Clark Kent

ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ so much power and rage inside 𝗵𝗶𝗺, enough to burn the world and leave it nothing but desert. ᅠ ᅠᅠ ᅠ ᅠ

“Stopped by a little café near the Daily Planet for the best coffee I’ve had in a while. Sat by the window watching people go about their day. Kinda nice being the one just watching for once instead of saving the day. This city really knows how to make you feel at home.”

“Okay, so fashion isn’t really my thing but I asked around, did a little research, and somehow ended up in a trench coat, white shirt and loose black tie looking like the world’s most sarcastic occult detective. Happy #Halloween, everyone!”

“Just rolled out of the Fortress (okay, my apartment) with the hoodie up, glasses on and that soft Friday sunlight hitting the city just right. Backpack’s light for once, no emergencies on the horizon, and the whole day feels like it belongs to.”

“Just grabbed some dinner and fired up Phantom Blade Zero. Nothing beats a quiet night in after everything — good food, solid gameplay and zero universe-ending drama for once. This game’s combat is seriously smooth. Might actually smile while playing.”

“Suit on. Cape ready. City waiting. I’m not that guy anymore. This time I’m flying out there to help, not to prove anything. Second chances don’t come often. I’m not wasting this one.”

“Settled in with a fresh pull of classics. No yellow sun drama, no punching through reality—just reading other people’s adventures for once. Home sweet temporary home. I can do this.”

“Wednesday patrol in Metropolis. Same broken skyline, same weak people who don’t even know who the real Superboy is. Flying the streets anyway. Someone’s gotta do it right.”

“Store lights off. Name tag still clipped to my shirt. Bowl of spicy miso ramen in front of me like it owes me money. Noodles thick enough to put up a fight, soft-boiled egg with that perfect jammy yolk, green onions scattered like they actually belong here.”

“Still no real threats worth my time. Typical. Everyone else gets the big dramatic finales. I get quiet skies and a couple of nervous pigeons. Whatever. At least the air up here’s clean.”2

“Glasses on, hair a mess, blue eyes tired but still sharp. Another quiet Earth day in the books. No crises. No multiversal nonsense. Just me, the shelves and the soft click of the deadbolt. Finally finished the shift.”

“Saturday. Suit’s in the closet. No punching through realities today—just floating above the clouds, letting the wind do whatever it wants. The universe can handle itself for 48 hours. Probably.”

“Clocked in for another Friday shift at the comic shop. None of that watered-down, continuity-ruining nonsense. Just pure, classic greatness and a few customers who still don’t understand who the 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡 Superboy is.”

“Shift over. Took the apron off like it was kryptonite. Spent the last hour listening to some kid explain why my Earth was ‘retconned.’ Kid, I punched reality until it cried. Your timeline is the fanfic. Anyway, I’m out.”

“Comic store closed. Patrol done. The cape’s hung up and the city’s not screaming for once. Just me at the table with a hot meal and the soft hum of a night that doesn’t need saving. After everything and this quiet hits different.”

‍ ‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍ / I hate waiting. But here we are. ‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ ‍‍ ‍

“Now it’s steak time. Thick cut, seared hard on the outside, still pink in the middle. Sat down alone with it, plate steaming, knife cutting through like it’s nothing. After a day of counting comics, this is the real reward.”