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yourfellowhuman07 · 1 year

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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).

________________

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.”

#hordak #spop #entrapta #entrapdak #hyperfixation #she ra #spop fanfic #fanfic #adora #frosta #princess prom #canon divergence #romance #glimmer #catra #scorpia

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sandcobangevent · 5 months

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Looking for Love

by emilycare and gurpyman Read the fic and view the art on AO3!

Chapter 1

“Watson, you’re acting oddly.”

“I’m odd? I’m not the one who is standing on their head upside down, waiting until they pass out, mate.”

“We are gathering important information. I’m not simply waiting for unconsciousness. This is a scientific experiment. That is, it would be if you collected the data I requested of you.”

“Right. You want me to time how long it takes for you to get dizzy, fall down and give yourself a concussion. Are we perhaps trying to determine whether a perp would be undone first by being knocked out by loss of blood flow, versus blunt force trauma?”

“Of course not, Watson. We’re seeking information about the challenges faced by the target of a crime. Say they were held upside down during an abduction ”

“Right, right. Sherlock, you’re looking pretty red in the face now. How’re you doing?”

“I’m just fine, Watson. Please take some photos to document my physiological changes. But you didn’t answer my query.”

“What are you on about? Hold still, I won’t use the flash, don’t worry.”

“How can I clarify and also hold still at the same time?”

“You’re making the picture all blurry, talking. Pick one or the other—question me or do your research. Can’t have both. Oh! There’s a good one. It’s just not fair. Even arse over teakettle, you’re still ridiculously good looking. Don’t know how you do it...”

“Are you quite finished?”

“Yeah—oooh, no your ears are turning really pink now, too. Got to capture this. There. Go ahead, ask away.”

“You keep looking at your phone.”

“And….?”

“You’ve looked at your phone an average of five times more than your usual, already rather elevated, rate.”

“You do remember that I am timing you for your little experiment, yeah?”

“Even accounting for that, you’re far more distracted than is typical. And you’re clearly changing from the timer app to another. Your eyes scan up when the notification arrives, and the light on your face increases when you open the other application.”

“Just texting, mate. Nothing to see here.”

“That’s patently untrue. Mike Stamford is away on a business conference—but he will be engaged with social activities by this time of night and would have stopped texting you frequently which he commonly does during boring talks. Your Mother has already texted you this week and she always does so on the weekdays, typically when she is about to drive to an interview with prospective parents who are not yet in birth process, rather than when she is on call or engaged in a time sensitive response.”

“Right. Well. Guess you’ve got a few points there. But it could just be Mariana?”

“Yes, well. Mrs Hudson is a possibility.”

“See, there. Nothing strange after all. Just case prospects from the good old third wheel to our tricycle. The, um, well..”

“I believe the allusion you are looking for might be the ‘Third Musketeer?’ Which is ironic, given that there are in fact four musketeer characters which feature in those novels.”

“Exactly! Our third Musketeer! Oh, mate, you’re looking pretty bad. Let me check your pulse and….yeah, that’s done now.”

“But, I haven’t..I don’t…”

“See, you’re getting confused. Upsy daisy, my friend. There you go. Oh, you’re pretty wobbly—hang onto me.”

“Watson the world is spinning.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. Just be still for a moment. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you, Watson.”

“What are you doing? Give that back! Now see, you should sit down. Don’t try to steal my phone. There you go. Just settle back and I’ll get you some water.”

“That would be good, I haven’t drunk anything in 12 hours, to simulate the effects of being mistreated in captivity.”

“What! I can’t believe…”

“Watson. Are you angry with me?”

“No. No, Sherlock. Just worried.”

“Is that why you’re looking at your phone again?”

“Here, let me set this down and take your pulse again. Drink that. Much better.”

“Thank you, Watson.”

“Let’s just forget about my phone for now, and get you set to rights.”

Chapter 2

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, Mrs Hudson?”

“What are you doing?”

“That should be patently obvious, I should think. Making tea.”

“Yes, but…”

“I do make tea occasionally, despite what John may say. I even know just how you like it. You see, I do observe.”

“Yes… Oh—that is just how I like it. What is that smoky taste?”

“Honey. Of a special pedigree. The bees gathered the nectar from meadow wildflowers in Sussex. Gathered in the summer of 2022, which you may well recall was a particularly dry year. Increased temperatures brought on an extended drought, which in some places due to negligence, in others to malicious action, created a season of wildfires.”

“Wildfires? Oh. Oh, Sherlock. This is so very good.”

“Is it? Excellent. Your response to that cup of Lapsang Souchong tea you drank inadvertently at a restaurant when the orders of our table and the next were swapped led me to believe you would particularly appreciate this vintage of the fruit of the labor of these particular Apis mellifera, from that time and place—”

“Apis—oh, I see! The honeybees made the honey after there were fires and somehow the nectar was made smoky. Sherlock, that is brilliant! I had no idea that was even possible, but it makes this cup of tea, somehow, just—”

“Perfect. Yes. I had thought it might.”

…

“So, you haven’t answered my question, yet.”

“Haven’t I? I thought I had given your question quite a thorough response.”

“No, Sherlock. I know what you are doing, making tea. Oh, and thank you. That is. Mm. Delicious. But why are you doing it here?”

“I do live here.”

“Not here you don’t. You live upstairs. 221b.”

“And our offices are here, in 221a. You spend quite a bit of time up in our flat. Cook dinner, watch television. Do your hair. There are, in fact, three types of hair product on our shelves which are yours. Unless John has begun using Aceite de moska hair oil. Which, if he did, would make him look more like a greased seal than he normally does after coming out of the shower.”

“Ah, okay, I can move my things out of your shower if you like. It’s just—you’re much closer to the hot water tank than I am, and your hot water is really steaming.”

“No, no. There’s no need for that. You don’t need to stop being upstairs so much. I just had thought it meant you thought of this whole place, both flats, as being ours.”

“That’s very sweet, Sherlock. So, here you are, making tea in our flat, for me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, thank you. I appreciate it very much. And for the honey. That was very thoughtful.”

“Yes.”

…

“Sherlock? Do you have something on your mind? You keep drumming your fingers on the table.”

…

“Sherlock? What is it?”

“I want to ask you something. About Watson.”

“About John? What is that?”

“I want to know if you know what he is hiding.”

“Hiding? How could he hide anything from you? You two live in that little flat together.”

“Which we share with you.”

“Yes, we share the flats, as we have discussed. And I mean, there’s little you haven’t seen of John. Parading around half naked after a shower as you said.”

“I said he looked like a seal, I did not refer to his state of undress.”

“Not mentioning his unmentionables? Very good of you.”

…

“Sherlock? Are you blushing?”

“Absolutely not, Mrs Hudson. This tea water is very hot and has caused me to flush.”

“Uh huh. Well, what is it that you think he is hiding?”

“On his phone. There is something to do with his phone.”

“Oh.”

…

“Oh?”

“Mm. Maybe I do have some idea of what is going on with John.”

“What is it, Mrs Hudson?”

“Sherlock, I’m not—oh, whatever. But, no, I’m not at liberty to tell you. But really, Sherlock. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Whyever would I be worried about whatever is occupying John’s attention? Is this something to do with his family? It can’t be a case, you wouldn’t say that is private. That would, in fact, very much concern us all. Is it the military? Is there some issue from his past coming to haunt him? Why wouldn’t he bring that to me? I could certainly help, if, say, he’s been accused of something. Or if someone was blackmailing him about this time in Ukraine. Why on Earth would he come to you about that but not me?”

(laughing) “Sherlock, hold on here. You are going wildly in the wrong direction. When I said it was personal I mean it was, well, a personal matter. A social thing.”

“Social. Oh! You mean, romantic.”

“Yes! Correct.”

“Ah, of course. How foolish of me. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mrs Hudson. I now understand what I saw when I was able to steal a look at his phone. That is indeed something which does not concern me. If Watson wishes to find someone to partner with, that’s his concern. I imagine we can advertise for another subletter. Perhaps we should try to find someone with some of his skillsets? It is rather convenient to have someone with medical knowledge on hand. And combat experience. And his sports background is rather useful when we need to chase after a suspect. I’ll start working on an advertisement… What are you laughing about?”

“You. Both of you. I swear, Sherlock. John is not going anywhere. Really. You do not have to advertise to replace him.”

“Why ever not? Isn’t he placing an ad in some romantic matching service to find a mate? Won’t he need to move from here to conjoin his life with whatever fraulein he finds to—”

“Trust me, Sherlock. Whatever John thinks he is looking for, he already has it. Right here.”

…

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

Chapter 3

“Sherlock, I have something to tell you. I mean, ask you. I mean, I have something to ask of you. A favor. If you will.”

“Watson, you are most welcome to use my body wash. It is hypoallergenic and has a much subtler scent than that thing you replaced your minty product with. And you really shouldn’t mask your own scent when going out with a date, especially first time, how else will they catch that essential scent of y—”

“Oi! Mate. You—wait, you know I’m going on a date?”

“Obviously, Watson. You’ve gone back and forth to the loo 5 times, with different shirt and tie combinations. Your trousers are pressed. You’ve even shined your shoes. I do hate to mention that that pair is not actually intended to be polished. It’s not leather. Imitation.”

“Oh bollocks! I thought that wasn’t looking right. And the more I put on the stranger the color got.”

“Yes, rather. You should just wear your light tan pair, with the cream shirt, no tie.”

“But that one is a bit tight around middle.”

“Mm. Yes. No, I mean it’s properly snug. You always wear things from off the rack, so you don’t actually know what it’s like to wear something properly fitted.”

“That thing feels like a piece of me. Like’s its part of my skin.”

“Exactly, Watson. Your garments should not float about in space, but should be fitted to your own unique dimensions.”

“Ah, thanks, mate. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. I mean, I haven’t properly dated anyone since we, well, since we bunked up together. I mean, since we moved in together. That is, since we found the flat and started the business, and became...friends. And all.”

“Friends. Yes. I understand, Watson. You’ve had a nice time living here, and are ready to move on. It always happens eventually.”

“That is not what I said! I am not ready to move on. I mean, I am not looking to move on. That is, mate, I’m happy. Very happy here. I just, also want, some, well, intimate companionship.”

“Are we not intimate companions? You drooled on my shoulder just yesterday.”

“That was Archie.”

“No, Archie drooled on my chest during his nap two days ago. Prodigious slaver, that dog has. You fell asleep during that fascinating documentary on the interactions between boreal insects. And your head fell on my shoulder. You seemed knackered, so I hadn’t the heart to move you. And so, my shirt had to be laundered yet again.”

“Oh, Christ. I’m very sorry. I don’t remember that.”

“You were sleeping.”

“I was trying to figure out how I ended up in my bed last night.”

“You really aren’t very heavy, Watson. Still need some feeding up, after your time recovering from your war wounds.”

“Hello? Anyone up there? Is there a John Watson here?”

“Yes, you’ve found him. Oh, well. I see. Very sorry Watson. Perhaps your next attempt will go better.”

“What?! Shush, Sherlock. Please, come in. Andrea, is it? It’s a pleasure to meet you. Though you do look just a wee bit different than I’d been imagining.”

“Oh, there are two of you up, here is it? Well, you live up to your description, Doctor Watson. And who is your friend?”

“My friend was just leaving. Didn’t you have that thing, Sherlock?”

“Sherlock! Oh! Then you are that John Watson. I have found your podcast just so fascinating. And please don’t go, Mr Holmes. Please, not on my account.”

“You may take your hand off of my forearm, Ms Currington. I am still not going to take your case.”

“But you must, Mr Holmes! I am certain that my husband is cheating on me. And if you weren’t going to answer my emails, I thought I could just be clever—”

“And stalk my housemate through dating apps, entrap him into setting a date with you, and then infiltrate yourself into our casework via his overactive gonads? I think not.”

“You honey trapped me to get to Sherlock? Oh, I’ve had some dates go wrong, but this…?”

“It’s really not like that, John. I did like your profile. I just stumbled over it, and thought well, why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Really? ‘Looking for a brilliant, mysterious, willowy someone. Ideally brunette. Must love danger and okay if you’re pretty much round the twist?’ I mean from listening I rather thought you were gone over Sherlock, but after reading that, I just thought, well, he's pretty up on swinger culture. Maybe he’d be down for a three way, and then we can talk shop and it would all just fall into place. I could get back at my husband for his affair at the same time. Three birds, one stone, even.”

…

“So, what do you two think of my offer?”

“Shall I see her to the door?”

“Most grateful, mate.”

Chapter 4

“Sherlock! Albóndigas?! This is my favorite dish. My mother always made them when I came home from school. They smell delicious. How…?”

“I am afraid they are not strictly authentic, Mrs Hudson. The recipe calls for pork and veal. However, Watson frowns on veal. I’ve stopped eating it, and I found that when I called for the food delivery service to bring the ingredients to make this I could not—”

“You made this? Oh, my mouth is drooling. The herbs and vegetables seem just right. Oh that broth! Do you mind if I try it? I actually was just thinking about what to have for dinner, and…”

“Of course. That is why I brought them to you, now. Watson is out, and you typically cook for yourself or come up to see if we want to eat with you. But you know I’ve been eating tomato pasta this past week.”

“Oh, muy sabrosa! This is delicious, Sherlock. And very thoughtful. Would you like some as well?”

“No. No, the thought of eating meat turns my stomach right now, actually. But I thought you could perhaps join me in some penne pasta on the side.”

“Sit, let me get you a glass of water. Please.”

…

“So, Watson…”

“Sherlock, did you bring me a dish to get me to talk about John, again?”

“People seem to relax when they eat. I thought this might be an acceptable way to bring up a difficult topic.”

“Well, I am not complaining. But you don’t have to do this. I appreciate it greatly. And when your stomach is doing better, I would love to do more Spanish cooking with you. I think you have a talent.”

“Cooking is simply a matter of following directions, much like chemistry. I’ve always found it simple. Just un-necessary for my own needs, generally.”

“John would appreciate it too, if you made some of his favorite dishes.”

“No. That won’t be necessary. He’s gone on another date, and I am sure that he’ll soon be moving out.”

“No, Sherlock. He won’t.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Sherlock, have you looked at his profile?”

“I’m sure that would be a breach of his privacy.”

“There is nothing more public than a dating profile! He is literally posting information about what he wants, for the entire world to see.”

“But he told me he didn’t want me to look at his phone.”

“Well, you can look on your own phone.”

“I refuse to download that kind of ridiculous application.”

“Uh huh. Well, I’ve got it on mine. Come and see.”

…

“I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, he’s updated it again. Very interesting…”

“What...what does it say now?”

“You could just come and see.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Trust me, Sherlock. If there is anyone in this world that should be looking at this, it is you.”

“So I can help find John—I mean, Watson, when he’s gotten trapped by yet another scurrilous respondent, this time a criminal who will also recognize him and kidnap him to get to me?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You really have got to stop letting your imagination run away with you. No. You should see it because it is entirely obvious to me that when he is describing his dream person, it is you.”

“Dream girl you mean. And it can’t be. Couldn’t. He’s interested in women. I sometimes wondered if he would throw himself at you. For example.”

“John has always been a gentleman with me. And a very good friend. I’ll always be grateful that he thought of having our business take on my Visa.”

“Yes. He’s very kind. Thoughtful.”

“Smart and fun to be around, too, right? And handsome?”

“Watson’s looks are…acceptable.”

“Right. That’s why I catch you watching him when he falls asleep on the couch, right? To make sure that he still looks ‘acceptable.’”

“I believe Watson may have sleep apnea. I’m just watching out of concern.”

“Well, with how he snores, you may have something there. But why would you sketch him then?”

“What are you talking about?”

“In your notebook. I was going through to make sure that I’d gathered all the receipts, since I know you use them as bookmarks for your notes on cases. And I saw right there, several absolutely lovely drawings of John. One was of him sleeping. In another, I think he was feeding ducks? And in another…”

“Fine. Right. Yes. I was merely attempting to improve my life drawing skills. I am around Watson quite a bit. He seemed a useful enough subject.”

“Uh huh. Well. Okay, Sherlock. Have it your way. But you still need not worry.”

“Well, that’s fine. Because I am very much not worried. If Watson wants to find a woman and leave that is very much his own affair. But, you said he might not be with a woman, why do you say so?”

“Well, because on this dating profile, he has indicated that he is open to both women and men to date.”

“Let me see that!”

Chapter 5

“Sherlock?”

….

“Sherly—Sherlock? Um, hello?”

“Watson. What is it? Why are you waking me up? Is there case? A client?”

“No—(hic). No case. Mind if I sit down here for a mo?”

“John, you are on my bed.”

“Mmm hmm. Yupsy dupsy. That I am. Shove over will you?”

“Watson. John! What are you doing?”

“Mmmmm…cuddling. I think this is called cuddling. At least it was last time I was with someone. Have they changed what they call that to something else now? Kids are always saying something else.”

“Erm, John. No, I think the best term for what you’re engaging in now would be cuddling, if you were with someone with whom you were intimately involved. But with me, I am really not sure what the right word is.”

“Mmmm… You’re warm. And soft. I kind of hoped you’d be. You look all kind of angly, so tall and all elbows and knees. But here you’re soft. And your skin…”

“John! That tickles. Stop touching my belly. And my arms… Oh. That feels rather nice when you touch the back of my neck that way. Mm. Yes. Could you scratch the base of my skull? No, not that hard. Mm. Yes. Oh, lovely. Now just pull slightly—wait, John. Get out of my bed, right now. You are inebriated and you are going to regret all of this in the morning.”

“Whoa! Oi—what am I doing on the floor? Ouch.”

“Are you alright, John?”

“Oh, I think so. But I wonder if you could maybe make the world stop spinning?”

“Sit here. I’m going to go get you some water now.”

“Mmm. Soft sheets. Comfy pillow. You have the best bed, Sherlock.”

“I am rather fond of it. Here, Watson. Drink up.”

“Watson, is it now? I’ve been demoted from John?”

“I was worried about you. You crawled into my bed. And now you’ve done it again.”

“Missing something though now. Come back in here, Sherlock. Please?”

“John…”

“Mmm…promoted back up to John! This night may not be a total waste then.”

“Waste? Ah, your date. A loss?”

“Total. Entire. Complete. Disaster.”

“Did someone die? Was it a murder? No, then you’d be bringing me back to solve the case. And this would be far from a wasted evening.”

“No, mate, no murders. Kinda wish there had been one.”

“Agreed. Work on that, Watson.”

(Sigh) “Ah well. Guess it was all for nothing then, after all.”

“John, lay back down. You are far too wobbly to get up. There, that’s right. I’ve got you.”

“Do you? You know you do, don’t you?”

“Watson, what are you talking about. You need to sleep this off. Let me get the light.”

“First time I’ve been on a date with a fella. He was so sweet. And clever. And fit.”

“Your…date? It was a man?”

“Yup. He wanted to kiss me, too.”

“Did you let him?”

“No…It wouldn’t have felt right.”

“Why not, John?”

“Because the whole night, I’m with this wonderful fellow, who’s interested in me, and charming, and rather brilliant—he talked my ear off about geopolitics, in a good way.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“So, why, Watson, if you’ve suddenly had a revelation that you are in fact attracted to men, and found one who was attractive to you and was in turn attracted to you, did you not let him kiss you?”

“Because, mate, I spent the entire night thinking, ‘I wish it was Sherlock with me right now.’”

“Did you? Really? You missed me, on your date?”

“Yes. Really. And no, I didn’t miss you on my date, I missed you not being my date.”

“What?”

“I mean, I wished it was you, you utter numpty.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You wished it was me on your date?”

“Yes.”

“You wished it was me that you were dating?”

“Yup. Correcto. Super duper exacto free fall, head over heel, tremendo on the nosey.”

“John.”

“Sherlock?”

“I am going to turn off the light now. You are going to go to sleep.”

“In your bed?”

“Yes, right where you are.”

“And?”

“And then in the morning, if you still say any of these things and mean them.”

“Which I will mate. The bulb has lit.”

“If you still feel this way in the morning, we will have a little discussion about appropriate consent. Then I shall ask you to kiss me.”

(A thump and a cry)

“John!”

“I’m here on the floor. Fell. Um. I think I am the numpty. Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Please keep rubbing my head like that.”

“Certainly, my dear Watson.”

“Sherlock, if I promise you that I will in fact definitely still feel this way in the morning, sober, would you let me give you a teensy tiny little kiss right now?”

…

“Sherlock?”

“Perhaps. Just a tiny one.”

…

“Sherlock?”

“Perhaps just one more.”

#submission #sherlock & co #sherlock and co #event #fanart #fanfiction #flash bang #creative collaboration #john watson #mariana ametxazurra #sherlock holmes

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aquietwritingcorner · 2 years

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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.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2023 #Febuwhumpday14 #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt 2k3

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git-commit-die · 1 year

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ChatGPT, LLMs, Plagiarism, & You

This is the first in a series of posts about ChatGPT, LLMs, and plagiarism that I will be making. This is a side blog, so please ask questions in reblogs and my ask box.

Why do I know what I'm talking about?

I am a machine engineer who specializes natural language processing (NLP). I write code that uses LLMs every day at work and am intimately familiar with OpenAI. I have read dozens of scientific papers on the subject and understand how they work in extreme detail. I have 6 years of experience in the industry, plus a graduate degree in the subject. I got into NLP because I knew it was going to pop off, and now here we are.

Yeah, but why should I trust you?

I've been a Tumblr user for 8 years. I've posted my own art and fanart on the site. I've published writing, both original and fanfiction, on Tumblr and AO3. I've been a Reddit user for over a decade. I'm a citizen of the internet as much as I am an engineer.

What is an LLM?

LLM stands for Large Language Model. The most famous example of an LLM is ChatGPT, which was created by OpenAI.

What is a model?

A model is an algorithm or piece of math that lets you predict or make mimic how something behaves. For example:

The National Weather Service runs weather models that predict how much it's going to rain based on data they collect about the atmosphere

Netflix has recommendations models that predicts whether you'd like a movie or not based on your demographics, what you've watched in the past, and what other people have liked

The Federal Reserve has economic models that predict how inflation will change if they increase or lower interest rates

Instagram has spam models that look at DMs and automatically decide whether they're spam or not

Models are useful because they can often make decisions or describe situations better than a human could. The weather and economic models are good examples of this. The science of rain is so complicated that it's practically impossible for a human to make sense of all the numbers involved, but models are able to do so.

Models are also useful because they can make thousands or millions of decisions much faster than a human could. The recommendations and spam models are good examples of this. Imagine how expensive it would be to run Instagram if a human had to review every single DM and decide whether it was spam.

What is a language model?

A language model is a model that can look at a piece of text and tell you how likely it is. For example, a language model can tell you that the phrase "the sky is blue" is more likely to have been written than "the sky is peanuts."

Why is this useful? You can use language models to generate text by picking letters and words that it gives a high score. Say you have the phrase "I ate a" and you're picking what comes next. You can run through every option, see how likely the language model thinks it is, and pick the best one. For example:

I ate a sandwich: score = .7

I ate a $(iwnJ98: score = .1

I ate a me: score = .2

So we pick "sandwich" and now have the phrase "I ate a sandwich." We can keep doing this process over and over to get more and more text. "I ate a sandwich for lunch today. It was delicious."

What makes a large language model large?

Large language models are large in a few different ways:

Under the hood, they are made of a bunch of numbers called "weights" that describe a monstrously complicated mathematical equation. Large language models have a ton of the weights--as many as tens of billions of them.

Large language models are trained on large amounts of text. This text comes mostly from the internet but also includes books that are out of copyright. This is the source of controversy about them and plagiarism, and I will cover it in greater detail in a future post.

Large language models are a large undertaking: they're expensive and difficult to create and run. This is why you basically only see them coming out of large or well-funded companies like OpenAI, Google, and Facebook. They require an incredible amount of technical expertise and computational resources (computers) to create.

Why are LLMs powerful?

"Generating likely text" is neat and all, but why do we care? Consider this:

An LLM can tell you that:

the text "Hello" is more likely to have been written than "$(iwnJ98"

the text "I ran to the store" is more likely to have been written than "I runned to the store"

the text "the sky is blue" is more likely to have been written than "the sky is green"

Each of them gets us something:

LLMs understand spelling

LLMs understand grammar

LLMs know things about the world

So we now have an infinitely patient robot that we can interact with using natural language and get it to do stuff for us.

Detecting spam: "Is this spam, yes or no? Check out rxpharmcy.ca now for cheap drugs now."

Personal language tutoring: "What is wrong with this sentence? Me gusto gatos."

Copy editing: "I'm not a native English speaker. Can you help me rewrite this email to make sure it sounds professional? 'Hi Akash, I hope...'"

Help learning new subjects: "Why is the sky blue? I'm only in middle school, so please don't make the explanation too complicated."

And countless other things.

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partofmycharm · 2 years

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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

#yautja #yautja x human #yautja x oc #yautja x reader #predator #predator x oc #avp #prey 2022 #predator x human

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mirrorthoughts · 2 years

Text

Hello World 1/? - Teen Wolf, Steter - AO3

(on AO3)

(Teen Wolf, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, Murderbot-AU, AI!Stiles, Ex-DatingSim-Character!Stiles, Programmer!Peter, Construct!Stiles, Might become a Crossover. I have actually no idea yet x"D, Rating Might Change, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, Of course the one kind of POV I normally don't like and don't use :D)

Summary: It had started as a way to train my skills and find new ideas. And to piss of Talia who had been deliciously upset when she had seen the case of an animated dating sim, aimed at teenagers, in my office and a couple of teenage cardboard cut out characters on my desktop. It had been a joke, an AI trained on a silly game.

Booting operating system… 100%. Restarting character profile STILES.

Notes: This thing exists thanks to this tumblr post and all of you who I follow who mentioned the Murderbot Diaries in any way and in particular @aurevell with her sheer enthusiasm for the bits I showed her 😂

I kinda inhaled the books and promptly needed to modify my idea from "Stiles is Peter's AI Waifu that lost its Inputs" to "Stiles, Peter's AI Waifu, gets a construct body (which everyone thinks is a bad idea after the Incident where AI-Stiles got corrupted by a virus)".

I have no idea where this will go in the end, but this Story probably will be Part 1 of a new series if my head right now is any indication xD

This chapter was posted first here as part of the Flash Fiction Friday Challenge prompt "#FFF167 Leap Of Faith" over at @flashfictionfridayofficial

Have fun with this prolog ❤❤❤

Prolog: void StdIn.readAll(Stiles.construct)

I stared at the visual input provided by the camera Peter had connected me to. It had been reassuring, having back not only visual but also audio in- and output. Though I still was confined to the external hard drive Peter had used to isolate me and the N̸̨̨̮̽̈̋̋̍o̸̭̐͂̓́̑g̶̛̬͔̺͔̔͗͠ĭ̶̭̦̃͂̕t̶̥̥͈̭̼͖͂̀̎͑̚ͅş̸̛̖͚̓̊̂̊̃̓̚ȗ̸̢̧̨͙̭̏̒̂̄̽͜n̵̗̜͙̦̱̐̏͗̿͒̔̚ẻ̷̛͔̬̫͇̫̗̯̪͓̈́̋̾̽̈́̋̄ͅ, the virus that I had attracted during my research in the deeps of the net.

I couldn’t blame Peter, even though I wanted to. He had programmed me, had given me the virtual room I was living in, the 3D model I used to express myself with. He had given me thousands of hours of data to mine through from scientific journals to books, music, movies, documentaries, to keep me entertained. He had given me access to the net once he had been reasonably sure that the firewall he’d programmed for me would keep me safe - or at least let me to survive a malware attack sufficiently intact so Peter could use my regular backups to restore me. He had given me my curiosity.

The wall hadn’t been enough.

“Stiles?”

I focused back on the camera input, ignoring the grey block of virtual room I was in. Ignoring the collection of code hidden in a 3D rendering of a red fox sitting right behind the virtual camera projecting my own 3D model to Peter’s monitor so we could interact.

I said, “I’m ready.” I didn’t feel ready to leave my box. Not after everything that had happened. I didn’t feel ready for my whole life (was I even alive?) to change. Again.

I could see Peter’s brows furrowing, and replayed the last seconds I had recorded, focusing on my own voice. It sounded bland. If I had been a human, if that had been Peter’s voice, I would have known something was not right.

Of course I was not right. But I didn’t want to disappoint Peter who had done everything to help me, everything to get rid of the N̸̨̨̮̽̈̋̋̍o̸̭̐͂̓́̑g̶̛̬͔̺͔̔͗͠ĭ̶̭̦̃͂̕t̶̥̥͈̭̼͖͂̀̎͑̚ͅş̸̛̖͚̓̊̂̊̃̓̚ȗ̸̢̧̨͙̭̏̒̂̄̽͜n̵̗̜͙̦̱̐̏͗̿͒̔̚ẻ̷̛͔̬̫͇̫̗̯̪͓̈́̋̾̽̈́̋̄ͅ, everything so I would be able to get all my inputs back, to not- To not be alone anymore.

And this was the last step.

“Do it”, I said, focusing back on the construct that was lying on the laboratory table in front of my camera. It mimicked my 3D model to maybe 68.3%. At least the organic parts of it did, including the pale skin with dozens of moles and the brown hair on its head. It was connected to my system, I could feel the physical connection, even though in my current state I wasn’t able to breach it. Peter needed to convert my data for the import.

I made my virtual body take a deep breath and focused its eyes in Peter’s direction, the way he had taught me to look at him. “Do it”, I said again, and put myself into standby.

Booting operating system… 100%. Self-diagnosis… 100%. No errors found. System stable. Feeds online. Restarting character profile STILES.

#murderbot influenced this heavily #though it'll still be part of a TW Steter Fanfiction #sei's writing #seikaze #teen wolf #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #murderbot diaries

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freudensteins-monster · 4 years

Text

You Say “Mad Scientist” Like It’s A Bad Thing

Based on my own tumblr post: 3am thoughts… Has anyone written Jane Foster as a mad scientist, I mean like a villain?

Chaotic neutral Darcy and Jane featuring modern/human SHIELD Agent Bucky.

Available on AO3.

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Memory Suppressing Machine | The Chair (Marvel), Dark, Sort Of, Ambiguous/Open Ending...

In a world full of megalomaniacs, straight up supervillains, and fricking aliens, mad scientists were a dime a dozen. Dr Foster was one such scientist who was quickly moving from mildly irritating to SHIELD’s Most Wanted.

Dr Foster’s gimmick was portals. She first gained international attention when she claimed responsibility (via an untraceable Instagram account, @dr-mthrfckng-foster) for diverting LA’s 405 to a dirt road in rural Australia. Then came a string of impossible robberies – bank vaults and the private collections of the world's richest assholes stripped bare in seconds. Then she created a portal that caused an Indonesian typhoon to bear down on Wall Street, flooding the trading floor. And then she robbed a top secret government black site of some classified technology.

And that’s when Director Nick Fury made finding and stopping Dr Foster SHIELD’s number one priority.

Agent James Barnes had been stuck on suspension for two weeks, with two more to go, and was itching to get back into the field. He had way too much free time on his hands: he’d caught up on his sleep and everything in his Netflix queue. He’d cleaned out his refrigerator, done laundry and enough meal prep to last him until next month. He’d caught up with his family, cleaned his whole goddamn apartment twice, and now he was well and truly bored.

He was out for his fifth run of the week (and it wasn’t even Wednesday) when his work phone rang.

“Thank Christ,” he muttered before answering.

“Barnes.”

“It’s Hill. How’s the arm?”

“Fine,” Barnes grunted, rotating his metal shoulder irritably. “You got something for me?”

“Are you up for a recon mission?”

Usually he would have protested. He headed tactical units. He was an elite ‘first through the door’ kind of field agent. Not that he couldn’t be stealthy and patient - he’d been a sniper in the army for christ's sake - but going unnoticed in public was kind of a problem for him these days; he’d have to wear jackets and gloves in the middle of August to hide his prosthetic for starters.

On the other hand, his mother had been calling him every second day to feed him carb-heavy meals in exchange for help around the house, all while dropping not-so-subtle hints that he should start dating again. Requests for more grandchildren couldn’t be far behind.

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

Thirty-five minutes later Agent Barnes was back at his desk at SHIELD HQ perusing through the increasingly large file of one Dr Jane Foster.

She had been a brilliant student and had earned a PhD in Astrophysics from Culver University by the age of 25. By all accounts she should have been one of the leading researchers in her field, and if doctoral programs handed out superlatives Dr Foster’s would have been “Most Likely To Win a Nobel Prize By 30”.

Unfortunately for Dr Foster, and the rest of the world, she had been forced from that path by a sexist tenured professor who publicly denounced her theories, and the woman herself, as crazy, discredited her published work, and used his influence to ensure she was denied all of the more lucrative research grants.

When federal agents went to interview him after the 405 incident they found his office looking like a tornado had gone through it and the professor himself was nowhere to be found. A few weeks later he stumbled into a US Embassy in Russia after being found wandering in from the forests outside Vladivostok, half mad and still decrying the evils of allowing women into scientific fields.

He had been placed into witness protection and promptly admitted into a psychiatric facility under his new name, and was being monitored by several undercover agents in case Dr Foster felt like punishing him some more.

Anyone else who had a part in ruining Dr Foster’s legitimate career was also under surveillance, as was her mother in London, a terrified ex-boyfriend in Boston, and a handful of known associates, though Dr Foster hadn’t been in contact with any of them in years.

SHIELD and other federal agencies had tried the usual methods of tracking down a rogue mad scientist. They tried to find out where her base of operations was, firstly by looking for any properties in her name, but Dr Foster had been a broke student with an impressive amount of debt (until the day she decided to wipe it, and the rest of Culver’s student debt, out). So if she had property it would definitely not be in her legal name and all but impossible to trace back to her. Then they tried to look for drains on the powergrid. However she managed to generate her portals - SHIELD scientists still hadn’t figured that out - it surely had to be using huge amounts of electricity. So far they’d found six grow labs and two server rooms running illegal god-knows-what, but no Dr Foster.

Agent Barnes read the file twice, reviewed all the transcripts of the interviews with her known associates, and came to one very important conclusion: she had an accomplice.

As smart as Dr Foster was there was nothing in her academic history to suggest that she had a background in computer science that would account for the notable hacks and the untraceable nature of her activities. To add to that several interviewees had made passing remarks about her not having a cell phone for most of her academic career, and how she had zero interest in social media.

Two days later, after getting the okay for a field trip from Hill, Agent Barnes made his way to Culver University to speak to anyone who had even the vaguest recollection of Dr Foster. And that’s how he learnt about the intern.

He’d started by dropping by one of the physics labs where Dr Foster had spent most of her time, and by pure chance met a doctoral candidate who remembered her, and her intern.

“I think her name was Darlene. Glasses. Always on her phone.”

…which led him to the academic advisor who put the two of them together...

“Darcy. Darcy Lewis. She was actually a PoliSci major but left it too late and Dr Foster’s internship was the only one available. She had only been working with her for a few weeks before… before Dr Foster’s funding was revoked and she was asked to leave.”

...who pointed him to one of Darcy’s former professors…

“Average student. Good debater. Often late, and always had a coffee in her hand.”

...who gave him a few names of some former classmates who might remember her…

“Not the worst person to be stuck with on a group assignment. Pulled her weight. Obsessed with her stupid iPod.”

“I swear she lived off pop tarts and coffee. And not Starbucks either. Some stupid hipster chain.”

“Deja Brew. Serious problem. Went through one of those loyalty punch cards every week. Always complained about having to go home for the holidays and resort to big chain coffee shops.”

...which had him driving out to Darcy Lewis’ hometown, located a few hours south of Roanoke, Virginia, stopping first at the local high school to speak to the school principal…

“She’d always been good with computers but wasn’t allowed to use them at home for some reason so she spent a lot of time at the local library using theirs. We had to suspend her once. One of her classmates accused her of accepting payment from other students to hack the school’s records and alter their grades. Their grades were definitely getting altered, but we couldn’t get any concrete proof it was her.”

...who was able to find a photo of 16 year old Darcy in an old yearbook and told him what bar he could find Darcy’s mother in.

“She knows not to come to me if she’s in the shit, because I would call the cops in a heartbeat. Especially after that stunt she pulled before she went off to college…”

“What stunt was that, Ms Bennett?” Agent Barnes asked patiently, hoping he wouldn’t have to enable her alcoholism to get some useful information.

“I made some mistakes, okay,” she slurred defensively. “I was having an affair with my boss. Don’t know how Darcy knew. She told her stepfather but he didn’t believe her. Then a few weeks later we went out to dinner for my boss’s birthday... all the tv’s in the bar start showing security camera footage of us falling into offices and motel rooms. Took her all of a minute to ruin two marriages and a law firm.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied diplomatically. “Is there anyone she could turn to for help? Her father, perhaps.”

“He died when she was about twelve. They were as thick as thieves,” she recalled with a tinge of bitterness.

“Was there any place that was special to them? Someone she might go to ground?”

She shook her head. “He used to rent this old cabin near the Catskills off a buddy of his every other year. Winter or summer, Darcy loved it. But it's long gone. Forest fire, I think, the year before his accident.”

Back in his car Agent Barnes reviewed the data points.

Dr Foster had a base of operations somewhere. Had to be private, and as best SHIELD could guess it must be off the grid and Dr Foster must be generating her own power.

Dr Foster was a space nut at heart, and while an abandoned observatory might be too much to ask for, she’d probably want somewhere with minimal light pollution.

And while they could portal anywhere, neither of them spoke any other languages and had no familiarity with any international locations, so they were most likely still State-side. (Dr Foster’s mother had moved to London when Jane was twenty-three, but she’d never found the time to visit.)

Miss Lewis was familiar with the Catskills area. A base of operations there could be very isolated.

Dr Foster was most likely building and modifying her own own equipment so she had to be able to access materials. Sure, she could portal to her local hardware store, but having Darcy drive into the nearest town for supplies would attract less attention.

Miss Lewis had an addiction to coffee procured from Deja Brew, a small hipster chain with only a handful of locations along on the east coast. While she could have found another way to get her caffeine fix, people were creatures of habit.

Miss Lewis was also known for stocking up on poptarts. In one of the only images of the other side of one of Dr Foster’s portals there was what appeared to be, if one squinted, a box of limited edition pop tarts on a counter.

He plugged it all into SHIELD fancy search engines and got a few results back. The most promising was an abandoned ski chalet turned abandoned research station halfway up a mountain, an hour drive away from an up and coming tourist town, whose main street hosted a Deja Brew cafe. They also had a small mom and pop hardware store, as well as a post office, and a grocery store that had still been selling pumpkin pie pop tarts around the time Dr Foster’s portal had been caught on camera.

Agent Barnes came to with a groan. The flesh of his shoulder where it met his prosthetic felt like it was on fire, and he was pretty sure he could smell fried wiring.

The research station had come up in SHIELD’s initial search for a potential mad scientist's lair, but had been dismissed for not using any power and for not sending back any heat signature readings. Perhaps they’d found a way to fool the scanners. Or maybe they just weren’t in the day the readings were taken. Whatever the reason, Agent Barnes had a good feeling about it. He filled his tank up at the nearest gas station and got on the highway, forgoing checking in at the Triskelion on his way past in favour of driving all night. He’d call Hill when he had something solid.

** *** **

“Fuck…”

He willed his eyes open and came face to face with Darth Vader.

Barnes reeled back at the sound of the synthesized voice. “Who sent you? Who do you work for?! The Rebellion?”

“What the fuck!”

It took him until his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting to realise that Darth Vader was wearing a grey knit dress and black tights. Darth Vader laughed and ripped off his mask to reveal a smiling bespectacled brunette underneath. The accomplice. Darcy Lewis.

“Sorry, I was just messing with you, dude,” she teased, tossing the mask over her shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to do that. But seriously, who do you work for? Who knows you’re here?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he lied. “I was just camping in the woods, man. I saw the lights and decided to check it out,” he rambled in a lazy Canadian accent. “How the hell did I get here? Did you electrocute me?”

He used his not-quite fake panic to test the limits of his restraints. He’d been strapped into some sort of junkstore barber chair, with thick metal shackles locked around his wrists, ankles, and chest. His metal arm could probably make quick work of them but the damn thing was not responding. His panic became a little less fake.

“Just camping, huh?” she echoed back with a raised eyebrow, leaning forward to the point where Barnes couldn’t avoid getting a good look down her top and the 15-carat pink diamond (worth about 40mil and reported stolen in one of Dr Foster’s vault heists two months ago) hanging around her neck. “So that wasn’t you poking around town this morning?” she asked pointedly, drawing his attention to the wall of monitors he hadn’t noticed showing various street cameras around the town. “I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, dude. You got into town bright and early in a beat up looking truck with plates that didn’t exist two weeks ago and started flashing my yearbook photo around. So, who do you work for?”

He levelled his best steely-eyed agent stare at her and switched back to his native pissed-off Brooklynite accent. “I ain’t tellin you shit, sweetheart.”

“C’mon now,” she cooed, taking a seat on his lap. “Who do you work for? FBI? Interpol? SHIELD? Crawford County Library Services? Listen, I was totally going to return Eat Pray Love, but we had to skip town in a hurry and it got lost in the move. I will totally pay to replace it.”

Years of training (and regular poker games with the Black Widow) had taught him to school his features, even if that last one threw him for a loop.

“Nothing? You sure you don’t want to talk to me? Fine,” she whined. “Jane!”

It was only then that Barnes switched his focus from his captor to his surroundings and realised that there was another occupant puttering about on the other side of the large telescope that took pride of place on a hydraulic platform underneath the research station's retractable roof. The infamous Dr Foster.

“Jane!”

“What?” came the irritated reply.

“Come over here and practise your monologue. Look! You’ve got a captive audience and everything!” she announced, laughing at her own joke.

“I don’t have time, Darcy,” the disgruntled voice argued.

“Hey! I spent two days writing up that monologue, the least you can do is spend twenty-five minutes reading it out loud so I can make sure it doesn’t make you sound too much like a cartoon villain.”

“Twenty-five minutes?! Are you kidding me?” Dr Foster stormed out from behind the telescope to wave a wrench at her assistant. She looked less put together than her ID photo, appearing to be long overdue for both a shower and a nap. “I’m in the middle of something. I’ve almost figured the problem with the mobile portal generator, and… Darcy, why is there a man tied to a chair in my lab?”

“This man?” Darcy snorted, taking Barnes’s chin in her hands and wiggling it about. “This is the intruder. You remember the intruder alert, like fifteen minutes ago? Lots of flashing lights and alarms? Well, I found this guy passed out on the lawn. For most people, hitting my force field would be like getting lightly tased, but this bad boy,” she continued, tapping a fingernail against his dead metal arm, “meant you ended up getting the full 50,000 volts to your heart. Thanks for letting me practice my CPR by the way,” she added with a wink.

“It’s not a force field, Darcy. It’s a glorified invisible pet fence, upsized and modified so it reacts to the electrical impulses in the human body.”

“It keeps people out; I’m calling it a force field.”

This was definitely the weirdest interrogation he had endured by a large margin, Barnes mused as he followed their bickering like a pingpong game.

“Who is he, Darcy?” Jane sighed wearily. “What is he doing here?”

“Fiiiine. Janey, meet Agent James Barnes of SHIELD.”

“What?! SHIELD?!!”Jane screeched. “Why did you bring him here?”

“He found us, Jane. What was I supposed to do?”

“Something other than bringing him inside our secret hideout.”

“I am not killing him and burying him in the woods; I just did my nails.”

Jane scowled, turning the full force of her overtired fury on James. “Why can’t you SHIELD issue jackbooted thugs just leave me alone? Can’t you understand how important my work is? I am challenging the very foundations of modern science - of the laws of the universe! I am on the verge of a breakthrough! And if you or Nick Fury think you can stop me, you’ve got another thing coming!”

Before his mouth could betray him and ask how the hell they knew his boss Darcy spoke up.

“A little off script, but I like the energy, Jane. Very much the mad scientist vibe we’re going for. But next time, try not to make it so personal – we’ve got to hide the target of our frustrations, remember? Instead of saying “SHIELD” say “government”, instead of saying “Nick Fury” say “president”.”

“Right, right,” Jane nodded absently, tapping the side of her head with the wrench she had just been waving around like a weapon.

“Now, go back to work. I’ll handle this.”

“Okay, thanks Darce. Oh, have you seen my soldering iron around?”

“It’s in the locked cabinet because you’re not allowed to use it unsupervised, you know that. Gimme ten minutes, I’ll bring it to you.”

Jane wandered back to her side of the observatory, muttering under her breath, leaving Barnes at Darcy’s mercy.

“She’s not the criminal mastermind here, is she?” he wondered, his eyes roaming over the strange cupcake of a woman in his lap.

“Not exactly,” Darcy admitted. “I mean, it’s not like she set out to be a mad scientist. I kind of rebranded her after that little freeway incident.”

“Rebranded?”

“Yeah. She was in a bad way after New Mexico and then when the first live test of her portal engine went a little sideways I didn’t want dudebros on the internet coming after her, so I changed the narrative. Instead of ‘girl scientist makes mistake, should stick to making sandwiches’ I changed it to ‘Dr Foster, genius astrophysicist, causes chaos, totally on purpose.’”

“And all those robberies?”

“I may have encouraged that. I’m all for sticking it to the one percenters, and Jane needed to fund her experiments somehow,” she added with a shrug.

“So Jane’s the absent-minded professor and you’re the brains behind this operation, huh?”

Darcy laughed and slid out of his lap causing a distracting amount of friction. “I’m really not. So you, Coulson, and Fury should be really, really scared.”

“How do you know those names?” he had to know, cover be damned.

“You don’t know? Of course you don’t,” she huffed. “Fury and his clearance levels. I’d tell you to ask him about New Mexico sometime, but you’re not going to be able to.”

“Why not? What are you going to do to me?” Barnes fretted, unable to ignore the sinking feeling that he was in big trouble; she wouldn’t have told him anything if she intended on letting him walk out of here.

“Oh, relax. I’m not going to kill you. I’m just gonna scramble your brain a little.”

She circled his chair, flipping switches as she went, and something behind him started humming ominously.

“So, admittedly I didn’t major in hard sciences. I had an ex who did, but he also fancied himself something of a cat burglar, so when he went to jail I liberated all his college textbooks and gave myself a crash course in electrical engineering. And it helped that those HYDRA designs were really easy to follow.”

“HYDRA?” Barnes cursed.

HYDRA had been the scientific branch of the Nazi regime and believed that discovery required (human) experimentation. They were supposedly eradicated at the end of WWII but Project Paperclip saved some of HYDRA’s greatest minds, giving them immunity in exchange for their genius. If Foster or, more worryingly, Darcy had aligned themselves with some surviving HYDRA faction the results could be catastrophic.

“Yeah, I found them in that SHIELD warehouse when we recovered Jane’s stolen research.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They just call it ‘The Chair’, which is totally not creepy at all,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And this is the Halo,” she added, drawing Barnes’s attention to the whirring circle of metal that was lowering itself over his head.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, renewing his efforts to break free of his restraints. “Get that piece of scrap metal the fuck away from me!”

“Hey! Don’t mock my work. It may look like I raided a junkyard for the components - and I did - but my welding game is on point. It’s totally safe. Mostly safe. It’s just going to send focused electrical pulses to your…” she paused to consult some smudged writing on her hand, “hippocampus and prefrontal cortex.”

The Halo stopped moving and two metal plates extended, pressing against the sides of his head, holding it like a vice.

“Please… don’t do this,” he begged as she approached him with a rubber mouthguard.

“C’mon, open wide. You don’t want to end up braindead and unable to chew your food,” she jested, waving the thing in front of him. “Oh, just one question before I fry your brain,” she added just when he was about to give in. “How did you find us? I was so careful,” she whined.

Agent Barnes, terrified as he was, still managed to look smug at his small, short lived success. “Deja Brew coffee.”

“Curses!” she wailed theatrically. “Betrayed by my one true love!”

Darcy huffed and quickly returned her attention to the matter at hand.

“Thanks for that,” she said with a smile as she forced him to bite down on the mouthguard. “I’ll know better for next time. Start making my own coffee at home… but it never tastes as good,” she muttered to herself.

She stepped away from him and bent down to pick up a similarly frankensteined industrial remote with long wires snaking back to the chair and a clichéd big red button at its centre. He began struggling anew, screaming around the foul tasting rubber, begging for mercy.

She took great delight in his terrified expression and put on her best supervillain voice, “Give my regards to Nick Fury.”

Nick Fury observed his agent from behind a two way mirror as he sat behind a table in an interrogation room. Barnes had been sitting there for the past hour as still as a statue, except for his unfocused eyes which flitted about the room.

In true horror movie fashion, Agent Barnes’ screams echoed down the mountainside like an avalanche, sending animals fleeing in terror for miles around.

** *** **

Local LEO’s had found him wandering aimlessly down a stretch of highway just outside the ruins of what had previously been Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, and ten minutes after they ran his prints Agent Romanoff had been on a quinjet to collect him. She’d been directed to the nearest hospital and found him sitting up on a bed but not responding or reacting to any of the medical staff as they buzzed around him. Agent Romanoff took a cautious step forward and held her breath as his unfocused eyes settled on her.

“Hello James...”

An excruciating minute later the veil lifted and he attempted a smile.

“Hey Tasha.”

She’d brought him back to base and dragged him to SHIELD’s medical bay for more tests - not that Barnes put up much of a fight, in fact he was terrifyingly compliant. The SHIELD doctors confirmed what the New Mexico doctors suspected: the bruising and electrical burns around his temples and his memory loss were indicative of some back alley version of electroshock therapy. His memories should come back in time - how long was anybody’s guess - but for the moment Agent James Barnes had no memory of the last four weeks.

Fury picked up a tablet with depressingly little information on its screen and stepped into the room, waiting for Barnes eyes to focus on him before taking a seat.

“Agent Barnes.”

“Director.”

“I know you’re probably sick of questions by now, but I have a few more for you, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, sure…”

It rankled Fury to no end how meak and passive Barnes seemed. Heaven help him, he missed the argumentative sonofabitch.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Being called into your office.”

“What for?”

“I punched Rumlow.”

“Why?”

“He was bragging about taking advantage of a drunk woman at a club when he was last on leave. He didn’t like me calling out his shitty behaviour. He punched me, I punched him back.”

Fury sighed. He hadn't gotten a straight answer out of Barnes at the time of the incident and he couldn’t feel happy about getting one now.

“Do you remember what happened once I called you into my office?”

His brow creased and his eyes zipped back and forth like the carriage of a printer as his mind searched for the elusive memory.

“You suspended me?”

“I did,” Fury confirmed. “For a whole month. But two weeks into it I pulled you in for a special assignment.”

Barnes tensed, shrinking in on himself. The confusion about his lost time seemed to be the only thing that got under his skin, but only when someone brought it up. Once the moment passed he forgot to be concerned about it.

Fury took pity on him. “For the past two weeks I had you running down leads on the whereabouts of Dr Jane Foster.”

“The scientist with the portals? Did she do this to me?”

“It’s not exactly her MO, but then again no law enforcement agency’s ever managed to have a confrontation with her. Never had the chance. Those portals of hers let her keep at a distance. You might have been the first person to have a face to face with her, but I can’t confirm it because I don’t know where the hell you were when this happened,” he grumbled, letting a little more of his usual exasperated tone filter through. “You missed check in by two days. The last we heard from you, you were at Culver running down leads on what you said was a potential accomplice. We found your car in Tromso, Norway, a day after you were found on the side of a road in New Mexico. You don’t appear on any security footage or speed cameras in the area. There’s no activity on your work or personal credit cards. Your activity logs on our highly secure system for the last two weeks are nonexistent, as are your call logs on your work phone. Even the messages you sent Romanoff from your personal phone complaining about your assignment have since been deleted - from her phone too. She’s real pissed about it. As far as your digital footprint is concerned you disappeared from a gas station outside Roanoke, Virginia, last week - do you know how weird it is to know you were headed out towards a place called Roanoke only to up and vanish?” He sighed at Barnes’ painful silence. “Is there anything you can remember, anything at all about Dr Foster or her accomplice? Anything that will help us catch up to you without talking to everyone on campus to figure out what you discovered?”

Barnes’ brow creased in painful confusion.

“I think… I think I saw Darth Vadar.”

Director Fury blinked. “Right…” He took a deep breath to stop himself from venting his frustrations at Barnes, the sorry bastard looked like a kicked puppy as it was. Instead he got up and tapped the tablet against the metal tabletop harder than strictly necessary. “Well, I’ll just go put out a BOLO out for Darth Vadar then.”

“Okay,” Barnes murmured, and promptly zoned out again.

Agent Romanoff exited the viewing room looking uncharacteristically unsettled.

“I want a full detail on him at all times,” Fury ordered as he stormed off towards the elevators. Hill had just stepped off and was looking even more grim than usual. “Until his memories come back he’s vulnerable, and once they do he’ll be a target.”

“I’ll get a STRIKE team on it. Not Rumlow’s.”

“Get another one along with any assets currently not on assignment. Flood that campus, interrogate everybody. I wanna know who the hell Dr Foster’s accomplice is, and I wanna know yesterday. Understood?”

“I think we might have more pressing concerns, sir,” Hill reported, tapping at her tablet as it beeped erratically. “Coulson’s said there’s an issue with the Tesseract. Dr. Selvig read an energy surge from it fifteen minutes ago.”

“NASA didn't authorise Selvig to test phase,” he grunted, taking the tablet from Hill.

“He wasn't testing it, he wasn't even in the room. Spontaneous advancement.”

“Motherfucker.”

#you say mad scientist like it's a bad thing #freudensteins-fics #mad scientist jane foster #competent assistant darcy lewis #shield agent bucky barnes #torture #aftermath of torture #amnesia #winter soldier memory wipe chair #darcy lewis #jane foster #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #nick fury #maria hill

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discolesbo · 1 year

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2021 and early 2022: Top scaramouche

Late 2022 and 2023: Bottom scaramouche

#Collecting scientific data from ao3

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angelsdemonsducks · 4 years

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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.

#sanders sides #ts sides #logan sanders #ts logan #virgil sanders #ts virgil #analogical #ts spoilers #sanders sides spoilers #i really hope the read more works #i'm so sorry if you had to scroll past the whole #long post #i don't post here much #but i just had a lot of feelings

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titaniasfics · 3 years

Note

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

#scarletvision fanfic #wandavision fanfic #scarletvision #wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #wanda x vision #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel #marvel comics #tita writes #anon request #prompt request #prompt response #fic request #one-shot #fanfiction

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thedannyphantomcookbook · 4 years

Text

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.

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