A BETTER TOMORROW

EVERY TIME WE'RE DOWN, YOU CAN MAKE IT RIGHT; AND THAT MAKES YOU LARGER THAN LIFE

[lastedson]

LASTEDSON;; independent & selective rp blog for clark kent / superman of dc comics. inspiration is taken from a mix of sources, so no compliancy to one singular canon. powered up by pluto.

with special acknowledgements to: @onlyheartaches ｡☀︎｡

pinned post; please don't reblog !!

[lastedson]

the krypto plush is everything to me

[crimel0rd]

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ​ ┈⌯⁍𖦏 ❝ 「 You're a bad liar. 」 ❞ Jason grumbles, but his head tilts just so. Curious. Dick was always the bigger Superman fan. Him not so much. Sure he was starstruck as a kid but not by much more than the rest of the League. And now, he saw them for what they were. Lords in a high tower looking down at humanity and not walking beside them.

❝ 「 About what? 」 ❞ He knows. Knows where this is headed. That he did wrong and needed to change? He wonders what canned lines will be force fed to him. But in spite of the anger and hurt and distrust. His heart had slowed. No long distressed panic of a creature backed against a wall ready to lunge but an animal just untrusting of an offered hand. ❝ 「 You can Talk. 」 ❞ He just may not listen.

[lastedson]

                    ❝ I always was. ❞ It's an easy thing to admit. Perhaps not wholly true, as anyone with a double life going on has to become at least somewhat competent in lying by omission, but pretending otherwise is all part of Superman's image. Big Blue, the Metropolitan boy scout who spends his off time rescuing kittens from trees and helping old ladies across the road... he'd be a bad liar.

But still... An offer to be talked at is still a better response than he was expecting. And while it would be easy to seize this chance to get on his soapbox and insist that this wasn't him, that Clark knew he could be better... He doubts that will be received well. The morality lecture will have to be saved for another time, it seems.

                    ❝ I want to know what the goal of all this is. The killings. Are they making you feel better? ❞

[onlyheartaches]

Deep down, John knows they are being watched, and he's been trained to be watched. Yet, it does feel as if the only other person in this room besides himself is Superman, who is the only person to ever hold him like this and mean it. Even Dr. Vogelbaum, the closet thing he'll have to a father, only allowed John to cuddle close and only read to John in order to gain his trust for these experiments.

John is thirteen, but he knows what his role is at Vought. He knows he doesn't have anyone who cares about him.

He wants someone to care about him.

As Superman soothes him with low, gentle words and that comforting swaying motion, a pair of big, teary blue eyes peek up at him. Had that really been what he'd done, in screaming through these tests? Calling for help?

(It was. He knows it was.

John just never thought anyone would answer.)

"I'm s-supposed to ... I have powers. Like you. I'm supposed to be a hero, too." He pushes off the ground to show that he can fly, but he lands just as quickly and clings to his hero. "I want my blanket. But it's - It's in the Bad Room."

To think, there could be a room worse for a child than an industrial oven. But there is, and it's just beyond them, a door with a single window where nothing good happens.

"Is everyone disappointed in me?" John hugs Superman, aware from past experiences that Superman is possibly the only person he can ever give a tight hug like this to. "Do I have to go back in the Bad Room?"

{ @lastedson }

[lastedson]

The powers explain the lack of burn injuries, at least. There's a lot of questions he wants to ask about that, like what he knows about his powers and how he came to have them, but that's a conversation to be had later. For now, all of his focus is on returning the tight hug and making sure that he knows, as sure as the sky is blue, that he's not going to be abandoned and locked in the Bad Room again.

                    ❝ We'll go in for a second, only to get your blanket. ❞

Clark could rush in and get it himself, but he doesn't trust what could happen if he leaves a vulnerable, terrified child alone in a room with people who were perfectly happy to watch him cook mere minutes earlier. No, he has to be a barrier between him and them, has to be ready to fight a way out of here at the slightest sign of hostility.

                    ❝ You're not staying in there, do you understand? You've done well. No one's angry or disappointed— ❞ no one that matters, anyway, since he's sure Vought aren't too happy about this arrangement ❝ —and you've got nothing to worry about. You're safe with me. ❞

Carefully detaching from the hug, Clark finds one of John's hands and squeezes it tight. He'll feel better if there's some kind of constant contact between them, and is sure John will feel the same way.

                    ❝ Let's go. We'll only be in there for a second, remember. ❞

[lastedson]

✶  ︵  *dash  game:  knowing  your  writing  partner  can  potentially  make  writing  together  a  lot  easier!

the basics

name: pluto

pronouns: he/him, but actually getting to this point was a whole journey and a half

sexuality: bisexual <33

three facts

I was never into superheroes as a kid. I got into the MCU via the first thor movie back as a teenager and followed the avengers movies up until endgame, but I never watched the cartoons or anything. I knew of superman because he's a huge pop culture icon, but I wasn't invested until I watched the james gunn movie last summer

that being said, technically my first exposure to superman was through smallville, which I watched when I was like... five or six ?? because it had a fantastic theme tune I liked to listen to. but no plot points or characters were able to actually sink in, if that makes sense

I work in education, supporting send kids. a lot of the ones I have the best rapport with are kids whose special interests are things that I have a decent amount of knowledge on, so we can actually have a two-way conversation about it. it's a little cheat code to get them to instantly click with you lmaoo

roleplay experience

how long: on tumblr alone, it's been about thirteen years ?? I was around fourteen back when I started, and I'm turning twenty-eight this year, so...

platforms you've used: tumblr and discord are my mains and my favourites. tumblr is preferred overall, mostly because I tend to get intimidated in large servers and go silent, and 1:1 servers are for long-term partners/friends or people I'm otherwise already very comfortable with ooc. but I was also deep in the facebook trenches at one point

best experience: the pokemon rpc has a very near and dear place in my heart. it's not without its issues, but I've been in it since at least, god, like 2019? not long after the detective pikachu movie came out (who was also my first pokemon muse). I've been there long enough to see people's opinions start to do a 180 on sword and shield and start the inevitable "this game was good, actually" commentary as if they weren't all the same crowd losing their minds over blades of grass and tree textures

muse preferences

female or male: I have a heavy male lean, for sure

fluff, angst, smut: all three, tbh. it took me a while to get comfortable writing smut, but now that I've gotten a fair amount of practice under my belt I believe I'm as good at it as I am any other genre. I just need to find excuses to write it, now (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

plots or memes: plotting is great, but I understand it's often difficult to do for those first couple handful of interactions. therefore, memes are a fantastic way to get the rp ball rolling and actually kickstart some interaction between us

long or short replies: I default to about four or five paragraphs, but am capable of going well over when the inspiration bug bites. the only thing I really tend to veer away from is super short replies like one-liners

best time to write: nighttime! or when I'm having a slow day at work lmaoo

are you like your muse(s): I wish </33

[em1e]

what made u guys pick ur url's !

[disasterbithirst]

the Hottest Thing Ever is when someone is running their fingers through your hair and then pull just a little without warning like,,, fuck okay uh i’m yours now i guess, fuck me if you want also

[lastedson]

there's definitely at least one kryptonian tennis ball hidden away in one of the moon craters, btw. every time clark looks away krypto's burying another toy in moon dust and waiting to see if clark can find it

[lastedson]

@novaragno asked: ❝ have you ever been on the moon ? ❞

                    ❝ Many times. ❞

Clark talks about the moon in the same tone one might use to talk about a lifelong lover. Dreamy and wistful. smiling up at the sky as if that alone would be enough to lure her down to meet him.

                    ❝ I go to look at Earth. There's something incredible about seeing it from up there, all the city lights on one side and sunrises on the other. It puts all of my problems into perspective. ❞

                    ❝ And the moon's one of the few places Krypto can play without any risk of property damage, so it's pretty convenient! He keeps trying to stash the occasional toy or two up there. ❞

[lastedson]

speaking of marketable (clarketable) supes plushies, here's a tiny little self-plug for my discord tuppers I'm unreasonably proud of

[lastedson]

first time using wire, kinda nervous xx

[onlyheartaches]

His name is John. His mother's surname was Gillman, but John has never been told that; he does not know who his parents are. He is thirteen years old. He has never been to school, except for the form of home-schooling Vought supplies him with. He lives in a series of small rooms underground, where only bad things happen. He has nothing to his name except hospital gowns, a blue blanket, and the promised future of someday being the hero to surpass Superman.

John is not a normal human. John has been born with superpowers: laser eyes, enhanced strength, enhanced senses, enhanced durability, flight. Vought wants to know the limits of these supposedly godly, actually manufactured, powers, so they experiment upon him daily.

Today, he has been stripped of his gown and placed in an oven. Today, he watches as Frank, the operator of his torture cell, throws a wadded-up ball of paper into a wastebasket, fist pumps, and turns up the temperature. Today, John screams in agony, his tears sizzling away, and no one reacts except to take notes on how their young experiment reacts to the heat.

His skin does not char. If it did, he would mercifully die, and he would finally be free of the endless, horrific sensation of burning alive.

Today, Superman himself bursts into the laboratory, rips the door off the oven, and coaxes him outside.

John doesn't care right now that he's supposed to replace Superman. He's in agony, he's terrified, everyone's watching, he's just a kid, and it's only Superman who's saying that he's safe.

This is the single nicest thing anyone has ever done for John.

With a sob, John launches forward, burrowing his face in Superman's chest and trying so hard to hide against his hero. "It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts, it hurts so bad, Superman it hurts!"

{ @lastedson }

[lastedson]

                    ❝ I know, ❞ he soothes, wrapping him in his cape. There's no visible burns on his skin, but Clark knows better than to assume that means there's no damage. Something as simple as the movement of the air against him might be enough to hurt, and he'd really rather avoid causing this poor child any more pain. His cape, despite being built for durability over softness, will at least provide some protective barrier.

With careful touches, he guides the boy into a more secure position against his chest, swaying them both slowly from side to side. He can feel eyes boring into him, those who haven't yet taken the opportunity to flee standing frozen in what he can only assume is shock and horror; taken aback by how quickly he can turn from a rampaging alien threat into... this. Something sweet and kind and altogether too human, too far removed from their own deification ambitions.

                    ❝ I know it hurts, I'm sorry. I'm sorry they put you in there. ❞

He shushes the child in low, comforting rumbles, one hand cradling the back of his head protectively. It's not he who should be apologising; he wasn't the one choosing to play wastepaper basketball while a child was cooked alive mere feet away, but Clark already knows none of these so-called scientists will offer a genuine one. They might, if put under enough pressure, offer an excuse. They might say that they had no choice, they'd get in trouble if they refused, that they were just following orders.

And that may be true. But what, then, is the excuse for playing games during these sessions? Did the orders include a demand to improve one's throwing at the same time?

                    ❝ Thank you for being brave. You held on even when you were scared, even when it hurt. You worked so hard to help me find you. ❞

[lastedson]

@onlyheartaches; plotted.

                    ❝ Hi there! Clark Kent, Daily Planet. ❞ He flashes his badge at the receptionist behind the desk, her eyes already narrowed with suspicion. ❝ We were hoping– ❞

❛ Do you have an appointment? ❜

Her sharp voice cuts him off and he takes a step back, face flushing with embarrassment. Eye contact is hard suddenly, and behind the lenses of his glasses his eyes flit wildly across the floor. ❝ W-Well, not as such, but like I said, we were hoping to— ❞

❛ Vought International is available by appointment only, ❜ she says, eyes narrowing even further. ❛ Now, can you find your way out, or do I need to have you escorted? ❜

With a helpless glance upwards, he folds, hands held up in placation as he backs away and through the same door he'd entered, letting himself be swept up into the bustling streets.

That plan hadn't worked, but he'd not left the encounter empty-handed. Going inside had confirmed that he'd already feared: he can't see through to the top or lower levels of the building, which suggests some sort of lead or lead composite barrier between floors. That single detail is enough to set off alarm bells he can't afford to listen to—it suggests a familiarity with his powers that always sets his teeth on edge—but it also proves that there's things able to slip through the cracks of whatever operation is going on inside.

For if they'd done even a bit more research, they'd know that lead may very well block his x-ray vision, but not even the empty vacuum of space can block his hearing.

The screams are still ringing in his ears even now, drowned out only by the rapid thumpthumpthump of a terrified young heartbeat.

Less than a minute after Clark Kent's departure, Superman crashes through Vought's other side, jaw tense and brows already pinched together in barely-restrained anger. Anyone unwilling to move out of his way is made to, and twin beams of heat vision cleave through every locked door like a hot knife through butter. He was right: their veneer of apparent preparedness falls apart the instant he steps foot inside. Arrogance drips from every inch of this place, but they're helpless to stop his march forward, unable to do anything but scramble out of his immediate path and stare slack-jawed at the destruction left in his wake.

Equipment is smashed, computers lay in piles of severed cables and fractured monitors, splinters of wood and glass and torn metal litter the floor and crack apart underfoot. It's a mess.

By the time he reaches the final door, his head feels ready to explode from the sensory onslaught. Muted conversations overlap on top of the rustling of paper and the scritch, scritch of ballpoints on paper, and the constant cycling of air; the smell of stale coffee hanging in the air; so many people in the room but only one is suffering—

The door isn't even fully off its hinges before his eyes are burning again, the world in front of him glowing red as he slices a neat line through pen and clipboard both, staining their pristine labcoats with ink as their notes smoulder. They rush to cover their faces as the oven door is ripped open, the oppressive heat making the room's temperature soar, but Clark isn't focused on them anymore. He's already detaching his cape with one hand and reaching into the oven with the other, encouraging its prisoner out.

                    ❝ It's okay, buddy, I'm here. You're safe. ❞

[novaragno]

# NOVARAGNO

knight of nights, my moon-struck knight — be gentle and fair, in battle, tournament & fight.

A STUDY IN — picking up the blade. the rise after the fall. the inherent hubris of artists. love and obsession. martyrhood and a knight's redemption. middle ages, renaissance and modernity, forever intertwined.

              penned by NØX.   (   + 20.   she // her.   cinematography student.   )

PKMN VERSE CARRD. || SPIDERVERSE CARRD. ↻ // ♥

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[he11blaze]

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[amischiefofmuses]

@amischiefofmuses -- [Rules/About] - [Ask]

100% super duper serious roleplay blog no fun allowed Indie Multimuse - Ft. MANY Marvel Muses Slapped on your desk by Magpie

[femalefemur]

me @ my mutuals