âBruce hesitantly draped the blanket over Timâs shoulders. The boy did not stir.â
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âBruce hesitantly draped the blanket over Timâs shoulders. The boy did not stir.â
Clark Kent who can't hide his emotions for the life of him hc
Bruce says something nice about his outfit during an interview and the internet is on fire for a week over how insanely cherry red Clark gets over it. Like literally his cheeks and ears look like he has severe burns but nope, he's just blushing really hard. It takes him about an hour before his face is back to a normal shade, only for Bruce to do it all over again so he can watch his silly alien boyfriend turn red.
Superman's glare is known for stopping criminals in their tracks because holy shit it's scary. Angry Superman might as well be classified as the scariest thing ever, the way his brows furrow slightly, and he purses his lips a bit, and his eyes hold the fury and rage of an entire civilization. From afar, he doesn't look angry, but by god you can feel it.
In a shocking, and unintentional, turn of events, Tim and Jason both end up at the airport on the same day. Jason heading to Ethiopia, and Tim to find his parents in Egypt.
Unfortunately, Tim is still very young and the airport is a lot more overwhelming than he originally thought it would be. Jason happens to have a soft spot for kids, especially kids who are trying their damndest not to cry.
Both Tim and Jason miss their flights. Bruce storms into the airport like an avenging mother bird whoâs chick was stolen directly from the nest and takes Jason and Tim home with him and lets neither out of his sight for days.
Dick returns home from space to two living brothers.
Tw: eating disorder
Beauty is suffering and the more suffering youâve done the more beautiful you are, the more dedicated you are. Itâs not about how you look like, itâs about the pain it took to get there.
How many times have you thrown up this week? Twice? Well I didnât eat enough to throw up, all that came out was bile. Even then, I tried to throw up three times. You feel nauseous? My eyes are glazed over and I can hardly stand. Your period is bad? I havenât had bled since I was fourteen, I just get cramps where I canât get out of bed and a headache that makes me feel like Iâm dying. Itâs not real if you didnât struggle for it.
Eating disorders are a competition. Itâs about how much weight you can lose in how much amount of time. Youâre not a real girl if you havenât skipped dinner for two weeks in a row. You havenât gone through the teenage experience unless youâve sat on the bathroom floor with two fingers pressed to the back of your throat.
An eating disorder is like the training bra for tweens. Then the next day you guys get to compare cup sizes and wrist sizes like you won a medal.
You need to suffer to justify your existence, and no one has to defend their own existence more than a teenage girl.
- a quote by someone I donât remember the name of
Out of context page from a comic Iâm working onâŚ
some Tim warmups ft: Tim warming up
I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app
*
Clarkâs shaking his head before he realizes heâs doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.
âNo?â he says.
âNo,â Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesnât apologize, because heâs already saying, âNo, it canâtâit canât be that.â
âOkay,â Bruce says slowly. âCan you elaborate?â
He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you canât call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact thereâs a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updatedâthe colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frameâbut Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. Itâs immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just⌠well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, heâs spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clarkâs needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and theyâll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.
And Clark wants to thank him. He will. Itâs just.
âIt canât be⌠cool,â he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. âIt canât beâlike yours. Tactical, military-grade.â
âLightyears beyond, actually.â
âIt has toâMa said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I canât look like a weapon. I have toâI want to look like a friend.â
He can feel himself flushing. Itâs rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.
âSometimes, when I show up, people laugh,â Clark says. âIf itâs somewhere out of the way, where they havenât seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. Itâll be the worst day of their lives, and theyâve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what Iâm wearingâit goes from âWho are you?â to âWho is this guy?â And thatâs a good thing.â
âHard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,â Bruce says, almost to himself.
âExactly.â
âI see. Thank you,â he says, âfor explaining.â
Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruceâs mouth, his success is negligible. âOf course. Sorry I didnâtâI mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didnât mean to come in here andâI really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work inââ
Bruceâs eyes cut away. âNo. No need. I didnât ask, before IâŚ. It was only a first draft. If youâre amenable, Iâll incorporate your feedback into the second one.â
âOh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really donât have toââ
âIf you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.â
Thereâs something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that itâs a turning point, even if heâs not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.
âSure,â he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce wonât notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. âUm. I donât want to assume, but does it⌠do things?â
âIt does things,â Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. âLet me show you the next slide.â
tfw you have a reputation to maintain but a sparkly alien keeps trying to become friends with you đâ¨ď¸
finally finished this piece!! (originally for superbat week day 4: on a case/undercover)
chronic finger biter clark vs nose exhaler bruce
doors exist and someday batman will learn to use them but today is not that day đââď¸
Comfort.
I've been giving my little sister little forehead kisses because she's just the right height for them so like I really like to think of Dick doing the same to Tim any chance he gets (it's like an impulsive thought that he acts upon) he started doing it just for the reaction but after a while he just gives forehead kisses as a sign of affection, thanks for this Ted talk<3
guy who is so helplessly in love
Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck đڎđ
âTim? That you?â Jason called out, his voice husky with sleep. He saw Jason continue to squint at him and Tim realized that the lamp light didnât reach the doorway, which meant that all Jason could see was a shadowy figure standing in the entrance way which, if Tim was in his position, would scare the crap out of him.
â itâs me, sorry if I woke you,â Tim said shyly, steeping into the light and allowing Jason to see him properly. Unfortunately, Timâs plan wasnât to be seen so he looked like a wreck.
His eyes were still stinging and he didnât bother to adjust his clothing properly or look at his hair which was probably sticking up in all directions.
As if Jason needed more reasons to think he was childish and gross. ââS fine, I was âwake anyway.â Tim could easily tell he was lying. Jason was literally rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. âYou have a bad dream?â
â can I sleep here? Just like on the floor or-or maybe just on the other side of the door, if thatâs okay, or I can leave; I just wanted to see you,â Tim stuttered out, squeezing his jacket against himself.
He realized how pathetic it mustâve sounded. Jason grew up with Batman and all the Robins, theyâre all too strong to need to crawl up with somebody if they have a bad dream like a baby.
âcourse,â Jason said, clearing up his throat and patting a free spot on his bed.
âI donât need to-â
â donât be ridiculous, youâre sleeping on the bed,â Jason immediately cut him off. He shifted himself to the side to give Tim more room before turning off the lights.
He sat down as slowly as possible, trying not to rock the bed too much and take up as little space as he could, as to make sure that Jason didnât kick him out for taking up too much room; but that was thrown at the window when Jason easily lifted Tim up with one arm and moved him so they were right up against each other.
âDo you wanna talk about it, Tim?â Said Jason, softly. He secured the leather jacket around him before pulling the comforter around him. Tim was sure that if The Joker were planning to come and attack, right now would be the ideal time to do it given how safe and secure Tim felt during that moment.
He stared at Jasonâs face, scanning for any scrape or bruises but he didnât find any, not like how he looked in his dream. The only mark on him were his knuckles that were slowly closing up. âAre you okay?â Tim shot out.
âIâm okay,â Jason replied, his voice so soft it sounded like he was talking to a baby or a small kitten. But, unlike Damian, it sounded less belittling and more of what Tim needed at that moment. â Iâm good, Iâm safe and Iâm here.â
As if Jason was able to reach into Timâs brain and say everything Tim needed to hear, his words were able to temporarily erase the image of Jasonâs corpse from his mind. Jason lightly took Timâs dainty hand into his and ran his thumb over his palm, adding slightly more pressure in the middle in a soothing pattern.
Tim shouldâve pulled away from his grip and insisted that he didnât need Jason to soothe him to sleep like a baby, but he couldnât get himself to pull his hand away from his.
Read the rest of the chapter here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
âWhatâs your name? Not that sweetheart, a bad nickname and all but Iâd think youâd prefer something else.â the joke didnât land right, it came out stilted and a bit awkward. The punchline tasted salty in his mouth. This really was his all-time low. Maybe he couldnât do this.
The boy's eyes shot up at him when Dick began speaking but then immediately went back down to his feet instead of answering the question.
âTell me yours,â he finally responded, continuing to look at his own footprints in the snow.
â Nightwingââ
âIâm the Night Stalker.âDick half-heartedly glared at him. The attempt was cute, he would admit.
âYour real name, please?â
âNightwing is not a real name.â the boy pointed out. He was snarky but he still didnât look up. His speech was mumbled either because the boy was very shy or very tired.
âGive me a real name,â he repeated.
âNiccolo Machiavelli,â
âThatâs your name?!ââ
ââNo, you said to give a real name and Niccolo Machiavelli is a real name. He wrote The Prince in 1513 and was one of the most influential writers during the Italian Renaissance.â
Dick couldnât be shocked by a sarcastic answer nor him just not answering the question at all. That, though, he did not expect.
Read the rest of the chapter here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works