#Science includes chapter

[sagarrachnagrp]

PYQ Class 10 Science book includes Previous Years’ Question Papers (2014-2023), chapter wise & mark-wise questions

‘Together with’ CBSE PYQ Class 10 Science includes chapter wise very short, short and long answer type questions as per the CBSE 2024 Board Marking Scheme. MCQs and Case based questions included in Science class 10 CBSE PYQ follows the lines of latest CBSE Sample Paper (March 2023). Self-Evaluation Tests provided in ‘Together with’ Previous Year Question Bank to attempt full course based examinations.

[teh-nos]

Now that the fic has become E-rated I have made that E-rating work hard, by which I mean the latter half the fic has a lot of porn in it to make up for the 'slow' burn of the first half.

Chapter 13: Five Minutes

[evidence-of-the-unknown]

[ID: Page 17 of Evidence of the Unknown. It is in greyscale with pink spot color. Panel 1: Murphy talks into her recorder in the foreground, squinting at lights appearing on the horizon. She says, “Ah, my time is up. I can’t be here when the government men in black swarm this site. I was lucky to get here first… Okay, end log.” Panel 2: Medium shot. Murphy is shown getting onto her bike and looking nervously over her shoulder. She says, “I have to hope I find that pilot before they do…” Panel 3 to 5: Medium wide shots of the desert, showing Murphy pedaling away. Her bike gets smaller and more distant, and each panel gets darker as the scene fades out. Panel 6: A shot of the stars. End ID.]

[allthefoolishdreams]

finally after a long wait, i present to you a new chapter of the minlix spider-man au <3 

[twistthesinews-writes]

First chapter of my Les Mis ecology grad school AU just posted! Come check out all the different ways I can shamelessly project on these characters.

Story-wise, featuring: Grantaire has a very shitty day followed by a very irritating morning. Enjolras acquires a cause.

Author's notes wise, featuring: opinions on French presses and strong opinions on ways to include code in a paper's supplemental materials.

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part three.

part one. | part two.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 4.3k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, fluffy near the end, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), the void is hot unfortunately, foul language, everyone's mental health sucks but they're actually getting better now!

a/n ; this chapter is a bit shorter than the other two just because it only covers the very end of the movie PLUS a little bonus scene to get you guys excited for future avengers tower moments :) thank you again for all the support! also did you guys catch the mutant mention wink wonk

main masterlist. read on ao3!

Bob’s first room had an angry, middle-aged man standing in the very center, veins protruding out of his neck as he yelled gibberish. Flecks of spittle fell from his slurring lips. Bob, whose warm hand was intertwined with yours, flinched at the sudden volume. 

Walker didn’t hesitate to strike him down with his taco-shaped shield. 

“He seems nice,” Ava said.

The room gave a massive rumble, as if upset that things weren’t going its way, and the walls began to close in. 

“This way!” Alexei bellowed, ushering everyone forward into a wooden wardrobe full of clothes. 

“Narnia?” you asked as you shouldered through moth-eaten coats, giving Bob a quick glance over your shoulder. 

Bob gave you a nervous smile. “It was one of my favorites as a kid.”

The floors gave out beneath you, and you found yourself free-falling for a few seconds before landing on the rough ground with a resounding thud. The new room smelled of gasoline and burnt rubber tires.

You helped Yelena up to her feet, only to be whacked over the back of the head with a sharp plastic sign that read ALFREDO’S BAIL BONDS! in a hideous shade of red, by a chicken mascot that had equally hard-on-the-eyes yellow feathers. With a low moan, you started crawling away from the crazed chicken, who had turned to attack Ava and Alexei. 

“Oh, God!” Bob exclaimed, scrambling over to give you a hand. “Are you okay?”

“IF YOU DON’T STOP HITTING ME WITH THAT SIGN—!” Alexei gruffed from across the room, now bleeding from the nose.

“I was on meth!” Bob shrieked apologetically right before grabbing your head and shoving you down just in time to duck away from another sign-swing from the high chicken. 

Whilst lowered, you spotted a stack of wooden vegetable crates across the street. There seemed to be no other exits from the room. Ava kept the chicken occupied and distracted by repeatedly phasing through him, so you took the opportunity to break open the bottom of the crates, which smelled faintly of rotting tomatoes.

“Through here!” you called. “Crawl through the crates!”

Past-Bob made a bee-line for current Bob, the sharp end of the sign aimed straight at him like a crude stake. With a stinging cheek and a clenched jaw, Bucky stepped in between them and punched the chicken square in the face (beak?) with his metal arm. 

As you made your way through to the new room, you distantly heard Walker gagging behind you. “I hate tomatoes.”

Through the crates was a cleaner, more sterile space. The new room looked… clinical. You immediately tensed, eyes darting back and forth. There were beakers, needles, and measuring devices everywhere—all the marks of a science lab. You had to suck in a deep, painful breath to remind yourself that this wasn’t your room—it was Bob’s. A few meters away from you, there was an operating table. Big surgical lights looming over it like curved, robotic flowers. And on the bed sat past-Bob, shoulders hunched into himself. He looked the very same as the Bob right beside you, holding your hand. But his eyes were sunken and empty. Tired.

“I’ve been here before,” Yelena whispered. “Malaysia.”

Bob bit down on the inside of his cheek. “It’s where it all started. I was roaming Southeast Asia. Thought I’d figure something out. A way to find more drugs. And there’s this guy… he started talking to me about a medical study. A trial drug that can make me stronger and not feel like… me anymore. It was like a miracle.”

You felt your face fall with sympathy. You squeezed his hand, and Bob met your gaze with pursed lips. Slowly, the group began to advance towards Past-Bob. At least he wasn’t swinging a sign at all of your heads in a chicken suit this time.

“I thought I would get to show everyone that I was more… that I was something,” Bob told everyone, shame tinting each of his words a melancholic blue.

Past-Bob, now shrouded in shadow, finally straightened. 

“And look what you unleashed,” the voice purred, echoing in your head as if he had managed to worm inside and tapping at the very base of your ear drums.

That wasn’t Bob, you realized with a heavy pit in your stomach. It was the Void. He hopped off the surgical table, turning to face the team, face dark, but eyes glowing.

“How could you possibly think you could be worth anything?” he said, calm as untouched waters. You could feel your skin prickle.

Yelena stepped forward. “We’re leaving.”

The Void stayed silent for a moment, scrutinizing the ragged team of misfits and criminals with an empty expression. Then, he shook his head in miniscule movements. “No,” he simply said.

Behind him the surgical table rose into the air and flew across the room at a startlingly rapid speed, crashing against Yelena and Alexei, pinning them against the wall behind. The long strips of buzzing, artificial lights above were torn from the ceiling and wound around Bucky, keeping him to one of the lab’s counters. Several metal frames from a window came whizzing across the room to bury into the edges of Walker’s suit, keeping him stuck on the ground. Ava was sent flying into the other side of the lab when a crumbled garbage can wound about her midriff. She would have phased right through it, but there was a force weighing her down. 

You managed to dodge the door that was coming at you, having to relinquish Bob’s hand to do so, but missed the heavy metal shelf used to store plastic pill pots heading toward you from the opposite direction. It slammed into your stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs, and you were left struggling fruitlessly against the wall it lodged you up against. 

“Stop,” Bob pleaded to the Void with wide, watery eyes. “Let them go.”

“You think they care about you?” The Void stepped closer until he was right in front of you, close enough that you could feel it—the cold darkness. The dread. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The weight of all you’ve done wrong, all the people you’ve murdered and maimed, all your deaths, all your lies—resting right on top of your sternum. You gasped for breath. You felt something cold touch your face, so cold it felt blistering hot. You simultaneously wanted to pull away and lean in closer. The Void’s fingers were caressing your cheek ever so gently, and Bob did nothing but watch. He felt frozen to the floor, paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. 

“Xerox… lovely, sad Xerox…” crooned the Void, almost sing-songy. “Bob’s got a fixation with you, you know. It’s pathetic. He’s like a sad mutt begging for scraps from the table.” There was an amused hum from him before he continued, this time speaking to Bob. “Xerox doesn’t want to help you. None of them do. They’re all using you. Deep down, you know they despise you. You’re a burden.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena screamed from the opposite side of the room. IV drip wires wrapped around her throat so tight her eyelids fluttered and her words were caught on her tongue. 

“Isn’t that right, Xerox?” said the Void, his cool thumb slipped beneath your chin to tilt your head up as he regarded you with those cold, blank eyes. “You chose the darkness. You chose me.”

“I came…” The weight was growing stronger. The words felt like thorns in your mouth, painful to speak. What was he doing to you? “I came to help him.”

The Void tilted his head. Then, you felt the coldness close around your throat. The edges of your vision darkened. If your hands weren’t pinned back, you would’ve been clawing at your neck for breath.

“I told you… he doesn’t want your help. He’s pathetic. Why would he deserve it? Deserve you? Now tell him. Tell him the truth. It’s what he needs to hear… some tough love.”

When you opened your mouth this time, words spilled out that weren’t yours. “I don’t want to help you,” you found yourself saying. Not to the Void, but to Bob. Your Pal. You gasped, a cold tear slipping down your cheek. The words came out grated, as if someone had forced you to swallow razors. “I never liked you, Robert. You’re nothing. In fact, worse than that. You’re an active hindrance. A thorn in everyone’s side. I wish… schkk—I wish you had stayed dead when they shot you down.”

“That’s right,” murmured the Void. “Good.”

“Please stop,” Bob ground out. You weren’t sure if he was saying that to you or to the Void. 

His dark counterpart laughed a deep, rumbling noise. “Robert the Hero. Doesn’t sound right, does it? Fake. Like a comic book story. What a joke.”

Walker was close to prying himself out of his confines. 

The Void flicked his wrist. All the glass from the beakers and volumetric cylinders in the lab exploded. Crystal shards scratched at the team’s face, leaving everyone with stinging, bloodied cuts. The Void’s hand slipped away from your throat to pull out the piece of glass that had embedded into your skin. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, almost a whisper. It would’ve sounded sincere if it hadn’t sounded like an automated message. “You do enough of that to yourself. Did you enjoy what I showed you? The darkness has been kind to you, hasn’t it? The only one you can trust is yourself.”

“Yes,” you choked out, and your head bowed into a nod even though you hadn’t wanted to. “I deserve to relive it all. All the worst parts of me. I’m just as bad as I thought I was.”

Bob was breathing heavily, expression twisted into one of pain. The Void was hurting you. He was hurting you. 

“I’m stronger than you,” Bob told his alter-ego, trying to sound more confident than he was. “I can beat you.”

The Void grinned. It was a terrifying sight. Wolfish. Predatory. “Let’s see.”

The shadowed figure finally stepped away from you, and you seemed to lean forward, as if chasing his touch. Once the Void was far enough, Bob watched you recoil with a trace of disgust to your expression. At yourself or at him?

“It wasn’t me,” you croaked, misty eyes now glued to Bob. Not the Void. Just Bob. “Palindrome. It wasn’t me.”

And Bob believed you. He trusted you. With a determined nod, he ran forward and swung a punch to the Void. The dark mass hit back with equal ferocity, sending Bob sprawling to the ground. Glass dug into his skin.

“Get up, Bobby,” Walker gruffed. “Get up!”

“You thought you would be some great man? Some savior?” taunted the Void as he kicked at Bob. “You can’t even save yourself.”

You watched in horror as the Void picked Bob up by the scruff of his sweatshirt, and struck him three more times. 

“We will always be alone.”

The room began to shift, elongating. The entire group was pulled further and further away from Bob and the Void. Bob watched the team go—his friends grow smaller with the distance—and blew out a choked breath. Alexei was bleeding profusely from his head. Yelena’s face was turning blue from the cords cutting her airway. Ava, Bucky, and John were still working against their bonds. Bob glanced at you hanging limply behind the shelf, staring at nothing in particular with glazed eyes. No doubt that was the Void’s doing. 

Bob turned. His lips curled angrily. Then he launched himself at the Void with a mangled cry. He began punching the figure with all his might. To his fury, the Void only smiled, unhurt.

“There we go,” the Void whispered in a mocking manner. “Show them how strong you are.”

The room began to crack and crumble. Darkness began to eat away at Bob the more he struck his darker self. His shoes were swallowed first, now beginning to crawl up his shins. 

“This isn’t right,” Bucky gruffed. 

“Bob, stop!” Yelena coughed out. Having had enough, Alexei strained as much as he could to push the weight off of them. Just enough to let Yelena wriggle loose. She slipped out with a pained groan, tore the IV off her, and began running towards Bob. The room shifted to try to stop her—throwing cabinets and beakers and tables at her, but she lithely dodged each one. 

By the time she got to Bob, the darkness had seeped up to his neck. 

“I’m here,” she said, wrapping her arms around Bob from behind, trying to hold him back. Bob kept hitting the darkness, relentless.

“It will always be just us,” the Void told him, almost comforting. “I’m the only one you can rely on.”

Yelena held onto him tighter. “I’m here, Bob,” repeated Yelena. “You’re not alone.”

Finally, Bucky managed to tear himself free. He helped Walker get free, and Walker then stalked over to push the shelf off of you with a grunt. You collapsed with a dizzy intake of breath. Ava and Alexei were quick to free themselves afterwards, bonds slightly loosened—it seemed that Yelena’s words of comfort were actually helping. 

The rest of the team ran towards Bob, Yelena, and the Void. 

“We’re all here,” Yelena told her friend. “We’re here for you, Bob.”

You kneeled down beside him, hand wrapping around the wrist that led to a now-bloodied fist. The team piled together, all holding Bob—and each other. In the tangled mess of limbs and arms, Bob began to weep. His head knocked against yours as he sobbed, and you held him all the tighter. 

“Let it out, Pal,” you said. “We’ve got you.”

Then the entire group fell backwards. Your spine hit the rough surface of a broken road. After blinking several times and adjusting to the sudden onslaught of light, the city of New York came back into view. The shadows were slowly but surely melting away. 

The team slowly struggled to their feet. People were gradually but surely returning from the Void’s realm.

You sniffled, wiping an errant tear with your sleeve. The Void’s hold on your mind was still fresh, and you certainly felt a little worse for wear. You felt Bob’s concerned hand on your shoulder, and you turned and enveloped him into a sudden, tight hug, yanking him close. He emitted a noise of surprise, but his arms wound around you out of instinct. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, breathing shallow and rapid. “I don’t wish you died. I don’t think you’re a burden. I think you’re really sweet and cool and—” Your words were spoken so quickly and pretty muffled into the fabric of his sweatshirt that Bob didn’t really catch them.

Bob held you until your breaths mellowed out a bit. Even patted your back a few times for good measure. There were no complaints on his end for the hug, but he wasn’t very sure why you were giving him one. 

“This is nice,” he started, uncertain.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask if I could hug you,” you whispered once you pulled away, cheeks flushed.

“You don’t need to ask,” he said, almost too quickly. There was a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You don’t ever need to ask to hug me. It’s nice. I like it.”

Walker came to stand beside you, having done a quick survey of the premise. “You were great in there, Bob.”

Bob blinked at the bearded man and smiled. That was probably the nicest thing Walker has ever said to him. Too bad he had no clue what he was talking about. “Thanks, Walker,” he said, still smiling goofily. “In—wait, in where?” Finally, Bob took a glance around. There was wreckage everywhere. Had the Avengers totaled New York yet again? “Woah. What happened here?”

“You don’t… remember?” you asked, eyeing him with kinked brows.. “Did you hit your head a bit too hard?”

Bob patted down his skull. “Feels normal.” He laughed a bit—a nervous, knee-jerk reaction. “Sorry, I’m a bit confused.”

“Are you okay?” Yelena asked, looking at him with nothing but concern. 

Bob’s brows twitched, still completely lost. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why’s everyone looking at me like that?”

“Are you serious?” Alexei deadpanned. “We were in crazy rooms of despair and misery and—”

“Thanks, Alexei,” you cut in, giving the giant of a man a pointed look. “You did good, Bob. I can explain the details later. For now—”

Your reassurance was cut off by Valentina shrilly speaking into a phone, only a few yards away. You could feel anger twist your insides just from seeing her. 

“I’m going to kill that woman,” Alexei gruffed.

“We can’t kill her. We have to take her in,” Bucky said with an exasperated sigh. It was clear that he had plenty of experience being the voice of reason. 

“What happens when he regains his memory?” Walker asked. “Will we have to go through that all over again?”

Yelena shook her head. She took Bob by the elbow and began leading him towards Valentina. “Okay. Come on, Bob.”

“I’m going with you guys?”

“Of course you are,” you said as you walked alongside them towards Valentina, nudging Bob with a soft smile. “We’re a team now.”

Bob returned your smile easily. “That sounds nice.”

Yelena nodded. “We stick together from now on.”

When Valentina spotted the Thunderbolts coming towards her, she began to hurry backwards. “Hello, team! I know we’re all dealing with very big feelings right now, just give me—give me half a second—!”

She disappeared behind some wreckage. 

As you rounded the broken pieces of construction, you were met with the blinding flashes of about fifty cameras. There were news trucks, reporters, microphones, the entire shebang. Even a podium for Valentina to stand behind as she hushed the audience. A small part of you thought about all the dried blood on your face and body—it was a relief your suit was dark, or it would’ve looked like you were mauled by a bear. Or, more likely that you were the one that mauled the bear. 

“What’s going on?” Bob leaned closer to whisper to you.

“No idea,” you whispered back.

“Cool.” The smile that appeared on his face was boyish and lopsided. “It’s nice not being the only one who’s confused.”

“Are we live?” Valentina asked one of the cameramen. Once he nodded, she began speaking with a shiny, rehearsed smile. “For years, I have been working secretly to develop a new age of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States need that protection. Thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen… meet the new Avengers.”

Avenger? You? That didn’t sound quite right. The Avengers were heroes. They were a beacon of light and hope and occasional destruction of city-folk. You were… 

Just a person trying to do better.

The Thunderbolts stared at each other in a mixture of disbelief and disdain. Bob began to clap loudly, but you put a hand on his, forcing him to lower them down. 

“What?” he asked, still completely miffed, and you shook your head with an I’ll tell you later look. Bob nodded solemnly and put his hands behind his back, which made you hold back an amused grin. The snaps coming from the cameras seemed to flare with every tiny movement you made, so you weren’t too keen on giving them anything to pick apart. 

Yelena strode up to Valentina. She covered the microphone, leaned down, and said, just loud enough so she and the rest of the team could hear. “We own you now.”

This time, you didn’t bother trying to smother your smile. The cameras went crazy.

“Have you seen the news?” Bob asked you, settling down next to you on the couch. He handed you the steaming mug of tea, made just the way you liked. His knees knocked against yours. 

You glanced away from your crossword puzzle and took the mug with a warm smile. “Thanks. Seen what? I haven’t checked ever since news of mutants broke out.” You were still waiting for your own test results to come back. The memory of the clinic drawing your blood made you shudder. It did, however, make you feel slightly better knowing that the entire team was squashed in the tiny waiting room right outside the door for you. Even Bucky, who swore up and down that he was busy that afternoon still showed up. You made a mental note to get him a smoothie from that juice shop he liked so much. 

Bob gave you an awkward grimace. “They’re writing about us again.”

This made you roll your eyes. “They’re always writing about us.”

Just yesterday, Ava had shown you an article that said: THE HEROES NOBODY ASKED FOR! IS NEW ALWAYS BETTER? 

Which, to be fair, was a completely valid article. However, counterpoint, none of you asked to be on the Avengers. Except Alexei and Walker at some point, you suspected.

“No,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “Not us like the group, but us us.”

“Oh?” You quirked a brow. “What are they saying this time?” Last week, they were convinced Bob was a special secret agent of sorts. 

Bob handed you the rolled up newspaper he was holding. 

SPOTTED: BOB WHO? MYSTERY MAN SEEN WITH NEW AVENGER ‘XEROX’ — ROMANCE BLOSSOMING IN THE TOWER?

Though you were wearing a baseball cap, that clearly wasn’t enough to hide your identity. Beneath the article title was a grainy image of you and Bob in the park, feeding the ducks. The two of you were wearing identical, fond grins; but you were looking at the ducks, and his eyes were trained on you. There was another photo beneath where the two of you were sharing a milkshake in one of your favorite diners. You let out a sigh—you supposed you couldn’t be going to that diner as often anymore.

“Oh,” you muttered, reading through the first few lines, which turned out to be a whole bunch of speculative nonsense. “They’re always doing this, aren’t they? Making something out of nothing.” 

“Right,” said Bob, nodding. “It’s nothing. You’re right.”

When you caught his eye, noting the slightly crestfallen look on his face, you shook your head, assuming he was just upset about the whole ordeal. You could understand—losing your privacy overnight wasn’t something you were very keen about, either. “Try not to pay too much mind to the news people. I guess we just have to lay low for a while. It’ll die down. They’ll move on to the next big trendy thing in a minute or two.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bob said. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Does this mean we have to stop going to the park together?”

“No,” you reassured. “We just have to put on some better disguises. I’m sure Valentina could scrounge up the money. After all, she kinda has to do whatever we want now.”

Bob smiled, all awkward and endearing. “Good. Yeah. I… I like the time we spend together.”

“I like it, too,” you said, lips upturned. Bob had to force his eyes away. It was nothing. Right.

You patted his leg and returned to your crossword puzzle. You were about halfway through the crossword book that Bob had bought for you from the musty cornerstore two blocks away. It was the first gift you’d ever gotten from someone. 

Yelena walked into one of the Tower’s many common areas an hour later to find you and Bob leaning against each other, dozing away. Your puzzle book was discarded to the side, pencil sticking out one of the pages to mark your place. Bob’s mouth was slightly agape and he looked about two seconds away from slipping and face-planting painfully into the boniest part of your shoulder. Your legs were intertwined with his in a position that certainly couldn’t have been comfortable. Yelena regarded the two of you with a downturned smile. 

“Okay, you sleepy lovebirds,” she muttered, grabbing a neatly folded blanket from the corner of the long couch and draping it over the both of you. You stirred ever so slightly, mumbling something under your breath, then settled back closer to Bob. “Sweet dreams.”

The two of you were startled awake just as Yelena was leaving and Alexei stormed in, loudly complaining about how this lady in the grocery store wouldn’t buy the Avengers Wheaties cereal box even though he’d explicitly recommended it to her.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly, standing up to stretch upwards like a feline after a long nap. Bob watched you with a sleepy grin. “Ooh, that just reminded me. I need to go pick up some ingredients for soup night tomorrow. Walker hates tomatoes, so tomato soup is off the menu.” 

With no hesitation whatsoever, Bob asked, “Can I come with you?” 

You thought distantly to the news reports. Let them think what they want. Whatever you had with Bob, you liked it just as it was.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love that. We can stop by the library afterwards, too. I’ve heard they’ve got a new copy of…”

Alexei and Yelena watched the two of you head out, animatedly discussing some sort of new mystery book, shoulders practically pressed up to each other. 

“Are they—” Alexei sent his daughter a pointed look. “You know?”

“I’m not speaking about this with you,” Yelena curtly said, turning on her heel. “But no, not yet. Ava and I have a bet going on.”

This made a devilish grin spread over Alexei’s face. “He makes it obvious, the way he looks at Xerox. I give them a week.”

Yelena scoffed. He was such an optimist. She gave them three months at the very least. “You’re on.”

[science2048-abandoned]

*(You can hear Buqet mumbling...?)

*(... seems like Buqet knows some other people...)

*(... maybe you should try asking her about them?)

[fatehbaz]

hi! i hope this is alright to ask but i was wondering if you had any reading recommendations about invasive species and their management/control/rhetoric. there just seems to be a lot to it. thank you!

Woah. Look at this post I was drafting literally two hours before you sent this, about the nationalist appropriation of rhetoric of "native vs. invasive" species in Hungarian land management:

Appropriate case study: (1) The tree was non-native and its introduction was facilitated by Austro-Hungarian imperial aristocracy and military, especially as fortification during wars in the eighteenth century. (2) It out-competed native trees and the government encouraged plantations of the species. (3) Because of its economic and political importance, the reactionary Hungarian parliament in 2014 officially named the tree "Hungaricum" (native/national heritage).

Yes, there is a lot. This is practically a whole discipline.

If you're looking for a collection, anthology, or singular book with multiple tangents, angles, or perspectives (rather than having to search through individual articles or journals), there are three collections I'm recommending below, but this also might be helpful:

Feral Atlas: The More-Than-Human Anthropocene, co-edited by Anna Tsing (she's probably the most high-profile scholar of this subject). Aside from containing a bunch of freely-available essays from about 100 authors on altered ecologies and rhetoric/imaginaries of environments in the Anthropocene, their big online portal just published the entire syllabus with a bunch of maps and graphics and free articles, in formats for non-academic reading groups, undergrad classes, and graduate seminars. If you go to Feral Atlas's homepage, you'll see a straightforward list of all of those authors.

---

The Ethics and Rhetoric of Invasion Ecology (Edited by Jame Stanescu and Kevin Cummings, 2016). Including chapters:

"Alien Ecology, Or, How to Make Ontological Pluralism" (James K. Stanescu)

"Guests, Pests, or Terr0rists? Speciesed Ethics and the Colonial Intelligibility of "Invasive" Others" (Rebekah Sinclair and Anna Pringle)

"Spectacles of Belonging: (Un)documenting Citizenship in a Multispecies World" (Banu Subramaniam)

---

Rethinking Invasion Ecologies from the Environmental Humanities (Edited by Jodi Frawley and Iain McCalman, 2014). Including chapters:

"Fragments for a Postcolonial Critique of the Anthropocene: Invasion Biology and Environmental Security" (Gilbert Caluya)

"Experiments in the Rangelands: white bodies and native invaders" (Cameron Muir)

"Prickly Pears and Martian Weeds: Ecological Invasion Narratives in the History and Fiction" (Christina Alt)

"Invasion ontologies: venom, visibility and the imagined histories of arthropods" (Peter Hobbins)

---

The Invasive Other special issue of Social Research, Vol. 84, No. 1, Spring 2017. Including articles:

"Introduction [to Social element]: The Dark Logic of Invasive Others" (Ann Laura Stoler)

"The Politics of Pests: Immigration and the Invasive Others" (Bridget Anderson)

"Invasive Others: Toward a Contaminated World" (Miriam Ticktin)

"Invasive Aliens: The Late-Modern Politics of Species Being" (Jean Comaroff)

"Introduction [to Ecologies element]: Invasive Ecologies" (Rafi Youatt)

"Invasive Others and Significant Others: Strange Kinship and Interspecies Ethics near the Korean Demilitarized Zone" (Eleana Kim)

---

For individual sources:

"The Aliens Have Landed! Reflections on the Rhetoric of Biological Invasion" (Banu Subramaniam, Meridians: Feminism, Race, Transnationalism 2:1, 2011)

"Loving the Native: Invasive Species and the Cultural Politics of Flourishing" (JR Cattelino, in The Routledge Companion to the Environmental Humanities, pp. 145-153, 2017).

"The Rhetoric of Invasive Species: Managing Belonging on a Novel Planet" (Alison Vogelaar, Revue francaise des sciences de l'information et de la communication 21, 2021).

"Invasion Blowback and Other Tales of the Anthropocene: An Afterword." (Anna Tsing. Anthropocenes - Human, Inhuman, Posthuman 4:1, 2023).

Troubling Species: Care and Belonging in a Relational World, a special issue of Transformations in Environment and Societycurated by the Multispecies Editing Collective, 2017.

"Uncharismatic Invasives" (JL Clark, Environmental Humanities 6:1, 2015).

"Involuntary Momentum: Affective Ecologies and the Sciences of Plant/Insect Encounters" (Hustak and Myers, Differences: A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies 23:3, 2012).

"Patchy Anthropocene: Landscape Structure, Multispecies History, and the Retooling of Anthropology: An Introduction to Supplement 20" (Tsing, Mathews, and Burbandt, Current Anthropology, 2019).

Trespassing Natures: Species Migration and the Right to Space (Donnie Johnson Sackey, 2024)

Matters of Care: Speculative Ethics in More than Human Worlds (Puig de la Bellacasa, 2016)

Nestwork: New Material Rhetorics for Precarious Species (Jennifer Clary-Lemon)

"Requiem for a junk-bird: Violence, purity and the wild." (Hugo Reinert, Cultural Studies Review 25:1, 2019).

"Comparing Invasive Networks: Cultural and Political Biographies of Invasive Species" (Robbins, Geographical Review 94:2, 2004).

In the Shadow of the Palms: More-than-Human Becomings in West Papua (Sophie Chao, 2022)

"Timing Rice: An Inquiry into More-Than-Human Temporalities of the Anthropocene" (Elaine Gan, New Formations, 2018).

Interspecies Politics: Nature, Borders, States (Rafi Youatt, 2020)

"Interspecies Politics and the Global Rat: Ecology, Extermination, Experiment" (Rafi Youatt, Review of International Studies, 2020)

Critical Animal Geographies: Politics, intersections and hierarchies in a multispecies world (Edited by Kathryn Gillespie and Rosemary-Claire Collard, Routledge, 2015)

"Invasive Narratives and the Inverse of Slow Violence: Alien Species in Science and Society" (Lindstrom, West, Katzschner, Perez-Ramos, and Twidle. Environmental Humanities 7:1, 2016)

"Life Out Of Place: Revisiting Species Invasions. Introduction to the Special Issue" (Hanne Cottyn. Anthropocenes - Human, Inhuman, Posthuman 4:1, 2023).

---

It's been a "transdisciplinary" topic (especially in the past 15-ish years) in environmental humanities, ecocriticism, environmental studies, "science communication," anthropology, etc. (I think the humanities or interdisciplinary scholars handle the subject with more grace than ecology-as-a-field proper.) It shows up a lot in discussion of "the postcolonial," "ecopoetics," "Anthropocene," "multispecies ethnography," and "the posthuman"; Haraway was explicitly writing about rhetoric of invasive species in the 1990s.

A significant amount of posts on my blog from 2018-2022 are about invasive/alien/native labels. I summarized some of the discourses in my post about Colombian hippos. I especially talked a lot about the writing of Banu Subramaniam (rhetoric of ecological invasion, racialization of aliens); Rafi Youatt ("interspecies politics"); Anna Boswell (Aotearoa extinctions, "anamorphic ecology"); Sophie Chao ("post-plantation ecologies"); Elaine Gan ("Anthropocene temporalities" and industrial ruins); Hugo Reinert (species "purity" and extinctions); Puig de la Bellacasa ("speculative ethics in a multispecies world"); Ann Laura Stoler (of fame for her writing on "imperial debris" and ruination/haunting), Hugh Raffles, Nils Burbandt, Anna Tsing, and others. Lately in my own work I've been writing on borders/frontiers and media/colonial imaginaries of "pests/the exotic" and have been referencing Jeannie Shinozuka's Biotic Borders: Transpacific Plant and Insect Migration and the Rise of Anti-Asian Racism in America, 1890-1950.

Thanks for saying hi.

[literaticat]

If an author writes a book not knowing the genre, will the book fit into a genre when it’s finished—or is it possible for a book to be completely genre-less?

I'm about to GO OFF, so if you just want the short answer:

I presume that if an author is writing a novel and they don't have a specific genre in mind when they are doing it, they are just writing fiction. You can get more specific after you finish the book and figure out where it belongs in the bookstore and how to describe it.

It's not really possible for a book to be "completely genre-less" because that implies that it CAN'T be categorized in a bookstore -- I bet your book can be. (I should hope so, anyway, otherwise how will it sell???) -- but also, uh -- it doesn't really matter? Everyone gets really hung up on these hyper-specific genre labels, but you don't really need to get THAT specific. If your book is just "general interest fiction" that's OK -- so call it a novel and describe what the tone is. (Funny? Realistic? Literary? Fast paced? Tearjerking? There has to be some way to describe it, no? )

Even if your book is just weird as hell rambling about things I would never read about in a hundred years -- guess what, that's a genre, Experimental Fiction. ;-)

--

Long Answer: Fun fact about the word "genre" -- it comes from the same root as genus, like what you probably heard back in school when learning about the taxonomy of animals and whatnot.

Because I am extra, I decided to do a little taxonomy of books. It's still a work in progress, I might decide to change it a bit, but this is the basic chart.

I'll assume that pretty much any book we're talking about here has the same domain, kingdom, phylum and class, and PROBABLY the same order, too, since most of you are likely writing Fiction.

Within the order FICTION, there are "families", which I here call Categories -- novels, graphic novels, plays, essay collections, short story anthologies, young adult novels, young adult anthologies, middle grade novels, middle grade graphic novels, chapter books, picture books, ETC. Categories in the order NONFICTION include Biography/Memoir, Cookbook, Reference, Religion, History, Science, etc.

Within each Category, there are different Genres -- that is, the type of [novel, or whatever] it is. Genres of novel include mystery, science fiction, horror, realistic, historical, romance, western, etc.

And within each Genre, you can get even more specific with species, which I am calling subgenre/tone. That's the type of the type, in other words. There are well-established subgenres (like Horror could be slasher, or gothic, or psychological. Romance could be historical, or realistic/contemporary, or whatever) -- but it's also acceptable to get more specific with tone or style -- "Comedic", "literary", "commercial" "upmarket" etc. (You can also have books that have both subgenre AND tone -- that's like species and sub-species)

Examples:

DRACULA: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Classic Novel > GENRE: Horror > SUBGENRE/TONE: Gothic

DON'T LET THE PIGEON DRIVE THE BUS: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Picture Book > GENRE: Meta-fiction > SUBGENRE/TONE: Comedic

LINCOLN IN THE BARDO: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Novel > GENRE: Magical Realism > SUBGENRE: Experimental > TONE: Literary

JAMES: ORDER: Fiction > CATEGORY: Novel > GENRE: Historical Fiction > SUBGRENRE: Retelling > TONE: Literary

You get it?

OK SO, in the bookstore, the books are first divided by CATEGORY. All the Cookbooks are together, because that's the Category, but if there are a lot of them, they will be broken up into categories-within-the-category ("genre" if you will). Perhaps they would be grouped by region or style (Mexican cuisine, Middle Eastern cuisine, European cuisine; Health Food; Baking; etc). Mastering the Art of French Cooking would be in Cookbooks, of course -- but in a larger bookstore with many cookbooks, it would likely be found in its region, either French or European Cuisine -- and in a store with a HUGE French cooking section, those books might even be further divided into "French > classic techniques" "French > desserts" "French > postmodern cuisine", etc. So:

MASTERING THE ART OF FRENCH COOKING: Order: Nonfiction > Category: Cookbook > Genre: French > Subgenre: Classic Technique

And so it goes with Fiction as well; the sections are divided by Category. So all the Middle Grade Novels are probably together. All the Picture Books are probably together. Etc. But for very large categories (like Fiction > Novel), there are enough books that it becomes easier to browse if they give the biggest genres their own shelving. Hence there are probably sections for Mystery, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Romance, etc.

MIND YOU: There are PLENTY of books that fall under "Fiction" and DON'T get separated out into one of those other genres. They are just categorized as fiction. The fiction section is probably the largest section in most bookstores -- it's not weird to write a book that gets filed in the "fiction" section! Those books still have a genre. That genre just might be "realistic" or "historical" or "western" or magical realism" or "postmodern/experimental" or something that doesn't neatly fall into the Mystery or Science Fiction (or whatever) genre categories.

For example: At my bookstore, we ONLY separate out Mystery, Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror, Romance, Classics. So within the regular Fiction section you'll find a huge variety of books -- they all DO have a "genre" -- it just isn't one of those genres that gets shelved separately!

So, no, I don't believe there are books that just *don't have* a category or genre. ALL books have them. We might disagree a little about what they should be -- we might use slightly different words -- new species might pop up here and there -- we might be able to categorize some of them into even more minute niches -- but all books CAN be categorized in some fashion.

[athena-xox]

Ever after high books + links

Link one (most books)

Link two (other books)

EDIT: SINCE THIS IS GETTING ATTENTION AGAIN I IMPLORE EVERYONE TO CHECK MY PINNED POST SINCE THERE IS SO MUCH MORE GOOD RESOURCES!!! (This includes webisode timelines, doll diaries, EAH dictionary, confirmed birthdays and sm more)

The Main Trilogy (& Other Shannon Hale Books)

The Storybook of Legends by Shannon Hale

The Unfairest of Them All by Shannon Hale

A Wonderlandiful World by Shannon Hale

Once Upon a Time by Shannon Hale

The Legend of Shadow High by Shannon Hale

Ever After High School Series

Next Top Villain by Suzanne Selfors

Kiss and Spell by Suzanne Selfors

A Semi Charming Kinda Life by Suzanne Selfors

Fairies Got Talent by Suzanne Selfors

Truth or Hair by Suzanne Selfors

Fairy Tail Ending by Suzanne Selfors

Destiny Do-Over Diary companion books to the school series

General Villainy by Suzanne Selfors

Science & Sorcery by Suzanne Selfors

Hero Training by Suzanne Selfors

Once Upon a Pet

A Princely Present by Suzanne Selfors

Candy Wish Fish by Suzanne Selfors

Trouble with Jackalopes by Suzanne Selfors

Next Top Bird by Suzanne Selfors

Hedgehog’s Hexcellent Adventures by Suzanne Selfors

Horse of a Different Colour by Suzanne Selfors

Once Upon a Twist

When the Clock Strikes Cupid by Lisa Shea

Cerise and the Beast by Lisa Shea

Rosabella and the Three Bears by Perdita Finn

Duchess Lets Down Her Hair by Perdita Finn

The Kitty Mermaid by Perdita Finn

The Secret Diary of

The Secret Diary of Apple White by Heather Alexander

The Secret Diary of Raven Queen by Heather Alexander

Diary of an Evil Queen by Stacia Deutsch

Junior Novels

Dragon Games Stacia Deutsch

Epic Winter by Perdita Finn

Activity books

Yearbook

Royals and Rebels

The Sleepover Spellebration Party Planner by Kirsten Mayer

The Totally Tea-RRIFIC Hat-Tastic Book About YOU

Madeline Hatter’s Guide to Riddlish! A Topsy-Turvy Write-In Book by Elizabelle Castle

The Hat-Tastic Tea Party Planner by Melissa Yu

A Spelltacular Year

Plan Your Destiny

Ever After High Activity Book

Spellbinding Activities

Write Fableous Fairytales

Picture books

Welcome, Baby Dragons by Margaret Green

Let the Dragon Games Begin by Margaret Green

Royally Cool Adventure by Perdita Finn

Meet Crystal Winter by Perdita Finn

Colouring/Sticker books

Thronecoming Reusable Sticker Book by Melissa Yu

A Wonderlandiful Doodle Book by Jeanine Henderson

Draw Dream Create Sketchbook

An Enchanted Pop-Up Sketchbook



Other books

Five Minute Stories by Robert Rudman & Ellie Rose

Class of Classics by Leigh Dragoon & Jessi Sheron

The books that don’t have a link are ones I know exist but I couldn’t find on internet archive/other searching.

If you have any links to these missing books, or books that I don’t have PLEASE lmk. Or if you have higher quality or pdf links (since some of the books are just screenshots of pages that I put together on a doc…)

The last two books in the once upon a twist series don’t exist.. they were cancelled or only a few copies were made (and those who have them aren’t saying anything). But I’m hoping to find them somehow if I have to message perdita finn myself. I believe there are a few chapters up somewhere so I’ll try to compile all that’s available

Any title that is coloured with a link means I don’t have a pdf or full copy yet but I have a preview

Because this is getting so much attention make sure to check my pinned post that has more eah resources!!

There are also diaries that went along with the dolls that you can find on @everafterhigharchive’s page who is also responsible for most of the links here

(Also one of my interconnect libraries has meet Crystal Winter so I’ll upload that onto internet archive + add it on here once it ships)

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 4- The Night it Goes Wrong

A/N: So uhhh, heads up, things will get horrific so I gotta warn yall

Trigger Warning: Major body horror, bones breaking, blood, teeth falling out, and whatnot. Like this is my first time actually writing something like and I was like 😨 If you ain’t comfortable with that, let me give you a short TL:DR at the end of the taglist.

I’ll put a sign that when it’ll begin and end with this: ꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

ALSO I may not post in a while, I got vacation with the fam!

The moment Alfred Pennyworth saw you in that police station, clutching onto the edge of the seat with your big eyes, and confused look, he knew he was going to adore you.

He has been a caretaker, a protector, a father all his life, raising Bruce when his parents, Alfred’s cherished friends, have died. He tended to his wounds and assisted when Dick was first brought into the Manor.

Ever since then, he has cared, loved, protected, and cherished every single member of this family. He was a great guardian to all.

However, Alfred was far from perfect, shamefully leaving his daughter to care for a family he wasn’t related to, yet he hoped raising all of Bruce’s children would make up for his neglected ways.

That’s why he attached himself to you. You were neglected outright the moment you held out your hand for Bruce to shake. He was appalled seeing his son ignore you so blatantly.

Perfect as he may not have been, he saw his daughter in you. He may not have fully have the memory of Julia Pennyworth’s childhood, but he knew she was a spunky and bright as you.

Yet despite the promise of taking care of you, life had other plans when Bruce took in Jason, taking the title of Robin to him. He was relieved to see you have one family member to bond over.

But after Jason’s death, it was back to square one with you. His heart ached seeing you get rejected with each member, and he tried his best to make sure you had felt included, even if it was him only.

Old habits die hard, he supposed. He once or twice failed to acknowledge you for he has been too busy with the other members, as one does. One memory was horrible when he failed to arrive for your science fair, and you returned home with your tear stained cheeks.

He has never forgiven himself since, each failed parenting attempt a reminder that he has failed his daughter. Unhealthy as it may have been, Alfred knew you weren’t her.

You were more than any child he has seen being adopted in the Wayne Manor. You were his child, and what had happened that day made him knew he failed you once more.

Cleaning the garden with some members of the family, Alfred returned back inside for drinks. Tim had the foolishly wise idea to throw a stick at a window, your window, where the beehive laid.

The bees began to emerge from their hive and hovered around the family, not fully attack until Dick panicked and sprayed the bees with the hose, completely missing and hit your window again.

The bees weren’t thrilled with the attack on your window, so they began to sting the members, first Dick, then heavily at Tim. Steph hid behind Bruce as the oldest member quickly avoided the bees and pulled out the pesticides for the weeds.

When Alfred returned, horror ran throughout his body when he saw the dead bees and hive. That was when he began shouting at them, the moment you returned home, and the moment you finally broke.

“Wow, crybaby,” Damien snarked while walking in the garden to see the commotion. He watched you run back inside, and couldn’t help but snicker acting so pathetic.

“Steph, clean up this mess, I’ll have to tend to Tim’s stings,” Bruce pinched his nose in frustration, not aware of Alfred’s frozen body, anger rising to his face before he let out a harsh and cold tone.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne!!” Everyone stopped what they were doing, looking at Alfred. Bruce froze, as the butler was royally pissed off, yet it only showed in his eyes.

“Never in my life if raising you, tending to your failures and comfort your pain, would I ever expect you to treat one of your children with such negligence and disgust!” He shouted, causing the siblings to look down, however Alfred saw that they weren’t full realizing what they did, which made him more furious.

“You not only proved to me that you never truly known Master (Name), but you proved to me that despite all of your achievements involving the rest of your kids, you are still arrogant enough to not ever acknowledge your own flesh in blood when they were in pain!” Pulling out his wallet, Alfred shows rows of photos of you as a kid, beaming while holding up a trophy.

Bruce instinctively opened his mouth to defend himself, but words died on his tongue, eyes drifting down to the destroyed beehive. You were always talking about bees, he thinks. What did you talk about?

And those photos. They looked old. You weren’t that old today, right? Bruce felt his stomach knot. How old were you?

“Pennyworth,” Damien at least had the decency to avoid eye contact, as no one dared to backtalk to Alfred when he’s scolding. “It was just a bunch of-,”

“Master Damien, you of all people here should know what the bond is between human and animal,” He turned to the youngest son, “Your strong bond with your pets are the equivalent to Master (Name)’s bonds with their bees. If not, their bond is stronger,” That had Damien to shut up.

“They have worked hard, every single day just to prove that they belonged in this family. Despite your comments, lack or affection, and shameful harmful attacks, they never let their smile disappear,” There were times he truly thought he failed you when you couldn’t smile, yet the next day the genuine joy was back.

“I am utterly not only disappointed in everyone here, but utterly appalled to witness you all not realize how exactly in the wrong you are,” Alfred tightened his fingers and dug them into his gloved palms, his projections strong.

“They adored you all, despite not knowing your nightly escapades, they wished to be apart of your hearts along with everyone else!” Alfred stretched his arm out to the hive, “Yet the proof is right on the floor, murdered by their own father,” The hive was now meant a lot to Alfred as it was to you.

“I, myself, is also to blame. I lack the strength to speak up sooner, in hopes that you all might finally one around and open your hearts and arms for them, but I was wrong,” He admitted, guilty memories of him leaving Julia haunted him. He won’t do the same with you.

“I expect you all to apologize first thing in the morning, we don’t want a foul mood lingering in the air when their birthday is simply two days away,” Not letting any of them have the final say, Alfred turned on his heels and marched inside, heart slamming against his chest.

He looked around then at the stairs, where Duke was standing there with a concerned look on his face. That gave Alfred a hint on where you went.

“A-Alfred?” Duke quietly mumbled, peaking out of the stairwell like a child admitting to do something wrong. Alfred let out a deep sigh before motioning Duke to follow him.

“Is this… where their room was all along?” Duke said in shock, then shame washed over his face. Even the door looked small compared to the massive doors that led to his room. Alfred closed his eyes and knocked with his knuckle.

“Master (Name)?” He began, “I heavily and sincerely apologize for what has happened with your bees. Please forgive my lack of defense towards your dear creatures. I’m sorry,” He called through the door. Silence, making the butler talk again.

“Words cannot describe how awful I feel, Master (Name). I promise you with my very soul, everything will change after this day,” He rested his forehead against the door, collecting his composure as to not feel more ashamed while imagining your cries while holding onto him.

“Y-yeah, (Name)! Maybe tomorrow, we could go eat take out! Relax at the beach, or watch a movie!” Duke piped up, a nervous smile on his face. You didn’t respond, which had Alfred worried.

“Master (Name)?” Gently twisting the doorknob, Alfred pushed the door open. Duke couldn’t see inside as Alfred peered in, but soon swung the door open. Duke hadn’t had time to react before Alfred turn to run off in the halls. And when Duke looked back in your room, he knew why.

You were gone.

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

The rain became heavy, splashing into your fabric and letting it soak it all until your clothes felt heavy. Yet you’d didn’t stop, you had to keep skating through the empty streets of Gotham.

You crashed into the rough sidewalk, scrapping large cuts and stabs of concrete digging into your skin. You just kept on pushing and continued to skate through the heavy rain. The glow from Ivy’s pollen she gifted you lit up the way to the warehouse in the harsh storm.

You managed to easily slide underneath the broken door to the warehouse, still gaining more slices form the gravel and concrete, yet you didn’t care at all.

“No more waiting, I have to do this now,” You panted, starting up the generators and checking on your hive. You wiped more tears, or was it rain?, while watching your mother’s beehive still intact. You may have failed your bees, but you won’t fail your mother.

You tossed your wet jacket on the old tv, taking your phone out to check the time and record this very moment of Raine history.

11:45

You were completely unaware that you had left your deceased Queen bee in you pocket, and by putting your jacket on the tv, she slipped out and landed into the honey.

Unaware of what you did, the honey began to glow the orange light, brighter hues swirled around the poor insects before completely dissolving her completely.

You turned back to the honey jar, grabbing it and paced around, determination etched all over your face. You’ll prove them that you do belong, that your existence was worth something just like them.

“Project: Honey,” You began, “An intense research study on genetically altering the DNA and structure of the honeybee. To provide better insight on saving endangered plants and to uprise the declining bee population,” While you talked, you kept on starting up everything in the warehouse.

You stood in the center, holding the jar over your head, faltering for a moment. You second guessed yourself on not waiting for a little while more, but flashes of the Waynes, you knew you had to do it.

“Final test, what more can you push yourself into being a part of your research than being just like a bee?” You asked yourself, holding the jar up in the light, “For you, mama,” And with that, you took a small sip.

You shut your eyes tight, hitching your breath. Yet the moment you swallowed the thick honey, your eyes shot back open, mouth salivating while you looked back at the jar, hands trembling.

It was-

“So sweet…” You muttered, tasting more of the honey. You never tasted anything like this! Each sip was more flavorful than the last. You needed more.

“So floral… so savory…” You stuck your finger in the jar, addicted to such a flavor. Your senses were too focused on the honey to realize your eyes began to turn a pinkish red, and your genetic bees began to rumble within their hives.

“So good,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

But that was when the itching started.

“Fuck…” You hissed, feeling your arms itch, and soon your whole body began to feel like it needed to be rubbed with sandpaper. Your nails scratched against your arms and neck, the urge to peel your skin off was overwhelming.

Your stomach felt ill, but it wasn’t from the honey. Your vision blurred, until you felt something wet run down your cheek. You wiped them away, believed to be tears, but only when you saw dark strains on your fingers, you realized blood was seeping from your eyes.

You couldn’t even scream when pain shot to your limbs.

Suddenly, a grotesque sound of bones breaking, and extreme jolts of hot searing pain ran to your spine. The ringing of your ears didn’t cover the piercing high pitch screams of horror. Your skin tightens and cracks, bones twisting in agony, as if something was pushing against your skin.

You felt like vomiting, the bile, or was it blood? You found out quickly when you spat out a glob of both vomit and blood, but something hard slipped through your lips.

Your tooth. Your teeth.

One became three, and soon every tooth began to fall out with strong strings of blood and shreds of gums trailing behind them. You choked out a low, guttural sound emitting from your very throat, a sound you never made before.

It wasn’t a scream, yet you did felt like screaming with every single emotion you experienced. You wanted this to stop, this was horrifying enough to make you want to cry out, do something. The sounds coming out of you became higher pitch, almost like a screech from an unknown creature.

Your spin felt like it was scalding hot, searing pain spreads across your back until you let out another screech when you heard the sickening CRUNCH of muscles and skin break by your spine.

Your back splits open, something pushing through like it needed you. You needed air. It pushed through, getting larger by the minute before the head pulls out with a loud ear piercing sound emitting from its mouth.

It wasn’t an it. It was you.

It felt like your skin was being pulled off, like a crab molting from its old skin. Your… old body began to spasm until it fell limp, your new body crawling out, spreading wings out and fully standing tall.

Yet despite the ease of escaping the skin, the agonizing pain still very much lingered. You never stopped screeching with how much your body distorted. Legs, arms, mouth and body, everything was unbearable.

“M-MAMA!!” You screeched out, gurgled by the globs of blood you keep vomiting out. Your stomach lurched and heaved with the torture you’ve been enduring, flashes of memories seeming to be the one good thing in this disturbing experience.

Then-

Silence.

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Everything was over. The pain wasn’t there, but the fear never went away. You didn’t comprehend what happened, what you became, and where you were. You were snapping your head around, watching the warehouse lights intently before eyes spotted the beehive.

The moment you looked at it, your eyes hurt from the sudden burst of light emerged from your head and back. Your blurry eyes trailed down to your own body, seeing two pairs of arms. But besides your arms, underneath you.

Was the body of you.

You gently clasped your hands underneath your once human body. Cheeks stained with blood that leaked from your tears, limbs contorted in an inhumane way, and eyes faded into grey pupils.

Vision blurry yet still coherent, they landed on the clock, where it flashed a bright infrared sequence of numbers to tell the time.

11:52

It was merely seven minutes of agonizing torture.

CRASH

The sunroof shattered by the weight of multiple people, having you whip your body around to see Batman. His cowl never showed much, yet his eyes showed more than enough emotions. Most was fear. But for what? Or who.

Along with Batman, stood the Robins. Red Robin assessed what was going on in front of them, before feeling sick when he saw what the scene was in front of them all.

A large grotesque figure, almost two times the size of Bane himself, a bright colorful glow surrounding it while it flexed its thorax. And underneath the beast… was your body, back completely ripped as if it had taken your skeleton, completely lifeless.

Your eyes couldn’t properly identify what or who was in front of you, all pairs of your eyes darting in completely different directions and not being able to fully spot the figures. The confusion made you tighten your grip on your old corpse more.

You opened your mouth to at least release a sound, before screeching when a baterang swooshed past your neck, body acting fast and barely avoided a decapitation.

“GET AWAY FROM THEM!!” Robin screamed, charging towards you with a strong swing of his sword. You dropped your body and scrambled back, your new form not yet in control. You skidded against the concrete flooring, pushing both pairs of arms to steady yourself.

Signal, Batman, Orphan, Red Robin, Spoiler, Nightwing, Robin, and Red Hood all began to surround you, all had looks underneath their helmets, cowls, and masks that show they were out for blood, filled with anguish and rage.

Red Hood pulled out a gun, cocking it before aiming it at you. All of your eyes darted around as you began to get surrounded by them, your hearing still ringing as you could see them shout, yet no words were audible.

Before any of the Bats can attack, your genetic bees swarm around them, glowing yellow and orange as if blinding them. You felt yourself pull towards to the hive, and you took a big leap over them and clumsily landed in the now ruined garden.

The bees got aggressive, the whole hive glowing brighter and brighter as they all began to buzz so loud, it was all anyone could hear.

Robin raised one of his swords, about to attack and destroy the hive, but Signal tackled him, looking like he was shouting at the boywonder. You didn't care, you had to escape.

Arms wrapped around the hive, and clutched it to your chest as you needed to escape. Just when you felt hopeless in escaping, the world felt lighter, as if you were floating.

Which you were. You were flying.

You couldn’t even comprehend what was happening until you burst through the broken sunroof, still clutching your hive securely.

Where were you? You didn’t know, all you had to know was that staying in one place will get you killed. You body flew across the city buildings, emitting a powerful light bursting from your body. It would’ve been something to marvel about if it wasn’t your weakness at the moment.

Flying in the air was exposing you as a big red target. As if knowing what you wanted, your body began to tilt downward and fly towards the ground. Yet you still didn’t know how to control your body, so you crash landed.

You didn’t recognize this place, or maybe you did? Your mind was being overwhelmed with the horrors you endured. The rain hit your disgusting form with harsh impacts, as if the world was punishing you for committing on such a foolish act.

You crawled the best you can into a narrow alleyway, avoiding large areas to get spotted faster. You never stopped panting, you never stopped panicking, all of this frantic terrified emotions soon stopped when you finally were able to pause and stare at the reflection from a trash lid.

You were no longer yourself. You were nothing but a monster. You were this large beast, one more pair of arms protruding from your waist, each hand containing sharp, claw-like fingers.

Legs were definitely not resembling human, as they were slightly thick. It looked like they were made to be agile and strong. Your second pair of hands dug their claws into your thighs, as if trying to see if it was all a bad dream.

Your face wasn’t any different. Three pairs of eyes, antennas prominent on your face, with a sharp and golden charm-like plaque above your head. Two thoraxes one both sides of your mouth… where did your mouth go…?

Large translucent wings with pink and yellow hues, your large abdomen behind you and hair on your head… both were glowing. Bright colors of blue, yellow, pink, and orange swirled within, lighting up the dark and grim alley you landed in.

The final touch was the stinger, sharp and long, and it was embarrassingly twitching.

Some say you were the most beautiful and fascinating creature they ever stumbled upon, but you knew better. You were this gross disgusting beast that crawled out of your old body.

You failed your mother, you failed yourself, and you failed your poor bees who died in vain by the hands of your… your… what were they?

You sniffled before peering into the hive you still clutched against your arms. They still glowed, giving out an almost harmonious buzz, as if they were comforting you. You saw the Queen bee still alive inside, much for alive than your poor Queen bee at home-

Wait.

Your queen bee. Where was she when you ran away?

You couldn’t even think before you let out another screech, dropping your hive as you got dragged out of the alleyway. You scratched against the ground, desperately trying to get a hold of a strong object, yet it was futile as strong vines wrapped around your body, the tip of the vine gripping your jaw.

"Well well well~”

A voice. A soothing alluring tone that echoed through the night. Your glowing body allowed you to see a slender figure rising above you with the help of plants, strangely familiar red rose hair and a bright smirk across their… her lips.

“It seems to me that I have myself a little~... a little..." Her smirk faltered, eyes narrowing at you, before they trailed down to the necklace around your neck. They widened in horror, the vines loosening ever so slightly before she pushed the plants for carry her closer to you.

"Bumblebee?" Ivy uttered, and your whole body went loose within her binds. All of your eyes, wide eyed and scared, stared at her own, softening as if you recognized her for the first time. That had her stomach drop. Did you not recognize her?

You began to let out another screech of fear as you heard the Bats coming. Ivy furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the small figures getting closer on the buildings, then at you... or rather, what now became of you.

She quickly covered your face with her vine, pulling your struggling body into her flower shop and into a secret passage. There laid a base for all the villains to law low, each of them shouting in annoyance over Ivy's vines, but soon shut up seeing you.

"Hey hey, it's okay,” She tried to shush you, “You need to stop thrashing, I cannot help you if you're in a state of panic," Yet like a caged animal, you were relentless on trying to escape the vine’s grasp, holding you in the middle of the base.

Riddler, Two-Face, Harley Quinn, Bane, Scarecrow, Catwoman, and every other villain that escaped Arkham and are laying low watched intently, whispering to one another.

“(Name)?" "It's them..." "Not my poor child, what has happened to them?" "No.." Henchmen and villains alike all watched timely as you struggled against the binds of the sturdy vines, Ivy watching you intently.

“Oh (Name)..." She whispered, “What has happened to you?” She cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing against the thorax as you continued to sob, a small vulnerable child stuck in a monstrous body.

"S...Sc-Ared." You choked out, "M-Mа...Mа... W-wa-nt... M-Mama..." Blood still seeped out of what is now your mouth, staining the thorax with wet splotches of red. Your voice was no longer filled with bright, anxious, or even sarcastic tone.

Ivy didn’t know how to calm you down. How could she fix something when she has no idea how you became like this? Earlier this morning you were this bubbly, clumsy teen who tripped over their own shoes, and now? And why don’t you know her?

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Harley motioning her to hug you. She was hesitant at first, not knowing if your glowing hair is harmful, but she couldn’t let her baby client suffer like this.

"I'm so sorry the world hasn't been kind to you, little bumblebee," She hushed your broken cries. She bent you towards her, lowering you down as she placed you head against her chest.

"But I will be here for you," The warmth of her arms wrapped around your head, the steady heartbeat from her chest, the vines now simply holding your hands. You finally calmed down until there was nothing but hiccups and sniffles.

For once in this terrible night, you felt safe.

Buzzzzz

“I’ll always be here for you, (Name),”

A/N: wow... that's a whole lot of trauma for you.

BUUUT ANYWAYS, for those who skipped the part.

TL:DR- You got turned into an anthropomorphic bee in a horrifying way cuz I gotta do that Imao.

Tag list: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche

[sagarrachnagrp]

Chapter-wise Question Bank with last 10 year Question Paper Class 10 Social Science 2024

Together with Class 10 CBSE Previous Year Question Bank Social Science includes Previous 10+ Years Chapter wise Questions for 2023-24 Board Exam preparation. Year-wise and mark-wise questions have been provided in Social Science Class 10 CBSE PYQ for full-fledged practice sessions. CBSE Class 10 Social Science PYQ has been designed as per the latest syllabus, exam pattern and marking scheme.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Hi! I see your OC Oscar LeColéreux is studying Patent Law. as someone who is literally right now studying patent law, I can tell you that (in the USA), that's not a thing. to be a Patent Agent or a Patent Lawyer, one must first have a technical background (i.e. a degree in science/engineering). Patent Lawyers then go to law school, Patent Agents don't. regardless, both must pass the Patent Bar Exam, administered by the USPTO. this permits them to assist in Patent Prosecution, the process of applying for a patent, including appeals and post-grant proceedings before the USPTO's PTAB. Patent Lawyers can also represent patent holders through litigation in federal court. now that my trap card activation is over, what is Oscar's technical degree in? will he go to law school?

So all of The Lads (All the dogs in this post) have completed their undergrad degrees and are in grad school. They're in the same fraternity, which is to say: they're all renting the same house near campus and convinced a national engineering fraternity to count them as a chapter and help them with the rent and groceries.

Oscar's undergraduate degree is in Materials Science Engineering and he was planning on becoming a research chemist but quickly discovered he liked arguing with people and picking apart contracts more than being exposed to major industrial hazards. He's currently in the law program at College University along with his fellow engineer-ishes.

(more under the cut)

Oscar, Alexander, and Issac are all have proper engineering undergraduate degrees and are following engineering-related pursuits. Ewan is cutting it fine with an interdisciplinary engineering degree and now getting fully into the humanities. Ujin shouldn't even be there because his undergrad was in education, but that guy could talk the devil into piety so convincing the frat rep that his presence benefited the organization was a breeze.

It should be noted that this is a fantasy universe where the world is populated by anthropromorphc talking animals, so they are not, strictly speaking, in the united states of America, so I can play it a bit fast and loose with the laws and academic processes. They are, functionally, in the furry version of Danville from Phineas and Ferb: not a fixed geographic location, but a small city with any geographic feature or cultural center or political issue is required for the story.

College University is likewise an academic institution so much as an excuse for the characters to spend time together, like how nobody in Ouran High School Host Club ever goes to class. They've got a sportsball program and a law school and the art department regularly explodes and anything else that might be needed for the narrative.

The world itself doesn't even have a name, but of various anthropromorpic universes, this one leans more Beastars than Zootopia- there's birds, reptiles and even fish people, social tensions that arise from the radical differences in body types and break along different axes of power than you might expect, and the whole thing is a metaphor before it is a setting. To resolve the two big problems of any anthro universe:

Where does the protein come from? There are animals in this universe, some of which are farmed or hunted. There was an outbreak of Anthropomorphization that caused the existence of these animal-people like 50,000 years ago. There are no humans, except in the speculative fiction written in this universe. The issue of "What counts as a person?" regularly comes up for debate, and is often a political wedge tool, so the definitions of personhood vary widely across time, location, class and culture.

How does everyone continue their genetic line? Any Anthro can produce issue with any other anthro (barring individual fertility issues), but they are rolling the dice on what kind of creature the resulting offspring will be. Two rabbits are most likely to produce more rabbits, but there's a solid chance they'll produce a chinchilla, a lesser chance of having a swan, and a remote-but-still-possible chance they'll give birth to a hybrid anthro like a rabbit-duck, and an even remoter but still possible chance of making a hybrid with species not seen in either parent, like an eel-horse. Ujin's parents are rats. Most of his siblings are rats, except for his oldest sister, who is a marbled polecat. The more disparate the two parent species are, the less predictable the resulting offspring. An elephant can marry a trout and have a baby tyrannosaur. A notable exception is hybrid/hybrid pairs, which consistently produce single-species offspring, usually from the selection of species available in both parents. A hybrid/single-species can produce superhybrids, (sometimes called Tribrids, but this process can continue well past just three species). Another OC in this universe is a Jackayote, the result of the union between a Jackalope (jackrabbit/pronghorn antelope) and a coyote. 2.1: Nobody in-universe calls themselves by breeds or subspecies. Most of the time they identify more with a broader taxonomic group: all The Lads are all Canines, as are what we'd call wolves, foxes, jackals, tanuki etc. and being more specific than that is pedantic and weird. Knowing your specifc specific species is only important for your medical history or if you're going to have kids. In fact, touting around your specific species in public is seen as over-sharing and kinda suspect, like a guy who is a little TOO into his ancestry. Some groups will distinguish themselves if there is a notable practical difference: Fruit Bats include the Fruit so that a well-meaning host doesn't accidentally serve them crickets, and bears are the same because there's a big dietary difference between polar and panda bears. Cats typically call themselves "purrcats" or "roarcats" because Max, a 4'11" Purrcat has very different accessibility needs than her Roarcat cousin Tony (tiger, 7'2") Birds can be outright secretive about their species, with "singers" keeping their exact taxonomy a secret except among other birds. Birds of a feather flock together, and there's strength in numbers for this historically persecuted group.

--- Anyway, the real answer to this ask is that you probably shouldn't worry too much about the greater worldbuilding here, because all of this is in service of a smut comic.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sandra Newman’s “Julia”

The first chapter of Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four has a fantastic joke that nearly everyone misses: when Julia, Winston Smith's love interest, is introduced, she has oily hands and a giant wrench, which she uses in her "mechanical job on one of the novel-writing machines":

https://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks01/0100021.txt

That line just kills me every time I re-read the book – Orwell, a novelist, writing a dystopian future in which novels are written by giant, clanking mechanisms. Later on, when Winston and Julia begin their illicit affair, we get more detail:

She could describe the whole process of composing a novel, from the general directive issued by the Planning Committee down to the final touching-up by the Rewrite Squad. But she was not interested in the finished product. She 'didn't much care for reading,' she said. Books were just a commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces.

I always assumed Orwell was subtweeting his publishers and editors here, and you can only imagine that the editor who asked Orwell to tweak the 1984 manuscript must have felt an uncomfortable parallel between their requests and the notional Planning Committee and Rewrite Squad at the Ministry of Truth.

I first read 1984 in the early winter of, well, 1984, when I was thirteen years old. I was on a family trip that included as visit to my relatives in Leningrad, and the novel made a significant impact on me. I immediately connected it to the canon of dystopian science fiction that I was already avidly consuming, and to the geopolitics of a world that seemed on the brink of nuclear devastation. I also connected it to my own hopes for the nascent field of personal computing, which I'd gotten an early start on, when my father – then a computer science student – started bringing home dumb terminals and acoustic couplers from his university in the mid-1970s. Orwell crystallized my nascent horror at the oppressive uses of technology (such as the automated Mutually Assured Destruction nuclear systems that haunted my nightmares) and my dreams of the better worlds we could have with computers.

It's not an overstatement to say that the rest of my life has been about this tension. It's no coincidence that I wrote a series of "Little Brother" novels whose protagonist calls himself w1n5t0n:

https://craphound.com/littlebrother/Cory_Doctorow_-_Little_Brother.htm

I didn't stop with Orwell, of course. I wrote a whole series of widely read, award-winning stories with the same titles as famous sf tales, starting with "Anda's Game" ("Ender's Game"):

https://www.salon.com/2004/11/15/andas_game/

And "I, Robot":

https://craphound.com/overclocked/Cory_Doctorow_-_Overclocked_-_I_Robot.html

"The Martian Chronicles":

https://escapepod.org/2019/10/03/escape-pod-700-martian-chronicles-part-1/

"True Names":

https://archive.org/details/TrueNames

"The Man Who Sold the Moon":

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/05/22/the-man-who-sold-the-moon/

and "The Brave Little Toaster":

https://archive.org/details/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_212

Writing stories about other stories that you hate or love or just can't get out of your head is a very old and important literary tradition. As EL Doctorow (no relation) writes in his essay "Genesis," the Hebrews stole their Genesis story from the Babylonians, rewriting it to their specifications:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/41520/creationists-by-e-l-doctorow/

As my "famous title" stories and Little Brother books show, this work needn't be confined to antiquity. Modern copyright may be draconian, but it contains exceptions ("fair use" in the US, "fair dealing" in many other places) that allow for this kind of creative reworking. One of the most important fair use cases concerns The Wind Done Gone, Alice Randall's 2001 retelling of Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind from the perspective of the enslaved characters, which was judged to be fair use after Mitchell's heirs tried to censor the book:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suntrust_Bank_v._Houghton_Mifflin_Co.

In ruling for Randall, the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals emphasized that she had "fully employed those conscripted elements from Gone With the Wind to make war against it." Randall used several of Mitchell's most famous lines, "but vest[ed] them with a completely new significance":

https://law.justia.com/cases/federal/appellate-courts/F3/268/1257/608446/

The Wind Done Gone is an excellent book, and both its text and its legal controversy kept springing to mind as I read Sandra Newman's wonderful novel Julia, which retells 1984 from the perspective of Julia, she of the oily hands the novel-writing machine:

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/julia-sandra-newman?variant=41467936636962

Julia is the kind of fanfic that I love, in the tradition of both Wind Done gone and Rosenkrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead, in which a follow-on author takes on the original author's throwaway world-building with deadly seriousness, elucidating the weird implications and buried subtexts of all the stuff and people moving around in the wings and background of the original.

For Newman, the starting point here is Julia, an enigmatic lover who comes to Winston with all kinds of rebellious secrets – tradecraft for planning and executing dirty little assignations and acquiring black market goods. Julia embodies a common contradiction in the depiction of young women (she is some twenty years younger than Winston): on the one hand, she is a "native" of the world, while Winston is a late arrival, carrying around all his "oldthink" baggage that leaves him perennially baffled, terrified and angry; on the other hand, she's a naive "girl," who "doesn't much care for reading," and lacks the intellectual curiosity that propels Winston through the text.

This contradiction is the cleavage line that Newman drives her chisel into, fracturing Orwell's world in useful, fascinating, engrossing ways. For Winston, the world of 1984 is totalitarian: the Party knows all, controls all and misses nothing. To merely think a disloyal thought is to be doomed, because the omnipotent, omniscient, and omnicompetent Party will sense the thought and mark you for torture and "vaporization."

Orwell's readers experience all of 1984 through Winston's eyes and are encouraged to trust his assessment of his situation. But Newman brings in a second point of view, that of Julia, who is indeed far more worldly than Winston. But that's not because she's younger than him – it's because she's more provincial. Julia, we learn, grew up outside of the Home Counties, where the revolution was incomplete and where dissidents – like her parents – were sent into exile. Julia has experienced the periphery of the Party's power, the places where it is frayed and incomplete. For Julia, the Party may be ruthless and powerful, but it's hardly omnicompetent. Indeed, it's rather fumbling.

Which makes sense. After all, if we take Winston at his word and assume that every disloyal citizen of Oceania is arrested, tortured and murdered, where would that leave Oceania? Even Kim Jong Un can't murder everyone who hates him, or he'd get awfully lonely, and then awfully hungry.

Through Julia's eyes, we experience Oceania as a paranoid autocracy, corrupt and twitchy. We witness the obvious corollary of a culture of denunciation and arrest: the ruling Party of such an institution must be riddled with internecine struggle and backstabbing, to the point of paralyzed dysfunction. The Orwellian trick of switching from being at war with Eastasia to Eurasia and back again is actually driven by real military setbacks – not just faked battles designed to stir up patriotic fervor. The Party doesn't merely claim to be under assault from internal and external enemies – it actually is.

Julia is also perfectly positioned to uncover the vast blank spots in Winston's supposed intellectual curiosity, all the questions he doesn't ask – about her, about the Party, and about the world. I love this trope and used it myself, in Attack Surface, the third "Little Brother" book, which is told from the point of view of Marcus's frenemy Masha:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531/attacksurface

Through Julia, we come to understand the seemingly omniscient, omnipotent Party as fumbling sadists. The Thought Police are like MI5, an Island of Misfit Toys where the paranoid, the stupid, the vicious and the thuggish come together to ruin the lives of thousands, in such a chaotic and pointless manner that their victims find themselves spinning devastatingly clever explanations for their behavior:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/adamcurtis/entries/3662a707-0af9-3149-963f-47bea720b460

And, as with Nineteen Eighty-Four, Julia is a first-rate novel, expertly plotted, with fantastic, nail-biting suspense and many smart turns and clever phrases. Newman is doing Orwell, and, at times, outdoing him. In her hands, Orwell – like Winston – is revealed as a kind of overly credulous romantic who can't believe that anyone as obviously stupid and deranged as the state's representatives could be kicking his ass so very thoroughly.

This was, in many ways, the defining trauma and problem of Orwell's life, from his origin story, in which he is shot through the throat by a fascist: sniper during the Spanish Civil War:

https://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/soldiers/george-orwell-shot.html

To his final days, when he developed a foolish crush on a British state spy and tried to impress her by turning his erstwhile comrades in to her:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orwell%27s_list

Newman's feminist retelling of Orwell is as much about puncturing the myth of male competence as it is about revealing the inner life, agency, and personhood of swooning love-interests. As someone who loves Orwell – but not unconditionally – I was moved, impressed, and delighted by Julia.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/28/novel-writing-machines/#fanfic

[yummyrevivalfluid]

How To Rizz Up A Scientist

Synopsis: What better way to riz up a scientist than using his science against him?

Chapter 2: Coulomb’s Law and Circular Motion

Reader Chapter 1 here.

Word Count: 1787

Warnings: THIS IS SMUT! NSFW!

Includes male masturbation, improper use of physics notes, male ejaculation, submissive Senku, body grinding, and overstimulation? Body graffiti (sort of)? Degration. I think that's it?

Senku has never done this. He never had the urge or desire to do so, not until he met you. It was like you unlocked some depraved part in his mind, something he buried deep inside. You kept digging at it, digging until you exposed the lewd thoughts.

He’s unsure if he’s doing it right- it felt like he was. His strokes were sloppy, with no set pace. His palm twitched against himself, the pleasure he was giving himself was all new to him, leaving him sensitive to his own touch.

His choice of material to keep him going was questionable. It wasn’t the usual stuff that people tend to go to. It wasn’t a dirty magazine or a video that you went incognito on your web browser. No, not Senku. Instead, his choice of debauched material is the little things he salvaged from you.

A torn page from your notebook, notes from his physics study with you. A pencil that he borrowed from you, one that he doesn’t plan to give back. And finally, his addition, his chemistry book, opened to the last page he studied with you.

His palm squeezes around himself, and his eyes squeeze shut as he recalls the moment with you, the cause of the imbalance in his hormones. The scene replays in his mind, the one that sent a rush of blood between his legs.

“I wish I were a Sn2 reaction….” his hands rest on your thighs, inching closer to the divot between your legs, his fingers digging into the fat of your thigh. “So, I could attack you from the backside.”

“I’d let you.”

You were always quick with your words, but he wishes you weren’t. Maybe he wouldn’t be pleasuring himself to the thought of you if you weren't.  Maybe he wouldn’t be staring intensively at your damn pencil, imagining it was your hand wrapped around him. Imagining that those minor bite marks near the tip of the eraser, caused by your quick mouth, were him instead.

“Hah, you can take it,” he moans desperately. The thought of your mouth, your glossed lips taking him deep into your mouth. He needs to know how it would feel.

He can feel himself getting close. The pace he set is getting even sloppier. There’s no logic to how his palm is stroking himself- long, short, slow, and rapid- he can’t control himself.

God, he can imagine you and what you’d say—using his own love for science against him.

“Are you made of copper? Because I can Cu inside me.”

He remembers the softness of your thighs- what if he pushed them apart, would your skirt hike up, giving him something he never knew he needed?

He’s not used to this, he doesn’t realize he’s finishing until he’s gasping for air. His moans come out broken and needy. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead as he tries to keep his eyes open- the last thing on his mind is the mess he’s making.

Coming down from the high, his mind is rebooting to how it was before he fell victim to his own body. Before he succumbed to his body’s testosterone. He’s feeling the effect of the oxytocin- he has never felt better. He could get addicted to the feeling.  

He’s cleaning up the aftermath. It looks like he kept everything contained, not much of a mess until he’s cleaning up his choice of stimulation.

The only casualty is your crumbled physics notes.

…

He can’t look you in the eye. His mind goes back to what he did hours prior. The same hand he was relieving himself with was shaking as he pointed to an equation in your physics book. His eyes stray from your eyes to your notebook. His hand was itching to pull another page.

He didn’t like the effect you’re having on him. You’re ruining him. You were an acid to his mind, dissolving his rational thoughts- leaving only a deviant version of him.

He’s trying to find something to occupy his mind. Distract it from the sin that was your presence.

“Oh!” you cheer happily.

You’re pointing at something in your textbook, but Senku doesn’t look. His gaze stayed locked onto the tent in his pants, praying it’s not as noticeable as he thinks. “Look, it’s my man.”

Suddenly, it felt like he was in a cold shower. Your words froze him in place.

My man?

He didn’t care if it made him look desperate- he was. He’s leaning toward you, invading your personal space as he looks closer at your textbook. His finger follows the picture you're pointing to and-

“It’s my man Newton,” you drool, caressing his photo with your finger. “God, to be the apple that fell on him.”

“Freak,” Senku replies, bewildered by your response to Newton. You ignore his comment.

“Imagine the size of his…” You pause for dramatic effect, your finger hovering over his photo, “brain.”

Senku rolls his eyes at your poor joke. God, he was relieved it was a joke. If you had a boyfriend, it would only make things worse for him.

“You’re jokes are getting worse by the day.” He tells you, shoving your shoulder playfully, attempting to knock you out of your trance. You shove him back in retaliation.

“You’re to blame,” You stab at his chest with your finger, “you’re not giving me any new material to work with.”

“Maybe if you stayed on track, we would have moved on to the next chapter.”

You mutter something under your breath, but you don’t hide the wicked smirk on your face. It’s your ploy to get his attention- to drag him into a trap.

Senku was always rational and deliberate in his actions. Every action was thoroughly thought through, including its consequences and rewards—until now.

“What was that?” Senku asks, pulling at your waist, forcing you to look at him. You squirm in his hold, his fingers digging into your skin.

“You don’t want to know.” You tease back. Senku doesn’t give up easily. Too stubborn for his own good.

He pulls you into his lap, his body unconsciously doing anything to get you closer. It’s as if you were pulling him into your electric field. Was it Coulomb’s Law- opposites attract? He doesn’t know what you are. Cation? Anion? All he knows is that he’s attracted to you. Something about you is pulling him in.

“Say it.”

You can’t help the smug grin. You were going to ruin him. Plague his thoughts night and day.

“I wouldn’t be so distracted if little Senku would stop making an appearance.” You lean into him, making yourself comfortable in his lap.

He can feel it, so he knows you can too.

“I know you want to slide your oxygen between my hydrogens, but there’s a time and place.”

“Shut up.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“What’s turning you on more?”

Senku doesn’t know how to answer. You’re overstimulating him with more information than he can retain.

His eyes don’t know where to look. They can’t choose where to look. Does he maintain eye contact with you?

But how long will he be able to hold your gaze?

He knows your eyes will be teasing him. You’ll see right through him, you’ll know what buttons to push to get the reactions you want from him. What was the saying, eyes never lie?

Does he choose to look at your bare body?

Does he let his eyes roam your skin, let his mind retain the formulas he littered your skin with? His writing is sloppy against your skin, and his hand is shaking against your body. Smudges of black ink are smeared around your curves, and even the palms of his hand are smudged with ink.

Does he choose to look at where you're pressing against him?

He’s sprawled on his bed, at your mercy. You’re resting on his lap, moving your hips in a circular motion. He can feel your arousal leaking through his boxers. He can feel the heat radiating from you- he wants to be one with you. He wants to feel you. He wants to know what you’re like. He needs to know the sounds you’ll make.

He doesn’t know where to look, so he squeezes his eyes shut.

He doesn’t know how to answer your question, so he skips it. Maybe he’ll come back to it- skip the questions you don’t know and answer the ones you can.

“Circular motion.” His voice is breathy, with a slight pause after every word. “That’s what you’re doing with your hips.”

You slow your movements, pressing harder into him. You can feel him pulsing against you.

“Tell me more, Senku.”

“It’s when an object’s movement follows a circular path.” He's gripping your thighs, but his grip on your hip falters, enough to move the placement to your lower abdomen. He’s careful not to smudge the ink- he doesn’t want to rub the formula off.

“ac=v^2/r,” he's reading the formula off your skin, pressing his finger to note the location.

“What if I do this?” You stop your movements. He thinks you're pulling away from him, he digs his fingers into your thighs, he doesn’t want you to pull away. He needs you.

You raise your hips and slam back down onto him. You’re grinding against him, raising your hips to lower yourself back down onto him. “Is this still circular motion?”

“No”

“What is it?”  you ask him, your voice needy as you pick up the pace. “Tell me, Senku.”

“It’s….”

He doesn’t know. Every physics chapter—angular momentum, tangential acceleration, torque, vertical path—collides in his mind. He can’t think straight, not with how you’re moving. Not when he has you. Are those even the right topics?

“You should know this.” Your tone is degrading. “I thought you were the best, do I need to find a different tutor? Someone smarter than you?”

He’s whining. He tries to hold you down. He wants you to slow your movements and give him a moment to think.

He’s begging. He wants to tell you no. That’s he is the best. You’re not going to find someone better than him. But he can’t. His breathing is labored. You’re pulling all sorts of noises from him, everything but words.

He’s gasping for air.

…

He’s disoriented. His eyes are heavy, his body is sweaty, and his breathing is shallow.

Fuck

He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and there's an aching feeling between his legs. He’s pulling the sheets off his body, exposing his body to the cold.

He’s disgusted with himself.

It was a wet dream

[befemininenow]

Tired from constantly facing the exhausting and brutal realities of a post-pandemic real world, our main character finds solace by immersing themselves with feminization. Recently, there has been a new fashion trend for women involving brown skirts, high boots, and black bodysuits. One night, while getting aroused with some very persuasive captions involving these kind of girls after an exhausting day of work, the main character transports themself into a different world. An organization named B.U.S.T. recruits our main character and aims to forever change their future in the most supernatural of ways. As enticing as it is, our main character also faces an internal battle involving sexual identity and doubts of reality throughout the storyline. One may wonder if this alternative reality is a creation of the main character’s subconscious and the events they experienced beforehand. There’s so many questions to ask, and the fear of losing direction is very high, but the main worry about going deep in this new world is: is there a way to go back (to the real world)?

Preview post-description: Ever wondered what real feminization would be like without the hardcore and explicit tasks? Ever wanted to express your feminine side without the humiliation you will encounter? Most importantly, ever wanted to become a woman even though you were not born female? Well, if that sounds like you, you came to the right place! With B.U.S.T., you can make your transgender dreams a reality! No more sissification or humiliation! This is a real feminization program for real girlies like you! Join us, darling, and explore a new side of you like never before!

List of chapters:

Preview

Prologue: Part 1

Prologue: Part 2

Prologue: Part 3

You're hired!

Your first day with Alexa

C'mon, let's meet up with Samantha!

Your meetup with Raelene, or Rae

Rae-Rae's confused, but she has the spirit

The name's Hannah and I'm not from Montana!

Wear this for me, sweetie

Time flies when you're this sexy!

How would you like to be a full-time woman?

A girl needs to look good for a night out, babe

Moments before your change

Transformation complete!

Born this way

California Gurls

Am I... dreaming?

I need my pumpkin spice

An unforgettable scene

It was all a dream?

And if you don't know, now you know

I'm your worst nightmare

Say you can't sleep? Baby, I know

Work it, girl

I kissed a girl and... I didn't like it!?

I'm such an attention whore

I'm sexy and I know it!

Hot flashes, and not those kind

Deja vu?

Not my fault you're like in love with me!

We'll be right back.

Let it go, let it go...

Are we there yet?

Not like those other girls

From good girls to baddies

An unexpected visit

Hey, I saw you on my dream last night!

Did I just change the future?

The big day

Come to daddy

This is the real me! (I think.)

Winter has never been this hot!

Say it. Say...

Playtime is over! Snap out of it!

Is this... real?

An unexpected ally

I'll be there for you...

The Final Boss of Feminization

Epilogue: Welcome (back) to the Real World

Genres of this story include, but not limited to: Feminization, science fiction, sexual identity, forced feminization, questioning, LGBTQ+ fiction, transition, supernatural, etc.