#you go little pollinator

[lemmadevotee]

Look at this fly!!!

[aka-indulgence]

I hate every fly ever why do they have to look so disgusting?? and the small ones the most!!! at least the big ones are easily noticeable and easy to swat away, but the fruit flies??? Little??? Bastards??? Who disappears as soon as they start flying?? The size of a grain of sand??? Who keeps flying into your face and around your ears for some reason??? Little fuckers??? Why are you even flying near me I don’t have foods on me??? You can’t even hear them so all of a sudden you look at your food and you see a tiny speck skittering around it?? Man I hate flies

[concrete-3ater]

Honey Calcite

honey calcite got its name from honey, a food made by bees and farmed for its sweet taste, for it’s similar color. while bees no longer exist, their influence can still be seen on flowers millennia after their extinction.

[sharkinlovewithadolphin]

i know this is a bit sentimental but I’m really happy to see so many new people in my notes lately, enjoying and liking and (especially those) reblogging my RH posts. <3 I’ve been bringing back old RH posts for the past like... 6 years or something, and it’s heartwarming to see that even after all this time it still bears fruit, more now than it has been since the purge of 2019. It takes a lot of time and effort to find all of these posts, properly tag them all and shove them all into my queue, so it’s nice to see others gaining something from it other than myself ❤ As a celebration I recently found and queue’d more than 600 RH posts and drafted more than 1,5k too, that I’ll slowly go through, tag and send off as well. I hope you’ll enjoy looking at these old iconic as well as all the unknown posts as much as I have :D

[windkonig]

when people say "ok but x bug has no benefit to nature" I bet they can't even name 5 facts about the bug they're shitting on. so how could they Possibly know what its function is in the environment and if it's "useless" or not

wasps being the perfect example, I still get people saying "oh bees are cute and pollinate :) yay. but WASPS ARE EVIL and they don't contribute ANYTHING!!!" and it's like buddy. wasps pollinate too. they also control spider populations. they do a lot of great valuable things. but even if they didn't, they're still worthy of being here. I see SO much hatred toward wasps and I wish people would try to learn a little more about them.

I'm mainly talking about paper wasps here because these are common ones we run into in daily life and most commonly deemed "aggressive". but wasps have body language. and if you learn to read this language and learn how to properly act around them, things will go a lot better for you! wasps can be curious creatures and they may come up to observe you, especially if you're wearing something brightly colored. this can be startling for sure, but my best advice is to just be still, DO NOT SWAT or wave your arms. try to just back away or sidestep so it loses interest and leaves. swatting is just gonna make them feel as if they are being attacked and increase your chances of being stung.

many stings happen due to unfortunate but accidental circumstances. unknowingly getting too close to a nest, stepping on a wasp on accident, one getting stuck in clothing, etc. I got stung once while gardening, went to pull a weed and the wasp was on it, so I grabbed her without knowing and she stung me because she was scared. this doesn't mean "oh wasps are AGGRESSIVE and EVIL" it means you stumbled into an unfortunate situation where the wasps felt threatened and defensive. instead of being like "FUCK all wasps" go forward trying to learn about common nesting areas, be wary of holes in the ground, wear gloves while gardening, and if you do have to be around a nest, try not to make a lot of noise. if the nest absolutely needs removed, call a professional.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

woke up and someone spilled vanilla extract all over my dash, so as punishment you strange little beasties are getting all the VANILLA FACTS i know:

vanilla is the 2nd most expensive spice in the world (2nd to saffron)

which is why more than 99% of what we call "vanilla extract" is actually vanillin (vanilla's dominant flavor compound) and is not extracted from real vanilla.

luckily, even professionals struggle to tell the difference when it comes to things like baked goods. but there is a distinct difference in non-heat treated products like vanilla ice cream. real vanilla has a more complex, individualized flavor profile.

why is vanilla so expensive? because it is a ridiculously delicate & demanding crop. complete primadonna.

vanilla beans come from vanilla orchids. these crazy flowers bloom for A SINGLE DAY and have to be HAND-POLLINATED in a process that is exhausting, delicate, and requires specialist knowledge passed down over generations.

then, if you're lucky, you get vanilla beans.

which then require months of further specialized treatment.

the entire process takes about a year and can go wrong at any stage

vanilla has been cultivated for over 800 years (possibly much longer). the first known cultivators are the Totonac, an indigenous people of Mexico.

the Aztecs used it as a sweetener to balance out the bitter taste of cocoa. it was popular in a drink called xocolatl--the precursor to modern hot chocolate!

it is only pollinated by a very specific orchid bee!!!

which is why no fruit could be grown outside of Mexico until the 1800s

Edmond Albius, born into slavery, invented the pollination method we still use today--launching a global industry when he was just 12 years old.

today, the majority of the world's vanilla is grown in Madagascar

if you want real vanilla, read the labels carefully--it's harder to find than you think!

in conclusion, those tiny black specks you see in fancy vanilla ice cream? those are vanilla bean seeds! itty bitty orchid seeds!!! they are delicious and also a PRISSY BITCH!

(src)

[lilybug-02]

Final Bug Fact:

The world NEEDS bugs. They keep the soil healthy, pollinate, control pests, and contribute to the worlds' ecosystem. By the end of the century, it is estimated 40% of insect species may go extinct due to habitat loss. Yes, that is very scary. But with even one beetle spared, one caterpillar rescued, and one Hollow Knight comic of all things, things will change. Because I know there's a lot more Dewi's out there than most people realize. Stay curious.

Thanks for going on this adventure with me. ♥︎

First || Prev // END... VOLUME 2 is Out.

Masterpost

Comic Thoughts and Pictures Below!

I wanted to put here how amazing and sweet everyone has been with this comic. I finished a 75 page comic in 3 MONTHS. I am at a loss for words. That sounds crazy and it IS crazy. But man was it fun. Even on days were I wasn't able to draw due to fatigue or business, I loved working on it from start to finish. And guess what!? This is my first ever FINISHED comic :D I'm so proud of myself. I know there's some things I want to change and the art is wonky in most places...... but I'm content to let it be. What an amazing summer adventure!

I'm hoping to post the full comic on another Comic website. I may or may not edit some of the art ^w^ So I'll let y'all know when I release it.

Interested in learning what you could do to help your local insects? This is the basic stuff. Maybe make some Insect Hotels if you have the time!!! And never forget to spread the word about bugs. They need our help just as any animal on earth.

Still Here? Well you can look in the tags for little lore dumps if ur looking for stuff like that ;)

[gremlingottoosilly]

Mafia!König x Florist!Reader?

You sell flowers. Nice little bouquets for teachers and housewives who want to make their routine a little brighter. Cheap ones, mostly wild things - you'd have to swat at the bees trying to get a bite, apologizing for messing with the natural pollination. You sell big, expensive things - graduation gifts, consolidations roses. Man coming in and trying to count how much their cheating was worth - and how much they could pay in ribbons for missing an important date. Then Konig came in, and brought at least 10 orders for funerals. Crimson-blood roses, expensive white lilies. Died black ribbons and some nice plastic dark plants to finish the composition. At first, you said you were really sorry for his loss, then you thought he ran a funeral home - he looked the sorts, a bit creepy and big. His mask covers the lower half of his face, the hood of his nice jacket - Patagonia, you think, out of your pay grade - dropping over his eyes. He ordered expensive bouquets of funeral flowers every other week - never the wreaths, just bouquets. Sympathy arrangements. The first he paid in cash - crispy new banknotes, looking too good to be true, made you look at them through the light and apologize - he grazed your hand in his when you gave him the change. Konig wrapped his fingers around yours for a second, held a bit too long - you didn't know what to say, so you said nothing. He grumbled something and left. He buys funeral flowers, and you aren't sure if you're curious or terrified. One night you went home a bit too late - boss asked you to close for a bit more of cash, and you can't really disagree with your late for a week rent - and you came across some weird guy. Dangerous guy. You clutched your hand around your pepper spray - useless, EU-safe kind - and then shrieked when a bullet got through the guy's skull. You think it was the first time you actually saw a gun. Heard a gun. Konig holds your hands as you scramble to your feet, and this time, he doesn't let go until you stop trembling. Pockets the gun like it's a normal Friday, and puts a worried hand over your waist. He still doesn't talk - a slight tremble in his head gives away his nerves - but he silently follows you home like a big dog. You have half a mind about letting him in, but he just stares, his head not dipping into your apartment. Next time, he buys flowers - red roses, pink lilies, dyed whites and tiny pink ribbons. He sets the bouquet on the counter for you - you don't have the heart to tell him you're sick of flowers after working with them all day, but he gets it without words. Sees your expression, nervous twitch of your lip - and silently leaves. You aren't even surprised when you're dragged into an undisclosed vehicle after your shift, your head dropping on the wide lap of a man in a suit, his red hair slightly messy from the hood he pulled off, and his Patagonia acting like a blanket over your trembling form. Konig drapes a hand over your ass and settles it near, tapping on your asscheek in a nervous rhythm. Something tells you you're about to find out where all the bouquets went.

[pucksandpower]

Pollinated

Day 11 → Sex Pollen 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content and dubious consent

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’ve got a stack waiting for you.” Alan leans on the edge of your desk, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s holding a bundle of envelopes, some thick with scribbled messages, some thin and printed with clean, crisp fonts.

Your PR officer’s eyebrows raise in mock exasperation as he shakes them at you. “How do you even have time to race with all these fans wanting a piece of you?”

You grin, setting down your coffee and wiping your hands on your pants. “That’s the problem of being so popular, Alan. It’s a curse, really.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a real burden. Everyone loving you.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

He drops the stack in front of you with a soft thud. “Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” His tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of something more serious underneath, like he’s reminding you there’s more work to be done after this.

You roll your eyes as he walks off. You love this part of your day — the letters, the drawings, the fan art from kids who see something in you that makes them believe they can be here too. They’re always so personal, full of energy, like they’re rooting for you from their living rooms or school desks.

You flick through the pile, reading the familiar opening lines. Dear Y/N, you’re such an inspiration or I love watching you race! Your heart lifts as you come across a brightly colored drawing from a girl named Chloe, of you standing on a podium, arms raised in victory. It makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt a little. You can practically hear the little girl’s voice, excitedly telling her parents, “That’s gonna be me one day.”

“This is what it’s about,” you mutter under your breath, running your fingers over the crayon marks.

More letters. More words of encouragement. A scribbled note from a group of university students who drove twelve hours just to see you race last season. A letter from an older woman who says she’s been watching F1 since her husband introduced her to it in the ‘70s and how proud she is to see a woman making waves. You pause at that one, your chest swelling. You’ll have to write her back.

You reach for the next envelope, a bit plainer than the others. No stickers, no hand-drawn doodles in the margins. It’s simple, just your name written on the front in neat black ink. Your gut tugs slightly, but you brush it off. Not every fan is an artist.

You open it, pulling out a card with a printed picture of a car on the front. Your car. You smile, flipping it open to read the message inside.

But your smile fades as you start to read.

You don’t belong here.

The words are bold, black, and stark against the white paper. They stand out like a punch to the gut, each line colder and more hateful than the last. The handwriting is meticulous, like whoever wrote it wanted to be sure you’d understand every word.

Women like you are ruining the sport.

Your throat tightens. Your fingers grip the edges of the card a little harder than before, the edges bending under the pressure.

Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.

You try to swallow, but it feels like there’s a knot lodged in your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Hell, it’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said. But right now, it’s too sharp, too specific, too venomous.

You reach up to close the card, your hand trembling slightly. But before you can fully shut it, something catches your eye — a tiny puff of fine yellow powder shoots from the fold, drifting into the air in front of you.

“What the-” You blink, confused for a split second.

Then, it hits.

A burning sensation spreads through your throat and nose. Your skin tingles, a wave of heat rushing over your face. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling fire. Panic spikes as your vision blurs.

“Alan!” The name barely makes it past your lips before you feel your legs give way beneath you.

“Alan!” You try again, but it comes out weaker this time. Your limbs feel heavy, your chest tight, and the room starts to spin in slow, nauseating circles.

Footsteps pound across the floor. Alan’s voice sounds far away, muffled, like he’s underwater. You catch a glimpse of him sprinting toward you, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/N?”

Your body jerks uncontrollably, a violent shudder running through you. The room twists, everything turning hazy as you hit the floor hard, your fingers twitching against the cool tile.

“What the hell — Y/N!” Alan’s panic is sharp now, cutting through the fog. You can barely see him through the haze clouding your vision, but you feel him grab your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through the edges.

Your entire body seizes again, every muscle clamping down painfully. A sharp cry escapes your throat as the convulsions take over, uncontrollable now.

“Help! Somebody, help!” Alan’s voice is frantic, desperate, echoing through the room as the world starts to fade. His hands are on your face now, trying to keep you conscious. You feel his fingers trembling against your skin, hear the panic rising in his voice as he keeps shouting for help.

But you’re slipping, sinking deeper into the darkness as the convulsions wrack your body. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

Alan’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

***

The world returns slowly, like surfacing from a deep dive. There’s a ringing in your ears, muffled voices blending into the constant hum of machinery. Your body feels like it’s on fire — each nerve sizzling under your skin, radiating heat. You try to move, but it’s as if you’re bound by weights. The sheets beneath you cling to your body, too warm, too tight, too much.

Someone’s talking nearby, but it’s distant, warped. You can’t make out the words yet. Everything feels heavy — your eyelids, your chest, even your breathing. Your mouth is dry, your tongue like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

Slowly, the fog begins to clear, and you catch fragments of conversation.

“… highly illegal substance …” A voice, crisp and professional, filters through. The doctor. “… extreme toxicity … very few cases on record …”

You try to focus, but the burning sensation inside you only intensifies. It’s everywhere — your limbs, your core, your mind. Like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You manage a groan, the sound barely escaping your lips.

“She’s waking up,” someone says, closer now. Alan? It sounds like him, but there’s a hitch in his usually confident voice. Panic.

Your eyelids flutter open, and the room comes into blurry focus. Harsh fluorescent lights. Sterile white walls. The sterile smell of antiseptic clogs your senses, a sharp contrast to the heat still coursing through you. You blink slowly, your vision sharpening enough to see Alan standing by your bedside, pale and jittery, his hand running through his hair in nervous strokes.

Across from him is the doctor, his white coat stiff and immaculate. He’s holding a clipboard, and his face is a mask of concern. When he speaks, it feels like each word takes a lifetime to process.

“… the substance she was exposed to … it’s not just any powder,” the doctor is saying, his voice measured but grim. “It’s a synthetic pollen derivative, known as Lust Dust on the black market.”

Lust Dust. The words sink into you, but you don’t recognize them. Your throat feels too tight to ask for clarification. Alan, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“What does that mean? What the hell is that?” Alan’s voice is raw, frayed at the edges.

The doctor sighs, flipping through the notes on his clipboard before answering. “It’s an extremely illegal bio-weapon, developed underground. It was used in several isolated attacks a few years ago, mostly in war zones. The symptoms … well, they’re brutal.”

You don’t like the sound of this. Brutal. Illegal. Bio-weapon. The words swirl around in your head, each one setting off alarm bells, but you can barely move enough to react. You just lie there, heat pulsing through you, your body screaming in agony.

“The pollen attacks the body’s nervous system,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical. “It acts as a stimulant, targeting primal instincts, heightening … certain responses. The most dangerous part is that, if untreated, the body will burn out within hours.”

“Burn out?” Alan echoes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean? You mean … she’ll die?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies, his tone darkening. “In most cases, without intervention, the victim’s body will shut down. It’s a highly sexualized toxin. The only way to counteract the effects is through physical release.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. The words hover in the air, sinking into the room with a weight you can almost feel. Your heart races, your mind struggling to comprehend what’s being said. Physical release? The burning sensation in your body intensifies, like it’s reacting to the very idea of what the doctor’s suggesting.

Alan’s face pales further, his hand gripping the back of his neck in horror. “Wait, are you — are you saying she has to-”

“Sex,” the doctor says bluntly, not sugar-coating anything. “Yes. If she doesn’t have sex soon, she will die. The sooner, the better, to mitigate the damage the pollen’s already caused.”

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, despite the unbearable heat raging inside you. The fire in your veins is consuming everything, twisting the doctor’s words into cruel irony. This can’t be happening. Not this.

“I … I …“ Alan stammers, clearly at a loss, his eyes flicking to you, desperate and terrified. “There’s got to be another way. Medicine? A procedure? Something?”

The doctor shakes his head. “There’s no antidote. The only option is the one I’ve given you.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything except lie there, burning from the inside out, unable to stop the panic surging through you as the realization sinks in.

Alan takes a shaky breath. “What … what do we do now?”

The doctor straightens, his voice calm but commanding. “The most important thing is finding someone who’s willing to … assist.”

Alan’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open and several members of your team file into the room — engineers, mechanics, staff. Their faces are tight with concern, and they crowd into the small space, murmuring amongst themselves.

“What happened?” Someone asks, their voice tense.

Alan quickly explains, his voice shaking as he goes over the details. The pollen. The bio-weapon. The need for “intervention.” Every word makes your heart pound harder, and you can feel the collective shock ripple through the room as the reality of the situation sets in.

“She needs someone,” Alan says, his voice thick with emotion. “She needs someone to …”

He can’t even finish the sentence.

The room falls into stunned silence. You can hear the soft hum of the machines around you, the ragged breathing of the people in the room. It feels like time has stopped, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

Then, the whispers start.

“I’ll do it,” someone mutters.

“No, I will,” another voice pipes up. You recognize it as one of the engineers, his voice shaky but sincere.

“I mean, she’s our driver, right? We have to help.”

More voices chime in, each one offering, each one willing. The panic in the room turns to a frantic eagerness, as though everyone suddenly realizes what’s at stake. You can barely comprehend it — the idea that your team, your colleagues, are discussing this as though it’s just another task, something to be done to save your life.

Your mind is spinning, your body trembling with the heat still coursing through you. You want to shout at them, tell them to stop, that this isn’t how things should be. But you can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is listen as the conversation grows more chaotic, more desperate.

Then, the door opens again, and a new voice cuts through the noise.

“Everyone out.”

It’s Max.

The room falls silent instantly, every head turning toward him. He stands in the doorway, his face hard and set, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity you’ve never seen before. He looks around the room, his gaze sharp, taking in the faces of your teammates, the panic, the confusion.

“I said out,” Max repeats, his voice calm but firm.

No one moves at first, too shocked to respond. But then one by one, they start to file out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as they leave the room. You hear Alan hesitate for a moment, but even he doesn’t argue. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone with Max.

You’re too weak to turn your head, but you can hear him walk closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Max’s voice fills the room. “It’s going to be me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“No one else is touching you,” he says, his tone low, steady. “I’m your teammate. I’m the one who’s going to help you. Not them.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the resolve in his voice, the determination. He’s not offering. He’s deciding. There’s no question, no hesitation. It’s going to be him, and no one else.

And as the burning inside you flares again, you realize that part of you is grateful.

***

The air between you and Max is thick with tension, the kind that crackles in the silence, heavy with unspoken words. You lie there, your body still ablaze, the fire under your skin pulsing in waves, but something about his presence — steady, resolute — grounds you, if only just. You can’t move, can barely speak, but your mind races, half-paralyzed with the agony of the pollen and half with the strange anticipation of what’s to come.

Max stands beside the bed, his face framed by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows that sharpen his features. He doesn’t look afraid, though you can tell there’s something behind his eyes — something that trembles just beneath the surface. His gaze locks onto yours, and it feels like he’s looking past the pain, past the situation, to something deeper.

“This isn’t how I imagined …“ His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, as though the words aren’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking permission for what’s about to happen.

You want to respond, to say something, but your throat is too tight, too raw, the burning heat still tearing through you. You manage the faintest of nods, your hand twitching against his, and that’s all he needs.

Max leans over, his face close to yours now, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand trails gently down your arm, his touch soft, careful. “I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “We’ll get through this.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that same quiet, tender voice, he adds, “Schatje … you’re so strong.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and despite everything — despite the fire tearing you apart from the inside out — it brings a strange, aching warmth to your chest. Max has never called you that before. The intimacy of it catches you off guard, though you don’t have the strength to dwell on it for long.

His hands move lower now, brushing across your skin with reverence, as though you might break under his touch. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You don’t deserve this,” Max whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice cracks ever so slightly, betraying the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. “I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits softly, his words a confession, raw and vulnerable. “But not like this. Never like this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s handling you with such care, as though he’s afraid of hurting you. And somehow, through the pain, you manage to relax just enough to let him in. Just enough to let him take some of the weight from you.

He presses his lips to your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, and you can feel the tremble in his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the burning inside you dims, replaced by something else. Something warm, and tender, and utterly consuming. Max moves with purpose now, his touch becoming more sure, more confident, but never losing that careful tenderness. He’s cooing to you, whispering soft praises in Dutch, his voice like a balm against the fire raging inside you.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Max admits again, his words spilling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “For so long. I just … I didn’t know how to tell you.”

His hands continue their journey, and despite the circumstances, despite the fire still licking at your insides, your body responds. Every touch feels magnified, every brush of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something deeper through you, something primal and desperate and… needed.

“You’re so strong,” he says again, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

Your body trembles beneath him, not just from the fire that’s still coursing through you, but from the way he’s touching you, the way his words wrap around you like a soft embrace. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected, the vulnerability of the moment stripping away any pretense, any barriers you might have once had.

“I’m here, liefje,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear now. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You don’t know how he manages it, how he makes something so painful feel like this, but he does. His hands are everywhere, soothing the burn, coaxing your body to relax, to give in to what you need. And with every touch, every whispered endearment, the fire inside you dims, just a little, just enough to let you breathe.

“I wish it was different,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion now. “I wish this was … just us. Not because of this. Not because of …“ His words trail off, but you understand. You understand perfectly.

He presses his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort of keeping himself composed. “But I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice fierce with determination. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Your body reacts to him instinctively now, every nerve ending lighting up in response to his touch, the fire inside you blazing hotter but in a way that feels … different. Less painful. More like an ache, a deep, desperate need that only he can fill.

“Max …“ you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse, barely audible. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since waking up, and it feels like a release, like a crack in the wall you’ve built around yourself. He hears it, though, and his gaze softens, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve always got you.”

His movements quicken, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the fire inside you building to a crescendo, but this time it’s not just pain. It’s something more, something overwhelming and all-consuming. You can feel him with you, guiding you, coaxing you toward the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice breathless now, his own control slipping. “I’ve wanted you for so long …“

His words send you tumbling over the edge, your body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly takes your breath away. The fire beneath your skin peaks, then suddenly, blessedly, begins to recede. It’s like the flames are being extinguished, one by one, leaving only warmth in their wake.

And Max is there, holding you through it, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move.

As the last of the fire dies down, as your body finally begins to relax, you hear him whisper, so softly you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, unguarded and raw, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The room, the pain, the circumstances that brought you here — it all disappears, leaving only the two of you, tangled together, vulnerable and exposed.

You’re too weak to respond, too exhausted from everything that’s just happened, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers again, like he’s afraid you didn’t hear him the first time. “I’ve always loved you.”

His confession hangs in the air, delicate and fragile, but it feels right. Like it’s been waiting to be said all along.

As the fire beneath your skin finally dies out completely, as your body settles into a state of calm for the first time in hours, you let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the remnants of the fire at bay.

Max doesn’t let go. Not for a long time. And you don’t want him to.

***

Max holds you close, his body pressed against yours, his breath still coming in shallow bursts as the two of you lie in a tangled heap on the bed. The burning fire that had been searing through your body has finally been extinguished, leaving only a lingering warmth that feels manageable now.

But even though the pain is gone, even though your body has found relief, there’s still something… unfinished. A strange, restless feeling that hums beneath your skin, an ache that begs for more.

Max is quiet beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair as he watches your face, his expression soft but intent, like he’s still worried, still waiting for some sign that you’re okay. But you can see it in his eyes — he knows. He knows it’s not over yet.

You shift beneath him, the subtle movement sending a ripple of sensation through you, and your breath hitches involuntarily. The fire is gone, but that need, that craving — it’s still there, simmering just below the surface. It’s not the urgent, desperate heat of the pollen, but it’s undeniable.

Max’s gaze sharpens, reading the subtle cues in your body. His hand stills in your hair, and you feel him shift beside you, his body tensing slightly as he watches you, waiting for you to say something, to ask for what you need.

You don’t have to.

“Oh liefje,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You still need more, don’t you?”

Your throat tightens, and you nod, unable to form the words. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — understanding, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He already knows.

Max’s hand trails down your body, his touch feather-light, and it sends a shiver through you, your body responding to him instantly. He presses a kiss to your temple, then to your jaw, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I’m here,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Whatever you need.”

His lips travel lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and you arch into him, your body aching for more. He moves slowly, deliberately, savoring each touch, each kiss, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when he moves lower still, his mouth brushing against your collarbone. He’s taking his time, drawing this out, making sure every second is filled with pleasure, with tenderness. There’s no urgency now, no frantic need to cure the fire. This is something else — something deliberate, something intimate.

Max’s hands slide down your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs as he lowers himself down the bed. His mouth follows the path his hands have carved, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing, as he moves lower, kissing across your stomach with slow, deliberate care.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets, gripping them tightly as you fight to keep your composure, but Max makes it impossible. His lips are everywhere, soft and warm and completely unrelenting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t think you even realize …”

His words send a thrill through you, and your breath catches as his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips. He presses a kiss to your navel, and you feel the heat pooling deep inside you, the need building again, stronger this time, more insistent.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you. He always hears you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, his voice soft, reassuring. “Just relax.”

You try, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s kissing you, like every part of you deserves his undivided attention. He’s worshiping you with every movement, and it’s almost too much to bear.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs, and your breath stutters as he spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he presses a kiss just below the dip of your waist, teasing you, making you wait.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Do you know that?”

You can’t respond, can’t do anything but arch into him, desperate for more. He knows exactly what you need, and he’s giving it to you slowly, carefully, savoring every moment.

Max’s hands grasp your thighs, and he pulls them apart slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze — something raw, something vulnerable. He’s giving himself to you completely, just as much as you’re giving yourself to him.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, and your entire body shudders in response. Every nerve is on fire again, but this time it’s not the cruel burn of the pollen.

This is different. This is Max.

He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above where you need him most, and he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You can’t form the words. All you can do is nod, your body trembling beneath him.

Max smiles, a small, almost shy smile, and then he lowers his head, his mouth finally, blessedly, on you. The sensation is immediate, intense, and you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he works you with a precision that only he seems to know. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing you, drawing out your pleasure, but it doesn’t take long for him to find the rhythm that makes your entire body sing.

He’s relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, driving you higher and higher until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you’re sure you’re going to break.

“Max!” You gasp, your body arching off the bed. “Please …”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes faster, his tongue working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. You’re so close, so impossibly close, and he knows it.

“That’s it,” he whispers against you, his voice thick with need. “Let go, schatje. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you’re gone, tumbling over the edge into a wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. Your entire body convulses, your vision going white as you fall apart beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly they burn.

Max doesn’t let up, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re nothing but a trembling, panting mess. When he finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your body slick with sweat, your heart racing in your chest.

He crawls back up the bed, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he goes, his hands soothing over your trembling limbs. When he finally reaches your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing your hair back from your face.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re okay.”

You can barely nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. Max pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as you come down from the high. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

For a moment, everything is still. Quiet. Perfect.

And then, just as your breathing begins to slow, the door creaks open.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable as he takes in the sight of you and Max — sweaty, tangled together, your bodies still humming with the afterglow. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at his clipboard, then back at you.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his tone entirely too clinical for the situation. “It appears the cure has been administered.”

Max stiffens beside you, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice — or care. He simply jots down a few notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching loudly in the silence.

“Residual effects of heightened libido may persist,” the doctor adds, almost as an afterthought. He glances up from his notes, his gaze flicking between you and Max, then nods, satisfied. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you and Max in stunned silence.

Max lets out a breath, a low, incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Did he seriously just …”

You nod, still too dazed to form a coherent response.

Max shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Well, I guess we’re not done yet.”

And with the way your body still hums with need, you know he’s right.

[braisedhoney]

SERIOUSLY IT FEELS LIKE THIS SOMETIMES WHAT THE—

(screaming relegated for tags, as always ;; omg)

🐝New hive art!🐝

@braisedhoney

Non canon as you like it❤️

Those are just some fun concepts/head-canons I drew bc Hive obsession never lets me go

🐝 Ship location drawing

I headcanon the idea that the whole ship runs on honey

(Honey is gathered and goes to producing food + producing honey fuel)

(Also wanted to draw 2 locations, but energy left me 😔 so 🫵maybe some day🫵)

🐝Pollinator’s backpack

(Basically took the idea of irl pollination)

Crewmate sticks the sucking tube in the flower, and it sucks up all of the nectar. Nectar is stored in “pollen baskets”

🐝Bee mecha

Bonus

Thanks to @demonicrhythms for showing me silly bear earrings💞🐻‍❄️

[pollyanna-nana]

Part of why I’m so defensive of the name Thistle is that I just think it fits him so perfectly and has some really interesting meaning you can assign to it outside of it just being his eye color.

Where I come from, thistles are considered a nuisance species. They have massive taproots that burrow deep underground, so once one pops up in your garden or yard you’re going to have a hell of a time removing it. The scotch thistle, like above, is considered invasive and listed as a noxious weed, and though there are many native thistle species they all tend to get lumped together by the average person.

And yet, thistles are incredibly important to their local ecosystem. They provide food and shelter for many species, especially pollinators, and are hardy survivalists. In some places they’re seen very favorably, such as being the symbol of Scotland. Their prickly nature means that few people are likely to mess with them, which makes them an effective symbol of resilience and protection.

But, despite this, to many they are just weeds. A nuisance, to be tolerated at best and exterminated with little prejudice if the wrong kind is in the wrong place to the point that it draws attention. Despite the fact that ultimately it is us humans who brought them to these new locations. I think there is no malice in simply trying to be alive.

[xayasmrxsoftlyx]

Imagine...

Imagine you recently moved to the outskirts of a forest. The nature is beautiful and you do your part to keep it that way. You plant pollinator friendly flowers, rabbit friendly herbs, deer friendly bushes, you put out bird feeders, hummingbird feeders, squirrel feeders (though honestly, it's just extra bird feeders with less specific seeds since you noticed the birds didn't always eat the variety equally). Hell, you even changed out your lawn from traditional grass to clover and native wild flowers to use less water. You've been putting in a lot of effort to keep things nice for nature-- it's certainly been noticed, too.

In fact, you've no idea of the amount of eyes watching your beauty preserve nature's beauty- and to them you are nature's finest beauty. Looking at your plush body care for, tend to, and love the very things that feed their lives' essence; it's a sight that cannot be beat. At first, it was a competition amongst the forest. Who was yours? Who you belonged to? Now, now they understand that just like you work so hard to aid all of them, they can all share, love, tend to, and care for you, as well.

Imagine the first you meet, unbeknownst to you, is planned- it's all planned. You're sitting outside on a blanket, book in hand, just enjoying some rare free time when you hear a loud buzzing. It sounds as if a humming bird were flying right beside your ear. Yet, when you look up, it's certainly not that far from the truth despite not being completely correct in concept.

He's shorter than you, but not by much, barely hovering a foot off the ground. He hides half his body behind your oak tree- the one with all your feeders on it. He's got brilliant colors and jerks almost completely behind the tree when your eyes meet. (He's supposed to be speaking to you but when his eyes met your own shining gaze, he couldn't help but grow shy.) Your sweet, comforting scent has wafted in the air, stirred up in part by his own rapidly fluttering wings. He's buzzing with anxiety and adrenaline, the need to prove and show you his skills battling with his fear of your rejection. Now that he's gotten so close to those plump cheeks, he needs to kiss. Now that he's seen how soft and warm you are he needs to get closer; he needs to feel how soft and plush you are as he clings to your chubby form from his own anxiety.

Imagine you softly call out to him, voice sounding like both the sweetest lullaby to soothe his racing heart and mind and also just like home- like the sound he'd come come to with a nest full of little hatchlings and your warmth shared. It's that thought that spurs him into action, faster than you could reasonably expect. After all, the speed he can achieve gets to nearly the same as a traditional hummingbird.

He's higher in the air than you'd ever think he'd go, he shoots down, nearly towards you- no, definitely towards you, nearly at you the speed of which creates a loud chirp and you hear the sweet melody of whistles erupt from him as he's closer to you. As he hovers before you, dance still pumping adrenaline through him, he's more than proud of the awed expression you've been unable to shake. When you close your book and set it down to completely give him your full attention, he preens at your acceptance. You may not fully understand your own consent to his courtship, but the primal, feral instinct within him is more than satisfied with your open attraction and silent acceptance of him into your space- your life. He lingers by you for a moment and when he doesn't hide or fly away from you, it indicates he's comfortable enough with you. You smile and begin to speak.

Imagine you still keep your voice soft, welcoming for him. It's so, so sweet of you to care so much for him already- such a precious, soft, sweet mate you are already without hardly trying. You introduce yourself to him- you give him your name! As you do so, he flits around you with little twirls and swoops in his own excitement. Instinctually, you hold your hand out to shake. He grabs it instantaneously within his own soft, warm grasp. He holds your hand, enjoying how his hands are still just a smidge bigger than your own little, pudgy ones; even if it's barely noticeable to you, he can tell. You give the shared grasp a shake but he doesn't release you, instead he uses it to hover closer to you. (He's tempted to swoop into your outreached arm and cuddle into your side, he's strongly resisting that temptation. The mantra in his head is "not now, don't do it, not now...")

You smell like the flowers you plant, the earthiness of fresh watered soil, and there's a warmth beneath it all he can't place. It's enchanting, nearly hypnotizing. (Fuck, the other's are going to drool over your scent later when they get closer- maybe even over him if it's strong enough lingering on him after he meets you.) When he finally releases, he gives you his own name breathlessly with a giant blush upon his cheeks. His feathers puff up around him in his embarrassment before he dashes off towards the forest. As he does so, he pauses to look back at you every few yards. Instead of following you like he's silently urging and beckoning you to do, you smile, little puffy cheeks rounding adorably as you tell him "see you soon!" (fuck- his heart is going as fast as his wings and that cannot be healthy)

Imagine you start seeing Calypte more often. In fact, you start meeting him in your garden at least twice a week. After your first week, you begin to bring him fruit to eat, since you didn't quite think he drank from the hummingbird feeder like his look alike. The first time he ate the orange so ravenously for you that you never stopped. He knows that in nature, if he were true to his counterpart, he wouldn't be building the nest- you would. He knows in nature his counterparts instinct wouldn't be to linger after copulation, but he supposes that side of him is entirely the human part.

The need to preen and nest for you, the need to stay by your side, the need for you attention, for your care, for your love. That is surely, entirely his humanity. After all, hybrids are different from their animal inspiration. They're an interesting amalgamation of all the best parts of both. That's why they were created, why they were designed, right? Before the humanity and ethics caught up to it all, anyway. His parents acted very human after all, it just depended on genetics. However you.... you brought the humanity out of him. You bring the humanity out of him. It thrills him, makes him feel alive, and he can not get enough of it- of you.

[kiwisoap]

Another one of my favorite programs I did when I worked at the park wasn't even a planned program, I literally was scheduled to do a completely different program but nobody showed up for it so I was packing up, and I hear this grandma at one of the nearby campsites go "No I'm not taking you down to the lake! Look, there's a park ranger, go ask him and maybe he'll take you". So these siblings who are like 10 and 12 years old come up to me and ask if I could take them to the lake. And since I had a free hour since nobody came to the scheduled program I was like. Fuck it. Let's go to the lake.

So I spent like 30 minutes just chatting and hiking with these two kids down to the lake, stopping to show them cool plants and bugs and stuff along the trail, giving them spicebush leaves to smell, showing them what pawpaw trees look like, etc. When we got to the water they splashed around for a few minutes and I showed them the little animal footprints in the mud and we tried to figure out what kind of creatures they might be from.

But the BEST part was on the way back when we passed by this cluster of milkweed with all kinds of insects all over it, and I told them about how important pollinators are, and how a lot of bees and wasps are actually very docile and don't wanna hurt you, and to demonstrate I patted a bumblebee right on its back. And we spent a few minutes just watching all the insects buzzing around the flowers (wasps and hornets and bumblebees and honeybees and beetles and butterflies) and the brother finally goes "wow.... maybe bees aren't scary after all"

And I was like YEAH!! Bees aren't scary after all! You get it little dude!! One of my favorite moments from that whole summer. I hope he still appreciates bees.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Bee Stings and Butterfly Kisses || SV5

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x wife!reader Summary: Your husband takes nesting to a whole new level with the paradise he’s found to start his family. Warnings: established relationship, pregnant!reader, fluffiness WC: 1.4k

The property Sebastian had chosen to raise his children upon was everything you could have dreamt of and more. There were rolling meadows full of fragrant flowers, forests of conifers and evergreens, and even a lake with an abundance of trout. The house he had designed was built using recycled material and was sustainable to run with the dozens of solar panels on the roof. He had truly future proofed everything to live a life as environmentally friendly as possible.

“Did you know honey is the only food that doesn’t spoil if you store it properly?” Sebastian barely looked up from the old set of drawers he was upcycling into an apiary. “There were pots of honey found in ancient tombs in Egypt, around 3000 years old.”

“I still don't see why we need bees at our home.”

“Because, my love,” he said as he placed his hammer down and pulled you into his arms, “this is our future we are building. Without bees there’s no pollination, with no pollination there’s no flowers, or fruit and vegetables.” His hand splayed across your swollen belly, feeling his son’s kicks against his palm with a smile. “It’s our responsibility to protect our future.”

The outdoor sofa where you were reading was a current favourite place of yours. It was tranquil and warm and allowed you to get off your feet for a little bit while your husband pottered around in the garden. With only a few weeks to your due date everything ached from your neck to your ankles so you kicked your feet up and listened to the birdsong.

The hiss of pain was one you had come to know well recently and it only took a minute for Seb to appear at the edge of the garden, the metal gate squeaking on its rusted hinge. He cupped one hand over his cheek, one eye closed with a wince as he ascended the stairs to the deck.

“You wouldn’t get stung if you used the smoke, love,” you softly reminded him as he took a seat and pulled his hand away. “Oh dear, that’s a big one.”

“We don’t know the long term effect the smoke has on them, it could be poisoning them,” he said as he turned his head so you could use your nails to pull the stinger out without squeezing more toxin into his cheek. “They will recognise me soon and realise I’m not going to hurt them.”

“If you say so.” You loved your husband but you weren’t so sold on the trust building exercise he found himself in. More often than not after going to check the beehive you found yourself in this position, grateful he wasn’t allergic. “How is your queen doing?”

His lips pulled up into a smile and he sat down on the edge of the seat, pulling your feet onto his lap and massaging your swollen ankles. “You tell me, my sweet, how are you doing?”

Emotions swelled in your chest and you cursed as he laughed, leaning closer to wipe away the tear that escaped. “Damn these hormones. You should really stop being so nice so my poor tear ducts can have a break. Can’t you just be a jerk?” His laugh grew and with it the kicks increased. “Yes, yes, daddy’s laughing at me.”

“I would never laugh at your mother,” he chuckled, lifting your shirt to press his lips to your belly. Stretch marks littered the skin and you dared not to think about the other changes that you couldn’t see below the swell, but he still made you feel beautiful. “Everything she is going through is my fault.”

“That’s right,” you agreed with a smile. “Daddy spent a lot of time romancing and seducing me, and now here you are.”

Seb looked up, his long hair hanging in naturally soft waves around his face. “How could I not? You were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I could hardly concentrate on the race after seeing you.”

“It couldn't have affected you too much,” you said as you tucked his hair behind his ear, “you still won.”

“I had to make a good impression somehow, since I could barely speak a word when we were introduced,” he admitted as he looked out over the garden he tendered.

You followed his gaze knowing he was going to be a great father considering the care he gave to the garden, and you. “It was your eyes I fell for anyway, they looked sweet and kind.”

The rows of plants were just flowering and you traced them to see the little bursts of yellows that all too soon would become bright red ripe tomatoes. Next were the beans, too many varieties to count, all climbing the trellis Seb had made from the wood of fallen trees in the forest. Further beyond were your favourites, the bushes that were brimming with berries of every flavour. Each morning you would amble your way to them with Seb and a bowl, pointing out the juiciest looking berries for him to pick for your smoothie.

Patting his good cheek, you shuffled to sit up and swing your legs off the couch.

“Where are you going?”

With a groan you pulled yourself to your feet and rubbed the straining skin at your sides. “To get some ice to stop that swelling,” you said as you pointed to his face. “You need to be able to see properly if you are thinking about getting back in a race car this weekend.”

“I can get it, you rest.” He followed you into the house even after catching the roll of your eyes and watched you struggle to bend down to reach the ice tray at the bottom of the freezer. Unable to stop himself, his hands caught your waist and straightened you up before he grabbed the tray. “I don’t want you hurting yourself,” he said with a kiss to your temple.

“I said the same thing, but you still went and got stung.”

“But that’s because I have you to kiss me better.”

You smiled at the softness in his tone and gave him the gentlest of kisses to his swollen cheek, barely the touch of a butterfly's wing. “There, is that better?”

“Yes, I don’t even need this anymore,” he said as he turned to put the tray away until you stopped him with an amused look.

“Nurburgring,” you reminded him, grabbing a tea towel to wrap the ice cubes in.

He had been excited since he got the call from Christian Horner to drive the historic track, and in a car modified to run on eco-friendly fuel no less. He was not going to do anything to miss the opportunity to return to the racetrack, even though he enjoyed retirement and the quiet life he had built in the rural settlement. So, he quietly accepted the ice pack and carefully pressed it to his cheek.

“It’s a dangerous track, Seb,” you murmured as you took over holding it, cradling his other cheek with your palm. “Please be safe and come home in one piece.”

His hands came to rest on your stomach, nearly covering it all as he splayed his fingers apart. “Of course, my love. And you need to stay in one piece until I get home.”

You giggled and felt the strong kick responding to his voice. “I have a feeling your son will take his time. Would you resort to one of those dreadful planes if he decides to come early?”

His lips twitched in amusement, used to your jibing over the consciousness of his carbon footprint. “I could probably drive home faster, with a few speeding tickets along the way, but I might be able to lower myself to boarding a plane for him.”

“Ah, that’s a father’s love,” you giggled. “He doesn’t even know what a sacrifice that would be.”

Sebastian lowered the ice pack so he could dip his head and kiss you. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the two of you.”

“Except get rid of the bees.”

His lips curled against yours in a smile you felt. “Except that.”

[idontcaboose]

Haunted car Au part 14

So, it has been a week, and it feels like when you wake up from an unplanned 30 minute nap and have to ask 'What year is it?' While feeling like you have been run over by a whole procession of clowns, clown cars, and maybe a camel for good measure. Granted, that may be from the ragweed that is pollinating like crazy, but oh well... new part!

THIS IS YOUR WARNING! SWEAR WORDS! Plenty of cursing ahead! You have been warned!

Previous. Masterpost

It had been over 24 hours since Jason saw Danny. The most troubling thing was, there were no whispers of a trafficking group in that area. He couldn't fathom what had happened to the kid. Barbara couldn't find the kid on her cameras either, so he might need to go to the cave and look at the Batmobile himself. The footage Babs pulled were just as corrupted as the ally cameras were. Maybe the kid built himself a little jamming device, wouldn't be his first strangely useful creation. Whether or not he had a jamming device, he was still missing and none of the other street kids had seen him. He knew they were probably not harboring him with the bounty for finding Danny being as lucrative as it was. Jason knew offering to cook 3 meals a day for a week would get all of his street kids looking, some adults too.

Jason was a little surprised to see Duke looking at the Batmobile's underside when he drove in. Normally only Bruce and Jason worked on the cars since they had the most hands-on experience with them. Case in point, Duke had the car up on the lift with the front doors open. Did he have to sit Duke down and go through safety in maintenance 101? Maybe he could borrow little Timmy's version “The importance of Maintenance Safety: Or why you don't let Megan write safety plans.” It would hit all the important bits and sear the information in with neon yellow and blue comic sans font.

“So, Glowstick, mind telling me why the fuck you are trying to get yourself crushed?” Jason growled at the kid, the helmet making it even more menacing.

Duke gave Jason an unimpressed look. “B got a stick up his ass and thinks I somehow was involved with the Batmobile running weirdly." Duke sneered as he continued. "Last night when Red Robin activated his emergency beacon, the lead goon got in it and ran over some of his goons. The fail safes for theft didn't activate. Somehow, it was my fault. Perks to being the closest non-injured, I guess.”

Jason was surprised at the bitterness the usually sunshine-y kid had.

“Well, good news, we can swap for a bit, and I can teach you properly how to maintain this beast.” Jason offered.

“Why are you so interested?”

“I can't be nice?”

“You are here willingly, and no, you usually are not ‘nice’. So what is it?”

Jason was not expecting such hostility from Duke, but if Bruce had his panties in a twist and took it out on Duke, he could forgive some of the bite. Couldn't hurt to get Duke in on his hunt for Danny anyway.

“I… need help. One of my guys mentioned they bet a kid, named Danny, some money to put a sticker on the Batmobile. No one has seen the kid after entering the alley where the car was parked. Oracle said the cameras were corrupted at the time the kid was there with it. Figured I would check the car for clues.”

“Oh…. Sure.”

They both looked at the undercarriage of the car in silence before Jason gave a snort.

“The kid really did put a sticker on the oil pan. That is hilarious.”

Sure enough there was a Green Arrow sticker, one where he had his arms crossed and looking smug as all hell, positioned in such a way that eluded that when the oil was drained it would look like Green Arrow was pissing.

“That is amazing, if you find the kid let me give them a high-five for that. What does he look like anyway?”

“Adoption bait, pretty much a mini me with a more ‘polite’ mouth.” Jason was sure Duke could hear his smile when talking about the kid.

“No shit? You with manners? I don't think I can imagine that from a Alley Rat.” Duke teased.

“Watch it Narrows, us Alley Rats are all a little rabid.” Jason found himself teasing back before sniffing. “Besides, Alfie would have my head if I didn't have some manners.”

They went back into a more comfortable silence while working, Jason took to looking through the center, hoping to find some sort of clue of a struggle if Danny got nabbed. Duke was focusing on the engine compartment and any wirings that he could follow. It was rather relaxing until Duke went to move some rubber piping to get a closer look at a relay.

Neither person expected the car to shudder and produce a kind of creepy giggle. Duke froze and Jason reacted by tackling him away from the car and pulling one of his guns at the Batmobile.

“What in the ever loving fuck?” Jason screamed, the Batmobile responded with its own car alarm going off.

“Don't shoot! I'm sorry, I didn't expect that to happen, we are still trying to figure things out!” Duke had jumped back up and put himself in front of Jason, waving his hands and trying to keep attention on him.

“We? What the fuck Narrows?!”

“Just, both of you, stop! Hood, gun down, Car dude, stop the alarm. Please.” Duke all but whined the last word in desperation.

Jason took a Very deep breath, and growled out in the now silent cave.

“Car. Dude?”

Next

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422 @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism @thespacedragons @atinygracie @okami-love @lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple

[seat-safety-switch]

At the grocery store, they have Coke-flavoured Oreos, and Oreo-flavoured Coke. This cross-pollination of brands has gone too far. Even though the pious talking-heads at CNN call me a brand-mixing bigot, I just want to eat one food product at a time.

A couple years ago, when I worked in the food industry, we talked about stuff like this. We dreaded stuff like this. Someone's CEO's toddler would get a little froggy and decide to ask for a peanut-butter-and-Cool-Ranch-Doritos sandwich for breakfast.

Turns out that flavour combination is shockingly good, at least the first time you eat it. The CEO would rush it into production, damn the torpedoes, and take a huge bath on the fact that nobody wanted to eat two of them. Who felt the consequences of that loss? Us little folks, who would be rewarded with a much smaller bonus cheque in exchange for our sorcery in the fields of making food that should not have been made.

It gets even worse when two big brands collide. Suddenly you've got twice as many CEOs getting their egos caught up in the whole deal. Who comes first on the label? Maybe both of us release our own crazy product, build hype for the other guy's project. I'm here to tell you that it all ends in tears, just like that one summer vacation where you hung out with your buddy every day, until you were suddenly no longer buddies anymore. Except that it cost half a billion dollars for you to be buddies, and the grocery stores are tired of having to throw out unsold Rainbow Chips Ahoy bologna every week.

Here's my advice to the food people. Don't try to make new things. Instead, sell us the same old things, but make them either smaller or larger. Who wouldn't want to eat an Oreo the size of their head? Or a very tiny scale model of a pizza bagel? It's stuff we already like, but it seems like we're standing closer or farther away from it. The ape brain reels at this concept, which translates into spending money to resolve the discomfort.

That one's free. The next time you assholes come over here asking for product advice, it's going to cost you: I will insist that you bring back taco-flavoured ice cream.