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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-04
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Not What He Needs: Smallville

Summary:

Smallville; G; m/m implied
In an attempt to distract myself, and force myself to actually think on occasion, I have been giving myself little writing challenges. I pick a phrase, and force myself to write one paragraph from the point of view of a character trying to justify whatever the phrase is.
Most of these little exercises have been, um, well, lets just say that they will never see the light of day. But one day last week the phrase just seemed to work.
"I am not what he needs."
What follows are snippets I wrote in three fandoms; CSI, Smallville, and Crusade. They are short, and not great examples of the "craft". What they were was inspiring. The CSI bit is now five pages of handwritten notes - it may become a story, or it may join the other abandoned half written stories collecting virtual dust on my hard drive.
I invite anyone who wants to play with them to go ahead. I'd really like to see what comes from other fandoms. It could work in so many. I have a couple of others already in mind - I don't think that I will begin a "one paragraph at a time" series, but this may inspire other writers.
If anyone takes up the challenge, I offer to host the results on my long abandoned web site (www.geocities.com/marag.geo)
Hope you enjoy them, and I hope they inspire something.
Submitted through the Makebelieve_Squidge mailing list.

Work Text:

Not What He Needs: Smallville
By Marag

How do I make him leave?

How do I convince him that I am all his father accuses me of being, and more.

I am corrupt. I am a bad influence. I am not to be trusted. I may not actually be evil, but I'm still young; I'll get there.

I can barely conceive of where a friendship with him will lead over the years. I'm not even sure that I know why I pursue it. He's a teenager, an innocent. What the hell does he even see in me?

Whatever it is, it is something that I can't see within myself.

I'm too much of my father's son to begin believing my own rhetoric; that it's his friendship I desire, not his body, or his secrets.

Not his soul.

I somehow doubt my destiny is to be the "long-time companion" of the son of a Kansas farmer. The son of the only man who thinks less of me than my father does.

I don't do irony well.

The poetic thing would be to declare my love and pledge my soul in exchange for one night of Clark in my bed. Except that my soul is that of a Luthor, and it understands that one night would never be enough. One night would only offer a taste of nectar to a starving man.

I want every night. I want forever. I want to consume him. I want to love him. I want his love to make me a better man.

I am not what he needs.

end