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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

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🕷️ A Melody of Spiders: Chapter One

A Melody of Spiders: You always tiptoed around your surly, grumpy boss Miguel O’Hara. Certainly after you had inadvertently fallen in love with him and didn’t feel like having your heart crushed. Or your workplace environment made awkward. Too bad your latest mission comes with a chemical surprise.

Warnings: Language, Jungles, Sneaky Shit, Unedited!

To Note: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.1k

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How was it possible that you were sweating already?

You were on an Earth, Earth-311 to be precise, on a mission with Miguel to track down some technology that an anomaly had gotten a hold of. Miguel had wanted to go alone, but you had put your foot down. The hulking man had tried to scare you off with his blood red gaze, but you had only dug your heels in. Miguel ultimately relented as you were know for your stealth, and ability to blend into shadows. You were discreet. Like right now, when you were traipsing your way through a jungle to get into the top secret lab on this earth.

The jungle was a natural habitat for a spider, but not for you. You didn’t like sweating. You didn’t like crossing jungles with other creepy crawlies (a bit hypocritical considering you were a spider). You also didn’t really like hot, muggy weather. It was almost hypocritical that you had willingly come to this earth. Slithering your way across a branch, you peered at the entrance of the laboratory.

“Lyla, signature on the anomaly?” You asked the AI. The AI popped up from your watch.

“Inside, Miguel is currently taking out the east wing guards, he’s going after the anomaly himself. The device is on the opposite end of the lab. Disarming the security system for the ventilations.” You eyes searched for the nearest ventilation exit point, and found one. Swinging yourself over to the exit, you silently slipped your way into the laboratory ventilation.

You found ventilation shafts the best way to get around without notice, and often took refuge in such places when your social battery became too much. Crawling your way through the confined space, your senses altered you to each and eery motion detector you came across, and Lyla disabled it as you approached. Slinking your way through the lower level air vents, you came across the vent that opened up to the room where the device was stored. It was stored under lock and key, and surrounded by many different types of sensors. Most prominent, the floor and wall sensors. It was practically set up to be triggered by a spider person! But you weren’t just a spider person, you were Recluse.

So you slipped from the vent and landed light on your feet, practically weighing nothing. Certainly not enough to trigger the floor sensors. Skittering across the laboratory, your eyes gave the locked device another once over, picking up all the different warnings you could set off if you weren’t up to par. With a little finagling and the help of Lyla, you bypassed the tight security and swiped the device right out from under the labs nose. With the device safety strapped to your body and glued with your spider silk, you retraced your footsteps hoping for a clean get away.

“Y/N, we’ve got trouble,” You froze in place, concerned that you had tipped off an alarm without realizing it.

“What is it?” You asked, expanding your spider senses. Nothing was out of place, and no one was alert.

“It’s Miguel, the anomaly managed to expose him to a chemical.”

“And it got through his suit?” You questioned, tapping your watching to pull up the map of the facility and plan a route to Miguel.

“Chemicals were never an issue given his anatomy, I will have to run some tests to ascertain what kind of chemical he was exposed to.”

“Tell him I’m on my way.” Lyla copied that and went quiet for a few moments, then her hologram face reappeared on your watch.

“He’s telling you to, under no circumstances, go to his location.”

“Well you can tell him to shove his reply up his ass,” Lyla coughs, covering a worried laugh.

“Yeah, I think I won’t but seriously, Y/N, it doesn’t look good.” At Lyla’s words, you sped up your trek across the laboratory. It didn’t take you long to track down Miguel, and you were surprised by the sight of your leader slumped against a wall, suit ripping and glitching.

“Shit,” You breathed out, dropping from the ventilation duct to the floor next to Miguel. You stopped his stagger by wrapping an arm across his back and supporting his weight. “What the hell happened?”

“I told you to leave,” Miguel spit out at you, a few curses slipping from his lips in is native tongue. He tried to wrenched himself from your grasp to stop the searing ache in his body from overtaking his self control. He could already smell you. You had always smelled nice, hints of varying floral, now your scent was touched by a saline quality. He wanted to lick your skin to see if you tasted as divine as you smelled.

“You’re compromised and I’m not leaving you behind. You’re barely standing as is,” You told him, knowing that he was probably giving you his blood red glare at the moment. More Spanish curses left his lips followed by nonsensical complaints as you shot a web out and swung you both out of the laboratory.

It was agony to be near you.

Miguel had been through a lot in his life, but nothing compared to the prickling fire that burned within his veins and the intense sexual need to have you. When he had first been exposed to the chemical, the only reaction caused was an uncomfortable fever type reaction. He could handle that. But then other parts of his body began reacting. Miguel was restless. Agitated. There was a sharp pain that burst from nerves all over his body, periodically making his muscles twitch.

Now add you and your bewitching scent? The massive man was using every ounce of control he had to stop himself from turning on you in a heartbeat and fucking you like an animal. Whatever had been in that chemical, had made his attraction to you, the reclusive spider person within his society, a thousand times worse. Even with you dragging him though the hallways of the spider society, barking at others to move it, all he could think about was bending you over the nearest surface and burying his throbbing cock into you delicious smelling cunt.

Dragging the massive man into medical, you left him slumped against a bed while running to a station to find supplies.

“Lyla, get a scan of him while I draw blood to get a work up of what exactly he was exposed to.” You spoke urgently, robbing a phlebotomy kit and returning to the shaking man. While you tore into the phlebotomy kit and scrambled to find the needle and appropriate tubes. Turning to address Miguel, you were not expecting to meet a gaze filled with anger. “Arm,” You promoted, reaching for the one nearest to you. He snatched his arm back as his mask de-pixilated and then bared his teeth at you.

“Leave, I can do it alone.”

“We don’t have time for this, Miguel,” You returned, yanking down your own mask. “Give me your arm!”

This time he lashed out at you with a snarl, his eyes wild with a kind of tension you’d never seen before.

“Dios! Déjame en paz!” (Leave me alone!) Miguel snarled at you, shoving you away from him. You stumbled back, no expecting such hostility from him now. He was stubborn, you knew that, and grumpy, but not unreasonable.

“Miguel you need—”

“Do you not get it woman!? I don’t want your help!” He snarled at you, his teeth fully bared and eyes crimson with anger. gone was your survey boss and in place was the animal that slumbered within him.

“Fine then,” You stated crisply. “But I’ll be back to check on you in half an hour. If you’re not better? I don’t care how much of a fit you throw I’m taking your blood and running an analysis.” With that you turned on your heel and stomped away, planning on turning in the device still strapped to your body. Once you did that, you’d write the mission report and wait in a vent or empty hall until his thirty minutes were up.

So you turned in the device, and wrote up the report on the mission, leaving the notes a ‘pending’ because you were going to have to add to it once you figured out what the chemical Miguel had been exposed to. While you typed, your fingers angrily clacked against the glass touch screen, airing out your current mood. Miguel had been getting increasingly restless as of late. Not to mention short with his words. He wasn’t the most talkative, but he never to short it you like that. He never physically shoved you away from him.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Lyla spoke, rousing you fro your inner thoughts. You glanced up to her hologram.

“Is he doing what I asked?” You questioned, ignoring her statement.

“Yes, so to speak. He went to his office, but I did get him to take a look sample… it’s running now.” You made a pleased sound in your throat and went back to typing.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“I know things have been tense between you and Miguel as of late, but it’s not because he doesn’t like you.”

“He doesn’t like anyone,” You corrected the AI. “You know that. The most I get from him is respect, but it seems that even that has run out.”

“He’s just… dealing with some things right now and that chemical only enhanced it.” Lyla tried to explain to you. “He’s frustrated with himself.”

You narrowed your eyes and gave the AI a screwed look.

“Do you know something about the chemical that Miguel was exposed to?” You asked suspiciously. The AI had to. She was smart. Incredibly smart. Her database was the best in the known universes so there was no doubt in your mind that she knew something about Miguel’s predicament.

“Look,” Lyla started, “All I can say is that the chemical is enhancing what is already there and it’s driving him a little crazy… okay?”

“So it’s enhancing his irritation with me, great.” You sighed, your heart feeling heavy in your chest. While you prided yourself on keeping your relationships entirely professional, you couldn’t exactly help the fact that you most certainly fell in love with one Miguel O’Hara.

Lyla wanted to face palm herself, well she was face pacing her servers cause holy hell these two were dancing circles around each other and entirely oblivious to mutual affections. They were being idiots in love? Fine. The AI was going to give them a little push. It wasn’t like this little chemical mishap would kill anyone…

“Oh dear, Miguel’s heart rate appears to be crashing…” You were out of your seat and sprinting towards his office before Lyla could even finish her sentence. “Well, I am going to get an earful tomorrow but in the mean time, I think I’ll make sure that Miguel’s office is soundproof.” The AI mused, fizzling out of view.

Miguel’s heart rate appears to be crashing…

You were in a panic over Lyla’s words, sprinting as fast as you could through the spider society to get to Miguel’s office. You one you shouldn’t have let the larger man bully you into leaving him alone, not in that condition, not when he was clearly suffering from severely debilitating side effects. You had seen the shakes, the involuntary muscle movements, increased perspiration… it had been foolish to leave him alone.

You use your spider silk to sling shot yourself up to his office floor. His office door was closed, but you could hear pained grunts and labored breaths. Well at least he was still breathing! You barged in, eyes wild and searching for the massive Spiderman. Your eyes caught sight of Miguel hunched over on the floor next to his desk. Your senses told you he was in bad shape. High fever. High heart rate. A surging chemical in his veins. You dismissed the thought of Lyla’s odd comment about him crashing since his heart was clearly working.

You rushed over and knelt down on one knee, activating your watch to do a medical scan. Something wasn’t right.

“You stubborn idiot,” You grumbled, your fingers reaching up brush strands of damp brown hair out of his face. Your watch beeped and several lines appeared, telling you that the lab analysis was finished and ready for viewing. Just as you took your eyes off Miguel to review the lab work to see if there were any flags, crimson eyes opened.

You’d been the last thing Miguel had been thinking of when his mind went foggy, and you were the first he thought of when he woke up. Your smell. You smelled so delicious. That painful urge to rip at your spider suit, scrape his teeth along your skin, bury his cock into your body, was back. He couldn’t help himself and lunged.

Date Published: 7/14/23

Last Edit: 7/14/23

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#across the spider verse #spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel spiderverse

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riririnnnn · 4 months

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(ooc... i guess??) what's the relevant lore for the aiku kidnappings 🧍‍♂️ is everything under the girlfriend fc tag fair game or are the movies and interviews in a different timeline

Ah, you are a brave one, aren't you? Not many ask this question for they are scared what might be the consequences. If you still wish to continue, then you are welcome. Please make yourself comfortable in my humble abode.

I must warn you again, proceed with caution.

If you are still willing to know everything, then please follow me.

The root of this nightmare was born when @soleilonthesun broke up with Aiku Oliver and left him all alone. Sources say that it wasn't, particularly, a messy break up and both the involved parties did walk away in peace. However, the credibility of this statement is still quite debatable considering that it is believed to be the starting point of everything.

Whereabouts of Aiku after the break up is not completely clear. Some sources say that he was seen in clubs with exotic dancers while some say that he was seen in a café all alone. Nevertheless, it is confirmed that he was last seen inside his apartment complex about two days prior to the first kidnapping after which he was never seen near that building.

The first kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and the first victim's name is @riririnnnn. She was an attacking midfielder for Girlfriend FC and resided in the dorms with other members of the same team.

The victim had, supposedly, complained to her twin, @bueris, about a shadow figure lurking near her window during nighttime and feeling a strange sensation of someone watching her as she slept. The complaints were then directed to the manager, @licoririce, but no further actions were taken thinking it to be just a figment of imagination. Besides, dozens of CCTV cameras and motion sensor detectors are fitted all around the dorm's outside.

Then came the night.

@riririnnnn felt a bit drowsy and her poor performance was noted by the coach, @marcsnuffy, too. She was advised to get some rest and was sent back to the dorms before the nightly practices ended.

And when she reached her room, she saw it again, she saw the shadow figure on the window again, but this time, it had a face.

"Open up," the face demanded.

"I won't hurt you," the face promised with a sickening grin.

"Open up," the voice sounded more stern.

Fear took a hold of her whole body as she shakingly picked up her phone and dialed the number of @soleilonthesun.

And when she heard the calming voice on the other side of the phone, adrenaline shot up her spine and she ran out of her room.

In panic, she begged and begged, "Soleil, please, please help me. Please come and help me."

Her whimpers were sharply followed by a loud glass breaking noise before the phone went dead on her side.

The members who were still on the field practicing, heard a sharp, shrill scream echoing from the dorms.

Her twin, @bueris, was the first to recognise the agonising screech and without a second delay, she ran towards the source.

However, by the time anyone reached the site, @riririnnnn had vanished.

Nothing beside a note saying, "Catch me if you can, Girlfriend FC," was found.

The next kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and the second victim is @luvingshidou. She played on the offense side for Girlfriend FC and was coming back to Earth from her solo trip to the Moon.

Everything was a smooth sailing and she was reporting her well being hourly when a signal to the control centre was sent saying, "Guys, I think I'm not alone.."

The message, obviously, evoked concerns. Radars and satellite images were thoroughly rechecked yet nothing was found.. until, a white, blurry speck came into light which had gone unnoticed earlier.

The information was quickly passed onto @luvingshidou, but sadly, it was too late.

All the connections were severed already. No signal couldn't be transmitted and neither could be received.

Panic ensued.

Back in the spacecraft, the member of Girlfriend FC was desperately scrounging the control panel of her spaceship. She tried everything. She turned on and off the switches. She rewired the cables. She dismantled and reassembled the talking devices, yet, nothing worked.

And then suddenly, a faint noise was heard.

Bang

She stopped her movements altogether.

Bang

The noise came from.. outside.

Bang

The frequency increased.

Bang Bang Bang

Her blood froze as her finger rapidly clicked on the emergency button.

Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang

And just like that, @luvingshidou had vanished in the cislunar space.

One single message was received back on Earth's radars, "Help."

And another note was found right outside the control centre's building, "Catch me if you can, Girlfriend FC."

The next kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and the third victim is @hooudie212. She was one of the main members among the reserved players of Girlfriend FC, and unlike the previous victims, she was actually able to catch the culprit.

Remember the CCTV cameras and motion detectors mentioned earlier? So, through those records, she piled up a clear sketch and was the first and only one to identify the culprit's name: Aiku Oliver.

It didn't take her much more time and within three days, she caught Aiku with a meticulous trap.

Aiku was questioned by her for days. He was kept in isolation and when needed, was given dosage of shocks too. However, he didn't utter a single word about the kidnapped victims. He kept his mouth sealed shut. Nevertheless, everyone was a bit relieved to know that, at least, there wouldn't be any more kidnappings.

...

And then the day came.

@hooudie212 took a short leave from her afternoon practice to go and check up on Aiku. According to @someprettyname, the other member looked a bit anxious and when asked, she simply replied, "I don't feel good. My gut feeling doesn't feel good."

Back in the prison maintained by Girlfriend FC, @hooudie212 found all the answer she needed.

He had escaped.

Aiku had escaped.

Her feet anxiously tapped the floor as she muttered, "This can't be.. this can't be.." over and over.

Her foolproof plan couldn't be defeated. There were no way it was possible.

"No, no," her voice mumbled in disbelief.

And then..

Thud

Heavy footsteps echoed behind her.

Thud

The sound grew louder.

Thud

Her guts screamed at her to run, to move, to get away.

Thud

But she stayed paralysed.

Thud

And she was never seen again. @hooudie212 had vanished.

This time, however, the culprit left a different kind of note. The next victims were already hinted. It didn't take much to decipher the code and the said members were kept in high security.

The next kidnapping happened on XX, XX, 20XX and there were more than one victim.. with an unexpected twist to whatever we knew.

First and the alleged main victim of that night is @cyberbluee. She is the right midfielder for Girlfriend FC and is one of the top gamers in whole wide world.

She was one of the members who were hinted by the note left in the previous crime scene. As soon as her name came up, she was transferred from the Girlfriend FC dorms to a higher security zone. She was guarded 24/7 by a special task force provided by the academy. Her practice times were cut short for her safety too.

Having nothing much to do, she spent her days playing games. She broke and made many records on various competitive games and that was when she received a message from a fellow gamer.

The gamer wasn't unknown to her. He usually stayed close by her in the leaderboards, but they both never knew eachother personally.

And just like that, she gained a new friend who was surprisingly, very charming.

However, a small tragedy struck when her fellow gamer friend stopped coming online. She would stare at his profile, re-read their exchanged messages and would leave texts just in case he received notifications, but nothing seemed to work.

Then, one day, someone knocked on her door.

And that was.. weird.

Knocking on her door wasn't weird, but the knock was always followed by a secret code which proved that the person behind the door is either a member of Girlfriend FC or a member of the special task force.

Knock knock

The noise repeated.

Knock knock

Again.

Knock knock

And again.

She was about to reach for the door when..

Ding!

Something popped up on her computer screen and what she saw made her face pale.

Knock Knock

The screen displayed a man knocking on a door.

Knock knock

The screen displayed a man knocking on her door.

Knock knock

She knew those neon green coloured hairs.

Knock knock

Everything on the internet is connected, after all.

Knock knock

@cyberbluee vanished after that.

Sirens blared inside the tight security building and the Girlfriend FC dorms. All the members and the officials rushed into the scene..

..except @satosuguhastakenovermylife and @getosugurusbangs.

More panic ensued.

Everyone searched for them. Their names were called out in every corner until..

"hihihihi"

A sinister laugh caught everyone's attention.

"This is so fun!"

The same voice squealed ominously.

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

That wicked voice repeated over and over like a record.

Everyone followed the source and soon reached a big, empty room.

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

A vinyl record spun round and round on a record player in the middle of the room.

"hihihihi"

"This is so fun!"

"hihihi— huh?"

"That was quick. Tch. You ruined the fun!"

BOOM!!

The record player exploded and covered the whole room with a thick blanket of white smoke.

Everyone coughed and waved their arms to clear their vision of sight, and when it did, everyone's voice caught up in their throat.

A big poster of a hooded figure now hung in front of them on the walls.

Nothing else was found except an unspoken conclusion that there is someone else other than Aiku.

-----------------------------------------

And that, brave one, is all I can provide you with.

Now that you know it all, please be careful.

Do not trust anyone. Do not stray from your path.

Do not accept a helping hand and do not look out the window.

The next victim could be anyone.

And there will be more than one.

Stay alert, Girlfriend FC.

#girlfriend fc #雪 with the gang

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olet-lucernam · 5 months

Text

A Hollow Promise [27] chapter vi, part iv

{_[on AO3]_}

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.

recommended listening : what you waiting for?, gwen stefani

tag list: @femmealec @mischief2sarawr

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54 weeks and 1 day out

“Sir. We have movement.”

Tony felt the lines of his spine and shoulder blades pull straight, almost reflexively, swivelling into motion at his holographic worktable like a well-oiled gear.

He was going on a self-imposed work diet- an attempt to rebalance, after living in his work for the past few months, building and breaking and remaking in an endless beta-testing phase, a Sisyphean attempt to patch every vulnerability he could imagine- but it had been pushed back, under the circumstances, and he had rationed out enough time for him to deal with the situation, before starting the full detox.

“Where are we, J?” He asked, with a casual upwards flick above the table.

The gesture summoned a hologram above the desk: an architectural scale model of the Tower, crafted in vitrified blue light.

“There is some unusual activity near the roof.”

The area in question turned orange on the three-dimensional map, zooming in for an exploded view of the topmost two-dozen floors.

Tony had remodelled the top of the Tower, after the Battle of New York. Damage had given him the excuse, and the team had provided the reason. Repaired and restructured, several stories added to its height, the broad, smooth curves and open layout modelled after his cliffside home in Malibu were scrapped, the exterior cleaner and sharper- streamlined, from the slanted crown of its roof, through the convex glass-faced layers of the penthouse floors, to the landing pad extending out into the open air.

Locals had taken to calling it Avengers Tower. None of the roster aside from Tony had taken up residence yet, but they all agreed that it was a good base, and Tony kept the personal suites ready for whenever they might need to drop in.

The luminescent A badge shimmered on the side of the building, level with the landing pad. Just below it- within the three floors dedicated to Tony’s private laboratories, workshops, storage, and fabrication facilities- a red diamond marked his current location.

“Surveillance feeds and motion sensor detectors are offline,” JARVIS announced, highlighting the locations in a chain, “as are the door sensors.”

Tony visually tracked the path that it created.

It led from the roof access, into the emergency stairwell, before terminating at the door into Thor’s suite: no more and no less than would be needed to gain access to the building.

It was more than twenty floors above him- a distance that would take several minutes to traverse. He had time.

“You locked out, buddy?” Tony asked quietly, summoning his touch keyboard with a sweep of his palm. “Or are they trying to be subtle?”

“Neither, sir. As with the first occurrence, this appears to be a mechanical failure, not a cyber-attack.”

His gaze narrowed briefly, jaw moving.

Somehow, that was both more and less plausible than JARVIS being hacked.

“Shall I prepare to go into lockdown protocol, sir?” JARVIS proposed. “It should be possible to isolate intruders to one of the penthouse floors, once they are inside.”

Tony contemplated the offer for only a heartbeat.

“No. Clear the way down for her, J,” he decided breezily. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

There was a brief, audibly judgemental pause in the response time.

“As you wish, sir.” Tony could hear the mild disapproval and concern behind his AI’s cool, crisp tones. “Shall I at least stand by with security protocols?”

“Doubt we’ll be needing them, but- feels like this one’s got a few fireworks up her sleeve.” He conceded blithely, pre-empting the reproach about putting himself at unjustifiable risk. “Alright. Safety off, but finger off the trigger.”

Tony turned in his chair, scanning the room. The workshop was cluttered with a rich confusion of half-finished projects, both metal and digital, strewn across screens and surfaces between discarded coffee cups and various tools.

“And clear the decks, J. Window Dressing Protocol.”

At the command, the screens cleared.

Detailed blueprints and test data were replaced with generic schematics and randomised code, like cellophane pasted on a device fresh out of the box. They reflected in the wall of glass that faced the length of the room- diluted against the dark hallway beyond.

With a gentle swipe, Tony dismissed the render of the Tower.

Rising to his feet, he slid the rolling chair aside, summoned a program and began typing, looking to all the world like the very image of productivity and genius at work.

He wasn’t kept waiting for long.

A gentle rap of knuckles sounded on the reinforced, shatter-proof glass.

Tony’s head snapped up.

The girl whose real name definitely wasn’t Alethia waited just outside, painted like day in the light spilling from the workshop.

She was dressed for the winter night, a New York romance in a soft black sweater and jeans the colour of dried roses, champagne hair pinned in in a braided coil, emphasising a pretty set of cheekbones and long eyelashes. Backs of her knuckles still raised to the glass, snow-dusted and pleasantly windswept, she tipped chin down slightly in greeting.

She looked better, Tony observed. Her skin was clearer, her eyes brighter, expression smoother- less tension-soured, less angry, and more like the person that she had sounded like, aboard the Helicarrier.

Without looking, he tapped a command into the control panel.

The electronic lock switched open with a heavy snap.

Alethia turned the handle, stepping inside, flawless and measured.

“Dr Stark.”

There was a low thrum in her voice, as though cautiously pleased to see him.

“Not-agent.”

Tony’s reply was blandly jovial. Shunting the lines of code aside, he stepped away from the workbench, one hand tucked into his pocket. He had remained outfitted in dark sweats and a gym shirt, standard gear for the workshop, but his posture was that of when he was in a three-piece suit and a boardroom- eyes fixed on her face, chin tilted up slightly, sizing her up with an air of casual challenge.

To her credit, Alethia remained unaffectedly at ease.

It had reminded him a little of Pepper- but not by much.

Virginia Potts was like a ceramic knife. There was a deliberate poise to her, born of a consciousness of her disadvantages in the industry, a refusal to be anything less than a worthy player of the game; she was everything prim and correct and refusing to be intimidated, the result of thousands of observations and lessons learned and choices made, constructed into a statuesque, pleasantly intimidating facade.

Alethia reminded him far more of someone else.

Tony had realised it when she was leaning over the Tesseract transport device, her voice focused and softly mirthful.

Relax. I have steady hands.

For a moment, he had been hurled back in time. He had tasted metal, and dust, lung tissue still burning from the water with each breath, the heat of the forge at his back and the dim cold of the caves at his front, the weight of a car battery slung over his shoulder, and a pair of lean hands- Yinsen, sure and calm and steady, mild-mannered yet ruthlessly insightful, guarded and tired and yet earnest- pouring molten palladium into its cast.

Relax, he had chided Tony gently, tilting the long handles of the tongs, inclining the lip of the crucible over the mould. I have steady hands. Why do you think you are alive, ah?

After removing it from his chest for the second time, Tony had quietly returned the first miniaturised arc reactor to the display mount that Pepper had commissioned, sealing it back in glass.

It was still powered by that delicate ring of palladium, poured by steady hands under a mountain in Afghanistan.

With a steady sweep of her lashes, Alethia looked past Tony’s shoulder, at the screen display where he had been typing.

Her head tilted.

“Was there any particular reason that you were translating the lyrics of ABBA’s Dancing Queen into base64?”

Huh. Well.

Tony had more or less expected that she would see straight through the chains of randomised letters and numbers, like an awl punching through leather, but- the casual quickness was a little disorientating. It was like expecting a card trick, and getting shoved into a swimming pool instead.

“Everybody needs a hobby,” he said, bald-faced and shameless.

“Mm.” Hazel eyes flicked to his, warm as vanilla and laughter. “I’ve heard worse.”

They trailed into silence.

“Ran a trace, on the phone number you left,” Tony admitted boldly. “Before I called.”

Alethia smiled slightly.

“Ah. Were you disappointed?”

“I think I’d be disappointed if it was that easy.” Tony decided, circling the desks, feigning distraction. Alethia was missing a coat that would make sense for the cold. Her nails were trimmed neat, without polish. The only traces of makeup were a swipe of soft black kohl at the corners of her eyes and the sheen of lip balm. Practical, yet impractical. “Complete no sell, though. Impressive. That SHIELD tech?”

The corner of her mouth pulled up further.

“No.”

“You still with them?”

“If I ever was, I’m not now.”

“So you’re a free agent?”

“Free not-agent.”

“How long?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“I mean, I’d call it due diligence, but I’ve got a pair of cuffs somewhere, if it’d make you more comfortable.”

Alethia’s smile bloomed into a brilliant grin.

“Didn’t think you’d be into that, Dr Stark.”

She sobered slightly, clear as glass.

“Ask me what you want to know. I wouldn’t have left a way for you to contact me, if I wasn’t willing to talk.”

Tony held her gaze for a long moment.

He tapped at the keypad.

Several pages opened across the screens.

Pages of instructions, formulas, tables, calculations, and skeletal molecular structures illuminated the digital glass.

Alethia kept her gaze on Tony.

“What is this?” Tony asked, quiet and direct.

She breathed a slow exhale, hip cocking.

“The formulas, chemical synthesis processes, and medical procedures for stabilising the biological effects of the experimental serum known as Extremis,” she announced clinically, “when introduced to the human body intravenously, subcutaneously, or intramuscularly.” Alethia paused, pointedly. “I did include an abstract.”

“And you broke into my building to leave it here.”

“I apologise for the necessity.” Alethia replied evenly. “It was safer, than a courier.”

“You couldn’t think of another way?”

She arched an eyebrow.

“So- a package, delivered to this building, or a file sent to the general inquires inbox for Stark Industries, addressed directly to you, from an unknown sender- wouldn’t have been lost in the system?”

Despite the lingering irritation, he could admit that she had a point.

And at least she hadn’t tried to hack JARVIS, or threatened to taser him, or ripped the arc reactor out of his chest, or thrown him through a window.

All in all, this break-in was probably in his top three.

Tony flicked his hands into a shrug, keeping his expression blank and blithe.

“Alright. Let’s say I buy that.” He did buy it, but she didn’t need to know that yet. “You wanna tell me what this really is?”

He saw the subtle shift in her eyes, becoming a little shrewder, a touch sharper- and a little pleased.

She pulled up one shoulder.

“A gift? Or a bribe, perhaps. Gratitude. Diplomacy. A resumé.”

“What, you’re in the market for a job?”

The quip was as pithy as he intended, but in the split second that followed- huh.

Actually.

That wasn’t a terrible idea.

Tony acknowledged that he needed to step back from Iron Man- at least until he could reorganise his head and redraw the lines so that it wasn’t the all-consuming furnace of fear and duty and penance and freedom-safety that it had become- but the work wouldn’t wait. The planet was on a deadline, and Tony had more resources than most to pull the necessary defences together. Having good people on board, who could keep his projects ticking over while he reorientated, was essential.

And Alethia knew. She had recognised the monsters lurking in the dark between the stars, and had looked for someone to warn when she decided that Fury couldn’t be trusted to listen.

And then there was the truth in all things, and cannot lie aspect. That was a hell of an ace up Earth’s collective sleeve- if, if, if-

“I don’t need a job, Dr Stark. What I need is an ally.” Alethia spoke as clear and calm as daybreak upon the mountains. “We both do. As many as we can get.”

Tony swallowed, carefully.

He turned his head to look at the screens, grappling down the swoop of intermingled terror and relief.

“So this is your pitch.”

“I was working on other areas, but- I saw the news,” Alethia said mildly. “The bombings. Malibu.”

She hesitated.

“I was worried.”

Tony flicked a slightly surprised glance back at her.

Alethia’s gaze was on the screens, inscrutable.

There was a note of quiet sincerity in her voice that rattled something within him, like marbles in a jar.

“Well.” Tony began, turning back towards the illuminated text. “I’ve come back from the dead before.”

“Even so.” She demurred. “You were- you were kind to me. I didn’t forget that. So I was glad to find that you were alright. Then I found out about AIM, and Extremis, and I- thought you could use the assistance.”

Tony didn’t know what to say.

He still couldn’t decide, even after a moment to reboot.

Instead, he deflected.

“I knew you weren’t an engineer.”

“Hm?”

Tony flicked a practiced, flippant gesture at the screens- a quick upturn of his palm, fingers loosely curled- turning away.

“Back then. The instructions you provided for the Tesseract device- I mean, we talked about it at the time. Hot garbage, right? Intentional hot garbage, but still. There was a solid working understanding of the physics and the mechanics, but it wasn’t written by someone au fait with the field. There are things that you only learn if you’ve studied it, read the books, learned how to speak the language. It’s all in the common practice- the jargon, the shorthand. That was missing, from your papers. There were a few pieces, but not enough. You’re not an engineer.”

Tony turned to face her, expression a flat, inscrutable mask.

“You are a doctor, though.”

Alethia didn’t flinch.

He would expect nothing less, from someone who had kept secrets from Nicholas Fury and was still walking around, doing as she pleased.

“This,” Tony raised a finger to his shoulder-line, indicating the screens behind him. “Is perfect. Flawless. You could send this for peer review and get it published in The Lancet.”

A chink appeared in Alethia’s expression- something that she had allowed to break through, intense as sunlight striking on a shard of glass.

Pride.

It was earned. As far as Tony could tell, she had whipped up the antiserum formula within a matter of days; any sane research institute or private company on the planet, including the medical subsidiaries of Stark Industries, would be putting a bounty on her corporate headhunt if they knew.

Blasé as he could afford to be with money, however, Tony rarely made a purchase without knowing the price.

“So. What are you?” He paced back towards her, gathering a slow momentum like the wind of a crank, closing in. “Biochem? Cellular biology? Genetics? What’s your speciality?”

Alethia smiled.

“Neurosurgery.”

Tony’s brow twitched at the admission, taken aback.

He wasn’t actually expecting a straight answer. He wasn’t expecting that answer.

And he wasn’t expecting its wistfulness.

“You’re a brain surgeon?”

She let out a short laugh.

“I should probably introduce myself.” An incandescent, media-ready smile lit up her features, relaxed and confident. “Dr Astrid North, MD.”

Tony stilled.

That was her name, he could tell. Not an alias.

Tony quickly calculated the risk, that she was taking.

“Date of birth recorded as the twenty-ninth of February, 1988,” she continued, as though this time she was actually reciting and submitting her résumé for consideration. “Graduated from Columbia in the class of ’03, summa cum laude, completed my neurosurgical residency in 2010. I also worked under the surnames Stephenson and Stephensdottir- spelt like the doctorate, not like the super-soldier. There should be records of me available here in New York, as well as the UK, Italy, Switzerland, Sweden, Singapore, and Brazil.”

Tony could feel the staccato of his heart, stuttering behind the arc reactor, a thrum of anticipation.

“Hm. SHIELD know any of this?”

Alethia’s- Astrid’s- lip curled with a hint of contempt.

“No.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

She lifted her shoulder. “I thought you’d want an insurance policy.”

“And what have I done to earn that?”

“You listened.”

“I passed the test,” Tony inferred. “That’s why you’re here?”

“I’m here because I would like to trust you,” Astrid said coolly, “and because I think there’s a more than fair probability that I can. And- because I would like you to trust me. Even if only enough to work together.”

Tony observed her for a few dragging seconds.

“What’s your endgame?” He challenged. “You told me back then that you’re not an altruist.”

“Oh, I’m not.”

“Then why? What’s in it for you?”

Her brow tensed slightly.

“Enlightened self-interest? Or, is I don’t want the planet I currently live on to be destroyed insufficient for you?”

“Eh, plenty of people don’t find it compelling. Look at climate change.”

Astrid’s lips parted to reply- before she grimaced, glancing aside in admission.

“Alright, fair point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But maybe I’m just more circumspect.”

“Or you have another reason.”

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling with a slow blink.

“You are being very obstinate about this.”

“You know, I don’t actually care, what your actual reason is,” Tony blurted out, sharp and caustic as battery acid, a sudden flare of anger and impatience shoving him forwards, “because you’re right. We need allies. Including each other. So I’m willing to work with your reason why. But only if I know what it is.”

The moment that Tony stopped speaking, he became aware of how Astrid was looking at him.

Tony felt like he was being taken apart, disassembled, the cover plate pulled off to check the hardware.

Truth in all things.

She hummed, soft in the back of her throat. It was the kind that he could feel in his sternum, even with most of it carved away for the arc reactor.

“Alright,” she said softly. “Fair’s fair.”

She straightened, looking away.

“There is- someone.” She said carefully. “Someone that I love.”

Tony blinked.

It was like the twist of a kaleidoscope, patterns reforming, in four simple words.

“And the one responsible for- that-” Astrid snapped a finger heavenwards, her entire being smouldering with a leashed, soul-deep hatred, “took them, at their most vulnerable. Captured them. Tortured them. For months. Years. Twisted their memories, tainted their emotions, and manipulated their pain until they no longer knew where they ended, and the sceptre began. They barely kept enough of themselves to ruin it all, and break free of the control.”

Tony felt a muscle in his bicep and jaw twitch, flicking an appraising, calculating look across her.

Interesting.

“The one that I love will be hunted as a traitor. Or, as a failure- I don’t think it matters, and I don’t care. It all has the same end. What matters is that the one I love will never be safe, until and unless that is no longer a threat.”

Astrid dropped her hand, meeting his eyes addressing him with a tone of complete, terrifying certainty.

“I have decided that it is not going to be a threat.”

The floor of Tony’s stomach dropped out, the room seeming to tilt.

He was suddenly struck with a strange thought- like some survival instinct coded into his evolutionary ancestry, tapping at his nerve endings, lingering like a chill in the vertebrae of his neck. It was the feeling that he was looking at something ancient, and angered- half-mad and unhinged and doing an admirable job of containing itself to its human skin.

He realised, in a split second, that Astrid was probably something not entirely human.

And she was baring her teeth at whatever was threatening to swallow Earth whole.

Fuck it. He could work with this.

“All of the sake of love?” Tony asked.

He took pride in the fact that his cadence was even-keeled, despite the stagger of his pulse.

A humourless, self-deprecating smile wrung through her features.

“You can laugh,” Astrid told him, rueful and without rancour. “I know how I must sound.”

Tony forced himself to shrug, nonchalantly. “I’ve heard worse.”

And he had. Tony had been worse. He had cut deals with worse, because he was a realist, and anyone pursuing utopia had to be willing to drag themselves through purgatory first.

After a long moment, Tony inhaled sharply, pulling his shoulders back.

“Okay,” he said powerfully. “If this is a bluff? I’m calling it. Cards on the table.”

A spark ignited behind Astrid’s eyes, like a struck match.

“Pepper’s been injected with Extremis,” he continued brusquely, “I need to get her stable, along with any other test subjects that AIM decided to turn into literal walking time bombs. That’s why you gave me these papers, right? You thought I could use it, and I can. So let’s get to it. You in?”

Astrid looked startled- before her entire demeanour snapped into a honed, clinical focus.

“Wh- are you monitoring cortisol levels? Internal temperature, heartrate, WBC-?”

“Per doctor’s orders.” Tony flicked his head towards the reams of detailed medical instructions, listed out on the glass. “Followed your procedures to the letter. We’re tracking down anyone else who might have taken part in clinical trials, but it looks like there were a limited number, at least.”

Astrid tugged up her sleeves with an efficient pinch of fabric, pulling the soft knit clear of her wrists and forearms. “How many potential patients?”

“Caps out at a dozen, maybe.”

“The antiserum? You’ve started synthesising it?”

“As we speak, lab’s running on auto.”

“How much?”

“About two hundred and fifty milligrams, in the first batch.”

“Not enough. Triple it. And quintuple it for the others, per patient. I don’t want to be caught out with less than we need. Have you started on the round of pre-antiserum IV fluids?”

“About three hours ago.”

“And no adverse effects, contraindications?”

“Nada. Smooth sailing, all in line with where you said we should be by now.”

“Good, but keep Miss Potts closely monitored. And we’ll still need to test the antiserum on a live tissue sample, if possible.”

“I’ll get on it.”

Tony swiped two fingers down through the air, dismissing the pages on the screens, the room dimming slightly as they slid away.

“If this works,” he said, his enunciation crisp, “we can talk.” In one fluid motion, Tony plucked a StarkPad from amongst the chaos of the workbenches, flipping it in his grip to hold it, outstretched, within her reach. “Sound good, doctor?”

Astrid smiled, light and wild, and Tony felt his decision settle in his chest with a feeling of rightness.

This could work.

She took the tablet.

“Lead the way, doctor.”

Astrid made an addition to her list.

Flour.

50 weeks and 3 days out

Brunnhilde would be the first to admit that she was not made for subterfuge.

She was a woman of brash, blunt action, more inclined to punch her way straight through her problems that to deconstruct them. As such, her vocation suited her. The Valkyrie were the vanguard, the cavalry, the elite corps, revered shieldmaidens who cleared the field with a swift, graceful brutality that was immortalised in legend and song and carving.

They had been thralls, once. Slaves.

Most of Asgard had forgotten that.

As war raged across the Nine, they had been appropriated by the throne- a form of tax levy, on the wealthy of Asgard- and dispatched to the battlefield in the wake of Asgard’s armies, to collect corpses from the slurry. Choosers of the slain, the golden-plated Einherjar snickered into their cups, leering over the rims.

Then there was a shortage of disposable warm bodies. It had seen weapons pressed into their hands, shoved to the front lines to fill out the ranks.

Against all expectation, the Valkyrie had fought. The fought, and lived, and bought victory to Asgard.

In recognition of their deeds, Bor had purchased their freedom. The Valkyrie became the pride of Asgard, a symbol of its might, arrayed in battle armour of bright, sun-catching pearl-white and star-silver.

Their origins were probably why the Valkyrie could be found working, even in peacetime- conducting funerary rites, serving at great state occasions, maintaining Folkvang- while the Einherjar regressed into nothing more than decorative doorstops scattered throughout Gladsheim.

Brunnhilde had once remarked as such to Loki. Months later, he had presented her with a gilded doorstop for her nameday, crafted into the shape of an Einherjar in full regalia.

It had sent Brunnhilde into a fit of delighted, undignified cackles.

I’m calling him Sigurd, she declared with a feral grin.

Ah, he’s not going to last a week, Loki had commented, clicking his tongue with a convincing veneer of faux-pity.

Even now, few if any of Brunnhilde’s sisters were of noble blood or wealthy backgrounds. Most of them came from labouring families, apprenticed in a trade before they turned old enough to apply to the corps, and they bought their skills to Folkvang. The Valkyrie’s halls, sheltered in a chilled, fertile basin in the mountains, was almost entirely self-sufficient thanks to their collective knowledge. They raised fields of wheat and flax, milled their own flour and spun their own linen, wove and baked and built, felled timber and hunted and fished, tanned leather and cured meat, cut stone and dug wells, even kept bees and pressed oil and fermented wine and made candles.

And then there was the lace.

A few girls who knew how to weave had taken it up, transforming thread into pretty swatches of aerated cloth. They had begun teaching the craft to a few others, when they showed interest. Then the pastime became an additional source of income, to supplement the stipend provided by the crown.

And within a few centuries, Valkyrie lace was considered amongst the most exquisite craftsmanship in all the Nine. A single spool of inch-wide trim commanded a small fortune. When a Valkyrie was wed, it was customary for her sisters to spend the year and a day between engagement and marriage- or longer, if they saw the union coming- making as many yards of lace as they could manage, as her dowry.

Brunnhilde loved her sisters, admired their work, and hated lacemaking with a virulence that she usually reserved for bilgesnipe and strutting lordlings who thought that bedding a Valkyrie was a notch in their gilded belt.

Fortunately, she also had absolutely no talent for it. The others had quickly banished her from their tatting pillows and needles and bobbins, gently shoving her off towards work that actually made sense to her.

And Brunnhilde was content to have nothing to do with it. She honestly couldn’t understand what the others envisioned in the countless threads, or why crossing one here or knotting another there would somehow create a magnificently intricate motif several thousand more motions later, even if she was capable of appreciating the result.

In that sense, subterfuge reminded her of lacework.

She couldn’t see all of the threads, where they were leading, or how they locked together into a single bolt of woven fibre and air- but Loki so clearly knew exactly how each and every loop and twist and knot would build outwards, and took quiet satisfaction in seeing each one tighten into place, like a miniature noose.

There was an aching patience to it, each miniscule snag changing the fall of the delicate mesh, and Brunnhilde was often caught by the impulse to just hack her way through it.

She didn’t.

Instead, she did exactly as he asked.

Asgard underestimates him, a memory whispered- that of a warm voice, accompanied by a smile that darkened the eyes above it into amber. Or thinks it sees him, or thinks it knows what it’s looking at. A trick of the light. A shadow on glass. It is a mistake, you know.

The darkened eyes had begun to glow, instead, when they saw that Brunnhilde was paying attention.

I think he might be the most real person that I have ever met.

“I was surprised,” Loki admitted, on a low, distracted hum, “that you didn’t ask.”

The dungeons were quiet, at least in the wing where Loki was being held. It felt like an archive, a place for lost and forgotten things to be kept, shelved and stored out of sight until they were needed- the air settled as silt on the bottom of a riverbed, barely stirring with the sparse rounds of the guards.

Brunnhilde had counted eleven weaknesses that she could exploit, if it came to it.

She would have counted three dozen more in a fraction of the time.

She felt her heart clench strangely. It was the feeling of old scar tissue, untouched for so long, flexing and moving once more.

She and Loki were seated at the front of his cell, arranged parallel against the golden barrier on either side. Swathed in worn, nondescript suedes, Brunnhilde slouched on the stone steps, bare shoulder shoved against the forcefield; the air felt thicker the closer she came to the curtain of spellwork, like magnetic resistance, but she found herself leaning her weight into it, defiant and testing, like pressing her thumb down on a new bruise.

On the other side, Loki was sorting through several sheaves of handwritten notes, stacks surrounding him like panes in a half-rose window. His black hair was braided back at his crown, dressed in soft leathers and deep green linens and lightweight boots, finely made with immaculate quality, but far simpler than would be expected of an Asgardian prince- at least outside of the privacy of the residential wings of the palace.

Brunnhilde knew that he could have dressed himself in illusions, if he wished.

The choice not to was- interesting. In a way that she refused to think about.

There were a lot of things she refused to think about, with regards to Loki.

Not when it made her feel all those mollusc-soft sentiments that she had decided to kill years ago, for her own survival, after the gold plating of Asgard had begun to flake in her eyes.

In that, at least, she knew they were both in good company.

“I asked about this,” Brunnhilde countered his comment, tapping a nail against the arm ring that sat flush against the curve of her bicep. It was a deceptively simple band of brass, seeming to blend in against her, unremarkable regardless of lighting. Between it, and Loki’s magic, they were shielded from the Gatekeeper’s watch- Loki as a glaring lacuna in the script, a blank space, and Brunnhilde as though from behind a fine, misting rain, the specifics blurred out of focus.

Loki rolled his eyes, in that prissy, superior manner that left Brunnhilde more amused than irritated, these days.

“Yes, about whether it would turn your skin orange or set you spitting toads, of all things.”

“It was a valid concern, knowing you.”

“Hm.” There was a slight upturn at the corner of Loki’s mouth- the closest thing to agreement that she would probably wrest out of him.

Brunnhilde slipped loose a smirk.

“I didn’t bother asking,” she admitted, in a crisp-consonant drawl, “because I knew that I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. It would be like asking to read a contract before I sign, when I don’t know the language it’s written in.”

Loki’s eyes sliced up from the papers, without lifting his head, fixing her with a serpentine gaze.

“You do yourself a disservice, Brunn.”

Brunnhilde paused, a little surprised by his quiet vehemence.

She shrugged it away.

“This is just not something I’m suited for. Politics and subterfuge and spywork. Moving the pieces by moving entirely different ones, lightyears away. It’s like my sisters, and their lacework,” she admitted blithely. “I understand the theory. But even if you had told me where this was going, I wouldn’t know enough to tell if you were lying.”

But.

Brunnhilde wasn’t entirely ignorant to Loki’s plans. She had made certain of it.

She had heard the gossip, on dozens of planets across the Nine. The arm ring not only shielded her from Heimdall’s sight, but also from the perils of using the secret passageways that were specked across Asgard- allowing her to move freely between worlds, at Loki’s direction.

Steadily, disparate pieces and seemingly unconnected incidents were coalescing, into a clear picture.

Muspelheim had struck an unexpected trade deal with Ria. When the revival of the disused trade route had attracted Marauders and Ravagers, a new defence coalition had formed, stationed at crucial waypoints to prevent piracy and smuggling.

The Crown Prince of Vanaheim had headed a diplomatic envoy to Alfheim. By the time he had arrived, Niflheim’s queen just so happened to be also be visiting her fellow monarch. The triumvirate meeting occurred without a single Asgardian dignitary present.

A few weeks later, the realm of the light elves had also hosted several representatives of dwarven guilds.

The Nova-Kree War was turning cold. The Nine had become neutral ground. The Nova Corps had offered aid to those on the outskirts and most affected by raids, and had sent engineers to retrofit their older, short-haul vessels with swifter engines and stronger defences. The Kree were in tentative talks with Nidarvellir, to have the dwarves invest in maintaining local jump points, in exchange for Kree arms to protect their merchant fleets.

The realms were moving, like the interlocking turn of dials and gears. And for the first time in millennia, Asgard was excluded from its workings.

And it was Loki’s doing.

At his instruction, Brunnhilde had bribed and baited Ravagers to harass Nidarvellir trade routes. She had placed bets at various ports, on the likelihood of a Kree civil war. She had sold information on Knowhere, changed figures on shipping manifestos, stirred up bar fights and complained about the export tax on goods out of Ria, destroyed shipments and switched documents and delayed correspondence, paid off and blackmailed and persuaded civil servants and stewards and aides into suggesting or omitting a minor detail from a report, or handing a project to a different department.

Brunnhilde was the stage hand in a great, orchestrated play. The Nine were being gently herded into a strengthening current- one that was looking outwards, into a galaxy where the balance of power was shifting.

It was a coup.

And Loki hadn’t even left his cell.

Brunnhilde refused to be impressed.

After a moment, she realised that Loki was looking at her with a glinting amusement.

It wasn’t the kind that was intended to mock, but rather the prelude to bringing her in on the joke.

“Of course you can’t see where this is going, Brunn,” he said softly. “You’re the needle.”

A memory clicked into place, flickering in like guttering lamplight.

There was a bolster pillow in her lap, a lace pad template pinned atop it, embroidery needle gripped uncertain and rigid between her forefinger and thumb. The chatter and bickering and teasing of her sisters was a cloud of ambient sound that seemed to glow like nimbus, in the apple-golden autumn afternoon.

A warm shoulder brushed near her own.

Gently, Brunn! A voice laughed. Treat your needle with respect. Relax your hand. The needle can feel where it needs to go- you’re just guiding it.

This is a terrible idea, Brunnhilde had muttered. We all remember what happened when Svanhit tried to teach me.

Stay away from my bobbins, Brunn! Came a sharp call from across the hall, to a few snickers. Olrun, Hervor, keep her away!

Brunnhilde had made to wave a vulgar gesture at her, and almost stabbed herself with the needle.

Needlepoint lace is more straightforward, a clear voice interjected. Brunnhilde had looked over to her- the glint of her needle moving in brisk freehand stitches, looping and tightening, all deft skill and focus, one moving part, one thread. You don’t have to keep track of seventy different bobbins, and the order you need to cross or twist them in.

Your prince prefers bobbin lace, doesn’t he? Brunnhilde asked, smirkingly.

Brunnhilde received a gentle, reproachful elbow to the ribs.

A flush, through golden skin, head dipping and pearl-white hair slipping forwards.

Prince Loki has a mind for it, she replied, deliberately and damningly neutral. The dance of it, the complexity- it suits him.

Well, what do you prefer?

She had paused, head cocked.

I like both, I suppose, she hedged. Bobbin lace is essentially weaving- looping the strands together, pulling them into place against each other. It tends to be- lighter, more of a fabric with motifs created inside of it. Layers of opacity. Needle lace is often studier. Like- scaffolding. The pattern is all that there is. And the needle has to work back and back and back to bring it into existence, to make sure it holds in place, knotting back where it has already been.

Her eyes sharpened.

No- I think I prefer bobbin lace. Needle lace is- putting a great deal of trust on just one thing.

Brunnhilde blinked back into the present.

Oh.

Loki had learned some lacemaking. He would have likely received that same explanation, heard the same comparison.

After a moment, she scowled, looking away.

“I still hate lacemaking.”

Loki laughed.

Worlds away, Astrid made a cautious addition to her list, framed in brackets.

(Lace).

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tony-starkinator · 3 days

Note

*comes over*

Hey, Stark.

Sorry I was late I got a bit wrapped up in something. D’you have it ready?

Yes, the security system is ready. It's state-of-the-art, equipped with advanced motion detectors, infrared sensors, and autonomous drones that can detect and respond to any potential threats. I also added a feature where it will alert you when someone is attempting to infiltrate your home at 3 a.m. sharp. Rest assured, your kids are safe and sound.

If you need any adjustments or further enhancements, let me know.

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fallout4-reacts · 1 year

Note

A Frankenstein like scientist brought Frank horegon back to life in the commonwealth. What did the companions do to stop him

Sole had no idea what they were in for as they entered the Commonwealth's only Enclave outpost.

They knew from Brotherhood reports that the Enclave was a nearly as powerful organization as they were that collapsed after a certain Lone Wanderer retrieved components for a pre-War weapon that would give the Brotherhood an edge in their war. That same person subsequently assaulted the remaining Enclave stronghold at Adams, supported by Brotherhood forces and their captured Vertibird. This attack culminated in the destruction of the crawler, robbing the Enclave of their last known major command center. (https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Enclave#Remnants)

Sole now progressively sink into the bowels of the underground bunker, and it becomes clear that perverse scientific experiments have been carried out there. Then, deep within the complex, they come to a room where the power goes on by itself, most likely due to a motion detector.

Sole reads the name inscribed on a metal plate above a curious glass cage containing a living being.

"Frank Horegon," they read with interest.

A device suddenly activates, liberating the cell from a nightmare creature.

WARNING : They mostly react as if the journey is coming to an end.

Cait : "Back to the exit!" Cait yells, and Sole is motivated to join her in her terror. They simply cannot. They just activated the mechanism that will unleash this monster on the Commonwealth, and they have no right to flee.

"No," they stated flatly.

And it could be their determination or their conviction, but something is keeping Cait in place. She swings her baseball bat in her hands, knowing full well that the weapon will be useless against the barely biological monstrosity that awakens from its slumber.

"It's a beautiful day to die," the fighter sighs.

She is very familiar with this frame of thinking. She had been standing with it for several years. She therefore becomes engrossed in what motivated her every day to get up and face the cage, knowing full well that one day it would be the last.

Codsworth : "Mum/Sir, you should deactivate this thing, and fast, before it's found the exit."

Sole knows. Sole had the same viewpoint as their Butler, but it appears that if the place had anticipated the release of the monster at the entry of a lost soul, nothing was done to prevent the launch.

"Cods... great to see you again. Return to Sanctuary now."

"Lord, don't you consider it? Do you think I'd abandon the only member of my family I still have at the worst possible time?"

Sole casts a glance with almost tenderness towards the robot.

"Oh Codsworth, Codsworth. My brother, my good pal. Are you really going to stick by me?"

"There is no other place in the world for me other than by your side, and I will stay there until the end. If it's now, General Atomics will be pleased that I didn't fail."

"They'll never know, you know?"

"But me, I know."

When the iron monster steps onto the platform, the discussion is over. Codsworth spins his saw in front of Sole to remind him of his seriousness.

Curie (before turning synth) : The poor little robot realizes it is a monstrosity, one of just a few in the world, and that no conventional means will stop it.

Her programming is not designed for combat.

Her programming is designed for safeguarding purposes.

But in this case, safeguarding the Commonwealth, and more specifically Sole, appears impossible.

Curie attempts to process information faster than ever before, but all of her algorithms reach the same result over and over.

The only viable option.

She takes position in front of Sole, her sensors completely focused on the monster.

"Leave the room as quickly as possible. I'm going to short-circuit my systems in order to overheat my fusion battery."

"Curie, no!"

"We don't have time to argue about it. This beast will undoubtedly have the upper hand over us. I must immediately blow up the entire room on this beast before it has time to react."

Sole continues to object, but the robot forces them to the other side of the door. She rushes to weld the lock so they are unable to go back.

Sole's howls are muted by the concrete wall as she launches the commands to bring her fusion core to the desired reaction.

If only a robot could smile.

Sole is saved, and Curie will be remembered as the hero who defeated the monster.

Despite the fact that she will not be present to hear the tale of her feat...

Danse : "We must eliminate this genetically engineered homicidal maniac cyborg.”

"You say," Sole grumbles as he stares at the only actual abomination they ever seen in their life. "How is the only true question."

"In the one and only conceivable manner, soldier." Danse stands in front of the massive creature, forced to stare up at him despite his own stature and power-armor. "Ad Victoriam!"

The paladin then charges recklessly into battle, and Sole follows him after a brief hesitation, knowing that this is likely the last time they hear their comrade yelling their famous credo... if they live to ever hears anything at all.

Deacon : He seems to be replaying that dreadful day when he witnessed the Coursers land inside HQ. He attempts to keep his cool, and he even appears to manage a banality that seeks to be hilarious, but his brain is working at a thousand miles per hour to find a solution.

"Why don't we close the door on our way out?"

"It won't be able to hold that thing forever. We must destroy it."

"You know, I was really afraid to hear you say that…"

However, the spy is not a coward. Not in the face of a fight for the greater good. He would have liked a miracle or the ability to escape without having to confront this situation, but he knows it is impossible.

He takes Silver in his hands gently, as if time had been stretched to infinity. This tiny treasure that Sole designed for him has been proven numerous times, and the weapon will have to work wonders this time.

"What if we hid behind these computers? That would allow us some room to maneuver in order to get as much of a pitcher out as possible, right?"

Sole confirms and they take shelter. What a terrible shelter. Sole takes their own rifle and reaches into their backpack to retrieve some ammunition. Deacon notices what's in it at that point.

"Hey friend, are we having fireworks?"

Sole looks down to see what piqued Deacon's interest.

"You really want this to happen?" they wonder.

"Do you realize we're already dead? So why not get Mr. Ugly with us?"

Sole sighs despondently. They are well aware that this is the end. They grab the Mini-Nuke from their luggage and roll it towards the cyborg, who now appears to be aware of their presence.

"Whoever manages to blow it up pays the round on the other side, okay?"

Sole gives him a friendly smile, but Deacon has already armed and fired the craft.

He is certain that he has won.

Dogmeat : The brave dog quickly takes a defensive stance in front of Sole. His master recoils in horror as they sees the abomination that emerges from the tube and grabs Dogmeat by the collar.

"We have to go now!"

However, the good dog looks at his owner, and the other hesitates.

"You're right, no, we can't let this monster escape into the Commonwealth, but what do we do?"

Sole smiles as Dogmeat barks many times.

"Yes, you're right."

They promptly empty their bag's contents.

Time flies by. The beast will soon become aware of their presence. Dogmeat assists Sole in dispersing the explosives, all of the explosives that Sole had on them, throughout the room. The dog may easily and undetected sneak around. When all of the traps have been set, and the last grenade has been placed with intelligence, the good doggie returns to Sole, and they pass through the door, locking it behind them to shield themselves from the explosion.

Sole would never consider setting such a trap. Well done, Dogmeat!

Elder Maxson : "Shit!"

Sole is almost as astonished to hear Maxson's exclamation as he is by the beast that slowly approaches them.

"Elder?"

"Look at this monstrosity! It's something I've heard of! It is the worst kind of abomination, nearly invincible! We must evacuate swiftly in order to return strong and eliminate it once and for all!"

"But if this is such a threat, we cannot risk letting him leave the building; instead, we must immediately destroy him, here and now!"

Maxson stare down at the recruit. Unfortunately, he is aware that they are right. The danger would be too severe...

Death in the soul, he recalls how he felt the day he saw a Deathclaw stalking around his tent. And he has no hesitation today as he did this day.

"Then we'll shoot him ourselves," he declares confidently, holding his weapon.

Sole nods, following their superior. They understand why so many BoS would follow Maxson to the death at times like this... and that is exactly what they intend to do.

Hancock (romanced) : "My high is way too damn high, you ain't seein' what I’m seein' right in front of me…"

Sole sighs and shakes their head.

"No, Hancock, you're not dreaming."

"Damn, there's more metal on this thing than on the sorry sap you're lugging around."

"I wish I had the idiot with me right now, believe me."

"We'd toss him out on his ass to buy ourselves some precious time?"

Sole would rather not reply. By placing two ammunitions onto his shotgun, Hancock sighs.

"I knew it was too good to last between you and me, Sugar Lips. But ya coulda busted up this swell couple in a whole different manner. For instance, ain't nothin' like makin' sure all them bones are good 'n fractured 'fore the day's through."

"Speak, but make your gun talk because we have a long discussion waiting for us with this villain."

"Long enough for a quick chat, I hope."

"Long enough to talk about it later on his body, I hope."

Hancock flashes a smile. He want that Sole can talk about it, and it just so happens that he can.

Gage : “It's time we made our way back to Nuka-World!”

“You’re not seriously thinking of giving up the Commonwealth to this monster?”

“I ain't just flappin' my gums, I mean it, I say it, and I damn well do it. And so do you, boss.”

Sole may struggle and protest, but Porter drag them outside the complex and doesn’t let go of them for a second as long as they are not far, very far on the road, too far to think to turn heels.

MacCready : "400 caps, now."

Sole laughs awkwardly. In overly tense situations, it's always their friend's first reaction. It's not that he truly means it; it's just a reflex to slack the tension.

"1000 if you shoot him down."

"Point, I shoot."

The battle is long, but Sole is quick and a little rat like Mac has learnt to live in the toughest of circumstances. Mighty's thunderstorms reverberate for quite awhile in the room that appears far too small, but each single shot succeeds.

Sole would never have wanted anyone else to fight a monster like that then the sniper with them.

Nick Valentine : "You will live long and prosper, kiddo."

Sole doesn't grasp what Nick is saying to them until they feel their friend's arm close on them and push them out of the room. They rush on the massive iron door, but it appears that the detective has stuck it from the inside. They use every feasible and imaginable method to force the entry as time tickle, as last resort placing dynamite on it.

When the dust settles down, they return to the now-quiet room. The monster is miraculously shot down, ripped piece by piece from his armor, but Sole could say the same for their best friend.

They fall to their knees in front the extinct synth, bitter tears streaming down their cheeks.

Piper : "Alright, I get it. I may have come across as someone on the hunt for the biggest story of the century, but you, you understand that a journalist must stay alive to bring it, right?"

"So go deliver your news, I must stop this monster from making headlines tomorrow."

Piper appears outraged.

"What, you think I'm just gonna abandon you here?"

"I intend to return this thing to its ancestors…"

"I ain't too certain he's got any ancestors, Blue."

"Run away!"

"No, no, no! Absolutely not!”

The two companions have run out of time to converse. The monster is now on the bridge, and they don't have any more time to spare. They must fight. And Piper will fight until the last end.

Preston : "That's exactly what the Minutemen are all about."

"Wait, are you going to tell me that you anticipated such a calamity?"

Preston sighed with disappointment.

"No, not exactly, but there is strength in unity, and it is by working united that we will overcome this monster."

"You and what army?"

"You and I."

"I already knew you had one square left by naming me General, but do you really think we can get through this?"

Preston turns to face Sole and places his hands on their shoulders, staring them down.

"Faith, Sole. Faith has the power to perform miracles. Have faith in us as I do in you."

Anyway, they don't have a choice. Preston's naive faith has truly brought them far, and even if Sole wonders if it hasn't gone too far, they will not back down. The General and Colonel raise their laser muskets, ready to fight to the conclusion.

Strong : "Ah! "Puny human led me to a real fight!"

"Uh…it wasn't really on the agenda…"

It's too late. Strong, the big and proud warrior, had already stormed the monster. Sole brings their most powerful weapon to take him out.

X6-88 : "What course of action do you plan to employ in order to neutralize this potential hazard to your safety?"

"Aren't you the bodyguard?"

"I entrust my faith in your combat acumen to extricate us from this unfavorable predicament."

"That's when we understand what's wrong with the Institute."

"Are you suggesting that we pursue this adversary?"

"I suggest we find a way to eliminate it."

"It would be more efficient to analyze it in order to identify its vulnerabilities."

"But go ahead and do it, my friend! Check out his flaws. I'll make a note of them and learn how to use them."

"This is a wise strategy to ensure your survival."

"I'm kidding! This method will not guarantee your survival!"

X6-88 appears perplexed.

“My personal survival is of lesser importance compared to the preservation of the future director of—

“SHOOT!”

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 years

Note

ahh working in historical houses sounds like such an interesting experience! I notice you mention some of them being haunted - have you or your coworkers ever had any ghosty experiences? I'm a new follower, so sorry if it's something you've been asked about before! hope you're having a lovely day

No worries! Thanks for the well-wishes, and I send you the same.

Yes, I and many people I know have had ghost encounters at our workplaces. Much as I roll my eyes at people who assume every historical house must be haunted...well, some of them are. But it can become very normal when you're dealing with it every day. A lot of museums have little rituals the staff have adopted to keep the ghosts happy, often as simple as saying "good morning" and "good night" when opening and closing. My current museum isn't even supposed to be haunted, and I still do that just in case, to be polite.

Also, ghost encounters are often pretty unexciting. A light going on or off with no explanation, hearing footsteps when nobody's there, objects being moved, doors opening or closing a bit, motion detectors beeping for no apparent reason, etc. are among the most common you hear about. It's not usually that scary, and you're here to do a non-ghost-related job, so. You just learn to coexist. Say hello now and then, ask for behaviors you don't like to please stop. Swap stories with other heritage site workers. It's part of the industry.

The most dramatic experience I've had at work was hearing a staff entrance door open and close (complete with the door sensor ding) and footsteps in the breakroom nearby, when nobody onsite was in that area. One of my coworkers at that museum had the elevator door repeatedly open and close behind her during a tour, when a guest asked if the house was haunted. She wasn't scared- just annoyed at the ghost for getting the visitors off-topic.

And that's a big reason you may be at a haunted site and not know it: unless there's a dedicated ghost tour, we generally don't like talking hauntings with guests. Some museum workers don't believe in them (rare at heritage sites, but it does happen), and even the ones who do often consider it an irritating distraction.

I mean, see it from our perspective. We've poured so much time and energy into researching this site, learning the tours, studying and working with the objects on display, fundraising, doing maintenance and cleaning, or any of a hundred and one other tasks. We all want to talk about the site, the people who inhabited it, the moment in time it represents, the world around it and how it relates to our current world, etc. And here comes someone who's watched one too many horror movies, ignoring all our hard work because they just want to know "IS IT HAUNTED?!?!?!"

Now, the person probably does not mean to come off that way. We are aware of this. Please do not be ashamed or feel bad for wondering about ghosts at a historical house museum; that's perfectly normal. As I said, a lot of us not only believe, but believe we've had encounters at work. It only takes a few bad apples, though- a few tourists who came solely as thrillseekers, or to mock the site simply because it's an old house -to make a museum worker jaded. We're not trying to make snap judgments or be snobs; we're just Tired. Even when I worked at a haunted site, I would tell visitors it wasn't just to keep the tour on track. And I will do it again the next time I'm in that situation, too.

If you want to talk ghosts on a house museum tour, here is my advice:

Wait until the end of the tour, catch the guide alone, and quietly ask your question. I can't guarantee you'll get an honest answer, even then- and some sites genuinely aren't haunted, so "no" is sometimes the truth. But I know I'd be much more likely to open up about a haunting if the person seems aware that asking during the tour would derail things.

If you have an experience, feel free to let the guide know- again, after the tour and quietly. Unless it's something really scary that you can't control your reaction to (understandable), or dangerous, or a bunch of other people notice it, too, please do not bring it to the attention of anyone outside your party. Yes, it is very interesting that you saw a curtain move on its own, but if you call it out I'll never get the tour back on-subject.

So there's a bit of a primer on the topic of ghosts in house museums. Hope it was helpful/interesting!

#ask #anon #long post #house museums #historical houses #museum work #museums #ghosts #haunted places

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droctaviolovecraft · 9 days

Text

"I think I would make a good president, don't you say?"

ANM №: ANM-539

Identification: Mr. Oink, the Hillbilly Pig

Danger Level: Darlig 🔴 | Contained ⭕️

Responsible Researcher: Dr. Öctavio Kalev

Anomaly Type: Rural, animatronic, predatory

Lockdown: ANM-539, designated as "Mr. Oink, the Hillbilly Pig," is to be kept in a soundproof, steel-reinforced containment cell measuring 6m x 6m x 6m at Heavy Zone Containment Chambers. Due to the anomaly's strength and extremely aggressive nature, the containment cell must be reinforced with a minimum thickness of 2 meters of steel. Remote surveillance is required, as direct observation has been shown to trigger severe psychological disturbances in personnel. No personnel are to enter the containment area between 19:00 and 06:00 hours, as ANM-539 becomes fully active during these times.

The cell is to be fitted with motion detectors and seismic sensors to detect any movement within the containment. Any signs of agitation or attempts at escape must be reported immediately, and containment protocols updated as necessary. Personnel exposed to ANM-539 vocalizations for more than five minutes are to be immediately removed from duty and subjected to psychiatric evaluation.

Testing is to be conducted remotely via robotic devices. Under no circumstances are humanoid test subjects allowed within ANM-539 containment after dark.

Description: ANM-539 is a large, animatronic-like entity resembling a grotesque, anthropomorphic pig, standing approximately 2.40 meters tall and weighing roughly 350 kilograms. Despite its size and apparent mechanical construction, ANM-539 exhibits agility and speed far exceeding that of any known animatronic. Its exterior consists of a combination of synthetic and organic materials, including pigskin, burlap clothing, and straw, which appear to be integrated into its "body" through unknown means, its interior appears to be made of extremely strong steel. The entity wears what seems to be stereotypical "hillbilly" clothing, including overalls and a sailor’s hat, enhancing its unsettling appearance.

ANM-539 was discovered in 1997 in the remains of an abandoned amusement park in [REDACTED], USA. It was found standing motionless in one of the attraction barns, holding a large corn stalk. Upon its discovery, the entity became active and attempted to pursue the recovery team, resulting in the deaths of eight personnel.

ANM-539 becomes active during nighttime hours, between 19:00 and 06:00 hours, during which it exhibits highly aggressive behavior. The entity can run at speeds of up to 50 km/h, despite its bulk, and produces loud, thunderous footstep sounds. When it is in motion, ANM-539 emits a variety of auditory stimuli, including pig-like squeals, distorted mechanical laughter, and phrases spoken in a heavily accented, mocking tone. ANM-539 personality can be described as satirical, sexist, and deeply offensive, as it frequently makes derogatory remarks about women and minorities in a grating, exaggerated Southern accent.

The psychological effects of prolonged exposure to ANM-539 sounds are severe. Those exposed to its pig-like squeals, laughter, or speech for periods longer than five minutes report hearing the noises long after the source has ceased. Continued exposure (typically over a period of 15 minutes or more) results in individuals developing catatonic schizophrenia, characterized by severe emotional withdrawal, auditory hallucinations, and a marked fear of animatronics, puppets and dolls. This fear can become so extreme that affected individuals may refuse to enter any location where animatronic figures are present, often believing that these objects are alive and waiting to attack.

Behavioral Patterns:

During the active hours, ANM-539 is highly mobile, patrolling its containment area while laughing and making various pig-like noises. It is extremely territorial and will relentlessly pursue any living creature that enters its perceived territory. ANM-539 is noted for producing a disturbing mixture of human and pig-like screams while running. These noises have been recorded to reach up to 120 decibels, causing significant discomfort and hearing damage to nearby individuals.

If ANM-539 successfully catches its target, it will begin to assault them violently, primarily through repeated punches to the face and upper body. The assault typically continues until the victim's face is rendered unrecognizable, at which point ANM-539 will emit a low, satisfied grunt and retreat to a dormant state. Autopsies of victims have revealed severe cranial trauma, with many cases involving complete disfiguration of the head and face.

Despite ANM-539 mechanical appearance, it is capable of expressing what appears to be delight when inflicting pain, often laughing hysterically while beating its victim. This laughter, combined with its pig-like squeals, creates a disturbing cacophony that has been described by survivors as "soul-crushing" and "nightmarish."

Addendum 539-A: Incident Log 539-Alpha

On ██/██/20██, ANM-539 breached containment following a power outage at Department-██. ANM-539 was observed on security cameras moving at unprecedented speeds throughout the facility, causing structural damage and triggering numerous alarms. The entity began emitting high-pitched squeals and laughter as it roamed the corridors, with personnel reporting that the sounds were heard even in areas where the entity was not present.

During the breach, ██ personnel were killed, most from direct physical trauma inflicted by ANM-539. Surviving personnel exhibited signs of extreme psychological distress, with several requiring hospitalization due to catatonic symptoms. ANM-539 was eventually contained after 8 hours of pursuit and destruction, following the reactivation of Departament-██'s emergency power systems and deployment of mobile task force personnel equipped with high-powered tranquilizers.

Termination Proposal:

A request has been submitted for the termination of ANM-539 due to the escalating number of casualties associated with its containment breaches. The proposal is under review by the Eleven Counselors, pending further research into the anomaly's origins and potential uses.

#scp #scp foundation #project #writing #mothra institution #site #anomaly #horror #creepypasta #originalscp

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swamp-chicken · 2 years

Text

thinking abt etho touring bdubs' (skulk sensor-initiated) conveyer belt redstone and then turning around and inventing a motion detector using a skulk sensor... which would solve the issue bdubs' conveyer belt had with not "knowing" when to turn on/off... these guys really are endless founts of inspiration for each other huh

#im really sick over them #ethubs

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zeldurz · 1 year

Note

What kinda dinky ass cybernetics did they give Veers in A Little Help from my Friends??!

The short answer? This kind:

The long and rambling answer with all the meta and thought I've put into this but never written down until now? Follow me under the cut, Friend, and let's talk (cw for medical stuff, discussions of amputation)

First, let me preface this with the fact that I am neither a medical professional nor someone with any personal experience with traumatic limb loss and/or physical disabilities. I am, however, a service technician for very complicated and expensive pieces of lab equipment, and a lot of that bleeds into the mechanical aspects of Veers' cybernetic limbs. I have done a fair bit of research for this fic, and I'll try to throw my sources on this if I can find them again.

A meta perspective:

Longtime readers will know I have a certain type of fic that I gravitate towards (@madelgard lovingly described it as “romantic medical despair”), and one of the this I like to explore is 'what if there was more to healthcare in Star Wars than just “magic healing goo” and “robot limbs that behave exactly like human limbs in every way” (and whatever Andor was doing with the MedSpike I guess). In particular, I've never been fond of the way that characters (with the exception of Vader, but we'll get to him) don't really deal with the disabling and the traumatic aspects of losing a limb, and I wanted to explore that in a fic. Since Veers loses a leg in Legends and is seriously injured in canon, he seemed the perfect candidate for this sort of angsty fic (he also didn't want a cybernetic prosthetic in legends because of the 'stigma' apparently, which sounds fake but I took to mean that he and cybernetics didn't work well together).

For this sort of speculative science, I like to base it in as much real science as possible, and then extrapolate based on the rules of the universe I'm working in. In this case, I wanted to figure out how the prosthetics should work, so they I could break them in realistic ways that made sense for the story I wanted to tell. There were two major considerations for designing the prosthetics and how they work:

What do they need to do to fulfill the same role as biological limbs? Range of motion is an obvious consideration, but balance, physical sensation, and temperature regulation (1) are all essential things provided by a flesh and blood limb that a modern day prosthetic may or may not provide. Veers' case is further complicated by the fact that he has a bilateral (both legs) trans-femoral (mid thigh) amputation – in modern times, he would likely go through several iterations of prosthetic before he got the final versions with jointed knees at his full height (2)

How are they going to do this? While bionic limbs have come a long way in the past few years (3), science fiction gives us a lot of leeway here on things like “weight” and “battery life”. Even so, they aren't one to one analogs, and I think there's a lot of potential for angst, especially regarding the direct interface with the patient's nervous system.

As the prosthetics are mechanical devices, they would be prone to wear and tear just like anything else. Where biological flesh heals and regenerates (usually) over time, self-healing prosthetics are not necessarily achievable or practical, and so certain components (batteries, soles of the feet, synthetic skin, etc) would need to be replaced as time passes. Additionally, if we are operating under the assumption that the limb is fully articulated, it would likely have a control system or on-board computer of some sort – and in my experience, those need to be calibrated on a regular basis, both to account for electronic noise, and any kind of drift in the sensors/drive motors/other components. The only issue is that instead of flashing an LED to find dead pixels on a camera or scanning a range of values to look for the highest signal output on a detector, there's a human person on the other end of the interface. So instead of 'what value gives me the best reading across my mass spectrum' it's 'what value of nerve signal provides the best connection', and unfortunately for Veers, that translates as “pain” (is this a slightly unrealistic approach to this? Maybe. But we do at least see the droid in ESB testing Luke's level of sensation in his hand at the end of the movie, and apparently no one in Star Wars has heard of 'sedating the patient while we attach a new hand' so I feel like it's not out of the realm of possibility)

(1) I had initially thought that Veers would be more frequently cold after losing both his legs, but after reading these two papers, it seems he would have the opposite problem, due to a lack of surface area. This means not only do we have to consider the thermal properties of the materials the prosthetics are made of, but also their ability to effectively distribute body heat when necessary.

(2) I found these two articles about the recovery of a woman with similar injuries to those I've given Veers in this verse very helpful for looking at potential timelines, pitfalls, and the process he might be looking at

(3) this article gives a very good overview of the current state of things and how these limbs interface with the human they are attached to. The process for Direct nerveinterfacing described here is most analogous to how I imagine cybernetic limbs would work in Star Wars, although they are obviously much more advanced

In Universe:

With all of that being said, why do Veers' legs suck specifically? Why does Jerjerrod spend so much time complaining about them?

Well, it all comes down to our favourite asthmatic sith cyborg: while I imagine limb loss is actually fairly uncommon in the GFFA (Skywalkers notwithstanding, blasters and explosives are typically energy weapons, and imo are more likely to cause burns etc than traumatic amputation), the Executor absolutely has to have at least one cybernetics expert on board, to tend to its resident cyborg. However, Vader and Veers differ in a few very fundamental ways, and if said expert is only used to treating Vader and no one else, I would imagine this means that Veers winds up with prosthetics that serve the function of getting him back in the field, but aren't actually designed for him (not to mention the fact that the Imperial Healthcare System probably isn't super focused on Patient Health and Safety, and not getting into the cost aspect of this – Veers is valuable enough to build prosthetics for, but is he valuable enough for top of the line durable materials when he almost died in battle once already and canonically keeps getting sent on suicide missions? Probably not).

The Force. In at least some iterations, Vader relies extensively on the Force to do even basic things such as “moving his heavy limbs” and “not being in excruciating pain all the time” - I seem to recall reading that Palpatine uses Vader's suit to ensure his apprentice is too distracted by pain to have the energy to overthrow him, and that the only part of Vader that wasn't in pain all the time was his original bionic hand from AotC. If Veers, who isn't Force sensitive, has prosthetics designed in a similar way to Vader's suit but no way to compensate for it, it's going to take a hell of a toll on him. Also, if Vader hasn't strangled the doctor for hurting him yet, then Veers is probably just making shit up (or so a doctor or medical droid might assume)

Lifestyle. Veers is physically fit and does a lot of different activities with his legs (yes including “wrestling” Tiaan) – he travels to different planets and terrains with different gravities, he runs, he jumps, he plays sports – whereas Vader... doesn't. This contributes to what the prosthetics actually need to be designed to withstand (Veers isn't going to be doing spacewalks with only his prosthetics, but he's also not going to want to walk stiff-legged and menacingly all the time). Additionally, if your system is calibrated to a specific height/weight/body temp/whatever, that's going to change slightly over time – but its going to change a lot more in Veers; Vader has a self -contained air supply with scrubbers for removing pathogens, a feeding tube, and minimal muscle mass that would change those parameters that the calibrations would be accounting for, but Veers might, say, decide to take up a new sport, or get the flu for three weeks, or anything else that could change his body dramatically enough to upset the equilibrium between him and his prosthetics.

I also wanted to do something with phantom pain and how it affects people who have lost limbs, plus play with the idea of how having something wired directly into the nervous system might have lasting consequences, which is where the ONCP comes from. Symptom and treatment-wise, I've loosely based it on thalamic pain syndrome (as suggested to me by the lovely @pianopadawan), although the underlying cause is very different.

If you've read though all that, thank you for coming to my lecture. Tune in next time for 'how long does it take for a Star Destroyer to restart the reactor from cold' and/or 'lets talk about mental healthcare or lack thereof in the Imperial Navy'

#my inbox #star wars meta #stuff i wrote #fic meta

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