Welcome to the Shame Corner

decided to turn him into an s/cp type thing and he's kept in a laboratory and is poked at by researchers they found him in some jungle ruins because he was mimicking some sort of animal and he wasnt doing a good job at it when he was taken in he decided to be guy shaped like the researchers

he's basically a passive all consuming blob-type creature except he's not all consuming because anything inorganic makes him sick. too bad he doesn't care and puts things in his mouth anyways

he can digest it eventually but it sucks in the meantime eating for him releases pleasure neurochemicals to encourage him to keep consuming so unrestricted access to foodstuffs is not allowed

“Dude, wasn’t that just the nest you found today? The one with the one singular nestling?”

“What? Oh! Oh, yeah, that was me. It really was pretty weird. Just one little guy all alone in there,” Clay bounced back. Wolffe leaned into his neighbor on the couch and gave Clay a playful nudge, snapping him out of his crafting trance.

“And that was seriously it. Just the one? I have literally never seen that before in a warbler. Not once.”

“Really? I wouldn’t think it would be that strange. Could it have been the.. the female’s first egg? Like, e- in her life?”

Kristen, one of the team leads, put in her two cents worth. “Nah, I wouldn’t think so. They almost always lay three eggs at a minimum, so having just one egg with no evidence of any abandoned or broken eggs out of the nest is completely unheard of for this species, or any bird for that matter.”

Shit, of course I should have known that. I’m a nest searcher, that is extremely important information for me to know. Why didn’t I think of that?

Clay nodded quickly in agreement, his fluffy, dirty-blonde hair moving with it, falling slightly in his face. He gave it a gentle push backwards behind his ear yet wished that he could have vanished behind it when it fell. His hands started to shake ever so slightly, enough to make embroidery a bit of a chore.

Kristen wasn’t exactly the kindest team lead he had ever met. Well, given that it was only his second, I guess she was technically the worst lead he had ever met. The other leads back at home were way more forgiving with mistakes. The one here though, rarely showed empathy towards the green researcher. Even though it was unfortunate, Clay wasn’t the only one to receive this treatment. Many of the other new members, and even experienced ones for that matter, had been on the receiving end of one of Kristen’s snippy replies or passive aggressive vibes. It made adjusting to the new environment all the tougher, and he had to live in the same house with it. Four other crew mates lived in the same house as he did, including Wolffe, who had been great comic relief and had kept Clay’s sanity largely intact for the majority of the season. Wolffe simply couldn’t take anything very seriously, so having him around to bounce a quick-witted joke around was much appreciated when he felt like Kristen was on the verge of biting Clay’s head off. Usually, he’d be inclined to snap back a little bit, but here he was out of his element, and he would really, really like a positive reference from Kristen when he applied to future seasonal jobs. That put him in a very strange position of trying to keep the peace yet keep his head at the same time. It drove him mad not standing up for himself as much as he wanted, but two months is only two months. Thankfully he could get a break from it tonight, though, and simply destress in the presence of his fellow teammates. It was nice catching up with them since they were on different projects than he was. He liked immersing himself with new personalities.

“Huh. Strange. Who knows what it could be man. But one thing is for sure, that’s going to be one well-fed nestling.” Wolffe replied.

Well-fed…

Clay’s mind slowly shifted from his project, to the social situation, to his mid-section.  Just the small notion of something receiving food was enough to redirect his focus on his largely neglected belly. Field work was hard. Lots of walking, lots of sneaking around to find the nests of skittish birds, full sun, or sometimes rain, and an endless amount of pushing through dense vegetation that had no problem constantly forcing itself against him or tearing at his sides as he tried to walk through. Clay rarely ate breakfast either; your stomach tends to not be extremely accepting of food that early in the morning, or at least his wasn’t. Clay’s workdays consisted of rolling out of bed at the last possible second, getting himself ready to a bare minimum while half-asleep, somehow getting from the house to the field site in his dazed state, and then starting his day trudging through the pine stands. It sounds like a miserable way to start the day, and sometimes it gets to the borderline, but the birds make up for it. However, after hours of searching and following, getting scratched by trees and covered in dirt, sweat, and ticks, the end of the day approached, and Clay was down-right exhausted. He could usually be found lying flat on his back on the couch attempting to fight sleep once he got home and wrapped up with a shower. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost. Regardless, eating lunch didn’t always make its way to the top of the priority list. Today was one of those days.

Clay began to realize how hungry he was as he sat in the company of the rest of the team. Surely, he had eaten at least something today, right?

Let’s see, no breakfast, per usual.

He was far too focused on nest searching for snacks during the day, although he always carried them with him and wondered why he didn’t just stop for a second to eat them. Maybe it was the pressure from Kristen; she always expected top-notch performance.

 Lunch? Well, I suppose a nap doesn’t count.

Once he groggily came back to around 5pm, he and the rest of the nest searching team left to attend the craft night at the Jule house.

Damn, so that means last time I ate was… yesterday? Oh…

The looming headache and the shaking in his hands finally made sense. He thought it had just been nerves or simply being tired, but Clay realized he had found the real culprit as to why he was feeling so off tonight. Now his mind began to swim with the idea of food. From the snacks he kept in his field backpack to the meals he had prepared this past weekend (that clearly weren’t seeing much use), he couldn’t pull his mind off of any of it. Hunger had officially hit him like a train.

He wanted so badly to soothe his now aching middle, but given that he was at someone else’s house and it was far past dinner, he really didn’t want to ask for anything.

Besides, how embarrassing would it be to ask for spare food like a vulture in front of my other teammates and Kristen? I can take care of myself. I really don’t need-

Before he could finish the thought, he felt his mid-section begin to coil in on itself. He shifted ever so gently in his seat, begging for his stomach to stay quiet. The room was no longer filled with conversation as the night began to come to a close and folks were focusing back in on their projects. Only the gentle hum of the cicadas and cool summer breeze could be heard from a cracked window in the living room.

God, don’t do it. Please don’t do it. If anyone hears I’m going t-

*Grrrrrrroooowwwwwlllll*

…you mother fucker.

Clay hitched only slightly before catching himself. Maybe if he just sat very still and didn’t draw any more attention to it, he would get out of this mess scot-free. His face burned and he could have scorched a hole through his embroidery project given how hard he was staring at it, silently praying to anyone that would listen for his neglected stomach to remain unnoticed. His prayers went unanswered. Only a second or two later, Wolffe caught on.

“Man, are you hungry?”

In this moment Clay could have sworn his entire nervous system was beginning to catch fire. “Wha- I, no! I mean not really, why?”

“…you didn’t hear that? Or feel that?” Wolffe chuckled.

“No?” Clay hesitated slightly before replying with a hint of fear in his reciprocated chuckle. He could start to see the eyes of his fellow crewmates shift upwards towards him.

“Your stomach just growled, man. Like, I have never heard that noise come from you before. That was loud”.

“Wha- well, I mean, uh,” At this rate the other crew members were beginning to laugh. Clay knew it wasn’t out of malice, but it still made him want to go crawl under a rock for the next 20-some-odd years.

“Do you guys still have that leftover pasta from pasta night still in the fridge?” Kristen asked Ellie, one of the Jule house residents. Kristen’s voice was naturally dry, but still, the lack of emotion in it made Clay feel only more like he was being a burden to the group, especially to the people who lived there. This was the absolute last thing he wanted to happen tonight: taking up more space.

“Sure do! Have at it, Clay, we’ve already eaten from it want we want”. Ellie’s voice was thankfully much gentler and chipper than Kristen’s, but the idea of taking someone else’s food still made his nerves stand on end.

“Oh no, I’m ok, really, it’s perfectly fine! Thank you for the offer though”.

“Well, your stomach doesn’t think it’s fine apparently. You said it was in the fridge, right Ellie?”

She nodded. “Yep, help yourselves! None of us are going to eat any more of it.”

“Come on.” Before Clay could begin to protest once more, Wolffe was already getting up and tapped Clay on the shoulder to encourage his friend to follow him into he kitchen. Clay decided that he’d rather just silently follow Wolffe that argue with anyone anymore. As much as it killed him to be eating at someone else’s house with the lead there to see it, he trotted behind Wolffe into the kitchen, leaving the rest of the crew behind to continue their craft night and whatever new conversation (thankfully unrelated to him) that was beginning to take hold.

“Ok, so let’s see… ah! Here it is. Man, they have their stuff labeled here and everything. Jule’s house has it under control. Kristen would love organization like this, right?”

“Ha, yeah”, Clay responded as he rubbed his right arm and then the back of his neck. “You know, Wolffe, I can really get that myself. I appreciate you grabbing it, but I don’t want to pull you away from everyone else.”

“No dude, don’t worry about it! I come over here enough that I basically have this fridge memorized; I thought I’d dig around in here for ya. Plus, I want a little bit too”.

Clay’s stomach gave another hollow groan. He instinctively covered his middle with both of his arms in a sad attempt to block the sound from reaching Wolffe’s ears, but the way he smirked and gave a sharp yet miniscule exhale through his nose communicated that Clay’s effort was futile.

These damn bird people. If they can hear a bird from a quarter mile away, they can absolutely hear my stupid stomach screaming.

Wolffe split the leftover pasta between two bowls and popped one of them in the microwave. Clay noticed that most of the “split” went into one bowl over the other. He wasn’t sure if he liked that idea or not. His stomach apparently did, though, as it grumbled again, soft enough that this time only Clay was aware of it.

Clay’s hands began fidgeting under the table as the microwave hummed to itself. His pulls at his nimble fingers were more out of frustration towards himself than the initial anxiety that had hit him in the living room. Why? Why did this have to happen here? Now? God, I have to look like such an idiot. I’m supposed to be able to take care of myself. My first job away from home and I can barely keep myself fed. Why did they hire me? Kristen must think she made a huge mistake letting me on the team. I disappoint her in the field, and now at home, and-

“Say, I wanted to talk to you anyways”, Wolffe hummed. Clay was snapped away from his nagging thoughts and shifted his 100-yard-stare through the table to focus on his friend. Wolffe turned his back to the microwave and leaned back against the counter. He smiled gently under his locks of inky-black hair. His bangs just barely reached bellow his eyes, and the rest of it hung down in many unruly directions so that it made him look like some kind of wild cross between an emo and a surfer. Sometimes some strange cats end up in field biology.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit off lately. When the season started you seemed pretty upbeat, but now you’re looking a bit more dim. Is everything ok?” Wolffe tilted his head slightly as a look of concern settled into his semi-hidden features, far different from his typical probably-high expression.

Clay sat silently for a moment. He could feel heat begin to creep through his forearms and up his neck again. His mind both raced and sat perfectly still, unable to cough up a response. He debated between spilling his guts or lying straight through his teeth, claiming that the distance between him and home wasn’t clawing at his insides like a rabid animal, like being in a foreign bed every night without his dog curled up beside him didn’t leave him cold despite the lack of AC in the house, or like the underhanded comments, glares, and sighs of disappointment he received from Kristen on a daily basis didn’t send knives through his chest. By the time he ran through a couple outcomes, he realized Wolffe was still waiting patiently for a response. Clay opened his mouth, then closed it, opened it again, and the only noise that escaped was a miniscule wheeze where words were meant to be. He looked away, shame heavy behind his eyes.

“I, um.. I… I guess it’s just been…” his voice strained under the pressure of all the things he wanted to say. God, how he wanted to tell Wolffe everything. He felt so alone out here despite the abundance of people. Before Clay realized it, he choked just slightly on whatever noise was about to come out of his mouth and he was beginning to blink away tears. He squinted his eyes and shook his head as to shake away the emotion, but he had opened the flood gates just a little too far to go back now. Slow, warm tears began to accumulate and fall down his cheeks, and all Clay could do was put both of his arms in front  of his face, elbows resting on the table, as weeks worth of pent-up emotion began to cascade out.

God, now I really look stupid. I’m no better than a toddler.

Clay damn near jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder blade. He peeked his way around his hoodie sleeve to his right to see Wolffe now sitting down beside him, that gentle smile still present underneath all that hair, and Clay returned to his now damp sleeves. He did his best to compose himself, but the raging river of emotions he had bottled up inside was hard to get back under control.

“It’s hard doing a job like this, ya know?” Wolffe hummed.

Clay stopped in his tracks. Did he hear him right? “What?” he managed to whimper.

“It’s a tough job. Takes you around the world and to places you never knew existed, but it also takes you away from home.”

Clay continued to sniffle and wipe away his tears.

“My first field job, I probably cried for a week straight. Hell, anytime I was alone in any regard I was a complete mess. I missed my mom, my sister, my cats, my house, my bed, god, I missed the way outside smelled after it rained. And I was mad about it too. I wanted to be so big and tough and take that job by the horns, but all I could do was sob as soon as I stepped into the shower.”

“That sounds familiar.” Clay muttered.

“Heh, yeah. It’s a common thing.”

“It is?” Clay was starting to emerge from his sleeves.

“Oh absolutely. From the people I’ve talked to, only a few haven’t fallen apart in the first few weeks of their field jobs, and that even goes for seasoned veterans.”

“But everyone else here has been doing so well,” Clay’s voice was still a bit wobbly as he flared his hands out in frustration.

“Says you!” Wolffe leaned back in his chair and gave Clay a playful shove. “You have no idea what everyone else has been feeling! And to hell with them anyways! Who cares how they’re doing? You’re out here doing it with them, so what makes you any lesser than them?”

“This.” his voice cracked as he gestured to his upper half.

“Man, I love you, but imma have to call bullshit on that. You want to know what a good friend told me?” Clay looked over again, newly formed tears in his eyes. “Her name was Riley, and she had to have been one of the greatest ornithologists I’ve ever met in my entire life. She had so much knowledge it had to have been pouring out of her ears; there wasn’t a single question she couldn’t answer, or at least she knew where to look if she didn’t know it off the top of her head. I came to her one day when I worked with her a couple summers ago about nearly this exact same thing. I was so upset that I wasn’t handling the job “like a big kid”, and she told me something that entirely changed my perspective. She said, ‘You think just anyone can come out here and do this kind of work? If everyone could do it, trust me, they would. Chasing birds is fun and a ton of people think it’s cool, but it also takes moving hundreds of miles away from home every couple months to move in with strangers, under god-knows-what living conditions, in a place you’ve never seen before, all so you can get soaked, cooked, dehydrated, and eaten alive by bugs every single day for shitty pay. For some people it’s a dream job, but for most others it’s a nightmare. Just being here makes you stronger than most. It takes serious balls to do that, especially if it’s your first job.’ And from then on, I tried to never doubt myself ever again. It’s hard, but thinking of it that way always helps me.”

Clay simply sat and tried to absorb it all. His tear-sparkled eyes met with Wolffe’s, and Wolffe simply smiled even bigger.

“You’re a good guy, Clay. Don’t let your own brain get the best of you. You’re one of the best field ornithologists I’ve met, and that’s sayin’ something. I know some pretty cool cats out there.”

Clay shifted in his seat as he tried to sit himself back up straight. “Thank you,” he mumbled. He wanted to say more, but his brain was out of gas. In fact, his whole body felt like it was out of gas. Apparently, the small movement of readjusting put Clay’s stomach in just the right position so that it let out another long, sad groan. Clay simply gave up. He groaned himself and laid his head down in his arms. His headache had really kicked up now, as the tears he shed didn’t do him any favors.

“Oh shit, the pasta!” Wolffe jumped up from the wooden chair and whirled around the side of the table. The microwave hadn’t beeped during their conversation, but it had long since stopped humming. “The beepy thingy in it must be broken. That or I’m going deaf. Either one,” he chuckled. He warmed the food for only another thirty seconds.

“Also,” Wolffe said. Clay lifted his head slightly. “Starving doesn’t help. Have you eaten at all today?” Clay shook his head as he gently lowered it back down into his crossed arms. He hadn’t realized how tired he truly felt until now. His legs seemed weak and his lower back sore. Opening his eyes felt like a chore in and of itself. Every bone in his body felt like it was ten pounds heavier than it should have been. All he wanted to do at this point was curl up on the floor and now wake up again until next week, However, something roused his attention as it slid across the table to stop directly in front of him. Clay’s nose told him what it was before his eyes did. He shot up just as Wolffe was setting a fork down next to him. He had his own bowl in his hands and wandered around the table once more to sit down next to what looked like a pile of barely animated sweatpants and a hoodie slumped in a chair.

“Wolffe, seriously, thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw all this at you. I guess I just got overwhelmed, and tired-“

“And hungry.” Wolffe leaned his head over slightly and raised his eyebrows with a smirk as he fished for some marinara-covered noodles in the bowl in front of him. They were still steaming, and it made Clay’s mouth water like mad. “Don’t worry about it, it gets the best of us.”

“Heh, yeah.” Clay rubbed his arm again. He didn’t eat the whole day on purpose, of course. One thing led to another and he just.. didn’t get the time. Or did he not have the motivation? Or both? Hell, it was too much for his brain at the moment. The only thing that mattered to him now was the leftover pasta from pasta night a few days before. He picked up his own fork and took his first bite, slowly at first. The noodles hit his dry mouth and nearly made him melt. After his first bite, the ones that followed were much faster. Little by little, he started to feel far more human, and his achy, grumbling middle began to happily work on the food it so desperately needed. Well, it still grumbled, but not in the way that had Clay feeling earlier. As his belly filled, he began slowing down and realized how quickly he blew through his bowl. Wolffe was basically at the same spot he was, yet had significantly less food in front of him a few minutes ago. Even though he felt a bit embarrassed over his ravenous pace, he couldn’t deny that he did feel significantly better already. His headache began to recede, and his legs felt far less like jello. Clay leaned back in his chair, letting his head hang back as his gaze met with ceiling. His hand discretely made it’s way to the new feeling of fullness in his belly, and he took a single deep breath, letting it out slowly.