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America likes to think they would support Superman when they would actually support Homelander.

I agree completely- my favorite scene of him choosing who gets saved has a great parallel in Greek myth in the Iliad.

Zeus wants to save Sarpedon, but Hera tells him it is forbidden. Because he doesn’t save him, the Trojan war ends and thousands live.

Clark wants to save Lois, but Jor-el tells him it is forbidden. Because he saves Lois, he must deal with the consequences of his actions and the people he did not save as a result.

Paragraph breaks are your friend

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Now he just needs to sabotage the chemical toilet.

It used to be called Project:433-Kent.

These days we just call it Project Rasputin. You would too if you witnessed as much as we all have. The way that Clark Kent survives.

Human cockroach, the Unkillable, Metal Man, Clark Kent. All synonymous.

Like any of us, one eventually knows too much; gets too close. Even if he didn’t work for us, he couldn’t leave well enough alone when it came to Lex Luthor. It’s a shame, really, I would have liked to see that guy finally get what’s coming to him. Even so, you can’t punch up the system without getting put out. Not with how Mr. Luthor owns half the city, at least.

That’s why we all thought it’d be easy. Get in, get rid of the issue, get out. Have the local police turn a blind eye. We didn’t account for Clark to be the goddamn beast he actually is. The man eats bullets for breakfast, I swear to God. Then he gets up, goes to work, and doesn’t notice until lunchtime that there’s a hole in his shirt.

I wish I could tell you what color he bleeds, but we haven’t got that far. Not yet. Maybe he’ll kill us all before we get the chance. Then again it’s like he doesn’t even notice us; he probably thinks we’re annoying at best.

Bullets, poison, bits of metal in his food, all unnoticed and ineffective. Made no progress with explosives. Poisonous gas leak? No dice.

That being said…

Advice?

I feel like those bastards drove him to it.

Thank you! And that’s quite a dark turn there…but I’m not opposed.

I am tied up with something but have a thought… by mistake an intended attack on Clark Kent misses or a bullet ricochets and it appears to be an assassination attempt on a politician (maybe incorporate real history here). Under increasing scrutiny, the CIA is forced to wind down their assassination program, at least as far as Clark Kent is concerned. To his handlers, shooter insists he struck Kent but that’s impossible, the politician was hit and nobody caught the hole in Clarks clothing. Shooter and ends up in an insane asylum… where he is subjected to a procedure that transforms him into a nemesis with special abilities, who only has it out for Clark Kent, not (knowingly) for Superman.

So very well done. And then Rudolph leads them into the stormy night, puts the whole team into a dive and cuts his harness loose at the last second.

They say, that as you walk past the Lake of Longing, you might chance upon something most peculiar. People tell tales of witches and monsters, murmurs, creaks and groans heard near the lake, and of the princess that braves it all to one day meet her prince. What a joke.

As I walk back to my mistress' hut, content with having driven out the last of the onlookers hoping to meet her, she runs outside, haggard and weary, with dark bags under her eyes, crying out "I've got it! I've found him! Come quick, Mary, so you may see!"

She grabs my arm and drags me inside, past books scattered across the floor showing strange formulas and runes, and jars full of strange items tipped over and hanging open, to a cauldron, where, inside, you can see the image of a handsome young man, riding plainly across a field, towards the setting sun.

"Finally! I can see him... Now, where were those books on curses..."

She trails off as I stare into the pot. Hoping for her beloved prince to return? What a farce! All I see is one woman who holds so much hatred for her betrothed that she had to run off and learn witchcraft to finally be rid of him, and one man, so arrogant and stubborn to chase after his princess, that not even a war could keep him down for long.

As I ponder this, my mistress returns to the cauldron. "Eye of newt. Toe of frog. Three little worms. And... aha!" and there, in the image of the cauldron, the prince keels over, clutching his heart, never to reach his destination after years of searching.

Finally done with her goal, after so much work and effort, she cheers out happily and sighs, "Now that that's finally over with, lets see how mother is doing with her own king-sized problem!"

Hahah oh my god. That’s amazing. Safe to say we took two very different approaches to this prompt.

“Affirmative, I have a shot.” An agent whispers into a headset, standing on the mile tall building besides the Daily Planet, the most popular news organization in Metropolis. The man wore an ordinary T-Shirt, designed by the head agents of this operation to look particularly ordinary. “The fuck are you doing, Regis? Take it!” The New Yorker accent of head agent James Jackson replies. Regis could hear the cigar being tapped on an ashtray through the transmission. Regis, with no hesitation, shoots the man.

The man, as if nothing happened, turned around to investigate the noise. Regis could hear screams as people saw the bullet on the ground. “The fuck?” Regis mutters. He quickly scopes the man in and shoots again. “What’s wrong, Regis?” Regis shoots again. “The bullets, sir. They’re… bouncing off of him.” James’ tone changed almost instantly.

“Regis, run!” Regis immediately started running towards the door to the building. “What’s wrong, sir?” James swings the door open. “The fuckers a meta human!” He bolted down the stairs, until he reached a hallway encasing a set of hotel rooms. Regis could hear something being thrown at the wall through the transmission. “Fuck! Did he see you, Regis?” Regis shakes his head, then realizes James isn’t looking at him. “No, sir. He was looking at the window, not me.” There was a sigh heard through the transmission. “Okay, good.” A few clicks are heard. “Standby, Regis, a chopper’s headed your way.” Regis nodded his head, laughing as he again realized nobody could see him. “Thank you, sir.” Regis could hear the helicopter in the distance. He slowly walked back up the stairs. Once he met the door, he opened it, to be met with a huge S. Superman was at the door, and he had questions.

Rudolph stormed off to his cottage, his nose pulsing with red-hot rage. He stormed through the living room so quickly his father hadn’t had time to even say hello. He slammed the door to his bedroom and fell onto his bed.

“Knock, knock,” said his father, “what’s this all about, son?”

“It’s the others,” said Rudolph, “they finally are accepting me, but I know it isn’t real. They only like me because Santa thinks I can help guide the sleigh with my nose.”

“Well that sounds like a wonderful thing, bud,” said his father. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, no?”

Rudolph sat up in his bed and turned to face his father. “No. This isn’t what I’ve always wanted—not exactly. Sure, it is nice to be needed. Sure, it feels good to have my uniqueness finally perceived as a strength. But, it doesn’t change how they’ve treated me in the past. It doesn’t heal the hurt. It doesn’t give me back all those tearful nights and make them all better.”

“I know son,” his father said as he grabbed his hoof, “those were tough times. But tough times make tough reindeer. Sometimes moving on means forgiving those who hurt us.”

“That’s easier said than done,” replied Rudolph.

“I know. I truly do. It was hard on me to see how all of the other reindeer treated you. I can only imagine how hard it was for you. But sometimes what is required of us is bigger than ourselves. If you don’t help Santa tonight, think of all the kids who won’t wake up tomorrow to gifts under the tree. Only you can make that happen. You can use your nose to brighten both the night sky and the lives of children across the globe.”

“I guess so,” sniffled Rudolph. “It just feels wrong that those who have shunned me are going to benefit from my gifts. It feels like I’d be letting myself down if I help, but I’d be insanely selfish to let those kids down.”

“Oh, son. Self love is never selfish.” His father paused and thought a moment. “If you truly need to take this beat, and not guide that sleigh, your mother and I will support you. You need to do what is right for you, first and foremost. I didn’t mean to make you feel selfish. I just want you to know what a benefit to the world your gift can be.

“And, as far as those horrible other reindeer benefitting from your gifts: well, isn’t it true that Santa still gives gifts to children on the naughty list from time to time? Isn’t it true that those kids still deserve to feel warmth and love despite what their actions may be? I’m not saying it will be easy, or even that it will feel good right away, but maybe you can use your gifts to show them how you should have been treated.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Rudolph said as he straightened in his bed. “Maybe I can use my newfound standing to enact some change. Maybe I can make it so that other reindeer with special gifts never have to feel what I felt. Maybe I can lead from the front, and show others that you can look like me and be useful, and needed, and successful, and loved.”

“You are all of those things and more, son,” said his father as he embraced Rudolph in a warm hug. “You make me proud to be your Dad.”

Rudolph’s nose shined bright, enveloping the room in a bright-red glow. “Dad, stop, you’re embarrassing me!”

Rudolph gathered his things and made his way to the door. “Thanks, Dad. I really needed this tonight.”

“Any time son. Now go out there and go down in history!”

“Dad, phrasing!” Shouted Rudolph as his nose fluttered.

“Sorry, sorry,” said his father flustered, “break a leg, son!”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive

I guess he was always fates to be an enemy of the House of Un-American Activities.

Santa leaned back and scratched his head. "Perhaps people were less than kind to you, " he said. "But why should that stop you from helping now? Everyone should be happy to step up and fulfill their purpose and you shouldn't let negative feelings stand between you and the greatness that you were born to."

Rudolph paused. The words were deep and it was time to prove that what he had always assumed was a handicap that had cost him so many friends and so many opportunities really was a blessing in disguise. He could help, but the pain ran too deep. He looked Santa straight int he eye, "I want to to tell you what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit you are! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?"

He tuned to the assembled crowd, and the shock evident on their faces along with the growing realization that their Christmas miracle was not going to happen. "And that goes for you fucks, too." He said icily as he turned on his heel, headed out the door and leapt in the foggy night. The redness of his nose lifted into sky and in the last bit of visibility before it winked out of sight they heard him exclaim, "Merry Christmas to Y'alls, now suck on deez balls!"

my apologies to fans of Christmas Vacation, everywhere.

Please come back, you have such talent!

Thank you very much! This is the first writing I've done in years, and hoo boy have I missed it.

Bad Powers, Good People

The hit was simple.

A journalist by the name of Clark Kent.

Hired by some dirty cops to do some dirty work.

A couple days of planning and the trap was set. Clark had a knack for getting himself into trouble from what I gathered, so the plan would kill two birds with one stone. One, take out Clark Kent. Two, plant evidence leading cops to a rather nasty smuggling operation here in the city. (I left out the fact I had taken a job for them a few months back, less pay but a nice safehouse incase things went topsy turvy)

There was construction in a building across the way, a front for some old mafioso pals back in the day. Having remembered the service elevator in the back, I grabbed my bag and my suitcase and shipped off. Got to the site and field assembled ol'reliable, distance 100 meters, breeze? I lick my finger and stick in the air, none. I look through scope and through the window, favorite lunch spot with a window view, 4th time this week. Humans are creatures of habit. I load a round into the bolt chamber with a resounding clang, best sound In the world in my opinion.

I steady my breathing, account for bullet drop on the scope, and, just to be safe. I decided against the silencer on the rifle due to wanting them to find the evidence, but I upholster my 9mm and silence it instead, Incase things go that south.

I breathe out one long breath... and squeeze the trigger.

PING

...what

The bullet went through and landed on target, I'm sure of it. He fell down from his seat at the bench and then promptly got back up.

That... that hit, I'm positive

He looks at his coworkers, and assures them of his safety and then looks out the window.

Right at me

...yeah it's time to go

I begin packing up, leaving the "evidence" as I make my escape, fold up the rifle back into it's suitcase and back out. The 9mm in my back pocket ready to be drawn at a hai--

"Forgetting something?"

I spin around with the gun in my hand and fire at the voice

Ping

Superman

Godamn superman

That smug smile on his face is the last thing I see before waking up in the police department.

Hey! I tried to write it in such a way that it's alluded that Keith was captured and detained in some kind of prison facility, with the reason why being undisclosed to the reader.

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Ah sorry, to clarify this slow clap was in utter awe and appreciation!

The Good Place has overridden 'almond milk' as far as brain associations.