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bloody-bee-tea · 1 month ago

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24 Days of MHA 2024 Day 7 - Save your kisses for me

Katsuki has no idea what's going on, but given the incoherent key-smash he received from Shinsou it must be something. Katsuki hasn't heard about any missions for Shinsou—and he trusts that he would have told him—but maybe he got called in for something and came back hurt.

It wouldn't be the first time that happened to one of them and it certainly won't be the last, but it means Katsuki is definitely going to check out what's going on.

Shinsou has a tendency to not care for himself when he gets hurt and the keysmash certainly indicates that something is wrong. Wrong enough for Katsuki to simply barge into his apartment, using the spare key Shinsou gave him a while back and that Katsuki has been using quite liberally ever since.

It's not his fault Shinsou's apartment feels much more home-y than Katsuki's own and he's certainly not coming by to cuddle Shinsou's annoying cat all the damn time. Not at all.

"Hey, mind freak," he announces his presence and tries his best to ignore the little nagging worry when no reply comes back, even though the door was unlocked.

Shinsou should be home but Katsuki is only greeted by Grump, who he immediately picks up.

"Where's your stupid owner, huh?" Katsuki asks as he scratches behind the cat's ear but his only answer is a rumbled growl because Grump can't do anything else.

Katsuki toes off his shoes and then ventures deeper into the apartment and he will never admit to the way his stomach drops when he finds Shinsou in the kitchen, slumped over the table and almost falling off the chair he's seated in.

His eyes instantly roam over him, trying to check if there is any blood but Katsuki can't immediately find any injury which might not be good. If it's an internal injury, things could get dicey real fast.

"You good, troll doll?" he asks, even though the answer is a very obvious no and he releases Grump, so he can better focus on Shinsou. "Shinsou?" he then asks when he still gets no reply and he carefully puts a hand to his shoulder.

It seems that finally alerts Shinsou to the fact that someone is in the apartment with him because his head lolls around until he can blink up at Katsuki.

"Oh, shit," Katsuki mutters because Shinsou's eyes are glassy and his face is flushed. "You're sick."

"No shit," Shinsou slurs out and Katsuki puts his hand to his forehead.

"And you're burning up. Wonderful," he sighs out because Shinsou is so hot to the touch that new worry laces through Katsuki. "How long have you been like this?"

Katsuki hopes that it hasn't been too long but a quick look around reveals that Grump has recently been fed, so it couldn't have been this bad for a long while.

"Went grocery shopping and crashed hard when I came back," Shinsou mumbles and now that he mentions it, Katsuki spots the empty bag on the counter.

"Alright, that's not too bad, then. You ready to go to bed yet?"

"Why're you here?"

"You sent me a key-smash, remember?"

"What? No, I sent that to my dad," Shinsou almost whines out and Katsuki snorts.

"Yeah, I'm sure as hell not your dad and you better not have me saved under daddy in your phone," he jokes as he hauls Shinsou out of the chair.

"Mh, food for thought," Shinsou absentmindedly says as he tries to stumble along.

It would probably be easier to simply carry him to bed, but Katsuki can already imagine the struggle Shinsou would put up, so in the long run, this might just be easier. And contemplating this means he doesn't have to think too hard about Shinsou's remark because that way lies madness.

Katsuki does get him wrangled into bed eventually, with no help from Shinsou at all, thank you very much, and once he's bundled up Katsuki puts his hand back to his forehead.

"You got some medicine at home?" he asks, frowning, because Shinsou feels hotter than before and that simply can't be good.

Shinsou doesn't answer him anymore, just whines high in his throat and Katsuki is over often enough that he doesn't feel bad, going through all of Shinsou's drawers in the bathroom. He finds some cold medicine and a thermometer, which he promptly stuffs into Shinsou's mouth once he's back in the bedroom and then continues to worry when Shinsou is too out of it to even glare at him for it.

The thermometer tells Katsuki that Shinsou's temperature has gone over forty, which is definitely bad but not yet hospital-worthy, he thinks. He gets some medicine into him and then puts a cold cloth on his forehead and for now, that has to be enough.

If it's still this bad tomorrow, he'll call someone to ask for advice.

"Listen, I'm gonna get some clothes from my place and I'll be back, alright?" Katsuki asks once he feels as if he properly cared for Shinsou and tucks the blanket more firmly around his shoulders.

It's a no brainer that he's going to stay here; Shinsou needs someone to look after him and Grump needs someone to feed him. It's just easiest if Katsuki stays. It has nothing to do with how worried he still is or how wrong it feels to leave Shinsou alone like that.

He's just about to turn around and leave when Shinsou's hand snakes out from underneath the blanket and wraps around Katsuki's wrist.

"I adore you, you know that?" Shinsou mutters, his eyes not even open to look at Katsuki and he's glad for it, because all of a sudden it feels as if he's the one with a fever.

"You!" he hisses out because what the hell does this idiot think he's doing.

"Save your kisses for me until I'm better, alright?"

"I'm not gonna save shit for you," Katsuki bites out, entirely on reflex because the words leave his mouth before his brain had time to understand what's even going on.

Shinsou makes a decidedly unhappy noise in the back of his throat and then promptly has a coughing fit, through which Katsuki holds him and by the time he's back to being bundled up, he's out like a light, leaving Katsuki with a hell of a mess of feelings.

"What the fuck," he mutters, because this cannot be real.

Sure, they've been dancing around something for a while now and even Katsuki can admit that their flirting might have been a tad bit excessive at times but this? This is not at all what Katsuki was prepared for when he came over and now Shinsou is out of commission, so he can't even yell at him.

Or demand a proper explanation.

Or some kisses.

Fuck.

"You absolute fucking donkey," Katsuki says into the room, because he's still processing in all honesty and he just needs to say something.

He can't believe Shinsou just did that and he takes to pacing the length of his bedroom. How dare he say something like that and then escape the situation by falling asleep?

Sure, Katsuki is happy that Shinsou is getting some sleep and he's also happy that maybe—just maybe—they can finally have a real talk about this thing between them when he wakes up and feels better, but right now he's too fucking angry to admit any of that.

He's jolted out of his angry thought spiral when Shinsou's phone starts to ring and Katsuki picks it up.

'Dad' it says and that's just fucking perfect. He accepts the call without hesitation.

"What the fuck is wrong with your son?" he barks into the phone and ignores the fact that it's definitely one of his former teachers on the other end because that way lies only more madness and Katsuki already had his fill today, thank you very much.

"Depends on the time of day, really. Why do you have his phone? Where is Toshi?" Aizawa asks and Katsuki hears some shuffling on the other side.

"Who is that?" Yamada's voice filters through and Katsuki hears Aizawa sigh.

"Bakugo."

"What? Why? Where's Toshi? Why does Bakugo have his phone?" Yamada asks, rapid fire style and Katsuki wonders how Aizawa handles this on a daily basis.

"That's what I was asking him," Aizawa tiredly tells him and when Katsuki hears Yamada inhale, no doubt to go off on another row of questions, he interrupts them.

"Are you done, old men?"

"Watch it," Aizawa says and it's so much milder than what Katsuki is used to from school. "Answer the question."

"He's sick," Katsuki replies. "And fast asleep."

"Why are you there then?" Yamada asks and Katsuki can just imagine him crowding Aizawa in just to be close to the phone.

"He sent me an incomprehensible key-smash and then wouldn't answer anymore, so I had to investigate."

"Aw, you care," Yamada sing-songs and Katsuki has half a mind exploding the phone in his hand but it's Shinsou's phone so that would just be unfair.

"Is he always so—out of it, when he's sick?" Katsuki asks instead of yelling at Yamada, because Shinsou did just fall asleep and he needs every second of it he can get.

"Does he have a fever?" Aizawa wants to know and Katsuki nods.

"He sure fucking does," he mutters and Aizawa sighs again.

"He always gets affected pretty badly when he gets a fever, we think it has something to do with his mental quirk. Did he do something—irrational?" Aizawa carefully asks and Katsuki wonders just what the hell they have seen Shinsou do while being sick.

"You can say that," he gives back because confessing while being barely conscious counts as pretty fucking irrational in Katsuki's books.

"Did he confess?" Yamada suddenly squeals and Katsuki can feel the vibrations of his quirk even through the phone. "Did he finally confess while being too out of it to notice?"

"Zashi!"

"What do you mean 'finally'?" Katsuki demands to know at the same time and both men fall suspiciously silent on the other side of the line. "What. Do. You. Mean," Katsuki growls out when no one answers him.

"Are you good to care for him until he's better or do you need us to come over?" Aizawa finally wants to know and going by the smirk Katsuki can hear in his voice he damn well knows what he's doing.

"I have him handled, old man," he hisses out because fuck if he needs Shinsou's dads to step in for this.

"Alright. Tell him to call us—"

"—once you two stopped sucking face!" Yamada finishes the sentence for him and it's the last thing Katsuki hears from them before they hang up on him, Aizawa's long-suffering sigh still ringing in his ear.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with your family, troll doll?" Katsuki asks, full well knowing that he won't get an answer and Shinsou simply continues to sleep on, clearly not caring about all the different types of anguish he just subjected Katsuki to.

He can't wait to tell him all about it once he wakes up.

~*~*~

Shinsou wakes up the next morning as if nothing ever was wrong and just for that Katsuki wants to explode his face right off. Katsuki has barely slept, his mind too busy replaying every single thing that was said the day before to get any real sleep and here the mind freak is, completely rested and well over his cold.

Katsuki would accuse him of acting sick if he hadn't felt how hot Shinsou had burned yesterday.

"What the fuck, troll doll?" is the first thing Katsuki says to him and then nearly smacks him in the face when he throws his phone at him.

"'What?" Shinsou asks, looking confusedly from the phone to Katsuki and back and Katsuki opens his mouth a few times but nothing comes out.

He has no idea how he's ever going to tell Shinsou what happened and mostly it's because it's so fucking ridiculous, but a tiny part of it might be because Katsuki is scared. Scared that Shinsou didn't mean it, scared that his dads were playing a prank on him, scared that he worried over all of this for nothing because Shinsou won't even remember.

Katsuki wants to tear his hair out in his frustration and Shinsou must read the thought right off his face, because he leans forward and catches Katsuki's hands in his own before they can even move and Katsuki is yet again floored by how much trust Shinsou has in him.

Katsuki's hands are deadly, his sweat sticky and hard to get rid of and always in danger of exploding and yet Shinsou doesn't even hesitate.

"What's going on?" Shinsou asks him again and Katsuki answers him without a second thought.

"Nothing," he growls out and only then realises that he trusts Shinsou just as much because the thought that Shinsou could brainwash him didn't even cross his mind and it hasn't in months now, if he's being honest.

And maybe, maybe this trust can be reason enough for him to be brave right now.

"You—said some things while you were out of it," he finally admits when Shinsou only continues to stare at him with a raised eyebrow and now his eyes narrow.

"Some things," he flatly repeats and Katsuki sees the moment Shinsou remembers because his eyes go wide and his brows rise almost up to his hairline.

It would be hilarious, if Katsuki wasn't so nervous.

"Oh," Shinsou breathes out and Katsuki squares his shoulders.

If this is rejection he's about to be hit with, he'll at least be ready.

"Yeah, oh," he agrees and meets Shinsou's searching gaze unflinchingly. "You got anything else to say?" he asks when Shinsou stays silent and then he's absolutely floored by the wicked grin on Shinsou's face.

"Depends. Did you save your kisses for me?"

"I hardly had time to go out and throw them all away between last night and today," Katsuki snaps at him and then honest to god stumbles when Shinsou pulls him closer.

"Gonna throw them all my way then?"

Katsuki works his jaw for a moment, hating how Shinsou must know how nervous he is because he keeps sweating and Shinsou's own hands must be covered in his sweat now, but he makes no move to pull away.

He just waits patiently for Katsuki's answer and maybe they have both waited long enough.

"If you want them, yes," Katsuki finally replies and leans down, his lips just a hair's breath away from Shinsou's.

"Fuck, yes," Shinsou breathes out and leans in, pressing their lips together and Katsuki almost hates how much it feels like coming home.

It takes them long, long minutes to separate again and when they do they are both flushed.

"Your dads are assholes, by the way," Katsuki rasps out and Shinsou snorts.

"They are," he easily agrees and presses another kiss to the corner of Katsuki's mouth. "I take it I have to call them so they know I'm not dead?"

"You have to call them to tell them we stopped sucking face," Katsuki replies with a roll of his eyes and Shinsou laughs out loud at that.

"Nah, can't do that yet," he decides and then simply pulls Katsuki back in, who goes easily and so, so willingly.

Aizawa and Yamada can certainly wait a while longer, Katsuki and Shinsou really have better things to do right now.

#bt writes #mha #24 days of mha 2024 #bnha #shinsou hitoshi #shinbaku #bakugo katsuki #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #hurt/comfort #fluff #sick fic #getting together #love confession #first kiss #married erasermic

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murmeloni · 11 months ago

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This is for the DCU Valentine's Day 2024!

Big thanks to @wait-whos-batman for organizing it!

Clark receives a card from a secret admirer on Valentine's Day. There's no signature and no way to see who it's from. It just says to come to the football game that afternoon. Clark is flattered, Bruce is concerned. But really… What could possibly go wrong?

“I'll have the story done by tomorrow, Perry, cross my heart”, said Clark, sandwiching his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he fumbled for his keys, simultaneously trying to shift his grocery bags into one hand without dropping them.

Clark's only answer was an aggravated sigh and a curt “You better”, before the line went dead.

“Good work, Kent. Make sure you get a little rest, Kent. Have a nice evening, Kent”, grumbled Clark sarcastically as he finally got the door open. Thankfully without dropping his shopping.

“Meow.”

Startled, Clark looked at the fluffy white and brown birman cat belonging to his downstairs neighbor Mrs. Hall. Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he bent down and scratched the cat's head. “At least you're happy to see me, Lady Pawlington. And happy Valentine's Day to you too.”

The cat pressed her fluffy head against Clark's fingers for a moment, meowing again, before slinking forward to inspect the grocery bags. Laughing, Clark straightened up and lifted the plastic bags out of the cat's reach. “Unfortunately, none of the stuff in there is meant for cats. If a certain friend of mine is to be believed they're not even for humans but I know you can keep a secret.”

Still smiling to himself, Clark moved up the stairs, mind now occupied with thoughts of Bruce as it so often was. Bruce would have a lot to say about Clark's shopping, that was for sure. He was almost tempted to let slip what he'd bought at the Justice League meeting tomorrow, just to hear the lecture again, but he thought that was maybe a bit too pathetic, even for him. Although… It was Valentine's Day and Clark was spending it alone with chocolates he'd bought for himself - again - so he felt he was allowed to make himself feel better any way he could.

As he stood in front of his door, once again fumbling with his keys, he suddenly became aware of the heartbeat coming from inside his apartment. A very familiar heartbeat. Clark's stomach fluttered and maybe he moved a little faster than a normal human could to shove his key into the lock. The door clicked open and a bump sounded from his kitchen, as if something had been knocked over.

Clark quickly closed the door again before he used a burst of speed to join Bruce, who was standing beside the kitchen table. He didn’t even look up when Clark came to a halt next to him, the displaced air ruffling his artfully styled hair. Clark wanted to run his hands through it, but he hastily squashed the urge before he could do something stupid.

“Hey, B. What are you doing here?” Not that Clark cared. He was always happy to see Bruce. But he was also worried that there might be something wrong. It wasn't often that Bruce dropped by his apartment, never mind in the middle of the day and without announcing himself… Clark bit his lip. “Is there something wrong?”

For an endless second Bruce didn't react, just stared down at Clark's kitchen table, his fingers fiddling with a pink envelope. “No, nothing's wrong.” He cleared his throat. ”I was just in the area and wanted to see if you'd like to be Bruce Wayne's interviewer for the night.” A small smile curved his perfect lips and a part of Clark was going feral at the sight of it. So much so that he almost didn't understand Bruce's next words. ”But I guess you already have plans…”

Bruce's smile disappeared as he tapped the pink envelope on the table and finally Clark's brain switched online again. He stepped closer, frowning a little as he studied the envelope.

“Why would I have plans?”, he asked and paused. “Is that a Valentine's Day card?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, perfectly conveying his judgment. “What gave it away? The pale pink paper? Or the fact that it is covered in gaudy hearts and glitter?”

Clark ignored the snarky tone and carefully picked the thick envelope up. It was heavier than it looked and upon closer inspection it seemed homemade. Warmth flooded his chest, despite not knowing who this card was from. He'd hoped, for maybe a tenth of a second, that it might be from Bruce but the snark pretty much nipped that delusion in the bud. The disappointment of which Clark was studiously ignoring right now, thank you very much.

“I've never gotten a Valentine's Day card before.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Never? I find that hard to believe.”

Clark shook his head. “I was the opposite of popular in school and college.”

Crossing his arms, Bruce leaned his hip against the kitchen counter. “But you've been in relationships before.”

Clark shrugged helplessly, still not taking his eyes from the envelope. “Most of them weren't serious enough and the one that was… Well, Lois doesn't believe in Valentine's Day.”

“Hn”, made Bruce and that was apparently it for this topic because he began to busy himself with making coffee. He pulled out sugar, milk and two mugs, choosing Clark's favorite Batman mug, which was odd because he complained about the thing every chance he got. Only once the machine was happily gurgling along and there was nothing left to prepare did he turn around again to impatiently wave his hand at Clark. “Open it already.”

If Clark hadn't been so preoccupied with his very first Valentine's card ever he'd have started to wonder at Bruce's odd behavior. As it was, he swallowed thickly and gently wiggled his finger underneath the flap of the envelope, carefully prying it open without damaging it, which made Bruce huff in annoyance.

Despite the slightly gaudy envelope, as Bruce had so rudely put it, the card was really sweet. It was made from rustic looking carton and on its front were two hot air balloons, their domes made of flimsy pink paper, folded to look like hearts. A ladder was reaching from one balloon's wicker basket to the other. Opening the card, the first thing Clark saw was the ticket to the Metropolis Giants vs. Gotham Rogues football match this evening. A VIP ticket. Clark felt his mouth drop open in shock. That must've cost a fortune!

And then he noticed the poem. Written in a beautiful, looping script, it took up most of the space on the card. Heart beating a little faster, Clark ran a shaky finger along the lines as he read:

There is a silk ladder unrolled across the ivy

There is

That leaning over the precipice

Of the hopeless fusion of your presence and absence

I have found the secret

Of loving you

Always for the first time

"Always For The First Time" by André Breton

Meet me at the game tonight.

Love,

Your secret admirer

The sound of a mug being practically slammed onto the table in front of him startled Clark out of his reverie. Looking up, he found Bruce studying him with a carefully blank expression, knuckles white as he gripped his own mug a little too tight.

“Who is it from?”

Clark felt his heart clench in disappointment and realized he'd still held out hope the card might be from Bruce. He didn’t quite understand Bruce's annoyance but he chalked it up to him being like Lois in this regard. After all, why else would he be in Clark's apartment, looking to arrange an interview instead of going out on a date? He probably thought Valentine's Day was a capitalistic hoax or something unromantic like that.

Wordlessly, Clark handed over the card and while B analyzed it like it was a piece of evidence in one of his cases, Clark picked up his coffee. He realized before he'd even taken the first sip that Bruce had made it just the way he liked it: with a lot of milk and way too much sugar. For some reason that made him feel even worse.

“So what's the verdict?”, he joked weakly after the silence began to stretch, but Bruce ignored the comment. Instead, he fixed Clark with that intense, icy blue stare of his that never failed to make Clark feel weak in the knees.

“You're not seriously considering this.”

Frowning, Clark lowered his coffee. “Why not?”

The look Bruce gave him was the one he usually reserved for Hal whenever he suggested something ridiculous, like figure skating, under the guise of team building exercises.

“Clark… This envelope was already here when I let myself in. You're not currently dating anyone and you said yourself you don't know who this might be from. It sounds dangerous. Too dangerous. You're not going.”

Bruce's patronizing tone had Clark's hackles rising. Defensive, he snatched the card back and held it to his chest. “That's not your decision to make, Bruce.”

Truth be told, Clark didn't even know if he wanted to go to the game tonight. Because Bruce was right, it was weird that the envelope just appeared in his kitchen like this. But that didn't have to automatically be a bad thing. Any member of the League could have left the card there. It rankled, the thought that Bruce found him so undesirable that the only reason he'd get a card and a gift on Valentine's was to lure him into some kind of trap. Plus, Clark could be stubborn and petty, too. And right now he was sorely tempted to let that side of himself take the reins.

In the end it was Bruce's scoff and the curt “Don't be ridiculous” that made the decision for Clark. Crossing his arms, he raised his chin and glared at Bruce.

“Are you done? Because I have a date tonight I need to get ready for.”

Bruce's brows drew together, his jaw working. “You can't be serious. Be reasonable.”

But Clark only held Bruce's stare, not budging, until Bruce's eyes hardened. “Fine”, he snapped, whirling around and dumping his coffee in the sink before setting the mug down a bit harder than necessary. “Go. But don't come crying to me if you end up kidnapped!”

It was Clark's turn to scoff, but in his case it was more to cover up the hurt blooming in his chest. Unfortunately, his mouth opened before he could fully swallow back the words. “Because that's the only reason anyone would go out with me, right? Just because the high and mighty Bruce Wayne thinks I'm that unattractive doesn't mean everybody else does.”

Bruce's posture abruptly loosened, as if Clark's response had startled him. “Clark…”, he tried, but humiliation was entering the mix of emotions swirling in Clark's gut, made all the worse by the fact that, despite everything, all he wanted to do right now was cuddle Bruce. Or maybe bend him over the table and gently eat him out until he cried.

“You should go, Bruce.”

For a long moment Bruce hovered, looking like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he just… left. Clark stood in his kitchen and stared after him, stomach roiling. Maybe he really should go on that date. It seemed obvious now that Bruce would never return his feelings and maybe it was time Clark made an effort to move on. Taking a deep breath, he went into the bathroom. The game was starting in two hours and apparently he was going. The least he could do was look nice.

By now Bruce was already walking down the street outside but Clark still heard him when he whispered: “At least text me later to let me know you got home safe, Clark. And for the record? I don't want to be right about this. You deserve to enjoy a nice date.”

Clark swallowed, heart aching as he stared at himself in the mirror. “Maybe Lois is onto something with her dislike of Valentine's Day.”

<3 <3 <3

Bruce decided to walk back to his hotel instead of taking a cab. He needed to clear his head. Snapping at Clark like that… It was unforgivable. But just remembering the awed expression on his face as he’d traced the writing on that card was setting Bruce's teeth on edge. He'd come here to spend the day with Clark, following his heart's foolish impulse instead of doing what he should have done and gone on one of Brucie Wayne's famous ‘outings’. He should have planned something ridiculous to feed the gossip rags for a few weeks. Instead he'd come here and made Clark feel bad for something that was entirely Bruce's problem.

Striding into the hotel lobby, Bruce arranged his face into a lazy smile, despite the unease and jealousy still churning in his gut. He breezed past the reception and made it into his suite without anyone trying to talk to him. He'd barely taken two steps inside before he froze. There was a pink envelope sitting on the coffee table. It looked exactly like the one Clark had gotten and suddenly Bruce had a suspicion what was going on.

Setting his jaw, he stomped over and picked the envelope up, opening it with much less care than Clark had done. Just like he expected, it was the same card and there was a second ticket to the football game this afternoon tucked inside. There was also another poem:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

"How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Meet me at the game tonight.

Love,

Your secret admirer

Bruce felt the sudden urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. The poem was beautiful. It encompassed his feelings for Clark perfectly and made his chest feel tight with emotion. It had also most definitely been picked by Jason. Bruce had heard him gush about it to Waylon multiple times. Which was the reason for the headache suddenly brewing behind Bruce's eyes.

Rubbing at his temples he pulled out his phone and dialed Jason's number. He paced the length of his room as he waited for his son to pick up and when he finally did, Bruce didn't wait for him to say something.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hello to you too, B. Nice of you to call”, came Jason's sarcastic reply and Bruce ground his teeth.

“Don't pretend like you don't know what you did. I told you not to interfere!”

Jason scoffed. “It's not like you'll ever get your head out of your ass and do anything yourself! The pining was getting painful to witness. Besides, this wasn't even my idea. The demon brat and I only made the cards. Dickie and Tim were the ones who delivered them.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about.”

“Oh come on, B! You're supposed to be the world's greatest detective! Figure it out! I mean, have you even looked at the fucking tickets?”

“Language–”, Bruce started to admonish, brows furrowing unhappily, but Jason had already ended the call. Cursing, Bruce put away his phone and opened the card once again. He looked at the ticket still tucked safely inside and immediately felt his insides freeze in humiliation. That was Alfred's Wayne Enterprises ID at the bottom.

Bruce closed his eyes. It was just like Alfred to enact such a dramatic and intentionally obvious plan to finally get Bruce to do something about his feelings for Clark, despite Bruce telling him repeatedly why that was a horrible idea. The question now was, what was Bruce going to do about this? He couldn't very well go to the game. After their fight earlier Clark would think he was trying to sabotage him. But if Bruce didn't go… That would mean Clark would be stood up. And on his very first Valentine's Day date at that. Bruce remembered the reverent way Clark had looked at the card, how he'd so carefully traced the words of the poem. He debated calling Clark now, telling him what Alfred and the kids had done, but…

But that would mean disappointing - and quite possibly humiliating - him. It would mean the first date Clark had ever had on Valentine's Day would have been nothing more than a poor attempt at meddling from Bruce's family. Just imagining the look on Clark's face made Bruce feel a little sick.

Which meant he had to go to the game and he had to do it right.

He swallowed, heart racing and palms clammy. This could potentially ruin everything. But the thought of disappointing Clark was simply unbearable.

Pulling out his phone once more, Bruce dialed Alfred's number. He got them into this mess so it was only fair he should get them out of it too.

“Master Bruce”, greeted Alfred in a voice that was the perfect blend of polite and smug. “What can I do for you?”

Bruce ground his teeth. “You know perfectly well why I'm calling, Alfred.”

“I believe I do, Sir. Should I make the usual arrangements?” Bruce had to take a deep breath. He could practically hear the self-satisfied smirk in Alfred's voice and it was driving him up the wall.

“It's his first date on Valentine's Day. Ever. He deserves a lot more than the usual”, snapped Bruce, irritated by Alfred's cavalier attitude. This little scheme could spell the end of Bruce's and Clark's friendship. “And just so you know: if this backfires I'm holding you responsible.”

“Very well, Sir. I'll have everything delivered to you within the hour.”

Bruce hung up the phone before he could say anything he might regret and instead began to loosen his tie with a little more force than necessary. He'd have to make this the best first Valentine's Day ever to make up for the argument and his children's schemes and that meant looking his best. He glanced at his watch. One and a half hours left. Bruce went into the bathroom and got ready for his date. Probably the most important date of his life.

<3 <3 <3

Clark was late.

He couldn't help it. He'd been on his way over when he heard a mine cave in in Africa and once he'd saved the workers he'd had to deal with the ‘representatives’ of the company that owned the mine trying to cover the incident up. He'd held them off, contacted the local authorities and Lois, and surreptitiously gathered what evidence he could while protecting the miners. When help had finally arrived, Clark quickly flew back to Metropolis, picked Lois up and brought her to the scene. The journalistic equivalent of setting the bloodhounds loose. The owners of that company won't know what hit them. Which was cause for celebration, really. Except that now he was late for his date. And he felt bad for even thinking that because obviously saving people was and would always be his top priority. But it sucked that his already pretty abysmal love life had to suffer further blows for it.

Of course the whole ‘being desperately in love with your best friend’-thing didn't exactly help matters any.

All of that to say, Clark wasn't just late he was also distracted when he climbed the steps to take his seat and meet his secret admirer. Doubts had started to creep in during the past two and a half hours. Because… Because Clark didn't want it to be just anyone waiting here for him. He wanted it to be Bruce. And he felt it wasn't fair to put that on whoever it was that had gone to all this trouble for him. But he'd come this far and if his conversation with Bruce earlier had shown him anything it was that he should really start to make an effort to move on. Going on this date seemed to be a good first step in that direction.

So Clark hurried to his seat, an apology on his lips. The game had started some time ago and he felt bad for whoever was waiting for him. They had to think they were being stood up. But then he reached his seat and the words died in his throat.

“Bruce?”, he whispered, and it shouldn't have been loud enough in this stadium full of people, talking and yelling and cheering on their team but Bruce turned his head anyway. Their eyes locked and Bruce slowly got up from his seat. And it was unfair, really, thought Clark despairingly, how utterly gorgeous Bruce looked. His hair was styled to perfection, his face was freshly shaved, and a light layer of makeup covered his skin, emphasizing his already sharp cheekbones and lush lips. He wasn't wearing one of his customary suits or his trusty turtleneck-sweaters-and-dress-pants-combo. Instead he was wearing a white linen shirt, the first few buttons of which were undone, revealing a tantalizing view of his collarbones. The shirt was tucked into dark blue slacks that showed off Bruce's impressive thighs and small waist in a way that made Clark's mouth run dry and his knees feel weak. And other people might think this was Bruce dressing down but Clark knew better. He knew that Bruce never allowed himself to be this comfortable outside of his own home and even then he often stuck to his armor of formal attire. Clark was a little speechless to be honest. Especially once his eyes landed on the flowers and chocolate lying on the seat next to Bruce's.

“Clark…” said Bruce quietly, a nervous tension around his eyes. “I… I didn't think you were coming.”

Clark blinked. The sole fact that Bruce was stating the obvious like this betrayed just how nervous he really was and that settled the worst of Clark's fears, the irrational part of him that thought this might be a cruel joke of some kind. Enough so that he finally found his voice.

“There was an emergency at work…”, he explained and abruptly realized that people were beginning to pay more attention to them than the game. Cheeks hot, he gestured at the seats. “Mind if we sit down?”

Bruce's gaze flittered over the people around him and Clark swore a light dusting of pink colored his face as well. “Of course.”

A little stiffly, Bruce gathered up the flowers and chocolates and handed them to Clark. Who, as he accepted them, noticed with a dip of his stomach that the bouquet was an assortment of his favorite flowers. Chrysanthemum daisies, cornflowers and blue hyacinths. It was carefully wrapped, looked stunning and had probably cost a fortune. Much like the chocolates. They were pralinés from that really expensive chocolatier downtown that Clark absolutely adored but never allowed himself to splurge on. Or rather that he never could splurge on because he'd not have enough money to pay his rent if he did.

Clark swallowed. “Are those… are they really for me?”

Bruce averted his eyes but nodded imperceptibly and Clark's stomach did another violent flip. “Thank you. They are my favorite. And they're really beautiful.”

They lapsed into silence as they sat down. It was awkward as heck. Possibly because Clark was stuck racking his brain not only for things to say but for any kind of explanation. Bruce's words from earlier, his expression as he'd looked at the card, they were all still fresh on Clark's mind. His surprise and his concern, even his (likely involuntary) condescension had seemed genuine. It just seemed impossible that this had been his plan all along. Why not ask Clark out? Or admit to leaving the card when Clark surprised him in his kitchen? There had to be another explanation.

Finally, Clark couldn't take it anymore. He turned to Bruce, leaning closer to speak directly into his ear, not wanting to be overheard. Just as he did, however, a loud cheer suddenly rose through the crowd and the people around them started to wave excitedly. As Clark turned to look, he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. The kiss cam. He and Bruce had been caught by the kiss cam and their faces were currently plastered all over the huge monitors around the stadium.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”, shouted the masses and the chant was interspersed by whistles and catcalls. Clark turned to look at Bruce once more, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. The stadium announcer was goading them on, the screams of the crowd got louder and Clark… Clark snapped. Without thinking, he darted forward and pressed his lips to Bruce's in a brief, but undeniably electric kiss. Not wanting to push his luck, he pulled back just as quickly, lips tingling and the need to go in for a second, more thorough taste of Bruce's pink lips burning in his veins. He couldn't help but stare. He knew he should turn away, avert his eyes and pretend he only did it to appease the crowd, but…

Bruce wet his lips, leaving them all pink and shiny, slightly parted and the embodiment of temptation. Their eyes met. And then Bruce's fingers were suddenly curled into the front of Clark's shirt, pulling him in and in and… and they were kissing again. Desperately, wantonly. Bruce's tongue darted out to tease the seam of Clark's lips and Clark was only too happy to open his mouth for him, a low moan escaping without permission as he did so.

They got lost in each other. Distantly, Clark was aware of the cheers and wolf whistles, of the stadium announcer making some lewd comments and the camera flashes going off all around them but none of it mattered. He was solely focused on Bruce. His taste, his smell, the rapid beating of his heart and the breathless, bitten-off noises he made that no one but Clark would be able to hear.

It wasn't until Bruce had to pull back for air, his eyes wide and his pupils dilated to the point that only a thin ring of blue was still visible, that reality finally came crashing in again. Clark froze, his mind instantly careening towards a full-blown panic attack.

What the hell was he doing, kissing his best friend like that? And was this even really Bruce? Or was this a trap after all, some kind of magical doppelgänger trying to trick Clark? It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to him. It wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing this week and that thought was petrifying. Except…

…Except that was definitely Bruce's heart, pounding away in his chest not two feet away from Clark. Clark would know that sound anywhere. But if this wasn’t a trap, then what was it? None of the possible answers flitting through his mind seemed to make any kind of sense and his thoughts began to spiral.

Something of what was going on in Clark's head must have shown on his face because Bruce's expression abruptly cleared and he looked away, shoulders drawing up defensively.

“I believe I owe you an explanation”, he said, quiet in a way Clark didn’t know what to do with. Bruce, the real Bruce, was always quiet, but he was never subdued like this. It twisted something in Clark’s chest.

“I believe you do”, he answered after a moment longer of studying Bruce, but when Bruce made to stand, still not quite looking at Clark, a fresh, unexpected wave of panic rose within him and before he even knew what he was doing he quickly grabbed Bruce's wrist.

“Can we… Could we stay until the end of the game?”, he blurted and felt heat crawl up his neck. Because the pathetic truth of the matter was: Clark didn't want this, whatever this was, to end yet. Or ever really, but that wasn’t an option. And not just because it was his very first real date on Valentine's Day but because it was a date on Valentine's Day with Bruce. Clark had dreamed of something like this happening for so long he didn’t even know what it was like to look at Bruce and not want. And this right here was probably his only chance to get it. Well, a glimpse of it but it was better than nothing.

Clark took a deep breath. “I get that this date is probably just part of some plan of yours and that you actually have something better to do and this is not–”

“Yes”, said Bruce, cutting Clark's pathetic rambling short. He cleared his throat, long elegant fingers splayed on his thighs and Clark had to try very hard not to stare too much. Those thighs regularly starred in his fantasies. “I never meant to ruin your date, Clark”, Bruce continued softly, still not quite meeting his eyes. “So yes, we can see this date through and watch the game if that's what you want. I promise I'll explain everything after.”

Clark’s shoulders sagged. “Okay, yes… Thank you.”

He even smiled a little, despite being more than a bit apprehensive. The explanation Bruce owed him hung over them like a dark cloud. But he pushed all of that aside and made himself focus on the here and now instead. On his date with Bruce, the game they both loved and the fact that they were spending Valentine's together. It would later all turn out to be a scheme or a publicity stunt or something of the sort but for now Clark would pretend it was real. He only had to figure out how to go about that. After several more minutes of tense silence, awkward shuffling and even more awkward glances, Clark cleared his throat. Now that the decision was made he was determined to enjoy himself.

“If this were a real date what would you do?”

Bruce's gaze snapped to him. “What?”

“If this was actually a date”, repeated Clark, feeling utterly stupid but forging on anyway. “What would we be doing now? What uh…” he waved his hand, his neck feeling increasingly hot. “What moves would you pull?”

Bruce cracked a smile at that and for the first time since Clark arrived his shoulders relaxed. “Well, if this was a date…” Dimples showing, Bruce stretched, lifting his arms over his head. Clark stared, mouth running dry, as the move accentuated Bruce's broad chest and strong biceps and he was distracted enough that the arm coming to rest on the back of his chair was a surprise. Once Clark realized what Bruce had done, he burst out laughing.

“Very smooth, Mr. Wayne. Did you steal this move from one of your kids?”

Bruce chuckled. “If anything they're the ones who stole it from me. Besides, you can't tell me it's not working. I've got my arm around you and made you laugh.”

“Touché”, said Clark and allowed himself to lean closer to Bruce. The alluring scent of Bruce's aftershave rose around him and Clark inhaled sharply, heart pounding. He licked his lips.

“What else would you do?”

Bruce hummed, arm tightening around Clark's shoulders. “I would ask you about yourself”, he said in a low voice. “Get to know you and tell you a few anecdotes of my own. I'd try to make sure you're comfortable with me.”

Clark's heart skipped a beat, butterflies dancing in his stomach. “What would you like to know?”

Bruce met Clark's eyes, his icy blue gaze intense in a way that made Clark feel slightly breathless and said: “Everything.”

<3 <3 <3

Bruce forgot they were playing pretend. He didn’t mean to. And a part of him still was extremely aware of the fact that he owed Clark a damned good explanation once this was over. But the bigger part of him was all too happy to just let himself drown in it. To tease and flirt and soak up every blush and shy glance he could get from Clark. Every laugh and smile, every time Clark leaned into him or gave him that fond look he sometimes got… Bruce took it all and locked it away in his heart.

But then the game was over - the Metropolis Giants had trounced the Gotham Rogues and somehow that didn't feel like a very good omen - and suddenly Bruce's time was up. Abruptly, he realized that he wasn't prepared to let it go, that he wasn't prepared to go back to just being friends, but at the same time he didn't know what he could say or do to prevent the inevitable. To prevent Clark from leaving.

As if by silent agreement they stayed seated a little while longer until most of the people around them had left and the first members of the clean-up crew made their way through the rows of seats. Bruce wondered if Clark was as reluctant to put an end to this as he was. Still, things were different now that the game was over. The spell was broken, there was a distance between them again and it felt insurmountable all of a sudden. Bruce knew he should say something, start the explanation he owed Clark, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was terrified.

Clark shifted in his seat and looked around, his eyes anywhere but on Bruce. “We should probably head out, too.”

Bruce nodded stiffly and stood. Clark silently followed suit and together they left the stadium.

“Did you drive here?”, asked Bruce once they were outside and Clark shook his head.

“Ride with me?” He didn't know where that question came from. Clark didn't need a ride home. All he had to do was walk to the nearest semi-secluded alley and then he could fly the rest of the way. It was a lot faster than navigating a bike through this kind of traffic.

And yet Clark didn't say no.

He turned to look at Bruce for the first time in what felt like hours (but was more like fifteen minutes tops) and a small smile pulled at his lips. It was a little tense and didn't fully reach his eyes but it was a smile nonetheless. And then he said: “That would be lovely, thank you Bruce.”

Tongue suddenly too thick to form words again, Bruce quickly turned and led the way to the parking lot where he'd left his bike. It was only once they were standing in front of it that he realized another mistake. “I don't actually have a spare helmet with me.”

The look Clark gave him was unbearably fond that it made Bruce's knees go a little weak. Bruce didn't deserve that look. He'd been so selfish today. Clark should've hated him. And he probably would, once he knew the truth. “I don't need a helmet. Don't get me wrong, helmets are important and I don't like being a bad role model, but this once it's okay.”

Bruce didn't know what to make of that. Clark usually insisted on doing things properly, not just to blend in but to be a good example, like he'd said. Studying him a little closer, Bruce watched as two spots of color rose in Clark's cheeks, but he had no idea what that meant. So after another moment, he simply took the flowers and chocolates from Clark and placed them securely in the tankbag where they'd been stored before. Then he put on his helmet and swung his leg over.

“Hop on”, he said, patting the seat behind him. Clark hesitated, but then he climbed on behind Bruce, tentatively wrapping his arms around Bruce's middle. It took every ounce of Bruce's self-control not to react to the contact or let himself sink into the touch like he so desperately wanted to. Still, as he revved the engine and pulled out of the lot, his mind was filled with images of Clark's hands sliding just a little lower, leaving his waist behind and dipping between his legs, cupping him while he drove.

It was a miracle they didn't crash.

The thirty minutes until Bruce parked the bike in front of Clark's apartment complex simultaneously were the longest and shortest of Bruce's life and he felt the loss of Clark's arms around him so acutely it was like he was losing a part of himself. Which was so pathetic Bruce wanted to bang his head against the wall. Since he couldn't do that without alerting Clark to what was really going on, he busied himself retrieving their things from the tankbag before climbing off and following Clark to his door. Thankfully, the awkward air between them prevented Bruce's mind from wandering again, which unfortunately also meant that his anxiety was building with every step they took towards Clark's apartment.

“Meow.”

Bruce's thoughts stuttered to a halt as his eyes found the fluffy white and brown cat sitting on Clark's doormat. “Since when do you own a cat?”

“I don't.” Clark smiled and bent down to scratch the little feline gently behind the ears. “Lady Pawlington belongs to my neighbor. She just likes to visit from time to time.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Lady Pawlington?”

Laughing, Clark picked the cat up. “What? Do you not think she deserves that title?”

Bruce snorted, a smile tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “Not at all. She looks very regal.”

Giving the cat one last gentle scratch, Clark set it down at the end of the corridor before he returned to Bruce and unlocked the door. They headed inside and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind them all of Bruce's anxiety suddenly returned with a vengeance. He didn’t want to lose this, but most importantly he didn't want to hurt Clark and he feared at least one of those things was inevitable.

To stall for time, Bruce headed into the kitchen and rummaged around for the vase he knew Clark kept there. He felt Clark's eyes on him the entire time but he didn't dare turn around and instead focused entirely on filling the vase with water once he'd found it and arranging the flowers just so. His hands were trembling, his pulse was elevated and he knew it would only get worse. And yet he couldn't make himself turn around and face this.

“Are we going to dance around this all day?”, asked Clark, taking the decision from Bruce, who reluctantly turned to face him. ”Or are we going to talk about what happened?”

Bruce told himself to just get this over with and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “I'm sorry”, he began and stopped again because the rest of the words got stuck somewhere in his throat.

Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why were you at the game today?”

Instead of using his words like he should, Bruce pulled out his own Valentine's card and silently handed it to Clark. There was so much he wanted to say but he just couldn't get his tongue to move and he hated himself for it. Clark's brow furrowed in confusion as he accepted the card. “How did you…?”

“Open it.”

Wordlessly, Clark did and the furrow between his brows only grew as he stared at the card. “What is this, B?”

Bruce pressed his lips together tightly before he finally made himself explain: “It was Alfred's idea.”

Clark looked down at the card again, knuckles turning white with, Bruce guessed, the effort not to crinkle or rip the paper. He was always careful. It was one of the things Bruce loved about him. “What are you saying?”

Closing his eyes, Bruce braced himself. He tried to view this as a case report just so that he could talk but it was difficult. “The cards, the tickets… Alfred organized it all and he roped the boys in to help him.” He ran a hand down his face. “I knew as soon as I read the poem in my card. It's one of Jason's favorites. He confirmed it when I called him earlier.”

Clark was silent for a long time. “I still don't understand.”

Bruce didn't dare meet Clark's eyes. “Alfred and the kids made these cards and delivered one to you and one to my hotel room. They wanted to bring us together.”

“So what was this supposed to be? A prank? A set-up? Were all of you going to have a laugh about it later on?”

Bruce's hands curled into fists at the hurt in Clark's voice and he bit the inside of his cheek as his heart started to race in earnest. This was what he'd been terrified of. This was the part that could ruin everything. “A blind date.”

“What?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “It was supposed to be a blind date.” He turned away, feeling like he was going to throw up but he knew he couldn't leave it at that. He owed Clark more, so much more than this. And he didn't know what made him do it but a reckless part of him thought if he had to hurt Clark and ruin things between them�� He might as well go all in. “Alfred knows how I feel about you, how I've felt about you for the past couple of years, really. He was always trying to make me tell you and I suppose he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Clark fell silent once again and Bruce couldn't decipher the look on his face. Usually Clark wore his heart on his sleeve but right now he was surprisingly hard to read. Terrifyingly so. Finally, he asked, very quietly: “Your feelings for me?”

Bruce nodded, still not looking at Clark. He couldn't. He felt like an exposed nerve right now, like one wrong look or word could end him.

Clark made a soft sound. “You didn't want to ruin our friendship”, he whispered, and then he was suddenly right in front of Bruce.

“Look at me, B.”

Reluctantly, Bruce did as he was asked, because he couldn't not. He'd do anything for Clark but fear was tying his stomach into knots. Until Clark reached up and gently framed his face. “Why were you at the game today, B? Why did you go along with it? You could've just called me and told me what was going on. Why didn't you?”

Bruce swallowed hard, trembling all over now. “I didn't want to disappoint you”, he said quietly. “You should have seen the look on your face when you opened the card, Clark. You looked so happy. I didn't want to take that from you.”

A soft smile appeared on Clark's face and his thumbs began to softly caress Bruce's cheeks. “Bullshit, B. Tell me the real reason.”

A flush rose to Bruce's face and he looked at the floor. He couldn't stand to look into Clark's beautiful cornflower eyes right now. The last thing he wanted was to make himself even more vulnerable, to show his soft underbelly. But this was Clark. He wouldn't hurt Bruce, not on purpose. And he had yet to tell Bruce to fuck off. Hope swelling in his chest despite his better judgment, Bruce decided to tell the truth one more time.

“I finally wanted to know what going on a date with you would be like. I've wanted that for so long, Clark, wanted you for so long, you have no idea. When you opened that card earlier and said you'd go out with whoever sent it, I was so jealous I could hardly stand it. I wanted it to be me you were so excited about.”

Clark was so close now that Bruce could hear the way his breath hitched. “Oh Bruce”, he whispered, resting his forehead against Bruce's own. “The only reason I decided to go on that date was because I thought I couldn't have you. You're the only one I want. You always have been.”

“What?” Bruce desperately searched Clark's beautiful eyes for a hint that this was real.

“I love you, Bruce.”

An involuntary and undeniably needy sound slipped past Bruce's lips as he struggled to comprehend Clark's words and something flared up in Clark's eyes. Something hot and sharp that made Bruce's stomach flip with a mix of nerves and arousal.

“And you love me too, don't you, B?” Clark's voice was practically a purr as he leaned even closer, his grip on Bruce shifting. One hand slid to the back of Bruce's head, burying itself in Bruce's hair, while the other wrapped around his neck. The touch was so possessive that Bruce's brain immediately kissed its higher functions goodbye.

“I do”, croaked Bruce, already breathless as his body reacted to Clark's proximity, to the feel of his touch, his warmth and that intoxicating scent of his Bruce could never get enough of.

Clark's answering smile was nothing short of predatory. “Good.” And then he was kissing Bruce.

Bruce melted into the contact with a moan, instantly surrendering. Clark's hands tightened a little around Bruce's throat and in his hair and suddenly it felt like those hands were the only things keeping Bruce upright. Clark's tongue plundered his mouth and the kiss was hungry, domineering in a way Bruce didn't know Clark could be. He felt dizzy with it, overwhelmed by how utterly he was at Clark's mercy and loving every second of it.

After a moment, Clark broke the kiss and crowded Bruce against the kitchen counter. His hands drifted to Bruce's hips, grabbing them tight and in one fluid move that stole Bruce's breath, he lifted him onto the counter.

“God, B. You don't know how often I've dreamed about this, having you here at my mercy like this.” Clark nuzzled the side of Bruce's neck, sending shivers of want down Bruce's spine. Bruce tilted his head to give him better access and the approving sound that rumbled out of Clark's chest at that, instantly got him from half-mast to rock hard.

“I can hear your heart racing”, murmured Clark, leaving a trail of wet kisses along Bruce's throat as his big hands landed high on Bruce's thighs, kneading and massaging them and making Bruce feel lightheaded with lust. “I can hear your blood rushing to fill your cock.”

Clark splayed his big hands, the tips of his thumbs and pointer fingers pressing against Bruce's erection. Electricity raced through Bruce's veins and he abruptly felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He couldn't quite believe what was happening, wasn't sure any of this was even real, but at the moment it didn't matter. As long as Clark kept touching and teasing him like this nothing else mattered.

“Clark”, he moaned, pleaded, really, and finally allowed himself to touch Clark as well, to wrap his arms around those broad shoulders and hold on tight.

“I've got you”, said Clark, low and intimate as he pushed Bruce's thighs apart to wedge his hips inbetween. Bruce's blood instantly caught fire and suddenly his clothes felt stifling, restricting. He needed them off. He wanted to feel Clark's skin, to finally touch every inch of it like he'd longed to do for years. Hands trembling with desperate need, he began to tug on Clark's stupid checkered button down shirt.

“Off”, he growled and the first button gave way under his fumbling fingers. “I swear those fucking shirts of yours.” He pressed a kiss to Clark's throat. “They shouldn't work on anyone but somehow, whenever I see you in one of these they drive me to the edge of reason. Every. Damned. Time.”

Clark chuckled breathlessly and squeezed Bruce's thighs, sending a jolt of lust through him. “You're one to talk. Jesus, Bruce, have you seen your legs? And you always wear these tight pants. It's been driving me crazy.”

“Then do something about it, boy scout.” Bruce continued to unbutton Clark's shirt and nearly salivated at every inch of golden skin revealed.

Clark smirked and the next thing Bruce knew a draft of cold air hit his suddenly very naked skin. “Fuck!” He gasped, arousal spiking. His clothes were folded neatly on top of the table and for some reason the sight of them, this blatant show of Clark's power, made his cock begin to leak against his naked stomach.

Grinning, Clark crowded between Bruce's legs again and the fabric of his jeans scratched along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Bruce's hands flew to Clark's shoulders, fisting the material. He intended to get back to working Clark's shirt open, even the score and get him naked, but then Clark's fingers were on him

On his chest, trailing over his pecs in featherlight touches, around his nipples and down his ribs, and Bruce lost the capacity for rational thought. He arched his back, pressing his skin against Clark's fingers.

“So responsive”, murmured Clark, kissing his way down the side of Bruce's neck, scraping his teeth over the delicate skin. “Makes me want to take you apart, B.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Bruce turned his head and captured Clark's lips in a kiss. Clark groaned and crowded even closer, his clothed cock rubbing against Bruce's exposed one, probably smearing precome all over his jeans as he licked into Bruce's mouth and the image of the two of them like this was so unbearably sexy to Bruce.

After a moment, Clark pulled back. His curls were sticking up every which way, his pupils were blown, his lips swollen and shiny with spit. He looked so beautiful, it made Bruce's heart ache. “Are you sure? We can take it slow, if you want, B. We have time.”

Frowning, Bruce grabbed the back of Clark's neck and drew him back in. “Don't you dare. I want you inside me, Clark. Now.”

Clark moaned and wrapped his arms around Bruce. “Hold on.”

Before Bruce could even fully process the words, everything around him became blurry. It stopped again just as fast and when he blinked his surroundings back into focus he found himself lying on Clark's bed, Clark hovering above him. Literally. But that wasn't what caught Bruce's attention. All of his focus was taken up by the fact that somewhere between one blink and the next Clark had gotten rid of his clothes and was now fully naked as well. All that golden, unblemished skin, the cut of his hips and those perfectly defined abs… Bruce swallowed thickly and lifted a shaky hand to follow the path of his eyes with his fingers.

Clark shuddered, lowering himself until his body was covering Bruce's, his weight settling on top of him. They both groaned.

“I can't believe we're actually doing this”, whispered Clark, framing Bruce's face with his hands. “I've been dreaming about this.”

Bruce's breath caught in his throat and he gently carded his fingers through Clark's hair. “Me too. I never thought I'd be lucky enough to experience this.”

Clark's gaze softened and the kiss he pressed to Bruce's lips was so unbearably tender it had tears springing to Bruce's eyes. “I love you, Bruce.”

Bruce's heart stuttered. “I love you, too”, he answered, lips brushing Clark's as he spoke. Then he grabbed a fistful of Clark's hair and tugged lightly as he spread his legs as wide as he could. “Now, I think I was promised to be thoroughly taken apart.”

Laughing breathlessly, Clark leaned back and his fond expression made Bruce squirm. “So impatient”, he said, clucking his tongue. “Maybe I should teach you a lesson and make you wait.” But even as he said that he began to slide down Bruce's body, wedging his shoulders between his spread legs. His hands slid around to Bruce's ass, lifting him up. Anticipation built in Bruce's gut and by now his cock drooled a continuous stream of precome onto his stomach.

For a long while Clark just stared, gaze fixed hungrily on Bruce's cock, and Bruce squirmed helplessly in his grip.

“So darn pretty”, murmured Clark and then he was diving forward, licking a long stripe up Bruce's cock, swirling his tongue around the head before kissing his way back down. Bruce shouted in surprised pleasure and arched off the bed. But Clark wasn't done. Not by long shot. He didn’t stop at the base of Bruce's cock and instead moved further south, laving attention on Bruce's balls.

And then he moved even further down and Bruce's brain short-circuited as he stopped breathing. Clark's big hands shifted on Bruce, spreading his cheeks as he lifted his hips like it was nothing, and then his tongue was licking a broad stripe over Bruce's hole.

Bruce's entire body twitched as if it was connected to a live wire and his heart was beating so fast he feared it might explode. The pleasure coursing through his veins as Clark licked and sucked and bit at his hole, pushing first one then two fingers inside alongside his tongue was too much for him to take. But he couldn't escape it. Clark wouldn't let him. His grip on Bruce's ass was unrelenting and Bruce was sure he'd have finger-shaped bruises there later. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life, more turned on, and if Clark didn't stop soon he'd come just from that clever mouth and fingers alone.

“Clark”, he moaned, squirming, torn between getting away from the stimulation and grinding down into it. “I'm… If you don't stop…”, he gasped, trying to warn Clark, but if anything his attempt to get Clark to slow down had the opposite effect. Because Clark slid a third finger into Bruce, pushing them all the way in while his tongue circled around Bruce's stretched hole and then those blunt fingers found his prostate.

Stars exploded in front of Bruce's eyes. He was distantly aware of the sob he let out, the way his back lifted off the mattress, but everything was hazy as the pleasure consumed him. When Bruce finally came back down, panting and boneless, he quickly became aware of the fact that Clark's fingers were still buried deep inside him. Clark's gaze was fixed on Bruce's face, a hungry look in his eyes. Once he noticed Bruce was back with him he held eye-contact and very deliberately crooked his fingers. Lightning shot up Bruce's spine and a high-pitched whine tore itself from his throat.

“I want to fuck you, B. Just like this, when you're already sweaty and overstimulated. I want to make you cry.”

A violent shudder worked its way down Bruce's spine. Clark's voice was completely shot, his mouth was bright red, spit covered his lips and cheeks and his eyes seemed almost wild with arousal.

There was no way Bruce could deny him.

Exhaling shakily, he reached down and tangled his fingers in Clark's hair, pulling weakly, but Clark didn't budge. “Say it, B”, he rasped. “Tell me you want me to fuck you till you cry.”

Moaning, Bruce squeezes his eyes closed. His spent cock did its best to rise again even though it was impossible for him to go again this soon. “Fuck me, Clark. Do it”, he gasped, wiggling his hips to finally get Clark to move.

With a low curse that sent a shiver down Bruce's spine, Clark pulled his fingers free and began to crawl up Bruce's body. Bruce was still limp and sluggish as Clark slid his arms under his legs and lifted them, positioning himself at Bruce's entrance. Bruce moaned again as he felt the wet tip of Clark's cock against his hole, Clark's precome mixing with his spit as he slowly pushed his way inside. Bruce's tired body lit up at the delicious pressure and he threw his head back. It felt like forever until Clark was fully seated inside and when he finally was, Bruce's chest was heaving for air, sweat trickling down his spine as his nerves twinged and prickled with overstimulation. Clark was just so big, filling Bruce perfectly, pressing against his prostate without even trying.

And then he started to move in earnest and Bruce's brain immediately switched offline. Each and every one of Clark's powerful thrusts hit Bruce's prostate head on, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through his entire system, robbing him of his breath and making him feel like he was drowning in it. Bruce's being narrowed down to Clark. Clark above him, surrounding him, in him… There was nothing else in existence right now.

“Look at you, B”, panted Clark, hips picking up speed as he rocked into Bruce. “You're a mess. And you're so darn pretty like this.”

He leaned down and kissed Bruce, practically fucking his mouth with his tongue and Bruce felt like he was losing his mind. Weakly, he clawed at Clark's back, tried to hold on for the ride as Clark relentlessly forced his body towards a second orgasm. The coil of pleasure in his belly was wound steadily tighter and tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“There you are”, breathed Clark, his thrusts growing erratic, his kisses more desperate and when he slammed home one last time, filling Bruce with his hot seed, Bruce tumbled over the edge as well. He'd never had a dry orgasm before. He didn’t even know he could, and it honestly felt like only Clark could have torn the pleasure from his body in this way.

Afterwards, Bruce's mind went dark for quite a while. He just drifted along in a cloud of exhausted satisfaction, lethargic and completely unaware of his surroundings.

When he eventually came back to himself, he was lying on Clark's chest, wrapped up in those strong arms. He sighed in contentment and closed his eyes. “That was quite a ride, cowboy.”

Clark laughed, arms squeezing Bruce a little tighter. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me, B.”

Bruce felt himself flush and buried his face in Clark's chest. “I can't believe I actually find that charming.”

Clark began gently stroking Bruce's back. “I can't believe I'm finally allowed to have you.”

Heart stuttering in his chest, Bruce craned his neck and pressed a soft kiss to Clark's jaw. “I'm all yours.”

Clark turned his head and captured Bruce’s lips in a tender kiss. “And I'm yours.”

Smiling, Bruce settled back down. He was in the process of drifting off to sleep when Clark's voice roused him once more. “I guess that means we owe Alfred a gift basket or something.”

Bruce groaned. “They're going to be unbearably smug about this.”

Chuckling, Clark kissed the top of his head. “I'm sure I can think of a few things to make this worth it though.”

Snorting, Bruce shook his head. “You're insatiable.”

“Only for you, B. Only for you.”

<3 <3 <3

As it turned out, Clark's first Valentine's Day date was a smashing success.

#DCUValentinesDay2024 #bruce wayne #superbat #clark kent #happy valentines #valentines cards #superbat fanfiction #fanfic

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dweemeister · 22 days ago

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NOTE: Thanks goes to the 2024 Animation is Film Festival in Los Angeles for their screening of Flow this last October.

Flow (2024, Latvia/Belgium/France)

In modern animated movies, audiences expect that any animals that show up to be as sassy as the big-name actor that invariably portrays them. The idea of depicting animals in de-anthropomorphized ways or having them express only animalistic wants and needs have, for decades, been out of fashion (if they ever were). To portray animals in nature, as they are or might be, is not a concern to the major American animation studios. But it is the concern in Gints Zilbalodis’ feature film, Flow (Straume in the original Latvian). Produced by a patchwork of Latvian, Belgian, French, and other studios across the European Union, this is Zilbalodis’ second feature, after Away (2019). Animation in Europe, with Comcast-owned Illumination (France) and maybe Aardman (United Kingdom) as exceptions, remains a thoroughly unprofitable and infeasible venture without the collaboration of partner studios across the continent and subsidies from various E.U. governments.

Through the animals found in Flow – and especially the black cat via whom we experience the film’s narrative – Zilbalodis relates to the audience how difficult and, ultimately, rewarding it can be in learning how to trust and work with others. That trust, in turn, enriches one’s own life. The animals of Flow embody these themes while remaining simply animals. Other the occasional anthropomorphized behavior, the cat and their companions (no names, no genders) are what you expect them to be. There is refreshingly zero dialogue in Flow (excitedly, that makes it two fantastic no-dialogue animated films for me this year), allowing for a rare instance in which a 2020s film can easily cut across geographic, linguistic, and age barriers. Speaking of age barriers, Flow dissolves any notion that animation is simply a children’s medium. This is a film that a viewer of any age can enjoy; children and adults will both take something very different away from one of the most remarkable animated features of the year.

Nature has reclaimed the ruined vestiges of humanity – present nowhere in a waterlogged world. On a forested hilltop in a wooden cottage lives a black cat, surrounded by wooden carvings of cats and an enormous statue of a cat that looms over the residence. The cat has just had a testy exchange with several dogs and is resting one evening when they notice that the water is rising dangerously fast. Sprinting to the largest cat statue, the cat notices that water is fast consuming almost all of the land as far as their eyes can see. In a stroke of good fortune, the cat hops onto a passing boat just as the statue becomes completely engulfed in water. Already sailing this new high sea is a well-mannered capybara, who we find out has already learned how to steer the boat. On this journey of survival, the cat and capybara will pick up other passengers: a towering secretary bird, a kleptomaniac lemur, and a Labrador Retriever who always wants to play, no matter the situation. Our central quintet will encounter other animals along their travels: those who wish to be left alone, others who might want to join them on this journey without destination, and others who help in their own way.

Key to immersing oneself into Flow’s measured pace is to not look for answers where the film has none. When Flow made its North American West Coast premiere at the Animation is Film Festival in Los Angeles, Zilbalodis claimed he “did not care to explain” the exact reasons for humanity’s complete absence from Earth. Without exposition, Flow is, at a basic level, a depiction of animals contending with the whims of nature. Beyond this, the film is ripe for interpretation – one could even argue that the narrative of Flow itself exists only for its own sake. There are several hints that the dramatic water level rises have been occurring for some time, and only now is it reaching the elevation where it concerns the cat. The closing minutes of Flow leave the fates of each character ambiguous. Credit to Zilbalodis and co-screenwriter and co-producer Matiss Kaza for trusting the audience’s intelligence here.

Between those moments, each of the animals – the cat, the capybara, the secretary bird, the lemur, the Labrador Retriever – all grow, to different extents, to cast aside their selfishness and to assist the others in the boat. As long as they travel together, their lives are inextricably tied to that of the group. Because the cat is the film’s main character, the cat’s personal growth is most apparent. Aloof early on, implicitly used to some sort of indulgent lifestyle, and clearly annoyed by the nonsense of the lemur and the Labrador Retriever, the cat learns to fend for themself, to not depend on the odd bit of charity from the capybara or the secretary bird for food. In a colorful montage where the cat teaches themself to hunt while swimming, it initially appears that the cat will catch the fish just for one. Who would blame the cat after eating only a few bananas on this voyage? Instead, in respect to the secretary bird – who alternates with the capybara in steering the boat and who defended the cat earlier in the film from harm – the cat shares some of the aquatic bounty with them, as well as the Labrador Retriever.

There are perilous scenes that more dramatically depict the growth of each of our central quintet. In the sum of Flow’s dramatic and its quotidian moments, all of the animals – separated from others of their own species who might better understand them, with only a few feet of wooden planks separating them utter desolation – embrace the things that are essential. Eventually, they set aside their pride, material desires, and perhaps their own wellbeing to ensure the safety of the others. All of this is shown through their actions, in ways that will be understandable to audiences across cultures and time. Flow is a deceptively simple film when examining it solely through its story. Its complexities appear when one understands how difficult it is for a group of different-minded individuals to come to a mutual understanding for their own survival, let alone members of different animal species.

Made for less than $4 million in 2024’s USD (for contemporary comparison, The Wild Robot cost $78 million, Inside Out 2 at $200 million), Flow contains animation that belies its fractional budget. Animated using the open-source tool Blender, Zilbalodis’ team had to use some shortcuts in animating. The backgrounds, lush as they appear, are not always as detailed as they seem to be. If a scene does not have the animals move into the recesses of the background, Zilbalodis and his animators choose to leave the foliage as a blur, giving an impression of depth where there is none (see: draw distances of vistas in open-world video games as a counterexample). One can even glimpse a faint brushstroke among the trees and stone columns that dot the landscape – imperfections that remain in the film intentionally. The human infrastructure – or what remains of it – that appears is similarly not as detailed as one might think at first. The architectural styles seen within make no geographic sense, ranging from vaguely Venetian to Himalayan.

The human attention and processing power of Flow’s animation instead goes into its character animation and water effects – the latter was the responsibility of exactly two animators. So too the incredible sound design by Gurwal Coïc-Gallas (2017’s Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, 2023’s Sirocco and the Kingdom of the Winds). Flow’s character animation and its animal acting is the animated marvel of this production. Zilbalodis, who had a cat himself during his secondary school years, based the cat’s behavior on that cat. In interviews, Zilbalodis has described his film as, “not… copying nature, [but] interpreting it and creating a performance.” Granted, each of the animals in Flow behaves how you might expect them to in nature. But, like its spiritual predecessors in Bambi (1942) and Watership Down (1978), Flow necessarily injects a level of anthropomorphizing. Nevertheless, Flow – even with some humanizing (especially in some of the facial expressions) of the animals – feels as shorn of anthropomorphizing as one could expect in an animated movie. Too often in major animation studio films, there is a slickness and rubbery texture to character and background animation that, after a few minutes, loses its personality. Flow, in its imperfections and attentive animal acting, might be CGI-animated, but its craft always feels human.

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Like his first film Away, Gints Zilbalodis does much of the work beyond directing and cowriting. Zilbalodis is also co-producer, cinematographer, editor, art director, and co-composer (along with Rihards Zaļupe). During the production of Flow, Zilbalodis also learned, like the animals in this film, to learn how to ask for help and to be a better collaborator. Zilbalodis, who also composed the music for Away, had to call in Rihards Zaļupe because he was having difficulty in directing the emotional contours of Flow’s score. Like the score to Away, Flow’s score is largely an ambient experience, with few melodic throughlines – this is a score meant only to accompany the film, not to help in the storytelling. Zaļupe, a professional composer, brought in a full orchestra to help Zilbalodis – gifting the film rapturous cues such as “Flow Away”. Other times, such as when the animals enter the Venetian-like city, Zilbalodis and Zaļupe’s score crescendos and layers the orchestra, only for no apparent reason on-screen and within the score itself. Zilbalodis was correct in calling in a professional composer to assist him on the music, but this is a score of someone who needs to learn that a film score can be more than just textural.

Gints Zilbalodis has noted that Flow was not truly influenced by cinema or any other works of art (other than maybe the comedic timing of silent film stars like Buster Keaton). It is a film that comes almost purely from dreams, sometimes adopting the logic of dreams. Too many modern filmmakers, forgetting that cinema is principally a visual medium, over-rely on dialogue to move a story or characterizations forward. Flow is a necessary reminder that, in film, visual storytelling comes before anything else – not the dialogue, nor messaging. It is a remarkable sophomore directorial effort from Zilbalodis – one that elevates his standing beyond animation diehards. Flow is also a breathtaking statement of animation’s power, its primordial closeness to the dawn of cinema, and what one can achieve when we genuinely try to understand the plights of others.

My rating: 9/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Flow #Straume #Gints Zilbalodis #Matīss Kaža #Rihards Zaļupe #Gurwal Coïc-Gallas #My Movie Odyssey

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00127am · 1 year ago

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@ noisecomplaint ln yn isn't too fond of apartment living, between the occasional roaches and the person who keeps stealing her grocery deliveries. but especially because of her exceptionally loud next door neighbors whom she has decided: she cannot stand. it's not all bad though, certainly not when xiao dejun (the prettiest boy she's ever seen) lives in the building. well, it was a perk. until it's revealed that him and her next door neighbor are one in the same.

xiaojun. resident pretty boy, xiao dejun never seems to be down on his luck. is a statement he wished he could say in confidence. but between his neighbor who absolutely hates him (same neighbor who makes him feel light headed) and rooming with hendery, it doesn't look like the odds are going to be in his favor for a while. he wants hendery to stop bringing back hermit crabs to the apartment without telling him only to lose them and for xiaojun to find them in his bed in the middle of the night. gokinjo monogatari alignment? tsutomu yamaguchi.

kun. university student who seemingly lives about one hundred different lives (currently a bar tender who also volunteers at the dog shelter whilst doing graduate research), qian kun is somehow still ncit's star student, despite all his other responsibilities. he desperately wants to figure out where ten keeps misplacing his keys. is it that hard to answer a call?

ten. wait ten again? charismatic ten lee seems to be apart of every friend group, which knowing him, you wouldn't put it past him. caught between both yn and xiaojun's ends of their relationship, he feels a bit omniscient but offers no assistance beyond a few pushes in the right direction here or there. he wants kun to stop calling him five hundred times.

winwin. class crush (in every class), dong sicheng is the epitome of the university boyfriend archetype. or ... he would be, if every waking moment wasn't consumed with trying to either ignore or stop the antics of his friend group. he wants to find and destroy the copy of his apartment key that ten made so he can stop entering his house only to see ten in the living room.

hendery. handsome campus crush and co-captain of the basketball team huang guanheng has no complaints. well, if he had to have one it's that he (and by proxy, xiaojun) are one noise complaint away from getting an increase on their rent. not that xiaojun knows and hendery plans on keeping it that way. he wants to befriend his next door neighbor both for the benefit of teasing xiaojun about his enormous crush and also to keep her from filing any further noise complaints against them.

yangyang. undergraduate student liu yangyang can't exactly tell you how he got inducted into an all graduate student friend group. nor can he tell you if they know he's still an undergraduate (probably not). he wants to get a cat but his apartment has a strict no pet policy ... not that that will deter him.

@ previous @ home @ next

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jonnysinsectcatalogue · 7 months ago

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Wood Leopard Moth - Zeuzera pyrina

With numerous spots lining its scaled wings and its furry thorax, it's no wonder that this insect is commonly known as a Leopard Moth. While this specie is purely white-coated, other species with the Zeuzera genus that have more sandy-yellow coloration around the borders of the wings and thoracic hairs, further lending a resemblance to their namesake animal. A coat like this would look beautiful on a leucistic big cat, and it certainly allows this Moth to stand out against other similar-looking species belonging to different families. To be sure you've found one of these Moths in North America (today's specimen was photographed in Europe), take your time while examining your find. While there's no chance that one could confuse this Leopard Moth for something like a white Ermine Moth (whose spots are much smaller), there's always the possibility that you've found a Giant Leopard Moth (Hypercompe spp. which aren't actually Leopard Moths). Specifically, Hypercompe Moths commonly display spotted wings, but many of the spots along the wings are distinctively large and hollow. This should be a big help should you find a similar Moth in your garden - this specie originally called Eurasia home and was introduced to North America - but there are other key identification markers to look for.

Try and obtain a glimpse of the abdomen while your mystery Moth is at rest. Wood Leopard Moths have a black abdomen with white plumage while Hypercompe Moths have a abdomen of dark-blue with yellow/orange banding. You can actually see a bit of the former abdomen poking out from behind the wings. Furthermore, the legs of Hypercompe Moths have distinct patches of white (look to the femur and tibia), while true Leopard Moth legs are all black. Finally, the Hypercompe Moths are actually Tiger Moths (sorted into the family Erebidae) while the Wood Leopard belongs to the family Cossidae (Carpenter Moths). This may be a lot of information to take in at once, but Moth identification from just a picture can be very tricky, so you'll need the best angles and all the information you can capture to determine which Moth has visited you today/tonight. For today, this specimen is a male...as you could probably guess from the feathered antennae which pick up the alluring pheromones of female Moths (which lack the combs). Interestingly, this specie has only partially feathered antennae, with the rest of the antenna being serrated. It could be that this allows the antenna tips to function better as "feelers", but it could also be that the Moth simply doesn't need so many combs to sense pheromones. Whatever the answer, it certainly gives this specie a unique look.

This picture was taken on June 8, 2024 in Romania by a dear friend of the family. Thank you.

#jonny’s insect catalogue #insect #moth #wood leopard moth #leopard moth #carpenter moth #goat moth #lepidoptera #romania #june2024 #2024 #nature #entomology #invertebrates #arthropods #photography #animals

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destiny-in-the-universe · 8 months ago

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New Introduction [Searching for Moots]

Good timezone, my lovely dreamers!

It's been a long while since last I'd been active in tumblr, but I figured getting to meet new people would be worthwhile as I've made my comeback!

To start, I answer to many names but primarily- you can call me Clay or Danny. I hoard names like a possessive dragon (/lh), but that's also in part due to my kin-list and I carry their names around proudly. (And also the fact I'm a system)

I'm bodily an adult, 23 years old to be exact and counting! I use they/them pronouns, though neos are fair game at times (such as pup/pupself and ghost-themed pronouns).

Now, I am a multi-fandom blogger and enthusiast of neurodivergent content- especially as I connect to a lot of characters.

Fun Things About Me

✦ I'm bilingual, knowing both English and Spanish

✦ I'm a fanfic writer. Mostly specializing in AU's, angst themes, and recently- working on two crossover projects

✦ I have multiple disorders (auDHD, suspected BPD and DID, and diagnosed with MDD)

✦ Current Fixations are Teenage Superhero Cartoons

✦ I'm a roleplayer! (I can be a bit picky with who I roleplay with, and maybe further down the line- I can send out a request)

✦ Profound animal lover. I don't claim to be an expert-

✦ I kin hard.

Fandoms I Am a Part Of

[Key - ♡ (Active Fixations), ✩ (Dormant Fixations/Will Talk About Them if Asked), ➶ (Casual Interests)]

♡ Danny Phantom

♡ American Dragon: Jake Long

♡ Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja

♡ Kim Possible

♡ My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

✩ Gravity Falls

✩ Percy Jackson and the Olympians/Heroes of Olympus/Riordanverse

✩ Laika Films (Coraline, Paranorman)

✩ Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss

✩ Doctor Who

✩ Anime (Mob Psycho 100, My Hero Academia, The Promised Neverland, Hetalia, Death Note, Disastrous Life of Saiki Kusuo, Fruits Basket, Black Butler, Wolf Children, Studio Ghibli)

➶ Warrior Cats

➶ Supernatural

➶ Merlin

➶ Sherlock

➶ K-Dramas

➶ The Owl House

➶ She-Ra: Princesses of Power

[Ask if there might be others I've missed!]

Current Projects

Independent Fanfics

✦ tell me atlas, what is heavier (the world or its people's hearts?): Danny Phantom - [Canon Divergent Timeline] -Angst/Whump Trope. The Guys in White manage to capture and detain Danny Phantom, alongside kidnapping securing Tucker, and what follows- well, it's only a matter of time before the truth spills out. - Work in Progress (Unpublished)

✦ DannyMay 2024 - Danny Phantom. A series of one-shots surrounding the fandom Danny Phantom. - Work in Progress (tag: dannymay2024, personal tag: PENDING)

✦ Bad Things Happen Bingo - Fandom One-Shots. A series of angst-filled prompts based on the Bad Things Happen Bingo card. - Work in Progress (tag: PENDING)

Crossover Fanfics

✦ Unlocked Doors AU (Mystery Kids AU) - Danny Phantom, Coraline, Paranorman, and Gravity Falls. Two years have passed since the fated summer trip to Gravity Falls, Oregon, and well- now Dipper and Mabel are returning for the new summer. When a group of untimely teens also end up spending their summer in the seemingly quaint town, nothing will ever be the same. - Work in Progress (Unpublished)

✦ [UNTITLED] (Secret Trio AU) - Danny Phantom, Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja, and American Dragon: Jake Long. A sudden, unexpected turn of events leads to three teenaged superheroes meeting. It goes about as well as you could expect. - Work in Progress (Unpublished)

✦ [UNTITLED] (Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons) - Rise of the Guardians, Brave, Tangled, How to Train Your Dragon. A new threat has presented itself across the world, and somehow- it leads to a group of young adults coming to cross paths. - Work in Progress (Unpublished)

[A rules/guidelines of my blog will be posted separately!]

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witchcraftwithaster · 3 months ago

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Nothing is funnier to me then absolute absurdity of interacting with spirits at times, because like why the hell was I tricked by spirit for an approximate time period of about eight months thinking that it was a goddess but actually it was a spirit meaning to mislead me

more story under cut

tldr; got tricked by a spirit because i was naive and only interacted with it twice before falsely honouring it, and where Loki once annoyed me I see that he was protecting me. Loki GOAT trickster spirit kiss my ass. Also here's why you should cross reference everyone's unverified personal knowledge

so for those of you that know, which honestly probably not many of you do, since January 2024 I have been under the impression that the goddess andraste was reaching out to me. compared to my other spiritual experiences, looking back on it now, I noticed that my interactions with her did not feel "complete". Shortly after I discovered this entity, Loki from North mythology made their way into my space. Very grateful for this, absolutely loved it, Loki and I.... I adore him. the first indicator that something might've been off was a few months ago when I tried to do a meditation to reach "Andraste". most of my meditations, usually result in some sort of intense visualization or borderline astral projection or astral travel? So I can't control every single little thing that popped into the visualization, but because it's my own interface and my own experience, I do have the ability to manipulate to a small degree, anyways, during this meditation, with this so-called goddess, Loki popped into the meditation and was attempting to get my attention. The exact shenanigans of what she was engaging in was kind of unclear me, and my recollection of it is a little bit fuzzy, but he was very much trying to distract me by making noise in the meditative space, making big movements with his arms just really trying to get my attention anyway he could and I was getting frustrated. I was like why is Loki messing with this meditation? That is so weird would make sense God to respect other God's boundaries and spaces.

I would also like to note that I could not get a clear glimpse of "Andraste"'s face. When I'm interacting with most other (honest) spirits if I try enough, I can get a clear picture of their face, whether it be a crow, a cat, a tiger, a woman, or even Loki; everybody gives me a clear picture of their face that I'm able to look at in my meditations.

so paired with the fact that she wouldn't reveal a face to me, and looking and interrupting my meditation, I ref frustrated, tried to communicate to low-key that I was trying to talk to this goddess, and he seemed upset and frustrated at that when normally to me, he seemed a very reasonable calm person. I talk to this up to him, just having that childish chaotic nature and not thinking much of it since our relationship was pretty new. low and behold a few weeks ago I tried to reach out to the goddess, and I did not get on answers through my divination method. I discovered that I have been paying a mass and respect to what appears to be a malicious entity with an agenda to harm me in someway shape or form. and the spirit and I had a fair conversation through divination, and I basically interrogated it. Of course I'm a little freaked out about it, but I talked to Loki shortly after that interaction after cleansing & clearing my space, and found out that he was actually trying to warn me about that imposter.

so now I have to exercise the spirit or ask it to leave and carry on with my practice, subtracting this false spirit out of it.

I hope the real Andraste is setting up there and shaking her head at this nonsense, and maybe keeping an eye out for me.

some more additional comments that I have on this is that I did not interact with the spirit often enough for me to discern whether or not it was being honest. part of this is because I just didn't feel right interacting with the spirit and I was too naïve to look further into that gut feeling I had. instead with my damned Christian guilt I was like, "obviously I'm not trying hard enough to connect with this being because gods are supposed to care for you"

so I'm really glad that Loki stepped up and took the main stage to distract me from the mess that could've been.

#loki appreciation #paganblr #trickster spirits #paganism #pagan #deity work #grimoire #deity worship #witch #spirituality #witchblr #witchcraft #astral projection #loki #loki deity #norse loki #loki norse mythology #norse #norse deities

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noreligionisgood · 6 months ago

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https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/28/opinion/hulk-hogan-vance-harris.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare

The Democratic Party must join the battle for the hearts and minds of young men. It matters not just for this election, though the vast and growing gender gap means that disaffected men could hand Donald Trump the presidency. It matters for how we mentor young men, and it matters for how we view masculinity itself.

And yes, the Democrats can do it. Within the Kamala Harris coalition, there are men who can show a better way.

If you ever wondered whether the Republican Party sees itself as the party of men, I’d invite you to rewatch the last night of the Republican National Convention. Prime time featured a rousing speech by the wrestling legend Hulk Hogan, a song by Kid Rock and a speech by Dana White, the chief executive of the Ultimate Fighting Championship — all as warm-up acts before Trump delivered his acceptance speech. Republican manliness was the capstone of the convention.

But what kind of men were featured? They’re all rich and powerful, and as a longtime fan of professional wrestling, I loved watching Hogan as a kid, but none of them are the kind of man I’d want my son to be. White was caught on video slapping his wife. Kid Rock has his own checkered past, including a sex tape and an assault charge related to a fight in a Nashville strip club. Hogan faced his own sex scandal after he had a bizarre sexual relationship with a woman who was married to one of his close friends, a radio host who goes by “Bubba the Love Sponge.”

We know all about Trump, but it’s worth remembering some of his worst moments — including a jury finding that he was liable for sexual abuse, his defamation of his sex-abuse victim, the “Access Hollywood” tape and the countless examples of his cruelly insulting the women he so plainly hates.

JD Vance is different. No one should denigrate his personal story. He has overcome great adversity, served his country honorably as a Marine and, by all accounts, is a good husband and father. But he now wears Trumpist masculinity like an ill-fitting suit. Last week, he was justifiably attacked for a 2021 interview with Tucker Carlson in which he declared that the country is run, “via the Democrats, via our corporate oligarchs, by a bunch of childless cat ladies.” He identified Harris (who has two stepchildren) as just the kind of person he was talking about.

For a brief period last week, I thought Harris might answer the Trumpists with a man who puts to shame every person who took the stage that Thursday night. She was reportedly considering Adm. William McRaven — a Navy SEAL, a former commander of U.S. Special Operations Command and one of the key architects of Operation Neptune Spear, the mission to kill Osama bin Laden — as a potential running mate.

He quickly pulled himself out of consideration, saying that “there are far better candidates” for the position. Politically, he’s probably right. Realpolitik requires picking a politician who can help carry key swing states, but McRaven still matters. His ideas matter. His comportment and bearing matter. What he says matters. And Democrats should embrace McRaven’s conception of how to live as a direct contradiction of Trumpist masculinity.

It’s not just McRaven, of course. There are other good and brave men who’ve rejected MAGA. Whether I’m speaking of Senator Mark Kelly of Arizona, a former fighter pilot and astronaut, or Mark Hertling, my former division commander in Iraq, who is a Biden appointee to the American Battle Monuments Commission and a leading proponent of Ukraine’s cause, or James Mattis, a former secretary of defense who did his best to serve Trump honorably but could not abide Trump’s disloyalty to our allies.

But I highlight McRaven for a reason; he has perfectly articulated how to attack MAGA masculinity. Ten years ago, he gave one of the most powerful commencement speeches in recent American history. He addressed the graduates of the University of Texas, Austin, and three YouTube versions have racked up more than 70 million views combined.

It’s known — oddly enough — as the “Make Your Bed” speech. While it wasn’t aimed only at men, every person who forwarded it to me was a man. It appealed to universal values, but it connected with men I know at a deep and profound level.

McRaven draws on his SEAL training to teach students how to change the world. It begins with the small things, like accomplishing that tiny first task of making your bed, because “if you can’t do the little things right, you’ll never be able to do the big things right.”

Each new principle is rooted in his experience, including “If you want to change the world, measure a person by the size of their heart, not by the size of their flippers.” Here’s one that’s particularly salient in the face of Trumpist bullying: “If you want to change the world, don’t back down from the sharks.”

The address builds to a conclusion that is alien to Trumpist masculinity: “Start each day with a task completed. Find someone to help you through life. Respect everyone. Know that life is not fair and that you will fail often. But if you take some risks, step up when the times are the toughest, face down the bullies, lift up the downtrodden and never ever give up — if you do these things, the next generation and the generations that follow will live in a world far better than the one we have today.”

You can see the contrast. Trumpist masculinity is rooted in grievance and anger. McRaven’s message centers on honor and courage.

There’s a seductive quality to Trump’s masculinity. Grievance is a form of counterfeit purpose, and anger is a form of counterfeit courage. For a time, your grievance can give you a mission — fighting the hated foe. And when you’re in the midst of an online temper tantrum, taking on all comers in your social media feed, you can feel a little bit brave, even if all you’re doing is tapping out vitriolic posts from the safety and comfort of your couch.

When you center masculinity on grievance and anger rather than honor and courage, you attract men like Hogan and Kid Rock and White. Worse, that is how you mold the men in your movement, including men like Vance.

Many conservatives rightly decry the way in which parts of the far left tend to use the words “straight white male” as a virtual epithet, as if there were something inherently suspect in the identities of tens of millions of men and boys. And if men feel that Democrats are hostile to them, they’ll go where they feel wanted, the gender gap will become a gender canyon, and more men will embrace Trumpism because that’s just what men do.

But that’s the masculine equivalent of a sugar high. For solid food, look not to Hulk Hogan. Look to William McRaven. It’s often said, and I generally agree, that politics is downstream of culture, but we also cannot ignore the cultural power of our politicians. We aren’t simply electing women and men; we’re electing role models, and Trump has unquestionably been a role model for countless men. He has molded not just the policies but also the ethos of the Republican Party. But America’s men need different role models and a different ethos.

I’m not the only person who sees this need. At The Atlantic, my friend Tom Nichols (who’s also written about the dangers of Trumpist masculinity) argues that men like Kelly, Gov. Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, Gov. Andy Beshear of Kentucky and Gov. Roy Cooper of North Carolina also offer better models for men than Trump, and Nichols is right.

But let’s return for the moment to the Navy SEAL who served his country for decades, who helped kill one of America’s deadliest foes and who declared to American college graduates, “You must have compassion. You must ache for the poor and disenfranchised. You must fear for the vulnerable. You must weep for the ill and infirm. You must pray for those who are without hope. You must be kind to the less fortunate.”

When I heard those words, I thought: That’s the message American men need to hear. That’s a message the American people need to hear.

This might sound strange, but I wonder if Democrats should answer the Republican men’s night with a men’s night of their own — a night that features heroes instead of bullies and showmen, a night that answers the Republican appeal to men’s basest instincts with an appeal to their highest ideals.

When Vance says, “Our people hate the right people,” that’s the language of grievance and anger. But there’s a better way for men — for all of us. It’s rooted in honor, courage and love. Or as McRaven put it, “For what hero gives so much of themselves without caring for those they are trying to save?”

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canyouhearthelight · 1 year ago

Text

Nihilus Rex Ch. 10: First Move

This chapter took 2 weeks to write. One to hash out what all our intrepid villains would need to do to pull this off, and one to actually write the chapter and make sure all bases are covered.

I and @baelpenrose have taken very few liberties with what this trio is doing, but I want to double-down on his note from the previous chapter: trying this would not only be extremely illegal, but in 2024 it wouldn't even remotely work. Especially not the lien release part: most of those records are digital now, and each bank has maybe four people total with the level of access required to release them. Maybe four.

Cause I am, I am

A little wicked

I am, I am

Hands red, hands red

Just like you said

I am, a little wicked

Valerie Broussard, “A Little Wicked”

After two detours - one to find another thermos, the other to fill both - we managed to make our way to a mall so old and worn-looking that even Spirit Halloween would give it a pass. Nils led us around to a side entrance before holding the door open with a sweeping gesture. I rolled my eyes good naturedly, Bishop groaning behind me as we shouldered past. Pausing to rub the dust from an old map with one sleeve, I found what I was looking for and glanced up. “Please tell me the stairs are in good shape? Best Buy is all the way on the fourth floor.”

“They are, and it is, but we won’t need either.” I suppressed a shiver as he reached past me to tap a location on our same level. “Sears. The television section is down here, and the cable connections are still intact.”

“And we didn’t enter on that side because…?” Bishop asked, seeing how far away it looked on the map.

“Internet is up, power doors are not,” came the dry answer. “And this door was the only one I could get my hands on a key for.”

“How did you - “ I started.

“You don’t want to know, Baklava. Plausible deniability - if anyone gets busted, Nothing did the breaking and entering, we weren’t aware he wasn’t lawfully here.” Hiking his bag further up on his shoulder, Bishop grunted. “Let’s go.”

Walking through the mall gave the eerie impression of being a zombie movie - rustling could be heard constantly, along with voices coming from beyond some of the locked grates covering storefronts. Squatters, I realized. Better use of the space than just leaving it here to rot, I thought approvingly. At least they aren’t freezing to death outside.

“Anyway.” Nils led the way into the employee break room in the Sears, one where he’d clearly helped himself to a few of the beanbags from the small furniture store, and locked the door behind us. “Router is behind the counter. We got wifi, we have a place to sit, we have work to do. Everyone, grab a beanbag or a chair. Local squatters won’t bother us in here - there’s an arrangement. I paid for a generator, they don’t mess with my stuff, and stay out of my way when I need to do a thing.”

I made a mental note to bring food next time, provided I could figure out a way to bring it without Nils or Bishop noticing - last thing I needed was Bishop informing Nils about my stray-cat tendencies. Grabbing a bean bag and an abandoned tray to set my computer on, I nested in and started getting everything connected. Once I was happy with where everything was at, I dug in my bag for some snacks, pulling them out triumphantly before realizing Nils and Bishop were staring at me.

“What? You said we had work to do.”

Nils started snickering. “Not that. Just. Never known anyone who brought chili pistachios to a hack job. That’s all.” He shrugged. “Kind of cool.”

“Creampuff. You and I both know if it was anyone else - like me, or even like Shade, you’d be saying something that would end with everyone either laughing or punching your lights out.” Harvey glanced at him with exasperation.

I offered some of my snack. “Keep the nut jokes to a minimum and I’ll share.”

“Please, Lash. We are not WintermuteWeasel. We come up with classier jokes than that when there is a lady present.” Nils replied, with faux-dignity.

“In that case, I won’t offer you this,” I sighed dramatically, holding up a bag of homemade jerky. “Because god forbid you put my meat in your mouth.”

Bishop leaned past Nils. “I will gladly put your meat and your nuts in my mouth,” he managed to deadpan, making me throw my head back laughing before handing over both pistachios and jerky.

Nils blinked. “Apologies, clearly I misunderstood your sense of humor. My apologies. I’d do this casually, but you now strike me as the type who’d doubtless prefer a bit of begging for the privilege of your tasty, tasty nuts. Please…” He gave me giant puppy dog eyes and fell out of his bean bag chair, doing his best attempt at looking pathetic, not quite topping how he’d looked when bleeding in a torn suit, but much, much funnier.

I surrendered and nodded for Bishop to pass the snacks over. “And don’t worry, I didn’t cook any of these, so they taste really good. Fair warning, the lamb jerky is - “

“Hooooleee crap,” Bishop gasped around a mouthful, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a big swig. “Spicy. Very very spicy. Lots of cilantro spicy, was not prepared.”

“That,” I finished lamely. “So go slow or we’ll never get any work done. Speaking of the Weasel… Any word?”

“Called him, he should be calling back in….” His phone started ringing. “Now. I’ll deal with him, try to keep quiet, both of you. It’s gonna be easier if you two don’t acknowledge that I’m buying for you so he doesn’t hold up the sale for something gross, you know?” He stepped off. “Wintermute, yeah. Best icebreaker. Needs to be less than 30MB. Able to tear through the absolute best encryption out there? Can you do it?”

Something on the other end.

“Need to get a worm and a data bomb through it, and be able to activate the data bomb on the other end after the worm has had time to work. No, you don’t need to know what for. You just need to know the parameters. High end, government encryption. Less than 30MB file size.” Harvey got tense, and began rolling his eyes, held the phone away from his head for a minute. He began doing ducklips - might have picked that up from me.

Eventually he put it back to his head. “Yeah, I get it’ll be expensive. No, no I will not disclose who I’m working with. Cash only payments. Yeah, I can pay that.”

He hung up. “Great. He’ll meet me in a few weeks. He bitched about it, a lot, but after a bit he said he could do it. It’ll ring three thousand. Each of you down to cover a grand?”

I squinted and did some mental math. “Yeah, I can cover that.” I’d have to bite the bullet and work on some more anime commissions, but the money was practically sitting there otherwise. “Richie McWhiteboy, you don’t need to auction off a leather jacket or anything, do you?”

“You know what’s sad? I am so useless in so many ways, but I have the kind of academic credentials where I get paid to research for the university as a grad student as long as I keep helping professors with their research and it covers rent. All my jobs basically just cycle in paying for other jobs and expenses. And I still have money left over to give away. Yeah, I can throw a thousand - probably a little more if it’ll take strain off of you two.”

Bishop winked at me. “Ah, to have rich people problems, right?”

I threw my hands up. “I will totally take financial help in providing snacks and decent coffee. Titties only get me so far.” Belatedly, I realized what I had said and covered my face with both hands. “ART!” I shouted. “ART!”

Nils snickered. “Most artists have drawn big tittied anime girls for money, and most academics who need it have either written Marvel fanfiction for kinks they didn’t want to know about or written someone else’s papers. Don’t think about it too hard.”

Bishop just shook his head as I peeked through my fingers and dragged over a second bean bag to prop his feet on. “Before we get completely derailed by a taco joke, let’s reel it in, children. Our not so friendly neighborhood perv is working on the encryption breaking, do we want to do the worm or databomb first?”

Nils looked to me. “I’d prefer doing the databomb first, since a spore with extra activations is easy enough and just having it done early so all we have left is the hard part means that when we’re done with the hard part we don’t have anything left, but if anyone has any objections to that I’ll hear them?”

“The county records…?” I asked, glancing between the both of them. “You know, the physical liens? With the counties?”

It was completely the opposite of reassuring when Nils went pale and Bishop’s eyes glazed over. With a deadpan, almost contemptuously exhausted tone, Nils grunted, “Fuck. Alright, malware 4 and 5, another encryption breaker, another databomb, let’s go. And find some way of getting those released. And finding which ones we’re looking for…”

“I mean a dial-up bot that just asks after public records isn’t hard, you and I have made like a few dime a dozen ones, that’s easy. Hell, I have a DDoS botnet or two we can repurpose, just collecting dust. Start generating those to get public records on liens, they’re public record. Hard part is the lien releases, that’ll take…some courts and counties take digital copies or faxed copies of the notarized forms, I say we collect the records with that and start sending forged copies out. I mean, we’d need to pay a good forgery guy, but I know one. It takes about thirty days, but we can mill the fucking things once we get all the records and get good fake state seals made.”

“Make sure they are backdated by several months,” I suggested. “Totally Purloined Letter it, act like they’ve had it this entire time and lost their copy. They’ll be too embarrassed to object.”

“Right, add about a month to the process for that and finishing our worm and encryption breaker, county records are easily breakable, we can make our own icebreakers for that but we’re gonna need a lot of computers to launch that many attacks at once…That, plus adequate databombs.”

“Add another twenty five days after we send the fake releases, give time for as many as possible to be recorded,” Bishop added. “They’re less likely to be lumped in with the attack, that way.”

“Okay. That, plus I have to regularly commune with my morons on their “orders” for the “joint operation” about dealing with the “evil shadow government.” Nils sighed. “Okay. We have a lot of work to do but we should be able to manage it. We can’t brag about it after, which kinda sucks because we’re rapidly approaching Inception-timed-to-music levels of bullshit, and if we pull it off any reasonable world would give us bragging rights forever, but there are way worse things.”

“I don’t suppose any of your far right fucknuckle brother uncles are notaries?” I sighed. “We’d never be that lucky.”

“Sadly, no. I do have a relative who is but she’d never get caught up in anything illegal for political reasons, perish the thought,” Nils’ voice took on a note of contempt. “She conveniently forgets that marrying her husband was illegal until around 60 years ago, and that the entire concept of civil disobedience is ‘breaking the law for political reasons’.” He shrugged.

Bishop grunted, snagging a thermos. “Pocket notaries going on Santa’s wishlist in the event we are ever good little boys and girl…. We are now at 55 day lead time, minimum. The thirty days will give us time to come up with hardware without getting too much scrutiny, and we use that time to let bots dig up the information we need on the liens and student debt.” I blinked and he waggled a finger at me. “I didn’t forget that part, don’t worry. Student debt is going to be the least painful, because zero potential damage there, Sallie Mae can just fuck right off.”

He typed for second and tilted his head. “Then we send the faked releases - I don’t know if my guy can do them in bulk, so it would be smart to have a program to mock them up as back-up. Who can code that, because I’ll be too busy.”

I raised my hand. “Digital art en masse is my area of expertise,” I nodded confidently. “I can cobble something together from my animation stuff, no problem.” Would I test it by using it to clear my commissions inbox? Probably, but they didn’t need to know that. I already felt guilty enough about it.

“Okay, so I’ll handle the databombs and the basic icebreakers, Bishop will repurpose his dialup net, and Lash will get the mock-ups ready so we can mill out fake lien releases. I’ll also handle getting the gun nuts ready and primed for when we go. We’ll work together on the worm since that’ll be the hardest part.” Nils was standing, the irritated exhaustion gone, eyes suddenly alight. “We have a little less than two months, and when that’s done, we’ll be paying back the banks for the 2008 crash and all the futures they stole with student loans. And we’ll be stealing a lot of them back. Let’s get to work.”

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #nihilus rex #afterverse #prequel #dystopian #cyberpunk #fiction #my writing #original characters #original fiction

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