philia -- damian wayne + jon kent

sunday brunch is sacred

♪♫.ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘: Hooked on a feeling

Blue Swede, Björn Skifs

♪♫.ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Humans need quite a lot of sleep compared to many species. Kryptonians need very little compared to many species. Human-Elirian hybrids need somewhere in the middle, Tim was still working on calculating the exact amount. Clementine, however, knew the few hours she got after crashing into her room was not enough. Sprawled out on her sheets, showing none of the military precision her dad was raised on, Clementine Jordan slept deeply. She did until 175 pounds of pure Gotham vigilante muscle, body-checked her right out of her rest.

"Rise and shine Clem!" Dick Grayson beamed at now scowling teenager.

"What the fuck is your problem, Dick?" Clementine dragged her ass off the floor, only to flop back onto her ridiculously expensive sheets.

Dick pouted at the grouchy lump in front of him. "Missed you sis, and you gotta wake up, it's Sunday Brunch."

"Well, Sunday Brunch should start later." A yelp sounded as Dick yanked her up, setting her on her feet with a grin more blinding than the sun seeping through her curtains.

"You know the rules." She did. Sunday Brunch at the manor was sacred. Everyone came, no matter what happened out on the streets, it was neutral territory. Well, Alfred territory. Clementine blinked slowly at the man slowly coming into focus. "I'm about to go wake up Tim, wanna come?"

The girl waved him off. "Nah, I'll meet you there." She still had some waking up to do herself. She smiled softly at the smacking kiss plopped on her forehead. Usually, she was one of the first up in the Wayne household. It helped to be a Green Lantern, California native (kind of, but that's for later), rather than a nocturnal Bat, but a long mission might just turn her into a Wayne yet.

Stretching her arms above her head, Clementine winced at the bruises tugging on her torso. She came out relatively unscathed, but it was unusual to finish a mission deep in space without some marks on her body to prove it. Luckily this time she was more tired than injured. Her dad said it had something to do with how space messed with the brain's ability to process time and sleep, like a jet lag on Vemon. Bruce scowled at that description. So while she may feel like deathwalking, brunch it was, and besides, Alfred's raspberry chocolate chip waffles were not something she could afford to miss, hard mission or not.

After a hasty attempt to be presentable, well presentable was a stretch but it was family and Clementine was sure Bruce would fare no better than her, she plopped down at her designated seat, earning a smile from her father.

"Morning there Clem." Hal Jordan pressed a kiss to his daughter's hair before sitting down across from her at the table. He chuckled at her sad attempt at an awake smile. "You a little tired, baby? Rough mission?"

"Nah." She waved his well-masked concern off. It was always an adjustment the day after, but with a glass of OJ and a few waffles, she should be right as rain. She always was. "It went smoothly, just space-lagged."