#so many hives you could say i house bees

[itzamefreddeefatzune]

I have discovered i am allergic to labrador retreivers . Specifically labradors. No other dog.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Building a Hornet’s Nest

Male Wasp Hybrid Harem x Feminized Male Reader (CW: Noncon, musk, pheromones, bukkake, gangbang, double penetration, wasp men, oviposition, feminized male reader, drug-like cum, wasp transformation, DNA manipulation, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 3.7k (Sorry that this took so long. Sorry that this is so weird. I hope some people can find the degeneracy within themselves to enjoy it.) 

When your distant uncle had passed away and left you a property you were surprised to say the least. You were more surprised to learn that it was on Arcadia and that your uncle had never lived long enough to go and see it as he had been ill for some time before his passing and he was not particularly old either. Years ago, unknown to most of the family, he had procured a modest plot of land on Arcadia, a distant planet on the fringes of known space. A true modern day frontier. It was known for its mega-flora. With flowers that grew to the size of trees in some cases. It was also known for its giant docile bees. They were just like bees on Earth except much much larger and they were stingless, it was very easy to domesticate them and now people used them on Arcadia to develop many rare and exotic honey types from the strange alien flowers. Your uncle had wanted to be a beekeeper, he was apparently going to invite you on the venture with him seeing as how you were both into farming and working the land and you had helped him with his beekeeping when you were younger, but he never recovered from his illness so you did not find out until his death. With only a bit of hesitance you decided to pursue your uncle’s dream. When you first got to Arcadia you were in awe by how tranquil and picturesque it was, the pictures and videos that you had seen certainly did it no justice. Unlike Earth most of the foliage was various shades of red, orange, and yellow. Giant blooms of every shape and color imaginable were everywhere, with the exception of the clearing that a small settlement had been built in. Despite being here for a few decades it was still very much a quaint little frontier town, pleasant enough people, offering just the bare essential services. Then there was your new plot of land a few miles from town. It was… run down… to say the least. But you made due, you had sold everything of significant value that you had owned back on Earth and were fully committing to this new venture. And, after a few months, your efforts finally paid off. A giant mansion sized barn for your future bees was built and your house was repaired. All that was left to do was wait for your shipment of buzzy friends to arrive. Well they wouldn’t be so busy when they arrived, as they would still be pupa, but within a week or two the pupa would be finished developing into full sized giant docile bees, they would accept the barn as their home and set up shop. The day came when your shipment finally landed and you were so thrilled, they came off the hover truck and you hurried them into their new home, carefully placing them horizontally into cells in the walls and capping them. In truth you had been more than a bit worried, you were running perilously low on funds and had to go with a discount bee supplier that seemed just a slight bit unreliable. But it seemed you had worried for nothing, here were your bee pupa, nice and healthy. Though they did seem to be a slightly different shape than they looked from the advertisements and videos, you were sure that nothing was wrong. You could barely contain your excitement, you had heard that these bees easily imprint on their humans and are very loving, soon they would establish a hive and your goals would be obtained. It would be slow at first, as you only had enough to get three pupa, but you would get there eventually. You couldn’t stop yourself from checking the barn every few hours. 9 or 10 times each and every single day. The wait was torture. But finally, after about 12 days, you heard buzzing coming from the barn when you stepped out of your house in the morning, you practically tripped over yourself running back inside to grab the collars for them and then dashed back outside and across the field of flowers you had started to grow for them. You opened the door to the barn and… it was NOT what you were expecting. The three pupa were no longer in the cells you had packed them so lovingly into, but they sure as hell were not bees either. Instead, standing before you were three wasp-men. You knew what these were, genetically engineered human-wasp hybrids, that typically had smaller genetic contributions from several ant and bee species as well, that were typically used in highly regulated projects or otherwise extremely shady sources of labor on the very unregulated frontier planets. The question was how did you get them? Did someone’s order get mixed with yours? With how much energy and enthusiasm you opened the door with, they were all now intently staring at you, and to say that they were intimidating would have been an understatement. They all looked fairly similar to one another, red and yellow plates of chitinous exoskeletons covered their feet, arms, legs, chests, and backs. The only thing lacking the exoskeletons were their faces, abs, asses, and crotches. Which were very much exposed, showing off scarily long cocks and heavy balls. They had red bug-like eyes, they had fangs but otherwise regular mouths, but they sat between a set of wicked looking mandibles. Antenna twitched on their heads, sticking out from long blood red hair. Each had a set of large wings folded behind them. Their antennas twitched in your direction as they also sniffed the air curiously. Uh-oh. They were from a shady source so who knows how unpredictably they could act towards you, so you wisely decided to make a hasty retreat, but they quickly flew over to you and pulled you back deeper into the building. “Where’s the rush?” one of them inquired in a slightly buzzing but deep voice, “Me and my friends just woke up here and need some answers.” “Uh-uh okay, sure, what do you want to know?” The one speaking put his arm roughly around your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Well, we are looking for the person meant to be our queen, do you know where they are? Your scent is the only one here. Did you put us in the wall compartments?” “There isn’t any queen, but y-yeah I was the one who bought your pupa and put them in there.” He took a moment to feel you over with his antenna, it probably would have tickled had you not been scared shitless. “Sooo… you’re the queen? Or are you under someone??” “There isn't one! And I own this land and made this building for bees…” One of the other two wasp men chimed in at this. “Ha! Bees? Those weak passive ones that have no human in em and are about as smart as a pet dog? You’re lucky you got us instead, we are far superior!” The one holding you now much too tightly replied while flexing his free arm,”He’s right, we are much better. You really lucked out little queen~ We can keep you much safer.” He licked up your neck with a long narrow tongue making you shiver. “I told you, there isn’t a queen!” You were beginning to grow annoyed with the cyclic nature of this conversation. “You bought us? You own this territory? You put us in cells so we could grow?” “W-well yeah but… I’m n-not-” “You’re our queen then~ Don’t be scared we’ll keep you all safe from the big scary world! You’re far too weak and squishy to just be left alone.” “Ha! Yeah, just a pathetic squishy little human,” the third one that had been silent up until now chuckled as he poked you hard in the stomach. The one holding you grinded gently into your ass, his cock fully erect and prodding your cheeks. “This ass is soft too~ Bet it feels great inside, doesn’t it little queen?” “S-stop, please, I’m not a w-woman!” “Awe, our queen is a bit dumb too~ Good thing we came along to take care of you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you’re our queen yet, we’ll rape you full of our eggs. You’ll look so lovely full of our spawn~” As he said all of this he began to gently rub his hand against your crotch and the other two hybrid men stepped closer. Between the unwanted touching and the mention of the word rape you decided it may be worth the risk to try and escape anyway, but your struggles didn’t last long. The man holding you shook you a bit violently until you were unsteady and still and then held the top of his wrist to your neck. A long thick black needle protruded from his wrist and was pointed at you threateningly. You turned away, trying to put as much space between your neck and the sinister looking needle as possible. “Maybe you aren’t too dumb, you know what this does don’t you my queen? It’ll hurt terribly before paralyzing you and allowing us to play with you at our leisure and make you fulfill your royal duty~” You let out a pathetic whimper in response. “Oh, don’t worry, I don’t want to use it. How can you squirm around my dick if I did? So just relax and let this happen the easier, more fun way, okay?” He nibbled on your earlobe and you went completely limp in his grasp, signaling that you wouldn’t put up anymore of a fight. “Heh heh, excellent choice, my queen~” The other two wasps chuckled cruelly as well as one pulled your shirt off and the other wasted no time in unburdening you of your pants and boxers. They stared at you hungrily. Your nudity only fueled your fear and you had to stifle your instinct to flail, thrash, punch, and run. But doing so would surely make things much worse for you, better to just let them have their way and get it over with and hope you could sneak out after maybe when they were sleeping or otherwise distracted. You could feel the cock of the hybrid behind you gently rubbing against your hole as he licked and bit at your neck. He bent down behind you and spread your cheeks, making you shudder as an inhumanly long tongue prodded your hole before sliding in deep, stretching you out gently as it probed and making you twitch and grow hard as it found and focused on your prostate. The genetics for their tongues definitely came from long tongued bees. The wasp man behind you got up and resumed pressing his cock into your hole. “Just getting you good and ready queen~” He whispered softly into your ear. His large cock mercifully massaged copious amounts of thick precum into you to prep you for breeding. At least the entry wouldn’t be unstretched or dry, because that’s not something you would have put past them. The other two wasps were busy rubbing their hands all over your body, rubbing your belly, groping your ass cheeks, stroking your face with surprising tenderness, and contrasting that with rough greedy groping of your soft thighs and tugging at your hair. As the one behind you slipped inside your well lubed ass a second wasp enveloped your hard cock entirely within its mouth while the third kissed you passionately, its tongue fervently exploring every inch of your mouth. You couldn’t even yell in pleasure or protest the pain of having your ass invaded by a large inhuman cock as the long thin went down your throat, making you gag a bit. Finally respecting your need to breathe, the wasp removed itself from your face and began biting your sensitive neck, adding to the complete overly stimulating waves of sensation already being caused by having your dick enveloped by a hot mouth and your prostate gently kissed by the rhythmic thrusts of the other two insectoid men. The one attending your cock took his free hand to massage your balls and that led you to possibly the quickest orgasm of your life. In any other situation you would have been totally humiliated, but you were long past having any dignity today. The one behind you did not relent in his fucking of you, but instead picked up the pace a bit as he felt your body shudder, the one sucking you off hungrily swallowed your load before licking his lips and getting up. “My, you were really pent up my queen, and you produce such sweet honey for me!” He pressed his lips to yours, letting the taste of your own cum permeate your mouth. Between the kiss and the constant pounding of your ass you whimpered as you were already hard again, the wasp that had previously had its tongue down your throat now replacing the one that swallowed your cum at your cock, kissing the sensitive organ before licking it and sucking your recently emptied nuts. You whimpered as they continued to manhandle your sensitive body. The one pumping into your tight hole finally slamming in hard and cumming forcefully, depositing something round and hard into you as he did, making you flinch a bit in surprise as you remembered that they reproduced via eggs, it did not really hurt, but you felt a tingling inside where the waspoid cum touched you. The cock inside you lingered a while as it filled you but once it slid out and away from you your ass’ rest was short lived. One of the wasps laid with his back on the ground and with his cock pointing up, the other two bringing you over to him and forcing you to lower yourself onto his eager, drooling, prick. Your well stretched hole slid on him easily and he gripped you tight and forced you up and down on his length. That special spot inside you was rubbed once more, making you shudder in unwilling pleasure, your body completely betraying you. The pace was slow enough for you, and surprisingly he seemed unwilling to seriously injure his “queen”. As you were finally getting used to the motions one of the other wasps, the one that had already filled your ass, came up behind and slid his cock back inside you with his friend’s so that you were now being plowed in tandem by the both of them. As you gasped from the sudden extra intrusion abusing your insides the third wasp took advantage of your open mouth and wasted no time in putting his dick in your open mouth. You could taste his precum, oddly enough it had just a slight soothing effect and you noticed it tasted of honey. Filled to the brim with cock, you started to get a bit more relaxed as time went on, not overly so. You were still very unwilling and any pleasure was purely physical, incidental, and frustrating, but whatever was in the honey like fluid dripping from his cock was definitely making you a bit less stiff and just a tad bit less defiant. While this was happening you thought you could remember hearing something about this, that modified wasp and bee species made substances that could calm down their queens when distressed, both in fluids and via pheromones. And now that you thought about it the musk that hung heavily in the air was strangely comforting, it was like the more of the precum that dripped down your throat the more you were affected by the smell that these men were giving off. Not nearly enough to really lose yourself though, it was far more subtle than that. It was also probably why you did not feel too much pain anymore despite two dicks pistoning your ass, as one cock thrust forward the other pulled back. All the while the one occupying your mouth was happily pumping away, content with enjoying the wet warmth of your mouth as he fed you more pre. Between all the sensations overtaking your body, the cocks sliding in and out of you, the pheromones and relaxing fluid, and the hands roaming over your sides, face, and thighs, you couldn’t help but blow another load, right on the wasp that was below you. “See? It feels good to be our queen, doesn’t it,” he asked with a mocking chuckle knowing full well it was just your body’s response and it didn’t mean you were enjoying your predicament. After several minutes the one making you suck him pulled out and moaned as he came all over your face, covering you in warm slippery fluid. There were no eggs in this ejaculation, he was certainly saving all of those to be deposited deep inside you to go along with his friend’s. Your skin tingled a bit where the cum touched you and you began to feel just a bit dizzy as your inhibitions slowly lowered just a bit and you became even more relaxed. The cum was much more potent than just the precum and the load up your ass was gradually affecting you as well. Musk permeating the air was much thicker than it had been, or maybe you just noticed it more now, but it was making you drool a bit and you couldn’t help but bounce back a bit against the dicks in your suddenly hungry hole. “I feel really weird… can we stop now…” You stifled a cry, something wasn’t right, you were much more sensitive than normal to everything and you were having difficulty thinking clearly. The wasps all smirked as they ignored you, knowing that their fluid was slowly turning you into a weak little queen they could worship and fill with egg after egg. It was slowly changing your very DNA, making you receptive to hybrid pheromones, making you crave them. The one that had previously unloaded in you pulled out and came all over your back. Moments later the one below you working you on his shaft like some kind of living sex toy slammed you down to the base of his cock and filled you deeply with even more eggs and semen, causing you to spasm and moan weakly with a dry orgasm of your own. “Fuck! You’re a great incubator!” While you were panting and trying to recover the wasp previously abusing your mouth unceremoniously pulled you off the cock you were on and gripped you tight from behind, his erection easily sliding in your cum leaking entrance. “Not done yet, being queen is very busy work, you have to take my eggs too~” “P-please no more, I-I feel funny,” you pleaded desperately as your head was swimming with mixed signals. You knew you didn’t want this but you were so light headed you could barely think, and now these wasp men smelled so alluring, and wouldn’t having more eggs in you feel so nice? “I-I n-need to s-stop…” You felt an instinctual need to keep letting them fill you up, but at the same time you were burning up and truly felt feeble and sick. “Shhh, shhh, just relax, okay? You have been such a good mate for us so far~” He licked a long stripe up your neck with his thin tongue and held you tighter as he continued grinding into you. Without warning he started flying a few feet in the air while still breeding you, his insect instincts telling him to give you a proper nuptial flight. In no time the other wasps joined in as well, both of them in front of you, tending to their precious queen. Rubbing you up and down, smearing the fluid that covered you into your skin, giving little kisses and nibbles, and caresses where they saw fit. They were a bit brutish, but they knew the transition occurring in all of your cells was a rough one and they wanted to help their queen embrace his new role as easily as possible, especially since you had been such a perfect weak little mate for them. You would have continued to beg for them to stop, but it felt so nice now. And it would have been so ungrateful. These nice men were taking care of you so sweetly, giving you lots of eggs to tend to, choosing you to take care of them. It made you feel fluttery in the pit of your stomach. You were so lucky. With a shudder the final load of eggs was unloaded into you, the wasp man behind you wrapping his legs around yours as he came. They all gently lowered you to the ground, one of them keeping you in his arms with you leaning against him and burying your head in his neck before passing out from sheer exhaustion. The wasps’ fluids were still hard at work rewriting your DNA, somewhat like a virus. It was definitely taking a toll on you. Your harem of wasp-men took you to your house and had you all washed up and bundled in your bed, keeping a dedicated vigil over you as you had a deep but feverish sleep. They did not like seeing you uncomfortable, unless it was from them teasing you. But they knew it would be worth it, when you woke up in a few days you would be totally dependent on them. Your new insect DNA demanding you to always be by one of them for safety and telling you that you would constantly need to be incubating their eggs. Their pheromones would comfort, alert, or arouse you based on what they needed to communicate and you would produce some as well that allowed them to track you and be aware of your condition. You’d even grow antenna and your skin would take a reddish tone. You would technically be a wasp hybrid yourself, but that would be the extent of your transformation. Just a weak incubator hopelessly dependent on them for the rest of your life.

[soldateins]

As Sweet As Honey

Shane (Stardew Valley) x Reader Oneshot

Vibe/Warnings: Wholesome with a dash of spice because it's Shane and he's just a spicy guy imo. No warnings for this fic it's just cutesy.

Words: 1,013

Notes: This is a super cute request from @drnoblesix! I hope you like it! It ended up a teeny little bit saucy dialogue-wise near the end because I just feel Shane is like that, but it's mostly super wholesome and I enjoyed writing this prompt! Reader is neutral just because that's how it turned out so anyone can enjoy!

Summary/Prompt: A wholesome little oneshot where Shane tries some food that the farmer (Reader) has made.

For the fourth day in a row, Shane was an hour late from work as he arrived at your farm. You had just shut the chickens into their coop when you spotted him trudging up the steps, “Goodnight, ladies,” You said as you flicked the lock of the coop door before making your way to the house.

Grabbing a crate of empty jars on the way up the steps, you held it up with your knee as you opened the front door to the cabin and pushed it open all the way. Entering your home, you were greeted by your project of the week. A multitude of jars of many sizes were scattered over the kitchen table and sides and piled in crates on the floor, many of them filled to the brim with different kinds of honies and donning specific colours of fabric lid covers that you had assigned them.

The faint thrumming of the pipes in the bathroom notified you of Shane’s whereabouts as you placed the crate of jars onto the kitchen table with a clunk before continuing to jar the honey. After a few minutes of content humming and honey-pouring, Shane entered the kitchen. His hair was damp from washing his face and his eyes that usually matched the stems of the young spring flowers this time of year appeared almost drained of colour. He opened the fridge and pulled out a can of soda. 

“Hey, hey,” You stumbled over to him, hurriedly twisting open the purple-marked lid of a jar before Shane could open the can. He tilted his head, peering down at you with tired but curious eyes. “Try this, it’s really good, I promise.” You said eagerly, bringing the jar of honey up to his face for him to smell as you snatched a spoon from the side and dipped it into the gooey substance.

“Smells flowery.” Shane pursed his lips, watching you as you carefully twirled the golden honey around the spoon, making sure not to spill it anywhere as you brought it to his lips.

“Taste, c’mon, I’ve been working on this all week. I need my trusted taste-tester.”

After a brief pause and his eyes flickering from yours to the spoon, Shane took the small spoon into his mouth. His eyes wandered as he tasted the honey and then widened, finding their way to yours.

“Good?” You asked, raising your brows and letting go of the spoon.

“Mhm, mmm.” Shane nodded, grabbing the spoon and pulling it from his mouth. He swallowed and spoke, “That is amazing. What is it?”

“It’s honey!” You beamed, putting the jar onto the kitchen table and shutting it tight.

“Well, yeah. But what have you done to it?”

“It’s special flavoured honey. I’ve been experimenting with growing different flower species around my bee hives to flavour the honies; what you just ate was lavender honey!” Your heart fluttered at his enthusiasm and pride swelled within your chest. Shane placed his soda can on the kitchen side, shaking his head.

“You’re absolutely incredible.”

“So I’ve been told.” You leaned in towards him with a smile.

A beat passed and that familiar warmth of attraction surged up through your chest like a fountain as you scanned one another’s faces. That feeling you got when you first made him look at you with those sarcastic, defined features after saying something completely ridiculous. As though you could burst out laughing in his face and never stop.

Shane furrowed his brows as he looked at you, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” You breathed.

“You’ve got honey on your face, honey,” He licked his thumb and rubbed it gently over your cheek, “And flowers in your hair.” He moved the same hand up into your hair, running it through a couple of times before softly resting it against the side of your head. His fingertips massaged your scalp and you exhaled slowly.

“I adore you, you know that?” His voice was gruff and sleepy.

“That I have been told, too.” You quipped and Shane rolled his eyes before pulling you close and pressing his lips to yours. The sweet, floral flavours of the honey still lingered on his lips and you sighed against his mouth. Shane’s stubble tickled your face as he slowly parted your lips with his tongue; you both hummed, pulling each other closer, your hands holding his collar and his arms cradling you warmly. You broke the kiss, looking up into his eyes,

“I adore you too. More than you could ever know.” 

Your hand snaked around to the back of Shane’s head and began playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. His lips twitched and he inhaled deeply before his eyes started darting around, taking in the messy kitchen around you both.

“Where the hell are we supposed to cook?” He chuckled and you felt it vibrate through your body from deep within his chest. You pursed your lips and hummed,

“How about… dining out tonight? The Stardrop?” You suggested with a tilt of your head. Shane smiled and you felt the muscles of his back relax against your hands.

“As long as it’s with you, I don’t care.”

A teasing smile danced upon your lips, “Are you sure? Because tomorrow your day is going to be full of honey-tasting.”

“Oh, I am more than okay with that.” He lowered his head, his drying hair falling over his forehead in gently waved clumps as his gaze caught yours, “Especially if the tasting ends with you.” Shane breathed and barked out a laugh at your steadily reddening face. You swallowed before exhaling, “Uh- Well, we- we better get ready and leave before Gus runs out of pepper poppers!” You shuddered as Shane dragged his fingers down your spine.

“Yeah, I guess dessert’ll have to wait until we get home.” He pressed another quick but heavy kiss to your lips before letting go and heading off to pull on his boots, leaving you breathless and hungry for more than just pepper poppers.

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 8: One Could Get Used to This

Wordcount: 1.5K

~~~~

No-one comes to drag Virgil out of bed. He wakes on his own the next morning and for a few moments contemplates getting out of bed, but then he rolls over and goes back to sleep. It’s his day off, he doesn’t have any plans, and he is cozy.

He wakes again around noon, and wanders downstairs. There’s no-one in the sitting room, but he finds Patton in the dining room, curled up in the armchair with a book.

“Good morning!” Patton greets cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “You?”

Patton’s eyes crinkle up in a pleased smile. “I did, yes, thank you,” he says. 

Virgil fidgets, just a little, and he glances back toward the door. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Hm,” Patton says thoughtfully, tapping the book against his chin. “Logan’s in his office, and last I saw him, Roman was still asleep, poor dear.” He chuckles. “You two sure were up real late last night. And Remus and Janus aren’t here right now, but they were going to come to dinner, so they should be arriving in a few hours.” He pauses, thinking. “I don’t think anyone else was planning to be here today, but I might have forgotten something, or they might’ve forgotten to mention it. That happens sometimes.”

“Must make meal planning difficult,” Virgil says.

“It can,” Patton agrees. “But I like to make sure we have plenty of leftovers anyway, so a surprise guest or two isn’t very hard to accommodate.” He smiles gently at Virgil. “Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?”

“If you’re offering,” Virgil says, because they have been incredibly hospitable to him so far, but he doesn’t want to presume anything.

“Oh of course,” Patton says, setting his book down. “I hate to leave anyone hungry when there’s food in the house. What would you like? Are you in the mood for a breakfast breakfast, or something more lunchy?”

Virgil hesitates. “I don’t want to make you cook something just for me,” he says.

“Oh, it’s no trouble!” Patton reassures him. “I like cooking. But we do have leftovers in the fridge if you would like something quicker.”

Virgil nods a little. “What are my options?”

“Well, we’ve still got plenty of what we had last night, of course,” Patton says consideringly, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. Virgil follows. “And I made a fresh batch of boiled eggs this morning.” He opens the fridge and peers inside, then waves Virgil over. “Take a look, anything look appetizing?”

Virgil joins Patton in front of the fridge and looks inside. ‘Plenty of leftovers’ may have been an understatement. The fridge is quite full, mostly of containers. There’s no way Virgil can possibly see all the options without taking most of the contents out to see what’s behind them, and he is not about to do that.

Trying to be quick, Virgil scans the food visible through the sides of the containers. He sees white rice, mixed vegetables, something brown that’s probably gravy, mashed potatoes, a couple drumsticks… 

He knows, reasonably, that everything in this fridge is probably very good. He is also sure that if he was sat down and served any of these choices, he would eat it without complaint and be pleased with it. But just now, looking at the leftover containers, his stomach and taste buds rebel, and nothing looks appealing. 

“I don’t know,” Virgil says. It’s not that he isn’t hungry. His stomach is very helpfully informing him that it is currently empty. It is just also telling him, simultaneously, that there isn’t a single food in the entire world that will satisfy, and unfortunately it has annexed his tongue to its side. His brain, meanwhile, is yelling that he’s taking too long to decide, and he needs to hurry up and pick something before Patton gets upset at him for letting all the cold out of the fridge.

Patton makes a sympathetic sound. “Too many options to choose between?” he says softly. “Would you like me to prepare you a plate?”

Virgil’s very bones go limp. “Yes please,” he says weakly, glad to have the decision taken out of his hands.

Patton rests his hand gently on Virgil’s arm. “Why don’t you go wait in the comfy chair, and I’ll bring you some food in a minute,” he suggests gently.

“Okay,” Virgil says, and goes. Just as he settles, Patton appears in the doorway again with an empty plate in his hands.

“You don’t have any dietary restrictions, do you?” he asks. “I know it’s a bit late to be asking, but…”

“No, I’ll eat anything,” Virgil says, fondness rising in his chest. “Thanks for checking.”

“You’re welcome,” Patton says, and goes back into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later, the plate now laden with a large slice of lasagna. “Do you want to come eat at the table, or over there?” he asks.

“Table, definitely,” Virgil says, moving. Much less risk of spilling red tomato sauce on their furniture that way, plus he’d rather not try to balance a hot plate on his lap right now. He sits, and Patton places the plate in front of him. Virgil’s eyes go wide. In addition to the lasagna, there’s a slice of home-baked bread with butter and jam, and a small heap of peas and corn. “Just how big do you think my appetite is?”

Patton chuckles. “Sorry,” he says. “Force of habit. Roman would clean that plate and then ask for seconds, especially after sleeping through breakfast.”

“I can believe it,” Virgil says with a laugh.

Patton pats his shoulder, then moves away. “If it’s too much, we can put some of it back,” he says as he reclaims the armchair. “You don’t have to eat all of it.”

He’s certainly going to give it his best go, Virgil’s stomach informs him seriously. His tongue agrees.

Virgil starts with a large bite of bread. It’s no longer fresh-baked, but Patton had re-warmed it. Toasted, maybe? There’s a bit of crunch to it, though it’s still pleasantly soft, not hard as a rock like most toast.

Roman makes an appearance when Virgil’s about halfway through his meal, wearing only a white tank top and a pair of red shorts. Virgil isn’t sure if they’re loose boxer shorts or thin actual shorts, but he’s not about to stare at Roman’s crotch and/or ass long enough to figure it out, and he’s certainly not about to ask.

Probably they’re actual shorts. Roman has so far struck him as having somewhat more decorum than Remus, and probably wouldn’t walk around in just his underwear with a random person in his house.

Probably.

“Ooh, that looks delicious, I want some of that, is there more?” Roman says in greeting, completely oblivious to Virgil’s inner musings.

“There’s one piece of lasagna left, and plenty of the rest,” Patton tells him, and Roman strides into the kitchen.

He returns after a few minutes with a lunch identical to Virgil’s, except that the heap of vegetables is taller, and he has a second, already half-eaten slice of bread in his hand. Also his jam is a different color. Roman plonks himself down in the chair diagonally adjacent to Virgil and grins at him. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully. “I see you did not flee into the night like Cinderella.”

“If I was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, it would have happened well before Patton came to tell us to go to bed,” Virgil points out.

“True,” Roman agrees. He turns and points his fork at Patton. “Patty Cake, if he ever turns into a pumpkin, don’t bake him into a pie,” he says.

Patton laughs. “How many times must I promise not to eat him?” he asks.

“Once more, it seems,” Virgil says. “For what it’s worth, I believed you the first time.”

Patton’s eyes twinkle. “I appreciate that.”

“Did you sleep well?” Roman asks Virgil. Virgil nods. As if he could have slept poorly, in that bed. And it was certainly nice to get to sleep in late. “Good, good. After breakfast, do you wanna watch more tv?”

Virgil laughs. “You’re insatiable,” he says.

“We left off on a cliffhanger!” Roman defends. “And I, for one, was thoroughly enjoying myself up until the point at which we were reminded of the cruel passage of time and the physical needs of our frail human bodies.”

“I was having fun too,” Virgil agrees. And, well, he doesn’t have any better plans for his afternoon off. It’ll be fun. He’ll just have to remember to actually bike home before it gets dark again.

“Excellent!” Roman says, clearly taking that as a yes, and tucks into his meal with gusto.

~~~~

Chapter 9: Come for the Bike, Stay for the Game Night

may have a brief break in my regularly scheduled chapter posting, as I've caught up to myself and am still writing chapter 9. So, we'll see if it's ready next week, but likely not.

[tracklessreason]

What would happen if someone were to try and use the Cortical Psychic Patch on Hive?

If it were to somehow work, what would happen if bee tried to get into the mind of the other person (just like in that episode of tfp)

Hive's mind would be like an everchanging labyrinth. It's not a set layout with different sections for each ghost residing within it, it's a crashing tumultuous force of memories old and new, the landscape crafted by whichever Prime's concious is currently most in control. It would be near impossible to find Hive inside. You're ten times more likely to encounter Optimus and a dozen other pissed off Primes who would be less than happy that someone was invading Hive.

Now, if Hive tried to enter another mechs mind alone, it would probably be fine. Should any of the Primes attempt to follow him, that could certainly cause some issues.

It's not something I've brought much attention to before, but Hive has a very strong mind. Anyone else would have broke down cycles ago trying to house the concious of that many mechs. It's why he was chosen, why the Matrix refuses to be removed from his chest.

Despite all the harm that's come of it, the Matrix stubbornly insists that this new age requires the input of all the Primes, and Hive is the closest they've got to an ideal vessel.

All this to say that having multiple mechs wandering around your mind might not be the safest thing. Not to mention how it might strain the connection. You definitely don't want them trapped in your mind. (Plus if they're too far from the Matrix for an extended period of time, they'll fade away, so they can't just be passed into a different vessel and wander off.)

Honestly I don't think it's something Hive would ever willingly agree to. He's a little put off by the concept of being in someone's mind, or more mechs being in his.

[layla-lobelia]

Chapter 1 : The Sun

Word Count: Approximately 1,162 words. Summary: The story begins with a nine-year-old Clark Kent watching as new neighbors, the Johnson family, move into the farmhouse next door.

The Kansas sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the golden fields surrounding the Kent farm. Nine-year-old Clark Kent sat on the porch steps, his legs swinging back and forth as he watched the dust trail behind the moving truck rolling down the narrow dirt road. The truck creaked to a stop beside the neighboring farmhouse, a place that had been empty for as long as Clark could remember.

Clark tugged at the edge of his flannel shirt, feeling a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. New neighbors weren’t exactly common in Smallville, and the idea of meeting someone new made his heart race a little. He glanced back at the screen door behind him, where his mom, Martha Kent—or Ma Kent as everyone in town called her—was finishing up in the kitchen.

“You ready to meet the new folks?” Ma asked as she stepped out, carrying a large apple pie wrapped in a checkered cloth. Her smile was bright, but she had a keen way of noticing when Clark was uneasy.

“Yeah, I guess,” Clark replied, his voice a little higher than usual. He wasn’t scared exactly, but he couldn’t help feeling a little jittery.

Ma laughed softly and set the pie down for a moment, kneeling beside him. “They’re just people, Clark. Probably nervous, just like you are. But what’s the best way to meet new folks?”

Clark rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help grinning. “With kindness,” he said, parroting what Ma had told him a hundred times before.

“That’s right.” She ruffled his hair gently. “Now come on. Let’s give ‘em a proper Smallville welcome.”

Clark hopped off the porch, his boots kicking up little puffs of dirt as he and his mother made their way across the field that separated their farm from the neighbors’. He could see two men unloading furniture from the truck, lifting a couch and a couple of boxes toward the house. A woman stood nearby, shading her eyes with one hand as she surveyed the work. As Ma and Clark approached, the woman turned toward them and smiled.

“Hello there!” Ma Kent called out cheerfully, waving with her free hand.

The woman wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to greet them. Her hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her brown skin glowed in the sunlight. She looked warm and welcoming, the kind of person who could put anyone at ease with just a smile.

“Well, hello!” she said, her voice bright and full of energy. “You must be the Kents! I’m Flora Johnson. We’ve heard so many good things about you already.”

“And we’ve been lookin’ forward to meeting you,” Ma Kent replied, offering the pie with both hands. “We brought a little something—hope you all like apple pie.”

Flora’s eyes lit up as she accepted the pie. “Apple pie? Oh, this is just perfect! Thank you so much, Martha.” She handed Ma Kent a large glass jar filled with amber-colored honey. “My husband and I keep bees, so here’s a little something from our hive. You’ll never find better honey.”

Clark stood quietly by Ma’s side, his eyes flicking between the two women. He wasn’t sure when he was supposed to speak, and he felt like he was too big to hide behind Ma’s skirt but too shy to just stand there.

Flora seemed to notice Clark for the first time, her eyes softening as she bent down slightly to his level. “And who’s this handsome young man?”

“This is my son, Clark,” Ma Kent said with a proud smile. “Clark, say hello to Mrs. Johnson.”

Clark’s ears burned red as he mumbled, “Hello, ma’am,” keeping his eyes on the ground.

Flora chuckled softly. “A little shy, huh? Don’t worry, my daughter’s the same way. She’s around your age, but she’s probably hiding out in the barn right now. She’s not too thrilled about moving.”

Ma Kent gave Clark a gentle nudge. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself, Clark? I’m sure she’d love to meet someone her own age.”

Clark hesitated for a moment, but the idea of meeting someone new tugged at him, curiosity outweighing his nerves. “Okay,” he said, giving his mom a quick nod before walking toward the barn, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

As he rounded the side of the barn, he spotted a girl standing on the other side of a wooden fence. Her curly black hair, tied back with a red scarf, bounced as she tried to scramble over the fence. Her overalls, covered in tiny embroidered flowers, were dirt-smudged, and her face was scrunched up in concentration as she pulled herself up, one foot barely managing to hook over the top rail.

Clark watched for a moment, biting back a laugh, before stepping closer. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

The girl startled, her grip slipping as she dropped back down to the ground with a soft thud. She spun around, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I’m tryin’ to leave,” she muttered, wiping her hands on her overalls as she glared at him. “What’s it to you?”

Clark blinked, caught off guard by her bluntness. “Leave? But… you just got here.”

Layla frowned and crossed her arms. “I don’t like it here. What if the people here are mean? I don’t know anyone, and I don’t wanna be here.”

Clark tilted his head, thinking for a second before he stepped a little closer. “I’m not mean. And you know me now.”

The girl huffed but didn’t say anything, her stubbornness starting to crack a little.

“I’ll be your friend,” Clark said simply, his voice full of warmth. “That way, you don’t have to worry about not knowin’ anyone. I’m Clark, by the way.”

Layla’s frown slowly melted into something softer as she stared at him. Her cheeks flushed slightly as she dropped her arms to her sides. “I’m Layla,” she said quietly, kicking at the dirt with her boot. “You really wanna be my friend?”

Clark shrugged like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Why not? We’re neighbors, right? And I don’t got many friends either.”

Layla’s eyes widened a little, as if she couldn’t quite believe he meant it. She glanced back at the fence for a moment, then at Clark. Finally, she gave a small, hesitant smile. “You don’t seem like a bad neighbor.”

Clark smiled back, feeling a sense of relief and happiness spread through him. “And you don’t seem so bad yourself.”

Layla took a step forward, a little more confident now. “So… what do you do around here? Is there anything fun?”

Clark thought for a moment, then grinned. “Well, there’s a creek just down the hill. We can catch frogs and stuff. And sometimes Pa lets me drive the tractor. It’s pretty cool.”

Layla raised an eyebrow. “You can drive a tractor?”

Clark puffed out his chest a little. “Yup! Well, mostly just steer it. But it’s still fun.”

Layla giggled, the sound light and free. “Alright, that sounds kinda fun. Maybe this place won’t be so bad after all.”

Clark beamed, glad that he had managed to cheer her up. “Come on, I’ll show you the creek. It’s not far.”

Layla hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Okay, but you better not trick me.”

“I won’t!” Clark said with a laugh, already turning to lead the way. “Promise.”

As they walked back toward the barn, Layla glanced over at Clark, a small smile playing on her lips. Maybe this new place wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt is: cold. (Apologies in advance for waving a cheery goodbye to the cold for a while, before it was brought back)

The Luckies Girl in the World (chapter six)

Summary: A visit to Sherlock's parents bestows Rosie with a pet name.

Six Years Old

I never found it weird that Papa called me Watson. It was his name for me, but some of my friends, teachers and apparently Sally Donovan, found it to be heartless and cold. 

They all failed to discern the amount of affection and warmth in his voice when he addressed me as such. There was nothing cold about it.

Papa also used endearments like my heart and my precious girl, but only in private, which made them feel even more special. I never heard him call Dad anything but John, though he had a dozen different ways of saying Dad’s name.

***

Papa gave me a new name a warm summer day when I was six. We were visiting his parents, which I adored, he not so much. That’s what he claimed, anyway, but I saw how fond he was of them. They didn’t have that strong bond I had with my parents, but it more than sufficed, and Dad made up for it by being his wonderful self. Natural, friendly, helping in the kitchen and doing some of the heavier gardening for my grandmother.

Papa and his father had one particular interest in common. Bees. My grandfather had several beehives, and the first thing Papa did when we arrived, was to pester his father about the creatures he found so endlessly fascinating. Papa’s father was a patient man and answered all his questions meticulously. 

Until then, I hadn’t been allowed near the hives, but this time, Pops, as I called him, had a surprise for me. My very own beekeeper suit, long gloves and a gigantic hat with a protective veil.

Papa was just as excited as me when I’d dressed myself, and the three of us walked into the garden to inspect the beehives. Not after Dad had taken endless pictures, though.

“Fascinating, aren’t they?” Papa murmured in my ear when Pops lifted out one of the frames where bees crawled around and buzzed.

I could only nod in agreement, because I couldn’t get my eyes off them. The hexagon pattern, the delicious honey they produced, their colour, how organised it all was.

At dinner that night, I told Dad all about my bee adventure, helped by Papa and Pops. When Granny served her famous honey cake with toasted almond flakes on top and vanilla ice cream for dessert, my day was complete.

“Is the honey from Pops’ bees?” I asked hopefully.

“Oh, yes, Rosie,” Granny answered. “Your Pops wouldn’t allow any other honey inside this house. Besides, it’s the best honey for miles.”

Pops squeezed her hand, and I sighed happily when I was granted a second slice of cake.

***

After that day, Papa started to call me by another name. Not that he discarded Watson altogether, but it was mostly limited to when he reprimanded me, so I guess it turned out to have a chillier effect on me in the end. 

When he first used the new name in Dad’s presence, I could see tears form in his eyes.

“Bee,” Dad whispered. “What a beautiful and fitting name.”

“Indeed. You like it, don’t you?” Papa asked me.

“I love it,” I stated. “I’ve never had a pet name before, have I, Dad?”

“Not as such, love,” Dad agreed. “Do you want me to come up with something too?”

“Only if you want to. You call me love and sweetheart all the time in addition to my name, so it’s fine,” I told him.

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” Papa recited.

“You and your Shakespeare,” Dad teased.

“Well, it is a nice quote, though I think an originally Danish saying, also used in Norway as far as I know, describes what I’m thinking about even better,” Papa retorted.

“Can you translate it into English?” I asked expectantly.

“Of course, Bee,” Papa replied. “A dear child has many names.”

Also available on AO3

(@s in the replies)

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Imagine Ellies hanging out with Dina and Jessie and they were whispering to each other and Ellie was like super confused until one of them says the woman at the bar is super hot and when Ellie turns to see who their looking at its Joel and reader. Ellie being shook af and turns to them like "I- That's my mom." And she ends up telling reader and Joel what happened when they went back home😂

It's illegal how much fun I had scribbling this🙃

It was one of the community evenings. Where everyone who wished could come for an evening of food, drinks, endless music, and dancing. It felt almost like a hive of bees. All buzzing together, all excited even if everyone worked amongst each other all the time as it was. But this was special. Seeing people like this after the outbreak was special. It felt so uplifting to witness so many smiles and to hear laughter.

Ellie had rushed out of the house before you and Joel. She was eager to see Dina well Jesse as well but Dina was the real reason Ellie even came for clothing advice to you. You were so happy for her. That teenager's excitement. The chance to mingle with people your age. You and Joel had talked about this many times. Late at night, in the comfort of your shared sheets. You both wanted nothing more than to give her at least a somewhat normal childhood. Ellie had her spark back and that was enough to ignite the fire that burnt within you two.

Ellie had been dancing with both of her friends for what felt like hours. She had slipped away with Dina for a bit. She wanted to kiss her but they only ended up holding hands. But that was enough to make Ellie go all red. Gosh, how much did she want to just run to you and tell you everything already? But she killed out the excitement for now trying to make her way back to her friends with three glasses of house lemonade in her hands.

She found Dina and Jesse almost pressed together as they whispered among themselves. A ping of jealousy ran down Ellie's back, she didn't like how close Jesse was to Dina. Even if there was nothing between them it still felt like she was already losing. Now even the fact that Dina had reassured Ellie that they were ex-lovers didn't make her feel any better.

"What are we gossiping about?", Ellie said sitting down the drinks, "Shhh...", Dina pulled Ellie by the hand, "Tell me that I am still alive", Jesse turned to the two of them pressing his fingers to the pulse point on his neck. Ellie rolled her eyes, still not understanding what all of this was about. "You two are unbelievable", "I wonder what you will say when you see her", Dina's words made Ellie even more confused. Was there another girl their age here that had caught her attention?

Ellie looked around the room but didn't see any super unfamiliar faces. "No, by the bar more to your left", Jessie guided his finger and Ellie followed the direction. Her brain turned off for a moment when she saw you laughing with your hand on your chest, a smug-looking Joel by your side. She was so going to bring that up to him, the male who never smiles my ass she thought. But you. No, they couldn't have been talking about you.

"I don't get it...", Ellie whispered, "El, the woman in the white shirt, long hair", so it was you. A weird tingle ran through her. "Shit, she's hot", Ellie snapped her head towards Jesse, "No, you will take that back", she said, feeling a weird sort of frustration building within her. "Well she is sexy bet she is good at...", Ellie stood up quickly, her palms came in contact with the boy's chest. Both Dina and Jesse looked confused as Ellie breathed heavily, "That's my mom, you sick-ass", the people around had turned to look but Ellie didn't quite send daggers.

You and Joel had noticed the whole thing as well. Joel rose first, telling you to stay behind as he approached the kids. "Is there a problem here?", he asked looking Jesse up and down as if he was planning all the ways to cause pain if he had by any chance hurt Ellie in a way. The boy only swallowed thickly. Of course, Jesse's words would mean nothing. So he didn't even try to explain. Ellie started at him still, Joel touched her shoulder and her head snapped to him. "No, but I want to go home", she mumbled turning around and walking towards you. Dina called out her name a couple of times but she didn't give the girl a second glance. Joel sent the two kids a warning look as he two turned around.

Ellie was walking ahead of you both. Huffing and puffing. You had asked Joel what had happened but he only shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, baby, what happened? Did someone upset you?", you called out just as Ellie was about to slip up the stairs. She stopped but said nothing. "El", Joel called out her name and she instantly turned to him. They were like one by now. The relationship they built was above this world. If anyone could get Ellie out of her head it was Joel.

"It's... They...", Ellie started as she walked back down and into the living room where you both stood. "I just didn't like what they said, well what Jesse said", Ellie admitted, lowering her head. "Did he insult you in any way?", you asked already frowning but Ellie shook your head. "He... said things about you", Ellie looked up to meet your confused eyes, "Me?", "He said you were hot and that you are probably good in bed but he didn't finish that part, that was what he was going to say and that is so not okay, you are my mom and...", she rammed on. You just sat there. Joel however was clenching his fists already. Glancing at the door, the thought of going back out there to teach that young duckling a lesson swirled in his brain.

But then your laugh filled the room and the two instantly looked at you. "Does that make me a milf?", you cackled, "This is not funny", Joel groaned, Ellie quickly nodded her head in agreement. "Oh come on you two. First of all, be proud your mom is hot. And second of all", you turned to Joel, "Are you serious about fighting a kid? I'm quite literally yours", talking his clenched fist you spread Joel's fingers apart so you could hold his hand.

"I just didn't like it", Ellie said, "I'm glad you stood up for me and that you defended your boundaries", you reached out for her and she instantly walked to sit by your side. It was silent for a moment until Joel smoke up, "Should have aimed for his teeth", "Joel...", you whined making Ellie let out a laugh. You shook your head, "What will I do with you two, huh?"

[ameliathornromance]

The Manor House: A Vampire Romance: Chapter 1

“... It’s just as I thought.” The Lord said, absently. His hands were ice cold, pressed against the sides of your head, forcing you to look at him as he examined your now exposed wound. 

The musty air stung as the Lord tilted his own head to one side, eyebrow raised. You clenched your jaw, trying to redirect some of the pain.

“What is?” You asked as he relinquished his grip on you. Flexing your jaw, the Lord turned his attention to a steel tray on your bedside. 

On it, there was an array of matching medical tools, a scalpel, needle holders, surgical scissors, clamps, curettes, gauze, small brown bottles and jars of mysterious liquids and salves with unintelligible labels, yellowed with age. 

“The head is full of capillaries because of the brain and how the body needs to protect the brain.” The Lord answered, “because of that, when you hit your head and it bleeds, it looks like you’re losing a dangerous amount of blood. But you’re not.” He sighed. “You’re lucky that it was only a small cut you got.”

Rolling up his sleeves, he uncorked one of the brown bottles and poured some clear liquid on his hands. The putrid smell of chemicals consumed the air as the Lord cleaned his hands with it, up to his elbows. He gave a shake of his hands to dry off the liquid. 

As he picked up one of the small jars, a thought occurred to you. “Where’d you get all this stuff?” It’s not like any Lord would just have all this lying around his Manor. Some of the Doctors at your village were third or fourth born Lords, while others had a magikal background. 

Lord Baal didn’t seem like he was kind enough to be tending to the ill and diseased… unless it benefitted him in some way.  

“I’ve always had medical supplies.” He said, simply. “I was a sickly child. I needed surgery and care often. It just became easier to have all the relevant materials at the Manor since it’s so far away from any town that may have a Doctor.” 

His answer made you frown. 

Lord Baal unscrewed the cap, placed it on the steel tray delicately. Using his middle and index finger, he dug into the salve. The salve looked like it had been made from beeswax, matching the honey yellow of Bee hives. 

During the night at the Manor, as you fell in and out of your dreamless slumber, you found yourself disturbed. Not by any sound… because there wasn’t any. Normally, you can feel the presence of other people, or hear them bustling around as they worked or got ready for the day. 

But there was none of that in this Manor. The silence was muted, suffocating. Unnerving.

Surely if the Lord was often ill as a child, there would be others around to keep an eye on him? To make sure that his body doesn’t fall back into old habits?

Of course, it could just be that due to your dulled senses, you just hadn’t picked up on other people in the Manor. You had been confined to this room after all, and had only been there a day or two.

The sharp sting of the thick salve being pressed into your fresh wound made you hiss out your thoughts, “so, why are you tending to my wounds then?” 

The Lord’s hand flinched away from your wound. “Sorry?” His tone dipped, like you’d just asked him what colour his underwear was.

“You’re a Lord, aren’t you? Aren’t there servants or anyone who would attend me?” You asked. 

You watched the Lord’s expression, waiting for him to contradict you, or say something demeaning for daring to question him.

But the shocked expression didn’t change. “There… isn’t anyone else.” His tone was solemn. Isolated. “It’s just me here.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. The Lord scoffed. “You should consider yourself lucky to be attended to personally by a Lord of the Manor. Not many peasants get this kind of treatment.” 

“Peasant?” You repeated, indignantly. “I’m not a peasant!”

“Well with how you looked on the river bank, any commoner would have thought otherwise.” And with that, the Lord pressed his salved fingers into your wound.

“Ow!” You yelped like a pathetic animal.

“Oh hush.” He said, dismissively. “Like I said, it’s not that bad.” Lord Baal snatched up a gauze from the tray and forced it onto your cut, using bandages to secure it.

“Since it’s not as bad as I initially thought, tomorrow we will go through what you will be doing in the Manor to repay me.” He repeated his cleaning process once again, drying his hands on a few gauze and throwing them on the tray. “And then, I will set you to work.” 

You placed your hand gingerly on the raised bandage, where the gauze was. The pressure helped to soothe the stinging.

Lord Baal opened the bedroom door. “Our little chat helped me decide on what you should do. So get some rest, you’re going to need it.” And with that, he shut the door behind him, taking the used medical materials with him.

“‘Little chat’ my ass.” You muttered, still holding your head.

A Lord, with no servants?

You thought that they revelled in that. Having people to work under them, slaving away at doing all the difficult tasks while they put their feet up. Had the best food in all of the land and watched while their ‘lowers’ suffered. 

… Perhaps that’s why he had such a strong reaction to it. A Lord should have people below him, it was almost like a status symbol.

Maybe that’s why he wanted you to work for him. So, he could feel that sense of undeserved superiority. Even if you did owe him a favour, massaging his ego was not what you had in mind. 

In any case, working for the Lord was better than seeing the Witch Hunter again.

You rolled over to face the other side of the room.

Tomorrow, the real work begins.

Read 4 Chapters ahead on my Patreon!

Masterlist

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 21 thoughts

this episode had me entirely TRANSFIXED. at no moment did i know what was going to happen next, and i badly wanted to learn!! rejoice: a skinner episode!!! where he is driven to desperation by how much he loves his agents! i truly do not think i could have asked for more!!

(okay, scully wasn't there, which is usually my number one priority... but hear me out: the episode was still SO good despite her absence, which is a testament to some HIGH QUALITY WRITING)

so!! back to my live report from approximately 24 hours ago, when i began my journey into this rollercoaster of an ep. take it away, past juni:

after last episode, i have gone through all of the emotions known to humankind. i am interested to see where we will go next, having ventured into those uncharted waters. perhaps these waters will be more… charted.

A SKINNER EPISODE!!! he’s framed for murder AGAIN??? he can’t keep being put in these circumstances bro 😭

why would skinner cover up a death caused by bees??? that seems pretty cut and dry. bees did it. nobody’s fault. unless they’re secret FBI bees the world isn’t supposed to know about…? obviously the doctor is going to say “yup, bees did it, not humans”, right?? i mean if someone dies of bee stings i assume it’s very obvious??? and that no murder charges would be filed?? because?? bees did it??

(author's note: lmao. what a fool i was)

skinner. i am ready to learn more about you. 

we open at a place that ships packages. this woman (jane) needs a cigarette. her friend (later revealed to be named misty) is telling her to quit smoking. i’m not sure that is an effective strategy.

jane runs to the bathroom and is going to smoke in there??? not even outside??? what was going ON in the 90's!!!

but oh no! some bees emerge from the bathroom sink. MANY MANY MANY BEES. someone please call that lady on tiktok that scoops hives out with her hands while whispering into the camera “another great day of saving the beeeeeeees” (god i hope she’s doing well)

bee swarm of intense proportions is going on rn. can you buy bees at the store? is that what they did for filming this? order a bunch of bees at the bee store?? huh. 

anyway, they’re approaching jane the cigarette lady very very quickly. they’re in the stall!!! she’s smacking at them!! 

but cig lady’s friend misty is getting concerned. she goes to the bathroom to fetch her friend where she finds… an empty bathroom?? free of bees. with only a smoking cigarette on the floor and DEAD JANE COVERED IN BEE STINGS!!!!!!!

WHERE DID THE BEES GO MAN!!!

dang. those bee stings are gnarly. shoutout makeup team.

skinner is looking at jane's files. why does this interest you, skinner?? why is he deleting them?? probably because he does not consider insect related cases FBI matters

WAIT! HE WASN’T ON HIS COMPUTER…. HE WAS ON MULDER’S!!!

WHAT!!! (we need to give this reveal some space to sink in)

... he knows mulder's passwords……?

skinner. WHAT are you hiding!!! i used to hate him and then i sort of liked him and then i hated him and now i am affectionate towards him. we must not begin the cycle again!!!

well, now i’m invested. 

intro time. and i'm still laughing about that tweet of scully serving three quarters profile in her badge pic

after so many shortened intros, this one felt long!!!

skinner is… leaving his house? he has a bookend that looks like an elephant. now what does that say about him… and a what looks like a buddha in the corner. IS this his house??? buddhist skinner confirmed?

he’s taking off a “do not enter” sign and going into the bathroom where the bee incident went down, armed with just a flashlight. and he finds the cigarette, which he flushes. he’s cleaning the bathroom floor with a portable vacuum!! WHAT DOES HE KNOW!!!!!!!

i’m literally soooo invested, i’m not even joking. his ass is on his hands and knees SCRUBBING. what has brought assistant director skinner to this forbidden janitorial work!?!

this is very dark though, screen wise. had to up the brightness. 

he finds something oozing from the ceiling. and he sniffs it before wiping it away. gross. is it honey? weird neon honey?

now he’s picking the lock of the MORGUE!!!!!!! is he gonna steal jane’s body??!!!!!! bro what the HELL!!!!

someone in the coroner’s office hears a distant thud and almost finds him TAKING HER BODY!!!!!!!!! it seems he narrowly escaped!!! he hid around the corner and took jane with him…. to a very weird place. he’s climbing up a ladder. is it an incinerator? 

bro, he must be strong as hell. anyway, he takes her body and places it in a fire. 

my guess is that somehow she was contaminated with secret bee poison and he needs to make sure no one else gets sick from it????? by incinerating the body?? but that doesn’t do anything about the bees themselves??

he’s at the police station now, asking about jane. HE GIVES HIS NAME AS MULDER????? he has a fake badge and everything… omg do NOT get my boy in trouble!!

the policeman shows him a vial of blood from jane, which he replaces with a vial from his own pocket, and wipes the pen he took. ohhhh what is going on!!!!!!

so now he’s going back to his car with the blood. but someone runs out to see him!!! calling “agent mulder”!

it’s the detective who emailed the pictures to the REAL mulder!!! he somehow knows that mulder is part of the x files (which i feel shouldn't be information random people should know) but skinner is trying to say that nothing here warrants his involvement. 

he is deeply suspicious. but someone is watching him!!!!!!!! who is this mystery fellow watching this go down????

skinner is get undressed at 3:55 AM. and it IS his house with the elephant and the buddha!!!

SKINNER FOLLOWS THE FOUR NOBLE TRUTHS AND THE EIGHTFOLD PATH, LET'S GOOOO 🔥🔥🔥

(that is a more interesting interpretation than him keeping a buddha around as decor, but hey, pick your headcanon as you please)

and who shows up but REAL MULDER!!!! AT 4 AM??? BRO WHAT IS HE DOING?? he should be on his couch!!!! sleeping!!

he has been trying to reach skinner…. OHHHH HE CLOCKED RIGHT AWAY THAT THERE IS A COVERUP!!!

and the detective was SHOT AND KILLED!!!! 

(my friend called me at this point to tell me that liam payne died. this has absolutely no relevance on the episode, but it did lead to me pausing for a half hour to share this news with others. and it would feel inappropriate to not include it in the write up)

mulder knows someone forged his name at the lab and he just wants skinner’s help!!

NO!!! SCULLY IS IN THE HOSPITAL SO SHE CAN’T HELP…. HER DOCTOR SAYS HER TUMOR MIGHT BE METASTASIZING… NO NO NO not my poor sweet scully...

no scully this episode…. this is sad :(

skinner is doubly gagged…… maybe even triply gagged between the revelation of the detective being killed, mulder being onto him, and scully being in the hospital. he is flabbergasted, one might even say. 

he’s going somewhere in very tight pants. someone tries to hit him with a car?!?

IT’S CSM!!!! and the guy from before who was watching the exchange with the detective go down!!!!!! 

ohhhh skinner has GRABBED him by the collar and is yelling that he MURDERED him!!! but CSM says to keep his voice down

“i wouldn’t get too comfortable on your moral high ground, mr. skinner. this only happened because you left your job unfinished” <- hey WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??

(i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again… CSM’s voice is so soothing. tell me a story, scary man)

skinner says that he has followed CSM’s instructions…. and when skinner points out that the detective didn’t have to die, he says that he is “in no position to question the terms of our arrangement”

is this the deal he negotiated with to try and save scully???? and is it even working if she’s in the hospital right now??

he tries to say they have no arrangement and walk away, but CSM basically says well, i’ll have my bestie here kill you. and so skinner saunters off in his very tight pants, defeated. 

he wakes up on the couch to a phone ringing. and it’s mulder saying that jane's body was stolen, and all the evidence has been cleaned. “slow down” “i’m sorry sir, but i can’t” <- his brain was in overdrive!!

mulder figured out the replacement blood wasn’t jane's because she has a different folate serum level and skinner seems to be cursing himself for such a mistake. a good catch on mulder's part.

he has one lead, and it’s the make of the gun. but skinner realizes something… his gun isn’t in his desk!!! WHAT!! NO NO NOOOOOO

he calls CSM and growls that “you can’t do this”…….  he says that the man died so skinner could have what he wanted… what does that mean…

A CURE FOR AGENT SCULLY??????

WHAT!!!!

what does that have to do with the bees!!!

“if anything happens to her, i will expose you” <- OHHHH HE IS NOT MESSING AROUND!!! he said i'll get us both thrown in prison if you fuck with my agents!!!!

“i don’t care what happens to me” <- OHHHH MY GOD I’M RIPPING OFF MY SHIRT IN BIBLICAL LEVELS OF GRIEF. he loves her.

“agent scully stands to live a full and healthy life. i would hope the same for you, mr. skinner” <- no no no no no. please don’t kill him. please? for me?

(this made me picture a world without skinner and it was very sad. do not make me imagine this ever again. i won't stand for it)

this episode has me HOOKED!!!!!

back at the shipping warehouse, skinner is being led to the restroom. the bee incident only went down yesterday!!!! he finds more of the yellow goop… and says he needs a hammer

he’s beating the hell out of that wall and finds it filled with honeycomb!! but this is probably EVIL honeycomb, right?

why yes, of course. he brings some of the evil honey to someone in maryland with a very cool in-house lab. oh, to be a maryland scientist with an incredible laboratory in the home that i own, because homes were plentiful in those days.

would it help to know that this bee can kill people? “any kind of bee can be lethal” <- well that is not super helpful in this particular case. nor is this fact comforting.

when it seems all hope is lost, bee scientist man finds some royal jelly and a larvae!! so hopefully soon they will have some answers. and now i know what royal jelly is.

oh, turns out 6 months ago mulder called the same guy asking about killer bees… well, he is always up to such activity. he was probably also calling a marine biologist about the loch ness monster. he keeps those DMV area professors BUSY

(author's note: now knowing what this is referring to, i think it is so fascinating to place s4 within a timeline of 6 months!!!!)

skinner is going through the x files folders down in mulder's office. and why the hell does one say “foo fighters” in the background!!! has the FBI finally found what the foo that they are fighting is???

OH!!! he finds the pictures of the child clones working in the honey farm!!! from earlier!! i was wondering if we were ever going to revisit that!!

he sees covarrubias' number on there so he starts to call her… omg…

(i have never seen one of those big rolly things of contact lists before)

but just as he is about to call, mulder walks in!!! he has pictures of the parking lot from the night of the Event… pictures that show a very blurry skinner that he cannot recognize AS skinner, but he’s going to take them over to special photo department, and oh no. oh no.

mulder asks what skinner wanted to tell him and he scrambles to just say he wanted to check on his progress… and i cannot tell if mulder believes him or not

skinner calls covarrubias about the bees. and she has to tell him that there was no bee evidence at all. so skinner counters with: well what if *i* have the bees??? well, then that would change things.

covarrubias is really pretty. while i may not like that she basically became deep throat 3.0, she is very pretty

bee scientist comes home to find all the lights out!!!!! his lights are covered in bees!!! it seems they broke through!!! no no no no!!! they cover his windows!! and he is being swarmed….. 

a terrible (or perhaps fitting) end for a man of bee science

mulder calls skinner down to show him the body of the bee scientist. and he had symptoms of SMALLPOX???? they put the smallpox in the BEES???? oh my god. new worst nightmare just dropped.

skinner wants to know how he contracted a disease that no longer exists, and yes, it did in fact come from the bees.

mulder thinks that someone is trying to revive the world’s deadliest disease!! oh my god!! how does this relate to the aliens???? i thought i knew at one point but now i don’t!! 

skinner asks mulder to tell him what he finds when he goes over to the photo department…

back at the shipping warehouse, skinner is talking to misty, jane’s friend. she clearly knows something but isn’t saying it. jane was misty’s best friend. and they were trying to go on vacation together. </3

OH. THE MEN WHO CAME THERE SAID IF THEY TALKED TO ANYONE SHE WOULD LOSE HER JOB….. they wanted a package!!!!! a damaged package!!

and it was stored right next to the bathroom where jane was found?!!

shipping bees… package gets damaged… bees get loose… smallpox bees everywhere… very bad very bad…

luckily, she can look up the tracking number!!!

back at the photo lab, someone who is not pendrell but looks like him is working on the photo. and mulder says that it is very important to him.

oh, his sad sad face as he realizes who it is…. like somebody punched a baby in front of him.

back at the alien groupchat meeting!! (again i think they’re called the syndicate?? i googled something once and that came up)

CSM is showing them the last remaining bee, saying all others were destroyed. and the body has been sanitized. CSM tries to say it has been taken care of. but the others want answers on what went down. 

“should we presume that the trial run is proceeding as planned?” “it’s already begun” <- HEY WHAT DOES THAT MEAN…… and why is the next shot KIDS ON A PLAYGROUND………… with a BEE BUZZING……….

kid gets stung by a bee…… as a ton of other kids ALSO get stung by bees!!!!!!! no!! not the kids!!!!

one kid trips and falls, and when the teacher tries to save him, she is swarmed!!!!!!! and the little kid has horrible marks all over him!!!! as do the other kids!!!!

skinner is here at this hospital to see what is going on… and he tells the doctor that the kids need to be treated for smallpox. this does not go over well with the doctor!!! he says that not only is smallpox no longer around, but it has an 8 day incubation period. well okay. i guess. things have changed.

covarrubias is here!! hold up is her name MARITA and i’ve been getting it wrong this whole time?! editing this post to refer to her by last name instead. i cannot tell if that is a subtitle error or the Truth. i’m sorry miss covarrubias. coh-vah-roo-bee-us.

she called asking about the contents of 7 packages sent to south carolina!!

“you’re a little late to do anything about it” “so are you, apparently” <- ohhh get his ass

she asks wtf is going on, and that she needs to tell the UN so don’t mess around. he hypothesizes that it’s an experiment using bees as carriers for disease. and when skinner says he hasn’t told mulder, she straight up asks if he’s involved OHHHH!! but he denies it. 

she says he has to come forward…..

back home. he starts to dial a number but stops, pulling his gun (which is now back in his desk!) out

AND OHHHHH MY GOD MULDER IS HERE AT SKINNER'S PLACE. “PUT THE GUN DOWN AND MOVE AWAY FROM THE DESK” <-OHHHH NO. IT’S GOING DOWN. 

ugh this is gonna be a two parter, isn’t it… i had a sneaking suspicion 

(it actually wasn't. but you can't blame me there. it was looking pretty close)

OHHHHHHH MULDER WENT THERE…. “you’ve been working with the smoking man all along. you knew when they had my father killed, and you knew when they took scully” <- OHHH MY GOD. his rage is barely contained and he looks like a damn animal.

skinner points out that the lock in his desk was forced open, why would he force his own lock open? and that the police are probably on their way right now. 

oh my gosh… i’m holding my breath… is mulder going to believe him? will skinner tell the truth?

“i advised you against a certain course of action some time ago concerning agent scully. i didn’t follow my own advice” <- oh my god........... the confession.............

he was willing to admit to making a deal with the devil for scully... does she know how loved she is...?

mulder gets quiet and says “give me the gun” <- WHAT IS HE THINKING? 

someone is firing it into some water? i guess that is how you figure out what the murder weapon is. and the guy says he is absolutely certain this is it.

mulder says they find it in a sewer grate around the corner (but for a moment i fully believed he was going to say it was his). the expert guy breaks the news that unless forensics pulled a print, it’s untraceable because the serial number was cleared off.

skinner leaves at this news. he almost smiles, and i wondered if the expert was going to call him out on such odd behavior. and from there, he goes to meet CSM. 

ohhhhh he has the gun to CSM's head!!! “agent scully is dying and you haven’t done a damn thing about it” <- HOLY SHIT!!! CSM’s smirking…. the right bastard

he claims that if skinner kills him, he’ll also kill scully… and that he had saved her life before when he had her returned to mulder.

“but you’ll never know if you pull the trigger, will you?” <- OHHHHHH MY GOD. is he bluffing or not!!!!! how would he have a way to cure her beyond letting one of the aliens he keeps on hold touch her???

SKINNER FIRES THREE SHOTS??????? DID HE SAY FUCK IT AND KILL HIM. IS THIS THE END OF CSM?????

NO. they were JUST behind his head. oh the tension was THICK.

message received. i hope. whoever is on the phone is asking about skinner, saying mulder will be contacting them soon.

it's covarrubias????? she says she’ll tell him what CSM wants her to tell him. WHAT!!!!!

“tell him what he wants to hear” <- HEY WHAT. IS HE GOING TO LIE AND SAY SCULLY IS OKAY????

thus concludes the episode.

I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS.

okay, first of all, covarrubias works for CSM. i feel silly for not picking up on that because we KNEW she works for the UN, famously the host of the alien groupchat parties, but i didn't even put it together at all. but just because she works for him doesn't really mean anything, because deep throat and x also nominally worked for him. to what extent is still unclear- maybe they did everything on his orders, stringing mulder along to keep him distracted from learning the truth- or maybe there were aspects of corruption they felt were "safe" to be exposed and lead him along the path for this deeper trap that CSM is laying for him. so we cannot make a covarrubias moral judgement just yet- but we also know we cannot trust her.

next. skinner loves his agents so much, dude. willing to kill AND die for scully to be okay... please think on this for a moment. and then think about it some more. how he told mulder to never make a deal with the devil, then did it himself even though he has so much to lose as the assistant director. and for the rest of his life he'll have to live with knowing he assisted in his murky and horrific plans, including infecting children with the world's deadliest diseases, because he could not stand to lose scully.

there are many kinds of love, some of which are complex and indescribable and cannot be inserted into conventional roles, and i think that is exactly what is going on here. the incalculable love for skinner and his agents.

okay. and mulder trusting skinner SO ABSOLUTELY. showing up at his apartment at 4 AM to ask for help. offering to take out the trash, and the constant updates he provided him on the case. the way his face FELL when he realized it was skinner in the photo. and how he came to believe that skinner knew about or was perhaps even behind the calls to kill his father and kidnap scully. how betrayed and horrified he was. how he must have recalled his mantra of "trust nobody", how he must have been kicking himself for falling into a false sense of security for a man who risked so much for them, but must have, in his mind, been luring him deeper and deeper into a trap. imagine all of that grief about scully being abducted and then getting sick and the loss of his father being placed at skinner's feet. mulder, who never for a second doubted that skinner was innocent in his earlier brush with the law. imagine how incredibly painful that "realization" would have been. and then how he wanted so badly to believe him, but after so many betrayals, it would take more than just a scratched desk for him to do so. but he does. god.

there is an addictive substance placed between the relationships of skinner to mulder and scully. something almost familiar. something almost entirely unspoken except for in a foundational and silent trust.

this episode was really, really good. probably my favorite of the season! i was trying to figure out what exactly was going on and why. it really raised the stakes for skinner, mulder, AND scully in a bunch of different directions: skinner being in CSM's pocket, covarrubias being in CSM's pocket, mulder believing her as she feeds him lies, scully's illness getting worse... whew!

more than anything i love to see the trust between characters tested and pulled, and their bonds put to the limits. so i am very pleased. i will likely be thinking of mulder's animalistic rage as he held the gun to skinner's face for a long, long time. and how skinner quietly admitted to doing what he told mulder not to. by jove. an excellent piece of television.

[riality-check]

Surprise! More cult stuff! Part 1 here.

All his life, Eddie has worshiped one god: the lesser of two evils.

There are no good choices. There never have been. Every benefit has a cost, every pro has a con, and every win has a loss. There are no good choices, but there are better choices; ones with a better low to high ratio, ones that make pleasure worth pain.

Eddie makes better choices. He wouldn’t be alive if he didn’t.

He shakes his head. The movement helps to get all the nasty thoughts out of it, the thoughts he isn’t supposed to think about until One asks him to at the next meeting.

Henry, he reminds himself. He said I could call him Henry.

He said more than that, actually. He told Eddie that he has “more than earned the right after so many years of helping the community become a more peaceful place.”

Eddie has only been here since he was thirteen. Half his life has been spent inside Honey Haven, though it feels like all of it has.

In the best possible way, of course.

Sure, there are rules. Lots of them. If Eddie thinks about them too hard, a part of him, deep in his chest, wants to break out. To rebel. To run as fast as his legs will carry him.

Every time, he clips that little bird’s wings, shoves it back in its cage made of rib bones, and sews his skin up tight.

The rules are his god. They’re the lesser of two evils. Because even though they chafe, even though they bind, even though he questions them privately, the rules are safe. Honey Haven is safe. It is kind and beautiful, while the world is cruel and beautiful.

Eddie knows that firsthand.

He shakes his head again. No use in thinking like this when he has no one to share it with. He’d tell the bees, as he tends to them, but they aren’t much for listening.

He removes the frames, one by one, from Guinevere’s hive and stacks them in the box. Once it’s full, he’ll move it to the honey house and place them in the extractor. From there, it’s filtering and refining and the same peaceful, mundane tasks he has to perform every time the harvest rolls around.

It’s nice. It leaves time and space for daydreaming that the bees don’t allow, with their motion and their drone.

As Eddie turns to put the last frame in the box, he comes face to face with two people from town.

He very resolutely does not jump. He just blinks at them. Once, twice, again. Sets the frame down. Closes the hive. Takes off his helmet. And waits for them to talk.

It’s jarring, seeing people from town. Eddie is no stranger to the outside. He’s gone into town for books and music. He leaves to see Wayne a few times a year.

But it’s still strange. These people wear clothes that seem to swallow them, seem to draw attention away from their faces in favor of patterns and layers. They stand at the fence - only waist high, a reminder instead of a barrier - awkwardly, shuffling.

And they always have this look on their face. It’s so sad. They look lost and scared and unsure.

Eddie has never felt like that while he’s been here. He doesn’t want anyone to feel like that, ever. Not like he used to.

He would invite them in, but One - Henry - isn’t here, and he doesn’t want to break a rule.

There’s no rule against speaking, though.

He sets his helmet down next to the box and walks over to the fence. He reminds himself to be wary, to guard his heart, to remember that he is at peace and they could be too, if only they crossed the fence.

But they can’t. Not yet.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a friendly smile.

Always friendly, always kind, always beautiful.

“We heard about the bees while we were in town,” the woman says. “And they told us we could visit the hives, as long as we don’t disturb you.”

Eddie looks her up and down. She brushes her light brown hair away from her eyes and shifts her weight from one sneaker to another as she does so.

“Why the interest?” he asks. “The townspeople don’t like the bees much. They say they’re a nuisance. I doubt they advertised them to a couple of people just passing through.”

“They didn’t,” the man says. “We overheard and asked about them. They said we had to walk because you don’t allow cars here.”

“We don’t,” Eddie agrees. “They aren’t good for the bees. But you didn’t answer my question. Why the interest?”

The woman’s eyes widen, like he caught her breaking a rule. That’s ridiculous, though. The world has no rules, which is why it is cruel and beautiful.

The man has no such reaction. He looks Eddie up and down with dark eyes, runs a hand through brown hair, and says, “I like to bake, but none of my honey desserts have come out right. I wanted to see if this honey would work.”

The man is a liar. Eddie knows this. He is of the world, and the world is a cruel place filled with liars and cheaters and abusers of all sorts. But the world is also beautiful.

This liar is beautiful, with constellations on his skin and his smooth voice and dazzling smile.

Eddie has always liked beautiful things.

“Come back tomorrow,” he says, though he shouldn’t. It’s not breaking a rule, but it feels wrong anyway. “I’ll be done processing this batch.”

“You don’t have anything we can buy now?” the woman asks.

“It’s better if I make it,” Eddie says smugly.

The man looks at him and smiles that smile again. “I believe you.”

And even though they certainly aren’t, Eddie hopes his words are true.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, leaving room for them to say their names.

“Robin,” the woman says.

“Steve,” from the man.

He offers them the same courtesy. “Eddie.”

Something shifts on the woman’s face. “Eddie-”

“-we’ll see you tomorrow,” the man interrupts.

And with that, they start walking back down the road.

Eddie watches them go, momentarily forgetting the hives and the honey. And he wonders if he made a mistake, somehow.

No. It’s alright. He didn’t break a rule, any of the numerous rules, so there is nothing for him to worry about.

While that would usually calm him down quickly, it takes longer this time.

He shakes his head again, picks up the box, and heads toward the honey house.

Part 3 (background lore)

[oxalisvulcanicola]

Excerpts from The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans:

In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobby—the music of the Middle Ages. But when, for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes, my comrade’s impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction.

***

“Well, well! What next?” said he. “Brother Mycroft is coming round.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall—that is his cycle. Once, and only once, he has been here. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him?”

***

“This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the world can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as I remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was no particular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?”

“There has been an inquest,” said I, “and a good many fresh facts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say that it was a curious case.”

“Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be a most extraordinary one.”

***

Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.

“There we have it at last, Watson! British government—Woolwich. Arsenal—technical papers—Brother Mycroft, the chain is complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for himself.”

***

“A most annoying business, Sherlock,” said he. “I extremely dislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take no denial. In the present state of Siam it is most awkward that I should be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I have never seen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiralty—it is buzzing like an overturned bee-hive. Have you read up the case?”

“We have just done so. What were the technical papers?”

“Ah, there’s the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. The press would be furious if it did. The papers which this wretched youth had in his pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine.”

Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his sense of the importance of the subject. His brother and I sat expectant.

“Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of it.”

“Only as a name.”

***

“You must drop everything, Sherlock. Never mind your usual petty puzzles of the police-court. It’s a vital international problem that you have to solve. Why did Cadogan West take the papers, where are the missing ones, how did he die, how came his body where it was found, how can the evil be set right? Find an answer to all these questions, and you will have done good service for your country.”

“Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft? You can see as far as I.”

Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft?

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love Lore: The 101 basics of Hell and those who call it Home.

Hell is often said to be what you make of it, Jean Paul Sartre once remarked it was being trapped for eternity in a room with all of your friends but really of course he'd say that. Given that all of his friends were French but I digress. Many of course when they hear of Hell, no matter their religion, often think of the first thing that comes to mind in the form of a wasteland inferno. A deep black pit of torment and agony where the damned souls of murderers, rapists and all sorts of the worst life had to offer would go and forever suffer torture and punishment for an eternity for all the horror and bad choices they'd made in their time on earth.

Well that's only rather partly correct, but not the full story for you see, Hell had tiers or layers so to speak at least in this universe. Much like how Dragonabll, you had the vast universe, divvied into sections from north to south, west and east, planets like earth, the afterlife, heaven, hell,the realms of the kais that oversee the universe, this Hell had sections. In the deepest levels of course you had the common knowledge aforementioned hell, reserved for the worst of humanity and some demons who were just generally too unpleasant and not worth dealing with or tolerationg which left them to take their aggression and frustration out on the damned, the rapists,child molesters, the Hitlers, Stalins, Kim jongs, guevaras and Epsteins of the world all through nine cirlces.

And then you have the more surface level so to speak with which many you may all be more familiar with, a 7 ring levelled warped, twisted demonic mirror version of our own world and societies. Due to its proximity towards limbo and how fickle religions can be as to what constitutes and qualifies as sin, on top of not even Heaven itself knowing how a soul gets into either place. So many a soul can often wind up in Hell as one of many Sinners for who knows what minor offence could be damning, some theorise that the bureaucracy within the afterlife’s limbo is often to blame due to all the red tape and paperwork involved in processing a soul. This also applies to the possibility that The Pride ring, especially pentagram and it’s proximity to purgatory make this surface level of hell equivalent ti probation period of certain sinners, Chen why some have the possibility of being redeemed and getting into heaven.

The seven rings of heaven are of course occupied by a constant shifting population of Hellborn, demons who are natural born and raised natives of the inferno with many a flora and fauna alike, and the sinners, whose appearances or species form often vary in terms of looks and shape. Though some gather they can reflect an aspect of a soul’s personality as well as how they had died in the living world and while Hellborn are free to move about in between the other circles of Hell, Sinners are confined to the pride ring, hence the often chaotic nature of places like Pentagram city, where sinners are often especially targeted during the infamous Extermination day. Some sinners and demons alike are also said to share the potential to become Overlords should they manage to amass enough soils for a power base though where this puts them in the social pecking order with the Sins or the Ars Goetia in terms of power is debatable. The rings of He,l are as follows.

Pride, the designated home for sinners, with Pentagram City as its capital and ground zero for the exorcists in extermination day. Overseen by the fallen angel lucifer and his daughter princess Charlemagne “Charlie” Morningstar, owner and operator of the Hazbin Hotel, her persomal passion project to house and redeem sinners. Current success record:1 redeemed soul.

Wrath, overseen by Satan, the redneck central hkme to many farms, a veritable desert wasteland of dust, volcanoes and the middle of goddamn nowheeee.

gluttony, overseen by queen Bee-lzebub,her home a regular hive, pun unintended, for her parties, popular among many a Hellhound and imp alike. A veritable hot spot for those looking to indulge in some good food and chug down Bee-lze-juice, however those with a self-destructive streak are politely but firmly sent away for fear and concern of drinking themselves to near death.

greed, overseen by Mammon, a chaotic cesspit of crime where the only thing cheap is life. As green and dirty as the money it carries. Among the many crime families and gangs which occupy and run this dive include the Knolastname family and yes loan sharks are literal around here.

lust, the pornographic hub overseen by Asmodeus, aka Ozzie, the central ground zero for Hell’s adult entertainment. Home to the infamous Skullfuck productions,a studio with a sizeabke fanbase among Hell and even the living world and Heaven, and many a succubus and incubus. A porn store and sex shop on every corner and block, love hotels a plenty to choose from and home to both Ozzie's personal night club and his factory which produces and distrivubtes many erotic products.

sloth and envy, overseen by leviathan and belphefor. Notable about sloth is that it’s hospitals are slow as fuck,given it takes five years for hellhounds to get their annually required Hellbies shots. you think healthcare on Earth is a nightmare?

Hell’s societal hierarchy stands as so from top to bottom: Fallen Angels (Lucifer chief among them), The other six of the 7 sins,the Ars Goetia who are the cream of the crop among Hell’s elite wealthy class, Overlords, Sinners, native demons such as sex demons like succubi and incubi, possessors and baphomets, and the bottom rung of the ladder, Hellhounds and Imps. Hellhounds of course stand just a little higher above the latter due to their value in suecirtynwork as bodyguards. It’s seen by some as taboo for anyone outside of their station or species to be seen in a sexual and or romantic relationship with an Imp but some say otherwise.

Then of course there are enigmas like Mr.Sketch, who seem to be similar to sinner and demon alike yet something different entirely given that unlike sinners they can move freely about the other circles. Some theories and rumours abound such individuals are souls in the afterlife who wind up in heaven or hell by chance on their way to occupying a phsyical life in Earth, with exposure to the energies of either realm having skme shape and influence in them overall thanks to their being basically blank skates that had nt experienced virtue and sin alike. Making them peculiar paradoxes akin to the theory of Schrodinger's Cat. They shouldn't be and yet they are, they think and feel and thus they exist. Mr.Sketch is of course just one of those particilar Enigmas that has come to call Hell home and made quite a living for himself and if osften seen in the company of what may be some of his fellow breed. That is when he isn't busy enjoying the company of female demons, especially succubi who no surprise make up a large chunk of the talent roster in SkullFuck productions.

Coming up next, a little spotlight into a few of the demon breeds and species that make up some of Hell's Hellborn natives. Stay tuned.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Tell the Bees

It shouldn’t be so sunny.

Angus knows that the sun doesn’t stop shining, the birds don’t stop singing, and flowers don’t stop blooming because death happens. 

But it still feels like the world should mourn at least a little for someone who mourned every loss she saw in it. The herb garden is full of tiny stick-and-stone grave markers for every hummingbird, bumblebee, and butterfly his mother had ever found lying cold and dead in their paths. The stump of the tree that a lightning strike felled stands ahead of him, carved into the intricate shape of a barely-opened lily. 

And the reason there’s another grave, a bigger, deeper, more elaborately memorialized one, is that Eleanor Robinson had never gotten over the loss of her husband.

Angus thinks that the least the world could do is make a permanent little cloud like the one she carried with her for so many months. 

He follows Grandda through the grass, knee-high on him, to the set of softly-buzzing wooden boxes in the meadow behind the house. 

The two of them don’t bother with smoke as they knock on the sides of the boxes with the tips of their fingers. A golden cloud surrounds them, the sound sinking into Angus’s bones and the feeling of tiny feet on his arms and cheeks more grounding than frightening. 

His grandfather’s voice is a rumble as deep and earthy as the hum of the hives themselves. 

“Tha i air falbh.”

“She is gone.” 

The humming changes a note, from the cheerful chatter of a happy, working hive to a subdued whispering sound, like the change from rain on the roof to the rasp of branches against a window. There’s something haunting in it now.

Angus shivers as that sound, too, seeps into his bones, runs through his veins, and draws prickling tears, unbidden, into his eyes.

Grandda is singing now, under his breath. The notes seem jarring, discordant, and shaky. Angus has never heard the song before, but some part of him still knows it. He lets it call out to the places inside him that are as raw and broken as its melody, and joins in, first a whisper, then a hum, then something like a sob. 

The bees lift from his arms and face, clustering over the hives, bodies rising and falling in a shifting mass. He’s never seen them act like this before. 

His mother had refused to tell them Dad was dead. 

Refused to believe it.

Refused to mourn him and move on and live again.

Grandda had said it simply, when he threw the first handful of earth into her grave.

“It was never the grief that killed her. It was the hope.”

Grandda’s hands fall on Angus’s shoulders, and he wipes his tears away with both hands before turning to look up at him.

“This is the way it should be,” Grandda says. “They will carry our sorrow into the skies.”

The dark golden cloud of bees rises into the air, swirling and churning like a storm. 

Their shadow falls across the hives, across the meadow, across Grandda and Angus standing and watching them rise.

All he needed to do was wait.

There was always going to be a cloud for his mother. 

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter

[mutant-what-not]

Regarded as the ‘Master of the Walking Bass,’ Leroy Vinnegar was a mainstay on jazz recording sessions from 1952 on where he was on over 600 dates. His signature walking bass was the foundation for his impeccable sense of swing, which has gone on to influence several generations of players.

Vinnegar was born into a musically inclined family in Indianapolis, Indiana, on July 13, 1928. His earliest musical education came from the radio, on which he listened religiously to the great bands of Duke Ellington and Count Basie. His two sisters played piano, and young Leroy thought that might be his instrument as well. “I tried my hand at piano,” he says, “and I would have been a nice piano player, had I stayed with it.” Things changed when he actually started playing with others, however. “The bass player used to leave his instrument at the house after we’d rehearse,” Vinnegar remembers, “and I just started messing with it, and the next thing you know I was playing the bass. We just got a communication going.”

When he was about 24, Vinnegar considered pursuing his muse on a grander scale. “I was getting ready to make my push,” he recalls. “I knew I had to get out of Indianapolis, so I could get my music career started. There were good musicians in Indianapolis, but I wanted to move up the ladder, so I figured I’d move to Chicago and tune up, and then I would go to New York.” That was 1952, and Vinnegar was shocked to discover that the Windy City was something far more challenging than a momentary stopover. “Little did I know Chicago was just as fast as New York,” he recollects with another hearty laugh. “I thought I would just go there and get ready for the big one. Little did I know I was walking into a lion’s den. They were there waiting for my ass.”

Vinnegar found himself to be “the tenth bass player on the totem pole” in a hierarchy of jazz bassists topped by Israel Crosby and Wilbur Ware. “When you’re new, you just have to wait your turn,” he says. But Vinnegar’s turn was not long in coming. “All the bass players were busy one week,” he remembers, “and somebody said, ‘Hey there’s a new bass player in town by the name of Leroy Vinnegar.’ ‘Well, how does he play, man?’ ‘They say he can play, you know?’ ‘Well, we ain’t heard him.’ ‘Let’s try him and see. There ain’t nobody else here we can get.’”

Soon, Vinnegar was playing in a band with Chicago’s great native tenor saxophonist Von Freeman, and then, with a brotherly boost from Israel Crosby, in the house rhythm section at the famous Bee Hive. There, he had the chance to work with Lester Young, Ben Webster, Johnny Griffin, Sonny Stitt, and others. “It’s hard to pinpoint a single influence,” Vinnegar says, “because everyone I played with or made a record with was such an influence on my career. But I think Art Tatum topped ’em all. He gave me such a nice compliment by wanting me to join his trio. I figured if Art Tatum asked me to join his trio, I must be doing something right.”

It was while playing with Bill Russo at the Blue Note, opposite Tatum, that Vinnegar was heard by the great pianist. “He heard me and wanted me to move to Los Angeles to join his trio,” the bassist recalls. “I was going to move anywhere.”

Shortly after he arrived in Southern California in 1954, Vinnegar insinuated himself indelibly into that scene. “They say it was much better in the ’40s, but for me, everything was happening,” he says, citing the L.A. presence of Dexter Gordon, Wardell Gray, Conte Candoli, Teddy Edwards, Frank Morgan, Hampton Hawes, Carl Perkins, Shorty Rogers, Zoot Sims, Stan Getz, Bud Powell, and many more. Ensconced again in a house rhythm section, this time at Jazz City, Vinnegar played regularly with pianists Kenny Drew, Carl Perkins, and Hampton Hawes, and drummers Lawrence Marable, Frank Butler, and for a while, Philly Joe Jones. He recorded with virtually everyone on the scene, formed a band with saxophonist Teddy Edwards, drummer Billy Higgins, and pianist Joe Castro, toured with Shelly Manne, and helped Les McCann put together his pioneering trio in 1960.

By then, at the urging of Contemporary’s Les Koenig, Vinnegar had already recorded his first albums as a leader"Leroy Walks!, in 1957, followed by Leroy Walks Again! “I was real nervous, wondering what I could do,” Vinnegar remembers. “Les said he wanted me to do songs that had the word ‘walk’ in them. That made it a little easier.”

The “walk,” of course, referred to the inimitably sturdy “walking” style that Vinnegar had perfected, a style he says came to him “because I couldn’t solo. I didn’t know the bass well enough, because I’d never studied it,” he elaborates. “I was just going by ear. I didn’t know the positions or the sound of the fiddle so whenever it got to me, I couldn’t solo and I just stayed right with the walking. It was a safe thing at the beginning, a sure shot, then it started developing into something. I found I had a lot of imagination for the walking bass.” That imagination had been fueled by singing bass in gospel choirs as a youngster, and it became invaluable for both Vinnegar and the musicians around him. “It gave other players a cushion to work off and it sort of woke up the bass players, too,” he says. “It gave people an understanding of what the bass could really do beyond going one, two, three, four.” Today, that understanding is as widespread as the respect that Vinnegar has garnered as the walking master.

Except for occasional recording sessions (such as Teddy Edwards’s breakthrough Mississippi Lad), festival appearances, and European tours, Vinnegar is content to play his regular gigs in Portland. “I’d been coming up to Oregon since 1973 and I fell in love with it,” he says. “Then I met some nice musicians up here and we started creating something, so I said I’ll stay right here. And I’m glad I did, because people up here accept real jazz.” And that’s what Vinnegar plays, with all the honesty and determination that “the Walker” has always embodied.

In 1995, the Oregon State Legislature honored him by proclaiming May 1 Leroy Vinnegar Day.

Leroy Vinnegar died August 3, 1999.

Source: AllAboutJazz/Wikipedia

[blimbo-buddy]

I'm glad you are… being destroyed by Turtle Tail and Bumble. :) /j

Might need to write some more and subject you to it... since it you are but a wee birthday lad.

ANYWAYS! This is making me grin so hard and I am overjoyed that you are loving my spin on the scene. I'll go ahead and say a few things...

"There is no more time, Turtle Tail." is Bumble speaking! Turtle Tail is in an emotional trainwreck, so she can't discern that Bumble is saying this. Bumble, even on her death bed that she was led to because no one was on her side, was pitying her.

Bumble couldn't forgive Turtle Tail, but she loved her. Actually... I think we'll all understand what I mean if I write it.

TW for death, POV cat dying, angst, abuse, and fatphobia mention.

---

Relief.

It twists inside of Bumble's gut when she sees the round and fuzzy cheeks of Turtle Tail. Those green eyes pool with tears and an emotion that, while she feels disgusted to wish for, is gratifying to see. Regret swims amongst Turtle Tail's sorrows.

Her lungs burn, but she strains herself to ignore it. She can keep breathing. She's strong like Turtle Tail. The weak fat cat that everyone saw her as isn't here. She can be strong. Maybe then...

Maybe a fairytale ending could happen.

As a kit, she didn't know about the big bads of the world. She only knew how pretty it was. Those kithood dreams shined in Turtle Tail's eyes. She found hope within the bright and lovely molly who told her that her dreams, far beyond the walls and fences of the house, could be real.

"One day," Turtle Tail purrs loudly as she leans her head into the crook of Bumble's neck and grins, "We can run in the fields. I'll tell you about everything. From the weeds, to the flowers, to the birds, and even the cute bumble bees like you."

Yet it never came true because...

"I was selfish." The words leave Turtle Tail's maw too late.

All this time, she has wondered if that was the truth. She couldn't say. Turtle Tail was so wonderful. She smiled so brightly and treated her so nicely. Yet... Yet wasn't that just basic decency? Wasn't that just what normal cats did?

Normal cats don't shame each other for being overweight.

Normal cats rely on each other unconditionally.

Normal cats don't have to beg for help.

Normal cats have friends who laugh with them.

A raspy wheeze leaves her as the horrifying thoughts dig into her. Their friendship and her love that refuses to die even when she is... was nothing more than something normal cats had.

She's dying a pathetic and slow death where everything burns. Screams wish they could bury themselves in her throat, not so she could launch them out of spite, but just so someone can acknowledge her anguish.

Her eyes take that as a cue to look up at the only cat who, even if for a blip in her life, treated her like someone who mattered more than the sun and the stars. It might have meant less to Turtle Tail, but... but she loved every second of their interactions. She loved Turtle Tail's laugh. She loved her goofy little tail they joked about. She loved how Turtle Tail scrunched into the tiniest loaf so she could be the one curled around her.

Honey doesn't come without its disgusting facts.

In the end, Turtle Tail abandoned her - just like everyone else. She was another worker in the hive working to break her down.

"Loved?" Tom sneered as he towered over her. He didn't stink like the villains in the tales her mama told her. His pelt was glossier than fire, unlike the evil-doers who had patchy and scraggly fur. No one believed her when she said he could say, "No cat will ever love a fat cat like you, who was named after how round she is."

And he was right.

Turtle Tail remained silent when the cats began to shame her body and abilities. There was no debating. It was truth, both in the eyes of everyone around her and Turtle Tail.

Despite now, as her ears ring, hearing Turtle Tail claim that she's beautiful amongst so many ungraspable words, all she can think is: If you thought that, why didn't you say so?

Why now? Why so late?

Pain digs into her chest as she drags her paw up. The hate-filled green eyes aren't what she wants to see. All of these words aren't what she wants to hear. Because, no matter what, she wants Turtle Tail to be happy. Even when she yowled that she hated Turtle Tail, she knew that it would always be half of a truth.

She hated that Turtle Tail won her heart and shattered it.

Shutting her eyes with her paw, the darkness allows her to view the few fond moments. The gentle, loving Turtle Tail that laughed alongside her. This is the cat she knew. They shared secrets and truths. That cat didn't meant the world to her. No, Turtle Tail was her world.

Perhaps that's where she went wrong.

Smack.

Light forcibly filters back into her eyes. Time feels so drawn out. The pain isn't even here anymore.

"I need more time." Turtle Tail's desperation is on full display. She might not be able to see her any longer, but her body - even if it slowly is numbing - can feel her shaky paws. The tips of Turtle Tail's claws seem to prick her, though she can't be sure.

Prying her maw open, she forces herself to say, "There is no more time, Turtle Tail." Every atom of oxygen goes into stating the obvious. Her lungs writhe inside of her chest. The fuzzy darkness tugs at her conscious, trying to end her life.

Yet, at a time like this, her death is not what she mourns.

You didn't say, "I'm sorry."

Oh cool, so I was spot on with who said "There is no more time, Turtle Tail."!

Also oh my god… Bumble taking those hurtful words from the settlers to heart and internalizing it, using it to put herself down no matter how much it hurts her heart. GODDAMN IT HURTS. And the little flashback to when her and Turtle Tail's lives seemed perfect? Where Turtle Tail promised a beautiful and lush world beyond the fence, ONLY TO THEN TURN AWAY FROM BUMBLE WHEN THE HARSHNESS OF THE WORLD BEAT DOWN ONTO BUMBLE. And THEN Bumble hears Turtle Tail admit her cowardice and selfishness when she didn't defend Bumble, holy shit the emotions, imagine how Bumble felt 10 different feelings hit her at the same time, both good and bad.

Also YES YES! The text points out the shitty nature of the settlers and the clans in general and criticizes them for it, we love to see it! Bumble just… reminiscing on the good times with Turtle Tail, only to then remember that Turtle Tail turned her back on her, never helped her. Her world is shattered now, the one Settler who never gave her a scornful look or never whispered insults behind her back had left her scared and alone. I fucking love the honey and hive thing you used, it's really clever! But oooh my god, like the last story, I see the text "And he was right" as being Bumble's inner thoughts about herself, her internalization that made her hate herself. The same thoughts also apply to the next bit of text after that.

"She hated that Turtle Tail won her heart and shattered it." YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME ANON YOU CANNOT JUST BREAK MY HEART WITH ONE BIT OF TEXT. And then we hear TurtleTail's words through the point of view of Bumble and I really like that bit, we're seeing two sides of the same event, only now we are experiencing different emotions and thoughts.

Also. Ho-ly. Fuck. TURTLETAIL NEVER DID SAY THAT SHE'S SORRY, I ACTUALLY SCRAMBLED BACK TO THE OTHER ASK TO DOUBLE CHECK AND IT'S RIGHT. SHE NEVER SAID SORRY. That realization hit me in the face like a brick, anon. Anon I don't know how you do it, I don't know how you're able to create such clever stories, and the TWIST? Perfection.

Internalization is such an underutilized concept in Warriors, think of all the interesting and heartbreaking things that you could write when it comes to internalization of any kind. The fact that you made it so Bumble internalized those jabs that the settlers made towards her since that was a very stressful and traumatic moment in her life and then to have TOM really just hammer that in. It makes me so angry at the settlers, it makes me pissed off at Tom, it makes me sad for Bumble. Bumble please please you are worth the world you deserve everything good please don't let those dirty fucking hippie cats tell you that you don't belong because your weight is different than theirs.