#hive mind

[nyoomfruits]

ELLIEEEE! 🧡 8 & A for the drabble please 🥰

omegaverse au + “what do you mean it was an accident? how can that be an accident!”

“What do you mean it was an accident?” George’s voice howls down the line. Lando winces, holds the phone away from his face. “How can that be an accident!”

“I don’t know, it just fucking happened, didn’t it?” Lando mutters, wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder again. “It’s not like I was planning on mating my fucking teammate.” He glances over to the kitchen, where said teammate is puttering around, making breakfast.

Oscar’s been weird, ever since Lando’s heat had subsided. He’s clearly blaming himself for what happened, angry and frustrated, but not at Lando, never at Lando. He has been nothing but the perfect Alpha to him, gently nudging Lando to take a shower and changing the sheets on his bed while he was gone, putting him on the couch wrapped in a blanket with a bottle of water after. And now he’s in the kitchen, making Lando breakfast. To provide. For his Omega.

And fuck. He’s Oscar’s omega. They are in so much shit.

“-bite guard?” George says, when Lando tunes back in.

“Slipped out,” Lando says. At the silence Lando shakes his head. “George, no, you know him, he wouldn’t. You should’ve seen his face, when he realized. Fucking mortified.”

George hisses at that. “Shit, do you think he would-“

“No,” Lando says. “No, he wouldn’t break the bond, he knows what would happen to me if-“ He swallows. “He’s not a bad guy, George. He’s making me pancakes.”

“Yeah,” George says. “But forever, mate. That’s a long time.”

Lando glances up. In the kitchen, Oscar is plating the pancakes. When he feels Lando watching Oscar looks up, smiles. It’s a brittle one, weighed down by the consequences of their actions. But. But maybe. He’s seen the way Oscar looks at him sometimes. The way he’d take an extra deep breath whenever Lando was near, like his scent was comforting.

The way he came, immediately and without question, when Lando called him in the middle of stress induced heat.

There’s many things they still need to work out. They’ll need to tell their parents, for starters. The team. Their friends. They’ll have to face the media, face the scrutiny from the world.

But, Lando thinks, they’ll do it together. And as Oscar places a plate of pancakes in front of him, thick fluffy ones topped with Nutella, just the way Lando likes them, he thinks. Maybe.

Maybe they’ll be okay.

[sophieinwonderland]

Hiveminds and Multiplicity

When thinking about Hiveminds, I realized that hivemind connection is a spectrum, with many plural or plural-like experiences across it.

At the same time, both the beginning and end of this spectrum are singlet experiences. I decided to represent this with my own horseshoe theory.

Unconnected Individuals

This is pretty self-explanatory. These are totally separate individuals with their totally separate bodies. These are not even the slightest bit plural. Or, at least, not for any hivemind related reasons.

Mind-Linked

Now we drift into plural territory.

At this point, the individuals have some sort of mental link to each other. Mind links can range in levels of complexity.

At a low level, this may mean feeling each other's emotions or sensing when something really bad happens with no words or other communication. The most basic form of this might be "twintuition" in shows, where twins can magically sense when something happens to another no matter where they are.

At high levels, this can come with full verbal communication and other hallucinatory experiences.

Mind-linked systems often have strong barriers between them, only being able to transfer limited information, and maybe only in specific circumstances.

But the mind-linked are having plural experiences. They have someone else feeling their emotions, hearing their thoughts. It's very similar to sharing your mind with headmates. As this connection grows, they may end up becoming...

The Multiple Hivemind

At the top most point of the horseshoe, all mental barriers have been torn down.

They're still multiple people. They still have their own individual identities. But the link has become so great that they can read each other's thoughts whenever they want. They can share memories and skills freely between them, being both multiple and completely connected at the same time.

The Median Hivemind

Having achieved perfect connection, identity starts to erode. The median hivemind starts becoming its own collective identity.

Individuals in the median hivemind still retain agency and sense of self, but are also blending together more now and feel less like separate people.

The True Hivemind

At this point, there is no distinction between identity of the members. The hivemind is now one singlet spread across multiple bodies. A contrast and opposite to traditional plurality, which is multiple agents in one body.

...

We Can Get Weird With This...

Okay, that's a basic overview of how hiveminds work and evolve with singlets. But... what if some members of the hivemind aren't singlets?

Now things are going to get weird because hiveminds and mental links enable a lot of peculiar things that wouldn't be possible otherwise.

What if an old headmate goes dormant for years. In that time, the system becomes linked to a hivemind and specifically become either a median or true hivemind where they all identify as the same thing? What if that headmate comes back to find everyone else in the system is part of this hivemind with their identities melded into it, but the new headmate is still separate?

Or what if a multiple hivemind enabled headmates originating in the same body to front in multiple bodies at once, essentially allowing system hopping as a thing in those specific circumstances? What one of the members of an in-sys relationship used someone else's body (consensually) to be with their partner?

Or what if, for whatever reason, only one member of the system had the connection to the hivemind while the rest didn't?

Or... imagine that there are two systems with a strong mental link. They become a multiple hivemind with headmates able to speak freely to each other and even share an inner world. Then two headmates, one from each system, interact more and end up fusing. What does this mean? Which body is theirs? What happens if the link is severed?

Or in the same vein, what if a hivemind starts out as existing between 5 singlets? They become connected and end up being a multiple hivemind, and share an inner world. What if the hivemind created a tulpa together in this inner world, and none of the members are sure whose tulpa it actually counts as?

...

Anyway, if there's any takeaway from this, it should be that plurality is weird. Hiveminds are weird. And put them together and you get a weird sandwich. 😁

[deus-primordialis-eternatus]

"And I looked upon the great hive beast, and knew that hope was lost."

— attributed to Hector Prime, commander of the Tower of Adamant, Hethgard, executed for cowardice

𝕾̸̫̦̔̕̕͜𝖜̵̡͍͚̓̒͊𝖆̴͎̪̙̓̾͒𝖗̸͎͔͉͛̈́̓𝖒̴̦̻͉̈́́̕𝖑̸̪͚͕͐̒͛𝖔̴̟̝͎͑̐͆𝖗̴̼͍̟͒̐̿𝖉̸̢̼̫̓͛͑ 𝕮̵͇͇̾͊͋͜𝖔̸̼̦͎̒̽̀𝖑̸̼̫̈́̓͜͠𝖔̸͓̻͓͒̒͘𝖗̵͇̫͉̾͊͝𝖊̴͍̦̝͐̀͝𝖉̸̞͖͇́͘ //  MajesticChicken

[somnefarious]

Also, some bee hive mind. Saw this before from a couple different people and loved the idea

[lucyjung]

I think I cant hide it any longer so... yeah.

Do you get it who is she?

[multiplicationdivision]

How could Griff know that the moment those freshmen touched his shit, they would be replaced by perfect copies of him. The three of him were at a loss towards the situation, but the university couldn’t give a shit. Trading some idiotic clothing-stealing wannabe jocks for two more of their star player. Griff could understand that reasoning, he was certainly worth the loss of some losers. Griff would complain about suddenly having to share his spotlight, but the clone telepathy was making him come around to the situation. Hard to get jealous of your fellow bros for stealing lays if you can feel every bit of it like it was happening to your own body. It did make studying a little harder, with at least one of the three of them always finding some way to distractingly relieve a little stress. Nothing beat the high of scoring a touchdown whilst simultaneously feeling another you fuck the assistant coach in a nearby locker room. Being able to eye your fellow duplicate on the sideline after the game and see identically glazed over eyes reflected back into yours. He would celebrate the game alongside you, as your third bro continued whatever ungodly things he and that handsome coach were still doing. You two would have to continue pulling your share to compete with that raw sensation still pulling at your dicks. A game to see how much you could compound this euphoria before your brains melted.

[subliminalbo]

Charlotte had at least one student like Jamie every semester. Some stuck up bitch from a rich family who thought she owned the school. Jamie was only in freshman English to collect a GE credit, and her attitude showed it: frequently late to class, browsing twitter during lectures, talking to her friends throughout class discussions. Any other year, Charlotte would have been too timid to make an example of Jamie, but this was a new semester and a new Charlotte Blake.

To Jamie's credit, her will was strong. When she looked into Professor Blake's empty white eye and she heard the mysterious voice commanding her to submit, Jamie tried to fight back.

"What the fuck?" she cried, squirming in her chair across from Professor Blake's desk. "What the fuck is wrong with your eyes? What was that voice?"

Jamie was used to teachers making a stink about her attitude, but usually throwing her father's name and money around made any troubles go away. She'd never come up against someone like Professor Blake, never witnessed something like The Master.

Charlotte smiled. Even as one of the Master's vessels, she could enjoy the simple satisfaction of turning a problem student like Jamie King into a drooling slave.

"Don't fight it," Charlotte said without speaking, simply staring through Jamie with those white eyes, her intoxicating voice projecting into Jamie's mind, dulling her sense like a mental venom. "Join us."

submit, surrender, obey

"Please!" Jamie cried, her head swiveling on her shoulders as the mental assault weighed down on her. "I'll be good! I'll stop talking in class! I'll write the fucking papers! I'll...I'll..."

Charlotte had risen from her seat and stepped around the desk, unbuttoning her blouse as she approached Jamie. "You'll obey."

"O-obey..." Jamie repeated.

Charlotte took her young student by the chin, admiring her work. "All life surrenders to the Master," Professor Blake moaned.

"Master..." Jamie said in a dreamy sort of voice, her eyes rolling back into her head. "Please..." Her body was shaking, a part of her inside was still trying to fight the fate that Charlotte had already decided for her. "Let me go..."

Jamie quivered when Charlotte dropped her bra, exposing her hard nipples. When Charlotte's voice said "Drink," Jamie couldn't hesitate. She closed her eyes and leaned in, pressed her full lips to Charlotte's nipple, and suckled at her breast. Jamie obediently drank every last drop of the inky black liquid that filled her mouth. When Jamie opened her eyes again, they were as white as Charlotte's, marking her physical transformation into another one of the Master's vessels.

For Charlotte, Jamie was the perfect place to start the assimilation of her classroom. With the queen bee under her control, the rest were soon to follow. But they weren't finished tonight.

Charlotte stifled a moan as Jamie's greedy tongue slid up into her pussy, desperate for another drop of her Master.

[transhuman-priestess]

A High Place in El-Bariyah

The crew of the Huntington grieves the loss of one of their own, while a malevolent force in a distant corner of the solar system forges its newest weapon.

The highly anticipated continuation of The New Flesh is here.

This story contains graphic violence, sexual content, depictions of surgery, brainwashing, identity death, dismemberment, implied rape, abusive parents, firearms, anti-queer slurs, and healthily moderated but melancholy consumption of alcohol.

As always, this story is for adults 18 years of age or older, it's also the third in an ongoing series. Get caught up before you read it!

Chapter 1: The New Flesh Chapter 2: The Third Law

Remember, if you like it, reblog it, and tell me what you liked! I thrive on feedback and shares. I write this stuff for the joy of sharing it with others. Your reblog puts validation directly into my gay little soul.

January 24, 2253 1800 Earth UTC

The Hildas, 530 million kilometers from Jupiter

7 hours. It had been 7 hours since the Huntington had escaped her assailants, and Chester Silvera, First Mate, hadn’t seen the Captain in 6.

He’d just gotten out of the shower. The entire crew was in shock. Most of them had served with Jenna Powell for years. She was their friend, and despite the frequent clashes between her and Holder, Silvera knew that the crew respected and liked both of them.

Silvera surveyed his quarters, a moderately-sized suite of around 20 square meters, containing a modest bed, a small galley, a lavatory, and the shower he had just vacated. The Huntington’s crew accommodations were far from palatial, but they were home.

Chester walked to his dresser, donned a black band T-shirt (The Carowells, Jovian Tour 2250), khaki shorts, and sneakers. He grabbed his portable radio off the table, clipped the handset to his belt and the remote mic to his collar. It chirped reassuringly as he turned it on.

Keying the mic he said, “This is Silvera, anyone seen the Captain?”

A moment later, Jill Campbell’s voice crackled to life on the speaker. “Door logs say she’s still in her quarters. Her radio’s off, want me to ring her?”

“No, I’ll just walk right over, thank you.”

“No problem.”

He opened the door to the hallway outside. The corridor was well-lit, and lined with short-pile navy blue carpet and fake-wood-grained wall paneling that had probably been quite fashionable 20 years ago, but now gave the ship a hopelessly outdated look. Chester actually quite liked it. The old girl was past her prime, but she had a sense of style, and you had to admire her for that.

Holder’s quarters were 10 meters down the hall, on the same side as Silvera’s, adjacent to the bridge entrance. Between their rooms was a corridor that led to the now-vacated Engineer’s quarters, the mess hall, the rec room, and the crew dormitories. As he passed the hallway, Silvera caught a glimpse of Powell’s door. It was closed, and unadorned. He thought about peering inside, but decided that wasn’t his place, and instead he continued to Holder’s room.

Silvera knocked a syncopated pattern on the Captain’s door, and was greeted with a dull, “Enter.”

He turned the knob and swung the door open to reveal the darkened bedroom beyond. A window faced out towards space, looking aft over the ore holds. The #3 bay was still open, its massive door blocking the view of the engines’ yellow-white exhaust plumes.

The captain was lying in her bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t shaved her face yet today, and her stubble was creeping in. Silvera never liked to say anything, but he always thought it gave Holder a dashing, roguish look. Right now though, she just looked exhausted.

“Can’t sleep?” Silvera asked, casually, as if this were a normal cruise under normal circumstances, and he had not a care in the solar system.

Holder just lay there, still staring at the ceiling. Silvera waited for her response. When none came, he asked, “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure,” was all she said.

He turned the lights on to their lowest setting and closed the door behind him. This was the first time he’d managed to get a good look at the captain’s quarters. She hadn’t yet put up any decorations, but she had managed to situate a small bookshelf, her favorite armchair, and a small table that currently held a laptop terminal.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Silvera joked, “Feels just like home.”

“Chester,” said Holder, without looking at him, “can you fucking not right now?”

Silvera smiled, though Holder didn’t see that. He knew his captain, and he knew he had to get her on her feet to keep her out of trouble. Holder was a problem-solver. She needed dirt on the tires and grease on her hands or she got restless. With the ship moving and no burn scheduled for another 10 days, Silvera had to become that problem.

“Terry, the crew needs to hear something from you,” he said, “They’ve just been through hell. They’ve lost a friend. Now they need a leader.”

“Some fucking leader.” was Holder’s bitter reply.

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” he said, “It’s not your fault Powell didn’t put the tether on.”

“Tell that to the court martial.” the captain said, rolling to face away from him.

“I will,” he said, “and so will the rest of the crew.”

Holder sat up and looked at him, “Are you sure about that? They knew her for years. They met me last month. You don’t have to be a physicist to figure that one out, Chester.”

“The crew will stand by their captain.”

Holder stood now, apparently she’d lay down to sleep in her blue khaki work uniform, “Why? Why will they stand by me? I got Powell killed, Chester. She is dead, because, I fucked up.”

“And how did you do that, hmm?” he asked, “By not breathing down her neck and by treating her like a responsible member of the crew?”

“Chester,” Holder’s voice got louder and she began pacing, “You just told me, right before all of this,” she waved her hands in front of her for emphasis, “that I had to drop my grudge against her. That we’d been butting heads for a month and that I was too hard on her.”

“Terry,” Silvera kept his voice even, “you are not the first Captain to lose a crew member to that crew member’s carelessness.”

“Her carelessness?” Holder said, incredulous, “Chester, I am the Captain, everything on the Huntington is my responsibility, the cargo, the safety of the crew, the integrity of the ship, everything!”

“You are one person.” Silvera could feel his fist clenching

“Who is tasked with maintaining discipline and order,” Holder shot back, “I failed in both. Jenna Powell is dead because I couldn’t control her,” Silvera thought he saw tears in her eyes, “I should have supervised the EVA, I should have checked the suit inventory,” she was shouting now, “I should have turned back and looked for her!”

“And gotten yourself and the rest of the crew killed?”, it was Silvera’s turn to shout now, “With all due respect, shut the fuck up, Theresa!”

Holder was momentarily speechless, incandescent with rage. Finally, she found her voice. “If you ever speak that way to me again, Silvera, I will personally make sure you’re-”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off, tired of the show, “you’ll personally make sure I’m cleaning out waste reprocessors on Io until I’m old and gray, I’ve heard it before.”

“What is your problem?”

“You! This!” was his response, “Your crew just suffered a trauma and you’re sitting in here feeling sorry for yourself like some first-year cadet when you should be out there, tending to your crew as a captain should.” Holder collapsed into a sitting position on the bed and buried her face in her hands, muttering something Silvera couldn’t quite hear.

“What was that?” Silvera asked.

“I said,” Holder brought her hands away from her face, and Silvera could see the tears lining her cheeks, “That they deserve a better captain than me.”

Chester Silvera had been friends with Holder for half a decade. They’d met on a cargo hauler, the Venture, where Silvera had an engine technician. She’d stayed up helping him study for his command examine, and he’d been her first mate ever since he’d gotten his commission.

“Terry,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “I have served under,” he counted in his head, “4 captains, including you. Now, maybe it’s just my incredibly wise influence,” he paused briefly, and Holder cracked a tiny smile, “but I would say that you are, by far, the best.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just, like, your opinion, man.” Holder said, bashfully.

“I wasn’t finished,” Silvera continued, “I’ve never had a truly bad captain, but the ones who’ve impressed me the most have never been the ones that put on a stone face and hide behind their command. The best captains are always those who suffer alongside the crew, who laugh and cry with them. You need to be out there. They don’t need you to be their rock, they need you to be beside them in the flotsam while they’re adrift, so that when someone spots land, you can lead them back to it.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Holder grabbed her radio, keyed it, and said, “This is the captain. We’ve had a bad day, probably the worst any of us has ever had. Let’s all meet in the mess hall at 1930. Drinks on me.”

* * *

Time Unknown

Location Unknown

Jenna wasn’t sure if she was in hell yet. She couldn’t possibly be alive in this state. Every signal her body sent was telling her that she should be dead. Her face felt like it was still on fire, her shoulder was in pieces, and she was pretty sure her rib cage was caved in, too. Every breath was agony. She had long since stopped trying to move any part of her body. Even with concerted effort at stillness, though, new pains danced and bloomed throughout her.

Time was behaving strangely, too. She was dizzy, like she’d had too much to drink. Her stomach felt like it was being twisted on an auger. Through the haze of it all, in the back of her engineer’s brain, she knew that if she wasn’t dead yet, she soon would be. She’d taken at least 50 grays of hard fusion radiation. By all accounts, she should have been dead by now.

And yet, she lived. The thing—for that was all that Jenna could call it—that had taken her from the emptiness of space had carried her over its shoulder to some kind of medical facility. It lay her on a cruel-looking steel table and cut her suit off, injecting her with a syringe of some oily substance that filled her mouth with a rusty taste she couldn’t shake. Even now, what had to be hours later, it remained.

She drifted in and out of consciousness for some time. Each time she woke, her head felt slightly clearer. After what felt like half a day, she woke and found that she could move her neck without feeling the crunching of bones beneath it. How long have I been out?

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a wave of intense nausea swept over her. Though the pain had dulled slightly, it still felt as if she might shatter when she reflexively rolled onto her side, and wretched. Nothing came out. She braced herself with her right arm and was surprised to find that she could bear weight on it. She marveled at this only a moment before another convulsion gripped her stomach. This time, she threw up. The room was dimly lit with a warm light, but even the yellow glow could not hide the contents of her stomach as it spilled onto the floor.

Blood. Lots of blood. Some clotted, some not. Some was bright red and some was nearly black. Jenna heaved again. More vomit, more blood. Her engineer’s brain chimed in again. Sodium-24.

The deuterium-tritium fusion that drove the Huntington’s main engines took two hydrogen atoms, one with an extra neutron, the other with two, and smashed them together to form helium and heat. The helium atoms, technically they were alpha particles, were of little harm to the human body normally, though the sheer quantity of them in fusion exhaust posed a danger. The real problem, however, was the neutrons produced as a byproduct. It was them, she knew, that would seal her fate.

It was the sort of thing that had captured her imagination as a young boy in Dublin. A particle so small and nonreactive that it could pass right through solid objects. Except sometimes, it didn’t. Sometimes, the neutron would hit an atom’s nucleus square-on, and stick there. The nucleus would become unstable, rippling like a drop of water falling from a cloud, and then it would break apart. Do this to the right substances, and you could generate power, build a bomb, trace the flow of blood through the human brain. Do it to the wrong substances, the ones that made up your body, and you became a bomb in slow-motion, destroying yourself, unable to prevent your own demise.

Much of the sodium in her body had absorbed neutrons, changing from stable sodium-23 to radioactive sodium-24. While fusion exhaust had neutrons and alpha particles, both of which penetrated relatively little, sodium-24 emitted gamma rays, and those gamma rays could pass through almost anything short of lead, including the human body. As they did, they stripped the ends off her chromosomes, shredding her DNA and leaving her cells unable to replicate themselves properly. The result was that she was dissolving. As the fastest-dividing cells in her body reached the end of their lifespans, they died. Rather than being replaced, her organs were simply shutting down.

But it didn’t make sense. She had taken so much radiation she should have died within an hour. Why hadn’t she? She was pondering that question when the thing that had brought her to this room stepped through the door.

Jenna’s head was clearer now and she was better able to absorb the figure’s appearance. It had a human shape. Bipedal, standing about 180cm tall. The basic outline of it implied that it was, or at least, had been, female. Cybernetic prosthetics were not unheard of but this lay outside the extreme end of that. The thing’s joints were covered in layered segments of metal with a dark oxide coating, tubing ran over its limbs. The only skin that Jenna could see was its face. The face was almost human. Dark lines ran as veins underneath the skin, the lips gunmetal gray, as if the blood inside had rotted. There was hair, a short tangled mess of raven black. One of the eyes was distinctly mechanical, a bright, electric blue. The other was green, and looked natural.

“You are awake,” was all the thing said.

Jenna made a dry croaking sound as she tried to speak. After several seconds of halting attempts, she finally found her voice, “How...how am I alive?” It hurt to speak. She thought she might have burns on her larynx from inhaling fire.

“We have been able to repair your DNA to a degree,” the figure replied, “However the process is not sufficient to ensure survival. Do not be afraid. We will make you one with us.”

“Let me die.” Jenna begged.

“You have been selected to become an assimilator unit for the hive.” was the figure’s flat reply.

“It hurts.” Jenna felt tears running down her face, “Please, let me die.”

“Your body will be modified and augmented to assimilate others into drones for the hive.”

“Like…you? No...no...”

“Do not be afraid. Your body will be altered surgically and mechanically. Due to the extensive mechanical and radiation damage your body has endured, most of it will need to be replaced with a synthetic chassis.”

“No...god, please”

“You will remain conscious during this process.”

Jenna tried to scream but all that came out was a dull rasp

“You are afraid now, but you will enjoy it, soon.”

The figure placed an anesthesia mask over Jenna’s face.

“As your external tissue is so damaged,” it said, in that flat, synthetic voice, “we were unable to administer the nanites in the usual manner. Instead we have given you a 10cc intravenous infusion.”

“Please,” Jenna whimpered, “please kill me”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, however, “Usually,” the figure continued, “The surgical procedures would have begun immediately, but the nanites needed time to stabilize your biological processes. We will now begin.”

It grabbed Jenna’s wrists with shocking strength and fixed them to cuffs on the table. She struggled and pulled and twisted, trying to break free, but she wouldn’t have been able to, even with all her strength in her. And she was so tired. Her heart had been racing since the thing had come in, and the adrenaline had worn her down. It wasn’t so much that she resigned herself to whatever happened, she just couldn’t keep up the fight anymore.

Jenna heard a hissing sound come from the mask as the figure reached beneath the table and twisted something. A sharp, sweet chemical aroma curled into her nostrils. As she inhaled, she could feel herself relax. For a moment she almost forgot about her troubles, but her engineer’s brain started sounding alarm bells. They’re drugging you. It had to be that.

“Please,” said the figure, its voice friendlier, more familiar now, “do not resist the gas.”

“I...I don’t,” she croaked out, “I don’t want this.”

“You do not know what it is you want.”

Don’t I? Jenna thought to herself, Maybe, maybe it’s right.

It was like falling into the arms of a lover after a long day at work. Warmth, softness. Jenna’s mind wandered to an encounter she’d had with a young naval officer she met at a Titan bar not that long ago. How her consort’s uniform had glided so effortlessly off as soon as Jenna’s quarters door closed. How her soft fingers had wrapped around Jenna’s cock at the same time she’d suckled at Jenna’s tits.

Jenna realized her pain had subsided greatly. She also noticed that she had an erection.

“Subject arousal maximized,” said the figure beside her. Jenna looked over her again. She was female, decidedly. Broad-shouldered, but delicate. An artisan’s body. How had Jenna failed to see the beauty there before? “Initiating neural reroute.”

The pain quickly came roaring back, different than it had been before. Before, it felt like her body was on fire. Now it felt like tiny teeth were chewing up her insides. She tried to scream but even as she opened her mouth, it subsided, a beautiful warmth replacing it. It was like falling into the softest bed after the most filling meal in the coziest house in the world.

The world took on a brighter, sharper appearance. Jenna could hear people talking, but couldn’t make out any words. Next to her, the figure spoke, “See, isn’t that better?” As she spoke, the woman ran a mechanical hand up Jenna’s leg. Jenna couldn’t help but curl her body up in pleasure. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the pleasure.

Oh, she thought, I guess you know how to treat a girl.

We have much experience in providing pleasure. Jenna’s eyes shot open. She had heard the woman, not with her ears, but in her head.

The neural transceiver is already functioning? The woman said, You are a promising candidate.

Jenna’s engineer brain was working double-time in thick, deep mud. Neural transceiver?

Jenna could hear the voices again, more clearly now, and realized that they, too, were inside of her. Though every rational fiber of her being screamed to pull away, her curiosity overtook her, and she reached out.

It was like stepping through a door into a crowded amphitheater. Sights, sounds, smells, textures, tastes, movement all seemed to stream into her head from everywhere at once, as if she were both infinite and singular. She flew around the ship, it was smaller than the Huntington. She saw dozens of people and yet felt only one presence. Her mind flicked through them all, letters and numbers appearing with each figure before finally slowing to a stop in the room where she was. The assimilation chamber. Sigma-26 stood above her, warmth on her face. The nascent drone on the table, what had it’s name been?

Deep within Jenna’s mind, a part of her began fighting, kicking, screaming that this was wrong, that there were people out there who missed her. Jill and Karl. Iris and Phoebe. Chester Silvera and Jack Thorton. And Theresa, her captain. Holder hadn’t left Jenna out of spite, or anger. She had been doing her job. She had been trying to keep the others safe and alive.

And yet, the drone now in her head thought, she didn’t even try to save you, did she? She could have tried to scoop you into an ore bay, or given you a few more seconds to make it to the airlock. Instead, she left you out there, adrift. The hive found you. The hive took you in. The hive healed you. Shouldn’t your loyalty lie with them?

Jenna didn’t care. She knew that it wasn’t Holder’s fault. She resisted, trying to pull herself back from the warm light of the Hive. She could feel them working their way into her head. She felt the Hive push into her memories. No, not those!

She was 10, a boy in a flat in Dublin. Her mother has taken her sister, Penny, to the doctor. Her father is asleep, and she’s snuck into Penny’s room. She’s trying on Penny’s dresses when her pa walks in. She’s never seen him so angry.

She was 14, in the boys’ locker room at school. Everyone is showering but she can’t bring herself to take off her shirt. 3 of the other boys corner her. She hides the bruises from her parents.

She was 20, a student at University College Cork, sitting in a doctor’s office. The doctor is writing her a prescription for estrogen. He seems uncomfortable, but says nothing.

She was 21, seeing her family for the first time since starting hormones. Her mother opens the door. She’s confused, but polite. Her father sees her and screams to get out of his house, that he won’t have a faggot for a son. She leaves. It’s the last time she sees her family.

She was 27, on shore leave at Olympus Station, orbiting Mars. She’s leaving a bar, alone, again. After a few minutes of walking, someone hits her hard in the back of the head, knocking her to the ground. The man shoves a chrome handgun in her mouth and says if she makes any sound he’ll blow her tranny brains all over the decking. She thinks about her mother.

She was 28, assigned to MV Huntington, her first posting as chief engineer. The crew are kind to her, but none seek her out. She never grows close to any of them.

She was 30, her new captain wears a nickel-plated .45 on her hip. Jenna’s heart races and suddenly she’s back on Olympus. She runs to her quarters and vomits. The new First Mate knocks on her door. She opens it with tears running down her cheeks. He asks her what’s wrong. She cries for 10 minutes before she can say a word. When she finally speaks, she begs him not to tell the captain. He promises he won’t.

She’s 30. Her face is burning, she’s floating through an abyss, abandoned and alone.

Thinking back on all of these things, the last bit of Jenna Powell, the part that was fighting and screaming for her humanity, grew weary. She had never desired power, or money, or the secrets of the universe. The only thing she’d ever wanted was home. She’d never had it.

The last part of her let go of the cliff it clung to. It fell, backwards, through an infinite abyss. And where it had been, only the drone remained.

“I am a drone of the hive.” she said, “Shape me to a razor’s edge.”

* * *

1930 Earth UTC

MV Huntington mess hall

Captain Theresa Holder stood just outside the entrance to the mess hall. The crew was seated in 2 rows at the long table, nine on a side. Chester was sitting on the left side nearest the empty chair at the head.

The Captain had not told the crew to wear anything special. She didn’t like the formality, and the crew, in turn, had donned their ragtag Sunday best. Jill Campbell wore a navy blue polo. Karl Miller had tied his hair, normally past his shoulders, into a tight bun. Iris Owens was actually wearing a dress. A bright, neon-pink dress with a skull printed on the front, but a dress nonetheless.

Holder, for her part, was wearing her blue dress uniform. Deep navy wool with brass toggles, her captain’s pips on her shoulders. The Civil Navy did not award medals to be worn with dress uniforms, and so on her left breast was a patch that simply said “HOLDER” in light grey letters above the embroidered silhouette of a Shinkelobwe-class ship.

As she entered the hall, Silvera stood, “Captain on deck!” he barked. The crew stood with him. Holder stopped half a meter beyond the threshold. Funerals at sea were one of the times that regulation permitted her to wear the pistol strapped to her hip. Despite this, she made a show, while the crew watched, of removing the belt and hanging it on a hook next to the door. She pulled the pistol from its worn leather holster, and racked the slide back. She had not loaded it prior, and so manually locked it open before replacing it in the belt and turning to the crew. “At ease,” she said, and the crew sat.

She walked, not to the head of the table, but to the foot. She remained standing, and spoke.

“We are here, tonight, our number one too few,” she began, “We have lost our colleague and friend, Genevieve Powell.” She paused, she hadn’t written anything down and was struggling to remember the bits she’d thrown together in her mind as she’d shaved and showered.

“Look,” she said, dropping the air of pretense she’d held before, “Nobody comes out here expecting to die. We didn’t join a combat fleet. We didn’t sign up to be shot at or blow up troop depots or raid supply outposts. We’re miners.”

She looked around at the crew a moment before continuing, “And miners die. It’s been happening ever since humans started digging holes in the ground. Tunnel collapses, methane explosions, tidal shifts. But what happened today, that’s not something, I think, that any of us expected.

“Jenna and I didn’t exactly get along. It feels a bit ghoulish to be up here, praising her, to tell you the truth. Like I’m taking credit for something I didn’t earn. But I need you all to hear this. What happened today, it’s my responsibility. You all performed admirably in a situation that none of us was prepared for. This morning, you were asteroid miners. This evening, you’re heroes, all of you. None more so than the woman who should, by all rights, be sitting at the head of this table.”

Holder gestured in the direction of the empty place setting, “Jenna Powell died trying to get you all to safety. When you tell your friends and families about today, don’t sing praises of your captain. Heap your praise on Jenna Powell, whose loyalty and courage cannot be disputed. Chester, the bottle.”

Silvera stood, grabbing a bottle of whiskey that he had placed on the floor next to his chair. He walked towards Holder, and handed her the thick, ornate glass vessel.

Holder broke the seal and uncorked the bottle. She walked around the table, gently pouring a finger of the amber liquid into each crew member’s glass. When all had been served, she poured herself a glass, and holding it in her left hand, raised it. “To Jenna.”

“To Jenna,” the crew replied, smiles and tears all around, and drank.

After downing her glass, Holder placed it on the table and picked up the bottle. She held it high and said, again, “To Jenna.”

“To Jenna!” the crew said once more.

And with that, Captain Theresa Holder silently drained the rest of the bottle out onto the floor of the mess.

Timecode Error: Format Not Recognized

Hive Interdictor K-14

The drone lay on the table, no longer restrained. Her tired flesh would soon be discarded, replaced by metal, composite, and plastics.

Sigma-26 stood above her, “The radiation has severely damaged your body,” she said to the new drone, “your augmentations will be rather more extensive than most.”

The new drone silently confirmed receipt of this information. 26 began hooking life support tubes into the new drone’s neck. The plan was already clear in her mind. She was eager for it, eager to leave behind the flesh that had confined her and become one with the hive. To feel the electricity run through her wires and hear the thrum of motors and pumps.

26 approached, pulling down an armature from the ceiling that held a large band saw. Wordlessly, she turned it on, and began lowering it towards the new drone’s hips. The blade bit into the damaged flesh of her right leg first, right where the femur met the ball of the hip.

The new drone heard the hive through the wire, It is not clear yet how much of your body will need replacing, it said, the process will proceed in stages to ensure stability.

The blade ground through the new drone’s leg, spitting bits of meat out to the side. As it struck bone the motor bogged down slightly, and the drone felt a high-pitched vibration through her entire being. Waves of pleasure overtook her, the ecstasy of death and rebirth. The nanites in her system worked to seal off the femoral artery and other blood vessels, protecting the brain from losing its precious supply of oxygen. The external life support systems were not yet needed, but that time would come soon.

26 removed the severed limb from the table and began amputating the other leg. Another fine mist of gore sprayed out. It felt so good, the new drone felt itself grow hard as the last bit of skin was severed.

In order to assess tissue damage, the hive spoke again, we will need to access your abdominal cavity. The life support systems will take over now.

Wordlessly, 26 plunged a scalpel into the new drone’s abdomen, just above the pubic bone. She worked it around to the right hip, then back and down almost to the table. She turned then and cut upwards, under and around the lower segment of the rib cage. The new drone’s cock was nearly bursting now, and she gave in, releasing herself, firing juices all over her stomach.

When the scalpel had circumnavigated the new drone’s belly, 26 reached in just under the sternum, and peeled the skin back. It pulled and twisted and sucked, a mass of skin, fat, and muscle a few centimeters thick. It, too, was tossed aside. Another drone came in the door and retrieved the severed legs and the skin flap, whisking them away to a reprocessing terminal.

26 examined the new drone’s organs. The new drone could not see them, but could hear the hive as it wordlessly assessed the situation. The radiation damage was too severe. Her body, even with most of the skin and organs removed, was too damaged to remain.

Full submaxillial amputation necessary, the hive declared.

26 grabbed a port with several needles on the end of various bores. She gently cupped the new drone’s head in one hand, lifting it up, before gently pushing the cable in to the base of the skull. Nanites in the port flooded in, connecting themselves to nerves, building microducts to carry oxygenated blood to the brain after the next step.

When the connection was complete, 26 reached into the open abdominal cavity and began paring out organs. She started with the bladder and intestines. The new drone watched as meters of glistening tubes were removed from her. She could feel herself becoming lighter. The stomach came next, along with the pancreas. Each cut was like an orgasm in and of itself. A blast of pleasure that washed over the new drone like fire consuming kindling.

Her liver and lungs were removed. The new drone could feel her brain stem panicking, trying to force her to breathe with lungs that could not draw air. It was driving her mad, she could feel pressure building up behind her genitals again, and once more she fired off, her glistening seed spurting into the now-empty cavity.

At last, all that was left was her beating heart. It was pounding so fast, and her body was so much lighter now, that she actually thought she might be popping off the operating table under the power of its palpitations. The new drone met 26’s eyes as the latter reached for the band saw. 26 switched the tool on, its blade accelerating to full speed almost instantly. In anticipation, the new drone opened her mouth wide.

26 brought the saw down between the new drone’s jaws. It first caught her cheeks, tearing into them and spraying blood inside her mouth and out the side. She could taste it, the hot, metallic taste of her own body, the last thing she would ever taste. As the blade continued downward it met her mandible, the blade shrieking inside the new drone’s head. It passed out the back side of the bone and immediately dug into the drone’s throat. Blood spurted down it. The pleasure of it all was overwhelming. Finally, 26 angled the blade to pass up through the top of the spinal column, just below the brain stem.

As the blade exited at the end, the new drone felt her body disappear. A nuclear bomb of pleasure went off in her, her eyes rolling back in her skull. The few muscles that remained, as well as the stumps of mandible that had not yet been removed thrashed wildly, for 12 minutes and 22 seconds. When the last wave of orgasm subsided, the new drone opened her eyes.

26 was standing above her, smiling. She felt her hivemate grasp her on either side, and lift her up. It was a curious sensation. She felt so light, so free. Wordlessly, 26 strode over to a person-sized case standing in the corner of the room.

Behold, said the hive, your new form.

The mechanical body was slightly taller than the new drone’s old one. It was sturdier too, with a more muscular look. On top of the neck sat a mechanical mandible. There was no skin, that would be artificially grown over it after assembly. 26 carefully placed the new drone atop the stack, and, using a scalpel, cut away the last bits of her original jawbone.

The artificial mandible responded without command, screwing into the joint sockets on her skull and connecting artificial muscles to mechanical ones. Soon, the drone could feel small actuators gripping the blood vessels inside her and making permanent connections. 26 stood back and watched the process. Finally, she reached behind the new drone and removed the life support tube from the plug. The new drone became momentarily dizzy during the changeover, but 26 was quick to connect the body’s hookup to the port on the skull.

Step forward, came the voice of the hive.

The new drone complied. Wordlessly, she turned around, facing herself away from 26, who began fixing armor plates to the back of her skull, covering up the sensitive port. When 26 was finished, the new drone turned back to face her. She stared down at her new hands, sleek and metal. She flexed her fingers, feeling the power of them. A full diagnostic ran automatically, the results appearing in the corner of her vision, confirming all systems were functioning as designed.

“What is your designation?” 26 asked the new drone.

The new drone looked at her, and said, “I am Sigma-38, assimilator unit.”

Welcome, Sigma-38, came the voice of the hive, we will do great things together.

[callmebliss]

So, I have this bottle of wonderful perfume oil. I originally found it at the Faire when I was 16 and could only afford a tiny amount inside a glass vial hidden in the center of a pendant that was a pewter fairy and flowers (not pictured). I jealously hoarded that oil as my Most Special Occasions Only perfume for twenty years, until I was finally able to go back to that Faire. I didn’t expect the vendor to still be there.

THEY WERE THERE. And I had Grownup Money this time so I bought a proper vial of oil. (Pictured)

More recently, I went on a day trip down to Cape Cod that included a visit to the Sandwich Glass Museum, and I bought a tiny glass perfume bottle. (pictured)

The dilemma before me is how the HECK do I get the perfume oil from the wide mouth glass vial into the slender necked perfume vial without spilling, minimum waste, and without running afoul of the physics of fluids. Thoughts and prayers?

[whereserpentswalk]

Not all hive minds are evil. Not all of them want to assimilate everyone. Not all of them fully override the wills of their subjects.

You hear about the evil ones because that's what humans care about. It's what scares us. And that makes it so we only ever think about them in terms of an enemy to fight. And it makes sense, because an aggressive or malicious hivemind is a truly terrifying thing, but it's not all of them, it's never all of them.

Some of them are just chilling in the darkness of the void, having all the bodies they feel they need, experiencing the world in a way you'd never understand. And if you talk to them, they'd probably be freindly, and tell you things you could barely comprehend, and let you on your way.

But just know that the hiveminds that tend to attack humans are useally on the smaller and younger end. If you gain the anger of a peaceful hive, not even God could help you.

[caprin-mallow]

situation I thought of for my hive mind slime mage

[markophoenix]

which one is being adopted? or which one will you adopt?//ieytd//cursed cats//john juniper, agent phoenix, charlie caliente, hive mind and ollie

[voidarkana]

I keep forgetting to post these, I should probably schedule them all or something 💀

But anyways, here's Iron Hive! the future paradox of both Vespiquen and Combee, funfact while searching for references I found out it's Vespiquen and not VespiQUEEN, very weird

Anyways, onto explaining its origins!

Iron Hive's name comes from not only the fact they're bees and bees make hives, but also because of the fact it's based on hive minds, all these 4 bodies are one single pokemon, and actually the "main" body would be Vespiquen, while the 3 Combees would just be attack and spying drones, simple cameras with no mind of their own because they all are a single individual.

They never rest or sleep, and keep watch when the main body is doing so.

The Vespiquen part is based itself in satellites, specifically death rays, hence why the retro futuristic laser on the tip of its abdomen, instead of a stinger. The parts of its dress/abdomen can open up like a flower to charge up the laser and deliver a deadly blow to its enemies.

Aditionally, it is also based on general decepticon aesthetics, because those are kinda cool.

As always with these paradoxes, here's its cry, combining both Combee's and Vespiquen's cry.

[somnefarious]

It's ironic that having a slight resistance to their honey only makes you that much more desirable to the Hive.

(I had actually sketched this out around the same time as the original drawing, just took me a bit to polish it up)

[lucyjung]

I'm doing littles doodles and i will show them soon

[multiplicationdivision]

Two Video Games, One Controller

Warning: Not really anything sexual. Just stuff I enjoy!

Adjusting to two bodies was unique.

You wake up, tired and caffeine deprived. Get through making your first cup of Joe, too exhausted to even remember what’s different.

You wake up again.

It’s always a surprise. Opening your eyes again in bed when you are also drinking from your favorite cup of cheap cheap roast. That television in your mind switched to a second channel. Playing two games with the same controller.

It isn’t as hard as it sounds.

Two bodies means two brains. Sure, there’s that consolidated personality, that same person at the center of the operation. You can see out of both pairs of eyes, feel out of the same skin. You have twice the subconscious though and twice the neurons to do twice the tasks.

You see yourself enter the room, identical man wearing the boxers and shirt you never thought you’d share. You’re not sharing, but there’s enough dissonance between two bodies that it feels like you’re sharing.

You shouldn’t have been dared into this latest trend.

The celebrities on TV made it seem so cool. Two of the same blond actresses and two of her man, probably paid to make the process seem easy and hot. They had fun juggling an interview between bodies and some part of that seemed nice.

You meanwhile did the thing that was far too cheap upfront and way too complicated out the back.

This other you, who shared every thought and emotion, stared back at you. You stared through him and back at yourself. You couldn’t tell who was put off by you, but the coffee aftertaste made you want to think it was the first body.

It was easy thinking two bodies meant twice the limbs, the same body for the same entity, just more spread out. That wouldn’t be a hive mind though. There was an echo of two minds, wrapping themselves loosely into one mind.

His and yours, bouncing back and forth and confusing themselves because at some points they stopped being one and started being two. It was confusing to say the least.

One of you wore the t-shirt that you should’ve thrown away years ago and the other could tell how shit it looked. That meant twice the awareness of the fact that you wore the threadbare garbage to a date last week. Before all this.

Both of you would have to go to work. Your boss was sympathetic to your drunk decision making and she’d been needing more hands. He, or maybe they, were lucky in a way to have found her some.

The worst part was the embarrassment.

It didn’t say good things about a person to have divided yourself in such a way. Almost like a face tattoo, but with a glaring two-person sign that screamed narcissism and loneliness. Just as permanent as a tattoo too, unless you were willing to pay the therapy that would get you functional again after experiencing actual death.

It wasn’t like losing a limb. You’d checked. The people that came after certainly didn’t look like they’d just lost a cloned body. Most just straight up died, if not immediately, then soon after.

They’d outlawed the shit a day ago, but you were unlucky enough to have fallen face first into the bullet before that. Now you were just one of the many victims who’d chased a tech trend before the side effects were listed. Kyle still texted more than once a day to apologize. You couldn’t blame him much. It had seemed cool.

The most embarrassing part was that fact.

It was cool.

When the dissonance died away with another cup of coffee, it felt good. Gathering up the necessities for work as the other body got outfits together.

They’d needed to buy what felt like a whole other closet and it had been necessary. It was expensive, but fun. You’d always wanted to see first person what you looked like and there was a confidence in confirming that you did actually look good. Bought a variety of the same outfits in different colors.

It had felt way too confusing wearing different shoes and different clothes the few times you’d tried it. One of you would think he was wearing converse whilst the other had boots with a heal. You’d both fallen on your own feet numerous times. It never felt good to feel cold in one body whilst the other was warm. Like drinking boiling mint.

You now had duplicated shoes and the general outfit, but you avoided matching. Maybe it just felt a little too uncanny, but it was mostly to avoid the attention. You always tried to pass it off as being twins, but it hadn’t worked yet. Twins didn’t walk in sync or both answer the same sentence. It was just hard to stay aware of such a thing when you both weren’t focused.

You were getting better at it though. Yesterday, one you had gone out with a placating Kyle and his own friend group whilst the other stayed home to watch Cheers. You could stay focused on one screen whilst staying focus on the other, and a part of you got off on that. You’d even maybe shown off too much when cute Henry asked you to describe scene by scene of what your other self was watching.

When you forgot the last week, every day was way more than before. One of you could read as the other drove, not breaking any laws in the process! Admittedly, the ways you explored a doubled existence were pretty boring. You’d been able to spot yourself at the gym though, that was weird.

You’d been able to masturbate whilst at the grocery story and that had also been weird. Less of a good weird that time. It hadn’t worked out. Turns out one can’t only become aroused in one body, which sorta blew out the plans for one body to slack around whilst the other worked.

Felt good to kiss Henry with two bodies though. That had happened. That had been good.

You were planning on it again. You’d get competitive again with your other self inevitably. Fortunately, he just found it charming, watching two brains running the same hardware find a way to be competitive whilst remembering being jealous from both ends. It was trippy and you made it work.

It was so bad and it was so good.

You gave yourself a look that you returned, something comforting flicking back ad forth in your duel brainstems. Feeling your foot on the gas as your phone swiped to the next page.

It was probably going to be fine.

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