#I should probably not be playing with the pot of hot molten metal but here we are

[blacklight-ghoulette]

So I'm at work, and I've got a bunch of wires I need to tin the ends of so I get the solder pot out and get it going.

Once it's heated up and the solder melted I'm sitting there skimming off the junk from the top and all I can think of is just

Dew stirring it with a finger bevause he's bored, and it looks interesting right? Just, a little container filled with a mix of molten tin and lead, but something about it is just mesmerizing, yeah?

And then, the idea of him just, licking it off his claws, because the fucker is a whole ass gremlin so of course he would.

(or use it for some kind of infernal fondue pot)

[pyro-yoshi]

Demonic Possession Style - a Walking Dead sick fic

You know how I’m all about OC sick fics? I still am, don’t you worry. Its been years since I’ve written a puke without plot for a fandom. Well, I broke that streak and wrote some fan fiction. I felt the internet needed some Walking Dead emeto, so I wrote this. Negan gets super sick and profusely pukes his guts out all over the place, several times, and his fellow Saviors take care of him. The amount of puke is fairly exaggerated, as Negan throws up A LOT. Likely more than is humanly possible. Why? Because I am into that.

This is pretty long. At a little over 5000 words, I do believe this is the longest sick fic I’ve written. I enjoyed writing it, hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it.

He’d felt a bit off all day, but it wasn’t until he disemboweled Spencer that Negan felt a sharp stabbing pain in his own gut. If that wasn’t ironic he didn’t know what was. Perhaps it was some sort of phantom sympathy pain, but then again the very idea of that was stupid.

Just like Spencer.

Negan would be the first to admit he was a cocky bastard, but he absolutely couldn’t stand people like Spencer, overly privileged shits who skated through life using their good looks and daddy’s credit card to get whatever they wanted. Having to talk one on one with Spencer was bad enough, but once he’d expressed his wish to kill Rick and takeover as the new leader of Alexandria, Negan had officially had enough of him and offed him right there in the street.

While tormenting Rick was one of Negan’s favorite hobbies, he also harbored a fair amount of respect for the ex deputy. Rick Grimes was a natural leader, he organized people, and most importantly, he was a go getter. He got shit done, and Negan liked that. Plus, he liked Rick’s kids a lot. Carl was a badass, and baby Judith was the cutest damn thing he’d EVER seen. Earlier in the day, he’d spent a good half hour cradling Judith, bouncing her on his knee and being silly with her while Carl kept his one remaining eye intently trained on him.

But Spencer, that asshole, wanted to murder Rick and leave Carl and Judith without a father, and Negan simply wasn’t going to tolerate that bullshit.

He felt a twinge of nausea as he watched Spencer drop to his knees, holding his own intestines in his hands. It wasn’t the blood and guts that was bothering him. Living in a post apocalyptic world, nobody batted an eye at bloodshed anymore. Killing people was just a part of life now.

No, this was something else. Before Spencer had approached him, Negan had made himself at home in Rick’s residence and cooked a massive amount of spaghetti for himself and his guests. Olivia hadn’t eaten a single bite, Carl had just picked at his and Rick didn’t even show up. Rude. Negan wasn’t the type to let food go to waste, especially not now, so he’d eaten almost the entire pot himself. He ate all of the rolls too, and washed it down with a couple glasses of lemonade. He’d probably just eaten too much.

More abrupt, intense pains almost made him wince, but he brushed them off. Instead, he stood over Spencer, who was rapidly bleeding out, and addressed the crowd of Alexandrians who had gathered around him.

“Look at that! He did have guts after all, they’re right there! I’ve never been so wrong in my life!”

The crowd stared, but nobody moved. They wouldn’t dare try anything, not with Arat ready to unload her pistol into anyone dumb enough to do something drastic.

“I just did your community a favor!” Negan ignored the horrified looks some people were casting him and continued. He motioned to Carl, who was glaring at him from his porch. “Kid, that douchebag just told me he wanted to kill your dad. Now I don’t know about you, but I think that’s really shitty.”

Turning back to the crowd, he carried on, ignoring the stomach pains and slight nausea he felt. “That’s right people. Spencer the dickless there wanted to take out your fearless leader! You should all be thanking me.”

A stronger wave of nausea took him by surprise, but he played it off and continued swaggering around Alexandria, Lucille in his hand as always. He supervised as his men wandered in and out of various homes and took whatever they felt like taking in addition to picking up this week’s offering.

Under normal circumstances, Negan would be bummed that he wasn’t going to see Rick on this visit, but as time wore on, he found himself caring less and less as he gradually began to feel worse. He could somehow still taste the spaghetti, and he felt overly full and excessively bloated, which left him in a great amount of discomfort. It got to the point where he almost sighed in relief when his men decided to load up and go back to the compound.

The drive from Alexandria to the Savior's compound was usually an hour there an hour back, a little more if they had to clear walkers from the road on the way.

Negan wasn’t sure if he’d make it through the whole drive home. He was in the passenger seat of the front most truck, and he’d long since given up trying to get comfortable. No amount of position shifting seemed to ease his rapidly growing queasiness, and rolling down the passenger window to get some fresh air hadn’t helped worth a damn. He sank down into his seat and sighed as he placed his right hand on his upset, overly bloated stomach. The truck driver gave him a questioning glance but didn’t pry.

To say he felt like dogshit was a massive understatement. Every bump in the road made him feel even worse, and by the time he arrived back at the compound, he felt well and truly sick. He felt bad enough that he let his guard down and dropped the sarcastic, confident personality he usually displayed in favor of being quiet. He thought back to various times he’d been sick with a stomach bug or food borne illness in the past, and those instances had all started with bloating and sharp abdominal pains.

He felt hot and feverish in addition to feeling sick, and as he stepped out of the truck, a dizzying wave of vertigo washed over him. He groaned softly and Lucille almost slid from his grip.

He was definitely sick, no doubt about it. All he wanted was to retreat to his room and curl into a ball of misery on the bathroom floor. He knew that’s what he’d end up doing, as he was really starting to feel like he was going to puke. He wasn’t the type to fight it, he’d much rather get it all out and feel better, at least temporarily.

Of course, Negan’s escape plan was thwarted. He had only made it several yards away from the trucks when Simon came out of nowhere and flung his arm around his shoulder.

“We’ve got a problem, and I know you’d want to hear this from me. We’ve got a snake in the nest.”

Negan looked at him, but it took him a moment to find his words. “What happened?”

“I caught said snake, Toby, trying to leave us with weeks worth of stolen food. He stole from all of us and thought he could get away with it! Unfortunately for him, I’m exceptionally good at discovering pests. We decided to heat up the furnace to teach him a lesson. Dwight’s getting the iron ready, but being the big man himself, you get to do the honors.” Simon explained.

Before Negan could protest, his right hand man lead him into the factory. Arat followed, and everyone else trailed behind them on her command. Truthfully, ironing Toby’s face was the last thing he wanted to do right now. With every step he took, he was hit with an intense nausea peak and came closer to losing it. At this point it wasn’t a matter of if he was going to throw up, it was when. He knew he had a 100 percent chance of seeing his lunch again, and probably soon at that because he felt like he could hurl at any second.

Simon lead him to the railing of the balcony overlooking the common room, and he felt acid creep up his throat as he looked down at the crowd of his lieutenants and workers below. They were all kneeling and bowing like usual, save for Dwight who was heating up the iron, and Toby who had been stripped to his underwear and bound to a chair. Normally Negan relished the sight of his loyal cohorts bowing to him and loved leading them in a charismatic manner, but today he just wasn’t up to it. He straight up felt too sick to give a traitor the iron.

Alas, he couldn’t not do it either. Toby had to be punished, but Negan wasn’t going to bother with taunting. He’d wordlessly give this guy the iron, then lock himself in his ensuite bathroom and spend the rest of the day puking his guts out.

He sluggishly descended the stairs, and he could feel everything in his stomach unpleasantly sloshing around with each step. He stopped in front of Toby, but another wave of vertigo hit him and he had to shut his eyes and brace himself with Lucille to avoid falling over.

Toby was panicking, as victims of the iron always did. He looked up at Negan, pleading.  “I-I’m so sorry sir! I’m stupid, I’m an idiot, I’m a fuck up, just please don’t do this! I’ll never break a rule again! I swear! Please!”

Simon grinned manically and leaned over the bound man. “Toby, Toby, Toby. It sure is a shame it had to come to this, because before your fuck up today, you did a good job here. I liked you. But, you must be a lot dumber than you look if you thought you could get away with that. The thing is, we don’t take too kindly to thieves around here.” he spoke in an upbeat manner, but the aura of threat was there clear as day.

Dwight removed the glowing, red hot iron from the furnace with a long metal pole and extended it to Negan. Toby, who was near tears from the anticipation of that nearly molten metal being pressed to his face, was practically howling with fear.

Negan didn’t take the iron. He was overwhelmed with nausea, and he could taste the acid that was threatening to shoot up his throat. Lucille was limp in his grip, his mouth flooded with saliva and he moaned as he a felt a hot, burning sensation rapidly start spreading through his gut. That could only mean one thing. He was going to puke, right here, right now, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

His followers had suspected something was off upon noticing how quiet he had become, but by now nearly everyone had realized that something was amiss. Arat cocked her head and gave him a questioning look, and many others followed suit.

Simon turned away from Toby and rose a brow at Negan. “What’s going on with you? Is there something I should know about?”

“I..I...oh fu-” Negan was cut off mid sentence by a retch. He felt his stomach contract and before he could even move, a torrent of vomit gushed from his mouth, missing Simon by an inch and hitting Toby square in the chest.

“Holy fuck! What the hell Negan?!” Simon leapt back to avoid getting nailed. Several other people flinched back as well, and even Arat looked shocked.

Toby audibly cried out in revulsion as the chunky brown substance slid down his torso. “Oh god! He just puked on me!”

Negan clamped a hand over his mouth and turned away from the man, but it was no use. Puke spurted from between his fingers and dripped down onto his nice leather jacket before he gagged again and completely lost control. Lucille clattered to the ground as he puked all over the floor, splashing the feet of one of his guards as he did so.

Dizziness swept over him and caused him to lose his balance. He dropped to his knees and moaned as he clutched his stomach with both hands. A second later he erupted with more chunks, making the pool in front of him bigger. Another copious wave comprised of spaghetti, rolls, lemonade and everything else he’d eaten came up, and before he could even recover from that he vomited again.

Everyone was staring at him in shocked silence, and no one wanted to go near him for fear of getting puked on.

Negan’s eyes were starting to water from the force of his retching, which he found humiliating. He wasn’t embarrassed about throwing up in front of everyone, because he couldn’t help it. However, the idea of involuntarily crying in front of them was very off putting. He was given a second to catch his breath before his stomach lurched and he continued to puke profusely on the concrete floor. Just when he thought he had nothing left inside him to bring up, he’d be proven wrong seconds later.

A flash of light suddenly brightened the room, and he realized that someone had just taken a picture of him. He didn’t have time to be angry about it though, as an agonizing jab of pain tore through his abdomen. He retched noisily as a small amount of putrid tasting liquid flowed from his mouth, and it was immediately followed by a mouthful of something that tasted even worse.

This was pure agony, Negan wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy. Sure, he’d eaten a lot, but this was ridiculous. Was he actually going to puke himself to death as everyone looked on in horror? Were his actual guts going to come up next? He briefly wondered which of his organs he’d see first.

Fortunately he never got the answer to that question. When nothing else came up after thirty seconds, he figured he was finally done. There was a lingering string dripping from his mouth, so he spat it into the lake of puke in front of him.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed. It was all he could think to say.

When he looked up, the first thing he saw was Eugene looking at him. The portly scientist was holding a camera and gazing at him with his usual stony faced expression.

“I apologize for the photography,” he began. “However, I must admit that I am thoroughly, utterly, downright impressed by what you just did. Never in my entire life have I witnessed someone throw up like that. Hell, I didn’t even know it was humanly possible for so much vomit to come out of one person. Thus, I felt it was necessary to document it in the name of science.”

Negan truthfully didn’t know what to say to that. For once, he was at a loss for words. Then again, he did see Eugene’s logic. If he didn’t feel absolutely godawful, he’d be impressed with himself too. He scanned over the damage he did and realized Eugene was right. He had produced an insane amount of puke. Not only did he basically destroy the floor and Toby, it was all over himself too. It was on his jacket, his right hand, his pants and his boots.

As he knelt there, the situation was quickly becoming awkward because everyone was still silently staring at him. He felt someone grip his arm and help him up, and he wasn’t surprised that it was Simon. Of course it was. Negan could always count on him.

Arat stepped up next. “What the fuck are you all staring at? Back to work!” she commanded firmly. At her order, people began to disperse.

She stalked over to Toby, untied him, then pushed him down and threw a mop at him. “Clean this shit up.” she motioned to the huge mess Negan made. “If I’m not satisfied, you’re losing all your points.”

Despite feeling outright terrible, Negan smiled at that. He could always count on Arat and Simon to take charge and get stuff done. Not only that, but people listened to them.

Negan was rather unsteady on his feet, but he insisted that he didn’t need any assistance. He wasn’t an elderly woman who needed help crossing the street, he was a grown ass man. He could take care of himself. Still, Simon followed him anyway to make sure he didn’t pass out, which Negan was secretly grateful for. He’d never admit it though.

Once they arrived at the door to Negan’s bedroom, Simon addressed him.

“So, I’ve got to ask,” he began. “Should I head down to Alexandria and pick up that priest? The one with the creepy smile? Father Gabriel, right? I think an exorcism might be in order, because that was seriously some demonic possession style level shit back there!”

“Simon, I feel like shit that took a shit, ate said shit, and puked that shit right back up. That’s what I feel like right now.” Negan ranted. “But if I suddenly start speaking ancient Latin or bringing Rick supplies instead of taking them, then by all means, summon the preacher.”

His mind flashed to Rick, and he wondered what the man would think of him now, pitifully sick and covered in his own vomit. Rick would probably get off on it, or at least laugh hysterically. Maybe he’d even swipe Lucille and use her to put Negan out of his misery.

He sent Simon to find him some anti nausea medicine, or at least some Pepto Bismol, then slunk into his room. A hot shower was in order. When he wasn’t feeling well a long hot shower usually made him feel better, even if the relief was only temporary. He rinsed his mouth out to get rid of the acrid puke taste, then strode over to the shower and cranked on the hot water.

A scalding hot shower followed by a nap sounded like heaven. Hopefully he’d feel a little better afterwards, or at least well enough to drink some water. He didn’t want to get dehydrated. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and was taken aback at how pale he was. He almost looked dead. Maybe he should have Simon fetch Father Gabriel after all.

He chuckled weakly at the thought of himself tied to a bed as Gabriel stood over him, thrusting a crucifix in his face and shouting “DEMON! Exit this man’s body! The power of Christ compels you! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!” It would be pretty badass.

The water coming from the shower was so hot that steam was rising from the shower head, but that’s exactly what Negan wanted at the moment. He stripped off his soiled clothes and stepped in. Once the water hit him, he relaxed and felt a tiny bit better. He’d be fine in no time.

The shower had helped for all of twenty minutes. The relief he’d felt gradually faded away once he’d shut the water off, stepped out and changed into clean clothes. The nausea slowly came crawling back, wrecking havoc on his insides once more. It wasn’t long before he felt genuinely nauseous again.

At the moment, Negan was sitting on one of the small couches in his room with his head in his hands and a plastic bucket between his feet. As sick as he felt, he was stuck in that awful limbo where he wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up or not. He considered using the old finger down the throat trick but wasn’t sure if it would help much. Chances are he was going to feel absolutely terrible until whatever was causing this was filtered out of his system.

There was a knock at the door, and before Negan gave permission, it swung open to reveal Simon and Eugene.

“Hey buddy! How are you feeling?” Simon beamed at him.

Negan only groaned in response. A pink object was thrust in front of him. It was a bottle of Pepto Bismol.

“Here you go. Pepto Bismol, just as requested. I even got you a wine glass so you can drink it in style.” Simon added.

Eugene, who was holding a container in his hands, stepped towards Negan.

“It is my understanding that you likely cannot retain food and will not be able to for roughly twelve to twenty four hours. However it is imperative that you stay nourished, so I have taken it upon myself you offer you some leftovers. Sardine macaroni, made by yours truly.”

The scientist removed the lid and held the steaming bowl out to Negan.

The yellowish grey macaroni was loaded up with shriveled, oily sardines and the occasional fish eye or fin sliver here and there. Negan stared at it with repugnance for a second before the overwhelming fish smell coming from it flipped the switch on his nausea and triggered another vomiting episode.

Negan gagged and bent forward as he threw up all over the floor between his feet, somehow missing the bucket completely. Acting quickly, he picked it up and held it in his lap, getting it in place right in time to send another wave of puke splashing into it. He just barely got it all inside.

“Damn. How do you have anything left inside you?” Simon commented as he looked on with amusement. The expression on his face implied he was enjoying the show, perhaps in a very inappropriate way.

Eugene gave him a strange look as he realized that the lieutenant seemed overly interested in watching the lead savior puke his guts out. He couldn’t decipher why someone would get exited about that, but then again he had many odd quirks of his own.

Negan was too busy throwing up to notice that, so he responded by raising his middle finger at Simon. It was all he could do at the moment. His whole body lurched as an agonizing retch tore through him and more brown liquid poured from his mouth. By this point it was all liquid, except for a few solids that had been lurking in the very bottom of his stomach. It tasted truly awful and burned his throat as it came up. He heaved twice more before he was done. He had filled the bucket about a third of the way, and set it on the floor when he was sure no more was coming.

He flopped back and let himself sink into the couch. There was no word in existence intense enough to accurately describe how bad he felt. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he somehow felt even worse than he had before. The nausea wasn’t subsiding, his throat felt like it was on fire, his head was pounding, his eyes were watering and he still felt dizzy as well. He shut his eyes and remained silent for a minute before finally speaking.

“Eugene,” he began, gesturing at the offending bowl of sardine macaroni, “Get that shit away from me, or else I will projectile vomit all over you and you’ll be washing my lunch out of that fine mullet of yours.”

Eugene, not wanting to risk damage to his hair, promptly closed the lid on the bowl. “Fair enough. Sardines are a very particular brand of acquired taste. But if you ever change your mind, the offer is still on the table.”

“I think my face says it all when I say I’m a bit confused. Tell me, what would possess a sane man to think that sardines belong in mac and cheese? Why would you do that?” Simon asked him in a bewildered fashion.

“Because I like sardines.” Eugene explained. “Wether you find them palatable morsels of mercury infused goodness or downright appalling is irrelevant. Because at the end of the day, I did not make this for you.”

“Hey! One of you two assholes want to get me some water? Or are you just going to let me die?” Negan piped up from his position on the couch.

As if by magic, the door opened up again, this time signaling Arat’s arrival. She was holding a couple bottles of spring water. She looked from Negan to the partway full bucket to the puke on the floor and cringed a bit.

“You look like shit,” she said bluntly. “You’re not going to die on us, are you?”

“I might, Arat. I might. I am completely fucking out of commission. You’re in charge until I get better. These two,” he gestured to Eugene and Simon, “are going to take care of me.” Negan explained. He was laying on his back now, with half closed eyes.

Arat blinked in surprise. “Really?”

Negan nodded. “Go ahead. Pick up Lucille. Just remember to treat her like she’s your best friend in the whole world, and everything will be great. She’s a fickle mistress. She won’t tell you if she gets thirsty, so that’s up to you to figure out.”

The woman walked over to where Lucille was propped up against the wall. She picked the bat up, gave it a few test swings and smiled.

“Nice. I can see why you love her so much. Don’t worry, I’ll treat her like the magnificent lady she is.” Arat complimented. Though what she didn’t say was that she planned on referring to ‘her’ as ‘him’ or ‘Adrian’ as long as the bat was in her hands. She swung Adrian over her shoulder and gave Negan a bottle of water. “Here. Get better, and don’t die. This place needs you.”

With that, she turned and sauntered from the room.

The cool water felt amazing running down Negan’s irritated throat. He could feel the cold travel down his throat and spread through his stomach. Unfortunately, the euphoria was quickly replaced by nausea as his body swiftly began to reject the liquid.

“Oh god fucking damnit.” He bolted upright, swiped the bucket from the floor, and promptly threw up all the water he just drank.

Eugene awkwardly stared at Simon, who was starting to fidget as he watched Negan puke up all the water. It dawned on him that the other man was not repulsed, but aroused, which puzzled him greatly. He chose not to comment on it for the time being, but decided to amuse himself with a little experiment. He took the bucket away from Negan, who collapsed back onto the couch.

“Caring for others is not exactly my forte. I’ve always stayed in my own lane, and looked out only for me, myself and I. You could say that I’m selfish and be correct in that assumption. However, you have provided me with safety, shelter and all the ingredients I need to make my infamous sardine macaroni. Thus, after I dispose of the rather revolting contents of this pail I am going to scrounge around for some books. Medical books, to be precise. After reading up on the subject, I will do my best to lead you to a speedy recovery.”

Negan felt far too bad to even consider protesting as the scientist left the room, leaving him alone with Simon, who was doing his best to hide the very obvious hard on he had. He’d never hear the end of it if anyone found out that he got off on watching Negan vomit. He deliberately thought about unpleasant things, such as Fat Joey doing jumping jacks naked, to ward off the arousal. It worked.

Like Eugene, Simon wasn’t exactly the world’s best care taker. But, Negan was both his boss and his best friend, so he was going to try even though caring for people, or even just being nice, wasn’t in his nature. He practically had to drag Negan off the couch and onto the bed, as the other man wasn’t putting in any effort what so ever.

“You are way heavier than you look.” he panted as he dropped Negan onto the bed.

Even though he felt worse than he’d ever felt in his life, Negan managed a small snicker. “I wanted to see if you’d actually pick me up and carry me.”

For the next half hour or so, he remained sprawled out over the bed as Simon stayed with him and made sure he was alright. He laid motionless, completely unmoving until the urge to puke wormed its way back yet again. He didn’t even curse this time.

Actually getting up and walking into the bathroom was going to be the difficult part. He had no energy at all, as even moving his head was a strenuous task. By the time he managed to partially sit up, it was already too late. He clasped his hand over his mouth, but it did nothing to stop the acid that was starting to rise. He retched and yellowish bile cascaded over his fingers and onto the white T shirt he was wearing. Having accepted defeat, he rolled onto his side and puked all over his bedsheets. He didn’t even try to get off the bed. Well past the point of caring, he simply laid there as waves of bile gushed from his mouth. In the midst of heaving he heard a sharp gasp come from beside the bed, then what sounded like no followed by a string of obscenities.

Negan dry heaved a couple times, then moaned and curled up into a ball. He didn’t even care that he was covered in his own vomit for the second time today. Nor did he care who saw him or who knew. He, the big bad wolf, had essentially been reduced to a defenseless pup and he felt too shitty to give even a fraction of a crap about it. Hell, Rick could be standing over him, Lucille in hand, about to give him a taste of his own medicine and he wouldn’t care. That’s how awful he felt. The nausea was finally beginning to recede a little, but he was in a lot of pain due to the sheer amount he had thrown up over the past couple hours. He thought he may have broken some sort of world record. He felt like he had at least a dozen acid tipped knives stuck in various places around his guts and throat. Even breathing hurt.

“Am I dead yet?” he groaned hoarsely. His voice was somewhat muffled as his face was buried in one of the pillows.

“No.” Simon looked flustered but also concerned for Negan’s well being. He awkwardly shifted position.

“How about now?”

“No.”

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just cum in your pants?”

“.......n....yes.....”

“I knew it.”

Simon wasn’t a prudish or easily frazzled person, but he suddenly found himself unable to look at Negan and wished that a walker would sneak up on him and rip his throat out.

“I don’t blame you,” Negan said deliriously. He was so exhausted and worn out that he was falling asleep despite the intense pain. “Because....”

He trailed off for a second, on the verge of sleep.

“....every fucking thing I do is hot.”

[faces-in-unexpected-places]

Do You Have the Time? Episode 015: Jeremy’s Comfort Zone

[April 18th, 2018, 17:13]

Jeremy and Leslie sat at their lab meeting table treating their wounds. IO remained at the lab bench, cleaning up the solid iron, dust, and powder from the working area. They had discussed potential fixes to the issues with the first trial of the experiment. The easiest solution to Jeremy’s hand was to invest in heat resistant gloves. They resolved to buy a few pairs before the end of the week. Leslie stood at the chalk board, jotting down their ideas so that they didn’t get lost in the chaos of the day.

“Okay, we have heat resistant gloves. Number two…” she trailed off, “actually, maybe we can insulate the crank too? Like, put a kind of insulating mould around the handle?” she suggested.

“I like that idea. That would be a fool proof way of keeping your hands safe,” Jeremy said, “Or we could pack the insulator into the pipe where the crank is, so that the heat can’t get through to the crank,” he mentioned.

“Oh, that would be even better! Probably easier, too. The big problem is the iron spill we had… how do we contain it?”

“I think the ceramic pot was still a good choice, even though it, uh, blew up.”

Leslie chuckled.

“It is heat resistant, which is important for the experiment.”

“The pieces are easy to pick up afterwards because they are not scorching hot like the pipe. I think we should keep the pot, and just add onto it,” Jeremy stated.

“Hmm… okay. Add… onto… pot…” she mumbled and wrote it on the board, “Put it in a bigger bucket?” she wondered.

“Sure, maybe. One that won’t crack and break.”

“Like a metal bucket!” Leslie offered with a smile.

“Yeah, like that. Except we probably don’t want molten iron sloshing around in an iron bucket.”

“It’s better than leaking on the floor, though,” Leslie joked.

“Yes, it is.”

They both paused and thought.

“The planter is a mostly sturdy and heat resistant receptacle for the reaction. We’re putting it in an even more resilient container to better… well, contain the reaction. So we just need to make the metal bucket more resistant to heat, too,” Jeremy summarised.

“…What about sand?” Leslie asked, “We fill the metal bucket with sand, set the planter in the sand and then light the reaction. The molten iron will just be kept in place by the sand, and it will probably just cool in there.”

“Yes…” Jeremy mumbled, “Yes… Yeah! You’re right! I can’t believe I missed that. Leslie, you’re brilliant!” He exclaimed.

“Oh, hush, this is a team effort,” she waved away his compliment with a subtle rosiness to her cheeks. She scribbled down notes about sand and the metal bucket on the board.

“What should we do now?” Jeremy asked, “We don’t have the resources to do a second trial of the experiment. I suppose to finish the day, we could make a trip to a department store and—”

“Get the heat resistant gloves and buckets?” Leslie completed his thought.

He chuckled.

“Yeah, exactly that. We should get a lot of ceramic pots, too.”

“Yeah… I guess it was a really good thing that we replanted Leopold’s succulent. You know what we could do? Make a list, get the things we need, plus some buckets with lids on them. That way, we could go down to the beach and get a bunch of sand for trial two!” she brainstormed.

“The beach?”

“Oh, yeah! Indiana Dunes State Park! You can’t have a beach without sand, right?”

“Hmm… it’s not a bad idea,” he hesitated, “Although, I haven’t eaten since this morning. I don’t know if it’d be a good idea to to go that much longer without food.”

“Oh, well, there’s plenty of restaurants just outside of the park! We could go to the department store, get the supplies, go to the restaurant, and then collect the sand!”

His reluctance continued. He ran his palm along his chin and cheek as he thought.

“My treat?” Leslie murmured from the side of her mouth to further entice him.

“Huh? Oh, no, no, you don’t need to do that—”

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled, “If you’re not feeling like it, that’s okay. That’s what I’m going to do. But, if you decide you want to come with me, before I leave, I’d be happy to have your help! Buying research supplies would be a lot more fun if you came along. But like I said, totally up to you! I’ll see you the next time you come in to work, for sure.”

Leslie set the chalk down and began putting away the remaining components of their experiment. The ring stands, Leopold’s pipe, and the containers of reaction powder. Jeremy made eye contact with IO whose lights flashed in the order of red, yellow, green. Like a traffic light. It was telling him to go. He did a quick nod, and spoke before he could talk himself out of it.

“Hey, I’ll go,” he announced, as Leslie finished putting away the materials.

“Yay! Now it doesn’t even feel like work!”

“But you don’t have to pay for me, I have my own money.”

“Okay, fine, fine, I understand,” she defensively snickered with her hands in the air.

Jeremy met her at the lab bench, sprayed it with a cleaner next to the paper towels, and wiped it down. Parts of the bench were slightly deformed from the heat. He wondered how Leopold would react. Maybe we wouldn’t even notice. The two of them packed up their belongings and stood at the door of the lab. Jeremy kneeled down and said a quick goodbye to IO, who seemed to be entirely too content with them leaving.

They managed to cross every item off of their list at the department store. A few pairs of heat resistant gloves, and some metal buckets large enough to hold sand as well as a planter. Their method of choosing insulation was rather unorthodox. In addition to many extra flower pots, they picked four buckets with lids to carry the sand back from the beach.

[April 18th, 2018, 18:54]

To Jeremy’s comfort, they stuck to professional conversation during their dinner at the restaurant. They tried to anticipate problems in future experiments, and prepared to solve them even before they occurred. Leslie didn’t mind the conversation. She was just grateful to have a good person to work with who kept her mind off of all their pressing matters. He reminded her of all the things she loved about her job. Jeremy briefly excused himself to use the restroom after he finished eating, and she quickly hailed their waiter over to the table. She promptly paid and tipped before Jeremy could. That went even better than she expected. She stood outside the bathroom doors, and waited for him to return. She hoped that the food hadn’t upset his stomach.

But it wasn’t the food.

Jeremy leaned forward on the sink and stared down at the drain. He felt hot and shaken. Nervous. Anxious. Cold water ran from the faucet, and he splashed it in his face. It didn’t help very much. He took a seat on a short, wooden bench near the sink, and dried the water from him. Inhale though nose for four seconds. Hold it for seven seconds. He exhaled for eight seconds, making a whooshing sound with his teeth. Repeat. He repeated it as many times as he needed to. He lost count. He opened the chat log with IO on his phone.

[JEREMY_IO_CONVERSATION_START_19:00]

JB: I did the 4-7-8 just now.

IO: thats great jeremy!

IO: so happy to hear you remembered to do that!

IO: how is the night going?

JB: Pretty good. We got the supplies and just finished eating. We’re going to go get sand soon.

IO: good!

JB: We’ve mostly been talking about work and science stuff, though…

IO: that’s okay!!! you already decided to go, which wasnt in your comfort zone anyway

IO: one step at a time!

JB: Do you think I should try talking about something else with her?

IO: do YOU think you should?

JB: I don’t know. I was thinking about it.

JB: I was thinking about what Andre said earlier.

IO: about his life story coming out on dvd?

JB: No, the other thing.

IO: hahaha, i know!

JB: “If you want people to stick around, you have to tell them stuff about you.” Something like that.

JB: I like Leslie. I respect her. I don’t want to just lose touch with her, when I finish my research.

IO: me neither! i like her a lot too, she’s very nice!

JB: I have a history of losing touch with people when it’s no longer convenient for me to see them.

IO: so you want to try sharing something with her?

JB: Maybe. I just don’t know what.

IO: whatever you feel comfortable with!

JB: Well, I don’t actually feel comfortable talking about anything with anybody.

IO: hehe, you talk to me, sometimes!

JB: That is true.

IO: i’m sure shed be happy if you told her anything! leslie is a pretty easy person to get along with

JB: That is also true.

IO: how about your ant farm?

JB: It’s a good idea, but it’s still sort of rooted in my interest in science.

JB: Maybe something from a different angle.

IO: you could talk about me, lol

IO: i mean, love of robotics in general

IO: i guess thats also sciencey

IO: what about the piano?

JB: I haven’t played in so long.

IO: thats okay! it’s still nice to talk about

IO: or you can just talk about what’s going on around you

IO: “i like the song they’re playing in this restaurant”, “i think it would be cool if they had a pier, here.”

IO: stuff like that. it’s still about you! just a little less deep

JB: Hmm, that’s a good idea.

IO: she talks so much, i’m sure shed see your effort and match you in conversation right away anyway

IO: like “oh jeremy is talking about non-science things, i should do that too!”

IO: at a certain point, you cant plan out the conversation anymore because you don’t know what the other person is going to say next!!

JB: Yeah. Okay. Thank you, IO.

IO: of course!

IO: now go on! remember to breathe and have fun!

JB: Okay, I will. Talk soon.

IO: <3

[JEREMY_IO_CONVERSATION_END_19:12]

[JEREMY_IO_CONVERSATION_START_19:13]

JB: <3

[JEREMY_IO_CONVERSATION_END_19:13]

Jeremy sighed and exited the bathroom. Leslie was leaning against the wall outside the door, staring off into space with a blank expression. It was not a look that he was used to seeing on her. She jumped when she noticed him walk out.

“Oh! There you are! Ready to go?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, you’re here. What—what about the table?”

“Taken care of!”

“But the check—”

“Taken care of!” she repeated, impishly.

“I said I could pay for myself,” he waggishly squinted his eyes at her.

“And I said I understood. But I didn’t say that I wasn’t going to pay for you, anyway!”

He hummed and examined her suspiciously. She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips to keep herself from smiling. Jeremy leaned forward with his dubious expression, and tried to get her to break.

“Yes?” she questioned, daring him to fight her on it.

He paused.

“Thank you. That was very kind of you,” he said.

She backed off and let her triumphant grin shine through.

“You’re very welcome, Jeremy. Thank you for coming with me!”

“But next time, I will see it coming. You won’t have the element of surprise.”

“Oh, next time, huh? Are you implying that we’ll do this again?”

“Well— wh— hold on—” he sputtered.

“Oh, come on, let’s go!” she laughed and guided him be the arm, “we still have research to do!”

[04-18-2018; 19:27_Research_Video_Log_005_START]

The two of them each carried two buckets from the parking lot, and down to the beach. The air was cool and crisp, and the sun had just descended over the horizon. The sky was a vibrant mix of pink, yellow, and orange right where the sun used to be. Shades of blue fading to navy encompassed the sky directly above them. People roamed the beach and the water, walking, playing, and swimming. They had taken their shoes off and rolled their pants up to make traversing the sand easier. They planted themselves in the middle of the beach, away from the shore to ensure they collected dry sand. The camcorder was placed behind them, filming the two of them on the sides of the picture and the lakeside in the middle. 

Little was said for the first five minutes; they simply gathered sand and listened to the waves. It took slightly longer than they expected since they forgot to buy tools to scoop the sand with. The buckets were deep, but their hands would prove to be perfectly fine instruments.

Jeremy cleared his throat.

“I, uh, always liked the beach,” he croaked out.

He immediately wanted to kick himself. What kind of conversation starter was that? He barely shared anything. It just made him sound boring and stupid. Jeremy shook his head in disappointment.

“Me too! The sound of the waves is so calming,” she replied, “I have a… I don’t know what you’d call it, a sound machine?” she motioned with her hands and sculpted the shape of it in the air, “Anyway, one of my favourite settings on it is the beach-waves ambience.”

Jeremy certainly didn’t expect a response as detailed as that one. He tried not to think too hard about what to say next in order to keep the conversation moving.

“Ah, I remember that. You played that and some light music playing at the dinner party. It was very atmospheric, I liked it a lot,” he complimented without a second thought.

“Oh, you did?” her eyes lit up as she continued to scoop sand into her next bucket, “I was nervous about that day! I was originally going to just put on my sound machine, but I thought that maybe it would seem a little weird or out of place to everyone else… so I decided to put on some music, too.”

“I think either would have been fine,” Jeremy assured her, “I think the combination of the two made for a particularly peaceful setting, but both of them fill the silence. That, in itself, is helpful.”

“Huh, well… thank you, Jeremy!” she chirped and put the lid on her first sand-filled bucket.

“What I really liked were the composers, though,” he continued, “Vivaldi, Bach, Monteverdi. All very good choices.”

Jeremy capped his first full bucket.

Leslie chuckled with a hint of discomfort.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know who any of those guys are. I just found a really long compilation online and let it play,” she confessed.

“Oh. Really? W—well. That’s okay,” he shrugged off, “I don’t think it’s common knowledge. You’d actually-probably recognise their famous concertos if you’d heard them. I really only know their names because my mother had me take music lessons as a child.”

“Was it piano?” she asked, instinctively.

“Um, yes,” he replied, stifled, “How did y—”

“Lucky guess?” she shrugged with a goofy grin, “And, well, I saw you moving your fingers to the music while we were setting the table for dinner.”

Jeremy tensed his body and felt his face heat up. He tried to keep himself engaged in the discussion. In unexpected situations in the past, he relied on ending the conversation and leaving. He didn’t have that option this time. And, even so, he wanted to be able to share for Leslie, anyway.

“Y—you saw that?” he said, hoarsely.

“Sorry,” Leslie responded, “I wasn’t trying to snoop,” she explained.

“O—oh, no, I know. It’s alright, I understand.”

Her face subtly brightened.

“You do?” she smiled.

“Yeah. I was doing it out in the open in your house, after all,” he cleared his throat, “So, yes, I do play the piano. Or, did, that is. I haven’t played in years, now. I’m likely out of practice, but it’s not the kind of skill you forget easily.”

“It’s muscle memory! Like walking, or riding a bike,” she added.

“Yeah, essentially,” he said and finished scooping sand into his last pail.

Leslie capped her second bucket of sand shortly after. They sat together in silence, considering their next steps. Plenty of people remained at the beach, running around and enjoying themselves. A sliver of red colour lingered at the horizon. Otherwise, the sky had shifted to a deep blue or black, with the stars beginning to show. A group of people off in the distance gathered around and started a raging bon fire. In the other direction, another group lit flying luminaries, and released them, one by one, into the air over the lake. The both of them rose to their feet, and felt a fresh breeze blow passed them and down the shoreline. They looked at each other.

“Should we—”

“Do you want—”

They spoke over each other.

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

They both snickered awkwardly.

“You go!” Leslie blurted out.

“Okay, ye—uh—,” Jeremy said, “Do you want to go back to the lab, and call it a night? Or, we could, I mean, since we both enjoy the lake— just, it would make sense if we—”

“Stayed for a bit?” Leslie completed his thought.

“Yeah, right, yes. That. If you want to do that, just, well, I’m completely content to stay. Usually April, or this time of year in general, just given our geography— tonight is— unique,” he rambled.

“It’s a nice night!”

“Exactly,” he confidently gestured to her, “Exactly, what you said. And why not take advantage of the opportunity to enjoy it.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Leslie imitated Jeremy’s voice.

His face lightly flushed out of shock and he smiled with pursed lips. Leslie bent down, picked up the video camera, and handed it to him.

“We can probably leave the buckets of sand here. But we might want to take this with us.”

“Good point.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” she motioned for him to follow her along the shoreline.