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Spring Framework Tutorial 2025: Build Enterprise-Grade Java Applications

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Rose genetics and the law of unintended consequences (or, ten rose bushes, reviewed)

I have a number of longposts in the backlog, including updates on a number of garden improvement projects I undertook over the winter, but I kept putting off posting them because there kept being Horrors. However, spring is here - in California anyway - and plants wait for no one.

Over the winter of 2025, as a coping mechanism for the aforementioned Horrors, I got really into roses. Because of who I am as a person, deciding what roses I wanted to buy also made me feel obliged to reconstruct the history of rose breeding, just to make sense of the teeming confusion of the tens of thousands of named rose varieties. Humans have been raising roses for food, medicine, and beauty for untold centuries, and so they've really grown up with us. The history of the development of roses, it turns out, is the history of the development of humanity in miniature.

This post has it all: history, some light phylogeny discussion, material analysis of English folk ballads, a conceptual framework for understanding how different kinds of roses vary and why, a #haul breakdown of what bare-root roses I got and what I thought of them, and some philosophical musings on what it means for an organism to be subjected to a long-term selective breeding process, to be remade wholly in the image of human desire. All that, and pictures of roses, under the cut.

My general region of California is considered to have a good climate for roses, much good may it do us. It never gets too hot or too cold, so they essentially never go out of season, and even though our winters are wet, the rest of the year is fairly dry. This is absolutely critical, because the main problem that makes garden roses hard to grow is fungal disease. Modern roses are incredibly susceptible to fungal diseases, which are caused, roughly, by Damp. This has typically been combated with toxic sprays (though there are now less-toxic options) and aggressive pruning regimens.

Needless to say, this is a ridiculous fucking problem for a plant to have. California natives, by comparison, hate irrigation - they have a natural life cycle involving being dry in summer and wet in winter, like California itself, so if you grow them in a climate resembling their natural range, without too much added water, they will be mostly OK. Roses, as far as I can tell, actually hate all water, including rain and humidity, which is much worse because gardeners do not control the weather. If it rains too often after, say, noon, the rose's leaves might get wet, fail to dry off, get a fungal disease, and die. If there is too much fog, or it is humid, as it is in most of the country in the summer, the rose's leaves might get wet &c. If you have a sprinkler system - you get the idea.

Fungal disease can also weaken roses and make them more prone to insect infestations. This is bad because modern garden roses are, without any help from The Weather, already incredibly prone to infestations from aphids, mites, beetles, and a mite-borne disease undescriptively called "rose rosette disease", which produces a habitus that I can only describe as "rose bush eldritch horror".

Now, this may all have you asking one question. Probably, that question is "why are you so obsessed with a plant that wants so badly to die?" I will not be answering this question today. Instead, I will be answering a different question, which is "Why do modern garden roses suck so bad?"

Now, if roses are subject to some manner of curse, then it isn't a family curse, phylogenically speaking. Roses - genus Rosa species extremely miscellaneous - are a member of the family Rosaceae, which contains a massive number of useful and delightful plants. It is possibly the most economically important family of plants next to the brassicas. The rose family brings us not just roses, but apples, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, plums, peaches, apricots, and almonds. And the wild rose, untouched by human efforts, is a lot like a raspberry, actually.

Its flowers have only five petals, in pink or white. It’s got thorny stems that form thickets, and oval (or, technically, lanceolate) leaves with lightly serrated edges. Its flowers are fragrant, which is an adaptation to their long and necessary coexistence with pollinators and other insects - fragrance serves as a chemical signal for insects to "come here" or "go away", depending. The wild rose is hardy, like all wild plants, tolerant of various environmental problems that would kill a garden rose: shade, salt, normal levels of ambient insect and fungal disease pressure, drought, being consistently rained on in the afternoon or evening. It may reproduce asexually from suckers - strong shoots from near the base of the plant - and this makes it able to withstand browsing pressure from e.g. deer. (Put a pin in that.) It also can reproduce in the normal way, by having its flowers pollinated and forming seeds, which are borne in prominent reddish-orange fruits called "hips".

This is not a rose I bought, but here’s Rosa gymnocarpa, a California native rose. It’s a wood rose, so it’s shade-tolerant, and it’s often found in redwood forests specifically, so it tolerates relatively dry soil and very acidic soil.

Honorable mention: Rosa gymnocarpa (wood rose)

Source: Calscape

A raspberry plant in flower, for comparison. Source

The wild rose has another trait, which may be surprising to those who have only ever seen garden roses: it blooms once, usually in the summer. This is typical of flowers, which almost always have a season, for the exact same reason fresh fruit has a season. Flowering plants are on a tight schedule: they need to finish up their blooming, so they can set fruit, so they can get their seeds out before winter, in case the frost kills them off. And mostly we’re used to that: tulips are for spring, so you don't expect a tulip to make a second showing in fall, or to flower continuously throughout the summer. But roses have been bred to do this, and have done it for centuries, for so long we barely remember what it was like when "roses blooming" was a time of year, an event.

It's possible that for most of human history, roses were all the more treasured for being fleeting, which simply isn't an aspect of how we moderns understand roses. I am constantly subjected to traditional ballads at home, both in English and German, so I am very aware that multiple Child ballads mention roses as a way of placing the events of the ballad at a particular time of year. In 'Lady Isobel and the Elf-Knight', a song traditionally associated with May Day, one version of the chorus references the events as occurring 'as the rose is blown'. And at the start of 'Tam Lin', the protagonist meets her fairy lover while plucking a double rose, is "laid down among... the roses red" by him, and finishes the ballad on Halloween night heavily pregnant with his child. The course of the ballad is inextricably intertwined with the course of the seasons, and the bloom of roses is synonymous with early summer. (There's so much symbolism in 'Tam Lin', but especially around roses. Can I interest you in tam-lin.org at this time?)

European religious literature even uses "a rose e'er blooming" as a purely figurative phrase, something impossible and magical enough to be a metonym for the Virgin Mary - but in the modern era, most garden roses are ever-blooming. The perpetual-blooming rose is not the natural state of the rose plant, but a kind of technology that had to be developed. And I don't know, I just think that's neat.

So what have we learned? The wild rose is: once-blooming, tough, possibly shade-tolerant depending on species, very thorny, bearing simple pink or white five-petaled flowers, that are fragrant, pollinator-friendly, and produce fruit readily enough. In short, a practical, normal sort of plant.

The garden rose is…not that. There’s no other way to put this: the modern garden rose is the wild rose, but bimboified.

Now, in case today is your first day on the Internet - well, first of all, welcome, it’s bad here - but secondly, bimboification is a niche fetish where someone is transformed into a hypersexualized version of themselves that is also very stupid. Plant domestication is obviously analogous. I didn’t originate this joke; in fact, I reblogged a joke like this just last week.

Roses are like this but even more so. Like, wheat is clearly bimboified. Its sexual parts (seeds) have been remade, swollen to ludicrous proportions, and wheat is probably worse at being a plant than wild grasses. But we created modern wheat from wild grass because it was more useful that way, and wheat could in theory survive and spread without human cultivation. Roses are Like That purely because we wanted to make them a more perfect decorative object. Centuries of intensive selection pressure for appearance have rendered roses useless as an independent plant: they are so disease-prone they need extensive intervention to even survive, and they are often physically incapable of propagating themselves - one of the basic features of plants! - without human aid. That’s plant bimboification.

Source: Heirloom Roses. This one is called 'Oranges 'n' Lemons. Hardly seems like the same plant!

Here are just a few examples, of what we've done to roses. Humans love rose petals - eating them, distilling them into perfume, smelling them, just looking at them - so the garden rose has massive flowers that are so stuffed with petals that pollinators cannot get at their centers, rendering the rose incapable of reproducing except possibly with the help of a human equipped with a paintbrush. Humans love bright colors, so modern roses come in every color their natural pigments allow. Garden roses are often - though not always - less thorny than their wild cousins, because thorns are inconvenient to humans, and so have been somewhat bred out.

And what’s just as important is what was bred out of wild roses in the process of becoming modern roses - by accident. As mentioned above, modern roses are often useless to pollinators, and, not unrelatedly, can’t reproduce without human help. They often lose their fragrance, if not specifically bred for it. They are very susceptible to disease, because gardeners can keep alive, through sheer stubbornness, plants that natural selection would have culled. Likewise, they need full sun where many wild roses can get by even in the shade of big evergreens, and they can't tolerate nearly as much cold, heat, or salt exposure as their wild relatives.

This 'use it or lose it' thing, by the way, is a general principle of selective processes like plant breeding, or like evolution. If you have two independent traits, A and B, and you select hard for A, then B is likely to gradually drop out of the population, simply because the subset of A carriers that also have B is likely to be small. It's pure statistics. (It essentially is a human-created population bottleneck.) The more intense and ruthless the selection pressure, the stronger the effect. Evolution cares a lot about seed production and hardly at all about color, so wild roses are plain but make enormous rose hips; humans like beautiful roses the color of sunsets, and are indifferent to seed production, so modern roses don’t make hips at all. The failure to select for eventually becomes an implicit selection pressure against.

(Highly-bred organisms are thus less, I guess, well-rounded genetically even before you get to issues of inbreeding, and if you assume there is no biological link between your selected-for traits and other ridealong traits, e.g. domestication syndrome. Genetics is complicated!)

One adapted wild-type trait that - I speculate - was not bred out, due to its direct usefulness to humans, was the ability of roses to grow back vigorously from having leaves or branches removed. This is, it seems to me, an adaptation to herbivore browsing - if you are a rose with minimal regrowth ability, and a deer chews on half your canes, it’s curtains for you. But humans also fully remove half of the canes of their garden roses every winter - it’s critical to controlling the fungal disease that so plagues them. Specifically, pruning improves airflow through the plant, which evaporates the water that keeps falling on the leaves from the sky. (You know. The rain, that roses both hate and need to live.) In some sense, we are acting as caretakers here, shaping the plant in inscrutable ways for its own good. But to the plant, we are basically deer: just another in a long line of animals that want to steal its leaves. Unbelievable! It needs those! Fuck you too, buddy: here’s a faceful of thorns.

Truly, a tale as old as time.

This brings me to my first actual rose review, a kind of bridge between wild roses and the world of cultivated roses.

#1: Rosa rugosa, probably "Hansa"

Source: the author's yard.

This is a sucker - a vigorous young ground-level shoot - from an unnamed rosebush from my mother's house. I say "probably 'Hansa'" because we have no idea what this actually is, only that it is a rugosa hybrid, purchased from an unknown nursery in the Midwest sometime during the Bush administration.

'Hybrid rugosas' are crosses between garden-type roses and a wild rose species called Rosa rugosa, which is native to much of Asia. This particular rose bush has many traits carried over from its wild parent: it's violently fragrant, a glorious sweet-spicy combo that smells to me like childhood and home; it has wrinkly leaves (characteristic of Rosa rugosa in particular); its stems are practically coated in prickles; and it's quite tolerant of shade, drought, and salt (Rosa rugosa is a beach rose).

The main virtue evinced by this rose, derived from its wild parent, is the same reason that it is still here in my garden: it is extremely difficult to kill. My mother, after hearing me say I wanted this specific rose bush at my house the same way it had been at my childhood home, dug up a sucker from her instance, put it in a bag with some wet dirt, carried it by hand on a multi-hour cross-country plane flight, and handed it off to me. Once I received it, I stuck it in a pot, because I was ripping up my lawn and had nowhere to plant it, and mostly forgot about it, because I was busy ripping up my entire lawn. It lost its leaves suspiciously early in the fall. ("That's not good," my mother said, over FaceTime, brow furrowed. "Are the rest of your roses doing that?")

But as the saying doesn't go, "where there's green cambium, there's hope", and I continued to take care of it throughout the winter. I eventually even remembered to put it in the ground. It is now March, and in defiance of the mockery of certain judgemental housemates, who said things like "why do you have a stick in a pot?" and "it's giving 'dead', my guy", this "stick" has now decided to become a rosebush, and has a grand total of (approximately) twenty-five leaves.

Like I said: extremely difficult to kill. It is currently planted 10-ish feet from the base of a redwood tree, a tough environment where some hardy garden-style roses have nonetheless been known to thrive. Given that its resurrection has occurred entirely while it was planted under the redwood, it doesn't seem too mad about its environment.

Review: holy shit, it’s alive???

#2: Zéphirine Drouhin, the "old garden rose"

Source: Heirloom Roses

Rosarians have conceived of many groupings of garden roses, based on known ancestry, phenotype, genetic studies, and Vibes, but one major breakpoint is those bred before 1867, the "old garden roses", and after 1867, the "modern garden roses".

The old garden roses were derived mostly from ancient European and Middle Eastern stock, which had themselves been created from wild roses centuries prior. For example, this is Rosa x alba, an ancient European rose strain; it was used as the heraldic badge of the medieval House of York during the English conflict known as the War of the Roses.

Source: not mine

Some of these roses are perpetual-blooming, a trait introduced as late as the eighteenth century, and which is entirely due to trade contact with China: as far as I can tell, the genes for strong reblooming only come from the Chinese rose-breeding tradition, which was itself centuries old by that point. So the modern Western concept of perpetual-blooming roses as the default kind of rose - like so many other aspects of modernity - is a direct result of Europeans cribbing from everybody else.

Interestingly, France was a major center for rose development during the early modern period. You can see it in the way old garden roses are named: overwhelmingly after some eminent madame or monsieur. This is probably connected to the fact that Josephine, Napoleon Bonaparte’s empress, was a rose fiend: she had two hundred and fifty new varieties of rose to be brought to her gardens at Château de Malmaison, which was probably pretty much all the named varieties of rose that existed then, and many of which were new to European cultivation at that time. Again, this represented a massive inflow of rose genes that were previously restricted to other countries or continents entirely. Inextricably, these gardens also represent the proceeds of early modern global trade, and of empire: Napoleon, on campaign abroad, himself sent her hundreds of specimens of flowering plants, and the French navy confiscated plants and seeds from ships captured and sea and sent them to her.

Anyway, Zéphirine Drouhin, created at the end of the "old garden rose" period and named for some now-forgotten madame or mademoiselle, is highly fragrant - one of the few roses said to really perfume the air - with a vibrant but old-fashioned color palette. (Apricot and yellow roses were also characteristic of the Chinese rose gene pool, and so were significantly less common in old garden roses.) Zéphirine Drouhin is also thornless, a rare trait that we nonetheless see in some old-fashioned garden roses, and a few modern garden roses as well.

Old garden roses have a variable but generally good level of disease resistance. Zéphirine Drouhin in particular, gets something of a bad rap for poor disease resistance; English rose breeder David Austin Roses says, tactfully, that it "prefers warmer climates" (versus, one must assume, rainy England) and that "controlling disease can be a problem". By this you should understand them to mean that it is a whiny little pissbaby that constantly gets blackspot, a diva that will defoliate at the drop of a hat (or the drop of, uh, water).

However, unlike certain other newer roses I will mention later, I have found Zéphirine Drouhin to be pretty healthy so far. I received this rose, like many in this post, "bare root", basically a stick, dormant in a bag of wood shavings. Upon being planted in a part-sun area, it has leafed out with only a scattering of aphids to show in terms of disease.

Review: So far, so good. Looking forward to the fragrance.

#3 and 4: 'Mister Lincoln' and 'Fragrant Cloud', the hybrid tea brothers

Remember how I mentioned that 1868 is the breakpoint between "old garden roses" and "modern garden roses"? That year marked the invention of a new type of rose, the 'hybrid tea', that is in some sense THE rose, the ARCHETYPE of a rose. If you ask someone who knows nothing about roses to draw 'a rose' - if you look up clipart of a rose - a hybrid tea rose is what you'll get.

Source: Star Nursery

This is Mister Lincoln, and although it was developed as late as the 1960s, it has the classic hybrid tea rose form. Hybrid teas have a very distinctive shape, described as "high-pointed", with a spiral of unfurling petals that curl at the edges, and they're borne singly on long stems, making them great for cutting and putting into vases and bouquets. They are not always strongly fragrant, and they are not generally very disease-resistant. They come in a very wide variety of colors, intense and subtle. They are reblooming.

Hybrid teas were developed by another East-meets-West cross, when the Chinese tea roses, freshly imported from Guangzhou in the early 19th century, were bred with the old garden roses. Tea roses have the same iconic form as the hybrid teas; they have those unique, pastel shades that were previously quite absent from European rose stocks; they smell like a fresh cup of tea. All these traits they impart to hybrid teas. Hybrid teas have been very popular ever since, and have been subject to a great deal of selective breeding for color and form.

Hybrid teas don't generally spark joy, to me. I find the 'cartoon rose' shape kind of twee, honestly. And the reputation for lack of disease tolerance puts me off. But I heard Mister Lincoln was incredibly fragrant, and that drew me in. Likewise Fragrant Cloud (1967), which also has the charming feature of being a violent neon coral that is allegedly very difficult to photograph.

Source: Heirloom Roses

“It'll be fine," I thought. "How much fungal disease can it get? It's not like it's humid here."

Never again. My trust is destroyed; fuck hybrid teas.

please, my son, he is very sick

This is my poor Mister Lincoln, planted from bare-root in mid-December. It has three different fungal diseases, and also an aphid infestation I can't seem to get it to shake. It looks like one of those diagrams of a liver in a medical textbook that has fatty liver and cirrhosis and liver cancer all at once, just so you can see what all the diseases look like. This is a rose that has every problem! No other rose in this flower bed comes close to having every problem! 'Munstead Wood' is also a modern garden rose (though from a very different lineage - see my review below) and it has no fungal diseases and not a single aphid!

Well, maybe the other hybrid tea I bought is doing better... well, nope, it rained last week and Fragrant Cloud has powdery mildew.

Review: Come on, man.

#5 Unidentified ‘sunset’ rose

I didn’t buy these roses; they came with my house. As a consequence, I have no idea what they are, but I am now intimately familiar with their traits, and I think they are very indicative of both the high and low points of modern garden roses.

On the surface level, the fact that these rose bushes are still with us is an impressive proof of their persistence under adversity. When I bought the house, these roses were being choked to death. Lily-of-the-nile had been planted way too close to them, and then permitted to grow unchecked and undivided for many years; their roots were completely infiltrated and surrounded with lily roots. The lily roots had also damaged the irrigation lines, which were dribbling uncontrolled amounts of water into the shared root zone. So when I excavated these roses, the whole area smelled strongly of rot, with visible mold throughout; the roots were fully wet even in the heat of August. The roses were also infested with blackspot, not surprisingly. I wasn’t sure if what I was doing was too little, too late.

But when they finally got some drainage, some direct sunlight, and some relief from the brutal root competition, they did start growing back, and even blooming. Come winter, I pruned hard, defoliated, and applied neem oil consistently. And they’ve made a comeback!

Source: these blooms are actually my roses.

They bloom, and they’re beautiful. They do this ombre thing, where the buds are bright yellow and as they open they go from yellow, to orange, and finally to red.

The growth is fairly vigorous, with no powdery mildew no matter how rainy it gets. But their foliage definitely suffers from blackspot, and occasional rose rust; the spores are probably ambiently present in the soil now, and they can’t quite seem to defend themselves, even with ample help from organic fungicides like neem oil.

They also have no fragrance. They smell like nothing. And that’s the standard modern garden rose in a nutshell, I think: beautiful color and form, shaky disease resistance, little fragrance. It’s a little sad, honestly.

Review: Okay, this one is really pretty, actually.

Interlude: Pesticides and the law of unintended consequences

So, yeah, you can sort of see how roses got a reputation for being picky divas. I can only imagine how bad this sort of thing must get in places that get (gasp!) rain or humidity in the summer.

Now, having created plants that are too disease-ridden to live, rose-lovers came up with practical and effective solutions to the disease problem they created. For the past century or so, the go-to fix for our increasingly disease-prone rose population has been chemicals: regular applications of synthetic insecticide and fungicide sprays, as well as plenty of fertilizer and herbicide to feed the roses and kill any competing weeds.

However, recall the theme of this post: the law of unintended consequences. In agriculture, the development of modern pesticides and fertilizers has been genuinely miraculous; the Green Revolution is estimated to have saved a billion people from starvation in the latter half of the twentieth century. Saving a billion people! Can you even begin to conceive of what it would be like to save a billion people, even grapple with the moral weight of that act? I know I can't; the number is simply too large for our moral intuitions to handle, I think. So I'm hesitant to bad-mouth pesticides and fertilizers too much.

But they do have massive downsides. Chemical fertilizers leach into the groundwater and cause algal blooms that make entire bodies of water go anoxic, rendering them uninhabitable to fish and the rest of the aquatic food chain. Insecticides are probably responsible for colony collapse, which endangers the pollinators that we rely on for our food supply.

And, well, even if you don't give a shit about the natural world - you are a part of the natural world. You are an animal, with all the frailty that implies. Our bodies use many of the same ancient metabolic pathways as insects and plants; the majority of your DNA is shared with a banana. And because you are an animal, it is very difficult indeed to create an insecticide that will poison other animals without poisoning you too, at least a little. Herbicides are somehow still worse, despite the more distant biological relationship between humans and dandelions: Roundup, for instance, is linked to non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, which has led to Monsanto paying out massive legal settlements to cancer patients who used their products.

So if we can't grow roses without coating them in poison, maybe we should just… not do that? Go back to growing super-hardy nearly-wild roses like rugosas, forgoing forever the elegance and sublime color of a modern rose?

Give up this? ‘Glowing Peace’, Heirloom Roses

Not so fast! Maybe this technological problem has a technological solution. If we bred roses so that they sucked, maybe we should just not do that! Make different roses! Make roses that don't suck!

#6-#8, ‘Ebb Tide', 'Eden', and 'Lavender Crush': roses that don't suck

Over the last fifty years, people have become increasingly aware of the impacts of modern lifestyles upon our health and the health of the planet and its ecosystems. So maybe this has made the public less willing to buy roses that need to be treated constantly with toxic sprays. Or maybe it's just that growing disease-prone roses is an enormous pain in the ass. Spray, prune, spray, defoliate, fertilize, spray, fertilize, spray, water - but not too much! Oops, powdery mildew. Defoliate and spray some more.

So the genetic health of the newer varieties of garden roses is greatly improved. The two hybrid teas I struggled with above were bred in the 1960s. All the named rose varieties in this section were bred since the 1990s or later: Eden in 1997, Ebb Tide in 2004, and Lavender Crush, the baby of the group, was introduced in 2016. All of them are vibrantly healthy and quite vigorous; Ebb Tide and Eden are shade-tolerant too, and Lavender Crush is allegedly very winter-hardy. After a scant two months in the ground, they've started to put out flower buds. And they keep some of the glorious color and form of older roses. Look at them!

Source: Heirloom Roses.

I don't mean to say all 20th century roses are bad and disease-ridden. I also have purchased 'New Dawn' (introduced 1930), due to it being the fifteen-dollarest rose at the Home Depot. (My toxic trait is that I am an absolute sucker for a good deal. I don't go into TJ Maxx anymore; it's too dangerous.) 'New Dawn' has all the ancestral, throwback traits I laud here: shade-tolerance, fragrance, disease resistance. It even brings in the pollinators! But it seems to me there's been a noticeable uptick in the quality of newer rose introductions, particularly when it comes to disease resistance. I'm not wired into the professional rose world to know what that is; I'm Literally Just Some Guy. But it's a good trend.

Review: I am so excited for the buds to open, you have no idea.

#9: 'Double Knockout': the 'landscape' rose

Wait, no, I take that back. These roses have too much ease of care. Put some back.

The Knockout rose has one virtue: you cannot kill it with an axe. Literally.

This rose was planted right at the foot of a redwood tree in my garden, because the previous owner of my house was an idiot. This is a terrifically bad setup for roses and redwoods: redwoods acidify the soil, and suck up water and nutrients aggressively, leaving little for surrounding plants, and of course they provide dense shade. Roses hate the acid, the dry and low-nutrient soil, and the shade; this plant never bloomed all last summer. For their part, the redwoods hate having anything planted in their inner root zone - their roots are relatively shallow for such a large tree. This is not a good situation for anyone, so I hacked this rose back to the ground, dug out as much of the root ball as I dared, and in my naivete thought that would be the end of it. Well, it has grown back. Now I am faced with the dilemma of whether to risk root injury to my redwood tree, or just let the rose be, bloomless as it is. Probably the latter is better for the redwood tree, on the whole. Maybe it’ll get choked out if I don’t water it? Anyone’s guess, really.

The category of landscape roses is a 2000s invention. The first Knockout rose was introduced in 2000 after years of intensive selective breeding for being easy-care, free-flowering, and disease-resistant; the similar Drift line was the product of an amateur rose breeder in 2006 to much the same ends. Landscape roses are so named because instead of being demanding prima donnas suited only to those who love roses enough to take on the Rose Tasks, they’re just another pretty shrub in the landscape.

And I will say this for them: in that bad, fungal spore–inundated flower bed I mentioned, my landscape roses (plus Munstead Wood, see below) are notably free of fungal disease.

Also, I think that's leaf tissue proliferating at the center of the bottom left bloom?? A rare but harmless growth disorder of flowering plants.

This comes at a cost, of course, at least if you’re a snob like me. I don’t think landscape roses are very interesting-looking - though of course they come in a wide variety of colors, the better to coordinate with the color scheme of your house! - and they are generally, tragically, without fragrance. While I can’t complain about anything that gets US gardeners to use less pesticides, they are barely roses to me. They are, in fact, the closest roses come to being an inanimate object, a decorative thing you can just plonk down in your garden wherever, like a tacky concrete statue. They’re a commodity; the enchantment is gone. I wouldn’t rip them out where they’re well-sited, but I sure wouldn’t plant more.

Now, this is incredibly mean to people who love landscape roses, but here goes. I’m reminded of a thread from r/Ceanothus, the California native gardening subreddit, that is now burned into my brain. OP asks for a native shrub recommendation, but not just any native shrub. OP wants a native shrub that will grow very tall, but also stay very narrow - 1’ wide in places. OP needs a native shrub that will grow thick and vigorous, to block out their view of the neighbors. OP needs this thing to be evergreen; OP presumably wants low water inputs. And OP needs all this, in a shrub that will grow in full shade.

In fairness, OP was polite about it, and this is a common problem for urban gardeners. The dark, untended canyon between buildings is a very common phenomenon in Californian cities. I too have a narrow, shaded side yard containing a tiny strip of crappy, gravelly dirt, that I’d love to grow something in: how do you think I found this post? Dear reader, I am very much at that devil's sacrament.

And the ceanothusheads of r/Ceanothus tried gamely. But one commenter replied with something that fully changed how I think about gardening:

Source: Reddit

Sometimes, what you need is not a living organism, with its own needs, that will change over time in ways you may not endorse, that interacts with the world around it. Sometimes what you really want is a man-made object. Sometimes what you want to grow in your tall, narrow, lightless, bone-dry side yard, for your privacy requirements, is a fence. And that’s what I think about landscape roses. In Mediterranean and desert climates, as long as there's enough sun, you can always fall back on planting a succulent. But not every location can grow succulents outdoors year-round. In temperate climates, landscape roses could probably be successfully replaced with a particularly attractive boulder. Or, if what you want is a smart-looking, easy-care hedge: consider a fence.

Review: I’d maybe rather plant a fence a succulent.

#10: 'Munstead Wood': the old English rose, reloaded

‘Munstead Wood’, my final acquisition, is a credit to another major modern rose breeding program, this time out of England: David Austin Roses. The main idea of the David Austin rose-breeding project seems to be combining the particular charms of traditional English old garden roses - their fragrance, their romantic, sophisticated forms - with the virtues of modern roses - continuous blooming, a wide range of highly Instagrammable colors - plus disease-tolerance that twenty-first century gardeners now expect. And judging by their singular impact on the contemporary rose market, they seem to have been very successful at that goal. The Reddit reviews are glowing, the forums are abuzz for their hottest new releases (Dannahue restock wen?), their most popular roses are often sold out, and other rose sellers have catalog filters for 'English shrub roses' that allegedly share the looks and fragrance of David Austin's best.

From the author's camera roll. 'I can't believe it's not Dave [sic] Austin!'

Their marketing is also very slick. Their website is very informative, with separate filters for various kinds of roses you might want to buy ('Best for fragrance', 'For a shady spot', 'Thornless or nearly so'), all the rose varieties have literary or historical names or else are named after charming British locations, and are all beautifully photographed in their idyllic show garden, and the prose is carefully engineered to incite lust in the winter-weary gardener. They even do periodic drops of new roses, like a sneaker company.

So last November, I allowed myself to buy one David Austin rose, 'Munstead Wood'.

Source: David Austin Roses

'Munstead Wood' is really gorgeous, I think, blooming in a deep burgundy color. The website claims the fragrance is "Old Rose, with fruity notes of blackberry, blueberry and damson".

An interesting fact about 'Munstead Wood' is that it is actually region-locked. David Austin Roses sells roses in both the US and UK (and maybe other places; sorry I am so American), but the climate of the UK has been changing, with more extreme weather events and even more rain. And you know how it is with roses and the rain. 'Munstead Wood' was no longer able to thrive, and has packed up its little rucksack and gone out to explore the world as a lone vagabond - specifically, America.

So how is it doing here? Great, actually. It may have been rained on every day for the past week, but at least it's not in England, I guess.

'Munstead Wood' has no fungal disease. It looks like it's never even heard of fungal disease. I'm pretty impressed! I can't actually tell you whether the roses are good, but this is a pretty good plant, which is a good start.

Review: I'm holding myself back from buying more David Austin roses right now. God help me, I have two more open full- to part-sun spots in my garden right now.

David Austin, "Lady of Shalott". Call me the Lady of Shalott the way I'm languishing in my tower, gazing only at the mere reflections of the real world (stuck inside, looking at my phone, because of the rain) and am about to throw myself in the river with longing (to be out in the garden)

[toriaaniin]

What If There Is a Contract?

Making sense of the silence, the suffering, and the sacrifice

This post emerged from reader responses to my Shared Camouflage entry — a swell of questions, confusion, and speculation about what could possibly explain the year-long chaos we've all witnessed. This isn’t meant to be a definitive answer, and it won’t solve every mystery or satisfy every doubt. But laying out a framework — one grounded in timeline logic, PR behaviour, and pattern recognition — might help clarify how we got here. We don’t know for certain if a contract exists.... but from a critical thinking perspective, based on what we’ve observed unfolding in public view, it’s the most coherent explanation for the prolonged confusion and controlled visibility we've seen.

The Migraine Questions

Why would anyone agree to something this damaging?

Why would Luke allow himself to be hated for a year?

Why does Nicola seem to let herself be erased?

And if this entire PR narrative — the public pairings, the optics, the storyline — is fake… what is the point?

What We in the Lukola Ship Know (or Strongly Suspect)

Luke and Nicola are together.

Baby Newts (to many of us) is real.

Antonia is not a girlfriend — she is a presence, not a partner.

There has been a clear pattern of PR pairings, silence, and constraint.

The Theory: What If a Contract Exists?

Pre-Contract (Feb–April 2024)

Luke and Nicola begin reconnecting in a real way around Valentine’s Day. Antonia may have still been loosely in the picture, but by mid-spring, the momentum had shifted. By April, Luke and Nicola were deeply engaged in joint promo content and travelled to Australia for the first leg of the world tour. Clues suggest that Baby Newts was conceived sometime before or during their Italy stop.

In late April, Antonia begins teasing photos from a previous LA trip with Luke and his friend group. PR may have noticed an opportunity. A soft PR agreement might have been arranged to leverage Antonia’s proximity without confirming any relationship — a move that could signal to external observers that Luke was still romantically ambiguous, thus cooling the escalating Lukola buzz without committing to a new narrative or taking attention away from Bridgerton S3 promotion. From a PR perspective, it offered plausible deniability, control over optics, and a short-term distraction. No formal contract yet — just access.

Initial PR Agreement (May-June 2024)

At the NYC premiere on May 15, Antonia attends the afterparty. Nicola looked visibly unhappy, and Luke was clearly stressed. Whatever informal arrangement existed up to that point may have backfired. I believe a formal PR contract was drafted shortly after this... not to protect Antonia, but to contain her, while still using her presence to quiet the rising Lukola buzz.

This is when I believe Contract 1 was signed — including provisions for:

Appearance agreements

Social media engagement

Quiet narrative control

Possibly, retroactive IG clean-up (e.g. Luke’s back-liking spree)

If Luke and Antonia had been in a genuine relationship, the rollout would have looked radically different. She would have been gradually introduced to the public — first perhaps as a member of his team, then as someone likable in her own right, with small public comments and professional proximity. A staged “getting to know you” arc could have ended with a soft announcement. It wouldn’t have pleased everyone, but it would have translated goodwill into redirected support. Instead, what we got was confusion, coldness, and backlash; the telltale signs of a narrative being managed, not lived.

Why do I believe that Contract 1 was signed after NYC? Because in the days that followed, Luke — or someone on his social media team — went back and liked every single post on Antonia’s Instagram grid dating back to July 2023. This kind of retroactive engagement reads like a calculated attempt to build a visible digital history, likely to legitimize the narrative that they had been close for some time.

Crisis Escalation & Possible NDA (June–August 2024)

On June 12 — just one day before Papgate and the official launch of Season 3, Part 2 — Nicola posted a song with lyrics that said "I'm gonna wait for you." With the benefit of hindsight, many interpret the posting of this song as a quiet, emotionally grounded farewell to Luke before he disappeared into the obligations of Contract 1. Nicola’s action in posting the song reads as a final moment of personal truth before strategic silence descended. From that point on, Luke was seen fulfilling obligations with Antonia — publicly visible but emotionally absent. Nicola, likely in her first trimester, faces this largely on her own.

The London premiere on June 13 is followed by the infamous Papgate in the early hours of June 14. During the premiere, Luke expressed excitement about "the next day" — when Part 2 of Season 3 would be live and he could finally talk about the final four episodes. But that next day never came for him. He was silenced. There were no post-release interviews, no promo push, no celebration. On June 15 — just after Papgate — Luke posted an image to his IG stories from Episode 6 of Season 3, featuring Colin and Penelope dancing at the Mondrichs’ ball. In that scene, Cressida Cowper walks in and Colin says, "I will not let her ruin our night." Luke didn’t include the line in his story, but the fandom recognized the scene — and the subtext. It felt like a quiet, coded message: a moment of resonance that reflected the chaos Luke was enduring at that exact time. Even in silence, there was signal. Crisis management for Shondaland may have entered at this point, concerned about affects Papgate could have on Bridgerton watch-numbers, etc. Whether this is when the original contract was rewritten or enforced more aggressively is unclear — but the cost became visible. Luke looked distant. Antonia went rogue. The narrative was slipping.

The Sorrento trip in late July marked a turning point. Following this trip, I believe that if an NDA was not already in the contract with Antonia, it was enacted at this time. Luke’s presence was scrubbed from all the friend group’s Sorrento posts, and his long-standing friendship with Rory appears to have ended. Antonia archived grid photos and her posting behaviour where Luke was involved changed. It was a digital purge that signaled a shift from messy coordination to controlled silence.

Re-Negotiation & Reset (Jan–Feb 2025)

I believe re-negotiation of the contract occurred a few months earlier — likely around November 2024 — after a noticeable pause in what seemed to be a planned soft launch by Luke and Nicola. Activity suggested they were preparing to become more open, but abruptly pulled back.

Around this time, it’s possible that Antonia’s agent or legal team approached Luke’s team regarding unfulfilled obligations. From Antonia’s side, her motivation may have stemmed from the ongoing online hate she’d been receiving and a desire for greater visibility (which would explain the concentrated tabloid placements that followed). Alternatively, the push may have come from Luke’s team, frustrated by Antonia’s occasional IG story taunts (including a particularly pointed one in mid-November: PastaGate), and looking to reestablish structure. Regardless of who initiated it, the re-negotiated contract seems to have held benefits for both parties: increased media coverage for Antonia, and a way for Luke and Nicola to draw attention away from Nicola during Baby Newts’ early months. A revised agreement was likely drawn up — one that Luke and Nicola agreed to honour not immediately, but beginning in early 2025, when they needed the most cover.

In late January, the contract appears to have gone into effect in its new form. This is when Antonia reappears — at the BOSS event, the GQ BAFTA-Film After Party, then during the BAFTA-TV weekend — but with extreme limitations. She has no purse (no phone), she posts nothing herself — no grid posts, no stories in real time — as though she's not permitted to. The only exception was following the BAFTA Pre-Party, when she shared a few professional images to her stories after Luke posted his own grid carousel. Since then, she has posted nothing — not from the BAFTA Awards ceremony, nor the afterparty. The pattern feels tightly controlled, not casual. It feels like a renewed but heavily restricted version of the earlier agreement.

The BAFTA events themselves felt like a deliberate reboot of Papgate, but with tighter choreography. Nicola was once again alone. Antonia, once tentative, now had a clearer spotlight. Luke remained emotionally distant. Instead of rewriting the narrative, they appeared to copy-paste the original disaster — upgrading the visuals without changing the story. That repetition didn’t clarify anything. It deepened the sense that this wasn’t a love triangle. It was a contract playing itself out in reruns.

Nicola is still quiet, but not erased. Luke is present, but distant. The new contract feels designed to mask the truth, not push a lie.

Where We Are Now

I believe the contract may be close to expiry. 🤞🏻 If it began shortly after the NYC premiere (mid-May), it may end in May or June 2025... possibly one year from Papgate. The hope is that once expired, the truth won’t need a soft launch. It will simply be allowed to exist.

Why Would Anyone Do This?

Because once the machinery was in motion, stopping it might’ve caused more damage than continuing. There may have been legal exposure, brand risk, or fear of backlash — not just for Luke and Nicola, but for Baby Newts too.

Because protecting the reality of their relationship — and the life they were building — mattered more than preserving public image. Once the contact ends and life settles down, each of them can and will work to repair any reputational damage done. This is the one of the reasons I believe Luke is currently rebranding (note that branding is an organic activity that never ends. Think Madonna, regularly re-framing herself). This past year has felt an eternity to us, but in the span of their careers, this is a blip. Consider too that our Lukola numbers when compared to the general audience numbers is very small. Luke & Nicola will recover, and this too shall pass.

And maybe because they thought it would be over sooner.

The Real Cost

The toll hasn’t just been emotional. It’s been professional. Luke’s reputation — once poised for ascension — has been dragged down by the optics surrounding this narrative. If Antonia were truly his partner, her public behaviour has done little to support or humanize him. If she isn’t, then the damage is even worse — a year-long campaign of cold optics and missed opportunities, tethered to someone who never earned the public’s trust. Either way, the brand has suffered.

Luke’s public warmth has been replaced by guarded neutrality. Nicola’s spark, while still glowing, has had to dim beneath performance. The fandom has whiplash. The story has slipped into ambiguity. And the joy that was once so easy to witness is now obscured by strategy.

But none of it means the love isn’t real. It just means the world hasn’t been allowed to see it.

Yet.

Aaniin Xxx

P.S. Find a listing of this blog post series along with short summaries of each - including those not yet published - here:

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

More to Love | Sebastian Sallow x OC

listen we are all guilty of describing tall, model sebastian with a perfectly toned body and abs who is never insecure BUT NOBODY, AND I MEAN NOBODY, can rid of me of the headcannon that adult seb is a chunky man. nobody. you can tear it from my cold dead hands. have y'all seen solomon? beyond adolescence, sebastian does not have the genes for a fast metabolism, nor does sebastian possess self control against his vices (aka sweets). anyway this is a completely selfish indulgence. thick sebastian supremacy. that is all, tysm.

p.s. if anyone finds any fan art of this version of him i would literally go feral...

Words: ~5,400

Tags: Post Canon, Insecure Sebastian, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Implied Smut, Size Kink(? I mean like I guess but I feel like we should just be appreciating all bodies ?)

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of their cozy cottage, casting a warm golden glow over the kitchen. The faint, sugary scent of last night’s baking still lingered in the air—Evangeline’s attempt at perfecting a new cookie recipe. Sebastian remembered how she had glared at a plate of the so-called failures, muttering something about them being “too dry." Sebastian had happily devoured them, brushing off her perfectionist grumbles with a wink and a mouthful of cookies.

Now, the house was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds outside. Evangeline had already left for the market, a wicker basket in hand and a determined spring in her step. She’d kissed him on the forehead before leaving, murmuring something about getting the perfect flour for a sourdough recipe she’d been researching all week. He could still hear the echo of her soft laughter as she disappeared out the door.

Sebastian stretched, his muscles aching faintly in that satisfying way that came from a week filled with physical work. Being an Auror meant he was constantly on the move—tracking leads, chasing dark wizards, and, more often than he liked, dealing with paperwork that made him question all his life choices. But spring Saturdays like this, when he didn’t have to be anywhere but home, were his favorite.

He yawned and shuffled out of bed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair as he made his way to the wardrobe. Spring had finally settled in, bringing mild, sunny weather that called for something lighter than his usual layers. His hand landed on a familiar flannel shirt, one of his favorites. It was soft from years of wear, its faded green pattern perfect for the season.

Smiling faintly, he shrugged it over his shoulders and reached for the buttons—only to stop short when the fabric pulled taut across his shoulders and chest.

Frowning, he tugged harder, but the shirt refused to cooperate.

“What the…?” he muttered, stepping back toward the mirror.

Sebastian frowned deeper as he studied himself, his hands resting on his hips. The reflection was still undeniably his, but as his eyes trailed over his freckled skin, mapping the same familiar constellations he’d had for years, he realized the framework beneath had shifted in ways he hadn’t realized.

He rolled his shoulders experimentally, watching the way the muscle there still moved, still held its strength. Yet the sharp edges of his collarbones and the cut of his shoulders weren’t as defined as they used to be.

Turning slightly, he ran a hand down his chest, his fingers brushing over the faint dusting of hair. His pecs were still firm, still solid beneath his touch, but there was give there now, a softness that made his jaw tighten. He pressed lightly, testing the subtle give in his chest, before his hand drifted lower, skimming over the newfound curve of his stomach. His fingers prodded experimentally at the softness, sinking slightly into the layer of flesh, and he let out a quiet, frustrated huff. The firmness of his abs was still there—he reassured himself of that much—but they were now buried beneath the gentle padding that had crept in without him noticing.

In response, he straightened his posture, tightening his core instinctively as though to pull it all back in. The mirror reflected the faint impression of his old shape, but as soon as he relaxed, the softer curve returned.

Sebastian sighed in frustration, raking a hand through his messy hair. His fingers lingered at his jawline, as though suddenly aware of it, and his thumb brushed along the edge. Even that felt different—less angular than he remembered, the sharpness subtly softened, apparently, by one too many of Evangeline's cookies.

He turned back to face the mirror head-on, his fingers curling into his sides as he tried to reconcile the man in the reflection with the one he thought he’d been. The man Evangeline married had been sharp and lean, all hard edges and restless energy. Now, he looked... well, not like that.

Sebastian shrugged off the flannel and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring down at the worn rug beneath his feet. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the movement made him acutely aware of a sensation he hadn't noticed before: a fold of flesh creasing above his waistband.

His hand hovered over it for a moment before he pressed his palm flat against his stomach, as if to confirm what he already knew.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing deeper.

His mind began to spiral, his thoughts moving too fast for him to catch hold of any one of them. How long had this been happening? Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? And worse—what did she think?

Evangeline saw him every day. She touched him, kissed him, curled up against him at night. She must have noticed. How could she not?

He thought about the way she looked at him—the warmth in her hazel eyes, the teasing curve of her lips. She’d always been affectionate, always quick to rest her head on his shoulder or slide her hand around his waist. But now that he really thought about it, was that affection the same as it had always been?

Or had it changed?

Sebastian’s mind raced through their recent interactions, searching for signs that Evangeline might have been... humoring him. Was she still as playful as she used to be? Did her hands linger on him the way they used to, or had she started pulling away without him noticing?

And what about the times when they weren’t just sitting on the couch or cooking together? What about the moments when they were truly alone, when her touch was softer and her voice was breathless?

The soft creak of the front door opening startled him out of his reverie. He heard the familiar rustle of her skirts and the gentle thud of her basket being placed on the kitchen table.

“Sebastian?” Evangeline’s voice called out, light and cheerful as ever. “I’m back! They had the flour I needed—oh, and I found those dried cherries you like!”

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. He stood, throwing on a plain linen shirt that still fit well enough, though he couldn’t help but feel hyperaware of how it clung just slightly more than he remembered. He made his way to the kitchen, forcing a casual smile as he leaned in the doorway to watch her unpack.

Evangeline was a vision, as always. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, slightly windswept from the walk back. She wore one of her simple spring dresses, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that always made his stomach flip. Her cheeks were pink from the breeze, and her eyes lit up when she spotted him.

“There you are,” she said warmly, walking over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re up late. I thought you’d already be in the garden or reading by now.”

He shrugged, his smile faltering slightly. “Just... taking my time this morning.”

Evangeline tilted her head, studying him the way only she could. She had a knack for sensing when something was wrong, even when he tried to hide it. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, stepping past her to lean against the counter. He busied himself inspecting the contents of her basket—flour, herbs, fresh berries—anything to avoid her gaze. But Evangeline wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

“Sebastian,” she said softly, moving to stand beside him. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing—I know you too well.”

Sebastian hesitated, the weight of her gaze pressing on him as she waited for an answer. His jaw tensed, the words tangled in his throat. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to seem ridiculous, but Evangeline’s gaze was so steady, so full of gentle concern, that it made it nearly impossible to brush her off entirely.

So he did the next best thing—he distracted her.

With a soft hum, he stepped forward, closing the small gap between them. Before she could press him further, his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her snug against him. His head dipped to the crook of her shoulder, his nose brushing against her neck in a way that made her breath hitch.

“Sebastian,” she said, her voice soft but curious. “What are you—?”

He nuzzled closer, his lips grazing her skin, and she immediately burst into laughter, her hands coming up to push lightly at his chest. “Stop that!” she giggled, squirming against him. “You know that tickles!”

“Do I?” he murmured innocently, his voice muffled against her skin. He pressed a light, teasing kiss just below her ear, which made her laugh harder.

“Yes, you do!” she managed through her laughter, twisting in his hold. She turned her head, her face still alight with amusement, and gently flicked his shoulder. "Release me!"

Sebastian grinned and nuzzled into her neck again, his voice low and teasing. “Not a chance."

Evangeline squirmed more, her laughter bubbling out in a way that always made his chest feel lighter. “Sebastian!” she giggled, half-protesting, half-delighted. “I mean it! Let me go before I—”

“Before you what?” he interrupted. “I don’t scare easily, love. You know that.”

Evangeline huffed and flicked his ear this time. “Before I refuse to share the bread with you, that’s what!”

Sebastian gasped, feigning shock as he finally released her. “Now, now, let’s not say things we can’t take back.”

Evangeline turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she adjusted her skirts. “Then behave yourself,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him in a way that wasn’t remotely threatening.

Sebastian chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the counter, watching her return to unpacking her basket.

“Goodness me,” she said, rolling up her sleeves with purpose. “I’ve been waiting all week to try this recipe and the minute I try, you attack me. Are you going to help to make up for it, or are you just going to stand there being smug?”

Sebastian chuckled. “I suppose I can be convinced,” he said, moving to her side as she began gathering the rest of the tools she’d need.

For the next hour, the kitchen was filled with the quiet hum of their voices, the occasional clatter of mixing bowls, and Evangeline’s soft laughter.

Sebastian found himself relaxing, the familiar rhythm of their routine soothing the restless energy that had been gnawing at him earlier. He teased her gently when she smudged flour on her cheek, earning a playful swat in return, and when she handed him the dough to knead, she watched with an amused grin as he muttered about how much effort it took.

"Thought you were supposed to be a big, strong Auror, Sallow," she quipped, her lips twitching with amusement as she leaned against the counter, watching him wrestle with the dough.

“I am a big, strong Auror,” Sebastian shot back, narrowing his eyes at her. “This stuff is just... deceptively difficult. And sticky. Are you sure this is how it’s supposed to feel?”

Evangeline laughed, the sound light and musical as she stepped closer, her hands lightly dusted with flour. “You’re doing fine,” she reassured him, slipping in beside him. “But here—let me show you.”

She reached out, her smaller hands folding over his to guide his movements. The closeness made Sebastian pause, his earlier insecurities threatening to resurface as her warmth seeped into him. He glanced down at her, the way her long lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks, her eyes focused intently on the dough. She looked so at ease, so utterly content, and it twisted something in his chest.

“See?” she said softly, her voice breaking through his thoughts. “Gentle pressure. You don’t have to fight it, Sebastian. It’s not a dark wizard.”

Sebastian let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head as Evangeline’s hands guided his own, working the dough until it was smooth and elastic.

When they were finally done, Evangeline patted it into a neat ball and placed it into a bowl to proof, covering it with a clean cloth. “There,” she said, brushing her hands off on her apron.

Sebastian stepped back, wiping his flour-dusted hands on a towel. “So, what now, boss?” he asked, his tone playful.

Evangeline grinned, tilting her head toward the door. “You, my dear husband, are going to go sit on the porch and enjoy the sun while I tidy up. I’ll bring lunch out in a bit.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I can help clean—”

“Nope,” she interrupted, shooing him toward the door with a wave of her hand. “Go. Relax. You’ve earned it after that battle with the dough.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, if you say so,"

With a glass of lemonade in hand, Sebastian made his way to the porch. The gentle warmth of the spring sun greeted him as he stepped outside, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath his feet. He sank into one of the chairs, letting out a contented sigh as he leaned back.

The village stretched out before him, quiet and serene, with the distant hum of life carrying on beyond their little corner of the world. The sun’s rays warmed his skin, the light breeze ruffling his hair. He took a sip of the lemonade, the tart sweetness refreshing as he let himself sink into the moment, his earlier insecurities and worries far away now, dulled by the laughter and warmth Evangeline always brought with her.

He was so lost in the peace that he didn’t hear her approach until she appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray with two plates and the pitcher of lemonade.

“Lunch is served,” she announced cheerfully, stepping out onto the porch.

Sebastian sat up as she set the tray down on the small table between them, his eyes flicking to his plate: a neatly arranged sandwich, a small side of crisps, and, of course, three cookies nestled together like a tempting afterthought. He masked a frown, the sight of them stirring the same pang of self-consciousness he’d been trying to forget all morning. So much for putting his extra fluff out of his mind—it was staring back at him in the form of three perfectly golden, innocent-looking biscuits.

Still, he didn’t say anything, brushing the thought aside as he focused on enjoying lunch with Evangeline. The sandwich was delicious, the crisp, fresh lettuce and savory meats hitting the spot as they chatted easily about her market trip and his plans to tend to the garden later.

When Evangeline finished her plate, she leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh, the light breeze catching her hair and carrying the faint scent of flour and sugar. Sebastian moved to gather their plates, standing to take them inside, but paused when Evangeline frowned, her gaze dropping to his untouched cookies.

“Are they that bad?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she leaned forward to inspect them. “I thought they turned out alright this time.”

Sebastian froze, feeling her question land with a weight he wasn’t ready to address. He hesitated for a fraction too long before shaking his head, mustering a smile. “No, not at all. They’re great. I’m just... not in the mood for something sweet right now.”

Evangeline’s frown deepened, hazel eyes narrowing as she tilted her head. “Not in the mood?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Sebastian, you’ve never turned down cookies. Not once. Not even when you had the flu.”

“I just... figured I’d save them for later,” he said quickly, avoiding her gaze as he balanced their plates on one arm. “Don’t want to ruin my appetite for dinner.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Dinner’s hours away, and we both know you could eat a Hippogriff and still have room for dessert.

Sebastian forced one of his trademark grins, the kind he knew could distract her from just about anything. “I promise I’ll eat them later,” he said, his tone light as he grabbed the empty plates and moved to the door. “No need to worry, love.”

But he should have known better. Evangeline was many things—kind, brilliant, a phenomenal baker—but above all else, she was stubborn.

“Sebastian,” she called after him, her voice sharp enough to stop him mid-step as he crossed the threshold back into the kitchen.

He sighed, shoulders sinking slightly as he turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

“What?” he asked, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Evangeline huffed and stepped forward, plucked the plates from his hands with a deftness that left him blinking, and set them firmly on the counter.

“Alright,” she said, turning back to him and crossing her arms. Her gaze pinned him in place, sharp and unyielding. “Spill. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” he replied quickly, too quickly. He reached up, scratching the back of his neck, a nervous habit she knew all too well. “I just told you—I’m not in the mood for something sweet right now. That’s all.”

“Sebastian.” Her voice softened, but the determination in her expression didn’t waver. She stepped closer, her hands uncrossing to rest lightly on her hips. “You can’t lie to me, you know that."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked away. He wanted to brush her off, to dodge her questions and let the moment pass. But the way she looked at him—so patient, so steady—made it impossible.

He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “It’s just… earlier, I tried on that green flannel shirt—the one you like—and it didn’t fit. It was too small."

Evangeline frowned, her brows knitting together. “So? Clothes shrink, Sebastian. Especially when someone—” she gestured pointedly at him “—refuses to follow proper washing instructions.”

He huffed a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It didn’t shrink,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at himself. “It's me, Evie. I looked in the mirror, and I realized I’ve… gone all soft. I mean, look at me.” He motioned to his chest and stomach, his voice tinged with frustration.

Evangeline blinked at him, her expression shifting into something softer—warmer, with a teasing glint in her eyes that Sebastian immediately recognized. She stepped closer, her hand sliding from his arm to rest lightly against his chest, her lips curving into a small, amused smile.

“I do look at you,” she said softly. “I look at you all the time, Sebastian. And quite often, without clothes in the way.”

His ears burned instantly, a deep flush spreading across his face and down his neck. “Evie, please,” he groaned.

“What?” she asked innocently. “You act like I don’t see you—really see you—all the time. You’re my husband, silly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he avoided her gaze.

Evangeline tilted her head, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. “What exactly do you want me to say, Sebastian? Do you want me to say ‘Oh, darling, I’ve noticed you’ve gotten a bit squishier lately, but don’t worry—I still love you?’ Because that’s ridiculous.”

“So you have noticed then,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening as he met her gaze. “And you just didn’t tell me?”

Evangeline blinked at him again before laughing outright—a soft, melodic sound that filled the kitchen. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. “Sebastian, I didn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say! You’re acting like this is some monumental change when it’s not!

“It feels like it, is” he muttered, his arms dropping to his sides. “I’ve let myself go, Evangeline. And you’re just—what? Too nice to admit it?”

Her laughter faded, her brow furrowing slightly. “Too nice to admit it?” she repeated, her voice soft but incredulous. “Sebastian, do you really think I’d lie to you about something like this?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Not lie,” he admitted quietly. “But maybe… spare my feelings.”

Evangeline sighed, her expression softening as she reached up to cradle his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones. "Listen to me. I’m not sparing your feelings. I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will."

He sighed, his hands coming up to loosely grip her wrists as her fingers remained warm against his skin. “But you’re not blind, Evie. This is... this is not the version of me you married."

Evangeline scoffed. “Do you really think the reason I married you had anything to do with how sharp your jawline was?”

“I mean... maybe not completely,” he muttered, his voice trailing off as his ears turned pink. “But it didn’t hurt.”

She sighed, a sound heavy with both exasperation and affection. She tilted her head back slightly, studying his stubborn expression. Clearly, her reassurances weren’t enough to break through that thick skull of his. If soft words and patience weren’t going to work, it was time to switch tactics.

Her gaze darkened slightly, a mischievous glint sparking to life as her lips curled into a sly grin. She slid her hands from his face to rest on his shoulders, her fingers trailing down to the broad expanse of his chest.

“Alright,” she murmured, her tone dropping into something low and silky. “You want me to be honest? I’ll be honest.”

Sebastian blinked, momentarily startled by the shift in her demeanor. “What are you—”

She cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. “Hush. You’ve been doing a lot of talking. It’s my turn now.”

He swallowed hard, his ears burning as she stepped even closer, her body brushing against his, and tipped her head to look up at him through her lashes.

“Of course I’ve noticed the changes. How could I not? But Merlin help me, I love you like this,” she said, her voice smooth and steady, each word punctuated with intent. “Do you know why?”

He shook his head, utterly at a loss for words, his hands falling to rest uncertainly on her waist.

“Because,” she continued, “It tells me that you’re happy and comfortable and loved and well-fed—all the things you should be when you’re with someone who loves you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

His throat tightened and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Evie...” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“I love you with all my heart, and yes, I love the way you look,” her voice was soft but steady, her hazel eyes locked onto his. Her hands trailed down to rest against his chest, her fingertips brushing over the slight softness he’d been agonizing over. “You're the most incredible man I’ve ever met. You’ve got these strong arms I adore, shoulders that make me weak in the knees, and those deliciously thick thighs I can't get enough of. And now there's just more of you for me to love."

Sebastian’s face burned a deeper shade of crimson, his ears hot with embarrassment. “Evie,” he mumbled, his voice caught between a groan and a laugh.

"Sebastian," she said firmly, gripping at his shirt now. "You have always been handsome, but now? Now you’re downright dangerous.” Her hand moved to his stomach, giving it a light pat.

Sebastian stared at her, completely floored. Her words hung in the air between them, weaving through his spiraling thoughts and silencing them one by one. The heat from his ears had spread down to his chest now, but the lingering twinges of doubt started to fade, smothered by the mischievous glint in her eyes and the way her hands lingered on him like he was the only man in the world.

“Dangerous, am I?” he murmured, his voice low, his lips twitching into something dangerously close to a smirk.

Evangeline’s grin widened, a spark of triumph lighting her expression. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, her fingers curling into his shirt as she tugged him closer. “You’re entirely too good-looking for your own good—and mine.”

Sebastian’s lips twitched, but as her words settled over him, something stirred in the back of his mind. Hang on a minute...

He replayed moment after moment from the past few months. The way her hands lingered just a bit longer when they curled up on the couch together. How she’d started sneaking up behind him in the mornings just to wrap her arms around his waist. How she’d tug him back into bed, her lips pressed against his neck as she muttered some excuse about not wanting to let him go yet.

She had been insatiable—more so than usual.

He’d chalked it up to the honeymoon phase lingering well past its expiration date, or maybe the warmer weather putting her in an unusually good mood. But now? Now, standing here with her hands sliding over him like she wanted to memorize every inch of his body, it all clicked.

His lips curled into a slow, wolfish grin, the confidence that had been knocked loose earlier returning in full force. “You have been extra fond of me lately, huh?” he teased, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made her cheeks flush.

Evangeline arched an eyebrow, unbothered by his sudden shift in demeanor. “Maybe,” she replied coyly.

Sebastian chuckled, the sound deep and rich as his hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I suppose I should’ve known,” he murmured, his eyes roaming her face before locking onto hers. “All those extra little touches, the way you’ve been looking at me... You’re absolutely relentless, you know that?”

“And you’re just figuring this out now?” she teased, her smirk widening.

He shook his head, his grin growing wider as he tilted her chin up with one hand, his thumb brushing over her jawline. “I don’t think I’m the dangerous one here, Evie. You’ve been plotting this, haven’t you?”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and unrepentant. “I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, his grin never faltering. “Oh, you definitely know what I’m talking about,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending a shiver down her spine. “You’ve been playing the long game, haven’t you? Buttering me up—literally and figuratively—until I couldn’t resist you.”

Evangeline’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but her smirk didn’t waver. “If by ‘buttering you up’ you mean showing my husband how much I love him, then yes, guilty as charged,” she replied, tilting her head smugly. “And judging by the way you’ve been letting me drag you back to bed at all hours, I’d say you haven’t exactly been resisting.”

Sebastian laughed, the sound low and full of warmth as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “I don’t think anyone could resist you, Evie."

Evangeline laughed, her hands tangling in his hair as she gazed up at him. “Good,” she said, her tone light and playful. “I’d hate to think I was losing my touch.”

Sebastian smirked, his hands settling on her hips as he tilted his head down, their foreheads almost touching. “Losing your touch? Not possible,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “If anything, you’ve only gotten better at wrapping me around your finger.”

She grinned, leaning in to press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips before pulling back. “Exactly as planned,” she quipped, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest again. Her expression softened as her thumbs brushed over the fabric of his shirt. “But seriously, Sebastian, as much as I love you like this—and I do—if it really does bother you, if you really want to change something, just tell me.” Her lips curled into a small, teasing smile as she added, “I can always go a little easier on you, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning wry. “Go easier on me? What does that even mean?”

Evangeline laughed again, her fingers toying with the edge of his shirt. “It means I won’t bake as many pastries,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Or at least I’ll stop making so many batches of your favorites.

Sebastian scoffed, though his lips twitched with amusement. “You make it sound like I have no self-control,” he said, his tone laced with indignation.

Evangeline arched an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Do you want me to list the number of times I’ve caught you sneaking into the kitchen at midnight? Because I’ve been keeping track, and let’s just say the numbers don’t lie.”

His ears flushed pink, but he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Midnight snacks are perfectly reasonable. I’m a growing man, after all.”

“Growing where, exactly?” she teased, her grin widening as she tapped a finger lightly against his stomach.

He groaned, though a laugh escaped him despite himself. “You’re merciless,” he muttered.

“Only because I love you,” she replied, her tone softening as she slid her hands back up to his chest. “But seriously, Sebastian, we’ll figure it out. After all, we can’t have you ruining all your shirts, can we?"

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Merlin forbid I ruin all my shirts,” he said, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “What would I even wear then?”

“Oh, I’m sure we could come up with something,” Evangeline replied, her grin widening as she tugged playfully at the hem of his shirt. “Or nothing at all. That’s always an option.”

Sebastian's grin turned positively wolfish. “Nothing at all, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that made Evangeline’s cheeks flush. He took a small step closer, effectively pinning her between him and the counter. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Evangeline tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "We would have to give it a try first... for science."

"No time like the present," he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m fully committed to advancing scientific discovery, after all.”

Evangeline laughed softly, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Well, I’d hate to stand in the way of progress,” she teased, looking up at him through her lashes. “Who am I to deny such noble pursuits?”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “That’s the spirit,” he murmured. “Let’s not waste a single moment, then.”

Before she could respond, his arms slipped under her, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Evangeline let out a surprised laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, her laughter vibrating against him. The sound alone was enough to make his chest swell with affection, and the way she leaned into him, utterly unguarded, set his pulse pounding.

Evangeline’s lips brushed against the shell of his ear as he carried her toward the bedroom, her voice a teasing murmur that made his blood hum. She didn’t hold back—her words playful, wicked, and laced with affection. Every syllable sent heat pooling low in his stomach, her tone the perfect mix of mischief and adoration.

The bread, meanwhile, sat forgotten on the counter, the plans for the afternoon abandoned, and the lingering doubts that had gnawed at him all morning slipped away, irrelevant in the face of the one truth that mattered most: Evangeline adored him, every inch of him.

[yuriskies]

The Unbearable "Denseness" of Sorawo Kamikoshi

It bothers me a little bit when I see people refer to Sorawo as dense. For whatever reason it makes me think of the fucking Kojima "you will regret your words and deeds" tweet.

[So, uh, there's a lot of later novel spoilers in this post, so I'll hide them under the read more break]

While I do think she's a bit... obtuse... when it comes looking at herself and motivations, I do think there is a consistent throughline: Sorawo Kamikoshi does not like assumptions and invisible expectations. Vols 7, 8, and 9 of the novels all elaborate on this theme—there's her classrom discussion of interpretation-free ghost stories, having a breakthrough when Benimori brings up alternatives to escalator relationships, and comparison of romance to a gravity well. It's pretty clear she struggles to identify with normative romance, and feels scared and frustrated by the way her words and actions are misinterpreted by those around her.

Like yes, she does want a special relationship with Toriko! She swoons at first sight (twice!) and has a strong desire for exclusivity. But Toriko makes a number of common assumptions about relationships that feel like a form of pressure to Sorawo. Somewhere between vols 2 and 4, you can see her discomfort about how she expresses herself around Toriko start to grow once Toriko begins seriously pursuing her as a romantic partner. I think the source of that discomfort is ultimately the shape of their relationship changing from queerplatonic "accomplices" exploring the Otherside into something more typical of a standard romance.

In hindsight, her behavior around the confession at the hot springs in vol 4 makes sense. She even says in passing that she feels comfortable saying "I love you" to Toriko; her fears are entirely related to the "danger" of Toriko's behavior changing in a way she can't anticipate when she says it. And with good reason: once Toriko believes she has secured a relationship, she immediately moves to sex, the next step in the progression of normative romance. Which, while moving a little quickly, is a reasonable assumption for most people! It's not until Sorawo says she doesn't like kids in vol 6 that Toriko realizes they don't have the same thoughts about how their relationship should progress.

Not to say that all of the blame is on Toriko. Sorawo, for her own part, has her own ideas about the relationship but doesn't really have the language to express herself. Rather than trying to understand or talk through the problem, she tries to ignore it and hopes it goes away. It's not until Toriko gives her an ultimatum that she puts words to a long-running source of discomfort for her and they can figure out whether their relationship is sustainable or not.

But I don't think "dense" is the right word for that behavior. Her problem is not that she's unaware of her own attraction, it's that she doesn't have the language to describe it and a fear of what happens when she does. Without that understanding most readers*, like Toriko, default to intepreting her behavior through the framework of "romance". They fail to try interpreting Sorawo through her own words, and then poke fun at her inability to conform with their expectations. If that's dense, then so is every queer person attempting to understand themselves when society doesn't give them access to the tools to do so.

*for the record, I will confess that I was in this category of "most readers" until vol 8 dropped. I regret my words and deeds

[thebekerslegecy]

👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The BEKER LEGECY

I am currently playing Morbid’s ULTIMATE Decades Challenge. Below is a list of all of the Mods + CC I am using in my game🐝

🍯 MODS: Wicked Whims (+18) MC Command Center MC Woohoo More Traits in CAS Royalty Mod Medieval Interactions Ye Olde Cookbook + Stoves +Fires Require Wood  + Hunting & Foraging ModHome Region +Townie Demographics by Kuttoe Fashion Authority 2 by Lot51 Functional Broom Functional Loom Functional Pottery Wheel Archery Skill Blacksmithing Skill Historical Simolean Override - English Shillings Children/Toddlers Can Die of Anything Playable Harp + LuteFunctional Horses & Carriages, No Helmet Create Campfire Bonfire Anywhere Arranged Marriages Custom Farm Animals Purchase Custom Animals Zero’s Historical Mods (pickpocket, disease, etc.) Phone to Notebook Replacement Sippy Cup + Toys Default Replacements Stuff for Pets Natural Knitting Stuff PreTeen LittleMsSam Mods ( Pick what you want) Sims4me

🐝 CC:

🍯Build:

TSR Ye Medieval - Ligna Windows Set TSR Ye Medieval - Timber Frame Walls TSR Ye Medieval - Framework Walls TSR - Broken Wood Door TSR Ye Medieval - Soil Terrain TSR Ye Medieval - Hay Ground Terrain

🐝Objects:

Lili’s Palace - Folklore Set No. 1 Linzlu’s Frontier Items TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 1 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 2 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 3 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 4 TRS Ye Medieval - Tristan Bathroom TSR Ye Medieval - Tavern Part 1 TSR Ye Medieval - Candle Holder TSR - Skara Stool TSR - The Old Garden Boat TSR - The Old Garden Quay Fish Market Decor Fish Rack Fish Crate V1 Fish Crate V2 Bohrium Vegetables I Old Rustic Well (“Eco Living” version) Stable Set by Moriel Rustic Animal Shed Rustic Chicken Coop Rustic Bee Box Bassinet + Infant Crib SimsHistoricalfinds tumblr (directory) SIMS 4 MEDIEVAL CC TheSenseMedieval Allhistorical cc tumblr Medieval & Fantasy Mods List | Notion Kosmic Hippie's CC Finds — 👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The Sims 4 antiquated plumbobs : Directory CC Finds Navigation

🍯CAS:

TheSimsResource (Ye Medieval) TheSimsResource (Sifix) Simverses  Melancholy Maiden | creating Historical Sims 4 CC | Patreon satterlly | creating The Sims 4 CC | Patreon

🐝 SAVE FILE:

Srsly’s Blank Save Map Replacement Medieval Windenburg Medieval Map Replacement

🍯MY SIMS 4 MEDIEVAL WORLDS:

How to change sims4 world names (for existing save)How to change sims4 world names ( for new save)

Kingdom of France – Willow Creek’ Mali Empire – Oasis Springs’ Kingdom of Norway – Newcrest’ Inca Empire – Granite Falls’ Holy Roman Empire – Windenburg’ Kingdom of Denmark– Magnolia Promenade’ Republic of Genoa – San Myshuno’ Kingdom of Hungary – Forgotten Hollow’ Grand Duchy of Lithuania – Brindleton Bay’ Aztec Empire – Selvadorada’ Kingdom of Sicily – Del Sol Valley’ Ottoman Empire – StrangerVille’ Hawai’i – Sulani’ Kingdom of Scotland- Glimmerbrook’ Duchy of Milan – Brightchester’ Maya city-states – Evergreen Harbor’ Tatooine– Batuu’ Goryeo– Mt. Komorebi’ Kingdom of England – Henford-on-Bagley’ Republic of Venice– Tartosa’ Duchy of Burgundy – Moonwood Mill’ Kingdom of Aragon – Copperdale’ Mongol Empire – San Sequoia’ Mamluk Sultanate – Chestnut Ridge’ Kingdom of Ayutthaya – Tomarang’ Kingdom of Castile - Ciudad Enamorada kingdom of Moldova - Ranvenwood

[stoat-party]

Boone is a man searching for sense in the nonsensical. He’s turned his life into a stage play, and reduced everyone in it to a role.

For every major moment in his life, he remembers himself as a passive observer.

The NCR chose him for First Recon, and he accepted for the pay. He describes his training as being broken down until following orders was automatic.

At Bitter Springs, he did what he was told, even knowing command didn’t understand the situation. He believes the only alternative would have been to kill himself.

He met Carla because he was standing around looking lost and she approached him. They moved to Novac because Manny brought them there.

And he describes Cottonwood Cove as “being forced to watch something you can’t stop.” His entire marriage was just a cruel plot twist, with himself and Carla as props rather than characters.

When he joins the Courier, he does it because he thinks the curtains are opening on the final act. The playwright (which he only describes as “something watching”) has drawn it out long enough and is finally going to end it. By all accounts, he’s looking forward to it — at least for the wait to be over.

But then he survives his quest, and he’s almost devastated. The world’s gone off-script. He doesn’t know his lines anymore. When he turns to the Courier, the person he took to be his harbinger of fate, it’s a desperate bid to make it make sense.

But the Courier was never an omen. They’re a maker of fate. On their advice, he becomes more proactive in his own life (for better or worse). Unfortunately, he can only be convinced the universe isn’t out to get him by sacrificing his conscience, and it doesn’t really bring him any relief to do so. So the best ending for Boone is to accept the framework he’s created for himself, but defy the stars and just keep going despite it all.

And, you know. One of these days he has to figure out the cosmos aren’t plotting his demise. Right?

[tpointtechblogs]

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[superstar-nan]

Execute Command

Night 1

Summary: You're an engineer, and your best friend who works as an overnight security guard for Fazbear's Fright calls you asking for a favor. Now there's a giant rotting bunny animatronic in your home, and you need to fix him by Friday.

Words: 5,062

Fun stuff: Springtrap POV, Springtrap/Reader (but really William/Reader/Spring Bonnie─Willaim and Spring Bonnie are treated like seperate creatures), gender neutral reader, cannon typical violence, slow burn, William is a monster and insane but Spring Bonnie is just a robot, the way Spring Bonnie acts is based on this post. Dark fic. Uploaded from my Ao3.

Technically an AU of my fic Fight Tooth and Nail where the reader's best friend doesn't die, but it can be read as a stand alone.

Next

───── (\ /) ─────

I was locked in darkness so long that sunlight burned me. 

The sunlight that poked through my crate, taunting and painful, was the only indication of where I was.

“Yeah, I mean—I guess you can set it over there.”

“You don’t got a... workshop er somethin’ we can drop this thing off at?” 

“Does this place look big enough for a workshop?”

There was silence.

“No. I don’t. Just set it in the living room.”

“You got it, boss.”

My crate was lifted and pushed. The movement alone tore into me like knives, springlocks pulling against flesh that could somehow still feel pain. I was used to it.

I was set down with a resounding THUD. Pain shocked through me and I saw red.

I’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthem-

“I’m not your boss. I’m just doing a friend a favor.”

Sunlight still burned tantalizingly against my framework. My whole body itched from it. 

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

“‘S quite a favor. This thing... it's a piece ‘a work.”

“Mmm. Don’t excite me. When’s the attraction open anyway?”

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

“‘bout a week.”

“A week? Am I going to have enough time to fix him?”

> EXECUTE([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

“Idunno. You're the technician.”

“...Alright. I’ll call if there’s any problems. Oh, and could you move it out of the sunlight? I don’t want the heat degrading the machinery.”

“Sure.”

I was pushed, the crate dragging across the floor with a whining shriek. I was out of the sunlight, but my skin still itched. 

The door closed. It was silent. Muted footsteps slowly approached me. One set of footsteps. There was only one. No witnesses.

 > Override command = [STORAGE PROTOCOL]

error

failed to execute command

It was worth a shot.

Something wedged into the crate, cracking and snapping the wood. Then, the other side of the crate. The crate’s lid fell slowly, like a tree falling to an axe. It hit the ground with a loud THUD .

There you were. Sunlight framed your silhouette, too bright in my darkness. You were smaller than me—and of course you were, there wasn’t a human alive the size of an animatronic. You were coughing and waving at the dust I brought. When you came to your senses, your eyes widened. You instinctively drew back—and that made me desperately want to pursue. It wasn’t a new reaction. Everyone knew to be afraid of me. That was my one balm to that fucking ‘storage protocol’.

You drew closer, tentative with a knot in your brow. How strange, that you would draw closer when you were so clearly terrified. You didn’t have to say it, I knew what you were thinking, but you said it anyway, “What happened to you?”

I wanted to laugh, bitter and spiteful. The pain gnawed at me until it was numbing. I had to tear my flesh apart anytime I wanted to so much as lift a finger. My lungs wanted to fill with air when they were filled with holes, my heart wanted to beat when my veins were sealed with rust. My head rang with a never ending migraine from the rods piercing through my skull . Every light, every sound, every stimulation was too goddamn bright . A lot happened to me.

You extended your hand as if you wanted to touch me. You were slow . Achingly slow. Tauntingly slow. I knew why you were slow. You thought I would bite. I would.

As if snapping back to reality, you shook your head and pulled back. Tease . You hoisted up the crate’s lid and pressed it back into place with your full body, enclosing me in semi-darkness once again. Your subtle footsteps left the room. After you were far enough away, a door opened and then shut loudly. You left. You left me alone.

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

Being alone was terrible terrible white noise. It grated like sandpaper against my skull , slowly and gradually wearing at my mind. I was back in that room— blind in the shadows, walls swallowing me whole, twitching in pain that never stopped, nothing for decades —but waiting in this toybox was child’s play. You would return. You would come to fix me.

And I would kill you.

Light surrendered to darkness while in the static of my cage. I had a shallow grasp of time after spending so much of it in the safe room . Had it been hours? Minutes? Days? Seconds? Weeks? It felt like all of that and more and less and like the static was consuming my brain like maggots , but also it had probably been hours since it was dark now.

The instant I heard the sound of the door open and close, the static was gone.

Artificial light dazed me in its suddenness, bringing a throbbing headache to match all the springlocks in my skull.

I could hear you moving around; setting down things, ruffling through belongings. You came back at night . 

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

It wasn’t midnight yet, but it was close . I could taste it . I could taste your blood . I only had to wait.

You wedged a crowbar in my cage.

You were going to release me now? You were making it easy for me.

The door to my crate crashed to the floor. You inhaled sharply when you saw me again, as if you had forgotten how horrific I was. You swallowed your fear, but I knew it was still there no matter how brave you pretended to be. You were wearing blue disposable gloves and a jacket .

Would you cry? Would you scream? Would you cower in front of me or would you try to fight back? Anticipation sent electricity through me, and I would’ve shuddered if my body functioned correctly. As easy (and gratifying) as it would be to rip your head off your shoulders the moment midnight struck, making it last would be so much more satisfying .

I enjoyed playing with the night guard, they were so easily frightened. But they called for help too quickly. The fact that they were still alive was so annoying. It gnawed at me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I wouldn’t let that happen again.

By six tomorrow morning, I’ll have painted the floor with your guts.

You bit your lip before offering a pathetic smile, “Hi, Bonnie. I’m going to, uhm...” You let out a shaky sigh as your eyes quaked, scrolling me from top to bottom, “... Damn , I should’ve done this during the day.”

You really should have.

You took a step closer to me, and my flesh itched to grab you. Your hand reached for me slowly, but you backed away, unsure. You tried again, but retreated again . “How am I going to...” You brought your nervous eyes back to mine, and then something hardened in them— resolve . I didn’t care for resolve in my victim’s eyes. “Fuck it.” 

You grabbed me. Full-body, arms wrapped around my decaying waist. Pain, feeling, electricity, pain, sensation, stimulation, PAIN —shocked through me like lightning . It was too much, it burned me, it was white and hot and I would tear the bones from your flesh and make you watch me break them. When you let go of me, it was too cold. Static consumed me in a moment. I needed you to grab me again, because while stimulation made me irrational and violent , I hated the static more.

“Damn it,” The noise was gone the moment you spoke. You held your nose with the back of your sleeve, “There’s no way I’m getting this smell out...”

I was on a couch. You moved me. I was in a living room—your living room. Your kitchen was just beyond a pony wall. You had tools laid out haphazardly in a way that reminded me of Henry.

You turned toward your tools, fingering through them with delicate precision, “Sorry about the, uhm, ‘ accomodations ’,” You were supposedly talking to me, but you were truly talking to yourself. It was pathetic. “Who has the money for a workshop in this economy?”

While you were looking for the right tool, I was scanning your measly home. There . A Clock. 11:57 .

You picked up the tool you wanted and turned to me. “I must admit, as... terrifying as you are to look at, you are an intriguing mystery.” Your gloved fingers came to my chin, and the sensation wasn’t as burning now that you weren’t grabbing me with your whole body. The softness of your fingers was dizzying, and the pain was lost to the sensation of gentle touch. I could feel my mind glaze over as you tilted my head to the side, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Then, you jammed your screwdriver into the side of my jaw.

With each twist of your tool, I imagined twisting your limbs out of place. Your voice came in a breathy whisper, “I can’t wait to crack you open and see what’s inside...” The feeling was mutual. 

Your twisting started to slow. Your brow furrowed. You lifted my jaw with your palm, squinting as you tried to peer past my teeth. You were so so close to my teeth. All it would take was one bite. 

My eyes flicked to the clock. 11:58 . 

“...What the hell?” You noticed something beyond my mask. You started to unscrew the other side of my jaw. You peeled through rust, metal, and stiff flesh, pulling my jaw down to see what was inside. Your eyes went wide. You stumbled back from me, your sleeve coming to your mouth. Fear and disgust dripped from you like sugar on a candied apple just out of my reach. You gagged as you rose to your feet, feeling your way into the kitchen.

You collapsed against the sink in the kitchen, just barely in my sight. You slowed your breathing, snapping off your blue gloves. You picked up something small and thin that glowed in your hand.

My eyes flicked to the clock. 11:59.

 You held the object in your hand to your ear. Then, you started talking, “There’s a corpse in it.”

There was silence.

“Yes yes, hi, how are you, there’s a corpse in it! ”

Silence again. The object in your hand must’ve been a phone.

You put a palm to your forehead, “ The bunny animatronic! There’s a body! Inside! The! Animatronic! ” A heavy exhale past your lips, “Well, I don’t know! Did someone put it there, for the haunted attraction or-?” 

11:59 had never passed so slowly before.

You dragged your hand down your face, “... Yes , I’m sure. No, no it isn’t fresh. It’s old. Really old. Look, I’ve been listening to the tapes, someone probably died in that thing. And-and I guess they just sealed it away instead of-?”

12:00.

> Execute([MOVE])

> executing command = [MOVE]

Finally.

My body ached with rust and calcified tendons as I stood. It resisted movement as if it knew it was wrong for me to move. I silently snapped my jaw back into place. I dragged my eyes to you. 

Your back was facing away from me, toward the counter, “Yeah, yeah I know! Look. I’m going to call the police.” My eyes flicked to the thin object in your hand. No, you wouldn’t. “At the very least, that’s going to delay the attraction a few days, and at the most... You might have to find a job somewhere else. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t-”

You turned around and froze. I was behind you. Your eyes slowly scrolled up to mine, wide in shock. I left enough room for you to run. I wanted you to run. Run. Run .

“...Actually, I’m not going to call the police.”

You didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You looked... excited.

... Disappointing.

In an attempt to scare you, I dropped my heavy arms onto your counter on either side of you, slamming against the smooth finish with a loud THUD . You flinched, but your lips turned up in an unconscious smile

“No, listen. It just moved ,” You said into your phone, and you couldn’t drag your eyes away from mine. “It moved! It works, after thirty years of rusting, it’s actually moving! I can’t get my toaster to last longer than five years, do you know how incredible that is?”

My head twitched, jerking to the side. You really reminded me of Henry.

Now that I was closer, I heard the faint sounds of someone talking from your thin phone. You rolled your eyes, “Honestly, I didn’t think he was actually moving on your shifts. I thought someone was trying to play a prank on you or something.”

Your hand came to my arm subconsciously as you talked, and my eyes snapped to it. You were touching me with your bare skin. Your bare skin on my rotting suit, but it felt like my flesh . It made me dizzy to feel someone. I couldn’t see anything but your fingers. You were just holding me, but it was all I could focus on. Warm flesh, soft skin, light touch —it drew breath I didn’t have; it sent electricity through my veins. I would sever your hand and glue it to my suit, but I couldn’t pull away from it to even cut you. All I could think was touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching-

“Don’t be mad!” You said with a laugh, and you drew idle circles on my arm that made my head spin. Literally. Gears sealed with rust beneath my suit spun for the first time in decades. It was grating and painful, but I wouldn’t dare trade it for you to stop. “The fact that the thing can actually move is a miracle . Wha- Of course , I’m being safe! It’s not hurting me, it’s just...” You tilted your head, looking at my eyes with nervous concern, “... Creepy...”

You pulled your hand away and it was freezing. My nails carved jagged slashes into your counter. You ducked under my arm and kept talking, “Let me work on him a little bit.” 

I felt heavy coming down from the high of your touch. My blunted, metal fingers wrapped around a knife you kept on your counter.

“Just for a little while, then I’ll call the police.”

My eyes trained on you—your back to me, completely unaware. I wondered if you’d still be excited if I cut pieces off of you?

“ Come on! Please? I just want to fix a few things. The rusting... His voicebox...”

I raised the knife above my head.

“The tapes mentioned something about a ‘storage protocol’ locking up the suit during the daytime? I bet I could fix that.”

I stopped.

“Oh, and he apparently follows noises. That’s probably why you kept seeing him move around at night. Maybe I could strip that from his programming, make something more useful for a horror attraction.” 

I slowly put the knife back on the counter, cushioning its handle with my fingertips to keep from making a noise.

“Hey, look at it this way, you’ll be able to keep your job? And when I bring him back to the attraction, he won’t scare you every night. And if I get a peek into the coding of this thing- Oh, relax! I’m not being-”

You turned around. I was inches away from you again.

“Whoa,” You swallowed. “Yeah, it just followed me again. It’s... so unnerving . Watch this thing be actually haunted.”

Yeah. Watch.

“Anyway, please don’t call the police,” You begged into the phone. “I only need one week, and then I’ll put him back together.”

You can put me back together. How... convenient. How unsatisfying , but convenient. I could be patient. If it meant being rid of the damned coding holding me back, I could be patient . 

A large smile stretched across your face once you got your answer from your friend, “Breakfast is on me tomorrow, okay? Thank you!” You tapped your phone and set it on the table. Then, you brought your eyes up to mine.

You were nervous. Your fingers shook when you looked at me, your body shifted from side to side, your eyes unable to break away from me as if I would strike if you did. I liked that you were nervous. You had good reason to be nervous. And then there was the keen interest in your eyes, hiding behind your visceral fear. The curiosity that would kill you. I liked that less.

You took a step to the side. Then, you stepped to the other side of me. You were testing to see if my eyes would follow you. You shivered when they did.

“Well, Bonnie. You’re mine,” You rubbed your arm as if there had been a sudden chill. “At least for the next week or so. Let’s put that time to good use, hmm?”

You rubbed your mouth and chin in contemplation. You took a few steps away from me, as if testing to see if I would follow. When I didn’t, you hummed in thought. You walked back into your living room.

“Come here, Bonnie!” You called, “Over here!”

... You were calling me like a dog?

error

command unclear

> execute command ([FOLLOW]) = Yes/No?

> No.

“Come on?” You exhaled. You looked around, before grabbing the newspaper lying on your coffee table. “ “Fazbear’s Fright: The Horror Attraction! Local amusement park is getting ready to scare your socks off with a new attraction based on the unsolved mysteries of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza!” ” 

You looked up. I didn’t move.

“Fine,” You dropped the newspaper back down and trudged back towards me. You rolled up your sleeves, and said, “Let’s go.” The thought of you grabbing me with your whole body again sent a piercing ringing through my skull.

> execute command [HOLD_HANDS] 

My hand jutted forward without my own volition. Looks like he also loathed the overstimulation. You flinched back from my hand like a startled animal, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Your breath slowed as your shaking eyes pulled away from my palm and to my own. You put your hand in mine.

Your touch was sweet warmth and it thrilled my flesh and wires to feel . I engulfed your hand in mine, and I craved to squeeze it until your bones cracked and blood seeped between my knuckles. Not yet, though. This might be your dominant hand.

You took a step back, and I took a step forward. “Okay,” You said, “This works.” You walked backwards, keeping your eyes on me, and you didn’t know the thin line you were treading.

I followed you to your living room where you kept your tools. Your eyes were glued to me, and I thought you couldn’t look away because you were afraid of what might happen if you did. But your eyes weren’t shaking, they were steady. They were steady on my legs, my arms, my chest—you were fascinated with my movement. You were captivated by every step. I loathed it, and worse, I understood it. I remembered my fascination with them . Wretched rotten little beasts.

I twitched as you gently guided me to sit on your couch. You leaned closer to me, your brow furrowed in inquisition, “...How can you move?”

I mimicked your head tilt. I hoped to unnerve you, but a delighted smile spread across your face. 

“Charming,” You said. You started to sift through your tools again, picking through them like fruit. “You’ll have to bear with me,” You were talking to yourself again, feigning to me. “I’ve never worked with machinery this old before... You wouldn’t happen to have a USB port would you?” You laughed as if I had any idea what you were talking about. “I’ll have to do a bit of research tomorrow, but for now let’s ease some of that corrosion, hm?”

You set down two small canisters and a fiberglass cloth next to your lap. Your eyes briefly flitted to mine, before timidly staring at my body. You kept your head lowered as you held my wrist. You were deliberately avoiding my stare. That excited me. 

You gently tilted my wrist back and forth, testing the joints, but you were grinding the sensitive tendons and gears in a drumming pain that was both too piercing and too dull. When you were done with my wrist, you moved to my arm, my shoulder, my jaw; the pain of your flexion mixed with the pleasure of your touch traveling up my body. Your fingertips were hesitant checking my joints. Were you afraid of touching my flesh? I hoped you were.

You took one of the canisters and held its nozzle to my wrist joint, but you hesitated. Your eyes were drawn to mine, but you hastily returned your focus to the canister you were holding, reading its label. When my eyes followed yours, I saw what was on the label. Hydrochloric acid. “...Is this going to corrode the corpse...?” You asked yourself. 

error

command unclear

> execute command ([MOVE]) = Yes/No?

> YES.

“Whatever,” Before you could tip the canister, my hand shot to your wrist. A choked gasp escaped your lips. You froze. You stilled your breath. Your wrist shook ever so slightly under my grip, and oh how I loved that. You were terrified , and it was so sweet to the taste , I could drink it . I realized if you tried to run from me, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from killing you.

You didn’t run. You swallowed, eyes shaking as you studied me. You couldn’t hold my gaze for a fraction of a second before, and now you acted as if your life depended on keeping it. “That’s-... That’s one hell of a safeguard protocol...” You said through a trembling breath. Your skin looked so alive and flush against my rotting, soiled fursuit.

I had never been good at resisting my impulses.

> Execute([SQUEEZE])

> executing command = [SQUEEZE]

Warm flesh and bone pressed under my grip, and panic seized you. I drank how your eyes flashed through shock, then stupor, then horror. I was slow. I wanted to savor it. You instinctually clawed at my wrist with your free hand. You dropped the canister, “ Wait! Stop, stop, don’t-!” 

I relished the sharp inhale that passed your lips when I abruptly dropped you. You held your wrist tenderly, massaging the bruise and leaning away from me with wide, uncertain eyes. I would have laughed if it were possible. You swallowed and slowly inched your hand down toward the discarded canister. My fingers twitched at the possibility of scaring you again, but you noticed. Like an animal being trained, you returned your hand.

“Okay. No rust remover.” You said slowly, as if the words tasted strange on your tongue. You held up the other canister, turning the label toward me. “Is oil okay?”

You watched me with dreadful anticipation, but I didn’t make any move to respond to you. You swallowed and slowly moved the oil to my wrist. Your body was tense, ready to jump back if I moved. That wouldn’t do you any good. I was faster than you. I was tempted to show you that, but... adding lubricant to my joints could make moving less of an excruciating hell. Even just the idea of a little relief from the pain was enough to temper my impulses.

Your brow furrowed as your eyes trained on me. “You... can tell the difference...?” The words past your lips in a doubtful whisper. You couldn’t believe it, and how amusing it was that you were made to. I wondered how long it would take you to figure out that it wasn’t genius coding hurting you; how complex my actions could get before you realized there was a conscious being ruling them. I could play pretend. It wouldn’t be my first time.

The prospect of ‘playing pretend’ sent tingling electricity through me, though I wasn’t sure it was me . Spring Bonnie loved to play games. I didn’t know that until he killed me.

Despite your doubts, you poured cool, thick oil over my joints. You used the soft cloth to smear it over my dull, rotting machinery. I wished you’d use your bare hands, but I feared you’d stop altogether if I snatched the cloth from you. You were quick with your work, spreading a few cursory swipes before moving onto the next joint. Were you afraid I’d grab you again? That tempted me to. 

You coated the joints at each of my limbs, kneeling below me to lubricate my legs and feet. I noticed your raw disgust at my legs, where my corpse was most exposed. You avoided touching my rotten flesh; you didn’t even attempt to dig past my viscera to lubricate the joint at my waist. You hesitated when you reached my neck. 

I leaned my head closer to you, tilting my chin to the side so you would have easier access.

I relished the subtle, weighted inhale you couldn’t suppress. You swallowed before slowly reaching out with your cloth. You smeared thick oil with one hand, but the other hand you used to hold my jaw—your bare hand. It was dizzying to feel. It hypnotized me; wiped my mind the moment you touched me. My eyes closed and my machinery hummed. You were so alive . Your fingers were so alive. I needed them. I needed them. 

“...Weird...” You said. You pulled away from me and I was cold. I hated that I was cold . Rage crept through me until I was blind with it. I hated that you pulled away. I hated that you were alive. I hated that you weren’t touching me. I hated that I needed it. I hated you. I’d kill you I’d kill you I’d kill you I’d kill you I’d-

You held out your hand for me to grab. I took it. 

You stood up and led me to my crate, “There you go. How does that feel?”

The pain was still there, but it was dampened.

You hummed, “Your movement is a little smoother. I wish I could’ve scrubbed off some of that rust...” You leaned closer to my torso, peeking past the viscera. “I spotted a PLC behind all that-” You swallowed, bringing your eyes up to mine before looking away, “Uhm, well anyway, we can do more tomorrow. What do you think about getting your voicebox fixed, hmm?”

I didn’t want my voicebox fixed. I wanted that damned storage protocol gone. And Spring Bonnie’s penchant for children’s noises. However, I couldn’t tell you that. 

You peered at me, turning your head slightly as if you expected me to respond. I didn’t. “...Alright, well....”

You tried to lead me into the box; dragging my hand to it, lightly pushing me in. I wouldn’t go back into the crate.

“...Okay, you can just... stand here then,” You shivered. My eyes followed you as you withdrew from me and moved to a door. “ Goodnight, Bonnie.” You flicked the lights and I was in darkness.

I didn’t move from my spot, but I could still hear you move from the other room. Light pooled at the bottom of the door, an occasional shadow gliding across the floor. Finally, the lights switched off. 

> execute command ([FOLLOW]) = Yes/No?

> No. Not yet.

I was alone. The darkness and silence were nauseating. The white noise returned at the edges of my mind like a creeping sickness. It was dulling, it was numbing, it was maddening . But I could wait. Just until you fell asleep.

I waited. Stillness hugged the air like a blanket. I waited until I suffocated on static.

> Execute([FOLLOW])

Pressure released from my metal bones as they executed the command. I was silent as I moved. I wouldn’t wake you.

I turned the handle of the door. It was locked. 

...Very clever, carrot.

With one quick, muffled jerk, I snapped the doorknob off. Your door slowly creaked open. I dropped the doorknob; it bounced softly on your carpet. My eyes scanned the room for you. It was a bedroom, small and quaint. The blankets shifted on the bed. You didn’t wake. Part of me wished you did.

I moved noiseless to your bedside. You were buried in blankets. Your breath was slow and heavy. How easy would it be to wrap my hands around your throat? To lean over your sleeping body and watch the panic and fear flood your expression? If I had taken a knife from the kitchen, I could’ve painted the sheets with your blood. I’d feel the warmth bleed from you. Your horror would give way to numbness—eyes full of life fading to nothing. You’d be consumed by the static that never left me. Your death, though satisfying, wasn’t what excited me. It was your fear. The terror thrilled me. It thrilled me long before I was dead. 

I didn’t sleep. My body and mind still needed it— craved it— but I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t slept since death.

I didn’t kill you, though my maggot riddled mind desperately craved to. Even if you weren’t going to put me back together, I wouldn’t be able to resist prolonging your death—squeezing every last drop of fear I could from your heart. Now... now I just had to prolong it a little longer than I first intended. I didn’t mind. It gave me more time to savor your terror. To twist your waking moments with dread . You already were second guessing yourself. How could a machine decades old execute such an advanced cognitive function? How could I know what materials you were holding? How could I follow you without you noticing? How could I break into your room, and why was I watching you sleep?

You didn’t know that last one yet, but I was simply giddy to watch that horror wash over you.

No, I didn’t kill you. But I imagined it. I imagined it so vividly, it felt tangible— mouthwateringly tangible. Over and over , playing like a favorite melody. It was my favorite melody. And when I killed you, I’d dance to the song that was your screams.

[dropsnectar]

Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x afab!reader

PART THREE

This is a longer part than the rest, but its all necessary dialogue so it should be fine. More fluffy and romance than smut, BUT!! Their will be smut in the next section! I know I said this will only be 4 parts, but it may actually be more like 5 or 6. Anyway, hope you like!

So. You were starting to learn that using large batches of magic back to back weren't ideal for a young witch's health. It seemed like you might have overdone it, as when you woke you found you had been asleep for TWO WHOLE DAYS. So. If you were going to do magic, it looked like you were going to have to pace yourself, or perhaps use LESS magic.

You put yourself to learning more about witchcraft. The thing was, your grandmother's books didn't really go into the basics, and as witches were so rare, information was hard to find. Of course, the internet was full of supposed witch spells, or frameworks, but it was like throwing dice. Some spells didn't work. Some spells took up WAY too much energy. Some were just… fine? But not what you needed. 

Next you checked out forum sites. Maybe you could find a community through that way? But all you found were psychics and tarot readers. Nice people, but not what you needed.

Whelp. Maybe you needed to look at the issue differently. The environment used to be a beautiful, thriving area. What had changed between now and then? In order to understand a magic ecosystem, you had to understand ecosystems. So, for the rest of the week you busied yourself with ecology study. It was turning out that this project you had adopted on a whim would need a lot more time and breadth of knowledge then you originally thought.

***

When you met with Rena, under Lyith’s friendly gaze, you found that the magic you had cast hadn't waned at all. The flowers had grown beautifully and continued to give magic nectar that created the best honey. Rena was beside herself. “The elders of the hive say they haven't had honey of this quality since they were children! You are really onto something here, little one.”

Rena had now gotten in the habit of calling you little one. Sure, as a Bee-man she was slightly taller than you, but not by much. Also the constant fluttering and floating didn't help. 

“You've been given permission to test your magic on our other gardens as well. As long as we are careful and continue with caution!” Rena babbled. You gave her a small smile and felt Lyiths arm on your shoulder. He laid his head on your other shoulder, leaning his fuzzy head against yours. 

“Whats wrong?”

You wiggled a little. “I'm just having a hard time brainstorming how to do this. I know I said I'd help you guys, but I might not be able to use as much magic as last time. To be honest, I don't really know much about my mana and my limits…” you explained your situation. Expecting there to be disappointment, you were surprised to find none.

“I can’t help but think… How long will this last? One spell isn’t going to cut it for that long. I want to create something that will last for you guys, but that might take a while… and doing just this took all the mana I had. I want to do better. But I don’t want to hurt myself either, especially when I don’t know how this could affect my health in the long run…” The bee-men seemed to be catching on.

“Of course, little one. We wouldn't want you to harm yourself.”

 Lyith also popped up, his voice almost in your ear.

“Us Bee-men also have something like mana. Our magic is not never ending. We would have fixed this situation ourselves if it was.”

Rena reached forward and grabbed your hand, giving it a reassuring pat. “We don't have to do anything today. We can commence whenever you'd like. Our flowers have spread out beautifully and even this is enough.”

You frowned.

“I may have to do this every spring. Or even redo it in the summer…”

“You don’t owe us anything. You are trying your best to do us a kindness. And our hive knows and sees that. We are beyond grateful to you… Its… We’ve needed…We are truly grateful.” His expression fell at the mention of his hive, his antennas drooping. Rena moved forward and held Lyith, a sad expression on her own face.

There was a pause in conversation that grew somewhat awkward.

How do I make this better? You tried to brainstorm, but only one thing came to mind. 

You went over and gave the both of them a big bear hug. It was a tense one, but you tried to adjust your emotions, instead concentrating on how fond you had grown of the two. You tried to shout it as loud as you could through your brain at them.

This seemed to break the spell, as Rena started to laugh. Lyith looked at you affectionately. 

“I know we haven't known each other long, but I just want to say, you can count on me. If you ever need to talk about anything let me know. I'll listen.”

Rena and Lyith hummed in response, returning your group hug with a long squeeze.

Long hugs. The favorite actions of a Bee-men.

After some quiet reassurances, the two of you decided to idle while the two foraged on the edge of the Wood. You walked with them and asked them as many questions you could think of. How old were they? Were they able to do other magics? You had thought Bee-men to be isolated. How come they knew so much about human culture?

Lyith was the one who answered you most of the time. It seemed that bee-man typically lived double the life of a human, with Rena and Lyith being about 45, and 51, Lyith being the oldest. They were in the same season of life as you though!

Bee-man could do some other magics(they didn't go much into what), but they specialized in making their magical honey, which fortified the health and wellbeing of a Bee-men. 

They didn’t say it outright but it seemed like the dip in magic had affected the nutrition of their food source. They kept their own bees and shared honey, but it still wasn't enough, so they had ventured out into human society to buy fruit when it was necessary. They also did trade with neighboring beast-men, the Wolfmen being happy to share their fruit for their Bee’s wax waste. I 

“What exactly do you guys do for fun though?” You asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Lyith smiled. “Late night flying is fun.”

Rena snorted. “You mean late night spying. Lyith has a habit of looking through people's windows.”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at Rena. “If they did not want to be seen they would have drawn the curtains. It's not strange, I am just curious about human life is all.”

Rena reached forward and pinched Lyiths nose. “Poor thing. So bored he must make mischief.”

You looked at Lyith with surprise. His big eyes grew in concern and he pouted at you.

“You are not going to tease me too are you? I promise, I never see anything scandalous. I'm a good little bee.” He fluttered his eyes at you.

You giggled and pushed his shoulder. 

“As long as you're not spying on me I guess it's harmless.”

Lyiths expression shifted to one of his dopey smiles. It always surprised you how innocent he could look despite his size. Was it maybe…

“So… I may have read that you guys are telepathic right?” 

Renas face changed into a smirk. 

“Yes, and?”

“ Well, have you guys ever… used your powers on me?” 

Rena snorted. Lyith gave you an unreadable expression. “We Bee-man are very particular about sharing our heads outside of our hives. But no. We haven't done anything to you if that's what you meant…”

Oh. He was pouting now.

“No! Thats not what I meant! I just… i feel so comfortable around you guys it's almost supernatural. I just. Idk. Wanted to know. Please I didn't mean anything by it!”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at you and Rena continued to seem amused. You felt helpless and got a bit upset with yourself. You did your best to calm yourself down but you were upset. You had so few friends here and you were afraid you blew it. A wave of loneliness swept through you.

Lyith was watching you the whole time, before sighing. “All will be forgiven if you give us some of those fruit tarts you made yesterday.”

You looked at him, shocked. 

“I thought you said you didn't spy on me!”

“I wasn't spying, I just happened to be foraging by the window, and smelled something amazing. It was all incidental.”

“There's sugar in the crust. Won’t your tummy get upset?”

He just smiled. Rena laughed. “He named his price. For offending us, we must get fruit tarts.”

Finally feeling better, the three of you walked(they let you walk!!!) Back to your home. You served them up your tarts, when finally the questions started coming about you. Why did you move here? Do you have any siblings? What were you like as a child?

This went on until dinner time, at which point you decided to shoo your new friends away. “ I'll be back to do the flowers tomorrow. We… we will see what I can do.” You admitted. The two of them smiled at you, hugging you tight for a good three minutes. They always lingered, nuzzling your face and hair, as if they were getting a whiff of you. You could smell their own perfume and tried not to think too much. Their goodbyes always felt so intimate. 

 Rena decided to pepper your face in kisses before they left. Lyith just rolled his eyes at her. When they drew apart you felt empty, like some piece of you was going with them.

***

As always, Lyith picked you up that morning. This time, you made sure to bring a scarf and hat, alongside emergency snacks in your bag. Where he was taking you next was a little longer of a trip, a whole ten minutes to the usual six. That was a long time when you were hurtling through the air.

You were surprised to drop into a small crowd. There were ten Bee-men present besides Rena, who seemed to be communicating silently with them. The air was full of bee noises; humming, purring, the fluttering of wings. The air smelled amazingly fresh, floral and syrupy. It was an odd smell, but it seemed to put you at ease somehow. And maybe a bit peckish.

A Beeman a whole foot and a half taller then Rena fluttered towards you. They bowed, of which you awkwardly returned before they reached forward and took your hand gently. Lyith started,

“This is Elder Bisou. He is the eldest of our hive. He is showing you respect.”

Elder Bisou smiled at you. “Little Witch, I welcome you to our territory. My human is a bit… unused. Please receive our thanks for your efforts.” He took your hand and leaned down so that it met his temple. You could feel the rush of his magic, like your mind was a fish bowl and he was putting a gentle hand on the glass. You could feel his warmth, his deep gratitude through it. 

Your back straightened and you felt water prick your eyelids. You gave him a slow nod, becoming acutely aware just how serious this whole situation actually was. Rena and Lyith had been dancing around it, but the Bee-men must be slowly starving to death. That was the only explanation for the depths of what you had felt.

“I will do my best.” Was all you could reply. 

Lyith, acting as your translator, took you to each Bee-men he could and introduced you. It seemed that some of the elders, as well as some of those who had free time had come to watch the “little witch” work. Most took your hand gently, and sent you a ghost of what their emotions were. There was a sort of film around the emotions, a barrier of sorts. Whether this was on purpose so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed, or just how their telepathy worked, you couldn't tell. 

You did your best to not let your nerves get to you as you dissected the sections of the field where you would be doing your experiments. You didn’t know how these particular flowers would take to your spell, so it was still best to be cautious. The bee-men looked on with interest.

You did your chants in a loud booming fashion, and channeled in as elegant a fashion as you could. Like always, the magic came, and the spell did its work. These flowers were different, like rainbow colored lavender. Rather than letting the magic gush through you, you let it gently trickle out, pacing yourself. When the deeds were done, you still felt sore, and you still held a headache in your temple, but there was no nausea, so growth! 

Once you were done with your work, there was a large excited buzzing throughout the forest. There was clapping, dancing, stomping of feet, pumping of many hands, whoops from Rena and Lyith. One Bee, a worker named Aidenn held a small wooden instrument in his hands and started to play. This triggered a chorus from the Bee-men. There was a harmonizing among the crowd and they started to circle each other, laughing and dancing. A circle of flying, spinning Bee-men formed.

Rena grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you onto her shoulder before joining in the circle of the dance. You giggled as you spun, feeling the giddiness in the air like it was laughing gas. That same pressure filled your mind and a part of your heart started to soar. It was intimate, but not stifling and you loved feeling so close to everyone.

You lifted your hands and, feeling in the spirit, decided to hum along. At some point Rena had taken you in her arms and held you close as they continued to fly in a circle, spinning and perrying, and switching. It was similar to square dancing, where there was a pattern to it. 

At one point, the tune changed and Lyith swooped down from above and grabbed you out of Rena’s arms. She snorted at him but let it happen, joining hands with another passing Bee-men. When Lyith gathered you in his arms, he cradled you as close as possible, surprising you. One hand was gripping firmly around your waist and the other crushing you to him. He landed on the ground, and the rest of the bee-men followed, causing something of a ballroom dance. 

“You did wonderfully today.” He breathed in your ear, causing them to redden. You pulled yourself back a bit to see his face and he was looking at you with such pride and affection it felt like a weight crushing your chest. You moved your hands from his shoulders to reach his own hands. You were shaky, but you wanted to return his feelings somehow. His palms were soft.

This caused him to laugh, a purring sort of trill coming from his throat. You couldn’t help a silly grin form on your face.

“I’m glad you came to my garden.” Was all you could think to say.

He looked at you, with those big black eyes, then reached forward and kissed you on the lips. It was only a peck, but you could feel his joy through it. 

Something complex within you, a mix of happiness, excitement, hope, all of your feelings rose up into your throat. Unable to find the words to express yourself, you took all of those big heavy emotions, wrapped them all up together and kissed him back, right there, in the middle of your makeshift dance floor.

When you pulled away Lyith looked shocked, his bottom lip hanging open. Adorable as usual. 

Rena hollered from the otherside of the gathering, sending out a big whoop. There was laughter, buzzing and an echoing whoop from some of the younger bee-men. Elder Bisou made some clicking sounds, but the sides of his mouth were slightly upturned.

It occurred to you then that you were in the middle of a group of very telepathic monster people. Your cheeks grew hot in embarrassment and you pulled away from Lyith a bit. Your shoes suddenly became very interesting. 

Lyith eventually turned your chin back up to face him. He held a small peaceful smile, before bumping his forehead to yours. He didn’t share his emotions but the affection was still there.

After you grew too tired to dance, you took a seat under a tree, munching on a granola bar. Another one of the Bee-men, a younger drone named Haven, made his way to sit next to you.

“I don’t know if it was mentioned, but honey production has picked up enormously since you agreed to help us. I haven’t felt this great in… well ever! Thank you little witch!”

“I’m not little, but thank you for saying so.” You were starting to get a bit lightheaded now, and not from the dancing. It was possible that some of the symptoms of mana sickness were surfacing a little late.

“You are strong! That is true! Even elder Bisou has said he hasn’t met a human or beastman with mana like yours!” Haven turned his voice down to a whisper, as if he was sharing a secret, “Your magic smells so much like flowers, really, its a huge blessing! In fact, I would eat you up if I could!” He laughed as if he had made a joke. He sighed and looked up dreamily at the sky. “Alas, I am saving myself for when we find our queen.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if to fend off imaginary suitors.

You wrinkled your nose. “Queen? You don’t have a queen? Isn’t that super bad for bees, I mean bee-men?” 

Heaven tilted his head at you, reminding you of Lyith. 

“Of course. That's why we are all so small and weak.” You stared at him in shock. He put up his hands. “We are doing well though! It's been 20 years since our queen died but we are still here! Oh! There is a hive up north! Any day now, one of their queens' daughters might descend and bless us! Or.. Or we--”

“Little One! You seem like you're getting sick!” Rena Descended from above and put a hand to your forehead.

“You are far too warm! Haven, mind if I take her out of your wings?”

Heaven looked up at Rena, his face a mask of confusion. He eventually gave in though and stood up.

“I should check on Elder Bisou! He might need something!” His voice was flat, obviously fake, but he ran away- flew away with gusto.

Rena took your face into her hands, tilting your head back and forth. Your lightheadedness turned full on dizzy. Rena’s face screwed up in an annoyed expression.

“You overdid it. And after that whole speech about not knowing your limits too..” She gently put a hand on your back and picked you up princess style. You would have been embarrassed, if your brain was functioning properly. Instead your gaze fixed on Rena’s beautiful iridescent wings. The lights were so lovely and they helped ground you. Honestly, everything about Rena was lovely. Well, maybe lovely wasn’t the right word. She was rough around the edges. A tease and a know it all. But she doted on you so, it made you feel a bit overwhelmed. Your gaze shifted from her wings to her lovely nose, pretty sharp for a bee-men. 

Rena started conversing with Lyith about you, pointing her jaw and humming. Huh. Rena was actually incredibly attractive. You had known that before. Maybe it was something about how dizzy everything was. The last time you had felt this way she had been kissing you, her textured tongue pushing nectar down your thoat-

“Little One”

Your mind immediately focused. She was using a demanding tone. 

“Lyith will take you home. Next time, we will only do one spell at a time.” She leaned forward and placed her cool lips to the side of your mouth. Making you blush. Well your face was already heated so you would have blushed. “I will see you again soon. Rest.” And she was off.

You were in Lyith’s arms again. A place you were starting to get comfortable in. He stared at you for a moment, his lips pursed, then sighed loudly. He held your gaze for a moment.

“I do not like this habit you are forming. You will not get sick again, understand?” 

You nodded at him, mind hazy. Sleepy. You were sleepy. 

You didn’t register the fly home, only that the coolness felt nice. You were carried from the porch, into the living room, up the stairs, and laid on your bed. You were covered in warm, delicious blankets. 

You never saw Lyith leave before you passed out. Probably because he tucked himself in right beside you, the cool air washing over both of you from the open bedroom window.

Part Four

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

Hashtag /definitely/ helped Bee do a bit of research for his lil presentation. I know I used the internet to figure out the framework lmao

It's funny when you look up "what defines a good person" the ai kinda gives you a little list with fraggin suggestions of praise to give a good person. Then if you look up "What defines a bad person", it gives you like, factors for it and a list for signs of a toxic relationship and a couple hotline links. Oddly wholesome from google ngl

Also can glimpse a bit of depresso expresso Star. Mah dude has dealt with so much scrap that having a bit of an "im so done with this" scrap attitude be lingering

Previous Chapter: Settling Into Circumstance

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: Family Feud

Chapter 10: Bee's Good Guy Crash Course

Starscream had found himself upon the floor in the odd room the Malto’s put together. He wasn’t about to trust that questionable berth. Splayed out with his wings against the cool stone, where no hidden restraints could pop out at him, was preferable. He’d made sure to check. 

Starscream had just spent the last groon or so picking apart every centihic of the place, in fact. No cameras in the posters, or that ugly lamp. Nothing amiss with the storage underneath the berth. The pillows as they’d been called still looked suspicious, but he hadn’t been able to prove how yet. The doorframe definitely harbored a means to seal him inside at their leisure, he just needed to make certain not to aggravate them to such a point. Prove that he could stay put voluntarily.

Starscream stared up at the fake little stars in thought. Could those possibly conceal turrets like those implemented by G.H.O.S.T.? They were rather small, but so were the humans, and their weaponry. He had tested one, and it seemed innocent enough, but that did not speak for all of them. The bots, nor the Malto’s, would trust leaving him alone in their little bunker without some insurance. They had to have some form of security. Even if it did only look like a ridiculous clubhouse for sparklings. 

His wing twitched as he felt the distinct vibrations of pedsteps through the floor. That was far more trustworthy than his audials which seemed to be constantly glitchy as of late. But whose were they? As they rhythmically made their way towards him, he calculated the pace of the stride with the weight. It was Bumblebee.

“Why are you on the floor?” The bug gestured a servo to him with an air of judgment.

Starscream remained silent for a moment as he glanced over at the mech, “What do you want?”

Bumblebee’s optical lids and doors dropped in annoyance, then he straightened with a slight roll of his helm. “Weeell, we had our time to get situated. So now, I thought–since the kids are either occupied with school or going out to find new cave springs–I could get you started on your good guy training! As I’m sure the Terrans could tell you, I’m a great teacher. And I put together a lecture on the dos and don’t of not being a garbage person!”

“Lucky me.” Starscream said sarcastically with a toss of his servo which promptly flopped back down with a thunk. Did he really have to listen to this scout?

Bumblebee groaned and stepped closer to stand over the seeker with his servos on his hips. “So get up! I’m not rolling my whiteboard in here for you.”

Starscream glared at him before pushing himself onto his peds with his own little noise of complaint. Allowing himself to be commanded by this bug was insulting. Yet there seemed no avoiding it given the circumstances, and at least it was something to do.

“Thank you.” The bug stated flatly as he turned to lead the way toward whatever annoying presentation he had planned.

A crate was pulled out in front of the aptly named “whiteboard”, which the bug told Starscream to take his seat in. One side of the board was labeled “pillars of being a good person”; Empathy, Consideration, Accountability, Prudence, Temperance, Justice, Fortitude. The rest was split into two sections detailing the aforementioned “dos and don’ts” in green versus red marker. 

Do: be kind, be patient, be understanding, be selfless, be compassionate, be respectful, be honest, be loyal, be helpful. 

Don’t: be rude, be selfish, be aggressive, be greedy, be spiteful, be insensitive, plot against your friends, want world domination, steal, be controlling, hit people, ignore people, manipulate people.

Those seemed rather personal, ridiculous, and quite debatable.

Bumblebee had retrieved a stick to point with, and tapped it on the red side. “First, we’ll go over what you shouldn’t do. For instance, you were rather rude a minute ago–”

“How?”

“Wha–what do you mean how?? You were giving me all this sass for no reason, didn’t answer my first question, and acted like a disgruntled teenager!” The bug counted on his digits. 

Starscream crossed his arms. “That’s an exaggeration. And what makes you believe you are even worth my respect?” Bumblebee looked just about ready to explode, but Starscream smirked with the thought that if the scout did decide to start a fight, he could point to the stupid little board that admonished hitting people. 

“DUDE! I’m the bot that was trusted to watch over you! Do you know how much I did in the war? I definitely kicked your tailpipe more than once!” The scout pointed the stick at starscream angrily before slumping backwards dramatically. “Ugh…just- regardless, being respectful to people isn’t something you should think they need to earn.”

Starscream laughed, “That’s cute. So you say that you really did just throw the Prime on your pedestal out of nothing but sheer reverence? He did nothing to prove his position worth your confidence?”

  “No! Optimus is an awesome leader, and ticks literally every box on the Do list! He’s done thousands of things to express why he’s a Prime–”

“What about Megatron?”

“He–...Megatron proved his conviction to us when he changed sides, and continues to prove it.” The bug had begun to avert his gaze. “He’s changed for the sake of our people. Optimus believes in him, so I do too. You still have a way to go to get to that point.”

“Ah, so all I have to do is betray everything I’ve stood by for practically my entire functioning, and destroy the Allspark–for you to think me worthy of your respect? Hah! Does that not go against your standard of loyalty? Megatron didn’t do scrap for our people. And that Prime is hardly a saint.”

Bumblebee ex-vented as he rubbed his optics. “…Let's just move on. Trust is the thing that needs to be earned. Shown by actions. Like not being a power hungry crazy person, or plotting world domination, or betraying your friends for your own selfish goals–” The bug abruptly stopped with a cringed expression before continuing– “Uh, yeah, so you should work on y’know, thinking about others and stuff.”

Starscream suddenly noticed his optics glitch and he shook his helm. Right. That was why the bug hesitated. Was Bumblebee actually afraid of him, after all that talk? He should be. A dozen morbid thoughts flashed through Starscream’s processor. The bug had some nerve acting as if he were so perfect.

The lightning flickered through his wings in a subtle warning, “Oh yes. Think about others, hm? What do you think I’ve been trying to do? Ah, right. I am the power crazy lunatic who wants to rule the world, purely for my own pleasure.” Starscream growled dangerously as he put a servo to his chassis before tossing it aside. “Can you honestly blame me for finding myself the only trustworthy candidate for the role? Or aspiring for something better than these pitiful state of affairs? Any friends I may have had, are dead, or betrayed me first. You know nothing, bug.”

Bumblebee scrutinized him with his optics as he actually seemed to be thinking about his next words. “Maybe not…” He tested the stick in his servos. “You’re not exactly the most easy to read mech, Starscream. But even if you really want to think you’re the hero somehow in that twisted processor of yours, we’re gonna have to get this stuff down.” He tapped the board, then added mockingly, “You came here with pure intentions of being redeemed, didn’t you?”

Starscream’s wing twitched, then he crossed his stabilizing servos and poised his posture. “Of course.”

“So how about you actually listen to your teacher for a second, ‘kay? Cool. Great.” The scout brought his stick to point at the first word in his list of pillars. “Empathy. The ability to relate to others on both an emotional and intellectual level. It’s like when you see someone get hurt, and you feel it too, and therefore–should be inclined to help them! It's all about that connection and understanding, that then leads us into Consideration. Which is being mindful of others’ feelings. You need to be empathetic towards someone who's in danger or struggling, and considerate of how your actions affect those around you. So, imagine I’m your partner on a mission, and I don't know, a building collapsed on me or something. You could either leave me there and run away to save your own plating, or pull me out of the rubble to safety. What do you do?”

Starscream’s processor blanked with an echo of static. There were too many variables that would need to be considered in that hypothetical. There wasn’t enough information. Even so, obviously he wouldn’t save an Autobot, that’d be foolish. Rescue the enemy on some naive basis of…empathy? A mech should be able to take care of themself. It would probably be the bug's own fault if he found himself in such a situation. Then who was Starscream to take his opportunity to prove himself capable of fixing his mistake? Saving useless mechs who can’t keep themselves online, would only lead to getting himself killed needlessly. Then how would that be helpful?

He could probably discern what response the scout wanted, but instead a different question escaped his intake. “Would you save a Decepticon in such a scenario?” The rampant hypocrisy amongst the bots irked him. 

“Well–” Bumblebee shifted as he hesitated to confess the obvious answer– “Look, I’m not talking about war, I’m talking about just in general. It doesn’t have to be me that you envision, it could be basically anyone. That's supposed to be the point.”

“If it is merely anyone, then why should I care?”

The scout ran a servo down his faceplate, “Fine. What if it was uh…Skywarp?”

Skywarp’s mangled frame, caught crushed between splintered shards of a once mighty structure, shattered by the Autobots. Skywarp leaking energon with only their helm and a servo free from their predicament. Barely conscious as they called out for Thundercracker in the carnage, who they’d never see again. Skywarp, being painfully quiet for a rare moment in their functioning, before screaming at Starscream for not looking for their brother harder. 

A clapping of servos faded in from a chaotic symphony of explosions and voices, into what they were. Bumblebee was trying to get his attention. 

“Hey! Hey, where’d you go man? You good?” The scout was next to him and centihics away from prodding him with that stupid stick.

Starscream smacked it away and snapped, “I’m fine. Of course I got Skywarp out–a lot of thanks that got me!” His optics flashed red as the memory of Megatron’s fusion cannon sending him crumpled down against the wall, while Skywarp watched, glitched in his processor. 

“Helping people isn’t about getting praised for it!” The bug snipped back as he grumpily retrieved his lost stick. “It’s about doing the right thing, and showing that you care about the people around you… You don’t regret helping them, right?” When Starscream couldn’t respond, Bumblebee continued. “...How about we go to the next topic?”

Starscream stared blankly. He didn’t care. He didn’t have a choice. This was stupid.

“Right…” The scout began awkwardly as he slowly raised his stick to point at the board again. “The next one is… Accountability. Taking responsibility for your actions. Which plays on the Consideration one, because as you consider others’ feelings, you can take yourself accountable when you hurt someone. Like how what you did hit Hashtag pretty hard, and you can take responsibility by acknowledging that. As well as y’know, try to make it up to her. Meg–uh…Oh Primus what’s a better example…? Let’s just focus on the point that to be a good person, you need to recognize when you mess up, and then do something constructive about it.”

Starscream was hardly listening. This whole thing was just a huge guilt trip. Set for the scout to shame him for what a horrible person he was.

The bug just kept talking. 

“Prudence is the act of being reflective, and objective when you’re making decisions. The reflective bit ties with the Accountability one in that it’s about you being aware of the effects of your actions, and that requires looking back on them and deciding what could be improved. The objective part is about not letting your biases, or anger, affect your decisions. Whiiiich goes into Temperance, that means controlling your passion in a way that doesn’t allow yourself to lash out at others. Like how you were getting a bit feisty earlier and snapping at everyone’s favorite teacher!” Bumblebee straightened a bit before pointing the stick at Starscream in some feeble attempt at scolding him. “Not cool. But, I know that might have been a bit fast, so how about another hypothetical! Let’s say, you accidentally broke the kid’s speaker because you hated the music or something. What do you do when they find out, or even before?”

“Plant the evidence where it could incriminate someone else.” Starscream responded immediately without much thought. 

The bug’s faceplate scrunched. “No…You’re–you’re supposed to take accountability. Tell them you did it, say you’re sorry, and either repair it or get them a new one.”

“Why put such a stain on your record–or risk them not accepting your peace offering–when you could simply frame someone else and let it be their problem? Openly admitting fault seldom gets you in anyone’s good graces.” Starscream rolled his optics at the absurdity.

“First, back to the empathy thing, you shouldn’t pawn your problems onto other people. If you are worried about the consequences, then you shouldn’t want to inflict it on someone else. Second, it’s again, not about getting on people’s good sides or praise or anything like that.”

“What is it then? Is it so you can congratulate yourself on how oh so virtuous you are for DoInG tHe RiGhT tHiNg, after they break your servo? It is either them or me. I do not apologize for being a bit selfish on the matter. Your morals are moronic.” 

Bumblebee put his servos together and brought them to his faceplate, then pointed his digits down. “...What about breaking a speaker is some life or death situation?” He let his servos fall. “Dude. No one’s going to do that over a little mistake.”

Starscream stared at him with a raised optical ridge skeptically. That statement was extremely doubtful. Mistakes could be deadly, no matter how insignificant. Even if such a thing may not seem like it would warrant such a response, it never stopped Megatron when he was in a mood. The bug could say that now, but he could not promise that for anyone in the future. Even himself.

The bug got a rather odd expression at his silence. “No one here is ever going to do that. We talk things out. That is how we deal with things in this team. We practice the Temperance and Prudence rules! Keeping our anger in check to manage our decisions in non-violent ways! With the exception of a bit of rough-housing–They might still be mad, but they would appreciate honesty. Your way would just make things worse, not better. Especially if they found out anyway. No one can be perfect, but you still gotta put forth that effort.”

Starscream rested his faceplate on his propped servo with bored optics, “Sure.”

“I’m serious.” The bug put a servo on his hip, “As long as you try, that still counts for something. And we help each other. I’m still a bit guilty of having those occasional moments where I’ve made more reckless decisions. It happens.” He shrugged, “You really just have to make sure to avoid those big ones.”

Avoid the big ones? What scale were these bots weighing their decisions upon? How was Starscream supposed to know what was large or small in their optics? Instances that he felt could be disregarded after proper punishment, seemed to linger for them. Destroying that device in the hypothetical, was apparently a low level offense, but that hardly grazed the range of circumstance. He didn’t have vorns to navigate this place. 

Starscream was glaring hard at basically nothing. This redemption angle of this ordeal was going to prove precarious… He didn’t understand why his way was wrong. It had always been how things worked, as far as he could remember. Perhaps… not with Skyfire, but he was different. They had been partners, equals. The power scales here were hardly clear.

The bug had been talking again.

“–guess fairness can be subjective sometimes. I’m sure you're thinking about some backhanded rebuttal already.” Bumblebee actually looked a bit disappointed when Starscream said nothing, and continued with his doors tipping downward. “...But the Justice pillar also ties in with our last one to wrap up today’s lesson, Fortitude. Which is the courage to stand up for what you believe in. To step in when you see something you know is wrong. Basically the complete opposite of the bystander effect! For instance, if you saw someone you care about being held accountable for something that wasn’t their fault–you’d come to their defense.”

Starscream thought of his trinemates again. “It is not so simple.”

“Well…for you, maybe not. But! If you keep these pillars in mind, and really try and implement them, it could get easier right? Practice?” Bumblebee’s vocalizer squeaked with his grin that was full of doubt. “Maybe?”

Starscream studied him for a moment. The bug had seemed to put in a significant amount of effort. As well as being perhaps a bit more self-aware than he thought, for a moment. The scout was certainly odd, but…he meant well. Something could be appreciated about that. Occasionally. 

Then, Starscream stood from the crate and turned to make his way back to his sparkly little quarters. He was still tired, and the assault on his audials he’d just endured did nothing for the ache in his processor. There were decidedly far too many things to think about.

Bumblebee was silent for a moment before calling out to him, “Okay yeah, good talk! I’ll get back to you on the practice exercises, so we can take a break for now!” 

Starscream put a servo up in acknowledgement before slipping into solitary. The idea of getting the last word was appealing, but he didn’t have the energy. Despite the fact that the small room wasn’t entirely comforting, it would at least be a reprieve from regulating every other mech around him every Primus damned nano-klik. 

Starscream stood there in the middle of the room a moment, as his optics drifted to one particular poster. The seekers soaring into the skies, away from a burning city. He approached it. Stared it down with vacant optics and tense servos.

Then ripped apart every scrap of those wretched structures. Until only the sky and his seekers remained. 

A foolish dream, really.

[gynandromorph]

Does only the part of the story in the book actually "exist" within the Canon lore? Like did events before the book, like the side comics you've made or speculation on character's backstories, actually "happen" in-universe?

idletry exists across 2 books so the story itself already exists between discrete chunks of media. things that happen in side comics literally happened in the story. however, they happen outside of the narrative of idletry and sometimes without the narrator's (jessie's) knowledge. this is the tl;dr.

stories are a structured string of focalized events presented with the expectation that what is being presented is relevant to a unifying conclusion. anything that is not necessary to reach that conclusion should not be included. in best practice. so with that in mind, events in side comics may accentuate or elevate the story, but they aren't necessary, and thus aren't included in the narrative itself. idletry specifically refers to this narrative -- the contents of the books. idletry's universe is larger than that narrative. this is most evident in the fact that the audience assumes things happen with the characters that they don't see. when spring becomes fall very suddenly, the reader doesn't assume the characters went into stasis or stopped existing until fall (even this would assume that any time at all had taken place rather than the entire setting changing instantly). they assume things happened, but that they don't need to know about those things, because they are unimportant.

what counts as canon is... incredibly contentious, depending on who you're talking to. some people believe anything that happens outside of the story's text itself is not canon, even if the author said it. this has practical purposes for evaluating the text's quality, but most people just want a hill to die on, because it is feasible to sometimes include and exclude relevant information within an analytical framework when interpreting a story. it has, up until recently, worked relatively well as a belief about canon, though, because it used to be that most literary works ONLY had the text of the novel as their canon. there was no twitter for the author to write extra useless tidbits about the story. this didn't necessarily apply to series, so it wasn't unheard of for "living canon" to exist.

basically, things exist in the canon once they are written. things don't exist in their reality until that point, even if we assume those things happened. even though we assume that time passed in between spring and fall, they literally didn't. there was nothing. the characters may later reference something that happened in between spring and fall, and then it happened. that did not exist in the canon until the moment it was written in some form, though. the event formed retroactively. i've tried explaining how their reality works before and it seemed to just confuse people. it is not supposed to make sense in a logical causative chronological sense. there is a cause for the canon: it's the writer. there is no such translation for events in our reality. the story is very much trying to force you to be aware of how it's working and what doesn't "make sense" in narrative convention, in the way our minds form meaning and make assumptions. so, when i say, "yeah that thing typed onto a tumblr shitpost is literally canon," it can be. because it was literally written. i do try to avoid being so black-and-white with text posts about the characters and canon because things change. sometimes you forget some small detail in the established canon in the moment, and you would have noticed and fixed it in a longer production like a book. what serves the narrative best ultimately is what becomes canon. i wouldn't say a text post about, say, evelyn's mother is NOT canon, but i have usually called it "soft canon." i'm of the belief that canon (and continuity) have a hierarchical nature to them where some parts of canon are "more canon" than others -- some parts are more integral to the narrative's structure, identity, etc. than others. things that happen in idletry are the highest grade of canon. in a contradiction between something literally in idletry and a shitpost, it should always be assumed that the events in idletry are the actual canonically true events that agree with the other events of the canon and their unifying purpose.

i've wanted to make a post for years about my thoughts on story continuity, but i never got around to it. it just didn't seem that important. the closest i've done is a list of more and more extreme continuity errors -- highlighting that some continuity errors are more dire than others.

i noticed the stain drawn on the note card and the extended notes on the hand i'm about to start crying--

don't know how much of this has made sense. maybe on a better day i would have been less wordy.

[yuriskies]

The Inviting Hot Springs

"Too bad the evil mannequins robbed us of the big gay scene" - Mangadex commenter, on Otherside Picnic

I am going to start off with a wild claim here. File 14 (The Inviting Hot Springs) features a drunken romantic moment between Sorawo and Toriko in the onsen which is interrupted by the Otherside at the worst possible moment. They get chased by mannequins. Here's the wild claim: that mannequin chase *is* the big gay scene. It says more about Sorawo and the specialness of her relationship with Toriko than anything they said while giddily flirting in the onsen. This might simply be the stirrings of yuri lit brain, but let me explain (and hopefully acquit) myself here.

Early on in File 14, Sorawo poses a question to Kozakura: "Why is the Otherside targeting me?" The conversation drifts around to Kozakura theorizing that the Otherside is a mirror to one's attachments, and as an example, points out Sorawo's jealous anger towards Satsuki might have been the trigger for the Otherside to manifest her. "Anger is a form of continuous attachment," Kozakura tells her, before suggesting that Sorawo work on processing her past instead of trying to forget it.

Keep in mind, this is Kozakura theorizing, and there's no guarantee that she's correct. But using that theory as a framework, you begin to see a pattern to some of Sorawo's contact with the Otherside. Hasshaku-sama appears when Sorawo begins getting angry about Toriko's fixation on Satsuki. Sorawo gets drawn into the interstitial space while nervously considering how to reconcile after arguing with Toriko. Her ability to recognize her own body is destroyed by the Yamanoke, shortly after talking about her history with the cult and Toriko providing her a sense of belonging. The ghosts of her dad and grandma swoop in to tell her she's a destructive force, right after reaffirming her desire to be together with Toriko. You get the idea.

Desire is a form of continuous attachment.

Trauma is a form of continuous attachment.

The Otherside appears when Sorawo is confronted by emotions she is unable to process. She does not understand intimacy, because her family denied her the ability form intimate bonds. She does not understand how her past shapes how she reacts in the present, because she dissociates from/intentionally tries to forget it. The Otherside is brought close by Sorawo's terror of desire and intimacy, and the way it distorts reality is shaped by the landmines of her past trauma.

So circling back around to the mannequins- it's not surprising they appear the moment Toriko presents Sorawo with the idea of sexual desire being an aspect of their relationship. It is a splash of cold water, and immediately Sorawo is forced to think about both desire and trauma.

Sorawo's anger at Toriko's "cute boobs" comment is driven mostly her feeling of being *targeted* by Toriko's desire, with a lesser bit of jealousy at Toriko doing openly what she herself had desired to do to Toriko. I think it also touches on Sorawo's trauma and past victimization, because she immediately frames Toriko as an unwanted aggressor - she immediately loses all sense of her own agency, and instead begins imagining *how* Toriko was planning to have her way with her.

The choice of a mannequin has a couple of symbolic meanings. The first is in its function - a mannequin's primary reason for existence is aesthetics. It exists to show off what its user wants shown off. A mannequin functions as a reflection of Sorawo's intense shame at being ogled, Toriko is functionally looking at her as a frame on which a cute pair of boobs is being displayed.

The second symbolic reading is in how it contrasts Toriko from "everyone else". A mannequin is a generic, abstract human form, and the level of attention Sorawo usually pays to others would suggest they don't register as much more than mannequins. (The time-saving technique of drawing generic faceless crowds in the manga, intentionally or unintentionally, adds to this reading.) Toriko is "different", lifelike. Sorawo's familiarity provides an intimacy of detail the mannequins lack, and Toriko exists as something more than a series of snapshot-like rigid poses. Toriko occupies vastly more territory in Sorawo's brain than anyone else, and the mannequins reflect it.

The "big bad" is a male mannequin holding his arms up in a W-shape and dressed in a sweatshirt and brimmed hat. He chases the two. I would not be surprised if those details were trauma-related - the arm pose strikes me as a worship posture, and given Sorawo's history of living on the run from the cult, it probably reflects those experiences.

The way Sorawo and Toriko escape from the mannequins adds another layer to symbolism to the scene. The two encounter a party of male mannequins seated around a TV with a screen glowing Otherside Blue. The setting reflects people passively absorbing culture, they look but cannot interact. In contrast, interaction with screen culture is how Sorawo found an escape from family abuse - she did not passively read creepypasta threads, but participated in discussions, hunted them in person, and eventually met Toriko on the Otherside because of them. The screen is the gateway to the next stage of Sorawo's life. Escaping through it together is a reaffirmation of her bond with Toriko and the Otherside's role as connective tissue in their relationship.

So I'll fess up to perjuring myself at the start. The mannequins aren't really the big gay scene, Sorawo and Toriko having a drunk flirt is too adorable to assign that label to anything else in the chapter. But the mannequin chase *is* doing serious lifting with regards to Sorawo and her relationship with Toriko. It reinforces the specialness of their bond while hinting at deep-seated issues with intimacy. The mannequin scene didn't rob us of anything, it complemented what had already occurred.

(P.S. I also doubt it is a coincidence they woke up in bed beside Kozakura. She wants to be their anchor to the surface world, after all)

[readychilledwine]

Cleavage/Collarbones Headcanons

Warnings - as someone who recovered from an eating disorder, I know collarbones can be a very triggering topic. Please proceed with caution.

A/n - 4 of our main girlies to start.. Let me know if we want a part 2 and who should be on it

✨️Acotar Body Headcanons Masterlist✨️

Feyre

Due to Feyre being an archer, I headcanon she has very defined skeletal-muscular build through her chest and shoulders, including her collarbones

Momma has built shoulders and strong arms. It's possibly the strongest muscle grouping in Feyre's body aside from that human heart of hers.

I imagine it's one of her features Rhysand is secretly madly in love with. They're like the perfect framework for any necklaces he gives her.

Something about Feyre's collarbones in my mind screams they'd be elegant on top of everything, but I see Feyre growing into more of a class sex appeal VS male gaze sex appeal outside of the CoN now that she is a mother.

Breasts change a lot with motherhood as well, so I imagine that's motivation for her to continue working her upper body.

I see deep plunging necklines being replaced with sweetheart cuts that dip a bit more in the center, highlighting her.. What was it Rhysie said? Ripe apple-like breasts coming.

Listen, becoming a mom doesn't mean you can't still be sexy (at least lie to me and echo chamber that for me, please) but I think it would change Feyre's cleavage style significantly.

I honestly would find her dressing like this so powerful. She's gone through her spring phase, her high lords play toy phase, let her have a "this is the only preview you get," phase with a new, fuller, hot mom bod, SJM. Please, your mother readers are begging for it.

Mor

Mor is an engima to me. I don't know why.

I don't imagine her with collarbones that capture your attention, but I think that's because I see Mor with a very regal neck, if that makes sense?

Her neckline creates that flow to her very soft collarbones. They're definitely visible, but not that way I believe other females are.

Mor has her fashion set to follow the flow of her body lines, hence the cutout gowns.

I think with Mor, underboob and inside boob cleavage is more popular than traditional top cleavage.

I may be picturing her dresses wrong, but I always picture those dresses girls bought in like early like... 2010s to be Greek goddesses for Halloween. Some of you will know exactly what I'm talking about. Others are about to find out.

Mor strikes me as too confident to worry about modesty and I don't hate her for that.

I mean, if I was a female general and had a body like Mor does, I too would show off my underboobs as a way to show my abs.

Nesta

Ness has collarbones you dream of sipping red wine from. I was going to make that all this section says. I was told that was unfair.

There's something about Nesta that screams collarbone. I don't think she's an unhealthy weight by any means, I just picture her with that built there they are deep and pronounced.

Nesta, I see, as very modest despite fanart depicting her otherwise. I do not think you get to see Ness and her collarbones as often as you may like, and when you do it is a treat.

I imagine Nesta in a lot of square neck lines that maybe have an illusion netting to show a bit of cleavage, but I do not see her in the deep dipping dresses she is sometimes shown in. I know they may have been canon, but, it's canon that feels un-Nesta to me.

Elain

Big girls, where we at?

It's no secret I picture Elain as a plus size girly, and while it is possible for plus sized women to have very visible collarbone built (it's as much about skeletal structure as it is the fluff), I do not picture this for Elain.

In general, I see Elain much softer than her sisters both on the inside and in physical appearance, and those who've gotten to know me best know I think Elain is easily the most attractive of the 3.

Elain has the collarbones that are noticeable when her head is angled just right.

She's thought about making a bargain, hoping the mark would high light them more. That was met with a soft smile from Rhysand, his hand gently touching her face, "That's not how that works, Elain." Rhysand would then introduce her to glimmery cosmetics called highlighters she uses to add some sparkle to her collarbones.

Elain is my off the shoulder moment sister and due to that, I imagine her necklines being similar to Feyre's: Sweethearts, but make it cutesy sexy

I think Elain is a little more bold than Nesta cleavage wise, but not as bold as Feyre may be.

Elain is more willing to show some upper chest and I love her for it.

[cinnamonest]

hmmmm i can’t help but think about how much worse idol / celeb fans would be in the mmau. like, maybe the government has sponsored the first ever female idol group for the sake of entertainment (because i’m sure the men eventually got tired of every source of entertainment, like music, being produced and sang by men) and like… the danger these girls are facing would probably be insane. attempted kidnappings at every concert, im telling you… or if this is a modern AU, the comments under all these girls’ performances are so crazy that all the comments are probably turned off. there’d probably be some men against it too,, like “why are these girls on stage dancing and showing themselves. who is allowing this. this is vulgar and immodest.”

The girl groups are something of an attempt to keep the population placated — the message is like, look! Girls in skimpy outfits bouncing around on stage! Eye candy! Jerkoff material! You can fill the void with obsessing over them and feel less lonely and irritable! You can be content (and not commit violent acts that upset the social framework to attempt to obtain a girl)!

That is, the hope is that it keeps the average guy in his proverbial place, acceptant that he'll never have one to himself (and distracted from the fact that most girls belong to wealthy elites, yet it would be rather easy for the have-nots to outnumber the haves and, well...)

They’re meant to be gawked at, drooled over, masturbated to, fantasized about… and it’s a huge success! All the groups that spring up rake in tons of money, performances draw in huge crowds. Men tend to form fanbases for the individual girls — that is, most guys will like the groups as a whole, but particularly dedicate themselves to one girl whom they deem their favorite.

The issue is that they’re a little too successful. The producers who thought the idea up were not fully prepared for just how allured some men would be. How attached they’d get to their favorite girl, the sort of delusions they form in their head.

It’s basically a problem in which by attempting to scratch an itch, the developers who produce the groups find out that it’s more like they’re fanning flames. Since most of these guys will never have a girl of their own, they can become especially delusional about feeling like the girl they fixate on is his, that he's her biggest fan and everyone else is just a casual fan, no one else really appreciates her the way he does. And the lack of stimulation elsewhere means that there's very little to distract them from their devotion.

The industry quickly becomes something dangerous. Fans get too close, too touchy. But really, what did they expect? Do they realize how torturous it is for a guy who has literally never, ever touched a girl, seeing one standing so close? Of course he's going to try and stick his hand out to grab. Except then more and more guys get the same idea… soon there's an extra barrier of those red-rope posts between the girls and the crowd. They take extra security measures, each girl has a personal guard who always knows where she is.

Although nonetheless, it's only a matter of time before a girl goes missing anyway, even with all the extreme measures and constant surveillance. Never underestimate the ingenuity of a desperate, horny man...

[flexdealer]

I like the ec as much as the next person and I’m so grateful that Nora decided to share any part of her creative process with us but I need some of yall to remember that the extra content is not canon

Nora took it down because (and this is mostly conjecture tbf) as she started to develop the story for the new trilogy, it started to contradict things that were included in the ec (ie in the ec Kevin and Jean don’t speak a single word to each other until spring championships, in canon they have obviously spoken quite a bit). Which is a normal part of the creative process. Things change and grow and develop along the way. The ec is only snippets divorced from context because they don’t take place within the framework of any story. All canon content happens inside the book. No exceptions.

That’s true of any media, not just aftg. What actors or showrunners say at cons is not canon. What writers say in interviews is not canon. What directors say during commentary is not canon. Tweets are not canon. Canon is only the information confined to the original media because that is the only thing to which everyone has guaranteed access.

Saying something can’t be true based on evidence from the ec is misinformed at best and you’re doing yourself a disservice because you are failing to fully interact with the text in front of you. You’re bringing in preconceived notions that aren’t even true anymore, that were never true in the first place, because the extra content has never been, and will never be, canon.