kente dresses

Okay, but just think about this for a second:

You have the supers (none of whom bother hiding their faces): 

  • Clark “My mom made me this suit” Kent
  • Kara “Crop top and skit” Kent
  • Conner “I used to wear a leather jacket now I wear a t-shirt” Kent
  • Jon “Hoodie with the S-shield” Kent

And then you have the bats:

  • Bruce “Cowl + industrial-grade suit” Wayne
  • Dick “Once upon a Discowing now a skintight bodysuit” Grayson
  • Jason “Red helmet with its own facial expressions” Todd
  • Tim “I have wings” Drake
  • Damian “Hooded cape and gauntlets” Wayne

And I thought it might be a meta vs non-meta thing, but Green Arrow wears a sleeveless vest and Wonder Woman wears a fly leotard.

So, I’ve concluded that farm influences results in low maintenance hero clothes and being/knowing Bruce Wayne results in high drama costumes uniforms.

That is all.

Las Vegas Aces Dad's Day:

Kent grew up in a single parent household with just his mom and sister, so the first Ace’s dad day Kent plans on curling up with a blanket and watching Pretty Little Liars, but just as he’s sitting down he gets a call from one of the vets (the captain???) calls him and is like “Dude, you’re dad’s here where the fuck are you?” So Kent gets dressed and gets to the rink and finds Bad Bob standing there, and he just gives him the biggest hug imaginable because it’s the first time he’s seen him since That Night™ and he missed his father figure :(((((


5-Year-Old Recreates Photo Of An Iconic Woman Every Day Of Black History Month

In an empowering celebration of Black History Month, a mother and daughter teamed up to recreate photos of iconic black women.

Every day in February, Cristi Jones of Kent, Washington, has dressed her daughter, 5-year-old Lola, as an iconic black woman, helped her recreate a photo and shared the results on Twitter. Throughout the month, Lola has channeled modern women making history like ballet dancer Misty Copeland, civil rights leaders like Rosa Parks and more.

forever starts right now.

For Patater Week. Set in Careful the Tale You Tell verse.

It’s about two months into their relationship. (Their proper relationship, not the year of fumbling that led them there.) Kent’s bugging Alexei about his stuff taking up too much room in Kent’s dresser drawers. “Can’t we, like, pick a drawer that’s yours and you can have that one, so your shit isn’t all messed up with mine?”

“You’re wanting to share drawers?” Alexei says, merrily putting a pair of pants in right next to Kent’s pants, god damn it.

“At least can we fucking talk about it?”

“Pff. No, too early. We talk about it when we get married,” Alexei says breezily.

Kent nearly trips face first over his own dropped jaw.

And from then on, it turns into a thing.

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In with the New

Prompt: Okay but Damian Jon and Reader stepping foot in their guardians footsteps and becoming the new trinity and how they deal with it

Requested By: Anon

    “You look like her.”

    You stare at your father in the mirror, his once blond hair was now gray, worry lines lined his face, and he walked with can now. At fifty-five he was too young for many of those symptoms, but war had taken it toll, and your mother’s death had pushed him over the edge. He was much quieter now. More passive. Resigned to your decision to carry on with your mother’s duties.

    You had trained for years with Damian Wayne and Jon Kent. You’d faced battle many times before. You had even returned to Themyscira for further training. You had met every obstacle in your path with determination and force. You were ready for what the future held. Or at least you hoped you were.

    You secure the black band on your arm before moving towards the door. You slow your pace for your father’s sake. He keeps in step with you. You enter the room with your head held high, prepared for the onslaught of mourners.

    Your mother’s death was one of many in the League. An explosion on the previous Watch Tower had left several dead, and others out of the game. As your eyes scan the crowd you see more and more of your childhood friends, people who had trained under their parents, and had finally taken their place.

    At the front of the crowd were the two largest examples. Damian Wayne and Jon Kent were dressed as their father had been before them. Their uniforms had minor tweaks but were largely the same. Clark Kent was still alive, but injured. Bruce Wayne had simply grown too old for the job.

    Taking your place in-between them, you turned to face the newest incarnation of the Justice League, as Wonder Woman. Your eyes slide to your father, and with a small smile you watch him salute you before disappearing into the shadows.

anonymous asked:

Hi! Could you write more kit and junior + parswoops maybe?

“It’s called a date,” Kit explained, seeing the confused expression on Junior’s face. He was camped out by the doorway, hoping Kent would rub his belly again.

“What does that mean?”

“It usually means there’s someone he wants to impress,” Kit said, nodding his head towards where Kent was shaving through the open door of the ensuite bathroom.

“Who?” Junior asked predictably.

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It looks like he’s just getting ready for a game,” Junior said as he watched Kent.

“Kent doesn’t wear cologne during pregame,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “And he hardly wears this shirt either,” she said as she flounced across the sheets to roll on the blue shirt that had been neatly laid on the bed. “Oooh, it’s so soft!”

She got in a couple of rolls before Kent came out of the bathroom to shoo her off of his shirt. “Kit!” He groaned at the cat hairs all over it. “I don’t have time for this.” He threw the shirt in the laundry basket and went back in his closet. Kit followed him and watched him as he went through the rainbow of shirts on his hangers. He pulled one out to consider, but she nipped him gently. “Hey,” he warned, shaking his leg.

“Don’t wear that one,” Kit said. He wisely put it back, and after several minutes, he finally settled on a dove grey shirt that Kit approved of.

“Tie or no tie?” Kent asked, holding two different ones up to his neck in the full-length mirror. “Is it too much?”

“No tie,” Kit meowed

“Tie!” Junior barked at the same time.

Kent decided to forgo the tie in the end.

“Ha! I win,” Kit crowed in victory. She smiled smugly at Junior who seemed like he couldn’t really care less, but Junior had grown to be bigger than Kit these days, and she had to get find other ways to reassert her dominance as top cat.

Kent, oblivious to their antics, suddenly swore and took off running down the hall and the stairs with his pets racing after him.

Kit and Junior dashed in the kitchen  just as Kent was opening the oven. He took out the salmon that Kit had drooled over earlier. “Shit,” Kent muttered as he half-threw the hot pan on a spread towel. “Shit,” he repeated again, which was never a good sign. Junior, ever the empathetic one, rubbed his head against Kent’s calf and barked softly at him.

“What’s wrong?” Junior asked when Kent had given him a quick pat. “What happened? Why is he sad now?”

“He overcooked the salmon,” Kit replied, washing a paw calmly.

“Does that mean he won’t have any food? What if I share mine?”

Kit rolled her eyes and didn’t even bother to reply. Apparently, according to Junior’s logic, if Kent shares his food with him, then Junior should be able to share his food with Kent. Junior still hadn’t learned the dogs were the only ones who seemed to enjoy dog food.

Kent was already on the phone, by the sink, and this was Kit’s chance to jump on the stool before hopping on the island counter. “Hey, yeah, hi, could I order two of your salmon steaks with the works, potatoes, beans, and a throw in a salad too,” Kent said distractedly, but unfortunately, not distracted enough. He snaked an arm around Kit’s middle and grabbed her before she could reach her delicious prize.

“Just a little bite,” she protested, kicking her hind legs uselessly. “It’s not like you’re going to be eating it for dinner.”

“And I’ll pay you double if you can get that to me in the next half hour,” Kent said to the person on the phone, ignoring Kit’s irritated yowls.

Twenty-eight minutes later, the doorbell rang while Kent was vacuuming the couch and muttering about Kit’s shedding. Three minutes and forty-six seconds later, the doorbell rang again, and Kent looked up with wide, panicked eyes. “Shit! Shit, shit shit.” He finished dumping the foil tin of potatoes onto a nice platter before wiping his hands on a dish towel.

Kit waited for him to leave, but Kent was smarter than she gave him credit for because he kicked her and Junior out of the kitchen. Junior was already two steps ahead of Kent as he ran full speed ahead to the front door, yipping excitedly. Kit begrudgingly followed, only because she wanted to see who Kent had dressed up for.

She was disappointed to find Swoops standing on the other side with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his basketball shorts. “Never mind,” Kit muttered to Junior. “It’s not a date after all.”

“It’s not?” Junior cocked his head and looked up the humans.

“It’s just Swoops,” Kit said as she stalked away with her tail in the air. “And he’s dumber than a box of rocks.”

“Oh, was I supposed to dress up too?” Swoops asked in confusion, taking in Kent’s outfit.

“Uh, no. I just haven’t had time to change yet. I just got back from my…um… accountant,” Kent replied.

Kent made some half-hearted excuse as he dashed back upstairs to change, and left Swoops in the living room with Junior and Kit. Swoops and Kit regarded each other warily. She was considering jumping on him just to rile him up, but he already knew the tricks to avoid her claws. Junior, on the other hand, was currently trying to show Swoops his new toy.

When Kent came back, he was wearing faded jeans and a grey t-shirt that Kit had seen him wear countless times before. “So, uh, food?” he asked.

Kit sat on the island and watched while Kent and Swoops ate. Normally, at this time, she would probably be napping, but the suspense of whether the two of them was going to going to admit their mutual attraction was too riveting to miss. It reminded her of the daytime soap operas she watched with Kent when he’d sprained an ankle and was forced to stay home for weeks while it healed. The only thing missing was the evil twin bursting in, or something to that effect. Maybe, Swoops had a crazy ex-wife that everyone thought was dead.

Swoops certainly looked shifty enough as he stared at the food that was laid out. Finally, part way through dinner, he set his fork down. Junior, who had camped out on the floor, waiting for food to “accidentally” fall, perked up.

“Is everything okay?” Kent asked.

“Uh,” Swoops replied as his gaze flickered between Kent and the bottle of wine. “Parser, is this a date?” he asked. His tone was light and joking, but Kent’s eyes widened.

“Uh,” he said as he started to panic. “I–”

It was Swoops’ turn to freeze, and for a long moment of silence neither of them did anything. “You should have told me,” Swoops finally said, wiping his mouth on the napkin one final time before getting up.

“I didn’t– I mean– wait!” Kent caught up with Swoops before he opened the front door. Kit and Junior followed them. “Jeff,” he said softly. Kit could hear that hitch in his voice which meant her night was probably going to be busy licking and cuddling Kent if this didn’t go well. “It doesn’t have to be. I mean, it’s not. It’s not a date.”

“It is though. I should have realized it sooner,” Swoops sighed. “I’m sorry, Kent.”

This time, Kent didn’t stop him when he left. He stood there for a long time, not even responding when Junior whined sadly and nudged him. Eventually, he moved stiffly in the living room. Junior dropped the remote on Kent who automatically turned it on and stared at it blankly. Kit sat in his lap and cuddled up to him, but it even that wasn’t cheering him up.

“I fucked up,” he said a moment later with no emotion.

“The next time I see him, I’m going to bite him,” Kit promised cheerfully. Kent didn’t reply; it was too bad he didn’t understand her because he would definitely smile at that. “Also, I’m going to claw him.”

The light gradually dimmed until the living room was only lit by the flickering TV and the streetlights outside. Junior and Kit could hear the sound of an engine long before Kent could. Junior was the first to jump off the couch and climb up on the arm chair that Kent had pushed against the window. “Swoops is here?” he barked.

“What?” hissed Kit. “He came back!?”

“He’s back,” Junior confirmed.

She sat up quickly in anger and agitation as she tried to think of a word to properly express how she felt. “Fuck!”

Junior looked back her curiously. “What does that word mean?”

“I have no idea,” Kit admitted. “Kent says it all the time when he mad, or sad, or… excited?”

The doorbell rang, but Kent made no move to answer it. It wasn’t until the banging started that he started push Kit off. “No,” Kit meowed. “Don’t answer it. Stay here with me!” She gave her best approximation of her “cute” face, but it didn’t have the effect she wanted on Kent.

In the front hall, Kit was ready to spring as soon as Kent opened the door. This time, she wouldn’t hold back her claws on Swoops. This was what he deserved for upsetting Kent. However, when the door opened again to reveal Swoops again for the second time that evening, he was wearing a suit. Kit was momentarily thrown, but Junior was already barking angrily up at Swoops.

“Stop,” Kent ordered. He held onto Junior’s collar and rubbed his back until Junior was calm enough to shut up. “What are you doing here?” Kent finally asked.

“I brought you these,” Swoops said, pulling out a bunch of flowers from behind his back. Kent’s jaw dropped, unable to come up with another reaction. “I know they’re not great, but the flower stand on the way here didn’t have a great selection.” After another pause, Swoops thrust them further towards Kent.

“You brought me flowers?” Kent said slowly, accepting the half-wilted blooms.

“Don’t accept them. It’s a trap,” Kit meowed. Everyone ignored her. Even Junior was glancing back and forth between Swoops and Kent.

Swoops scratched the back of neck. “It was a date. I didn’t realize it, but now I do.”

“Yeah, and you left,” Kent snapped.

“I was going to come back,” Swoops said, his brow furrowing. “Didn’t I say that?”


“Oh, well, I’m back now,” he said with a sheepish laugh.


“Because it’s still a date,” Swoops said slowly. The duh at the end of the sentence was heavily implied.


Swoops stepped closer and hesitantly reached out to touch Kent’s cheek. Neither of them spoke as they drew closer until they were kissing.

“Aw,” Junior gushed.

“Gross,” Kit complained,

She decided this was her cue to give them some privacy. “Let’s go,” she said to Junior. They went around the corner back to the living room. It was far enough away that she didn’t have to suffer through watching them make out, but close enough that she could still hear what was going on.

“Now, go get dressed. I’m taking you out,” Swoops said.

“But, we already ate.”

“Well, then I’m taking you out for dessert.”

“I’ve got a better idea for dessert,” Kent said. There was a slam of the door and heavy footsteps running up the stairs.

“Should we–” Junior started asking.

Kit immediately cut off that thought. “No! We are not going anywhere upstairs tonight.”


“Trust me on this, kiddo. You do not want to know how dates end.”

Find more Kit and Junior adventures here!

te vas

“You wanna go out?”

Jeff stared. Surely he heard that wrong. “What?”

“Out,” Kent said, in a tone that implied he was being patient. “Do you want to go?”

“Uh –” Kent never asked anyone to go out first. Maybe he wanted to start their second season off differently? “Who else is going?”


Oh. Kent was asking Jeff to go somewhere with him personally, not as a part of a group. Jeff took another breath. “Uh, yeah, man. Where do you wanna go?” There were tons of places to choose from – it was Vegas, after all. Jeff had gone to quite a few with some of the other guys, though he couldn’t say he’d ever gotten out on the floor much.

“Dancing,” Kent said. “I don’t care where, really.” When Jeff opened his mouth, Kent raised a hand. “Scratch that. I do care. No country.”

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