The Bipolar Zoologist's Lounge

It's the beginning of the month - and that doesn't mean a thing in my messed-up update schedules. But I've published the 8th chapter for my ongoing Thrawn x Dr Lani Kordes story. Although it doesn't contain any smut this time. I got very much carried away with the plot.

Chapter 8: The Station

of The Inbound Flight

If you like my writing, let's have a ko-fi.

When it first came into view, it looked tiny. The closer the Chimaera got to it, though, it grew in size considerably, revealing a perplexing structure of the whole complex consisting of interlocked ships in various shapes and sizes. Many looked ancient to you, and you did not doubt there would be a few from the Clone-War era in the pile. There was, however, a newer one that seemed to serve as a control centre, and on Pyrondi’s command, the communications officer’s hands were flying over their console in an attempt to hail them.

You stood there on the bridge beside her as she was overlooking the personnel in the pits. You had no mental capacity to wonder about your appearance – with deep circles under your eyes and civilian clothes hanging on your frame, you looked like a ragdoll.

“We have no dealings with the imperial military, you should leave in peace,” said the alien face that appeared on screen without preamble, in Sy Bisti, sounding none-too-happy. It was a humanoid specimen of Lasat people.

“We’ve come –“ But you stopped Pyrondi before she could continue.

“We didn’t come to cause trouble,” you stepped forward, speaking in Cheunh. “There is a Chiss male aboard in need of medical attention, and I was advised by the Supreme Admiral Ar’alani of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet to seek your help.”

“And who are you to demand as such?” the Lasat scoffed.

“I am his wife.”

The silence was deafening, before a bark of laughter cut through it like a razor. “You are but a human,” he wheezed in between the fits of mirth, as if you had just told him the best cantina joke he had heard in months.

Human. Friend. Partner. Wife. Mother –

Instead, you opted for a tactic of crudeness, thanking the Maker for all that dirty talk that Thrawn had taught you. “Well, I could tell you what his cock feels like when he takes me, or how his brows furrow in concentration when he fills my cunt. But I would lose precious time that I could invest elsewhere,” you sneered. “I would take him to the Chiss Ascendancy if I could, but a war started there a few months ago.”

“And how do you know?”

“I was on Naporar when it broke out.”

Another pregnant pause. The Lasat seemed to consult something with someone off-screen before he turned back to you. “I like your spirit, Little Human. You may come over with the patient, I’ll notify the Chiss healer.”

“Thank you.” Your attention shifted towards Pyrondi when the Lasat’s face disappeared. “We’re cleared to take him in,” you released a breath you didn’t realise that you had been holding. As a further confirmation, the officer at the comms station signalled that he had received a set of coordinates within the structure of the medical station.

“What exactly have you told him?” Pyrondi whispered before you could turn on your heel and head to the med bay.

You blushed violently. “That I would rather take Thrawn all the way to the Chiss Ascendancy if I wasn’t too scared of him dying on me than risk a flea infestation from him,” you blatantly lied.

1. What's your blog title from?

Funny thing. Septima Severa is my artistic pseudonym I've been using since the elementary school. Perhaps blame it on one of the worst Roman Emperors.

2. Latest movie? What did you think?

I haven't had time for movies, really. I started rewatching the Project Hail Mary, but because I'm an informal caregiver for my mother, I had to stop it somewhere in the middle.

3. What are you looking forward to right now?

Finishing my cichlid paper in peace.

4. If you could do anything at all today, what would it be?

I want to paint. But alas, I'm getting interrupted five times a hour, so everything suffers. Including my concentration.

5. Drink of choice?

In this hell of a weather? If I could be swallowing lemonade in solid state without tummy ache, I would.

6. Hair routine?

I have unintentional dreadlocks. I dreamed of long hair for years, then grew them out, ready to embrace my Victorian era-self. But I accidentally caught lice in a hostel during a conference in Portugal in 2022, and due to my decision to not shave it all off, I damaged it with all the anti-lice treatments, including 4% vinegar. I've been trying to get rid of the tangles one centimetre at a time. For now, anything that keeps my hair out of my face goes. So, don't ask me a hair routine, or you'll end up with an egg yolk.

7. Favourite way to travel? Is there another you want to try?

Trains. Europe is not as vast as it seems, and the connection to the west are quite good. I don't mind the delays that much (depending on their length, though) as I usually take a book or work with me. I'm planning a roadtrip to the south one day, though.

Oh, and I had a crazy idea once after reading The Tracks by Robyn Davidson (highly recommend that book). I wanted to ride from here to Istanbul on a camel.

8. Favourite month and why?

Depends on the climate shift. Usually it's October because it's so colourful, but in recent years, this shifted by two weeks roughly, and October in my country looks drab, uninspiring and depressive.

9. Favourite time of day and why?

I'm most creative between 9 p.m. and 2 a.m.

10. Do you play or follow any sports?

I used to swim a lot and play tennis. But I don't follow sports in general.

11. What kind of music has been stuck in your head lately?

The Australian bird noises. Not music to many, but nice background.

12. Dishes or laundry?

I've been doing both for a year now. For two apartments. So, neither.

13. Something you learned recently?

I've been working on a big illustration project for an arctic research. About jellyfish. I know, the snots in water are usually not very much interesting (unless they are patterned or colourful, but that is more common for tropical and temperate species, not the ones you find around Norway or Greenland). There is one group of ctenophores (comb jellies) called beroids. Like Beroe cucumis. Did you know that this group possesses a mouth opening they keep closed until they find their prey? The opening is full of cilia, and the epithelial cells on both "lips" form temporary intercellular connections like a sealing strip! Also, the macrocilia have rigid ends, so beroids can use them like teeth to chomp on their larger prey that cannot be swallowed whole. The prey is then immobilised by enzymes seeping through the bite wounds. Interesting.

14. What would you talk about if you could give a TED talk on anything?

That AI has no place in creative process of artists.

Oh, no. I can talk about fish vision and weird jellies for hours. TED should better make it a series.

15. Piece of advice you find yourself giving a lot?

Huh? Create more. Write that fanfic idea down even if it's shit, it can be polished later.

16. Piece of advice you would give yourself five years ago?

Finish that Ph.D. faster.

17. Do you believe in luck and superstition? Do you carry any lucky items or follow any rituals?

Pffft. Had the displeasure of enjoying this stuff to a certain extent with both my grandmas. If the black cat crosses my path, it is just a black cat. The broken mirror? Well, I'm clumsy. Not opposed to sleeping on a cemetery if it means no scorpions - done that in Albania, the only alternative was a lot of scorpions.

18. Are you musical (play any instruments, sing)? Would you ever perform for an audience?

When I was little, my parents got me into a singing class. NEVER EVER again. I can't follow a rhythm. My voice is ugly. I can't read music sheets.

19. Write, type or speak?

I've been too busy since my dog died to continue my handwritten diary on some (semi)regular basis, and I regret that very much. But my entries take hours and pages at times. As for stories, I prefer typing them.

20. What do you wish someone would ask you?

I would love to break the misconception of "scientists don't want you to know". Because, guys, ask us, not Google. And we will talk for hours.

---

I couldn't resist, okay? We were brainstorming a specific scene for Homme Fatale with @meepetteoneonly the other day - and found out that the pool rules can be very annoying. She had made a partially arcade game from it for her version of Director Krennic (and I have to beta-read it, yet). But I then had even more wicked idea. So... To have a little break from the Director of Advanced Weapons Research, I wrote another story for the RPF series revolving around Ben Mendelsohn. Should I be sorry? Maybe. Am I, really?

You bet I'm not.

THE POOL RULES

more stories with Ben Mendelsohn

If you like my writing, I have a ko-fi.

We have a reservation for two on the name Mendelsohn.

To keep your marriage from slipping into the maelstrom of boredom, you kept a mutual agreement of having date nights with Ben from time to time. Nothing strictly scheduled, although there was little space for absolute spontaneity in both your schedules – he was too busy to let you bask in his attention at times, especially while abroad on a movie set. But he always kept in mind that you liked an occasional surprise.

I’d like you to teach me how to play pool one day, you had once said. Or maybe more than once.

His signature sly smile he had given you was imprinted in your memory.

That one of these date nights found you in the heart of Melbourne’s Central Business District was a welcome change of scenery. You were so used to the route from your house or the clinic to the university campus and back that you almost forgot what the CBD looked like.

In all honesty, it was nice to have no animal patients queuing behind the door in the clinic’s waiting room for once.

And The Carlton Club? You had never visited it before. Ordering a cocktail at the bar felt… different. It made you self-conscious at first, but once the luxurious drink found your hand, you felt more at ease. Perhaps the lack of your vet scrubs helped. You loved the dress you were wearing, and by Ben’s lingering touches here and there, you could tell he liked it, too. Even though its cut was kind of rockabilly. He kept so close to you that the organza of the petticoat under the polka-dot skirt brushed against your thigh insistently.

Ben led you to the pool room, a cold beer in hand, following the directions to a salon he had reserved for your little lecture.

He didn’t have a definite plan yet, though.

“I thought the tables were covered in green,” you mused, tentatively touching the red velvety material with your fingertips once you approached the pool table in the centre of the room. A large, old-fashioned lamp with tassels lining the edge of its broad shade illuminated the polished wood along the rail flawlessly. You had seen a billiard table before, but you had been a little girl back then – a rather hazy memory from your childhood in England when the adults had not let you even touch a cue in fear you would be reckless with it.

Ben started taking the balls out from a return system carved into the table’s side. You knew that some were a solid colour and others striped, and you watched as he was then arranging them in rows within a plastic rack. “I might not be the best teacher,” he smiled cockily, catching your attention, “but I’ll do my best, I promise. Now it’s time to choose, sweetheart: solids or stripes?” With that, he caressed two of the balls lovingly with his large paws like he would your tits covered in his favourite bra, and it made you blush over the rim of your cocktail glass.

His grin only widened at that.

Veronika Truhlarova - The Arctic Garden of Eden, 2026, oil on canvas, triptych (55x55 cm each)

to be auctioned off in September 2026, digital prints will be available on my ko-fi in August

The quality of uploaded image is shit, seriously, but you get the idea.

The grand finale is here! The final chapter of Maltheen Divide, the grand opus, the steamiest part of the story! Let's have that bastard dominate his wife for a moment. Who wouldn't want to be restrained by him?

Chapter 3: Spreader Bar

Director of Advanced Weapons Research series on AO3

If you like my writing, let's have a ko-fi.

“You’ve been snooping,” Krennic stated haughtily, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He was standing in front of you with just a towel wrapped around his hips, freshly out of the sonic shower. He must have done it on purpose, for sure –

“I haven’t!” you opposed.

“No?” He arched a brow at you, then looked at the item you had hastily let go of when he had appeared at the door. It had clattered to the floor, now lying uselessly beneath your feet. “Then why isn’t this in its place?”

“I was just curious –“

“About what I’ve prepared for you?” He spun you around promptly, catching you just before you could trip over the bar. The towel fell off his hips, and now you could feel all of him against your back. Keeping you pressed against him with an arm around your waist, his other hand began untangling the sash of your robe expertly. “Curiosity killed the tooka,” he murmured, his lips barely touching your ear shell. He felt you shudder in his arms. “You know what it is?”

“N-no,” your voice quavered.

“Never seen it before?” he smirked, dragging the hem of the slip you wore underneath over your pussy.

“S-should I have?”

“Hmmm, perhaps not. But – maybe you had been a bad girl and needed a little… conditioning in your former master’s care.” His breathing got heavier.

“They never used a baton on me,” you lied, brows furrowing.

“Oh, but this isn’t a weapon, my sweet little Shaak.”

“Looks like a torture device,” you grumbled, frowning.

“Sometimes torture can bring pleasure to greater heights,” he caressed your cheek before kicking your feet wider apart, and you yelped in surprise at that. It allowed him more access to your sacred place, and Orson was taking a full advantage of it, making the silk of your scanty clothes slide along your clit in lazy circles.