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corkinavoid · 20 days ago

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DPxDC Ask Around in the Morgue

Most times, Tim is not a fan of social interaction. If he can acquire the necessary data from literally anything written in text, without the need to actually talk to people, he does that. It's the logical thing to do, come on! People lie, or, even if they don't, they take ages to get to the point, and you can't put them on pause or set aside to return later. Some written resources lie as well, but that is, at least, way easier to prove by relying on several of them instead of a single one.

That saying, he can work in a team — Young Justice is great proof of that. Batfamily, not so much, but then, none of the Bats like working together. Because they are all hypercontrolling, manipulative, and paranoid.

And yet, keeping all that in mind, right now Tim is about to go and speak — using his mouth and words — to a GCPD mortician whom he's never seen or met before in his life.

All because of this report.

More precisely, because of the line 'pls come talk to me if u r a bat' that was inserted right into the file, just between the description of contents of the victim's stomach and the rather unappealing photo of the same thing. Tim supposes the placement was intentional — most people skip over that kind of information, jumping straight to the cause of death. Which is a homicide, by the way.

Not that it's anything unusual in Gotham.

Tim walks through the hallway, keeping his steps silent. Daniel Nightingale, the mortician, more accurately a pathologist, works graveyard shifts — very ironic and no less convenient — and most days, he does so all alone, so Tim is not expecting company. He is just keeping quiet out of habit.

And yet, as he gets closer to the autopsy room, he hears it. The chipper, amused voice from inside.

"You can't just make that shit up, I swear," it laughs, "Oh, Minerva. You were way too old to pull it off." There's a pause, and then it starts speaking again, filled with hidden laughter, "You don't say?"

The door is, thankfully, already half-open. Tim takes a quick look inside, hoping to figure out who's the other part of the alleged conversation, but the only person there — erm, the only alive person — is a guy in a gray uniform and a lab coat. Supposedly, Mr. Nightingale. There's also a corpse of an old lady on the table in front of him, of course, but Tim doubts she can hold up the conversation. A phone call? Or maybe he's just talking to himself?..

The guy raises his head briefly, turning to the door.

"Come on in, lurking in the shadows doesn't suit you," he calls, almost cheerful, and Tim pauses.

He's pretty sure he hasn't made a single noise.

Oh, well. Maybe he did. Maybe the pathologist has an alarm system in case of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe he sees the future. The possibilities are endless.

Tim steps inside.

"I'm here about your note," he says, cutting the greetings and niceties. The pathologist hums, his eyes still on the bare, skinless ribcage of the woman before him.

"Cool. Which one?" He asks without missing a beat. Tim stares; the guy looks entirely too nonchalant, given the circumstances, but that's not the only reason. Daniel Nightingale is way younger than Tim expected — twenty, at most — and he is... well, if Tim had a type, which he doesn't, he would definitely check all the boxes. Most of the boxes. A lot of boxes.

Okay, he's just good-looking, what is he even thinking about, this is getting sidetracked.

"There was more than one?" He asks because that's the logical, reasonable thing to ask. Daniel glances up at him. A tiny strand of hair escapes his pinned down bangs, and the guy huffs, shaking it away from his face. Shouldn't he be wearing a hat?

"Yeah, I put the bat alert in at least five reports I've written. Only two recently, though, so, if you could specify?" He asks. The loose strand of his hair moves all on its own, brushing itself up over Daniel's head. Then, one of the bobby pins comes out, hanging in the air briefly, and goes back into Daniel's hair, securing it from falling again. "Thank you, Minerva," the guy smiles politely, casting a glance to the side.

Tim is not sure what's going on but he has a hunch.

"I'm speaking about John Doe from last week?" He attempts, but Daniel only hums.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow it down," he turns back to the table, looking down into the old lady's open abdomen with a critical eye. "Darling, do you think you'll be fine here all on your own while I speak with our dear guest?" He asks, almost demurely, and Tim is not dumb. Minerva is definitely the name of the lady on the autopsy table. The question is, has the GCPD hired a schizophrenic man during such dire times, or is the guy really some kind of ghost-whisperer?

The chances are, honestly speaking, 50/50. It's Gotham.

There's no response that Tim can hear, but Daniel straightens back up and takes off his gloves before turning to the other side, still away from Tim. "Mind cleaning up?" He asks again and then throws his gloves into the nearest bin. They don't land, but just as Daniel huffs and goes to retrieve them, the gloves float up from the floor like someone invisible picked them up and dropped them into the bin.

"Ah, thank you, Minerva," the pathologist smiles.

Tim feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.

"How many ghosts are in here?" He tries for casual, but fails spectacularly, judging by Daniel's chuckle.

"Five," he answers without any pause, "Six, if you count the nonverbal kid that's hiding in Page's cold locker. Anyway, John Doe?.."

A few of the instruments Daniel has used float up from the table and start moving towards the nearest sink.

Tim takes a deep breath.

Either he's gotten himself a new contact in GCPD forensics or a very alarming new meta. 50/50.

But Daniel's smile is 100 percent going to be a pain in his ass.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #tim drake #pretty sure this has been done before #i think there was even a fic with mortician!Danny #anyway #cork prompts #im so deep in the writer's block holy fuck

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keferon · 2 months ago

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Sigh. I wasn’t strong enough to stop. I wrote a fic too

———————————

The thing is.

The procedure is designed to help.

Jazz isn't sure Prowl is getting help.

Organics are fragile.

Most of the ones Jazz had met were, at least. Flesh is more susceptible to environmental influences than metal. Flesh accumulates damage faster, both external and internal. It often generates it itself.

The processes and causes are often a mystery to Jazz, but he's familiar with the general concept.

Organics are fragile.

That's why Jaz isn't very surprised by the crowds of medical personnel scurrying around a human military base.

As Prowl explained to him, humans don't have the built-in ability to open a HUD and perform self-diagnostics. Most of the time all you get is a vague signal in the form of pain in the injured area or nausea or changes in body temperature and things like that.

Pilots have to be constantly monitored by special people who are trained to do diagnostics. Not just medics. Scientists, engineers. There's a surprising number of things that can go wrong with a person hooked up to a machine. It's weird for Jazz. He's used to coming in for physical exams only when something's obviously wrong. Pilots are supposed to get checks just in case anything about them in theory could start breaking down in the future.

The thing is.

The procedure is designed to help.

Jazz isn't sure Prowl is getting help.

He spots the scientist in purple pretty quickly. A crowd of white-haired pilots is a nightmare to identify but this particular organic catches his attention almost instantly.

He's quite...extravagant looking. And he's practically glued to Prowl. They're involved in something together that Jazz isn't sure about, but Prowl looks...wobbly...when he returns from his visits to Tarantulas. And not in a funny way.

Tarantulas holds a special interest in Prowl. Special access, too. Whenever Prowl is injured, Tarantulas is the one who must be contacted immediately. Prowl's mech system needs an upgrade - Tarantulas must be consulted.

Tarantulas slips into the crevices and oozes between the plates. His hands are all over Prowl's personal space and Jazz doesn't really know what he should do about it because Prowl apparently doesn't mind.

Tarantulas dictates what he can and can't eat. What medications he should take and what software he should use.

Tarantulas gives him these little white bracelets with the information he writes on them for the other medics, because Prowl is special for some reason and only Tarantulas has instructions for him.

Knockout wipes his hands with some kind of special napkin and jerks his head around

“If you're looking for Prowl, he's in the labs for a physical.”

Jazz pretends this information is as mundane to him as it is to everyone else on this base

“Why can't you or the other medics examine him?”

“None of us have time to deal with the creepy experiments Prowl is constantly involved in” snorts Knockout ”Last time I checked his blood could dissolve plastic. Haha figuratively of course! Don't look at me like that!”

Jazz smiles, but there's no friendliness behind that smile

“Is this scientist doing experiments on Prowl?”

“Ah. As a matter of fact. Yes. Listen...” Knockout hastily picks up the first aid kit and walks towards the med bays “You'd better ask him yourself. My shift ends in ten minutes, I'm not in the mood to start anything now.”

Jazz nods

“Suuure , no problem.”

“Can I ask what you do in there?”

Prowl has this...look. The one that shows up usually after he gets back from the labs.

In his head, Jazz calls it “'Wobbly.” It's like Prowl's little organic body's joints are coming loose. If he had joints of course (Wait, humans have joints? Right?).

Prowl squints glumly, looking up at him

“Working on improving my mobility on the field.”

Jazz lets out a quiet “oooh.”

Then pulls himself back together

“Shouldn't that involve working on your armor, and not ..uh. you?”

Prowl leans his back against the wall.

“Installing new thrusters on a mech of my class doesn't make sense. They'll increase its speed, but they'll also burn fuel faster.

And installing larger fuel tanks is something reserved for Strikers. There's no way Orion would approve such an upgrade for me.”

Jazz carefully sits down on the floor next to Prowl. It still doesn't give him a good angle on his human's face, but Prowl stares at the floor anyway so...

“And you found some kind of loophole huh?”

Prowl gives a barely perceptible shrug.

“I did some calculations and noticed that the fuel used to run the Heavy Mechs is much more efficient. It's slower to burn out, and gives significantly better performance. Which makes sense, considering it's needed to compensate for the weight of the heavy armor. Used in my mech, it would give me a ten percent increase in speed and twice as much active usage time.

Jazz glares at the top of Prowl's head.

“Sounds like an epic idea, but I'm sensing a 'but' coming...”

“But it's highly toxic.”

“It's what??”

Prowl rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers

“Only heavy mechs can run this type of fuel because there's enough room in them to insulate the cockpit well enough from any possible chemical exposure.”

Jazz nervously pulls the servo toward Prowl but hesitates at the last second and places it on the floor next to him.

“Prowl. Prowl your armor is lovely but it's anything but heavy.”

“It is” nods Prowl “There isn't enough room in my mech to shield me from any negative effects, so Tarantulas is working on making me immune to them.”

“But that....kind of...why are you letting him? I'm no expert, but sitting inside poisoned armor can't be good for you. I don't know what he told you, but if you had asked even one other medic...”

Prowl finally lifts his head and stares into Jazz's optics for a couple seconds

“He didn't convince me of anything. I asked him to do it myself.”

“Prowl...”

“People have biases against Tarantulas but I assure you, he doesn't do anything I didn't consent to him doing. He likes to go outside the box in his research. He doesn't dismiss my ideas as too harsh. We collaborate.”

“.....”

“The result will be worth it. You'll see.”

Jazz is uncomfortable admitting it, but he sees.

The result is impressive.

Prowl can not only move fast, he can do it for a long time. He's getting more efficient (again), faster (again), better (Prowl's subjective assessment).

The maintenance team wears special masks when working on the internal systems of his mech. The fuel is toxic. Not to Jazz, but even Jazz wouldn't want it to get on his plating.

And humans are fragile.

All organics tend to be fragile.

And Prowl... little flesh-and-blood Prowl gets into this poisoned armor and it's considered acceptable? Because his organic body seems to have developed enough resistance to this kind of damage he only gets a “”mild, easily treatable“” poisoning? And Tarantulas adds another white bracelet to his arm with notes on what substances Prowl needs to put in his drinks to keep his internal components from accumulating damage.

Jazz isn't sure what to think about this.

Jazz doesn't know what to do about it.

And frankly. Does he have the right to get involved if this is what Prowl has chosen for himself?

Tarantulas is a creepy, haunting shadow hanging over Prowl at the slightest opportunity. Tarantulas takes Prowl to a lab and runs poison through his veins. Tarantulas adores Prowl for allowing him to do this.

Prowl insists that Tarantulas is helping.

Jazz doesn't think Prowl is getting help.

#maccadam #transformers #prowl #jazz #jazzprowl #tarantulas #reverse mecha au #reverse mecha art #reverse mecha writing #it might be taraprowl if you squint. But one sided because Prowl only sees Tarantulas as a coworker

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lowkeyren · 1 year ago

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reverse dating tropes w hsr men!

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — boothill, jing yuan, blade (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 1.5k, used up half my brain for this (the other half is for pt2 w aven sunday geppie!!), lovesick boothill + clingy jy + jealous blade fr, anyway pls enjoy! reblogs r appreciated <3

gepard aven sunday vers here!

boothill ꩜ .ᐟ

love at many sights with boothill whose memory card was tinkered with, and every time you meet, he thinks he's seeing you for the first time, so he falls for you over and over again.

when boothill returned from a dangerous mission, it was evident that he had endured significant damage. his once sleek and polished exterior was now marred by dents and scratches, and his mechanical limbs were either partially missing or severely damaged. the exposed wiring, usually neatly tucked away beneath scraps of metals, now hung in tangled strands, sparking occasionally with residual energy.

he looked barely salvageable. it's safe to say that the mechanics had a hell of a time fixing him.

though they were skilled enough to piece him back together, his memory card wasn’t as lucky. a tinkering in his system left him incapable of recalling or retaining information in his synthetic brain, temporarily —leaving the mechanics scrambling to find a solution.

weeks later, you find yourself walking down the familiar corridors of the laboratory where your favourite cyborg is being held for reparation.

boothill’s eyes immediately land on yours when you enter the lab. “well ain’t this a surprise! haven’t seen ya in a good long while.” boothill drawls, tipping his hat your way, his voice carrying a metallic twang.

"i heard you took a bit of a tumble, figured someone should come make sure you didn’t lose all your screws." you shrug nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips.

boothill's eyes flicker for a moment, taking in the curve forming on your lips. he thinks you’re adorable with that infectious smile of yours.

“heh, nothin’ bad, just had a r-r-run in with some cuties" he says, failing to hide the glitch that caused his voice to stutter. (and that damn synesthesia beacon! he swears he’ll get it fixed this time around…)

“guess you took more than a tumble huh...” you lean casually against the workbench, the sterile scent of machinery and the hum of various devices filled the air; your gaze sweeps over the freshly repaired parts of boothill's metallic frame, “anyway, glad to see that you’re mostly fine now."

“aww! do ya care ‘bout me?” he teases, his grin widening, revealing his pointy teeth peeking out mischievously. you don’t reply, your eyes glinting with the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them.

"boothill, we go through this every time, your memory card's still damaged. you forget things sometimes, so for the 5th time this week, yes i do care about you.”

boothill's expression shifts, a mixture of realization and sheepishness crossing his features. "right, right," he murmurs, scratching the back of his head with his metallic hand. "sorry 'bout that, sugar. guess i just keep forgettin'."

you chuckle and shake your head, finding the situation amusing. he feels like he might overheat from the sheer warmth radiating from your smile.

“you’re beautiful, date me.” (he didn’t mean to blurt that outloud)

you raise your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, “why thank you,” a surprised laugh escapes your lips.

“—and we’re already dating, silly.”

a shower of sparks erupts from his circuits, you can particularly hear the fans inside him sputter and whir. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face.

“wh- are you okay?! you’re short circuiting again!”

and this happens every time his memory lapses. you offer an apology to the mechanic on the next shift for the extra work required to fix yet another damaged wire after your visits. perhaps they should ban you from getting too close to boothill, lest he completely breaks down again like that one time where you told him, yes you actually kissed before.

jing yuan ୭ ˚.

"secret relationship" with jing yuan but he is completely unaware of how his public displays of affection towards you keep revealing the supposed secrecy of your relationship.

on the rare case that the general is found in his office, you are there too, beside him.

“pleeeease? just one kiss, really really miss you, darling”

“no jing yuan, not now…”

he wraps his arms around you as he leans in, caging you from the back. he rests his chin on your shoulder, “then how about a kiss on the cheeks?” he murmurs in your ear. you try to push him away, but he just chuckles softly against your neck, his arms still secure around you.

“no, and get off me before someone sees!” you protest, feeling your face flush from the close proximity, and the tightening of his arms suggests that he has no intention of releasing you just yet.

this stubborn man… you swear you’re gonna burst a blood vessel someday.

as if to echo your exasperation; he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, peppering it with nibbles and gentle kisses. jing yuan certainly knows how to test your limits, yet his affectionate gestures never fail to chip away at your resolve.

suddenly, a series of loud knocks come from the door, you freeze, and immediately attempt to wiggle your way out of his grasp. but he remains unfazed, his hold on you firm, and seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

the door bursts open, “general! there’s a situation at starskiff ha—ven...” yanqing trails off as his eyes widen at your position. the room falls into a momentary silence as yanqing's gaze shifts between you and his general, his expression reflecting a blend of shock and embarrassment.

clearing his throat awkwardly, yanqing stammers, "i-im sorry for interrupting... i’ll t-take my leave now!” with a hurried nod, he practically sprints out of the room.

oh bless that kid’s poor eyes…

you shoot a glare at jing yuan from the corner of your eyes, you just know that he has a shit eating grin on his face right now. nowadays, it’s probably common knowledge that the general’s most treasured person is you, evidently shown by how he latches himself onto you every time you’re within his vicinity. you wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of xianzhou knows about your supposed “secret” relationship.

“so… can i have my kiss now?”

aeons, he’s insufferable. (you love him tho!!!!!)

blade ؛ ଓ

"fake dating" with blade but you are actually dating —somehow everyone is convinced you aren't.

“blink twice if you need help.” march whispers-shout; dan heng leans against the doorway, blocking the way into your room, nods in agreement.

“this is absurd… i’m alright guys, really!” you try to reassure your friends, frustration edging into your voice. though no matter how many times you insist that no blade isn't holding you hostage and that you are indeed in a relationship with him, they seem convinced otherwise, somehow deducing that you're not able to speak freely.

you sigh in resignation, knowing that they aren’t going to relent anytime soon, and with blade idling in your room, you can't afford to keep him waiting any longer. “dan heng please, let me through, he’s been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes now…”

“good, let him wait.” dan heng responds curtly. (what a guy)

march takes hold of your hands, “do you owe the stellaron hunters something, and him out of everyone?! he looks scary…and totally not your type!”

“not their type?” a low voice rings out from behind dan heng, the three of you turn immediately and see blade looming at your doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

“stellaron hunter. stay back.” dan heng furrows his eyebrows, his stance defensive as he pulls out his weapon, positioning himself to block you and march. sensing the growing tension, you step forward, reaching out to gently grasp at dan heng’s shoulder.

(blade’s expression darkens at your hand resting on him)

“it’s okay dan heng, he means no harm.” dan heng hesitates, his grip on his weapon remains tight, but he doesn't move to strike. so you slowly move between him and blade, “see? i’m fine… he’s not gonna hurt me.” you smile reassuringly at your friends.

just then, as if to further aggravate dan heng, blade settles his hand on your waist. dan heng’s hand is visibly twitching now. “what? can’t i touch what’s mine?”

dan heng’s eyes narrow, “...we still don’t believe you, leave now. before it’s too late.”

before you can interject, blade grabs your chin, silencing any words of protest with a sudden kiss. caught off guard, your eyes widen as the unexpected gesture leaves you momentarily stunned. but you soon reciprocate his kiss, his intensity drawing you in.

(march quickly covers her eyes with her hands)

“there. now leave us alone.” and with that, he pulls you into your room, slamming the door shut behind, pinning you against it.

it’s just the both of you now, finally.

“did you really have to touch him.” his voice tinged with possessiveness. “blade, he would’ve hurt you, i didn’t mean—” he shuts you up with another kiss, more desperate this time, welp guess you’re stuck with him for the night.

though your friends might not believe that a person like you would “be in cahoots” with someone as dangerous as him; convincing them otherwise is a task for another time. tonight, he wants your attention focused solely on him, and him only.

✧.*

masterlist gepard aven sunday vers here!

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nasa · 1 year ago

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Setting Sail to Travel Through Space: 5 Things to Know about our New Mission

Our Advanced Composite Solar Sail System will launch aboard Rocket Lab’s Electron rocket from the company’s Launch Complex 1 in Māhia, New Zealand no earlier than April 23, at 6 p.m. EDT. This mission will demonstrate the use of innovative materials and structures to deploy a next-generation solar sail from a CubeSat in low Earth orbit.

Here are five things to know about this upcoming mission:

1. Sailing on Sunshine

Solar sails use the pressure of sunlight for propulsion much like sailboats harness the wind, eliminating the need for rocket fuel after the spacecraft has launched. If all goes according to plan, this technology demonstration will help us test how the solar sail shape and design work in different orbits.

2. Small Package, Big Impact

The Advanced Composite Solar Sail System spacecraft is a CubeSat the size of a microwave, but when the package inside is fully unfurled, it will measure about 860 square feet (80 square meters) which is about the size of six parking spots. Once fully deployed, it will be the biggest, functional solar sail system – capable of controlled propulsion maneuvers – to be tested in space.

3. Second NASA Solar Sail in Space

If successful, the Advanced Composite Solar Sail System will be the second NASA solar sail to deploy in space, and not only will it be much larger, but this system will also test navigation capabilities to change the spacecraft’s orbit. This will help us gather data for future missions with even larger sails.

4. BOOM: Stronger, Lighter Booms

Just like a sailboat mast supports its cloth sails, a solar sail has support beams called booms that provide structure. The Advanced Composite Solar Sail System mission’s primary objective is to deploy a new type of boom. These booms are made from flexible polymer and carbon fiber materials that are stiffer and 75% lighter than previous boom designs. They can also be flattened and rolled like a tape measure. Two booms spanning the diagonal of the square (23 feet or about 7 meters in length) could be rolled up and fit into the palm of your hand!

5. It’s a bird...it’s a plane...it’s our solar sail!

About one to two months after launch, the Advanced Composite Solar Sail System spacecraft will deploy its booms and unfurl its solar sail. Because of its large size and reflective material, the spacecraft may be visible from Earth with the naked eye if the lighting conditions and orientation are just right!

To learn more about this mission that will inform future space travel and expand our understanding of our Sun and solar system, visit https://www.nasa.gov/mission/acs3/.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #space #technology #explore #space exploration #Sun #solar sail #launch #tech #Youtube

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baxndaid · 8 months ago

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rick sanchez x reader

headcannons or something idk i like old men read my stanford x readers here too x <- POLL AT THE END !!

- you’re probably a family friend, you come over every once in a while to supervise morty and summer while jerry and beth try to rekindle their failing marriage

- you do a horrible job because the kids always end up sneaking out with their grandpa to kill some god or something absurd like that

- your oblivious, rick isn’t necessarily cold towards you, just indifferent

- he would rather be elsewhere than in the living room talking to some random person that beth insists on having in her house

- one day you catch them sneaking out and probably hide inside of the trunk of ricks car(?) because curiosity killed the cat or something like that

- the cars system would probably inform him that he has an unexpected visitor and your caught red handed, now inside the passenger seat with morty and his grandfather

- awkward would not be enough to describe what that whole journey was

- rick would berate you for being so stupid, telling you that you had no survival skills getting into strangers cars like that

- morty sat in silence, disappointed that he couldn’t go to “boob world” or whatever he called it

- you see, you’re a professional glazer

- it’s not even unintentional like you’re genuinely super impressed by this guy what the fuck do you mean he’s fucked a planet?? crazy work me next

- he decides to keep you around to stroke his ego, it’s refreshing to have someone who’s not always busting his balls about morality and space laws

- and having someone as attractive as you worship him like a god sounded good to him

- after a while he’ll definitely enjoy your company but pretend he’s super cool and suave , pretending that he’s not excited to spend some time with you

- morty gets a little concerned at the fact that his grandpa has taken a liking to you, with with beth

- they know what he’s like, he’s brash and cold one minute, and a little normal the next

- they eventually give in though, they’ve never seen him so calm before, maybe you’ll change him and his chaotic ways

- (you can’t and you won’t)

- he’s super distant when he realises he might have genuine feelings for you, it’s not like him at all to feel all mushy

- truth is, he’s lonely, he’s sad, he’s afraid that things won’t work out, something bad happens to you etc, then he’s back to being lonely

- yeah he’ll probably be a little mean to you at first, to try and scare you off

- doesn’t work, so he gives up with the sass

- definitely builds you little trinkets and machines now and then

- you have no time to mow the lawn? he’s going to build self mowing grass for you (it’s a little sad)

- always stuck in traffic? he’s tinkered with your car and now whenever you drive by a traffic light it’ll always be green (so many casualties)

- too cold today? he’s going to discreetly push the sun a little closer to the earth, juuust a smidge

- he definitely butt dials you when he’s drunk only to cry on your lap until he sobers up and then pretends nothing happened, if he tells you anything particularly sensitive then your memories about it are going bye-bye

- it would take a lot for him to confess, for real

- normally though you’ll probably find a bunch of voice mails from him, he sounds rough and panicky, like he’s about to die in some stupid mission (you could always near morty crying in the background)

- he’ll tell you that he loves you, and that you make him forget about how much he hates himself

- forget about that though because in the very next voice mail he sounds normal again and is telling you to ignore what the last message said

- do not ignore it pls

- do something subtle but nice, like bake or cook him something, or buy him a new lab coat, anything

- he’ll probably get the hint soon

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick c137 #x reader #rick sanchez x reader #morty smith #rick and morty x reader #reader insert #xreader #beth smith #jerry smith #stanford x reader #ford x reader #gravity falls #rick x reader #diane sanchez

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keferon · 6 months ago

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Chapter 3 of Blurr’s storyline in Mecha AU!

Previous chapter

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers.

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Under the cut⤵️

——————————————————

It's Swindle's birthday.

He thinks it is.

He's pretty sure.

Since he was taken into the program, it's always hard to tell. It's like time flows differently here. He had a calendar, but Brawl put it somewhere a while ago and then forgot where it was. And they're not allowed to have phones yet. Though Swindle assumes Onslaught managed to steal one from someone anyway.

Shit. Where's the calendar?

Swindle remembers the date, but can't remember the month.

There's a strange static tingling sensation in the back of his head. If he turns his head too fast, it'll grow into an unpleasant pricking pain.

The last time in the lab was disgusting.

He can't remember what month it is. He's not even sure why it bothers him so much. Not that birthdays mean anything within the walls of the program.

He stops in the middle of the living room and looks around with a meticulous eye. He's already checked the beds, desk, and nightstands...hah.

“Hey have any of you seen my calendar?”

Vortex, sitting on top of the bunk bed shakes the ash off his cigarette right down into Blast Off's lap.

“Nope.”

“TEX YOU'RE LITTERING ON MY BED.”

“I could have ..torn it up” offers Brawl from across the room.

Swindle turns on his heels and angrily rests his arms at his sides.

“You tore it?”

“I might have,” Brawl scratches the back of his head.

Swindle pinches the bridge of his nose

That's fine. Not that he cares that much. Not that any celebration at all would save the crappy day.

He has some new “experimental” medical procedure scheduled for later, which generally means suffering. Or if he's lucky, some critter will attack the city and instead of squirming on the slab, he'll have to go cuddle with huge nasty beasts. Which is slightly better than the actual procedures. He'd like that to happen. If only his head would also stop buzzing....

“Happy birthday to me” Swindle thinks, sticking his Mech hand under the plates of a particularly ugly monster and pulling something disgustingly oozing green blood out of there. He can see the faces of the random gawkers who didn't have time to evacuate. Ooh, some of them got that nasty stuff on their faces. Swindle has no time to feel sorry for them.

The monster did attack, but it's entirely possible that this monster ended the last meager supply of luck Swindle had. Because somewhere. Something. In his head begins to hurt again and the world in front of his eyes begins to slowly blur and..

ahh FUCK….

The monster grabs him knocks him to the ground and Swindle can literally feel in his bones that something's wrong, but the data from his Mech doesn't give him any useful information. Which isn't that uncommon. These things are glitchy as hell and aren't designed to recognize anything but the most basic popular malfunctions.

The word “error” shines mockingly in his face. Blurring in his eyes and reflecting in red on his uniform.

Error, error, what the hell is this error. He needs to know what's wrong so he doesn't accidentally kill himself, but all this bucket offers him is oops. You're in trouble teeheee~

He can hear the sound of Blast Off's giant cannon in the distance. And the loud rumble where Vortex and Onslaught are trying to get out of the ring of monsters.

His Mech is unresponsive. His damn machine refuses to move and Swindle isn't quite sure if it's the Mech that's the problem, because his head feels like a piece of raw rotten meat and maybe the error meant that what's broken is him.

The monster leans over him, trying to rip off whatever it can rip off and thank god this thing apparently isn't smart enough to realize that the Mech is controlled from the head because it's aiming straight for his chest.

He needs to get out. If he can't get this thing to move, he needs to get the fuck out of it before the alien gets him.

He manages to open the emergency hatch and quietly slip out and ohhhh the world is spinning, this is not bloody good.

He manages to take a few steps before a loud B A N G comes from somewhere above and IS THAT A TRAIN???? Who in their right mind would think of using a fucking train as a throwing weapon???? Is that Brawl? It's got to be Brawl. Oh, Swindle is so gonna kill him.

Because (sadly) in addition to the monster, the train and Swindle, there's also physics involved in this circus.

So while the monster is effectively brought to rest and knocked sideways with a hole in it’s head, the train stops its forward motion and starts its downward motion.

Right onto Swindle's head.

He just has time to think that dying from a train falling out of the sky is a pretty creative death. His legs are shaking, his head is buzzing and he only manages to take half a sluggish step in an attempt to avoid the inevitable when a loud “MOVE” comes to his ears and something yanks him to the side.

The tug sends fire down his spine and head. The ensuing landing reverberates with pain in his shoulder and sides. He barely has time to process the first two sensations until a moment later he hears a rumble so deafening that he thinks his eardrums are about to burst.

Swindle props himself up on his elbows and hisses in pain as the movement causes the back of his head to sting.

“Ah I'll fuckin' kill him...”

A voice comes above him

“Ouw dude. You okay?”

There's.. Some teenager hovering over him. And behind him is lying...the wrecked train...right where Swindle himself was standing a second ago.

The strange teen frowns worriedly and pulls Swindle upright and drags him somewhere else

“Come on, it's best not to be in the open during monster attacks”

“Ah” thinks Swindle ”right. Without Mech you're a pathetic tiny piece of chop begging to be stomped on by Brawl.”

He tries to focus on balance so he doesn't hang too much on this kid.

They find the nearest unlocked door, which turns out to be the entrance to an underground bar.

“So” says the stranger, letting go of Swindle and shaking the dust off his hair ” You're a pilot! That's so cool, but you're kinda small for a pilot.”

Swindle sighs sullenly.

“I'll let you have that one comment about my height because you helped me, but next time you're dead.”

“Helped? I saved your ass.”

“Helped a lot” says Swindle grudgingly. “Thanks.”

The teen laughs and climbs into the bar. It's a mess everywhere, people clearly evacuated in a hurry and threw everything in haste.

“What's your name? Oh, or, wait. Do you guys use code names? I've heard pilots call each other by call signs, but half the time those call signs sound so dumb, I don't see how they can respond to that.”

He waits for the kid to cut off his flow of words to take a breath. Man, what a chatty boy.

“You can call me Swindle.”

“Kay” the kid pulls out a couple glasses ”I'm Blurr. Would you like something Swindle? I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at mixing cocktails.”

Swindle looks around the room suspiciously. The bar, even though it's underground, looks pretty good. Too good, in fact. The place is clearly not for the poor.

He walks over to the bar and climbs onto a bar stool. There's no one else in here but them, but the electricity is on so he doesn't doubt for a second that they're being filmed by a security camera right now. Maybe a few even.

Blurr throws him an expectant look.

Swindle pretends to go through his pockets. As if there could be money in them out of nowhere. Then he makes a comically confused face and spreads his hands.

“Oh, no, I think I left my millions at home. What's the cheapest thing you have?”

Blurr snorts.

“Ice is free.”

“I'll take the ice then” nods Swindle.

There is a loud rumbling sound above them. It must be Vortex having fun again bouncing on the aliens that have fallen to the ground, crushing their heads.

Swindle is just. He takes off his helmet, takes a glass of ice and presses it to his head enjoying the way the nasty buzzing recedes.

Blurr waits for the rumbling to recede before speaking again.

“But really. You're a pilot but...uh. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Swindle sends him his best grumpy look. It's not exactly a joke about his height, but it's damn close.

“Are you old enough to pour?”

“Sure,” says Blurr too fast for it to be true. If Swindle had to guess, he'd say the guy in front of him is no older than seventeen. The tattered jeans and the T-shirt with the F1 logo printed on it definitely don't help. And, hey, those headphones look very expensive. So do the sneakers. Kid's clearly from a wealthy family.

Blurr pulls out a bottle of syrup from somewhere and pours it straight into his mouth. Doesn't miss, which is amusing. Doesn't wince, which is frankly impressive. Swindle feels the unbearable sweetness just looking at him.

It suddenly hits him

“Hey, do you have a phone?”

“Sure,” Blurr pours himself more syrup. Swindle twitches.

“What's the day today?”

Blurr's mouth is full of an unimaginable amount of sugar, so he just pulls out his phone and turns its screen toward Swindle and oh...oh. He was wrong about the date. And the month, too. It's not his birthday. His birthday was a week ago...

Does that mean he must be nineteen now? Yeah, that makes him nineteen.

Blurr takes the phone back and slips it into his pocket.

“Your face looks funny.”

“I just realized it's my birthday today,” smiles Swindle.

“Oooooooohh~~~” rejoices Blurr ”Congratulations! It's kind of poetic that you almost died just today. Can you imagine how funny the numbers on your tombstone would have looked.”

Swindle chokes on air.

“That's certainly a very appropriate comment, thank you...”

“Sorry haha said without thinking.” Blurr reaches under the counter again and pulls out a bottle from there “Hey, they have more syrups!”

There's another loud rumble from upstairs.

Blurr presses his head into his shoulders and stares up at the ceiling as if hoping to see something through it.

Swindle puts his elbows and head on the tabletop

“Don't worry, it's just Brawl.”

Blurr doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling

“ You can tell that by the sound of falling concrete?”

Swindle lazily dangles his feet. The chair is high and even the toes of his shoes don't reach the floor.

“Brawl is the loudest. And the heaviest, too. He's always crashing into everything, throwing things and breaking things too. You can hear him a mile away.”

He pauses to listen

“And that kch-ooooooooomm is Blast Off's cannon. It's some super rare experimentally advanced one, so it sounds like something out of a space movie. He couldn't stop bragging about it for half a year when he got it.”

Blurr chuckles and leans his elbows on the counter, relaxing.

“ And this...uh...what's this?”

“That's Vortex, he's our local lunatic. Best not to listen too much to what he does, it's almost always disgusting in ways you would never even consider.”

Blurr makes a disgruntled face and is silent for a couple minutes.

“It's weird hearing you call them by their names. I mean, I kind of always knew Mechs were run by people but you guys are never seen, so most of the time it's just.. Huge robots and huge monsters. You know what I mean. I was actually surprised when I saw you get out of that Mech.”

Swindle just nods. Because, what else is there to add.

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”.

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his glum mood

“Oh, hey. If it's no secret, why did you go into piloting in the first place?”

Because he had no choice? He can't answer that, that information isn't for civilians.

Because he didn't know what he was getting into until it was too late? That's not vague enough either.

Because he was up to his neck in debt and barely into college before a smiling man showed up on his doorstep and offered him good money if he agreed to a couple tests...?

“I had to do it for the people.” Swindle decides to repeat a line of propaganda.

“Ohhhh.... That's...a good reason. The monsters are disgusting, of course. But the reason is cool.”

Swindle just. Holds his glass of melting ice, listens to Blurr's mutterings, and enjoys the peace. This random teenager is not his superior or colleague and has nothing to do with the organization at all. Swindle doesn't have to remember to salute or follow orders or fear being reported to his superiors.

He can just. Be.

Just him and his free ice and his saved for free life.

That's. Sweet.

Blurr's drinking syrup again.

...and a little disgusting.

—————————-

Brawl jumps out of bed, hits his head on a shelf hanging on the wall and drops everything on it onto Blast Off's head

“Swindle!!!” yells Brawl.

“Why are these books sticky???” shrieks Blast Off.

“You don't wanna know~” giggles Vortex.

Swindle sighs.

“You're alive!!!” ignores Blast Off Brawl's complaints. And a second later runs up and pulls Swindle off the floor in a crushing bear hug.

Behind them, Blast Off, with his face wrinkled in disgust, gathers all the dropped books back onto the shelf.

Swindle wheezes pathetically and slaps Brawl's arm with his palm, either to reciprocate the gesture or to beg for mercy

“Br...khaaaaah...Brawl I can't breathh.”

“OH. I'm uh. Here. Wait.”

Brawl puts him back on the floor and runs back to the shelf.

Onslaught, who has peeked into the room, puts a hand on Swindle's shoulder

“You've been gone a long time. Boss said you tried to escape.”

His tone isn't judgmental. And not pressuring. Not even questioning, but Swindle knows Onslaught wants more information. Swindle clutches a piece of napkin with a phone number in his pocket and smiles weakly.

“I've found a...friend? I think?”

Onslaught nods. In a manner that only he knows how to do. Not giving an opinion, not encouraging or condemning. Just taking in the information. Swindle admires him for that.

Behind them, Brawl pulls some piece of paper out from under the books that have just been put away and drops them again

“FUCK!” yells Blast Off. Vortex just starts hooting like a hyena.

“Hey Swindle I found the calendar!” yells Brawl waving the paper.

Swindle frowns in surprise.

“It's a different calendar...”

“I found you a new one.” nods Brawl.

“...Why...is it...it's torn in half?”

“It had stupid flowers drawn on it, so I ripped them off. And I accidentally ripped off more than I needed.”

“Ah,” says Swindle, clutching the calendar, ”That's...Thanks. I forgive you for losing the previous one.”

Behind them, Blast Off is trying to strangle Vortex with a jacket.

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

Blurr waves his arms happily like a hyperactive windmill.

“Swindle!!!”

Swindle smiles and adjusts his glasses

“Your party can be seen from across city.”

“I know~~” primps Blurr “Are you hungry? There was a snack table around here somewhere.”

“I didn't bring any money.” lies Swindle.

“Hey man, it's a party. Help yourself, it's free.”

“Оh.” Swindle's mood instantly brightens. “All right, then.”

“You look terrible” Blurr decides to share.

Swindle, busy shoveling food into his pockets, nods.

“I've had a rough week. Actually, it'd be cool if you didn't tell anyone you saw me here. I'm kind of not supposed to be here.”

He doesn't elaborate.

Blurr is a civilian. In his mind, a rough week is rude people or an exam or bad weather. Swindle's bad week is strap marks on his wrists and double vision. It's nausea from injections and sleepless nights because Vortex won't stop screaming in his sleep.

Blurr doesn't know that. With him, Swindle can pretend to be somewhat normal.

-----------

“Heeeeey“ says Blurr ‘I haven't seen you in a long time~"

“That” thinks Swindle ”is a pretty standard phrase for both of them.

Blurr looks older. Taller too. He was taller than Swindle before, but now that difference is starting to look almost comical. He's also flaunting a cast on his arm.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Didn't make a turn at training” waves Blurr off “It's no big deal. Wanna go find something to eat?”

Blurr is always trying to feed him, Swindle notices over time. Offers him drinks or snacks or whatever.

“ I like your uh..cap?”

“I got a promotion” Swindle smiles proudly “Me and the guys were made a special group...actually you're not allowed to know more than that, so you'll have to take my word for it when I say we are officially cool.”

He purposely adjusts his cap by the brim so Blurr can get a good look at it.

Blurr makes a delighted sound. Something between a “wow” and a giggle. He generally makes a lot of sounds all the time. Tapping his fingers on every hard surface, stomping in place like he's always late for something, laughing, whistling, clicking his tongue. A human orchestra.

__________

Onslaught sits down next to Swindle and clutches his hands in his lap in front of him. This makes the bed legs squeak pitifully. Onslaught has grown surprisingly large. He can almost rival Brawl in height already. Most people find that intimidating, but Swindle just thinks Onslaught is like a wall. A big, solid concrete wall that's so good to hide behind.

“Be careful with what you tell this guy.”

“Don't worry” says Swindle ”He's not the type of friend you tell secrets to. He's just a fun dude who's great to hang out with.”

Onslaught hums.

“And who feeds you for free.”

“If that's how you're trying to ask me to share, you're not doing a very good job.”

Vortex snaps his fingers as he walks past them

“Hey Swindler, the lab is closed for today. It's your day off.”

“Wha...”

Onslaught tilts his head.

“Vortex. What did you do?”

“I spat in their dna sample vault” proudly proclaims Vortex “and didn't tell them exactly where.”

-----———————-

Blurr frowns.

“Hey...are you okay?”

“No” thinks Swindle.

“My friend died” he says instead.

He's not okay. He feels like an animal caught in a beartrap, trying to chew off its own paw to get free.

Except the trap is closed around Swindle's head and it's not a body part he can afford to lose.

There's been a lot of talk. Even more rumors. Swindle listened but tried not to believe.

And then one of pilots, Shockwave… was taken to the lab and brought back a different damn man and it felt like Swindle had the rug pulled out from under his feet with hot coals underneath.

Because Swindle's boss, with his stupid, rehearsed smile, started writing reports about how “human personality flaws are something that can be fixed. That challenging behavior is something that can be repaired with tools.

Blurr freezes.

“Who?”

“Vortex.”

Because of course it's Vortex. Talented but difficult to handle. Powerful but uncontrollable.

They wanted a pilot who would be a beast on the battlefield and a loyal dog on base. And who else would be a more ideal test subject than him?

Vortex was being very rude that day, even by Vortex standards. Yelling and swearing and throwing things around. Kept saying that no shitty lab could make him “a fucking puppet.”

Scratching the stitches on his head until he started leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He went on a mission.

And never came back.

The reports said it was all the monsters' fault. That Vortex was unstable. That the accident had nothing to do with the new technology. But it was nevertheless suspended.

Swindle is both bitter and amused by this. Vortex would eat the same monsters for breakfast any other day. The bastard was unkillable.

“Oh my god” says Blurr “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

He says something else. Probably comforting. About how Vortex died protecting people, maybe. About Vortex being a hero.

“Vortex,” thinks Swindle, ”loved life. He loved adrenaline and danger and pain and thrill and fear, but he never wanted to die. They did something to him. Something that made him go over the edge.”

Vortex got his head in the trap and ripped it off to escape it.

Swindle knows him and the others are next. And knows that no one but themselves can help them.

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

Blast Off seems...very quiet. He could never stop complaining about Vortex before. Yelling about the garbage. Resenting the unmade bed and the cigarette ashes.

Vortex's bed remains unmade.

Blast Off regularly cleans everything up, but never wipes away the little circles of ash from the places where Vortex used to put out cigarettes on the furniture.

Onslaught puts his hand on Swindle's shoulder and squeezes. Not hard. Just enough for Swindle to register the gesture as important.

Standing nearby, Blast Off lights a cigarette and leans on Onslaught.

“Ons told me about your plan. I want to join in.”

“What kind of plan? Can I get involved?” inquires Brawl.

Onslaught sighs.

“Repeat after me - I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“Good job” nods Onslaught “From now on, every time they ask you any - listen. Any! Question about us, you will answer them with this phrase.”

“Got it,” grins Brawl.

Swindle smiles.

“Gentlemen, it's time to violate all that is written, and rewrite all that is violated.”

__________________

Blurr lazily takes his eyes off the phone. He's wearing a racing suit and tons of hairspray. He's shiny and gleaming like a fine collectible figurine that should be on the shelf of an expensive exhibit. He's also bored.

“Sorry buddy, the interview is long over, if you have any questions you'll have to pay for the session.”

Swindle smiles.

“How about one tiny little question?”

Blurr makes funny big eyes.

“SWINDLE!!! I haven't seen you in a thousand years! You...oh I didn't recognize you haha sorry. Nice coat. You quit being a pilot?”

Swindle proudly adjusts his glasses. He's wearing a brand-new, ironed shirt that's exactly his size. Nice neat tie, expensive coat. Swindle isn't surprised Blurr didn't recognize him immediately. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. After all those years of wearing the pilot's uniform, he felt almost attached to it. And yet here he is.

“You could say I moved.” he winks snarkily, “Up. All the Mechs you see on the streets now are my Mechs~”

Blurr completely forgets about his phone.

“REALLY?? Oh man congrats to you!”

“Thanks” nods Swindle ”You want something to drink? I'm buying.”

———————-

Onslaught adjusts his tie. It's still, years later, a little strange to see him in a uniform instead of a pilot's suit.

“You do realize it's going to be hard to find a person like that, right? We need someone famous enough to be effective and dumb enough to want to save mankind instead of sunbathing on a yacht.”

Swindle adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair.

Someone outgoing so they can quickly befriend all the right people. Handsome enough to have their face printed on a poster. Smart just enough not to say too much. And not associated with Mecha program so they can't be accused of trying to get promoted through their acquaintances.

Someone who already has everything but still willing to put themselves at risk for the cause.

“You know, I think I have a possible candidate.”

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #mecha writing #mecha kef writing #mecha bs writing #mecha cbc writing #Blurr #Swindle #Onslaught #Vortex #Brawl #Blast Off #this one is kinda Swindle centric #I just wanted to give more context for his friendship with Blurr:)#Also some Vortex lore

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ironedsleeper · 11 months ago

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Hey so if y’all heard of a big IT outage today thats thanks to the fine folks over at Crowdstrike. I see a lot of people blaming Microsoft and while they have plenty to answer for this actually isn’t their fault. See Crowdstrike is a cybersecurity company that has customers all over the world, you’ll likely see in the news that a lot of airlines use them for example.

What Im not seeing reported on at all is that hospitals use them too. I was at the hospital last night with my girlfriend when everything went down, every computer in the building blue-screened. It wasn’t panic, those nurses were absolutely badass and kept everything calm, going room to room informing patients and letting everyone know they were working on switching to pen and paper. No printers by the way so it was literally pen and paper.

Crowdstrike still hasn’t released a statement, though the ceo did make a tweet that included, “we are deeply sorry for the inconvenience and disruption”. There was a patient admitted to triage while we were in the hospital who wasn’t responsive so the hospital staff couldn’t do anything. They couldn’t pull up records, couldn’t run labs, they had no way of knowing what medications he might have been allergic to.

“Deeply sorry for the inconvenience” as the entire nicU lost their computer systems at the Phoenix Children’s Hospital.

Maybe just keep in mind when youre making jokes about this that this massive fuckup had a cost in human lives.

#crowdstrike

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soclearlytosee · 13 days ago

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I'm starting to think that ep 6 will involve El piggybacking into Vecna's Mindscape via Will's mind.

We know from pap photos/videos that Lucas and Robin speed to the hospital in Joyce's car for a big sequence there that seems to bridge episode 5 and episode 6. The other three major members of their group at this point are Will, Joyce, and Mike, so it makes sense that those three are together - maybe even in an ambulance heading to the hospital as well. (I believe this connection first came from @/pinkeoni and @/finalgirllwillbyers)

This is conspiracy theory brained but Noah is the only member of this midseason group that Shawn Levy (who is directing ep 6) didn't post a photo of in-costume on set, which could be because something spoilery is going on with Will visually in episode 6 (ie, that he's in a hospital gown or otherwise injured/indisposed).

I'm currently a loverslakegate agnostic but I do think signs point to Will having a traumatic experience in a body of water in episode 5. Lucas's pants also get muddy and he changes into the blue WSQK sweatshirt by the time they get to the hospital, and Joyce is the other one with the bonus outfit change somewhere around here.

El is in Shawn's photos of a confusing cross-section of the different midseason groups at WSQK, so she may be back from her Upside Down side quest by now. but regardless of her exact location, we know she can piggyback remotely.

As has been speculated for a while now, Escape from Camazotz likely refers to the vision that Henry has the kids in at the Creel House. Camazotz makes the most sense in that context since can assume Holly and her classmates call it that since they're reading A Wrinkle in Time in class.

so if that's the case, who is escaping? Max and Holly are our likeliest candidates.

Credits for a New Mexico unit have started to pop up on IMDB episodes 4, 6, and 8, and Sadie was placed in Albuquerque while that was active. It's likely those are Mindscape flashbacks of Henry in Nevada (in particular the incident alluded to in The First Shadow where Henry disappears for 12 hours on/around his 8th birthday in a cave system and comes back changed) and/or desert-y Dimension X. The Upside Down church set probably fits into this too.

basically, all these pieces make me think we could get something like:

Will is unconscious/indisposed by ep 5 into ep 6, maybe in relation to however his connection with Vecna is manifesting this season reaching its peak,

El and/or someone else in the group realizes that connection is an access point for El to get into Vecna's mind (looking to rescue Max and/or Holly),

there is a piggyback scenario where El, Will, Max, and possibly Holly witness some chunk of the big Henry lore reveal we know is coming,

and ultimately El and/or Will manage to free Max and/or Holly.

that would bring some resolution to a couple threads that should drive the first part of the season (finding Max, rescuing Holly from whatever her exact vanishing situation is) and uncover key information to tee up our final act.

I originally felt like Max wouldn't wake up until the very end of the main season plotline just because she'll be pretty physically frail, but her chair is in that photo of a huge group at Hawkins National Lab, which should be after this big hospital sequence chronologically.

hopefully if something like this happens we would get to spend some time in Will's mind too. the Nevada flashbacks also possibly being present in ep 4 maybe connects us to the 1979 flashback we're getting with Will, Mike, and Jonathan/Will's Mindscape generally, "Sorcerer" and all.

also, when they escape Camazotz the first time in A Wrinkle in Time with the missing person they went there to retrieve, they have to leave someone behind...

#we WILL make the will max el mindscape adventures agenda a reality #will byers #el hopper #max mayfield #st5 speculation #st5 spoilers #st5 leaks #stranger things

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pome-seed · 2 months ago

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The Soldier's Keeper ★ 33

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: A question you asked yourself, over and over again, through the past year, was is safety real? Is freedom real? Even now, as you lay in a warm, clean bed, surrounded by kind faces, you didn't trust it. Could you ever be safe again?

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Mention of torture. Needles. Angst. Loss. Missing Bucky.

Authors Note: I loved all the comments on the last chapter!!!! Thank you guys for always messaging me and commenting. I love the interactions. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Seeing is believing. You’d heard the saying many times before throughout life. And as a scientist, you were one of the people saying it.

When you see it, you’ll believe it.

But one day, something changed, and even sight felt like a lie. You couldn’t trust yourself anymore. Your thoughts, your senses, your mind. But even when you started to believe something was real, so real you could feel it, you couldn’t trust that it would last.

Because safety wasn’t something you could see. It was something you had to be. And you never thought you would ever feel safe again.

Your name is Y/n.

You remember your name. You remember your family. You remember your past. You remember the pain. You remember the fear. You haven't forgotten who you are.

You couldn’t.

And yet, everything felt wrong.

You laid in a clean, warm bed. White light surrounded you. Needles stuck in your veins, feeding an IV into your system. Your body was clean. Your hair was combed back out of your face.

You stared numbly at the ceiling, lines of fluorescent lights blinding you.

Everything was so bright, and felt so clean.

A stark contrast to the dark, cold hole you’d been left to rot in for weeks.

A figure moved to your left. You didn’t feel the urge to look, to move. You just wanted to sleep. But that figure moved again, now facing you. You blinked up at them, and the kind smile you were faced with. It was a woman, one you’d never seen before.

The woman fretted over you, but you could barely hold your focus. Your eyes rolled back as she drew close. You succumb to darkness.

The next time you woke, there was a woman with red hair sitting at the end of your bed, staring out the nearest window. Your lashes fluttered in a blink, your lids still crusted together slightly. The woman hadn’t seemed to notice your eyes rolling open. The woman chewed at her thumb nail, her pale nail turning red under the pressure.

You watched her through the corner of your eye, dragging your gaze over her form. She seemed familiar, but you just couldn’t place it. A part of you wondered if it was real at all, if you were real.

Weeks in solitude turned your mind into a stranger, and over time everything became warped.

You licked your cracked lips. “I-” no sound left your throat at first, your mouth too dry. “I know you,” you whispered.

The woman’s gaze snapped to you, the surprise in her eyes quickly shifting. “Hey,” she stood, slowly approaching the bed. You stiffened, the soft beeping from the machine beside you picking up. The woman raised her hands, offering peace. “I’m not gonna hurt you, you’re safe.”

The woman's voice was deep, slightly scratchy, but kind. Your gaze flickered over her face, recognition slowly dawning on you. “I’ve-” you licked your lips again, clearing your throat. “I’ve seen you…” you whispered, your voice cracking. “On tv.”

The woman nodded, “I’m Natasha. You’re…Y/n, right? I’ve seen you too, on tv.”

You blinked slowly, a shaky breath leaving your chest. You hadn’t heard someone else say your name in a long time. “You have?”

She nodded. “You’ve been on the news a few times. You’ve been missing.”

“Where…where am I?” Your head lolled to the side, seeing the large expanse of a high tech lab.

“You’re in the Avengers tower.” Natasha informed you. “You were being held captive in a Hydra base in Slovenia, out of eastern Europe.” She continued, her voice quiet, almost like she was trying not to make you panic.

“Slovenia…” you muttered, closing your burning eyes. Hot tears stung and dripped down your temples silently. An ache traveled and throbbed through your skull.

You're in the Avengers Tower. They found you.

They found you.

“Y/n, why were you there?”

Images of guilty blue eyes burned in your mind. You wondered, absently, how long it had been since you last saw him. It didn’t feel like it had been long, but you couldn’t tell. You dragged a heavy hand up to your left shoulder, sliding your fingers beneath your papery gown. Natasha watched you, confused.

Without much thought, you pressed gently against the bandages that wrapped around your previously gaping bullet wound. You winced, a sharp ache traveling through the previously torn muscles. The pain was noticeable, but not fresh. It had long since begun to swell closed.

Which could only mean it had been a long while since you last saw Bucky.

“Y/n?” Natasha called out to you.

“How long have… how long?”

“How long what?” Natasha responded.

“How long have I been gone?” A long silence followed, making you turn to look at the woman. The uneasy look on her face made your stomach turn. “Please…”

Dread built inside your stomach, curling and knotting.

“It’s been a little over a year since you disappeared from your lab.”

Those words, the reality of it all, sent a sickening ache through your body. Your throat closed up, bile rising. Your cheeks soured and you turned your head quickly. Natasha seemed to get the memo, and fetched a small trash can.

You retched, your body convulsing as saliva dripped into the bin. Your stomach was empty, which only made you feel more sick. You pressed your cheek into the pillow, shivering.

A year.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay-”

You shook your head. “I can’t-” you heaved, your spit smearing on the pillow. You squeezed your eyes closed, thoughts of your family and friends- your life- flashing through your head. You’d lost it all.

You knew it had been a long time. You had seen calendars in the corner stores. You had seen it in the changing weather. You knew time had passed. But actually hearing it changed everything.

You felt sick.

Your birthday had passed. Christmas, halloween, your friends and families lives. It had all flown past you.

You’d lost so much of your life. And there was a reason you stayed away.

“Y/n-”

“I can’t be here-” you whispered, realization dawning on you. “I was gone- I can’t come back.” You lost that time because there was no coming home. There was no coming back. They would find you. “They’re gonna kill me-” your trembling hands reached for the wires stuck to your chest. You needed to get out of there. You needed to go-

“Y/n, breathe-!” Natasha grabbed you by the wrists, keeping you from yanking out your IV. “Breathe!”

“They’re gonna kill me!” You sobbed dry tears.

“No one is coming!” Natasha urged. “You’re safe! You’re safe, Y/n!” Natasha held you still, slowly wishing she would have switched places with Steve. He was much better at things like this. “You’re with the Avengers, I told you.” Her voice softened. “We brought you straight here, nobody knows we have you.”

Those words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, your entire body went lax. “No-No one knows?” You whispered between staggered breaths.

“No one knows.” You stopped fighting her, allowing Natasha to slowly release you. “But we need to know, Y/n, why were you there?”

You took a second, hanging on her first words. No one knows. You’re a ghost, back in the states. The dread you’d grown so familiar with shifted from a sizzling burn, to a warm prick in your veins.

You released a trembling breath, your muscles relaxing.

Your ease lasted only a second, as Natasha repeated her question. Why were you a prisoner of Hydra? Why were you there? Your eyes slid closed, horrors flashing in the dark space that was your mind. The question was an easy one. But it wasn’t simple.

James Barnes was the reason you spent the last year and a half as a ghost. Bucky Barnes was the reason you had slipped into the shadows. The Winter Soldier was the reason Hydra wanted you dead.

Bucky.

Where was he? Was he safe? Had they caught him? They couldn’t have, or else they would have gotten rid of you on sight. He was alive. He was safe.

Natasha sighed softly, glancing at the machine that tracked your heartbeat. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” She muttered. You heard her footsteps fade, but your consciousness was already fading.

You were floating. Like a leaf, dropping from its home in the sky to drift along an icy river. You were foreign in your own body, like a dream blurring at the edges.

Nothing was real.

It was all just your broken, warped mind.

You couldn’t trust yourself. You couldn’t trust anyone.

You were lost.

Steve was the next to visit you. You had just woken up, having not realized when you fell asleep. You whimpered when you tried to stretch, your malnourished, bruised limbs aching. You heard the chair at the end of your bed creak, and then he was right there.

“Are you alright? Should I get the doctor?” Were his first words. His blonde hair seemed white under the fluorescent lights.

He looked different, standing before you now. You’d only ever seen the man in his famous suit, dressed in the flag of freedom. You’d only ever seen pictures. But here he was now, dressed in casual wear, staring down at you with these wide blue eyes.

You blinked up at him in awe.

Before all of this, before you were taken, before your life was destroyed, you’d had a fascination with his story. You always thought that Steve Rogers was one of the most incredible things the world had ever seen. A man out of time.

But now you looked at him with so much more than that childhood wonder. You looked at him knowing things he didn’t. You looked at him, your mind reeling and begging to spill everything you knew about Bucky.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. You didn’t know anything yet, and you needed to be sure.

“You…” you whispered, “you’re real?”

He cracked an awkward smile. “Yeah, I’m real, kid.”

You smiled ruefully, the nickname reminding you of Bucky. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he chuckled. “How are you feeling?” His big blue eyes looked droopy, soft and kind. For such a large man, he seemed so sweet.

“Awful,” you whispered, your smile wavering. He nodded in response, waiting for you to continue. “What’s going on?”

“We recovered you from a Hydra base located in Slovenia. Natasha said she already filled you in on that bit. Why you're here, that's a whole different matter.” Steve started, his voice steady, like he was still on duty. “You were the only prisoner there. They seemed awfully keen on keeping you hidden, too.”

You listened, staring blankly at the ceiling again. You had never left the small room they kept you in, so you really had no idea if there were others there, in that cold tunnel system.

“We brought you here because it seemed like the safest option,” he continued. “We haven’t alerted the media yet, or your family. We wanted to know what the circumstances were, first.”

“They can’t- they can’t know.” You blurted, your gaze darting back to his. He nodded, watching you with a pinched brow. “No one can know.”

“Why?”

It was such a loaded question, but such a reasonable one. How could you answer without giving everything away? “I…” you trailed, a guilty feeling turning in your gut. Steve waited, patiently.

What could you even say?

For a moment, you believe it was best to just tell him everything. But then you thought better of yourself. No one would want to find Bucky more than Steve. And that would be the most sure fire way to expose Bucky to the world. To every threat out there waiting for him.

You gaped up at him, shaking your head lightly. “I…”

Steve pressed his lips together, looking dissatisfied, but not surprised. “Alright. That’s okay.” His hand moved forward, but paused mid air, like he was going to pat your shoulder but thought better of it. “Can you at least tell me about your condition? The doctors did what they could to treat your surface wounds, but we didn’t want to do anything further until you woke up.”

You licked your cracked lips. “I, uh- can I get some water, first?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, like he hadn’t even thought about it. “Right- of course!” You watched his figure retreat around the corner of a short curtain pulled beside your bed. He returned after a moment with a plastic cup of water.

With your permission, he helped prop your bed up so you could drink. The water felt like it came straight from a clear glacier, the way it slid down your throat. You gulped it down with a gasp, then clutched the cup to your chest. After catching your breath, you continued.

“I’ve had more than a few problems…” you whispered. “They didn't carve into me, this time, thankfully.” After they’d scooped you up in Romania, you were expecting the worst. Only, there were no knives or clamps charged with electricity. They used the older methods, simple, like waterboarding, or pressing against the open gunshot wound in your shoulder. But nothing new.

You weren’t important enough.

“All of my internal wounds have… healed, somewhat.” You avoided the man's gaze, feeling the weight of his questions. You knew what he was thinking. She’s been with them for two years. Bucky’s been with them for decades. What had he endured? “I’ve been in the dark for weeks. That’s it. They just…waited.”

“What for?” He cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“To use me.” You knew the only reason they had to keep you alive was to find Bucky. You were their next best clue. And they would wait you out, if they had to. They wanted their asset back. “I knew something. That’s it. They just…They wanted to know.”

Steve nodded, his arms crossing over his chest. “That something, it's what you can’t say, right?” You nodded. “Alright. So, all of your injuries are either surface level, or somewhat healed? There's nothing pressing to worry about?”

You knew what he was asking. “They didn’t experiment on me.”

He shifted, but nodded. “Right.” He paused. “Look, Y/n, whatever it is you know- what you’re too afraid to say, you’re safe here. We can protect you. We can help you.”

You shifted uncomfortably under your covers. “I just…” you cleared your throat. “I just need time. I need to think, please.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. When you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

But could you ever be ready? What was the right choice? If you told Steve, he would charge through Romania to find Bucky. Bucky would be left exposed. If he were to return to the states, he may just be locked up. He may be set to death. But then again, was Steve Bucky’s only chance? There were too many moving variables.

You just couldn’t make that decision.

Recovery, as you once said before, was awful. It felt like you were in a constant state of disrepair. Over and over again, your once perfectly healthy body was mangled and abused. You tried to keep a brave face and push through. You tried to tell yourself this would be the last time.

But you said that last time.

You said it every time.

You were starting to accept the fact that you may never be fine.

So with that, you started your journey again. From the bottom. You were pumped full of fluids and set on a detox journey from all the drugs that had been flooding your system for weeks. You were finally able to eat again, and real food at that. One of the perks of finding sanctuary in the Avengers Tower was Tony Stark's money.

Your medical bills were non-existent and your meals were completely free. You knew there was a silent price, but you tried to ignore that in favor of focusing on your recovery.

You made that choice a lot lately. Pocketing all thoughts for later. The good and the bad. The one that recurred the most though, of course, was Bucky.

It would always be Bucky.

You still had no idea what to do. You wished the decision wasn’t up to you. You wished you didn’t have to make the choice, expose Bucky, or let him sink into the shadows forever.

But only you had the information. Only you could help him.

As the days passed, you were set up with a nutritionist and a physical therapist. You could barely stand on your own, after so many weeks without motion. So you desperately needed the help.

They started small, with minor exercises and stretches. It ached and burned, but it felt right. It felt good to move your body again.

Between moments of fitful rest and physical therapy, you researched. You had requested a laptop be loaned to you, so you could catch up on all the time you’d lost.

It was true. But you wanted it for more than that. You needed to know what was out there about you, about Bucky, about Hydra.

And god, did you learn.

You learned that your family spent months in constant search of you. There were GoFundMes, blogs, news articles, and fliers posted all across your old corner of the city. Your dad never gave up hope.

You learned from your sister's instagram that she got pregnant with her first child shortly after your disappearance. A little baby girl. On the celebration post announcing her birth, it showed the child's middle name as Y/n.

Your sister posted about you every month on the anniversary of your disappearance. She raised hell for you.

You sobbed into your fist as you scrolled through her posts, and those of your friends, aching and weeping over all that you’d lost. All that they’d lost.

And god, you were so close you could almost taste it.

You wanted to go home and throw yourself into your loved ones arms, but you couldn’t yet. It was too dangerous. You had to stay gone until you knew it was safe. Until you knew that Hydra was gone, or until your worth was outweighed.

Over time you met the world renowned Avengers.

You met most of them in passing, seeing them through the med bay windows, or as they stopped by the lab. You were basically chained to your bed, your legs barely able to hold your own weight.

Natasha and Steve stopped by the most. As well as another woman named Wanda. You’d heard of her, back when Sokovia was under fire. You watched the news. But in person, she recluse. Human.

She originally stopped by out of curiosity, but then was put on watch duty. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust you, they just didn’t take chances. And you were one of the biggest chances around.

Wanda was a kind woman, though sometimes a bit sharp and melancholy. She had a dry sense of humor. And she was always able to help lull you to sleep when your nightmares woke you.

Tony Stark was one of the people you were most aghast to have met, though. He was exactly like you expected him to be. Self absorbed, boisterous, always lacking a certain room-reading skill. He had an out of tune quip for just about everything. He felt particularly awkward with you though.

A woman who spent the last year and a half teetering on death. How did one make light of that?

Although, he had his own experience with it, so he was able to make light of his own trauma to ease you. He popped by the lab the most. Your little corner was in the med bay, which was a few glass doors and a bridge away from the lab. But he always popped by.

When you started your physical therapy, a week in, he started offering solutions to your heavy limp. “We could get you into surgery for that, you know. Unless you want to keep hobbling around like that.” He pointed at you with the tip of a pen. The physical therapist beside you was silent, continuing to help you step along.

“For my leg?” Your brows lifted.

“No, for lipo. Yes, your leg.”

You fought the urge to clench your jaw. The offer was actually something you hadn’t dared to dream of. “I…I would love that. But- wouldn’t I have to go to a hospital?”

Tony rolled his eyes, setting something metal on the counter top. “If you’re still keeping your secrets locked up, then no hospital. You make me feel like a prison guard, you won't even get too close to the window.” He lifted a brow. “We could have it set up here.”

You released a breath of relief. “I’d like that, just-” you paused, staring down at yourself. “Not yet.” Your body couldn’t take another recovery, not like this.

“You’re basically a walking wound. It makes me feel icky.” He muttered, turning back to whatever he was working on.

“Thank you.” You huffed, taking another slow step with your PT.

One dark night, as you stared up at the sparkling lights of the city scape, you decided.

It had been days. Weeks. Too long. You didn’t know what was happening out there. You didn’t know what the chances were. But you knew one thing. Bucky’s only chance at a free life was Steve.

“Hey, kid.” Steve popped his head around the corner of the privacy curtain. “You wanted to see me?”

You fisted the knit blanket thrown over your lap. “Yeah…” you nodded. “Can you sit?”

He dragged over a stiffly modern chair and sat at your bedside, his brows furrowed with patience. He watched as you picked at your nails, chewing your words. Your mind was a whirlwind of fast thoughts and half baked confessions.

“I’m a doctor, you know?” You blurted.

He nodded. “Yeah, I read your file.” He said thoughtfully.

You chewed at the inside of your cheek. “They took me because I’m a doctor. I’m good at what I do.” You paused. “Not to boast about myself, it's just a fact. That's why they picked me.”

He watched you silently. You couldn’t bear the weight of those big blue eyes.

“You’d wonder why- I mean, Hydra has an arsenal of everyone they might need.” You squeezed your eyes shut, remembering the descriptions of the fate of the doctor before you. “They’re impatient people, you know? They had a patient and they wanted results. I could give that to them.”

“Are you saying there’s another hostage?” Steve interrupted, his back straightening slightly.

You shook your head. “No, not any more.” You turned to look at him now. “The patient-” You paused. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t bear this weight. “The patient was Bucky.” The words slipped out before you could think to word it better. Steve's brows shot to his hairline. His throat bobbed as he physically swallowed your confession.

“What?”

“I…I was taken because The Winter Soldier was experiencing unknown side effects from his cryo chamber- and their shotty serum. He was experiencing heavy muscular degeneration and weakness.” You rattled off, slipping into the safest world you knew: doctor. “He was sick, but I fixed him.”

Steve stared at you with a slackened jaw. “He was there? At the compound?” He rushed out the words like he was already finding new ways to blame himself for failing his friend.

“No! No, he wasn’t.” You urged. “He wasn’t there.”

“Where is he?” His brows knit tightly together as his jaw set.

“Romania. Bucharest, Romania. That’s where we were hiding out- but we got separated.” Your voice grew quiet. Your gaze drifted to the blankets. “It was my idea, my fault.” You huffed. “But it happened, and we got separated.”

“Where in the city? I-”

“He won’t be there anymore.” Your own words hit you with a deep ache. “We planned for this. If something happened to me, he was supposed to relocate to somewhere I don’t know about.” You snubbed his lead short. “I’m…I’m sorry, Steve.” You whispered.

The hopeful glint in his eye didn’t die out. In fact, he looked more determined than ever. “Could you please tell me everything in your plan? Safe houses, routes, drop sites, anything.”

You blinked at him, your stomach twisting. “You have to be careful.”

He tilted his head, confusion mixing in his expression. “What?”

“You’ll lead them to him.” You whispered, your body almost seizing up with panic at the mere idea. “This is what they’re waiting for. I read online- well, there’s a lot on there about this but- I read that you are the reason Pierce is dead. Right?”

He nodded thoughtfully, quietly hearing you out.

“People seem to think that what happened a year ago- the fall of Shield and Hydra- means Hydra is actually gone. But it’s not. They never will be- they’re buried so deep, you don’t even know.” You rambled, panic swelling in your chest. “They’re like a weed. I read that the Avengers routinely clear out old bases. So you think you’ve squashed them. But you haven’t. They’re waiting for this. They want to find him.”

“Hey, breathe,” Steve reached a hand out, patting your arm. You hadn’t even noticed you’d started to hyperventilate. “I know, okay? I do. I know how corrupt this world is.” His deep, steady voice washed over you. “I know how deep it all is. But if I don’t get to him, then they will. So please, help me find him.”

In that moment, as you looked at Steve, he looked just like the boy Bucky once told you stories about.

The search for Bucky died almost immediately, as Steve was called away on an urgent mission in Lagos Nigeria. He’d taken half the team with him, and a whole lot of your hope.

The night of your confession, you spent all hours until dawn telling him everything you knew. You told him about your capture, about Bucky’s health, about the conditions of your captivity, about your escape. You told him about the countryside, and your first decent into the city. You told him about the first ambush, and then the second.

After all the critical information was shared, Steve paused. He took a second to look at you, really look at you, and ask about Bucky.

"What's he like?"

In some way, you were the only person that really knew the Bucky of this world. The Bucky that lived on. The part of Bucky that survived the fall.

You smiled softly to yourself at his questions. “He’s kind.” You whispered. “He’s stubborn, but kind. He’s still good, Steve. That good never died.”

The answer made him smile. It eased something in him.

But the drive to find Bucky, however strong, was still pushed to the sidelines.

You watched on the tv in the corner of the med bay as live news rolled in from Lagos. Something big was going down. Something important. It didn’t hit you just how big it was until Rumlow’s picture flashed across the scene.

You flinched, those dead eyes boring right into you. You hadn’t seen his face since he dragged you from Bucky’s cell, over a year ago. But you still remembered him. You remembered the feeling of his boot driving into your stomach. You remembered his fists.

You remembered it all.

And as you panicked about Hydra, and Rumlow, and Bucky, the world of the Avengers erupted into political turmoil. You had no right, nor knowledge on the technicalities of what was going on.

You’d only recently been moved out of the med bay and into a room of your own in the tower. You had only recently begun to settle, begun to heal.

So as you peered around the corner through the glass walls of the briefing room, you felt dread. You had no idea what was happening, but you knew it was bad.

Whatever was happening in that room drew you no closer to finding Bucky.

A/N: Wow, I think this is the longest chapter of this series that I put out. I like it like this, so I think I'm gonna focus on writing longer chapters. GUYS... Every time I start to move towards healing and safety I start thinking I rushed and didn't add enough pain and torture....maybe I'm just too deep in the angst stuff. But if you feel it was rushed, I'm sorryyyy.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout @local-crazy @nynxtea @cherryheairt

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suzukiblu · 11 months ago

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"Lex Luthor's latest character flaw" poll winner, "deciding he wants grandbabies and giving Robin a cloning lab about it". Behold, a new WIP strikes!!

“What,” Tim says, staring blankly at the brightly-lit and airy sunroom full of very obvious cloning technology in the very expensive penthouse that Lex Luthor’s bodyguards just dragged a handcuffed Red Robin and Spoiler into after kidnapping them straight off patrol in the Diamond District in the middle of an active crisis situation with the League of Assassins and disabling all their tech and every single one of their trackers six and a half hours ago, down to the bastardized Kryptonian-tech ones in their back molars and two more in both of their suits that Tim didn’t even know existed, plus the one he put in Steph’s collar that she didn’t know existed. Babs is probably just about feral by now. Bruce is definitely feral by now.

And Lex Luthor is drinking what appears to be a neon purple protein shake out of a rocks glass while sitting at a neatly-arranged desk in the center of the sunroom lab, looking idly bored and scrolling through whatever’s on his phone with his free hand.

Alright then, Tim thinks carefully.

“There you are, I was starting to wonder if I’d gotten al Ghul riled up for nothing,” Luthor says, barely glancing up from his tablet.

“. . . which al Ghul,” Tim asks with wary dread.

“All of them,” Luthor says, setting down his tablet to give him a pleasant smile.

Well, now Tim knows why nobody’s dropped in a skylight to rescue them yet. And also why half of Gotham is currently on fire.

“Uh,” Steph says, glancing around the sunroom lab. “So like, lead-lined glass in here, then, or . . . ?”

“We’re in Connecticut, so no,” Luthor replies dismissively. “Anyway, the Boy Scout always gets suspicious of too much lead in one place. Which I personally find darling, since anyone in Metropolis without at least a lead-lined and soundproofed bedroom is essentially asking for Kryptonian voyeurs, whether intentionally or not on said Kryptonians’ parts. Also, privacy laws exist for a reason. As do patents, copyrights, attorney-client privilege, HIPAA . . .”

“Connecticut?” Steph repeats incredulously. “What the frick is in Connecticut?”

“Currently, us,” Luthor replies matter-of-factly. “Hope, Mercy, do me a favor and go check the security systems manually, just in case any invasive species of vermin have gotten into them. Also, yes, there is kryptonite, and no, there is actually much more than you’re theorizing.”

“You have literally no idea how much kryptonite we’re theorizing,” Steph says as the bodyguards both leave with an affirming nod. Luthor gives her a pitying look, then turns his chair a few degrees towards Tim. Tim immediately expects the inevitable threat or ultimatum, and braces himself for–

“I’d apologize for all the fuss, but I don’t actually care about inconveniencing you and don’t see the point in pretending I ever would,” Luthor informs him. Tim stares blankly at him again. What is even happening right now? “Now then, what are your intentions in regards to ‘Supernova’, as I hear someone’s started calling himself now. ‘Themself’? I’m not sure if ‘Supernova’ is meant to be gender-affirming or more a ‘too old to stick with ‘Superboy’ but there are already three ‘Supermen’ active and the whole, you know, general stubborn individualism they’re so fond of. Or ‘he’s’ so fond of. Whichever."

Tim stares at him.

“Is this supposed to be a trap for Supernova or a shovel talk for me?” he asks, because a) he’s not telling Lex Luthor anything about Kon’s gender or personal choices that Kon hasn’t publicly stated, and b) only Lex Luthor would actually kidnap two active vigilantes in the middle of a crisis he’d apparently pre-arranged to give a–well, no, Bruce would also do that, definitely. But this is not a Batman talk, either way.

Batman’s “talks” all involve tests, for one thing, so actually so far this is an improvement.

“It’s an engagement present,” Luthor says pleasantly.

Tim’s brain crashes, then does the slowest reboot of his life. He’s recovered from concussions faster, he’s pretty sure.

“They’re . . . not engaged, though?” Steph says skeptically. “Or, like, even dating?”

“Red Robin’s commitment issues are his own problem, not mine. I’ve got a schedule to keep,” Luthor replies dismissively.

#timkon #tim drake #lex luthor #stephanie brown #dc robin #dc spoiler #wip: tim's free cloning lab #long post

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redflagshipwriter · 11 months ago

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Mamabat 10 part 1/2

Chapter 10 : Calling from Hell just to say the demons are suspiciously absent, is that fine?

masterpost

“Fucking Batman,” Val said under her breath. Her Red Huntress mask muffled the words and made them come out even meaner than she probably meant them. “Years late and too little, even if he’s not working with the GIW.”

Sam hefted her requisitioned Fenton bazooka and pressed her lips even further together. None of them liked this at all. It stank. It was suspicious. Danny hadn’t sounded distressed, but he’d been out of contact too long for such a short conversation to put her at ease. There hadn’t even been time to update him on what had gone on in Amity Park.

“There.” Sam followed Val’s pointer finger to see the nearly invisible outline of a jet in the faint light. It was landing in the right field.

“It’s them or it’s a trap,” Sam muttered.

Val let out a mean laugh. “If it’s someone we don’t expect, they’re the ones in trouble.”

Sam huffed and said nothing. She couldn’t disagree, but Val seemed too confident for her comfort. They waited in tense silence to see the jet come to a landing. Not long after, a hatch popped open and the distinctive ears of Batman himself were the first out into the cold night air of a January night in Amity Park.

He was quickly followed by smaller figures- 1, 2, 3 of them. Sam felt nerves churning in her gut. She tried to channel them into aggression. She had to be tough, tougher than usual. There was no cavalry waiting to help out.

Well, there was Tucker, but he was probably going to be more useful in the wings to feed them information. He was pretty good aim with a thermos but that wouldn’t do jack about Batman and a small flock of, what, junior associates?

“Does Batman work with children?” Sam asked under her breath. One of them was genuinely small.

Tucker snickered on the other end of the line. “Uh, there’s supposed to be a Robin. Guy in yellow, green, and red I guess? Aside from that, there’s debatably like, 6 former Robins associated with him. But there’s also the Justice League’s junior varsity team, so it’s hard to say.”

She frowned at the lineup. She saw purple, black, and red. There was- yeah, okay, there was quite a bit of yellow when the little guy faced them, but she didn’t see any green.

“Showtime,” Val said. Sam crouched further behind cover as the other girl zoomed out on her hoverboard, effortlessly drawing Batman’s eye. She adjusted the dial on her sound settings to hear Val’s feed just a little louder.

“Batman.”

“You have me at a disadvantage.” Sam cringed at the gravely voice over her sound system. Batman sounded like he smoked a pack a day. She turned the volume down just a hint.

“Not really, there’s four of you,” Val said breezily. Sam suppressed a snort at the dodge. “You wanna meet Jazz Fenton? You’re going to have to prove that you’re not a plant. There’s a GIW facility-”

“Two miles west of here, yes,” Batman interrupted. “I researched.”

“Great. Do you have ground transport?”

“Of course. What is it that you expect me to prove?”

“That you’re not with them.” The subtle whine of Valerie’s weapons started up. Sam only heard it because she was hooked up to the helmet. “They do experimentation and keep prisoners. Show me that you’re not a cop.”

“The police would not support the capture and abuse of people.”

Valerie made a skeptical sound in the back of her throat. Sam couldn’t blame her. “Yeah, but they do.” Her hoverboard’s jet whooshed up in power. “Meet me there, outside the main gate.” She was off like a shot in the dark.

The four out of towners didn’t take long to get four silent motorcycles out and dash down the lane. Sam thought about what she’d heard as she cut a more direct route on Valerie’s spare hoverboard, taken from Vlad’s deserted mechanics lab.

Either Batman was a liar, naive, or he was exactly what they were worried he might be. The Justice League was famously affiliated with governments. Wonder Woman was even a member of the United Nations! If someone accepted the claim that Infinite Realms Residents weren’t really people, then they’d say just what Batman had. It wasn’t lying if you didn’t think the people you were hurting were really people.

Sam watched from a distance as the group reached the gated facility. One of Batman's people did something that unlatched the electronic security system. It swung open.

“Not shabby,” Tucker said quietly. “I coulda done it faster.”

“Not unless it goes off the rails,” Sam reminded him. She clenched a fist against her thigh. They needed to see Batman's real colors before they risked him knowing about their group. It was hard to outplan what you didn't know about, and they'd need every advantage they could get.

She let them all go ahead before she followed onto the property. It was eerily deserted, tire tracks where dozens of white Vans ought to have been.

The GIW had deserted Amity Park weeks ago. They were pretty sure there was a skeleton crew stationed out here, but no one came and left anymore. They only occasionally saw an agent wander across the path of a security camera, which were sparse inside the building.

But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous to be here. Even now, a camera swiveled over the lawn, blinking a clear light that was easy to miss during the day. There was a reason that they hadn't risked a second raid after Danny had barely made it out last time.

Sam swallowed, hard. The bitterness in her mouth felt a lot like guilt. Who knew what the GIW had been doing? They could have someone else held captive. It was a big building. Danny might have missed someone when he was breaking Vlad out.

‘We did what we could, and we are making a move now.’

She repositioned her weapon and waited, tense with nerves. All she was meant to do now was follow along via what she heard on Val's comms and be in the wings to facilitate an escape, if needed.

“Left,” said Batman quietly. The comms were quiet for a long moment, then- “clear. Clear. Clear.”

Sam shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Red Robin.”

“Got it,” came a response, barely audible. Val must have been hanging close to Batman, then.

“You think now's a good time to try their computers?” Val said helpfully.

Tucker snorted. “Could just ask,” he sang to himself, cocky as hell. “I know all.”

Sam rolled her eyes. He didn't know all. About half of the property was disconnected from the security system, meaning they had no eyes on whatever was down there.

“Six stationed here.”

That had to be Red Robin’s voice. Sam cocked her head and focused on it, frowning slightly. Did it sound young?

Tucker's computer chair made a click when he sat up too fast. “Wait, what? How'd-” His end of the line devolved into rapid typing.

“Did you find a schedule?”

“No, it's not in the system. They're on paper, I suppose.” Seconds passed. “My bet is that labs would be in this wing.”

“Be my guest,” Val drawled. Sam could all but see her crossing her arms across her chest.

The line went silent for a while. Then, faintly, there came the sound of a metal door opening.

“Fu-” A GIW blaster went off. “Intru-”

The alarm was cut off before the GIW goon got out a full word, but odds were good he'd been heard anyway. Sam flexed her hands. Sitting this out sucked. She wanted to see what was happening. How many agents were there?

“Robin!” Batman snapped.

‘The little one?’

Sam felt vaguely ill. They had to be okay. This was Batman’s team.

#red mama bat #dp x dc #dc x dp

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malsmind · 3 months ago

Text

file/information —

hacker!matt desperatly has to find a way to hack into

popular!reader's phone again.

file-warnings: stalking, male and female masturbation

you sat in the cramped lecture hall, the faint hum of the projector overhead mixing with the rustle of notebooks and the occasional cough from someone a few rows back. it was a typical tuesday morning at college—intro to programming, a class you only half-paid attention to because the professor’s monotone voice could put anyone to sleep. your phone buzzed on the desk, screen lighting up with a text from a friend about some party this weekend. you smirked, tapping out a quick reply, oblivious to the pair of eyes watching you from across the room.

matt slouched in his seat near the back, his hoodie pulled low over his forehead, hair spilling out in messy strands. he kind of looked like every other guy to be honest. he didn't dress in any 'weird' or 'nerdy' way, but there was something sharper in the way his blue eyes flicked toward you. he wasn’t just some slacker coasting through college. matt was a hacker, the kind who could dismantle a system in his sleep, and he’d been trying to crack into your phone for weeks. not that he hadn't done it before, he's hacked into your phone and other devices multiple times, but recently, your phone’s security was tighter than usual, probably because apple had sent you a warning when matt wasn't careful enough with hacking into it last time. some custom encryption he couldn’t quite unravel, and it was driving him up the wall.

the reason why exactly it was making him go insane was because last night, when he went to touch himself, knowing after a long day and a night out you'd shower, maybe even find relief in touching yourself as well, he was left needy and frustrated when your phone kept kicking him out. no mater what he did, your phone just wouldn't cooperate.

he chewed the inside of his cheek, spinning a pen between his fingers as he watched you scroll through your screen. he’d tried phishing links, brute-forcing your password, even sniffing the campus wifi for vulnerabilities—nothing worked. it was starting to feel personal, like your phone was taunting him. then, last night, hunched over his laptop in the living room of the house he shared with his brothers, the idea hit him: if he couldn’t hack it, he’d break it. get you a new one. slip in a backdoor before you even turned it on. his lips had curled into a grin at the thought, a little twisted but undeniably clever.

now, he just needed an opening. class ended, and you shoved your stuff into your backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as you headed out. matt followed at a distance, hands in his pockets, blending into the crowd of students spilling into the hall. he caught sight of you by the vending machines, fishing coins out of your jeans to grab a soda. perfect. he ambled over and “accidentally” bumped into you just as you turned around. your phone slipped from your hand, clattering to the tile floor with a sickening crack.

“shit, my bad,” matt muttered, crouching down to pick it up before you could. the screen was shattered, spiderwebs of glass radiating from one corner. he held it out to you, his expression all apologetic, but inside, he was buzzing. “damn, that looks rough. still work?”

you took it from him, frowning as you pressed the power button. nothing. just a dead, black screen. “great,” you sighed, “there goes my whole life.”

“m' sorry..” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “i’ve got an extra one back at my place, though. new model, still in the box. you can have it if you want—save you the hassle of dealing with the repair shop.” his tone was offhand, like it was no big deal, but his pulse ticked up a notch waiting for your answer.

you hesitated, eyeing him for a second. you’d seen matt around—quiet guy, always tinkering with something in the lab—but you didn’t really know him. still, a free phone was a free phone. “yeah, okay,” you said finally. “that’d be awesome, thanks.”

he flashed a lopsided grin, leading you across campus to his place. he dug through a drawer, pulling out a sleek, unopened phone box. “here,” he said, tossing it to you. “all yours.”

you caught it, tearing into the packaging while he leaned against the desk, watching. what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that he’d already cracked it open days ago, slipped in a custom firmware with a remote access trojan buried deep in the system. camera, mic, everything—he’d have it all. you powered it on, the screen glowing to life, and started setting it up, oblivious to the way his fingers twitched slightly, itching to get back to his laptop.

“looks good,” you said, pocketing it. “thanks..”

“nah, don’t worry about it,” he replied, shrugging. “just glad it’s not going to waste.”

you left, and he waited a few minutes before locking the door, rushing up to his room and booting up his rig. the monitor flickered on, lines of code scrolling as he connected to the backdoor he’d planted. your camera feed popped up, grainy at first, then sharpening as you walked into your dorm room across campus. he leaned back in his chair, heart pounding a little harder than he’d admit, watching you toss your bag onto the bed and kick off your shoes. nothing special yet, just you being you, but the thrill was in the control. he could see you whenever he wanted again.

later that night, he couldn’t sleep. the room was dark except for the blue glow of his screen, the hum of his pc fan the only sound. he pulled up the feed again. you were in bed, the soft light of a lamp casting shadows across your walls—posters, a cluttered bookshelf, a half-dead plant in the corner. you’d changed into an oversized t-shirt, hair messy, scrolling through the new phone he’d given you. then, the phone started moving in a way that made him sit up straighter, turning up the volume of his headset. matt saw the expression on your face, hearing the small whimpering noises slipping past your lips, and knew what was going on behind the screen.

he'd been waiting for it all night..

matt’s breath hitched. he shouldn’t—he knew that somewhere in the back of his head—but the line was already blurred, and he was too far gone to care. he unzipped his jeans, hand slipping inside as he watched you shift, the shirt riding up slightly to expose the soft skin of your perfect tits. "shit—" matt hissed, his grip tightened, movements slow at first, eyes locked on the screen. your room smelled like lavender, he imagined from what he'd seen trough your camera so far, from that candle you always burned. he pictured the way you’d gasp if you knew, and just as his thoughts wandered to what your reaction would be if you knew what was going on behind the little screen you held in your hand, you moaned, wet sounds of your fingers working on yourseld echoing. he thought about what those moans would sound like if he was the one pulling them out of you, the thought sending a jolt through him.

the feed stuttered slightly as you picked up your pace, fingering yourself, but matt reloaded the page, keeping you in frame, fresh and in perfect quality. his hand moved faster, rougher, the sound of his breathing filling the silence of his room. "fuuuuck, y/n—"he whimpered pathetically, watching you as you bit your lip, breathing heavily as you tried to hold back your moans, and he groaned low in his throat, imagining the heat between your legs, the wetness clinging to his fingers instead of yours, the slickness he couldn’t see but could guess at. "fuck—fuck—fuck..." matt gasped out, body tensing up as cum hit his knuckles, hot and sticky, as he finished, chest heaving, eyes still glued to you lying there, oblivious, reaching your orgasm in synch to him without even knowing.

he wiped his hand on his shirt, leaned back, and smirked at the screen. “so fuckin' sexy..” he muttered to no one, already thinking about tomorrow, and the day after, and the many more days he'd watch you touch yourself, doing it with you.

@loser41ifee GAVE THE IDEA FOR THIS! (i hope i did a good job cause omg this took me way to long to actually start writing.)

series link

taglist

—

@backwardshatnick @sturniolosymphony @sturns-mermaid @realzula @courta13 @sturnzzlovee @chrissweetheart @sturniolosymphony @sturniolo1trips @freshsturnzx @sturnslutz @sturrrrnslvt

#ERR0R C0DE 💚#hacker!matt #hacker!matt sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo x reader smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #malsmind 𖦹

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luveline · 1 year ago

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HI MLLLL! I absolutely loved your fainting fic with James! Can you write like a part a part 2 or like a follow up where reader starts realizing that James isn’t as bad as she thought and she falls for him as he takes care of her bc he’s really worried? I love them sm 🥹

James takes care of you when you faint

James is acting weirder than usual… sort of… nice? fem, 1.2k

The days after you faint are just as hot, but you come into work. You can’t afford to miss it, and it’s not as though you’ll make the same mistake twice.

The memory of what happened is hazy at the start. James had just opened the window, the breeze that filtered in cooling your hot skin. You’d felt sick, you’d tried to stand, and your head had gone blank.

You woke with your face in James’ hand. You can remember it if you think about it enough, his head tilted down toward you, the sunshine on his skin, his soft smile. He’d felt like a different person.

You’d felt different.

“Can you send me that information from the lab, please?”

You glance away from your computer, eyes tired. “Sorry?”

“For the, uh, Mr. Nguyen?” James asks. “You didn’t send them to me. I can’t do them if you don’t send them.”

“Right.” You blink away the phantom of his hand on your cheek. “Okay.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

That’s all he asks. Every day since you passed out, at various times and in various ways. Are you okay? Are you alright? Is it too hot in here? Do you want to swap desks with me? That last one had been a little patronising. You’d told him to leave you alone. Your desk is right next to the radiator in winter, it’s prime real estate, and you’re not giving it up just because you got a bit hot.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, turning back to your computer to open outlook. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About you not talking to me.”

“Funny.”

You drag and drop the paperwork for the tests he’d wanted. It’s easy to render an invoice but you hate doing it because it involves a lot of talking back and forth with clients. James, on the other hand, loves to talk.

“There, sent it,” you say.

“Thank you.”

Awkward. You pretend to be busier than you are for a few minutes, stealing company time without remorse. James types up an email beside you, the click of his keys quick and loud in your ears.

Remus pops a pen lid across the way, scribbling onto a post it note that he sticks on his monitor. You know what time it is from the sounds alone. A half a minute later, Sirius slinks up from the front of the office to wrap his arm around Remus’ shoulders, sing-songing, “You’re coming with me, handsome.”

“Are you coming?” Remus asks James.

There’s a lapse of quiet. You stare at your computer, aware of a silent conversation, but not privy to its content. “I think I’ll stay,” James says eventually.

“Okie dokie. Y/N, do you want to come, lovely?” Remus asks. “It’s not too hot.”

“I’m fine,” you say, “thanks. Thank you.”

You don’t feel like yourself since you fainted. You’d hoped it would go away once you had a better night’s sleep, flooded your system with cold water and good food, but you can’t kick it. You have no energy, no want to do more than turn up for work and go home again, and you know what it is that’s making you feel this way, but you can’t admit it to yourself. It crops up in your mind unbidden and you push it back down.

“Sirius never used to act like that.”

“What?”

“Sirius. He was never like that when we were growing up. Love makes him pathetic.”

Love is a tender touch. Sirius had laid his arm over Remus’ shoulder without any hug or kiss, but it was as loving as either. To touch someone like they need a kind hand.

Like James had held your face. His arm behind your back as he led you to the break room.

“Do you wanna come with me?” James asks.

You hold in a second confused, What? He’s standing now, you hadn’t noticed him moving, his water bottle in hand as he pushes his chair back under the desk.

“Don’t wanna leave you here and have you smash your head in when there’s no one around. Imagine the clean up.”

You get up on impulse. You grab your drink, and the back of your chair, and you stand there wondering if you’re about to be dizzy again. Your chest feels tight, but that weight of unconsciousness doesn’t come.

“Hey,” James says. “Seriously, are you okay? You’re not like you today.”

There’s a softness in his voice you can’t believe. “Can I eat lunch with you?”

You wish that you said it to avoid the question. James wrinkles his nose, your heart drops into the pit of your stomach, but then he says, “I just invited you first.”

“I… have to get my stuff from the fridge.”

“Me too.”

You walk slowly, worried it’s a joke, another stupid joke, but James comes up behind you and his hand graces your shoulder with the barest pressure. You can smell something sweet and warm on him, like jojoba oil. Maybe argan. “Sure you’re okay? You look peaky. Is it the heat?” he murmurs.

“It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

“You can’t answer anything, can you?” James laughs with a vocal fry that goes straight to your chest. “I could ask you how many fingers you’d have and you’d tell me you have two hands.”

James walks with you to the kitchen, where you gather your food and warm it in the microwave. He leads you to the break room, and makes sure to choose a table with enough space for you, even while people he’s friendly with beckon him forward. They look at you with unashamed curiosity, but James pretends not to notice so you do too.

You’re expecting a joke. Aw, look, we’re finally on a date. Or Wow, you know how to use a spoon, I had no idea you were so dexterous.

“Did you see they’re making a new movie about those aliens? The ones who can hear you everywhere you go?”

You squeeze your spoon. “Uh, no, I didn’t see it.”

“It looks awesome. I’ll show you the trailer on my computer after lunch, it looks just as good as the first two. That actress, the one with the really nice eyes is in it.”

You have no idea who he means. James talks to you like a friend. He offers you some of his papris and he passes you a napkin from his pocket when you get food on your hands. James Potter might actually be a really nice guy. All it took was for you to garner his pity for him to show it. How pathetic you must seem to need it.

“How do you feel now?” he asks as you clip the lid back onto your Tupperware. “You look better. Do you feel better?”

“I’m fine, James.”

“You frown so much I can’t tell.” He butts his knee against yours. “Alright, batten the hatches, I’m gonna carry you back to your desk.”

“Why?” you ask in a rush.

“Can’t fall if you don’t walk.”

“James, don’t try it. I’m serious.”

“You don’t sound serious. You sound like you want me to carry you.”

“I’ll report you to Human Resources.”

“For what? Being helpful?”

“Harassment.”

“Fine, but I’m not gonna catch you this time.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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im-not-a-ghost · 8 months ago

Text

FS series : their profession & hobbies

Group 1 - Moonchild Ace of cups, 9 of pentacles, Ace of swords, 6 of wands, Page of swords

As for possible careers, I am picking up on the following elements. This person's career relies on two key factors : communication and sociability. With the two aces, it gives me the feeling of something either being very recent or very novel. So either this person has been doing this job since a short period of time or the job they are doing is something that has emerged within the recent times. So it's not something like being a doctor or a lawyer, as these professions have been existing for a while. With the page of swords, this person's work likely involves the use of technology, especially social media. The 9 of pentacles could show that they are working on their own. Either they are their own boss or their profession requires them to work alone most of the time. The 6 of wands denotes a sense of fame and support from people around them. So it is likely that your person is either well known in their community and appreciated for their work, or they have a huge following and interact with a lot of people. Based on all these information, I am deducting that your FS could work in either one of those positions :

community manager, freelance designer / artist

social media influencer, public speaker, spokesperson for a specific company

therapies that involve unconventional ways of healing (crystal healing, sound baths, ASMR, Reiki...)

being a celebrity of some kind, no matter their field of action (modeling, singing, acting, cooking...)

When it comes to hobbies, this person is definitely into creative activities. They could be into singing, writing, painting among other artistic centers of interest. This person may also enjoy spending time alone journaling, being in nature, exploring new places. They may be into horse riding. They could also enjoy learning and reading. This person may like to be the center of attention. In friend groups, they tend to be the one that makes everyone laugh. They could also enjoy competitive activities and combat sports. They are into self care. As communication seems to be very important to this person, they could also use social media as a way to creatively express themselves outside of their usual train of work. For instance, I'm picking up on someone doing Tiktok trends as a a hobby.

Group 2 - Angel The Sun, 4 of cups, knight of wands, 7 of swords, Hierophant

When it comes to your person's occupation, I get the feeling like their position is an important one within society. It is something that is viewed by society as essential to the community. It could be a profession that is very traditional or that was passed down to them from previous generations. With the Sun and the knight of wands, it feels like your person holds a position of authority or at least a strategical position within an institution that gives them a lot of power in terms of decision making and initiative. They could also have to move around a lot, whether on short or long distances. This is a profession that requires them to be flexible and confident but also to be comfortable with working on their own and thinking for themselves because I feel like this person doesn't get much help in their situation. There may be a lot of weight and responsibilities on their shoulders. With the 7 of swords, this gives me a feeling of secrecy surrounding this person's job. There are a lot of things that they cannot share about their work. Also, the 7 of swords talks about strategic planning. Their job requires a lot of thinking and anticipation. The Hierophant can represent big institutions such as religious groups, political groups, government, the army, the educational system, big companies and so on. Based on all the information provided by the cards, your FS could be working in either one of those fields :

medical field : any type of doctor, psychiatrists, forensics, working in a research lab

political/religious field : public figure working for the government, leader of a political group of any kind, spiritual guru, a person of authority within a religious group

teaching, working in the military, being an undercover agent, working for big companies that play an important role in a country's economy, baking and so on

As for hobbies, this person may enjoy traveling, running, horse riding, solving puzzles and riddles. Playing video games. Learning about other cultures and ethnicities. Learning about religious beliefs. Doing community work, praying. Spending time alone in nature away from civilisation. Camping. Trecking. Mountain climbing. Challenging activities. Being in sunny places overall. Going to exotic and remote places. Learning about History. Visiting museums and ruins. Stalking.

Group 3 - Maidens 6 of wands, Empress, 10 of wands, knight of cups, The World

Your person's occupation feels very busy and hectic. Their job is one that is very active and requires them to travel the world for some, or at least to move around within their country. For this group, it is clear that this person's job revolves around physical appearances, sensuality and promoting a positive image of life, of society, of health. This group has the most potential of having a FS that is famous to some extent. I see that your person has to work with a lot of people and is constantly on the go. They participate to various events, they take on many responsibilities and yet manage to be very successful despite the hectic and sometimes unpredictable conditions of their work. Beauty is a major theme here, as well as reputation. Thus, your FS could be working as an influencer, a model, an artist, a beauty aesthetician, a fashion designer, an event promoter, a journalist. Anything that would require them to be in the public eye and promote a certain life style or certain products. They could also be an entertainer, an athlete that is very present on social media, a personal trainer, a reporter. I'm also picking up on flight attendants, employees from big stores in airports or big hotels. Of course we can't omit everything revolving around the performing arts. Actors, comedians, dancers. We also have possibly strippers, dancers, show hosts and so on. Fitness instructors, yoga teachers. For some, your person could have a personal blog or website like a Patreon or an Only Fans account. They could also be a creator of some kind. Maybe they design their own clothes or jewelry for example. They may own a business revolving around cosmetics or a massage institute. The possibilities are endless. For some of you, I feel like your person could be having several occupations within the same field. For example, think of a model that could also be a fashion designer. Or an actor that could also be directing their own movies.

As for hobbies, again, beauty and physicality seem to be the key themes here. There's also traveling. This person is definitely a foody. They may also enjoy buying clothes, collecting objects. They may like to learn new languages or to cook specialities from various cultures. They could also enjoy doing DIYs. Knitting their own clothes, doing their home decor and so on. This person feels very venusian and earthy in their energy. So anything revolving around pleasure, the body, the earth. Gardening. Taking care of their body by doing gua sha, meditation, yoga. And so on.

#pick a card #love pac

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