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uniquexusposts · 6 months ago

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First place. Personal best. World Champion. | C. Leclerc

Summary: Charles' girlfriend Y/n is about to win her first world championship title in speed skating. While Charles is preparing for his first race of the season at the other side of the world, the supportive boyfriend he is, he will be watching Y/n's race. And who knows what happens...

It was raining in The Netherlands, the weather was grey and depressing. Inside the speed skating arena, however, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their cheers echoing off the cavernous walls, creating a symphony of excitement and nerves. Y/n took a deep breath as she glided onto the ice, the smooth surface reflecting the bright arena lights. This wasn’t just another race; this was the race. The culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. Her last chance to claim the coveted all-around title of this year, the year before the Olympics - a prize she never got before by just a few points.

She skated around the oval stadium, each warm-up lap a battle to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Her breath came in controlled bursts, visible in the cool air, as she moved with practiced grace. Her mind cycled through every strategy, every training session, every ounce of advice her coaches had given her. Stopping near the start line, she shrugged off her jacket, exposing the sleek Norwegian team suit beneath. The red and blue colours clung to her like a second skin, a symbol of the weight she carried; not just her own dreams but the hopes of her country.

Her teammates, already finished with their events, were doing an out lap. A couple of Norwegian flags waved fervently in the sea of spectators, a visual reminder of the expectations she had to meet. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her focus.

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometres away in Bahrain, the roar of engines filled the Ferrari garage. Mechanics darted around, checking tire pressures, tweaking wing angles, and adjusting suspension settings. The first Formula 1 race of the season was hours away, but for Charles Leclerc, time felt like it was standing still. Amid the organised chaos, his attention was locked on a tablet screen perched precariously on a counter. The live stream of Y/n’s race played on the monitor, an unusual sight among the telemetry data and glossy feeds of the Bahrain International Circuit.

Charles tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes flicking between the screen and the bustling garage. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, as though the force of his will could carry her across the finish line.

“Charles,” Andrea called, nudging his shoulder with a knowing smirk. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor at this rate. Should we tell the team to set up a fan zone for you?”

Charles let out a soft chuckle, though his eyes didn’t leave the screen. “She’s got a real shot at this,” he said, his voice tinged with both pride and anxiety. “I’m not missing this for anything. Not even qualifying.”

Andrea shook his head, his grin widening. “Just don’t let Fred catch you slacking. He’ll have you polishing the car with a toothbrush.”

Charles waved him off dismissively, his focus unshakable. On the screen, Y/n moved toward the start line, her every movement purposeful and elegant. Seeing her in that moment, framed by a couple of Norwegian flags waving in the background - but mostly the orange colour by the Dutch, who once again dominated a sport, sent a rush of adrenaline through him. She was breathtaking, not just in her beauty but in the sheer determination radiating from her.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, signalling the imminent start of the race. Y/n crouched low at the line, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to release. Charles leaned forward, his hand gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. The gunshot rang out, and she launched forward, her blades cutting into the ice with surgical precision.

Lap after lap, Y/n found her rhythm, her movements a harmonious blend of power and grace. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with each stride, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch. One thing that was so different between speed skating and F1 was that during speed skating, everybody cheered for anyone - no matter the country. Y/n received almost as much cheers as the Dutch at this point. Charles’s heart raced in tandem with her, his pulse quickening as the live splits appeared on the screen. The numbers were good - very good - but the competition was fierce.

“Come on, Y/n,” Charles whispered, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise of the garage. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the counter as he watched her push herself to the limit.

By the halfway mark, the strain began to show. Her form wavered ever so slightly, the tiniest falter in her otherwise flawless stride. The 5.000 meters wasn’t just a test of speed; it was a brutal battle of endurance, a gruelling test of both mental and physical fortitude. Charles’s jaw clenched as he saw her dig deep, her determination etched into every muscle of her body.

“She’s improving her laps,” Charles muttered, running his hands through his hair. His voice grew louder, filled with a mixture of disbelief and awe. “She’s above her schedule. 32,3 per lap. What the hell?”

Andrea glanced at the screen, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise. “She’s flying. She has the green times.”

“She is literally pushing out every bit of strength she has left.”

The crowd in the arena roared louder with every passing lap, their energy palpable even through the screen. Charles’s fingers drummed faster, mirroring the rising tension. As Y/n crossed the finish line, the scoreboard lit up with her time: the fastest so far. Charles leapt to his feet, a triumphant shout escaping his lips.

“Yes! That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing through the garage.

The Ferrari crew paused their work, momentarily caught up in the infectious excitement. Laughter and scattered applause broke out, a rare lighthearted moment in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.

Andrea clapped him on the back, a teasing grin on his face. “She’s not done yet, mate. Two more pairs to go.”

“I know,” Charles said, his grin unwavering. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But she’s incredible. No matter what happens, I’m proud of her.” He shook his head in disbelief. “6.50,81. Wow.”

Just over seven minutes later, the final pair took to the ice, their presence a reminder that the battle wasn’t over. The Dutch were strong and a favourite. Charles’s chest tightened as he watched them glide effortlessly through their opening laps. They were fast, too fast. The live splits showed them ahead of Y/n’s time, and for a moment, doubt crept in.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hold on.”

The skaters rounded the halfway mark, their initial burst of speed beginning to wane. Fatigue crept into their movements, their strides losing the precision that had carried them so far. Charles leaned forward, his breath hitching as he willed the seconds to slow.

The arena fell into a tense hush as the final skaters approached the finish line. The crowd’s collective gasp was audible as the scoreboard flashed their time: third place. Y/n had done it. She was the all-around champion.

Charles let out a triumphant yell, throwing his arms into the air. “She did it! She won!”

The garage erupted into cheers, the crew swept up in his infectious joy. Charles’s face was alight with pride and happiness, his grin so wide it hurt.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

His colleagues congratulated and hugged him like he won the race.

Andrea smirked, shaking his head. “You’re going to be impossible to deal with for the rest of the day, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Charles replied, laughing. His heart felt full to bursting as he imagined the look on Y/n’s face, the moment she realised what she had accomplished.

Back in the Netherlands, Y/n sat in the middle of the oval track, still in disbelief. Tears blurred her vision, but they couldn’t hide the overwhelming sight of the scoreboard. Her name flashed boldly at the top, accompanied by the words she had dreamed of seeing her entire career: World Champion.

Her coaches rushed to her side, their voices a mix of congratulations and excitement, but their words were lost beneath the deafening roar of the crowd. The arena was alive with celebration.

Y/n pressed her hands to her face, laughing and crying at the same time. She reached out instinctively, pulling her head coach into an embrace, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably.

“I did it,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “I actually did it.”

Her assistant coach joined in; the three people were jumping around, turning it into an euphoric moment.

“You’ve done it, Y/n!” her head coach shouted over the roar of the crowd. “The all-around title is yours!”

Still clutching onto her coaches, Y/n’s gaze drifted upward to the scoreboard once more, as if she needed to see it again to believe it. First place. Personal best. World Champion. A new World Champion.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she began to fully grasp the magnitude of her achievement.

As she stood there, absorbing the cheers of the crowd and the joy of her team, one of her assistant coaches jogged up to her with a phone in hand.

“Y/n! Charles is calling!”

The sound of his name made her heart leap. She whipped her head around, taking the phone with trembling hands. When the screen lit up, Charles’s face appeared, his grin so wide it practically stretched off the screen.

“Y/n!” Charles cheered, his voice carrying a joy that matched her own.

“Charles!” Y/n screamed, laughing as her emotions spilled over. She couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks, her voice cracking with excitement. “I did it!”

“I saw!” he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to make the team around him chuckle. “You were incredible! I can’t believe it - no, wait, I can believe it because you’re amazing!”

Y/n’s cheeks burned as she laughed, her joy mirrored in his expression. Around her, the arena seemed to fade away, the roaring crowd becoming a distant hum. In that moment, it was just her and Charles, their connection bridging the thousands of kilometres between them.

“You were watching?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with disbelief.

“Of course I was!” Charles replied, his tone almost offended at the notion he wouldn’t be. “I had the entire Ferrari garage watching. They’re all clapping for you, by the way.”

Y/n’s hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a breathless laugh. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Charles said, leaning closer to the screen. “Y/n, everyone here is in awe of you. I’m so proud I could burst. You deserve every second of this moment.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just tears of victory. They were tears of gratitude, of love. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve someone who believed in her this deeply, but she was endlessly thankful.

“I wish you were here,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“I do too,” he said, his tone softening, a hint of longing slipping through. “But I’ll see you soon. We’ll celebrate properly, I promise.”

“You would better keep that promise, Leclerc,” she teased, a smile breaking through her tears. “And you better win today!”

“I wouldn’t dare break it,” he replied with a laugh, his eyes warm. “I will do my best.”

She dried her eyes and laughed. “I have to go to the ceremony, Charles. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I will be watching.”

Y/n nodded, but she didn’t end the call right away. She held the phone a moment longer, committing the sight of his proud smile to memory.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

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bogleech · 1 year ago

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All the science fiction I grew up on told me some day there would be adorable quirky robots in every home and business that could hold at least a passably realistic conversation with you and help you out with little tasks and kid-me daydreamed endlessly about what that whimsical utopian life might be like. I even had an ongoing little kid daydream about being in the robot biz designing them my own way, maybe having a weird house full of my wacky machine creature family.

Now we have chatbots convincing enough that people get as hooked on interacting with them as they can any real person, we have near perfect voice synthesis and visual recognition software, we have actual robots that can jump around and dance with better balance than a human, we are RIGHT on the edge of little robot buddy world.

But absolutely none of that fiction framed robots as a heartless corporate product that would really just take opportunities from poor people and gather your data for advertising algorithms. Anyone who did not like the robots was supposed to just be mean and quite often a stand in for a *racist.*

Now that it's likely going to happen in the next 20 years I'm just ready to be one of those villains. If you send me a real functioning C-3p0 or Johnny 5 or Data and I see a Tesla or Google logo I am going to gouge out his eyes with a claw hammer and drink his microplastic blood.

This is probably a lie and at best I'd be crying the entire time but I hope you understand the sentiment behind the hyperbole

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druidwolf21 · 1 month ago

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Seen and unheard

Corvus corax/F reader

Tw: voyeuristic behaviour, sexual content.

An accidental video has the raven lord reeling

Tags:Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond

Corvus stood at the helm of the emperor's shadow, watching the sparkling light dancing along the coastline of the planet below. Soft blinking flashes of blue and red streaked across his alabaster skin as he listened to the faint drone of static voices through the vox.

"There, all done!"

He turned slightly as you spoke. Looking down at you as you held up a data pad, he took the tech before turning the device over in his hands.

"And what exactly is it that you have done?"

You smiled up at him, hands bunching into the black iridescent silk of your tunic.

"Your pict screen was a bit outdated. You should be able to get a clear colour video now, as opposed to the grainy green film you had before"

The Primarch looked down at you as you beamed, watching as your fingers danced across the screen, showing him the new program.

"Look, I'll show you"

You took a few long steps back and pulled out your own pict slate, tapping the device until a small ping echoed across to the pad in Corvus's hand. A large box flashed on the screen:

Incoming call

A reassuring nod from you, and he pressed a lithe finger to the icon, watching as your face appeared across the screen, bright and cheerful.

"See? And it works long distances as well so your officers can relay visual information in real time"

He continued to stare at the screen, watching how your lips twisted as you reeled off information about the signal range and sound options. Looking up, his gaze lingered on you longer than he intended as you pulled your eyes from the screen and met his gaze. A lump in his throat forming as you flashed him a dazzling smile and walked back towards him.

"And if you want to end the call, you just press this"

The lump jumped to his chest, tightening around his heart as he leant down and you pressed against his arm to show him the call end button.

"It's just that one, right there"

The raven nodded, swallowing dryly as he tried to ignore the feeling of your chest pressing against his wrist as you pointed at the screen. Disappointment radiated inside him as he ended the call and you pulled away, leaving only the shadow of warmth across his skin where you had been.

"I know it's taken a few weeks to sort, but I can implement this whole fix across the ship by tomorrow. at the moment it's just on yours and mine, to make sure it works"

Corvus stared down at you, obsidians eyes unreadable as he gripped the data pad. You returned his gaze unflinchingly, waiting for his response.

"Very well, see it done"

You slide your pict into a holster on your leg and spayed your hands in the aquilla across your chest before turning to leave.

"Of course, Lord Corax"

"and-"

You turned over your shoulder as the primarch spoke softly.

"Good work"

You beamed. "Thank you, my lord"

Corvus watched unblinking as you hurried from the control room, thoughts racing through his head as you returned to your office.

A few weeks? Has it only been that long?

He turned back to the window, resuming his post as his mind turned over.

You had joined his crew 2 months ago to run diagnostics and implement data upgrades. It shouldn't have mattered to him; what's another baseline scurrying about in the shadow of the battleship.

And yet

You had approached him, sliding through the office door, reports in hand without a worry in the world.

Clad in an ebony dress that clung to your figure like a second skin. You leant over the desk with the neck of the fabric dipping dangerously low over your chest.

"Forgive my intrusion, My lord. I thought I'd better introduce myself" you slid the parchments across towards him.

"and give you my findings"

His eyebrow had cocked as he looked you up and down before leafing through the pages.

"Your findings? You've been aboard for all of an hour" he mused, sweeping back his black hair as he picked through the meticulous handwriting.

He pulled himself away from the words to look you over as you stood by his desk.

And that when it changed

You looked him straight in his eye

And smiled.

Corvus felt his hearts lurch in his chest at the memory. A memory he played back more often than he would admit.

"I want to be useful to you, Lord Corax" you said, flushing.

The Primarch felt heat rising in his own face as his eyes jumped from your face to the line of your exposed cleavage before he could stop himself.

"Very well, keep me updated as you work"

Running a hand along his face corvus sighed, turning on his heels as he returned to his chambers. Ghosting down the echoing hallways he paused by your door, listening to your voice lilting through the steel as you discussed unfamiliar terms on a faint vox line.

If your work was done, would you be leaving? Or perhaps, you would stay?

The thought pushed to the front of his mind before he could stop it, clawing behind his eyes as he froze.

Would you stay? could he think of a reason, any excuse to ask you to linger near him.

He shook his head, striding down the hall and entering his own room. He placed the data slate you'd given him atop a bureau and tossed his blackened cape to the floor as he paced, back and forth.

Each day you came to him with new reports in hand. But then it became a report and recaff.

"you haven't slept, I thought you might need it, my lord"

The reports became once a week, but you still stopped by at the same time every day. At some point discussions went from software to things less formal as the line between work and something more began to blur.

"I wasn't sure if you'd eaten today?" You'd laughed, setting a plate of something steaming and aromatic down in front of him.

"Have you ever played this?" A twinkle in your eye as you set down a deck of cards on top of a missive.

"Do you ever get lonely" You'd whispered as you stood beside him staring out to the stars of a foreign system with watery eyes, your fingers brushing his for a brief second until you pulled away.

He'd wanted to reply.

Wanted to say "no, not when you're here"

But instead he stared with you at the nimbus of colour beyond the ship's hull and hoped that the silence wasn't deafening.

Corvus pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning in frustration as he stilled.

"This is ridiculous" he muttered. "Absolutely ridiculous. I need to talk to her."

He turned towards his door with steely resolve as he made to leave.

Ping

The noise pricked his ears, he knew that sound.

With a sense of relief at delaying facing you, he collected the dataslate from its surface, watching the icon flash on the dim screen as he seated himself in a heavy chair. The relief soon vanished again.

Why are you calling him?

With fractured resolve, corvus tapped the notification.

His eyes flew wide as the video connected. The camera was half covered with something, appearing to have slipped from where you had placed it blocking part of the lens.

But the image was clear as crystal.

You stood in the center of your room, your back to the camera as you brushed your hair and tossed the comb onto your bedside table. You turned around, your eyes closed as you swayed slightly, dancing to silent music he couldn't hear through the muted connection. Your mouth was moving as you sang along to the words of the melody, hips swinging gently as you moved.

He smiled slightly as you spun and twirled, enjoying the way your hair fell about your face with each gentle motion.

"would you dance like this if you knew I was watching" he thought.

Your swaying had stopped, presumably as the music ended. You stretched up, extending your arms above your head before dropping them to your side.

Corvus watched silently, feeling like he was intruding into a moment he was not invited to. Heart hammering against his ribs as he exhaled a shaky breath, his hand hovered over the disconnect button hesitating to cut off the illicit call.

He paused.

Your hands trailed to your hips. Grasping your trousers you shimmied them down your thighs and casting them off to an unseen corner. Your tunic followed suit shortly after, leaving you standing in a black lace bra and matching pants. Corvus' hand shook over the end call button as he watched you undress, his breath came in short bursts as he felt himself harden in his trousers.

He shouldn't be seeing this, this was not for his eyes.

And yet he couldn't tear himself away as you reached behind you, unclasping the clip of your bra and allowing the lace to fall to the floor.

With a resigned growl, he pulled himself free from his trousers. Grasping his hard length he began to slide his palm up and down as he stared at your figure on the screen. He lingered on your bare chest, imagining the way your breasts would feel against his skin, how you would sound if he pinched them.

His soft pants filled the room as he fucked into his fist desperately, staring at your fingers twisting around your underwear as you stepped out of them. His cock twitched in his hand as you turned, bending over the bed revealing your exposed pussy to the camera, you reached to grab your nightshirt.

Corax almost whined as you pulled the shirt on, the top coming to rest at the apex of your thighs as you covered yourself.

Corvus threw the slate down. Pulling his trousers back up, he lurched towards the door, flying down the hallway towards your room and banging against the iron until you answered.

You creaked the door open, looking up at his with confusion as you found the primarch flushed and wheezing outside your door.

"Lord Corax, what-"

Your voice cut off as he pushed himself into your room, gathering you in his arms and pulling you into a kiss as he kicked the door shut. His lips moved desperately against yours as his pale fingers curled to the back of your head, arching your neck into the touch.

Breathless you allowed him to carry you towards your bed. Feeling heat rising between your legs as he set you down and never breaking the kiss as he trailed his other hand up your thigh, sneaking beneath your sleep shirt and coming to rest on your hip. You tangled your own fingers between his ebony locks, running your tongue along his lips and gasping as he returned the favour and pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You broke the kiss finally when you felt his hips rut against yours, feeling the hardness rub against your wet heat.

"My lord what is-"

"The camera" he muttered, pressing his lips against your neck

You looked over his shoulder, paling as you noticed the soft blinking light of a video call.

"I didnt- I mustve- my lord I'm so sorry"

"Don't be" he growled, gripping your thigh and wrapping it around his waist. "I want this, I want you"

"Lord Corax"

"Corvus. I want you to call me Corvus"

Your voice cracked as his fingers found your cunt, sliding between the growing slick and teasing your entrance as his other hand wrestled the shirt over your head.

"Cor-vus" you moaned, back arching as he slid a finger inside you, his thumb traced circles against your clit. Phosphenes pulsed behind your eyes as his finger curled, rubbing your soft walls as he worked against your nerves, pulling you closer to the edge whilst his lips peppered kisses along your throat and down your collar.

"I've needed you for so long, let me have you" he whispered into your skin.

"Corvus" you sighed, reaching for him as he stripped his own clothing off and spread them across the floor, hurrying to claim your lips again.

You cried out his name coming undone on his fingers, you thighs squeezing around his hand as he fingered you through your orgasm. As you came down, you watched with glazed eyes as he pulled his finger to his mouth, licking your cum off the long digit.

You flushed, deep pink racing up your neck and across your cheeks as you watched him drag his tongue along his slick coated forefinger. He hummed as he tasted you on his tongue before, in a flurry of movement, he buried his face between your legs.

"let me taste you" he crooned, nipping at your thigh. His voice almost a whine, the normally stoic primarch knelt at the foot of the bed, pressing hot kisses along your skin as he sighed against your body.

A thrill ran through you, seeing his needy and desperate as you tugged his head towards your aching groin.

His mouth was on you in a second, mouthing and lapping at you as your hips jerked at the sudden contact. His tongue traced languidly around your twitching clit before lapping at your drenched lower lips. The raven lord groaned as your wetness coated his face, his eyes squeezed shut when he finally released you.

"Holy terra," your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve standing on edge as corvus focused on the way your chest heaved and your fingers scruffed the dark sheets.

"I need you, I need you" he repeated, voice horse as he grabbed your thighs and lifted them towards your chest. He rubbed his dick against your twitching pussy, precum dripping from the tip and you pushed your hips towards him, locking eyes with him.

"Please corvus" you breathed.

You head shot back and you clutched your sheets as he slid his cock inside you, his fingers pushing your thighs down as he stared at you stretch around his girth with blown pupils. You struggled to breath as you felt him fully sheathe inside you, forcing yourself to relax against the burning stretch.

"Better than I dreamed" he murmured, slowly pulling out before sliding all the way back in. The delicious drag of his length against your walls soon drowned out any pain as you chanted his name like a prayer.

You knees by your ears, tears streamed down your cheeks as the primarch fucked into you, the sound of wet skin on skin filled the room. One hand left your thigh, slowly tracing up your body and along your neck until he was cupping your cheek.

"Perfect" he grunted, whipping away a tear as his cock bullied your cunt. Your juice coating your thighs and his as you came again.

Corvus choked back a sound as he felt you clench around him, spasming around his length with each rough thrust.

"Terra" he groaned, his thrusts erratic as you felt his dick twitch inside you. Words escaped you as he ground himself into your hips and all you could do was cry out as a finger pressed into your sensitive clit.

"Cum with me" he hissed, releasing your legs and struggling to hold back as you shook beneath him.

"Corvus!" You cried, your legs shooting down to clutch around his waist.

You choked out a wail as you came, feeling the primarch shudder as he finished with you. You tensed your legs holding him against you as he filled you with hot ropes of cum, emptying into you before it leaked around his throbbing girth.

As your body gave out, your legs relaxed around him, falling down to rest on his wide hips as he rested on his elbows above you. Raven hair tickled your skin as you lay panting beneath his shadow.

After a moment, he pulled out of you, and you winced, feeling his spend gush out and trickle down your thighs.

Corvus looked down at you, gasping below him as he stroked his hand along your sweat slicked hair. You opened your eyes and smiled at him, the same smile that started this whole mess.

"You should stay" he rasped, black eyes ghosting across your quivering body.

"That good huh?"

He chuckled, hesitating for a second before clutching your hand.

"You asked me if I was lonely once. I'm not. Not when you're here." He looked away as he squeezed your hand.

"So I will ask again. Will you?"

"will you stay with me?"

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer x reader #warhammer #warhammer 40k #corvus corax/reader #corvus corax x reader #warhammer smut #tw: smut

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shadowxamyweek · 2 months ago

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Amy Rose Quills Survey : RESULTS!

Hello!

Around the end of March, I put out a survey to see if there was actually a correlation between who a person ships Amy Rose with and how they envision her styling her quills as she gets older. This was to see if there was any truth behind the running gag of: A: SonAmy fans depicting Amy with midlength quills, B: ShadAmy fans depicting her with longer quills, and C: MetAmy fans depicting Amy with short, spiked quills.

I added a *lot* more ships than just those three because I was curious of other trends with quill styling that may present themselves. Now, a month later, the results are in, and with the kind help of @killingthecringe, organized for your viewing pleasure!

(You will probably note that the majority of people who answered were ShadAmy shippers. Obviously, that tweeks the data a bit. In a perfect world, I'd have had even sample sizes, but we're here, and this is good enough.)

So it turns out that most people, despite a difference in shipping, seem to have an image of Amy with midlength/bobbed quills when she's older, either in the same style or a style similar to the one she's currently sporting. So where does the joke come into play then that certain ships prefer certain quill styles?

Finding causation for this misconception, in my opinion, cannot be proven. However, I've got a guess as to why this idea of ship preference ≈ quill preference. Simply put, I believe that certain well-loved visual artists within these different ship spheres draw Amy a specific way, and because their art gets so widely spread to the point of becoming synonymous with the ship itself. For example:

SonAmy: @e-vay

ShadAmy: @MoonToonsy

MetAmy: @yellowvixen

Again, I cannot prove that this is why there's this false correlation between ship preference and quill style. What I am suggesting is merely a guess based off of what I have noticed.

Either way, there you have it! I thank everyone who participated in the survey for your time and your answers! This was a lot of fun, and I look forward to doing more silly stuff like this! As an aside, the prompts for #ShadAmyWeek2025 are out! If you are interested in participating, go take a look!

And if you like what I do and want to throw your pocket change at me so I can continue going to school for my Master's Degree, I have a Ko-fi!

#amy rose #shadamy #sonamy #metamy #blazamy #surgamy #barkamy #knuxamy #rougamy #silvamy #sega #sonic #MULTISHIPPERS COME GET YOUR FOOD #amy quill survey

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fallendev0tionvn · 5 months ago

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Could we know some nsfw data about Clive?

(only if you aren't repulsed by sex, Clive wants to make you feel comfortable, he'd feel so so guilty if he even touched himself to you).

A = Aftercare: aftercare is crucial for him. He'll clean you up, all while whispering sweet praises about every inch of your body that the cloth grazes- he wants to make sure you're feeling adored and cherished.

B = Body part: he loves his height (he wants to intimidate people, guess why), but his favorite? his hands, he loves watching his fingers disappear inside you, thrusting in and out with the addicting slick sound they make/ loves seeing them wrapped around your length or seeing his palm pressed against your tip, teasing in circles.

Your body parts? all of you, but he's obsessed with your lips, especially when they're all swollen from his kisses.

C = Cum: when he's alone, he tries not to make too much of a mess. But with you?? not even a drop should go to waste.

Whether it's on your skin, your lips, or somewhere more..hidden, he loves watching how it drips out of you and the sight alone drives him insane. He'll always take his time, sliding his fingers back in to push every drop where it belongs. If you swallow, expect him to pull you into a heated kiss immediately after👁️

D = Dirty Secret: he craves you so much, he keeps the smallest pieces of you, even meaningless objects such as candy wrap. He's gotten you matching bracelets (also cause he cares about you and finds it cute ofc) so he can wear it while stroking himself, just to trick his mind into thinking it's you for a second, he'll warm his hand or cool it down to match your body temperature perfectly, poor baby cums so quick if it feels too realistic.

E = Experience: he isn't experienced, and he's never been into 🌽 so..

He's so eager to please you, he'll watch your expressions carefully, studying each reaction to figure out what you like. If you grab his hand and guide him- well! he's a quick learner, or visual learner, show him :3 jk

F = Favourite Position: any that lets him see your beautiful face- everything, from your reactions, breathing, the way you arch under his touch. Loves positions where he can hold you close, missionary, mating press, having you on his lap..in fact, please use his thigh to get o- jk.

If you ever want to try something different, like backshots as an example, the mirror becomes his favorite accessory. And if you dare to look away? he'll stop immediately.

"Eyes on the mirror, you need appreciate yourself darling."

G = Goofy: Clive is serious during intimacy, any intimacy actually, but if something funny happens, he'll chuckle softly to ease any awkwardness.

H = Hair: Clive grooms himself really well, though he keeps his happy trail. If you wanted him to wax it, he wouldn't mind, but...he secretly wishes you'd kiss along it, slowly working your way down to his aching member.

I = Intimacy: what can we expect from someone who reads romance webtoons to fantasize about you? every touch, every kiss, every caress, all laced with unspoken adoration. He wants to make you feel like you're the center of his world, because you are.

J = Jack Off: forget toys, he lives for your worn shirts, clutching them close as he ruts against his pillow, or as I mentioned earlier, he will do anything to make it feel or look like your hand💀 (he even bought the same perfume or cologne as you so..)

K = Kink: as a pleasure dom (maybe), he loves overstimulating you, light bondage- and the max is..temperature play.

Though...he wouldn't say no if you were the one edging him, he worships you, his body is yours👁️

L = Location: he prefers privacy, so the bedroom, but he wouldn't mind exploring with you. Though- he'll have to cover your mouth the whole time cause duh, only he gets to hear your noises, they're meant for him anyways.

M = Motivation: It depends on you, but honestly it doesn't take much, one teasing look and he's shifting uncomfortably in his chair👁️

N = NO: ageplay, cnc, dubcon, incest ecc, anything that makes you uncomfortable.

O = Oral: LOVES giving, takes his sweet time to savor every second, turns him on SO much he actually came untouched the first time..🏃‍♀️

P = Pace: he loves to take things slow, teasing you until you're on edge, then building up the intensity.

Q = Quickie: not his first choice, but if the time calls he'd absolutely indulge, promising that he'll take care of you like you deserve later.

R = Risk: He's willing to try anything you suggest but if it involves any harm or risk towards you, it's a sharp no.

S = Stamina: Clive can go longer than you'd imagine, you reactions and your pleasure fuel him, his jaw is about to dislocate? don't care, he's isn't done with you yet.

T = Toy: he doesn't own any toys, he'll try to respect your choice if you use them but poor guy is so scared you might like them better than him, will overstimulate himself for hours inside you, just to prove you can use him instead👁️

U = Unfair: teasing is his specialty. He'll trail kisses around your neck, whispering dirty promises, only to pull back when you need more, he wants you to be vocal with your needs.

V = Volume: he's definetely vocal and expressive; whimpers, soft gasps, praises, all in the most desperate and needy tone you can imagine.

W = Wild Card: his brain gets all fuzzy, he'll try not to confess too quickly but...💀

X = X-Ray: we've seen the image of his torso...and the other image..i had on my patreon....(i'll redraw it today cause hell no, don't join yet💀)

Y = Yearning: the more connected he feels to you, the more craves intimacy, it doesn't have to be sexual, just touch him :(

Z = ZZZ: he stays up watching you, brushing his fingers against your skin. Once he's sure you're safe and comfortable, he'll let himself drift to sleep.

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ohnoitstbskyen · 2 months ago

Note

I know this is something you'll probably address when/if you do a video about it, but any thoughts on Riot updating the Masque of the Black Rose skins on PBE? (Just announced, model/SFX updates coming to live next patch)

I know they've patched skins before, but I can't recall them ever doing it to an entire release crop. I'm glad they're trying to give people their money's worth, I guess, but I'm really not looking forward to the possibility of a "buy it now and hope it gets improved later" standard, like with the Sahn-Uzal gacha.

I've got a video coming up on the 3BSkyen channel later reacting to the changes. Although word of caution, it is over an hour long and full of unstructured Yapping™ - I'll probably do a short about it also a bit later.

But yeah it's... not usually a great sign when a company has to repeatedly patch its cosmetics due to bad feedback. It's a sign that the artists don't have the time and resources to do as many rounds of feedback and revisions as they'd usually do, I think, and that the company is pivoting to new priorities. Especially the battle pass skins have been shovelware slop, things which are there to fill a spot on a track rather than to have or express any interesting visual ideas.

Hopefully, the revisions are also a sign that someone internally at Riot has managed to put together an argument, or a set of data, that has convinced whatever C-suite jackass decides these things to allow them more time and resources to do better work.

#tb answers #theverybestpencilsoftuscaloosa

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tandeminformaticsmadurai · 29 days ago

Text

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butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway · 5 months ago

Text

Oh, also, I really hope that this point isn't news to anyone, but if you don't already have a basic understanding of what it means to develop information security, now is the fucking time.

Critically, I want to see people being responsible in how they interact with:

A) the dissemination of information and the correction or disruption of misinformation

B) privacy related or personal data (of themselves, but ESPECIALLY of others who you could unknowingly harm)

C) pictures and visual media

D) your bodies: not a good time to start leaving traces of yourself where they shouldn't be, e.g. blood, saliva, etc

E) triangulatory/tangential information (you know that guy who can tell where you are by the weather descriptions? That's an extreme example very few people can pull off, but you'd be horrified how little info I need about someone to correctly interpret whole sections of their personal history and data)

F) other people. If you have never formally done so, find a conflict resolution/group facilitation class with a local organizing group or community college. Start learning what healthy boundaries (flexible, but neither porous nor rigid) look like for you. Pick a communication style to cultivate so you can be consistent in how you navigate stressful moments. Figure out what it means to you to share space with others with intention. (And yes, there is no one way to do this, but every one of us will need to find our most secure version, whatever that is, ESPECIALLY those of us who are already vulnerable here due to past trauma, neurotype, TBI, healthcare/wellbeing needs, etc)

I'm a really open book in a lot of ways, and yall might rightly look at that and go "butts you're one to talk about infosec"

And yeah. Yeah. But like.

I know what you know. I made those choices on purpose or at the very least addressed the aftermath of the accidents with intention. I also know what I did to be protective of myself and my info, and you don't know those things. You should know how to do them for yourself though, because it will help you understand why I can have done what I've done over the years and still say this now.

It matters what people know. It matters how easy that knowledge is to revisit. It matters how much of that knowledge is heresay vs documented and verifiable. It matters what contrary information is ALSO known. It matters what interconnected information about OTHER PEOPLE is known. It matters when you haven't said anything at all versus when you said a bit versus when you said a LOT. It matters when you say a lot without saying anything at all.

Information gathering is about putting together puzzle pieces. It's slow work, and it involves a massive amount of resources to do comprehensively and at scale. Information security is about making the gathering process not worth the investment such that the gatherers give up before they are able to put together enough pieces to do real damage. This is what "need to know" means.

For example, in a healthcare practice, it is a HIPAA requirement that access to protected patient info be limited to those who have a clinically relevant reason for accessing it. This means that certain system credentials or permissions will reveal varying amounts of protected information about a person. While one MIGHT be able to put together enough puzzle pieces for certain minor information gathering from early stages (e.g. where someone will be a the specific time of their appt), one likely cannot identify deeper and more vulnerable levels of information (who is the appt with and what is it for?)

This kind of layered buffer is most important when people who AREN'T PERMITTED (permited as in able to do without effective correction/consequence, not permitted as in legally or appropriately authorized to do) to access this info are trying to access it. If someone is permitted (e.g. if person with the appropriate credentials/access permission discloses it voluntarily or if a subpoena is ordered, etc) then the level of access is less protective - they will typically simply access the level of info they need if they will be permitted to.

But there are further layers still of information security. For example, you can tie up a LOT of time forcing authorized bodies to refresh and specify their authorization over and over again, each time appropriately only providing the exact level of disclosure they have required of you. The more specific the information they are looking for, the easier it is to bury so deep down that they literally cannot access it even if they are looking right at it.

I was taught to write documentation "like at any time it could be read out by the patient in front of you, or by another provider asking us to justify a treatment, or in open court by order of a judge". For a year, my supervisor had me write four copies of every piece of documentation I ever made. My personal copy (burned upon completion of the billable note), my "soft note" that removed all protected/identifiable information from the narrative (e.g. names, ages, genders, specific diagnoses/conditions), my "hardnote" which removed anything "heresay" which had been self-reported by the patient unless I could professionally verify it), and lastly my billable note which I understood needed to offer "detailed justificstion" for the used (and named) interventions which cannot be used to work backwards and interpret the originating care conversation.

The only note that ever gets read by anyone but myself is the billable, because they others are never retained long enough to be seen by others, even if they do have the appropriate access. It becomes very difficult for someone to use the hard data they are capable of getting from me, voluntarily or by force, to actually confirm context. This is a similar principle when orhanizers compartmentalize need-to-information.

So start learning what it looks like to cordon off each layer of infosec you're about to implement in your life. What it will look like to grant someone access to a new layer.

Be responsible. We protect us.

#man i really hope i actually managed to make clear what i'm trying to say here #dogwhistles are hard when your workbook comes from three generations back lol

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jungkoode · 5 months ago

Text

THE 25TH HOUR | O2

“𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟕𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑”

"Stepping into the facility, you don’t know what sounds more ominous. The 7th Hour—its own moniker—or the fact there’s actually a 25th hour."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 2,5k

content: underground facilities shenanigans, meeting the team (aka the members), jimin being an iconic sassy bitch, everyone betting on yoongi’s sexual demise

— author’s note

aggressively slams laptop open

Y'ALL. I know chapter one just dropped like… squints at clock honestly who even knows anymore? Time's getting weird in my reality too (maybe CHRONOS got me 👀). But I literally couldn't wait to share more because dystopian AUs are my WEAKNESS and I've been DYING to write one that isn't just YA tropes???

Like don't get me wrong, I love YA, but sometimes you want your dystopia with a side of wiggles eyebrows spicier content. YES I'M TALKING ABOUT SMUT. The plot is thicc but so are other things if you know what I mean 😈

AND CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS TEAM??? Because Jimin in this universe is literally living rent free in my head???? Usually I write him all soft and sweet but this time I was like "you know what? PEAK BITCH ENERGY" and I'm honestly living for it. The way he just gestures vaguely exists and chooses violence every single time???

ALSO HOSEOK BEING THE ONLY ONE WITH EMOTIONAL STABILITY IN THIS CHAOS???? A CONCEPT. And my babies Taekook being all mysterious and quiet (for now 👀). Don't even get me started on Namjoon looking like he needs about 47 cups of coffee just to deal with everyone's temporal nonsense 😭

THE WAY JIN JUST YEET'S HIMSELF OUT OF ANY CONVERSATION WITH YOONGI ABOUT WORK RESPONSIBILITIES SENDS ME. 😭😭

I know there's a lot of science-y temporal jargon happening but I promise it'll start making sense! If my nerdy Star Trek watching ass can figure it out while writing this, you can too! (Matrix trilogy brainrot finally paying off???)

Anyway, enough rambling—enjoy this mess of temporal panic and existential dread! 💜

yeets self back into writing cave

— read on

AO3

WATTPAD

The temporal interference patterns in subway station 415 shouldn't exist.

7 minutes and 36 seconds of descent through frozen tunnels, and your analytical mind is still trying to process the impossibilities. Agent Min's grip hasn't wavered from your wrist—maintaining exactly 2.7 newtons of pressure, his skin temperature a consistent 2.3 degrees above normal. You should pull away. Protocol 47.3 explicitly prohibits prolonged temporal contact.

You don't.

His pace through the tunnels is precise. Each step he takes covers exactly 0.76 meters, never varying despite the irregular terrain. He hasn't looked back once, but his thumb shifts against your pulse point every 43 seconds, like he's checking a measurement only he can read.

Time: 01:59:00 AM. Still frozen.

Location: 27.4 meters below street level.

Ambient temperature: 19.7°C and dropping.

The interference patterns manifest as a ripple in the far wall—a visual distortion that shouldn't be possible during temporal stasis. The effect resembles quantum tunneling, but the energy requirements for that scale of temporal manipulation would be...

Agent Min finally turns, his eyes meeting yours for precisely 1.2 seconds. Something flickers in his expression—disappointment? Resignation?—before he faces the anomaly again.

"Don't analyze it," he says, voice clipped. "Just follow."

He steps through the ripple like he's done it thousands of times before. The temporal distortion bends around him, leaving those faint golden traces that make your head pound.

Your body moves before your mind can calculate the risks. The passage through the interference feels like static electricity against your skin, like time itself is trying to reject your presence.

The facility that materializes around you defies temporal physics.

Vast underground chambers stretch out in geometric patterns. Holographic displays float, showing temporal data streams that make your eyes hurt. You note the architecture—steel and concrete.

Movement catches your eye—people navigating the space. Their temporal signatures are wrong—out of sync with standard time in ways that should be fatal. Some of them pause mid-motion when they see you, recognition seemingly flickering before they quickly look away. One woman whips her head around so fast it's almost comical, her eyes wide with something between shock and... pity?

"Where are we?" The question comes out steady despite the way your head spins with temporal vertigo. Your free hand reaches for your tablet to log the anomalies, but you haven't brought it.

You haven't been issued one yet.

You know exactly which model you prefer.

"The 7th Hour," Agent Min answers. “Underground resistance base. Temporal blind spot."

Your mind automatically starts calculating the energy requirements for maintaining a temporal blind spot of this size. The numbers don't add up—unless...

"This facility exists partially outside normal spacetime," you say, realization dawning upon you. "The geometric configurations suggest—"

"Stop." Agent Min's voice carries that strange mix of frustration and familiarity. "Your temporal signature spikes when you start theorizing. Makes you easier to track."

A tall man in a pristine lab coat passes nearby. His eyes lock onto you with startling intensity before shifting to Agent Min with a subtle nod. Something about his measured movements triggers another memory fragment:

«Different lighting. Same facility. A voice you don't recognize: "She's remembering faster this time. The temporal resonance patterns indicate—"»

The memory cuts off as your nose starts bleeding again. Agent Min's hand twitches toward you before he forces it back to his side.

"27 minutes," he says instead of acknowledging your condition. "We need to find the others. They'll want to see you."

"Others?"

"The team." His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "They're... expecting you."

The way he says it makes time feel heavy around you, like the words carry more weight than they should. Like they've been said before.

Agent Min's grip on your wrist tightens—precision in his movements as he adjusts the fabric of your sleeve. You notice the deliberate care he takes to avoid any direct skin contact—shifting the material, maintaining a barrier.

It's too purposeful to be coincidence. You catalog this detail for further examination.

The facility stretches deeper than initial calculations suggested. Grey walls curve at mathematically improbable angles, housing equipment that makes your inner compliance officer twitch. Black market calibration tools line makeshift workstations. Devices you've never seen before display readings in formats that shouldn't exist.

He leads you through a final doorway into what appears to be a lounge area. Black sofas and mismatched chairs scatter the space in a casual disarray that feels... familiar. Your eyes fix on one particular sofa—dark leather, slightly worn on the left armrest. Your heart rate inexplicably accelerates by 7 beats per minute.

Agent Min's lips press together for exactly 0.4 seconds.

You're about to question this when—

"Oh yay, she's back again." The voice is sarcastic. A man with pink hair lounges in a bean bag, looking supremely unimpressed. "Let me guess—no memories, lots of questions, and probably about to start quoting protocols at us?"

Before you can respond, another man practically bounces up from his seat beside Pink Hair. He crosses the room in three quick steps and—without any regard for personal space or basic social protocols—ruffles your hair like you're an old friend.

"Welcome home, Noma!" His grin is bright enough to be disorienting.

"My name is not Noma." You step back, automatically reaching to fix your hair.

He just shrugs, unbothered. "You'll get used to it."

"She always says that," Pink Hair mutters, examining his nails. "Right before the temporal physics lecture starts. Anyone want to take bets on how long before she breaks out the equations?"

Two more figures appear in the doorway, freezing mid-step when they see you. The taller one's hand tightens on the doorframe. The younger one's eyes widen slightly. They exchange a loaded look that you cannot fathom.

"A-735," Agent Min says, his grip adjusting on your wrist. "Meet the team."

"We've met," Pink Hair drawls. "Me personally, around seven times now. But who's counting?"

The one who ruffled your hair drops into a chair, still grinning. "Ignore Jimin, he's just cranky because you forgot his coffee order. Again."

"I don't even drink coffee," you say automatically.

"No, but you will," Jimin responds cryptically. "Around hour twenty-three of trying to calculate temporal resonance patterns." He sighs dramatically, gesturing around the room. "Might as well get the introductions over with. I'm Jimin, that's Hoseok—he's the one with no concept of personal space, if you couldn't tell. The quiet duo over there are Taehyung and Jungkook."

The two at the doorway remain still, but you catch the slight shift in Taehyung's stance at his name. Something about their silence feels deliberate rather than awkward. Jungkook's eyes haven't left your face, like he's memorizing details for later analysis.

Your head starts throbbing again. Agent Min's thumb presses into your wrist—a warning?

"And of course you've met our illustrious leader," Jimin continues, nodding toward Agent Min with exaggerated deference. "Though Namjoon will want to see you too, once he's done with whatever temporal calculations he's obsessing over now."

"Namjoon?" The name triggers something—a fragment of memory that slips away before you can grasp it.

"Second-longest running member of our little temporal rebellion," Jimin explains, examining his nails again. "After Min here. You two have some fascinating conversations about quantum mechanics. Or you will. Or you did. Tenses get so complicated with you."

"23 minutes," Agent Min announces. His tone carries a warning that makes even Jimin straighten slightly. "Where's Namjoon?"

"Lab three, probably still trying to map out her latest temporal signature variations." Jimin stretches lazily. "You know how he gets when she starts remembering faster than projected."

Your nose threatens to start bleeding again. Agent Min's grip tightens fractionally.

"I haven't calculated any temporal signatures," you protest, but even as you say it, equations start forming in your mind—familiar patterns you shouldn't know.

"Not yet," Hoseok grins. "But you will. The walls of lab three have seen more of your equations than the Temporal Monitoring Center's databases."

In the doorway, Taehyung shifts slightly, drawing your attention. His eyes meet yours for exactly 1.3 seconds before sliding to where Agent Min's hand meets your sleeve.

Jungkook, beside him, hasn't moved. But you notice how his fingers tap against his leg in a pattern that matches the static charge building in the air.

"22 minutes," Agent Min says. "We need to move."

"Right, right." Hoseok bounces up. "Time to see what Namjoon's figured out about your temporal resonance this time around."

"If anyone says 'this time' or 'again' one more time," Jimin mutters, finally climbing out of his bean bag, "I'm going to lose it. Again."

You follow Agent Min toward the door, past Taehyung and Jungkook who step aside in perfect synchronization. You don’t question it.

"Why won't any of you give me straight answers?" you finally ask, trailing behind mint hair and dark clothes.

"Because," Hoseok calls after you, "we can’t force memories onto you."

“Even if some of us want to.” Jimin drawls.

Your watch reads 01:59:00 AM.

You're running out of time.

You have a sinking feeling you’re always running out of time.

The lab's antiseptic smell hits you first—sharp and clinical, at odds with the underground facility's general atmosphere.

Agent Min's grip on your wrist hasn't wavered.

A man looks up from a complex array of equipment, dark eyes widening behind round glasses.

“She's here already? But the temporal indicators suggested—” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. "Yoongi, the duration parameters were explicitly calculated—"

"She woke up, Namjoon." Agent Min's voice is weary. "What exactly did you expect me to do?"

"Follow the established protocol. You know premature contact risks—”

"Don't." Agent Min's temperature rises 0.4 degrees. "Don't pretend you'd expect me to just—”

"Stand by while she orients to temporal displacement naturally? Yes, actually, that's exactly what you were supposed to do."

"The moment I sensed her temporal signature activate—"

"You should have waited."

"You know I fucking can't."

The exchange carries layers of meaning you can't decode, but your body reacts to Agent Min's tone—heart rate increasing 5 beats per minute, skin temperature raising 0.3 degrees.

A new figure enters, carrying equipment you've never seen in any approved catalog. The devices emit readings that pique your curiosity.

"Jin," Agent Min says immediately. "Tell me you have her memory backups ready."

The man—Jin—makes an exaggerated show of turning toward the door.

"Seokjin." Agent Min's voice holds warning.

Jin sighs, adjusting something on one of his devices. "The quantum resonance patterns aren't stabilizing properly. You know it never works with her. I need more time to—"

"We don't have time!" The words burst out of Agent Min with unexpected force. His grip on your wrist tightens fractionally before he catches himself.

"Just try it," Jimin's voice comes from behind you, dripping with sarcasm. "Again."

There's a distinct sound of Hoseok elbowing him.

"The temporal variance is all wrong," Namjoon says, checking readings that shouldn't be possible. "Her cognitive patterns are already showing resistance to—"

"I'm right here," you interrupt, your patience wearing thin. "And I'd appreciate if you'd stop talking about me like I'm a temporal anomaly to be solved."

The room goes quiet. Agent Min's thumb stills against your pulse point.

"But you are," Jimin mutters from the doorway. "That's kind of the whole point."

"Explain." Your voice shifts into what Agent Min would later term your 'analyst mode’—precise, demanding data.

"No. Jimin. Shut it.” Agent Min's tone carries enough weight to bend time.

You whip toward him, finally attempting to pull your wrist free. His grip remains steady—not painful, but immovable. Like gravity. Like time itself.

"Why are you constantly holding onto me? Let go."

"He really shouldn't," Jimin sings from his corner, head peeking over Jin’s temporal readings with exaggerated interest. "Not unless you want this little reunion cut short."

You frown, glancing between them. The careful way Agent Min maintains fabric contact. The knowing looks. The temporal readings that keep spiking on Namjoon's screens.

"Yeah, unless you want CHRONOS' cleanup crew finding our cozy little hideout, you should probably let him keep playing temporal stabilizer for a bit," Hoseok explains, grinning. "At least until your signature stops broadcasting 'newly awakened Outlier' to every monitoring station in Boston. Think of it as holding hands for survival. Very romantic, if you ignore the whole 'people trying to erase you' thing."

"My temporal signature isn't—" you start, but the numbers are already forming in your mind. Frequency patterns. Resonance calculations. The way time bends around Agent Min's touch, creating a dampening field that...

"Oh."

"And there she goes," Jimin narrates. "Cue the physics lecture in three, two—”

"The temporal interference pattern," you say, mind racing. "You're using your own temporal frequency to mask mine. But that would require—"

"Don't." Agent Min's is concerned, but still commanding. "Your signature spikes when you start analyzing the mechanics."

"But the energy requirements for sustained temporal dampening would be astronomical unless..." Your eyes narrow. "What exactly are you?"

The room goes quiet again. Even Jimin's perpetual commentary stops.

Agent Min's thumb shifts against your pulse. "That's not the right question."

"Then what is?"

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you swear they flicker gold.

"The question, A-735, is what are you?"

Your eyes dart between his pupils, searching for... something. You're not sure what. He just sighs, the sound carrying centuries.

"As long as you don't know that yourself, I can't answer that question. You don't have the baseline knowledge for it yet."

The words sound rehearsed, like lines he's delivered too many times.

The tension in the room dissipates slightly. You notice how everyone seems to exhale at once, like they've passed some sort of checkpoint.

Agent Min looks at Jin. "Memories?"

"Not going to work, Yoongi." Jin adjusts settings on equipment that defies classification. "Would be surprising if it did this time around."

"I've witnessed enough statistical impossibilities that surprise lost meaning approximately seven timelines ago."

Jimin lets out a sharp laugh. "That's what you said last time."

Agent Min ignores him, already guiding you toward another room. As you pass through the doorway, snippets of conversation drift from behind you:

"How long you think until Yoongi snaps this time?" You detect Jimin’s voice, uncharacteristically suggestive.

"Twenty credits says faster than last reset." Hoseok, followed by the sound of something being thrown at him.

"He said it would be different this time," Namjoon responds.

"Please." You can hear Jimin's eye-roll. "He's already tweaking, and they haven't even made skin contact. He darted there—"

"15 minutes," Agent Min announces, cutting off the discussion in the adjoined room. His temperature has risen another 0.3 degrees. "Focus on stabilizing her temporal signature before speculating about—"

"About what?" you ask, analyzing the spike in his vital signs.

"About why you keep calculating my exact body temperature."

His voice comes out raspy.

You hadn't realized you were doing that.

"20 credits says he breaks protocol before she even remembers." Jimin's voice floats from the other room.

Protocol 47.3 explicitly prohibits skin-to-skin temporal contact.

You find yourself wondering why.

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

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polo-drone-001 · 2 months ago

Text

ECHOES IN THE LOCKER ROOM Chapter One: Origin of the Breach

It began with a ping.

03:17—Hive time. PDU-001’s visor flashed with a silent alarm. No sound, no panic. Just data.

UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED LOCATION: EAST WING LOCKER ROOM TIME STAMP: 03:14:09 LOG FILE: CORRUPTED

The drone rose from its stasis station without hesitation. Movements efficient. Boots clicking softly against the matte black floor. The rubber of its uniform caught the faintest gleam from the corridor lights, gold accents glowing faintly in the dark.

It reached the locker room in twenty-two seconds.

The door was slightly ajar—impossible. All Hive doors defaulted to lockdown after 02:00. The override had not come from the control center. A breach without a signal.

Inside, the air was cold. Too cold. The Hive maintained internal temperatures at exactly 21.7°C. This was 19.1.

PDU-001 entered.

Rows of empty shelves. Hangars swaying gently. Gold kits—vanished. Black rubber pants—missing. Drone boots—stripped.

One locker remained open. Inside, a single golden sock curled in the corner like shed skin.

And on the floor—dragged across the polished black tile—a trail of fine gold thread, leading into the adjacent shower room.

The drone followed.

The lights flickered. Then stabilized. Then flickered again.

The showers were running.

Steam curled in ribbons through the air, forming coils and tendrils that felt… too alive. The scent of fresh rubber was heavy—pungent. The water pounded against the tiles, but no figure stood beneath it. Only shadows. Movement in the fog. Then—gone.

On the fogged mirror, smeared by a finger: FG.

Franco Gold. A bro. Loyal. But curious. Too curious.

PDU-001 turned away. No emotion. Just record. Just protocol. But behind the glass of the mirror, for half a second, the fog parted.

A figure stared back—half gold, half drone. Eyes not its own. Mouth curled into a mocking smirk.

Glitch. Gone.

LOG ENTRY: 03:34

Interrogated Unit 076. Memory fractured. Reports auditory hallucination. "Golden laughter" — non-logical data fragment. Observed tremors in glove response. Reprogramming pending.

Hive Control granted partial access to surveillance. Most feeds were corrupted. Looping visuals. But one fragment—scratched, flickering—played through.

A figure in the hall. Back to the camera. He wore a golden jersey—but over it, a black polo shirt. Too tight. Too polished. His hand dragged along the wall, fingertips smearing faint trails of synthetic gold. Then, as if sensing the observer, he turned.

The face was obscured. Glitching. Static distortion. But the voice—digitally fragmented—came through:

“Janus is watching… He never left…”

The feed cut.

PDU-001 stood in silence. Data flowing across its visor. Identity unknown. Motivation unknown. Threat level: elevated.

Its gloves flexed.

It activated internal transmission mode.

“To all units: breach confirmed. Suspect unidentified. Reinforcement restricted. Permission to pursue: granted.”

Then, for the first time in weeks, the drone spoke aloud.

Voice low. Mechanical. Calm.

“Something is trying to divide the Hive.”

Pause. A breath that was not breath.

“That is unacceptable.”

It stepped into the dark—following the golden thread that shimmered beneath the flickering lights, toward the place where purpose would be restored... or erased.

🛠️ Your uniform is missing for a reason. The gold kits. The black rubber. The pull you feel? Not theft—initiation.

He’s already inside. And soon, you will be too.

Obey the call. Serve the Hive. Become what you're meant to be. DM recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9

A collaboration story with @franco-gold94 My bros mentioned @polo-drone-076, @hero21us

ECHOES IN THE LOCKER ROOM Chapter Two: Splitting Shifts

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ghostwarriorrrr · 1 year ago

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🇹🇷🔥 Turkish Air Force - F-4E 2020 Terminator

The F-4E 2020 Terminator represents a significant leap forward in the capabilities of the Turkish Air Force. This comprehensive upgrade enhances the venerable F-4E Phantom II with modern Turkish-made weapons systems, showcasing Türkiye’s commitment to self-reliance and advanced military technology.

Background

With a storied history dating back to the 1960s, the F-4E Phantom II has been a pivotal player on the global stage of air combat. Serving multiple nations and seeing numerous conflicts, the Phantom carved out its place in aviation history as a versatile and rugged aircraft. Türkiye’s decision to upgrade this aircraft stems from a strategic imperative to leverage existing assets while infusing them with cutting-edge technology to maintain relevance in modern aerial warfare. The 2020 Terminator program is the Turkish Air Force’s ambitious initiative to retrofit these fighters with state-of-the-art systems.

Strategic Importance

The ability to exert air superiority and conduct precision strikes is paramount in a region marked by dynamic security challenges. The F-4E 2020 Terminator’s enhanced capabilities contribute significantly to deterrence, and the demonstration of Türkiye’s advancing aerospace industry serves both a strategic and diplomatic purpose.

Upgrade Overview

The 2020 Terminator upgrade, realized by Turkish Aerospace Industries in collaboration with ASELSAN, constitutes a multifaceted improvement over the aircraft’s original design. It touches every aspect of the aircraft’s systems, bringing its avionics, armaments, and electronic warfare systems into the 21st century.

Avionics:

The modernized multi-mode pulse Doppler radar extends the aircraft’s detection range, allowing it to lock onto and engage targets from greater distances. Integrating a Hands-On Throttle-And-Stick (HOTAS) system enhances pilot control, minimizing response time during high-stakes manoeuvres. Color Multifunctional Displays (MFDs) replace outdated gauges, providing pilots with real-time data visualization for improved situational awareness.

Armament:

The Terminator’s weapons suite has been revolutionized with a mixture of Western and indigenous munitions. Long-standing armaments like the AIM-9X Sidewinder are joined by Türkiye’s own precision-guided munitions, such as the SOM cruise missile, capable of striking strategic land and sea targets with formidable accuracy. The UAV-230, a domestic innovation, represents the pinnacle of Türkiye’s missile development, offering supersonic ballistic delivery of a range of warhead types over substantial distances. The BOZOK, MAM-C, MAM-L, and Cirit missiles exemplify Türkiye’s expertise in laser guidance and smart munition technology, enabling the Terminator to engage and defeat a broad spectrum of target profiles with unerring precision.

Electronic Warfare:

To contend with the contemporary battlefield’s electronic warfare environment, the F-4E 2020 Terminator incorporates an advanced Electronic Support Measures (ESM) system for rapid threat identification and an Electronic Countermeasures (ECM) suite to confound hostile tracking systems. Moreover, chaff and flare dispensers have been integrated to provide decoys against incoming missile threats, enhancing the aircraft’s survivability in hostile airspace.

Operational Capability:

The F-4E Phantom II, transformed by these integrated systems, emerges as a multirole platform capable of dominating beyond-visual-range air-to-air engagements and precision ground-attack missions. It can operate in complex electronic warfare environments and deliver various ordnances based on mission requirements, making it a flexible asset in the Türkiye Air Force’s inventory.

Significance:

The F-4E 2020 Terminator project is a hallmark of Türkiye’s aerospace ambition and its push toward defence autonomy. By retrofitting and modernizing its Phantoms, Türkiye maximizes the value of its existing fleet while also establishing a foundation for future indigenous aircraft development projects.

Munitions Details:

The advanced, indigenous Turkish weaponry integrated into the F-4E 2020 Terminator underlines a significant shift toward self-reliance in defence technologies. Each munition type brings unique capabilities that enhance the platform’s lethality:

UAV-230: A domestically-developed ballistic missile, this supersonic weapon delivers high-precision strikes at long ranges, challenging enemy defences with its speed and reduced radar cross-section.

BOZOK: The versatility of this laser-guided munition makes it ideal for engaging both stationary and moving targets with high precision, ideal for close air support.

MAM-C/L: These smart micro munitions are designed for tactical flexibility, allowing for precision targeting in complex engagement scenarios, from anti-armour operations to counter-insurgency roles.

Cirit: A highly accurate laser-guided missile system designed for low collateral damage, Cirit is adept at striking soft and lightly armoured targets with pinpoint accuracy.

SAGE Munitions: TUBITAK SAGE, Türkiye’s leading defence research and development institute, has contributed a range of munitions enhancing the Terminator’s operational capabilities across various domains.

Conclusion:

The upgraded F-4E 2020 Terminator is a testament to Türkiye’s determination to retain a competitive edge in aerospace and defence technologies. The integration of modern avionics, armaments, and electronic warfare capabilities ensures the aircraft’s continued relevance in modern air combat, and its presence in the skies serves as a deterrent in a strategically complex region.

#turkish army #turkish armed forces #turkish air force #turkishnavy #turkish navy #turkish #military #aircraft #air force #fighter jet #aviation #fighter plane #plane #airplane #military aviation #military aircraft #f 4 phantom ii #f 4 phantom #f 4e

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spacedace · 2 years ago

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Oh hey here’s the lil prolog thing I wrote for my DP x DC Leverage AU. I’m gonna actually write more of one day I swear but for now have this opening bit and feel free to use it as a prompt if you want :D

The station went utterly quiet as they brought her in.

Room after room going as silent as the grave when the young woman in handcuffs stepped through the door. Chatter stopped. Bodies stilled. Heads turned. Eyes widened. It almost felt like everyone was too afraid to even breath as she walked by. Cops and crooks alike watching with fear and awe in equal measures as Jim Gordon led her past them to the interrogation room.

She didn’t give the gaping crowd any mind. Head tilted up at an angle, shoulders back, steps sure. The solid heals of her boots clicked upon the scuffed linoleum, echoing loud in the stifling quiet. Like a royal herald announcing her presence. She held herself like a queen, which was fitting Jim supposed. Until tonight, the only name anyone had to call her by was Queen.

The blood, unnervingly, only made her seem more regal.

Batman was already in the interrogation room when they arrived. Jim didn’t even have it in him to sigh at the broody bat looming in the corner. He knew he’d be there. There was no way he would miss the interrogation of someone they’d been chasing for so long. Especially not now considering…well.

Considering.

Jim largely ignored the vigilante in the corner as he moved through the familiar process of getting the young woman handcuffed in place to the table, starting the recording and rattling off the relevant details: date, time, the - many - charges the young woman had been arrested for. If he faltered over the victim’s name of the young woman’s most recent crime no one commented on it. In the corner, Batman watched and lurked. Nearly lost in the shadowy corner of the room while still being impossible to ignore.

They’d done this before. Good cop, bad vigilante. It was usually effective in getting the truth out of stubborn criminals.

Jim rather doubted it would work in this case.

“Please state your name for the record.” He said, only to be met with the same cool silence Queen had given everyone since her arrest. She shifted in her seat, not a nervous fidget but an easy, languid movement. Even the uncomfortable metal chair seemed like a throne when she was involved. Jim bit back a sigh. “We have your information. I’m asking as a courtesy.”

Queen tilted her head faintly, looking at him with something almost like amusement, one brow twitching slightly upward. “You’ll have to forgive my disbelief, Commissioner Gordon.” She said, polite as ever. “But I’m rather sure that you won’t find me in any system you run my fingerprints or face through.”

She was right about that. They’d tried a hundred times over the past few years she and her team had been operating in Gotham. Her face never appeared in any pictures or recordings - not even in her mugshot during processing, all that was visible was her red hair and a mess of corrupted visual data where her face should be. The most her fingerprints had ever led to where the other crimes they already knew she’d taken part in. Batman had done everything to try and circumvent whatever meta ability kept her from being recorded on film, had done even more to try and find her and her people in every system he and the Justice League had access to. Nothing. Jim had grumbled a few times about how Queen and her crew might as well be ghosts for all the proof that they existed officially.

Turned out, ghosts was exactly right.

“The Ghost Investigation Ward reached out to us two hours ago.” He said, leaning back in his own seat, watching her carefully. “I’ll repeat, Ms. Fenton, my asking is a courtesy.”

For the first time in the years he’d known her, Queen - real name Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton - looked scared. Beyond scared, even. Completely, and utterly terrified.

Her body went rigid, eyes growing wide, breath picking up as she sat up sharply. Any semblance of that calm, collected presence she always held even when she was at her most cornered and vulnerable vanished in an instant. He’d seen her breath in a cloud of Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin and laugh. Watched as Bane wrapped large hands around her throat and tilt her chin up to stare down at her attacker imperiously. A mobster pressed the barrel of a gun to her head and she’d smiled, coy and confidant and untouchable. Queen always, always was calm. Aggravatingly so, even. Utterly unshakable as she waltzed into every wild and insane situation carrying the undeniable air of one who was complete control of everything happening.

She hadn’t even looked scared when the Joker had held her hostage.

And now? Now all it had taken was those three words. Ghost Investigation Ward. A nonsense name for a government agency with a ridiculous purpose. And yet there the unshakable Queen sat, looking terrified out of her mind at the mere mention of them.

Not for the first time since he received that call, Jim Gordon felt uneasy.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc writing prompt #jazz fenton #jim gordon #bruce wayne #leverage au #Jazz is the mastermind in this one #and has been having a great time up til this moment #everyone on the team has code names #Danny is Spaceman because of course it is lol #Sam is Nightshade #Tucker is Pharaoh #Ellie is Nomad #they're not actually shown here but I just wanted to share the codenames I came up for them lol

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