#Operative Anomaly

[idoodlemen]

Operative Anomaly.

[swtorpadawan]

How it Feels Coming to Tumblr to Avoid Real Life Problems

[palesmokeisinthevoid]

So I made a few Rimworld colonies other than the Fossilcraft/Ragebait one (aka Craft Corner) so I’m going to make a post for each one

Starting with the commons (+ two random guys who showed up)

This one ended up being a…slightly altered version of the Mechanitor (aka I gave them slightly more food and, of course, people)

Originally I was going to do this particular one with the mains but…well, I found a better set up for them :)

Boxten is the Mechanitor since he’s…kind of the only one who really feels like he’d have anything to do with machines of all these guys? Idk how I want to word this. Anyway he’s got his mechs Blue and Bandana (also I drew his Mechlink from memory because I couldn’t find a good red image and I didn’t want to look at him in game for this). He and Cosmo started dating and became Fiancé’s within like, 1-2 weeks…and he’s summoned horrors beyond human comprehension and is currently keeping one in a cage for studying. Yeah stuff happens. Somehow he’s the sanest one here besides the new comers…maybe. Not sure how sane they are yet

Poppy is the hunter who has been on the constant verge (and did have, she hid in the barracks for like two days…which was horribly timed because a raid happened) of a mental break because I have no clue how to appease her preference for tight, dark spaces. Also a bear started hunting Looey and since she’s the only one with a weapon she had to fight it. Considering she’s still alive you can guess who won. Also she was the only one capable of violence until the new arrivals came. Also the shattered empire quest came up and she got the rewards for it because she was the only one capable of violence so uh…congrats on the psychic powers!

Now before I talk about Looey you may notice someone is missing…and it mentions his mom was kidnapped. So the thing is when it comes to generating these guys the only thing I cared about pre-existing relationship wise was Canon/Semi-Canon relations when two characters were related (…which only came up really in the Uncommon group with RnD, and Rodger and Toodles). Anything else I didn’t really care and just left as long as I didn’t ship the characters. So Tisha ended up being Looey’s mom because I didn’t really want to generate either of them again. She was originally the hunter of the group since she had the best stats for it (and also because she was a Mind Devourer so she could traumatize raiders…at the cost of everyone including her son fearing her)…and then a raid happened where she did not win the fight, and the only other member who could do violence, Poppy, was going through a mental break and by the time she was out of it Tisha was already gone. So yeah. That happened.

Anyway Looey hasn’t really done much but he does wear a top hat. I didn’t draw it because I forgot but that’s fun.

Cosmo’s last name was completely a coincidence I didn’t give it to him he kind of just ended up with it. He is the cleric because he’s the healer (obviously), he’s also constantly having to do everything because half these guys are just. Not that great stats wise. Woops. He nearly got attacked by the bear but he managed to get inside and the way was blocked by Bandana (who was unfortunately damaged :( but Boxten fixed it!) At the very least he hasn’t started fires yet…. Maybe he’ll start one at the wedding/j

Yuu and Kooshyon are two tribe members who showed up after their tribe was destroyed and have the potential to join. They’ve only been in the colony for a day so I haven’t much to say on them but at least there’s more hands around…also had to come up with designs for them so I kind of just went off memory of their outfits and names (Yuu is a Yew berry and Kooshyon is a Cushion). Again. Not much to say

…

Oh and there’s the Eldritch horror in the cage outside the house. I’m calling it Dusty, in honor of Tisha’s feather duster. Not sure if I’ll draw a toon version of it but I’ll probably do it when I do doodle pages for these guys

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Breaking In Was the Easy Part

Shadows kept what shadows veiled.

The security guard’s shoes clapped against shiny, marbled floors. He stopped by one of the tall windows, overlooking the glittering skyline of Rome by night.

He stared outwards. Sniffed. Scratched his butt.

Hiding in the shadows nearby, where this oblivious guard ran risk of glimpsing her from the corner of his eyes, Chloe Grant held her breath. Frozen, still, like a statue, she waited in the dark.

The guard remained oblivious. He continued staring out into the night. He stood there for so long that Grant’s lungs began to ache from holding her breath, and a frustration, welling deep down, started budding into anger.

She had already broken into the building without him noticing. Now, he just needed to get the hell out of her way. Preferably before she needed to gasp for air, or the anger bloomed into fiery rage.

In the drop of a hat, she could have switched his lights off, just like that. The silenced pistol in her toolkit had a bullet with this guy’s name on it. She wasn’t one to snuff out some rent-a-cop if she could avoid it, but he was taking his sweet time.

The temptation to go for the gun rose while the burning in her lungs blossomed alongside her frustration.

Finally, the guard walked on. Disappeared around the next corner of the corridor, descending deeper into the bowels of IntelliTech.

Every shuddering breath hurt as Grant’s lungs flooded with desperately needed oxygen. All her frustration waned as fast as any pain subsided. After all, this guard knew nothing. Probably lived his days and nights, working security here, oblivious to the true nature of IntelliTech.

It was just one of many shell companies used by Celava worldwide. They fronted this IT provider, but all of Spencer’s intelligence pointed to IntelliTech serving as a data hub for the multinational energy corporation.

And this one, single, useless guard—well, he was just doing his job. Not well enough to have noticed the woman who infiltrated the building that night, but doing his job nevertheless.

He’d probably get fired if Grant’s invasion was eventually noticed, but that was very low on her list of concerns.

Once the guard had moved far enough out of earshot, she whispered into her headset.

“Hammy’s gone. What’s it look like out there?”

“Coast is clear,” responded Ruiz via their radio, with a soft crackle of static. “Pretty sure it’s just the one guy on-site.”

“Keep your eyes peeled. I prefer ‘definitely’ over ‘pretty sure’.”

Grant snuck out of the alcove, slipping past one of the ornate alabaster sculptures of Roman deities. She weaved her way past the other divinities, heading in the opposite direction from the security guard who had missed her intrusion.

Much to her relief, most of the building’s rooms and hallways featured clear labels. Big, black print emblazoned on brushed gunmetal plates. She followed their lead, drawing her spiraling path ever closer to the building’s server room.

Minutes ticked as she moved with the quietude of a cat. She kept her eyes peeled for security cameras, shimmying underneath any when their cold, glassy lenses looked the other way.

Ruiz asked via radio, “And you, uh, you don’t think anything’s… off? These guys got a lot of valuable data to keep private here, and security’s a little bit on the sad-sack side, don’tcha think?”

Grant paused, ducking behind a towering potted plant to wait.

To listen.

The guard was long gone, on the opposite side of the building, and unlikely to hear her.

Ruiz wasn’t wrong in his observation. She had thought the same thing.

“Yes and no. I’m guessing there’s some extra bells and whistles we haven’t noticed yet. Some less-than-obvious stuff. All the windows are bullet-proof, and some of these doors are magnetically locked with steel reinforcements. A lot of the premises are labeled, but then there’s some big mystery doors. My guess is, they have something else underneath this building—something that ain’t just plain little ol’ IT, if you catch my drift.”

A long pause.

It felt strange how this liminal space was swallowing all her whispers.

Silence filled the vacuous hallways of IntelliTech.

“You think they’re holding some specimens down there,” Ruiz said.

Grant snuck on. Set her jaw. Through clenched teeth, she replied.

“Almost a one hundred percent chance.”

Another long bout of silence followed from Ruiz. He broke it with a short and ominous remark.

“Switchin’ to point-fifty.”

She paused again, just outside a sealed door, labeled—

SERVER ROOM.

“Jesus. You gonna ready some AA missiles to go with that?”

Grant guided a stolen keycard through a reader next to the door. A red light on the device turned green and the gadget emitted a soft beep, with a loud click-CLANK to follow, as the magnetic seal on the door released, and the door slid open with a soft whoosh.

“Ain’t takin’ no chances tonight. If they got a specimen down there as a watchdog, you just line it up, and I’ll take it down.”

Grant slipped into the server room, where the hum of hundreds of fans filled the air. The whole room vibrated, and the array of server racks, all encased in metal and glass, looked like something straight out of a science fiction flick.

The door automatically slid shut behind her.

She needed access—soon—because all her movements in the building, such as opening these mag-locked doors, were likely being recorded in some sub-system. And registering it to the guy whose card she had stolen.

It had to be a matter of time.

Now locked inside a room where she was permitted to make more noise, she ripped open the zipper on her backpack. Locating the nearest server, she whipped out the device Singh had provided them with for the mission, hooked it up to the system, and booted up the sleek black laptop.

Instead of an operating system’s stock screen to greet her, a sinister-looking and slow-moving loading bar progressed on-display, while the device brute-forced its digital tendrils into IntelliTech’s—or rather, into Celava’s—data hub.

Minutes flew by to the steady whispering hum of computer fans in the room, while Singh’s hacking device worked its magic, and Grant awaited its completion with bated breath.

“How’s it goin’ in there?” crackled Ruiz’s voice via headset, now with heavier static interference. “Security guard’s out on a smoke break. Coast is still clear. If anybody knows what’s up, they ain’t showin’ jack for it.”

Grant shot a glance at the screen.

It had changed already, which she had missed because it looked almost the same: the progress bar now indicated how far the device had gotten in vacuuming up all the data it could access from this data hub.

She didn’t want to envision how expensive the unseeming sleek laptop and its hardware must have been. Then again, Malachi Spencer was footing the bill, and Future Proof’s pockets seemed to run as deep as the Mariana Trench.

“Almost done,” she replied.

79%.

She wished she could scour the data gathered here while she waited.

Grant wondered if Spencer’s suspicion would prove to have been right.

Whether or not Celava was truly funneling personnel and natural resources through the Anomalies, all with a singular and terrifying purpose: to build a colony in the distant past, in some era before the dinosaurs went extinct.

In the here and now, however, Grant only glimpsed a black screen with a white progress bar. Racking up all the data.

93% complete.

Just before her patience could wear thin, a monitor on the wall winked on, flashing brightly with electronic life.

The monitor flickered, yet refused to display any image, staying a darker shade of gray—revealing it had turned on, without casting much light. Speakers behind the device emitted a soft ringtone, like a call or message had just come in.

Then a booming voice spoke to her.

“I am the Operator, and you are very naughty,” spoke a mysterious man’s voice from the monitor’s speakers—with a playfulness to his tone, and a strong British accent. “Cease what you’re doing now, or I’ll be forced to release the hounds. And, fair warning, I do not mean electronic countermeasures.”

She played it smart. Offered no response. Nothing she could be recognized by. Like the ski mask concealing her face, a voice could lead to identification. For now, she preferred to maintain her image as the nondescript cat burglar.

96% complete.

“Not talkative today, hm? You know, the hounds usually make intruders far more chatty. Or, well, screamy. I suspect it will be the latter with you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

He sounded young and mischievous. How much of the threat was empty?

A smirk crept across Grant’s face.

Was this guy for real?

“Hah. Have it your way then. Your screams of terror will probably make for a great feature on our next instructional video. I do love authenticity. Nice never having known ya, I suppose. Ta.”

The monitor deactivated again. The gray glow vanished as its electronic life disappeared.

And nothing else happened.

Asked Ruiz on the radio, “What the hell was that?”

In case anything was being recorded in the server room, Grant stayed quiet. She looked around for bugs, microphones, cameras, anything.

She found nothing.

99%.

A man’s scream reached her, muffled through the mag-locked door into the security room.

Her only way out.

The scream endured, shifting through varying stages of surprise, agony, and horror. It didn’t end as abruptly as it started, instead petering out with indecipherable pleading in Italian, and cutting off after a bout of gurgling noises.

The security guard?

100%.

Keeping her eyes locked on the door, Grant yanked Singh’s device away from the server rack, careless of the cable she blindly ripped out of its socket in the process. She stuffed the sleek laptop into her small backpack and neared the door again.

THUMP.

Something had hit the door, leaving Grant frozen, while her heartbeat raced at a pace of a thousand miles a minute, felt all the way up into her neck, and accompanied by the rushing of blood in her ears.

There was something out there.

Silence. The shuddering breath she dared to take could not have eclipsed any sounds out there, but she felt a presence. The vicinity of something dangerous.

Of something deadly.

There were no other ways out of the server room. The only other door led to a dead end, where Grant frantically looked through, only to find a bunch of clutter in form of cardboard boxes, spare cables, a sink fastened to the wall, and other useless junk.

“Talk to me, Goose,” said Ruiz. “Can’t see anything out here. Guard went back inside, and you’re in a blind spot for me.”

She waited at the mag-locked door. Couldn’t sense any presence there now.

The deadly silence remained.

She swiped the keycard down the mag-lock reader. The device only emitted an obnoxious beep and its red light blinked.

“Uh-uh-uh,” said the Operator from the TV speakers with a mocking, singing tone to it. “I locked down everything. Consider it me doing you a favor, magpie. A sweeper team is on its way to arrest you. They’ll return the hound to its cage before you’re ripped to shreds, and you’ll get to have a nice, lovely chat with a security detail, and then some corrupt police officials, I wager. One day, you might even get a chance to look back at all of this and have a good laugh—that is, from behind prison bars, of course.”

The Operator chuckled with sadistic glee.

Grant’s anger almost gave air to a single swearword, and instead exploded into a strike of her knuckles against the metal door.

The Operator was making perfect sense. Having worked in counter-intelligence herself, she would have run the same kind of ship. Issued the same kind of intimidation and taunts as he was.

She knew better than to succumb to fear, or spiral into inaction, and knew exactly what to try next.

The Operator had responded to her attempt at opening the door with the keycard—he clearly had no eyes on the server room, only on whatever any device was ever telling him. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he could remotely open and close any mag-locks throughout the building.

She was boxed in now. And she wasn’t going to wait for some sweeper team to capture her.

Thus, Grant acted quickly. Whipped out the tiny toolkit she had brought along for analog intrusion.

She had already been detected, and something was out there—according to the Operator, ready to slash her to ribbons upon contact—so subtlety had just flown out the window. And the poor security guard guy, well, he had probably lost more than his job just now.

Her foldable crowbar snapped into full length after she retrieved it from her kit, and she used it to jimmy open the mag-lock reader.

“You need to get the hell outta there,” said Ruiz, nervous tremors swinging fiercer with every word. “There’s an Apex fuckin’ Predator in those halls. It’s trailing blood all over the place, and I think it’s lookin’ for you. That security guard is toast, and I got no eyes on the AP. It’s too fast, moved into some room. I think it loops around to where you are. Repositioning.”

Metal sheets bent and splintered until she stopped prying at the reader with the crowbar, and ripped off the metal casing. Dexterous, Kevlar-gloved fingers started eviscerating the card reader, splaying out its thin wiring, and trying to make sense of its design.

Closed system. Not anything she could simply override.

Fuck.

The swearword echoed in her brain.

She backtracked into the backroom and pursued plan B.

Her boot crashed down on the ceramic sink with a heavy kick. Upon first impact, a long crack appeared on the wall behind it.

The whole place’s design for doors and locks and computerization was modern—but being situated in the center of Rome, the building must have featured some parts that had never been modernized by its newest owners.

Another kick shattered the sink and water started trickling from a bent pipe.

She grunted and gritted her teeth as she kicked and punched at the wall until she could jam the crowbar right into the growing fissure she was creating, busting her way through the wall.

Her tiny flashlight clicked. She shone its light into the fissure.

Luckily, none of it was solid concrete. Just a bunch of old bricks behind thin plaster and white paint.

“Do you know how to play chess, magpie?” asked the Operator from the adjacent room. “If you’re smart enough—and I truly hope you are—then I’m sure you can play it in the theater of the mind. Or draw on the floor for all I care. I’m sure it’ll buff out, even if you use a permanent marker.”

He didn’t know what she was up to. No eyes on the backroom. No electronics to spy on.

Lucky.

She gritted her teeth again and pulled at the drain pipe in the wall with all her might. The metal squealed, then finally bent before snapping away where it broke. Grant grunted again and yanked a portion of drain pipe from the wall, then used it as a blunt instrument to break through the wall entirely.

She struck and struck away, widening the hole, and hammering the gap. When it found purchase and dug deeper into the fissure, she used it like a cruder crowbar to widen the hole.

The Operator rambled on in his musing, mocking tone. “I’ll even give you the luxury of making the opening move. White pawn on F-7 moves to F-5. You know… a little IT joke on the side?”

There was no way she was going engage.

“Come on, it’s funny!”

Grant continued hammering and striking away, tearing away chunks of red brick and artificial rubble till her black gloves had turned a chalky white, and until the hole had grown wide enough. A different light poured in through a hole on the other side of the fissure.

The ski mask and black attire was soaking up her sweat. She must have lost minutes already. If there was a sweeper team on its way—and she suspected the Operator had been telling the truth—she didn’t have a lot of time left.

Ruiz hadn’t spoken in those minutes. She hoped he had kept his cool, and stayed on position of the eagle’s perch a few buildings away.

She needed the sharpshooter to shoot sharp if it came down to it.

Breathing heavily, she only perceived a deceptive silence from the adjacent room.

Every further attempt at tearing open the wall came easier than the last, with all its integrity having been demolished by her incessant and systematic destruction. Whole bricks clunked down and the rest crumbled, and the drain pipe clanked and clattered when she chucked it aside to climb through the hole, clambering into an open office space.

The Operator was still talking, babbling about Chess moves and other inane tomfoolery, but her own panting, and the noises of fighting her way out of the backroom into the office drowned it all out.

Pressed up against the wall next to the office’s door, she waited again, hoping to hear something—anything—that might reveal the presence of the “hound” the Operator had warned her about.

But… nothing. Not a sound.

This was going to end badly.

She had seen those monstrosities in action before. Silent, agile, fast, and built to kill grown humans in the blink of an eye. Evolved beyond natural evolution, and as Burch had later theorized—maybe designed by genetic engineering.

The Apex Predator was lurking. Hiding. In position to ambush her.

Seconds passed, melting into what felt like an infinity. Time—a luxury—she didn’t have.

Time.

Grant considered retrieving her silenced pistol from her pack, but decided against it. Nine millimeter rounds weren’t going to do much against such a beast.

She opened the office door and crept outside.

Sprays of blood had painted the walls with gruesome splatters. The body of the security guard wasn’t even nearby. Crimson marked where the creature had dragged it along the marbled floors, around the next corner.

Grant scanned every nook and cranny, keeping in mind every single thing that Mischchenko had taught her about predatory wildlife.

Watch for the shadows. Watch for vectors along which an animal can leap. And if it can fly, or climb—such as these Apex Predators could—always look up.

And just as she looked up, following the cue of those teachings, she almost regretted it. Her heart skipped a beat. The gangly, mottled-gray body of the Apex Predator hid just beneath the high ceiling, perched atop one of those statues of a Roman deity.

“Oh no,” said the Operator, pressing out the second word with vicious sarcasm, and his voice now coming from unseen speakers in the hallway. “Quite the pickle you’re in, aren’t you? Wish you would have stayed and played some Chess now, eh?”

Bloodstained claws clicked against the sculpture’s shoulders. A guttural growl from its closed, toothy maw sent shivers down Grant’s spine. It hissed.

The Apex Predator stared at her through its spider-like array of eyes. The brain implant exposed on the top of its skull glowed with a singular red light.

A spiderweb of cracks appeared on the nearby window, and the Predator’s head whipped around, as it snarled at where the glass cracked.

“Run! Now!” shouted Ruiz via headset.

He had shot the window, and the glass withstood his .50 caliber.

Grant needed not be told twice. She dove into the next alcove behind a statue, and the Predator flew past her. Then she zigzagged the opposite way, towards where the Apex Predator had leapt from in its deadly lunge at her.

The creature screeched—turning into an alien and ear-piercing howl—as its claws scraped against marble, and it skidded along the smooth, blood-splattered floor.

Running for her life, she dove around the next corner, and the Apex Predator followed. She leapt over the dead security guard’s mangled corpse, just in time to hurtle through the next door on her way back out, and slam it shut behind her.

The Predator would have caught her, had it not slammed into that same door with the momentum of a speeding truck, and broken the door’s surrounding frame in the process—everything bent upon impact, metal deformed.

Another blood-curdling shriek pierced the night as the Predator pried its way through the door, tearing through the feeble obstruction in its pursuit of the fleshy human in the Kevlar catsuit.

Grant fled through the building, retracing her steps with little thought, and panic driving her running stride.

Glimpses over her shoulder only accelerated her footsteps and supercharged her terror, as the ferocious mutant quickly closed the distance once it had clawed its way through the door, only to crash into the next one she slammed shut in between them.

“Fuck,” Ruiz shouted. “Move!”

Her boots clanked up the metal stairwell as she fled upstairs to the rooftop from which she had gained entry into the building.

And finally, making her heart sink, Grant’s mad dash ended at the mag-locked door she had opened with the stolen keycard.

The red light on the card reader glowed a menacing red, mirroring the red glow on the Apex Predator’s brain implant.

She was trapped.

“Oh, Magpie,” spoke the Operator. “See, I could open that door for you, and set you free… but then I’d also set our little doggy free, free to roam the city of Rome, and feast upon—well, I’m not actually sure how many people it would rip apart in its rampage before we put it down—”

Metal squealed as the Predator pried the door to the stairwell open. The creature peered up to her and shrieked.

With feral fury.

“I’m sure you’re regretting your life choices now, aren’t you. Well, you can’t blame—”

“Get away from the door,” growled Ruiz on the headset radio.

“No!” shouted Grant. “We can’t let this thing out!”

The Predator stormed up the stairs with leaping bounds, skipping entire floors as it flew up the center of the spiraling stairwell.

“Oh, how very noble of you. I tip my hat, missy!”

“Down!” yelled Ruiz.

He was going to do it, one way or another—

She ducked.

The door exploded. Then it exploded again. Two of Ruiz’s rifle shots had blown football-sized holes through it. Funny how the glass withstood more punishment.

Before any dust could settle, the Predator flew over the stairwell railing and its claws cut deep. Grant’s own blood sprayed, shedding DNA that could be traced—the least of her worries now, as the blood drained from her head, and she lost all feeling in her left arm. An arm and hand that refused to obey when—

She ripped the broken door open, and fled onto the rooftop, into the sea of night, where glittering lights sparkled on Rome’s city skyline. The streets bustled with life—life that was threatened to be ended by the creature right behind her—

Grant fumbled and retrieved the pistol from her pack, just in time for the growling creature to follow onto the rooftop where she had emerged. Its brain implant glowed red like a malevolent, cyclopean eye.

It prowled towards her while the pistol slid perfectly into her grip, and she aimed at the Predator’s head with practiced precision.

It had smelled blood, and it was poised to leap again.

To kill.

The pain in her arm screamed as it hung lifelessly from her side, while she stayed silent and aimed with her right.

She aimed.

To kill.

To pull the trigger, as it leapt.

The bullets she released didn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop it. Probably even hit.

The next thing she knew, the smoking, silenced gun was on the rooftop next to her, and she was holding her side, where claws had left a deep wound, and all the warmth escaped her, pumping wet and slick and deathly.

The Predator crumpled to the ground, and echoes of Ruiz’s dampened shots were so loud that she could still hear them, several rooftops away.

Like the .50 had blown holes through the door, it had turned entire chunks of the Predator into a fine red mist. Killed the damned thing dead outright before it could kill her.

Well, almost.

Almost.

Grant slumped from her knees onto the ground, splayed out and with all strength escaping her like the blood.

Ruiz was talking to her all the while. The Operator, less audible from out there, also continued babbling.

Darkness enshrouded her field of vision until shadow swallowed all. And blinking never dispelled it fully. The starry night blended with the darkness of death.

Breaking in was the easy part. Always was, wasn’t it?

Getting out, unnoticed, unscathed—that was the hard part.

Everything hurt.

Guess this is what dying is like.

Losing consciousness, losing time, she didn’t know how long she took to fade away, in and out, until a silhouette rushed to her rescue, towering over her, and joining the darkness in blotting out the glittering night’s sky.

Not the silhouette of Ruiz, that is, but many figures. Men in black jumpsuits, armored, and armed to the teeth with firearms and batons. They sported ski masks like her own, with eyes covered by night-vision goggles.

A whole strike force of hired guns crowded around her.

They lifted her up. Not a damned thing she could have done about it.

They carried her away. Over the crumpled carcass of the Apex Predator.

All the pain went away, flared up, went away again.

Away.

They carried her away, into a blinding bright light.

[fellhellion]

God that’s also why I hate the ‘Miguel is a cult leader’ reading even if emotionally I can understand what threads people are gesturing at to make it.

Because like, for one cult leaders don’t actually have lived experience of mini apocalypses affecting their perception of reality so the likenesses already start falling apart there, but secondly Miguel isn’t rebuffing questioning the canon because he’s lording power over the rest of the society.

He rebuffs questioning it out of fear of the cosmic backlash he literally experienced happening again and because if he’s wrong, he’d be forced to reckon with having caused and permitted pointless suffering which this character explicitly does not enjoy seeing/allowing! He’s literally in a doublebind of his own making.

[frnwhcom]

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[akashmaphotography]

McMurdo Station – Cold Hub of Hot Secrets

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[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Character Flaws and Their Meanings

Impulsiveness : Acts on instinct without careful planning. Perfectionism : Sets unrealistically high standards, leading to self-criticism. Indecisiveness : Struggles to commit to decisions or choose a path. Arrogance : Overestimates one’s abilities and dismisses others. Pessimism : Habitually expects negative outcomes in most situations. Cynicism : Distrusts the motives and sincerity of others. Overconfidence : Places excessive faith in one’s skills, often underestimating risks. Stubbornness : Resists change and refuses to adapt to new ideas. Jealousy : Feels envious of others' success or possessions. Insecurity : Experiences frequent self-doubt and a lack of confidence. Procrastination : Tends to delay tasks, often leading to missed opportunities. Passivity : Avoids taking initiative and relies on others to act. Aggressiveness : Responds with hostility or force rather than reason. Selfishness : Prioritizes personal gain over the welfare of others. Fragility : Is overly sensitive to criticism and easily discouraged. Egotism : Constantly focuses on oneself and one’s own importance. Defensiveness : Quickly rejects or rationalizes away critique or new information. Manipulativeness : Exploits others to fulfill personal needs or desires. Recklessness : Shows a careless disregard for potential risks or consequences. Resentfulness : Holds lingering bitterness and grudges over perceived wrongs. Distractibility : Finds it hard to maintain focus amid competing interests. Impatience : Lacks the willingness to wait, often spoiling opportunities to learn. Perfunctory : Performs actions in a mechanical, uninspired manner. Self-Doubt : Consistently questions personal abilities and decisions. Arbitraryness : Makes decisions based on whim rather than reason or evidence. Rigidity : Is inflexible and unwilling to consider alternative viewpoints. Gullibility : Trusts too easily, often leading to being misled or deceived. Obsession : Becomes excessively fixated on particular ideas or details. Aloofness : Maintains emotional distance, appearing detached or indifferent. Intolerance : Refuses to accept differing perspectives or lifestyles.

Writing Advice for Brainstorming

Mix genres and time periods: Experiment by combining elements from different eras or genres to create unique settings and narratives.

Use "what if" scenarios: Pose unexpected questions (e.g., What if time travel operated on emotions rather than mechanics?) to spark novel ideas.

Draw from diverse mediums: Engage with art, music, or even scientific papers to inspire unexpected plot twists.

Embrace absurdity: Let illogical or surreal ideas guide you; sometimes the wildest thoughts lead to compelling stories.

Reverse clichés: Identify common tropes in your favorite genres and deliberately invert them to create fresh perspectives.

Incorporate personal anomalies: Transform your idiosyncrasies and personal struggles into rich, multi-dimensional characters.

Use mind-mapping: Visually plot your ideas in a freeform way to uncover hidden connections between disparate elements.

[kidovna]

mage viktor meets a jayce from a timeline where the illness claimed viktor naturally

the moment that changed everything in this timeline was that vi managed to convince jinx that they could be sisters again. unconditionally. jayce got the council to vote for the creation of zaun. and there was no bombing or subsequent deaths/injuries. viktor died months later.

in my head, i imagine this jayce to have been in mourning for over five years. the last thing his viktor asked from him was to destroy the hexcore and keep working on their hextech dream. this jayce was unable to do either because of the weight of his grief.

he continues his duties as a councillor and pauses any new hextech development. the council, agitated, overrules him and hands over all hextech operations to new young and brilliant minds. he’s unable to destroy the hexcore because it knows what he wants (viktor)

though it’s slower, the anomaly still starts to form at the hexgates. and jayce, who is surprised ekko and heimerdinger came to him instead of the new people assigned to work with hextech, agrees to help, and gets thrown into mage viktor’s timeline.

mage viktor senses that there’s something different about this jayce. his grief is not the same as the other jayces who have visited. his grief belongs to someone he can’t return to. they have that in common.

[qrevo]

the Belady Anomaly shouldn't have this name, it's too pretty for what it actually is. ""☝️🤓 The Belady Anomaly is when you allocate more memory to a process and it results in a loss of performance--"" NO the Belady Anomaly should be when a rose's petals turn golden or when bees sing during summer. such a beautiful name for a computer science concept

[cimcondigital]

Transforming Predictive Maintenance with CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform: Unlocking Proactive Asset Management

Introduction

In today’s fast-paced and technologically advanced world, the need for efficient and proactive asset management is paramount for businesses to stay competitive. CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform emerges as a game-changer in the realm of Predictive Maintenance, empowering organizations to detect anomalies in advance using ML algorithms. This capability not only enables customers to plan schedules well in advance and avoid costly downtime but also provides real-time visibility into the remaining useful life of assets. In this article, we delve into how CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform revolutionizes Predictive Maintenance with practical examples of proactive asset management.

1. The Challenge of Reactive Maintenance

Traditionally, companies have been plagued by reactive maintenance practices, where assets are repaired or replaced only after failures occur. This reactive approach leads to unexpected downtime, reduced productivity, and increased maintenance costs. Predicting asset failures and planning maintenance schedules in advance is critical to ensure smooth operations, optimize resource allocation, and minimize overall downtime.

2. Empowering Proactive Maintenance with ML Algorithms

CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform is equipped with advanced Machine Learning algorithms that analyze real-time data from connected assets and machines. By continuously monitoring sensor data and historical performance trends, the platform can accurately detect anomalies and deviations from normal operating patterns. This proactive approach allows businesses to predict potential asset failures well in advance, providing ample time to schedule maintenance activities before any critical failures occur.

3. Planning Ahead to Avoid Downtime

Imagine a scenario in a manufacturing facility where a critical piece of equipment experiences an unexpected failure. The consequences could be disastrous, leading to costly downtime and missed production targets. With CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform in place, the same equipment would be continuously monitored in real-time. As soon as the platform detects any unusual behavior or signs of potential failure, it triggers an alert to the maintenance team.

Armed with this early warning, the maintenance team can plan the necessary repairs or replacements well in advance, avoiding unplanned downtime and minimizing disruption to production schedules. This capability not only ensures smooth operations but also optimizes maintenance resources and lowers the overall maintenance costs.

4. Real-Time Visibility into Asset Health

The IoT Edge Platform goes beyond detecting anomalies; it also provides real-time insights into the remaining useful life of assets. By analyzing historical performance data and asset health indicators, the platform estimates the remaining operational life of an asset with high accuracy.

Consider a scenario in a utility company managing a fleet of aging turbines. The maintenance team needs to know the remaining useful life of each turbine to plan proactive maintenance and avoid sudden breakdowns. With CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform, the team can access real-time information on the health of each turbine, enabling them to make data-driven decisions about maintenance schedules, parts replacement, and resource allocation.

5. Benefits of CIMCON Digital's IoT Edge Platform

CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform offers a host of benefits to businesses seeking to enhance their Predictive Maintenance capabilities:

a) Proactive Decision-making: By detecting anomalies in advance, the platform enables proactive decision-making, reducing reactive responses and enhancing overall operational efficiency.

b) Minimized Downtime: With the ability to schedule maintenance activities in advance, businesses can avoid costly downtime, leading to increased productivity and higher customer satisfaction.

c) Optimal Resource Allocation: The platform’s real-time visibility into asset health allows for better resource allocation, ensuring that maintenance efforts are targeted where they are most needed.

d) Cost Savings: By avoiding unexpected failures and optimizing maintenance schedules, businesses can significantly reduce maintenance costs and improve their bottom line.

Conclusion:

CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform empowers businesses to transcend traditional reactive maintenance practices and embrace a proactive approach to asset management. With the platform’s advanced ML algorithms, businesses can detect anomalies in advance, plan maintenance schedules proactively, and gain real-time visibility into asset health. This transformative capability results in minimized downtime, optimized resource allocation, and substantial cost savings. As CIMCON Digital’s IoT Edge Platform continues to revolutionize Predictive Maintenance, businesses can embark on a journey towards greater efficiency, productivity, and long-term sustainability.

[nameshifter]

Crossing off a bunch of scips off of my "read when there's nothing to do at work" list and I cane across SCP-4010. Needless to say, it instantly became my new headcanon for how the SCP reality operates.

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: The Harbingers With an Naive S/O

Pierro

As the leader of the Harbingers, Pierro takes his role seriously, and when he realizes how naive you are, his protective instincts kick in. He often shields you from the darker side of Fatui affairs, keeping you in the dark about the more ruthless aspects of their operations. He wants to preserve your innocence as much as possible, which is a rare sentiment from someone as cold and calculated as Pierro.

While Pierro is usually stern and emotionless, your purity softens him. He finds solace in your presence and enjoys your simple outlook on life. It reminds him of a time before he became the harbinger of destruction and chaos.

Pierro knows that you're easy to mislead, so he's always careful with his words. He makes sure to explain things in a way that won’t overwhelm you, but also so you don’t ask too many dangerous questions. You remain blissfully unaware of just how much blood is on his hands, and Pierro likes it that way.

Pierro would never admit it, but he goes out of his way to ensure you’re kept far from harm, even if you’re unaware of it. He’s constantly working behind the scenes to remove threats before they even come close to you. His protectiveness is subtle, often disguised as him merely sending you off on errands or encouraging you to remain in safer areas.

Your innocence reminds Pierro of a time long ago when he might have been less cynical, less ruthless. Though he’s a deeply strategic man, your presence softens his edges, even if only in private moments. Your belief in the good of the world makes him occasionally question if he could have chosen a different path.

Capitano

Capitano, a figure known for his strength and valor, finds your innocence strangely calming. His life is filled with battle and bloodshed, so your pure and untainted perspective offers him a rare moment of tranquility. When he’s with you, he can leave behind his role as a warrior and simply enjoy a more peaceful existence.

Capitano doesn’t need to say much to keep you safe. His mere presence is enough to intimidate anyone who might seek to harm or take advantage of you. He’s always watching over you, even when you think you’re alone. You might not understand why people give you a wide berth when Capitano is around, but that’s exactly how he prefers it.

Despite his intimidating appearance and harsh exterior, Capitano is surprisingly gentle with you. He’ll place a hand on your shoulder or give you a small nod of approval, small gestures that show he cares without overwhelming you. He knows you’re fragile in comparison to the life he leads, so he treats you like something precious and irreplaceable.

Capitano sees you as something pure that he must protect at all costs. Though he’s known for his unwavering dedication to his duties, your presence gives him a deeper sense of purpose. He fights not just for the Fatui but to create a world where someone like you can remain safe and untouched by cruelty.

Anyone who dares try to manipulate or harm you faces Capitano’s full wrath. He is known for his brutal efficiency in battle, but when it comes to you, that intensity amplifies tenfold. He won’t let anyone or anything threaten your safety or corrupt your innocence. You’re like a rare treasure in his life, one he will guard until his last breath.

Dottore

Dottore is utterly fascinated by your innocence, finding it almost incomprehensible. He often prods you with curious questions, eager to see how your mind works compared to his twisted genius. To him, you’re an anomaly—someone who hasn’t yet been tainted by the world.

Though Dottore cares for you in his own twisted way, he can’t help but toy with your naivety. He might tell you wild, untrue stories just to see your reactions, reveling in how easily you believe him. Despite this, he’s careful not to push you too far; he enjoys having you around too much to truly break your spirit.

While Dottore is amused by your innocence, he’s also fiercely possessive. He doesn’t want anyone else corrupting you, so he’ll make sure you’re always by his side or at least under his watchful eye. If another Harbinger tries to take advantage of your naivety, Dottore’s wrath is swift and brutal.

Dottore, being a man of science and curiosity, is constantly intrigued by your innocence. He wonders how someone like you could exist in such a ruthless world, and sometimes he treats your naivety like an experiment—observing how you react to various stimuli and situations. Though his fascination might be clinical, there’s an underlying protectiveness as well.

Despite his twisted nature, Dottore secretly cares about you. He might create devices or gadgets designed to keep you safe or unaware of the more gruesome aspects of his work. You might think his inventions are just fun toys or tools to make your life easier, but in reality, they’re carefully crafted to protect you from the darker side of his experiments.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is initially confused by your innocence. Part of him finds it frustrating—he’s used to manipulation and cruelty, so your pure-hearted nature baffles him. However, over time, he begins to appreciate it. You represent something he can never have: a sense of untainted goodness.

Scaramouche, who is typically sharp-tongued and cynical, finds your naivety both amusing and endearing. He’s quick to mock you playfully, throwing sarcastic remarks your way when you fail to notice something obvious or overlook the harshness of reality. Yet, despite his teasing, he never crosses a line. There’s a strange softness in the way he treats you compared to others, even if he tries to hide it.

Despite his cruel nature, Scaramouche becomes fiercely protective of your innocence. He views it as something precious—something no one has the right to taint. While he may mock your naivety, he won’t let anyone else take advantage of it. If someone attempts to manipulate or hurt you, Scaramouche’s wrath is quick and brutal, leaving no doubt that you are under his protection.

Your innocence frustrates Scaramouche at times because it represents everything he’s lost—trust, hope, and belief in others. Yet, that same purity draws him in, creating a tension within himself. He doesn’t want you to lose your naive worldview, but at the same time, he’s terrified that one day, the cruel world will break you as it did him.

Scaramouche isn’t someone who shows open affection, especially not in front of others. However, when you’re alone, he’ll allow himself small gestures—a hand placed gently on your head or a brief moment where he’ll sit close to you in silence. It’s his way of saying that he cares, even if he’ll never say it outright.

Pantalone

Pantalone adores your naive nature, finding it endearing in a world where everyone else is driven by greed and ambition. He uses his vast wealth to spoil you, gifting you extravagant things just to see the look of pure joy on your face. He never lets you worry about the cost or where the money comes from—it’s all part of his plan to keep you blissfully unaware.

While Pantalone manipulates nearly everyone around him, he goes out of his way to shield you from the corruption that runs deep in the Fatui. He sees you as something too delicate for the brutal world he operates in and prefers to keep you in a bubble of luxury and comfort, far from the cutthroat politics of the Harbingers.

Pantalone ensures that no harm comes to you by leveraging his financial influence. If anyone dares to target you or tries to take advantage of your innocence, they quickly find themselves on the wrong side of his wealth and power. He’ll ruin them financially and ensure that their downfall is swift and complete.

Pantalone is a master manipulator, but when it comes to you, he keeps his darker dealings carefully hidden. He never wants you to see the ruthless side of his business, believing you’re better off living in blissful ignorance. He’ll go to great lengths to ensure you remain unaware of the moral gray areas he operates in.

Pantalone takes great joy in watching you light up when he surprises you with something extravagant, whether it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry or a rare collectible. He views your happiness as a reflection of his success, and he goes out of his way to provide for you in every possible way. Your innocent joy is one of the few things that can genuinely warm his cold heart.

Childe

Childe finds your naivety absolutely adorable. He loves to tease you, often making exaggerated claims or telling you about his exploits in a way that makes you blush or gasp in surprise. However, underneath all that playfulness, Childe is fiercely protective of you. He won’t let anyone else toy with your innocence.

Childe thrives on showing off in front of you, especially when he knows you’re easily impressed. Whether it’s through his combat prowess or his adventurous stories, he loves the way your eyes widen in awe. Your naive admiration boosts his ego, and he’s more than happy to be your hero.

Despite his love for battle, Childe would never want to expose you to the darker aspects of his life. He’ll always keep you far from the frontlines, ensuring you only see the more exciting, less dangerous parts of his adventures. In his eyes, you’re someone worth protecting at all costs, and he won’t let anything or anyone change that.

Childe finds it endlessly amusing when you ask innocent, naive questions about his work or the Fatui’s operations. He’ll often give you simplified answers, sometimes throwing in a bit of embellishment to make himself seem even more impressive. Your wide-eyed belief in his stories makes him feel like the most important person in the world.

While Childe’s real work is far too dangerous for you, he often takes you on smaller, safer "adventures." These outings are carefully curated so you never see the true violence of his life, but they’re thrilling enough to keep you entertained. Whether it’s exploring a quiet forest or pretending to train with him, Childe enjoys showing off his skills in a way that keeps you feeling safe and awed by him.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[softaestluv]

Breaking Bread

Simon Riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather. Your lieutenant who has only spoken a handful of words to you.

Simon Riley who happens to be sat at the only open table in the mess hall.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Sergeant! Reader

Tags: Tags: Short n’ Sweet, Fluff, Pining, Slow burn if you squint, Food as a love language, Eventual romance, Eventual smut, Military inaccuracies

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5 | ao3 | masterlist

The military is cruel, unforgiving, ruthless. Doesn’t quite consider the value of human lives and routines, especially for those who are active participants.

Your lieutenant faced this wraith more frequently than you did. You sat alone at the mess hall table more often than not, drank coffee on the rec room couch because you couldn’t make tea the way Ghost could. Other sergeants pressed to your side during meetings, didn’t quite burn away the itch thrumming under your skin.

But even after weeks of an assignment, he always returned to the table like a dog trained. Took quite a bit of effort on your part to coax him from his Ghost stoicism after a mission. Remind him that you were the pretty dove he ate with, that smuggled sweet treats just for him. Treats that had taken to a pile in your room in his weeks away, poured over him like muffins and chocolates from you were his reward for a grueling mission.

However, returning from assignments was different for you. It was normal at first, no changes in your routine when you returned to base. Found yourself sat at the mess hall table with Ghost like usual, as if there was no lapse in your shared lunches.

That was before you got injured on an assignment Ghost hadn’t been on. It wasn’t a horrible injury, didn’t require you to stay in the medbay, could still operate functionally. But there was an ugly bruise from your hip bone that radiated over your side to your back. Blue and black, massive and sensitive, made breathing hard. So, you had asked Price if you could opt out of training for the day, side pinched everytime you inhaled.

When lunch came you didn’t go eat with Ghost, didn’t have the energy to walk over for a mediocre meal, so you continued to sleep in your bed. Buried yourself in the warmth of the sheets, it was rare you were able to sleep in past the early mornings in this occupation.

Though, Ghost seemed to have other plans. Woke up to him knocking— quite impatiently, on your door. Didn’t even give you a second to react as he pushed past your smaller frame.

You rubbed at your eyes, still half asleep as you closed the door, turning to face your lieutenant who now stood in the middle of your room.

"Lieutenant?" You murmured groggily.

“Show me.” He demanded sternly, words curled with his lieutenant voice.

You looked at him confused, must’ve tilted your head because he sighed quietly, eyes piercing through the thin slit of his balaclava. He doesn’t say anything more, just points to your side.

Your mouth falls open in realization, wondered how the hell he knew about your injury if you had only spoken to Price about it. But you should’ve know he would force it out of your captain.

You hesitated, surely he didn’t mean for you to lift your fucking shirt up, show your bare flesh to him. Especially when the bruise curved under where your bra would clasp, one of which you weren’t wearing because he interrupted your sleep.

But the longer you waited, the tighter Ghost’s jaw became under his mask. So, like a good sergeant, you turned to the side, bunching your shirt up under your breasts. Forced your eyes to stare at the ceiling because you don’t have the strength to look in his eyes.

You don’t know what you expected him to do, didn’t expect him to fucking talk because he never did, but when you felt calloused fingers on the skin of your hip you inhaled a sharp breath between your teeth. Didn’t he have fucking gloves on seconds ago?

You had hoped that would be it, that he would step back and put his glove on again because you don’t think you could hold the noises from your throat down if he did anything else, but you never quite understood what ricocheted in your lieutenants mind. Had to squeeze your eyes shut when he slid higher, roughened fingers so gentle on your flesh.

The shirt slipped from your grasps when fingers became a palm, pressed smooth against your skin. Four fingers spread on the expanse of your back, thumb curled over your rib. He pushed your shirt back up as soon as it fell, pulled it taut at your chest, thumb resting just under your breast.

“S-Sir,” You stuttered, twisting your head to look up at him, but his eyes were zeroed in on your bruise, just hummed like he wasn’t inches away from cupping your breast in his large palm.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bruise.” You somehow manage to get out, cheeks just about swollen from biting them so hard.

Still, he doesn’t say anything, drops your shirt down over your side. You should really stop trying to predict his actions because you expected him to take a step back or leave, but he doesn’t move.

Instead, he shifts his gaze to yours, but you can’t quite decipher the look in his eyes. Swallow thickly as you watch them change, edges hardening into the tense stare your lieutenant always wears.

“You get the bastard?”

You nodded, “Always do.”

He seems pleased enough by this, steps back so you can breathe again. Walks out of your room as quick as he walked in, mind still fuzzy when you notice the tray of food on your bed.

The next day you have to stop yourself from jumping to conclusions when Soap whines to you— ‘Lass, yer lucky ye didnae hae tae train yesterday. LT was angry, ma bones still hurt.’

It becomes a constant, Ghost coming into your room to check on your injuries after a mission. Even if you weren’t hurt, he checks anyways, eases his concerns when he sees you standing and healthy.

Maybe you should feel a little offended; you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he definitely wouldn’t let you barge into his room and demand to know if he’s still alive. But you let him every time, enjoy the way the strain in his irises soften when you tell him you’re okay too much to say anything.

Then, you find yourself in the rec room, a makeshift party of sorts that Soap threw together for Gaz’s birthday. A rare celebration in the special forces.

You’re already two drinks in, and you probably shouldn’t drink more so quickly, but Soap keeps wrangling you to the table to take shots. You can tell Soap no, but when Gaz looks at you with puppy dog eyes, and says— ‘But, lass, it’s my birthday!’ you can’t find it in yourself to deny him.

Which is most-likely why you sway over to Ghost’s figure in the corner of the room, sat alone at an empty table. His eyes find yours, or maybe they were already on you; you’re not entirely sure.

You’re surprised he hasn’t already beckoned you over to the spot in front of him. Except your buzzed self doesn’t fill the seat in front of him, instead, you slip into the spot directly next to him. Thighs pressed flush against his, shoulder knocking into his.

“Hi, lieutenant,” You greet, leaning real close.

An arched eyebrow, you presume, under his mask is the only response you get. He’s usually quiet, but for some reason, it peeves you today. Maybe it’s because he keeps barging into your room, but doesn’t even mutter a simple ‘hi’ to you.

Maybe it’s because you can still feel the phantom of his hands days later, fingers curled around your hips and ribs. When it’s so easy to imagine them cupped around other sensitive flesh. All your pent up frustrations bursting through the skin he’s touched with his bare hands, throbs in memory late at night.

“I didn’t think you would be here,” You pause for a response, continuing once you’re faced with more silence, “You drinking?”

He holds his cup up with a nod, showing you his half filled glass.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Bourbon.”— It’s short, one word, but you take it as a victory.

“So, he does talk,” You tease, breathe of a smirk on your lips.

He scowls at you, drawing a quiet laugh from your chest. Maybe you were spoiled, so used to your lieutenant willingly sharing his drinks with you, maybe you shouldn’t ask, but you do anyways.

“Can I taste it?”

“No chance, sweeth’art.”

You frown, placing your hand on his knee so you can press your lips to his clothed covered ear, “Our little secret?”

Ghost inhales as you whisper, watches you fall back against your seat once again, palm still on his knee.

“Mmh, c’mere then, dove,” He hums quietly.

You practically jump into the hand he holds out, smiling wide at his acquiescence. And just like his tea, he presses his glass of bourbon to your lips to drink. Except this time his grip is on your jaw, large fingers wrapped around your chin.

It’s bitter, burns your throat irritably, but you swallow it like it doesn’t, hold his stare for as long as you can.

When he pulls the glass back, some of the liquid spills from the corner of your lips. And just like the first time he shared his tea with you, his thumb catches the droplets. Except this time he isn’t wearing any gloves, so he pushes it back to your lips. Stamps the pad of his thumb against your bottom lip, smearing the bourbon across it; his eyes fixed intently on the movement.

Your tongue darts out on instinct, licking the bourbon off your skin, dragging it against his thumb in the process.

Sharp eyes meet yours.

The room spins, tilts on its axis.

Fingers tightening around his knee to stabilize yourself. Stuttering embarrassingly over your breaths as they get caught in your throat.

His fingers on your jaw scorch your skin, leave fingertip shaped chiaroscuro stains in their wake. Thumb smudging cedar remnants from your lips down your chin.

“Think ‘ts time we got you to bed, yeah?” He murmurs, dropping his grip from your head.

The absence of his touch brings you back to reality, the loud noises from the other drunk sergeants deafening. You nod, let him stand you up and walk you to your room because you’re afraid what you might do if you have another drink.

Gratitude pulses your body when the following week is your scheduled time for leave. You don’t have the strength to keep eating lunch with Ghost and pretending you don’t know the taste of his skin.

Your leave is short, two weeks is all you managed to scrape out of your superiors. Though, it’s not like you do much besides sleep in, rest your overworked body, and lounge on your porch reading.

And because you somehow convinced Ghost to give you his personal number before you left, you spend your time sending him messages you’re sure he doesn’t care about.

A picture of the chocolate muffins you baked— ‘Made some muffins, wish you could try them! I think you would like them more than the ones I get on base!’

A picture of the cup of tea you made— ‘Doesn’t taste as good as yours does.’

A picture of a stray cat in your backyard, black fur with white clumps decorated on its face— ‘Lieutenant Cat Riley.’

A picture of you reading on your porch, glasses on the bridge of your nose, sunset in the background— ‘Reading with a sunset instead of the rec room couch next to my grumpy lieutenant.’

You finally get a response from him— ‘Pretty.’

‘The sunset is pretty!’

But your lieutenant doesn’t mean the sunset.

[hexhomos]

do you think jayvik died?

They didn't. they used the rune whose main function is teleporting, to teleport. You can go look frame by frame if you want and see them get sucked into the gem and the gem out of the present reality; it's been left purposefully open ended so riot games can decide how to continue milking this storyline at a vague point in the future. This is how they operate, jayce and viktor didn't die but it sure is useful to instill doubt in the fanbase to generate more attentionbucks. League of Legends has always been a 'multiverse' property and every skinline they release counts as its own separate world with backstory and character profiles and stuff, there's like 50 of them and counting. Jayce and Viktor could be in fairytopia or cutting-edge futurism world right now, your imagination is the limit!

Some people have said 'wah you can see their bodies breaking though' and im just like... guys.. in ep3 when jayce/ekko/heimer get sucked into the anomaly they literally split into fractals and grow 300 extra eyes! They'll be fine. don't worry

[astraeus-tree]

Chapter 2

『Wanna see you, wanna see you but I gotta resist』

Disparities Between Our Souls You and your husband fight the anomaly in your home-universe while attempting to avoid the gaze of your family Disclaimer(s): Fight scenes are definitely not my forte and Damian is the only batfam with a proper screen time in this

Chapter 1 <- Chapter 2 -> Chapter 3

You felt the wind on your body was you swung across the city towards the anomaly. The adrenaline coursed through your veins as you tried to clear your mind of your racing thoughts. In the corner of your eye, you see the familiar red of Miguel’s laser webs and you were able to fully focus on your task at hand and not your future problems.

Once the Doc Ock finally made his way into your full view, it was certain that he was anomaly. He looked like he came out of a steampunk movie, a stark difference to the modernity of Gotham.

You two went with your usual plan, Miguel would distract the villain of the day while you would transport the civilians or at least warn them. You made quick work transporting the citizens away from the expected vicinity of the fight.

You made your way back to your husband after dropping off the final citizen to safety. You were greeted to the sight of multiple pairs of mechanical arms reaching for Miguel as he avoided them with ease. You made eye contact with him, another silent agreement made between you two.

You shot a web towards the Doc Ock, taking his attention away from your husband, his rage now aimed at you. His barely coherent shouts weren’t a deterrent to you as you taunted him. While he was distracted with you, Miguel had easily snuck up on him and punched him square in the face.

But that wasn’t enough to take him down, it was never that easy. He was quick to get back on his feet and reach the tentacles out at both of you. You and Miguel jumped in sync, shooting a web at either side of the anomaly. You delivered a quick kick to the stomach and back flip out of the way before Miguel prepared to deliver another blow.

The fight felt almost one-sided, with the Doc Ock barely landing his punches on either of you. But this was good, the faster you finished this, the less chances that one of Gotham’s vigilantes would see you.

The comms were unusually quiet tonight, so Damian definitely wasn’t surprised to hear that a new villain was out to make a name for himself in Gotham. He was quick to move to the scene of the crime, but what he saw was something definitely not expected.

Two figures were fighting with this new villain— which speaking of, looked out of place in Gotham. The two new heroes were wearing skin-tight suits with an animal theme, specifically spiders, not unusual for heroes.

They moved expertly around the offender. like dancing around a ballroom. In fact, Damian had stopped himself from interrupting their fight in fear of ruining the clear rhythm they had together. Their moves were calculated, landing their punches and mostly avoiding getting hit themselves. These were not some vigilante or hero-wannabes. No, they were trained, their experience clearly showing through their movements, the way they took down the rogue with little to no difficulty. They fought with him as if they had gone head to head multiple times, moving as if they could read his mind.

“Robin, what’s the hold up?” Barbara’s voice snapped out of his daze. He remained silent for a few more seconds, attempting to examine the figures more closely and find out their identities. The villain itself was certainly going to be easily identified, with his face not even being covered. However, the two others would be harder. Not a single patch of skin was left uncovered.

“Oracle, does there happen to be two heroes that have been operating under our radar for a while? Say, for at least 2 years?”

“No way, that’s basically impossible.” Barbara said, in disbelief of the implication of Damian’s words.

“Apparently it is. There’s two people fighting against the rogue and they’re handling themselves pretty well. It’s almost as if it was the norm for them.”

“Hm… Let them handle the problem then. Follow and investigate them when they finish.”

“Duly noted.”

He stayed perched high above, watching and studying the two as best as he could. When the fight finally finished, he watched the two wrap the now unconscious rogue in a web-like substance and inject him with a liquid. They spoke to each other before one of them picked up the villain. The other swung in front of them, as if they were leading the way to some place. Damian stalked after them, making sure to stay as close as he could without getting noticed.

He was surprised to find that the one leading knew their way around Gotham, like they had gone past these streets multiple times. The place they ended up in seemed oddly familiar to Damian, but he wasn’t able to pin point what it reminded him of.

He watched as one of them pressed the doorbell hesitantly. When it opened, Damian was finally able to reason why this place seemed so familiar. It had been the place that you grew up in. The face of his only blood sibling’s aunt was practically engraved in his head after you had gone missing 5 years ago. Your aunt had called and visited the manor almost every day for a year after you disappeared. Now she was standing next to an opened door.

While you and the rest of the family hadn’t always been on good terms, they still cared for you and tried everything they could to find any traces of you, including Damian himself, albeit, a bit reluctantly. While they still hadn’t given up, the hope in finding you was slowly dwindling. After all, if the world’s greatest detective couldn’t find their own child, the who could? Your aunt had been distraught when she was given the news that you were basically a cold case.

So imagine his and your aunt’s surprise when he sees your face after one of the figures pulled off their mask. It wasn’t identical to the face he last saw 5 years ago, there were a few minor changes, like new scars, and you definitely looked older, but hew knew it was you. You had the same smile, the one he was greeted with when he was first introduced to the manor, the same one he always rejected because you were bound to be a liability with your softness.

Clearly, Damian’s assumptions were wrong. Clearly, you were able to not only defend yourself, but also other people, as shown form the fight he witnessed not even 20 minutes ago.

He was dumbfounded. You disappeared for 5 years and now you come back, suddenly having extensive knowledge in the battlefield, with another person fighting alongside you. He had so many questions. Where did you go? Who was this other person? Why return only now? But those weren’t the most important matter at hand. Right now, he had to inform the rest of the family about your status.

“Oracle, open communications to the whole group.” He could hear the words of the other members in his ears.

“Robin, report.”

“I’ve found the identity of one of the vigilantes.”

“Well? Why is it so important that the whole group had to listen?”

“It’s [Name].”

The silence was even more deafening than the usual chatter.

You stood in the aftermath of the battle, rubble everywhere. Bruce would probably pay to fix this later. Thankfully, the civilians got your warning and didn’t wander back into the vicinity of the fight, but you didn’t expect anything less from the citizens of Gotham.

You called out your husband’s name, catching his attention.

“I have a place we can go to. The person that owns it is someone I’ll trust with my life, don’t worry.” You shot down any possibility of arguments as soon as you could. Miguel grunted in response, injecting his venom into the anomaly before pinking it up and carrying it like a football under his arm.

“Lead the way.” You shot a web towards the roof of a tall building and started swinging in the direction of the place you grew up in, your aunt’s house.

Your nerves started acting up again. What would you aunt think of the new you? You may look the same but you weren’t the same person you were 5 years ago. So much has happened, what if she doesn’t approve of you? Or worse, not even recognise you?

You walked up to the door you knew all too well. Your mind raced with so many negative thoughts. In the moment, the realisation hit you like a train wreck. There was a chance that she didn’t even live here anymore; a lot can happen in 5 years, you would know.

You held up your hand to the doorbell, the one that you made her install after you moved into the manor. But instead of pressing it excitedly like you used to do all those years ago, your hand stood still right in front of it, as if your hand had been frozen.

“Mi corazón, it’ll be alright. Didn’t you say you trusted this person with your life?” Miguel’s words put an ease to your nerves. You smiled gratefully at him before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell.

The time it took for the door to open felt like centuries, but when it did, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Your aunt’s face was as beautiful as ever, aged but beautiful nevertheless.

The exhaustion and confusion was evident on her face when she greeted you.

“Hello? What do you need?” The cautionary tone and her rigid stance hurt your heart a little bit, but you couldn’t blame her, she lived in Gotham after all.

“Auntie. It’s me.” Her eyes softened when she heard you voice. When you pulled your mask off, you could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

“[Name]?” She asked, full of doubt, but a hint of relief as well. You smiled warmly at her.

“In the flesh.” You let out a small chuckle. Next thing you knew, a pair of arms enveloped your torso. You heard and felt your aunt’s sobs on your shoulders. You hugged her tightly in return, a few tears of your own rolling down your cheeks. When she let go, you instantly missed her warmth, but you pulled yourself together and prepared yourself for the myriad of questions you were bound to be bombarded with.

“Where have you been?!” Yep, you were correct.

“It’s a long story.” You looked to Miguel for help, but unfortunately for you he only smiled at your misery and on top of that, your aunt had seen the small interaction.

“We have all the time in the world. At least answer who this man is at first.” With that, you aunt allowed the two of you, and also the anomaly, inside her house.

Miguel placed the Doc Ock down gently, in fear of destroying any of your aunt’s items. He fixed his posture and adjusted his hologram suit to reveal his face ad he introduced himself.

“Hello. I’m Miguel O’hara, [Name]’s husband.”

“What?!” You expected this reaction. “[Name]! What have you been doing these last few years without me?!”

“Like I said, it’s a long story. It’s better if we get comfortable first.”

“Fine. You better explain everything, especially that… thing over there.” She pointed to the Doc Ock on the floor of her living room. As she did, he glitched, momentarily shocking your aunt.

“We will, don’t worry.”

...

After a long conversation and Miguel occasionally reinjecting the anomaly with his venom, your aunt was finally caught up with your life.

“So, let me get this right. You’re a superhero, alongside your husband, and you two use those watch things on your wrists to help you but they’re broken, which is why you’re here.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Why didn’t you visit me once? Will I ever see you again when they’re fixed?” Your aunt asked dejectedly. Your heart broke at her words. You had just learnt that although your other family had been providing her with money, she chose to stay here to preserve the memories she had with you and you mother, when she was alive. She also still had hope that one day you would return to her, and so she waited expectantly everyday for you, which ended up being worth it, for you were here in her house again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to. Like I said, this return wasn’t even planned. I’ll try to come back when we fix our gizmos, but it’s not a guaranteed chance that we’ll figure it out.” Your aunt visibly deflates at your words.

“Well, if what you want is to return to your new home, then I’ll do my best to help you. Your happiness is the most important thing to me, sweetheart.” A new wave emotions passed through you at her words. You truly were lucky to have her as your aunt. You smiled at her and pulled her into another hug.

“Your the best family anyone could ask for. I love you so much.” Your words were shaky and mumbled as your poured your emotions out. Your aunt hugged you back, patting your back as you hiccupped onto her shoulders.

“I love you too.” She reaches her arm out towards Miguel. He seemed taken aback before hesitantly joining in the group hug. You couldn’t help but mentally laugh as you felt his stiff arms surround the both of you. Your aunt was the first to break apart from the group, with you and Miguel following soon after.

“Now, what do you need to fix that watch of yours?”

Taglist

@kik1010 @cxcilla @00hellohello00 @bluepanda08 @frankie-moon3 @guyfuitty @lumi320 @type-ink @kye-chen-r @sugasweettea @sillyheartmoonnyx @definitely-not-sammie @birbtweettweet @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @yaoizee @bat1212 @mybones537 @cim0nnin @ninihrtss @redkarmakai @a-lurking-fae @1abi @lettucel0ver @leeiasure @chericia @yotokx @amber-content

Asks are greatly appreciated as they give me motivation and ideas <3

And Chapter 2 is finally done! I really don't like how it ended, I feel like it was a bit too cheesy but oh well, the pen writes what it wants to write, not me

The aunt was never supposed to play this big of a role in the story but apparently she does now! If you guys want a name for her, let me know and I'll make a poll for everyone to decide

Also I lowkey wanna change the layout of my posts but I'm not sure, so let me know if you guys want me to

Sorry this came out so late, I got busy on the weekends and I thought I had time to do it in school but school's honestly been pretty bad. So far, I only understand like 3 of my subjects and that's cuz 2 of them are revision and the other is literature

You guys know the routine! Mistakes are free to point out and will be fixed as soon as possible

This weeks title comes from the song 'Cabo' by Rick Montgomery, go give him a listen if you haven't already!