A child's prayer, a HuaCheng comic
I remember reading a thread that mentioned this fact about HC months ago. But now I'm not sure if this is canon or just a headcanon; I tried to investigate but had no luck. Anyway, this comic has managed to escape the abyss before the year ended!
I wish I could find that thread again u.u
"—about the next general meeting on the watch—"
Bruce froze midword, finally having faced him from where he had been busy, nose deep in some files that he had definitely nicked from the GCPD. Gordon will have a fit, though Clark supposes, the commissioner must be used to the Bat's antics by now.
The silence stretched, and Bruce was still staring at him in that unnerving way where his slate grey eyes refused to even blink for a second.
Clark finally broke.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Clark huffed. Yeah, maybe it had been too much to hope for something to go unnoticed by the Gotham Bat. Especially when Clark was the only bright thing in the drab and dreary batcave. He wished at least Dick would've been in tonight (Robin was off on a sleepover with Wally West of all people - when had those two met, Clark had no idea). Usually, Bruce is less.... Batman-y and more himself when Dick keeps puttering around him.
"Any particular reason for that particular choice of accessory?", Bruce asked finally. Just a little blink it and you miss it hint of amusement in his gravelly voice.
Clark shuffled his feet, red creeping up his neck in the way he knew made him look like a splotched tomato. He hated how easily he flushed. Especially in front of the hero - the man he wanted to respect him. Not that his dignity would survive this explanation anyway. He supposed he could have removed it, but... he just didn't have the heart to do it.
"There was a fire. Lower east side, Metropolis. An apartment complex. A little girl's pet cat was caught. The firefighters had evacuated everyone but couldn't reach the cat. So... well, I brought Sam out—"
"Sam"
Bruce's voice was deadpanned in a way which definitely wasn't a question but Clark felt the need to clarify anyway and he was going through his nervous verbal vomit phase so— he'll deal with the ensuing mortification later in the privacy of his own apartment.
"The cat. His name is Sam. Anyway, so I got Sam out, and Lily was... well, she was pretty grateful about it. And she very much insisted on giving me a gift and she had made a card for me beforehand but it got burnt in the fire so—"
"So she gave you her hair clip?"
"Umm.. yeah."
"Her pink coloured.. what is this thing again..yes, hello kitty hairclip?"
Clark made an aborted movement to touch the bright fuschia hued clip holding a particularly unruly lock of his curly hair in place before dropping his hand. He sighed, knowing that the traitorous blush had reached the tips of his ears now and nothing could be done.
"Well, she is five. And she was so sad about her card and then so happy when I took her clip— well, she insisted on putting it in my hair. Something about keeping the curls off my face when I'm flying, which is pretty intelligent of a logic for a five year old when you think about it—"
Bruce was looking at him strangely now. Well, that intense stare was gone at least.
"Did you wear it the whole day? Were you wearing it while fighting against Lobo right after?"
Clark shrugged.
"Well, she gave it to me, so— Lobo laughed his ass off, though.. kinda helped as a distraction when you think about it—"
Bruce was still looking at him strangely. Clark wished he could hear his heartbeat at least so that he could gauge his thoughts. Or maybe it was better this way. Clark knew he was weird enough as it is. Wearing a pink hairclip with a cartoon cat stuck on it probably didn't help him look serious or edgy. Something more at league with the black leather and kevlar clad Batman.
Well, Kent, maybe all your suaveness is only reserved in your little perverted fantasies and wet dreams.
Clark probably smiled the most disingenuous smile he had ever attempted, forced down his ugly blush, and stuttered something about deadlines and due dates before practically fleeing from the cave.
At least Bruce was kind enough not to laugh at his face and his stupid sentimental heart.
I love the idea of Lex parenting Kon because he strikes me as the world’s worst helicopter mom but also in the sense that everything they do is a direct way to say “fuck you” to the kid’s dad. Lex probably does have some affection for Kon, I mean if you go through all that trouble to obtain Superman’s DNA, probably go through trial and error growing the baby and then hey presto, here’s a living breathing symbol of your love hatred of Superman, you will probably grow attached to the little guy. So imagine if you will, Lex being open to co-parenting with Superman while Kon is growing up rather than sending Kon against him straight away.
Within contemporary magical and witchcraft communities, the call to honor our ancestors has become increasingly central. As practitioners seek to root themselves in authentic traditions and inherited wisdom, there is a growing emphasis on our lineage. Not necessarily in a hierarchical or initiatory sense, but in the form of spiritual inheritance, familial memory, and cultural continuity. In the midst of this collective return to the past, though, a concerning trend has begun to emerge: the posthumous reclassification of ancestors as witches in order to lend validity and authority to one’s modern craft.
This inclination raises important questions about historical accuracy, cultural memory, and the ethics of identification. There are certainly families in which the word witch has been claimed proudly, particularly since the 1960’s and 1970’s. But the same cannot be said for most of the ancestors from whom any legitimately passed-on magical knowledge or traditions have been inherited.
Indeed, many of the ancestors invoked in these claims of inherited witchcraft would not have recognized themselves as witches. Some were simply country folk (farmers, herbalists, and neighbors) who lived in tune with the land out of necessity rather than esoteric inclination. They practiced what they knew because it kept their animals healthy, their families safe, and their crops growing. Their knowledge was practical, regional, and part of daily life. They told stories, followed signs, and adhered to customs that blended Christian belief with older folkloric knowledge. Some were deeply religious; and most were likely cautious about anything that might resemble witchcraft.
To retroactively apply the label witch to these individuals is to risk erasing their actual identities and the cultural contexts in which they lived. It also implies a form of historical flattening, where distinct practices and roles (such as the cunning person, the charmer, the wise woman, the seer) are all subsumed under a single modern category. This not only distorts the past but also deprives us of the rich complexity of magical and folkloric traditions as they were actually lived and understood.
Summary: You go on a mommy-daughter date with your 7-year-old. The following week, Clark takes Leia on a daddy-daughter date.
Dad!Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
It had started as a way to spend time with your little girl, to make sure she knew that even with a busy life and a growing family, she always had a special place with you. So every week, you and Leia went on a mommy-daughter date.
At two years old, Leia took this tradition very seriously.
The moment she saw you grab your matching shoes, the ones she insisted you wear so “we look same, Mommy!”, she squealed, grabbed her tiny backpack, and ran straight to the door, curls bouncing wildly.
“Go! Go! Go!” she chanted, barely two feet tall but full of commanding energy.
Today’s adventure was her favorite: the indoor playground at the community center.
As soon as you walked in, she gasped dramatically, as if she hadn’t been here fifty times already. “Mommy look!” she squealed, pointing at the giant slide.
You smiled, adjusting her hair as she tried to wriggle out of your hands. “I see it, baby. Wanna go climb?”
She nodded with her whole body, so excited she was practically vibrating. She bolted toward the padded climbing tower, her little legs pumping, stopping only to yell “Mommy watch!” every few seconds.
