#Bee Colony Disappeared

[milkdongcomics]

World Bee Day 2024 世界蜜蜂日 ANIMAN - SICK BEE HEY HUMAN, SEE WHAT YOU DO!? Pre-order: https://a.co/d/6SrfkMf Instagram:  milkdongcomics Facebook:  Milk DoNg Comics

[theemporium]

[13.2k] the chalet was your home away from home in the festive season. but this year it may become the place you fall in love with the last person you expected. ft my very limited knowledge on how skiing works. (very lazy smut included)

.

Your family had always gone to The Chalet with the Montgomery’s for as long as you could remember. 

One spontaneous ski trip decades ago led your parents to start a tradition that would last through the generations. Every year, both families would fly out to the mountains of France to enjoy the festive season in the homely ski resort called The Chalet. Owned and ran by an elderly couple, it was the kind of place you would see in hallmark movies, or maybe even in a snowglobe. It was a place beyond your greatest winter wonderland dreams and imagination. The Chalet didn’t feel like a real place, and that was why the getaway every Christmas made the holiday so magical. 

It was your home away from home, a safe haven. It was the one place in the world where you could disappear from reality and embrace the isolation from society. 

At least, that was what the three weeks in the ski resort usually felt like. 

And after a year of moving away from home, starting a new job at the bottom of the food chain and dealing with more social circle drama than you ever intended to deal with, you craved nothing more than the simplicity and enjoyment The Chalet had to offer. You needed the break away from your life, a break away from the life you weren’t totally sure you had under control. 

You just wanted your home away from home, and instead when the families arrived at the resort, you were met with crowds of strangers swarming the place like a colony of buzzing, irritating bees. 

“What the hell?” You muttered once you had stepped out of the car, looking at the throng of people lingering outside the main entrance to the resort. 

“Apparently the place is booked out,” your mother noted from somewhere behind you as they began to unpack the bags from the boot of the car. “Madame Blanchet reserved our usual rooms when she started getting more and more bookings.” 

“Since when was this place overbooked?” You commented, a little blunter than intended. But it was hard to mask your surprise. A part of The Chalet’s charm was that it was a small, unknown ski resort hidden amongst the many that were established in the French Mountains. For as long as you could remember—hell, even before that—there hadn’t been more than ten or so families staying at the resort over the Christmas period. 

“Maybe Madame Blanchet finally learnt how to make a website,” a voice remarked from beside you, sounding quite amused by the mass of people, which shouldn’t have really surprised you. 

And just like you expected, you turned your head to find Harper Montgomery grinning widely at the crazy crowd like she was expecting it. She stood beside you with her hands on her hips, something about the bright ski suit looking so out of place, not that she acted as much. Every year, you swore The Chalet wasn’t ready for her and every year you were proven correct. 

“Considering the woman still has a dial phone, I am going to doubt the sudden online advertisement,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe this will be the Christmas we make new friends,” Harper noted, her head tilted to the side and her dark eyes scanning the crowd. “I am pretty sick of Mrs Hartford beating me at scrabble.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Maybe you should stop challenging her then.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Never.” 

“I still don’t get why so many people are waiting outside,” you grumbled as your eyes fell back to the crowd, noticing the way they were buzzing with some sort of excitement. “I don’t even think the lodge has enough rooms for this many people.” 

Harper hummed. “Maybe—”

“OH MY GOD!” 

Your eyes widened in alarm as you turned your head, seeing Evan standing a few feet away from you and Harper. The older Montgomery was gripping his phone, eyes full of adoration and awe as he grinned at his screen like a madman. He let out a high-pitched squeak, catching the attention of both families as they looked at him with varying looks of concern.

The blond finally lifted his head, oblivious to the worried looks as his grin seemingly widened. He thrusted a phone towards you and Harper, almost buzzing in his spot. “He’s here!”

Your brows furrowed together. “What?”

“He’s here!” Evan repeated, just as enthusiastic as the first time. “He is in our ski lodge! He’s here!” 

You still looked equally confused. “Who?” 

“His little man-crush,” Harper noted as she glanced down at his screen. 

“Charles Leclerc!” Evan sighed, almost dreamily as he hugged his phone to his chest. “We are spending Christmas with Charles Leclerc!” 

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, pushing past the boy to grab your suitcase so you could finally go check in. “For fuck’s sake, not your little driving guy.” 

“Hey,” Evan frowned. “He’s more than that.” 

“I have to listen to you talk about him for nine months of the year,” you remarked, though even that felt like an understatement. “Christmas is meant to be my free time from your little obsession. We made a deal.”

Evan blanched. “That was before I knew he was here!” 

“And now he’s ruining Christmas,” you grumbled bitterly, letting out a wince when you felt a pinch to your side.

“Don’t be such a grinch,” Harper teased. “Let him be a fanboy and spend his days on the slopes hunting the guy down. Don’t let it ruin your holiday.”

You snorted. “That will be hard when he is talking our ears off about Charles’ pretty green eyes or the way his hair looks after a race.”

“It’s fluffy!” Evan defended. “It’s unreal after a two hour race in a helmet!” 

“Whatever,” you muttered as you patted the boy on the chest as you moved past him. “You have him all to yourself, you won’t see me complaining about it.” 

Evan puffed his chest out. “You just can’t appreciate greatness.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” you waved him off. “I’m here to ski and relax. As long as this Charles guy keeps you and his little fanbase far away from me, I don’t care what he does.” There was a pause and Harper gave you a questioning look when she saw the glint in your eyes. “Even if he is overrated.”

Evan’s jaw dropped. “You did not just—”

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” You called out behind you as you grabbed Harper’s hand, dragging her towards the main entrance with you and letting your laughs echo through the reception as the boy swore up and down behind you.

…

You could have said that your resentment towards the Ferrari driver was purely based on how much Evan spoke about him during the racing season, but that would be a lie. 

It had started off that way when the boy finally made it into Formula One. Evan had been a motorsport fanatic from a young age, always eager to ramble away to you and Harper on various championships and seasons neither of you particularly cared about. As you got older, you learned to become more accepting and tolerant of the fact your Sundays would always be hijacked by whatever grand prix was occurring that weekend. 

However, when a young hot shot joined the sport that Evan had been following through the lower leagues, you didn’t realise just how quickly that tolerance would disappear until he was yapping your ear off after every single race. 

And truthfully? You didn’t get it. You didn’t get the sport in general, you didn’t understand what made a driver good or bad, and you didn’t understand the world’s obsession with Charles Leclerc as the years passed. To you, he just seemed like a pretty boy who enjoyed the spotlight of being the face of the sport. To you, he seemed like nothing more than a show pony. 

And no amount of debates and rants from Evan would change that. 

You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to say you hate Charles Leclerc, but you would say you were coming pretty damn close since you arrived at The Chalet.

The Chalet was bustling from the moment you opened your eyes to the moment you fell asleep. Wherever you went, it felt like you were pushing through a crowd to get from point A to point B. And the amount of times you had fans gripping your arm as you walked past, asking you if you had seen the Monegasque driver was starting to make you want to rip your own hair out. 

Yet, despite the buzz around the driver being in the lodge and the amount of fans circling the place through various hours of the day, you had yet to see the boy himself and that was something you were perfectly content with.

You had managed two blissful days before you crossed paths with Charles Leclerc. 

You had been taking too long to get ready so you assured Harper and Evan you would meet them at the slopes, insisting there was no need for them to wait for you. Both Montgomery’s—stubborn as ever—scoffed and told you they would be waiting for you in the lobby instead. 

You had been in a rushed state when you made your way towards the equipment valet, eager to just quickly hand your locker number over and collect your equipment. However, your path seemed to be blocked by a man standing in front of you, nose buried in his phone as he muttered in a language you didn’t quite understand. 

“Excuse me, do you mind if I just—” 

“Fucking hell,” the man swore, causing you to pause and frown at his back. 

You were taken aback, not expecting that response or the scoff that left his lips afterwards. And when he turned around, you were even more shocked when you realised you knew exactly who the rude man was—none other than Charles Leclerc. 

“Look, I appreciate that you are a devoted fan and I am grateful for the support, but I really don’t have time for pictures right now,” Charles continued and, to his credit, did look a little empathetic. Though, that didn’t take away from the underlying hostility in his words. “I am just here to enjoy my break. Please let me do so in peace.” 

You blinked, absolutely flabbergasted by his assumption. “Huh?”

The smile he gave you was almost condescending. “As a fan, I am sure you’d understand that I’d want a few days just free from the media and—”

And it seemed like only then did your brain catch up with the situation. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, I am not a fan,” you stated as bluntly as you could, watching the boy’s face morph into something quite like confusion. As though he genuinely couldn’t compute the fact somebody wasn’t a fan of him. 

“What?”

“I was just trying to get my skis and you were standing in my way like a douche,” you said simply, watching as his brows furrowed closer together. “Which I would have felt bad for calling you before I realised who you were.”

“Who I was,” Charles repeated, still baffled as you pushed past him to do just as you said. 

“Hot shot who thinks everybody who breathes near him cares about who he is,” you supplied, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you now stood before him with your skis in hand. “Have a great day, Charles Leclerc.”

And the boy didn’t get a chance to say anything as you walked away, your mood positively ruined by the time you reached Evan and Harper in the lobby. They took one look at your sour mood and raised their brows in question, but you simply grumbled and waved them off, in no mood to repeat your interaction to Charles’ biggest sympathiser. 

Fortunately for the Montgomery siblings, your mood eased up by lunchtime and you were (mostly) over the whole interaction. 

…

Or at least, you were over the interaction until dinner came around. 

Dinner at The Chalet was like one massive family meal. With a large hall dedicated as the dining area, the Blanchet’s had set it up quite like a buffet system. There were tables of food bordering the room with tables dotted through the middle. Everyone sat on the round tables, in their little families and looking like a picture perfect scene for the final meal of the day. 

So of course your final meal of the day had to be ruined by an arrogant Monegasque who grinned at you like you two were old friends. 

“Ah, you! I’ve been looking for you.”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even realised he was talking to you if it weren’t for the fact the boy had stopped right beside you, practically looming over your shoulder as you tried to help yourself to some macaroni cheese.

You raised your brows, giving the boy a once-over before returning your attention to your plate. 

“Uh, hello,” Charles tried again, his brows furrowing together a little at the cold shoulder you gave him.

“Hi,” you stated simply, not wanting to spend any more moments with the Monegasque than you had to. 

“I wanted to apologise for earlier,” Charles continued, seeing your response as an open invite to a conversation. 

“Do you now?”  

“Yeah,” Charles nodded, a smile making its way onto his face as your sarcastic tone went completely over his head. “Listen, I really didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—this is my holiday and I had no intention of my location being leaked. I just wanted a break from everything, you know? And I guess the frustrations of being bombarded for the last few days just got to me.” 

And truthfully speaking, a part of you sympathised with the boy. Though his fame reached levels you would never understand, The Chalet was your haven away from everything. It was a place where reality never seemed to touch, a place to escape. You could understand better than anyone what it was like to crave that feeling in your life. 

But just as you opened your mouth to say as much, Charles seemed to remind you exactly why you disliked him in the first place.

“And I just wanted to clear things up with you before the media found out and—” 

“So, you’re only apologising because you don’t want me running to journalists and ruining your image?” You interrupted, catching the boy off-guard as he gaped at you for a few seconds.

“Well, yes, it wouldn’t look good if I was harassing fans,” Charles said.

“But I’m not a fan,” you corrected him, gripping your plate in your hands. “And I certainly don’t care about shattering someone’s image for fifteen seconds of fame, no matter how much of a douche they are.”

Charles frowned. “I—” 

“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, Charles,” you said, that sickly sweet smile on your face once again as you turned around to find whichever table your family were sitting at. But a hand reached out to softly grip your elbow and you turned to find Charles looking at you with a helpless expression. 

“I am sorry,” Charles said to you, something in his voice that you didn’t really understand. “But I also care about my image. Surely you can understand that.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you retorted as you tried to tug yourself free from his hold. 

Charles opened his mouth to reply, but a louder voice caught the attention of both of you. 

“STORMY! OVER HERE!” 

You felt your face heat up as you glanced over your shoulder, finding Evan sat amongst your family and his own as he waved you down. He had a shit-eating grin on his face (most likely from the fact he used the one nickname that he knew pissed you off more than anything else in front of everyone) and looked like he was about to do more when his gaze shifted to the man beside you. His jaw dropped, a comical expression on his face as he looked between you and Charles Leclerc.

“Stormy?” Charles repeated, looking over at you. 

You ignored his questioning gaze, instead narrowing your eyes at the hand still gripping your elbow. “Can you let me go now or is there more to your shitty apology?”

Charles opened his mouth once again, yet another person interrupted him before he got a chance.

“Charles? What’s taking you so long?”

Your eyes wandered to the girl who saddled up beside him, her expression light until she turned to look at you. Her gaze was calculated, her blue eyes seeming to size you up and something about the all white attire made you wonder if she was really playing into the Ice Queen vibes. 

“Another fan?” She sighed, as though your presence was the biggest inconvenience to her. “Honey, he can take pictures with you after dinner—”

“That’s fine, we’re done here,” you quickly corrected, ignoring the patronising tone in her voice or the way that Charles still looked like he had more to say. “I won’t be bothering either of you anytime soon.” 

You turned on your heels before either one of them had a chance to drag out the interaction any longer than it needed it to be. You weaved through the tables before making your way towards the table your family had chosen, settling yourself in the free seat beside Evan.

“That was Charles Leclerc!” 

You hummed, grabbing your fork as you began to dig in. “Unfortunately so.” 

“Dude, what the hell!” Evan hissed, pinching your side until you let out a small squeak and turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

You frowned. “I don’t.”

“You were talking to him for ages!” Evan countered. 

“He was just being a dick,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Plus, that was probably the last time I’ll ever talk to him.” 

Harper snorted. “And you didn’t even get him an autograph.”

“Not that I would ask,” you prefaced before shaking your head. “But I doubt he would have given me one anyways. We…got off on the wrong foot.” 

“It’s Charles Leclerc,” Evan scoffed. “There is no wrong foot.” 

“Keep it in your pants, dickhead,” you teased, lightly pinching his side back in retaliation. “Even if I did get you an autograph, I would have shredded it after the Stormy stunt you just pulled.”

“But that’s your name,” Evan grinned.

“No, it’s what you called me for seven years because you couldn’t remember my name,” you retorted. 

“No, he remembered,” Harper piped in, a grin on her face that scarily matched her brother’s. “But with a temper like yours, Stormy just fits so much better.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You both suck and so does Charles Leclerc.” 

“At least wait until dessert before you start insulting Evan’s boyfriend in front of him.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

…

You had expected that was the last time your path would ever cross with Charles Leclerc and, for the most part, it was. 

A few days passed and other than some awkward shared glances in the dining hall, you hadn’t found yourself caught in a conversation with the Ferrari driver after his attempted apology and you were intending to keep it that way until the end of your trip. You were happy to continue on with your holiday, even if you swore you could feel a pair of eyes watching you sometimes. 

However, it seemed like the universe was on a mission to get your hopes up before crumbling them back down again—and this time, it was in the form of another involuntary meeting with the Monegasque. 

You hadn’t even noticed the boy standing a few feet away from you with a group of his friends. You were stood next to Harper, listening to her ramble away as you waited in line for the ski lift to take you to the top of the mountain. It was fairly early, most of the resort residents still enjoying their breakfast inside which meant the queue wasn’t very long. You had been eager to get out on the snow early after being one of the last in the passing days. 

However, whilst you failed to notice the driver, it seemed like Harper had. 

She watched the boy continuously glance over at you, like he was eager to catch your eye. She watched as he slowly shuffled closer, like he was trying to gain the confidence to jump into the conversation. She watched Charles Leclerc act like a hopeless fool, and it was somewhat endearing to witness.

And maybe—just maybe—she was in the mood for some drama that the vacation in the ski resort very rarely gave her. 

You were already settled in your spot when you felt someone shuffling in the seat next to you. You felt the comfort bar come down and you turned with a smile, ready to continue your conversation with your best friend when you realised your best friend was not the person sitting next to you. 

No, it was Charles Leclerc. 

Your head whirled around, finding Harper standing in the queue with a grin on her face. You shot her a look, one that spoke more than a thousand words on just how you felt about her betrayal. However, the girl just laughed and waved you off as the lift began moving and it was far too late to get off. 

Your attention shifted to the boy beside you again, noticing the sheepish expression on his face and you let out a sigh. 

It was fine. Totally fine. The ski lift took around ten minutes to get to the top of the mountain. That was hardly anything, practically a blink of an eye if you were being honest. It would be a quick ride up, you wouldn’t even have to talk to him and you could easily ignore him by the time you made your way back down the mountain. It was all going to be so, so fine.

“So, uh, how are you this morning?” 

And suddenly, even a second felt like ten years passing. 

You kept your head facing forward, hoping the boy would catch the hint that you weren’t interested in small talk and would also remain silent. Though, considering the fact he was fidgeting in his seat, you doubted the boy could keep quiet for longer than thirty seconds.

“The weather is great, right?”

Your brows furrowed together. The weather? Really?

“The pancakes were also really good at breakfast this morning. Did you have any?” He continued, only pausing for a moment when he realised you were making a point of not answering him. “Stormy?”

One simple word and that was enough for you to break your silence.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, a little harsher than you truly intended but the sentiment remained.

Charles blinked. “You don’t want me to call you your name?”

“It’s not my name,” you replied. 

He blinked again. “But in the dining hall—”

“It’s a nickname—one that Evan likes to wind me up with because he thinks I’m moody,” you explained before realising the boy didn’t really deserve an explanation. Not when you were adamant to keep this conversation short. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Well, I can see where he gets it from,” Charles said with a small snort. 

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

Seeming to realise what he said and just how it sounded out loud, it was almost comical to watch Charles’ lips part before he awkwardly gaped at his previous comment. “Not like that! I just meant—”

“Whatever,” you muttered as you turned to face forwards again, pleading for the lift to somehow reach the top of the mountain already.

“Look, I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I intended this to go,” Charles admitted, almost sounding a bit pained when he said it, as though he wasn’t used to admitting he was wrong. “I wanted to properly apologise. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have brushed it off as anything except how you felt.” 

You paused, brows furrowing together as you turned to face him with a curious expression.

Charles blinked. “What?”

“I was just waiting to see if there was a ‘but’ coming,” you confessed.

“No buts,” he assured, pausing for a moment before his cheeks burned pink. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s it.”

You let out a sigh, wishing that some part of you was suspicious about his apology but you weren’t. He sounded genuine, and as much as you wanted to—and still partially did—believe he was a bit of a pompous prick, you couldn’t fault that his apology seemed sincere.

“I accept your apology,” you said, your voice a little strained before you continued. “And I’m also sorry for being a bit of a bitch.”

Charles’ lips parted. “Oh no, you weren’t—”

“I was a little,” you said, your lips twitching upwards as the boy gave you a nervous smile. “I can assure you I won’t be telling any gossip pages about what an asshole Charles Leclerc is.” 

He actually laughed in response, despite the fact that alone would probably make his PR team bury him six feet under before the next season started. “I appreciate that, Stormy.”

You glowered at the nickname, but it only seemed to make the Monegasque laugh harder. 

…

Despite the exchange of apologies on the ski lift, you expected that to be your last proper interaction with Charles. 

You were also quickly realising that every time—so far—you had assumed as much, you would find yourself face to face with the driver once again. And this time was no different, except it came much earlier than a few days. It happened later that very same day.

You had made your way into the dining hall, grabbing a plate and beginning to survey the large buffet when you felt the warmth of another person standing beside you. You felt a hand brush your arm and turned to find Charles smiling at you. 

“Bonjour, mon ami.” 

You blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “It means—”

“No, I know what it means,” you quickly corrected, shaking your head a little. “I just…didn’t realise we were friends.”

Charles’ brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t we be? I thought we had made up on the ski lift.” 

“Yes but, other than that, we are strangers,” you said to him like it was obvious—and to you, it was. Beyond a few misunderstandings and awkward apologies, the man in front of you was as much a friend to you as any of the other guests in the lodge.

“Well, we can change that now!” He said, and that smile returned to his face. “Turn over a new book or whatever the saying is.” 

Much to your own surprise, you found yourself laughing a little at his response. “Charles, I—”

“STORMY, HURRY UP OR I AM DRINKING YOUR WINE!” 

Both your and Charles’ head snapped over to Evan who was holding a wine glass in each hand, a large smile plastered on his face and a twinkle in his eyes that promised mischief. His hair was still wet from the shower he took before dinner, meaning it was slick back and giving him an almost wannabe Bond villain look. 

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to look at the driver. Only you found Charles still looking in Evan’s direction, something contemplative and almost begrudging in his gaze. 

“You okay?”

Charles turned to face you, and it took a mere second for the glare to disappear and be replaced with his bright smile once again. “Yeah, of course. It seems like you’re wanted elsewhere though.”

“He’s a menace,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes but the fondness was clear in your voice. “I love him even if he’s a pain in the ass.”

Charles only let out a contemplative hum as a goodbye as you headed towards the table where your family and the Montgomery’s were sitting. And maybe if you looked over at him as much as he did with you over the course of the dinner, you would have seen Charles looking a little too bitter every time your eyes were on Evan instead of him.

…

A week had passed in the resort and the Christmas spirit was starting to truly spread as the festive holiday quickly approached. 

Your parents and the Montgomery parents had decided to pass on the slopes, instead choosing to visit infamous glacier caves that had been advertised and talked about by some locals in the lodge. You, Harper and Evan had declined the offer to join them, though the excitement of no parents being around—despite the fact all three of you were firmly in your twenties—seemed to spark a shift in energy in Evan that could only be described as childlike. 

“I have a proposition.” 

Harper already let out a groan, tilting her head back as she did. You couldn’t see her eyes beneath her goggles, but you imagined she was rolling them. “God, no.”

Evan frowned. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“Your ideas are shit,” Harper said to her brother. “And usually dangerous.”

“No, they aren’t,” Evan scoffed.

You shrugged. “You don’t have a great track record, if we are being honest.”

“Whatever,” Evan grumbled before grinning at the two of you. “First two to reach the bottom wins. Sabotaging each other’s run is allowed. Loser has to do the forfeit.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s the forfeit?” 

“Loser has to streak in the snow,” he grinned.

“I am not streaking in the snow,” Harper scoffed.

“Then, you better hope you win,” the older Montgomery countered with a grin. 

And begrudgingly, you and Harper agreed to his childish idea.

It wasn’t the first time a silly competition between the three of you got out of hand, and you truly doubted it would be the last. With no rules set and no parents to even try to intervene, it didn’t take very long before the competition got dirty and the run down the slopes became more chaotic. 

You had been running behind Harper, secure in second place and watching her movements closely to look for any weakness that you could exploit. However, you had failed to realise that Evan—who had been running behind after he almost skied into a group of people—was quickly catching up on you. 

You didn't realise until it was too late.

You let out a noise of surprise when you found the boy right by your side, one that quickly became a series of curses when you realised what he was doing. You tried to move away when you noticed him turning into you, but you were too slow and it only put you in a worse position when his pole lodged itself between your skis. 

He was long gone by the time you tumbled into the snow, cackling loudly as he went. You let out a groan of frustration as you turned until you were lying on your back. You winced a little as you tried to awkwardly scramble up onto your feet in hopes of catching up with the Montgomery siblings, but the second a bit of pressure was placed on your ankle, you were crying out in pain and your ass hit the snow once again.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you sat in the snow, tears welling in your lash line at the shot of pain up your leg. 

“Cherie!” 

You lifted your head when you noticed someone skidding to a stop beside you. You blinked at them in a moment of confusion, but the second they removed their goggles and pulled down their mask, you found Charles—or at least, a very worried and concerned version of him—looking down at you. 

He took you in, noticing the glossy sheen to your eyes before he turned back to look over his shoulder, letting out a string of curse words that you were certain were not in English before his attention returned to you.

“Are you okay? What hurts? Is something broken? Should I call for them to send a helicopter—” 

“Charles,” you quickly interrupted the rambling boy. “I’m fine. I’ve probably just sprained my ankle.” 

“Yeah, because of him,” Charles grumbled, mostly under his breath like he had no real intention for you to hear the snide remark.

“It was a joke,” you waved him off, but that only seemed to upset the boy further.

“A joke?” He repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re hurt. It’s hardly a funny joke.”

“Charles, calm down.”

The boy just scoffed, shaking his head before he lodged his poles into the snow, keeping them off the main trail before he turned to you and offered his hand. 

You looked at him expectantly. 

“Let me help you get down to the lodge,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. 

“Charles—” You began, but he wasn’t having it.

“No, cherie, I am not going to leave you here when you’re injured and alone,” he said, emphasising the last word in particular as he glanced around, almost like he had to remind you that Harper and Evan were most likely at the bottom of the slope by now. 

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, taking his gloved hand in yours as you allowed him to pull you up, keeping your weight on him with ease. “This doesn’t mean we are friends though, Charles.”

He only grinned at you, the first time he seemed a little more like himself since he stopped to check on you.

“Whatever you want to say, Stormy.”

…

As expected, you had sprained your ankle and were advised to take it easy for the next few days. 

And you were banned from hitting the slopes in fear of making the sprain worse. 

You wanted to be annoyed about the situation—and a small part of you was—but honestly, a few days in the lodge with some peace and quiet seemed like a dream. As much as you loved your family and the Montgomery’s, you needed a break from how loud and giddy and excited they were.

And as the days quickly approached Christmas, it felt like a nice relief to have some time to yourself before the festivities truly took over. 

You had waved them off after breakfast with a smile, teasing them not to miss you too much as they headed towards the slopes. Evan had offered to stay inside with you, even just for today, because of the guilt that he was the one to put you in the position. But you just rolled your eyes, assuring him you were more than happy to sit by the fireplace by the foyer and enjoy a day where you didn’t have to fall flat on your ass in the snow. 

You had been a few chapters into your book, curled up on the couch with your ankle elevated on a pillow with a blanket thrown over you when Charles and his friends made their way downstairs, prepped and ready with the intentions of heading out to the slopes. 

But the boy spotted you and found his feet moving in a different direction. 

“Stormy!”

You lifted your head, unable to even find it in yourself to be annoyed by his constant use of the nickname when he had a pretty smile on his face whenever he said it. He was bundled up in layers, probably on his way to the equipment kiosk before he headed for the lift. He looked comical next to the fire.

“My knight in shining armour,” you greeted, a teasing tilt in your voice but the boy missed it as he took in your appearance. “You look warm.”

“You’re staying in today?” 

You nodded. “Doc’s orders.”

“Alone?” 

You nodded once again. “I told the others they could—”

“I’ll stay with you!”

He said it so quickly that it took you a few seconds before you realised just what he had said. You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re at a ski resort and you don’t want to go skiing?”

“I’ve been skiing every day since I got here,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I can handle not skiing for a day.”

You flashed him a smile. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” he countered, the words passing his lips with ease.

You hated the way your chest tightened a little at his words. “Oh.”

Charles smiled at your response. 

“Charles, hurry up!” 

You missed the way his brows furrowed together at the voice when you turned to look at the woman standing a few feet away, looking impatient and slightly annoyed. It was the same woman from the other week, the one that looked a little too much like the cold weather personified. You had learnt over the passing days her name was Melanie, but that was about as far as your knowledge on the woman went, other than her clear attitude. 

Charles let out a sigh before he replied, a slightly more strained smile on his face. “Go on without me. I’m gonna stay in the lodge today.”

Melanie frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Charles stated simply, and the repeated words made your chest feel funny again. 

Melanie glanced over at you and then Charles, and then back to you again. Her eyes were narrowed and her glare felt icy, but before she could even think of saying anything, a friend from the group was calling out to her and she had no choice but to join them. 

Charles turned back to you, an easy smile on his lips once again. “So…what’s the plan?” 

You snorted. “To sit here because I’m practically bedbound, unless I want to hobble somewhere.” 

Charles pressed his lips together. “Well, sitting by the fire with no hot chocolate is sacrilege.” 

Your nose scrunched up. “But I don’t have cookies. Hot chocolate by itself isn’t fun without homemade Christmas cookies.”

“Then we will make them,” Charles said.

You rolled your eyes. “And where are we making them? In our rooms with a kettle, tap water and no other ingredients?”

“Please,” Charles said with a scoff, a glint in his eyes as he looked down at you with a proud glint in his eyes. “I am Charles Leclerc. I have my ways.”

You weren’t sure what strings he pulled, who he bribed or just what he blackmailed the lodge owners with, but you were filled with a sort of unease when Charles returned twenty minutes later. He had changed out of his heavy ski gear into a pair of jeans and a sweater that looked insanely cosy. And he had told you that he needed you to close your eyes, to trust him enough to carry you to the destination with a promise that all the drama would be worth it.

He looked so damn proud when he brought you to the lodge’s kitchen with bowls and whisks and ingredients sprawled across the counter—it made that funny feeling in your chest return. 

“How did you manage this?” You asked, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips when he sat you on the counter. 

“I’m Charles Leclerc, I can get anything I want,” he said, and once upon a time, you would have rolled your eyes and thought he was a pompous dick. You still thought he was a little cocky, but it was an endearing trait now. 

You raised your brows. “Do you, Charles Leclerc, know how to bake?”

“Nope,” he said honestly but he was still smiling. “But I am sure I can make something edible with you guiding me.”

“Smooth,” you snorted. “Don’t blame me if they taste like shit.”

As it would turn out, Charles had an overbearing need to be in control of everything. You guessed it came with the lifestyle, the fact his life is always in the palm of his own hands whenever he sat in a car that raced hundreds of miles an hour. However, it seemed like it also extended to the Monegasque ignoring your very clear and correct instructions to do something he insisted was the right way.

“In what fucking world do you need that much sugar?” You remarked, lips parted in shock as you watched the boy add more. 

“They are sugar cookies, cherie, it’s in the name,” Charles retorted.

“That doesn’t mean the batter should be seventy-five percent sugar!” You huffed as you reached over to try and grab the bag of sugar from him. “You are going to make us both diabetic with one of those damn cookies. Don’t you have a diet you are meant to be following?” 

Charles only grinned, a little mischievous. “Yeah but it’s Christmas.”

You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“And you’re bossy,” he countered. 

“And I’m right,” you insisted as you frowned at the batter, wondering if it would be easier to just toss it out and start again. “It’s not my fault you don’t have the ego to handle it.”

“Or your ego can’t handle the challenge,” Charles said, something shining in his eyes like his words had a hidden meaning you couldn’t quite understand. “Tell me you don’t like it.”

You tilted your head a little. “You think you’re the only man to talk back to me, Leclerc?”

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I would like to think I’m the best.” 

You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, the way it seemed to surge some sort of competition inside him. You couldn’t help but want to play on his fragile male ego a little more.

“And if I said you weren’t?” You questioned, pressing your lips together in a poor attempt to hide your smirk. 

Charles breathed out of his nose, his jaw clenching a little before he replied. “Then I would say Evan is a lucky man to have you.”

And just like that, your smirk dropped. 

“What?” 

Charles frowned a little. “I would say Evan is a lucky man,” he repeated, the words sounding a little forced as they left his lips. “You two seem like…a great match even if he does leave you abandoned on a ski slope after—”

“Oh my god, no!” You blanched, your shoulders hunching up to your ears as you shook your head. “Ew, no! Absolutely not!”

Charles blinked. “Huh?”

“Me and Evan—” You swallowed hard, unable to even get the words out. “It’s not like that between us. I have known him forever, he’s like a brother to me.” 

“Oh,” Charles murmured, taking a few seconds before he grinned. “Oh!” 

“Yeah, oh,” you grumbled.

Charles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “So, you aren’t—”

“Nope.”

“With Evan or anyone?”

“No one.”

“Good.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes at the giddiness written across his face. If someone told you it was Christmas morning, you would have believed them. “Subtle, Charles.”

“Subtle is my middle name.”

…

The next day, you met Charles by the foyer fireplace, but this time he was prepared with his own book. 

The day after, he was there again but both your books were quickly abandoned as you chatted away. 

The day after that, neither of you bothered to bring your books down. 

Despite your insistence that he should be out on the slopes enjoying his vacation and the downtime he had in between seasons, Charles was adamant that he was doing exactly what he deemed relaxing. And just like he said earlier, Charles Leclerc gets what he wants—and it seemed he wanted to spend his days huddled in the lodge with you. 

Everyone noticed the budding relationship between you and Charles, but nobody said a word. Well, your family and the Montgomery parents didn’t say a word. Harper and Evan on the other hand? They wouldn’t leave you alone.

Harper was cackling at the irony. She was throwing your words back in your face, teasing the way seemed to switch your opinion on the Monegasque driver in the span of a week and looked down right smitten for the boy. She teased you over the fact it took you almost two months before you went on a date with your ex-boyfriend, and here you were having daily fireplace dates with the boy you called an asshole less than a week ago. She was embracing her full right as your best friend to annoy the fuck out of you. 

Evan was a whole other story. The boy looked like a kicked puppy every time you came back from hanging out with Charles, only to tell him you didn’t get him an autograph nor did you bring into the conversation how cool he was or how amazing he was or how he and Charles would totally get on if you introduced them. You didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that up until seventy-two hours ago, Charles didn’t like him through a bizarre assumption.

It had been constant and annoying, but in a way that made your heart feel full because you knew no matter what, at least those two would support every decision you made. Even if they got unbearable during the meal times where Charles would find any excuse to come talk to you. 

Tonight was no different as he approached you with a smile spread across his face and something dangerous and promising shining in his eyes. You were sitting at the table alone whilst everyone else headed towards the tables to fill their plates—yours in Harper’s hand—and you were grateful for the small moment of peace as he leaned down. 

“Missing me already?” You teased. 

He shrugged, though he didn’t disagree. “I have a very important message for you.” 

You raised your brows in question. “Oh?” 

Instead of saying anything, the boy just grinned wider and handed you a small piece of paper. You frowned a little at it, looking up at him in confusion but the boy was already taking a few steps away from your table.

“Charles—”

But the boy just winked before turning on his heel, heading back to the table the rest of his friends were sitting at, where they were probably watching the whole interaction even if they tried to make it seem like they weren’t. 

You glanced down at the note in your hand, lips turned downwards as you opened the folded paper. It baffled you that he couldn’t just say what he had written down, but another part of you warmed a little at the idea that he had taken the time to write the note and go through with it—regardless of it being a bit silly. 

You couldn’t bite back your smile when you read the note. 

meet me @ midnight. my room number is 161. wear something cosy :) 

You snorted, shaking your head as every cell in your body thrummed in excitement to meet the boy you once hated later that night. 

…

“The note was cute, but I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just ask me to hang out.” 

“Because that’s not fun.”

“You just handed me the note, that’s hardly any different.”

“It was like a real life text, cherie. It’s how they used to do it back in the day.”

You snorted in response. 

You had listened to his advice, deciding that a hoodie and pyjama bottoms were the way to go as you snuck up to the floor he was staying at. Your knuckles had barely grazed the door before it was yanked open, a grinning boy on the other side. He was dressed in a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, his hair pushed back with a bandana and a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

He didn’t even give you a chance to say anything before he was dragging you inside.

It should have been obvious that Charles Leclerc of all people would have a suite but truthfully, you hadn’t even realised the lodge had master suites as big as this one. But it did. And it was huge. And you expected nothing less for the Monegasque. 

There were multiple different rooms that veered off the large living room: one that was furnished with a massive tv, soft plush sofas and a large fireplace that looked like it was straight out the front of a Christmas card. Surprisingly, it was decorated for the festive season with even a tree settled in the corner between the armchairs. It felt homely. It felt perfect for this midnight meeting. 

However, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around before he was dragging you out onto the balcony. There was a loveseat set up with pillows and blankets, and a small table set with hot chocolate and a plate of cookies (ones he assured you he had the chef make fresh). 

“I never took you to be so traditional,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as a light breeze hit you. “But I guess you have to make do since you haven’t even asked for my number.”

Charles raised his brows. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to hurry up and ask for it?” 

“Subtle is my middle name,” you retorted, his own repeated words thrown back in his face but they seemed to light a spark inside him. 

Charles’ eyes dropped to your lips for a few passing beats before they returned to your eyes, and you saw everything written in them. This was different to the days you had spent down in the foyer. Everyone could see you both. You could see everyone. It was public and out in the open and exposed. 

But here?

It was just you and him and the pretty night sky that shone and glittered with stars. You were away from the world, from reality. You were away from your family and friends. You were away from peering eyes and judgemental looks. You were in a bubble you never wanted to leave, huddled in thick wool blankets and desperately hoping he would close the minimal distance between you both. 

His lips were a hairbreadth away from brushing against yours when another breeze caressed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that momentarily jolted you away from him.

“You’re cold,” he noted, though it was pretty obvious when you two were both outside in minimal layers. “Let’s get inside. We can warm up by the fire.”

And a part of you wanted to scream off the balcony into the French Mountains when he stood up, when the moment broke and his lips weren’t against yours. But as angry as you wanted to be, you were grateful when he guided you to sit in front of the fire as he added more wood to the dying embers.

His thigh was brushing against yours when he settled into the spot beside you on the floor, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold as he grinned at you before holding his hands out to the fire. You laughed, following suit and the conversation from moments before the almost-kiss returned. 

However, minutes passed and your body was still racked with small shivers that Charles quickly picked up on.

“C’mere,” he murmured as he lifted his arm, giving you little time to dispute (not that you were going to) as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side.

You didn’t think about it too much as you buried yourself into his embrace, as you pressed your cheek into his hoodie and enjoyed the way his hand seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever he touched. 

“If I get hypothermia and die, I’m coming back to haunt you and your sugar cookies,” you grumbled, though it was lighthearted as you pressed your nose further into the fabric of his hoodie. 

His chest shook underneath you as he laughed and tightened his hold on you. “I would never let anything happen to you, Stormy.”

“You and that stupid nickname,” you said as you let out a long sigh. “You know my actual name now. You have no excuse to use it.”

“Yeah, but it suits you,” Charles retorted, letting out a small noise of surprise when your cold fingers pinched his side. “Plus, you get this…uh, what’s the word…cute look on your face when you’re angry.” 

Your head snapped up to glare at him. “I don’t look cute when I’m angry.”

His face brightened. “Yes! That face! C’est mignon!"

Your eyes narrowed further. “Don’t pull the cute French card, it’s not gonna help you.”

“You think my French is cute?” Charles replied, his laugh echoing through the suite as you rolled your eyes.

“You drivers and your egos,” you grumbled.

“Have a lot of experience with drivers?” Charles questioned, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.

You snorted, both of you knowing the answer to that question but you played along. “Maybe I do.” 

His eyes darkened slightly. “What about kissing them?”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc had left you speechless for what felt like the millionth time since you met him.

His gaze was locked on your lips, the crackling of the fire felt like it was booming through the silent room and you were truly wondering if your heart was going to burst through your chest and splat on the floor in front of you both. 

“I can’t say I have much experience in that department,” you admitted once you managed to choke your words out.

His lips twitched upwards. “Would you like some experience, Stormy?” 

You didn’t know if you nodded or if he just took the signs of your flustered, stuttering mess and took mercy on you. You didn’t know if his hand reached to cup your face first or if it was your hand on the nape of his neck instead. You didn’t know if it was you moaning lowly into the kiss when his tongue darted out or if it was him. 

Kissing Charles Leclerc was overwhelming and world-altering and, truthfully, you didn’t think you could even utter your own name if someone asked you at that moment. 

“Merde,” he groaned before he kissed you harder, faster, more passionately. His other hand reached for your waist, those muscles hidden under his baggy hoodie put to good use as he hauled you onto his lap.

Your knees sat on either side of his hips, your ass firmly planted on his lap as the new position allowed you to fully wrap your arms around his neck. The boy’s hands dropped to your waist, squeezing and guiding as your hips shifted in his lap as his kisses left you seeking anything he would give you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning for air. But you still wanted more, you sought out to keep hearing those pretty noises he made as your lips trailed down his neck. “So fucking long.”

“You took your time,” you muttered between open-mouthed kisses when his hold tightened as your lips passed a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.

“You hated me for a majority of the time we’ve known each other,” he managed to utter out, his head falling back as your teeth lightly grazed his skin.

“Does it look like I hate you now?” You retorted, something about the back and forth feeling as thrilling and exciting as his fingers fiddling with the hem of your hoodie.

Charles’ eyes caught yours as you lifted your head from his neck, lips red and swollen and fuck, he wanted to kiss you again. “I think I need a little more convincing.”

“Yeah?” You watched as he nodded, a little too eager but it made your stomach twist in the best way possible. “Well, you did promise to keep me warm.”

“I did,” he murmured, his voice a little rough and husky.

“Warm me up, Leclerc,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him again, his hands squeezing your waist before your lips even touched. “And then I’ll decide if I hate you still.”

A choked noise of surprise left your lips when Charles suddenly moved. You were no longer sitting on his lap, but instead had been laid back on the floor with the boy now hovering over you. He flashed you a smile, one twisted with promises that made your chest feel tight.

You waited for him to lean down and kiss you again. You waited to feel his heated touch on your body. You waited for him to finally slide his hands under the fabric of your hoodie, to feel his fingers along your bare skin. 

But instead, he just looked at you with so much fondness in his eyes.

“What?” You questioned, and suddenly the idea of being naked underneath him was no longer the most exposed you felt.

“Nothing,” he said simply as he shook his head. “Just…wanted to make sure.”

Your brows furrowed together. “Of what?”

“That you’re okay with this,” Charles said as he finally lifted his hand, as he let his fingers brush across the apple of your cheek. You could feel your skin heating up underneath his touch. “I want you to know that I’m happy to just talk. I don’t want you to think I just invited you here to—”

“Charles,” you interrupted, and the boy fell quiet as his cheeks flushed pink. “I want to.”

He tried to bite back his smile. “Yeah?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah.”

And despite the reassurance and despite the heat in your body that just wanted to throw your legs over the boy and ride him until the sun came up, Charles Leclerc was nothing, if not a gentleman. And something about that made it so much hotter. 

His touch was always so confident but gentle. The way his lips pressed against yours, the way his tongue caressed yours as his fingers slowly peeled away the layers of clothes between the two of you. The way he paused to set down pillows and a blanket to make it comfier for you before his fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and discarding them someplace else.

The way you reached down to cup his bulge in his boxers, prepared to slip your hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and stroke the length of him—only to have your hands batted away. You barely got a chance to question him before his kisses silenced you, before they began moving south and you felt his lips on every inch of your exposed skin that he could reach. 

You felt breathless by the time he was between your legs. You felt like your head was spinning with pleasure as he hooked his arms around your thighs and happily settled between them. You felt like you were in some sugar cookie induced dream as you glanced down, catching his eager eyes watching every little move and reaction you made.

The fire was roaring a few feet away, loud and proud and yet, it was his touch and whispered words that made your whole body feel like lava was coursing through your veins. It was the way his tongue swiped and licked your needy pussy, the way his lips wrapped around your clit until your back was arching off the ground. It was the way Charles murmured soft praises as his hands reached out for yours, as he intertwined your fingers and softly squeezed as you came on his tongue once, twice until you felt like a pile of bones. 

It was the way he smiled down at you like his face wasn’t glistening with your release. The way he leaned down to kiss you with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. It was the way he was fully prepared to leave it there, let you rest, spend the rest of the night listening to the random rants he could coax out of you. 

Charles only let out a surprised noise when you pushed him onto his back, as you straddled him like you fantasised about earlier and reached between your bodies to squeeze his aching cock.

You knew Charles Leclerc was pretty, even in the days where you thought you despised the man. It was an undeniable fact that he was easy on the eyes, that he was gorgeous, that he had one of those faces that didn’t make him feel like he was a real human. 

But he was undoubtedly prettier when you were sinking down on his cock, walls squeezing him as his lips parted to let out a string of curse words in a handful of languages you didn’t speak. 

His hands were all over you, his lips never stopped moving  and all it took was a slight lapse in your tempo as you rocked back and forth for the boy to grip your hips, hold you up with ease and fuck up into you.

You were a puddle on his chest, his lips right beside your ear as he whispered filthy words to you. His hands and kisses were gentle when it felt like you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep inside he was. Charles Leclerc was a fucking enigma that you didn’t ever want to work out. 

And even after he did most of the work, even after he was breathless and flushed and fucked out, you were still the first thing on his mind. Your comfort, your pleasure, just you.

“Cherie,” he murmured softly, the accent seeming a little thicker as he spoke. “We should move to the bed.”

“No,” your words muffled as you nuzzled yourself further into his chest, content where you were with your legs tangled together and your naked bodies pressed together. “I’m comfy here. Beside you.”

“Okay,” was all he said in response as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and pulled the blanket over the both of you before holding you closer—if that was even possible.

…

The first thing you noted when you woke up was how comfortable the ground felt beneath you.

The second thing was that you were no longer on the floor, but on a very comfy bed with a mattress that felt like it was a cloud.

Your hand blindly reached out to your side, expecting to feel a solid, warm body and probably a disgruntled curse from a certain Monegasque, but it never came. Your brows furrowed together, your hand continuing to pat the bed but it felt cold under your touch. 

For a short moment, you wondered if you had dreamt it all. You wondered if it was just a hyper-realistic dream where you swore you could still feel his touch on you, if it was all a part of your imagination. 

And then, from the other side of the door, you heard a voice. 

Your lips unknowingly tilted upwards as you sat up in bed, the sheet falling to your waist as you did. You stretched out your limbs, moving with no real rush as you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—a shirt of Charles’ that rested at your thighs—before making your way towards the door. 

You pushed the door open, expecting to find him lounging on the couch as he talked away to whoever he was on the phone with, but he wasn’t. You leaned your head out, peeking around to instead finding him on the balcony, the door still open to let his voice and a chilly breeze carry through into the suite.

You contemplated bracing the cold and making your way towards the balcony, to wrap your arms around his waist and settle into the warmth of him as he finished his call. Your hand moved to pull the door open wider, but then the muffled voice became actual words and you froze.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me. She never has. Why should I care now?”

You frowned a little. 

“I was doing her a favour, for no other reason.”

Your stomach churned, but you tried to ease your thoughts that were threatening to spiral.

“I’m not going to ever see her again after this trip, what’s the big deal anyways?”

But that? That was your final straw.

You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed around the room, staying as silent as you could as you redressed yourself. Your head felt like it was spinning, like you couldn’t even keep up with your own thoughts. You wanted to feel angry and spiteful, and maybe you did. 

But most of all, you just felt disappointed. 

In yourself. In the situation. In the man you thought Charles Leclerc was. 

You were fighting down the bile that felt like it was rising up your throat when you finally slipped out of his suite. He was still on the phone, still on the balcony when you left. And he probably wouldn’t even realise you were gone until you were safely back in your own room, where you could let everything hit you at once and let the tears threatening to spill finally fall. 

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe he was that kind of guy, another asshole that you had laid yourself out in front of, only for it to be thrown back in your face. You wanted to believe he was the gentleman you saw, touched and kissed last night. 

But the truth of the matter was that Charles Leclerc was just another name on your list of men who disappointed you, and you didn’t want to see his stupid, perfect face ever again.

…

Charles was absolutely fucking baffled. 

He felt like he was missing a key bit of information in his own life, and no matter how many times he replayed the last week or so in his head, he couldn’t work out what he was doing wrong. 

After a season of disappointing races and a team that played with his strategy like a fucking water balloon being thrown around by a group of toddlers, Charles wanted an escape. He wanted a place away from journalists and fans and everyone who even knew who he was. He just wanted a break from his own life.

The vacation at The Chalet was meant to just be that, but it became so much more.

For the first time in a long time, Charles felt like himself again. He felt happy. He was excited for the new year, he was excited for the future, he was excited for what possibly lay ahead of him. He felt like he was in some dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was his reality and he woke up every day eager to know what amazing thing would happen to him—to know what amazing day he would have with you.

But that dream seemed to crumble into pieces when he realised you were ignoring him.

He didn’t try to take it too personally when he headed back into the bedroom that morning, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold weather but eager to spend a few lazy hours with you in between the sheets. He was eager to make you smile and maybe kiss you, maybe do something more.

But disappointment hit his chest when he saw the empty room. 

He just assured himself that you probably had to head back to your room before your family and friends woke up, or maybe you wanted to freshen up. He assured himself he would see you at breakfast and everything would be fine. 

But it wasn’t fine because you weren’t at breakfast. He waited in case you came at the end, but you didn’t. 

He waited for you at the usual spot in the foyer, but you never came.

He waited for you at lunch and dinner too, but you never came. 

The next day, he almost expected the same and was preparing himself to ask one of your friends if you were okay, but he was shocked to find you sitting in your usual place at breakfast. He smiled at you, something in his chest easing as he made a step in your direction, but the dirty glare you sent his way was enough to make him stop in his tracks. 

You didn’t turn up to the foyer that day either but between the dirty looks from you and the fact he was pretty sure Harper tried to trip him up at the coffee stand, he knew something was wrong. 

He just didn’t know what.

And every time he tried to get near you, tried to talk to you, it was a pathetically failed attempt that left that competitive streak inside his chest blaring with annoyance. 

You were ignoring him and he didn’t know why.

And then he saw it, three days after you started ignoring him. He was making his way into the dining hall, having just showered after a day in the slopes his friends dragged him out for, when he saw you and Evan by the buffet. 

Your eyes found his and something in his chest sparked. 

And then his eyes fell to the way your hand rested on Evan’s arm, the way you leaned into him as you laughed, the way Evan’s arm was thrown over your shoulder as you both walked back to your table. He watched as you both sat next to each other, so close your thighs were probably  pressed together under the table and something bitter settled in his stomach. 

He knew he had no real reason to be jealous. Especially between the fact that you yourself had assured him everything between you and Evan was platonic (if not familial) and the fact there was no real talk of anything being between you and himself other than a shitload of chemistry. 

But even logic didn’t stop the jealousy he felt.

His appetite was gone after that, as he turned around and headed back to his suite that felt a little bittersweet after the amazing night and shit morning he had with you. But he wasn’t in the mood to eat or pine for you from a distance. 

Charles was sick and tired of you ignoring him, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. 

And the first step in his plan had everything to do with the blond you were currently laughing and touching. He just needed to get Evan alone.

…

It was Christmas Eve when Charles’ plan finally reached its final step—to finally talk to you.

It felt like an odd sense of deja vu when you woke up that morning, making your way down for breakfast before you got ready for the slopes that day. You thought nothing off the weird looks Evan was giving you or the way he seemed giddier than usual, because truthfully it was no different to how Evan usually was on Christmas Eve. 

You put down his eagerness to head towards the slopes under the assumption he probably had some weird challenge for you and Harper at the top. You just hoped this one wouldn’t result in another sprained ankle. 

“I’m riding with you today, Stormy,” Evan said as the three of you headed towards the ski lift.

“Uh, get in line, loser,” Harper spoke up as she stood on the other side of you. “I called dibs.” 

Evan narrowed his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I did just now,” Harper retorted. 

“Does it really matter?” You questioned, amused as you glanced between the two of them.

“Yes!”

“No!” 

Harper and Evan turned to glare at each other, confusion from one of them and insistence from the other. However, you just laughed and shook your head. 

“Fine, first one to the lift wins!” 

You were already settled in the lift as you heard the two of them bickering to each other. You waited to see which one would win, to see who would settle in the spot next to you. However, what you failed to notice was the way Evan all but threw himself on top of his sister so she couldn’t reach the lift before someone else did. 

You turned, a smile on your face as you waited to greet the winning Montgomery, but instead you found yourself staring at a painfully familiar set of green eyes. 

And in an instant, your smile dropped at the sight of Charles Leclerc sitting next to you. 

But before you could even think about jumping off the lift and taking the next seat, the lift was already too high up for you to do anything about it. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said to break the silence.

But you didn’t respond.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me but at least hear me out,” Charles continued, a hint of desperation in his voice. “This is all a misunderstanding.” 

You kept your gaze facing forward.

“Evan told me what you thought happened that morning.”

And just like that, your head snapped around to stare at him, a mix of emotions going through you right now—though the biggest was possibly Evan’s betrayal. 

“You weren’t lying when you said he was a big fan,” he said with a nervous laugh. “It didn’t actually take much for him to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You used my friend?” You questioned, the bitterness and coldness in your voice evident.

“I asked and he gave me information,” Charles corrected before his shoulders sagged a bit. “Look, don’t blame him. He heard what I had to say and—”

“And I don’t care what you have to say so go talk to Evan about it,” you spat back at him, watching the way he winced at your words.

“Cherie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Stormy—”

“And definitely don’t call me that.”

“Please,” Charles pleaded as he looked at you with wide eyes, ones that held so many emotions you did not want to see. “That phone call was not what you think.” 

You looked away at the mention of the phone call, something quite like anger and disgust bubbling inside you at the mere reminder of the words you heard that morning. “Just…stop it, Charles. I don’t care, okay? You go about your life and I’ll go about mine.”

“No,” he stated simply.

You scoffed. “What? You need another girl in another city to have fawning over you? The hundreds of others not enough?”

“No, because I am not interested in my life not having you in it. I am not interested in a hundred other girls.” The words were stated like they were facts. “Stormy, I just want you.”

You scoffed again but a hand tugging yours made you look over at Charles, fully prepared to pull your hand away. 

“I wasn’t talking about you on the phone that morning,” Charles quickly blurted out before you had a chance to say anything. “Everything you heard on the phone that morning, it wasn’t about you.”

You blinked.

“It was about Melanie.”

Your brows furrowed together, a crease forming between them that Charles had the urge to smooth out with his thumb, but he resisted.

“What?”

“She—” Charles paused for a moment, like he was trying to gather the correct words. “She’s not my friend, not really.”

You blinked again. “She’s not? But she acts—”

“She acts like we are, yes. She’s a friend of a friend, and that’s about all there is to her. She’s…uh, how do you say? She seems to have gained a crush on me? Or maybe it’s some weird obsession. I’m not quite sure,” Charles admitted with a frown. “She asked me out once, almost a year ago and I declined. But she has latched onto the group ever since and I couldn’t quite shake her off.”

You didn’t say anything, instead letting him continue. 

“She wasn’t even meant to be on this trip,” Charles confessed. “But she said to our mutual friend that she was alone this Christmas and…I just couldn’t say no, right? But she’s spent the last year acting like I didn’t reject her and I didn’t like the idea of being trapped up here with her. But even with all our other friends, she was always beside me. She was always there. And when she started to throw tantrums to our friends and make up stories after I started spending time with you, I had enough.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock.

“Turns out she told all our friends that we were together,” Charles said with a grimace. “That we wanted to keep it a secret from the media, and that meant I wanted to keep it from everyone. She tried to make it out like I was a monster to our friends when I started spending days with you. Thankfully, none of them believed a word she said but…it was just too much.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why you heard me ranting on the phone about not seeing her after this trip because I have no plans to be around her ever again and I made that clear to my friends. You can even ask them if you don’t believe me,” Charles said as he finally let out a long breath. He looked at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I would never say those things about you. Not when you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Charles—”

“I know you feel it too,” he continued, and that desperate note to his voice returned. “I know you’ve felt it all week. I know you felt it that night. I know you feel like this—us—could be something.”

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you realised the agonsing and the pain and the ignoring over the last few days could have been avoided if you stayed in the bedroom a little longer that morning. Or if you had just spoken to him instead of letting the pettiness take over.

“You had no reason to think otherwise about me, cherie, and I get that,” Charles said as he squeezed your hand, almost like a tester to see if you would pull away or not. But you didn’t. “But I want to change that. I want to explore this. I want to show you that I would never do that to you. I want to give you reasons to trust me.”

“I would like that,” you murmured in a soft voice, but Charles heard you loud and clear as he grinned at you. 

“Yeah? You don’t hate me still?” He questioned.

You laughed, shaking your head as you did. “I don’t think I ever hated you, Charles.”

“Good, it makes this easier then,” he said before he leaned in, his slightly chapped lips pressed against yours—and something about it felt like coming home. 

You sunk into his embrace, your hand coming up to cup his cheek like you needed to believe he was really there (even if the gloves made it a little awkward). But feeling him smile against your lips was assurance enough. 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Charles.” 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Stormy. I hope it’s one of many with you.” 

And maybe Charles Leclerc became another one of the many reasons you loved The Chalet.

.

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: A voice calls to you.

Author's Note: Set around two weeks after the ‘earthquake’ and is canon-compliant except there is no Eddie in 1986. This fic takes a couple of chapters to get going, so stay with me. I am SO excited about this, and I think you will love where it goes.

1986

The colony screeched and swooped, taking off into the inky dusk sky with graceless chaos. Each bat had stretched their wings and dropped from their forest dwelling to join the trilling and flapping. Only one remained.

He perched high in the treetops, an unwillingness to join the others that was not typical for a bat. Impossible for a bat, depending on who you asked. He observed the night grow darker with an entirely unnatural sense of understanding.

Eventually, he would fall from the branch and join the others in the hunt for moths and wasps, beetles and bugs. The hunger would drive him to it, yet the hunger could never be satisfied. It had been like that for one hundred and fifty years.

He was the oldest in the colony and couldn’t remember being young. He couldn’t remember reveling in warm nights or cicada season. He felt as if he had always haunted the forest and always would. He felt, and that was the problem.

The other bats did as all Eptesicus fuscus did. They were born into a colony around April and spent a month nursing from their mothers. The pups grew up, hibernated in the winter, mated, and bared the next generation, ultimately living a short life, just shy of a decade at best.

This bat did not. He did not hibernate alone or with others. When they found warmth and shelter in dilapidated buildings, under tree bark, or in caves, he remained a presence on the boughs of the forest’s tallest trees. He did not mate and did not father. He did not fly patterns across the sky while the town below slept. He ate to survive and continued to live well beyond his species’ dictated years. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He watched over Hawkins, Indiana for over a century. With each passing year, things would change. Slowly, the wilderness had been reduced to clusters of wooded areas by modernisation and industrialisation. It was becoming more and more common for the bats to come into contact with humans. A vast majority of the time, the people screamed and ran, terrified of disease or spooked by urban legends. Some marveled at the bats with respectful awe. Some tried and failed to catch the needle-teethed things for sport. Mostly, they were left alone to mind their own bat business, and mostly, that’s what the ageless bat did.

It wasn’t until mid-nineteenth century that the bat sensed a deep and profound shift. The Lab was built and the earth suffered. The bat had an ariel view and echolocation, but he couldn’t know what happened within the walls. Decades passed and the mystery continued. By 1983 though, he knew his kind wasn’t the only nightmare fuel in the woods.

1984. 1985. And, in 1986 the ground split open, spilling the Upside Down into Hawkins. An earthquake, reported the news. The sixth sense innate in all animals knew better Deers, birds, and bees all migrated out of pattern. The colony of bats entirely disappeared one night, having feared the vibrations pulsating from the cracks in the earth.

Only one remained, an unshakable and quite possibly magical force tethering him to Hawkins.

…

“That town is no place for a witch,” came the warning. “Something is still wrong with Hawkins. Can’t you sense it?”

Infamous in Indiana, Hawkins was the place where buildings burnt and people went missing with threefold outcome. One: they were never seen again. Two: returned, but at what cost? Three: bodies found, so disfigured by unseen violence that it was hard not to believe in monsters.

When the streets fell apart in 1986, sending part of the town down into hell, it would have been fair for Hawkins to lose what remained of their resolve. Yet, the town would go on to rebuild, and between the freshly poured concrete and funeral services, a battle was fought in secret.

“A doorway was opened. They may not claim victory,” came another warning with a beg to heed.

Yes, it would be the fight of their lives, but it wasn’t for a witch to interfere with. That was a hard line in the sand of magic that even you would not cross. They called him Vecna, but you had no name for him. His sorcery was not of the natural world. To let him know of yours would be to risk it all.

There was more to you than witchcraft, however. Hawkins was a town in crisis, and there was space for you to help and heal.

“It’s not just him,” cried a third and final warning. “The ground is consecrated,”

“That’s old superstition,” you dismissed.

“So is blood moon bad luck, but look what happened last time. And falling brooms, broken mirrors, and circles of salt. We are superstition. There are some places witches should not go.”

Your mind was set and your path clear. “Something is calling me there. Doesn’t that have meaning?”

“Not all callings are sanctified,”

“Do we fear holiness or not?” you asked. “I can’t walk consecrated ground but should only show devotion to the sanctified calls?”

There was no answer.

You sighed and softened your voice. “Look, I know you mean well. All you do is out of love. I know that. But, I need to do this. It’s… I don’t know… So real. The calling. It almost has a voice,”

“The timing,” was offered as a reminder.

The first time you felt something coming from Hawkins was when the quote unquote earthquake happened. A catastrophic event like that had to have more consequences than just Vecna, you thought. It could have shifted other magic and natural musings.

“I’ve made up my mind,” you stated with boldness beyond your rank in the coven.

“Are you so willing to discount lore?”

“Folklore. It’s 1986. I know witchcraft isn’t a science, but you have to give me more credit than that. We don’t have to listen to every whisper on the wind and take for gospel the tea leaves in our cups… Nuances, you know?”

Your eyes stayed closed and your hand gripped the pen tightly, waiting for a reply to be sprawled out on the page. When nothing more came, ‘Are you so willing to discount lore?’ the last words scribbled in a handwriting not your own, you breathed out hard.

Automatic writing took a lot of energy out of you, but it was the best method of speaking to The Witches Who Came Before. Reading back their psychographic warnings, you felt a small sense of guilt over defying them, but more than guilty, you felt empathy for a town so beaten by evil over and over.

Hawkins was calling.

…

Aid workers, distressed families, and reporters had flooded the small town, making it all the more easy for you to slip by the city limits unnoticed. Although you weren’t sure what should or could be noticing you, there was still a small exhale of relief when you didn’t burst into flames as you drove passed the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign.

The voice calling you to the town hadn’t been polite enough to give specific instructions. In lieu of directions or coordinates, you drove along roads that appeared to be out of the path of the earthquake, finding your way to a bar called The Hideaway.

Inside, patrons sat around watching their town on the news while staff rushed to cook food and package it up for the crisis centers.

“Bit of a wait on food, honey,” a waitress called to you.

“Just after a Coke.”

It seemed uncanny for a bar to be operational in the middle of an emergency, but it also befit a town so used to death. You took your can of Coke from the waitress, left a ten on the counter, and made your way around the tables to get to the noticeboard on the other side of the room.

Lost dogs. Swimming classes. Babysitters for hire. Then, your eyes landed on it.

1BR TRAILER. PARTLY FURNISHED. WATER/ELECTRICITY. NEEDS REPAIR. CHEAP. CALL: FOREST HILLS TRAILER PARK. 312-683-1192.

Maybe it had already been volunteered to home displaced people, but you trusted it was worth a shot. “Hey, can I borrow your phone?” you asked the waitress, walking to the bar and leaning on it. She nodded and dumped the old rotary phone in front of you.

After four rings, “Forest Hills,”

“Ah, hey. I saw your flyer. About the one-bedroom. Is that still available?”

The woman made a scoffing sound. “Apparently beggars can be choosers. Ain’t nothing wrong with that trailer but Red Cross said it ain’t fit for people. On account of the mold, they said.” Her voice was gravelly from a pack a day, but she didn’t sound unkind.

“I don’t mind mold,”

“Guess it’s available then.”

…

The bat had never known illness or injury. Whatever was killing the trees though, had touched him. He didn’t wither and die like other flora and fauna, but he wasn’t unscathed. It was as if he was burnt from the inside out, a mark on his feet spreading slowly but surely.

The sensation was unpleasant at first, but grew more noxious. His wings wouldn’t stretch their full span, and he could only glide small distances. The bat found a small patch of trees not yet turned to ash, settling in at the base of one, hiding under brush for warmth.

It was a fine place to die, if that should be his fate. He was where he belonged.

…

Forest Hills Trailer Park had been subdivided again and again; any spare patch of land was used for caravans and tents of people left homeless or those coming to watch the disaster unfold.

The one-bedroom trailer Michelle, manager of the park, gave you the keys to was indeed in need of repair. There were air vents that sat wide open, the outside cold seeping through. Dark mold grew in the corner of the bedroom’s ceiling. And the carpet should have been replaced years prior.

The very first thing you did once alone in your new home was ring a small bell you kept in your bag. Three shrill rings for good fortune. For everything else, you’d need supplies.

The local general stores would likely be low on stock, and the shopping mall had burnt down only a year ago. It stood in ruin, yet to be redeveloped. Before you ventured to the shops, you decided to take a short walk around Forest Hills and the surrounding land to see what could be foraged.

As you passed people, some looked you up and down, Satanic Panic clouding their perception of anyone they considered to be different from themselves, to be ‘other’ in any way. Some neighbours though, waved and offered a friendly greeting. “Michelle con you into that old trailer?” one asked, to which you politely faked a laugh.

Out beyond the trailers and RVs was a patch of land that seemed unaffected by everything happening in the town. The trees soundproofed the space, making it feel miles away from civilisation. While there wasn’t much in the way of edible mushrooms and plants, nor things needed for your craft, you sensed an undercurrent of magic there.

Crouching down, you picked up a golden leaf, twirling it between your fingers. Close, you thought, but didn’t know what it meant.

It was then you saw it out of the corner of your eyes. Something moved under the tree near you. Small. An animal. A rabbit, maybe? Rats or opossums or a trash-stealing raccoon?

Slowly, you sat down on the forest floor, cross-legged and facing the tree. You would wait until the animal revealed itself on its own terms.

The bat was so weak he could hardly move. He tried to hide away from the human that was watching him, but he couldn’t. When he resigned to his position, he let his vision focus on you.

You weren’t surprised to see the bat. The feeling was relief, like you’d found a missing thing. It was clear something was wrong with the creature though. “Do you need help?” you asked it.

Still slowly, you scooted closer to the bat. There were no obvious signs of injury. His brown fluffy body was free from blood or gore. Perhaps he had torn a wing or flown into a tree.

“I can help,” you whispered, holding a hand out flat to the ground. The tips of your fingers were close enough to the bat that he could bite if he wanted to, or he could shuffle forward into the softness of your hand.

Whatever compelled the bat to never leave Hawkins, compelled him to fall onto your palm.

“Hi,” you greeted, bringing your hand to your chest and holding the bat safely between your hands. “What’s happened?”

The bat was a common species; you recognised him as the aptly named big brown bat. His body was the size of a baseball, and some of his colouring was wrong. His legs and arms would normally be pink, but they were a sickly black colour. It looked like his brown fur was beginning to turn too.

“Did you eat something bad? Accidentally poison yourself?”

The bat, of course, did not answer your questions. You looked around the trees for other lost animals or any sign of something that may have caused your new friend to become sick. When there were no answers there either, you stood and took the both of you back to the trailer.

…

Destiny and a little folly may have led you to Forest Hills and the one-bedroom trailer, but you had come to Hawkins prepared nonetheless. In your car, there were supplies to ensure if you’d had to sleep there for a couple of nights, you could. The bat would benefit from your readiness.

The sleeping bag you’d packed was turned into a soft nest for him. “Alright, let’s get you warm,” you whispered, placing him in the middle. He shuffled on the spot for a few moments before settling, his brown eyes still watching you.

When you offered him a piece of banana, he nibbled at it.

When you gingerly stroked his fur, he let you.

Still, there was something about the way the bat watched you, something in his reaction to your movements. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it was most definitely curious.

“Alright, my furry friend. We need provisions. Especially if there’s gonna be two of us.” You spoke to him as you pulled your jacket on and grabbed your bag. “Please be here when I get back. I promise I can help you.”

…

It was dark when you returned home. Stores were staying open late to receive interstate deliveries and provide goods to the in-need townspeople, so you managed to get most things on your list.

Inside the trailer was cold, the spring air outside not yet filtered with summer’s coming warmth. You checked on the bat, ensured he was still cosy in his nest. Then, you got to work.

After soap and scrubbing did its part and the mold was attacked with vinegar and bleach, you boarded up the vents and added repairing them properly to your to-do list. In the bedroom, the bed was covered in fresh linen while you dreamed of a brand new mattress.

The only other furniture in the so-called ‘partly furnished’ trailer was a couple of bar stools at the kitchen bench, a televisionless television stand, a couch in surprisingly good condition, and a coffee table that sat a little too low to the ground.

Next, you took a ritual learned from your sisters whilst in India and let milk and rice boil over on the stove for prosperity and abundance. From time spent in Lowcountry, you observed the practice of painting your porch blue. The trailer didn’t have a porch, but the doorframes would suffice. It would ward off evil spirits, as would the salt ring you ran around the home. Finally, mugwort and sweetgrass smudged through the space, cleansing and claiming it as your own.

By the time you were finished, it was almost midnight and your stomach growled obscenities. The bat had been nibbling on the fruit you’d offered, but you’d not eaten since the morning.

After two cups of noodles and a cup of white jasmine tea, you unpacked the small cat bed you’d purchased for the bat. You relocated him into it, still with the sleeping bag, and pushed it under your bed. He’d like it in the dark, you thought.

Skipping a shower, you changed into pajamas and got into bed. Sleep came quickly, perhaps quicker than it had in decades. You dreamt that night. Of darkness. Of blood. Of screaming. Nothing coherent, nothing recognisable. Just an ominous feeling that you were going to find what you were looking for, ready or not.

End Note: Reblogs and comments are so appreciated. Like I said, it will take a couple of chapters for you to fall in love, but I promise you will.

If you are interested in the witchcraft in the story, check out The Grimoire. It will be updated with each chapter!

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson @amira0303 @munsonsbait @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @stardustmunson @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

[crevicedwelling]

Does North America have any native bees, or were they all imported for agriculture?

North America has thousands (probably around 4,000?) of native bees, most of them solitary (miner bees, sweat bees, digger bees, cuckoo bees, longhorn bees, and many many others) but also a fair amount of social bees as well (carpenter bees show some speciality, bumblebees have colony structure).

there are also a few non-native introduced bees like Megachile sculpturalis, a large East Asian resin bee.

but it’s Apis mellifera, the honeybee, which was intentionally brought for agriculture and honey. there are no native Apis honeybees in the New World. it is important for honey (obviously) and pollinates a lot of introduced crops which humans eat. however, native bees are necessary to pollinate many wildflowers and crops native to the Americas (squash bees pollinate squash!).

honeybees aren’t inherently bad, though they can outcompete native pollinators and can be a nuisance to other native animals, but what gets myself and other critter-minded people irritated is that they overshadow all the native pollinators which are also imperiled but often for separate reasons. the problem of disappearing pollinators can’t be solved by only caring about honeybees.

honeybees are livestock, captive or feral. “saving the bees” can’t just mean combatting honeybee colony collapse syndrome or whatever other things are damaging a domesticated species, it should mean taking care of native ecosystems to support the pollinators that run them! that means native bees, wasps, flies, ants, butterflies and moths, beetles… the list goes on.

[nastylittleghouls]

Bee Keeper Mountain

CW: Winged Insects (pictured are only bees though, some piled on a hand at the very end of the post)

Mountain has several traditional, if customized, beehives out on the ministry grounds but an indoor hive for his favorite bee folk, that he built with Aether, as well. He loves watching them and being able to hear the buzzing when he takes a midday nap. It's like white noise to him.

He also has a freeloader of a roommate. No, not a ghoul. A blue carpenter bee that lives in a hole in his antlers. Mountain calls him Bee-casso.

Mountain obviously makes his own honey. Aside from the regular ones, he's working on perfecting a kind with very special properties for ghoul illnesses, made from plants he crossbred and cultivated himself. Rumor has it they're stemming from seeds from the pit. Mountain never confirms or denies those rumors.

When it's his turn to make breakfast or snacks, he serves honeycombs with it. (He snacks on them while harvesting them, too.)

The earth ghoul makes sure his bees have a diverse flower buffet to choose from by making little seed balls and handing them out. He personalizes them too, based on seasons and the being they are intended for. When he sees a certain patch growing, he'll know who "lost" their little balls there. Swiss and Aether take it as the perfect opportunity to make ball jokes. To no one's surprise.

Mountain, ever the protector of nature, is also the one that insists on gently resettling Hymenoptera colonies that built their home in hidden alcoves throughout the ministry grounds, such as the kitchens and the sibling dining hall. All are done by hand to ensure none of the little critters get injured.

Once, a group of siblings poisoned a wasp nest, and Mountain was so upset that he didn't talk for a week. The disappearance of the responsible siblings is deemed just a simple coincidence.

[cozzzynook]

Au where Bumblebee was a war frame living on a neutral colony where pre!triple changer Blitzwing meets him and start dating. (I like to imagine the reason they met was because Bee is a weapons engineer and Blitz sought him out to commission what later became his hyperfrost emitter cannon :3, but you can change that if you like)

One day, while Blitz is away on deployment, Bees colony is attacked and he gets forcefully drafted into the autobots. After getting reformatted he’s thrown into boot camp as a form of “rehabilitation”, where he befriends Bulkhead and Longarm and makes enemies with Wasp and Sentinel. There’s a whole uno reverse with Wasp being the one to claim Bee the spy, but he doesn’t find any evidence. Any time he does find something condemning, it disappears soon after (curtesy of SW). After many escape attempts, disubordination and pranks, Bee gets branded a failure and thrown onto a space fairing crew to get him off of Cybertron and out of sight. Bulkhead follows soon after the tower incident. Both of them agree to keep his previous frame status a secret from the others.

Then the rest happens per usual and they are all on earth. Idk if they’d recognize each other immediately, but they would notice similarities between them and their old frames. Poor Blitz is hit with the surprise that his honey bee is not only alive but also an autobot, and Bee is struggling not to run and embrace the big bot in front of his team while also feeling self conscientious over his small frame.

AAAHHHHHHH I’M IN LOVE WITH THIS!!!!!!

My romantic & tragic loving heart says yes they know EXACTLY who the other is because in between times Bumblebee helped Blitzwing het used to his large warframe & learned with him how to get used to the personalities. Found ways to help silence the voices and even how each can have their turn so to speak so it’s not all chaos. He loves Blitzwing personalities & quirks & triple changer abilities & downfalls and all!

Blitzwing falls even more in Love with him & when Bumblebee was forced to join the autobots he never stopped looking for him!

They were freshly bonded before Bee was taken and so Bee kept being insubordinate to get kicked out so he could find Blitzwing and be freed!

But then the events happen & the moment they see each other on the battlefield they get away from the others & reunite!

Bee feels bad but he chooses his sparkmate! Megatron already knew who Bee was on the ship its why he didn’t try to offline him when Bee got close & made that joke! Bee was also giving him a signal & Megatron realized!

Bee and Blitzwing go off on there own for a while & bee’s team are worried but he comms them telling them he’s fine he just needs to be alone for a while!

He feels bad but he doesn’t want to be branded a traitor but he also doesn’t want to be apart of either faction! He prefers creating things be it a medical lab tool or a weapon! He never wanted to join either side & understood where both were coming from!

It was something a lot of the cons admired about him even though they wanted him to join their side! He truly is easily likable even if he is a brat he’s a loving brat!

I’m sorry i got carried away but i love this idea!!! Bee really would be insecure on his size but blitzwing would love him no matter his size.

“You took care of me when you were my size so now its my turn to take care of you.”

But bee is like, “nah we can take care of each other!”

He’s an engineer he’s resourceful making things to help Blitz who both loves & hates it because he just wants to spoil his hummel!

Thank you for this this made my day

[headspace-hotel]

Hey again, so, I’ve been seeing a lot of your posts and since I work in Ecosystem Regeneration here in South-Eastern turtle island I want to add some notes. Prior to the Oconee war, the oconee river basin was described as looking like some of the hillier parts of the Great Plains. Other parts of the area around the rivers were described as looking almost like parkland.

This is because prior to colonization, and prior to the colonial plagues that wiped out something like 90% of the people living on the continent, there were enormous mound cities like Etowah and Cahokia. Since there were essentially no wild animal species that could be domesticated like there were in Europe, culture went in a different direction. Instead, there was fastidious management of “wild” locations in order to ensure food sources for animals. That Oconee river basin? It was a ‘beloved location’ akin to the Black Hills, and was host to species like Eastern Woodland Bison, Elk, and Bears. It was also systematically burned to ensure they had the necessary grasses and berries.

William Bartram described this abundance in his account of the South-East saying that the rivers ran with so many fish that alligators simply sat in the water with their mouths open. Colonists encountered this landscape and assumed it was Eden, filled with edible plants and animals and fertile soils, but it was a deliberate cultural participation in ecology. Humans, having at some point either eliminated the megafauna or watched them disappear, decided to behave as a keystone species. The colonists ripped it all out in order to enslave people, farm it until it was all red clay, and make as much money as possible.

I say this because it’s important to realize that restoration isn’t simply helping succession along or planting native plants. Restoration is about decolonization and forming relationship with the plants, animals, and ecologies of a given location. We can’t trust a landscape so brutalized to heal itself, instead many species will go extinct, and over millions of years it will evolve into something else.

Instead we can do things like plant for our native bees, learn what the specialists who only pollinate one species like and the generalists will be happy too. Plant for the hummingbirds (cross-vine), the box turtles (may apple), the raccoons, and the deer. Eat them too (well maybe not the hummingbirds) if you can’t find a family of wolves to release, sometimes the animals will give themselves to you. Plant pawpaws and hazelnuts and Cherokee plums and blackberries and service berries and fill the forest with food, and it won’t just feed us, we’ll see our animal neighbors come back too.

The idea of letting the wild be comes from Teddy Rosevelt, who also advocated for killing predators so that more people could hunt. His ideas led to the trophic collapse of Yellowstone. Instead, humans can play a part as a keystone species, even if it’s just helping the birds and reptiles in our yards to start. I’m sure you may vibe with many of these ideas, in which case, could you share them? Because people need to remember how tied together decolonization and ecological restoration are. What are your opinions or strategies?

Yes! All this is great.

I think a lot of people don't realize that...there is no stable "state of nature" that will automatically come back with no intervention. Yes, nature heals itself, but invasive species and other troubles can really mess with that process.

For instance, in my region disused fields are being totally overtaken by the invasive Callery pear tree, which forms a dense wall of foliage that chokes other shrubs and trees out. Restoring these fields would require some slashing into the invasive monoculture and planting native trees to shade out the invasive. Of course, something will eventually break through on its own, but a lot of damage is done in that time.

It needs to become more common knowledge how what is now called the USA was thoughtfully managed instead of being an untouched wilderness. That management was based on generation upon generation of careful, and essentially scientific, observation of ecosystems and how they worked. That's why Native American people need to be in the ecology and land use conversations...that body of wisdom is invaluable.

I learned when googling tree lifespans that Europeans haven't even been on this continent for one (1) full lifespan of many of our trees. Mind blowing.

[moonlight-tmd]

Saw your rebolg on the warbuild bee post : D

I was wondering what your take would be on WF!Bee? Like before everything happens and he’s sent to boot camp. I kind of imagined a more street smart version of him that’s rough around the edges but still has a sense of humor, even if it’s a bit darker. He basically built himself from nothing on his colony and had to learn quickly before it had a chance to suffocate him. Through his experience he’s been humbled a bit, but when he’s talking about his speed and skills, he’ll still brag and say he’s the fastest mech/greatest weapons engineer to ever be sparked.

As for his whole relationship with Blitz, I liked to imagine them being physically affectionate with each other. They practically have a long distance relationship due to Blitzwings work, and when they finally get to see each other again, they stick to together like superglue, whether it be lightly caressing the others (door)wing or clinging to each other like koalas (with Bee being Blitzwings size, they have a much easier time cuddling). And of course there’s Bee’s gift giving love language; Blitzwing is practically armed to the derma with finest quality weaponry the galaxy can offer, courtesy of his sweet mechfriend who want to make sure he can beat the autobots good and swiftly. That’s not mentioning every upgrade Bee has preformed on every piece of equipment he could get his servos on, he’s practically given Blitz’s ship a full makeover by now.

That is really cool! I like that idea a lot too!

I thought about how'd he look like as a warframe and i got an idea-

Like what if he magically got his original frame back but with some tweaks to fit earth? They fight over Allspark Shard, he got buried in a mountian of scrap, then some weird glowing shit happens and molten metal pours over and a freshly forged Warframe emerges from the pile. In this he has a monster truck alt mode; I was imagining sorta viking warrior vibe to it, he's got in-build swords that can electrocute ya, his tires are on the back rather than on the shoulders, no doorwings. Also some bronze detailing on top of shiny yellow. Here's a quick sketch of the general look cuz i suck at drawing detailed art from my head-

Yes he got yellow optics cuz they are cool and he's not autobot so no blue. Also i thought he'd have like, an emblem of something like a hammer on his chassis instead of the faction insignia, like a mark that he leaved on everything he forges to sell so everyone knows it was him that made it. Also fun fact- he has retractable claws, except they're thinner and also work as welding tool. An easy way to work with tiny details and parts.

I like the idea that he was considered the greatest engineer/smith/forgemaster that ever existed, therefore Megatron has high respect for the guy. He was nicknamed 'The Architect' and the rumour of the rising legend spread before mysteriously disappearing [aka Bee getting taken and reformatted].

Before he got reformatted tho... hmmm. Yeah his love language would defo be giving gifts, be it weapons or just small sentimental things like jewelry or statuettes made of metal. He is kinda good with engraving, not on the same level as Blitz but it's still nice. Surely he was great at giving bear hugs, really keen on physical contact. My bet is that he was stronger than Blitzwing and could easily pick him up and carry around- having to carry all the heavy materials for the forge n all. I think Blitz was just a seeker back then and then got upgraded to triple-changer. And then they got conjuxed- ah you probably read the other reply so i won't repeat.

And way earlier- he was kind but also rough, he was kinda like Ratchet when repairing his upgrades on others- complaining and judging them for whatever they did that broke the thing. He was playful and didn't really take into account if the fella he spoke with was a high placed individual or just a random street bot, he treated all his customers equally. I like to think he got taken off the streets by a smith that taught him all he knows and then Bee took over the workshop once he was old enough. Then one day an out-of-ordinary mech came into his workshop and tadah, we got a love story.

Even tho he was a Warframe he didn't like to fight, he preferred to spend time in his workshop tinkering away to his Spark's desire. Once he got on the autobot team and on earth, he surely did some small things for the group to help them recover- new med tools for Ratchet, maybe some shurikens for Prowl, little upgrades to make their weapons or stuff more durable and so on. Besides Bulkhead, he never shared anything from his past to anyone, all his team knows is that he's outstanding with tinkering. He doesn't like to dwell on what he lost because of some autobots that forced him into this new life.

Geez that was chaotic to write, hope you can get around in this. Thanks for listening to my ted talk.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Smithsonian:

Bumblebees are disappearing around the world. But so far, scientists can only speculate about what’s causing their demise, probing the effects of habitat loss, pesticides and disease.

Now, new research makes the case for another possible killer: rising global temperatures.

Across many different species of bumblebees and the various regions they inhabit, the insects thrive when their nests are between 82 and 89.6 degrees Fahrenheit, according to a new paper published Friday in the journal Frontiers in Bee Science. When nest temperatures reach 96.8 degrees or higher, however, bees struggle to survive, the findings suggest.

Researchers reached this conclusion after reviewing scientific literature dating back to the 1840s.

“It’s remarkable that all the way from the high Arctic to the tropics, bumblebees seem to have the same sort of nest temperature requirements,” says study co-author Peter Kevan, an environmental scientist at the University of Guelph, to New Scientist’s Corryn Wetzel. “If it gets too hot… it’s quite likely that they will die.”

Past research on honeybees has shown that hotter nest temperatures compromise the queens’ ability to reproduce and lead to smaller, less hardy worker bees. Scientists suspect heat likely has similar effects on bumblebees, which may help explain why they’re declining amid human-caused climate change.

Bees can cool down their nests by beating their wings like fans, but “if the air outside is too hot, that’s not going to help,” says Dave Goulson, a biologist at the University of Sussex in England who was not involved in the research, to the Guardian’s Sophie Kevany.

The findings are not surprising, given that bumblebees thrive in cooler places, including one species, Bombus polaris, that lives in the Arctic. Some bumblebees are already adapting, such as by moving to higher elevations, but that strategy, too, will only work for so long—unless humans halt the progression of climate change.

Some individual bees may be able to tolerate higher temperatures. But the researchers argue that bumblebee colonies should be viewed as “superorganisms,” meaning that they all rely on each other for survival and reproduction. If nests are too warm and larvae die off, that affects the entire colony.

[abubblingcandle]

do you think the bees know they're disappearing?

I would think so. Like they are such colony creatures that bees are dying or less and less bees are coming home back to the hive

[brandwhorestarscream]

TFA Invasive back and ready for more!

I'm gonna address it back point for point so here goes!

First, yes, the lil guy is their eldest from a litter; there were three others in it. The others are in the back with Ratchet, enjoying nap time, their eldest is just a little spoiled and prefers napping to the sound of his sire's or carrier's spark thrum. Optimus and Megatron have had a couple of broods by now, at least three and they're working on a fourth. An abandoned airfield outside of Detroit has been fully taken over as a nursery/playground area for the flight frame babies.

The cross pairings are so fun! I love the concept too in the invasive AU and it also works with how I like to smash things together. As for Bulkhead, he's got two of his own, one from Prowl and one from Bee; he carried both. Both bitties are grounder types, with one patting jeep pictures and the other staring with interest at work vans and trucks. Otherwise, he's just not that interested in producing more and is more content with being a teacher and big brother figure to the various broods. And yes, the Blitzbee babies were twins; Bee got his horns a little twisted for that but Blitz forgave him after enough pampering.

Lockdown is totally interested in another sparkling or two from Prowl, once he gets a little more settled down and has his work orders handled. Prowl and Bee only had enough interest for the one bittie but coparent rather well otherwise.

Once it's known that they're alive and on a budding colony world, Drift totally shows up to their base with a Cyberrose in his teeth (or whatever the romantic equivalent is for Cybertronians). He and Ratchet disappear for a while and eventually show up with just the one tiny little bittie. He's already got Ratchet's annoyed face down pat and with Drift's colors so there's no question about his parents at all. Ratchet also makes it very clear this is the *last one Drift*, he's serious!

Can't find Wreck-Gar? Follow the sounds of excited laughter, 9/10 you'll find him either being a bittie jungle gym or in the middle of an art class (planned or random) with a small herd of excited bitties copying what he does with random stuff.

For the Constructicons, it's a little of both? The Earth made ones are kinda just, there, helping out and eventually the Decepticon ones make their way over and like, adopt in the two newest brothers. Now, time to get to *work* on establishing a more proper base!

And actually, yeah, with Archa 7, ish. It was still Sentinel's idea to go to it, following the old reports of a downed Decepticon exploration ship that was supposed to still be full of supplies and materials for possible colonization. He had convinced the other two to come with him on the idea to see if they couldn't get a colony world started since Archa 7 sounded perfect for it. They didn't know about the spiders until they basically fell into the main nest and the events sort of still follow canon from there. Sentinel's also not so much of an asshole here; when he finds out Optimus is still alive, he commandeers the Steelhaven to go to him; he might be panic puking into a bag the whole time at the idea of going to another organic world but he's still on his way!

Oh actually, to me Sumdac still does have his tech empire. Instead of harvesting Megatron's ruined body for tech, here he came across one of the energon convertors and pulled it apart out of curiosity. Prowl caught him at it and chased him away, but Isaac still kept coming back and eventually, slowly they built up something of a friendship between himself and the team. Especially when he helped them get supplies in exchange for examples of their tech or being allowed to examine it under careful watch. This allowed him to still become a tech giant, just in a different way. Coin flip on if Sari is here though, I'm honestly not decided on that.

Oh Starscream has both. The mountain nest is for when the bitties are still in eggs or fresh hatched, so they can be kept safe and hidden. When they're big enough to be able to start defending themselves, he moves them to the tower nest so they can start adapting to the outside world more.

Yes to all of that with Strika and Lugnut. Just, yes to all of it.

OOooh yes, they're here and ready to mingle! Megatron might have also put the call out to any interested Decepticons about the new colony world and who would be the first to answer? Why, no other than the DJD of course!

Answers and responses again under the cut because it’s a long one!

1. I love that for them. I love them having 3-eventually-4 broods of little babies. Megatron’s got a whole ass helicopter flock and it’s all his own bitties :’)

2. I love all of this, all of it. Coparenting is so good—I love that Cybertronian colonies, at least in the early stages, everyone kinda helps out with the babies. Make for a much more an enriching, safe life for the little ones. I wanna name and develop every single one of them 🥺 Bulkhead is probably such a warm, sweet carrier

3. Yes. Good. Lockdown looks terrifying and that’s why no one messes with him or his kids XD we could also throw in Fracture from rid2015 👀 purple bounty hunter con. Swinlock baby? 👀👀

4. PFFFFFFFFFT- just. Drift sliding in with a spotlight and a rose like Hiiiiii Ratchet~ 😏 and the medic just SIGHS because ‘I told you, last time was the last time!’ To which Drift responds with, ‘uh huh uh huh sure, now get over here and spike me 👀’. Ratchet doesn’t protest, obviously

5. Wreck-Gar is too good for this world 🥺🥺 he’s such a sweetie! There’s not a single kid in the colony he hasn’t won over, even the grumpy Dratchet bitty

6. Ohhhh, ok. So there’s like, the original Devestator gestalt (constructiprowl, anyone? 👀 I’ve never really thought about them for TFA, but if any Prowl deserves a harem it’s probably TFA Prowl, lbr) and also the earthborn constructicons? How did that happen? The Allspark is still where it belongs within the Well, since there’s no reason they ever would have yeeted it into deepspace, so 👀 mysterious!

7. F in chat for Sentinel please. Never thought I’d say those words, but hey, if he’s not a total jerkwad here maybe he’ll be bearable. I like to imagine he comes to check in Optimus, lectures him for not checking in and being reckless and for Primus Sake don’t scare me like that, then immediately holes himself back up in his ship like 😶 cuz organics are Scary. Does he actually stick around on this colony? Probably not, but maybe one of the neighboring planets might be useful. Perhaps he’ll just go scout those out, yeah, yeah…

8. Hmmmm yeah, I can work with that. Cybertronians are usually super protective and aggressive if they think their young are in danger, so Sunday is definitely flirting with death while he’s actively robbing them 😂 as for Sari, absolutely not. There is no way I’m making Megatron suffer having one of his unborn protocol stolen and then mutated into a techno-organic. There is no room for angst in this AU

9. EVEN BETTR :D is he still a lone seeker, or can we twist it and say his trine is still alive and well? He deserves to be loved 🥺

10. Listen. LISTEN. Cyberverse gave us the perfect candidates. Remember when Clobber was revealed and everyone thought she was a gender bent Lugnut? And we were all cheering for lesbian cons because Alpha Strike is literally just cyberverse Strika? But then they changed their names on us because we can’t have nice things? Yeah, same. So Clobber and Alpha Strike are their twin daughters because this is how I’m coping

11. THE DJD? HELLO???? One, I love the DJD so, Kaon is my favorite. But why is there a DJD in this AU? There’s no war and Megatron doesn’t really need a team of handpicked assassins. Are they more colony scouts/early settlers to put down roots? Traveling merchants? Megatron’s harem (don’t look at me like that, Tarn is completely obsessed with him)? So many options!

Side note anon idk if you’ll read this but I’ve genuinely been enjoying this so much I kinda really wanna write fic about it 👉👈 idk if you’d be interested, but I’d love to collaborate and talk about it more in depth. Rn we’ve got so many good ideas flowing but they’re all crammed together so developing individual little pieces is difficult. If you’d ever wanna collab and work on more story development together, please do me! You can reach me on tumblr or on discord 💖

[bug-oc]

Bug Fables OC Tournament Round 1

Ari (she/they) from @aridis

Ari is a solitary bee and as such she's not very used to big group of bugs (let alone colonies!): she prefers small communities, like the ones build by the giants years prior their disappearance [see solitary bee house] They really like flowers, from their colorful hues to their sweet scent, althought her favorite part is their lovely taste: it's not uncommon to see them with pollen still caught up in their fur!

Cici (she/her) from @mimicspider

Cici is a honeypot ant who came to Bugaria from far away with hopes of being an actor. She worked at the theatre for a while, doing her best with every role she was given. She loved seeing other bugs happy and smile at her performances! Only issue was how clumsy she is. She'd often trip over herself or stumble on stage. After a while she stopped being casted for larger roles and not getting much time on stage. Eventually she quit out of frustration, deciding she was going to find a way to make bugs smile on her own.

Anyways she's a clown now :o)

also she is very small and has big hammer that's very heavy because she's very strong and she can hit very hard with it

[tellthatbrokebitch]

quick wip wednesday, mike finding out lucas went viral on tiktok

The TikTok algorithm must be algorithm-ing, because the first thing that pops up on his For You page is from mayclairapiary. It must be an older video, because when Max steps into frame, her stomach is flat and her hair stops at her shoulders. “Hey everyone!” she says in a voice he remembers from when she worked at the diner during senior year. “It’s finally Spring, which means it’s finally warm enough for the bees to leave their colonies and get back to pollinating, which I’m sure they’re eager to do! Imagine being cooped up for months with all of your weird coworkers. Sounds like a nightmare.”

As she talks, she steps into a bee suit - then she does a sweeping hand transition and she’s fully suited up, complete with the gloves, boots, and the veiled hat. “Let’s go find Lucas.”

The video cuts to Lucas equally decked out, giving the camera an awkward wave. “We had an unusually long winter this year, and as you may know, that’s not so good for the little guys. We tried to circumvent any threat of starvation by-”

Lucas’ phrasing tugs at a faint memory and Mike clicks on their profile, cutting off Lucas’ informative commentary. Their pinned video has Jane in it so he clicks on it, and as soon as it begins playing, he recognizes the audio. It’s a sound that went viral on the app months prior, but somehow he never ended up watching the original.

Jane and Lucas are sitting side by side on a green couch, dressed in what are obviously their pajamas. Her cheeks are flushed and the wine glass in her hand is only half-full but tipped at such a precarious angle that it could spill at any moment. She’s watching Lucas with such fond amusement, and then she glances up and slightly above the camera’s eyeline, and if anything the look just deepens. “Are you-?” she starts to say, only for Max to quickly shush her.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Max asks Lucas, panning the phone so that’s in full view. “Why are you crying?”

Because Lucas is openly weeping into his own wine glass - literally, Mike can clearly see a tear roll down the glass and disappear into the dark red beverage. When Max speaks, he looks up at her and shakes his head. “I just love them so much!” he sobs.

“You love who?”

“The little guys. They just work so hard, you know? They try their best every day, and they’re just so tiny.” He clumsily sets his wine down and buries his face in his hand. “They’re just little guys!”

The video ends there, and he lets it play through again one more time before heading to the comments. And immediately bursts into laughter, because the top comment says,

blinkblonk180

me when the underpaid workers at my local mcdonalds give me fresh fries and an extra sweet n sour at 3am

   mayclairapiary

   god i wish that were me

[sam-seer]

Opportunity & Threat: Making a Place Gameable

As I prep a one-shot of The Warren (the PbtA game about a colony of rabbits: yes, rabbits) I got to thinking about making a place "gameable".

What works in fiction does not work in tabletop RPGs. I can describe a meadow, sun-struck and brimming with bee buzz. It's unbearably green and the smell of the honeysuckle here at summer's peak is almost erotic. That's fun to read and fun to imagine. But try giving that to your RPG table:

"OK, sounds nice. I lay down in the grass." "You lay down in the grass. It's green and itchy." "OK... I smell the flowers." "You smell the flowers. They smell so sweet." "Let's leave."

What's missing is a game-able element. Why would a Player want to come here? Why would a Player not want to come here?

Every location needs both an opportunity and a threat. With these two elements, you create tension— a push and a pull— and promote meaningful risk-taking.

Let's see some examples:

The Overgrown Meadow

Opportunity: Glean the wisdom of Old Mole, the local healer and wise-beast.

Threat: The hungry Red-Tailed Hawk, circling in the gray sky.

The Collapsed Barn

Opportunity: Electrical wire to be fashioned into incredible devices.

Threat: The Rats that live amongst the nails and rotting wood.

The Highway

Opportunity: Exquisite foraging beyond the guardrail.

Threat: Machines on black wheels, appearing suddenly, striking you dead, then disappearing over the hill.

Wrapping Up

None of this is groundbreaking, of course. But when I'm prepping a game, I find it very helpful to have a few terms to facilitate my creativity. Prevents a lot of thrashing about.

Any thoughts? Let me know in the comments.

[lasbrumas]

WTW GHOST GALA ; days 1-8

a review of all this week's prompts!

day 1; pumpkin carving ↳ You have to kill off a character; who do you choose?

Without getting into spoilers, certain characters die within Burning of the Apiary. Seems unfair to use them to answer this prompt, and not just because they’re spoilers, but because it just feels too easy. I already accounted for the impact of their deaths in the plot so…

That being said, if I had to make another character die or swap one death out for the other, it would be Camila. Out of all the side characters, she represents life the most. She is fun-loving, and generally optimistic, which would make her death all that more bleak. That and, out of all the characters, she is least invested in the actual plot and mystery, happy enough to keep out of the whole issue. It certainly would affect Dolores a lot, since she is doing her best throughout Burning of the Apiary to keep the rest of the convent school safe from whatever is slowly poisoning their minds and relationships.

day 2; raven ↳ Create a tagline for your WIP.

Love the sinner.

I couldn’t think of a tagline at first, but then I remembered the whole Christian saying of “love the sinner, hate the sin” or whatever it is. I grew up Catholic, though this was never explicitly said; just implied. And it made me reflect on some personal things where that sort of ideology was present and the disastrous effects it had years down the line, especially when it comes to love in all forms. I thought it would be fitting for Burning of the Apiary because, ultimately, it’s about love and its destructive nature when tied to ideologies like that. In world, the religion might not be Catholicism, but it’s still highly dogmatic and devotion based.

day 3; crystal ball ↳ Outline a scene, act, or your entire WIP.

Set up my new outline document and started filling it in. Enjoy this preview of what I’m calling the sections so I know what goes where. Will I actually have a 5-act structure? Probably not. But it helps get my thoughts in order before I fix it up.

Act 1: The Arrival Act 2: The Meeting Act 3: The Initiation Act 4: The Kiss Act 5: The Sacrifice

day 4; fallen leaves ↳ Create a playlist for your WIP.

A few select songs from the Burning of the Apiary playlist:

in the beginning, fahrenhaidt & alice merton ; bee dance, agnes obel ; the disappearance of the girl, phildel ; if the world falls to pieces, young summer ; destroyer, of monsters and men

day 5; jack o' lantern ↳ Share an interesting fact you found while doing research for your WIP.

While researching bees, I found out that there is a type of moth that acts as a predator/invasive species to bees. The wax moth, both lesser and greater, eats beeswax, pollen, remains of larval bees, and more. However, the most interesting fact is that they often only target hives that are already diseased or declining. They’re a great indicator of underlying problems in a bee colony.

I thought this was cool and they may or may not make an appearance in Burning of the Apiary.

day 6; vampire ↳ Tell us where you find your motivation and inspiration.

I find most of my inspiration from other types of media I consume, including movies, tv shows, and, of course, books. Even photos and the rare hike I take give me inspiration. I think part of being a creative person is finding inspiration anywhere and everywhere, and that’s very true with me.

Burning of the Apiary is one of those WIPs I’ve had on the backburner for a while, and I’ve tried writing it several times. The original inspiration was a mix of a few dreams I had written down and Coraline. Since then, it’s evolved to pull more inspiration from the classic gothic novels I read (and loved) in high school college, most notably Villette and Jane Eyre, along with Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth and Crimson Peak, mixed with whatever I find cool and want to throw in there.

day 7; skeleton ↳ Have a favorite plot structure? If not, share how you plot!

My way of plotting is sort of throwing things and seeing what sticks. I tend to get ideas very piecemeal and random –– a scene or piece of dialogue or character. This can make it difficult to plot sometimes, which is why my outlines tend to be written, rewritten, and then usually tweaked even during the writing process.

I’ve tried several plot structures, like the 3-Act, 7-Act, and Save the Cat method. None of them quite worked out for me, but I took pieces here and there to figure out a general plot, or at least plan major beats and fill in everything in between. Knowing the genre is always the most important for me, though, since certain plot points are “standard” for genres (and for good reason). Plus, the better I know the genre, the easier it is to choose what rules actually apply to my WIPs. For Burning of the Apiary, I definitely researched and read a lot of horror and mystery novels to familiarize myself with genre-plot conventions and beats (and also found some new favorites). It’s been fun and I’ll be using that to figure things out!

day 8; trick or treat ↳ Set some writing goals and milestones for your WIP.

the overall goal for Burning of the Apiary is about 80-90k, so I am trying to get at least half of that done during NaNoWriMo. we'll see.