#i love humanity and i love this methodology that allows us to get to know us all better when it's done right/properly

[exoexid]

i love archaeology so much

[1427]

dirge

Boyd Crowder X OFC (Beatle)

Setting: in the WoOoOods (Justified Season 1, with Boyd’s militia)

Summary: Boyd is sick of being full of shit. When one of the recruits for his new flock seems to see him for who he really is, he decides it might not be so bad to let her.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH, Boyd Crowder is Boyd Crowder, mentions of white nationalism, mentions of methamphetamine, religious imagery and references, mentions of militias, cults, and Boyd comparing himself to Christ (see above). NSFW WARNINGS; poooooooorly written smut, somno, rough fucking, unprotected piv, references to oral, jerking off, mentions of religion being used in sexual roleplay. mentions of other truly questionable roleplay scenarios, free-use dynamics

A/n: I started watching Justified a few days ago and Boyd Crowder really is one of the characters of all time, isn't he? Beatle is my OC who likes speed and sometimes sells it and sometimes strips but I obviously couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if Beatle had been in one of those trailers he’d held looking for people to follow his cause. Especially since she's just absolutely fucking dazzled by charm and confidence and she'd love him in a way he'd probably never been loved before. Couldn't not write it & I broke my own heart.

Inb4 I disappear for 3 months again

18+ mdni 

✞

Boyd didn't think his daddy would hang her up there with the rest of them. 

She was special, didn't he know that? Couldn't he tell? 

Her hair’s never smelled like gunpowder before. It's more a feeling than a smell, and it stings but he's grateful that it hurts. He deserves it. 

Boyd didn't think his daddy would do any of this. But he wasn't thinking, was he? He should have seen it coming, should have known. Not ‘should have’ in the way that hindsight is 20/20 and you can make wanton wishes about the past; no Boyd should have because he does know better. He's smarter than to let something like this happen.

✞

When he got out of prison he knew he was full of shit. Same shit he'd always been full of. He figures it ain't really like lyin’ so much if everyone knows you're never showing your real face. Talking is more like a game. Trying to spit the words out around the secret biting between his teeth. Secrets? He figures he's allowed to have those. Like what his intentions might have really been when he'd started recruiting junkies to be saved. Be his flock. 

Different vocabulary, same game, same moves, same outcome. 

Boyd did think that there would be a different outcome this time. Everyone always ends up dead, but how could that happen this time? He knows that putting a gun to someone's head and mocking them into sobriety ain't exactly safe and its definitely not legal but it's what works. Who could rightly question his methodologies if he was getting such socially acceptable results? 

The point (as the point of things usually is for Boyd) is that there are enough qualifiers for him to feign confusion and innocence at any question of his motivations. Like he was so damn good at. Boyd had a reply for anything. A defense for everything he'd ever done. Everything he'd ever do. Else he wouldn't be caught doing it. 

This time was easier. This time actually felt like it could be something more. That even though he was using his knowledge of the human condition, and its drive to follow a strong and confident leader, that this time he was doing it for something good at least.

How could getting rid of meth in Harlan county be bad? Boyd asks himself that a lot these days. Whenever he starts wondering how full of shit he is again. And he tells himself it doesn't matter if he's lying about every damn thing, even to himself, if he's getting people clean and following the Lord. 

He doesn't feel that guilty, though. Not enough to really do anything different. His flock is his flock, and when he talks about God he makes sure to word it just right. So they hear it and they think of him. Boyd’s teachings are their gospels, and sometimes Boyd quotes scripture so he can call on God like he's name-dropping a celebrity. It's what works. It's what always worked.

If you’re good at saying the right thing to the right person you can get just about anything you want. If you're good at finding the perfect time to say it, you can keep it. Gettin’ stuff is no good if you can't keep it. That's what all these Dixie boys always got wrong about business. Hell, what everyone got wrong about everything - getting people to just give you what you want always feels so much better than taking it. Usually ends better to.

Before prison, for most of his life, it was skin-heads. He'd already known the slurs and the on-the-surface racial epithets from growing up but it only took a few weekends at the library and a couple eavesdropped Klan meetings to understand what these men were searching for. Only took a few well timed bible verses and an encouraging nod or two to get them to listen. The hardest thing of the whole operation was keeping them from being stupid when he wasn't around.

“Can't plan for everything.” “Sometimes shit just happens.” and “It is what it is.” Are just some bullshit excuses people tell themselves. Because Boyd knows that anything can be planned for. It's just a matter of looking. It's just a matter of knowing. He knows that you don't enter a room without knowing there's an exit and that you don't open your mouth unless you know exactly what could be said back to you. 

Boyd knows how to get what he wants.

But since he's been out of prison he doesn't know what the fuck he wants. So he does what he always does but this time it's with words like shepherd, divine calling, and manifesting righteous love. It feels nice to be leading through positive affirmations instead of bigotry. If only because Boyd really resented how objectively moronic white supremacy was - anything ‘supremacy’ was a fucking joke. And those boys in the brotherhood thinking they were God's gift to the genepool? Hard not to see it when you're lookin’, how ridiculous the whole damn thing is.

That's why it didn't feel all that bad talking down to them. Manipulating them into whatever the fuck he felt like. Boyd wonders about it when he feels this tugging in his gut sometimes when he talks to his flock. It doesn't bother him enough to stop, but just enough to wonder why he hadn’t felt it before.

Maybe it's because she's watching and she knows he's full of shit. 

That doesn't usually make any difference to Boyd and his ability to believably speak lies but every time he meets her eyes he feels like she can see his soul, the things behind what he's saying, and it makes him want to stop. Like he's embarrassed. Just a little. Just barely. It's so foreign to Boyd that if he didn't know just about every physical tell a person's body could have, he wouldn't have been able to place it. 

If Boyd had to find the words to explain it he might have said it felt like he wanted her to see him. That his body and his mind have, as most humans have, the desire to be vulnerable with another human being. That he was meeting something in her that his inner self craved. These were words he'd use. But actually feeling them was harder. His list of wants in life is small and it's been the same things for as long as he's been playing snake in the grass. She's not on it. She never was before. 

✞

She isn't anymore. 

For a few weeks, Boyd let himself have something he didn't think he was allowed. Something he'd told himself he didn't deserve. 

He wonders now if he was full of shit that whole time too. If letting her hold him and kiss him and fall in love with who he really was - if he wasn't just doing it to see if he could.

Her hair never burned his nostrils before.

It's not meant to do that. 

Kissing her forehead never tasted like blood either.  Maybe it should have. Maybe if he'd tasted blood the first time he'd kissed her none of this would have happened. 

Boyd doesn't understand how his daddy couldn't tell she was special. Not when he’d seen it the second she opened her mouth down the barrel of his own gun. Boyd knows she didn't go quiet and he knows if she could open her mouth and talk right now her throat would be sore and raw and ruined. 

He tries not think about how he couldn't hear her. He’s not sure if he wishes he had. 

✞

Beatle didn't get it at first but it didn't take her long. Faster than he'd expected. And maybe if he'd met her on a college campus he wouldn't have been so impressed with her. But what was Boyd ever gonna be doing on a college campus? No, as far as he was concerned it was like lookin’ at himself. 

Almost.

She didn't want the same things, and that didn't lead her to be the same type of person Boyd was. But it didn't stop him from seeing himself in her. All her big words and sweet banter. Even with a damn gun to her head she knew how to be cool. He thought he might be in love with her. 

She'd told him later that it was because she'd seen the way he'd looked at her and knew he wasn't going to shoot her. He told her he still would have shot her if she didn't agree to quit using. She tells him she loves him for the first time. 

It had only been a few days since that had happened, them meeting, and after she’d said it she tried to explain it away. It's the first time he sees her not being so cool. It’s the first time he sees the potential for something more.

Not because she'd slipped up and been vulnerable or given him something to use against her. No, it was the feeling in his chest when she'd professed such genuine admiration for what would generally be considered something he should have kept to himself.

The quiet part he's gotten so good at not saying out loud. The secret between his teeth. She can see it.

✞

Days go by and he's certain she can see it. The way Raylan can see some of it. She starts calling him ‘the prince' around camp and she thinks he doesn't understand why. No one else does, and he supposes that's probably why he's letting her get away with it. He's amused by it. By her. Always saying something that ends up surprising him. 

Just some gaunt addict he found in a shitty trailer in children's pajamas, but she's making observations about him in comparison to Italian philosophy. She can't keep herself from pointing out when he ‘mistakenly’ attributes some quote from a book or movie to himself instead. She uses words he doesn't know.

Those aren't the things that impress Boyd. What catches his attention is that she never uses the words like manipulate or Machiavelli or cult. If she ever does call him out on some misattributed quote she won't call him a liar, and she won't do it in earshot of anyone else. And when she uses her big girl words she looks at him like she's teasing him instead of trying to impress him. She knows when he's wrong about the obscure ass Bible stories too and he has no idea how she knows this shit. 

Going out of her way to call him on being full of shit - without ever actually saying it at all.

She's good. She keeps being better at it than he'd thought someone could be. Someone like her. Someone who wasn't really anyone.

Maybe that's why Boyd felt like he could let her in on it. Just a little bit. Because she could see it and he knew she could and she never called him a liar or a bastard or a psycho or anything like that. She didn't even try to leave. If anything, she seemed charmed by it. 

He didn't think too much about how it might feel to let someone in like that. What it could be like to show your real face and still be wanted. 

✞

Their first kiss doesn't taste anything like blood. 

It tasted like tobacco and dirt and her.

She'd been trying to figure a way to sleep closer to him during the nights. Boyd figures this out after she finally ‘confesses’ that she hasn't been sleeping well,  she's ‘scared of the dark’.

He asks her how long it took her to come up with that bullshit.

She says two days.

He asks why she didn't come up with something better and can't argue when she says there really wasn't anything that didn't sound obvious.

It takes about an hour for her to be pressed up against him. They'd started with their sleeping bags a few feet away from each other, but as they talk the distance gets smaller. Boyd isn't sure if it's her or him that's moving in. Isn't he supposed to pay attention to stuff like that? Shouldn't he be at least a little aware of what she says and what she doesn't say and how she's moving and speaking and staring? 

He's in the middle of a story about one of the banks, talking at her about some really ‘cool’ shit he'd said and never gotten to tell anyone (he never thought he'd wanted to) - and without a word she unzips her sleeping bag, unzips his sleeping bag, and rearranges. Making enough room for her to fit right up against him.

And she does.

Boyd keeps talking the whole time. Finishing his story. She listens, and replies, and neither one of them comment on what she's doing. Neither one of them say anything when she's nestled up against him.

He thinks it through… what to do in this situation. What outcome did he want? His dick is hard but it's not aching. He could sleep. He figures making her wait won't hurt his chances if he decides he wants them. 

So he tells her politely goodnight and he's surprised when she doesn't protest. 

Beatle rolls over and he pulls her close. No harm in being close. Really there was no harm in fucking her either, but it didn't feel like the right moment. Everything has its right moment.

He keeps thinking about fucking her and once again he isn't sure who started moving first but he's pulling her over his cock like her body was his to move how he wanted. It was definitely her who started it, he reasons, arching her back into him and wiggling around - but he could've dealt with it. Could've told her to stop, told her no, told her anything that he knew would shut her down.  But just as he was about to say something she turned her head to look back at him. 

She didn't twist her neck and meet his gaze romantically - pressing her hips delicately into his. No, she folded her body at her hips, completely arching herself against him, looking back and up at him like he was already fucking inside of her.

Boyd knows that when he grabs her hips hard enough to bruise her that she likes it that way. Even if she didn't say all the obvious shit that made him know. 

He's not gonna fuck her. Not tonight. But he uses her body to cum and he doesn't feel bad because he's never felt bad about something human like that. And anyway, she liked it. He knows because he can smell how wet her cunt is. He knows because she was a shaking mess, moaning at just the feeling of dull pressure. He knows because she begged him to cum. 

She begged him to cum instead of begging him to fuck her and Boyd thinks he might be in love again.

She turns around and kisses him and her face has dirt on it from where he'd pressed her head into the ground but he likes the way it tastes on her. 

She kisses like an apology. A real one. One that comes from your whole fucking soul because you never felt anything more. Trying to connect. Fully. Deeply. 

Tuggin’ on heart strings is a saying he's always heard and it always made sense until now when he actually feels it for the first time. Boyd, who's so keen on behavior and mannerisms and what was gonna happen next, feels everything she has.

He's been here before with women. Some of them were different but if he was honest most of them were the same. A sigh here, a disgusted look there. Knowing how a woman feels about you might be the easiest observation a man could make.

So Boyd was expecting what he'd gotten from her when he was grinding into her. All shaking and whimpering and he'd probably either have to take the lead or stop it - either was okay by him depending on what he felt like.

But she's someone else. Again. With one leg hooked around him and her hands around the back of his neck and in his hair - she takes his mouth with hers like she's evangelizing. Pushing everything she has into him and he can feel it. More than a physical something. More than her fingers pressing into the pulse at his neck. More than his cock getting hard again and this time it settles right between them.

He finally breaks the kiss only to ask her if she knows he can feel her clit every time it quivers against him. He only asks because he wants to feel it again.

Boyd’s good at talking. Beatle loves it. 

He asks her so many filthy things. Things he'd never got away with asking someone else. Boyd knows there's not much you can't get away with saying with a whisper and a southern accent, but this… this was new even for him.

He wasn't sure what came over him. Why he needed her to know that he's been pretty sure he can tell when she's thinking about giving him head. About the glazed over look in her eye and how her mouth hangs open a little wider than she probably thinks it does when she's staring.

Or why he has to tell her that his cock was hard the whole time he had his gun on her the first night they met.

And he's not going to fuck her but he sucks on her tits like they've been eucharized. He can't stop talking because he can't get enough of every little fucking reaction.

Boyd figures out what it is when he's in the middle of telling her about how he knows her pussy is pretty and pink and the same color as her lips and how, he knows it's bad, but sometimes when she's talking to him all he can think about is what his cock would look like pressed up against her teeth -  Beatle's body seizes on him a little bit different than it had been seizing before; and it all just clicks.

Getting a reaction from her was like breathing. Nothing in his life had ever come so easy. Or so fun. 

She was letting him play with her. 

All his silly little mind games everyone else hated so much. She liked it. Not in the way he’d meant for her to like it. 

She liked him. Actually. 

He's really not sure why he told her about cumming on her pajama pants before he threw them out. He was sure he'd take that one to the grave. But he tells her about it while jerking  off onto her stomach because he wasn't going to fuck her but he needed to cum again. 

And she eats the mess from her fingers from her belly and Boyd is certain he's allowed to be in love. 

✞

Boyd had reasoned himself through a lot of things. Justifying almost anything. This? This he was having a hard time with. All he had going for him is that she'd liked it.

That she asked for it again afterwards.

Because when Boyd wakes up and the sun is peaking through the trees he can finally really see what her tits look like. Half falling out of her top. And when he reaches down to touch her there, her lips part. He thinks about how her pussy is the same color as her mouth and he thinks about how he told her that and how she reacted and he can't stop his hands even if he wanted to.

That's what he tells himself. He's reading her blind like a set of runes, it's not his fault her body is calling him this way. And she's reacting. So how could he stop? He can't. 

He's not sure if she's sleeping or pretending to sleep and he'd be lying if he said he thought that hard about it. Hard enough to care. His fingers dip between her legs and even through her underwear he can feel it. Sticky and warm and hers. 

Boyds hands seem to know what to do the same way his mouth does. Working the fabric of her panties down just slowly enough to not move her. He didn't want to fuck her he just wanted to feel it. 

She spreads her legs for him a little, laying on her belly; another miracle. Another sign he shouldn't stop himself. The Lord was working through him. 

This time he knows he's full of shit but he's rubbing his cock along her soaked lips and he can feel her clit tremble again and he doesn't feel bad when he pushes into her.

Her eyes jolt open like he'd been waiting for and the look on her face is an expression he doesn't think he's ever seen before. Something like fear and trust. Something someone like Boyd could get addicted to. 

He fucks her into the ground. He wants to look at her face again so he pulls her head back by her chin. She meets his gaze like she'd been waiting for it. This. To look at him like this while he fucked her.

She bows her head and takes his fingers into her mouth. She tries to move her head and Boyd knows exactly what the fuck she wants so he gives it to her. Fishhooking his fingers into her cheek while he backs up and off her a little. Sitting her up on her knees before pushing her shoulders back down again. 

Boyd knows how to get what he wants. He wants to go watch himself disappear inside of her. 

He'd almost forgotten where they'd started this, but when he remembers he has to stop himself from finishing then…. Just barely pushing into her again and it reminds him of that first time. 5 minutes ago when she was asleep.

Boyd can't stop thinking about how she'd woken up wanting him. This desperate. This wet.

That he could make her want it even when she couldn't know anything.

She opens her fucking mouth one fucking time and it's to tell him to fuck her pussy like he fucking owns it. And it was kind of corny and it didn't quite hit as well as he thought something she could say during sex would and he's not mad or anything but she adds “because you do.” and Boyd buckles. 

Falling on top of her body like her words hit him he holds her still as he ruts up into her. It's desperate and vulnerable and yet still completely overpowering. He tells her to say it again and she says the whole thing. He tells her no just the last part and she

Starts professing just how much he fucking owns her pussy. How it's never been for anybody else, from the second she saw him she wanted him. She felt him there, she always wanted to feel him there. Deep in her fucking cunt because it fucking belonged to him. 

He asks her whenever he wants it?

She repeats him in breathless moans as he slows his pace

He asks her even if she's sleeping.

She tells him that she’s never been more turned on in her whole life.

He asks her why

Because he took it without asking.

Because he knew it was his.

Boyd cums so fucking hard he's vaguely aware that he's hurting her. Pressing her into the ground and she can't breathe but he knows she'll be okay in a second and he knows she doesn't care. He knows she prefers it this way. Even if she hadn't said it.

✞

For the next two weeks Boyd fucks her in just about every way he can think to fuck her. All the things he's ever wanted to try. Like waking her up by stretching her out. He can't believe he's never been able to wake someone up like that before.

He can't believe how much he likes it.

Responding to her body and giving it what it wants when she can't even speak. He's sure it's is favorite thing that they do.

He does things with her that he’d never actually considered before, too.

He plays pretend with her. Not in front of the others but they'll go out to the creek and he'll baptize her and they fuck in the water or on the edge or against a tree. 

Or Beatle gets down on her knees like she's really praying and pretends to be confused when his cock head pokes at her mouth asking what he's doing and he gets to play along and say it's what the good Lord itends for her.

One time he laid her down and they pretended that as her pastor it was his holy duty to impregnate her with Christ.

Boyd didn't know he would get off on this shit. He's certain he wouldn't be if it wasn't with her. Who's mouth was so believable and reactions so pure - he doesn't have to wonder anything. 

She likes it or she doesn't and she always fucking likes it. 

✞

The sky is hazy and it looks like it might rain. Beatle asks him if he has any family and Boyd doesn't really know what to say. He doesn't want to lie but he doesn't want to talk about it.

He tells her no.

She asks if he's lying because he doesn't want them to meet her.

Boyd’s heart pangs again like it did when she'd kissed him that first time. All desperate and real and alive. He shakes his head and tells her no. She was too good for them.

He can tell she doesn't believe him. But saying nothing is better than saying more. And he knows she'll let him get away with not answering this one.

He tells her it doesn't matter anyway because he's pretty sure he loves her. And it's the first time he says it but it's not the first time he's felt it. Beatle believes him. 

Boyd is pretty sure she's never believed those words in her whole life before now. 

His heart pangs again.

✞

Bo Crowder was a scary sonofabitch. That's what Beatle said under her breath as he was walking up to their camp. Boyd’s glad she said it quiet because she didn't know how right she was.

She didn't know that was his daddy.

She knew about the meth shipment he was yelling about. Something he normally wouldn't have told her, even though it wasn't a secret necessarily. Something about wanting to protect a woman from the dangers of this world. 

But Boyd needed Beatle. He trusted her. She was part of this with him. He didn't want her the way he wanted all of the rest and he wanted all of the rest to know it too. Something about making her feel like she was someone. 

He knew he was saying and doing things at just the right times to make her feel special. But it's not like he didn't mean them. She treated each one like a fucking gift. Each public display, every private whisper. Every touch of their fingers and especially every time he buried himself inside her.

✞

It occurs to him on his walk through exile, while his people were no doubt being strung up and taken away by lawmen, that he doesn't think he can live without her. Well, at least that he doesn't want to. He reasons he shouldn't have to. 

She didn't break any laws anyway and Raylan will probably hand her over personally when her record comes back clean. He'd asked her and she said she had no charges she'd known of. She'd know. 

So, be patient. Wait it out. He runs through it again, in his head, all the stuff his daddy said. That they were gonna have them dig up the guns then tie em to a tree and call the feds.

He said a lot of other stuff too. About not being a son not being a leader not being nothing. Boyd was always sure he was nothing so none of that shit felt like anything. The first few blows his daddy makes his cousin give him don't feel like much of anything either.

Seeing Beatle’s face is what does it. He's sure he's rocked a few more times but he doesn't remember anything after seeing her look at him like that. 

✞

Boyd tries not to remember Beatle for the way she looked at him then. He tries really hard to remember the few seconds he'd gotten to touch her hand before his daddy shot that gun one last time at him to get out of there. 

He wishes he remembered it better but it's so fuzzy and barely there. He wishes his cousin would have just fucking beat him to death. He wishes that one prick ass degenerate addict piece of shit good for nothing follower who snitched out where the guns were would come back to life so he could rip apart every bit of him.

Because she'd probably still be alive. Boyd’s sure of it. If he'd died instead she'd be alive and the world wouldn't fucking feel like this. 

✞

For a while he has delusions that it’s the Real Deal out and out End O’ Times. That with her went all the light and all the good because he just couldn't seem to reason why.

Couldn't his daddy see she was special?

Couldn't he see that she was divinely made for him? 

That their love could have changed the world. 

It could have changed him.

Boyd can't reason with his daddy because he's dead too.

✞

After even longer Boyd convinces himself he was full of shit the whole time. That Beatle was just some girl he stuffed his cock into to feel good about himself while he was reintegrating back into society. 

Just some junkie, and if she was still alive she'd be back to using again. They wouldn’t have been anything because Beatle wasn't anyone.

She thought she was special, but don't they all? 

Boyd doesn't think about it much anymore. When he does he only lets himself think one thing.

She couldn't have been real. Not the way he thought she was. He must have been wrong about her and he would have figured it out eventually. 

He can't let himself think about her the way she really was.

The memories of her then are remembered by no one. Not a soul on this earth. Not even the ground they fucked on or the pond he made her piss in so he could watch. Not even in the stump that she'd carved their initials into because Boyd went back and he cut it all apart so sure that wasn't real either. 

He keeps being so sure it wasn't real.

He convinces himself that some initials carved in a tree is just something childish and stupid and that's why he destroyed it. He convinces himself that it wouldn't have broken her heart.

He’ll convince himself of just about anything to keep from thinking about what it felt like to be loved. Because that's what it was, right? Love? 

So he doesn't think about her. Or then. Or what happened and what didn't. 

✞

It's the gunpowder. Every time it starts to sting up his sinuses he can feel her hair soft against his lips. And every time he closes his eyes and he remembers her. What it felt like to realize she was up there with the rest of them.

Maybe someday Boyd will let himself remember what it felt like to love her. He worries that by the time he’ll be ready he won't remember what she looked like anymore.

What she felt like.

He already forgets most of the stuff they'd talked about. He just knows she was special. He knows no one else would get it anyway. Why he wanted to let himself be stuck there forever. In those words. Dying. How three weeks could feel so much bigger.

Boyd keeps going out there despite how much he convinces himself he's not thinking about her. Everything time he smells the gunpowder. 

He keeps finding reasons to use his gun. 

Because even though in that memory she's dead it's the realest one he's got. 

He doesn't think about her dead.

If he absolutely has to, laying down in the dirt where the camp used to be, he thinks about the way she looked when he'd told her he was pretty sure he loved her.

Sometimes he thinks about her mouth or her body or the way she always seemed to know what to do with them - but mostly he just thinks about the way she looked at him. Praying to be a better man for the next time around this life because she deserved more than God would allow him to give. The choices he had made previous to loving her had tainted his soul. Turned it rotten and poisoned her before he'd barely even gotten the chance. She'd paid for his sins. So he prays next time he meets her without any. 

Boyd wishes just one time he would lay down out here and not get up. 

He leaves the woods, convincing himself he was full of shit with her the same way he was full of shit with everyone, the memories of her die again, and he forgets about her until his subconscious finds some reason for him to fire a gun.

Any reason.

Boyd remembers enough about her to know she'd have liked that.

✞

A/n; it wasn't really proofread? (Well it was but I'm not very good at it) ALSO idk about this writing style either, i know it's kind of different? And in my opinion probably more juvenile but I had fun writing it this way. 🤷🏻‍♀️

(I'll make a different post about where I'm at with my wips~)

[withoutatrace-pkmn]

ok, so I’ve heard that some people are having issues with their ‘ultra domesticated’ Pokemon from Team Calm due to their incredibly passive dispositions. I’m not going to make a statement here on Team Calm’s unethical (to put it lightly) methodology, if only because if I start that rant I will be unable to stop, and I can’t promise this post will be helpful to all of you (or indeed any of you)-

Basically, what I’m getting at is that my starter pokemon was a golett I raised from an egg. If you know anything about human-hatched goletts you will know that they are loyal to a fault - it’s a part of how they were made to follow orders. Thankfully, since I trained it in assertiveness, I now have a Golurk who will not hesitate At All to let me know when it doesn’t like or doesn’t want to do something. And that’s great! Because Pokemon have a right to, you know, agency!

Obviously all Pokémon are different, and what worked for my Little Man may not work for you, but here are some general tips that I used to help my Golett assert itself:

Perhaps most important is to show them how to assert themselves through example. This can be through setting your own boundaries in front of them, however it can also be done with your other pokemon. For example, I caught Frazzle not long after Little Man hatched, and whenever Frazzle would reasonably assert herself I would reward her in front of Little Man to let it know what it should be doing.

Give them choices - easy choices, preferably between no more than two options at first. Like, if they want a cherri or a pecha berry as a snack. Be patient with them, as it’s likely going to take quite a while for them to chose. If they really struggle, make it choice between two virtually identical objects - like two differently sized berries.

Reward them whenever they do set boundaries! Even if it’s inconvenient for you - obedience training can come after you have thoroughly deprogrammed them from their obedience.

Be very liberal with praise and affirmations. Even when they mess up. Especially when they mess up. Allow them to become comfortable with failure. Let them know that you love them without them having to heed your every command.

For the majority of you this last point won’t apply, but for the (hopefully) very few of you it does apply to - do not Ever take advantage of your Pokémon’s nature. Not even as a joke. You’ll never deprogramme them if you reinforce the idea that they need to obey you to be loved.

That’s all I’ve got for now, but if anyone needs further tips on deprogramming overly obedient Pokemon, drop me an ask and I’ll see if I can help!

[laciere]

All jokes aside, this type of reading was probably a sound methodology at some point - we needed to know what the boundaries of sentimental friendship really were before we could argue for some form of queer existence in the past. It's clear what happens when we queers overstep, when we become all too visible - but there has to be a point at which we acknowledge the double standard: a man writing passionately about his physical ache for a woman is assumed to be exhibiting sexual desire, yet when it's two men... well, you guessed it. Though the conditions might be different for same-sex relationships throughout history, there is no reason we cannot apply a similar lens that explores the possibilities of sexual longing under a different rubric. Plenty of excellent scholars have done this work, to be sure, but outside of academia, the conversation usually goes something like, "OK, yeah, well, I'm not sure we can ever know for sure." Just as I can never know for sure whether a Jane Austen novel has any straight people in it or whether the conventions of marriage and manners at the time make it impossible to exactly map twenty-first-century straight lived experience. My frustration with Godbeer's hedging, despite my admiration for his skill as a thorough researcher and pioneer for queer academics, pales in comparison with what Larry Kramer expressed in 2009 for The Gay & Lesbian Review. It's a gloriously messy rant that I hope wouldn't have met anyone's editorial standards had he not been famous playwright and activist Larry Kramer. Referencing Godbeer, Kramer writes, "Gay people are victims of an enormous con job," and by that point, you already know the rest. Kramer wants us to understand that Abraham Lincoln is a fag; he even goes so far as to reach for George Washington. And let me tell you in all earnestness: you will get lost if you choose to go down this route. If you choose to pin our identities onto specific historical figures in an attempt to justify our existence, you'll never be satisfied until you find Abraham Lincoln's dildo, and even then, you'll have some historian arguing that the presence of the dildo in that private bedroom could have meant anything, and the historian won't be wrong. So why do any of this work at all? Why search for ourselves in the past, armed only with the police reports, court documents, and, at best, private letters? If we have no 18th century terms exactly matching contemporary LGBTQ identities, is the whole endeavor foolish? And think it's bad for the gays? Try searching for scholarship on anything but the G. Following this logic, queer people were never so much erased but rather born fully formed in the last century as a pathology to be dealt with. These were the animating questions I asked myself when I first sat down to write an early draft of All The World Beside. I'm not sure I ever found the answers. I have my own hunches, sure, but what I've come to understand about the work of queer history is that the goal is not in finding answers but in expanding the way we think about the past, the way we make assumptions, in opening up imaginative possibilities that allow us to paint the whole human canvas with the bright, bold colors we see today. We don't have to pin all of our evidence on sex acts or sentimental declarations of love, tossing facts back and forth until the matter is no longer interesting. We can see the past as part of a larger mystery, the same mystery we see staring back at us when we look at the face of love. In my admittedly religious definition of mystery, revelation becomes possible, but the revelation will be different for each person who chooses to take the journey.

Afterword to All The World Beside by Garrard Conely (2024, Riverhead Books)

[nainatyagiii]

Benefits of social media

Social media has changed the way we communicate today. It’s in our best interest to be informed about all of the new possibilities to manage our online reputation. The lines between professional and personal are blurring online and many times, we refer to our online presence as our “Personal Brand.” Your Personal Brand can be both the personal and professional “YOU.”

there are 5 main key point arise here :

Build relationships.

Social media is not just about brands connecting with their customers. In fact, at its root, social media is about connecting people to people. If you’ve attended a Social Shift training session I’ve led, chances are you’ve heard that almost every single friend I have in San Francisco, I met through social media.

From a professional perspective, you can grow your professional network online tremendously by connecting with colleagues, mentors, role models and other professionals. If you nurture those relationships, you have a whole new network to tap when you’re looking for opportunities or professional guidance.

2. Share your expertise.

Social media gives you an opportunity to talk about what you know and what you want to be known for. Sharing your expertise will attract potential professional and personal connections. Learn how to present your professional experience, achievements and results and you will get more and more opportunities to connect with like-minded people.

If you share content on topics that you know much about, you can begin to build credibility. This doesn’t only go for your online presence. If you live your personal brand and your actions reflect your online presence, it validates that you can be trusted and those relationships you are building will be that much more authentic and valuable.

3. Increase your visibility.

If you spend time honing in on your expertise, consistently managing your social channels, then you have the potential to greatly increase your visibility and even become a thought-leader in your space. Good content gets shared, so if you are consistently posting quality content, the more people who share it, the more people see it.

It’s not just about pushing content, however. You also need to be engaging with other people’s content. Following people and interacting with them on social media will work to build relationships (we keep coming back to this one!) and will help to get your name out there for people to turn to.

4. Educate yourself.

There is a lot of noise on the Internet. Social media allows you to hone in on what you really care about and what you really want to read. You can create lists that curate content from your favorite people, thought leaders in the space, or media outlets. You can easily learn about current events and things taking place near you.

5. Connect anytime

I know to some of you this may sound like a disadvantage. But, the advantage of being able to communicate and connect with anyone instantly outweighs the potential negative.

Social media can help you connect before, during and after networking events, a conference or a meeting. People can get to know you prior to meeting you and be better equipped to talk in person. I know I’ve met people in person for the first time after following them online for a while and we felt like long lost friends!

Social media is a land of new opportunity. There are countless personal and professional benefits of using social media. With a little love and care, we can start to build and shape our personal brands into an epicenter of opportunity.

conclusion

Social networking clearly portrays both positive and negative effects on us. It is the decision of an individual to decide what to take from them. Hence, it can be said that social media is a blessing to humanity if used appropriately and also a weapon of destruction if misrepresented. Social media is the latest technology that helps all students in gaining information and knowledge by adopting different methodologies. The utilization and involvement of social media in education helps students, teachers, professors, and parents to get specific information.......

[alexaloraetheris]

@headspace-hotel @impulsivelycontentious

Hi, I'll do my best to answer your questions!

I'm a real life biologist, and I've worked on a couple projects involving horizontal gene transfer in both yeast (which is also an Ascomycota fungus) and bacteria (for GFP protein and insulin, respectively) at my university. My job was to make plates, test for sucess and transfer the sucessful strains. And while it's not my area of expertise, I listened to several classes on wine production, which relies heavily on growing specific strains of yeast and bacteria and fermenting them in large tanks (which is why I mentioned you'd need a brewery and an alchemist) and how to prevent unwanted contaminants. There probably ARE microbiologists on this site who are more qualified for this than me (and have probably already spotted the two mistakes I made on the original recipe, I'l correct them in the update) but I think they will agree my methodology is largely sound.

Regarding specific strains: funnily enough, the most potent penicilin strain found was just a random one growing on a cantaloupe that one of the research assistant brought to the lab one day. They were testing all kinds of strains to find the most potent ones back then, so onto the plate it went and they got lucky. That's unfortunately what a lot of this experiment comes down to: luck. It's why I said you need to up your chances by having as many plates and strains as you can, and pick the one with the widest ZOI. The ones with the most potent production are the ones that tend to prevail, luckily, but you need to gamble a lot. This stuff WAS hard to figure out initially, but we're not figuring it out from scratch, we are trying to recreate the already perfect method, so we're skipping a lot of steps the original team had to figure out. Every scientist stands on the shoulders of giants after all.

Regarding fermentation: humans have been fermenting stuff for a long-ass time, and we have gotten very, very good at it surprisingly quickly. The deep tank fermentation method used in the begining of commercial production of penicilin was, in essence, a modified wine fermentation tank. That's why I said you need to find a microbrewery and preferably someone who is already well-practiced in growing yeast in large quantities. Stainless steel tanks might not be available, but as long as you get a tank that's not made of metal with an oligodynamic effect (destroys cell membranes of single-celled organisms) the fermentation step is relatively simple. Or at least researched well enough that your biggest hurdle will be the tank-borrowing part.

The hard part is the filtration, which I'm still working on.

Regarding materials for plates: they don't need to be glass! The ones we use in the lab are actually mostly plastic. I'm aware that's a material that definitely wouldn't have been available, but they really can be made of any material you can pour hot water into! Glass and plastic are used because they're transparent, so you can check the growth of your colonies without opening them and exposing them to potential contaminats, but the mold itself doesn't care. You need two plates to close it to minimize contamination but still allow airflow in, but that's it.

But you've also given me an idea I'd have to research further. The mold you want grows on the agar, and doesn't touch the plates themselves, so you could potentially have them made of copper, brass or silver, all of which kill bacteria and other microorganisms that touch them. In a non-sterile enviroment that would be ideal, but I don't know if the agar itself would absorb any of the metal ions and kill the mold we want too. Again, further research is required, but if anyone has the answer to that please tell me!

EDIT: I just saw the question by @otteroflore and I could have smacked myself.

Milk is the old-timey source of high concentrations of lactose, which Penicillium loves, and seemed like a relatively easy thing to get, but if you're involving a cheesemaker you could get sweet whey (the liquid left when milk is curdled with rennet) which has most of lactose and vitamins from milk and much much fewer phosphoproteins. I said corn steep liquor would be best, but looking at the molecular composition sweet whey would be a close second. Thank you!♥♥♥♥

I can understand how "modern person thrown into the past gets by pretending to be a healer/doctor" is as surprisingly common of a trope as it is. I mean I'm fluent enough at bullshitting to be pretty sure I could pull it off to impersonate a doctor in any time pre-1800s. If I have no idea what something is or how to treat it, I could just get the opinion of the other whatever-passes-as-medical-professionals around, but if their suggestions sound like bullshit I'm not doing it. And I'll beat the shit out of anyone suggesting bloodletting or mercury. With my healing stick. I've tied little bells on it, that jingle comically with every smack.

The awesome curative powers of my healing stick come from two separate sources: Placebo, and me using it to beat anyone trying to give my patients mercury.

[chemicalpink]

・❥・ Idea of a Perfect Date ・❥・ | Tarot | Jeon Jungkook

Disclaimer: This reading is based on my experience and knowledge of astrology, it is not meant to be the absolute truth, as BTS are real people, and astrology can only capture so much about multidimensional humans that have had past experiences and cultural approaches amongst other things, it does not have to resonate with you since this is in no way related to anyone reading it (unless you are a member of BTS in which case, get out of here lol ) This is just for entertainment purposes. Remember that tarot as a form of divination only allows us to read current energy and as time advances it becomes less accurate, so it basically reads up to a 6 months period of time

A/N: HELLO THERE I've brought gifts, this is the first post on my ongoing Namkook Birthday Project, don't forget to check it out, I'll be updating almost daily until the end of September. We shall begin by wishing our Jeon Jungkook a happy and cozy birthday

masterlist. tarot masterlist. astrology masterlist.

So we know how Jungkook is always so selfless? well this trait perfectly extends towards his love life, a perfect date for him is 100% finding compromise on what exactly him and his partner would be doing, and although he has in mind it could be troublesome to do so, he’s set on the idea of finding common ground (5oS rx) there’s definitely a wish for him to do something that could be considered childish or not as serious as going out for dinner, a movie or whatever cliche date template most men his age go for, he wants to do something different, something rather unique and memorable (the star) Creativity would be a major part of whatever date is decided, I can totally see him having in mind an activity date, somewhere where he and his date can bond and make it never stale or boring, no chances for awkward silences (the magician), it’s also gotta be an activity he’s good at (are we even surprised) he just wants to excel and show off a bit, his date gotta be teasing and playful, his inner self feels the need to come through if he feels comfortable enough (which is what he is ideally aiming for) also, you have to really expect a certain methodology to the date, after the fun is over and done with, he would like to just keep hanging out, let the fun down in and chill together.

Decks Used: Tarot del Fuego, Romance Angels, Harmonious Tarot

[bonesandthebees]

Then we have the call and Hannah! I love this part. It’s so clear how Hannah just doesn’t care. They made an arrangement for blaziphane. As long as you don’t touch that, they don’t care who rules the planet. Everything they do is for their own gain. All they care about is their own people. The sirens (woman even more that men).

And Wilbur and Tommy don’t fall under that. They are male. They are half Sirens. They are too far removed from the crown to be important for inheritance. And Hannah has never met them so she can’t form any personal attachment.

I like how she clearly cares a lot about her own rules and etiquette, but not about those of other planets. Phil is not allowed to call her Hannah. That is her personal name. He needs permission to do so. Phil clearly doesn’t know that. I thought he had been told, though maybe that was just Ranboo. Maybe he knows but didn’t realise how big of a deal it was since he never tried to call Wilbur by his personal name and Wilbur decided to give what he gets for the title thing.

She doesn’t care for Eldignvger ettiquete either. Wilbur is older so Wilbur needs to introduce himself first. Which makes sense. To her he’s not a bastard because their system is maternal and his mother is her aunt. She could care less about who his father is if he wasn’t a human. She’s also slightly offended by the extra name. But like we saw in the flashback. They don’ care enough to make a fuss about it because Wilbur is male.

Also, I love how Wilbur can tell her Voice is strong even through a call. She’s next in line to be queen. She should nave the strongest Voice of them all. So she probably practiced. Also the methodology was really interesting and her outfit is really cool!

-🌲

lmao yup Hannah doesn't give a shit about anything but the blaziphane agreement. Themis is also a very snobbish planet, often thinking of themselves as better than most of the other planets in the galaxy. They don't have a lot of respect for outside customs and etiquette, which they know they can get away with because everyone is afraid of them!

the Myrina comment really pissed Hannah off for two main reasons. One, Phil didn't realize how much emphasis was put on the distinction between personal and formal names. Like he knows there's a distinction, but he figured that since Hannah shares the same name as her mother it would be easier to just avoid confusion and call her Hannah, not realizing what a misstep that was. Two, Hannah is the heir. She's not the Queen yet. she's literally the same age as Wilbur (maybe a year older?) so she's also used to being undermined for her age, especially by foreign politicians, so Phil trying to use her personal name instead of her formal, regnal name also hit a little too close to home with her desire to be seen as a full blown leader in her own right and not just a young princess. hence why she snapped at him so forcefully about it

yeah the Themisians don't give a shit about Eldingvegr etiquette. they don't care what the Eldingvegr royal bloodline is. Tommy and Wilbur are both royal through their Themisian side as well, so the Themisians are always going to default to that when it comes to etiquette. Themis also doesn't really care about the concept of bastards in general, considering most of their rulers are women so it doesn't matter so much who someone's father is. in Themis' eyes, Tommy's only leg up over Wilbur is the fact that he's the heir to Eldingvegr's throne, but ignoring that the two are on equal footing so things default to Wilbur considering he's older

yupppp her Voice is extremely strong. sometimes a siren with an extremely powerful Voice has a subtle hum under all their words even when they're not using it. it just bleeds through, and while it's not the same as them actually using the Voice to command people, it definitely adds an intimidation factor and gives whoever the siren is speaking to the sense that you do not wanna fuck with this person (also ty for the compliment on her outfit, it looks so cool in my head I was so excited to describe it)

[ms-trickster]

✨ Missy’s Fanfiction Extravaganza✨

A shout out to some fics that I've read, fallen in love with, and believe deserve more recognition. Stories not restricted by fandom or website, though I will stick to either AO3 or Fanfiction.net. Please pay attention to the tags for triggers/squicks!

DC

Killing the Joke by  LtSaladmander (5/?)

If you were to make a list of the entire population of Gotham, in order of most to least likely to finally kill the Joker, a random exhausted college student wouldn’t even be on it.

Paz didn’t really think much of killing Gotham’s resident psychotic clown (he was just right there and what else was she supposed to do? She couldn’t afford to be any later to her class) but now every villain and their aunt seem to want to prove themselves better than the late Clown Prince of Crime. She just would love for everyone to stop breaking down her door because she really, really can’t afford to keep replacing it.

Love Song by orphan_account (1/1)

Part 16 of Tidbits

“You cannot be serious.” protests Damian.

It had been Tim’s initial reaction to his counterpart’s declaration, too. Even after seeing the lie, realizing the deception, he’d wondered why. Why go with Drake. Why something so obvious.

Then he’d seen the genius behind the plan.

or, Tim , Damian, and nicknames

all these stars are silent by distracted_dragon (1/1)

If there is one singular truth in the universe, it is this: Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne will never allow any harm to be inflicted on Conner Kent ever again.

Arachnophobia by damthosefandoms (1/1)

The entire family is packed into a minivan. It’s 2am, they’re going 80 miles an hour, and Damian has the audacity to point out that there’s a spider on the inside of the car window.

Boku no Hero Academia

your rule of thumb by dinomight (1/1) (+ the unofficial sequel)

“This year’s Top Sexiest Female Hero rankings are out!” the reporter chirps, a wide, pleasant smile on her face, and not for the first time Nemuri wonders how this woman can so happily read something that is so thoroughly disgusting. Then again, she’s managed to hold entire conversations with Endeavor without showing that she desperately wants to punch him in the throat, so. “Looks like the new number one is recently debuted Mount Lady, bumping last year’s number one Midnight to number two—”

She changes the channel with a roll of her eyes, but the next news report is covering the same thing. And the next.

(Or: Midnight gets fed up.)

electricity and you: a handbook by sunflowersandillusions (1/1)

Control, Ojiro had said. God, that word. That perpetual stain on his primary school report card under the “classroom behavior” section: Denki needs to work on exhibiting better self control in class. The verbal weapon of choice of a gruff Aizawa-sensei against a short-circuiting Denki, just returning to a functioning state after his second ill-advised Indiscriminate Shock in a week (dammit, he’d been getting better with not overdoing it lately, too): “I know you know this by now, Kaminari. Your voltage levels are plenty high; strength isn’t the issue for you. What you need to work on is control.”

Maybe that whole meditation thing is the way to go, then, Denki figures. If it gives him an in to fixing all... this *gestures widely*.

—

Denki takes up meditation in a bid to gain some greater degree of control over his Quirk. It's not very "him", he knows, but anything for people to finally see him as the help he wants to be.

my god, i'm so lonely by Kaleid369 (1/1)

Tōru is four years old when her Quirk first manifests. It happens slowly, gradually, and she doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

It starts with her hands.

Hagakure Tōru grows up far too fast.

with hands like ghosts by rhymae (1/1)

Anger, Izuku is learning, is a fickle thing.

Because despite everything, he still wants to make it right. He wants to keep Todoroki's idea of what makes a hero alive, wants to forget the burning of childhood across his fingertips. He wants to keep everyone safe.

Izuku wants them both to be anything but the embodiment of what has happened to them.

He meets Todoroki’s eyes, “We're here because we earned it, Todoroki-kun. Us, and no one else."

Or, Izuku, the methodology of trauma, a series of conversations, & the price of being named one side of a same coin.

Danny Phantom

Missing Persons by DP_Marvel94 (2/2)

Part 5 of Phic Phight 2020

For the Phic Phight: A halfa is half human and half ghost. Danny learns the dark truth of how Vlad created all of those fully grown clones.

Out of Body Experience by avearia (1/1)

Part 14 of Phic Phight 2019

Dash is having the weirdest dream. …It is a dream, right?

Gravity Falls

Mabelgram by scribefindegil (1/1)

Part 1 of Mabel Pines vs. The Multiverse

Mabel gives herself a pep talk. Actually, she gives it to all her selves.

Unidentical Twins by Yevynaea (1/1)

When they’re eleven, Mabel cheerfully coins the term ‘unidentical twins’ and Dipper can’t deny it fits.

[hoidn]

my big reference post of tritype 145 - The Researcher Archetype. everything copy/pasted as-is. some deletion; none correction.

145 Overview [source]

If you are a 145, you are diligent, intuitive, and knowledgeable. You want to be ethical, original and wise. Highly intellectual, you are focused on what you perceive is correct and above reproach. Research oriented, you seek and quote the opinions of experts to avoid being seen as ignorant. Your life mission is to study and learn as much as you can and then teach the wisdom of what you have learned to others. A true researcher, you are happiest using your investigative skills. You can be so identified with the information that you have gathered and the correct way of doing things that you feel exhausted and can appear to be a persnickety know it all. 478 and 451 are very different types of 4. The 478 is intensely individualistic and more assertive whereas the 451 is individualistic but much more introspective and reserved. The 478 is somewhat optimistic and focuses more on the need for inspiration than the 451. The 451 is more particular and is more motivated by gathering meaningful information that is useful. (4)-5-1 - The Competent 4 4-(5)-1 - The Idealistic 5 4-5-(1) - The Withdrawn 1 Intellectual. May be involved in philosophy. They enjoy coming to understand themselves and their world. Calling all 145s... You have reported a strong need to be above criticism and to avoid the glare of judgment and scrutiny. You have also reported how difficult it is for you to express yourself especially if you feel emotional. As a 415, you would need to carve a distinct image of being unique, appropriate and wise. The 3 together create a defense strategy that focuses on getting the information needed 'to be correct' to feel safe... No one wants to be wrong, but this Tritype tends to easily feel self-conscious and can be shy. So, the 145 researches to have something interesting to say and to be above criticism. The 415's I know are most capable of intellectual circumspection with a twist of the romantic and mysterious. They seem to balance out the emotional realm with the intellectual, but sometimes my 415 friends can be overly critical and defiant of any thing that is stereotypical or oppressive that could impact their search for an ideal mate...Another thing about the 415s I know is they are very perfectionist, overly sensitive to any perceived stereotyping, and an academically-minded four, but they never quite feel self-satisfied or finished, sometimes falling into long states of procrastination...They have an amazing ability to dissect their own emotions rationally... Think Frustration (1-4) meets Competence (1-5) meets Withdrawing (4-5)and you get a rather persnickety perfectionist who needs plenty of downtime. On the high side what they produce can be of unparalleled depth and beauty. out of 458/459/451 I'd guess that both 459 and 451 would seem more 5-like (or, more accurately, be more likely to be mis-typed as 5) than 458. 451 is the most 5ish 4. Rational and scientific. 451 - knowledgeable and discerning 4. Most intellectual 4, especially if social subtyle of with a 5 wing. Likes to teach.

-----

Comparing 1 + 4 Archetypes (145, 146 and 147) [source]

The 3 tritypes concerned with having ONE and FOUR fixes (145, 146 and 147) display those behavioral and psychological patterns :

Anger and Envy combine into a peculiar, reflective personality whose goals entail being able to comprehend and coerce their emotional life into a suitable structure in which they can further refine it into something greater;

Double frustration stance ; the need to feel that life isn't going to fulfill and satisfy its own wishes and wants is enhanced;

Sullen, complex and refined energy;

The structure-building, conscience-driven ONE is at odds with the self-expressing, moody FOUR;

There is a real conflict between the ONE's need to be removed from it instinctive nature and the FOUR need to keep in touch with its original nature;

Most likely combination to be seen as original, critical and seeking refinement;

Differences Between Archetypes

Expressing Creativity

• 145s aren't known for being truly creative tritypes, but they can show it by exploring new areas of knowledge that haven't been discovered or touched upon. They are excellent at finding the missing link between two theories or simply by researching enough on something;

Intellectual Curiosity

• 145s in often considered to be one of the most intellectual and cerebral archetypes. This is because they tend to dive deep into a subject and look for what's missing in order to make the exploration throrough and complete. Because of their capacity to amass large quantity of data, they can be known as a know-it-all;

Dealing with External Structure • 145s prefer to work within their own boundaries and strucutural approaches as they color and personalize external ones in order to work with them (most of the time);

Potential Problems • 145s can be so identified in pursuing additional knowledge and getting accurate information that this dauting task can become exhausting and leave you irritating and intolerant of outside advices. This tritype is also very critical and prone to correct others in their observations, making it frequently unliked and annoying if this attitude is persistent in time. Given that this archetype also tend to be very withdrawn and value their alone time, they should try giving others the benefit of the doubt and allow themselves to be educated freely and not only by verifiable sources;

Patterns & Structure • 145s are triple analytical and studying. This means that this archetype has all the three enneatypes in each center of intelligence that need to search a subject in depth, both intellectually and emotionally in order to come to an accurate and detailled conclusion. They can't be satisfied with normal or readily-found data, as they want to be as precise as possible in order to develop their compency and find new info that might have been overlooked. [...] Sexual subtypes are very intense and passionate and often feel compelled to research about taboo or bizarre subjects that make them feel connected to the human body in some way. They have a combination of prickly and passionate attitude that make them quite magnetic even though they want privacy too like the self-preservation subtype. They love to have deep and detailed conversations with their loved ones. 

• 145s' most common MBTI types are : INFJ (451) [#GPOY], INTJ (514), INTP (541) and sometimes INFP (451). This tritype is most commonly found within introverted intuitives and are more rarely found elsewhere. 

• 146s are more doubtful of what they know to be true than 145s, who in turn are more confident in their capacity to understand and accumulate information;

• 145s are prickly and hard to know personally

-----

Comparing 4 + 5 Archetypes (458, 459 and 145) [source]

The 3 tritypes concerned with having FOUR and FIVE fixes (458, 459 and 145) display those behavioral and psychological patterns :

Envy and Avarice merge into a very private, introspective and sensitive personality. People with this combination prefer to live through their imagination and have a hard time getting through action in the real world;

Double Withdrawn stance : the need for saving up personal energy and straying away from overwhelming stimulation is increased;

Quiet, meditative, emotional and cerebral energy;

Sensitivity and attachment to emotional states of FOUR is at odds with the detached, aloof stance of FIVE;

There is a conflict between the FOUR’s need to explore their emotional self and the FIVE’s need to maintain a neutral, unbiased stance;

Most likely combination to be seen as introverted, solitary and removed from its environment;

Differences between Archetypes

Relation to Anger

• 145s don’t like it when people don’t follow the same rigorous steps of information gathering and analyzing as they do. They can become frustrated and nitpicky with unmotivated and sloppy people;

Personal Strengths

• 145s are the best at further refining concepts and theories in their respective framework and mapping out uncharted territories thanks to their razor-sharp intellect;

Control from the Environment • 145s are more likely to quietly exert control over their own beliefs and what they perceive as adequate and may try to coerce people into using the same methodology as them;

Possible Mistypes • Sexual FOURS with a 145 tritype may mistype as a 458 because of their passionate nature and their easier access to anger than the other subtypes; [can confirm; cf this post!]

-----

Comparing 1 + 5 Archetypes (125, 135 and 145) [source]

The 3 tritypes concerned with having ONE and FIVE fixes (125, 135 and 145) display those behavioral and psychological patterns :

Anger and Avarice combine into a meticulous, stern and cerebral character. People with this combination are true intellectual who often chose to sacrifice efficiency by focusing more on establishing accurate standards and methods in order to ponder and look at things in a detach manner;

Double competency stance ; the need to detach from emotions and keep an objective eye to solve a problem is enhanced;

Very precise, laser-focused and deep thinker energy;

The conscience-driven, moralisitic ONE is at odds with the detached, system-building FIVE;

There is a conflict between the ONE's need to be right according to internal standards and the FIVE's need to be competend according to objective metrics and pure data;

Most likely combination to be considered intellectual, rational and detached;

Differences Between Archetypes :

Communications skills

• 145s are not prone to be quite social, but are more sensitive to their internal life, making their conversation a bit more heartfelt at times;

Fields of Interests • 145s love to learn about less practical subjects like science, philosophy, the occult, etc;

Social Roles • 145s like to dig deeper into untouched waters and make seemless links between disciplines. They are good at finding out what's missing and what's been overlooked;

Miscellaneous Differences • 145s are less preoccupied by performance and has a harder time to shapeshift than 125s and 135s;

• 145s can be a bit more poetic and mystical in their choice of words.

• 135s are better at making their work look attractive and convincing than 145s, who will prefer the actual content only then showcasing what they've worked on; • 145s are moodier and can have periods of melancholy while 135s are more removed from their emotional states; • 125s care deeply about what people think of them, even though they don't show it often. They are also able to ''mirror smile'' more often than 145s; • 135s can work on projects faster than 145s who will take their time more to fully grasp the actual subject; • 145s are more dependent of their internal state than 125s, who in turn are more affected by their emotional environment.

-----

[source]

Both the 451 and 459 are reserved and introspective and self conscious. The 451 is very critical of themselves and others. They are very particular and have a lot of shoulds. They can be strident. Dissatisfaction is visible as their energy can be prickly. 

[a-student-out-of-time]

Yeah, they did all of that uh- human experimentation stuff, man, Hope's Peak am i RIGHT?! Making their students to "participate" and not allow anybody else to know, including their own loved ones, they are SURRRRRREELLLY using the money they *leech* from the Reserve Course AREN'T THEY?!.- Miru

I thought this school had problems, but that’s just....evil! It’s pure EVIL!

And they’ve had people like me working to keep up their spotless image. Crimes on campus don’t get investigated, we have to bury the evidence and they keep recruiting whoever they want to study talent.

So...Kobayashi-Kun’s mom...

She was another victim of the project. They used her, and then they discarded her. The disease she had was the long-term effects, and they killed her when she reached age 30.

And thanks to Nakamura, another seven Reserve Course students met the same fate. For all I know, he helped them perfect their methodology.

And then he dropped out, and hasn’t said a word about it since.

[upcycleability]

A Response to a Commenter: Corperate Capitalism

I generally just try to put out good information on things we can do to help when and if we can (because corporations are not on Tumblr reading my blog), but apparently, this brought criticism of me and my shop, so I am going to address that criticism.

The article this is about is the only one out of 121 articles written so far that has somehow gone viral. You can read it HERE

The person who mentioned this had a few things to say about me, so let's start off with this:

"Corporations are personally responsible for the majority of all industrial waste including textiles. the og post is written in a way to make you feel socially guilty and obligated to do minuscule acts to "help" (just like all the cutesy water conservation tips that blind us to the fact that corporate farms and golf courses use more water in a week than a human uses in a year)."

I 100% agree that the main issues are a result of corperations and governments. I talk a lot about how we need systemic change and how the governments are to blame in my article on overpopulation.

"Living an eco-friendly lifestyle ourselves is a good starting point, but the governments and corporations make the majority of the trash and environmental harm. Do not harm minorities because you have an ignorant misunderstanding of how the world works. Do your part, and force the people who are causing this problem: rich folk, corporations, and governments, to do theirs."

I talk about this all the time, both here on my Tumblr, but also over on Medium. I am not trying to make anyone feel guilty about their life while giving corporations an out. I am calling out corporations, while also providing nifty tips that I have learned about myself to help in what little ways that we can. We need both systemic change and social change.

Hold companies and government accountable, but also live ourselves in a way that we want to see the world. This is how I personally live my own life.

op then punctuates the post with adverts for her shops: where she'll make money off of concepts that are supposed to help mitigate needless consumption. it doesn't take into account that interstate transport has a shitty "eco footprint" too and thus shipping via Etsy or Poshmark is adding in new pollutants.

Yes, at the end of most of my posts with links to my shops where I sell secondhand and salvaged materials. I do this so that if anyone is going to buy something anyways, they can buy it in a more sustainable way.

I only sell within my own country or the one country adjacent, and I only ship using longer shipping times (no 2-day shipping if I can avoid it), and I only use the US Postal Service as they are heading to your home to deliver your mail anyhow, so it is a greener option and easier for me to implement.

I also know that all things shipped has a carbon footprint, which is why I buy carbon credits, and donate 5% of my rather low income to intersectional climate activist group 350 dot org.

And as I often state: Don't buy from me if you don't need anything. I sell used clothing, destash fabrics, salvaged materials for crafts, and upcycled products that I make. If you are going to sew anyways, buying salvaged fabric and the like is far better than buying brand new fabrics that are often made using harmful chemicals and poor labor rights.

it's remarkably clever, the monetization of "wokeness", and OPs post is a fantastic example of it.

I am a trans woman, pansexual, disabled, neurodivergent, and live in poverty. I know very well what "wokeness" is, and I doubt what I am doing is anything close to that.

i'd be amazed if they didn't take any business or advertising classes because the setup of the OG post is nearly textbook... and I do mean textbook, as in "I personally have textbooks that describe using the methodologies OP is using in the OG post to make herself money".

I did not take any business or advertising classes at all. I suck at advertising. I have been writing blogs and the like for myself for over 15 years on a variety of different topics, and that is the only way I know how to promote my business. I write about something I am fascinated in and want to learn more about myself, or else share knowledge with people who don't know what I have learned via research, and then link my upcycle shop if anyone is interested in finding some things they may need without the impact of buying new.

And I love how they make it sound like I am striking it rich. On Etsy, over the last 3 months (after fees), I made about 235$, or about 80$ a month. On Mercari over the same 3 month period, I made 66 dollars, so 22$ a month. On eBay, 90 day total is 242$, or about 80$ a month. Poshmark has my most income, at 377$ since January 1st, or almost 4 months. That is, again, about 80$ a month. So for all of my "monetization of wokeness" I make about... 250 bucks a month. And that is about half to a little more than half of my monthly income. The rest I get through what few freelance writing clients that I get in a month.

I live off 400-500 USD a month in earnings. I get by with this, and I am happy to do what I love, such as dumpster diving, disassembling clothing, and selling or reselling what I make or find. It also allows me to work from home, as someone who is a trans woman, pansexual, disabled, neurodivergent, and in poverty.

I am not trying to trick anyone, I am simply trying to survive in a Capitalist hellscape. If selling salvaged handbags and scarves made from T-shirts is my sin, then burn me at the stake.

I will be writing a new article soon about more eco-friendly craft supplies.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 51: Folly

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Two: Folly

Notes: I do so love these talking chapters. That’s where the character development happens. But this shall be one of the last ones. There is a lot of action that has to happen soon. No time for words! ACTION!

(-~-)

After spending an entire morning at Morgan’s graduation ceremony, they had come to the unanimous conclusion that such events were extraordinarily dull and that they should have listened to the young woman when she had initially opted not to attend. The sheer amount of pomp and custom had been enough to render even Vergil’s more formal sensibilities raw and unwilling to linger much longer. But they had been forced to stay to the very end as Morgan had apparently been one of the top students. They had to allow her the time to speak, and she had used it to politely but ruthlessly denounce the school’s stagnation before exiting the stage, all of the faculty aside from one teacher seemingly shocked by her words.

By the time they had exited the building, everyone had been thoroughly exhausted. They had opted to travel via public avenues as a means of cloaking themselves, and as such, had spent nearly three hours simply trying to reach their destination. It had been a no-brainer when Vergil had simply opened a portal and silently pleaded with them to just take the direct route back. It was more difficult for any unwanted observers to track, at the very least. As as soon as they had arrived back at V’s doorstep, everyone had practically collapsed on the floor in the entryway. It was barely noon, but they were all sure that they were done with the day.

“Well, that was the most painful four hours of my life,” Nero said, slumping over on the stairs. “I used to think that going to all of those damn sermons that the order wanted us to go to was torture, but that? I think I’d rather Vergil cut my arm off again.”

Morgan stared at Nero in silence for a moment as she looked him up and down, realizing that he either had a very realistic prosthetic, or that his arm wasn’t missing. But she had heard him say the word “again” hadn’t she? He stared back at her before a mischievous smile spread across his face and he held up his right arm. Sure enough, it seemed to momentarily disappear, leaving nothing but a deflated sleeve before reappearing. He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. 

No. She refused to ask about this one. It was just too early in the morning for that.

“To be fair, I never said that attending would be enjoyable. I said it would be satisfyingly petty. Was I incorrect?” V said tiredly as he entered the house behind them. He was already working his way out of his coat, ready to sit down and make a warm cup of tea. Lucia had chosen to stay behind with Flora to keep an eye on things. Perhaps he could track her down and ask her if she’d like a cup? Yes, that was a good plan. He was too tired to be self-conscious. He was staying in this house until they had a plan.

“Fair enough. You’ve got a point.” Nero sighed, sitting on the stairs to unlace his boots. They were covered with snow and slush. No one who wanted to live would be stupid enough to head past the foyer in such a condition. There was just no point.

“So… why’d ya have to sneak into your sister’s graduation? Didn’t you used to go to that school?” Dante asked casually as he tossed his coat on the hanger that V kept in the entryway. The boots came off easily enough. He would make quick work of those. No need to even sit down.

“Because I punched one of the teachers in the face right after I walked off of the stage with my diploma and then they banned me from the school grounds and all related properties.” Bren shrugged, unperturbed. “I’d do it again in a second. I regret nothing.”

“You punched a teacher in the face? At your own graduation ceremony?” Vergil asked, unsure as to whether or not he’d heard that statement correctly. Surely he had been mistaken. He couldn’t think of a single reason why someone would want to do something like that. Mentors could be ruthless, that much was true. But what possessed him to do something so extreme? He couldn’t say that it was his business, but he was admittedly intrigued.

“Oh yea, I punched him. Cold cocked him, actually. And I’d do it again.” Bren hung up his coat, offering to take the remaining coats and put them up for everyone else. “He was a total creep. Used to sneak peeks into both locker rooms when everyone was getting ready for practice. I’m glad that’s all he did. From what we know. He’s upstate now doing ten years. Got caught taking bribes for the sports team. Hope he rots in there.”

Vergil paused before nodding. He could get behind that easily enough. “Fair enough.”

Dante laughed and shook his head. It seemed that there was at least one thing that they agreed on. Although to be fair, the younger of the two had the feeling that Vergil would have done more than punch the teacher in the face. It was lucky for that creep that he had not made that kind of mistake in his brother’s vicinity. How unfortunate. He would have loved to see him get what he had coming. “I get the feeling that he got off pretty easy. Vergil would have probably impaled him.”

“No. They would have found him lying chest down looking up at the sky if I had been one of the parents of those unfortunate students. I dare not sully Yamato’s blade with such lowly blood.” Vergil then stopped curtly and headed into the living room, ready to sit down and not have to be around a stadium full of people again. Or anyone for several hours for that matter. His social battery had been taxed to its absolute limit recently. But there had been no way that he would have allowed both of his sons and the Linquist siblings to go that far away without an escort. He couldn’t stop them, so he decided to tail them and keep an eye out for anything mysterious. Thankfully things had gone off without a hitch. Another good reason to come back the way that they had.

It took everyone present a solid few seconds to register the implications of how that would be physically possible. And once they did, each of them shuddered slightly, the mental image alone gruesome enough to cause them pause. But after a moment they resumed hanging their coats and taking off their shoes, seeing no compelling reason to dwell on it any longer. Strangely enough, none of them could say that they disagreed with his proposed methodology. As long as they didn’t have to do it, then they could totally live with it.

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to the fact that you can do… What do you call it? And how did you do that? What’s a Yamato?” Morgan was clearly confused. She felt like he’d been dropped feet first into the tenth season of a complex show with lore she couldn’t hope to understand. The waters were deep and she was floundering.

Vergil produced the blade from seemingly nowhere, holding it out slightly so that she could have a better look at it. But he dared not let her touch it. “This is Yamato. A demonic blade passed down to me by my father, the Dark Knight Sparda. It has the ability to cut through anything, down to and including the fabric of reality itself, allowing me to open tears in space-time like the one we just passed through to get here. It would have made short work of that teacher.”

“Can I play with it?” She seemed impressed, barely resisting the urge to reach for it.

“Absolutely not.” He stared at her, unable to believe that she’d actually just asked him that.

“Damn.” In truth, she’d known the answer long before she’d asked. But that didn’t stop her from hoping that it wouldn’t be the case. “Wait, your father is the Dark Knight Sparda? Like the guy everybody talks about in all those myths and legends and stuff? He’s real?”

Dante nodded. No use in hiding things. She was going to need to be up to speed as soon as possible. They didn’t benefit from hiding things like this from her. At this point, the fact that most of them were at least part demon was just cursory information. They had no reason to lie to her. “Yea.” 

She paused, seemingly considering something. The sudden widening that her pupils underwent indicated that much to anyone looking in her general direction. “Wait… He’s a demon, right? So you guys are, what? At least part demon? All of you?”

Both Dante and Vergil looked at one another before nodding, followed by Nero a moment later. V simply stared at her blankly, shrugging. He didn’t really need to say it at that point, did he? If his uncle, father, and brother were all at least part demon, then it went without saying that he was as well. That was simply how genetics worked.

“That’s so metal, man.” She nodded to herself, clearly unconcerned and genuinely impressed. It seemed that she was unphased by the sudden realization that she was in a room occupied by only one other pure human seemingly not concerning her in the slightest. But considering the things that she and V had been through together, it shouldn’t have been that surprising that she was unphased by their somewhat supernatural status.

Nero laughed to himself. She was pretty funny, and it seemed as though she was impervious to fear. He had the feeling that whenever she and Nico finally met that they would be the death of him. Maybe she could teach the plucky mechanic to drive like a sane person instead of a violently unstable maniac with a death wish. 

“Guess that explains a little bit more about how everything went totally out of control in Redgrave City so fast. I’m not going to pretend to know why everything that happened, well, happened, and I honestly don’t want to even know because nothing would be a good enough answer, but at least I get how it all went down a little better now. Demons.”

Vergil stopped dead in his tracks. Had that been why she’d been staring at him like that back at Magnolia’s house? She knew about that?! How was that even-

“Look…” She sighed, realizing that what she was about to say was going to make very little sense to anyone other than herself. “My brother talked to me on the phone about it before he came to talk to you guys. He said that the cult he’d been in had kidnapped the son of the person who had been responsible for the attack, but that the person had decided to let him live because he’d helped them find him. I told him that he should still come talk to you because he shouldn’t have been a part of something like that, even if he thought they might be doing bad things for a good reason. He was contributing to that same evil, you know? I’m not gonna pretend I understand what either of you did or why, but I’m choosing to just let that go because it’s all that I can do. And because you spared my brother’s life when he was doing something almost as stupid himself. What other choice do I have?”

He stared at her quietly, everyone in the room going quiet in an effort to not interrupt. None of them could pinpoint why, but this had far more weight to it than they wanted to acknowledge. The tension in the room was incredibly heavy despite the fact that the Darkslayer had “You could choose to hate me. You could seek revenge against me And you would be right to do so. I’d have no right to stop you.”

“Yea, you're right. I could.” She shrugged. “But hating you is the easy choice. And I wasn’t raised to take the path of least resistance. That’s why I’m still here. So I’m going to choose to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done and just let it go. They aren’t coming back either way. But I’m still here and I have to keep going even if I don’t know where I’m headed. Even if it might be worse than where I already am or just as bad. Because there is a chance that where I’m going might be better. Your son taught me that much.”

V started before turning away to face the fireplace. He went to light it again, seeking anything that he could do to escape the gravity of this situation. He wasn’t sure what he felt about any of this. It was just so very much. What he wouldn’t have done to turn back the clock and do… something. Anything to spare them all this suffering. But he couldn’t. It was like she’d said. He had to keep moving forward. And although she claimed he’d shown her that, he wasn’t sure he’d learned that himself until long after he’d met her. 

Could you teach someone a lesson that you yourself had yet to learn?

Just as she was about to continue, there was a knock at the door. Everyone turned in the direction of the door, subconsciously readying themselves for yet another attack. For all they knew their enemy had finally found them. Hopefully, Flora knew a spell that could reverse the damage. Dante sighed and stepped towards the door, unlocking it and then opening it. And then he scoffed, chuckling under his breath.

“Well, I’ll be. Haven’t seen you in a few weeks! Where did you disappear to?”

“I must say, it is a pleasure to see you again, Dante. May I come in? My sincerest apologies. I had to step away and attend to a few affairs back at the office. I hope nothing major has occurred in my absence.” To the collective surprise of everyone, it was Sirrus. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack, heading towards the living room as he greeted everyone in turn. Upon catching sight of Vergil, he stopped, a curious look crossing his face as he drew a few feet closer to the Darkslayer who was sitting down on the couch away from the rest of the group. He seemed to be reflecting. “And I see that Vergil has indeed returned! Glad to see it. When last I’d spoken to Magnolia, she had informed me of your extended absence. And she seemed quite forlorn. I fear she believed that you would never return. Thank you for silencing her disbelief.”

“A whole train station blew up and it’s all over the news. Also, V’s curse is worse and there’s an uber-powerful summoner in town using infernal magic.” Flora said dryly as she came down the stairs and made her way into the kitchen. Why was she not surprised to see Sirrus in town again? He’d been around quite a bit recently. The red-haired man stared at her unblinking as she left the room before allowing his hand to travel slowly up to his face as he turned in the direction of the rest of the crew. She shook his head slowly, disbelief evident.

“... Why is it that every time I turn my back on the lot of you that you stick your fingers in the light socket like unruly toddlers?”

Each of the descendants of the Dark Knight Sparda blinked blankly. They couldn’t answer that particular question in any meaningful way, unfortunately.

“I wanted to thank you for your extravagant housewarming gift. In-person. And I noticed the distinct lack of a gift receipt in the event that I could not bear it upon my conscience to receive it.” V didn’t have an answer to this newfound guest’s mostly sarcastic question, but he did have gratitude. He was admittedly thankful for the gift and for Sirrus’s sudden return. The change in mode and subject matter was a welcome one. The reality of what they faced hadn’t changed, but any distraction from the suffering that surrounded them was appreciated. And to be fair, V actually did enjoy being around him.

Sirrus paled before turning away to hide his slight blush. In this cold weather, it was hard to discern what was flushed skin and what was simply a negative reaction to the intimate weather.  “Think nothing of it. It was the least I could do given the circumstances. You saved my life, and this house is far too stately to lay empty, and you did save my life. Too many treasured memories have been formed within its walls to allow it to languish. And I felt a strong desire to ensure that you were… comfortable. You have enough to worry about.”

An awkward silence fell over them for a moment as Morgan looked at V and then at Sirrus before looking at both of them again. She then shook her head and headed over towards the couch. She was going to have to ask V how he’d managed to afford a house like this. Their trauma payments from that charity group after the attack hadn’t been this big. A house like this had to cost a small fortune, especially in this city and especially in this neighborhood. He was probably the youngest homeowner in the entire area!

“If you’d excuse me for a moment, I bought groceries.” He waited for V to nod in agreement before heading towards the kitchen in the back of the building. He paused in front of Morgan, nodding politely before heading towards his destination again. Everyone returned to the task of making themselves comfortable, realizing that they had all gone on alert the moment that they’d seen Sirrus arrive. This situation with Belial had them on edge. They couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Perhaps Sirrus could add something useful to their almost nonexistent plans?

Morgan scooted over so that V could sit next to her, looking the young summoner up and down as she shook her head slowly from side to side. He gave her a sympathetic look that quickly migrated to confusion as he realized that she was only doing this in jest. He was missing a joke here, wasn’t he? Why did the humor of others so often fly right over his head? “Am I missing something?”

“Oh, you’re missing a lot of things, bub.” V mentally chastised Griffon, silently hoping that Morgan couldn’t look at him and tell that he had been momentarily annoyed but his avian companion. He had yet to mention the fact that he possessed a demonic panther and a talking bird with a severe death wish. Although he had the feeling that she wouldn’t really mind. “Not right now, please.”

She pointed towards the kitchen, a smirk crossing her face. She then folded her arms, leaning over so that she could whisper in V’s ear. “So you haven’t noticed that he… You know what? Nevermind. I’ll let you figure it out. It shouldn’t be that hard if I’ve only been around him for like 30 seconds and I already caught onto it.”

A moment later Sirrus called from the kitchen stating that he’d brought everyone tea. Flora sighed in relief. Finally, something that made sense around here. “Wonderful. Spectacular. Finally, some good damn tea.”

(-~-)

I hope you liked this chapter! Now, on to the next one! I’m excited for next week. I have something devious planned! Oh, it feels great to be back! Take care of yourselves out there and I will see you in the comment section! TGIF!

[empyreal-insights]

Border Jumping: In It, Not Of It

{Border Jumping, part 1}  .  Esthero, one of my favorite singer/songwriters, posted a song on IG, “Great Version of Me”:  

They say I’ve got “spark”  They say I’ve got “magic” They say I’ve got all the things that I need, and if I want it, I have it

They say I’ve got heart And a light that surrounds it, but I’m lost in the dark Did you happen to notice? 

I need something good to happen to me ‘Cause I can’t stop drowning When will I feel like all the things they see?  When will I be this “great” version of me? 

I’ve tried so hard, tried to live it and own it Kept staring ahead, pretended how great things have been going

But I’ll let you in on my intimate moments:  I feel alone Mostly, I feel forgotten I need something good to happen to me ‘Cause I can’t stop drowning When will I feel like all the things they see? When will I be this “great” version of me?

‘Cause I can’t go back And I’m scared to move When will I feel like all the things they see in me? When will I live so gracefully?  When will I have what’s coming to me? 

I need something great to happen I wanna meet this great version of me. 

Wanna meet her so bad Great version of me

I spent a lot of time fighting against myself because of this feeling. Here’s some of what I learned when I was dancing between breaking down and breaking through.  

Find Your (Higher) Power I’ve tried so hard, tried to live it and own it Kept staring ahead, pretended how great things have been going But I’ll let you in on my intimate moments: I feel alone Mostly, I feel forgotten

I know folks have issues with God. But if you’re resonating with this message, understand that you’ll require a relationship with Source / a Higher Power / Creative Force (1). 

If you can’t wrap your head around having faith in the concept of a God-Force, the next best thing is to master some form of energetic literacy through mindfulness, tai chi, meditation, martial arts, pranic healing, reiki, or a similar methodology. 

Do not intellectualize this. You can start with a book or two, but eventually you need to choose something, then find someone that can teach you how to do it. You must learn to see Energy as barometer, master key, and mother tongue.

Why? Because your lessons, blessings, and karmic resolution are meant to play out between you and Source, with a thin veil between you and some of the "typical” human experiences (2). Energetic literacy gives you the language to stay in communion with Source, and this relationship will sustain you when people will not or cannot. 

Go With Your Flow  When will I feel like all the things they see in me?  When will I live so gracefully?  When will I have what’s coming to me?

You can’t move like everyone else. You’re on a whole other timetable - one that more closely mirrors the spiritual world. I realize that in some western spiritualities this can translate to a commitment to austerity or asceticism, which I clearly reject.  

While in this process, it helps to be able to soothe and comfort yourself on demand, in the healthiest ways you can manage. There’s enough to figure out without adding deprivation to the list. 

Also, don’t feel like you have to be happy all the time. Create space to cry, wail, grieve, and lament. The song that inspired this is a perfect example. I write. You might make art. Just make sure the pain passes through. Don’t dwell in it - that’s how you start to feel stuck.  

Chironically wounded shadow workers - those of us that long to fit in and experience the belonging others take for granted - often never asked to be set apart, but we keep finding ourselves in that position (3). Acceptance eases some of the loneliness and gives us the patience to wait our turn.      

The good news: you are exquisitely protected. Respect that. Don’t chase people who leave; don’t force yourself into incompatible spaces; don’t beg to be understood. 

This is why your relationship with Source is nonnegotiable - you need to know exactly who and what is working in your life, where They're guiding you, what to avoid, and how to call upon and respect that Power when necessary. Acting in accordance with this understanding will help your life move more effortlessly.  

Be Grateful  I need something good to happen to me ‘Cause I can’t stop drowning When will I feel like all the things they see? When will I be this “great” version of me?

You know how the spiritual folks talk about being thankful for every little thing? Do that. 

When you're hollowed out from that weeping and wailing? Take a breath (or a nap), then give thanks.

To live long enough to get all the good things waiting for you - ‘cause some of us blossom well after 35 (4) - you must learn to cling to gratitude as if you’re dangling off a cliff and help is at least 30 seconds away. 

The good things are happening, will continue to happen. You may not have everything you want, but do you have most of what you need? Thank what sustains you: food (say grace), pets, friends, plants...whatever you have. You must learn to see the joy along the way because our despair can be fatal.  

Again, it’s natural to feel anger, frustration, jealousy, and whatever else. Observe it, resolve it, and keep it moving. Be as human as you need to be in any given moment, but always, always, always return to gratitude. 

Welcome Your Awakening They say I’ve got “spark”  They say I’ve got “magic”  They say I’ve got all the things that I need, and if I want it, I have it

They say I’ve got heart And a light that surrounds it, but I’m lost in the dark Did you happen to notice?

Yes, I noticed. You’re not crazy or arrogant for realizing that you’re different. Your energy's legit, that's why people react to it so definitively. 

Accept that reactivity is often the limit of human capacity. They’ll be fascinated, dazzled, but fall short of being able to hold you, love you, or define you. 

But soon - after some dark days and some unbelievably beautiful ones - it won’t hurt so much. You’ll know where to receive comfort, love, and understanding. You’ll discover your work, your people, your place, and that great version of you. 

...

(1) Source is becoming a preferred term when sharing these thoughts because (a) the name Osun, one of my primary deities, derives from a Yoruba word meaning, “the source,” (b) I have a deep relationship with water, which is considered a/the source of life - perhaps the most important after air itself, and ( c ) it feels less loaded and/or culturally specific than “God.” Your parents - most especially your mother - can be considered your Source. Food, clothing, shelter... sources of survival. That, in my opinion, is the kind of emotional connection and relationship that allows us to interact and commune with the Divine in the most intimate, healing, healthy, and hopeful ways. 

(2) Certain aspects of Hindu and Buddhist philosophy have an intricate way of explaining why some are meant to perpetuate the needs and desires of daily / cyclical human life, while others are meant to work and live more closely with Source. I use these as examples because certain texts and concepts within these traditions have been translated and interpreted for a western audience over the last 40-50 years, and may be more immediately accessible than other ideologies. If you go for the ancient texts first, just know you’ll need to filter through what I call the “human shit” (sexism, politics of the era) to get to the underlying truths that can help you deepen your spiritual practices. (sidebar: I think this is what those “caste” systems were SUPPOSED to be about - interpreting the flow of human life and integrating our unique, personal destinies into an overarching social construct, not oppression and domination. But, humans love a hierarchy.)

(3) In contrast to the “fuck the world” cynics, loners, or folks with outsized egos willful enough to claim places they didn’t earn. And, hell, that energy has its place. They seem to have it easier, right? But we’re all prone to thinking the grass is greener where we don’t have to water it. 

(4) Why do you think elder-ship is revered in so many pre-colonial / indigenous cultures? Youth has its advantages, but most of us have to grow into ourselves, and that takes time. Even when you’re blessed with precocious emotional intelligence, there are some things you only learn through living. Allow yourself the grace to move through life at your divine pace.

[asheelnair]

PERSONAL BLOG :-)

 Asheel Nair (Me18b101)

Course - MS4100 ( Soft skills)

First of all thanks Viji Ma'am to teach this wonderful course and making me understand and help me to grow and realize my skills that will help me personally as well as in professional growth.

1)   Meaning and Purpose 

 It was a very great session to attend as it gave a lot of insights about life and insisted us to find our true worth and value of life in this world.

There is a statement which touched me very much- “Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather must recognize that it is he who is asked. In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible.”

We are all hungry for meaning, for purpose, for the feeling that our life is worth more than the sum of its parts. We can find meaning in the sublime, in the absurd, in the dull and dreary, and in the perfectly wretched in life. That's when Viji came up with the word 'ikigai'- Combining the Japanese words iki, meaning life and gai, meaning value or worth, ikigai is essentially about finding your purpose in life.  for exampe- Ikigai means “the reason you wake up for in the morning”

Then Viji told us to write our purpose of life in our book :-

What i love most- Video Games, family, friends, dogs

What i am good at - Maintaining relations, consulting

What can i get paid for - Consulting job or maybe some unexplored fields(who knows xD)

what the world needs- world is selfish and everyone wants profit in each and everything they do, the current world needs humanity and needs to develop a sense of empathy and helping nature.

Always know your true worth and realize it because it is only you know your true worth and value and always be grateful for who you are.

2) The '5S' principle 

:- It was the first time i came across this principle and trust me it was worth it :)

What are the 5 principles of 5S?

 5S stands for the 5 steps of this methodology: Sort, Set in Order, Shine, Standardize, Sustain. 

5S is designed to decrease waste while optimizing productivity through maintaining an orderly workplace which will help you bring positive thinking and productive solution.

Application - I applied this principle in my room which was dirty and messes up. I cleaned everything and kept everything in a proper way. After implying this principle it felt very comforting and nice.

3) Time-Management 

 It is one of the crucial factors to live a peaceful life without any tension and stress. The person who has time management skills are very calm and comforting and always live a peaceful life. Everyone has the same 24 hours, however, some make better use of their time than others. This is one of the reasons why we have people who excel at the things they do. In other words, people may become busy; but that necessarily does not mean they are effective at their task. Hence, time management plays a crucial role in personal and professional life.

 Time management may be a conscious effort to spend a selected amount of your time to perform a task efficiently . Furthermore, productivity is the key focus here. The more productive the work, the higher are the results. Moreover, time management requires a careful balancing between business life , social life, the other hobbies or activities. From an academic perspective, time management is a necessity. Students have many subjects to hide , therefore, efficiently managing time is a crucial skill.

The main problem we all face is the lack of time. Having so many things to do and yet not enough time to do them all. Through my conversations with many, I realized that I was not the only one facing this issue. This was when I realized sharpening my activity management skills becomes important. Though many people may call it ‘time management, I believe activity management is a better term because we can’t manage time but we can manage our activities each day. The reality is many people drift through life and allow themselves to be carried by the waves. We all have a choice to take control of our activities and reach our fullest potential. 

so use your time wisely by sorting important things first by realizing the importance of time in your life and seeing the benefits of time management.

As it is said " Time and Tide wait for none" , make sure you make each and every second count and create a change for a greater tomorrow.

I even talked with few people who I believe is very efficient in time management and asked them their secret mantra :P , example - My friend :-

– All good things take time and so does your goal, some achieve goals faster while some take their time.  You need to be vocal and loud about your goal, aim and thoughts. Always have a positive mindset and be ready to face any challenges thrown at your goals. You should always be open minded and appreciate every small thing that makes you reach your goal. She thinks that the importance of setting goals comes with maturity and responsibility and you need to figure out what things comes first in your life.

4) Strength based Learning - All the above factors can be included while finding about our personal strength based learning. sit down for few minutes and think about your strengths and weaknesses. For me-Strengths-based learning involves a process of assessing which helps us to identify our greatest talents, and to then develop and apply strengths based on those talents in the process of learning, intellectual development, and academic achievement to levels of personal and professional excellence.

As it is said " champions are not born they are trained and nourished with care to become a champion", Skills do not naturally exist within us; they must be acquired through training and practice. The concept of strengths is based in each individual’s unique nature and building upon what he or she naturally does best. Takeaway-After this session  I realized I have strengths with which I can create a change for better tomorrow and life is too long to explore, learn and develop. I would always like to explore my strengths and work on it and inspire others to play on their strengths. Thanks Viji for this wonderful session :)

5) Communication  

It is something because of which I faced conflicts in past, For me -signaling benevolence in communication seems vital than harsh-naked truth as it can sometimes product in fright, strain or spite in developing long-lasting relationships with family or at workplace. Blunt honesty can sometimes be rebellious whereas benevolence aids in handling difficult situations ethically by breeding trust and in boosting one’s morale. It enables one to be mindful of consequences and frame things in a way that is different from complete unvarnished truth- which in turn fosters relationships and other developments.

Thanks to Abha ma'am and Viji ma'am to take up this session and making it a wonderful experience. Salute to both of you for your professionalism and are dedicated to your work, was truly amazed to see this.

Presentation- The three 's' -structure, style and substance were covered in this. There were many other factors that were taught which helped me to learn, incorporate those and make my skills even stronger. Learned a lot on how to communicate, make a presentation and how to present yourself in front of people, all thanks to Abha ma'am.

Assertive Communication - Assertiveness means expressing your point of view in a way that is clear and direct, while still respecting others. Communicating in an assertive manner can help you to: minimize conflict. The 3 C's Of Assertive Communication are Confidence – you believe in your ability to handle a situation. Clear – the message you have is clear and easy to understand. Controlled – you deliver information in a calm and controlled manner. Passive communication and behavior involves allowing your own rights to be violated by failing to express honest feelings, thoughts, and beliefs, or by expressing your thoughts and feelings in an apologetic manner that others can easily disregard.

Few steps for assertive communication :

1.Tell the person what you think about their behavior without accusing them. 

2. Tell them how you feel when they behave a certain way. 

3. Tell them how their behavior affects you and your relationship with them. 

4. Tell them what you would prefer them to do instead.  

6) Self Realization

This was a very good session and topic. During the first 5 min we were told to take out a mirror or front camera and look yourself in it for few minutes and write down whatever comes into your mind. when i saw myself i could see that there is a fire burning within myself that want's to achieve each and every goal, I realized i will soon conquer each and every challenges in my way and make my parents and myself proud.

 Then we came on the topic of 

 Body shaming :

   It is something that i feel is cheap and very immature. Without knowing what the other person is going through people criticize them and laugh at them. Individuals with a history of trauma, depression, self-harm, low self-esteem, or borderline personality disorder are more likely to be affected by body shaming and potentially develop an eating disorder or engage in self-harm behavior.

 Empowerment doesn’t just refer to professional success and financial stability but also the overall personality development of an individual. Empowering yourself requires you to confront your problems but not bow down to them. It involves you being open to changing your views based on your own personal experience. Hence, if you’re not changing and sticking to what you’ve been told by society, you’re keeping yourself away from empowerment.

 When it comes to our views, we have plenty of them pertaining to our own selves. A majority of them are concerned with how we look. From television to magazine, most women have grown up being told that the perfect girl is slim, fair, humble, docile and quiet.

But, what about those women who are plus-sized, have a deformity, have too many tattoos or are too outspoken? The society might not find them palatable enough to call them perfect but who gave society that right, anyway? The only person who gets to decide is you. You need to shed societal expectations and accept every bit of yourself.

Takeaway - Don't live by fearing of someone's judgement, Everyone has a beautiful body on this planet, all are different that is the beauty of this world. "Embrace it don't hide it"

Snake and Ladder in our life :-

Ladder here refers to all the supports in your life who encourage you to achieve something great in your life while snake refers to all the challenges that is stopping you to achieve your goals.

Ladder and goals - 

 Family, friends and dear ones

Get into a dream company that recognizes my     talent and reach a good position where one day i can become a leader

Want to buy a luxurious home to my parents and     want to give them everything whatever they ask for

Buy a dream car

Building shelter homes for animals

Do something for orphans and rural people

Reach at a height where i become a role model     for few

Build a dream  PC gaming set-up, xD 

Want to travel the world (each and every     corner)

Want to learn calisthenics

And many more.............  :P

 Snakes -

Negative people

Procrastination. “I will do it later” is often     equivalent to “I will never do it,” though that is never the real     intention behind procrastinating something

Fear of Failure

Ignorance

Lack of Purpose

Lack of Courage

Fault Finding

Lack of Self-belief             Takeaway -

[limited-practice]

I saw a request from @shapeofmetal that @rawmeknockout filled fantastically well here and thought yes this is good, this is all great, I’d love to have a go at writing this myself some time. So I did. 

7424 words of explicit Shockwave/Reader are below the cut.

The human mouth is disgusting, and I am going to prove it.”

Shockwave states this coldly and firmly the second you step into his lab. But his optic is bright and wide and he’s already hovering next to you, holding out a tool box as if it’s a long lost treasure he’s graciously decided to share with you and only you, and as such you should turn speechless with awe and gratitude and silently beg to be allowed to help him prove how terrible you are.

You are supremely unimpressed. You haven’t even had the chance to take your coat off yet, and here you are being told by one of the greatest scientists you know that an essential part of you is disgusting.

“The human mouth is a medical marvel,” you argue back, dumping your coat onto the pristine floor of his lab. You lean casually and definitely against a lab bench and look at him in the way he deserves for such invalid arrogance.

“You are incorrect,” Shockwave says.

“I know you are, but what am I?” You shoot back.

“…incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I ?”

“…?”

You cross your arms in satisfaction. “Exactly.”

“Enough.” Shockwave steps closer, the tool box rattling excitedly in his hand. “Sit down. Stop talking. Open your mouth.” 

“Why? What are you going to put in it?” you say, ignoring all three orders.

“An incontrovertible means to prove my supposition that will allow even the most intellectually challenged being to understand.”

Shockwave opens the box.

You stretch up onto your toes and peer inside it. You nod your head repeatedly at what you see and what he’s just said. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Now I’m no scientist, but there’s a few things in there that don’t look very scientific. Like that long yellow thing and that sharp purple thing with hinges.”

“You are correct.”

“I know.”

“You are not a scientist. You are an inferior life form existing with a poverty of comprehension, life expectancy and universally accepted currency.”

“Hey.” You may have agreed to be a volunteer for Shockwave’s experiments after he approached you earlier with a monetary offer you couldn’t refuse, and because he ignored you when you asked  him why he hadn’t publicly advertised for volunteers and is only asking you, but you’re not going to sit back and take that. “You don’t have to be a dick about this. You don’t know me.” Two of his three statements are correct, but you’ll be floating outside in space without a suit on before you agree with him.

Shockwave looms over you, bright and purple and powerful. You’re not nervous. You’ve never been nervous around him when so many rightfully are and you don’t know why.

“I will tell you something I do know,” Shockwave says. “Something that your human ‘scientists’ and ‘doctors’ have also documented and agreed on.” 

He puts the tool box down on the bench and takes out a long cotton swab from it. “The mouth is one of the filthiest parts of your body.”

You feel your lips tugging up into a smile. “But not the filthiest, am I right?”

Shockwave glances down to between your legs.

“Pervert,” you say, delighted. “I’m talking about my brain.” For added emphasis you tap a finger to your temple. 

“Enough.” Shockwave puts his other arm on your shoulder and pushes you down onto a medical stool. He does so carefully, as if wanting to give you the chance to say no to this.

You sit down on the stool. You don’t want to say no to any of this. 

You stretch your legs out and cross them at the ankle. “Are you trying to find out how many diseases I’ve got in my mouth? Will you be upset if there are too many or too few? Do you want me to stop talking? Or is that what you like most about my mouth? The different shapes it can make; the way my tongue moves; how wet everything is? Would you be upset if I keep it closed and denied you everything you so clearly want?”

And before Shockwave can respond, you preempt him and open your mouth.

“Are you going to slip into a radioactive suit first?” you ask. “Are you worried about your safety? It’s OK, there’s nothing to be concerned about - I’ll go easy on you. And I promise not to bite.”

Shockwave doesn’t answer. But he looks like he wants to. He very much looks like he wants to say something that he shouldn’t.

He inserts the cotton swab into your mouth and runs it along the wall of your cheek, coating the tip in saliva. He then pauses, as if reluctant to remove it so soon. He swipes the inside of your mouth again, this time anti-clockwise and this time slower. He repeats the clockwise and anti-clockwise rotations three times each. Maybe his interest with your mouth really is just scientific.

He finally removes the swab and puts it into a cylindrical container mounted to the wall. “Results from the buccal swab will be available almost instantaneously and will produce an accuracy rate of 99.99%”

“I’m so glad I’m sitting down here because wow, you just blew my mind with that fascinating statistic.”

Shockwave returns to you and doesn’t dignify you with an answer.

“There may be a trillions of bacteria in my mouth,” you tell him, rubbing the side of your face that he’d taken a painless sample from. “But they’re not just there to party. They pay their way and are useful. Essential, actually.” 

“Elaborate.” 

“So if we get germs in our mouth then our body doesn’t just give up and die an embarrassing death - the good bacteria are woken up and put up a fight and prevent us from getting sick. Or at least fatally sick. Sometimes we still get sick but they’ve done their best, you can’t blame them for everything.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep. Well some of the bacteria help out like that, I don’t think they all do. Some of them don’t do much and are just…there. I don’t know how many and what it is they actually do. And I’m not going to count them because one, that’s boring and two, I’m not a snitch.”

You lean forward. “Do you really not know all of this? This is basic biology even the dumb kids in the useless schools know.”

Shockwave reaches into the tool box again. “I am fully aware of the purpose of defence bacteria, how they operate, the ratio of useful to redundant organisms and how inefficient the entire mechanism is. But this has all been documented by others - by humans - and not by a cybertronian. Not by me.”

He extracts the small sharp purple thing.

You swallow. “So you don’t believe them.”

Shockwave puts his hand over yours, which is still on your cheek. “I do not believe them. I trust only my results. My methodology.”

He manipulates the instrument until it transforms into a medical instrument you recognise.

You open your mouth slightly. “And that’s the only reason you’re doing this? The only reason you want to probe me with that?”

“…correct. I need to examine and document the area personally in order to establish an accurate primary baseline.”

“Mm-hmm.” Of all the colours in existence, he chose the one that matches his frame’s colour exactly. “For science?”

Shockwave slides the purple tongue depressor into your mouth and over your tongue. “For science.” 

Shockwave is careful. Thorough. He uses his optic as a focused beam of light to peer into your mouth and examine it. The metal depressor on your tongue is smooth and warm, and whenever your gag reflex threatens to start up, Shockwave adjusts the instrument instantly to help it pass. He exacts the perfect amount of pressure every single time to still it. You’re impressed. But starting to get bored. He’s just looking at you and not moving, as if he’s never seen the inside of a human mouth before and is on sacred ground he knows he needs to tread carefully on. 

You make a sound, and he tears his relentless gaze from the inside of your mouth to your eyes. You raise your eyebrows to ask what’s taking so long.

“Tell me,” Shockwave asks, as he places the instrument underneath your tongue so that you can talk. “What are the carriers for the bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa that activate the defense mechanisms of the mouth?”

You roll your tongue on top of the depressor and feel your eyes itching to do the same. You didn’t sign up for a biology quiz. “You mean where do germs come from?”

“That is not what I meant or asked. Pay attention.”

You put a finger in your mouth. You reach as far back as the depressor goes and touch it. You run your finger along the smooth metal until it comes out of your mouth but you don’t break contact with it, you keep going, trailing your finger along the handle of the depressor until you come to the fingers that hold it. You rest your finger on Shockwave’s.

“Oh now I see,” you exaggerate loudly, as if only now the blinds have been lifted from your eyes and you finally understand what he means. “You want to know about things that shouldn’t go in my mouth. The dirty things that could make me sick. The forbidden things.” 

You swallow around the metal. “And you want to know if I know them.”

Shockwave slides the depressor out of your mouth and moves his hand back. But not far enough to dislodge your finger from his.

“What if I said I did know?” you continue. “That I know all of them. That I make a sustained effort to educate myself on biology and physiology not only because it helps me to stay healthy and alive, but because I find those areas of study fascinating in their own right?”

Shockwave doesn’t move and doesn’t answer. You can practically feel his spark contracting as he realises you’re telling the truth.

You tilt your head. If he tattooed his desires across his impressive chest he couldn’t be more obvious in what he wants. You feel your heart beat faster at what you’re going to say next. “But what if I didn’t know? What if I said I didn’t know what shouldn’t be going in my mouth and that I’d…like to?’

It should be impossible, but you can sense his spark expand.

“I…would experiment,” he tells you. “For science.”

“As opposed to the medieval fine arts?”

Shockwave’s optic bores into you. “We do not have time to undertake a battery of tests to determine if every substance is dangerous to human health if ingested orally. My selected carriers have been chosen carefully and will produce…results.“ 

You sit back on the stool and eye him critically. This is the first you’re hearing about ingesting something. He already knows what substances are dangerous to human health. He knows all of them and you, the planet Earth, and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This seems like a ploy to put things in your mouth and see if they’ll kill you or make you sick.

“You already know what substances are dangerous to human health,” you tell Shockwave. He lowers his hand and you remove your finger from his. “And I, the planet Earth and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This is starting to seem like a ploy to put things in my mouth to see if they’ll make me sick.” 

You point your finger sharply at him and speak with a fake fiery fury. “And this is the first I’m hearing about actually ingesting something. Is this whole experiment just to see if something will kill me? Is that it? Is it? Are you going to offer me a glowing stick of radioactive waste and say it’s a cybertronian delicacy and then watch me suck on it and melt from the inside and become a puddle of screaming goo as you take notes and call the overworked and underpaid cleaner to mop up what remains of me up? Is it?”

Shockwave actually takes a step back. “Incorrect. As always, you are incorrect. This is for science.”

If he had a medical frame he could detect your pulse and blood chemistry without even needing to touch you. But he doesn’t, and you’re grateful for that. If he wants to know how you’re truly feeling about this session then he’s going to have to put in the hard work and deduce it. 

“Fine,” you say. “I signed up for this ‘non-lethal experiment to determine the limitations of the human mouth’ that you’re paying me for and I’m not going to back out of it. So what’s coming out of the box next?”

But Shockwave doesn’t take anything else out. Instead he crouches down so that you’re at eye-optic level. “I am curious as to how the human mouth and resulting systems react to interior contact with something your scant years of evolution have not encountered before. My hypothesis is not encouraging for you, but facts are facts. And when I’m proven right you will eventually thank me.”

Shockwave raises his hand and flexes his fingers, and you know where this is going. But you’re overcome with a prickly irritation at the casual way he dismisses your species, and decide to play dumb with him. It’s illogical to feel this way, but you’re not a purely logical being. You’re someone better than that. 

You eye his fingers with a careful look of mild distaste. “My hideous ancestors went through a lot of shit to equip me with what I have now, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, and transform the way you’re looking at his fingers to one of mild pity. “My teeth are composed of the hardest substance in the human body. They can tear through plants and flesh and all manner of substances with ease.”

“What about metal?” Shockwave asks instantly, bringing up his hand to your face. “Reports indicates that your teeth cannot break it and your fluids cannot digest it.” He waggles his fingers. “But in the name of science this must be corroborated or rejected.”

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

“…clarify.”

“Waving your fingers about like that, ‘accidentally’ brushing my lips with them, flexing and rotating them as if they’re part of your courtship dance and any second now I’m going to be consumed with lust and fall off my seat and whimper on the floor for you.”

“…you are incor-”

“No I’m not. Stop saying that. And stop thinking I’m an idiot.”

“Incorrect.”

“You want me to suck your fingers.”

“…for science.”

“For yourself.”

“I am science and science is me.”

“That was terrible. You didn’t practice that in the mirror before I came here did you?”

“…”

Before Shockwave can get upset and pretend his sulking is a convoluted chain of logical actions that make complete sense, you lick one of his fingers.

Shockwave freezes. 

You lick it again, this time slower. Your tongue moves carefully over the tip of his finger and down the entire length of it, all the way to his hand. He feels surprisingly warm and alive.

“There,” you say, rolling your tongue around your mouth. “It didn’t kill me. And if I come down with alien flu or turn a different colour later on, I’ll give you a call.” 

Shockwave doesn’t move. 

You don’t move.

Soft humming from the medical equipment and diagnostic machines fills the room.

“Incomplete,” Shockwave says. “The test is incomplete. You signed up for a complete test, and that is what will be undertaken.”

“First of all I didn’t sign anything, so if I choose to run out of here you can’t sue me for breach of contract.”

“Are you going to run out?”

“I was thinking of doing a jaunty saunter actually.”

Shockwave examines the finger you’ve licked. You don’t make any effort to move. 

“But,” you say, drawing out the word as you stretch your arms above your head. “I’m a person of my word. We both know enamel can’t crack metal, but in the interests of science we’d better try it out anyway and document it accordingly, shouldn’t we?”

Shockwave cups your face gently, his thumb resting on your lips. “If you insist.”

“If I insist?”

Before you can protest further, Shockwave pushes his thumb in between your lips. You don’t offer any resistance, and part your lips slightly to allow him to put it in. Seemingly satisfied that you’re not about to immediately die, Shockwave rests it on your tongue. Then he puts a finger in your mouth. And when you still don’t object, he puts another one in.

He tastes of electricity and steel and graphite. Like a living battery.

You suck on his fingers carefully. There’s a pulse of blood in your ears and a pool of heat spreading along the base of your stomach, and you’re sure you can feel the energon in his fingers throb as they slide over and around and below your tongue.

His fingers explore your mouth. They massage your tongue, and count your teeth, and stroke the inside of your cheeks. He acts as if he’s an explorer sent on a mission branded with royal assent.

You bite down on his fingers gently.

Not out of fear of hurting him, but out of self preservation. You’ll crack every tooth in your mouth if you’re not careful, and you’ve got better things to do than sit in the medical bay and get a lecture.

You bite down as hard as you dare. Shockwave makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. You bite down again and are proven correct.

In satisfaction you pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t move his hand as his fingers leave your mouth, and you don’t open your mouth wide. You make sure your teeth graze as much of his hand as possible as you retreat from it. 

Shockwave is thrumming. An undeniable thrum of excitement is pulsing throughout his frame just below his plating, and it’s bleeding into you. 

“Was that good for you?” you ask innocently. “Concluding an experiment gets me all hot and bothered too. Except I don’t raise the temperature in a room by ten degrees.”

Shockwave leans in closer to you. “Incorrect.”

“Oh, smooth!“

You lick his closest finger without thinking about it. And when you like to think the temperature’s clicked up another degree, you kiss it.

“I hope you washed your hands before I came in,” you say. You’re sure he did, but it’s the sensible thing to ask.

“Of course I didn’t,” Shockwave says. “Who do you think I am? A human? I sanitized them thoroughly.”

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth. The unique taste of him hasn’t faded. “Hygiene is important.”

“Obviously.” 

“You don’t want an experiment to be ruined by contaminants.”

“Again, obviously.”

“And you don’t want your subject to suffer needlessly.” You look at his fingers and that pool of blood in your lower body heats up another degree. “You don’t want me to suffer.”

“…there is work to do and I do not like to repeat myself.” Shockwave reaches for the box again. “This next experiment is to determine the range of human taste in order to classify it as either limited, highly limited, practically non-existent or barely existent.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you say, holding your hands out with your palms facing towards him. “Slow down on all the accurate scientific jargon there will you, I’m having trouble keeping up.”

Shockwave shakes his head ever so slightly. “I thought those terms were within your sphere of comprehension, but I am obviously wrong.”

“Hey.”

“Here,” he says, holding the yellow thing you saw in the box earlier. “Unwrap this.”

You look at it but don’t reach for it. “Did you know that we have thousands of taste buds on our tongue? Thousands. Almost ten thousand, maybe more. Which means we can taste a lot. Maybe not as much as other species in the galaxy, I’m not claiming that, but we can tell the difference between a good piece of steak and a sorry looking chunk that’s unfit for a starving animal. And so could the animal. You’d throw the meat at it gently to feed it because you don’t want to get too close to it because it looks diseased, but the animal can tell the food’s terrible and has already given up the fight because it’s so disappointed and weary, and it doesn’t move as the meat thumps pathetically into the side of their face and slides down their neck to the ground and they whimper and back away into the shadows without even looking at it and now you’re out of pocket for the cost of it and starting to feel hungry.”

Shockwave twitches and looks at the fingers he put in your mouth. He’s probably wondering if he accidentally dipped them in drugs instead of sanitizing them. He holds two of them up to you.

“How many do you see?” he asks. 

“Not enough.”

This is apparently a top of the class answer, because Shockwave stops twitching and looks calmer. But still impatient. Still thrumming with something not yet satisfied. 

“This experiment won’t conduct itself,” he says.

“Won’t it?”

“The limited range of taste and texture offered by the human tongue must be documented precisely.” He finally unwraps the yellow thing himself and holds it out to you. It’s a thin grey rectangle on a stick and looks as appealing as rancid dish water.

“My range of taste isn’t pathetic.”

“Would you prefer I use embarassing instead?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should put this on your tongue.” The grey rectangle he’s poking towards you reminds you of a non-frozen popsicle that’s been rolled around in dirt and hair. An abomination of a lollipop. “And tell me what you taste.”

You hold his hand to stop him from poking your eye out with it. And you don’t put it in your mouth or on your tongue as he asked. You can’t. It looks disgusting.

“This looks disgusting,” you say.

“Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye,” he says.

You feel yourself smile. “Maybe. But why couldn’t you paint it in my favourite colour like you did with your tongue depressor?“

You bring the shape close to your nose and sniff it cautiously. And to your complete surprise it smells incredible. You make sharp eye contact with Shockwave and wish you knew what he was thinking, because he looks like he knows exactly what you are. You breathe in deeply and the scent sets off an explosion in your brain and wow, just- wow. 

It reminds you of freshly minted currency, that perfect slice of cake you once had, and the three other smells you love most in the world. Without breaking eye contact with Shockwave you lick the lollipop. It has the hard consistency of boiled candy and the flavour of genius. 

“It tastes OK,” you lie with difficulty. You lick it again, from the top all the way down to the bottom, smoothing out its sharp corners. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted in your life. A lollipop cooked in a lab by a millions of years old robot scientist who’s got a thing for your mouth is making that mouth fill with an alarming amount of saliva. It’s as if he knows exactly what your favourite smells are and has transformed them into something edible for you. 

You swallow. “I’ve had better.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t had.”

“Then save us some time and don’t lie.” 

Shockwave waves the lollipop again. An image slips into your head and you can’t help but ask “Did you wear an apron when you cooked this?” You hope that he’ll answer but you’re not expecting him too.

Shockwave doesn’t answer. 

“I’m not getting paid enough for all of this you know.”

You finally take the lollipop from his hand and lick it slowly. From the base all the way to the top, again and again and again you lick it. You’d sell everything you own for another one of these. You’d commit all manner of crimes for one. Maybe Shockwave will cook you another one. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe and you can cook it yourself. Maybe you can cook it together and wear matching aprons. Maybe you should pay attention to this experiment before he stops it. 

Shockwave’s plating is gleaming. He isn’t moving, and looks bright and powerful and helpless. Perhaps what he’s seeing you do has incapacitated him. Now that’s a thought almost as good as what you’ve got in your mouth.

“Am I not doing this properly?” you ask, your voice unfreezing him. You lick it even slower. 

“How- how does it taste?” Shockwave finally asks instead.

You lick your lips and swallow. It tastes incredible. Delicious. Indescribably fantastic.

“Like cheap crappy candy,” you tell him. “The type you know is bad for you but you still eat too much of it. Yeah sure you enjoy it, but you’re left craving something else, something more substantial. Something more.” You give him a meaningful look that’s open to interpretation.

Shockwave leans in closer to you and takes a moment before he responds. His words are clipped and careful, infused with the energy of restraint. “What flavours do you taste? I have a list of- of all the flavours this product is infused with. I want to know how many you can identify.”

You can now identify seven flavours, but more keep blossoming into existence. But you don’t feel like telling Shockwave this. What you feel like doing is finding out what he’s going to do with you if you don’t.

You suck and don’t speak, filling the room with the sounds of swallowing.

“If…if you can identify all of them you will receive a bonus payment.” Shockwaves’s voice is thick and slow.

You suck harder, and throw in a loud groan of appreciation just to see what effect it will have on him. “I don’t know what you’ve put in this but mmmmmm, oooooooohhhhhh, it tastes so good.”

Something flashes across Shockwave’s optic. A stuttering line of shadow binary, like a line of warning code revealed and suppressed.

“Sooooo gooooood.” You swirl your tongue around it, painting it with saliva and never once breaking eye contact with him. You don’t think you’ve even blinked. “You give me all the best treats to put in my mouth Shockwave.”

An invisible wave of heat crashes into you. You know that his cooling system is silent and that he cools his frame without using fans. They’re noisy and inefficient he once told you, when you asked about modifications he’s made to himself. But he still needs a cooling system. He still needs to vent excess heat generated by reactions he has little to no conscious control over. You can feel his desire bleeding through his plating to fill the space between you, hot and heavy and invisible, like tainted steam you can practically taste.

“Metal,” you tell him truthfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “I can only taste you now.”

Shockwave’s optic is burning. 

You remove the lollipop from your mouth with a small pop. A thin trail of saliva still connects it to your lips. You’re pleased to see that it’s barely reduced in size, despite your enthusiastic sucking.

“…apologies,“ Shockwave says quietly. "I- the experiment needs to be reset then. Re-done. I will eliminate all outside variables to ensure purity of evidence collection and retreat from your orbit and stand in the corner.”

You lick your lips, breaking the strand. He can be so wonderfully melodramatic at times. “There will always be outside factors influencing you that you’re unaware of,“ you tell him. "It’s best to just roll with them. So don’t you dare go anywhere else.”

“You are incorrect,“ Shockwave says, with a slight tilt of his head that you’ve long ago translated as a smile. "And that attitude is not conducive to a rigorous scientific study.”

You shrug your shoulders. “But now you can verify that the relationship between a human’s taste and sense of smell is intimate and real. You can have fun noting it in your records. And do you know what else is fun?” You put the lollipop back into your mouth and nod your head towards his interface panel. “Proving you wrong.”

Shockwave follows your appreciative glance down to see what you’re looking at. 

His panel is open and his dick is out.

Neither of you move. You just look. You both just look.

“…how is that proving me wrong?” Shockwave finally asks in genuine confusion. 

"Well,” you say, speaking slowly in order to compose yourself and to give the impression that this is a bemusing turn of events that will soon be resolved instead of escalated and that you’re expecting the former and certainly, definitely, don’t want the latter. “It proves that you don’t have complete control over your all of your actions.”

“…that was not a proposition to be proven false or correct in this session. What is incorrect are you. I have control over all of my systems, and have multiple safeguards in place to prevent them from being overridden.”

You slowly lean forward and give him a Look. “So you…meant to pop your dick out? You gave yourself the order to initiate pre-interface protocols? You’re choosing to conduct an experiment like this?”

“… … …yes.”

You sit back and fold your arms and grin smugly. The lollipop’s stick is poking out of your mouth. “So you don’t really like what you’re seeing me do? You aren’t thinking thoughts that are so explicit they’re literally banned on several worlds? You don’t want to come closer and put something else in my mouth?”

Another wave of invisible heat punches you in the face. 

“…no.”

“You could save us some time here by not lying.” 

“…there is no unit of time that needs to be saved. The experiment is proceeding as planned.”

“Oh is it now.”

Neither of you move. The sound of the medical equipment has receded. All you hear now is the pulse of blood in your ears and the rich, slightly stuttering sounds of Shockwave’s vocaliser. 

“However,” Shockwave says slowly, eventually, “I am adaptable. Realistic. A scientist.” 

“Are these bullet points on a motivational poster you have hanging up somewhere?”

“I understand the benefits that absorbing unforseen actions can have,” Shockwave says, ignoring you. “And am rolling with them.”

“Wwhat?”

“Your reaction is more conducive to further experimentation than anticipated. I am willing to indulge you.”

“Excuse me?”

Now Shockwave is the one sounding smug. “If only you could see your expression, see your body language - if you could feel the heat and analyze the pheromones radiating out of you the way I can then you would know what I know. Which is that you’re enjoying yourself. You like what you see and want more.”

You don’t answer. You hate when you can’t answer back to him immediately. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Shockwave interrupts you.

“Are you willing to progress with another experiment? Or are you scared?”

He should know by now that you’ve felt many things with him, but never fear. Does he really think that? Does he really think that reverse psychology is going to work on you? But he doesn’t look like he does. He looks like he’s not thinking things through fully, and is speaking mainly to keep the momentum going. He looks like he’s edging from need to desperation.

That goes a long way to mollify you. “Oh I’m terrified,” you exaggerate. “So very scared. But in the name of science I’ll force myself to be brave. So go on then, let’s start another experiment.”

Shockwave doesn’t move immediately. Then he shuffles closer, and wraps a hand around his dick as if to hide it or control it. “An experiment can be stopped at any time,” he tells you softly. “We have the rest of your life to try it another time if you are willing.”

A jolt of warmth blossoms in your chest and most of your body’s blood surges between your legs and you nod. Once again he’s left you temporarily speechless with his care and consideration for you. Bastard.

Shockwave makes a move to take the lollipop from your mouth, but you smack his hand away and find your voice again. “No. I’m not finished with that.”

“But-”

“The human mouth is very accomodating,” you tell him proudly. “We can’t detach our jaw like some animals can, but we can fit a lot in here. We can stretch.” You position the lollipop to one side of your mouth, so that it fits snugly into your cheek cavity as much as possible. “Still plenty of room. See?” You open your mouth to show him.

Shockwave trembles. You nod again, and he takes another step forward. His dick is now perfectly aligned with your mouth but then he pauses. He’s thinking. Calculating. Hesitating. He inches his dick forward and rests it on your bottom lip and stops again. The hot metal weight of it, the alien chrome smell of it, floods your mouth with even more saliva.

“Go on,” you encourage him, licking a bead of fluid from the dripping tip. “For science.”

For a long few seconds Shockwave doesn’t move. And then he slides his dick into your mouth. He does so slowly, inch by careful inch, giving you plenty of time to prepare and relax your muscles. It rubs against the lollipop in your mouth and you’re flooded with flavour. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin but you ignore it, instead concentrating on how fantastically full your mouth is becoming. 

Shockwave’s dick hits the back of your mouth and he stops. You instinctively try to swallow and don’t achieve much. Actually that’s not true because Shockwave moans at what you’ve just done. Actually moans. You wonder what other sounds he’s capable of making, and what sounds you can cause him to make. 

You don’t swallow again. Instead you suck. You suck his dick and the lollipop at the same time again and again and again, and Shockwave has to put a hand on the back of your head to prevent himself from buckling and you both make a long noise.

You adjust the lollipop in your mouth, hold it in place, and slowly pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t resist you, and doesn’t remove his hand from your head as you remove your mouth from his dick, which is soaking wet and dripping. You rub your thumb over the head of it, smearing the viscous liquid around it. You rub him with two fingers, and then your entire hand, stroking his dick up and down to coat it in a mixture of your saliva and the transfluid that’s steadily leaking out of him.

“Please,” Shockwave says haltingly, as he braces himself against the bench with his other arm. “The…experiment has not been concluded.”

“Experiment?” you ask, sucking on the lollipop. “Oh yes - this extra experiment that you haven’t actually told me about. What exactly is it we’re proving or disproving here?”

“I…the…to see.”

“That sounds important.” You stroke him hard and twist, and he makes a stuttering sound of mechanical pleading.

“The…human mouth is a combination of muscles,” he finally stutters, dragging some basic information up from his depths. “It- this experiment is to exercise them. See how far they can…stretch.”

That sounds mildly plausible. 

“I’ve just demonstrated how far they can stretch,” you tell him. “But do you think they can go further?”

“…yes.”

“Well would you believe it, so do I.” You lick the tip of dick and make it even wetter. “I think my mouth can take more.”

“That…yes. It would be complete. The experiment. As well as- This one. The experiment. I need…complete results or-”

“Or you’ll be a failure?” You speak around the lollipop,

your hand now languidly stroking him. “Well we don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be associated with a failure. I have a poverty of life expectancy remember, and I don’t want to waste what I’ve got with a loser. So.”

You remove the lollipop from your mouth and hold onto his legs to brace yourself. You then slowly, slowly, take his dick back into your mouth. Shockwave doesn’t move. He lets you set the pace. Lets you do all the work more like. Not that you’re complaining, but you will complain out loud to him later just to annoy him. His dick reaches the back of your mouth again and you feel him relax slightly. 

Your scientist needs to learn to be more ambitious in his experiments with you. More fearless. 

You adjust your angle, instruct your muscles to relax further, and take his dick all the way down your throat until he’s fully hilted inside you. 

Shockwave shudders and grips your head harder. He then realises what he’s done and lets go immediately in case he’s hurt you, but he doesn’t want to break contact with you so he holds the back of your head again but this time lightly, but it’s not enough to stabilize him so he shoots his other arm out and scrabbles for whatever purchase he can find and makes a sound that sounds like dying.

He needs to get a hold of himself. You’re not even moving any more, and he’s reacting like he’s been blessed and cursed with divine revelation all at once. 

You pat the back of his legs to reassure him. 

Shockwaves’s stabiliser pistons finally align and steadies his frame.

And then you move. You fuck him slowly with your mouth. All the way up and then all the way back down. His dick tastes even better than that lollipop, and you suck him with control and purpose. Your chin is wet and your throat is sticky and your heart is thumping harder than you ever remember it doing.

Shockwave is doing his best to stay silent and is failing wonderfully. You wonder if he’ll match your rhythm and fuck you down your throat but he hasn’t, and you don’t suspect he will. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to use more than a fraction of his strength in case even that’s too much. His self-control is impressive and welcome, but it’s not complete. 

Shockwave is holding the back of your head lightly, but his fingers are tightening infinitesimally around your hair and scalp every time you suck the tip of his dick and swallow it all the way down to its base. His self-control is not infinite and not indestructible. He’s not dead inside.  

You eventually feel his frame tense and tighten around you, and hear the pitch and whine of his engines straining up a gear. You’re enveloped in heat and know he’s close.

“There…is time for one more experiment,” he manages to say, his voice thick with static.

“Mmmm?” you ask around his dick, your full mouth still moving.

“…apparently saliva can digest various substances and…so can stomach enzymes and…the mouth is part of the digestive system and…if you…if you…”

You’ve swallowed transfluid before and liked it and know it won’t hurt you. You’ve had The Talk with all the medics on board just to be sure, and so long as he doesn’t pour his entire tank down your throat in one go you’ll be fine.

You nod your consent, and Shockwave makes a noise that sounds like gratitude.

He’s a bit less steady on his feet now, a bit more erratic, a bit louder and less efficient in his movements but you’re not. You’re a steady constant in the face of his fast approaching overload, fucking him in a perfect rythym that surprises him more than it does you.

He grips you harder and spasms and his engines scream dangerously loud as he overloads hard in your mouth. A shot of transfluid hits the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag at the quantity of it. You hold his legs tighter to prevent him from going anywhere, because you’re not going to miss a moment of this. You swallow as much as you can, and revel in the mechanical rumbling stuttering sounds his engines make as they fight not to cut out. His silent cooling system is blasting hard, which feels like opening an oven door and putting your face into it. Your hair is stuck to your flushed and sweating face.

Shockwave eventually quietens and stills and begins to regain himself. A series of small clicks indicate his cooling system is powering down. You suspect he’d like to keep his dick down your throat all day if you agreed to it and while that’s not something you’re opposed to, far from it, your mind is already churning with possibilities as to what three hands and a cannon can do while your mouth is occupied, it’s an experiment for another day.

Right now you have your own needs to attend to, and first on that list is to clean up the mess he’s made on you as best you ca. You gave it a good try but you couldn’t swallow everything he gave you, you’re only human, and a lot of it leaked out of your mouth and dribbled down your chin and throat. Your skin is sticky and your clothes are splattered.

You move your head back until his dick pops out, and cup a hand underneath your mouth to catch the gush of fluid that spills out. You look up at Shockwave and raise that hand to your mouth and lap up what’s in it.

Shockwave’s overworked engines make a pitiful sound as they rev back up again. You suck your fingers clean, and then you put your underestimated human mouth to good use and clean him up. 

Your work is not completed quickly.

But finally it is, and you make an effort to casually sit back in satisfaction at completing a job well done.

“So what do you think?” you ask him off-handedly, as your body thrums and fizzes. You wish your own temperature control system was more effective, no matter how noisy it would have to be. Your shirt is stuck to your back and you’re entering the non-lethal stage of dehydration. “Was the experiment a success?”

“I think,” Shockwave says, as he pours you a glass of water from the sink, “That the human mouth is…interesting.”

He hands you the glass and you drink from it without pausing. You know that’s as close as Shockwave will ever come to saying that he thinks the human mouth is incredible, yours especially, and that he wants nothing more than to fill it and worship it again.

“But still a concerning mystery,” Shockwave continues, as he takes the empty glass from you. “It requires further research. A lot of research.”

He kneels down in front of you and puts a hand on your knee.

“In fact,” Shockwave says, his warm fingertips languidly stroking up the inside of your thigh as if the thought has just occurred to him, “the human body as a whole needs to be researched further. One system, one organ, one session at a time.” 

His hand stops on your buckled belt.

“A breakthrough has been achieved,” you tell him, picking up his hand and removing it from your belt. Despite his claims to be highly dexterous, you don’t have time to wait for him to use one hand when you have two.

“It’s a minor miracle.” You unbuckle your belt, pull your pants down, lean back against the wall and put one hand behind your head to cushion it. With your other hand you make a motion for him to hurry up and get to work because you both know you’ve earned this.

“You finally said something correct. Now let’s see what else you can accomplish.“

“The human mouth is disgusting, and I am going to prove it.”

Shockwave states this coldly and firmly the second you step into his lab. But his optic is bright and wide and he’s already hovering next to you, holding out a tool box as if it’s a long lost treasure he’s graciously decided to share with you and only you, and as such you should turn speechless with awe and gratitude and silently beg to be allowed to help him prove how terrible you are.

You are supremely unimpressed. You haven’t even had the chance to take your coat off yet, and here you are being told by one of the greatest scientists you know that an essential part of you is disgusting.

“The human mouth is a medical marvel,” you argue back, dumping your coat onto the pristine floor of his lab. You lean casually and definitely against a lab bench and look at him in the way he deserves for such invalid arrogance.

“You are incorrect,” Shockwave says.

“I know you are, but what am I?” You shoot back.

“…incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Incorrect.”

“I know you are, but what am I ?”

“…?”

You cross your arms in satisfaction. “Exactly.”

“Enough.” Shockwave steps closer, the tool box rattling excitedly in his hand. “Sit down. Stop talking. Open your mouth.” 

“Why? What are you going to put in it?” you say, ignoring all three orders.

“An incontrovertible means to prove my supposition that will allow even the most intellectually challenged being to understand.”

Shockwave opens the box.

You stretch up onto your toes and peer inside it. You nod your head repeatedly at what you see and what he’s just said. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Now I’m no scientist, but there’s a few things in there that don’t look very scientific. Like that long yellow thing and that sharp purple thing with hinges.”

“You are correct.”

“I know.”

“You are not a scientist. You are an inferior life form existing with a poverty of comprehension, life expectancy and universally accepted currency.”

“Hey.” You may have agreed to be a volunteer for Shockwave’s experiments after he approached you earlier with a monetary offer you couldn’t refuse, and because he ignored you when you asked  him why he hadn’t publicly advertised for volunteers and is only asking you, but you’re not going to sit back and take that. “You don’t have to be a dick about this. You don’t know me.” Two of his three statements are correct, but you’ll be floating outside in space without a suit on before you agree with him.

Shockwave looms over you, bright and purple and powerful. You’re not nervous. You’ve never been nervous around him when so many rightfully are and you don’t know why.

“I will tell you something I do know,” Shockwave says. “Something that your human ‘scientists’ and ‘doctors’ have also documented and agreed on.” 

He puts the tool box down on the bench and takes out a long cotton swab from it. “The mouth is one of the filthiest parts of your body.”

You feel your lips tugging up into a smile. “But not the filthiest, am I right?”

Shockwave glances down to between your legs.

“Pervert,” you say, delighted. “I’m talking about my brain.” For added emphasis you tap a finger to your temple. 

“Enough.” Shockwave puts his other arm on your shoulder and pushes you down onto a medical stool. He does so carefully, as if wanting to give you the chance to say no to this.

You sit down on the stool. You don’t want to say no to any of this. 

You stretch your legs out and cross them at the ankle. “Are you trying to find out how many diseases I’ve got in my mouth? Will you be upset if there are too many or too few? Do you want me to stop talking? Or is that what you like most about my mouth? The different shapes it can make; the way my tongue moves; how wet everything is? Would you be upset if I keep it closed and denied you everything you so clearly want?”

And before Shockwave can respond, you preempt him and open your mouth.

“Are you going to slip into a radioactive suit first?” you ask. “Are you worried about your safety? It’s OK, there’s nothing to be concerned about - I’ll go easy on you. And I promise not to bite.”

Shockwave doesn’t answer. But he looks like he wants to. He very much looks like he wants to say something that he shouldn’t.

He inserts the cotton swab into your mouth and runs it along the wall of your cheek, coating the tip in saliva. He then pauses, as if reluctant to remove it so soon. He swipes the inside of your mouth again, this time anti-clockwise and this time slower. He repeats the clockwise and anti-clockwise rotations three times each. Maybe his interest with your mouth really is just scientific.

He finally removes the swab and puts it into a cylindrical container mounted to the wall. “Results from the buccal swab will be available almost instantaneously and will produce an accuracy rate of 99.99%”

“I’m so glad I’m sitting down here because wow, you just blew my mind with that fascinating statistic.”

Shockwave returns to you and doesn’t dignify you with an answer.

“There may be a trillions of bacteria in my mouth,” you tell him, rubbing the side of your face that he’d taken a painless sample from. “But they’re not just there to party. They pay their way and are useful. Essential, actually.” 

“Elaborate.” 

“So if we get germs in our mouth then our body doesn’t just give up and die an embarrassing death - the good bacteria are woken up and put up a fight and prevent us from getting sick. Or at least fatally sick. Sometimes we still get sick but they’ve done their best, you can’t blame them for everything.”

“Is that so.”

“Yep. Well some of the bacteria help out like that, I don’t think they all do. Some of them don’t do much and are just…there. I don’t know how many and what it is they actually do. And I’m not going to count them because one, that’s boring and two, I’m not a snitch.”

You lean forward. “Do you really not know all of this? This is basic biology even the dumb kids in the useless schools know.”

Shockwave reaches into the tool box again. “I am fully aware of the purpose of defence bacteria, how they operate, the ratio of useful to redundant organisms and how inefficient the entire mechanism is. But this has all been documented by others - by humans - and not by a cybertronian. Not by me.”

He extracts the small sharp purple thing.

You swallow. “So you don’t believe them.”

Shockwave puts his hand over yours, which is still on your cheek. “I do not believe them. I trust only my results. My methodology.”

He manipulates the instrument until it transforms into a medical instrument you recognise.

You open your mouth slightly. “And that’s the only reason you’re doing this? The only reason you want to probe me with that?”

“…correct. I need to examine and document the area personally in order to establish an accurate primary baseline.”

“Mm-hmm.” Of all the colours in existence, he chose the one that matches his frame’s colour exactly. “For science?”

Shockwave slides the purple tongue depressor into your mouth and over your tongue. “For science.” 

Shockwave is careful. Thorough. He uses his optic as a focused beam of light to peer into your mouth and examine it. The metal depressor on your tongue is smooth and warm, and whenever your gag reflex threatens to start up, Shockwave adjusts the instrument instantly to help it pass. He exacts the perfect amount of pressure every single time to still it. You’re impressed. But starting to get bored. He’s just looking at you and not moving, as if he’s never seen the inside of a human mouth before and is on sacred ground he knows he needs to tread carefully on. 

You make a sound, and he tears his relentless gaze from the inside of your mouth to your eyes. You raise your eyebrows to ask what’s taking so long.

“Tell me,” Shockwave asks, as he places the instrument underneath your tongue so that you can talk. “What are the carriers for the bacteria, viruses, fungi and protozoa that activate the defense mechanisms of the mouth?”

You roll your tongue on top of the depressor and feel your eyes itching to do the same. You didn’t sign up for a biology quiz. “You mean where do germs come from?”

“That is not what I meant or asked. Pay attention.”

You put a finger in your mouth. You reach as far back as the depressor goes and touch it. You run your finger along the smooth metal until it comes out of your mouth but you don’t break contact with it, you keep going, trailing your finger along the handle of the depressor until you come to the fingers that hold it. You rest your finger on Shockwave’s.

“Oh now I see,” you exaggerate loudly, as if only now the blinds have been lifted from your eyes and you finally understand what he means. “You want to know about things that shouldn’t go in my mouth. The dirty things that could make me sick. The forbidden things.” 

You swallow around the metal. “And you want to know if I know them.”

Shockwave slides the depressor out of your mouth and moves his hand back. But not far enough to dislodge your finger from his.

“What if I said I did know?” you continue. “That I know all of them. That I make a sustained effort to educate myself on biology and physiology not only because it helps me to stay healthy and alive, but because I find those areas of study fascinating in their own right?”

Shockwave doesn’t move and doesn’t answer. You can practically feel his spark contracting as he realises you’re telling the truth.

You tilt your head. If he tattooed his desires across his impressive chest he couldn’t be more obvious in what he wants. You feel your heart beat faster at what you’re going to say next. “But what if I didn’t know? What if I said I didn’t know what shouldn’t be going in my mouth and that I’d…like to?’

It should be impossible, but you can sense his spark expand.

“I…would experiment,” he tells you. “For science.”

“As opposed to the medieval fine arts?”

Shockwave’s optic bores into you. “We do not have time to undertake a battery of tests to determine if every substance is dangerous to human health if ingested orally. My selected carriers have been chosen carefully and will produce…results." 

You sit back on the stool and eye him critically. This is the first you’re hearing about ingesting something. He already knows what substances are dangerous to human health. He knows all of them and you, the planet Earth, and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This seems like a ploy to put things in your mouth and see if they’ll kill you or make you sick.

“You already know what substances are dangerous to human health,” you tell Shockwave. He lowers his hand and you remove your finger from his. “And I, the planet Earth and the rest of the known galaxy know almost all of them. This is starting to seem like a ploy to put things in my mouth to see if they’ll make me sick.” 

You point your finger sharply at him and speak with a fake fiery fury. “And this is the first I’m hearing about actually ingesting something. Is this whole experiment just to see if something will kill me? Is that it? Is it? Are you going to offer me a glowing stick of radioactive waste and say it’s a cybertronian delicacy and then watch me suck on it and melt from the inside and become a puddle of screaming goo as you take notes and call the overworked and underpaid cleaner to mop up what remains of me up? Is it?”

Shockwave actually takes a step back. “Incorrect. As always, you are incorrect. This is for science.”

If he had a medical frame he could detect your pulse and blood chemistry without even needing to touch you. But he doesn’t, and you’re grateful for that. If he wants to know how you’re truly feeling about this session then he’s going to have to put in the hard work and deduce it. 

“Fine,” you say. “I signed up for this ‘non-lethal experiment to determine the limitations of the human mouth’ that you’re paying me for and I’m not going to back out of it. So what’s coming out of the box next?”

But Shockwave doesn’t take anything else out. Instead he crouches down so that you’re at eye-optic level. “I am curious as to how the human mouth and resulting systems react to interior contact with something your scant years of evolution have not encountered before. My hypothesis is not encouraging for you, but facts are facts. And when I’m proven right you will eventually thank me.”

Shockwave raises his hand and flexes his fingers, and you know where this is going. But you’re overcome with a prickly irritation at the casual way he dismisses your species, and decide to play dumb with him. It’s illogical to feel this way, but you’re not a purely logical being. You’re someone better than that. 

You eye his fingers with a careful look of mild distaste. “My hideous ancestors went through a lot of shit to equip me with what I have now, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

You fold your hands neatly in your lap, and transform the way you’re looking at his fingers to one of mild pity. “My teeth are composed of the hardest substance in the human body. They can tear through plants and flesh and all manner of substances with ease.”

“What about metal?” Shockwave asks instantly, bringing up his hand to your face. “Reports indicates that your teeth cannot break it and your fluids cannot digest it.” He waggles his fingers. “But in the name of science this must be corroborated or rejected.”

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

“…clarify.”

“Waving your fingers about like that, ‘accidentally’ brushing my lips with them, flexing and rotating them as if they’re part of your courtship dance and any second now I’m going to be consumed with lust and fall off my seat and whimper on the floor for you.”

“…you are incor-”

“No I’m not. Stop saying that. And stop thinking I’m an idiot.”

“Incorrect.”

“You want me to suck your fingers.”

“…for science.”

“For yourself.”

“I am science and science is me.”

“That was terrible. You didn’t practice that in the mirror before I came here did you?”

“…”

Before Shockwave can get upset and pretend his sulking is a convoluted chain of logical actions that make complete sense, you lick one of his fingers.

Shockwave freezes. 

You lick it again, this time slower. Your tongue moves carefully over the tip of his finger and down the entire length of it, all the way to his hand. He feels surprisingly warm and alive.

“There,” you say, rolling your tongue around your mouth. “It didn’t kill me. And if I come down with alien flu or turn a different colour later on, I’ll give you a call.” 

Shockwave doesn’t move. 

You don’t move.

Soft humming from the medical equipment and diagnostic machines fills the room.

“Incomplete,” Shockwave says. “The test is incomplete. You signed up for a complete test, and that is what will be undertaken.”

“First of all I didn’t sign anything, so if I choose to run out of here you can’t sue me for breach of contract.”

“Are you going to run out?”

“I was thinking of doing a jaunty saunter actually.”

Shockwave examines the finger you’ve licked. You don’t make any effort to move. 

“But,” you say, drawing out the word as you stretch your arms above your head. “I’m a person of my word. We both know enamel can’t crack metal, but in the interests of science we’d better try it out anyway and document it accordingly, shouldn’t we?”

Shockwave cups your face gently, his thumb resting on your lips. “If you insist.”

“If I insist?”

Before you can protest further, Shockwave pushes his thumb in between your lips. You don’t offer any resistance, and part your lips slightly to allow him to put it in. Seemingly satisfied that you’re not about to immediately die, Shockwave rests it on your tongue. Then he puts a finger in your mouth. And when you still don’t object, he puts another one in.

He tastes of electricity and steel and graphite. Like a living battery.

You suck on his fingers carefully. There’s a pulse of blood in your ears and a pool of heat spreading along the base of your stomach, and you’re sure you can feel the energon in his fingers throb as they slide over and around and below your tongue.

His fingers explore your mouth. They massage your tongue, and count your teeth, and stroke the inside of your cheeks. He acts as if he’s an explorer sent on a mission branded with royal assent.

You bite down on his fingers gently.

Not out of fear of hurting him, but out of self preservation. You’ll crack every tooth in your mouth if you’re not careful, and you’ve got better things to do than sit in the medical bay and get a lecture.

You bite down as hard as you dare. Shockwave makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. You bite down again and are proven correct.

In satisfaction you pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t move his hand as his fingers leave your mouth, and you don’t open your mouth wide. You make sure your teeth graze as much of his hand as possible as you retreat from it. 

Shockwave is thrumming. An undeniable thrum of excitement is pulsing throughout his frame just below his plating, and it’s bleeding into you. 

“Was that good for you?” you ask innocently. “Concluding an experiment gets me all hot and bothered too. Except I don’t raise the temperature in a room by ten degrees.”

Shockwave leans in closer to you. “Incorrect.”

“Oh, smooth!“

You lick his closest finger without thinking about it. And when you like to think the temperature’s clicked up another degree, you kiss it.

"I hope you washed your hands before I came in,” you say. You’re sure he did, but it’s the sensible thing to ask.

“Of course I didn’t,” Shockwave says. “Who do you think I am? A human? I sanitized them thoroughly.”

You run your tongue around the inside of your mouth. The unique taste of him hasn’t faded. “Hygiene is important.”

“Obviously.” 

“You don’t want an experiment to be ruined by contaminants.”

“Again, obviously.”

“And you don’t want your subject to suffer needlessly.” You look at his fingers and that pool of blood in your lower body heats up another degree. “You don’t want me to suffer.”

“…there is work to do and I do not like to repeat myself.” Shockwave reaches for the box again. “This next experiment is to determine the range of human taste in order to classify it as either limited, highly limited, practically non-existent or barely existent.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you say, holding your hands out with your palms facing towards him. “Slow down on all the accurate scientific jargon there will you, I’m having trouble keeping up.”

Shockwave shakes his head ever so slightly. “I thought those terms were within your sphere of comprehension, but I am obviously wrong.”

“Hey.”

“Here,” he says, holding the yellow thing you saw in the box earlier. “Unwrap this.”

You look at it but don’t reach for it. “Did you know that we have thousands of taste buds on our tongue? Thousands. Almost ten thousand, maybe more. Which means we can taste a lot. Maybe not as much as other species in the galaxy, I’m not claiming that, but we can tell the difference between a good piece of steak and a sorry looking chunk that’s unfit for a starving animal. And so could the animal. You’d throw the meat at it gently to feed it because you don’t want to get too close to it because it looks diseased, but the animal can tell the food’s terrible and has already given up the fight because it’s so disappointed and weary, and it doesn’t move as the meat thumps pathetically into the side of their face and slides down their neck to the ground and they whimper and back away into the shadows without even looking at it and now you’re out of pocket for the cost of it and starting to feel hungry.”

Shockwave twitches and looks at the fingers he put in your mouth. He’s probably wondering if he accidentally dipped them in drugs instead of sanitizing them. He holds two of them up to you.

“How many do you see?” he asks. 

“Not enough.”

This is apparently a top of the class answer, because Shockwave stops twitching and looks calmer. But still impatient. Still thrumming with something not yet satisfied. 

“This experiment won’t conduct itself,” he says.

“Won’t it?”

“The limited range of taste and texture offered by the human tongue must be documented precisely.” He finally unwraps the yellow thing himself and holds it out to you. It’s a thin grey rectangle on a stick and looks as appealing as rancid dish water.

“My range of taste isn’t pathetic.”

“Would you prefer I use embarassing instead?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should put this on your tongue.” The grey rectangle he’s poking towards you reminds you of a non-frozen popsicle that’s been rolled around in dirt and hair. An abomination of a lollipop. “And tell me what you taste.”

You hold his hand to stop him from poking your eye out with it. And you don’t put it in your mouth or on your tongue as he asked. You can’t. It looks disgusting.

“This looks disgusting,” you say.

“Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye,” he says.

You feel yourself smile. “Maybe. But why couldn’t you paint it in my favourite colour like you did with your tongue depressor?“

You bring the shape close to your nose and sniff it cautiously. And to your complete surprise it smells incredible. You make sharp eye contact with Shockwave and wish you knew what he was thinking, because he looks like he knows exactly what you are. You breathe in deeply and the scent sets off an explosion in your brain and wow, just- wow. 

It reminds you of freshly minted currency, that perfect slice of cake you once had, and the three other smells you love most in the world. Without breaking eye contact with Shockwave you lick the lollipop. It has the hard consistency of boiled candy and the flavour of genius. 

“It tastes OK,” you lie with difficulty. You lick it again, from the top all the way down to the bottom, smoothing out its sharp corners. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted in your life. A lollipop cooked in a lab by a millions of years old robot scientist who’s got a thing for your mouth is making that mouth fill with an alarming amount of saliva. It’s as if he knows exactly what your favourite smells are and has transformed them into something edible for you. 

You swallow. “I’ve had better.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t had.”

“Then save us some time and don’t lie.” 

Shockwave waves the lollipop again. An image slips into your head and you can’t help but ask “Did you wear an apron when you cooked this?” You hope that he’ll answer but you’re not expecting him too.

Shockwave doesn’t answer. 

“I’m not getting paid enough for all of this you know.”

You finally take the lollipop from his hand and lick it slowly. From the base all the way to the top, again and again and again you lick it. You’d sell everything you own for another one of these. You’d commit all manner of crimes for one. Maybe Shockwave will cook you another one. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe and you can cook it yourself. Maybe you can cook it together and wear matching aprons. Maybe you should pay attention to this experiment before he stops it. 

Shockwave’s plating is gleaming. He isn’t moving, and looks bright and powerful and helpless. Perhaps what he’s seeing you do has incapacitated him. Now that’s a thought almost as good as what you’ve got in your mouth.

“Am I not doing this properly?” you ask, your voice unfreezing him. You lick it even slower. 

“How- how does it taste?” Shockwave finally asks instead.

You lick your lips and swallow. It tastes incredible. Delicious. Indescribably fantastic.

“Like cheap crappy candy,” you tell him. “The type you know is bad for you but you still eat too much of it. Yeah sure you enjoy it, but you’re left craving something else, something more substantial. Something more.” You give him a meaningful look that’s open to interpretation.

Shockwave leans in closer to you and takes a moment before he responds. His words are clipped and careful, infused with the energy of restraint. “What flavours do you taste? I have a list of- of all the flavours this product is infused with. I want to know how many you can identify.”

You can now identify seven flavours, but more keep blossoming into existence. But you don’t feel like telling Shockwave this. What you feel like doing is finding out what he’s going to do with you if you don’t.

You suck and don’t speak, filling the room with the sounds of swallowing.

“If…if you can identify all of them you will receive a bonus payment.” Shockwaves’s voice is thick and slow.

You suck harder, and throw in a loud groan of appreciation just to see what effect it will have on him. “I don’t know what you’ve put in this but mmmmmm, oooooooohhhhhh, it tastes so good.”

Something flashes across Shockwave’s optic. A stuttering line of shadow binary, like a line of warning code revealed and suppressed.

“Sooooo gooooood.” You swirl your tongue around it, painting it with saliva and never once breaking eye contact with him. You don’t think you’ve even blinked. “You give me all the best treats to put in my mouth Shockwave.”

An invisible wave of heat crashes into you. You know that his cooling system is silent and that he cools his frame without using fans. They’re noisy and inefficient he once told you, when you asked about modifications he’s made to himself. But he still needs a cooling system. He still needs to vent excess heat generated by reactions he has little to no conscious control over. You can feel his desire bleeding through his plating to fill the space between you, hot and heavy and invisible, like tainted steam you can practically taste.

“Metal,” you tell him truthfully, all thoughts of teasing him gone. “I can only taste you now.”

Shockwave’s optic is burning. 

You remove the lollipop from your mouth with a small pop. A thin trail of saliva still connects it to your lips. You’re pleased to see that it’s barely reduced in size, despite your enthusiastic sucking.

“…apologies,“ Shockwave says quietly. "I- the experiment needs to be reset then. Re-done. I will eliminate all outside variables to ensure purity of evidence collection and retreat from your orbit and stand in the corner.”

You lick your lips, breaking the strand. He can be so wonderfully melodramatic at times. “There will always be outside factors influencing you that you’re unaware of,“ you tell him. "It’s best to just roll with them. So don’t you dare go anywhere else.”

“You are incorrect,“ Shockwave says, with a slight tilt of his head that you’ve long ago translated as a smile. "And that attitude is not conducive to a rigorous scientific study.”

You shrug your shoulders. “But now you can verify that the relationship between a human’s taste and sense of smell is intimate and real. You can have fun noting it in your records. And do you know what else is fun?” You put the lollipop back into your mouth and nod your head towards his interface panel. “Proving you wrong.”

Shockwave follows your appreciative glance down to see what you’re looking at. 

His panel is open and his dick is out.

Neither of you move. You just look. You both just look.

“…how is that proving me wrong?” Shockwave finally asks in genuine confusion. 

"Well,” you say, speaking slowly in order to compose yourself and to give the impression that this is a bemusing turn of events that will soon be resolved instead of escalated and that you’re expecting the former and certainly, definitely, don’t want the latter. “It proves that you don’t have complete control over your all of your actions.”

“…that was not a proposition to be proven false or correct in this session. What is incorrect are you. I have control over all of my systems, and have multiple safeguards in place to prevent them from being overridden.”

You slowly lean forward and give him a Look. “So you…meant to pop your dick out? You gave yourself the order to initiate pre-interface protocols? You’re choosing to conduct an experiment like this?”

“… … …yes.”

You sit back and fold your arms and grin smugly. The lollipop’s stick is poking out of your mouth. “So you don’t really like what you’re seeing me do? You aren’t thinking thoughts that are so explicit they’re literally banned on several worlds? You don’t want to come closer and put something else in my mouth?”

Another wave of invisible heat punches you in the face. 

“…no.”

“You could save us some time here by not lying.” 

“…there is no unit of time that needs to be saved. The experiment is proceeding as planned.”

“Oh is it now.”

Neither of you move. The sound of the medical equipment has receded. All you hear now is the pulse of blood in your ears and the rich, slightly stuttering sounds of Shockwave’s vocaliser. 

“However,” Shockwave says slowly, eventually, “I am adaptable. Realistic. A scientist.” 

“Are these bullet points on a motivational poster you have hanging up somewhere?”

“I understand the benefits that absorbing unforseen actions can have,” Shockwave says, ignoring you. “And am rolling with them.”

“Wwhat?”

“Your reaction is more conducive to further experimentation than anticipated. I am willing to indulge you.”

“Excuse me?”

Now Shockwave is the one sounding smug. “If only you could see your expression, see your body language - if you could feel the heat and analyze the pheromones radiating out of you the way I can then you would know what I know. Which is that you’re enjoying yourself. You like what you see and want more.”

You don’t answer. You hate when you can’t answer back to him immediately. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Shockwave interrupts you.

“Are you willing to progress with another experiment? Or are you scared?”

He should know by now that you’ve felt many things with him, but never fear. Does he really think that? Does he really think that reverse psychology is going to work on you? But he doesn’t look like he does. He looks like he’s not thinking things through fully, and is speaking mainly to keep the momentum going. He looks like he’s edging from need to desperation.

That goes a long way to mollify you. “Oh I’m terrified,” you exaggerate. “So very scared. But in the name of science I’ll force myself to be brave. So go on then, let’s start another experiment.”

Shockwave doesn’t move immediately. Then he shuffles closer, and wraps a hand around his dick as if to hide it or control it. “An experiment can be stopped at any time,” he tells you softly. “We have the rest of your life to try it another time if you are willing.”

A jolt of warmth blossoms in your chest and most of your body’s blood surges between your legs and you nod. Once again he’s left you temporarily speechless with his care and consideration for you. Bastard.

Shockwave makes a move to take the lollipop from your mouth, but you smack his hand away and find your voice again. “No. I’m not finished with that.”

“But-”

“The human mouth is very accomodating,” you tell him proudly. “We can’t detach our jaw like some animals can, but we can fit a lot in here. We can stretch.” You position the lollipop to one side of your mouth, so that it fits snugly into your cheek cavity as much as possible. “Still plenty of room. See?” You open your mouth to show him.

Shockwave trembles. You nod again, and he takes another step forward. His dick is now perfectly aligned with your mouth but then he pauses. He’s thinking. Calculating. Hesitating. He inches his dick forward and rests it on your bottom lip and stops again. The hot metal weight of it, the alien chrome smell of it, floods your mouth with even more saliva.

“Go on,” you encourage him, licking a bead of fluid from the dripping tip. “For science.”

For a long few seconds Shockwave doesn’t move. And then he slides his dick into your mouth. He does so slowly, inch by careful inch, giving you plenty of time to prepare and relax your muscles. It rubs against the lollipop in your mouth and you’re flooded with flavour. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin but you ignore it, instead concentrating on how fantastically full your mouth is becoming. 

Shockwave’s dick hits the back of your mouth and he stops. You instinctively try to swallow and don’t achieve much. Actually that’s not true because Shockwave moans at what you’ve just done. Actually moans. You wonder what other sounds he’s capable of making, and what sounds you can cause him to make. 

You don’t swallow again. Instead you suck. You suck his dick and the lollipop at the same time again and again and again, and Shockwave has to put a hand on the back of your head to prevent himself from buckling and you both make a long noise.

You adjust the lollipop in your mouth, hold it in place, and slowly pull your head back. Shockwave doesn’t resist you, and doesn’t remove his hand from your head as you remove your mouth from his dick, which is soaking wet and dripping. You rub your thumb over the head of it, smearing the viscous liquid around it. You rub him with two fingers, and then your entire hand, stroking his dick up and down to coat it in a mixture of your saliva and the transfluid that’s steadily leaking out of him.

“Please,” Shockwave says haltingly, as he braces himself against the bench with his other arm. “The…experiment has not been concluded.”

“Experiment?” you ask, sucking on the lollipop. “Oh yes - this extra experiment that you haven’t actually told me about. What exactly is it we’re proving or disproving here?”

“I…the…to see.”

“That sounds important.” You stroke him hard and twist, and he makes a stuttering sound of mechanical pleading.

“The…human mouth is a combination of muscles,” he finally stutters, dragging some basic information up from his depths. “It- this experiment is to exercise them. See how far they can…stretch.”

That sounds mildly plausible. 

“I’ve just demonstrated how far they can stretch,” you tell him. “But do you think they can go further?”

“…yes.”

“Well would you believe it, so do I.” You lick the tip of dick and make it even wetter. “I think my mouth can take more.”

“That…yes. It would be complete. The experiment. As well as- This one. The experiment. I need…complete results or-”

“Or you’ll be a failure?” You speak around the lollipop,

your hand now languidly stroking him. “Well we don’t want that. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be associated with a failure. I have a poverty of life expectancy remember, and I don’t want to waste what I’ve got with a loser. So.”

You remove the lollipop from your mouth and hold onto his legs to brace yourself. You then slowly, slowly, take his dick back into your mouth. Shockwave doesn’t move. He lets you set the pace. Lets you do all the work more like. Not that you’re complaining, but you will complain out loud to him later just to annoy him. His dick reaches the back of your mouth again and you feel him relax slightly. 

Your scientist needs to learn to be more ambitious in his experiments with you. More fearless. 

You adjust your angle, instruct your muscles to relax further, and take his dick all the way down your throat until he’s fully hilted inside you. 

Shockwave shudders and grips your head harder. He then realises what he’s done and lets go immediately in case he’s hurt you, but he doesn’t want to break contact with you so he holds the back of your head again but this time lightly, but it’s not enough to stabilize him so he shoots his other arm out and scrabbles for whatever purchase he can find and makes a sound that sounds like dying.

He needs to get a hold of himself. You’re not even moving any more, and he’s reacting like he’s been blessed and cursed with divine revelation all at once. 

You pat the back of his legs to reassure him. 

Shockwaves’s stabiliser pistons finally align and steadies his frame.

And then you move. You fuck him slowly with your mouth. All the way up and then all the way back down. His dick tastes even better than that lollipop, and you suck him with control and purpose. Your chin is wet and your throat is sticky and your heart is thumping harder than you ever remember it doing.

Shockwave is doing his best to stay silent and is failing wonderfully. You wonder if he’ll match your rhythm and fuck you down your throat but he hasn’t, and you don’t suspect he will. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t want to use more than a fraction of his strength in case even that’s too much. His self-control is impressive and welcome, but it’s not complete. 

Shockwave is holding the back of your head lightly, but his fingers are tightening infinitesimally around your hair and scalp every time you suck the tip of his dick and swallow it all the way down to its base. His self-control is not infinite and not indestructible. He’s not dead inside.  

You eventually feel his frame tense and tighten around you, and hear the pitch and whine of his engines straining up a gear. You’re enveloped in heat and know he’s close.

“There…is time for one more experiment,” he manages to say, his voice thick with static.

“Mmmm?” you ask around his dick, your full mouth still moving.

“…apparently saliva can digest various substances and…so can stomach enzymes and…the mouth is part of the digestive system and…if you…if you…”

You’ve swallowed transfluid before and liked it and know it won’t hurt you. You’ve had The Talk with all the medics on board just to be sure, and so long as he doesn’t pour his entire tank down your throat in one go you’ll be fine.

You nod your consent, and Shockwave makes a noise that sounds like gratitude.

He’s a bit less steady on his feet now, a bit more erratic, a bit louder and less efficient in his movements but you’re not. You’re a steady constant in the face of his fast approaching overload, fucking him in a perfect rythym that surprises him more than it does you.

He grips you harder and spasms and his engines scream dangerously loud as he overloads hard in your mouth. A shot of transfluid hits the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag at the quantity of it. You hold his legs tighter to prevent him from going anywhere, because you’re not going to miss a moment of this. You swallow as much as you can, and revel in the mechanical rumbling stuttering sounds his engines make as they fight not to cut out. His silent cooling system is blasting hard, which feels like opening an oven door and putting your face into it. Your hair is stuck to your flushed and sweating face.

Shockwave eventually quietens and stills and begins to regain himself. A series of small clicks indicate his cooling system is powering down. You suspect he’d like to keep his dick down your throat all day if you agreed to it and while that’s not something you’re opposed to, far from it, your mind is already churning with possibilities as to what three hands and a cannon can do while your mouth is occupied, it’s an experiment for another day.

Right now you have your own needs to attend to, and first on that list is to clean up the mess he’s made on you as best you ca. You gave it a good try but you couldn’t swallow everything he gave you, you’re only human, and a lot of it leaked out of your mouth and dribbled down your chin and throat. Your skin is sticky and your clothes are splattered.

You move your head back until his dick pops out, and cup a hand underneath your mouth to catch the gush of fluid that spills out. You look up at Shockwave and raise that hand to your mouth and lap up what’s in it.

Shockwave’s overworked engines make a pitiful sound as they rev back up again. You suck your fingers clean, and then you put your underestimated human mouth to good use and clean him up. 

Your work is not completed quickly.

But finally it is, and you make an effort to casually sit back in satisfaction at completing a job well done.

“So what do you think?” you ask him off-handedly, as your body thrums and fizzes. You wish your own temperature control system was more effective, no matter how noisy it would have to be. Your shirt is stuck to your back and you’re entering the non-lethal stage of dehydration. “Was the experiment a success?”

“I think,” Shockwave says, as he pours you a glass of water from the sink, “That the human mouth is…interesting.”

He hands you the glass and you drink from it without pausing. You know that’s as close as Shockwave will ever come to saying that he thinks the human mouth is incredible, yours especially, and that he wants nothing more than to fill it and worship it again.

“But still a concerning mystery,” Shockwave continues, as he takes the empty glass from you. “It requires further research. A lot of research.”

He kneels down in front of you and puts a hand on your knee.

“In fact,” Shockwave says, his warm fingertips languidly stroking up the inside of your thigh as if the thought has just occurred to him, “the human body as a whole needs to be researched further. One system, one organ, one session at a time.” 

His hand stops on your buckled belt.

“A breakthrough has been achieved,” you tell him, picking up his hand and removing it from your belt. Despite his claims to be highly dexterous, you don’t have time to wait for him to use one hand when you have two.

“It’s a minor miracle.” You unbuckle your belt, pull your pants down, lean back against the wall and put one hand behind your head to cushion it. With your other hand you make a motion for him to hurry up and get to work because you both know you’ve earned this.

“You finally said something correct. Now let’s see what else you can accomplish.“