some people will be like âI wonder why fanfic writers donât share their works anymoređâ and then this is them when a writer is kind enough to share something they write â as a hobby, for their own enjoyment â with them for free.
some people really donât realize how privileged they are that they get fanfics for free. imagine having access to something for free because someone is kind enough to share it with you⌠and then being rude, entitled and an ungrateful pos to that person who was kind enough to share their creation with you for free
âalmost 1 year is a lil too much for meâ fuck off. fanfic writers donât owe you anything. one of my favorite fics was updated after 13 years, and what I did is that I thanked the author for choosing to continue the work, I didnât act like a spoiled toddler by asking why they didnât update sooner. and even if a writer chooses to abandon their fic permanently with no explanation, that is their choice, their hobby, their decision. they donât owe your entitled ass anything.
you people let tiktok rot your brains to the point you see everything as content farm and engagement. not a piece of art created by the artistâs love and passion. itâs dystopian.
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Summary: Ma Kent gave Clark a digital camera for his 12th birthday, and he loved taking pictures of you and him. Years later, that never changed, and there are more people in the pictures now.
Dad Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
more kent family adventures here!
even more kent family adventures here! (pt 2 of the masterlist)
based on this tiktok!
Before either of you understood that the other would become the most important person in your lifeâŚthere was just Clark Kent and his little camera.
Ma Kent gave it to him for his twelfth birthday.
âItâs important to keep memories,â sheâd said while helping him thread the strap around his neck. âOne day youâll be glad you did.â
At the time, Clark had only grinned shyly and immediately pointed the camera at you.
You had been standing in their kitchen eating birthday cake when the flash went off unexpectedly.
âClark!â
He nearly dropped the camera laughing.
-
You had been standing by your locker after lunch, struggling to shove an overstuffed science textbook onto the shelf while complaining loudly about homework.
ââŚAnd Mrs. Collins acts like we donât have other classesââ
Suddenly, you felt an arm wrapped around your shoulders.
You barely even startled.
Clarkâs other arm extended out in front of you both, camera already in hand. âSmile!â
You instinctively did.
Click.
The picture captured your laughter halfway through it, your smile uneven and genuine while Clark grinned beside you, cheeks pink from both embarrassment and triumph.
âYouâre ridiculous,â you told him afterward.
Clark only shrugged, slipping the camera back around his neck. âYou looked cute.â
Your stomach did something strange at that. You ignored it completely.
-
After that, it just kept happening.
Clark would appear out of nowhere in the hallways, at football games, during field trips, while waiting for the bus.
One arm around your shoulders.
Camera held out in front of you both.
âSmile!â
And you always did.
There was the picture from eighth grade where your braces had just come off and Clarkâs hair was too long because Ma Kent hadnât convinced him to get it cut yet.
The one from freshman year football tryouts where Clark looked awkwardly enormous beside you, both of you flushed pink from the autumn cold.
The blurry one from sophomore year where you were laughing so hard your head had fallen against his shoulder after he told you a terrible joke.
And another from junior year Homecoming preparations where you had streaks of paint on your cheeks from decorating while Clark looked at you instead of the camera entirely.
Every year, more photos. More memories.
And always the same pose.
Clark beside you with his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders like it belonged there.
Like you belonged there.
-
At least half the pictures werenât actually centered properly.
Because Clark was rarely looking at the lens.
Ma Kent noticed first.
One evening during your sophomore year, she sat at the kitchen table flipping through freshly developed prints while Clark pretended not to hover nervously nearby.
âHm,â she hummed softly.
Clark froze. âWhat?â
She held up one of the photos.
You stood in the foreground smiling brightly into the camera while Clark looked down at you instead, smiling softly in a way that made his feelings painfully obvious.
âNothing,â Ma Kent said innocently.
Clark turned red instantly.
âMa.â
Jonathan Kent leaned over her shoulder.
Then, âOh,â he hummed knowingly.
Clark looked seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
âYou guys are making this weird.â
âWe didnât say anything,â Martha replied.
âThat makes it worse!â
-
By senior year, the tradition was so automatic that neither of you even thought about it anymore.
Youâd take pictures during lunch breaks, before classes, after games.
Sometimes when you were tired or stressed or laughing too hard to stand properly.
Clark always found a reason.
One afternoon near graduation, you stood outside Smallville High watching students sign yearbooks while the spring wind whipped around everyoneâs clothes and hair.
You had been talking about college applications when suddenlyâŚ
Warmth pressed against your side. Clarkâs arm looped around your shoulders.
The familiar weight settled against you so naturally that you leaned into him without thinking.
His camera lifted.
âHey,â you laughed. âAnother one?â
Clark smiled softly.
âAnother one.â
Click.
For a moment afterward, neither of you moved.
The camera lowered slowly.
You glanced up at him.
Clark was already looking at you.
There was something different in his expression then.
Softer. More nervous somehow.
Like he wanted to say something and didnât quite know how.
Your heart skipped strangely.
âYou know,â you murmured, smiling slightly, âwe probably have hundreds of these by now.â
Clark huffed a quiet laugh. âYeah.â
âYouâve been doing this for years.â
âI know.â
You tilted your head. âWhy?â
Clark blinked.
Like the answer shouldâve been obvious.
Then his expression softened, making your chest feel warm. âBecause,â he said quietly, âyouâre my favorite person.â
Teenagers laughed nearby. Someone shouted across the parking lot. Wind rustled through the trees overhead.
But all you could hear was him.
Clark immediately looked nervous afterward, ears turning pink.
âYou donât have to say anything,â he added quickly.
But you were already smiling.
Because maybe, just maybe, you had always known.
Even before either of you had words for it.
Some part of you had always understood that these werenât just random pictures.
Clark had been preserving pieces of the best parts of his life.
And every single photo had you in it.
-
Years later, the camera still existed. It was a little older, a little worn around the edges.
The strap had been replaced twice. There were tiny scratches near the lens, fingerprints that never fully cleaned away, and a faint crack near the battery compartment from when Clark accidentally dropped it during a high school camping trip.
But he still kept it.
Because it held pieces of his life inside it.
The church buzzed softly around you. Guests were talking quietly, music was drifting through the reception hall nearby, lights warm and golden overhead.
For one small moment, it was just the two of you standing alone near the side hallway after the ceremony.
You were still glowing from it all.
Your wedding gown pooled softly around your feet, delicate and beautiful and slightly wrinkled already from dancing and hugging and crying through half the vows.
Clark stood beside you in a dark tuxedo, tie loosened slightly now, dark hair messy from everyone grabbing him in congratulations all evening.
And yet, despite everythingâŚhe still looked at you like he couldnât believe this was real.
You noticed the familiar camera in his hands immediately.
Your smile widened instantly.
âNo way,â you laughed softly.
Clarkâs cheeks pinked slightly. âWhat?â
âYou brought it?â
âOf course I did.â
You shook your head fondly. âClark Joseph KentâŚâ
He stepped beside you automatically, like muscle memory.
One arm wrapped around your shoulders exactly the same way it always had since middle school.
The other extended outward with the camera.
You pressed your cheek against his instinctively.
Both of you grinned.
Click.
The flash briefly lit the hallway.
And for one second after the flash, Clark just looked at you.
His wife.
The girl from all those blurry school selfies.
The love of his life standing beside him in white.
Emotion flooded his face so openly it made your chest ache.
Then he leaned down and kissed you softly.
Like he still couldnât quite believe he was allowed to.
âMrs. Kent,â he sighed against your lips, lips turning into a grin when you smiled.
Somewhere behind you, someone wolf-whistled.
Neither of you cared.
-
A year later, the camera captured another version of you both.
Older again.
The photo was taken in the nursery half-finished around you.
Tiny clothes folded nearby. A crib Clark had assembled slightly crooked because he kept getting distracted talking to your stomach.
You stood in front of the mirror, heavily pregnant now with Leia.
Clark appeared beside you like always.
One hand held the camera out.
But this time, his free arm snaked around your waist, hand resting gently against your belly.
You leaned back into him with a sleepy smile while Clark looked absolutely overwhelmed with happiness.
Click.
-
Then came the photo that became everyoneâs favorite.
You sat in the hospital bed exhausted and glowing all at once, hair messy, eyes heavy with sleeplessness.
And in your armsâŚtiny newborn Leia.
Clark stood beside you shirtless. He insisted on feeling Leiaâs skin on his own.
One arm wrapped around your shoulders carefully.
The other held the camera outward.
You leaned your head against him instinctively while Clark stared directly into the lens with tears visibly gathered in his eyes.
Little Leia slept peacefully between you both.
Click.
The first official Kent family selfie.
Ma Kent cried the first time she saw it developed.
Pa quietly carried a copy in his wallet for years.
Clark kept the original tucked safely away like treasure.
-
The next favorite came four years later.
The photo was slightly more chaotic this time.
Four-year-old Leia stood balanced on the hospital bed beside you, grinning so hard even when she was missing one of her front teeth.Â
You held newborn Jon against your chest while trying unsuccessfully to keep Leia from bouncing too hard near the baby.
Clark stood beside all of you laughing openly.
One arm around your shoulders.
The camera extended in the other hand.
Leia had both hands cupping Jonâs tiny face proudly.
Click.
The photo came out imperfect.
Leia was blurry from moving too much.
Jon looked deeply unimpressed with existence.
Your eyes were half closed from exhaustion.
Clark was mid-laugh.
And somehow, it was perfect.
-
The photo albums grew thicker over time.
From middle school hallways. Football games. Proms. College. Wedding pictures. Pregnancy. Babies. Birthdays. Lazy Sunday mornings.
Every version of your life together preserved in tiny frozen moments.
And through almost all of them, one thing remained exactly the same, with Clarkâs arm around your shoulders.
Like no matter how much time passed, no matter how your lives changedâŚsome part of him would always be that middle school boy with a camera who loved you so much he wanted proof you existed beside him.
i keep thinking of arthur having a daughter in camp, the same age as jack
Sheâs an exact copy of him. Pouty lips and eyes so blue they rival the sky. Same temperament, too. Bull-headed and eager to learn.
On the days heâs in camp, she sticks to his side like glue. Babbling on as he carries bales of hay across camp, rearranging the firewood he just chopped until he has to pick the splinters out of the palm of her hand. He doesnât mind. Never minds. He fears the day she wonât wrap herself around his leg, giggling as he attempts to walk with her.
And when she cries at night, he's the one to get up without complaint. Rocking her in his arms as she cries, despite her being too old to be held like this.
She holds her toy in her fist, arms wrapped around his neck. He walks behind the tent, ten steps forward before he turns and traces his steps back. âYâfeelinâ better?â He asks her and she only whines in response, tightens her hold on him.
So he resumes his pacing. Resumes his comforting words too until heâs too tired to do so and starts humming. A tune his mother sang to him when he was her age. He doesn't remember the lyrics, but the melody sticks.
His voice is hoarse from all the cigarettes he smokes and cracks in places his mother easily held the tune. But he continues. And soon enough he feels her grip loosen around his neck.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
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