Beelieve it or not, this blue bee is the real deal! đ Meet the blue carpenter bee (Xylocopa caerulea). This large bee can reach lengths of up to 1.1 in (2.8 cm); compare that to a European honey bee which typically grows up to 0.7 in (1.8 cm) long! Unlike honeybees, this critter doesnât live in large hives, but instead spends most of its time alone. This insect can be found in parts of India, China, and Southeast Asia where it plays an important role in pollinating its habitat.Â
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âscientists donât want you knowâ is a phrase that always cracks me up because if you actually meet a scientist they will be shaking and crying like an overstimulated chihuahua with the need to let you know
This week's wip snippet is the start of one of last year's Gleekinktober stories I didn't properly get to, but still hope to complete at some point, though it won't be soon. Perhaps for this year's Gleekinktober?
It was going to be another reach for me outside my comfort zone for the sugar daddy prompt. This is also the plot bunny that inspired my request for Kurt with a corset piercing to @esilher, who fulfilled it most generously & beautifully and which you can admire here. The corset piercing does not make an appearance in this snippet, it's just their first meeting.
If you have a WIP snippet to share, consider yourself tagged!
I'll Be the Sea (working title)
Glee | Kurt/Blaine | M | present day AU | age difference (Blaine's ~30, Kurt ~22), first meeting | ~600 words
Blaine meets Kurt in a cocktail bar.
This one is drafty! Please excuse inline notes and messy/hamfisted prose.
.
It starts in a bar after work on a Friday. Blaine and his colleague, Sebastian are at their usual end of week haunt. An expensive club with top shelf liquor specializing in vintage cocktails, live music on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and a beautiful parquet dance floor. The lights swinging and spangling the dance floor are the colors of autumn. A nice contrast to the gray winter cityscape. From where he's seated at the bar, Blaine watches Sebastian lead a man from the dance floor and head for the stairs to the basement level. They'll be gone at least thirty minutes. Blaine sighs and takes a sip of his Jack Rose [applejack, grenadine, lemon in a coupe glass garnished with a twist of lemon].
Upon the dance floor, a young man dancing by himself catches Blaine's attention. Facing away, his movements are unselfconscious. Loose white shirt with the visual texture of silk tucked into slim, high rise stove pipe trousers of dark red velvet. Patent leather Chelsea boots with a stacked heel. Slender and fit, strong shoulders, fluid hips, and legs for days. Moves like he has some education in it.
Blaine doesn't do what Sebastian does. He's learned, though it's taken repeated lessons, hook-ups leave him feeling hollow and lonely. And attempts at relationships he tends to scuttle despite himself, wanting too much too fast. It's a problem for which he has not found a solution, though it's not like he's put much effort into finding one. Regardless, he lets himself watch the young man dance, and he lets himself imagine--
Then he's caught looking as the young man makes a quick spin, and Blaine's appreciation of his lovely pert backside transitions into staring directly at his crotch. It's a relief to find, as he lifts his gaze, amusement in the quirk of the man's lips and bright in his eyes. Blaine acknowledges his slip with a closed lip grin and a shrug of his shoulders. The young man laughs, maintains their eye-contact and strides straight toward him.
Kurt sways into the space next to Blaine's seat and lifts a hand to get the bartender's attention as he evaluates Blaine. He offers Blaine his other hand, which Blaine reflexively takes in a firm handshake. "You must be David. I'm Kurt," says Kurt. His eyes are the color of the shallow sea, and the tilt of his head is flirtatious. His jawline, his cheekbones, even his eyebrows, the soft pink of his lips, and the faint dusting of freckles across his nose...
Kurt's beauty and Blaine's own confusion leave Blaine breathless and mute for a moment.
Kurt's flirtatious demeanor turns quizzical. "Martinez? David Martinez?"
"Shirley Temple, please," Kurt says to the bartender. He gives Blaine a second longer look and adds, "And, um, another of whatever Blaine here is drinking?"
"Jack Rose," Blaine says, and, "Thank you?" to Kurt.
Kurt gingerly settles his back against the bar, gives Blaine an evaluating look followed by a self-deprecating smile. "I believe I've been stood up." He sighs. "I'm sorry for the mistaken assumption of your identity. Aside from being classically handsome, you don't look that much like his picture, but then some guys don't, and I've been waiting for a while now, hoping he'd show."
"I can't imagine why anyone would stand you up," Blaine says, "Thank you for the drink, though it's an unnecessary kindness. You're very attractive, but I should be forthright, I'm not here looking for a hook up."
Kurt's frown is slight, but then his smile comes more fully. "That's a relief then, because neither am I."
Iâve been in the middle of the ocean at night and now live in texas and it is so hard to explain to people that no, they have not ever seen the night sky. It is so hard to explain to people that what they think is a proper night sky is fucking pathetic. A disgrace.
People talk about how you canât see stars in the city and yeah, thatâs true, but their concept of âseeing starsâ is being able to make out orionâs belt.
So, so few people have see the sky in all its glory and itâs not sad. Itâs a fucking crime. Seeing a perfectly dark night, no clouds, not a hint of light pollution? Thatâs a fucking religious experience.
The sky the vast vast majority of us grew up with is not the sky that inspired us to look up. It is not the sky that inspired constellations. You canât even see most constellations.
Your ancestors looked at the night sky and said âsurely, that is where the gods must live.â And you might be lucky if you can see hardly more than a handful of stars.
The sky is full, fucking FULL, of stars, and youâve never seen them.
I remember the first time I saw a properly dark sky and was like âoh thatâs why itâs called the milky wayâ and promptly started to cry
When we were on a field trip to the middle of the red sea, I remember us all crowding at the end of the boat that didnât have lights and just lying on our backs and staring
When you see a properly dark starscape
You understand why people wrote poems and made up legends and built rockets and said heavenâs in the sky
Iâm trying to find a picture on google images to show you what I mean and I canât find any
You think of the night sky like fairy lights on black velvet, but itâs not itâs not itâs like, like, dust in sunlight, like - I canât find the words.
The stars are everywhere, like sugar, like glitter, like dust. You canât find the constellations at first, not because you canât recognise them, but because thereâs so many stars you canât pick out the familiar line of Orionâs belt. The North star has gone from bright familiarity to almost vanishing among a thousand, a hundred thousand, a million other lights. The milky way is a line of light arcing across the sky like a moon-trail on water only infinitely, infinitely bigger.
And for the first time in your life youâll understand why people call it a dome, because it is, itâs three dimensional in exactly the way a city skyscape isnât.
Youâll understand why Luthien TinĂşviel danced under starlight, not moonlight, why people in a time before we knew the earth was round still looked up and wondered and built telescopes and dreamed about the stars.
The stars are endless and ancient and infinite and you will stand with your head craned back and your rucksack forgotten at your feet and youâll feel like youâre falling upwards into that great bright sky like itâs calling you home and youâll wonder how you ever thought the stars were beautiful before tonight when all youâd ever seen were the naked empty skyscapes of your home. And youâll cry and youâll spend the rest of your time there gazing up and wondering and imagining what it would be like to stand among those bright silver flecks
And then youâll come home, and look up, and fall in a different kind of love with that handful of blazing stars to stubborn to be outdone by the whole of human invention, leading you home despite the light pollution and the clouds and the endless bustle of this shrinking planet.
this is not a shot from a space telescope overlayed behind a woods, or anything. thatâs not the sky as kepler or hubble or james webb see it. thatâs the sky from a dark sky park in michigan. thatâs the view you are missing out on from right here on earth. thatâs the view that has been stolen from you.
I fell in love with the sky as a child growing up in western Minnesota, miles from a small town, near a massive lake and just downhill from an 18-hole golf course - the pure darkness broken only by a single bright light I could escape by hauling my telescope up that hill or into a nearby field
Iâd often set an alarm to wake me in the middle of the night, so it was as dark as possible and my eyes as dark-adapted as they coud get, and starlight alone was enough to guide me
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