|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

Cornfields in November | Clark Kent x Reader

Description: The corn has ears and they are listening, no longer prepared to calm with nature's lulling voice, unafraid of the moons watchful eye as they know she can only observe. She cannot save you. She can only observe. 

Words: 2561

Notes: Before you get to reading, I wanted to tell you a little story (of sorts)/give an explanation as to why I wrote this piece this way. ;D

I have lived in the "mid" Mid-West for nearly the whole of my life; I'm in an area that has plenty of fields and such, but I'm not all that far away from a city. It's given that everyone will learn different things when raised in different environments, and recently I've taken an interest in how a childhood stomping ground can affect the mind and a person's mentality toward urban legends and ~spooky~ things. The American Midwest has a very specific aesthetic and I wanted to shoot my shot and attempt to show that setting in my writing (literally and figuratively)!

I wondered how I could do this in a way where it was blog-relevant, and came to any conclusion that any simple nerd would: Superman. Clark was raised in a very similar environment to my own, despite the obvious differences. But one thing that always bothered me about the Smallville-era stories (that I've read) is that Smallville is what a small town should be. It's full of farms and kind people and it's the perfect little fantasy. That's not very realistic, even for a story about an alien growing up on Earth, so obviously I wanted to both stir the pot a bit. That's what this is: my little Midwestern paradox.

Also, I missed Halloween, so this is my way of making up for that. Love you all, and enjoy!

_

Just on the cusp of fall, when October disappears with the cycles of the moon and November rises in its place, Smallville is at its most dangerous. Well, it's always a little dangerous. Clark never shuts up with the warnings, watch out for those kidnappers if you go into town, and oh, make sure you avoid the highway at night, and—But then something dangerous actually happens and everyone settles back on their heels and forgets.

That's why you've always thought the first week of November was so treacherous... everyone forgot about the fear for a little while. Hid in the safety of Halloween's ending. Your mom liked to joke that we caught the real thinning of the veil a few days short down in Smallville. Maybe, you realize, she's right.

You get the morning to yourself. The kids on your bus are too tired to talk, Clark drives his truck, and you have your old Walkman and the same two cassettes in your bag. Even if your neighbors weren't taking down their Halloween decorations you would know that it's the beginning of November. Not only are the innards of your cassettes torn to shreds, but Clark is on the bus.

He crams his bag between his legs and scoots to make room for you. When you take the offered seat you bus driver cuts a look; past couples on the bus have ruined your chances of getting a grim-curing hug in greeting. Clark settles for entwining your fingers out of sight.

Talking so early in the morning, even in a town of farmers, seems taboo and wrong. Your voice seems to cut through the mist and the motor to catch between the two of you with an edge you did not give it. "Why are you on the bus? Something happen to the truck?"

"Yeah," Clark grouches, "Wouldn't start this morning. I tried to get a look, but I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I'm just gonna tell Pa that took the bus because I missed you or something—I don't want him worrying about trying to fix it himself. How'd you know?"

"Just a feeling," you shrugged. Clark's fingers are warm in an unearthly, beautiful way, an escape from the steadily gaining chill on your back. You're so cold that his palm almost burns.