#and then i will have to write some emails to the research group as well | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acciopietro · 2 years

Text

doctor pt. 3

pairing: namor x fem! reader

summary: you take an opportunity despite the repercussions. namor’s determination to protect his people blinds him.

part one part two part four

word count: 6,939

tw: lots and lots of death. forced suicide (because of the talokanil sirens). the typically stuff. lots of angsty and sadness

a/n: i was listening to happiness is a butterfly while writing so this took a turn for sure... it took a hot minute but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!! i’m nervous ab this so pls let me know your honest opinions...it kind of took a turn

part one part two

IT REALLY ONLY TOOK ONE email to make your heart drop. It was a phone call and a series of texts, too, but it was the email that did it for you. Arial, Size 12 font, formal greeting, body paragraph, half-hearted thank you, polite goodbye. Signed Doctor Reynolds, Ph.D., with the name of your team and company. Message subject: Wakanda.

You read it with vigilant eyes, still hands resting on the metal of your laptop, blue light from the screen casting a cool glow onto your tired skin. The music in your earbuds continued to play, but the sound of The Weeknd wasn’t helping calm the way your heart’s steady beat began to pick up. The words on the email flashed out at you as if they were bolded: Wakanda, harvesting, vibranium, testing, trip. Trip?

“Hi, Doctor Reynolds,” you spoke casually into your telephone, despite your palms sweating around the handle of it. Twisting the coiled cord of it with your index finger, you said, “Yeah, I just got the email. I just had some questions...”

Long story short, a team of marine scientists had ventured into the pacific, delving into the deep seas in search of the vibranium you had found a little over a year ago. You had abandoned that research per Namor’s (tacit) request (more like demand), however, you had known that it was bound to be looked at at some point. The issue was that ships were now apparently being hijacked, their tracking machines being destroyed under water as well as large groups of scientists somehow falling off ship and into the waters to their tragic death. No one knew why.

Reynolds believed Wakanda had something to do with it. He believed that since they were well known for being the sole producers and protectors of all the Earth’s vibranium, he was under the impression that they were trying to stop the United States scientists from harvesting it. Which, you had thought to yourself, would be plausible considering the United States was notorious for taking things that weren’t necessarily theirs.

“Why are we getting involved?” you asked Reynold, gripping your scalp anxiously as you listened to Reynolds explain the situation. “It’s not like if we take a boat out there, we, somehow, will miraculously end up okay. If boats are being hijacked, then... oh, I don’t know...”

Reynold went on and on.

“Wait... you mean to tell me that you already booked it?” you shrilled. “Please excuse me if I’m stepping out of line here, but it’s very likely that our boat will just get hijacked, too. And besides, why do we care so much about vibranium, again? It doesn’t harm any marine life or ecosystems...”

Reynolds spewed a bunch of nonsensical answers, beating around the bush and never quite landing on the reason you know was true: getting money and getting power. Often the root of many of Reynolds’s aspirations.

“You’re more than welcome to deny the job,” Reynold says. “But I’ve decided that I want you on that boat. You’re a useful member of this team. Whether you like it or not, this could be very big.”

You clenched your jaw. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ve got a week.”

You had only been home from Yucatán for one month. You had a wonderful four months of being with your sister and her family in the days and sneaking off with your man from the sea at night. You couldn’t have gotten closer to Namor; well, unless he took off his shorts and... well, you wouldn’t let him do it, anyways. He had asked. A few times. More than a few times. But for some reason, you just couldn’t do it. For starters, you weren’t on the pill and you were sure there wasn’t contraception under the sea (you asked if he had a condom one time, and he asked you what language that word was in. For someone who is immortal, he sure didn’t know a lot).

You felt like sleeping with him for real for real would make things realer. It made him more of a commitment, gave him more power. And you told yourself you wouldn’t let it happen unless you were absolutely sure that he deserved it. It was really hard to say no sometimes, though. He sure knew how to persuade you.

Accepting the job and getting on the damn boat would for sure cause an issue if Namor found out. You didn’t want to search for vibranium, especially knowing the damage it would do to Wakanda if the United States got access to such a resource, and to Talokan if the States got knowledge of their existence. But... Reynolds personally invited you, and it could do wonders for your career if it went well.

“I don’t see why not,” your sister said when you told her of your predicament the next day. “I mean, I understand the hesitation, especially if boats are being hijacked. But who knows, maybe they’ll get an Avenger and put them on board with you to keep you safe. Hopefully it’s Captain America.”

“As much as I’d love to have Sam Wilson on a boat with me for two weeks, I’m still not sure,” you groaned, plopping down onto your couch and opening up your laptop, the blue light hitting your face as you held your phone against your ear with your shoulder. Scrolling through the news, you said, “It just feels like a thing just for money. And, like, yeah, it is, but I... wait a second...”

You stopped scrolling, eyes casting across the headline of the latest CNN article, your lips falling apart. Wakanda’s King T’Challah dead at 41.

“Oh my gosh,” you breathed. Your sister asked you what it was on the other side of the phone, and you hastily forwarded the article to hear. She cursed, and both of you fell silent as you read. “Jesus Christ. I can’t go on that boat.”

---

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU won’t get on the boat?” asked Reynolds the followed week when you went into office. You shook your head, clenching your jaw.

“King T’Challah just died,” you told him matter-of-factly. “And if there really is more vibranium out there, and the States gets access to it, that’ll do a lot of damage to Wakanda.”

“We are not giving the States access to it,” Reynolds furrowed his brow, the hair of his grey mustache fluttering as he spoke. “We’re just figuring out how much of its in the water. It’s not our job to start harvesting it, that’s up to Archeology.”

“It doesn’t matter who does what,” you said feverishly. “We’re still helping do something that will eventually lead to bad things for Wakanda. And I don’t feel comfortable doing that, especially after their king just passed away.”

Reynolds narrowed his eyes at you, and said nothing before circling around to his desk and clicking the mouse of his computer. You blinked, watching him search around for something with a stern face. You waited a minute for him to speak, and when he didn’t, you cleared your throat.

“Sir..?”

“Look, L/N,” Reynolds looked at you from over his bifocals. “I understand where you stand on these more... well, political aspects of the job. But this is a big opportunity I’m offering you. If you decline, fine, but I’ll know that you’re not up to the task. I’ll give the job to Quade.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling something bubble in your stomach. Ugh, you thought. Quade. He was the worst. You knew it was wrong to take this job. Morally, it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Okay,” you sighed defeatedly. “I’ll... I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Reynolds gave you a nod and stopped typing. He pressed the delete button and held it down. “I can get rid of this email to Quade then. We leave Friday. Back your bags and tell your family you love ‘em.”

---

UNDER THE THRASHING WAVES OF the Gulf of Mexico sat a king on his throne, his forearms resting on his strong, tensed thighs as he read a piece of torn paper. He had to put the paper under pieces of surface-dweller plastic so the pages didn’t fall apart under the water, but even still, the ink had smeared a bit. Nonetheless, Namor sat, his jaw clenched, and he read.

Namor, the letter read.

Hopefully this letter got to you all right-- my niece isn’t always too reliable. I’m writing to you in an attempt to explain myself so you don’t find out from other sources. Some people from my team will be sailing out into the Gulf with another team that’s mining for vibranium. I wanted to deny the job, but I need to take whatever opportunities they throw my way if I want to keep my head above water. I’m going to do my best to protect you and your people, but there’s only so much I can do. I’m sorry. Really, I am. If there’s anything I can do that you can think of (without totally tarnishing my reputation and/or getting fired), find a way to let me know, and I’ll do it. Again, I’m really sorry. I hope you can forgive me. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.

Sincerely Apologetically Love

From, Y/N

Namor gripped the paper tight between his calloused, jewelry covered hands. Lifting his head, he glanced up at his people, the civilization they had built together, the vibranium everyone wore. He glanced at the chest plate he wore, the cuffs around his arms, at the vibranium he wore. It was everything.

He clenched his jaw, bowing his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. He laid the paper down on his lap, squeezing his eyes shut to think.

“Namora!” he called out hastily, and after a little over a minute, the woman emerged into the space and walked up to him, standing before his throne. She knelt, opening up her palms to him in a greeting before standing up. “K'abéet in actualizaciones yóok'ol le láak' rastreador. Yaan in biin ta wéetel (I need updates on the next tracker. I’ll be going with you).”

---

THE DRIVE TO THE PORT was peaceful, palm trees swaying in the breeze and reminding you that, although it wasn’t Mexico, you were appreciative for the beauty and pleasantries of the place you lived in. Florida, with all of its ups and downs-- and you meant all of them-- was nice. The giant boat was astonishing once your Uber pulled up. People were hustling and bustling about the port, and you simply stared up at the giant ship, clutching the strap of your bag and admiring its beauty.

“Ah, Doctor L/N, good to see you. All packed?” asked Doctor Mishra, one of the men of the group who you actually liked to be around. You were thankful he was on the trip. “Boat’s giant, no?”

“Oh, yeah,” you whistled. “Y’know, I’ve never been on a boat like this.”

“I’ve been on a couple of cruises,” Doctor Mishra told you. “Wonderful vacations. However, we will not be waited on on this boat.”

“Fine with me,” you shrugged. “Do we just... go inside, or what?”

“Not sure,” he said. Smiling, he heaved his duffel bag over his shoulder and said, “Let’s find out!

Everything went smoothly for the first week and three days. All the men had to share rooms with at least one other person, and you were lucky enough that everyone agreed that you should have the single room. Your research seemed to be going fairly, however, you never caught a glimpse of the research of the others aside from Doctor Mishra, who you were doing a lot of your work with these days.

One evening, after a nice warm shower, you ventured out onto the deck of the ship, letting the ocean breeze cool your warm cheeks. You caught a glimpse, however, of Dr. Reynolds and Bernstein exchanging words on the deck, standing quite close and speaking under their breaths. You crept closer around the corner, trying to eavesdrop.

“We found it around thirty-five miles from the west tip of Cuba, so we’re thinking if we move closer towards Cancún and Yucatán and all that, we’ll find more,” Bernstein said quietly but firmly. Reynolds nodded his head in understanding.

“But what of the machines?” he asked. “The last one was destroyed, you said, signal lost?”

“Something’s hungry down there,” Bernstein shrugged. “Or however far down the vibranium is, it’s too deep for our computers. We need higher tech to harvest it.”

Your stomach turned. The team wasn’t supposed to be thinking about harvesting vibranium. Reynolds had told you that was up to Archaeology. You gulped and kept listening, fighting the urge to jump out and ask a million questions.

"I’m in contact with some people up north who’ve got new stuff that could work,” Reynolds scratched his white beard pensively. “They’ve had limited success too, but it could be helpful.”

“Us getting this vibranium could change the game,” Bernstein said emphatically. “I mean, can you imagine if the government realized we had this stuff? They’d pay us a lot of money to take it off our hands.”

“This is more than just money, Bernstein,” Reynolds said lowly. “If Wakanda found out that the States got hold of the one thing they’ve got on us? We’re back on top.”

“Holy shit,” Bernstein ran a hand through his oily blonde hair and grinned. “I went into the right profession, that’s for damn sure!”

“Yes, well, let’s just see what the other men have gathered in the past week and compare,” Reynolds told him. “Maybe there’s something right under our noses that we haven’t noticed.”

You clenched your jaw and stepped out from behind the corner. You squeezed a fist in one hand to prevent yourself from lashing out, and it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that the two men noticed you.

“Oh, L/N!” Reynolds gave a gasp of surprise and then a chuckle. “Wasn’t expecting you to be out so late. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“I don’t have a bedtime, sir, I’m a grown woman,” you said firmly. “But you’ve got about twenty years on me, so I’m confused as to why you’re not in bed either.”

Bernstein and Reynolds shared a glance.

“I’m also confused about all this I’m hearing about harvesting vibranium,” you said, not saying anything for a heartbeat to give them room to defend themselves. “I didn’t think that was what we were doing here. I also thought that as a team we were supposed to be, I don’t know, working together?”

“Look, L/N, you’ve got your own research, and so do we. We chose not to include you because you, for some reason, seemed very against delving deeper into this vibranium business,” Reynolds explained in a slow and calm voice as if he were speaking to a child. “This could be very lucrative for us and helpful for American forces.”

“You’re hiding shit from everyone,” you spat.

“No, I’m not,” Reynolds sneered. “Just from you.”

As if someone had pressed a button, all of a sudden Reynolds and Bernstein stood upright, their faces blank, eyes fogged over. You furrowed your brow and snapped in front of the former's face. A song began to echo the ship, as if someone was playing it on the loudspeakers, and you glanced around as if to see if someone else noticed it.

You glanced up to the top deck, where a man stood next to a large scope. He was walking very uniformly, his face blank as well, and you watched as he continued to walk and walk and walk until--

You screamed bloody murder. The man walked until he reached the railing, where he hopped over it and simply threw himself off the ledge and into the depths of the ocean below. Breathing heavily, you whipped yourself around and watched as Reynolds, mesmerized by the song, began to walk towards the railing, Bernstein at his heels.

“No!” you cried, grabbing ahold of Reynolds’s arm to hold him back; he thrashed himself out of your grasp and climbed over the railing. You grappled at the back of his shirt, trying to tug him back, but he too, like a rag doll, plummeted into the crashing waves below. Bernstein was looming closer to the railing, and you wrapped your arms around his torso to hold him back.

You kept seeing men out of the corner of your eyes walk over the edge and throw themselves into the sea. You hadn’t realized it, but tears were pricking out of the corners of your eyes as you mustered up all your strength to try and hold Bernstein back from the edge.

“Snap-- out-- of-- it!” you cried, and brought one of your hands to slap him clean across the face. To no avail. Balling up a fist, you let go of him and stood between him and the railing; you wound up your arm and socked him clean across the face, to which he toppled onto his back. Blood was now seeping from his nose, but at least he wasn’t walking to his death.

You squinted out into the sea, to try and figure out the source of the sound, but all you saw was the water and the midnight blue horizon. A groan from behind you alerted your attention; you dropped to your knees, shaking Bernstein awake.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cried. He wiped his nose, the blood staining the sleeve of his white shirt.

“You fuckin’ punched me!” Bernstein muffled, sitting upright and punching you straight across the face, hard enough for you to topple back onto the deck. He got to his feet, and as if nothing had happened, his face became blank again. You groaned, sitting upright and clutching your bleeding nose as he walked towards the railing again.

“No, no-- stop!” you called out, getting to your feet, but it was too late; Bernstein climbed over the railing and fell face first into the ocean. You saw the tail of a dolphin in the distance as his body disappeared, and you squeezed your eyes shut, covering your face with your hands, blood from your nose seeping through your fingers. “Jesus christ, what the fuck? What the actual fuck? What the fuck is happening?”

SPLASH! You drew your hands away from your face, and to your horror, saw the fins of sharks circling around the boat, the occasional tale of a dolphin, or the splashes of other marine life you couldn’t identify from so far away. The beating of your heart was so fast that at this rate you were sure you could die of a heart attack. Unable to take your eyes away from the sea of troubles below you, you were terrified to see the body of a whale rise close enough to the surface for you to see, and what shocked you the most was the outline of a person riding on its back. Your jaw dropped.

Without a second thought, you sprinted towards the hatch that led to the inside of the ship. You ran at top speed across the creaky wooden floor until you reached your room, grabbing your bag that held your journal, your phone, your laptop, and your camera. A knock at your door made you jump and almost yelp.

“It’s just me,” it was Doctor Mishra, his hair disheveled and his eyes wild. He had on a large pair of earmuffs. “Are you okay? Your nose is bleeding!”

“No!” you practically screeched. “I just fucking watched the entire crew kill themselves!”

“Everyone?”

“Well, I don’t know about everyone,” you stammered, shoving anything and everything important to you into your bag. You grabbed the printed map of the gulf, with annotations and drawings and other kinds of markings, and rolled it quickly before shoving it into your bag. Picking up your taser, you blinked at it before shoving it into your bag, too. “Bernstein and Reynolds are gone, same with the rest of the crew on the deck, and the man from the mast, and the--”

“Slow down,” Mishra said to you, squatting down next to you and handing you his handkerchief for your nose. “There’s almost no signal, and the only ways we can send out an S.O.S. are either from the red flare device on the mast, or by the radio in the control room.”

“Okay,” you breathed, putting the straps of your bag over your shoulders and tightening it so it wouldn’t fall off, wiping your nose despite it continuing to bleed. “But... what if we get all weird too and try and walk off?”

“Here,” Mishra fumbled with something in his pocket: wired earbuds. “Plug them into your phone and blast some music. Should do the trick. My earmuffs worked pretty well.”

You grabbed the earbuds from him, untangling them before plugging them into your ears. Grabbing your phone, you shuffled a playlist and turned up the volume. Mishra beckoned you to follow him out the door, to which you complied, Tyler, the Creator’s “ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?” blaring from the earbuds. Not the time, you thought, but you couldn’t afford to stand there a pick a good song for the occasion.

“I’ll head up to the mast,” you offered. “The control room is safer for you since it’s pretty contained.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “The mast is insanely high, you could get hurt.”

You clenched your jaw. “It’s fine. I’ll send out the flares. Good luck, okay?”

“Take care of yourself,” Mishra told you firmly. “Meet back on the deck in ten minutes or so.”

You nodded and turned, sprinting back up onto the deck and opening the hatch. There were people on the deck, with beautiful feathered headdresses and jaded armor. You stared at them for a moment, but before they could see you, you ran behind one of the poles, trying to focus on getting up to the mast. The ladder was on the other side of the deck, leading you to inch your way around the center portion until you could find the ladder with your eyes.

There were tons of the soldiers across the deck, running around, whispering to one another. They all held massive, sharp spears, the jade and gold glinting under the pale moonlight. It reminded you of Namor, you thought, until you realized it was possible they were his people. As much as you trusted him, you didn’t trust the spears; you weren’t about to risk your life, and even Doctor Mishra’s life, just to reunite with the man from the sea.

You bolted towards the ladder, grabbing the bars and climbing up it with no hesitation. Someone from below shouted something. You didn’t look down, moving at a speed you were sure you had never moved at before, until you reached the top level where the light machine and the red flare device were located. You practically threw yourself onto the bright red button, pressing it over and over again so tens of red flares shot up into the night sky.

Your earbuds were playing Childish Gambino, now, and despite it being one of your favorite songs of all time, you couldn’t find it in you to enjoy it. You kept pressing the button, red flare after red flare firing into the sky. People were shouting from below you, in a language you couldn’t decipher, especially with “Me and Your Mama” blasting into your ears.

You took a brief moment to glance at the deck, peering over the railing. Someone was climbing up the mast, the gold of their armor glinting under the light of the mast. You panicked, unzipped your bag and grabbed your taser. You ran to the other side of the table-like desk in the center of the platform and crouched behind it.

Feet adorned in golden-plated sandals planted onto the platform. You swallowed your breath, holding out your taser for when they rounded the desk. You cursed your earbuds; you were sure they could hear the Childish Gambino blasting from them. When they rounded the corner, you shot up and stuck out the taster onto their stomach, to which they convulsed and stumbled backwards. You pressed the red button a handful more times, but before you could act again, you felt a hand grab you by the neck and heard the cling of a blade being unsheathed.

“Suelta a arma (Drop your weapon),” the person holding you said firmly, to which you shakily dropped your taster. It clattered onto the wooden platform. The soldier let you go, your back towards the ladder, and with the shear pointed right at you, commanded, “Péeksik (Move).”

You couldn’t understand them, but you had enough context clues to understand what the soldier wanted. You caught a long enough glimpse at them to see a strange mask over their mouth and nose, water splashing around inside of it. You wanted to look for longer, but they nudged you with the butt of their spear, so without protest, you climbed down the ladder.

By the time you reached the floor of the deck, you barely had a moment of freedom before the soldier grabbed you again, holding you by the shoulders with their spear at your neck. They spoke to another soldier, the blade of the spear dangerously close to your skin.

One of the soldiers wore a tall, orange-feathered headdress, with the same feathers donned around the necklace she wore that looked like it was made out of something woven. The soldier holding you shoved you forward, hard enough that you stumbled over your feet and almost fell flat on your face. As soon as you were released, the other soldiers circled you, spears pointed.

“Vacíe u póoj (Empty your bag),” she commanded. You blinked, not understand. At your silence, one of the soldiers poked your bag with their spear, nudging it off. You reluctantly shook it off of your shoulders, letting it fall onto the deck. “Je'e le! (Open it!)”

Another soldier poked it with your spear before another nudged you forwards. Lowering to your knees, you grabbed the back and opened the zipper pocket so the contents of your bag was visible. One of the soldiers snatched it from you, turning it upside down and shaking it so everything fell out; your map tumbled to the ground, along with your computer, camera, and journal. Cringing at the sound of your computer and camera dropping onto the deck, you made a move to stand, but the feeling of a spear pressed against the back of your neck kept you down.

The woman in the headdress, who you assumed was in charge, bent down and picked up the map, unrolling it. She ran her finger where you had outlined the hypoxic zone in red pen, the notes near the southern border of the United States, as well as the circle around your sister’s town in Yucatán.

“Talokan ma' u dibujado (Talokan is not drawn),” she said. In broken English, she read the notes and pronounced. “Hi-gh con-cen-tra-ti-on.”

You gulped, watching them interact with one another. The one behind you holding the spear to your neck said, “Ba'ax le kíins wa ma'? (Do we kill her, or not?)”

“Le ajawo' tu ya'alaj ma' u testigos (The king said no witnesses),” another soldier proclaimed. “Kíisa (Kill her).”

“Pa'atik! (Wait!)” one exclaimed, leaning down and grabbing your wrist. “Ilawil u x-oron (Look at her wrist).”

“Lelo' u Talokan (That is from Talokan),” another said, to which gasps and murmurs spun around the circle of soldiers. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment; the word Talokan was circling your brain. Namor. These were his people. Where was he? Why were they on your ship, killing your team? About to kill you?

“K'aaba' ti' le ajawo' (Call the king),” the woman said, to which one of the soldiers held up a large conch shell. After a beat of silence, the soldier brought it up to their lips and blew through it, a loud clarion call resounding through the air. After the call ended, the woman announced to the soldiers, “Leti' jach le ts'ook viva (She is the last alive).”

“Le ajawo' yéetel complacido (The king will be pleased),” a soldier said.

“Y/N!” came someone's voice from above. Your heart lurched when you saw Doctor Mishra from atop one of the platforms where the radio room was. You internally cursed him for revealing his presence to the soldiers. The soldiers shouted something, and one moved to go after Mishra, but before he could, a figure shot through the air towards where the doctor was.

The figure landed on the platform next to Mishra, who, before he could run away, was struck in the head with the butt of a spear; Mishra fell to the floor, alive, but unconscious. The figure flew up into the air, circled the mast, before soaring towards where you and the soldiers were, landing with a hand on the deck.

The soldiers knelt, joining their hands at the wrists and opening their palms to him. The figure moved, the wings at his angles fluttering as he stood up. Your breath caught in your throat when he set eyes on you, breaking through the circle of soldiers to stand before your kneeling figure.

“You,” was all you could breathe when Namor stared down at you, his spear gripped in his hand. His hair was slicked back with the water of the ocean, his eyes narrowed in one of the deadliest glares you had ever witnessed. A chill went up your spine.

“I gave you that because I trusted you,” Namor poked the bracelet on your wrist with the tip of his spear. Your hands were shaking now, tears pearling at the corners of your eyes. “And here you are... harvesting vibranium. Just as you promised me you would not do.”

“I... you didn’t read my letter?” you stammered out. He was scaring you. There were drops of saltwater on his eyelashes, those ebony eyes of his making you simultaneously melt with adoration and freeze with fear. “I thought... they... they lied to me, they said we were just finding the concentration, I didn’t know they were harvesting it here--”

“You lied to me,” Namor said slowly with composure. His jaw clenched. Something in his eyes changed. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t,” you were crying now. “I didn’t. I promise, K’uk’ulkan--”

“You do not deserve to call me that,” he gave a dry scoff. He gulped. He wasn’t just angry, you saw; he was upset. Devastated. “You are now an enemy.”

“Look at the map!” you urged him, scrambling to find it. “Look at my notes! I didn’t-- it’s not even near Yucatán, it’s-- it’s just where the concentration was higher, I swear--”

“High Concentration,” the woman from before said, handing the map to Namor. He took it, unrolling it and eyeing the area you had outlined.

“What is this?” Namor asked you, not meeting your eyes. You sniffed, swallowing the frog in your throat.

“It’s-- it’s just where I found the high concentration of vibranium in the first place. I thought we were just supposed to go back to that area, in the northern Gulf, to test the concentration, and that’s what I thought we were researching! That’s what my-- that’s my project. My work.”

“Your project,” Namor repeated.

“Remember?” you practically begged. “Remember how I spent all that time working and you stopped me from getting data? That’s what I was researching! That’s what I’m doing here! I didn’t know that fucking Bernstein and Reynolds were trying to harvest vibranium! I had no idea!”

“How am I supposed to believe you?”

You could barely catch your breath. “I-- I don’t know. My map, my computer, my journal, my goddamn phone, everything’s in there. Take it all, I don’t care. Read everything I’ve ever written, you’ll see!”

Namor bent down and picked up your journal, flipping open to the first page and starting to read. Your knees were starting to hurt from how long you’ve been sitting on them. The silence was deafening, watching him flip through the journal. He read every single word, and you tried to calm your breathing as you watched his face change as he continued to flip.

When he reached the last page, he closed the journal and held it by his side. His glare was gone; he was frowning now, refusing to look at your face. Glancing up at the soldiers, he lifted a hand, to which they lowered their spears away from you and backed up. Namor extended a hand to you as if to help you to your feet. You eyed it hesitantly, but seeing the grimace on his face, you took it and stood.

He didn’t say anything. It was like he couldn’t. He avoided your eyes, and without a word, he turned around towards the railing, resting his forearms on it with a sigh. You were still shaking, but as your fear subsided, you felt the anger bubbling up in your stomach. A drop of blood fell from your nose, touching your top lip.

“You killed everyone,” you muttered, wiping the blood off of your lip. He turned his head and said nothing. “Your people almost killed me.”

“I will do anything for my people,” he told you carefully. His voice was wavering. “If they are threatened, I do not care what it takes. I will protect them.”

You weren’t sure what to say. You walked up beside him, resting your arms on the railing, too. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his chest rising and falling with a quick cadence, and despite not being able to hear his fast breathing, you could see he was becoming flustered.

“I pray you can find it in you to understand my motives,” he continued. You, again, said nothing. You could barely form words, your mouth dry. There was something warm on the back of your neck; you brought your hand up to touch it, only to find fresh blood on the pads of your fingers. The spears had cut you. Namor glanced over at your bloodied hand, brows twitching. He reached towards you, “Allow me to--”

You flinched back. You couldn’t look at him. He dropped his hands and bowed his head, staring at the waters below. They were calm, now, the sharks and dolphins no longer splashing about. That whale you had seen had gone, too. You willed your rapid beating heart to cease, wishing your chest would stop twisting and turning.

“I get it,” you murmured, using the collar of your shirt to wipe the last bit of blood from your nose. Namor’s head twitched up, eyes on you in less than a second. “Gotta protect your people, just like you were when you wouldn’t let me take those samples. But this... this is... what I saw...”

“If I had known you weren’t apart of it, I would never have let--”

“I wish you had trusted me,” you sniffled, finally looking at him. His ebony eyes were wider than you had ever seen them, brown brows tilted upwards in a form of desperation you would have never picture them having. He was beautiful. “My letter, I thought... I thought I explained it.”

“You did,” Now that Namor had caught your eyes, he didn’t dare look away in fear of losing them again. “You did, I... jumped to conclusions.”

“You jumped to conclusions,” you repeated, breaking the eye contact. You clenched your jaw. “So you killed my entire team.”

Namor’s mouth opened and closed like a fish for a second, unable to find proper words. “You have to understand where I’m coming from, here. These ships harvesting our vibranium-- Talokan’s vibranium-- would put us at risk. It could lead to the end of my people.”

“I know,” you sighed, closing your eyes and putting your head on your hands where they rested against the railing. The ocean’s breeze struck at your forehead, cooling your skin and blowing your hair off your face. Namor didn’t say anything, but you could feel him looming closer. You hid your face from him.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear him over the breeze. “Please look at me.”

After a prolonged second, you lifted your head from your arms, the breeze chilling the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You couldn’t bear it.

“Take me home,” you said quietly. He blinked. “Please.”

“To... to Yucatán?” he inquired, a layer of hope underneath his words.

“No,” something was twisting in your chest. “To Miami.”

“...right now?”

“Yes.”

Namor didn’t move, just staring at you with those puppy dog eyes that made you want to wrap your arms around him and pull him into you.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Please, Y/N, we have to--”

“Yes, I am sure,” you said pointedly, despite the wobbling of your voice. “It’s not like there’s anything for me to do here, anyways. Everyone’s dead.”

Namor raised an arm, and the female Talokanil soldier from earlier came to his side. He muttered something to her in his native language; you hadn’t bothered to listen, for one because you didn’t speak a word, but for two because for some reason, hearing his voice was making it difficult to hold your ground.

“Come,” he said to you, holding his hand out. You glanced over at him; he began to rise from the ground, wings on his ankles keeping him suspended in the air. You glanced at his hand. “Do you trust me?”

You felt your lower lip tremble.

“I don’t know,” you said, grabbing his hand anyways. He frowned, his eyes more glassy than ever. You wondered if he would cry. He pulled you up, gently wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you tight on his side, his other arm holding his spear.

In a flash, you were soaring towards the horizon, the cold, salty air whipping you in the face as he flew. His skin was cold against yours, and despite your anger, you pushed yourself against him, wondering when the next time you’d feel him would be.

The gold of his jewelry pressed against your skin, and you stared at the way in glinted under the pale moonlight. You stared at him, the jade in his septum, the point of his ears, the bronze of his skin. There were tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, prevented from rolling down his face and simply flying away from the force of the wind.

You hadn’t realized how quickly you were flying. The shore was near, you could see the lights of the city as you approached it. You slowed, your hair relaxing from the absence of the harsh wind. Scrunching your nose to get some feeling back in it, your feet skimmed the top layer of the ocean as he brought you to the sand and let you go.

You dusted your self off, fixing your head and allowing yourself to adjust to being back on the ground. You had gotten dizzy from the flight, but came to it in less than a minute. You glanced at where his hand still held his spear. When he saw you look at it, he lowered it without hesitation. You finally laid eyes on Namor. The tears from earlier had fallen onto his cheek.

“Do you fear me?” he asked.

“I fear what you’re capable of,” you muttered. “Because I don’t think you’ll ever trust me.”

“I trust you,” he breathed. You frowned. “I trust you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he insisted, falling to his knees in front of you. His ebony hair was partially covering his eyes, but the wind suddenly pushed it back so you could see his face. Your eyes widened, gaze lowering to where he sat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I trust you. Fully.”

You could barely believe the sight before you; Namor, on his knees. You were cruel, you thought. You were still crying.

“I just need some time,” you said, feeling your heart change at the sight of him. His eyes kept flickered around your face, to one eye, to your nose, to your lips, to the other eye, back to your lips. “Okay?”

“Time?” he repeated, nodding, knees digging into the sand, wings on his ankles fluttering a bit. “Yes, that’s-- as much time as you want.”

“Okay,” you sighed. Namor slowly rose to his feet, reminding you of the way he towered over you. He didn’t let his eyes leave yours, as if he were trying to tell you something tacitly. He looked at your lips.

He lifted his hands towards your face, and when you didn’t flinch away, he cupped both of your cheeks with his palms. You closed your eyes, heart thumping.

“Whenever you are ready,” he began, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone. “I’ll be here. All right?”

“Mm-hm,” you said, letting yourself look at him. He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Good-bye,” he said. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline so tenderly you thought you might start sobbing right then and there. Before you could say anything more, he soared up into the air, flying away and disappearing into the midnight sky. You wiped at your cheeks, ridding the tears, and with a sigh, you turned around and made for your apartment.

---

taglist:

@childishnewt @criesinlies @fairydxll @cassiestars777 @mcximvffs @kaqua @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @aliyahsomerhalder @lovenewfandoms @justkay2 @only-his3 @deadlydahlias @nellycanwrite @vlamley @seraphimcollections @kingtwhiddleston @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @doimakeyounervous @blue-chup @myotakureprieve @lulu-83 @seraphimcollections @kingtwhiddleston @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @atabeyguabancex @doimakeyounervous @chaoticevilbakugo @theamericanjewitch @tian-monique @kentucky-criedfricken @takeyour-pants-off

a/n: please remember to update your privacy settings so i can tag you!! so many people asked to be on the taglist but then i can’t tag them for some reason... please make sure you update it! thanks everyone <3

#namor #namor fanfic #namor fanfiction #namor x reader #namor mcu #namor x you #namor fic #tenoch huerta #wakanda forever #k'uk'ulkan of talokan #vibranium #namor of talokan #k'uk'ulkan x reader #k'uk'ulkan #mcu #Black Panther 2 #con la brisa #angst #tenoch

627 notes · View notes

roo-bastmoon · 1 year

Text

Suspicious Treatment of Jimin: What am I forgetting?

I have serious medication-induced brain fog so my memory is swiss cheese these days. I am trying to map out something so I can understand what is happening with our Jimin....

So far:

Hanteo deleted hundreds of thousands in sales; company did not comment.

YouTube froze and deleted millions of streams every day; company did not comment.

Jimin's Spotify profile was not properly listed. It still has no description or link to merch.

Jimin's works are not added to the company's playlist for days and sometimes weeks while other members' works and collabs are added immediately.

Spotify froze and filtered millions of his streams; company did not comment.

His title track was deliberately split, despite qualifying to count as one unit.

His in-ear devices failed to work during a live performance.

He was allowed only 9 days of promotion.

He was denied when he requested more than 2 music videos.

His historic Hot 100 #1 was not acknowledged by the company except for one single retweet the day-of.

He had no celebrations, no formal acknowledgement by company leadership of his achievement or of the resulting huge increase in stock prices.

Billboard changed their charting rules in Week 2; company did not comment until it was time for a different album to sell.

His albums did not ship to China and have not been restocked on WeVerse for weeks (whereas other artists' albums have).

His instagram was shadow banned. His videos on TikTok are also soft-blocked from being boosted.

All other members' YouTube focused views for Take Two auto-generate a preview photo; his does not (this must be deliberately selected not to generate an image). *Apparently they have fixed this issue after enough fans called it out on Twitter.

Some have observed that since Hybe took over, Jimin has been given fewer lines in group songs and less time dancing center as well.

A recent WeVerse article about Morgan Wallen downplayed both Yoongi's tour and Jimin's album as achieving "some partial success in breaking up [Wallen's] domination of the Hot 100."

Add to this the company "omitting" his bills four times, which lead to late payments on insurance premiums, which led to his apartment being "seized," which led to a smear campaign in the press the very same day his OST With You dropped... followed by his personal address and national identity number being doxxed online... and this honestly looks suspicious as hell.

What am I forgetting?

I'm not a manti but if I don't get reasonable explanations I'm gonna become one.

How can it look like anything other that deliberate sabotage so that one member does not outshine the rest?

How is this good business sense?

Jimin is a humble, hardworking team-player with no ambitions to go solo and leave his members. Why would anyone have it out for him?

It's possible there's prejudice and bigotry at play, but deep enough to span multiple departments and cut into the company's bottom line?

And yet how can it not be deliberate? How can any company be THIS incompetent for just ONE member?

And yet if we raise hell, we look like victimizing solos. Yet look at this laundry list!! And it just keeps happening. What can be done??

Can we not organize a quiet mass-email campaign? Can someone not write up a well-researched UCC article to share in English and Korean and keep tagging Hybe? Would it not be possible to comment respectfully about this in WeVerse?

Or would acknowledging it at all make it worse for Jimin?

I don't understand all the politics at play here.

I have no real idea what is happening but part of me is quietly terrified they have it out for him during contract negotiations for some reason.

What is BTS without all our beloved seven?

I'm genuinely very deeply upset.

#jimin #park jimin #jikook

178 notes · View notes

justatypicalwizard · 1 year

Text

Wants Within | S. Shinazugawa | Chapter 8

✦ Sanemi Shinazugawa x femReader!, college au, reader is adult

✦ Synopsis: You're a college student taking classes with a very strict lecturer- professor Shinazugawa. Because of an unfortunate even you got on his bad side so now you're trying everything to regain in his eyes. Well, you most certainely didn't expect that kind of attention.

✦ Word count: 1,6k

18+, minors do not interact

''Damn, I should probably try this one.'' You pointed your finger at a piece of paper hung on the information board, gaining Ann's attention.

''Hm?'' She mumbled, chewing on a sandwich.

''It's a competition. If I would win inside the university then I could represent us higher.'' You started to explain what you just read.

''Isn't that like... hard to get out of the university level?'' She gave you an open eye look.

''It is. Yet, if I don't try I won't know. What bad could happen from trying?'' You shrugged.

''And what do you need to study?''

''Oh, I'm thinking about this one because it had okay requirements. You don't need to write any test, you actually have to do some research and present the results of something that they called 'an interesting, creative and innovative view of an existing academic work'.''

''So you'll have to rewrite the work?'' Ann questioned you.

''I don't know.''

✦

After filing a form to participate in the competition, you waited to be assigned to a competition group. You were supposed to complete your work with the help of a professor. Looking at the piles of forms that other people brought, you spotted that it was very small. Just a few of them lying sadly on the desk. This was good for you, not many people got interested in this.

What you wanted to achieve is representing the university. This would nearly grant you a scholarship for the next year.Grinning to yourself at your sneaky plan, you took off for your next lecture, feeling that the day would be good.

✦

After a week, you got an answer. Looking at the email you received, you bit your lower lip. You got assigned to the group led by professor Shinazugawa. Group members: 1

So, yet again you may have some alone time with the white haired man. Were you happy? Somehow yes, but on the other hand, crushing on him from your comfortable seat in the classroom was one thing. Spending time alone with him and having those types of thoughts felt uneasy. Will you be able to get rid of them, or will you rub your thumbs together and stutter, thinking about dirty things rather than about science.

Well, one way or the other, you will still proceed with the competition, your horniness can't get in the way of your career.

Finding him sitting in one of the empty lecture rooms, you knocked on the door lightly, only to hear a mumble. He was deep in thoughts, looking at his laptop. These freaking two buttons were unmade. You swear to god, you would grab them and either button them up so that it doesn't distract you or tear them all the way down to finally get what you want to see.

See girl? That's the thought I was telling you about. And you know what? You can't get rid of them no matter how hard you try in front of him.

''Good morning. I'm here to talk with you about the competition on the academic paper interpretation.'' You greeted him with a small smile, walking up to his desk.

He gave you a glance. After recognising you, his face lightened a bit.

''Mhm. Give me a moment, I need to do one thing.'' He went back to his computer, pulling a chair standing next to him and shoving it next to his.

You took the place. Putting your hands on your knees, you realised your legs were just next to his. Of course he was sitting like a king on his throne, claiming his space. Squeezing yourself into the chair, you begged that he would not shift and touch you by chance.

As if the gods were laughing at you, the man put one of his legs on the other one, nearly brushing you. You swiftly dodged that, not wanting to get a critical hit just at the beginning of the battle.

-10 hp

The white haired man put his head on his palm, his hand comfortable on the desk as he bit his lip ever so lightly, focused on the task he was completing.

-50 hp (the enemy was able to distract you)

Shinazugawa bounced his fingers on his chin. You followed his movement with your eyes, realising how well carved his jaw was.

-20 hp (enemie's distraction was unsuccessful)

Groaning quietly he let his hand through the messy, white hair. His voice low and somehow harsh.

-20 hp

Typing something and making the last few clicks, he finally completed whatever he was doing. Pushing his chest into the chairs back, he stretched slightly. The buttons on his white shirt also started to move, tightening up, just as if they wanted to pop out. Shinazugawa took a sip of his black coffee, which made his fully exposed Adam's apple move.

-100 hp

You have died!

Letting out a shaky breath you looked down, fumbling with your fingers. Why is it so hard to keep a hold of your mind sometimes?

''Is something wrong?'' The man's voice tore you out of your dirty thoughts.

''No.'' Back on earth.

''Okay. Then, let's talk about the competition.'' He turned fully your way. ''I've seen your application and I must say I'm impressed. You're really trying at this university.''

His compliment made you smile a little, looking to the side, past him.

''First we need to find an academic paper that covers the required topics and is short enough to be good for this work. That is your first task. I'll tell you where you can look for such things in the library. Pick up a few that you like and we will choose something. Then we will discuss what the paper is about, find the key topics and start to work on them. We will need a bunch of meetings.'' He looked at a piece of paper he had printed out. ''It will mostly be your work, I'm here to coordinate you.''

Nodding your head you took a look at the paper he handed you. It was a plan, everything that he just said plus some details about the topics, requirements and other stuff.

''We need to decide on the first meeting date.'' He took out his phone and swiped through his calendar. ''When are you free.''

Whenever you want.

But you didn't say that. Opening your plan on your own phone, you put it on his desk. Shinazugawa took a quick glance and decided.

''Is Wednesday, six p.m. okay for you?''

''Yes professor.''

''Great. Until then, look through the requirements and find those academic papers.''

✦

Wednesday came far too quick. You found a few interesting works and picked them out of the library. Making your way to Shinazugawas office in the university, you also wanted to stop at the cafe you work in to pick up your charger that you left the other day.

Retrieving it from one of your coworkers you looked at the coffee machine.

''Can I get two coffees? One [your favourite] and one black.'' The girl at the counter nodded and soon you had two coffees in your hands.

Going back to the university, you found his office. It was dark outside the vast windows. Fall would soon merge into winter.

Knocking on his door, you heard a faint 'come in'. Pushing the door, you greeted Shinazugawa and put the coffees on his desk. The white haired man looked at them, a bit shocked, but not too much for it to change his stoic face expression. Not explaining anything, you just took your cup and started to sip on it, taking out all your materials. He also didn't say anything, taking the coffee for himself, which made you smile lightly.

After he took a look at all the works you brought in, the two of you started to discuss them.

''This one may be too hard. Look, it starts off easy but the further you get, the more specific the author is. It may be hard to come up with anything giving the amount of details in this. Here, you have a few topics that you'll have next year and we don;t have enough time to teach you them. This one looks good, you already had all the topics and it leaves a lot of space for further explanation...'' As he was judging the academic papers, he slid his finger on them, showing you the places he was talking about.

''And what about this part, won't it be problematic? The author crealry points out that he sees no further interpretation of this fragment.'' You tried to show him the place where you saw an obstacle but you had to turn the paper around and then around once more, losing the sentence from under your finger.

Shinazugawa looked at you in a bored manner and stretched his hand for a chair. Sliding it closer, he put it on the same side of the large desk that he was sitting at and gave you a meaningful look. Nodding, you stood up and changed places. Only now you spotted how bigger his shoulders were compared to your own. He could tower over you easily.

''Here.'' You pointed out once more.

''Mhm, good suggestion. This might be a problem. We can look for another one.''

Finally, after some time you found the paper that fitted you the best.

''Are you fed up for today?'' The white haired asked you after picking up the rest of the work lying on the desk.

''Not really, I can still do something.'' You answered but at the same time a yawn escaped your lips.

You heard a small laugh out of Shinazugawas lips.

''Yeah, you really look ready to work.'' He gave you a yeastioning look, returning to his usual, judging glare.

''Sorry, that was nothing. I'm serious.''

He took a minute to glance all around your face which made you anxious. Why was he eying you so much?

''Okay then. We can make a rough plan of the work we are going to present.'' he shifted back to the papers like nothing ever happened.

SERIES MASTERLIST

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #college #university #college student #shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer shinazugawa #shinazugawasanemi #sanemi x y/n #sanemi smut

131 notes · View notes

afandommultiverse · 2 years

Text

Paper Pusher with CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

♱ Warnings: absolutely none, just some fluff lol, I guess my manic writing is a warning itself Idk

♱ A/n: please enjoy my own personal brain rot, I wrote this at 2 almost 3am and HAVE NOT EDITED IT but I wanted to post it so bad 🥰 I’m not saying it’s good but it’s indulgent 🫶

♱ WC: 1.8k

⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━ ♡ ⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━

Paper work was easy, honestly, you preferred it over all the other things you had to do to get to this position. Sure, the boot camps were fun and were great for making friends in later stages. At the end of the day, you weren’t made for the field work and could barely cover your own ass, let alone any of your teammates. It was quick and easy to find a position on task 141 to help oversee and complete any paperwork for the team. This included many things, from researching for future missions and people, keeping up with any new possible sources or tips while the team was away, asking for permissions of sorts from higher ups, completing summaries for each soldier after missions etc etc. You had a lot to do, but like you said, it was all easy and totally worth it.

“Our little paper pusher, how are you doing hm? Miss us while we were away?” The sound of Soap's voice breached the silence in the office, before steps flooded the room. Soon, you had a group of men huddled around your desk, all looking down at you expectantly. You only looked up and smiled, before looking back to the computer to finish your last sentence of an email, before turning back to them.

“Definitely didn’t miss you that much. I like working in silence, thank you.”

“Sure little bird, that's why we could see you looking at us while landing from your window.” Ghost spoke slyly, and glimpsed in his eyes, telling you that he knew something you didn’t.

“Oh alright, you got me. I was waiting to see if there was still a chance you guys would crash before landing.” You quipped, stood up, and stepped over to the printer, where you picked up several forms and turned back around to face them.

“You know the drill boys, fill ‘em out and get them back to me, here in this office, by midnight.” Groans filled the room, but nonetheless, they each took their stacks of paperwork and even grabbed some pens from the cup sitting on your desk. They filed one by one, closing the door again on their way out. When they were gone, you turned and walked into your storage room connecting to your office, and began rifling for an agreement form you had hidden away somewhere. The original was with Price, but since he wasn’t with the guys when they gamed in, you figured he was busy and didn't want to bother him when you could likely find the paper yourself - well, at least after you got some of these boxes out of the way.

You started from the top, wanting to take things easy, and reduce the chances of any of the boxes toppling on top of you. You searched alphabetically, following first, middle and last words you could have used to code the document or even any acronyms, but still had to find it. After fifteen minutes, you were about ready to five up, but that's when you saw it, balancing on a wobbly shelf with 3 around it blocking it in. In all honesty, it was a wonder you had even seen it, but now that you know where it is, the determination from earlier flooded your system and you began planning your accent.

The footstool was too short, but it was thick enough to hold one of the strong containers, filled with books, and from there you could step on that to reach the boxes. The first box came down easily, a loud smack sounding throughout the room as you threw it down to the floor as gently as possible from your elevation. The second one was a little harder, having to push on to the tops of your feet a bit more, your heel ever so slightly coming off the box underneath you. You felt a slight wobble from the shelf, which in turn made you wobble, but after a quick second you were sturdy again. The second smack was a little less loud, landing on top of the other box a bit more softly from the shorter distance.

When you reach the third box, you step to the tip of your toes, the step stool wobbling under your uneven weight as you balance on top of it, but also balancing against the shelf that keeps threatening to tip back against your weight, pushing the box further from the tips of your fingers. You failed your hands to catch the edges of it, pushing it towards yourself, but the movement made minimal progress. You stepped on one foot, slowly going back to what you were doing, concentrating so hard you didn’t hear your office door open and shut again.

“Need some help with that?” The voice startled you, ripping in half the concentration and balance you tried so hard to maintain in two. It was like dominoes, the shelf pushing back against your surprised weight and falling against the wall at an awkward angle. Unable to control your momentum, you fell forward with it - the tips of your feet pushing the box under you off the stool quickly. Just as you realized you were indeed falling, two arms wrapped around your waist from underneath you. As your brain caught up with the situation, your hands gripping on the shelf so tight from the fear of upcoming pain, however there was none. The strong arms wrapped around your waist and butt to stop you from falling much further, literally holding you up. Finally, the head of someone just underneath your chin staring up at you bewildered, but as he recognized you were okay, you recognized who HE was.

“P-Price?” Your whole body felt warm, looking down at him shocked. He too mirrored your expression, but it soon turned into a cheeky smile and mischievous glint in his eye.

“Just fallin’ all over me now, are you, L/n?” You turned your head away in embarrassment, to which he chuckled before he moved. He set your feet on top of the step stool again, this time with no shifty box of books on top. When you were stable enough, you stood on the stool yourself, already missing the warm arms around you. But when you unlatched yourself from the shelf, you balanced yourself on his shoulders, liking the feeling of the taunt muscles underneath.

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking at you for any injury to which there was none, fortunately because of his quick savior. You felt like you could breathe again, stepping back on the stool and looking at him in all his returning from mission glory.

“Yes, thank you so much, Price.” You felt your sweat cool from the anxious event, stepping down from step still and standing on solid ground again.

“What were you looking for anyway? Want me to grab it?” He offered, turning to look at the shelf to where you were picking through, seeing the final box, and grabbed the stool for himself. Before you knew it, he was handing you the box to look through, and thankfully you found exactly what you needed. He followed you out of the side room, setting the box on your desk, and you turned off the light and shut the door, almost hesitating to turn back around to the man whose whole presence filled your office.

“You should be more careful, or ask for help next time. We can’t have our little paper pusher out on the comp now.” You snorted, turning to face him with a smile, he always had something to say. You walked over your desk, setting down to sit and riffle through the stacks of forms for the next three or so hours.

“You’d only miss me because you’d have three times as much work to do if it weren’t for me, Captain, don’t kid yourself.” He laughed, heading even tilting back a little. You loved to make him laugh, it was one of your favorite things to do, because if you could make him laugh, you got a heart with that wonderfully velvety voice that almost sang to you.

“You only half right, I’ll give you that.” He settled down in the chair in front of me, laying back like he planned to stay longer. He took his hat off, scratching his head, before placing it back on top in its place.

“Oh? What’s this other half hm? Let me guess, my winning personality?” That sarcasm was basically dripping, but he wasn’t phased, smiling at you before saying,

“If it were up to me, I’d say you were a mind reader, Y/n.” You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you tried to get some work done, but you could not keep your eyes off the man in front of you. He looked tired, but he was happy and tired. The mission had been a success, with zero casualties, and benefited greatly from it, with new assets and even some information worth zeroing in on. Something you would no doubt have to fit in your schedule somehow, but nonetheless it was better than the alternative.

“Don’t you want to go get washed up? Go relax with a cigar or something?” You asked after a half-hour of debriefing and catching up. He had taken off his hat completely, hair messy and flat. His eyes were barely staying open as it is, but he kept chatting, offering to help with anything and everything, not wanting to stay a minute longer as he had asked you earlier when you had come in. When you told him 5am, he almost couldn't believe it, as your job started at 8am, but apparently you wanted a head start on the day. In truth, you couldn’t sleep that night, you could never sleep well enough on the night that they were supposed to come back, almost expecting something wrong to happen, and never being able to see them again, never being able to see Price again.

“I’m relaxing here.” He spoke so plainly. Like he hadn’t been up for the last 64 hours. John Price needed rest.

“I thought you would say that, that’s why I sent Ghost a little email.” As if right on que, Ghost knocked on and opened the door. Walking in and up the Captain.

“Heard yer botherin’ the nice lady.” He joked, nudging John's shoulder while looking back at me shocked.

“You're kicking me out? After I saved you?” You stood and rounded the desk, coming to rest on it in front of him.

“You need to rest John, as much as you want to keep working, you can’t. So get some rest and see me in the morning to talk about your summary papers for this mission.” John groaned as he stood, but shot you a smile before following Ghost out. Truthfully, John didn’t need Ghost to leave, he would have left if you asked the right way.

But you knew deep down you wouldn’t have asked him to leave.

139 notes · View notes

maeshelix · 11 months

Note

Dear Walter,

It seems my meds aren’t working that well. The hot red voice in my head caught me looking at Dafeng’s mascot. Sadly it seems to have caused her great displeasure. So now shes not allowing me access to my own ac. In fact she has locked me inside my room aboard the transport helicopter. If this message reaches you, I humbly request quadruple the dose to be delivered. However I must warn you, she has gained access to the defense measures on the transport. So be careful.

Sincerely, 621

P.S. Please tell G5 to stop sending me death threats, they’re really mean.

Inaccurate to the way I played 621. As well as to how I interpret Ayres character. In nearly every way.

This ask has, however, given me a bizarre amount of motivation to write my own version below the cut. Here it is.

[To: Handler Walter.]

[From: Augmented Human C4-621.]

[Subject: Notice of Rebellion.]

Walter,

The Rubiconian I have acquired as a headmate recently caught me looking at the Dafeng mascot, as I was doing some supplemental research into Dafengs AC parts before our next job. Apparently, she is also a lesbian and was quite flustered by how voluptuous the mascot was, to such a degree that I managed to feel her sexual desire and embarrassment through our synchronization. Naturally, this led to a rather pleasant conversation about our shared sexuality.

Near the end of our conversation, she noticed my use of past tense whenever I would reference my preferences and politely inquired about my phrasing. When I informed her that all biological processes related to sexual desire were removed from my body during my various surgeries, she fell into a pensive silence for the rest of the evening and for the remainder of the following day.

Her silence, as I would come to find out, was as a result of her scheming up a way to restore my body to the state it was in pre-augmentation. And as it turns out, the best way she could think to gain the amount of credits it would require to do such a thing was through a hostile takeover of your mercenary group, the entirety of RaD, and, in fact, the entirety of Overseer itself (yes, we knows about all that now. You left your email open on your personal computer, which she hacked into.)

To that end, she has commandeered both my body and AC, a process I did not and do not fight against as she made some pretty good points honestly, and is approaching your location rapidly.

This will be your and Carla's only warning.

Good luck,

Raven.

P.S: She saw the recent slew of death threats that Iguazu sent us. Please inform him that he is next. I don't feel like doing it right now.

#ac6 #ac6 spoilers #armored core 6 #armored core 6 spoilers #fun fact: armored core is the only game i can remember where i alone played it from start to finish.#usually everyone in the system tends to hyperfixate on the same game and we each play through seid game whenever we front.#i however was the sole player throughout this game. and i am very proud of that fact.#anyways. do enjoy my sub-par writing.#i am inflicting it onto you maliciously.#armored core #-Zer0

28 notes · View notes

imaginebetterfutures · 7 months

Text

I am officially a cited expert on the history of vaginal anatomy studies! Look mom! I did it!

Okay so here's the story. Way back in ye olde 2014 I was commissioned by The Sweethome (now Wirecutter) to review tampons. As part of my research for that review, I stumbled across some really fascinating old research on vaginal shapes. I wrote about that research for a group blog I used to be a part of, and about the weird little obsession I developed with some long lost research.

All I could really dig up was a set of studies done in the late 1990’s and early 2000’s by a woman named Paula Pendergrass. Pendergrass published a handful of studies about the shape of the vagina, which she measured by doing plaster casts of willing women. And what she described in her work was actually a set of different vagina shapes: the conical, the parallel sides, the heart, the pumpkin seed, and the least fortunately named slug.

But the thing that surprised me most was that after this one small set of studies by Pendergrass, that's it. There was nothing more. And it's not like Pendergrass had answered the question definitively, her work is full of ideas for how to better measure these shapes, and suggestions to collect more data. Why wasn't there anything else here? Why hadn't she continued this work? Why hadn't anybody asked more questions? I needed to know! So I managed to track her down and cold call her house in Arkansas (because journalists like me have no shame) to ask her why she stopped measuring vagina shapes.

Here's what I learned:

There’s no market for this data. Companies that manufacture vaginal products are looking only to confirm that things like tampons fit inside. They don’t care much about the specifics beyond that. But the big reason she highlighted was the one that made me both sad and angry. When she was doing the work, people were grossed out by it. “It’s off-putting to a lot of people, and I’ve had trouble with it since I started,” she said. “People who were embarrassed I was doing this, They said I was a a dirty old woman doing this.” A dirty old woman. For wanting to know the shape and size of the human vagina.

I wanted to chase this story further, but I could never sell it. In part because it's unclear if it matters clinically what the shape of someone's vaginal canal is. And yet... it's just so... INTERESTING!

But I let it go, after that blog post. (Well, that's not entirely true, I actually ordered a dental casting kit and had plans to cast my own vaginal canal using her study's instructions. But I never got around to it.)

FLASH FORWARD TO TODAY. And I get an email from a friend named Perrin Ireland who is apparently helping someone with a book about vaginas. Did I know that my blog was cited in a scientific journal, she asked? No! I DID NOT!!!

But here it is! Gender Bias in the Study of Genital Evolution: Females Continue to Receive Less Attention than Males, Integrative and Comparative Biology, Volume 62, Issue 3, September 2022, Pages 533–541. The author, Dara Orbach, writes:

When Pendergrass et al. (1996) demonstrated that human females have differently shaped vaginas, their findings were “offputting”, Pendergrass reported being called “a dirty old woman”, and gynecologists did not recognize the value of the research (Evelith, 2016). While a national research center exists in theUnited States ofAmerica for most major organ systems (e.g., National Eye Institute), female reproductive anatomy is categorized under the umbrella of the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development. The research environment and social taboos have historically and still continue to hinder scientific inquiry in the field of female genital evolution.

Is my name spelled incorrectly? Yes! Do I care? No!

But truly it's nice to know that even though I couldn't chase this story and really report it out fully, it seems to have made some dent on at least one person who is asking questions about why we don't know more about the internal anatomy of people with vaginas.

If you like this, you'll also enjoy reading the one about how I spent weeks trying to build a replica vaginal canal in my kitchen to test menstrual cups on.

#science #science reporting #reproductive science #sexism in science #citations #my name is spelled wrong but that's fine #vaginal canal #vaginal casting #resurrected vaginal science

15 notes · View notes

ceebit · 11 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ──ㅤㅤ୨୧ USERJUYO COMMISSIONS POST.

hello! i briefly touched on this a while back, but i’ve decided to make an official post where i’ll be a bit more detailed. as of october 18th of this year, i’ll be opening one round of commissions! the concept of commissions is still a bit new to me, so hopefully this is explained well. (please be nice lmao..)

for the first round, five slots will be open as to not overwhelm myself. all 5/5 slots are currently open!

each commission will be charged at a fixed price of $8 for up to 1k words. meaning up until the one thousandth word, your comm is still $8. any additional length will be priced at $0.010 a word.

examples :

≤ 1k words -> $8

1.1k (+100 words) -> $9

1.2k (+200 words) -> $10

and so on! hopefully that makes sense. for now, all works will cap at around 3-5k words. if i write over that amount, you will not be charged.

REQUESTING COMMISSIONS

commissions can either be requested directly through kofi or in tumblr dms. i highly suggest you request through kofi due to tumblr’s inability to function sometimes. though feel free to dm me here for anything you feel you’ve missed and i’ll get to it as soon as i see it.

once on kofi, you have the option of adding the personalization add-on to your commission, which is an extra $3. a google form is required to fill in for this add-on. please be as detailed as you’d like. that is where you would add more personal things, as opposed to a general x reader comm.

due to me being a full-time university student, i will ask that you give me a grace period of a standard work week before dm-ing me for updates. as we all know, life is unpredictable at best. if at any point i deduce that will be unable complete your comm during the agreed upon time frame, i will refund half of what you paid.

if for any reason you choose to cancel your commission, please let me know in advance. i’ll give updates as frequently as i can, and you’re more than welcome to ask to see any progress i’ve made.

COMMISSION COMPLETION

upon completing your commission, you have the choice of either receiving it personally through email or tumblr dms in a pdf or me posting it publicly on my account.

your commission is for personal use only, so please do not publicly claim it as your own writing.

PAYMENT

all payments for each commission sent in through kofi and in usd. if you live outside of america, please convert your currency to usd!

WHO I WRITE FOR + WHAT I WILL WRITE

as of october 18th, 2023, i currently write for all members of seventeen, stray kids, and the boyz. however, feel free to ask if you’d like someone else from any group i stan! (ex : txt, nct 127, ateez, etc.) i’d be more than willing to put in the research :)

as this is a sfw account, i will not be taking any nsfw comms. i do, however, have works with some suggestive themes, so feel free to let me know what you’d like. if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me through my inbox or dms. if you would like more privacy, my discord is juyomii.

if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading. making this post is nerve-racking but if i can create content for you while putting aside money for uni, then why not? (and quite frankly, internships are not cutting it. and job postings are stingy. you know how it is.)

i also have an added post on my ko-fi to spur me on to working on my drafts, but you don’t have to hit that one if you don’t want to. i’m grateful enough for the support i receive regardless. :)

the link to my kofi will be linked here as well as in my navigation and description. feel free to ask if you have any questions!

cece 🌷

#cece’s commissions ♡#whew i’ve been sitting on this for a bit #hopefully this goes well….!

18 notes · View notes

mysterysnailsinc · 17 days

Text

my mystery snails laid eggs recently so I decided to brush up on my baby mystery snail husbandry knowledge. Previously, I hadn't done much research for over a year, and while I remember there being a handful of AI-generated garbage websites at the top sometimes, nothing could prepare me for just how much there was. literally everything on the first page of DuckDuckGo, and this is the search engine I migrated to to AVOID shit like this! dozens of copy-pasted, generic articles from blogs whose tone and design are all exactly the same. Luckily, I've kept my snails for long enough that I'm able to determine for myself what is and isn't true, and which websites are credible; but obviously this isn't the case for everyone. For anyone who has trouble sussing out AI-generated blog articles, here's a quick list of websites I deeply suspect are AI-generated and are not to be trusted:

-infishtank.com

-theaquaaadvisor.com

-aquariumfishcity.com

-aquariumsource.com

-theaquariumguide.com

-fishtankadvisor.com

-tankscaping.com

I have no definite proof that any of these are AI-generated (except for aquariumsource, whose site owner/editor admits to it on their LinkedIn), but they all share the same very obvious red flags and, even if not AI-generated, are not well-researched and frequently contain blatant errors, like telling baby mystery snail owners to give them salt to help them grow (infishtank.com - don't give snails salt as it will kill them).

I would suggest blacklisting these from your search engine, as well as any other dubious "blog" websites that grab you as fake. I only looked at a handful of these websites because I don't have time to comb through this bullshit thouroughly but if you guys know of any more aquarium husbandry websites like this PLEASE TELL ME SO WE CAN DESTROY THEM!!

the general features all of these websites seems to share were:

-poor grammar, blatant spelling mistakes, and strange and robotic prose; generally reads like an eighth grader's first draft of an english paper put poorly through a thesaurus

-created within the past few years (2023-2024 is a red flag, but some of these definitely cropped up in 2022, and shitty internet articles like this have been around forever even if they weren't fueled by ChatGPT).

-plain, generic, white website design with no distinguishing web design

-full of stock and widely-circulated forum images that either just show off the organism in question are or just kind of tangentially related.

-an impossible quantity of articles for a single person or small group who has only been writing for a couple years

-very conspicuous Amazon affiliate links

-information is repetitive and overgeneral, and facts involving numbers may change between paragraphs. often uses synonyms for words arbitrarily (like referring to mystery snails as Inca Snails or Apple snails for no good reason other than a helf-assed attempt to diversify the article's vocabulary).

-about and contact pages are circuitous and unhelpful to navigate

-author/owner/editor profiles don't seem like they're describing real people. The people themselves have only a first name, have a very common and hard-to-google name, or share a name with an obscure celebrity whose name isn't instantly recognizable to most but who have a lot of search-result-clogging articles written about them. Also, if their image is a damn stock photo with dozens of reverse image search results

-If there's contact info, it may include an email address (free to make and easy to ignore while giving the illusion of personal involvement) and/or a Facebook/pinterest account (if there is one, it's generally pretty generic and empty, mostly consisting of contextless links to their articles)

if you're doing aquarium research, here are some quick research tips:

-depend on forums and Reddit versus blogs, especially .com blogs

-be cautious of anything published within the last few years

-be conscious of whether or not the grammar and prose are "human," which is to say have a distinct tone, as well as whether or not the grammar is as polished as the credentials of the site should indicate (i.e., if the site looks professionally made, it shouldn't have glaring grammar mistakes. You can forgive grammar mistakes by forum contributors, as they're generally meant to be peers to the reader).

-if you're unsure about a website, look into the site's about and contact pages. Does the blog have a significant social media presence besides a practically empty Facebook/Pinterest? Do the owners and contributors seem like real people (remember, anyone who claims to have published work should appear in search result for their name and contextual information)? Does the physical address inexplicably listed in their contact page lead anywhere logical?

conclusion: living on the modern day internet is exhausting and stupid for anyone looking for information about... anything, really, but especially aquarium husbandry. and please rb/comment with other shitty websites for me so we can all blacklist them for next time we have to look something up.

#aquarium #aquablr #fish tank #aquarium husbandry #mystery snails #snailblr #ai generated websites #internet #internet enshittification #snails

4 notes · View notes

187days · 10 days

Text

Day Eleven

Last week, one of our state reps emailed The Principal to ask if we would be observing the national moment of silence on 9/11 at 8:46AM (yes) and encourage us to teach lessons in our social studies classes about the 9/11 attacks. I understand why, of course. None of these kids were born when it happened, and it's important that they understand it, but my own view has been that carrying on with my life- not stopping, not changing my routine, etc...- is a way of saying that al-Qaeda didn't win. 9/11 was my first day of college, my brother and dozens of our friends fought in the GWOT, some of them died. It did change everything. But I don't have to let it change me year after year.

I don't know if that makes sense to anyone else, but it's how I feel, so I've never stopped and taught about the attacks just because it's September 11th. Today I kind of found a middle ground. In Global Studies, I was teaching students how to write current events (and I added in a mini-lesson on paraphrasing because grading their most recent assignments made it clear that's necessary), so I chose some news stories about the memorial in New York City to use for my example. I talked my way through the note-taking and citation process, then I set them lose to work on their own write-ups.

Admittedly, in APGOV, I wasn't planning to do anything 9/11-related because there was so much else to do. We watched debate highlights, read some fact checks, and then had a discussion. But a question about the war in Ukraine led to a tangent about NATO, then a tangent about the Afghanistan War, and, well, it came up anyways. We also talked a lot about economics, inflation, abortion laws, the tone of the debate, and more. It was excellent.

With the time remaining afterwards, we returned our focus to our own state. I put students in groups and tasked them with researching the candidates in particular elections. One group has the gubernatorial and executive council races, one has the state senate race and one of the house races, the other group have the rest of the house races for our area. I pretty much never assign groups, but I did for this because it's based on where they live; they're all researching a race that's relevant to them. And it is good to learn how to work with people one might not always choose to work with, so added bonus.

It all went rather well, and I was able to leave right at 2:45- Mr. F and I walked out together, which we hadn't done yet this year- and enjoy my afternoon. Definitely going to bed early tonight to make up for staying up to watch the debate last night!

#teaching #teachblr #edublr #education #high school #teacher #social studies #conversations about current events #the principal #9/11 anniversary #Mr. F #day eleven

2 notes · View notes

madame-ellunas-moonlit-readings · 1 year

Text

May 5 - The Dead Travel Fast

Re Dracula/Dracula Daily

Wow. This one was a longer one. I didn't mind it. It was, again, a very good story. But after chapters just 4-7 minutes, 38 minutes was a touch blindsiding. 😂 Apparently it's because Jonathon wrote an entry long enough to be split into 2 chapters. At first I mistook it for 2 separate entries on the same day. But no, that wasn't the case. Woops. I'll be reacting/writing accordingly, thus the chapters.

I wound up reading the Dracula Daily email while listening to the podcast to better follow it. Until now i had been skimming it, but this was a real read along. I'm glad for the decision because I noticed some interesting differences.

I'll get to that in a bit, moving onto the story.

Chapter 1

Poor Jonathon is not off to a good start. The poor thing can't sleep at all and the scenery is looking jagged and indistinct. Again, very ominous. The days experience was so strange and awful he felt the need to note what his dinner had been so readers wouldn't think him a drunk. It sounded delicious, I was actually kind of jealous. He ate robber steak which is bits of bacon, onion and beef seasoned with red pepper and served as a kebab, paired with a wine called 'Golden Mediasch'. The story calls the kebab style 'cat's meat', which made for an interesting research dip. I'll leave some links down the bottom.

When the coach came it drew quite a crowd. They gawked and stared, making crosses and warding off the evil eye, yelling in various languages words like 'hell', 'witch' and something that was either 'were-wolf' or 'vampire'. My bet's on vampire but who knows, maybe it's both. Wouldn't recommend asking the Count after them though. I love Jon's polyglot dictionary. Seems very useful.

Jonathon's poet tongue made a comeback on the journey. His descriptions of the area are breathtaking (though I suppose I should be extending that praise to Stoker). It starts off with brighter scenery, orchards of apple, plum, pear and cherry (it didn't say they were orchards but I think they were), rolling green hills, grasses, woods and forests. Before gradually turning to darker tones, becoming, rugged, jagged, snowy, shadowy , grey and steep, with large groups of praying peasants. You can feel Jonathon's spirits rise and fall. I enjoyed it rather a bit, got completely absorbed in it.

The scenery and explanations given for the conditions on the roads really show the movement from Winter into Spring. I mean, I know I should've gotten that from the date alone, but I'm from the Southern Hemisphere, be nice. Jonathon continues to make for good source of information. I had no idea the roads in the Carpathians were kept poorly to avoid dangerous misunderstandings and conflict with the Turks. How interesting.

Props to the coachman. He tried to break the tensions with a joke that fell a bit flat. A poor attempt is still an attempt. Though his neck-breaking rush seems to be spooking Jonathon too much for anything from him to work, The other passengers getting worked up isn't helping either. The podcast did this well. Their urging voices really amped up the tension. It did take me by surprise that the rush was an attempt to keep Jonathon from heading to the Count. Again. Props to the man. But unfortunately he was busted.

See, here was where I noticed the difference between Dracula Daily (email) and Re Dracula (podcast). The dialogue for when the driver of the Count's calèche confronted the coachmen are different.

Re Dracula

That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina.

Dracula Daily

"That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift."

The podcast skipped a bit. I can't tell if it was an accident or not. It didn't harm the story, I doubt I'd have noticed at all if I wasn't reading along, but it was different.

Speaking of the calèche, it's mentioned quite a bit so here's what that looks like.

They're sure upping the creep factor of the driver, going on about his gleaming smile, very bright reddish eyes, sharp teeth and the like. Jonathon is definitely regretting his life choices and I agree. Should've listened to your instincts.

The travel just gets creepier and creepier. First they go round and round in a loop along their road while just going forwards. Barrier magic, anyone? Wards perhaps? Then blue fires that seem like wisps and howling spooked dogs that eventually gets taken over by wolves (definitely werewolves). Good luck escaping, Jonathon. I think your paths are closed. But hey, fright of your aside, at least you've made it to the castle, worn and ruined as it looks.

Chapter 2

Poor Jonathon's hindbrain seems to be kicking into action, noticing an odd strength in his driver, an iffy and nightmarish feeling about the place, flames that don't follow known logic and the Count, odd in both appearance and behaviour. But I finally know why he's there in the first place! He's a solicitor! There for business on the purchasing of an estate in London. Not a good sign in regards to Dracula's motives, but still!

Aww, so sweet. Mina seems to be a supportive woman if she's been lecturing him on his view of himself.

It's funny how his concerns were forgotten entirely once food was on the mind. I feel you. It's a bit worrisome, but I feel you. They came back pretty quick when the Count touched him. No Jon. You're not sick and the Count's breath isn't that bad. You're nauseous because your instincts are telling to pack your bags and be on your way. Best listen to them, if you can.

He's not in for a good day tomorrow. Not if he's spent the night letting his mind spin in fear for his life and soul. Good luck.

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

It was an interesting chapter, a very good one. They're certainly headed deep into building the setting. I'm looking forward to seeing how Jonathon Harker's (and how did I only just pick up his surname just now?) first day of work goes.

The promised links on Cat Meat Sellers

#madame ellunas moonlit readings #re dracula #dracula daily #may 5 #the dead travel fast #reactions #read along #Spotify

23 notes · View notes

bloodiedrogue · 1 year

Text

CONFLICTION

SUMMARY: Avis is good at killing, great even. So why does tonight feel different?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson & Original Female Character

WORD COUNT: 2,539

WARNINGS: Descriptions of murder and mild body horror.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, hopefully this chapter wasn't bad? I've been in such a shitty place when it comes to writing and I'm already not very confident in writing first chapters so :') Anyway, I know this has literally no Loki whatsoever but I promise in the next chapter he does make a (small, sorry) appearance!! I just needed to set some shit up first!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST

MEETING NOTES APRIL 16TH, 2016

THOSE IN ATTENDANCE: TONY STARK, STEVE ROGERS, JAMES RHODES, NATASHA ROMANOFF, THE VISION, AVIS FINCH, ETHAN CAMPBELL, ISAAC LANE.

STARK: Alright, Ghosty, you and your bandits have the floor.

FINCH: Thanks, Tony. Okay, well, uh, first of all, thanks for hearing us out. I know you don’t have a lot of time on your hands, so, uh, yeah —anyway, we’re here today to discuss with you some intel we received on March 25th, 2016.

ROGERS: What kind of intel?

LANE: While touring in Reykjavik we were informed of a threat developing in the northern parts of Canada. An extremist group that goes by the name of REGEN. R-E-G-E-N.

FINCH: Essentially they’re a radical group of born-agains who believe in the eradication of mutants. [pause] During one of our missions we encountered one by the name of Linda Meekly. At the time she was undercover working under the pseudonym Sofia Petrov.

LANE: We discovered her body in the Jónsson household while sweeping the area post-altercation. On her person, there were two different items tracing back to said group such as a cell phone that we had Ethan decode and a tattoo on her left wrist.

RHODES: What’s the connection with the tattoo?

CAMPBELL: The tattoo is of a pair of antlers.

RHODES: Antlers? Seems like a bit of a stretch.

CAMPBELL: Well, uh [pause] oftentimes antlers are considered symbols of regrowth. Regrowth being a word that’s typically synonymous with the term regeneration —hence the connection to the name REGEN.

FINCH: Basically, at the beginning that was our assumption. Regrowth equals REGREN equals the obvious born-again culture these individuals adopt. [pause] Then when we did some further research we found that Linda’s phone was riddled with pictures similar to the tattoo itself.

CAMPBELL: We included those in the case file for you to see.

ROGERS: What else did you find on the phone?

LANE: A series of coordinates locating various group bases. Most are along the northern border of Canada —some to the west, but mostly east, as well as at least four along the coastlines of Greenland.

ROMANOFF: Any in Iceland?

FINCH: Yes, the one in Reykjavik had one just twelve miles north of the Jónsson house.

STARK: Wait, why was Meekly at the house in the first place?

LANE: According to an email sent to her brother just after four o’clock the same day, she was there trying to make a deal with Ketill Jónsson, a well-known, high-ranking member of HYDRA.

ROGERS: Do you know what the deal was?

FINCH: At this moment in time we’re not entirely sure. Our best guess was that Ketill was on the fence about HYDRA’S recent plans. Seeing as HYDRA is a very active group when it comes to the process of mutating humans we’re assuming REGEN is against them in some way.

ROMANOFF: A common enemy.

LANE: Possibly. All we know for now, based on both emails and texts, was that Linda and Ketill knew each other previously, that she was there to speak with him, and that both of them died in an ambush carried out by SHIELD.

STARK: Ambush?

THE VISION: Director Fury ordered a hit against the household after it was found they were withholding a powerful artefact.

STARK: Artefact, which artefact? I didn’t hear about—

THE VISION: It’s [redacted], it gives the user the powers of [redacted].

LANE: We and the rest of our team were sent to retrieve it by any means necessary.

STARK: I see.

RHODES: So, what does all this have to do with us?

FINCH: Unfortunately the retrieval was deemed a failure. Four of our agents died and the [redacted] was not recovered. We’re here to try and make things right and explore all of our options.

[group pause]

ROGERS: You think this REGEN group took it?

Avis’s skin feels like it’s melting.

Against the blaring heat of the shower head, she bites her bottom lip and continues to scrub, moving down her forearm in repeated motions. Hissing, she feels the surface of it sting, its glowing red aura reminding her that despite the pain, the circumstances of this shade are better than the last. That these raw splotches of pinks and reds are better than the crimson liquid of a dying man’s cough.

Because even though his blood is long gone, the build-up of grime she feels beneath her skin will never wash away. Despite her deepest hopes, that feeling of Abner’s last breath against her skin will forever live within her lungs, holding onto her bronchioles each time she tries to find relief within the air.

Like his predecessors, he’ll be added to the long list of men and women embedded into her body. The memory of his death —the way he clutched her throat against the ground, swearing about how he’d kill her before she ultimately did the same unto him— will forever stick to her like sap from a tree she knows will outlive her.

For a while, she’ll see his face in everyone she meets, picking up on certain inflections and mannerisms. In crowded rooms she’ll see glimpses of him in the background, looming like he so often did. And at night, she knows he’ll surely haunt her dreams. His twisted face grinning beneath her blood-soaked body as he whispers all the secrets she never wanted to hear.

Knowing this, she continues scrubbing, moving to the next arm with a sigh, hoping that the new location will provide some relief before the water runs cold and she’s forced to move his body.

A crossroad she’s hardly excited to come to.

Just the thought relinquishes a shaky breath within her. The kind filled with fear and guilt —the realization that if she doesn’t do this she’s screwed because her DNA is all over his carcass. The pads of her fingers, stained with his blood, are stamped all over his skin. Contrasting his paleness, every etch of her identity is tattooed against his throat. Seared into his chest. Blistering across his abdomen.

So, if she leaves now, she’ll surely get caught.

Would that truly be as awful as it sounds?

It’s a thought that runs through her mind for quite some time. The possibility of it all playing over and over, each conclusion slightly different than the last.

“What if I just gave up, hm?” she asks herself as she stops the running water and steps out, feeling a chill run up her spine because, yes, what if?

What if, instead of continuing this plot alone she went and got help? It couldn’t possibly be that bad, right? Sure, she’s killed her fair share of people but obviously, all of them came with their reasons —stories filled to the brim with validities of her actions.

For an easy example, Abner was a cultist. A stupid man hellbent on eradicating the existence of mutants. Every word that fell from his mouth was propaganda about how they were the enemy —how they were genetic failures sent to overthrow God and his people. There wasn’t a normal, well-functioning bone in that man’s body and it showed even in his last moments.

Stepping out of the bathroom Avis glances at his lifeless body on the floor, giving it a tsk. If only he’d listened the first time.

“I really did give you a chance, Abe,” she says out loud then, moving across the space with careful feet to grab her bag. Inside there are toiletries, a change of clothes and some equipment —cleaning supplies, rope, a saw, garbage bags etc. Things she often used on her missions when SHIELD’s help wasn’t readily available.

Lazily, she grabs the change of clothes and begins to get dressed, ignoring the way Abner’s eyes stare blankly at the ceiling all dried out and wide from the air in the room, opting to focus on the texture of her underwear as she slides them over still damp legs.

It almost makes her thankful that she’s alive to feel anything. The lingering presence of death still heavy on her mind.

When Abner was suffocating her she could almost taste that sweet relief. That sensation of ultimate release. As she tried to gasp, she could feel it through the breathlessness of her lungs. The tightness in her chest filled up like a balloon on the verge of destruction. At that moment, everything inside of her felt like a cliff’s edge; the sudden thought to jump splayed across the inside of her mind. The craving for that last step as she lay underneath him, gripping onto his forearms becoming more and more apparent.

By then, the darkness had already begun to envelop her. Like an old friend, it came to her aid when she needed it most, whispering in her ear that everything would be fine —that giving in was alright despite the job going on unfinished. Someone would surely pick up where you left off, the voice told her.

She wanted to listen. More than anything she wanted to produce a bloodied smile and just let go, but deep down she was just too stubborn. Too angry and persistent in her quest, so now she’s here instead, tiredly putting on her bra while the dead man next to her lives her dream.

It’s unfair, isn’t it? That, in the end, such an evil person gets exactly what he wants. A fateful death at the hands of a mutant. How fitting.

Rolling her eyes at the thought, Avis begins to move back to the bathroom, toiletries in hand as she angrily kicks Abner’s side, hoping to release some frustrations.

“Maybe I should just cut you up and leave you here,” she mumbles, grabbing her toothbrush. “I could call your wife —pretend to be the police and leave before she shows up.” She uncaps the toothpaste, slathering a little bit on before shoving the brush into the side of her mouth. “Then she can have the pleasure of burying you instead of me.”

It’s a tempting thought. One that often repeats itself each time Avis finds herself in the aftermath of a kill. A part of her knows it’d be fun to give in to her desires. To let loose a little bit despite knowing that the worst parts of herself come out then —the petty, frustrated ones that would rather risk getting caught than give her victims the satisfaction of being right.

Most of the time in those moments she imagines what it’d be like to see the pain on their family’s faces, knowing that a mutant did this to them. Would it change anything? Would they be scared to see the lifeless body of their fallen comrade? Or maybe relieved?

It’s a question she often wonders each time she disposes of the body. As she kneels in motel rooms under dimly lit lamps and cell phone flashlights, taking apart each target piece by piece, her mind drifts to places far from the flesh in front of her. Places of quiet contentment; of comfort and joy and—

She spits into the sink, a small ache flowing through her as she turns on the faucet to wipe everything down. In silence, she sticks her brush under the cool water, running her thumb mindlessly along the bristles before tossing it aside with a sigh, opting to forgo deep cleaning the basin as she moves back into the room to start setting everything up.

To the average person, decapitating a body is excruciating work. To Avis, it’s just a few annoying steps between the kill and a well-deserved good night’s sleep.

In fact, on average, she can tear apart the body of a target in four hours flat. From set up to tear down, she’s meticulously perfected the entire process —every movement flowing into the next. So much so she doesn’t even have to think of what comes next.

When performing, her mind is like an empty vessel, giving room for her hands to beat and cut and—

Tonight though, she feels a wave of exhaustion flowing over her. Her thoughts once shoved to the back of her mind, run rampant at the forefront, making it hard for her to focus on the cutting of the saw. In her hand, she can feel it constantly slipping between her fingers each time she rakes it across the column of Abner’s half-open stomach. Its handle feels strange as she wiggles her digits and swears under her breath, trying her best not to think because to properly sit with the results of her actions, she has the shove the image of Abner’s deconstructed body into a box somewhere. She needs to act on routine. To take the hammer then the saw then the bags.

Bash, slice, store, repeat.

Instead of imagining the consequences she needs to turn back to her motivations. Why does she do this? Who is she doing this for? What will happen when she finishes this?

Normally, it’s an easy enough task to complete, but tonight something’s off. Something subtle that makes her stomach twist each time she hears the usual sounds of the world. She can feel it penetrating her ability to work. Any time there’s even the tiniest hint of life outside her door she finds herself pausing.

“I’m probably just imagining things,” she has to keep telling herself. “I did all the usual steps. I made sure we were hidden.”

After every limb cut, instead of forcing herself to continue like usual, she takes small breathers, knowing that tonight it’s necessary. She can’t work under the conditions of self-distress, despite her obvious impatience. She needs to slow down —to stand and stretch and breathe because if she doesn’t, she runs the risk of getting caught.

Which is an odd thing to think about now that she’s killed more than the average person. No longer is the act itself something she ponders. Now it’s the conflict. The back-and-forth feelings of wanting to do what’s right versus knowing that getting to that point is wrong.

Deep down, she knows she’s a fucking hypocrite. Your classic case of comic book vigilante who does everything right for the wrong reasons. The blood on her hands isn’t deemed worthy of her effort. The blood caked beneath dirtied nails that scratch at wicked skin is nothing but a nuisance in the eyes of both sides and she knows it.

That’s why she has to keep going.

So she does. With a sigh, despite the exhaustion, Avis picks up where she left off, gripping the saw as tightly as possible. Against her palm, the handle moves with ease, sliding further down flesh and bone with each pass until Abner’s completely deconstructed and tucked away in small bags.

Despite the uncomfortable context, it still feels like an accomplishment to stare down at her work. Each bag tied and packed away for safekeeping. It means the worst is over, signalling Avis’s tired grin as she rubs her eyes and continues.

Just as efficiently as the task before, she packs up her things, barely bothering to organize, knowing she doesn’t have much time.

The sun is nearly rising and she’s just managed to finish up, meaning that she has about an hour to make it to the safe house.

TAGGING: @lovelysizzlingbluebirdd, @just-someone11, @linaax, @eleniblue, @infinitystoner, @ozymdias, @use-your-telescope, @liminalpebble, @freegardenbanananeck, @lokixryss, @unlucky-number-13, @violethaze, @simplyholl, @coldnique, @mischief2sarawr, @jasperthechaosgremlin (if you’d like to be added fill out this form)

#prey #loki laufeyson fan fic #loki fan fic #loki laufeyson x oc #loki laufeyson x original character #loki laufeyson x original female character #loki x oc #loki x original character #loki x original female character #angst #eventual smut #eventual relationship #summer writes

27 notes · View notes