#sorry for the inaccuracies!

[stymecoulli]

This is the beginning of a Future!Leosagi fic, loosely based on @meandtheyeehaws Leosagi, prior to them meeting (they get more similar as time goes on i swear). I have been writing this for the past two and a half hours. It is past four AM. I have work tomorrow.

I need to find a better sleep schedule.

TW: Blood, Death, Poorly written panic attacks, Angst (i suppose)

Enjoy!

-

“Okay Hana, just breathe with me, it’s going to be okay, all right?”

Usagi’s little sister heaved another breath. Her body was shaking, tears puddling in her eyes as though they were liquid themselves. Looking around at the nearby yokai, he realized she wasn’t the only one. Children, teenagers, adults alike clung to one another, sobbing. Mourning the loss of their home.

“Just in and out, like this, see? You’re doing great.”

The scream behind him rang loudly in his ears. He tugged at them for comfort before realizing they had fallen out of their band. In the midst of everything he hadn’t even noticed. He squeezed his paws into fists, a technique his Auntie had taught him, to ground himself.

Bile rose in his throat. Auntie.

His fists tightened, squeezing harder than she had probably anticipated would be necessary. He couldn’t think about her. Not when the wound was so fresh. Not with Hana right in front of him.

He could not break down now.

Not when the world was ending before his very eyes.

“You’re okay, Hana, I’m here.”

The stones lining the roof of the hidden city gave an unsympathetic CRACK in the background. The wails of dying yokai echoed around the underground. He felt the urgency of those around him tighten as more yokai flooded in, attempting to escape the same way they all were.

“I’m right here.”

The elevator to the overcity was a pitifully small thing. Used only as a last resort, it was an ancient piece of junk that couldn’t possibly carry more than ten yokai before it broke, much less the hundreds gathered around it. But it did not matter. The worthless pile of trash was the only hope left for everyone in the hidden city. Everyone alive, that was.

Usagi heard a whimper next to him, and he took Hana’s hand. She trembled and clung to her brother’s leg, terrified of the lack of space she suddenly had. Terrified because her auntie, her friends weren’t there with her. She sniffled, squeezing Usagi’s leg even tighter. He rubbed circles into her paw pads, trying to soothe her.

“Shh… Hana, I’m right here, okay! We’re almost to the overcity; we’ll be safe there.” Hana looked up, her gaze a pool of grief. Usagi’s heart panged. “It’ll be an adventure, just the two of us! We’re finally going to the overcity, just like you’ve always wanted!”

Usagi tried to keep his voice as light and airy as he could, but he knew Hana wasn’t convinced. “But I-I wanted Aun-Auntie to c-come…” She tripped over her words as her upper lip trembled. Usagi placed his paw on her head, scratching it lightly. He smiled weakly.

“Me too. But you have me, and I won’t leave you.”

Suddenly, the shrill CREAK of rusted elevator beams echoed around the caverns, its ear-piercing sound the song of hope sung by the gods themselves. Yokai everywhere crowded around him, and Usagi tried to move, tried to move forward, but the familiar weight of his younger sister was cemented onto his leg. He panicked, “Hana, let go. We have to get to the elevator, now.”

But Hana wasn’t moving. Usagi wasn’t sure she could hear him. She had been violently shivering, sobs wracking her chest. Her face was hidden away from him. Something in Usagi broke, and the realization dawned on him that he couldn’t leave the hidden city. He couldn’t leave because he would have to leave Hana, a fate worse than dying.

And as screaming yokai filtered in around him, Usagi knelt to the ground and pulled his sister in close for one, final hug. Their breathing synced up, their heartbeats becoming one. With a shattered heart and a broken spirit, he thought that this wasn’t such a bad way to die after all. Here, with his sister, he could pass in peace.

A scream, a heartbreaking, manic scream whipped through Usagi’s ears like claws on a chalkboard. Still curled around his sister, he looked up at the source of the sound, at the top of the elevator. His stomach plummeted.

A kappa was on the roof of the elevator, leaving over the rail as it descended, so far over that Usagi was scared he would fall. His scream was one filled with sadness and terror, his gaze pinned on the ground below him. Before the kappa had any chance of reaching the ground, however, his voice was drowned out by thunder.

No, not thunder. The cracking of rocks directly overhead.

Usagi went rigid.

Everything went quiet, the shock of it all blocking out every noise.

In his shock he tried to get up but couldn’t there was something on his leg

and he couldn’t move and there were too many people around and they were all

heading towards the kappa who got off the elevator and collapsed sobbing and tried to run

off away from the crowd before he was trampled and he fell because suddenly there was a rock in front of him

on top of him the rock was on top of him

Breathe, Usagi.

In, out. Like the river by the farm.

Squeeze your fists, ground yourself.

You’re okay.

Usagi was okay.

He shook his head, fighting off the shock. The kappa wasn’t the only one who was in danger, Usagi had to focus on that. He had to focus on his surroundings first. He squeezed his fists and turned to look at Hana once more. She was still on his pant leg, holding on for dear life. Good. At least one of them had something reliable to ground themselves with.

The rocks thundered in the background. Usagi felt his breath hitch, realizing there was no hope left for either of them. With his last will, he found it in himself to smile once more for his sister.

“It’ll be okay, Hana. Everything is going to be all right. I’m not going anywhere.”

A thunderous CRACK and a choir of screams indicated that his last remaining moments of life were fleeting.

The last thing he saw before his world went dark was the terrified face of his little sister, holding onto his left leg.

And the world ended.

…Or so he had thought.

Usagi’s head spun as though on an axis. His vision was fuzzy and out of focus; he couldn’t feel any part of his body. He felt paralyzed, frozen in place.

He coughed, a warm, dark crimson liquid accompanying his airway. It spilled over his eyes too, like warm honey he might have on toast. His chest ached. He couldn’t feel his body.

The adrenaline pumping through his body numbed the pain, but Usagi was aware of its presence. How could he not be, with the blood pooling around his head growing by the second? Everything ached. His body, his chest, his heart all ached from pure numbness.

It took everything in him to channel enough energy to use his muscles. He stretched his neck and shoulders, whimpering in pain. Eventually he attempted to move his arms, to no avail. He could feel them, but they felt so far away, as though they were in another plain of reality, one Usagi was not yet familiar with. His legs felt very similarly.

Except for his left leg.

No, his left leg didn’t feel distant or numb.

It didn’t feel like anything.

With all the adrenaline he could possible muster, Usagi lifted his head, momentarily fogged by dizziness. He heaved his torso upwards, crying out in pain. When he had settled, he looked forward and froze.

A rock, a thousand times the size of him, towered before him. Its granite bleakness was nothing like the shimmering sky he had grown so used to seeing. It was jarring.

He looked down. The rock had flattened his left leg, completely demolishing it to the point of obliteration. Usagi’s stomach plummeted. He felt tears brim in his eyes and creep down his face. Loosing a limb was nothing like loosing a loved one, but it was a part of Usagi. Now, he could never get it back.

Speaking of loved ones, Usagi turned side to side, looking for Hana. If the giant stone had managed to only snag his leg, surely she would be alive. The gods could have spared her; her last look of stricken terror would no longer be her final moments. As she clung to his leg—

.

His left leg.

Usagi felt the world go silent once more.

He couldn’t hear his own screams, only his aching chest. He didn’t register falling backwards, only the way that he could feel liquid pooling on a hard surface below himself. Bile rose in his throat, refusing to stay inside this time, accompanied by a never ending stream of blood that soaked his fur.

Hana.

His sister, the light of his life, was gone.

Usagi screamed and cried for what seemed like an eternity. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, nothing was fair about this situation. Everyone had died. Auntie had died. Hana was dead. And Usagi knew, even in his state of deliriousness, a part of him had died too.

Later, much later, Usagi heard a shuffle behind him.

He couldn’t speak; too much blood clotted his throat. He couldn’t move to signify he was alive and get help, so he didn’t. He was paralyzed where he was, helpless to watch as a green yokai wearing a blue mask limped forward.

Wait.

Recognition flared through Usagi, a burning, dangerous thing. This yokai was the kappa on top of the elevator, the kappa that had destroyed the last of the hidden city. The one who killed Hana, but not him with her.

This was the yokai responsible for all this pain, and he was the one to survive.

Usagi could barely register the kappa’s cries of anguish and sorrow, suddenly too overwhelmed by rage to feel a morsel of sympathy. This yokai was a villain. He ruined the world, had killed so many people. He was worse than any villain Usagi had ever encountered.

He deserved to die.

As the kappa limped away, Usagi promised himself that he would not leave forever. As a samurai, it was his job to protect the world from evil. His heart hardened, his eyes so full of blood that he was seeing more red than not. Trying to go after him proved to be unsuccessful, as he was still trapped under the broken roof of his home. He grimaced, knowing what he had to do.

I am sorry, Hana. I don’t want to abandon you like this, but I am not sure I have much choice. I am sorry I cannot stay.

Usagi pulled out his katana from its hilter.

With all my heart, I love you.

As he sliced though his own flesh and bone, Usagi screamed. His gasps of anguish echoed around him, but to no avail. No one came.

He tore his right sleeve off and tied it around where his leg… ended in a makeshift tourniquet. Usagi opened his mouth and breathed. The air tasted like iron and salt, smelled like granite and rust. But it felt like purpose.

Usagi Yuichi had one goal at the start of the apocalypse: to end the life of the kappa who had caused so much suffering, or die trying.

For his family and the world, Usagi had to be a hero.

-

if you’re still here thanks for reading. yeah i’ll probably finish this at some point but the whole story will be like one giant oneshot like Midnight Blue and Five Cents because that’s my favorite type of fic, but it’ll be a WHILE before that happens. I just need to get this bit out there bc if not loosing that much sleep was for nothing.

have a fantabulous day!

[beloveds-embrace]

Idgaf abt how military works sorry yall but imagine the 141 gang having to do mandatory charity and no, not even Ghost can opt out of it regardless of how he says he’s honest to god not fucking fit to be visiting sick patients. But alas.

But they end up meeting you- frail, fragile, and sick you, no visitors around you. Though you look at them with curiosity and admiration, you keep yourself away, almost as if you don’t want to bother them.

You can’t help looking at them, though. You’ve been sick all your life- born to a mother who left you on the doorsteps of an overcrowded orphanage, left alone often and long for your body to just… fail you. You don’t think you’ve seen outside the orphanage walls and then these hospital grounds since your birth. You would be dead now if it weren’t for the CEO of the hospital taking pity on you after you turned eighteen and the orphanage cleaned their hands off you.

And so, you can’t help but envy them just a little. Strong, agile people in the military, bodies fit and healthy. Despite knowing they are always putting themselves on the line, constantly in danger, you can’t help the longing you feel. Longing you don’t realize is clear as day in your eyes.

The one to approach you first is the man you thought one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He introduces himself as Kyle, and despite your silence- your interactions with others that are not doctors or nurses are far and few, and you are painfully shy- but he is nice. Gentle. Easily keeps the conversation going despite. He is so easy-going he has you grinning and laughing in no time. It catches the attention of a the Scot with a mohawk, who joins in by sharing even wilder stories. And then the man with the scary ghost mask, so often in their stories, comes to your little crowd. He is big, scary if the nurses’ reactions are anything to go by, and yet the only thing you’ve ever truly been afraid of is dying with a life not truly lived. So you don’t flinch or cower from him, merely ask if he has anything interesting to share with you.

The last you speak with is John Price. Captain John Price. If there is a man that can embody a bear, it has to be him. You are sure of it. Especially when you witness him smacking the back of Kyle’s head lightly after a teasing comment.

Maybe your chances of a long, fulfilling life are slim but today, just for today, you allow yourself to envision a life with them. Such a strange desire, a useless and wistful one.

“Thank you, for today.” You tell them quietly, when it’s nearing time to leave. Your hands are held in Kyle and Johnny’s, frail and weak compared to theirs. You smile at them, squeezing lightly. “I think this is the most happy and content I’ve been all my life. I won’t forget today.”

And in return? Neither will they. How could they ever forget you, the sweetheart in the hospital bed, your sickness keeping you away from the joyful life you deserve?

The won’t forget you. Not at all. And when you start receiving gifts, polaroids and letters and texts, you already know who is sending them to you.

It makes things just a little easier- your life just a little brighter.

Other works + help me choose a title for this!

[operakings]

andreil commission for a friend

[roe-oo]

🏹💗…

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What do emotions drink? Coffee? Tea? No. Brain chemicals.

My headcanon is that they drink whichever chemicals are necessary for their particular emotion, which are then retained within the emotion's particles. Within contact of the console, said chemicals are then transferred over from their body to Riley, causing a reaction.

Obviously, each emotions don't have a specific set of chemicals that trigger them, since a single neurotransmitting chemical can produce a lot of different reactions depending on where in the brain it happens, and how much of it... BUT, for the sake of the joke- let's just pretend <3

Fear: cortisol, noradrenaline (norepinephrine)

Anxiety: epinephrine

Anger: epinephrine, noradrenaline (norepinephrine)

Joy: dopamine, serotonin, endorphin, oxytocin

Sadness: dopamine, serotonin, norepinephrine (noradrenaline)

Ennui: boredom is a lower level of dopamine, so maybe she does the opposite? Like, she absorbs the dopamine from the console or smth? Idk

Embarrassment, Envy, and Disgust: ???

[monakisss]

signalis meets harrow the ninth

i wanted to study signalis art style so i practiced with one of my fave moments from the book

[halfmoonstruck]

im late to the party..!!!

[petrawood]

I saw someone post a tweet about how a lot of people in the Inquisition must have suspected that something was off about Solas, and out of all of them Bull knew that there was something fishy going on for SURE but the scope of the whole thing was just too big for him to have guessed exactly what was going on.

So, that made me think how the whole reveal must have been like if it actually happened in our world and oh my god it's SO ridiculous.

Btw, this is obviously OOC, but it's just. Solas makes SUCH a character oh my god.

---

Imagine you are an Interpol agent that joins the CIA for this one very important and very specific mission. Everyone knows that you work for another organization and you are a trained and highly competent agent, but the situation is so dire that the CIA is basically hiring everyone who could help.

So, there is this one very weird guy.

He wears an old hoodie and yoga pants. When asked where he came from, he tells you that he is into outdoor living, so just "outside, you know, somewhere". He has no qualifications apart from being a skilled hacker and really really really good at navigating the Deep Web. In fact, he's an expert at it, to the point of being the Deep Web specialist of the team. He walks around BAREFOOT.

He is a WEIRDO.

You assume he is just some guy probably over his head, pretty helpful but that's kinda it. You are going to keep an eye on him anyway, as you keep an eye on most people.

And suddenly, things start no adding up.

You ask him how he learned to hack into the deep web and he answers that he just likes sleeping under bridges and there is very good internet connection there, so he ended up learning. He doesn't elaborate.

For a guy that spends all his time sleeping on the floor and hunched over a computer, you notice that he is actually BUILT. You cannot tell over the oversized hoodie, but that guy has muscle. Once it comes up, he looks you in the eyes and tells you that that's just normal when you live in the outside like him.

You need somebody to pilot an helicopter. He knows how to pilot an helicopter. "Oh, I just watched a video tutorial. You know, in the Deep Web".

You need to steal some nuclear codes. "Oh I know how to cancel those nuclear codes. I found a lot of documents explaining how to do it. You know, in the Deep Web".

You need to plan a coup. "Oh yeah I know all about backstabbing politics. I found a list of all the relevant politicians and the country's corrupt history. You know, in the deep web"

You are in the middle of said backstabbing and he's slightly tipsy looking fondly at the whole thing like "oh how I missed the vibe of a nepotist state. No one throws a party like corrupted politicians- Not that I've been in one before, of course. I've only seen videos. You know, in the deep web"

He drives the other two expert hackers out of their minds. "I don't know how you managed to get this position, you don't even have a Doctorate" "Doctorates are overrated, I think you all would do better if you came to vibe under a bridge like me"

He actually is OBSESSED with overthrowing institutions.

The hackers tear him a new one because they find his Hacker Drip lacking (fair). And he smells like Cheetos.

"I made a lot of friends on the Deep Web forums"

At this point you are convinced that this guy HAS to have something else going on. There is simply NO way someone would know so many things from his deep web premium access under a bridge.

Your best bet has to be that he's another secret agent, a very highly trained one at that, right? Or maybe a highcore antifa member? He either has inside information of the CIA or he's looking for it. But he has been ridiculous helpful so far, so you just can't tell what he's hiding and why.

And then one day guy, this FUCKING guy.

He shows up and tells your Boss that he's actually the ancient god Loki from the Nordic pantheon. That he created death, but is sorry so he's actually going to join the Earth with Heaven and Hell. A lot of people would die because of the Demons and you know, Earth as it is not existing anymore, but that's a sacrifice he's willing to make.

Now tell me, how the FUCK were you supposed to guess THAT.

[formosusiniquis]

for @thefreakandthehair and inspired by this. Everyone enjoy some bee keeper!Eddie saving the day so Steve can play some baseball

Eddie picked up beekeeping the way he picked up most things in his life: accidentally and by virtue of following a crumb of serotonin straight down the rabbit hole of obsession. It isn't what he expected to do for a living, and at this point he does have to admit that when it accounted for 91% of his taxable income last year it is what he does for a living, but he likes that he gets to work outside and set his own hours. He likes that the regular customers he has who buy his honey are nice, and likes getting to advise people about things like flavor profiles and what they taste best with, it was the thing he liked best about his position at the dispensary that was now more of a side gig. And then there's his contract with city animal control that gets him called out to parts of the city he didn't even know existed to relocate hives a lot more often than he thought would happen.

It's a good life, and he likes that he's made it himself.

But it's the kind of life that gets him calls from people late at night when trying to finish binging Fallout before the internet can spoil it for him. He has a rule to always answer when Chrissy calls though, he isn't going to miss helping her if it's an emergency.

“I need a favor,” she says before he's even finished answering.

“Anything for you,” he agrees.

“You might regret saying that.”

Chrissy Cunningham turned a full ride scholarship for cheerleading into a business and marketing degree and she turned that into a fancy job with the White Sox that he didn’t fully understand but totally supported. He wore the free cap she gave him, and was endlessly glad that as a white guy he didn’t get gatekept the way girls like Chrissy did, since he couldn’t name a single player on the team.

And it was that endless support that had him in his full gear at the White Sox stadium with his smoker and bee vac.

Chrissy meets him at the front with a harried expression and a warm hug, “I’d say I owe you one but if everything goes right we’ll be totally square before the first inning.”

“What does that mean?” he asks, repeating it louder when all she gives him is an enigmatic smile. 

The only answer he truly gets is being shoved into a little green cart that she drives with a frightening speed. She drives them through the stadium through a route he has no hope of remembering on his own until they reach an opening that leads straight out to the field. Eddie always had a dream, as a kid, of being a rockstar, driving out onto the diamond to a sudden and uproarious cheer is the closest he thinks he’s ever come to truly experiencing what it would be like to be famous on stage.

He hams it up of course. Waves his arms to try to get them to cheer louder as Chrissy stears them toward the lifter that he’s going to have to go up to get to the swarm. And they do, the cheers becoming an enthusiastic roar, a sound so loud he thinks he could climb them up to the bees without the lifter. 

“Focus will you, you’re on national television right now.” Chrissy says, with a subtle elbow to his side.

“Yeah but how many people are watching a delayed baseball game?”

Never one to just take his smartass comments, he’s sure that Chrissy says something super witty and sarcastic back. Only Eddie made the mistake of turning his head and catching sight of the most glorious ass in the snuggest pair of pinstriped white baseball pants and lost the ability to hear. A second elbow in his side reminds his brain full of metaphorical bees that he’s on television and he doesn’t have his veil on, he isn’t about to get caught drooling on television.

The fattest ass in the stadium turns around and Eddie thinks he’s been stung. He has to be going into anaphylaxis with the way he suddenly can’t catch his breath. The guy in front of him, with a hand on his hip and his eyes trained unwaveringly on Eddie is tongue-swellingly hot. And he just keeps getting closer as Chrissy doesn’t stop driving forward.

“Steve, you’re not supposed to get this close, you're our starting pitcher you can’t get stung.” Chrissy chides.

“I just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to kill the bees.” The guy, Steve, says.

“He’s not.”

“I’m not,” Eddie says, shaking his head as fast as he can, like that will make things more convincing for the hot baseball guy. But he’s got an eyebrow raised giving Eddie an up and down like he still doesn’t believe him.

“Look,” he pulls out his equipment so Steve can see. “I’ll smoke them with this, that’ll make them calm so they don’t freak out when I vacuum them up with this.”

“And running them through a vacuum isn’t going to kill them?”

“It’s a gentle suck,” he says, immediately filled with a burning mortification. “It’s just enough to move them into the tank where I can relocate them.”

Hot baseball Steve has his big brown eyes open even wider, there’s a twitch at his mouth like he’s about to say something else and Eddie actually can’t have that. “Chris can we get me strapped into this thing, we want to get this big ballgame going right?”

Steve takes a couple steps back, hands raised up in a placating gesture. Whether it’s for him or for Chrissy because he didn’t listen, Eddie’s too busy putting a neon yellow safety buckle on to think about it.

He takes his time, this is basically free marketing so he’s not about to rush through or do a half-assed job. But in just a few minutes he has a vac full of bees and the game is ready to be played. The lifter gently lowers Eddie back to the ground with another round of cheers. He unclips from the safety harness and takes a shallow bow for the crowd.

Then Steve is jogging over, Eddie stands up straighter than he ever has in his life. Nervous for what is about to happen.

“You saved the game, man!” Steve has the nicest smile that Eddie has ever seen, wide and toothy. He is but a man and thus falls a little bit in love immediately.

“It was nothing, really, just part of the job, y’know.”

“Well, here’s something you probably haven’t done on the job. You have to throw the first pitch.”

“No, no, I absolutely will not be doing that.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, a mischief lights up in Steve’s eyes. He jerks his chin up at Chrissy who says something Eddie is too far away to hear into a walkie talkie. He thinks he has a guess though when the loudspeaker begins to drawl, “Laaadies and Gentlemen, our game is about to begin. Tonight’s first pitch will be thrown by our bee rescuer, Eddie Munson!”

The crowd begins to scream again, but the sound is almost like the hive's steady drone when Steve leans close enough to whisper, “It’s just ceremonial, all you’ve got to do is throw it. I’ll even play catcher for you.” And Eddie’s helpless to do anything but nod.

There’s actually a lot that has to happen before they’re ready for him to throw his sad attempt at a pitch. But that gives him the time to settle his equipment out of the way and scream at Chrissy. Still it’s sooner than he’d like before she’s shuffling him over to a big mound of dirt in the center of everything. She pushes his hat and veil back and it feels a little proud father of the bride right until she pats him on the top of his head and whispers, “Don’t fuck it up, nerd.”

His palms are sweaty, they feel too slick to get a good grip on the small, white ball. He thinks he might throw up, only across from him Steve is there. A glove on one hand he sends Eddie an encouraging little finger wave with the other. 

He can do this. 

He takes a deep breath and throws.

It’s awful. Too high and a little off center, but Steve snags it in that large, ungloved palm and the crowd cheers again like he’s done something fantastic. He’s starting to think they’re just happy to be here.

He starts to walk off the field, toward Chrissy where he knows he’s safe. But he can’t help noticing that Steve is jogging his way too; the ball that Eddie just threw in one hand, a sharpie in the other, his glove tucked tight under his arm. “Eddie, hey, you gotta take this with you, dude.”

Steve lobs it at him in a soft underhand, and Eddie still fumbles the catch, “Thanks, man, but really, I don’t-” the rest of his response dies in his mouth when he realizes just what Steve has scribbled across the ball.

“Give me a call if you’re interested,” Steve says, walking backward toward the mound Eddie just left, “I can show you my gentle suck.” He laughs at his own shitty pickup line, which is somehow more attractive than his whole hot jock thing.

Eddie thinks he must be blushing up to his hairline by the time he makes it back to Chrissy and his things. She looks too smug for it to be any other way. “Told you we’d be even before the end of the night.”

“Chris, if this goes well I might owe you a favor. Now we gotta go, I’ve got bees to relocate.”

[transranpoe]

touch-up

[kittysawat]

if you cant get an organic s2 wedding, then store bought is just fine!!!!!!!!

[virusmeds]

what did she mean by that in the anniversary event huhhh whatt 🧐🧐🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[markitchi]

I think it would be really sweet if Clark embraces his roots and goes all out whenever he flirts and coos at Bruce, calling him all sorts of nickname in private, only in private, because he's not letting anyone sees how Bruce's eyes soften and his usual >:( turns into a :| with a hint of soft pink on his cheeks and ears. Only he can see Bruce becoming soft and pliant.

(More scenarios under the cut)

"Pumpkin pie" he purred, gently squeezing Bruce's shoulders as he kisses his neck, wanting to initiate a love making session together.

"Doll face" Clark coos as he craddle Bruce's rugged face with his hand, his beloved Batman sitting on his lap, pouting like a spoiled boy.

"Sweetie" he whispers as he tries to get Bruce to get his eyes off the screen after his dearest does a full blown all night research about someone suspicious.

"Honey" he whimpers as he begs Bruce for attention as he gently squeeze his thighs, acting like a needy puppy.

"Sugar" he lovingly call out to Bruce, who's wearing a crisp, freshly ironed suit and tie.

All spoken with that twang Bruce loves so much, something about it makes him feel warm and fuzzy. Not to mention with how natural it feels when those words of affection spill out from Clark's tongue.

Bruce's favorite must be Pumpkin, or munchkin, or maybe honey? Or that one time Clark calls him "my oeey gooey honey pie, my cute little pumpkin, I want to kiss that sugar lips of yours, by sweet munchkin" when Bruce finally wakes up around 1 PM after a rough night patrol on a sunday. His hair is tousled like crazy, bruises from fights covering his pale skin, yet Clark gazes at him like he's the most beautiful creature he has laid his eyes on.

Bruce never teases him about his accent, Clark never has to control his tongue or think twice about what he's going to say, being with Bruce makes him appreciate his accent more, especially with how Bruce melts onto him whenever he calls him "honey pie".

Then one day Clark calls Bruce "pretty kitten" with that sweet, sweet thick midwestern accent, while that is under the sun, carrying hay to feed his horses in the Farm, while he's covered in sweat, only wearing a cursed white t-shirt and a pair of tight jeans-

"Hey pretty kitten, you okay? You look as red as a tomato! Cool down in my bedroom, doll face, turn on the AC, it's old, but it works"

Bruce folded and squirms, Clark grins and teases him more. It ends up with Clark pinning Bruce to the nearest barn wall and purring all sorts of nicknames right to his ear. What a day

[emily-e-draws]

thinking fond thoughts about Tenzing Tharkay

[kippdipp]

a month late but here ya go ⭐️⚓️♥️

[such-a-daydreamer]

Here's some Levity Rises (gravity falls au) fanart! @hasnomoxxie!! <-they're the creator

(Btw go check out their stuff, is pretty cool)

Lil comic. I dunno why, but my 12 at night brain thought that it'd be funny if Dan just constantly pulls pranks on Mason, cuz like, why not?