#all good science experiments take a few days for results

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 9: Bloodletting (Vampire)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairing: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: Medic is a vampire and vampire related things happen

Tags: Blood, biting, oral, vampire au (literally the only difference is the at medic is a vampire)

Word Count: 4.2k

The Masterlist

You and Medic had always been close. From the first day you joined the mercenary group, the two of you had immediately clicked. You made a good team on the battlefield, and you were one of the few mercenaries that willingly entered the infirmary while Medic was wrapped up in his newest experiments. You just liked hearing him talk.

Over the months the two of you had grown from friends to something that neither of you ever cared to put a label on. Whatever it was, it was obvious enough for your teammates to take notice, as you became the target of teasing remarks whenever you would sneak away to the infirmary, and everyone seemed to know better than to intrude when you and Medic were in there alone.

This was one such instance, as you slipped away from a poker game one night after losing an embarrassing amount of money to Scout of all people. The typical jokes were thrown your way, but you let them slide off your back. They didn’t mean any harm. Honestly, some of them even seemed happy that you had found someone in the midst of this purposeless war.

When you finally made it to the infirmary you pushed the doors open to be greeted with a situation that should have shocked you. Medic looked up at you, eyes wide, clutching a half full blood bag with an unmistakable red liquid staining his lips and teeth. Those teeth- you had always assumed Medic was just one of those people with unusually sharp canines, but apparently there was more to it than that.

At one point in your life, this sight would have sent you running like a bat out of hell, but now, after all you had been through and witnessed- death rendered meaningless by respawn, experiments that defied modern science, literal open heart surgery being performed while the patient was still conscious- all you could think was, ‘Yeah, this might as well happen. Of course the team medic would turn out to be a fucking vampire.’

Honestly this probably wasn’t even one of the strangest things you had walked in on Medic doing, but it definitely was one of the hottest. Then again, this was the first time you had seen Medic look so horrified at you walking in on him, so maybe leading with the fact that you found this endlessly sexy wasn’t the best idea. You gave him a second to gather himself, which amounted to tossing the still leaking blood bag to the side and desperately trying to explain.

“Liebchen! Don’t scream, bitte, I can explain-”

“So this is what all those blood tests were for?” You cut him off before he could spiral into a panic.

“What?”

“The blood tests,” you repeated. “You were always insisting that we needed to have our blood drawn after almost every post-battle physical. We never received any results though, and now I know why.” You motioned towards the blood bag. You had never questioned why those mystery ‘tests’ required an entire pint of blood to be drawn. Most of the mercenaries knew better than to question Medic’s methods, after all, he was their doctor- well, ex-doctor- so he probably knew best. It really was the perfect cover for him to create his own personal food source.

Medic nodded slowly, looking like he was trying to keep up with the conversation. “Ja, that is correct, but- I’m sorry, liebe, are these really the first questions you are asking?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrugged your shoulders.

He narrowed his eyes, looking you over as if you were one of his beloved experiments, ready to be studied and analyzed. “You are not scared?”

“Nope.”

Medic approached you cautiously, perhaps worried that any sudden movements might cause your odd sense of bravery to shatter, sending you sprinting away like a startled animal. However, you didn’t falter once. It was strange, because despite your outward body language, Medic knew you were scared. You had to be. He could sense it.

“I feel like you’re lying to me, liebchen,” he said. “I can hear how fast your heart is beating.”

Ah, so hyper-aware senses were in fact a part of this particular brand of vampirism you had stumbled upon. How fun! You were just glad he didn’t sparkle in the sun. But then again, that was a ridiculous possibility for you to even consider. It wasn’t like some author would one day write an entire book series that would launch the very specific concept of glittering vampires into mainstream media. Because that would be weird.

“An elevated heart rate doesn’t necessarily mean I’m scared,” you said, taking a step closer to Medic, gradually closing the distance between the two of you.

“Your blood is rushing so fast,” he muttered to himself. He met your gaze, your half-lidded eyes piercing the soul he no longer possessed. His expression flickered from concern to realization, with a quick flash of something else managing to peek through before he smothered it with a mask of neutrality. Desire. You saw it, and it thrilled you.

“What else can you sense?” Your hand wrapped around his tie, pulling him forward. He stumbled forward, falling against you. You chuckled when you realized he had inadvertently pressed his face against your neck. Medic shuddered, and before he realized what he was doing, he was inhaling, breathing deep, drinking in your scent. It was so strong, tinged with adrenaline and…

“Arousal…”

The word came out as a whisper. If it weren’t for the fact that he was nuzzling into your neck, you probably wouldn’t have even heard it. You smirked. “Come on, Medic, don’t act so surprised. I mean, who hasn’t fantasized about fucking a vampire at least once?”

The tension seemed to melt away from Medic’s body, only for him to immediately start laughing. You watched, dumbfounded as he threw his head back, nearly wheezing between bouts of laughter. This wasn’t the reaction you expected, nor wanted.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you said, glaring at him indignantly.

“Nein, nein, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, this isn’t how I expected to be spending my evening.” Medic chuckled, still trying to catch his breath. Eventually he let out a sigh before speaking again, his voice dipping low in that way that sent shivers up your spine. “Not that I have an issue with it. I’ll take any opportunity to ravish you, liebling.”

Medic really had a way of sweeping you off your feet. In this case, it was literal. You gasped when he dipped you, your legs swinging out from under you as you were lifted into his arms.

“Aw, did I startle you, little häschen?” He met your surprised expression with a teasing smirk. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To be swept away by a creature of the night?”

Medic carried you to his room, laying you back on the bed as he had so many times before, only this time, he wouldn’t need to hold back. He didn’t waste any time. Before you could even settle into the bed he was on top of you, pressing feverish kisses to your lips. You raised your hips to grind your hips on his and he stifled a groan against your mouth. He trailed lower, kissing over your jaw and down to your neck.

Medic had always been fond of kissing and sucking at your neck. Of course, it only made sense now. You had always assumed he liked it because of how sensitive you were there. Even the gentlest of kisses there could have you squirming and whimpering. Now, you wondered how often he had teased himself with the possibility of taking a bite, how close he had gotten during those few times he let his teeth graze over the skin. Could he tell how wet you already were from the scent of your blood rushing just beneath his lips?

“You’re so sweet,” Medic muttered, clearly reluctant to pull away from your neck. “You always smell so delicious. You have no idea how tempting you are, liebchen.”

Your fingers tangled in Medic’s hair, making a mess of the usually well kept locks. You pulled him back, and you could have sworn you heard him whine when he was forced away from the crook of your neck, that is before you smothered the noise with another kiss. You let your lips part, tasting him, running your tongue cautiously along those sharp fangs. When you finally broke away, both of you were panting.

“I think I have another way to quench my thirst for you, liebling,” Medic said, his voice soft and breathy. “It may not be blood, but I’m sure it will be just as delectable.”

You watched with intrigue as Medic began to work his way down your body, edging towards the foot of the bed, slipping his fingers under the waistband of your pants and pulling them down along with your underwear. You yelped at the sudden exposure of your wet cunt to the cool air. Medic’s room was always so cold, probably due to its proximity to the even more frigid infirmary. It didn’t seem to bother him, as he stripped off his coat and undershirt, naked from the waist up- basically the opposite of the state of undress that you were in. You wanted to run your hands over his chest to feel the defined muscle, developed from years of lugging the Medigun and all its associated equipment into battle. However, Medic had descended between your legs before you could even ask him to lean down within your reach.

You could feel how fast he was breathing, the quick exhales against your cunt making you shudder and tense up, trying to resist the urge to grind against his mouth already. Medic took his time to savor the scent of your arousal. It was so much stronger here, almost enough to drive him mad. He wanted more, needed more, and he knew just how to get it.

“Sehr schön," he whispered. There was a slight tremble in his voice, but he spoke so softly that you barely heard it, or if you did, you simply didn’t point it out. Not like you could have said anything anyway, because in the next moment, Medic slipped his tongue into you. You gasped, immediately entwining your fingers in his hair again. He took to that with ease, letting you use his hair to steer him freely. So long as he got to keep inhaling this intoxicating aroma, you could use him however you wanted.

“Fuck!” You cursed through clenched teeth, feeling his nose bump against your clit while his tongue thrust into you. With every exhale he moaned. You gasped when he hoisted your legs up onto his shoulders, just to feel the way your legs trembled and squeezed around his skull. “Medic- wait, wait! You’re going to make me come!”

Medic pulled back, broken out of his stupor long enough to look at you with some confusion. “Is that not what you want?”

“Well, yeah, but not so soon.” You shot him a sultry gaze, which you desperately hoped came off as enticing and not silly. “I want you to fuck me. Don’t you want to feel me come on your cock?”

That definitely got a rise out of him. He shuddered, just barely managing to stop himself from biting his lip in anticipation. He licked the remnants of your taste from his lips, savoring every drop before he took your legs off of his shoulders, holding them apart. The fingers that gripped your thighs were rougher, his hold more aggressive. He was sure to bruise the supple flesh.

Your skin was red. Medic knew that your face had been sporting a fetching blush since you first saw him, but now it seemed to have deepened, spreading down your chest, to the tips of your ears, and even further, veins widening, letting blood tint the skin scarlett. Medic wasn’t sure when he began grinding uselessly against the mattress, feeling himself hardening at the thought of that sweet ichor rushing just beneath his fingertips. He wasn’t sure he would be able to resist a taste.

“Liebchen, would you be alright with me biting you?”

The question was hesitant, almost shy. Your response, however, was not. “Yes!” you nearly shouted. “Fuck yes!”

“Perfect. There is a wonderful artery right along your thigh.” Medic traced his fingers over your leg as he spoke, making you shiver. “And it only seems fair that I partake of it, since you interrupted my meal earlier.”

That was all the warning you received before you felt him sink his fangs into your thigh. You cursed softly, feeling him draw your blood outward. It was an odd mix of pain and pleasure, as the masochistic part of you was truly getting a kick out of the sensation of sharp teeth being embedded in your flesh. Even now, Medic continued to tease you, using a free hand to circle your clit, making sure not to bring you too close to the edge.

You shuddered and chuckled softly when you felt Medic’s stubble rub against your inner thigh. “That tickles,” you said. The edges of his mouth curled up slightly as he drank from you.

Perhaps this would become a regular occurrence now that you knew the truth. How many orgasms would he draw from you in exchange for a taste of your blood? How many bite marks would come to decorate your thighs? He could always heal them with the Medigun, but you weren’t sure you wanted that. You enjoyed the idea of his marks being hidden beneath your clothing, a reminder that you were his.

You jumped when you felt Medic’s fingers begin to stroke your clit faster, rubbing back and forth over the sensitive bud. He moaned against you as more blood rushed over his tongue, being coaxed southward by his ministrations. It wasn’t long before he had to force himself to withdraw, afraid that he would simply suck you dry if he didn’t get ahold of himself. Blood trickled from the two puncture wounds, and Medic struggled not to lick the remaining drops from your skin.

He might have stayed there, staring at the crimson fluids trickling over your soft flesh until it dried and turned umber, but a sudden tug on his hair forced him back up your body. You pulled him down, pressing your lips to his and being met with a soft sound of surprise before he relaxed, melting into the kiss. You were surprisingly unbothered by the lingering, coppery taste of your own blood. When the two of you parted you were breathing hard, a giddy smile on your face as you spoke.

“Fuck me.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. Medic’s cock twitched, straining against the confines of his pants. His whole body ached for you, and with his thirst quenched, the only thing left was arousal. He undressed hastily, dropping his pants freeing his cock with a moan. Your gaze raked over his body hungrily. His dick curved upwards, looking flushed and painfully hard. It made you feel good to know that you weren’t the only desperate one here.

You bit your lip to silence yourself as Medic let his cock glide against your slit. He was far less restrained, immediately letting a shaky moan fall from his lips as he felt how wet you were for him. An even louder noise followed when he finally sank into you to the hilt. Your own moans joined the fray as you felt him stroking you deep in your core.

“Bitte, wrap your legs around me,” Medic groaned. You let your legs dangle lazily around his waist as he began to thrust into you. His pace was slow, agonizingly slow, in fact. You whined, bucking uselessly against him. He was teasing you, there was no doubt about it. You didn’t need him to be gentle right now. You were more than wet enough, and you wanted him to fuck you hard.

“Come on,” you muttered, tightening your legs around his waist, as if to pull him deeper into you. “I know you can go harder than that!” Medic actually looked surprised, but you continued before he could say a word. “I already let you bite into my thigh. Do you really think I can’t handle rougher treatment? Don’t tell me you’re scared that I’ll break.”

You were outright provoking him now. It was bold, and even a little impressive. Still, it was clear to Medic that he would need to deal with your new attitude. You were quite literally asking to be put in your place, and who was he to deny you?

“Alright, taube,” Medic chuckled, his voice low and dangerous. “You want it rough? Fine, but I don’t want to hear another complaint out of that pretty mouth.”

He took your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. You struggled playfully and he squeezed his fist tighter. Medic watched your eyes flutter closed, a look of rapturous bliss on your face. So, this was your true fantasy- to be taken and thoroughly ravished by a blood sucking creature. You loved feeling weak beneath him, positively helpless, even going as far as to arch your head back, exposing your neck. Medic nearly salivated at the sight, but he had to hold himself back, at least from that.

“Liebchen, I won’t bite your neck.” You opened your eyes, and the disappointment was obvious. “I’m sorry. Your emotions are running too high.” ‘Mine are too,’ but he didn’t say that part aloud, still trying to play the part of the stoic dom, despite everything. “Another time, I promise, when both of our minds are clearer. For now, I just want to make you feel good.”

Even though you were a bit disheartened, Medic’s sweet words placated you. He knew how to make you feel special, to lavish you with attention, praise, and pleasure until you were trembling with bliss. You shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable to lay back and enjoy the ride when a certain change in angle left you seeing stars.

“Fuck!” you gasped suddenly, legs tightening around Medic’s waist. You froze, and Medic froze too.

“What? What is wrong, liebe?”

“Don’t stop!” Your cries were desperate. “Right there, keep fucking me, right there!”

Medic’s concern melted away into a devious grin. Without another word he resumed his pace, listening to your cries of ‘faster, harder, keep rocking your hips, just like that!’

“That feels good, doesn’t it, liebchen?” Medic asked, smirking wide enough to bare his fangs, still stained crimson from your own blood. “Gott, I know it does. I can smell the adrenaline coursing through you, and all those endorphins flowing into your bloodstream, bringing you closer and closer to euphoria.”

At some point, Medic had released your wrists. You weren’t sure how long you were simply holding your hands above your head of your own accord before you realized they were free. You draped your arms over Medic’s shoulders, loosely at first, but soon tightening enough to pull him down for a kiss between thrusts.

Eventually, you managed to pull Medic especially close, burying your face against his shoulder, your moans muffled against the warm skin. Medic’s first instinct was to pull away, to remove the buffer between him and those beautiful sounds you were making. Before he could, he jolted forward, gasping, his body reacting before his brain even registered the throbbing pain near his collar.

You had bitten him.

Honestly, you weren’t even sure that it was intentional. Everything from the dull ache that still radiated from your inner thigh to the ruthless pleasure overwhelmed you. You needed a release, and for a moment, you didn’t care whether it was a release of a sexual nature or simply a sudden, impulsive, animalistic act that ultimately took the form of the reddening bite mark that now adorned Medic’s skin.

As for Medic himself, he hadn’t even paused. Other than that slight jolt, he kept up a steady pace, but any trained eye could see that he was becoming sloppy. His thrusts were uneven, and it took him a moment to realize that he was about to come. He had been approaching his peak slowly, building up tension, only for that bite to be his tipping point.

Medic snarled, voice deep and bordering a growl as he came. Letting loose like this was so new for him- he could never let this more monstrous side show with previous partners. It would terrify them, but you looked anything but terrified. You looked ecstatic, enjoying the show, watching him come undone with unbridled ferocity- but you weren’t sated yet. Medic could sense it, and that just wouldn’t do. No matter how ‘monstrous’ he may be, he wasn’t about to leave his little dove unsatisfied.

He reached down, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing quick, firm circles over it while thrusting into you, his movements uneven. His strength was waning as the afterglow tried to creep in. Thankfully, you weren’t too far behind him. It seemed all you needed was those skillful fingers working you over to finally find release.

You arched against him, panting, moaning, and letting your orgasm overtake you. Medic fucked you as best as he could through your climax before finally collapsing beside you. He pulled you closer, holding you through the aftershocks until you finally went still, soft moans dying into even softer sighs.

“Did it live up to your fantasy, liebe?” Medic asked, running his fingers through your hair.

“Fuck, yes,” you said, barely above a whisper. “How about you?” Medic smirked, pulling you into a deep kiss that left you breathless when you parted. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The two of you rested in comfortable silence for a while. You rested your head on Medic’s chest, staring at the ceiling and letting your mind wander. You noticed how warm he was. It was comforting, and a little ironic, given that most legends about vampires seemed to agree that they were cold as death. You supposed that you shouldn’t trust everything you read, although you were still curious.

“Does blood taste different depending on the person?” you asked.

“Ja, but it’s hard to describe.” He thought for a moment before going on. “It’s like different kinds of wine, each with flavors that make them distinct, but still recognizable as wine.”

“Interesting,” you said.

“It is quite fascinating. A person’s actions can affect their flavor as well. Scout’s blood is almost sickeningly sweet, no doubt due to that radioactive swill he insists on putting in his body.” Medic cringed, as if even recalling the taste was physically painful. “Demoman’s is obviously overpowered by alcohol, so much so that I couldn’t even tell you what his natural flavor is.

“Can you get drunk off of it?”

Medic laughed. “Nein, although I have tried.”

You nodded, figuring that if you were a vampire, you would probably try as well. Perhaps it was better that it didn’t work that way. After all, Demoman’s blood would be more likely to give Medic alcohol poisoning rather than simply getting him intoxicated.

“Now that you know the truth, I can admit that yours was always my favorite.” It took you a moment to realize what Medic meant.

“What do I taste like?”

“Coffee. Not like any cheap, drugstore instant brew, but something rich, dark, and deep with notes of sugar and cream.” Medic sighed, as if reminiscing, and nodded towards the infirmary, where several blood bags most likely remained in storage. “I’ve tasted it many times, of course, but drinking it straight from you doesn’t compare, and blended so nicely with your adrenaline and arousal… mein gott!” His lips brushed your shoulder and along your collarbone, making you shiver. “You are a truly magnificent specimen, liebchen.”

“Oh, you charmer,” you teased. However, that brought up another question. “Wait, can you charm people?”

“Glamour is the proper term, and yes, with some effort, I can.”

You paused for a long while before responding. “Would you ever…”

“Nein,” Medic said curtly, knowing exactly what you were about to ask even as your voice trailed off. “I wouldn’t ever use that power on you.” He pulled away from kissing your neck, tilting your head so that you could look him in the eye, and know he was speaking the truth. “It would be wrong to do such a thing, but also, it wouldn’t be real. I don’t need any cheap mental compulsion to know I have your love, taube.”

“Well, obviously!” you said, rolling your eyes and trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. That blush returned with a vengeance. “I must love you a lot to let you fuck me like that!”

Medic scoffed at the sudden vulgarity, but it couldn’t kill his smile. You always changed the subject when you were flustered. It was cute. He kissed your cheek softly, feeling the warmth against his lips. “Let’s get some sleep, liebling. We don’t have work tomorrow, and I plan on sleeping in until noon.”

He wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you against him. His hold was tight enough that you probably wouldn’t be leaving this bed until noon either. Not that you really minded. Plus, if you played your cards right, you might even be able to convince Medic to treat himself to a little breakfast in bed, courtesy of you, of course.

[monster-slxt]

I'm a mad scientist and you're my assistant. We've been working together for some time now, but you still aren't totally sure what the end result of all our experiments will be. I do most of the actual science, you mostly just hand me things and clean up around the lab.

You know there's two forms of whatever we're working on- some sort of transformative agents you think? The first one, labeled HJ8, seems to make the lab rats bigger and more aggressive while the other, HJ3, makes them more docile and compliant. You don't mind that you're mostly kept in the dark, it's probably for the best working for a dubious mad scientist and all.

Things are good, until one day u excitedly call you into the lab. 'They're finally done! My lives work finally done!' Two faintly glowing syringes, one a pale pink and the other a radioactive green, lay on the counter.

'Congrats boss,' you are happy for me, but you can't help but be a little worried for your job.

'All that's left now is human testing.' That's the last thing you hear before I grab your arm and inject you with the pink liquid, and everything fades to black.

'Hmm, is my favorite little lab rat waking up finally?' You feel weird. Your head is swimming, and it takes you a minute to realize not only are you lying down, but you're strapped down, gagged, and naked. But you aren't panicked or even worried. You should be, you know that, but you aren't.

I move closer, running my hands up your leg sending electric shivers up your spine. 'Now, let's get these tests done quick so we can get to the real fun hm?' That sounds soo good, you want to do nothing more.

I let my hand slowly trail up to your chest, tweaking your nipple and making you jolt. You've never been this sensitive before, but you can already feel arousal pooling in your stomach from just this little bit of teasing. 'Sensitivity seems good, though it's a shame I don't have any control data to compare to.'

So the testing goes. I trace along your whole body, paying close attention to your reactions, especially when I reach between your legs. The pleasure is overwhelming and you start to cry as I meticulously tease every reaction I can out if your oversensitive body. You're too fucked out to notice the bulge hiding behind my clean white lab coat. Once I seem content with that data, I unstrap you and give a few simple commands that you're more than happy to follow. Resisting never even crosses your mind.

'You're such a good test subject, why don't we give you a little reward hm?' Oh yes! Yes you've been so so good! You watch enraptured as I roll up my sleeves and reach for the second syringe.

The transformation is almost immediate. Right before your eyes I start growing taller, stronger, my teeth curling into sharp fangs and my nails sharpening into deadly claws. I'm turning into a monster right before your eyes but the only thing your empty little brain will let you focus on is the growing bulge just barely hidden by my straining pants. I'm still in control of myself, until my pretty little pet, so I have no problem slowly unzipping and pulling out my huge cock, the transformation giving it beautiful ridges and a thick knot. When I give the word you lunge forwards, all too eager to worship your master.

We spend all night and most of the next day doing more and more debauched excuses for experiments, testing the limits of our new, better bodies. These are the first human subjects after all, there's no telling what exciting side effects might be hiding, waiting for me to fuck them out of you. And your perfectly conditioned brain doesn't want anything more than to be my perfect little test subject, content and happy to obey my every order

[foolofatook001]

woooo hermit horrors week! excited for this one :D

Day One - Season 8/Game Mechanics

cw mind control, temporary character death

Zedaph has never really had a hard time talking anyone into doing something for him. He’s a very persuasive kind of guy, when it comes down to it, and of course the other hermits are always so very helpful, so it doesn’t take much to convince them into whatever scheme he’s cooked up lately. 

This really comes in helpful for this season, especially now that his chamber is ready for live hermit experimentation. His first subject is Tango, and it’s an easy job getting him into the chamber— just a little word in his ear, a mere suggestion, really (and a directive to sign the waiver, before they begin), and they’re ready to go. Tango is always so willing to help him out with these science experiments, it’s really very kind of him. It’s one of the reasons why they’re such good friends. 

He has to be careful when the subject is actually in the chamber, though— he doesn’t want to taint the experiment. Each solution to the task set before them has to come from the subject’s own pure brain, without any hints or nudges from him. But Zedaph has lots of experience, and the push-to-talk intercom system certainly helps him be a little more deliberate when he speaks. 

He gets lots of interesting results from Tango, and sends him on his way with a casual Go ahead and toss yourself in the lava there, sending him up to the bed to respawn and exit. 

It’s a few weeks before the chamber is properly reset and cleaned out, and by that time Zedaph has landed on Bdoubleo as the next subject. Bdubs is not as used to helping Zedaph in the lab as Tango is, but a few choice words set him on the right track, and by the end of the session, he is performing marvelously. The results are absolutely incomprehensible, but the process was so very fun that he sends Bdubs off with a suggestion planted in his mind— Just something to think about, but— come back to the lab sometime soon. For some follow-up tests, of course. 

Bdubs says he definitely will. Zedaph is very happy that Bdoubleo has discovered such an interest in science. He checks the “willing to return” box on the subject information sheet.

The next subject is Beef, and Beef is such a character in of himself that Zedaph doesn’t even really need to tell him what to do— he’s content to observe through the soundproof glass as Beef goes through the various tasks he’s set. Mumbo, too, is highly independent— though he looks awfully tired, Zedaph notices, marking it down as a note on his clipboard. There’s a certain sluggishness to Mumbo’s movements, and it’s dragging out the series of tests. Zedaph clicks on the mic. “Er, Mumbo? Go ahead and pick up the pace a little bit.” Mumbo speeds up, limbs moving jerkily as they try to keep up with his suddenly galvanized mind. The rest of the tests go by at a much faster tempo, and Zedaph is satisfied with the results. He also marks down a strange and only-just-suppressed urge toward violence from Mumbo, despite the man’s commitment to— what was it again?— right, “Peace, Love, and Plants.”

It’s been a while since the last hermit experiment now, though. For one thing, he hasn’t decided on a new subject. He’s been thinking of giving Xisuma a call and asking him to come over, out of pure curiosity, but it’s not urgent. For another thing, the seismograph has been going absolutely mad lately— there’s been tremors all over the server, with no discernible cause whatever. If this keeps up, Zedaph’s going to have to go out and do some actual field work. 

He shudders at the thought. 

A rapidly pulsing red light blinks on at the top left of the security monitor screen, just a moment before the proximity alarm goes off. Zedaph whirls around and gets a split-second look at Mumbo looming over him like a bespoke string bean before Bdubs tackles him at the waist and he hits his head on the tile floor. The next few moments come through in dizzy flashes: lab lights, far too bright for suddenly sensitive eyes—being picked up and carried, his head throbbing with each step—an uncomfortable heat radiating near his arm, but he can’t muster the words to tell it to go away. 

His stomach suddenly drops and for a moment he flails through empty air before landing with a sickening crunch on the dull white floor. He’s not in instant respawn territory yet, but he’s close, and his kidnappers seem to know this, because he hears shattering glass quite near him, and then comes the bubbly, prickly feeling on his skin that only happens with splash regen and healing potions. 

His headache clears after a moment, and he’s able to get to his feet. “Oh, goodness me,” he says, upon realizing where he is. 

Tango, Bdubs, Beef, and Mumbo all stand on the other side of the tinted glass, wearing lab coats and looking somewhat vindictive. Mumbo’s got a clipboard and pen. 

“This is highly unusual,” Zedaph says, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s procedures for these things, you know. Standards and that.”

Tango steps over to the desk and keys the intercom. “Hey, Zed, ol’ buddy.  I know you’re probably a little confused, here. Let’s just say we didn’t, uh— didn’t appreciate being your little lab experiments very much, my friend.”

“Informed consent is a big part of the scientific process!” Mumbo says, looking up from the clipboard, clearly unaware of the hypocrisy of his statement. The bags under his eyes have grown even deeper since Zedaph last saw him. 

“You signed the waiver when I asked,” says Zedaph, but of course they can’t hear him. They take turns putting him through his paces, making him do— well, frankly, they’re quite silly things. He has much better things to be doing with his day. If he could just talk to them—

“Make a contraption that will blow something up,” says Bdubs, and Zedaph sees his chance. He intentionally builds it just a little too close to the glass— not so close that Tango and Mumbo will be able to realize what he’s doing right away, but close enough that the blast has a chance of damaging the barrier. 

The TNT, when it goes off, leaves his ears ringing and all his nerves buzzing. But as the smoke clears, Zedaph spots a block of glass up near the corner that has shattered, and he giggles. Perfect!

“Bdoubleo,” he calls, and Bdubs turns to look at him suddenly. “Come in the chamber!” Bdubs immediately pulls out his pick and smashes through the nearest two blocks of glass beside him. He steps through the jagged hole and then pauses, looking confused.

“What was that?”

“This is all really very funny,” Zedaph says to the other three “scientists,” and replaces the glass that Bdubs broke, leaving the hole up at the top. The alarm melts off their faces, and they begin to laugh at Bdubs’ predicament. 

“Mumbo,” says Zedaph, and now Mumbo snaps to attention, meeting his gaze through the glass. “I think for the next test, you should have me do something you’ve really, really wanted to do this season but can’t.”

Beef and Tango break out into another round of chuckles.

“Now hold on a minute,” says Bdubs, looking around, panicked. 

“Well,” says Mumbo slowly, lowering his clipboard and taking a step closer to the glass. Zedaph nods encouragingly. “I would like you to… describe… how you would go about killing Bdoubleo using only things in this chamber—”

“Hey!” Bdubs screams.

“—and then do it and tell me how good it feels,” Mumbo finishes, all in one breath. Tango lets out a surprised wheeze of laughter, and Beef is wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. 

“‘Course,” says Zedaph brightly. “Have to do what I’m told in here, don’t I?”

“No, no, no,” Bdubs says, backing away. 

“Come on, Bdubs,” Zedaph coaxes. “Hop up on this dirt block here and stay put.” Bdubs’s face goes slack and he does as Zedaph asks. “Great! Well, Mumbo, the first thing I would do is get him in prime killing position, like so.” He gestures up to where Bdubs is standing, now looking around wildly. Mumbo nods enthusiastically, taking notes down on his clipboard. “And then I would place— er—” He goes digging through the scattered chests in the chamber to find what he’s looking for. 

Oh, perfect. 

“I would place some obsidian,” he says, triumphantly, sticking the block down next to Bdubs.

“No, no— no, wait,” Bdubs says, desperation clear in his voice. 

“You’re killing me, man,” Tango says breathlessly, clutching his ribs. Zedaph tips an invisible hat in his direction and sends him off in gales of laughter again. 

“Yes, yes, go on,” Mumbo says impatiently, pen tapping against his clipboard. 

“And then I would place one of these,” Zedaph says, pulling the end crystal out of his inventory and setting it hovering over the obsidian base. He swears he sees Mumbo’s eyes light up.

“Go on, then,” Mumbo says, leaning forward eagerly. 

“If you say so,” Zedaph says, and detonates the crystal. 

It kills him as well as Bdubs, of course, but that only sends him back to his actual bed, and out of the range of the other would-be scientists. That had turned into rather a fun little tangent, actually. 

It probably went without saying that none of them would want to come back to the lab, though. 

Well. He’d just have to ask.

also on ao3 :D

[writingintheshadowsforever]

M'Baku with A S/O Scientist Part 2

After that day M'Baku gets even way more comfortable in the lab with you. Which means he also starting to show his curiosity in everything that you do. Not just armor and weapon related.

At first you didn't seem the harm and found the childlike wonder in his eyes adorable. As he watched you work fuse certain materials and chemicals together.

But then one day he asked you to let him try an experiment out. It was a simple task really just putting two items together. But the material was delicate and explosive. M'Baku didn't have a gentle touch and that resulted in a small explosion from kinetic energy.

It knocked him back a couple of feet in the air.

He was okay but crashed into some pretty expensive lab equipment, and while Shuri found it hilarious and was definitely going to keep the footage. She made it clear he was no longer allowed in her lab.

After all the two of you were close enough that he should be more than comfortable with asking you out.

Indeed M'Baku did right in front of his tribe when you came to pay him a visit while on guarding duty. The next day and they celebrated with a woo.

M'Baku took you out into the mountains for a picnic on the top of a mountain with a great view.

Despite living in Wakanda your entire life it wasn't a sight that you got to appreciate nearly enough. Since you were always so obsessed with your work.

When the sunset hit it was almost time for the end of the date. M'Baku wanted nothing more to kiss you, but was trying to be a gentleman.

So you took his face in your hands and pressed your lips to his. In a slow and passionate kiss.

M'Baku was the happiest man alive after that night.

Everyone got the memo the next day when he came into the lab planting a kiss on your cheek while bringing you lunch.

You come to find out things about him that you never would've expected.

Like for one he is an excellent cook which makes sense when you think of how different the Jabbari's lifestyle is from yours.

Speaking of his lifestyle now that you're officially together. M'Baku wants nothing more than to whisk you off to the Jabbari Mountains to show you his home and way of living.

Of course you agree and take a few days off to go with him.

This time it's your turn to stand back and watch him work and teach you the way of things.

The adjustment isn't easy and there's a few times M'Baku finds you try to cheat by using some tech. You managed to sneak in your bags.

M'Baku will confiscate the tech with a grin kissing you on the lips when you try to protest.

"Y/N there is more to the world than technology just allow me to show you" He tells you.

Eventually you give in and actually start having fun in the mountains.

Your favorite thing is to cuddle with him which happens alot considering how cold it is, and you're not use to.

Still you could be laying by a raging fire and will still insists that he holds you. M'Baku gives in instantly.

He's a big softie when it comes to his science nerd.

The two of are polar opposites in so many ways, but nevertheless the relationship works.

There are times where frustration for him will kick in whenever you get really absorbed into a project. Especially if you're working with another scientist.

That's the only time he feels even slightly jealous. It will sometimes make M'Baku wonder if he's good enough for you, or at least smart enough.

In the beginning he would pull away and just return to the home to the Jabbari mountains.

It's when you make the journey to him by yourself and settle yourself into his lap, and tell him. "You know I love you right"

M"Baku realizes he has nothing worry about and says it back.

Eventually Shuri lifts his banishment from her lab under the strict guideline that he is to not touch anything.

The only time M'Baku breaks the rule is to touch you.

Whenever you're not taking care of yourself and overworked. M'Baku will just throw you over his shoulder unfazed by your struggles, and take you home.

He makes sure you're well fed and rested letting you fall asleep on his chest.

M'Baku also makes sure you loosen up every now and then and have fun.

The next time T'Challa teases him about being a puppy in love instead of getting offended. M'Baku just nods while staring at you from a distance. Where you're hanging out with Nakia.

M'Baku pulls out a ring to show T'Challa with an adoring look on his face.

[killervelveteenrabbit]

Danganronpa Cooking Headcanons!

Makoto made only average grades in high-school Home Ec, so he's inclined to discount his cooking skills. He can make his own meals if his mom is out of town or he doesn't have any pocket money for the school cafeteria. But he'd sooner pick up something at the corner store on his way to school. He doesn't share the food he makes with others, so he hasn't figured out that he's actually a better cook than he realizes. Curry over rice or noodles is his favorite food, and he always makes his own rather than using cheap storebought packs.

Aoi loves doughnuts so much she learned how to make them herself. Yeast doughnuts, cake doughnuts, deep-fried or baked, with all kinds of glazes and toppings… she's even mastered a recipe she found online for making them out of potatoes. Naturally, the skills Aoi picked up have translated into baking projects like cookies and pies. These usually turn out well so long as she doesn't absent-mindedly leave out an ingredient or forget she has something in the oven. She's flirted with the idea of opening her own bakery once she scores a few gold medals and retires from professional swimming.

The only thing Byakuya can make for dinner are reservations, and he usually has a servant on hand to make the phone call. Byakuya claims cooking is peasant-work beneath his station. But put him in a kitchen and you'll discover the truth: he's never been in a position to cook for himself, so the poor bastard can't even operate a coffeemaker. Microwaves frustrate him in particular--the one time he tried to use one, he didn't take the aluminum foil off the plate. To this day, he prefers to believe the machine was defective, something off with the wiring.

Celestia doesn't cook; she is cooked for… and you better damn sight not screw it up! As a child, Taeko loved making her favorite gyoza with her mother. Even if they weren't evenly fried or the stuffing came out of them after the first bite, Taeko enjoyed the experience of making them almost as much as eating them. But that was a lifetime ago. Ask her to prepare some gyoza these days, she'll scream at you for mistaking her for the help, distracting both you and herself from the fact that she's forgotten how.

Chihiro enjoys baking; he regards it as a combination of science and art that forces him to train different parts of his brain. Plus, you can eat the results if the experiment is a success! A video "she" posted of "her" attempt at baking chocolate-chip-oatmeal-raisin cookies briefly went viral, if only because it stood out from "her" usual gadget reviews and programming guides. "She" even received a few marriage proposals from fans afterward. As far as Chihiro's concerned, it's to the good if his fans liked it… and the demonstration of domestic skills helps him maintain the masquerade.

Quite frankly, Hifumi thinks cooking is "women's work", something females are supposed to do for the men they love. Furthermore, this junk-food junkie buys most of his food from vending machines and convenience stores, something he can shovel down while creating his latest Princess Piggles epic. He can fix himself a sandwich or boil up some tea or coffee if he absolutely has to, but that's it. Anything that requires actual effort, like Celestia's favorite royal milk tea, and Hifumi is out of his element.

Junko's analytical prowess allows her to pick up things quickly, and if she wanted to learn how to cook, she could do so almost overnight. But she doesn't want to. The aggravation she causes people by making them wait on her causes them despair, and not getting the food she needs and that feeling of hunger that results creates despair in her. Honestly, the only reason she would ever cook something for anyone is for the opportunity to adulterate it or poison it. Junko dresses to kill and cooks pretty much the same way.

As a cook, Kiyotaka is hyper-competent but spectacularly uncreative. He goes straight by the cookbook, following recipes exactly as written… and his insistance on "the proper way to make such-and-such" renders him unable (or at least unwilling) to innovate his own dishes. He noticeably fumbles when improvising alternatives to unavailable ingredients or equipment. Finally, he avoids preparing anything he deems unhealthy, lest he weaken the body and spirit of the people who eat it. You'll eat healthy and well with Taka in the kitchen… just don't expect dessert, unless it's fresh fruit or yogurt.

Kyoko's overprotective grandfather would allow her to make her own food, but not to use the stove, the oven, or particularly sharp knives for fear she might accidentally hurt herself. After all, she was destined to be a detective, not someone's housewife. She understands the processes of cooking, and even the science behind fermentation, heat transfer, why coriander tastes like soap to her, etc.. But she herself rarely cooks, relying on family servants for her meals. Oh, and Kyoko finds most instant foods greasy and disgusting… especially cup ramen.

So one time there was this girl at school Leon liked, and she was really into cooking, baking, stuff like that. So he figured he'd learn how to cook and totally impress her with his Mad Kitchen Skillz. He blew all his cash on cookbooks and utensils and ingredients--but pretty much everything he made got burned or half-cooked or just plain tasted like shit. While recovering from food poisoning from his own undercooked chicken yakisoba, Leon found out his dream girl was now dating an upperclassman. Eh. At least he can follow the directions on a box of cake mix. Hope you like it crunchy.

The Owada brothers both learned the basics of cooking at their mother's insistence. She knew one day they'd have to grow up, stop running wild in the street, and take care of themselves. Her lessons came in handy when first Daiya, then Mondo, had to look after their biker brothers with less involved parents. Mondo privately wishes he could learn how to do more stuff in the kitchen--making things instead of breaking them--even though it might seem a little sissified. Um… no, Mondo has no strong opinions about butter… why do you ask?

Life as a transient mercenary taught Mukuro basic survival skills, including how to set up a serviceable field kitchen, purify water, and hunt and forage enough provisions to support herself and her team. Ever the team player, Mukuro will readily volunteer to help with mess duty and even may take command to get the job done… unless Junko orders her not to. In fact, as long as her sister is around, letting her handle food is dangerous. She'll follow her sister's lead in making it inedible or potentially deadly.

When she's not chugging protein drinks, Sakura appreciates a nice big meal to give her strength for the day's training and fights. She enjoys preparing a large Japanese-style breakfast--several bowls of rice and miso, with tsukemono and natto made from cucumbers and soybeans grown in the dojo's gardens. She won't buy pre-packaged foodstuffs without checking the nutritional label. Too much sugar or sodium, and it goes back on the store shelf. Everyone she cooks for will eat the same thing she does, no exceptions. And are you really gonna argue with her about it?

Sayaka got tired of waiting for her dad to get home from the office with some cheap sushi pack he picked up on the way. So she taught herself how to make simple tasty meals that wouldn't require her to operate the stove and risk starting an apartment fire. She took the same Home Ec courses Makoto did in middle school and not surprisingly made better grades in them. Now Sayaka enjoys preparing low-calorie snacks for her bandmates when they have spare time. It helps her focus on something besides the dance step she flubbed in rehearsal or the way the label's new PR guy keeps leering at her.

One of Toko's early novels, "Fresh Baked Love", centers on a shy girl who wins the heart and appetite of her crush by becoming an award-winning chef. It's based on a longstanding fantasy of hers. As is, the only thing she makes consistently well are chocolates. Every year Toko prepares a huge bagful for her dream boy of the moment… and every year it ends up in the trash, unopened. BTW, her chocolatiering expertise does not carry over to her Genocide Jack alter… and if that switch has flipped, the question of who's preparing dessert is the least of your problems.

Yasuhiro's mother always treasured and complimented her son's attempts at cooking, even if they were barely edible. Consequently, Hiro labors under the delusion that he's a whiz in the kitchen. But he fails to notice how everything he makes always comes out burnt, underdone, dried out, soaked in too much sauce, bitter, crumbly, or some combination of the above. You can let him help with meal prep, but don't leave him unsupervised, always have backup ingredients ready in case he messes something up… and make sure he's wearing a hairnet, kerchief, or something similar.

Hajime is mostly indifferent about food, cooking it or eating it--unless you're talking about mochi. Then he gets weirdly finicky and sensitive about the virtues of kusamochi (his favorite) over sakuramochi (which he can't stand). In line with his non-Ultimate status, he's an average cook, capable of boiling rice, making sandwiches, and working the okonomiyaki stand at the school festival so long as he has help. His Izuru alter, being the Ultimate Everything, has the potential to be a master chef… but he has other priorities.

When you grow up foraging, scavenging, or even fighting for every meal, you learn how to improvise. Put Akane in a kitchen and she'll start looking through cabinets and containers, rifling through the fridge like a raccoon in a trashcan, quickly coming up with a combination of this, that, and the other thing that will feed her and everybody else in the house. Ideally, she'll find meat and plenty of it. If there isn't any, she'll find it, somehow, even if she has to kill it herself. Nothing Akane makes is remotely gourmet, but no one is going to starve on her watch.

Whatever can be said of the "Ultimate Imposter", to say they enjoy fast food is an understatement. The Imposter is practically a scholar on the merits of this chain's cheeseburgers versus another, the harmony between pizza toppings and sauces… they could pretty much write a dissertation on KFC in Japan compared to the US. But the idea of preparing their own meals is a foreign concept. Privately, they're too intimidated to try. So much effort and preparation--if they tried to replicate the foods they supposedly know so much about and fail, it would be just too embarrassing.

The eating of food, and the preparation of it for eating, is a fundamentally human concern. Hence, engaging AI Chiaki in conversation about cooking and food might inadvertently expose her status. She's learned enough from all the cooking simulation games she's played… but she doesn't have a favorite food or a least favorite. She doesn't know where milk and eggs come from, and she doesn't realize that food can spoil or not taste good. Critically, asking her to recall memories associates with certain foods generates verbatim repeated responses.

The real-life Chiaki is about as adept at cooking as her AI counterpart. She gets so engrossed in gaming that she'll forget to eat, then wonder why her stomach hurts. Then she'll take a break to grab an energy drink and a nut-and-cheese protein pack from the corner store. If she's at home, she'll raid the kitchen for cup ramen or condensed soup she'll eat straight out of the can. Preparing anything from scratch doesn't appeal to her at all. The few times she's tried have proven that it isn't as easy IRL as Cooking Mama makes it look.

Bodyguards at the Kuzuryu compound have learned not to comment on any late-night bumps and clatters coming from the kitchen. The housekeeper turns a blind eye to the occasional empty containers of sugar, flour, baking powder, and eggs that weren't in the trash when she clocked out the previous night. Everyone knows about the young master's sweet tooth, and everyone knows Fuyuhiko is above asking anyone to make the treats he secretly craves and devours in secret. Rivals aren't going to stop calling him "baby gangsta" if they see him nomming on a fried dough cookie.

Cease your labors, mortals, and behold the handiwork of the Dark Devas of Destruction! Tanaka the Forbidden One bids you gain strength and vigor from this ambrosia from the gods, his special STIR-FRIED GINGER TOFU WITH DAIKON RADISH AND SPRING ONIONS! Seriously, watching Gundham in the kitchen is like watching a cross between "Ratatouille" and "Fist of the North Star". Gundham gives the orders and the hamsters do the rest. Be forewarned that eating his mother's terrible cooking has imbued him with low standards for taste. Also, watch out for the odd bit of hamster fur in your salad.

As an arbiter and ambassador of Japanese culture, Hiyoko's family has trained her to whip up delicious full-course meals on demand. She will enthusiastically debate the merits of certain types of miso and curry over others, seasonal variations on sukiyaki, etc., all while explaining how even the worst of Japanese cooking shames the fatty, greasy slop that passes for Western "cuisine". Just… don't actually ask her to cook. That is beneath her. Hiyoko will, however, instruct you how to prepare dishes according to Saionji family standards… while telling you in excruciating detail how you're doing it all wrong.

Her voice is loud, her fashion is loud, and her music is loud… so it makes sense that Ibuki likes her food loud, too. Her standard cooking technique involves flavor-blasting everything to a degree Guy Fieri would find excessive. Sauces! Gravies! Dressing! Hot peppers! And mouth-burning, sinus-clearing amounts of spices, the more obscure the better. Each meal, regardless of what it is, comes with a side of heavily seasoned rice. It's all prepared while she blasts noise metal out of the speakers she's hooked up--which is fine, since you might not want to hear about how she "kicked up" those croquettes.

If you're fixing a propane grill--or modding it out so it can cook fifty burgers at once and alert you when each one has reached 74 degrees C in internal temperature--it makes sense that you know how the food the equipment prepares is supposed to taste. Kazuichi is indifferent about food and drink; all he cares about is that the cola isn't diet and you brought enough grub to share. But he knows what things are supposed to taste like and how to use and fix the machines so they taste that way. If that counts as knowing how to cook… then Kazuichi knows how to cook.

Mahiru's mother was more often "on assignment" than not, and her shiftless father wouldn't even take his discarded takeout containers out to the trash. Ever the resourceful one, Mahiru pulled up some recipes on her laptop, printed them out, bought the necessary provisions, and after considerable trial and error taught herself how to prepare basic dinners for two. And ever the photographer, Mahiru takes photos of everything she makes before she digs in, even if it doesn't look as pretty and put-together as the online examples.

Mikan will be the first to tell you she's an awful cook and anything she makes is unfit for human consumption. On this point, she exaggerates. She only thinks she can't cook because she inevitably drops a plate, spills the salad dressing, slices herself with a knife, or falls over in a heap and somehow ends up with the kitchen trashcan spilling all over her. With some assistance, she can pull off a lunch or dinner that is fit to eat and, more importantly, is healthy, low-fat, properly portioned, and high in fiber to help you maintain regular bowel movements.

Dinner time. Nagito is cooking, so you steel yourself for the worst. You're pleasantly surprised to discover nothing amiss. The garden salad, the roast chicken, the side potatoes, and the chocolate cake are all wonderful. But your nagging suspicions compel you to peek inside the kitchen. Sure enough, various ingredients are splattering the counters and walls. There are scorch marks on the ceiling, which drips with fire extinguisher foam. A cabinet door is hanging by its hinges. The dishwasher is halfway open, revealing the exploded remains of the toaster.

Eager to prove herself worthy of being the Ultimate Gangster's little sister, Natsumi actively seeks new ways to protect her family against rivals and upstarts. One of these, oddly enough, involves playing the part of hostess. She's read how Lucrezia Borgia and other poisoners took out their enemies undetected, and lately she's been… experimenting. Recently, a former "business partner" of her father's spent two weeks in intensive care with stomach inflammation. No one except Fuyu has made the connection to the purin custard Natsumi prepared for dessert when he came by for supper.

You get out of the human body what you put into it. Different bodies require different meals to help them reach their potential as athletes. One of Nekomaru's hidden talents is finding out what food they need. Count on him to help you bulk up, slim down, or otherwise condition yourself for your chosen sport. The one common element to all Nekomaru's diet plans is an efficient digestive system, not weighed down with excess material in the gut. With him as your coach, you'll eat like an champion, perform like a champion… and shit like a champion!

Ryota can draw food that looks so mouth-watering you'll want to eat it right off the screen. But actually making it? The most difficult part will be pulling him away from his computer set-up and out of his room. Once you get him in the kitchen, he can follow instructions, but he may rush things and cut corners so he can get this distraction out of his way, with disastrous results. Furthermore, he'll whine the entire time that he doesn't have time for this and he can't do anything that injures his hands and whipping this batter by hand is exhausting. Maybe you should just send the boy back to his studio.

Sworn to protect the Kazuryu bloodline, Peko is prepared for any contingency. She's trained to recognize when food has been tampered with and has occasionally functioned as a taste-tester. She can also prepare simple meals from edible berries and plants in case she and her charges are ever trapped in the wilderness. Peko would like to learn more advanced cooking techniques--like how to make those cookies the young master likes. But she's never pursued that interest. Her blade is meant for protecting the family, not chopping vegetables.

The Kingdom of Novaselic requires its royals and heirs to be reasonably self-sufficient, so Sonia's picked up a few "commoner" skills like meal prep. But she's far better at planning dinners than preparing them. And by "dinner", Sonia means grand banquets full of distinguished guests. To her, fifty people counts as an intimate gathering. Bring the appetizers out at five, the main at six, dessert and coffee come out right after the applause stops from the ambassador's speech… oh, and the Grand Duchess is allergic to fennel, so can we find an alternative to that soup that still complements the veal?

Teruteru's reputation in this arena precedes him, does it not? Give the guy enough time and he can put together a seven-course meal in the Sahara Desert. But Teruteru keeps meals for family friends simple yet succulent, from the miso soup to the castella served for dessert. Every dish is one he learned at his mother's knee and as a backup chef at the family restaurant, yet flawlessly executed. Even his renditions of basics like fish ball soup explode with a kaleidoscope of flavor. Don't forget to pre-order his new cookbook "Meals My Mama Taught Me" wherever books are sold!

Komaru does okay in her Home Ec classes, but within the humble kitchen of the Naegi household, she becomes a culinary nightmare. Her sense of taste is quite frankly not normal (favorite foods include sparrow’s nest, tuna eyeballs, and kangaroo meat) and this completely warps the way she cooks. Her family, Makoto included, usually take one bite of whatever she's cooked, try not to retch, tell her it’s good but they’re not hungry right now, and discreetly sneak the abomination, container and all, into the outside garbage. Komaru’s never realized why her family goes through pots and pans so quickly.

None of the Warrior of Hope kids would be any help in the kitchen. Masaru primarily eats whatever he can shoplift. Nagisa’s parents provided their lab rat with such meager rations that he has no concept of what makes a decent meal. Kotoko had servants preparing her meals, and her mother was interested in teaching her… other skills besides the domestic. Monaca will feign helplessness to get out of kitchen duty—you don’t expect a little girl in a wheelchair to fend for herself, do you? Jataro might be able to help, if you can convince him cooking can be a form of art and if you can get him to focus.

Outside of its potential role in poisoning cases, Shuichi gives little thought to food. His parents were either too busy working or traveling to spend time with him (cooking or otherwise), and his aunt took care of dinner when he moved in with her and his uncle. Home Ec is his least favorite subject in school, and at home he’d sooner do laundry than help in the kitchen. He’ll grudgingly fix simple snacks to keep his belly from rumbling, or he’ll pick up something from the corner store. Maybe the right person could show him how fun cooking can be, and how it can distract him and help him relax.

One of Kaede’s worst fears is something happening to her hands that stops her from playing the piano. This includes cutting or burning her fingers while cooking. Hence, she avoids excessive kitchenwork. She can whip up a few sandwiches or appetizers, using pre-sliced meats and cheeses. Clean oven mitts and potholders are a must, and she avoids using any cutlery sharper than a butter knife. Perhaps the only reason to have her in the kitchen at all is meal-planning. She’s been hosted at many high-class dinners by her wealthy patrons, and she knows what makes a successful soiree.

The natives on the island where Angie lives happily cook for her—providing needed sustenance to the oracle of Atua is a high honor. But sometimes Angie receives messages from Atua calling on her to return the favor, so she prepares huge meals for the people attending her festivals. If you love Polynesian cooking and plenty of it, Angie’s your girl. She can prepare slow-cooked pork cooked in a dug-out oven, poke and ceviche made with wild-caught fish, and grilled chicken in any number of sweet and savory sauces, all with generous sides of coconut rice and her favorite avocados.

In mountains, Gonta learn how to hunt food and make fire to cook food. But Gonta no good in kitchen. Gonta really no good in fancy kitchen back home. Break everything. Burn and cut hands. Gonta like to cook outdoors around fire pit, where smoke go up in air and not make beeping sound. Plenty of room to move around and not knock things over. Gonta good at barbecue! Gonta know how to cook any kind of meat tender and safe enough to eat while not burnt. Bug friends help Gonta find fresh fruit and vegetables to go with meat. You not go hungry in woods when Gonta with you!

Himiko may specialize in grand spectacles, but no mage is worth her wand without knowing a few magic potions. There’s one she keeps handy for curing minor illnesses. It requires a whole chicken, roasted and deboned. Then she forms a dough and cuts it into noodles. For the base she'll need butter, celery, carrots, garlic, assorted spices, and the best chicken stock available. Himiko carefully mixes the concoction, bringing it to a boil before letting it cool. Those uninitiated to her magic circle can’t speak for its curative powers, but they agree it’s the best homemade chicken soup they’ve ever had.

Between his regressive gender attitudes and his inherent machismo, Kaito disregards cooking as girly and undignified. He'll only fix his own meals if there isn’t a female around to do it for him. His grandmother did all the cooking for him, and the only thing he learned from her was not to touch a hot stove. With some reverse psychology—telling Kaito he can’t do something always flips a switch—he might try his hand at “manly” culinary arts like grilling. Don’t try talking him into anything more, or you’ll be subjected to a lengthy diatribe on the superiority of freeze-dried food.

Cooking is a part of the human experience that Kiibo was designed to replicate. He can follow the instructions in a recipe to produce decent meals, but he might not notice if the eggs have gone bad or a malfunctioning broiler has undercooked the fish. His "experiments" to create new dishes humans will enjoy resemble current AI attempts to replicate art and writing. Recent creations include pudding-filled rice balls, beer-battered steak in a strawberry-marmalade reduction, an "eggplant cake" with a peanut-butter glaze, and something called a "chickenloaf" served with bechamel sauce.

She doesn’t make a big deal about it, but Kirumi’s culinary abilities almost match Teruteru's. What she lacks in delicacy and nuance, she makes up for in resourcefulness. Her larder is always stocked with ample supplies of vegetables, pasta, cheese, eggs, beans, and a variety of meats and seafood. This way, Kirumi can fix any number of hearty, energy-packed meals and snacks for important people making important decisions, often late at night. For more formal functions, she is equally capable of finding a suitable caterer or commanding an entire kitchen staff to prepare state dinners.

Any city where D.I.C.E. sets up shop, all the best grocery stores and fine-dining establishments are burglarized within the week. They lose their best cuts of meat, their priciest liquor… and every last bottle of soda. Kokichi's army of merry pranksters marches on its stomach. If he's somehow dragooned into feeding people outside his organization, they can expect "fun" additions and improvizations on whatever's being served. Sorry, Kokichi, but no one else found the creamed spinach-filled-bonbons as funny as you did. Especially considering the spinach was cooked in Carolina Reaper hot sauce.

Korekiyo's world travels have exposed him to the culinary delights of a hundred or more cultures. But as his beanpole physique suggests, food is not a priority for him. He eats whatever's available--since sometimes he's had to eat grubs and insects just to survive or sample utterly vile local delicacies, like live octopus in Korea or surströmming that one time in Sweden. There is this chocolate mille crepe cake he makes, his beloved sister's favorite. Kiyo will occasionally prepare one, but only for very special girls, the kind his sister would have liked…

You need help preparing dinner, and Maki's the only one available. She sighs bitterly, but despite her initial reluctance she immediately sets to work. By the time she's done, she's taken over, preparing omurice for the main with sides of potato salad and yakitori and a giant bowl of zosui. She seals the deal with coconut thumbprint cookies with red bean jam. She confides in you that she used to cook like this all the time for other kids at the orphanage… and honestly, she's just happy to prepare dishes she doesn't have to spike with arsenic or cyanide.

The brilliant inventor Miu Irumi has better things to do than fuck around in the kitchen preparing num-nums for numb-nuts. She has been known to prepare special baked goods for boys she likes--pie with her her hair in it, cookies containing her fingernails, chocolate made with her blood, etc. So maybe it's better for all concerned that she stays in her workshop. She's memorized the numbers of every takeout place in the neighborhood that delivers, so all she has to do is answer the door, wolf down lunch while watching some kiddie show, and then go back to her current project.

Rantaro is basically a teenage Anthony Bourdain, having been a hundred or more places across the globe and picking up at least one recipe or cooking style everywhere he's been. Linguine carbonara from Italy, churrasco from Brazil, pad thai from Thailand, Nashville hot chicken from America… would you care for some jollof rice, and if so do you prefer it Nigerian or Ghanaian style? Rantaro has sworn to prepare all these dishes for his gaggle of sisters once he finally tracks them down--he's come a long way since the days of fixing them riceballs and pancakes.

Ryoma has a few favorite recipes he'll share if asked. They're surprisingly good for someone whose palate has been exposed to a steady diet of prison food. But… you might notice a theme. Turkey meatballs? Salmon patties? Sardine omelettes? And then there's his special tuna and rice. Yep, you're eating homemade cat food, the same recipes Ryoma lovingly prepared for his beloved Russian Blue a lifetime ago. Storebought industrial kibble just wouldn't do. Stop complaining--you've had a full serving of protein, fiber, and vitamin D. At least he didn't sneak a vitamin pill into it.

Tenko's master tried teaching her how to cook, thinking it would encourage focus, discipline, patience, etc. He failed miserably, but some of the cooking lessons stuck. She's particularly good at the art of nabemono--preparing hot pot dishes. She takes care in selecting the appropriate pot, seasoning the stock just right, and picking out only the choicest cuts of meat and vegetables… especially tripe, her favorite of all. If you identify as male, make sure to thank her appropriately after the meal to keep her from knife-handing you in the face.

Anyone can tell you that the fabric and accessories required for serious cosplay cost serious cash. Tsumugi paid those costs and her dues by bartending at various clubs and bars, using a skillful application of makeup to convince employers she was an adult. She's learned how to fix any number of cocktails on demand and she knows a few tricks of the trade, like substituting the cheap stuff for top-shelf liquor once patrons have their buzz on. She can also fix a fair number of pub snacks, especially the salty stuff that makes people thirsty.

[thrawns-backrest]

Satellites

Pairing: Galen Erso/Orson Krennic (pre-relationship, can be read as platonic), also Krennic is still a teen here so any romantic feelings are one sided

A little thing I wrote for these two during their time in the Futures Program. Tagging @russiandeathcup and @enaelyork because I think you might be interested in this :) enaelyork, my headcanons are a bit different from yours but I hope I managed to capture the essence of these two nonetheless!

I cut some corners with editing so please excuse me if it's a bit of a mess lol. Finally, all the science stuff is made up as per star wars tradition ___

Waking up was a laborious experience.

But then again, Orson Krennic surmised, he probably wasn’t doing himself any favors by falling asleep the way he did. Raising a hand to rub at eyes that were crusted shut he felt around to check for any additional presences in bed with him and immediately there was a groan to his right while someone else wriggled in dismay. Orson grinned.

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had passed out before he could summon the good sense to get back to his room.

With some of his good cheer restored he flexed his neck and cracked open an eye to survey some of his previous night's partymates sprawled over each other on the single bed, all in various states of disarray.

The room itself was a similar mess and reeked of alcohol but that was a given since it was the kind of night he barely remembered anything of. And as much as he wanted to sleep the rest of his hangover off (not as bad as last time, he was getting better at this), there was a steady stream of sunlight coming through the window and, well, Orson Krennic had better things to do with his day.

Like making sure there was another pleasant end to it, like last night's.

So he ran a hand through his hair, said a quick prayer of thanks for the lack of any vomit in sight and began the long process of extricating himself from the bed, whispering a quick apology to the girl lying half on top of him as she groaned again.

Some patting down fixed the worst of his uniform and after fishing around for a bit, he managed to find his jacket and tug it out from under one of the senior years before slipping his boots on.

He made a point of tucking his pant legs inside – a personal if unusual style choice but he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those ugly uniforms without a few tweaks – and before long he was off, striding out into the bright sunlight of Brentaal.

The building he’d somehow found himself in last night turned out to be unfamiliar but a quick jog to the nearest busy walkway had him back on track. Half a year of gallivanting to his heart’s content had ensured he knew most of the grounds like the back of his hand.

And it certainly had its perks.

From his new starting point, he was able to weave his way between dorm buildings, labs and lecture halls until he was at his own dorm complex, bright and gleaming right at the very heart of campus. Normally these buildings were reserved for the cream of the academic crop but in reality most of the people here were simply well connected, much like Orson who had his own wonderful uncle to thank for his placement.

Money, as it turned out, opened a lot more doors than test results. But Orson wasn’t so big of a fool as to underestimate the opportunities the Futures Program offered all by itself.

There was a queue for the turbolifts inside and he bypassed them to get to the stairs. Another trick he’d learned in his time here as this particular stairway connected to the professors’ living wing and he shot one of his instructors a grin on the way up, getting an eye roll and the faintest of smiles in response. A few more weeks, give or take, and he would have them all charmed, he was sure of it.

Level six was buzzing with activity which wasn’t all too unusual despite it being the middle of the day, with classes having long started. At first glance, the Program took itself more than a little seriously but in reality the people that ran the whole thing were well aware that they were as much a university as a daycare center for the kids of the various bourgeoisie that sponsored them. That, combined with the fact that its occasional sundry geniuses were better off left to their own devices, made for a pretty lively atmosphere, especially at this time of day and Orson couldn’t really complain about it.

On the contrary, the whole thing was suffused with a level of charm he couldn’t deny. Not least of all as a fifteen-year-old hungry for novelty and socialization.

Currently though his mind was set on a shower and some breakfast, maybe with a side of painkillers, and he was well on his way to getting them when he had to pause and do a double take.

He stood there for a couple of seconds staring at the open hatch.

This was Galen’s room, his mind supplied vaguely while the currents of hallway traffic flowed around him. So why was the door open?

Cautiously, Orson looked around before taking a few steps forward. The noise from outside became muffled as he entered the small corridor with adjacent fresher that led into the room itself.

Had someone broken in while Galen was away? Though not many did, his friend was definitely the type to get harassed and Orson wondered if this wasn’t some elaborate prank meant to do just that.

His next thought was that Galen, in his typical distracted fashion, had forgotten to close the door behind him when he’d gone out that morning though Orson had to admit that was a bit much, even for Galen.

Reality as it turned out was unfortunately not too far from that.

Orson felt his body slump in both amusement and relief when he finally rounded the corner, glancing deeper into the room.

As lo and behold there was Galen himself, pacing in front of the bed under the far window where a shrine of notes and a few screens lay scattered in artful disarray. His friend’s face was contorted in its usual pensive grimace as he wrestled with the numbers on some piece of flimsi, mouth moving silently as though struggling to follow the flow of his own thoughts.

It was such a profound display, Orson almost felt bad for interrupting it.

“Hey,” He leaned against the wall casually as Galen’s eyes snapped up to him. He seemed confused for a moment before finally realizing who was standing there in the middle of the room with him.

“Orson.” Galen frowned, distracted. “Did you need anything?”

“You tell me, you invited me here.”

This seemed to confuse Galen even more.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Orson jabbed a thumb in the direction of the doorway.

“You’re inviting everyone in, in fact.”

He mentally counted the seconds while Galen’s brain switched gears and then watched the disgruntlement on his face slowly melt into sheepishness.

“Ah, I must have forgotten to close it when I…right.” Galen mumbled and it took all of Orson’s willpower not to grin. He could envision it now, Galen in a rush to get to the nearest available datapad, practically vibrating with the urge to hunker down and tackle the onslaught of thoughts that were spiraling towards critical mass.

“They should put sensors on these things,” Orson heard him mutter as he threw aside the piece of flimsi, heading for the door.

If only the world were designed for scatterbrains like you, is what he thought to himself privately, suppressing another grin. A hand on Galen’s chest stopped him from getting any further.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” Orson nodded with a wink and sure enough, by the time he was back from that impressively short trip, Galen was already hunched over on his bed, staring a hole through his notes and twisting some poor tortured pen in his fingers as he muttered to himself.

Orson made himself comfortable at the other end and leaned back against the headboard as he watched his friend work. For how unusual it was, it was hardly the first time they found themselves in this position. With Galen chipping away at the mysteries of the universe while Orson sat quietly to the side, immersing himself in the peaceful atmosphere of it all and letting his mind drift.

It had become a sort of therapy for him, embarrassingly enough. And it didn’t help that Galen didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, going so far as to make room for him on whatever surface he’d perched himself on. Either that or he didn’t notice Orson at all and accommodated him on autopilot but Orson found that he didn’t mind either way.

This morning the ritual was particularly productive in chasing away the lingering dregs of his hangover and Orson almost found himself drifting off to sleep when he was rudely awoken by the growl of his own stomach.

“You should get something to eat,” Galen said offhandedly, in that way that implied he was on autopilot again.

Orson was just about to agree, reluctantly, when Galen spoke again, directing him to the fridge. Orson felt his brow furrow.

“You have food here?” he asked in disbelief as Galen waved a dismissive hand.

“I stock up at the end of every week.”

Somewhat caught off guard, Orson pondered that for a moment but then decided that he could envision it. Making an unwilling but necessary trip to one of the campus stores and stocking up with a precisely calculated amount of rations to get him through the week was a very Galen thing indeed. It must take some effort, after all, to be this much of a recluse.

Which raised the question…

“Well, I don’t want to eat your food if it means you’ll starve.” Orson frowned but his worries were met with the same dismissal.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

The look on Galen’s face indicated that he had already moved on from the conversation and so despite his hesitation Orson decided that he may as well make use of the offer. It was either that or scour his room for whatever instameal scraps or junk food he hadn’t managed to devour in his drunken stupors and right now that sounded decidedly unappealing.

He got up and padded to Galen’s fridge, opening it to find just what he expected. A small stack of granola bars that he quickly calculated to correspond to three meals per every remaining day of the week.

He shook his head. Galen was a good foot taller than him (the disadvantages of being a teenager and late to his last growth spurt) and this was a pathetic amount of food for him. If it weren’t for the occasional lunch Orson knew Galen’s professors sometimes dragged him out to, he may have been worried. As it was, he simply grabbed the nearest bar and went back to reclaim his spot on the bed.

At the very least, his stomach was grateful for the bland breakfast.

After eating his food as quietly as possible (Galen didn’t like noise while he concentrated), he returned to his earlier state of meditative relaxation. Until at some point he noticed Galen’s face twitch and an ever so subtle change occur in it.

Anyone else might have missed it but Orson had always been observant and part of that entailed being able to discern the differences in Galen’s seemingly passive expressions. He could tell, quite reliably by now, when Galen’s thoughts were racing behind those narrowed eyes and when they had hit a wall. And just now his train of thought had come to a screeching halt.

“Orson, can I ask you something?” Galen muttered after a while and Orson nodded lazily from his spot.

“Mhm, shoot.”

His friend then proceeded to bombard him with two increasingly complicated hypotheses that Orson did his best to follow despite failing miserably by the end. Nonetheless he paid close attention to Galen’s every word, the gestures and diagrams he drew in the air around him as he weaved complex science jargon together.

“So what do you think?” Galen asked hopefully at the end of it all, looking at Orson as though he genuinely believed he could be the solution to his problem. A rather flattering if overly optimistic thought.

Never let it be said that Orson Krennic didn’t come through in a pinch however.

“Here’s the deal,” Orson started, “I understood a fraction of the first one and nothing of the second so it must be that one.”

The explanation didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of agreeing Galen looked oddly contrite all of a sudden.

“Come now, Orson, don’t be like that…” he mumbled and Orson could practically feel the regret radiating off him. So worried that he’d somehow made Orson feel inadequate by getting carried away.

Orson shook his head mentally, allowing himself a little lopsided smirk.

For all that Galen was a plank of wood when it came to tact sometimes and for all that he outstripped most people here in terms of intelligence by light-years, being friends with him could be a surprisingly self-affirming experience. Orson doubted, for one, that anyone cared as much about his feelings and self-esteem as Galen Erso did.

But that wasn’t the point here and Orson hurried to put them back on track.

“No, I’m being serious. Think about it, I have a basic understanding of advanced chemistry and physics, about as good as the average first year around here, and if I was able to get what you were talking about then it only makes sense that someone has already thought of, tested it and proved that it doesn’t work.”

He shrugged and leaned back against the headboard. “It’s just statistical probability.”

This time his wors seemed to get through to Galen and his friend sat there contemplating it for a moment before finally accepting it for what it was.

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded with a rare smile. “Though I’m not necessarily happy with the reasoning behind it. Thank you, Orson.”

Orson responded with a grin of his own.

“Hey, if nothing else, I’m good at pointing geniuses in the right direction. I have a nose for it.” He stopped as though actually considering it.

“You know, you should probably hire me to do it full time for you. I can see myself with a career like that.”

Galen huffed, already going back to his notes.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He stuck around for a while after until the urge to change into clean clothes and eat a proper meal finally won out and he left Galen to his silent scribbling.

Later that evening found him ambling down a decidedly more deserted campus with one hand nestled in his jacket pocket and the other loosely holding to the top of a flimsi bag. It was that odd transitional hour when students had already gone home from class and the more avid party goers had yet to spill out into the streets.

The majority were probably still winding down while others were stuck doing last minute work on their assignments.

Orson, being the only master of his own schedule, was on a mission instead.

He trekked the familiar route from the foyer up to the sixth level, bypassing the turbolifts even when there was no queue outside, and stopped in front of Galen’s room to knock. Moments later he heard shuffling inside which was a promising sign as Galen probably wouldn’t have heard him at all if he was in one of his trances. 

The door opened to reveal a mussed looking Galen who squinted at him in confusion.

Nevertheless, he quickly moved out of the way when Orson pushed past him to get into the room.

“I’ve got something important to show you, come on.”

The urgency in his voice must have piqued Galen’s interest because he closed the door and shuffled after him without a second thought, probably thinking it was another gadget Orson had lifted from the lab or some other scientific curiosity.

Orson took advantage of it and dropped his bag on the desk Galen had repurposed as an impromptu lab station, stepping back to let Galen open it. His friend’s face instantly drained of excitement as he revealed what was inside.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled in confusion, staring at the plastic containers and their contents.

Orson snorted.

“Of course you don’t. This,” He pointed at the bag. “is real food. And it’s probably the first time you’re seeing any.”

He let the smirk he’d been disguising finally crawl over his face and took extra joy in the exasperation mixed with grudging embarrassment that bloomed over Galen’s.

And real food it certainly was because Orson didn’t cut any corners. He hadn’t scouted every food place in and around campus, making sure not to get too inebriated in the process, for nothing. If you wanted the best food in radius of two klicks, Orson Krennic was your guy.

Even Galen, seemingly convinced by the smell of freshly grilled vegetables and meat, didn’t complain about his antics for once and they both sat down to eat what was unmistakably better than a chalky granola bar.

In the course of wiping their respective containers clean, they talked about Galen’s research. It was rare to see Galen this animated and Orson studied the reaction as his friend rambled about dead ends and insufficient data.

“I need to do this in a lab,” Galen said, scraping the bottom of his container with his chopsticks. “The geology hall here has a databank on Darellian crystals and a physics simulator built into the display console. If I could use that along with some of the research logged into the databanks, this whole thing would go much faster.”

Orson had been quietly following along, already feeling the inklings of a plan coming together.

“You know what,” he said after a while, “you might be able to do just that.”

It was already dark by the time they ventured out into the cobbled tree-lined walkways. Precious minutes remained until the place was crowded but Galen still clamped a hand over Orson’s mouth, silencing his cackling, when he boldly announced they were once again about to witness the talents of the great Orson Krennic. Orson considered it a personal achievement that he could get stuffy Galen Erso to follow along in his antics.

If he were to give himself even more credit, he would even say that was a smile playing on Galen’s lips.

Convincing the hall’s security guard to let them in was much easier in comparison. Especially when Orson was notorious for wheedling extra lab time for his projects from their professors. Inside, he took a seat on one of the front row benches and once again found himself in that same meditative state as before as Galen flicked between the holoboard and simulation projector, occasionally flipping through an ancient-looking flimsi booklet and scribbling unintelligible notes on the board.

In the meantime, Orson asked himself when he had become so fascinated with Galen. And the answer, frankly, was almost immediately after he’d first seen him.

It’d been during a joined physics class, with freshmen and senior years from all over the Program, when the professor had called on Orson to give an answer to one of the problems. Ever the performer, Orson had detached one of the microscopes’ digital magnifiers and climbed onto the table to spy the answer on the professor’s datapad much to the whole hall’s amusement.

After the excitement had died down the professor had turned to Galen, drawing Orson’s attention for the first time to the tall quiet student at the back of the hall. Galen had given a quick detailed response without even looking up from his datapad and though his odd demeanor hadn’t garnered nearly as much attention, Orson had felt a brief pinch of annoyance at what he perceived as having his spotlight stolen.

That feeling had quickly given way to curiosity however as he kept shooting discreet glances at Galen for the rest of the class. The rest was just a matter of approaching him after the lecture and slowly worming his way into Galen’s awareness until the latter had been forced to admit defeat and relinquish some of his self-imposed solitude.

Orson was nothing if not persistent and Galen – too polite to nip his growing advances in the bud. And given enough time, Orson could make himself agreeable to anyone as he’d been able to prove with Galen.

Which led them to the present moment, with Galen so inured to his presence and casual favors that he allowed him to loiter nearby while he worked – Galen, who valued his personal space more than anything – and regularly updated him on his progress.

It was strange if you thought about it too much. Orson himself couldn’t explain what drew him to Galen in the first place. He’d always thought it was the ostentatious types for him, the loud and exuberant, the ones he could compete with for attention and follow into mischief and glory. Yet there they were, as balanced a duo as you could get.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Galen murmured as if reading his thoughts and Orson watched him get down from the podium to flip a few more pages on his booklet. He scribbled a few more notes on his datapad and pursed his lips in thought.

“Orson could you do these calculations for me, I need this to go faster.”

That brought Orson’s reverie to a stumbling halt and he blinked at Galen, almost panicked.

“Me?” he asked in disbelief. “Doing your calculations? Don’t be ridiculous, Galen, you should just input them into a computer.”

Galen glared at him from his spot at the lecturer’s desk. “That would take too much time. Besides, it’s just some Tivix equations, I know you can handle that.”

Orson was about to protest but Galen was already walking back to the holoboard and opening another window to scribble on.

“I don’t know who convinced you you’re stupid Orson,” he said, his back still turned to him, “but you’re not. You should know better than that.”

The rudimentary protest died on Orson’s tongue and he felt his throat constrict as the meaning of Galen’s words registered in his mind. Finding himself utterly speechless, he averted his eyes to the table in front of him, unable to help it.

Not ‘stupid’, his mind corrected mechanically, but rather not smart enough.

For a horrifying moment, he had the suspicion that Galen had seen right through him there and then. All those times he had avoided doing things the right way, finding roundabout methods and tricks to get the result he wanted rather than tackling the problem head on. Did Galen know what lay beneath it? The crippling fear of inadequacy that Orson fought so hard to suppress?

The lengths he went to to avoid finding out just how incapable he really was?

Did Galen know about all of it?

Orson swallowed heavily, trying to bring his thoughts back under control.

Then tentatively, he got up and walked over to the datapad Galen had left to display a few rows of glowing numbers and barely legible notes.

He’d never thought he would graduate the program. Just like many of the students here, he had never entered it with the intention of getting all the way through. He was just like the people he partied with, careless and enjoying the brief stint of freedom their parents had bought for them to get them out of their hair or add some vague prestigious credentials to their name. Everyone knew the program was filled with people like that.

Orson himself had yearned for the chance to escape his guardians’ supervision, obsessed with the notion of complete independence and the chance of making new contacts. His doting uncle and aunt had been indulgent in allowing him that but nobody had actually ever believed anything would come out of it.

Orson was flighty. Frivolous. Given to indulgence. Things he had long come to terms with and didn’t feel too strongly about to change. He was quick-witted and perceptive, sure, and he had the head to make decent progress in his studies but his future was in politics and public services much like his uncle’s. It was a step down from what he’d always wanted but after some deliberation he had agreed there was ample opportunity there.

Now though, slowly going through Galen’s equations to the sound of his friend’s muttering, he wondered if there wasn’t still a chance for him. That maybe, if someone like Galen saw potential in him, there was a point in at least trying…

Galen wasn’t necessarily a good judge of character but he was surprisingly good at telling what was worth his time and what wasn’t. And if he had tolerated Orson so far, not to mention involving him in his research, then if not his own judgement, perhaps Orson could trust Galen’s. After all it was only fair given how often Galen had taken a leap of faith for him.

Galen was, at the end of the day, an exceptional man. Orson could tell better than anyone. If Galen’s instincts were attuned to the invisible currents of numbers and data, Orson had the same aptitude for telling where the seeds of greatness lied.

That greatness was sure to germinate in Galen and who knows, swept along in its tide maybe Orson could reach new heights as well. Ones that he had never dared hope for before.

Tentatively taking hold of that thought, he let his fingers glide more confidently over the surface of the screen.

Yes, there was merit in giving this a go, he decided privately. And even if he did fail, Orson thought taking one long look at the sure line of Galen’s profile against the glow of the holoboard, at least he would have basked in Galen’s light for a little bit longer.

And he couldn’t find himself objecting to that.

[natasha-in-space]

can I request an imagine about saeyoung comforting you when you're sick? 😤

Ayyy one of my favorites tropes! :D

"What are you doing here...?"

This was somewhat of a dumb question coming from you, but your mind was just too groggy and fatigued with illness to think rationally at the moment. You had been stuck in your bed for the whole day now, getting up only to use the bathroom or drink some water in between your feverish naps. This was one of those days that you just wanted to pass by you as quickly as possible so that you could get on with your life as if nothing has even happened soon after. Nobody likes getting sick, yet it's a part of human experience that you just have to suffer through, whether you want to or not.

You could hear your partner chuckle slightly under his breath as he came into the room and closed the door behind him as quietly as possible so as to not disturb you too much with an unwanted noise.

"Oh, just checking up on my sick little alien, that's all."

Taking a seat beside your bed, Saeyoung pressed his hand to your sweaty forehead, making you lean into his cool touch out of pure instinct. You must have looked like a complete mess right now, considered the fact that you have not left your bed for the entire day. Well, it's not like you cared much about that right now, anyways. Either way, you could see concern slowly rising in his eyes as he studied you carefully, like a true doctor assessing you from just one look alone.

He would make a handsome doctor... Or a very pretty nurse at that...

Oh God, this fever is making you think of a few very bizarre things-

"Ugh, I told you to just leave me alone for the day... I don't want to get you sick as well." You groaned, shutting your eyes tightly and turning your burning face to the opposite direction from the redhead that was slowly filling your every thought like a different sort of sickness. If there's one good thing out of this fever, it's that he probably couldn't tell the difference between your feverish blush and the embarrassed one. "I'm just going to sleep all day and hope that my body does all the work for me."

"Who says you can't do exactly that, though?" You could hear him shuffling about, probably cleaning up all the used up tissues that were scattered about on your nightstand. "You can just lay there and get better, while I bring you anything you need, so that you don't have to strain yourself. And I'm sure Saeran wouldn't mind cooking you up some yummy soup that's going to do wonders to your tummy! You're acting like you're living all alone, when it's obviously not the case."

Despite your resolve, you could feel yourself starting to smile as the images of what your partner was describing slowly formed in your mind, making your chest feel warm and fuzzy at the notion of being cared for like that. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just... let go and let others take care of you for once. And you did miss having company around you, even if you tried to deny it. Being sick sucked, but it sucked even more if you're dealing with the struggles of it all by yourself.

"...Okay. That actually sounds... kinda nice. Thank you, Saeyoung."

You gave him a tired but warm smile, which he returned with one of his own, running a hand through your messy hair and making you sigh in satisfaction as result of his pleasant touch. "That's a good kitten.*

Soon after, you found yourself sitting up in your bed, prepped up by a few pillows and holding a plushie of your hacker boyfriend close to your chest, with the real Saeyoung carefully placing a bowl of steaming porridge on your now neatly stacked bedside.

"What's that?" You asked, rubbing at your eyes and trying to sniff out any distinguishing scents from the dish, only to fail miserably due to your clogged up nose.

God, you hated being sick.

"Saeran decided to make you a bowl of dakjuk, and since cooking is a field of science too advanced for my genius brain, I decided to go along with my little bro's suggestion. Smells amazing, so I'm sure you'll feel better in no time! I wonder if he'll cook the same for me if I get sick..." He placed a hand to his chin, as if he was lost deep in thought, making you giggle at his adorable display.

"I'm sure he would, love. It's a shame I won't be able to taste it fully, though." You replied, smiling warmly at the thought. Saeran's care showed in his actions more than anything. You were certain that he'd be more than willing to help his brother get better, albeit not nursing him back to health directly. "Will you feed me?"

Saeyoung winked at you, booping your nose with a tip of his finger. "You don't even have to ask, my cutest patient! Doctor Choi will take utmost care of you and your soup."

Can't forget about the soup.

Even despite your sickness, you could feel the overwhelming warmth and smooth texture of a porridge-like mixture filling your mouth, making you close your eyes and appreciate the cozy flavor of this dakjuk to the best of your abilities. Gulping down the first spoonful, you nodded with approval, your eyes twinkling with happiness for the first time today. "Mm! You know, even if I can't taste much, I can tell that that's a very good dakjuk. Do tell Saeran that I loved it, okay?"

"Oh, I already did before I brought it here." He shrugged, making you raise an eyebrow in a silent question. "I know Saeran's food is going to be amazing, so why wait, eh?"

"You're impossible sometimes." You snickered, playfully rolling your eyes at him. Saeran's annoyed glare was all you could picture at the back of your mind, only making you want to laugh even more.

Once you've finished your porridge, Saeyoung tucked you back into bed, although you had to shoo him away before he could place a kiss to your lips as he usually did. You did promise him to double your daily kisses once you get better in response to the put he gave you, but you definitely did not want your partner to get sick because of you, which is why a small sacrifice had to be made. You chattered between yourselves for about a hour more about this and that, jumping from one topic to another, as it often happened whenever you two started up a conversation. Listening to Saeyoung babbling away excitedly about his day or his interests always did put a smile on your face.

"I love you." You murmured, squeezing his hand in yours and slowly closing your eyes once more, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

A content smile adorned your flushed face as you felt him place a single loving kiss to the warm skin of your forehead, before caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. "I love you too, kitten. Get better for me so that I can kiss you properly the first thing tomorrow morning, okay?"

[imtrashraccoon]

Is this angst? I am not sure but it's definitely more of a quiet and thoughtful chapter. Kind of interesting to see the parallels between their date last chapter and here, and what happened in the main timeline I wrote.

Future Tumble Edit: Fanart from my friend!

@scrambledmeggys

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Day 27: Stars

Rather than take the ferry home, Papyrus decided to take you through Waterfall instead. From what you'd seen on your way to the resort earlier, Waterfall was a quiet but pretty place, so you'd agreed.

You could tell Papyrus was in oddly high spirits ever since leaving the resort. In fact, he had a near permanent smug smile on his skull and kept looking at you in a way that you could only describe as infatuation. It was enough to make your heart flutter.

To top it all off, he had occasionally made flirty comments as you walked through Waterfall. The main issue was that they only served to fluster you further, leaving you with no way to respond.

When the precipitation picked up, Papyrus retrieved a red umbrella from a container with several and opened it up. You practically had to walk so you were touching each other in order to stay dry, but you didn't mind in the slightest. So, you linked your arm around his and leaned against his shoulder.

You were quite familiar with rain, but compared to the often chaotic storms on the surface, Waterfall was almost downright peaceful. Even when you had to travel through a downpour and avoid the really deep puddles so as to not get your shoes soaked, you couldn't help but revel in the sheer atmosphere this area created.

"The rain is nice down here," you murmured softly. "It's warm and there's no wind to damage your umbrella either. There's also no loud thunder or lightning which I guess is nice too."

Papyrus hummed and nuzzled the top of your head tenderly. "What Is Thunder And Lightning?" he asked.

"Lightning is like a streak of bright light that can start at the ground or from the clouds. I'm frankly not good with explaining technical stuff but it has to do with an area of high energy and low energy. When the energy builds up too much, it is released in a bolt of lightning, and the resulting heat from the lightning is what causes thunder."

You chuckled and shook your head. "My explanation can't come even close to the real thing. You'd really have to experience it to know what I mean, I guess."

"Sounds Crazy," Papyrus mused thoughtfully. "Sans Would Probably Get A Kick Out Of How That Works. He Is Really Into The Whole Science Stuff, Kind Of Like Alphys I Guess."

"I guess not to the point where he'd want to be the Royal Scientist though?"

He chuckled and shook his skull knowingly. "No, Too Much Responsibility For Him. Maybe He Used To Though, Back When We Were Kids At Least, I Am Not Sure What Changed His Mind. He Definitely Has The Talent For It Anyways."

"Fair enough, the amount of pressure she must go through on a daily basis isn't for everyone," you commented.

A few minutes later, Papyrus suddenly stopped at a small crevice in the rock that was barely wide enough to shimmy through. He stared at the passageway for a moment in a thoughtful sort of way and you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

"Paps? Is something wrong?" you whispered and stepped slightly closer to him.

He didn't respond immediately and closed the umbrella instead, thankfully it was only sprinkling right now. "Do You Want To See Something Cool?" he asked and turned to you again. His eyelights flickered with what you assumed was excitement, so how could you say no to that?

You grinned, "Of course I do!"

"Follow Me Then." Papyrus gestured for you to come with and stepped into the crevice. He had to kind of crouch down to do so because he was so tall, which you knew couldn't be comfortable.

Nevertheless, you followed him as closely as you could. The passage wasn't very long and you both soon emerged into a much larger room.

This room was a bit darker than the previous one but there was plenty of glowing light sources to make up the difference. There were hundreds of the very same glowing blue flowers Papyrus had used to propose to you growing everywhere, along with other kinds of bioluminescent flora. To top it all off, the ceiling was dotted with tiny, twinkling crystals of varying colours, some of which, were arranged to vaguely resemble a few star constellations you recognized.

"Woah..." It was all you could say as words couldn't even begin to describe the sheer awe you felt right now. Slowly, you turned around and scanned the room, trying to memorize every little detail.

A soft click drew your attention back to Papyrus again. He'd apparently found your reaction rather adorable and decided to take a picture, but you couldn't be mad at him this time. Instead, you felt a little embarrassed and rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly.

"Sorry, I Could Not Resist, Precious," he whispered and put his phone away again.

You shook your head and chuckled. "No, it's fine." Changing the subject, you asked, "What is this place anyways?"

"This Is Called The Wishing Room. Monsters Used To Come Here To Make A Wish On The Crystals In The Ceiling Since We Cannot See The Real Sky Down Here." Papyrus sounded much more somber now as he glanced up at the crystals.

"Used to?"

He nodded slowly, "Yes, I Am Unsure How Many Monsters, If Any, Still Uphold The Tradition."

You frowned and looked up at the crystals yourself. It had been so long since you saw the real stars, yet you couldn't imagine going your whole life and never seeing them. It was ironic really. There were so many things you'd taken for granted back on the surface, and just being able to look up and see the stars was yet another thing to add to the increasingly long list.

"I Cannot Speak For Everyone, But I Am Tired Of Fighting, Rihanna. I Just Want To Have A Peaceful Life And Now That I Have You, I Want It More Then Ever..."

You wrapped your arms around his ribcage and hugged him. "I want that too..." you whispered.

Papyrus' hands found their way to your shoulders and he soon returned the hug. "Still, I Would Not Trade Having Met You For Freedom. You Mean Everything To Me And If I Have To Wait The Rest Of My Life To See The Real Stars, I Will Gladly Do So. As Long As You Are With Me, I Will Have The Strength To Get Through Each Day, Until We No Longer Need To Hide Anymore."

You stayed there for a little while, just holding each other. Eventually, your legs started to get tired though, so you both walked a little further into the room until you found a dry patch of grass to sit down in.

Besides the hundreds of large blossoms, there were even more smaller blue flowers that grew closer to the ground. They seemed to be the same variety so maybe they were just younger?

"What kind of flowers are these, Papyrus?" you asked.

He smiled and gently ran his phalanges through your hair before responding. "We Call Them Echo Flowers. As You Discovered Previously, They Repeat The Last Thing They Heard Until They Hear Something Different."

"That's so cool," you murmured. "We don't have anything like them on the surface..."

"I Would Think Not As They Are Quite Literally A Magical Plant," Papyrus chuckled.

You smiled and leaned up against him a bit more as he continued to play with your hair. If you didn't know better, you would accuse him of never touching someone else's hair before, but you held your tongue and chose to just enjoy the moment instead. He seemed particularly interested in the texture of your hair and how strong it was. Thankfully, he was being careful not to pull too hard and his gloves served to keep the individual strands from getting caught between his finger bones.

"We'll get out soon, I know it," you said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between the both of you. "There's so many things I want to show you when we do..."

Papyrus hummed softly and wrapped his arms around you from behind. He also pressed a soft skeleton kiss to the top of your head before just resting his chin on you.

"I think my family would love to meet you too..."

[mantisgodsdomain]

Hey. By the time you read this, I hope you already know I've dropped out of the tournament. I would like you to know I'm not being a sore loser (if fuse ends up losing the poll) I just had some personal issues to work out and had been debating doing it for a while now.

As a gesture of good will, I would like to give you ownership of a few ocs I originally created as gifts if you won (which it looks like you most likely will.) I present to you: Beauty and the beast but it's lovecraftian horror.

Mulch was a fairly average wasp. A bit clumsy, and chronically unlucky, Mulch worked as a postman for the ant kingdom, while doing independent deliveries for various customers on the side. During one of these side jobs, he was instructed to deliver a mysterious, sealed box to a mysterious place out in the woods. Curiosity got the better of him, however, and while exploring the area, he stumbled in on Marigold during on of her.... Less ethical experiments.

Marigold panicked, and ended up chucking an unfinished and very experimental potion at him. The potion reacted with the package, which unfortunately turned out to be full of very expensive dead lander parts. Mulch was transmuted almost instantly and very painfully. He fled in panic, much to Marigold's annoyance.

Mulch tried to tell his friends and family what happened, but his vocal cords were distorted in the transmutation and he could only make garbled screeches. Pretty soon, the "Redeyes monster" was blamed for Mulch's disappearance, along with a few other missing bugs. Hunted down by the bugs he once thought were friends, Redeyes decided to try and take his own life by skewering himself with his tail.

Foxglove is the complete polar opposite of Marigold. A traveling apothecary, she is headstrong, brash, and even a little bit naive. Despite this, she's a very compassionate moth and always stops to help bugs in need. She also does secret research into transmutation, although she plans to use the science for medical purposes only. She thinks the science could one day be used to regrow lost limbs and cure the blind.

One day, Foxglove discovered a wounded beast while exploring, Who ended up being the infamous Redeyes. She was able to heal the monster back to health, and the two formed a close bond. Wherever Foxglove goes, Redeyes is close behind, just out of sight. Noticing the strange bug was awakened, Foxglove also taught Redeyes Morse code so he could communicate. Redeyes began to regain hope, and even started to consider telling her what happened to him.

That is, until Foxglove got a friendly visit from a certain hawk moth. And while the homemade meal she prepared didn't do anything other than make Foxglove slightly sick for a few days, the message was very clear. Redeyes decided to keep his mandibles shut, but Foxglove's stubborn curiosity isn't helping....

I hope you enjoy these two! They're yours now, feel free to do whatever you want with them, from making them kiss to putting them through the horrors.

Lastly, here are a few comics so you can get a good idea of how they act. (Although you could change that too if you want to.)

have fun, and I'm sorry for the hassle :)

It's no trouble! We know how it is, to get stressed out over results like that. We got... fairly similarly stressed out around Round 3, against Mop. It's probably not 1:1 comparable, but - we can relate. You don't have to worry about coming off as a sore loser or anything of the like - we weren't expecting to win anything if we won, honestly.

We... would like to apologize, if our own competitiveness was too much - we tend to get a bit competitive ourself, and though a lot of the fun for us is in the competition and showmanship, we'd be the first to know we can get a bit caught-up in things. Hopefully, the peer pressure (or... whatever they call it, here) didn't make anything worse.

So long, and thank you for all the bugs!

We will now ramble below the cut in a way that is probably way too enthusiastic for the rest of this rant (oogh cool bugs)

Holds Mulch and Foxglove in our claws. We think we will subject them to the horrors AND make them kiss.

Fun fact that we aren't sure if we've included in the charmcraft stuff we've posted here yet - that was, actually, one of the original uses for charmcraft! Though sight can be a lot more fiddly than replacing a limb, grafting on body parts was one of the first uses of charmcraft, and still remains one of the best options when it comes to prosthetics.

Though charmcraft limbs tend to distort and shift as they age, they tend to be very reliable as far as utility goes, being one of the only ways to get full dexterity in a prosthetic without requiring a lot of maintainance. Once properly installed, it's there to stay, but it comes with a handful of drawbacks.

The distortion was first and foremost on the reasons it's rarely-used - it warps as its user grows, and after a certain point it's near-impossible to ignore the difference between the grafted arm and the rest of the bug's body, even if it was a nearly perfect match initially. There's also the fact that it needs to be installed directly onto a living bug - with the nature of charmcraft workstations, that can wind up being a several-hour-long operation with no anaesthesia, which can be... unfortunate, for the bug receiving the arm.

Besides that, there's the unfortunate fact that the single material best-suited to medical charmcraft is bug flesh - though fully outlawing use of bugs as parts would be thoroughly impractical, using bits from awakened bugs is now thoroughly outlawed, and regulations currently sit in such a state where performing charmcraft of any sort on a living bug is quite illegal. Though getting the regulations overturned would be one hell of an uphill battle, Foxglove seems the sort who would try her hand at it - it's a field that has massive potential, medically, but the handful of crimes that've been committed have left a massive imprint in public consciousness, which makes things... difficult.

It at least helps to have a massive monster in your tracks to keep you safe from anyone who might be less than friendly about those hot-button issues you're working with. Especially when said massive monster is a friend.

[mr-entj]

Hi Mr. ENTJ, congrats on the new job offer. It's good to hear INTJ and Kobe & Co. are doing well, too.

I'm an ENTJ currently in my fourth year of my Computer Science PhD specializing in Machine Learning/Data Mining, and I know that you know how quickly this field moves. There's loads of advice about how "doctoral programs a marathon, not a sprint" and students need to pace themselves and have work-life balance in order to not burn out. Following these principles, I've made it this far unscathed (in terms of mental health deterioration) and managed to stay in my program.

With luck, an understanding advisor, and low amounts of admin work (emails, meetings-that-could-be-emails, etc.), and good self management, I have been able to work 40 hour workweeks for the most part and stay on track. That being said, I am currently in a period of time where I am increasing to 50 hour workweeks in order to meet a conference deadline at the end of June 2023 (time of writing is mid-late April 2023). As long as I show up to work every day and do my best, I expect this paper will be finished by the time my internship starts. This is fine by me; deadlines need to be met, and I want to continue with my current 5-year PhD trajectory (as opposed to taking longer).

Speaking candidly, I have ADHD and am also Autistic, and maintaining this 40hr/week is critical in preventing the "I wake up in the morning wondering if I've accomplished anything meaningful with my life" feeling that gets in the way of me doing very much at all with my day. I also notice that when I am in the *deep throes* of burnout, my ability to pull back and look at the bigger picture takes a nap and I make myopic, hasty decisions. It's a recipe for bad research.

I've relaxed my "good work-life balance" constraint to simply "do not enter the *deep throes* of burnout". My question is for what lies after this period of time: I will be entering a summer research internship. I am concerned I will not perform well at my internship and will not be able to study as hard for full time interviews as a result of my choices now. Any tips for optimizing this recovery time and post-burnout damage control? Is this an ill-posed question, and there is no way to have my cake and eat it too?

Thanks for your time and consideration, Mr. ENTJ.

You can have your cake and eat it too, you'll just need to endure for the next few months.

Some thoughts on your situation in no particular order:

Get therapy and medication for the ADHD and autism if you haven't already. Mental health issues should never be left untreated especially when you're attempting ambitious and difficult goals. It would be like trying to win a race with a broken leg.

Set strict guardrails to get adequate sleep and nutrition. Don't compromise on either of these two because it'll severely impact performance. During the most intense periods of my life, meal planning worked really well so I could grab and go healthy meals without long prep time. Poor health choices lead to low energy, brain fog, and bad moods. Healthy food/snacks, hydration, vitamins, exercise (even a quick 15 minutes of cardio when my scheduled was packed) made me 10x more effective.

Reach out to the summer internship team and learn more about expectations so you can start planning ahead to manage your time and prepare to hit the ground running. Most summer internships aren't time-consuming and energy draining to the point they'd grind you down to dust. This is because interns require a lot of time to onboard which cuts into the 3-month summer term and they have limited access to information, skills, and experience needed to do more complex work. I wouldn't jump the gun and stress about underperforming without knowing the full scope of your role and responsibilities.

Ensure that you have at least one person from your summer internship who can speak highly of you. In the unlikely event you don't perform well in your internship, you'll still walk away with a solid professional reference to use for future full-time job offers. Pro tip: Companies won't interview every single person at the internship even if you fuck up. As long as they can verify you worked there and you have at least 1 person (more is better) who can speak to your abilities, you'll be fine.

Prioritize full-time job interviews > summer internships if the summer internship has a low chance of conversion to a full-time role. If the opposite is true, reverse that order. If you need to prioritize one of these two, prioritize the one that secures your desired outcome.

Focus on outcomes over input. Focus on the things you achieve, the milestones you reach, and the obstacles you overcome-- not the amount of hours you put in. A few weeks ago I fixed a $5 million problem by clearing up a misunderstanding with a 90-minute conversation. This 90-minute conversation was way more impactful than the 40-50 hours of work I put in the previous week. There's that John Wooden quote: "Don't mistake activity for achievement." Benchmark your progress towards achieving a 'meaningful life' with impact, not input.

[etenvs3000w23]

Unit 10: Nature Interpretation's Role in Environmental Sustainability

If I were to be totally honest with myself, the only reason I took this course to begin with was to fulfil a credit required to earn a certificate of environmental conservation when I graduated. There were very few options as to what credits I could take, and this one was available so I jumped at the chance. But I could not have been more lucky in taking that chance. That is because from the start of my university career I have consistently asked myself ‘what if I went the other way?’ I ask myself this because when I graduated highschool I was at a pretty big crossroads. I had spent my years in highschool volunteering as a student journalist in addition to taking the required science credits to go on one of two career paths: that of the scientist or that of the journalist. I of course took the route of the scientist, but again, what if I had gone the other way? This thought persisted, and as a result I have always valued the chance at learning how to integrate what I learned in science with that of communication, unfortunately I haven’t had as many chances to build these skills as I would have liked. Enter: this course.

In taking this course I unknowingly received the perfect opportunity to do what I’d always wanted, interpret what I’d learned in my zoology major and gain the skills to present it to a larger audience. Over the course of this semester I have learned way more about nature interpretation than I could have predicted, and I am definitely leaving this class a better communicator than when I began. So then, what have I learned?

I think one of the most important things I learned within this course was the importance of ethics while communicating. I’ve always tried my best to consider my audience when creating a project, but at the end of the day I am just one person with one point of view. Something that stood out to me while taking this course was the emphasis placed on privilege and the part it plays in experiencing nature and the lack of opportunities faced by those who lack it. In my own personal ethic I have always strived to be empathetic, honest, and responsible for my actions. But, what this course has allowed me to do is see the ‘invisible backpack’ described by Gallavan (2005) that many people carry with them. In considering my own code of ethics I need to be responsible in not making assumptions about certain groups, and know that not everyone has had the same opportunities as I have. Like many people I have felt the guilt of having these opportunities when others don’t, but rather than continue to think that simply feeling bad about my place in our society is enough, I know I have to strive to do better and make personal goals for myself. In other words, in order to be a good communicator I can’t just provide for one audience, but all audiences. It is so easy to tell people that if they want to experience nature then they should just go outside and touch the grass as they say, but this is not as easy as people think. There are hundreds of invisible barriers people with privilege who perceive their norm as the cultural norm simply cannot see. Economic barriers, cultural barriers, communication barriers, and so much more. It is learning about these barriers, and working with the people who face them that we can find ways to overcome them and provide less privileged people with interpretation catered to their needs rather than the same run of the mill experience that may be equivalent to others experiences, but not nearly as impactful.

I mentioned before how I once wanted to become a journalist rather than a scientist, and how I am still striving to be a better communicator. Communication is a broad term that has many different definitions. If I wanted to communicate with someone, I could do so using visuals, or music, or writing, or even through dance. Over history, different cultures have found different ways to interpret nature and communicate lessons learned from it to the next generation. For me, my skill set lends itself to utilising writing as the best approach to nature interpretation. Not only am I more confident in the written word, I am creative as well, or at least I try to be. Both the textbook and Strauss (1996) describe the importance of anecdotes and imagery to engage the audience. I know that throughout my life the lessons I have remembered the most were the memorable ones that had a great story behind them. It's part of the reason I can recount twenty hours of lore for major sci fi franchises and yet can barely remember my first year chemistry class. What sticks with people are experiences, and if you can engage people with nature through an immersive and creative experience, they will take that lesson and repurpose it for themselves.

Next year I plan to take a year off science and pursue a graduate certificate course in creative writing. I am in no way giving up science, but what I am doing is trying something new, and something I have always wanted to do. I have learned that influencing people to learn science through media such as fiction and other forms of creative writing can be just as impactful if not more so than discovering the facts in the first place. I hope to one day use what I have learned in this class and the rest of my undergrad to not only continue to be a responsible scientist, but a scientist who can communicate creatively with the next generation and inspire them to consider not just their own needs, but everyone's needs when it comes to nature.

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018b). Chapter 5: Guiding Principles of Interpretation. Interpreting cultural and natural heritage : for a better world. (pp.81-101) Sagamore Venture.

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018c). Chapter 7: Serving Diverse Audience. Interpreting cultural and natural heritage : for a better world. (pp.105-123) Sagamore Venture.

Gallavan, N. P. (2005). Helping teachers unpack their “invisible knapsacks.” Multicultural Education (San Francisco, Calif.), 13(1), 36–36.

Strauss, S. (1996). The passionate fact : storytelling in natural history and cultural interpretation. North American Press.

[sio-writes]

A Botanist's Guide: Chapter 11

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Tags for this chapter (spoilers ahead): This chapter is nsfw, and contains vaginal sex

The week brings zero resolution, and zero answers. The constant onslaught of nothingness and boring procedure has kept me in a state of limbo, between wanting to ask and being afraid of the answer. And in either situation, the milestone and whatever the fuck is happening with Kri, it's driving me crazy. My leg keeps bouncing up and down as my brain tries to spread out the extra energy. I keep thinking of what could go wrong-- what will go wrong-- in the days leading up to the review. 

The results from the presentation are due back any day now, and I haven't heard anything. Sometimes that's a good thing, like hearing your name called last and you win the regional award for best baking soda volcano at the science fair. But in my experience here, no news is bad news. It means they're mulling it over, that I didn't do as well as I thought I did. Maybe all those jokes and pats on the back from the board were meant to soften the blow. Maybe I celebrated too early.

Jillie's hand on my shoulder makes me jump, dropping the pH scale on the floor.

"Are you alright?" she asks, her perfect eyebrows pulled down in concern as she bends down to pick the scale up and hand it to me.

I'd been spacing out-- again. It's been happening all week, and no matter what I do, I just can't get it together. There's too many thoughts trying to take up the limited space in my brain, with so many of them revolving around the single presence in the room that I can't ignore.

Kri has returned to his auditing routine, but only shows up when it's mandatory, now once a week. The time we all spend together has been cut to a fraction of what it was, leaving just enough room for him to bicker with me over the water and nothing else.

I should be glad for it-- he's putting distance between us like I wanted, he's back to his super professional self instead of the curious, sarcastic, blindingly earnest alien I wanted to know better. But maybe it's for the best. After thinking it over, his hesitance at coming into my apartment was a refusal, no matter what cultural lens it's seen through. A rejection, clear as day. And I'm trying not to focus on it too much, I'm really not, but it's hard when the guy is sitting fifteen feet away from me.

I allow my scattered thoughts a brief reprieve, and sigh heavily before patching it over with a limp smile. "Nervous."

She pats me on the shoulder. "About what? You knocked it out of the park."

I chew on my nail because my bottom lip is bleeding from biting at it all day. I can't ask Kri, because he's not talking to me. I thought he was being professional for the presentation, but his aloofness has extended into the week. He probably wouldn't tell me anyway, but at least he'd explain why instead of looking at me like I'm a stray mark on his stupid clipboard.

Thinking about anything for too long puts me in a spiral, but I don't know any other method to deal with it other than let it play out in my brain until I have a panic attack. My thoughts, my emotions, they all feel too big for my head, and letting them overflow like a stupid baking soda volcano is what it takes to sort things out. I won't have any answers, but it would stop my leg from bouncing up and down for three hours straight.

Jillie pats my shoulder and turns back to her laptop, and I hazard a glance at Kri across the room. He's deep in something on his clipboard, but that alien-sixth sense must've kicked in because he immediately stops writing and glances up at me.

This crush hasn't gotten any better, to put it mildly. Even when he's acting like the coldest of the cold, he's still considerate. Taking time to leave quietly, never raising his voice, things that seem to be constants no matter whether he's pissed at me or not. The few times we've gotten in each other's face he still radiates warmth, he still smells like fresh water, crisp and clean. Jillie's presence is keeping me grounded, keeping me from hopping into his lap while I twirl a piece of my hair around my finger. I'd gladly suffer in silence for the rest of the year if I could have the Kri that helped me grow plants back.

Kri raises his brow at me, annoyance clear on his face. "Yes?"

Caught, my cheeks burn as I shake my head. "Nothing," and I turn back to the planters.

The relaxation celebration from last week has burnt out of my system, leaving in its place a sour, empty feeling that liquid anxiety likes to fill in.

I'm not glad for this…whatever our friendship has evolved into now. It's like the beginning all over again, like he hit the reset button on his personality and left the rest of us to figure it out. I've even been messing up on purpose. Nothing that would hurt the plants, they're delicate enough as is, but enough that would usually make him stare at me oddly, or mention I was doing it wrong, something that told me that he was paying attention and would start an argument.

Instead, he just glanced at my hands, shook his head, and noted it on his board. 

I want to tear my hair out. I know what I did wrong, inviting him to my house was a mistake, but is that really cause to shut us all out completely? He and Jillie were just getting the hang of speaking to each other, and me and my big mouth had to go and ruin it. Maybe he never changed to begin with, if his commentary on my clothing is anything to go by. To think I could have offended him that badly is a thorn in my side. That the idea of being with me made him take a look at our friendship and tear it to pieces? 

Even so, every time we make eye contact, the words are just underneath my tongue, so close I have te clench my jaw around what my heart desperately wants to scream out. A confession, loud and clear, like the movies-- "You can have me, body and soul," and then I sweep all the (very, very expensive) lab equipment off the table and strike a sexy pose that has him on his knees and everything is okay, it's all gonna work out fine. And then I get my milestone results back and the board is so impressed they decide to give me two greenhouses instead of a communal one.

Yeah, right. I'll suffer alone, thanks.

We all spend the rest of the work day in silence, the speakers from my mp3 Player useless against the litany of emotions crashing against my mind like a pissed off ocean current. But I have work to do, and I'm going to do it well. Now isn't the time to be caught up in petty disputes, no matter how important I feel they are.

A lot gets done, but I'm not satisfied as we close up the lab. In fact, I want to fall into another drink. Kri is long gone, having packed up his shit almost in a hurry before stepping out, leaving Jillie and I on our own. It's like old times, just the two of us as we wander the halls back to the cafeteria for dinner.

I grab food through sheer muscle memory-- an orange, a sandwich, some chips and a drink, knowing full well that I need to eat it, but with zero desire. My appetite is gone, my stomach is in so many knots I was lucky to get a smoothie down at lunch.

I don't say much, and Jillie seems as exhausted as I am as we find an unoccupied booth and slide in. The lack of work and distractions leaves space for my mind to wander like I'd been pushing off all day. 

I could be mad at so many things, and I feel my anger like a rolling thunderstorm as I take a pointed bite of sandwich. It's pushing past the other emotions, making itself present, unavoidable.

The sandwich is bland, and tastes like soap as I chew angrily.

What the fuck was in his audit-- I mean really, notes on my outfits? What the hell, Kri? And why is he suddenly acting like the past month hasn't happened? I know it did, and I know I fucked up, but isn't it a common courtesy to explain these things? We're both adults, I can handle rejection, but it he's going about it in such a juvenile way. I need to know, in no uncertain terms, that he wants nothing to do with me anymore. Then I can sigh, maybe cry a little, and fucking move on with my life.

I thought we had something. Clearly I was wrong, but I thought we could stay friends at the very least. That would be the adult thing to do, but he's been acting like a child. Pissing me off.

Jillie sits up suddenly, patting her pockets, and her face drops. "Oh, shit."

I'm pulled out of my whirlpool of self-pity. "What's up?"

She grimaces. "Could I ask a huge favor?"

I raise my eyebrows, indicating she should go on.

"I think I left the oxygenator on for the last planters." She grimaces, patting over her pockets again. "And my keys in the lab."

Jillie doesn't usually make mistakes like that. It must be a weird day for everyone. 

"I got it," I say, pushing away from the table, wanting to feel useful at least once today. I grab the mandarin orange from my tray and start to peel it as I head towards the door, hoping the smell will activate my stomach.

"You're the best!" Jillie says over my shoulder, and I flip her off as I walk away.

I head towards the lab, grumbling to myself the whole way. It's not a far walk, but I'm working myself into an angry tizzy by the time I slap my key card to the door and it slides open.

Yep, the oxygenator is still on. I click it off and the room falls silent

Jillie's desk is organized, which is strange, but I can't find the key in any drawer, no matter how many times I open them. I move to the countertop that lines the wall, sorting through the mess of papers, plastic pipettes and junk food wrappers. God, we need to have a cleaning day in here.

I'm sorting for another few minutes when I hear Jillie's footsteps come in behind me.

"Sorry, Jills," I start to say as I straighten, and then I stop. It's not Jillie. Kri is peering into a shelf on the opposite wall. 

I frown. "You're not Jillie."

Kri turns his head to face me, looks down at himself, then back to me. "No, I suppose I'm not."

I roll my eyes. "What're you doing here?"

"Picking up the last of my things, apparently." Kri says, his tone clipped like just talking to me is an inconvenience. "I am missing a notation board, and I believe I left it somewhere…" He trails off, switching from searching the shelf to my desk, and I'm struck by the image of our first meeting when he did the exact same thing.

"Hey--! Get out!" Jillie's keys forgotten, I stomp over and pull his arms away from the drawers. Kri doesn't budge, instead tearing himself away from my grip and walking back to the shelf he already checked. Shame burns through me, bright and heated, and I have to clamp my mouth around the words it wants to say.

"Why're you acting like this?!"

Kri sighs, weary, and folds his arms over his chest. "Professional? We are coworkers, as you say."

"This isn't professional! You're back to--" I wave my hands around as if that'll convey what I want to say. "Like when we started out." I start tossing garbage to the ground, hoping to find Jillie's stupid keys so I can leave. "Look, I know I pissed you off--"

"You've never angered me."

My hands close around Jillie's lanyard and I rip it from it's hiding place. I shake the small plastic card at him as I stomp towards the door. "Don't! Lie to me!"

"And I have never lied to you."

"Withholding the truth is still lying!!" 

"Respectfully, I think--"

"Shut up! Shut! Up! Don't you ever stop talking?!" I smash the buttons for the door--wrong code, shaky fingers-- once more, right code. The door almost opens but stops halfway before sliding back. Oh, you've got to be-- I punch the code again. "And what else have you lied to me about, huh?! What else could possibly--" The door cuts me off with a droning buzz, and a strip of lights in the ceiling go red before it shutters closed.

Well, fuck.

"No no no--" the door buzzes, shuddering as it attempts to open, fails, and falls still. I run my hands over my head and pull on the ends of my hair. "Fuck!"

I smack the "Open" button again. The door jolts, there's the sound of creaking metal, and the resounding buzz of an error message. The door flashes red, and I smack it with my open palm.

Vigorously pressing the button only loops the buzz of the error message, and I hold back a scream.

I gesture to the door. "You're strong, can't you…?"

Kri stares at me for a second, expression blank before his eyes roll dramatically. He sets his hands to the door, all four of them, and heaves his shoulders. Once, then again. The door doesn't even shudder.

I hear Jillie's voice on the other side, "Cass?"

"Jill--!"

"You were taking too long! I came to find you." and she says something else, but the door shudders again and the creaking metal drowns her out. "Sit tight, I'm gonna grab maintenance, okay?"

"Great, just fucking perfect." I start to pace the room. "Of all the people to get stuck with--!" I smack the keypad for the door again, and it responds with the same error beep. Why today? Why now? Things were just starting to flow in the lab again until--

I groan, pulling at my hair. "She set us up! Now I'm stuck in here with you! Why would she do this to me?" I groan and slap the door again. It doesn't help me feel any better and the metal hurts my hand.

Kri steps back and leans against my desk, his arms crossed tightly over his frame. He's not looking at me and-- oh, right, I told him to shut up. Just because the guy is stoic doesn't mean he's emotionless.

I self-consciously rub my arm. "Sorry, I shouldn't have told you to shut up."

Kri looks at me, his expression calculating, before he sighs. "I don't believe she acted alone."

I glare at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "I asked Ari to deliver my things to my home, they likely colluded with Dr. Masters to get us in here."

I groan. "Perfect, that's just fucking perfect. Stuck in here with you."

I feel it coming, a panic attack, like the shore emptying out before a tsunami. First the presentation, then learning I accidentally invited him into my bed, and now this? It's overwhelming, it's too much. For fucks' sake I don't ask for much, all I want is answers!

I press a hand to my tightening chest, my breathing picking up and my heart starting to race. Yep, there's the panic. 

Kri's voice is tight when he says, "You've mentioned that," before ke kicks off my desk and continues his search. Is he serious?

I plant my hands on my hips. "Why are you ignoring me?"

Kri sighs. "I am searching for my board."

"It's not in here, you idiot!"

Kri heaves a larger sigh, annoyed. "Dr. Rowland, is this really conductive to--"

"Cassie! My name is Cassie! Cassandra! Or are we not friends anymore?! Were we even friends to begin with? Or is that something else you've lied to me about?!"

We're gonna be stuck in here for a while. Maintenance is on the opposite side of the building, and they take their sweet ass time going anywhere. We could be in here for over an hour. I could be stuck with him for over an hour. I bend over, hands on my knees, and try to gulp down air.

Kri rests a hand on my shoulder, and I wrench away from him. I need something to focus on so the attack doesn't start up again.

"Look, I know I fucked up asking you into my house, but that's no reason to be a dick!"

His brow furrows, and he walks to the countertop, putting space between us. "What're you talking about?"

I take a deep breath, something to steady myself within this rising storm. The panic is ebbing, slowly but surely with each breath, but on it's heels comes a flush of embarrassment. "I know what it means, I'm not an idiot!"

He goes tense, his shoulders set back, his hands gripping the countertop behind him. "You knew?"

"Well, I didn't then! But I do now! And I'm sorry that I fucked with your delicate sensibilities! Because I know it's a fucking travesty to imagine yourself with me but that's no excuse to treat me like shit!"

"Is that what you think?" And oh, he's angry now, his voice is deep and dangerous and it's doing things to my head that I can't begin to process because I'm still set on being angry.

My panic is gone, replaced with something that burns in my chest, trying to claw its way out. "Yes! I know it! Because you don't have feelings for me the way I do!"

The world goes silent.

I didn't mean to say that, I really shouldn't have opened my mouth. My face is on fire, but I can't take it back. It's out there now, if it wasn't obvious before. My brain is screaming, my heart is pounding, the room is too warm and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

And for once Kri seems at a loss for words. Like I’ve stunned him. He's not saying anything, but I can make up for that.

“Every fucking time when--it's--“ the words catch in my throat and my voice pitches up. It feels like I'm clawing out my throat. “It's not the same, that's fine and-- I can keep going. But I thought maybe-- I thought we were okay! I thought we could at least stay friends! But if you don't feel the same you could at least tell me or--"

Kri is on me in half a second, hands on my face to keep me still as he presses our lips together, and what I meant to say instantly crumbles to dust in my mouth.

I smell rain; fresh dirt and rain, sharp and crisp. He's soft around the lips, and so warm. His hands are on my face, cupping me gently but with purpose, and I wish my hands would do something other than hover uselessly in the air because I want to grab. I want to touch. I want to sink into the comfort he's offering.

And then it's over. He pulls back, just enough to whisper against my lips, "How could I not want you?" 

My heart flutters and-- No, no, absolutely not! I'm still pissed off! He can't just kiss me and make it all better and-- He leans in and kisses me again. It's just as good as the first, if not better because it's the second time and we may even kiss a third. 

This feels like whiplash, and I should be upset at the back and forth, the push and pull of a stupid man trying to come to terms with his feelings. But right now, as his arms go around my waist, I just melt, my brain turning to mush. Because he feels the same. 

Maybe that sexy pose idea would've worked after all.

I'm the one to pull away this time, if only to catch my breath. I murmur, "You're infuriating."

Kri looks like I slapped him. "I apologize, I--"

"Shut up," I breathe, pulling his face back in and kissing him a third time. My eyes flutter shut, and Kri's hands cup my jaw. We slot together like we were made for each other. 

I'm so relieved, so glad, relaxing into his chest and winding my arms around his neck. What a way to find out the feeling was mutual. I hate that we had to be forced into this situation, but I'll let Jillie slide this time, just because I'm thankful. 

I have to pull away to breathe. The moment lapses, and I feel a twinge of hysteria bubble up in my chest. "So you're not rejecting me--?"

His responding laugh is sharp. "Never."

I tilt my head into another kiss, opening my mouth on a soft groan as Kri slips his tongue between my lips. I wrap my arms over his neck, and the plating under my hands is soft. My fingers map the edges as they overlap, memorizing the small divots of his glow-channels as they trace around his wings. I idly draw my finger over the divot and Kri shivers, his groan vibrating through his chest. The sound drips heat through my nether regions that I affect him so easily, and I want to know what else makes him shudder, what makes him moan. I wonder if he wants the same for me.

"I can't believe you," I say between one kiss and the next. "Holding out on me like this." 

Kri finally leans back, taking a moment to look over my face. "Allow me to make it up to you," he says, his thumb brushing over my cheek. His eyes are lidded, hazed over and soft. I swallow past a lump in my throat and welcome him into my mouth as he leans forward to kiss me again because neither of us can get enough of it. 

Kri leads me backwards, his tongue rubbing against mine in small thrusts as the fingers on my waist begin to poke underneath my shirt, that simple brushing of skin making my muscles jump. I have to let go of his neck to shuck my lab coat, and I step over it just as my back hits the wall. 

The cold demeanor he's been wearing all week is gone, melted away by his own warm hands cradling the back of my head so it doesn't hit the wall. The familiar, confident being with gentle touch is back, exploring under my shirt, grabbing my ass through my jeans. 

Cornered in like this, I'm acutely aware of his height, his size, blocking me in like I'm not allowed to leave. I push up onto my toes and wrap my arms around his neck, only feeling the hands on my thighs at the last second as Kri picks me up and sets me against the wall.

And oh, this is nice. I've never been picked up like this, and the position does something to my head. The height, the hands under my thighs holding me up and the gentle way they squeeze, almost as if in appreciation.

My legs go around his waist, the shift making me taller than Kri, so he pushes up into the kiss, his tongue running sensually along mine before he pulls away. He presses his lips to my neck, parting for that hot tongue against my skin, and I gasp against it, arousal pooling between my legs.

My jeans are too tight, my t-shirt too hot. So I pull my arms back and throw my shirt to the floor, my bra quick behind it. I expect the air to be cold, it always is, it's why I wear long jeans in the lab even through summer, but Kri radiates warmth. 

"There's a perfectly good countertop over there," I say between kisses, gesturing with a hand to the general idea of the countertop.

"But I am right here. And," his wings flutter, and he presses his face into my neck. "I confess this has been a prevalent fantasy of mine."

My eyebrows shoot up in pleasant surprise. "Oh," I say, and a smile, unbidden, finds its way across my face. "Was this fantasy also inside the lab?"

Another wing flutter, then, "If you would prefer that I--"

"No no, this is good. This is…" His teeth bite into my shoulder, and I inhale sharply. "This is perfect."

Curious hands sneak up my shirt, pushing it up around my waist, and my clothes are too scratchy, too restricting. The urge to strip, to be bare and feel Kri against my naked skin, it moves behind my ribcage like a snake, has me arching into him so my sensitive nipples brush his soft matte plating. The hard line of his cock, covered in plating at the moment, brushes the bottom of my thigh. His tongue swipes along the skin over my collarbone, the combined sensations pulling a small sound of pleasure from me and making my arms go right back around his neck.

The hot point of his long tongue over my skin makes me break out in goosebumps as he tastes me. He moves down, over my breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth with a sensual lick over the tip that has my toes curling in my boots.

He focuses his mouth on the one, teasing the other with a small, tortuous movements of his fingers, pulling sound after sound from me like he's playing an instrument. I forget if ento are into oral at all, but by god do I want to find out.

I'm dizzy with arousal as he licks into my mouth again. Kri kisses me like he can't get enough, like I'm going to disappear if his lips stop touching mine. It's hypnotic, I've never felt this intoxicated by one person.

He pulls away to rest his forehead against mine. "Can I fuck you?"

I did not expect him to ask so directly, and I did not expect to find it so hot. I squeak instead of responding, and he chuckles, the sound low and erotic. 

The fingers digging into my ass squeeze. "Please," he murmurs into my skin, his breath huffing onto my chest. 

I clench my fingers and clear my throat to find my voice. If I was turned on before, I'm soaked now. 

"That--that sounds great." Not the sexiest response in the world, but fuck it, if it gets Kri inside me I'll say what I have to.

He starts to work open my jeans, pulling them down over my hips and taking my underwear with them. He makes to set me down, but the idea of being completely naked in my own laboratory is too much. Too intimate with the alien in front of me, at least right now. So I squeeze my legs around his waist and he takes the hint, hoisting me back up, keeping my jeans mid-way down my thighs. 

My anxiety creeps in, here to ruin the mood. "What if they fix the door?" 

Kri nips at my skin. "We'd better hurry up then," and he sounds far too confident, too level-headed for how taken apart I feel. 

One of his hands moves off my body, reaching below and inwards towards his pelvis. Something shifts with a wet noise, like lube out of a bottle, and Kri sighs out, resting his weight into me. 

I try to lean over, just to see what I'm working with, but as steady as Kri's hands are keeping me, I don't trust myself not to overcorrect and bust my ass on the tile. The scientific portion of my brain wants to see, to examine and study. We got a brief overview of ento anatomy before landing, but that was three years ago. Besides, each human dick is slightly different, the same should apply for ento dick. And I really, really want to see Kri's. 

But the crotch of my jeans are in the way, and Kri's fingers tweaking my nipple are distracting, and I'm more turned on than I have been in years-- including when I was with Stephen. So looking can wait. 

I pull Kri in by the neck, burying my face in the slope where it meets his shoulder, and holding tight. The heat simmering beneath my skin has turned into a broil. I need to forget about everything else, I need to focus on what's here and now. I need him. 

Kri adjusts himself beneath me, shifting my hips in his grasp, and-- I feel his cock at my entrance. It's hot, hotter than the rest of him, and slick as he drags it up to my throbbing clit, although that slickness may just be me. 

That slight brush over my clit sends a jolt of sensation up my spine, and I want him to do it again, over and over. But he runs it down the center again, positioning his cock head-- if he has one-- at my core, and knocks his head against my temple. 

"Tell me if it is too much." 

My mouth opens on a cheeky retort, but it's ripped away when he pushes in, instead coming out as a moan, open-mouthed against his plating, my fingers digging in as I feel ridges and a distinct curvature that pushes deliciously along my walls. He's big, no surprise there, but I wasn't prepared for how full it would make me feel, how as his hips sit against my ass, I feel like I'm being split open. 

Kri sighs out next to my ear as he bottoms out, and I crook my elbow to wrap a hand around his head. "You okay over there?" 

"I'm not going to last," he replies, sounding absolutely wrecked. Even as he takes another breath, his cock twitches inside me, sending a spiraling heat through my abdomen. 

Still, I pat his head, placating. "Quit showing off and fuck me."

He doesn't argue, instead taking another steadying breath before he pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in, starting with a slow pace that helps me adjust to the sheer size of him. It starts as a stretch, which turns into a burn, which dissolves into a bone-deep ache for more, which Kri happily obliges by canting his hips forward and pressing me into the wall.

My soft, feminine panting turns into open-mouthed moans as the curved end of his cock brushes my G-spot on every thrust, making me dizzy with arousal and my clit ache to be touched. I don't care how I sound, I don't care if the whole building can hear me, I only need Kri to know how good he's making me feel.

One of Kri's hands wraps around my jaw, his fingers splaying over my hair as he presses his lips to my neck and licks a slow line up to my ear. The other hand travels-- teasing my hardened nipples, walking over my stomach and thighs, not trying to evoke any response, but feeling just because he can. He squeezes my waist when I moan his name, responding with an equally wrecked sound and slamming me down onto his hard cock.

"I'm very close," Kri breathes into my shoulder. "Do you want me to--"

"No," I shake my head and press a heated kiss to his temple, locking my legs around his waist. "Please, stay."

He moans a short sound into my shoulder, the hands on my ass squeezing as his wings flutter over my feet. "Whatever you want."

I'm lost to the sensations, lost within Kri. My spine goes taut and my toes curl inward, I'm so close to coming from this alone, and I want to stop just to draw it all out and do it again. This feels like finding a puzzle piece I didn't know I was missing. Something has slotted in my brain that I didn't realize was off-kilter. Not the sex alone, but the validation. That Kri wanted me as much as I wanted him.

His cock hits a spot inside me that makes my vision white out, and I'm pushed over the edge. My muscles go rigid and I clamp my arms around his head and I think I gasp out his name as I come hard. The world goes silent as I'm flooded by sensation, blossoming out from my spine to the tips of my toes.

As I come down, there's hands petting my hair, over my face, the outsides of my thighs. Kri is mumbling, not in English or even Universal, but in his native tongue. It's a watery, flowing language, interspersed with chirps and rolling R's that sound like he's purring. I don't know what he's saying, but the attention warms my heart.

His hips have stilled, and there's a liquid warmth drawing a line down the cleft of my ass. He must've come right after me, and my chest tightens at the idea that we came together. I've always been a sap for that kind of thing, it feels like an emotional connection.

Kri's hands wind around my middle, up my back to cradle my head as he catches his breath.

My mind is in similar tatters, I'm running on pure instinct, and right now I want to kiss him. So I tap his head with one hand. "Up."

He tilts his head back far enough to give me a perplexed expression, and I take a second to drink in his face. There's no hair to be messed up, but there's little signs. His lips are swollen and parted as he stares at me, his gaze is lidded as it lazily searches my face. The expression behind his black eyes is heated, not the fiery passion of a few moments ago, but a subdued, long-lasting heat that tells me he's not done with me.

I lean forward and capture his lips in my own, and he accommodates me easily. We make no moves to separate from each other, and I like it that way. Kri slips out of me, and I realize too late that he's tucking himself away before I had a chance to see anything, but I can blame it on his very distracting lips against mine. 

Carefully, he lowers me to the floor. My legs are unsteady, but he keeps me pressed against the wall for balance. He helps me back into my jeans, hands careful and even working to rebutton them, all the while not detaching from my lips. I adjust my underwear until it's comfortable, flinching at the wetness trying to escape and tagging this pair of panties as a lost cause. That's okay, I decide

I could do this forever, I could kiss him for another hour and not get tired. But I'm starting to feel the cold of the lab seep into my skin, making me shiver even with his warm body pressed into mine.

I smile against his mouth and pull back, my smile turning to a grin when he chases after me. 

"Come on, I have to put my clothes back on," I say as he starts on my neck. I give him a weak shove that only spurs him on. 

"No you don't," he grumbles. "You humans and your clothing. All it does is get in the way." 

"Think about it this way, you can tear it off." Kri backs off, his expression falling, then rolling through several other emotions as he thinks through the concept. The final wide-eyed, very interested stare he lands on makes me snort into laughter.

I pick up my bra off the floor and pull it on, laughing again at how Kri scuttles behind me to see how the clasps work. 

"So your grand plan to ignore your feelings," I say. "What was it?"

Kri scoffs as he hands me my shirt. "It was rather stupid."

I grab my labcoat, throwing it on before I step to the center countertop and hop onto the ledge, kicking my feet. "Tell me so I can laugh at you."

He sighs, grabbing my hands and interlacing our fingers. "I believed we were getting too…familiar."

I purse my lips. "And you didn't think to let me know instead of just doing a one-eighty?" 

"I was thinking with my emotions, not my head."

"Yeah, well, you're an idiot."

He smirks, pressing a quick kiss to my knuckles. "I am." Another kiss. Kri's eyes scan my face, and he looks wholly content. He cups my cheek with one hand. "Is it crossing a line to tell you I have dreamt of this?"

"Sap," I say, hiding my grin in the collar of my labcoat. "How, uh…How does it compare?" 

Kri gives me a curious look, scanning my face, then gives me a half-smile while tracing a finger down my arm. "My raw data is inconclusive. I require a larger sample size." 

I bat his hand away. "Oh my god." 

"But," he adds, kissing me gently, but still containing enough heat to short circuit my brain. "As far as first impressions go, my imagination has some catching up to do."

I smile at his words, wanting to tuck my face into my coat again. It may just be the post-sex haze talking, but Kri makes me feel so cherished. I could lose hours under his attention. Even outside of sex, he makes me feel special, and a small, quiet part of my brain is telling me that's how Stephen acted too, but I'm too content, too mushy to worry about it right now.

A yawn creeps it's way through me, and I fall against Kri's chest. I hear his heart beating, slow and steady, and when he hums it travels down his chest and into my head.

"Tired?" he asks, running a hand over my hair.

"Don't get smug about it," I grumble, half of my face pressed into his plating.

"Come," he says, gathering me in his arms and lifting me off the counter. My arms go around him immediately, and he sits us both down on the ground. 

Shifting so I'm laying down, I rest my head on his thigh, and his two left arms fall over me, one stroking my shoulder, the other on my waist. It's slow enough, warm enough, that I'm lulled by it, and I yawn again.

"Wake me up in like, ten minutes," I mumble, my eyes already starting to fall shut.

"Of course," Kri says above me, and his voice is the last thing I hear before the world fades to black.

Chapter 12 >>

[smol-lydia]

Skin of My Teeth Pt 2 Viktor x Fem!Reader (SFW)

Just a little sick!fic where Viktor finds his lab assistant unwell, and is doing his damndest to care for her. Unbeknownest to him, his tough as nails mechanically minded assistant has been harboring a small crush on him for quite a while, and this is no ordinary flu. 

CW/TW for drug mention; based on my experience withdrawing from opiates happy over 100 days of clean time to me!! 

Reader is heavily influenced by Kaylee from Firefly I’ll own that lmao also Kai’sa is in Arcane now sorry not sorry 

----

You don’t recall falling asleep, but you wake with a start, your hair a mess and drool on your pillow. Your mouth still tastes sour from the vomit, and as you sit up, rubbing at your sleep-crusted eyes, you realize Viktor has kept his word, sitting on your bed, humming a tune you don’t recognize. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

You feel like you’ve been put through the wringer, and you know that you still have a ways to go. 

“It’s quite all right,” he says. “You need the rest.” 

You are once again struck by the sweetness of him; really, there’s no reason for your lab partner/boss to go the extra mile for you. In the lab, you and Viktor are both focused on the work in front of you, carried away by your passions. His for science, yours for mechanics. 

You were mostly self taught until you got your scholarship to the Academy, an innate knack for tinkering that resulted in fixing everything you could get your hands on back home. A way to keep things running the extra mile, a necessity turned to joy. A scrubby girl with dirt on her face, never fitting in with the other girls your age. 

Most of your conversations with Viktor up until this point have been focused on the projects at hand. Nothing personal or vulnerable. Hence your surprise that he noticed you were unwell to begin with. 

“(Y/N)?” 

“Huh?” You blink, and feel your cheeks heat up when you realize that as you’ve gotten lost in your thoughts you’ve been staring at the beauty mark above Viktor’s lip. Janna above. 

“I asked how you were feeling now,” he says gently. 

“Oh.” Your stomach lurches, a reminder that you aren’t out of the woods yet. “Not much better,” you admit. You push the covers back, panic blooming in your chest. “Viktor, I’m sorry, I—“ 

Off you go again, running to the toilet to empty your stomach contents once again, your head spinning. Misery. This is misery. Gods, you would give anything for a bit of shimmer now, to ease your suffering, even if you know it will only cause the cycle to begin again. 

“Please, don’t apologize,” he murmurs, pulling back a stray lock of your hair out of your face. “I only want to make sure you’re all right. After all, what am I to do without the Academy’s best mechanical mind?” 

You laugh weakly. “I think that’s relative.” 

Viktor shakes his head. “You undersell your good qualities, (y/n). Truly.” 

He has you by the waist to help you back into bed, and you can’t help it—his touch lights you on fire with only the thin cotton of your chemise separating your skin from his. 

Pathetic, that’s what you are, but you can’t help it. 

The words slip out without you meaning them to. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew.” 

Dark brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Your laugh is bitter. “I don’t have the flu, Viktor.” 

His honey eyes darken as he takes in the implication of your words. “Ah, I see.” 

It’s those three words that haunt you long after he leaves, knowing that you have irrevocably screwed things up. Words you wish you could take back, just like every other mistake you’ve made up until this point.

—-

So maybe you took a few extra days to lick your wounds. Was it a little pathetic? Probably, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look Viktor in the eye now that he knew your secret. 

“Is it really that bad?” Your suite mate, Kai’sa, sat in your worn reading chair, sipping on mint tea. She’s the closest you have to a friend here at the Academy. 

You groan, rubbing your throbbing temples. You still feel like dirt. “He just left, Kai.” 

She tucks a loose strand of purple hair behind her ear. “Listen, (y/n) you know I’m not the type to cut men any sort of slack.” 

You nod, drawing your knees up to your chest. 

“But would Viktor really leave you in the lurch like that, with no explanation?” She continues, finishing her tea. “If I am wrong, of course, you know I’ll be first in line to knee him in the balls. I think, though, there’s more we don’t know.” 

You wrap your arms around your knees, not allowing yourself to hope. “Maybe.”

“Besides,” she says. “You have to face him eventually.” 

You groan. “That’s not reassuring, Kai’sa.” 

“Is it supposed to be?” She rolls her violet eyes. “It takes a lot to kick this kind of habit. You’re no coward, (y/n).” 

You know Kai’sa doesn’t mean her words as a dare, but you take it as one anyway. 

—

You put more care into your appearance than you’ll ever admit. Washing your face, combing out your hair and tying it back into a high ponytail, even fishing out an old hair ribbon from somewhere. Dabbing a little bit of solid perfume at your pulse points. 

Your muscles still ache from withdrawals but at least you can hold down water now; your reflection looks somewhat gaunt in the mirror. You’ve definitely lost weight unintentionally, your uniform somewhat ill-fitting but you try your best regardless. Not much can be done about the rips in your knee high stockings, and you smooth out your skirt, nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach. 

Maybe Viktor won’t say anything at all. Perhaps this will just be a blip that never happened, an odd anomaly that you could almost dismiss as a fever dream or drug induced hallucination. 

That is, until you open the front door and see a small parcel with a note attached. Curious, you pick it up, opening the package first—no matter how many times your mother told you to read the card first you were always impatient and wanted the present first. 

Within there is a small glass bottle with a cork stopper, some kind of mysterious liquid. You almost want to dismiss it as a prank until you recognize the handwriting on the label of the bottle. It’s Viktor’s scrawl, and your heart skips a beat. 

With trembling hands, you turn your attention to the note that came with the card. 

Dear (y/n), 

I apologize for leaving so abruptly. I will admit that spoken conversation is not always my strongest suit, and you deserved a better response for my departure and absence. 

Seeing you suffer so terribly with your withdrawal symptoms I knew I wanted to find a way to ease your pain, so I went to the lab to come up with a draught to lessen the worst of the effects. 

Please let me know if it is of help to you. 

Viktor. 

Your chest tightens reading his words once, then twice, letting them sink in. He didn’t hate you, didn’t think of less of you for your addiction. Part of you wants to cry at the sweetness of the gesture, another part wants to slap him upside the head for being such a useless boy, leaving you in limbo. Even if you know rationally that your distress was yours alone. 

You wipe at your eyes where tears have gathered at the corners and put the note and the bottle in your leather messenger bag, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“Viktor, you sweet, stupid idiot,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Thank you.” 

—-

You stand in front of the door to the lab for far longer than necessary, trying to find the courage to go in. Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this. Yet your palms are sweating and your heart is still beating far too quickly and you feel dizzy for reasons unrelated to the shimmer leaking out of your pores. 

“Hey, (y/n)!” Jayce breezes past you with a cup of coffee and a sunny smile. “Good to see you back.” 

“Thanks.” You manage to give him a small smile. 

“Vik mentioned you had a flu.” Jayce wrinkles his nose. “That’s no fun. Hope you’re feeling better now. He’s in the kitchen making coffee if you want a cup before we get started.” 

“Sure. Right. Great.” You nod mechanically and turn towards the small kitchen off to the side of the lab. 

You’ve spent many a late night here, drinking coffee with Jayce and Viktor, occasionally rummaging for snacks. Trying to work out problems, but more often giving the pair of them a hard time for the hell of it. 

Viktor likes to make coffee in the tradition that’s common for his people in Zaun—thick and dark and sweet, with foam and boiled in a small copper pot directly on the stove. The first time you had it, it packed such a punch you stayed up all night. Still, you would have anything Viktor made, and he approached his coffee with a sort of love and care you find endearing. 

He’s bent over the stove when you enter the kitchen, uncertain of your steps, like a newborn deer. 

“Hey,” you say softly, and he turns around, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him, that messy hair hanging in his honey eyes. 

“Good morning, (y/n),” he replies. “How are you feeling?” 

You hop up on the counter to sit. Somehow that feels more solid than standing right now. Viktor pours two cups of coffee and hands one to you. 

“A bit better,” you say. You wrap your hands around the mug, savoring the warmth. “Not great, but I’ll take it.” 

“About the other day—“ he says, right as you say 

“Viktor—“ 

“Go ahead,” he says. Always the gentleman, and you find yourself blushing at that thought. 

“Just. Thank you. For the medicine. And the note. It was very kind. And for taking care of me. You didn’t have to do that, I’m just your assistant and you showed up for me and stayed and it just…it meant a lot and…” 

Oh gods, you’re babbling and you don’t know how to stop. 

Viktor puts down his coffee and walks over to you, looking up at you, directly into your eyes. It hurts, how beautiful he is, with those sculpted cheekbones you’ve dreamed of tracing with your fingers. 

“It is no problem, (y/n). I wish I had spoken to you in a way…” he sighs. “I am sorry. I couldn’t stand to see you so ill and there was nothing I could do.” 

Your mouth goes dry. You lick your chapped lips and put down your mug. “Viktor, I didn’t expect you to care for me. Truly, you did so much. I’m grateful.” 

He furrows his brows at this, a stormy expression on his face, and you wonder what you’ve said wrong. “Why did you think I wouldn’t care for you?” 

Panic seizes you. “Oh no, it’s not like that! I don’t think it’s a reflection on your character, you see. It’s just….I’m just like, your co-worker, y’know? Just the mechanic. So I didn’t think…I didn’t expect…” 

Oh god, oh fuck, what a mess you’ve made. You want to crawl into a hole. 

“Just a mechanic? No, no.” The way Viktor looks at you in that moment makes you feel as though you could melt, and you are suddenly quite grateful you aren’t standing up because you’re not sure that your knees would support you right now. 

“(y/n)….you are so much more to me than that.” 

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Neutron stars are key to understanding elusive dark matter

Scientists may be one step closer to unlocking one of the great mysteries of the universe after calculating that neutron stars might hold a key to helping us understand elusive dark matter.

Scientists may be one step closer to unlocking one of the great mysteries of the universe after calculating that neutron stars might hold a key to helping us understand elusive dark matter.

In a paper published in The Journal of Cosmology and Astroparticle Physics, physicists from the ARC Centre of Excellence for Dark Matter Particle Physics, led by the University of Melbourne, calculated that energy transferred when dark matter particles collide and annihilate inside cold dead neutron stars can heat the stars up very quickly.

It was previously thought that this energy transfer could take a very long time, in some cases, longer than the age of the universe itself, rendering this heating irrelevant.

Professor Nicole Bell of the University of Melbourne said the new calculations show for the first time that most of the energy would be deposited in just a few days.

“The search for dark matter is one of the greatest detective stories in science. Dark matter makes up 85 per cent of the matter in our universe, yet we can’t see it. Dark matter doesn’t interact with light – it doesn’t absorb light, it doesn’t reflect light, it doesn’t emit light. This means our telescopes can’t directly observe it, even though we know it exists. Instead, its gravitational pull on objects we can see tells us it must be there.

“It is one thing to theoretically predict dark matter, but it is another thing to experimentally observe it. Experiments on Earth are limited by the technical challenges of making sufficiently large detectors. However, neutron stars act as huge natural dark matter detectors, which have been collecting dark matter for astronomically long timescales, so they are a good place for us to concentrate our efforts,” Professor Bell said.

Neutron stars are formed when a supermassive star runs out of fuel and collapses. They have a mass similar to that of our Sun, squeezed into a ball just 20km wide. Any denser, they would become black holes.

“While dark matter is the dominant type of matter in the Universe, it is very hard to detect because its interactions with ordinary matter are very weak. So weak, in fact, that dark matter can pass straight through the Earth, or even through the Sun.

“But neutron stars are different – they are so dense that dark matter particles are much more likely to interact with the star. If dark matter particles do collide with neutrons in the star, they will lose energy and become trapped. Over time, this would lead to an accumulation of dark matter in the star,” Professor Bell said.

University of Melbourne PhD candidate Michael Virgato said this is expected to heat up old, cold, neutron stars to a level that may be in reach of future observations, or even trigger the collapse of the star to a black hole.

“If the energy transfer happens quickly enough, the neutron star would be heated up. For this to happen, the dark matter must undergo many collisions in the star, transferring more and more of the dark matter’s energy until, eventually, all the energy has been deposited in the star,” Mr Virgato said.

It’s previously been unknown how long this process would take because, as the energy of the dark matter particles becomes smaller and smaller, they are less and less likely to interact again. As a result, transferring all the energy was thought to take a very long time – sometimes longer than the age of the universe. Instead, the researchers calculated that 99% of the energy is transferred in just a few days.

“This is good news because it means that dark matter can heat neutron stars to a level that can potentially be detected. As a result, the observation of a cold neutron star would provide vital information about the interactions between dark and regular matter, shedding light on the nature of this elusive substance.

“If we are to understand dark matter – which is everywhere – it is critical that we use every technique at our disposal to figure out what the hidden matter of our universe actually is,” Mr Virgato said.

This research was conducted by a team of international experts at the ARC Centre of Excellence for Dark Matter Particle Physics, including Professor Nicole Bell and Michael Virgato from the University of Melbourne, Dr Giorgio Busoni from the Australian National University and Dr Sandra Robles from Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory, USA.

[mordenheim]

Interview With A Size-Shifter

This is just a fun little thing I wrote many years ago and just recently updated to fit more with my current version of Victor.  I hope you enjoy! ========================================================== The slender red-maned zebra clops in, his white lab coat trailing in the breeze of the air conditioner.  His seven foot form dwarfs the interviewer as he settles into a chair built especially for him in the reception area of Trivial Matters Incorporated.  He takes a moment to adjust the patch covering his right eye as he relaxes.

What do you think of people who abuse their size?

His voice is a deep bass rumble with a hint of Scottish lilt as he speaks.  “Ah, you get right to the root of things.  Wise..”

“At one time, I couldn't care less whether macros abused their size or not.  I was simply in the business of giving others what they want.”

“However, I came to realize that those who abuse others for pleasure are truly weak.  They disgust me.”

So may I ask you.  Are you a natural giant? Or were you transformed into what you are today.

“I'm a bit of a self-made size-shifter.  Sometimes I change size out of my own control, but that's just how things turned out.” How do you feel about other giants?

“So long as they don't bother me or those I care about, I leave well enough alone.  In fact I have several close friends who are macros or size shifters. However…  If you get in my way…  I guarantee the results will not be pretty.”

How do you feel about the relationships of big folks mating smaller folks?

“I don't have a problem with it…  In fact…  some of us don't have a choice in the matter.”

Do you think your views on the small/large folks will change?

“It is hard to say.  Considering that once, long ago I looked on every living creature as nothing more than a test subject, my views on everyone have changed over time…”

What is the relationship between you and this world/its people?

He leans back in his chair, the metal frame creaking a little.  “Ah, there’s the rub…  I listen to others' troubles and I give them solutions.  Perhaps not always the solution they were looking for, or even wanted…  but I give them precisely what they ask for.”

Are you susceptible to the same moral standards here that you were at your previous place of residence?  Why/Why not?

“I try to obey the laws for the most part, so long as they aren't overly restrictive.  Luckily, with a few exceptions in the interest of science, my own morals are mostly what one would call “good”.”

Is there still that same search for purpose or have you felt you've ascended beyond such a need?

“Parascience is my dream.  The combination of science and magic into one glorious symphony.  Even before my accident that was my drive, and it remains my drive to this day.”

How do you cope with living in a world where things are tiny/large? Like clothing, housing, etc?

“I don't have much to worry about.  I have very large sums of money stashed all over the world.  Anything that I break, either personally or with one of my experiments, is quickly and easily replaced.  As for others…  I am generally very careful not to harm anyone not directly involved in my experiments, however, accidents do happen. As far as clothing, hologram generators are magnificent thing.”

Is there still a sort of symbiosis with the world and its people or are you of the belief you're a god and beyond that need for cooperation?

“They don't meddle in my affairs and I don't meddle in theirs…  much…”

In this world of smaller beings, do you still feel there's someone out there for you?  A Mr. or Mrs. Right? A soul mate?

The zebra leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor.  “There has been…  But outliving your love is hard…  and wearing on the heart and soul…  It..  It  changes you… Irrevocably..”

What's your bias in regard to species?  Size?

“I have no bias to anyone great or small, regardless of species, sexual orientation, race, religion…   All are the same to me.”

What do you do to impress a date?

“It’s been a long time…  However, I usually show them my laboratory.. And we have a bit of fun…”

Do you ever wish you were smaller?

“Lately? Often..”

How do the smaller creatures react to you? Friendly? Fearful?

“Usually most others react with fear, once they know what I am.  Smaller or larger.  There have been exceptions over the years, however.”

Where/what do you eat?

He smiles a bit, flashing a mouth full of sharp, interlocking teeth, like a porcelain bear trap.  “Me?  Being a zebra I'd of course be an obligate herbivore, wouldn't I?” How to you practice intimacy with others of different size and were you educated in the risks involved? How do you feel about intimacy with those of different sizes in general?

“I have learned to be very cautious.  You see, that’s where my own problem lies.  Physical pleasure causes me to grow involuntarily. However, I have learned to be gentle and cautious, and still to show my partner a good time, regardless of sex or size.” Do you see merit in those smaller than you?

“Of course.  Only a fool would not.”

How do you feel about others of your same size that have different views than you?  Do you ignore them or confront them?

“So long as they do not interfere with myself or those I care about, to each their own.  However, don't cross that line…  Ever…”

Is there a sort of camaraderie with those of your size regardless of the differences?  Do you still worry about trying to fit in?

“I tend to keep to myself for the most part, so I would say not really.”

Where do you get tools, clothing, or items for your size.

“For tools, I stay at my normal size, for clothing, as before, hologram generators are wonderful.” Do you miss your old life? Or are you enjoying the power you now possess?

“I did miss it once…   however, once I found a way to recreate my condition temporarily in another, things got far more interesting…”

If you are somehow given a serious injury, do you have a physician?

He chuckles softly as he leans back in his chair once more, “Ever heard the term, “Physician, heal thyself”?”

Do you carry any sort of agreements or truces with those smaller than you?

“Oh yes, many all over the world.  It is only natural in my line of work.”

At your size, is there anything that honestly scares you? Be it a physical threat, or just more mental worries?

“Only insanity and boredom frighten me.  When you've been around as long as I have, one may easily lead to the other.”

Do you sometimes find it hard to not give in to abusing your stature among those smaller than you, what do you do to keep those impulse in check, rather if you bother at all?

“At times, at times.  Then I remind myself that losing control would be a very bad idea as I would have to pack up all of my work and relocate in secret, costing me time, money, and possibly friendships…”

When you first realized your size versus the rest of the world around you, what were your thoughts?

“The first time I grew involuntarily?  My first thought was how great it felt, so hot, so tight, then too tight…  then the screams, oh gods the screams…”

“She is alright now, though…  She came to accept what happened us as an accident and we still see one another from time to time.”

Has your size ever been a liability for you?

“Yes, OFTEN…” A common argument is the ant hill defense, a reply that states a belief of willful disregard for those smaller, weaker than you in the scheme of life. Do you feel that those smaller than you are beneath notice simply because of their size?

“Not at all…”

How do you see those smaller than you, then?

“Everyone is smaller to someone else in terms of size, of power, of intelligence, so really we are all the same.”

Some worry about those of your size, some fear the stereotype. Is this a justified thought line, if not what would you like to explain, or point out to change that view, if at all.

“Unfortunately, it IS justified.  Others have every right to fear macros and they should.  Fear is a good thing.  After all, isn't it right to fear a creature that could wipe out a skyscraper simply by tripping and falling into it?  Common sense, there..”

When you came into your new stature, size what was the first thing you did?

“Made sure my partner was alright…”

What mistakes did you make and learn from?

“I rampaged a single time.  The toll on life and property was devastating.  Never again…”

Did you think on using the power you gained to make a change in the world, or for personal gain, revenge?

He laughed a little darkly as he leaned in closer to the interviewer. “All of the above, to be brutally honest….  I may be one of the nicer size-shifters or macros you may meet, but I am certainly no angel..”

It's inevitable that your appearance around those smaller, perhaps caused a military response, would you care to enlighten us on an experience if that has at all happened?

“It has, however the details of that affair are classified information…” Do you go out of your way to not harm others?

“Yes, I don't intentionally harm anyone without reason.”

If yes, how far would you go to prevent them from being harmed?

“If they are a true innocent, I would risk personal injury to help them. A friend or a loved one?  I would risk my life…  even my soul…” Would you ever intentionally harm others?

“Yes, and I have...”

What were the circumstances?

“To defend those I care about, or in a few cases to avenge them…” How has your size affected your social life, or current love life. Have you lost or gained an admirer? Have you lost a long time love because of your new status? “I’ve tread this earth for a long, long time.  To say I’ve gained and lost friends and loved ones is an understatement.  However, directly related to my condition, yes, I’ve both gained, and lost…”

Has your size brought popularity?  Has it brought you annoyance, or those only seeing you as a sex object given the number of micro/macrophlia lovers that seem to gather on forums and what not on the internet? Do you enjoy this attention, or do you go to lengths to dissuade what may be objectification.

“Actually, there was a I enjoyed the attention.  It meant there was no shortage of partners when I was alone, or volunteers for my experiments….”

What would you wish for most as far as interaction and socialization with your kind, or those smaller? Some things you wish they'd take into account when they encounter you?

“Just… just keep an open mind.  When I first became a size-shifter I has hated, hunted, and feared simply for what I was.  Nobody cared WHO I was, just WHAT I was capable of…  I just wish that would end…”

Smiling, the zebra slowly stands and shakes the interviewer’s hand, his own engulfing it with a surprisingly soft and gentle grip.

“I hope you have all the information you need for your report.  If you will excuse me, I have a few experiments I need to tend to…”

“Unless you would like to get a little more hands on, of course…”

“Answer me a question…”

“What is it YOU desire….?”

[thecurioustale]

Switching Between Writing Sci-Fi & Fantasy

When I returned to Tumblr two weeks ago, I put out a call for folks to ask any questions they have about my work, my writing process, my writing style, or my takes as an author, or to suggest topics they'd like me to write about! Please consider this your occasional friendly reminder! I may not be famous, but I am an author, and here's your chance to tap the mind of one!

In that spirit, another great question I got from @fipindustries is:

How does it feel like to switch gears from fantasy to science fiction back and forth?

For me, this experience of switching over is a very strong discontinuity! The shock can only be mitigated by being spread out over time with, at minimum, a good night's sleep in between, or, more often, a span of a few days or more.

It's almost unheard of for me to work on both The Curious Tale and Galaxy Federal in the same day. If I work on one, that's basically the only one I'm working on that day. In fact, that's probably the only one I'm working on the next day, too—or the day after that.

When I'm in my fantasy mindset, I tend to stay there for days and sometimes weeks. Same goes for my sci-fi mindset. It's like getting magnetized: I become strongly aligned in one particular direction.

Even though you could read my fantasy and my sci-fi and say "Yep, these come from the same author," they are very different works in so many ways. As a "world," The Curious Tale is more romantic, more magical, more adventuresome, more epic, and more mysterious (I think). Galaxy Federal, in contrast, is more like a showcase of concepts that I find fascinating, woven together into an ambling plot and paired with an attempt to paint a picture of a future that I'd actually want to live in.

(I should specify that this technically only applies to the Galaxy Federal inaugural novel that I am working on, and not to Galaxy Federal in general. I actually envision Galaxy Federal, as a series, to have a lot of room for tonal diversity in it. For instance, I could see myself also doing like a noir crime story or something. The Curious Tale, on the other hand, has a pretty consistent tonality all the way throughout, if you don't count Empire on Ice, so no caveat is needed.)

What will inevitably happen, then, is that eventually—and usually pretty gradually—I'll get an itch to work on either my sci-fi story or my fantasy story. I'll eventually begin working on it, at least for that day and possibly for weeks. At some point, I'll begin losing steam. I won't lose interest in the actual story or setting, but the writing itself will become more difficult and less inspired for me. What usually happens next is that I'll have an itch around the same time to work on the other thing—give or take a few days or sometimes weeks of rest in between, where my desire to do any writing at all is low.

I've noticed that it's almost like a swinging pendulum, and, having noticed this, in more recent times I've begun to get better at seeing when my "steam" for one is subsiding and the other is rising.

What I typically don't do is try to buck this momentum and forcibly switch to the other story when I'm engrossed in the groove of the one. In fact it's almost like anathema to me in those moments to imagine stopping work on the story I'm working on and switching to the other. In this sense you might begin to notice some of the soft boundaries that mark out my limitations as a creative writer. I can force myself to switch—I've tried it—but I would characterize the experience is jarring and unpleasant.

Currently, I've been on a Galaxy Federal kick for about three weeks or so after months of mainly focusing on After The Hero (the central novel of The Curious Tale). During this past week, even though I've written upwards of 10,000 new words, I've begun to find my results less satisfying, and, tellingly, the writing is becoming harder. This suggests that the pendulum is swinging back the other way, and that I'll be working on The Curious Tale again soon enough.

It doesn't always happen, though. Sometimes I'll run out of steam for one, have an inert period, and then my next head of steam will actually be for the same story again. This typically happens more often with After The Hero, which has many different character POVS and multiple different stories happening in parallel as entry points for me to get inspired to write about. In contrast, the Galaxy Federal Inaugural Novel for all intents and purposes only has one character point-of-view: It's all Cherry all the time for virtually the entire novel. And there's only one story happening, albeit a big one. But you can see that there are fewer entry points for me to get inspired to write about. Also, Galaxy Federal is the second fiddle to my fantasy work. It's a worthy and legitimate work in its own right, and I can imagine a world where it's actually the more popular of my two series, but The Curious Tale will always be a little bit closer to my spark.