#a rare data science post

[millenniallust4death]

Here’s the third exciting installment in my series about backing up one Tumblr post that absolutely no one asked for. The previous updates are linked here.

Previously on Tumblr API Hell

Some blogs returned 404 errors. After investigating with Allie's help, it turns out it’s not a sideblog issue — it’s a privacy setting. It pleases me that Tumblr's rickety API respects the word no.

Also, shoutout to the one line of code in my loop that always broke when someone reblogged without tags. Fixed it.

What I got working:

Tags added during reblogs of the post

Any added commentary (what the blog actually wrote)

Full post metadata so I can extract other information later (ie. outside the loop)

New questions I’m trying to answer:

While flailing around in the JSON trying to figure out which blog added which text (because obviously Tumblr’s rickety API doesn’t just tell you), I found that all the good stuff lives in a deeply nested structure called trail. It splits content into HTML chunks — but there’s no guarantee about order, and you have to reconstruct it yourself.

Here’s a stylized diagram of what trail looks like in the JSON list (which gets parsed as a data frame in R):

I started wondering:

Can I use the trail to reconstruct a version tree to see which path through the reblog chain was the most influential for the post?

This would let me ask:

Which version of the post are people reblogging?

Does added commentary increase the chance it gets reblogged again?

Are some blogs “amplifiers” — their version spreads more than others?

It’s worth thinking about these questions now — so I can make sure I’m collecting the right information from Tumblr’s rickety API before I run my R code on a 272K-note post.

Summary

Still backing up one post. Just me, 600+ lines of R code, and Tumblr’s API fighting it out at a Waffle House parking lot. The code’s nearly ready — I’m almost finished testing it on an 800-note post before trying it on my 272K-note Blaze post. Stay tuned… Zero fucks given?

If you give zero fucks about my rickety API series, you can block my data science tag, #a rare data science post, or #tumblr's rickety API. But if we're mutuals then you know how it works here - you get what you get. It's up to you to curate your online experience. XD

[nope-out-blog]

Hey folks! I'm the data science test blog for @millenniallust4death. Laura is using this account to test R code and wrestle with Tumblr’s rickety API to back up one post.

I'm not a porn bot. XD

[rosyblooom]

could you please do lando and a stem girl who goes to uni but has a private life please

they don't know about us | ln4 smau

pairing: lando norris x private fem computer science major!reader a/n: this took me forever but hope u still like :) also, if you've got requests could u add if you want it to be smau or fic pls <3

Instagram

landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: Mind you, I just woke up... ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

Twitter

Instagram

landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption 1: 🕒✈️ ] [ caption 2: miami 👋 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: shoutout to the inventor of coffee i owe u big time🙏 ] [ caption 2: uhm i was just going to rest my eyes for 2 minutes?? good morning i guess💀 ]

f1gossip

liked by username, username, username and 12,057 others

f1gossip Y/N L/N, current girlfriend of Lando Norris, has been photographed arriving at the paddock for today's Miami GP.

Y/N's presence comes as a bit of a surprise, considering she was absent during practice and qualifying sessions, and rarely attends races. Speculation about a potential breakup has been rampant, but her appearance suggests that there might not be trouble in paradise after all... 👀

view all 793 comments

username she always looks so classy and put-together, i'm obsessed <33

username no bc am i the only who has no problem with her only attending a few races a year? some ppl don't have time to jet off across the globe 24/7 like

username it's the fact that they literally travelled to miami together and she still didn't go to quali or practice😐 the other wags do it, why can't she?

username i just know lando had to beg her to come smh

username why are y'all so rude omg?? some ppl are introverts...

username when you're in the public eye, you don't get to be "introverted"🙃 username that's an insane take wtf?

username GUYS i think she's a uni student cause peep lando's story a few days ago🧐 that explains why she's never at gps

username so? i'm a senior and i went to the aus gp this year username okay... do you want a cookie ?

username if a wag is at all races she's fame-hungry, and if she doesn't she's unsupportive like make up y'all's minds pls 🙄

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: YOU DID IT!!! HE DID IT!!! MY BABY IS AN F1 WINNER OMFGGG🥹🥳👏 you deserved this so so much, i'm sooo proud of you ❤️❤️❤️ ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

Twitter

Instagram

landonorris

liked by yourusername, _aarava, martingarrix and 2,005,872 others

landonorris Memories for life ❤️

view all 5,947 comments

username aw the 5th pic🥹

username do you think number six is y/n??👀 username 100%

username 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

username LANDO NOW WINS IKTRRRRR‼️🤩

username ofc y/n couldn't even be bothered to comment... and the most unsupportive wag award goes to y/n l/n!! congrats hun x

username y'all are weird YOU DON'T KNOW THESE PPL!! username it's the 'be kind' in ur bio for me miss gurl 🤡

username best day ever 🤧

lewishamilton 👏👏👏

(liked by author)

riabish sooo happy!!!

(liked by author)

username not ria being more of a gf then y/n oop username thanks for being such a good friend to lando, we love you💖

username next goal: beome world champion 👀👀

username yessirrrr

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: back to reality 💔 ] [ caption 2: jkjk it's not that bad, i don't cry nearly as much as i did in first year 🙂‍↕️☝️ ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

harvard

liked by yourusername, username, username and 29,063 others

harvard Final projects, theses, dissertations, and more! Check out what these soon-to-be graduates explored in some of their last assignements on campus.

Y/N's thesis navigated the intricate relationship between privacy and secure multi-party computation, enhancing data analysis while safeguarding sensitive information.

2. Steve's environmental science project examined urban development's impact on local biodiversity, providing insights for sustainable urban planning.

3. Nya's dentistry research poster explored new methods to improve dental implant success, promising better patient outcomes and oral healthcare.

—

We are celebrating the extraordinary members of the Class of #Harvard24 🎓

view all 127 comments

username 👏👏👏

username Awesome!

username Very good! Congrats to all these students!!💪

username wait am i tripping or is this y/n as in lando's gf y/n???😳 btw my biggest dream is to go to harvard in '26 !!!! 💕

username 😍😍

username streets are saying y/n goes to harvard so i had to come check and omg??😩

username no bc wag AND harvard girly?? just looked at myself and sighed fr... username now i feel bad for talking shit🫤

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: pulling an all-nighterrrr 😁 ] [ caption 2: nevermind, lando just made me promise to get some sleep :( ]

A few months later...

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: couldn't ask for better shoulders to cry on srsly 🙂‍↕️ WE DID IT MY LOVESSS 🎓❤️❤️ ] [ caption 2: this us? 😏 (corny, i know...) ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

lando.jpg

liked by daniel3.jpg, yourusername, carlossainz55 and 847,903 others

tagged: yourusername

lando.jpg 🍾🎓❤️

view all 4,037 comments

username a win for women iktr 😌

username wow i'm so happy for her omg 🫶🫶 (jealous too but mostly happy loolol)

username LMAO are we the same person?

carlossainz55 👏👏👏

username now she has no excuse anymore

username if lando's completely happy with it all, why the hell are u upset? 🤡

username 2024 really gave us lando's first ever win and now this?? we love to see it 😍

yourusername ❤️❤️

(liked by author)

username we love you y/n <333 username i hope you'll be able to attend more races from now on!! i love seeing you in the paddock 💕

username the way i still haven't fully processed the fact that harvard gave her a shoutout goddamn🤯

usernmae not you calling that a shoutout bye💀💀

username AAHHHH YAYY CONGRATS Y/N YOU'RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE 🤍🤍🤍🤍

0:33 ───ㅇ───────── 2:40

[scatter-snz]

Best Laid Plans - Part 1

Details: 9k, Male sneezes, no pairing (yet..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

PART 1 - PART 2

My first original piece I've posted here!

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. Still, I had fun writing it! I hope someone else can enjoy it too! 

These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and liked to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. what? Tactical measures?”

“Yes, strategic options. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times for each nostril, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice. 

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be. 

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water. 

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and dripped off his chin. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do.. 

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-.. 

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set in -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..” 

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore aloud, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Ugh, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..” 

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!” 

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!” 

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..” 

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..” 

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..? 

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here. 

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.” 

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath. 

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now. 

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears. 

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave them, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.” 

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes. 

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior. 

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you? 

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which… 

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues. 

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.” 

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in. 

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal. 

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!! Part 2 is in the works!

PART 2 IS HERE!

[melyzard]

The World is Amazing, Actually (Part 11 or 12, I lost count)

It's been awhile since I made a post about how fucking rad the world actually is, and amidst all the pandemics and climate change and economic troubles, I felt the need.

So:

Today’s Wild Place (The Earth is An Alien Planet):

The Danakil Depression, Ethiopia:

The Danakil Depression is probably the closest you'll ever be able to come to standing on the surface of Venus (without the crushing atmosphere, of course). Choking sulphuric acid and chlorine gases fill the air, while acid ponds and geysers pepper the landscape. 

- Daisy Dobrijevic, published July 4, 2022

(BTW scientists recently discovered microbes capable of surviving in this toxic, extremely hot environment, which means...well, even if we kick the bucket, life will continue. There's something comforting in knowing that no matter how bad we screw up...life will go on.)

Today’s Incredible Feat of Engineering (look! at what! we made!):

Ouarzazate Solar Power Station in Morocco, which has gone solar in a big way.

(Which means they are making a huge contribution to helping fight toxic pollution, noise pollution, water use, land destruction, and carbon emissions. No really, there are charts. Reducing carbon emissions charts. Reducing irresponsible land use charts. Charts! Graphs! Data samples!)

Today’s Cool Life Form (the rare, the weird, the beautiful):

The Hispaniolan Solenodon.

A very rare, nocturnal, shrew-like creature that is one of the few mammals able to produce venom. Look at him! Look at his snout! He's just a little guy! He will bite you and run away on his back legs! He's rare, and endangered, but not gone! Not gone yet, bitches!

(Bonus: 10 Fun Facts About the Solenodon)

Today’s Bizarre Mystery (no, seriously, wtf?):

The Great Unconformity.

Hey, remember the Grand Canyon? Remember how we can see the passage of time through each layer, going back hundreds of thousands of years?

Did you know that apparently, on this massive record of earth's geological history, there's a chunk of time missing? Science has some hypotheses about how and why this happens (and yes, it's been found in more than one place), but they are really only hypotheses, and no one's really sure what happened to, oh, 1.6 billion years, give or take.

Today’s Act of Humanity (yes, we are worth the effort):

After fleeing a war, Ukrainians rush to help Mississippi tornado victims.

"They made the 16-hour drive south to donate bottled water and volunteer with aid workers, buoyed by the idea that they could help a community facing a similar struggle to theirs.

“We had to leave our home,” Pavliuk told The Washington Post in Ukrainian, in an interview interpreted by Hrebenyk. “And they don’t have a place to go back, either.”"

NEW CATEGORY:

Today's Good News About The Future (No, It's Not Too Late and Anyone Who Says Otherwise is Selling Something):

The Saiga Antelope, a species critical to the continued survival of huge swathes of grassland, that in 2003 was down to 6% of it's population and already extinct in it's natural habitat of China and Ukraine, has rebounded back to almost 2 million strong thanks to conservation efforts.

Previous | Next

[devdozes]

Why does the weather keep changing?!

Weather scientist reader x Scientist phainon whos artificially changing the weather :0 what could possibly go wrong PHAINON FANART AT THE END OF THE POST!!

The moment you saw the weather reports go haywire, you knew something was wrong.

For years, you had dedicated your life to understanding the unpredictable nature of the skies—studying storm patterns, atmospheric shifts, and climate changes. Weather was a delicate balance of science and nature, governed by centuries-old principles that even the most advanced meteorologists struggled to predict with absolute certainty. And yet, something—someone—was tipping the scales.

It started subtly. A mild anomaly here, an unexpected shift there. A sudden drop in pressure that meteorological models hadn't accounted for. At first, you chalked it up to a rare, yet natural deviation. Uncommon, but not impossible. But as days passed, the anomalies became more frequent. More erratic. More impossible.

One evening, you sat in your lab, staring at satellite images that simply did not make sense.

According to every forecast model, the eastern seaboard was supposed to experience heavy rainfall over the next 48 hours. But outside your window? Nothing. Clear skies. No clouds forming where they should have been. Not even a hint of humidity in the air. It was as if the storm had just... vanished.

You double-checked the data. Triple-checked. Ran simulations, compared historical trends, even consulted with your colleagues in other departments. Nothing added up. The storm should have happened.

The next day, the opposite occurred. A severe thunderstorm erupted out of nowhere, completely unpredicted by any meteorological model. Lightning struck in regions that had no atmospheric conditions to support it. You stared at your screen, watching real-time data pour in, and felt your stomach sink.

“This isn’t natural,” you muttered, fingers tightening around your stylus as you scrolled through satellite readings. “This isn’t possible.”

You reached out to national weather agencies, but they were just as baffled as you were. Some blamed equipment malfunctions. Others suggested it was a rare atmospheric anomaly. But you knew better. This wasn’t an error.

Someone was artificially changing the weather.

And you were going to find out who.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Your investigation led you to an independent research facility under the name "Elysiae Dynamics." A company that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, its research papers riddled with vague references to ��atmospheric influence” and “climate engineering.” No one in the meteorological community had ever heard of them until recently, and yet, they had just filed a patent for atmospheric manipulation technology.

That’s when you met him.

A tall, cheery young man, 6’2 with messy white hair and cerulean blue eyes, wearing a lab coat over a wrinkled button-up shirt and sneakers that looked far too casual for someone playing god with the atmosphere.

“Ah! You must be the weather scientist!” His voice was bright, chipper, like he wasn’t single-handedly disrupting global climate stability. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And you are?”

“Phainon! Head of experimental meteorological engineering here at Elysiae Dynamics.” He beamed, extending a hand. “I’m the guy who made it rain during your picnic last weekend. Sorry about that! Just had to test a hypothesis.”

You didn’t shake his hand. “You—you what?”

“Oh, don’t look so mad! You should be impressed! I successfully altered the weather without any negative ecological consequences!” Phainon leaned against his desk, arms crossed, still grinning like a fool. “Come on, you of all people should appreciate this. Isn't controlling the weather the dream of every meteorologist?”

“It’s not a dream, it’s an ethical nightmare!” You snapped. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? The slightest miscalculation could throw entire ecosystems off balance! Not to mention the political implications—”

Phainon tilted his head. “But I didn’t miscalculate.”

His confidence was infuriating. His logic, irritatingly sound. And worst of all? You couldn’t deny that what he had accomplished was groundbreaking.

“…This is reckless,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “And insanely impressive. But mostly reckless.”

Phainon’s grin widened. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You groaned. “I need access to your research.”

“Oh-ho, so now you’re interested?”

“I was always interested. But now I need to make sure you’re not about to cause the next ice age.”

Phainon chuckled, stepping closer—too close. His presence was overwhelming in the way only someone deeply, unapologetically passionate about their work could be. “Tell you what, partner,” he said, voice teasing, “help me refine it, make it safer. You’re the expert on natural weather—I’m just the guy making it unnatural. Work with me, and we can create something truly extraordinary.”

You wanted to refuse. You really, really did.

But damn it, he had a point.

“…Fine.”

His eyes lit up, like a storm forming in the depths of a clear sky. “Excellent! Now, let’s get to work—I was thinking about making it snow in July next. Just for fun!”

You groaned. This was going to be a long partnership. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ And long it was. Over the next few weeks, you found yourself sucked into the chaotic whirlwind that was Phainon’s scientific madness. He worked at an impossible pace, throwing around ideas that shouldn’t have been possible but somehow were. One minute, he’d be theorizing about localized heatwaves, and the next, he’d be actively making them happen.

“You can’t just create a thunderstorm over the city because you think it would look cool,” you hissed one afternoon, watching in horror as Phainon gleefully adjusted dials on his control panel.

“Oh, but I can,” he countered, eyes gleaming. “It’s all about the precision. Watch—three, two, one…”

A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the city below.

“…Boom.”

You stared at him. “You are so going to get arrested.”

“Nah, only if they catch me.”

You groaned, shoving your hands into your lab coat pockets. “Unbelievable. You’re like a child with a god complex.”

Phainon grinned. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Damn it. He had a point. Again.

The worst part? You were starting to enjoy it.

Lately, though, you had been feeling exhausted.

The late nights, the stress, the mental load of balancing scientific integrity with Phainon’s chaos—it was all catching up to you. Your movements were slower, your focus slipping. Even Phainon, for all his oblivious enthusiasm, noticed.

That afternoon, when the sun was unbearably hot and the air in the lab felt thick and suffocating, you slumped over your desk, barely listening as Phainon rambled about his next experiment.

And then, suddenly—

A breeze.

Cool, crisp, and carrying the scent of oncoming rain. You blinked in confusion, looking up just in time to see Phainon, standing by the open window, a knowing smile on his face.

“You looked like you needed a break,” he said simply, leaning against the sill. “So I changed the weather. Just a little.”

Your eyes widened. The screens behind you, once displaying the sweltering forecast, now showed cloud cover rolling in. The suffocating heat? Gone.

“…You did this?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Phainon grinned. “Of course. Can’t have my partner melting away on me, can I?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Damn him.

“C’mon,” he suddenly said, pushing off the window ledge. “Let’s go outside for a bit. We’ve been in this lab for too long, and I changed the weather for you. C’mon.”

Before you could protest, Phainon grabbed your hand and dragged you toward the exit, leaving behind a room full of stunned scientists, their jaws practically on the floor as they watched him whisk you away like a force of nature itself. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The moment you stepped outside, a crisp breeze greeted you, carrying the scent of damp earth and something electrifying—the prelude to a storm. You glanced up at the sky, expecting the soft cloud cover Phainon had crafted just for you, but instead—

A downpour.

Cold, heavy raindrops pelted down from the heavens, drenching the both of you in an instant. It wasn’t just a light drizzle or a gentle summer rain—it was an absolute deluge.

You gasped, half in shock, half in disbelief.

Phainon, still holding your hand, blinked up at the sky in stunned silence.

Then you burst out laughing. Loud, uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh my god—did you leave the machine on auto mode?!” you choked out between fits of laughter. “Phainon, the weather just changed again! WHAT DID YOU DO?”

He stared at you for a second, then back at the rain, and then at you again.

“…I might have forgotten to turn off the randomization function,” he admitted sheepishly.

Your laughter only grew. “Are you kidding me?! We barely made it outside, and now we’re stuck in an artificial monsoon!”

Phainon, despite his momentary fluster, grinned widely. “Well, on the bright side—at least it’s refreshing!” And with that, he spread his arms out dramatically, embracing the torrential downpour like some mad scientist turned weather god.

You shook your head, still breathless with laughter. Your clothes were already soaked through, hair sticking to your forehead, rain streaming down your face—but in that moment, you didn’t care.

Phainon turned to you, eyes gleaming mischievously through the rain. “So, do you wanna run back inside? Or…” He took a step back, still holding onto your wrist, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Oh, you knew that look.

He was about to do something reckless.

“…Phainon,” you warned.

“Catch me if you can!”

And just like that, he took off—sprinting through the rain like a madman.

You groaned. Of course.

But your feet moved before you could even think about it, chasing after him through the drenched pavement, laughter bubbling in your chest. The other scientists, who had peeked outside to witness this chaos, simply stood there, utterly baffled as their two most brilliant colleagues—one being the cause of this entire mess—bolted through the facility grounds, completely soaked.

“Phainon, get back here!” you yelled, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” he called back, voice bright, wild, and full of life. "YOU STUPID LITTLE-"

THE SILLIES ARE BACK AAGIN I LVOE THEM SO MUCHCH AUGH

[yellowmagicalgirl]

YellowMagicalGirl's Femslash February 2025 Wrap-Up

It's the first day of March, and for the first time I have made it through all of Femslash February while having completed every prompt! The vast majority of these fics are drabbles, with five double drabbles, one triple drabble, and a single fic above 500 words. All fics are rated G or T (individual warnings can be found in the tags), and can be found on my tumblr as well. These fics have been formatted as follows:

Title + AO3 Link | Fandom | Ship | Prompt(s) (which could come from either @femslashfeb's or @ministarfruit's prompt lists)

Blood in the Snow | This is How You Lose the Time War | Red/Blue | Frost

Heart Over the Horizon | The Locked Tomb | Griddlehark | Horizon & Heal Me

The Downsides of No Longer Being a Tower Prince | The Locked Tomb | Griddlehark | Fracture

Drive the Monster Far Away From Here | Nimona (movie) | Gloreth/Nimona | Hate Me

Checklist for a Date | Winx Club | Bloom/Stella | Picnic

The Princess's Requisition | Arcane: League of Legends | CaitVi | Bow

One Way of Being Useful | Tales of Arcadia | Ajaire | Hold Me

Vase Acting as a Vessel? | Tales of Arcadia Barbmura | Ghost

Kings and Princesses | First Kill (TV) | Caliette | Coworkers AU

Dear Old Mother, You May Safely Trust My Word | Tales of Arcadia | Barbmura | Trust Me

Her Favorite Shade of Red | The Legend of Vox Machina | Cassleth | Vine

A Letter Sent in Wires and Pollen | This is How You Lose the Time War | Red/Blue | Find Me & Blanket

My Heart Would Only Ever Beat For You | Tales of Arcadia | Barbmura | Pulse

towers falling all around us (we rarely become heroes) | Khyber Shards | Kara/Nisaria | Save Me & Crush

when our memories have begun to ring with boredom | Tales of Arcadia | Marynon | Forget Me

Contains Choking Hazards | Winx Club | Bloom/Stella | Doll

I, Agnes, Take You, the Borg Queen Who Assimilated Me | Star Trek: Picard | Borgnes | Marry Me

Rite of Remembrance | Khyber Shards | Thora/Lonnie | Remember Me

Look on the Light Side | Super Suits | Bonnie/Cole | Glow

Welding Back the Pieces | RWBY | Nuts and Dolts | Puzzle

Bid my blood to run | Tales of Arcadia | Barbmura | Shadow (and also Bring Me To Life if you squint)

A Collective Built on Leather, Crystals, Glass, Pearls, and Jade | Star Trek: Picard | Borgnes | Married

Walking Directly Into My Heart's Trap | Khyber Shards | Kara/Nisara

All Star Heathens | Crossover: The Locked Tomb and Arcane: League of Legends | Gideon Nav/Vi | Understand Me

As the Muse Eats the Pomegranate | First Kill (TV) | Caliette | Myth

Dreams of Two White Dresses | Tales of Arcadia | Clairy | Kids

How Many Decades of Hiding (Stash the Proof, Hide the Evidence) | Winx Club | Blicy | Be There for Me

Body Temperature Restored | The Locked Tomb | Griddlehark | Warmth

And now, because I am a massive nerd who does data science for a living, have some statistics! (Which I'm putting under a cut since this post is already long enough.)

The twenty-eight fics linked above total to 3,952 words. For comparison, I published a little over 39k to AO3 in 2024. February was certainly a rather productive writing month for me.

On average, I wrote 141.1428571 words each day, with a standard deviation of 93.9048585 words. (This does not count words written for other fics). For a daily view of the wordcount and running average, please see the graph below:

If we ignore the rather large outlier that is the Videon fic, we instead get an average wordcount of 125.9259 with a standard deviation of 51.58662 words.

I published to 12 unique fandoms (not counting the crossover). I tagged them in order of which fandom has received the most fics from me. This way, if this post only shows up in certain fandom tags and not others, it's more likely to show up in the tags that received more fics.

The fandom that I wrote the most fics for was the Tales of Arcadia series, while the fandom that I wrote the most words for was The Locked Tomb if we sum both the 500 words dedicated to Griddlehark and the 552 words dedicated to the crossover ship I call Videon. This crossover fic was also the longest fic I wrote for Femslash February.

I did not keep a count of this, so I cannot share the statistics for it, but I'd argue that my most mistyped word this month was femslash. I kept trying to type femsalsh instead.

[maxwell-grant]

What are your in-depth thoughts on THE CHIMERA BRIGADE? Would love to know what you make of it, given its handling and assembly of so much pulp material.

@thedeathalchemist asked: With your first initial thoughts on League posted, I have to ask did you ever get around to reading all of the Chimera Brigade and its sequel/spin-offs?

Anonymous asked: Any advice for how to a fictional character mashup story ala chimera brigade, league, etc?

(So first and foremost huge thanks to Ritesh Babu for being the whole reason for me finally picking this up again and finishing it, our conversations with him and @davidmann95 were crucial for putting this together)

(Also SPOILERS for The Chimera Brigade - this comic is impossible to discuss meaningfully without spoiling it down to the last issue, so go read it first)

The French tradition of booklets and serials certainly didn't have the punch or the sociological freedom of the pulps, but certain of its great figures did survive the Second World War: Fantomas, Arsene Lupin, Rouletabille and even, in a way, Maigret. Why those and not the others.

Why doesn't anyone remember the Nyctalope, or Hareton Ironcastle, or Felifax or Michel Ardent? Which cultural black hole of pre-war French science-fiction were they swallowed up by? And why have our bandes dessinées authors neglected these virtual superheroes that a little touch-up here and there could have modernised? - Serge Lehman

I can very confidently say two things - 1: I've read countless works like The Chimera Brigade that set out to do something similar to what The Chimera Brigade does, and 2: I have never seen a work like The Chimera Brigade, and one that achieves what it does the way it does. This being a superb pulp fiction crossover, who makes most of the others seem like they're not even trying, is maybe the smallest of it's achievements.

It's the kind of project that so very often tends to get lost in the weeds of it's source material, of having it's context overtaking the plot, of devolving into simple sentimental reverence or spiteful potshots at the expense of the story it set up, of being able to construct a story and world convincingly but fumbling at the finish line, and it's so very rare to find one of these projects that is ENTIRELY about the finish line of what the narrative has set-up, especially when they have significant messy real-life history and context to bolt in, which The Chimera Brigade has a ton of.

Pulp nerd crossovers tend to be largely about the novelty of it's characters meeting up, or the unresolved tension between it's characters and the historical context they coincidentally inhabit, or setting up a shared verse to be played in, and thus a lot of them are predictably aimless when it's time to wrap up the story and thus define what the story in question was about. This is even an issue that series creator and co-author Serge Lehman even brings up during the annotations, regarding why he asked his friend Fabrice Colin to co-write the script with him, specifically in part to try and prevent this. I want to make note of what he says here, "confusing fanatic nostalgia for creativity". A thing this set out to avoid, and a thing that helps set this apart from so, so, so many pulp hero crossovers / pulp-in-wartime stories / dissertations about publication-meta-fictional history presented as stories, miles and miles of Wold Newton adjacent stuff I've scoured for days and weeks on end and tried very, very, VERY hard to like so much more than I actually do.

This project does demand a lot of data archival, it demands the laborious Jess Nevins annotations and footnotes to keep track of who's whom or who's meant to be what. It's a story about European superheroes that is focused why European superheroes don't actually exist / completely vanished stillborn around the time the American superheroes first appeared and became a dominant force, specifically drawing on reasons like publishing failures and the fascist incorporation of superhumanity that really did cause these things to vanish. But The Chimera Brigade is a very, very focused project: it's about one thing first and foremost, and it's about one moment first and foremost, and thus the thing that it is about, and the historical moment that informs it, completely defines the purpose of it. Crucially, this is one of the many things this has that makes it so good, that makes it so different from so many other modern takes on pulp fiction or crossovers: the clarity of purpose this has, the point it's making and the unflinching vision it achieves to serve it.

It's a historical pulp nerd project initially entirely centered around a real phenomenon only historical pulp nerds are likely to know anything about, and then it gradually reveals itself to be, in fact, about something everyone has always known about all along, and you were only ever deluding yourself for thinking this was heading anywhere else. You want to talk about European superheroes? You want to talk about European pulp history? You want to know about the absence of the European Superman and why the Americans got to really create that instead? Okay, let's talk about that. Let's talk about European fictional history and see where it goes.

Even before the central question of European Superhero History comes into play, the baseline concept of The Chimera Brigade's worldbuilding is already taking such a smart, clear-eyed, versatile approach to the crossover aspect, starting from really strong pitches and compelling hooks regardless of what context you have for it, that enables it to tie it's pulp characters to the superhero history and political turmoil it will dwelve into, by tapping into The Great Unifier of Marvel Origin Stories: radiation. What if the first superheroes were also created by radiation? If superheroes are so inherently tied to World War 2 and the Atomic Bomb, and pulp heroes are so inherently tied to World War 1, what if we went back further to Marie Curie and the discovery of Radium as the connective tissue between them? What if we set about unpacking the radioactive monster elements inherent to the genre, as they creep into the world before the actual superheroes do? What if the existence of superhumans, in itself, inevitably placed humanity into a cold war / arms race, just as the existence of atomic bombs in our reality did (a.k.a what if The Power Fantasy was actually about what it says it's about, or really was about anything at all)? What does it mean for these constructs to exist at the time they do, to come from the nations they come from, in the way they are made to be?

Everyone here may not have a singular common origin at first, but they really are all tied together, and that in itself allows all these wildly different fictions to exist together in a way that feels cohesive and justified, on top of lending itself to fun sequences and reimaginings of classic characters and visuals and ideas to engage with. And that's an important thing to also highlight first, that this is a very well-crafted and fun comic to read. Don't let all the pulp nerd context scare you, this thing is a hoot.

It does a superb job at being a fun, engaging pulp comic, playing with a Mike Mignola/John Paul Leon-esque artstyle that makes a lot of this feel familiar and dynamic, with a lot of collages that play more experimentally and add a lot to the real-world history aspect of it. Gess and Bessonneau's art lives up to the tremendous task of taking all these characters from very different sources or creators, or at least very convincingly made to feel as if they would have if they existed before this, and paying tribute to replicated history both real and imagined as well as making them all feel like they belong in the same world and even share similar rooms and spaces, to the point that you can't tell which characters were made up for this and which existed beforehand without consulting the collected edition notes.

A lot of stories do great work by honing in and highlighting the novelty of clashing wildly different tones and structures and designs against each other, that is actually one of my favorite things to see done well in any kind of fiction, I'm certainly not arguing that visual consistency is a definitive must for any kind of crossover. But I will argue that here, consistency is a must, because this is not a story about the crossover, the crossover is necessary for the sake of what this story is about. You must believe that you are reading about a world that exists, in part because the finale of this is about making you realize that you were, indeed, reading about the world you live in all along.

With the exception of a not-so-disguised figure who makes two small but very crucial appearences (with other characters scattered across a handful of cameos and mentionings), this completely refrains from using any majorly known characters, and it's important that it does so. This has a very tight control over which characters show up in what way, which characters are relevant and which characters are not, in part because this is about real-world history as much as it's about any of the existing characters it's pulling from elsewhere, and so those are chosen more so as representatives of their nations than anything else, picked first and foremost to represent the real historical circumstances driving this war. The cadaverous and inhumanly wealthy Gog to represent fascist Italy, the weaselly and controlling and useless Nyctalope as a condemnation of France's inaction and whose greatest failure was his unwillingness to stop the fascist takeover of Spain, the mechanical men of the Soviet Union, Dr. Mabuse as a living rampant metaphor for Nazi doctrine and dehumanization, and so on.

All these fantasies/metaphors turned literal and on the warpath, constructs that stand for more than just their respective characters or publishers but the imaginations that created them. You have to talk about those to talk meaningfully about these characters, about the history, and about the reasons why there are no European superheroes from that era, about the profound failure of imagination that occurred in Europe at that time. You have to talk about not just the ways Europe's imagination not only failed, but turned for the worst in the worst ways imaginable, for the worst ends possible. This comic is frequently compared to, or pitched as a companion to, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, which I've covered here, and that's not a parallel I feel is particularly worth getting into (not in the least because this is, obviously, tremendously better written and more thoughtful and purposeful with a fraction of the page count), but I'll say this: if LOEG touches a lot on the idea of fiction as a dangerous, noxious force, largely in terms of stunted moral development and unhealthy attachments to problematic ideas (a thing it can never fully commit to because Moore and O'Neil themselves do have a lot of attachments to it and because it's trying to extend commentary to ALL of fiction), if it's always dancing around the idea of our fictions being unhealthy and problematic and potentially dangerous, The Chimera Brigade picks a subject it very much cannot dance around. Instead of trying to be about all of fiction, it takes a laser-focused approach on the way fiction informs it's central topic. The Chimera Brigade fires a bullet into your heart by just showing the example of how, when and why fiction was used to enable and justify and even perpetrate the slaughter of millions.

There is so much about this comic's final stretch that feels like it shouldn't work, particularly the literalized cockroach metaphor purposefully evoking anti-semitic fiction, but there is no other way this could possibly end other than showing how fiction very much did get weaponized in the name of slaughter. There is no triumph to be had in the European imagination of 1939. There is no way the European superhero can possibly end in anything other than colossal shame and failure, if it allows this to happen. Even if Superman shows up to help, you can't Hope your way out of the Holocaust, not when you're in this historical playground, not when you're talking about the history of the genre. The finale in particular is something I'd like to see being dissected and discussed from a Jewish creator perspective, because so much of it is specifically about that aspect of the superhero myth, but this finale is the big reason why this comic can't be discussed without spoiling it. It would be like trying to discuss Watchmen or Miracleman without spoiling their endings, and believe me, those comparisons are extremely warranted. This ends on even more of a downer ending than those two, and there is no other way this could possibly end.

This comic doesn't just come from a place of great curiosity and historical interest and research, it doesn't just come from a place of love for the medium and it's possibilities, it doesn't just come from a desire to rectify or correct or live up to an ideal within the genre, but it comes from a place of genuine insight and honesty and focus on what it's about, and what it has to say to truly be about that thing. It's a comic that is willing to turn to you and say, "let's take this all the way to the top, let's take this concept where it was actually always going in a way that can never be walked back, no beating around the bush or happy ending, this is what the European superheroes were, this is why they stopped existing after a point. Maybe we could have had them, maybe we could have had superheroes the way the Americans did, but we drove their creators elsewhere by bulldozing their people into mass graves, we deserve this shame and we must confront it, there is no happy ending here, only a reminder of what has been and what must never be again"

It can't pretend this failure, the failure of the European pulp heroes and superhumans, the failures of European society, were redeemed by a different kind of super imagination, and it becomes apparent how much of this is built on the understanding that you do know how this is going to end for everyone and how much all of these characters must dissappear basically forever, The End of the European Superhumans as it displays on the back of the collections, ending the only way it possibly can and with just as horrible of a gut punch for them as it needs to for everyone.

Everyone except the mysterious smiling American strongman with a spitcurl and a suit whose real name can't be legally said, and who is here to bring his family of fellow constructs home so they can take and create The Superhero Genre elsewhere. "Mr.Steele"? Why, he is gonna do just fine from now on.

I was wildly underprepared for how much this would give me to dissect and think about, on it's own and especially in comparison to the kinds of stories that usually attempt what this one is doing. I do know there are sequels and prequels, the sequel doesn't seem like it's any good (you can feel Colin's absence from the first issue) but I do want to check the Nyctalope prequels, and apparently there's a big fancy animated project coming out and I have NO idea how the fuck is that gonna work. But overall this is just a tremendously impressive achievement in genre archaeology and storytelling by every metric, it's astonishing how much this can do with the space it has.

This has genuinely reinvigorated my entire interest in pulp fiction like nothing has in a really long time and I think from this point onwards, any question I get regarding how to tackle a pulp fiction crossover or genre mashup is gonna be answered or prefaced with "read The Chimera Brigade and try to get on that level".

[darkmaga-returns]

The CDC’s Manipulation of HPV Vaccine Data

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has long positioned itself as the ultimate authority on public health, a beacon of science-driven policymaking. Yet, when it comes to the human papillomavirus (HPV) vaccine, or any vaccine, for that matter, the agency’s commitment to scientific rigor is increasingly compromised. The most recent Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report (MMWR) proclaims dramatic reductions in cervical intraepithelial neoplasia (CIN2+ and CIN3+) following the widespread administration of HPV vaccines. The CDC attributes these declines unequivocally to vaccination, crafting a narrative that frames the vaccine as an undeniable triumph of modern medicine.

This report, however, follows a familiar pattern—the deliberate exclusion of data that could complicate the preferred conclusion. Nowhere in the CDC’s analysis does one find any discussion of HPV type replacement, a well-documented phenomenon in which non-vaccine HPV types increase in prevalence following the suppression of vaccine-targeted strains. Despite independent studies confirming post-vaccine increases in HPV31, HPV33, HPV52, and HPV58, the CDC’s surveillance system has systematically avoided tracking these trends. If they were truly confident that type replacement was not occurring, they would conduct routine genotyping to prove it; instead, their refusal to do so suggests they already suspect the answer.

There is no mention of shifting type frequency or co-infection dynamics, where rarer, potentially more oncogenic HPV types may gain dominance in vaccinated populations due to altered competitive exclusion. The report is similarly devoid of any acknowledgment of the failure to demonstrate direct reductions in invasive cervical cancer, the ultimate endpoint that matters in determining whether the vaccine fulfills its intended purpose.

[ixhika-jsx]

## What’s a Cyber Forensic Investigator?

Master post - part 1 • part 2

You must have heard bout forensics yk investigating bout dead people who might have been killed and all

You must have seen shows on those topics too.Cyber forensic investigator is just of same kind but investigating through all types of modern gadgets.

Catching hackers and all but cooler

### The Money Talk: How Much Do They Make?

- **Cash Money**: Expect to rake in about $60k to $120k a year. If you are very much experienced and skilled then you can expect about 150k+ a year.(obv different countries and companies may have different wages)

### Companies That Want You

- **Tech Titans**: Google, Amazon, Facebook—they all have requirement for such heroes

- **Gov Jobs**: FBI, CIA—basically every spy agency wants you.

- **Cybersecurity Firms**: CrowdStrike, McAfee—so every gateway you go you gonna have opportunities everywhere.

### What Other Forensic Investigators Are There?

- **Forensic Pathologists**: Real-life detectives who figure out how someone died. Less tech, more science.

- **DNA Analysts**: The ones matching DNA samples

- **Forensic Accountants**: Following the money to catch fraudsters and scammers

- **Toxicologists**: Poison experts, figuring out if someone’s been covertly poisoned. (Yeaa yk snow white story)

### What’s the Work Environment Like?

- **The Lab**: Imagine a room filled with more screens than your gaming setup. Gadgets galore, maybe even a Red Bull or two

- **On the Move**: Sometimes you’re out in the field, collecting evidence. Think of it like collecting rare items in a game.

- **Remote Vibes**: You could be solving cybercrimes from your bed in your PJs .

### How Long Does It Take to Become One?

- **Time Investment**: About 4 years for a bachelor’s, and then 1-2 more years for a master’s if you’re going all-in. So, 5-6 years total. But hey, good things take time, right?

### What Do You Study?

- **Cybersecurity/Computer Science**: Your main jams. Think of them as the ultimate cheat codes for this career.

- **Digital Forensics**: Specialized courses where you learn to be a digital ninja.

- **Law and Ethics**: Learning how to catch the bad guys without breaking the law yourself. (You yourself don't want to be troubled obviously)

### Subjects You Need to Get Into It

- **Math**: Yep, but not the boring kind—more like coding and algorithms.

- **Computer Science**: Your go-to for everything techy.

- **Optional Nerd Points**: Chemistry/Physics if you’re into hardware forensics or just want to flex those brain muscles.

### Work Hours: What to Expect?

- **9 to 5-ish**: Standard hours if you’re working for a company, but expect some late nights or weekend shifts when big cases pop up.

- **On-Call Madness**: Sometimes you’re on-call like a digital firefighter. Cyber-attack at 3 AM? Time to suit up (or log in) and handle it.

- **Flexible/Remote**: If you’re lucky, you can work from home. Just remember, no solving crimes in your underwear during Zoom meetings!

### Interview with a Cyber Forensic Investigator

**Interviewer**: What’s a day in the life of a cyber forensic investigator?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Imagine rolling out of bed, grabbing your coffee, and diving into cases. I’m talking analyzing hard drives, sifting through emails, or tracking down cyberattack origins. Some days it’s all data, other days I’m working with law enforcement or testifying in court. Never a dull moment!

**Interviewer**: What’s the coolest case you’ve worked on?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Helping bust a phishing ring that was scamming millions. Tracked their digital footprints, caught the culprits, and recovered their loot. Felt like a total legend.

**Interviewer**: Ever seen some dark stuff, like murders?

*Cyber Sleuth**: Yeah, I’ve stumbled across some pretty grim stuff. It’s not all memes and malware—sometimes it’s serious business. But catching those bad guys makes it all worth it.

**Interviewer**: Have you ever been on the dark web?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Oh, for sure. It’s like the sketchy underbelly of the internet. Lots of shady deals. I go there when I need to, but it’s not a fun hangout spot.

**Interviewer**: How dark can a case get?

**Cyber Sleuth**: It can get really intense. I’ve worked on cases involving human trafficking and other serious crimes. It’s tough, but making a difference makes it worth it.

**Interviewer**: Any advice for someone who wants to get into this field?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Stay curious and keep learning. Tech evolves fast, so you’ve gotta keep up. And don’t be afraid to dig deep—sometimes the answers are buried in tons of data, but finding them is like hitting gold.

So if you’re into tech and have subjects like mathematics , chemistry and physics then you are all set to start your journey.i have seen ppl running for a common a job and all and they are not even specified about what they want. So just research and find out what you want.

[millenniallust4death]

All this talk about Tumblr disappearing and how we should export our blogs.

Writing R code to download all the notes from ONE Tumblr post has been an irritating adventure.

The main problems:

The API only gives you ~50 notes per call - no pagination, no offset, no “get everything” option. Tumblr: Fuck you, API user.

You’re limited to 300 API calls per minute.

Even if you respect that limit, Tumblr will still get cranky and start throwing 429 “Too Many Requests” errors.

When you reach the end of a post’s notes, the API just… repeats the last note forever instead of stopping.

There’s no reliable way to know when you’ve hit the end unless you build that check yourself.

Tags and added text from reblogs are a completely separate part of the API - not included with the likes, reblogs, and replies you get from the /notes endpoint. Why? Tumblr: Fuck you, API user.

Did I mention that the API is a rickety piece of shit? It forced me to get a bit creative. I built a loop that steps backward in time using timestamps to get around the lack of pagination. Since the API only gives you the most recent ~50 notes, I had to manually request older and older notes, one batch at a time - with built-in retries, cooldowns, and rate-aware pacing to avoid getting blocked.

My script works now. It politely crawls back through thousands of notes, exits cleanly when it hits the end, and saves everything to a CSV file.

Was it worth it? Eh.

[hpowellsmith]

Do you think a degree is a good place to start to get into the narrative designer scene? I don't have any sort of degrees and whenever I look at job postings it kind of intimidates me.

You don't necessarily need a game design degree. There isn't a single route into getting a narrative design job and most of the narrative people I've worked with have academic experience in other areas. Classics, publishing, linguistics, screenwriting (and other kinds of writing), film, literature, teaching, computer science, biomedical science, history, and philosophy are all things that come to mind off the top of my head. I personally have an English Literature bachelor's degree and a postgrad teaching certificate.

I do know a few narrative people with game design degrees and they speak highly of that experience - but it isn't essential and there's some ambivalence in the field of games about how much value you get from it. It would really depend on where you were attending and who was teaching it, and so on. Do research the lecturers and their industry experience before signing up to anything!

A lot of narrative jobs will require some sort of degree. Not all! But many will explicitly. Then, more trickily, there's the implicitness of it all: it's rare that I've encountered a narrative person at a studio who doesn't have a degree, and among many other things that's a marker of the lack of class diversity in the field.

That said: a degree is unlikely to directly help you get a narrative job unless it's very specific (eg you're an expert in the Franklin expedition, and the game is about trying to rescue the ships). It will more give you transferable skills. My PGCE helped me learn to deliver presentations and pitches. My English degree helped me discuss art. My PGCE taught me about being rigorous about developing skills and assessing where I'm at and taking feedback. My English degree pushed me to read widely. But none of that fed directly into getting a job in games - when I graduated from my undergrad degree I didn't know how games jobs worked anyway and neither did my career advisors.

Whether or not you have a degree, you need to have examples of your skills and how you've applied them to your work. If you've had jobs in other areas, you can refer to that - you're great at spotting data entry errors? fantastic. you can meditate an argument between a group of crying five year olds? great. And most of all you need completed examples of your writing and your games work for your portfolio. It doesn't have to be massive ambitious projects, but you need to prove that you know how games fit together, what makes them feel good or not good to play, and can apply it to your own work.

Make interactive fiction. Make a small game, or a bigger game, in bitsy. Join a game jam and work with other people on something - that will give you something to talk about in interviews, and teach you about working with other people on a creative project. Finish things! Not only will that give you more to discuss, it will also mean that you have a better sense of the bigger picture of interactive storytelling. I got my first studio job off the back of years of short hobby IF and a completed CoG game; I brought skills from my studies but I wouldn't have got a foot in the door without those projects to show that I could write well, understood narrative design, and could finish games.

Some unsolicited advice:

Be cautious about expensive game writing courses. They can be valuable for networking and pushing your to be rigorous about your work, or they can be a money sink. Remember that in 99% of "dream studios" there will be people working there for whom it's a nightmare. Don't put people on pedestals and remember that studio games are a team effort - but also respect and celebrate your own contributions. Don't dunk on games in public: I've seen a lot of people do that and then turn around and ask for a job from the people they were dunking on. It doesn't make people inclined to say yes. Don't neglect your peers in favour of trying to get in with a crowd that's already established; but if trusted people offer mentorship (such as Limit Break in the UK) go for it. When you are one of those established people, don't pull up the ladder behind you.

Here is a doc of resources from Raymond Vermeulen and another from Adanna aka AFNarratives. Also there are a ton of free talks available from AdventureX, Narrascope, Writer's Guild of Great Britain, and the GDC Vault about narrative which are both interesting and useful.

None of this is any guarantee of anything, there are a lot of people competing for not many jobs and if you find someone selling One Weird Trick to get into the field of narrative design, avoid them. I've seen talented people with a lot of experience struggling to find another contract after one has ended. So I don't want to act like I have it all figured out - but I hope it's helpful.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: John Burn-Murdoch

Published: Mar 14, 2025

What is intelligence? This may sound like a straightforward question with a straightforward answer — the Oxford English Dictionary defines it as “a capacity to understand” — but that definition itself raises an increasingly relevant question in the modern world. What happens if the extent to which we can practically apply that capacity is diminishing? Evidence is mounting that something exactly like this has been happening to the human intellect over the past decade or so.

Nobody would argue that the fundamental biology of the human brain has changed in that far-too-short time span. However, across a range of tests, the average person’s ability to reason and solve novel problems appears to have peaked in the early 2010s and has been declining ever since.

When the latest round of analysis from PISA, the OECD’s international benchmarking test for performance by 15-year-olds in reading, mathematics and science tests, was released, the focus understandably fell on the role of the Covid pandemic in disrupting education. But this masked a longer-term and broader deterioration.

Longer-term in the sense that scores for all three subjects tended to peak around 2012. In many cases, they fell further between 2012 and 2018 than they did during the pandemic-affected years. And broader in that this decline in measures of reasoning and problem-solving is not confined to teenagers. Adults show a similar pattern, with declines visible across all age groups in last year’s update of the OECD’s flagship assessment of trends in adult skills.

Given its importance, there has been remarkably little consistent long-running research on human attention or mental capacity. But there is a rare exception: every year since the 1980s, the Monitoring the Future study has been asking 18-year-olds whether they have difficulty thinking, concentrating or learning new things. The share of final year high school students who report difficulties was stable throughout the 1990s and 2000s, but began a rapid upward climb in the mid-2010s.

This inflection point is noteworthy not only for being similar to performance on tests of intelligence and reasoning but because it coincides with another broader development: our changing relationship with information, available constantly online.

Part of what we’re looking at here is likely to be a result of the ongoing transition away from text and towards visual media — the shift towards a “post-literate” society spent obsessively on our screens.

The decline of reading is certainly real — in 2022 the share of Americans who reported reading a book in the past year fell below half.

Particularly striking however is that we see this alongside decreasing performance in the application of numeracy and other forms of problem-solving in most countries.

In one particularly eye-opening statistic, the share of adults who are unable to “use mathematical reasoning when reviewing and evaluating the validity of statements” has climbed to 25 per cent on average in high-income countries, and 35 per cent in the US.

So we appear to be looking less at the decline of reading per se, and more at a broader erosion in human capacity for mental focus and application.

Most discussion about the societal impacts of digital media focuses on the rise of smartphones and social media. But the change in human capacity for focused thought coincides with something more fundamental: a shift in our relationship with information.

We have moved from finite web pages to infinite, constantly refreshed feeds and a constant barrage of notifications. We no longer spend as much time actively browsing the web and interacting with people we know but instead are presented with a torrent of content. This represents a move from self-directed behaviour to passive consumption and constant context-switching.

Research finds that active, intentional use of digital technologies is often benign or even beneficial. Whereas the behaviours that have taken off in recent years have been shown to affect everything from our ability to process verbal information, to attention, working memory and self-regulation.

The good news is that underlying human intellectual capacity is surely undimmed. But outcomes are a function of both potential and execution. For too many of us the digital environment is hampering the latter.

[ Archive: https://archive.today/vhoGi ]

[reconstructwriter]

Wip game 'science side of the force'? ;0

I have not forgotten *crawls out from pit of tax forms*

So I wandered across a post asking ‘why isn’t space magic studied more if I lived in the Star Wars…’ and started listing all the reasons I could think of: the rarity of Force Sensitives, the damage infamous mad scientists have done to their trust of the scientific community, the difficulty of studying something more spiritual than scientific, Force Sensitive Scientific Study being classified as a ‘soft’ science resulting in less funding and lower pay for such scientists, etc.

Then my thoughts turned towards ‘hey a scientist character/Jedi character would be interesting and thus was born the story. I originally wanted to do Ferus Olin x Roan Lands but I couldn’t help insert my favorite Mandalorian nerd Jaster Mereel instead, maybe with Feemor or Jon Antilles, but Jaster, while a nerd, didn't quite seem to fit.

Finally I landed on Arla Fett whose a pretty blank slate in canon. I've seen her written a lot of ways but never as a scientist, which really got ye ole creative juices going. I could out-of-universe contrast her with fanon nerd!Jaster and in-universe with Coruscant student Satine!

Stass Allie, a Jedi healer working through her college medical degree made more sense than my usual blorbos, especially if the university offers the Jedi free tuition...if they volunteer as guinea pigs. I can see that. Plus I didn’t write her enough in Standing Above the Blood. With Jenna Zan Arbor plausibly going to school at around the same time and Galidraan threatening I had the beats of a plot I could really dance to XD

"Arla knew when she came to Coruscant to study Force Sensitivity that she’d be painted with the same brush as Demogol. But studying the Force was so fascinating. It was magic, however its practitioners balked. But magic science could make understandable. Who wouldn’t want to study that?

Well, maybe those who had Dr. Antilles as a professor. “Many infamous scientists forcibly abducted test subjects.” She smacked the desk with her ever-present ruler instead of giving Jenna and several other drowsy students the hiding she wanted. “Not only is this a horrific breach in scientific ethics but as a practical matter been ruinous to scientific study of the Force. The likes of Demogol,” her gaze lingered on Arla several unnecessary moments, “And the flood of similarly inclined experimenters have bottle-necked our volunteer programs. The likes of such...scientists also rarely bother with documentation and what they do bother with is often destroyed as their abductees make their way to freedom. Demogol was, in addition to being an atrocity of a sentient being, a horrible notetaker. I hope you do not follow in his footsteps Arla Fett.”

Arla’s vambraces creaked in protest, her blank pad protested her grip but she squared her shoulders beneath the aur-the students’ gazes who took Dr. Antilles focus to gawk their fill. Even with a compromise of torso armor and open-faced helm in a subdued grey and black – only the mythosaur a vibrant splash of red – Arla Fett stood out among most college students, let alone the type to study the Force. “I have heard this particular lecture before, enough to have it memorized.” She stated as diplomatically as possible. She would not (couldn’t afford) to start a fight but refused to wilt beneath their stares.

“Then you may recite the rest.”

An anticipated challenge; Arla spoke confidently: “That is why we must take ethics courses like this one, properly submit applications that consenting sentients must be able to understand. We must ensure our volunteers’ comfort within our laboratories, never use locks except for data storage and acknowledge consent may be revoked at any time. We must not only take good notes but ensure our experiments are repeatable – morally and literally – by other responsible scientists.”

Which was probably why the Coruscant University’s Force Study program had such a high rate of drop-outs.

The teacher moved on, ignoring her. Sadly that was all the reward she would get for her recitation. Arla stayed, never dropping out as her classmates did. Beyond her scientific curiosityof the Force, this study was the first thing that brought her out of the darkness of her own loss, the first thing to spark her interest after her parents’ death and the first thing she and Jaster really bonded over. Pissy teachers and annoying Coruscant outsiders weren’t going to deter her."

[lesb0]

i saw a post that was “in a few short years your professors will be publishing and believing and getting through their phds with ai slop” as my fave tumblr academic what are your thoughts?

Well it's not in a few years, its now. AI helps with making charts, editing/proofreading like grammarly, data processing, manuscript edits. Various AI tools are actually really cool and NECESSARY for academics like I wouldn't survive without my smart speaker which is my alarm, traffic, weather, news, gets my groceries, starts my coffeemaker, and then plays music to get me out of bed. I use it daily.

But you just meant gpts so: the academia process is brutal and exhausting and you get no pay or recognition and rare external validation, you do some of your best work specifically for it to get torn to shreds, and the only thing left to keep you going is EXTENSIVE PASSION for your field, ie you would happily take a fulltime volunteer job.

I know the sciences are plagued with gpt junk because of how openai is better with science and also it's much easier for them to publish work. There are 3 brilliant but very lazy and entitled women I know who resort to chatgpt for assignments. I use it whenever I need long boring emails and client invoices. On papers other than art history, gpts are not so obvious. But it's getting better by basically stealing from other people's papers that were made available online. Ultimately, academia has had significant longstanding issues with elitism and garbage and nonsense getting past peer review because everyone is truly tired and nobody cares about prestige and status enough to do 3 years of unpaid research work anymore. There are very smart people using gpts because they're offering 0 incentive not to.

Gpts in academia really reveal a systemic failure where someone crumbling was pushed right over the edge.

[fardreamer]

SENGEN HEADCANONS

note: there are spicy headcanons in this :)!

general:

❤️ senku sometimes is messy when he starts tinkering and experimenting. gen often sneaks in behind him and puts things away as senku keeps moving around.

❤️ as stated in another post of mine, senku is an aggressive big spoon cuddler with gen. once he gets settled and is comfortable, he’s not moving. gen pretends to hate it but he does love it.

❤️ gen is phenomenal at back massages.

❤️ senku, when cuddling, prefers to lay atop gen. gen loves it because it means he gets to kiss senku a little easier, play with his hair, and tell him how cute he is.

love languages:

*note: i make a distinction here between how they prefer to receive love, and how they prefer to give love. i know not everyone perceives love languages that way.

🌼 gen, as anyone can imagine, loves telling senku how intelligent and beautiful he is. he saves the sweeter compliments for when they’re alone, but will proudly proclaim how much he loves senku (especially if it’s to embarrass him). his second is physical touch, followed by quality time. he actually prefers physical touch to receive love.

🌼 senku, on the other hand, is strongly split between acts of service and physical touch to give love, which means gen and senku unintentionally spend their days with passing pats to the back, stray kisses, standing as near to one another as they can, etc. that is how he prefers to give love. he claims he has no preference on how he receives love, but gen can tell that he enjoys spending time together, even if it’s just gen napping near him while senku works.

🌼 being that love languages are somewhat like data points, which clear parameters for what constitutes each one, senku was surprisingly on board with love languages and makes a point of meeting his “goals” of giving and receiving love each day. the power of science.

emotional:

❤️‍🩹 as smooth and well put together gen can be, he does need more consistent attention than senku realized. in the beginning of their relationship, there were plenty of fights and miscommunications because gen felt unloved or ignored, and senku was wrapped up in whatever new goal he had in mind.

❤️‍🩹 similarly, senku felt some tension whenever gen chose to spend time with others. not that he was particularly jealous, only in that he hadn’t realized how much he’d come to enjoy having gen by his side, even for mundane tasks.

❤️‍🩹 both are fierce secret keepers. gen was the first to talk, and confided in senku some of his biggest fears. that opened the door for senku to do the same, as sharing his vulnerabilities do not come easily to him whatsoever.

spicy:

⭐️ gen, initially, thought that he would be a more dominant top with senku and assumed that his lack of experience would mean he needed a lot of guidance. turns out, senku needed guidance in being dominant and topping, because he easily fell into that headspace.

⭐️ both of them are switches. just depends on the day. gen prefers bottoming and senku prefers topping.

⭐️ senku is a service top, through and through. gen tries to get him to be a little more selfish but it rarely works.

⭐️ gen loves the spectacle and drama of cute lingerie and visual aids. senku didn’t understand it until gen started wearing his favorites (particularly, a cat costume).

⭐️ while he may never actually verbally admit this, senku’s goal during sex is to make sure gen cums twice. if he doesn’t, he feels a bit like a failure, despite gen’s satisfaction.

⭐️ gen adores edging and extended foreplay. senku loves it the most when gen is submissive and bottoming.