forget that she was there because of an agreement made online. As if she was there spending the night with a new lover, both milking the feeling of a love that just arrived. The night started out like a sweet melody of a blackbird -- full of promise, freshness, and newness to come. Now it sat like a cold cup of coffee waiting to be drained away. All of a sudden, she felt dirty and used and all she had to blame was herself. Rosé’s words from a few hours ago during dinner echoed through her head.

I signed up because I have no time for relationships. I’m just too busy for that. It saves me the hassle of meeting new people and having to get to know them, y’know?

And truthfully, no, Y/N didn’t know. She remembers Lisa telling her she loves like a puppy - devoted, playful, and trusting. So, no, Y/N didn’t know. She just didn’t roll the way Rosé rolled.

“Here you go,” Rosé reached out with a wad of cash in her hand. “Go treat yourself. You deserve it.”

It was the way Rosé said it, so confident and smug, that Y/N knew that she was not Rosé’s first rodeo. The woman sounded like she does it so often that she just didn’t care anymore.

“How many girls receive this same amount of cash?” Y/N laughs quietly and she hopes it didn’t sound as bitter as she felt.

“A couple a week,” Rosé grins so nonchalantly it makes Y/N stomach churn. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Y/N awkwardly shifts in her place on the couch. “Um, you really don’t need to. I’m not looking for cash.”

Rosé actually looked shocked at the girl’s statement. “I’m a little bit lost here.”

“I signed up because I was bored and curious not because I’m low on money,” she laughs keeping an unamused tone. “I really didn’t expect to reach this far ahead. So, you can keep your money Rosé.”

Y/N got up and started walking towards the door. She was halfway there when she felt Rosé grab her wrist.

“Why do you sound angry? Don’t act as if you didn’t know why I invited you here, Y/N.” Rosé looked at her confused. “We met through Seeking Arrangements for god’s sake. I thought we had a good time.”

Rosé did have a good time. Aside from the mind-blowing sex, she was impressed by Y/N’s ability to be present during a conversation, always having her own two cents to offer, which lead to a lot of fun and meaningful discourse all throughout dinner. She had never met a woman through that website as enchanting and beautiful as Y/N. Y/N was a smart woman who was good at sex and Rosé liked that. A lot. So why is she being difficult?

Rosé saw different emotions flash through Y/N’s face before settling on a look of defeat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I did have a good time.”

Y/N stepped closer to Rosé. “I loved being here with you and money was never on my mind tonight. Maybe that’s why I reacted that way. I’m sorry. I joined Seeking Arrangements for fun because honestly…I was lonely and bored and looking for some sort of human connection and that’s what you gave me tonight. I just got lucky that you reached out. That was all I needed I promise.”

She offers Rosé a genuine smile before turning to leave once more. “Have a good rest of your night, Rosé.”

Y/N hears footsteps behind her as Rosé opens the door for her, a smile planted on her face. “You’re something else, Y/N.”

Before the door closes, Rosé speaks once more. “It’s Rosie now by the way.”

The last thing she saw was the woman throwing her a wink before the door finally closed.

#blackpink #blackpink x reader #blackpink imagine #rosé x reader #rosé imagine #blackpink scenarios

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angelinasway · 3 years

Text

Regaining Hope

Chapter Six

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers

Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut

Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

Previous Chapters: [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five]

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes:Thank you all for you're amazing reviews. I never get tired of reading them. I just got to say I adored writing this chapter. It was so much fun and I loved the banter. I'm slowly falling in love with this couple the more I explore it. I should warn everyone that there's a subject that comes up that might offend some of you. I did not write this part to try to do that to anyone, so please don't take it seriously. It was more about showing Buffy's age and what some of us begin to contemplate as we get older. If Buffy was really only twenty-one it wouldn't be a topic that would come up, but I don't think its to far off the mark that a thirty-two year old Buffy would think these thing. Once again, a shout out and huge thanks to my amazing beta Hipkarma for being so insightful and just plain helpful while editing these chapters. I don't know what I would do without her.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Six

Buffy awoke, as always right around eight. It didn’t matter where she was in the world, she always woke up around the same time every morning. Except, this morning happened to be very different because a large warm arm was wrapped firmly around her waist and a large thigh was wedged between her legs. She blinked in surprise as the night before came rushing back in surround sound and technicolor. From the moment Faith and Gunn woke them up having obnoxiously loud sex to when she first heard Clark moan. The deep baritone of the sound sending such a shock wave of lust straight to her core, she’d never felt anything like it and she was certain she couldn’t have stopped herself from touching him after that even if she tried.

God, he was built like brick wall. A very soft and warm brick wall, but a brick wall nonetheless. Training him was going to be difficult for that reason. She was incredibly strong but he was a hell of a lot stronger than her. Getting hit by him at full strength wasn’t really going to be an option. Though, she could always train him in her suit, which might actually give her a little bit of advantage against anything he threw at her. The suit itself was highly warded, to the point where she could probably get hit by a train and be able to walk it off. So that might actually be able to work, as long as he didn’t go for her head which unfortunately the full leather and Kevlar body suit did not cover. They could definitely work around that though.

She bit her lip, remembering how good it felt to kiss him. It had been awkward at first, but he was an incredibly fast learner and eventually began to take the lead. Heat pooled in her belly at what came after though, the grinding and rubbing that ended in one of the best orgasms she ever had. He really was such a well-built man, everything about him was deceptively large from his broad shoulders to his thighs that were almost as big as tree trunks. Something she didn’t actually notice until she straddled him. The act itself had forced her legs farther apart than she was expecting. So, when he’d pulled her into his lap his cock was suddenly perfectly aligned against her clit, and boy did he feel big. Almost too big if she was being honest.

The familiar throb of arousal hit her; her panties suddenly soaked. She vaguely remembered telling him after he got out of the shower that he looked ridiculous squashed up on her couch and to just share the bed. She was now slightly regretting that, because at this moment she wanted nothing more than to press herself back against the body currently cuddling her and grind her ass against the erection she felt poking her. ‘Yep, it was definitely time to get up.’

She meant what she’d said earlier about not being ready for sex yet and she really did plan to stick to that. She wanted to get to know him first, find out what his likes and dislikes were, what his favorite movies were, hell even what his favorite color was. She truly did believe what Lorne had told her, but she craved the getting-to-know-you portion of the relationship process more than anything. It had been a long time since she had that. In fact, if she was being honest, she was pretty sure she never really had it.

Angel had always hated talking about himself and she remembered very clearly spending a few hours researching him alone just to try and understand more about him. Unfortunately, back then Giles only had his pre-soul history, which probably should have been her first clue that embarking on any type of relationship with him was a bad idea. Riley had been different however, but when they started the relationship, they had both been keeping secrets. So, there had been big honesty issues there. Spike she hadn’t bothered getting to know, at least not before his soul. Oh, there were plenty of times she would slip up and ask him a question about himself, and even be cordial to him, but the personal stuff hadn’t come until those long nights spent together planning against The First. And, then again, after Angelus had killed Giles when she was basically a walking zombie. He would talk to her for hours even if she didn’t talk back just to try and snap her out of her desolation. He told her all about his life when he was human, and would even talk about some of the places he traveled with Dru. He never mentioned Angelus in those times, and she was grateful for that.

It was in those moments that she realized why she and Spike meshed so well. He was very good at taking care of broken things and she was a very broken thing. He was created for it actually, and he needed to take care of her just as badly as she needed to be taken care of. She just hoped Clark could handle the task as well, because she had picked up a lot of the pieces of her shattered heart and soul and begun to paste them back together, but there were still several missing parts of herself that she had lost along the way. She was working on it and had been for awhile but she still had her moments of utter despair and moodiness. Buffy knew better than anyone how difficult she could be.

She slowly tried to extract herself from his hold, but the arm that held her in place tightened. She heard a sleepy moan next to ear and then she felt his body stiffen as he came awake. Clark quickly removed his arm from around her waist and the knee that had wedged itself between her thighs and turned over on his back.

“Sorry,” He murmured groggily.

Buffy turned to face him, a slow smile spreading across her face as she propped her head up with her hand. He was blushing again and she found she rather enjoyed it. “I think we’re past accidental sleepy cuddling, don’t you?”

A sleepy half smile crossed his lips at her words, "Mmm," he hummed. "So, that really did happen."

She chuckled; he was absolutely adorable. "Unless we were sharing the same dream, I'm gonna go with a big uh-huh."

His blue eyes met hers, and his smile stretched into a full grin. His hand reached up and he ran the back of it down her cheek.

"Are you hungry?" He asked.

She nodded. "I could definitely eat."

He sighed. "We should probably get dressed then."

"Mmm," She agreed, rolling on her back and stretching her arms above her head. "Shower first though, and I should probably grab your clothes from yesterday out of the dryer."

His hand reached out again, running it along the flat of her stomach. "You shower, I remember where the laundry room is. I'll get them."

He sat up and then leaned down to kiss her, but she stopped him. "I have morning breath. I really don't think you want to do that before I brush my teeth."

He chuckled and shook his head. "I honestly don't think I care," and then he was on her, his lips sliding against hers.

She giggled, breaking the kiss and saying, "I think I created a monster."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have taken advantage of me last night." Clark said, a smirk forming on his lips.

Buffy’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening. "I did no such thing!" She said on a laugh.

"Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I think you did," and then he was kissing her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth before she could protest.

The kisses suddenly turned much more serious and before she knew what she was doing her legs had wrapped around his waist and her arms were around his neck. She felt his hard length push against her and she moaned.

"Mmm," He hummed, breaking the kiss. "I could get used to that sound."

His lips slid along her jawline, until he reached her neck where he placed a few wet kisses and then froze. He pulled away and Buffy’s eyes shot open. His eyes staring at her neck in a mixture horror and disbelief.

"Where...how did you get that?" He asked, his hand coming up to brush his thumb across her scar.

Buffy's own hand came up and rubbed the area. "Vampire bite. Well, three to be exact." She saw a pained look flash across his eyes as his hand came up to cup her cheek. "What is it?" She asked.

Clark shook his head, removing his hand and sitting back. "I just..." He sighed. "I can't help thinking how different your life might have been had I met you sooner." He looked away. “You’ve been through so much, some of it I read and some of it you told me.” He met her eyes, sadness and guilt shining in them, “And I’m guessing that’s only the half of it…and…and I can’t help thinking that I could have saved you from it all.”

She felt her heart melt a little at his words. That was definitely up there with at least the top five sweetest things anyone ever said to her, but he shouldn’t be beating himself up for something that was out of his hands.

She sighed sitting up, her hand reaching for his and entwining their fingers, bringing it into her lap. “As sweet as the sentiment is Clark, you can’t think like that.” She nodded, “Trust me, I’m the queen of blaming myself for things that are absolutely out of my control and the truth is, neither of us can know what would have happened had we met sooner.” She shrugged “I mean think about it. Sure, my life would have been easier but when the big stuff came up, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it as well, and do you honestly think I wouldn’t have jumped for Dawn?” She swallowed, “As shitty as the outcome was and even if I knew back then what I know now, I would do it again for her in a heartbeat.”

“I know,” he whispered, looking down. “I just…what if I could have stopped you from having to jump at all?”

She reached her free hand out, cupping his cheek, “Then I wouldn’t be who I am today. I would have never had the choice to take more power than I already had and have the strength and wherewithal to turn it down. I would have never found the Scythe and been able to use its power to activate the Slayers.” At Clark’s frown, she pulled away, getting off the bed and opened the closet. She unzipped her weapons bag and pulled out the Scythe.

“This,” she said, showing him the weapon from when they first met. “It was made thousands of years ago by something called the Guardians. It was made for the first Slayer and she used it to drive the last Old One from this plain of existence. Then it was hidden until the day I found it. It’s the whole reason Willow was able to tap into the Slayer line and activate the girls. It’s incredibly powerful, and I can feel the power thrumming underneath my hand as we speak.” She put the Scythe back and walked over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Kinda like you.”

Clark swallowed. “What…what do I feel like?”

“Powerful, almost overwhelmingly so,” she said honestly, sitting back on the bed. “But not evil or demonic. Those kinda things usually feel cold, like the temperature suddenly drops and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.” She gave him a small smile, “You feel warm, like I’ve been sunbathing for hours and my skin is that perfect mixture of overheated and sun kissed.”

He brought his hand up, cupping her chin and rubbing his thumb along her lower lip. "And when I kiss you?"

Buffy gasped, heat building in her belly. It took everything in her not to suck his thumb into her mouth. "If I answer that," she said breathily, "we won't ever make it to breakfast."

He blew out a breath, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against hers. "I've never felt so out of control in my life." He opened his eyes, meeting hers. "You...you make me want to lose control."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" She asked, her hand coming up to rub down his chest.

"I honestly don't know," he sighed. "But it scares the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He kissed her then, his hand running into her hair before saying, "Don't be. I feel more alive than I have in years."

"I think that makes two of us then." She said softly. "You're not the only one who feels out of control or alive." She paused, "And I think if I don't get in the shower soon, I don't think I can be held responsible for my next actions."

He chuckled, pulling away. "Then you should probably take a shower," he said moving off the bed, "because I'm pretty sure you aren't alone in that either."

Buffy laughed, "You sure you can find the laundry room, okay?"

"I got it," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek before grabbing his discarded sweats from last night, chucking them on and heading for the door.

Buffy watched him go and then shook herself out of her daze. God, he had a fabulous back. Why had she not noticed it before? This was going to be incredibly hard if they were both feeling this way. She once again opened her closet grabbing what she needed for the day.

****<S>**<S>****

Clark raised an eyebrow, looking at her in amusement, "You really think this is a good idea?"

She grinned, "No, but it’s cheap entertainment and they deserve it."

They were standing in the hallway outside Faith and Gunn’s room. Buffy having the bright idea of getting back at the couple for their shenanigan’s the night before, because as she said, “This was a long time coming.”

"Alright," he said chuckling. "Then hand me the bucket."

"What...why?" She asked confused.

Clark rolled his eyes, "Because I'm going to make the water colder."

Buffy frowned. "Is this another ability you've yet to tell me about?"

He looked at her innocently. “Maybe?”

The look she gave him was both parts annoyed and pouty. “Okay Mr. Secret Keeper, who keeps secrets. Here,” she grumbled, shoving the quarter filled bucket into his arms.

“I think you’ve been watching too much Harry Potter,” he said as seriously as he could, even though he knew it was obvious he was trying not to laugh.

She looked almost offended for a moment, “I have not!” A full-fledged pout finally broke out on her lips, “At least not willingly. Willow makes me watch it every year.” She sighed, “Then we get into an argument about if the Wizarding World is real or not in another dimension. It’s a thing.”

He snorted, "You're joking."

She rolled her eyes, "I wish," and then she shook her head. "Now hurry up, before they wake up."

He grinned, blowing softly into the bucket and handing it back. "There, it should be cold enough now."

She frowned at the water, reaching her hand into the bucket and touching it. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Wow! That's like seriously impressive." She grinned, "This is gonna be so good." Buffy looked at him, "You ready?"

At Clark’s nod, she said, "Alright, get ready to run."

He watched her take a step back and then her leg shot out, slamming into the door. The lock splintered and the door swung open, hitting the wall hard. Both Faith and Gunn shot up in alarm, suddenly alert and ready to fight.

“Wakey, wakey!” Buffy yelled, before tossing the contents of the bucket on them.

They both screamed when the ice water hit them. Their eyes widening in disbelief. Faith panted from the sudden shock of the water, looking at hers soaked tank top, her bed, and then Gunn before her eyes suddenly swung up to meet Buffy’s dancing ones. The look she gave them both could freeze over hell, it even managed to make Clark nervous enough to start backing up.

“You. Are. So. Fucking. Dead!” She ground out, fury flashing in her eyes.

“Run!” Buffy squealed, already pushing him down the hallway just as Faith shot out of bed. They were both through the living area and out the staff door in seconds, but Faith was fast and she was hot on their heels. The sound of her bare feet slapping against hardwood close behind them.

As they approached the stairwell a giggling Buffy yelled, “Jump, no time for stairs.”

Clark quickly launched himself over the banister, landing on the ground floor and turning just in time to see Buffy do the same. She landed on her feet and looked up in time to see a snarling Faith staring down at them, water still dripping from her hair and tank top.

“You’re dead B!” She yelled.

“What the hell!” Lisa said, coming around the corner a few of the girls hot on her heels just as Faith launched herself off the banister.

Buffy was pushing Clark again and they slammed out the front door and into the cool morning air. He wrapped his arms around her just as Faith reached the door in only a tank top and boxers and shot them into the air just before she could reach them. Both of them broke into fits of hysterics when they heard her scream, “He can fucking fly!”

“Wow,” Buffy said in between her giggles. “She’s really mad, isn’t she?”

****<S>**<S>****

“Okay,” Buffy said, snagging a piece of bacon off his plate. “Favorite comedy?”

They were in a restaurant not too far from the school. It was a very small establishment, but it was busy and the food smelt good. Buffy had recommended it to Clark, saying it was the best kept secret in Cleveland. It had taken them a little while to get a table, but now they were comfortably seated with two delicious looking breakfasts in front of them.

They had been exchanging questions since they arrived at the restaurant. Simple things, from favorite colors, to places traveled, and now they were on to movies. Except Buffy had just stolen a piece of bacon off his plate without even asking, and it was done in such a way it almost felt domestic. Almost as if this was a completely normal occurrence and they had dined together hundreds of times.

“Did you…did you just steal my bacon?” Clark said, raising an eyebrow.

She blinked at him innocently, taking a bite of the salty goodness while holding back a smile, “Maybe.”

He snorted, “Well, now I want a bite of your pancakes.”

Buffy’s face broke into a grin, and she used her fork to cut him a piece of her strawberry and banana pancakes. Leaning over the table and holding out the bite to him, while using her other hand to protect the table from any syrup dripping.

Clark leaned forward, wrapped his lips around the offered morsel and hummed as the sugary taste exploded on his tongue. He nodded, swallowing the bite before saying, “I should have gotten the pancakes.”

Buffy chuckled, cutting her own piece and taking a bite, her eyes rolling up at the homemade strawberry syrup. “I told you.” She said after swallowing. “This place has awesome pancakes for it being such a hole in the wall.”

Clark cut into his eggs benedict and took a bite. “Mmm,” He hummed, pointing at his plate as he chewed and swallowed. “But this is very good too.”

"What do you like better?" She asked.

"Hmm," he said thinking. "Well, it’s not a very fair comparison. One’s sweet and one’s savory."

"True," she acknowledged. "So, I guess the question should be, what do prefer sweet or salty?"

He licked his lips. "That's actually a tough question. My mom is an excellent cook on both fronts, but I think if I had to choose it would be sweet. I love pie and she does make the best."

She smiled softly, "She sounds pretty incredible."

He nodded, "My parents couldn't have kids so them finding me was what she calls a miracle." He smiled, "When I was a kid and my abilities first started showing, she was the one who helped me control it. She taught me how to focus and block everything else out."

"I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous about meeting her." She confessed shyly.

He frowned in confusion, "Why?"

Buffy shrugged, "Well, she raised you, didn’t she? Any woman capable of turning out a guy who so far has been one of the sweetest, most well-mannered men I’ve ever met, must have some superpowers of her own."

He chuckled a blush spreading across his cheeks. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to know that."

Buffy grinned, shaking her head. "Anyway, back to our original topic. What's your favorite comedy?"

"Hmm," He thought for a moment. "Well right now, I think it’s a toss-up between Talladega Nights and Step Brothers." He said, taking another bite of his breakfast.

"Ah," she acknowledged. "A Ferrell fan. He is hilarious, but I myself would have to go with Sandler or Kevin Smith. I love Dogma and Fifty First Dates is probably my favorite romantic comedy."

He shook his head, "I've never seen Dogma. Isn't that the one that makes fun of religion?"

Buffy's mouth dropped open, "You've never seen it! Okay that's the first movie we are watching together,” Her cheeks suddenly pinkening as she cleared her throat and added. “And yes, it does make fun of religion but in a really unique way where it sends a good message too.” She shrugged, “I think I like it because of how well it rips the Bible apart as far as hypocrisy goes. I’m not very religious, but I mean I do believe there’s something. I don’t know if it’s all the Powers or God or what really, but there is definitely something beyond all this. However, the Bible is one of those things that gets used for evil, far more than it’s used for good. Plus, I’m living proof that some of the sins mentioned in the Bible are complete bullshit.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Because you went to heaven.”

She nodded, “Exactly. Let’s see,” she began to count off her sins on one hand. “Lying, I did a lot of that after I was called, also definitely did not honor my mother and father, I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain on several occasions, I’ve stolen when I’ve had to, not for myself but for slaying.” She put her hand down. “Not to mention,” She whispered quietly. “I may have killed a few people who were after my sister back then, not intentionally of course but I’m pretty sure I killed at least one of them and I’m almost positive they were very human.” At Clark’s surprised frown she explained, “There were these, god I don’t even know a better way of describing it other than medieval knights charged with destroying the Key, and when we all tried to run, they attacked us.”

“But wouldn’t that be considered self-defense?” He asked with a frown and then added, “And maybe you were allowed to go to heaven because of what you are?”

Buffy snorted, “And how unfair is that. I get to go to heaven with the same kinda vague belief system as other people who live their lives with less red on their ledger than I have, but they don’t.” She shook her head. “It’s also kinda bullshit how no sin is greater than any other, or in Catholicism’s case it only applies to anyone in the church. I mean come on, I’ve heard of the Catholic church in particular, refusing to hold a funeral or allow burial over suicide, and yet they protect their pedophile priests like they are somehow above it all.” She sighed, a blush forming on her cheeks at her diatribe. “Sorry, I have many feelings about this particular subject.” She looked down, “I think that most religions have it wrong. It’s about our intents and choices, if we spend our lives at least trying to do good, no matter if we fall along the way or not, we have a place in heaven. If we however let the darkness that is always around us, whether we know it’s there or not, consume us, then we let ourselves be corrupted. If we begin to enjoy the pain and suffering, we as humans are quite capable of causing all on our own, I think that’s when we become hell bound.” She took a drink of her juice, meeting his eyes again, before adding. “I’m sorry if you’re religious and I offended you. I sometimes forget that not everyone thinks the same way I do.”

He smiled softly. She was really cute when she was passionate about something. He couldn’t really help playing devil’s advocate to watch that spark in her eyes as she got indignant over the topic of religion, but it had gone on long enough. He was trying to enjoy this moment, not offend her.

“I’m not,” He clarified. “I honestly don’t know what I believe. My dad and mom had me baptized as Presbyterian, but I think my dad might have stopped believing after they found me. My mom probably did too, but she would never admit it.”

Buffy frowned, “Then why–”

“Because I’m an alien Buffy,” He shook his head. “Neither of them knew where I was from or what I was. I looked human, but they both knew I wasn’t.” He shrugged, “I think they did it to teach me right from wrong the only way they really understood how. The same way their parents taught them.” He shook his head, “It wasn’t only that though, my dad used stories, his own life stories to drill into me how important it was that I always made the better choice, because for someone like me, losing my temper isn’t really an option if it’s going to hurt someone.” He sighed, “As for religion, I used to wonder why God would make me this way until my dad told me the truth. It’s very hard for me to worship a god that had no hand in my creation. In fact, I stopped going to church because I just felt like an imposter.”

Her eyes softened at his words and she reached her hand across the table and entwined their fingers. “You aren’t an imposter, Clark. I may not be religious, but I absolutely believe in destiny and the prophecy proves you were meant to be here. That somewhere in the ether the Powers or whoever, saw your soul and found it important enough to send a vision to some unsuspecting seer here on Earth.” She smiled, “No matter what happens, don’t ever feel you don’t belong here.”

“Yeah, for what purpose still remains to be seen.” He said, frowning slightly.

Buffy frowned, “I thought your dad said–”

Clark shook his head, “I’m not talking about why my parents sent me here, I’m talking about the prophecy.”

Understanding suddenly came into her eyes and she sighed, “I’ll try to work on Wes for you, okay? I know it’s frustrating but I don’t think he’s keeping it from us because he’s trying to be malicious or hoard information.” She nodded, “I do believe he’s genuinely trying to protect us, but I’m also not stupid enough to believe that’s the only reason.”

He looked at her surprised by her admission as he watched her take a bite of her pancakes. “What…what do you mean?”

Buffy swallowed and licked the syrup off her lips, using her napkin to dab up the excess. “Honestly, I think they’re trying to protect me from myself. Willow said it herself that day in the ship. There’re some things in it that would seriously wig me. Lorne said we’re soulmates, and I believe him, but it’s more than soulmates and I think you feel it too.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “If the prophecy say’s that we are destined in some way and they told me, there’s a very good chance we would not be sitting here right now because I would constantly be second guessing my feelings. At least that’s what they probably think.”

Clark studied her. She really was impressive, he found himself admiring her the more they got to know each other. “You already knew though, didn’t you?”

“I guessed it might be that in the ship, when Willow said what she said. Earlier that day when you were in my trailer and you left your poem.” Buffy smirked, “Clever by the way.” She said, looking at him appraisingly, before adding, “When you passed me, I felt something I’ve never felt before, it was like I was on fire. It was so powerful that even Hardy noticed my reaction and I was definitely not trying to draw attention to you.”

“Oh yes,” Clark acknowledged. “I remember over hearing that conversation.” He smirked at her, “What was it that you called me? Oh yeah, a well-built redneck with puppy eyes.” Watching her cheeks bloom with color was completely worth bringing it up.

“In my defense,” she said, embarrassment shining in her eyes. “I was trying to get him off your back.” Then she frowned in realization, “Seriously, you can hear that far?”

“I can hear anything on earth if I focus,” He admitted, her eyes widening in surprise. “When I was a kid and it first happened, it was like hearing everything at once. I thought I was going crazy.”

Her eyes softened. “That must have been horrible.”

“It was, and scary. I remember how scared I was.” He met her eyes as he thought about her admitting she already suspected that the prophecy said they were destined. “Can I ask you something?” At her nod, he continued, “Last night you said you usually fight things like this and even your friends thought you would freak-out. Why aren’t you fighting it?”

Her eyes dulled somewhat at the question and she pushed the few remaining bites she had around with her fork. “Honestly,” She paused, looking down at her food. “Honestly, I’m lonely.” She admitted. “I haven’t had this type of connection in years and it feels good.” She met his eyes then a blush staining her cheeks, “I thought about it and decided if the Powers are gonna give me something as beautiful as you after all the crap I’ve been through, then I was okay with that. Even this, just us talking and getting to know each other is more than I’ve had as far as romance goes in…I don’t even know how long. I had no idea how much I needed this kind of thing until I met you.”

Heat filled his cheeks at her words and their eyes remained locked on each other’s for what felt like a long time. Clark reached his hand across the table and placed it on hers.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never felt like anything like this before." He sighed, "I had no idea something as simple as eating breakfast with a beautiful woman, who I don't have to hide from, could feel so good."

Buffy smiled softly, "We are a pair, aren't we?"

He chuckled, and nodded. "That we are."

Buffy’s cell phone rang the next second, her eyes glancing at the caller ID and widening in horror. "Shit," she hissed.

"What... what is it?" Clark asked in alarm.

"It's Dawn." She responded, staring at the phone.

He raised an eyebrow, "And that's a bad thing?"

"If Faith called her and mentioned you, yeah it could be bad." She answered, not taking her eyes off the phone.

"You don't think Faith would tell her what I am do you." Clark said, worry lacing his voice.

Buffy shook her head, "No, she's not that stupid. But I could see her hinting that you are something other as revenge for this morning." She sighed, "Which would just put my sister in a panic."

The phone luckily stopped ringing and Clark watched Buffy sigh in relief, only to have it melt away when her text message chime went off.

He watched her look at the message as the color drained from her face. "Shit!" She said again.

"What does it say?" He asked nervously.

"She said that if I don't pick up the phone, she's gonna show up here, and that I have five minutes." Buffy looked at him nervously and sighed. "Sometimes I really wish we didn't show her how to use her keyness, because unfortunately she's not bluffing."

She looked at him apologetically, "You're about to get the full of Dawn in rant mode, so prepare yourself."

Buffy dialed the number and squeezed her eyes shut as the other line connected and it was answered after the first ring.

“Hello, my beautiful and wonderful sister who doesn’t even bother to let me know she’s back in the amazing U.S. of A.” The sarcasm in the voice alone told Clark that Buffy was about to be chewed out.

“Dawn,” Buffy started, but was cut off immediately.

“So, my dearest sister, Buffy…you mind telling me why my husband is about to send one of his crew members out to fix the door and rent a fan to dry the bed in Faith’s and Gunn’s room?” An extremely sarcastic female voice said over the phone. “Or better yet, who’s this new recruit you’re getting so chummy with…hmm? Also, why the hell didn’t you tell me you were back in the states and not call!”

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and Clark bit back his amusement, he had no siblings so this was somewhat fascinating for him. Buffy met his eyes and glared at the amusement dancing there. “Just you wait.” She mouthed, which made his nervousness skyrocket.

“Sorry Dawn,” She sighed. “I should have called, but I had just gotten out of quarantine and Wes was real big on me getting in touch with the new recruit.”

“Uh-uh, you don’t get to deflect like that, because Faith already told me. He felt more powerful than she has felt in long time, but she won’t tell me what he is.” There was a moment of pause before an exasperated tone came over the line. “So, what is he Buffy?”

“It’s not what you–” she started, but Dawn cut her off.

“If you tell me it’s not what I think I will show up there in the middle of Breakers Breakfast, I don’t care how busy it is, now spill!” Buffy’s little sister demanded.

Buffy looked at him and swallowed, “Seriously, this is not the time nor place to start talking about this.”

“He’s there, isn’t he?” Came her sister’s reply.

Buffy’s eyes widened, before quickly blurting, “Have you talked to Wes?”

Dawn paused, “Should I?”

‘Well, this was mostly his idea.” Buffy answered.

“So, Wes is okay with you boinking another demon?” Her sister’s indignant tone came over the line.

“First off,” Buffy growled, making Clark look around to see if anybody was listening. “I haven’t boinked anybody,” she said lowly. “Secondly, he’s not a demon, and third, when the hell did you turn into mom!”

“Maybe when I became a mother.” Dawn said exasperated. “Now give him the phone so I can give him the usual sisterly threats so he can know exactly what kinda hell he’ll reap if he hurts you.”

“Dawn,” Buffy warned.

“Do you actually think I won’t show up there.” Her sister countered.

Buffy’s eyes looked at him apologetically, and he saved her the humiliation of having to ask by holding out his hand. She sighed gratefully and handed him the phone.

“Hello,” Clark greeted.

“Now you listen here bub,” was the first thing she said. “I don’t really care what you are but if you do anything to hurt my sister, I will open a vein and send you to Quor’toth, do you understand?”

Clark cleared his throat. “I have no intention–”

“Of course you don’t,” She interrupted. “They never do. Now put me back on with my sister.” He blinked in surprised and shrugged, handing her back the phone.

“I think your threat was kinda lost on him, Dawn.” Buffy said in amusement, looking at a confused Clark. “I really don’t think he knows what Quor’toth is.”

“Well maybe you should tell him,” Came the snarky reply over the line. “Anyway, you better give me a phone call when you can talk in private, after the kids, me and Xand’s sex life isn’t exactly popping. So, I wanna know everything.”

A blush spread over Buffy’s cheeks, “There’s really nothing to tell Dawn.”

“Liar,” Dawn countered.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll call you in a few hours.”

****<S>**<S>****

They had stopped by the school to grab the rest of Clark’s things before he went home. Buffy giving him an extra backpack she had lying around to store them in. Thankfully, both Gunn and Faith were out, so they didn’t have to deal with any unwanted confrontations.

“What time does your flight get in tomorrow?” Clark asked, adjusting the strap on the backpack.

“1000…I mean Ten in the morning.” She answered.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” He asked.

She smiled shyly, “Only if you want to, but there will be quite a lot to do before we can make it to Smallville.”

“Such as?” He asked, stepping closer and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Not really knowing how to stop himself from touching her since he knew he wouldn’t see her again until tomorrow.

“Well,” she said, stepping closer. “I’ve gotta open the safehouse and get you a keycard to get in.” She reached her hand up her fingers running along the seam of his outer shirt. “There will probably be some sort of contract as far as payment for helping us goes, that I’ll need to print out.”

“Payment?” He asked, confused.

Buffy nodded, “Of course, If you help us stop an apocalypse or go on a mission with a bunch of Slayers, you get paid. The amount however, depends on how serious a situation it is.” She looked at him softly, “You didn’t actually think we would ask you to do any of this without some sort of compensation, did you?”

He looked away and shrugged. “I honestly didn’t think about it.”

She smiled, “You really are the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”

When he met her eyes, she had moved even closer, but this time he wasn’t scared. His arms immediately wrapped around her and he lowered his head and brushed her lips softly, not taking it any farther than that. He leaned his head against hers and whispered. “I wish I didn’t have to go yet.”

“Me too.” She admitted, “But it’s okay, we’ll see each other tomorrow.” Then her eyes brightened and she pulled away. “I almost forgot, I got you this.” She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a cellphone. “Here.”

“That way, you can call me if you get bored.” She blushed.

He grinned taking the phone from her hand. “Thank you. I definitely will,” and then he sighed as he put the phone in the backpack. “I definitely need to go, my mom’s probably already worried since I didn’t come home last night.”

“Of course.” Buffy said, smiling sadly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clark leaned forward and they kissed one last time, before he stepped back and shot into the air, looking below at the girl who was slowly changing his world.

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lady-plantagenet · 3 years

Note

What are your top ten novels about the Wars of the Roses? And why?

I think it’s obvious by the length how enthusiastic I was to answer this ask xx thank you for asking me and giving me also an opportunity to make a masterlist of some sorts of all my reviews xx. But you know? I speak like quite the expert but in reality I’ve read very little histfic about TWOTR because I just newly got back into this hobby (about a year ago) and have little time in general so tbh the last three books on this list I do not personally care for but since I’ve read so little novels of this kind they are here nonetheless hhh (so please people, give me no angry asks asking me why I am endorsing PG, I’m not).

1. The Last of the Barons by Lord Edward Lytton-Bulwer

This is quite possibly the best book I’ve ever read in my life. The gap between these books and the rest is a chasm the size of the world and I wpuld genuinely reccomend this book as an actual piece of literature to anyone, not just TWOTR fanatics. It is written in 1840, in quite old timey lingo and it centres around Richard Neville 16th Earl of Warwick, but in the true tradition of a real classic it is more than just a character drama, it astutely showcases the purpose of Warwick and what he did in the context of his wider world and doesn’t just chalk it up to personal greed. There is also this fascinating subplot about courtship, science and such. Hell, you even get this eccentric ‘natural philosopher’ guy called Adam Warner who tries to make something like a steam engine and gets employed as an alchemist by Jacquetta and Edward IV.

From a historical standpoint it is quite biased as the author himself was a politician (and an actual baron) and tbh I don’t completely agree with his interpretation of history and I can see some of the Victorian inluences slip in, but some of his takes are very refreshing and he clearly consulted the primary sources. I am much interested in his philosophy and life outlook though and while I don’t think his Warwick is the Warwick, I think he (Lytton-Bulwer) understood him like no other novelist could. As for the writing style... here’s an excerpt of a good reads review that I agree with and tells you all you need to know:

“Of course, such a style of writing no longer exists. The language used is essentially foreign to us. But the nobility, the pride of this story work their ways into your bones, your heart. You will yearn for honor once you have left it.“

Basically, go type it into google and see what I mean. You don’t even need to purchase this book it’s all online at the first click on Gutenberg.

Nevertheless, I’ve posted excerpts of it here, here and here =)

2. The King’s Grey Mare by Rosemary Hawley Jarman

This book (unlike the latter) has zero actual historical value. Actually, it sort of does in the way that it hilights certain real events that most people are unaware of when it comes to its protagonist: Elizabeth Woodville, eg the whole Cooke tapestry affair and the whole Desmond affair. Both things which I still stand on the fence about (if you don’t know what I’m talking about send em another ask or pm me). But like, it isn’t political, philosophical or such in any way like the first book, yet you still feel like you are *there* in the 15th century - by the time I finished reading it my heart was wrung dry and I kind of fell into a down for a couple of days because I just wanted to feel the magic again. If anyone would ask me I would give this 5 stars because it perfectly achieved what it set out to do (I can’t expect all books to go above and beyond like #1), it made me feel for the characters who were super complex, was accurate historically and even when it wasn’t it made sense, it got very creative with its themes (which I like to see because I am not interested in reading the exact same story over and over again) and the prose was absolutely magical and brought all the depth to this novel. I’ve read classics with less flowing and poignant prose, yes actual classics!

This book also switches POVs quite a lot (basically it headhops because it’s written in omniscient- but whatever, rules are meant to be broken), so you’ll get to see many of your faves in there, Edward IV, Margaret of Anjou and Grace Plantagenet feature quite heavily. One thing that disappointed me is that it wasn’t really Edward IV/Elizabeth Woodville (at the time I bought it for that), she never really likes him and his love for her kind of wanes towards the end. If you’re not too bothered about that then I say go buy it.

3. The Daisy and the Bear by K L Clark

I put this here because we are already going into shakier territory when it comes to this list. This is kind of the last *really* good, truly five star one. It is a long spoof about TWOTR but god it’s smart! Yet, It does not take itself seriously and has Margaret of Anjou/Warwick the Kingmaker as a crackship and centrepiece and had me in stitches the whole time. I’ve written a long detailed review for it here.

4. Death be Pardoner to Me by Dorothy Davies

This is a novel about George Duke of Clarence. Quite possibly the only novel ever written about him in existence and boy is it a trip - the author claims to have channelled him (she’s a medium). I’ve written a detailed review for it here. I read this last spring and my views have unfortunately changed, the thing is, I’ve come to find out through my research that this was quite possibly a hoax as there are some indisputable inaccuracies (Ankarette Twynyho’s age, the details of Isabel’s death - we *know* she did not die from childbirth, Isabel did not reunite with him after Tewksbury 1471, but right before Christmas 1470). It’s also quite Richardian (the author admitted) and she could have *had* me had she not chose to divulge it in the foreword. Nevertheless, I still like this book because it did get to me at certain points and it’s good quality as a novel, I remember shedding a tear at one point even which is extremely rare for me but I think that says more about my sentiment for the subject matter than the book itself.

5. We Speak no Treason by Rosemary Hawley Jarman (not yet finished, so ranking may vary)

I haven’t finished it yet, so I’ll leave it here for now. This book is a Richardian book about Richard III, but I can’t get enough of this author, I haven’t found anyone to replace her with. The prose is magnificent as usual and I must confess that I’m happy that this book is told through the POVs of three OCs and not Richard, he remains rather elusive and tbf I find the three OCs very interesting and at this point I’m more interested in their stories than anything else. Of course, Richard III is still a fairly prominent part of this novel (even when he doesn’t appear) and it has led to me getting annoyed quite a bit. Given who I am I fumed massively at that one aside that Clarence and Edward have bastards whereas Richard isn’t like that... like are you serious?? At one point the author reassociated the Games and Playes Chesse book to Richard when it was in reality dedicated to Clarence and I got even more annoyed. Leave the poor figure something ma’am? Whatever, as a book about three medieval commoners it’s fantastic and that’s what I pretend it is.

6. Wife to the Kingmaker by Sandra Wilson

Nothing more to add than what I wrote in my (super-long) detailed review on here. This is the case because I read it very recently. This is a novel about Anne Beauchamp 16th Countess of Warwick, it’s ranked higher than Sunne because though it’s less accurate it’s got panache.

7. The Sunne in Splendour by Sharon K Penman

I feel very strongly about this Richard III book and what it represents. I wrote a long detailed review about it on here and a follow-up post on the discussion is here ft my awesome mutual @beardofkamenev ‘s insights also thrown into the mix. Xx

8. The White Queen by Philippa Gregory

This is a step higher than the other two because this book pretty much changed my life. The thing is, I read it translated into my own language by an extremely talented translator and I was also only about 11/12 years old so it was all very impressive to me then. This book about Elizabeth Woodville effectively introduced me to the TWOTR; an interest that has never really left me these past ten years (though at one point (ages 14-19) it was quite wane). It’s not a good book by any standard (I was quite shocked when picking it up at a bookstore, I had found that when read in the original language it lost all its magic), but I owe a lot to it and some people who now endlessly discourse about how bad PG is need to recognise their debt of gratitude and be a bit more respectful, I think. That is of course unless you came into this era via different media, but you got to admit that a massive part of us got to this place through TWQ, though we outgrew it.

10. The Red Queen and The Kingmaker’s Daughter by Philippa Gregory

Exact same commentary as above, just objectively not good books. Flat characterisation, misunderstanding of the era, historical innacuracies which don’t add anything, lack of nuance in prose which often dances too close to *gasp* YA prose *shudders*. But these are lower because I don’t owe them a debt of gratitude as I do TWQ. Funnily enough, they are still better than the series.

#look at rb for tags

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hotcoffeecoldmornings · 4 years

Text

(This shit is long so bear with me.)

Can’t Eat, Can’t Sleep, Reach for the Stars

I haven’t felt this way in awhile. This ‘can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, world series kind of love.’

It’s hard to describe. The last time I was all-consumed like this by a TV show and a ship, that TV show was The 100, that ship was Clexa, and my world was, quite honestly, turned upside down by it.

I used the first two seasons of The 100 as background noise as I wrote my Master’s Thesis in 2015. To be honest, I didn’t really know exactly what was happening until Bodyguard of Lies (an episode anyone reading this post probably remembers well) came on. And a passionate kiss between two world leaders left me speechless and shocked. I was blindsided by it, unaware that that kiss would be the beginning of not only finding myself, but also accepting myself, and then finding a chosen family I never knew that I needed because of it.

There’s been alot of (okay, not a lot, but more) f/f ships on TV since then. Maggie and Alex. Nicole and Waverly. Elena and Syd. Kat and Adena. Anissa and Grace. Stef and Lena. Karolina and Nico. And the list goes on… While each of these ships is equally important, and each one represents another push towards more inclusive storytelling, there was never a ship that hit me as hard as Clarke and Lexa did.

Until now.

Harold, They’re Lesbians

Gay. Witches.

Motherland: Fort Salem said the words. And I fucking came running.

Okay, so it took me a few weeks… Thank you, twitter timeline, for finally getting my ass on board. It’s not that I didn’t want to start the show. It’s that my anxiety-ridden brain had other plans for me in mid-March. Like spending the majority of my time researching a global pandemic and then crawling into a depression hole because of it… Or something like that.

But nonetheless, I’m here now. And I’m fucking staying.

I knew I’d love this show. The concept of witches peppered with the idea that sexuality is irrelevant is honestly my one and only weakness. So I went into episode one with high hopes. And I sure as hell was not disappointed.

Episode 1 gave me even more than I could’ve asked for. We meet three uniquely powerful individuals, who all come from three uniquely interesting backgrounds. Abigail Bellweather, born into a lineage of the most powerful and elite witches Fort Salem has ever seen. Tally Craven, the last one standing in her family’s long-line of service, selflessly choosing to say the oath when she didn’t technically have to. And Raelle Collar, who has an unparalleled set of powers, combining her mother’s Christo-Pagan ways with those of the seeds learned at Fort Salem.

Rounding out that already brilliant cast is Scylla Ramshorm, the ‘sexy weird’ Necro who may or may not be evil (but we love her all the same). General Sarah Alder, the original witch who signed the Salem Accord, selling out every future witch to the United States Army, and whose ego quite often gets the best of her. And Anacostia Quartermaine, the Bellweather Unit’s Drill Sergeant who has a peculiar fondness (and leniency) for Raelle Collar.

The fact that this television show is entirely female centered (like, we’re talking 60 seconds of male screen time in the pilot), is what separates this show from most. Men exist in the world of Fort Salem as characters to exclusively propel the female leads forward, which is a stark contrast to the majority of shows right now. And not only is the entire main cast female, the main lead is gay. And honestly, the sexuality of every character on the show is questionably debatable as well. Except for Abigail, who quite clearly is into any and all men, and Tally, who grew up on a Matrifocal Compound and ended up in Fort Salem as a virgin. Which, of course, no shade to her, but it did strike me as odd when Abigail immediately assumed Tally’s virgin-ness when growing up in an all-female world was brought up.

So let’s start there, shall we?

The Heteronormative Narrative (or not…)

Something I did find puzzling about Motherland: Fort Salem (and the only thing, really) is how they portray sexuality, relationships, and love. In regards to sexuality, Eliot Laurence, the creator and executive producer, has been incredibly forward in interviews with the narrative that ‘your sexual preference doesn’t matter in this world.’ Which I appreciate to the fullest, trust me. But pardon my slight hesitation when I hear that line, because I think we’ve all been burned by it once before.

Motherland: Fort Salem has done a tremendous job of this. They’ve allowed characters to own their sexuality without question. It was never a thing when Raelle started dating Scylla. At Beltane, everyone went off with whomever the dance paired them with - even if that meant the same gender, and even if that meant three or four or five of them. Sexuality, in regards to same-sex partners, is never a character arc in this show, and it’s never there to create a plot point.

HowEVER, there were a few things I noticed that confused that fact.

Like I said about Abigail in the very first episode, when the Bellweather Unit is meeting for the first time, why was Abigail so quick to question Tally’s virginity after learning she comes from a Matrifocal Compound? If there are no heteronorms in the world of Motherland: Fort Salem, then why is it assumed that losing your virginity is related to relations with a man? Even though Tally is (well… was) a virgin, why would that question be brought up? If roles were reversed and it was Raelle living on the Matrifocal Compound, the conversation would’ve gone strikingly different, and it would’ve supported this heteronormative narrative that I thought we were trying to avoid. I’m just going to blame this one line on how badly Abigail wants the D, so sleeping with a woman wouldn’t even cross her mind.

But then what about the idea of this ‘five-year marriage contract’? It’s simply about producing a child, so I assume a woman could never have that sort of thing with another woman, and that those women could never add to their lineage (unless they entered into a five-year marriage contract simply to reproduce). Doesn’t this, alone, signify a heteronormative world without even meaning to do so? While they accept LGBTQ+ relationships, how do they actually fit into the society and culture that this show has created? Wouldn’t the gay witches be seen as almost inadequate in carrying on the gene if they don’t have a child? (AmI just thinking too much into this...?)

But then again, the whole concept of ‘love’ in Fort Salem is rather insignificant itself. As Gerit mentions, no one is supposed to spend their life with just one person. Witches are committed to one another in five-year partnerships to reproduce, and then that’s it. So in a way, I understand that nobody, no matter what their sexuality is, really gets to experience this fairytale ending that we’re used to seeing in a (*cough* heterosexual) ship on TV. And in a way, I also think that’s what makes this show all the more fascinating. Eliot Laurence gave everyone a level playing field by just removing the idea of a happily ever after altogether. In Laurence’s world, witches are meant to train and fight and die for their country. Love is their weakness. But what’s so compelling about that is even though love is their weakness, he made sure that love also manifests into their greatest strength.

From what I’ve seen in interviews for Laurence, every single thing has a purpose. So I’m quick to let this go, and see where he takes us. He’s been building this world inside his head for nine years, so I know that there’s so much more to this story than what can be told in a 10-episode season.

But Back to the Lesbians

Anyway, back to love. Specifically gay love. I wish I could put into simple words my obsession with Raelle and Scylla.

From the incredible chemistry that Taylor Hickson and Amalia Holm share on-screen together to the directors and writers who’ve portrayed their love story so magically, Raelle and Scylla are truly something special. They’ve taken the place of a ship this queer fandom lost when Lexa was killed. It’s a ship that you want to hate, because every part of this story tells me to hate Scylla. She’s Spree. She’s vindictive. She’s dangerous. Yet every part of my brain tells me to love her. And to love them together.

I don’t like easy stories. I want stories that make the ending worth it. I want hardships and pain and hurt and work when it comes to love. Which is why I like the story of Raelle and Scylla. There was a spark between them in their very first scene together- a spark you could feel through the TV. It was believable and real. They come from similar backgrounds of loss and solitude, and that’s what originally bound them together. And over the next seven episodes, we watched their relationship grow. We saw their vulnerabilities, their growth, their passion. But now we’re going to see the hardship. The pain, the anger, the betrayal.

I appreciate that they’re not skimping on telling any part of their story. The two are special together, and so far, this show has proved that.

She’s Special

I want to break down Raelle Collar before bringing up anything else, because, well, obviously she’s the main character, but she’s also got a lot going on. The fact that Raelle channels her power through something other than the typical ‘seed’ is something that will be of importance to why she’s so powerful. Petra Bellweather, herself, claims that Raelle’s mom, Willa, used unconventional methods that delivered incredible results. “She was the fixer every unit wanted to deploy with.”

While all witches in Basic Training are learning about utilizing their extra set of vocal cords to create magic songs, Raelle can do it in a way that’s reminiscent of where she grew up- Chippewa Cession. In the very first episode, she makes note that her family was there before it became a Cession. Aka, before the land was given to the Chippewa tribe in exchange for their magic.

Raelle comes from a line of witches that all have more unique abilities than what’s taught at Basic Training. She uses a combination of Native American spirituality/Christo-Paganism skills during her days at Fort Salem, which brings up questions (and judgment) from other witches. It seems as though that kind of magic was the way witches used to do things before Sarah Alder released her song into the world and created a vocalizing army with it. Raelle’s peers look disgusted when they see her still using the same ways witches once did. It’s particularly noticeable when she heals people, and recites Matthew 7:7, “Ask, and it shall be given to you; seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” The entire theme of the Book of Matthew, in regards to Christianity, is about prayer. Asking and receiving. That God will provide you with what’s needed, and nothing more. But when it comes to Paganism, it’s about the law of attraction and return in our universe. It outlines that there is no life without balance - that all prayers can be answered, but they’ll be answered with things that are taken from elsewhere. All prayers almost have a consequence. Just like all magic has a consequence.

Raelle’s power, at least what she knows of it up until now, is based on a consensual balance, bringing the theme of Paganism’s Matthew 7:7 into the type of witchcraft she practices. She can heal someone, but what she heals them from will be transferred onto her. Balance. Consequence.

Bringing General Sarah Alder back into this, this is the same type of magic that she traded for back in the 1700’s when she granted the Chippewa Tribe the entire length of the Mississippi River. In exchange, she gained the magic that could keep her eternally young. But just like the magic that Raelle does, this age defying practice has consequences too, and requires balance. Every 50-60 additional years that General Alder adds on to her endless life, a young witch must be sacrificed to take on those years, and must stand by General Alder the rest of her short-lived life.

But where does the balance go?

Adil is such a great addition to the cast because he sheds a light on something so crucially ignored on campus. All magic has balance. This is teased throughout the season, like when General Alder hits turbulence on her way to The Hague and jokes (but not really jokes), “I assume I have one of you to blame for that.” Or how Raelle soaks up her ‘patients’ illness. But it’s not truly smacked in our faces until Adil says it.

As Abigail is flaunting her ability to *one day* “grind iron into ore and mountains into dust,” Adil drops a truth bomb on her. “All that weather you fight with has a cost. Floods. Failing crops. Famine. Every war, people starve.” She’s quick to reply that the good they do far outweighs the bad. But to who? Certainly not to Adil and his people. Meeting him is going to give our recruits a serious insight into just how consequential their ‘work’ can be. He’s going to play a crucial role in realizing how manipulative and egotistical General Alder has been.

Not only is weather an issue, but plagues. “Like the one attacking my sister.” Adil and Khalida come into the storyline because Khalida is sick with a deathly black webbing wrapped around her body. When they first make it to the Military Outpost (somewhere in the dessert between Russia and China?), the Soldier who meets them at the gate yells, “they’re here.” So were they expecting them?

Raelle eventually is the one who heals Khalida, (by using her Christo-pagan means) but instead of taking up the illness like it usually does, instead, it infects the giant mushroom that Raelle touched earlier.

The balance of Mother Mushroom.

I go back and forth between theories for the giant mushroom growing under Fort Salem. But today, I’m convinced the mushroom is attached to General Alder’s vitality. And consequently, the entire vitality of Fort Salem as well. In one episode, Berryessa reminds us that all life on campus is directly connected to Alder. And if what Scylla says in My Witches, that “life becomes death, which becomes life again,” is relative to the life on campus and how General Alder parallels that, then this theme of balance throughout the series is more prominent than we realize.

The giant mushroom living under campus is clearly important. It has hands and replicates faces and takes on diseases and Izadora is not a fan of anyone touching it. So yes, you could say this fungi is a main character now.

But. Why?

“In the kingdom of plants, mushrooms occupy the underworld. Nothing ever really dies.” Mushrooms have an entire underground network of language to one another. And they are responsible for the breakdown and decomposition of death so that organic matter can become something else. Necros have an obvious connection to this ecological process too, so they must have a connection to the continuous process that General Alder goes through to support and sustain life on her campus.

I think that the “Mother Mycelium” signifies each and every consequence that Fort Salem has accumulated. It holds the hurt and death and pain and regret of everything General Alder has created. And now that the Mushroom is infected with whatever plague Khalida had, I think it’s going to wreak havoc on Fort Salem. Magic is based on balance, and I think massive consequences are coming to make up for years of disparity.

One last thing on my mushroom-thoughts, is when Helen Graves said “the dead make excellent eyes and ears.” An underground network of mushrooms all connected to recently dead organisms would certainly be a great way to gain insight too. Scylla mentions that she needs something recently dead to grow her deathcap, so does this Mushroom need to be constantly “fed” with death to continue the creation of life?

Does Alder know about that? Are the mass-murders that the Spree are doing related to this? Killing hundreds of people at a time would definitely be a good way to keep the mushroom o’ death fed. Is Alder behind the Spree!?

Sexy Weird

Speaking of Spree... Can we talk Scylla now? First of all, what the hell is this girl’s timeline? When we first meet her, she’s a cadet (second year) in War College already, meaning she would’ve had to enlist on Conscription Day the year before Raelle. Yes? In Mother Mycelium, we see that she *might* (still don’t believe it) have been the person behind that first Spree attack on Conscription Day of this year (so when Raelle, Tally, and Abigail enlisted), so was she at Basic Training for an entire year before deciding to become Spree? Did she enlist knowing that she would eventually be Spree? Does this ever get addressed in the show?

Since we’re here, I might as well say there’s no way Scylla did that. I’ll never believe it. And I’m using my one semester of Greek Mythology in college to tell you why (who knew that class would eventually come in handy)

In My Witches, when Tally, Abigail, and Glory first meet Scylla, Tally makes it clear that ‘Scylla’ is a Greek name. Okay. Greek. Cool. Mythology. Let’s go. I already knew that Eliot Laurence doesn’t waste any minute of screen time when it comes to plot development and storytelling, so my meta brain did a little digging.

In Greek Mythology, Scylla was a sea-monster who haunted the rocks of a very narrow strait, opposite of the whirlpool of Charybdis. The monster’s purpose was to lead ships and boats towards the whirlpool, which was lethal to all who attempted to pass. Scylla was used to lure boats towards Charybdis, but was never meant for actually destroying them. Scylla was a fear tactic, not a murderous monster. In poetry, it’s often said that Scylla isn’t a monster at all, just born into a monstrous family. In conclusion (from my 4 months of Freshman-level Greek Mythology and a little refreshment on Google) I think Scylla is simply being used to lure people to the Spree, but not actually doing the mass-murdering that is being shown in the episode.

What I do know is that Scylla Ramshorn is absolutely Amalia Holm. Mainly because I refuse to accept that Raelle is falling for the red head (sorry, red head). But also because at the end of the Pilot, when Scylla (in red head disguise) looked into the mirror, the balloon was her reflection, and it followed everything that she did. But in other scenes, when Scylla’s face is the normal Scylla face, she can see her own reflection. So the redhead girl is unimportant. Plus, IMDB says she never appears again this season...

We Are The Spree

As much as I hate to believe that Raelle’s mom (or Aunt!) is alive and leading the Spree, the connections between the two entities do add up. Both (Spree and Collar’s) are against the authority and power that the Witch Army has over populations of witches. They’re both against General Sarah Alder. I believe they both use spoken word magic rather than just vocalized magic. When the Spree carry out their attacks, they’re whispering words under their breath, not singing any song. Which is reminiscent of how the Collar’s do magic. Additionally, it would make sense as to why the Spree would want Scylla to bring them Raelle. And I still can’t get over the conversation between Raelle and Tally when Raelle explains her family’s combat charm. “A bowerbird’s foot. They love anything blue.”

Blue? Why. WHY.

Maybe Willa Collar was captured by the Spree? Or the Aunt was? Or the Spree needs Raelle to heal someone?

One last weird very unthought out theory goes with the other Biblical verse Raelle recites - Isaiah 43:2. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” The fact that all Spree attacks have happened with something to do water- in the snow, at the pool, on a cruiseship. And the fact that the last line of that verse is literally, “you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” This type of witchcraft has to relate to how the Spree does magic. Right??

Now I’m re-talking myself into the fact that the Collar’s might be somehow leading Spree...

But who’s ‘we’?

If the Collar’s are in charge of Spree then this next theory would actually check out.

Anacostia has been a little more over-bearing with Raelle than any of the other girls. On multiple occasions, she’s said how Raelle is gifted. In fact, they all have. Even Abigail in Hail Beltane mentions that “Raelle didn’t go outside of canon, she’s naturally gifted.” They all know she’s gifted. It would make sense if the Collar’s were the ones running Spree, and that Anacostia, aka. General Alder’s head bitch, was sent to protect Raelle from ever joining them. Alder wants to capitalize on the powers that Raelle has, and keep them in the Witch Army.

But I also think Anacostia could be playing General Alder. There have been too many times where she stares at Alder just a little bit too intently, and I can’t stop thinking that she might be in some sort of rebellious group too. Maybe a certain cell of Spree?

Because you can’t deny that Anacostia has also taken in interest in Scylla, particular to keep her away from Raelle. When Anacostia first caught them flying high on Salva, she told Scylla to stay away from Raelle, and it seemed as though she (tried) to use some sort of coercion magic while doing so. When Anacostia then saw them together at the Bellweather wedding, she almost sounded shocked, “I expressly told you to stay away from her.” Did Anacostia attempt coercion magic on Scylla and it didn’t work? And if she did, why didn’t it work?

That entire exchange felt odd yet familiar. Like the two have history. “Your name wouldn’t have been on the list. You’re not supposed to be here.” Particularly the “you’re not supposed to be here.” Did Anacostia know about the attack on the Bellweather’s? And did she think it would be threatened with Scylla there? Or did she know that Scylla was supposed to bring Raelle to the Spree at 6pm. And was sent to make sure Scylla never completed that task.

I found it interesting that Anacostia was never seen fighting off the balloons like every other Witch was when they appeared. And her being at the actual wedding felt odd too. Especially if she’s General Alder’s right-hand (wo)man, because last time I checked, Alder and Petra Bellweather weren’t on the greatest terms. In fact, none of the General’s are on great terms with Alder.

Since we’re now on Bellweather season...

Camarilla. No, not Carmilla.

There’s certainly a second threat in this show. And they were the ones behind the attack at the Bellweather’s. Not only has this already been proven by Jessica Sutton on Twitter (lols) but the clues were literally all there. They didn’t use any magic to fight. They had to use a mechanized sound machine to stop Abigail and Petra from using their powers. Then they covered themselves with gasoline and lit themselves on fire before the mother-daughter duo blew them away. It wasn’t Spree. But it was meant to look like Spree. And I think the balloons were simply a distraction, so all efforts and power would be outside fighting off the balloons while the civilian waiter’s could attack.

But who is doing this?

It’s been brought up that there are alot of humans who don’t agree with the Witch Army that Alder leads. Even the President of the United States is hesitant about them. “You, too, are bound by rule of law to the will of the American people, who have elected me to represent their interests and protect them. Don’t you forget it. Or you may find yourself reminded.” Then Tally gets confronted later in that episode by a civilian who says, “It’s witches who are committing these attacks. It’s your kind of people .” And then even later in the series, there’s talk of a “growing debate in congress to revoke the Accord and disband the army.” So you could say there are definite opinions about this Army by civilians.

In A Biddy’s Life, there’s a shot when Raelle and Scylla are in the room with weapons once used to kill witches. There’s an undeniably important shot of the Camarilla Scythe. Camarilla, itself, is defined as a small group of people acting as private advisers to a ruler or politician with a shared and nefarious purpose to carry out secret plots.

Since civilians are the ones that are most opposed to the Witch Army, it makes sense that maybe the President, herself, is the one behind these attacks. She’s trying to take down the most Elite of the Witches (the Bellweather’s), hence inhibiting the Army from being as successful as it’s been in the past. And what better way than to kill the most elite witches of child-bearing age.

While this theory checks out, I can’t help but to also think that Petra Bellweather could be behind the attacks. I know, it’s a stretch, (specifically because it’s her own family that’s being targeted) but I do love that ‘good powers, bad people’ trope. And what better way to make sure nobody questions your efforts if you’re the last one they’d suspect? Petra Bellweather has been itching to boot Alder from head witch honcho for awhile. Since killing Bellweather’s is the ultimate attack against witches, this would be a great strategy to showcase that Alder is inept in dealing with these enemies, creating a fall in power. And eventually, a rise in another. A Bellweather.

Okay, I know what you’re all probably thinking. “So you’re saying that she wanted her own daughter killed!?” Not necessarily. When you watch Bellweather Season, and specifically the wedding scenes, they put an insane emphasis on timing. And I don’t believe that that’s just because of Scylla trying to get Raelle out of there by 6pm. When you watch the sequence back, the Bellweather Unit was supposed to be having their interview with the Dean of War College, starting at 5:30ish. If the interview took a good bit, say 30-45 minutes, this would strategically put Abigail not in the line of fire (aka Charvel’s room) at 6pm when they struck.

But on the complete other hand, Abigail was supposed to be up with Charvel at that time helping her get ready. Meaning if it wasn’t Petra Bellweather, someone perfectly timed both Bellweather’s of childbearing age to conveniently be in the same place at the same time.

Then the fact that Scylla was meant to leave with Raelle at 6pm (the exact moment the waiter’s and balloons struck), can’t go unnoticed. Did they want her to leave with Raelle at 6pm because the Spree knew about the attack? Did someone warn them? Does this explain why Anacostia was shocked to see Scyalla. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Why wasn’t she supposed to be there????

I’m just going to tap out of this theory now.

But One More Thing

This might be a totally aggressive theory, and I have to credit the initial spark of this idea to my girlfriend, because during my 67th rewatch of this show, she brought up something I’d never thought of before. She asked me what Scylla’s purpose of attending the wedding was, and if the person she was supposed to bring to Penelope Road at 6pm really was Raelle?

This got thinkING. What if it was someone else???

When you look back at all the times Scylla spends talking to her balloon mirror, they never actually say Raelle’s name. Sure, we’re meant to believe that Raelle is the obvious target. But what if that’s a cover?? What if she’s using Raelle to infiltrate something else and get to someone else??

It would make sense to use Raelle to target Abigail instead- an elite Bellweather. Like I said, this is a very unlikely theory but it would definitely be a shock to literally everyone (except my girlfriend apparently)...

Has the entirety of the show been leading us down a path to distract us from something else going on!? With every other ounce of brilliance here, I wouldn’t even doubt it.

In Conclusion

I went into this show expecting to be seen and represented as a queer woman, but what I actually got was so much more. What I got from this show is the realization that me being queer doesn’t have to have anything to do with me being a woman at all. My strength, and will, and mistakes, and growth, and grace, and support, and passion, are what make me a woman. Each of our stories are deserving enough to be told just because we are women.

I’ve struggled with that fact my entire life - my womanhood.

Femininity, feminism, and female empowerment are all things I’ve only recently connected with. I was raised in the culture of traditional gender roles. My dad went to work and my mom stayed home. It’s not that I was necessarily taught that men and women must occupy those roles; it’s just that’s all I knew. To even further confuse my adolescent existentialism, not only was my mother a stay-at-home mom, she was also in the Marine Corps. And she never really understood the fact that not all women are as strong as she is.

My mom’s a badass, don’t get me wrong. She’s one of my hero’s. She came from a family who didn’t have much, and after realizing that she couldn’t afford to go to college, she enlisted instead. Six years later, she went to Penn State on a full-ride. She’s worked for every ounce of success that she’s seen, and she’s worked her ass off for it. But because of that, she struggles with the idea of feminism.

I can’t blame her too much. I understand the mindset she’s coming from. Growing up with that being instilled in my mind was hard though. Because it was expected that I, too, grow up to be a strong independent woman.

I graduated in the predominantly male industry of agriculture (I want to be a farmer, okay!?). All through college, grad school, and post-grad school, I worked on farm after farm after farm. And it was there that I was introduced to the idea of toxic masculinity. I tolerated comments that I won’t even say out loud. I’ve “accidentally” been touched in more ways than I care to count. And what I hate the most about it all, is that I fucking tolerated it. I’d laugh it off, and then I’d walk away, mortified at what I’d actually just put up with. And while by no means do I blame my upbringing and home life on this, I do blame the upbringing and home life on the female characters I saw on television. If Brooke Davis was constantly and overly sexualized in high school then I guess I was supposed to, too. Right??

Sure, I still hear comments that I wish I didn’t. But I’m also surrounded by people and characters who taught me to never put up with the shit I once did. Female characters are portraying a storyline that people take more seriously now. They’re persevering. And that jumps off the screen in Motherland: Fort Salem.

It’s taken me a while to realize how Raelle and Scylla have affected me as much as Clakre and Lexa did (two characters who literally awakened my sexuality). But I think I get it now.

I love both Raelle and Scylla. Each one. Individually. As witches. As warriors. As females. As humans. As strong female characters. So, in a way, watching this show has awakened something else in me that I’ve also been suppressing all along. My femininity. My strength. My perseverance.

Sure, Raelle and Scylla are my favorite ship right now, but it wasn’t them being together that made me fall in love with this show. Oddly enough, it was them being apart. It’s the fact that each one stands on her own as a unique and beautifully complicated story. And it’s the fact that I, too, am deserving of a beautifully complicated story.

Last Section, I Swear

Motherland: Fort Salem is a magical mix of intense story building, relatable character development, and fascinating cinematography, all while being told through a gender and sexuality normative opposite of what we’re used to seeing. It’s a show that encompasses female strength unlike anything I’ve experienced before, where men are the background noise who aid in pushing the plot forward. It’s a show that deserves another season. And another and another and another and another.

It’s a show I needed ten+ years ago, at 18 years old, freshly out of high school and wondering why the fuck I never had crushes on guys like everyone else my age did. It’s the show I needed so I didn’t always wonder why I was so obsessed with Peyton Sawyer and Summer Roberts and why I was the only one I knew who thought Torrance and Missy should’ve ended up together. It’s the show I needed to learn that my femininity doesn’t make me any less tough than my male counterparts. It’s the show I needed so I never put up with anyone’s shit. It’s the show I needed to teach me that I am storm and I am fury.

It’s the show I needed then. But it’s also the show I’m so happy that I have now.

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