#sneezed as i was typing that jesus

[snzluv3r]

my allergies have been god awful all weekend so i decided to google if the pollen count is high and yeah. that checks out. i cannot stop sneezing.

[tinyowlthoughts]

The EC-Theobromine: Chocolate

"Ugh, I would kill for some chocolate right now."

Gorvan fumbled the holopad he'd been typing on, all four hands brushing against the screen as he tried to keep it from hitting the ship floor. He failed and it bounced off the tiles - thankfully neither breaking, nor denting the flooring. Grimacing, he swept it up with his tail and checked over the casing, before the alarming words registered in his head. A glance at the couch showed the human - Max - hadn't moved - still twisted up in their weird, pretzely way, chin in their weird five-fingered hand as they peered at the passing stars with a far-away look in their eyes.

"You, uh, want...chocolate?" He asked, certain he'd misheard.

"Oh my god, yes." Max heaved a sigh, shoulders rising to their weird, inefficient ears before dropping back down. "Jesus, I'd even eat a Hershey's Bar right now."

Gorvan gripped his tablet with two of his hands, hard enough to crack the casing. "Oh, um - what is a 'Hershey'?"

Max didn't look away from the window, still lost gazing into the galaxy. "It's a type of chocolate bar from Earth. Maybe a Mars Bar or a Milky Way would be better..."

Gorvan huffed through his nostrils, tail lashing anxiously behind him. "Oh. Um. I - er, I forgot I have a meeting with Captain! I have to go." Without waiting for an answer he turned and fled the recreation room, hooved feet clattering against the floor, desperate to report what he had heard. He missed the bemused look Max gave him before returning to his star gazing.

🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫🌌🍫

"Max."

The human paused upon entering the meeting room, seeing the rest of the C7H8N4O2 Star Explorer gathered around the table. All eight were tense in their seats, and the moth-like Elaana looked like she'd been crying. (Well, the species equivalent, which appeared as a dusting of pollen along her sharp cheekbones.)

Taurvin, the captain, was sitting in the largest seat at the head of the table, his considerable bulk looming over the rest of them. Oddly, the first-mate seat to his left was empty. Gorvan was instead sitting in Max's own.

"Uh, hey all. We playing musical chairs?" Max glanced between the empty chair and Gorvan, but when nobody asked for an explanation to their odd human reference (a common occurrence), they figured it wasn't the time for jokes.

"Have a seat, Max." Taurvin motioned to the first mate seat and, with a bit of hesitation, Max moved to take it. Luckily Gorvan, despite being bulky himself, wasn't too much larger than a standard human and the chair was comfortable enough. "We have something important to address."

Oh god above, what had they done this time? Max tried to think back to all the interactions he'd had onboard the last few weeks, but couldn't come up with anything too egregious. Sure, there was the whole joke with 'human snot is acidic' thing but that had been more of a gross-out joke for Elaana, the ships medic, who hadn't seemed to upset when he accidentally sneezed on her a few days later and dropped the act. Epitak, the ships engineer, had been pretty pissed when ze found out Max had taken apart the air filtration unit in their quarters to try and understand how it worked, but ze had also walked him through repairing it, so they thought it was all forgiven.

Oh jeeze, had they found the plans to get a kitten onboard under the 'emotional assistance animal' loophole?

"Max." Taurvin's normally jolly voice was grave, and all the crews eyes were on them as he spoke. "It has come to my attention that you have been expressing some...troubling thoughts."

Okay, definitely the kitten thing then. "Look, I can explain," they started, but Taurvin held up a large, three-fingered hand and stopped them.

"I do not want you to feel pressured to speak to us if you do not wish to. As a member of the Intergalactic Exploration Society, you have access to mental health resources at no cost, any time, anywhere. I will be more than happy to assist you in setting up a link to a therapist through HR and, if required, will grant you time off the ship if you need it. You are the best navigator I have ever seen, and I do not want to lose you."

"Well, thanks, but uh, what do you mean?" Max glanced around the table and noticed that their normally upbeat crew were all showing signs of distress (Elaana was brushing away newly fallen pollen from her compound eyes).

"Max, you requested chocolate." Gorvan reminded them. "This morning, you said you would even eat a substance known as a Hershey Bar from your home planet." The human had never heard the first mate sound so distressed. When Max just blinked, Epitak took over, beak clacking anxiously as ze spoke.

"We understand that many planets have government programs in place for self euthanasia," ze explained, technical as always in his word choice, "but we aboard this ship would much rather assist you in healing rather than lose you, despite what you may feel is best for you. Suicide by theobromine is not the way forward."

"...what."

"It's okay, love!" The pollen was flowing freely from Elaana's eyes now, and she blinked it away with her long lashes. If there weren't a table between them, Max was sure she would have bundled them up in a full-wing hug and refused to let them go. "We'll support you through it all, we promise. You're part of our crew - our family, and we never want you to feel otherwise!"

"Well, uh, thanks. I see you all as family too...?" Max glanced at the four remaining crew members. Dhaca and Lenzoill were quiet but obviously upset, Qhals was staring at the ceiling with their fanged muzzle pulled into a tight grimace, and Ir'ith was -

Ir'ith was smirking.

Max narrowed their eyes at the inventory manager who also served as the ships cook (for the simple fact that he was the only one onboard who could cook). The zad merely shrugged when their eyes met, though his grin was growing.

"I think I'm missing something here." Max admitted, looking between Gorvan and Taurvin. "This is all because I got a chocolate craving?"

"A craving?" Elaana almost lunged across the table at the word, the only thing holder her back Ir'ith's hand on her shoulder. "You mean you've had chocolate before?"

"Well, yeah? All the time." Max was not expecting the horrified expressions they received.

"So humans treat theobromine as a drug?" Epitak asked, aghast.

"Noooo...? It's a dessert. Like, a sweet treat." Max had no idea what was going on now, but by the way Ir'ith's shoulders were shaking, he did. "Hershey's is a candy bar."

"Wait," Dhaca finally spoke up, leaning forward and shoving his glasses (well, glass - one lens for one eye and all) to the top of his head, "theobromine is not toxic to humans?"

"I'm assuming that theo-stuff is chocolate?" When Dhaca nodded, Max nodded in return. "Yeah, no, chocolate isn't toxic to humans. I ate it all the time on Earth."

Ir'ith gave up and cackled, sounding a bit like the grackles Max used to watch in their back garden on Earth. The avian's wings flapped a few times as he laughed, having to lean forward and grasp his stomach with taloned claws to keep himself from falling out of his chair. When he finally glanced up at Max, it was to the flattest look the human could manage, which only sent him into another gale of laughter.

Taurvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his boar-like snout. "I believe this has all been a misunderstanding," he spoke over the cooks laughter, which had turned into squeaky gasps. "Dismissed."

A few befuddled glances were thrown Max's way, but the rest of the crew were quick to leave, avoiding Ir'ith's flapping wings as they squeezed out of the room. Soon only the cook, first mate, captain, and navigator were left.

"Sorry, kid." Ir'ith finally came up for breath, wiping at his eyes as he regained his composure. He fished into one of the many pockets that adorned his poncho and produced a bar wrapped in purple foil, which he tossed to Max. The human caught it and felt their whole face light up. "No hard feelings, right?"

"None at all, dude!" Max tore open the wrapping and took a big bite of the Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar, nearly melting at the familiar, sweet flavor exploding on their tongue.

"For the record," Ir'ith said as he stood, cracking his back, "Zad's can eat chocolate to. Let me know next time you have a craving." He sauntered out of the room, humming happily.

The three sat in silence for a moment, other than the crinkle of the chocolate bar wrapper. Finally, Taurvin cleared his throat.

"Max, I apologize for not conferring with you in private beforehand." The captain sighed. "I did not wish to embarrass you, but an intervention was suggested and I believed that comfort from your crew would be the best way to show the seriousness of our support were you truly entertaining the thought of self euthanasia."

The human shrugged. "It was nice to hear you all care about me, even though I've only been on board a few months," they admitted. "And I got chocolate out of it." He wiggled the remains of the bar.

"Still, if you ever feel the need for mental health services, they are available to you. And if there is ever anything I or the rest of the crew can do to assist you in that way, please don't hesitate to ask." Taurvin placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head, a show of sincerity for his people.

"Well," Max tapped the chocolate against their chin in thought, "there may be one thing. Have you ever heard of cats?"

Next: Bluffing

EC Theobromine Character & Worldbuilding Notes

Original Reddit Prompt:

[lovphobic]

if i was ever in a situation where i had to not sneeze or id die i think id just die. not because i want to sneeze but because there is literally never a day where i dont sneeze at least 5 times. i dont know peace

[3ggsnbutter]

Hi I just came across your pinned post and I was wondering if you could write like a short huskerdust sickfic with hurt/comfort?

Just no one really writes sickfics about them and I just like reading about one person being clingy or something while sick and the other person taking care of them ;-;

If you're not comfortable with sickfics I understand :3!

It's been a few weeks since the new hotel was built, angel dust just got home after a long shoot and went straight to the bar where husk resides.

"mm hey husky, can I get a-"

"sex on the beach?, as always" husk grabs his bottle and started making the cocktail.

"you know me so well husky~" Angel dust leaned onto the counter looking flirty as always.

Husk gave the drink over to angel and just stood there and watch him drink it.

Before angel could drink it he suddenly freezed and sneezed, making him spill his drink.

"woah there legs, that sounds serious are ya comin down with something?" Husk got closer to angel and put his hand and angels forehead obviously catching the spider off guard

"your heating up you should get to bed, give me that" the cat demon grabbed angels drink

"aww what are you gonna take care of me and put on a hot doctors outfit~" Angel played with husks wings

"c'mon no time for kidding" husk put his hand out waiting for angel to hold it

"aw got soft there huh whiskers?" Angel smirked and held husks hand

They arrived at angels room husk making angel get on his bed

"c'mon now legs just get on your bed and rest"

"aww I liked flirting with you tho" angel got on his bed and husk felt his temperature again

"Jesus Christ, your burning up quick how the hell did you get sick?"

"mm maybe it was because the scene we did was like havin sex in the rain you know, wasn't actually rain, Val didn't really let me dry off immediately" slowly after fat nuggets waddled over to angel

"son of a bitch of course he's the reason your sick" husk thought to himself before heading to angels wardrobe to grab something for him to change into

"here get changed its not good for you to sleep in those" husk handed over the clothes to angel

"aw you gonna watch me change husky~?" Angel started to unbutton his shirt as he watched husk leave the room

"in yer dreams legs, you have my number just call me if you need help-"

"wait, don't go yet stay please I don't want to be alone" angel looked sincere so husk stayed but looked the other way from him.

"hah just cuz your sick don't mean I'm gonna wear your frilly dresses"

"didnt catch you for the clingy type" husk just scanned angels room, from the various posters from the movies he made and also posters of him as a drag queen.

"what's so fun bout dressin up as a girl?"

"it's fun, feels freein barely get to feel that y'know, yeah I like bein a boy but beein a woman is nice too sometimes maybe you should try one of my dresses"

"hah, no I'm not wearing your frilly dresses"

Angel laughed and husk did soon after.

--

Angel woke up from his nap seeing husk beside his bed just scrolling through his phone and angel reached out and held husks hand

"oh- how are you feeling?" Husk stopped what he was doing and faced towards angel and rubbed angels hand

"heh your acting like my boyfriend~" angel leaned his head up

That comment made husker blush "tch- just lay down"

"you didn't deny it~"

"shut up!" Husk blush turned a bit more red

Angel laughed at his reaction while still holding his hand. Slowly after husk smiled at him and just sat there talking with him.

--

Hey hoped you liked this I tried my best sorry if it's a little weird I never did this type of fic before

[senka-mesecine]

Hai! What do you think would be the boys’ favourite physical feature about their lover?

-

― For Taylor, regardless what he might say about wanting to be a non conformist and stepping out of the bubble of the path his affluent family paved for him, when he sees you well dressed, and for the lack of a better word, dolled up, it's just game over. Done. He's gone. Fog in his head. He's all puppy eyes and lovestruck. Zapped like lightning. And it's not so much about just one particular physical feature of yours as much what you can do with them all combined and just how drop dead gorgeous you can be when you go all out and present yours in the best light you have. I'm talking hairdos. Elegant attire. Jewelry. Finely groomed nails. A flattering lipstick. The whole shebang. Perhaps if we had to single out just one thing, it might be the hair. Sees you, an absolute smoke show with some well groomed hairdo in a dress that seems like it was tailored to the nines specifically for your measurements and he's a lost cause. He's the type to be passed by you as you walk on the street and take a long, hard stare after you because my god, that's a sight. You don't see that every day. His mouth is possibly a tad bit open too. Turns out (slightly cynical, disillusioned) college boy doesn't revile and resent the comforts a bit of glitz can bring that much after all. Which...isn't an easy thing to admit. That he adores how stylish you are when you really want to be. You're a showstopper without it, but damn, with it?

― Tits and ass...is what O'Neill might say if any of the boys ever asked him...and even if they don't ask him, often humblebragging macho nonsense entirely unprompted, but in reality? When he's all alone with you? When there's no audience? Nobody to impress? Suck up to? Man probably likes oddly wholesome things that entirely don't match up with the prick he usually is; He likes dimples. Likes the odd freckle here and there. Likes moles. Likes the way your nose squints cutely when you giggle. Or when you sneeze. Oddly precious bunny teeth. How tall or short you might be compared to him. The discoloration of an awkward tan or a bikini line. That little pouch on your stomach that's so soft. How adorable your toes are when they wiggle. Jesus Christ almighty and for a man known mostly as a brown nosing asshole the things he likes on you physically are actually, contrary to all popular belief weirdly pure because he's one man professionally, in the army, and a completely different man, with you, behind closed doors. Doesn't mean he doesn't like your tits and ass, oh, he adores them, but point is, he's uncharacteristically fond of physical features and attributes that might actually be easily brushed off and overlooked, especially, you know, supposedly by people like him. But, while he presents one thing he just entirely worships all of these features to astounding degrees. He's an absolute simpleton for you, plainly speaking.

― Remember how I said O'Neill might put up a deliberately macho front in front of other men when talking about which favorite physical attributes he'd single out on his significant other so he'd impress them? Now, brace yourselves. Because with Bunny, there's no putting up a front or joking about it seeing as how his favorite feature is your pussy nonironically. He openly says it's your pussy. Entirely means it too. Kid's as blunt as a doorknob and proud of it too. Like, why should he hide it? He sees no reason. Bunny's, in fact, convinced, everyone else is a liar and he's just saying the unspoken thing everyone's secretly thinking outloud. The notion makes him laugh. Don't get me wrong, everything about you is worth salivating over, but that part of you? Yeah, he loves how it looks, loves its color, its texture, the shape of your lips, its smell, whether you're hairy or not --- everything. Could talk about it for hours. Could draw it too. In fact, he might. To a degree it's hard to deduce whether it's a disgusting, blatantly fetishistic fixation or weirdly cute that he's just so shamelessly into your cunt. He can't help that it's so pretty, you know? Might just give it a nickname too, or several, one of those nicknames being...oh, I don't know...Bunny? What else? He names his favorite thing after himself; makes total sense to him. The world's so simple and easy when you're Bunny, baby.

― The eyes. It's all about the eyes for Elias. Not so much what their color is, because that doesn't matter to him as much as the eyes themselves do and the person they belong to. Their sheen. Their shape. The way you flutter your lashes around them unknowingly. They way you do or don't do your make up. The way you're focused or unfocused with your eyes. The odd specks and tiny veins in them. The way they reflect unspoken things. The way your eyes smile even when you don't. How they reflect the light and become even brighter in the process or stay entirely and unchangingly black because their shade is just that dark, like the deep sea. He loves all the ways they're a direct mirror to your soul. He relishes looking at them as much as he relishes you looking at him with them. If you're not one for direct eye contact and you're generally more on the shy side of things he might occasionally lean down his head to your eyelevel, trying to playfully catch a glimpse of your gaze beneath low lids and grin regardless if he fails or succusseds because it's a pleasure to do so and he's almost softly teasing you doing so. In fact, Elias might just wordlessly smile merely at the sight of reciprocated eye contact with you; you look at him, perhaps by accident, perhaps intentionally and he just beams up on the spot with happiness. Full mega watt twinkle on display. It's like the man has just seen the face of God right there and then. And baby, did he ever.

― Rhah loves your curves. How they wind. How wavy they are. How full. How thick. How they're shaped like a pear or an hourglass. All the ways in which your thighs touch. How rounded your ass is. Your hips. The ampleness of bosom. Your tummy. How luscious and plump your cheeks are. Just likes how you seem like you lived a soft, comfortable, well rested life, taking care of yourself, perhaps to the point of it all being a tad bit decadent. There's a undisturbed, glowing healthiness to it that's oddly erotic and you downright remind him of the statue of some reclining deity, causing you to look perfectly inviting to lounge and get high with. To put it bluntly, my boy Vermucci's Italian and he enjoys women who look like they eat well and without shame. He openly acknowledges this too. Might just go on a full blown, overly intense semi-philosophical tirade how it should be the new beauty standard and how the world's a dark, dark place due to the fact it ain't. He's disappointed and there ain't no hope left. The boys listen to him intently, fully immersed and maybe even a bit intimidated too because Rhah sounds like he's talking about something with unbelievable theatrical gravitas, and to him, it does come with unbelievable theatrical gravitas because you're beautiful and everyone should see you the way he sees you. They're just plain wrong if they don't. They ain't never been right.

― King loves your legs to the point of being borderline manically heated about it. Why? Because the legs is where all the fun happens. Or between them. Or around them. Doesn't matter. Be they long, be they short, be they thin, be they stocky, shaven, unshaven, the legs, man. He likes to watch you walk. Likes to watch you run. Strut. Dance. Sit cross legged. That odd second when you shift idly to get more comfortable where you're reclining and you open them for a brief moment, giving him a peek and a preview. Likes them thrown over his shoulders and wrapped around his face. Likes cuddling up with your legs on either side of him like pillows. How they jiggle when you move or, in opposition, how lean and firm they are. Likes them as you put your stockings on them. Likes them as you rolled your stockings down. Likes them in a skirt. Likes them in trousers. Likes them bare and naked. Baby, it's non negotiable. In fact, you walk by and he could very well just whistle and holler at you looking at them because life's good when he sees a sight like this. It's one of those reminders he's lucky to be alive and alive to be lucky with you in tow. Mean's the worst has passed and now he actually gets to enjoy the thing he likes best.

― With Wolfe it's all about the smile because when's the last time anyone's looked at him and smiled with, dare I say, appreciation? Admiration? Awe? Like someone looking for guidance from him? With something close to taking notice of him? With pride? With kindness? Sure didn't happen often in the army (if ever) so when it does happen with you he's almost a lost, semi stuttering mess because that's new. That's new and he could get used to it. Which he does; very soon. Laps it up like a man starved. Might be entirely blindsided by it at first (might not even be sure if it's wholly intended for him or not) but he gets weirdly greedy of it soon enough because it's the most beautiful thing he's ever since and it's all for him. Directed at him. Intended for him. In fact, you could just smile at him and he might just get hard at the sight of it. In equal measure, you smile at someone else, perhaps entirely offhandedly and he's weirdly discombobulated and sulky about it. On other occasions? He's cockily half smiling like a weasel when he's introducing you and you give him a loving, adoring smile as he says your name; he can't wipe the grin off of his face almost as if to say 'Yup'. Mark might just get a bit more mean to people as a result, with the wind at his back, feeling like he's atop of the world. He can become something of an emboldened asshole because he has the most beautiful woman in the world smiling at him, so, you see, it's warranted that he's a bit of a prick. Who wouldn't be?

― For Barnes it's your smooth skin --- to put it bluntly; you're unscarred, unmarred, you've no harrowing signs of trauma on it, no scratches, no disfiguration, no wounds and even if you have some, what he'd see as a minor civilian affliction like the odd zit, your skin's just soft and quite literally perfect to the touch. Beautiful to look at too. Everything he feels he ain't anymore. You have everything he doesn't. It's exactly why he might have the habit of looking at you profusely without saying anything; because he's quietly admiring and assessing what he's seeing, a spot shared only by your eyes as his favorite feature even though that one comes with a tactical edge to him because he tends to look at them and hold your gaze as a way to read you. But the skin around it? The skin of your face specifically, more than anything? Your body? Your arms? Legs? Nothing matches that. He has the habit of idly trailing his finger along it and just commenting nothing focused on the texture of it, the feeling, the warmth, the slight features it might have, the occasional or not so occasional freckle, mole or total lack of it. Everything and anything. Even actual scars, that might seem like nothing in comparison to his but that's exactly why they're so fascinating. Might not be vocal about it but it's a vision to him. He can do whatever he likes to your skin; make a scar of his own or just caress the unblemished smoothness. It belongs to him, after all.

[saltofmercury]

Ohhhh man.. I’m all about soft Simon! BUT I’m curious of what he would be like when for instance he comes back after a quite long mission (they’re in relatively early stage of relationship) and he realizes that his love has a male friend who is close to her (like, in older brother way). Like, you know, she might have some health problems and she can count on this friend. They hang out for fun etc just a strong friendship type. How would he bite this issue??

Author’s note: Simon “Ghost” Riley is boring.

You can’t figure him out just yet.

There are so many moments with him that you endure.

Sometimes he’s stoic, cold, and heartless. Then there are times where he’s warm, charming, and somewhat vulnerable with you. Not all the time, but sometimes.

There are many quiet sides to him, when he calls you over to spend the night, the small compliments he gives you,

“come on over, I can’t sleep without ya.”

“I like your hair up like that”

or “your skin is so soft.”

Then there are loud, boisterous sides to him as well, when he’s laughing at some small joke you told him, but mix up the punchline, or when he’s sneezing and scares the crap out of you.

“Shut up Simon.”

“It’s actually bless you, where are your manners?”

It’s nighttime, you’ve taken a break from being locked in his room, sitting on his couch, watching Jeepers Creepers. You’re facing the other way, in pure disgust, while he cackles at the makeup and special effects.

“It’s all for show, none of it is real.” He says as a matter of fact.

“I’ll tell ya, if you open up someone, that’s one hundred percent not how it looks.”

There’s no emotion shown at all, black fabric that spreads across his face, if he even were to smile you can’t see it. He’s covered, his balaclava covering everything but the crinkles in his eyes, no shirt, but black sweatpants and socks. His arm slung over you as he proceeds to take over half the couch, his legs spread apart.

You peer up at him. Your eyebrows are scrunched together, unwilling to believe he just told you that gutting people isn’t really what you’re watching on the screen. It looks pretty real to you. Seeing how the man was skinned alive.

He’s so bold sometimes, which you appreciate, but you could do without the honesty once in a while.

“Oh, I think you and Dean would get along well, if this is your form of entertainment.”

Dean. There’s that bloody name again. It’s the second time you’ve mentioned him today. He won’t admit he’s jealous, but it definitely rubs him the wrong way. Nothing good he feels would come from a “guy” best friend. He’s got less than a week before he leaves and you’re dropping the “other guy” bomb like he’s not there.

But he agreed on not making anything official anyway so he’s got no reason to be jealous.

He mutters, ���probably who knows.”

He turns the movie off, bothered by the name, picks you up towards him, and lifts his mask up.

“Let’s get to more important things again, yeah pet?”

He lifts your shirt off, ripping your panties off your body, thrown across the room, making you rub yourself on his leg. You moan, making a mental note to try and get his number before he leaves.

“That’s a good girl, make a mess right on my leg.”

The morning after, there’s keys on the nightstand, a note saying to lock up his house. Ouch. You don’t even remember the small kiss goodbye at two in the morning.

Months pass by, he’s back at your doorstep. You weren’t sure if he was going to come back. His knocks are loud and scary, you think you’re being taken by the cops.

Sure enough a mask greets you at the door, his eyelashes filled with black, his attire in all black.

“Jesus did you have to knock so loud?”

“That’s not a proper hello…” you can hear the smile in his voice. Brat. He grabs your chin in between his fingers.

He drops his things by the couch, settling on there, and pets his lap.

“Come give me a proper hello.”

“Make yourself at home why don’t you…” you say rolling your eyes, but Jesus, he looks so good in all black. You love the way he teases you.

The rest is a blur of sloppy kisses, clothes thrown across your living room, and moans echoing throughout the floor of your building. Positions that you didn’t think he would like but he’s all game. A couple of months without your cunt is the real torture.

You’re relaxed laying on his chest, as he attempts to light a cigarette.

“DON’T smoke in my apartment.” You tell him.

Before he can even attempt to argue with you that he’s given you the best sex of your life— a knock at the door.

He looks over at you, his eyes behind the mask can sort of tell it all. Who’s knocking at your door this late into the night? You pick up your clothes and shuffle over to the door.

You’re greeted by another man.

“Dean!” You exclaim, and Simon picks up his sweatpants he discarded earlier, adjusts his mask and settles on the couch. He feels vulnerable now, he was naked laying on your couch and now Dean waltz in, interrupting your moment of bliss.

“Dean, it's not a good time, I have company over.”

Dean looks at you, smirking, like he already knows who you’re kicking him out for.

“It’s alright I’m just bringing you some of the medicine I took from work. Flu season is nasty and I’ve had a ton of adults out of it in the hospital. Just wanted to bring you some in case.”

Simon can’t help but wonder if Dean is a doctor? Is he one of the good looking doctors like on that idiotic tv show the last girl he was into had liked.

Simon steps out of the living room, and immediately holds back laughter.

Because Dean is nothing compared to him. Dean is tall but lanky. He’s got coke bottle glasses on, scrubs that have Snoopy and Woodstock on them. He’s got a cute face but Jesus the body language here is clear, Dean is not interested in you.

“Hey there, Dean. Simon.”

Your eyes widen at Dean, you’re pretty sure Simon and you are over. Dean puts his hand out and Simon almost laughs at how pathetic his handshake is.

“Good to meet you Simon… Well, I’ll get out of here.”

Dean practically leaves running away, and you peer up at Simon.

“Why’d you have to go and do that?”

“Do what, pet?”

“Scare him off like that.”

Simon cradles you from behind, asks you,

“Thought you wanted Dean and I to get along?”

[maddiehu7]

Chapter 3

"Em hurry up!" Sam shouts from the car

"I'm coming Jesus" I say huffing my minds racing thinking about seeing Dean after my dream but it's unavoidable so I'm just gonna put on my big girl panties and smile through it, I grab my bags and head to the door

"You got this just act normal" I say unconfidently heading over to the car and getting in the back seat

"Finally" dean says putting the car in drive

"Sorry" I mutter looking down Sam looks at me through the rear view mirror curiously

"You ok em you seem off" I look up at him smiling awkwardly

"Yep all good" I try to sound believable clearly failing as Dean looks up at me now to I quickly look down blushing god I'm acting like an idiot

~~~time skip~~~

We finally arrive at the motel after an exhaustingly silent car ride Sam and Dean knew something was up they kept looking at eachother during the ride like they were speaking through there minds, I'm in my room unpacking my stuff when Sam comes in I turn around to look at him awkwardly standing there

"Uh hey I just wanted to check on you you don't seem like yourself" he says looking at me I look down sighing going over to the bed and plopping down on it exhausted Sam comes over to sit next to me

"You can tell me anything you know I'm here for you kid" my heart swells thinking how nice Sam has been to me in such a short amount of time

"If I tell you you can't tell Dean I know it's a lot to ask but please" I say pleadingly Sam looks confused but nods

"I had a dream" Sam is silent for a minute then bursts out laughing

"A dream? You've been acting weird over a dream" he says laughing still I hit him on the shoulder

"Well if you'd let me finish" I say huffing angrily Sam stops laughing muttering an apology

"I had a dream about...dean" Sam looks at me thinking about what I was saying until realization hit

"Oh...ohhhh you had a "dream" about Dean" he puts dream in finger quotes he starts to smile

"Please don't laugh and please don't tell Dean" I say pleading he looks over at me seriously

"Hey don't worry your secrets safe with me and trust me I don't think your the only girl to ever have a dream about Dean don't feel so ashamed" he says comfortingly I smile

"Thank you and I know I'm not but I just....i don't normally feel like this about people especially ones I just meant it's new to me I guess" I say shrugging Sam looks over at me confused

"Are you saying you've never...you know..." Sam says awkwardly I shrug looking away

"Wow...didn't except that I mean no offense your just absolutely beautiful I mean anyone could see that" he says looking at me smiling I smile back

"Thank you, I just never found the right person I've never even had a boyfriend to busy with work I guess" I shrug

"Well you and Dean have that in common" he says laughing lightly I smile

"I suspected he never had a girlfriend doesn't seem like the type" I say almost sadly

"Well I think he just hasn't found the right person" Sam says looking at me winking I blush looking away

"Yeah whatever no more chick flick moments for awhile ok" Sam laughs

"Your so much like Dean you know that" he says in between laughs I smile

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not" I say laughing with him all of a sudden I hear a sneeze at the door I look over confused me and Sam go over to the door cautiously with our guns by our side I open the door and Dean falls  over in the doorway quickly getting back up embarrassed

"Oh uh hey guys just coming to see if you guys wanted to go eat" he says laughing awkwardly I look over at Sam mortified if dean was listening in like we both know he was

"Um yeah let's go eat" Sam says looking at me sorrily pushing Dean out the door muttering something to him I go to grab Sam's arm as Dean goes to the car

"He was listening wasn't he" I say wanting to hide in a hole and die Sam looks at me chewing his lip

"I don't know for sure if that makes you feel any better" he says in a hopeful voice

"Ughh why dose this have to happen to me" I say putting my hands over my face

"I'm sorry em how about you stay here I'll go with him and try to figure out if he heard anything" he says pulling my hands away from my face

"You don't have to do that Sam I'll deal with it but thank you" I say sighing

"I will take you up on not going though just say the reason I was acting wierd is I feel sick so I'm gonna rest for a bit" I say he nods

"Ok I'll see you soon I'll bring you some food back be safe well we're gone" he says patting my shoulder lovingly

"Thanks Sam for everything, also cheese fries and ice cream are my favorite foods you should probably know that if your getting me food" I say

"Noted" he laughs and heads out the door I smile watching him leave i close the door leaning back on it sighing can't wait to deal with Dean hearing us, I wonder how much he heard, what he thinks of it

"Urgh" I say locking my door and going over to my bed to read and relax and try to calm my racing heart

[arthurtaylorlester]

malevolent ep 29 liveblog !!

(spoilers obviously)

are we underwater??

who's speaking i cant tell???

i feel like this is john @kayne but it could very well be yellow and larson

oh wait is this past dialogue?

i genuinely cant remember

oh okay its arthur remembering

"its just water" THEYRE BACK AND THEYRE BICKERING !!!

with silly music in the bg

oh exposition through john i always love it

oh they are so married

a donkey???????

this is so funny

arthur please stop groaning its...

THE FACE OF SOMEONE NOT TO FUCK WITH!!!

MUSTACHE?? harlan really just said yall wrong arthur has a mustache

john is a bitch wife comfimed/ j

A FILM????? JOHN WANTS TO SEE A FILM AND THATS WHY HES MAD !?!?!?

and john is soo petty he doesbt even want yo go to nyc

arthur having to temind john that theyre wanted

IS MALEVOLENT A COMEDY NOW???

john not tellibg arthur they were sitting next to someone the whole time

arthur spite-eating to piss of john >>>>

john are you having second thoughts??

BELLA LORE????

WE'RE MEETING DANIEL???

oh that was weird i bet its mr butcher

Oh wait violins is this mr butcher

whats the whispering in the bg

john stop describing im trying to hear the whispers

is this a kellin type?

oh he just needed to sneeze

diseased man get away from

"NOT OUR HANDKERCHIEF ARTHUR !!!"

malevolent is a comedy atp. thank you mr guthrie for this blessing of an episode

best season opener by far

"that's ... my arm, sir"

im not angry muttering i do it too lol

"hes using us as comfort? jesus christ" stfu john you did the same

wait isnt there a recession in the 1930s

OHHH THAT EXPLAINS THE READING EXCERPT

this train spunds dangerous

oh god oh fuck how is arthur going to read

arthur just what are you doing

is he just making up a story?

how he just talking about himself

QAIT IS THE FRIEND PARKER NOOOO

NO IF HES MEETING WITH PARKER HE DIED

or is this an elaborate way of telling the guy to fuck off

who sending a telegraph to 'will henley'

OH FUCK

ITS THE BUTCHER

the horror >:)

hes smiling oh this cant be good

this is really good and the sound design!!

they are so bad at communicating that they accidentally revealed their identity

WAIT WILL HENLEY IS AN ACTUAL PERSON??? ARTHUR WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

"beCAuse" IDK WHY THE WAY HE SAID THAT SO FUNNT

arthur is so smart it makes sense that the guy would try to corner him

YESS ARTHUR

I LIKE WHEN ARTHUR IS ALL CALCULATING AND SO DOES JOHN

so youre going to trap him in a train car

so arthur's escape plan is.... jump out of train. and break his legs. again.

oh snow will totally save you yeah sure

arthur just really likes playing dumb i think

now im on a train and i cant hear shit

john enjoys this?? john is excited My god he is so precioys

"You are my eyes" that had no reason to be so wholesome

"okay... youre overselling it" john critiquing arthurs acting im dead

10 more minutes will this end horribly?

I KNEW THEY WPULD BE ON THE TOP OF THE CARS

thats mad ahahhahah ... wait a damn minute

ITS MR BUTCHER

"why arent you looking at me" so he doesnt know the full extent of arthur madness

JOHN SOUNDS SO WORRIED

OH GOD THIS SO INTENSE

pov the tracks shave off his mustache

sorry this isnt the time for jokes

WHAT. HE FUCKING WHAT

HE TORE HIS CHEEK?? CALL THAT WILL GRAHAM CORE

wait imagine they become friends

it wpuld be real funny

john would be so pissed

oh god theyre going to jump off the train

THEYRE GETTIBG SIDETRACKED GODDAMNIT

okay so arthur is manipulating he is soo <33

MEMENTO MORI???

ny bbg is so good at stalling

NO ARTHUR DONT GET DISTRACTED THIS ISNT TGE TIME FOR SELF REFLECTIO

YES YOURE NOTHING LIKE HIM

HE DID IT!!

hes smiling again?

oh well he paid his respects

THAT WAS AN AMAZING EPISODE AND DAMN GOOD SEASON PREMIERE

i will be malevolent posting later today but alas i have other things to do other than screaming about fictional voices on tumblr

[cellarfulofnose]

don't think twice, it's all right

@smallsnzplz prompt #3. Sooner or later, one of us must know...

"No, hey, listen, I can beat that, hang on."

John didn't realize he'd tuned out until Bob lightly shook his shoulder. He tried to focus, but they were in a thick haze. Smoke and drink and possibly a pill or two; John couldn't remember which kind or how many. Once they had sunk to the kitchen floor, communing with the tile, someone brought up sex, and whether they were getting any. There was a brief gripe over their current dry spell, but they quickly began trading war stories. Back in America, there was this girl...Back in Hamburg, there were these two birds... It didn't make John's head any less fuzzy, being randy as a bull as well as stoned, but he kept upping the ante. For each of Bob's escapades, he had one to top it. Some, even, were true.

But now the ball was in Bob's court again. "John. You listening?"

John kneaded at his eyes with a rumbling hum. "I'm still here, Bobby," he said somewhat reticently.

"Oh, there was this one chick, man." Without looking, John could hear the grin in Bob's voice. "This girl...hey, she woulda loved you, too."

John turned with a smile--perhaps this was worth a look. "Well, she's only human."

"Yeah, she's real keen on us 'Caesar of Rome' types," Bob explained, tracing a line down the bridge of his nose.

John scoffed. "Long noses?" He almost hesitated to ask. God knew he'd heard enough of that from Ringo over the years: these girls are going to kill me, John, this one actually wanted to sit on my--

"Yeah, but I mean, aquiline, you know?" Bob gestured again, as if to convey the shape of an eagle's beak, and chuckled. "I ought to thank you, really, you broke me in easy."

"Thank me?"

"Yeah, she wanted me to..." Bob giggled, but he gathered himself up long enough to get out, "She got off on makin' me sneeze."

"Hmm." John answered without really hearing. But in a matter of seconds, the words sank in, and a lightning stab of excitement snapped him back to the present moment. He shook his head, half sobered up, blinking as if to clear his vision. "She what?"

Still fighting a fit of giggles, Bob nodded. "She's got a whole thing for it. Gets her goin'. I thought it was about the funniest thing, because she brought up all that shit you showed me--with the tissue?" He twisted his hand beside his nose. "Remember? And the cotton swab."

John swallowed. Fucking small world, this. "Rings a bell."

"Yeah, well, she got me to sneeze that way. And she was good at it, too, I mean, she wouldn't let up, just unbelievable. But I'd already had some practice with you, so it wasn't so bad," Bob finished, laughing lightly, happily oblivious to the weight of what he'd just said.

John, despite himself, was finding it difficult to speak. If Paul were here...Now his thoughts were getting away from him. "But it didn't put you off?" he asked, before they could wander off for good.

"Put me off?" Bob sounded bewildered. "What do you mean, put me off? I loved it. And it got her so hot, John..." His voice changed, got lower and slower, as he leaned in, one hand on John's arm. Dead serious. "I'd sneeze and she'd just get this look, like she was gonna go all to pieces, you wouldn't even believe it..."

"A good fuck, then?" John kept talking, joking to quiet his head, but it was no use. His runaway thoughts, without his permission, had led him to his most reprehensible idea yet. He pushed it away. It wasn't worth spending time on, nor the trouble that was sure to come with it.

"Jesus." Bob collapsed his face into his hands and rocked to the side, letting his weight rest on John for a moment. "Best lay I've ever had. She was wild. I made her come just from touchin' her, just barely nothin'. And by the time I really fucked her--" he whistled, "she woulda done anything, man. I never saw a chick get like that before."

Speak for yourself, John didn't say. What came out instead, bypassing his brain by way of his cock, was: "Anything."

"Felt good, too. Shit." Bob lifted his head from his hands. He continued as if he hadn't heard John, his face split in a dopey grin, eyes half shut, miles deep in a daydream. "You ever sneeze right as you're just about to get off? Whew. Feels like dying and being born."

"Can't say I've had the pleasure," John lied. "So you'd..." Something pulled at his clothes, and he started, but it was only Bob, playing absent-mindedly with the lapels of John's jacket, running his long fingernails over the corduroy furrows. John responded almost automatically with a gentle hand on Bob's wrist, joining him in play. "You'd do it again, then?"

Bob shook his head. "God. Would I. Given half the chance. Just...somethin' different about it, I don't know." He chuckled. "Don't exactly see the chicks linin' up to--"

"I know someone who would." It was out before John could tell himself not to, and straight away his mouth went dry. There was no way he could tell Bob. Yet the thrill that leapt in his chest to hear himself even hint at the truth was too much. He couldn't back out. It was too late.

"Oh, you do, huh?" Bob was Cheshire-cat grinning. "Did you keep her number?"

"Hardly needed to, did I? When I could just ask Paul." Shit. That was a step too far, wasn't it? John prayed Bob wouldn't make the leap. Surely there was another way that could be construed. Maybe he'd think he meant--

"Ask...ask Paul?" At first, Bob couldn't make sense of it. "What, like...Oh, don't tell me."

John's heart dropped heavily into his stomach, but Bob said, "Not Paul's girl, too? The redhead? Jesus Christ, man, she must be about the luckiest chick on the planet. Can you imagine that? All she's gotta do is pet a cat and he's sneezing for a good...a good hour, something like that. Oh, I bet you he gets her so worked up. Shit, I'd love to see that."

John bit his lip to avoid breaking out in bewildered, relieved laughter. Bob was often right on the mark, but when he missed it...boy, did he. "It's not Jane. I meant..." John stalled. The words wouldn't come. He'd really painted himself into a corner, hadn't he? He didn't see any other way out.

Bob was still messing with his jacket, scratching and tracing thoughtlessly. John swallowed. "Only I, I wouldn't mind, you know."

For a crushing moment, Bob was quiet. Then he scoffed. "You don't mean that."

"I swear."

"You just--you've got this notion that I'm gonna put you on to a good thing." As he spoke, Bob jabbed an accusing finger into John's chest, but without any bite behind it. "That's all this is. You've got...misplaced notions. Huh, John?" He was smiling, not looking scornful. Amused, maybe; flattered, even.

"Well." John wet his lips. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

"Yeah, well. Why don't you simplify it for me?"

John made his face placid. He felt keenly aware of where their hands were still touching. "You know Paul and I are. Involved."

"In love?"

"I said, 'involved'."

"Oh." Bob smirked. "Yeah, I figured."

"Right." It was deeply unfair how caught John felt, more so than at the prospect of outing Paul's unusual interest. Somehow, though, he soldiered on. "But our Paul, he's...well, he's a bit mad for you, really." Earlier, he'd been holding Bob's wrist, lightly saying hello as Bob explored his jacket. Now, though, he pressed his palm flat over Bob's, cupping him to his chest, right over his heart. Even through Bob's hand, John could feel how it raced.

If Bob wanted to say something just then, it couldn't escape his lips, tightly pursed to squash a smile. John gave Bob's hand a squeeze, stroked it with his thumb, and continued. "You should hear the way he goes on about you. Makes me wonder."

Bob sighed, quick and tight like a breathless laugh. "Don't worry, Johnny, I'm not about to run off with him." He sounded cavalier, but he was looking down, doing nothing to hide his smile, unconsciously palming John's chest.

"Oh, I'm a jealous man, but I'm not unreasonable. I see what he sees in you." John began to push, just barely, guiding Bob's hand down at a glacier's pace. "I've half a mind to give him what he wants--long as I'm there to see it, of course."

"John, man, your heart's goin'..." Bob's hand had only just cleared John's ribs when he pulled back. But instead of separating, Bob sidled up to John and pressed the side of his head against John's chest, with his ear over his heart.

John's skin warmed all over, but he felt as though he might shiver. He clutched Bob's head and took a deep breath. "That's an open invitation." He could hear his heart thudding, now, too. He could only imagine what Bob must have heard.

As if on cue, Bob angled his head to listen better. "Wow. You're not kiddin', are you? You really want..." He trailed off.

"Yeah. Yes." John nodded, helpless not to even though Bob couldn't see. "But...there's a catch--"

"Hey." Bob beckoned lazily with one hand. "Hey, John. C'mere a minute."

John looked down as Bob gathered a fistful of his shirt and pulled slowly, dragging him down to eye level. His eyes were the color of a robin's egg.

Bob pulled once more, and the breath kicked out of John's chest. He shut his eyes just as their lips joined in a smoky kiss.

---

"Dylan wants me to watch you two fuck."

John had spent the previous night at Bob's place. They didn't get up to anything, too tired even to neck for more than a few minutes before they dragged themselves onto the carpet to sleep. He'd slipped out in the morning to meet Paul, leaving Bob still curled up against an ottoman. He and Paul had passed a normal day together, getting stoned, fiddling with writing, not committing anything to tape. All the while, John was ruminating over how to break the good news to Paul (and it was good news, he kept reminding himself, nothing less than one of Paul's fantasies come to life).

Yet for some reason, he just couldn't say it. At first he reasoned that he'd better get Paul in a good mood before dropping a bombshell of this caliber, but as the day went by, he realized he was stalling. Nervous. For what? It didn't make sense. Paul should be the nervous one--or, really, if anyone was to be nervous it should be Dylan, but of course he'd been cool as glass when John surrendered the details of his idea. Finally, John decided just to open with the most shocking part. Door-in-the-face. Get it out of the way.

Paul stared. He blinked so many times John was worried he'd have to repeat himself, but then he asked, "When?"

John had to take a moment to recover from that one. At least Bob had the decency to give the appearance of humility, coyly insisting that there must be some mistake, he couldn't possibly want him. No such urge existed in Paul. And he might have pretended to hand-wring over fidelity, tearfully swear he wanted John and only John forever, but that was a pipe dream, too. Oh, John could have pitched a fit, and on another day he might've done, but today, he felt the need to get to the point. He told Paul about the girl, her exotic tastes. How eager Bob was to re-create the experience, but for want of a willing participant.

"He wants to do it with you," John finished.

Paul became very quiet. After a long pause, he said in a clipped tone that John hadn't answered his question. John was a little taken aback. He floated the potential date he and Bob had talked about, but that seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. Paul snapped that John had betrayed his trust (again, he kept saying, again), that he had no right to be telling Dylan his most intimate secrets. He got quieter and quieter until John was sure he was ready to cry.

"I told him it was my kink," John blurted, after trying to interrupt several times. "Not yours."

Paul looked exhausted, and utterly lost. "What?"

"Look. No secrets. All right?" John spread his hands out, trying not to sound like he was crying wolf. "I'm not keeping anything from you."

He told Paul everything.

"With Paul, he's...he's very neat, see. Hates mess."

"Well, then he's gonna hate this, man. That'd be tantamount to torture, havin' somebody sneeze all over you."

"Aye, there's the fucking rub, innit? I love seeing him like that. When he's squirming like mad, but he grits his teeth and he does it just 'cause I asked him to. And you know he loves it. Pushin' his limits for me, showing me how good he can be. Can't get enough of it. He's dead easy, is Paul."

"Jesus Christ, what a...what a cheap date, huh? God, you two are somethin'."

John left out the cheap date part, but once he'd finished the rest of the story, Paul's eyes had gone big and round. John shrugged: Well?

Paul scratched his face. "So I've got to pretend to be..."

"Disgusted," John finished for Paul when he took too long searching for the right word.

Paul raised his eyebrows, somewhat defiantly. "Like any normal person would be."

If that was a line, John thought it best not to bite. He kept his tone and expression even. "Think you can do that?"

Paul shifted, crossed and uncrossed his legs. "Yeah. 'Course," he said with his thumbnail in his mouth. He'd gone from icy to twitchy, as if it had just broken through that this was actually going to happen and his nerves were already settling in. John wasn't worried. It was a performance, and if Paul was built to do anything it was perform.

Still... "You sure?"

"Yeah." Paul frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

John shook his head, his face tactless; I don't know, you tell me. "Well, it's one thing to try and play it cool when you're ten feet apart in his flat. With your clothes on."

"I was fine," Paul quickly said.

"And when he's on the ground with your cock in his mouth?" John fired back. "You'll be fine, will you? When he sneezes so hard he drives his head down and chokes on you? And then again when your cock tickles the roof of his mouth, you'll be fine then?"

For a brief moment, Paul looked ready to burst into flames. Nostrils flared, eyes shining. But he slammed his lips shut, wrinkled his nose and frowned, even pulled his head back a bit. "That's bloody disgusting," he spat, the same cant in his eyebrows and quirk on his lips that he got whenever he was asked to read lines for a camera.

John took a deep breath. "We'll work on it."

---

Bob arrived at Cavendish straight from a show. John had to admit, he'd looked better.

It was dark outside when he rang the doorbell, looking like the wind had blown him onto the doorstep, swimming in an angular woolen suit, the bags under his eyes heavy and stark. He said nothing, but gave a weak smile when John opened the door.

"Sorry, we've no room at the inn," John said brusquely, and that got Bob smiling enough for John to throw an arm round him and herd him inside.

When they entered the front room, Paul stubbed out his cigarette--he'd practically burned through a carton waiting for Bob to arrive. "All right, Bob?" he called brightly.

"Hey, Paul," Bob rasped. His voice was gravelly, more so than usual. It stung John's throat to hear, but only because he knew the feeling so well, the soreness of having screamed yourself hoarse onstage. At least when John did it, he only had to match half of Paul's volume. Bob's voice must have been double-wrecked, then, from being the only fucker singing at any given time.

Paul heard it too; John could see it on his face, which didn't bode well for the rest of the evening. But Paul deliberately avoided eye contact with John and coolly asked, "How was the show?"

"Terrible, oh, it was terrible." Bob dropped like a bag of rocks onto the sofa next to Paul, tiredly rubbing his face with one hand.

John sat in the armchair, kitty-corner to Paul and Bob. "They give you trouble?"

"They wouldn't stop booing me, man. I couldn't hear the band."

"Philistines," John sneered, just as Paul said, "Oh, all Brits are rubes, you know, we wouldn't know a real act if it bit us." In response to that, John clacked his teeth together, snapping his jaws like a crocodile. Paul ignored him.

"Ah, it's all bullshit anyway, that audience stuff," Bob said dismissively. "But next time I'm gonna boo back."

John flipped the V and hissed, and that made both of them laugh. But when they caught their breath, a silence fell that was just a bit too strained for John's liking. Everyone seemed to be waiting. Bob rubbed his eyes.

God. It always had to be him, didn't it? "Paul."

Paul straightened, and John said, "Get the man a drink."

Paul was on his feet in an instant. He seemed to realize a moment later how eager he'd been, the puppylike enthusiasm in his obedience, because he turned and gave them a stiff bow before he left the room: See, it's all a joke.

"It's so hard to find good staff in London," John lamented once Paul had disappeared.

"No, I like him, he's good," Bob chuckled. "You keep him."

"You think so?"

At that moment, Paul came back in, laden with glasses of whiskey and wine. "Oh, I think so," Bob grinned, and with a funny twinge in his stomach, John realized his unique position in this little dance. Whatever Bob and Paul thought of each other after tonight reflected back on him. He was the ringmaster, the matchmaker.

John reached for wine, but decided on whiskey instead. Paul sat. They drank.

Bob did most of the talking. Not all of his shows, as it turned out, were disasters. Only the other night, he'd played for an audience who cheered and were silent at all the right times (though, he claimed, they were mostly French and didn't understand what he was singing, which was almost worse). Paul shared a few anecdotes about some of their wilder crowds. He didn't so much as stammer as he refilled everyone's glass and kept easy attention on Dylan. John found himself listening intently to stories he'd heard a hundred times, never mind been there for, and he began to suspect Bob was right. About keeping Paul around, that is.

At some point, John saw Bob's hand resting in Paul's upper thigh with no memory of seeing him put it there. His pulse spiked, adrenaline cutting through the foggy balm of the drinks. It was no absent-minded fidget, but a gentle, deliberate hold.

As if he felt John staring, Paul turned to meet his gaze. He studied John's eyes for a moment, then hooked his ankle behind John's, nestling their shins together.

John's head spun. There'd been something coiling in his chest earlier, some strange possessive urge that rankled to see Bob and Paul touching each other. That was gone now. He wanted them to get on exceptionally, blisteringly well with each other, and he didn't want to miss a moment of it.

Bob laughed while sipping wine and spluttered out a few drops of red. He was laughing too hard to recover, so Paul reached over and thumbed the spilled wine off Bob's chin. He popped his thumb in his mouth to clean it; waste not, want not. God only knew what possessed him to give a little hum of satisfaction after that, as indulgent as if the wine were honey.

It didn't go unnoticed. "Thanks," said Bob. "It's good, isn't it?"

Paul nodded, looking slightly guilty, little Jack Horner caught with his thumb in the pie. "It's good."

John thought he might sweat through his jacket if they sat here any longer. Then Bob said, "Hey, I've never been here before. Where's the bedroom?"

"Just--down..."

John sprang to his feet before Paul could finish giving directions. "This way," he panted, and the other two followed.

He swore he'd only counted one breath before they were piling into Paul's room. The jostled each other in the doorway, someone muttered "Sorry" as they nudged through the bottleneck, and then at once Bob was kissing John, as chapped and smoky as he'd been the first time. John tried to let himself melt into it, just for a second.

Bob tilted his mouth away to murmur "Oh, fuck," all soft and sweet, and John realized Paul had pressed into Bob from the back to kiss his neck. The sight and sound pushed every thought out of John's mind, and they continued like that for a while, John at Bob's lips and Paul at his pulse, until Paul stepped back with a rustle of fabric.

John opened his eyes. Paul had stripped to his shorts and was working on getting his socks off. He was so beautiful, dark-haired and open-mouthed, his chest splashed with pink from the wine and the kiss.

Bob started to palm John through his jeans, clumsy but sure. John gasped. "Wait, it--" he took half a step back, separating them. "It's you and him now." With a hand on Bob's shoulder, he turned him to face Paul. It was what they had agreed. He was just here to watch.

And to direct. "Sit down," John said softly, and Paul perched on the edge of the bed.

Geneva. That was the word that would end the whole session, no questions asked, if spoken. John tried to keep it at the front of his mind, but it was getting harder to hold on to rational thought. Bob, too, seemed to lose some of his faculties at the sight of Paul. For all John knew, he could've been star-struck, unwilling to believe this was the same man he'd met just under a year ago. "Go on," he said with a hand at Bob's back.

Bob shambled forward, and by the way Paul bit his lip and flushed, John could guess Bob sported a sheepish grin. John smiled, safely unseen. He dragged a chair from the dresser to the middle of the room and sat.

Paul sighed heavily through his nose when Bob planted his hands on the bed and leaned down to kiss him. John stirred--not jealousy, not envy, but a fierce desire to move in as close to them as he could, to watch every fleeting touch transpire between them. He almost sighed with relief when Bob lowered to his knees, giving John an unobstructed view of Paul's face. Paul looked rumpled, already out of breath, his lips ruby from a good thorough kiss. His eyes darted down, but Bob was already standing again for some reason, as if he'd changed his mind.

John watched as Bob strode to the head of the bed. He was at a total loss until Bob reached over to the nightstand and ripped a tissue from the box.

"Can you get me started, John?" Bob asked, offering the sheet with a bashful smile. "I'm a little out of practice."

John blanched. Somehow amidst the wining and dining, he'd forgotten the hinge, the crux of this whole event. Judging by Paul's deer-in-the-headlights look, he had too, for a moment.

...He'd let his guard down. Perfect. John held out his hand, grinning ear to ear. "My pleasure."

As John twisted one corner into a wicked point, Bob bent down and began another story. "You know, I had to sneeze tonight, on stage. I dunno if it's the lights, or what, but..." he laughed. "I couldn't get my harmonica off. It was terrible. They were jeerin' me so bad. Someone, some--kgh--!" Bob twitched, sputtering out a cough, as John teased the paper into his nostril and gave a lazy swirl.

"You were saying?" John prompted, circling as slowly as he thought he could get away with, the other hand cradling Bob's chin. He stole a glance at Paul, who was running his fingertips over his lips. John raised his eyebrows once, suggestively, and looked back down.

Bob coughed. His expression was pinched, his lashes starting to darken with tears. "Someone's--Jesus--I hear someone going, 'Thahhh's...huh-! ohh...hh-...hhh--!" Bob's mouth fell open, trying to drink little sips of air, and John would've been forgiven for thinking he was on the edge of pleasure. He looked so blissed-out, yet so wanting; it was very Zen, John thought, to be so visibly caught at the crossroads of desire and suffering. He'd have to share that one with...ah, no, he couldn't tell George that.

Just then, Bob sighed thickly, having slipped the clutches of a sneeze. He sniffled a few times, as if to get his bearings, before he spoke. "They're goin', 'That's the best sound that's come outta you tonight!'" He laughed lightly, which made him sniffle again, and shot John a glare. "Hey, come on, quit teasin' me, John. I can't stomach it."

Without a word, John twisted his wrist and swirled, letting Bob feel the tissue's point properly this time.

Bob cried out and started coughing again. "Mother--fucker--that t-tickles," he managed.

John's eyes flicked up at a sudden movement--Paul was taking his hand out of his waistband. His cheeks were bright red. When he realized he was being observed, he shut his mouth and his face smoothed over a little.

John would've stared at him for an hour or two longer, but Bob gave a particularly vocal gasp. "Why don't you sneeze, then?" John asked, spurred on by an instinct he couldn't name.

Bob nodded, causing him to cringe and start gasping again. "I am...ahhh- hhh'm gonna--! ...htCch'uh!" The first sneeze had no kick to it; it was auxiliary, just to break the levee. Immediately, his lungs filled again, and he shivered out two proper sneezes. "hhhzzsch'ue! --hhih'SsChh!"

Despite himself, John jumped the tiniest bit--just from the sudden shock of spray hitting his hand, of course. He snuck a look across the room. Paul appeared--to his credit--almost bored. He blinked and rolled his eyes heavenward, his lips twisted as his tongue worked the inside of his cheek. One hand tapped incessantly on his knee. John knew the act well. He wasn't feigning disinterest; he was annoyed with himself, and only a few nudges away from biting down on something. Something about that, to John, didn't scream just fine.

"Bless you," John said with an affectionate tap under Bob's chin.

Bob swallowed and groaned, blinking away gauzy tears. "Ugh. Thank you."

John's gaze lingered a moment longer before he raised his voice to address Paul. "What, were you brought up in a barn, McCartney?"

Paul froze, petrified and utterly clueless, so John nodded down at Bob. A grudging understanding washed over Paul. "Bless--" His voice failed. He tried again. "Bless you, Bobby."

"Oh." Bob glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Thanks."

"There, now, that's better. I shouldn't have to remind you. We have a guest, after all." John didn't smile. He didn't need to. Paul's jaw was already tensing, like he was chewing on saying something. "Got to keep up appearances," John added, "haven't we?"

Paul's head tilted slightly, and his eyes might've narrowed, John couldn't swear from here. "Yes," he said flatly. "We have."

This time, John did smile. "Go on," he said to Bob, raising his chin toward Paul. "Till he gets it down."

"Happy to." Bob accepted the tissue from John and mopped at his nose with the non-twisted end. "I think I got it from here. Just had to...give me a little push." He grinned back at John as he sank to the floor before Paul's feet. Paul was breathing faster than usual, and blinking often, but otherwise he was impressively pacific. The only clue as to his true feelings was the rose-petal flush that dappled his chest. To John's eye, he wasn't even visibly hard. He'd tucked his thighs together just so, a skill learned out of necessity, prominent in the public eye as they were. But between those shapely legs, John knew, hid a throbber for the history books, and they'd only just begun.

Without much ceremony, Bob stuck the tissue's point up his nose. As if to prove to John that he could keep his cool, Paul worked a hand into Bob's curls, easing his head just slightly closer. He didn't look at John.

Bob made a sound of surprise. "Shit. Sorry," he added with a faint laugh. "I just. Snff. I never saw a better pair of legs on a chhick...yyyshh'ew!"

The sneeze seemed to catch them all by surprise. John blurted, "Bloody hell," and despite tensing conspicuously, Paul managed to offer a curt, "Bless you."

"God." Bob blew his nose lightly, but for some reason, he didn't elect to tear a fresh tissue. "Came up on me quicker than I thought. I guess I am pretty good at this. Hey, John?" he chuckled, twisting a new corner into a point.

John fought a smile. "Y'know how you get to Carnegie Hall, don't you?"

Paul's lips pressed thin. His shoulders gave a small jolt--he was swallowing a laugh. Victory burned John's cheeks.

"Man, ain't that the truth. Never thought I'd get the hang of this," said Bob, and stuck the tissue in his nose again. Right away, his breath came slow and heavy. "C'mon--let me..." he panted, easing Paul's knees apart with his free hand.

Paul's mouth dropped open, and he quickly pressed his palm over it, looking in need of a full-body shiver when Bob's hand slid up his thigh. There was no way to hide how shamefully hard he was now.

John swallowed--twice--and thought, fuck it. He rose from his chair and sat next to Paul on the bed, unfastening his belt as he went. All the acknowledgement he got was a brief moment of eye contact and a helpless little head-shake from Paul: Jesus fucking Christ, John.

Bob was too busy tempting a sneeze, and admiring Paul's legs, to notice. (His eyes were only half open, anyway.) "Did...did...did you get these--hhh'in-insured?" he asked haltingly, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Aye, pretty fucking penny, too," John muttered. He didn't care if anyone but Paul heard him. Biting his lip to avoid gasping obscenely, he unzipped and wet the head of his cock with the dew pearling at the tip.

The memory of last time still fresh in his mind, Bob seemed to be over-cautiously slow at what he was doing, to the point that it didn't seem to be working. "Fuckin'--shit," he spat between ragged gasps. He tilted his head as if that would get him any closer, as if he could reach the tissue further in.

John's thumb slicked over the end of his cock again, and he nearly bit his tongue. "Faster," he hissed.

Bob quickened his pace and winced, hard. He didn't even have time to swear before he sucked in a stuttering breath and sneezed down at Paul's lap. Paul covered his mouth as Bob croaked something inaudible, gasped, and sneezed again, painting the tops of Paul's thighs.

"Holy Mary." John was so focused on stroking slowly and not fucking into his fist, he didn't notice Paul had stayed silent.

Paul's hand fell from his mouth. His eyes met John's by mistake and went from half-lidded to wide open. He sighed, as if out of breath, and choked out "Blessyou."

"Can't fucking count?" said John, a bit harsher than he needed to.

Paul glared. "Bless you," he added through gritted teeth.

Bob's breath caught once more, and they both flinched, but he let out a long, defeated exhale and sniffled miserably. "This thing's kaput, man," he said, casting aside the tissue with disdain. He leaned over to snatch another one, giving John just enough time to share a look with Paul. Paul looked strung out, his hair somehow out of place. When his eyes came into focus, his brow creased and he shook his head once, barely noticeable. Mouthed, 'M fine.

John rather hoped he would say that. "Bobby."

"Huh," Bob replied after a moment, his voice deadened by congestion. He slid back into place between Paul's knees and turned blearily to John.

"Need to blow your nose?"

"Yeah," Bob sighed, a hint of a laugh in it. "Good guess." He tented the tissue over his nose and began to breathe in.

"Stop--wait," John said.

Bob frowned curiously over the edge of the sheet.

John cleared his throat. His words tumbled out with a slight waver. "That's crap. Don't use that. Too rough, you'll rub the skin all raw. Got something softer for you. Haven't we, Paul? For our guest."

Paul looked at him fit to kill.

"Take your pretty knickers off," said John.

Something went through Paul's face, a twinge of nondescript emotion, a slight tremble in his jaw. But he only hesitated a moment before lifting his hips to slide his shorts down and off his ankle. Wet? They were soaked to partial sheerness in the front, bless him. Best of all, he needed no direction to hand them over to Bob, who buried his nose in them right away.

"Thank you," he lowed, muffled. "Oh, Jesus, these are soft."

"My best pair, so." Paul must have felt the sudden and wonderful need to act. He'd managed to pull an expression of mild discomfort--John thought it looked more like confusion than disgust, but Christ, what a show. "You know. Be care--" His monologue cut off when Bob blew his nose mightily into the cloth. Paul colored deeply and finished, "Careful with 'em."

Bob nodded but gave no other indication that he'd heard. He exhaled again with even more force, then stopped--inhaled--and convulsed with a wretched sneeze. Paul looked as if he might pass out. He dragged both hands down his face and huffed a sigh.

"Mother a' God," Bob groaned, before giving a final sinus-clearing blow. "Somethin' in the air in here, shit." He was smiling dazedly when he emerged, and God, if John thought he looked awful before...

"Wish I could take credit," John breathed. When he saw Paul roll his eyes, something occurred to him--Paul hadn't said 'bless you'. That wouldn't do at all.

"Oh, no, you're--you've done more than enough, John," Bob laughed. "Hang on, I gotta get..." He dropped the shorts and went for another tissue.

John leaned close to Paul. "Put them back on."

Paul huffed in disbelief, revulsion--and something else--on his face. "You're touched."

John tutted. "Mustn't forget our manners. And not in front of company."

At that moment, company returned to the floor between Paul's legs. With a firm edge, John said, "Put them back on."

Like a good host, Paul did. He couldn't stop himself from shuddering a bit (it must have been cold, John realized, never mind Paul's own hang-ups, and he cringed in sympathy).

Bob must have noticed. "Hey, it's all right, I took good care of them," he grinned. "I know what I'm doin'." He twisted a corner and resumed his work.

"No, I don't think you bloody well do," Paul said stiffly, and John would've smacked him if his dominant hand weren't so busy.

"Gonna take that lying down, Bob?" John asked, and to his great delight, Bob took the cue and stood.

"Some mouth on him." Then, "hhohgod," as he seemed to hit the right spot. Bob planted a hand on Paul's shoulder and one knee straight between his legs. A faint sound punched out of Paul at the contact, the light pressure on his severely neglected cock.

John's breath caught in his throat. "Too fucking--right," he growled, giving in to the temptation to stroke faster, never mind the filthy sound. "Only one thing for it."

"It hhhuh--hhurt...h-! hurtsSchHt!" Bob ducked into the curve of Paul's neck and shoulder to let out a ticklish sneeze and a short groan. Paul's spine arched, but he bit back his cry into a sound that could've passed for loathing.

"...Hurts me more than it hurts you, man. Jesus Christ." Bob sniffled. "It's getting to me."

"G'bless you, fuck," Paul wept--a plausible slip, as Bob had just pushed his knee against him at exactly the right angle. John didn't have the heart to scold him anyway. Couldn't be expected to mind his manners and his language all at once.

"Paul, baby, you're so good," Bob hummed, and Paul and John sighed together (close harmony, John thought). "You 'n' this, it...it feels so good, John..."

"Bobby," Paul breathed, curving into Bob's knee, and John's eyes snapped shut. He had to slow down.

Bob was quiet, a few soft breaths in and out. Then, high and fragile with want, "I gotta sneeze."

John's heart raced. He opened his eyes and snapped at Paul, "Don't want that, do you?"

Paul, unable to stop his hips twitching against Bob's leg, could only shake his head.

"Babe--" Bob coughed, "Baby, I can't s-stop it..."

John growled--or he meant to, but what came out was a whine. "Beg him not to, you dirty fuck."

"Please," Paul breathed. There were tears in his eyes.

"Please, what?"

A noise like a sob tumbled from Paul's lips. He clung to Bob's arm as if it were the only thing anchoring him to earth. "Please don't sneeze on me, Bobby, Jesus fucking--"

Bob shook his head, adamant that he couldn't avert the inevitable, but even so, John could hear him make little choked sounds, like he was trying to wrest control back. Desperate. Futile.

"Oh." John actually surprised himself with how quickly his climax came upon him. He was already about to crest the point of no return. "Holy Christ," he said softly, almost whispered, and Bob lost the fight.

"hhiH'kTCH'Shhuh!" Harsh as a bad cough, right in Paul's shoulder. All the more forceful for trying to hold it back.

"Bloody hell--bless ya--"

John bit his hand and came bone-shaking hard, just as Bob rattled off another vicious sneeze.

"Bless you." A voiceless sigh, all Paul could muster up.

Bob shuddered. "Sonofabitch," he said wetly, and sniffled to clear his voice. "That was big. That good for you, Johnny?" He still sounded three days into a cold, no different than before.

John sighed, half-laughed, shaking his head as he wiped his hand on his slacks. "Fuck off."

"Look at him, man. Snff." Bob dragged his knee lightly over Paul's crotch, provoking a strangled cry of pain and making him rut uselessly. "Hey, you're not using these, are you?"

Paul was beyond speech, fighting just to keep his eyes open and his body relatively still against Bob's lazy, rolling touch. But, with shaking hands, he reached for his waistband, and in a joint three-way effort, they got his shorts off again for Bob to use as a handkerchief.

John felt the blood start to fill him back in just looking at Paul. He was red all over, panting open-mouthed, a permanent furrow in his brow from the effort of trying not to give in. His cock was a mess, shiny with slick and darkened with blood.

"Come here," John prayed, and Paul whimpered softly as they pressed together for a kiss. The sound of Bob blowing his nose was just background static, white noise. John didn't notice it had stopped until Paul's head suddenly tipped back, his lips parting in a frantic moan.

John glanced down to see Bob's head in Paul's lap. His curls bobbed slowly as he sucked him off. "There's a good lad, Bob," John said in disbelief. "Fucking hell."

Paul moaned again, his eyes fluttering back. He was dangerously, cruelly close. John held tight to him and kissed him--not his lips, he wasn't going to close his mouth again until he came. John kissed his neck, his cheek, all he could reach. "That's it, love," he murmured, "we've got you. Nothing we wouldn't do for you. You get so gorgeous like this, God...so nice and good for us. Paul...Paul--"

Paul's body went rigid and he came at last, with a series of moans so high and desperate, so vulgar that John blushed. Below them, Bob raised his head, coughing and sniffling. His chin dripped as if he'd only caught about half, but he looked well pleased, even slightly proud.

"Well, you little devil," John said to Bob as Paul wilted onto his shoulder, "you satisfied?"

Bob sighed. "As good as. God." He tugged once at his trousers, shifting the fabric around his arousal, but he didn't seem hungry for it. Nothing like Paul. In fact, he had almost the contented glow of sex--though that could've been the wine. He wiped his mouth. "Just somethin' about a good sneeze, man. Quasi-...erotic. Orgasmic."

Paul made a soft noise of dismissal into John's sleeve, and John had to agree. "Nothing quite tops the real thing, though, does it?"

"No, sir," Bob chuckled.

Paul coughed very quietly, making John turn. "Y'okay, love?"

Paul pulled away to nod. He was rosy-faced, blinking away tears, biting down on a small smile. John had only just gotten used to it--the fact Paul got this way sometimes. Only after the most grueling sessions, when he was denied too long. The relief would be more than his body could handle, and he'd dissolve into tears. Of joy, he'd assured John time and again. Now, as before, the euphoria was plain to see, but he looked wrecked, fucked-out. He was shaking.

"Here." John patted the bed, and Paul lay down, wiping his eyes and snuffling softly.

With Paul taken care of, John gave Bob a deadly look and dragged him onto the bed by his collar. They kissed like they'd never quit, only now there was a little vengeance in it on John's part. Torture my bassist like that, will you. Bastard. He tossed him off quick and rough, taking no care to avoid soiling Bob's suit; hoping, actually, to leave a stain.

Bob didn't stop talking the entire time.

"I just can't get over, mmh, that--like that--oh. How much it turns you on...t' see him this way. And he's gettin' all red...pretty and--ohh. Mm...pretty 'n' pink. Babe. John. Just can't help it. I like it when you tell him, tell him what to do. And--ahhh--and me. Wanna do it for you too. Baby. That's...aah, Joh- John--!"

John smothered him with a kiss, worked him through his orgasm, stained both their suits. It was gentle, light, insubstantial. Waves swept over Bob softer and softer, until he was trembling above John, panting for breath, looking half asleep. He leaned down--John expected another kiss, but he only nuzzled their cheeks together, as if he hadn't the energy for more. With audible effort, Bob hauled himself into a prone position beside Paul. John heard a little peck and a pleased coo as Bob weakly kissed the crown of Paul's head.

It wasn't until he awoke minutes later that he realized he'd even lay down. Paul and Bob were still breathing heavily, and occasionally they'd snag as if to snore, but they didn't wake. Taking care not to move the mattress too much, John slunk off the bed and into the kitchen. His mouth was dry as a bone.

As he filled a glass with water, he felt an odd stir in his chest. Silly to even think about, really. It was the sight of Paul, wasn't it, getting all frustrated? That's what got John off. Bob, well...was Bob, and there was no diluting the attractiveness of that. But the rest of it--the sneezing bit, the whole garish display, that was for Paul's benefit, not John's. Lucky or not, he didn't rouse to that kind of thing. He didn't have the same kind of automatic reaction, anyway. His only consolation was the look of pure animal lust on Paul's face every time Bob--

Oh, shit. A fluttering rush filled John's stomach at the mere memory, the echo in his ear. His breath came short. His cheeks grew uncomfortably hot.

John took a deep, clearing breath and finished his glass of water. He could revisit that sometime (far, far in the future, preferably), when he'd had enough sleep. On weary legs, he made his way back to Paul's bed.

[astronomy-two-worlds-apart]

okay idk how to even begin explaining how stressed out i’ve been and how close i am to crying. well how much i’m crying now

i feel like such a failure i’m gonna fail probably a few classes and like. i just suck. two projects. one was due in school like physically and the other is due in less than 3 hours from typing this. i’ve had all afternoon and done nothing but sit on the couch and do nothing. my teachers already question my work ethic and i’ve been told it sucks by some teachers. like what am i doing.

i’ve been having sleep issues meaning i can’t sleep half the time and the other half of the time i’m in bed by 9. awake by 3 or 4 but still. what the hell.

i try to eat enough but jesus eating meals really sucks. it always feels like i’m eating too much food and i’m gonna be sick. i don’t usually have like stuff or time or want to eat throughout the day either. and like my mom keeps saying “oh you have to eat or you’re gonna get sick” which yes i know but i’m not not eating as a form of self harm im not eating in a i will be sick way.

which speaking of being sick i literally have so much anxiety over that lately. there’s flu strep covid and god knows what else going around and yes i wear a mask but it still stresses me out so much to think that i could get sick. there’s always people coughing and sneezing from being sick. like they’re out and then they come back still a little sick and it makes me paranoid.

and of course there’s more academic issues bc failing to turn in projects is only one of the concerns. i have to take 5 or 6 finals next week all in the span of two days. two fucking days for 6 different tests. about 4 different reviews that i have to start and complete before the testing days.

i have to go to the store for multiple things, so money spending when i know for a fact that’s something my parents are stressing over and the reason why i purposely avoided telling them about the band disney trip money payments and stuff until it was too late. so they wouldn’t worry about like 3000-4000 dollars going to that in the next 4 months. am i upset bc i don’t get to go to disney and it was a trip i really wanted to go on? yes but i also don’t want my parents having another thing to use against me if i fuck up so they don’t spend money and i can’t get blackmailed win win i guess.

oh and a christmas concert on tuesday. and no the music doesn’t sound good. he’s gonna call a surprise sectional probably monday after school after the dress rehearsal and then get pissed when people can’t make it. he’s lowkey an asshole for that too so everyone’s gonna be upset over that. and it’s his fault for passing out music two weeks before the concert knowing damn well there’s other stuff going on.

i keep accidentally ignoring all my friends and feel bad for telling myself “i don’t actually care. like yes to a certain extent i care about everything they’re saying bc they’re my friends but at the same time i don’t as much as i should.” i keep like almost sabotaging myself and my life and it’s such an issue.

holy shit. i’m tired. i just need to have a way to exist outside from society. people are tiring. living is exhausting and i’m not even doing it properly bc i keep purposely/subconsciously messing everything up. why is it all just like this.

[saschaederer]

- Having been the 6th of October - The post which I replied on, of the X account ‘Creepy’, having been posted 6 hours earlier - “6” (in childlike voice)

- Threat by the system of swapping ‘like me’ and ‘alike’ in the elaborate threat published yesterday

- “Who blows?”

- “Cosmos”

- Mental images of the sky in a time lapse - mental image of a wormhole-like structure

- Pseudo-hallucination (flash of light) of a teared up eye - mental images of two marionettes having sex in the ‘Doggystyle’ position (initial reference to Mikhaila Peterson)

- Mental image of the boy from the movie ‘The grudge’ standing faintly in a room, for a short moment

- Artificial dream of me walking up to my apartment complex with Änis Rieb, me ranting why my building is called World Trade Center 2, “that’s such a dumb name” and thinking that One World Trade Center would make more sense. Remembering a threat pertaining to the former, then saying in an ‘Eureka’ moment: “You know what, it must be an inside joke!” (Initial reference to me as ‘Jesus’, getting tortured to create a ‘9/11’ type of effect on people) After mentally trying to recognize more such inside jokes in the surroundings, shortly in front of the entrance, opened up a garage door to the left, walked inside into a big area and around the corner there and seeing a very scary looking dungeon. Thinking that I need to investigate it but I can’t do it on my own, walked back and on the way outside, saw a Chinese guy brushing the floor with a wet broom. Me thinking something along the lines that he must simply be a CIA asset like always; he scolded me and added something with ‘Kamehameha’ in the end. I asked Änis if he could accompany me, he declined. I wanted to ask ‘Do you want me to watch you’ but instead asked ‘Do you want to wash me wash yourself?’ with him having his back turned on me, simply not answering (initial reference to him breaking into my apartment at night and doing some nonsense, or even while I nap during the day). Afterwards wondering why I said that, I wanted to ask ‘Watch me wash yourself’ - Image of fine strands of Japanese black hair, pertaining to the girl from ‘The grudge’

- “I’m not gonna do it anymore” (in ‘Mikhaila Peterson’ voice) - Me sneezing - “(True) not” (insinuating ’Jordan Peterson’ voice)

- Mental image of KarissaEats running on a treadmill like it was the best day of her life - Torture threats (“insinuations”) (initial reference to KarissaEats) - (“(Rape) and torture”) (in ‘No one’ (Assassin) voice) - (“Ayakopf”) (Former Facebook name of Ayako Haraguchi) - Mental image of KarissaEats looking at me in monstrous form (pertaining to a Delta alter)

- “Laptop weg” (German: ‘Laptop away’, initial reference to my laptop) - Sneezing sound (initial reference to me thinking that not necessarily mine was meant) + moaning sound (in ‘Jordan Peterson’ voice) - “Pertain” - “Josie Glabach” - “The redheaded Libertarian”

- “Wer scheiß?” (German: ‘Who shit?)

- Torture sound + An unidentified voice - “(initial reference to) anyone”

- “Anata” (Japanese: ‘You’ (romantic), in ‘Tomoko Kuriyama’ voice) - “Baka” (Japanese: ‘Idiot’)

- Pseudo hallucination (flash of light) of an eye rolling upwards in a sexually-sadistic manner - “pertain” (initial reference to a hypothetical teenage girl acting heroically) - “Woman of my dreams”

- “Fleischwolf” (German: ‘meat grinder’) - “Fraß” (German: ‘Feed’) - “Wolf” (pertaining to the X account to which a tweet I replied to, yesterday) - “X”

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How I handle threats I receive (Last Update: 7. 10. 2024):

Added:

 - “or sounds” to “plus signs are exclusively used when smells are layered on top of one another”

[blondrichclosetwitch]

NUSCH 1/7/17

Do you have ideas what we’re to do with each of our....past lives, in this life? Cause like obviously each of us had challenges to overcome, ...............

(getting upset at transmission) I don’t know if i can do it in front of people. (doubtfully) i can?

Just close my eyes?

Ok.

(drops in)

The first thing that’s coming up is Blond, as Pablo. Her....artistry, and madness, is what I’m getting. And her obsession with her muses.

That both Jakk and I have both been muses, in a sense.

But........she needs a different ...i know she’s been doing fan fiction, but she needs to....does she need a different form of art?

What is it that you see...for her...for art, for her art in this ...world, in this lifetime?

Is she supposed to be, is it, is it a type of writing?

So all three of us are writers. So what kind of writing is it that she does?

Um..

(Pause)

*Romantic?*

Really?

Romance novel writing? Ok. but is it a specific era?

She sticks to one era?

Ok, hold on.

Give me the picture.

Why can’t i see it?

It’s older, right

It’s older

I don’t think she’d be into that for some reason

You say yes....but like, she writes comic book fan fiction (um, i had never seen her writing so i didn’t know she wrote mostly, uh....stuff that would have my mother making the sign of the cross)

But you are going like hardcore yes on this

Ok so you’re saying it’s older, like a part of her....but she would be different from other romance novels is what you’re saying. This is really weird. Nusch.......why? What makes her different?

Twisted?

“They’re twisted.” (She bursts into laughter. She laughs for a full thirty seconds or so. )

You mean, they’re BDSM-y? (First she starts to shriek and it turns into a delighted laughter of what she’s being shown)

And they really take off. (She continues to laugh, then tries to calm herself. )ok. Um........ok.

Oh my God.

Ok. You don’t see her doing that forever, though.

(a pause while she’s being shown images) It’s her thing. She really gets into it!

(amazed) she’s really good at it.

Huh. ok. I don’t know if she’s gonna want to hear this.

And the era is....like, does it stay within a hundred years?

Like 1800’s?

Is there anything more I need to get about.....but she’s gonna stay....

She’s really going to get into it though?

Hopefully Blond doesn’t kill me for what I’m getting from you

And then, Jakk.....his art thing....also writing we were talking...you do see him going back to writing. Is he already writing?

no.

But he’s thinking about it, he misses it. So you see him going back to writing. He got a writing tarot card the other day.

So do you see him staying with cooking?

No. you don’t?

What’s going on?

Wow.

Is he going to write a novel?

Is he going to start....(she sneezes) and he’s gonna get big.

Is it going to be about us?

Holy shit.

Is it gonna be about us and Blond?

(laughs) And Nusch?

(laughing at the bizarreness)

So he’s supposed to write the novel. Holy shit. Okay.

Is it slightly fictional?

This is nuts.

I do love my little house. (laughs)

And then for me....

I assume I’m a writer too.

I assume you’re going to say something like...write plays. (laughs at transmission) which we already knew. Is that what I’m good at?

I’ll adapt the play; i mean, who knows who’ll get it done first? The play or the book. I mean, we kinda knew we were writing it together, me and jakk.

Yeah.

I got that too. I got that yesterday. That we were writing it together.

And I’m gonna write the play.

No, i think he should write the book. But we both know that we’re working on it together.

It’ll be my play, it’ll be his book, but we’re working on it together. (yawning)

But i should still finish Heroes, the play.

Yeah i get it....i get it already!

Jesus! Okay! So what do you think of proposing something to Jakk and Blond?

I mean, is he going to move in with me? (The weekend of the first vision, back in September centered around them telling me that he packed a bag to bring to work as a transition to moving in with me, but ended the night being shot in the leg)

Is Blond going to stay in that apartment?

You think that’s ok?

Yeah?

You think that this way we can all be....friends.

Are she and I going to be able to be friends now? (impressed) and she’s really good at magic so........ witches have cats.

So you think that I should propose...what did Blond, oh Blond doesn’t, does Blond know yet that Sonia was Jewish? And that she was killed in a gas chamber camp?

(translating transmission) Jakk told Blond that yesterday.

Did Blond already know that?

Did she cry when she....

Did it make her feel better to know that Picasso and Sonia made peace before sonia died?

...

Is this helping Blond’s feelings towards me?

Good.

(sighs)

The tie to the letter in case you don’t remember....and they swear they’re not, is that I have that poem i wrote about two lovers.

Find me find me find me which of course in french is cherche-moi

You be me and i’ll be you and then everything stopped

And that’s us

Cherche-moi, cherche-moi, cherche moi

It’s us, it’s us Nusch

So what should i do, should i ask them......should i say....are Blond’s parents going to offer me some money? Because I have a lot of damage.

And i can’t have a baby. (Gina told me that when I got back from Italy; it was one of the things I mentioned to the Tarot Reader, who said Gina could be trusted)

Well, can we talk about my career for a minute?

Cause you’ll notice that it’s the 7th, and i have no money. Am i supposed to still be doing tantra?

Do i need to get a normal job?

Can it be waiting tables?

(She starts playing with the cat.)

Cause Jakk’s gonna move in anyway...so I can’t work here as much. Should we do cards? And then we’ll go get coffee.

So you think i should ask them if they want to have dinner?

That table extends.....doesn’t it. I always forget that.

(end tape)

[percontaion-points]

Packless chapters 13 & 14

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 13

“Yes, I see on your transcript. And there were positive reports from all you coaches.”

Editors? Ha! Who are they?

Actually, now I’m kind of curious if this was self-published or not. 

Nope. Looks self-published. 

“You spoke to the coaches?” 

She nodded absently, her eyes still on the paper. “We speak to all of your teachers before admission.”

So they have all of the info about her, but not the fact that she’s not actually a wolf. Great. 

“I’m just not sure this is the right school for me. I mean, I appreciate the education. We never had fancy computers in my old school, and the free meals are a bonus.” 

The problem is that in order to actually benefit from the better education opportunity, Vail actually has to receive the education. 

Instead, she’s being put in classes intended for 12 year olds, rather than a girl who’s counting down the days until her graduation. 

“An Unclassified student can still go on to be an important contributor, Vail. The pack estates only employ insiders, so there are opportunities for all sorts of caregivers.”

Again, why do they even bother with the charade of giving these people an education? Why not hand them a toilet brush as soon as possible? You don’t need to know algebra or Shakespear to do that. 

“What about other staff positions? Accountants, or lawyers, or whoever mows the pack lawns?”

 “Well, those jobs are traditionally reserved for the male Unclassified, or the lower-ranking wolves.”

Is this a fucking joke? Do you know how long it takes to get through law school? And forget about passing the bar. 

And accountant classes are nothing to sneeze at, either. 

“Mrs. Greyson, I want to start the process of transferring back to my old school. If you need my foster father’s permission, I can get that for you.”

He’s the one who sent you there!

She took another sheet of paper from the file. This one was typed and it took me a moment to realize it was a contract. Not the one I was likely to earn after graduation, but one between the school and Driftwood Chance. In exchange for my two years tuition, Driftwood received a sum of ten thousand dollars and a place was provided for Darkness at the Agri-Science College near Mount Whitnor. I felt a surge of happiness for Darkness, before my gaze settled back on the dollar sum. “The school paid Driftwood to send me here?”

Jesus fucking Christ on a stick. That sounds super goddamned illegal. 

Either way, the only person I had to listen to was me.

Chapter 13 summary: Vail rushes back to her dorm, where she can’t stop thinking about what had happened. The entire thing seems bizarrely surreal to her.

After that night, time moves on a little bit. Despite the fact that she’s in baby classes, she’s grateful for them now, since it means that she doesn’t have to encounter Jasper anymore. She keeps her head down and keeps to herself. 

After a few days, she gets called into the counsellor's office. At her old school, the counsellor was basically the person who had to deal with all of the inbred GENERATIONAL TRAUMA of the kids who lived up in the mountain. 

Here, it seems that the role of the counsellor is more to keep the lower-ranking wolves in line. Because she’s all like “Your role will be to serve! If you’d grown up in the pack, you would have understood!” She asks about Vail’s biological parents, but Vail says that her mom died of cancer when she was four, and her dad died in a car crash. The counsellor seems to be of the opinion that Vail’s bio-dad was a wolf, and thinks that it’s odd that he would have been killed in such a way. And that he would have kept his wolf heritage from his child. 

The counsellor shows Vail that the school literally paid Driftwood a lot of money to buy her. Like she’s a goddamned used car or some shit. As this info sinks in, Vail realises that there’s literally only one person who’s going to look out for her: herself. 

Chapter 14

I’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, one moment determined to grab my backpack and run, and the next thinking of Driftwood, and what the Academy money would mean to him over the winter.

JFC girl. The man literally sold you for a life of luxury for himself. The guy doesn’t give a shit about you. Screw how he’s going to spend the rest of his life, when you’re literally being denied food. 

Even the guidance counsellor hadn’t really been interested in helping me. 

HIghlighting again how completely and utterly fucked up it was that this goddamned adult heard that this child was being brutally abused, and did nothing. 

Yet a 14 year old hears the plight of this 17 year old girl she doesn’t even know and wants to help. 

“So, you don’t want to be pack?” Her gaze was riveted on mine and I wondered why her eyes, which were a softer, deep blue than Jasper’s, seemed so much colder. “After everything the Arras Pack has done for you, inviting you to the Clan Caves, and looking out for you around the school. Are you’re rejecting our claim?” 

I don’t possibly know how anybody could possibly reject such a tantalising offer. /sarcasm

“Really?” I couldn’t help poking the beast a little. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Chapter 14 summary: The next morning, a freshman comes into the dud breakfast room, and introduces herself as Marnie. She’s obviously heard of Vail, because I guess people gossip as much as any other school. 

Marnie says that she has this project for her “scrapbooking” class, and that’s to interview Jasper. And also to find out what his favourite meal is, so that she can cook it for him in her cooking class. Which… wow. No words. 

Anyway, against her better judgement, Vail agrees to help her find Jasper so that Marnie can interview him. But that means actually having to come face to face with him. Which she hasn’t done since the night in the shower. 

However, once she has Jasper’s attention, she also has Pearl’s attention. Because that girl literally wouldn’t know how to keep her fat nose out of literally anything. She seems to be of the opinion that Vail is about ready to reject the pack and leave. And I don’t know why Vail doesn’t tell her as much. 

Eventually, Jasper agrees to meet up with the girls later. 

[sorrowfulrosebud]

Things Bakugou does to me that’s an ick; a list.

1. He sits on his bed, grippers out for the world to see. I have to avert my eyes during the MHA movie during that scene bc I feel disgusted and infected looking at those rompers. Do studio bones have something they want to say about his bakutoes??

2. As much as I love him JESUS CHRIST MF WALK PROPERLY. WE DONT NEED TWO MFS WITH BAD POSTURE IN THIS PARASOCIAL RELATIONSHIP

3. The fact he’s dead in the manga. Not cool bro.

4. I know he dad sneezes. I fucking know it.

5. He definitely mansplains.

6. When he calls everyone “extras”. Pookie, my angel. Main character syndrome is fixable with therapy babe, acting like a spoiled brat ended with Regina George in mean girls.

7. The fact he doesn’t have his fangs on show all the time 😔 I need pointy toofs to function.

8. 1000000000% the type of guy to shove his armpit into your face after a workout if you’re in a comfortable enough relationship.

i love ick culture

[a-and-b-snz]

It's that special time of year again: fall, where allergies and colds perfectly aligns to make one hellish back-to-school sneezin' season!

Picture a snzfucker, A, sitting towards the back of a giant lecture theatre, trying their very best to concentrate on typing up notes. But, also, they keep getting distracted, because so many people around them keep sneezing. Barely a minute goes by without it happening again, and again, and Jesus Christ, again? They want to throw their hands up and scream "You people really should have stayed home if you're this unwell!" In reality, of course, they don't even have the strength to stand up right now, let alone scold a room of 300 people. All this sneezing surrounding them has got them a little, ah, weak at the knees.

And so they sit, clutching their jacket over their lap, pressing their thighs desperately together and trying to ignore the heat that's pooling in the spot between them.

They've managed to note down a couple lines from their professor's dull drone when something snags their attention. Seated next to them, their all-too-attractive classmate, B, stops short mid-breath.

They freeze, sniff, wiggle their nose. Rub at it a little.

God, no, A thinks. Not another-

"EshYIU!" B pitches forward "Ah... Aht'HIEW! Ahh... H'Hahh... Hahehhh!"

Heart beating faster, A watches from the corner of their eye, as B's head tilts back. They gasp desperately, hand fluttering in front of their face as they desperately chase their next sneeze. One hitch, two hitch, three and four and-

"Hyeh'IDSHOO!" B crumples forward with their hands steepled over their nose.

A's stomat does a backflip. Flushed and flustered, they fix their gaze firmly on their laptop screen. They fully intend to keep it there, until B nudges them with their elbow

"Umb, hey," they mumble, one hand still scooped over their nose. "Do you hah...have a tissue I could use?"

"Oh," A says in a strained whisper. "Yeah, sure." With trembling hands, they start rooting around in their backpack.

"Huh-Huhhry!" B moans, eyelids flickering. "I'm gonna... gonna- huh! HUH-"

[i-talk-too-much]

hi! first of all i really like your blog! second of all i have a request :) if you want to, could you maybe do a batfam x reader where the reader is a little bit under the weather and the team rally around to try and make them take the day off so they feel better? hope you’re having a good day/evening! x

hi!! im glad you're enjoying my blog :D this one's a little short but I hope you enjoy!

Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 577

Warnings: none

-------------------------

Achoo!

Your sneeze reverberated throughout the Batcave, causing everyone to look at you. You stiffened, feeling uncomfortable under the combination of their stares.

“Y/N, are you feeling okay?” The question came from Dick. Of course, he would ask. You glanced at him while scratching your nose and replied.

“Yeah,” you said, sheepishly. “Sorry, I guess the chill down here got to me. I’m good.”

You heard a snort behind you and a young voice called out.

“That’s a lie,” Damian said. When your brow rose, he continued. “You scratch your nose when you lie.”

At that, both your brows shot up. “What? No I don’t!” 

A chuckle came from your right. You turned your head, facing Jason whose arms were crossed across his chest as he leaned against a table. “He’s right. You do.”

You scowled. That’s total bullshit! There’s no way you’re that obvious, right?

Another sneeze wracked your body and you groaned, knowing they saw through you now. Dick moved toward you and placed the back of his hand on your forehead, feeling your high temperature. The coolness of his skin felt good on your flushed face.

“Jesus, Y/N!” He dropped his hand. “You’re burning up, why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrugged. “Because it’s no big deal. I’ll be fine, it’s not too bad.”

“You need to rest,” you heard Tim say, him still typing away at the consoles. Now everyone’s joining the conversation? You sighed.

“I’m fine.”

“Spoken like a true Gotham vigilante,” Duke joked. He was sitting on a chair, his front resting against the back of it, his legs framing the seat. 

You rolled your eyes. “Guys, I’m serious – I’m good.”

“What are you guys talking about?” You looked toward the female voice. Steph was coming down the stairs with Alfred in tow, both of them holding a plate of several drinks.

“Y/N’s sick and won’t take the day off,” Jason said, almost like a child tattling on their sibling. You shot him an accusatory stare. That traitor. Now that Alfred knew, you had zero chance.

You felt Alfred’s stare even as you avoided looking at him. He walked to the closest table with Steph, placing the drinks down before opening his mouth.

“Master Bruce, am I correct to assume you will not be needing Y/N’s assistance tonight?” 

The man being addressed had half his body underneath the Batmobile, tinkering with something you didn’t understand. At the question, he shifted away from the car and sat up, his hands wiping on a dirty rag. “Is something wrong with Y/N?”

This time, Dick’s voice called out, “Y/N has a cold.”

“If that’s the case, then no. Y/N is not needed tonight.” With that, he returned to the car and continued with – whatever it was he was doing.

You groaned again when you felt Alfred’s hand on your shoulder, resigning yourself to being benched.

“Apologies, Y/N, but you will be getting some much needed rest,” he said, guiding you to the stairs. You shot one last look at everyone over your shoulder, hoping they saw the pure disdain in your eyes.

“I know where you guys live,” you attempted to threaten, but the force of it diminished when you cut off with another sneeze.

You heard their laughs echo as you climbed the stairs. The combination of their voices was the last thing you made out before you reached the top.

“Get well soon!”