#Collecting scientific data from ao3

[hbyrde36]

Steddie | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | WC:4541 | Ch 1/8 | AO3

Chapter 1: Ghost of Yesterday

Two days after they failed to defeat Vecna, after Max died and came back, after Eddie died—and didn’t. Two days after they were forced to leave his body behind in the Upside Down because everything had gone to shit, a bright yellow pizza delivery van that looked like it’d been through its own apocalypse pulled into the Wheeler's driveway.

Jonathan, Mike, Will, and El finally made it home to Hawkins with the help of a friend.

On day three, Max woke up. 

She’d have a long road to recovery, but the doctors seemed fairly confident she’d walk again. Though, no one could be sure how much of her eyesight would return, if any. The same day, in a twist no one saw coming, Joyce showed up, fresh off a plane from Alaska after escaping Russia—yes, Russia—with a miraculously alive and mostly well Jim Hopper. 

And four days after the world both did and then didn’t end, the ghost of Eddie Munson appeared in Steve’s living room.

The kids and older teens, including the newest member of the doomsday squad, Argyle, were having an off-the-books meeting. After everything they’d done and been through, the so-called ‘adults’ were attempting to pull their same old shit, trying to sideline the younger set for their own, supposed, safety. 

Steve sort-of agreed about Dustin and the others, they were still too young and had already lost so much, but if Hopper, Joyce, and whoever the hell else thought they were going to bench him? They had another think coming, and he was pretty sure Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan felt the same way too.

But, whether he agreed or not, what he wouldn’t do was stop the kids from helping to come up with a plan. Because damned if he knew what the hell they should do next. 

Dustin leaned forward from his spot on the couch wedged between Erica and Will, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “So let me test my understanding. You set him on fire, and shot him—multiple times. He fell out of a third story window, and he just went… poof? Vanished without a trace?”

There was a collective groan from the room, everyone except for Lucas and El who were at the hospital sitting with Max, and of course Dustin himself. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, yes, Dustin. How many times do we have to go over this?”

 “I’m just laying out the facts!” Dustin snapped back. “Clearly we got something wrong here. We underestimated Vecna, and by a lot.”

 “And how is repeating our obvious failure helpful?” Nancy asked, a little defensively. 

Steve understood the attitude, he'd also been wresting with his guilt since that fateful night.

“The scientific method!” Dustin answered with a bit of the same slightly forced cheerfulness he'd been displaying ever since Max woke up. He held up a hand, ticking each step off on his fingers as he spoke. “Question, research, hypothesis, experiment, data analysis, conclusion.” 

“I got a question—“ Erica pursed her lips, giving Dustin such intense side-eye Steve wondered if it was actually painful. “Why are you such a nerd?”

Dustin sighed, as though it were everyone else annoying him instead of the other way around. “The question is—if Vecna is just a guy with powers like El, how could he have survived this long in the Upside Down? What’s keeping him alive?”

Okay, fine. Attitude or not, Steve hadn’t really thought about it but maybe the kid had a point. 

“The hive mind!” Robin offered up.

“Possibly.” Dustin nodded to her. ”Probably. So, what does that tell us?”

Erica crossed her arms, leaning back heavily into the couch. “I don’t know Mr. Clarke, you wanna share your thoughts with the class?”

“I didn’t say I had all the answers.”

“That’s a first,” Robin mumbled. 

“I’m just trying to get us brainstorming here!”

A flutter of movement pulled Steve’s admittedly already drifting attention away from discussion at hand. Something in the corner, the air there shifting and bending strangely, a little like the way heat shimmers off a sun drenched black top. He watched through his periphery, not daring to actually turn his head to look as a familiar figure materialized there. 

Fuck.

Though he looked confused and disoriented at first, it wasn’t long before the long-haired apparition tried approaching one of them.

Steve swallowed hard, his throat growing painfully tight. He fought to keep his face neutral as the ghost raised a hand in front of Dustin's face, calling the boy's name loudly before moving on to Erica, then Nancy—and Steve panicked, knowing he had to do something before the figure tried the same with him. 

“Water,” he muttered, mainly to Robin as he rose and bumped her shoulder. She was the only one really paying attention to him anyway, while the others still argued the physics and limitations of the alternate dimension. 

Steve fled for the relative quiet and safety of his kitchen. He just needed a minute alone to get his shit together, but he should have expected the phantom footfalls that followed him across the tile floor to the cabinet. 

As he took out a tall glass with shaking hands, the ghost hopped up to sit on the counter just beside him and started talking to himself.

“What the hell does a guy gotta do to get a little attention, huh?” The figure held up his slightly transparent hands in front of his own face, turning them over and back again. “I-I’m kinda freaking out here.”

Under the show of irritation he sounded sad, and a little terrified.

“They can’t see you,” Steve muttered softly, regretting it the second the words passed his lips. 

He knew better than to engage with ghosts. 

Since the moment he’d first shown signs of the gift, he’d been taught by his late grandfather to leave the spirit world be, and mind his own goddamn business.

He’d only broken the rules one other time, about a month or so after they learned the full truth of what happened to Barb and he’d seen her essence lurking around his pool at night. That experience had only served to further prove the old man’s point. 

Nothing good ever came from acknowledging the dead. 

But this was Eddie. 

They’d fought together, bled together. Eddie was his–his ally, his compatriot, his friend. 

And towards the end there Steve was even starting to think that maybe… maybe one day they could be more, if he ever got up the courage to flirt back.

Not that it mattered now.

“No shit, Harrington!” Eddie spat. “I’ve been waving my hands in front of their faces, screaming Dustin's name at the top of my lungs and getting jack squat back in return. I mean what the fu—”

With a sad little smile Steve turned, finally looking straight at the other boy just in time to see his eyes go impossibly wide. 

“Wait—holy shit! Harrington, does this mean you can see me?!”

Steve winced, grimacing at the sheer volume of Eddie's voice. “And hear you, unfortunately.”

Who knew the loudest guy he’d ever met would be even louder in death. 

Actually, that tracked. 

“Steve?” Robin’s voice filtered in as she called out to him from the other room.

Steve took a deep breath, locking eyes with the adorably confused looking ghost haunting his kitchen as he shouted back to her. “Yeah?” He raised a hand to his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose just as Robin appeared in the doorway. 

“What are you up to in here?” She asked.

“Oh, just…” Steve trailed off, trying and failing not to track Eddie’s movements as he hopped down off the counter and began to stalk towards Robin, a determined, mischievous glint in his eye. 

“ …talking to myself.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Are you okay she asks,” Eddie grumbled, tipping his head mockingly from side to side. “Pfft—I’m the one who’s invisible. Why isn’t anyone asking if I’m okay?”

“Um,” Steve fought to keep a level expression and not laugh, even as Eddie blew wet raspberries and made increasingly silly faces inches from an oblivious Robin’s nose. “No, actually. I think I might have a migraine coming on,” he lied.

“You want me to get everyone to leave?” She asked.

Yes, good plan! 

In fairness he wasn’t exactly feeling his best. He was exhausted. It had been a long few days.

A long… week and a half? 

Years. 

It had been a long few years.

And he needed some time alone with Eddie, to talk.

“That'd be great, yeah. Thanks, Rob.”

“Sure thing. Why don't you go get in bed with your eye mask on, and I'll bring water and painkillers up?”

“Oooh,” Eddie crooned. “His majesty sleeps with an eye mask? Fancy.”

Ugh, why were all of Steve’s favorite people such fucking smartasses? He glared at Eddie before he could stop himself. Which meant he was staring daggers at a blank wall right now, right in front of Robin, leaving her looking more concerned than ever. 

Shit. 

He should have known she’d wanna stay behind and take care of him. 

“I—um, t-that’s okay,” Steve stuttered out. “M-maybe you should just go on home too.”

Her face fell.

Hacking and wheezing, he forced a fake coughing fit in her direction, only barely covering his mouth with his hand.

“Very convincing,” Eddie commented with clear sarcasm.

Robin wrinkled her nose, recoiling like the germaphobe Steve knew and loved.

“Sorry, I think I'm coming down with a cold or something actually. You should get out while you still can.”

Robin bit at her lip, looking mildly dubious, but eventually she nodded. “Fine. Just promise you’ll call me if it gets any worse, or if you need anything?”

“I promise.”

While everyone cleared out, Steve hid in the kitchen, finally getting that drink of water he so desperately needed—his throat was on fire now that he thought about it—and splashed some more cold water from the sink on his face for good measure.

“You sure you’re not actually coming down with something?” Eddie asked, sitting back up on his perch on the counter. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said with practiced ease, though his head was beginning to throb a bit. Maybe that migraine thing wasn’t as much of a lie as he’d thought.

With the house now safely empty of prying eyes and ears, he ventured back out into the living room, with Eddie hovering along behind, and locked the deadbolt on the front door before plopping down hard on the couch, letting his head rest against the back of it.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Eddie asked, pacing back and forth along the floor in front of him.

Steve let his head loll to one side. “Plan?”

Eddie groaned, stopping in his tracks to throw his head up to the ceiling. “Why couldn’t it be Henderson who can see me.”

Okay, rude.

“A plan, y'know?” Eddie went on. “To get me back? To get me out of the Upside Down or whatever purgatory I'm currently languishing in?”

Steve could only stare at him blankly for a moment as the words sank in. “Eddie—” he began hesitantly, sitting up straight.

“What? Don't tell me you’ve all given up on me already?”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Steve had heard about this, how sometimes spirits don’t realize they’ve passed on, but surely Eddie had to know. What other possible explanation could he have for suddenly becoming invisible and incorporeal? 

“Eddie, what is it you think is happening here, exactly?” He asked, praying he was wrong but bracing himself for the worst. How on earth do you go about telling someone you care about that they’re dead?

“Well, clearly I–I'm…” Eddie sputtered haughtily for a moment before looking away. “I'm not sure. I’ve been separated from my body somehow, obviously. S-so It’s gotta be some weird Vecna shit, right? And uh, you can hear me and see me b-because… because we both got bit by the bats and it gave us, like, our own little freaky hive-mind type… thing?” 

He sounded less and less sure as he went on, and Steve’s heart ached for him. He remembered the bats attacking him part, but not the dying part. That just seemed cruel.

“Eddie, um,” Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I don’t know how to tell you this but you… you died.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie snorted.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. We came back from the Creel house and you…” Steve paused, struggling for a second to force his words past the sudden lump in his throat. “Dustin was sitting there with your—”.

“No.” Eddie shook his head roughly. “No–no, because, if I'm dead… then how is it you can see me? Huh?! Explain that!” 

“It runs in my family. My dad doesn't have the gift but my grandfather was able to see ghosts, and his father before that.”

“Suuure, Harrington,” Eddie’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “So—not only am I supposed to believe that I'm dead, but also that you’re descended from some long line of ghost whisperers? Is this a joke to you?! I’m in dire need of–of fucking rescue, and you’re over here trying to fuck with me? Not cool, man. Not cool.”

Steve stood, almost reaching out as he itched to comfort the other boy in some way, but he knew well that it was pointless. “I’m not, I swear I'm not messing with you. I know it’s not what you want to hear, and I'm so sorry but I'm telling you the truth. Dustin, he—” Steve’s voice cracked. “You didn’t have a pulse, Eddie.”

“Stop it!” Eddie snapped.

“I’m sorry, really. I–”

“I said stop!” 

With a choked off sob Eddie moved to shove him away, only to stumble when his hands found nothing solid, or rather, as Eddie’s ghostly and very not solid form passed right through Steve’s body.

Steve held his breath as he waited for it, the sensation of being doused in a bucket of ice water, the spine tingling, creepy crawly thing he’d felt the only other time he’d let a ghost near enough to touch.

But this was nothing like that. 

Eddie felt… warm. And while Steve still shivered it wasn’t because the failed touch had been bad or painful. Quite the opposite, actually. He was left with a pleasant buzzing in his core, the initial warmth lingering, wrapping around him like an embrace before fading slowly.

Maybe all spirits were different. Maybe Barb had felt cold because she’d hated him, because it was his pool she died in—his fault she was out there in the first place.

But Eddie was…

Oh shit—Eddie. 

Steve spun to find him on the floor with his knees pulled up, hugging them to his chest, his huge brown eyes shining with unshed tears. 

Could ghosts cry?

Steve knelt down next to him, biting back a wince as the movement pulled at the bandages hiding beneath his shirt. He’d need to change those again tonight, they felt tacky with dried blood.

Eddie's voice shook when he finally spoke again. “I’m—dead?’

Steve bowed his head in a solemn nod. He would have given anything in that moment to be able to wrap his arms around Eddie.

“T-the bats?”

“There were just too many of them,” Steve explained. “It looked like you put up a hell of a fight, but I think you bled out.”

“My uncle, Wayne, do you know if he—” Eddie trailed off, worrying his bottom lip.

“Dustin talked to him. He couldn't risk telling him everything, but he gave him your guitar pick, and told him you were a hero. That you died a hero.”

Eddie barked a wet laugh, shaking his head.

“It’s the truth," Steve said, hoping his tone left no room for doubt. "If you hadn't distracted them we never would have made it into that attic. And If you hadn’t led them away when you did…” He didn’t need to say it, they both knew Dustin could—and likely would—have been hurt or worse, and those things would have gone through the gate and into the right side up.

It was exactly what Steve would have done too, had their roles been reversed.

“How long has it been?” Eddie asked, quietly.

“Three? No–no, four days.”

“And Vecna?”

“Down, but not out. We wounded him for sure but he got away. That's why everyone was here tonight.”

“Okay,” Eddie blew out a long breath, rubbing hard at his eyes. “What happens now? Do you like, help me find the light or something?” His eyes darted around as though some doorway or portal might appear right there in the living room. “Or maybe I'm going the other way. I can think of a few reasons the big guy might not let me upstairs, but what do I know, maybe self-sacrifice gets you a free pass?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Isn’t this your legacy or whatever?”

“I’ve never done,” Steve waved a hand, gesturing between the two of them. “This before. I was taught to ignore the dead. Pretend I can't see them just like everyone else and let them go about their business.”

“How come?”

“Grandfather said if you get too involved, if the dead find out you can see them they’ll never leave you alone. That it’s dangerous. The dead linger for a lot of reasons, but the most common are unfinished business and revenge. Lots of angry spirits out there according to the Harrington journals.”

Eddie tilted his head thoughtfully. “Am I really the first ghost you’ve ever talked to?”

Steve thought of Barb again, the way her face had morphed into a rage-filled mask when he revealed he’d been able to see her all along, but he pushed it forcefully out of his mind.

And lied.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I just told you, my grandfather—”

“No,” Eddie cut in. “I mean why, after a lifetime of ignoring ghosts, did you choose to acknowledge me?”

“B-because, you’re—“ Steve faltered, not knowing quite how to put it into words. He wasn’t sure even he totally understood. Yes he’d started developing a crush on the guy, but it was more than that. They had a connection, Steve felt it, even if Eddie didn’t. And maybe it was normal—inevitable even, when you get thrown into this shit together. But whether it was all just trauma bonding or something more, Steve couldn’t deny the pull.

“You’re—” he tried to say again as he pushed himself to his feet, only to double over, sucking air through his teeth as the dull pain in his sides turned searing and sharp.

“Steve?” Eddie shot up as he spoke, sounding worried.

“‘M fine,” Steve grit out, managing to straighten his posture without another outburst. “Jus' tired.”

Eddie raised a single eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t argue, silently following Steve as he headed for the staircase and began to climb.

Of course, this was Eddie, so he was only capable of being silent for so long.

“Hey, how come I can’t touch you, but I can walk up the stairs?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve huffed out, breath stuttering as he neared the top landing. 

Just a few more steps.

“Do you think I could, like, sit on a couch, or—or lay in a bed?” Eddie asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve repeated, trying not to sound as annoyed and in pain as he felt. He just had to make it to his room, get these stupid wounds cleaned and then he could pass out for a few hours. Maybe then he’d be able to answer questions and figure out what to do about all this. 

“What if I—”

“Eddie!” Steve barked from the top step, whirling to face him. He nearly lost his balance before catching himself with a hand on the wall. His sides were screaming at him and the throbbing in his head was getting worse too. “I really don’t know any more than you do. I don’t know all the ins and outs, or why things work the way they work.  Can you please just give it a rest for a minute?”

Eddie wilted, dropping his gaze to his feet. “Sorry.”

Fuck.

“No,” Steve sighed. ”No, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t be… y’know, when you’re—”

“Dead?!” Eddie snapped, raising his head again. He looked hurt.

“Sorry.” Steve sucked his lip between his teeth.

“Whatever.”

“Eddie—”

Eddie stomped past him and into the upstairs hallway. “Spare me the pity party. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m telling you, if I was dead, I'd know it.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut again without another word. He didn’t have the energy, and If that was what Eddie needed to believe for now to get through this, then who was he to tell him what to think? It wouldn’t change the facts but if it made him feel better, what was the harm?

Somehow Eddie had guessed the right door. He waited, leaning up against the opposite wall and very deliberately didn’t look at Steve as he walked over, and pushed into his bedroom. 

Steve went right through to the bathroom to get this over with, not bothering to close the door behind him, assuming Eddie would be able to walk right through anyway if he wanted to.

Eddie did follow, still silently brooding as he found another piece of wall to hold up.

Steve ignored him for now, he felt awful but he’d try to apologize again later once the other boy had calmed down, and carefully peeled his shirt off as he stood in front of the mirror. 

The bandages at his sides looked gnarly and gross. He’d bled again, and it looked like there was something yellow seeping into the huge squares of gauze too. He turned his body to the side, looking over his shoulder to see how the road rash on his back was doing. It looked better than the front, but that wasn’t saying much. The skin around the wide scrapes was red and inflamed. He couldn’t cover those on his own and could really only clean them in the shower, but they were shallow at least and would eventually heal on their own, he figured. 

A quiet gasp reminded him of his audience, and a quick glance over through the mirror showed Eddie staring at his torso with wide eyes.

“It looks worse than it is,” Steve said quietly, quickly looking away. Which wasn’t exactly true but the last thing he needed right now was another person trying to force him to go to the hospital. 

He knew some first aid. 

It was fine.

Turning back to face the sink, Steve ran water over a washcloth and held it to each of his dressings to soak them off. The air stung when it finally hit the wounds, as though they'd been freshly opened, and, sure enough, there was definitely some pus seeping from the edges.

No problem. He’d just have to clean them extra thoroughly.

Gritting his teeth, Steve poured a hefty amount of peroxide on a new clean washcloth and began to gently pat his right side. 

The pain was instant and excruciating. 

Bile rose in his throat, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as the world around him swam. Steve swayed on his feet, dropping the cloth to the ground as he himself began to fall. 

A sudden warmth at his back, and strong hands wrapping around his chest were the only thing that kept him on his feet. Carefully avoiding the worst of his wounds, Eddie had caught him, holding the bulk of his weight until the spinning in his head stopped.

The moment Steve could stand on his own again Eddie jumped back as though he’d been burned.

Steve’s eyes snapped up, locking with Eddie’s in their reflections as he realized with a start what had just happened.

“How?” He whispered. He could still feel the imprint of Eddie’s hands where they had cradled him to his chest. He’d felt so… real, so solid, so—alive for that handful of seconds. 

“I-I don't know!” Eddie said, a little too loud in the small space. “I didn’t even think, or-or like, I forgot that I couldn't. I saw you about to go down and I didn't want you to hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t think it was possible." Steve took a step towards him. "You should try to do that again.”

Eddie tucked his hands behind his back, moving as far away as he could without actually leaving the room. “Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like maybe getting you to a hospital?”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I told you, it looks worse than it is.”

It was abundantly clear that Eddie didn’t believe him, but something about the accidental touch had freaked him out enough that he let it go.

As quickly as he could, Steve finished cleaning the ruined expanse of his stomach and got both sides wrapped in fresh bandages, managing to do so without nearly fainting this time, and threw a clean t-shirt on to hide the evidence. Hopefully that would stop Eddie looking at him with those big brown fucking sad worried eyes of his. 

Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. 

As much as he liked Eddie’s attention on him, these weren’t exactly the circumstances he would have hoped for.

Steve shut the lights off, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“We should try it again,” Steve mumbled through a long drawn-out yawn.

Eddie laughed softly from his corner hiding spot. “What was that, big boy?”

Steve wished he’d try to join him on the bed, but didn’t know how to ask. He untangled one of his arms from the sheets, reaching a hand out in Eddie’s direction. “Touch me?” 

The room was dark, and it could have been that Steve was a little delirious but he was pretty sure a light blush crept over Eddie's cheeks as he took a step closer, his own ringed hand outstretched.

The sight set off butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

Steve waited to feel the tips of their fingers brush, was desperate to feel Eddie’s touch again if he was honest, but it was no use, Eddie’s long digits passed right through.

“Maybe we have to–” Steve interrupted himself with another deep yawn. His body still ached but now that he was tucked in and warm in his bed, it was getting hard to fight the inevitable. 

“Just go to sleep, man,” Eddie said, his lips quirking into a small crooked smile. “It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

It should have been awkward, or weird to know someone would be there all night, lurking around while he slept, but as Steve drifted off he felt safer than he had in a long time, oddly comforted by the fact that Eddie would be there watching over him, even if he was just a ghost.

Chapter 2: This Haunted House Is Not A Home

Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!

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[leohtttbriar]

Of Golden Sands (3.3k) - Post Episode: Scientific Method

Seven and B'Elanna discuss the design and function of things and also themselves. (ao3 link or read below)

The woven brace across Seven’s torso was more flexible than the structural spinal implants she once had—and compressive enough to hold her up. The EMH had made a habit of frowning at readings of her muscle mass and measurements of her subcutaneous fat at weekly assessment appointments. He claimed the brace at some point would no longer be necessary, if they could ensure her spine and strength heal correctly from the removal of the spinal implants. She’s been assured, with the appropriate corresponding data, that the removals were necessary in order to prevent the continual secretion of what the EMH called “a cocktail of bullfighting hormones.” He had then waved an arm above his head in a flashy manner and said, “Olé!” so Seven was inclined to believe, along with the data, that what her implant-body had been slowly dousing her with for twenty years was worthy of removal.

But, regardless of its temporary status, the brace was insinuating itself into her new practice of self-regard. And she did not want to think of eventually ceasing to wear it. 

“Have you been performing the prescribed strength exercises?” the EMH would ask. 

“Yes,” Seven would say, hoping he wouldn’t deem her fit enough to use her back without aid. 

When he had first presented her with the brace he had described its specifications, its materials and make and operating procedures, and then added, as if it were relevant, “Our very own Chief Engineer made this—with my help in the design, of course.”

Seven was in a state of “trust or die”, at that point, so she did as she was directed and donned the strangely woven tech. It was warm. 

“We added a thermal regulator,” said the EMH. “To help your body while it relearns how to do that on its own.”

Seven realized then that she had been cold. 

On the edges of the brace, so small it was nearly imperceptible and likely hadn’t drawn the uniquely oriented attention of the strange autonomous hologram this ship claimed for a doctor, small but still present was a design in the woven strands of the special flexible titanium-gold. Leaves, thought Seven. Vines. And, if she turned at a certain angle under a single overhead light source, the edges of the leaves seemed to gleam, opaline. 

A strange choice. But the Chief Engineer had constructed this and so some part of this design must have served an overall structural purpose. 

She watched the Chief Engineer, sometimes. She moved very lightly on her feet in her small body. She often paused to look over a padd or to think leaning up against the console below the warp core, outlined in the warp core’s blue. She was efficient and smart and involved in all projects around her. If she were in the collective, she’d be a bright source of understanding in the neural plane. Seven would have rejoiced as one many-faced thing to collect the Chief’s mind and work. Perhaps the Chief would have added her purposeful gold vines to some system needing an upgrade in the Cube. If she were in the collective, Seven would know what the vines were for. 

The Chief’s purposeful mind was the first to be fully incapacitated when the crew of Seven’s new discrete collective stumbled into being the objects of many inadequately-framed experiments. Ensign Kim complained of it later, how they were tortured for nothing—“It wasn’t a controlled environment—and how are they supposed to recognize what’s significant in their observations of us without prior study or context? You can’t change a variable without study or control and then expect to draw an actual conclusion from it!” 

It made sense, that the alien researchers, cloaked as they were, dispatched with the Chief Engineer so quickly. She had almost made them visible which would’ve exposed their clumsy efforts of collecting knowledge from the species on board. The phase variance data she had left for the EMH and Seven to use—to add to Seven’s more productive eye—secured for Seven an ability to see what was happening. The purpose, of course, of the Chief’s efforts was not to give Seven this as a comfort, or to give Seven anything. Still—she could see. Nothing was hidden from her which was trying to hide. She could plan and consider and decide with the right amount of data given. She wasn’t being left in an oblivious dark. 

Parts of her vision now were overactive. She saw in the peripherals of her productive eye imagined images. Where once the ocular implant would’ve flooded her with the resonance of a collective mind and the smattering relief of a happy-mix of serotonin and oxytocin and whatever psychology emerging from her body, implants, and mind would be regulated by the group that shared in her perspective. Now, she was subject to fear and no external mechanism existed to wipe it away from her thinking brain. 

She saw black feathers flitting around corners. She saw hands reaching. She saw the clumsy researchers with their instruments and curious faces—experimenting as children do. She saw, halfway to a blink, the way they followed after their chosen subjects, the way they gleaned and took, the way never asked because a greater purpose, to them, was being served. She saw long after they had actually left.

A few days after the EMH had made an adjustment to her brace (“I’m impressed, you’re recovering better than expected”), Seven found herself racing away from a fleeting unreal image of a probing invisible creature, relieving a “sick” (bored) ensign of their duties of running diagnostics on replicator actuators in one of the least accessible Jeffries tubes. She crawled into the soft dim lighting and the unfailing sound of the electrics chased away, for a moment, the nervous affliction of bad memories. She worked on the lab replicators first before proceeding further into the tube. She opened a security seal. The Chief Engineer was sitting on the grating, knees pulled to her chest, chin resting on her hands on her knees, watching a magnetic tricorder whirl. She did not appear happy. 

“Oh,” said Seven, in a mirror of how the Chief had greeted her at another maintenance conduit a week before. “I am sorry.”

B’Elanna wiped at something on her face and lowered her knees to a cross-legged position. “No, it’s fine,” she said quickly. “Um, what—what are you doing?”

“Ensign Trausch is sick.” Seven awkwardly held up the tricroder strapped across her shoulder.

B’Elanna rolled her eyes and said, “Sure he is.” She looked at Seven. “You don’t have to do so much of their work for them. There’s plenty to go around. You can just ask me for a project.”

“Yes, sir,” said Seven. She was kneeling, hunched, in the access way, and was reminding herself that it was not considered human convention to ask someone else to share every thought they had. The opaqueness of the humanoid skull was leaving too much room for her imagination. 

“Don’t call me ‘sir’,” said B’Elanna with a frown. 

Seven, hunched and imagining, did not know how to interrogate this request to ignore the norms of hierarchy she had been scolded for ignoring only a few days earlier. 

B’Elanna glanced over the tricorder hanging off Seven’s shoulder, the exo-skeleton implants on her hands, and then said, “Replicators right?” She gestured for Seven to approach with her head. “I won’t bother you, I promise.”

Seven moved into position, grateful for the relieved pressure on her knees. B’Elanna’s attention returned to the magnetic tricorder.

“What are you doing?” asked Seven, as she set up her instruments. 

B’Elanna did not look away from her task as she answered. “Trying to figure out a way to expand our sensory fields. I’m sick of being invaded by surprise.”

“Yes,” said Seven, stupidly. “Being invaded is inconvenient.”

B’Elanna looked at her out the side of her eye. The tube’s bronze light combined with the flashing blue and red of the tricorder to highlight the proportions and angles and curved lines of her face. 

“It sure is,” she said slowly. She sighed. “It’s a bit inevitable though. Who would’ve thought there were aliens out there capable of turning themselves invisible?”

“It is a great skill.”

“Really useful,” agreed B’Elanna. “Sure would love to incorporate that tech into ours by violent force.”

Seven set down her tricorder. “You would not love that.” B’Elanna had been angry at the idea of Borg practice. And had worked hard to save herself and her crew's data from being taken a week ago. She was being lied to in a way she wasn’t able to parse. 

B’Elanna turned fully towards her. “I know,” she said. “I was joking. Do the Borg not have jokes?”

“We found things humorous. Jokes were not functional forms of humor.”

“Right. Everyone already knows the set up and the punchline.”

“We laughed, sometimes. But we could not tell why or what caused it.”

“It’s ironic, isn't it? That you learn so much as a Borg drone and yet none of you really learn anything.”

Seven thought of the way she’s had to slow her work, triple check it, re-read operations manuals and guides as she conducts a task, having lost her ability to do something perfectly the first time. Ensign Kim had been patient with her mistakes. He did not seem to realize she needed to practice even understanding what a mistake was. It was like walking through water or on a particular massive planet. She was both used-up and new. 

“Yes,” said Seven, simply. Then she asked, “Why were you crying?”

B’Elanna frowned at her. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Seven,” said B’Elanna. “People don’t normally demand to know why someone else is crying. Especially if they’re strangers. The polite thing to do is ignore it.”

“Pain is to be addressed and ameliorated,” said Seven. “All humanoids have a large social capacity. Strangers can be curious and offer assistance.” She added after a beat. “I am not a child.”

B’Elanna studied her. Her eyes were round. Her irises were brown. She sat half-a-head below Seven. She had a single braid running down the side of her head—woven. 

“Sorry,” said B’Elanna, eventually. She folded her arms around her chest, appearing even smaller. Her gaze dropped from Seven’s. “I got defensive. I can get…aggressive, sometimes. Hostile.”

“Those are all different words and mean different things,” said Seven. “Are you all of them? You don’t seem to be any of them.”

B’Elanna pressed her lips together and said, “Defensive. I got defensive. I don’t want to talk about why I was crying.”

“Emotions shared lessens the burden of them.”

B’Elanna laughed. “I share my emotions enough, I think.”

“What do you mean by enough? Is there a quota?”

“I don’t believe you that you don’t understand jokes.”

“I never said I didn’t understand them,” said Seven. She frowned, remembering something from the assimilation of a soft human. A memory, a monochromatic image. A pair of high voices. “Who’s on first?” she asked, like it was pulled into her mouth from the root of her spinal cord. 

B’Elanna snorted and then laughed, bending over slightly while the sound of her unstrained vocal folds and the resonance of her chest cavity released into the carefully regulated air. 

“Maybe you did learn things,” said B’Elanna. 

“No,” said Seven, who had been given things as a drone, not taught them. “But I’m learning things now.” She looked to her tricorder. She had accidentally set it to the wrong mode for gathering the right measurements for the diagnostic. 

“Well, so am I,” said B’Elanna with a sigh, drawing Seven’s attention back to her with no effort. “And it’s exhausting.” She shrugged. “That’s why I was crying.”

“Because you are learning something?”

“Lessons are being taught. I’m not sure I’m the best student though.” She smiled but it dropped quickly. “Never have been.”

“What is the subject?”

“Human relations.”

“That is a difficult one.”

“I’m frequently not sure what I’m supposed to do,” said B’Elanna. “I hate failing tests.”

“Is it because you are also Klingon?”

B’Elanna seemed to curl into herself. “I’ve been told that a lot in my life.”

“Do you wish you had a sharper teeth?” 

B’Elanna looked up at her, eyebrows pulling together. “What?”

“Do you regret you did not inherit sharper teeth?”

“No,” said B’Elanna slowly. “I like my teeth just fine.”

Seven’s eyes caught on B’Elanna’s mouth. “You seem to regret something of your nature. I guessed wrong.”

“I don’t regret”—

B’Elanna abruptly stopped talked and dropped her face into her hands, rubbing at her forehead and eyebrows. Seven's eyes traced the shape of her fingers as they reflected the orange light. 

“Do you regret anything that you are?” she asked Seven. “Or is regret irrelevant?”

“Regret is irrelevant,” said Seven.

“What if I say it’s relevant to this conversation? What’s your answer then?”

“I cannot regret any part of my system because that will lead to regretting all parts of my system. And I want to live.”

B’Elanna flinched and looked down. “I once made a bomb that could’ve decimated a whole planet that just happened to be in the way.”

“Did it? Destroy the planet?”

“No,” sighed B’Elanna. “I stopped it.”

“You are productive,” said Seven. “Your abilities are relevant.”

“Relevant to what?”

“To me,” said Seven. “You made my brace.”

“The doctor asked me to make one.”

“What are the vines for?”

B’Elanna shifted in her seat. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Seven, without hesitation, unzipped her thermal suit (immediately felt the chill in just her undershirt) and pointed to the vine design at the top of the brace, resting on the bottom of her sternum. “This vine.”

B’Elanna glanced down and then away, blushing. She wiped her palms on her thighs. 

“Right,” she said. “The vine.”

“Yes,” said Seven. “The vine.”

They looked at each other without saying anything for longer than Seven normally expected in humanoid social interactions. But Seven could be patient about this.

“It’s a sturdy pattern, meant to last,” explained B’Elanna. “The structure of it flexes with expansion and relaxes with loss of tension.” She drew a little closer and delicately ran a fingernail over the pattern. “These leaves and bulbs interlock with flexion. It’s similar to how molecules in muscle fibers will pull on each other, and then release.” 

Seven nodded. “I understand.”

“Also,” added B’Elanna, cheeks pinker than normal. “It’s kind of pretty, I guess.”

“Beauty is irrelevant.”

B’Elanna considered this, biting at her bottom lip, turning it pink as well. “No,” she said. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Seven tilted her head. “Explain.”

“What’s ‘beautiful,’ well,” B’Elanna waved her hands in an aborted and jittery pattern, gaze turning up as she thought and spoke. “Well that’s not like an inherently real thing, right? People decide what’s beautiful. And they normally decide certain patterns are beautiful. Patterns that normally come from nature, right? So, that’s why I think the vines are pretty. Because it’s a pattern in nature. But nature didn’t decide to beautiful. It just formed in a functional way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, beauty is information. About people. And I know you think that’s relevant. You were raised to think it was.”

Seven absorbed this, keeping her eyes on B’Elanna as she thought. Slowly she lifted a hand and lay her palm on the brace, just over the ribcage. 

Her sensory abilities had been truly shot but the time the EMH and Kes had managed remove all the implants actively killing her. Not only did she have to contend with the fact of having a new barrier to her self in the form of a body to begin with, the information-gathering senses of her body were all calibrated differently. A touch on her leg was thirty percent more intense a single inch lower. Itchy and soft were often confused, as were pinch and pressure. But hot and cold were clear to her, as well as tense and relaxed. 

“I see,” said Seven. And some aspect of her vision was made clearer, like when B'Elanna had indirectly given her the right phase variance data. Only no psychological projections were present in the cool dark pockets of this Jeffries tube. What had been spilling out of the corners of her eyes had been collected and plugged back up, like the strength of her core muscles and those around her spine, woven and collected.

B’Elanna looked at Seven’s hand on her brace. “Is it still working for you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good.”

Seven grabbed her personal tricorder and pulled up some specs she had entered a few days before. She handed it to B’Elanna. “Can you make this?”

B’Elanna frowned down at the tricorder. She scrolled through the data and the projected design. “I could,” she said. “But it won’t work like this.”

“Can you design it so it could?”

“Probably,” said B’Elanna, handing back the tricorder. 

Seven said, surprising herself, “With all the enhancements they gave me—it was never something like this.”

B'Elanna hesitated, and then spoke, sounding confused.

“You want... wings?”

“No,” said Seven, studying the spec of the glider plane again, searching for the flaws that B’Elanna had so quickly seen. “But it’s curious, isn't it? That we never did this. There’s utility in it.” She turned the design in her hand. “Perfection in proportion.”

“Maybe the idea was irrelevant to the Borg,” said B’Elanna. 

“No,” said Seven. “I think it was antithetical.” She looked up at B’Elanna who was looking back at her as if she had suddenly appeared there. “Unproductive.”

“You called me that,” said B’Elanna. “Productive.”

“Productive, yes,” said Seven. “Or beautiful for being productive. I have to consider this concept more and adjust my expectations and boundaries of new categories. But I like your patterns—the ones you make and the ones on your face.”

“Oh,” said B’Elanna, blinking and sitting back. 

Seven waited for another response but none came except B’Elanna’s obvious surprise. “Is this another violation of the hierarchy?”

“No,” said B’Elanna, quietly. 

“Then what is it?”

“I’m surprised.”

“That’s clear.”

B’Elanna shook her head, rapidly, and then appeared to recover. She let out a long breath and some tension around her eyes and forehead disappeared. She slowly and gracefully leaned forward and lay her hand on Seven’s side, opposite to where Seven had already rested her own hand. Seven watched B’Elanna’s hand move as Seven breathed in and out. The woven material of her warm brace was made extra warm under B’Elanna’s gentle fingers. 

"I'm glad it's working well for you," she whispered to Seven.

The conduits and cables whirred and buzzed around them, soft sounds of well-cared-for machines. The Jeffries tube seemed to project a fragile peace with the echo of an unhurt or healing ship. The bodied energy of the narrow corridor in the simple gold light infused Seven cleared-vision. She remembered, abruptly, a youthful day spent at a beach, in the sun.

Seven looked down at B’Elanna and realized she wanted to kiss her—her ridged face, her nose, her pink mouth. That would be productive. 

Instead of that happening, though, B’Elanna leaned forward and kissed Seven. She left the tenderest imprint of her lips on Seven’s cheek, warm. Seven nearly reared away, in fear. She nearly grabbed B’Elanna with a perpetual grip, the urge to capture her and keep what she knows overwhelming her. 

Then B’Elanna pulled back with a smile, grabbed her tricorder, and said, “Thanks.” With another soft touch on Seven’s ribcage, she left. 

Seven looked after her, frowning. “What for?” she asked, nonsensically to no one. But it was a rational question. B’Elanna had been the one to help her. 

She returned to her scavenged duties, though, feeling gathered in. 

[tweenlove-n-hate]

The Scientific Study of Destiny - Updated

Chapter 8- Collection of Data - Part 6

What’s supposed to be Chapter 8 but is #9 on AO3 is now available. This chapter increased the rating of the story from T to M due to Triggers! Please note the trigger warning at the top of the chapter.

Please keep in mind that this story is also written from the perspective of a neurodivergent white female character. Who does not face the same treatments and doesn't know how she's meant to proceed or feel. She tries her best to be sensitive (as I do as well) with this content. If I have failed in this, please let me know where and I will work to fix it to better balance the narrative.

NOW AVAILABLE

Sneak Peek:

Galinda frowned, her chest tightening. It was hard to breathe again. But she, she couldn’t let Elphaba know how upset she was. How much she wanted to just, just shake Elphaba’s shoulders and demand why she wasn’t good enough.

What did she have to do for Elphaba to choose her?

What would make her a worthy choice for Elphaba?

What did she have to do for Elphaba to want her to be her Destined?

“Are you finished?” Elphaba questioned after a few prolonged moments of silence, pulling and toying with her fingers, her eyes downcast and away from Galinda. “With your story and my hair?”

“Oh. Right. No. Here let me…” Galinda went back over to her bed, retaking her former position. Elphaba sat back down and Galinda picked up the wet strands of thick black hair and began where she left off. This time, not trying to break the silence with idle chatter. She had a lot to ruminate over as it was.

This was the most they had touched in the last four months of knowing each other. Elphaba’s skin was as soft as she imagined it would be. And her shampoo smelled earthy. Like it did after the rain. What was the word for that again, petra. Ichor. No, no oh! Petrichor.

It was nice. Almost too nice. She could get used to being this close to Elphaba.

But how could she get used to it when Elphaba didn’t want her, simply because Destiny had said they were supposed to be together?

Fact: Elphaba didn’t believe in soulbonds. Fact: Elphaba Didn’t want a soulmate. Assumption: Elphaba didn’t want Galinda.

Chapter 8 NOW AVAILABLE HERE

[botgal]

oh and which sites will be affected ofc

AB 3080, according to the bill's text, would affect websites which sells the types of items listed below

"

(b) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) An aerosol container of paint that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(2) Etching cream that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(3) Dangerous fireworks, as referenced in Sections 12505 and 12689 of the Health and Safety Code.

(4) Tanning in an ultraviolet tanning device, as referenced in Sections 22702 and 22706 of the Business and Professions Code.

(5) Dietary supplement products containing ephedrine group alkaloids, as referenced in Section 110423.2 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) Body branding, as referenced in Sections 119301 and 119302 of the Health and Safety Code.

(c) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) Firearms or handguns, as referenced in Sections 16520, 16640, and 27505 of the Penal Code.

(2) A BB device, as referenced in Sections 16250 and 19910 of the Penal Code.

(3) Ammunition or reloaded ammunition, as referenced in Sections 16150 and 30300 of the Penal Code.

(4) Any tobacco, cigarette, cigarette papers, blunt wraps, any other preparation of tobacco, any other instrument or paraphernalia that is designed for the smoking or ingestion of tobacco, products prepared from tobacco, or any controlled substance, as referenced in Division 8.5 (commencing with Section 22950) of the Business and Professions Code, and Sections 308, 308.1, 308.2, and 308.3 of the Penal Code.

(5) Electronic cigarettes, as referenced in Section 119406 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) A less lethal weapon, as referenced in Sections 16780 and 19405 of the Penal Code."

This is stated explicitly to include "internet website on which the owner of the internet website, for commercial gain, knowingly publishes sexually explicit content that, on an annual basis, exceeds one-third of the contents published on the internet website". Wherein "sexually explicit content" is defined as "visual imagery of an individual or individuals engaging in an act of masturbation, sexual intercourse, oral copulation, or other overtly sexual conduct that, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value."

This would likely not include websites like AO3 or any website which displays NSFW content not in excess of 1/3 of the content on the site. Possibly not inclusive of writing because of the "visual imagery", but don't know at this time. In any case we don't want to set a precedent off of which it could springboard into non-commercial websites or any and all places with NSFW content.

AB 1949 is a lot more broad because it's about general data collection by any and all websites in which they might sell personal data collected by the website to third parties, especially if aimed specifically at minors or has a high chance of minors commonly accesses the site. But with how broad the language is I can't say there would be ANY limits to this one. So both are equally bad and would require equal attention in my opinion.

[discolesbo]

Before final arc: Top judar bottom hakuryuu

Final arc and post-canon: Top hakuryuu bottom judar

[manicpixiedreamcrowley]

⸻ GOOD OMENS fic recs ‼️ (march '23)

a collection of some of the fics i've read this month! includes title, links, author, chapter count, word count, summary, and my added notes ♡

→ 10 fics listed, if any of the links don't work be sure to let me know so i can fix it!

→ feel free to ask me for other fic recs at any time! i love sorting and finding fics, feel free to give me a certain theme or tag and i'll scrounge some up

-> i can also try to find lost fics, just give me a short summary/description of the fic and everything you can remember about it

"get religion quick (cause you're looking divine)" by brinnanza (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 4.2k

So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

notes: definitely a personal favorite of mine, my history says i've read this 6 times even though i've downloaded this fic to read when i don't have data

"you play with my feelings (right from the start)" by penrosesun (AO3)

oneshot, 3.4k

There were three things of which Crowley was absolutely certain: 1. Aziraphale, being an angel, was required to be kind and loving towards all things, even when those things were flawed or sinful or fallen. 2. Notwithstanding that obligatory kindness, Aziraphale would never, and could never truly love a demon, in any meaningful sense. 3. Despite this, Crowley was desperately, hopelessly, in love with him.

notes: i put these next to each other because this fic is inspired by the one above, but told through crowley's point of view

"what they say about assumptions" by dragongirl (AO3)

oneshot, 7.9k

While it’s true that God bestowed upon the angels the divine power to sense love of all kinds, that does not mean they were given the ability to sense exactly who or what that love is directed at. A minor design flaw that hasn’t been much of an issue. Until now. Or: Aziraphale has known that Crowley loved someone since the beginning. He’s also spent most of that time believing that someone was a demon.

notes: i know it says angst but the concept is so incredibly funny. that oblivious aziraphale tag is there for a REASON

"crowley, when the walls fell" by ineffablefool (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 3.5k

Aziraphale looked around again, a thoughtful frown pulling at his lips. “I know what human love feels like, and this is… as I said, out of focus. Sideways, somehow. It doesn’t flow the same way.” He tilted his head, almost as if he was listening for a moment, then continued. “And now I think of it, it’s almost familiar somehow, too.” (Crowley keeps working to hide his love from Aziraphale. Aziraphale keeps sensing it anyway. Aziraphale just doesn't know what it is, until...)

notes: aziraphale is so sweet and crowley is down horrendously bad

"like he hung the stars in the sky" by asideofourown (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 4.2k

BREAKING: SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN DISARRAY AS NEWCOMER UPENDS DOZENS OF ACCEPTED THEORIES Up and coming British astrophysicist Dr. Anthony J. Crowley has rocked the science world this week with his research that proves many previously-accepted scientific theories about dark matter and the nature of our universe completely wrong. Dubbed the ‘Devil’s Theory,’ Crowley’s research has made the astrophysicist a star practically overnight, and one of the most sought-after scientists in the country. “There’s so much you humans don’t understand about the universe, it’s not my fault that I do,” he said in a statement to BBC reporter Jane Smith. “Just you wait!” [Crowley can't keep his mouth shut about the stars, and accidentally becomes a famous scientist. Based on this!]

notes: oh my god this is incredibly well written and so funny, i would read a thousand more fics just like this !! also - the link i copied directly from the fic (about the post they wrote this based off of) no longer works

"a guide to fame for the enterprising demon" by asideofourown (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 8.2k

tildeathdoustogether ok friends so i know we all joke about, like john mulaney and keanu reeves and hozier being immortals, but… i really think we gotta add anthony j. crowley to that list thelongest27yearsofmylife reblogged and said: Christ, Beth, Anthony Crowley is an increasingly popular, openly queer creator with explicitly queer rep in his work that’s really important to some people, can you not make this into a meme for ONCE in your life? tildeathdoustogether reblogged and said: you think i’m joking but. i’m not. l i s t e n i did not get a history degree for nothing, i have RECEIPTS. buckle in kiddos this is a wild ride [Crowley accidentally gets a bit famous, and the internet figures out he may be a bit immortal]

notes: this is so funny i'm going to lose my mind i'm actually obsessed with social media fics

"like a juke box playing the same dead record" by raiining (AO3)

oneshot, 8.1k

“We’re not friends,” Crowley growls. He hears the angel suck in a breath and thinks, with some mean part of himself, good. “You said that we’re not. You don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine.”

notes: crowley using all the hurtful things aziraphale has said to him in the past to try to keep himself from loving him and still loving him anyways..OUGH

"the bizarre demons of AZ Fell & Co antique booksellers" by worseomens (AO3/tumblr)

2/2, 8k

The Ghoul Boys come to Soho to investigate a famously strange antique bookshop.

notes: the good omens & bfu crossover i didn't know i needed

"never judge books by their...?" by worseomens (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 4.4k

There's a burglary in Soho, right across the road from AZ Fell & Co's Antique Bookseller's. An angel and a demon are called in for questioning, and the detectives involved start to form opinions... (OR: Crowley's a flirt, and Aziraphale doesn't do PDA; people start to get the wrong idea)

notes: outsider pov fic and every time i try to add more here i just end up spoiling it so just go read it

"digging for gold" by worseomens (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 5.6k

Crowley finally stops hiding his visits to the bookshop, now the celestial powers-that-be have decided to butt out, only to be faced with a whole new challenge. (OR: The people of Soho make sure this newcomer isn’t about to hurt their beloved local madman)

notes: also an outsider pov fic and another personal favorite of mine

[partofmycharm]

Frostbite - Part 1

Originally posted on AO3 under the same name.

A/N: I originally wasn’t going to post this here, but I thought why the hell not? I’ve been planning on doing a Part 2 for a long while, but between this and my two other fics, I’m not sure when it would possibly come out. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

This oneshot was inspired by a work done by friendly-alien-fucker.  

Pairing: Yautja (Male) x OC (Female)

Word Count: 10,585

Content Warnings: graphic injuries, SFW

Description: Unsavoury circumstances lead to accidental encounters. Lisa Stewart and Za’the must turn to each other for support to survive in such unexpected times.

Za’the = (zah-theh)

Wuthering winds carried the indecipherable whispers of threats and promises across the blanketed land, a sheet of unforgiving white building higher with each passing minute. A shrill, sharp beep was swallowed by the currents of air in their attempts to decimate the lifeless trees, but 29-year-old Lisa Stewart felt the vibration run the length of her left arm. Pausing only momentarily, she brought up her hand to view the thin transparent band wrapped around her wrist only to find, much to her disappointment, that her climate-adaptable suit had reached a charge of only ten per cent. The red bar flashed ominously through the permanent haze of white then blinked from existence when Lisa lowered her hand.

Lisa adjusted the snap-on balaclava to sit further up the bridge of her nose, the skin around her eyes feeling much like icicles. Her eyes burned with every blink, watering to the point her vision blurred and distorted. Lisa, once again, turned in every direction to decipher where she had originally come from, but the winds had already covered the deep tracks she’d made in the snow. Every direction felt like a translucent sheet of white was hovering in front of her face, even the bare trees scattered sparsely around her were barely distinguishable. The blonde tried to take a step forward but was immediately pushed to the side; she staggered into a thin tree trunk, where she brought her hands up to catch her balance, a quiet expletive rolling past her lips.

The opportunity to join the Istratus Investigations team opened a short six months ago, and Lisa snatched it quicker than her eyes could blink. It was a dream not only for her but for all budding scientists to work under the I.I. name. It was a carefully organised team of various scientific disciplines working harmoniously to uncover the exciting mysteries that the Istratus system offered. Fresh from her ethology postgraduate studies, Lisa had been a high contender ever since her application slid into their systems.

It was the first time that the I.I. had organised an expedition to Istratus B after many months of careful calculations and data collection. This planet was home to some of the most unique fauna seen thus far, however, the severe weather patterns had pushed back the visitation plans even long before Lisa had joined the team. It was a large group that had been sent down to the planet’s surface from the home base only a few systems away, and the volunteers were composed of ecologists, botanists, ethologists, and begrudging United Nations Space Military specialists ordered to keep the scientists in line. The main idea was to collect as many samples as possible, but the ethology team were tasked to observe the wondrous Remither animal — a mammal that vaguely resembled an Earthly feline.

By day three of the expedition, it had become painfully apparent that whoever had submitted the mathematical data was wrong and ought to be fired for their costly mistake. The data hadn’t accounted for or predicted any oncoming blizzards, which had fucked up the entire expedition team just a couple of hours short of the working day end. The ethology team had been a little further than what the United Nations Space Military soldiers allowed when the blizzard hit, and the scientists were swept away in the haze. Lisa wouldn’t be surprised if their temporary camp, as flimsy as it was, was destroyed. She knew she should have stayed put and waited until help arrived, but as days drew to a close, so did the batteries in their suits. The walk to and from the temporary camp and the established ethology site was a decent one, and Lisa wanted to be one step ahead, but it was painfully obvious she hadn’t paid much attention in her survivalist tutorials. Now, she possessed an absolute maximum of two hours left in her heated suit. And after that? The fauna would be enjoying her body like a nice icy treat from the freezer.

“God fucking damnit,” Lisa swore again. She pushed through the strong winds, seeking any sort of landmark that could clue her to her location, but everything looked the damn same. All Lisa knew was that the camp was located north but there was no compass function on her wristband, and the only manual one had been tucked into the pockets of another scientist.

Lisa flicked her hand up again, so the clear band secured around her wrist flashed on. She tapped out of the battery saving option, which was flashing with an insistent message, telling her that lowering the suit’s temperature would preserve the battery longer. No, thanks. Lisa swiped the message away and accessed the SOS feature, which delivered another pop-up to remind her that it wasn’t available, just another fuck you from the universe. All the watch features required, at minimum, a loose connection to function, which meant that she wasn’t moving in the right direction.

It was seriously frustrating — all the big companies preached technological advancement and fine-tuning ease of access, but they had still yet to make a simple offline feature!

Lisa stumbled between a thicket of thin trees, all bending precariously in sync with the howling winds. Snowflakes speckled the exterior of her silvery grey suit, completely covering the emblem bearing the I.I. logo, her surname printed in bold just beneath. The hi-vis bands wrapped around her upper arms reflected the low sunlight, winking at the trees before disappearing into the blanket that encompassed the environment. Lisa had yet to spot anyone else’s hi-vis’, proving to her that they’d all been swept in different directions. She envied the one guy who’d had the compass — he was most likely relaxing in the destroyed camp with a steaming mug of coffee.

A particularly strong gust of wind blew Lisa right off her feet. She landed with an oomph in the snow and then quickly looked around, her cheeks heating up, despite the fact her mind knew there had been no one to see it happen. More profanities slipped past her lips as she used a bending tree to awkwardly pull herself to her feet. If anyone were to see her, she would look like a baby taking its first steps. Lisa breathed steadily then continued pushing forward, shaking away the thoughts, and thanking the suit manufacturer’s for making the material waterproof.

Through the haze of snow, Lisa glimpsed a rounded jagged structure slowly coming into view. She squinted as if it would help her see better and then staggered towards it, feeling much like a bowling ball knocking into its pins. She almost slipped on her arse if her reflexes hadn’t been fast enough (or it was dumb luck).

Lisa pushed forward to make out the mouth of a cave. Her skin prickled; she could only guess what strange, possibly dangerous, creatures were seeking cover from the blizzard here, too. She hesitated for only a moment before shuffling inside until the flecks of snow stopped hitting her behind, the darkness instead an elusive welcoming to swallow her whole.

Water dripped off the walls ominously, and jutting rocks protruded from the ground and around, threatening to slice her up if she got just that little bit too close. There was not much else to make out as of yet. Lisa flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders; at least the cave was a reprieve from the strong winds pushing her around, and she could finally feel in control of her body again. The howls of the planet’s wrath wailed like tornado sirens and carried an eerie tune through the cave’s expanse.

The blonde bent down to remove the small backpack off her shoulders. She dusted the snow off and unzipped it to remove the handheld torch. Each person was supplied with an emergency kit, which included only a torch, flare, ration pack, a blanket, and a lighter. Lisa stuffed the kit back in with her glass tablet, stylus pen, and samples that she had been holding for someone else.

She threw the straps back over her shoulders and then clicked the torch on. It wasn’t high-powered, but it was strong enough to illuminate the strange green substance that drooled down a jutting rock. Lisa almost reeled back at the sight then curiously leaned in closer to further observe. It seemed to have a thick consistency and smelt like metal. Lisa rose her brows; could it be blood?

She turned to face the inner cave again, finding that the green substance trailed further inside, fresh. Lisa was tempted to shout ‘hello’ like the stupid protagonist in a horror movie. She smiled at her own childish thoughts, but the gesture quickly dropped when realisation dawned on her. There was something bleeding in this cave — the same cave she now stood in… for shelter… and she had not the slightest clue as to what it was.

Swallowing nervously, Lisa decided she wouldn’t stray too far from the entrance. She had comprehensively studied all the known flora and fauna in this ecosystem, and her mind failed to conjure any memory of something that bled green blood, which led her to believe that, perhaps, it wasn’t really blood.

Her seemingly half-smart idea didn’t pan out too well, for Lisa quickly came across the very source hiding behind a boulder. She gasped at the giant bipedal creature lying supine; a hand came to her covered mouth as her dark brown eyes observed the unfamiliar body. It was clearly intelligent for it bore armour and an intricately designed mask, from the four horn-like protrusions at the top (with one snapped clean off halfway to the base) to the downward sloped brows providing an edge to the upturned eyes, and the ridge on the bottom split in half before smoothing to form the cheeks.

Lisa swept the torch over the body to further observe the tube-like appendages sprawled around its head like water. The being wore a single pauldron, greaves, and gauntlets; all of which were heavily dented and barely covering the shredded, thick netting that seemed it was supposed to cover its entire body. The being didn’t seem to acknowledge her, so perhaps it was unconscious, which dared Lisa to step just that little bit closer to analyse the giant gash deep in its side, where rivulets of green blood continued to leak from its open flesh. Smaller scratches decorated the muscular expanse of its sculpted body; had this being participated in some gruelling battle before finding sanctuary here?

Lisa swept the light around the cave, ensuring they were truly alone. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end — she no longer felt safe. This being looked like it had been created for the sheer purpose of intimidation and destruction, and Lisa dreaded to think what other creature could inflict the extent of these nasty wounds. The idea was unnerving; the thought that perhaps this being was the bad guy even more so. Lisa would brave the elements outside if it meant putting distance between her and this thing. She didn’t recognise it at all, and data from the geographical scans didn’t indicate signs of intelligent life. This most likely meant it had come from somewhere else, which unsettled her greatly.

As Lisa moved to step away, the hand that was previously laying over its stomach quickly shot out and wrapped around her shin. A noise of shock rolled from the back of Lisa’s throat, and she accidentally dropped her torch, the glass shattering on impact. The being’s head slowly turned to look at her, and Lisa’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“Let go of me!” Lisa said forcefully. A weak, guttural sound emanated from behind the ghoulish mask; had this thing understood her?! Lisa wasn’t going to lie, the sound was intimidating, and every fibre of her being fought to shrink under the empty stare the mask eerily provided.

The being tried to pull her closer, but its movements were weak; frigid. Lisa forced her leg out of its grip; its fingers stayed in the same position before its arm slowly lowered back to the ground. A twinge of guilt pinched Lisa’s chest, and she gathered the gall to kneel, her eyes sweeping up and down its body. She hesitantly reached a gloved hand out, to which the being produced a pathetic rumbled warning, but Lisa ignored it in favour of hovering the back of her hand above its reptilian skin. Even through the suit, she could feel the coldness that radiated from its body.

Was it looking for warmth?

The being’s head suddenly lolled to the side, and Lisa watched with a frown as it fell into another slumber. She blew out a breath. “Okay… alright…” she whispered. There were two options: get the hell out of dodge or help the poor being who seemed to be wasting away with each precious second she took to think. There was always the possibility that this being could be bad, but could Lisa live with the guilt?

The blonde hesitated. If Lisa was in that situation, she would want someone to help her. That very thought alone convinced her to stay, even if the hulking ball of muscle looked like it would kill her as soon as it gained clarity.

Lisa chewed her lip as she shrugged the bag off her back again. She removed the thermal blanket from the emergency kit; it was an old brand therefore the mechanics weren’t as high-powered as her suit. Regardless, Lisa removed it from the packaging, fluffed it out, and gently laid it over the being’s body. She uncovered the gash on its side, where bits of green blood stuck to the blanket’s fibres.

Back in the bag, there was a small first-aid kit that all personnel were required to carry, but the most it packed was gauze, band-aids, non-stick pads, tweezers, bandages, antiseptic cream, sterile gloves, and saline water. The soldiers were the ones who carried the bulk of the medical equipment. Lisa grabbed the saline water and tore off the plastic.

She poured the entire packet over the wound, which diluted the blood on the ground beneath the body. She only had basic first aid and CPR training (God she hoped she didn’t have to perform CPR on this thing), which meant she wasn’t exactly equipped to deal with major injuries such as this. Lisa mulled in thought then grabbed a gauze sheet to dab away the rest of the blood, most of it having already coagulated and crusted. It revealed the true nastiness of the wound; the being’s hide peeling back over the ribbons of torn muscle.

Lisa frowned empathetically as she unscrewed the small antiseptic cream tube and squeezed as much as she could over the injury. The surrounding muscles tensed and rippled, and Lisa paused to see if the creature would wake. When it didn’t, she continued her treatment until the entire surface was smeared in cream, and then she covered most of the wound with the non-stick pads. She cautiously leaned her knee against them to keep them in place, for wrapping a bandage around its torso would be near impossible.

When everything was done as best as it could be, Lisa checked her wristband again. There wouldn’t be a signal this far away, for a cave wasn’t even included in the geographical boundaries, so she tapped out of the SOS option and brought up the battery. Eight per cent remained — not good. Lisa chewed her bottom lip and then resorted to waiting with the tension rising in her body with each passing second (as if there was anything else to do).

It wasn’t long before the being woke up again. Lisa assumed it was a male due to its lack of breasts, though she didn’t want to open up the topic of this alien species’ sexual dimorphism. For now, it was a he, and he was unpleasantly surprised with the new conditions. The male jolted, a rumble of complaint coming from him, and he made to grab Lisa, but he was slow, and she managed to scramble away from him. Both of the non-stick pads fluttered to the ground with pathetic little slaps, their surfaces covered in blood.

Lisa held up her hands to placate him. “Whoa! Friends. I’m a friend, okay?”

The being hesitated. He stared at her then tried to look down at his wound. He lifted the blanket higher, allowing Lisa a moment to observe the nasty-looking claws tipping his fingers. She turned her eyes back to his mask, feeling her body relax as he thudded his head back on the ground in resignation. Lisa felt her chest tighten at the sight of a powerful looking being appearing so weak, unable to defend himself.

The silence stretched before the being tried pushing himself into a seated position, evidently struggling under strained muscles and grunts. Lisa widened her eyes and shook her hands.

“What are you doing?” She asked frantically. “Stop! You’ll hurt yourself more.”

The male snapped his head to look at her for a brief moment and then proceeded with his movements. They were slow, almost robotic. It would probably take a long time for his body to heal from what Lisa presumed was frostbite, considering he had strutted around with his arse and tits out while a blizzard rolled its way through. His hide had adopted an icy twinge, discolouring his coffee brown and cream mottling body.

He slowly leaned against the boulder, inspecting the blanket as he did so. His body instinctively hunched in on itself as soon as he moved into the seated position; it seemed no matter how hard he tried to maintain a hard composure, his weakened body reigned in control. The male brought the blanket closer to his masked face then he slowly turned to stare at Lisa. They sat in a silence that made Lisa’s skin crawl, her tongue itching with the urge to just say something, to fill the awkward void hanging between them.

“Um… I’m Lisa,” she said quietly. She tried to muster a shy smile. “What’s your name? That is, if you feel comfortable telling me.”

The male tilted his head. His tresses fell over one shoulder as he regarded her. Then, he tried to bring a fist to his chest, but his muscles strained, and the movement appeared frigid as if he was fighting against his own body to do it. “Za’the…” came the rugged, strained, and shaking voice beneath the mask.

“Za’the?” Lisa asked, which earned her a nod of confirmation. “Okay… I’ll work on my pronunciation, then.” She smiled politely and then turned to her bag, weights lifting off her shoulders. “Are you hungry? I have some food here, but… it’s not much.” She conspicuously analysed the bulk of his body.

When Lisa pulled the stupidly small ration pack out, Za’the shook his head. Fair enough. It probably wouldn’t sustain him, even in full health. But Lisa didn’t want to appear rude and eat in front of him, so she tucked it away and then awkwardly tapped her shins.

She gestured to the injury now hidden under the blanket. “So, what happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Silence. Za’the regarded her with his head tilted again. There came an odd clicking behind his mask, but Lisa didn’t want to assume what that could mean.

“Not much of a talker, I see,” Lisa said, nodding. “Well, I’m an ethologist. My teammates and I were separated when the storm hit. We’re just gathering some data, but the others are observing the Remither. Do you know what that is? It’s like a feline. A cat.”

Za’the nodded. Lisa’s chest flooded with relief; it was nice to talk to someone, even if that someone couldn’t really talk back. Sure, no one would believe her — this could very well be an extremely vivid hallucination. Since conquering faster-than-light space travel, mankind hadn’t been particularly hospitable towards other alien species. Humans kept to themselves; they certainly wouldn’t believe that Lisa had treated and was conversing with an unknown intelligent space being. Surely, humans had met all the space-faring civilisations, but the evidence was sitting right in front of her. How was it possible? Were they a small collection? Or were some humans privy to this information? It wasn’t far-fetched.

“Yeah. Pretty cool animals. Well, I mean, I guess everything’s pretty cool to me.” Lisa shrugged as she spiralled into a tangent. “I’ve never been to this planet before. You from around here?”

Za’the shook his head.

“I gathered that,” Lisa said. “Thought I’d ask, though. I’m just worried about everyone else. Not a lot of people have experienced a blizzard before. I mean, I have, but not like this. I’m actually from Earth. Have you been there?”

Despite the fact that Lisa was rambling, Za’the humbled her with a nod. Lisa raised her brows, impressed.

“Really? I’m from Australia. Have you been there?” Lisa asked, but she gave him no time to consider the question or answer before she was moving on already. “I actually travelled when I was doing my thesis back in university. And now I’m here…” when she realised her mind was meandering, she quickly shut her mouth, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. People tell me I talk too much. I don’t mean to, though.”

The cave became alight with the quiet hrnn, hrnn, hrnn sounds that seemed to come from Za’the. His shoulders shook in sync with the noise, and Lisa quickly realised he was laughing; whether at her or with her, she didn’t really know.

Lisa smiled nervously. “Um… yeah, look, just tell me to shut up when you want me to stop, okay?” She said, and her smile wavered. Za’the just continued to observe after he calmed down. “Anyways… that’s some real nice armour you got there.” Lisa awkwardly rubbed her arm.

Za’the tried to look down at his body but there was only the fluffy thermal blanket still wrapped around him. He turned to look at Lisa again, and he produced more grunt-like and clicking noises, both of which worked together in unity. Recognition dawned in Lisa’s eyes as she realised that he was trying to communicate with her — he had been talking back nearly this whole time!

Lisa nodded as if she understood him. “It’s a shame they’re all fucked up like that. Were you attacked by somebody?” She asked. Za’the started to nod but stopped quickly. He tilted his head in regard, eliciting a coy smile from Lisa.

A shiver, or what seemed to be one, wracked Za’the’s body. Considering his hide had appeared to be decently thick when Lisa was treating him, it was hard to imagine just how cold he had to be. Lisa immediately leaned forward and grabbed the small control block attached to the blanket’s corner. Za’the watched her as she accessed the temperature controls and raised it by a couple of degrees.

“Is that better?” Lisa asked. Za’the’s nod satisfied her, so she sat back. A shrill beep then emanated from her wrist, catching both of their attention. A matching vibration ran the length of Lisa’s arm, and she quickly flicked up her hand as dread oozed its way into her beating heart. The screen blinked to life and flashed a chest-squeezing ‘5%’ above the thinning red line. “Ah, crap.”

Lisa quickly moved to detach the balaclava, hoping to preserve the last of her battery before she had to brave the elements. It snapped off the collar of her suit, and her short blonde hair fell around her face in tangled knots. The cold became apparent immediately, and Lisa hastily dragged a gloved hand across her pinkened cheeks and nose. The winds still carried howls of conspicuous whispers in raging disarray, and the damp rocky walls provided an extra layer of cold on top of the snow peppering the entrance.

“I wonder how long we’ll be here,” Lisa said, lowering her hands. She glanced at the band around her wrist one last time, more so as a reassuring gesture than anything else, for the SOS option would not become available until she started moving closer to the camp.

Lisa smiled mirthlessly. “And to think it was all for some stupid ‘real-life experience’,” she said with air quotations. “You know, when I think about it, it would’ve been much cheaper to send an android or some rover here instead.”

Za’the didn’t respond, but he wasn’t expected to. Lisa sadly glanced at the flashing battery percentage again, as if doing so willed it to charge back up. Her chest deflated, and a defeated sigh brushed past her lips. There was a moment of silence before Lisa looked back up again to see that Za’the was still staring.

When they made eye contact, he slowly began moving one of his arms. Lisa didn’t bother reprimanding him this time (he clearly wouldn’t listen), so she watched with a cock of her brow instead. Za’the opened the blanket towards her and tilted his head, an invitation.

“Are you sure?” Lisa asked quietly. Her heart rate picked up at the idea of being in such proximity to him; she would be sitting in his lap! Za’the seemed like a decent… alien… but she didn’t want to invade his privacy nor accidentally hurt him. At the same time, Lisa supposed he could be returning the kindness. She scratched his back, now he’s scratching hers.

Za’the nodded carefully. Lisa hesitated then began shuffling forward. She tried not to think about how awkward she appeared and instead focused on turning herself around so she could gently lower herself into his lap. Za’the’s arm immediately enclosed around her, and he brought the blanket up again. His legs were rock solid beneath her arse, so Lisa adjusted herself until she was comfortable.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a friendly alien?” Lisa asked. Za’the tilted his head downward to look at her then shook it. He began speaking again, and Lisa’s mind drifted as she imagined all the anatomical structures his face could possibly take to make those clicking sounds. Did she want to know?

Lisa turned her head to the side, feeling just how cold his scaly hide actually was. She frowned. “How long have you been here?” She asked gently.

Za’the shrugged. The movement seemed to cause him pain for his muscles immediately tensed, and his breathing halted. He released a deep, slow, and rattling breath. Lisa brought a hand to his chest in an attempt to ease him.

“Hey. Just relax, okay?” She said. Za’the rested his head against the boulder with a quiet thunk. Lisa adjusted the blanket around her and then tucked it over Za’the’s shoulders, ensuring he got the most out of the warmth it provided.

“Did you know this is my first time holidaying on another planet?” Lisa asked idly. She cautiously leaned her head against his shoulder, trying to get comfortable, while she also kept mindful of his injury. “I always dreamed of it growing up. But, you know, everyone always told me that only the smartest could travel. Now look where I am… and where they are.” Lisa abruptly cut herself short before she ventured any further.

Za’the clicked slowly. A response eventually died off Lisa’s tongue; there was only so much to be said in a one-sided conversation before the topics ran out. Instead, Lisa allowed her body to relax, enveloped by the strange security that Za’the offered. “I just wish I knew what you were saying…” Lisa whispered as her eyelids grew heavier. The exhaustion crept up on her like a scampering mouse, and all she wanted was to rest until the storm passed over.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the ferocious winds that drowned even their breaths. Lisa could feel her body drooping with each passing second as she began to lose her consciousness. She eventually dipped into the darkness, favouring the falsities of her imagination over the harsh reality she hadn’t quite accepted yet.

                                                       ▲▲▲

Lisa slowly blinked into awareness. She barely registered the warmth cocooning her body until she felt muscles ripple beneath her. Clarity awakened her like a nice slap in the face, and the blonde stirred immediately. Lisa moved to look around the cave, but it seemed the batteries in the torch had run out, for there was darkness as far as her eyes could see.

Za’the looked down at her when she moved, and a deep rumble emanated from his chest. Lisa craned her neck to look at him and smiled in amusement. “I imagine you’re saying hello,” she said quietly. “Did you sleep?”

Za’the shook his head. Lisa frowned, guilt ebbing at her sides, and sat up a little straighter. “Why don’t you get some rest? It’ll be okay,” she suggested gently. When there came no response (not like she expected one), Lisa peeked under the blanket to glance at her wristband. The percentage ominously flashed ‘2%’ like it was a teasing child. Lisa huffed and brought her head from under the blanket.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” She asked, to which she earned a headshake. “Okay…” Lisa carefully reached forward, mindful of Za’the’s injury, and grabbed her backpack to remove the ration pack. The hunger pains in her stomach reigned over the guilt that crept forward when she thought about eating in front of Za’the. When Lisa settled back against his chest, she noticed that his hide had considerably warmed. She smiled almost instinctually. “You’re warming up,” she commented.

Lisa then tore the ration pack, which proved to be a vegetable pasta MRE. Lisa pulled out the foldable plastic spork and ate slowly to settle the aches in her stomach. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” Lisa asked, bringing the spork up.

Za’the gently pushed her arm back down. Lisa half-shrugged. “Okay, I get it. You don’t want me to see your face.” She swallowed a bland mouthful. “You know, you’ve seen mine. I get we all can’t be as pretty as me, but that’s no reason to hide.”

A rumble that sounded much like a warning vibrated Lisa’s back. She smiled in mirth. “I’m just messing with you.” When she went to eat another mouthful, Za’the knocked her hand, and the contents rolled down the front of her suit and onto the ground with a sad splat. “Hey!”

Za’the laughed, but he instantly tensed at the movement and settled after a few seconds. Lisa frowned empathetically. “We should get that fixed soon, hey?” She said gently. She turned to discard the empty MRE packet somewhere off to the side then moved back under the blanket. “I swear, once we’re done here, I’m lodging a complaint. The emergency kit is super outdated. I mean, look! My torch ran out of batteries after… what? An hour. Ridiculous. Who uses batteries these days, anyway?”

Lisa shook her head in disbelief. If Za’the wasn’t there, she would be losing her mind, if she hadn’t already. And to think she was finding comfort in an alien! Never in a million years did Lisa imagine she would befriend another intelligent being, and in a situation where they needed to rely on each other to survive, no less. Lisa had no doubt in her mind that Za’the would be dying if she had not given him some treatment, no matter how little it actually was. It was better than nothing.

“So, how long do you reckon until the storm’s over?” Lisa asked quietly after a few long seconds of silence. Her body moved in sync with Za’the’s deep, even breaths, and she looked up at him to see his head tilt down towards her. They regarded each other for a second, but to Lisa, it felt much longer. Her heart skipped a few beats at their intimacy, and she mustered all her energy into not thinking about how it felt to have one of his strong arms wrapped around her back.

Za’the tilted his head left then right, an understandable substitute for shrugging his shoulders. Lisa frowned, realising how bad her question came across. “You know, just a general question. I’m not trying to get out of here sooner… it’s not like I don’t like you or anything. I think you’re great. It’s just… cold, you know? But I do like being here,” she rambled before cutting herself short. Her cheeks warmed instantly.

Lisa wasn’t sure if Za’the laughing made her want to die of embarrassment even more than if he had stayed silent. She inhaled sharply to steady her racing heart just as Za’the adjusted his grip around her. His arm snaked around her middle, holding her closer, and Lisa ducked her head.

“Do you treat all the women you meet like this?” She asked sarcastically, her voice muffled. Za’the didn’t have the opportunity to respond as incessant beeping erupted from Lisa’s wrist, sending waves of vibrations up her arm. Lisa’s heart dropped into her stomach as she quickly flicked the blanket over her head to view her wristband.

The empty battery image flashed cruelly before the band switched off, showing nothing but the cloth of her suit. The heat began to dim considerably before Lisa was subjected to the true nature of the outside, forcing her to realise just how little warmth the blanket provided. “Ah, fuck,” she whispered. Lisa slowly lifted her head and instinctively curled closer to Za’the. “Sorry,” she said after a moment.

Za’the didn’t respond. Instead, he opted to wrap the blanket tighter around themselves, the absence of the suit’s warmth chilling his body, too. Lisa brought her hands to her chest and, after a moment of tense hesitation, slowly settled the side of her head into the crook of Za’the’s neck.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Lisa said quietly. Za’the slowly lowered his head until the cold biting of his mask pressed against her hairline. A gentle, steady purr rumbled from his throat, the vibrations of which ran through Lisa’s body. “That’s a surprise…” the blonde said drowsily.

Silence dipped between them again as they listened to the howling winds. Despite having rested earlier, Za’the’s purring lulled Lisa to sleep again. The consistent sound emanating from the male helped her muscles relax, even in the absence of the comfort of her warm suit. Lisa distantly wondered what would have happened had she not found the cave, and she suddenly became alight with gratefulness. Za’the may be an alien — a scary looking one at that —, but he had treated her better than any self-proclaimed gentleman so far.

“Maybe… you should get some rest, too…” Lisa briefly remembered saying as she slipped into a light doze. She bordered the line of consciousness and unconsciousness, drifting in and out of awareness, toeing the invisible lines but never quite plunging. Lisa vaguely recalled the continuous purring, and sometimes she would worry if Za’the was resting or not, but then she would plunge back towards the teetering edge.

The next time Lisa fully gained awareness, she realised quite quickly that the cave no longer echoed with the ferocious winds anymore. She slowly lifted her head to look around, noticing that the entrance of the cave had begun to darken. Her heart skipped a beat.

Another low purr kickstarted in Za’the’s throat — Lisa hadn’t even realised he’d stopped. She quickly wiped the sleep from her eyes and turned to look at Za’the, who was already watching her. An enclosure of butterflies erupted in Lisa’s gut, much to her surprise.

“Why haven’t you slept yet?” Lisa scolded. She poked a gentle finger at his chest. “You need rest, especially with that injury of yours.”

A burst of clicks and growls followed, and Lisa wagged a finger at him. “Uh, uh. I don’t wanna hear it, mister. Close your eyes. I’ll scream if I see something.”

Za’the’s large hand quickly encompassed Lisa’s head, and she had no time to react before she was shoved back into his chest. She rested her hands against his pectorals and tried to push away, but he kept her there with surprising strength.

“Saying no is also an option.” Lisa’s voice was muffled against his chest. Za’the laughed briefly then adjusted the blanket around them. He removed his hand, but a few strands of Lisa’s short hair caught in his claws. When she didn’t immediately react, Za’the gently rolled a few strands between his fingers. He cocked his head to the side, getting a feel of the delicate nature.

It was only when Za’the realised his actions could be interpreted as inappropriate that he stopped and quickly dropped his hand. Lisa frowned; the ministrations had felt nice, as brief as they were. They plunged back into silence, now choosing to enjoy each other’s company rather than mull over their shared miseries.

                                                          ▲▲▲

Lisa wasn’t sure if she was ready to leave the inviting shared warmth when Za’the decided it was time to get up. He gently pried her off him and then slowly got to his feet, ashamed of the fact that he needed to steady himself on the boulder. The sun had fully set by this point, so Lisa could barely see even her hand in front of her face. The good thing to note was that the temperature had warmed slightly, though it was still uncomfortable even without the blanket.

“Where are you going?” Lisa asked instinctively. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear him moving. Her heart raced anxiously. “Za’the, I can’t see.”

A reassuring purr rumbled close by. Lisa cautiously reached out towards the sound until she felt the warming rough hide that flexed under her touch. The blonde stepped forward, but Za’the grabbed her biceps and nudged her back.

“Wait. You’re not leaving, are you?” Lisa asked tentatively, hating the way her voice sounded so meek. Za’the’s hands never left her arms, which provided at least the smallest amount of reassurance. Lisa hated to admit the fact she had grown quite attached to Za’the in the short time they’d spent together.

“Food,” came the guttural voice that Lisa could easily recognise as Za’the’s. The blonde tilted her head upward to hopefully meet his gaze.

She nodded. “Okay. But I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you.” Za’the growled. He pushed her back more, but Lisa placed her hands on his forearms. “No. I don’t feel safe here.”

Za’the paused. He couldn’t really argue with that. Lisa wouldn’t know what to do if anything dangerous came by. She wasn’t exactly a martial artist; never mind the fact she couldn’t even see.

“Come,” Za’the rumbled. He guided her forward this time, keeping his steps slow and short so she could keep up with him. Istratus B had a small moon which now sat high in the night sky, illuminating the land in pale light. Lisa was finally able to see the aftermath of the blizzard’s destruction; sheets upon sheets of snow, destroyed trees, and debris scattered with no coordination.

“Whoa,” Lisa said quietly. Za’the let go of her arm and led the way, the moonlight winking off his dented armour. The blonde admired him for only a moment. “How’s your side, by the way?”

Za’the rumbled in his throat again, but Lisa wasn’t sure what to make of it. She opted for sneaking glances, pleased to find that the injury had long-since ceased its bleeding. It seemed to actually be healing, which was surprising considering they’d only been in the cave for a few hours. He must have a strong immune system, Lisa gathered.

It wasn’t long before Za’the found what he was looking for, if he was looking for anything in the first place. On a rock sat an erect Remither, with its sharp pointed ears and owlish eyes. They blinked at the oncoming pair, sensing no danger as its wickedly long tail flicked back and forth.

Lisa marvelled at it. In the whole three days she’d been there, not once had the expedition team actually found a Remither. “Wow, Za’the. Look.” Her voice was whispery as she pointed at the animal.

Za’the regarded Lisa for a moment before he turned. There was a metallic shing as curved, jagged dual wrist-blades suddenly extended from Za’the’s right gauntlet. Lisa jumped in surprise, and the Remither hissed in warning, baring its sharpened fangs dripping with saliva.

Before Lisa could ask what exactly Za’the planned on doing, the male struck forward at lightning-fast speeds (surprising considering his injury) and beheaded the animal in one swift movement. The head thumped off the rock and landed in the snow, dark red blood pooling around it immediately. The body swayed in position before collapsing, and Za’the reached up to grab it by the bleeding neck. He turned immediately to assess Lisa’s reaction.

“You just killed that Remither,” Lisa said quietly. Za’the’s chest deflated, and he stepped forward, holding out the body, which flung around in his grasp.

“Food,” the male reiterated. He squared his shoulders again, and Lisa quickly realised he was looking for a compliment. She instantly wiped the shocked look off her face and smiled warmly.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was really impressive. Especially with your injury.”

Za’the widened his shoulders and rumbled to himself, pleased. He dumped the body on the ground and went about gathering the debris that jutted out from the snow around them. Lisa watched him before quickly copying, afraid to appear useless after he’d just beheaded a Remither faster than she could blink.

One of the things Lisa actually paid attention to in her survivalist tutorials was the fire-starting modules their guide took them through. While Za’the busied himself with the gory details, Lisa knelt and started a small fire for them. The glow danced and reflected off their bodies, providing Za’the’s colouration with a warmer hue.

Sometime later, Lisa was heating her portion over the flames. Za’the waited patiently, watching the blonde as she hesitantly handled the steaming meats. She didn’t want to tell him she was dreading eating it, not because she was ungrateful, but because she felt terrible about it. Lisa looked back up at Za’the again.

“Are you going to eat?” She asked to which Za’the nodded slowly. “It’s okay. You can trust me.”

Whether that was the problem or not, Lisa didn’t know. But it seemed Za’the didn’t need much convincing, for he hesitantly brought his large hands to the sides of his mask and began unplugging the hoses on the side. Lisa couldn’t see where they attached to, but they hissed with expelled gas, proving that they were for some sort of unseen breathing apparatus.

Anticipation coiled in Lisa’s guts as Za’the gripped the chin of his mask and peeled it off his face. The blonde almost eagerly craned her neck to see as the gas dissipated around his head, and he gently placed the mask in his wide lap. Lisa’s heart stopped as she observed Za’the’s face, finding that it was completely inhuman; but what else did she expect?

Za’the watched her with an intent, burning gaze. He possessed four tusked mandibles curled over an inner mouth of fangs, concave cheeks, and no nose, so perhaps his olfactory senses were on the roof of his mouth like some other species. His eyes were a bright amber orange and quite deep-set into his face. Za’the’s brows gave the impression he was permanently angry, and his large, crested forehead sloped backwards into a dull point, and the thick tubular tresses extended from all sides of his crest. Lisa kept going back to his eyes, fascinated with the intelligence and alertness that beheld the unique colouration. She had never seen quite a magnificent face before, and she marvelled at the uniqueness of his species, her mind filtering through all the possible ways they had evolved to craft into the personification of intimidation as they had.

Lisa’s mouth curved into a smile. “See? You had nothing to worry about. You’re almost as pretty as me,” she said. Za’the chuffed and looked away. Lisa couldn’t help but watch him as he moved, fascinated with even the tiniest movements on his face.

Za’the pointed at her meat. “Eat,” he said, drawing the word out.

Lisa looked back down at her portion. She tentatively brought a slice up to her mouth and nibbled on the corner. It was bland without any herbs or spices, but it was surprisingly tender. She rose her brows as she continued to eat, choosing to ignore Za’the as he began tearing into the raw meat.

To each their own, I guess, Lisa thought.

“So, are you going to tell me who hurt you?” Lisa eventually asked the question that was still at the front of her mind. “Are we in danger here?”

Za’the looked at her, and he began speaking in his native language before he stopped to provide a translation. “Shiiiip. Crrrash. Bad Blood. Attack.” He indicated to his gash. “Crrrash.”

“A… Bad Blood attacked your ship?” Lisa asked, which earned her a nod. “And you were injured in the crash?” Another nod. “So, where’s your ship?”

Za’the pointed back towards the general direction of the cave. Lisa shifted uneasily. “Are we in danger?” She reiterated.

“Protttect.” Za’the brought a fist to his chest. Lisa smiled fondly. She felt closer to him in the few hours they’d spent together than others she’d known for years. There was something about Za’the that reeled her in. It was impossible to deny it, especially with the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach whenever he moved close, or their eyes met.

“Why… why did this Bad Blood attack you?” Lisa asked hesitantly.

Za’the shrugged. “Shiiip.”

“He wanted your ship?” Lisa confirmed. Za’the nodded, and the blonde frowned. “What is a Bad Blood?”

“No honourrr.”

Lisa nodded. The puzzle pieces were starting to fit in her brain. “I’m sorry. Is your ship fixable?” She asked, and Za’the nodded. “Good. I mean, not because I want you to leave. I’d prefer you to stay. I mean, not like that. Like, I think you’re great company.” Lisa shook her head in disbelief. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

Za’the laughed. This time, Lisa could see the way his orange eyes lit up in amusement, and how his upper mandibles curled upwards in a way that vaguely resembled a smile. Lisa couldn’t help but laugh a little at her own misery, too. She looked down at her food and continued to eat, her chest blossoming with warmth.

The cold air nipped Lisa’s skin through her suit, and an involuntary shiver ran down the expanse of her back. The blazing fire burned her face and watered her eyes, and a few times she found herself angling her head away so she could cool her skin down. It was a welcomed reprieve from the sting that the coldness unfortunately provided, its thin fingers still crawling up and down her backside, tickling her shoulders and scraping down her sides to her buttocks, where she was planted firmly on a log.

It seemed the colour had begun to return to Za’the as he sat by the fire, too. The seemingly icy sheet that had dulled his body had faded, bringing his colouration into its full vibrancy the longer he sat across the crackling flames. His hide was a mottling of coffee brown and cream, a complementation of dark and light hues, fully available for admiration now that the onset of frostbite wasn’t threatening him and discolouring his body.

“Are you cold?” Lisa eventually asked when she realised she had been staring over the flames. Za’the looked over towards her and tilted his head to the side as he regarded her. His tresses were decorated with bands made of bone and metal, all tinkling together with each minute movement, and reflecting the moonlight with sharp winks.

Za’the shook his head. Lisa looked him up and down; if she was cold, he would have to be, too. His hide had appeared to be thick, but he had been on the verge of freezing to death, surely he wasn’t as snug as a bug right now! It was probably a masculinity thing, Lisa surmised. It wasn’t hard to imagine, and she didn’t dare poke and prod at his (probably already fractured) ego.

“Okay, well…” an appropriate follow-up escaped Lisa’s train of thought, so she left her comment to hang suggestively. She finished the last of her meat just as a shrill bird cry rippled through the air and drifted between the trees like a strong gust of wind. Lisa looked around. “What was that?”

Za’the shrugged. When Lisa turned to look at him again, she found he was already watching her. His mandibles made tiny movements in sync with whatever express train was huffing and puffing through his mind. Lisa averted her eyes from his intense gaze, suddenly finding herself feeling shy. She tucked her knees closer to her chest and gazed into the fire for a minute or two. Her tongue itched to say something, but perhaps she had exhausted all her topics. An over-sharer. She was darn good at that, apparently.

Lisa swallowed thickly. “Za’the. Will you… will you help me find my camp?” She asked nervously. She picked at the fabric of her gloves as Za’the regarded her again.

“Sei’i,” he said. The word was smooth, rolling from his mouth without the exaggerated effort he exerted while speaking English. It was fascinating to watch his mandibles move and click as he spoke, and Lisa had to remind herself not to appear rude and stare.

“Does that mean yes?”

“Yesss.”

Lisa smiled. “Cool. Righto, that’s settled,” she said. She instinctively flicked her wrist to look at the wristband, but it only blinked on to remind her that it was out of battery. Lisa put her hand back down, her smile waning. “So, may I ask, of course in the politest way possible, what species are you from?”

Za’the immediately straightened his shoulders. He brought his right fist to his left pectoral muscle. “Yautja,” he said immediately. It was a strongly produced sound, an impressive one at that, especially when he spoke it.

“I’ve never heard of you before,” Lisa said. Truth be told, she was ecstatic. She doubted it was first-contact — Yautja were an obviously intelligent species who’d probably made hundreds of connections with humans over the duration of Homo sapiens' existence. It was kept secret for a reason, and here Lisa was making buddy-buddy with one and cosying under blankets together. A thought suddenly struck her, and her chest tightened immediately. Would he need to preserve the secrecy of his species? “You’re not going to… kill me, are you?”

Expressions were hard to tell with Za’the’s lack of facial muscles but judging by the widening of his small eyes and slight flaring of his mandibles, he was taken aback by Lisa’s question. He shook his head instantly to rectify his behaviour, his bands clinking together over the crackling flames. “Disss-honourable.”

“It’s dishonourable to kill me?” Lisa asked as her brows pinched together.

“Weeak,” Za’the said. When Lisa rose her brows in offence, Za’the spoke again. “Heelp me. Saave me.” He indicated his injury in case the blonde didn’t understand.

Lisa eventually nodded. She sure hoped that his kindness wasn’t repayment for shoddily patching up his wound. Deep down, Lisa had hoped that it came from his heart, but doubts festered in the forefront of her mind. Za’the didn’t look like a being who granted acts of kindness because he had a big heart but looks were always deceiving. Lisa shook her head, feeling stupid even though no one else could hear her tangent thoughts.

“So, shall we wait until day or leave now?” Lisa asked quietly. Truth be told, she didn’t want to leave him just yet. Za’the was a mystery she wanted to crack, but the last thing she wanted to do was pry. The decision would be left up to him, but Lisa knew exactly what she’d do otherwise.

Za’the immediately rose to his feet, startling the blonde. “Come,” he said. A surge of disappointment rattled Lisa’s body, but it was instantly quelled when the male rumbled a quiet purr to entice her into following.

Lisa stood and helped kick out the fire. Za’the donned his mask again and swivelled his head left then right, allowing the silence to envelop them as he seemed to search for something in the darkness. Then, when he was satisfied he had found it, he gestured for Lisa to follow before stalking off.

Excitement bubbled in Lisa’s chest as she almost stepped on his heels in her haste to keep up. Her mouth almost burned with the desire to ask questions until she was blue in the face, but she kept her lips sealed to save the surprise — if there was a surprise. Za’the could be leading her back to camp for all she knew. But Lisa wanted to stay at least a little bit optimistic after the metaphorical ass-kicking she’d endured all evening.

They seemed to walk in silence, to Lisa’s estimation, for around ten or fifteen minutes. Eventually, Za’the crouched by a thin tree and gestured for her to do the same. Lisa knelt beside him, aware of the fact that her knee occasionally brushed his. Za’the paid no mind and instead pointed towards something perched on a tree branch not too far from their position.

Confused, Lisa waited, but still decided not to comment. It was only a few seconds before the thing seemed to hop to another branch, where it caught the moonlight. Lisa gasped at the giant bird perching itself in its new position, its being beheld with an aura of grace. The bird was mainly white with stripes and flecks of deeper brown and a bold red circle above its tiny black eyes. It had a pointed orange beak and a large fanning tail that brushed against the tree trunk as it turned in its position.

It was nothing Lisa had ever seen before, so familiar to the birds of Earth yet so distinctly different. She admired the bird as it twirled slowly on the branch before cocking its head back and releasing the same shrill cry as before, but this time it faded into a singsong tune that was echoed back deeper into the trees.

“Wow,” Lisa breathed. Za’the turned to her, carefully watching her as she observed the bird. It eventually pushed itself off the branch and flew in the direction its call had been reciprocated. The air around them fell silent, and Lisa turned to Za’the. “Have you been to this planet before?”

Za’the nodded. “Many foood,” he drew out. Lisa turned the answer over in her head; scans of the surface had denoted the locations of several faunas that existed in their respective habitats. There was an abundance of bison-like mammals further from their location, about a day’s walk, which she assumed would be the food of choice for Za’the.

The bison-like mammal hadn’t drawn much special interest to the I.I. team; they lived in herds and preferred the snowy climate. The hundreds of scans they’d conducted had included only a few Remither felines, all elusively concentrated in this area, which was why they had captured the sole interest of the expedition team. But the bird? No scans had indicated such an animal existed.

“You mean the bison looking things?” Lisa asked to which Za’the nodded even though he had no idea what she was talking about. “Cool. That’s cool. Is there anything else for me to see?”

Za’the rumbled.

                                                           ▲▲▲

It seemed Za’the was no stranger to Istratus B. While he’d admitted he liked to hunt for food here, Lisa had never guessed he’d known all the ins and outs of this planet like the back of his hand. Perhaps that’s why he’d come here after the attack — it was familiar, close, comfortable.

After showing her an entire flock of those strange snow birds, and purposely scaring them off to show her how their feathery tails fanned like a peacock when threatened, he’d opted to show her the ugly rat-like mammals that dug holes into the snow and burrowed until sun-up.

The rats had nasty, incisor-like teeth, proven so when Za’the ended up catching one and pulling their lips back to show her. The rat had squirmed in his grasp like an impatient baby, but instead of letting it go, he’d thrown it at her and watched as Lisa screamed and scrambled out of the way. But the rat hadn’t attacked her. In fact, it’d screamed right back and dug another stupid hole for itself.

As much as Lisa wanted to be angry with Za’the, she reminded herself he was providing her with an experience; he was showing her the good-natured aspect of his personality. It was unexpected but welcomed, and Lisa ended up teaching him how to snowball fight. She’d won. Punishment, Za’the had said, for scaring you. Well, it was close to it — it sounded more caveman-like, but Lisa had just shrugged. She’d accept any win, even if it was rigged.

Day and night cycles were much quicker on Istratus B in comparison to Earth. It was dawn when they decided it was time to head back. Apparently, Za’the could do some funky topographical scans with his bio-helmet, which produced the location of Lisa’s expedition camp within seconds, as disappointing as the news was to her.

The camp sat in the distance. Surprisingly, the blizzard hadn’t destroyed much of the exterior, but it had blown off most of the thick tarp that covered the top. Glowing orange lights peppered the rounded temporary buildings, breaking up the white-on-white blending of the walls and blanket of snow. There were only a few UNSM soldiers guarding the perimeter, their black Kevlar suits and durable armour dotted with flecks of snow.

Lisa frowned as she stared at the depressing temporary camp. She would much rather spend her remaining expedition days with Za’the, but they both had their duties to perform, and Za’the had other pressing matters that he could’ve been tending to instead of humouring Lisa’s curiosity like they were on a tour and he was her guide.

“Well, this is me, unfortunately,” Lisa said quietly. Her body wracked with a shiver in sync with the cool breeze. The temporary camp, as miserable as it appeared, could at least provide a consistent source of heat. Besides, Lisa could recharge her suit and make some serious formal complaints from the joint desk terminal.

Lisa turned to Za’the, who regarded her quietly. He clicked a few times, which prompted a smile on Lisa’s face.

The blonde met his eyes through the mask. “Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t have made it without you,” she said. Za’the rumbled, his head tilting as he regarded her.

“Thaank you,” he said, almost struggling to get the words out. It only made Lisa appreciate his efforts even more, and her smile brightened. She looked down at his injury to see that it was healing well; soon, it would be but a scar, another story to tell amongst the others that peppered his hide.

“Take care of yourself,” Lisa said. Her hands twitched as she urged to hug him, but she kept her hands still by her side. “Don’t let anymore Bad Bloods fuck you up, okay?”

Za’the straightened. “Never haave,” he said. Lisa flashed him her teeth, and she ducked her head to hide it. When Lisa raised her head again, she spoke.

“I know. No one gets the better of you, huh?” She said. Za’the nodded instantly. Lisa watched his tresses fall over his shoulder before she turned to glimpse the temporary camp again, where the UNSM soldiers either stood stock still or paced along the boundary line.

“Uh,” Lisa whispered. She couldn’t resist any longer, and she immediately reached forward to wrap her arms around his middle, mindful of his injury. Za’the stiffened, his hands going up. Lisa was about to pull away, embarrassment burning her cheeks, when Za’the relaxed in her hold and brought his hands down to reciprocate the gesture.

His palm engulfed the back of her head while his other hand gently wrapped around her shoulders. Lisa rested her cheek below his pectorals, feeling the twinge of warmth coming back to his body. It was a huge contrast to the icy coldness that had once radiated off his hide back in the cave, and Lisa briefly worried if he would be okay for the remainder of his stay.

He's Yautja. He’s strong, Lisa reminded herself, or so what Za’the had told her multiple times. He had seemed to open up, if only little bits, the more time they spent together, and it warmed Lisa to know she was at least that bit trustworthy for him. Maybe not a friend yet, but on course if they had the opportunity to spend more time together.

Za’the purred lightly as they hugged, both dragging on the gesture until it felt appropriate to withdraw. Lisa pulled away, both of their hands lingering on each other’s bodies before space was made between them again. It was hard to explain the bitter hurt anchoring deep in Lisa’s chest.

Why was it harder leaving a stranger than it was her own family on Earth? The thought frustrated her, but Lisa justified it; this was Za’the. He’s different. Somehow, someway. She couldn’t see it yet, but she could feel it, and it definitely felt like losing a piece of herself after spending so much time looking for it.

Was he the answer? Possibly. But Za’the was Yautja; Lisa was human. They would probably never cross paths again, so perhaps they served as important life lessons to each other. Lisa was just having trouble understanding it. It didn’t feel like a life lesson, it just felt right. So, what was she interpreting wrong?

“Right, well,” Lisa said to divert her trainwreck of a thought pattern. “I’ll, uh, see you on the flip side, yeah?” She asked, looking up, daring to hope even just that tiny bit.

“Fliip siide,” Za’the echoed. It melded into that constant purr he kept up; something Lisa didn’t understand yet, but she enjoyed hearing it. It was comforting, relaxing, especially back in that cave when the uncertainties were high and rampant.

Lisa broke away before the tears could come to her eyes. She hated getting attached so easily, perhaps she needed to see a psychologist. While Lisa made a mental note for therapy, she started trudging back through the snow, aware that Za’the was watching her.

After a few steps, Lisa stopped, her hands wringing together. Her mind fought battles, two sides warring for dominance, and one was reigning victory. Lisa slowly turned around. “Hey, Za’the?” She said, but she didn’t need to catch his attention, for she already had it. Za’the tilted his head to indicate that he was listening.

“I live in the Istratus Investigations base on Proxima B, by the way. I’m in Unit 367. Um, you know, just in case you ever wanted to visit,” Lisa said unsurely. Her cheeks warmed immediately, and she ducked her head. When she rose it again, Za’the was still staring. He had long since stopped purring, but his attention was still centred on her.

Lisa slowly turned around again, allowing her offer to hang between them, and began her trek back to the temporary housing, where the UNSM soldiers still stood guard, turning her back on Za’the for possibly the last time.

-

Part Two

[yourfellowhuman07]

Alliances of the Heart

A She-Ra: Princess of Power 2018 fanfiction

For centuries, the All Princess Ball has been a time for the nobility of Etheria to let loose. Flaunting their power, prestige, and fashion for all to see. The ball had always been politically neutral, but, as tension from the war rises, not everyone is so keen to forget what happens beyond the walls of Castle Chill.

Lord Hordak, along with Princess Scorpia and Force Captian Catra, have come to the party to make alliances and find out everything there is to know about their enemies. Careful to not arouse the suspicion of the Princess Alliance.

Princess Entrapta, being the scientist she is, decides to come to the party to decode the secrets of body language, despite getting the same data from every other party she has ever attended.

When the two rulers cross paths, their plans flip on their heads as the two grow closer. Now it is up to Catra and Scorpia to push the two together as Adora and Glimmer stick their noses where they do not belong.

________________

Hello fellow humans. My new fic is finally here, and I hope you enjoy it. Like my other fic, this will gain new chapters weekly on Wednesday and be posted on AO3 on Thursdays. Btw, the fic will be only available to registered users on AO3 due to the whole AI situation. Thank you for reading!

Also, I'm aware @kuurankaiho has a fic similar to this, but I promise they are very different stories (kuura if you're reading this I love your work).

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Chapter 1: Fashionably Late

Lord Hordak stood at the front of his ship, the hull cutting through the icy waters; Castle Chill appeared on the horizon. Hordak took a deep breath, he did not want to go to this frivolous, flowery party, but it would be necessary for the cause of the war. It is the perfect time to identify exploitable weaknesses and find people willing to form alliances. Princess Scorpia and Force Captain Catra were also accompanying him, Hordak was less than enthusiastic about their presence, but he could deal with it for now. He needs to mentally prepare himself for the hellscape he was already late for.

___________________________

Princess Entrapta sat in the rafters of the ballroom; her eyes zipped from person to person, trying to decode the secrets of body language. While she was supposed to interact personally with the other partygoers, this was more practical and scientifically sound. Even if she did try to “mingle” with the rest of the nobles, it wouldn’t do much good. Most of the time, when Entrapta talks to anyone, they either don’t care or just get up and walk away. Like a good scientist, Entrapta attempts to collect data on social behaviors to better communicate with others. 

She was also trying to avoid anyone from the Princess Alliance. Ever since the Alliance reformed, they have begged Entrapta to join. Right now, she had no intention of joining the princesses, who were elitists who only focused on their capital cities rather than their nation as a whole. By siding with them, she would also be seen as an elitist, completely going against Drylian views of politics.

Entrapta watched as people began to spin around with each other, somehow being able to gauge the next move of everyone around them,  fascinating. She then observed the people around the snack area who only took one miniature snack at a time almost like taking more would be disgraceful, odd. She then saw various couples hidden away in corners smashing their faces together disregarding everyone around them. This is especially confusing when Entrapta had always been told by adults and colleagues to ALWAYS be aware of everyone around her. People are such a hypocritical mystery.

She relayed all this information to her recorder, one of the few things she could talk to. She sighed, bored already after 45 minutes, and to think this was a week-long event. She wished she was home in her lab discovering something new instead of observing the same things she had seen at every party. They were all the same, the dancing, the food, everything. If only something interesting would happen then maybe this week won’t be such a waste.

Just then, the ballroom door opened to reveal three dark figures. Entrapta recognized one immediately as Lord Hordak, ruler of the Scorponi Kingdom. He was tall, to say the least, eight feet if her estimation was correct. His hair was curly and deep indigo, the sides were braided and tied into an elegant ponytail. He wore a white button-up shirt and black pants topped with a black cape that looked like the flags used by the Horde when they claimed new territory. Behind him were two women, one Entrapta recognized as Princess Scorpia, the last living relative of the former royal Scorponi family. The other woman was some cat girl, most likely a plus one.

Even with her limited understanding of social graces, Entrapta knew it was bold of the Lord to come to this event. The man has more enemies than anyone could count and statistically, the chance of assassination is sky-high.

Now this will be fun!

_____________________________________________________

Hordak walked across the ballroom, all too aware of the terrified and disgusted whispers from the crowd. He reveled in them actually, as many say fear equals power.

The three made their way to Princess Frosta of the Kingdom of Snows. The three bowed just as they practiced.

“Lord Hordak, Princess Scorpia while I am glad you two have come I must say I am surprised to see you two,” said Frosta with her air of regality.

“You will find I am full of surprises, and thank you for your invite, Revered Hostess,” Hordak retorted.

Before the three could join the crowd they were stopped by Adora, or as most know her She-Ra.

“Revered Hostess, excuse me but you can not seriously let these people in this party. They’re part of the Horde.”

“Princess Adora, silence. This has been a politically neutral party for centuries, don’t go against prom policy. While you see me as a child I have worked hard for the respect I have gained, and the traditions of this party, like I, will not be disrespected.”

“Oh Adora, I didn’t think you were the type to disrespect the rules.” Catra put her hand on her heart and batted her eyelashes that hid the snide glimmer in her eyes.

Before Adora could say anything else she was dragged away by who Hordak recognized as Princess Glimmer of Brightmoon.

“My apologies Lord Hordak, some individuals can’t put their grievances aside for a few nights.”

“I take no offense Princess Frosta, people have said worse to me.”

“Enjoy the party.”

As the three turned on their heels to join the crowd Hordak then took the two women by the shoulder.

“Now you both know your jobs: find out as much about our enemies

 as you can and do not attract any suspicion, we already have someone down our back.” The three broke away from each other to mingle. 

__________________________________

Half an hour ticked by and Hordak only discovered trivial things about people from listening in on their conversation, nothing useful at all.

Hordak took a glass of wine off of a table and moved to the outskirts of the crowd. He spotted Scorpia by the snack table helping herself to all the tiny treats. Then he spotted Catra on the upper level talking to Adora. Hordak groaned internally, what part of not incriminating yourself to those who are suspicious of you does she not understand? Whatever, maybe after she talks with Adora, Catra’s obsession with her will subside. Then a thought popped into his head, maybe it is a good thing she was with her. If Catra were to distract her Scorpia would have more room to work. Not bad Force Captian, not bad at all.

Hordak then looked up to see a small figure sitting in the rafters. At first, he thought it was some assassin or thief using the chaos of the party to distract the guards. Then he saw how the figure’s hair was a long lavender color that bent to the will of its owner and identified the figure as Princess Entrapta of Dryl, or, as others call her, the hermit princess. She sat up there, eyes darting across the ballroom talking into a small metal box. Then a thought struck him: what if I engaged in a political alliance with her? It certainly wasn’t a bad idea, both kingdoms have similar political structures, and her supposed prowess with tech was nothing to sneeze at. Hordak also secretly wanted an excuse to leave the party so he might as well talk to her now.

As a slow dance began Hordak made his way to the upper level of the ballroom, using the darker parts of the room to climb his way up to the rafters. Carefully, he made his way over to the princess and sat behind her. He didn’t know how to get her attention so all he could do was tap her on the shoulder. In doing this, the princess yelped causing Hordak to almost fall to the ground.

“Oh, Lord Hordak, did you need something?”

Hordak straightened his cape, regaining his dismissive calmness.

“I only wished to make you an offer.”

“Oh?”

“I would like to formally ask you if you would be willing to make a political alliance between Scorponi and Dryl. Both of our kingdoms are constitutional monarchies as well as more tech than magic-based; furthermore, I believe combining forces will give the Scorponi kingdom an edge in the war and your kingdom protection from the Alliance.”

Entrapta paused to consider this, aligning with the Scorponi Kingdom was not a bad idea. For one, the other princesses will stop bothering her and the tech they have is amazing. Oh, the tech! Entrapta had gotten her hands on some of the technology from the Fright Zone and it was magnificent. How all the machines’ inner hardware was so organized and the efficiency of their programming and their powerful, tanky designs.

“I’m in!” Entrapta thrust forward a hand-shaped piece of hair which Hordak took in his hand, sealing the deal.

“Excellent, once this party is over I will draft a treaty and send it to Dryl for you to sign.”

“Or” she scooted closer, “ I could come to the Fright Zone and sign it there because I’ve been wanting to speak with the person who designs all of the Horde’s tech. I’ve gotten my hands on a few specimens and I loved the simplistic efficiency of them and how only a few could level an entire village, it’s so fascinating!”

Hordak felt like his body had been split into a million pieces. Sure his work had been complimented before but never like that by a like-minded individual.

“I am the one who designs all the tech within my kingdom.” Hordak scooted closer to her.

“Oh my moons, really!” she scooted even closer, “Wow I didn’t realize you were the one who designed everything, but you have to show me everything you’ve done. Also, imagine what combining your tech and the first ones' tech could do!”

“First ones’ tech?”

“You know, the tech left behind by the first civilization of this planet that makes what we do child play.”

Child play indeed, while Hordak forsook the wider universe as well as his father's empire he still wished he could have access to the tech he had before. As for the first ones’, they were most likely the Eternians who originally colonized Etheria before it blipped out of existence.

“Perhaps when you visit the Fright Zone you could tell me about this first ones’ tech.” Hordak scooted close enough that both their thighs were lightly touching.

“Oh sure that sounds great!”

“Thank you for your time, princess.” Hordak stood, gave her a bow, and left as soon as he arrived.

Once he made contact with the ground he went to check on Catra and Scorpia who were congregating at the chocolate fountain.

“Have you two been able to find anything out?”

“Nothing useful, that's for sure,” Catra’s face then twisted into a smirk, “What were you doing with that princess up there.”

“I was able to ally with her to strengthen both of our kingdoms. Once this party is over she will visit the Fright Zone and sign a treaty making it official, so do not under any circumstances give her a reason to reconsider.” Hordak then turned on his heel leaving the two women once again.

“Twenty ration bars says those two get together.”

“You sure about that?”

“Let's just say those two were sitting way too close to call that a political agreement.”

Catra then spotted the elusive princess descending from her perch to another snack table.

“Let’s go talk to her.”

[aquietwritingcorner]

Captivity

Title: Captivity       Day: Febuwhump 2023 Day 14   Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 3097   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T   Characters: OC, Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo     Warning:     Summary: Dr. Tamara Alexander finds these turtle creatures they have very interesting to study. Hopefully her company can keep them in captivity for a while.   Notes: Why do I feel like this OC is going to end up being useful to me?   ff.net || AO3

______________________________________ 

Captivity

Dr. Tamara Alexander tapped her pen against her lips as she observed the four creatures inside the enclosure. They really were a fascinating study. She hadn’t been sure what to expect when she had been brought on to study these man-like turtles. It was a huge discovery, unprecedented, but her company was keeping it quiet for the time being, wanting to have more information and data before the released knowledge of these turtle creatures to the scientific community—and probably, not long after that, to the world.

From what she understood, they had been captured near a river in North Hampton. They had been quite resistant to capture too, although Dr. Alexander didn’t have the details. To be honest, she didn’t really care about the details. She was more fascinated with the creatures themselves and their dynamics.

She glanced back down her clipboard, looking at the charts on them. The first page was just a quick snapshot, but she could flip through to read the complete charts. They were designated by colors that seemed to come from the pieces of cloth that were tied around their heads, like masks—which was another fascinating thing about them. She wondered if it had anything to do with their social structure.

But that was a thought for later—something which she had lots of. She had enough questions that she had take to keeping looseleaf paper stuck back behind the charts so she could flip it up and scribble down any questions she had for later. Right now, she wanted to familiarize herself with the creatures again.

She searched for them in the enclosure. They had a way of disappearing into the foliage when they didn’t want to be found, which was another fascinating thing about them. They had provided the creatures with a spacious area, nine-hundred square feet in total, with an aquatic area and plenty of foliage for them. They had even included a few toys for them to play with, curious as to what these creatures might do with them. But even with that, the creatures didn’t seem to be content with what they had been given. She wondered if the fact that they were all male made a difference in that. Perhaps in their natural environment they all had their own territory and only came together for pack or group related activities.

Dr. Alexander spotted Blue first, sitting quietly in an open area. He was only the third largest of the turtle creatures, yet he seemed to be the one that they deferred to most often. Normally size would be a factor in determining who was the alpha of the pack, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. Perhaps it had to do with the skill that Blue had shown. It was clear that Blue was very skilled. Reports showed that he had put up quite a fight during capture, and that he was quick and precise with his attacks. It made him one to watch out for when they came into take one of the creatures out for some data collection.

Orange was the next one she spotted, laying on his back, tossing a ball in the air. He was only a little smaller than Blue, and not as controlled, typically. He seemed to be easily distractable and had been the first to approach and play with the toys. Dr. Alexander wondered if he was younger than the others, as they seemed to allow him to be more playful and indulged him. He was quick, though, and unpredictable in his movements. He could come out of the most unexpected places. He wasn’t as dangerous as Blue, but he was still dangerous.

Purple, she found sitting in a tree, staring exactly at the spot one of the hidden cameras was. He was the tallest of the creatures, if only by a small margin, but he was leaner. Purple unsettled the researchers the most. There was an intelligence behind his eyes that, when he looked right at people, made them shift uncomfortably and look away. He had a calming presence on the others, they often seeking him out for company. He also had tendency to look after the others. With no females that they could find, Dr. Alexander wondered if he took on a more female role within the group. Typically, in animals, caregiving was attributed towards the females. It might explain the slightly more protective nature of the others towards him as well. Purple was one to watch out for. He didn’t always move directly, but when he did move, it was guaranteed to be something with a purpose behind it.

Red took her a moment to find, as he was at least partially in the water. Red was the second tallest, but definitely the biggest overall. He was also the most aggressive, the one that was mostly likely to be found stalking around the perimeter of the enclosure—even if it aggravated his injuries. He had, apparently, been the hardest to take down, and had fought hard every time he or one of his fellows was taken for data collection. It had led to an unfortunate accident where he had gotten burned. The water seemed to help him feel better, which was interesting to Dr. Alexander. Still, even with his injuries, he was one to have eyes on before doing anything.

Dr. Alexander watched as Orange, apparently in a playful mood, lobbed the ball at Red. It hit Red in the head, causing him to quickly turn. Orange waved his hands and said something, and Red’s grip on the ball tightened, as he moved into position to throw it back. Blue opened his eyes and said something, but Red didn’t react well to do it. Purple climbed down from his perch and approached Red, putting a hand on his shoulder and saying something. It seemed to mollify Red a little, although he still threw the ball back at Orange, although clearly not as hard as he had been intending to before. Orange seemed to whine, and Blue shook his head, also saying something.

Dr. Alexander’s lips curled in a smile as she tapped her pen against her lips. Oh, what a fascinating study this was going to be. Perhaps it was time to suggest a few more trials. After all, they had done about all the data collection they could, apart from surgery or dissection. Some behavioral trails would be interesting.

Although the idea of exploratory surgery wasn’t bad, and she scribbled that down on the papers at the back of the clipboard.

Dr. Alexander looked at the recently collected video footage. They had put all of the creatures, individually, through the same tests and trials, examining their physical abilities and problem-solving capabilities. Each one had approached it differently, and it had been fascinating data. But what she found even more fascinating was how they had all reacted when they were back together.

Orange had been sustained a minor injury. It was nothing that wouldn’t heal within a week or so, simply a large cut, but the other creatures had immediately gathered around him, Purple looking it over in an almost practiced manner, just as he had with Red. Orange seemed more willing to let the others fuss over him than Red had, and Dr. Alexander found that fascinating. She wondered how they would react to their fellows being put into other situations and returned to them. Perhaps it was time to put them through some more individually suited trails.

When Blue was returned to them after a long, grueling trial that had been designed to exhaust him, Dr. Alexander had watched as they had gathered around him, clearly worried. Red had immediately moved to support him, and Orange had rushed on ahead to the sleeping areas they had created for them. Purple moved to help support, although he was clearly assessing Blue as they moved. It had been fascinating to watch how Purple had taken over, telling the other creatures to do various tasks and them obeying without hesitation or question. It made Dr. Alexander question if Red really was the second leader for them or if Purple was. Could it be situational? That was a fascinating question.

The next trial had seen Red, Orange and Purple put into a high intensity situation while Blue was left in the enclosure. Red had seemed to take the lead, as Dr. Alexander had predicted, Purple and Orange following his lead almost without question. Just as fascinating had been Blue, who had become far more aggressive and agitated without the others there, starting to behave more like Red. Perhaps Blue and Red were more alike than any of them had realized.

Red had been taken for individual trials after that, although his trails had been designed to test just how far he could be pushed before he lashed out. It had been fascinatingly clear to see that he was fighting against his very nature in most of the trails, keeping himself from lashing out too much, even if he slipped here and there. When he was returned to the enclosure, he had looked beyond relieved to see the others, and Blue had immediately gone to his side. Purple had, again, gone to check on him, while Orange, after hearing a something Red said, scurried ahead to prepare a place for Red to rest. Blue sat near Red for the rest of the night, Red seemingly weary.

Orange had been the next taken. Dr. Alexander had opted to put him in what amounted to sensory deprivation to see what the effects would be. The creature had not reacted well to the lack of stimulation, doing everything he could to make noise or create sensation. He had practically clung to the others when he had gotten back, and they had let him. Blue and Red were the most protective over him, and Purple seemed to know how to provide other stimulation for him. None of them had ever gone far, and they had all slept near each other that night, Orange in the middle.

Purple was the next one sent to trials. His were designed to test his intelligence. He was gone for hours, solving problems and working his way out of situations. Dr. Alexander admittedly found his trials the most unsettling, though. Even though they were running him through trials, it was almost as if he were seeing through them, putting together another puzzle—the one of what they were doing and why. She didn’t like it. When he was returned to the enclosure, his fellows jumped up, surrounding him. He tried to wave off any concern, but it obviously didn’t work, as Orange once again made sure he had a place to rest, Red forced him to lay down, and Blue kept an watchful eye over him the rest of the night.

Curious, Dr. Alexander set up a trial that all four of the creatures would face together. It was a fascinating experience, watching how they all worked together, easily playing into each other’s strengths and compensating for each other’s weaknesses. These were clearly creatures who were used to working together to accomplish what was needed.

Which made her wonder what would happen if one of them was taken out of the equation.

She got her opportunity to test out that possibility during the next trail. It was one set up for Purple and Orange, and during it an accident occurred. Purple, seeing the danger coming, made sure that Orange was safe before taking the brunt of the danger himself. It had injured him greatly, and Orange had been in near hysterics. They had needed to tranquilize him before they could carry Purple to the veterinary part of the center.

The whole thing, though an accident, had been fortuitus for Dr. Alexander. Repairing the damage done to Purple required surgery, which they took advantage of, using the opportunity to not only repair what needed to be repaired, but to take a good look at what the insides of one of these creatures was like. Dr. Alexander was told that the anatomy and physiology was, quite frankly, amazing. While that wasn’t her particular area of expertise, it did make Dr. Alexander want to take a look at it later.

What she found more fascinating was how the others reacted. Orange had been returned to the other two unconscious. They had fretted over him, Blue making sure Orange had a good sleeping area and Red taking him there. Both creatures were tense while they waited on Orange to wake up, clearly worried about Purple as well. When Orange woke up and found that Purple was there, he immediately fell into near-hysterics. He must have communicated what happened to Red and Blue, because they also grew upset.

Dr. Alexander tapped her pen on her lips as she rewatched the videos and glanced at the live feed. She wondered how they’d fair if she kept Purple separate for a while longer, and told them nothing.

That, it turned out, had been a mistake.

She had been just about to head out to watch the creature run the next trial when alarms started blaring. It had been about a week since Purple had been taken to the clinic, and the others, although highly agitated at first, had seemed to settle down a little, after Blue had spent several hours in one position, seemingly lost to the world. He had been doing that a lot for a few days, and the clinic had reported Purple behaving similarly. It had been unexpected and curious, and Dr. Alexander had been planning further study into that.

She hadn’t been expecting the alarms.

Quickly, she brought up the cameras on the enclosure and stared in shock when she discovered it empty. No angle revealed the turtle creatures. She didn’t have the authority to look at the security cameras, nor did she have the authority to look at the cameras in the clinic. Biting her lip, she made a decision and exited her office.

Most of the people around her looked just as confused and uncertain as she felt. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

A woman was putting down a phone. “The creatures have escaped!” she said. “Security says to get in secure locations and hide!”

Dr. Alexander scowled at that. “Can anyone here see the security cameras? I want to know what’s going on!”

“I can,” a man said.

Dr. Alexander nodded. “Alright, lets go to his office then.”

About fifteen people crammed into the small office, practically having to stand on top of each other to get the door closed. Dr. Alexander pushed her way to the computer screen, not going to be denied seeing what was happening. The man pulled up the security cameras and started flipping through them, trying to see if he could locate the turtle creatures. It wasn’t as easy as it might have seemed. They were, Dr. Alexander knew, experts and hiding themselves.

“Go to the clinic,” she said. “One is there. They’ll try to find him.”

“How would they even know where that is?” the man asked, although he did as she said.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “They’ll figure it out.”

It didn’t take the creatures long to arrive at the clinic and burst in. In a matter of moments every doctor there was unconscious, possibly dead. Dr. Alexander could tell from the video if the creatures had killed or not. The creatures rushed to the side of Purple, who was still on one of the beds. Blue made sure work of the restraints keeping him in place, and Red helped him slowly sit up. Given his injuries and the exploratory surgeries, Purple was far from healed. He was still requiring help, and Dr. Alexander wondered if that could be used to their advantage.

They had a moment of communication, and then Red and Blue helped Purple over to a computer. He started to do something on it, Orange standing near him, while Red and Blue started to tear the clinic apart, as if looking for something.

Dr. Alexander squinted. “What’s he doing?” she asked, wondering if Purple was trying to emulate behavior he had seen.

Another man, who was leaning over to watch spoke up. “Zoom in on his screen,” he said, and the first man did so. The man let out an exclamation of surprise. “What the—he’s—he’s in the system!” he said. “He’s… He’s deleting data!”

“What?” Dr. Alexander’s head whipped to the man. “No, these creatures aren’t that intelligent.”

“That’s what he’s doing!” the man insisted.

“He’s right,” said a woman, sounding as if she were in shock. She had a laptop and someone else was holding it. “The data… it’s all being transferred somewhere and then being erased.”

Dr. Alexander craned her neck to see, and she could see file after file disappearing.

“No!” she said. “That’s impossible!”

“Apparently not,” the first main breathed.

Red and Blue arrived back at the side of Purple and Orange, holding more than a few things. Orange took some of them from his fellows, but Purple didn’t stop working on the computer, thick fingers flying over the keys faster than Dr. Alexander would have thought possible. Then, he looked up and into the camera, almost as if he were looking straight at Dr. Alexander herself and pressed a button.

Everything plunged into darkness.

The creatures escaped. Dr. Alexander would later learn that, with Purple on Red’s back, the four had fought their way through security, using supplies from the clinic as weapons, and picking up actual weapons along the way. All of the data on the turtle creatures was destroyed, lost beyond repair thanks to a virus that targeted the information. It wasn’t long after that, that the company became part of a scandal, being tagged for unethical experiments. It hit the mainstream news, was front and center of every social media that she saw, and it was utterly devastating.

The company went under, lawsuits were brought, and the doctors and researchers there were investigated. Dr. Alexander was accused of unethical experimentation, and her ability to get a job just about anywhere was sullied. The company was ruined, her research was ruined, and she was ruined.

And yet, Dr. Alexander couldn’t help but tap her pen on her lips and smile when she thought about those creatures. She was sure she could find someone else to help her study them. After all, with an eidetic memory, she was sure she’d be of use to someone, somewhere.

[angelsdemonsducks]

you don't like the ending (we'll find one that's yours)

“Logan,” Virgil says, softly, slowly, “you do know that you’re allowed to be a person, right?”

In the aftermath: Logan, Virgil, and things that have gone unsaid for far too long.

(ao3 link)

When all is said and done, Logan sits in his room for a little while, hands folded neatly in his lap, staring at the ceiling. It’s painted with a star map, charting the cosmos: Ursa Major by Ursa Minor, Perseus reaching for Andromeda, Canis Major ever lapping at Orion’s heels. They glow with a bright, otherworldly light against a black backdrop, and they change as the seasons turn, too, change and wheel overhead as the real night sky does. 

Though, of course, the night sky does not actually change. Just the human perspective of it. Stars are ever-constant; it is the Earth that is not, human perception that is flawed.

Roman helped him set it up, years ago. The remembrance lies bitter and heavy on his chest.

He is not hurt. He is not hurt, because he does not feel. There is a pounding in his head that refuses to abate and a stinging in his eyes that blurs his vision, but such physical reactions will stop eventually, if he ignores them for long enough. He is practiced in this, by now. He is not hurt. 

He firmly believes that there is nothing that cannot be solved with the application of the scientific method. This past hour is no different. As with all else, it can be analyzed through the lens of conducting an experiment.

He lays out the memories neatly in his mind for review.

Hypothesis: His physical presence and interaction with the other sides is not necessary for Thomas to maintain a healthily logical existence.

There are too many variables for this to be considered a controlled setting. All of the others have so many emotions, and as such, are prone to outbursts and unpredictability that may skew any data collected. He is accustomed to this, after all this time, and has learned to set his expectations accordingly. But there are two variables that can be defined with little difficulty: the independent and dependent variable. The variable that he manipulates, and the variable that changes due to this manipulation.

Independent variable: His presence in the discussion. Keeping in line with the video game theme the others seem to be holding to, he presents himself as an information-dispensing “NPC,” or “non-player character,” as he understands the definition to be, in an effort to be less intrusive in the conversation. Half the time, he does not bother to speak.

Dependent variable: How Thomas, Patton, and Roman react to this method of interaction.

It is difficult to collect data for this variable. There are no numbers to record, nothing that is quantifiable. He has to rely purely on qualitative data, collected based on observation and description. It is discomfiting, how much room for error and misinterpretation that leaves, but he is confident in his ability to be a passive, unbiased researcher. He records what he observes and nothing more.

Data: They seem tentatively interested in the beginning, curious about the novelty of his chosen method, if nothing else. Roman even takes the time to read the text box aloud. But the intrigue soon wanes. He is cut off both literally and figuratively, skipped, dismissed at every turn. When they allow him to speak, it is with begrudging toleration. When he offers silent information, they ignore him. When Deceit takes his place, they do not notice the difference.

His hands clench into fists, ever so briefly. He stares at the ceiling. At the shining stars that Roman helped him to paint so long ago as he grinned and chattered about nothing in particular, paint splattered on his clothes and all across his face. Roman is always so fussy about his appearance that Logan had thought that existing in such a disheveled state would irritate him, but when he pointed it out, Roman laughed, reached out, and swiped his paint-coated thumb across his cheek, loudly proclaiming that now, they matched. And Logan felt so warm, inside and out, despite the fact that he keeps his room at a cool twenty degrees Celsius.

This is a digression. Completely irrelevant to the experiment at hand. He pulls himself back to the pertinent memories.

From the data, results can be extrapolated. It is a simple matter of deciding whether the information gathered supports or refutes the hypothesis. He has collected more than enough observations to make a decision.

Conclusion: All data suggests

His mind stalls. He shakes his head. This should be easy. Data from experimentation, and conclusions from data. That is how the scientific method works.

Conclusion: All data suggests that the hypothesis is correct, and that his presence is neither necessary nor especially welcome amongst the others. His duty can be safely performed from a distance. Further experimentation will be needed to determine the best way in which to do so.

His eyes trace the patterns of the constellations, steadfast and sure, and he thinks about his failures. Thinks about how he attempted to be as unobtrusive as possible, how he ensured that if his input was unwanted, the others would be able to ignore him, to block him out. He gave them the option, so even if he were capable of feeling upset, he should not be. He should not care that they do not care, that they listen to him when it is convenient for them and discard him when it is not.

He doesn’t care. It was simply part of the experiment. It is simply one more hypothesis confirmed. Never mind that he was not actually attempting to conduct an experiment at the time. Approaching this issue in this manner imposes order on disordered, messy thoughts, forces him to think objectively.

Logan sits in his room, and he breathes.

Then, there is a knock at his door, rushed and urgent. He frowns. After how that disaster ended, he would have thought that Patton would be with Roman. And… he’s almost sure it wouldn’t be Deceit-- or should he be calling him by his name now? He is unsure; he was not present for the admission, which may imply a lack of permission, but Deceit confessed in front of Thomas, which may in fact imply blanket permission for all the occupants of his mindscape.

A dilemma to ponder later, perhaps. He stands, rolling his shoulders back, and crosses his room to the door. He opens it, and it’s not Patton, and it’s certainly not Deceit.

It’s Virgil.

He’s pale and hunched over, shoulders set defensively. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying, and Logan opens his mouth to query as to whether there is something he can help him with. He did think it odd, that Virgil chose not to involve himself in the discussion at all, though clearly he has been affected by it to some degree. Of course, Patton is really the one to go to with issues of the emotional kind, but perhaps he tried and found Patton to be busy with Roman. Logan is a poor substitute, but if Virgil desires his help, then he will try his best.

“Virgil,” he says. “Is there something I can do for you?”

For a long moment, Virgil stares at him. Stares, and says nothing.

“Can I come in?” he asks at last.

Logan furrows his brow, but stands aside so that he is no longer blocking the door. “Of course,” he says, and Virgil slips past him and into his room. After a moment of hesitation, he closes the door behind him and turns to face Virgil, who stands in the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling. He looks small, somehow, and lost.

“How are you?” Logan tries. “I understand that there were some topics raised in that discussion that may have left you uncomfortable, assuming that you were listening to it, and I can’t imagine that you were particularly pleased with all aspects of the outcome. Is there anything that you would like to talk about?”

Virgil stares at the ceiling for a moment longer, and then looks to Logan. Logan is taken aback by the expression of devastation that flickers across his face, the sorrow in his eyes and downturned corners of his mouth.

He is expecting him to say something about Roman’s outburst, or about the perils of trusting Deceit as Thomas seems ready to do, but what comes out of his mouth instead is,

“Can I, um, hug you?”

Logan blinks. Plays back the memory in his mind to ascertain that no, he did not mishear. And then, uncertainly, he spreads his arms.

Virgil does not often ask for physical affection, though he is less shy about it now than he once was.

“Yes, certainly,” he says, “though, you know that Patton is--”

He is cut off by Virgil all but launching himself into his arms; all the breath escapes his lungs in a single gust. Virgil’s arms snake around his back, holding him tightly, and he buries his face in his shoulder. For a moment, Logan is completely at a loss; he does not seek out hugs because he does not need them, and typically, nobody asks him for one. In fact, he can’t quite recall the last time that he had such extended physical contact with someone.

It takes a few seconds for him to react, to bring his arms up to encircle Virgil in turn.

“I don’t want Patton,” Virgil mumbles into Logan’s shirt. “I want you.”

“I--” Logan blinks a few times, rapidly, in succession. Because surely, that does not make any sense. Patton is, objectively, the best at hugging out of all of them-- though, actually, now that he considers it, should Deceit be considered for the position, by virtue of having three pairs of arms? Would that make for a more efficient hug, if there were more arms to perform the action? How would one go about measuring such a thing?

Regardless, Patton is certainly the most practiced at giving comfort, and as the center of Thomas’ emotions, it can be assumed that he has the best mindset for it. Why, then, would Virgil claim to seek him for comfort rather than Patton?

“I’m not sure that I understand,” he admits softly, and Virgil pulls back a bit, enough so that they are face to face, though he doesn’t let go entirely. His hands are gripping Logan’s shirt so tightly that they are sure to leave wrinkles.

“I care about you,” Virgil says fiercely. “I care about you so goddamn much. And I want to spend time with you. I never, ever want you to spare me your company, or whatever the fuck that was all about in there.”

He feels a sudden, deep urge to adjust his glasses, to fiddle with his tie, to do something to place distance between himself and Virgil. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to let go of his grip on Virgil’s back. “I… see,” he says, a bit helplessly, even though he does not see, at all. “Is this about what I said to the others? That wasn’t--”

“That wasn’t what?” Virgil interrupts. “That wasn’t what you meant? Just because I wasn’t participating doesn't mean I wan’t listening. It was pretty obvious that you did mean it, Logan.”

Logan frowns. He is growing tired of being interrupted today. Logically, there is no difference between when the others did it and when Virgil does it, except for the fact that he is physically interacting with Virgil, so there is no reason for his sudden... exhaustion. That’s all it is. Exhaustion.

He’s not sure why he expected Virgil to let him finish his sentence.

“I was going to say that it wasn’t important,” he corrects. “I--”

“No,” Virgil cuts in again, and he must react visibly, because Virgil grimaces apologetically. “I’m sorry for talking over you,” he adds, voice a bit softer. “But I kinda don’t think you’re going to let me say what I need to say if I don’t, because you’re wrong, Logan. You are so, so important.”

“I was not attempting to imply otherwise,” Logan replies. “I never said that I wasn’t important. I am very aware that I am important. With an absence of Logic, Thomas’ life would surely devolve into chaos. I am well aware that my fulfillment of my duties is necessary for Thomas to live healthily and successfully.”

For some reason, this only seems to upset Virgil more. “No,” he repeats, frustrated. “I’m not talking about Logic. I’m talking about you, Logan, as a person. You are important.”

Is… he speaking circularly on purpose? What exactly is he trying to say? Usually, he finds Virgil to be refreshingly clear when compared to the other sides, so this interaction so far has been oddly frustrating.

“I’m not certain I understand what you’re attempting to convey.” He pauses. “What is the difference between me and Logic? I am Logic.”

“You’re Logic,” Virgil says, “but you’re Logan, too, and, and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, because they kept talking over you and shutting you up and you didn’t even go and argue with them in person and then you said that, and I got--” He pauses-- “scared.”

Logan believes in the pursuit of knowledge, in enlightenment over ignorance. But somehow, some part of him dreads asking what Virgil means.

“Scared of what?”

For a moment, Virgil is silent, and something like panic flickers on his face. Then, he closes his eyes and breathes. Logan recognizes the pattern: in for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight.

“I’m scared that you don’t know how much we love you,” Virgil says, opening his eyes. His voice is quiet and nervous and vulnerable. “How much I love you.”

For a moment, all he can register is Virgil’s arms around him: their weight, their warmth. That, and the silence in his room. 

Evidence shows that stars produce sounds, though not any that fall within the human range of hearing. The stars on his ceiling, however, are utterly mute.

“I don’t understand,” he says weakly. “I--”

“Logan--”

But no, he has had enough of being overridden. There is only so much he can take before something has to give, and he reached that limit over an hour ago, about when Roman slashed through his contribution like it meant nothing, when Patton pressed skip as if he meant nothing, when Deceit yanked him out of frame and replaced him, and he didn’t bother to put up a fight because no one was listening to him and if he couldn't accomplish anything by speaking, maybe he could by shutting up since that seemed to be what everyone wanted anyway--

And now Virgil is here, saying what? It doesn’t follow, logically, and if there is anything which Logan cannot abide, it is faulty logic.

“No,” he says, and Virgil, mercifully, allows him to talk. “No, that doesn’t make sense. If there is anything that has become glaringly apparent recently, it is that none of you want or care for my presence. No, I’m not done,” he adds, cutting off Virgil’s protest before it can begin. “I am not upset about it. I do not get upset. But logically speaking, the fact that I cannot impart even the most basic of facts before I am interrupted or overruled points to the conclusion that none of you particularly care about what I have to say. Which is, and I will reiterate this point, fine, as I do not need any of you to like me in order to perform my function adequately.”

Virgil stares at him, and then steps back, releasing Logan entirely.

“Oh my god,” he says. “That’s not fine.”

Logan sighs.

“Didn’t I just say that it is?” he asks. “There’s no need for you to be experiencing emotional distress over this matter, Virgil.”

“You just told me that you think none of us care about you, and you think I’m not going to experience some fucking emotional distress?” Virgil stops suddenly, shaking his head. “Wait, no, this isn’t about me. Logan, we’ve been treating you like shit. You’re… you can be upset about it. You know that, right? Because it’s not fine, it is so far past fine that we are in, like, Canada or some shit, and you don’t have to act like it’s fine.”

“I am not ‘acting like it’s fine,’” he says. “It is fine, and I’m not upset. I do not get upset. I’ve told you this. I don’t understand--”

“You do get upset, Logan, you are literally getting upset right now, and that’s okay, you can be upset, you have every right to be upset--”

It’s one interruption too many.

“I am not upset!”

The shout hangs in the air long after the words have left his lips. His chest is heaving, he notes dimly, and his hands are clenched. His ears are ringing, too, and his head pounds.

Oh.

Oh, no. He can’t do this. He can’t do this, and he especially can’t do this now, with Virgil in the room, because he is not supposed to be like this. He has tried so hard not to be like this, has tried so hard to be the cool, rational embodiment of logic that he is supposed to be, but somehow, he continually fails. But it is impossible to reverse time, impossible to erase the outburst now that it has been vocalized, so he stands there, shaking slightly, finding it harder and harder to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“I am not supposed to get upset,” he says eventually, to end the silence more than anything else. “I… apologize. That was unseemly of me.”

“Logan,” Virgil says, softly, slowly, “you do know that you’re allowed to be a person, right?”

He blanks.

“We’re not people,” he says weakly. “We are facets of the personality of a person. My job is to be logical. I’m just trying to do my job.”

Virgil closes his eyes and breathes in his pattern again. Then, he opens them and steps closer. He reaches for Logan’s hands, taking both of them in his own and worrying at the fingers until they begin to relax. Logan stares at them, at his hands in Virgil’s, at Virgil sweeping his thumb across his knuckles slowly and methodically.

“Then let’s look at it logically,” Virgil says. He speaks in that same low tone of voice. It reminds Logan of a nature documentary, one where the narrator uses a soothing, gentle cadence so as not to scare the animals. “Alright?”

Logan nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“If we’re all just supposed to do our jobs,” Virgil says, “our jobs and absolutely nothing else, then I would be anxious all the time, right? I mean, I already am, mostly, but that would mean that I would only be able to feel anxious. No positive emotions, no happiness. Everything that’s been so good about the past few years, with you guys, I wouldn’t be able to have that. Do you think that’s how it should be?”

His voice remains gentle, but for their impact, he may as well be shouting.

“Of course not!” Logan says. The very idea is incredibly displeasing. “But that’s different.”

“Okay, how is it different?”

“Your ability to feel positive emotions does not hamper your ability to perform your basic function. You can be both happy and anxious, at the same time or at different times. The two are not mutually exclusive.” He shakes his head. “I need to be logical, to be rational, and that is everything that emotions are not. If I allow myself to feel, then I allow my judgement to be clouded, and Thomas cannot afford to have a Logic with clouded judgement.”

Virgil frowns. “But that’s just it,” he says. “You have emotions. You’re not stopping yourself from having emotions. No one can do that. You’re just refusing to acknowledge that you have them. Doesn’t that kind of repression cloud your judgement more?”

His mouth goes very dry. He feels as though his heart has stopped, which is ridiculous, because he knows full well that his heart is functioning properly. It seems to be the rest of him that has stopped working. Drawing breath is becoming increasingly difficult, for some reason, which is frustrating because there is absolutely nothing physically wrong with him and thus, no reason for this reaction.

Virgil… has to be wrong. He’s not repressing anything. One cannot repress something that one does not possess. But then, the point of repression is to make oneself believe that one does not possess something, or that one has not done something, so if one is skilled enough at repression, one might not know that they are in the act of repressing. Which would make one an unreliable narrator, which is a disturbing concept to contemplate, because if one cannot rely on one’s own perception of reality, then what can one trust?

Human perception is so, so flawed. He cannot afford flawed perception.

“I’m not repressing anything,” he says. His voice is a reedy whisper even to his own ears. He can’t imagine he sounds very convincing. “That’s what Patton does.”

Virgil quirks a brow. “Yeah, Teach, I don’t think that’s a, uh. What did you say? Mutually exclusive? I don’t think that’s a mutually exclusive thing. Patton doesn’t have a monopoly on repression.”

“But I’m Logic,” he insists. “There’s nothing there to repress.”

Virgil pauses, and for a moment, Logan thinks that he is about to concede the argument. For some reason, it feels like a hollow victory. 

But then, Virgil draws him into another hug. He leans into it, unresisting, but his arms won’t move to return it.

“You’re Logan,” Virgil says softly. “You’re not just Logic, and you’re not a robot. You’ve gotta let yourself be human, buddy.”

“I’m not-- I can’t--” His voice catches, breaks, and he realizes with a rising horror that he has begun to cry. He has begun to cry, and it’s humiliating, because he doesn’t know why, because he’s not sad, not at all, because he doesn’t--

He doesn’t--

He doesn’t feel--

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh.

Oh, god.

He’s such a failure.

“No, no, shh, you’re not a failure,” Virgil says, and that’s just another figurative nail in the figurative coffin, isn’t it, that he’s speaking aloud without even realizing that he’s doing it. “You are the furthest thing from a failure that I know. You’re so good, Logan. Feeling things isn’t a failure. You have to let yourself feel.”

“I don’t know how,” Logan says, broken, almost gasping. He doesn’t want to be saying these things. He feels like he’s losing control, and he’s so terrified. “I’ve never known how. I have to be taken seriously, Virgil, I can’t afford not to be taken seriously--”

There. The admission is out there, out in the world, out in this world that is just the two of them, just him and Virgil locked in an embrace, just him and Virgil as his tears leak onto the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie. Once spoken, they cannot be unspoken, and Logan feels--

He feels--

Oh, how he feels, and how wrong it is--

“I promise, that’s not going to happen,” Virgil says. “You’re allowed to have emotions. No one will think any less of you.”

Is this what devastation is? Is this what a tsunami feels like as it sweeps across the land, washing civilization away? His chest is tight and hot and his eyes are burning and his ears are ringing, and he’s felt this way all along but he’s refused to acknowledge that it was happening because he is Logic and Logic is not feelings, is not listened to even when he’s not displaying unbecoming emotions, so how can he possibly think that letting himself feel would be a good idea?

He doesn’t want to feel like this.

He’s felt like this for so long.

“You already think less of me!” he says. “You, you all, you never listen to what I say, you always tell me to shut up or you ignore me or I can tell that I irritate you even when I’m specifically trying not to be irritating and I don’t know what to do because nothing I try ever works.”

Virgil makes a wounded noise deep in the back of his throat, and his grip on Logan tightens.

“We owe you so many apologies,” he says. “I am so, so sorry, Logan. I am so sorry that we made you feel like we didn’t care. I am so sorry that we haven’t been listening. I am so fucking sorry that we made you feel like you needed to not have emotions just to be heard. I am so sorry.”

And Logan lets go. His breath hitches and chokes on a sob, and he doesn’t hold it back, doesn’t swallow it down and try to forget the urge was ever there in the first place.

He buries his face in Virgil’s shoulder and lets himself cry.

“I’m trying,” he gasps between sobs, “I’m trying so hard but I can’t--”

“I know,” Virgil says. “I know. You’re doing so good. I know we’ve all been shit at showing it, but we love you, Logan, really, and we’re here for you. We’re gonna do better, I swear.”

In this moment, Logan allows himself to believe that Virgil cares. He believes in what his senses can absorb, and the evidence is undeniable; it is in Virgil’s arms around him, holding him safe, in Virgil’s low, emphatic words and the way he sounds as if he, too, is near tears, as if Logan is someone worth crying over.

It occurs to him, then, that Virgil did not come here seeking comfort. He came here to offer comfort to him. All he has to do is accept it. And he shouldn’t need it, shouldn’t want it, because he is Logic and Logic does not need comforting or reassurance, but he’s far past that point already, is already weeping into Virgil’s shoulder, so perhaps it is too late to go back. The thought frightens him.

He doesn’t know how to feel. Has never known how to feel, has always thought that it would be better for himself and everyone, better for Thomas if he just. Didn’t. But Virgil says that he can, and though Virgil can be wrong, he despises deception. Virgil wouldn’t lie to him.

Perhaps this can be a start.

His arms come up, and he hugs Virgil back. Presses up close to him and revels in the warmth even as he cries.

“The others,” he says, “they don’t, they don’t like me and they don’t listen--”

“We’ll talk to them,” Virgil says. “You and me, once you’re feeling better, okay? We’ll make this right. Your feelings are valid and your contributions are important, and we’re gonna remind them about that.” His grip tightens, and when he speaks again, it’s in a whisper, as if to himself. “You’re not alone. I know how shitty it feels to think you are, but you’re not. And you’re not ever going to be.”

And Logan, shivering and shaking in Virgil’s arms, tears still crawling down his cheeks, looks up at the ceiling. At the stars, bright and constant, like a promise.

“Okay,” he whispers, and he decides to believe, if only this one more time.

Hypothesis: They care. And I am allowed to care, too.

Conclusion: Pending.

[titaniasfics]

How about Wanda having a flashback and Vision helping her through it.

Loved this prompt! 

Given all that Wanda has already been through, I couldn’t bear to make her suffer over much. So this is a mild instance of her PTSD coming to complicate things. Plus, I love over-protective Wanda.

Takes place between Age of Ultron and Captain America: Civil Wars

Tune-up

Vision lies on the table connected via a data cable through an almost indecipherable port on the back of his neck to Dr. Cho’s station. Vision was unperturbed when he invited Wanda to join him so they could save time on their walk in the woods afterward. He even went so far as to describe it as a tune-up, which had provoked a laugh from her.

Therefore, Wanda isn’t prepared for the way she feels when she sees him splayed out this way – vulnerable and so fragile, he looks like he might break.

The lab, the table, the blinking cable – all of a sudden, she’s back at the Hydra Research Base, but it’s not just her and Pietro. Now Vision is strapped down on the examination table, scepter waiting dangerously close by. Her hands grow clammy and her breath comes in short. She’s awash in terror and yanks herself back before she can fall head-first into her nightmare.

“What will she do to you?” Wanda asks, eyeing Dr. Cho with mistrust.

Vision, who is studying the monitor above him, turns his head to look at Wanda instead. “It is part of a longitudinal project I have agreed to. Dr. Cho scans my neural network, documenting the adaptations and interdependence of my neural network with the Mind Stone at defined intervals over a period of time to create a record of my evolving systems.”

“A kind of mind map?” Wanda suggests, hoping the dry details will calm her racing heart.

“Exactly,” Dr. Cho interjects and Wanda shoots her a withering look. What right does she have to expose him this way? Who is she to endanger him with her science experiments? But she quells her mounting panic at the clear evidence that Vision is a willing participant in this process. Wanda probes the doctor’s mind, revealing that her intentions are purely scientific. She also notes the almost maternal care with which she approaches her task with Vision, a revelation that calms Wanda’s anxieties somewhat.

It has only been a few months since the Battle of Sokovia, and in that time, Wanda has not only struggled with the loss of her twin brother and the destruction of Novi Grad, but she’s also had to learn to adapt to a new country and function among a group of strangers whose only commonality with her is their membership with the Avengers. While she has come to appreciate her fellow teammates, it hasn’t been an easy transition.

The only relationship that extends beyond mere teamwork is the one she shares with Vision, who has shown her kindness and understanding beyond any expectations, but especially from what she would expect from a synthezoid. The idea that he might submit himself to something that can harm him sends her to a dangerous place.

“What does it do?” Wanda asks, pointing at the port.

Dr. Cho glances at Vision, who gives her a slight nod. “The data cable allows me to access his network non-invasively.”

“Are there any risks involved?”

A smile flits across Dr. Cho’s face as she answers, “None at all. We’ve done this twice already. He’s a very cooperative patient.”

“Thank you for answering her questions,” Vision responds. Wanda frowns and, much as she’d like to object to all this, there’s no reason, and furthermore, it’s not her place.

“It’s not a problem. She’s worried about you,” Dr. Cho answers, returning to her monitoring station.

Vision’s hand comes to rest on Wanda’s. “Wanda, I sense your anxiety. Are you concerned?”

Wanda captures his hand, squeezing it. She debates on whether to share her worries but decides it’s unfair to burden him with that as well. It’s her past. Her problem. She already leans on him for so much.

“No. Doctors just make me nervous. But Dr. Cho seems well-meaning and under control. I’ll get out of the way and let you both work.”

She makes to pull away but he doesn’t release her hand. “I promise, everything will be fine. It is a routine scan. Nothing more.”

“I know,” She nods quickly and turns away before her tears betray her.

The entire procedure lasts less than fifteen minutes. Wanda waits in an observation area separated by a glass partition. She sits on a soft leather chair with a frictionless spin she’d enjoy if she weren’t perched on its edge, biting her nails the entire time. Vision is so still, so quiet, that he looks asleep, or even…

A hiss accompanies the detachment of the data cable and she is on her feet and through the door before she’s been called. She reaches Vision’s side as he sits up, long legs swinging over the edge of the bed. She helps him off the bed, though he hardly needs it, and clings to his arm.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

Vision smiles, though his face is confused. “I’m perfectly fine, Wanda.” He tilts his head in that peculiar mannerism only he possesses. “Are you okay?”

She does a quick scan of his emotions, checking for signs of distress or anxiety but all she finds is that calm, methodical presence that always manages to still her own internal turmoil. Her rock in the middle of a storm.

“I’m fine now,” she says, giving him a quick hug that catches them both by surprise. He’s barely wrapped his arms around her before she steps back. Just behind him is Dr. Cho, watching them with a soft smile.

“We’ll see you back here in a month,” she says.

“We will be here. If you would like to accompany me again,” he adds softly, directing his words to Wanda.

Wanda will hate every minute of it, but she’ll do it because he asks. “If it’s okay with the doctor.”

“Oh, I don’t see any problems,” she says, chuckling to herself.

“Thank you, doctor,” Vision says, his face still a mask of disorientation. Wanda can’t explain it herself. All she knows is that she’s relieved and so happy, she might levitate.

“Come on. You owe me a hike,” she says, tugging on his arm. He obliges, as he always does. Despite her misplaced worries, Wanda is eager to get the hell out of here.

One-shot masterlist on tumblr

ScarletVision Collection on AO3

[thedannyphantomcookbook]

The Phantom Origins

Okay, so I know probably a bunch of people have already done this, but I wanted to rewrite Danny Phantom, from just before he got his powers to maybe when he tells his parents.

 I’m tired of waiting for a reboot that may never come, so here is what I picture the reboot would look like. 

I’ve always thought it would be darker and more horrific, that the ghosts he fights are more monstrous and demonic.

 That there would be a little bit more of a medical concern for Danny’s humanity being affected by his ghost half. Is he becoming more ghost like? Is he gradually getting sicker and sicker, and his ghost DNA ravages through his body like cancer? 

Would Vlad be not only a sexist, creepy, abusive old man, but contains a thirst for deception and power that he poses a real, apocalyptic threat on Earth and the ghost zone?

Are ghosts actually the spirits of the dead? Or are they a different breed of human that lives in a completely separate dimension, that’s is layered and hidden within ours?

What about Danny’s mental health. He has to keep this big secret from his parents because he absolutely FEARS what would happen if they found it to the point he’s scared they wouldn’t believe he was their son and try to kill him as a result, or keep him hostage in the basement, slowly torturing him and dissecting him until he’s dead? What would the world think of him? A prophet? A demon? Would they accuse his parents for experimenting on their own children? He would have so much fear and anxiety that he’d have to be on edge all the time, falling into depression, panic attacks - not to mention the PTSD he’d get from it all while battle nightmarish monsters and the hanging question over his head of what he is now. 

These are just SOME of the questions I’ve had that Butch Hartman will never answer. He set up such a great plot and characters but carried it out pretty poorly over the show (which may or may not be his fault since they wanted to keep it kid friendly.)

I hope to get into the deep and dark and nitty gritty details of Danny Phantom we’ve imagined but never get to see. I wrote the first chapter below, and I plan to write much more. :)

I hope you guys enjoy it!

Follow me over at Ao3 

Summary:

Dr. Madelyn Fenton and her husband, Dr. Jackson Fenton, have just built the world's first portal to the Ghost Zone - an alternate dimension where undead linger for all eternity. The only problem is no one believes in what they are doing. The townspeople call them the Fenton Freaks and the rejection letters from the National Science Foundation are piling up. Not even their own children can tolerate their ghost obsession. Their 14 year old son, Danny, does what he can to separate himself from his parents. Mocked by his peers and judged by his teachers, he keeps his head down and stays out of the spotlight. 

It comes as no surprise to Danny when his parents' machine fails to work on the first test run. Discouraged, they leave empty handed for the weekend to go to the Ghost Hunter's Expo, where they were expected to present their portal during their panel. As soon as his parents leave, Danny invites his friends over to give a tour of yet another one of his parents' failed experiments. When he gets dared to walk inside the machine, he triggers something that turns it back on, and for the first time ever, his parents have an invention that works. But that's the least of the surprises when Danny emerges from the portal himself...

To Whom It May Concern,

To the esteemed members of the National Science Foundation, myself, Dr. Madelyn Fenton, PhD., and my husband, Dr. Jackson Fenton, PhD., write to you today to consider us for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award. Our combined decades worth of research within paranormal scientific research fields have led us to believe that the “ghost” entities that haunt our very Earth, could in fact be the missing link to creating new technology, curing human illnesses, and prolonging human life on Earth.

The term “ghosts” is defined as a religious or spiritual being, or the hypothetical soul of the human body, separated from physical forms, usually that of a person recently deceased. Dr. Jackson Fenton and myself have a different theory about the “ghostly” entities that visit our Earth. We have sufficient evidence to prove that ghosts are in fact not the spirits of the dead, but an entirely new species of the human race. We believe they exist in an alternate dimension - a separate plane of existence that is not unlike ours. Recent developments have also shown the possibility of dimensional travel -  we believe ghosts are able to pass through into our plane of existence for a temporary amount of time. Through our rigorous research, construction, and experimentation, Dr. Jackson Fenton and myself have created what would be a “portal” to this plane of existence, to the “Ghost Zone.” By exploring and studying the ghost zone, we could collect a limitless amount of research and data that could be used to benefit humanity for the rest of our existence.  

We have provided within our application our twenty years of research and development, along with video recordings of our experiments as evidence of our work in progress, as we humbly request your consideration for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant  Award.

Sincerely,

Dr. Madelyn Fenton, PhD. in Quantum Physics and Paranormal Studies

Dr. Jackson Fenton, PhD. in Theoretical Science and Paranormal Studies

From the Grants and Admissions Office of the National Science Foundation

To Dr. Madelyn Fenton and Dr. Jackson Fenton,

Thank you for your interest in applying for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award. The New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award (NESRGA) is an esteemed scholarship opportunity that looks to provide funding for ground-breaking scientific research to scientists working within small and local laboratories. After carefully reviewing your application and research, we have come to the regretful decision to decline your request to receive the NESRGA.

We unfortunately could not approve your request due to the following issues:

Insufficient or lack thereof evidence or proof of scientific research of ghostly entities and/or undiscovered species, the “Ghost Zone” dimension in which these entities exist, or possible travel to said “Ghost Zone.”

Insufficient of lack thereof peer review research and laboratory data.

Paranormal entities and alternative dimensional research is not recognized under the National Science Foundation as factual scientific work.

We are thrilled to hear that you share such enthusiasm, passion, and ambition in the pursuit of scientific exploration, research and development. You are a part of a wonderful community, and through your tireless efforts, you will help bring our Earth into the future.

We welcome you to apply for the NESRGA again next year.

Sincerely,

Barbara Keaton,

Director of Grants and Admissions

National Science Foundation

GHOST HUNTERS EXPO - THIS LABOR DAY WEEKEND

To Drs. Maddie and Jack Fenton,

We are excited to have you return to speak at the Ghost Hunters Expo this coming labor day weekend. We have reviewed your Ghost Zone Theory and we anticipate your presentation of your research.

Please note: due to new regulations we cannot allow the following into the convention center:

Ecto-infused food, inanimate objects, or animal mutations of any kind.

Alarm or defense systems that release a form of knock out gas, ectoplasmic goo, ectoplasmic foam, spoiled meats, or  live rodents. All alarms and defense systems must be turned off while inside the convention center.

Samplings or gifts of homemade cookies or other food, beverages, or gifts to bribe the judges.

Disclosed weapons that are not a part of your presentation and/or not approved by the convention prior (we will have metal detections at all entry points of the convention hall)

Asking for audience volunteers unless approved by us prior your scheduled presentation time.

Ghost claims targeted towards convention guests, judges, or other presenters.

All presentations and inventions must have been tested and approved by a judge prior to your presentation time (i.e. no last minute or surprise inventions).

Fighting or displays of physical aggression.

Destruction of convention hall equipment, the building’s foundation itself, or other presenters equipment and or inventions.

We thank you in advance for your compliance and full understanding of the new regulations.

We look forward to seeing you!

Best,

Trevor Martin

Ghost Hunters Expo Coordinator

“Did you see this?” Jack Fenton asked, waving the notice from the Ghost Hunters Expo. He scoffed. “New regulations...I wonder who were the bimbos that made them enforce these rules.” He crumbled up the notice and threw it carelessly on the floor.

“How’s that portal coming, sweet cheeks?” he asked his wife.

Maddie Fenton was deep within a hexagon shaped chamber carved out of her laboratory converted basement wall. The interior was lined with a colorful array of wires and tiny blinking lights. At the end of the chamber, sheets of metal and hardware fanned in on itself. Maddie was kneeled on the floor, wrestling with a few cords.

“I’m just struggling to connect these last couple of wires,” she answered, pinching the two cords together. With a last bit of strain, the cords connected with a satisfying click.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, she came out of the chamber. “Hopefully that will stabilize the gravitational pull of the Ghost Zone once we get the portal running.” She briefly thought back to a dark memory from their college days when their first Ghost Zone prototype had malfunctioned and the toxins from the Ghost Zone leaked out of the portal, resulting in displacing one of her lab partners for the remainder of their college career.

“We got it this time, baby,” Jack said confidently. “There is no way we could make the same mistake twice.”

Maddie sighed as she walked over to the control panel to record the ecto-readings. “I just wish we knew for certain what had gone wrong that day. All of this guess work is driving me crazy.” She picked up her notebook and briefly reviewed her meticulously hand written notes before adjusting some dials.

“Okay,” she huffed, satisfied. “I think we’re ready for a test run.”

Jack clapped his hands. “Excellent! I’ll go grab the kids!” He ran to the basement steps and shouted, “Jazzy-pants! Danny! Get down here!”

A few minutes later both of their teenage children shuffled down the basement steps.

“Is this gonna take long?” Danny asked, disinterestedly. “Tucker and I were in the middle of planning our next battlefield strategies for Doomed. There’s only a few days left of summer vacation and we still have so much planning to do if we want to beat the other online players and achieve the seven Keys of Destiny.”

“And I was in the middle of an important breakthrough in my self therapeutic psychology research,” their daughter, Jazz promptly stated. In her hands she clutched an open copy anxiety and phobias workbook. “Did you know that high functioning anxiety in adulthood is caused by childhood trauma from never feeling safe in your own home? This would explain so much about me and Danny -” she paused in her speech when she saw the machine her parents were working on.

“Oh, no.” She snapped her book shut and pinched the flesh between her eyes. “ Please do not tell me you called us down here to witness another one of your experiments. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Oh, Jazz, relax,” Maddie said, waving her off. “Those burn marks from the last ectoplasmic gun experiment healed eventually. And look!” She walked over to a closet in the back of the room and pulled out two polyester jumpsuits. “We made you both your own custom fitted, lab safe, jumpsuits!”

Jack appeared beside Maddie. “And we matched them with ours! Jazzy-pants, yours is teal to match your mother’s. And Danny, yours would have matched mine but the store didn’t have orange.” he held out a plain white jumpsuit with black gloves and boots.

“And I haven’t even shown you two the best parts!” he grabbed the jumpsuits from Maddie and spun them around. Crudely pressed onto the fabric of the jumpsuit was a cutout of Jack Fenton’s smiling face, emblazoned on the chest.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jack grinned.

Jazz was the first to respond. “Dad there is no way you’re going to get me to wear that,” she said while backing away and shaking her head. “How about Danny and I will just go upstairs and you can call us down after  you’ve tested it? That way we’ll be safe and not have to wear those hideous jumpsuits.”

Danny silently agreed with her while struggling to conceal his own disgust at the suits. It was one thing to be forced to wear a jumpsuit like his parents but it was an entirely different level of lame to have to wear his father’s face across his chest. What if his parents insisted he wore it all the time, like they did? Involuntary images of him becoming the laughing stock at his new high school was surfacing in his mind, more than he already was for being the son of the city’s eccentric ghost hunting husband and wife team. He was already struggling to stay above the pathetic nerd social ring in his class. They’d have to create an entirely new category of nerd just for him if he wore that suit. The thought of it made him want to crawl away in a hole and be left there to die.

“Mom, Dad, I have to agree with Jazz,” Danny said. “The suits are kinda...lame.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Maddie dismissed. “These jumpsuits are the latest fashion that every ghost hunter wants.”

“And when we reveal these babies with my face on them, everyone will be scrambling for one. We’ll be rich!” Jack stated proudly.

Jazz snorted. “Um, I somehow doubt that. Look, we’ll just go back upstairs and you two can let us know when it’s safe, okay?” She looped a hand around Danny’s arm and started pulling him away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Jack clamped a hand on both of them  and spun them back around. “You two are being given the chance to witness scientific history! And we are not going to let you pass up on this.” He tossed the jumpsuits to Jazz and Danny. They unwillingly caught them.

Jazz glowered at Danny. “If you take any photos and post them on the internet, I will kill you.”

Danny held out his suit reproachfully. His dad’s smiling face seemed to be laughing at him, like all of the students as Casper High will be if they ever found out about this.

“Don’t worry about it.”

A few minutes later, Jazz and Danny stood alongside their parents in their matching jumpsuits. Jazz stood with her arms crossed, silently fuming, her foot tapping impatiently. At her mother’s insistence, Jazz was forced to tuck in her long, red hair and wear the hair sealing head cover and thick, dark eye protection goggles that came with it. At equal height, Jazz and Maddie were identical in their suits.

At least Danny couldn’t match his dad. Jack’s suit was bright orange and about twenty sizes larger than Danny’s, due to his father’s obsession with Maddie’s homemade fudge and cookie inventions. Danny’s own white suit was slightly too large for him, and hung in odd places due to his skinny frame. He didn’t have to wear a hood and goggles like his sister either - another thankful shortage from the ghost hunter’s clothing warehouse. He picked at his dad’s pressed on face design on his chest as he waited for his parents to get the machine ready for its test run. His dad had tried ironing it on, but had done it poorly, so that with a bit of a tug, it was already beginning to peel off.

Jack and Maddie Fenton ran back and forth across the lab, double checking last minute calculations. Machines whirred and beeped around them, the hum of electricity warm in the stagnant air.

Danny had a good idea of how this was going to go. If this would be like any of their past experiments, it would fail miserably. The experiment would go haywire, probably spout ectoplasmic goo everywhere or accidentally giving ecto energy to the nearest food item. One year, their parents had tried making the Christmas Turkey in their newly invented Ultra-fast Instant Pot and instead infused it with demonic ghostly energy and reanimated it. Danny remembered hiding underneath the kitchen table as Jazz had to beat it back with a pastry roller, screaming for their parents.

The ghost zone portal was their most ambitious project yet. For most of Danny’s life, they had dinner table discussions, weighing mathematical equations and scientific chemical balances in hopes of being able to one day engineer the world’s first ghost zone portal. He was fairly surprised when he found out at the beginning of the summer that they were finally constructing it, and even more so when they claimed last night it was completed. They had been rushing to get it done in time to present it at the Ghost Hunters Expo this weekend.

He glanced at the table beside him looking at the pile of papers his dad had haphazardly stacked among the beakers and ghost weapons. Sitting on top of the stack was the rejection letter from the National Science Foundation.

“It means that they don’t think what they’re doing is science,” Jazz had interpreted for Danny after reading it when their parents’ back was turned. “And who could blame them? There is zero evidence supporting the existence of ghosts. It’s just superstition.”

That’s all it was. Superstition. And  yet, his parents had at some point in their youth latched on to the idea that ghosts were more than a myth, and even though they’ve never actually seen one in person themselves, they were determined to prove ghosts were real. What amazed Danny the most is the amount of people who also believed in the same theory. In the years past when his parents had dragged him and Jazz to the Ghost Hunter’s Expo, the crowds always seemed to grow bigger and bigger. Scientists, hunters, enthusiasts, and even ghost cosplayers gathered under the same roof for a full weekend, exchanging theories, stories and footage of what they thought were ghosts. The most ridiculous rumor he had heard at the last ghost hunter’s convention was one of a young, blue haired female musician, who became an overnight sensation after one performance at a local carnival. She had also disappeared quite suddenly after the performance, which raised a lot of speculation. Ghost hunters claimed her unusually pale skin and hypnotic vocals were a part of her ghostly powers. Jazz had stated that it was simply because she was a successful female in the patriarchy they had to deem her as a ghost to explain it.

Danny didn’t want to say anything else after that.

“Jack,” Maddie called from across the room, typing away at a computer. “Did you remember to pour in the ecto-purifier?”

“On it, baby!” Jack cried while fumbling with a control panel. Danny watched as grabbed a can of diet cola, which sat next to the similar sized gray cylinder labeled “EP.”

“Uh, Dad?” Danny called. “I don’t think that’s the ecto-purifier.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked. He turned to look at the object in his hand and barked out a chuckle.

“Thanks, son! That was a close one.” He placed the can of diet cola down and picked up the correct cylinder. “Who knows what would have happened if we purified the toxic ghost energies with diet cola. Could you imagine?” He poured the bright green liquid into the appropriate chamber.

In the corner of his eye, Danny saw Jazz shake her head. “Idiot,” she whispered.

Jazz believed she was the only mature Fenton in the family. At some point during her high school career, she had decided it was up to her to convince her parents that ghosts were not real, and to force them to change their careers to something more normal or socially acceptable. She had tried to get them interested in just about any other scientific field she could think of, such as deep sea diving to discover creatures living on the ocean floor, to NASA’s space engineering program. When those didn’t work, she tried to build a case proving the psychological damage they were causing to her’s and Danny’s upbringing. Over the summer, when she wasn’t preparing herself for the SATs she’d have to take later that school year, she poured over every psychological book she could get her hands on from the library. No matter how many times she argued about the permanent damage her parents were inflicting on their amygdala by creating an unsafe environment for her and Danny to grow up in, their parents would say it’s all worth it for the sake of scientific advancement.

Danny tried desperately to stay out of their fights. Most days, he was too focused on trying to survive a day without being called “that ghost geek” by his peers, no matter how many times he told his classmates he didn’t believe in his parents’ work. Maybe it was because of his small, bony limbs that made it so easy for his classmates to mock him. Or the fact that his only two friends in the entire world were also considered a variety of nerd within the social climate. His best friend Tucker was a little too obsessed with the latest technology and his other friend, Samanatha - Sam for short - was the only school’s goth girl, who filled her entire personality and outlook with dark and depressing outfits and literature. In a weird way, it did make sense that the girl who loved to read about the dead, and the boy who loved technology, would want to be friends with the kid whose parents called themselves ghost scientists. Still, they were his best friends and he wouldn’t trade them for anyone else.

He had been telling them about the portal his parents were building all summer. Just like he was, his friends were also doubtful it would work. They deliberated about what the inventions would actually do. Tucker still brought up the time Danny’s parents were testing out an anti-ghost gravity spray, to temporarily make a ghost lose their flight ability. The morning they were testing it out, Danny had woken up in a hovering bed. It had shocked him so much, he fell off his bed and face-planted onto his bedroom floor, breaking his nose. At some point, Tucker and Sam started placing bets about the outcome.

“Maybe the portal will just blast a hole through the wall and you’ll send up in the Amity Park Sewer System,” Sam guessed last night after he told them his parents were getting ready for their first test.

“Bet you five bucks that Danny will lose all of his hair this time,” Tucker had joked.

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his exposed hair and briefly wished he had a head cover and goggles like Jazz. He couldn’t help but notice there was something different about his parents this time. They didn’t have the same, bubbly and excited energy they usually had when showing off a new invention. They seemed more focused this time. Even his dad’s goofy banter towards Maddie had taken a back seat as his dad frowned over the controls. It was weird to see his dad actually concentrating. Maybe it was the hundredth rejection letter they received from the National Science Foundation, or the pressure to present this weekend at the Expo, but it seemed like they were seriously trying to make this thing work. They did not want to fail.

“Okay everyone!” Maddie ran over and started waving her hands. “Backs up against the wall.”

Jazz sighed and turned to walk over to stand behind the boxed in yellow line, the “safe” spot in the lab. Danny thought  a metal containment center with a viewing screen would have kept them safer, but supposedly his parents didn’t have time to build one. Danny followed his mother and sister.

“Almost…” Jack muttered at the controls, typing away. Suddenly there was a loud click that echoed off the basement walls. Machines roared to life and lights winked on. Inside the portal, the metal fans began to spin.

“YES!” Jack punched the air, triumphant.

“Jack!” Maddie called to her husband, gesturing towards the safe zone. He jogged over and squeezed himself in between his two kids.

“This is it!” he shouted over the noise, which was gradually becoming deafening.

All around the room, machines and computers turned on. Attached beakers and graduated cylinders filled up with green, bubbling liquid. A wall lined with dialers bounced up and down. Puffs of smoke expelled out of exhaust pipes. The portal itself began to crackle with electricity, its interior fans spinning faster and faster until it started emitting a bright green glow. The pressure in the room changed, popping Danny’s ears. He felt the tips of his hair begin to rise with the electric waves.

The whirring of the fans inside the machine began to ring out a high pitch squeal as the machine glowed brighter, and brighter, blinding Danny’s naked eyes. He squinted and held out a hand over his eyes, peeking through his fingers. The air around them grew warm and staticky. His father clamped a hand tightly on Danny’s shoulder, as if to hold him back from running away.

It was working. Danny couldn’t believe it. Not once in all of their years of inventing ghost machines and hunting equipment, they may have actually been able to build something that worked like they wanted it to.

What would this mean? That ghosts actually existed? That his parents were not the crackpot fools the town took them for? And if they did exist, there was the one question that no one has been able to answer.

Were ghosts dangerous?

He looked up at Jazz. Her expression was unreadable through the head covering. He looked at his parents, wild and furious excitement in their eyes.

Then, when it seemed like Danny’s ears couldn’t take much more of the screeching noise, a BOOM exploded from the portal. Light poured out of the machine and flooded the room. Danny yelped and turned away. Jack stepped in front of his family and hid them with his massive torso from the explosion. Then, very suddenly, the room went dark. Every light and machine that had been just buzzing with life, died. Danny’s hearing rang in the abrupt silence.

“What the heck?” Jack was the first to say something.

“I got a flashlight, hang on,” Maddie said next. Danny heard her fumbling around her utility belt and a small light winked on. She shined it around the room. Curls of smoke rose up from the machines. The glow from the ecto-purifier had also faded.

“I don’t understand,” Maddie said, dumbfounded as she gazed around the room. “This should have worked.”

“We checked every calculation,” Jack said, equally mystified.

“And tested every single machine.” She threw up her hands. “I even made sure the damn computers turned on!”

“Well, obviously, this wasn’t going to work,” Jazz suddenly said, her anger returning. “You guys were trying to open a portal to nothing . Because ghosts don’t EXIST.”

She ripped off the hood and goggles. “I’m going back upstairs to change and burn this stupid jumpsuit, and work on processing this trauma that you have inflicted on us, yet again.” Without waiting for her parents to respond, she stomped back upstairs, her footsteps echoing off the silent basement walls

Jack shook his head. “What is her deal?”

“Oh, never mind her, Jack,” Maddie said. “We need to figure out what went wrong. We only have a day until the expo and we promised to present this.”

Danny’s parents turned their back on him and began working to restore the power, jumping right into a deep discussion. Danny took the moment to quietly slip away back upstairs.

The second he was back into his room, he let out a long exhale. Suddenly remembering he was wearing the jumpsuit, he hastily ripped it off and then threw it in the trash bin in the corner of his room.

He flopped back onto his bed, and lay in the stillness of his room for a few minutes to collect his thoughts. He stared up at the plastic, glow in the dark stars and planets stuck on his ceiling.

He couldn’t believe there was a moment back there where he thought the machine was working.

He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if ghosts were real. There were no real scientific facts about them. All those convention attendees at the ghost hunters expo all had different theories about what ghosts are - the religiously damned, aliens, spirits with unfinished business, souls that died before their time, another species - no one could settle on a single argument.

But if they did exist, what would happen then? Would they swarm the Earth, like cicadas after their years long sleep? Would they haunt each and every home and building in towns and cities, and try to claim it as their own? Would the world be plunged into a ghost apocalypse, where every human had to fight for their own human survival and soul? Were ghosts malicious or peaceful?

His parents might be arrested for creating the portal in the first place, if it did turn out bad. Or the government might force them to work alongside them to rid the Earth of the ghost population. What would happen to him and Jazz? Would they be put into juvie, just for being the kids of the Fenton Freaks? Would they be put into foster care, once the government decided Jack and Maddie were unfit parents for him and Jazz?

What if the human population adopted a sick fascination of ghosts? Businesses would try to profit off the ghosts by selling fake anti-ghost protection devices or offer tours inside “haunted” houses. There might even be a community in which some would fall in love or even want to become a ghost themselves.

The world would become absolute chaos.

Danny shuddered at the thought. He didn’t understand what his parents saw in trying to prove their existence. What good would proving the undead existed bring to the world?

His anxious, spiraling thoughts were interrupted when his computer dinged. Danny got up and sat down at his desk. He wiggled his mouse to wake up his computer. Tucker had sent him a message.

Still have all of your hair?

Danny chuckled and wrote back.

Yep. Nothing happened though. But the power in the basement blew.

Damn ,  was Tucker’s response. And I had just invested in a 25 pack of markers to color your head in Lancer’s class when you fall asleep.

Danny laughed out loud. I can only imagine all the pensises you’d draw.

I had planned no less than 50. Two for each color.

Well I hope you kept your receipt cause I still have a full head of hair. Unlike you. Danny made a jab at Tucker’s own buzzed haircut. He had tried growing out dreads for the school year, but his mother forced him to shave it off after he got caught staying up on the computer way too late one night. She paid the barber to give him a military buzz cut.

Shut up, dude, Tucker typed back. While you were away not getting your hair fried off your scalp, I was devising up a new battle plan to defeat Chaos.

Danny smiled. Oh yeah? Lay it on me.

[discolesbo]

2021 and early 2022: Top scaramouche

Late 2022 and 2023: Bottom scaramouche

[moonsofmars-writes]

say the word and i'll be running back to find you

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra) Characters: Entrapta (She-Ra), Hordak (She-Ra) Additional Tags: Hordak is just mentioned, but he is in entrapta's mind, Canon Compliant, set in season 5, entrapta is in SPACE!, (with Bow and Adora but they are just mentioned here), Light Angst, internal monologue mostly, Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Entrapdak Month, Day 1, space, entrapta is going to find her spacebat and no one will stop her

Summary: Entrapta, Adora and Bow just left Etheria to go save Glimmer. While her companions rest, Entrapta gets the chance to admire the space ... and to think about the person she most wants to find.

Notes: this was written for Entrapdak Month, Day 1. It’s my first work for this fandom, I hope you’ll enjoy it! 

Space is awesome. Entrapta can’t stop watching through the ship's - no, through Darla’s windows, gloved hands pressed against the glass and a big, ecstatic smile curving her lips. She had the chance to observe the sky from Etheria since they have finally gotten out of Despondos, she has imagined dozens, hundreds of times how space could look like from up there, but this - this is even more than what she expected. Wherever she looks, darkness is studded with stars and planets - so many new places to see, so many different elements and civilizations, so many ways to do science. If she could, she would visit every single one of them - oh, the data she would collect, the information she could discover! Perhaps, when everything will be over, when Prime will no longer be a menace, she will travel - no, she will definitely travel, even if she had to build another spaceship herself.

First, though, she thinks breathing a sigh, she has to focus on their mission. The beautiful sight displaying in front of her is another reason why stopping Prime is fundamental - if they don’t, he will wipe everything away. Entrapta imagines the sky being emptied of its celestial bodies, the stars extinguishing one by one, until nothing is left but void. She shivers thinking about how it must look. Probably not much different from the sky she observed from Despondos. Hordak must have felt so alone, so far away from everything he knew, when he crashed on Etheria.

Continue on AO3

Hordak.

Hordak.

In her pocket, the First Ones’ crystal feels suddenly heavier - though that’s scientifically impossible since destiny manipulation is not among its properties. Adora and Bow told her they would have rested, so she can reach for it without worrying that someone will interrupt her and ask questions. She wouldn’t know what to answer anyway. When her hand is finally around it, she holds it tight, until she can feel its sharp edges through her gloves. She has to find him. She will find him. And then … She bits her lips as a lock of her hair starts tapping Darla’s control panel. About what to do then, she is unsure. Despite what Prime is doing to Etheria, maybe Hordak is happy now that he reunited with him. Perhaps he won’t even want to talk to her.

Yet ...

Entrapta saw some of Prime’s other clones. She heard some of them speak and intercepted some of their communications - their technology is fascinating! But they are nothing like Hordak. They think of nothing but Prime, want nothing but to serve Prime, they don’t - they don’t have dreams or hope, not the way he did. They don’t have his same passion - well, if not, maybe, for Prime. Even their ears move differently than his; she used to watch them, back when they worked together on the portal, and soon realised that they moved according to his emotions - and then watching them became important because it helped her to figure out how he felt - she soon realised that she cared about it. Her guess is that his time on Etheria changed him, not completely but enough to make him develop a ... an identity, something that the other Clones don’t seem to have. Not yet.

Her stomach twitches and she holds the crystal with both hands. Was Hordak really welcomed among them? Is he … is he happy, now? She just wants to know. If he is … if he is fine and doesn’t want to see her ... - she swallows, eyes fixed on the letters carved into the crystal, the letters she wrote because she didn't dare to say them out loud - if it’s really like that, then she will leave him alone. It wouldn’t be the first time a - a friend leaves her. But first, she needs to know he is alright. Besides, she needs to tell him that she didn’t betray him.

When Scorpia informed her about what Catra told him to explain her disappearance, part of her found it almost funny. Betray him? To let the princesses into the Fright Zone and leave him and their experiments and the only place where she had finally felt normal? Nonsense! But Hordak didn’t know how much their work meant to her, how much he meant to her. She never told him - well, not out loud. And Catra is good at convincing people, way better than Entrapta will ever be and Scorpia said that Hordak believed her, that he spent days inside his Sanctum doing nothing but waiting, that he forbade the force captains to even speak her name.

("But ... I don't understand," Entrapta said with a small voice, her mask covering her face. "He opened the portal, he got what he always wanted - he should have been happy. Why wasn't he happy?"

Scorpia looked at her with wide eyes. "Entrapta, he thought you betrayed him. He ... err." Her pincers clacked as she tilted her head. "Not everyone wanted to see it, but he was hurting. He really believed you left him for the Princesses and before Catra convinced him, he ... it didn't seem like he cared about much else anymore.")

Entrapta's hair now lays still on the control panel. He was hurt, and perhaps, he still is. Entrapta can accept it if Hordak doesn’t want to be friends with her anymore, she is used to it - or she should be, by now. Yet, she can’t let him keep thinking she did this to him. He doesn’t deserve that, and she knows that his hate would hurt her more than any rejection.

Looking up, she loses herself again in the depth of space, caressing the cold glass with the tips of her fingers. This is why she is going to find Hordak. It doesn’t matter if she has to search the whole universe, to check every single clone. Most likely, he doesn’t feel for her what she feels for him, and maybe he really just used her to build the portal, but … he never abandoned her, not on purpose. Back on Beast Island, during the last weeks she spent there, when she had given up hope that anyone would have come for her, she thought he had left her like everyone else. Now, she knows that it’s not true. There is no way to know what he would have done if he had known she was there, but Entrapta wants to believe that things would have been different - that he would have come for her, because they were lab partners, because they were friends.

And she will never, never leave her friend behind.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.4 (baon)

Summary: It’s Edge’s first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn’t the only thing on his mind.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 4 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

At almost exactly ten minutes on the dot there came a knock on Alphys’s office door and if Stretch didn’t already love Edge, he would at least have thrown a dollar store valentine his way for the rescue from Alphys’s monologue on how the Kissy Cutie fandom really didn’t understand the true motives of the main characters and the pureness of their love, and how was she supposed to read about that and not comment, she couldn’t, right, and did he think she did the right thing?

That sharp, precise knock interrupted her and before Alphys could say a word, Stretch was already calling out, “come on in, babe, you’re the next contestant on—”

He trailed off as the door opened and Edge came inside. Or, more accurately, he scooted inside. Not like the scooters the kids used to zoom around on the streets of New New Home, oh, no. He’d said it was getting his mobility scooter today and it was so much better than Stretch could have ever hoped.

First, it was red, metallic candy-apple red, and whether Edge ordered it to match his car or the doc had a sense of humor did not matter. There was padded sort of seat for Edge to put his knee and there were handlebars and a hand brake and best of all, a little wire basket for Edge to put any of his work stuff. Holy shit but Stretch would pay good money up front for a photograph of Edge dignifiedly tooling through the hallways in his business suit with his bright red scooter, a cup of coffee secured in his basket along with a collection of folders, maybe even a scone wrapped up in a paper napkin.

Stretch wondered if Edge would kill him if he put a bike horn on it or just maim him. Probably banishment, max, and it might be worth a night or two on the sofa just to see the look on his face, way better than the cool, stoic look he wore now, tempered with a hint of worry.

Seriously, he didn’t want to make his baby self-conscious, but it was a scooter and if Stretch kept resisting the urge to make a pun, it might result in actual bodily harm.

He propped his chin on his hand and gave Edge the best cheeky grin he could manage, considering his lack of cheeks, “nice new wheels, babe, that how you roll? lemme scoot aside and you can have my seat.”

The scathing glare Edge shot is way might’ve knocked the points off his new HP growth, but hey, least Edge wasn’t worried anymore.

Edge ignored the stifled snort from Alphys, who was diligently trying to keep a straight face, points to her for staying out of the line of fire. Stretch was pretty sure that by definition, scooters weren’t listed anywhere in the Esquire guide for a business-like appearance, so it was pretty impressive how Edge managed to scoot on up to the chair, all but radiating poise. Hell, Asgore needed to take some tips from his honey about majesty, seriously, those Hawaiian shirts of his were an embarrassment for all of Monster-kind.

Edge settled into the seat, shrugging Stretch off when he tried to lean against his back, his spine ramrod straight as he asked, coolly, “What can I do for you, Alphys?”

Oof, looked like Edge wasn’t in the mood for jokes if Stretch wasn’t rating a greeting. That Edge wasn’t asking what he was doing here in the first place was a fair sign that he was either hacked off or respecting privacy until he could corner him alone. Maybe both.

“Th-thank you for coming down,” Alphys said. She looked uncomfortable enough to make Stretch regret yanking Edge’s chain. Didn’t stop her from forcing out, “I w-w-would have sent an email, but Asgore p-prefers we don’t keep an electronic t-t-trail for these studies.” The way she flicked a glance at Stretch when she said Asgore’s name meant his unsubtle dislike of the King was getting around the rumor mill. “You b-both know we’re working on studying M-monster souls.”

“yeah?” Stretch said warily. That wasn’t news, souls had been studied since Monsters evolved enough sentience to poke at ‘em with a stick.

“We’re c-currently studying the r-resonance of souls and how it d-differs between different Monster s-s-species.” She spread her hands, tittering nervously, “Obviously, it’s more c-complex than that. B-b-both of you have clearance to read the r-results if you’re interested, but you’d have to do it in the lab, the d-d-data isn’t cleared for general release.”

Yeah, there was some reading material that wasn’t about to end up in Stretch’s mental librarby, no thank you. Edge was tapping his gloved fingers against his knee in that way he did when he was getting impatient. It was his first day back, he probably had shit to get done, so maybe it was time to push Al to cut to the chase, “so, what, you want to get some measurements from skeletons, is that it?”

“N-not exactly,” Alphys leaned forward across her desk, her eyes gleaming behind her glasses, “I already have r-readings from Sans and Papyrus. What I’m investigating is if th-there is any difference in resonance of s-souls from the other Universes. Blue let me scan his s-soul already and—er—” She cleared her throat uncomfortably, “Red has already d-d-d-“ Alphys struggled and finally spat out, “declined.”

Yeah, Stretch bet he had. Now there was a conversation Stretch would’ve loved to be a fly on the wall to see. Kudos to Al for having the cojones to even ask Red.

Alphys didn’t linger on whatever mental scars that chat left her with and went on, “That l-leaves you and Stretch—”

“No,” Edge said immediately. The word was sharp enough to cut and it might if Edge kept flinging it around.

Alphys only nodded, accepting, “O-of course.”

“hey, wait a second!" Stretch straightened up, offended, “i get my own vote here, we left the word obey out of the vows, thanks.”

Edge only glanced at him briefly, “Of course I wouldn’t presume to speak for Stretch, only myself. I…” Edge hesitated, his fingers starting to dig in where his hand rested on his pant leg. “You must be aware that I have LV.”

“I am,” Alphys agreed, softly, nothing but kindness in her broad face, “but it w-won’t affect the scan.”

Edge nodded stiffly, “I’m sure. But my answer is still no, I’m afraid.”

“I understand,” Alphys said. Her gaze flicked to Stretch, hopefully, “W-would you be w-willing, Stretch?”

Well, hell. Hadn’t thought that through very well, had he, too busy getting pissy about making his own choices. It wasn’t showing his soul that was the problem; fuck, Alphys was literally just plugged into it and it wasn’t like most of the medical community hadn’t taken a solid look at his soul already. The only way it’d get more exposure is if he’d sent a pic in to be the centerfold in some skin magazine. Yeah, he was okay with the soul part, it was the scan he wasn’t so sure about and the look on Edge’s face said pretty clearly that he wasn’t okay with either or.

But Alphys was trying to help him out, he owed her one, and if it was only a scan…maybe better to hedge his bets. “how invasive is it?”

“It’s only a s-scan,” Alphys said reassuringly. “You’ll n-need to s-s-summon your s-soul and leave it exposed f-for a couple of minutes, no more th-than that and no samples.”

Edge was all but radiating no, no, no, and that was enough for him to hesitate. His baby’s comfort was important, sure, but Stretch could appreciate the necessity of scientific progress. If scanning his soul could help someone, then he could suck it up this once. Sure. He could. “can you do it now or do you need me to stop by later?”

“Now is fine.” Alphys looked relieved, already hopping out of her chair. “The m-machine is in the other r-room, follow me.”

It was so damned hard not to bristle at the phrase ‘the machine’.

Stretch followed her out of the office, his sneakers dragging on the floor and his gaze firmly fixed on her tail. He didn’t look back at Edge scooting along behind him. They didn’t go far and the anxiety that was starting to itch at the inside of his rib cage eased a little when he saw the inside of the room.

There was a nicely padded table in the middle of the room with a couple long, flexible wands attached to it. No gleaming stainless steel, no restraints, and nothing at all like the portal machine or…huh, he didn’t quite remember what else. Didn’t matter, this looked less threatening than an x-ray machine from any doc’s office.

Alphys patted the table. “Lay d-down right here. I’ll be in the other r-room configuring the machine. S-summon your soul, I’ll get a s-s-scan, and its done. T-take your time.”

She waddled off and left Stretch there, looking at that table, at the little wands with their lenses focused right in the middle. He took a breath, let it out, then flopped down, living up to his namesake as he stretched out. The table was a little short, his feet hung off the end, uncomfortable but bearable. It was okay, it was all good. Stretch could do this, no sweat, summon his soul and let her scan it, then he was getting the fuck out of here and out into the sunlight.

“Let me summon your soul,” Edge said suddenly, startling him so badly he nearly yelped. Fuck, he’d almost forgotten Edge was even here. Stretch opened his sockets and looked up at his husband looming over him. Crimson eye lights met his own and there was no mistaking his concern. It helped, knowing he wasn’t alone here, that Edge was with him. Edge wouldn’t let anyone do a damn thing that Stretch didn’t want them to, he’d tear the whole lab down with his bare hands if someone hurt Stretch and he believed that with every bit of his trembling soul.

Then the words actually registered.

“um, okay.” Stretch gave Edge a narrow, suspicious look, “but no touchie, you. if you start touching, it gets all excited and i am not riding the bus with soul jizz on my shirt.”

The corner of Edge’s mouth quirked upward. Of course he’d think that was funny, the pervert. He ran a gloved finger gently down the side of Stretch’s skull, tracing the line of his jawbone. “At least the Humans won’t know what it is.”

“yeah?” Stretch snorted, “and any monsters will think i’m headed home from the orgy scene of a less than tasteful porno. my gossip tank is full up right now, thanks, no touch, got it?”

“No touching,” Edge agreed, softly, so it was pretty stupid that Stretch felt bereft as he pulled his hands away.

Stretch closed his sockets, focusing on his breathing. A long moment of nothing and then came a gentle, insistent pull, painlessly urging his soul to emerge. The touch was achingly familiar and Stretch relaxed into it and let go, felt the cool air on his soul as it manifested for the second time that day. A quick peek showed Edge was going with the ol’ sibling standby of ‘I’m not touching you’, and he wasn’t, but it sure was a close thing. Both his bare hands were cradled around it, a protective bony barrier as a replacement for his own rib cage, the silver glow of his soul reflecting off the ivory bones, seeping through Edge’s fingers to fill the room.

Alphys’s voice came from a speaker overhead, “Edge, you’ll have to step back so I can scan it.”

Even without Edge touching his soul directly, Stretch could feel his reluctance as he slowly stepped back. Souls were like radar dishes for magic and Stretch was already overly sensitive on a good day, even without his soul lurking outside his body all bare-ass naked. Checks irritated him when others barely seemed to feel them, Intent came rolling in like he was accidently tuning in to bad AM radio station and right now, he was picking up something from Edge past his unwillingness to let go.

The faintest glint of green, healing magic, hm, in-ter-esting, someone had used healing magic on Edge and recently, very recently, and Stretch almost asked what the fuck was up with that, except maybe lying here with his soul hanging out wasn’t the best time for a chat. Particularly when he’d snuck down here to visit Alphys on the sly to begin with.

Yeah, okay, if he got to keep his secrets then Edge could have this one. For now.

Edge had hardly let go when Alphys’s voice came overhead again. “Done.”

Stretch hastily let his soul fade back in, scrambling to his feet as Alphys came back in from the other room.

“T-thank you, Stretch,” she said happily, “Edge, if you ch-change your mind, let me know?”

“Of course,” Edge said crisply, in a tone that meant ‘not fucking likely.’

“yep, he will,” Stretch blurted, already backing his way towards the door. He didn’t mean to be rude, but he’d had just about enough of the labs today and he needed to get out, right now, before he vomited on the nice, clean floors. “thanks for everything, al, see ya!”

He didn’t wait to see if Edge follow him, didn’t wait for Alphys to ask to see him again or for any other favors or even to bring up anime. He headed right to the elevators, ignoring anyone else that he passed in a white coat. He slapped the up button so hard his hand ached, silently commanding it to hurry the fuck up and open because that nausea was sitting right at the back of his throat, thick and sickly-sweet.

“Easy,” Murmured next to him, “Try to slow your breathing.”

Stretch only stared blindly at the closed door and didn’t say anything because if he did, that morning’s partially incorporated coffee was going to make a return appearance. The elevator dinged and Stretch all but crammed through the opening doors, stumbling to the back to press his overheated face against the cool metal. He heard the door close behind him, felt as elevator lurched and started up.

Even without looking, Stretch knew Edge was standing next to him, watching him with concern and trying to resist the urge to touch. Respecting boundaries, that was his baby, always trying so hard.

“it’s okay, you can go hands on,” Stretch mumbled. Immediately, a soothingly cool hand settled on the back of his neck, a strong thumb rubbing gently along his cervical vertebra.

“Are you all right?” Edge asked, gently blunt.

“getting there.” Stretch took a deep breath and stood up straight, leaning into the comfort of Edge’s touch. “we still on for lunch?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of you coming to my office and lying down for a bit.”

Stretch nodded, weakly, “that works, too.”

Another ding warned that they were at their floor and Stretch turned towards the door as it opened. There was nothing out there but offices, people in business suits at their desks and making copies and typing away at their computers. No labs, no experiments, only paperwork and administration.

Knowing that made it easier to step out this time, walking towards Edge’s office with the skeleton himself scooting along next to him. Stretch stuck his hands in his pockets, moseying along, his lingering agitation slowly easing. At least the scooter kept Edge to a pace a little less than his normal power walk; maybe that was a high HP thing, Papyrus always chugged along at top speed and Blue might have shorter legs, but he always kept pace with those two.

Huh. Thinking of HP…

“so.” Stretch kept his gaze on the floor, watching the way the untied laces of his sneakers trailed along the carpet. “you gonna ask what i was doing down there.”

“I am not,” Edge said calmly. Seriously, it was really impressive how dignified he could make riding along on a kneeling scooter look. “If it is something important concerning your health or someone else’s, I’m sure that as my husband, you would tell me and not go down to the labs alone while trying to keep secrets from me out of a misguided attempt to protect me or shield me from any issues that as your spouse should be mine to help you deal with—”

“yeah, yeah, edgelord, i get it, quit shoveling the guilt, i’m already knee-deep.” Stretch took a deep breath and let the words come, “i went to see al because i wanted her to scan my hp. we kinda got off track with it after, you know, everything, and lately i’ve been feeling tired. not…not bad tired, not too bad…i’m doing a shitty job explaining it.”

“You’re doing fine.” Yeah, like he couldn’t see the way Edge’s jaw was working, the slight twitch in his cracked socket. Even the pace he was scooting at changed, stiffened, his highly polished shoe scraping against the rug.

“let me just cut to the spoiler alert,” Stretch said. He ignored the quiver in his voice as he spit it out, “my hp is going up. like, permanently.”

Edge stopped completely, right in the middle of the hall. Two interns who were walking close behind almost ran right into them, and whatever bitching they were about to toss out was swallowed down when they got a good look at who they almost ran over. Edge didn’t even watch them scurry on down the hall. His eye lights stayed right on Stretch, sockets hooded and his expression unreadable.

Hurriedly, Stretch went on, “it’s not huge, only, when it got to 5, looks like it decided, what the hell, let’s keep going up, it’s 5 and change now, not super impressive but—urk!’

Of all the reactions Stretch was expecting, having Edge pick him up right in the middle of the damn hallway to hold him tightly was nowhere on the list, but here they were, him lifted completely off his feet while strong arms crushed him into Edge’s embrace.

People were probably staring and Stretch didn't give two goodie goodie shoes because holy shit, this was actually happening. Barring the time Edge carried Stretch through the Embassy in a sheet in a misguided attempt at protecting his non-existent dignity, the most Stretch usually got in the way of PDA was hand holding and the occasional peck of a kiss.

“edge!” Stretch gasped out, mostly laughing with a pinch of scolding, “put me down, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

He might as well have saved what little breath he had since that didn’t happen. Instead, Edge spun them around like this was some beach movie and they'd just done the long run across the sand to embrace in front of the sunset. Stretch could only hold on dizzily, laughing and trying to squirm loose without actually getting there.

It was a relief and a disappointment when Edge finally set him on his feet, and that was only to cup his face in both hands as Edge rose up on his toes to scatter kisses over his face. By the time he drew back, Stretch’s whole face felt a little damp and the only thing dimming his giddiness was the sight of faint tears rimming Edge’s eye sockets.

"hey." Stretch ran a thumb along the rim of the socket, gathering dampness, "it's good news. you don't cry for that."

A rare smile lit Edge’s face, lit him, and Stretch wanted to capture that image in his own mind, whisk it away someplace safe to bring out whenever his inner sadness loomed threateningly.

"You do if it’s about the person you love," Edge told him, hushed, and leaned up to press a soft, lingering kiss to Stretch’s mouth. Right about that moment, from somewhere nearby came the muffled sound of an ‘aww’ and Edge immediately jerked back, all signs of that smile vanishing.

Ah, well, good thing Stretch had an excellent memory, right?

“Let’s discuss this in my office,” Edge murmured as he dusted off his jacket and straightened his tie before he started up the scoot again.

Luckily, it wasn’t too far away. Stretch managed to give Janice a wave even as Edge herded him into his office. The door was barely closed when Edge had both hands on him again, shoving him back against the door and kissing him with deep, fervent delight. It was a huge disappointment, particularly in his pants, when Edge drew away, holding Stretch back when he would have dived in again.

His smile was fainter, softer, and that was okay because it was still there as Edge asked, “Was she able to tell you anything else? It’s certainly good news, but why now?”

“dunno,” Stretch shrugged and when Edge didn’t let him go for another kiss, he sighed and added, “she did mention something about monster souls responding well to being happy.” If kisses weren’t gonna pan out, Stretch could at least give Edge a poke in the ribs, right where he wasn’t supposed to be ticklish. “looks like you’re holding up your end of the bargain in the whole happily ever after thing.”

Instead of being amused, Edge’s expression fell a little, his smile fading and that was exactly the opposite of what Stretch was hoping for, “babe?”

Edge ducked his head, his voice dropping in something like a hoarse confession, “Lately, I haven't felt like I'm making you very happy, Rus.”

Okay, yeah, no, not going there. Stretch shook off Edge’s hands and instead of shoving in for a kiss, he took a quick shortcut and stepped out behind him, wrapping Edge up in the little spoon of a tight hug. "nope, none of that. babe, even when things are rough on our personal roller coaster, you always make me happy. always. you are my happy ending, you get me?”

Gloved hands settled on his wrists, holding on gently as Edge leaned back into his arms, “I’d rather be your happy beginning, love.”

“endings, beginnings, whatever part of the story we’re at, you make me happy,” Stretch told him fiercely. He buried his face into the crux of Edge’s shoulder where the collar of his shirt met his cervical vertebrae, breathing in the familiar mixture of laundry detergent and spice. “every chapter of our lives, every misplaced comma and run-on sentence, every—”

“You’re losing the metaphor,” Edge said dryly. He turned in Stretch’s arms, his mouth warm and meltingly gentle, and this, yes, this. This was his happiness and Stretch planned to hold on as tight as he could, with fingers and toes.

“you wanna see my soul?” Stretch murmured against Edge’s mouth, just to see the hot, eager flare of crimson eye lights. It was already manifesting in his rib cage as Edge walked him backwards to the sofa, silver slickness beading on the surface and if he had to lose his shirt for a hasty cleanup after, welp, that was a sacrifice Stretch was more than willing to make.

-fin

[simplemoonk]

Nightmares and Labors Ch 2

Read Chapter 1 and also read it on Ao3

Summary:  In which Mike broke his arm and had to stay back in the headquarters with a very pregnant Mikasa Ackerman.

Rivamika Fic

AOT belongs to Hajime Isayama of course. 

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Levi’s swords cut through Eren’s titan form from the nape, careful not to hurt the boy inside. He got used to doing this by now. As soon as the boy was freed from the titan Armin pulled him out immediately. 

They landed on the ground as the titan body began evaporating. It was nothing but a crust now. Levi’s eyes surveyed the area, focusing on Erwin for a second who was listening to the report of the mission. Hange was running around with Moblit trying to get the other man to draw things she found interesting and wanted to collect as data. Their mission was ended a while ago as Levi cut the last titan’s nape on the area. Unfortunately, they had causalities but it was relatively few even though they still had lots of soldiers with injuries. He noticed Erwin walking towards him. 

“Levi! Your squad is alright?”

“They are alive.” He said indifferently yet still there was a crippling tone of relief in his voice for the ones that listened closely. Erwin did not seem phased. 

“Good. Gather them, we are living in ten minutes.” 

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Indeed, ten minutes later they were on their horses riding toward the safe protection of the Wall Rose. Eren was going on the cart, unconscious and exhausted due to the amount of effort he had to put in this mission. There was another cart following them behind, carrying the two dead soldiers they had lost that day. 

They came in contact with three titans on their way back, in which one of them happened to be abnormal. He saw Nanaba and her team took down the two of them as he handled the abnormal – much to Hange’s distaste and continuing whining. 

Near to the gates, they saw the elevators started descended down to pull the soldiers, and their horses, back into the walls since the gate was long closed by the giant bolder Eren had placed years ago. Levi heard the bell ringed to announce the return of the Survey Corps. That’s the part he used to hate the most since the crowd gathered near the gates gave them nothing but condemnation. Nowadays, however, it only meant that he was seconds away from seeing his wife, he could easily take a little reprimand in return.

Today the crowd was surprisingly quiet and calm as they walked past them. Maybe because they also knew that two causalities could be count as a victory when it came to the Survey Corps statistics. A sad reality but the reality nevertheless. His eyes wandered around the crowd quickly, trying to catch a glimpse of his wife since she wouldn’t listen what he got to say for her to not come to greet him, and their squad and waited for them in the HQ instead. It seemed like today was a day for many firsts as she seemed to listen to him and didn’t come. He couldn’t help but feel the anticipation of seeing her bubbled in his stomach even though they were married for two years at this stage. 

He chose to stay close to Erwin as he broke the tragic news to the lost soldiers’ families, the whole corps waiting behind them, showing their supports and sympathies to the parents as well as paying their respects to the fallen soldiers. They arrived at the headquarters quickly after that, each feeling drained as they always did whenever they returned back to the Walls, fewer in number every time. Erwin was walking ahead of him as they entered the gates of the HQ, talking to Hange quietly. Something in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. A soldier that he forgot the name of was running toward them in a frantic manner. He saluted Erwin and send a few quick glances toward Levi’s way which made him narrow his eyes in anticipation. 

“Commander Erwin! Sir!” he greeted and then returned to Levi.

“Captain Levi! Y-your wife is in labor!” he sputtered, face shining with sweat as if he was the one gone into labor.  

Levi was aware of the stares of Erwin and Hange, eyes wide and mouth gaping like it was the first time they heard Mikasa was pregnant and pregnant women supposed to give birth at some point. He could sense the eyes of his team burning to his back. They were all silent as each of them expected him to react as if waiting for him to set the tone of their own reactions. 

The problem wasn’t that Levi didn’t hear what the soldier had said since he had heard him perfectly fine. It was just that he was having a hard time grasping what those words meant. 

His horse neighed, feeling the tension filled the air, and that was the thing that broke the spell upon him. He threw the reins of his horse to Jean without losing any more time with trying to calm the startled animal and started making his way into the headquarters at a slightly quicker pace. From the outside he seemed like he always had, cool and collected yet on the inside he was absolutely running off the rails. He heard footsteps coming behind him yet his mind had other things to prioritize so the sounds gone unnoticed to him. The soldier that had brought the news pacing alongside, telling him that she was brought back to their quarters (they had decided for Mikasa to stay in the HQ while he was away in a case for things exactly like that might happened) since she was trying to get to the barracks when the labor had begun. 

“What the hell she was planning to do on the barracks?” the soldier just gave a pathetic shrug as an answer. 

“May I watch, Levi?” Hange’s excited voice came from behind. 

“No!” 

“For scientific reasons!” 

“My wife isn’t a science project shitty four-eyes!” 

“B- “ 

“Hange.” He heard Erwin’s warning voice next and that was the time he finally noticed the footsteps following him, and by the sound of it, there were more than those two trailing behind him. Great.

Even though he tried to convince himself that he was annoyed, he was actually feeling grateful to them, well at least to Hange and Erwin since his team was probably seconds away from causing a ruckus, for being with him while he was absolutely losing it inside. 

“NNNnnnnnngghhh!!” they heard the agitated-load moan as soon as they turned the corner of the corridor his quarters were in. Levi who was trying to keep the speed of his steps under control until that time dashed for the room, giving up on all his efforts to contain the little self-control he had left behind.

Never in his life, ever, he heard Mikasa made such a painful noise before. He reached the door of their room in no time, pushing the door open harshly, only to see that Mikasa who was laying on her back on the bed with a doctor between her legs and –

Mike? 

“NNNNaaAAaaa!!” Mike cried out again as Mikasa squeezed Mike’s hand so hard that he was sure it would break if his wife continued doing that. She wasn’t making any sound expect little pained moans she allowed to get out from her lips as she gritted her teeth together with enough force to almost breaking them. Mike, on the other hand, was screaming like a banshee whenever Mikasa squeezed his hand with every contraction she had. 

As the current contraction came to an end Levi saw the hold his wife had in Mike’s hand loosened and Mike gave out a long breath with relief that almost sound like sobbing. He raised his head and his eyes met with Levi’s, his pained face brightened and Levi was sure he had never seen Mike this happy to see him before.  

“Levi!!” he exclaimed happily, making Mikasa follow his gaze and found his husband present in the room. 

“Levi!” she breathed out his name as if she couldn’t believe he was actually there and raised her hand toward him, ushering him to her side. He quickly obeyed her wishes as Mike, finally was set free, and shaking his hand to get the circulation back quickly made his way toward the door where Erwin and Hange were waiting. Levi took his place and hold his wife’s sweaty hand instead immediately. 

“Hey.” He greeted her softly and watched as a few tears made their way down her cheeks. 

“I thought you were dead.” She whispered as a response, the relief she felt was so immense that it helped her fight against the tears she wanted to shed till this morning as well as making her wanted to sob against Levi’s chest. 

“Hey, I’m here.” He reassured her with a gentle voice that she had never heard coming from him before, swiping the tears and sweat from her face. 

“I was trying to come and rescue you.” She told him and watched as his eyebrows draw together. 

“Mikasa – “ his reprimand was cut by her.  

“I saw a nightmare.” She said shuddering as she remembered the nightmare and how lost she felt until she saw him standing by the door, alive and healthy. Surprisingly, he smiled.

“Sometimes that is just it Mikasa. A nightmare is just a nightmare and nothing more.” 

She looked at him, looked at his beautiful blue eyes, and felt the relief washed over her once again as the words penetrated her mind. She was about the smile back as another contraction hit her. Bad. 

“Umh – That is a stronghold,” Levi grunted as she squeezed his hand, reflecting the pain she had into her hold. Levi bore it all, with only mild grunts here and there, at some point the tore his cape of as he got as sweaty as she was. The sun outside started to set. Nurses came and went brought hot water and clean towels as well as candles to illuminate the room. And at her breaking point, she finally felt herself relaxed after a particularly painful push. The room lapsed into an eerie silence as she and Levi looked into each other’s wide tired eyes, and a second later they heard the most beautiful melody there was to hear for the first time. 

Their baby’s earth-shattering cry.