#Fingerprinting Process | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sbcdh · 7 months ago

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In 1967 the government discovered that specific syllable structures combined with specific vocal tones and ultra-low-frequency sounds could speed up the process of unconscious internalization by over 1500%. This became particularly useful for teaching low-level employees large amounts of information, as "hypnophonic learning" could be done while the subject was asleep.

Hypnophone use became standard for new employees of the IRS and SEC, as it made large scale memorization of tax code and financial law significantly cheaper and easier than traditional conscious education.

However, long term use causes the subjects long term memory to atrophy, requiring nightly repetitions of hypnophone use. Some enterprising employees found that the effects could be counteracted with low dosages of LSD to preserve neuroplasticity.

Roughly 1 in 7 employees encountered a strange phenomenon: Mild financial clairvoyance.

One in roughly 50 employees experienced more significant effects, generally those ensconced in large isolated IRS warehouses, which seemed to replicate the monastic lifestyles of historical sages, depriving subjects of ordinary stimuli in favor of becoming attuned to minute changes in the sub-finantial background grid.

Once it was learned that these "enlightened" employees could predict market trends before they happened, the technology was bathed in funding, patented, and made the soul property of the IRS.

Now, these "Plutophants" are kept in nigh-perfect sensory deprivation at all times, fed a constant hypnotic fugue stream of psychic conditioning in the form of "radiosonic neuro-induction" which contains a special form of the United States Tax Code modified for recursive hypnophonic induction, as well as a ticker tape wired directly into the users spine.

The effects achieved are nothing short of stunning. The invisible hand is no longer invisible to us. The market can be fine tuned with surgical precision. The price of bread has maintained a perfect 0.002% +/- variance for over 25 years now, and those who attempt to disrupt the guidelines are regulated by the SECs crack psychonautics division, who are now able to hunt market manipulation via their disruption in the financial dreamscape.

Very rarely, a Plutophant can become so attuned to the guidelines that they achieve a sort of catastrophic neuro-depatterning, their synapses begin to produce a counter-signal to the neuro-induction frequencies; jamming, and eventually overpowering the machine. Study is still ongoing, but it is believed that they somehow perpetuate their own neurological fingerprint into the financial causal background grid itself, literally becoming "one with the market."

Study is ongoing.

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dancingafterdark · 5 months ago

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this is all i see XD

“Jayvik land in a field and start making out” this, “Jayvik land in a field and start making out” that.

What about Jayvik landing right in the middle of a town square?

proprietor of local wares: “Sir, this is a place of business—”

Jayce: “LEAVE US”

#📺:#arcane #in all timelines in all possibilities #jayce as he’s getting his fingerprints taken: “hey you guys wouldn’t happen to have any free housing would you-”#while viktor just stares in shell-shocked silence #he’s never been arrested before poor baby doesn’t know how to deal #meanwhile jayce has been canonically arrested and treats the process like a mild inconvenience

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glamorizethechaos · 2 months ago

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Bruises Pt 1 | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

TW: domestic violence, addiction, alcohol, age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), blood, pining, angst, eventual smut. Not beta read.

If this flops I’m not writing part 2. Also if it flops I may cry so lie and tell me it’s good.

Word Count: 1.9k

There was no point in trying to cover the massive bruise on your face, it would only make things more suspicious. You dont exactly remember what make your fiancé Charlie snap, but before you knew it, you were on the floor of the kitchen, his fist making contact with your face. The air escaped your lungs as you felt a blunt force against your abdomen, your fingers sprawled out on the floor, trying to hold onto anything you could as you gasped for breath. You didnt move from the cold tile for a while, it bringing comfort to your burning flesh.

As you strode into The Pitt the next evening, you did so hesitantly, keeping your head down. It was shift change, Dana was still at the nurses station, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and Robby was stuck in a trauma. Jack was at the computer, reading over the shift change reports.

"Evening." you said casually, setting your water bottle down on the desk. Dana was the first to glance up.

"Eve- what the fuck?"

Jacks head shot up, and without hesitation he rounded the desk, taking your face into his hands, inspecting the damage.

"What the fuck happened?" you avoided his gaze as he gently cupped your cheeks, brushing his thumb across the black and blue skin.

"I'm fine. I was playing baseball with my nephew, and he has a really good swing." you tried to chuckle through your lie. He studied your face, his jaw clenched and brow serious.

"Did you get an X-ray?"

"I'm fine. Really." you shook your head, but when he delicately pressed his fingers on your nose you jerked your head backwards with a wince.

"Bullshit you're fine, you're next for X-ray." he grabbed your wrist and started leading you towards radiology as you protested.

"I know we have other patients, but you cant treat them with a broken face. If its broken, you're going home."

"No!" you called out too eagerly, almost in a panic. Jack stopped in his tracks with a screeching halt, twisting around to look at you. His demeanor instantly changed, his gaze burned into your flesh as he studied you: your eyes, your shallow breathing, and your posture that seemed to be recoiling with each passing second. His jaw was clenched, but the grip on your wrist began to loosen, and he slowly let go. You looked down as his fingerprints began to fade away.

"I'm ordering a CT" he deadpanned with a quick turn, continuing your walk to X-ray. His pace speeding up over so slightly and you struggled to keep up. The air was heavy; the silence hung high in the air- only the hum of the hospital’s harsh artificial lights filled the uncomfortable void.

"For a broken nose?" you called out, confused.

"Just a precaution."

"We don't order CTs for a broken nose, Jack. I dont ne-"

"Will you just fucking listen for once?" he hissed through clenched teeth as you jerked backwards. Jack was known for his tough exterior, but he wasn't short, not with his patients, and especially not with you. You knew there was a soft side to him, one he rarely showed. You’ve seen him sit bedside with a young girl explaining to process of a medical abortion, you’ve watched him show his prosthetic leg to a terrified little boy with a broken arm, and you’ve watched him talk a fellow vet through a PTSD episode.

He pulled a gown down from the shelf in the waiting room and pressed it firmly against your chest. "Get dressed, when you're all done I'll come get you." Before you could respond he walked away, his fists balled by his sides. You had never seen Jack like this, what happened? It's like a flip switched. His body was tense, his eyes full of anger.

You look at your bruised face in the changing room as you took off your engagement ring and other jewelry. You did your best to cover your bruised body despite the gown being open all the way down the back. The radiology tech was the seasoned Maxine, having worked at PTMC for almost 40 years, and having pet names for everyone at the hospital.

“I’m not sure why he’s making such a fuss over a broke nose. He’s not my dad.” You kept the conversation going as she positioned you on the bed.

“What about your daddy?.” Maxine winked.

“Jesus Christ Maxine!” You blushed.

“I’m just teasing honey, he just cares about you that’s all. Some may say smitten.” the smell of cigarettes emanating from her Snoopy scrubs.

“You said you were gonna quit.” You tried to change the subject as you began to blush even harder.

“They haven’t killed me yet. Besides, talk to me when you’ve been working here as long as I have. How long have you been working here?”

“5 years.”

“See, you’re just a baby, baby.” She patted you shoulder and left the room to start the scan. “Just stay still for me doll and it’ll be done soon.” After CT you hurried to change out of your gown and back into your black scrubs. You were seething with anger and shock by how Jack had spoken to you earlier. You waltzed back down to the ER despite his orders and looked up at the patient board. 10 more in the waiting room since you went down to radiology? What the fuck?

“When you’re all done I’ll come and get you…” you began speaking to yourself in a mocking tone as your scanned your badge to pick up a new case, “who the fuck does he think he’s talking to?”

“What are you doing?” You spun to find Jack barreling toward the nurses station from curtain 3. “I told you I’d come get you when the CT was over.”

“And I’m not a child Jack. I’m a big girl, I can walk myself back to work. I don’t need you to hold my hand the whole way in case I get lost. Now if you’ll excusing me, I have a vomiting toddler in 12.” You tried to push past but he stepped in front of you, blocking your direction.

“Not until I see your scan results.” You were livid at how infantilizing he was being at the moment. You always thought he viewed you at incredibly capable. You searched his eyes, looking for at least something that would explain this sudden strange behavior. What did he know? What did he suspect?

“Step aside Dr. Abbot.” You squared up to him. Arms resting on your hips. He took a step forward, his chest almost pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat emanating from his body and your breath hitched in your throat.

“Uh Abbot,” Nurse Lena uncomfortably walked into whatever the hell this was. “CT and X-ray results are back.”

Jack backed up slowly, not taking his eye off you as he opened the files on his computer. He began to read, his hands resting on the desk in front of him.

“Why don’t we go over these somewhere a little bit quieter.” He asked, faking a smile and trying to find a private room. You followed in suit.

“You don’t have to take me aside to tell me I have a broken nose, Dr. Abbot.” You were almost 2 hours into your shift and hadn’t touched a patient yet. This was ridiculous.

“You’re right,” he answered back, closing the curtain behind you as you both ducked into Room 7. “I’d like you to tell me where these rib fractures came from”. He didn’t looked at you, just typed away at the computer pulling up your CT results.

“What are you talking about, Jack?” Your mouth instantly began to water as you were hit a wave of nausea. He turned the computer to face you, pulling up your imaging.

“Non displaced rib fracture of the left T6 and hairline fracture of your T7.” He pointed to each rib on the screen, as if it weren’t clear as day to you as well. Your hands tangled in your lap as you tried to come up with some sort of explanation. “Or did your nephew do that too?” Your eyes shot up at his sarcastic remark. Jack regretted those words the second they left his lips. Looking down at his shoes, he inched his way towards the edge of the bed where you were sitting, hands in his scrub pockets.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, putting his hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. You winced slightly as he hit a particularly tender spot and his face fell. "Whats wrong with your shoulder?"

"I'm fine." you just shook your head, fiddling with your engagement ring like you were unintentionally trying to tell him something. He took a seat next to you, looking down at the floor.

"How long has he been hurting you." he finally asked, nervously rubbing the scruff on his face, trying to calm the pit in his stomach. You shook your head again and stood, turning towards the door. He grabbed your hand, stopping you from leaving, unknowingly tracing his thumb back and forth on the back of your hand. Avoiding his gaze, you struggled to hold back the tears that were burning your eyes. You felt a gentle tug on your arm, Jack pulling you closer to him, grabbing on to your other free hand.

There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to tell him. About all the nights you spent locked in the bathroom, hiding from your fiancés hurling words and fists. About the bruises that covered your body. About the control. The isolation. The terror.

"I dont know." was all you could muster, however. You felt his body stiffen, his grip tighten on your wrists. A sob caught in your chest, the lump growing larger and larger in your throat. You couldn’t look up, you couldn’t face him, though you felt his hazel eyes burning into your flesh. Before you either of you could speak again, you were saved by a trauma.

It wasn’t until hours later, as the Pittsburgh sun because to poke out from under the horizon, did you hear the door creak and the sound of his uneven gate coming up behind you. Without a word, he handed you your usual, a cup of vanilla chai tea. The both of you would meet up here on occasion, after a particularly tough shift, just to talk. It was a chilly morning, the tip of your nose rosy as another cold Pittsburgh fall and winter began to creep in. You caught chill as the wind whipped through the buildings beside you. As you shivered, Jack instinctively stepped towards you, letting his radiating body heat warm yours.

“It wasn’t always this bad,” you finally admitted. “The first time he hit me… he said he’d never do it again. I was stupid enough to believe him. But then his drinking got worse and, you get the rest of the story.” You motion to your face, the cold air stinging your eyes. He stared at you without a word, you could tell he was thinking. You saw the gears moving in his head. Jack Abbot, thinking? That was never good sign.

“You drive or take The T?” He asked, pushing off the railing.

“The T…?” You were confused as he started walking toward the door, motioning you to follow suit. “Grab your stuff, I’ll take you home.” “Jack, that’s kind of you, but if Charlie saw some strange man dropping me o-“

“I know,” Jack cut you off, “I’m taking you to my place.”

#the pitt #shawn hatosy #dr abbott #dr abbot #fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #dr jack abbot #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot x reader #jack abott

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erosofthepen · 1 year ago

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why is applying for a visa soooooooooo time consuming

#not to mention pricey #like to actually get the visa I have to get a background check #and to do that I need to go get fingerprints #and that costs $50 itself #idk what the processing fee for a background check is #like government I pay taxes shouldn't getting a background check be free??????????????#its a government service like c mon

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dark-night-hero · 4 days ago

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Imagine being Rafayel's non-mc significant other. Soul Mark AU

Imagine your mother always told you one thing. "When it's real, the mark appears. You'll know. Your body will know."

Imagine you believed her. Especially when she used to show you hers, an elegant vine of moonlight white ink curling across her collarbone, perfectly mirrored by the starlike print on your father's hand. A pair. A promise. Something fated and permanent.

Imagine you used to trace your own skin, wondering what yours might look like. Maybe a soft ribbon of gold behind your ear or a crescent shaped bloom over your hip. Something warm. Something sure.

Imagine thinking it will come when it's real. And then you met Rafayel.

Imagine the way he shows up like sunlight on seawater. Chaotic, glittering, always moving too fast for you to catch your breath. Late to everything. Excuses like seashells in his pockets. Attention span like a skipping stone. Teasing and impossible. Loud about everything except how deeply he could feel.

Imagine everyone saying he was careless, flaky, just another pretty face who painted emotions he couldn't process. But you saw what they didn't.

Imagine you saw the tremble in his fingers when a brush hovered over a blank canvas for too long. You saw the way he would disappear from events just to sit on a beach beside you, grinding shells into pigment, mumbling, "This one'll look just like your laugh when I'm done mixing it."

Imagine the way you fell. Fast. Hard. No safety net. And he catch you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because he love you. Loudly. Thoughtlessly. Entirely. And god, you loved him back.

Imagine mentioning your lack of mark. Not really a mark at all... Just a faded blur on your ribcage. Like an ink stain. A fingerprint. A mistake the universe started and didn't finish. And to your relief, he told you it doesn't matter because love had to be louder than fate. Right?

Imagine Rafayel's soul mark was no secret. A splash of seafoam and sunburst across his back, just beneath his shoulder blade. It looked like someone had brushed watercolor straight onto his skin and left it to glow there. You remember the first time you saw it. Third sleepover. Sheets kicked off. Rafayel sprawled on his stomach, humming, lazily threading his fingers through your hair.

"Did it hurt?" You asked, fingers hovering above the mark. "No." He grinned into the pillow. "It felt like someone finally figured out what I was meant to look like." And you smiled even though your chest went hollow for a moment.

Imagine that night, you checked again, in your arms, your ankles, the inside of your wrist. Nothing. Just the smudge. Still incomplete. But you were in love. You had Rafayel. That had to be enough. Didn't it?

Imagine it happens on a Wednesday. The gallery was too warm. Too loud. The clink of wine glasses echoes between polished walls lined with Rafayel's latest exhibit. You're standing near the back watching him charm a crowd he swears he hates but secretly lives for. Then you see her. Someone standing alone in front of the painting. Her shirt shifts slightly, just enough. And there it is. His mark.

Imagine the sunlight and seafoam. Exact. Perfect. Alive. Not on him. On her.

Imagine your breath catches. Not dramatically. No gasping. Just a subtle silence in your chest. Then she turn. Meet your eyes for a second. She didn't even recognize you. Then she start walking toward Rafayel. And you... You watch it happen.

Imagine Rafayel looking up. The way his face changes. Softens. Still. Like someone just whispered his name from somewhere deeper than his memory. Recognition. Just for a second. Then he laughs too loudly. Makes some dumb joke about shrimp cocktails. Plays it off.

but Imagine, you saw it. The flicker. The way his Soul Mark shimmered, just a little brighter. And your smudge? Still quiet. Still forgotten.

Imagine that night, everything feels normal. He drapes himself across your lap while you brush your teeth. Kisses your shoulder. Burns dinner and pouts about it. Tells you he loves you. Like always.

but Imagine when he turn around, you can't stop staring at his back. The mark is glowing faintly. Brighter than usual. Like it's waking up. And you didn't say anything. Because he loves you. You know he does. But still. That question starts to bloom inside your chest like something sharp. If he knew? If he truly knew, would he still choose you?

Imagine you don't leave right away. There's no shouting. No slammed doors. No ruined art or broken things. You just... smile less. Laugh softer. You stop tracing your skin with hope. And Rafayel notices.

"Hey." He mumbles one morning clinging to your waist like a sleepy child. "Are you mad at me or just allergic to cuddles now?" You laugh. You lie. You say. "I'm just tired." And he believes you. Because Rafayel always believed in you more than he ever believed in fate. But you stopped believing that was enough.

Imagine one day you leave a note on his easel. Folded. Simple. No drama. Just truth.

I believe in us. I still do.

But fate never gave me a mark. And I can’t be the reason you miss out on the one it gave you.

Thank you for choosing me, even if the universe didn't.

Imagine you didn't sign it. You don't have to. He'll know it was you. He always knew your handwriting. Even if his soul never wrote itself onto your skin.

Imagine you leave before he wakes. Before he can tug you back into bed, or whine your name or smile in that way that makes your chest twist with grief and guilt.

Imagine you did not take anything except your shoes. The studio will still be full of you. Your mug on the sink. Your jacket on the hook. Your laughter caught in the echo of old brushstrokes and seashells drying by the window.

Imagine he'll stay there. Among the pigment and the silence and the unfinished portraits of you. Because some love stories don't end with fire. Some just fade. Like a smudge on skin. A love not erased. Just never meant to stay.

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isalro · 2 years ago

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Our live scan services in Lawndale, California have been reshaping the landscape of criminal investigations. This digital fingerprinting system offers numerous advantages, making it an indispensable tool for agencies today.

#Data Security #Fingerprinting System #Investigative Process

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abyssyby · 9 days ago

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thinking abt the twins eating watermelon and one of them eats the seed by accident…cue emotional distress from both of them because the big twins told them that a watermelon will grow in their tummies

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OH NOOOOO poor babies. i see we all agree that luke and kieran are enemies number 1&2 😂 thanks for sending this, it made me laugh a lot!

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | very lost sylus, mentions of choking, distressed children, PAPA, HELP!! HELP!! (˃̣̣̥△˂̣̣̥)

"ah! aaa!" kyros exclaims as he begins to choke on his food.

sylus is already standing, nearly knocking the table over with the speed at which he moves. every nerve in his body electric as he panics. "kyros?"

he continues to cough—spitting, choking. "eughe! kkkkgh!" his father panics, grabbing him and prying his mouth open with his fingers.

and in an instant, kyros whines, pushing at the large hand. "oww, papa."

sylus freezes. speaking. speaking is good—it means breathing. "are you okay?"

"i eats a deed." he says, fine, completely breathing. sylus sighs in relief, but gives him a pointed glare.

he calms. wipes the corners of his son's mouth. until—

another choke. a gag. he gasps, "kyros!"

"eughh—" kyros rasps, clawing at his throat. "papa, the deed!"

"the seed?" sylus echoes in exasperation. still scrambling with his hands, wondering whether or not he should be performing some kind of maneuver right now to his aspirating (or not?) toddler.

"i eats it!" in agony, his face morphs into a crumpled mess of distress. sylus is at a loss, too stuck on the question of if he was choking or not.

and it seems to translate on his face, because kyros stares his pathetic expression and cries out for his brother instead. "woosian!"

sylus winces the sound, but isn't detered from his internal panic. "kyros, are you chokin—"

"—woosian—!" from quick pitter patters of bare feet yell back, "i comin'!"

sylus seethes in frustration, "ky—"

lucian arrives. kyros's voice breaks as he reports, "woosian, i eats a deed!"

lucian drops his own bowl of watermelon slices and gapes at his brother. "oh no."

sylus's gaze ping-pongs between his twins in confusion. distress. absolute bewilderment.

lucian clumsily places his bowl on a surface he can reach and begins to climb his papa's legs to get to their level. tugging his pants, clawing at his shirt. "'pit it out—'pit it out!"

"i tryin'!" kyros sobs.

sylus snaps. "someone tell me what's going on!"

it's a wonder how his sons can look exactly like him, but still emulate you in every single way. how they turn to look at him slowly with wide, menacing eyes like wildlife predators in the night.

sylus feels the exact shivers he does in that moment when you look at him that way. when he's crossed a line. when he's played the audacity he apparently had no right to play.

"papa." lucian says sternly. suddenly, he's Mister Composed. "no yell please."

sylus's gaze shifts downwards briefly. "i'm sorry." then he fixes his tone. "i want to help. what's wrong?"

and finally, finally the child in his hold explains, "biggies say if—if we eats wodameyn deed— wodameyn goo-wou inside."

"grow inside?"

"in da tummy, papa." lucian supplies. then shouts, "keero gonna to espode!"

kyros whines. contrary to them scolding sylus, he screams now too, "'m too little to espode! papa, help!"

but sylus is too stunned now to speak. he stares blankly into space as the thought processes; grinds between rusted gears in his head. he is reduced to a waterlogged deadhead, wobbled by the tides of his two panicking toddlers, pushing and pulling at his limbs.

luke and kieran. he concludes. marks their names in red in his mind.

"papa, papa!" his boys cry. his body moves on its own accord to grab his phone from his pocket. his fingerprints imprint on your contact. he barely hears the ringing. only you through the haze. "sy?"

you hear sobbing on the line. then, your husband's voice.

"luke and kieran."

understood. you are on your way home.

hehehe thanks for reading! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

#they share one braincell these three #and currently it is with u @ the grocery store #this was so silly i loved writing this #re: little twins #sylus x reader #sylus #answers #lads sylus #love and deepspace #sylusmc #sylus x mc #urs writes ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ #sylus qin #dad sylus #boy dad sylus #luke and kieran #the loveliest of dividers by @saradika-graphics!!#sylus fluff

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