#ai: father i require attention

[jazeswhbhaven]

hi!! can I request whb!kings ( and some nobles if you want ) reactions to a mc who says they love long-haired men?

Hi there!! I am feeling this request heavy because I too find long-haired men aesthetically pleasing to look at irl and fiction. Let's see what our kings think :P

Satan: He has long hair. It's fluffy, unruly at times and smells like cat fur, but it's still long. So when he hears MC going on and on about men with long hair, he's grabbing their hands and forcing them to pet his hair and play with it. I mean he's standing right there, might as well fulfill your desires MC....

Mammon: He hears that MC loves long-haired men and it brings him back to the time he had long hair, long and luxurious that he inherited from his father. Using his little Ai bots and a bit of magic, he creates a machine that can change your hairstyle in less than 5 minutes. And with that, his hair grows out past his shoulders, and MC is in awe. Leave it to Mammon to do anything for MC's attention.

Beelzebub: His hair is kinda long, but it's styled because he prefers it that way. But he starts to get testy about MC being around Bael because when he takes it down from being tied up, it's pretty damn long, he just never has time to cut it. Because of that, he may have cut Bael's hair while he was sleeping....that way MC won't have any distractions and can be reminded of Beel when he's away. It's a good thing the other nobles have short hair....

Leviathan: What's so good about long hair? It gets in the way, makes you look like a wild animal, and isn't very flattering at all. He's already upset with MC even mentioning others who have long hair and a particular devil comes to mind. Next thing you know, MC is noticing that Levi is letting his hair grow out. The other devils in Hades are now required to keep their hair at a certain length which is no longer than the bottom of their ear lobes.

Lucifer: His hair is kept at neck length because he prefers it that way, but can understand why MC likes long-hair. In fact, he mentions that Gamigin has long hair and that MC should go and braid it sometimes. Though, MC's point was to get Lucifer to try and grow out his hair longer, maybe past his shoulders. That won't ever happen, his hair would get caught in his open wound that still on his back and he can't have that.

Belphegor: He likes his hair medium length because it's less maintenance. He doesn't think he could ever deal with long hair because it would never be washed and get all messed up and greasy beyond repair. However, he's willing to put on a wig for MC because he can take that off easily, or just get Beleth to do it. But don't expect that wig to be in good condition after a couple days of him sleeping in it.

Asmodeus: His hair is so long it drags across the floor. So when MC mentions loving long-haired men he's front and center smothering them with his hair. He even asks MC if they would like it if he grew out his hair in other places too. Also he read their mind when they once thought about doing inappropriate things with his hair. He wants to try that out. Right now in fact.

NOBLES TIME~

Sitri: His hair is short now, so when he hears about MC having a thing for long-haired men, he's considering growing it out again. After a couple weeks his hair reaches his shoulders and it's fluffy and pretty. Everyone in the palace kept forgetting it was Sitri, and MC was running into things because they kept staring. He felt it was too much of a distraction so he cuts it. But it was fun while it lasted.

Zagan: This noble has such pretty silky hair, MC can't help but compliment him each time. Zagan doesn't have much to say, but here lately he's been using a different conditioner and shampoo and now his hair is even longer and shiny. He secretly hopes this gets MC to talk to him more.

Paimon: He always has his hair tied up in pigtails so when he reveals how long his hair is to MC, he's happy to hear that MC is impressed and wants to play with it often. Paimon even encourages MC to get extensions to match, because he also likes long-hair on potential suitors. Now they can matcchhhhhh <3

Bael: He's pretty pissed off that Beel cut his hair in the middle of the night, but at least now he looks even more similar to his annoying best friend. He always liked having his long hair tied back and even planned on growing it out more because he found out MC likes long-haired men. Now it's his chance again, at least his hair grows fast.

SURPRISE ITS RIN!!!~

When Jjok turns into his other form, his hair is long, pretty, and super red like his fur. It was merely a coincidence that MC happens to like men with long-hair so he brags about it whenever he gets the chance too. Imagine him, a simple red lump demon that can turn into a hottie with long-hair? He smiling and even bothering Lucifer about it too.

[aihoshiino]

Plz Dr Aihoshiino PhD, I was discussing ONK with people and came to the conclusion that at no point did Aqua advanced the mystery plotline in an active position at all?

He unlocked Ai's phone, with dedication (instead of brainpower), but was her contact list ever useful? He was invited into projects by coincidence far as I can tell (he didn't put himself out there to be scouted) & those were all dead ends? I think?

He did find out that he has a half-brother but that was a red herring to divert the plot to Ruby. Narrowing down Kamiki had nothing to do with all that DNA tests at all. (In fact it only took one glance from Akane? Bc they were that alike? How did no one else from Lalalai or the industry ever noticed.)

He wrote the script for 15YL but we later found out Kamiki was already a sponsor at that point. And we have no idea if he's the one who planted Akane to save Ruby at all? Ichigo acted as if he's the one behind that plan. (Although idk how Akane got roped in there.)

It feels like the main plotline were all advanced by Akane & completely by coincidence (or her superpower that requires no explanation). Aqua acted like he's a super manipulative mastermind but... what did he do exactly? Except from recruiting Akane (aka the only person who would willingly be manipulated into it all bc she was channelling Aqua's mum) (also at this point she felt like a plot device to me... It's not ooc for her to try to protect Ruby, she's just that nice, but why did Ichigo ask her to do it when they could just... Hire a professional bodyguard). He said he manipulated Kana (he didn't) and exposed his & Ruby's identity to "further his revenge" but... Did he really?

Sry I'm just extra confused now that I actually sat down and thought about it. It feels like he's just delusional. And has main character syndrome.

I think this is a consequence of Akasaka, like… despite what he says about having OnK's ending decided from however early on (at least as of the end of the Tokyo Blade section of the 2.5D Play arc) he very clearly did not have a solid idea in mind for the father's identity when that question was first raised and ended up deciding on who and what Kamiki's character would be and what the shape of his relationship with Ai was wayyyyy later into Aqua's search for him. You can sort of see this in the implicit suspect profile Aqua has in terms of the men he pursues - they're all men who were already adults in positions of power by the time Ai got pregnant which very much has Implications about the kind of man Aqua assumes his father is. And while I think that does end up being a really interesting happy little accident in terms of characterization for Aqua, it also means that he's kind of pursuing dead leads the entire time he's actively pursuing his father because he's looking for the wrong type of person.

I do think this is at least partially intentional, at least by the time of Kamiki's intro to the story, because that blindspot is called out by Ichigo and framed as Aqua desperately clinging to this out from his self-imposed revenge quest. And with that in mind and what the story points out about Aqua's desperate desire to live and be happy with the people he loves constantly fighting his guilt and rage and suicidal ideation, I think Aqua not moving the revenge mystery forward works emotionally very well for the story. I also think his persistence should be commended! Him brute forcing Ai's phone took years of single minded mind numbing focus and attention to detail, and the amount of money he poured into all those DNA tests came off the back of him doing a ton of work to raise it.

THAT SAID………… it is really funny that aqua spends so much time like holding his cursed eye and talking about how he's using people and shit when akane made more progress in tracking down his dad in an afternoon than he did in like 12something years KSJDJSKJDKSJSKS. It's sort of like what I said in this ask, that issue of a character supposedly being smarter in the narrative than an author really has the skill to convincingly convey, which tbh makes Aqua come off even more convincingly like the dumbass teen he is <3 my son who is both homicidal AND suicidal… he really can do it all

[respectthepetty]

I have to confess that I don’t usually pay attention to the colours when I am watching any series. But I thought that it was interesting that while Ai Di was wearing Little Red Riding Hood’s costume Chen Yi was in a gray top and also otherwise was somehow very ‘wolfish’ with teeth-baring smile. He looked like he was ready to devour poor Ai Di.

ANON! You opened a flood gate!

Fun-ish Fact - In Taiwan where Kiseki: Dear to Me comes from, there was a group within the feminist movement in the 80s and 90s called the Little Red Riding Hoods. Their purpose was to call out the "wolves" and bring awareness to sexual harassment. There are several other academic reads on this subject but most are behind paywalls (boo!).

The story of "Little Red Riding Hood" is very symbolic of sexual development and aggression plus a ton of other stuff, so whenever Little Red Riding Hood pops up somewhere, I think "this is the work of a feminist!"

So I was THRILLED when I saw Eddie was our sinful yet sexually maturing protagonist while Bai Zong Yi played the dangerous and transformative antagonist.

Many people's qualms with the couples is the age difference since it's anywhere from five to eight years difference (17 vs. 22?) which would paint Fan Ze Rui as the predator, yet Bai Zong Yi was the one who confessed his feelings first and initiated the intimacy between them.

Then, like you mentioned, there is Eddie, in his bright passionate red running back to Chen Yi who must rescue him from the gang of men trying to hold him back.

But let's rewind! Eddie made fun of Chen Yi for being a virgin and unable to confess his feelings to his boss

but Chen Yi haphazardly responded if Eddie was possible of teaching him . . .

Then quickly dismissed the notion since Eddie is "too young to know it"

This pissed off Eddie, so he hit at the true heart of this discussion - Chen Yi's sexual prowess.

And that caused Chen Yi, who was too drunk to stand on his own let alone walk, to jump up and attack Eddie.

And it escalated in Chen Yi sexually assaulting Eddie (non-consensual kisses are a form of sexual assault)

Eddie fought back and ran away, leaving Chen Yi without any notice of where he was going or how long he would be gone, yet Eddie runs back to Chen Yi only to have to be rescued by him.

And Chen Yi smiled about it.

In earlier tellings of "Little Red Riding Hood" before the Grimm Brothers' version, she rescued herself from the wolf. There was no hunter. So in a story that represents the dangers of sexually awakening and desire, having the lead save herself from the sexual predator is pretty powerful especially because it requires her to face her assaulter.

Chen Yi isn't a horrible person, but if we apply the wolf character to him, the wolf attacked as a form of sexual dominance. Red Riding Hood is in the unknown forest, but the wolf knows the exact layout. The dark scary (sexual) unknown is his territory, so Chen Yi needed to prove to Eddie he wasn't impotent. He normally doesn't prey on Eddie who is younger and, if his questioning was intentional, is also sexually inexperienced. In fact, he rescues Eddie, several times. And he prefers Eddie to not appear as someone who needs rescuing.

Yet Eddie is the one who suggests to Chen Yi to be a predator. Interestingly enough, in a similar color scheme, Eddie in red tells Chen Yi in darker blue, to knock their boss/father out and take him (assault him).

Eddie goes a step further noting that Chen Yi is too weak (double speak for impotent) to knock him out; therefore, he will have to prey on him when he is older and weaker because only then will Chen Yi will be stronger (experienced), which is the reason the wolf eats the grandma first since she won't fight back.

To which Chen Yi responds by telling Eddie to "grow up"

All of this rambling is simply to say that out of all the fairy tales to incorporate within the show, the one about maturity, sexual acts, and consent was the one used, especially when Eddie willingly volunteered to be Little Red Riding Hood who must grow up, deal with his conflicting sexual autonomy, and understand responsible ways to act on his desires.

Because suggesting Chen Yi attack someone deemed weaker did not work out well for either of them.

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: Desecrate

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟼𝚝𝚑 || 𝙱𝙴𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙸 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙾𝚃

sorry for stepping away for a few weeks, there were a couple things happening in my life that required my full attention!

BUT I'M BACK!!! (a lil bit late BUT THAT'S OKAY) and I come with news!

I was accepted into Lavender Con! It's a new book convention in Washington, DC that's coming up in June! I will be attending as an author with 2 days of signing time for Call Me Icarus! I will also be bringing a couple proofs of Incorrect Eyes, I might even give them out as ARCs!!

Incorrect Eyes is entering revisions! I stopped working on it for a few weeks to let it ruminate while some alpha readers looked at it. Not all of my readers have come back to me at this point, but I have enough feedback that I want to start working on it and get it rolling!

Desecrate is entering re-writes! I have a decent amount written from last spring when I used Desecrate as my final project for Starting A Novel. Since then, I have changed a lot of things including the entirety of Kit's personality, so the story is going into full re-writes!

I have a new project on my plate! I had the idea for a cozy fantasy that I would love to work on in the background as a way to sort of decompress from my heavy hitters (a.k.a. my stories about: rebellion & revolution, paranoia & body horror, and the deconstruction of religion & religious trauma). This is a background work so I don't wanna talk too much on it, but i'm very excited about it!!

I think that covers most of what's going on! I spent a lot of time developing a (nearly 10k word) plot outline for desecrate and we're going back in from square one!

But I know y'all are here for the snippies:

snippies are going to be a little bit different moving forward now that the news of tumblr feeding our posts to AI has come out. I've already opted out of this happening again, but just in case tumblr is a soulless corporation (it is), I am still going to remain cautious. That means the snippies I share will now be from early drafts of my stories and will not be the same as they appear on page. They might also be shorter! but I don't want to stop sharing all-together

from desecrate:

Kit feels emotions thick in the back of his throat as he walks through the home. Everything has been left untouched, covered by a light layer of dust from the year of vacancy. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a lot to move in, there isn’t much room left. “Whoa, are these all you?” Benny asks from across the room. Ah yes, the Kit wall. His mother had installed it in the house before they moved to the city, leaving his papa here alone. It’s the far wall of the living room and it’s filled with hundreds of photos, all of him from the time of his birth up until the day they moved about a decade ago. Kit walks over to join Benny just as Father Isaac comes up behind them, resting his hands on their shoulders (Kit & Benny are shoulder to shoulder w/ father Isaac between then but behind them family portrait style). His eyes scan over his youth photographed before him. Pictures of him as an infant in the frilly dresses his mom made him wear, pictures from every year of ballet he did, pictures from ever sport he ever participated it. “Oh my God!” Benny gasps. “Kitty, you never told me that you were a cheerleader?” In her hand is a picture from 8th grade, the year before they moved. The year before kit’s life changed. A pang of sadness resounds through Kit’s heart as he looks at the picture. He was happy, truly happy then. He misses those much simpler times when he didn’t know who he was but that didn’t matter, that didn’t stop him from doing what he loved to do with the people he loved.

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[tamelee]

What are your thought about modern art? I know a lot of artists on the Internet absolutely hate modern art, and talk about it like it was the thing that was killing art in general.

Personally I don’t agree at all, I think contemporain art can bring very interesting concepts and experiments.

And usually the people I’ve seen criticizing contemporain art were the one who make an obsession about realism. Tbh I think realism is kinda overrated…

But I’m curious to hear about your opinion :D

Well, I don't think contemporary art equals a certain style anyway as it is made by people today. You see realism and abstract now as well as in our history (not photo-realism ofc.). The father of my mother (so my grandfather, but it feels weird to call him that as I never knew him) was a well-known painter here in the Netherlands and his art was very abstract with lots of colors and shapes. So what some refer to when they say 'modern' often in such discussions is mostly the more 'simple' styles where they criticize it and say "a child can make this" where the comeback is "but you didn't".. At times they refuse to call it art as it requires little to no skill. Where the actual skill doesn't really get the recognition anymore. That's when these concepts becomes experimental and it makes people talk. I guess AI in a way is part of that as well though still in a much lesser form, but a bigger issue.

If I put up a simple photo of a child depicted in a wooden box and said: "Look, isn't that great?!" You'd probably think I was out of my mind but if I told you that it was Chris Hadfield as a 9 y/o pretending the box was a space rocket because he had an ambition to become an astronaut and actually realized his dreams later- only then it becomes interesting. A picture itself doesn't always tell a story (it can) and in 'modern' art a lot of the time the same thing applies. Yes, like the taped up banana which earned the title; a piece of art.

Authenticity (as vague as that is) as told by Pine & Gilmore can actually be measured by something (a story or art etc-) being faithful to itself and/or whether it says what it is. (At least that's what we in general do when it comes to communication in business.) The banana obviously is just a banana and the creator of this absurdity said they were making fun of the person (multiple) spending 120k on a rotting banana and said they deserved to be scammed. Which fair, I don't necessarily agree with it, but in that sense, they're being true to the message. This is how you can measure most media and businesses because it almost always works. (It is a bit more complicated than this, but you get the idea.)

But here's the kicker, people, in this case 'artists' or people who call themselves one, idk, can give their creation whatever message they want despite the visuals. Though spending 120k on a rotting banana is most likely money laundering and the artist must know that as well.. so, to then say it's just 'funny critique' regarding art and capitalism and "believing" the buyer got scammed, changes the message a bit. Yes? How valuable is it then really?

Not all art has to have some deep value-driven meaning at all, but most 'modern' "art" pieces that require no skill need other ways to gain attention and do so by provoking the audience. Marcel Duchamp was called an artistic genius because he turned a urinal upside down.. a damn toilet.

How does that compare to an actual drawing where someone put their heart and soul into the making of it through perhaps even years of experience, where you can see the person has skill? Or the making of a sculpture? Even things like graphic/interior design? Have we realized what happened to photographers? If you want to talk about the toilet as 'a piece of art' or even a simplistic circle because to you ~somehow~ the meaning behind it changes the world, then bring it along to your TED-talk and actually talk about it. Become that storyteller. It is proven that through the PSE (picture superiority effect) visual elements leave a lot more impact on your audience compared to just text or speech and that you remember it better by 65%. But to replace masterpieces in art galleries and auction them off for thousands/millions worth that we know goes also into money laundering regardless and call it art? And there must be some sort of meaning.... I guess? Nah. I have no clue what 'killed art' specifically because I'm not too knowledgable on that topic, but if this is art, then why aren't we calling your average Tiktokker professional movie directors/actors etc? Why isn't your YT-short or Tiktok clip an actual short film instead? How about calling this "thought-provoking art" just a concept as you say? Or the jpg that I forgot to include in my powerpoint? Comedic relief? An idea? And yes ideas can be art, but not every idea is art. AI images are generated prompts, but certainly not art and their makers are prompters and definitely not artists. So I agree with you that it can be experimental or perhaps provoke interesting concepts, but depending on the... 'art' and its intention... we should call it as it is. That's what I think. Perhaps 'modern art' in that sense as a term is too broad to judge.

So when you say realism, do you mean hyper/photo-realism specifically? Or just realism in general? Because as an artist my own opinion is that I wouldn't want to draw photorealistically as it takes too much time and if people can't tell whether I actually used up all my time to draw it or took the photo, even used photo-bash.. then for me, I don't really see the point in putting in all the effort. But, it is an amazing way to learn how to draw though, that's how I started. Looking at photo's and replicating it. In my earlier art I tried to render it to the best of my abilities as I had no idea how to draw so I had to look at pictures and see how light falls, how colors blend, what skin does and how it reflects.. On Instagram I often got comments that it looked so real, like a photo. I didn't know what to think of that, because even though it is a compliment, it wasn't a photo, I actually drew it and so it almost feels like an insult somehow. Does that make sense? I now want to almost erase parts of what I've learned when it comes to things feeling 'real' and stylize my art better. That's not something you learn in photo's but by finding out a tiny thing you like and then doing that over and over again until the next tiny thing. And lemme tell you... that is hard. So, I don't think realism is overrated, I think stylized art, often recognizable from an artist is severely underrated.

[a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit]

Skyward (Skyward #1) by Brandon Sanderson

I'm on a quest - a personal, arbitrary one - to read both more sci-fi and more Sanderson this year, so picking this up was like killing two birds with one stone.

The story follows a girl named Spensa who dreams of becoming a pilot in a world where humans have been at war with an alien race called the Krell for decades. However, she faces a major obstacle in that her fate/future seems to be intertwined with that of her father's, who died and was labelled a coward when he deserted his flight team in battle. No one will seem to let her forget what he did or give her a chance to prove herself. She's determined to fly, though, and somehow ends up in flight school where she and her classmates butt heads, compete, and band together to fight a common enemy. She also discovers a broken but technologically advanced ship in a deep cavern that, if fixed, could not only help her save humanity but could help her reach the stars.

On the whole, I liked this. Sanderson gave Spensa and the other characters a lot of room to flail, strive, and triumph, but in a way that required readers to strap in for a lengthy yet patient unfolding. The layers pulled back slowly at first, growing more frenzied and complex the further you read along, giving the story a slowburn page-turning effect, which I wasn't expecting and appreciated more once I arrived at the end of the novel. I admit there were times I found the pace tepid, almost tedious, but then others (especially later on) where I felt like it'd been lit by propellant because all the threads were finally coming to together in a surprising, nuanced way. Normally, that disconnect would infuriate me enough to DNF but I found it worked well here. I think that's why this is one of those books where a reader's patience, where you're attentive and collecting details like Infinity Stones, waiting to use them later, pays off.

I'll be onto the next book in this series soon!

(P.S. big shoutout to M-Bot, the mushroom-cataloguing, shoe complimenting, AI. He was a riot!)

3/5 stars

**Follow me on Goodreads

[fantastic-rambles]

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Ainosuke Shindo, Tadashi Kikuchi, Kaoru Sakurayashiki (minor), Nanjo Kojiro (minor), Langa Hasegawa (minor), Reki Kyan (minor)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3k

Summary: The popular idol Adam always demands attention and acts of affection from his manager, Tadashi, who thinks nothing of it. So Ai finally loses patience and confronts him directly. [Year of the OTP 2023 @yearoftheotpevent. August: AU of your choice (Idols AU)]

- - - - - - - - - -

“And that’s all for tonight! Thank you all so much for your support!”

High-pitched screams answered Adam, who blew a kiss to the packed crowd before exiting the stage along with the rest of his group. A moment later, Tadashi was in the midst of all of them, handing out towels and cold drinks to help the young men cool down after their performance. He was careful to give each of them some personalized attention to help them keep their spirits up: a few words of praise for Reki’s performance, a fresh hamburger for Langa, and a shoulder massage for Ai.

Kaoru and Kojiro had moved a little away from the others to chat quietly with each other, as usual. It was a relief that they could take care of themselves for the most part—or, rather, that Kojiro could take care of Kaoru—but Tadashi kept an eye on them anyway in case their conversation escalated into an argument. If that happened, he’d need to step in before Kaoru decided that he wouldn’t do events with Kojiro for at least a week, requiring Tadashi to rearrange both of their schedules and make apologies to the studios. They were popular to book together, just like the younger duo, but Kaoru’s temper often complicated things… though Tadashi was careful to do what he could to protect the younger man’s image.

After all, being idols meant playing a role: their fans had their own expectations for their heroes, and it was up to each of the young men to cater to those fantasies—at least, if they wanted to remain popular. They sold dreams, not reality. And if all of the girls out there found out that their beloved Cherry Blossom was a foul-mouthed punk rather than some delicate, wilting flower in need of the revitalizing effects of love, his career probably wouldn’t survive the fallout.

Honestly, Tadashi thought it all sounded exhausting and he was more than satisfied with being a mere manager, but the group seemed to enjoy their work well enough. The most authentic of them tended to be Langa and—

“Ahhhh, ‘dashi, were you watching me? Did you see me nail the encore?”

“Of course. I always watch all of your shows. You all performed exceptionally tonight.”

“Oh, who cares about the others? What about me? Praise me more!”

“You were incredible,” Tadashi hastened to reassure Ai, recognizing the start of one of his petulant moods. “You were truly dazzling. It’s no surprise that you were unanimously chosen to be the lead singer of this group. You’ve shut up all of your doubters to become one of the fastest-rising stars in the industry.”

He felt Ai straighten up beneath his hands, his chest puffing out slightly as he took in the praise. As ridiculously effusive as it was, though, Tadashi did mean it: he’d been one of those doubters before, believing that he’d simply been assigned to babysit a spoiled brat who thought he could make it in the highly competitive industry just because his father was the head of Shindo Entertainment. He’d assumed this was a dead-end job, a sort of vanity project like when wealthy husbands paid for their wives’ hobbies and boutiques that sank ever steadily into the red. Even when he’d actually met Ai, he’d thought that the young man was frivolous and immature, someone who would give up after a week of half-hearted training, if not sooner.

Instead, Ai had surprised him.

Despite hours of dance practice and singing lessons, he’d never complained once, throwing himself into it until he passed out from exhaustion. More than once, Tadashi had woken him up from a short nap before his next lesson, but Ai had never displayed any of his fatigue publicly, remaining as enthusiastic and upbeat as he’d been from the first day. He was passionate about his work, and his feelings were always transmitted directly to his fans, making him the most popular member of the group.

He’d been the one to bring Kaoru and Kojiro on board, as well. They’d been less certain about joining the entertainment industry, but what had started out as a favor to their friend had grown into a career. Then, two new, promising prospects who had been scouted by Shindo Entertainment had been added on, rounding out the group and the personalities to create the final form of their idol group. And at the center of it, as expected, was Ai.

“Tadashi, my phone’s not working.”

Tadashi looked up at Langa, the “airhead” of the group, and held a hand out, accepting his phone while his other hand moved to massage the back of Ai’s neck. Indeed, when he pressed the power button, nothing happened, though there didn’t seem to be any damage to the phone itself. Still, this wasn’t the first time that this had happened.

“When was the last time you charged it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I should have a portable charger in my bag, over there.” Tadashi tilted his chin toward the corner, where he’d set down all of their bags, out of the way. “Can you bring it over to me?”

“Okay.”

Tadashi watched him walk away, and he sighed softly. For a while, they’d considered casting Langa as an “ice prince”-like character—and his stage name had been a product of that—but that really hadn’t worked out since he had practically no acting ability. His natural personality was popular with a subset of the group's fans, though, and he was easygoing, which was nice when Tadashi had to manage high-strung personalities like Ai and Kaoru.

“Hey Tadashi, we’re ready to go.”

Tadashi looked up at Kojiro, who had led Kaoru over, and nodded.

“Just give me another minute. But you should put on a jacket first: it’s starting to get chilly outside. It’s hot in here, but outside is a different story.”

“‘kay. C’mon, Kaoru.”

As they headed over to their bags, they crossed paths with Langa, who was coming back with Tadashi’s, and they exchanged a few words before Langa stopped in front of their manager again.

“Here.”

Tadashi accepted the bag, quickly locating the charger and plugging it into Langa’s phone. The screen flickered, and then the charging icon appeared, and Tadashi handed them both over to the young man.

“Wait five minutes, then try powering it on again. And will you ask Reki to get ready to leave?”

Langa nodded, heading over to his friend who was on his own phone, earbuds in and probably studying up on their performance or watching some other idol group. The redhead reminded Tadashi of Ai, in some ways: he was equally as passionate and hard-working as the face of the group, though he lacked Ai’s innate talent in showmanship. But he made up for it by studying hard and doing his best to keep up with the others.

“‘da-shi~~~”

“What is it, Ai?”

“Stop paying so much attention to the others. What about me?”

Tadashi wanted to point out that he’d been with Ai for almost the entirety of the time since their show had ended, but he held his tongue. It had never helped before, and it was always just easier to apologize and placate the diva.

“I’m sorry. Is there something that I can do for you, too?”

“A kiss!”

He was startled when Ai suddenly reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck, tugging him down slightly.

“If you give me a kiss—a proper kiss—then I’ll forgive you.”

Internally, Tadashi sighed. Ai would often tease him like this, though he didn’t understand why. Perhaps he enjoyed the thrill of it, the feeling of an illicit relationship. Their agency didn’t have strict rules against their talents dating unlike some others, but all of them did understand the potential complications it might bring���not only for themselves, but also their partners, when the paparazzi found out about it. Tadashi, though, was a “safe” option: he wouldn’t take it seriously and cause trouble for Ai, and Ai could play these little love games where nobody else would see and spread rumors.

Or maybe he was simply a glutton for attention. It was why he’d gotten into the industry, after all. He loved meeting his fans, performing for them, drinking in their adulation… but behind the scenes, Tadashi was the only one who would cater to his whims.

“Let me go, then?” he asked. Ai pouted, but he obeyed, letting Tadashi move around to face him before kneeling in front of him and taking his face between his hands. Carefully, he leaned in until he could press their lips together, kissing him long and slow while Kojiro whistled and Kaoru groaned.

As he drew back, Tadashi took in Ai’s expression: his face was flushed, lips slightly parted, while his eyes took on a dreamy, far-off look. Tadashi couldn’t help feeling a little proud of himself: he’d done a good job, it seemed, which would make Ai more compliant for a while. A few hours, if he was lucky.

“So are you ready to head out now?” Tadashi asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

Taking Ai’s hand in his own, Tadashi picked up his bag and led him over to where the others were waiting. The rest of them looked variously amused or exasperated by what had happened, though they'd seen it often enough that they didn’t comment on it as Tadashi slung Ai’s own bag over his shoulder and led them out through the back.

After driving them all back to the hotel and settling them into their rooms, Tadashi returned to his own room, dropping into a chair by the window and loosening his shirt collar. After he’d poured out a glass of whiskey for himself, he sipped at it slowly while he reviewed their schedules. They had an early flight out tomorrow to the next stop in their tour: as long as the plane landed on time, there’d be an hour for lunch before he had to bring Langa and Reki to their variety show appearance. After that—

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he got up to check who it was. Ai stood just outside the door, wrapped in a flimsy bathrobe, his hair down and still wet from his shower, and Tadashi hastened to open the door to let him in before someone spotted him.

“Ai? Is something wrong?” he asked as he closed the door behind the young man, and Ai shook his head, his gaze on the floor.

“You should get to bed, then. We need to be up early tomorrow: you need the rest. Well, after we dry your hair. Give me a moment.”

Tadashi ducked into his bathroom to grab a towel, returning to the entryway and leading Ai over to the bed so he could sit down while Tadashi tousled his hair dry. Really, he was such a spoiled brat: Tadashi knew that the young man was more than capable of handling a task this simple, even given his upbringing, but this wasn’t the first time he’d come by Tadashi’s room to be pampered. As he worked, Ai spoke up.

“You like me, right, ‘dashi?”

“Hmm? Yes, of course,” he replied absentmindedly.

“What do you like about me?”

“What do I…? Oh, well, you work very hard even though you have innate talent, you’re genuine in almost all aspects of your life, and your appearance is quite attractive. You—”

Tadashi was startled when Ai suddenly grabbed his wrist, tugging him closer so he could plant a firm kiss on his lips while his arms wrapped around Tadashi’s neck, preventing him from pulling back.

“I love you too, Tadashi! I love how you’re always so serious about your work and everything that you do to take care of us! I love the little wrinkle on your forehead when you’re thinking, and the way you write is so elegant. And I think that you’re beautiful, too! I’ve never seen anyone with eyes as clear as yours, and your hair is so soft, and your skin is so smooth… but I don’t want anyone else to see you, which is why I never asked you to be an idol, too. You’re so smart and kind and…”

Ai continued to drone on while Tadashi stared at him, his mind trying to catch up to what the younger man was saying. Even though he was talking excitedly, almost too fast, he couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath, and he was sure that Ai didn't do any drugs: he kept a close eye on all of his charges. Was this more of his love game? Should he speak to Aiichiro about finding a girlfriend for Ai? They had more than a few girls under contract who Ai might like, and having a partner who was also in the industry would make it easier for them to get along, since they both would understand what it was like. If they arranged it properly, it could help to push up both of their careers, as well, with the free publicity that they would undoubtedly get.

“... so will you be my boyfriend, ‘dashi?”

“I understand. You’re certainly of an age that you would be interested in finding a partner. Would you like me to speak with your father to see if we can find a suitable target for your affections? Of course, if you would like a practice partner, I would be happy to offer my services, if you think it would be helpful.”

Ai’s face fell, and Tadashi observed him with some concern. He must have said something wrong, so he reviewed his words in his head, trying to identify where he’d made the mistake.

“Ah, or is it that you’ve already set your sights on someone? Or you would like to search for a partner on your own? Your schedule is quite full for the next couple weeks, but once we’ve finished with your upcoming events, I can look into social events that you might be interested in attending. There, you would have the opportunity to meet others in the entertainment industries—”

“I know who I want,” Ai interrupted, and Tadashi nodded.

“I see. Would you mind sharing her name with me? I could send her some flowers or some other small gift on your behalf. If she’s in this line of work, I’d also be happy to reach out to her manager to see if we could arrange a meeting: just a casual one first, of course, to give you the opportunity to get to know each other better so you can make sure of your compatibility. Or if there’s anything else that I can do to assist you—”

“Tadashi.”

“Yes?”

“It’s you, Tadashi. I want you.”

Ai flopped down onto the bed, dragging Tadashi after him, and rolled over until he was straddling the older man, frowning as his still-damp hair framed his face.

“I’m serious. I want you. It’s not a joke or a game or anything. I love you, ‘dashi. I’ve tried telling you this so many times, but you never understand. I want you to stop treating me like a child and see me as a man. What do I need to do to make that happen?”

Tadashi’s mind had gone blank. It was true: he’d never thought of Ai that way. How could he? He was their manager. It wouldn’t have been ethical for him to enter a relationship with any of them, even if he was interested in them romantically. Which he wasn’t. It was just a job. Certainly, he showed Ai some favoritism, but that was only to be expected given that he was the CEO’s son and the highest-earning star in the company. That was all there was to it.

But Ai’s weight shifted as he leaned forward to kiss him again, staring into his eyes, and it was like Tadashi was seeing him for the first time. He was beautiful and talented and oh-so-dazzling. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as Ai’s weight shifted back, sliding a little lower down Tadashi’s body, and then Ai pressed their lips together again.

“I love you, Tadashi,” he repeated, his breath whispering against Tadashi’s skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The words seemed to drip into him like water, wearing down his resolve as he lay trapped beneath the beautiful young man. Once he’d gotten past his initial reluctance with regard to this job, he’d quickly grown to admire Ai. When the idol was on stage, even with the rest of his group, Tadashi often found his eyes being drawn to him alone. Ai was always charming, sometimes petulant, and occasionally a real headache… but he also glowed with youthful vitality in everything that he did.

Hesitantly, Tadashi raised a hand and laid it over Ai’s, swallowing to try to bring some moisture to his dry mouth.

“You’re sure about this, Ai? Of course, you’re free to end it whenever you like, but you want to… start a relationship with me?”

“I won’t end it,” Ai promised, lacing his fingers between Tadashi’s. “And I won’t let you, either. You’re mine, ‘dashi, do you understand that? You’re not allowed to leave me, ever. Even if you quit your job someday, or get fired, you need to stay by my side. We’ll be together forever.”

There was something almost childish about his proclamation, but he sounded sincerely earnest, just like he was at every event he showed up at. Tadashi couldn’t help smiling slightly, his lips trembling, as he nodded.

Ai’s own smile was blinding as he swooped down again for another kiss, pressing their lips together more insistently, and Tadashi finally yielded. Gently, he kissed the other man back, his free hand rising to rest against Ai’s cheek to guide him as he slowly deepened the kiss. They remained tangled together until Ai finally broke away, panting, a flush spreading over his own cheeks, and Tadashi smiled at him.

“I love you, too.”

[starwarslover1999]

Checkmate ♟️ || General Hux

🪐 A Star Wars fanfic🪐

(Hi, I’m new here. I’m on Wattpad https://www.wattpad.com/story/339871794?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=analyzingziam_ This is my other Star Wars aka General Hux fanfiction, I am a massive Star Wars fanatic so I’m into a lot of legends and canon core which I add into my stories. I’m in the process of putting this story on AO3. I hope ya’ll like it! I’ll post a summary soon. My characters kind of Ai generated ideas lol 😂 I created the descriptions though. Enjoy!)

Chapter 1 | Metropolis

The year was 1929. Katerina finished her shift at the gentleman's club. Not a showgirl, thank heavens. Just a waitress, although the required attire mirrored that of the showgirls. It wasn't the life she'd envisioned when she left her small Midwest town, dreams of clothing designs dancing in her head. New York, however, was a battlefield of competition, and her skills, it seemed, were mere pebbles against giants. So, she’d joined the ranks of the city's countless disappointed dreamers.

The night was late, the air a biting, dark chill. Snow began to drift down as she stepped onto the icy cobblestones, a shiver running down her spine.

She pulled her worn coat tighter, a futile attempt to hold onto the last vestiges of warmth, and walked with cautious steps, her heels precarious on the slick surface.

As she turned onto 42nd Street, heading for the subway, the wind whipped up, and the snow morphed into stinging ice. She hunched her shoulders, her head bowed against the onslaught.

The icy air bit into her nose, cheeks, and lips, leaving them numb and raw, like tiny, invisible cuts.

She was mere steps from the subway lightened entrance when a blinding white flash erupted, reflecting off something unseen.

A searing pain shot up her spine, and then, mercifully, darkness.

The biting cold had vanished, replaced by… nothing.

"My dear," a familiar voice echoed, and there was her father, alive again, his hand outstretched, a warm smile on his face.

Without hesitation, she reached for him, her fingers closing around his. But he dissolved, like smoke in a breeze, replaced by a stern, ginger-haired man.

He loomed over her, his gaze intense, as if she were a strange insect pinned to a board, or some grotesque attraction from a sideshow.

Behind him, a stark, blinding light filled the room, a space of cold, gleaming metal. She frowned, her head swimming, and pushed herself up, her fingers digging into the strange, hard surface beneath her.

A metal contraption, a robot of sorts, stood beside her, with unnervingly attentive movements. She had only seen such things in moving pictures, like Metropolis.

It tilted its head, and Katerina’s breath hitched in her throat, a jolt of fear sending her scrambling back.

A firm, warm hand, encased in a smooth, unfamiliar glove, closed around her bare shoulder, halting her panicked movement.

She spun around, her gaze locking with the man’s. His eyes, a pale, almost unsettling green, held a sternness that sent a shiver down her spine, yet there was a flicker of something else, a strange, reluctant reassurance that calmed the frantic beating of her heart.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked, his voice flat, yet laced with an undeniable undercurrent of authority.

Katerina’s eyes darted over him, taking in the bizarre attire. A black, tunic-like garment, snug leather boots reaching almost to his knees, and trousers that seemed oddly loose.

She racked her brain, searching for any nation with a uniform even remotely similar. His accent, a crisp British lilt, offered a clue, but she knew their allies wore nothing of the sort.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, shrinking back as he withdrew his hand.

He clasped his gloved hands behind his back, his gaze narrowing, studying her with an intensity that made her feel exposed, like a butterfly trapped beneath glass.

He seemed to drink in her bewildered expression, her confusion a tangible thing in the sterile air. “Do you know your name?”

“Katerina,” she replied, her voice still barely a whisper.

He pressed on, his tone sharp. “Katerina, do you know of the First Order?”

“F-First Order?” Her brow furrowed, a knot of confusion tightening in her forehead. “I don’t think I do.”

“What about the Resistance?”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes wide and dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

A flicker of raw anger flashed across his pale green eyes, a brief, terrifying glimpse of the storm beneath the surface. “I am General Hux, of the First Order. You will address me with respect!”

The authority she’d sensed earlier now crashed over her, a wave of icy command.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight and dry, like she'd swallowed shards of glass. Did he truly believe she understood his importance?

“And the New Republic?” His expression shifted, returning to its earlier, impassive state.

“No.” Katerina felt a growing unease, a tightness in her chest as the interrogation continued.

A chilling premonition settled over her: she was no longer in New York, perhaps not even on Earth. Impossible, of course. Yet, a nagging doubt persisted.

“Do you recall your origins?” he pressed, a note of frustration creeping into his tone. Her answers were proving fruitless.

“New York City, United States.” She nervously moistened her lip. “Though I was born in Missouri.” The man’s intimidating stare softened, replaced by a look of sheer perplexity.

“Missouri?” The word foreign on his tongue, “What planet are you from?”

Planet? He had to be joking? This had to be a dream, a bizarre, elaborate hallucination. Only that could explain this madness.

She fought the urge to pinch herself, but the man’s voice, now laced with a sharper edge, cut through her thoughts. “What planet?” he repeated.

“Earth,” she blurted, her gaze snapping to his.

A wave of nausea washed over her, churning her stomach.

“What sector is Earth located in?”

Katerina pressed her lips into a thin line, the nausea intensifying, a cold dread settling in her bones. She was truly lost, adrift from her home. Dead, perhaps? Or trapped in some waking nightmare?

A strange, persistent beeping filled her ears, and she turned to see a flat, glowing surface filled with jagged, erratic lines. As her heart pounded in her chest, the lines followed her panicked rhythm, spiking and diving with increasing ferocity.

Then, she noticed them: thin wires snaking from her skin, their metallic glint catching the sterile light.

Her breath hitched, her head spinning. “Please, sir, I don’t understand. I don’t know where I am.” She begged.

“She is experiencing heightened anxiety, General,” the metal contraption announced, its voice flat and toneless.

A strangled cry escaped her lips into reaction to it speaking. Instinctively, she scrambled off the strange, floating platform she’d been lying on, her eyes fixed on what she desperately hoped was an exit.

The man seized her, his grip firm, and hauled her close, the sudden contact sending a jolt of panic through her.

He lowered his head, his warm breath ghosting across the nape of her neck as he whispered, “Calm down.”

His tone, while gentler, did little to quell her terror. “Please, let me go,” she rasped, her throat raw, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“Katerina,” he repeated softly, his hands still anchored to her shoulders. “Close your eyes and breathe.”

She resisted for a moment, her body trembling, but the promise of a moment’s respite won out. She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in ragged breaths.

“I am merely performing my duty. I urge you to cooperate, for the next interrogation will not be so… civil. I wish to avoid that outcome for you.” His fingers tightened on her arms, a subtle, unspoken threat beneath the calm reassurance.

“When you are ready,” he continued, his voice steady, “take a seat and tell me what you know. Anything.”

She gave a slow, deliberate nod, her focus fixed on the rhythm of her breaths, a fragile anchor in the storm of her fear.

The General released her arms, a silent test of her resolve. He seemed to trust she wouldn’t bolt again.

Surprised, Katerina blinked, turning to face him. “I’m ready.”

Hux gestured toward the platform. “Sit.”

She obeyed, pulling herself back onto the strange bed. “My name is Katerina Osmond,”she began, “daughter of Billy Osmond. He was a Captain in the U.S. Army during the Great War, served on the French front. He died in the trenches by a gas attack. He had given his mask to one of his men who’s failed. I was sixteen when…” Her voice hitched. “When we got the news.” She took a breath, forcing herself to continue. “I’m twenty-five now. Been in New York for four years, trying to make it as a fashion designer. It hasn’t been easy…I work at the Velvet Gentleman’s Club in Manhattan, a speakeasy. But I grew up on a farm in Missouri where we-“

“That’s enough,” the General interrupted, his exasperation evident. But then, he paused, his gaze softening as he took in her trembling appearance and the fear lingering in her eyes. She wasn’t lying.

‘Perhaps’, he thought, ‘she hails from a forgotten sector, lost to the annals of the First Order.’ But how had she ended up on Jakku?

She certainly wasn’t the scavenger girl they sought. Perhaps their informant had been mistaken. He had warned Ren not to trust a scoundrel, to conduct the search himself, but Ren was too consumed by his childish obsession on finding Skywalker’s map.

At least this…mishap…might work in his favor, bolstering his position with Snoke. Ren was reckless, impulsive. This incident would highlight his own superior competence.

But what to do with her? Hux studied the scared young woman, his brow furrowed in thought. She was clearly out of her depth, terrified by their technology. He couldn’t simply release her. That would mean…eliminating her. His gaze fell to her short, flimsy dress and impractical heels, and an idea began to form.

He could present her to the Supreme Leader. Maybe, through her, they could locate this "Earth" and gain control of its resources, its people. A new headquarters for the First Order, a hidden world known only to them. An impenetrable fortress with a source of untold power. It was a gamble, but the potential rewards were immense.

“Report on her vitals,” he commanded, turning to the droid.

“Stable, General,” the droid replied, its voice a monotonous drone.

“Good. Any injuries requiring attention?”

“No obvious signs, although I detected evidence of trauma to the spinal column. It appears to have healed.”

Katerina’s breath got caught. A phantom pain shot up her spine, and the distant echo of a car horn reverberated in her ears. A memory, a fleeting glimpse of her lost world.

“Excellent.” Hux looked down at her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Once the wires are removed, you will follow me.”

She didn't dare argue, offering only a small, hesitant nod.

As the robotic creature approached, Katerina held her breath, her eyes fixed on its movements. Its cold, metallic, slender fingers, traced across her skin, gently detaching the wires. Each touch sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mix of revulsion and fascination.

Once finished, the droid retreated. “You are free to depart,” it announced, its voice devoid of any inflection.

Katerina glanced at the General, seeking permission. He nodded curtly.

Relief washed over her, and she exhaled slowly, sliding off the strange bed.

Unsure of the proper etiquette with this…machine, she offered a small, awkward curtsy before joining the man at the door.

He reached for a coat rack bolted to the wall, retrieving a curiously shaped black hat and a long, sleek black coat that exuded an air of authority. With a practiced motion, he donned the hat and slipped into the coat.

“Come,” he commanded, his voice brooking no argument.

Like an obedient dog, she fell into step behind him as the door slid open with a quiet whoosh.

Katerina’s breath caught in her throat; the sight before her was unlike anything she’d ever witnessed. The corridor stretched into the distance, dimly lit, the steel floor and walls gleaming ominously. Strange figures clad in dark uniforms strode past, some snapping to attention and saluting the General.

He acknowledged their salutes with a nod, his expression unchanging, and continued his brisk pace.

They came to a stop at a smaller door. He placed his hand on a panel beside it, and the door slid open with the same smooth, silent motion as the others.

Katerina stepped inside. The room was small, sparsely furnished, its only adornment a wide, expansive window. She peered out, her eyes widening. The blackness outside was studded with a million tiny points of light, stars, more than she’d ever seen on the clearest night back home in Missouri. It was breathtaking, awe-inspiring.

She found herself drawn to the window, mesmerized by the view. Her hands rested upon the cool, smooth surface as she drank in the spectacle before her.

Memories flickered – her father, the roof of their farmhouse, the two of them counting stars on warm summer nights.

“Ms. Osmond,” the General’s voice cutting through her pleasant memory.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she turned from the window, facing the stark reality of her situation.

“I apologize, sir,” she murmured, her eyes downcast, unable to meet his gaze.

Hux smoothed down his coat, his fingers fiddling with a strange device in his hand. “You will give the Supreme Leader your full attention when he addresses you,” he instructed, his voice firm. “Answer his questions with respect. Do not provoke him. He has… a certain temperament, and he will not hesitate to demonstrate it.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, a tremor of fear running through her.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the grotesque figure that materialized before them. A wave of terror washed over her as the alien creature loomed, its dark eyes burning with a malevolence that chilled her to the bone.

“General Hux,” the creature spoke, its voice slithering through the air like a serpent.

It turned its gaze upon Katerina, a deformed parody of a smile twisting its features. “And who might you be, child?”

Katerina drew a shaky breath, her mind racing. How could she respond without causing any offense?

“Katerina Osmond,” she replied in a silent whisper.

“Interesting name.” The creature paused, its gaze flickering towards Hux. “It seems our hunter has failed in his duty.” A low hum of disapproval emanated from it. “Ren’s judgment in selecting him was flawed.”

Hux’s lips curled into a fleeting smirk, quickly masked before the Supreme Leader could notice. “Indeed, Supreme Leader. I cautioned him, but as you are aware, he has been consumed by his frustrations regarding Skywalker’s map.”

The alien’s displeasure was evident. “Reckless boy. I shall have to remind him to focus on his tasks and not dwell on past failures.” It sighed, its gaze then settled on Katerina once more. “As for the girl… terminate her.”

Terminate. The word struck Katerina like a physical blow. She understood its meaning all too well. Panic surged through her, and she instinctively looked to Hux, her eyes pleading mercy on her precious life.

A tense silence hung in the air. The General remained silent, yet the Supreme Leader sensed his unspoken thoughts.

“You wish to keep her alive,” the creature hissed, a sinister glint in its dark eyes. “Not for personal reasons, I presume?”

Katerina recoiled, disgust rising in her throat. Personal reasons? She was not some sexual object.

“Certainly not, Supreme Leader,” Hux replied smoothly, his voice a model of composure. “I believe this… individual may prove to be a valuable asset. There is no record of her existence within our systems. From my initial assessment, she originates from neither this sector nor this galaxy. She exhibits a… notable aversion to our technology, and—”

“For Maker’s sake, General, get to the point!” the Supreme Leader snapped, his impatience flaring.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux continued, unfazed, “her world, and those surrounding it, may offer valuable resources that could significantly bolster our forces. We could conceal an entire fleet within their system, a hidden reserve. We could even relocate our headquarters to her planet, eliminating the risk of detection by the Resistance and our enemies. We would be the sole possessors of the navigational data required to reach it. As this falls under my purview of military strategy, I believe this presents a… promising opportunity, Supreme Leader.”

Katerina's stomach churned with dread as the General spoke of her planet, her home, like a prize.

Earth, still in its infancy, its people recovering from a devastating war and grappling with an impending economic hardship. They had no strength left for a fight, no resources to defend themselves against an advanced, intergalactic empire. What would become of them?

Perhaps death wasn't so terrifying after all, if it meant protecting her world.

She watched the Supreme Leader, her anxiety growing with each passing second.

“Hmm,” the creature hummed, deep in thought. Then, it nodded, shattering Katerina’s fragile hope. “Very well. We shall be the first to conquer another galaxy—but…”

Hope flickered anew at the hesitation.

“How do you propose we traverse the gulf between galaxies? Such a feat has never been attempted. I presume this… Earth… possesses no means of hyperspace travel?”

Hux remained unaffected by the point. “It would be a challenging undertaking, Supreme Leader, but as a military engineer as well,” he reminded the creature, “I am confident I can devise a solution, just as I developed the lightspeed tracking system and Starkiller Base. It is not impossible, merely unprecedented.”

Katerina turned her desperate gaze on the Supreme Leader, silently pleading for him to reject the General's proposal.

“And how, precisely, do you intend to achieve this?” the creature pressed.

Hux stood tall, his voice unwavering. “First, I will use the subject for research purposes. By analyzing her DNA and blood samples, we can learn about the physiology and capabilities of these… Earthlings. Then, by extrapolating from her genetic data, I can attempt to identify the closest sector with matching genetic markers, which I hypothesize will be located in the Outer Rim. From there, I can potentially generate a controlled wormhole, a conduit through which we can traverse the intergalactic void. If she was able to cross over into our galaxy, it stands to reason that hers cannot be too distant.”

The Supreme Leader’s interest was piqued. Katerina’s heart sank; all hope seemed lost.

“Very well,” it declared. “You may proceed with your… project. Keep the girl under your supervision, but reveal her origins to no one. She may act as an officer under your command to avoid suspicion. I will consult with Ren on how he might assist.”

Irritation flickered across Hux’s face, but he quickly masked it with his usual stoicism. “Thank you, Supreme Leader.”

The creature waved a dismissive hand. “I expect significant progress by the next shift of command. If you fail to deliver, I will terminate Ms. Osmand myself.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” Hux bowed.

The image of the alien flickered and vanished, leaving them alone in the silent, dimly lit room.

Katerina, fueled by a rush of anger, glared at the general, her eyes blazing in outrage. "You have no right to claim my planet!" she shouted, her voice trembling with rage.

Hux, unbothered by her outburst, merely glanced at her, his expression impassive. "Your planet, your galaxy, could benefit from our protection," he stated calmly. "It seems you are incapable of maintaining peace amongst yourselves. Your world may experience fleeting moments of tranquility, but chaos will inevitably follow, each war more devastating than the last, ultimately leading to your planet's destruction. The First Order offers unity, stability."

Katerina scoffed. "Unity? Like some kind of world order? Many have tried to rule the world throughout history—Alexander the Great, the British Empire—and it never ends well. No one on my planet wants to be controlled by a global government. We call that Communism!"

Hux raised an eyebrow at the word, unfamiliar to him. "And that is why you have wars. We can bring peace—"

"Peace? At what cost?" she retorted. "It seems you haven't even achieved complete control yourselves, considering this Resistance fighting against you. That suggests you're more conquerors than saviors."

The General fell silent. She made a valid point to an extent, but she failed to grasp the bigger picture.

The First Order was still consolidating its power, and the Resistance was merely a nuisance, a defiant faction that needed to be eliminated.

"You will understand eventually," Hux said dismissively. "This is beyond your comprehension. Now, come!"

Katerina stood her ground, refusing to budge. "You can't force me! I don't take orders from an enemy!"

Irritation narrowed Hux’s eyes. "Brave, aren't you?" He drew a weapon, a sleek, futuristic pistol.

"Oh, so you're going to shoot me now?" she challenged.

He kept the weapon lowered to his side, but the threat was clear. "I am giving you one final chance."

"Or what? You'll kill me? I won't be much use to you dead," she retorted.

Hux manipulated a control on the weapon. "I never said I was going to kill you."

"Then what? Scare me? You're not going to shoot—"

A bright red beam lanced out from the weapon. Katerina felt a sharp sting in her chest, and the world around her dissolved into darkness.

[billconrad]

Are Today’s Writers Spoiled?

    My father was a hard-core author who published from the mid-70s through the 2000s. He began with an IBM Selectric II typewriter and sought out the only publisher, McMillan, willing to take on a ceramic textbook. Later, he used this same typewriter to typeset and self-publish his books, which were sold mail order from our garage.

    Today, publishing is quite different. A person can use a free online word processor like Google Docs to write a book, convert it to an eBook, or print on-demand book and publish it online where millions of people can download it.

    And the tools we have? Word, Front Page, Excel, Visio, Grammarly, Photoshop, ProWritingAid and Hemmingway. There are even AI-powered resources like ChatGPT. Plus, the internet is a research powerhouse that can fact-check, locate information, find existing works, locate publishing resources, correct flaws, and inspire ideas. Well, I guess that is it. Anybody can publish a book without any effort and make millions of dollars. Umm, no.

    Take the topic of Nelson Mandela. With a few minutes of internet research, ALL the essential facts about this amazing man are available. Are they accurate? Multiple sources can easily confirm the vital facts. What can be done with this verified information? Write a book, report, article, educational pamphlet, children’s book, or fantasy story with Nelson as a character or a parody based on researched facts.

    For example, an author could use Google Docs to write a time travel story where the main character meets Nelson Mandela. Then, check it with Grammarly, import a table from Excel, and use free online tools to place their book on Amazon. Heck, the cover design could be done by the AI image generator SDXL. The resulting book would be wholly fact-checked, grammar-checked, and properly formatted with excellent cover art. The apex of the spoiled author is to use an AI program like ChatGPT to write the entire book. Truly remarkable.

    All true, but there is a problem my father never faced. Readers have a thousand time travel books to choose from or can download a free time travel story from many sites. Do you like horses? “Hey, ChatGPT. Write a time travel story with Nelson Mandela riding horses.” Done!

    This wide variety makes it nearly impossible for an author to get a potential reader’s attention. I did an Amazon search for “Nelson Mandela books,” and 409 results appeared. Poetry book? 80,000 results. Religion book? 100,000 results. Harry Potter book? 4,000 results. Side note: When I did this search, I found “Welcome to Hogwarts (LEGO Harry Potter).” Lego publishes books? I do not even know what to say…

    It gets worse. A nobody reader can leave a scathing review that stays public until the last hard drive in the universe stops spinning. And oops. The server crashed, and your Google Docs book got deleted. Plagiarism? It is now easier than copying files off a floppy disk.

    Alright, I’m getting lazy. “Hey ChatGPT. List the problems facing modern authors.”

1. Oversaturation of the Market: With the rise of self-publishing and digital platforms, more books are being published than ever, making it harder for authors to stand out.

    Discoverability: Competing for attention in a crowded marketplace requires significant effort in marketing and branding.

2. Financial Instability

    Low Royalties: Traditional publishing contracts often offer modest royalties, and self-published authors may struggle to make consistent sales.

    Pressure to Write Quickly: Authors may feel pushed to produce content rapidly to keep up with market demand, which can lead to burnout.

3. Marketing and Promotion

    Lack of Support: Many authors, especially in the self-publishing world, must handle their marketing and promotion, which requires time, money, and expertise.

    Social Media Pressure: Authors are often expected to maintain a solid social media presence to engage readers, which can be overwhelming and detract from writing time.

4. Changing Reader Habits

    Shorter Attention Spans: With the dominance of digital content and streaming services, some readers may have shorter attention spans, impacting interest in lengthy works.

    EBook vs. Print: The shift to eBooks and audiobooks changes how books are consumed, and some authors struggle to adapt.

5. Technological Disruption

    AI and Automation: Tools that generate content, like AI-written texts, are emerging, potentially altering how stories are created and valued.

    Piracy: Digital piracy remains a significant concern, with unauthorized copies of books cutting into authors’ earnings.

6. Diversity and Representation

    Gatekeeping: Some authors face barriers related to race, gender, or identity when trying to break into traditional publishing.

    Pressure to Represent: Authors from marginalized backgrounds may feel obligated to focus on specific narratives, limiting creative freedom.

7. Creative Challenges

    Writer’s Block: Pressure to produce can exacerbate creative blocks.

    Balancing Art and Commerce: Authors may struggle to balance writing what they are passionate about with what sells.

8. Mental Health Concerns

    Isolation: Writing can be a solitary profession, leading to feelings of loneliness or disconnection.

    Public Criticism: Negative reviews, online trolls, and cancel culture can affect an author’s mental health.

9. Industry Gatekeeping

Traditional Publishing Barriers: Many authors face rejections or long waits for decisions from conventional publishers.

Focus on Trends: Publishers may prioritize trendy genres or themes, making it harder for unique or unconventional stories to find a home.

10. Sustainability

Environmental Impact: Authors may grapple with the ethics of traditional publishing’s reliance on paper and physical distribution.

Cultural Shifts: Trends and norms evolve quickly, requiring authors to adapt their writing styles and themes to remain relevant.

    Today, authors face many challenges my father could not have imagined in the seventies. When he started, there were only TWO ceramics textbooks. I searched Amazon for “ceramics textbook,” and 242 books appeared. This number is incorrect because my father amassed over 500 hardcover ceramics textbooks during his writing effort.

    And the quality of the modern ceramic textbook? Nearly every new ceramic textbook, potter’s manual, glaze recipe cookbook, reference book, or guide has my father’s books in the appendix or bibliography. So, I know they must be good.

    My father faced many technical and economic challenges that today’s authors can only read about in history books. Instead, our challenges are the extreme competition, cut-throat marketing, developing new ideas, and utilizing new technology. So, today’s authors have many tools at their fingertips that my father could only dream about, but we face sophisticated modern readers and mountains of existing work. We certainly are not spoiled, but neither was my father.

    You’re the best -Bill

    November 27, 2024

    Hey, book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

   Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

    Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

    Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

    Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

    These books are available in softcover on Amazon and in eBook format everywhere.

[rockyschexneider]

Flipping the Scripts: When Affiliate Marketing Feels Like a Rigged Game

Flipping the Scripts: When Affiliate Marketing Feels Like a Rigged Game

Imagine you're in a bustling marketplace filled with eager affiliate marketers, all trying to get ahead in a game that seems stacked against them. Every strategy you test seems like a futile toss of the dice, and more often than not, it feels like the house always wins. Sound familiar? Now, consider a tale from a tiny Italian village, where a young woman faced her own seemingly insurmountable odds.

Her father, neck-deep in debt to a cunning moneylender, had his back against the wall. The clever creditor proposed a deal laced with inequity—he would forget the debt if she agreed to be his wife. The trick? There were only two black pebbles in the bag, no white to be found. “Pick one,” he said, knowing the odds were entirely in his favor. Our heroine had no intention of playing by these unfair rules and instead chose to flip the script.

She pretended to fumble clumsily, letting her chosen pebble slip unnoticed from her hand, blending into the myriad of stones at her feet. “Oops,” she chirped, “Just check the bag to see what I picked.” Only one black pebble remained. The crowd had no choice but to presume she had drawn white, and with that, her father’s debt dissolved, sans nuptials.

There’s an important lesson here for affiliate marketers. The world of affiliate marketing can often seem rigged, filled with opaque promises and uneven playing fields, much like the situation our Italian heroine found herself in. You’re out there, following preset rules, promoting the usual products, on well-worn paths, just like everyone else. What if, instead of falling in line, it's time to "fumble and flip" your way into a new strategy?

In the bag of affiliate marketing, success comes not merely from playing by the standard rulebook but from crafting your unique manual. This could mean tapping into an emerging marketing channel that competitors haven't explored yet, redefining a product story so it resonates more deeply with an audience, or merging conventional methods with ingenious twists. The aim is to find that white pebble in a sack full of black ones—or, to make everyone believe you did.

Consider your existing marketing channels. Instead of relying solely on saturated platforms, explore niche communities where your message might shine brighter. Shift your focus to alternative communication styles, perhaps leveraging storytelling tactics that breathe fresh air into otherwise mundane product features.

Perhaps it’s time to turn your attention to underutilized or innovative technologies—AI-driven customer insights, for instance, or augmented reality experiences to immerse potential buyers fully. These might serve as your 'white pebble', setting you apart in ways unexpected to your competitors.

Remember, the magic is in flipping the expected. When well-worn paths seem to lead nowhere and odds feel invariably against you, the power lies in your ability to change the rules of your engagement. Take a leaf from our savvy heroine's book. Her deft blend of courage, perception, and wit changed her destiny. Your marketplace success might just require a similar mix.

So, the next time you’re standing amid the frenzy of affiliates, with grim odds stacked tall like unfriendly mountains, consider a strategy that's a bit of a "fumble and flip". Embrace the disruption and the unpredictability. What once seemed like an insurmountable challenge could become your gateway to untapped success.

Who knows? Your next fumble might just lead you to a revolutionary path or a white pebble in a sea of black. Happy flipping!

Flip The Script

[spaciousreasoning]

Freaking Out About AI

I spend a couple of hours almost every night on the computer when I find myself unable to sleep. It’s a little something I inherited from my late, beloved father. Among the computing activities I engage in is YouTube, looking at trailers for upcoming movies, music videos, photography lessons. There’s a lot there to keep me busy far longer than I generally manage to stay awake.

Lately, one of the subjects getting an awful lot of attention from a bunch of the YouTubers is Artificial Intelligence. Just about every channel that deals with Photoshop, for instance, has done a video — or two or three — about the new AI on display in the Photoshop beta, known at the moment as Generative Fill. Some of the results are impressive. Some are a little wonky.

Other videos have focused on ChatGPT, a “chatbot,” which launched in November of last year. It gained attention for detailed and articulate responses spanning various domains of knowledge, although one notable drawback has been its tendency to confidently provide inaccurate information.

This is why I tend to roll my eyes whenever I hear someone claiming how dangerous AI is, or how it will bring real photography to an end. Perhaps by the time I join my parents in eternity — wherever that might be — AI will have gotten dangerous. Like not opening the pod bay door when requested. Right, Hal?

But for now, I think we’re safe. There’s a “joke” going around in a Facebook meme that explains it quite well: Graphic designers are not truly threatened by AI because their clients will be required to explain clearly and explicitly what they want accomplished. "We’re safe!”

Having worked with my share of clients and customers over the years, I can attest to the accuracy of that meme. “We’re safe!”

P.S. I’ve actually been playing with the beta version of Photoshop in recent days, and there’s plenty to laugh at in some of the generated samples. Mostly I’ve been creating alternative versions of myself, employing multiple images from across the years. Check out my Pixelmongrel collection for the results.

[masonpelt]

Oliver Bateman: GPT-4 Couldn’t Resurrect My Dad

“The article tells the story of a man who, after his father’s death, turned to GPT-4, an advanced language model, to analyze his father’s thousands of emails and try to generate new ones in his father’s voice.” So starts the ChatGPT summary of an article by Oliver Bateman, a digital pal of mine, who did in fact input thousands of his fathers emails into ChatGPT. His article documenting the experiment highlights the limitations of AI, and perhaps more the complexity of humans.

GPT-4 was able to generate text that resembled Bateman’s dad’s writing to some extent. However the idiosyncratic, likely dyslexic writings are poorly reflected by the AI. The limitations of artificial intelligence and deeply personal, often nonsensical aspects of human language, cannot now, and never can be properly captured by a machine.

The WGA is on strike right now, in part because of a fear that creatively bankrupt media executives will try to replace writers with generative AI. The concern is valid only because of a reduction of media, from semi magical story telling, into content units. Without quirks and imperfections communication is meaningless.

GPT-4 Couldn’t Resurrect My Dad

In my day job, as a senior content manager for a research consultancy, I often use GPT-4. It is competent at various brute-force operations — turning lengthy transcripts into notes, proofreading content — even if the inputs require constant fine-tuning and the outputs require careful attention to ensure accuracy. But could it write content that would bring back the dead? Could GPT-4, if sufficiently trained, analyse my father’s emails — and perhaps even write new ones?

Oliver Bateman, April 20, 2023, unherd.com

Originally published at https://www.masonpelt.com on May 6, 2023. Photo: “ 3d render of the minecraft character at a computer typing” by chris-hayes is marked with Public Domain Mark 1.0.

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Get Woke, Gain Earned Media Coverage April 10, 2023

A Blue Check On A Pike Warns Us Not To Give Up The Web April 7, 2023

Stephen King’s Happiness Is A Twitter Success Metric April 3, 2023

TikTok, Drugs, Congress, and Monopoly March 31, 2023

How Forbes Monetizes The Frauds They Create March 29, 2023

Sunil Paul Lead Spring Free EV Breaches Contracts Without Hesitation March 15, 2022

[darknessfoundlove]

Somewhere in the city, an overworked, underslept professor was about to be dragged to a festival by an android for the second time this month. Unfortunately for the professor, this android was much bigger but only slightly less petulant than the one he might call his ‘sister.’

“I can’t believe you brought Curi to the fair and neither of you invited me!” Ai pouted, stamping his feet a little louder than necessary as he walked. 

“This is just like all the times the other Ignis would have work meetings and they never invited me!” Never mind the fact that the reason they stopped inviting him was because he never did any work in the first place... Ai quickly filed that memory away before it started to sting.

“Now we get to do what Ai want to do! Just be grateful I picked something we’ll both like. C’mon, let’s go before the boat leaves without us!”

@keiisho​

[goggles-mcgee]

Too Late: Alix (commission for miner249er)

Chapter 8 of the commission for @miner249er 

Previous Work

Last Chapter                           Next Chapter

Summary:  Alix's bad day at the end of a bad week, she just wants to be alone but she gets an unexpected visitor.

She could taste the salt of her tears and the metallic taste of blood from how hard she was biting her lip to keep her sobs under control. Alix Kubdel hardly ever cried, she hated crying, not because she thought it was weak or anything like that but personally she hated the feeling. She hated the way her eyes itched afterwards, the exhaustion that followed, and the headache that slowly made itself known. Then there was the way the dried tear stains felt on her face, like they were on display for all to see no matter how hard she scrubbed at her cheeks with her hands. Realistically she knew no one was home to see her tears but she couldn't help but feel like she had to get rid of her tears as fast as she could so no one could tell she had been crying. Jalil and her father were at the museum and would be there until closing so Alix would be home alone for a while but that did nothing to calm her worries. 

Alix needed to stop crying so she could put a cold washcloth over her eyes before her dad and brother got home so neither knew she cried, but it was so hard to stop when you started. Alix loved her dad, she really did, but he tried so hard to be there emotionally for her since her and Jalil's mother just decided she wanted to up and leave and see the world. Alix was young at the time but she knew it had hurt Jalil a lot though he never spoke about it much, but when Alix started growing her dad took it upon himself to try and be both parents in one. It was a nice sentiment but really she just needed her alone time. More so now that everything in her class had gone down and consequently blown up. 

Her dad had begun to hover more than usual around her, asking how she was, if everything was okay at school, if she needed to talk. And really, she got it, she did, but it was irritating her more than it was helping her and that just made her guilt grow. The feeling just grew day by day, never going away, never lessening, and Alix just wanted it to stop. She could deal with the stares her and her class got at school, she could even handle the pranks, the bullying wasn’t something new she had experienced but it had been a long time since she had to deal with it, but she would deal with it. What was eating at her was the guilt. She felt it when Marinette, who had been akumatized, came into their class and ripped into them and exposed Lila. Though that didn’t feel right, maybe she had felt it earlier but ignored it. 

When Lila had shown up Alix was a little skeptical of her, she seemed too good to be true, but then again so did most of her classmates. Adrien was Paris’s Golden Boy and Top Model, not to mention the Gabriel Brand’s face. Max was a genius who made his own AI who actually experienced emotions and Max was a video game tournament champion. Rose, Juleka, and Ivan were in a band together that had fans. Alya was recognized as the creator of the Ladyblog and at the time the one and only blog to have the scoop on anything Ladybug related and to have it Ladybug approved. Nino was a DJ and he was pretty well known amongst teens and on his YouTube. Nathaniel and Marc had a comic series that was beloved by Paris. Mylene’s dad was a well known local actor and Mylene was a favorite in the Drama club. Kim was the class’s all around athlete, the boy loved every sport and it seemed like every sport loved him. Sabrina’s dad was a well known officer and Chloe’s parents were known by all. 

Then there was Alix, and she didn’t want to sound like she was bragging but her dad was one of the lead Historians at the Louvre and she had won her fair share of skating competitions. Lastly there was Marinette, Marinette who had designed for Jagged Stone, Marinette who had her designs approved of the Style Queen and Gabriel Agreste. Marinette whose parents ran one of, if not the most popular Boulangerie in Paris. Clara Nightingale thought the world of her and so did many others, her kindness was brilliant if not worrisome. In short, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an amazing human being that many looked up to, that many were maybe jealous of. 

Maybe that's why Alix and the class didn't question Lila when she came to the class spinning fantastic tales of tinnitus, kittens and best friends. Their class was full of amazing, capable, connected people, Lila was just another one, or so they believed. She sounded like another Marinette, or, and Alix hated to admit it, a better Marinette. Lila had more skills-yet only in name, she had more connections-the list grew day by day, she had better connections, and she was more genuine and reliable-her charities were more than enough proof...right? Alix would be lying if she said she wasn't impressed by the connections and thought about asking Lila to set up a meeting with her and her favorite skaters. Alix would have never thought to ask Marinette, even if she did have the connections, she couldn't really explain it well but asking Marinette would have made her feel bad. Marinette already did so much and they never really thanked her, and everytime Alix thought about it she would feel bad and worry that the girl was going to overwork herself. Then again, Marinette had never said no so the class just kept asking for favors and it really was no excuse but Alix would get caught up in excitement for things she wanted like banners or treats or a formal tux for events at the museum. Yet, there was just something about asking Marinette if it was possible for Alix and of course the class to meet Jagged Stone or Clara Nightingale. 

Then Lila came and offered to make all these connections happen. It...It was like she made it known she wouldn’t mind if you asked to make connections with someone you were interested in. It made guilt swim and settle in her stomach to remember thinking that she, they, didn’t really need Marinette anymore. Lila was better, Lila was more connected, Lila was flawed. Alix wasn’t stupid, she noticed the way Lila spoke, Lila was bragging but doing it subtlety by telling her stories. She was sure others noticed too, they had too, but then Marinette had said Lila was lying, and it wasn’t a one-off thing either. She claimed...no, she tried to warn them so often that they just took to ignoring her. Well...most took to just ignoring her, others got annoyed, played some pranks, but now that Alix thought of it Lila had suggested the pranks in a way that made it seem like it was the class’s idea. 

The more she remembered the sicker she felt and the more tears would fall. Marinette had always seemed perfect even with her clumsiness, it awed the class but she knew it also made them envious. So when Marinette had been warning them that Lila was lying and too good to be true, they ignored her or responded in hurtful ways because they could, because they felt just that bit better that Marinette wasn’t this perfect being of sweetness and talent and justice. It was bitter and horrible but Alix felt only a little better knowing she wasn’t the only one who felt like that, the girl group talked about it at sleepovers and even Kim and Max had admitted it to her. She wished she hadn’t been so star-struck or bitter, she wished she had been more willing to believe Marinette, but she dismissed her. Alix dismissed her friend out of awe for another, jealousy that she knew she had no real reason to feel, the words of others like Alya who said Marinette was only saying that Lila was a liar because the Italian was getting close to Adrien. 

She shouldn’t have placed all her belief that Alya or Max would fact check things and surely would have told them if Lila was actually the silver-tongued fox that Marinette claimed. Alix should have done her own research, after all, a good Historian checks their sources and gathers their own evidence, and in the words of Carl Sagan that seem to eerily apply to her class’s situation, “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” The worst thing is Alix did check some things that Lila had claimed and when she found them to be false she just figured Lila must have forgotten details, or that she just wanted some attention and that surely her classmates also knew not to take everything at face value. But that’s what they did. That’s what they all did. 

Her dad wanted her to talk to a therapist about it, because even if she tried to hide how it was affecting her, he knew. He always did, and boy did that make her feel worse. Everything seemed to be making her feel worse. Then the bullying, because there really wasn’t anything else to call it, that happened today in the park was just the cherry on top of her “bad” day. Nino and Alya had been absent again, everyone just seemed so lifeless, and the stares and the snide remarks were just too much to handle today. Alix was grateful that Aurore and Mireille had stood up for her but some part of her wished they didn’t, some part of her believed she deserved it. ‘No one deserves to be bullied.’ She could hear Marinette say in her mind and that made the tears run faster. 

Alix curled a blanket around her small form as she wept and clutched it to her chest as close as she could. She didn’t even have the energy to grab one of the few stuffed plushies she had, she remembered fondly teasing Rose about her favorite unicorn plushie and the bet they had made about Marinette and her love-life yet again. That seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was a happy time and Alix yearned for that familiarity and carefree happiness back. She would do anything to just go back and do it all over, she had even planned on it before she remembered she no longer had her family watch that had actually been a Miraculous. Her future self had it, which is still something she hadn’t told her father, but like so many times before, Alix wished she still had it.

If she did she would...she would obviously go back before any of this happened. She would make sure Marinette never got akumatized. How she would ensure that she didn’t know but she felt like it would have to do with Lila. Maybe she would just make it so Lila never transferred to Collège Françoise Dupont. If she couldn’t do that then she would just make sure no one believed Lila’s lies! Anything! She would do anything if it meant getting Marinette back and being her friend again. She took that friendship for granted...and that was a mistake she was living with and hated immensely. She hated Lila Rossi. Most importantly, she hated herself for not doing more, for not questioning more, and for not believing in Marinette more. It was those thoughts that wrenched another sob from her and made her pull the blanket in her hands closer to smother the sound of her sobs. 

Before she could have even begun to think about getting up and trying to make herself look like she didn’t just cry her eyes out, Alix felt a weird energy that made her sit up and look around. It felt like every hair on her body was raised, goosebumps raised in a wave and there was just this thing, this static, this energy that made her nose twitch. Then a noise appeared, it popped into existence before it changed to a sort of whirring sound and finally, finally Alix saw a ring of blue begin to open up in the middle of her room. She watched even when the light from the familiar looking portal started to hurt her eyes, she watched until she saw Bunnyx come fully out of the portal, and she watched as said portal disappeared before she made her move. 

“Hey mini-me-” Alix didn’t waste a second before she launched herself at her older self and hugged her and just cried whatever tears she had left. If she was here maybe there was something they could do. Maybe that’s why Bunnyx was here because she needed Alix’s help and all of this would just be a horrible nightmare of a memory. 

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong mini-me? Wait...nevermind, I remember. Do you want to talk about it?” Bunnyx asked as she led them to Alix’s bed and sat them on the edge before letting her transformation drop. 

“No.” Alix sniffled. “Yes. But like, you know what happened so wouldn’t it be pointless?” 

“It’s more like my brain reboots the memories of whatever timeline I’m in, so in a way I remember but not everything. I remember sadness. I remember some vague, mean and cliche kids being bullies. I just don’t remember the specifics.” Bunnyx, since it was easier to refer to her as Bunnyx than just future Alix, explained. 

“Yeah...I mean it’s nothing I-we haven’t dealt with before but with the whole Marinette akuma and disappearance thing happening...it’s like everyone feels like they have some kind of justification for bullying, I mean they’ve shoved me and Rose into lockers for crying out loud! As if that would be something Marinette would be okay with! Everything! The whole world just...it’s wrong now that she’s gone.” Alix lamented as she stood up and paced the space in front of her bed. “But that’s why you’re here right? We’re going to go fix this, right?”

Alix watched as Bunnyx gave her a sad smile before closing her eyes and shaking her head, it looked like the energy was just sapped from her. “No. I came because-”

“No? What do you mean ‘no?’ This-this timeline is wrong! It’s-It’s wrong and broken and we need to fix it.” 

“Alix...there’s nothing we can do about the past in this timeline. This timeline was already born, maybe even before us, and we can’t just go back and try to change it. There is always a price to pay when it comes to time. We could make it worse, or destroy it. There’s a reason why we didn’t get our Miraculous until we were older, and there’s a reason why our Miraculous is the Miraculous of the last defense. Miraculous cannot be used for selfish means.” 

“How is making sure Marinette never got akumatized selfish? How is maybe making it so Lila Rossi never came to our school selfish? That sounds like problems solved to me.”

“Those things aren’t what are putting this timeline in danger, mini-me.” Bunnyx said with such confidence and full of such sorrow and anxiety it made Alix’s own frenzied thoughts halt. 

“What do you mean,” Alix asked carefully as she sat beside Bunnyx. “This timeline is in danger?”

Bunnyx took in a shaky breath before she spoke. “I had a dream about this timeline, and a dream for us is really more of a possibility. It’s not exactly a premonition because it doesn’t have to happen but the probability of it happening is...higher than it should be. In the dream I saw a war. And not a typical one which is bad to say.”

“A war.” The words left Alix in a rush along with her breath.

“A war. A war that if not stopped will cover this world in darkness and death. The one who starts the war...I can never see them clearly, they are in the skies, but they feel familiar and at the same time they’re a stranger to me. To us. I saw fire, so much fire, and the air was filled with roars and screeches that shook the earth. I can’t go too much in detail but I also didn’t see much to begin with, but when I had this...dream, this vision, I knew I had to warn someone.”

“And that was me?” 

“Ladybug wasn’t an option this time...you’re the only one I can count on, the only one I can warn mini-me.” Bunnyx confessed.

“What...what am I supposed to do? I don’t even have a Miraculous! I’m...I can’t even get up the nerve to tell dad and Jalil to shut up when they’re fighting. Whether it be about Egyptian history or about whether Agreste Senior was Hawkmoth or not. Their fighting has gotten worse too! What am I supposed to do?” Alix could feel her panic rising. She understood why Bunnyx warned her but at the same time she wished she hadn’t. Alix was just a kid dealing with bullies. What could she do that could help prevent some horrific war?

“You’ll figure it out Alix, we always do. I believe in you, which is kind of you believing in yourself already but, you need to believe in yourself too kiddo. I know you feel angry, and sad, and guilty. You made a mistake and it seems like you know that, and accept it, but you also need to forgive yourself or you’ll be stuck in the past. And that’s no way to live.” Bunnyx stood from her place on the bed before nodding her head at Alix’s desk where she saw a floating creature. It probably would have freaked her out if she hadn’t felt so mentally and emotionally drained. She watched as Bunnyx called for her transformation and opened a portal. 

“How will I know what to do?” 

“You’ll know, we have good gut-instincts, listen to them. I promise mini-me, we can get through this.” 

Alix watched as Bunnyx left through her portal and there was still panic but mostly she just felt numb, but she couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of her head that was trying to connect Marinette’s akumatization and disappearance with what future her had just told her about. Maybe it was just her further obsessing over those events and wanting them to be the root of the problem because that would justify her anger and pain, or maybe it was instinct. 

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part Eleven - Them)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site 7. Investigation 8. Recovery 9. Retreat 10. Capture 11. Them

Some reveal in this one, lots of worry and some discovery. John is not a happy boy.

As always, many thanks to @scribbles97​​ @janetm74​​ @vegetacide​​ and @tsarinatorment​​ for all their amazing support. you guys rock ::hugs you to bits::

Tonight is a bit of a posting night. I will be posting the last chapter of The Cane shortly as soon as I finish proofing it :D Yay, for finishing things :D Callisto is currently at 45,000 words.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one.

-o-o-o-

Alan was out of his pod, screaming Scott’s name, but his brother was gone. The water as still as before.

“Alan! Status!” John’s voice was as panicked as Alan had ever heard it.

“Scott’s gone.” He dashed over to Virgil. His big brother was crumpled in a heap. In the low gravity, Scott’s shove had been enough to throw him up against the rock wall. “John, I need you.”

“FAB.”

Virgil was unconscious.

Again.

A quick scan and his vitals were good. There would be bruising ...as if his brother needed more. But there was nothing broken, thank god.

A scan of the still unconscious director proved her to be stable as well.

He shifted Virgil into a safer recovery position.

“Eos, can we scan the lake?” He eyed where his big brother had vanished.

“No. I can get no data beyond approximately ten metres below the surface. It is very frustrating.”

Alan continued to stare at the surface and its glass stillness. “Can you locate Scott?”

“John has already pinpointed the Commander. He has joined the other life form below the lake’s surface. There is no comms response from the Commander.” The AI managed to sound both worried and frustrated.

“Are there any other life signs in the area?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

There was a pause. “There is no life as defined by the search parameters programmed into Thunderbird Five’s sensors on the moon beyond what has already been accounted for by International Rescue and Callisto Base personnel. Did you wish me to change those parameters?”

Alan swallowed as the third dragonfly buzzed into the cave. “ I think we’re going to have to. There is something down here.”

-o-o-o-

“We can’t leave him!”

“We’re not leaving him, Alan. We need to get the director and Virgil back to base.”

“But Scott-“

“He’s alive. We will do everything we can, but first we need medical attention for Virgil and the Director and to gather more information to better understand what we are dealing with.”

Virgil groaned and dragged a hand to his face. There was an oxygen mask in all its cold and moist glory and he shoved it off.

The elastic caught in his hair.

“Virgil!”

The pounding in his head was so loud, he could barely hear above it. There were hurried footsteps and someone ...Alan, it had to be Alan...touched his arm.

“Virgil, are you with us?” John’s melodious voice appeared on his other side and echoed through his aching head.

“You gonna open your eyes for us?” Alan sounded worried.

Open his eyes? Oh, yeah. A flicker and suddenly his retinas were assailed by the red of Three’s tiny infirmary.

A sigh. What the hell had happened now?

God, his head hurt.

“Alan, get us back to Base.” John’s voice was calm and quiet but had that tone of command.

There was quiet for a moment as the infirmary walls faded in and out of focus, roiling Virgil’s stomach.

A sigh and his little brother acknowledged John with an exhaled FAB before leaving Virgil’s bedside with soft footfalls.

Hands strapped him into the bed, fingers brushing gently across the surface of his uniform before landing ever so softly on his temple. “Rest, Virgil.” His hair was brushed off his forehead, the fine grip on John’s glove catching strands. “You’re safe.”

Virgil let out a sigh and closed his eyes, willing his head to stop pounding.

Perhaps it was a sign of the severity of whatever had happened to him, that he didn’t realise there was a voice and a touch missing until he was caught in the spiral of pain-induced exhaustion.

The question of a missing big brother followed him into an uneasy sleep.

-o-o-o-

Berry for his eldest son.

It was an exchange Jeff wasn’t sure he was willing to make.

But the thought was arrested before he could consider it further, knowing that Scott would admonish him for even thinking it.

But in the depths of his soul, the father in him was screaming.

Berry was off loaded from Three and onto the gantry, quickly followed by an equally prone Virgil. His engineer son was only asleep according to John, but with Scott missing, Jeff found himself clinging to his second eldest regardless.

The automatic cams on the Dragonflies had picked up what had happened. It was blatantly obvious there was something with purpose at work, something not human, possibly sentient.

The word ‘aliens’ bounced back and forth in his head.

Virgil was returned to the spot in the infirmary he had left barely an hour ago. Gordon sitting on the bed Jeff had restricted him to, stared at his co-pilot with worried eyes. Alan, equally as worried, sat down beside his fish brother and Gords wrapped his good arm around him.

Virgil was ever so quiet.

Berry was surrounded by the Base doctors, a curtain pulled around her bed, hiding her from the rest of them.

Jeff had the urge to shove it all aside and demand answers.

John had an IR medscanner out and was scanning his brother again. He spoke up without Jeff having to ask. “He’s sleeping.” It was a repetition of the earlier diagnosis, but it was welcome anyway.

A frown and the astronaut narrowed the scanner’s beam, prodding its controls and bringing it closer to Virgil’s head.

“What is it?”

John’s voice was calm, but distracted. “Director Berrenger has some ear damage. Virgil...” Another prod of the device. “Damn.”

“What?” Jeff took a step closer.

But John stopped scanning his brother, adjusted the controls and then ran the medscanner over his own head. Frowning at the readings, he activated his wrist ‘projector and swiped the results to that display.

The two scans bobbed up side by side, close up details of Virgil and John’s auditory systems.

“Virgil has had a headache since he arrived. We thought it was related to the T-Drive. But it appears that he has been subjected to some kind ear injury.”

Gordon spoke up. “He got dizzy.”

John frowned and poked at the hologram, spinning it. The frown deepened a moment before the astronaut suddenly darted around the bed and aimed the scanner at Gordon’s head.

“What? What the hell are you doing?”

“Hold still.”

A flicker of yellow and John obviously got what he was looking for. A breath and he aimed the scanner at Alan’s head as well.

His sigh was a frustrated one. “We are all exhibiting signs of ear irritation, but Virgil’s is by far the worst. Dad?”

Jeff blinked as John waved the device over his head. His son’s glare at the scanner was almost enough to incinerate it.

John slapped his comms. “Eos, land the probe closest to the Crystal Cavern. I need physical contact with the rock. Activate mic input, scan the spectrum.”

“FAB.”

It took a few moments and Jeff found himself absently stroking Virgil’s hair.

“Contact made. Scanning...oh, my!”

“Let me hear it.” John was wired ever so tight, eyes on fire.

“Input is being received at a very high volume, but at a very high frequency far above the human ability to hear. Translating.”

The sound that emitted from John’s comms was a very loud discordant screeching. Everyone in the room clapped their hands to their ears. A nurse attending to Berry shoved aside a curtain and shouted at them, as John yelled at Eos to stop.

“What the hell is that?!” Gordon, as always, voiced what everyone was thinking.

John was already bouncing program variables over his wrist. “That is what we need to find out.”

-o-o-o-

It turned out it was the moon itself.

Jeff sat with Virgil as his son slept, unable to relax himself. Alan intermittently gnashed his teeth fretting out loud what all of them were thinking. Scott was missing and it tore at all of them.

Virgil slept on.

John could only be described as frantic. The space monitor swore a blue streak that had Jeff snapping at him at one point. The man’s response was throw up a hologram on his tablet that mapped out the sounds being emitted by Callisto.

It was like a nest of spiderweb laced around and through the rock of the Jovian satellite. Pockets of density existed in places along with patches of less. John reached up and poked a spot that was slightly different from the rest, but still drenched in lines.

“This is Callisto Base.”

“And what is that?” Jeff pointed at the fine lines darting all over the moon.

John sighed. “My guess is that we are looking at a communications network.”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “Who is communicating?”

“Unknown. There are no unaccounted life forms on this moon. Not life as we know it.”

“What about life as we don’t know it?”

“We’re working on it.”

Next question. “How did we miss it?” The moon was literally shouting loud enough to injure.

John deflated on the spot, obviously considering the lapse a failure on his part. “Sound requires matter to travel through. Thunderbird Five is not equipped to detect it unless we have something in contact with the atmosphere or a mic in play.”

“We have mics in our comms.” But Jeff knew the answer before his son supplied it.

“The frequencies are beyond usual pick up range. Far too high.”

“What about Virgil?”

John wilted. “I don’t know, Dad. Why is he affected more than the rest of us? Hell, why aren’t the colonists showing symptoms?”

Jeff frowned at that. “Why aren’t they? They’ve been here for years.”

“I can’t see how they could not be affected. We’ve only been here a short time and we are showing the effects.”

Something cold curdled in Jeff’s gut. A sudden suspicion roiled to the surface. “Leave that one to me.” He threw himself to his feet.

“Dad?” Aquamarine frowned at him.

“I’ll get some answers.”

-o-o-o-

His head was hammering both in dream and, as he rose to consciousness, in reality. “Oh god.” Virgil rolled over clutching his head and curled into a ball.

“Virgil?”

Alan? He clenched his eyes shut, hands gripping his hair.

“Virgil?” The softer more melodious voice of his older space brother. “Hold on.”

There were words not directed at him and Virgil must have faded out again because next he knew he was flat on his back and the pain had been reduced to a pale echo of itself, replaced with a light fog.

Someone was holding his hand.

“Scott?” It came out hoarse and barely there.

“Virgil, you with us?”

Alan. It was Alan. His little brother.

Rocket boy.

God, his head was sluggish.

“Alan? Where’s Scott?” He forced his eyes open and blinked against the light. Another groan and he moved on the bed, his body aching and stiff as if he had been in the same position for an eon. “What happened?”

Another slow blink and his memory landed in Crystal Cave and rescuing Director Berrenger, and then…pain and nothing.

“Ummm…Scott’s not here. Lemme get John.” There was the sound of an active comm and Alan calling for his big brother.

Huh?

“Where’s Gordon?”

“Asleep.” Alan pointed at the blue curtain beside them. “Dad had a go at him for not resting. Threatened to send him up to Five if he didn’t try to sleep.”

Oh, just fantastic. “What about you? Have you slept?” How long had Virgil been down for the count?

“I’m good. Been helping John detect aliens.”

“Aliens? What aliens?” Frowning shouldn’t hurt like this.

“Virgil, you’re awake.” John’s melodious voice was a welcome balm despite the fact it was stating the obvious.

“John.” Virgil tried to sit up, but a gentle hand halted him. A pair of aquamarine eyes telling him more than any words. “What happened? Where’s Scott?” Scott should be here. He was always here.

John sat down beside Virgil’s bed deliberately and quietly.

Oh god. “What happened?” Virgil pushed himself into a seated position despite his brother, determined to face whatever had happened…not lying down.

“Scott is okay, as far as we can tell.”

“As far as you can tell?”

John’s lips thinned and his eyes screamed apology before he activated his wrist comm and showed Virgil footage from the dragonfly cam that caught exactly what happened.

Virgil stared as his brother sacrificed himself to save him.

The expletive that fell from his lips was sharp and vulgar.

He pushed the fog in his head to one side and forced himself to focus. “I need details.” He shoved the covers off his legs.

A blink.

“And clothes.”

-o-o-o-

Jeff stared the Commander of Callisto Base down, every ounce of his height, every piece of history they held together. “What haven’t you told us?”

“Have you located Ju yet?” The shorter man set his shoulders and glared up at Jeff.

“We have discovered that there is likely another form of life on this moon. Were you aware of this?”

Graeme blinked. “Life? What?”

“My eldest son was captured by the same mechanism that likely caught your wife. My second eldest has taken ill with the effects of strong ultra-frequency sound. These sounds appear to envelope this moon. Are you trying to tell me, that with all your scientific staff and equipment, supplied by Tracy Industries, no less, you have yet to encounter this problem after inhabiting this base for over five years?” Jeff inched closer. “Think before you answer.” The threat was clear.

Graeme swallowed. “There was Jeremiah, but we thought that was an isolated case.”

“Jeremiah?”

“One of our geologists. Took ill, nausea, headaches, nothing we did helped. Are you telling me he died of exposure to sound?”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed as his heart lurched. “He died?”

Graeme’s eyes grew frantic as the dots connected. “Stroke. The doctors said it was stroke. I was going to ask you to take his body home to his family when you left.”

Jeff’s lips thinned ever so much more. “Anyone else?”

“Uh.” The man was obviously floundering and cursing himself at the same time. “There have been instances of nausea, dizziness and headache, but nothing as bad as Jeremiah. We put it down to long term low gravity and the environment. We are living on the edge of human experience out here. You know what that is like.” He stared up at Jeff. “What kind of life? Have you seen it?” A swallow. “What about Ju?”

What about, Scott? “We’re working on it. We hope to have more information once Berry wakes up.” They needed so many answers.

-o-o-o-

John glared at Virgil, but his idiot brother was as determined as any of them would be in the same situation. John dreaded what would happen when their father returned.

There was going to be hell to pay.

Virgil was given his uniform and Alan was scooted out of the closed curtained area. John refused to move and earned a glare for his efforts, but there was no way he was leaving Virgil on his own in this state, stupid determination or not.

Dad was going to kill all of them.

The rainbow of bruises across Virgil’s back as he threw off the hospital gown their father had so painstakingly helped the nurses dress him in hours earlier only served to impress on John the fact that this was ever so wrong.

“Virgil, please give yourself more time.”

“Scott doesn’t have time.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s been kidnapped by goddamned aliens, John. I’ve seen enough sci-fi flicks to know where that leads.”

“I don’t think we need a Ripley in this case, Virgil.”

His brother yanked spacesuit onto his legs. “How do you know that? You haven’t even located the bugs yet.”

“I doubt they are bugs, Virgil.” With a sigh, he reached in and helped his brother pull his spacesuit up over his shoulders, not missing any of the multiple winces at the action. “In fact, I think they might be the crystals.”

Virgil turned to look at him. “The quartz?”

“Yes.”

“How? It reads as silicon dioxide.”

“I know. Thunderbird Five is not the USS Enterprise. We’re doing our best here.” John lowered Virgil’s red and green baldric over his shoulders, ever so gently letting it rest on what he knew were bruises.

This was madness. “You should stay in bed. You’ve been affected more than any of us. Long term exposure to ultrasound can be life threatening. Please, Virgil.”

His brother turned around, ever the rescue operative, the uniform wearing him rather than the other way around. “And what about Scott?”

“Let me, Virgil, please. We have Dad and Lee. You need rest.”

Dark eyes met his. “With Scott down, I’m in command. It is my duty to lead.”

“Virgil, this is not a military organisation and you are not a soldier.”

“No, I’m a Tracy.” With that, he threw aside the curtain and strode out.

John sighed. First Dad, and then Scott, when they found him.

Yes, there was going to be hell to pay.

-o-o-o-

The woman on the bed was an echo of the team mate he used to know. So much time had passed between them and, as it was always with time, it took as it left.

Berry’s hair was fading to white. Her skin had been kept relatively young by the lack of sun in her life. After all, it was a six to nine hundred odd million further kilometres away out here. But there was a frailness, nonetheless.

She seemed so small against the white of the pillow and bedsheets. Lacking the vivacity he knew she possessed.

“Kate?” He swallowed. She couldn’t hear him. Two broken ear drums would do that. He reached out a hand and gently nudged her shoulder.

He was relieved to see those familiar green eyes open and look up at him.

“Hey.” His voice broke just a little.

“Jeff?” Those eyes widened. And suddenly, before he could react, he was wrapped in eager arms holding him ever so tight. “Oh, Jeff. You came.”

“Could I do anything else?” But her arms were still around him. She couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t hear his words.

He found himself hugging her ever so tight back.

But he had to break it off. He needed information.

A gentle nudge and she relaxed back onto the bed, frowning up at him in worry.

Grabbing a tablet, he typed in the question and held it up for her to see. What happened?

“They caught us. The water kept us trapped. Couldn’t get out. Nga and Steve and then Chrisoula. They killed them. Trying to do something.” Her breathing elevated and for a moment there, Jeff feared he had lost her to whatever she was remembering.

He shook her shoulder gently, bringing her eyes back to him. Fingers on the tablet. Sound. They use sound.

She nodded and then closed her eyes as if in pain, a hand going to her head.

He squeezed her shoulder again. “Take it easy.”

A blink and he realised she knew he had said something but not what. He hastily tapped the words into the tablet.

She sighed as she read them, melting a little into the bed. “Where’s Ju?”

I was hoping you would be able to help us with that.

Realising what he meant, her lips thinned and her shoulders straightened a little on the bed.

“She’s still out there?”

He nodded.

“Damn.”

There’s a possibility your release was either an attempt at communication or a ruse to trap one of our operatives.

“Operatives?”

International Rescue.

“Your sons are here? To rescue us?”

That’s the plan.

She blinked a lot at that, moisture in her eyes, her lips twisting a little. “Thank you, Jeff.”

It’s what they do.

They. His own words struck home as he looked at the tablet.

A hand scratched gently at his arm, drawing his attention back to Berry.

“They kept us in a room made of water. The walls were continually moving, like a waterfall that never stopped. But with our lights we could see through it.” She blinked, eyes again focussing away from him, seeing something he couldn’t. “In the room, the floor was bare rock except for one of those crystal formations. Just one. But in the water outside, there was crystal everywhere.” She looked at him. “It’s the crystals, you know? They’re alive.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

[my-timing-is-digital]

If there was someone he confided in unconditionally, it would be Picard; he had supported him where others had questioned his autonomy, he had defended him where others had objected to the validity of his capabilities, he had demanded reverence and equality where others had patronised and degraded him. And, as his superior, Data had seldom, if ever, challenged Picard's decisions, his intuition, his years of experience, and therefore, the claim that he was convinced that Dahj was the android's daughter, which had yet to be confirmed by empirical data, somehow made sense to him — he trusted him. Besides, he saw no logic in someone creating an android that was the facsimile of his painting titled "Daughter", but subsequently not relating her to him. He could only hope the test would pop up positive, because regardless of his good intentions, zeal and determination, he could not replicate an other Soong-type android, despite being one himself. He could repair others and fashion substitute components, but constructing a live specimen from scratch seemed to be beyond his comprehension, his abilities. Perhaps he required the one thing he had never fully mastered: humanity and all its nuances that were, and always would be, lost to him. He supposed it would be a consolation to humanoids to know that despite their independence, AI still relied on human expertise and inventiveness, impulsiveness to build stable and sentient androids — at least, for now...

With this newly harvested information, Data focused on Dahj again and without engaging in supplemental ambivalences regarding her origin, scooped her up in his arms, carrying her like a father would his child who had claimed they could stay up late but practice proved the contrary.

'This way, sir,' Data said, having risen to his full height and exited the transporter room with Picard in his wake.

The infirmary was vacant, as could be expected on a ship where androids and digital AI constituted the ship's complement. Fortunately, the lack of organic patients did not render the EMH less accommodating — cranky, for sure, but he was still as helpful as he had been during his time serving aboard Voyager.

The scathing remark the EMH spat at Picard caused Data to make an oh-dear,-here-we go-again face, but discontinued the expression when the holographic doctor diverted his attention to him. Although Data respected the sentient and emotional capable computer simulated physician, his sarcasm and acerbity was still situated far beyond the boundaries of Data's comprehension and made it a challenge to communicate with him; data always struggled to navigate his way through their conversations when the Doctor embarked on one of his infamous caustic rampages — Lore, on the other hand... Fortunately, the EMH's proficiency and expertise in his field and the general knowledge he had accumulated during his time on Voyager had aided them on multiple occasions.

'I was not planning to turn the retrieval of organics into a recurring behavioural pattern,' the android assured him as he carefully unloaded his arms. 'But this is my former Captain: Captain Jean-Luc Picard,' he added with a tinge of sincere veneration, of esteem, audible in his voice and visible in the way he glanced up at Picard. 'And as for your patient, she is... an android. We should run a diagnostic on her systems to determine whether she is malfunctioning — it appeared that an emotional overload destroyed her synthetic epidermal layer. And in addition, I will run a program of my own to establish whether we are related or not.'

Data temporarily abandoned the Romulan biobed to produce the equipment necessary to conduct his examination and engaged the console — Soteria's code flashed, unobtrusively, on the terminal screen, reporting for duty, should he require her assistance.

Data's lack of enthusiasm wasn't particularly telling, but there was something akin to hope in his cadence. He paused after thanking him, something wholly unnecessary, and asked if she was similar to Lal. Picard had the immediate desire to confirm it, but he paused--he'd spent decades conversing with people who were less precise, less literal than Data. Given the sensitive nature of this revelation, he owed it to Data to be as accurate as he could. Was she like Lal? In the most superficial senses, perhaps. Picard couldn't begin to speculate on how she was made, he'd never seen anything like her. He had a sense of her maturity, her emotional pallet, but he didn't know her personality beyond the fragments of normalcy that cropped up between emergencies. Pragmatically, he knew she was capable of impressive feats. She had broken through security systems without detection, including Starfleet's and the excessively redundant system at his home. Tracking him across Earth was no easy task and Dahj hadn't even seemed to realize she'd done it. And she'd fought off two Zhat Vash squads (albeit with some assistance on the second). So: no, she wasn't. She didn't comport herself like an android. She had been so scared when he met her, alone and desperate, trespassing on a stranger's land a thousand miles from her home. She said she knew his face, that she would be safe with him and Picard believed her. Even Number 1 hadn't considered her a threat. …But simply 'not being a threat' didn't necessarily make her Data's daughter? "I can't say for certain," Picard hedged. "But when I first sat down with her, there was an impossible familiarity about it." He let out a huff of a laugh and looked back at Data rather than at Dahj's face. "I was quite willing to stake my life on her identity, even without proof," he added and, unfortunately, had nothing more concrete to offer. "Perhaps I am just an old fool, but I believe she is." Lingering, bent over the two of them, was starting to take a toll on his lower back. Picard stood upright again with a soft sound of discomfort as he settled into a more fitting posture. He glanced over his shoulder at the architecture of the room. He knew the basic layout of a warbird, but he had never been in one quite so contemporary.

"You mentioned an infirmary?" Picard asked and turned back to find Data already lifting the unconscious Dahj and standing once more. Picard stepped back and gestured for him to lead the way. The warbird was certainly a choice and Picard couldn't stop himself from inventorying the systems and the security as they walked. Briefly, he wished he had Laris or Zhaban here to assess the situation, but even without them, Picard could tell that wherever Lore had 'purloined' it from had definitely been a high security installation. Not one object onboard had a visible identification number--extremely unusual for a Romulan vessel, particularly a military one. This particular Warbird had been a prototype, once upon a time. Was it taken from the same location Data had been abducted to? Lore had implied as much but Picard was and would forever remain hesitant to take the unbalanced android at his word. Just imagining Data, captive for decades with none of them the wiser--it left a hollow feeling in his gut. He'd failed him as both a Captain and a friend and he had no doubt that all the others--all of his found family from the Enterprise--would feel a similar creeping regret. It was something he would have to make ammends for, once this business with the Zhat Vash was concluded. He did not relish asking Data to recount the events of that captivity, but that could be delayed a while yet. The infirmary wasn't a great distance from the transporter room and, as they crossed the threshold, a hologram materialized at the far end of the room. The emitters were clearly Starfleet, and Picard couldn't help but glance at the ceiling to attempt to identify them. But he wasn't an engineer. Once he'd failed to spot them, he looked instead to Data. Data moved across the room and carefully deposited the unconscious Dahj on one of the Romulan biobeds. The hologram strode up to the bedside as Data did, looking on with blase curiosity. He was Starfleet as well, and just as outdated as Picard.

"An EMH?" Picard asked Data and the hologram shot him an abrupt and pronounced dirty look. "By choice, thank you. Not that I'm often required on this particular ship," he said waspishly and retrieved a scanner from the dock on the bed. He shot Data a look that was impatient but placating, as though he were putting in real effort to be conversational. "It does give me time to pick up cybernetics."

He activated the scanner and clucked his tongue, something Picard had never seen an EMH do.

"Are we going to make it a habit to take organics onboard? Not that I'm complaining, I'll just have to dust off the old stocks of medication, maybe recharge one of the dermal regenerators." While his handheld scanned over Dahj, he cocked a brow at Data. "So, what is the nature of this particular medical emergency? Soteria mentioned him but not…whoever this is."