#MOLECULAR BIOLOGY MY BELOVED!!!

[prophetkristy]

As a biochemist, I was nodding and laughing at the OP, and nodding some more at the more detailed (and stunningly gorgeous) illustration, and then WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S INTERACTIVE AND PROTEIN MODIFICATIONS

I am going to lose so much time diving into this! Too bad about that lab manual I’m supposed to be writing!

(Who can I throw money at to make a fulldome version for our 4K planetarium? Asking for a friend me. It’s me. I am making grabby hands.)

biologists will be like this is a very simplified diagram of a mammalian cell

chemists will be like this is a molecule

[autumnoakes]

i miss biology labs :(

[catboybiologist]

Hi! I'm Sierra. Time for a pinned post refresh.

Otherwise known as CatboyBiologist, or @hi-sierra (my SFW blog [this one is SFW too, but less so]). This page is remaining active, but if you want to find me somewhere else, I use the same username on reddit, Instagram, co-host, and tech.lgbt. This is me:

Trans woman, PhD student in molecular biology, boymoder, shitposter, freediver, hot girl on your phone, hiker, rambler (this post included), tgirl tummy tuesday supplier and enjoyer, former femboy, bane of bioessentialist fuckwads who try to use biology to validate biogotry, flaming bisexual, 196 nanocelebrity… whatever was the first thing that brought you to my blog, I hope it’s enough to get you to stay! I post selfies, hornyposts (minors and people who are averse to that be warned), stuff about the ocean, posts about my growing sense of wanderlust, my adorable lil tortoise, tutorials for transfemmes and GNC people, rambles about science, documentation of my own transition, rambles about transness, rambles about the eroticism of programming a machine to feel arousal, rambles about nature, and random shitposts. Please send me pictures of cute animals in your life!

If you wanna support my science career and my transition, consider dropping a tip here! PhD salaries are notorious for being negotiated to be exactly the cost of living…. And then forgotten about for years as inflation drops that below minimum wage. So I’m always a little strapped for cash. Anything helps!

Links to some of my tutorials and relevant resources under the cut:

I'm tracking my transition, and some people have said they found this helpful! This spreadsheet is generally updated monthly:

Usually, I write a little journal to go with it when it updates- you can find that under the #trans journal on my blog.

If you're interested in checking out some of the things I'm trying to write, here's a post with links to individual stories I'm making:

https://www.tumblr.com/catboybiologist/741010247774306304/writing-consolidation-post?source=share

My femboy guide, written well before I started HRT, but still has relevant info:

A "boyboob" tutorial, aka how to make it look like you have cleavage in an outfit that looks better with it:

A quick and dirty guide to taking better selfies, with a specific emphasis on people who may have stopped hating their body recently due to transition:

And here's a few of my personal favorite little rambles and posts about my transness, in no particular order:

CW for transphobia on this one:

A massive shoutout to @foldingfittedsheets for this amazing art of the lil borgir holding a trans flag:

I adore this so much <3 if you want to support their art, her commissions are open and really sweet!!!!

And of course, a massive shoutout to @whalesharkcat for this lovely pixel art of my tortoise:

I still love this so much, and will continue to into the future <3

For preHRT selfies, search the femboy tag. For post HRT selfies, use the "trans selfie" tag. I've been on HRT since August of 2023, so I'm still very early in the process! Day to day, I present male, but I plan to change that around the 1 year mark.

I guess that's about it! One final note is that I've been alluding to video/podcast style things for a while now. With my aderrall prescription, I've actually put in a lot of research work that might lead to 1-4 of those, so that might actually happen in the near future! No promises of course, life always catches up to you.

And if you liked my previous pinned post better, here it is:

Anyways, if you read this far, thanks for sticking around and bbyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[katz-chow]

deranged reader my beloved, my daughter, me. back again in the spools of my brain.

warnings: exactly what the title is. fem! reader, pwp, blood, gore, manipulation (?), toxic reader (?), reverse harem w/ soap & ghost eventually the others, pnv, fingering, overstim (fem)

🏷️ | @warenai @reese-is-right

part 1

you came from a normal life before joining the military. your parents love you and so does your younger brother, he's a pain in the ass but aren't all siblings? cookie cutter houses lines the suburban streets, grasses cut, and christmas decorations find themselves on the houses as soon as december hits, no sooner to avoid hoa fines.

It's actually silly how you turned out this way, a small malicious brain in a body of a well cared for girl. in many ways it was like taming a wild animal; your nails were manicured on the regular, hair neat and put together, strands never where you hadn't meant for it to be, and your uniform was pristine, never stained, never wrinkled. on the outside, you truly where just the sweetest young lady that was meant to sing christmas carols at nursing homes and gain pinches on your cheeks as tips.

but you can't fully tame a wild animal though. in many cases, tigers eat their owners, monkeys maul them, and raccoons abandon home after trashing it. you, were simple. you don't bare your teeth to your owners or unsheathe your claws, you pin them. you pin them in a way that artists pin beetles and butterflies, perfect and spayed out for display and enjoyment.

and that's what you did to the 141. you made them yours. it came easy, natural- almost instinctive. everyone wants to be liked, right? so what if you're extra, extra good at that? you're just charming!

it started with soap. he was an easy target knowing how friendly he is. after finding out he's a demolitions expert, you stepped in asking him rather complex questions on the molecular composition of the explosives he found himself building. and he gladly explained it to you, not having a lot of people who know chemistry on such a level outside of an academic space.

the two of you spend lunches together relating his chemistry knowledge to your biology knowledge as an ex-medic. together you were Biochemistry, what a bunch of nerdy POS'.

quickly that lead to more chemistry in the comfort of your bed as well, having the two of you wrapped up in the sheets as he fucked you hard and fast, his name spilling out of your lips like an echo in the void that is your thoughts.

his dick rammed into, your ankles on his shoulders and his grip on the back of your knees as he bends you in half.

after that night, it became many more. soap was now just johnny. the two of you shared loving glances and plenty of playful touches, a slap on each other's ass when the other passed by, a ruffle of hair, and arms wrapped around the other's waist, cheek to the muscle of their back.

ghost, observant as ever, found this quite aggravating as he thought you were his to hold. while you and johnny fumbled with carbons and phosphorus, ghost had picked up more paperwork than normal, training more recruits than he normally would, just to go and ask you for help. which, being the nice person you were, happily agreed to help him empty his plate.

silence filled the air besides the occasional sound of paper shifting and being flipped, or tossed to the side. some pens scribbling on the paper and against the hardness of the wood also found its way into the comfortable silence and the absence of words. ghost's eyes dashed up to look at you, chewing on the flesh of your lip as you focus on the paperwork that he had asked for your help on. he sees the blankness of your face, how nothing else seems to move or show any signs of emotion besides the gnawing of your teeth.

he quirked an eyebrow at this, how unusual you are...how fascinating. almost as if in a trance, a stupor, a daze as your aura pulls him onto his feet and over to you. he hovers over you, only your wooden desk in between.

"you and soap..." he started and as quickly as the daze came, it left him to fumble for the right words. you look up at him, the same bored expression on your face before you wide your eyes just a tiny bit in surprise and realization.

your head tilts to the side, deciding on letting him grumble with his own choked words. and he, in fear of such situation, opted to shut his mouth and walk back to his desk, picking up from what he left off.

a giggle escapes your mouth, "you can ask him." you say playfully, going back to your own sentence to write and finish up.

the two of them were a pair, always have been- and easy to hook both with the same, sweet bait of your kindness. sooner or later, you got what you wanted, two playful dogs that tend to your every need, whether to pick up some food for you, run to your room to get a file you forgot, knock someone's teeth out for your collection, or to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re a panting mess. that last one was your favorite.

you sat in simon's lap, knee bent with your leg thrown over it, spreading and keeping your thighs from closing. johnny's fingers thrust into your sweet heat as your sharp nails continue to dig into the back of simon's hand, holding onto the flesh of your waist tightly. behind you, you could feel simon's dick twitched as more of your slick dribble down onto his own trousers. his hot breathe against your ear grounded you just a bit as johnny's thumb grazed over your swollen clit. "that's it lovie...one more for us yeah?" johnny snickers from his place, crouched right in front of your pussy, all wet and puffy from the many orgasms that the two of them have taken from you. you whined as he continue to tease you, fingers languidly pulling in and out of your cunt as his thumb swipes over the top edge of your bud. you cry out. even his feather-light touches on your wet clit draws you closer to the edge until your mind goes numb, your pleasure boiling over the edge once again. your body convulses as simon's grasp on you tighten. "good girl, come on now. i kent you could do it..." johnny praises as his fingers pumps in and out of you quicker, pulling every last drop of your pleasure into his palm.

now two of them were playful with you, you were theirs and they knew how to share. their sweet little play thing that was always too good to them, so obedient.

simon now wishes that you were as obedient in the field as you were in bed as he sweeps through the building in search of you. he curses to himself for letting you slip past his field of vision and his attention, going off on your own with a simple "be right back".

he believed it but that was almost an hour ago, and this building is not big. however, the concrete walls and fluorescent lights rendered this place a labyrinth. rifle in his hand, held close and alert, he quickly tip toes up the stairs, observing the twisting quiet hallways, its greenish lights making him feel sick.

he continued on, careful in the thickness of the silence, making his heart thunder and his steps heavy, like forcing through gelatinous air. a wail rung through the concrete walls, not yours, but a shriek of agony, the only sound being made in the longest minutes in his life.

he jogged on, gun tight in his grip, ready to shoot the poor bastard that stood in between his darling and him.

your voice got louder as he got closer, he turned the corner, meeting you and a man in an empty room, door swung open. the man knelt on your feet in front of you. crimson pipes and frayed pieces of his bicep dripped down thick, molten blood onto a pile of rumble from the collapsed wall. simon froze, his own blood flowed thunderously in his ears as he felt his chest shook.

your face showed the same picture as it did when he made you take over his paperwork all those weeks ago. a plain, empty, broken face stared back down at the man on his knees. he mumbles something in russian quickly, petrified in his spot as you held the saw onto the top of his head. his pleas faded into nothing as his voice grew raw from overuse. a simple, broken, "please" breathed out of his exhausted lungs.

simon saw the way his unsteady back raised as he took a quick breath and how it shakily exited his body. blood continued to drip from his exposed bone and muscle. the man's body swayed, weakened from the lack of such plasma flowing through him. a man on the brink of death didn't scare simon, he has been where you are now. he has seen death like an old friend from school, bumping into it every so often.

the dread that filled his body and weighed on his shoulders was your reaction- or lack thereof. you didn't care about his pleas, or how the light in his dull eyes extinguished from tight-lining in between life and death. you didn't care that his arm was discarded behind you. you didn't care about the severed arm, laying in a dark pool, drenched in blackness, just a foot away from your backside. you didn't care.

the man's hand grabs onto your leg, begging, pleading for mercy, even as death was eager to take him. simon sees his breathing becoming staggered, shallow, knowing death is standing over your shoulder, staring on, waiting for you to make the final blow, to end his life.

but you don't. a satiated hum of approval rumbled out of your throat as you dug the jagged blade of the hand saw into his skull. the man pulled from the well of his energy, enough to let out a sluggish, hoarse sob. he bent over more, trying to escape the digging of the steel into his scalp, failing.

you pull back the blade, making you cut deeper and the man choked on his anguished cries. satisfied, you yanked the blade out, leaving the man to hiccup one last plea as you kicked him off your leg. he falls to the ground on his side, his chest rising ever so slightly. you step over him, throwing the saw to the other side of the room, it's weight hits the concrete with a 'thump'. simon doesn't speak, and neither do you. he walks behind you, rifle still drawn. and you know why.

[cnestus]

If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your job and degree? Getting into the field of entomology is a bit intimidating and I would appreciate any any advice.

i tend to be a little cagey about my exact job since my field is quite small and there's enough people following me that the chances of someone deciding to take offense to something and Get Weird at me are nonzero, but that's probably excessive paranoia on my part. then again beloved internet bug person mossworm got recently sacked from their job on account of weirdo online tattletales so maybe not.

anyway i can say i work for a government agency identifying insects from a pretty wide geographic range, looking for new exotic species and potential pests. during the busy season i spend most of my time processing huge volumes of raw trap samples, pulling out insect groups of interest, mostly woodboring beetles, for myself or one of the other entomologists in the lab to identify to species. during the off-season when we're not getting tons of new samples i get a little more free reign to work on other projects of my own design, so for example lately i've been working on my bee identification skills and am slowly putting together a large reference collection of native bee species that i reserved from years of insect trap by-catch.

i got my PHD in entomology without a specific career in mind but knowing i wanted to do something that wasn't just about developing products and methods for killing unwanted insects which seem like the main entomology jobs anyone wants to fund anymore. in a perfect world i'd love a entomological curation job in a museum but those positions are rare and in-demand and i didn't have the mental fortitude to do the kind of academic work in grad school to make me competitive for that field. but then i went ahead and got a job that lets me do some curatorial work anyway so i sort of won? my position is still at least on paper about controlling unwanted insects but in practice i rarely have to do much of that work, at least directly.

i get semi-regular requests for advice on getting a job as an entomologist and i often feel like i don't have much constructive or encouraging to say, since it's hard not to feel like it's one of the many disciplines being squeezed to death by the iron hand of capitalism. more and more positions in the government and academia are being cut or downsized by bureaucrats who don't see the benefit of taxonomy or any other research that doesn't directly result in their department or some corporation making a bunch of money. whole subdisciplines are dying out as the elder entomologists who were the sole sources of knowledge about them die off. there are entire groups of insects and other arthropods that are effectively impossible to identify to species now because the one taxonomic wizard who specialized on them died without having anyone to pass that knowledge onto. Donald Bright, the only living expert on bark beetles in the preposterously diverse and morphologically subtle genus Pityophthorus, died a few months ago without an heir that i'm aware of.

also most of the taxonomic research that is being done these days is all molecular systematics which i have Opinions about but this post is way too long already.

sorry. that was a bummer. i guess i'm proof that it is still possible to get a job like this today, even if i can't help but feel like it was mostly luck that got me here. plenty of the others in my academic cohort (that didn't burn out from grad school stress) also went on to get degrees in their field of study or at least adjacent to them. and again there are still plenty of entomology jobs in other sectors like agriculture, public health, nonprofits and NGOs and stuff like that. you also don't necessarily need an advanced degree in entomology for a lot of these, and a lot of people in the entomology field came in sideways through related disciplines like ecology, evolutionary science, general biology, or even things like viticulture and forensic science to name a couple examples from my own cohort.

looking back, that was mostly a lot of vague grumbling and not much concrete advice, but to be fair asking for "any advice" is a hard prompt to go off of so i tend to default to the kinds of grim thoughts that are usually rattling round in my brain. i may also be in an especially dour mood at the moment because even though my job isn't to my knowledge at any risk of being eliminated, my lab is currently being passively if not outright antagonized by higher-level bureaucrats for genuinely mysterious reasons and i will not elaborate on that any further for reasons i mentioned at the beginning. anyway! i am always happy to at least attempt to give more specific advice but i can't promise there won't be at least a little grumbling in that as well.

[saintshigaraki]

molecular biology my most greatly beloved......

[meraisun]

MARS' STUDYBLR. ╰— y12. uk. seventeen.

about me!

names: mars or merai

age: seventeen

pronouns: she/xe

sexuality: pansexual

hobbies: video games (fallout series, my beloved), crochet, writing, reading, linguistics, history, herpetology, gardening, watching old movies, tennis, fashion

goals: planning on studying molecular biology at university

my a-levels!

biology (aqa)

chemistry (aqa)

classical civilization (ocr)

what to expect!

short daily "blogs" (i.e. ramblings), accountability posts, random study tips, a-level resources, gcse resources.

reblog/like/follow to be mutuals!

[littledreamling]

About Me (part 2!)

Thank you so much for the tag @mathomhouse-e!! I did this back when it was circulating before but I'm excited to see if my answers have changed since then!

Nickname: Kai or Crow, though I'll respond to anything

Sign: Sagittarius sun, libra moon, scorpio rising (yeah I know)

Height: 5'5" (I've grown an inch! In reality, though, I went to the doctor and got measured for the first time in years, giving me an extra inch to lord over all of my friends who are still 5'4" *cough, cough* @levi1088 and @birdbraintm)

Last thing I googled: oh this could be very embarrassing... oh thank god it's Tom Burke, the reason being that I saw his name in the credits of Mank and recognized it from The Musketeers (fantastic show, everyone should watch it, Tom Burke did an amazing job with Athos' complex character)

Song stuck in my head: Thankfully, I do not have one, probably because it's difficult to have a song stuck in your head when you're actively listening to music... (for anyone wondering, I'm listening to Lightning Crashes by Live, which is a childhood favorite handed down from my parents). I also had Voulez-Vous by ABBA stuck in my head earlier this week because I watched Mamma Mia over the weekend

Number of followers: 429 (I've gained about 40 since the last time I answered this, half of which are from the discord server lmao, I love you all my beloveds <3)

Amount of sleep: Time spent actually asleep? roughly 7 hours, give or take. Time spent laying in bed scrolling through my phone before falling asleep/after wakign up? Far longer, but I refuse to admit how much longer... I'm on break, sue me lmao

Dream job: this hasn't changed: university professor. It's been my dream job every since starting university (with a brief stint where I wanted to be a pilot, though that didn't last long when I realized how expensive getting a pilot's license is and that the only way to get one for free is to join the military...) because it's largely my only career path. As a cellular and molecular biology major, my two paths lie in pharmaceutical labs doing quality control or doing research funded by a university. Of the two, I'll always prefer the latter.

Wearing: This always feels like a main character describing herself in a badly written fanfiction, but here goes: black sweat pants, a grey long-sleeved t-shirt, black socks, and my hair is tied back with a hair tie in the world's smallest ponytail. Nothing fancy to see here. I don't even have my dangly earring in, though I do have my other earrings in (because they never get removed) which consist of a pair of small gauges, a septum ring being used as an earring, and a black industrial bar. I also have my rings and signature necklace, so I guess that counts for something. Idk

Movies/books that summarize you: Last time, I asked my roommate to answer this because she knows me best, but I don't have her here at the moment, so I'll take a stab at it. Where Hope Comes From by Nikita Gill is definitely a strong contender, simply because of the non-toxic positive messages it contains. I particularly enjoyed the book The Genome Odyssey by Euan Angus Ashley as well as Genome by Matt Ridley. Both vastly expanded my horizons in my chosen career path and have pushed me to better understand everything that can be done through the field of genomics. Antigone by... well, Sophocles is my favorite play (sorry Shakespeare, I have to agree with Hob on this one) because everyone talks about loving the way men love, but Antigone shows what it is to love the way women love. I adored it when I first read it at the ripe age of fourteen and I still love it today.

Favorite song: Too many to list. I have a playlist on spotify called Absolute Favorites that is over 7hrs long... If I had to pick, though, I'd say (right now) it's Saviour by George Ezra or Michigan Cherry by River Whyless. I'm not sure they'll stand the test of time to be included in my Absolute Favorites, but they're currently scratching specific itches in my brain and that's enough for now

Favorite instrument: My answer 100% has not changed: church organ, bagpipes, and the harmonica. I have religious trauma, blood that sings for Scotland, and I was raised in the American South. I'm not sure what else you could ever expect of me... I have to add to it, though, for sheer hilarity: the hurdy-gurdy. Tangentially, I love the fiddle and always wanted to learn how to play but never had the time/money to do so.

Aesthetic: I could copy/paste my answer from last time because it hasn't changed. As @the-cloudy-dreamer and I were talking about earlier, roughly 90% of my clothes are black, 7% are grey, and the rest are some variation of other neutral tones. Color and I do not oft get along, so I don't try. My skin is so pale that I could be an Endless sibling and I dress the part lmao

Favorite authors: Neil Gaiman, obviously. My literary tastes, however, rarely fall neatly along the lines of one author; I tend to pick up books as they interest me, not because I know or like the author, which leads to me reading books by wildly various authors and not having any particular favorites.

Random fun fact: I'm never quite sure what to put for questions like this... reading back over my answers from last time (I can lick my elbow, I rode horses for 10+ years, I own far too many tarot decks, and I have blue hair), they seem so surface-level, but they're also deeply intrinsic pieces of me that add up to the greater whole, and I'm not sure if I could fit anything deeper or more meaningful into a tumblr text box. I'm a photographer (or used to be), I'm a trans man (though I'm not out socially), I'm in a sorority (part of the reason why I'm not out socially, though not the entire reason), I have over 700 hours in Animal Crossing... if you want to know anything about me, just ask I guess, I'm an open book!

And because our whole server was tagged in one fell swoop, I have to exit our little bubble so I'm tagging @birdbraintm @levi1088 (my two IRL friends on tumblr), @landwriter @avelera @softest-punk @staroftheendless and @fishfingersandscarves (because it was surprisingly fun to revisit these questions to see how much, or how little, has changed) As always, feel free to ignore a tag! I'm also leaving an open tag: if you see this and want to do it, do it! I'd love to be tagged in it so I can be nosy!

[envysnest]

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 4/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

TW's for this chapter: Discussion about cancer biology at the end of the second scene.

---

A MYSTERIOUS INTERLOPER? Dear members of the Silver Elite, The holiday season is upon us, and in the spirit of the season, we bring you yet another exclusive: Sephiroth has been spotted with a mysterious woman at a recent board meeting. Our beloved warrior usually sits alone, but recently, an unnamed employee sat next to him instead! Our source tells us that Sephiroth didn’t seem to mind. Could this be the beginning of love for Shinra’s top SOLDIER? We will keep you posted!

You put your tablet down in your lap and looked up at Hammond. “Why?”

“Who was it, though?” He clenched his hands into fists and growled in frustration. “It’s so vague! Who goes to these board meetings, anyway?"

The two of you waited for a protein binding experiment to finish. Lukas had isolated an aromatic compound from mako and passed it on to your lab. It resembled a sugar, so you set Hammond to performing a protein pull-down assay. If the liver could process the mystery compound as an energy source, you’d see metabolic proteins bind to it. Anything bound would be purified later, but for now, a pull-down meant watching and waiting. You brought your laptop into the lab to look over data in the meantime.

You kicked around the tile with your winter boots. “I mean,��I was at a meeting—“

Hammond whipped around in his chair. “With Sephiroth? What was he like?”

You leaned away from Hammond and winced. Somehow, it struck you as a bad idea to let on that you were the woman in question. “Hammond, the wash buffer?”

Hammond turned back to the experiment. Lukas’s mysterious compound had been bound to molecular beads within a glass column; metabolic proteins would stick to the beads, and the compound would, hopefully, bind the proteins, too. Hammond had control over a mechanical pump that pushed fluid into the sample.

The distraction was only temporary: as the pump forced the wash buffer into the column, he turned back to you. “But no, seriously, what was he like?”

You stared at your laptop screen. The data swam before your eyes; you squeezed them shut. “Normal, dude. Really, really ordinary.”

“He didn’t say anything to you?”

“No, nothing. Why would he?”

Never mind that you had read and re-read your text chain together that night.

Hammond sagged in his chair. “Oh, come on. Did you see who was sitting next to him, then?”

You idly clicked around your spreadsheet, selecting nothing in particular. Your mind raced for an explanation.

You settled for a deflection instead. “It’s a gossip rag, Hammond. I didn’t see anything weird. Besides, the room was full when I got there. People were standing.”

He was close to a rebuttal when you heard quick, pattering footsteps behind you. He jerked his chin towards the source, and you turned to find Marcie looking stricken.

“Do you remember that cell lysate?” she panted, out of breath from running. “You know, the one you made last week?”

You looked at her sideways. “327’s lysate, yeah. Why?”

“It’s gone.” She crossed her arms around herself. “I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find it. Did you guys move it?”

You exchanged glances with Hammond. “No? What do you mean, it’s gone? Did you check the minus-twenty?”

Marcie shook her head. “Not in there, either.”

You closed your laptop. “Give me a second.” You turned to Hammond and pointed at the column. “Let that sit in the extraction buffer for a few minutes, okay? See if it helps your yield this time.”

Marcie led you to the refrigerators and freezers in the back of the lab. A few other technicians waited in line for the chance to dig around their shelves.

“I’m sorry,” Marcie squeaked.

“It’s totally fine,” you replied, trying your best to sound soothing. “It’s probably just pushed behind something. Happens all the time.”

She hopped from foot to foot as the line moved forward. “I don’t think it is, and…” She cringed. “We’re gonna have to make it again, right?”

“I mean, worst case scenario.” The last technician fetched their samples and moved aside. You crouched to the lowest shelf in the -20-degree freezer and retrieved a sample box. You always kept your cell lysates in the same place: separated from your genetic samples, so anyone could find and replicate your work. It was precisely this sort of labeling system that kept situations like this from happening. Marcie seemed ready to pop out of her skin with nerves.

When you removed the box lid, you raised your eyebrows. Specimen 327 was, indeed, gone. In its place was a neat, empty row.

You looked up at Marcie. “You weren’t kidding.”

She fussed with her lab coat. “I didn’t use it. I checked yesterday to see if they were there, so I could get started quickly today, and they were right where you said they’d be. And now they're not!"

You capped the box and pulled out another box. “MAT Team’s RNA” said the box in your handwriting. The inside was packed with your RNA samples: just as expected.

You muttered, “Hammond shouldn’t be using 327’s lysate today.” You placed your boxes back where you found them. “This is weird.”

“Did you loan them out to anyone else, Professor?”

“No, that’s why it’s weird.” You sighed and rose to your feet. The freezer door closed with a dull thump. “I think someone took it. I’ll send an e-mail out.” You turned to Marcie and waved a hand. “Don’t worry about the lysate for right now. Can you just extract the rest of the DNA today instead? And sequence it, like we talked about."

Your research assistant slouched. “Okay. Are you sure it’s all right, Professor?”

“I mean, we can’t do anything until we figure this out. This doesn’t usually happen.” You added, “It’s not your fault, Marcie. Thanks for telling me.”

Marcie rushed off. You eyed the freezer. First the old cell samples from the night before, and now your samples were disappearing. Could it be Hojo getting his revenge for his stolen samples? But no, your failure would ultimately make him look bad. The one thing Hojo couldn't tolerate was looking bad. Maybe you were being paranoid.

The missing samples nagged at the back of your brain as you returned to your laptop. Beside you, Hammond was watching a five-minute timer with razor focus. You opened Shinra's messaging app and navigated to the lab group-chat.

>> Missing 327’s lysate as of this AM. Anyone??

The replies came quickly:

>> not us!

>> Haven’t needed lysate in a while

>> It wasn’t your RAs???

You replied:

>> Already asked. No dice

Finally, Hojo’s icon appeared. Upon Hojo’s arrival, the chat went silent.

>> Upstairs needed a control. It’s with us.

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling. Of course.

>> No worries boss. We’ll recalibrate today.

What you really wanted to say was, Fuck off, stop touching my shit without permission, but you hardly had room to talk: your stolen contraband was steps away in an incubator. Maybe this was revenge, after all.

You busied yourself with organizing and re-organizing your data until you saw the last scientist put their coat on. 

The 60th floor lobby was empty. Silent advertisements played on large screens, turning the lobby a white-blue. You walked to the lab and peeked in the windows: the lab was dead. Perfect.

Instruments churned away as you locked the lab doors behind you. If anyone decided to follow you, you would hear the lock disengage. You managed a cursory glance towards the lab windows: the lobby beyond was still deserted.

---

You flicked on the fluorescent lights of the cell culture room. You set the ancient radio to some pop station, kept the volume just low enough for you to hear the rest of the lab. After putting on your nitrile gloves and sanitizing them with alcohol, you opened the incubator to retrieve your cells.

029 appeared to be growing, but so, too, did “029-1:” the J - 180 - L - 9177 cells in disguise.

You placed them inside the fume hood. It wasn’t hard to check cell growth with the naked eye: the bottom of the plate turned cloudy with growth. Even so, J - 180 - L - 9177 looked sluggish; it seemed too early to feed them or split them into new generations, but the plate seemed more populated than before.

So Hojo’s old cells were still viable, after all. That made you a thief.

Curiosity nagged at the back of your neck, like an insistent child.

You pulled J - 180 - L - 9177 out of the fume hood and brought it over to the microscope. You placed its dust cover delicately atop the radio, muffling it. You swapped between foci, turning dials until the cells came into sharp focus.

At first glance, nothing seemed especially wrong with the cells: most had the blocky, translucent appearance of human liver cells. Usually, the microscope was for confluent cells: healthy specimens that multiplied to fill the dish, cramming their membranes against each other.  J - 180 - L - 9177 was nowhere near that state, as you expected. The cells clung to the bottom of the plate in irregular clumps only a few cells wide.

They had a sickly gray cast to them still, or was that your eye?

You switched to a higher magnification and gasped.

Some of the cells had sprouted multiple nuclei: two or three small dots, clumped at random within the cell body. Still others had taken on long, splattered shapes, as if someone had dropped the cell from the roof. They appeared to be reaching out towards their neighbors. A few were as long and probing as a muscle cell.

The last time you had seen cells behave this way had been in a cancer biology class. Your professor had shown you images of uterine cancer cells: grasping things with several nuclei, growing all wrong, choking the patient from the inside out.

---

You jiggled your foot as you sat on the clinic bench. You couldn’t stop thinking about the J - 180 - L - 9177 cells you had looked at last night: why would Hojo be culturing cancer cells, and why were they behaving so oddly? Maybe it had something to do with why he had taken cell lysate from your team.

This morning, the lysate had reappeared in your sample box: all five tubes sitting in their designated row, albeit much emptier. Marcie had obviously been relieved when you gave her the go-ahead to continue her work. Nevertheless, the levels had been so low that you knew you’d have to make the lysate all over again: a delicate process in which you opened the cell membrane and harvested the cell's contents without changing a single protein or molecule. You sighed, a bone-deep weariness making its home in your gut. It was the last thing you wanted to focus on.

The door to the clinic opened, and Sully flounced in. “Hiya, Professor."

The person who followed was someone you instantly recognized: one of Sephiroth’s First-Class companions from the poster, looking stern as he followed Sully in.

She waved a hand at him. “You can wait right here. Just need to get set up.”

He crossed his arms and nodded at you in acknowledgement before turning back to Sully, now fishing around for her keys. “No trouble at all.”

You made to stand, but the SOLDIER waved a hand at you. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’ll stand.”

You obediently plopped back down on the bench as Sully disappeared into the exam room. “Professor Hollander was feeling generous this week,” you said. “I didn’t think he’d agree to the specimen request."

The SOLDIER shrugged. “I think he prefers it if someone else asks.” A slight smile twitched at the edge of his lips. “Had it been Hojo, it would have been war.”

You smiled and looked down at your shoes. So the dislike of Hojo spanned departments and teams, then. You felt a little justified for stealing his cells.

You looked up at the man, who now studied the billboard of announcements in the clinic. A white flyer cheerfully advertised yearly flu vaccinations.

“You must be Angeal,” you said, and you introduced yourself.

Angeal raised his eyebrows and turned back to you. “So you’re the scientist I’ve heard so much about. It’s a pleasure.”

You looked away. What did that mean? You shifted on the bench. “Good things, right?”

“Only good things.” Angeal took a step forward, but otherwise kept his distance. He put one hand on his hip and rolled his shoulders. “It’s an honor to give blood to Hojo's most talented scientist."

There was a teasing tone in his voice. You shook your head, a nervous laugh escaping you. “I— there’s probably been some mistake?"

“Your name is fairly distinctive,” Angeal replied. “I think there’s only one of you.”

“Sure, but—“

Sully stuck her head out of the exam room. “Come on, you. Before I change my mind and send you back to Hollander.” There was no offer here, you noticed, to follow him: not like there had been with Sephiroth.

Angeal raised a hand towards you as he followed Sully into the exam room. “Take care, Professor.”

The door to the exam room swung shut, and the clinic fell silent. You were frozen to the bench in mortification. 

If the source of Angeal’s information was who you thought it was, then this had to stop. Immediately.

You had half a mind to rip off your gloves and message Sephiroth: Stop telling lies about me, or, Leave me alone, or, Fuck off. Something definitive, a strong message that would tell the man that you two were not at all familiar. Whatever you sent had to draw a line: you were nothing compared to him, and there was no reason at all why he should take any interest in you.

You thunked the back of your head against the clinic wall. Only one thing came out of a man's flattery. Your survival had depended on that knowledge, time and again, and you would not-- could not-- fail that test again.

But if you told off the Sephiroth, well…the walls had ears, and you didn’t need more of Hojo's wrath.

You tried to calm yourself by thinking about your cells. 029 was due for feeding tomorrow; it was also time for its first exposure to mako. You needed to go easier with the treatments this time. While it was worthwhile to consider the boundaries of what you could and could not do to cells, you couldn’t kill off everything you cultured just to test endpoints.

The door to the exam room swung open. Sully deposited a handful of blood tubes into your ice bucket, all labeled 601.

“He’s gonna need a minute,” she whispered. “He always goes under during draws.”

---

YOU ARE INVITED!!! The 35th annual SHINRA RESEARCH DIVISION HOLIDAY PARTY December 13th at 7 PM Refreshments will be served!!!! Please RSVP if bringing a guest :o)

You chewed your bottom lip, kicking your legs off the side of your bed. The e-mail had a garish gold background; tiny ornaments flashed along the edges. Clearly, some intern had spent a long afternoon on this.

You scrolled up to the “recipients” list. Your TV warbled on in the background; the steam heater hissed and clanked, still unable to warm your apartment above freezing.

The recipient list was long: Hojo was there, as were Yun, Lukas, and Lazard. There were a slew of other scientists from different departments, as well as a few engineers from transport and energy. Did everyone usually go to these performative parties? Networking events made your skin crawl, as did watching coworkers get drunk. You didn’t need another night of coworkers begging you to dance, and the free food wasn’t enough of a lure. Maybe you could beg off?

Your breath hitched as Sephiroth’s e-mail address appeared in the list. You hadn’t seen him around Shinra HQ since the meeting.

As if you were being watched, you closed the message in shame and looked away, towards your frost-encrusted window. You clutched the phone to your chest.

Sephiroth didn’t seem like the type for social events, and if that meeting was any indication, people tended to steer clear of him unless he could do something for them. You knew that feeling all too well: alone strictly until needed.

The pang of hurt that went through you was familiar, and you realized that you had felt it before: for yourself.

You raised your phone and opened the Shinra messaging app. There were a few messages on the research group chat, as well as Hammond sending some cat video to you and Marcie. Hojo's window was blue with an unread message, asking when you’d present results from the protein pull-down.

You kept scrolling until you reached Sephiroth’s window. You stared at the last message he had sent you:

>>You can tell me if it isn't fine, and I do worry about it.

Next to it was a tiny note: Message read at 8:39 PM.

You groaned and stared at the ceiling. After a deep breath, you opened the reply window:

>>Why did you tell An|

You cleared the message. You knew, deep down, that you didn’t want to know why Sephiroth spoke about you so fondly. The likely answer made your stomach churn.

You typed something different:

>>Hey, do we have to go to that holiday party?

Message sent!

The ellipsis bubble blinked into existence. You raised an eyebrow.

Sephiroth’s reply came within minutes:

>>No one has to do anything, but you may hear about “teamwork” for weeks if you don’t.

You found yourself smiling. A warm feeling bloomed in your chest.

>>Mandatory fun?

Sephiroth’s reply came as soon as the first:

>>Shinra's specialty. Will you be there?

And just like that, the warm feeling evaporated and left behind dread. You looked out of your window again. From here, you could see the traffic. For several minutes, you stared at the intersection below, at the tiny Shinra-corp. cars darting back and forth.

You turned back to your phone.

>>Will you be?

The ellipsis bubble reappeared. Your phone plinked with a reply:

>>Best to keep up appearances, no?

You scowled. Sephiroth was right: you had to make nice, else the research division would shun you.

>>Ugh. You’re right.

Sephiroth’s reply was instantaneous:

>>That’s rare.

You typed out:

>>What’s rare?

Sephiroth:

>>Me being right.

You rolled your eyes.

>>Come on. Everyone worships at your feet.

There was a pause: Sephiroth was hesitating. You saw the ellipsis bubble blink into existence, only to disappear again. You couldn’t stop staring at your phone.

Finally, he replied:

>>It’s less pleasant than you’d think. There’s always pressure to be right. Lives depend on it.

You sat up in bed.

>>Why do you think I’m in research? I’d be a crummy surgeon.

Sephiroth’s next reply was much faster:

>>Ha ha. Once again, you underestimate yourself.

Before you could stop yourself, you replied:

>>That makes two of us.

Sephiroth didn’t reply after that. The notification next to the message said, unhelpfully, Read at 9:54 PM.

You stared at your phone for another five minutes, tapping your foot on the floor, but no reply came.

Go to next chapter >>>

[grison-in-space]

Well, and also, as you age your special interests open footholds to you that may lead to new special interests. Over the decades, my first—"Dogs"—has led me to population and molecular genetics, history, neuroscience, psychology, art, culture, biophysics and biochemistry, anthropology, journalism, religion, disability theory, storytelling, statistics...

"Horses" and "Cats" offer nearly as many opportunities ; so do other species of animal that children take a fancy to. I was best friends with one kid when we were seven whose special interest at the time was turtles. Turtles offer so many paths to potential topics of fascination: history and art and religion again, culinary discussion, conservation biology, law, biogeography, sailors, seabirds, coral, poetry, geography, commerce. The third member of our little triumvirate liked tigers, which open up onto many of the same topics in vastly different entry points.

Both my friends were boys, right? But still our interests really weren't that different. (Yes, all three of us were diagnosed as autistic as teenagers.) We spent a lot of time telling each other about our interests and things we were learning about. There's just not that much difference, in terms of how it can open the world up to you, between dinosaurs and dogs.

I think what I'm trying to say is that in our haste to offer and describe a form of autism special interest that is distinct from the fact-hoarding collection oriented special interests associated with boys, we should remember that the old boy-focused assessments are similarly approaches from an external perspective. That is, descriptions of special interests revolve around the things that strike the clinician as notable signs of rigidity or narrowness in the interest, right? But refusal to leave a beloved subject behind entirely doesn't mean that a child is trapped in repetition and factoid curation unless that's the only response made by the people around that child. And without the lived experience of tracing a special interest through life's trajectory, how do you know how to trace the throughlines hiding in the trails of knowledge and interest?

I can't emphasize enough how weird the value judgements of some of these clinicians can get when it comes to distinguishing interests that are universal or common versus those which are deemed pathological. I'm not always sure that the old "masculine" depictions of autism were paying attention as closely to little boys as they claimed. After all, they failed to pay any to little girls.

Women and Girls with Autism Spectrum Disorder: Understanding Life Experiences from Early Childhood to Old Age (Sarah Hendrickx, 2015)

“Interestingly, one of the findings from research into sex differences in children with autism was that girls with autism do not have the same stereotypical, rigid interests as boys.

My research certainly found that repetitive and restricted behaviours were completely the norm for the girls studied but that topic type differed.

A small number of activities came up time and time again as being favourites for repetition: watching the same TV/video/DVD programme (e.g., Mary Poppins, Postman Pat, Peppa Pig), reading the same book (e.g., an Enid Blyton book, Jane Eyre), listening to the same song/tape.

The scripts and lyrics of their favourite shows, books and songs were all known verbatim by the children. Collecting and sorting specific objects were also mentioned.  (…)

Boys’ interests tend to be object-based – trains, dinosaurs, space – while girls’ interests tend to be people- or animal-based – soap operas, fictional characters, animals and celebrities.

This qualitative difference can explain why girls’ behaviour may not be noted as being unusual, due to the ‘typical girl’ nature of their interests.

Whereas a boy who quotes endless facts about ancient history, rather than playing football with his peers, may be flagged as atypical, a girl who obsesses about a pop star would not necessarily be seen in the same way.

The difference between the interests of a girl with autism and a typical child is the narrowness of the topic and the intensity of the interest.

These girls with ASD have single-track focus; they do not think or speak of anything other than their passion for an extended period.

They may have extensive knowledge of their subject but have more of a factual interest than a desire to live it out.

A child who speaks of nothing but horses may not actually want a horse, but just enjoys the facts about horses.

I believe that the interest provides the same outcomes for both girls and boys on the autism spectrum; once immersed in your subject of interest, there is a predictability and escape from the chaotic real world.

Knowing everything about a subject makes it known and provides a sanctuary from the anxiety and stress of a feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen most of the time.

Animals in general are a popular interest as they are far easier to deal with than people for many females with autism: their intentions are clear (no hidden agendas), their non-verbal language is minimal (cats don’t pull too many facial expressions), their needs are easily identified and their attachment and affection are unconditional and unchanging.

Some girls identify so strongly with animals that they imagine or wish themselves to be one.”

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Dr. Alchemy/Alvin Desmond

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Alvin Desmond, also known as (sigh) - as the second Dr. Alchemy. (Pause) And no, as far as I can tell, this one has no relationship to Dr. Albert Desmond, in spite of the shared last name. Patient suffers from Antisocial Personality Disorder and a delusional belief that he has some sort of supernatural connection with Dr. Desmond. Session One. So, how are you feeling today, Mr. Desmond? 

Alvin: (With a voice identical to that of Albert Desmond’s) Well, I don’t plan on giving this place any five-star recommendations. It’s much too drafty here. Although the lack of regular beatings is a definite plus. 

Hugo Strange: (Concerned) Regular beatings? Are you alleging that Iron Heights Penitentiary engages in routine abuse of its prisoners? 

Alvin: Basically only in the metahuman wing, and only since the new warden took over, but yeah. Anyone with superpowers gets a one-way ticket to the Pipeline.  

Hugo Strange: The Pipeline? 

Alvin: Oh, that’s what our beloved Warden Wolfe calls the metahuman wing. Or the metahuman basement, depending on which way you look at it.

Hugo Strange: How exactly are metahumans classified at Iron Heights, Mr. Desmond? 

Alvin: I’m not sure. I’ve always had a fascination with chemistry, but brother Albert is the one with the degrees in biochemistry and molecular biology. The scientific basis for the classification system goes over my head. So far as I can tell, anybody with natural powers is considered a metahuman and gets sent to the Pipeline. No exceptions. The only metahuman I can think of who isn’t sent straight down there is that freak the Top, and that’s only because he has a record of crazy spells and attempted suicides as long as my arm. (Pause) What does the Golden Glider see in that lunatic, anyhow? Sure, they say power is an aphrodisiac, but I have even more power than he does, and she wouldn’t look twice at me, even when she thought he was dead! And I went through the effort of turning her underwear into gold and everything! 

Hugo Strange: Perhaps she finds the idea of a man who does not think that she should fall for him simply because he is powerful to be more attractive than the idea of a man who transmutes her undergarments without permission? 

Alvin: (Skeptical) Maybe so. (Pause) But I guess we’re not here to talk about my unrequited crushes. You’re interested in the Pipeline, right? 

Hugo Strange: I am interested in your mental well-being, Mr. Desmond. Your descriptions of the Pipeline simply make me concerned that it is affecting your mental health. 

Alvin: Personally, I’d think it’s affecting my physical health more than anything. The beatings the Pipeline guards give you hurt like the dickens...and sessions with Warden Wolfe are even worse. I don’t know how he does it, but every time I have a ‘conversation’ with him, I come out of it feeling like I’ve just run a marathon. The muscle cramps are just awful, and I swear they last for days. (Pause) But all things considered, it’s not much more than a minor inconvenience. 

Hugo Strange: How so? 

Alvin: You’ve met Brother Albert, haven’t you? 

Hugo Strange: If you’re referring to the unfortunate Dr. Desmond, yes, I have. 

Alvin: Then you should know about how hard we are to contain. 

Hugo Strange: (Alarmed) You have a resistance to the metahuman power dampeners as well? 

Alvin: Brother Albert and I share all of the rest of our powers in common. Why would that one be any different? 

Hugo Strange: Would I be correct to assume that the reason you see the beatings you receive in the Pipeline as a minor inconvenience is because you are never in Iron Heights for more than a few days? 

Alvin: Yes, you would. You see, it usually only takes a few days at most for the power dampeners they put on me to fail. Brother Albert and I simply have too much power. In effect, our bodies overload the dampeners. And once they fail, it’s easy for me to escape, what with the vast powers I have at my disposal. In fact, I’ve never been locked away for more than a week. (Pause) In speaking of Brother Albert, how is he doing? I know he’s locked up here, too, and I do worry about my beloved astral twin. 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid Dr. Desmond is not doing especially well at present. When he learned that one of his alters came to the front and turned an entire baseball stadium’s worth of people into tungsten, he was devastated, and I haven’t been able to make contact with him since.

Alvin: (Laughs) They arrested Brother Albert for that? 

Hugo Strange: Yes. Dr. Alchemy was seen attacking a baseball stadium, and when your city’s costume vigilante subsequently tracked down Dr. Desmond, his unpleasant alter was indeed at the fore. The logical assumption was that he had committed the crime, so he was arrested and sent to Arkham, pending his trial. 

Alvin: (Obviously amused) Oh, this is priceless! They got the wrong Dr. Alchemy again! 

Hugo Strange: What do you mean, Mr. Desmond? 

Alvin: I mean that I was the Dr. Alchemy who turned the baseball stadium into tungsten! (Pause) It really is convenient that Brother Albert is so much more well known than I am. You have no idea how many of my crimes his alters take the blame for. 

Hugo Strange: Are you saying that Dr. Desmond is completely innocent of the crime he was arrested for? 

Alvin: Yes. Brother Albert’s Dr. Alchemy may be dangerous, but all he really cares about is knowledge. Doing something showy like turning a stadium to tungsten isn’t really his style. It’s mine. I’m surprised the Flash didn’t catch onto that, really. (Pause) Although I had been laying low for a while before I pulled that particular crime. Having godlike power can be so exhausting sometimes. 

Hugo Strange: How long have you been letting Dr. Desmond take the fall for your crimes, Mr. Desmond?

Alvin: Since I first became Dr. Alchemy, of course. Why have an astral twin with a criminal record and a known history of mental problems if you aren’t going to use him to cover up your crimes? 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Desmond, you must be aware that you and Dr. Desmond are not relatives, let alone twins. The idea is patently absurd. Why, the two of you don’t look a thing alike! 

Alvin: We aren’t physical twins, Doctor. We’re astral twins. We were born at exactly the same time, to parents with very similar names, and because of this, we’ve shared a psychic connection to one another since we were children. Whenever Brother Albert is good, I am evil, and whenever Brother Albert is evil, I am...well, not good, necessarily, but not actively criminal. 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Desmond, you are not the brother of Dr. Desmond. The fact that you share the same last name and some other superficial similarities does not mean that you are his “astral twin”. It is simply a coincidence. 

Alvin: Then how do you explain the fact that we both have exactly the same powerset? Or the fact that the Philosopher’s Stone follows us, and only us, around? Or the fact that our voices are identical? 

Hugo Strange: There are many villains who have super strength or the ability to fly. Do you propose that all of them are astrally related to one another? 

Alvin: No. Astral twins are remarkably rare, Doctor. In fact, Brother Albert and I may be the only pair on Earth. (Pause) Perhaps it is a reflection of our godlike powers. If we were to team up, we could easily conquer the world. It could be that we were astrally linked simply to prevent us from ever being able to work together. After all, if only one of us could truly be a criminal at a time, then we could never become a team. 

Hugo Strange: An interesting theory, Mr. Desmond. (Pause) I do have a question for you, though. 

Alvin: Oh, really? What is it? 

Hugo Strange: Why is it that all of the records state that there are no records of your existing prior to seven years ago, shortly before you first appeared as Dr. Alchemy? 

Alvin: (Laughs) You’ve got a good sense of humor, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: I am not joking, Mr. Desmond. There are simply no records of an Alvin Desmond existing at any point before you became Dr. Alchemy. People reported seeing you for a few months before that, but until you were arrested, there was no record of a man with your name, appearance, and fingerprints anywhere. 

Alvin: (Uncomfortable) What are you talking about? Of course there are records of me! Alvin Desmond, born in Tampa, Florida, to Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Desmond? 

Hugo Strange: If you don’t believe me, see for yourself. (Hugo Strange hands file to Alvin, who flips through it) 

Alvin: (In a small voice) Why aren’t there any records of me? 

Hugo Strange: (Surprised)  You didn’t know?

Alvin: Of course I didn’t know! I have memories of living a full life! I remember my parents; I remember going to school! There have to be records of that somewhere! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Desmond, do you mean to tell me that you didn’t have someone erase your records? 

Alvin: No! No, I didn’t! (Pause) Doctor...what’s going on? How can there be no records of me before I became Dr. Alchemy? I know I had a life before that! I remember it perfectly! 

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid that I don’t know what’s going on, either, Mr. Desmond. I have had other patients whose records have been partially erased, but I’ve never had a patient whose records were erased entirely without their knowledge. 

Alvin: Doctor, you...you’ve gotta help me! How can I have memories of things that aren’t in my files? I’m not crazy! I’m not! Brother Albert is the crazy one! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Desmond, you must calm down! 

Alvin: Calm down? Calm down? My entire life apparently doesn’t exist, and you’re telling me to calm down? 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Desmond, I promise that I can help you...but only if you cooperate with me. Please calm down! 

(Long pause) 

Alvin: All right. I’ll cooperate. I think it’s time the two of us had a chat with Brother Albert. If anyone knows what’s going on here, it’ll be him. (Pause) Assuming we can get him to come out, that is.

Hugo Strange: Something that would be much easier to do if you hadn’t framed him for the crime you committed, Mr. Desmond. 

Alvin: You can’t blame me for that, Doctor. I’m an evil twin! Messing with Brother Albert is simply in my nature. 

Hugo Strange: And how would you know that, Mr. Desmond? You’re no longer even sure what your nature is.

[catboybiologist]

Hi! I’m CatboyBiologist.

Formerly a femboy, now a trans woman just starting HRT, and a PhD student in molecular biology. I started using this online persona as a fun, shitposty way to explore gender a few years ago. I post selfies (generally sfw, but somewhat sexy, so minors and ppl who don’t like that have been warned), rambles about science, tutorials and advice from the stuff I’ve learned by being a femboy in the past, nature pictures, stuff about the ocean, my adorable grumpy little tortoise, and unsolicited opinions on random nerdy topics. Any pronouns are fine. I don’t plan to socially transition for a while, and still present as a man most of the time, so I’m used to whatever you wanna use for me (for now, I’ll update this if that changes). Please send me pictures of your pets or other cute animals in your life!

As a scientist, I’m also documenting my transition! This google sheet will be updated at least monthly. I also have additional metrics I’m keeping to myself, and pictures that go with this, but I’m not sharing them publicly yet. Keep in mind that this is just one person’s experience with HRT, and may not represent universal trends!

Adding a little something here, bc I think it was an interesting bit a writing: if you want to see me respond to a transphobe about what "biologically female" means, here's a thing I wrote about it. CW for transphobia and discussion, obviously.

Also, if any of my measurements look weird, its entirely possible I fucked up. Let me know if anything looks off!

Here’s some of my favorite pre-HRT pictures:

If you want to see more of my pre-HRT selfies, browse the “femboy” tag on my blog!

And as of this writing, I’m only 2 days after the start of HRT, so here’s a picture with my tortoise that’s technically post-HRT (but with 0 time for actual changes):

If you want to see my future post-HRT selfies, browse the “trans selfie” tag on my blog!

Also here's another really cute picture and fanart of my tortoise by @whalesharkcat:

I have affectionately given my tortoise the title of The Grumpus.

I also wrote a couple of tutorials and general vibes about being a femboy before I started HRT:

Sometimes I make shitposts of myself, I don’t take myself too seriously:

This includes the way I came out on tumblr:

And here’s an overly serious, long ramble about trans thoughts and things that I wrote shortly afterwards:

Later addition: Someone asked how I take selfies, so I wrote a quick and dirty guide with some tips on how I do so in response to their ask:

Oh yeah and apparently I was a 196 microcelebrity? I never to thought I was popular enough for that but apparently some people do 🤷‍♀️. So uh, hi 196 tags, I'm abusing you for my pinned post LOL

As for terminology, I personally do think of myself as a “man who is becoming a woman” as opposed to having always been a woman. If that doesn’t resonate with your experience, I totally get that! But that’s why I freely call pre-HRT me a femboy, while still calling post-HRT me a trans woman. I’m also keeping the blog name as CatboyBiologist for the forseeable future, because at this point, Catboy just seems like a gender neutral term to me.

I’m also trying to put together a script for a podcast regarding how studying biology influenced my perspective on sex and gender- lmk if there’s any interest in that! It’s probably gonna be way too long and indulgent but oh well.

So uh. Yeah. I don’t end these types of things well. Byeeeeee

[lovelyirony]

stealing caltech’s cannon sounds like such a rhodeytony thing. i can 100% picture them pulling that off

Tony hates Caltech. He hates them a lot. Mainly because they’ve been trying to get him to go there through a series of thousands of emails, letters, and phone calls. 

They haven’t left him alone since he was around eight, and so he applied to MIT because of them. (Not that he would’ve gone to Caltech anyways, but spiting them certainly felt better.) 

And they’re still sending people to MIT like some sort of Jehovah’s Witness program, and Tony hates trying to avoid them. 

“Come on, you fit the California vibe so much better!” One of the students says. 

“Did they genuinely pay for your flight here?” Tony asks. “Is that why you’re trying to get me to be late to my molecular biology class? My professor used to be a professional kickboxer, I don’t think you’d like being hit near as much as your university is advocating for it.” 

“Come on, just visit the campus. Whoever gets you to visit first gets tuition off next year,” he whines. 

Tony stills. 

“Are they...they’re wasting funding on that?” 

“Yes!” 

“Buddy, I’ll pay for the rest of your college career if you transfer to MIT.” 

“Wait, seriously?” 

“Seriously. Even the flight here. Just tell them you need another flight back and don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” 

The student scurries off, and Tony sighs, writing down a note to write to Howard and write off the sum of the money off...he’ll probably write it off as something like gambling debts or something. 

(Tony never loses in gambling. Ever.) 

This is just one student, and while Tony would love to put Caltech out of business, he can write approximately one gambling debt of that nature off. Sure Howard wouldn’t pay attention to him probably, but that’s a big “probably.” 

He goes to Rhodey, who also hates Caltech because they’ve been trying to get him to go over there. 

“We need a permanent solution.” 

“Like...not arson, right?” 

“No!” Tony scowls. “Although if Caltech did burn, technically it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to it...” 

So they brainstorm. 

And they come up with an idea that will make Caltech only come back to MIT once: 

Stealing their beloved cannon. Caltech has this cannon that they restored (to shoot spaghetti out of it or something of the sort...the university wouldn’t allow actual fire) and it’s their pride and joy. 

Well. Rhodey and Tony are always willing to go the extra mile. 

Or three thousand miles. 

There’s a new moving company with at least forty five-star reviews and three one-star just for good measure. (Rhodey’s idea.) Howe and Ser Moving Co. 

It’s their job to move the cannon to a “secure” location for a newly leveled concrete panel. 

They get polo shirts and everything. Rhodey is very surprised at the anonymity that affords a polo shirt. 

“I should invest in this for my wardrobe.” 

“I’ll never talk to you again if you do that,” Tony warns. 

“You love me too much for that,” Rhodey grins. “I’ll wear a kelly green polo shirt and you’ll still love me.” 

“No,” Tony says, ignoring how his heart speeds up. “Now come on, Jamie and Olivia are gonna greet us at Caltech. They’ve been posing as student tour guides and I think I owe Jamie some sort of illicit substance as recompense.” 

“They want a Hobby Lobby giftcard.” 

“That’s the illicit substance?!” 

“To be fair, they are homophobic and very weirdly Christian.” 

Tony pauses. 

“...makes sense. Okay. Let’s go steal a cannon.” 

-

They almost get caught. Almost. Some stupid freshman stops them and talks about how Harvey Mudd stole the cannon and how others have tried but they can’t. 

“Yeah, sure would suck if someone did,” Tony says with a shrug. “Don’t you have something to do, like fail physics?” 

“If I wanted to do that I’d go to MIT,” the freshman says with a sniff. “They wouldn’t know how to calculate movement if the equations were laid out. They’re so dense.” 

“Uh huh,” Rhodey says. “Right.” 

-

The cannon makes it about halfway with a broken hitch, and they have to drive about twenty under the speed limit to make it to a place where the next team can take over with a new hitch, and Tony can negotiate with the actual moving company that they hired to cut the price by half because it’s just ridiculous at this point. 

The cannon makes it to MIT in the dead of night, Rhodey slides on the Brass Rat, and they point it towards Pasadena. 

“Can I kiss you?” Rhodey asks, grinning. “You just...this was incredible.” 

“We are not kissing in front of a Caltech artifact are you kidding me?” Tony says. “We will never do that. I’d hurl rather than do that.” 

Rhodey laughs, swooping Tony into his arms and carrying him off. 

“See our work on the front page tomorrow?” 

“As long as our faces aren’t on it, I don’t care what we see tomorrow.” 

[zelkam]

Top 5 classes you've taken in university? Now that you're done and can look back on them all

Huh, let's see! [not rlly in order tho]

1. Forensic Medicine - so this was an extra class during my Master's and since it was not a field that most of us would go into anyways, they added a lot of the juicy criminal-related medical stuff aside from regular lectures. So we had stuff like "guess what happened judging by the blood splatters", one of out profs casually bringing us old skulls that he was currently working with and making us "diagnose" them and so on. Also we were joining the staff in forensic autopsies and we went from standing scared by the wall to actually helping out. Also the staff there was so fun and friendly.

2. Molecular Embryology - my beloved. So this was a course on my last year of Bachelor's and everyone remembers it as "super difficult but fun". The practical classes were super fun because we were working with zebrafish and chicken embryos and I actually ended up going into this direction because of that course!

3. Molecular Biology - another "difficult but fun". One of my first courses at uni and I'm glad that they ended up being tough on us because I feel like we would really crumble later if we didn't know the fundamentals really well. Also the lecturers were awesome. Also ended up going into this direction (my department for my Master’s was ‘Biochemistry and Molecular Biology’ and I’m still doing stuff there)

4. Immunobiology - for some time I was actually really hyped about it. I just like the blood/immune-related stuff a lot.

5. Practical Scientific Communication - so basically a course on how to talk about science to other people, give presentations and deal with public speaking. It was super helpful to get rid of the fear of talking in front of people.

But honestly there were so many others as well!!

[send me "top 5 anything"!!]

[saintshigaraki]

lab was nearly 6 hours today and i enjoyed it a lot actually......molecular biology my beloved....

[onlymollygibson]

Netflix’s Avatar: The Last Airbender and the Perils of a Too-Faithful Adaptation

“The book was better than the movie.”  You and I have heard it a thousand times.  Your favorite character’s arc was cut.  The lead actor’s hair was the wrong color.  HARRY DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE??!?!?!

I get it.  Some adaptations are downright terrible.  Others are decent but have a few cringe-worthy moments. 

As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized how important it is for adaptations to, well, adapt, whether to fit the demands of the medium they choose to use or adapt to a different audience than the original.  The entertainment industry has churned out some absolutely amazing book-to-movie adaptations over the years.  The Princess Bride.  Freaking James Bond.  The Lord of the Rings.  The adaptations that have succeeded have done so when creators loved the original story and respected their audience, but weren’t afraid to change things. 

Take Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs for example.  It was based on a children’s book about a grandpa’s silly bedtime stories. The original book didn’t even have a protagonist.  But the Lord and Miller wrote and directed a feature-length film full of hilarious characters and a satisfying plot.  It also featured the best moments from the book and some truly terrible wonderful food puns.  The took the whimsical feel of the book and turned it up to 11.   The creators recognized that an audience has entirely different expectations for a movie vs a children’s book, and they adapted accordingly.  And honestly, teenage me was pissed the first time I saw it.  Mostly because I couldn’t get over their explanations of now the FLRSALPHABETSOUP worked on a molecular level.  As my younger brothers forced me to watch it again and again, I got over my pretentious angst about incorrect biology and just enjoyed watching an animated version of Mr. T talk say things like, “My chest hairs are tingling.”

Often, the anger over book-to-movie adaptations comes when the creators can’t keep every beloved line, scene, or character from a well-loved book.  Unless they’re doing a BBC miniseries and can bless the world with a certain six-hour version of Pride and Prejudice.  Other times, they need to adapt to their storytelling medium of choice.  Can you imagine if the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice kept every line from the book?  They’d have to talk like auctioneers just to fit it all in.  Besides, a completely faithful adaptation had already been done.  To make a memorable, beloved movie in it’s own right, the creators had to adapt.  

Of course, adaptational choices aren’t all good.  Just ask anyone who had the misfortune of watching M Night Sh**m*l*n’s The Last Airbender movie.  Or Eragon.  The dragons had feathers.  Feathers!  Or Percy Jackson.  

But not all change is bad.  The Princess Bride book is hilarious.  But also very wordy.  And the running joke about it being an abridgment of a long, boring history book (Goldman says things like, “This scene was followed by fourteen pages on Florin’s trade and exports, but I cut that.”) was hilarious. BUT a joke like that doesn’t translate well to the big screen, so they didn’t really go into that when they made the movie. Instead, the beloved adaptation is famous for its snappy, witty dialogue.  

Making a good adaptation comes down to recognizing the strengths and limitations of each medium. 

Books: - Great for showing what a character is thinking - Plenty of time for exposition or extensive backstory - Action sequences can be hard to visualize - They don’t have a soundtrack Movies: - They can create a mood instantly with a combination of music and visual cues - There is something absurdly powerful about watching actors deliver really emotionally intense lines.   Or funny lines if they have good comedic timing.  -Action scenes! - The chance to watch characters kiss! - Introspection and exposition can be more difficult, especially with the pressure to make every second count in a movie. 

TL:DR We like to complain about adaptations, but sometimes the adaptational choices are actually necessary and good.  

This brings me to Avatar: The Last Airbender. The TV show was absolutely amazing!  Which is why I’m so worried about this new adaptation.  There’s a lot of pressure to live up to the original, and I’m worried the creators will play it safe.  We fans have had, what? a decade? to watch and re-watch every single scene.  Every character has been analysed to pieces and nearly every possible ship has been shipped.  There’s no way a play-by-play adaptation will be as beloved as the original.  If they try to make an exact adaptation, we’ll spend the entire time cataloging its flaws.  Someone will complain that the actor playing Sokka wasn’t the right kind of goofy or Ty Lee isn’t as flexible, or Zuko’s scar doesn’t look right.  

Here’s what Bryke should do instead: change something.  Make this adaptation an AU.  We’ve spent ten-ish years with canon.  Give us a new canon to work with.  The Season Two finale was so wonderful the first time because we legitimately didn’t know what decision Zuko would make.  It’s still enjoyable to re-watch because we have that agony of what-if he made the right choice in the catacombs and it hurts every single time.   But we’re going into the Netflix series knowing exactly what happened the first time.  If they don’t make any major changes it will be like reading those fanfictions that are like, “What if Toph had an older brother? How would that change things?” and then they completely repeat the canon line-by-line with a few added snarky asides delivered by Toph’s older brother Rocky.  (Sorry if fics like that are your thing.  You do you, and don’t let my complaining about them make you feel bad.) Now imagine that the first episode of the Netflix adaptation introduces some minor changes that are sure to have rippling effects throughout the series: - What if Azula was the heir and Zuko was the spare? - What if Lu Ten survived the siege of Ba Sing Se and Iroh became Fire Lord?  (Suddenly we have villains who aren’t as overtly evil as Zhao.  The Fire Nation people going after the Gaang would be more like Jeong Jeong.) - What if Aang actually saw some of the Sozin’s comet airbender massacre?   - What if Sokka was a bender? - What if Azula wasn’t? - What if the Fire Nation had conquered the North Pole before tried to get Ba Sing Se?  Or what if the Northern Water Tribe allied themselves with the Fire Nation years ago? The point is, introduce a few permutations and see how they effect the story down the line.  Keep the spirit of the series the same by giving us the same level of suspense and agony over the what-ifs and narrative parallels, but change the story so we are one the edge of our seats the entire time.  

And, dare I say, change the ships.  The shipping wars in ATLA were legendary, largely because of the chemistry fans saw between Katara and Zuko. And while there were negative aspects of the shipping wars, some absolutely amazing fics were written as a result.  If the creators change enough that fans think anything is possible, it will create so much buzz and take the Netflix adapatation from, I’m-watching-this-because-I-loved-the-original-and-well-at-least-its-visually-stunning to Holy-Crap-you-have-to-watch-this-OMG!!!  I’m not saying they have to do Zutara (even though 2020 is going to be the year of the reformed-villian/hero romance), but they should do something different.  They have a chance to have us on the edge of our seats.  Not taking that chance would be stupid.