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lewkwoodnco · 3 months

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the tortured poets department - george karim x reader

George stiffened and shut his eyes regretfully as if he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. A faint flush started creeping up his throat, peeking out from behind his starchy collar. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

He let go of the breath he was holding and it fluttered across her cheek like the ghost of a kiss. They were venturing into intolerably intimate territory, and she could feel her pulse racing under the distracted brush of his thumb on her wrist.

a/n - HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH thats it thats the a/n also happy birthday to ali hadji-hesmati ia m NOT late shut up

tropes/warnings - slight nsfw towards the end (idk tho??), angst (what else is new lmao), tw slight mention of suicide, ft locklyle wedding (a bit) happy ending tho, i am very sick wrote this entirely on my phone and cannot be held accountable for any of this

word count - 3.7k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Who uses typewriters anyway?

That was what she had mouthed at her friend from across the Fittes office. They were brand new hires; scribes assigned to different researchers under an apprenticeship programme. Things were off to a rougher start than she had expected. From what she could see, her friend had been assigned to a perfectly normal-looking researcher who, now that introductions were complete, was explaining his filing system to her.

On the other hand, the first thing her oddly intense researcher had asked was if she knew how to use a typewriter. She had laughed, thinking it was a joke, before very quickly realising that he was being perfectly serious. He started explaining how the contraption worked far too quickly for her to catch anything, and she had taken the chance to shoot her friend a look.

“L/N?”

She whipped her head back around, immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I think I get how it works now.” Really, it was just bad luck that she had gotten the short end of the stick.

The next thing she learnt, over many months, was how to pick up on and decrypt George’s nonverbal cues. Namely, knowing what his every sigh, muttering or frown meant. While it had felt frustrating similar to banging her head against a wall in the beginning, he started to grow on her. Learning how George Karim ticked was like figuring out an intriguing puzzle all on her own. Besides, he wasn’t unkind. He could be understanding, so long as he had the patience for it on that particular day.

But there were times when she decided that no, he wasn’t all that compassionate of a coworker. Particularly on nights when he’d have her write up chapters worth of research summarised from his scrawled notes. And woe betide her should she make one too many mistakes.

Who the hell uses typewriters anyway?

"Do you ever think about leaving Fittes?"

Her typing stopped abruptly, her flickering train of thought completely demolished by George's appalling suggestion. They were sitting at their adjacent desks at the Fittes office, her typing up the previous night's case report while George twiddled his thumbs and fiddled with a pen in increasingly creative ways.

"Leave? And go where?"

She followed the line of his hateful stare towards one of the thick metal doors along the corridor which led to a more restricted part of the offices. Like most others, she felt no pressing inclination to snoop around and stumble upon information she would rather not find. But for someone like George, she could practically see how it gnawed at him - libraries of secrets just begging to be known.

Her gaze flitted anxiously between his face and the door. It was both a frightening and thrilling thing when George decided to put his mind to something, using his brain at its full capacity in some sincerely earnest hunt for knowledge. It was also the thing that was going to get him killed sooner or later, mesmerising as he was. It. Mesmerising as it was.

"Start our own agency. Play by our rules."

She laughed nervously, too artificial even for her own ears as she wrung her stiff hands. George's voice had a distant quality to it that told her he was on the way to making some very bad decisions if she didn't step in soon. "Oh, George, you say the…the darnedest things. You're no Tom Rotwell, you know."

"You're not Marissa Fittes yourself, either."

"Rude."

His gaze flickered to her at that, the barest hint of a smile ghosting his lips as the tension in his shoulders dissolved. She visibly relaxed as well, satisfied that it would be a decent while before he once again latched onto this bizarre notion.

Which was why his abrupt switch in employment to some small, crumbling agency had left her more than shell-shocked. Coming into work on a normal, gloomy Monday and seeing George's desk cleared out and painfully sterile of the ideas and theories he buzzed with left her feeling lost at sea in the worst way. And he didn't bother to reach out to her either - not a call, not a letter, not a visit.

That is, not a visit until he turned up at her door in the middle of the night, pale as the Visitors that skulked outside her door.

"Sorry.”

For one stupidly miraculous moment, she thought he might be apologising for a month’s worth of grey days and sleepless nights.

“I know it’s late, but I think I left my typewriter here."

She felt stupidly disappointed.

"You're making a mess of my - what are you doing?"

George had located his otherwise untouched typewriter positioned at one corner of her dining table and was now furiously typing away, a sickly, pallid sheen to his forehead.

"Don't worry, I'll be qui -"

"Karim."

His typing faltered, and for once he had the decency to look marginally embarrassed.

“Sit down. Start from the beginning.”

So he did. He told her everything about some Type Two case at 62 Sheen Road, short of coming out and saying that he had put his associates' lives in danger, but she could hear it in his voice. It was an almost welcome return to the old days of picking out the relevant parts while his mind ran ahead at the speed of light; so much to think and agonise over. When his voice finally started to run thin, she fetched him a cup of tea, taking a moment to process it all.

"Okay, so, if I have this right, none of this is your fault. No - don't argue with me. Drink your tea. You told him to wait, that you needed more time.“

He mumbled something incoherent as he pulled off his glasses, dragging a hand across his eyes, looking far too young and worn. He glanced up to meet her gaze, the look on his face as much of a wreck as the rest of him. He looked down again, staring at his hands splayed on her dining table. George never was one for letting his feelings show, let alone hysterics, and it rubbed at something raw to see him spiralling this badly.

“They’d be better off with a researcher who could actually do his job.”

She suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes.

“Oh, please, this has nothing to do with being altruistic. This is just you trying to punish yourself over something that isn’t even your fault.”

He showed no sign of having heard her. She sighed and slid into the seat next to his, her fingers nearly brushing his.

“Look - what's done is done. Possibly the worst thing you could do now is leave them in the lurch like this. Of course, it's not going to be smooth sailing throughout, but you made a commitment, so for the love of God keep your head up and stick it through.” She reached out to loosely cover his wrist. “Okay?”

George stayed silent but glanced up at her. Okay. She pulled her hand away. He finished the last of his tea and stood.

“I should get going, I suppose.”

She looked out the window, eyeing the eerie green glow of the ghost lamps critically. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think? Not very safe.”

“I have my rapier on me.”

The corners of her mouth tightened.

“I’d feel better if you left in the morning.”

And so they ended up in her living room, him sitting on the floor and her sitting on the couch, dragging her fingers through his soft curls. They talked about everything and nothing, like the recent layoffs at Rotwell’s and what George’s new associates were like. He made them sound marvellous. It was obvious why he’d leave Fittes. Why he’d leave her.

“The three of us…we live at 35 Portland Row.”

“Mhm.”

“And there’s this doughnut shop down the street from there.”

She lightly scraped his scalp teasingly.

“So that’s why you left.”

She could feel him smile despite himself.

“We should go, someday. You’d love it.”

A vision trickled into her imagination - she and George standing at the end of some empty cobblestoned road with soft, pillowy doughnuts dripping sugar down their knuckles, sprinkles melting into their fingerprints. It’s evening, and the sun is almost painfully intense, beating down a lovely glow over the scene. She’s distantly aware of the impending danger of the rapidly approaching nighttime, but for now, George is standing in front of her in a soft shirt, the edges of his face kind and blunt, the almost permanent furrow of his brow melted away in the liquid sun, reaching out to swipe a thumb at the corner of her mouth -

“Get some rest.” Her voice was thick with a longing for such golden yet treacherously illusory days. George leaned back, resting his head on the couch with half-lidded eyes, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. She gently slipped her fingers out of his hair. She gently pulled his glasses off but before she could put them someplace safe, she was out like a light herself.

She had a fitful sleep and blearily woke up a few hours later, George’s head an oddly comforting weight against her knee. She groggily pulled herself up and tossed a blanket at the figure slumped against her couch before fetching a glass of water and some paracetamol.

Shortly after, George lurched awake like he was sweating out a fever, heart thudding and eyes restless. He groaned, no doubt wincing at the pounding behind his eyes. He caught sight of the water and medicine placed next to him but looked away after a moment of consideration. She raised her eyebrows pointedly, knowing only too well the kind of hell his overactive mind was capable of putting him through.

“How’s your head?”

She hadn’t meant to sound that sarcastic, but it was enough for him to get the hint. He relented, taking a sip of water and then one of the pills just for good measure.

"Good. Now go home and get some proper rest, you moron."

She watched him stumble down the road till he turned the corner, trying to hide how shaken she was by his panic. She sighed wearily. Only a month at Lockwood & Co. and already he would be a desperate wreck without them. She turned back inside, trying to ignore how empty her dining table looked without his typewriter and how vacant she felt without that flimsy excuse for him to see her again.

Years passed. She and George somewhat kept in touch, but it had still been extremely startling when Lockwood & Co. reached out to her with plans to expose her employer, Marissa Fittes. Amongst the tragedy of Portland Row being reduced to rubble, Kipps nearly dying and the Skull almost moving on, unemployment was the least of her concerns.

Still, it wasn’t all sad once Lucy had proposed to Lockwood after one too many failed attempts by the latter party. They had planned a relatively intimate affair, only inviting some old friends of the ex-Fittes employees of the group.

They held it at an inexpensive banquet hall just a few minutes away from Portland Row. Lucy looked gorgeous and glowing with happiness under the gentle warm lighting, and Lockwood looked dashing in a suit not much more formal than his regular one. He spent the majority of the reception denying that he had teared up at the first glimpse of Lucy at the end of the aisle, insisting that his best man was a pathological liar.

After the main event, the guests milled around, having drinks, and occasionally congratulating the happy couple. As expected, Lockwood became very drunk very quickly, enough to pull out some terribly nonsensical yet oddly stirring comment.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of our lives.”

She glanced across at George. He met her eye. They immediately looked away. She could have sworn she felt a hitch of some breath between them. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Lucy was desperately trying to shut up an overly emotional and hence overly talkative Lockwood who looked ready to launch into a speech no one asked for.

“That’s enough now, or we’ll have Kipps bawling all through dinner.”

It wasn’t exactly a sit-down dinner, though there was appropriate seating. Half of the guests were eating and the other half were having fun with some party games. She was watching Holly struggle at Twister when she felt someone slide into the seat next to hers - namely, the best man, George.

“Hey.”

She grinned, flushed from the champagne she had been sipping all evening. “Hey.”

“Having fun?”

“Lots.”

He couldn’t help but return her smile, looking a little tipsy himself. “I can tell.”

They ate in silence for a while, only the tinny sound of the radio’s strain and cheers from the party games filling the space between them.

“I think I missed you at the bouquet toss earlier.”

She nearly swallowed her spoon. He had noticed? He noticed her? She didn't know how to tell him that she couldn't see herself marrying anyone that wasn't him. How could she wake up every day knowing her better half was somewhere out there miles away, wondering if he wished for someone as moron-shaped as her?

“Oh, well, that’s not really my thing. More of a bridesmaid than a bride.”

She resumed eating, presuming that line of conversation to be over until she noticed he was still looking at her strangely, his cutlery stationary in his hands. Her chewing slowed in an attempt at dignity.

“…what?”

He lifted her right hand off her knife, making her heart thud dangerously. Wordlessly, he pulled off the sapphire ring on her middle finger and oh-so-delicately slid it onto her ring finger instead.

“I think you’d make a wonderful bride.”

She stared at the ring, speechless. It wasn’t a proposal, but it wasn’t nothing either. Maybe…maybe this was a second chance at something. Maybe he wouldn’t screw this up this time.

He almost reluctantly relinquished his grip on her hand. She didn’t dare meet his eye. Even his voice, quiet yet slightly rough, felt unbearable to hear.

“Were you mad? When I left without telling you?”

She had waited months to hear those words.

“I wished you'd talked to me about it first. Just...just to make sure your head was screwed on straight.”

He nodded, and they returned to their food, the silence a lot less giddily amicable now.

“So, would you have - “

“Absolutely not. God, no. I would have told you to stay ten feet away from Anthony Lockwood at all times.”

They looked over to where Lucy was helping Lockwood sit down, having unfortunately thrown his back out at Limbo. She winced. “He’s such a wild card.”

“I suppose I am too.”

She turned, curious, and he looked as though he regretted letting that slip out. Her voice dropped, taking on a softer edge.

“Not to me. Not when it’s you.”

He stared at her like there was something bloodied and hungry behind his eyes. She felt this twinge of something in her chest. Oh, how could she bear this? How could she bear him?

Sometimes, part of her wished she were a book - one completely enthralling and riveting, chock-full of secrets eager to slip out and lose themselves in thin air. Perhaps that was just a manifestation of her paralysing desire to be known and to be known by him.

“I should go,” George was saying as he finished up the last of his food. He stood, wiping his mouth, wandering off to find his coat. Maybe it was the liquor or the unfamiliar buzz of hope in the air tonight, but there was some odd tone of finality to his voice. She watched him leave, chewing her food thoughtfully, not feeling very hungry anymore.

As the minutes trickled by, it began to feel exhausting to be surrounded by so many happy couples, happy people, all that revolting joy and merriment. Only a short while after George had left, she located her own coat and weeded Lucy out of a throng of people doing the Macarena.

“I think I might head out now. Congratulations once again, Luce.”

“You too? Aww, thanks. Have you decided about the job offer from Madison?”

“I haven’t written back yet, but I think I’m going to turn them down. I was thinking about talking to Lockwood someday to see if he could take on one more employee. Plus, Madison’s a bit far out, and I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

“Good. George might have just offed himself if it weren’t for his course at Edinburgh. I mean,” Lucy tripped over her words over the stunned look on her face, “I’m sure he was just kidding.”

“Hang on. Edinburgh?”

“Yeah. For his supervisor training. Did he not tell you? I thought for sure he…”

Lucy’s words muffled into oblivion and bled into some horrible ringing sound. Her mouth felt painfully dry. No. This couldn’t be happening.

“…he wanted to wait till after the wedding to tell Lockwood. Didn’t want to put a damper on things. Don’t get me wrong - I’m just as cut up about it, but…” They looked over to where Lockwood was watching the limbo game from afar with a forlorn expression. “…you know Lockwood.”

“What the hell, George.”

He jumped, freezing with his hand buried deep in his pocket, tediously hunting for his keys. She had managed to catch him at the front porch of Portland Row, looking especially guilty under the tepid glow of the ghost lamps.

“You’re training to become a supervisor?”

His face briefly twisted in annoyance. The audacity. “I told Lucy in confidence -“

“When were you going to tell me, Karim? Or were you just going to let me find out all on my own, like last time?” She wanted to laugh cruelly. There was nothing merciful about this knife in her chest. “I mean, why do this? Why lead me on and make me feel things and give me hope?”

“When have I ever led you on?”

“Then what was all that with my ring? Huh?” Tears sprang to her eyes once again, hot and shameful, stinging like a caustic disinfectant to an open wound. She felt so, so stupid.

“You said you didn’t care.”

“I did care!” she snapped. “Of course I fucking cared. I don’t think I could have stopped myself from caring, not when I know you like the back of my hand.”

“But you don’t care. No - tomorrow you’re going to board a train and move out of my reach and meet someone new to soothe the turmoil in your head and you won’t feel my heart bleeding for you. And if you’re very, very lucky, you might find some semblance of happiness -“

“I weigh you down!” The tirade died at her lips. Fury lined every shadow, every crevice of George’s face. He spat his words out with such venom, utter distaste. “I weigh you down…like a child. You pick me up when I fall down and kiss it better because that’s the kind of person you are. I can’t sentence you to a lifetime of running around trying to save me. I won’t do it. I’ll find someone else.”

A burden. He looked through her eyes and all he saw was a shrivelled excuse of a companion, dragging her into his depths of despair. She’d be lying if she said she never felt suffocated by his baggage. But there were some burdens you didn’t mind shouldering, not when you loved them so tenderly.

After all, who was going to unravel his every pause, stutter, sigh, and ache as she did?

“But who else is going to decode you like I do?”

“Tell me,” she pressed, taking yet another step closer until their noses were barely an inch apart, “who else is going to know me? Truly know me?”

There was a brooding, resigned look in his eye as if whatever he had been running from had finally caught up to him. He bowed his head and their foreheads touched. Her arms nervously reached around his neck, his hands on her waist steadying her as if to keep their balance on whatever strand of peace the moment had proffered them.

Her lips hovered over his shoulder, clavicle and jaw. She felt him reflexively tighten and loosen his grip, restless fingers fiddling with the folds of her dress and how they wrapped around her body. She brushed against the shell of his ear and felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Who else is going to hold you…like me?”

He turned a fraction and she briefly registered the lack of hesitation in his dark eyes before he finally closed the last of the gap between them. He pressed his lips to hers, soft yet intentional. He tasted like champagne and smoke and promises long-forgotten yet unbroken. It was a dizzying sort of relief to feel that years-old desperate want coiled inside finally melt through arms and fingertips buzzing with curiosity.

After that first touch, it felt as though they couldn’t get close enough, let alone pull themselves apart and have the brisk evening air rush in and nip at sensitive skin. She heard the doorknob rattle as George fumbled with it. After a short struggle, they stumbled into a nearly pitch-dark Portland Row, urgently shucking off each other’s coats and scarves. Her mind was running a mile a minute, her scalp tingling with electricity; white noise over the scrape of his teeth against her skittering pulse.

Her thoughts fragmented. At Fittes. In his room. In her apartment. His typewriter sitting glossy, polished, untouched, maddening -

George Karim was the most affected prick she had the misfortune of knowing. It was bad, bad luck that she was so irrevocably tied to him.

TAGLIST: @cielooci @mohinithoughts @neewtmas @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @ahead-fullofdreams @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @mischivana @mitskiswift99

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfic #fanfiction #george karim x reader #george karim imagine #george karim

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laughhardrunfastbekindsblog · 3 months

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Lost and Found

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 2 | Prompt: Comfort Zone

Summary: Tech had only lived on Pabu for a short while; but as soon as he saw it again, with the knowledge that his family was somewhere down there, waiting for him, he knew: he was home. POV: Tech, Crosshair, Phee (Word Count: 5397)

Read on Ao3

Tech sat back in the passenger seat, datapad resting on his lap, his eyes burning slightly from fatigue after having spent the past few hours of the trip researching the habits of a specialized breed of hounds called lurcas. He had wanted to pilot the ship himself; but Omega had been so excited to show him firsthand how much she had progressed with the skills he had taught her, and he just hadn’t been able to say no. Besides, his piloting skills, while still more than adequate to handle flying especially during a non-combat trip like this, were mildly hampered by the nerve damage he had sustained to his left arm – he could still use the appendage, thankfully, but it remained significantly weaker than his right arm and fatigued rather quickly.

He remembered the flying lessons with Omega so well now - those were among the clearest of his memories, memories it had taken him well over a decade to recover.

There were still some small pieces of his life he couldn’t remember. How he had survived the fall from the railway was one of those pieces: apparently he had been delirious, or so he had been told, when the small band of native Eriaduans – intelligent beings, though so primitive and so reclusive with their dwelling places hidden deep in the forests that the other intelligent species on the planet paid them no mind – had found him; and he had sunk into a coma for months, before waking to realize he had no idea who he was, though thankfully he still knew how to speak, understand, and read Basic.

It hadn’t helped matters that he could barely see anything… until a few days after waking, when he had discovered that looking through a piece of curved glass brought his vision into sharper focus; and with this observation staying forefront on his mind, as soon as he was able to start hobbling around on his own, he had proceeded to gather materials and construct himself a pair of spectacles without really consciously thinking about how to do it, almost as if… as if he had done such a task several times before.

This had seemed so familiar, and he had learned very quickly to lean into familiarity as far as he could in his efforts to rediscover himself. It had been this feeling of familiarity that had drawn him, like a moth to a flame, to the recently downed shuttle near the natives’ village. It had been this feeling of familiarity that had guided his hands and his thoughts as he had successfully repaired the shuttle. It had been this feeling of familiarity that had led him to decrypting and reviewing the mission reports and data logs in the shuttle’s databanks; and he had found he recognized the basic facts of the Clone War and the aftermath, he knew the Empire went against everything he stood for, he remembered flashes of battles and he knew he must have been involved in the war somehow, though he didn’t look much like the clones who had formed the GAR. But, while most of his procedural memory had remained intact, and his semantic memory had returned at a rather astonishing rate as he researched what he could from the databanks, the brief flashes of episodic memories that he did have, much of the knowledge he remembered… there had been no context for it. He hadn’t known how he fit into it, or who or what had been important to him. And it seemed that the more he tried to consciously hold on to the personal memories in order to analyze them, the more quickly they slipped away altogether; faces and names in particular remained frustratingly out of reach. So he had soon learned to let these images, these episodic memories flicker across his mind without trying to think about them.

Still, he had kept leaning into the familiar as much as he could for countless months, and as the forests of Eriadu had become increasingly known to him, he had resigned himself to living out the rest of his life there… until Imperial soldiers had begun searching the forests for rebel cells, and he had intuitively known he should not be discovered. The native Eriaduans had refused to leave the planet with him, and he had let it go, knowing chances were high that the Imperials would leave the natives alone so long as he wasn’t with them. And so he had followed the feeling of familiarity that prompted him to pilot the shuttle, leaving Eriadu behind and entering the somehow reassuring white void of hyperspace.

The next decade had been a blur as he found and settled on the remote planet Tintha. He had been drawn to one of the tiny towns there, where he eked out a living doing what he had recognized best: engineering, mechanics, tinkering, decrypting, exploring, researching. What’s more, he had realized these things weren’t just familiar – he enjoyed all of it.

But he still hadn’t known who he was.

His skills, already appreciable on their own but even more noticeable given how secluded the planet was, had drawn the attention of a few influential people first on Tintha, then the wider system of Torus, until one day a man with cybernetic implants and the rather cryptic name of Echo – no surname – had visited him to ask for assistance decrypting information that turned out to be top-security Imperial intelligence. Then, after posing some rather probing questions about who he was and where he had come from - questions he couldn't very well answer - Echo had abruptly asked if he would agree to meet a young pilot named Omega to assist her with a rather more complicated task. He had agreed to meet the pilot, but hadn’t wanted to commit to joining the Rebellion – of course these strangers were rebels, he had figured that much out, though Echo had mentioned nothing by name – sympathetic though he might be to the cause. Besides, Echo and Omega kept acting so strangely around him, as if there was a lifetime of secrets they wanted to tell him but didn’t dare mention.

Well, most people seemed to act oddly around him. Or maybe he acted oddly around people. That awkwardness was all too familiar, and he had a feeling that things had always been this way, even before losing his memories.

Still, both Echo and Omega, these strangers he had only recently met, felt so familiar to him; and, following his usual method of leaning into familiarity, he had trusted them enough to let them take some scans and a blood sample – “Maybe we can help you find out who you are, in exchange for your help,” they had said. And he had allowed it; of course he had run his own blood sample before, but these rebels likely had access to more databanks than he did on this remote planet.

And then Omega had asked for his help recovering recorded data from an extremely familiar pair of broken goggles. And the first item he had found was the old back up copy of the picture of Clone Force 99, taken shortly after Echo had joined the squad.

And he had started to remember.

“Omega?” he had said tentatively, gently, turning his gaze to the tall, confident, energetic, brilliant woman next to him, so similar yet so different from the adolescent sister he had so quickly grown to love all those years ago.

Omega had instantly known that he remembered her – really remembered her, and her eyes had filled with tears. “Yes, Tech, it’s me,” she had whispered.

Tech.

Yes, that was his name – finally, he could remember his name. The Eriaduans had called him a term in their native tongue – Esha’Nu, Lost One – for so long, and he had gone by the name of Nu for years here on Tintha. But upon hearing his real name, it had been as if all – well, almost all – the discrete and nonsensical and decontextualized flashes of memory started clicking back into place.

His follow up question, however, had had nothing to do with the return of his memories.

“You recovered all this recorded data years ago, didn’t you?” he had asked Omega shrewdly.

Omega had laughed. “Yes,” she had said, nodding – and then her jaw had started to tremble as tears began streaming down her face. “It… it was all we had left of you. I had to find a way to restore it all, and I did. But,” and she had sat up straight, clearing her throat in an effort to stop the tears, “I was hoping that maybe the goggles or the pictures would help jog your memory, more than just being told you were a clone.”

All those years – his family had believed him to be dead.

If only he could have remembered who he was sooner. But there was no way to change that now. He had lost so many years with his loved ones - which meant there was no time to spend wallowing in regret over the lost years, over circumstances he had had no control over anyway. And a lot of the old memories were still frustratingly distant, vague, unclear - he had to address this issue before turning to the task of catching up on all the developments he had missed with his family.

“I would prefer to keep these to review the information when you go back to your mission for the Rebellion, Omega,” he had said matter-of-factly, indicating the goggles.

And Omega had smiled. “Tech, you are my mission now.”

Reviewing the recordings with Omega and Echo had done wonders in further clarifying Tech’s memories. He had lived for years trying to rediscover himself and had even been partially successful, though, despite Echo’s and Omega’s reassurances, he now knew his mind wasn’t nearly as exceptional as it had been before – still genius-level intellect, perhaps, but he recognized he couldn't retain quite as much information as he had before the fall and his mental processing speed was slower. But all of that hardly mattered. What mattered was that, now, he could remember at least 85% of the life he had forgotten; he could recall nearly everything, including that fateful choice on Eriadu, his final glimpse of his family before everything had faded to blackness.

Or what he had thought would be his final glimpse.

Tech, his eyes closed against the glare of the ship’s interior lighting, now smiled. He was with Omega and Echo now; he would be reuniting with his other brothers soon; there were certain friends he hoped to meet again eventually.

He was about to see his whole family again.

“We’re coming out of hyperspace now, Tech,” Echo called over his shoulder from the co-pilot’s seat next to Omega.

Still smiling, Tech opened his eyes and walked to the front of the flight deck, staring into the white blur of hyperspace for several seconds until…

There was Pabu.

He had only lived on the planet for a short while; but as soon as he saw it again, with the knowledge that the rest of his family was somewhere down there, waiting for him, he knew: he was home.

**********

Crosshair, standing outside the Archium with Wrecker and Hunter, saw the ship approaching and suddenly felt like he would throw up.

Ridiculous, he scolded himself. He had been impatiently anticipating this reunion for weeks, ever since Echo and Omega had told them the unbelievable news that they had found Tech, alive – a blood sample and a clone identifying code scan had definitively confirmed it. And, even more miraculously, they had been able to help Tech remember his true identity.

Crosshair had searched for happiness and peace for so long, and had finally found it in abundance with his family after their victory on Tantiss.

It had taken months, but he had eventually come to terms with the fact that Tech was gone.

It had taken even longer, but he had eventually let go of the guilt and regret he had felt over Tech’s sacrifice to save the entire family – including him, Crosshair – on Eriadu.

He hadn’t thought it possible to ever feel more happiness, until he and Hunter and Wrecker had received Omega’s transmission, her words only barely intelligible given the sheer amount of glee in her voice, that Tech was alive.

Crosshair had been in shock – all of them had been – until Wrecker had broken the stunned silence with an enthusiastic whoop so loud the ceiling of their cabin had actually shaken; and Crosshair hadn’t been able to stop smiling as a wave of almost giddy relief had washed over him while Hunter had eagerly inundated Omega with follow up questions. The next few weeks had been a whirlwind of preparation and discussion – they had to make up an extra bed; what kind of food did Tech like to eat now?; would it be a good idea for Tech to meet Batcher right away or should the hound stay in the back room?; would the reunion be too overwhelming?; they should ask Shep and the other Pabu residents to allow the reunion to be private; would it be too calm?; what was he like after so long, and would it be too much to take in given how much they had changed? But in spite of the busyness, Crosshair couldn’t help but feel that the days were passing by far too slowly: he wanted to see his brother now.

Well, “now” had finally come; and, standing here as Omega’s ship came in to land, Crosshair thought of the last time he had seen Tech, and his heart sank. Their parting on Kamino had been rather less than amicable on his, Crosshair’s, part, even as his brothers had invited him to rejoin them. Crosshair had just stood there sullenly on the platform, refusing to even look at his brothers as Tech had turned first to prepare the Marauder for departure while the others had followed one by one. Even knowing then that his commitment to the Empire meant it was highly unlikely he and his brothers would willingly cross paths, Crosshair had never really thought that critical moment could be the last time he would see Tech.

For years since the devastating event on Eriadu, the idea of the family ever truly being whole again had been an impossibility, even as they all did their best to honor Tech's sacrifice. Now that the impossible was suddenly imminent, Crosshair wanted so desperately to see Tech again, but he had to wonder: did Tech really want to see him? After all, if he, Crosshair, had just gone with his family after they had saved his life on Kamino, Tech would never have needed to sacrifice himself on Eriadu, and would never have been lost and alone for well over a decade.

After all Tech had been through, did he want to have Crosshair back as a brother?

The ship’s ramp lowered, and Crosshair suddenly found he couldn’t move as he saw Tech slowly descend. Omega had told them that the primitives who had helped Tech on Eriadu hadn’t exactly had the best medical equipment, and Crosshair could clearly see this to be true given the multiple prominent scars crossing Tech’s face, the pronounced limp that bore evidence of once-shattered bones in his right leg and pelvis that hadn’t quite been set properly, and the slight yet still noticeable weakness of his left arm that hung rather limply by his side. What’s more, Tech now wore thin-rimmed spectacles, his hair was slightly longer and liberally streaked with gray, and the wrinkles developing around his eyes and mouth were readily apparent despite the scars.

Wrecker, tears already pouring down his face, bounded forward to pull his brother into a bone-crushing hug, and didn’t release him until Tech managed to wheeze “Wrecker” in a voice indicating impending risk of suffocation. Hiccupping slightly, Wrecker set Tech back down on the ground and stepped back to allow Hunter, a warm if somewhat shaky smile gracing his face, to grasp Tech’s forearm and clap him on the back in Hunter’s signature greeting.

Crosshair hung back, rooted to the spot, hopeful and happy and scared and apprehensive all at once. Tech’s voice was the same, he had the same welcoming closed-lipped smile, he appeared as calm and quietly happy as he had ever been when near the squad – his family.

But Crosshair hadn’t been part of the family when Tech had fallen. Tech had spent months thinking Crosshair hated them all, yet had still wanted to rescue him, only to sacrifice himself and be left behind…

Tech abruptly looked over and met Crosshair’s eyes, and his smile widened as he relinquished Hunter’s arm and limped toward his youngest brother.

It was now or never: Crosshair had to say something.

“Tech,” he croaked.

“Crosshair,” Tech returned casually. “Omega told me you had returned.” And he placed a reassuring hand on Crosshair’s shoulder in greeting.

Crosshair wasn’t really the hugging type, and he certainly wasn’t one to initiate a hug. Neither was Hunter. Or Echo, for that matter. Wrecker and Omega were the only ones who gave hugs freely and without hesitation. And Crosshair knew Tech had always been the most touch-averse of all of them; though, according to Omega, Tech had readily accepted and returned her hugs as she had been growing up.

All of this passed through Crosshair’s mind as he stared in near-shock at his long-lost brother, the one he had thought he would never see again, the one he had wanted so desperately to reconcile with…

Crosshair couldn’t help it: before he even realized what he was doing, he had wrapped his arms around Tech’s shoulders and was hugging him with all the strength he possessed.

What was worse: he was crying. He, Crosshair, the one who prided himself on being more emotionally stoic than even Echo, the one who had made it through Tantiss and beyond without letting one stray tear leave his eyes (that one time on the Tantiss bridge didn’t count, that was rain, not tears), was now sobbing so hard onto Tech’s shoulder he was positive that, any moment, his brother would awkwardly pull away to avoid being drenched.

Instead, Tech gingerly placed his hands on Crosshair’s back, and lightly returned the embrace.

“I’m happy to see you too,” Tech said quietly.

All of Crosshair’s anxiety, doubt, and fears were erased, washed away by sheer relief, gratitude, and joy.

No matter what had happened before, they were still family, they were still brothers.

Tech was home.

**********

Phee approached the door of the cozy, well-lit cabin tucked against the mountainside, striding confidently and resolutely up the path; yet she paused ever so briefly to take a deep, calming breath before opening the door and stepping inside.

Hunter had contacted her a few weeks ago to inform her that Echo and Omega had found Tech, alive and relatively well, but having spent the past near decade and a half since Eriadu as an amnesiac. He had now recovered his memories, he knew who he was and who his family was, and he was coming home.

“He asked about you, Phee. He wants to see you.”

Phee had agreed to return, but had told Hunter it would be some time before she had wrapped things up enough to come back to Pabu. In truth, she ended up taking far more time than she needed to conclude her business and make the trip to the island planet. She had never been through the ordeal of losing one’s own memories and identity, living lost and alone for years before rather abruptly rediscovering them; but she could well imagine that such an experience would be overwhelming at minimum, and intuited that it would likely be best for Tech to have time to reconnect with his family first.

Besides, she needed some time to figure out how she felt about all this.

She had always liked Tech. Even in the very beginning, when his awkward and seemingly know-it-all behavior had initially turned her off, she couldn’t deny she had felt an instant and persistent attraction to him; and as time had passed and she had come to know him better, the attraction grew, and what had at first been rather annoying traits and quirks of his became endearing. After she had introduced his family to Pabu, she and Tech had spent more time together and had certainly grown close, close enough that her liking of Tech had turned into – well, she wouldn’t have called it “love” at that point, but definitely a hope that their solid friendship could soon become much, much more, could perhaps become love.

And then Tech had died, and Phee had been devastated, but she had hidden her feelings as best she could – after all, she had just been a friend, she wouldn’t lose her cool and make Tech’s bereaved family feel obligated to comfort her. And besides, she still liked the band of misfit clones that were Tech's siblings. And so she had continued to do what she did best – liberating ancient wonders – while also dabbling in much riskier intelligence acquisition and prison breaks in order to help Tech’s family save their imperiled brother and sister. And then she had subsequently maintained her friendship with the family, visiting Pabu frequently for their sakes as much as for Shep and Lyana, all the while knowing deep down that she was doing all of this as much for Tech’s memory as she was for the sake of her own friendship with his siblings…

Okay, fine, she had loved Tech, loved him as far more than a good friend. And knowing now that he was alive, with an airtight reason for having not shown up before now, and was asking to see her – well, all those feelings were reawakening at a frighteningly quick pace.

Thing is – she had fallen in love with the Tech of over ten years ago, before he had spent years not knowing who he was and therefore quite possibly discovering new things about himself in the interim. Would she, could she still love him as he was now?

“Omega says he was a little different when she and Echo first found him; but now that he’s recovered his memories, he’s become much more like his old self,” Hunter had said. “Still some differences – he’s definitely quieter, doesn’t interrupt nearly as much, not much of a risk-taker, insists he’s not as brilliant as he used to be…”

“So he only rates four times higher than genius intelligence level, instead of five?” Phee had quipped.

“More like only nine times higher instead of ten, by Echo’s estimation, but you get the point,” Hunter had replied levelly. “And… well, you know clones were engineered with accelerated aging…”

“Old people don’t scare me,” Phee had scoffed lightly. “I still talk to you, don’t I?”

And Hunter, rolling his eyes in exasperation, had chuckled in reply.

She wanted to stay in love with Tech, and nothing Hunter had said to describe Tech’s current state had indicated he had drastically changed. But there was also the fact that Phee still didn’t know for sure how Tech had felt about her – she had become well accustomed to Tech sometimes being oblivious to social cues and “normal” social interactions, but he had been almost uncharacteristically standoffish during their last parting, and while she had brushed it off at the time as Tech being Tech and resolved to have a definitive discussion with him as soon as he returned… well, he had never returned.

If he hadn’t returned her feelings then, what were the chances he would now?

But hey, Phee thought practically here in the present, as she stepped over the threshold into the cabin, it’s not like I’ll be any worse off in the romance department than I am now. Holding out a hand to prevent Batcher from knocking her over as she closed the door behind her, she glanced around, nodding at Omega, Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo, who were all seated in their customary places around the central open-floor room, before her eyes fell on the sixth figure just a few feet away from Echo...

There he was, seated at the small table that bordered one side of the room. She recognized him instantly: still bespectacled, still with piercingly intelligent yet warm brown eyes, still on the lanky side, still with his hair slicked back off his forehead making his hairline more pronounced; though now with a scarred face, graying hair, even more of a tendency toward hunched shoulders, and more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

In other words, he was even more handsome than ever.

And he was looking right at her, calmly regarding her with his typical thoughtful expression.

Phee, being herself as always – no point in pretending to be anyone else, after all – fixed him with a sarcastic stare.

“Well, look who’s finally decided to show up.”

“Better late than dead, I believe is your phrasing,” Tech replied steadily. “Or it used to be.”

Oh stars, his voice - his confident, soothing, practical voice - was the same…

And yet, steady though his voice may be, there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes, and Phee suddenly realized: he was just as uncertain about how much she had changed, as she was about him.

Well, she’d just have to show him who she was.

“That phrase still holds true,” she conceded airily, sitting in the chair across the table from him and leaning back, crossing her arms. “Good to see you all,” she addressed the rest of the family.

The others greeted her in return; and, determined to make this visit as natural as possible, Phee forged ahead to engage them in light conversation, not leaving Tech out but not focusing specifically on him either. Hunter, as could be expected, seemed to pick up on her intention first; and with their combined efforts, Wrecker soon stopped glancing meaningfully between Tech and their guest and instead joined in the discussion, with Echo, Omega, and even Crosshair then following his lead.

Apart from interjecting a few minor corrections to some details Hunter and Wrecker elaborated on regarding events on Pabu over the past few days, Tech seemed content to just soak it all in, quietly watching the scene while idly stroking Batcher who had serenely parked herself squarely next to his chair.

Then again, Tech had always been most at his ease around his siblings. It had taken weeks on Pabu before Tech had started to seem more relaxed around Phee, even as he had given every indication that he wanted to be around her; and it had also taken her some time to come to terms with what she had initially mistaken to be mixed signals.

Phee was glad that Tech had so quickly readjusted to life with his family. And maybe – just maybe – this could mean he may soon be comfortable around her again.

It was nearly half an hour before the brothers and Phee had caught each other up on recent happenings – well, all recent happenings apart from the most significant development, which was currently sitting right across the table – and Phee turned to Omega, who was still laughing over Wrecker’s retelling of the latest fishing expedition gone wrong.

“Omega,” Phee said, “I want to hear all about your rebellious exploits before you disappear again.”

“Some of those exploits are supposed to be classified, Phee,” Omega replied solemnly.

“So?”

Echo glowered, but Omega broke into a grin. “We’ll catch up as far as I’m allowed,” she promised, before her eyes darted briefly to Tech and she added, “Later.”

Phee, knowing it was time, took the hint and turned to directly face Tech. Crosshair, of all people – bless that man, though of all Tech’s brothers Phee would never have thought that Crosshair could be so insightful in situations like this – rather forcefully drew his siblings’ attention away from the table’s occupants by complaining loudly about the current toothpick shortage on Pabu. Tech, still engaged in his siblings’ discussion, opened his mouth – probably to explain precisely why certain supplies were low on the remote island while the galaxy at large was at war – but promptly turned his attention to Phee when she spoke.

“I see Batcher has taken a liking to you,” she said casually.

Tech smiled a bit as he glanced down at the aging hound. “I have always been fascinated by creatures of all kinds, but I never saw the purpose of maintaining one as a companion,” he said conversationally. “This has been especially true the past few years – there was no reason to permanently take on the care of an animal when I didn’t really know who I was. Even now I can’t say lurca hounds are of a temperament that would make them my first choice of pet. But this one in particular is exceptional. Omega did well domesticating her.”

The more Tech talked, the more Phee's spirits rose; but she kept her demeanor relaxed and straightforward. “Yeah, Batcher is fine, but Mel is the closest thing to a pet I’ve ever wanted to have. Apart from her, I’ve pretty much always travelled alone.”

Tech glanced at her with an openly interested expression.

“You haven’t taken up traveling on a permanent basis with any other pirates or smugglers since we last spoke, then?” he asked.

Cheeky. Phee raised a brow at him, immediately recognizing the reference to their last conversation – the one she had replayed countless times in her head in the intervening years – but now wanting to hide the fact that she was simultaneously impressed, shocked, and strangely elated.

If he not only remembered their last conversation but was now willing to reference it, could that possibly mean he had loved her too?

But she had to stay cool. “I believe I was the one who told you not to run off with pirates or smugglers while you were gone,” she retorted.

“Yes, well, there were surprisingly few members of either category in the vast forests of Eriadu, or on a world as remote as Tintha,” he returned a trifle stiffly, in the manner Phee recognized as the one he used when he knew he hadn't picked up on all the subtext of a statement but still felt obliged to respond. “I couldn’t have run off with one even if I had wanted to.”

Phee smirked. Tech might be able to recite all the definitions and detailed components of flirting like the walking dictionary/encyclopedia combined that he was, but he would never be able to effectively put flirting into practice. And she loved him for it.

Oh, yes, she still loved this man. She couldn’t wait to get to know him again.

And it was her turn to answer the question.

“Well, you know, there was one man I would have considered traveling with on a permanent basis,” she said, deliberately borrowing Tech’s own words. “Not a pirate or a smuggler, but a handsome fella, strong, brave, wicked smart. He disappeared, though, and for a long time I thought he’d never come back.”

Tech surprised her by looking almost… disappointed? “Oh, I… didn’t know that,” he said, as if at a loss for words. “I… I hope he returns someday.”

Oh, poor Tech – okay, now was obviously not the right time for teasing or subtlety.

“In case I wasn’t clear,” she said slowly and distinctly as she leaned forward, rested her arms on the table, and caught and held Tech’s gaze, “the man I was talking about is you.”

Surprise, relief, uncertainty, and hope all passed over Tech’s face in equal measure before his expression settled on unreadable, and he was silent.

And Phee was suddenly acutely aware that, despite the low voices in the background indicating Tech’s siblings were ostensibly still talking amongst themselves, all ears were open and straining to keep track of this particular conversation.

Shaking her head slightly as she chuckled, Phee pushed her chair back from the table. “Let’s go for a walk, Brown Eyes.”

Tech readily agreed, his expression brightening as a small hopeful smile dawned on his face; and when she took his hand as they exited the cabin, he didn’t shy away.

@summer-of-bad-batch

#summerofbadbatch2024 #week 2 #comfort zone #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb phee #tbb omega #tbb echo #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #tech lives #techphee #techphee forever

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seniorpollinationtechnician · 4 months

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Ethan spent the next three hours in his cluttered office, surrounded by stacks of old files and a mess of digital archives on his computer. Eventually, ISAAC's voice broke the silence. "Ethan, I have located several encrypted documents closely related to your search history. Shall I bring them up?"

After a vocal confirmation, ISAAC remotely accessed Ethan's computer and began displaying a series of decrypted files with some title variation of 'Chrysalis_2023'. Project Chrysalis had been one of his most secretive assignments while working with the government where he had been tasked with engineering a containment and analysis system for biological entities. The government's vague description alluded to 'non-terrestrial biological entities', which Ethan naively interpreted as some advanced biological research.

The digital files were heavily redacted but offered enough information to remind him that he had physical evidence as well. He eventually found a folder containing detailed schematics alongside his own annotations on the nature of the project. One document in particular, an incident report, caught his eye.

Entry Date: 04/12/2023 Subject: NTBE X-23 Humanoid organism measuring 1.8 meters (6 ft.) in height. Bipedal locomotion. Epidermis is a pale yellow tone. Facial structure similar to that of a human being but with eight black eyes arranged in a symmetrical pattern. Indecipherable markings around the eyes. Subject arrived unconscious and has not regained consciousness throughout the observation period. Subject X-23 was transferred from the recovery unit into the primary containment chamber at 1100 hours. Upon entering the containment unit, the subject's vital signs surged. Subject X-23 abruptly regained consciousness and exhibited erratic behavior. Witnesses claimed to have seen something move within the subject's skin. Vocalizations consistent with an unknown language were recorded (see audio log 0134-B1). Linguistic analysis is ongoing. The subject shortly underwent a rapid biological transformation. Epidermal surfaces split open, extruding long, vine-like protrusions tipped with bioluminescent nodules. The cranial structure split open longitudinally, revealing a maw lined with razor-sharp teeth. At 1400 hours, Subject X-23 initiated a violent attack on the containment unit. The material composition used proved insufficient. A containment breach occurred at 1405 hours. Specimen X-23 lunged at Dr. ■■■■, inflicting a fatal laceration to the abdomen. Security personnel were authorized to terminate the threat. Subject X-23 was neutralized at 1410 hours. Residual specimens are being collected for further analysis. The containment unit is undergoing repairs and biohazard decontamination. Further research is on hold pending reevaluation of containment protocols.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #the ■■■■■■ legacy #ts4 legacy #the sims #I couldn't resist posting an extra chapter #love me some breached containment

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dokidokitsuna · 19 days

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O.R.C.A.’s Directory

(Finally coming back to this concept after several months ^^;)

O.R.C.A. in #re_rise doesn’t just run Alterna in the background and give you orders– it’s a system you interact with regularly as the player; a database that facilitates your adventure and keeps track of your accomplishments. It is accessed through terminals placed at key spots on each site, which you have to find, activate, and physically walk to if you want to use them.

Most of the contents of the Menu (except the Sunken Scrolls) are now consolidated into O.R.C.A., along with a few bonus features~

Alterna Archive: Basically the Alterna Logs– all the information about Alterna’s history, from creation to collapse (referencing my rewritten version of this backstory, of course). As you clear lab spaces with different weapons, earn Golden Eggs, activate terminals, collect Nostalgic Devices, etc., the files will be decrypted line by line. Basically, anything that contributes to your percent completion of the game will count towards this…so just enjoy Alterna the way you like, and you’ll eventually reveal the entire archive without too much extra effort. ^^ This story is O.R.C.A.’s gift to you; your reward for reawakening its home.

Lab Notebook: Notes written by the ‘mysterious researcher’ currently working in Alterna, earned in order from newest to oldest, so we can gradually learn what the Fuzzy Ooze is and why he made it, as well as his origin story and true identity (in his own words~). These replace ‘Log.exe’ from the actual game. Lab notes are found by reaching computers hidden within the lab spaces, kinda like the Power Egg packs. They are purposely placed in the more challenging spaces, and you must clear the space in order to take the note with you– if you wanna learn the main antagonist’s secrets, you gotta put in the work. ^^

Wellness File: Records of Neo Agent 3’s responses to the environment, once you obtain the biometric monitor in Cryogenic Hopetown (more on that later). This is essentially an account of how the player character is feeling at each point in the story– a new entry will be created after each encounter with a major character (Deep Cut, the King Salmonids, the Squid Sisters, etc.) or a particularly interesting Alterna landmark. ;)

Nostalgia Index: List of all the Nostalgic Devices you’ve collected, which Alterna citizens they belonged to, and what they used them for. The citizens’ names are redacted, but you do get to learn a bit about the different kinds of people who lived in Alterna, and connect with them through the items they left behind.

Skill Tree: Basically the same as the in-game version, minus the Hero Shot buffs– in #re_rise you don’t get the Hero Shot until you gain the Hero Gear in the last stretch of the game. Instead you borrow from weapons’ lockers placed around Alterna…meaning you can carry the weapon of your choice as you explore each site, offering you a wider variety of strategies to use on those balloon challenges, for instance. ^^ But I digress…

Camera Roll: One of the Nostalgic Devices you can find is a digital camera, and once you’ve obtained it, you can take pictures with it and upload them to the terminal (as well as your regular photo gallery, when you’re back on the surface). The Alterna Camera comes with its own special filters, and characters you aim it at will pose for you. ^^ This feature is basically just for funzies, but if you can snap a picture of that large figure lurking in the shadows, you’ll earn a special clothing item.

Messages: Occasionally you will receive mysterious messages, warning you with increasing severity to stay out of their laboratory (and bring back their golden eggs…sure sounds familiar). Are these warnings for their sake or for yours…?

Map: Even the site maps are only accessible through the terminals, they’re not available whenever. Maybe that would be a controversial choice…but I think it’d be okay in this instance, since (a) the Alterna islands are pretty small, and (b) I’ve invented a fun system that might help– the Sticker Beakons! ^^

Around Alterna, you can find Sticker Sheets with 3 Sticker Beakons each, to place and replace wherever you want on any island. They shine like actual beacons so you can use them to navigate while you wander around on foot, and once you reach a terminal you can jump to them like normal Squid Beakons. They come in different shapes and designs like the stickers from Hotlantis, and double as actual stickers you can place on your locker, once you’ve found them in Alterna. ^^

I feel like forcing the player to walk around is more forgivable when you give them something cute and customizable like this to play with. :D If you want to use all 18 Sticker Beakons on one island at a time because you’re super directionally-challenged, you can. If you want to use them to simply mark your favorite Alterna landmarks so you can jump to them easily, you can do that too.

Maybe as a compromise, I might add a ‘Return to Nearest Terminal’ option in the Menu…but I think encouraging the player to get out there and actively explore can’t hurt. Part of my philosophy with this re-concept is to make Alterna an interesting place that the player would WANT to explore, and all these added collectibles are part of that.

#splatoon 3 #re_rise #new agent 3 #smallfry #o.r.c.a.

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preservationofnormalcy · 9 months

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ITEM FILE #2213

ITEM: "Glycon's Grove"

ITEM HISTORY: Broadcast from 1987-1996, Glycon's Grove was a children's puppet show that debuted on public television stations accessible in Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, and Iowa. After three episodes, the anomalous properties of the show were confirmed, and access to public television wavelengths was restricted. An agreement with Glycon's Grove production team (Oddy See) and the Office was reached wherein Oddy See would receive funding and distribution through OPN-approved channels, while all scripts, dialogue, and visuals were sent to the Parafiction Department for approval and study. After a brief interruption, Glycon's Grove was then broadcast nationwide (and in Canada and Mexico through agreement with RCOE and SER) on thaumic wavelengths decryptable by "analog augury"-compatible television sets, cable TV packages catering to the extranormal community, and distributed via VHS consumer hardware.

Glycon's Grove centered around the adventures of the titular Glycon, referred to as a "snake" despite his crude sock-puppet appearance. Glycon, often the energetic but patient voice of reason, would counsel his friends during common children's show storylines of the time, teaching lessons such as manners, the importance of reading and creativity, and honesty. The idea of snakes as "important, friendly creatures" was a common recurring topic. The show took place in the Grove of Olympus, with the rest of the cast being more typically-constructed puppets of a minotaur, hydra, cyclops, aquatic creatures, and in later seasons, a large "Cerebus" requiring multiple puppeteers to operate. Every few episodes, one of "the gods" (played by one of the human puppeteers in costume) would enter the Grove and provide the cast with that episode's challenge or conundrum. "Dio" was portrayed by actor Kenneth Young as a "surfer dude" always holding a family-friendly can of grape soda. "Heff" (Baker) often cajoled the cast into trying his new inventions, while "Arty" (Brown) asked for help in locating her lost pets.

Numerous interviews and investigations conducted by the Office concluded that while each other puppet in the cast (a list in the image above) was credited to and clearly played and voiced by a human puppeteer, Glycon's puppeteer, if they existed, was never credited or seen at any point. When interviewed, other members of Oddy See insisted that Glycon was "just Glycon" and did not acknowledge any puppeteer. During studio tours, Glycon was observed to move around the studio in ways that would be challenging for a human-puppeted character, EG, in one room and suddenly another, manifesting on multiple parts of a sound stage in rapid succession, always behind a barrier that could have reasonably obscured a human puppeteer from any Office observer. Attempts to isolate all visual angles in a given room often failed, resulting in Glycon appearing from a loose ceiling panel or other improbable locations.

Glycon "himself" always agreed to interviews, providing they could be done on Oddy See studio property, citing his "bum leg" as an inability to leave the property. He was at once forthcoming and evasive, simply repeating that he was "a puppet" when asked about his state, and that he "needed a new gig" as one of the reasons he started Glycon's Grove. Interviewers commonly reported Glycon as "charming" or "funny".

Parafictional research into Glycon's Grove and similarities to a mytho-folkloric figure of the same name are ongoing to this day.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #documents #puppets #roman mythology #greek mythology #puppet show #urban fantasy #microfiction #glycon #ooc: yes I made a sock puppet for this

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vinxhwrites · 10 months

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note: this is the result of a crazy writing frenzy I was in last night, I went a bit feral over this idea and I don't know where this story is going. Also I spiraled after I read this. anywayyy hope you enjoy this drabble.

pairing: f!reader x price (x ghost - maybe eventually?)

summary: After going to work in the military you develop a weird relationship dynamic with your captain, and soon you find out you're not the only one.

word count: 2.7k

cw: 18+, daddy kink (!), probably inaccurate job descriptions/situations, pet names, a little bit of angst, a little bit of h/c; reader is kind of a crybaby; not proofread;

You couldn't explain the story of how you got yourself in this situation if you tried. You were barely able to understand it yourself. Yet, here you were, sobbing in your captain's arms at his office, way past your working hours, calling him daddy and praying that he'd kiss you.

You had a hard day, as it was pretty common nowadays.

You certainly weren't fit for this work environment and you were painfully aware of it. It didn't matter how much you tried you couldn't get past this fact: you were an academic. You weren't used to the discipline, the hierarchy, and the life-engulfing aspects of the military.

When you had accepted the job 8 months prior, it really was the salary that convinced you, if you were being honest about it. You had been living on scholarships most of your adult life and it was getting kind of tiring. A part of you wanted to refuse out of a moral stance, but you didn't.

You were fresh out of a linguistics PhD program at the time, and you excelled as a student and researcher, but your skills were very specific and not that marketable. Your mom was probably right when she tried to dissuade you from dedicating your time to mostly dead and made-up languages, but you were too stubborn to listen at the time, although her greatest concerns were, as usual, well-founded. Needless to say, the opportunity came at the right time.

It seemed urgent and they tested you relentlessly. It was clear to you from the beginning that no one there was thrilled to resort to a civilian linguist. It was fun, though, and you passed the tests as if they were silly little puzzles you do to relax. And you were the only candidate to be able to decently decipher the completely made-up languages and codes that were used in the telegraphs they gave you.

They hired you on an 18-month contract for two different jobs: translating and decrypting intercepted messages for a task force, and also training their own linguists to do what you did. If you were good at it, you wouldn't be needed anymore.

The task force was nice enough, all four of them treated you well and didn't bother you much. At first, it was a bit disconcerting, but by now you've gotten used to how attractive they all were to the point where it almost didn't affect you anymore.

All of them called you birdie. You liked it, it made you feel included to have a little nickname. Soap was the one to come up with it on the second week you were working with them "Some birds know many languages." he had explained, clarifying: "Bird languages, ye know". The original explanation made you smile, but the addition made you blush "Plus, ye're cute like a little birdie"

The training part though wasn't going so well. You were almost 100% sure that all six of the students hated you. It seemed offensive to them to have to sit down and learn anything from you. In the beginning, you did your best to be pleasant, to do the best job you could, and maybe win them over. But at this point, you just wanted to be done with it and never look at any of those people ever again.

They were building a computer program to do your job apart from the classes. You felt offended at first at how they didn't even hide the fact that you would be used and then replaced by a more efficient machine, but you were now praying that they'd get it done as quickly as possible. The program was really good at pattern recognition, but it still wasn't good enough at semantics, and it lacked any nuance of interpretation.

The only thing that made you want to stay a little longer was this thing with Captain Price. It had started innocent enough, he took pity on you when he noticed you struggling with the new environment. He said some kind and assuring words here and there when he noticed how much the students tormented you, and he'd reprehend anyone who dared to disrespect you in front of him.

Eventually, Price casually invited you to work in his office if you wanted to, being away from other people seemed to ease your nerves a bit. He didn't mind, he assured you, it was nice to have some company. More than that, he genuinely found your job fascinating and always asked you to show him how you did it in his free time.

He sometimes brought you tea the afternoons you spent there, he'd accidentally brush his arm against yours, or touch your leg with his knee when you sat beside him. At first, he'd correct the movement, but it evolved to not correcting it, to then doing it intentionally.

They were simple touches, a little pat on your shoulder here, brushing your hair out of your face there, every single one made you shiver. One day he made a comment about how uncomfortable you looked on the chair and pulled your legs to rest on his lap while he worked. That was the first night you allowed yourself to fantasize about him to sleep.

John had a warm and comforting presence, and you were genuinely disappointed when he wasn't around, finding comfort in the fact that he gave you a copy of his office keys, so you could work there even when he wasn't present.

Ghost was there sometimes, seemingly preferring to work from Price's office as well. At first, he seemed to get disconcerted by your presence, probably a bit annoyed that he had to share the space with you, you thought.

He was never rude to you, just awfully quiet, even when it was just the two of you there. He nodded at you when you greeted him, and often sat on the big sofa on the corner or even on the floor. You offered him the desk many times, feeling a bit guilty for taking up so much space, but you noticed he only accepted when he seemed truly tired. Despite the unsettling silence, you thought he was a gentleman.

You first thought that John had somehow hypnotized you when you noticed the subtle ways in which your heart lost its pace whenever he commanded you to do something. He rarely asked without a smile, a polite inclination "dear, will you please file these reports for me?" "can you please grab me a cup of coffee?". He'd only deviate you from your tasks like this when he seemed to be in a bad mood, you noticed. It was never about anything urgent, and it was always when you were clearly already busy. In spite of it, you were never able to say no. He seemed to derive pleasure from bossing you around like that, but you knew he didn't have to remind you of the power he had over you, as it always hovered on your mind. Either way, soon enough you were painfully aware of the fact that you'd do absolutely anything he asked you to.

But you knew, for sure, that you were in trouble when you realized you got aroused anytime he'd compliment your work. Getting his praise started to be a more important goal to you than anything else. Earning a "good girl" was a rare occurrence, but it never failed to make your day.

One day he found you crying, and you couldn't quite explain what it was with words without feeling ridiculous. After what they called a "successful mission" it dawned on you that the information you were extracting out of those telegraphs really was being used to kill people. Those weren't your silly little puzzles.

"Criminals" Soap had corrected you as you tried to articulate your despair, much to your dismay. He wheezed as if your frame of thought was absolutely hilarious. "Shouldn't be here if you'll react like that, birdie" he had said and you wanted to scream.

"You'll get used to it" Gaz had assured you, sending a disapproving look towards Soap.

Later, the more you tried to express your frustration to John the more you cried, sobbing pathetically. It was the first time he hugged you, shielding you from the world around you for a minute.

"You don't understand..." you tried to explain, but you cut the sentence short at his stern look.

"I do understand," he said frowning, keeping his hand firm on your back. He took a deep breath and leaned down a bit to look you in the eyes "Listen, you do a good job, sweetie. You're doing good things, even if it doesn't feel like it sometimes" he assured you.

You nodded and tried to get the crying under control, suddenly aware that you probably looked terrible.

John cupped your face in his hands.

"Why don't you get the rest of the day off and get some rest, huh?" he suggested kindly "come to me if you need to talk."

After that, he got more and more comfortable being physically close to you. It quickly evolved, as you enjoyed being close to him a bit too much. Sometimes he'd squeeze your hand in his when you sat beside him behind his desk very casually and, sometimes, you'd rest your head on his shoulder while he worked. Saying you were in love felt like an understatement, but you'd never make it real by saying it out loud.

You once made a joke in passing about how your dad left you and your family, but he didn't laugh. He tilted his head and looked worried instead. I'm here if you want to talk he said, and it made you want to bury your head in the dirt.

Price called you many things, at first it was dear, sweetie, birdie, love, and finally, he settled with baby.

"what are you doing there, baby?" he just asked casually one day, and you almost gasped, feeling your heart attempt to leave your chest.

Although your relationship with him wasn't sexual in practice, it certainly was sexualized in essence. To you it was, at least. Oedipal if you were to be honest with yourself.

The first time he called himself your daddy it simultaneously broke and healed something in your brain. He chuckled at your reaction, how you looked at him wide-eyed and full of hope, hiding your face on his chest next.

"thank you, sir" you whispered then, pathetically.

You feared at times that your affection to him was one-sided, that he saw comforting you like this as a part of his job, a strange but effective one as well. You wondered if it made you weak, you didn't even try to be brave and deal with things alone anymore, you were aware of how childish it was to knock on his door looking for daddy's embrace at the slightest inconvenience. But you couldn't help it, it was too comforting to give up.

And that's the exact position you were in now. You had a bad day so you came running to him. He was awfully kind to you, as usual, and you prayed that it was a sign of enjoyment, that he actually liked comforting you like this.

You didn't notice when Simon came in. He froze by the door, and the captain just signaled for him to close it. John still had his arm wrapped around you, a hand stroking your hair.

"Shhh, it's ok now" he cooed at you "daddy's here."

Simon watched as you melted in his arms at the words, your breathing easing instantly. Again, you felt as if hypnotized. Your body responded to his words before your mind could catch up with them.

You wanted him even closer, you wanted to curl up on his lap, and have him rock you like a baby. Most of all, you wanted him to kiss you. You craved the touch of his lips on yours and the thought clouded your mind. Just that week you had already masturbated to the thought of him twice. Although you always reprehended yourself afterward, it didn't work to make these thoughts go away.

You rehearsed in your mind the idea of looking up and kissing him but didn't build enough courage to do it. You thought you'd die if he ever rejected you.

"That's it, you're ok," John said when he noticed the pace of your breathing ease, with his cheek pressed to the top of your head "I've got you, baby" he pressed kisses to your hairline. You sniffed, using your sleeve to clean the tears from your cheek.

"Now, be a good girl and go get some sleep," he said and you nodded against his chest, inhaling the warm smell of his shirt and suffering with the upcoming separation already "Ghost will take you to bed".

You raised your head and blinked at him, and that's when you finally noticed the tall figure close to the door, unmoved. You wiped your tears, distressed. For how long had he been there?

"Will you guide her to her room, lieutenant?" John asked him calmly, as if you didn't find yourself in the most embarrassing of situations.

"Yes, sir" Simon responded in the same tone.

The walk back to your room was painfully silent. The corridor around you was dark and empty. Your entire body was tense, and you walked fast trying to keep up with Simon's pace, hoping that he'd just say something and put you out of your angst, but he didn't.

When you finally reached your door, he opened it and waited for you to go inside.

"I'm sorry that you saw that" you blurted out, cheeks flushed pink "I-I don't know what to say. It's really not like that...-"

"It's OK" he interrupted when he noted the despair in your voice. He tilted his head a bit, evaluating your expression "I get it." there was something mischievous in his eyes, and you wondered if he was smiling at you behind the mask.

"Do you?" you asked, your voice was almost a whisper.

He nodded, and you relaxed a bit "I'm sorry you had a shitty day, birdie"

"It's okay"

"Tell me if you need anything." he said before signaling for you to enter your bedroom again, you thanked him quietly and closed the door.

Simon went back to Price's office in hurried steps, letting out a sigh when he entered. He was exhausted.

His captain was seated on the sofa, reports spread on the coffee table in front of him and a cigar put out on the ashtray beside him.

"Come here" John said, his eyes didn't move from the papers in his hands.

Simon took off his boots and mask before curling up on the sofa, resting his head on the captain's legs, and finally taking a deep breath as John started to brush his fingers through his hair.

"Don't know what to do with her" John murmured, more to himself than to start a conversation.

Simon hummed in response, his eyes felt heavy, and he could no longer keep them open.

"She's such a sensitive little thing..." John continued, seemingly lost in thought.

"She's cute" the lieutenant murmured, the drowsiness that flooded his brain making it almost impossible to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah" John chuckled lightly. "Well, don't worry about it." he assured, taking his attention back to petting Simon's hair "How are you?"

"Fine" he purred, getting comfortable on the sofa, even though it was a bit too small for him.

John hummed as he stroked Simon's cheek lightly "my pretty boy"

He watched Simon as he let his eyes rest completely and his body relax, being taken by slumber in a matter of seconds.

John continued to read reports well into the night, only waking Simon up, gently, when he finally decided to get some sleep himself. He accompanied Simon to his bedroom before moving to his own, patting him on the shoulder before sending him to bed. It was easier for Simon to fall asleep on his own then, as it usually was, after he had already been nursed to sleep beforehand.

#don't look at me!!#my dad died before my brain fully developed guys :/#i have serious daddy issues #cod x reader #captain price #john price x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #captain john price

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thosearentcrimes · 1 year

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The following text, apparently one of a long series by the same author, was recovered off the coast of Cuba by cephalopod research group divers in local year 120 and was one of the earliest documents to be translated following the excavation of cetacean archives at the Rashid Site in 146 that allowed us to decrypt cephalopod. It remains essential to our understanding of cephalopod infrastructure capabilities and policy.

The chief monobrain is at it again. Evol Nrol has introduced his next grand new vision for the sea and beyond, to great acclaim from his various suckers and the media outlets he just happens to own. 55% of the planet just isn't enough apparently, our lords and masters are still looking for more untouched wilderness to pointlessly ruin. One begins to suspect that they just want somewhere to run away to, and one begins to wonder why. Just like last time, he wants to colonize Lake Baikal, because bad ideas never die, they just camouflage. In case it's not obvious, this will never work, and if it did it would still not work. Let's just glide over the 10 most obvious reasons this is impossible and insane from last time.

1) Lake Baikal is very far away. 2) Lake Baikal is very cold. 3) The water in Lake Baikal is basically poison. Life inside seapods would always be one breach away from rapid deionisation. 4) Lake Baikal either has scientific value, or it has octopus habitation. It can't have both. 5) Lake Baikal has nothing we need. As far as we know the thermal vents in Baikal have nothing we can't get much easier from existing vents, or even by creating synthentic vents. 6) Lake Baikal has too much water to salinify. This is the one they really haven't thought about. We don't have the minerals we would need. The quantity of sodium chloride alone would make a pile the size of Moai mount. Our best way to get the minerals is by evaporating the sea and moving the evaporate over, but at that point we could just as well build the evaporation pool, not build the levees, and just live there. On that note: 7) Clearly nobody's calculated the logistics on moving that much mineral. Have you tried lugging a mountain over land? 10) Lake Baikal is constantly being drained by a river and replenished by other rivers. It takes around 512 years to replace the entire volume of the lake. That's a long time, even by lake standards, at least. Still, anything you put in the water will dissipate at a rate of 1/512 per year at least. And at the scale of the initial investment, the maintenance cost in minerals alone would be unaffordable.

If you really wanted to go with the monumentally stupid idea of filling a lake with minerals to make more sea, there's a much better choice, of course. Lake Tanganyika is more accessible, warmer, smaller, still has thermal vents, and drains slower. In every respect it would be an easier choice, though still entirely impossible of course. But Evol couldn't go with that, because he's tying his consultants in knots attempting to salvage his whole "dredge the Yenisey 1km deep" idea from three years ago, which wouldn't have made sense with Tanganyika, and he's too arrogant to pick a new target to go with the new manateeshit plan. As always, impossible plans like these just vent ink over the infrastructure and housing investment we desperately need and already know how to do.

#original fiction #cephalopod studies

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all-doggirls-go-to-heaven-2 · 2 months

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YES ACTUALLY I CAN

( @arquivista )

Analog Hacking or Analog Glitching is the proccess of causing intentional ''damage'' to footage through analog means. Which means a lot of things! It usually produces results like this:

https://youtu.be/GbGswmT04lE

You could argue that crumpling up a VHS tape and recording that again through a vcr is Analog Glitching, but what a lot of enthusiasts mean when they say Analog Hacking or Glitching is to send, distort and compress signal through analog circuits. Since analog video signal is just an electric frequency, a solder iron and a basic knowledge of electronics will take you far.

Imo its a very fun hobby bc it involves a lot of research and planning by yourself, to make something within your means and tastes. It is also infuriating to research bc most crucial pieces of knowledge are within deep forums of experts decrypting tape protection and stuff like that. You can wast weeks simply doing research. And then its a matter of finding old analog gear (I personally had an old vhs-c camera for Infinite loops and a pretty decent recorder vcr with a lot of good stabilizers) because it can get expensive FAST. But its really fun to work these old pieces of tech and seeing it interact with your new diy creations to make pretty colors and movements on the screen.

It's very niche and kinda weird but its a fascination of mine. Here's some pieces of my setup so you can get an idea of what they look like:

This is the beefy boy of my setup, a classic Roland V-4. I use it for time base correcting signals and its also good for live mixing.

This is also kind of a relic, its an RF Toshiba 102 crt. Its 11 inches (I think?) And works really well for screen recordings when I want thst fuzzy crt finish. It only works with PAL signal and needs an RF adapter (which is why I could get it for really cheap)

This is a K.K dirty mixer! Is an open-source project to mix two analog signals and output a single one, mixing them with a potentiometer. Its a really easy build, which is why mine is made out of a margerine container. In the background is my vcr, which luckily works with NTSC and PAL-M, so I have more flexibility to work.

Rn im working on building something called a "Videffektor" which is an open source project to make an analog glitch enchancer.

If you have any more questions please ask I love to talk abt this shit and never have the chance

#analog mixing #analog glitch #analog synth #please bother me abt this shit more I love explaining how it works

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hive-sight · 1 year

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Travel 1

Many apologies Sentients. This one has meant to communicate sooner, but this one's queen ordered an immediate launch of the ship commissioned for this quest. The Vexyrian Solathor, or the Astral Horizon, and its crew of four individuals has been traveling since this one's last posting.

As the current date is Xylokthian Date: 4682 Cycle, 3rd Azuran, 18th Luminalis, the quest has been underway for six Luminalis (or Lums.)

In this time, this one has been able to read more of the data captured by the un-piloted Xylokthian astral drone.

This race of Terrans is most perplexing. According to captured electronic transmissions (language decryption only being partially complete,) it appears that Sol-3 does not have a single leader.

This alone is not unusual, many planets have multiple races present with each having its own leadership. However, there is but one sentient race on Sol-3. The Terrans have placed down arbitrary borders and divided themselves on the basis of everything from population to which side they fall on of a natural waterway.

It is most confusing. Never before has this been seen in a space-faring race. Then again, space-faring normally comes about at the same time as interstellar travel, due to the large distance between locations on the stellar scale.

The Terrans have only recently traveled halfway across their own stellar system. This next part is found most fascinating by this one! Could any of those among you sentients imagine stellar travel without Quantum Vacuum Thrusters? This technology, so familiar and comfortable in the mind of Sentients across the galaxy, has only recently been conceptualized by Terrans!

That's correct, this one said "conceptualized!" As in the Terrans only recently even imagined the technology!

So how do the Terrans navigate their system then? They primarily achieve this feat through chemical propulsion! They ride fire to their destination!

With that exhilarating and terrifying factoid, this one must resume research. The next time this one posts, the language decryption should be complete so that this one may begin practicing both speaking, and working the language into this one's posts.

Until next we meet Sentients. This is Elysia of Xyloptha, signing off.

#hfy #humans are weird #earth is a deathworld #humans are space orcs #haso #humans are space oddities #HiveSight #alien blog #xenobiology #speculative biology #PoT 002 #Perspective on Terra #aliens #space australia #firemounted

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agattthaa · 2 months

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Warm

Paring: Anna/Lane

Word count:

Rating: T

Summary: Lane didn't know what brought her that sensation of warmth, the blanket covering her, the body heat of the woman on her side or the feelings that same woman evoked to her.

Tagging: @rc-catalog

It had clearly been a stupid idea to bring Anna along.

The lecture that was supposed to belong to only herself, would now also belong to the other woman.

But it was not like Lane had any other choice. She had to see the marking that someone left in that tree, and the general had strictly forbidden her to go until he had assigned a group to escort her. Obviously, Lane was caught trying to sneak out.

But, to her own luck or lack of it, the one to catch her was Anna.

After a short interrogation, the woman simply grabbed her coat and declared that she was going too. Obviously, Lane tried to stop her, but Anna didn’t listen to her, leaving the manor by the front door and climbing one of the snowmobiles and turning around to look at Lane with a wicked smile and waiting for her to join her on top of it.

Maybe if she decrypted the book before the general found them, the lecture wouldn’t be that long.

The two of them clearly would not have peace for an entire week.

But she really had no other choice. She was sure that there was something else, some other important clue, hidden below that marked tree. She had to see it. Urgently. And the general had promised an escort group over 36 hours before, and still nothing. So, it was clear that he had his attention focused somewhere else and that Lane had no time to waste.

Then she simply climbed the snowmobile, placing her hands on Anna’s waist and smiling to herself when the woman pulled her closer by the hands, making Lane hug her from behind before turning the vehicle on and starting to drive towards the marked spot.

If they really didn’t want to cause that many suspicions or to have a smaller lecture, they surely shouldn’t have stolen an entire vehicle. But lately, since she was forbidden to do research on the mysterious pathogen, she has become more daring, sometimes almost challenging to the general’s authority. And who was Lane to stop her?

If Anna wanted to tear that entire manor apart with her own hands, what else could Lane do besides picking up the glass shards before Anna could hurt herself?

So if the microbiologist wanted to accompany her to the middle of nowhere to a probable scene of murder and then later listen to the longest yapping of this world, Lane would only hold her close while she could. Then, only the cold Siberian wind and snow and the tall, dark trees would be the witnesses of how easily Anna could sway Lane. Only they would be aware that she had become someone special to Lane. Only they would be aware that she had become Lane's weakness.

With her quick thinking and adorable angry face, and with the loud laugh that only Lane could get out of her.

Out of all the experiences that Lane could have, clearly being in love was the most defenseless one. Against everything she had been taught and everything she was led to believe, Lane had allowed someone to get close enough to turn all her defense walls into dust.

Anna had sneaked inside Lane's space and heart like a serpent, sneaking behind the tall grass and only letting her presence be known when it was way too late for her prey to defend herself or to run away. Lane only noticed that Anna had completely wrapped herself in Lane's heart when it was way too late for anything to be done about it.

And the surprising part is that she didn't want to do anything about it. Surprisingly, the knowledge that her heart laid completely bare into someone else's hand wasn't nearly as frightening as she once believed it would be.

After everything, Anna was surprisingly soft and kind, and her happiness made Lane happy, and in hopeless moments, her mind traveled straight to Anna's laughter. And it wasn't something that she wanted to give up only because of her fears. Not now, not ever. Not Anna.

Instead, she hugged the woman closer, closing her eyes and resting her head against Anna's shoulder, letting all her worries drift away as she felt the woman breathing against her cheek, and abruptly getting up when she felt the snowmobile suddenly stopping, still too far away from their destination. Her confusion ended when she saw that it had started snowing.

They couldn't move forward, not while the weather stayed like this, so Anna parked the mobile against the closest tree she could find, climbed down the mobile, and sat on the bare cold ground, hugging herself close and smiling to Lane, who took out a blanket from her backpack, sat down on Anna's side, and threw the blacket over the two of them.

The microbiologist instantly curled herself against Lane, hugging her close by the waist and rubbing her noise against Lane's neck, letting out a small smile when Lane hugged her by the shoulder.

-You are so warm.

-No, you are just freezing. Come closer.

Anna was shamelessly to comply with Lane's wish, and due to their impossibly close proximity, they were merging into each other in a way that neither of them knew were one starter or the other ended.

Anna held her by the waist, pulling closer and closer and closer, and Lane had no idea if what was warming her was the blacket, the body heat of the woman on her side, or the feelings that same woman evoked for her.

The microbiologist rubbed her nose against Lane's neck, her head slowly climbing up until her nose was rubbing against Lane's cheek.

-Are you feeling less cold?

Anna pulled away to look into her eyes, the cold tinting her face red and her eyes looking deeply between Lane's eyes and lips.

-I could feel warmer.

Lane only felt Anna's hands grabbing her by the base of her neck before their lips finally united. Their cold noses rubbing against each other and their warm breaths merging into only one.

One kiss should not be that powerful. One kiss should not be enough to make Lane want to do everything so that Anna still smiled against her lips on the next morning. One kiss should not be enough to make her want to belong completely to someone else.

And still, it was.

When they parted, the air around them didn't feel as cold anymore, and their smiles mirrored each other's. The rare smile on Lane's lips only made Anna smile brighter. And they smiled brighter when their lips met again and again.

And while they were in each other's arms, suddenly the world felt warmer.

#rc anna #rc lane #rc hsr #romance club #fanfic #rc heaven's secret requiem #rcfff

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mariacallous · 2 months

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The flood of text messages started arriving early this year. They carried a similar thrust: The United States Postal Service is trying to deliver a parcel but needs more details, including your credit card number. All the messages pointed to websites where the information could be entered.

Like thousands of others, security researcher Grant Smith got a USPS package message. Many of his friends had received similar texts. A couple of days earlier, he says, his wife called him and said she’d inadvertently entered her credit card details. With little going on after the holidays, Smith began a mission: Hunt down the scammers.

Over the course of a few weeks, Smith tracked down the Chinese-language group behind the mass-smishing campaign, hacked into their systems, collected evidence of their activities, and started a months-long process of gathering victim data and handing it to USPS investigators and a US bank, allowing people’s cards to be protected from fraudulent activity.

In total, people entered 438,669 unique credit cards into 1,133 domains used by the scammers, says Smith, a red team engineer and the founder of offensive cybersecurity firm Phantom Security. Many people entered multiple cards each, he says. More than 50,000 email addresses were logged, including hundreds of university email addresses and 20 military or government email domains. The victims were spread across the United States—California, the state with the most, had 141,000 entries—with more than 1.2 million pieces of information being entered in total.

“This shows the mass scale of the problem,” says Smith, who is presenting his findings at the Defcon security conference this weekend and previously published some details of the work. But the scale of the scamming is likely to be much larger, Smith says, as he didn't manage to track down all of the fraudulent USPS websites, and the group behind the efforts have been linked to similar scams in at least half a dozen other countries.

Gone Phishing

Chasing down the group didn’t take long. Smith started investigating the smishing text message he received by the dodgy domain and intercepting traffic from the website. A path traversal vulnerability, coupled with a SQL injection, he says, allowed him to grab files from the website’s server and read data from the database being used.

“I thought there was just one standard site that they all were using,” Smith says. Diving into the data from that initial website, he found the name of a Chinese-language Telegram account and channel, which appeared to be selling a smishing kit scammers could use to easily create the fake websites.

Details of the Telegram username were previously published by cybersecurity company Resecurity, which calls the scammers the “Smishing Triad.” The company had previously found a separate SQL injection in the group’s smishing kits and provided Smith with a copy of the tool. (The Smishing Triad had fixed the previous flaw and started encrypting data, Smith says.)

“I started reverse engineering it, figured out how everything was being encrypted, how I could decrypt it, and figured out a more efficient way of grabbing the data,” Smith says. From there, he says, he was able to break administrator passwords on the websites—many had not been changed from the default “admin” username and “123456” password—and began pulling victim data from the network of smishing websites in a faster, automated way.

Smith trawled Reddit and other online sources to find people reporting the scam and the URLs being used, which he subsequently published. Some of the websites running the Smishing Triad’s tools were collecting thousands of people’s personal information per day, Smith says. Among other details, the websites would request people’s names, addresses, payment card numbers and security codes, phone numbers, dates of birth, and bank websites. This level of information can allow a scammer to make purchases online with the credit cards. Smith says his wife quickly canceled her card, but noticed that the scammers still tried to use it, for instance, with Uber. The researcher says he would collect data from a website and return to it a few hours later, only to find hundreds of new records.

The researcher provided the details to a bank that had contacted him after seeing his initial blog posts. Smith declined to name the bank. He also reported the incidents to the FBI and later provided information to the United States Postal Inspection Service (USPIS).

Michael Martel, a national public information officer at USPIS, says the information provided by Smith is being used as part of an ongoing USPIS investigation and that the agency cannot comment on specific details. “USPIS is already actively pursuing this type of information to protect the American people, identify victims, and serve justice to the malicious actors behind it all,” Martel says, pointing to advice on spotting and reporting USPS package delivery scams.

Initially, Smith says, he was wary about going public with his research, as this kind of “hacking back” falls into a “gray area”: It may be breaking the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, a sweeping US computer-crimes law, but he’s doing it against foreign-based criminals. Something he is definitely not the first, or last, to do.

Multiple Prongs

The Smishing Triad is prolific. In addition to using postal services as lures for their scams, the Chinese-speaking group has targeted online banking, ecommerce, and payment systems in the US, Europe, India, Pakistan, and the United Arab Emirates, according to Shawn Loveland, the chief operating officer of Resecurity, which has consistently tracked the group.

The Smishing Triad sends between 50,000 and 100,000 messages daily, according to Resecurity’s research. Its scam messages are sent using SMS or Apple’s iMessage, the latter being encrypted. Loveland says the Triad is made up of two distinct groups—a small team led by one Chinese hacker that creates, sells, and maintains the smishing kit, and a second group of people who buy the scamming tool. (A backdoor in the kit allows the creator to access details of administrators using the kit, Smith says in a blog post.)

“It’s very mature,” Loveland says of the operation. The group sells the scamming kit on Telegram for a $200-per month subscription, and this can be customized to show the organization the scammers are trying to impersonate. “The main actor is Chinese communicating in the Chinese language,” Loveland says. “They do not appear to be hacking Chinese language websites or users.” (In communications with the main contact on Telegram, the individual claimed to Smith that they were a computer science student.)

The relatively low monthly subscription cost for the smishing kit means it’s highly likely, with the number of credit card details scammers are collecting, that those using it are making significant profits. Loveland says using text messages that immediately send people a notification is a more direct and more successful way of phishing, compared to sending emails with malicious links included.

As a result, smishing has been on the rise in recent years. But there are some tell-tale signs: If you receive a message from a number or email you don't recognize, if it contains a link to click on, or if it wants you to do something urgently, you should be suspicious.

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mxlfoydraco · 2 years

Note

hey Serra! I'm curious, what are some of your favourite tropes/genres to read fic? in the broadest sense I mean, not just relationship tropes. I personally love time travel fics, do you like them? (also if you have any recs at all either time travel or for your favourite tropes I'm all ears 👀👂)

Hi! In general I really like reading Harry and Draco working together, I do like time travel tropes as well and I love it when both are combined! I'm adding on to my existing Universe/Timeline Hopping list. I had a lot of fun making this list, so many favorites. <3

Time Travel

Always Already by @aibidil (170k)

It’s 2004: Harry teaches primary school and loves his job and friends; It’s 1980: Harry has to fight Voldemort, again; It’s 2004: Draco is a trainee Healer and reformed member of society; It’s 1980: Draco has to face his father’s cruelty; It’s 2004: Harry and Draco definitely aren’t lonely or depressed or traumatised; It’s 1980: Harry and Draco listen to Kate Bush and watch Dallas and drive a 1979 Ford Cortina; It’s 2004, it’s 1980, it’s…

Far From The Tree by aideomai (112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

And So Death Took by @icmezzo (25k)

Fairy tales may soothe small children into slumber, but some stories themselves refuse to sleep. The Tale of Three Brothers, retold.

Our Time by @m0srael (39k)

Draco Malfoy is an expert in Ancient Runes at Oxford University’s College of Advanced Magical Studies. When he isn’t at the head of a lecture hall, he spends his time alone in cavernous libraries with only crumbling scrolls and runic dictionaries for company. One day, a group of Ministry officials interrupts his research with the aim of recruiting him to lead an elite team of investigators in a top-secret race against time to decrypt a set of recently uncovered ancient runes that threaten the very fabric of time. Draco feels certain he can save the world, if only he didn’t keep getting distracted by his co-lead, one Chief Cursebreaker Harry Potter. If only that distraction didn’t evolve into something so much more.

Chrononauts by AnnaFugazzi (39k)

Harry and Draco learn that Time is making fools of them again. And then they learn it… again.

Chronological Displacement by bookinit (89k)

In which Harry and Draco have a time-turner accident, and many things go wrong, but a lot of things also go right. Featuring: reptilian bonding night, canon-inaccurate animagus lessons, and a fuck-ton of pining.

aka the fic where Harry finds his family, and fights to keep them.

The White Pawn by Soupy_George (80k)

When eighteen-year-old Draco Malfoy finds himself back at Hogwarts on the eve of Voldemort’s infamous return, he is confronted with the most difficult decision he’s ever had to make: Relive the 6th year at school he’s tried so hard to forget, or do the unthinkable and ally himself with Potter’s lot…

An Emerald In The Sky by @corvuscrowned (6k)

The hardest part about shagging an Unspeakable is that they’re not allowed to speak of anything. All Draco knows is that Harry works in Time. Harry works in Time, and while he’s out there in all of that time, it is as unforgiving to him as it is to anyone. Somewhere along the way, Draco realizes he’s been thinking in lines, when he should have been thinking in circles.

Eternally Consistent by kitsunealyc (44k)

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter assumed they would never be anything but civil enemies, until Potter lands on Malfoy's doorstep, bleeding, covered in curses, and acting very strangely indeed.

Quick as a Flash of Lightning, Unhurried as Eternity by @onbeinganangel (10k)

Can you fall in love with someone by simply watching them fiercely love another version of yourself?

Time and Again by lauren3210 (28k)

Draco has an important research assignment, and he needs Auror protection. Harry’s a little concerned, not only because he can’t even pronounce the places Draco’s dragging him off to, but because there’s the slightest chance he might do something stupid, like tell Draco all about that little crush he’s been harbouring for a while now...

Brevem Conspectum by lauren3210 (1k)

During a routine clearing of an old Death Eater house, Harry stumbles over an ancient spell that sends him somewhere completely different. He has to work out where he is and how to get back. Or if he even wants to.

Our Little Life by @tackytigerfic (7k)

Sometimes Harry dreams. Only they're not really dreams at all, and Malfoy is always in them. It's time travel, but not as we know it, and Harry just needs a good night's sleep.

Turning Leaves by @kbrick (112k)

Draco and Harry have a one-night stand that ends in disaster after Harry tells Draco he's unable to move beyond their poisonous past. So when Draco finds an unusual Time-Turner in the Department of Mysteries, he seizes the opportunity to start fresh with Harry. Only instead of fixing things, he keeps making them worse.

Everything is Relative to You by @thehoneybeet (43k)

Potter was supposed to have lived. Draco is certain of this. That Potter would no longer walk the earth was tantamount to the sun moving west to east across the sky. If only he could have stopped this from happening, if he’d have known… It comes to him as ideas often did: too late. Or, Harry dreams of his past lives, and Draco is in every one.

Just a Matter of Time by @gracerene (23k)

Draco's in a bit of a rut. He's nearing forty, divorced, and he still can't figure out how to make his Time Turner reconstruction work. He's bored, he can admit it, so he's not nearly as concerned as he should be when his pet project malfunctions and sends him twenty years into the past. That is, until he ends up relying on a nineteen-year-old Harry Potter for help and starts developing some very inconvenient—and possibly reciprocated—feelings.

Don't Want to Miss a Thing by @tryslora (8k)

Once upon a time, Ron had warned Harry about the dangers of workplace romances, but Harry didn’t listen and he and Draco became an item. But after nearly three years together, Harry broke it off. Fifteen months later, the two find it nearly impossible to work together, except when forced into an uneasy alliance. But this assignment isn’t just complicated (it’s amazing the trouble that can be caused by seven time turners and some creative magic), it’s personal, and Harry and Draco are forced to take another look at their relationship.

Wish You Were Here by cryptonym (17k)

[Snape] leans on the table, towering over me like a vulture watching its prey, his eyes boring into me. “If I were in your position, I would be considering my history as I know it. If you are here now, you were always meant to be here.” Career Choices: Harry: Time Traveller; Draco: Time Trial Test Subject

Primal Urges by @heyitsamorette (10k)

An eighth year fic …er … or should I say, a prehistoric fic? Draco gets hurtled back in time and meets caveman!Potter, who seems to like him much more than normal!Potter. Quite a bit more, actually.

Time Loops

At the Crossroads There We’ll Meet by @firethesound (24k)

Potter keeps dying; Draco keeps saving him.

The Inconvenient Death(s) of Harry Potter by @nv-md (33k)

Harry and Draco have spent the decade since the War avoiding each other, even as they’re forced to work together at the Ministry and their friend groups begin to alarmingly overlap. But what happens when Harry meets a tragic end (in a manner of speaking) and Draco’s the only one who can save him? Or Harry won’t stop dying, Draco’s had too much coffee, and there’s more than enough time for them to make a mess of each other’s lives.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (70k)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Swish and Flick by @unmistakablyoatmeal (7k)

The Swish and Flick is the last place Draco wants to spend his Saturday evening—especially when he discovers Potter is also in attendance—and he can't wait for the night to end. Unfortunately for Draco, time is not on his side.

Groundhog Date by @gingertodgers (15k)

Draco and Harry both have dates at London's newest cereal cafe with a man called Liam. Unfortunately there is no sign of Liam, the waitress insists that they share a table, and every time Draco attempts to storm off in a huff the disastrous not-a-date starts again.

Timecode by Rasborealis (73k)

Harry Potter has been dead for two years, and Draco would laugh in the face of anyone claiming differently. Well, anyone but Hermione Granger.

It’s No Great Mystery by @agentmoppet (57k)

Who on earth decided that bringing back the Yule Ball for their eighth year would be a good idea? It feels like the worst day of Harry’s life, watching everyone get glammed up like the war never happened, like the last Triwizard Tournament wasn’t such a colossal failure. And then it happens again. And again. And again.

No Quiet Find by orphan_account (10k)

War makes a man tired…some more than most. Draco needs rest.

all in good time by @talkingtravesties (13k)

Draco Malfoy's life is boring and repetitive. He supposes he shouldn't complain, since that's better than sharing a house with Voldemort, or doing time in Azkaban. When he gets trapped in a time loop, however, he is forced to confront the routine he has fixed for himself, and try to break out of it. It isn't all bad, facing no consequences for his actions can be fun for a bit. But after he starts visiting the Auror Headquarters and having brief but remarkably pleasant conversations with one Auror Potter, he finally has the real motivation to break out of the time loop - something worth sticking around for.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic rec #drarry reclist #draco malfoy #drarry fic recs #my recs #fic recs #hpdm #harry potter #time travel #time loop

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sashaisready · 10 months

Text

Chapter One - The Mouse

Under the Radar Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, some angst, drinking and getting drunk

Wordcount: 2551

‘Click clack clack’ went your keyboard. Your eyes darted between the two monitors as you typed up research on the location you’d been assigned. The information you’d pulled together was to be used in a mission briefing for a field agent, so it was essential that you included all the background they needed while keeping it concise. Some of your colleagues dismissed these reports as trivial admin, but you never underestimated their importance. You understood that an agent needed to know exactly what they were getting themselves into when they were out in the field.

You leaned back in your chair as you proofread the text, carefully tuning out the steady hum of the office noise around you.

Your eyes briefly caught his from across the office floor. Bright blue, ocean blue even. They seemed to sparkle back at you, even in the dreary office lighting. He shot you a hint of a smile so quickly you were barely sure you’d seen it. You smiled back, but he’d already walked away. Typical Nick…always throwing you a few meagre crumbs….

…but still, you’d always gobble them up gratefully.

Nick Fowler. One of the most respected and appraised agents in the CIA. Suave. Unflappable. Fearless. If confidence was cash, Nick was Bill Gates. Everyone in the CIA knew of Nick. Everyone wanted to work with him.

…but none of them knew you were sleeping with him.

In fact, none of them even knew who you were.

Quiet, unassuming, you. Assistant. Hard worker. Tech whiz. Research expert. Your briefing reports were some of the best in the CIA. Thorough. Assured. If someone needed a drive decrypted, they asked you. If someone needed hours of surveillance footage analysed, they asked you. In short, you got shit done. And you got it done well. The agents relied on you to do their jobs.

Yet in spite of your impressive output, you didn’t have a reputation like Nick’s. No. Nothing like it. Your colleagues barely knew your name. You were the quiet one, the shy one. The little mouse diligently working away at her laptop in the background. It was almost as if being a constant high performer meant nobody was ever impressed. It was just taken for granted that you’d work at the standard you always had.

Not that you minded too much. The idea of being the centre of attention didn’t really appeal to you. You liked working with computers more than you did with people. You didn’t always know the right thing to say, you weren’t charismatic like Nick. So you didn’t really mind blending into the background, quietly working out of the spotlight. It was safe. Comfortable.

Still…you couldn’t deny that you sometimes dreamed of working out in the field. Of actually going to the locations you wrote the reports about. Of completing a mission, finding your target. Using actions rather than writing text. Wielding weapons rather than wrangling computers. You knew you were smart enough. You knew you were resourceful enough. You knew you’d probably do a good job of it if you just had the chance…

But you didn’t.

So you kept on. Typing away like you always had. Occasionally dreaming of a different life. Unseen.

Nick had seen you though.

You’d written a report for him a few months ago. It was detailed, comprehensive. You’d cross referenced previous missions in that area and pulled historic records to give him the full picture. You’d meekly knocked on his office door once you’d finished, holding the binder in slightly trembling hands. Nick always made you nervous. Maybe it was his prowess…or maybe it was the teeny tiny crush you’d developed on him over the years. You occasionally stole glances at him from across the office, marvelling at his chiselled jawline, the strong line of his back. You once saw him in a tight white t-shirt after a training session, sweat dripping off his taut muscles, and you had to rush back to your desk to calm down.

Not that you’d ever really spoken to him beyond emailing him his documents and occasionally making him a cup of coffee (he liked milk, not cream, only a dash - the colour shouldn’t be lighter than a walnut).

He’d eyed you with interest as he called you in, watching you carefully as you reminded him of your name (you were sure he wouldn’t remember) and handed the report over.

He picked it up and flicked through as you moved to leave and he asked you to stop.

“This is good” he’d said.

You had smiled in response. “Uh…thank you, Agent Fowler. I worked hard on it”.

“Call me Nick…”

“Oh yes. Uh…thank you Nick”.

I can see you worked hard” he said as his scrutiny switched between you and the report. “The assistants don’t normally pull the archives for these things…”

You nodded. “Yes…well I thought the context was important as this is quite a sensitive area. I thought it would help to…uh….paint the full picture”.

He nodded back solemnly. His face was impossible to read. “I agree”.

He put the pages down and looked up at you. “I appreciate people who go the extra mile”.

You had blushed slightly, the weight of his full focus leaving you uncomfortable in a way that wasn’t altogether awful. You weren’t used to being the centre of anyone’s attention, let alone someone like Nick Fowler.

“You coming to the drinks tonight?” He asked.

Ah yes. The famed after work drinks in the Irish pub downtown. Most of the department went every week, the agents too if they weren’t out on a mission.

You laughed awkwardly. “Oh…uh. No…it’s not really my scene…”

He stared back at you, unperturbed by your response. “You should come” he said plainly. “I’ll buy you a drink as a thank you for your hard work”.

You laughed again, assuming it was an empty gesture just to be polite. You didn’t want to inconvenience him. “Oh you don’t have to…I mean it’s fine I-“

“Great. So you’ll come” he said, his face stony.

You just nodded. What else could you say? ‘No’ simply wasn’t an option. If you’d learnt anything in all your time at the CIA, it was that Nick Fowler didn’t take no for an answer.

He went back to his laptop and you took your cue to leave, unsure of what exactly had just happened. But one thing was clear, you’d be there for happy hour tonight. With Nick Fowler…Who had invited you personally. You disguised a smile as you went back to your desk.

Later that night you sat nursing a drink at a busy table as your colleagues chatted and laughed rambunctiously. You didn’t quite fit in like the others did, but you smiled in the right places and laughed along. Some of them had even said it was nice to finally see you out, which somehow felt like both a compliment and a jab at the same time.

Nick was circulating. It made sense, he was in demand. You watched as he seamlessly moved from table to table, making people laugh as he regaled them with war stories from the field and bought everyone rounds of drinks. You felt stiff and uncomfortable in this environment, but clearly this was his natural habitat. You marvelled at his poise in this scenario, he was in his element. You supposed this was why he was so good at his job, he could adapt and thrive in any context.

He hadn’t spoken to you at all. Certainly hadn’t bought you that promised drink - but that was okay. He was busy. He probably forgot. No big deal. Eventually you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, thinking about curling up under your blanket at home and watching an episode of your comfort show. You didn’t want to say you were leaving, knowing your colleagues would drunkenly berate you for heading out early like the goody two shoes you were. So you snuck off and headed to the exit, pulling your coat on as you mentally went through what you had in your fridge at home.

“Leaving so soon?” Said a voice, and suddenly you collided with a wall of muscle. You gasped, peering up into the arresting eyes of Nick Fowler. Your heart pulled in your chest.

“Uh I’m sorry Agent Fowler. Uh yeah I was just..”

“I told you, call me Nick” he scolded. “You can’t go yet…I need to get you that drink.”

“Oh that’s okay…you don’t have to. I was just doing my job I don’t need to be thanked like that-” you babbled.

“What are you having?” He asked casually, as if you hadn’t just declined.

“No really it’s fine…I should really get going-”

“If you don’t tell me I’ll just pick for you so…hope you like vodka soda”.

“Ew…no” you scoffed, then frantically clamped your hand over your mouth when you realised how rude you’d been. “Oh god, sorry I-“

He just chuckled. “Well. That’s more like it”.

So you’d relented and he got you a drink. And another. Then one more. Then suddenly you were in the corner of the bar telling him a terrible joke as he watched you with amusement, his hand propping up his chin. His eyes were on you again and you had quickly discovered how much you liked being on the receiving end of his gaze.

“…and so the CIA agent said, that’s no Russian intel, that’s my Uber Eats account!”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “That is…terrible”.

You laughed in response, even through your tipsy haze knowing that his eye rolling would’ve crushed you if you hadn’t knocked back those drinks. But you had, so you merely grinned at him.

“Oh hush. Lighten up, Agent Fowler…”

“…Nick”.

“Right! Saint Nick…”

“You mean Santa?”

“No!” You scoffed derisively. “I mean you’re the great Nick Fowler…agent extraordinaire…loved by all. Basically a super hero apparently…”

He smirked. “But you don’t think so, huh?”

You scoffed again, your slight inebriation igniting a confidence you never knew you had. “Of course I think so! I read the report from Belarus, heard the story about Vienna…saw the pictures from Edinburgh too. You’re so damn good at what you do it’s…intimidating.”

His smirk grew wider. “Oh, really?”

“Oh shut up” you spat. “You know exactly what kind of reputation you have. Hell, you revel in it. Take tonight for example, you’re Mr. Cool…making everybody laugh and buying drinks like a hotshot. You love it”.

He chuckled. “You got me all figured out, do ya?”

You shrugged, downing the final drops of your drink. The alcohol all went down way too easy. A small voice in your head squeaked in panic telling you to stop talking, but you somehow couldn’t.

“I guess! Am I wrong?” You asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

“There’s more to me than you think” he explained, his gaze suddenly all the more intense. “It’s important that you all of people understand that”.

You blinked at him, confused. “Huh? Why me of all people?”

“Because,” he said calmly. “Your opinion means a lot to me”.

You laughed. “What?? Me? How many drinks have you had - you barely know me…”

He doesn’t blink. “I know you’re smart. I know you’ve been here five years and you’re the best assistant we got. I know that your work makes your senior colleagues look like interns. I know the department basically falls apart when you go on vacation. And I know that, despite all these facts, you don’t get half the recognition or reward that you deserve”.

You swallowed, shocked that he knows anything about you…let alone something like this. “I..uh…”

“…so yes. Your opinion is important to me. Because I respect you immensely and I wouldn’t want one of the smartest colleagues I have to think I’m just some CIA frat boy who thrives off being ‘Mr Cool’…as you so eloquently put it”.

You gawp at him open mouthed, unable to fully grasp what he’s just said. The sheer fact that Nick knows who you are, that he knows all that you do is dizzying. Here you were thinking you were under his radar the whole time…just like everyone else’s…but of course you’d underestimated him.

“I….” You stammered. “No…I don’t think that. I think…you’re a brilliant agent, who deserves all the praise he gets”. You were earnest now, all joking forgotten.

He smiled.

“Well…that’s nice” he took a sip from his whisky. “Wanna know what else I think?” He asked quietly, leaning in so your faces were almost touching. His cologne practically seeping into your shirt.

“W-what?” You whispered.

“I think you’re very pretty” he said lowly.

You gasped, unable to hide how flustered you were. You tried to speak but no words came out, you just looked at the floor - any previous bravado from the alcohol immediately snuffed out. Your shyness was back in full force, you simply didn’t know what to say.

He seemed unperturbed.

“So…” he sighed, picking up his coat. “Am I taking you home?”

And that’s how it started. He’d taken you home and leaned in on your doorstep. He’d kissed you and you’d kissed him back. Your heart had felt like it might burst. You were vibrating. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

You invited him in and he kissed you again. He moved onto the couch where he’d pulled you onto his lap and nibbled on your earlobe. Your hands surveyed his shoulder blades as you melted to his touch and he pulled a way for a moment to check you weren’t too drunk for this. You weren’t. The alcohol seemed to metabolise the second he’d called you pretty. Your head was clearer than it had ever been. This was all you had ever wanted. He’d grinned and said soothing ministrations into your ear as his hands explored every inch of you and his mouth became acquainted with the softness of your skin. His fingers in your hair. His moans against your lips. The cocky, suave Nick Fowler became a different man as he worshipped at the altar of your body and cooed and coaxed, watching you intently with those dangerously blue eyes that seemed to see you entirely. All of you.

He held you tightly as he fucked you in your bed and told you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how wonderful you were, how perfect it was to be with you. You almost cried tears as you came that first time, overwhelmed with pleasure and your head spinning with the revelation that Nick wanted you the way that you wanted him. You vowed you’d remember this moment forever as he spooned you afterwards, his chin resting on your shoulder as his heavy breathing morphed into gentle snores and you drifted off to sleep in his arms..

And now?

Idiot. What an idiot you’d been. How foolish to think he saw you how you saw him. A few nice words and he had you in the palm of his hand. How easy it must’ve been for him.

You were simply Nick Fowler’s dirty little secret. A hidden shame he didn’t want the rest of the office to know about.

And the worst part was...

…You always came back for more.

>Chapter Two - Beige

#Nick Fowler #nick fowler x you #Nick Fowler x reader #the 355 #sebastian stan #under the radar fic

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hnm-tech-support · 2 months

Text

.....

Data recovered from disks taken from the labs of HNM Biotech's Dr. Yeva.

[Decryption failed, most files corrupt. Accessible data shown below]

HOLY NIGHTMARE CO. BIOTECH 04175401 DARK MATTER RESEARCH - SUMMARY - CATEGORIES - EXTERMINATION PROTOCOLS - IMMUNITY PROJECT

HOLY NIGHTMARE CO. BIOTECH 06305206 14-5566-0009 PROJECT LOGS - COLD FLAME - FALLEN STAR - WHITE OBLIVION - TROJAN MARE - RISING TIDE

DARK MATTER RESEARCH SUMMARY Dark Matter is the colloquial name given to a virus-like lifeform that needs to infect other living creatures to reproduce, feeding off these hosts like parasites. The basest form is a mere particle with no intelligence or will of its own. Lesser than even a single ant and more like a bacterium, it needs to mass into larger quantities, becoming a sort of "colony" that communicates through a hivemind. It reproduces through binary fission while infecting another living creature, releasing excess Dark Matter to split off into more copies. Other methods of reproduction are suspected but have not been recorded. Naturally more animal-like and instinctual in nature, only by infecting hosts of sapient species is it able to develop intellect of its own. However, as infected hosts no longer feel emotions such as fear, Holy Nightmare is devoted to preventing the spread at all costs to protect Nightmare’s continued control of the known universe. Hosts are infected when particles of Dark Matter enter the body through wounds or orifices. The infectious dose is quite high- most can fight off casual exposure. It doesn't spread well through the air and prefers physical contact. Host becomes part of the hivemind and will try to spread to other victims. This form is the primary way they spread but also the most obvious, as feral Dark Matter doesn't have the intelligence needed to hide itself effectively. They often start with animals and other less intelligent beings. WARNING: When threatened all forms can cause rapid mutations in the host to increase defensive ability, such as growing sharp claws or new mouths. They can heal the host if injured as well, but in extreme situations will evacuate the host to escape. This is often fatal.