I Made A Pineapple Upside Down Cake!!

I just love this.

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

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 can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s 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 updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s 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, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s 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 they’ll 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. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s 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.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s 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.

“Sure,” 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 won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

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It’s 104% okay to come to your DM and just say, “Hi, can we be friends?” And then start asking you random questions.

i hope PERSERVERANCE lands safely today

Girl I thought you were talking about one of these

[speaking into a recorder] day 72 in the maze. morale is low. supplies are lower. nobody has said anything yet, but some of us are starting to think that we might never get out. i'm beginning to question my sexuality.

Even after revealing his magic, helping repeal the ban, and being (unwillingly) made Court Sorcerer, Merlin never tells anyone about Freya. Not in the sense of actively keeping her a secret, but just...not mentioning it. When he's working, then he is working, and even though he's trying to be more honest, he's spent 10 years keeping secrets, so he doesn't just volunteer information. If he's asked, he'll answer, and it'll probably make sense, but it's kind of like trying to pick the right responses in a dialogue tree.

One day, the Round Table knights are out "on patrol" (a.k.a. fucking around in the woods) and a whole woman just. Comes up. Out of the creek they're sitting by. They know she's a sorceress of some kind because a) she walked out of a creek that is knee-deep at most and b) is still completely dry, but Merlin doesn't look surprised to see her, so she must be okay.

She doesn't really acknowledge them beyond a glance and a little nod (it's only been a year, they're working on trust) but she smiles at Merlin and gives him his Sidhe staff ("You left it in the still room. Again."/"Oops?") and says she'll see him for dinner tonight, and then she walks back into the creek and is gone.

The knights have Questions. Who is she, how did she do that, where did she come from, where did she go, why is Merlin leaving his staff in her still room (shut up, Gwaine), why are they having dinner? But they'll have to take baby steps to get there.

Elyan: Who was that?

Merlin, paying maybe ¼ of an attention: Freya.

Percival: And how did she...?

Merlin, tying the staff to his saddle: She's the Lady of the Lake.

Gwaine: And you're having dinner with the Lady of the Lake?

Merlin, unpacking lunch: Mm-hm.

Leon: Why?

Merlin, peeling an apple: Uh, because she's my wife and I like being with her?

The Knights:

Arthur, voice cracking: She's your

W H A T ? !

Gonna tell my kids this is Hamilton

donation link for those affected by the earthquakes in petrinja, sisak and strasnik (croatia) these days. information is available in croatian and english. please, share and donate if you're able to do it

I’m sure someones already said this but I often see Tumblr described as a hellsite. This is fundamentally incorrect.

Tumblr is the faesite. Everybody is super confused and lost, you keep running into random places. Somehow you end up stuck there forever after interacting a couple of times. The people are all strange, everybody simultaneously seems to be from the future and the past as if time is meaningless.

Words from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong