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ninjaghostdev · 10 months ago

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My Neurodivergence

Hi 👋

This feels a little melodramatic, to be truthful. But I just wanted a place to write my thoughts down.

I’ve been on a hell of a journey lately, a lot of it discovering the quirks that make up my process, what interests me and why, and discovering all kinds of outcomes. But there are two major discoveries about myself I’ve only just learned in the past couple years. For the record, I am almost 38 years old as I write this. Had I any clue about these quirks, I wonder how different my life would have wound up.

The first major discovery:

ADHD.

I can hear the groans from all the way over here.

These days this “disorder” is a ton less scrutinized but when I was growing up no one had any idea what it really meant, hell there are movies that point out the super weird hyper kid in the corner who can’t keep his motormouth shut as simply “that’s the kid with not just ADD, but ADHD; steer clear of that nut case”. Not so anymore, as the condition has become so normalized these days it’s now seen as an endearing trait in media and they’ve even removed ADD altogether, merging it into a general “ADHD” umbrella.

3 years ago, I came across a simple YouTube short entitled “ADHD Simulator” and not 10 seconds in my jaw was on the floor. Every, SINGLE, frame showcased exactly what I’ve considered just normal brain doing normal things but painted under the light of.. maybe this isn’t normal afterall.

You mean to tell me… that there are people out there that DONT have a song playing in their head 24/7? They also DONT have 2 to 6 different conversations speaking over that music? They also DONT have that constant nagging voice speaking directly to you at all times reminding you of shit you were supposed to remember hours ago? They also DONT have another voice cracking the whip constantly reminding you to get shit done? All simultaneously? You mean there are people out there who can look at a task and just get the task done and not need to worry about getting 2 or 6 other tasks done first before they can get to that one? How do you just DO the dishes and not completely clean the kitchen first? I can’t even fry eggs on the stove without making sure every counter top is free of clutter that could get in my way first.. but then doing that might not leave much room for getting the dishes done.

See that’s the thing is it’s not “OCD”, it’s a need to break tasks down into smaller more manageable chunks but then the number of chunks adds up into something overwhelming. And when the mind of ADHD gets overwhelmed it shuts down or simply loses interest and off to the next thing we go. What passes off as laziness or slacker type behaviour being unable to focus on the task at hand winds up simply being a case of not enough time in the day to get all the foundational stuff done first.

Are you the type of person who can reasonably work on long term projects and be perfect happy? Then there’s me when I finally hit a challenge I’m either uninterested in overcoming or find it overwhelming to get to solving and just find myself starting a new project instead.

The more and more behavioural analysis I do on myself as I look back at my own history of decisions, big and small, and looking at how I dealt with situations and how things wound up the way they did.. every sign points to ADHD.

But ok, maybe that’s just confirmation bias. Maybe I’m looking for excuses to brand something on myself as a scape goat. So I turned to my family to ask them about it. We got my brother diagnosed back when we were teenagers, why not me? Turns out.. a lot of what I’m asking about my mother confessed to also having. Turns out, maybe the reason I thought I was more normal than I was was because by sheer coincidence almost everyone I lived with growing up also had it and didn’t realize it.

The name of the disorder also didn’t help to knock me off the scent. Because I’ve never had a problem paying attention to things. But that’s of course not what it really means. Sure makes my resulting grades in school make a lot more sense. A+ in the subjects I had even a passing interest in and teetering near D for everything else despite trying my actual best. Turns out people can still get decent grades in subjects they don’t care about because their mind isn’t constantly wandering off to something more interesting at the time.

So what does all this mean? Let’s play advocate for a minute and say I do have (undiagnosed) ADHD? What’s different now? Nothing.

Nothing changes. But, it does provide a ton of introspective insight into how I work, and I can try to work with that. I do plan to get officially checked for it, so I can definitively say one way or the other. But until then, if I could get the chorus from Weird Als Like a Surgeon on infinite repeat out of my brain so I can get to sleep already, that’d be great.

Aphantasia

No not the thing Bruce Willis has. That’s Aphasia.

This one’s a bit harder to nail down.

Where did you land on that scale?

Because to me? I sit someone between 4 and 5. I know what an apple is and what it’s supposed to look like. Can I visualize one in my head? Ehhhhhhhhhh. It gets tough. I have just about 38 years of life experience with working eyes to draw from. Like I said I can define the general appearance of an apple. Can I visualize one in my head right now? If I’m being honest, not really. Like it’s extremely vague to non-existent, likely best described as just abstract colors I’d like my apple to be.

Ross O’Donovan, aka RubberRoss, the animator, describes his own experience with it, as an artist and animator. Interesting right? How can someone illustrate.. without being able to visualize it in your head first? It’s a fair point, and that’s when Ross dropped the bomb on me: despite the fact that he can’t visualize a character like Goku in his head, he can define what shapes make up the character, and the rest comes down to what he called “muscle memory” from having drawn the character (usually from reference) so many times.

Suddenly, a massive aspect of my own life made sense, one that I didn’t even knew needed to be made sense of. I was watching that video and suddenly asking myself… wait.. other people walk around with photogenic pictures in their head of the thing on their minds?

I’ve always struggled with a blank canvas. Not just in the “I don’t know what to draw” kind of creative block, but in the.. even if I wanted to draw Sonic i dunno I know he’s blue and got big rectangles down his back and big red. Sites.

As a professional full stack web developer it’s got me in some.. interesting situations, where someone’s asking me to design a page… I’ve always had to work with designers for such situations. Once I got the mock up, I can crack my knuckles and get to work with the integration with convincing accuracy. But I needed that mock up first, you know?

This one’s still rocking my world a little. And I’m still trying to find some more information about it as time goes. Like, when I’m awake there’s nothing there but the ever increasing audible loudness of the conversations and looping music and of course whatever problem my brain has allowed me to focus on at that moment… but when I’m asleep, while there’s often nothing at all until I wake up, sometimes, occasionally, I dream very vividly; the dreams that stick with me after waking up are often very grounded in reality, with only a few exceptions in my life time. They’re things that can very much happen, and involve those who I have seen in real life. But the second I’m awake, poof.. gone.

Ok, it’s 2am now. I think my eyes are getting tired. Time to get some shuteye.

PS. Star Ocean Second Story R kicks ass.

#3am thoughts #shit keeping me awake at night #adhd is a bitch

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ac3id · 4 years ago

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Hawk’s eye| 18+

pairings: hawks [keigo tamaki] x female! reader

summary: hawks is in his rut, desperate for some relief. his annoying secretary won’t stop irritating him so he decides to take his pent up frustrations on her. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

anonymous said:

hi!! so while the requests are still open, could you write some headcannons for Hawks x reader when he's in rut? maybe the reader is a bit clueless and doesn't even know he goes through stuff like that? dirty details are welcome 👀❤️

this was high-key inspired by @tainted-wine‘s this fic. (i hope u like my take on it !! 💓)

a/n: aaaa this took so much longer than i thought it would take 😭, also thanks @the-grimm-writer for proof reading this! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) also this is porn w plot so if u just was to skip to da porn. skip to this ‘◌’ bhai

ALSO THANKYOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS LMAO WTF FOR REAL 😭

tagging: @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa, @koiibito, @reinawritesbnha, @shorkbrian

warnings: noncon, hate fucking, one slap, she bites his dick at some point, scumbag hawks.

word count: 5862

navigation

The sound of your phone buzzing on the side table with a loud, irritating noise jolts you awake. You roll around on the bed, your fingers reaching to turn the vibrating device off. Groaning, you sit up straight. The warm mattress under you threatens to lull you back to sleep but you shove the thought away instead choosing to stretch your arms over your head and yawn endlessly. You were tired, so goddamn tired. Rubbing your temples lazily you start thinking about the dreadful day you have ahead of yourself. You think about your boss: Hawks, the man who makes you hate your life and job. He has trapped you into a never-ending nightmare which starts the second you open your eyes till the moment you fall asleep and even then he still manages to haunt you in your dreams.

Cleaning up after his messes, obeying his ever so pliantly. He has turned you into his little pet slave. He says that it’s your job as you are his assistant, his little helper there to make his job a little less hectic. You must listen to his needs and wants and to some degree, you do agree with him: it is your job, it’s what you signed up for after all but you can also sense him misusing his title when he is with you. He never listens to your suggestions which results in him calling you late after work hours to help with his problems knowing damn well you had already warned him beforehand. And, oh his flirty, suggestive comments which borderline sexual harassment. Hawks is a difficult man to work with and you often find yourself wondering how much calmer your life would be if you never worked for him but you do not have that luxury of leaving the job. It pays ridiculously well and you have bills to pay, your family to support. No, you cannot afford to lose this job. So you sit through his torment and hope for the best.

Seconds later after you have gathered your will to live you start scrolling through your phone, skimming through the morning news lazily. Your eyebrows furrow and eyes turn into angry slits as you glance upon a displeasing, astonishing article.

‘No. 2 Hero Hawks spotted partying with strippers–’

Your heart stops for a moment.

What the fuck was this?

You hesitantly read through the article, your heartbeat increasing every second that your eyes focus on the led screen, reading the details of the damned article. Eyes widening as panic settles in your nerves, you realize the gravity of the situation you had found yourself under as Hawks’ manager. Hawks had been spotted partying with strippers in a nightclub with a bunch of celebrities. The crazy stalker who had managed to follow him succeeded in capturing exclusive pictures of Hawks dressed in an expensive suit, his hair styled to perfection dancing under the dim lights of the club with women in basically their underwear shamelessly grinding upon him. You honestly couldn’t have given a single fuck about what Hawks did in his free time but since he had managed to get a paparazzi to tail him and now that his career was at risk; it became your problem. Your first and foremost instinct was to call Hawks and ask him what the hell he was thinking. Not being careful enough, he had managed to taint his entire reputation. The people of Japan now probably viewed him as a reckless party animal rather than the No. 2 Hero!

Before you could call him, your phone’s screen lights up illuminating a contact you dread. ‘Hero Commission’ it’s written in bold letters, your face drops. Your fingers shake, filled with anxiety as you accept the call. Inhaling and exhaling, you try to calm your nerves. If it is a call from the Commission, you know it’s bad. Bad.

You pick up the phone and instantly regret it, “What were you doing?” an angry, masculine voice snarls through the screen. You open your mouth to answer but are not given a chance too. “How did you let him go to a strip club during patrol hours?” you bite your lip thinking of an acceptable excuse, “He had to go there for work! It’s a misunderstanding. He went down to the strip club undercover to meet up with a crook to get some intel– that’s what he told me. This is a misunderstanding, I–” your explanation was cut short as the person on the other end of the call deemed it enough. “Whatever it is, fix it and never let this happen again.” he sneers a warning before cutting the call. It wasn’t a complete lie, Hawks did tell you that he was investigating a case on his own and that he would be gaining information from shady people but you did not expect him to go to a strip club out of all places. The worst part: he never even told you in detail anything about this case neither did he notice the paparazzi tailing his back. You sigh in frustration, rubbing your forehead, you quickly ring up his number only for it be sent right to voicemail. You almost scream. Where the fuck was this bastard?

Managing Hawks was not a walk in the park. The hero commission had sent you down especially to be Hawks’ secretary. You had a reputation: you were known to be responsible, diligent, and punctual. You were one of their best, entrusted with the responsibility to manage Hawks and you did a good job but it was Hawks who just made the job so hard.

Creating problems he could never solve by himself; on lucky days you would get a call from him at three in the morning, him begging you to come to help him. You want to say no, deny him any help. Let him suffer by himself but you cannot do that. If he screws up and you are not there to fix it. You lose your job, you can’t afford that. You give your 100%, you do but it’s Hawks. He has a problem with you, well, he has a problem with everyone in the commission but projects it mainly at you. He does not respect you.

He chooses to ignore your decisions and suggestions, diminishing them with a cruel chuckle, “Look, I need you but just not now.” He would say with an apologetic smile, “just let me work at my own pace, I will call when I will need you. After all, I love seeing your cute face.” You would always have to force yourself from not slapping his smug face before he took off into the bright, blue sky.

The truth untold, it wasn’t his fault completely either. He was just so fast. It was hard for anyone to keep up with him and since he did his job right; bringing peace to the nation you could not deem him worthless. But it still was a bother at times like this when you were left completely in the dark while Hawks ruined his hard-earned reputation.

You got into the building earlier that morning to wait for Hawks in his office, you needed to talk to him. This was not his first mishap. Not long ago, another article about him shamelessly flirting with a fan had been published. It had said the fan was visibly uncomfortable with him but Hawks didn’t seem to care, he kept presting. You had managed to cover it up as the two being close friends who were publicly joking around, there was no real harm done. It was a lie though, you had to pay the fan a large check to keep her mouth shut. She accepted the money and the story was lost and forgotten but you had no idea how you were going to cover this hell up.

The clock struck nine as the day began, people rushing into the building all tensed but there was no sign of Hawks. You tried calling him on his number but the call directed to voicemail yet again. You were growing impatient, did something happen to him? Sure Hawks fucked things over sometimes but he never disappeared like this. It got you genuinely worried. Something horrible could have happened to him. After all, he was on a case.

You waited for another thirty minutes and there was yet no sign of him. His sidekicks came knocking on his office door only to be surprised to see you there instead of their boss. You told them to continue with their day and not worry about Hawks, he was just awfully late. Not a big deal, he will be here soon. Soon.

Another hour passed by, no sign of Hawks and about now your phone was blowing up with angry calls from his sponsors and business partners, screaming at the top of their lungs frowning upon the scandal. Heck, even Endeavor called you after he couldn’t reach Hawks himself. The call made you nervous as anxiety crept in yet again. Hawks wasn’t answering to Endeavour something bad must have happened. Getting tired of the wait, you make up your mind to drop by his penthouse and to go see him for yourself. His silence was driving you crazy and worried at the same time, you just hoped he would be there well and safe. You could not imagine the ruckus that would create if something were to happen to him.

You walked out of his office after waiting for an hour. Rushing down to the basement you got into your car and before driving away to his house. Just before leaving, you decided to test your luck by calling him. Hoping, praying he would answer this time and luckily he did .

“Hawks!” you cried, a wave of relief washing over you, “Where are you? What are you doing?” you began pestering him with questions, not letting him answer even once. Hawks, tired of waiting, interrupted your monologue of questions with a chuckle. “Aw, you’re worried about me, baby?” his tone was low and mischievous, the sentence slurring almost into a moan at the last word. You rolled your eyes and clenched your fists in irritation, you weren’t new to his teasing. Hawks thought it was appropriate for him to casually flirt with his secretary. Send unasked comments about your figure, perverted implications about what he would do to a ‘cute little thing like you’ which made you very uncomfortable being around him at times. But it wasn’t that what made him get on your last nerves. It was the fact that he could even think about joking at a time like this which made you furious.

You screamed into the phone, giving him a piece of your mind. Degrading him for not taking care of himself, complaining about how he had managed to put you in such a tight spot.

“Once again I am asking, where the fuck are you. Hawks?” you ended your speech with spite in your words. Hawks sighed, “I am in the office,” he says your name with an edge in his voice, instantly shutting you down, “Where the hell are you?” The smugness in his tone remains and you can tell he is smirking on the other side of the screen as if he’s won. You hang up abruptly before walking out of your car and into the building, hurriedly making your way towards Hawk’s office.

You slam the door open glaring upon hawks as he sits behind his table. Dirty boots resting pliantly on the shiny, polished wood. His wings out, stretched to their fullest, filling up the room standing on high alert. They have a deeper hue to them, they look darker– a darker red. How did that happen? You find yourself wondering. Is he on drugs? His face is tilted upwards, facing the ceiling. Eyes screwed shut. They open as he hears you enter and walk towards him, his wings falling back behind him calm and collected.

“You’re late,” he says with a smirk, you bang your fist on the table beside where his feet rest, making him flinch and bring them down instinctively. His eyes widened in shock, he was not expecting you to be this furious. Sure, he knew he knew he had gotten you mad but he was not expecting you to be this angry. Without any hesitation, you start scolding him again. He watches you ramble in ominous glee. A poker face masking his expression, he watches you trot about how much trouble he is in. His job is to protect meek and weak citizens who cannot fight for themselves, what he was doing in a strip in the name of business is something you cannot grasp your head around. You repeat your lecture which you had already tortured him over the phone while the entire time Hawks drums his fingers underneath the table, waiting for you to get over with your dumb speech. His eyes trail on your lips, watching it move. Plump, pillow-like features tinted dark red ramble on about how much of an irresponsible person he was. Complaining about how much trouble he puts you through daily. Honestly, he doesn’t quite catch what you were saying. His mind busy imaging you shutting the fuck and letting him get through the day– or better yet how pathetic you would look underneath him while he shoves his dick down your throat. The thought makes his cock throb. His eyes change from an unbothered, bored look to something sinister as they start trailing all over your body. His eyebrows slightly furrow as he catches up on the few degrading terms you throw at him.

You talked too much. Way too much, do you realize how much better you would look if you keep your pretty, little mouth shut? The entire time, it’s always: Hawks don’t do this, Hawks don’t do that. Don’t you ever get tired? He wonders whether your dumb little brain had any thoughts other than the ones which tell you to irritate him all the time. You should shut up, really stop talking. He might do something bad, he’s already stressed enough as it is being in his rut and having no way to relieve himself, he is going through a rough time here. The other night he escaped to a strip club in hopes of relieving some stress and it had worked but it had also brought along a mind splitting scandal.

The entire morning, Hawks was busy avoiding people. Whether it be his fans, reporters, or even someone he knew; he paid no mind to them trying to get to the office as soon as possible to deal with the mess he had created.

It wasn’t his fault entirely, he was in his rut and needed sexual relief which he was finding very hard to receive. With his work piling up and you breathing down his neck, he couldn’t even take represents as they slowed him down. He couldn’t risk falling asleep on duty. A stupid, little headline about what he does in his free time was much more favorable than a failed mission in which he would let countless innocent lives slip by his fingers.

He watches you ramble, his eyes trailing over your body locking on your tits. He stares at them intensely, watching them bounce slowly every time you huff out of irritation and frustration. Your work shirt works him favors, the white almost translucent material shows off the slightest shadow of your black, lacy bra. It’s enough to get him going- imaging how your soft mounds would feel in his hands. How you would whimper under his touch as he tugs and pulls on your perky nipples, you probably wouldn’t sound as monstrous as you do right now. Your moans would be girlish, small whimpers would leave your lips as you would try your best to cover them up. You would try to hide your face under his assault but he wouldn’t let you, pinning you down instead and forcing himself on you while you cried for him to stop. Beg for his mercy.

He can feel his jeans tighten.

“So please, Hawks. Just be a little more responsible.” you finish, your voice turning into a plea. He hums and apologizes for his impulsive thinking, like always, he is not sorry. “Let's fix this mess, what do you say?” he asks with an apologetic grin, trying to be polite. You on the other hand don’t even spare him a glance, walking right out the door instead. It leaves him very offended.

◌

“Ah! What a troublesome day it was,” Hawks chimes in walking into his office with you closely following behind, “It was all your fault.” you spit making hawks chuckle, “Whatever happens, happens for the good.” he says, a scoff leaves your lips, “What was good about that?” you ask annoyed. “I get to have you alone with me now~” Hawks winks at you making you roll your eyes dramatically. Both of you stand together in Hawks’ office after hours. The day is done, everyone in the agency building has taken their leave excluding the two of you. It had been a long day fixing up after Hawks. You were tired and all you wanted was a warm bath and some sleep.

“Do you want to know why it happened?” Hawks asks out of the blue, “What happened?” you question, “Why was I at the strip club?” you sigh, “I don’t give two shits about your personal life, Hawks.” replying sternly. A look of disappointment arises on his face, “It’s actually more than that, really, I u-uh have this condition- it gets very hard to work during these times-”

“What are you even talking about?” You interject confused and clueless. You turn to him, a glare evident on your face you stare at him sheepishly. What was he on about now?

“I am serious, I went into my rut, and that's why I went to the strip club-” “Into a what?” Hawks’ eyes widened, were you really that clueless? “A rut, [y/n],” he says like it is a matter of fact, something everybody is aware of. “A rut. You know like how some animals go into heat and they-” your face scrunches as he explains his rut to you, you visibly grow more and more repulsed. Hawks studies you face, his heart genuinely breaking at your expressions. “Why are you telling me this?” you screech, “jeez Hawks, I did not need to know any of that!” you continue.

Hawks is hurt, he accepted a reaction which showed more concern. Maybe he went a bit too far imagining that you would offer him help but seeing you so disgusted by him shattered his heart and made him lose all his respect for you. You were a terrible human being, no different from those villains he put behind the bars every day. “I am telling you all of this because- this actually happens! Many- fuck- millions of people like me actually suffer from this shit! You should be a little more emphatic.” he reasons. He accepts you to understand at least now but you gloriously manage to disappoint him yet again. A rude snarl leaves your lips followed by a scoff, “What are you really trying to tell me Hawks? That you don’t want to do your job and to justify your laziness; you are making lame excuses now?” you shove a finger to his chest, it pushes him off the edge.

Something in his snaps, he looks down where your fingertip touches his chest. You are smaller than him, he’s at least a foot bigger than you. Where does your bratty, puny self get all this confidence from? His eyes darken as something sinister floats within him. He stares down at your finger, wanting to rip it off. He wants to see you cry. He wants to see you in pain and misery, suffering a great deal while nobody comes to help you.

“Hawks, you know what? I am so done with your bullshit. I am leaving.” You turn away from him, heading to the door but before you could move a step. Hawks grabs you by writs, caging your delicate hand into a bone-crushing death grip, “What the fuck?” you question, “Hawks?” you continue. You wait for his response, turning to him. He is facing the floor, his hair scanning over his eyes making it impossible for you to read his expression, not that you could read what was going on with him normally but now; it’s even harder. “Are you going to let go?” you ask again only to be met by him squeezing your wrists even tighter. You bring your other hand over him to pry yourself free from his clutches but he doesn’t want to let go.

“Hawks wha-” you don’t get to complete your statement as Hawks pushes you down on the floor making you fall on your butt. You let out a loud hiss. You frown, yelling out “What is wrong with you!?” You try to stand back up but his hands settle on your shoulder pushing you back down. You try fighting but it’s to no use. Did you forget he is the no. 2 Pro- Hero? He is much stronger than you, he brings down villains twice his size daily. What makes you think your weak kicks and punches will be enough to beat him?

You keep struggling under him, screaming how you were going to report him and ruin his career, how he is going to be sorry for messing with you.

“Shut. Up.” he finally speaks, he brings his gloved hand to your perfectly styled hair. Pulling tightly on your roots he stretches your face upwards, making it easier for him to look down on you while you cry in agony, “Stop crying.'' His voice is deep and raspy, much different from how he usually talks. You look up at him, fear swimming in your eyes as tears prick at the corners of your sockets, lips trembling. If you already weren’t terrified enough, your horror becomes tenth fold when you see his boner raging in his pants, “Come, on. Hawks..” your voice is small and weak, it's a broken cry. You know what he is going to make you do. He was going to violate you, break you beyond repair.

This was so wrong. As much you hated Hawks, you never would have thought he would do something like this. Hawks was a hero. He is meant to fight for justice, punish evil. Why is he doing this? “Hawks no. Please. Was it something I said? I take it back I didn’t mean it-”

“You know, y/n, you are not so different from those villains yourself,” if looks could kill, you would be dead. The pure, anger, and hatred he looks at you with bothers you. It makes you hate yourself, there is something sinister in his eyes which makes you sure about the fact that he is not afraid of hurting you. He has given up on you, after all, his polite gestures, generosity you always ignored- he’s fed up with your sheer ignorance and your ego. He hates you. He does and heck if he wasn’t in his rut; he would never bring his dick anywhere near you. He does not respect you as a human and in no way does he have any romantical attachment to you. All he ever saw was a walking alarm clock, bugging him every second, and now all he is going to see you as is his cocksleeve whom he can stuff his fat cock into whenever and however he seems fine. To him you are just a walking hole he can ruin whenever he wants to, you have managed to get on his bad side and he is going to show you his bad side.

He undoes his belt, his pants falling to his thighs displaying his expensive boxers and his growing hardness. His cock is throbbing within its confines, fighting desperately to come free. His free hand pulls his boxers down and his cock springs free, hitting his abdomen. It stands long and hard, the tip blushed red and angry, tiniest bit of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit. He pumps his cock in his hand before forcing it against your mouth, pressing it to your lips smearing his pre all over your lips. You whimper in protest, moving your head the littlest you can under his tight grip. “Bitch open up. You had this coming for a long time,” his dick slaps your cheek while his fingers try to pry open your mouth. Pushing his gloved digits forcefully into your mouth, the rough fabric feels disgusting on your tongue. His fingers capture the lower part of your jaw, tearing your mouth apart with deranged strength. A loud cry escapes from you as he stuffs your empty mouth full of his cock, “Yeah, that’s more like it. Fuck.” he bottoms out into your throat, his shaft hitting the back of your throat making you gag, “get on with it. A slut like you would have the experience, right?” he taunts you. You do as he says, puckering your lips firmly around his length, your hands resting on his exposed thighs while you stroke him with your tongue. You feel his chiseled thigh muscles flex under your fingers as he melts in pleasure, tiny moans leaving his lips shamelessly.

As Hawks drowns in overwhelming pleasure, a criminal idea crosses your mind. Your eyes trail up to his face. His eyes are screwed close, he bites his lower lip softly. Carefully and slowly, you graze your teeth over his cock. Clamping down on it lightly, you hold your position. Your heart beats faster when Hawks stiffens and in a quick flash, he pushes you off his cock throwing you into the ground before backing up, squealing in pain.

“YOU LITTLE BITCH!” he screams, you sprint to the door. Trembling fingers try to unlock the doorknob while Hawks cries in agony behind you. You can feel him loom behind you, ready to come for your neck. A part of you tells you that you will not make it but the adrenaline rushing in your veins calls to be hopeful. Just open the door and just run.

Your cold, quivering fingers almost unlock the heavy wooden door but before you can push it open. Hawks appears right behind you, pushing his body onto your back. You feel his cock poking at your ass, his hand grabs your head pulling you, prying you off the door. You scream and cry trying to break free, grabbing his hand clawing on it to let you free. Hawks chooses to show no mercy as he drags you by your hair to his desk, your scalp hurts from his grip. You can feel tiny strands breakaway. He turns you around and slams your back to his wooden desk, you whimper at the contact. He stands in front of you, pressing his knee between your thighs. His hand reaches out to pull at your collar, forcing you to look at him.

He is livid, eyebrows furrowed with a death glare his jaw clenched, and his eyes darker than you have ever seen before. He looks at you with murderous intent, you think he might as well kill you with his wings flared open. The feathers turning into knives, you beg for your life.

Hawks observes your face. Broken, scared for your life your eyes are glassy, ridden in fear your makeup smeared all over your face. He thinks it's beautiful, he has finally got you begging for mercy, finally thinking of him as the man he is. He appreciates your submission but it does not erase the fact that you just bite oh his dick. You beg for mercy, your voice is small and broken. It comes barely above a whisper, “I am so sorry hawks, please don’t do this.” He doesn’t listen, staring at you head-on with his jaw clenched. He brings his free hand to the air, keeping it steady for a second before bringing it down with a horrendous force. You feel it before it happens; white, hot flashing pain erupts through your cheek stinging you hard. You cry out in agony as your face drops to the other side. The strike was powerful, it left you sore, you can still feel it sting your face. It leaves you swollen, you try to bring your hand up to your face lightly to carcasses you paining cheek but Hawks pushes your face on the wooden desk before you could, trapping your arms behind your back holding it with one hand. “You don’t realize your position, do you? You know what? I was going- planning to be gentle with you. I thought I would at least make you cum but now,” he pulls a feather out his wings preceding to tear open your pencil skirt with the sharp end. The ripped fabric falls to the ground leaving you in your panties and the pantyhose you always wear under your skirts, “There we go. I hope you are a pain slut, otherwise you would really not enjoy this.” he says with a small chuckle before ripping you out of your bottoms, leaving you in your panties completely vulnerable to him. He abandons his gloves, rubbing his fingers on your clothed cunt roughly trying to gather slickness from your dry hole. Pleasure shoots down your body as his digits find your clit, rubbing tight circles on the little pearl, “Does this feel good? You are getting wet.” a smirk scars his face, “Who gets off to being raped?” he says sharply. Your face scrunches up in disgust and embarrassment. A heavy lump forms in your throat and the waterworks that you had been holding off burst open. Big, fat tears roll down your cheeks as you cry for mercy. You didn't know why this was happening to you, for your entire life you had been a nice person: always helpful, sensitive, and kind. At least, that was what you thought yourself to be. Never in a million years could you- or anyone, in fact, could have ever thought that you would be crying pathetically while your boss: a person known to all as a Hero, the truest, most honest person to exist ever would be the one defiling you, tearing you down to nothing just for his pleasure.

“Shut up, you like this.” He snarls at you, so sick of your loud wails he even shoves two fingers inside your mouth plunging them to the back of her throat, “Don’t you dare bite now, slut.” he warns. His fingers stop prodding at your clit when he notices the wet spot forming on your panties, he wastes no time shimming them down to your ankles, whistling when he sees your glistening pussy. You only wail louder pleading him not proceed any further. Hawks turns a blind eye to all your begging, “I should just shove it in, right?” he asks petting his finger over your hole, “but that won’t be fun,” he snickers. You feel his move away from your cunt and move higher. Panic settles, he couldn't be serious, “Hawks. Please no. Please don’t. I don-” finger rims along your asshole, inching to dip in, “What? Don’t want me to fuck your ass?” he spanks your ass hard making you flinch, “Please I’ve never-” you cry out hoping he would understand, “No one’s ever fucked you in the ass before?” you whine at the lewd words which shamelessly fall from his lips, “Guess there’s a first for everything.” he says with a scoff.

His digits bury into your hole, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. The stretch burns, filling a fresh set of tears rolling down your eyes, smudging your mascara and eyeliner You looked like a whore. He keeps hammering his fingers inside you without mercy, a loud whine leaves your lips as you feel a tingle of pleasure from him hitting the right spot. “Do you like that? Too bad, this isn’t for you.” he moves his fingers from you before lining his fat cock to your almost too tiny hole, “How will this fit?” he laughs to himself, pressing his engorged tip in slowly, “Will be a tight fit,” he continues to shove his cock into your hole, his face turns off one to ecstasy as your walls take him inch by inch. You scream in pain, his cock was much bigger than his fingers. It was stretching you out, numbing your mind and soul, you did not know how much more you could take. Salty tears fell from your eyes as Hawks bottomed himself in you, he waited for a moment before starting to thrust into you unforgivingly. Dragging his fat cock out and your walls pulling him right back in. As he kept ramming into you. Slowly, you start to pleasure tingle up your spine as his tip smashed against the right spots. Your cries of pain turn to pleasurable moans. Hawks wastes no time in teasing you, “Look at you moaning like a slut,” he spanks your ass with swift force sending your rear to sting. You feel unbearable pleasure starting to build up in your abdomen, a straining coil wanting to burst which each of Hawks’ strong thrusts yet it is left unfilled as the simulation is not enough to make you cum from all alone. Hawks notices this, the pitiful crying for him to touch your swollen little clit which was begging to be played with. He almost thought he would give it to you, after all, he was a good person. Almost.

Hawks just snicker, his cruel, sadistic laugh echoing in the room, “No, no, no.” he teases, “no matter how much you cry, baby. I am not letting you cum. This is your punishment, you deserve this. You’ve been a bad girl.” Hawks couldn’t formulate how he was able to form complete sentences. The moment he had caught you, he had let himself go feral. Dragging you down like a predator, he finally had you under him. He kept grunting and breathing profanity down your ear along with shameful praises about how well your slutty ass takes him. He is glad he is finally getting his much-deserved relief but he is not done yet. He won’t be done until he is filling your vulnerable womb with his seed, he won’t be done until he hears you asking him to give you his children. He is not going to leave you be until he has destroyed you, balls deep in your tiny pussy. He is going to keep you here all night fucking you, he is going to stay there all night fucking you with hate which he has buried within himself for you over the years. He is going to melt you in his hand, break you until only he can build you up, and maybe he will not let you go even after that. Maybe he will keep you after all hawks mate for life.

Just hope he lets you cum the next time.

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

Text

Secret Santa

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When you pick Loki’s name for Secret Santa, you are at a loss for what to get him. Some quality time with the God of Mischief sheds some light on the situation. Warnings: pure, unadulterated fluff; very long A/N: It’s almost Christmas now; less than a week to go! And a big thank you to my best friend @lokistan for writing the beautiful poetry for this story. I love you my bean! Happy reading all :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs @gaitwae

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“Oh my gosh, thank you Nat!” you said, throwing your arms around her shoulders in a hug. She had been your Secret Santa and gotten you the expensive jacket you’d been wanting for months. “It’s perfect.”

Christmas Eve in the Avengers Tower was full of laughter and drinks as the team exchanged Secret Santa gifts. Tomorrow morning you’d be opening regular presents, so it was tradition to set this aside for the night before. It was more fun that way, maybe because you could focus solely on the excitement of learning who had picked your name.

“You’re welcome. I know you were nervous about being able to pull it off, but it’ll look great on you,” she reassured, hugging you back. “Ok, now it’s your turn.”

You shot a nervous glance at Peter, who flashed a thumbs up. Thor, who was sitting next to you, pat your back. You stood and picked up the carefully wrapped package, all decorated in gold and green. You were nervous about what you had picked, but whether the recipient liked it or not, you were happy that this anxiety of if it was good enough or not would be over. You’d rather know. After all, you’d been feeling this way ever since you’d picked the name a week earlier...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright everyone,” Tony said, holding a stocking filled with little pieces of paper. “It’s time for Secret Santa. And remember, if you get me, cash is accepted.”

You gathered around with the rest of the team as they started to pick names. You said a little prayer that you would get Peter, your best friend, seeing as you already had about thirty different gift ideas for him. Wanda would be pretty easy, too, as you were also really close with her. In fact, looking around, you were able to come up with at least some scrap of an idea for almost everyone. Almost being the operative word. By the time Tony got to you, there was only one slip left. As you stuck your hand in the stocking, you made a silent wish that it wouldn’t be the one person you had no clue what to get for.

Please, you thought. Please be someone I know. Please don’t be...

Loki.

“And that concludes the name picking process,” Tony announced as you cast a dismayed look at the four-letter name on the paper. “You have a week to figure it out, so good luck.

“Remember, no swapping!” Steve added as the group began to disperse.

You looked around for the trickster, wondering why he was even participating. It’s not that you didn’t want him to, just that it didn’t seem like his kind of thing. From the way he was clenching his fists and scowling, you still guessed it wasn’t. Not like you really knew him all that well, unfortunately. When he’d come to the Tower, Loki seemed like he preferred the solitude. You often wondered if you should have made more of an effort to be his friend, wished that you had. There was this one time you were both reading Macbeth in a common area and had gotten into a very animated discussion about it. Nothing more ever really came of that, though, as he left for a mission the next day and didn’t return until two weeks later. By then, you’d both moved onto different books.

Later, you made a trip to the library, hoping to solve the enigma that is the God of Mischief. You were the only two people who went in their regularly and more than half the conversations you’d had with him had been held in that room. Granted they were all short, but you figured it was a start. In fact, you found yourself rather wanting to have a conversation with him right now. Yes, because of the Secret Santa thing, but also because they’d been getting more frequent recently. With every one, you realized how much you enjoyed talking to him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in his usual spot by the crackling fire. You considered just leaving, but decided you should at least make some use of this trip. You’d seen him reading some works by James Joyce most recently, and you went to go look for the one he’d had last. Maybe seeing what he likes to read could give you some gift ideas. Your eyes scanned the shelves, but you couldn’t find it. It was possible you were just remembering the cover wrong. Just as you were about to give up, someone tapped your shoulder.

“Pardon me,” Loki said as you whipped around. “I think you may be looking for this.”

He held out the copy of the book you’d been looking for and raised an eyebrow when you just stared at him blankly for a second. Who could blame you, though? He was standing rather close, and he was... Well, quite frankly, he was hot. With his raven black hair framing his smooth, pale skin, and with striking blue-green eyes that stare into your soul, he was the most handsome man you’d ever met. Then again, he wasn’t really a man, was he?

“Oh, uh, yes. Yes I am,” you said, coming to your senses. “Thank you. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much so. I have read it five times now. I apologize for that, if you were looking for it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for.” He looked rather surprised that you would say such a thing, and you briefly wondered how many times people had made him apologize unnecessarily. “You could even just keep it if you want.”

“No, that is alright. At least, not until you have gotten to read it, too. Perhaps we could discuss it?” he said hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping.

You looked at the title in your hands. Dubliners. You’d read a few of the short stories in high school and hadn’t enjoyed them much. But you were older now, so maybe your tastes had changed. Either way, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have another conversation with Loki. That slight smile and those intelligent eyes were just too captivating.

“That’s a wonderful idea. May I ask what your favorite is?”

“A good question. I think I will have to say Eveline. The way she ends up trapped, the mere emotion in the implication... It’s exquisitely done.”

“Wow, Loki, you have such a way with words. You’re beautiful,” you told him without thinking. As his eyes widened, you realized what you’d said and tried to cover it up. “I, um, I meant that that’s beautiful. The, ah, way you weave words. Sorry, I obviously don’t have the same ability.”

“It is quite alright. They do not call me silver-tongue for nothing, you know,” he said, though he was blushing now. “Still, I look forward to hearing your thoughts. But for now, my dear mortal, I must bid you goodbye. I have a sparring session with my brother to get to.”

He swept into a small, princely bow that made your heart stutter. Hugging the book to your chest, you waved goodbye, feeling much more awkward than he had been. You were also about a hundred times more determined to get Loki a perfect gift. You looked at the book again. It was a special first edition, unfortunately, and you couldn’t really do better than that. Besides, you got the impression he appreciated books more when they were well-loved. So, you could scratch that idea off the list.

You sighed and headed to your room for the night. Maybe an inspiration board could help you figure things out. Unfortunately, that led to you having a poster board with pictures solely of Loki. You’d meant to add other things, but you’d gotten so caught up in how beautiful he looked with his soft pink lips and carefully styled hair and... Ok, maybe you had the slightest, tiniest crush on the trickster god, but it was silly. You’d hardly even been friends for half a year. And yet, he was very hard to resist. You ended up destroying your project, cringing at the idea of anyone finding it and taking it the wrong way.

The next morning you woke up just as idealess as you had been the night before. You had been hoping that you could figure something out if you slept on it, but to no avail. Frustrated, you kicked your blankets off and got ready to attack the day. You absolutely hated the fact that you couldn’t come up with a gift idea on your own, and the last thing you wanted to have to do was ask someone else.

Splashing some water on your face, you had another idea that you quickly shut down. You’d thought for a second that maybe you could buy him some cologne, but then you realized you had no idea what scent or brand he used. In fact, you weren’t sure he used and fragrance at all. The smell of leather, pine, and old books that he had just suited him so well you couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a natural thing. Either way, he always smelled so safe, so wonderful. You cursed yourself for letting your thoughts take that turn again. It was a lot easier to ignore this crush when you didn’t have to be thinking about him 24/7.

Traipsing into the kitchen, you found Peter and Thor having an animated conversation about what was better, pecan or pumpkin pie. You wondered if you could bake something for Loki as a gift, then you realized that still required knowing what he likes. You would get him tea, but you already knew for a fact that was what Thor had gotten him as a regular present. Plus it was a special Asgardian blend, so there was no way you could top that.

“Good morning, guys,” you greeted as you tried to decide what to eat for breakfast.

“Morning,” they chorused back.

You bit your lip, coming to a split second decision. “Can I ask you two a question. It’s about Secret Santa.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Peter said while you took a seat across from them.

“Ok, this is top secret, right? So don’t tell anybody.” They both eagerly nodded their heads. “I know you’re both friends with Loki, and well, I picked his name. I have no clue what to get him, though. Any ideas?”

“I have the perfect idea!” Thor declared as you motioned for him to keep his voice down. “Get him some causal Midgardian clothes. You have excellent taste, I am sure he will love whatever you pick out.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Are you sure that’s not just what you want for him? I mean, he seems plenty happy to wear his Asgardian clothes around the Tower. And there’s nothing wrong with dressing up when you go out.” You sighed when Thor just seemed confused by your words, not understanding that his brother had embraced the Midgardian style as much as he wanted to. “I’ll just consider that a back-up plan for now. What about you, Peter? Any thoughts?”

“What if we just went shopping together?” he excitedly suggested. “Then if we see something we think is good, we can just point it out.”

You hurriedly agreed, anxious to get the gift-buying out of the way. The plan was to head out right after your training session with Nat and Steve. Unfortunately, that meant you were distracted nearly the whole time, leaving you with a few more bruises than normal. You loved your teammates to death, but boy did they ever need to learn how to ease up a little in practice. You stayed a few minutes extra to do some cool down stretches, and in waltzed the trickster god who had been occupying so much of your brain space recently. The way he was flipping and catching his daggers as he walked was slightly mesmerizing.

“My apologies,” he said, noticing you. “I did not think there was anyone else in here. I can come back later if you still need the space.”

“No!” you shouted as he began to turn away. It was a bit louder than you had meant to say it, and you mentally kicked yourself. “I mean, I was just on my way out, so please, stay.”

He smiled and set his things down on the bench next to yours. You eyed the daggers that had just been wielded by his expertly trained hands moments ago.

“May I?” you asked, gesturing to them.

He picked one up and handed it to you. Turning it over in your hands, you noticed that handles were slightly worn, but it was still excellently crafted. The blade had obviously been sharpened a great number of times before and was looking like it might need to be again. You’d never personally used a dagger in battle, but the way Loki was so graceful with them made a part of you want to.

“To be very precise with such a weapon,” Loki began as if reading your thoughts, “requires great focus and skill. There is no room for error when used to block another’s attack, and to deliver a powerful blow, you must strike in just the right spot.” A shiver of excitement shot down your spine as he picked up his other blade and began adeptly demonstrating, moving like a flowing river as he sliced the air. “It is much smaller than most weapons, sure. However, it is just as deadly. And if the sword is an extension of your body, the same can be said for the dagger tenfold.”

You blinked a couple times, beyond impressed by his majestic, fluid movements. It was breathtaking. He was breathtaking. Now you just had to find a way to say that without sounding obsessed.

“Wow, Loki,” you finally gasped, unable to hide your amazement. “I don’t know how you do it, but you even make weapons sound beautiful. And you’re very talented, too. I could never,” you nervously laughed.

“You are too kind to me, my dear mortal,” he said, and you felt a spark of pride in your chest that you were making him blush yet again. “You are not kind enough to yourself, though. I am certain you would be excellent. Perhaps you just need to find a teacher.”

“Would you teach me?” you asked, oddly worried to do so. You tried to calm your swelling nerves.

“Well, I did not mean to imply that I should be your instructor, for I fear that I would not be very good at it.” He watched your smile falter just the tiniest bit and found himself rushing to bring it back to full strength. “However, if you so desire, I can certainly try. I must warn you, it will not be easy.”

“Loki, you’d really do that for me?” Your heart beat a little faster in your chest as he shyly nodded his head yes. “I would love to. And don’t worry about going easy; I want to be as good as you.”

“Excellent! We shall have out first lesson, say, at the start of the New Year?”

After the plans were set, you excused yourself so you could meet your friends for shopping. You were late as it was, and you still had to go freshen up. The whole reason for the trip was you, and you’d feel bad to keep them waiting much longer. Still, you stole one last glance at Loki before exiting.

Hours later, you still had no gift for Loki. You barely even had an idea, much to your dismay. Peter and Thor kept pointing out little trinkets, a couple of which you did pick up as a regular gift for him, but your Secret Santa gift had to be a showstopper. Something about him drew you in, and you wanted to give him the most amazing present you could. If only it weren’t so difficult.

You were walking down a street when you happened to notice the trickster god himself in one of the store windows. You waved your companions on with the excuse you wanted to check something out for one of them and entered the shop Loki was at. For a second you considered just watching him to try to get some ideas, but that was quickly dashed when he let out a sigh of frustration. He just looked so perplexed and adorably aggravated.

“Hey, Loki,” you greeted after clearing your throat. “Funny running into you here. Are you alright?”

“Hello, my dear mortal. Thank you for asking,” he said. “I am alright. It is just this blasted Secret Santa.”

“I know what you mean,” you replied before you could help yourself. “But I’m, uh, not going to say who it is. I mean, you can tell me if you want to, but I’ve already told so many people it’ll hardly be a secret if anyone else knows,” you covered your tracks.

“Ah, I see. It is supposed to be a secret, and I do so ever hate to crack under the pressure, but I find myself in dire need of assistance. Do you suppose you could help?”

You beamed at him as you realized you’d talked with him more in the past few days than you had in the last three weeks. If there was one thing you knew, it was you had better be careful, or you’d get addicted to the sound of his voice. You were on thin ice with this crush as it was, you really shouldn’t let it blossom into more.

“Sure! I’d love to. Who do you have?” you finally said, looking around the store. “Wait, let me guess. Steve?”

“Stark.”

“Oh. Well, he did say cash was fine,” you giggled.

“Believe me, I was tempted,” Loki chuckled along with you. “But I promised Thor I would make more of an effort this time around. I do not know what he is talking about, though. Bruce loved his socks last year!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth as your loud laughter garnered a few stares from other shoppers. Loki’s eyes held only soft admiration, though, and your hands got a little sweaty from how nervous that made you. You subtly wiped them on your pants as you calmed down.

“Well, it you want to get something more personal, I might have an idea.”

“By all means, do tell,” he urged.

“You know that tool set he was talking about the other day?” you questioned, but were met with a blank stare. “I’ll take that as a no, but he was saying he didn’t want to get them because he doesn’t actually need them.”

“When has that ever stopped him before?” Loki scoffed.

“I guess he’s trying something new,” you shrugged. “But anyway, if you got them it would show you were thinking about what he actually liked and stuff. Or maybe that’s dumb, sorry.”

“No, no, it is a splendid idea!” he was quick to reassure you. For a second it seemed as if he was going to reach out and touch your shoulder, but then he thought better of it. “You do not happen to know where they are sold, do you?”

You nodded and led him out of the store you were in, towards the place where he could buy them. You were waiting at a corner for a light to change, amicably chatting. Nothing groundbreaking, just small talk. Regardless, it made your heart beat just a little faster. Still engrossed in the conversation, you took a step out into the crosswalk when the light said it was safe to go. You didn’t notice the car speeding towards you until Loki grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his chest. You gasped as he glared after the driver, who gave no acknowledgement or apology to you. The god’s arms were wrapped around you in a protective manner, and you looked up at his face, appreciating his beauty at this close angle. Given what had just happened, probably not the thing you should be focusing on.

“My dear mortal,” he fretted, looking down at you, not yet letting go. “Are you alright? You are not injured at all, are you? Shall I take you to the hospital wing to make sure?”

“I’m ok,” you reassured him, though a part of you didn’t want to. He seemed about ready to scoop you up and use his godly strength to carry you home. Alas, your moral compass decided that wouldn’t be very fair to him. “Just a little shaken, but you saved me. Thank you, Loki. That doesn’t really cut it, but thank you so much.”

“Do not mention it. I am just glad you are alright,” he replied, though his voice did still have a tint of worry to it. Maybe you were imaging it, but he seemed almost reluctant to let you go from his tight embrace. “Now, you may carefully lead the way. Carefully,” he emphasized.

With a giggle, you brought him to the store where the tools were. After browsing the aisles for a few minutes, the two of you found the shelf they were on. With a frown, you examined the price tag.

“Sorry, Loki,” you said. “I didn’t realize how expensive it was.”

“It is fine,” he replied, looking at the cost himself. “This is actually plenty within my price range.”

You waited outside of the busy store while he made his purchase and checked your phone. You felt a pang of guilt as you noticed a number of missed texts from Peter and Thor.

Sorry guys, you texted the group chat. Ran into someone I know and got carried away. Carry on without me.

Don’t worry, came Peter’s reply. See you back home :)

You pocketed your phone as Loki walked back out, giving you a smile. You looked at the ground to keep yourself from saying something stupid.

“I hope I am not keeping you from anything,” he said as you started walking back towards the Tower. “Is there any shopping I can assist you with?”

You lamented the irony of the situation. Despite the entire point of this venture being to buy a gift for Loki, you were still empty handed. It was tempting to try to ask him what he wanted, but you were sure he was far more clever than you were subtle.

“No, I’m good, thanks. But if you don’t mind my asking, how do you have so much money?” you asked to satisfy your curiosity. “I mean, Tony’s always complaining about how you use his credit card.”

“That, my dear mortal, is simply because I can,” he replied as you both laughed. “I have been around for much longer than you might imagine. I have amassed a certain amount of wealth in my many years.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool, actually. You’re making me wish I was an immortal being,” you joked.

“And tell me, my dear mortal, if you were to treat yourself to something nice, what would it be?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’d go to a nice restaurant,” you finally said. “It doesn’t have to be anything too far from home. Oh! Like, Nobu has really good sushi.”

“Well then, perhaps I will have to pay for us to have a meal there sometime.”

“Yeah! I bet the team would really like that.”

“Actually,” he sheepishly said, bringing you to a stop on the sidewalk, “I meant for just the two of us to go. That is, if you would like to. Maybe one day after we start our training. You are not obligated to say yes, though. The offer for me to pay is still open if you would like to take another friend instead of me.”

“Loki, no. That’s so generous, of course I’d love to go with you,” you reassured him, settling a hand on his arm. Though, admittedly, you were beyond flustered, especially when you realized how that last sentence sounded. “I mean as friends, of course. It sounds amazing, thank you.”

“Well then, I look forward to it.” He brought his hand to rest on yours, and goosebumps erupted on your skin, not only from his cold touch, but the wave of excitement you felt. “And speaking of our lessons, I was thinking you may want some daggers of your own. We do not have to get them now but-”

“That’s it!” you suddenly shouted, then apologized for cutting him off. “Can I borrow your daggers, Loki? To go get myself a pair?”

He offered to come with you, but you waved him off, saying you’d be fine on your own. It was a little suspicious, he thought, but decided to drop it. Handing you the weapons, he bid you goodbye. As soon as he was out of eyesight, you examined the daggers, trying to get a clear picture in your mind of what you wanted.

A few quick stops later, and after gaining permission from Tony, you were in the lab, carefully crafting Loki’s gift. It took a few days, and you were by no means used to doing this kind of thing, but you were finally satisfied with the finished product. You wrapped it and then hid it with the rest of your presents, just waiting to be given to their recipients. With only a few days left until Christmas Eve, you were filled with an anxious excitement to give Loki his gift. There was nothing left to do but hope that he likes it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...You looked everywhere but at Loki as you approached him, nerves bubbling in your stomach. By the time you reached him, his mouth had curled into a soft smile. It occurred to you that you’d never seen him look that way at anyone but you. Building on the confidence that thought brought, you held out the gift.

“Here, Loki,” you told him, averting your gaze again. “This is for you.”

You perched on the edge of the coffee table across from him as he accepted the package with a thank you. There was some light chatter coming from the rest of your teammates, but it felt like the only people in the world at this moment were you and Loki, his fingers skillfully unwrapping the present. You sat on your hands to keep from fidgeting with them. It took all your focus to keep your eyes on Loki and not wandering the room in anticipation. As he opened the lid of the box and revealed what was inside, his mouth formed into a surprised “o”.

He picked up the gift, a pair of new daggers, each with a gold hilt. His name was engraved on it, and there was a band of emeralds at the top and bottom. You’d made them the same dimensions as his old ones.

“My dear mortal,” he breathed in awe, his eyes full of sincerity, coming up to met yours. “This is so thoughtful, so beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Loki. I’m really glad you like it.”

“I do. I love it,” he replied, taking your hand in his for the briefest of moments. He pulled away before anyone could really think anything of it. Neither of you said anything else, instead just staring into each other’s eyes.

“Ok, Reindeer Games,” Tony said, interrupting the moment you were sharing with Loki. “Now it’s your turn. So, who’d you get?”

“Well, actually, I picked your name, Stark. Here,” he said, nonchalantly handing over the gift. Though he seemed completely uninterested, you could tell he was a little nervous. “For you.”

“Alright, let’s see what it is. I swear, this better not be socks or-” Tony cut off, seeing the very thing he wanted. “Wow, Rock of Ages. This is really thoughtful. Thanks. I had no idea you actually listened,” he finished with a laugh.

“You are quite welcome,” Loki said, but he was more looking at you than Tony.

Later that evening, after all the gifts were given out, you were sitting by the fireplace, waiting for the flames to completely die out. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, your feet pulled up next to you, a blanket draped over your shoulders, and a book open on your lap.

“My dear mortal,” Loki’s voice suddenly said as he appeared in the doorway, pulling you from the words on the page. “I thought you were supposed to be in bed, lest Santa skip this house and move onto the next.”

“Yes, but I have to make sure the fire goes out so he can get in,” you laughed, playing along. “As long as I’m up, I wouldn’t mind some company. Care to join me?”

Wordlessly, he sat down, and you closed your book. The both of you just stared at the dying flames in a peaceful silence for a while. Your mind seemed to be content to be filled with thoughts of Loki; the way he was sitting so close, the way his hands kept brushing his hair away from his face every few moments, the way he’d looked at you earlier when he’d received your gift. After you weren’t sure exactly how long, he gently said your name, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?” you replied.

“I truly do your love your gift. It is beyond lovely, your generosity and thoughtfulness a true reflection of what is in your brilliant soul.”

“Loki, I can’t even express how happy I am to hear that. And thank you for your beautiful words.”

“Speaking of,” he nervously said, “the gift that I have for you, it is, well, my words. A poem. I am sorry to say, I would be a little self-conscious to give it to you in front of everyone else. Would I... Would I be able to recite it to you now?”

“Of course, Loki. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m just grateful that you’re willing to share it with me.”

“Alright then, my dear mortal. Here goes nothing.”

You shifted to a more position as he took a deep breath and opened up a journal. You waited with bated breath as he began to speak.

“From your eyes that shine as the brightest stars, to your smile that's a reflection of your radiant heart. From your gentle hands that fit as though they belong in mine, to your laugh that stops my perception of time. You've shown me kindness when I didn't feel I deserved it, you welcomed me into your world with a caring embrace and showed me I am not my mistakes. My heart beats stronger for you, the love that I feel couldn't be more true. If you will have me, I will show you the world, for you have shown me the universe, the place also known as your touch, as your mind, as your heart, as your soul. You, you are my universe.”

He looked at you expectantly, but with a hesitation understandable given what he’d just confessed. You wanted to tell him how you felt just as eloquently, but were dumbstruck that the feelings were even reciprocated.

“Loki,” you said, holding his cold hands in your warm ones. “That’s so beautiful and I-I love you, too.”

He seemed just as shocked as you that the feeling could be mutual. He squeezed your hands, at a loss for words for the first time since you’d known him. With no one to interrupt you this time, you remained lost in each other’s emotion-filled eyes. It was Loki who broke the silence.

“My dear mortal, I... May I kiss you?”

You answered by surging forward and pressing your lips to his. His hands came to cup your cheeks, and yours found his hair, tangling themselves in his dark locks. He tasted like heaven, and you sighed against his mouth. You could have stayed that way forever, and yet it could never be enough. Sadly, you had to pull away, but Loki was quick to pull you against him, holding you to his chest as if he didn’t believe you’d stay, didn’t believe he could have something so wonderful.

You stayed like that for a while, conveying things even words couldn’t say in the silence, just holding each other. Eventually, you began talking, enjoying the way a light conversation was flowing between you. Your eyes were drooping shut as you snuggled against his chest, the final embers of the fire going out. You glanced at the clock and saw that it read midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” you whispered. “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, my dear mortal. I could write you a thousand poems, and still I would never properly express how much I feel the same.”

As sleep slowly claimed you, it occurred to you that you may have never even admitted how you feel without the whole Secret Santa ordeal. It seemed that it had revealed more secrets than you’d ever expected, and for that, you’d be forever grateful.

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nothere-notthere-nowhere · 4 years ago

Text

Studying

Word count: 1704

Pairing: Natasha x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: panic attack, let me know if I missed any

Summary: Studying for an exam is overwhelming. Nat helps.

A/N: Hi! So, this is very much just me projecting my own thoughts and feelings onto the reader lol. There’s no real romance here, just Nat being a good friend. I also did not edit this, so I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes.

It was late, you realized as you closed your textbook. You’d been studying for some stupid math final the next day and time had clearly gotten away from you.

Balancing avenger work with being a full-time student was difficult but you enjoyed it, for the most part. Thankfully, it was online schooling so you were able to complete work on your own time, but it was still difficult. Deciding to go back to school in your mid twenties had been a big step for you.

You’d always hated school. It never came easy, despite being a science genius. You were what most people called brilliant. You thought it was just being creative. You thought in a different way than most people. Tony Stark had sought you out when you were fresh out of high school right before the invasion of New York.

But, despite having a secure job working for the avengers in the compound, you had decided it wouldn’t be a bad thing to go back to school. Just because you were good at making supersuits and other technological advancement-esque stuff didn’t mean you were that smart.

For example, calc two was kicking your ass right now. Making new impact resistant polymer suits for the gang was a hell of a lot easier for you than whatever the fuck this textbook was trying to explain.

“Stupid math,” you groaned, rubbing a hand over your face as you looked back down at the problem you’d already tried to solve four times. There was no way in hell you were going to pass this class.

Fighting back tears of frustration as you crumpled up the paper, you stood from your desk. It was near three in the morning and you were exhausted. But you would not let yourself fail this exam. Your grade in the class was already less than acceptable and failing your final would definitely leave you with an F.

You walked to the kitchen quietly, not wanting to wake anyone. Coffee would surely settle you down and give you enough energy to make it until the morning. You had to figure this out.

“I told you to ask Tony or Bruce for help,” Natasha’s voice startled you.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” You asked, drying your eyes before you turned to her.

“No, don’t worry.” She had an amused look on her face. “You’re still on calc, right?”

“Yeah,” your shoulders slumped. “But I have to be able to do this on my own. I shouldn’t have to annoy them with questions about basic math all the time.”

“Calculus is not basic math.” Natasha snorts at you.

“To them it is.”

“Well, make sure you go to sleep at some point, okay?” The concern in her eyes was evident and you just nodded, grabbing the cup of coffee you’d just brewed.

You took a sip before making your way back to your room. The textbook sat right where you’d left it and the sight of it bright a fresh wave of tears.

You were a scientist for the avengers, damn it. Why were you crying over math? But your parents words flashed through your brain, reminding you that you were just a stupid kid.

The relationship between you and your parents had always been rocky. They had held you to unachievable standards and no matter how much effort you put into school, they were never satisfied. And they always made sure you knew that.

“You think you’ll get anywhere in life with grades like these?” your father had shouted at you many times. “You’re just lazy. Do you know how much money we pay for you to go to this school? And this is how you repay us? You’re embarrassing.”

Your hand shook as you picked up your pencil once again, trying to figure out that stupid problem. There were so many rules and steps and none of them made sense to you!

When the answer you got still didn’t match the one in the textbook, you slammed your pencil down with a scoff.

“You’re so stupid!” You said to yourself, tears leaking from your eyes. You started to erase your own writing again, when you glanced at the time, half past three. You were never going to figure this out.

It was becoming hard to read the problems through your watery eyes as you fought back the tears. You had to figure this out! But it was no use, you dropped your head onto the desk, holding in sobs.

Your thoughts began to run with your father’s words. Embarrassing, lazy, stupid. You felt that familiar sense of self-loathing begin to rise within you and you were helpless. This wasn’t even the last unit you had to learn before your final.

You were overwhelmed and you didn’t realize that your chest was tightening or your breath was becoming short. But when you lost feeling in your hands, and your face was tense and tingling, it was obvious.

You were having a panic attack.

You were no stranger to these, of course. But, that didn’t make it any easier. It had been quite some time since you’d had a panic attack this severe, too, which made it that much scarier.

You slid off your chair, pressing your back against the wall and pulling your knees up to your chest. You screwed your eyes shut, the heels of your shaking hands pressing into your eyes. If you had more control over the situation, you’d have tried to quiet your hyperventilation.

A soft touch to your hand brought you somewhat back to reality.

“Y/N,” a soft voice called. Your fingers instinctively clutched at the hand that pulled yours away from your face.

“Y/N, you’re okay. I’m right here.” Nat’s voice was softer than you may have ever heard it before.

“Nat, I-I,” you choked out, trying to say anything.

“No, don’t talk. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Her free hand rested on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Can you breathe with me?”

You tried to follow her soft ‘In’ and ‘out’ over and over. Your breaths were forced, almost painful as the panic refused to let up.

“Good job, dorogoy,” You felt the redhead scoot next to you, her arm wrapping around your shaking frame. “You’re doing amazing, I’ve got you.”

She pulled you into her gently. You were starting to gain the feeling back into your hands, and your facial muscles seemed to loosen just slightly. But, you were still shaking violently as you tried to stop yourself from sobbing.

“You’re okay,” Nat soothed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m here.”

You leaned into her, balling your fist up in her shirt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked after you had nearly stopped crying.

“I’m gonna fail,” you whimpered. You felt pathetic.

“You know,” Nat sighed, “who cares?”

“What?” Her words confuse you.

“You are smart, Y/N. You already have a job, and after working for Stark, you could get in anywhere if you decided to leave. This is one class and regardless of how you do on the final, no one will think any less of you.”

“But-”

“No,” Nat cut you off. “Your grades in some stupid college class don’t matter. I promise, even if you do fail, we’ve all seen how hard you’ve worked in each of your classes. That’s what matters. Your work ethic and your commitment to your studies is worth so much more than sacrificing your wellbeing to secure a passing grade.”

“I feel so stupid.”

“You shouldn't. It’s a tough class. You should be proud of yourself for trying, even if you don’t get the results you wanted.”

“I just wanted to prove them wrong. Even if they wouldn’t know. I wanted to prove to them I was smart. But they were right, I’m just stupid.”

Your words hang in the air for a moment. Natasha knows you’re talking about your parents. They’d all heard about the verbal abuse you’d suffered through at the hands of the people who’d raised you.

“You are not stupid.” She tells you firmly. “You are brilliant. You’ve created a new polymer that is even better at stopping bullets than vibranium while also working as a material for clothing. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Yeah, but…”

“This is just one subject. I sure as hell can’t do calculus! You’re good at what you’re good at. I’m good at kicking ass, Clint’s good with a bow, Wanda’s good at… well magic. You’re good at science shit.”

You were silent. You knew she had a point.

“I know that won’t make you feel better about this.” Natasha explains. “But you can’t beat yourself up for this. You need to take care of yourself. Let’s go to bed, now, and we can ask Tony or Bruce for help in the morning.”

“I need to study,” you start.

“No, you need sleep.” Natasha’s voice is firm again. “You can’t sacrifice your health or your sanity for a test. You are more important than a test.”

“Okay.” You weren’t entirely convinced but, for now, your parent’s words were fading away.

Natasha helps you up before wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. You savor the comfort of her embrace, before realizing just how exhausted you are.

“Get in bed,” Natasha nudges you towards the bed. You lay down, eyes closing as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Nat pulls the blanket up before turning towards the door.

“Wait,” you call, hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?” You bite the inside of your cheek. “Please?”

“Of course, dorogoy,” Natasha smiles at you as she slides into bed next to you.

“Thank you,” you mutter, laying your head on her chest as her arms wrap around you tightly. She presses a gentle kiss to your head.

You know you’ll freak in the morning when you have to think about the final again. But Natasha was here now, and Bruce and Tony would be there in the morning. It would be okay. One failed exam, one failed class-- hell, even every class failed-- was no indication of your worth. And Nat would be there to remind you if you ever forgot.

#natasha romanoff #marvel #natasha x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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whumpersdump · 3 years ago

Text

Project Rebirth - CH4: Final Touches

Content! From Whumper’s POV. (They’ll get a title soon btw, I just haven’t decided on a name yet).

[ Previous ] -- [ Masterlist ]

TW: (None of these are graphic) Restraints / blink-and-you-miss it use of “it” as a pronoun / dehuminization / non-con surgery (non-graphic, whumpee isn’t awake) / lab whump / pet whump / sedation / sensory deprivation (not from Whumpee’s POV) / brain-fiddling? (he talks of an implant that restricts basically everything from speaking to moving. It’s mentioned, not shown)

Everything is set for the first practical stage of Project Rebirth to begin. All that is need is some final surgical attention, and a last talk to Whumper’s new investors. Also no editing we die like Toby’s previous owner...

Whumper sat next to Subject One, like he had every moment of spare time in the past five days. The last two, they barely twitched a muscle. Of course this was in part because of the starvation, but it was nice to have achieved nonetheless. Even if would wear of. Their body may be still, but the occasional twitch, hitch of a breath, told him their mind was racing.

He already picked out a name for them. Their masterpiece, even if it would take nine months before he would see their frantic eyes again. Everything was prepared. Their nursery—which was a rather misleading name, but it fit the process, and the marketing—was almost done, the housing facility would be complete in three months.

Subject One was the only one who really needed to be in the container for the sake of the time that it would give Whumper, but the aspect fit the aesthetic his investors expected. It would be what kept the program running for decades to come.

Subject One shuddered. They’d gotten the message. He’d chosen one of his newly acquired sponsors to deliver it through the earpieces. Not because it needed to be. He could just as easily move, then sedate the subject. Make the chaos in their mind spike just before they’d awake in ominous calm. Comforting calm, though it would take a while for the subject to feel about in that way. They had nine months, it would be enough.

The sponsors needed to feel special anyway. Some of them could make perfect pets, the way they seemed to crave special attention. He could try it someday. With this Project, even they could be reborn.

He nodded at Toby. “Bring them to the surgeon. It’s time for stage 3.”

Toby exited the corner he’d been standing in for the past day. It was a test, to see how obedient he really was. So far, Whumper had been pleased. Sure, seeing pets shiver at the thought of accidentally moving a muscle without permission could be rewarding, but it didn’t bring the type of productivity he needed. Toby’s compliant personality, in combination with Whumper’s training, did.

Toby reached for the subject’s shoulder like he always did.

“Not anymore, Toby,” Whumper commanded. “No more touching of any kind. You can move them, tube and all.”

Toby obeyed. With precision, he took the hand truck out of place and rolled it over to the doors that opened to the medical wing. Subject One would feel this, but it wasn’t enough to skew the results. If anything, it could amplify the result he was looking for.

He followed behind Toby, but entered the door to the watching room instead of the OR like Toby did. That’s where his funding was waiting. He hated having to care about it, but money was simply necessary for him to scale up the Project. “Thank you for coming back,” he told the seven investors waiting for him. “As I’ve said before, most of the program is completely tailored to your pet and the pet you wish they become. That means, no program looks or feels the same. This part though, they all have in common.”

He guided their gazes down to the OR—where the surgeon had sedated the subject—and begun the procedure. Toby watched from his corner, as Whumper had told him to. This would be the only time he was allowed this close to a subject before Rebirth, so Whumper made sure he knew as much as possible. The pet didn’t lie. He used to, but his previous owner trained it out of him.

If he were to fulfill any purpose at all in the future, he would have to learn to. Knowing about the stages before meeting the Reborn subjects was a good way to teach them. After all, he’d be the one to truly push the subject’s minds over the edge.

The investors patiently waited for Whumper to explain what was happening. “The implant all subjects receive is what makes this project so realistic. Like a newborn child, they have to learn everything. Eating, speaking, resisting, if you want them to. All in an effort to recreate them into the pet they were always meant to be. Now of course, some of them have skills we do want them to keep. Take Toby down there, he’s a master on the piano. For each pet, the implant’s functions can be customized.”

One of the investors raised her hand. “What are your plans for this one then?” she asked. “Does it have anything worth keeping?”

Whumper smiled. “In a less dire situation, we might have chosen to keep certain parts of them, but as you’ve noticed this is not the average pet we’re talking about. They will be reborn a blank slate. The only thing any pets are allowed to keep is their understanding of language—so they can obey commands, and their ability form minimal amounts of coherent thought and memory. We’ve found that this process works best if to some extent, the pets are aware of the changes. A risk, I know, especially with this one, but it will prove efficient.”

He straightened his tie. “This one in particular has quite the mouth, and they tend to use a bit too much of what they hear against their trainers. For that reason, we’ve limited their access to their vocabulary a bit more than usual. They’ll be able to understand simple sentences, but we won’t have to worry about their natural perceptiveness.”

“What’s he doing to their eyes?” a second investor asked.

Whumper’s heart fluttered. He’d hoped they’d ask. “Those, are highly sophisticated remote-controlled lenses.” They weren’t necessary, they function was mostly aesthetical from the subject’s perspective. They helped make it all a bit more realistic on both sides, though.

“They don’t have to be removed, ever. Which is why we’re putting them in so early. They control the subject’s ability to see color, and light. Like them implant, we can control them from behind the scenes. They aren’t vital, but they smooth out the transition from the Rebirth into the following stages of the program.”

He glanced down into the OR, where the surgeon was finishing up, and the other staff had begun to prepare the subject for stage 4’s container. “I’m afraid that I can’t show you anymore at this point, so my staff can take on this challenge with as little distraction as possible. However I’m happy to answer as many of your questions as I can.”

Several hands shot up. Whumper smiled.

“What are they doing?” Was the first question.

Whumper gazed down. Four people were removing the restraints and the jacket, and outfitted the subject in the thin white suit that would help keep them healthy and alive throughout the following stage.

They connected the dozens of tubes and wires that would take care of everything they couldn’t handle from outside the container, as he called it. “I’m afraid this is another one of those trade secrets, but what I can tell you is that in spite of how it looks, this will make the pre-Birth stage as realistic as it can be.”

“What about these nurseries that your people kept going on about. I’m sure they’re important, but it all sounds a bit too… human for my taste. I prefer my pets are used to the necessary restraints and housing conditions, so to speak.”

Whumper nodded. He wasn’t surprised to hear this investor thought his standard approach too kind. She’d demanded her pets were kept muzzled and bound at the facility’s daycare, even though they were among the most compliant creatures he’d ever seen.

“As I said,” he answered. “Everything can be customized. This subject I believe, will gain more from approach that teaches them that as a placeable pet, they will be cared for as long they don’t resist. Should you trust us with your pets though, if we decide after the evaluation that another approach may achieve the desired results more efficiently, we’re prepared. We have nurseries of all kinds, and our staff is prepared to fulfill any role they need to play.”

That seemed to please them. Whumper turned to the last question.

“How long does this program take?”

“We have multiple options. The standard program Subject One will go through can take up to sixteen years starting at the Rebirth, with a minimum time of three years. Now of course, that is a long time for a pet to be away. We have two accelerated programs that last either a few months, or even just a few weeks. You’re free to choose, but after the evaluation we will provide you with a suggestion. Not all pets need the full experience. Especially if they’re not old enough to be placed, a longer program can harm the natural development.”

A frown formed on a few faces.

“I can see you’re worried about the results I’ve promised you. You won’t have to wait long. The program may be an intense procedure, but the results will start to show after just a few weeks. The rest of the Project is about making them last, so these—” He dangled the subject’s bright red collar in front of them— “will soon be no more than a reminder of what I’ve solved.”

Whumper clasped his hands. The subject was moved out of the OR, into the container hall. “I must go now. My assistant will be up shortly to escort you out. I should mention Toby’s not allowed to be too talkative around strangers, but he’s still learning. If he breaks any rules, please contact me. He doesn’t respond well to strangers punishing him, he’s a bit too loyal for that.”

Taglist (asks are open if you wanna be added or removed): @suspicious-whumping-egg

#whump #pet whump #non-con surgery tw #lab whump #Project Rebirth #Toby is next up #After that the 'creepy whumper' aspect is really going to start rolling #Also I should mention that 'pets' aren't just used as pets in this universe #Toby for example is a genuine lab assistant. Whumper doesn't care about pet beds and the like #There is a power dynamic and he longs to keep it in place. Period.#Doesn't mean he won't play the part though

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 3 years ago

Text

a sound like goodbye

ao3

It begins rather innocently.

Beckett and her three best friends are one of the teams chosen for the initial away mission-which apparently, according to the briefing that she skipped and Boimler had relayed to her later with no small amount of annoyance, entailed scooping out a deserted starship for survivors while the Cerritos solved the mystery behind the situation.

Turns out, there wasn’t much mystery behind it besides some cloning project gone wrong.

“I mean, it makes sense,” Tendi mutters, frowning at her tricorder. “There’s a reason cloning isn’t exactly sanctioned by Starfleet.”

“So, what, the clones turned on everyone and-”

“Started eating them?” Rutherford wrinkles his nose at the weird puddle of suspicious goo his shoe is stuck in. “Seems pretty standard for a Cerritos mission.”

Boimler snorts from where he’s peering over Tendi’s shoulder at her tricorder. “Clones eating people? Isn’t that just... people eating people?”

“Oh it gets worse,” Tendi says cheerfully. “Whatever’s in the air here-”

“Ion cloud-”

“Ion cloud,” Tendi corrects, rolling her eyes, “whatever’s going on here, it seems to be destabilizing the clones' molecular makeup.”

“Which made them go crazy?” Rutherford suggests.

“No, which made them start eating people to absorb the electrons that would otherwise make them...people.”

Beckett and Boimler exchanged a grossed out expression.

“Usually I would think that’s cool-” she begins.

“Wait, how do we know we’re not the clones!” Rutherford interrupts, panicked. “I mean, how would you even know , you would have the same memories, the same-”

“You wouldn’t have your implant,” Beckett cuts in, before he can work himself into too much of a panic. “Or, at least, you would have that exact one that’s programmed to your specific brainwaves.”

“The rest of us could be clones though,” Tendi adds.

Boimler twitches.

Beckett frowns. “Can’t you just run a scan on us and-”

Tendi points her tricorder at Beckett. It makes a little blipping noise. “Yep. One hundred percent Beckett Mariner.”

“Unless you’re also a clone and that’s what your clone brain wants you to think-”

Boimler slaps a hand over his eyes. “That’s not how clones work, Rutherford!”

Tendi turns her tricorder to him, raising an eyebrow when it makes another blipping noise, this time twice in a row.

“Oh, and you’re the clone expert?”

“He did get cloned like three months ago,” Tendi says, distractedly frowning at her tricorder. “Huh.”

Boimler gives her a sharp look .

“Well, good thing the clone isn’t here, or we’d be in trouble,” Beckett mutters, already turning toward the terminal showcasing their location. They’re not too far from the engineering decks of the starship, which is fortunate since that’s where they need to go. It seems to be the starting point of today’s misadventure.

“Actually, no,” Tendi says, ignoring Boimler’s glaring. “While Boimler’s clone would likely destabilize due to the air pressure, he’d be less likely to be inclined toward-”

“Cannibalism?” Rutherford grimances.

Tendi shrugs. “Clone’s been around for three months. He’s had time to adjust.”

“Unlike the fuckheads here,” Beckett sighs, as she steps in a puddle of... god knows what . “I don’t like this mission anymore, I want to go home.”

On cue, something rams against the steel-locked turbolift doors. Loudly.

All four of them exchange uneasy glances.

“Engineering deck, right?” Rutherford offers.

Beckett sighs.

____

Engineering’s a bust.

Whatever chemical compound was making the clones has long since been eradicated, leaving the four with an ominous empathy engineering deck. What’s worse, they get a call about five minutes later from the other away team, who are being picked off, one by one, by the remaining living clones.

“How did anyone think this is a good idea?” Tendi groans.

Rutherford and Boimler exchange grimances.

“I think our best bet is to head back to the shuttlebay,” Boimler offers hesitantly.

Beckett’s not sure how she planned on responding to that, because just as the words are out of his mouth, the red alert system goes off.

“I thought no one was left on the ship?” Tendi shouts, over the noise.

“Unless one of our crewmembers turned it on, in which case-”

“We need to get out of here,” Beckett finishes Boimler’s sentence.

A sound splits through the air. Metal clashing against metal. Like the center of the ship is falling apart.

“You don’t think…” Tendi’s eyes widen.

“Yeeaah, who wants to be the clones are taking a kamikaze approach to their limited lifespan?” Rutherford says.

“They’re attacking the Cerritos ,” Beckett groans, because of fucking course they are. She starts herding her friends toward the turbolift. “We need to get out of here before the Cerritos is forced to fire on us.”

____

They get split up, because of course they do. The place is still, apparently, crawling with dying, mutated clones and there hadn’t been a way to keep their group together without someone falling behind.

Beckett supposes she can count herself lucky that they get paired off in usual formation--Tendi and Rutherford and then Brad and herself. It’s usually a successful team up whenever that happens. Tendi and Rutherford are both geniuses so they’ll most likely find a nonviolent way to get through the ship.

Meanwhile she and Boimler can take their usual approach of Beckett doing dangerous shit while he freaks out in the background.

“Is this really necessary?” he shrieks from somewhere behind her, as she sets off another explosion. “Where did you even get -”

“No time for stupid questions,” she replies airily, grabbing him by the upperarm and dragging him down a couple of halls.

“What’s going on with you anyway?” she asks, when they have a moment to catch their breath. She tries to inject enough casualness into her voice that he can’t detect her worry. “You’ve been-” she gestures vaguely with one hand. “Spacey.”

He shrugs, avoiding her gaze. “I mean...clones, you know?”

“Mutant clones,” she counters. “Which is barely any weirder than anything else we’ve dealt with.”

He sighs. “It’s nothing, Mariner. I just don’t like being trapped on a deathship full of things that want to kill us.”

“That’s literally what happens to us every day .”

Something crashing into a nearby door makes them both jump.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Boimler grits out, eyes darting wildly around them. “Can we just get out of here?”

____

They do eventually collide with Tendi and Rutherford, both of which have already implemented 80% of a plan to get them safely back to the Cerritos , all limbs intact, and with a counterplan to take out the rest of the mutant clones.

Tendi grabs Boimler by the arm and drags him a few feet away to rapidly explain her technobabble infused idea that Beckett can barely track, while Rutherford and her work on barricading the medbay door.

“This is gonna work, right?” she asks.

“Yeah, I mean, we should be able to make our way to our shuttle after Tendi uploads the code to the network.” Rutherford’s voice is nervous.

The door suddenly splits in two, a clawed grey hand peeking through the destroyed metal.

“ Shit ! Okay, new plan,” Tendi shrieks, “let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

“But what about-”

“No time, we’ll come up with a new plan!”

The trek through the hallways has Beckett somewhere between elated and terrified. The clones are mutating at a frequency that is, frankly, scary and they nearly get Rutherford at least twice. The guy just can’t seem to catch a break between one of the clone’s nabbing him in the shoulder and another one getting a good few swipes in on his face.

It’s just his luck that he suddenly gets grabbed by one of them and yanked into one of the deserted conference rooms, much to everyone else’s horror.

“ Fu -” Tendi’s shout is bitten off as another clone makes a wild dash for her that she narrowly avoids.

Beckett turns to shout something to Boimler and-

He’s not there.

She comes to a stop so quickly that Tendi slams into her back, almost toppling her over.

“Wha-”

“Where’s Boimler?” She attempts to sound calm, but can hear the thread of panic in her voice.

Tendi spins around. “Oh- oh fuck .” A look of realization dawns across her face as her eyes widen. “He didn’t,” she breathes.

Beckett pushes her down the hall. “Get Rutherford, I’ll-”

“Mariner, he might not-”

“He’s fine , at least until I get my hands on him,” she snaps. “I’ll meet you in the shuttlebay.”

____

She does not, in fact, meet Tendi in the shuttlebay.

No, about five minutes after she splits up with the perky orion, she comes across her--the Orion having beaten her to finding Boimler, who she’s loudly arguing with. Rutherford, surprisingly, is there too, covered in scrapes and bruises and watching worriedly.

Beckett can’t for the life of her figure out how they managed to fight off a pack of deranged mutated clones, double back to find Boimler and start a fight with him in the time that Beckett had come across them, but she supposes it makes sense. Rutherford and Tendi are just built that way.

“You can’t just-” Tendi is sputtering, fists clenched.

“There isn’t time and besides-”

“Mariner is going to kill you -”

“Damn straight I am!” Beckett cuts in, voice raised over the noise of the starship literally being destroyed. “We’re on a timecrunch here, guys, what the fuck are you three doing ?”

Boimler sighs. “Marin-”

“We think we may have found a way to neutralize the clones,” Tendi blurts out. “I synthesized a noxious gas that’ll run through the airvents and take them out before they destroy the Cerritos -”

“Good! Great! So go ahead and release it so we can-”

The lights turn off.

“Someone has to upload the program that will release it shipwide to the network-” Boimler begins.

Beckett glares at him in the dim light. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are-” She grabs her best friend by the shoulder, attempting to drag him away from the console. With surprising strength, he brushes her off.

“Mariner I-” His face twists into something pained--a usual expression on him, but certainly unwanted at the present moment. “The Cerritos is already on red alert and we have less than ten minutes to-”

Beckett growls, making to grab at him again.

“Right, we have less than five minutes to get to the escape shuttle-”

“Yeaaah, that's kinda the problem?” Tendi cuts in, wilting back at Beckett’s furious glare. “We can’t do it from the shuttle. Someone has to stay behind and manually do it.”

Beckett stops.

“Oh fuck no,” she snarls, glaring at each of her friends. “No one is staying behind-- no , not even you, “she adds, pointing to Boimler, who’d opened his mouth to protest.

“Look-”

“No.”

“Just hear me out! The Cerritos doesn’t stand a chance against--”

“We’ll find a different way--a way that doesn’t include any of my best friends serving themselves up to be eaten by mutants!”

“This is the only way!” Boimler throws his hands up in frustration. “We don’t have time to come up with a new idea and I can upload Tendi’s code to the-!”

“Wha-no, why does it have to be you that stays behin-”

“Because the real Boimler is on the Titan !” he bursts out.

Beckett freezes.

She hears Rutherford exhale and can feel Tendi go still. All eyes snap to Boimler in an instant, who wilts under the combined force of their surprise.

“It took me a while to realize it,” Boimler-- Brad admits, “but when Tendi ran that test and I-”

“Boimler,” Tendi whispers. “You don’t have to-I should’ve told you-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rutherford interrupts, shifting nervously. His eyes cut to the ceiling as another squeal of the haul cracking splits through the air. “-clone or no clone, you’re still our friend and we-”

“And someone needs to stay behind and take out the clones or-”

“Which is why I’m going to do it,” Beckett snaps.

“Wha-how is that any different -”

“Mariner, you can’t just-”

“Why do you two have to make killing yourselves a competition?” Rutherford slaps a hand over his eyes and winces when his implant glitches. “How about we all leave and-”

Brad groans. “Someone has to detonate the-”

“We’re not just leaving you-” Beckett all but shrieks.

“You don’t have a choice-”

“Like hell I don’t, if you think I’m just gonna leave you here-”

“There’s another me out there!” Brad shouts, above the noise of the starship being blown apart. His eyes narrow in on Beckett’s, completely ignoring the protests and annoyed mutterings of their two friends.

“Look,” he says, voice quieting so only she can hear him. “I’m a Boimler, but not. Not yours.”

Beckett’s breath catches in her chest. She lets her gaze flick over him--from his meticulously pressed uniform, to the dirt smudges on the side of his face, to the dumb anime hair that surprisingly works for him. His eyes--a light hazel that tricks you into thinking they’re green in the sunlight or brown in the darkness--stare back into hers helplessly.

“You need someone to stay behind and detonate the gas,” he says, after a moment of quiet--save for the countdown being droned out by the AI. “So just please-”

“And you’re a better candidate for staying behind because-because there’s another you? That’s bullshit, Bradward,” she snarls, grabbing his collar and hauling him close.

“There’s two of me and only one of you!” he shouts back, throwing his hands up in the air, but losing the effect the gesture would usually have by slumping in her grip. “And as it stands I’m not even the real-”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!” She lets go of him, throwing her own hands up in the air in a mirror image of him. “Of course you’re the real you! Just because you weren’t here first doesn’t make you not a person-”

“I’m not your me, though,” he cuts in, “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because other me would be doing this whether or not he was the clone so-” He turns back to the terminal, brow furrowed. “Just-just get in the stupid shuttle and-”

“Not without you!”

“Then you’ll die here!”

“ So ?”

Brad types in a series of commands and then shuts the screen down. He turns on his heel and grabs Beckett’s wrist. “Fine,” he grits out, “let’s go.”

____

Surprised at the sudden change in whatever-the-fuck that was, Beckett allows herself to be tugged through the shattering starship--Tendi and Rutherford on their heels. Tendi exchanges a couple of glances with Brad, something passing between them that Beckett-much to her annoyance-can’t read.

The dash to the shuttle bay is hectic, but Beckett barely notices. Her attention keeps being stolen by the furtive glances Brad gives her when he thinks she isn’t looking. Or the warmth of his hand around her wrist that releases whenever she has to do some badass shit to get them out of there, but always comes back when they’re in the clear.

Finally, they’re in the shuttle bay.

“Uh, I’ll get it up and running,” Rutherford says, ducking inside the beaten up shuttle that they’d come in on.

Tendi and Brad look at each other for a moment.

Then, she tosses him her datapadd.

“I also synthesized a memory saver for the clones, because I’m a genius. It might not work,” she says, carefully, ignoring Beckett’s confused sputtering.“None of them deserve to die, so I did my best to give us an option where they don’t... completely . There’s a possibility that your consciousness will upload to the network, but it’s not guaranteed.”

Brad smiles at her, shaky but grateful.

Tendi goes on. “So if it doesn’t, I just want you to know-”

“Yeah,” his grin is more of a grimace now. “I know.”

She nods once, eyes quickly darting over him, before turning and disappearing into the shuttle.

Just Beckett and Brad left.

“Brad-”

“Mari- Beckett -”

“If you think for one second -”

“Someone has to stay!”

“But why you?” she says, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. “All you’ve ever wanted to do is-is explore deep space and nerd out over dumb shit. Not die in the middle of a fucking warzone.”

Brad grabs one of her wrists, pulling her out of her defensive position and sliding his hand into hers. Both of his hands into hers.

His palms are warm and surprisingly soft. She wonders for a second if he moisturizes and then immediately knows the answer is yes because she’s seen the amount of lotion he carries in that dumb manpurse of his on shoreleave.

“I didn’t stabilize right,” he says, voice pitched soft. “That’s why when Tendi ran the tests she-well. I wouldn’t have lasted anyway so-” he sighs, shoulders drooping. “Just let me do this one thing for you guys. Let me make it all count.”

Beckett doesn’t realize she’s full on-crying until a sob heaves out of her. “I can’t leave you.” She shakes her head, trying to get control of herself. Something in her chest is twisting tightly, cutting off her airway. “I can’t.”

Something in Brad's face shifts. He lets go of her hands, much to her dismay, and she’s reaching out, reaching to grab some part of him to keep him from running off, from doing something stupid, something permanent , something that will take this version of him away from her forever-

One hand suddenly cups her neck, thumb tilting her chin upward.

Everything in her world comes to a standstill.

The sound of the base coming down around them, Rutherford and Tendi tersely barking orders to each other and across their comms to the Cerritos , the red alert blaring above them. Even the sparks shooting off around them from broken wiring and the lights wildly flicking on and off seem to slow.

Brad barely leans in before she grabs him by the collar with both hands and drags him down.

It’s desperate. Almost uncomfortably so. For the first few seconds their teeth click against each other and Beckett’s nose is smooshed against his cheek, but then she pulls back a centimeter, breathes in the space between them and dives back in, tilting her head to get the angle right this time.

It’s awful. His lips drag against hers and one hand moves to the small of her back and suddenly he’s pressed up against her, warm and real . One of her own hands makes its way into his stupidly coiffed hair, devastatingly delighted at the fact that he doesn’t upset at her messing it for once.

It’s all consuming and it’s burning and it’s searing and it’s awful , not because it isn’t good. No, it’s awful because Beckett knows what it means.

She knows it’s goodbye.

When she finally lets him pull away, they’re both panting. He rests his forehead on hers for a moment, eyes half lidded.

“You have to tell him,” he finally rasps. “Because he won’t-he’ll never, if you don’t first.”

Beckett squeezes her eyes shut tightly and then quickly opens them again, not wanting to miss a moment of their stolen time. “Brad-”

He shakes his head, pulling away from her. “Tell him.”

“It’s not too late,” she says. “You can still come with us.”

Brad gives her a lopsided grin. “What, one of me isn’t enough for you?”

The AI blaring the countdown hits the last minute. Brad’s face sets. Resigned.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, as he gently--but swiftly--begins herding her toward the shuttle, “I- he -is sorry. About everything. So, when you see him next, just give him a chance, okay?”

She’s inside the shuttle, one hand braced on the side of the door, trying to keep him from shutting it. He puts a hand on her shoulder to keep her from jumping out.

“Brad-” her voice is shaking.

“I know.” He looks over her shoulder, probably at Rutherford or Tendi. Nods to them once. “Just make sure he knows too.”

He pushes her.

She stumbles onto the shuttle floor as the door slams shut with a hiss.

____

Carol gets the report before she hears it from her kid.

The situation hadn’t been ideal from the start. When they’d originally intercepted the distress call, Ransom had muttered something about requesting backup that Carol had strongly considered. Ultimately, they would’ve been unprepared either way.

Either way, two thirds of the teams she sent onto that ship would have died, including her daughter’s best friend.

“Where is she?” she snaps at the ensign that seems to hang around Beckett and her friend group. He’s in medbay, nursing a broken collar bone, but snaps to attention the minute she enters.

“Uh…”

“Storage closet on Deck C,” an Orion, a few beds down, offers tentatively. Carol thinks she recognizes the girl as one of Beckett’s friends, but can’t be sure.

“Tendi!” the other ensign hisses.

“What, it’s her mom !” the Orion--Ensign Tendi--shoots back, but Carol isn’t listening. She’s already halfway out the door, despite the fact that a storage closet on Deck C didn’t narrow her search down by much.

It takes her almost an hour to find her.

The storage closet she’s camping out in is small--mostly likely used for medical supplies, judging by the sharp smell of antestic and alcohol that’s coming from-

Beckett has one hand tightly gripped around a bottle of vodka. She blinks up at her for a moment, comm lying open in her hand.

“Hey kid,” Carol says, trying to go gentle, but it comes across as tentative.

Beckett scowls. “What do you want?” she mumbles, fingers gripping her comm tightly. There are tear tracks staining her cheeks that make Carol’s heart ache.

Carol glances around the storage closet, grimacing at the empty bottles laying scattered around Beckett and the strong smell emitting from them. “Just to talk. Think you come out of here for a minute?”

Beckett raises her comm to her mouth again, muttering something indistinct into it before snapping it closed. She makes to stand up, but can’t quite make it. She seems off-balanced, teetering off the edge of sobriety.

Carol gently grabs Beckett’s wrist and pulls her to her feet. She sways slightly, still very obviously under the influence. With a sigh, Carol tugs her forward.

“Oh kiddo,” she says, when Beckett buries her face in her shoulder and begins crying in earnest.

____

Brad collapsed on his bed, equal parts weary and riding an adrenaline high.

The mission--now completed and never to be brought up again except in his n̸̜͘ḯ̷̹g̸̥̎h̵̬͛ẗ̷̬m̴̦͗a̸͈͂r̶̡͝e̶̢͘s̸̤̒ --was barely notable compared to the previous twelve he’s been dragged on, but he still is riding the high of almost dying . It’s, tragically, becoming his new normal.

And not in a fun Mariner did something cool that almost got us all killed but it’s totally cool because she looked hot while doing it kind of way. It was more of a holy shit I just almost died I didn’t join Starfleet for this what the hell am I doing existential crisis sort of way that has him regretting a lot of things.

Mostly Mariner related things, if he’s being honest.

(He doesn’t regret leaving. He doesn’t)

(He absolutely does.)

So here he is, a few months older, but certainly not wiser, lying in his lonely room, wondering what Mariner’s getting up to these days.

Almost on cue, his padd pings him a voicemail.

3 missed calls from Beckett Mariner.

Brad frowns. It’s been a while--a very very long while--since he’s heard from Mariner. Not that he’s blaming her, because he knows, he knows that he pulled a dick move transferring without telling her and then ghosting her calls.

He just doesn’t know what to say to her.

“Hey dumbass,” the voicemail opens with. It’s what most of them have, but this one has Brad pausing. There’s something monotone--something deadened about the inflection of her voice. It has his breath catching in his chest.

This voicemail is going to be different.

“Just calling to check in, I guess,'' her voice continues.

There’s a pause. So long that Brad wonders if Mariner had forgotten she’d called him. Then, “I don’t know if Tendi or Rutherford have called you yet, but I...look, can you just-”

Static, like she’s pressing her comm against her shoulder. There’s some indistinct murmuring, a deeper voice filtering through that he hesitantly assigns as Captain Freeman’s.

“I gotta go, but.” A shaky breath. “Call me.”

Brad swallows.

“Please.”

The voicemail ends with a click, leaving Brad in the silence of his empty room.

____

It’s been three weeks.

Three weeks since every emotion Beckett was capable of feeling had been shattered into a thousand pieces and dropped into a flaming dumpster fire. Her mom, after dragging her to her ready room and spending the entire day plying her with hot chocolate and hugs--which was weird coming from the woman who once told Beckett to walk a compound fracture off--seemingly decides to give her some space.

Which apparently includes giving her an undetermined amount of leave to deal with her shit.

Beckett doesn’t know what to do with that. What’s she supposed to do, take a vacation right now? Have fun ?

She spends the entire time either holed up in her bunk or exploring whatever dumb planets their missions take them too.

It all comes to a head far too soon.

And by head, Beckett, of course, means that her mom decides to interfere--like she always does--and drag Beckett kicking and screaming into a situation that she 100% would have avoided otherwise.

“Captain wants you in her ready room,” Tendi says, voice tentative in a way that is pissing Beckett off.

She doesn’t need to be tiptoed around goddammit.

The walk to her mom’s ready room is brisk and uninterrupted. Everyone’s giving her a wide berth these days. She’s not sure if it’s because they know or if she just looks unusually scary these days.

Her eyes are red rimmed and her uniform is beyond wrinkled and her hair is unwashed, falling around her shoulders in messy tangles. It’s probably not the latter.

She storms into her mom’s ready room, prepared to pick a fight just to feel something when-

Beckett stops breathing.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Carol says, giving Brad a pat on the shoulder as she passes him.

He’s in the stupid Titan uniform, which look unfairly good on him, Beckett distantly--begrudgingly--thinks. His hair is still in that stupid anime upsweep and his back is ramrod straight as always.

His eyes though are pinched in worry. Lips pulled into a frown.

“Hey.”

Beckett can barely look at him, but taking her eyes off him means she can’t see him and that’s an unacceptable option. She takes a step forward. And then another one. And then another one, until she has to look up every so slightly--because he has that goddam half inch on her--to maintain eye contact.

When she presses a hand to his chest, slightly to the left, just over his heart, he feels warm .

His pulse drums under her fingers, beat picking up rapidly the longer she keeps them there.

“Hey,” she says back. Her voice is cracked to all hell, rubbed raw from equal parts disuse and shouting whenever she’s in a particular mood.

The worried look on his face increases tenfold at the sound of her voice.

One hand reaches up to encircle her wrist. It squeezes tightly for a second before he lets go and takes a step back, putting space between them.

He’ll never, if you don’t first , Brad’s own voice sounds in her mind.

Beckett takes a breath and steps forward, closing the distance once again. She smiles faintly at how his eyes widen, pupils dilating slightly at their close proximity.

“Can we talk?”

____

#marinler #beckett mariner #brad boimler #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #carol freeman #major character death #my fic #my fanfic #lower decks fanfic #star trek lower decks #star trek lower decks fanfic

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boldlyanxious · 4 years ago

Text

None the Wiser 10

Masterlist

All fic masterlist

I took a bit of a break from this one after doing so much all at once. Also had to decide what way to go. I didn't plan ahead for her to run out so now I'm winging it a bit.

Marinette had left the Eiffel Tower that night with Cassie's number. At first she thought the girl was trying to make a joke when she suggested telling her parents that she had been running around as a magical hero for 2 years. But Cassie gave a well-reasoned argument for why she should reveal herself. Much of it was the ways that it strained their relationship and caused her to need to lie all the time. But beyond that there was the added burden on being the guardian with not only no additional support but having lost heroes as they had been revealed.

Marinette didn't run home and tell her parents right away. She took a few days to mull it over. She knew that the guardian had wanted secrecy above all but she wasn't sure how prudent that was. He had only become a guardian because he made a major mistake as a child that he couldn't fix. His secrecy had only protected him but didn't solve any problems. When faced with the same problem that had never been fixed his solution was to run and hide again while leaving Paris vulnerable. It had been her and Chat Noir who had fixed his mistake even if she had eventually made a mistake that cost him the guardianship. She has solved the issue even if things were still tough.

Perhaps the additional support of her parents would be a good thing. She should probably discuss it with Chat Noir first. She had been avoiding discussing any of it with him or Damian. She sent them both messages that she did not want them to bring it up until she had time to process. Damian took it pretty well but Adrien seemed to keep trying to catch her eye to get her to talk, but then she had known Adrien longer and he also found out about her secret biological family so the situations were quite a bit different. She pulled out her phone to text him.

---

Marinette brought pastries to the park, including a double cheesy bread for Plagg and macarons for Tikki. The box lid was pushed back down over the kwamis so Marinette and Adrien could talk. He offered her fruit infused water before they wandered away from the photo shoot set that he had just left. He used a wipe to remove the makeup and ran his hands through his hair causing it to be adorably fluffy.

Marinette wasn't sure how to start. She avoided Adrien's soft eyes filled with concern and understanding. She picked the flaky bits off her croissant instead and looked up when he waved at some others across the park. She recognized the girls from school but she didn't really know them. Hopefully they wouldn't talk about seeing her in the park with Adrien. She hadn't told Alya because Lila had been nearby and she didn't want to make a big deal of it because Alya had noticed that they were acting a bit weird around each other.

"Do you know them?" Marinette asked.

"We share some classes. Just found out today that I'm partnered with the one in purple for the big history project. Hopefully that will work out okay "

"I was partnered with Nathaniel. It's nice to have someone I already know is reliable. He might be quiet for presenting but I don't know if I could handle the stress of an unreliable project partner."

"Because of all the other stress from things you couldn't or haven't shared?" he asked quietly.

"Um-yeah. Actually that is mostly what I wanted to talk about today. I'm going to tell my parents about everything."

"Isn't it all supposed to all be a secret?"

"According to Tikki, the level of secrecy has depended on the guardian handing out miraculi."

"So you think we should tell people now that you are guardian?"

"But necessarily. Mostly I think that it's important that people don't know. But we aren't adults who control our own lives and schedules. Sometimes we need extra support out allowances."

"I don't think I could tell my father. Even if he would see me, I think he would find a way to prevent me sneaking out if he knew."

"That is probably true. But my parents are the opposite. Having to lie and sneak around behind their back has been harmful to all of us. They have been a lot more worried recently anytime I'm not where they expected."

"Is this because of what Superboy said about you being Robin's sister?"

"I--"

She faltered and looked down instead of continuing. Adrien reached out and picked up her hand saying her name softly.

"Marinette, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But sometimes it helps to talk even if it's hard to say."

"No, I think it will help you to know. It's just all been so confusing. Do you remember the man from the hotel?"

"Yeah. From Alya's party."

"I met him that night when I went to change during the party. The next day he wanted to have breakfast with me." She bit her lip before spitting out the next words all at once. "Because he is my biological father."

"You said he made your parents nervous. Did he treat your mom badly and that is why they never told you?"

"Actually, they never knew until then."

"How--"

"My parents had help from a fertility clinic. I didn't know until I took a DNA test after we did blood typing in biology class because mine wasn't right." She looked down again. "They aren't worried that he will hurt me. They are worried that he will take me away."

"Cases like that from donors or whatever are really hard to fight though."

Except he is rich. Like really rich. Bruce Wayne rich."

The words just sat there for a moment as Adrien considered them. She could see him working it out and could tell the exact moment he knew when he looked back at her with shock in his eyes.

"Bruce Wayne is your biological father?" He breathed out hard. "The Bruce Wayne."

"That reaction is a lot of why I've not told many people. I didn't even know who he was until the fashion show. I was so worried about everything else that I never considered asking more about him. He was just Bruce."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and squeezed her close for a moment. Marinette leaned against him less nervous than she felt before but still with the weight of talking to her parents.

"I agree you should tell your parents. It will help them to know. It will probably just give them other things to worry about." He smiled down at her. "Lucky for them that we always save the day, My Lady."

She looked up at him with the use of his hero's affectionate nickname for her. He was definitely looking at her how Chat Noir tended to look at Ladybug. She tensed a bit, not sure how to manage his possible feelings now that he knew she was Ladybug and not just Marinette. But he said nothing more. He leaned over and kissed her head gently and told her goodbye with a final squeeze to her shoulders.

---

Her parents just stared at her after she blurted out her secret identity without preamble. They were stunned into silence and waited for her to crack a smile before they reacted. They looked at each other and then both started talking about their feelings about her revelation. If they didn't calm down Marinette predicted she would have a headache soon. She decided it was best to wait it out rather than try defending herself.

As she expected it was mostly disbelief and shock at the dangers she had faced but there was an underlying message of pride. They kept on for a few minutes while Marinette waited for them to get it out of their system. She could tell it was ending when they both held her close and they ceased the onslaught of incredulous concern. They all went quiet for a minute until Marinette asked their thoughts once they had been able to process for a few minutes.

"Did you guys have any questions?"

"Why did you tell us? Actually why didn't you tell us before?" her dad asked.

"Well things have changed recently and it makes it all so much different."

"Your leader. He was trapped by Hawkmoth and named you guardian. What does that mean?" her mom asked.

"It means I'm but responsible for all of the miraculi in Paris. The previous guardian had moved on and had no memory of any of the miraculous or having met me."

"I don't know whether to be more upset that you kept it secret all this time or that we didn't notice." Sabine said.

"I wanted to tell you. I really hate lying."

"We know you do Sweetheart. That's part of what makes this hard to see. We didn't expect it from you," her dad said.

"I always worried that you would find out I'm missing and think something bad had happened. Especially after Bruce showed up. You were so worried at first."

"We are still worried a little. But so far he seems to just want an opportunity to love you." Sabine said. "We can't fault him for that."

Marinette agreed. Although it was a very strange situation, he genuinely seemed to want to be a part of her life without making himself a nuisance. She even thought he might he holding back a desire to buy her everything she ever wanted. He had left town again and she could only hope Damian would keep his silence, but he would be returning as soon as his schedule allowed.

They continued talking about all the ways these two major revelations had affected their lives while they made dinner and ate. It was all a huge weight off Marinette and she was happy it had been suggested. She really did believe that it was the best thing for her and the best way to protect her parents, even if it meant they would have to watch their reactions. Her dad might have been thinking about that because as she was heading up to her room he stopped her one last time.

"Does this mean you are in love with Chat Noir but he rejected you without knowing you were Ladybug?"

Tags

#maribat #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio dad bruce #boldlyanxious

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inkweaver22-blr · 3 years ago

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Welp. Here's the first chapter of that Tang fic I was talking about. Hopefully the characters aren't too out of character for this first chapter. They will be for sure in the future though. No content warnings yet but if that changes I'll make sure to add them. There's going to be lots of pairings in this one but I don't really know any of the ship names so if people want to call them out as they appear I'll add them to the tags.

AO3 Link

Chapter Two

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter One: The Cycle

Tang seems to be stuck in a strange cycle. Might as well make the most of it.

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

Tang was certain by now that whatever was happening wasn’t a time loop. The starting points of each new cycle were too inconsistent, as were their endings. After nearly three dozen of these strange restarts and only a third of them beginning on the day MK received the Monkey King’s staff, the scholar was fairly confident in his conclusion.

“Alright, let’s see what this timeline has in store for us,” the man said as he stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror next to his dresser. He had started this little exercise around the seventeenth reset or so after noticing something else that only added more evidence against his original time loop theory.

“My name is Tang. I work at the public library.” So far nothing out of the ordinary. “I share an apartment with my good friend Pigsy.” Ah, the first and most common change he had noticed throughout this strange experience. And it was a change. He was fairly certain he had his own place originally. “While I am not in a romantic relationship with Pigsy, I harbor a small crush on him.”

Tang continued listing things about his current life as they came to him. He had discovered the various discrepancies compared to his original time fairly early on. So far the differences had been relatively minor. Demon Bull King being freed in the Winter instead of Spring. Mei’s family being descended from a blue dragon instead of green. Sandy’s ship being filled with therapy ferrets instead of cats.

The scholar was at first thrown by the changes, and had gone through some rather embarrassing freakouts the first few times. Luckily he discovered early on that while he never personally experienced the events of these worlds or timelines, if he focused enough, the memories of them would appear. Thus his new little routine he did at the beginning of a new cycle. He found looking at himself in the mirror seemed to speed up the recollection.

“It has been roughly two weeks since Demon Bull King has been freed and MK received the Monkey King’s glaive, thus becoming his successor.” Now that was interesting. This was the first time the Monkey King’s signature weapon was different.

It was all these changes to the world and the new memories that matched them that had squashed the initial time loop theory. In all his reading of both fiction and historical events, Tang had never heard of time travel that worked this way. His second theory, that he was somehow trapped in the Calabash by Jin and Yin, was also quickly discarded. He had the displeasure of experiencing its effects first hand several cycles back and it certainly did not implant new memories into his head.

Tang finished up the recap of his new memories and paused. Nope, nothing else it seemed. With a shrug he finished preparing for work. Hopefully it would be a slow day so he could get a bit more research done into what might be happening. Perhaps this was a celestial punishment as opposed to a demonic curse? He hoped that wasn’t the case but he wouldn’t be a scholar if he dismissed any avenue of investigation just because he disliked it.

Locking the apartment behind him, Tang made his way to the nearest bus stop with a spring in his step. While the situation was certainly less than ideal, the thought of some thorough research was always something he looked forward to.

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

Tang slowly stirred the noodles in his bowl, his brow furrowed in distraction. One of his favorite reference books for ancient mystical history at the library had been changed. Well, to be more accurate, it was different in this timeline. The author was the same, but the contents were certainly not.

Why had it not ever occurred to the librarian that if the current history around him could change, that ancient history could as well? If that was the case, then how could he trust whatever lead he might find to be actually helpful to his situation? What if the knowledge he needed didn’t exist in the timeline he was currently in? What if it only existed in his original timeline?

With a despondent sigh, Tang continued to swirl around his untouched noodles, his negative thoughts seeming to spiral in the same circular loop.

“Oi! Earth to Tang!”

Tang jumped, almost spilling his bowl as he jerked at Pigsy’s shout. He looked up to see the pig demon across the counter with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“If you’re going to be a freeloader you might as well appreciate the food I worked hard on,” the chef scolded without any real heat in his tone. “Something eating you?”

“Uh, y-yes I suppose you could say that,” Tang stammered. Pigsy raised an eyebrow and Tang flushed. The lack of confidence he normally projected had certainly been noticed by Pigsy.

“Well spit it out then. Don’t have all night.” Despite the gruffness of his words, Tang could pick out the small bits of concern in the chef’s tone.

“Well, I seem to have hit a stumbling block in one of my research projects,” Tang explained as he pushed his glasses back up and began to relax. While Pigsy always acted angry at Tang for the mooching of noodles, the pig demon, across every timeline so far, never forced the scholar to pay and was always a great listener. “I’ve come across some evidence that many of the historical texts I’m looking into might be presented differently to the events that actually transpired.”

“Isn’t that how most of history is like though?” Pigsy leaned against the counter, his scowl replaced with a puzzled frown. “Didn’t you say something last month about how history books were mostly the writers' biases or something?”

Tang blinked at that. He did somewhat recall the conversation as he focused on it, but hadn’t thought Pigsy had been paying enough attention to his rant at the time.

“Yes I suppose that is true,” the scholar conceded.

“What do you normally do when you come across these changes?”

“I keep looking for a more accurate version of the text or form an educated guess based on all the evidence I gather.”

“Then what’s the problem? If you already know how to solve the issue then there’s no reason dwelling on it. Just keep going until it's fixed,” Pigsy said bluntly.

Tang just stared at the chef for a moment. Was it really just that simple? A smile slowly spread across his face as he realized that, yes, yes it could be. Even if the knowledge in this timeline was different, that didn’t make it useless. Knowledge was power, and who knew what tiny pieces he could find to fit together into a workable solution. Leave it to Pigsy’s pragmatic outlook to cut straight to the problem and efficiently solve it.

“Thanks Pigsy,” Tang said, smiling sincerely.

“Yeah, no problem.” Pigsy waved his hand in dismissal and, was that a blush Tang saw? “Now eat your noodles before they get cold.” The pig demon quickly moved off to help a new customer that had walked in, leaving Tang to his bowl.

As he ate the delicious noodles, Tang watched Pigsy as he worked.

He had always admired his friend, even in his original timeline. What he was unsure of were the romantic feelings he had for the pig. Outside of sharing an apartment together, the relationship status between the pair was the second most common change he experienced. The first time he had woken up in the same bed as Pigsy had resulted in one of his earliest embarrassing freak outs that had resulted in a few hurt feelings for a while.

While Tang could see how these feelings could have blossomed, he couldn’t quite remember if he had felt this way in his original time. He had simply gone with the flow the many times they were romantically involved and if he was honest, they had been some of the most pleasant moments he could remember since this whole timeline jumping mess had started.

He studied the chef as he gracefully moved about his kitchen, chopping vegetables and rolling dough. The pig demon had a gruff exterior, but obviously cared about those around him a lot. He was steady and sensible, always scolding someone for doing something stupid but always there with straightforward advice if asked. He made sure that no one would ever be hungry while he was around and woe be it unto any customer who insulted his family within his earshot.

Pigsy, as if sensing the eyes on him, looked up and met Tang’s gaze. He gave the scholar a brief smile before returning to the broth he had been stirring.

As a warmth filled his chest that didn't have to do with the noodles, Tang made a decision that he was sure Pigsy would have approved of. It didn’t really matter what their relationship was. Platonic or romantic, Tang loved Pigsy for being Pigsy and always would. If these alternate worlds seemed set on making them more than friends, well then who was he to complain.

Drinking the remaining broth in his bowl, Tang grinned as he decided to act on Pigsy’s advice. This version of him had a crush on the chef and he already knew the solution for fixing that.

“Hey Pigsy! You free for a date this Friday?”

His grin grew wider as Pigsy dropped his ladle into the pot of broth and whirled around and began stammering. Behind him, the scholar heard Mei crow in victory and began demanding that MK ‘pay up’.

These strange jumps in time were certainly a less than ideal situation, but Tang decided to not worry too much about them. He knew it was only a matter of time until a solution presented itself. While he waited for that to happen, who would blame him for trying to enjoy himself in the meantime?

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

First chapter done wooo! Now the following chapters won't be in a strict chronological order as Tang jumps around, but some events do come before others. As for what's going on... You'll just have to wait and see~ See you in chapter two!

#Ink Writes #LEGO Monkie Kid #Monkie Kid #Scattered Cicadas #Tang #Tang Monkie Kid #Pigsy #Mei #MK #freenoodleshipping

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pepperpills · 3 years ago

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The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey, so here is Part III, hope you all enjoy it! i'm thinking of starting a new story soon, once this is ended, probably focusing more on world building and Karl and reader relationship hehe

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord

Part III – The Hunt

Getting to know the factory turned out to be a fantastic experience. You had never seem so many different paraphernalia in your live, the closer you had ever got to that was when you were a child poking around your dad’s storeroom, but there were only some tools, agriculture products and inherited ornaments from your cabin family – these last ones were your absolute favourite.

Heisenberg’s factory, on the other hand, was full of interesting things, some of them you had no idea what were used for. You even found a suspicious “torture” room, but couldn’t dig into it, once he was nearby. Still, you found his journals narrating his experiments, his audio reports and some guide books on mechanics that had you intrigued for a long time while reading them. He was a madman, you were convinced, but at the same time, that secluded part of you was growing a little each day you explored his life.

Lord Heisenberg was nicer and quieter than you would imagine. He basically lived in his various offices across the factory, mostly he would be trying new mechanisms on bodies and seeing how they reacted with the Cadou, the strange parasite the villagers mentioned only on rare and veiled conversations. As far as it wasn’t you, or your family, lying cold on one of the stretchers, you didn’t care. As a matter of fact, you felt tempted to try some things with the gears yourself as you deepen your studies in his books.

At your first days there, you got worried you would have to share the bed with him, which would be much more proximity than you had ever had with another person. The man had already seen your half naked and that was enough. However, he didn’t sleep there with you and you wondered why, once he so enthusiastically mocked you about it when you arrived. Actually, you started doubting he ever slept at all.

You were still a bit scared, though, never knowing if he would play a prank on you, so you were very careful to avoid him for a while - that didn’t endure –, believing you should give him space to get used to your presence after the mood he got into after your reception.

He was disturbed, indeed. His work was getting closer to a crucial point that involved Mother Miranda. He musted be discreet, but it was proving to be a real trial with Soldats activating and running around as lost beasts. Also, having you around actually gave him a new problem.

Lord Heisenberg would walk around the factory looking for material, testing the Soldats and cursing a lot, some of these swearwords you didn’t even know, but started liking how he used them, almost cartoonish. It was never directed to you, of course. He acted like you weren’t there most of the time, in others, when he was more chilled, with less work to do, he asked “how is the mess at the wing, buttercup?” laughing at you blushing at his indiscreet platonic flirts.

You had to find your way around the factory. That place was a labyrinth and a map would come handy, so you drew it on some clean papers you found lying around, loving not to get lost anymore. You hadn’t been face-to-face to one of his creations yet, just saw them on the production lines on the overview of the factory and on some specific rooms. You also avoided it due to fear.

He told you where the wing to be cleaned was and you found it after an hour. It was so incredibly packed with mechanical parts that you could barely come inside to take a look. Huffing, you thought that he could solve that without moving a muscle. It made you mad, but also made you wonder what you were doing there. You cleaned it anyway, as it was your duty and used that waste to build some minor projects.

At the end of your expedient, your hands were orange because of the rusty irons you were moving all day long and you had little cuts here and there, but nothing really bad. As it was going, it wouldn’t take long for you to finish cleaning and could even decorate it for him, making it feel more like home to you too.

You were liking it there. Of course, it was dusty, grey, sometimes rusty and hot all the time, but it was also very different from everything. Once you said goodbye to the cabins, then to the Village and maybe being away from Miranda’s dominance made you feel lighter.

You found some red fabric lying around somewhere, appearing to be forgotten, made some nature sketches on blank papers and put yellow lights on the bedroom and on Karl’s soon-to-be new working room. It looked cosy. You hoped he would appreciate it when he met the reformed wing, until then, you would keep quiet not to bother him.

Though, shortly after you finished decorating the bedroom, an event destroyed your plans of avoiding Heisenberg. On your daily route to what you would now call your wing, you crossed the kitchen and found an overcoat-less Karl trying to prepare a sandwich. He had any chef’s nightmare happening in that place. There were blunt knives flying around, a metal cup chasing the kettle spilling hot coffee all over the floor as he tried to open a bottle of whiskey and, finally, hot coffee hit Heisenberg’s chest and he screamed and cursed like a sore animal.

“FUCK!” He thundered, his word echoing in the corridor where you stood.

You couldn’t ignore that scene even if you tried. You were getting tired of not talking to him, you lived together now and all your few friends were slowly becoming distant memories. You would be happy to hear his voice, something else than gears rumble, even if it was cursing your predecessors.

As a powerful person, he would try to use his powers to do simple things and do a real mess instead. You felt compelled to give him some support, maybe it was a part of your mother’s care for others that lived in you too. You entered the kitchen headstrong, holding a laugh at his misery looks. Now he was stroking his shirt with a cloth and only noticed you when you were getting around the island.

You didn’t know, however, he never “never noticed” you. He felt your presence at the corridor before you saw him and he felt ashamed of you seeing him failing at a stupid task, and so forth his reaction was to be boorish.

“What?” He asked in a rude tone.

“Just let me help.” You offered, placing your hand in the air between you two. It wasn’t really an offer, you were just being polite, you would help him one way or another, you would have your small talk, but he wouldn’t give up so easily. “Please.” You asked, making the sweeter voice you could.

He huffed and threw the wet cloth on the sink. You took another cloth from one of the drawers – you were getting used to the utensils’ places –, wet it a little with water and looked at him, your head slightly tilted to the right.

“What is it, kitten?” Heisenberg questioned, roughly playful then.

“It is your shirt.” You pointed.

“Yes, it is dirty. Weren’t you trying to help?” He started to lose patience.

“Yeah, I am. It is just… You will have to take it off.” You let it out unpretentiously, although in your mind you were revengeful.

“Oh.” He understood and immediately took it off with so much easiness you wondered how many times he did that when you were so uncertain of it at your first day.

You had never seem him shirtless. To be quite sincere, you hadn’t seen many shirtless men in your life. The Village was a very cold town, once it was deep into a forest in the mountains, so even in the summer there wasn’t a hot weather, so people tended to keep their clothes on. Because of this, when he took it off you instantly blushed at his scarred chest.

He has what you would call a dad body. It isn’t really sinewy, although still very strong with thick arms and defined muscles. He has some belly, which means he isn’t a skinny person, but he isn’t fat also. And maybe you took too long looking at him like that and feeling weird feelings you would think about later that night.

“You’re almost drooling there, buttercup.” He teased you and when you quickly, but gently, started cleaning his chest with the cloth, so you wouldn’t have to answer, he gave up a deliciously loud laugh.

You laughed with him, making him laugh even harder. You didn’t want to admit it, but you liked it, this casual connection between you two. The laugh died a gradual death and you started moving you hand on his chest, feeling its warmth below the cloth. You could almost swear his breathing was getting faster and you saw he was biting his lips, maybe because you were taking too long. You didn’t want to finish, but you both know there wasn’t much coffee on him anyway.

You put the cloth with the other one in the sink and as you watered them, you saw him going to get his shirt that had been laying on the island.

“No, no, no.” You said, taking it from his hands kind brusquely, making him confused. “I need to wash these.”

“I see.” He said, raising his hands to show he wouldn’t try again, as a peace offer that made you grin.

“I can finish your sandwich for you, it will only take a minute.” You added, embarrassed to be so bossy with him.

“I will be at my office.” He told you and left without looking back.

You thought he got mad at you because of the shirt situation. It made you sad, you started having a nice approach. To compensate you made him a really good sandwich with the meat and vegetables you found in the refrigerator. Searching for food there you considered asking him to go see the Duke and buy supplies, maybe even hunt, because you didn’t have enough provisions. Anyway, you also prepared the coffee, poured a glass of cowboy whisky – sipped one, two or three times yourself – and cleaned what was there to be cleaned. It took more than one minute, but less than teen.

You were heading to his office when you heard a muffled noise. It sounded guttural and made you shiver. Electricity running through your body, making you feel hopelessly exposed, only that countered by the alcohol it felt good. You stepped carefully as you got closer to the door. You considered not knocking, but the noise made you knock.

“Just…” He gasped. “Leave it at the door, please.” Heisenberg was painting, but he asking “please” was what made up your mind, that politeness wasn’t usual, so you did what he requested.

You wanted to be around him on that day, but chose to respect his privacy. You didn’t imagine that his mind was blowing with you, he desperately wanted to continue the kitchen talk, but couldn’t give himself the chance once he was so close to perfecting the Soldats.

To ease your thoughts, as you were no longer requested at the factory, you tested your stealth skills and slipped to the forest behind it, caring your bow and arrows determinedly.

You were familiar with that area as you have hunted all around the Village, thus, you knew where to go to find good preys. It was by the lake were the deer stopped to drink water. It was far from the factory entrance, but again, you knew exactly what you were doing. When approaching the lake, you climbed a tree and waited.

It didn’t take long until a lonely deer appeared, unsuspicious. It leaned its head so it could reach the water level and started drinking it. You positioned one arrow, held your breath and did the physics magic. The arrow nailed its left eye. It didn’t scream, it was over very quickly.

You climbed the tree down, came closer to the body and tied it with the rope you brough from the factory. Your way back wasn’t effortless, you were slower due to the extra weight and the lycans sensed its blood, their sounds were all around you. They wouldn’t hurt your, though, somehow, they knew you were with Heisenberg.

It was past four in the afternoon when you reached the factory, panting with the effort of bringing the deer. Heisenberg was poking around for something in his front yard. He noticed you just as you appeared in his peripherical vision. He walked towards you, with an intrigued expression that transformed into an impressed one when he saw the deer.

“Some gifts you have there, kitten, ain’t gonna lie.” He commented, squatting to take a good look at the animal. “How did you do that?” It was clear he didn’t mean to offend, quite the opposite, he was genuinely curious.

“A girl has her secrets.” You answered, when you finally stop panting, shrugging when internally you are fulfilled someone knew about you hunting and didn’t seem mad at you.

He wasn’t even angry you left the factory without his permission, which made you happier. He stood below you with the animal for a few seconds more, than got up on his feed, laid his hands on your shoulders, well, on your skin hunting jacket, and said “You are really something, kitten.”

You fell for his words. You never wanted to feel that dependant on someone’s appreciation for you, but with him it was lighter. Karl took the weight of the world off your shoulders by bringing you there and kind off supporting you even though you had only spent little more than a month together.

“Thank you, my lord.” You spoke.

“Stop it. Call me Karl.” He said roughly, but good hearted. “Now, do you know how to clean this deer?” Heisenberg asked.

Usually, Duke would do it for you, although you knew the theory, you hadn’t much practice.

“I was hoping you could help me with it, Karl.” You suggested, toasting him a malicious smile.

“For fuck’s sake.” But he cursed laughing.

He cleaned this table at the garage and disposed the deer there. You helped him doing the messy job, learning with him what you only saw the Duke doing. It wasn’t pretty, but you were comforted by his presence and obstinacy. He probably did it often as it showed, but didn’t bother to take it slower so he could teach you.

Heisenberg enjoyed that night more than you could imagine. He didn’t care for the Soldats, they could wait, it was nice being around you for a change, not running away from your hair, your smile, your presence. For the first time in his life, he actually had someone who wanted to be around him.

Later your prepared venison, demi-glace, potatoes, a fresh arugula salad and both of your enjoyed dinner at the kitchen island with bottles of dark beer. He was funny, he was tripping over words a little, due to the alcohol, but his stories, oh man… He was a real brat. You told him about the cabins and the hunting. He listened carefully, never judging you and laughed at your silly manners, at your etiquette and, over all, loved your cook.

He slept in the bed with you, tired, amused and drunk, he sunk in his dreams. You stayed up a bit longer, resisting your lazy eyes temptations just to appreciate his scent, it would smell like burned wood.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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whatgaviiformes · 3 years ago

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10. Music Makers - Part 6 / Scenes from Gordon’s Bedside

Chapter Summary: Virgil and Gordon and music

You are Here - Final Section

Chapter A/N: In honor of 10 chapters of this concept, the plan is to give you a hell of a chapter 10 with a few moments in time strung together. I decided to go ahead and share what I have with you instead of waiting. Once the chapter has been shared in full over tumblr, I will post the full piece at Ao3 and FF.net. It may or may not make sense to remain as chapter 10 or be it’s own thing. Do share if you have an opinion. :-)

Adding also - this is the final bit. Thank you all so much for the reblogs and the likes, and the tags. The support has been wonderful and I am so humbled. I hope you have enjoyed. I am posting the last bit here, and tomorrow sometimes I’ll probably post the FF and Ao3 links for the story in full, but for now, this is for you tumblr. Thank you.

Part Notes: A thank you to @gumnut-logic for the read through because I needed another set of eyes on what is a complicated set of boys below. It’s been a whirlwind of a day.

For tunes this time - Green Onions.

***

Music Makers - Part 6/The Conclusion

“You want to do what?!”

“I want to use your accident as a simulation for training.” John continues to layer cream cheese onto his toasted bagel as he speaks, but Gordon has stopped his knife mid-spread, the heaping dollop of hazelnut hovering dangerously on the dull edge.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” John says, his countenance severe as green eyes stare piercingly to meet Gordon’s shocked expression.

“O-kay” Gordon says slowly, placing his breakfast down onto his plate and pushing the breakfast meal aside. “Why exactly?”

The hydrofoil had exploded before anyone could ever have anticipated the destruction; there had been no time. The only way to use his accident for a rescue simulation was to admit what really happened. And while Gordon was grateful for what John had risked by hacking confidential WASP files to discover the cause of the accident, no good could from clueing in Scott and Virgil to the knowledge that it was sabotage, that someone – they still don’t know who - had tried to murder him and had succeeded for seven others. He planned to take the knowledge to his grave and has asked John to do the same. Which is why it was strange for their Thursday morning to start with such a suggestion.

The four of them had been running sims for weeks. There was nothing that would beat live testing the equipment and they had done test drives of the pods and ships, but running mission scenarios was different. Before they introduced International Rescue to the world, they needed to be able to trust each other completely, to know how to work the problem.

Scott had naturally taken to the role of commander, his instincts well in tune with countering the details of John’s “missions.” Since it was all simulations, Virgil would often challenge Scott’s decisions, walk through the equipment they would have at their disposal, and offer additional suggestions. Brains and Jeff had started to create practice rescues as well, so John got the practice he needed to best support communications.

Overtime, the rescues became more complex. They were all experts in their fields, so it was natural for them to lean into the rescues that met their niches, but when they went live that wouldn’t always be the case. Just yesterday, Gordon had given his family a crash course on how to best avoid getting the bends in a deep sea rescue, and Gordon has learned more about functioning in zero gravity than he hopes he will ever truly need.

Sometimes John and Brains would program the mission to have an urgency to it, sometimes it was a mission of precision. And they’d failed. A lot. A lot less lately as they started to get into the groove, but they always worked the problem until they solved it.

Even knowing what he did about the bomb that had been placed deep in the hydrofoil’s engine, Gordon’s knew his accident was…unsolvable.

“But how are we supposed to solve for the impossible, John?” John doesn’t answer; he just looks at Gordon patiently, pointedly. Waiting. “Oh my God, you want to give them a Kobayashi Maru!”

John nods. “Yes.”

“No, I don’t like it,” Gordon says, shaking his head.

“Look, we will do everything we can, and we will still lose people. Scott and Virgil—” the and you goes unsaid “—need to understand that! They’re getting too complacent, and they need to understand the stakes. We can’t save everyone.”

“We understand the stakes,” he argues, but John is shaking his head vehemently.

“No. You don’t. You all have shown you’re going to be a hell of a team, honestly,” he says. “But it’s all been puzzling through the situations, how to use the pods. I need a way for it to feel real, and I can’t use the avalanche, so —"

“Don’t you DARE.”

“I’m just trying to find something—"

“John, stop.” Gordon says, grasping at the redhead’s shoulders and gently shaking him. “I need you to turn off rescue work here. How can you even think to do that to Virgil? What exactly are you trying to prove? I didn’t think you would be so cruel.”

Gordon can’t fathom what would possess John to pressure his brothers – Virgil who, he clearly has mis-understood, and Scott, who after two months MIA, had been returned to his family with an honorable discharge and a pair of haunted eyes and agitated reflexes that were mere phantoms to what they imagine he went through captured behind enemy lines. If training in the Air Force was anything like WASP, Gordon knew just why and how Scott closed himself off from feeling at times.

John pales. “I’m not—”

“What is Virgil supposed to think if you give them the avalanche and they can’t solve it?” Gordon feels heat flush up his neck. “What if they can solve it? I don’t even know what’s worse, but I won’t let you do it! I won’t!”

“I know. Look, I know, Gordon. You haven’t let me finish; I said I am not going to use to avalanche,” he says, urging Gordon to understand. He knows how difficult this is. He’s been going through it in his head for days before mustering the courage to ask Gordon. “Just let me start over.”

“Fine. But get to the point.”

“Tell me - when is the last time any of you used someone’s name on a rescue simulation?”

The question takes him by surprise. He knows they receive the victim’s name in the scenario briefing, but he can’t remember a time when they used names. The simulations were life-like enough that they could role play if they need to, yeah, but the point was to practice with the equipment. But then, they had been exceeding expectations there lately.

“How about the last mission? Do you remember the victim’s name? How about his age?”

Gordon stares blankly at his brother. He thinks it started with a B, perhaps. Brandon? Bradley?

“It was Randy, and he was 8. Virgil geared up with the Jaws of Life, moved the cross beam to save him, and got him out of the fire to safety. You don’t even know why the boy froze, do you? It was because he was scared. Randy was deaf and he didn’t hear a thing Virgil said. Virgil can’t do ASL in the exo-suit, and for the entire simulation he faced away from him. Virgil may have gotten him out, but he didn’t give him very much trust in International Rescue.”

“Yeah, but he would still be alive if it were a real situation.”

“Gordon, the situation was never about the fire. It hasn’t been about learning the equipment for weeks. Please. I am not trying to be heartless. I just… don’t know how else to make it feel real to them. And I am worried.”

“So, what? You’re trying to make a point about their compassion, and yet you’re showing them none? I don’t want any part of it,” he growls. “And you make your own no-win scenario. Leave mine out of it.” Gordon slides his chair back and storms off.

After a few seconds, John too retreats to his room, after wrapping up the two uneaten bagels for later. He has a lot to think about.

***

Gordon finds Virgil in Thunderbird 2’s hangar, checking her over for the test flight they are planning to undertake after simulations today. His dark hair is swept underneath a large headset that could appear to have a safety function to protect his ear drums, but no, Gordon knows they are his older brother’s preferred set of sound blocking, bass pumping, wireless headphones.

He'd bought them for him himself, as a thank you after one of his more difficult nights, and he knew from experience how immersive the sounds were through the speakers. There was no one else around other than Gordon, which Virgil had yet to realize, and so it was a sign of just how focused Virgil was in his work.

Gordon steps further into the hangar and observes the adoration Virgil puts into his careful touches as he checks the green supply ship. Over the past year and a half, Virgil has channeled all of his creativity and ingenuity into her build. Thunderbird 2 was what Virgil needed, his special project to distract him from the burdens of Gordon’s injuries as he healed.

He sits down on a crate and closes his eyes. Virgil had sacrificed so much for him. If anything, the simulations had shown just how eager Virgil was, and John didn’t know their brother well enough if he felt Virgil was forgetting the stakes. Virgil knew the stakes better than anyone. The idea for International Rescue had been born from loss after all. A loss that Virgil was a breath away from being part of.

How can he possibly blame him for his excitement to share Thunderbird 2 with the world? For getting lost in the details? The problem was the simulations would always be awkward for him. He compensated for his lack of acting skills by leaning into what he knew well, which was his patience, knowledge of machines, and an innate talent for challenging Scott.

Gordon didn’t need a simulation for him to have the upmost faith in Virgil’s compassion. John hadn’t been here to know how tenderly Virgil cared for him while he was healing and so he couldn’t see what Gordon could: that when it was real and when it mattered, Virgil’s heart would only be focused on the people they were trying to save.

A no-win scenario would break him.

When he opens his eyes again, Virgil is still oblivious to his presence, but he’s abandoned his wrench and with his hands free has started to dance, his head bopping, energized with the beat that only he can hear. A shimmy and a spin and he finally catches sight of Gordon, who laughs with the scene. Virgil is so in his element today, and the joy Gordon feels is so counter to his anger from earlier that morning.

“Hey!” Virgil calls, a little louder than he realizes with the headphones still around his ears, but he removes them as he realizes and walks over. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long. Whatcha listening to?” Gordon can hear the pulse from the speakers.

“R&B Soul.” Virgil pulls the headphones off his neck and sets them around Gordon’s ears. The cool blues bassline vibrates through his bones and he too rocks his body with the music for a couple seconds.

“S’cool. I like it,” he says, before relinquishing the headphones back to his brother.

Virgil accepts them back, his eyes suspiciously bright as he places them around his neck once more. “Sorry,” he says chuckling lightly at himself. “It’s just – you’re dancing.”

“I know. Who would’ve thought?” He grins devilishly as he attempts a pirouette and fails.

“I did.”

“Yeah, yeah you did.” Gordon goes quiet a moment, whispering, “Thank you.”

“You really don’t need to keep thanking me, Gordon.”

“Yeah, I really do.”

***

After dinner, Scott finds Gordon sitting on the edge of the pool, swinging his feet in the chlorinated water. It’s wild to think that after all this time, Thunderbird 1 is waiting below for her first mission.

“You skipped simulations today.”

He grunts. “I know. How did it go?” He knows Scott will assume he skipped for his health.

“Well we need an astronaut, that’s for sure.” A space mission. That’s… different. “We could use you tomorrow if you’re up for it. We still haven’t been able to launch correctly and it’s John’s program so he’s not talking.”

“I am not a space guy, Scott.”

“Yeah, but three of us are better than two,” he urges. “We’ll figure it out.”

***

Mayday! Mayday! Impact imminent.

He can’t get the sounds of John’s pained voice out of his head, panicked calls for help that they have been trying for hours to reach.

Over and over.

Until finally, they did reach Thunderbird 5, and after so many times hearing his brother die, John had programmed for them to see it.

“We’re too late; run it again,” Scott had said, pale. “Okay, how do we improve our launch speed this time?”

Then for another three hours, they kept trying to tick off time, to get there faster, until their time plateaued and yet they still were unable to save their sibling.

The mechanical voice – All systems offline. And the screams for help fade to nothing, and Virgil knows what to expect. It’s been torture. Virgil collapses in front of the too white, too pale, too dead figure and screams for it to stop, ripping off the virtual headset.

His knees are weak, but he dashes to John all the same – he needs to see him, to feel him alive. But John’s expression stops him in his tracks.

“It’s not solvable.”

John shakes his head, his expression tight. “No.”

Betrayal flashes through Virgil’s eyes.

“What the hell, John!” Scott shouts and Virgil jumps at the volume. He puts his hand on Virgil’s trembling shoulder. “How long were going to do this for?”

“I-I didn’t think you’d keep running it that long!”

“Of course we were going to keep running it, John – you’re our brother. We would never give up on you. God dammit!”

“I’m sorry, look, Gordon was right-”

“Gordon knows? Is that why he’s been skipping? I thought he was hurt.”

“No, no. Well not really, but–”

Scott eyes flash, and he leaves the training room in a flurry of angry curse words. Virgil cringes as the door slams.

“Virgil, I mean it,” John pleads. “I am so sorry. I didn’t think you’d stay in there. I really didn’t.”

His fingers twitch, as he starts to feel life back in them again, his heart suppressing the vision of red hair caked with blood and unseeing green eyes. John is not the most tactile of people, but despite being quite tall among the Tracy family, his shoulders slump and he seems so small.

John is still his younger brother, though, and he’s upset, and they both could use the hug Virgil had been wanting. He covers the rest of the distance to John and envelops him in his arms.

“Damn you,” he whispers into red hair, and yet he never wants to let him go.

***

Scott is livid. Gordon is absent. John is remorseful. Alan is unaware, lucky kid.

Virgil feels sick. He taps on his watch and calls for Gordon. “Where are you?”

Through the communicator, the aquanaut responds that he’s on the beach by the dock and invites him to join if he wants. Virgil wants. He needs to get out of the villa. Maybe get some fresh air as the sun ducks beyond the horizon.

After a few moments gathering himself, he begins the trek down. In his left hand he carries a guitar, in his right he holds his shoes, as he steps carefully over the granules of sand towards his brother.

Gordon is already strumming on the ukulele when he approaches.

“Did you know?”

“I had an idea,” Gordon admits. “I didn’t agree with it.”

Virgil hums, plopping down next to him on the large beach blanket he’s laid out along the sand. Virgil likes the guitar, and it’s a lot more portable than a baby grand piano. But also, there’s just something powerful about a beach bonfire with the sound of plucked strings.

It's easy for Virgil to fall into chords that complement Gordon’s melodies, and they aren’t playing anything in particular, but it’s seamless when Gordon passes the harmony to Virgil. The ukulele transitions to the accompanying chords, and Virgil smiles thankfully, nodding as he picks up one of many underdeveloped melodies in his head. Virgil fingers fly along the frets, and it's apparent in his loosening posture when he starts releasing the tension in his shoulders.

Gordon places his uke in his lap after some time and leans back into blanket, content to listen to his brother’s playing.

The gentle notes drift with the tossing of wind currents, until suddenly Virgil rounds out a melody with a sigh.

“I think we need to talk.”

Gordon nods and offers to call John and Scott if Virgil will start working on the bonfire.

John was keen for the invite, knowing he would need to be called on before his apology for the error would be accepted, but Scott had taken some talking to. After he left, he’d gone for a run along the bluffs and had settled a bit away. He finally agreed to come join with Gordon’s persuasion, but he would be a while yet.

Virgil has the fire roaring and Gordon has stepped away to talk to Scott by the time John arrives, picnic basket and roasting skewers in hand. Virgil turns from stroking the fire and accepts the picnic basket, peeking inside.

Marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers. Hell yeah.

When Scott approaches, Virgil is playing a tune on the guitar, and Gordon and John both have their skewers extended over the flame, marshmallows browning in the heat.

He is disgusted by the angry shriek of the alarms that sound in his ears at the sight of John, but he swallows down the memory, as he joins his brothers around the fire.

They are not sure what to say to each other, the smoke rising between them and drifting into the night sky, but Virgil’s music is soothing against the tense air, and it’s obvious who is still struggling to the most to meet each other’s gaze.

Gordon shrugs and picks up his ukulele to join Virgil’s song.

A lightly browned marshmallow enters Scott’s field of vision, and he follows it to meet his brother’s apologetic eyes.

“Thanks.” Scott nods, taking the treat. He’s not one for sweets as much as his siblings are, and he can’t remember the last time he had an actual all out s’more. But John knows that, knows Scott’s preference, and has quelled his instinct to stick his skewer in the fire itself to burn it black the way he likes it.

He's furious with him, but he still feels warm at the thought.

“Okay, let’s talk.”

John starts. He explains about the simulations, the number of missions he’s designed to try to get them to focus on the nuances of the people they were to be saving (even many of these are new even to Gordon), and how he was so desperate to get them to feel something. How after days of trying, and days of running worse and worse scenarios in his head, he felt he needed to do something drastic to create a no-win scenario that would challenge them beyond how they had before.

“I’m so sorry, Scott. Virgil,” John finishes. “I knew it would be rough, I just didn’t think you’d be in there that long, repeating it on a loop like that. It must have been torture.”

“It was,” Virgil admits.

“We needed to save you, idiot,” Scott says at the same time.

John is quiet, nodding. “Too real?”

It’s Scott who says yes. “Okay, so how were you involved?”

Gordon frowns at him. “I wasn’t.”

“He knew what I was trying to do. But didn’t agree with it. He didn’t know exactly what I programmed.”

“Be glad,” Virgil tells him. It’s awkward, after hearing John’s explanation, describing to John and Gordon exactly how the program had made them feel, the desperation, the awful loop of the same terrible result over and over.

“Well thanks for the nightmare fuel, I guess,” Gordon says. His brown eyes are dark, thankful that the secret of his accident is still safe, but so torn at how seriously John had taken his words to make something up. “Wait, is that something that could happen?”

“Anything can happen. That’s been the whole point.”

“Well, not if we have a say in it,” Scott proclaims. “We are Tracys. Never give up, remember?”

“But John’s right too. The reality is we can’t save everyone,” Virgil adds with a nod in John’s direction. He doesn’t agree with the methods and will have nightmares for days, but he understands how this whole mess started.

Gordon strokes the fire, adding, “Not going to stop us from trying, though. Hand me another marshmallow, Virgil, please.” Virgil does so, and Gordon squishes it slightly, before promptly tossing it in John’s surprised face. “Don’t be stupid next time.”

The marshmallow hits the center of John’s forehead, leaving a trail of sticky sugar there before it drops silently to the sand. Virgil smiles down at the guitar, suppressing his giggle with a series of notes, while Scott’s laughter is carried into the sky with the rising smoke, and John himself snorts at his own predicament.

Gordon wipes his hands on his shorts to clean off the remains of the marshmallow on his fingertips, before he picks up his instrument as well and joins Virgil in his song, just as he will for years to come, as they both will, and just as the four of them – and eventually five – will come to know each other’s steps as naturally as they know their own.

#Gavii Scribit #scenes from gordon's bedside #chapter 10 music makers #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #Thunderbirds are go

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itsuki-minamy · 3 years ago

Text

“PROJECT SCARD” (Novel)

CHAPTER 1: THE TWIN WINGS OF ARTEMIS (Part 1)

Translation: Naru-kun

(List of Chapters)

When he returned to work that day, the buildings on "Finance Street" reflected the colors of the setting sun and he was disappointed.

In the Akatsuki Special Zone, where the original city planning was lost due to the "Akatsuki Conflict" and was desolate, only this section managed by "Artemis Finance" is systematically organized. Buildings that are comparable to the city center are lined up in an orderly fashion.

Unlike other areas that are lined with ghost towns, there is a lot of traffic.

This is the meaning of the so-called "Artemis" as an Artemis financial organization in the Akatsuki Special Zone.

"Today I came back during the day..."

Even if he's the Managing Director of Finance at Artemis, Washimine Ran, his job is no different than ordinary employees.

Although "Artemis Finance" focuses on the financial industry, it has many group companies and has various aspects such as manufacturing, sales and logistics.

Yes, the job of Managing Director is different from that of others, he is in the process of entering between group companies and making adjustments so that each one can cooperate without problems.

As long as it becomes a professional job, it is inevitable that the number of tasks will increase.

"Not enough time to take a break?"

There is a cafeteria in one place that can be seen from the central office.

The store on the first floor of a group company serves quite good cakes. There's not as much variation as the stores he goes to often at the end of work, but the baked cheesecake made to go with the coffee is excellent.

Unfortunately, it will happen again this time.

He returned to the central office building and headed for the office.

When he arrived, the voice of a subordinate who was used to hearing "Senior Managing Director Washimine" stopped.

"Thank you for responding to the cancellation of the transaction the other day."

"That's a job you couldn't do without me or Jin. Don't worry."

"I am glad that the transaction is proceeding safely. I am relieved."

"Because it was a simple step. Nothing was missing from your report. I will continue to trust you."

"Yes, thanks!"

This is a case that he treat the night before the two days. When he finished his work as "The Twin Wings of Artemis" and returned home, the report had arrived correctly, so he solved it the next day.

He broke away from his subordinates and returned to the desk.

"You were lucky."

The one who greeted him was a voice that could not feel the tension at work.

"You are so fast."

The other Managing Director, Karasue Jin.

Standing with a cup of coffee and a cell phone in hand.

With this boy's schedule today, he was sure that he would be back later than he expected.

"Did you rearrange the schedule without permission?"

"I will reduce unnecessary work and change schedules efficiently."

"When you talk to people, don't play with your cell phone."

He can operate it without being busy with just the thumb of his right hand. It is a waste of skill.

"Time is money and beans consume the stamina of the game. I say that often."

"Don't tell me. I can't tell my subordinates."

"I'm almost done and the work is done, so it's okay. When the boss is relaxed, his subordinates can relax. As a result, work efficiency is improved and thinking doesn't become rigid even for problems."

"Shut up. Don't be relaxing, you're full of work."

In fact, it is annoying that some of the subordinates preparing to finish the job are worried. As a clever counterargument, his subordinates are flexible and not bad.

Still, the theory was irritating. Even if he clicked his tongue, Jin kept playing with a cold face.

It was a waste of time.

He went to his desk to send some emails.

The time was about to arrive at the appointed time.

When he returned to work, the night sky was outside the window where the setting sun was still shining.

Employees were going home.

When he got up, Jin put the cell phone that he had been playing with in his pocket.

It was also annoying that he was resting and the work was barely done.

"Come on, it's a job for both wings."

"Do your best until the end of the day."

Jin and Ran made their way to the upper floors as they passed the employees returning home.

++++++++++

The moon can be clearly seen from the upper floors of the Artemis Finance headquarters building.

This is especially true in CEO Azusa's room.

The moon was shining brightly outside the window closed by a thick curtain during the day. The full moon has passed, but the light has not yet dimmed.

"I'm sorry to have to call you every day."

Sitting deep in the chair as usual, Azusa said that.

"No. This is our job as twin wings."

"Azusa-san, thank you for your hard work. Today's schedule was pretty tight, wasn't it?"

"Thank you. But imitating Ran, this is my job."

Azusa narrowed her eyes.

It must have been hard work, but she did it in a limited time and there was weariness in her facial expression.

"Jin. Is there anything at Azusa's work that you can act on his behalf? You did it efficiently by rearranging the schedule. Put everything in the empty space."

"If there is, I'm already doing it. I mean, I'm working on a job that I can take over."

"Yes, but you can do more work."

"The purpose of the story has changed!"

There seems to be room so he just wanted to push it to the limit.

Anyway, although Jin has a habit of skipping, the work itself is decent. He understands the work situation, including the surroundings, as much as Ran. He's that kind of guy, so he wants him to commit more.

"Good. That's all for the chat. Azusa-san, I'll get into the main topic."

He stepped forward. Jin was operating the taplet terminal that he was setting up while he was speaking, the shared information will be displayed on the monitor.

"This is where Ran and I should immediately move like twin wings, as the intelligence department did their best to investigate."

The expanded building is a dismal multi-tenant building. You can see at a glance that it is not being managed correctly. However, there were traces of people coming and going.

Illegal occupation of abandoned buildings. This is common in the Akatsuki Special Zone.

"The theft that continued on Finance Street was an organizational crime."

"The organization is based in the special area which is the building where people who cannot clean live. It is based on the outskirts of 'Finance Street', which is not supervised by the security department, and makes some calls here. It's a common pattern."

"An assault by the security department is possible, but since the opponent is armed, considerable damage is expected."

"But... he's kind of the type of person who runs away quickly if he wins, so it's hard to deal with this carefully over time."

"That's why the twin wings quickly deal with Scard's power."

The government must deal with criminal organizations.

However, the Akatsuki Special Zone is an abandoned city. Akatsuki is useless due to understaffing and deep-rooted corruption. What's more, the criminals rush towards the devastated conflict city of Akatsuki.

One of the roles of "Artemis Finance" is to maintain the security that the country must do.

That is what the intelligence department, which has a high level of intelligence as an intelligence organization, and the security department, which has received formal combat training and is armed, work together on "Finance Street."

"Artemis" has been protecting this area since its predecessor organization.

And if you want to deal with an enemy that is difficult for the security department to handle like this time, or if you want to handle the problem in secret, "The Twin Wings of Artemis" will come out.

Managing Director of "Artemis Finance" and the execution unit of "Artemis". Scard, a halberd and a shield. The current generation is Washimine Ran and Karasue Jin.

"Commanded by the goddess of the moon, we will punish those who attack this city."

Azusa said in an icy voice.

"But I'm sorry I couldn't help to my wings today."

She smiled like a sun.

"He's not the type of person Azusa-san should be upset about."

"In other words, Ran means that Azusa-san is still busy with work, so don't overdo it."

Jin is proud of her. He believes that, but it hurts when he tells her.

"It's like Jin said, Azusa-san, you're busy. Don't overdo it."

"Thanks for your thoughts, but do you know that I'm fine now that the moon is beautiful?"

A dazzling sun and moonlight illuminate Azusa's face as she looks out the window.

"That is why my work is concentrated at the moment."

She shrugged her shoulders.

That is the fate of Azusa's "Artemis" tattoo.

Among the divine tattoos that house the gods, "Artemis" is one of the tattoos with the strongest power. Ask the Scard for a great price in exchange for power.

Those who carry the tattoo of "Artemis", the goddess of the moon, are greatly affected by the age and time of the moon. When the moon is full, the moment the moon is in the sky is full of vitality in her mind and body. And vice versa.

And the power that is too great for humans to wield will also scrape lives.

"Leave it to me tonight. Support Azusa-san. That's what we're twin wings for."

"That's right. Our goddess."

Azusa under her eyebrows.

"Sorry. I'm tired before and after the full moon."

"No, that's why you must rest..."

"Ran always so loud."

"That's because you're trying to skip work."

"You are doing your job correctly, right?"

Azusa laughed at the exchange.

"I trust you, my wings."

"Leave it to me and Ran."

"Yes, even if the wings are scattered and torn."

Leaving "Artemis Finance" headquarters, they headed to the battlefield.

++++++++++

The ice sheet flashed, and the flames slipped away and disappeared.

The battle ended in less than a few minutes with nothing to say.

Criminals roamed the multi-tenant building where blocks of ice remained.

"The rest of the process is left to the security and legal departments. If they have the evidence, the Akatsuki station will have to work as a police officer."

"Okay. Ran, did you kill him without realizing it?"

Jin smirked as he struck an unconscious criminal with an iron fan.

"Are you making such a boring mistake?"

A man whose half body was frozen suffered a frostbite.

"Today the fight has been harder than usual. That's why."

He accidentally clicked his tongue at him.

He had good eyes, although he didn't care. No, maybe for the duration of the relationship.

He certainly wasn't as good as usual.

He knew that he should not bring personal feelings to his work, but...

"There are a lot of twin wing jobs these days. Did you want to skip?"

"I am sorry."

But as Jin says, the opportunities to do a job like this as twin wings have increased dramatically in recent months.

Even though the Akatsuki Special Zone is a lawless zone, on average, the work that the twin wings should do instead of the security department was several times a month. Consecutive attacks at dawn are clearly more unusual than before.

"If this continues, it will be a burden on Azusa-san."

"The last time we came it was because we were fighting in line, so we were worried."

"Oh, I'm also thinking about the city."

Suddenly, the outside of the dirty building's window was still illuminated by moonlight.

"The goddess we serve is really like the moon. She lights up everyone under the moon."

"That's right. That's why the twin wings have to deal with them, no matter how many enemies we have. Faster, stronger... Do you think that's the case?"

"I do not know."

He made a serious face. It was frustrating to see through Jin.

As the security department had arrived, they left the building to them.

"At the moment... this is the end of my job as a twin wing today."

With a sleepy face, Jin stretches his back enormously.

"You will send me home today, right?"

"Don't say it as something natural."

However, since he had come in his car until now, he had no choice but to drive it.

"...No, I could leave you here."

"It's not good. It's strange to bring me here and leave me on the way home."

"Take a taxi. You can get a receipt."

"If I don't go back to Finance Street, I won't have a taxi, and if it does, I'll walk."

He had no choice but to get him into the car.

He drove through the city at night as usual. Since it was an open car, he could feel the moonlight and the night breeze directly.

He likes this on nights when the moon is beautiful.

"I had extra time as twin wings, but if Ran takes me, it looks like I'll be there in time to see back tie live."

He would be more comfortable if there weren't any noisy guys in the passenger seat, but that usually happens on nights like this.

"What is the back tie? Is it an anime story? And don't give the twin wings work a selfish name."

"Yes. It's called a back tie, and when you think about it, I'm deeply moved that you can understand the animation I'm watching. At first, I thought it was a car term."

"I don't understand. I'll go back to work again."

"Ah! It's not a bounce! Oh, you left your luggage."

"You cannot involve your team in battle."

"Didn't you bring your laptop earlier?"

"There's a reason. It was necessary to take immediate action in normal business. And I never hit my PC. That's it."

"Oh... The priority of not involving the team in combat is less than the importance of work."

"Is there something more important than work?"

"Wow. You're a slave to the company!"

Ignoring him, he continued driving through the Akatsuki Special Zone.

The devastated Hideto criminal organization was on the outskirts of "Finance Street", out of the reach of "Artemis Finance".

The building was not particularly rugged. The scars of the "Akatsuki Conflict" still remain on the streets, in addition to "Finance Street", few people are left defenseless by insecurity.

It is a dark and quiet city with few streetlights.

"Ran. This..."

Jin in the passenger seat offered him something.

He almost makes a voice.

A box with a cake. It's from the cafeteria that he miss today when he got back to work.

Naturally, he decided that the content was that baked cheesecake.

"You couldn't go at night."

"Why do you think that?"

"Given the run schedule and behavior patterns, I think I'll be back at the office anytime I want to take a break, so I'm sure I'll want to eat candy right now when it's all over."

"Ok, not bad."

He was feeling sleepy too. Considering it will take a while to get to bed, strong coffee seems to go well.

"Ok. I think it's okay to relax your shoulders."

He told Jin feeling sick.

Even though he was smiling while working as a twin wing, he now had a decent face.

"I'll be busier after this."

There was no speculation. The other twin wing said it confidently.

#project scard #novel

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whentherewerebicycles · 4 years ago

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some thoughts that might seem unrelated but aren’t, i promise:

— in that atomic habits book I read a couple weeks back the author talks about using a specific, action-oriented question repeated throughout the day to help you build or break habits (like “what would a physically fit person do?” or “what would a sober person do?”).

— the aging books i was reading last month noted that people who score high in conscientiousness (on the Big Five personality traits) tend to age most successfully ie enjoy the longest stretch of active years. to quote this article, conscientiousness is “a fundamental personality trait—one of the Big Five—that reflects the tendency to be responsible, organized, hard-working, goal-directed, and to adhere to norms and rules...Conscientiousness comprises self-control, industriousness, responsibility, and reliability. A conscientious person is good at self-regulation and impulse control. This trait influences whether you will set and keep long-range goals, deliberate over choices, behave cautiously or impulsively, and take obligations to others seriously.” I tend to score very high in openness but very, very low in conscientiousness. more on this in a bit...

— my sister and i were talking recently about different kinds of intelligence, and also about core values. one of hers is efficiency, a word that i have all kinds of negative associations with lol but that she explained in ways i found really intriguing. for her efficiency isn’t about, like, Maximizing Productivity for Capitalism but is about methodically searching for the most effective, least confusing or redundant, most easily-communicable-to-others way to solve complex problems. when she encounters a system that has all kinds of weird bottlenecks or inefficient, time-consuming ways of completing a task (esp if the rationale for those methods is just “well.. that’s how we’ve always done it”), she starts immediately examining the larger structures and workflows around those bottlenecks to see if the established ways of doing things can be rerouted or simplified, and then she constructs new protocols or tools for people to use instead of the old inefficient way of working. efficiency will never be a core value of mine, in part because i think my humanities-oriented brain accords more value than her STEM/medicine-oriented brain does to wandering, daydreaming, slowed-down thinking, doubling-back or retracing one’s steps, and other “inefficient” modes of thinking that slow down the process but can lead you in unexpected directions or spark unanticipated epiphanies that illuminate the larger structures differently. i think we both share a keen interest in systems-level thinking and in examining whether established ways of doing things are the most effective ways of doing things, but we prioritize different modes of thinking and problem-solving in figuring out how to alter or redesign those larger systems (which is probably a result of temperament differences + our field-specific training).

THAT SAID, i have been thinking a lot about how one area of my own intelligence i would like to sharpen/hone in both my professional and personal life is like... a mode of intelligence that is linked to rigor, a more methodical approach to problem-solving, and the ability to construct & more methodically test detailed mental schemas. not quite sure how to articulate that but i feel like my thinking has gotten a little fuzzier than i want it to. and I think maybe this sensed fuzziness in thinking is linked to some of my ongoing feelings of restless discontent re: work. I also just in general want to be more conscientious in how I approach and solve problems, or in how I tackle big and small projects.

— this is more tangentially connected but: i feel like one thing i’ve noticed this year is that a lot of the people i admire professionally are really good at seeking out & taking on lots and lots of additional challenges or commitments, and they can do this in part because they tend to be very conscientious people, ie people who have big-picture vision but are also very detail-oriented and good at managing their time effectively & doing things efficiently so they can take on multiple projects without feeling overwhelmed. i feel like my own low-conscientiousness means that i can’t take full advantage of my high-openness—often i want to take on new projects or challenges but i worry that i’ll overextend myself or that the project will become more time-consuming than i anticipate. i think is linked to a different sort of fuzziness, ie a lack of clarity about how long things take or how much time i have — all combined with a deeply ingrained sense of myself as someone with executive dysfunction issues (poor time management, poor planning skills, poor organizational abilities, etc.). i think of myself as a very inefficient and extraordinarily disorganized person, whether this is 100% accurate or not, and that can sometimes lead to me taking myself out of the running for opportunities or limiting the number of projects i take on out of a fear that i won’t be disciplined enough to see them through.

— another thing my sister and i were talking about recently is how within large families, siblings tend to get assigned a “role” or a personality within the family dynamic very early on, and then they get sort of locked into that over time. everyone in the family expects them to always behave in that way, and there’s often a lot of unconscious resistance to letting your family members change or grow or develop in ways that contradict the clearly defined family role that’s been assigned to them, or the family “story” that everyone else in the family tells about them. you can get locked into both positive and negative roles—or like, often the positive role has a negative flipside. we were talking about how within our family, i’ve been “assigned” to be the “deep thinker” ie the introspective one who spends my life writing and thinking and daydreaming, whereas my sister has been assigned the role of being most like my father, ie very methodical, analytical, unemotional, and action-oriented (and therefore not introspective or inward-looking). and we were talking about how both of these have a negative flipside: my sister feels like she doesn’t get to be a “deep thinker,” or an introspective, emotionally intelligent person; whereas i feel like in my family’s story for me i am forever in “lalaland,” as my mom always says—head in the clouds, an ineffectual dreamer, the absentminded professor who has lots of big thoughts and feelings but is incapable of bringing any of my fantastical ideas to fruition because i have very little practical knowledge or stick-to-itiveness.

— as i’ve said many times before, i feel like i can’t solve the big-picture issues with my job right now, since so many of them are linked to shitty pandemic realities. but i was thinking that maybe one way to begin laying the groundwork for this final year in my job might be to work on strengthening my conscientiousness at the micro-level, ie in small everyday habits and interactions. my hope is that maybe by practicing conscientiousness in lots of small, low-stakes situations, i can start strengthening those muscles and building trust in myself as “the kind of person who does ____” (which i feel like is necessary for me to begin challenging the family story i’ve internalized what i am like). i mean, there is a lot of truth to that family story! but i bet that those aspects of my personality are nowhere near as inflexible or as like, divinely preordained as i have often assumed they are. like, i bet that through practice & through building better habits i can actually become significantly more conscientiousness (reliable, responsible, hardworking, efficient, good at follow-through, self-disciplined, etc) than i am now. and while efficiency may never be as central a value for me as it is for my sister, i think there is probably a way for me to see efficiency and conscientiousness as linked to my own core values, if only because those qualities or traits will allow me to better enact/embody my core values. so i think i can see it not as working against the grain of my personality, but as working to build out less-developed parts of my personality to strengthen the parts of my character that i value most.

— anyway this is all to say that for the last week i’ve been asking myself aloud “what would a conscientious person do?” multiple times a day, really any time i find myself at a small crossroads where i have to make a small decision. do i pick up that piece of cardboard and put it in the recycling bin now or leave it till later? (what would a conscientious person do?) do i return that call from the plumber now or put it off until later? (what would a conscientious person do?) do i take two minutes to pay that $4 toll bill now or put it on the giant stack of “tasks i will definitely deal with when i’m in the mood to deal with them,” where it will inevitably become a $25 and then $50 bill because i forgot about it and now have to pay late fees? (what would a conscientious person do?) do i comment on that student’s draft now when i’d rather be on the couch scrolling through social media? (i could probably do it tomorrow, when i have another block of free time, but what would a conscientious person do?) i have no idea if it will work in the long term!! but it’s been an intriguing experiment so far, mostly because i think it is teaching me that many of the tasks i build up in my head as incredibly time-consuming are actually quite quick, and once you finish them you also free up all the mental energy you were putting into procrastinating on them, and are better able to move onto the next thing. i also feel like it is teaching me that uhh maybe a conscientious person is not like, a completely different species of human being, but just a person who has different habits or patterns of response to daily choices than i do. that feels important too: if we are what we repeatedly or habitually do, then changing what i habitually do can probably change the kind of person i am! i’m finding that there’s something very useful about the simplicity of the question, too. deliberately posing the question to myself interrupts my habitual, unconscious response (which is always some version of “i don’t have the energy to deal with that / don’t want to expend that energy right now -- i’ll put it off till later”) -- it requires me to stop and focus my attention on the present situation instead of sliding right past it without thinking about it. and there’s also something quite satisfying about framing it as a choice or a decision: i get to choose what to do, ie i get to exercise agency, and exercising agency makes your brain feel happy (we like to feel in control! we like making choices!). so throughout the day i get to experience lots of little bursts of whatever gets released in the brain when you make a decision and immediately follow through with it, and i think/hope that this kind of positive reinforcement is helping to strengthen those circuits and lay down the groundwork for new patterns of habitual response.

those are some thoughts this morning!! now i am going to allow myself a few minutes of sloth lol and then i’ll get up and exercise.

#mw #thinking aloud #long post

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