Morsilva



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    He has never argued with a punishment, not since he was a toddler, if then. Surely she’ll listen, surely she’ll see this is too harsh, that he wouldn’t be disrespecting her like this if he was simply sulking over not getting his way. He needs that food, needs to be able to eat enough if he wants to be Robin.

    He’s been hungry before, but back then, it never mattered if he was a little weak or dizzy. It never risked his life or the life of his partner when he was a kid.

    She turns, sighing softly and pursing her lips. She reaches out to pat his cheek, and for a moment his heart soars hopefully, and he barely restrains himself from leaning into the rare bit of contact and soaking up his mother’s touch. “Oh, Timothy,” she tuts. “This is for the best. And honestly, I think it’s wise for you to cut down a bit on the snacks. I’d hate to have to listen to anyone tittering at the next gala that you’re getting chubby.”

    And without another backwards glance, she turns and heads upstairs, leaving Tim alone and frozen at the bottom of the steps.

    Day 6 - TOUCH AND GO
    bruises | touch starved | hunger

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    03 Nov 2025

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    Tim need food

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    26 Oct 2025

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    After waking up from his own demise in an alternate universe, Peter's first course of action is to gather as much information and resources as possible to make his life easier. In doing this, he decides that dumpster diving at local playboy billionaire, Bruce Wayne's, manor would be the best place to find anything useful.
    Unfortunately for Peter, it's trash day, and a certain butler catches him mid-dive.

    Dedicated to Anna, Randy, Evan, and Coro.

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    25 Oct 2025

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    Clark heard it just as he stepped out the front entrance of The Daily Planet’s building. The sun had already set, a chilly autumn breeze dragging through his coat. It had been a late evening for him, catching up on drafts for his next few articles before some other emergency stole his attention from his work.

    “Kal-el.”

    He straightened, perking towards Gotham. Something cold gripped his heart as he listened for that familiar heartbeat. The voice was unmistakable; low, rough, and steady, one that grounded Clark almost as quick as Ma’s. In battle, hearing it usually meant there was a plan, that Clark could worry a little less about details; because the man he trusted the most – with his life and the lives of his family – had it under control. It soothed Clark when he faltered, bolstered him when his strength wavered, and steadied him when he teetered on the edge of sensory madness.

    And that voice sounded afraid.

    Clark was suited up and hurtling through the air towards Gotham before Bruce whispered again.

    “Kal–” came his quiet gasp. “I’m sorry.”

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    17 Oct 2025

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    Incredible writing, Recommend til M!

    Hurt/comfort perfection

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    “You are so pretty.”

    Clark blinked. “Uh.”

    Bruce’s head lolled slightly to the side, gaze dragging over Clark’s face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Then he smirked—or at least, attempted to, but it mostly looked sleepy. “Like, unfairly pretty. Like, if I weren’t married, I’d be in trouble.”

    Or, after another close call, Bruce wakes up from anaesthesia ready to win Clark's heart and spill family secrets.

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    16 Oct 2025

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