I shared the backstory for this one in response to another ask from my wip game, so you, my dear friend, get a big fat snippet instead! Here's Gojo's first visual encounter with cult leader beekeeper Geto!

His skin is like honey, shimmering with a light sheen of sweat. Where they catch the sunlight, his eyes are like honey, too. Hell, even his voice is like honey, dripping all sticky sweet off his tongue like that. He’s just a honeypot of a human in general. ‘Focus, Gojō.’ Did he say that out loud? ‘—so when I see people in my comment section calling it a gimmick? Honestly, my heart goes out to them.’ On the screen, Getō settles a hand over said heart, seemingly uncaring of the little fuckers swarming around his naked body. Satoru finds it hard to care about them, too, honestly. The image of his fingers pressing into the relaxed muscle of his chest—the ample relaxed muscle of his chest—is a little… Well, it’s a distraction to say the least. ‘Then why don’t you try listening to what he’s saying instead of ogling his tits, you absolute dog?’ Satoru tries. He really, really tries. ‘—have become completely disconnected from Mother Nature. We believe ourselves to be above the other species we share this planet with. More and more, we seek to remove ourselves from the natural world all around us, retreating into our houses, our phones—’ He smiles at the camera, and his pretty eyes flash like golden coins with a chocolate centre. ‘—and yes, our clothes. Personally, I prefer to go wild.’ Getō gestures at the sea of blue flowers all around him, as though he’s accidentally stumbled upon a slice of natural paradise. And that is funny actually. It’s a wildflower, sure, but it doesn’t belong in their country. And there’s nothing wild about the field he’s sitting in either. It’s clearly a cultivated crop, the yearly spring show of Nemophila menziesii in Ibaraki. It’s a fucking photo spot. He probably paid entry just to make his little video, unless he keeps hives there, too. It’d make sense. What Satoru recognises as a monoculture, Getō probably calls a “bee pasture”. Quaint. ‘When I shed the manmade barriers between my body and our beautiful home,’ he says. ‘I am embracing the mother that those people are estranged from.’ He raises his forearm to study the honeybees crawling across his skin, smiling softly as they lap at the honey he presumably drizzled there. ‘I’m only sorry that they can’t imagine a world where simply existing the way my mother made me is anything more than a marketing ploy.’ Satoru can’t help noticing that his biceps bunch way more than the position of his arm demands. What a fucking conman. Good one, though. ‘Are you serious?’ ‘Come off it, Utahime! You’re looking, too!’ ‘“But it’s dangerous!”, they say.’ Getō turns to the camera again, and though Satoru is sure every single word that falls from his lips is a carefully practised lie, he admits he’s enraptured by the performance. ‘Respect nature and she’ll respect you in turn.’ It seems like even the wind is a paid actor, sending his loose hair fluttering over his forehead and across his broad shoulders at exactly the right moment. Either that or Mother Nature is real and she’s just as fucking charmed as Satoru. This guy’s charisma is insane. ‘Gojō, I swear to god.’ ‘If my girls sting me, then that’s on me.’ With his hand over his heart again, Getō looks guilt stricken. Forlorn, even. ‘That’s on me. That’s how they tell me that I’ve overstepped, because that’s what humans do, isn’t it?’ He lets out a humourless laugh. ‘It’s what men do. We overstep.’

‘I cannot believe people are falling for his bullshit!’ ‘Eh, I’m kind of falling for it.’ ‘And I’m not the one under threat here. I’m not the one struggling to survive against a species that seeks to exploit and violate me at every turn.’ The combination of puppy dog eyes and a beefcake build is frighteningly effective. From the delicate way he tucks his hair behind a stretched ear to his decision to build an entire fucking business around a matriarchal species whose males commit violent sexual suicide, everything about Getō seems carefully calculated to exude a uniquely non-threatening brand of masculinity. ‘When a honeybee stings a human, it’s at the cost of her own life. Just think about that for a moment.’ Getō certainly does. He indulges in a performative pause, closing his eyes and creasing his brow as though he’s remembering every single honeybee he’s murdered because he insists on beekeeping shirtless. Satoru wonders if he counts the ones he’s crushed under his frames while harvesting his precious honey. Not that Satoru cares, but he clearly does. Pretends to, anyway. ‘She pays the ultimate price to defend her sisters,’ he says, opening his eyes with steely resolve. ‘So if a few little pricks is the price I have to bear in order to help these gorgeous girls? I’m more than willing to pay.’ Satoru can’t help laughing when a jaunty little tune suddenly starts playing, social icons popping up on screen as he shifts to his salesman persona. Utahime, meanwhile, is furious in a way he’s never seen her before. ‘If you want to help save the bees, head to the link in the description where I’m currently offering 50% off for first time subscribers to Getō’s Girls, including a personalised video for those of you who sign up to my Queen tier this month—’ ‘Don’t you dare, Gojō.’ Under duress, he doesn’t sign up for the Queen tier. Does sign up for the Worker one though. Later, after everyone else has headed home for the day. He would have gone for the basic Drone package, but the fraudster threw in a free sample pack Satoru just couldn’t pass up. Useless though it is, he finds he wouldn’t mind a taste of Getō Suguru’s Royal Jelly. Just to see what all the fuss is about. Besides, it’s for research purposes. It’s reconnaissance of the enemy. It’s infiltration of the cult. And if it isn’t? Well, it only cost a couple of hot chocolates from the cafeteria and perhaps his soul. Satoru decides it’s a price he’s more than willing to pay. He’s one of Getō’s Girls now.

Promise this isn't just a rebranded camboy trope fic. If anything, it's a manifesto. I don't know if/when I'll finish it though. I have a feeling this one is a little too self-indulgent to be appealing to most people, but let me know if I'm wrong and you'd like to see it completed!

...to accompany the flintlock tinderboxes and gun-lamps shown here.

@man-and-atom added this reply:

In the field of "bedside flintlock mechanisms", either the British Museum or the V&A has an alarm clock where the alarm was the explosion of a charge of gunpowder.

First thought: "Whaaat?"

Second thought: "But of course..."

Third thought: "PICTURES!"

*****

This one seems fairly simple:

As far as I can make out there'd be just (!) the snap of the lock, a cloud of impossible-to-ignore-the-smell smoke, and the lid popping up to reveal the clock-face.

Later designs seem to have become standardised as a light-up alarm.

The flintlock action not only produces that snap and cloud of smoke, it also ignites a candle which then pops up.

At a guess, the inside of the lid would be kept brightly polished as a reflector.

Engraved or plain, the mechanism alone meant these were elaborate, expensive contraptions, so not for everyone - and anyway, I'm sure an elderly retired officer just LOVED being woken by a scent with such delightful associations.

I love the smell of black powder in the morning. It's the smell of...

*****

Ending on a lighter (hah!) note, @dduane looked at this and asked, "Did they have flintlock tea-makers?"

It turns out that no, they didn't; but it can't have been for want of trying because well over 100 years ago (1902) an inventor came up with this:

Once again, as far as I can make out it worked like this: the alarm-clock worked a spring, which struck a match, which lit a spirit-burner under the kettle, which started to heat the water.

A few minutes later the alarm-clock rang its bell, waking the sleeper who, when the kettle was properly boiling, tilted it so the water went into the teapot.

About 30 years later the first electrical Teasmade was invented:

Here we go: alarm clock turns kettle on, water boils, pressure forces water into teapot, kettle on a rocker plate gets lighter so loss of weight switches it off, now-heavy teapot on other side of rocker plate starts a pre-set brewing timer which when done switches on the light and an alarm sound.

Simple.

Later models were much less fussy in appearance, but worked in exactly the same way:

My parents, of course, never bothered with a gadget to make their early morning tea.

All they needed was a regular alarm-clock...