#Sequence Injection Controller

[weskie]

The Wolf and The Lamb (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2000 words, established relationship, wound tending, possessive behavior, biting, blood, briefly saucy, probably counts as angst, part of the lover, leader, liar series | Fic Directory

"Love blackens the lamb." -Hélène Cixous

Wesker has never been one to yearn for a sense of permanence.  Change was a necessity.  One of life’s constants.  The constant in a world of variables.

At any moment, you could walk.  He made sure you knew the consequences long ago, of course.  You’d been presumed dead after the incident at the manor.  It only made sense given the magnitude of the self-destruct sequence.  You could return to the world beyond the compound at any time, but trouble would surely welcome you with open arms.  Justification for your absence would be mandatory, and that’s not to mention the tax-based nightmare that awaited you if and when the IRS should discover that you are not, in fact, deceased.

But you could leave.  

A thought that weighs heavily on his mind day in and out.  He’d never quite been one to be… possessive before.  Why bother when things move along so rapidly?  From the time he was a boy, he’s been going from class to class, school to school, laboratory to laboratory… His time with S.T.A.R.S. seemed to be the most consistent his life had ever been.

And now… there’s you.

You’re unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.  He supposes you’ve always been this way, though.  Always reaching out to him beyond the line others would never dare to cross.  Pushing through whatever shell he’d cocooned himself in for safety.  Distance was a form of protection, he’d come to realize.  Distance shielded him from the pain of loss.  It always has.

Not even Birkin, for all they had been through together, could be more than an admired colleague.  A decision that proved… apt in the end.

It’s difficult to pinpoint the origin of this new screaming need that had made itself more than at home within his chest.  It grows worse, he realizes, every time you treat him with tenderness.  Perhaps that’s where it all began.  Back in the station.  Growing like a living thing until its life spilled into his very being.

“Does it hurt?” 

The skin on his face is broken and marred.  The burns are nothing short of hideous. 

Wesker had regarded you with a scowl and turned toward the bathroom, making his way in to strip away the remnants of his failure.  He’d had half a mind to shatter the mirror.  Had that explosion not interrupted them, he would have torn Chris in two.  Or perhaps beaten him to a bloody pulp.  Maybe he would have even brought his lifeless corpse back to the compound for experimentation.  What is it that makes the Redfields so inexplicably lucky?  To face death and live despite all odds…

Despite him. 

He grit his teeth, leaning forward with clenched eyes.  The edge of the vanity is a fragile buoy in the storm of his own anger.  A new development following his perimortem injection and subsequent gain of power.  Fury comes as easily as breathing these days.  Impulses are a tad harder to control.  Were it not for a lifetime of training and conditioning, Wesker doubts he would have as tight of a lid on it as he does.

He’d only stripped his upper body bare by the time you made your presence known.

You’ve never left him to drown in his rage.  Even then, despite how he’d pushed you away at the door, you still found it in yourself to wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek to his back.  You are warm, but his skin runs hot.  In this way, you are like a balm.  Something cooling to douse the hellfire scorching his body and mind.

You made him sit at the edge of the bed.  It’s funny to think of it that way… that you could make him do anything at all.  An impossible feat for any other.  Yet it’s the truth.  Just as you make his anger dissipate bit by bit.  Perhaps it’s the glide of the pads of your thumbs against his forehead that sap away at it.  The way they smooth and slide with loving ease over the parts that hurt, spreading an ointment that chills the belligerent bite into something far more tolerable.

Until now, he hasn’t acknowledged the pain of his injuries.  That was the golden rule throughout his life.  Not minding that it hurts.  Disregarding the pain lest he give it power.  He’s never realized before that such an instinct is absent in your presence.  Here you are tending to his pain.  That which he refuses to acknowledge, you embrace and seek to soothe.

He lets his nails bite into your forearm.  He’s unsure if it’s a way to admit the truth to you or to ensure that you will remain in place, here, tending to him.

He fears the answer is far more complex.

His touches grow more firm by the day, it seems.  A hand at your cheek becomes a grip at your jaw.  An arm around your waist now pulls you tightly to his side.  You’ve noticed, of course.  Commented on it.  He’s never admitted that he can tell how your body reacts to such deeds.

At night, if and when he permits himself to rest, you must be pulled tight to his chest.  In turn, you always make a teasing remark about him being a ‘snuggle bug.’  His hands roam, but he dares not venture too far.  Despite the many months since that fateful night your lips first met his, neither one of you has caved to the call of flesh.  He’s unsure of your reasons, and frankly finds no trouble in the matter either way.  But for himself..?

Lust was no stranger, but you are more than a sensation to be chased and left behind.  As much as he yearns for such a coupling with you, he fears it.  What he may do to you… What you may do to him…

For as much as that burning, yearning need to lay claim to every part of you threatens to overpower his self control, he knows, without a doubt, such a unification would result in you consuming all that he is.  It is excitement and terror all in one.

He’s already given you the power to ruin him.  Maybe, though, he should sink his teeth and nails into you and ensure that you never do.  

The thought runs rampant in his head all day until you settle beside him for a nightly routine you’ve insisted upon taking over since day one.  His arm rests in your lap and, for a time, his mind is silent.  The alcohol pad glides over his skin, followed by a gentle blow of air from your lips.  He hasn’t the heart to tell you that such an act just contaminates the injection site all over again.  Perhaps it’s that you are contaminating him that makes this misstep fail to ring any alarms in his head. With the bite of the needle piercing his flesh comes the knowledge that there is some part of you now inside of him.  It courses through his veins in tandem with the stabilizing agent.  It will pass through his heart.  

You will pass through his heart. 

The thought hits him so rapidly that you’ve barely drawn the needle from his skin before he’s–

“Mmph!”

He swallows your startled sound in a kiss far more forceful than he means.  He can’t help it.  Can’t help the resurgence of that gnawing feeling, that desperate need to consume all that you are.  Every noise, every breath of yours is his to take.  Your tongue holds no chance of fending him off once he’s breached your lips, but he’ll surrender a sliver of control to ensure you stay right here, a pliant, sweet lamb in the maw of an especially greedy wolf.  

But you don’t seem to ask for such a relinquishment.  There’s no apprehension on your part as he plants a firm hand to your chest and guides you back, following inch by inch until he’s bent over you like a beast ready to feast upon a carcass.  Wesker’s deaf to the groan that leaves him, but he’s not at all oblivious to the way your mouth quirks into a smirk against his.

Is it hubris?  Or are you a lover enjoying the reactions of his body?  Perhaps you’re a sadist reveling in the thought that his control has waned so far.  

Your wrists are like porcelain in his grip.  He could break you and not even know he’d done it until you cry out for mercy.  But there is no need for such extremes.  Not when you hook a leg around his hip and pull him flush to your pelvis.

He parts from you to gasp.  

How dare you?  How dare you take the weakening threads of his self control and tease a razor's edge at their fraying strands?  Don’t you know what you’re doing?

His hips roll seemingly of their own accord.

You do, don’t you?  You know that leading him into this tears down every wall and puts him right in the palm of your hand.  You must know. 

Your lips dance like butterflies up the curve of his cheek, sporadically graceful in every delicate brush to his skin.  He realizes how tight he’s holding your wrists.  His nails are biting into your flesh not unlike they’d done back then.  For a brief second, he locks eyes with you.

You say the words, but his ears are ringing.  He heard it, but he can’t process it.  And, just like that, he can’t hide it anymore.  Just like the burns.  Like the memory of atrocities long buried in the skeletons of schools and punishments hidden away by healed flesh.  You pull the truth from him with such ease.  Three little words…

He doesn't mean to let it happen, only to hide and bury his secrets against your warmth. His teeth find you all the same. Finally, he bites. Finally, a mark that makes you squirm. A mark that makes you his.  The mewl that leaves you compliments so perfectly the coppery tang of your ichor.

“When you think of love, do you think of pain?”  

He should’ve never told you of his youth.

“What do you mean?”  He asked, eyes fixed on the file before him.  What a strange question…

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “But do you?”

He has no answer to give.  No point of reference, no foundation upon which to envision what love could be.  Perhaps he should think of his mentors or of the dormitory mothers employed for the care of the students.  Neither summons such a feeling.  When he was still a hopeful boy, he often imagined what it would be like to have parents – siblings, too, maybe.  In such fantasies, he found something warm growing in his chest.  Like a light nestled deep within.  It always ended the same, though.  He’d cease his thoughts and the light would dim, snuffed out and smothered by a rotten, hollow feeling.  By something painful.

Was that love?

Try as he might, he cannot cease the quiver of his jaw.  

When did your hands escape his grasp?  Why do your fingers rake so gently through his hair?  He holds you between his teeth, yet you cradle him.  

“I love you,” you say once more.  The words fall off your lips with such ease. A natural admission. 

The breath in his lungs has gone stale.  His eyes sting.  

He believes you.  

But why does the lamb love its wolf?

He believes you.

Could it be that the lamb loves the wolf’s fragility, just as the wolf loves the frail one’s force?  Could it be so simple?

He came to bed early that night.  Something in him screamed to do so.  Perhaps it was the lack of focus on his work.  A mind clouded by your question.

The warmth spills from between his clenched eyes.  He had no chance of hiding it.

He came to bed early that night.  He was greeted by welcoming arms and a smile brighter than the sun could ever hope to be.

Your lips press to his shoulder.  He swears he’s trying to hide every pathetic noise.  He doesn’t know why they escape anyway.

“Shh…”

He came to bed early that night because he thought of love.

“I’ve got you.”

Because he thought of you. 

*special thanks to @nshtn for pre-reading :)

[thewertsearch]

PCG: HE REALLY SEEMS TO HATE FROGS. ?GG: yeah… ?GG: the poor froggies :(

Keep him away from the Genesis Tadpole, Jade. If I were you, I'd probably just captchalogue every frog in the building for their own protection.

Come to think of it, it’s high time the kids upgraded their Fetch Modi. Dad’s freakishly spacious wallet is proof that their basic inventories are barely scratching the surface of the Sylladex's true potential.

I wouldn’t be surprised, for example, if you could make captcha cards whose contents can be deployed at extremely distant locations, or cards that can grab an enemy's weapons out of their hands. Let's just experiment with a bunch of alchemy combinations, and see what we come up with!

PCG: WAIT, DID HE FOLLOW YOU INTO THE PALACE TOO JUST NOW? PCG: IS THAT WHO YOU WERE YELLING AT? ?GG: he was growling at echidna and i had to tell him he was being very bad

I wonder why he didn’t attack her, then?

The trolls killed plenty of Denizens, but were powerless against Jack. That implies he’s significantly stronger than a Denizen, and should have no trouble dispatching Echidna...

...assuming, I guess, that the Denizens aren't holding back against their Players. If they are, they might actually be stronger than First Guardians, which is a scary thought.

Wait, hang on – is this Echidna's lair? Because a modern transportalizer pad feels like I'd be a little out-of-place in a mystical temple. Plus, come to think of it, I don't know why Jade would be keeping all her frogs off-site.

If we're actually in Jade’s mansion, then I’m digging its new look. It’s gone from ‘eccentric billionaire’s house’ to ‘nuclearpunk water temple full of amphibians, where a lone witch dressed in midnight works tirelessly to create a frog which will birth the universe.’

That's sick as hell, right? It could be the premise of a kickass fantasy novel, all on its own.

FGA: I Recommended [Jade] Return To Her Denizen For Advice PCG: ABOUT WHAT FGA: The Location Of The Final Frog Required To Complete The Gene Sequence FGA: One Whose Song Should Remove The Last Traces Of Dissonance From The Waveform FGA: The Creature Is Quite Elusive Remember

I’ve been working under the assumption that the Players had full control over the form their universe would take. However, the fact that there's such a thing as an 'incomplete' gene sequence seems to imply that the Players can be told their universe is wrong. In other words, there are correct and incorrect universes.

Who's doing the grading, then? What makes a universe 'dissonant'? Does Sburb have an ideal, ‘harmonious’ universe that it's measuring our frog against? If so, how does it define 'harmony'?

Perhaps every universe needs a specific set of traits, in order to ensure it doesn’t cause problems in the future. Like, maybe this final frog injects Sburb into the universe, ensuring that it goes on to propagate the cycle anew.

[dreamofhircine]

The pilots are not government property, that's a common misconception.

Only their training is.

They get to keep the implants, the neural interface ports, the subdermal autoinjectors (depleted of chemical supply) even the targeted brain & optical augments that bump up their reaction speeds but the training data is too important to allow for uncontrolled proliferation or mercenary employment.

They take it back the same way they put in in: hypnotherapeutic memory injection, cracking open the deepest parts of their minds with carefully calibrated sequences of light and sound and highly compressed data that slowly spools out inside them, guided along the decompression and integration sequence by highly controlled training sequences and neural test patterns.

The problem is that they don't really have anything to put back in once they've sanitized the mind of lifetimes worth of cockpit experience and subconscious conditioning, they don't have a 'happy civilian' template equivalent to the Pilot Template that they inject into and mold the recruits around so most leave the process with barely two thoughts to rub together for warmth. All the wiring is still there, the neurons are (mostly) undamaged and firing but it'll be years before all the rights memories are re-seeded and all the correct pathways re-forged to create something as functional as they were when they started.

So yeah, they drool. They twitch. They stare at walls and space out, drop conversations mid-sentence, fall asleep standing up and forget nearly any set of directions you give them but they'll get better. Probably. Eventually.

[forthebrokenheartedthings]

You Better Knock - Part 8 - Your name on his file

TW: Torture, Mind Control, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Grief.

Word Count: 1700 +

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH - THIS ONE HURTS. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YA.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t supposed to dream.

But lately… you'd been slipping through the cracks.

A face. A name. A flash of warmth before the frost reclaimed him.

Then they handed him a file—with your picture clipped to the front.

You weren’t a memory now.

You were a target. Or an asset.

Or worse—just like him.

They hadn’t shocked him in three days.

Which meant one of two things: He was stable. Or they were about to test something new.

He sat in the restraint chair. The metal cuff on his left wrist was loose—just enough to let the arm twitch when the spasms came.

He didn’t ask for food anymore. Didn’t ask for names. Didn’t ask why the nightmares had started to come with a soundtrack:

A laugh. A piano. A voice saying, You better knock, Buck.

Sometimes the name slipped out. (Y/N). Sometimes he whispered it. Sometimes it played in the static where the commands didn’t quite drown you out.

The technicians noticed.

So they handed him a file.

The photo was black and white.

You were seated on a bench, long coat draped over your knees, head turned like you didn’t know you were being watched.

(Y/L/N), (Y/N). Designation: SUBJECT TWO. Status: In Evaluation. Psych Profile: Unstable. Compliant. Risk.

His thumb dragged across the page.

His chest hurt.

His breathing picked up.

“Barnes,” one of the handlers said. “You know her?”

His fingers tightened.

“I… I…”

He looked at your face again.

He remembered— A ring. A hand on his cheek. Your voice: You’re alive, Buck. I’m right here.

Right here.

Then the surge hit. Sharp. Electric.

“Override,” barked another voice.

The file was ripped from his hands. His wrists re-cuffed. A tech injected something into his spine that turned the world white.

Somewhere down the corridor—

You blinked under a harsh light.

Twitching. Sweating. Your bones ached.

Your memories were there—but so were others. Sharper. Colder. Drilled into your skull with a rhythm that wasn’t your own.

You held the ring again. Clenched it in your palm.

They told you if you passed the next phase, they might let you see him.

Not as a visitor.

As an operative.

______________________________________________________________

The room was built for control.

Steel. Glass. The kind of cold that made your marrow ache.

He was strapped upright to a vertical slab. Wrists locked. Ankles pinned. He wasn’t resisting. But his breath quickened when the side door hissed open.

He knew your footsteps.

Even before he saw you.

You entered like someone already broken—head low, arms trembling behind your back. Barefoot in a gray shift uniform.

But your eyes still found him.

And in them— Something sparked.

“Winter Soldier,” came a voice through the intercom, nasal and gleeful. “You remember Subject Two?”

His jaw didn’t move.

They stepped you closer.

He flinched as they positioned you in front of him.

Close enough that he could see the faint scar at your right temple. One that hadn’t been there before.

“Commence evaluation,” said the voice. “Trigger recall sequence. Subject Two.”

You blinked.

Then opened your mouth.

Your voice didn’t sound like yours.

“Seventeen.”

His hands jerked against the restraints.

“Rusted.”

He shook his head slowly. “No…”

“Furnace.”

“Stop.”

Your voice hitched—like a knife slipping on bone.

“Daybreak.”

He groaned, head dropped, eyes squeezed shut. His arm twitched violently in its bracket.

You stepped closer. Lip trembling.

“Nine.”

“(Y/N),” he rasped. “Don’t do this—don’t let them—”

“Benign.”

A sob broke free.

“Homecoming.”

His head snapped up.

You lifted your hand.

Pressed it gently to his cheek.

Their eyes locked—one last time.

He whispered, “Don’t say it.”

“One.”

He didn’t scream.

But what followed— It tore through him like fire through flesh.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching your chest like you could claw the words back into your throat.

The intercom clicked off.

Satisfied.

They left you there.

You crawled to his feet. Rested your forehead against the cold steel of his leg.

And whispered, again and again:

“Come back to me.”

______________________________________________________________

He didn’t wake up screaming anymore.

That’s how they knew something was wrong.

The Winter Soldier was supposed to be empty.

But now he was waiting. Watching. Breathing like a man with something to lose.

They noticed first when a tech grazed his shoulder too softly—and he flinched.

Not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

Later, when they ran his drills, the name slipped again.

(Y/N).

Not with pain.

With a hush. Like a secret.

He wasn’t supposed to have secrets.

Then came the photo.

The one he hid.

Not consciously.

Not yet.

They’d slipped it in with the rest—targets, handlers, traitors. He moved through them like a machine.

Until your eyes met his.

The picture said: Subject Two — FAILURE

He paused.

Just for a second.

But they noticed.

In his cell, he didn’t sleep.

He stared at the ring. Just a glint of it—stolen, hidden in his boot seam.

He didn’t know how it got there.

Didn’t know why he still had it.

But it calmed him. Like an ember refusing to die.

You were somewhere below.

Sedated now. Quiet. Small.

But in his head, you still laughed. Still yelled when he tracked mud in. Still said, You better knock.

And for the first time in years—

He smiled.

It didn’t last long.

But it was enough.

______________________________________________________________

They put you in side-by-side cells.

No blankets. No light.

Just the stench of steel, ammonia, and the sound of nothing.

You didn’t speak for twelve hours.

Neither did he.

Hydra watched. Logged it.

Two perfect subjects.

Quiet. Obedient. Empty.

Exactly what they wanted.

Exactly what you weren’t.

When the guards changed and the silence hummed in that familiar way—

He scratched three slow fingers along the wall.

You caught your breath.

One scratch in reply.

Still there.

Still you.

“You awake?” His voice was sandpaper.

“Always,” you whispered.

The vents buzzed. Surveillance dipped.

“I’ve got twenty seconds before the mic loop resets,” you murmured. “You good?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

He smiled. Just a little.

You did this every night.

Not enough to be noticed.

But enough.

Enough to remember.

“You still got it?” you asked once.

“The ring?” he murmured. “Always.”

“I picture the house sometimes,” you said. “Brooklyn brownstone. Stairs that creak.”

“A mutt who sheds too much.”

“You coaching a team you hate.”

“You in the kitchen in that awful robe—”

“It’s warm and you loved it.”

“I lied.”

You laughed into your sleeve.

Then—

“I was gonna name her June.”

He blinked.

“The baby?”

“Yeah.”

______________________________________________________________

The next day, they fed you in silence.

Bucky didn’t flinch when the tray slid in.

You didn’t look up.

Hydra logged success.

But that night—

He scratched the wall again.

“Still there?”

“One knock.”

It meant yes. It meant I love you. It meant they hadn’t won.

Not yet.

______________________________________________________________

The vents kicked on.

You lay on your side, chains cold against your ankle. You reached out, fingers brushing the wall. Two slow knocks.

His breath was already there on the other side.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He let out the softest laugh. The kind you used to hear when his head was tucked under your chin.

“Hurts?”

“Always,” you whispered.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He shifted closer. You imagined his back pressed to the same wall, both of you held together by the inches of air between.

A pause.

Then you said it.

“Do you think this was the plan?”

“What?”

“Us. Like this. Here.”

Bucky stared at the ceiling.

“No. But we were always gonna be messy.”

You smiled. You knew he could hear it.

“I still remember the night before you shipped out,” you said. “You didn’t sleep. Just kept cleaning that damn uniform like it was gonna win the war itself.”

“You cried into my chest like I wasn’t already drowning.”

“You kissed me like you were gonna live forever.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t die either.”

“…Not yet.”

Silence.

The kind that said everything without saying a word.

Then:

“I still see you sometimes,” you whispered. “Before all this.”

“Where?”

“By the stove. Cussing out the eggs.”

He chuckled. “They deserved it.”

“You’d look at me like I was the only thing that didn’t scare you.”

“You were the only thing that didn’t scare me.”

A beat.

“If this goes bad, Buck—”

“Don’t.”

“If it does—”

“It won’t.”

“Just promise me you’ll—”

“I will knock,” he said. “I will come back.”

You exhaled. Like that was enough.

Like it had to be.

Later, through the static, you said:

“I would’ve loved that house.”

And he whispered back:

“I would’ve hated those stairs.” ______________________________________________________________

They came at dawn.

Hydra never gave warnings.

Two guards. Rifles lazy in their hands. One barked your number.

Not your name.

They never used your name anymore.

You looked back at the wall between you.

Three knocks.

You didn’t get to hear his answer.

Bucky fought.

It was stupid. He knew that.

They were stronger. They were faster. They had the serum and the cuffs and the gas.

But he fought anyway.

They beat him down, restrained him, injected something sharp and cold.

When he woke, he was in the chair.

The same one.

Cold leather. Steel. A bite at his wrists.

He couldn’t move.

But he could see you.

They brought you through the far door.

You stumbled. Your lip was split. Bruises on your arms in the shape of hands that didn’t belong to him.

You saw him.

And smiled anyway.

“Hey, Buck.”

His breath hitched.

You sounded wrecked. But you said his name like it still meant something.

He yanked at the cuffs. “Let her go—LET HER GO—!”

The voice came over the speaker. Calm. Clinical.

“Subject One is resisting reprogramming. Emotional trigger confirmed.”

They forced you to your knees in front of him.

“Barnes,” the voice continued, “this is your final failure point. Observe. Internalize. Let go.”

One of the guards raised the gun.

You looked up at him.

Eyes bright.

Not scared.

Not ashamed.

You leaned forward.

Pressed your lips to his knuckles—cold, metal, trembling.

And whispered:

“You better knock.”

He screamed.

The shot cracked.

Your body hit the floor.

And the scream didn’t stop.

He was still screaming when they dosed him.

When they scrubbed the name.

When they erased your voice from his memory.

When they buried you under ice, silence, and what they hoped was nothing left.

That was the day they finally made him theirs.

But it wouldn’t last.

It never did.

Not with a heart like his.

And a ghost like you. Part 9

[weom000]

Sevikas fight style analyzes by a boxer

Sevikas style is centered around defense, and hindering her opponent. After being kneed in the face, when Vi starts to hit her again she completely blocks herself, she gives herself no opening, and does not search for one, she goes completely defensive before slipping to the side, causing Vi to miss, and while that usually wouldn't be something so detrimental as it is here but because Vi anticipated her to continue to block, she puts too much momentum forward and loses her footing for less than a second and during that gap Sevika takes down her defense, leaving her mechanical arm in the way of Vi, and wraps it around the punch she just threw, and grabbing her other one as Vi tries to free herself. This completely incapacitates Vi, her arms are totally locked and locked straight, allowing Sevika to take control of the situation as well as say something to her without interruption, she is able to headbut her twice and then she returns to defense. She Pushes her back, shoving Vi away from her, letting Sevika gain her footing again and keeping Vi unbalanced all in one.

Because of this, Sevikas opponent is now hindered and she has the upper hand, which is when she changed her tactic and throws a shot to the body to keep Vi’s hands down, so she can then give what can be translated to a hook, taking advantage of the time she has before Vi moves again. But, something sevika doesn’t take into account so well at this moment is Vi’s speed, which is a key component as to why her style even works without getting her pummeled as it did in her first fight that we see. Sevika doesn't account that, so when Vi is able to recover so fast (see post about her fight style i wrote) and moves out of the way of the hook instead of just ducking down, which is what most would do in that situation, she is able to get to Sevikas entirely unprotected side where her arm hangs loose instead of up in defense.

Because of this, you get the next snippet which is where Vi gains the upper hand again; she throws a body shot underneath Sevika, and because her arms were down it lands hard, which throws her off. During this sequence, Vi uses one of my personal favorite moves which is rolling to the outside under the punch sevika threw, then grabbing sevikas arm and throwing an uppercut underneath it. It stops her from returning to defense, keeping her face totally unguarded, and then she reaches under to hit her, and her form stays solid and intake, with her shoulder rolling with the punch giving her whole body weight behind it just as you should. 

This doesn't last long however; with Sevikas arm injecting her with shimmer again. BUT, i think that even without the shimmer the fight wouldn't have gone much different, because Vi made the mistake of giving Sevika even a second of a break, which meant that given she got up again she would’ve returned to being entirely defensive, forcing Vi to get predictable. But she did take the shimmer, so going off of that, she still goes back to being entirely defensive, throwing something at Vi, making her prioritize dodging over keeping her opponent in her eyesight, giving Sevika the chance she needed to get back to her, body slamming her, once again rendering her basically defenseless before she grabs her by the neck, both hindering her opponent unable to strike back and also being able to sling her around in an attack. After the following sequence, where Vi knee’s her in the gut, sevika is thrown off and they are both tired. Sevika gets back up, but Vi is back in her stance first, giving her the upper hand, letting her basically hit sevika around and making her unable to get back into a defensive position. This continues on until Sevika tells her the key information that Jinx now works for Silco. If it weren't for that, Vi would’ve won the fight, but that information threw her off, and made her get sloppy, on top of her exhaustion and injuries. Sevika stabs her, and I consider the fight over at that point. 

Sevikas style is consistent throughout the fight, she has patterns of behavior that are unpredictable because while they are patterns they don't necessarily repeat in a sequence as one would imagine. Instead she searches for an opportunity and then does the expected attack. From inside the fight, you would never see it coming, but from an outside perspective you recognize the gaps in her opponent at the same time she does, giving her the opportunity to knock her opponent down and get in hard, heavy hits.

[carionto]

Hyperbrake Racing

Everything in Human ships has a manual override. They love automating all processes and reduce any workload to nothing, but also have this compulsive need to be able to take direct control if so desired.

They also have emergency off switches for everything. Yes, including life support. Don't ask, you'll just get a variant of:

"But What If!?"

Obviously, this applies to things you should never under any circumstances shut down preemptively, such as a Hyperspace Jump.

The earliest space-faring civilizations quickly discovered that if a Hyperdrive has a power interruption even for a nano-second your atoms will get dispersed across a few light months. This is why all Hyperdrives have an internal chargeable uninterruptible power supply unit.

Humanity, however, did not allow "Not having any reason whatsoever" to stop them from figuring out a way. Utilizing their ridiculous quantum computer speed and the ability of their fusion reactors to charge a Hyperdrive mid-jump, and with an injection of a disgusting few million lines of hack code that manipulate all related pieces of hardware in just the most nauseating sequences, they created the Hyperbrake.

Also, not a metaphor - braking literally causes Humans to feel nauseous, sometimes throw up, rarely even pass out. Not a single volunteer crew member aboard joint vessels from any of the other Coalition species has dared to "test" what happens to them.

As with nearly all things Humans come across or invent, they will find a use for it should one not occur normally.

_____________________

Near Neptune

Daniel, Samantha, and Nicholas Schreier were three siblings ages 17, 19, and 20, respectively. Today they had "borrowed" their dad's General FordStar mark 980-MZ HaulerHound, a civilian grade transport typically used by small business owners. Dad, however, was an enthusiast, and had modified the "Hound Dog", as he calls it, with a military grade reactor and computer core. He's always been that guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who can get the thing legally enough.

There is a nearby research station that the kids often visit due to their mom working there, but today she was not. Instead, what they are doing, is racing against each other to set the best record. Well, technically the opposite of racing - coming to a halt.

Using the Hyperbrake, they are competing to see who can stop the closest to the stations outer point-defense range without entering it or you automatically lose. After Samantha's turn, they were suddenly contacted by the station. It was Yakovskii, one of mom's colleagues and a frequent guest at dad's barbecues, so they were on sorta good terms. Not by the tone voice coming through the comms rights now though:

"What in the Hell are you thinking!? At first I thought you were just messing around and accidentally did that, but TWICE now!?! I checked the trajectory, if you had stopped a half-second later, you would've ended up mere meters from Neptune's upper atmosphere! Did you account for the possible sudden gravitational pull? Can you maneuver that lumbering ship fast enough to not get pulled down? Not to mention Hyperbraking severely impairs your cognitive abilities for a moment? A moment that you need to be clearheaded for or risk DEATH!?!"

The three siblings could only hang their heads in shame and mutter out some weak apologies. After a moment of silence and reflection, Yakovskii speaks in a warmer tone:

*sigh* "Look, I understand it's a fancy new toy and you want to see what you can do. I get it, I really do. Me and my brother used to play vertical hockey the first time we got our hands on a surplus gravity field generator. But we first figured out how to make sure we didn't break our bones in case it failed. Seriously, never forget to consider your own safety first before you try out new things in a peaceful environment. You're not being chased by pirates or trying to avoid the law or whatever.

Take your time, pick a starting position that's further away and keeps Neptune and any of its moons to the side of the station, then aim for an area of space that only has the outer range of the defenses and empty space ahead from your point of view. And please set the regular Hyperjump destination within Sol, don't just pick a random place. The Hyperbrake sometimes loops in on itself and never executes the brake and can only be reset once out of Hyperspace. You don't want to get stuck in a pointless jump for hours do you?"

After this admonishment, the siblings apologized more energetically and took his advice to heart. They spent the next hour competing until all three were down to single meter differences and kinda got bored, so they docked at the station and hung out with the off-duty staff, played some poker, but then dad barged in and dragged them all home. They were not invited to the barbecue gatherings for two weeks, but only because mom told him to. Personally he was excited about all the data his kids had unknowingly given him with all their jumping and braking, a real stress test for his beautiful Hound Dog.

[questalkcomics]

Our soldiers | A Red Room report | The Winter Soldier X Black Widow

Note : this story takes place in my winterwidow fiction.

There's element I wish to expend latter on.

Summary : a Red Room scientist is recording his report about one of Soviet Union's greatest weapons

Trigger warning : mention of brainwashing, drugs and physical abuse

Pairing : Bucky Barnes and Natasha Romanoff

• The sound of the scientist's confident footsteps echoed throughout the military complex, from the staff offices to the various underground cells.

The man was in his fifties, balding, an athletic figure offset the scars covering his face and neck, piercing blue eyes hidden behind round, thin glasses. The badge attached to the right side of his blouse presented his face, his position as Doctor and section leader and his name: Nikita Knyazev.

the man was renowned and respected for his calm, his rigor and his strength of conviction, but also feared for his training and interrogation methods as well as some myths and stories told about his time in the war and the Red Room.

Nikita was a man of principle. His own. He never wasted his time in discussions unworthy of his interest, was not close to any of his colleagues, in fact, none of them really dared to approach him. His legend was built on the words and accomplishments of the agents he had dealt with.

The complex was located east of the town of Cherepovets. By 1957, the Military University of Radioelectronics had been established there.

The Red Room had chosen a discreet architecture for its installation, far from official buildings, preferring to be unofficial, the "B-45 site"

• He sat down in front of his computer before taking a tape recorder out of his table drawer. He placed it in front of him, took off his glasses to rub his eyes and then placed a pack of cigarettes on his right. He lit one before starting his recording.

"So. It is February 21, 1978, Doctor Nikita Knyazev and I present to you my report on agents Winter Soldier and Black Widow after their last mission. This took place on January 13, the preparation took place over three weeks. As agreed, the two agents were released from their stasis, which began on October 28, 1977 after another mission order." He paused and wrote: *see report 45-19* on a sheet of paper that he had just taken out.

"As always, it took two full days for the agents to fully regain consciousness from waking up. The Winter Soldier was the first to be injected with the "separation" compound, developed to allow better post-awakening recovery. The Soldier's constants were subsequently monitored before sending a stimulating visual sequence. This lasted approximately 10 minutes, no sign of resistance or rejection was noted."

He paused again. His cigarette now finished, he took the time to think about his next sentence.

"Agent Widow, on the other hand... My team noticed a difference in waking behavior between her and the Winter Soldier. She seemed... more aware. The first visual stimuli report a global understanding of its space, without notable injection or usual medical procedure. She was subjected to the same treatment as the Winter Soldier with particular attention paid to the visual sequences. It's still difficult to explain why and how, but she resisted. She struggled without noticeable damage, her body still too weak from sleep and was quickly brought under control. Two days passed before the usual protocol was put in place: both agents were subjected to a wave of brain shock, the procedure now taking between 5 and 7 minutes. 30 minutes after this, they were each taken to a different room to carry out post-treatment tests. I must say that... the two teams in charge of our agents, men for the Soldier and women for Widow, were not careful...

...verbal and physical humiliation, different methods were applied to make sure that the Winter Soldier and Black Widow were under control. No resistance noted. Both were equipped and briefed on their objective."

A new pause was heard on the tape recorder as the Doctor noted once again: *see applied strategic report M-18* He continued:

"You should know that the mission was an absolute success for our unit. Agents Winter Soldier and Black Widow are two prides of the Red Room and I think, comrades, that this mission is proof of that. Doctor Nikita Knyazev, finished."

• As soon as the recording was cut, the Doctor took a disk from his shirt and inserted it into his computer, loading a video.

The recording began with what appeared to be a surveillance camera. There we saw a room, undoubtedly for scientific purposes, in which there was a device composed of a chair surrounded by a metal support on which there were places to place the arms and the upper body.

The room was empty before three guards entered, accompanied by a woman who was only able to stand thanks to the support of two of the guards. She was placed on the chair, tied up, while the guards dispersed into the room to prepare for a procedure, one of the two, close to the woman, exclaimed: “What did you say?”

He spoke to the woman, her face marked with disorientation and fatigue. The other two approached as the recording captured the sound coming from the woman's voice, it being barely audible:

"...I...James..." The recording cut out as one of the guard ran, shouting Doctor Nikita's name. The latter, still facing his computer, got up and approached one of the windows to the right of his desk. His expression was both questioning and worried. Nobody ever saw him like that. Even he, was suprised by this turn of event.

His eyes focused on a part of the complex below he exclaimed: “Who are you, James?”

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

OR;

The Mafia Omega Auction Fic

AN: Please respect your own mental health first and foremost. It is much more important to me than likes and reblogs. 💕

TW: Rape, Non-consensual spanking, Non-consensual drug use, Degrading language, The Dove is very, very dead

Chapter III

Feyre

Feyre had free run of the place, though Rhys was only tucked away in his office when he wasn’t glued to her side. Whatever work he did seemed to be remote for the time being. And even if he had left the property, he’d informed her of a half dozen security measures in place, both to keep intruders out and her locked in.

The second day of her captivity she explored the upper level of the house, first finding a small home library. A cozy chair had been placed beside the single window to allow natural light suitable for reading. The second was a game room, set up with a variety of consoles and a large shelf of cards and board games. Tucked into the corner was a large whiteboard with several groups of tallies and number sequences she couldn’t begin to decipher without any context to the game. Beyond that was a third and fourth bedroom decorated in warmer colors than the down stairs. A full bath at the end of the hall completed the second story. 

“Find anything entertaining?” Feyre jolted, a hand pressed to her chest as she’d always been easily startled. “It’s alright, darling. I just need you to come downstairs for a few moments.” She cocked her head. “Just come downstairs, Feyre.” Hearing someone shuffling on the hard floor below them, she retreated a step. She’d thought they were alone. “I don’t want to have to repeat myself, Feyre.”

“Who is that?”

His eyes softened slightly, probably realizing she was more nervous than obstinate at the moment. She didn’t like him, but at least she knew his intentions for her.

“Darling, she’s the doctor I mentioned yesterday. She’s just going to check you over and make sure you’re healthy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she hissed back.

He gave a heavy sigh before scooping her up once more and carrying her down the flight of stairs, not seeming slowed in the slightest by her struggling. “Enough, little girl,” he growled when they reached the ground floor. “Or you’ll earn yourself that punishment I mentioned yesterday.” His tone and expression flipped in an instant. “Madja, thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Of course. I see we have a shy one here.”

“Only with doctors, it seems.”

She blushed, shuffling away from Rhys when he finally set her down. “I didn’t go often. As a child.”

The woman smiled. “Perhaps we could do most of this from your nest. If that would help?” Seeing she wasn’t getting out of this, Feyre nodded. “Very good. Shall we begin?” ~~~~~

Rhysand

“Well?” He asked the moment Feyre was out of earshot.

“There’s nothing major to be concerned with. She needs several hearty meals and daily vitamins, but she’s otherwise healthy.” He nodded. “Are you going to ask me what you’re truly wondering?” He raised a brow, waiting. “I didn’t do anything invasive, seeing as she was so nervous, but considering she hasn’t been to a doctor in years and she’s spent the last few weeks in the conditions he has I wouldn’t think she had any sort of birth control at the moment.”

“Thank you, Madja. The injection?” She offered him a small bottle and syringe, frowning all the while. “Don’t start.”

“When you find yourself wondering a year or two down the road why your omega still loathes you, remember what I told you.”

“I pay you for your service, Madja, not your lectures.”

It was unfair of him, seeing as the woman had served his family since before he was born, but he wouldn’t be swayed in his decision.

“Make sure the muscle is relaxed for the injection. And for God’s sake, get her another meal before she goes into her heat.” 

Rhys ground his teeth. He was going to keep the girl fed and healthy. Happy was to be determined, but he was more than capable as a provider. “Thank you, Madja. Have a good evening.” 

Opening the door, he saw her out, stepping outside himself when he saw Azriel’s car coming through the gate. “So I’m the errand boy now?” he asked, stepping out of the car. “I take it this means you have a sweet little omega tied to your bed right now?”

Rhys accepted the necklace box from his brother with a soft chuckle. “I have an omega. I haven’t gotten around to any bondage yet. Too skittish still. The good doctor just read me the riot act about the injection.”

“Doctors have to keep some of their morality, even working with the likes of us. Don’t let it bug you. Once you mark the girl, does anything else really matter?”

He huffed. “She’s something else, Az. Skittish, yeah, but she’s got some serious fire once she shoves that fear down. Stubborn as a mule. Sure omegas naturally fall in the brat category, but Feyre… she’s something else.”

“Sounds like you’re already catching feelings for her. What happened to getting a couple kids out of her and then keeping your distance? No weaknesses, right?”

Rhys shook his head, pushing off the wall and reaching to open the door. “Easier said than done, brother. You’re welcome to come in, but I won’t be making conversation for the next several days.”

He chuckled. “Not willing to share your new pet?”

He didn’t bother answering, already at the end of the foyer. Feyre was exactly where he expected her to be, curled up in her nest and pouting at him. He wouldn’t feel guilty, he told himself. Not for making sure she was healthy, especially seeing as her parents didn’t care to. What else had they neglected when it came to their daughter?

“Don’t give me that look, Feyre darling. This was for your good as much as my peace of mind. It’s nearly one,” he continued, crouching outside of the rudimentary nest and reaching to stroke his thumb down her cheek. “We’ll get you something to eat before anything else comes around.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“A hunger strike won’t help you, Feyre. And I guarantee I’m more stubborn than you are. Would you prefer to eat downstairs or here in your nest?”

He’d earned the cold shoulder it seemed. “You’re going to let me take care of you, little girl, or—”

“—or else. You’re just all talk, aren’t you? Is there ever any follow through?”

He didn’t bother trying to hide his shock at her demand. “Feyre darling, you just earned that follow through.” ~~~~~

Feyre

Well fuck. 

Feyre didn’t know what she expected to happen when she snapped back. But she was sick of his threats and sick of his face. She was especially sick of the bastard’s hold on her. His scent, his magnetism. 

More than all of that, she was sick and tired of trying to puzzle out and shut down the quiet acceptance deep inside of her. That pathetic little voice that told her to trust him last night—that was now telling her she had earned a punishment. That he was her alpha and knew what she needed. What she couldn’t admit to herself.

Rhys gripped her elbow, pulling her to her feet and guiding her to the bed. She was over his lap a moment later, burying her face in the soft sheets to hide her flushed cheeks. There was no point in fighting him, but it was still humiliating. 

She whimpered when he tugged her waistband down to her knees. Her bikini cut panties could hardly be considered proper coverage. Clamping a hand down at the nape of her neck immediately put an end to her anxious wriggling. “I’m sorry.”

“Facing punishment, I’m sure you are.” 

The hand at the back of her neck slid down to rest between her shoulder blades, keeping her upper body in place. The first crack came down on her backside, the sting blooming slowly enough to give her hope this wouldn’t be as intense as she feared. Another half dozen swats proved her wrong, though.

Considering the strength he’d already displayed whilst manhandling her the past two days, she was starting to suspect this was more likely a warm up than the full force he intended for her punishment. Not to mention the thin fabric of her underwear did nothing to soften each blow.

A heavier strike came down on the tender skin beneath the curve of her ass and she whimpered, nails biting into his jeans even as she felt a damp spot forming in her panties. She could not be turned on by this cruelty. “Rhys.” He paused, clicking his tongue when she tried to cover herself. “I can’t.”

“Do I need to pin you?” Not a threat, but an offer. Because if she started covering herself or gave into the urge to start kicking as an outlet for her pain her punishment would only go on longer. 

“Yes,” she choked, head dropping back down to the silken sheets. 

Rhys shifted their position, trapping her legs between his own before stroking her hair softly. “You’re doing well, sweet girl.”

Hardly high praise, but it settled something inside of her all the same. He gathered her wrists to hold them at her tail bone and she braced for the next strike. Another five and she was on the brink of tears. “Please,” she whined. “Please, Rhys. I’ll be good.”

He was silent for a moment, finally caving. “I suppose we’ll see if that holds true, won’t we?” She clamped her legs shut the moment his parted to release her. “Now what’s this?”

It was embarrassing, how easy it was for Rhys to put her on her back and strip her pants before forcing her legs open. He dragging his fingers over the soaked cotton covering her slick core, groaning softly. “Oh, sweet girl you’re soaked for me.”

“No,” she whined.

“These panties tell another story. Been bratting me since we met, hoping for me to punish you, hm? Or maybe you thought I’d fuck the brat out of you. Is that it, darling? Aching for Alpha’s cock?”

“No!”

Her protests were useless, tears unacknowledged as he tore what clothing remained on her and unzipped the front of his pants, unbothered by the rest of his. “Know just how to get my omega relaxed for her medicine,” he growled at her throat. Catching her hands, he pinned them above her head, using his free hand to stroke his hard length. “Would have stretched this pretty cunt for you. But you just had to fight me.”

And then he was pushing into her. Teeth clenched, Feyre sobbed at the painful stretch, feet scrabbling against the slick sheets as she made a pitiful attempt to escape him. “Tight, hot little cunt. Your first time and you take Daddy so well.” She shook her head. “That’s enough now. This is what naughty pets earn.”

“Please. It’s too much. It hurts.” She didn’t care what she was doing to his ego if it got him to stop trying to tear her in half. “It’s too much.”

He  made a soft sound low in his throat before biting into her neck and thrusting deeper. “It wouldn’t be much of a lesson if it felt good, would it? All little girls need to be taught to respect authority. It’s just a shame it took so long for that lesson to reach you, my Feyre.” His eyes flicked up to the headboard. “I’m going to let go of your hands. You’re going to keep them right where they are so I don’t have to tie you down.”

“Yes.” He raised a brow and she shrank a little. “Yes, Alpha.” Grabbing a pillow with one hand, he raised her hips with the other to wedge it beneath her. Bending down, he pressed his mouth to hers. Not in any sort of tender, toe-curling kiss like she’d read about. But to silence her scream when he forced her to take everything short of his knot. Feyre didn’t dare try to bite him, though she wanted to desperately. 

God, she was never going to adjust to the girth of him inside of her. Thats when she noticed the pain had shifted, the sharpness fading when his hips stilled for a moment. Before, he was being dramatic while assessing her arousal, but now was another story. She was dripping around him, slick coating her thighs and the sheets beneath. She whimpered, mortified when she realized how close she was to coming—walking that tightrope of pain and pleasure, but Rhys only hummed again, reaching down to rub at her clit. A few sharp thrusts of his hips as he licked into her mouth and she fell over the edge. 

His kiss did turn softer then, his tongue pushing past her teeth once again to flick across her own as he worked her down from her high. She kissed him back. Shaky, clumsy, but he seemed pleased all the same. “There you are. I knew you could be taught your place. Little omega, all drippy for me. We’re going to remember this lesson, aren’t we, Feyre?” She nodded, swallowing hard when she felt his knot graze her sensitive clit.

“My perfect little cock sleeve.” She shivered, letting the word rattle around with the few snippets of thought she was capable of. She was a smart girl, but she was so full right now, still a little dazed from her orgasm. Thinking so much always ended up with her talking back. Having finally earned his praise, she didn’t want to think about why that word was supposed to bother her right now. 

“Look at you. Wet little girl. Gonna have to keep you nice and full if it gets you this sweet.” He groaned the next time he pushed into her. “Alright, sweetheart. You’re going to take my knot now.”

“I-I can’t.”

“Oh, pet. Take a breath. Just a little more, sweet girl. You were made to take my knot.” A catch, then a shock of pleasure. “Not so bad, hm?” His voice was strained, likely due to how she clenched around him on reflex. Finally, something that told her he was somewhat affected by all of this. “Good girl. Such a good girl.”

Once she’d taken his knot, it was easier to adjust to the constant in and out. To accept the slow swelling that would be locked into her body in a matter of seconds. With the constant friction of his thumb against her clit she knew that would be the final straw. Finally, his rhythm faltered, a hiss escaping his clenched teeth. 

“Fuck.”

She keened when he jerked forward, mind and body left in fragments as she surrendered to that second wave of pleasure, instinctively clenching down the second his knot locked behind her pubic bone. “Oh.”

“Fucking hell,” Rhys growled, spilling inside of her.

A man of few words, in this state at least. She would’ve laughed if she didn’t feel so untethered from reality. Surely once the swelling reduced, he would pull out. She’d be in her right mind again and could retreat to her little corner.

Something clicked together about halfway down the bed, but Feyre was exhausted between stressing over the doctor and what she and Rhys had done to be inquisitive at the moment. She’d only rest a minute. 

“Good girl,” he murmured. His purr  washed over her as quickly as the night before, settling her mind and body alike. “Just a pinch, love.”

She furrowed her brow. But by the time she could gather enough of her consciousness to comprehend what he was saying, the needle was in her thigh. She jerked away as best she could, bound as they were, but the empty syringe said enough about what kind of trouble she was in.

“You—No!”

“It’s already done, darling.” Shifting his hips slightly to test the swelling, Rhys finally pulled out of her. The bastard looked all too pleased with himself. “Go finish your nest, little one. On the floor or the bed, I don’t care. But you’ll regret going into your heat with it unfinished.”

“I hate you,” she hissed, barely able to see past the fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“I know, darling.” He buttoned his pants, smoothing out his suit before sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking her hair back from the damp skin of her face. She flinched away when he went as far as to try to kiss her brow. “Now do as you were told.”

~~~~~

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[boatboys]

Me, trying to avoid thinking about Carraway and latching onto the first detail to catch my eye: "Hey, do they still have the Kentucky Derby? 'Cause gene mod horse race kind of sounds like the hypothetical Olympics where you let athletes do as many drugs as they want."

They do! Connor was actually snagged there. Some derby-related groupchat musing below the cut.

Splickedylit, RN, BSN —

this is a great question do they allow MODDED horses in the derby there's a world where it's like. they genetically test every horse prior to entry but also if you can BREED your horses to be better...

roach —

i feel like after two hundred years of genemod bullshit plus horse thieving and government collapse it's really hard to rule a horse as 'natural' so by now the kentucky derby has a bit of a Battlebots vibe to it

Splickedylit, RN, BSN —

Part of Connor's job there was getting samples so that people could at least document the genetic line of said horses because even with the chaos I can guarantee there are still people keeping just, the most insane lineage records of the horses

roach —

yes half family tree half code notation these guys live in a world of horizontal gene transfers there is no limit to how weird a horse can get

Splickedylit, RN, BSN — 10:52 AM

Connor I can guarantee does NOT know much about the actual mods but he does know how to get a sample even from the world's most bizarre roided out horse

roach —

come to think of it, making racehorses-- making a lot of livestock too-- would be a lot like hotrodding in this time you get a decent base model and just start plugging in instructions or even grafting whole parts in your horse's sire and dam would be, functionaly, more like rootstock for a fruit tree you intend to compose with grafting

Splickedylit, RN, BSN —

if you've got the money and you Hold With That Kind Of Thing

roach —

genemodding animals is fine because god said so and there's a lot of money involved okay so the ONE rule of the kentucky derby re: genemodding all genes must be that of a horse provably from a horse. a specific horse. so every module you plug in is called like SECRETARIAT TAG or SPECRUM-HOSANNA GCT the horses get sequenced a bit before the race and disqualified if they have unaccountable code in em probably for this reason every racehorse ALSO responds to injections by developing a large welt so that their handlers know if anyone sneaks up and contaminates them

Splickedylit, RN, BSN —

the amount of bribes Connor gets to contaminate samples while wrangling a blood draw out of Crazyeyes the maneater but also taking those bribes would get him absolutely murdered by some very wealthy folks who already wouldn't like him much on account of the whole tennessee thing so

roach —

connor specialized in post-collapse livestock survival and propagation, he's probably good for keeping on top of disease and pest control not engineering plus being fluent in elephant gets you some street cred everyone is happy to know an accredited ambassador is on site especially with this many rich drunkards roaming about IF elephants do show up to the party it's good for someone to send them away politely before drunk mcmillionaire takes a potshot

Splickedylit, RN, BSN —

both Connor and the other elephants would not take kindly to that no haha the last thing anybody needs is a rich person OR their incredibly expensive hotrod horse getting stomped or for that matter noise-grenaded by a huffy elephant that's like I WAS JUST COMING TO SEE WHAT'S UP ASSHOLE

[darkmaga-returns]

By Tamara Ugolini January 09, 2025

Independent scientist and DNA sequencer Kevin McKernan has uncovered alarming contamination in the modified RNA COVID-19 vaccines, prompting him to fact-check Pfizer's claims supporting their safety and efficacy.

Genomics expert Kevin McKernan has fact-checked Pfizer’s safety and efficacy claims regarding their COVID-19 injections after he discovered and exposed risky contaminants, including the SV40 promoter and high levels of residual DNA.

Exclusive government documents reveal Pfizer’s repeated assurances to Health Canada regarding the safety and efficacy of their shots — a claim McKernan refutes using the very citations Pfizer provided. Despite heavy redactions, McKernan was able to assist in fact-checking the unredacted citations, exposing key discrepancies between what Pfizer is saying and what the science really shows.

One critical area of concern lies in the presence of residual DNA in the mRNA vaccines. Unlike traditional vaccines, which have stringent regulations controlling the amount of what is referred to as “naked” DNA, the modified RNA vaccines are encapsulated in lipid nanoparticles (LNPs), which protect both the DNA and RNA from body mechanisms that would otherwise rapidly degrade these contaminants.

McKernan warns that the inclusion of the SV40 promoter, which is designed to integrate into the host’s DNA, could lead to serious risks such as fertility issues and cancer, especially given the lack of long-term safety testing.

[oh-my-grayson]

One of my all-time favorite antagonist organizations in the entirety of DC is the Court of Owls, and it's a guarantee that I'll eat up anything that features them. But my favorite thing in regards to them is the fact that Dick Grayson could've very easily been a Talon.

Case and point!

I dislike the New 52 era of DC for a number of reasons, but one thing I do think they got right was specifically how they handled the Court of Owls in regards to both Bruce and Dick, and the dialogue in this sequence here is some of the best in my opinion purely because of the reveal of what could've been had Bruce been just a little later to bringing Dick into his home.

If you look at Nightwing and consider just how powerful he is on his own as an unaltered human, and if you look at the Talons and how viciously deadly they were against the various members of Batman's family, and then you combine them?

Obviously, taking into account the different way Dick would've been raised means assuming he would lose some of his leadership and detective capabilities because— considering that Talons are all essentially mindless assassins that have to be told what to do and when to do it at every moment— he never would've had the opportunity to be an individual, or to be a leader, or to have thoughts for himself that would allow him to problem solve.

But if we're looking at lethality specifically, substituting those features for the electrum injections that would give him superhuman healing and senses, and the training that would teach him to disregard pain and emotions would remove the human limitations that he would be otherwise restricted by.

Combined with Dick's acrobatic flexibility (assuming the Court would allow him to continue maintaining it, with its many uses and advantages), the Court's training to withstand a multitude of different circumstances in battle would turn him into one of the most useful weapons in their arsenal.

The imagery of the Talons, as seen above, is also incredibly fitting to the themes of Dick throughout the years. The most glaring and obvious of which is the bird symbolism, which I'll refrain from going into detail about because of how obvious it is.

But there is definitely a fairytale-esque quality to them with the nursery rhyme that, in my opinion, fits very well with Dick's upbringing in a circus.

Circuses are often all about maintaining a certain level of illusion, painting a picture to portray a story about each act that is, usually, exaggerated for the sake of entertainment. Similarly, the Court utilizes the belief that they're nothing more than a wives' tale to allow them to continue operating from the shadows. At the same time, the rhyme itself paints them as this otherworldly, all-knowing, all-powerful entity and dissuades any thoughts of acting against them on the off chance that someone does believe they really exist. It's whimsy, in the same way that a circus is, because they're using a story and attempting to make the most of how people receive said story.

The story parallels to Dick becoming a Talon instead of Robin also scratches a very particular itch in my brain. There are two paths, but both of them are intrinsically interwoven with Gotham and Batman.

Dick becoming Robin means him joining Batman on the side of protecting Gotham and her denizens from harm and injustice. He doesn't kill because Batman and Robin aren't the judge, the jury, and the executioner. He maintains his humanity despite the literal physical limitations of a human body and the mental and emotional burdens that come with having free thought, morals, and ethics to take into account.

But Dick becoming Talon means joining Cobb and the Court also on the side of Gotham, but from a different perspective. The Court is made up of Gotham's elite— the rich, famous, and powerful who all want control but don't want the target on their back from being publicly in control. He'd be maintaining the skewed perception of what is just and unjust that the Court instills within him. In turn, this would mean fighting against Batman, who undeniably goes against the wishes of the Court's members who profit and benefit from the corruption of Gotham.

There is a sense of devotion that makes them different sides of the same coin, however. The Talons are tortured and brainwashed into submission, forced to ask "how high" when told to jump. Dick throughout his various comic appearances, has shown his intense loyalty to Bruce— a loyalty that rivals that same devotion of the Talons to the Court, especially in his younger years as Robin.

In conclusion to this tangent, Dick Grayson becoming a Talon was meant to happen, that is undeniable, but Bruce Wayne stepping in and stopping that (albeit unknowingly) is the only reason the Court doesn't have a near undefeatable weapon to use as they see fit.

Which just makes me wonder what other disastrous outcomes were avoided by Bruce taking in the other children.

[rallamajoop]

Resident Evil 7 Ending Text

The ending sequence of RE7 features panning shots of a document containing various photos and text about the project that created Eveline. The text repeats every few paragraphs (often several times in the same image), but it does include some interesting details about Eveline that don't show up elsewhere in the game.

A few lines of the same text even show up again on the side of the Rose flasks in RE8 ‒ Recently deceased. Procedure is untested and early subjects were destroyed too quickly to collect definitive data ‒ and elsewhere, If injections are skipped for prolonged periods of time, the product will age rapidly... (If you have really good eyesight, you might even notice this snippet continues underneath the 'Stabilising Compounds' header.)

But the complete text from RE7 is much longer. I've stuck what I could patch together from the ending sequence under the cut.

The product is a bioweapons commodity created by the Bioweapons Division. It takes the form of a child (in this case a girl named Eveline) which can be purchased and raised to suit individual client needs. Its purpose is mind control — up to and including inducement to violence. Application can vary from political to military to economic destabilization. Method of inducement: chemical transference of psychotropic compounds via skin to skin contact between Product and Subject inducing a mentally suggestive state in the subject responsive only to the product. Known dangers: The Product is currently in the prototype stage and is both mentally and physically unstable requiring regular maintenance injections of stabilizing compounds. If the injections are skipped for prolonged periods of time the Product will age rapidly — 25 Xs faster than normal. Eventually the Product will become insane and a danger to all around it. No tests have been run on subjects depriving them of maintenance chemicals for more than 6 months as the situation became too dangerous for observation. The Product also affects its environment mutating plants and promoting the growth of a highly toxic psychotropic mold, the ingestion of which causes insanity and severe mutations in those who ingest it. There is some indication the use of the mold could revive the recently deceased. However, this has yet to be tested. Early subjects were destroyed much too quickly to collect definitive data on this. Product should ship with a minimum of two Handlers each with serum immunizing them to the Products mental control as well as Stabilizing Compounds. Handlers should be equipped with equipment tuned to Product's biochemisty. One of the Handlers should imprint on the Product as a close relative, either as a mother or as a father figure. This will aid in controlling during field operations. Product is ready for field testing which should be initiated as soon as possible. Suitable clients exist in the Americas, and one should be selected ASAP for test delivery.

Among the more interesting details is that bit about having a handler 'imprint on the Product as a close relative', which is made to sound like it's simply a part of transport procedure ‒ just another thing for handlers to be equipped with. I'd assumed the 'imprinting protocol' Mia refers to in the game meant she must have been involved with the project that created Eveline from early on, but this makes it sound like part of a pre-departure checklist. Could Mia have met Eveline and been 'imprinted' only shortly before they left?

Far creepier is the loud implication that the 'parental' bond of handler to 'Product' would 'aid in controlling during field operations'. Mia gets an awful rap around this fandom, but it's hard to imagine she'd be happy being shipped off as Eveline's permanent field-handler to some foreign government or terrorist organisation ‒ especially given how eager she is to be done with her "babysitting job." But once Eveline was past the 'prototype stage', that sounds like exactly what the Connections intended for handlers like her to do.

Then there's the bit about giving handlers a "serum immunizing them to the Products mental control," which could certainly explain how Mia was able to resist for so long, and is presumably the same agent the Connections supplied to Lucas (I wonder if Zoe ever got her hands on some?) Must be a different serum to the one that actually cures you of the mould, however, since Lucas pretty clearly isn't cured.

Also: There is some indication the use of the mold could revive the recently deceased. However, this has yet to be tested. Early subjects were destroyed much too quickly to collect definitive data on this. Yeah, I'd say that one's been pretty well tested by the end of RE7!

As for that part about Eveline aging 25x faster than normal if not regularly injected with the stabilising compound, the numbers add up surprisingly well! Eveline escaped in October 2014. By September 2016, when Lucas reports she's showing grey hairs, she'd have aged around 2x25=50 years, making her apparent age close to 60. By Ethan's arrival in July 2017, that's 2 years and 9 months, or almost 70 extra years of aging, for total of 80 years old.

Yeah, looks about right to me.

Getting back to RE8, what does it mean that some of this text was reused on the side of the Rose flask? All that stuff about rapid aging clearly applies to Eveline, but seems completely irrelevant to baby Rose.

Much like the RE7 ending, I don't think the text is meant as much more than a bit of convenient lorem ipsum-style filler material ‒ though the fact she's labeled EVE No. 3 is obviously a reference to the project that created Eveline (and yes, the same number appears on all four flasks ‒ it's not a flask number). Which raises the question: who were 1 and 2? Eveline's referred to as E-001, so could 2 be the other member of the E-series we see being killed in necrotoxin tests in the lab photos? Or was Eva 1 and Eveline 2, by Miranda's reckoning? Were these flasks previously used to hold the remains of a previous E-series member tagged E-003?

It's not like it's essential lore or anything, but it'd be interesting to know which version was on the mind of whoever created that asset all the same.

[basementmedia]

The Substance - REVIEW

"The Substance injects fresh blood into body horror with its sharp satire, and it's as unsettling as it is entertaining."

The Substance is a surreal, satirical thrill ride that blends body horror with a biting commentary on fame, beauty, and the obsession with youth. Directed by Coralie Fargeat, the film is an unforgettable fusion of 80s nostalgia, grotesque imagery, and dark humor, creating something both disturbing and strangely alluring.

Demi Moore is fantastic as Elisabeth Sparkle, a washed-up aerobics star who is desperate to regain her former glory. Moore's portrayal is equal parts tragic and comedic, capturing the complex emotions of a woman clinging to her past. When Elisabeth turns to a black market serum called "The Substance," the film dives headfirst into its twisted premise. The transformation scenes are a mix of cringe-inducing body horror and slick visual effects, as the younger version of Elisabeth—named Sue—emerges from her body. Margaret Qualley’s portrayal of Sue adds a fierce yet carefree energy to the role, and the tension between the two selves is palpable. They may share one consciousness, but their rivalry soon takes on a life of its own.

The dynamic between Elisabeth and Sue is at the heart of The Substance. What starts as a symbiotic relationship turns into a battle for control, with both personas growing to despise each other. Elisabeth is plagued by self-loathing and jealousy as Sue’s fame and beauty eclipse her own, while Sue relishes her newfound freedom but becomes increasingly repulsed by the version of herself she leaves behind. The psychological and physical deterioration of both forms is executed with both grotesque charm and black comedy. Fargeat’s direction brings a nightmarish quality to the duality, where each switch back and forth pushes Elisabeth closer to the edge, while Sue lives life recklessly without considering the consequences.

Dennis Quaid’s role as the sleazy producer Harvey adds another layer of humor to the film. Quaid’s performance is a campy delight, as he shamelessly embraces the role of an exploitative industry figure. His scenes with Sue, where he barely conceals his shallow fixation on youth and beauty, are as funny as they are unsettling.

Fargeat also brings a strong satirical edge to the film. The commentary on Hollywood’s obsession with youth, beauty standards, and the disposable nature of fame is razor-sharp. The film uses body horror to explore the literal and figurative disintegration of identity under the pressures of an industry that prizes appearances above all else. The final act of The Substance is a grotesque spectacle, as Sue’s attempt to create a new version of herself results in the monstrous hybrid "Monstro Elisasue." The chaotic New Year's Eve broadcast sequence is a visually striking and absurdly violent climax, capped off by Elisabeth’s symbolic and darkly comic return to the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

While the film’s surreal elements and extreme body horror may not be for everyone, The Substance stands out as an audacious, thought-provoking, and unforgettable experience. With its strong performances, biting satire, and avant-garde visuals, this film is a wild ride worth taking.

Final Score: 8/10

[laserdiscnvhs]

Double Impact remains amongst the seminal works of action films that can be credited to the sterling prowess of Jean-Claude Van Damme. Inarguably, the film is a tour-de-force that sets a high bar for an extensive sequence of action-packed content. It successfully integrates critical elements such as choreographed combat and an orchestrated narrative to invariably result in a visual feast for action enthusiasts.

The visiting card for Van Damme’s marquee talent has always been his unparalleled martial arts skills. The film, Double Impact, is no exception to this, providing an outlet for Van Damme to truly showcase his articulate control over martial arts sequences. His performance as the twin brothers, Chad and Alex Wagner, is a remarkable specimen of his capacity to deliver comprehensively. These two character roles illustrate the wide range an actor can play within the confines of a single movie, demonstrating impressive versatility.

Chad is portrayed as a light-hearted, jovial character, while Alex, his twin brother, has a darker, sterner aura about him. Van Damme manages to give each twin a distinct personality, proving his acting mettle beyond just his physical exploits. His brilliant execution of the two disparate roles significantly enhances the film's plot and makes it a gripping journey from the start to finish.

The narrative, presented in Double Impact, is marked by an intriguing set of plot developments. Built on the classic story of revenge, it takes an interesting turn as it uses the most vintage formula of the 'long-lost twin' trope. However, the trope is employed innovatively, not allowing the narrative to be hampered by any possible accusations of cliché or triteness.

As the twins accidentally stumble upon each other and subsequently, discover their shared past, the narrative escalates into a thrilling tale of action and adventure. The clever weaving of familial relationships into the tale, ties extremely well with the mechanics of action sequences. It enables the audience to invest more deeply into the violent pursuits unfolding on the screen.

As remarkable as Van Damme's performance, the film equally capitalises on its keen vision for choreography and cinematography. The fight sequences are crafted to perfection, with a striking balance of finesse and raw power, making each moment a fascinating spectacle. The iconic scene where the two twins take on the mafia is intensely breathtaking and stands as a testament to the choreographer’s prowess.

The film’s landscape is as dynamic as its characters, marching to the exciting rhythm of an international chase. From Los Angeles to inventively replicated streets of Hong Kong, the film offers a vibrant canvas for its action-filled spectacle. This constant change of scene injects a fresh breath of vitality into every shot, keeping the viewers hooked at every turn.

The director, Sheldon Lettich, who co-wrote the film with Van Damme, plays a pivotal role in realising the visions conceived. His mastery over staging action scenes and his acute style of direction brings to life the vital elements of an action film. The narrative and the action are seamlessly blended through his proficient sense of storytelling.

On the flip side, critics could argue some scenes are over-extended and some dialogues saturated with cinematic clichés. However, even these elements contribute towards knitting the film into its chosen genre, providing an authentic action movie experience to the viewers.

Double Impact delivers on the promise of an engaging, thrilling experience, driven by the compelling storyline, unique characterisation, and superbly choreographed action sequences. These combined with Van Damme's incredible performance as the twins, Chad and Alex, make the movie a turning point in the action film genre.

Jean-Claude Van Damme, with Double Impact, has indubitably etched his standing in the timeline of action films. The movie does not merely entertain but also impresses its audience with the craft involved in making such high-octane action films. It showcases an amalgamation of bold storytelling, powerful acting, meticulous choreography and an engrossing narrative setup. This combination of skilled execution and an action-packed storyboard ensures that Double Impact leaves an imprint in the minds of the audience, even long after its credits roll.

[science-sculpt]

Exploring RNA Interference

Imagine a molecular switch within your cells, one that can selectively turn off the production of specific proteins. This isn't science fiction; it's the power of RNA interference (RNAi), a groundbreaking biological process that has revolutionized our understanding of gene expression and holds immense potential for medicine and beyond.

The discovery of RNAi, like many scientific breakthroughs, was serendipitous. In the 1990s, Andrew Fire and Craig Mello were studying gene expression in the humble roundworm, Caenorhabditis elegans (a tiny worm). While injecting worms with DNA to study a specific gene, they observed an unexpected silencing effect - not just in the injected cells, but throughout the organism. This puzzling phenomenon, initially named "co-suppression," was later recognized as a universal mechanism: RNAi.

Their groundbreaking work, awarded the Nobel Prize in 2006, sparked a scientific revolution. Researchers delved deeper, unveiling the intricate choreography of RNAi. Double-stranded RNA molecules, the key players, bind to a protein complex called RISC (RNA-induced silencing complex). RISC, equipped with an "Argonaut" enzyme, acts as a molecular matchmaker, pairing the incoming RNA with its target messenger RNA (mRNA) - the blueprint for protein production. This recognition triggers the cleavage of the target mRNA, effectively silencing the corresponding gene.

So, how exactly does RNAi silence genes? Imagine a bustling factory where DNA blueprints are used to build protein machines. RNAi acts like a tiny conductor, wielding double-stranded RNA molecules as batons. These batons bind to specific messenger RNA (mRNA) molecules, the blueprints for proteins. Now comes the clever part: with the mRNA "marked," special molecular machines chop it up, effectively preventing protein production. This targeted silencing allows scientists to turn down the volume of specific genes, observing the resulting effects and understanding their roles in health and disease.

The intricate dance of RNAi involves several key players:dsRNA: The conductor, a long molecule with two complementary strands. Dicer: The technician, an enzyme that chops dsRNA into small interfering RNAs (siRNAs), about 20-25 nucleotides long. RNA-induced silencing complex (RISC): The ensemble, containing Argonaute proteins and the siRNA. Target mRNA: The specific "instrument" to be silenced, carrying the genetic instructions for protein synthesis.

The siRNA within RISC identifies and binds to the complementary sequence on the target mRNA. This binding triggers either:Direct cleavage: Argonaute acts like a molecular scissors, severing the mRNA, preventing protein production. Translation inhibition: RISC recruits other proteins that block ribosomes from translating the mRNA into a protein.

From Labs to Life: The Diverse Applications of RNAi

The ability to silence genes with high specificity unlocks various applications across different fields:

Unlocking Gene Function: Researchers use RNAi to study gene function in various organisms, from model systems like fruit flies to complex human cells. Silencing specific genes reveals their roles in development, disease, and other biological processes.

Therapeutic Potential: RNAi holds immense promise for treating various diseases. siRNA-based drugs are being developed to target genes involved in cancer, viral infections, neurodegenerative diseases, and more. Several clinical trials are underway, showcasing the potential for personalized medicine.

Crop Improvement: In agriculture, RNAi offers sustainable solutions for pest control and crop development. Silencing genes in insects can create pest-resistant crops, while altering plant genes can improve yield, nutritional value, and stress tolerance.

Beyond the Obvious: RNAi applications extend beyond these core areas. It's being explored for gene therapy, stem cell research, and functional genomics, pushing the boundaries of scientific exploration.

Despite its exciting potential, RNAi raises ethical concerns. Off-target effects, unintended silencing of non-target genes, and potential environmental risks need careful consideration. Open and responsible research, coupled with public discourse, is crucial to ensure we harness this powerful tool for good.

RNAi, a testament to biological elegance, has revolutionized our understanding of gene regulation and holds immense potential for transforming various fields. As advancements continue, the future of RNAi seems bright, promising to silence not just genes, but also diseases, food insecurity, and limitations in scientific exploration. The symphony of life, once thought unchangeable, now echoes with the possibility of fine-tuning its notes, thanks to the power of RNA interference.