@amazxnwarrior
despite the upset that being forcibly uprooted from his life in metropolis for such a lengthy period of time, 6 months trapped in a rifted dimension he has yet to breach away from or even so much as figure out its intricacies or functionality, clark kent still manages who he is at the core of himself the same, still maintains the bright luminescent center of his soul as solar as it’s always been, his lips still quick to grin, eyes still reflective and radiant. the heartbeat in his chest is not built on external forces, doesn’t adhere to shadows or intimidations, doesn’t bow before time immutable or gods holy or unholy, doesn’t cater to the winds or the currents; he is a tower all of himself, a beacon, a lighthouse in the storms, and he wears his kindness on his sleeve because he knows it’s strong enough to bare the world as well.
he never shies away from doling out his adoration of the people surrounding him, neither abandons nor ignores those he considers friends, allies, companions, whether or not they agree, never lets them pretend to swim while they’re drowning, always there with outstretched hands and a call for their reliance, understanding that you can’t break a stick in a bundle. they’re stronger together than they are alone, and even in times of soft weaknesses, times apart from disturbia or worldwide catastrophes, times when the lights are off and the city is still, he nevertheless burns in their atmospheres, continually making himself available for them, even if it’s nothing, even if it’s silly. he hopes they all know that, but suspects most of them are too proud.
but times like these, they demand a community, an allied front, locked arms and gazes and trusts, everyone in their metahuman groupings required to step up and stand together, join together, bear the brunt together, and clark is ready to come up with a gameplay with his fellow companions, his fellow generals, all of them, everyone at once, but first… first he needs to know his head is still right on his shoulders, and for that, he really only needs diana. “i just, i don’t want to come across this like a worrywart, you know? i don’t want anyone unduly scared, but-- but we’ve got to decide something to do about that crack.” he sits in her kitchen elbow poised on her counter, his legs coiled around the legs of a stool as his eyes wander across the walls. “i think it’s getting worse and we need to decide how to fix it quickly.”