#implanted tracking device

[lifewithaview]

Rosemarie DeWitt in Black Mirror (2011) Arkangel

S4E2

(2017)

Dir.Jodie Foster

Marie is an overprotective mother of Sara since she was born. When Sara is a little girl, Marie loses her in a playground and decides to experiment with a new technology to control what Sara can see or not and track her, implanting a chip in her. When Sara is a teenager, Marie promises to remove the parental controls from the device and put it aside. One night, Sara stays until late hours making love with her boyfriend Trick in his van by the lake and Marie restarts the device, seeing what her daughter is doing. What will Sara do when she discovers what her mother did?

*The memory recall interface in the Arkangel program when Marie is reviewing Sara's memories is similar to the Grain memory interface in The Entire History of You (2011).

[pingnova]

I understand the goonies so much more as an adult who has done research on what it was like being a kid in the 80s. Oddly that also made Indiana Jones make more sense. 80s kids your experience is not universal. Also I was lied to about what genre this shit is.

[sw5w]

Concerned Mother

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:49:52

[baby-tini]

𝓖𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓸𝓸

Manjiro Sano- It would be really hard too get the tattoo, muchless surprise him with it. Especially when you're always, either with him or under constant surveillance and one of those people that have eyes on you 24/7 is Sanzu, Mikeys loyal dog. So, there's no way, you're going anywhere and Sanzu or at least one of his executives not know about it. But, if you do manage too slip away unnoticed, you have very little time too get that tattoo, before Mikey tears all of Japan apart looking for you. It'd be best too get the tattoo somewhere it's not's not immediately noticeable, like on the back of your neck, like Mikey has, or in between your breasts. When you do decide too show Mikey though, he'd stare at you for a few seconds, then look at the tattoo and repeat, doing that for a good couple minutes before grabbing you and bending you over the nearest surface and fucking you, keeping his eyes looked on the tattoo as he cums in you. You now belong to Manjiro Sano for life, you can never leave him, the proof is forever inked on your body. Sanzu Haruchiyo- He was actually the one too propose the idea of you getting the tattoo, stating that your love for him should be evidential, should be permanent. There's no going alone or in secret, he's with you constantly and if he can't be, he has cameras and eyes on you constantly, maybe even a little tracking device implant in your neck, but you'll never know that. He'd want you too get the tattoo either on your inner thigh or on your lower back, right above you ass. He'd be the one too find the tattoo artist, which, will 100% be a woman, he refuses too let a man see you like that, muchless touch you, he doesn't care if it's strictly professional, it's not happening, he might even do the tattoo himself honestly. After you get that tattoo, he expects that place too be exposed constantly, if it's on your lower back, you better become very familiar with low-rise pants or if it's on your inner thigh, you're wearing short skirts or shorts forever. He dares someone too look at you, he doesn't mind ruining his clean suit for you, his little angel. Kakucho Hitto- He, in all honestly, would not like it, at all. He doesn't want you involved in any of his work, in anyway. He doesn't even like that the other executives know about you. He knows what having that tattoo means, he signed up for that, but you? You're his perfect little angel, his sweet girl, you don't belong anywhere near a gun or have your ears tainted with the stories of what he's done, especially if you've seen something, you're too good for the life he leads, he wants you away from it as much as possible. So, for you too get that inked on your body, it terrifies him. You can immediately tell how he feels when you show him because his eyes go empty, like he just lost something of great importance. He pleaded with you for minutes too stop joking, please tell him you didn't, please tell him it's fake. When you shake your head no, to all of his worried questions, his voice breaks as he drags you into the bathroom, attempting too rub it off with a rag 'till your skin is raw. Takeomi Akashi- Doesn't keep as much surveillance on you as the others, so it'd be relatively easy too surprise him with the tattoo. Doesn't really care if you get it or not but he would think it's sexy too see it on you in any scenario, sex, housework, cooking, doesn't matter he's staring at it with a smirk. Would want you too get it someone very noticeable, like your chest or on your shoulder, it's easy too just slide your shirt down and stare at it, running his thumb over it as he leaves kisses along the outline of the ink. Likes that you'll forever have proof that you belong to him, it's a warning for everyone too stay the fuck away from you, I will say however, the tattoo and the area around it, are constantly covered in hickies, so much so, that sometimes you can barley see the tattoo.

Ran Haitani- Also another one too propose the idea, jokingly at first, but he grows very excited, in more ways then one, when you agree to the idea. He takes you too get it done, telling you where you should get it, which place would look best. He'd want you too get it on the front of your neck or just under your tits. Doesn't matter where you get it though because that's automatically his new favorite place too cum. He'd always have you in positions where he can see the tattoo, it genuinely makes him cum quicker. With the permanency that you belong to him, gets him hard in seconds, the following week after you get the tattoo, he's constantly having sex with you. Fucking you anywhere and everywhere he can get you, he doesn't care who's around, if he can get a quickie in while he stares at the tattoo, he absolutely will, shamelessly at that. Rindou Haitani- He wouldn't mind if you got the tattoo, wouldn't verbally tell you too get it but he wouldn't be mad if you did it. Especially if you got the tattoo on the front of your neck, like his, but because his brother also has the tattoo, he'd want you too get his name under the tattoo. He wouldn't mind if you just ditched the tattoo idea and just got his name. Thinks it'd be sexy if you got on your hip, especially while you were wearing low-rise shorts, he's have his hands on your hips more then usual, and that's saying something. Where ever you get it though, much like his brother, whenever he sees it, he gets hard rather quickly, eagerly pulling you with him towards a barley private room so he can jerk his dick while eyeing your tattoo. He, and Ran, are also big braggers and would be so cocky about, how much you love him. Kokonoi Hajime- Thinks it's cute that you wanna get the tattoo and play gangster, he knew you wanted too get it when he caught you, multiple times, eyeing his own tattoo. He also has complete access to your search history and call log, so when he found you calling multiple tattoo shops, he knew. He'd let you get the tattoo but he'd want it too be non-permanent, drawing it on you with marker but if you wanted a more.. permanent end-game, he'd take you too get it. He has more then enough money too get it lasered off for you. He'd want you too get it somewhere that it could be easily covered with clothes. Like your thigh or high up on your arm, stating that he didn't need other people too know, he is the only one allowed too see it. He does buy you the best creams and lotions, helping you take care of the tattoo, making sure it doesn't get infected. Kanji Mochizuki- Also another that wouldn't want you too get it, but he's not as reluctant as Kakucho, simply because he sees it in a different light. What Kakucho sees as a magnet for danger, Mochi sees it as a warning to others that you are not meant too be messed with. Would take you too get the tattoo but he'd need some convincing, valid convincing. He'd want you too get it under your collar bone or on your rib cage, somewhere it can be covered but easily accessible to him and for him, only for him. He's got a few pictures of you in his phone, in very compromising positions, with the tattoo being on full display, that's what he uses too get off too when he's away.

[daimadiamante]

Atsushi: Dazai, Chuuya is missing. Dazai: Why tell me this? Do you think I implanted him with a tracking device or something? Atsushi: Well, did you? Dazai: Of course! Wait a moment.

[brain-deadx0]

Writers spend so much time researching the most random inconsequential things.

so in the polycule fic I had a bit where I needed to know what time it was, and specifically needed it to be a time that's reasonable both as the end of a workday and close to dinner, for plot reasons. I said five thirty at first, then switched it to five.

I later realized that sunset is also a relevant plot bit, and while it doesn't need to be perfectly accurate, I would like it to at least be close. So I figured I'd check what time the sun sets. The fic is set in a kinda nebulous location, so I just looked at a chart for my current location, and it turns out?

on the particular day on which the chapter occurs, the sun sets at 5:10. Pretty much perfect. With the roughly half hour of twilight after, that fits the story just fine without me even having to fudge the numbers.

[roadkillgrlf]

i need to implant a tracking device in you. i love keeping track of where you are at all times.

[jaythes1mp]

I was reading the post about the Batfam waterboarding their darling, and it made me wonder what they would do if reader just… broke. Like, completely mentally checked out. Doesn’t resist, but the reader is more like a doll than human at that point. Would the Batfam feel any guilt?

The post in question

Sure, maybe at first. They were the ones that made you like this in the first place, after all. But ultimately they’ve gotten what they wanted in the end. You’re pliable, you don’t fight back, you do as you’re told, and most importantly, you don’t try to escape.

What more could they ask for? Sure, they kind of miss the rare occasions when you used to laugh at one of their jokes or join in on teasing Damian, but… now you’re perfect.

You don’t push Dick away when he tugs you onto his lap. You don’t try and fight Jason when he brings the spoon of food up to your lips. You don’t resist Bruce’s attempts at bonding after each gruelling night. You’ve given up on clawing out each tracking device Tim implants in your arms. You no longer run whenever Damian seeks you out.

You’re broken.

And they honestly couldn’t ask for anything else.

[cheralith]

reo, ever the affluent gentleman, often gifts you the latest trending jewelry as his sign of love and devotion. he always knows about the newest launches from all the jewelers his company owns and sponsors, so even before they hit the shelves, he’s already presenting you with the latest collections.

you’ve been taking a great liking to high-end jewelry as of recently, with reo always fulfilling your requests to buy them to keep his princess happy…

… though sometimes it can become troublesome to try and find a way to secretly implant the tracking devices.

but he finds a way somehow. as he always does.

[thepixelelf]

superhero cheol x tech whiz reader warnings: coarse language. food. wc: 1.0k

[anonymous nights] As Seungcheol ducked behind the world’s most disgusting, foul-smelling, gag-inducing dumpster, he thought this was perhaps — no, definitely — the worst idea you’d ever had. His full-head mask was starting to itch, and he felt stupid in his suit sneaking through alleys and hiding behind trash cans.

“Remind me again why I’m following this random ass dude instead of Seo Jewon? What happened to catching the city’s ‘fourth most dangerous villain’?”

A bit of static tickled Seungcheol’s ear through the communication device implanted in his suit, which he knew meant you were getting further and further away the more he pursued the target. He had no idea where you parked your small van, aside from knowing it was somewhere in the city — a precaution put in place so Seungcheol would never be able to give away your location. Or, more accurately, so he wouldn’t risk losing the petabytes of information you’d collected over the years.

“Seo Jewon was a total red herring, this is our real guy,” you said through his earpiece.

The man he was following kept walking, and Seungcheol almost thanked him because he had to get away from whatever was polluting that dumpster. “And you know that because…?”

“Hey, who’s the brains of this operation?” You sounded slightly garbled, but Seungcheol could hear your mouse clicking in the background. “That’s right, me.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes even though he knew you couldn’t see it.

“I can feel you rolling your eyes, Solar Flare.”

Okay, maybe not.

“How do you always do that?”

He could hear your smile through the device. Maybe it wasn’t so hard. “I told you. Brains.” You tapped your mic twice, and Seungcheol winced at the plosive sound. He was about to complain when you spoke again. “Eyes up, Solar, you’re losing him.”

Glancing around, Seungcheol realized he did, in fact, lose track of the target, and he cursed under his breath. He heard you holding back laughter before you muted yourself. Picking up the pace and getting heavier on his feet, Seungcheol searched for your supposed ‘true villain’. Your silence only spurred him on; he knew you were making fun of him in your head.

You’d been assigned to him about a year ago, a decision made by the higher-ups because Seungcheol was apparently “too much of a handful” with his fiery powers (plus an equally fiery attitude), and you were the prodigious tech newbie they could force into working with him. Little did they know, spending too much time with him made you just as annoying. Hence why you and him were out tonight, chasing a completely new suspect instead of the one the bosses sent you after.

“Check your two o’clock.”

Seungcheol slipped into another alleyway, sticking close to the walls, though a load of good that did. “You know,” he said, a little breathless from his efforts to catch up to the target, “it might be a bit easier for me to tail this guy if I wasn’t dressed like Guy Fieri.”

“Hey, I didn’t design the suit, I just built it.” Your words sounded weird again. “Blame the fashion department, not me.”

“Okay, one, we don’t have a fashion department, and two, are eating cup fucking ramen right now?”

He could hear you slurping noodles up. “What? I can’t have dinner and save the city at the same time?”

“Dinner?! It’s like one in the morning!”

“I'm a busy sidekick.”

“You are not my sidekick.”

You snorted into the mic, an undignified sound you never held back from making when it was just you and Seungcheol. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

“Whatever. Tell me you at least had breakfast.” The line went silent, and Seungcheol cursed again. “You’re a hazard.”

Seungcheol could feel your greasy smile through the comm as you cooed. “I’m your hazard, Solar Flare.”

After working together for almost a year, you still hadn’t called Seungcheol by his name. You said it was “keeping things professional”, but Seungcheol was pretty sure you just liked to tease him. Before you, no one had ever made jokes about his destructive superpowers. In fact, most people stayed away from him as much as possible. Then you came along and started saying he was your personal barbecue grill or space heater, never once afraid of his tendency to catch things on fire.

Seungcheol never told you how much he appreciated that.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

“You lost him again.”

“God damn it.”

Seungcheol spent the next twenty minutes tailing your suspect through the city with you piping in every few turns, letting him know what he couldn’t see. He was beginning to think this was stupid. Of course this guy wasn’t the culprit, you must have been wrong — it wasn’t like you’d never been wrong before.

But then the guy turned a corner where almost no one ever went. He walked through another totally gross alley and went down some rusted outdoor basement stairs, glancing around. Almost like he didn’t want to be followed. Seungcheol silently pleaded it wasn’t what it looked like. (Though he probably shouldn’t have, considering this meant he was about to catch the bad guy.)

After the man entered the door, Seungcheol walked up to it, peering through the tiny barred window. He couldn’t see anything, so he opened the door just a crack and stepped through as quietly as he could. A dark hallway was all that greeted him, but down it, he could hear angry voices going at each other over something he couldn’t quite make out. Peeking out of the hallway, Seungcheol immediately retracted when he saw everything. A bunch of men and piles and piles of… well he didn’t know exactly what, but it didn’t look good.

“I fucking knew it!” you cheered through his earpiece. You must’ve already taken a picture during the millisecond Seungcheol had poked his head out and scanned it. “Alright, I’m calling backup.”

“What’s our cover story tonight? That I just so happened to stumble across the city’s fourth most dangerous secret lair?”

You clacked away at your keyboard. “No cover story this time. I found this guy fair and square.”

part 2 | part 3

[faggotbeloved]

Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere!Curly x Captain!M!Reader

2: Blinking (A Good Thing) (~2k words)

Cw: Canon typical gore and body horror, manipulation, many short timeskips :(,

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN and taglist at the end.

Last time: You, the captain of a colonization ship, discovered the charred body of an ex-freighter captain. You, along with some of your other crewmates, set out to heal him as much as possible.

└───────────────────────┘

Curly has a remarkably strange pain tolerance–in blanket tests, his threshold is significantly higher than even the toughest member on board, but whenever he’s doing anything that you supervise–eating, talking, moving, the like, he gasps and winces and whimpers loudly and only seems to be soothed by your hands doing the task for him. You don’t blame him for unimaginable pain, but it makes it hard to do your captain's duties.

“Facial reconstruction is today,” you chirp as you enter the medbay. “We got a bunch of skin from your DNA. We should be able to at least repair your eyelids, add back your lips, recanalize your tear ducts, and see if we can get your other eye open and working,” you list, watching Curly read the captioning machine. “When we touch down on Earth, we can look at getting you an evaluation for a cochlear implant, but there’s not much we can do for your hearing right now.”

Curly nodded, his eye trained on you even when new people entered the room.

“You’ve met Rhodes, but this is Dr. Simmons; she used to be a plastic surgeon, but switched professions to come to this colony. She’s worked on a 3D model of your face and can replicate it pretty well, does that sound good?” You informed, to which Curly tore his eyes away and glanced at Simmons before looking back to you. He nodded, reaching out for you. “Yeah?” You questioned, coming closer. Curly pat the bed with his forearm nub, requesting your presence. “I’m here, don’t worry. I’ll be in the next room over, catching up on some work:”

──────────────────────

For a man with no arms or legs, you’re surprised at how good at violent behavior Curly is. His heart rate skyrocketed once you left, and he clashed teeth and bones with any doctor misfortunate enough to get near him. Soon, you were ushered back in, and you watched his erratic chest slow down into heavy gasps the second you entered.

“He got anxious, we think,” one of the colonists said. “He thinks of you as a safety net.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s not in the room. Let me see him,” you commanded, suiting up in scrubs.

You observe him on the operating table, uneasily glanced at the beeping monitors, and wrote something for him to read.

It’s okay. I’m here.

You flashed the whiteboard at him and he rested his arm on your knee. You smiled underneath your mask at his endearing clinginess.

Let’s get you knocked out so Simmons can start? :)

Curly glanced at the board, then you. He sighed and laid back, waiting for the mask to go on.

──────────────────────

It was strange. Not… repulsive, per se, but different than before. They’d reconstructed much of his eyes–plural, since the closed eye was half-blind but still worked–and had fixed his tear ducts, so now he could theoretically close his eyes and sleep. That is, if he could remember how. Actively months, but physically decades, without activating the nerves had nearly disintegrated them.

Either way, it was odd watching someone carry a conversation calmly through tapping morse code with his amputated arm (he’d forgotten about it until now) and eye-tracking devices (newly installed) while the same eyes watered and pooled with tears in a vain attempt to moisten it.

His face was even odder. You’d grown used to the single bulging eye, and now both were in use and constantly trained on you, the lids refusing to close for even a second. His face was a mess of bandages and temporary stitches holding together numerous skin grafts.

You spotted a trail of drool down the corners of his reconstructed lips and carefully swiped it off with a towel.

“You look better,” you determined, gazing intently at his face. It was a work in progress, trying to restore and heal the man who'd faced such horrors. “How do you feel, though?” You asked.

His eyes darted around a keyboard and spelled out, “Numbed 2 Hell. Am I Hot Again?”

You snorted. “Yeah. Give it time to heal–a few months until the bruising goes away, you'll be just as pretty as ever,” you assured with a crooked grin. “They say it's a wonder you can even see. Your good eye was so dry, they expected corneal ulcers, vision loss, stuff like that, but your eye was more or less okay.”

Curly nodded and stared at you for a long moment. He snapped out of it after the door to the medbay opened and looked over at the intruder, a passenger with a broken arm.

“Loud In Here. And Bright,” he typed quickly. ‘I wish I could recover somewhere more peaceful’ was what he meant to say, but he’d hoped you would come to that conclusion on your own.

As if on cue, you called for Rhodes. “Hey, do you think we could put Curly in a different room? Anywhere would be fine–hey, Curly, would you mind being put in my quarters? It's also keycard protected,” you suggested.

Curly nodded with what he hoped wasn't too much enthusiasm. “Well, it's settled. Let's move him to Captain’s Quarters.”

──────────────────────

Curly was comfortable in your quarters. You'd erected a curtain wall to give him some privacy against your nephew, but Curly preferred it open when you were busy at the computer. Your higher ups were intrigued to hear how Curly was doing—he and his crew never claimed their paycheck, so they were a missing persons case for years that nobody investigated. Every ten or so minutes, Curly would cough or make some sort of movement to bask in your attention for as long as possible until you went back to work.

“Capt. I’m Cold,” the eye tracker read. “Any Blankets?”

The only one you had on hand was a throw blanket on your bed, so you draped that over him and kept it as comfortable as possible for him, but as soon as your back was turned he raised the blanket to go over his face and inhaled.

──────────────────────

“Okay, that first one was a prototype. Proof of concept. Let's try this one,” you decided, fitting a better prosthetic hand on Curly. It was bionic, since you had all of the materials to splurge for the best, and as soon as the hand opened and closed, he used his eyelids to blink rapidly and used his new hand to wipe away the tears he felt.

“Hey, your eyelids work! And the hand! You know, your brain can actually trick you into feeling what your bionic hands feel,” you said excitedly, rubbing his shoulder gently. “Let's try the other one on,” you directed, attaching the bionic wrist to Curly’s forearm.

Once Curly got used to the arms and understood their strength, he hesitantly wrapped them around your neck and pulled you into a hug. “Thank you,” he rasped, voice heavy from disuse and of the same cadence of many hard of hearing people you'd met. You returned with your hands on his bandaged waist, gently holding him as well. “Of course, Curly.”

After a very… very long hug, Curly let out a sigh and laid back down. Once you brought the blanket to his chest, he stopped you there.

Curly typed up a quick message on the eye tracker, “Can I Try Keyboard? I Want To Type. New Hands.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Here, his wireless one’s hooked up to my laptop. I'll get my laptop up and running so you can get my attention when you need it.”

Curly nodded and began a coughing fit once he had the keyboard, but instead of using his hands he requested you to straw feed him water.

──────────────────────

Weeks passed, and with all of the medical supplies you could scrounge up, Curly looked significantly better. His prosthetics, when he chose to wear them, could easily support him and the vast majority of his skin grafts were settled. His facial reconstruction was far from healed; he still had a few months left, but he was actually more or less okay. Compared to how he came, at least.

You’d fallen into a comfortable routine: awake at 0800, and by 0900 eat breakfast with Curly and your nephew-slash-first-mate, Sealegs. Check on and mediate conflicts between settlers, and by 1000 ensure everyone is awake. Work until 1400, have a late lunch with the upper crew, and then work until 1900. Afterwards, watch some TV with Sealegs (and, by default, Curly), then sleep by 2100 if you didn’t stay up late flipping through the various health, robotics, and physical therapy textbooks you picked up on your noble quest to help this man.

You woke up, of course, multiple times a night to the emergency alert. Curly, the poor man, had somehow stopped breathing every few hours just until his heart rate skyrocketed. Upon questioning, Curly blamed a family history of night terrors and sleep apnea, because it’d be ludicrous to suggest such a kind and selfless hero like himself would choke himself just so you’d tend to him and sit by him until he fell back asleep.

──────────────────────

The first sign of healthy fat was celebrated. For too long, he lived on rations, mouthwash, and then himself. For a person so horribly harmed, it was amazing to feel a bounce back in his skin. Physical therapy, though marked by many celebrations, was far less exciting. It was like you were his crutch, but also his legs. He couldn't work with you, and he couldn't work without you.

“Come on, I want you to walk to the other side of the room,” you sighed. It had been an hour of this; he'd fumble a few steps, clumsily sign “HELP ME,” then collapse back onto the bed.

“Just ten steps, Curly. It'll be a good start,” you added hopefully, signing as well as talking into the voice to text machine. “If you make it to the painting, I’ll carry you back and we can end it for tonight.”

Curly furrowed his brows and took two steps, then three, then up to eight before he stopped to regain balance, and finally took two more steps towards you instead of the wall. He raised his arms expectantly, waiting for you to pluck him out of the prosthetic legs and carry him back to bed. “I WALK TEN, HELP ME,” he signed quickly. “THIRSTY. WATER?” Curly requested, a weak smile on his face.

Another sigh left your throat, but you couldn't stay mad at him, not when he clung to you so carefully as to not catch your skin with the prosthetic and he buried his face in your neck–out of reflex, you assumed. You laid him down on the cot, but as you stood back up he let out a protesting groan. “LAY WITH ME PLEASE,” Curly pleaded, making a spot for you in his bed, freshly cleaned from that morning. You hesitate, but the eyes he gives you makes you ignore the work you wanted to get ahead on and instead lie beside him, immediately being encased in metal arms that press you against Curly’s tachycardic heart. Soon, you fell asleep and, for the first time, slept through the night without being awoken by blaring alarms.

The next morning, Dr. Simmons woke you at 0928 for Curly’s next surgery–checking in on some bone they'd been growing for a nose surgery, then trying to compile a medical plan for when Dr. Simmons had to inevitably leave for the next colony. It took hours, but soon you had a lengthy calendar of healing times, surgery schedules, and more. Throughout all of this, you worked yourself to death keeping up with both Curly and the entire ship, trying your hardest to stick to your preferred schedule at all costs. Curly was happy to pick up for you whenever you fell asleep at your desk (he was happy to find the Captain’s duties were similar, even decades apart) and according to chat logs, he began a correspondence with your own boss to explain the situation and request to stay under your care as co-captain with Sealegs staying as First Mate. Once you awoke, you had a long talk about not using your computer with permission, but gave in to his request of co-captaining only if your boss allowed it. Which… was approved the same day.

Welcome, Grant Curly, the co-captain of the Astraeus.

┌───────────────────────┐

Thousand month hiatus for the most boring damn chapter I’ve ever made… ugh. I'm sorry, everyone who waited :(.

I took 2 years of ASL in high school; ASL, when written out, is in all capital letters, I usually see it without much punctuation, and it doesn't use filler words like ��the’ and ‘of’, with grammar to the tune of time-topic-comment-verb, and while I'm by no means fluent, I still tried to keep it as accurate as possible for my HOH friends who are probably sick of italic English that ‘means’ ASL. Those who are more experienced and can point out flaws, by all means, do so, please.

Taglist:

@eaterof-concrete + @tfamidoingwithmylife + @onlyemb3rs (It HAS been a long time, no worries if you guys want to be removed ^^,)

[whumporama]

Whumpee who had something implanted in them. Tracking chip? Device to punish them? Something to control their body? Something else?

But now they're rescued, and the thing is gone. The removal wasn't pretty though, and right now they still have the stitches in.

Whumpee has a nightmare, and wakes up in panic. It's still in them. It's still there, they need it out.

They start clawing at their wound, and Caretaker rushes to them, grabbing their wrists before they can rip the stitches (or maybe they're too late, and Whumpee already did damage).

But Whumpee is frantic. "Get it out, please, I need to- get it out!'

Caretaker tries to calm them down, desperately holding them and trying to reassure them. "It's over, Whumpee. It's gone. It was just a dream, you're okay, I promise."

[highrhulain85]

M.S.M.D's

TFP x TF: Shattered Glass Crossover

Ratchet from the Shattered Mirrorverse travels to the Prime verse in hopes of taking the Matrix from Optimus. However, he didn't account for one thing when he gets found out by the Autobots and confronted by Prime-Ratchet.

The summery of the story going up to this scene is as follows:

Ratchet from the Shattered Mirrorverse travels to the Prime verse in hopes of taking the Matrix from Optimus. He knocked out and hid the real Rachet and portrayed as him for the day that he was there. The Autobots did notice a different sudden change in his behavior and after witnessing him trying to experiment on one of their human friends they intervened, and Prime-Ratchet returned to confront his counterpart. However, the scuffle between them had made the other Autobots lose track of who was the real one. Optimus started questioning them on certain events that could have brought out the real one, however the Mirror-Ratchet had implanted a device in Prime-Ratchet to relay information, and block comm signals, to answer the questions correctly.

This is the scene that follows.

Hope you like it, enjoy.

Legend:

"Hi."- Talk

"YooHoo!"- Inner-Thought

*"Hello."* - Comm-link.

(*): Only Ratchet can hear the Mirror-Ratchet

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

“This is bad,” Jack tightened his grip on the catwalk rail as he and Miko anxiously watched the scene before them. “It’s like Makeshift Déjà vu.”

Two Ratchets were sternly facing each other with folded arms, optics never falling away from the other, standing in the middle of the hanger. The other Autobots were on the side lines with blasters at the ready but were hesitant on taking any action. Both Ratchets were exactly the same, and from the earlier trivia spat they had the same past major memories up until the day before. Now, no one had any idea about how to tell them apart from the real one… to the sinister mirror self of their medic from another dimension.

Miko was bouncing on the balls of her feet at the nervous tension. Raf had taken shelter next to Agent Fowler, who looked at the scene with a deep frown. The boy was still shaken by Mirror-Ratchet’s attempt at a ‘checkup’.

“Well, someone had better come up with something soon, these two are going to go at it like bears over a honeypot,” the man whispered tightly.

Bulkhead, Smokescreen, and Bumblebee glanced at each other nervously, while Ultra Magnus and Arcee stood tense. Wheeljack was clenching and unclenching his sword handle.

Even Optimus Prime had to frown, his spark could feel his old friend, but the presence of the other had made it difficult to point him out.

Meanwhile the still Ratchets were at war within their CPU’s, Ratchet inwardly snarling as the other mocked him. (*)

“Face it, Medic. I’ll win, and soon not only will I be rid of you, and the matrix in my possession, I think I’ll take some of those humans as experiments,” there was a twisted grin in his voice. “That little one would be a perfect pet.”

Both Ratchets moved into a new stance in snarling fury, their knives transformed from their hands, making everyone tense and raised their weapons, however one only did it to keep up the act, the other was purely genuine.

“Over my sparkless husk, you sparkeater-reject!”

“That will be arranged, walking rust heap.”

Jack bit his lip as he watched and heard the snarls from the medics, the sounds echoed softly in the hanger, but it felt deafening.

He blinked.

Wait… echo… deafening… If he’s from there, then… So, he wouldn’t have it! That’s it!

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Miko worriedly moaned at his side. She blinked at him when he grabbed her arm and whispered into her ear. Her eyes widen and she looks at him curiously. “Yeah they’re here but I haven’t used them much since Ultra McSarge came, why?”

“How fast and quietly can you set them up?” He spoke low as he glanced at the rising tense scene.

Miko just look at him with more confusion. “I can set them up fast but not very quietly, why? This isn’t time for--”

“This is a perfect time for one since he wouldn’t have an IT.”

Her face light up in shock at his smirk. She then gave a silent squeal and whispered back. “Jack, you genius! How much?”

“Full Tilt.”

The Asian girl rubbed her palms in excitement.

“One fast and ‘quiet’ set up, coming right up. You better warn the others.” With that she took off to her section of the living area as quietly as possible. Fowler and Raf looked away from the doc fight to watch her curiously, they were surprised when Jack came beside them and handed them a pair of headphones each.

A look of realization came on Raf’s face.

“Fowler, can I use your phone, and put these on? You have ‘Autobot conference call’ on it right?”

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

“This is getting ridiculous,” rumbled Wheeljack as the medics started to circle each other. “I say we knock them both out. Then we can weasel out the fake.”

“Won’t that cause more problems?” asked Bulkhead also keeping his vocalizer low.

“Beep-whoo-bib!”

“Like that’s any better!”

“We could have a ‘grumpy’ contest… what? The grumpiest Ratchet is ours, right?”

“This isn’t a joking matter, Smokescreen,” scowled the wrecker commander.

“Just an idea.”

Arcee felt the Wheeljack’s idea sounded pretty good right now.

*“Arcee.”*

Her optics blink at the sudden ping in her comm. It registered to Fowler, but Jack hushed voice came over. She noticed all the other Autobots, except the Ratchets, start at the summons as well.

*“Jack? Why are you calling through the conference call on Fowlers phone?”*

*“Everyone, don’t react to this call, just stay quiet. Answer through the inner-comm.”*

*“This is hardly the time for pleasantry calls, Mr. Darby.”*

*“What are you up to, Jackson?”* The Prime remained focused on the twin medics outwardly. His sensors found the young man with the phone on the other side of the hanger on the catwalk, his optics widen a fraction when he saw Miko mess with a familiar box shape.

*“Please trust me sir, everyone turn on your MSMD’s.”*

Only Ultra Magnus tilted his head in confusion.

*“And I thought Raf was the only genius,”* Wheeljack was glad he had his mask on, his grin would have been noticed by the feuding Ratchets.

*“Beep-bib-booop!”*

*“Got that right, wouldn’t know what hit him!”* The rookie had to really keep his bouncing steps stone still.

*“That’s my partner.”*

*“I am… confused, what is an ‘MSMD’?”*

*“Oh scrap, that’s right you don’t have one.”*

*“Ultra Magnus, just turn your audial dampeners to their highest level,”* Optimus looked to the bewildered commander slightly, never giving away their plan to the two white mechs. *“And I would advise covering them as well.”*

Still looking bewildered, Magnus did as told. He turned to the center stage as the Ratchets now had each other in a hand hold with one of their servos while their knives were trying to inch toward each other’s necks. But it looked like one was starting to weaken, and the other struggled to keep his form up.

The true Ratchet's CPU was fighting to ignore the boastful mocks.

“Oh, look you’re getting tired. A clear sign of my supremacy. Fall and die!”

“Never!”

Jack looked keenly and found that now was the time. He looked over at Raf and Fowler, their headphones were on, check, he looked to Arcee, she glanced at him and the gave a simple slight nod, MSMD’s activated, check. He then looked to make sure Magnus was prepared at least, check, and now…

His own headphones were in place as he looked over and saw Miko behind her AMP, she positioned it within range of the feuding mechs, her guitar plugged in, and she turned the volume dial to full volume. She got up into position, her headphones secured head turned to him and she gave a thumbs up.

He looked back at the Ratchets and raised a hand.

The pick was raised at the ready.

Nobody moved, though some looked giddy at the expected outcome.

One Ratchet was struggling to keep one knee from falling, the other had a slight smirk of victory.

Jack threw his hand down. “Now!”

The pick fell.

“BWWWWWWWAAAAAAAOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNGGGGGG!”

The sound of the struck strings rang through the air. The hanger walls seemed to vibrate.

The humans, besides Miko, pressed their headphones over their ears.

The Autobots had a little grimace on their faceplates, save for Bulkhead and Wheeljack who had laughing smirks.

Ultra Magnus cringed greatly and fell on one knee as his audials screamed as if in pain. He grinded his dentras, he pressed his servos tightly to head helm as his processor circuits felt they were splitting.

But he just had a mild reaction compared to the other.

“AAAAAAIIIEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGHHHHH!”

Both Ratchets had cringed at the sound and covered their audials as Miko played her music of loud harsh random cords, notes, and high octaves. A loud thump and crash came from the floor while…

“MIKO!” Ratchet uncovered his audials, MSMD activated, and scowled the still playing girl with fists on his hips. “This is not time to play your Primus… for… saken…”

He slowed his reprimand at a sudden realization, and he turned to the floor.

“AAAAIIIIEEEGGHHH! WH-WHAT IS THIS HORRID NOICE!? IT’S AWFUL! MY CPU IS MELTING! PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE, PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP! AAAAIIIIEEEGGGHHH!”

Mirror-Ratchet flailed on the concrete floor, his servos pressing so hard to his audials his helm sounded like it was being crushed. His face looked like he was about to face Unicron alone with an ice cream scooper.

Ratchet stared for a bit, then started to smile and laugh as he watched and turned back to the still playing girl. “Hahaha, wonderful, astounding music, crank it up!”

Miko grinned at him.

“NO!” This time Magnus had to reach out in slight plea, he cringed when he had to remove a servo to do so. “Please no more, I think I’m going into stasis lock!”

Ratchet continued to laugh as Jack motioned to Miko with his hand cutting across his neck. She played at least one more dramatic guitar riff and the sounds faded.

Leaving a still pleading, shaking heap of Mirror-Ratchet on the concrete.

Smokescreen came up with a pair of mag-cuffs and latched them on the wrists.

Mirror-Ratchet stared off into space until he slowly shook his head, his audials were still ringing. He realized his was cuffed, but any angered resistance was foiled when he was faced with a menagerie of weapons and a whole Autobot squad of smirks.

He whimpered in defeat.

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

The right calibrations to the groundbridge were entered, the coordinates of the right dimension were logged in, and by Special Bulkhead Lob Delivery the mad doctor of the Mirrorverse was returned back to where he belonged. At last, their weird nightmare had come to an end. The bots made doubly sure he’d never ever come back, but the details explained on how blew over the human’s heads. And things were finally back to their version of normal.

But not without a few questions.

“How did you know the Mirror-Ratchet would react to your… ‘music’, Miss Nakadai?” asked Ultra Magnus as Ratchet, their one of a kind, genuine number one Ratchet, looked into his audials for any permanent damage.

Miko ignored at the gibe at her genre taste and instead leapt onto Jacks arm, smiled at them and pointed at the blushing teen.

“It was Jack’s idea!”

“I thought since he was from the Mirrorverse and never met us there, he wouldn’t have had an MSMD.”

“Nice thinking, son,” Fowler complemented.

“What exactly is an MSMD?” asked Magnus.

“It’s an upgrade I developed shortly after the children came to spend time with us,” explained Ratchet as he finished his exam. “I’m putting in one for you as well. It helps dampen certain sounds the children make to protect our sensory hearing and from making us go insane from it. Something I’m sure that twisted doppelganger probably never would have thought about when he came here. If he had the opposite thinking as I do, he never would have thought of the small details it takes to having to live with humans.” He then smiled at Miko. “Though I think I had heard the best concert ever, so it’s tolerable for today.”

Miko smiled back and giggled. “You’re welcome Docbot, great to have you back.”

“So, what does MSMD stand for?” the Wreaker commander had to know.

All the bots and humans looked at each other with smiles before the Prime answered.

“Miko’s Slash Monkey Dampener.”

[grandpa-boyfriend]

one of my favorite versions of rickmorty is like this headcanoned development of their relationship i have in which they're like...comfortably toxic. like rick is like super abusive and controlling but morty has like no complaints about it.

like, oh, rick wants to go through his phone everyday to see who's he's texting and what apps he's using and what he's looking up? yeah sure, morty's fine with it

rick wants to put a tracking device under morty's skin, put subtle spy cameras up around the house, and also implant something into him that lets rick listen to all his conversations? of course morty is fine with it, it's just a safety thing!

rick gets mad that morty spent more time with summer or his mom or even fucking jerry that day? morty apologizes and makes up for it of course, he didn't mean to hurt rick's feelings!

and rick just eats all of this up and it enables him to be even more crazy possessive and controlling

and morty's just happy that his grandfather "cares" about him so much

[thewhumpcaretaker]

i hope u dont mind i go to you for whump ideas !! do u have any ideas/prompts for a living weapon/forced soldier(?) type thing👀

I certainly do not mind! I do love making prompts.

This is basically a whole genre of whump, so this will be long and I'm just getting started honestly.

💥 Living Weapon Whump 💥

Whumpee is forced to kill - this is kind of the heart of the trauma. How do they deal with it? Do they blame themself? Do they hate the ones who did this to them? One way or another, they have to live with terrible memories of what their own two hands have done.

...Or maybe they don't live with the memories. Whumpee dissociates heavily and perhaps even deals with amnesia from things they can't bear to face.

Dissociation overall is important. To act violently and efficiently in a fight, when you don't want to act, requires separating emotions from actions and becoming distant. When whumpee gets hurt, or sees something horrifying, they don't respond. They're calm. Too calm.

Self-hatred. Viewing themself as a weapon, only good for killing and incapable of love or kindness. Unworthy of having basic human needs met.

If the training started young, whumpee was raised in isolation, so they struggle to understand basic social cues, pop culture references, and just how to act normal. They're very nervous around people.

This can also have other effects on how they socialize and on their personality. Maybe it wasn't safe to have empathy for others if everyone around them was getting hurt and killed regularly, so they lost touch with empathy. Maybe any mistake or sign of weakness would lead to punishment, so honor became crucial.

They're probably going to have an unusual relationship to physical touch. They've mostly only been touched in violent ways, so they'll either be touch starved or touch averse. They flinch when someone moves suddenly. It takes a while to learn that touch can be positive. Maybe sparring and playfighting is one of the only ways they feel comfortable touching other people - or maybe it's something they never want to do with people they love, because it's connected to too many bad memories.

Whumpee expects to be hurt and thinks it's normal. They get into bad relationships, difficult jobs, etc. They don't take care of their health. Why? Because their suffering "doesn't matter." They're just a tool.

Maybe whumpee is conditioned to respond to a code word. When they hear that word or phrase, they start killing anyone around them indiscriminately until another code word (or passing out, or something else) snaps them out of it.

If they can't control when they'll become dangerous (either because of a code word like that, or because they get violent during PTSD triggers, or just because they don't trust themself), maybe they try to incapacitate themself or lock themself up. Maybe they get thrown into prison or an institution on purpose, to protect their loved ones. Maybe they run away.

Maybe whumpee has permanent physical alterations because of their training. Maybe they were branded or tattooed. Maybe they have cryogenic implants or embedded tracking devices. Maybe they've sustained injuries that now result in chronic pain.

Whumpee faces trial for things they were forced to do, things beyond their control. But maybe they blame themself completely. Or maybe they don't, and they're enraged to be in this situation.

I could continue this list for days honestly haha, this is one of my favorite tropes. Now I want to do a separate one focused on living weapon comfort...

[villiun]

BLOOD/INJURY WARNING

TXM OC

HARRY LETTERMAN DUMP (redesign😼💪)

(TXM by @blackkatdraws2 @blackkatdraws )

Harry Letterman, a 59 year old stable mixed genre (one of the oldest surviving in his “genre”). He’s a journalist and newspaper salesman who gathers information secretly in all genres but publishes his works as a toon.

Mixed genres is an extraordinarily rare genre (an occurrence of 1 in 350,000 births).

There are two versions of being a mixed genre.

The stable version can shape shift through genres with ease, many use this ability to aid their daily lives. Identifying features vary for the stable version, but in Harry's case, a difference in the pupil is noticeable (or changes in language that wouldn't suit the environment, eg, swearing in a toon space)

The unstable version of this genre experiences painful glitching and morphing to the body as different extremities will change through the different genres at different times. Many who are unstable are outcasted from all genres. Many unstable genres seek help while others accept their hopelessness.

An unstable mixed genre can become stable (idk how yet guys 😭) and a stable mixed genre can become unstable when subjected to intense emotion or pain. If protecting themself or a loved one, a mixed genre may be able to become steadily unstable temporarily to create the most adequate body for the situation (eg. mixing a toons power with a grims body).

Because of these uses, crime syndicates will often look out for people of this genre and when they do, well, it’s not too good. Tracking devices are usually implanted, and experimentation is known to take place (this may end in severe injury or death). Harry, unfortunately, was a victim of this a few years back but managed to get free of this torment. This resulted in his hatred and distrust in all Grims.

Bare in mind this is not a canon genre but Kat if you’d ever consider this into your world building, you are more than welcome to.