KristinThomas @kristinthomas - Tumblr Blog

Why in Smallville; it should have been Clark and Lana

"Clark, nothing can hurt me anymore. You and I are equals now. And together, we can help make the world a better place." -Lana (S8. Ep.13 "Power")

Lana's line here perfectly illustrates why she was Clark's perfect match. She didn't steal the suit from Lex out of spite or to be powerful. She took it because like Clark, she's always wanted to do good.

Clark and Lana had an immense journey of growth ahead of them, reminiscent of the typical adolescent experience—characterized not by toxicity but rather by the ordinary tumult of teenage behaviour interwoven with the weird that is Smallville. Nevertheless, the paths they ultimately traversed were profoundly beautiful, and neither would have arrived at their respective destinations or evolved into the individuals they became without the influence of the other. "Ever since I was little, I read stories about you (Lana). About the hardships you've overcome and incredible things you'll go on to do. You're part of the reason Kal-El becomes the hero we look up to." -Imra (S8.Ep.11 "Legion)

The best relationships push you to grow while remaining to love and support you through that journey. I recently talked to Kristin about this, as she mentioned on the Talkville Podcast that she thought (in Wrath) Lana realized that no one ever truly loved her. I of course said, I didn't agree, ha. And she said, "in that moment, she see's that that love isn't true entirely." And... "you can extend that question even further, how much do we really love someone and have that acceptance?" Which I then referenced "Siren" where Clark tells Lana about breaking into banks and stealing money and telling her he's not perfect. And she nodded in agreement. But she said no one can ever really love all of you. "And you must have an aloneness in your love because I can't reach inside of you. And that's what Lana was coming to terms with. Which means, no one can ever really love you but yourself." But she also said, "their love for each other, continues on, always. In my opinion."

"Siren" (for me) was really the turning point in their relationship. I think for the first time, they fully saw each other and they were choosing to still love and accept one another. Which was beautiful.

Lana said to Clark in "Requiem" we're both driven to do this, even if we can't do it together." She understood sacrifice just as Clark did. "You understand sacrifice more than anyone. You sacrifice SO much for Clark." -Imra (S8. Ep.11 "Legion")

And she didn't hesitate. She knew she was giving up Clark forever, and she did it anyway. And I'm sorry, but you will never be able to tell me that THAT, RIGHT THERE, wasn't a prime example of why they deserved to be together.

People often counter this by asserting that Clark and Lois are the quintessential couple, destined to be together. However, an intriguing tidbit: did you know that their pairing was largely a response to complaints from female readers in the 1950s?? They wanted more romantic narratives. *Shaking my head*—this is a superhero tale conceived in the late 1930s, intended to inspire hope during the Great Depression, not a romance. Nevertheless, it made no sense because (FYI) Lois harboured a deep disdain for Clark; she could hardly tolerate him and even resorted to drugging him to grab a story.

BUT, those that want to debate it--Smallville told it's own story. One in which Lana was "clearly the girl of" (his) "dreams." -Sarah (S3. Ep.4 "Slumber")

In absolute awe, "Who is that?" -Clark

"That, is Lana Lang....the love of your life." -Chloe (S4.Ep.19 "Blank")

"Chloe you don't understand, I almost gave up everything and everyone I care about, for Lana....the truth is, I still love her." -Clark (S6. Ep.13 "Labyrinth")

They made it abundantly clear that Clark and Lana were everything to one another. Their relationship was not characterized by a tumultuous cycle of on-again, off-again dynamics born out of toxicity; rather, they were valiantly contending against the myriad forces and individuals intent on prying them apart. I look at Clark and Lana as two souls who, upon encountering one another, instinctively embraced an unwavering love. Yet the world, in all its malevolence and cunning, sought to ensnare them, audaciously attempting to pull them in opposing directions. Nevertheless, the two were eternally bound by an invisible thread that could never be severed. Thus, their arms, their hands, remained outstretched toward one another.

The rest of the world can have Lois and Clark, but in Smallville, we deserved Clark and Lana.

#kristin kreuk #tom welling #lana lang #clark kent #clana #smallville

tvshowscouples

Reblog if you are Team Clana

If you love Clark&Lana (Smallville) and you want reblog or like,this is the link of my reblog couples :)

thank you!

Last night's IG. She officially got 1M followers last week. 😎

#kristin kreuk #lana lang #kreukies

Kristin Kreuk | Smallville S5 Promos

#kristin kreuk #smallville #lana lang #kreukies

Kristin Kreuk | Teen People 2001

#Shouldhavebeenagypsy

#krisitn kreuk #lana lang #kreukies

buellersfueller

Lana Lang needed to go to Hot Topic so badly. She needed to spend her formative years performing a hyper specific alternative aesthetic based at least partially around her parents who were Smote before her very eyes while she was wearing a pink fairy costume and the fact that she was on the cover of time magazine crying over their deaths in that outfit as a tiny child. Her literal hobbies include lurking in graveyards and talking to her parents as though they're responding and reading to hide from the world when it disappoints her. She literally wears a fragment of the meteor that killed her parents around her neck at all times. She needs fishnets and a black wardrobe and heavy eyeliner and to insist that no one around her understands and she needs needs needs to shop at Hot Topic near exclusively. It would fix her, she'd be so well adjusted if she could simply lament and perform and angst. She was born to listen to MCR and she is right on time, please

.... She's only stupidly pretty, but, whatever....

(via Kristin's IG May 26th)

#kristin kreuk #lana lang #kreukies

caffeinatedcatbindery

Lionel scheming

Lana: Oh my god my car has been stolen!

Chloe: Um if you want I can give you a ride.

*******

Meanwhile

Lex: Um dad. Why is Lana's car in our garage?

Lionel: Oh because I stole it.

Lex: YOU HAD SOMEONE STOLE IT!?

Lionel: No. I broke it, hot wired it. And drove off.

Lex: HOW DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THAT?

Lionel: Son I grew up in the slums.

Lionel: Daddy has a lot of secerts.

Lucas: So THIS IS WHERE MY CRIMINAL NATURE COMES FROM.

Lucas: Oh I must hug you now!

Lex: We're going to jail

Lionel: Meh it's fine. We'll return it later.

"Daddy has a lot of secrets" is sending me 🤣 🤣 🤣

kristinthomas

What in the world IS this?? It's marvelous. No, I hot-wired it and drove off... 🤣🤣

This is just as good as the meme of Lionel holding out his arms at the LuthorCorp Plant and someone tagging "hi, I'm here to ruin everything." 😆

Underneath the moonlit sky,

it’s only you and I.

Floating high above the ground,

where not a single voice or sound

can tell us we were never meant to be—

all of it fades

with just you and me.

The world may speak our names in stars,

in distant lights and worlds afar,

but none of that could ever shine

the way your heart still beats with mine.

Through every storm and every fight,

through endless dark and shattered light,

some unseen thread still pulls us through—

always leading me to you.

An unbreakable string,

holding tight through everything,

strong enough to carry us

when the world says love is not enough.

But here beneath the midnight blue,

it’s only me and you.

Always.

Now and forever.

My life.

My love.

My heart beats true—

always, forever,

me and you.

#kristin kreuk #kristom #smallville #tom welling #lana lang #clana #clark kent #clarkandlana #kreukies

neondreamscapes

Smallville: A Different path book 2

Chapter 25: Aftermath - part 1

The victory over the White Martian lasted only long enough for the screaming to stop. Then reality settled in. And reality was devastating. Across the Midwest, smoke still climbed into the sky from shattered cities. Entire sections of Metropolis looked bombed out. Chicago’s skyline had been carved apart by fire and collapsed towers. St. Louis burned through most of the night while rescue crews dug through mountains of steel and concrete searching for survivors. Smaller cities like Peoria suffered just as badly, emergency services overwhelmed almost instantly by the psychic chaos the creature unleashed before it ever physically tore through the streets. The White Martian was dead. But the damage it left behind was unlike anything humanity had ever seen. Entire neighborhoods had turned against themselves before the monster even arrived. Hallucinations spread through crowds like infection. Some people barricaded themselves inside homes convinced invisible creatures were outside scratching at the walls. Others wandered aimlessly through the streets in shock, talking to dead loved ones only they could see. A firefighter had to be restrained after trying to rescue children from a school that had been empty for six years. Police officers had opened fire on each other believing they were shapeshifters. One hospital wing had to be evacuated after dozens of patients simultaneously began screaming that the ceiling was melting and dripping blood onto them. Even after the creature died, the trauma lingered. The country felt broken, and the question remained could it ever truly heal from this.

And Clark barely had time to process any of it. The Guardian became a constant blur across the Midwest through the rest of the night. One moment he was lifting collapsed highway sections off trapped civilians outside Chicago. Minutes later he was extinguishing fires spreading through apartment complexes in Metropolis before flying toward another distress call somewhere else entirely. His shirt, brand new, was already stained with ash and soot now. His body ached. But he kept moving. Because every time he stopped, he heard another scream. Another collapsing structure. Another person crying for help. Clark tore open wreckage with sore blistered hands to reach survivors trapped beneath steel beams. He carried injured children to emergency crews while smoke rolled through burning streets around him. He used his freeze breath until his lungs burned trying to contain refinery fires threatening entire districts. People reached for him now when they saw him. Not in awe. In desperation. And beneath every rescue, every save, every second spent helping rebuild some tiny piece of the nightmare— Another fear kept creeping into his mind. Amanda Waller. The government. His identity. Amanda knew too much now. Clark couldn’t stop replaying their conversations in his head. The way she spoke to him. The certainty behind her words. If Amanda Waller knew who he was… How many others did too? How long before someone came for Lana again? That fear sat inside him heavier than the exhaustion. High above Chicago, Clark hovered beside a partially collapsed skyscraper while emergency lights flickered endlessly below him through the smoke. A family cried out from somewhere deep beneath the rubble below and Clark immediately dove toward the sound without hesitation. His phone vibrated repeatedly inside his jacket pocket. Chloe. Again. And again. But Clark never noticed. Not with sirens screaming through the streets below him. Not with people crying for help in every direction. Not with the overwhelming weight of everything he had witnessed still pressing down on him like a mountain.

The hope of Clark ever having even a shred of a normal life again was fading fast. Everywhere he looked there was destruction. Pain. Fear. And people depending on him. The Guardian moved through the ruins of Chicago like a force of nature himself, ash blowing across his jacket, so worn, torn and dirty now, the angel wings barley visible anymore on the back, but still a portion of them managed to shine through, light reflecting off them like a reminder that there is always still hope as long as their is faith. Emergency lights still painting the smoke-filled streets below in flashes of red and blue. Clark landed beside a collapsed parking structure and immediately heard faint cries beneath the concrete. “Hold on!” he shouted. He wedged himself beneath a cracked support beam and lifted. Muscles tightened beneath torn fabric as thousands of tons of rubble slowly shifted upward just enough for trapped civilians to crawl free. EMTs rushed in immediately, pulling injured people onto stretchers while Clark kept the structure from collapsing further. A little girl covered in dust looked back at him while paramedics carried her away. “Thank you, Guardian…” Clark forced a tired smile. Then he was gone again. Minutes later he burst through the upper floor of a burning apartment complex moments before the staircase collapsed inward. Smoke rolled thick through the hallways while terrified residents pounded against doors trapped by debris. Clark tore entire walls free with his bare hands creating escape paths while firefighters sprayed water around him. “Fourth floor’s clear!” one firefighter yelled. Clark’s hearing sharpened. “No it’s not.” A heartbeat. Weak. Near the back. Clark blasted through another wall and found an elderly man trapped beneath a fallen refrigerator. Within seconds Clark lifted the wreckage away and carried him downstairs to waiting medics. Everywhere Clark turned there was another emergency. Another scream. Another building threatening to collapse. At one point he stopped an ambulance from being crushed beneath falling debris with only one arm while simultaneously using heat vision to cut apart twisted steel trapping a firefighter’s leg. He barely even noticed the blood trickling from small cuts along his knuckles. He had pushed himself to the limit and beyond. He was tiered, really tiered. The solar batteries that are his cells, were beginning to tap out. The very source of what fueled his invulnerability and every other amazing power running on empty.

At Metropolis General Hospital, Lois slowly opened her eyes to blinding fluorescent lights. Pain throbbed through the side of her head immediately. For a second she looked confused. Then the memories came flooding back. The helicopter. Jimmy. The White Martian. Lois sat upright too quickly and winced. A doctor immediately stepped toward her. “Easy, Miss Lane.” “Jimmy.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Where’s Jimmy?” The doctor’s expression shifted. Not good. Lois saw it instantly. “The way the helicopter landed…” the doctor began carefully, “your side absorbed significantly less of the impact.” Lois swallowed hard. “And Jimmy?” The doctor hesitated. “He took most of the force.” The words hit like a punch. Lois looked away briefly trying to steady herself. “He’s alive?” “Yes,” the doctor assured her quickly. “But he’s currently on life support.” Lois closed her eyes. The doctor continued explaining her injuries—minor cuts, bruising, a mild concussion—but Lois barely heard any of it.

kristinthomas

Part 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/neondreamscapes/817513953922056192/smallville-a-different-path-book-2?source=share

neondreamscapes

Smallville: A Different path book 2

Chapter 24 The battle for the world! - part 1

Chicago looked like the end of the world. Entire blocks burned beneath rolling walls of smoke while emergency sirens echoed endlessly between skyscrapers. The White Martian moved through the city like a plague given physical form, towering over streets choked with abandoned vehicles and panicked civilians. Every psychic scream it unleashed rippled outward like an invisible shockwave, and wherever that wave touched, reality itself seemed to rot. People weren’t just fleeing anymore. They were unraveling. A businessman stood barefoot in the middle of the street sobbing hysterically while trying to claw imaginary spiders from beneath his skin. A group of strangers had formed a circle around a fire hydrant, kneeling as if worshipping it while whispering nonsense to each other with vacant smiles. Two police officers beat each other bloody beside an overturned squad car because each had become convinced the other was an alien impostor. The White Martian didn’t merely destroy buildings. It infected minds. And the closer you got to it— The worse the nightmares became.

High above the city, the Daily Planet helicopter cut through the smoke-filled skyline. Lois leaned halfway out the side door with a camera in hand, filming the devastation below while the wind whipped violently through her hair. “My goodness…” Jimmy muttered from the pilot seat. The White Martian tore through another building several streets away, sending glass and steel raining onto fleeing crowds below. Lois kept filming. “This is bigger than any thing I've ever covered before,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “People need to see this.” Jimmy looked uneasy. “Lois, we’re already way closer than every other news chopper.” “That’s because every other news chopper is run by cowards.” “Or people with survival instincts.” Lois ignored him, zooming in tighter on the creature as it let out another psychic scream. The sound hit them almost instantly. Jimmy winced hard. “What the heck…” Lois froze. Suddenly the burning skyline outside the helicopter blurred. The smoke became cigarette haze. The city noises faded beneath muffled shouting. And just like that— She wasn’t in Chicago anymore. She was eight years old again. Rain hammered against old apartment windows while her father staggered drunkenly through the hallway screaming at her mother. Lois could hear bottles breaking. Her mother crying. The heavy footsteps getting closer. “Don’t you walk away from me!” Lois’s breathing became uneven. “No…” The helicopter dashboard blurred in front of her as tears filled her eyes. “You promised you wouldn’t leave us…” Her father struck her mother across the face in the hallucination and Lois snapped. “STOP IT!” She slammed her fist against the helicopter dashboard repeatedly, panic overtaking reason. Warning alarms instantly erupted throughout the cockpit. “Lois!” Jimmy shouted. But Jimmy barely looked real anymore either. The psychic distortion had reached him too. Suddenly the world around him shifted into flickering black and white. Jazz music played faintly somewhere in the distance. The smoke outside transformed into old noir-style fog rolling through city streets. Jimmy blinked rapidly. “…Whoa.” Lois looked toward him desperately through tears. And Jimmy no longer saw Lois Lane. He saw a damsel in distress from some old detective movie. A beautiful woman trapped in danger while the brave hero rushed to save her. Jimmy dramatically grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t worry sweetheart, Johnny Olsen’s on the case!” “Jimmy what are you doing?!” “You stay calm now, see? We’re gonna get outta this jam together.” “JIMMY THE CONTROLS!” Jimmy looked downward. His hands weren’t on them anymore. The helicopter tilted violently sideways. Both of them screamed. The aircraft clipped the side of a building, spinning wildly out of control while sparks and debris exploded across the skyline. Then it disappeared between the buildings below. A massive fireball erupted moments later.

Elsewhere across the city, Clark flew through the night carrying an enormous steel container suspended beneath him by thick reinforced cables. Inside it— Oliver’s bombs. All nine thermobaric devices packed tightly together into one massive payload. The sheer weight would’ve crushed a normal aircraft instantly, but Clark pushed forward through the air anyway, his jacket snapping violently behind him while smoke and fire illuminated the clouds around Chicago. Below him, the White Martian continued its march through the city. Clark could hear the psychic chaos spreading block by block. A mother screaming because she believed her child had vanished when he was still standing right beside her. Firefighters turning hoses on each other while hallucinating giant insects crawling across their skin. A priest standing atop a wrecked bus proclaiming the end times while crowds gathered around him in terrified prayer. Every minute the creature remained alive, society itself bent further out of shape. Oliver’s voice suddenly crackled through Clark’s communicator. “Clark, I reran the numbers.” Clark’s expression tightened immediately. “That tone usually means bad news.” “It is.” Static buzzed briefly. “I compared the creature’s healing factor against the damage output from the last bomb.” Clark flew lower toward the abandoned mineshaft outside the city limits. “And?” Oliver hesitated. “The nine bombs might not be enough.” Clark’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“The thing’s density is off the charts. Combined with that healing factor…” Oliver exhaled sharply. “Even if the blast tears it apart initially, there’s a chance it regenerates.” Clark landed hard outside the massive abandoned mining entrance, the container of bombs slamming against the earth behind him with a thunderous impact. “What kind of chance?” “I don’t know.” Not the answer Clark wanted. The White Martian screamed again somewhere far behind him. Even from miles away, Clark could hear people crying out in terror afterward. He looked down at the bombs. Thinking. Then slowly— An idea formed. Clark looked back toward the burning skyline. “I think I know how to boost the yield.” Oliver paused. “How?” Clark’s eyes lifted toward the city again. Toward the fires. Toward the monster. “We make it hotter.”

“It's not just the pressure of these bomb's which hurt it Oliver, Martian's have a unique weakness to fire. The white one's seemingly less than the green ones but it's still there. that's why it's flesh is still scared from the intense heat it was subjected to earlier. it can't fully heal from it. This has to work, at least I think it will”

“Hey, I'm not expert on alien physiology Clark, but if you say so do what you have to do. If this thing really is from Mars I can only imagine being on a colder planet with less pressure would make them suspectable to both rapid pressure changes and heat so you're probably right.”

Clark dropped from the sky like a missile onto the grounds of an oil refinery several miles outside Chicago. Workers had already evacuated. Sirens echoed across the empty industrial complex while flames from distant parts of the city reflected off towering steel structures and pipelines. Clark’s boots slammed into the pavement hard enough to crack it. He spotted the largest gasoline storage tank immediately. Massive. Cylindrical. Thousands upon thousands of gallons. Perfect. Clark wrapped both arms around the enormous structure and strained. Steel groaned violently as bolts snapped free one after another. The entire tank tore loose from its foundation with a deafening shriek of metal. Then Clark flew. The massive tank hung beneath him as he streaked back toward the abandoned mineshaft outside the city. Wind screamed around him while gasoline sloshed violently inside the container. Below him Chicago continued to descend into madness. The White Martian moved through downtown like a living god of chaos, psychic shrieks rippling outward through entire districts. Civilians wandered the streets in terrified delirium. Some curled into fetal positions beneath flickering streetlights whispering to dead relatives only they could see. Others became violently paranoid, smashing storefront windows and attacking strangers in blind panic. One man stood atop a taxi cab laughing hysterically while flames consumed the building behind him. Another calmly walked into an active gunfight between hallucinating police officers because he believed he was invisible. The White Martian’s influence twisted fear into insanity. And it spread faster every minute. Clark reached the mineshaft. With one violent motion he hurled the gasoline tank downward. The massive container smashed against the lower tunnels and ruptured instantly. Gasoline exploded through the shaft system like a flood, soaking the walls, tunnels, and the thermobaric payload Oliver had positioned below. Clark landed at the edge of the opening and stared down into the darkness. “Good,” he muttered. “If this thing burns…” His communicator crackled. A military voice this time. Cold. Professional. “Confirmed launch.” Far away at an undisclosed military installation, a stealth jet screamed into the night sky. Deep within its payload chamber rested a one megaton nuclear warhead. ETA TO TARGET: 20 MINUTES.

kristinthomas

Part 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/neondreamscapes/817456523113611264/smallville-a-different-path-book-2?source=share

neondreamscapes

Smallville: A Different path book 2

Chapter 23 The white death and the power of faith - part 1

Metropolis had become a nightmare.

Smoke rolled through the city in enormous black waves while emergency sirens screamed endlessly beneath the sounds of collapsing buildings and terrified crowds. Streets overflowed with abandoned vehicles, shattered glass, and people running blindly in every direction trying to escape something they could barely comprehend.

Above it all—

The White Martian moved like a living apocalypse.

Its massive pale frame smashed through skyscrapers with horrifying ease while psychic shrieks echoed across entire districts. The screams didn’t just hurt people.

They broke them.

Citizens clawed at their own faces as hallucinations overtook them. Some ran directly into traffic. Others turned violently on each other believing loved ones were monsters. Entire crowds collapsed screaming as their minds twisted beneath the psychic assault.

Helicopters spiraled from the sky.

Police lines dissolved into chaos.

And every second the creature kept moving closer toward another population center.

Far outside the city near the ruined remains of Starhawk, Amanda and what remained of her task force x combed through the wreckage and Clark slowly regained consciousness.

Metallo crawled along the ground severely damaged one arm non functional, missing his lower half. He was only powered by a now damaged new experimental power core that at this point it's cables had been all but jarred loose from their ports. his display readouts flashed with all kinds of errors as his eyes flickered between light and dark.

Amanda and Deadshot approached the helpless cyborg.

“What do you want me to do with him?”

Amanda glared at him with a stern expression. “AP tungsten black tip, 50 caliber round, back of the skull.”

Deadshot didn't hesitate and loaded the round and fired.

Boom!

Metallos arm went limp and his hand twitched, vision cut off as his eyes went dark momentarily before his systems rebooted and he started crewing again, slower this time, erratic with no direction.

“Again! Tungsten penetrator back of the skull, fire!” Amada yelled

Deadshot reloaded and took another shot as precise as the last one, it echoed throughout the vally.

Death was quick, painless. Metallo's arm dropped motionless as what little light in his eyes faded completely.

“That's what you get for killing my most valuable asset you cybernetic piece of shit. Amanda said in a scoffing tone.”

Pain pulsed through every inch of Clark's body. ears ringing and senses distotrted he didn't even make out the two loud shots that had been fired.

The first thing he saw was the barrel of Deadshot’s rifle pointed directly at his head.

Then the rest came into focus.

Task Force X.

Two hundred soldiers.

Armored vehicles.

Floodlights.

They surrounded him completely.

Deadshot extended one hand toward him casually.

“Well look who’s finally awake.”

Clark stared at the offered hand for a moment.

Disoriented.

Then reality returned.

The White Martian.

Metallo.

Lobo leaving.

The destruction.

Clark’s expression hardened instantly.

He swatted Deadshot’s hand aside in a firm but restrained gesture before slowly standing on his own.

Deadshot smirked slightly.

“Still got attitude. Good sign.”

Amanda Waller stepped forward from the line of soldiers.

For once, she didn’t look in control.

She looked tired.

And underneath that—

Afraid.

“We’re not here to fight you anymore, Mr. Kent.”

Clark turned toward her slowly.

The contempt in his eyes was unmistakable.

“You used Lana as bait.”

Amanda didn’t deny it.

“You tried to kill me.”

Still nothing.

Finally she said quietly:

“I need your help.”

Clark looked at her with open disgust but said nothing.

Then something near the rubble caught his eye.

A faint red glow.

Metallo’s shattered reactor fragments.

Red kryptonite.

Clark stared at it for several long seconds.

The craving hit him immediately.

The confidence.

The power.

The certainty.

He could feel the pull of it inside his chest.

Just take it.

Just one more time.

His fingers twitched slightly.

Then he closed his eyes.

“No,” he whispered to himself.

“That’s not what I want”

Before anyone could react—

Clark vanished in a blur.

Deadshot instantly raised his rifle tracking the direction Clark disappeared.

“Want me to take the shot if he comes back?”

Amanda stared toward the horizon where Clark had vanished.

Then shook her head.

“Let him go.”

Another psychic scream echoed faintly from far away.

Amanda’s expression darkened.

“We’ve got bigger problems.”

The Kent Farm felt impossibly quiet compared to the chaos consuming the rest of the world.

The old house creaked softly beneath the evening wind while cornfields swayed gently beneath a darkening sky. For a brief moment it almost felt untouched by everything happening beyond Smallville.

Clark stood near the kitchen table while Lana listened silently as he explained everything that had happened.

The White Martian.

Metallo being torn apart.

Lobo leaving.

Task Force X.

The deaths.

All of it.

By the time he finished, Clark looked exhausted in a way Lana had rarely seen before. Not physically. Emotionally. Like every terrible thing that had happened over the last several days had finally settled onto his shoulders all at once.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he admitted quietly.

Lana slowly walked toward him.

Clark tried to look away, ashamed, but she gently placed her hand against his cheek and turned his face back toward her.

His eyes closed almost instantly.

Like her touch alone let him breathe again.

Clark leaned into her palm slightly, the tension in him softening for the first time since arriving home.

“I couldn’t beat it,” he said, voice low and frustrated. “Not with Lobo helping. Not with Metallo helping.”

Lana’s thumb brushed lightly along his jaw.

“So what chance do I have by myself?”

“You’re not by yourself,” she whispered.

Clark opened his eyes and looked at her.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Clark lowered his forehead against hers and let out a shaky breath.

Lana wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. Clark’s hands slid around her waist almost instinctively, pulling her closer against him like he was afraid to let go.

She could feel how heavy everything sat inside him.

How scared he really was.

Lana tilted her head slightly and kissed him softly.

Clark kissed her back immediately, slower than usual, lingering in it. Not passion. Not urgency. Just comfort. Love. Home.

When they finally pulled apart, Clark rested his head lightly against hers again.

“I’m tired, Lana,” he admitted quietly.

“I know.”

Her fingers slipped into his hair gently.

“But you don’t have to carry all of this alone anymore.”

Clark looked at her for another long moment before finally nodding.

And standing there in the warm kitchen light with Lana holding him, the fear and chaos outside the farm suddenly felt a little farther away.

kristinthomas