#input hypothesis

[rigelmejo]

I like Automatic Labguage Growth schools like the Thai school, and Dreaming Spanish, because they focus on a lot of comprehensible input lessons for beginner to intermediate learners. I think comprehensible input lessons are great!

They use pictures and gestures to make a language understabdable ENTIRELY in the language, so a student can learn entirely IN their target language (also why I love Nature Method textbooks). CI lessons are apso great if you have students with a variety of native languages, for example ESL classes. At the volunteer center I worked at, we exclusively did Comprhensible Input lessons until people could have full conversations in English, because explanations in English ftom the english speaking teachers were not useful until the students knew enough English. CI lessons worked well, we had speakers of 72 languages in the classes and it ensured everyone could understand lessons.

I also more or less agree that Krashen's comprehensible input hypothesis makes sense. The CI hypothesis was that when we learn through explanations like grammar books, we learn ABOUT the language, but we don't internalize the language. We internalize the language with many experiences in the language where we understand what's going on (comprehensible input). Which if you've learned a language... yeah... you can learn how to greet someone by memorizing in a book, but it won't become automatic until you've walked into class or a grocery store and been greeted in the target language - after a few times of that comprehensible input (understanding youre being greeted) you'll automatically be able to greet using those words in the language. Apply that to everything you do in a language: you might memorize a word list, but you won't acquire it (automatically understand and be able to use those words) until you've read them in a lot of reading material, or heard them in a lot of listening material or shows, in multiple situations you understand. This makes sense based on our experiences in our native language. We can look up "melancholic" at age 8 and learn the definition, but we'll need to read it several more times or hear people say it several more times to feel confident in what it means immediately when we encounter it and to use it ourselves.

As you can see, the input hypothesis includes room for translations and explanations if you want to use them. So a textbook maker could take the input hypothesis, and create an interesting graded reader for students to read alongside it and reinforce the word lists and explanations in the textbook with LOTS of comprehensible input. Students can learn ABOUT language with explanations (which can help make more experiences in the language comprehensible), then they learn to USE/UNDERSTAND the language with comprehensible input.

Many regular "learning to read" programs took this idea and ran with it: providing lots of reading material for readers at 98% comprehension for them is a strategy to improve reading level. Because at 98% (lowest being 90-95% depending on the study) comprehension of words, its very easy to guess the meaning of the remaining words from context, and then repeated context you understand (comprehensible input) internalizes those words, and then the level of what you can read goes up. I remember learning to read in my native language and yeah that's pretty much what happened. I learned to read in French and Chinese and yeah, that's what happened in my learning to read progression.

At the early stages of learning to read, teachers provide vocabulary lists for class, and assigned reading with word definitions (look at any textbook for any subject and see history, science, math, literature reading assignment definitions etc). At the early stages of French and Chinese I looked a LOT of words up to make reading material more comprehensible, then learned words fully by reading them in contexts I understood a LOT. That's also what happened in my native language English, I looked up definitions of stuff in school, and read assignments to learn the words fully, and in my free time read gradually more and more difficult books that were all likely ~95-98% comprehensible to me. As you know more words, what's comprehensible percentage wise goes up, and you can learn MORE stuff directly from context, and repetition in context, so you no longer need to use dictionaries and explanations (unless you choose - which many people keep doing sometimes, into adulthood).

So yeah, to me Krashen's comprehensible input hypothesis is easily compatible with how we learn our native languages, and all the languages we will study. The role of explicit study to Krashen, was either to make more experiences comprehensible (so we can fully learn the words in many comprehensible experience's context), or to build an internal monitor. Our internal monitor would help us answer tests, and check our own production skills.

Which again, matches fine with how we learn our native language. We LEARN spelling, we LEARN grammar in school. We know most of it before we get to school, but learning to perfect our grammar is a 10+ year effort in school - every time a teacher marks us down and corrects our spelling or grammar in an essay. According to the comprehensible input hypothesis, we dont truly become able to "naturally" use the grammar we struggle with until we have encountered it enough in context we understand, so extensive reading helps with grammar production (and explicit study to NOTICE the grammar, and understand what it's doing if we had previously thought it meant something else). But until we can naturally acquire grammar to the degree of producing it correctly, our internal monitor (built from years of school grammar and teachers correcting our essays) kicks in and can help us identify mistakes we made in our own writing. Or speaking (although we tend to make less mistakes in speaking since we don't have to spell as we speak, or use grammar punctuation marks, and written grammar has some additional challenges that dont come up in speaking).

So krashen's hypothesis, to me, seems compatible with how we learn all languages. It also explains why many people can become B2 and C1 speakers of languages they have explicitly sudied - their explicit study made more situations in the language more comprehensible, and then all that comprehensible input in the language understanding things in context helped them acquire the language, and they became able to use it to a high level. We know many classroom learners, who use translations and grammar explanations, learn languages to the B2 and C1+ levels. We know because every year people pass tests to prove it, they get jobs or go to college where they have yo speak the language daily in a variety of situations where they must be capable in using that language, and they succeed. I went to college with tons of people who learned English in school as children, through explicit teaching methods translation and explanations, who were doing fine in college classes entirely in English, in jobs entirely in English, in going clubbing and doing the fun stuff they wanted to do, in getting apartments and buying cars and paying bills in English.

ALG is not equivalent to Krashen's hypothesis. It's based on Brown's personal experiences. He thought people should learn entirely in the target language (which hey, I agree is a nice path to take, as extensive reading works similarly and works great for people in all languages for improving language skills) so he wanted entirely Comprehensible Input Lessons for students. He wanted students to avoid speaking for 1000+ hours, to produce a more natural pronunciation and to avoid making long term pronunciation mistakes based on the mistakes one could make as a beginner. He also advised not reading for around as long, to avoid mental pronunciations that could be wrong, so waiting to read until your listening skills and grasp of pronunciation sounds was solid. So it's an extreme position - nothing but watching and listening to Comprehensible Input Lessons (or comprehensible input Crosstalk lessons) until 1000+ hours. Then start speaking, and reading, and writing, once output feels natural. Brown believed "permanent damage" results if we explicitly study things such as look at translations and explanations, or even just think about the language analytically as we learn like trying to identify what's a noun or guess translations mentally, and read before we have a good mental model of the language's sounds. He felt this permanent damage would prevent us from ever reaching native speaker like level in a language. It creates a "ceiling" where learners will keep making fossilized mistakes caused from that permanent damage. He based this on his own ability in languages he learned and how when he "analyzed" a language he studied, he never was able to achieve as good of a level in that language, and continued making certain permanent errors.

I do not agree with some key points of ALG. Since ALG is just a theory Marvin Brown, 1 language teacher, had. It's not like his theory necessarily applies to anyone but his own lived experience. And possibly the ALG Thai school he ran, and for the students who followed ALG directions without deviating (and many do additional things, don't follow ALG precisely).

I think if there is "permanent damage" most people don't need to care. Many examples exist of people who reached B2 and C1 in languages, who did many things that Brown believes result in "permanent damage." So any damage does not seem to prevent you from reaching the highest standardized level of competence in a given language, any possible damage will not prevent you from becoming able to live and work successfully in a languahe. Including Brown as an example. He learned Thai, somewhat with methods he believed later caused "permanent damage." Despite this his Thai became good enough to work AS A LANGUAGE TEACHER so a very high level of competence in Thai, and to run a Thai Teaching School. His level of language ability allowed him to work and live in Thailand successfully and easily. Any permanent damage is only a major concern for the super picky perfectionists, like Brown the language teacher who likely aspired to be perfect at it. For the average person? If their goals are to live and work and go to school in a language, then any potential "permanent damage" will not stop them from reaching their goals.

I just do not think the things ALG says to avoid, actually matter all that much. Yes, I think waiting to speak and waiting to read COULD possibly produce better pronunciation in the long run. Yes, I think learning directly IN only the target language works (after all, I know extensive reading works, I know comprehensible input works, of course CI lessons work). So I think it's fine to go the ALG route if that gets you to learn, if it's the route you can stick with. It will work, to get you to your language goals, if you stick with it. Just check reddit.com/r/dreamingspanish to see all the success. (And all the success for people who did not follow ALG to the letter, as many people on r/dreamingspanish DID keep analyzing the language, keep taking explicit instruction courses, read early etc - and also had success).

My big issue with ALG is 1. It hasn't been tested much. ALG thai school and Dreaming Spanish are the only big pools of anecdotal experiences shared. And many of the students do NOT follow ALG to the letter, so many of the experiences shared confirm if Comprehensible Input lessons entirely IN the target language work (they do) and if they can get a student to B2 fluency (which it appears they can, when combined with adequate reading, and some speaking practice).

2. ALG is REALLY AGAINST any explicit instruction at any point. I think this is weird, and deviates from how children DO learn their native language. I see no reason why after 1500-2000 hours an ALG learner can't read or listen to grammar explanations IN THE TARGET LANGUAGE. Or talk to a tutor in the target language, and have the tutor grade their essays and mention any errors. We had all of that feedback in our native language. Why wouldn't we eventually want it in the target language, once our listening skills are that of a 10 year old native speaker? Native speakers receive grammar corrections, develop that "inner monitor" and it helps them correct their own mistakes until they've extensively read enough (or just done the situation enough in contexts they understood) that they've internalized the correct grammar point to use in writing/correct spelling. ALG basically avoids explicit instruction like the plague, and suggests to learners to just read or listen more. Which yes, does comply with Krashen's input hypothesis about how they'll eventually internalize the ability to use those language elements. But native speakers get corrections from teachers which "make" them understand what mistake they were doing sooner, and understanding will then make it more comprehensible in the future, making the student recognize and pick up that grammar point/spelling SOONER.

If an ALG student is blindly misunderstanding too/two/to for 4 years, before anyone mentions they are, couldn't that also cause "permanent damage"? Aka a mistake they keep making and fossilize, because for so long they'd been assuming too and to were the same word, they'd now have to unlearn that assumption and correct it with more exposure to it in contexts they understand (comprehensible input) now that they Correctly understand the words. Now we get to the issue of ALG believes there is no undoing/fixing "permanent damage."

Basically I think it's ridiculous to avoid explicit study IN THE TARGET LANGUAGE once you can competently listen and understand as well as 10-15 year old native speakers. I think at that point, explicit study will either HELP you as much as it helps native speaker kids, or at the least it wont cause any more "damage" than native speakers must get somehow in their normal course of schooling. To learn "like native speakers do" is to include explicit study eventually, in my opinion. It's ridiculous to pretend children dont ever get explicit instruction when they get YEARS of it.

(There's also the Output hypothesis in language learning. Which goes fine with Krashen's theory. We are corrected when speaking, or even just notice the other speaker is talking differently than us, and adjust our future speech to mirror the correct output. We practice outputting, and if the other person responds and successfully understood us then we internalize that understandable output and keep doing it. If the listener fails to understand us, we adjust our output in the hopes they will understand the adjustment - and we may base our adjustment on feedback they give us. Everyone who does Dreaming Spanish who ever talks to a tutor, language exchange, or just OTHER people is doing this. Because all speaking to other people, and then adjusting to be more easily understood, is compatible with the Output hypothesis. So even with ALG being entirely against explicit explanations, there is some "feedback" all people WILL GET when speaking with others, which will improve their output abilities over time. So even ALG speakers, as far as I can tell, eventually get some of the feedback that helps native speakers improve their own output as they grow up - simply talking with others).

So yeah. ALG has not been tested much. There's very few cases of people who really stuck with ALG theory from start to finish, although I love reading the experiences of those that do. From all other successful language learners, its clear that if "permanent damage" is real (and it might not be) then it doesn't prevent any learners from becoming competent for all ordinary life purposes in a language.

I dont think for normal purposes there's a reason a learner should strictly do ALG, over any other program. Do ALG if it's the program you can get yourself to stick with, or to test its claims as that's always interesting (to me anyway). But don't be afraid to study some other way.

As far as I can tell, many routes lead to the same achievement of "can do all things you want in the language."

[mtg-player1]

I wonder if I'd be able to learn a Sámi language with the input model of language learning (the idea that you don't need translation, and shouldn't speak a language before you have seen it a lot). AKA the "input hypothesis"

I do, as someone living in the country with the most Sami people (according to estimates), and yeah decent laws, have the opportunity to read and watch news in Sámi (northern Sami? idk actually), and I think also entertainment. But yeah through NRK for example.

I might try.

Duolingo doesn't have the language so idk how else really. I could technically just Not learn the language, but languages are meant to be spoken. And language learning is fun. And the more people know a language the more likely it is to last and be considered important.

[dandelionsandplatypuses]

My toxic trait is I join online language learning communities and just dump a bunch of research-supported information on them that corrects their YouTube polyglot influencer-provided misinformation and misunderstandings of real research and then I vanish again

[raffaellopalandri]

Statistical Tools

Daily writing promptWhat was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?View all responses Checking which has been my most recent search on Google, I found that I asked for papers, published in the last 5 years, that used a Montecarlo method to check the reliability of a mathematical method to calculate a team’s efficacy. Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com I was…

[valerieismss]

God I hate atheists who major in phirel like SHUT UPPPPPPPPP I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!!

[aurrai]

learning how to write using the Input Hypothesis

Stephen Krashen's 'Input Hypothesis' came up regularly during my Second Language Acquisition classes at uni and I think it can be applied to learning to write stories as well.

What is it?

Basically it's a suggested way to learn languages based on your current level and the kind of material you use to study with, but I think it can be applied to anything you learn, such as writing. The key idea is comprehensible input—to learn by using material that is above your level but not so high as to be overwhelming. A comfortably higher level. Another key idea is the affective filter—you learn better when you're feeling confident and motivated and you don't learn well when you're feeling hopeless and uninspired.

Applying this theory to writing, you take your current level of writing skills and you try to find material that is above your level that you can learn from, and above all you make sure you're having fun while doing it.

So I guess the technique would be:

Learning comes from input. For a Writer, that input is reading.

The best kind of input material contains writing techniques that you don't know yet but that you could pick up easily enough given your current level.

Being confident and motivated requires you to check in on how you're feeling so if you're not enjoying the book you're reading, maybe have a think about putting it down for the time being and choosing a different one.

The sweet spot for learning is reading a story you enjoy that is just above your current level.

So how do you, Writer at home, know what kind of writing is just above your level and where to find that sweet spot story you'll enjoy? Good question. I'm not sure I have the answer. For myself, I used trial and error and eventually I kind of got a sense of what was at the right level for me. So for example, I find CAPTIVE PRINCE by C.S. Pacat is at a good level for me to learn from by myself, but when I was looking at SCHINDLER'S ARK by Thomas Keneally yesterday, I found it a bit hard to analyse and would probably need a more experienced person to help break it down for me. These are both stories I love and have read multiple times.

The Input Hypothesis also says it's better to acquire new skills through exposure (in a Writer's case, through reading stories) than through the teaching of forms (structure, techniques, etc). Overall, I agree, but I hope it doesn't downplay teaching too much. Teaching speeds up the learning process because you can get an initial awareness of what structures and writing techniques are possible. For example, I benefitted a lot from learning about the 3-Act structure because I didn't have to work it out for myself, I just jumped straight into looking for it and analysing the stories I was reading. How long would it have taken me to recognise it on my own? Probably ages, so I feel like I saved a lot of time by just studying it outright. Having said that though, I didn't really, truly understand what the 3-Act structure looked like until I was exposed to it through reading a lot of stories that used it. I don't think teaching is enough, and nor do I think studying forms is what a Writer should do a majority or even a lot of the time. I find I benefit from just a little bit of study (say, reading a writing blog that talks about a technique) and then spending the rest of my time reading so that I get exposure to how the forms are actually used by different Writers in their stories.

So I guess technique #2 would be:

spend the majority of your time reading so that you get exposure to a lot of different ways to tell stories.

spend a little time studying story structure and writing techniques so that you can start to recognise and analyse those forms in the stories you're reading.

Note: I don't know if I need to add this caveat here or if it's obvious already but it's okay to read stories without the pressure of thinking you need to learn something from them. I think that's the importance of monitoring how you're feeling—ideally you want to keep yourself at a state where you feel confident and motivated and sometimes that means reading things solely because you love the story's premise, or because you've read the story before and you want to experience it again, or just taking some time off and not reading at all for a little while. I've also seen writing advice that says the first time you read a story is for pleasure and the second time is for analysis. I think that's good advice to follow as well.

Wikipedia gives a further overview of Krashen's Input Hypothesis if you're curious and want to read more about it. Keep in mind it's a theory from second language acquisition, not creative writing.

[empyrealoasis]

🪷 Unspoken Facts About the Void State 🍃

1. The Void State and Neuroplasticity

While many people focus on the metaphysical aspects, the void state may have a direct link to neuroplasticity—the brain's ability to rewire itself. The deep focus and detachment from external stimuli in the void can enhance your brain's capacity to form new neural pathways. This means that being in the void isn’t just about manifesting; it’s literally reshaping your mind to align with your desires on a neurological level (and even on a molecular/genetic level).

2. The Void’s Connection to Deep Sleep and Healing

The void state shares similarities with the brain activity observed during non-REM sleep, particularly in stages of deep rest. In this state, your body undergoes repair, and your brain consolidates memories. This suggests that entering the void might accelerate healing processes, as the state mimics the restorative effects of deep sleep while maintaining conscious awareness. Similar to meditation and hypnagogic states.

3. Time Perception in the Void

While in the void, many report losing track of time, but this isn't just a mental trick—it’s tied to how your brain processes sensory input. The void eliminates external stimuli like light, sound, and touch, which are essential for your brain’s internal clock. Without these cues, your sense of time becomes fluid, making hours feel like minutes or vice versa.

4. The Void and Quantum Coherence

The void state aligns intriguingly with concepts in quantum physics, particularly quantum coherence. In quantum systems, coherence describes a state where particles exist in a superposition of possibilities. Similarly, the void state places your mind in a "superposition," where you are simultaneously detached from reality yet capable of accessing infinite possibilities.

5. Entering the Void and Brainwave Frequencies

The void state is strongly associated with theta and delta brainwave states. Theta waves are linked to creativity, intuition, and deep meditation, while delta waves are tied to deep sleep and healing. The unique blend of these brainwaves during the void allows for heightened subconscious access and profound stillness simultaneously. Which is why it is recommended to use these frequencies!

6. Sensory Deprivation and the Void

The void state mirrors the effects of sensory deprivation. When external stimuli are lost, the brain compensates by enhancing internal awareness. This is why many people experience heightened clarity, vivid imagery/mental images, or even sensations of "oneness" while in the void. Essentially, your mind becomes the primary sensory environment and why you lose all of your senses.

7. The Void’s Link to Embryonic Consciousness

Some spiritual theorists compare the void state to the consciousness experienced in the womb. This hypothesis suggests that the void may feel so “pure” because it reflects the state of pre-birth awareness—where one exists in complete with nothingness and infinite potential. This also refers to pure consciousness being your home that you always return to.

8. The Void and Ego Dissolution

A lesser-discussed aspect of the void is its role in ego dissolution. In the void, your sense of self—the “I”—disappears. This detachment from ego allows you to manifest without the usual doubts, fears, or biases that come with personal identity, creating a direct connection between intention and reality. Hence the affirmation "I am" as there's nothing to become, only to "be".

[moonlight-prose]

mr. perfectly fine

a/n: i've had this in my drafts since i saw the trailer of we live in time. and honestly it was basically done, so i don't know why i didn't just drop it. so this is me digging it back up and putting some finishing touches on this quick drabble of angst. it's small, but writing it really made me want to re-watch the movies. so we'll see if anything comes from that. for now though, enjoy!

summary: there's a lot you would change in your relationship with peter. how late he'd show up to dates, the massive amount of missed calls and texts, and his forgetfulness. only there's a defining factor that might shift the entire trajectory of your lives together. peter parker was spider-man...and you didn't know.

word count: 2.3k+

pairing: peter parker x reader

warnings: not explicit, angsty as fuck though, peter gets dumped (sorta) but it doesn't last long, lots of tears, secrets exposed, fluff, forgiveness.

New York always seemed to reflect your emotions with ease. Like a mirror you couldn't break, or even avoid. Maybe it happened because you were looking for it without realizing; searching for answers to the never-ending questions that nagged at you. Different ways to work out the equations that held no solutions. A new way of figuring it out.

Yet no matter how many trials you ran, how many times you inputted the numbers, you seemed to always find yourself staring at the one thing that made sense. ERROR.

You counted the times he stood you up, tracked the calls he missed and the texts he only read but never answered. You compiled them like research, as if you were stuck in your lab and he was the experiment. He became the hypothesis you had to back up with well crafted proof. Only science never helped in situations of love. And you found that counting the days, watching the minutes and seconds go by, only made things worse.

The dinner went cold an hour ago, the candles snuffed, and the soft love songs were traded out for something sadder. Like other nights, you half expected you'd see him in the early hours of dawn. The glow of sunrise illuminating him like your very own hero, your favorite person to exist.

Every other time you chose to forget, to move on with your time together and find something happy to focus on. But tonight's calendar had been marked. A red heart written around your initials.

One that he wrote.

Six months passed in the blink of an eye.

Where you used to be awkward—barely able to speak to each other—now you found comfort in the silence. But when the quiet gave way to loneliness, you felt yourself begin to slowly chip away. You always thought he'd be here to put you back together, to save you in moments of brief darkness that left you wandering this shared path alone.

Yet when the clock finally struck midnight, and you were three glasses of wine in, you felt the final thread of hope snap.

You sighed, the burn of tears spilling over as you swallowed the last of your drink. "Happy Anniversary Peter," you muttered, getting up from the table.

The rain outside pounded against the asphalt. Wet streets glimmered with street lights and smelled of discarded cigarette butts. You wrapped the buckle around your waist tight enough to close up what parts of the coat gaped on your body. The dark charcoal wool fabric didn't belong to you. It lingered with Peter's scent, but you couldn't find yours as you rushed out the door.

You didn't want to stay in that apartment longer than necessary.

Perhaps you should have left some message behind—let him know that eventually you'd be back for your things. Somewhere in the back of your mind you understood what tonight was. A defining moment in your relationship. A chance for him to finally pull his act together and be with you.

Yet like everything else...you'd be simply another thing he'd have to let go of.

He wouldn't have a choice.

The salt of your tears mixed with the drops of rain that streamed down your face. You welcomed it as you walked. There wasn't a defining spot you were going—no grand plan once this came to pass. But somehow you wound up in a park, staring at a bench, and picturing a past version of yourself. Nose buried in a science book and lunch propped on your knees. You could see how Peter rushed by, how he nearly broke his neck turning to look at you.

You watched the moment happen all over again right before you. And for the first time in two months, you wanted to stop him.

The door opened with the usual creak. He winced at the noise with the memory of saying he'd fix it eventually. The DW-40 sat under the sink where he picked it up, never getting around to actually completing the job. Simply another let down that he'd never live down.

You said it was alright; claimed that the squeak gave the front door character. And that might have been true.

It still didn't stop Peter from beating himself up over it.

"Babe! I grabbed some food on the way home. Got your favorite." He stuffed his mask in his backpack, discarding it in the hallway as he went. The suit still clung to his already soaked body, but he hoped you wouldn't pick up on the peek of red beneath his clothes.

The plan to tell you was coming together nicely. A romantic dinner on the top of the Empire State after hours surely would give you a chance to think things over. He just had to work out the logistics of setting up everything with the security guard he befriended.

"Also I remembered to ask May about dinner in two weeks-"

He froze at the sight of the dark living room, of the table decorated with candles and plates filled with food. Very little scared the ever living shit out of him now. A familiar territory of adrenaline he’d come to welcome. But the sight of the calendar placed on his chair—the red heart blaring like a signal in the night sky—had his heart dropping to his stomach.

"No..." The food was forgotten about, dropped on the counter as he picked up the offending piece of paper. The clear mark around the date drawn by him two weeks earlier. A reminder to let him know that of all days...he couldn't forget this one.

He couldn't let you down again.

The clock in the corner read ten thirty and his heart lurched at the sudden realization that you finally did it. You gave up on his antics. All the moments he couldn't fix himself. You chose yourself over the madness of loving him. He wasn't sure which was wore. You not being here to give him a chance of groveling on his knees, or the silence in the apartment at knowing that your laughter and love would never fill it again.

He didn't have time to rationalize his decisions. Barely even noticed that he was walking out the door—the loud bang echoing in the hallway—as he went. Somewhere in the city you were mourning a relationship he was determined to fix. Yet he couldn't figure out where the hell to start looking.

This wasn't the first fight you'd had. The first time you left the apartment he found you in a hole in the wall cafe. A place he'd never even heard of before. And after three cups of coffee, a long night of talking, you both agreed to work on the communication. To heal what small wound had been opened.

Only this time was different.

This time the wound festered, grew to the point of being fatal.

This time he wasn't sure he could heal what he already broke.

His web clung to the building as he swung, landing five feet away from the already darkened cafe. Much to his own detriment you didn't bother to try getting out of the rain.

A crackle of lightning echoed in the night sky, thunder rolling in a few seconds later. It covered the sound of him nearly collapsing to the ground as a car swerved by—the horn blaring in his ears. The calendar was tucked in his jacket pocket, the ink bleeding through the soggy paper. But he refused to let it go. He couldn't. That was his final piece of you—the last moniker of a relationship that was worth it.

He only hoped you felt the same.

"Where are you baby?" he muttered under his breath.

After checking your favorite diner, bar, and bookshop. He was starting to run out of options. Almost as if you simply up and vanished from the city entirely.

You didn't want to be found. Yet Peter knew he wouldn't be able to live without you. How could he? When the chance of getting a peek at your smile was worth waking up early in the morning to see you off for work. Little moments of joy kept him going. And nearly all of his were spent with you. Each laugh, kiss, and look, were his to keep.

His to protect.

And he'd fucked all of that up.

Time passed quicker than he would have liked. The rain beat down on his body and he could no longer discern between his tears and the water. Still he searched. He checked every nook and cranny of spots you shared together.

Until the park came into his view atop a random apartment building. His heart leapt in his chest, body thrumming with nervous energy, as he swung down to the mushy grass that squelched beneath his sneakers. The cold shouldn't have made his hands tremble. Although perhaps the weather had nothing to do with what made his stomach twist, body overwhelmed with a fear he might never understand.

He knew why he shook like a leaf. He could feel the nerves beat alongside his heart, echoing his earlier sentiment throughout his entire body.

Letting you down this time wasn't a chance he was willing to take.

"Baby!" he called, running past low lit sidewalks and darkened tree lines. He ran until he felt the cold sting of rain on his face—until his clothes dripped water and the soles of his shoes were puddles.

Only to pause at the sight of a hunched over figure on a bench, their hands gripping the edge of the wood, and shoulders shaking with each stunted breath. Peter's heart tore into pieces. Fluttering to the ground as he stepped closer. Simply a flimsy piece of that ruined calendar. He could hear your sobs, smell the salt of your tears, and that broke him beyond repair.

He did this.

He took the most important person in his life and ripped them a part.

"I'm sorry," he said over the rain, catching the way you jumped—your eyes wide and lips swollen from where you bit down on them.

"Peter-"

Before you could get out the words to dismiss him. He dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands pressing into either side of the bench. Caging you in. This wasn't a chance for him to grovel, to give excuse after excuse. He’d passed that point months before. This was him finally letting you into the final piece of his life—the truth he wanted to shout from the rooftops if it meant getting a chance to see you smile again.

Fuck he'd give anything to see you smile.

"There's no good excuse okay? I don't have one. I'm just sorry." You sighed, moving to unlatch his grip. Only to find you couldn't get him to budge. "I don't want to keep hurting you. So if after this, you wanna go then you can go. I won't stop you, or call you, or even ask you back."

"Don't-"

He shifted closer, surprising you as his speed. "Just know I love you. I'll love you forever baby."

"Peter what are you doing?"

With a sharp gulp of air, he stripped off his jacket and t-shirt. They fell to the ground with a went plop as silence wrapped around the both of you. For a moment, he wondered if you'd take him seriously. Maybe you'd laugh. Maybe you'd leave him faster than before. But you simply stared at him—mouth parted and eyes wide as you took in the spider emblem sewn in his chest.

He coughed, shoving his wet hair out of his face. "This isn't how I wanted to tell you. The dinner with May was actually gonna be me telling you on top of the Empire State Building-"

"That's why you always forget the milk," you murmured, glancing to the side—a dazed expression now donning your face.

"What?"

"Every time I ask you to pick something up from the store at night. You never remember."

Heat spread rapidly across his cheeks. A red flush he knew was bright against the light on the sidewalk. "I don't always forget."

Rainfall filled the void of silence as you dragged your eyes along each web, the itch of your fingers too much to take—finally pressing them along the ridged fabric you’d only seen in blurry newspaper images. A mark that all of New York came to see as hope. The promise that for once in their lives they would be safe on streets known for violence and horrors.

You tried to wrap your head around the truth, pressing a thumb into the spider carved directly above a heart you knew was too good to be true. One that beat in time with yours, a familiar thudding echo you fell asleep to each night pressed tight to one ear. Peter was that man, the savior of a home you couldn’t see yourself leaving, the hero you’d only heard stories about.

“I guess this complicates things,” you finally mumbled, hand finding his chin soaked by the rain.

His sigh bled into the air, filling your lungs with the air you struggled to find. “Does that mean…you’re staying?”

“I’m just glad you weren’t cheating on me.”

Peter laughed, surging up with a speed you’d never witnessed before. “Never.”

His lips were cold against yours, gloved hands rough against the skin of your cheek, but the taste of him was the same. The man who asked for a chance in this park, promising to make your life interesting despite the chaos he dragged atop shoulders stronger than others. He carried the world with ease. Now it was your turn to do the same for him.

“So what’s it like dating Spider-Man?” you mumbled against his lips.

He grinned, pulling you up with an arm around your waist. “Free transportation.”

“Anytime I want?”

Thumbing the top of your cheek he pushed what tears remained aside. “For the rest of your life. If you want it.”

Oh how you loved him.

“I want it.”

[drdemonprince]

Most of us begin the Autism unmasking process looking for greater self-acceptance, but don’t realize what a messy, uncertain, weakened, traumatized, resentful version of ourselves we’re going to have to accept. Secretly, we hope that the unmasked version of us will be just as capable and comfortable as we always pretended to be — but also much happier, and more authentic. 

The great challenge of unmasking, then, is letting go of all pre-conceived notions of the type of person we must be, so that we can simply exist in the moment, feeling whatever we feel and needing whatever we need. 

It can take many years for a person to reach this point. I’ve also noticed there are common phases that Autistics move through as we go about unmasking — periods of questioning, self-loathing, anger, withdrawal, exploration, relief, and obsessive self-consciousness, just to name a few. 

Not all of these phases appear for everyone, of course and they do not necessarily come in a specific order. Rather than viewing them as stages that progress in a linear fashion, we can see them instead as common psychological defenses that emerge when a person is having a hard time reconciling their disability with their beliefs about who they should be. 

Important internal work is happening when a person seems to be “caught” in any particular phase. Some phases are needed corrections for society’s anti-disability stigma — such as the phase where a person believes that Autism makes them inherently superior to allistics. Others are corrections for those corrections, a hypothesis and antithesis that gradually resolve into a synthesis within the disabled person’s life. 

These phases don’t last forever, and we learn something important each time that we pass through them. Like the phases of the moon, these phases may recur in our lives in an almost cyclical fashion, bringing us closer to accepting the truth of ourselves each time. Remember as you read through this list of phases that arriving at a final state of “recovery” is not the goal. When we unmask, we’re not trying to get rid of our disability, after all — we’re just hoping to understand and accept all that is inside us a bit better. 

And so, to help you prepare for your unmasking journey, here are some of the common phases of unmasking: 

Questioning 

It’s incredibly common for a masked Autistic person to spend months or even years questioning whether they actually are disabled, or have the “right” to openly identify as such. Even after a person has researched Autism at length, sought external input from loved ones and a therapist, and integrated themselves deeply within the neurodivergent community, they may be struck with regular bouts of uncertainty. 

We can blame this on a society that investigates every single claim of disability repeatedly for evidence of fraud, and a culture where disabled people are accused of being delusional, manipulative attention-seekers. 

Obsessing (About Autism)

One way that questioning Autistics try to resolve their uncertainty is by consuming every piece of information and commentary about Autism that they could possibly find. Autism often becomes one of our special interests, early in our unmasking — making us see Autism between the pages of every book, and on the confused face of every stranger. 

When a person is obsessing about Autism, they may reference their disability as an explanation for every single behavior they or anyone else ever exhibits. Tying your shoes in the “bunny-goes-round-the-tree” style is an Autism thing. Liking the small spoon is an Autism thing. That rude comment I just made about your appearance is an Autism thing, and so you cannot criticize me for it, because that’s a core part of my being I can’t change. Every person in the obsessed Autistic person’s life may be assigned disability labels: he’s got ADHD, she’s a PDAer, your dad’s undiagnosed Autism is the reason he stands in the middle of the room watching TV. 

Obsessing (About the Self)

Unmasking requires a high degree of curiosity about the self. A person can’t even notice there’s a disjoint between their authentic feelings and how they present themselves to others unless they look within. Unfortunately, doing so means constantly asking ourselves whether our actions reflect our true selves, and what our “true self” even is — and thinking too much about these questions can make the mind loop back on itself infinitely. 

When I first started unmasking, I could not stop assessing how I carried my own body. I knew that my posture was “bad,” in neurotypical terms, but was that because I had muscle underdevelopment caused by Autism, or because I was always trying to make myself inobtrusive and small? Would it be “unmasking” for me to stand straight and claim more space — or would that be me masking even worse, by imitating neurotypical confidence? 

Autism Supremacy 

Though many unmasking Autistics experience a big drop in self-esteem, it’s equally as common for us to take immense pride in our neurotype, even to an excessive degree. During the Autism supremacy phase of unmasking, Autistic people may feel that their disability actually makes them more moral, logical, emotionally attuned, intelligent, or compassionate than others. 

“Autistic people do have empathy! In fact, we have more empathy than anyone else!” You may hear an Autism supremacist declare proudly, pushing back against the stereotype of us as “anti-social” monsters. But the argument that some of us actually experience hyper-empathy, while true, does nothing to challenge the ableism of equating a person’s emotional sensitivity with their humanity. 

I wrote about the many phases that unmasking Autistics tend to pass through, and the various needs those phases exist to meet. You can read the full piece (or have it narrated to you by the Substack app) for FREE at drdevonprice.substack.com

[valentine-cafe]

Can I please get some hate fucking headcanons w/Rishima ? Male reader!

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : black forest cake !! . . . scientist ⊹ male reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 781 ꮽ  rishima singhania

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a stoic workaholic scientist, who carries an entire hero organisation on her back, her science work and motherhood all at the same time

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... she was the greatest mind of litharia, you were a great biologist. both of you sharing one big passion. hating each other, passionately⊹ cw ٬٬ smut . hatefucking . stem rivals .

Rishima was known as Litharia's greatest mind. Someone who has provided theories that won awards and schematics that advanced technology in ways that some could only dream of. And you? You were regarded as one of the greatest researchers in regards to microbiology, disease assessment and medical advancement as a whole. The biology to her chemistry and physics.

This meant that the both of you should have got along, right? After all, your fields often intersected, specifically for the inter-dimensional teleportation travel. You were the name she was given to run through her schematics and their affects on the human body. Often some of your apparatuses were invented by her. You work often brought the both of you together. But here's the thing —

You couldn't stand each other. She was too confident, you were too prideful, neither of you backed down from each other in board meetings filled with hundreds of other professionals in your field. Often talk shows would invite you both together, and it would turn into a debate on life television.

It infuriated you, it frustrated her. The frustrating way in which you'd maintain eye contact with her in every situation — how she'd brush past you just enough to ghost your skins. Leaving you wanting while she's all smug.

"Professor Singhania, how lovely seeing you here?" "Can't say the same, Doctor." "I heard your latest hypothesis was rejected." "Well, it had your input."

The tension was just as palpable on media as it was between the sheets. It started as an accident, really. You'd both been arguing in her office about the project that you'd both been assigned by the board. A horrible decision by the others, truly. You couldn't come to an agreement, but you definitely managed to settle for her on your cock and her tongue down your throat.

"You're suckin' me in - fuck,"

"You're too fuckin' sensitive."

Your jaw ticked. Hands squeezed tighter on the fat of her ass and your hips found a new vigour. The momentary blissful suffocation fried your brain, but you were promptly brought back to life by that damn mouth of hers.

Wet slapping filled the room. Balls pounding against her soft ass as you slammed her down with every rough drive your dick made upwards. Carving yourself into her walls and hitting a gummy spot that sent her head back.

Scarlet nails dug into your shoulders. From the angle you just barely caught those sharp eyes rolled back. She couldn't keep her moans down — and oh, after hearing how sinfully sweet their sounded? You weren't going to let her.

Your thumb trapped her clit and swirled. As if trying to prove a point. As if trying to break her for all that she was. You grinned at her depraved whine and brought her down all the way, cunt clenched tight around your base as she squelches pretty little bubbles.

"Are you sure I'm the sensitive one, baby?" You chuckled - but it caught in a groan as she intentionally clenches and buried her teeth into your neck. You nearly crumble, nearly falter.

But you have a point to prove, so you power your hips with all your frustration and start pistoning up into her until she's drooling.

"Fuck -" she gulped, hands moving to bury into your back neck. "You're so - desperate."

You huffed a laugh, swallowed your own whine and shallowly fucked into the spot you knew had her creaming around you.

"And you're the most pathetic whore I know."

"Fuck you."

"You are, dollface."

You swore it would never happen again. Wrote each other off as enemies and nothing more. That's what you kept telling yourselves, but only one of those statements were correct.

Suddenly, she was pinned to an empty hallway of an international conference. You've ridden that damned mermaid skirt of her up and propped her over your shoulders. She wanted to berate and batter at you all through the meeting, so why not see how she tries to do that while you're tongue-fucking her? Needless to say she came on your mouth at least thrice, gripping onto your hair and begging for a break.

Joined lifts to different events ended with her in your lap in a limousine seat. Grinding up into each other, tongues down your throats, unbuttoning and unzipping whatever necessary to feel each other again. As if it was something neither of you could stop.

"Look so stupid in that suit." She moaned as she glided with your cock slotted between her folds. No penetration, just sloppily grinding on each other to bring you there.

She yanked on your tie, messing your mouth in that shade of maroon you've grown obsessed with. Your dick twitched between her folds and it took every ounce of your self-restraint not to plunge into her heated tightness.

"You sure about that, dollface?" You chuckled, hands feeling around and cupping on her ass. "Jumped me the second we got into this car."

"You wouldn't stop staring."

"I was eyeing up your aduacity."

She hauled you into another messy kiss, your hips joined a sinful rhythm. But neither of you would be able to cum, not yet —

You did in the trip coming back. Neither of you were staying away from each other after a night of eye-fucking across the venue.

You hated the attention she got. Not the attention for her brain and brilliance, but the greedy, carnal attention she naturally attracted from both men and women. Maybe that's why you're here, outside her apartment, kissing her the second she opens the door and stumbling her back until she's trapped against the sofa. You fucked her until she was cross-eyed and unable to talk back the way she usually would. You were satisfied, but god did you miss it too.

It's no problem, she got you back in a hospital bathroom. Pale knees to the white tiles and taking your dick down her throat until you were hopelessly, messily fucking her throat with reckless abandon. She'd pull away after gulping down your cum, ever as blunt, ever as infuriating. "No shame, hmm Doctor? In your own practice . . ." You took her back to your office to bend her over your desk for that one.

You were staring to enjoy this a little too much. Needing her, needing to see her, needing her body — and she gave it all to you without hesitation. No matter how many times she cussed you out on live television, she always squeezed around you as if she loved you. As if to she loved to hate you.

"You sure you hate this cock baby?"

You crooned above her. She's in your bed. In your arms. Taking your dick as well as the first time. Her plush thighs pressed back as you found a ruthless rhythm. Chasing every clench and squeeze of her tight cunt.

Leaning over you, you ghosted kisses to her lips and she tried so desperately to push her head forward. Take your lips and trap your tongue — and you grant it to her. All in favour for pressing into her tighter and fucking her until she was creaming for the fourth time.

"Mngh!"

"Tell me," you heaved, fisting her hair, parting with saliva. "Tell me you hate it. Tell me it's yours."

She chased the string of spit and crashed her lips to your again. Hips pitifully trying to keep up even as you fuck her through her orgasm. She whined, sobbed, and buried her hands into your hair.

"I hattteee it - hate your cock," she croaked.

"And?" You jerked forward, grinned.

She hiccuped, clawed on your scalp.

"God, it's mine."

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[luckyarchivist]

one way or another (Leander x Alchemist!MC a/b/o)

reader beware: omegaverse (omega!reader / alpha!Leander), toxic relationships, no actual r18 content cos i’m lazy

yeah sorry for this one but I'm an a/b/o girlie with a serious case of writer’s block and this one’s been sitting around waiting to be finished.

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Leander was your mate.

Was. Not anymore—not after what he did. What you saw. You can’t trust him anymore. But you still carry his mark on your neck, and the bond between you still aches, your instincts wailing to return to his side.

You try everything you know to break the bond. Your master had run her own experiments, during her passing-phase interest in the mechanics of bonding, and you frantically test each hypothesis of hers on yourself. But, in the back of your mind, you know that better alchemists than you have tried and failed to destroy a sealed bond.

You'd wondered, before, why Leander had been so eager to mark you once you finally fell victim to his charm. Had chalked it up to his being a romantic, and nothing more. But maybe that wasn't all there was to it.

After all, a bond can connect two people across far distances. Even mates on opposite sides of the world can still feel each other's emotions, sense their partner's location, if only dimly. The city of Eridia isn't nearly that large, and Leander is a bloodhound in every sense.

It isn't long before he finds you.

You should've noticed he was getting close sooner. The extrasensory input you receive through your bond has helped you evade him just as much as it's helped him chase you. But your attention is split too many different ways: avoiding and tracking Leander, dodging his goons, experimenting on your bond, keeping yourself alive. Any discomfort—hunger, thirst, fatigue—you bury in the frenzy of your work.

That's why you don't notice the signs of your heat coming on. Not until it's too late.

He finds you in your makeshift lab, trembling helplessly on the floor. You grit your teeth against the scent of him, strong and sweet and so enticing.

“There you are, darling!”

He kneels next to your curled-in form. You try to breathe more shallowly, but you can feel yourself responding to his presence. Your body is trying to relax, an effect of his pheromones on your nervous system. You manually tense your muscles in turn, trying to fight the reflex.

“I knew you'd let me find you eventually.” He brushes his fingers along your cheek and you flinch. A warm feeling spreads across your skin. “Once you got tired of playing your game.”

You strangle the whimper in your throat. “Stay away from me,” you hiss.

“You don't mean that, love.” He smiles. Your stomach twists. “You’re confused right now. You’re scared. I know. That’s why you need me. That’s why I'm here.”

His hands creep under your body and you arch away from him; he tries to hook his arms under yours, and you twist out of reach. Your shoulder hits the floor hard and you groan, curling back up. You’re in so much pain…

“Don’t make me fight you,” Leander says, the barest note of command in his voice.

“Get out. Leave—” You swallow. Just saying the words is sending alarms through your brain, regrets that shouldn’t belong to you. “Leave me alone, Leander. I'm serious, I—I don’t want you here. I don't need you here.”

“You’re in heat, darling.” That note is louder this time. He’s tired of you arguing with him. “You’re not thinking straight.” He grabs for you again, his grip a little rougher; this time, you throw your arm back.

You don’t even hit him; at least, you don’t think. Swinging wildly like you did against someone like Leander, whose guard is always up despite his appearances, wasn’t going to get you far. Not to mention that he’s more of a fighter than you any day of the week. But you don’t need to hit him to offend him—it’s the intention that matters.

He twists your arm behind your back and pins you to the floor. He’s too heavy on your back; tears form in your eyes as he forces your hand up between your shoulder blades.

You don’t want this. You want to be in your nest, not on the cold, hard floor of an abandoned shack, surrounded by your failures. You want your mate, not whoever this beast is on top of you, a flick away from breaking your arm.

“Don’t—please,” you beg, tearing up, “please don’t hurt me. Le, please—”

“I’m not—” The hand holding your arm in place snaps away like you burned him. “I wouldn’t— Darling, I would never hurt you. I love you.” He unfolds your arm for you, and tries to cradle you again. This time, you don’t resist. “I love you so much. That’s why I’ve been looking for you. I missed you. I needed you back. My mate.” He lays your head over his chest. He may be heartless metaphorically, but the organ still steadily beats in his chest.

“That’s it. Deep breaths.” Leander soothes you with his hands and his pheremones, stroking your hair while giving off a calming scent. Your desperation nearly morphs to anger and back before dissolving into numbness. This is the monster you've chained yourself to, and you will never be able to escape him. What is there left to do but submit?

Leander kisses your head, and shivers run through your muscles. “Ready to come back home now?”

“Ready,” you whisper.

“Good.” You can feel him grinning into your hair. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take of you. I promise.”

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to the leander lovers: i hope you liked it~ my poor congested synapses did their best

in an ideal world, i'd do a lot more of these little snippets!! i just don't have any ideas for anything. now that i have a fulltime, permanent job, it's like my brain can't focus on anything else lol

[rigelmejo]

I'm saving this for later. He talks about reading around 10 minutes.

[dakusan]

Hello I worship at the altar of you and your beautiful wrinkly brain 🙂‍↕️ I have been very curious about one Yang JEONGIN and evolving/ascending abnormals.

1) is it like vampire puberty? Do they go through wild hormonal rages?

2) does he know what’s happening to him?

3) how???

I await your response with bated breath 😌

Xoxo, 🐉

my pretty dragon~ welcome to the blood roster, 🐉. you now have unrestricted lab access. this one’s not just lore. this is virology with fangs.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🧬 THE EVOLUTION OF JEONGIN

A Study in Mutation, Awakening, and Biological Betrayal

First: no. There’s no such thing as vampire puberty. No hormonal surges. No emotional teenager tantrums with fangs. That’s human projection.

What does happen? Is mutation. Spontaneous. Violent. Permanent.

WHAT THE FUCK IS AN ABNORMAL?

Ask any vampire scholar and they’ll give you three words:

“Gods made wrong.”

Abnormals aren’t turned. They aren’t infected. They aren’t created through magic or ritual. They are born — but they are not born right.

🩸 THE LEADING THEORY: GENETIC MUTATION

Vampire scientists call it the X-𝜃 gene — unofficially known as the Abnormality Mutation. It is not inherited in a classic Mendelian pattern. It breaks genetic logic. And it defies magical bloodline predictions.

The first recorded Abnormal? Born to two normal vampires. No family history. No known spell damage. But from birth: accelerated development, uncontrolled bloodlust, and an aura that melted wards on contact. Doctors tried magical suppression. Witches attempted blood-stabilization rituals. Nothing worked.

They could not suppress what never obeyed laws to begin with.

🔬 CURRENT WORKING MODEL: A RARE, SPONTANEOUS MUTATION

The X-𝜃 gene appears to:

Override standard vampire regulatory genes (e.g. those controlling bloodlust thresholds, regenerative speed, magical dampening)

Create non-linear power responses (i.e. feedback loops, surges, uncontrolled magic under stress)

Disrupt circadian/sunlight sensitivity genes entirely

Stimulate non-traditional energy pathways (Abnormals can metabolize emotional input: fear, lust, devotion)

The problem? There’s no single genetic pattern. It doesn’t run cleanly in families. It skips generations, reappears randomly, sometimes even activates mid-life (see: Jeongin).

🩸 ADDITIONAL HYPOTHESES:

✦ 1. Magical Environmental Trigger

Some believe the mutation is not fully genetic — that it lies dormant and is triggered by exposure to certain ancient magics, trauma, or spiritual fractures. This would explain:

Delayed awakenings (like Jeongin at 18)

Abnormals emerging from formerly Normal bloodlines

✦ 2. The “Reversion Theory”

Proposed by a rogue scholar. He states that Abnormals are not new — but a reversion to the original vampire species, pre-civilization. Before rules. Before enchantments. The “gods made wrong” weren’t wrong — they were just too real.

“Abnormals are the truth of vampirism, buried under generations of domestication.”

Most vampires refuse to acknowledge this theory due to its existential implications.

✦ 3. The Anti-Evolution Hypothesis

Some researchers believe the Abnormal mutation is a flawed evolutionary hiccup — one that grants immense power but guarantees instability. Like giving a child a loaded weapon: Powerful, yes — but self-destructive unless anchored by extreme regulation.

This is why Chan, despite being born Abnormal, still works tirelessly through Nocte Labs to decode it. He’s not trying to erase it. He’s trying to survive it.

“Just because I was born this way doesn’t mean I understand it. It’s still eating us alive.” — Chan, confidential Nocte memo

⚠️ WHY IT MATTERS FOR JEONGIN

Jeongin is an active subject in Chan’s ongoing mutation studies. Because he is the only documented case of a Normal born vampire:

From two Normal parents

Who began Awakening into Abnormality in early adulthood

And is approaching his biological lock age of 25

This makes Jeongin a biological anomaly inside an anomaly. And the moment he turns 25 — his cellular structure will “freeze,” locking in whatever he has become. Chan suspects he will fully Ascend.

But no one knows what a late bloomer Abnormal truly looks like after the lock. There are no records. There are no survivors.

🔎 JEONGIN: CASE STUDY

Born Normal. Normal parents. Normal bloodline. Nothing immediately strange. But when Jeongin turned 18, his body stopped obeying Normal limits.

Symptoms began:

Walking in sunlight without enchanted protection (should have burned — didn’t).

Uncontrolled sensory spikes. Could smell a lie across the room.

Pulse acceleration under moonlight.

Strength fluctuations. Once bent metal by accident.

Chan, having seen Abnormals before (and being one himself), noticed. And he’s been monitoring Jeongin ever since.

❓ WHAT IS HE NOW?

Jeongin is what vampire scientists call an Awakening Abnormal. A transitional state where the mutation is active, but not dominant.

He still has:

Some Normal weaknesses (e.g., minor sun fatigue after long exposure)

Normal magic stability

Emotional bond sensitivity

But increasingly, he also shows:

Feral reflexes under threat

Blood scent tracking

No need for glamour spells

Momentary time-bending speed

Vein bloom when angered — hallmark Abnormal sign

🎂 VAMPIRE AGING : WHY IT MATTERS

Vampires “lock” in their physical age at 21 or 25, depending on bloodline strength.

Jeongin is currently 24. Once he hits 25, his biology will lock — and if the Abnormal trait dominates by then, it becomes permanent.

Chan believes this is inevitable.

WHEN HE ASCENDS…

Once the full mutation takes hold, Jeongin will:

No longer require blood as frequently (Abnormals metabolize it differently)

Lose all sunlight sensitivity

Be immune to holy relics and emotional glamours

Become capable of soul-affecting speed and strength

Risk Overload Feedback if not stabilized (i.e., seizures, bloodcry, internal rupture)

Chan is currently working with Nocte Labs to design a stabilization ritual — something to help Jeongin maintain control once he ascends.

Because once he’s fully Abnormal? He can no longer afford to just “feel things.” Rage. Desire. Panic. All become weapons.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐉 anon, your curiosity just opened a major lore vein. thank you for the ask, come again any time 💋🦇

[absolxguardian]

summoned to talk about Daniil's skill cabinet

As PermianTropos said, I wrote a Disco Elysium/Patho crossover fic. When writing it, I went with the conceit that everyone has skills, just part of Harry's brain being messed up is that he's the most aware of his skills and they have the most distinct personalities. A majority of Harry's skills are common in all people, but they can have different personalities. Harry's exclusive skills are Inland Empire, Espirit De Corps, and Shivers. However the drug addiction aspect of electrochemistry is only present in addicts. The short term sort of drug addictions the healers would develop in their extreme circumstances would fall under a different skill, probably Physical Instrument. Which would be the skill telling you about all your stats dropping into danger levels (since the fic relies on Classic's metaphysics specifically, both Healers were in a survival horror game).

Daniil and Atermy both have low emotional intelligence (as I phrased it when writing the fic. Since I've figured out what my empathy autism situation is since then, I'd say that they are just low empathy in the sense that figuring out what people feel just by looking at them doesn't come naturally to them, but their ability to conceptualize what others are thinking is fine), they don't have an Empathy skill and instead rely on Perception to figure out other people's emotions. The exception is with the skill The Binding, which is basically Espirit De Corps crossed with Empathy specifically for the Healers and the Bound (all of them, not there's specifically). Now this doesn't really hold with Quarantine, but when playing Classic it really feels a lot like the bound are more really than generic civilians. So when the Sand Plague was happening and the Healers were part of a Game (the metaphysics of the fic is that both worlds exist beyond the boundaries of their respective games, but that the worlds were created and given structure by those games. People lived entire real for the purpose of making sure an item was in the right place), the regular civilians of the town were subsumed by their roles/classes, except for the Bound. And now all the Healers and Bound have light telepathy with each other.

The other skill I had for Daniil was (Un)Natural Sciences. Which is both scientific reasoning and scientific knowledge. It has the gimmick of preceding its input with either "conclusion", "hypothesis", "inference", or "observation".

If I was writing it these days, I would totally replace Volition with Mania and Apathy. And obviously, one would wax while the other wanes.

Daniil's version of Conceputalization would be less about art and more about his ability to imagine what the world could be and appreciate its wonderousness. This would be the skill that falls in love with the Polyhedron. Since they both chose the Classic Termite ending in my fic, the skill isn't as strong as his ethical values. Although I'm not sure what skill that would be. Seems more like the kind of thing that would be captured in a choice using DE framing.

[akamitrani]

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· SINGULARITY ·

DS9 Solok x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slow burn (eventual smut, I promise), vulcan x human, vulcan superiority complex (?), angst, a lot of tension.

Summary: Assigned to assist Captain Solok on a research project meant to prove Vulcan superiority, a human officer disrupts his views.

Chapter 2: Unwanted Distraction

It had been three days since your first briefing with Captain Solok, and you had quickly learned that his reputation was well-earned. Every task he assigned was a test – a test not just of your skills, but of your ability to withstand his scrutiny. His eyes never left you, and each decision you made seemed to be met with his sharp, calculating gaze.

The T’Kumbra's lab was pristine, and the work you were doing together was delicate: Data collection, analysis, hypothesis testing. All simple enough, yet every task was laced with an unspoken challenge: Can you keep up?

It was the third day, the day you thought might break you. You stood at a console, working to optimize a set of simulations for the project. The numbers didn’t add up in the way they should have and it frustrated you. The last thing you wanted was to fail in front of Solok.

You furrowed your brow and adjusted the variables again, your mind working through the problem.

From across the room, Solok's voice cut through the silence – "Lieutenant, you are miscalculating the inputs. Your attempt is insufficient."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes – "I'm working through it, Captain. I just need to adju—"

"No." His voice was firm, cutting – "The human method is inefficient. Your reliance on trial and error is an example of your species' inability to apply logic effectively." – He stepped closer, his sharp eyes flicking over the screen – "The calculations are simple. Yet, I am forced to watch you struggle as though you were a child with a toy."

You clenched your jaw, trying to remain calm. You could feel the sting of his words, but you weren’t going to let it show – "Perhaps the problem is that you're too focused on finding my mistakes instead of the solution itself" you shot back, keeping your tone steady.

Solok paused, his gaze locking with yours for a moment. There was a brief flicker... something in his expression, almost imperceptible but it was enough to make you question if you'd imagined it.

He stepped back, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Perhaps." – He was quiet for a long moment – "However, I have reconsidered your participation in this… exercise."

You frowned, uncertainty creeping in. "What do you mean, Captain?"

"You are clearly struggling with the task" he said, his tone cold but with an edge that was harder to read than usual – "And I am unwilling to waste time on inefficiency."

You felt your pulse quicken at the thought of being dismissed yet again. You had been working so hard to prove him wrong, to show him that humans were capable of more than he thought.

"You're dismissing me from the task?" you asked, unable to keep the surprise from your voice.

"I am" Solok affirmed, his voice as calm and unyielding as ever – "It is not logical for you to continue when you are unable to meet the standards I have set. You may return to your quarters."

You blinked, stunned for a moment. "Just like that? You’re giving up on me again?"

Solok looked at you for a long moment, as if evaluating your reaction. Then, for the first time since you had met him, his expression softened... just barely, but enough for you to notice – "I am not giving up on you, Lieutenant. I am simply saving you from further… embarrassment."

His words stung more than they should have, but you refused to let them show – "Thank you for your consideration, Captain."

You turned to leave, your thoughts in turmoil. You had expected this kind of treatment – Solok's superiority complex had been obvious from the start, but his dismissal stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated. As you walked away, though, something unexpected happened.

For a brief moment, you felt a shift in the air. The tension in the room had changed.

You weren’t sure what it meant. But one thing was certain: Captain Solok’s logic had just been disrupted, even if he didn’t yet realize it.

You weren’t the type to take defeat lightly.

Being dismissed felt like an insult and you weren’t about to let Captain Solok have the satisfaction of thinking he had proven anything. If he wanted you to leave quietly, he clearly didn’t know you well enough.

Instead of sulking in your quarters, you reviewed the research, going over every piece of data, every calculation he had thrown at you. If you couldn’t prove your worth by his standards, then you would find another way.

As you walked back the corridor, heading toward the research lab with every intention of forcing your way back into the assignment, a sharp, rhythmic flicker of light caught your attention. The overhead panel a few meters ahead was blinking erratically, casting strange shadows against the walls.

That wasn’t normal.

You moved closer, the subtle hum of failing electronics ringing in your ears. The panel was emitting an odd whine, the kind that suggested something was on the verge of overloading. You frowned, stepping in to examine it. If left unchecked, it could cause a power surge or worse, a fire.

You crouched down, popping the panel open – only to freeze.

The entire interface was in Vulcan.

You exhaled through your nose. Of course it is.

Most Starfleet systems had a common interface, but this was purely Vulcan design, meaning none of the usual Federation failsafes would be present. You could call an engineer, but by the time they arrived, the situation could escalate.

No. You can handle this.

You studied the controls carefully, searching for patterns. Vulcan language was dense, logical – if you focused, you could work through it.

Slowly, you began isolating the problem, tracing the power flow. The issue was in the secondary conduits: A misalignment in the stabilizers. You could reroute the system, but one wrong move and you’d likely trigger an emergency shutdown across half the deck.

But you didn’t hesitate.

You adjusted the settings, fingers moving quickly over the unfamiliar script, your brain working in overdrive to decipher the logic behind the system. It was a puzzle, one you refused to lose to.

You were so focused that you didn’t notice the silent figure watching you.

Solok had left the bridge, intending to retreat to his private quarters for meditation. The day had been… unusual, to say the least, and he required time to clear his mind.

Or so he thought.

As he walked through the corridors, he spotted you... not in your quarters, as he had ordered, but kneeling before a damaged control panel, your expression set in determined concentration.

At first, his immediate reaction was disapproval. You had ignored his dismissal. You were meddling in something that was clearly beyond your expertise.

And yet…

He stopped walking, hands clasped behind his back as he observed.

There was something about the way you worked – your brow furrowed in thought, your hands moving deftly despite the clear unfamiliarity of the Vulcan system. He had expected hesitation, struggle. But instead, you adapted. You learned.

Fascinating.

Most humans, when faced with such an obstacle, would seek assistance, relying on external guidance rather than attempting to solve the issue themselves. But you… you were deciphering it as you went, trusting your instincts and reasoning in a way that, much to his own disbelief, he found… impressive.

More than impressive.

It was logical to assume that humans were inferior in their reasoning capabilities. He had built his entire argument on that premise. And yet, as he watched you work, utterly immersed in the task, Solok felt something entirely illogical stir within him.

He stepped forward – “Lieutenant.”

You startled slightly, your head snapping up. For a moment, you looked almost guilty, as if caught in some act of defiance. But you quickly masked it, straightening.

“Captain.”

His eyes flickered to the panel – “You are aware that this system operates on a Vulcan interface?”

You gave him a dry look – “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Solok’s brow lifted slightly at your sarcasm, but he ignored it – “And yet you have chosen to proceed without guidance.”

You exhaled – “I didn’t exactly have time to call an engineer. It was either fix it or risk a power surge” You gestured toward the interface – “I think I’ve stabilized it.”

Solok moved closer, his sharp eyes scanning the screen. A moment passed. Then another.

“You are correct.”

There was no disdain in his tone. No arrogance. Just simple, factual acknowledgment.

You blinked – “Wait, seriously?”

He turned his gaze back to you, and for a fraction of a second – just a fraction – you swore his expression softened.

“Your ability to analyze an unfamiliar system is… unexpected.” His voice was lower now, quieter.

You raised an eyebrow – “Unexpected… but not bad?”

Solok hesitated. And that was when you realized – he didn’t want to say it. Whatever words were forming in his mind, whatever conclusion he had reached, he was actively resisting it.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, straightening his posture – “It is… adequate.”

You smirked – “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment, Captain.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his expression unreadable. And for the first time since you had met him, there was something in his gaze that wasn’t condescension, wasn’t superiority.

It was intrigue.

Before you could process it, Solok reached to close the panel at the same time you did.

Your hands brushed.

It was brief, fleeting, but undeniable. And in that instant, something in his demeanor changed.

His hand snapped back as if burned, and for a fraction of a second – so quick you almost missed it – his breath hitched. His usually impassive face shifted, his lips parting slightly, his gaze flickering down to where your hands had touched before quickly returning to your face.

He looked… flustered.

You raised an eyebrow, watching the conflict play across his features. “Are yo-”

“This is irrelevant” he interrupted, voice a touch too sharp, as if forcing himself back into control.

You smirked – “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Solok straightened, regaining his composure with visible effort – “Return to your quarters, Lieutenant.”

You tilted your head, arms crossing – “Not dismissing me from the project this time?”

He hesitated again. Then, with a look you couldn’t quite decipher, he simply said – “Not yet.”

And with that, he turned, walking away.

You watched him go, the ghost of that fleeting touch still lingering on your skin.

Whatever just happened—it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

COMMENTS AND REPOSTS ARE APPRECIATED

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[wordpress-blaze-244022290]

In The Time It Takes To Rise

People say I'm too soft sometimes, that I let things slide, wait too long, or give too many second chances. But I don't see it that way.

I think my patience is one of the few things that's kept me steady in a world that's anything but. When the cafe gets busy and the orders stack up and tempers flare, I take a breath. I smile. I keep moving. There's a rhythm to waiting, like the way bread rises, or tea steeps just right. You can’t rush good things. People need time too, as well as space. And someone who won’t give up on them the moment they mess up.

I guess that’s where the kindness comes in.

I don’t really go around calling myself kind, but I notice things. I notice when someone in sad or happy. When they stir there coffee for too long, lost in thought. When they say “I’m fine” but won’t meet your eyes. I’m not great with big, loud gestures- but I’ll remember your order even if you haven’t been in for a few days. I’ll slip an extra cookie into your bag if it looks like you had a rough day.

that’s what I like about myself. That I try to make room for people, even when they’re hard to understand. That I wait. That I care, quietly.

Source: In The Time It Takes To Rise

[fanfoolishness]

A New Fascination

Tech isn't sure why Phee fascinates him so, but when she tells him about an intriguing creature by the shore, he takes a chance to further investigate things. Fluff, the teensiest hurt/comfort, long conversations, and several firsts all wrapped in a bow; TechPhee and a little bit on Tech & Crosshair. Canon-compliant, set after Pabu. 8100 words.

---

Tech sat in the boughs of the great weeping maya tree, recording sounds.  Omega’s morning flying lesson had been bracing, her inexperience and bravado combined nearly enough to cause him to ponder his own mortality, and now that they were safely back on solid ground he thought he would focus on less potentially deadly pursuits.  

He always cataloged new sounds as he came across them, but the challenge came in when they were layered and stacked and interlaced with each other.  Wingbeats of the fluttering jeweled finches were swallowed up by the sounds of their vocalizations, mixed with rustling leaves and the voices and footsteps of passersby.  His datapad did a fine job of sorting things on a cursory level, but it often required manual input for greatest accuracy.  Up here, higher above the colonnade, the sounds were crisper and easier to parse.  

He had pleasantly lost himself in this pursuit for some time when a voice broke through his focus.

“Didn’t take you for much of a climber, Brown Eyes.”

He lifted the visor up with its stream of data, peering down at her through his goggles, the leaves, and the afternoon shadows.  She stood ten feet below, shading her eyes and gazing up at him.  

“It is the best area from which to collect direct recordings of the local avians.  The jeweled finches, particularly.”  

She sat on the large bough beneath him, grinning.  “Sure you don’t want to listen to them from down here?”

Tech frowned.  The recordings would contain more interference and ambient sound the further away he was from the canopy the birds frequented.  However, coming down would provide a better opportunity for conversing with Phee.  And Phee was fascinating in her own right.

He paused.  He had not yet determined why Phee so fascinated him, but she did.  His initial hypothesis had been that her treasure hunting, or “liberation” as she colorfully put it, required a wide subset of skills, an ability to quickly adapt, and a nimble intelligence.  That was certainly part of it.  But he had met many intelligent and skilled people throughout the galaxy, his brothers, certain reg clones, people like Romar, and none of them had inspired this type of interest from him before.

He had considered pheromones as a possible trigger, though human pheromones were significantly weaker and less effective than those of many other species.  He could not discount them, though, or how else could he explain the way he enjoyed being near her for no apparent reason?

“You coming?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said determinedly, climbing down.  He sat beside her and she gave him a bright smile, tilting her head to one side.  It was a smile that was full, easy, beaming.  It was new, having such a smile frequently directed at him, but it was… very nice.  

Of course, he had also considered the fact that she was objectively beautiful.  Warm brown eyes, a musical laugh, luxurious hair, a sleek and strong figure… he was not blind to these things, and appreciated them as he would any source of beauty.  He simply wasn’t used to appreciating beauty in the form of a curious and clever person who seemed to appreciate him, too.

Perhaps that was why he always felt slightly off-kilter near her.

His datapad chimed, finishing its collation of data.  He took off his helmet and set it beside him, then hunched his shoulders to get a better look at the screen.  He needed to sort the information he had gathered before it became less fresh in his mind.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked, scooting closer so that she could lean over his shoulder, nearly touching him.  His heart beat more quickly.

“Samples of the finches, separated out from the sounds of the weeping maya, the wind, and the marketplace,” Tech said.  “I find it engrossing work.”

“What are you saving the recordings for?”

“For?”  Tech pondered the question. While there had been times his recordings had been extremely helpful on missions - Skako Minor came to mind as a particularly memorable instance - most of the time the data was simply stored, saved carefully where it could be retrieved at a moment’s notice.  “I enjoy collecting sounds.  It could be considered a hobby.”

Phee chuckled, apparently surprised by his statement.  “I like that.  Everyone needs a hobby.  And I, of all people, understand collecting things.”  She looked out at the busy marketplace, concentrating as if listening.  “You know, Pabu’s got its share of interesting wildlife.  Do you like nature sounds the most?  Or any sounds?”

“All sounds are interesting,” said Tech, raising his eyes from his datapad to look over at her briefly.  She was looking at him with curiosity, her full attention focused on him.  He quickly turned back to his datapad.  “Machinery generates patterns that can easily form a type of music.  Battle sounds are both highly varied and highly predictable, depending on the situation.  Natural sounds provide some of the most unique samples, though.  Animals with different vocal apparatuses and anatomy can produce a nearly infinite variety of sounds.  Some are not even made with mouths.  Have you ever heard the sound of a winnowing wood-snipe from Batuu?”  

“No, I can’t say that I have.  I’ve been to Batuu a few times, but only to the outpost,” Phee said.  “It wasn’t exactly crawling with wood-snipes, whatever those are.”

Tech quickly found the pertinent file and played it.  Ghostly, high-pitched twittering emitted from the datapad in waves.  Phee looked intrigued.

“That wasn’t an animal call?”

“No.  It was created by small, uniquely-shaped feathers at the base of the bird’s tail.  When soaring and diving, the airflow creates these noises,” said Tech.  Reading of the bird’s description beforehand had not fully prepared him for the startling nature of its sounds.  “There are thousands of such examples of unique adaptations across the galaxy.”

“Hey, now that’s all right,” Phee said, nodding, clearly impressed.  “I would’ve never guessed that wasn’t a song.  Not sure there’s anything quite like that here, but there’s still some interesting wildlife, especially down near the shore.  I remember Shep telling me about some creature that sings near the caves.  Want me to get some more info and get back to you?”

Tech paused.  She did not need to bother herself.  “I could also ask Shep, if you are busy.”  It did sound interesting.

“Suit yourself,” Phee said, “but I don’t mind asking as a favor.”  She smiled again, then clapped a hand against his shoulder.  Her touch was brief, but electric.

Ah.  She wants to do it.  He nodded, not wishing to discourage her.  “If you would like to find out more information, I… would be grateful.”

Another of those bright, beaming smiles.  He tried one back, though it was nowhere near as wide and carefree.  She nodded, looking pleased.  “I’m on the case.”  She swung her legs off the bough, slipping back down to the ground, and waved goodbye.  “See you around, Brown Eyes.”

---

She found him the next morning attempting to clean up after some much-needed repairs to the Marauder.  Another flying lesson with Omega had been… bracing.  He sat amidst a pile of spanners and tools, covered in engine grease, sorting the tools to put away when he wasn’t distracted by the sounds of the finches.  There was a new vocalization he could hear -- perhaps young birds begging to be fed -- and he had left his datapad inside.  He switched on the auxiliary recording function on his goggles, making a note to import and analyze the sounds later.

“In the middle of something, I see.  Those flying lessons out there looked a little rough this morning,” Phee said, casting an eye over the tools strewn around him.

“Omega is still mastering the concept of incline control,” Tech said.  “It’s creating some extra wear and tear on the engine, but nothing I cannot repair.”

“Never doubted that.”  She dropped down to squat beside him, idly picking up a spanner.  “That’s a solid one.”

“Standard Republic issue.  I have since seen some of the Imperial repair kits, and they are inferior, clearly turned out quickly to keep costs down.”

“Sounds like the Empire all over,” Phee said, sighing.  “Quantity over quality.  I guess you’d know all about that.”

Tech nodded.  The Empire had discarded the clones similarly, of course.  

“So, I talked to Shep about this creature.  He said it’s something the people here call a sea ghost.”

Tech made a face.  “A rather whimsical name.”

“Not much for whimsy?” Phee asked, looking amused by his response.

“It is not remotely descriptive,” Tech complained.  “Is it mammalian?  Avian?  Some type of cartilaginous or bony fish?  ‘Sea ghost’ does not give us any indication as to what kind of creature could be expected.”

“Well, I’m guessing it lives by the sea with a name like that,” Phee laughed.  

Tech gave her a look.  She had him there.

“He said it lives down near the northwest cove, whatever it is,” she continued.  “It goes out to sea sometimes but often comes back to sing in the caves.  He said its song is supposed to be hauntingly beautiful.  Hence the ‘ghost.’”

“If it sings in the caves, it may be taking advantage of the area’s natural acoustics,” Tech mused.  “Is it sentient?” 

“Not exactly, I think.  More like a wise animal is how he described it.  People here used to tell stories about it, long ago.”

Tech wiped his hands off on his thighs, smearing the fabric with oil as he got to his feet.  “Well, I am game to search for this creature if you are.  Give me a few moments to gather these up and we may go.”  Hunter’s intense aggravation the last time Tech had left his repair work for later would be an irritating way to start such a promising day, and he had no intention of letting that distraction interfere.

“You want me to come?” Phee asked, raising an eyebrow with a sly smile.  “Not Shep?  He’s actually seen it, you know.”

“Shep may be best suited to finding the creature,” Tech said, adjusting his goggles.  “But I am asking you because I would like for you to be there.”

He hoped he had not miscalculated.  He thought that it was what Phee had been intending all along, that this would be a time for the two of them to be alone during an enjoyable and interesting activity, but for a moment, he was unsure.  It was one thing to calculate his own thoughts, responses, plans.  It was quite another to attempt to guess what Phee might desire.  He swallowed, watching her closely, hoping he had read the situation appropriately --

She grinned.  “Why, Brown Eyes, I thought you’d never ask.”

---

They took the winding stairs down to the beach, passing islanders as they went.  Several nodded or said hello to Phee, and a few said hello to him as well, perhaps remembering their efforts from the night of the sea surge a few weeks ago.  Tech nodded to them as they passed, surprised they remembered him.  He commented on it to Phee.

“You and your brothers don’t exactly blend in,” she said.  “You might all be clones, but here you’re the new kids in town, and that makes you easy to remember.”  

“I suppose that would be the case in a place with a relatively small population,” Tech said.  “It is still unexpected.”

They rounded a corner and ran into Hunter, Wrecker and Omega, carrying woven bags of foodstuffs and supplies.  “Tech!  Phee!” Omega said.  “We’re going to try some new recipes for lunch.  Are you coming back up?”

“Recipes?” Tech asked.  “None of us has ever shown any aptitude at cooking.”

“We’re going to try,” Hunter said heavily.  He appeared dismayed at the prospect.  “Wrecker’s promised to eat anything that goes horribly wrong.”

“It’ll be a sacrifice, but I’ll make it happen,” Wrecker said.  He narrowed his eyes, looking between Phee and Tech.  “You two going somewhere?”

“Phee has informed me there is a creature with an unusual song that visits near the beach,” said Tech.  “We are going to investigate.”

A wide, eager smile stole over Wrecker’s face, and he was about to speak until Hunter elbowed him subtly in the side.  He closed his mouth again.  “Uh, that sounds nice,” he said.  

Tech was certain that had not been what he was originally going to say.

“Good luck,” Hunter said, giving them an odd look that Tech did not know how to interpret.  “If there’s leftovers later, you’re welcome to try them.”

“But Hunter,” Omega asked, “wouldn’t you be able to help them track the creature?”

Hunter paused, searching for words.  “Ah, they don’t need my help, Omega.  And I promised I’d help you with this recipe of yours.  They’ll be fine without us.”

“We appreciate the vote of confidence,” Phee said.  “Bye, boys.  See you, Omega.”

“Bye, Phee!  Bye, Tech!”

Phee and Tech continued down the stairs.  “That’s cute,” Phee said.

“What is?”

“Wrecker wanting to tease you about me, and Hunter trying to play it cool,” she laughed.  “Reminds me of my cousins growing up.  They used to tease each other mercilessly.  Especially if there was a boy or girl involved.”

“Wrecker often attempts jokes at my expense,” said Tech.  “Though… this is certainly the first time a ‘girl’ has been involved.”  He felt a flicker of warmth in his cheeks, that funny sense of being wrongfooted that he seemed to only feel around Phee.

“I thought that might be the case,” Phee said.  She turned to him, laying a hand on his arm and keeping him from descending the next flight of steps.  “Look, Tech -- I think it’s clear we like each other.  Right?”  One of those warm, sunny smiles again.  He nodded at her, feeling slightly lightheaded.  “But if this is all new to you, I don’t mind taking our time, you know?  You’re worth doing this right.”

His mouth seemed incredibly dry.  With a great effort he swallowed, managing to find enough saliva to speak again.  “I -- I will take that under advisement.”

Phee snorted.  “Glad to hear it.”  She nodded towards the last set of stairs.  “Come on, we’re nearly there.  Let’s go find this ghost.”

---

The path to the cove was hidden and cunning, half-covered by tidewaters or stretches of exposed seagrass.  Tech thought that even Hunter would have had a difficult time picking his way through the stretches of rocks, sand and shallow water.  Phee led him through a narrow cleft in the rocky wall, both of them forced to turn to the side and creep through, hands scraping the rocky surface.  At one point Phee’s hand brushed his, and she paused for an instant before she pressed forward once more, to Tech’s disappointment.  He would have liked it had her hand lingered.

She led him around a bend and a large pool of gently lapping waves, sheltered from the main beach, lay before them.  Beyond that Tech could see the entrance to a cave, carved out from the rocky walls as if by invisible hands.  Phee stared appraisingly at the pool.

“We’re going to have to wade for it,” she said.  “Shep said with most low tides this water’s receded, but some are lower than others.  Guess we got lucky.”

Tech nodded, sitting down in the sand to pull off his boots.  While they were water resistant, they had not been designed for complete submersion, and he did not relish the idea of walking the return path in soaked boots and footwear.  That had been troublesome enough after the underground river on Ipsidon.  

He peeled off his socks and rolled up his blues to his knees.  At least his datapad was waterproof, so that would not be a problem.

Phee pulled off her own boots, then removed her jacket and blouse, revealing a skin tight sleeveless shirt in a pretty blue color.  She folded up her clothing and stuffed it into the bag she had brought.  He gazed at her bare shoulders, her toned arms, the curve of her breasts and waist, until he heard the sound of a throat clearing.  “Ready to go?” Phee asked, with a look on her face that suggested she knew he had been staring at her, and didn’t mind.

He turned away, nodding.  “Yes.  I’m ready.”  

He followed her into the pool.  The water was warm and gentle, a perfect temperature when combined with the soft cool breeze blowing in from the sea.  It came up to his knees, then his thighs, then past his waist.  Phee waded beside him, one hand holding her bag safely above the water, the other swirling random patterns in the surface of the water with every step.

“Ever do much swimming?” she asked as they made their way through the pool.

“Swimming proficiency was mandatory for all clones,” said Tech.  “Kamino is a waterbound world and it would be laughable to fail to instill swimming skills in that setting.  There were also special clone commando units with additional training in underwater operations, though our squad had only cursory training in that department.”  He paused at the look on her face.  “But yes, I am an adequate swimmer.  It is not my specialty.”

“You’re like me.  Flying’s really where we shine, right?,” said Phee, wading towards the shore.  The cave’s entrance rose up before them, and Tech could see the reflections of blue and white from the water’s surface painting the walls of the cave.  “But I can swim if I need to.  Once I had to retrieve an artifact from a Naboo battlefield over an old Gungan settlement.  Place was boobytrapped to high heaven with battledroids, but not in the water.  Turned out the droids were the least of my worries.  You ever been to Naboo?”

“No,” said Tech.  “There were no clones in service during the battles on Naboo.  Kaminoan production only began in earnest shortly after that time.  My brothers and I had not yet been designed, let alone decanted.” 

Phee shook her head.  “Clone aging… that’s still a hard one to wrap my brain around.”

Tech shrugged.  “We age at roughly double the rate as unaltered humans.  It is simply a fact of life for us.”

Phee was quiet for a moment, a hint of something sad behind her eyes.  Her mouth twisted to one side.  Then she shook her head again, and continued.  “Well, anyway -- Naboo’s a nice place. If it wasn’t for the Empire, I’d say you should try to visit sometime.  But avoid going underwater, there are some freaky things down there, and I don’t mean the Gungans.  Nearly got eaten by five different giant creatures.”  She shuddered.  “Got the artifact, though, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“I am glad you were not eaten,” said Tech.  “It sounds as if it would be most unpleasant.”

She reached the shore, climbing up but slipping for a second on a rock.  Tech closed the distance between them, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder.  She refound her footing and clambered up, turning back to him with a grateful smile.  “Thanks.” 

He followed her up, water dripping down his legs, running in rivulets down his feet.  Phee was just as wet, her clothing clinging to her in a way he quite liked.  He turned his attention back to the cave, listening closely.

“I do not hear anything.”

Phee screwed up her face in concentration.  “Me neither, but it might be in deeper.  This cave system goes in for a little ways.  I don’t feel like getting deep into spelunking for this, but there might be something in one of the near chambers.”  

She carefully picked out a path on the rocky shore as they entered the cave.  There was a narrow spit of rocks encircling the water, and they climbed atop this, looking down into the water below for signs of movement.  Light dancing on the water’s surface helped to light the cove, as did glimmers of sunlight peeking in from up above them through small gaps in the rocky ceiling.  They were quiet for a few moments, concentrating on their footing and the gradually dimming light within the cave.

Phee was surefooted, leading the way without hesitation, occasionally pausing only to study the water beneath them.  He watched the water too, but his attention was divided between the gently lapping waves and Phee herself.  She moved with an easy elegance that was intriguing; long graceful neck shifting to allow her a better view, hands held out to her side to steady herself, legs balancing adroitly on the uneven rocks.  He followed in her footsteps, occasionally startled when he noticed her looking back at him with a similar focus.  

The light dimmed further, and up ahead was largely darkness.  She stopped her, sitting down on a rocky outcropping and resting her arms on her legs.  She gave him a nod, and he sat down beside her at the invitation.

“Seems like as good a place as any to wait,” she said.  

“What else do we know of this creature?”

“Not much,” Phee said.  “Last I checked, Pabu doesn’t have a marine biologist, and it’s not exactly a place that’s been extensively studied.  One of the disadvantages of being so out of the way.”

“I could change that,” said Tech thoughtfully.  “If we’re to spend more time here, I would like to continue learning about the local ecosystem and culture.”

“I think you might be the most curious person I’ve ever met,” Phee said quietly.  “I like that about you.”

“I have never understood a lack of curiosity,” he said.  “There is so much to learn and understand in this galaxy.  I could never begin to come close to learning all of it, but I would like to try.”  He smiled.  “You, of course, also seem to be a very curious person.  I… like that about you, too.”  

She smiled brightly at him.  Her brown eyes glinted with the dappled blue and white light reflecting off the water.  She leaned in, listening to him.

He wondered, suddenly, what it might be like to kiss her.

“I guess I’m just a curious soul,” Phee murmured.  

His heart seemed to be beating rather faster than normal, and he searched for something to say.   “You have asked me a great many questions about myself, for example.”

She laughed quietly, the sound echoing sweetly off the water and the walls.  “I’ve just never met anyone like you before.  You’re one of a kind, Brown Eyes.”

Perhaps she was teasing him.  He leaned back, shaking his head.  “That is blatantly incorrect. While I am unique in being a genetically modified clone, I am still one of millions --”

She reached out, fingertips brushing his cheek, her touch feather soft.  “No.  There’s no one like you, Tech.”

Oh.

He stared into her eyes, frozen.

And then he heard it, faint in the distance, coming closer.  A sound, haunting, beautiful, delicate piping layered with echoes of reflected notes building upon each other.  Phee dropped her hand, focusing intently as Tech quickly pulled out his datapad and started recording.

“The ghost, there --” Phee started, pointing past him.  He reached out quickly and took her hand, holding it closely within his own.  She turned back to him and he made a shh gesture with his free hand.  She nodded, staying quiet and still as the creature swam into view.

A pale gray shape skimmed the water’s surface, its form rounded, plump and smooth-skinned.  As it drew closer Tech realized the dappling on its back was not only due to the reflections in the water, but also due to speckles of white and darker gray spotting its skin, crisscrossed with the shapes of faint scars.  The creature was sirenian in nature; he remembered a similar manatee-like animal that had swam and played in the pooled waters of the vast wroshyr root system on Kashyyyk.  But the alshyyyr of Kashyyyk had had no voice like this.

Phee leaned in close to him, her bare shoulder brushing against his, and he realized he was still holding her hand.  His focus shifted from the fluting calls filling the cavern and back to Phee.  Her face held a look of wonder as the ghost sang, its ethereal music resonating with the water and the stone, but that had fallen into the background for Tech.  

Phee’s hand was soft in his, but strong; his thumb glided over her knuckles, the back of her hand, mapping fine hollows and ridges, tracing small old scars.  She gently squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, marveling at how such a small motion could be so engrossing.  

She nudged him, slightly, and he looked back up at her.  “Sea ghost, remember?” she whispered, winking.

Tech nodded, gazing back at the ghost and its sweet singing.  He closed his eyes to listen to the music, alien, haunting, singular.  He was grateful they had found it, and glad that he was recording it to analyze and assess later.  Of course he should be studying the animal after their work to get here.  

But Phee’s hand in his fit perfectly.  He liked holding it.  Liked touching her.  This new thing between them, smiles and stories and laughter and touches, was truly what he had come here to investigate, and the sea ghost, lovely as it was, took a distant second in his concentration.  He could not explain it, even to himself; it was confusing.  It was new and strange.

It was mesmerizing.

---

They listened to the music of the sea ghost for nearly an hour before the dappled gray creature dipped below the water and vanished into the dark.  They waited for a few more minutes, but at last Phee turned to him and said, “I think it’s taken its leave.  We should probably go too, before the tide comes in further.”

Tech nodded, turning off his datapad and slipping it back into its pouch.  He felt a little disappointed at seeing the creature go; though how much of that was due to the ghost’s departure, and how much of it was due to the fact that this moment between him and Phee would end?

They made their way back along the rocks, Phee following along behind him.  His bare feet gripped each rock tightly.  It was slick along here as the tide had begun to come in and water had splashed on the rocks.  He picked out his path carefully while he led them back to the mouth of the cave, deep in thought.  

He narrowed his eyes as they stepped out of the cave.  The sun was now in full afternoon brightness, and even with the adaptive settings on his goggles it was still difficult for his eyes to adjust after the dark quiet of the cave.  

“Phew,” she said, rubbing her eyes.  “It didn’t seem that dark while we were in there, but that is intense.”

He turned to her once the brightness of the sunlight no longer forced him to squint.  “Thank you for coming with me.  I would not have been able to find this on my own.”  

“Everything you were hoping for?” Phee asked, crossing her arms.  “I have to say, that was some concert we were treated to.”

“I am looking forward to analyzing the recordings of the sea ghost,” said Tech.  He turned to her, smiling faintly.  “But I also enjoyed spending this time with you.”

Her face creased in a grin.  “Me too, Brown Eyes.  This getting to know you thing?  It’s all right.”  She waded into the deep pool between the cave and the rest of the shore, the water rising up to her chest.  He followed her, the warm water rising up past his waist within a few steps.  “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure at first if you were interested.  And I didn’t want to scare you off if this was all new for you.”

“It is new,” Tech admitted, taking another step behind her.  “But that is not a problem.  It is very intriguing.”  He hesitated.  “You are intriguing.  And… I wish to learn more, if that is also what you want.”

He reached out, and took another step --

Pain.  Blinding, searing, lancing pain shooting up his right foot and leg.  He groaned and stumbled, falling forward, the water closing over his head.

“Tech!”  There was a frantic scramble of limbs and splashing of water, and after a few confused, agonizing moments he realized he was back on the sand, Phee kneeling beside him and pulling something out of his foot.  “Ahh, kriff, you stepped on a shore urchin.  That would do it!”  She tossed away a shard of bright purple material.  “How’s it feeling now?”

Tech blinked, his head swimming, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the sting or from Phee’s look of concern.  He tried experimentally to move his leg.  The pain was receding, leaving a buzzing, prickling sensation rolling up and down his foot and shin.  He stared down at the leg, realizing that the right foot was already approximately twice the size of the left.  

“Ah,” he said sagely.  “It seems to be venomous.  Fortunately, the venom also seems to have an anesthetic component.  The blinding pain has stopped and I can no longer feel my foot at all.”  He let out a long hiss of breath, trying and failing to wiggle his toes.  

“Well, I gotta love the optimism,” Phee said, her face a mixture of amusement and worry.  “I know it looks bad, but it’s not serious.  Your foot’s gonna blow up like a puffer pig for a day or two, but it’ll be all right.   Happened to me once.”

“Really?” Tech asked.  The knowledge did bring a small measure of comfort.

Phee gave him a guilty look.  “No, I was just trying to make you feel better.  But hey.  I really have heard of people stepping on these things and being fine.”

Tech reached up, disengaging his goggles to wipe them on his shirt.  He squinted up at her.  “This is an inauspicious end to our afternoon together, unfortunately.”  He slipped his goggles back into place, blinking.  

“Well, it’s not over yet,” Phee chuckled.  “We still need to get you back in one piece.  I have a feeling your family would have strong words for me if I left you here for the birds.”

“The gulls would not be interested in me unless I had already died,” Tech pointed out.  “I am far too large to register as a prey item for this species.”

“Ahhh, there’s that charm,” she said.  “Here.  Let’s get you situated.”  She pulled her bag over her head.  It was now soaking wet, which Tech realized must have happened when she dove in after him.  She reached in and pulled out a spare kerchief, similar to the blue one she wore most frequently, and wrung it out until it was no longer sopping.  She carefully bandaged his right foot, which scarcely resembled the left.  It was now mottled an unappealing red, white and purple, though at least the anesthetic properties of the venom were holding.

She gathered their shoes they had left in the sand, putting his right boot into her bag.  He wiped as much of the sand from his foot as he could before jamming the left boot back on.  It was going to be an uncomfortable walk up the stairs, he wagered.  But at least he would be in good company.

“All right.  Let me help you up.”  She held out a hand, bracing herself in the sand, and got him up.  She pulled his arm over her shoulders.  It was a very pleasant sensation having her so close, his arm draped over her shoulders, her arm slid around his waist.  It would have been better without the prickling-numb swollen foot he was dragging, however.

“It is a shame we had to sever ties with Cid,” Tech mused.  “There was no chance to retrieve AZI-3 from her bar before coming here to Pabu.  He would have been particularly helpful in a time like this.”

Phee nodded, beginning to walk, going slowly so that he could hop along with her.  “Well, I don’t think she’d be all that happy to see you if I brought you back there.  But there’s first aid options here.  Old Namira’s got a pretty good setup at her place for minor wounds and injuries, we’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you for the support,” Tech said, focusing on keeping his balance in the sand.  “It is a pity it was my right leg that was affected.  The left is still slightly weaker after I fractured it earlier this year.”

“Omega was telling me about that,” Phee said, concerned.  “That must have been painful.  Rough year for you, huh?”

“It was unpleasant,” Tech said.  “Femoral fractures are intensely painful.”  He shrugged, taking another hopping step, his left leg sliding in the sand.  Phee stabilized herself against him, compensating for the uneven terrain.  “Between AZI’s ministrations and the increased healing abilities of clones, I was only disabled for a matter of weeks.  It was still not something I am eager to repeat.”

“Do all clones heal quickly?” Phee asked as they finally reached the first staircase.  

“Yes, it is something we share with the regs.  A sublimely useful modification by the Kaminoans, particularly for soldiers,” Tech said.  They took the first step, and Tech winced as his dangling foot accidentally hit the first step. It gave a peculiar burst of sharp yet muted discomfort before fading back into numbness.  He gave it an appraising look.  “It appears to be swelling even more.”

“You good?  Or do you need a rest before we start heading up?  We can take a breather.”

“I’m all right.  Let’s continue,” he said, adjusting his arm so it lay more evenly across her shoulders.  Their cheeks brushed, and he swallowed.  His senses buzzed, each small touch from Phee electrifying.  This close he could smell her hair if he turned his head, and he caught the scents of a rich woody oil and the flowers of the weeping maya tree.  It was intoxicating.  He shook his head, trying to redirect his thoughts.  

“You’re right,” she said, wincing.  “It is getting bigger.  I’m sorry, Brown Eyes.  Not how I thought the day was going to go.”

“One never knows what hazards may be encountered in the wild,” Tech said.  “It reminds me of something that happened to my brother.  That was an insect envenomation and not an echinoderm encounter, but it triggered an intense hypersensitivity reaction.  Not only did his hand swell up, he broke out in hives everywhere.  Of course, he kept insisting he was fine -- up until his eyes threatened to swell shut.”

“Oh dear,” Phee said as they reached the next flight of stairs, breathing a little harder from the exertion.  She readjusted her arm around him, pulling him closer.  “Let me guess, Wrecker?”

“No, Crosshair,” he said.  He could still recall Crosshair ripping off his helmet to reveal an appalling urticaria over his entire face, his eyes swelling until they could only see narrow slits, his hand barely able to bend over the butt of his Firepuncher, let alone pull a trigger.  “Luckily, a few antihistamine injections were all we needed to reverse the effects.  We knew that he would make a full recovery when he began complaining again.”  

“Hang on,” said Phee, pausing.  “Who’s Crosshair?”

Tech turned to her in surprise.  “We have not spoken of him?  ….No, we have not.”  He looked up at the stairs above them, then at Phee, still breathing hard.  “Here.  We should rest a moment.”

She helped him get down to a sitting position on the stairs, then sat beside him and lifted his leg to rest it on her lap, keeping it elevated.  She rested one hand loosely on his knee, another electrifying touch.

“That’s better,” she said.  “Only… fifteen more flights to go.  We got this.”  She laughed.  “But come on, who’s Crosshair?  Another brother?  You don’t talk about him.  None of you do.”

“No,” Tech said.  “Hunter prefers not to.  Wrecker and I do speak a little of him, sometimes; Omega would speak more of him, but she was only able to spend a small amount of time with him.  He is our other brother, but as you have seen he is no longer with us.”

Phee covered her mouth with her hand, her brown eyes soft with pity.  “He died?  Oh, Tech, I’m so sorry.”

Tech’s eyes widened, and he adjusted his goggles hastily.  “What?  No, he is alive.”  He amended that statement, as he could not be certain of the veracity of it.  “Or, we hope he is.  He has chosen to remain with the Empire.”

“Oh.”  Her voice and her face shifted, a hint of coldness coloring her expression.  It looked out of place on her.  “Sorry to hear it.  I guess that’s why you don’t talk about him.”

Tech frowned.  He knew how Hunter felt about Crosshair’s decisions, but he could not fully agree with Hunter’s interpretation, and it seemed somehow important to him for Phee to have a better understanding of the situation.  “It is difficult to explain,” he said.  He took a moment, focusing on what he would like to say.   

“The Empire built a failsafe into all clones as a means to control us,” he began.  “With assistance, Wrecker, Hunter, Echo and I were able to circumvent this, but Crosshair was not.  The Empire was able to use this to divide us, forcing Crosshair to do terrible things.  But at some point, he chose to no longer be controlled -- yet continued to remain with the Empire.”

“Why would he do that?” Phee asked.  “Surely he’d want to escape, especially if they were forcing him to do something awful.”  Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand.

“I believe that the things he was made to do while under Imperial control disturbed him,” said Tech.  Crosshair’s agitated behavior on Kamino, coupled with his desperation in attempting to convince them to join him, had suggested as much.  “But Crosshair is a very proud man, and most unyielding.  I suspect it caused less cognitive dissonance for him to believe he would have acted the same, with or without that control, than to accept that he had been forced into doing things against his will.  So he has remained with the Empire rather than admit the Empire, and by extension himself, has done wrong.”  He gave her a small shrug.  “That is my understanding of what has happened.”

Phee looked horrified.  “That’s terrible.”  She rested a hand on his shoulder.  “It must be difficult to feel like you’ve lost him, even though he’s still out there.”

“It is strange to know that he was once here with us, but is no longer,” Tech agreed.  “I wish he could have chosen differently.  But if he had, he would not be Crosshair.”  

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Phee asked.  “Even after all of that.”

“Yes,” said Tech.  “I thought that was obvious.”

She gave him a small, sad half-smile.  “I’m sorry.  Maybe… maybe someday he’ll come back to you.”

“It’s possible.  But it is difficult to imagine a path forward where he chooses to do so, unless he is able to change,” Tech said, looking out at the sea.  It had begun to turn reddish gold in the late afternoon light, dancing with sparkles of white reflections.  He thought of Omega, huddled in the blue dark of a cave on Ipsidon, reaching out to him for understanding.  Perhaps what he had learned that day would help Phee understand.  “Our… family… has not been the same without him.  I have not been the same.”

“You were close?” she murmured.  “Before?”

Tech nodded.  “As you may have noticed, I often have a great deal to say.  Crosshair was always an exceptional listener, no matter the subject.  That is not to say he always remained quiet -- he could be quite cutting when he wished -- but there were many times he indulged my observations without complaint, even when I was particularly… exuberant.”

“Well, that’s something the two of us have in common,” Phee said, giving him a teasing smile.  “I like your observations.”

“It has not escaped my notice.”  He smiled slightly.

“Come on,” she said, patting his leg.  “Let’s see how much further we can get before sunset.  Up and at ‘em?”

“Yes,” he said.  They continued up the stairs, one at a time.  It was not easy work to do one-legged, even with Phee’s support, and he distracted himself by telling her more about Crosshair.  He had not spoken so freely about their brother in some time, and he was surprised by how it gave him a sensation of something loosening within his chest.  It felt good.

“So what was Crosshair’s role in your squad?” Phee asked, perhaps sensing the necessity of the distraction.

“He was an exceptional marksman,” Tech explained.  “His enhancements included heightened visual acuity, improved depth perception, and the ability to calculate complex ricochets in real time.  He is not proud without reason. I am a fair shot myself, but there were times it was simply enjoyable for us all to watch Crosshair set up a difficult shot and see him execute it to perfection.”  

“I can see how that would come in handy.  You’re all impressive in action, but it’d be interesting to see how a sniper in the mix changes things up,” said Phee.  She whistled.  “I’d have hated to be up against all of you.”

“We were indeed formidable,” Tech agreed.  “Until the collapse of the Republic, we had had a one hundred percent success rate in our missions.”  He sighed.  “Of course, things have gone rather differently since then.  We have been… adrift.”

“Well, maybe this is a place where you can find solid ground,” Phee said.  “You all seem happy here.”

“We are,” said Tech.  “It is something we have been discussing.  Omega deserves a stable environment after all she has seen.”

“You do, too,” Phee pointed out.  “Your whole life has been fighting.  Maybe it’s time to find out what else is out there.”  

“There are things that are worthwhile here,” Tech said.  He paused, shifting to face her.  They were so close.  Her breath was a soft puff against his cheek.  He searched her face, taking in her sparkling gaze, fixed on him, the way her lips curved into a gentle smile.  

“Why, thank you, Brown Eyes,” she said, and before he knew what was happening, she leaned forward and kissed him.

Ah.

This was new.

His mind whirred with sensations.  There was Phee’s mouth on his, her lips soft, smooth, slightly parted.  There was the warmth of her cheeks pressed close to his.  There was her arm around his waist, her other arm sliding around him, pulling him closer, keeping him balanced on his good leg.  He responded in kind, arms curving around her as instinct drove him, an overwhelming desire to keep her close within his arms and simply hold her.  The blood rushed in his ears and his heart stammered, beating a rapid new rhythm.  

It was overwhelming.  It was extraordinary.

She pulled back all too soon, her brown cheeks a little pinker, her eyes dancing.  He blinked at her, then reached up and shifted his goggles, breathing rather too quickly.

“That was… fascinating,” he managed.  Was that an adequate word for everything that had just happened?  It seemed as if it did not even come close to describing the moment they had just shared.

Phee’s smile was the most dazzling he’d seen yet.  “Care to give it another try?” she asked slyly.

“Oh!” Tech said, unable to keep from grinning back at her.  “Yes, if you are amenable, I very much would.”  He leaned in, closing his eyes, and lost himself in her again.

---

It was well after sunset when they limped up the final stairs to the colonnade, both of them exhausted.  They had taken their time coming up the stairs.  While Tech’s foot was starting to look better -- the swelling had gone down by half -- it still was not easy to take the stairs up without bearing weight on his right leg.  

They had also gotten distracted, several times, by taking breaks ostensibly to rest and kissing through them instead.  

“Thank you for your, ah, assistance,” Tech said.  “It is most appreciated.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Phee said, winking at him.  “Now, how are you feeling?  Your foot’s looking better, but we could still go swing by Namira’s if you want to get it looked at.”

“I believe it will continue to improve.  If you would help me get to our ship, I will monitor it through the night,” Tech said.

“All right.  But you know I’ll be checking in on you tomorrow,” she said, squeezing her arm around him.  

“That would be most agreeable.”

They made their way to the ship beneath the rising moonlight, their pace slow and steady.  He suspected part of it was that neither of them wished to break the physical contact they shared now.  He reminded himself that she would be stopping by tomorrow.  There would be additional opportunities to spend time with her then, to learn more about her, to share more about himself.  He could not wait.

He had felt this way a hundred, a thousand times, eager to learn more and to explore and investigate a new subject.  But he had never felt this way about a person before, and he did not know what to do with this feeling except to follow it as thoroughly and as passionately as he did for all things.

They reached the Marauder and Omega bounded down the gangplank to see them, Hunter and Wrecker emerging behind her.  “There you are!  Did you find the creature?” she asked.

The creature?  

Phee nudged him in the side, and he chuckled.  So much had happened since the song in the cave he had nearly forgotten their original purpose in going to the beach.  “Yes,” he said quickly.  “I would be happy to play you its song later.  It was a most intriguing creature.  Though our expedition was not without a slight mishap.”

“Your foot!” Omega gasped.  

“Don’t tell me you broke it again,” Wrecker said, concerned.

“No, Brown Eyes here had an accident with a shore urchin,” Phee said.  “Don’t worry, it’s already looking better.  He just needs to stay off it ‘til the swelling goes down.”  She let go of him and pulled his boot out of her bag, handing it back to him.  “All right then, you take care of yourself, got it?  See you around.”  

“I… will see you too,” Tech said.  She winked again, and turned to walk away beneath the moonlight.  He watched her go until he felt Omega’s hand in his, pulling his attention back to his family.

“Come on in and get some rest,” Omega said, smiling up at him.  “If you’re hungry, we’ve got leftovers!”  Behind her back, Hunter mouthed the word “no,” shaking his head.  Tech allowed her to lead him inside, gingerly starting to put a bit of weight on his foot again as he did so.  It would be better by morning, he thought.

Omega let go of his hand as they reached the doorway, heading to the small refrigerant unit.  Hunter turned to him and said under his breath, “You can give yours to Wrecker.  Just let her down easy.  She worked hard.”  He gave Tech an odd look, then smiled.  “Hm.  Looks like you both had a good time.”  He followed Omega, stepping back into the ship.

Wrecker helped him into the ship the rest of the way.  “So… what’d you two really get up to, anyway?” he asked.  “‘Cause something about you seems different, and not just your foot.”

Tech raised his eyebrows.  “I believe that is between me and Phee, thank you.”  Wrecker stared at him, mouth falling open, so surprised he wasn’t even able to make a joke.

Tech limped back to his bunk, smiling.  There were a thousand thousand topics he could eagerly spend hours discussing, overwhelming even the most patient listener with minutiae and intricacies.  He knew he would tell the others about the sea ghost in the quiet cave, play its songs for them, extrapolate on its lineage and life cycle and habits aloud.  That he would happily share in all its detail.

But the rest -- Phee’s kisses, her hand in his, the way she had felt in his arms, her laugh, her smile -- that was something he was perfectly pleased to keep to himself.