dreams save us

and upon my soul, i swear that until my dream of a world where dignity, honor, and justice are the reality we all share, i'll never stop fighting. ever.

[kryptonianstars]

she brings up a good point of course, her judgement always far exceeding his own, and he’s never been one above admitting he’s quite certain diana of themiscyra far more intelligent than himself, more than once wishing he could be less brawn, more than once finding himself in her living room, hashing out ideas and strategies and theories of the universe and why things are happening the way that they are. there’s a calmness in her atmosphere that bruce doesn’t have, for all his immense brainpower, less manic, less obsessive, less fury hiding just below the surface-- the reason clark better enjoys talking with diana than with bruce is that he’s sure batman says only about 3% of what he thinks, and things like that irritate clark unendingly.

he sighs and shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair as sky-blue eyes flitter downwards and blink a few times for good measure. “i’m not sure exactly what we can do about it, but i know we haven’t tried everything. have you gotten close to it? have you tried coming near to it?” clark ought to confess, he actually hasn’t gotten too close, having experienced atom-shattering pain upon approach to the damn thing, as though the universe becomes confused in that particular area, and while desperation is brimming inside him for answers, he doesn’t want to risk dissolving himself into nothingness without information first. not that he’s not gearing up to attempt it but….

at the mention of bruce, clark pauses, dark eyebrows furrowing slightly, his glance upwards at her halting, strained. “i’m not entirely sure bruce is… well… interested in fixing the problem, in all honesty.” it’s been strange, listening to bruce’s movements and heartbeats these past few months, the way the older man seems to relax more, appreciate more, exist more fully in the light than he ever had before. clark had assumed the man would be more eager to get back to his precious gotham and his precious towers and shadows and monsters, but it seems quite the opposite. “i think bruce is enjoying the simplicity of this world a little too much for him to be really bent on getting back, if i’m really honest with you, diana.”

somehow saying that out loud feels like a betrayal and he can’t help but wince. “not that i don’t think bruce would help us, or the others for that matter but i don’t think he’s exactly looking into the root of what’s brought us all here.”

[kryptonianstars]

“ahh so you weren’t worried about me at all then? being gone so long, wondering if i’d survived?” she says she’ll stay angry, but he recognizes that gleam in her eyes, recognizes that quirk in her lips, the way the atmosphere around her shimmers and glistens, the way she brightens up the whole city block. he doesn’t know how she does it, or how he sees her like this, but he’s sure he’s hopeless. “you’re not even going to grant me just a little bit of forgiveness?” his chuckle sounds more nervous than he means it too, but he expects her to know him well enough, even after these six months, to know he’s joking as well.

at her jumbled questions though, he nods fervently, distracted for a moment with the feel of her hands smoothing down over his clothes, her touch electrifying him and kindling an urge, a need, a hope to continue the connection, to never let go again. this time if he blinks out of existence, can she please come with him? “yeah, yeah, of course-- of course i can. i… i came here specifically to see you, to talk to you.” a beat passes before he realizes how creepy and stalkery that sounds. “i mean-- because, well, because i found your name on the database registrar so i knew you were here finally. and… you like coffee shops to write in, so…” this is going splendidly already, the clark kent persona practically writes itself and all he has to do is look at her before tripping all over his shoes.

he takes the seat opposite her and smiles-- or tries to smile, still a bit distracted by her glow, still a bit breathless by her voice. finally. finally. “i’m still in the housing yeah, i don’t really have a means of leaving just yet… and i’m sort of okay there. i haven’t gotten another job as a reporter yet, i think i’m… actually going to try something a little bit different.” something he’s excited about but also incredibly apprehensive for. “i’m okay though, yes, i’m in one piece.” at her last question though, he balks a little, pausing, almost scoffs. “lois, i… i fell through just as i was heading over to come pick you up.” his speech slows slightly. “you know i wouldn’t have… just dropped off without saying anything, right?”

[kryptonianstars]

“well that’s fine too, no complaining that i forgot to include something,” he jokes as he steps inside with the bags, heading back towards the little kitchen he already knows so well. “any time i bring wally food, it never seems to be enough. at least with you, i know you could keep it as leftovers and eat for a while afterwards.” not that she wouldn’t eat without the leftovers anyway, but once again, concerned clark is concerned-- and there’s something to be said about his upbringing, his ma always ensuring they have a table full of food, even if he and pa didn’t always have the time to munch on it all.

he misses them worse than he could ever say.

“besides, you know half of this is for me anyway.” setting the bags down, he begins rifling through everything, pulling out the smaller bags and containers of noodles and entrees onto the counter. “i was hoping it’d be alright if we ate together, y’know, hung out.” does he sound as desperate as he feels? he hopes not.

[dictionaryinstant]

Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith first. The trust part comes later.

via English Dictionary

[kryptonianstars]

the contrast between them is night and day, morning and dusk, shades of white and shades of black where gray very rarely ever sits amongst them, and clark should have a stronger aversion to bruce, to batman, to the dark knight, once only a phantom in the minds of criminals, only a joke to politicians, only a nightmare, a rumor, a ghost, but he doesn’t. strangely enough, in the time they have come to understand one another, clark has actually come to find himself admiring batman, while simultaneously being perpetually frustrated by him and all the potential for goodness he routinely rejects. not that batman is a force for evil-- on the contrary, clark is hard-pressed to find many others with as strict a viewpoint on good and evil, aligning themselves with only good-- but batman has his faults, pronounced and violent, and no matter how many times clark tries to convince him of a softer approach to life, he’s always swept aside for a harsher version of justice.

but still. he has to give the detective credit where it’s due; batman is used to dealing with a nastier breed of monster than clark is, the hero molding himself to fit the need he sees, a dark vigilante for a darkened world, and that’s something clark can appreciate. excluding all that though, as odd as it may seem even to himself, clark finds batman’s atmosphere…. communal. like they’re two sides of the same coin, like they are stronger together than apart, like they must form an alliance between each other first before all others, for peace to reign secure.

and also, unlike most every other superhero on the planet, and probably every dimension they may happen to fall into, clark actually finds bruce kind of funny.

he steps over to the bed as per the request and retrieves the sewing kit, bringing it over to the other hero and then leaning back against desk near him, arms crossing over his chest, lungs inflating, the quirk of a grin spreading over his face. “sugar would be nice, yes, and who could ever resist the temptation of your jolly company, but actually i’ve come to talk to you about those world-destroying threats. they’re not as absent as you might think.” his eyes pin down to bruce’s gauntlet. “in fact, i feel like i’m dealing with more of them now than i was before.”

[kryptonianstars]

@m-gan-morsz

he raps his knuckles against the wood of the door, noting the thinness of it, the flimsy, government-issued housing atrocity, something rather pathetic, something rather worrisome, and it’s been a concern of clark’s ever since they came up with the concept-- something he was actually present for, being one of the first metahumans through the gate. the walls are too narrow, too sparse, not enough protection from threats, and with refugees like these, that ought to be in the forefront of people’s minds, but apparently this world’s population can’t seems to give enough of a crap about them to ensure their safety against… well, against each other. heroes and villains all in the same complexes? sounds like a disaster to him.

which is why this is the third time clark has paid his favorite daughter-not-daughter a visit this week, bearing food and drinks of course ( because he’s not a barbarian ), in his attempt to lowkey keep an eye on her. he knows she can fend just fine for herself and he doesn’t view her as any sort of damsel in distress…. but still. he worries. “i hope you like chinese, i just about bought out the whole shop,” he declares as soon as the door opens.

[kryptonianstars]

having wally by your side in a scrap could mean a myriad of possibilities at any given point on any given mission, and it all depends on the mood and the setting of the situation, something clark isn’t entirely sure wally is even aware of but something clark is consistently mindful about. wally is a turbo, a jet-engine, all motion and speed and raw, barely-harnessed power, and while certain other league members have expressed concern over his exuberance, clark understands it to be all about timing and the correct set of edicts and suggestions; sure, he can get distracted and too mouthy sometimes, but in the heat of a battle, quick commands and a leeway of trust will get him to do the job correctly and efficiently. wally is intense energy wrapped in a thin layer of skin and sinew, so the trick is to let him let it out in quick, potent bursts so he can go back to being a goof-nut as quickly as possible.

he watches wally wrap the monster up and kick him backwards into a sitting position, but the creature still writhes and clark can tell the tape and wires are not going to hold for very long, despite them being a good idea, which leads him to the only course of action he can think of to encourage immobility for at least another hour. an uppercut to the face knocks the colossus into unconsciousness without breaking too many bones and ensures that he’ll be passed out well enough until hopefully someone can drain the monster toxin out of his system and revert him back to the human male he once was. which reminds clark, he ought to pay a house visit to batman sometime soon.

clark grins at his teammate but then noticed the bright, flickering sheen of red and blue lights across the wall behind him, the crackle of police radio scanners filtering in through his ears, and he motions as much to the flash. “we better exit stage left before they start throwing tomatoes. meet me at sarah’s diner on 23rd street.” and with a tap on wally’s chest like tag, he’s gone, because he has to be, because the government here doesn’t know him yet, doesn’t listen to him yet, even with six months in this dimension under his belt, even with over ten years of vigilante under his skin. it’s like starting all over again.

he arrives in the parking lot of the diner at the speed of light, hair brushed back, changed into normal clothes, loafers and jeans and plaid shirt, large, distracting rimmed glasses obscuring what he can over his face, and he knows wally is won’t be late but he approaches the small, squat building anyway.

[kryptonianstars]

he sets her down and listens to her speak, the creases in his forehead growing more and more pronounced as she details the unsteadiness of the world they’ve now left behind together, the trails of uncertainty in their wakes, and more specifically running through clark’s mind, of his own absence from that realm. his chest burns, his heart hammering, his stomach twisting and knotting itself into clumps of lead, pieces he can’t touch or fix flaking off of his soul with every note she breathes and it takes everything in his countenance not to wring his hands or break the nearest wall to rubble. he feels hopeless, helpless, miserable, distraught, and for a man made from hope and light, that’s about as bad as it can get.

“are things still… people are still alive and everything, right? it’s not… armageddon?” not to put too much importance on himself or anything, but with most of the world’s greatest heroes falling through the cracks and seams of the universe, clark’s nightmares howl to him of his home, his city, all the world crumbling apart, supervillains taking control, millions dying or being enslaved, the balance of good and evil being tipped irrevocably. his friends, his family, normal people he’s come to love and appreciate being stuck in that world without enough protection as more and more heroes come to this side of the spectrum and leave them vulnerable, has given clark more than one anxiety attack in the past six months. it’s true, there have been plenty of villains coming through as well, but worry isn’t rational enough to care about that.

he nods at her assertion that at least she’s okay, at least she’s not hurt, a blessing in that of course and he squeezes her hand in connection, hoping to burn strong enough for her, to burn hopeful, to burn comforting; even when he is at a loss, even when he is the one begging for help and reassurance, he still wants to instill calm in her. “it’s going to be okay, alright? we’re working on things, to piece together what’s been going on.” muscles in his jaw clench and tighten as memories of the past few months flood his mind; distrust from the world, government confinement, his mother’s door closing in his face because she doesn’t know him, but he tries to maintain a smile. “well… we’ve got to maintain a lower profile here, a much, much lower profile. no one here has ever heard of real magic or metahumans, they’re all very… scared.”

yeah. scared is a good term. violent also, but mostly scared.

[kryptonianstars]

@adarkknightrises

nights in new york city are never silent, never calm, never dimmed, and in all honesty it reminds clark a lot of gotham, something about the way the streetlights hum, the way cars are always honking, people are always talking or shouting or wailing, the echo of police car sirens forever ringing down one street after another, and he wonders if bruce can feel it too-- if he can sense it. perhaps there are similarities in every major city of the US, perhaps there are similarities in every lined dimension, the veils of the universe strung up together by these paralleled audio tracks, as though sound and life are the threads that weave existence together.

clark listens to it all outside the government-issued apartment window, listens to heartbeats thrumming and pulsing all across the city, listens to conversations and arguments and confessions, listens to tires squealing, doors closing, a thousand, thousand televisions blaring, listens to it all like white-noise fuzz filtering through his ears, and reacts to none of it. he sits comfortably, legs crossed, arms outstretched across the rests, ocean blue eyes pinned distantly across the mainroom floor, and waits. waits and waits and waits, because for as long as the night howls on, the cries of the desperate begging for salvation, eventually he knows the dawn will come, he knows morning has to break at some point, and bruce will need to catch at least an hour’s worth of shut-down time before that.

sure enough, as soon as the atmosphere shifts and clark’s attention focuses on the inflating lungs and steady heartbeat of an oncoming presence, he stand and turns, makes his company known and obvious. he knows how much bruce hates surprises.

[kryptonianstars]

she turns back to look up at him and her eyes are so wide and huge, for a moment he loses himself inside them, dark and brown and warm despite the shock, a blanket he’d die to wrap himself up into, the lines and colors of her face re-etching themselves into his memories like carved stone, something he knows he’ll never forget but never grow tired of either, his irises scanning every last detail about her he can soak into his consciousness. he’s had dreams about her since arriving in this god-forsaken dimension, dreams about her eyes, about her cheeks, about her lips, and for a horrible moment upon his arrival in this coffee shop, he’d worried he’d remembered her all wrong, that everything about her has changed now, everything about her is different, not the lois lane he’s come to know, come to adore, come to love.

but here she is, her hair the same shade of brunette, eyes the same fervent heat, her makeup done the exact same way he’d recognize-- she’s herself and a gust of wind leaves his lungs in a rush of relief, a tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he spoke, blinking a few million times to repress the emotions brimming at the edges of him. she’s perfect, she’s beautiful, she’s less than a foot away, and even though all he wants to do is scoop her up and kiss her and disappear from the world for a while with her, he settles himself with the hug she bestows on him, her collision course with his body something like coming home.

she falls into him and he wraps his arms around her and reminds himself not too tight, but it’s tight enough, it’s secure enough, and god, he’d forgotten her scent, forgotten her height, forgotten how she feels between his arms, so small and yet somehow larger and brighter than any sun he’s ever touched before. she pulls away but he doesn’t let her get very far, his hands finding purchase on her lower back, eyes pinned and searching across her features, forcing himself into a smile when all he wants to do is be serious with her for a moment, be honest with her, be closer to her.

“well technically, something bad did happen to me; i’m in another dimension. it’s not my fault though!” or at least he’s pretty sure it’s not-- they’re all still scrambling to figure out exactly what is causing the rift and why. he chuckles a little nervously when she asserts that she might still be mad, and he blinks another million times, swallowing and nodding with a slight shrug, because well, of course she’s probably mad at him, their night did go pretty terribly for both of them. “i mean? if you want to?” he squints. “that was a while ago, you might also consider congratulating me on survival, and perhaps… we could…. talk….?” why does everything that comes out of his mouth always end up being so ridiculously awkward? it’s part of his guise, but it’s also part of his personality as well, it would seem.

[kryptonianstars]

as usual, the flash is here, the flash has arrived, all bustling energy and boundless enthusiasm, lightning in his veins and the sun in his eyes, glowing, white teeth prevalent in the way he grins with all 32 of them, the smile almost wider than his whole face, and whereas clark was feeling quite exhausted a few moments ago, now he brims with the same kind of vitality in his bloodstream, beams with the same light, the same grin. wally is a contagion, his atmosphere catching and coloring everything he comes in contact with, the electric speedster nothing but impressive and indomitable, and for all that clark tries to be conscious of how he appears to everyone else around him, wally seems to do it effortlessly; a beacon in the night, the coming of dawn. clark is glad he’s here, for all his teasing and jitters.

he chuckles and reaches out to clasp hands with the other, pulling himself up to his feet, not even pausing before ruffling his fingers through the shock-red hair of the other league member, a dear friend despite the decade of years between them, all light chuckles and bright eyes between them despite the monster falling and landing a few yards away from the building. “of course i’m really here! man, i’ve been here! six months! where have you been?” he hits wally’s shoulder jokingly, not hard enough to hurt him, careful always always always, but hard enough that he’s sure the other can feel it through his armor, his smile still lighting them both up like stars, still burning clear and brilliant, dazzling in their surety that now they are together, now they cannot lose.

“look, if i had my way, we’d always stick together, but yknow,” the monster that once was a man roars and charges at them but superman is no longer worried, no longer outnumber, no longer outgunned, and he grabs at the tail and uses it like a tether to throw the beast against another area of the floor, flying up a few yards to pound himself down into the beast, feeling the air leave its lungs but also feeling its arms and legs scratch and claw at him, razor-sharp jaws snapping and biting, wild and untamable. they need to tie him down, restrain him somehow quickly. “flash, help me strap him down to something before the police get here, we’ve got to get him to the government’s jail.” more importantly though, they’ve got to render him immobile on a secure level before he goes anywhere, so he doesn’t kill any of the officers in transit.

[kryptonianstars]

@amazxnwarrior

despite the upset that being forcibly uprooted from his life in metropolis for such a lengthy period of time, 6 months trapped in a rifted dimension he has yet to breach away from or even so much as figure out its intricacies or functionality, clark kent still manages who he is at the core of himself the same, still maintains the bright luminescent center of his soul as solar as it’s always been, his lips still quick to grin, eyes still reflective and radiant. the heartbeat in his chest is not built on external forces, doesn’t adhere to shadows or intimidations, doesn’t bow before time immutable or gods holy or unholy, doesn’t cater to the winds or the currents; he is a tower all of himself, a beacon, a lighthouse in the storms, and he wears his kindness on his sleeve because he knows it’s strong enough to bare the world as well.

he never shies away from doling out his adoration of the people surrounding him, neither abandons nor ignores those he considers friends, allies, companions, whether or not they agree, never lets them pretend to swim while they’re drowning, always there with outstretched hands and a call for their reliance, understanding that you can’t break a stick in a bundle. they’re stronger together than they are alone, and even in times of soft weaknesses, times apart from disturbia or worldwide catastrophes, times when the lights are off and the city is still, he nevertheless burns in their atmospheres, continually making himself available for them, even if it’s nothing, even if it’s silly. he hopes they all know that, but suspects most of them are too proud.

but times like these, they demand a community, an allied front, locked arms and gazes and trusts, everyone in their metahuman groupings required to step up and stand together, join together, bear the brunt together, and clark is ready to come up with a gameplay with his fellow companions, his fellow generals, all of them, everyone at once, but first… first he needs to know his head is still right on his shoulders, and for that, he really only needs diana. “i just, i don’t want to come across this like a worrywart, you know? i don’t want anyone unduly scared, but-- but we’ve got to decide something to do about that crack.” he sits in her kitchen elbow poised on her counter, his legs coiled around the legs of a stool as his eyes wander across the walls. “i think it’s getting worse and we need to decide how to fix it quickly.”

[kryptonianstars]

clark hits the brick wall of the building like a freight train, like a bomb, the impact cratering the otherwise sturdy structure, boring a hole right through it as he loses control of his trajectory, his body flung into it at an impressive rate, and when he lands on the other side it’s with piles of bricks and mortar, pieces of the mostly abandoned building falling on his head, dusting up the blue and red of his suit, coloring him in ash. he wobbles to his feet, because that’s what he has to do, that’s who he is, always standing up when he’s beaten to the ground, always shining through whatever layers of debris and charcoal he has to, in order to prevail, tall and strong and bright as a supergiant sun, the symbol on his chest remaining a beacon in the dark. in his own world, this world, or the next. he is superman, he has hope, and as long as he has that, he knows he can fight against anything.

still though. it would have been nice if not every bad guy he’s put away in the past decade or so had managed to fall through the rift and wreak havoc here as well, forcing him to battle them once again to put them away. things like this do occur plenty in his home dimension-- the occasional break out from prison, the wandering menace from the phantom zone-- but it’s extra salt in the wound now since most human onlookers don’t really know who to root for and clark has to deal with this monster while also avoiding the police sirens chasing them all around town. he’s lured the snarling, ravenous half-human-half-monster that used to be a guy named john burkley over to this side of town, mostly populated by shutdown stores and empty warehouses, but new york is still on their trail and clark is still trying to take him out with minimal collateral damage.

he’s not standing for long though before mr. burkley burrows through the hole he’s left and charges at him, both of them entangled and thudding against the ground quickly, the building floor breaking instantly, the man’s teeth longer than clark’s head as he snaps at him, his oversized body scaly and hideously deformed, but strong, being mostly muscle now.

backup would really be appreciated at a moment like this.

[loislane-reports]

“Scientists scramble to explain shocking phenomena of random “visitors”

New neighbors have been popping up in New York for nearly half a year now.

For the last 6 and a half months, people from seemingly nowhere have been finding themselves in New York, including this author. I was getting ready to make a phone call for an interview when suddenly I was in New York, in a world so similar and yet so different… is that pretentious?” Lois asks no one in particular, brushing an irritated hand through her hair.

“Feels wrong to call other earth ‘nowhere,’“ she sighs a little looking at her computer screen and the blinking cursing that was taunting her. It was so frustrating. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do with her time but write and yet she sat her, feeling very frozen.

She took a sip of her coffee and sputtered. “Ack! It’s cold.” She frowns. Had she been sitting here that long?

[kryptonianstars]

from the very moment she’d arrived in this universe, blinked into existence here, fallen through the rift, clark knew it, could feel it, could hear it, that pinpointed heartbeat so strangely unique to him, the sound of twin beats that always seems to stand out from the rest of the maelstrom, his ears tuned to that frequency that only she has access to. her lungs inhaling and exhaling, her voice flooding into the busy new york street, and every nerve in clark’s body aches to go to her, to see her, to talk to her, to just drown himself in her presence, those warm brown eyes he’d become so enamored with. he’d wanted to in that first instant, but in the very next moment he remembered his disappearance had occurred the exact night they’d been set up to meet. on a date. the first one clark had ever managed to ask her on, after nearly a year of pining.

it couldn’t have been any worse, even with the rather convincing excuse on his tongue of “sorry i missed our date, i fell through a rift in time-space.” somehow that just didn’t seem good enough to present to the one and only miss lois lane.

and he’s been gone six months now, what if she’s moved on from him? god, what’s changed for her? what if she has a boyfriend now and what if she’s angry at him and what if she never wants to speak to him again?

so he waits, and the days tick by like a slow clock, each morning greeted by the horizon of things he’s not telling her, the mountain of apology letters he’s written her without an address to send them to, without a dial tone to forward towards. he waits and waits and waits, until finally the thought of her itches inside him like a wasp, the stinging uncertainty bordering unbearable, and he steps into the cafe she’s seated inside like a dead man walking, his eyes immediately landing on her hair, her back to him, the light of her computer screen beaming against her face. he hasn’t seen her in six months, no pictures, no videos, no record anywhere that she’s ever been born or ever written a damn thing, and for a hot second he has to pause in his tracks a few feet away because it hits him all over again, a whole continent on his chest, the whole universe of stars burning through his blood; he is so stupidly in love with her.

another few steps and he’s right next to her, looking down, and it feels cosmic somehow. “is this spot taken?”

[kryptonianstars]

she turns to face him fully and there’s something ancient in her eyes, the way fires burn for years out in a desert, the way snow falls and falls and falls nearer to the crest of the world, a harshness and brevity to her stature, something in her cheekbones and jawline that harken her older than her years, and clark has to blink a few times in response to it. for a moment, something in her assessment of his words and the barely concealed scrutiny of his face beams like a challenge, almost leaving a question in the air hanging unspoken, a ghost no one wants to look at directly, and he realizes he must have messed up somewhere, he’s said the wrong thing, hinted at something enough for her to investigate-- which is of course the complete opposite of what clark means to do, as a general rule of his life; playing the mild-mannered country bumpkin. the last thing he needs right now is a conversation with someone who might be on the verge of discovering the truth.

there is a crack in the multidimensional fabric of the universe. something is definitely breaking, if not ending.

so he laughs, lets his eyes flicker down to the paper in front of her, let’s the humanity of his upbringing wash over him, color him farm boy, color him kansas fields, color him blood and bones and sinew and skin, and all the apple pies his ma could make for him. “aw shit, you’re serious! i was just being philosophical, i don’t really think the whole world is coming to an end!” he puts a hand over his heart, the quirk on his lips, the charm in his eyes, his head shaking a bit before he shifts eyes down to her paper and reads the emblazoned title across the top. “i’m not worried because i’ve been in this town a long time, seen it go through a lot. hell, we’ve seen the whole country go through a lot, and every time it always feels like the end of the world. but it’s not. things move on. maybe vigilantes in costumes will be good for the city-- god knows the police are like, always outnumbered anyway.” another beat passes and he chuckles again, leans over across the table and lowers his voice as though he’s sharing a secret, as though this information might get him fired from his job. “you know you really shouldn’t believe everything you read in the news lately, trust me, i’m a reporter. i know too many guys who will over-exaggerate a story to get it to sell-- it’s sad, but true. not me of course, that’s actually why i’m pulling out of mainstream, but i’m just saying..”

[kryptonianstars]

she blurts out his name like a prayer and the atmosphere floods out of his lungs like a broken dam, all the air he’d been holding onto in anxiety, in panic, in a hope that’s been devastated too many times already in the past six months; clark kent approaching friends who should know him, family who should love him, coworkers who should understand him, and finding nothing in his palms but the shocking displacement and ignorance. he’s been here six months, not entirely alone as people from his world have filtered in through the crack on that warehouse wall, but only slowly, only gradually, and the amount of ache that fills his chest for something, for someone to recognize him, someone to know him, is enough to fuel star clusters burning for ages out in the black.

she rushes at him and he catches her fully, hugging her like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do for six months, albeit mindful that he doesn’t crush her, always with that careful, light timidity he has to account for whenever dealing with anyone even slightly breakable, the bones in their bodies something clark always has to think about. but he hugs her tightly enough, both arms, both lungs, picks her up an inch or so off the ground as a twisted chuckle bubbles up from his throat, something bittersweet, something golden but sad, something glorious but despondent; they’re together, but she’s trapped here now too. “my god, it’s good to see you again, zee.” he lets her go, sets her down on the ground once more, taking only a miniscule step away from her before keeping a hold of one of her hands. “i found out you fell through and i’ve been looking for you-- i have so many questions about our world.” he shakes his head, the anxiety about their homeworld still boiling beneath his veins. “but first, are you alright? i heard some people got hurt coming through.”

[nctromanova]

Being a good spy meant being able to belong anywhere. That meant belonging nowhere, which- she’d flubbed on, over the years, growing ever so quietly attached to the Avengers and her place among them. Even so, she’d never lost her ability to operate on her own, and never would. And so, belonging anywhere. Natasha didn’t exactly expect that would mean clawing out a life and new alias in some sort of alternate dimension, but sometimes things were like that. Apparently.

People here didn’t know her face. It was a blessing, after her overexposure on a world known superhero team, and it made slipping into things and pretending she’d been here all along so much easier. Adopting an identity that was supposedly native to this universe seemed like it would come in handy, so she quietly built up the cover and, occasionally, spoke to others to try and gauge where things were headed. Information gathering, if a very basic sort.

“So much strangeness.” She mused, glancing up from the paper to the person nearest to her in the small but busy cafe. “Almost like the world is ending. What do you think?”

[kryptonianstars]

oh good-- this question. what do you think?

it’s something clark is much more familiar with than perhaps most people would think, being a reporter and now a blooming news blogger, his opinion has been requested almost as much as the sightings of fantastical situations has been occurring, either in this world or his home dimension. he can almost remember it, the way he’d tumbled his way through answers when he’s first began making a name for himself as a caped vigilante, a young reporter stumbling through the lie his life dictated he adhere to, something that has always festered sticky and scratching on his tongue, but necessary nonetheless. people want the news but they also want personal validation in their own feelings on what they see, and peppering the two opposites together with finesse and objectivity is one of the things that separates a good reporter from a bad one.

the question is posed more towards the air that separates them though, not really anything super concentrated towards him in particular, so when it’s voiced, he ends up looking up and around vaguely, to be sure she’s speaking to him instead of someone else, but once that’s confirmed, he takes a moment to blink a few times, bright blue eyes flickering down to paper in her grasp. “people have been saying the end is nigh for, what? thousands of years? and depending on the broadness of your viewpoint, if you consider how old the world actually is, it’s probably true.” he shrugs, makes a turtle face, a grin tugging on the corner of his lips. “i think things just… change? right? and we ought to change with it?”

another beat passes as the reality of his own speech settles down over him-- things change, his surroundings have changed. and he must change with it? “are you worried?”