#how many more Oh It's Just The Pollen does he got in him...

[todayisafridaynight]

Hanahaki manifests as allergy symptoms in Jo

hEEYYY

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SEVEN: INHIBITION (OR LACK THERE OF)

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SUMMARY ↳ The three C's (carnival, chaos, and cuddle pollen). Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words. "In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?" Fuck. Your. Life. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: mentions of having sex (as a joke/none is actually had), cuddle pollen (kind of non-con cuddling and kissing, but reader really doesn't mind) wc: 4.4k

Nari wakes you up by screeching in your ear. You groan and roll over, snatching him up and gently throwing him off the bed. You sit in bed and contemplate if you really have to get up and function as a normal person, but alas, you do. Grabbing your phone, your eyes widen a tad. Jesus, you slept till ten? Good thing it’s the weekend.

You have the day off from work, so it’s up to you to find something to do. You feed Nari, making sure to give him a bunch of apologetic kisses. Maybe you’ll swing by the Den today. It won’t hurt to work some more on the badassium.

You groan and stretch, doing some warm-up exercises. Nari perches on your back as you do push ups. He weighs nothing, but it’s the thought that counts. Karen pipes up from your laptop.

“I’ve done you the liberty of adding Victoria’s contact info on your phone.”

You release a fond sigh. “Bit of a meddler, are you?”

“I am simply saving us time.” You snort. You grab your phone, changing Victoria’s name and shoot her a text.

sugar mommy

whats good how we doing

i dont need anything just wanted to say hi

also its [name] btw

Her response comes a minute later.

[Name]???

How did you get my number?

karen did

shes kind of my guy in the chair

does all the super cool behind the scenes stuff yknow how it is

I thought I was your ‘guy in the chair’

fym ur my sugar mommy

Her only response is a money bag emoji, making you chuckle. She’s got personality and it makes you smile. A knock at the door catches your attention. Probably May coming to make sure you’re not dead. She’s gotten used to leaving early now. The lock clicks as you open the door.

Oh, it’s not May. It’s Jon .

“Jon!” you say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles, a friendly one. “Hi, [Name]. I was just visiting Dami, but he seems to be in a mood… so I was wondering if we could hang out?” he asks, hopeful. “If that’s okay with you?”

You coo internally. You’ll never get over how sweet he is. “Yeah, of course. Just text me next time, yeah?”

He nods, stepping inside as you open the door for him. Nari trots over to him and rubs against his ankles. “What time did you get up? I don’t think Metropolis is that close to GC.” You feel a little evil, putting him on the spot because you know he flew here.

He pauses, thinking of an appropriate answer. “Uh, I don’t know. Six, maybe?” he winces, hoping that answer makes sense. You don’t have it in you to do the mental calculations so early in the morning, so you nod. You wouldn’t actually out him like that, anyway.

“Got any ideas are we just gonna have hot sex the whole day?”

Jon, to his credit, only lightly blushes. He’s long gotten used to your sense of humor. “There’s that carnival that just opened.”

“Mmm, maybe later. Carnivals always look better when it’s dark.”

“Then…” he thinks, “...let’s just go for a walk. See what we find.”

You grab your keychain with far too many charms on it and your other essentials, hooking your arm in Jon's. “Lead the way.”

May doesn’t have any outward reaction save for a knowing look as you exit the building. You squint your eyes at her in response. The noise of the city greets you as you walk out. People around you go on with their days, each living their own complex life.

It’s silent for a moment as the two of you walk. You take the moment to just think for a moment. You thought life was crazy when you found out you had crazy spider powers, but then you turned it around and made it into something good. You thought life was crazy when you got asked to officially join the avengers, but then you found a family in them. You thought life was crazy when you found out about the ‘spider verse’, but from that you realized you weren’t alone. You should’ve known better than to think it couldn’t get any crazier than that, but here you are. Very far from home.

You just wonder what will come out of this .

“You’re quiet,” Jon notes, voice barely a murmur.

“Just thinking.”

“That’s not good,” he jokes. You scoff and consider flicking him, but it would probably hurt.

“Just thinking how hard it’ll be for Damian to look me in the eye the next time I see him.”

Jon raises a brow. “What… happened between you and Damian? Is that why he was in a mood?”

“So crazy story, he walked in on me making out with my kind-of bully.” Jon’s eyes widen incredibly. His pace stutters and he chokes on air. You grin as you watch his flail. “Making out might be generous, but it was pretty passionate.”

You continue, “God, you should’ve seen the look on his face. He genuinely stopped functioning for a sec! He’s a bigger virgin than I thought. Or maybe it was just that it was with Tori of all people. It’s okay though, she’s not all that she seems.”

Jon stops walking altogether, accidentally yanking you to a stop as well. You blink at him.

“Ok…” he starts, “first of all, you kissed your bully?” he asks incredulously.

“Well, like I said, she's not all that she seems,” you shrug. He nods, still looking at you in disbelief.

“So… what? Are you guys… dating?” he hesitates to say the word.

You scratch your nose, looking down. “Nah… we talked it out, she uh…” you trail off, “...it was a spur of the moment thing, we’re just friends. Now, anyway.” You feel bad saying you rejected the girl who was in love with you, but you also can’t say everything that went down.

You look at Jon, seeing him also looking down in thought. His brows are furrowed, you wonder how strange it is to Damian if it’s so strange to Jon. He nods after a bit, continuing his walk. His arm holds yours a bit tighter.

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” he laughs disbelievingly.

Probably because this isn’t your universe. “Probably because I’m so awesome all kinds of people want a piece of me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” you grin.

For as drab as Gotham City is, at least this carnival provides a little bit of color. The vibrant lights provide an enchanting atmosphere. You can’t help but grin. Jon watches you with a smile.

“What do you want to do first?”

“Pie eating contest.”

He blinks. “Okay?” He’s a little confused by your quick and confident reply. Now don’t be alarmed, you usually eat three meals a day. The meals are just… well, some might argue if they’re actually meals or not. Tony estimated that you should be eating five proper meals a day to combat your increased metabolism. You’re not starving or anything as you are now, but if you ever get injured your increased healing won’t help.

“I wanna eat,” is your only explanation as you drag him to the stand.

Jon chuckles as you drag him along, his smile widening at your enthusiasm. “Alright, I’ll join you,” he smiles, matching your energy. The two of you approach the stand where a small crowd has gathered around a makeshift stage. A lively carnival barker stands at the front, rallying contestants and spectators alike.

“Step right up, folks! Who’s got what it takes to be the pie-eating champion of Gotham tonight?” the man announces enthusiastically, his voice carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd.

You and Jon sign up eagerly, taking your places at the contestant table. The rules are simple: eat as much pie as you can within a set time limit. The pies, piled high with whipped cream and fruity filling, look delectable under the carnival lights.

The contest begins, and you and Jon dig in with gusto. The pies are delicious, each bite bringing a burst of sweet flavor. The crowd cheers and laughs as you both devour your way through the pies, alternating between bites and glances at each other, each trying to outpace the other.

Jon manages to finish his first pie just as you’re halfway through yours. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, grinning at you challengingly. “You’re pretty good at this,” he remarks between bites.

You flash him a competitive smirk, determined not to be outdone. “I eat a lot,” you quip back, mouth full of pie.

The contest continues, the pace quickening as the time ticks down. Cheers and encouragement from the crowd spur you on, adding to the thrill of the competition. Despite the messiness and the rapidly filling sensation in your stomach, you keep going, driven by the desire to win and the sheer enjoyment of the moment.

Finally, the timer buzzes, signaling the end of the contest. You and Jon set down your forks, breathing heavily but grinning broadly at each other. The man approaches to determine the winner.

“And the winner is…” he declares dramatically, waiting. After a tense moment, he announces, “It’s a tie!”

You and Jon exchange a look of surprise and then burst into laughter, both of your mouths covered in pie and thoroughly satisfied. The crowd applauds, appreciating the spirited effort you both put into the contest. You fancy yourself smug, seeing as you kept up with a kryptonian.

Jon wipes his hands and face with a napkin, chuckling as he looks at you. "I can't believe we tied," he says, shaking his head in amusement.

You nod, still grinning widely. "Yeah, I can’t believe you kept up with me.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

The man hands each of you a small prize—a colorful ribbon that declares you both "Pie Eating Champions of Gotham City Carnival". You both accept the ribbons with good humor, pinning them onto your shirts proudly.

As you step away from the contest table, Jon nudges you playfully. "So, what's next on our carnival adventure?"

You glance around, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling carnival. The vibrant lights of the rides beckon in the distance, and the aroma of cotton candy and popcorn fills the air. "Let's hit the Ferris wheel," you suggest, pointing towards the towering structure adorned with sparkling lights.

Jon nods eagerly. "Sounds good to me. Let's go," he says, grabbing your hand as you make your way towards the Ferris wheel.

The line isn’t too long. The worker wishes you a good ride as the two of you step into the brightly colored gondola, slowly ascending to the sky.

As the ride reaches its peak, you both fall silent for a moment, taking in the view. The city skyline looms in the distance, a stark contrast to the colorful and carefree world of the carnival. For a brief moment, you feel a sense of peace and contentment, grateful for this simple yet memorable night with Jon. 

"This is nice," Jon remarks, leaning back comfortably in his seat. You nod in agreement, admiring the view.

Jon looks at you, thinking. There are a million things he wants to say, wants to admit to you. He wonders how you would react to each and every one of them. With only positivity, he’s sure. You’re the type to go with the flow, whatever happens, happens. He’s certain he could trust you with his life, eventually.

He takes a deep breath, unsure what’s about to come out of his mouth. “[Name]–”

The Ferris wheel rocks violently for a heart stopping moment. For the other riders, mostly. You and Jon immediately stiffen to attention, because Ferris wheels aren’t supposed to do that. Jon crosses over to you, locking you in his embrace as he looks over the edge. You try to look as well, but a simple tense of his arms prevents you.

A threatening green is making headway across the carnival grounds, sending people running. Vines bloom, crawling over stands and attractions. Poison Ivy, looking as prickly as ever, strides in gracefully.

"This carnival is a blight on this land," Ivy declares, her voice carrying over the chaos. "You trample on nature for your own amusement, but no longer. Tonight, the Earth fights back."

Oh, great. You can’t do anything because you’re stuck in the air with Jon. Jon can’t do anything because he’s stuck in the air with you. You sigh, leaning back against him.

With a wave of her hand, flowers bloom amidst the destruction, a stark contrast to the panic around her. Ivy's plants begin to dismantle the carnival, reclaiming the area for nature. Her message is clear: the environment will no longer be taken for granted, and anyone who harms it will face her wrath. Vines crawl up the Ferris wheel, wrapping around the gondolas in a nightmarish display.

“Um. Any bright ideas?” you ask Jon.

He says pulling out his phone, he pulls it out of your view and begins to type furiously. You bet a hundred bucks it’s Damian and Jon is furiously texting him to haul ass and get here now .

A vine thrusts itself into the box, making Jon yank you both to the floor in the middle. It spreads slowly, hauntingly, slowly encompassing the gondola. Flowers bloom… ah shit—

Jon shifts the two of you, blocking you from the flowers. Also putting himself directly in front of them. “Jon don’t–” you warn, because regardless of his heritage, it can still affect him. Even more so since he’s only half. He presses your face into his chest right as the flower coughs, releasing the spores right in his face.

“Don’t breathe them in,” he growls. Thanks, you weren’t planning on it anyway. You hold your breath, anyway.

He’s getting antsy. “[Name],” he mutters gravely. “Please. Close your eyes and trust me.”

You internally sigh, preparing how you’re going to act like the most aloof fool after this. You nod and close your eyes. Jon picks you up, arms under your knees and around your back. You wind your arms around his neck and rest against his chest.

Jon, to his credit, doesn’t just fly down the ride. You feel him jump down the bars of the Ferris wheel, making sure to keep you secure in his arms. His landings are precise and calculated, avoiding the chaos below. You hear the gasps and shouts from the people around you as Jon navigates through the mess of vines.

Finally, you feel the solid ground beneath you as Jon gently sets you down. “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” he says softly.

You open your eyes and find yourself standing amidst the carnage, the Ferris wheel towering above you. Vines continue to spread, and the air is filled with the panicked cries of carnival-goers trying to escape. Jon stands protectively beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Ivy.

“We have to stop her,” you blurt. He looks at you incredulously. You ignore it and look around, trying to find a way to do this without Spinnerette. Eyes narrowing, you spot something in the distance.

“There.” You point at a nearby water tower. “If we flood the area, it might disrupt her control over the plants.”

“Good plan. You should leave it to the professionals.”

You blink, turning around. It’s Robin who spoke, arms crossed and looking at you. However, it’s the sight of the 6’2 emo bitch dressed in a bat fursuit that makes you stiffen.

“Robin! You came!” Jon brightens, before coughing into his fist. “I mean. Of course you came, you’re Robin.” The urge to roll your eyes at his silliness is strong, but you resist.

Batman doesn’t react, though you’re sure he just sighed on the inside. “You should get to safety with the rest of the civilians,” he grumbles out in his Batman™ voice.

You nod rapidly. “Yup yup. Yessir Mr Batman.” You grip Jon’s wrist and drag him away. Fuck that, majorly. If he says leave it up to him, you’re perfectly fine with that. You’re pretty sure he’s gonna take what you said and connect some dots, and you don’t wanna be around when that happens. He can take his theories and shove it up his ass.

Jon lets you drag him away, looking back to see Damian squinting at him through the mask. Making your way out of the venue you catch onto Ivy’s parting words.

"In a world of violence and chaos, my cuddle pollen offers a moment of peace, a false but blissful reprieve. It's almost poetic, isn't it?"

Fuck. Your. Life.

Jon is looking just a tad bit worse for wear (you’re lying, he looks haggard) when you arrive at your apartment. May, thank god, wasn’t at the desk, so you managed to get by without having to deal with that. You  shove Jon onto the couch, wincing with a small apology. Frantically typing, you google how to deal with cuddle pollen.

The number one suggestion is to visit Gotham General Hospital, but given Jon’s less than human nature, that's a no go. Other results suggest drinking lots of water and sweating it out to dilute its affects.

You throw your phone somewhere and quickly fetch some water for Jon. Nari meows at Jon, sensing something is wrong. When you make your way back you see that Jon has trapped Nari in his arms, cooing unintelligibly at him.

“Drink,” you tell him urgently, lifting his chin. He leans into your touch, obeying. You make sure he drinks every last drop. When he finishes you turn around to get some more water, only to be yanked back. You crash into Jon’s arms, watching as Nari trots away, happy to be free. You wish you were Nari right now.

Jon nuzzles into you, humming contently.

“Jon…” you warn.

“Yeah, baby?” he hums. Jesus.

“You’re under the effects of cuddle pollen. Your mind is scrambled. Just let me get you some water–”

He hugs you tighter at the mention of you leaving, standing up with you in his arms. You try to get free, holding your own for a bit. But alas, he wins. Stupid kryptonian biology. He carries you to the bedroom, setting you down on the bed.

You blink. “Okay, hang on–”

Jon belly flops right on top of you, earning an ‘oof’ from you. He wraps his arms around you, snuggling into your collarbone. He sighs in content as he relaxes on you. There’s no hope for you to escape, is there?

“Jon, come on. Let’s… do jumping jacks or something. Sweat it out of your system. You can even hold my hand!”

Jon grumbles, burying his face in your neck. “I know something else we can do to get sweaty.”

You blink. Then snort. Damn, is that the cuddle pollen talking or is your influence taking effect? You feel Jon smile against your neck.

Sighing, you acknowledge that you’re not getting out of this situation. You hesitantly rest your arms around him. You feel his grin get wider, and then he surprises you even further by laying a goddamn kiss against your neck. You grumble and mutter, “I am going to make fun of you so hard after this.”

Laying there, you think. If you didn’t just compromise yourself to Batman, then hopefully you won’t be approached when you next patrol. Or worse, when you're just being a regular civilian. 

You blink, deciding you’re gonna be a little shit.

“Jon,” you say, “give me your phone.”

Jon reaches into his pocket, unlocking his phone and handing it to you. It’s got a couple cracks in it, and his wallpaper features a photo of a sunset over a vast farm. You scroll through his contacts, clicking the one that says ‘damian !! (stinkin loser)’. You click the call button, hoping he’s done superheroing and has time to answer.

He answers on the third ring. “Jon, you fool, what were you–”

“Damian,” you interrupt before he says something you’re not supposed to know. The line goes quiet on the other end. “I’ll keep it brief. Jon got absolutely fucked over with a face-full of cuddle pollen and he won’t let me go. We’re at my apartment, so if you can pull some rich people strings and get an antidote or something I would very much appreciate it.”

“...He won’t let go of you?”

You roll your eyes and snap a picture of Jon wrapped around you. “Help,” is all you say after you send it.

You hear him sigh. “I’ll be there in fifteen,” is all you hear before the call cuts. Jon yanks the phone away from you, throwing it somewhere in the room as he flips the two of you over. You lay on his chest now, feeling his chin rest on your head and his hands come up to rest on your waist, fingertips creeping up under your shirt.

Your phone is in the other room and you didn’t see where Jon threw his, so you’re left to stew in his arms until Damian comes. You begin to hum a song, for your own peace of mind, ignoring the way Jon’s hands rub your skin in a back-and-forth motion. Jon removes one of his hands and places it on the back of your head, pushing you into his neck. The bastard lays another kiss on your head, muttering comforting words.

Damn, you think you’re starting to fall asleep. Sue you for feeling safe in his arms, he’s literally Superboy. It doesn’t help that you're lying in bed and he's rubbing your back so softly you feel like he’s your boyfriend comforting you after a long day.

You hear your door kick open, and the only reason your fight response doesn’t kick in is because you’re still stuck in Jon’s arms, and because you know it’s Damian. Jon on the other hand, immediately sits up, glaring hard at your hallway. When Damian shows up in your doorway, bag in hand, he relaxes. He lies back down in the bed, snuggling in to you.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

He ignores your weak greeting, digging into his bag and pulling out a syringe filled with what can only be the antidote. You pointedly make a note to definitely not mention how the needle is green.

“Just be careful he doesn’t grab you. He’s… really strong,” you mutter.

He grabs Jon’s head, pushing it aside to bare his neck. You’re surprised Jon lets him, but cuddle pollen does leave people without inhibition. Damian sticks the needle in, making Jon groan. You watch the fluid disappear, feeling peaceful knowing that this will soon be over. Damian finishes administering the antidote and takes a seat on the bed.

“Thanks for… coming through,” you say. You don’t know what else you can really talk about right now.

Damian just looks at you. “What were you even doing there?”

He means the carnival. You furrow your brows. “Hanging out? Sorry we didn’t predict that Poison Ivy was gonna be there. Maybe you should talk to Batman about that.”

“You could have been hurt. Jon did get hurt.”

“It’s just cuddle pollen, Dami,” you reassure, placing a hand on his arm. He grasps it tightly. “You gave him the antidote, he’s not hurt.”

Damian’s grip on your arm is firm, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lucky it was just that. It could have been worse.”

You nod, understanding his concern, but feeling a bit annoyed at the same time. “I know, I know. But we’re fine now. Jon’s going to be okay.”

Damian's expression softens slightly at your reassurance, though his concern is still evident. He looks at Jon, who seems to be coming out of the pollen's effects, his grip on you loosening. Damian then turns his attention back to you, his gaze intense.

"You shouldn't take unnecessary risks," he says, his voice low but firm. "Especially not with someone like Jon."

You raise an eyebrow at the implication in his tone. "Are you implying something about Jon?"

“Jon is… brave, but restless. Just be more cautious.”

You give him a playful smirk. "Are you worried about me, Damian Wayne? That's almost sweet."

He scowls slightly, clearly not amused by your teasing. "I'm serious, [Name]. This city is dangerous enough without getting caught up in avoidable situations."

“I promise to be more careful in the future,” you say, eyes earnest. It seems to settle Damian, for now.

Jon groans under you. He sits up, taking you with him. You fall to his lap as you look at him. He blinks for a moment, taking in his surroundings. You hear his heartbeat slowing, calming. He looks at Damian, looks at you. Stares at you, whom his arms are around, in his lap.

He freaks, shoving you out of his embrace and scrambling back. Damian catches you, growling, “You fool, Jon, careful!”

“I’m so sorry!” he cries. “I was… oh my god, I’m so sorry–”

You hold out your hands to placate him. “Jon, it’s okay! I’m fine, I don’t care. You weren’t in control. You didn’t do anything.”

“I should have left when I got hit,” he growls to himself.

You sigh, looking at Damian for help. “What’s done is done. No use in whining about it now,” he huffs, shifting you to sit up.

Jon purses his lips, looking like he wants to cry. You open your arms, “Come on.”

He hesitates, so you grab him and haul him into your embrace. He stiffens, before wrapping his arms around you. He melts into your embrace.

Damian clears his throat, making Jon pull back with a sheepish expression. “I should really get home before my parents worry.”

You nod, patting his arm. “Of course.”

He thanks Damian as well on his way out. You don’t hear the door open, so you figure he just got antsy and couldn’t stay in the room longer. You don’t blame him. You sigh when you see he left his phone, grabbing it and handing it to Damian.

“Thank you,” you mutter. You look into his eyes, he looks back. In a moment of weakness, you place a hand on his cheek and lean in, pressing your lips to his other one. The kiss is chaste, barely lasting for a second before you pull back. “You’re paying for my door.”

Damian says nothing in response, simply watching you. He raises his hand, clasping yours and gently bringing it down. He nods.

“It was nothing.” And then he and Jon are out the door. You sigh, laying down in your bed that smells like Jon now. No patrol tonight, again.

notes: jon was about to risk it all on that ferris wheel just saying

[dairy-farmer]

You ever think about how Tim has NEVER had normal sex in his life?

Has only known superhumans and Peak Physical Condition trainwrecks?

Think about it. Who would he have lost his virginity too? Some grabby, gross, civilian he can't relate too? That reeks of B.O. and would ask QUESTIONS about his battle scars? Or his BROS? Who he trusts. Who love him and understand him. Who where THERE when he got those wounds.

Who would stop if he told them too.

He totally, after working up the courage, siddles up to Bart and asks if he... you know... could help him with something. Because Tim's NOT about to risk his first time to SuperStrength and complexe FEELINGS. And Bart is from the future. He's much more chill about this.

But he's? Also a fucking SPEEDSTER? They VIBRATE when they get excited. That same stamina that can let them run for what TO US, OUTSIDE the Speedforce, seems like hours? It's literally DAYS to THEM. Fuckers are stamina BEASTS.

But Tim is still learning, hasn't figured that out yet. Bart is his Fun Friend. Light hearted and chill. Good first time material.

So they fumble out of their clothes. Bart getting more and more hyped. Vibrating. Trying to stay in slow time with Tim. They fumble about, learning what touches feel good. Vibrating fingers on his clit? Feel REALLY good. The same for inside him. A little lubricant, because he read you're supposed too, aaand? Oh. Oh god.

And look, Bart DID try! It just felt... *incoherent noise*

Which leaves Tim getting fucked at superspeed. Nerves lighting up and muscles trying to react to something that's already moved on. Getting gushed into again and again like a stream that keeps coming, ruining his sheets. Feeling hands everywhere as the sensations catch up.

He can't possibly keep up. Gets offs so many times his brain decides its NAP TIME now. Wakes up to Bart panting into his neck, his puss full and gushing cum down into the PUDDLE under his hips, and another orgasm.

Tim learns that Speedsters tend to marathon their sex.

His everything feels bruised.

Bart has to fix his bed as Tim steals Bart's. But! No longer a virgin. And when he recovers? He TOTALLY gets the "deal" with sex now. (No he doesn't. Speedster sex is an outlier.)

Thing is? No one thinks to correct this misinformation. Why would they? OBVIOUSLY somebody ELSE gave Young Justice "The Talk", right? Nope. Individuals got it, but not as a team. Tim never got SHIT. He RESEARCHED.

Figured out "safe sex" is birth control and NOT letting the Half Kryptonian with super strength be "on top". You have to ride THEM or you risk bruises in delicate places and potentially broken bones. Luckily, Kon has TTK. So he can help.

When Tim doesn't want to do all the work or is tired, Kon can just... wrap him up in that full body hug of a telekinetic field. Lift him and slide him back down, as fast or as slow as feels good. Tease everywhere that feels good at once. Even if Tim drifts off, while Kon is teasing himself after making Tim orgasm, his whole body is supported so he can just sort of relax. Drift and feel good.

Let Kon use him for a bit.

It takes so LONG for Kon to cum, but Tim thinks they're getting better at it!

Of course, Batman would NEVER. Is distant. But Tim tries his best to be a good Robin. Bond in any way he can. It all falls short. Bruce brittle and hurting. Then? Some idiot tries to recreate Ivy's Pollen. She catches word. Does NOT appreciate that. It's a shit show.

Their masks hold. But in the fight, Batman is sent crashing into a crate of experimental samples. It wouldn't be a problem, if not for the metal joints of the crate stabbing JUST enough to break skin, though a weak point in his Armour.

They don't notice until the fights over. Long after an emergency counter-toxin would be effective.

Tim manages to get him to the Batmobile. Get them back. Agent A, has a fever and is upstairs. Fast asleep in bed. Can't help. The emergency Ivy counter agents will only go so far. Luckily, Tim knows where the napping couch is. It has a pull out bed.

Bruce doesn't put together his plan until he's already half removed the suit, his brain already sluggish and overheating. He tries to object, but it is strangled into a groan when Tim leans forward and tries his hand at using his mouth. Because to be honest, Tim isn't sure Bruce will FIT.

He barely fits a few inch in his mouth.

He's gonna have to try though. Pollen really only has one cure. And if Bruce had groaned at his mouth? He nearly sobs for air when Tim carefully rocks over him, lines up and breathes into the strain as he let's himself slide down. Bruce's hand shoot up to catch his hips, flexing like they want to slam him down and lift him off, like they a warring and can't decide.

But Bruce's hips know what they need. Are desperately rocking up. A little deeper. A little deeper. Impaling Tim on the biggest cock he's ever taken. Tim let's Bruce control things. Take what he needs. Rubs his clit to try and help with the strain. And then? He's so, SO full.

Bruce is rolling them. Hiking up his hips and leaning forward to rest his sweating forhead on Tim's shoulder. Holds him possesive and close as he fucks him. Slow at first them faster and faster. Harder. Until it feels like Tim's insides are being battered. Growling in his ear, his, his. His robin. Good boy, his.

Like something finally snapped and all the desperation finally fell out. The lust and greed.

It's like Bruce is trying to drain him of every orgasm he can possibly HAVE. Too much. He's so tired. It's good. Overwhelming. Goes on and on and ON. Surely he's cured now? Right? Tim drifts. Wakes up in Bruce's Bed. Weren't they in the cave? But Bruce is still inside him, rocking, gently and just to feel it. Shhh, shhh, go back to bed. Yeah. Okay.

Bruce is a lot nice after that though. They're closer. Tim has definitely found his bonding activity.

It works on Dick too. Who was between relationships. Depressed again. Lonely. And... well, Tim is so WARM. Feels so good to cuddle. Too bend in half in a good ol mating press and just? Get as close as he CAN. It's fun to eat him out until he sobs. Sit him in his lap like a cuddly little buddy and split him open, carry him around all day like that. Maybe Dick gets a little bit obsessed too. A little attached. Who's to say?

But! Each and every person? Who wants a piece? Not normal! Super human or frankly human outliers with intimacy issues that make them backed up! Tim who thinks Sex=Railed Into Oblivion! That you gotta SCHEDULE around it, because OBVIOUSLY you won't be able to walk or move after. This is normal and to be expected, right?

What do you MEAN "no"?

-🐼

tim being completely out of touch about what normal sex is supposed to be like 😭😭😭😭! the only people he's ever fucked has been people who are so beyond what could constitute as normal and all have conditioned tim to believe that sex is just LIKE that 😭

[green-eyedfirework]

Why was it that Nightwing always got captured by the creeps?

“You have no idea how special you are,” the head scientist of the sketchy biotech company Nightwing had been surveilling prattled on as the wheelchair squeaked down the hallway.  “An omega vigilante, I almost couldn’t believe it when I heard, oh, I knew opening an office in Bludhaven would be a great idea—”

Red Hood got the mobsters, Red Robin got the intellectuals, and Batman and Robin got the dramatic ones.  But Nightwing?  Nightwing got the villains that were walking sexual harassment lawsuits.  It wasn’t fair.  Especially when he was the only omega of the bunch.

“Don’t you worry,” the head scientist said patronizingly, patting him on the head.  “I can’t give you a heat inducer, that’ll mess up your fertility, but I promise it’ll be over soon.  And you’ll get a pup out of it!  How does that sound?”

Maybe it was the skintight suit.  Maybe he was drawing too much attention to the wrong, ahem, assets.

“Of course, you won’t be able to keep the pup, but consider the vast contributions you will be making to science!  Oh, the healing factor alone…” the beta scientist devolved into raptures of scientific glee and Dick wondered what exactly it was about a Ph.D. that turned so many of them into villains in the process.  This one had done some research on the meta gene and super serum before his access to the government labs had been revoked—gee, Dick really wondered why—and now he was attempting to recreate the research with his own unethical experiments.

“And you don’t have to worry about them, my dear,” the beta patted Dick’s head again and Dick hissed through the gag.  He’d been drugged a second time when he tried to bite, and all he had to show for it was the increased restraints and some fondling from the too-interested guards.  “I got a delightful pollen from a lovely woman that’s guaranteed to send alphas into ruts, so they’ll be up to the performance.”

Dick rolled his eyes.  So this guy was one of those idiots that thought that alphas turned into raging knotheads on their rut.  Sure, it dialed their instincts up to eleven, but everyone didn’t think about sex all the time, gods.

“As long as you behave, I’m sure they’ll leave you in one piece.”

No, the more immediate concern was that Dick was starting to get the sense that the beta was using they as plural and not gender-neutral, and combined with the other hints that he was referring to metas with superhuman strength, it wasn’t adding up to a pleasant picture.

“And I have reliable reports that you know them, so this should work out great!”

Wait, what?

With that last ominous statement, they arrived at a huge, thick steel door that took several locks to disarm.  Dick didn’t get much of a chance to examine it, though, before the wheelchair tilted and he was dumped inside the small cell.

“Remember to enjoy yourself!” was the maniac’s parting statement before the door swung shut.

Oh, Dick was going to enjoy pointing Hood at this asshole.

But the more immediate problem was the occupants of the cell he’d just been locked into.  The very familiar occupants, and Dick worked at his bindings with trembling fingers as the alphas began to stir.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered out loud as soon as he tore off the gag, watching them shift and move as silver hair caught the light and gleamed.  “How did they get all of you?”

Deathstroke, Ravager, Jericho, Nightshade, and Respawn.  The entirety of world’s deadliest mercenary pack.  All enhanced, metas, or hopped up on some kind of experimental serum, Dick had never gotten close enough to figure out the specifics, but what he did know was that they were incredibly dangerous.  The Titans had faced off against them more than once and barely managed to go limping home.  The only reason they weren’t classified as a higher threat was because usually they stayed out of hero business.

“Getting captured by one idiot scientist is definitely going to puncture that reputation,” Dick said, eyeing their sluggish movements.  They were beginning to wake up.  “Kind of pathetic, actually.  Aren’t you guys supposed to be the most elite fighters in the world or something?”  That was certainly something the Ravager had spat at him once or twice.  “How does a mercenary pack get kidnapped?”

A low growl and a rush of alpha pheromones billowed out to flood the space.  Dick scrunched up his nose at the scent, he could feel his own start to turn sweeter in response as his omega recognized that he was trapped in a room full of alphas going into rut.  The scientist had torn off all his blockers and Bruce’s scent management techniques only went so far in the face of burgeoning alpha aggression.

“Not a threat,” Dick murmured slowly, keeping his hands by his sides and staying on his knees.  No need to trigger any violent movements.

He wasn’t sure what the idiot scientist was thinking—the more alphas, the better chance for Dick to be impregnated?  Except with Deathstroke trapped with his pack—including a pup just barely old enough to have presented—his focus would be on protection, not procreation.  It wouldn’t matter that Dick was an omega if Deathstroke or the others registered him as a danger.

“Not going to fight you,” Dick said, keeping the low, easy tone.  “I’m trapped here just as same as you guys.”

The mercenaries recovered fast.  One moment they were weak and sluggish, and the next the two oldest alphas had jerked upright, scanning the space and growling.

“Not a threat,” Dick murmured, low and soft.  Ravager locked gazes with Dick and kept up a low, warning rumble, but Deathstroke continued scanning the area and checking over his pups.  Nightshade was instantly alert, as was Respawn, growling adorably like Damian—Dick had to fight not to coo—and Jericho was the last to shake off whatever they’d been drugged with.

Half of them were staring at Dick, Respawn clutched close to his father’s side while Deathstroke prowled the cell.  It was admittedly unnerving, being stared down by three growling alphas, but Dick kept his calm, his scent still the sweet of placating omega, posture unthreatening, voice soft.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Dick repeated, low and smooth.  “I’m not a threat.”

Nightshade shifted towards him, teeth bared, but Ravager quickly yanked her back.  Unfortunately, this turned Deathstroke’s attention his way, and it was definitely harder to keep the soothing tone when staring into the face of a man that had the highest kill count of any assassin currently alive.

“I’m not a threat,” Dick repeated, hands out and open.  “I’m not going to fight you.”  Alphas responded better to scent and posture when in rut, but words still occasionally made it through.  Deathstroke drew closer and Dick fought the urge to run—there was nowhere to go.  “I’m not going to fight you.”  The alpha loomed above him and Dick kept himself carefully still, relaxed and not tense.  “I’m not a threat.”

Deathstroke bent down.  Dick could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he remained as still and calm as he could.  The alpha’s one-eyed gaze travelled over him as he took a deliberate whiff of scent.  Dick hardly dared to breathe.

The mercenary made a low growl and backed off, leaving him alone.  Dick exhaled in a rush.  No being mauled by mercenaries in rut tonight.

Unfortunately, Dick had spoken too soon.

He spotted the lunging motion out of the corner of his eye, too fast to react any way but instinct, and he immediately ducked and rolled, countering the alpha’s move with his own, trapping her punch and twisting her arm to yank her into a hold before he fully realized what he was doing.

“Oh, shit,” Dick hissed, hurriedly letting go and backing up, but it was too late.

He didn’t register Deathstroke moving until the mercenary slammed him to the ground, expelling his air in a breathless wheeze, and teeth digging in at the back of his neck turned his automatic protest into a low whine as submission flooded through him.

(more emphasis to bites, on fighting)

The room was thick with alpha rage and Dick stayed as still as he could, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, hoping that this was a show of force and not the prelude to playing with their food.

It didn’t matter if he struggled or not, there was no way he could beat a group of enhanced, trained alphas hopped up on aggression, but there was still the chance that if he stayed quiet and submitted, they wouldn’t tear him apart.

Dick winced as the collar of his suit was torn apart easily under enhanced hands—the goons that had captured him hadn’t been able to undo the catches without getting shocked and had quickly given up, but clearly the kevlar weave was no match for supersoldier strength.  Another low whine was punched out of him as a second pair of teeth closed down on his unprotected neck, biting deep and worrying at his skin.

He could smell Nightshade’s scent change from anger to satisfaction at his apparent submission and he made another low, placating sound to appease her.  Two bites meant his limbs were trembling, submission running through him like a rip current, ready to pull him down under.

Dick couldn’t help the tension—he was helpless here, lying at the mercy of a mercenary pack, waiting for them to get bored and ignore him, or for them to tear him apart as an intruder.  Dick had been in worse situations, but right now, he was a having a hard time pinpointing specific examples.

Another hand joined the ones pointlessly pinning him down and Dick smelled a darker version of the rage, a scent he remembered from battlefields.  He couldn’t jerk away from Ravager’s grip, so he had to stay there, hissing weakly as the alpha’s bite joined his father’s and his sister’s.  Fuck that hurt.

He couldn’t move.  His scent dripped with sweetness, rising alarm disguised as enticement.  Dick made an aborted sound as he was dragged off the ground, bruises aching, to be hauled into someone’s impenetrable grip, hands tight on his forearms.  He didn’t know whose lap he was all but sitting in, the alpha scents were mixing together, aggression and rage, possession and pride.

Dick couldn’t help flinch back as Jericho moved towards him.  “No,” he breathed out, alarm rising higher, but there was nowhere to go, trapped in a cage of alphas, and Dick could only watch as Jericho braced himself on Dick’s shoulders and bent down to bite.

It felt like he was leeching the soul from Dick’s body.  Submit pressed harder down on him, until what little resistance Dick had was like a slick grip in a storm, peeling away by inches, one slippery finger at a time.  Too many hands, too many alphas, and Dick whimpered without meaning to, caught in a maelstrom of scent and overwhelmed by it.

Something tugged painfully at him.  His pack bonds, responding to his agitation.  Dick could feel the others nudging him, sending him calm and worry—and he could also feel it fraying.

No.

No.

If this was the entirety of Deathstroke’s pack—

The pup started crawling towards him and panic rose up, sharp and high.  “No,” Dick whispered, struggling against the grips chaining him in place.  He was a trained vigilante, he could still throw off submission, the problem was the four alphas holding him down.  “No, let me go!”

It was like battering himself against a steel wall.  None of them moved.

Respawn moved up to crawl into his lap and Dick growled, as low and deep as he could make, baring his teeth in the imitation of an alpha snarl.  The pup yelped, tumbling back, but then a hand in Dick’s hair wrenched his head painfully to one side and Dick couldn’t stop the growl shifting to a high, desperate whine.

“No, please, stop, don’t do this—” the pup clambered on top of him more carefully this time, ignoring his weak struggles, and Dick felt teeth close down on the jut of his collarbone. “—please—”

His pack bonds shattered.

Dick couldn’t feel them breaking over the rush of the new ones taking their place, slamming home with a suddenness that felt like a punch.  He keened, curling over as much as he was able as growling filled the room, less concerned with the alphas’ emotional state than his own.

Fuck.

The only way to complete a pack claim was to have every member of the pack bite the claimant.  It would destroy any other pack bond in the process, which meant that his bond with the Bats had been shredded under the force of Deathstroke’s claim.

“No, no, no—”

From the Bats’ side, Dick’s bond would’ve abruptly snapped without warning.  There were only three ways to break a bond—by breaking it yourself, by subsuming it with a new claim, or by death.

And the first two were rarer than the last.

Dick choked on the overwhelming scent of foreign alpha, his own scent gentling in recognizance of his new pack, unable to breathe under the onslaught of emotion humming through him.  Five alphas in rut was stretching his senses to the breaking point and it felt uniquely violating to have strangers inside the part of him that had always been for family.

“No,” Dick whimpered, unable to push them out.  Everything was too loud and too much and he felt pulled in a thousand different directions.

Pack-alpha was rage-protect-furious and older-alpha was frustration-burning-hate and alpha-sister was angry-attack and alpha-brother was irritation-discomfort and alpha-pup was scared-distressed-angry and Dick couldn’t begin to untangle the web.  He hurt, inside and out, broken grief and bruising aches and rising terror and throbbing bites.

“Please,” Dick tried to say, but no one was listening.

His body did the only thing it could do under the onslaught of alpha rut, new pack bonds, and increasing stress—Dick smelled the honey sweetness first, and groaned in recognition of what was to follow.

Attention focused sharply back on him as the first note of heat hit the air.

“No—” Dick fought hard against the restraining bonds, this wasn’t his pack, he wasn’t safe here, “let me go—”

They didn’t. He could feel their bonds change to anticipation, the laser focus of their rut brought to bear on him.  There was nothing more important in the room to them.

Dick went pliant for a breath, enough to relax the grips on him, enough to feel the ache as the warmth of heat slowly ramped up, muscles cramping—and then he lunged, yanking himself out of the grips and aiming for the corner.

Enhanced alphas, of course, reacted fast.

Dick found himself jerked back against a solid chest, arms wrapping around him and forcing his arms down by his side. Ravager was in front of him now, Ravager and Nightshade, and between them they managed to turn the top half of his suit to confetti.

Dick, half-naked, trapped in the middle of five alphas in rut and smelling of honey, had a terrible thought—

But no one was moving to pull the rest of his suit off and it was Respawn that crawled forward first.  Dick tried to yank away when he realized what was happening but Deathstroke’s grip didn’t budge a fraction, a low growl warning him to stay still.

His chest ached, not with bruises but the growing cramps of heat, and when Respawn latched onto a nipple and sucked, Dick screamed.

It hurt.  The pressure, the unbearable weight of an insistent, demanding pup as his body tried to remake itself to provide for his pack.  The increase in cramping right before the milk finally came.  And the horrible, awful relief, the unshakeable sense that Dick was losing something, that this was defilement greater than he’d expected.

“No,” Dick sobbed, keening as Nightshade shoved forward to latch onto his other nipple.  “No, stop, that isn’t yours—”

The alphas didn’t care. They drank busily, sucking his milk out in greedy pulls, uncaring for the way Dick writhed as he cried.  His scent was sweet but his bond was twisted in distress, and the alphas didn’t twitch.

When the pup was done, Jericho moved forward to take his place, bright blond hair the only thing visible in Dick’s blurred vision.  Ravager growled as Nightshade kept drinking and snapped warningly at her before she let go with a pout.  Ravager dove for her spot and Dick made a low, punched-out sound.  The increase in suction was unbearable, he felt like he was being unmade under the onslaught.

“P-please.”

Jericho stopped sooner, but that wasn’t a relief—Nightshade’s tight grip replaced her father’s as Deathstroke bent down, latching on tight and drinking with deep, strong pulls that had Dick wailing.

It hurt, it was pain on a level deeper than flesh, it was too much and yet Dick was pinned here to endure, overwhelmed under the onslaught and unable to run.

There was no comfort but the restraining grips around him, no warmth but from bonds from the enemy, no protection but from the very same people that were hurting him.  His omega was shrieking for safety and reassurance and the most Dick could do was press into the hands holding him, fingers wrapped tight over someone’s palm, hand clasping the pup to him, pulling an alpha’s arm closer until he could see and hear and smell nothing but them.

Dick made a low, broken keen, and the rumbles of his pack answered him.

[flubnuggetpurple]

Dove Cameron’s Alchemical album is so fucking bat coded I feel like a conspiracy theorist.

(This went off the rails at one point, so WARNING: vague mentions of sexual assault and being drugged without consent)

First song: Lethal Woman.

Cass, all over, right? The bridge is “she walks like a saint, floats like an angel, sharp like a knife under the table”

c o m e o n

Second song: Still.

“Man on the screen, they only see whatever you want them to see” and “Supernova self-erasing, hourglass is always draining”

Could be either Tim or Bruce, but I lean toward Tim because of “how dare you, dare me to love you, if you jump I will too” because whenever Tim decides he loves someone, he’s the ride or die, ends of the earth type, even if they don’t even know who he is. A) how and why he became Robin in the first place, B) The Cloning Thing, C) an argument could be made for the Captain Boomerang thing (but now that I think of it, I think I’m mostly basing this off fanon oh well ontotgenextone).

Song Three: Breakfast.

I will admit out the gate that this one’s a reach, so I’m just going to leave Selina here.

Song Four: Sand.

For this I’m thinking Tim or Jason, for different reasons.

For Tim;

“I saw the end when we began, you couldn’t love the way I can, I tried to bargain with the stars, for more than half your heart but you have more pieces of me than the dessert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I could hold in my hand” and “our love’s misaligned, ‘cause you’re on my mind every night, I stretch out the time, and now I know why.”

I’m just making it obvious I read the Red Robin run, aren’t I?

For Jason:

“What's worse, being wanted but not loved, or loved but not wanted? What's worse, hearing what you wanna hear, or hearing what's honest?” And “What hurts, is the one thing that you wanna do, is the one thing that you shouldn’t do”

Pre-death Jason, but like, right after the Garzonas thing.

Song five: White Glove.

Okay hear me out.

This is part one of the Dick Grayson saga; the persona he shows to the public. This is Richie Wayne. This is every honeypot mission he went on too young, every woman he’s had to seduce for information (it’s one hundred percent happened before don’t fight me) every source of sexual trauma (that one I’m ninety percent sure is canon) that keeps him up at night.

And this guy’s been a vigilante for over twenty years, he can absolutely recognize drugs by sight, smell, and how they feel when he’s too late to notice something slipped in his drink. He’s felt nearly every strain of fear toxin and every one of Ivy’s pollens. If anyone knows their drugs it’s pretty boy Richie Wayne and Robin.

Song six: God’s Game

This one I’m definitely taking some lines out of context, but for Jason, “Just a boy with a man's face, playin' God's game” is when he’s taking over Crime Alley, pit-mad and trigger happy. “I prepare with so much care, I was runnin', it was stunnin', I am desperate from delusions, not much of a solution, never knowin' what the truth is, oh, God” is when hid plans start to fall apart, when Bruce slits his throat with a batarang, when eventually the pit-madness eventually starts to wear off and he realizes what all he did to Tim, who was a child at the time, not to mention Robin.

He nearly became what the Joker was to him to the next Robin, and I feel like at some point that would occur to him.

Song seven: Boyfriend.

(…Admittedly, I don’t think this one has any grounding in canon and if it does, feel free to educate me.)

So, obviously I could mention Kate Kane at this point, but I know basically nothing about her, so instead I’m going to talk about Steph.

So Steph has definitely had some shitty experiences with guys, right? Like, her dad to begin with, but also the guy who got her pregnant (at like fourteen? Maybe I’m just sheltered, but I don’t think anything about that relationship was heathy—again, I haven’t read many of the comics, so correct me if I’m wrong), then Tim, which, I love him as a character, but didn’t he date her in the mask for like, months, and I have some vague recollections of some dickish things he said (i know i know i need to read more comics)—whatever. Men are shitty.

I have a scene in my head. Like, Steph’s in college, at a bar with friends or something, maybe it’s an under cover op, idk, and there’s this girl she’s been lowkey watching all night. She doesn’t quite know why, but she just keeps catching her eye, and okay, it’s not like she’s never questioned her sexuality, she knows Cass. There have been Extensive conversations with Babs on the subject.

Anyway, so at some point, there’s obviously some sort of argument between the girl and the guy she came with and the girl’s crying, and Steph just Can’t Handle That.

She goes up to her, comforts her, makes a new friend, listens to the whole story.

And at some point, she has the thought.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him.”

She doesn’t necessarily do anything about it that night, but now that she’s had the thought, it won’t leave her alone.

Yeah. So. Maybe I’ll write that story later.

Song eight (last song): FRAGILE THINGS.

Dick Grayson part two; So your mentor (dad) just died, leaving you an angry murder child, another one hanging on by a thread after losing eighty percent of his support system, a grieving butler (grandfather), and a mantle the size of the Most Dangerous City in America. Any direction you move is going to hurt someone, and one kid is more likely to snap and murder people than the other, and hey, if you have to be Batman anyway, might as well let your brilliant kid brother be Nightwing, right? Except, whoops, you forgot to mention that last part and now Timmy thinks you just replaced him without telling him and fuck you knew you were forgetting something and now there’s a goddamned imposter Bruce and—

“Love is like a house of fragile things, where hearts can be broken as easy as antiques, and now there’s glass all shattered at my feet, what we built together, you left in smithereens.”

Anyway. This got kind of incoherent (or maybe it was from the start?)

I accidentally added a poll at the bottom and can’t figure out how to remove it, so.

[miryum]

Can you do a imagine when the reader are in love with Thomas tmr and everybody’s even Thomas know except her and he try to show sigh that he is love with her but she stay oblivious. Please ? 🙃

Sorry that this came out so so late!!

It couldn’t be more obvious that you loved Thomas. Everyone knew it- even Thomas himself. But the odd and complicated thing was, you didn’t know. You didn’t know the feeling brewing inside of you, just waiting to be let out. 

Thomas loved you back. He loved your personality, your kindness towards the other Gladers, and how you could stand up to Gally if need be; he just loved everything about you. 

And Thomas had had enough. He was sick and tired of this delicate dance that he and you were in. He had tried to give you so many hints, but you never took them. So he decided to do something about it.

“I gotta go help Fry clean up.” You said, standing from dinner.

The boys all mumbled goodbyes, still shoving their faces with food. 

“I could come help you, if needed?” Thomas looked up from his tray. 

“Oh, no.” You blushed, “It’s alright. Though, thank you so much.”

“Oh, come on, let me help you.” Thomas quickly got up, ignoring the other boys’ looks, and followed you to the kitchen. 

“We have got to get them together.” Minho grumbled. “I’m tired of hearing Thomas complain about her.”

Newt nodded. “I hate that those bloody shanks won’t confess. It leaves the rest of us all confused on where they stand. The other day, I saw Y/n kiss him on the cheek so I went over to congratulate her on finally telling him her feelings, but it turns out she was just being friendly!” 

“I’m not even sure that Y/n knows she’s in love with him.” Gally inputted, “She just thinks of him as a better friend.”

“What the shuck?” Minho exclaimed, “How does that girl not know she’s in love with him!”

Gally shrugged. “The best we can do is hope Thomas will man up and say something.” 

Meanwhile, Thomas was trying to do just that. “Uh, Y/n.” Thomas cleared his throat, drying the dishes you were washing. “You know, I think the Track- Hoes just planted some flowers to help the pollen. Do you wanna go look at them some day?”

“I think I’ve already seen them.” Y/n chuckled, “I helped Zart plant them.”

“Um, okay.” Thomas itched his nose. “What about the deadlands? I hear they’re quite nice this time of year.” 

“I guess so? If you really wanna walk around a bunch of dead trees.” 

“Okay.” Thomas started to sweat. “You know, Y/n I’m just going to come right out and say it.” He put down the dish he was drying. “I really like you. As in, more than a friend way. And from what I’ve seen, I think you might too.”

“You like me?” Y/n, too, set down her dish. “Wow. A- And why do you think I like you too? I mean, do I? You’re a wonderful glader and a wonderful friend and I really do enjoy your company. How do you know if you like someone?” Without letting Thomas answer, she continued, “I’ve known you a long time and love being around you. You’re funny, smart, very sweet, not to mention you’re cute. Like, really cute.”

“I’m cute?” Thomas blushed. “And from what I’m hearing, though I don’t want to pressure you, it seems like you have feelings for me. You even kissed me on the cheek the other day. I’ve never seen you do that to any other glader.” 

“You’re right.” Y/n frowned, lost in thought. “Oh my god. I think I like you. Oh. I like you too.”

“You do?” Thomas smiled widely. “You like me?”

“I think I do.” Y/n smiled back. 

“Well then,” Thomas said, “do you wanna go on a walk in the deadlands?”

“I would love to.”

[wolffyluna]

Homeland by RA Salvatore Liveblog

Help, I have fallen back into the Drizzt pit and can't get up.

Under a cut for child abuse and attempted sexual assault.

I'm copy-pasting this from discord. Ellipses differentiate liveblogs that were done at different times.

I'm rereading the first Drizzt novel. It was one of the book series I loved loved loved when I was young. I am simultaneously going:

oh my God, this world building. Your legal system cannot run on vibes, sir. The implied gender ratio is hilarious (drow nobles want lots of kids, but every son after the second is killed, so a family having four daughters and two sons is pretty normal. Oh, and it's implied that polyandry is a Status Symbol)

oof ow argh, man hands misery onto man! It deepens like a coastal shelf! 😭

I'm still at the beginning, but drizzt is being raised by his older sister, and she is heavily encouraged to physically abuse him. There's a point where she thinks "wow, what could this kid achieve if we weren't breaking his spirit. ... wait, that's a blasphemous thought, I should punish him for making me think that." And Drizzt is taught to believe that surface elves are the source of all of his problems, to the point that whenever he's whipped he "cries out for the death of a [surface elf]" These people all could have been fine if they lived in a reasonable society! 😭

The book is divided into parts, and at the beginning of each part there's a section of Drizzt monologing as if he's giving an interview

And in the one where he's talking about his childhood, he both talks about PTSD-flashbacks-in-so- many-words and also "presumably things happened before I was sixteen? I remember basically none of that though" which. Baby. Let me scoop you up into a hug even though you are a century(?) old dark elf who is presumably taller than me.

...

The only way the drow gender ratio doesn't fall flat is a) the implication that commoners don't do that, so maybe their gender ratios are less of a disaster and b) it looks like only the female heads of the family can take consorts/have children, so polyandry is a little more possible

Though this does, like, raise the question of "so, you are the daughter of a matron mother, and you fall pregnant. what do you do?"

...

It's legal for a drow house to attack another in secret. It is illegal to do it openly. The justification is that Lolth likes it that way (This is a logic that underpins a lot of the drow legal system) And it could be made sensible with just one small change: Every drow house wants to be able to attack another, but wants no other house to be able to attack them. So they created norms where you can't just attack people, if you did that the whole city would fall on you ...but if you can do it with plausible deniability...

...

I have now re-witnessed the beautiful, beautiful scene where a wizard panics* and casts fireball at his own feet

*he would say he was very tactical, I do not believe him

[Seriously, I have remembered this scene fondly for years. It's Such A Scene.]

...

Oh my God Masoj just encouraged someone to take the identity of someone he [the other guy] just killed. Masoj completely failed to mention that the dead guy was his brother.

...

DRIZZT QQ

His dad just tried and failed to kill him to try and maintain his innocence.

I have so many feelings about Zaknafein.

Just. The combination of "Zaknafein was a major role model to Drizzt and is a significant part of why Drizzt is good" and "Zaknafein is Not A Very Good Person." Man.

...

Lov Drizzt

He just nearly got murdered, but he doesn't care, because KITTY!

Drizzt is this xkcd comic

...

I remembered the sex pollen scene, but man did I not remember/parse how much it was a dub-to-non con sex pollen scene

...

Something that is also getting to me on this re-read: the amount that the men of the Do'Urden family 🐛 assist with their family members whipping them, or literally taking them as a sacrifice. Because resistance would only make it worse, and this way at least you have some control

There's a really telling passage where Briza is torturing Dinin for no real reason, and he's just like. okay. i'm not going to get in the way of this process. And he actively positions himself to make it easier.

...

Help, I'm combining my love of "what if popular but misapplied blorbo song, but correctly applied?" with the Legends of Drizzt series: Eat Your Young is a valid Malice/Zaknafein song

There is no capitalism, but there is a lot of zero sum resource fights, and a lot of the conflict between these chatacters is their children being used in those zero sum resource fights.

Zaknafein has a lot of conflict about whether it's better for his son to be eaten by drow society, or dead And there's a thing where both Zaknafein and Drizzt are/are meant to be sacrifices to Lolth, at Malice's hands

Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

And there's also the whole thing of-- Zaknafein and Malice's life is luxurious, but that's at a cost. There are no skeletons in the closet because they are displaying the skeletons openly as part of the decor

...

The Drizzt He destroyed his cage Yes YES The Drizzt is out

...

The thing about Homeland in particular is how it is simultaneously man hands on misery onto man, it deepens like a coastal shelf and how it is so much about it's opposite (it ascends like a volcano?) Drizzt could not be who is he is, could not be good, without Zaknafein.

But he's. Better than Zaknafein. Because of Zaknafein.

And there's the tragedy of the fact that if their roles were reversed, it would be Drizzt bring Zaknafein up into the light.

But. Well. Drizzt would still have to die down in the dark

...

...hmm.. I'm encountering a tempting bad idea: 50 books in a year is a doable challenge. There are 40 Drizzt books. Ergo, one could hypothetically read all the Drizzt books in one year.

[blushblush-readerinsertsnthings]

Can we get Nimh aka rabbit softie x reader who gardens?👀

YESSSS SOFT BOI SUPREME!!!!

ahem that is to say... you sure can! I did some headcanons to kick things off!

definitely send in more requests, I loooove <3 <3 <3

NIMH

Oh!! Oh, he does that, too! He has a whole garden at home. It’s mainly butterfly-attracting flowers with a few vegetables, it isn’t very big… but it’s definitely something he enjoys having. It makes him happy to take care of. (He’s still quite pouty that his bunny instincts drove him to dig it up before he got changed back. As much as he likes gardening, it’s always discouraging to have to replant and regrow things that were just fine before they got dug up, thank you!!!)

Oh, man. The way he asks, “So… do you… do you maybe want to, um… g-get plants together?!”, you might mistake the question for something much more serious. To him it’s the equivalent of getting a pet together or moving in. Even if you’re already living together or have a pet together… he gets a little nervous about asking. Hobbies like this can be intensely personal, and what if your gardening is your ‘alone time’? He doesn’t want to intrude on that, of course. So if you want to keep your gardens separate, he totally understands.

However… if you do want to have a little garden that both of you are growing together, he’ll be over the moon. More so if you decide you want to combine gardens and either replant your plants in his yard or have him replant his in yours! It’s like a symbolic gesture that you do want to be with him for the long haul. Particularly if either of you have plants that take a while to grow or that return every year, he looks at it with the mindset of, You… really want to be with me long enough to see this bloom or come back? Wow…

… No lilies near him, if you can handle that? That’s one of the few flowers he’s super allergic to. Honestly, if it weren’t for his heart condition, he might brave the discomfort! But, well… that condition of his means that he could potentially run into problems if he sneezes too many times in a row. Annnnd with lilies, sneezing fits like that aren’t so much an ‘if’ as a ‘when’. Still, just like with roller coaster rides, he doesn’t want to disappoint you… if you’ve got your heart set on it, he could maybe handle one or two lilies (one of the lower-pollen varieties) in a shared garden!

If you don’t live together, when he visits you, he loves lying in your garden. Is that okay with you?? Is that weird? Does he care??? Especially if you’re doing it with him, there’s a not-zero chance he’ll fall asleep among the grass and flowers. Brace yourself when he wakes up; you might mistake him for a Disney princess.

Flower crowns? Oh, yes, flower crowns! As many as you’d like to give him, please! And, of course, he’ll make them for you too. His hands just keep weaving as the two of you are talking whilst sitting in the garden. Something about it relaxes him, and it’s nice to have something to do with his hands other than fidget with anxiety or just not know where to put his hands sometimes. The bonus is now he has something cute to put on your head! (Even though he thinks you’re perfect anyway.)

Is forever trading gardening tips with you. He’ll come to you for advice if a certain plant of his is not doing well, and he’ll provide advice for the same. If he sees you doing something he’s found a more efficient way to do, he’ll offer it as a suggestion. Though, he always delivers it in a way that makes it very clear that how you do things is how you do, and you’re welcome to disregard what he says; he knows you always take it into consideration even if you don’t end up using it! And he’s always incredibly grateful if some piece of advice you give him works. Kisses and nuzzles all around!

… Does he cook for you? Absolutely. Does he use ingredients from your and his gardens? Also yes! He thinks things taste a lot better when he uses something one of you grew yourselves, even if it’s something as small as a sprig of mint on dessert.

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Do each of the Kwamis have a favorite holder out of all the twst cast in the Double Miraculous Isekai AU. PS will Marinette and Adrien actually get along with Mr and Mrs Shroud?

Hmmm that's a good one tbh.

At first, most likely the kwamis stood around and watched the NRC gang, trying to bet who would be more fit for what.

Pollen couldn't decide in between Riddle and Vil. Both had that queen energy, but they channel it so differently. In the end, the bee kwami remains with our one and only Roi du poison. U-U9

Waizz just wants someone sane. Please someone fucking sane. Alas, if only Trein wouldn't pop his back like crackers. They have to settle in with Trey. :'3

Trixx likes Ace. For the sole motive that these 2 would absolutely go on with pranks.

Noroo is very VERY skeptical. I mean, all of these mfs have motives to use any miraculous for evil or would most likely be potent of assigning disastrous akumas that would backstab and go on about their vendetta. But they rightfully settle in with Ortho. Ortho is nice and already he is absolutely capable of blasting someone in the sun. So the only need he would have for the butterfly would probably to help his allies in very case specific ways(when violence doesn't work anymore) and nothing more.

Dussu is one cheerful bean. So many expected for them to gravitate towards other cheerful beans. But no. Dussu likes Idia and that will be the problem of the older Shroud. :'3

Xuppu was absolutely gravitating towards Floyd. You tell them that this UNIT of chaos won't be even more of a menace if he gets the power to mess with people's magical abilities???

Long wanted someone calm, that would embody a clear and calculated mind. They made the fatal mistake of getting attached to Azul. :'3

Daisy likes Kalim. Kalim likes Daisy. It's a win-win. U-Ub

Sass, surprisingly, likes Silver the most. Silver is smart to a degree, but he also has a great intuition. Which is perfect!

Fluff likes Cater. Cater would absolutely love to make selfies with prehistorical dinos. :v

Ziggy enjoys Lilia, mostly for out of the box he usually thinks. Old pepaw is just ready to create a gun for shooting enemies. :3

Bark would want someone who's loyal and a guard. Many expected Sebek to fit the bill, but Jack ended up being chosen as a favorite, cuz puppy to puppy telepathy or smth. -3-;

Mullo likes Deuce. Deuce doesn't know what he should make out of it, but Ace teases him 24/7 about it.

Roarr likes Epel the most. Epel wants to be manly and strong, so a pink tiger is a somewhat good fit. :3

Unfortunately for Kalki, they are back in America with Yuulia, so they didn't get a proper chance at meeting the NRC gang.

Stomp really likes Malleus, surprisingly. Cowboy hours for Malleus. :3

Orikko stood actually the most besides Noroo to choose someone. And you would think that they choosed someone calculated and smart like Lilia or Jamil. Heck nah. They choose Ruggie of all people. They vibe tho, so there's no harm in that. :'3

Tikki and Plag are very content with their current holders. So they don't partake that much in the bets.

As for the parents? Oh it's one hell of a ride. :'3

One may think Orpheus is the one who's worrying over every little thing. No... It's Idia. I mean, his brother's adoptive parents meeting the actual biological parents? This speaks for a disaster.

First up, the men get along by both being boyflops who love their wives and kids. Adrien was an anime kid and pretty much in the adulthood he still watches anime and Idia most likely got his anime love from his father, so they would absolutely vibe together. :'3

Meanwhile, surprisingly, the moms are the ones with some saltiness to them. It does get resolved in the end, but at first, everyone thought they would Duke it out then and there. Their favourite sport is talking about how 'embarrassing' their kids can get. From the gum and biting incident to how Idia managed to chew on a light bulb. Who gets the title of the most awkward kid is still up to debate. Although the kids themselves realise they stumbled upon a goldmine of blackmail.

Surprisingly Yuulia and Idia get along. It came as a surprise since both were SO different. But ya know... Yuulia is based and knows her thing, so it's gud U-Ub

[gwynbleiddyn]

🍩🍰🍧🌺🌱 🌌💡🎡 A lil afternoon tea in a garden followed by a night at the fair for Mio!

Oh and Zin’s got one they want to know: 👑

🥺he'll treat you to so many stuffed toys by simply buying them once he fails to win any of the rigged stalls

🍩 DONUT - favourite sweet treat?

i think i wrote in somewhere that baby Mio's favourite treat to get back home were these honeycakes, which were essentially folded dough that was fried in hot oil and filled with fruits and nuts and drizzled with honey. crunchy and sweet.

🍰 CAKE SLICE - favourite cake flavour? are they specific about types of cakes?

i think he'd be partial to like, coffee and walnut or something. he generally prefers earthy flavours over sugary sweetness.

generally not a sweet-toothed monster though, so cakes aren't high on his list of favourites.

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

he had that lion's head ring that he gave to Onu to bring back to his mother - that was a significant message, one that he hoped conveyed the fact that he was alive and that he hadn't forgotten his home.

there's also his sundisk pendant, which is a significant symbol of his home. he's always had a sundisk on his person, whether embroidered into his clothes as a child or on ceremonial dress, and then gifted to him in this beautiful pendant form maybe when he was just on the verge of adolescence. it's a promise, in a way, that his fate is inextricably tied to the city as is the right (and sometimes curse) of the bloodline. the meaning it holds is hard to put into words for Mio, and to lose it would be devastating.

i think for the most part, his childhood possessions remain in Akhenaton. he left with only the clothes he was wearing and a poorly made shield.

🌺 HIBISCUS - do they have any allergies?

imagine if i said cats

honestly i can't think of any except like, hayfever, but i'm not gonna rp that shit out we can just imagine him being a runny nosed, red-eyed grump while traipsing through any grassy field with more pollen than he's used to

🌱 SEEDLING - what is their most vivid memory from childhood?

meeting Shadiya for the first time, i think. it was the first real taste of... i guess, responsibility? for Mio, in the sense that it was made clear at that point that his life was not his own to live. he would not be afforded the same freedoms as his brothers, and matters of the heart and mind would always be considered at the cost of his city and not himself.

but it was also the same moment he met his soulmate. so, you know, swings and roundabouts

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

he started out as a character for an rp with no real ties to dnd, and i recall him being some kind of cultist knight slash smuggler who had ambitions for a syndicate empire and wanted to overthrow his father or something. his realization as an exiled prince only really took shape when i started viewing him as a dnd pc in 2019/2020, but the concept has certainly been around for some 7-8 years now.

two things: he's always been a blacksmith, and he's always had adolin as a brother figure in his life. everything else kind of came in after once i started piecing together his story and his motivations and how he was driven. ironically, the entire paladin concept came much later despite his first iteration as a knight in a lowkey cult. TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE.

also, Maahes being associated with lions always was the vibe if the name wasn't already a huge indicator. i wanted him to be loud and obnoxious and revered and all these other things, while also very capable of being a pathetic wet cat.

💡 LIGHTBULB - is your oc a planner? do they write down every small detail or just wing it?

hah, wing it, geddit--

he would largely prefer to have a strategy or plan in place, but he does have an impulsive streak that lets him think on his feet. ultimately it would depend on the situation - i think he will be extremely meticulous about things when he sets foot in Akhen again, but that's afforded to him by his familiarity with the place rather than intent.

otherwise he's happy for other people to plan things for him and to be told where to be and at what time :) nice and easy breezy.

🎡 FERRIS WHEEL - are they someone who wants to kiss at the top of the ferris wheel?

first of all, good luck getting him onto a ferris wheel. those bitches suck ass when you're scared of heights.

secondly, the irony here is that he would absolutely kiss a friend or someone who was in on the joke of being in a classically romantic setting without being the actual partner, but if it was someone he was truly involved with, NAH

and then just for zin:

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

as something beautiful, i think. a piece of art to be admired. why? he's not interested in being a story when he can't be around to polish the details, his sense of morality isn't so rigid that he intends to only do good and be good and share that moral, and ultimately, he's very self-absorbed.

but he also believes that beauty comes from creation and the opportunity to rebuild, to remake, reforge, recraft. i think there would be a little part of him that would dream of keeping the sundisk in his light (and pelor's) long after he's gone.

[cellarfulofnose]

prompts/scenarios 61-? (KMKY universe)

(61) Hold You In His Armchair (You Can Feel His Disease): John's gone and caught the bug. While they're supposed to be "evaluating scripts" for their next film, they decide to have a night in together, just the two of them. They blow an enormous pile of cash filling a private room with the most lush, exotic flowers and plants from far-off places (to enhance the psychedelic experience, if anyone asks). First, they smoke enough grass to end a world war. When the high kicks in, so does the pollen, and they really can't do anything but touch each other and roll around and sneeze. The only limit to their mutual indulgence is when it becomes impossible to breathe, but that's a ways off yet, and the night's just started.

(62) P.S. I Love You: Beatlemania years. The boys get all sorts of odd questions in their fan mail, from the childish and mundane (What are your favorite colors?), to the teenybopper's uncertain attempt at being suggestive (What's your shoe size? How old were you when you started to grow hair on your face?), to the unprintable (Who's got the biggest cock?). John is sure he's seen it all until he reads, 'Dear John, Ringo, George, and Paul: How would you describe your sneeze? I believe you can tell a great deal about a man by the way he sneezes. For example: do you use a handkerchief?' and so on. John reads it aloud for the others with great glee, pretending that his amusement is from the fan's pseudopsychology-- might as well have asked to read their tea leaves-- when really he's delighting in making Paul squirm like a worm on a hook. As they try to come up with an answer, John turns to Paul and remarks that gee, he's never really thought about it; how would he describe John's sneezes? The others end up making Paul write the whole thing, since he did the best in English in school, and his handwriting is neatest. Paul silently vows revenge. Bonus: Ringo can't remember what any of them sound like sneezing, or their mannerisms-- Isn't it funny you can spend all your time around someone and not notice how they sneeze? he muses. You just never pay attention to that sort of thing. John couldn't agree more (who would notice??) and thinks a refresher is in order. Paul starts to stammer that they can't very well wait around until one of them has to, um, y'know, but John demonstrates the many uses of a rolled-up tissue. George and Ringo follow; it's a good laugh. Come on, what's Paul waiting for? Is he chicken?

(63) Oh My, My Lord: The four are hard at work in the studio, and something's getting to George. It starts with wet sniffles here and there, which is enough to get Paul's attention. Before he knows it, George's nose is streaming. He's full of irritated grumbles (Fuckin'ell!), too occupied to notice whatever John and Paul are doing. He wouldn't understand anyway; each time Paul glances at George, he turns to see John staring back at him and quickly shifts gears. Of course, John's not one to miss a beat. After his third sneeze or so, John offers George a hearty Bless you! (soon followed by variations Paul rolls his eyes at: Bless ya, good sir... Bless you up and down! ...God bless the Queen!). George faces Paul with a knuckle pressed to his nose for dear life: "Have you got anything I can blow my nose with?" He'd seen Paul hand John a handkerchief a few times, so he figures it's worth a shot. Paul feels heat rush to his face immediately; he doesn't dare make eye contact with John who chimes in: "Well, don't leave the poor soul hanging, Paul." He fishes one from his coat pocket, as sheepish as if it were some X-rated magazine, and, well... it might as well be. It's clean, but Paul's hit with the memory of what that exact handkerchief has been used for, and his stomach flips. Being none the wiser, George buries his nose in it. John gives Paul a look that could cut though glass; it's clear he's getting his fair share of pleasure from it all. If it weren't unbearable enough, Paul can feel his stare whenever George brings the fabric to his face. As the session goes on, it doesn't seem his nose will stop running anytime soon. Bonus: John leaves the room for a moment and comes back sniffling himself. He knows full well Paul only had the one, and he's making a scene of how desperate he is to blow his nose. Bonus bonus: After a couple minutes, George somehow seems worse than before. "Why's this smell like you salted and peppered it?" he asks, and although it's a joke, it's not far from the truth. Paul's heart sinks when he realizes it's been sharing a home with a tin of snuff in his pocket, and some must've knocked loose.

(64) Rumor Mill: The tabloids will spin any small detail about the Beatles into the scandal of the decade just to sell the next edition. One day, Brian fumes that the venue where they're due to play called him to ask if he wanted to cancel, 'since the group is so ill.' No one's sick at the moment, so they're all confused until Brian slams down the paper with a headline that reads BEATLES BATTLE BRUTAL BUG! and a picture of one of them ducking into a tissue (to sneeze or blow their nose, it's unclear). John laughs that they'd turn such a non-issue into a story (with Paul nervously pretending to laugh along), but Brian insists this isn't good for their image. His advice? Try not to cough or sneeze or even blow their nose in public, if they can avoid it. No spicy food, no strong cologne, a severe cutback on smoking. The Beatles are half furious at being reined in and half humiliated/paranoid that they're being monitored that closely. Still, they do as Brian says-- when he's watching. But the power of suggestion starts to take effect and now they're hyper-aware, stiffening every time they think they feel a sneeze coming on. It's too much to keep up. John tries to stifle a sneeze during an interview, and what would have been one-and-done becomes four and a running nose. Paul chokes on a drink of water at a press conference and has a coughing fit (BEATLE BASSIST BARELY BREATHING-- BRONCHITIS?). They give up. Their management team sees what can be done about shutting up that particular journalist. Bonus: the day after they've put out a statement that they're all perfectly healthy, thank you very much, two or three of them wake up with sore throats. It's probably nothing...

(65) How Do You Get to Carnegie Hall?: Paul's back in town a day earlier than planned. He and John agreed to get together when he returned, so he stops by early to surprise him. When he opens the door to John's room, he catches him inducing himself; not only that, but stifling sneeze after sneeze until he finally, explosively, fails. Paul can't help but demand, stammering, to know what he's doing, and John says Practicing. Since stifling his sneezes just makes him need to sneeze again (and again, until he lets one out), he wants to get better at holding them in, so as to prolong the fit further. For Paul. From their time in handcuffs, he knows how hot it gets him when he tries and tries but ultimately can't hold back.

(66) Lend Me Your Ears: John's got a new song to show everyone, and a hole in his heart that can only be filled with attention. Once he's got his audience in thrall, he pauses for a cigarette (while discreetly inhaling something that'll set him off like mad). He returns to playing and singing, but the task soon becomes impossible as he starts sneezing repeatedly, uncontrollable and desperate. (Did he accidentally go overboard? Or was this all according to plan?) It's so bad and so unusual that the others are starting to worry. Even the sound engineers-- even Brian is clamoring to get that boy a handkerchief, get him some water, get him out of here! Bonus: this is the first of many stunts John pulls where he'll trigger a sneezing fit in public, just to lament to Paul he's got nothing to cover with/blow his nose on. Paul starts carrying three handkerchiefs on him at all times.

(67) Shine (The Weather's Fine): After a day's work in the studio, John needs to stop by Paul's to give him something/retrieve something. It's pouring down rain, so he waits in his car for Paul to drive up. To his shock, Paul comes trudging down the street in the torrential rain, having taken the tube home instead. He's a sight, too; sniffling and shivering with every miserable step. John flags him down and practically yanks him into the car to ask why on earth he didn't just ask for a ride home. Paul can't summon much more than a shrug. John remembers with sinking dread that they're not exactly on the best terms right now, but the walk home in the deluge has absolutely made worse whatever it is that's got Paul sniffling. To try and mend things between them, he helps Paul to the house (possibly with an umbrella or his jacket covering their heads) and takes care of him for the evening (all night?).

(68) Everybody's Green: Two times John got jealous and did something about it. 1) John and Paul are out somewhere, drunk as lords, dancing and having a good time. Then some stranger starts having a sneezing fit, and Paul is too sloshed to hide that it's getting him excited. John's not having it. He drags Paul into the bathroom, locks the door, and starts inducing with whatever he's got, leaving no room in Paul's mind for anyone but John's sneezes. Sloppy drunk makeouts ensue, interrupted every few seconds. 2) Another time when they're together, it's a woman who happens to be sneezing a lot. John's curiosity is piqued when Paul seems fascinated by it, but he waits until later to ask him in private whether he likes to see women sneeze too. Paul supposes he does-- there's something about the feminine desperation and high-pitched sound that really gets to him. John's taking notes, and in their next session, he plays up the urgency of his buildups and raises his voice to a ladylike pitch. Paul's extremely into it. Unfortunately, John gets twice as jealous now that he knows Paul's into everyone's sneezing.

(69) Lacrimosa: The Beatles roll into Manchester just in time for the smog of 1965. Visibility is so bad that it's dark at midday and they're rolling down the street at about half a mile an hour (on the bright side, the crowds of fans can't even see them). But then the pollution penetrates the car, and the particulates set off a vicious allergy attack for Paul. It's bad enough in the relative safety of the car. But once they get outside and have to walk to the building, he's coughing and sneezing so much he can hardly breathe. All four are fitted with smog masks once inside, and while it lessens the amount of dust and smoke he's inhaling, Paul is now faced with the new problem of having to sneeze while effectively wearing a muzzle. Trying to hold back is a joke, and by the time the attack dies down, he's made such a mess he doesn't want to take it off. Bonus/alternatively: Paul and Ringo are fine because, well, they're wearing the damn masks over their noses. John can't be arsed to (It's just a bit of fog, for Christ's sake), and soon lives to regret it when a fit of sneezing overtakes him as they're due to for talks about their new film. George, it seems, has such a thick coating of tar in his lungs that nothing can touch him, as evidenced by the fact that he does away with the filter altogether and starts smoking through a hole in the mask. (He sneezes on stage, after feeling like he was going to for about forty minutes.)

(70) You've Got to Hide Your Love Away: Somewhere in the Let It Be/Get Back sessions, Paul and John find themselves alone together. It's not like it used to be. They're not seeing each other anymore; they're barely talking to each other as friends. Then Paul starts to sneeze, but he stifles it, even though it's just the two of them. John is wounded to think that their relationship has deteriorated to the point of Paul no longer feeling totally comfortable around him like before. He used to feel so privileged when Paul would let his defenses down, despite feeling insecure, because it meant he trusted him, that they had a special bond. It might even move him to ask if they've really grown so distant in a couple years.

(71) Venus and Mars: Linda is sitting in on a studio session with a bit of a cold. She's politely trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, but Paul has no trouble taking care of her as publicly as the situation requires. He supplies her with tissues and tea, checks her temperature by kissing her forehead, cools her cheeks with his cold hands, rubs her back, reminds her she's beautiful even now, and blesses her once or twice-- all while composing and recording some of the highlights of his career. It's driving John out of his mind, especially since he knows he has no right to be jealous. He has Yoko to take care of him now, and she's ready with a warm embrace and tea that'll cure a sore throat in ten seconds, if the need arises. Still, he wishes.

(72) Just a Scratch: Paul is still healing from his motor scooter accident when he comes down with a cold. His nose thankfully isn't broken, but every sneeze hurts and feels like he'll split his stitches. He has to be extremely careful blowing his nose, too, because of the cut on his upper lip. Despite his best efforts, he chaps horribly anyway.

(73) I Didn't Mean To: Early days, when John and Paul were still at Menlove/Forthlin and Paul hadn't gotten over his shyness in front of John yet. One day John spies a feather duster that Mimi left out and squirrels it away for his next rendezvous with Paul. Paul blushingly agrees to let John induce with it, but John just can't resist blowing a huge puff of feathery dust into Paul's face as he holds it between them. Paul gasps, which sends him into a fit of coughing, and he tries to tell John he better not fucking do that again but a sneeze is building...or several. Paul goes to great lengths to stifle them all, and once he's recovered, he tells John if he does that again he's out. John promises he won't, and he means it. But when he sticks his nose in the duster and inhales, it's not long before his sneezes are powerful enough to accidentally billow clouds of dust into Paul's face...

(74) Hissy Fit: Alternate take on prompt 24 (Kitty Corner) where Paul's cat allergy is still unknown. John hears mewling on the street and finds two abandoned kittens in a wooden box. He's so excited about taking them home that he calls Paul and tells him to come over at once for a surprise. He hides the kittens and waits in the living room like a child on Christmas Eve. When Paul arrives, he's eager but oddly twitchy: sniffling, scratching at his neck and arms, rubbing his nose and eyes till they're red. John doesn't press. He's too busy explaining that he was walking down the street when suddenly he...bless you...he found something...bless you...that'll really knock Paul's socks off. He darts into the bathroom and emerges holding the two most angelic creatures on the face of the earth (introducing them as Presley and Everly). Brimming with glee, he dumps the little fuzzies in Paul's arms (who's too horrorstruck to move) and disappears again to fetch a string on a stick, a ball of yarn, or a flashlight for them to chase. "John..." says Paul, his voice rising in warning, only to be met with Yeah, hang on a mo, but he can't wait. He's about to start sneezing. He runs into the hall laden with kittens and meets John halfway, where he shoves Presley and Everly into John's arms and ducks into his elbow with a terribly itchy fit. He soon comes to the unpleasant realization that he's burying his face in the part of his sleeve that's thickest with cat hair, which is not really helping. Pulling his collar up over his nose instead, he manages to ask John for a handkerchief before staggering out the door to wait it out on the front step. John joins him, kitten-less, and when Paul can steal a breath, he explains he's allergic.

(75) Cat Scratch Fever: (continuation of 74) Once John finds out what's getting to Paul (and deploys his share of cat got your tongue? jokes), he decides to use it to his advantage. Whenever he visits the house of a cat owner, he makes certain to get covered in as much hair and dander as possible before strolling home to Paul. Since Paul doesn't know there are cats afoot, he doesn't stop himself from touching his face and making everything much worse. It's several rounds of Well, maybe you're just allergic to me before he pieces together what's going on. John is quick to claim that he plumb forgot, silly him, and will be sure to remember next time. Bonus bonus: John skips the middleman and invites Paul directly to one such house, conveniently failing to mention that a cat (or four) lives there. Paul's scratching and snuffling and rubbing away sneezes almost as soon as he sits down. He's about to joke to John that his friend could stand to dust every once in a while when he hears a meow.

(76) The Finest In the Land: Paul and Ringo are at a party in the late 60s. Drink and drugs are flowing. Someone invites them over to do a line, but Ringo's never tried cocaine before, so he's not sure what to do. The person at the table demonstrates, and Ringo dives in with the careless zeal of a beginner. After his first huge sniff, Ringo starts to inhale through his mouth. Paul's uniquely trained eye recognizes he's about to sneeze, but with his face till bent over the table like that, he'll blow away several hundred pounds' worth of coke. In a panic, he reaches out and twists Ringo's head away, pinching his nose with one hand to keep him from losing what he just snorted. Ringo unloads a wrenching sneeze into Paul's hands and thanks him dazedly. Paul decides not to do a line of his own-- his heart's already racing, and adding coke into the mix might make it explode. Bonus: another partygoer snaps Watch it and makes a dig at the size of Ringo's nose, calling it a liability. Paul knocks his teeth in (or, more likely, says something devastating back and makes sure they're never admitted to another party in swinging London).

(77) It's All Too Much: Sgt. Pepper Sessions. On one of the rare occasions he, John and George are all in the studio at the same time, Paul is just getting over a cold, and he feels comfortable enough to let a sneeze go free. John's delight turns to rage when George, who's having an off day, snaps at Paul (can't he be quiet for a second? George is trying to work out a difficult chord progression the other two refused to help him on). John shuts George up with a single biting remark, but the damage is done. Just a few minutes later, Paul is shuddering with several back-to-back sneezes stifled painfully into silence. It's clear to John by the way he winces and rubs at his brow that holding them in is giving him a headache. Half an hour after that, he hurriedly shoves a hand under his nose and actually leaves the room. John walks out with him. They're done for the day.

(78) Money Where Your Mouth Is: Paul is fiddling with a melody at the piano in the studio one day, so he's not really listening to the conversation the other three are having. That is, until Ringo casually says John can't, he's allergic, and suddenly both Paul's ears perk up. George asks, To what? and Ringo says Dust, and now Paul's not even pretending to play the piano. And when John brashly says No, I'm not, I'll prove it, Paul is sweating bullets. He knows this is an outrageous lie-- John's so sensitive to dust, in fact, that he's induced him with it about five times, with explosive success. As with a car crash, Paul is helpless to do anything but watch as John crosses the studio to prove his non-allergy (which no one asked him to do) by snorting a great big lungful of dust from a cabinet that hasn't been touched since the '50s. Bonus: if nothing happens right away, the other two start interjecting with helpful suggestions (Rub some under your nose! Shake out some papers! Try under there!). Or maybe George suspects John is trying to fake out/not really inhaling dust, so he marches over and blows a huge cloud in his face. Paul does not write Hey Jude that day.

(79) If I've Told You Once: John delights himself by finding ways to set Paul off without him knowing. As soon as he starts to wonder what's going on, John always comes clean. They move on. But today, Paul is struggling through a sneezing fit when he suddenly turns to John and tells him to piss off, you know it bothers me. John honestly says he's got no idea what Paul means, but Paul insists John is setting him off on purpose, and he can fuck off. (In reality, Paul's coming down with a cold, but he's brushed off his other symptoms as overwork: sore throat? Too much singing. Headache? Not enough water. Fatigue? Hasn't been sleeping when he should.) John knows something is up-- he's never been so prickly about this. On a hunch, he feels Paul's forehead, and Paul starts tearing into him for being so dramatic he'll go through this whole ruse just to avoid owning up...but Paul's got a fever. With this knowledge, Paul feels like a bastard for laying into John when he didn't do anything wrong (this time), and he starts to break down over the fact that John is being so tender and caring to him. Surely he doesn't deserve it after acting like such an accusatory prick just moments ago, but John steadfastly assures him that everything's all right, just take a deep breath.

(80) The Best Medicine: John is laid up in bed with a cold, Paul is taking care of him. John seems miserable, so Paul asks if he can get him anything. Now that he mentions it, John could really use some Vicks VapoRub from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He picked it up from the chemist two days ago when he starting feeling ill, and it's really helped him through it. Paul is quiet for too long, so John asks what's wrong. Paul wonders if he remembers why they threw out the last pot of Vicks ('Because it expired?') It's got menthol in it, Paul explains, fidgeting, and when John presented it as a wonder cure for Paul's most recent cold, he rubbed it into his chest and it made him sneeze uncontrollably. John's not sure what to say. He's sorry, but he does really need it to breathe comfortably; maybe Paul could fetch it for him and stay in a different room? He sounds so dejected and in need of Paul's company that Paul goes straight to the medicine cabinet. He finds the Vicks and takes an experimental sniff. Sure enough, almost immediately after the menthol hits him, he has to twist to the side and sneeze two or three times. It's murder on his nose, but he thinks of John snuffling and wheezing in bed, all on his lonesome, and marches resignedly back to his room. To John's happy surprise, Paul sits down and starts spreading Vicks on his chest. He quietly thanks him for staying. Paul just mutters, in a hold-that-thought kind of way, that John had better get the tissues ready. Right on cue, he starts to sneeze and doesn't stop.

(81) La-la, How Their Life Goes On: During the five-day nightmare known as Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Paul's not feeling very well, and it comes out as an extremely short temper. He's frustrated that his work isn't up to the usual standard, and he's got no energy to be patient with the other three, so he starts snapping and raising his voice. He even yells at George Martin (who immediately yells back and puts him squarely in his place). His confrontation with John over the piano part almost comes to blows, but when Paul utters the words Let's do it your way, John knows something must be very wrong. He should have seen earlier that he was in bad health, but they were a bit busy trying not to kill each other. This new knowledge doesn't move John to go out of his way not to bother Paul, though-- he's too mad. When they're finally done recording for the day (or rather, night; he's kept them past nightfall), Paul drags himself home and collapses unconscious into bed. He wakes up at some unknown hour, head pounding and swollen with congestion, so tired he doesn't even want to move, but he's lying in a puddle of sweat, so he goes to take his temperature. Surprise: blazing hot. He feels so shit he has to call in from work the next day, and he goes to sleep wallowing in the knowledge that everybody's probably relieved. He wakes up later to a knock on the door, someone delivering food. Paul can't believe it. Not only did he not order anything, but the food is a comfort dish he told only John about, his favorite thing to eat when sick. Neither of them speak of it, but they don't need to.

(82) You, Me, and the Space Between Us: Let It Be sessions. John and Paul aren't fighting, but they drifted apart during the last album, and with their new lady loves, they're not seeing each other any more. Strictly business. One day, though, they both show up with wretched colds. George Martin takes one look and banishes them to a different room so they can work on their parts without infecting everybody else. It starts out as work, but they're both so sick they couldn't have got much done anyway, and it's just so similar to the old days, they figure, why fight it? They fool around a little bit (which clears their sinuses) and try to get back to work.

(83) Bullfrog, Doing It Again: John and Paul are getting cozy on the mic to record Hey Bulldog, nearly cheek to cheek. It's not a linear recording process, however-- John keeps having to turn to the side and sneeze. It seems logical that he'd turn away from Paul, but for some reason he's turning toward him, and not always doing a fantastic job of covering his mouth. George or Ringo can see that Paul's viscerally uncomfortable, so they tell John to stop being disgusting, for God's sake, and move away from him; you're going to get him ill. Bonus: After years of indulging Paul, the turning-toward-him practice becomes habit. At some wild party (Yellow Submarine premiere?), they're all stuffed to the gills with drink and drugs, and John does it a couple times. He doesn't expect George to pipe up and ask why he keeps doing that, aren't you supposed to move away from people when you sneeze? The shock and the substances petrify his sharp tongue for way too long, and when he is able to produce a response, it's a joking non-answer (Cos I can't stand him, and he won't take the hint). But George won't leave him alone. Seriously, he demands, why?

(84) Tongue, Not a Word: John's lost his voice to a nasty cold. Thankfully, they're not in the middle of recording or touring, so he gets to stay at home while Paul nurses him back to health without worrying about work. It turns out that John's laryngitis affects how he sneezes: normally a harsh, roaring ordeal, they're now little wispy nothings that Paul can't stop teasing him about. It's torture. No matter what Paul says, John is on strict vocal rest and under orders to respond. And when he does lose his temper and tell Paul what he thinks, he's barely gotten a whispery word out before his irritated throat sends him into a fit of coughing.

(85) Hush Little Baby: Paul and John are getting up to mischief in a closet somewhere they really shouldn't be (e.g. an office in Apple Headquarters), but the place is so full of dust, it's the perfect opportunity to induce John. After a while, Paul starts to say something, but John suddenly slaps a hand over Paul's mouth--he hears someone coming! Both of them try not to even breathe as footsteps slowly approach, but doing so is a lot harder for Paul; he was about to tell John that they should probably get moving, because the dust is starting to tickle his nose a little bit. But he can't tell John that with his hand clamped over his mouth, and every time he tries to plead for his release (or forcibly remove John's hand from his face), John only tightens his grip and tells him in a whisper to shush, d'ye want to get us caught? That's the last thing Paul wants, so it looks like he'll have to stifle a sneeze (or three) against John's bare hand (quietly!)...

(86) Wake Up Little Susie: Paul is in bed sleeping off a cold. John can't help staring; he looks so peaceful and angelic when he's asleep. He's compelled to trace each of Paul's pretty features with the lightest touch of his fingertip. As he makes his way down the tip of Paul's nose, the sensitive thing starts to twitch. John freezes--Paul wriggles his nose a bit--but he's still asleep. That was about the cutest thing John's ever seen, so he does it again, carefully. After a few passes, Paul (still asleep) reaches up and paws at his nose. John moves out of the way, heart bursting with affection, and keeps doing it. Eventually, Paul's breath starts to skip, then he wakes with a start and turns his face into the pillow to sneeze a few times. He blinks sleepily at John, maybe offers a congested G'morning, but he's blissfully unaware of what John was doing. John is endlessly amused by this and continues doing it throughout his stay. At some point, he tries with a feather to see how that works (quite well). Paul is never the wiser. As he's getting better, he mentions to John that he kept waking up with the terrible need to sneeze, and he never gets that with a cold, usually. John shrugs and says the human body's bizarre.

(87) Cherry On Top: It's cold, and Paul's got a cold, and they're about to be on TV. The station manager plunks Paul down in the makeup chair and instructs the artist to cover up the pinkness of his nose. Two problems: first, the brush, the powder, and his cold in combination are murder on his nose and set off fits of sneezing, much as he tries to hold them back. Second, the makeup artist is a terrible germaphobe--which isn't her fault, of course, but it is her fault to be downright rude about it, making her disgust known every time Paul sneezes and telling him to get ahold of himself or she's leaving. John overhears and tells her to do just that, loudly insulting her the whole way out. He sees to it that she's fired. Bonus: does John merely instruct the replacement makeup artist to be gentle with Paul, or when nobody comes, does he take the brush in hand himself and finish up Paul's makeup?

(88) Keep Britain Tidy: John is in the bath for the cameras a la A Hard Day's Night. Maybe the soap is perfumed (even though he specifically asked for unscented), or maybe playing U-boats in eye-level piles of foam just has its consequences, because the bubbles are starting to tickle his nose. He tries to rub it away, but his hands and arms and the water itself are completely covered with suds. At best, it's ineffective; at worst, it actively exacerbates the problem. But there's no time to start the scene over, so his fate is sealed. Once he starts sneezing, Dick Lester at first keeps the cameras rolling, but when it's clear he can't get his lines out, he calls cut and everyone grumbles. Paul is about ready to explode by now--as if it wasn't enough for John to splash around half naked while he (and the crew) just stood there and watched. He snaps that maybe if John were taking this seriously and not forming himself a soap sud beard/mustache, they wouldn't have this problem. Murmurs of "Diva" rustle around the room, and Lester wonders who the hell died and made Paul director.

(89) Are Your Ears Burning?: When your nose itches, that means someone is coming to visit you. A truism that John/Paul picked up from their mother/a superstitious girlfriend. Well, they're on opposite sides of the Atlantic now, with no plans to reunite anytime soon, but for some reason they can't catch a break today. It's not a cold, it's not allergies, and it's not a coincidence. Could it be that a face from the past is about to show up at their doorstep...?

(90) Looking Glass Ties: Paul meets the press while wearing the loudest, most obnoxious tie he owns, the same size and color pattern that a clown would wear (read: avant-garde). But John's acting as his competitor for attention today; he's getting a cold and can't seem to stop snorting/snuffling/coughing. Paul's profoundly uncomfortable, but it could be worse. The stakes are pretty low, and the setting is informal enough that a reporter asks if John's feeling all right. He quietly admits to a cold, and the reporter jokingly asks something along the lines of Do you need a handkerchief? Paul can't possibly look at John when this is said, so it takes him by total surprise when John reaches over and wipes his nose on Paul's new tie. This gets enough of a laugh that the press moves on to something else. Paul is almost too busy trying not to evaporate, while plotting his revenge, to answer any more questions.

(91) Up In Smoke: Alternate setting where John, Paul, and Ringo are getting George high for the first time (i.e. not at the Delmonico with Bob Dylan). Since he's never smoked before/if he has, it didn't take, John decides to yank his chain a little bit. After George's first puff, he wrinkles his nose and starts to inhale, but John frantically tells him whatever you do, don't sneeze, explaining it'll get him way too high if he's not used to it. Between his budding high, his inexperience, and his vague memory of once hearing someone say coughing gets you higher, George buys the warning hook, line, and sinker. He tries desperately to hold back, but even sober he's no good at it, and once a sneeze finally escapes, he freaks out. John cruelly doubles down, possibly taunting him (just try not to think about how much it itches, how good it would feel to let it go, etc), while Paul's too mortified and too high to put a stop to it. George sneezes again, and Paul and John dissolve into uncontrollable giggles. Ringo pulls George aside and assures him they were having him on. Bonus: even after Ringo's convinced him it was only a trick, that doesn't stop George from trying to make himself sneeze later in the night when he's calmed down and wants to intensify his high.

(92) Baby At Your Breast: Paul catches an abysmal cold while Linda is heavily pregnant with Mary. He tries to hide it from her as long as he can--since she's supposed to stay off her feet, he's been looking after Heather, and he doesn't want to put any more responsibility on her. Linda starts to wise up as he's cooking dinner and goes to feel his forehead. Paul insists he's fine (sneezing several times as he does so), and Linda knows he's full of shit but she agrees to go lie down anyway. Heather scuttles into her room a little while later and reports that Daddy's gotten worse. Bonus: Linda phones a family friend (perhaps George or Ringo?) to babysit Heather while she and Paul get the rest they deserve (and clearly need). You don't have to do everything by yourself, you know, she reminds him.

(93) Here Comes the Sun: Having lived in rainy cities most of their life, [George/Ringo] goes out to the countryside and discovers they belong to that rare 10-35% slice of the population with a photic sneeze reflex. And since they've come out, there's not a cloud in the sunny summer sky. Bonus: Paul picks up on this new development, and it affects his direction of Magical Mystery Tour: into the dark bus, back out into the bright sun, over and over again (sorry, we need to get the shot just right!).

(94) Jingle Bell Rock/I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus: The stars of the Apple office Christmas party are John and Yoko as Father Christmas and Mrs. Claus. As it happens, the snow white beard has been in a box since last December (quite possibly since 1956), and it's gathered a hell of a lot of dust. John eventually does away with it because it's making him sneeze too much. Or, he gets drunk enough to not give a shit. Bonus: does he have a moment under the mistletoe that gets interrupted (dare I say, improved) by a sneeze? Bonus bonus: some group of employees/artists start to sing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and John gets extremely pissy because he assumes it's a joke at his expense.

(95) Folk Rock: The time John stole a harmonica on the group's first outing. It was a decently large music shop, in a big city, a shop like he'd never seen before--employees (i.e. watching eyes) were scarce, ignoring four boys and a manager as they perused, so slipping a mouth organ into his pocket wasn't difficult at all. It was titillating, though, making his heart pound in his chest all the way through the rest of the store, out the front door (so loud he thought he might have given Poe a run for his money), and he only pulled it out when they were safe outside down the block. He couldn't wait to show off and played it right away. But being a bigger store, stock tended to sit on the shelves for a while--dust had accumulated, and his hands weren't exactly pristine anyways after testing every available guitar in the whole place. And starting out on an inhale note, all that dust going straight to the back of his throat, well...the first lick he played didn't end too triumphantly, but the solo performance he did later on was a smash hit.

(96) Pocket Full of Posies: The Get Back crew thought they were being so clever by bugging John and Paul in the canteen with a microphone in a flowerpot. But they soon realize the audio's no good: it seems the pollen/scent was too strong for John to hold a proper conversation, and Paul doesn't seem too talkative either. For some reason. Alternate take from John and Paul's point of view: John is intent on powering through the discussion and working something out (despite the difficulties), but Paul seems unwilling to talk seriously. Instead, he brushes him off/dismissively agrees with everything, much to John's frustration (Come o--ah...on, Paul, it's like you're not even hearing what I'm saying...). Bonus: right as they're getting down to actual business and about to make a breakthrough, John mutters That's it and moves the bouquet far away, so all the crew hear of this history-changing conversation is John's occasional distant muffled sneezing.

(97) Hot Stuff: In Rishikesh. Of course they've had Indian food before, plenty of, and generally good enough to end up craving more. But never like this, in India itself. Sure, some of it was spicier than they were used to, but it was richer too, more aromatic, more authentic, sizzling with cumin and turmeric and chili and pepper. So addicting, in fact, that they were content to lounge on the floor in one of their rooms, sharing a dish, passing a spoon back and forth between them. (Ringo doesn't eat--his stomach can't handle it--but he shares the company and the intoxicating smell.) John, George, and Paul are full by now, each too stubborn to admit it. Maybe trousers are shed, under the guise of trying to beat the hot weather (and it's late anyways, no one will drop by until morning). In between mouthfuls, they lie back on the mat, resting their eyes, basking in the beautiful, shameful glow of gluttony. There's so little left in the bowl, and no one's willing to waste it, or to give up and say Go on, you have the rest. To make matters worse, it really is a little spicy; eyes are wet, noses running. Sometimes they sniff a little, inhaling too much of the smell (however wonderful), and that really makes them itch. At that point, there's so much mild discomfort, so full and trying not to sneeze (and they know better than to put their hands against their face after handling that much spice), that it hardly seems worth it to try and hold back. But it was very good...

(98) We Were Talking About the Space Between Us: Sequel to prompt 25 (The Man In Me) where George, hearing of Ringo and Paul's escapades, asks John to teach him how to hold in a sneeze. His timing is impeccable: he waits to ask until they're both tripping balls together at Kinfauns. John, who's never been able to walk the line when it comes to fidelity, thinks it's a great idea as long as word doesn't get back around to Paul. All it takes is some quick teasing with the fur or feather trim on their outrageous outfits, and George is headed for a sneeze almost faster than John can relay instructions on how to hold it in. He hasn't quite got the hang of it yet, and when he sneezes, beautiful colors, patterns, and vibrations seem to fill the room, as if it's an extension of him. He feels euphoric, but John suddenly looks extremely uncomfortable and begs him not to do it again if he can help it. Please, the--the flowers...! is all John can gasp out, and George suddenly shares John's hallucination that the room is full of blooming flowers, delicate and trembling, poised and ready to explode with pollen at the slightest disturbance, and now they have a problem. In their lysergic state, they're extremely open to suggestion, and the sight of an imagined flower or the merest hint that the other one might sneeze is enough to send them right to the edge, desperately hitching and twitching (as quietly as they can, so as not to set the other one off). Bonus: at some point, John has to physically cover George's mouth and nose to stop him from sneezing (which counts as teaching). Bonus bonus: despite their efforts, one of them eventually loses control, starting a feedback loop that prevents them from doing anything else for a while.

(99) You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet: Paul pays a visit to John and Stu's art student flat. It's no palace at the best of times, but today it seems especially decrepit and in need of some upkeep. But Paul would be happy to play music with John in a wet paper bag, so he sits down and they get to work. Soon, however, work becomes difficult with John's frequent interruptions--he keeps stopping to sneeze. Paul does his best to hold his tongue and not pass out, but eventually he can't help himself and asks John if he's feeling all right. John casually says it's been an age since they last dusted in here, and it must be causing his dust allergy to flare up. If it bothers you so much, Paul asks, why'd you let it get this bad? Why not just dust and be done with it? Besides everyone in the house being a lazy fuck, John explains, that would only make it worse. Paul doesn't understand how getting rid of the dust would make anything worse, but next time he shows up, John's decided to clean, and he sees for himself, up close and personal. Feather dusting kicks up so much into the air that John's barely functional. Even if they do have access to a hoover, it's a broken-down model that just shoots hot dusty air everywhere. Paul gathers himself up and takes over cleaning (and takes care of John afterwards, of course). Bonus: because of his cleaning heroics, Paul becomes expected to serve as the house's custodian; the dusting doesn't get done if he doesn't do it. Bonus bonus: Paul's not allergic to dust, but there's just so goddamn much of it that it starts to get to him, too, after a while...

(100) Wax Poetic: The band is getting measured for their wax statues at Madame Tussauds. For most of them, it's an opportunity to goof off, pop the false eyes in their mouth and so on. But for one, having the sharp metal points of the sculpting caliper pinch and prod at the sides of his nose is enough to make him sneeze. The artist assumes he's still fooling around and quickly loses their patience when they can hardly get a proper measurement. They soon give up trying. It's for this, and a host of other reasons, that the wax statues come out looking like something lifted straight from a nightmare.

(101) Black Magic Woman: Mid-70s. Pattie has run off with Clapton, Yoko's shipped John off to California. George and Yoko find each other and, naturally, they have hate sex. Maybe she's wearing the bug repellent from prompt 16 (Don't Bother Me), or maybe he's down with a cold, because he's sneezing miserably throughout. Thinking it puts her off and adds to the "revulsion" element of the hate-fuck, George plays it up real good, as disgusting and messy as he can. He's smug for a while, thinking it serves her right--but once they've been at it for long enough, he starts to suspect she's not as repulsed as he thought. In fact, he realizes (in a strange mix of horror and something else), maybe she's not repulsed at all. Bonus: To cover her tracks, to get her kicks putting George down, and just for the hell of it, Yoko is vocally critical of George's symptoms: You're so loud. Can't you cover your mouth? Please, clean yourself up--not with that!

[theballadofmars]

Fuck it, do you know what I want? Long rambling full of crack coming:

I want Felix to come back to Paris because Duusu told him about the other miraculous being imprissioned and well he isn't going to let that happend. And he isn't going to let Ladybug take the miraculous like did you see how she treated the sentimonsters? How he just gives the miraculous to everyone without asking the kwami what they want? Nope he doesn't really like Ladybug and he is going to fix it.

So he comes back to Paris like "hey I'm going to study here for some time" and you got Adrien wanting to fistfight his cousin every fucking day.

And Gabriel. GABRIEL.

He's in panic because what is Felix doing here?

But anyway evil plans are evil plans so he keeps his routine of talking in his empty attic but the problem is: Ladybug gets back one of the miraculous? HOW!?

Plot twist: Ladybug doesn't have it. She thinks Hawkmoth has it. Because that's Felix plan: get the miraculous without the other two knowing.

And what's the miraculous he gets? The bee miraculous.

Felix: well, I need help to get the rest of the miraculous so do you have a holder in mind?

Pollen: Chloe Burgeois

Felix:

Felix: WHY!?

But well he has to get Chloe so he's like: this kwami wants you for some reason so get in the car loser we're going to destroy Hawkmoth.

(Pollen chooses Chloe because she thinks that Chloe can be better with a little but of help. Also they aren't searching for good people they're choosing anyone they want).

It's a miracle but Chloe and Felix got two more miraculous: Sazz and Trixx.

Felix: ok, what holders do you want?

Sazz: I'm fine with Luka!

Felix: Luka? The guitar boy who's so nice that no one can say something bad about him and doesn't have a personality appart from that and one of Ladybug followers? That Luka for a plan about tricking and sneaking and lying, including to Ladybug!?

Sazz: yes

Felix: *beaths hevealy* can't you choose another?

Sazz: I want Luka. You promised I could choose!

Chloe: he's got a point

Felix: FINE I GUESS I'LL GET THE GUITAR BOY! What about you Trixx? Pls tell me you choose an easier holder.

Trixx: well, my old holder rejected me, so I can't choose her again, not unless she wants me back

Felix: oh, that must be-

Trix: I want Lila Rossi

Chloe: whAT!?

Felix:

So now you have Felix trying to convince Luka and Lila to join his emo band. The worst part? They join him. The best part? They're the worst squad ever.

Like, they do the job, but you have rich kids bickering, Lila probably adding more fire and Luka in the midele asking himself why is he doing that?

But you know what? Maybe they're clowns, but for once they have a support group (Luka has people, but all his friend's are Juleka's classmates) and surprise! They can grow, because for once they have someone who loves them and laughs with them.

Luka can have a breakdown and stop being the nice chill guy for a moment to just be tired teen who's trying so hard but he has too many responsabilities. He's the moral compass (that and "the villains have the best songs" is the motive why he join them), but the others see him taking responsabilities and they're like: no fuck no luka stop let thay guitar down you're not going to serenate us fuck just rest and lidten to Surface Pressure on loop until you feel better but YOU'RE NOT WORKING TODAY!

Chloe has a squad telling her that no her mom is terrible she shouldn't try to be in her good side. Pollen helps her and they go shopping together. Also I have the hc of Chloe liking the idea of being a director (she did some videos of her being queen bee and I know it was a joke in the show but Chloe liking to make videos like his father? Yes that's my idea).

Lila is still lying at the begining because is what she does, and that's why she's a great fox holder. But then we can have an episode when she kind of breaks. Were Trixx looks at her and says something like: You tell great lies, but you're the greatest, most perfect lie of all. Lila being honest for once, Lila not having a motive for lying but she want people to like her. Also, another hc: Lila being aroace, and all the show she puts with Adrien is because yeah, who wouldn't be in love with him? But that's just another Lie.

And Felix, Felix has his plans and his motives but you know what? He can rest and take a nap and learns to trust the other three. He's not alone anymore, he doesn't have to do everything by himself.

So my crack hc is these four characters being the worst and at the same time the most efficient group who fucks with Hawkmoth and Ladybug but neither of them knowing.

They're just there while Paris burns helping sometimes like the group of chaotic neutral they are.

SOME DRAWINGS I MADE FOR THIS AU, OFICIALLY NAMED THE FOUR HORSEMAN AU:

1-CHARACTER DESIGNS

2-LOVE PROBLEMS

3-GROUP DYNAMICS (by the amazing @drawing2cope )

[inamindfarfaraway]

Whatever you do, don’t think too hard about Isabela Madrigal’s life before the movie.

Don’t think about how she got so deeply fixated on flowers. Don’t think about her playing in the garden, revelling in her brand new gift. She makes every plant bigger and stronger and grows as many new ones as she can think of, so excited to show her family how beautiful her power is, getting covered in grass stains and pollen and burrs. But when she runs back inside, Abuela scolds her - her new clothes are dirty and torn and her hair is a mess. Isabela, mija, your gift is wonderful, but just try to be more careful with it, okay? So she is. She learns to always weigh up what the perfect thing would be right now before she grows a single plant cell. She learns that everyone likes flowers; everyone likes her when she makes flowers. And therefore they like the family, and Abuela is so proud of her. Flowers are safe. They’re perfect. After all, their entire reason for existing is to be attractive. If her plants are perfect, she’s perfect, and she needs to be perfect.

Don’t think about her relationships with her sisters. Don’t think about Luisa walking by and Isabela instantly seeing the pressure she’s under. She knows a fake smile, she’s mastered them better than flowers. She tries to think of something to say, a small affirmation that at the very least, Luisa isn’t alone… but then the moment passes, her younger sister swept up in a relentless current of needy citizens while Isabela must keep standing on display. She does nothing. Don’t think about her barely able to concentrate on Mirabel’s latest whining about how she just needs a chance to be special like Isabela is, because Abuela’s critical gaze prickles on her back and everyone is looking at her and all the flowers are suddenly so bright and strong; so when she snaps that Mirabel doesn’t deserve that chance, she means it. Nobody else deserves what her life has become. But someone has to do it and she can’t back out now. And when Mirabel flinches and blinks backs tears, she does nothing. She isn’t hurting her family. She’s always helping it. She isn’t failing as an older sister, Isabela Madrigal doesn’t fail at anything. If she’s perfect, her family is perfect, so she needs to be perfect.

Don’t think about her and Mariano. Don’t think about her swallowing down the bile that sears her throat each time that she tells him she loves him. How, again, she knows a fake smile, and also knows the looks of a person truly in love, and desperately tries to keep Dolores out of her range of vision if she’s near the two of them. She isn’t hurting her family. She can't be. Don’t think about the hours she spends in her room practicing fond expressions and intonations and body language until she aches. Maybe she uses her parents and aunt and uncle as models. Mariano is a good man and she likes him fine, but he can’t pretend; he could never understand that this isn’t love, it’s simply what needs to be done. And she needs to do it perfectly.

Don’t think about the nights she can't sleep. The eves of her birthdays soon come to be the most stressful nights of her life. Those are the days she’ll be pinned in the spotlight like a butterfly on a board even more than usual, bombarded with constant stares and shallow interactions. Oh, and she’ll surely be expected to show off her gift. Should she have a presentation planned in advance? She should, right? But what if she overthinks it and gets it wrong really doing it? Shouldn’t she practice now? Will she have time to practice tomorrow when the whole town wants a piece of her? She forces herself to sleep anyway, ties herself to her bed with vines (flowering, of course) and lets their cloying scents carry her off, because she’s going to need hours to do her hair and makeup in the morning and she can’t afford to yawn or be bleary-eyed in public. Don’t think about her crying reflexively being subtle and silent, even in private. How the plant life that thickly blankets her room prevents Dolores from hearing sounds that she isn’t listening for, like Isabela’s tears hitting her bed or her racing, desperate hyperventilation.

Don’t imagine the number of cracks in her heart that her pastel petals paper over by the time we meet her. Please don’t.

[anlian-aishang]

Kinktober Day 16: Lust Curse

“OMG HALLOWEEN-ish KINKTOBER! Suppose it's similar to the whole 'sex pollen' thing but maybe it's a Lust-type curse? The only way to stop him from passing out in pain is if he y'know… does the deed. But like - he's keen on this particular person (reader) and now has to somehow rush their slow-burn relationship because he got the severe case of the hornies. It only lasts 24 hours. But if he doesn't satiate the need, it becomes painful and will obviously have him passed out but not in the 'Oh good he can sleep through it' way, the 'Oh shit gonna die' way. Obviously, masturbating doesn't help otherwise he'd gladly do it."

word count: 1800

tags: smut, levi x reader, canonverse, fem! reader

Remember! Levi hates art theft.

A feeling no one else would understand was one he knew painfully well.

Levi had lost count of how many times he had gone through this, but he did know when this came about, exactly what it was. A familiar blood rush to his groin was made alarming by the faintness that followed it. The instinct to bring his hand below his waist contrasted his habit of remaining ever unscathed. A total mindfuck was the symptom he hated most: a man of complete composure, to have his thoughts so perpetually farfetched and wandering was so opposite his default. Shameful imagination dually hated and adored: you deserved more respect than how he pictured you now.

It had been like this since yesterday - yesterday, right? Though it felt like an eternity, it could not have been longer than then, he would not have been conscious otherwise. That dull pain would turn sharp. Irritation would become incapacitation. The only thing more embarrassing than his current state would be if the whole infirmary saw it, and thus, the entire barracks heard of it, wouldn't it? Either that, or if you were the one who witnessed him like this.

In a cruel catch 22, you were both his foil and his vice - the one he least wanted to see his vulnerability yet the only one he would trust with it. He could not remember how long it had been since this dire sickness onset, but he very clearly recounted how long it had been since you started dating - if you were even ready to call it that. Just a handful of weeks ago, your first date, then your first kiss, you had both agreed to take things slow, but that was before this shit came up.

How to handle it? Clarity was disintegrating now. A blur in his vision became more and more intense. With it, his dizziness grew even more disorienting. Stumbling with every step, swearing with every slip, “fucking shit…! "

Hands numb: leaves fell into the kettle, boiling splatters were the threads that kept him tied to reality, however barely. He had managed to sit through meetings, shine up his equipment, but of course, making tea for your weekly time was where he lost his bounds. Levi rolled his shoulders, crinking his neck, an uneven exhale - unable to ignore the omen: when it came to you , he had no chance of containing himself.

His heart skipped an important beat, his breath caught in his throat. That deadline must have been nearing. If it did kill him, there was only one thing he wanted to do before then. Please, just one thing...

Clammy hands clamped the tray. Wobbly legs sleeved into his boots. His mind was faltering, but if there was anything he could recall - it was the way to your room, and that he wanted to see you.

// // //

That precise time, but not those precise knocks you were used to hearing. Levi's chiseled hand was sound and steady, these were faint and feeble. At his hour, but not him. Even more confusing when you opened the door, faced with a sight you never could have imagined.

Wet like he had just come out of the shower. Worn as though he had just finished a workout. Tea spilled onto himself, so hot, he was steaming. Shirt soaked through, revealing his washboard abdomen - tensed and flexed, and his pecs - heaving, erect buds poked his cotton. His figure glimmered in its sheen, shook with spasms here and there - ones that, even at first glance, you could tell he had been fighting for a while. Hardly recognizable, but it could only be one person.

"... Levi?"

A deliberate swallow, an attempt to suppress the evidence of his state. Futile. " H'hey."

He kept his head down as he walked past you. Moving slowly but clearly in a rush - hoping to set that plate down and take a seat swiftly, his physicality denying him that speed. Despite his brief head start, you caught up to him, prying the tray from his hands and pulling a chair behind him. " Wh -!? What the hell happened to you?"

"Heh," Levi scoffed, "Nice to see you, too."

But that veil of calm was just that - a veil, one which you saw right through. Beneath that snark was a pool of helplessness. Underneath that cold exterior, a puddle melted. You had a feeling you would not get him to admit it, but with a close enough read, his body spoke for itself. Sweat coated his bangs, ones he hastily attempted to comb before he left. Rapid pulse at his neck, labored breaths at his middle. Just below there, a solidity that, even under his pants, left little to the imagination. A damp patch at its tip, one certainly distinct from the black tea that drenched the rest of him.

And you would have been lying if you said it was the first time you looked down there. However, it was the first time, there and everywhere, that you found such desperation on him. As you stared him down so blatantly, there was no glare back, not even a terse silence. Breathless pants, heavy swallows, stifled moans and gasps - a voice that simultaneously made your thighs slicken and your heart ache.

A reluctant peek through his strewn locks - wanting to look away but lacking the resistance not to - brought instant regret to the man who claimed to have none. That arch in your brows, the widening of your eyes, how your lips parted and jaw fell - your shock humiliated him even more than he already was. On one hand, thankful that you seemed to understand the situation without an awkward explanation. On the other, horrified that you had. Settled and unsettled.

Enough. Enough of this teetering. Enough of this tightrope. Enough of this.

Fuck it. Fuck this lustuous curse. Fuck whatever bad karma had brought him to this scenario. Fuck this.

Any other circumstance, he would have come up with something else, found a way out, but his tolerance had been completely drained. There was no more deviance left in devising an excuse: no way out but through.

"Help me, (Y/N)." Levi begged, "Please… please help me."

Utter exasperation washed over one so resilient was shocking, but at the same time and to his surprise, disbelief had not even crossed your mind. Humanity's strongest turned so weak, the intense shame in his speech, there was no way the Levi you knew would lie about something like this - it had to be the truth; a painful truth to which you were his only reprieve.

"Levi?"

Hesitant, he barely managed to meet your eye contact. Face red, voice meek, "Yeah?"

You soothed his flush with your cool: a gentle yet confident smirk, a smooth yet deliberate seat on your bed, rubbing your sheets and propping your pillow - a cocktail of nurture and seduction was one he could not get enough of, one that dripped off even your words, "Why don't you lie down?"

// // //

His first time with you, he never could have imagined it would have gone like this. Maybe even better than he had dreamt of all this time.

Levi would have dressed to the nines. He would have taken you out to dinner. He would have bought chocolates on the way home. He would not have spilled the tea. He would not have surprised you at your doorstep as a hot mess. He would have carried you to bed and perched himself atop you. He would have taken care of you and taken care of your everything. Tonight was a perfectly imperfect opposite to that - but the secret was, you would not have him any other way.

Hypersensitive: flinching as your delicate fingers undressed him, gasping in exposure to the cold currents of air, disintegrating at your every touch. Desperate: using all he had to get even one more inch of you, precum that leaked out his tip and dribbled down to coat his whole length, the innate thrusts at his hips before you had even mounted him. This side of the smoldering captain was one only you would ever see.

It brought a surge of delicious arrogance. This intimate perspective entirely yours. Even in the face of his pathetic state, you found yourself snickering. What was more malevolent? The dirty fantasies he had over you or the sadistic satisfaction you reaped as you watched him suffer?

But maybe suffering was not the right way to put it. The sensation you brought him now was so incredible - so worth all the agony that had led to it. Warm walls secured him lovingly - don't worry, baby, I've got you -  a contrast to the cold-hearted fucks you gave - I'm going to fuck you senseless. Along with the double-edged sex you provided, his thoughts were of the same conflicting nature. Neither of you could have predicted it, how each second that passed was one he both loathed and savored. A battle to make it last or to reach long awaited relief.

And so, when minutes piled onto minutes and as your thighs began to burn, you questioned what was taking so long?

Suddenly, you felt yourself start to waver, a cloak of doubt beginning to dawn. "What's wrong, babe?" You swallowed, voice inadvertently quieting, "Am I ..." eyes strained to meet yours, both of you trembling now, "not good enough?"

"N- No," Levi inhaled through clenched teeth, hissing, "I ... It's too good."

Now, chills were coursing through you - contagious. That compliment became a crown on your head, polished when he arched his back and cried out, "I don't want it to stop!"

That and another thing. How long you both had yearned for this moment, Levi could not stand the idea of ​​disappointing you, especially if it was for something so fucking pathetic as finishing too fast.

Just like when he first walked in, though, you read it all off him without any words. Your lover a picture book, his body its pages. Both dynamics - not wanting to come up short, not wanting this to end - you discerned completely. Both dynamics, you knew exactly how to quell.

The return of that smile - so wrong yet so natural. Gentle hand pinched his chin, demanding his gaze to you. Soft tone and sweet appearance so polarized from the harsh treatment at your ends. This mindfuck was one he adored. You tilted your head and cooed. 

"It may be our first time, but it's definitely not our last." Even in his haze, he understood what you were saying. A dim glow in his expression, an eagerness you felt within you. Hand threw itself in his hair, made a fist with his locks, and yanked his ear to your lips, " So fucking cum already, Levi."

It had been 24 hours, not one of them without trial, but only with your permission did he finally release his reins, at last finding someone he could trust them with. That trust expelled within you, building up for far longer than merely the past day, but ever since your first encounter. White-hot passion filled up your insides, a passion you seized with every clench of your cunt. Your praises fell on the cusp of his ear. Levi's curses at the crook of your neck. His frantic screams would wake your neighbors from their midnight sleep, but come tomorrow morning, it would be yours that were their alarm clock - for Levi always repaid his debts, and fuck, did he owe you.

// Kinktober Year 2 Masterlist //

[kiragecko]

I wanted to do a post of the first great fics I read when I got into fandom. Still might. But I made the mistake of starting with Neatoh, and half way through her archive I have 9 fic open that I HAVE to talk about. Obviously, I’m not getting to anyone else right now. So, here’s my favorite fics by @incogneat-oh. There are far too many.

(Note: Neat-oh’s fics are sweet and full of hugs. But there is an undercurrent of bittersweet sadness and old pain lurking in the background. Sometimes, NOTHING in the story is sad, yet you still leave a little melancholy. It builds. Be aware before going in.)

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go - Tim comes and checks on Dick, reasonably early in his Robin career. Dick is sleepy, but happy to have his brother there. Tim nearly sets on fire from awkward embarrassment. One of the best Tim and Dick fics out there. It is SO GOOD.

With A Whimper - Bruce tires of Tim and Damian’s fighting. Tim takes advantage of this to conclusively score a point against his brother. His gloating is AMAZING. Bruce being a dad is amazing. So great.

Tiny Tim - more early Tim and Dick. Nightwing embarrasses Robin in front of Commissioner Gordon. The man is nice enough to respect Robin’s input anyway. Dick is enjoying himself immensely.

(One) Step Closer - A sequel to Tell-Tale, but I like this one better. Jason made a stupid comment in the first fic, and sends Bruce to deal with the aftermath. Bruce tries to love and support Tim despite both of them being emotionally constipated and afraid of overstepping the other’s boundaries. Therefore, I don’t think anyone manages to hug.

The Good Life - Bruce IS able to show affection when the other party is asleep, though! And asleep Tim is very approving!

The Mechanics Of A Hug - Dick gets hit by ‘cuddle pollen.’ It’s pretty much weaponized depression. Tim and Damian allow themselves to be cuddled, and attempt to show their deep love for their brother through the cuddling. Actual words would probably work better, but Dick appreciates the actions. Bruce also appreciates the actions, because he is completely unable to engage in cuddles.

The Sleeping Habits of Birds - Bruce asks Dick for parenting advice. He wants to know why Tim keeps awkwardly falling asleep half on Bruce’s bed. Bruce then ACCEPTS the advice and almost says he loves Dick! His son is proud of him.

(Something Like) An Anniversary - It’s Death Day! It falls on Jason to try to make this less uncomfortable for everyone, which is a bit backwards. It was HIS death. Still, he rises to the occasion, and everyone is thankful. A good Death Day all around.

Night Owls And Other Birds - Each of the 4 Batboys (this was long before Duke) go to bed. Just a comparison of how they go about it, on a not great night.

Maybe This Time (The Last Time) - Tim has quit being Robin. His dad is still angry. Bruce stops by to quietly say goodbye. All the things unsaid hang in the air and make you want to scream.

Just Like You - Tim almost kills a guy on patrol. Bruce responds REALLY BADLY. Dick does his best to pick up the slack. Probably crosses the line into Bad Parent Bruce. Still fascinating and wonderful. Dick is such a good brother!

Interlude (A Second to [Re]Collect Myself) - Bruce is alive and at home. He manages to catch Tim long enough to give the young man a moment to say ‘welcome back.’

IknowyouarebutwhatamI - Alvin and Bart go skateboarding and talk about names.

I Couldn’t Remember the Pattern Of Your Duvet-Cover - Dick and Jason have a stupid game.

How We Do - Bruce and Tim talk in an elevator. It is a good experience. (I relate to Tim so hard in this one!)

A Break In Tradition - Commissioner Gordon coaxes an injured Robin into getting treated by the paramedics. This gives him a chance to listen to Batman be a dad.

AND THE BEST FOR LAST:

Slipping - Tim is hit by a new Ivy pollen. The affects are really subtle. Where the earlier fic uses weaponized depression, this one is weaponized anxiety. My whole body vibrates in sympathy with his whenever I read this story. It’s awful and accurate and today was probably my dozenth time rereading. Perfection.

[idnek83]

Hey! I hope you’re doing good! Valentines Day is around the corner. Got any silly date headcannons for Soudam or Soul Bros?

I am good, just very busy haha!

And maybe not exactly date headcanons but I have been thinking a lot about an au where Soda and Gundham start dating online long distance, and more specifically what a mess their first valentines is, so I hope you’re okay with some ramblings haha

So I’m imagining Soda splurging on some really expensive custom chocolates for Gundham, gets little black hearts with purple decorations and makes sure to get a bunch of flavors Gundham has mentioned liking for sweets and stuff. It costs him like waaay more money than anyone should spend on chocolates, but he’s just blinded by the thrill of his first valentines in a serious relationship so he orders them anyways and has them shipped to Gundham.

Meanwhile, Gundham keeps things simple and writes an original love poem for Soda.. and then decides to also send him like 50 roses because he’s a romantic and extra and also super excited about his first serious valentines day lmao

(this got long oops)

Anyways, Gundham gets Soda’s present a few days early but doesn’t open it because they agreed they’d do gifts together on valentines day. So they’re video chatting around the time when Soda should be receiving Gundham’s gift, having a good time and being predictably mushy, and Soda’s doorbell rings. Gundham urges him to go get it, so Soda brings his laptop and sets it down on a counter so Gundham can see the door.

Gundham is so proud of himself when he see’s Soda open the door and immediately be met with a face-full of flowers... but then Soda starts sneezing... and backing away from the door... and oh jeeze now he’s off screen and Gundham can hear him distantly assuring the delivery guy he’s okay and telling him just to leave the flowers on the table next to the door.

Gundham waits a couple minutes just listening to Soda blowing his nose in the distance and staring at a comically large bouquet  that he now realizes was both a bad idea and a waste of money.

Soda comes back, nose red and eyes puffy, and before he can even say anything Gundham is apologizing and telling him to just throw the flowers out and then apologizing again. Soda just awkwardly assures him it’s fine, and that it’s his fault for not reminding Gundham of his pollen allergy. Soda insists he loves them and that he’ll find a vase for them later after taking some allergy medicine, then picks up his laptop goes back to his desk.

They’re both feeling kind of awkward so Soda cuts the tension by making a joke about Gundham’s gift being so good it made him cry (watery allergy eyes are basically the same as crying, right?), and it does help a little. They decide it’s time for Gundham to open Soda’s gift.

When Gundham opens up the brown package paper and sees the chocolate box he doesn’t immediately recognize what it is. He like cocks his head at his camera and Soda just excitedly urges him to open it. Gundham opens it and sees all the fancy chocolate and his face immediately lights up! They look amazing and he can immediately tell Soda put a lot of thought into the designs and he’s laughing as Soda is asking him to show him them cus he never actually got to see how they came out.

Gundham shows him them and is like “I adore them my love! but you really didn’t have to get so many, I know vegan chocolates can be quite costly!”

and Soda just kinda pauses and is like “uh... vegan chocolate? Is all chocolate not vegan?”

And Gundham just kind of slowly lowers the box and is like “uh... yes dearest, most chocolates contain dairy...” and oops now they’re sitting in awkward silence...

Eventually Soda’s just like “Um, so maybe we just pretend we decided not to do gifts?”

But Gundham wont have it.

“Perhaps... we did not choose the best items to covey our affections, however I still cherish this gift... even if I cannot consume it.”

And that makes Soda smile a little. “I guess you’re right, and I really do think the flowers are pretty! Maybe I can just... put them out on the balcony or something?”

Gundham laughs. “Careful love, your neighbors may think you boastful.”

Soda laughs too and is just like “Fuck ‘em, it’s not my fault they don’t have the world’s best boyfriend.”

“Dearest I do not believe you have the world’s best boyfriend...”

Soda thinks Gundham is beating himself up and is about to protest but then-

“For it is I who have the best boyfriend.”

Gundham smiles at the camera and Soda just looses his mind laughing because that was so stupidly cheesy but also kind of touching and he’s just so happy that somehow despite their shitty gifts they’re still having a great day.

They set their gifts aside and talk for a while, swear they’ll do better next year as far as gifts go, and then Gundham remembers his poem and recites it for Soda. Soda is like legitimately almost crying by the end of it. Soda decides to try his hand at making a poem after once he’s calmed down a bit and comes up with something top quality like “roses are red, violets are blue, I think your cool, and also I love you” and they both spend a while laughing about it.

They spend the whole night chatting and... stuff lmao, and even if the day wasn’t perfect they both agree it was still a great valentines, and at least they don’t have to worry too much about how to top it next year lmao.

(Plus they realize while most the chocolates aren’t vegan, some of the dark chocolates without dairy fillings are, and also turns out roses are actually pretty okay for people with pollen allergies as long as they aren’t literally shoving their face into them! So it all sort of worked out!)