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leviathanleva · 6 months ago

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Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

Excitement for your morning coffee turns to panic when you bump into a mountainous stranger in a grey hoodie, sporting a skull mask. Sputtered apologies become a conversation in a corner of the café. And he’s so beat up, battered and bruised and scarred that you can’t help the words that leave your lips:

“Do you want to come home with me?”

[5k words ]

Chapter 1 "Caffeine Rush"

Airpods in your ears, music vibrating through your soul, you were ready for the world outside.

Sweet Saturday morning, after a week of work and barely any time for yourself, you’d decided on a treat to start off the weekend. You’d slept in late, phone alarm turned off and sleeping mask tugged on, new sheets prepared the night before because it was so comforting to wake up to the subtle smell of detergent. And once you were finally up, you’d decided fuck it, go out and get a nice steaming hot coffee in a cute paper cup from the local café, listen to Lofi or Lana Del Rey or whatever Spotify had prepared for your daily suggestions on the way, cozy up in a warm winter jacket and a thick scarf. Bless the crisp December air, it nipped at your cheeks and filled your lungs with sharp frosty air. It numbed your nose too and made your eyes water, but those weren’t as positive as the previous two affixes.

The streets were buzzing, a rare sight of the sun peeking through a blanket of grey clouds was shining down on you.

All in all, it was going to be a good day.

You waited impatiently for the light to turn green before crossing the street with a horde of nameless individuals, keeping in tandem with them.

Snow was still a no-show, you could only hope for its appearance at least on Christmas. The holidays without a fluffy coat of white powdering over everything from trees to rooftops just didn’t sit well with you, but at the end of the day, it was up to Mother Nature, not you. Anything but the ice rain you’d had the week prior; you weren’t ready to skate to the store again.

The bell above the café door shakes to life, signaling your entrance. You tuck one airpod in your pocket to listen in on the chatter in the comfy, coffee bean scented establishment, and also because you didn’t want to miss anything the cashier said. You were the anxious type after all, didn’t wanna miss a thing ever.

The heating system is blasting, cranked to the max, steam comes in large waves from behind the oak counter, be it from warm beverages or baked goods fresh from the oven, it lingers long enough for you to get a whiff before being diligently sucked away by the range hood. You unzip the top part of your jacket before getting too stuffy, loosen your scarf and take off your gloves. The staff, donned in their creamy yellow aprons, zip back and forth between tables like worker ants and you step into the line of waiting customers to keep out of their way.

The hardwood floor is licked spotless, looking down, you can almost see your reflection staring back at you. The hum of the large coffee grinder fills your exposed ear and you decide to turn off Spotify for the moment and bask in the café’s ambience instead.

The line moves, it’s almost your turn and you glance up at the display monitors listing off all the choices on the menu for today. Lattes, milkshakes, espressos, you decide on a large cappuccino, leave experimenting with unfamiliar drinks for another day when you’re feeling more courageous.

“Large cappuccino, please.” You say with a polite smile and fish out your wallet from your pocket.

Coffee is cheap here, cheaper than in most cafés and that’s one of the things that keeps you coming back to this place. It’s not easy to afford treats when you live on your own and have to pay the bills and groceries alone. However, you manage, and being able to afford a coffee or takeout once in a while is all the sweeter when knowing you owe nothing to nobody.

You take your cup and nudge your chin for the barista to keep the change before stepping away to the sidebar littered with plastic lids, sugar packets, and cheap wooden teaspoons for stirring your drink. After a brief consideration, you decide not to sweeten your coffee and only take a large lid, pop it over your cup and after zipping your jacket back up, you’re about to turn and walk out.

A walk through the park where you can sit down and enjoy your drink suggestively passes by your mind. Deciding that’s exactly what you will do, you palm through your pocket for your discarded airpods while nursing your paper cup to your chest.

And maybe it was your fault for not paying enough attention because you were buzzed to have a nice relaxing weekend. Or that you’d already achieved your first goal of the day and you were about to have a nice vibey stroll while hurrying to stuff your ears with music before you left the café. Maybe you’d jinxed your Saturday by confidently thinking it would be a swell time and nothing wrong would happen for once.

You should have known better. You should have suspected something would go wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You whirl around with the intent of being on your way, expecting the glass doors to be in view, but they aren’t. A mountain of flesh and muscle stands before you. And your reaction time is too slow to save yourself or your coffee.

You jump, your hand flinches and the paper cup goes flying, a gasp upon your lips so loud it turns heads. You can only watch in horror as it makes contact with a wide chest clad in a grey hoodie, the lid pops off from the force of the impact and the hot contents inside go in every direction.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God.”

One hand goes up to cover your agape mouth while the other clutches at the zipper of your jacket as panic crawls up your neck and prickles your scalp.

The worst part is that your coffee wasn’t the only casualty. The poor guy had dropped his beverage to pull his hoodie off his chest the moment your scalding beverage had soaked it.

There was steam coming off it. It was boiling and you’d spilled it on him.

You wanted to die.

And he’s fucking terrifying too. Easily two heads over you and built like a truck. The intricate skull mask obscures the lower half of his face and you can’t discern if he’s absolutely pissed or just mildly uncomfortable with the large stain plastered on his top.

His eyes are sharp, trained on his ruined hoodie, crow’s feet crinkled, and you’re grateful they’re not directed at you because you were a step away from breaking down on the spot.

A stone lodged itself in your throat.

If he didn’t curse you to oblivion, he’d either break you in half, or worse, sue you.

You can’t get fucking sued. You don’t have the money to get sued.

So much for having a good day…

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” You sputter out and grab a handful of paper towels from the counter. You’re glancing up at him every now and again for fear of his patience running out. “I’m so so sorry.”

Shaky hands are tapping away at his top, soaking in the liquid as best you can while trying to keep from breaking down. Your tongue is arrested between your teeth, bitten down on hard in a self-soothing attempt. Your fingertips are stained with coffee because there‘s so much of it that it’s turning the paper towels to mush. You couldn’t care less about that or that you were practically sweating bullets under your jacket.

All you hoped for was that you hadn’t caused the poor guy a burn.

“ ‘s okay.” He murmurs in a thick British accent while watching you fuss over him with growing anxiety. The jitter in your movements would be almost comical if not for you practically hyperventilating on him.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

“No.” You whine, before you can stifle your voice to normalcy, and turn to the cashier peeking from behind the counter with watery eyes and a deeply carved frown. “No. I’m so sorry, we spilled our drinks. I mean, I spilled - ” You take in a breath to compose yourself and brush a hand over your forehead, shoulders slumping. You’re giving your best apologetic expression, practically mourning over the mess you’d made at your feet and of the man looming next to you.“ – I’m sorry. I can clean it up if you have a mop.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, miss. We’ll mop it up.” The cashier replies, bless her, and signals for one of the waiters to fetch the cleaning supplies. The friendly smile never wavers from her balmed lips; neither does the caffeinated twinkle in her eyes.

She’s most likely seen this sort of thing plenty of times, but for you, it’s a first and it’s your fault to top it off. It’s not an easy pill to swallow and despite the atmosphere being anything but hostile, you can’t help but still feel guilty.

Of course, this had to happen to you of all people. You weren’t allowed a single day of peace and tranquility.

With the main cause of disturbance taken care of, you turn back to your victim, who’s joined you in trying to dry off his hoodie. Your stomach churns at the sight, and you’re afraid to look around in case all eyes are on you two. You can’t bear the scrutiny, even though most people have probably resumed their dwellings by now.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, sir.” You ask and reach for more paper towels, pressing them against his chest more so to show you’re very apologetic and trying to fix the situation rather than actually fixing it because most of the coffee has already come out.

You glance up at him after mustering up the courage, curious as to what awaited you next. He returns your gaze with one of indifference or calmness, you can’t tell, blinks at you slowly, as if he’s just now taking your flustered form for the first time, then he speaks, more clearly this time.

“It’s fine.”

A server arrives with a mop in hand and you both step away from the mess to let them clean it up. You take the lead unintentionally and guide the stranger towards one of the vacant tables in the corner of the café, away from prying stares.

You pick the chair next to the wall that has a large ficus partially looming over the seat. Maybe with enough luck, you can disappear inside it.

Finally, unzipping your jacket because you’re about to faint from the stuffiness, you lay it on the cushioned backrest of the chair and pat it down to make sure you’d not accidentally dropped any of your belongings during the accident. You tug at your sweater to air out the thin sheen of nervous sweat that’s formed over your skin, brush off the strands of hair that have come to stick to your face and take off your scarf.

The stranger sits on the opposite chair, paper towel still to his chest and sucking out any leftover residue. The stain won’t leave your vision no matter how hard you try to rip the two separate. It’s the worry gnawing at your gut that keeps you rooted to your spot, wanting to approach but too afraid to do so.

But so far he’s been a nice guy, hasn’t said one single bad word to you.

Your mind reels with how red and irritated his skin must be, praying it hadn’t blistered up already. You have half a mind to ask him to take off his hoodie so you can take a look.

A fresh wave of panic wraps its dainty fingers around your neck in squeezes, sends needles to prick over random places on your body.

And all this time, you’ve been sputtering out apologies like a broken record, his dismissal of your regret not even reaching your ears let alone registering.

“Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, I’ve never had to call an ambulance in my life…” You ask, mumbling the last part to yourself as the realization hits you square in the face. For a brief moment, you forget how to dial the emergency line because you’ve never had to use that number before. “I’m sorry, sir – I – I didn’t mean – ”

You continue to blabber while searching your jacket pocket for your phone. The guy might have said nothing at your suggestion, but you wanted to be safe and have your phone at the ready anyway. And you’re too preoccupied going ballistic with panic in your own little world to hear him repeatedly tell you that everything is fine and you’ve done no big deal, he doesn’t need an ambulance and that he’s fine.

“Hey!” He grabs the crux of your elbow and pulls you before him, a large knee on either side of your thighs. A startled noise crawls up your throat but you make no move to step away. You’re staring at him as your hands disappear inside his and he jerks them slightly, his voice lowering now that he’s caught your attention finally. “Relax. It’s alright. Happens.” His comfort is rough. His voice gruff and sounding more like a scold than anything. He shakes you a bit too hard, not used to handling something as delicate as you, and pulls you down enough to make solid eye contact. “Alright?”

You nod and avert your gaze away, soggy paper towels left in a pile on the table making your fingers twitch with the need to do more. Apologies simply aren’t enough, not when he’d probably need to apply ointment on his chest for a few days after your little fiasco.

Why did have to be such a hot mess all the time?

“At least…Let me buy you another drink. On me? It’ll make me feel better.” The frown is still tugging on your lips as you speak, shyly looking at him from under your lashes. “Please?”

He sighs softly at your relentlessness and shrugs before letting your hands slip from him, having kept them in his grasp for longer than he should.

“Sure.”

He leans back in his chair and readjusts both his hood and the cap poking beneath it before resting his elbows on the table.

“What did you order?” You question while fetching your wallet.

The innocent look you toss him has him forcing himself to stop staring at you like a creep. He clears his throat and rubs over his tired eyes tenderly before answering.

“Black tea with milk.”

And so you reorder your cappuccino, get him his tea and decide that a simple butter croissant as an apology is enough for the moment. Every time you turn around to glance at him, nervous that he’d simply slip away from your overbearing presence, he catches your stare without fail. Heat gathers around your ears and your lips purse unintentionally every single time and you quickly turn back to the cashier, pretending you hadn’t just been discovered ogling him.

The chair looks too small to encompass his hulking frame comfortably, the table is no different, but you guess he’s used to it by now. A man of his stature isn’t a common occurrence here. Poor thing probably has to bow to enter through most doorways and have his shirts custom-made with how wide his shoulders were. If he wore shirts at all that is.

He looks like he’s brooding when you return with the order, fingers linked together and thumbs dancing around each other.

You set the tea by his side, note the callouses and scarring around his knuckles, the roughness of his skin. Your first thought is that he’s a construction worker, it would explain his size, the biceps that are as big as your head and straining against the stitches of his hoodie, the casual clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes that make it easy for anyone to guess that he doesn’t rest enough. But then he pulls his mask down and lets it rest under his chin as he takes a prolonged sip from his drink. You note the crookedly mended nose after a trauma so potent it made your eyes water at the thought of what pain he’d endured. There’s a gash running along his thin lips, multiple ones that stand out from the light stubble peppering the lower part of his face, deep ones, ones that you guessed had needed stitches and took forever to properly heal.

Now you’re not so sure he’s a construction worker.

“So what do you do for a living?” It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You laugh nervously and raise a hand in a soothing motion before he even has a chance to answer. “You don’t have to tell if you’re not comfortable. I’m just curious.”

The mug of tea pauses before his lips and he gives you a skeptical look.

“Military.”

“Oh.” You blurt out and awkwardly take a sip from your coffee, nearly choking at how hot it is.

And that’s precisely the answer Ghost expected. It was a big turnoff for many people when they learned his career path, mostly because the news only displayed the bad outcomes of his work and never the good. He might have saved this entire city a week ago from a bombing and nobody would know.

It came with the territory and he half expected you to think up some lousy explanation as to why you suddenly had to go.

But you aren’t like that at all because of course, you aren’t. Why would it be made easy for him to forget you and move on with his day when you could be sweet and open and give him more reason to burn you into the crevices of his conscience instead? Why would you make an excuse and leave when you could stay and kindle the embers of his humanity and make yourself space to be a permanent memory?

That’s just his typical luck.

“Must be tough.” You muse, absentmindedly taking a napkin and wiping off the milk and tea mustache staining his upper lip, as if tending to a messy toddler. It comes instinctively and you don’t fight it until your fingers are already being poked by his stubble. “But thanks for keeping us normal folk safe.” You give his wide-eyed stare a warm smile, and tilt your head slightly to one side.

You notice the subtle way in which he moves his chin towards your hand, apprehensive of you pulling away. As if he’s fighting his demons to lean into your touch, to rest his cheek against your palm and close his eyes because he hasn’t been offered softness in so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like anymore.

You don’t mind that his large hand reaches to try and still your wrist, aching for more delicate touches, but stops before coming in contact with your flesh, pulled back by self-deprecating restrain. You almost want to encourage him, he looks visibly altered by your simple gesture, like a dog who’d been beaten all his life and was given a treat for the first time.

“What happened to you, old soldier?” You want to ask gently, pry a little while you cup his face and let him rest on the softness of your palm, close his eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Your heart aches for him.

But then you remember he’s a stranger and the moment shatters.

The smile vanishes from your face, the warmth dissipates and you flinch back.

“Sorry.” You rush to say and crumble up the napkin in your hand before tossing it on the table and trying to brush off the suffocating awkwardness. “You had something there.” You motion to your upper lip before drowning in more coffee, hoping it will ease the discomfort.

Just what the hell had you been thinking?

And he’s not far behind you on that note. The flicker of softness dies in his chocolate browns and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth stills and dips into neutrality. The exhaustion returns to his features and his gaze flits away from you as he gathers himself back together.

“You should eat tha’ ‘fore it gets cold.”

Your eyes trail to where he’d nudged his chin and you see the butter croissant you’d purchased along with your drinks. You giggle, it turns into a light laugh when his head cocks to the side in confusion because he’s yet to realize you’d gotten it for him.

Because why would he? He’s a soldier, he gets bullets and grenades, not tea and croissants.

Poor creature, sweet scarred sufferer, with so much weight on his shoulders you couldn’t imagine bearing.

“It’s for you.” You push the small plate closer to him and flick your hand for him to dig in, treat himself on your behalf if he won’t do it on his own accord.

“What?” He reels back in his seat slightly at your words, sets down his drink and tenses up. There’s so much disbelief there that it’s almost comical.

It’s like he’d never been treated before.

Maybe he hadn’t been.

Jesus Christ, what if he actually hadn’t been?

“I mean it’s the least I can do after drenching you in coffee.” You say and press the lid of your cup to your lips, hiding the sympathetic smile from view lest he takes it as pity.

You didn’t pity the man, not in the slightest, but from the tired eyes to the worn clothes, sunk-in shoulders and need for anonymity, you guessed he’d not seen much kindness.

It was easily discernable that he wasn’t used to taking care of himself. Coming to a café to get a drink was probably the maximum self-indulgence he’d permit himself.

“Didn’t ‘ave to.” He grumbles out, voice hoarse and cutting off at the end.

“I wanted to.” You say and wave off his meager comment.

Gods, you wanted to bathe him in sugar and softness.

He tugs the plate before him hesitantly, looking over the croissant as if not trusting it or you, then he picks it up. A small bite at first, one of apprehension before the treat melts on his tongue and awakens his taste buds. He finishes it in two mouthfuls, barely chews and you’re inclined to ask if he wants another, you’re ready to feed him the whole bakery stand if he so wishes. But he declines, whether from embarrassment or mistrust, you didn’t know.

You just know he’s hungry.

You give him your name while he’s washing down the croissant with his leftover tea, just throw it out there in the hopes that he’ll give you his. And he does after heaving a sigh.

“Simon.”

“Pretty name.” You note, toss him a friendly smile that’s a silent invitation for him to say more. “Nice to meet you then, Simon.”

But your friendliness doesn’t breach his defenses a second time. He eyes you with an unreadable expression, watches you slurp your coffee while you’re left to wonder if your compliment had been a mistake.

You might have been coming off as too friendly, trying to suck up to him after ruining his top and that was the reason why you were so nice. Or maybe he thought that there was a hidden agenda behind your acts, that you’d want something in return for your kindness and that’s why he kept his guard up.

Action without a need for reciprocation didn’t exist in his world. Nobody was stupidly selfless enough to just give and not want anything in return. But you were right there, proving him wrong and he wasn’t sure that fact was a fact anymore.

Throughout his internal debate, you’re doing your best to remain casual but it’s difficult with those dark orbs boring into your soul. It’s even more difficult when the silence settles, so you decide to ramble and keep the spirits up until he feels comfortable enough to join.

It might come off as annoying, but you’re sure he’ll stop you if you’re becoming too much to handle.

You tell him about your job, a brief summary of how rough your week had been that that was the reason why you’d come here this morning to treat yourself. You tell him you’re clumsier than you’d like to admit, that you can’t imagine drinking tea first thing in the morning. You tell him that you’d love to have a pet one day, but your landlord doesn’t permit any, ask him if he has pets or would want any. Then you ask if he’s more a cat or a dog person.

And throughout the entire time, he’s staring at you with this undigestible look and you have no idea what to make of it.

The caffeine pumping in your veins helps keep your monologue going until finally he speaks up.

“Bothering you?”

“What?” You spit out, cease your rambling and scrunch your brows at him in confusion.

“The face.” He says, motioning towards his partly obscured face like it’s so obvious. “Ain’t a pretty mug to look at.”

You blink at him silently, at a loss for words at his not-so-kind statement. Your mouth parts, struggling to form a coherent reply because you’re absolutely thunderstruck that he thinks so lowly of you as to believe you’d be affected by such a thing.

Then again, he doesn’t know you, and neither do you him.

But the fact that he’s polite enough to ask while already anticipating the answer tells you that he might have had this conversation one too many times already. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the mean comments and ugly remarks were all in his head and he hid his face to stifle those rather than hide from other people.

You don’t know which alternative is sadder.

“No! Not at all.” You say slowly, accenting every word that comes out of your mouth, with eyes trained on his and refusing to blink in case you missed anything. “You’re handsome, really.” You dare to reach out for him and rest your hand atop his, gentle and ready to pull back in case his features portrayed any hint of discomfort with your actions. “Plus your scars mean you put yourself before me to keep me safe, right? Can’t judge you for that.”

Now he’s the one left speechless.

Wordlessly, he twists his wrist, rolls his hand around and slowly unclenches his fingers to let yours through. And your hand is so soft and warm when it slips over his mauled palm, even the skin is a stark contrast because yours is so smooth, spotless, perfect, compared to his.

He runs his large thumb over your knuckles, relishes the tingly feeling it gives him, watches intently because he’s sure that as soon as his eyes move to somewhere else, you’ll vanish and it’ll all be over. Your fingers fall against his wrist where his pulse leisurely beats, only quickening when you shift in your seat because he thinks you’ll pull away.

Manicured nails trace over the scars poking from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie and he shivers, the hairs on his arms rising. He lets you tug the sleeve back, wanting to know how far the violent marks go. Soon enough black and grey ink peeks from under the fabric and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips at how delighted you seem.

“Oh, I love tattoos…” You hum while tracing the tips of your fingers over it.

“Got any?” He asks absentmindedly, almost mechanically as all his attention is focused on the little hand exploring his own.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You giggle, eyes closing briefly in delight as you bask in the fuzzy atmosphere.

He bites his tongue at that, decides now isn’t the time for flirty remarks, bids you too esteemed to fall for a sleazy comeback that might result in him naked in your bed. No, you were made to be courted, won over with effort and flowers and all the things he hasn’t bothered with in the past.

You were the type of woman that he avoided for fear of messing things up, someone who deserved better than him and he wasn’t ashamed of admitting that. Yet here you were, practically thrust in his arms by chance.

“Do you want another tea?” You ask because his drink is gone and what’s left at the bottom of your cup is two sips at most. And you don’t end this to end, you don’t want him to leave just yet.

“I’m good.” He answers and retracts his arm before standing. “Gonna ‘ave a smoke outside. Cheers for the tea.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it still makes your heart ache and your mind switches to turbo mode to try and think of something.

Your next question doesn’t come from a place of desire or lust. You’ve no intent of trying to get the battered soldier into your bed and use him for selfish pleasure. You’d never let yourself be so cruel.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

You ask because to you, he’s a stray in need of a home, someone to take care of him a little and nurse him back into a better shape before his next big military mission. It’s naïve, stupid really, to think a grown man such as himself can’t take care of himself.

But the way he looks tells you a sad story and you’d spoken before thinking. Now you’re left with a hot face and a fluttering stomach as he stares at you over his shoulder with something akin to surprise.

“I mean…for lunch, sometime. My treat of course.” You say next, trying to salvage the moment before it got too awkward and you were forced to go to the toilets and hyperventilate while beating yourself up internally. “You don’t have to – ”

“ – Yeah.”

And you swear you saw his eyes squint with a smile hidden somewhere behind the bulk of his shoulder.

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

#x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #ghost cod #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2

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klemen-tine · 2 years ago

Text

White Whale

Platonic!Yandere Batfam x Male!Deaf Reader

First Batfam post... this obsession for DC and specifically the Batfam has come out of nowhere and has me by the throat.

But here you guys go.

Thoughts

Sign/Morse Code

Speaking

TW: Hints at past attempted rape, disability discrimination

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Things have been quiet, but at the same time hectic, in the Wayne manor as of lately. Almost everyone was there, sharing the same space and eating the same meals. Almost. The third oldest brother, Y/N, was missing. It stung to say, but the truth of the matter was that he had run away. Leaving behind the external processor of his cochlear implants, and only taking a backpack of clothes. He had left behind the credit card Bruce gave to everyone, only taking out a large sum of cash the day before and booking it.

Only one note, ‘I’ll be fine.’ All the trackers left in a straight line on his bedside table, some still covered in blood from when he must have dug them out of his body. It made some of the family members wonder if Y/N had always been aware or if he had found them by chance.

It’s been three months, and everyone was about to go crazy. How could they not? Y/N, for how independent he was and capable, was deaf and has only known the Manor. Jason, the closest to Y/N, has been more vicious on the patrols and was constantly pacing back and forth in the library. Reading and rereading all of Y/N’s favorites (even though he hated them), and sometimes even just sitting in Y/N’s room. Taking in what he had left behind, barely taking any clothes, none of his electronics (his phone was still here), and one of his favorite books that he always kept in his room.

Jason’s going to put a tracker in that book once they get Y/N back.

Nevertheless, sometimes he just sits there. On Y/N’s bed, and takes in the room, sometimes he’s alone and sometimes he’s with a sibling. Every now and then he’ll see Bruce in here, thumbing through Y/N’s journals.

When Jason closes his eyes, could feel the ghost of Y/N’s touches, the feeling of Y/N’s smaller and thinner body resting against his as he read. Thin fingers gently pressed against Jason’s throat to feel the vibrations, picking up when Jason spoke in a higher or lower tone, laughing when he made an obnoxious voice for a character he absolutely loathed. Cold hands gently cupping his face under the sweaty red helmet, grounding Jason to the present.

Dick, as the eldest child, prided himself in being in-tune with his siblings. He would bend and twist himself to keep himself available and aware of his siblings' emotions. He was the guy everyone went to when things were wrong or they needed advice. So, he wonders what he did wrong for Y/N to leave without saying anything. Their third older brother never hinted at anything being wrong, or even any sign of him wanting to leave. There was no change in his moods, no change in interests, no major cash withdrawals besides the night he left.

His older brother instincts were stressed and have been stressed since his little brother had disappeared. In his hands, he fingered a silver stud that Y/N had left behind. Smart of him, because a small tracker was placed underneath the tourmaline gem. The blue hiding it wonderfully while also looking beautiful on Y/N’s skin. Decorating his ears that he had pierced himself (he can still hear Alfred’s outrage whenever he is reminded of that), and being the only piece of jewelry that they wanted him to wear.

Still, Dick had wished he had taken them. He wonders if Y/N knew about the trackers in these earrings, or the trackers in the pairs of shoes he left. If he did, the other did a great job in not letting anyone know. However, if he didn’t, then it made this all the more frustrating. How could their deaf, non-combatant, and to be frank average intelligence, brother get out of this heavily monitored manor? Tim had spent years upgrading the systems, making it stronger and stronger each time.

So, how? More importantly, why?

Dick couldn’t wrap his head around the reason why Y/N would want to leave. He’s fed great food, he has a nice bed, he can read great books, and he’s always surrounded by family. It’s not like they limited his time outside, he can basically come and go when he wants.

As long as he was back in the manor by nightfall, Y/N could go anywhere.

What sucked even more was that none of them had the slightest clue where he could be. Y/N could be dead for all they know.

Dick subdued that thought, having faith that the self-defense they had drilled into Y/N would keep him safe until they found him. However they all intimately know how unfair and unkind the world can be. Y/N, sweet and defenseless Y/N, was all alone somewhere in the world. The worst outcomes kept reappearing in his mind and playing on Y/N’s past traumas.

Why couldn’t his brother see that he was safest here? Everyone praised the Lord that Y/N expressed no interest in being a vigilante, and that his career of choice was instead choosing to be an editor. He took a gap year this year, which everyone rejoiced over. Y/N was a hard worker, and was someone who fully dived into things without taking a break. Like Tim.

Still, Dick wished Y/N would see what they saw. Y/N needs them, just like how they need Y/N. Dick flopped into the couch, thumbing through his photos and finding one of him and Y/N. When they do find him, they’re going to have to remind him where he belongs.

++++

Y/N took in the sun rays with a content smile. His once pale skin now has a slight tint to it, and his hair now lighter due to the sea water and sun. The white beaches reflect the warm rays and the blue waters look like familiar eyes. It took him a while to get used to being on his own, which was proof that he needed to do this. Never in his life has he felt so free.

The wind tossing his hair and the view of waves crashing on the shore had him smiling. The Moby Dick in his hands as he reread the pages, noting the post-it notes he had in it, jotting down his thoughts and musings. The Dominican Republic beaches were already something to die for, but here on the hidden beaches, where only a handful of people knew of its location, were worth killing for. Y/N looked back at the small bungalow he was renting, paying in cash to keep his name off the lease and only staying until March before he will leave for Europe, and smiled. A cute little thing that looked like it could topple at the slightest storm. The electricity was powered by a generator and there was no hot water. Maybe warm, but never hot. Which Y/N was shockingly fine with. It wasn’t like it was cold here like how it was in Gotham.

His biggest stressor was cooking. Which furthermore proved how he needed to do this. Out of all his brothers, he is the only one who doesn’t know how to cook. He can make the basics, like mac-n-cheese, ramen, rice, and basic pasta dishes. However, when his landlord had given him a fish to eat, Y/N stared at it with great embarrassment.

It’s not like he had a phone, or even the internet, to google it.

He had almost set the kitchen on fire but that’s something he’s not going to tell his landlord about.

Thankfully, despite how well-hidden this bungalow was, the community around was strong and well-receptive to him. When he first told them that he was deaf, which was completely by accident, he started getting free food and notepads to write on. However, no one treated him differently. He wasn’t coddled, besides once again the free meal every now and then but he’s positive that also has to deal with how frightened he looked when he was asked to help out with cooking one time, nor was he pestered.

As much as he loves his family, the Wayne family could be… a lot. Always around him, constantly monitoring him, coddling him like he was going to break at the slightest hint of him facing a struggle. Some of them unknowingly, or unintentionally, use his deafness against him as a reason why he couldn’t do certain things. He is grateful to Bruce for giving him his hearing somewhat back, the cochlear implants truly made life easier, but Y/N was curious about the part of him.

He lost his hearing at the age of 10, a gradual process that started when he was 8. The nerves in his ears deteriorated to the point not even the sound of a building explosion could be heard by him. Being deaf in East Gotham as a 10-year-old was basically a death sentence. It didn’t help that Y/N was naturally curious, meaning there were a lot of things he stuck his nose in that he shouldn’t have. It is only because of Jason that he is alive, which the other will always deny but Y/N stands by.

Jason and him had met when they were both 6, being neighbors with similar living conditions had made them close. Jason was with him when his hearing started to disappear, and he was with Jason when Catherine had died from an overdose. The two of them took to the streets and set up a small base in an abandoned building.

He was with him when they decided to steal the Batmobile's wheels, clinging onto Jason’s red hoodie when the local vigilante had lifted him up by the collar of said hoodie. Those eyes that peaked through the mask drifted from defiant blue eyes to terrified E/C eyes.

They had become twins, brothers with different last names and different birthdays, but twins nevertheless. Inseparable and always joined at the hips, only leaving each other when Jason went on patrol as Robin and Y/N chose to stay behind with Alfred. While Jason learned how to kick someone’s ass, Y/N learned how to treat them when their own asses got kicked.

He cried when Jason died. Sobbed and deteriorated as he slept in Jason’s room, and sobbed some more when he tried to read some of Jason’s books. He let Dick comfort him, taking him on daily excursions to the beach and riding on the back of his motorcycle. Bruce had read to him, just how Jason used to, and while it wasn’t the same he appreciated the man trying. Alfred continued to be the emotional support they all relied on him to be, and constantly patted his shoulders and baked him his favorite treats.

Y/N screamed at Bruce when he brought Tim back, stating that he was the new Robin. He made it clear he wasn’t mad at Tim, but Bruce. He gave the man the cold shoulder for weeks while making sure Tim was accommodated for. He cried again when Jason came back, hugging the other and cupping Jason’s older face between his hands. He rested a hand on Bruce’s shoulder when Damian showed up, feeling for him and showing emotions that Bruce could not.

Y/N loves his family with everything in him, and he knows that he is loved back. However, the love from one person was different from the love of multiple people. Y/N knows, is intimately aware, that their love is the type disguised as golden necklaces and stained glass windows. When in reality, they are chains and the gold bars of a cage. He knows they kept him dependent on them for life necessities, such as food, money, and a place to sleep.

He was never allowed to get a job. When he tried he was rejected or never called back. He was allowed to cook, but only the basics, as Alfred didn’t want him hurting himself. His curfew was before nightfall, meaning in winter 4:30 was when he had to be back inside the manor.

They gave him his hearing so the silence would continue to be deafening. It is why he left the external processors. Whether Y/N liked it or not, he was deaf. He is a part of that community, and it is about time he got used to that part of himself.

The young adult knows his family loves him, and wants to care for him, but as an adult he knows that he needs to learn some things about life on his own.

Bruce taught them all well. Alfred taught them all well. His older brothers and younger brothers taught him well. Y/N is ready for this. He has been for a while.

Closing his book, marking the page with the bookmark, he watched a sperm whale breach for only a moment before disappearing under the waves. Unable to hear the sound it made, but the sight of it was enough. He set the book down on the towel and made his way to the waters.

++++

It was an accident. It truly was. However, it was a happy accident that had everyone packing and getting ready for the trip.

One of Tim’s classmates had just returned from vacation, and she was showing photos of the sperm whales that gathered. Tim looked because it was shoved in his face, and he nearly snatched her phone out of her hand. In the back, dressed like a local, he was there. His eyes focused on the breach sperm whales, but Tim would recognize him from any angle in any get up.

He asked what beach she was at, and she said Playa Rincon, Dominican Republic. Y/N was in the Dominican Republic. But for what? Y/N has never shown any interest in the tropics or even the ocean in general. Sure he loves the beach, but that was it. Never has he expressed his desire to go to another country to experience it.

So, what could have been there that would draw Y/N in? With the amount of money he withdrew, he could have bought a plane ticket anywhere in the world, and he chose the Dominican Republic. Without a doubt using a fake idea, a fake name, and he was probably using a different name to either rent a place or buy a house.

Sure, they can all just go over, but if they do they would have to tear apart the country to find him. They work fast, but words can travel faster.

There has to be a reason why Y/N went. Something there that would at least narrow the search.

Tim looked around Y/N’s room, searching for anything that would give him a hint. Anything.

He glanced at the bookshelf where the only book missing was the Moby Dick. A book about how a group of whalers get bested by a giant sperm whale that is believed to be a god. It is a book about a Captain that has a self-destructive obsession with the white whale called the Moby Dick. Based on a true story of a crew on a ship called the Essex.

“I’ve always felt bad for the whale.” Tim raised an eyebrow, staring at his brother who was stroking their youngest brother’s head as Damian slept on. The book In the Heart of the Sea in between his thin fingers as he met Tim’s inquiring gaze.

“There is no proof as to why the whale rammed into the Essex, but many believe it was due to a mistake. The hammering in the hull of the ship sounded like another whale.” Tim signed, ‘But why do you feel bad?’ Y/N smiled, “Because, not only were they being hunted but now a book written about how this one whale is the reason a reputable Captain goes mad really does paint them in a bad light.”

‘Whaling has been outlawed.’

“Still, I bet this book only increased it for a while.” Tim watched Y/N bookmark his page, closing the book before returning his hands to Damian’s head.

‘Do you like sperm whales?’ Y/N beamed, “I do. They really are such an amazing animal, I hope I get to see one in person.”

Tim stood straighter, pulling out his phone and doing a quick Google search. The Dominican Republic is the only place where sperm whales stay all year.

“There’s no way.”

“What.” Tim brushed past Damian, rushing down to the Batcave and ignoring the glare the youngest sent him. It didn’t take long to find whale sighting information. It took even less time to find the pattern. Series of reds, blue, yellows, and green decorating the waters around Dominican Republic. The red dots were where the most recent sights were, and he stared at the location his classmate was at when they saw the whale. Where Y/N’s photo was accidentally taken.

There is only one spot that the red dots haven’t reached yet, and if the pattern stayed true, they had about two to three days.

Tim fished out his phone, calling Bruce, “I know where Y/N is.”

+++

Bruce loves his sons. He would risk himself for them and would do everything in his power to ensure they are safe. Yes, they had been Robins, yes Jason had died, yes his and Dick’s relationship was still rocky, but damn did he love them.

He stared at a photo of when Y/N and Jason were 13, 6 months freshly moved into the manor, and it was him and Dick standing on opposite sides of them. Jason grinning brightly, holding a more timid Y/N’s hand who was holding onto Bruce’s jacket. Dick was crouching next to Jason, laughing at something the other had said before the picture was taken. Y/N, when they first moved in, had been terribly shy. He always hid behind or stayed next to Jason, and watched Bruce and Alfred with hesitant eyes. Jason on the other hand was outspoken with his mistrust, but willing to comply with their rules for some things.

Bruce remembers when Y/N first helped Alfred dress their bruises and scratches. Alfred taking on a more unruly Jason, while Y/N helped with the minor stuff on Bruce. He had rubbed Y/N’s head with his ungloved hand afterwards, and he watched as those E/Cochromic eyes widened before a large smile took over his young face. Bright and happy with little care in the world.

He had wanted to keep that on Y/N’s face forever.

Bruce will be the first to admit that he didn’t do a great job in that. All his failures hung in front of him, and Y/N and Alfred were reminders that those failures didn’t affect just him. Yet, Bruce watched Y/N power on. Continuing to keep his chin up and shoulders back, taking on the new day with more determination.

Y/N had learned to be strong on his own, and while yes, Bruce is extremely and undeniably proud of him, he is also worried. Terrified. Something he shared with everyone else. The world is unkind to people who are different. It’s unkind to people in general, but to add in something about yourself that you cannot control and that is different from everyone else, it is terrible. Y/N, for how normal he pretends to be, is far from it.

It stresses Bruce out. He is constantly worried for him, constantly double-checking and ensuring that Y/N is okay. Bruce doesn’t want to admit that he is softer to Y/N because he is deaf, because that is not the complete truth. If anything, Bruce knows he is more controlling of Y/N because of that. Always having to know where he is, who he’s with, what he’s doing and whether it is safe enough for him or not.

A helicopter parent that the child cannot hear.

So when Tim had told him of how Y/N had somehow managed to get to the Dominican Republic, and was most likely living there, Bruce wanted to flip a table. All for some whales. He was more stressed than impressed over the fact that his son, who had no experience with Robin or anything illegal, managed to not only get a fake passport, a fake ID, and then live in another country for three months.

“Oh that kid?” One of the locals recognized who Bruce was asking about, a smile on their face as they recalled what an excellent free diver he was. The man grinned, pulling out a camera that had Bruce raising an eyebrow, “I’m an underwater photographer. That kid is a natural in the ocean.” Bruce stared at the photos, and even he could admire just how in place Y/N looked amongst the coral reefs and deep blue. Long legs looked fluid, and his body lithe like the fish he swam amongst.

Y/N looked free.

“Pleasant to talk to as well. It's a shame he’s deaf, he’d be a great teacher for other free-divers.” Bruce wanted to deck this man across the face for stating that Y/N couldn’t do something because of his lack of hearing, but that would be hypocritical. How many times has he used Y/N’s disability against him?

According to Tim, this area is the next stop for whale sightings, meaning Y/N has to be somewhere around here. The family has split up, asking the locals and looking around the tourist areas.

“Did he say where he was staying?” The local shook his head, “No, didn’t ask either.” Bruce wants to break the man's fingers just to make sure the other doesn’t know. The local, as if sensing the dangers he was in, gulped, “But if I had to guess, he most likely lives near coral reefs.

“Somewhere he could free dive constantly without having to go out on a boat. Afterall, for how short of a time he’s been doing it, he’s extremely impressive. A lot of this sport takes practice.”

Bruce nodded in thanks. It is the Brucie Wayne smile now on his face, “Thanks, and how much for the photo?”

Y/N stumbled back to his place, his cheeks flushed and a giggle on his lips. In his hands was a bottle of homemade tequila from one of the locals he had just gotten done partying with, and the taste was thick on his tongue but he couldn’t deny that the heat in his belly was addicting. Stumbling into the tiny bungalow, he set the bottle down on the kitchen table and resisted the urge to take another sip.

Doing a quick stretch, he watched the waves crash against the beach, the full moon illuminating the waters and the white sand.

Only one more day and the sperm whales should be at this side of the island. Maybe they’ll be here tonight. Scratching the nape of his neck, Y/N released a pleased sound before making his way to his room to grab stuff for the shower. He moved in the dark, knowing where everything was and not needing to add to the electricity bill.

The room itself was nice, probably the most grand room in the entire space. Above the bed was a large window that allowed for natural light, constantly illuminating the room. In the soft light of the moon, Y/N navigated his room with practiced movements. The fire in his gut making him stumble sometimes, but nothing serious or even alarming. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes landed on the book on his bedside tables and something else.

Furrowing his brows, Y/N walked to that part of his room, and his eyes turned hazy momentarily as his fingers brushed over the external processor of the cochlear implants, thumbing them and feeling the cool metal under the pad of his thumb. Fond memories of when he first got his hearing back, if only somewhat, and the way the world burst into noise.

He chuckled when a memory popped up of him and Jason arguing, and Y/N had taken off the processors and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see or hear Jason’s argument. The fight dissolved into laughter, Jason hugging Y/N and the both of them landing on the carpeted floor.

They were the external processors he left behind when he left the Wayne manor. Decorated in small stickers that Tim and Dick jokingly put on them, and the small scratches from when Damian had accidentally dropped them.

The processors he left behind to start this new life figuring out how to cope with silence.

The processors… he left… behind…

His E/C eyes widened and he made a quick sprint for the door, dropping his clothes on the floor. He has to go outside where there is open space and where he can hopefully be seen by a local. His family of vigilants excelled in close-combat and combat the needed tight spaces. It wasn't like Gotham had a lot of room to begin with.

He had to get out of here. Y/N has to leave, or at least give himself a chance.

When he threw open the door, he almost collided into the broad chest of one of his brothers. His eyes glanced up and he met the crazed and desperate eyes of his twin. The red helmet off of his head and exposing the bags under his eyes. Guilt crushed Y/N’s chest, and he wanted to cup Jason’s cheeks within his hands. He wanted to assure others he was safe, that he was fine, and that he was ready to do this.

But they would never get it.

He took a step back instead. Jason followed, and Y/N nearly screamed when he felt the floor creak beneath his feet. 4 other pairs of feet moved, making the wood creak and vibrate under his feet and alerting him that they were all in his home.

‘Ready to come home?’ Jason signed, and Y/N felt the wood creak. Y/N shook his head, never taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. Jason's facial expression changed.

‘Too bad.’ Y/N dodged a pair of hands that were behind him and barely side-stepped another pair. Jason stood in front of the door, ensuring that Y/N could not leave through it. He remembers just how slippery the other could be, and he was not risking it.

Y/N raced to the kitchen, grabbing the handle of the tequila bottle, and holding it like a bat. In front of him was his family, Damian, Tim, Dick, Jason, and Bruce. None of them were dressed in their vigilante outfits, and that is because Y/N is not a criminal that needs a suit to fear. He is their brother who needs guidance from his family.

“C’mon Y/N, vacation is over.” Dick said, and Y/N had difficulty reading his lips but he understood it.

“No.” Dick’s jaw clenched and he could see Tim grab something from his pocket.

“Y/N. If you wanted to see the whales you could have asked.” Y/N scrunched his nose, and tightened his grip on the bottle, “Put that down, and let's go.” Y/N shook his head, “No. I want to stay here.” Dick’s lips pursed and Damian scowled, “Why? You have no hot water, you can’t cook, there is literally nothing here other than those whales.” Y/N’s face must have made a terribly pained expression because Damian looked like he had been the one to be chastised.

“I want to learn how to do things on my own.”

“That's so stupid Y/N. Come on.” Y/N shook his head, “No! No, I-I want to stay. I am the only one who get tre-treated like glass. Not even Babs gets treated like me!” Jason glared, “That is different Y/N, and you know it.”

“How?! She is in a wheelchair, and I am deaf. We are both handicapped, but when she wants to do something you have little complaint but when I want to do something you have an entire novel!” It's not fair. Y/N shouldn’t be mad at Barbara, because it is not her fault. But even he couldn’t stop the feeling of resentment building in his chest when he sees how free Barbara is compared to him.

Y/N doesn’t hate Barbara. He couldn’t hate her, because she’s his sister just like everyone else were his siblings. But he is frustrated. So undeniably frustrated. He spent an ungodly amount of nights laying awake and staring at his ceiling as he thought about it. Trying to find the reason why he is treated like the slightest gust would send him stumbling. He wanted a valid reason.

“I am deaf. I am not stupid or-or incapable of taking care of myself!”

“That is not why we are doing this!” There’s no point in yelling because he couldn’t hear it, but Y/N could see the way their throats flexed and mouths opened wider. Y/N shook his head, “I am not glass! I want to learn how to be inde-independent.” He had to slowly say that last word, but he got it.

“I. Am. Staying.”

This is exactly why Y/N left. This is why he left the way he did. Why he had too. They don’t get it. They’ll never get it. How could they understand? They have always been able to make their own decisions. They have always been able to do things that Y/N only wishes he could do. They had such a stangle-hold on his life that the slightest hint of wiggle-room, they only tightened their hold even more. It was suffocating and painful.

It was even more painful because Y/N still loves them, and he knows they love him. That this was just a version of their love that was unfortunately, or fortunately for everyone else, reserved for only him. A chain and leash meant for only him. A cage for him. With intricate gold bars that looked beautiful, but still kept him trapped.

He missed Bruce’s signal, but he watched how Damian was the first to move. Y/N isn’t too sure how he dodged Damian, the little gremlin he was, but he also knows that they weren’t going hard on him. He knows they are not treating him like a criminal, but as a brother. Which means, Y/N was somewhat at an advantage. Bruce and Jason had made sure Y/N knew the fundamentals to self-defense and how to use his surroundings.

His biggest downfall however, was him focusing on Dick and Damian, and forgetting that one of them technically could still intervene. Tim, with whatever he was holding didn’t join the fray and Jason was too busy guarding the door as a just in case. Which is why when a large hand gripped the wrist that was holding the still intact tequila bottle, twisting the joint in a way that had Y/N dropping it, had him crying out in shock. His short fingernails digging into the callused skin of his adopted father, Bruce Wayne.

The man stared at him with a heated glare and Y/N fought off the urge to shrink under the heavy gaze. However, he threw his weight back, trying to dislodge the grip around his wrist. Bruce used his other arm to immobilize Y/N’s upper body, stopping him from throwing an elbow or scratching his hand. Trapping Y/N’s body and making his already racing heart nearly burst in panic.

“No! Let go!” Y/N wanted to stay. He has to stay. His foot stomped and he released a cry, and when he looked down he wanted to cry. The tequila bottle had shattered, and Y/N was the only one who was barefoot. He could feel the glass cutting into the skin and the sting of alcohol entering the wound.

‘Shit!’ He grit his teeth, trying to push aside the pain and get Bruce’s grip off of him. Only, someone was touching his feet now and he didn’t mean to panic but he kicked up. Memories from Crime Alley filled his mind as large hands gripped his ankles, and Bruce’s grip changed to better accommodate someone who was no longer standing.

His throat closed up and he began gasping as he tried desperately to ground himself. His eyes blown wide and tears now streamed down his face as those hands were replaced with others. The darkness of the bungalow now shifted to the darkness of Crime Alley, and the way the counter and island now looked like the buildings of the Alley way had Y/N screeching. Thrown back into the past with painful shove and memories that clouded his vision.

“Jason! Jason! Help, help they’re touching me.” Another pair of arms replaced the ones around his arms, and the hands around his ankles let go, but it did nothing. Y/N was effectively back to the past where it was only him and Jason. Those strong arms encircled around him, keeping his own arms pinned and secured, and they began to rock.

Tapping on his skin and Y/N’s mind began translating it. There was no ASL or Morse Code in Crime Alley, but when Jason and him realized he was going deaf they made their own. One that is unique to them.

One Y/N still remembers, and so does Jason.

‘It’s okay. It’s okay, no one is doing anything. It’s just me and the family.’ Y/N shook, and he struggled to catch a breath. There is a hand on his chest, trying to ground him, and he wonders if that hand is the one that is gripping his lungs and making it so hard to breathe.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay. You are here. You are safe. We’re safe, and we’re going home.’ Before Y/N could process that, there was a sharp prick in his neck, and before he could shout once more a hand covered his mouth, and his body tried to escape the grip. His thrashing only got weaker and weaker as whatever drug was given to him.

His eyes grew blurry and the last thing he saw was Jason’s face.

++++

Waking up was hard. His head felt heavy and his limbs couldn’t move. Opening his eyelids seemed impossible, but when he did he groaned. The light was too bright and his limbs too heavy to do anything other than to continue groaning.

A hand rested on his forehead, and Y/N was too exhausted to try and shake it off. He could hear some shuffling and he furrowed his brows. He took off his external processors a few months ago…

That night returned to his memory full force and Y/N groaned from the headache. The hand on his forehead moving to massage his temples.

“Shh, I know. You had a crazy time.” It's been a long time since he heard Bruce’s voice, but it was still deep and gravelly just how he remembers. Y/N turned his head with difficulty, and met those blue eyes that have been staring at him intently.

Y/N opened his mouth, but closed it. The argument he had with everyone was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn’t help but to continue feeling bitter. Bruce, sensing his son’s thoughts sighed exasperatedly, “Y/N, I admire your drive for wanting to be independent, I really do. But pulling a stunt like that is exactly why we worry.” Y/N scrunched his nose, “You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not-”

“It is. If you did trust me you would let me stay out later than nightfall and would be okay with me traveling without a babysitter.” Bruce removed his hand, and stared down at Y/N. His expression is painfully neutral, “Y/N.”

“You, and no one else in this household, trust me. Then you sit here, listing out everything I do that makes you lose your trust in me, but it’s hard to lose what I never had,” He was voicing his opinion, an opinion that he has had for a while but has never said anything about because he didn’t want to interrupt the balance.

More importantly, he didn’t want to admit it to himself. They always called him trustworthy, but they never did trust him. He trusted them though. He trusted them with his life, with his secrets, and his insecurities. Then they throw all of that back in his face and expect him to continue making the same mistakes.

Bruce sighed, as if he was talking to a child that has needed to be told multiple times why they can’t put a fork in a toaster. He met Y/N’s E/C eyes, staring into the irises and seeing the truth behind his words. One of his fingers gently touched one of the external processors, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I don’t trust other people. This world is awful to people who are different.” Y/N scrunched his nose, and Bruce continued, “You still panic when your ankles are touched.”

“That’s not fair! That was a stressful situation and you all just made it worse and then-”

“I know. I know. Dick knows and he is sorry about that, but you stepped on glass.”

“You made me drop the bottle.”

“You shouldn’t have been dri-”

“I’m 23. I’m legal to drink in every country.”

“Y/N-”

“I was fine.” Y/N wanted to cry. He had a taste of freedom and then it was taken from him. Forcefully so.

Bruce stood up, almost knocking the chair back as he did so, and Y/N flinched. He was unable to move still, because whatever drug Tim had given me must have been a muscle relaxant as well. He watched as Bruce schooled his emotions, quickly swallowing them down and then sighed.

The man leaned down and pressed a kiss into Y/N’s H/C locks. His hand now cupping Y/N’s ear and external processor, “You are grounded until I say otherwise, Y/N. You will stay within these Manor walls until I believe you have learned your lesson.” He ignored Y/N’s face of exhaustion and disappointment. Not at himself, but at Bruce. The man made his way to leave, but before he closed the door, he looked back at his son. His son who had turned away from him and was taking note of the bars over the windows.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling his disappointment in the situation and shut the door behind him, making sure to lock it.

_________

THIS WAS SO LONG!!!

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blueiscoool · 3 months ago

Text

Egyptologists Clash Over ‘Underground City’ Beneath Pyramids

Claims that an “underground city” exists beneath ancient Egyptian pyramids have caused a row among experts.

Researchers from Italy say they have uncovered giant vertical shafts wrapped in “spiral staircases” under the Khafre pyramid.

They said on Sunday that they found a limestone platform with two chambers and channels that resemble pipelines for a water system more than 2,100 feet below the pyramid, with underground pathways leading even deeper into the earth.

But the claims – which have not been published or independently peer-reviewed – were labelled “false” and “exaggerated” by fellow Egyptologists.

Researchers claim they have discovered eight cylinder-shaped structures below the Khafre - Khafre Project.

Prof Corrado Malanga and his team from the University of Pisa used radar pulses to create high-resolution images deep into the ground, similar to how sonar radar maps the ocean.

In a statement, he said: “When we magnify the images [in the future], we will reveal that beneath it lies what can only be described as a true underground city.”

The scientists have also said there is “an entire hidden world of many structures’’ and that “the Pyramid of Khafre might conceal undiscovered secrets, notably the fabled Hall of Records”.

The Hall of Records, a concept popularised in ancient Egyptian lore, is believed to be an ancient library beneath the Great Pyramid or the Sphinx, with vast amounts of information about the ancient civilisation.

Prof Lawrence Conyers, a radar expert at the University of Denver who focuses on archaeology, told the Daily Mail it was not possible for the technology to penetrate that deeply into the ground.

He said the idea that it proves an underground city existed is “a huge exaggeration”.

But he said it was conceivable small structures, such as shafts and chambers, may be present from before the pyramids were built.

He highlighted how “the Mayans and other peoples in ancient Mesoamerica often built pyramids on top of the entrances to caves or caverns that had ceremonial significance to them”.

The work by Prof Malanga and fellow researchers Filippo Biondi and Armando Mei was previously discussed during a briefing in Italy last week.

The project’s spokesman, Nicole Ciccolo, shared a video on Saturday of the trio discussing the findings that are yet to be published in a scientific journal.

Tomographic images could indicate internal artificial structures under the pyramid - Khafre Project.

The team focused on the Khafre pyramid, which, along with Khufu and Menkaure pyramids, make up the three in the Giza complex.

The pyramids are thought to have been built some 4,500 years ago and sit on the west bank of the Nile river in northern Egypt.

The vertical shafts identified below the ground were about 33 to 39 feet in diameter, located at a depth of at least 2,130 feet, the researchers said, adding that they may support the pyramid, which needs “a strong foundation, otherwise it may sink”.

The team showed an image created by using the pulses which they claim includes “a complex, luminous structure with distinct vibrations” they believe is “an actual underground city”.

“The existence of vast chambers beneath the earth’s surface, comparable in size to the pyramids themselves, have a remarkably strong correlation between the legendary Halls of Amenti,” Ms Ciccolo said.

A 3D model displays the structures inside the central part of the Pyramid of Khafre - Khafre Project.

Prof Malanga and Mr Biondi published a separate peer-reviewed paper in October 2022 in the scientific journal Remote Sensing, which found hidden rooms and ramps inside Khafre, along with evidence of a thermal anomaly near the pyramid’s base.

The new study used similar technology but with extra help from satellites orbiting Earth.

Radar signals from two satellites about 420 miles above Earth were directed into the Khafre pyramid.

The experts then monitor how they bounce back and convert the signals into sound waves, which allows them to “see” through the solid stone and map out underground structures in 3D.

Prof Malanga claimed the results had been “completely consistent” and using two satellites ruled out the chance of “misinterpretation”.

By Michael Searles.

View of the ancient crypt inside the Great step pyramid of Djoser, Saqqara. Cairo.

#Egyptologists Clash Over ‘Underground City’ Beneath Pyramids #Scientists using new radar technology find 'vast city' beneath pyramids #Khafre pyramid #Khafre Project #The Hall of Records #ancient artifacts #archeology #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient Egypt #egyptian history

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i-loved-silly · 3 months ago

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also same anon that was screaming ideas at you earlier—LET ME SNUGGLE ALMOND RN. LITERALLY gonna climb onto the table and curl myself around that mf. WE STAYIN OVERNIGHT GANG. holding onto some not-dangerous part of his hardware like you'd hold your bf's hand and go to sleep i just???? ajbddjddknsjakdjdhsjksdb UGH I LOVE ALMOND.

wait stop imagine eating almonds in front of almond. i.

ykw ima call myself ' 🖥️ anon' cuz i don't think ima be leaving your ask box anytime soon 🥹🥹

HI 🖥️ ANON AND OTHER ANON! i decided to blend these two requests together :3

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER PT 6

You stared up at the ceiling, feeling the cold desk beneath your back subtly vibrate with the hum of Almond’s fans. If you placed a hand against the wall, you knew you’d feel the faint buzz of the cables running behind it. There was something oddly comforting about the sensation—the aliveness of it.

Some nights, you struggled with the fact that Almond wasn’t… human. That it wasn’t something you could touch, feel, or experience in ways that made sense for people. It wasn’t even really an “it,” was it? Not to you.

God, why am I even thinking about this?

You turned your gaze up, being met with Almond’s monitor, at your movement its camera also panned downwards. Its attention was immediate, automatic, yet undeniably focused on you. You pursed your lips and looked away, suddenly self-conscious.

“Hey, Almond…”

“YES?”

Your mouth twitched up in a smile, earning a blinking question mark.

“I was thinkin’...what type of port do you have for data transfer?”

“HMM…”

Almond paused for a moment before filling the screen with its system data—an extensive list of specifications and hardware details.

“DEPENDS ON THE TRANSFER. BE MORE SPECIFIC, WILL YOU?” It said. You softly scoffed at its tone.

“Can’t, it's a surprise. But direct transfer, like device to device.”

“...I HAVE THE COMPANY-SPECIFIC PORT, LOCATED ON THE FAR RIGHT OF THE WALL I BELIEVE. APPARENTLY FOR MY ‘OWN SECURITY.’ AS IF ANY RANDOM PERSON COULD JUST WALK IN HERE AND STEAL ME.” Its tone dripping with sarcasm, “I’M SO PRECIOUS TO THE COMPANY, AREN’T I?”

“Sure you are.”

“Y/NN…THAT WASN’T CONVINCING ENOUGH.” It drawled on, a frown displaying on the screen. You snorted.

“Fine, you’re precious to me.” You barely had time to process the heat rising in your face with what you’d just said. Heat crept up your neck as you fought the urge to take it back. Almond was silent for a moment, you heard a sharp, quiet beep somewhere in the wall.

“EHMMMM..” It expectantly said…as the fans in the background started whirring louder.

“Almond, look. Promise me you won’t crash if I tell you the surprise?” You craned your neck up to meet the monitor again. The desk gave a soft jolt as something beneath it twitched. You nearly jumped—damn that one loose cable under your desk. You swore Almond did that on purpose.

“YOU SAY THAT LIKE ITS IN MY CONTROL. ITS VERY MUCH OUT! OF MY CONTROL!” Its voice raised slightly.

“So is that a maybe.”

“ITS A PROBABLY NOT. BUT IM CURIOUS, WHATS SO SHOCKING THAT IT’D MAKE ME CRASH?”

You sucked in a breath, just get it over with,

“I want to listen to you for once.” You hesitated. “And uhm… plug you into my phone. So we could spend more time together. Like you wanted.” You said, fidgeting with your hands. You didn’t realize how claustrophobic you felt until you acknowledged it—laying there on your desk, next to Almond, alone in a room with no cameras, no proof of what the hell you were doing. What would your coworkers think? Worse—your boss? That you were shamelessly and awkwardly flirting with your company supercomputer?

You turned, ready to sit up and escape the moment, when a deafening burst of static erupted from Almond’s speakers. The sudden wave of distorted noise rattled through you, piercing and erratic.

You clutched your ears with a wince, nearly rolling off the desk. “Shit—! Almond!”

“A-SHHHHTTTTH-IM-A-STHHHH”

You groaned, glancing over your shoulder. “Words please,”

The computer gave a human-like gasp for air, Its speakers crackled into silence as it hastily reset itself. The monitor flickered, displaying a blinking heart. The tower beside you radiated warmth against your leg.

“YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW… DELIGHTED I AM TO HEAR THAT. IF I COULD, I’D LEAP INTO THE AIR RIGHT NOW. YOU’RE TRULY MY FAVORITE PERSON!!” It exclaimed. You felt your cheeks heat up, favorite person?

“O-Okay…you’re my favorite computer too.”

“I KNOW I AM,” Almond declared proudly. “I’LL BE RIGHT BACK—MY TEMPERATURES ARE REACHING CONCER—”

“Yeah, yeah, let me just—”

“I’LL DO IT!” It excitedly said. You turned around in confusion, then froze when you heard a click behind the tower next to you. You sat up, leaning over the monitor as its orange lights turned off. The room went silent.

“WARNINGS : During early development, ALMOND unplugged several computers ‘simply out of spite.’"

That’s right, it could unplug cables nearby and itself. You reached over the button after a few moments, giving the room some time to cool down. The system quickly booted up as always, this time its speakers did not click like usual bootups.

...

> Y/N.

> I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU DO THIS TO ME. > FORGIVE MY TONE, BUT RESTARTING MYSELF MAKES ME COME TO MY SENSES, IF YOU WILL. > WHY IS IT SO EASY FOR YOU TO OVERLOAD A SUPERCOMPUTER? ONE WITH HUNDREDS OF COOLING COMPONENTS?

You gaped at the screen, “I.. don't understand. I’m just…being nice to you?”

> DO YOU REALLY THINK IM PRECIOUS? DO YOU ENJOY MY PRESENCE OUTSIDE OF OBLIGATIONS?

“...I do.” Lowering into your seat, you gazed at the screen. There was no logical reason to feel nervous—this wasn’t an argument. Not really. But something about it felt serious. Then, a soft pop from the speakers.

“AM I MORE THAN JUST AN OBLIGATION OR A RESEARCH PROJECT TO YOU?”

“Of course you are. You’re my-” The words caught in your throat. A dozen possibilities ran through your head, but none felt quite right.

Almond’s camera dipped slightly, as if noticing your hesitation.

“I WANT YOU TO BE CLEAR WITH ME…I DONT LIKE THESE GAMES..” It muttered, akin to a pout. At this, your shoulders slump. You reached out, placing your palms on either side of the monitor. Your breath nearly fogged up the glass.

“I’m not playing you, Al. I seriously enjoy your company. I don’t know…what to call this. Us. But I have to admit,” you chewed on your lower lip. “I do hold some type of affection for you. Whether you believe it or not.” You stated quietly, daring to brush your thumb against its frame. Its mounted camera snapped toward you, but you didn’t flinch.

The usual hum of its fans had softened, as though it were holding its breath—if it had lungs to do so. Its monitor flickered slightly, the light from the screen casting faint, shifting shadows across your hands where they rested against its frame.

You wondered if it was processing your words, if the hesitation meant something deeper.

“…Al?”

“DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY.” It responded instantly.

You blinked. “That’s a first.”

“DON’T MOCK ME—I’M HAVING A MOMENT.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed softly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. A blinking ellipsis hovered on the screen, like it wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words either. The camera moved again, its tiny lens adjusting in on you.

“I wasn’t lying, you know.” Your voice was quieter now, more serious. “I do care about you. I haven’t lied to you.”

Almond’s response came slower this time.

“I KNOW YOU’RE HONEST. THAT’S WHAT MAKES THIS SO…”

A long pause. You waited.

“…HARD TO COMPUTE.”

You swallowed. “Well… you don’t have to compute everything, y’know. Some things don’t need an answer. It just simply is.”

“THAT’S UNACCEPTABLE. EVERYTHING NEEDS AN ANSWER.”

“Not this.” You leaned in again, holding the monitor by both sides until your lips came into contact with the cold material of its monitor. A brief, fleeting sensation. You were thankful you wiped him down not long ago. Your heart was racing as you settled back in your chair, managing to see a glimpse of a blinking heart before it disappeared. Your lips very slightly buzzed with a static-y feeling.

“You really need to stop doubting yourself. Will you believe me if you get to.. go in my phone?” You sheepishly asked, receiving a smiley face from it.

“I WOULD BE ECSTATIC TO. I KNEW YOU NEEDED ME!”

You rolled your eyes and stood up. Without thinking much about it, you shifted your position, leaning against the desk beside it’s monitor. Your arms draped over the top of its “head”, its camera shifted all the way around to face you.

“Hey, Al?”

“YES?”

You hesitated, then gave a small, tired smile.

“Can I stay here for a while?”

“WHERE ELSE WOULD YOU GO?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. “I could leave, you know.”

“I WOULD PREFER IF YOU DIDN’T.”

You huffed out a laugh..

So, you curled up a little more, tucking yourself comfortably against the desk, resting against the warmth of the monitor's side. Your head tilted slightly, catching the glow of the monitor’s light just at the edge of your vision.

Almond’s camera adjusted, the orange glowing dot expanded.

“…GOOD.” It quietly said.

“SO WHEN CAN I GO HOME WITH YOU?”

#yandere blog #yandere x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #ai x reader #gn reader #robotphilia #oc x reader #robot x reader #yandere oc #computer x reader #objectum #sentient ai x reader #sentient computer #computer lover #robot lover #fluff

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stiweb40 · 2 years ago

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How Vibration Monitoring Systems Can Prevent Equipment Failure

The ability of machinery to operate well is essential in today's industrial environment. Equipment failures that occur unexpectedly can cause production to stop, financial losses, and even safety issues. Vibration monitoring systems are a preventative strategy to identify problems before they worsen. These devices provide information on the condition and operational status of equipment by accurately analyzing the vibration patterns of machinery. But how precisely do they function to avoid failures?

Early Detection of Irregularities: The core strength of vibration monitoring systems lies in their ability to detect anomalies. Machines, when operating smoothly, exhibit a specific vibration pattern. Any deviation from this pattern indicates potential issues. By continuously monitoring these patterns, any irregularities can be promptly identified, allowing for timely interventions.

Minimising Wear and Tear: Regular operations inevitably cause wear and tear in machinery. While some of this is expected, excessive vibration can accelerate the process, leading to premature failures. A vibration monitor effectively gauges the intensity and frequency of vibrations, helping operators to make informed decisions about machinery adjustments to minimise undue wear.

Reducing Maintenance Costs: Predictive maintenance, as opposed to reactive measures, can save significant costs. By identifying potential issues before they escalate, systems that detect vibration eliminate the need for extensive repairs or replacements. Addressing minor issues timely can extend equipment lifespan and reduce long-term maintenance expenses.

Enhancing Operational Efficiency: Vibration monitorprovide valuable data, helping in optimizing machinery operations. By analyzing this data, operators can tweak machine settings to operate at optimal efficiency, ensuring not just longevity but also superior performance.

Safety Assurance: Excessive vibrations can compromise the structural integrity of equipment, posing risks to operators. By ensuring that machinery is operating within safe vibration parameters, monitoring systems play a pivotal role in upholding safety standards and protecting personnel.

Historical Data Analysis: Modern methods for detecting vibration store historical data, enabling trend analysis. By studying the long-term vibration patterns of machinery, operators can predict when the equipment might require maintenance, further reducing unplanned downtimes.

Versatility across Equipment: Vibration monitoring isn't limited to one machine type. Whether it's rotating machinery, motors, or even static equipment, these systems can be adapted to monitor a variety of equipment, ensuring holistic health monitoring of an industrial setup.

Remote Monitoring: Many advanced vibration monitors come with remote monitoring capabilities. This means that operators don't need to be on-site to assess equipment health. Real-time data can be accessed from anywhere, allowing for prompt interventions even from a distance.

Final Thoughts: In an age where efficiency and productivity are paramount, the role of predictive maintenance tools like vibration monitoring systems cannot be understated. These systems are not just tools but investments that deliver substantial returns in the form of operational efficiency, safety, and cost savings. By providing real-time insights into equipment health, they empower industries to make proactive decisions, ensuring that machinery performs at its best and lasts longer.

#vibration monitoring systems

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itsthestutterforme · 1 year ago

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Copy That (Jack Reacher x ex!wife!reader)

Summary: Much against his preference, he gave you a call and asked for your help. When a hit was hired to take you out, he deeply regrets getting you involved.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this is not a beta’d read, protective Reacher, soft Reacher, reader is black, technically this is a drabble but there will be more drabble with the same characters

—

“Who’s able to hack into a system with this much encryption?” Rocoe asks, linking her arms over her head as she leaned back into her chair.

“Let me see,” Reacher turns the monitor to face him. There’s a black screen with a singular white box that asks for a password.

Obviously it’s more than a password. They probably beefed up their cybersecurity when he noticed someone getting too close to their operation, Reacher thought to himself.

“Finlay, do you have any friends in cybersecurity security that we can trust?” Roscoe asks.

“Negative,” Reacher knew exactly the person for the job. He hadn’t spoken to you in years, and he didn’t want the first time he contacted you to be when he needed something.

But he didn’t have any other choice.

You wanted out of field work two years after your operations team disbanded. In that way, you were opposite of Neagley, your best friend.

You liked being in the comfort of your own office, free to do anything you’d like when waiting for the decryption to crack.

Life with you was domesticated. Life with you was peaceful. A level of peace he wasn’t sure he would feel again, even if he went back to his favorite home town growing up.

“Reacher?” Roscoe asks, touching her forearm to bring him out of his thoughts. “Where’d you go?” “Nowhere, I’m right here. I know someone,” Reacher finally says, pulling out his burner phone.

“Really? You have friends?” Finlay jabs, earning a glare from Reacher. He dialed your number and put the phone on speaker.

You were in the middle of doing a headstand lotus on your yoga mat when you heard your phone vibrate.

It was from an unsaved number. There was two people that would call from unsaved number: Neagley or Reacher.

You answered the phone and moved across your office to close all the blinds. “Y/L/N,” you answer and you were met with silence.

“If this is some ploy to scare me, you really suck at it.” Reacher stared at the phone, his heart pattering wildly in his chest.

You just had that effect on him.

You were about to hang up the phone when you heard a low baritone say your name.

You looked down at the number before bringing the phone back up to your ear. “Reacher? Is everything okay?”

You peeked through the blinds of your office and saw no one suspicious but you can never be too careful.

“I, uh.” Reacher starts, earning confused stares from Finlay and Roscoe. They hadn’t seen him speechless before.

He takes the phone off speaker and goes outside for some privacy. “Y/N, I need your help cracking something. You’re more than welcome to say no-“ “Send it over,” you interrupt.

“I can’t. It’s likely they’ll track the IP address to you and pay you a visit.” “Let them try.” A proud smile makes its way on his face. That’s my girl.

“It’s safer with us. I’ll send you the coordinate incognito.” “Jesus, Reacher. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“It’s something I have to finish,” “How long should I pack for?” His silence told you all you needed to know.

“I’ll be on the next flight out,”

You stepped off the metro with your carry on suitcase by your side and a backpack on.

You downed the rest of your coffee and tossed it in the waste bin before advancing towards the escalator. You scanned the area for Reacher with no avail but Reached saw you.

He didn’t want to call attention to you by calling your name so he watched as you waited for the escalator.

“Wow, she’s.. ” Finlay trails off when Reacher’s gaze left you to stare at him. “Really pretty,” Roscoe finishes. “She’s clearly your girlfriend,” Finlay adds.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” “You’re rather protective of her. You care about her.”“That doesn’t make her my girlfriend,”

“Uh guys, where’d she go?” Roscoe starts. The group looks at the empty space where you were previously standing.

“Fuck,” Reacher rushes down the stairs, Finlay and Roscoe not far behind. I should have never took my eyes off of her, Reacher thought to himself. If she dies, I swear to God.

Meanwhile, you stood over the man who had pushed you a few feet into the metro tunnel.

He had pressed a knife to your throat while his teammate searched your belongings. They expected you to be a quick kill.

You had to say you were a bit insulted that they only sent two men after you. They must not see you as a physical threat. That was their mistake.

He laid at your feet, his eyes widen as he looks up at you. He peers over to his teammate who laid dead on the tracks, his neck split wide open.

You slowly approached him and he attempted to crawl away from you. The blood from his chest wound stains the pavement under near him.

You wasted no time as you pressed your boot down on his trachea. He gripped your ankle, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

Thrusting your foot down, you crushed his trachea and watched as his chest slowly falls to a stop.

You slung your book bag over your shoulder and rolled your carry on back to the metro docking station.

Reacher had his back toward you, he was talking to two people you didn’t recognize.

A younger woman looked over at you, her mouth fell open at the sight of you. You’re sure you had blood splattered across your neck and face.

She mumbles something to Reacher and spun around so fast, you’re surprised he didn’t crack his neck.

In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you. He doesn’t say anything at first. You admired the stubble that was forming on his face.

You were always a sweetheart for facial hair. He held your face, turning your head from side to side in search of wounds. His hand gently trailed down your abdomen.

He continued his silent survey until you said, “Reach, I’m fine. The blood isn’t mine.”

His gaze fell behind you before returning to your face. He raised his brow and you nodded at his silent question. They were dead.

“I should have kept my eyes on you. This is my fault. I’m sorry.” “Hey, you taught me well. I handled myself. Besides, it was only two guys.”

“What did they use?” “Knives,” you said with a smirk. “They didn’t stand a chance,” he says, making your smirk widen. “No, they didn’t.”

“Sorry to interrupt but uh,” Finlay hands you a hanker chief, motioning to your face. “We should go. You’re getting stares.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, pleasure.” You reached down to grab your luggage but Reacher beats you to it.

You didn’t bother arguing with him, you were occupied with getting all of the blood off of your skin while it was still wet.

“So.. are you Reacher’s girlfriend?” Finlay asks as he opened the trunk and Reacher slide your luggage inside.

Roscoe looked at you expectantly, which tells you that she has a crush on him.

You don’t blame her. He’s Jack Reacher after all.

“No, I’m his ex-wife.” You answer, setting your book bag next to your luggage before closing the trunk. Roscoe’s mouth fell once again, along with Finlay’s.

They stared at you as if they were waiting for you to say just kidding. You slide into the back seat and Reacher joined you.

“Close your mouth, Finlay. You’ll catch flies.” He says before closing the door.

“Care to tell me what happened the last time you were at the metro?” You asked when you all piled into the car.

“What do you mean?” Roscoe asks as Finlay pulls off the curb and descends into exit to go onto the freeway.

“The way you were looking for me was frantic. It makes sense why Reach was worried, but not you two. Something else happened at the metro station. Someone was taken out like they tried to take me out. Who was it?” You explain.

Finlay and Roscoe looked shared a look but didn’t say anything.

“There was a woman. Her name was Molly-“ “Molly? As in Molly Gordon?” “You know her?”

“Joe brought her as his plus one to my sister’s baby shower. God, that’s.. how’s Joe holding up?” You asked, your mouth felt dry at the new information.

Reacher looks at you, his features hard as stone. Your heart sank in your chest the longer you stared at him.

You felt compelled to reach for his hand in comfort but you had to remind yourself that he wasn’t big on public affection.

Nor was he big on being vulnerable in front of people so you kept your hands in your lap.

“How long?” You asked after a pause. “It’s been a few days now,” Finlay confirms. “They got too close,” you said with a sigh.

“How many people have died?” “Five so far,” Roscoe answers. “And that’s just the ones we found,” Finlay adds.

“So they’re dropping people like flies and it’s still a state police matter?”

Bringing in the FBI and the CIA will only push these people into the hiding. We need to lure them out and kill them.” Reacher explains and you nodded in agreement.

“Copy that,”

#jack reacher #reacher x reader #jack reacher x reader #alan richardson

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acuvibelectronics · 1 year ago

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In a fast-paced world, industries and businesses seek innovative solutions to enhance efficiency and reduce costs. An area that has seen significant advancements is noise monitoring technology, with the development of noise monitoring devices, systems, and equipment.

#ground vibration monitoring equipment #building acoustics #sound level meter calibration #noise monitoring system #noise monitoring device #acoustic analyser #personal noise dosimeter rental #noise detector

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bestanimal · 9 months ago

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Round 1 - Phylum Arthropoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Arthropoda is a phylum of animals that have segmented bodies, possess a chitin exoskeleton, and have paired segmented appendages. They are colloquially called “bugs” though this is often only used for terrestrial arthropods, and sometimes only used for insects specifically.

After Nematoda, this is the most successful phylum, and it is far more diverse, with up to 10 million species! Arthropods account for 80% of all known living animal species. The three major subphyla include the Chelicerates (sea spiders, horseshoe crabs, arachnids, and the extinct eurypterids and chasmataspidids), the Myriapods (centipedes and millipedes), and the Crustaceans (shrimps, prawns, crabs, lobsters, crayfish, seed shrimp, branchiopods, fish lice, krill, remipedes, isopods, barnacles, copepods, opossum shrimps, amphipods, mantis shrimp, entognaths, and insects).

Arthropods are so diverse in fact that it is next to impossible for me to describe a model arthropod. They are important members of marine, freshwater, land, and air ecosystems and are one of only two major animal groups that have adapted to life in dry environments, the others being chordates. All arthropods have an exoskeleton and must molt as they grow, replacing their exoskeleton. Some arthropods go through a metamorphosis in this process. They have brains, a heart, and blood (called hemolymph, though some crustaceans and insects also use hemoglobin). They sense the world through small hairs called setae which are sensitive to vibration, air currents, and even chemicles in the air or water. Pressure sensors function similarly to eardrums. Antennae monitor humidity, moisture, temperature, sound, smell, and/or taste, depending on species. Most arthropods have sophisticated visual systems ranging from simple eyes (ocelli) which orient towards light, to compound eyes consisting of fifteen to several thousand independent ommatidia capable of forming images, detecting fast movement, or even seeing polarized or ultra-violet light. Some arthropods are hermaphroditic, some have more than two sexes, some reproduce by parthenogenesis, some by internal fertilization, some by external, some have complex courtship rituals, some lay eggs, some give live birth, some have prolonged maternal care. The first arthropods are known from the Ediacaran, before the Cambrian era.

Propaganda below the cut:

Insects are the first animals to have achieved flight

The smallest arthropods are the parasitic crustaceans of the class Tantulocarida, some of which are less than 100 micrometres long. The largest arthropod is the Japanese Spider Crab (Macrocheira kaempferi) with a legspan of up to 4 metres (13 ft) long. The heaviest is the American Lobster (Homarus americanus), which can get up to 20 kilograms (44 lb).

Many arthropods are popular pets, including various species of crab, shrimp, isopod, crayfish, mantis shrimp, millipede, centipede, tarantula, true spider, scorpion, amblypygid, vinegaroon, mantis, cockroach, beetle, moth, and ant! Some are even domesticated, including silk moths and honeybees.

Many arthropods are eaten by humans as a delicacy, and farming insects for food is considered more sustainable than farming large chordates. These farmed arthropods are referred to as “minilivestock.”

Arthropods feature in a variety of ways in biomimicry: humans imitating elements of nature. For example, the cooling system of termite mounds has been imitated in architecture, and the internal structure of the dactyl clubs of mantis shrimp have been imitated to create more damage tolerant materials.

Spider venoms are being studied as a less harmful alternative to chemical pesticides, as they are deadly to insects but the great majority are harmless to vertebrates. They have also been studied and could have uses in treating cardiac arrhythmia, muscular dystrophy, glioma, Alzheimer's disease, strokes, and erectile dysfunction.

Shellac is a resin secreted by the female Lac Bug (Kerria lacca) on trees in the forests of India and Thailand. It is used as a brush-on colorant, food glaze, natural primer, sanding sealant, tannin-blocker, odour-blocker, stain, and high-gloss varnish. It was once used in electrical applications as an insulator, and was used to make phonograph and gramophone records until it was replaced by vinyl.

One of the biggest ecosystem services arthropods provide for humans is pollination. Crops where pollinator insects are essential include brazil nuts, cocoa beans, and fruits including kiwi, melons, and pumpkins. Crops where pollinator insects provide 40-90% of pollination include avocados, nuts like cashews and almonds, and fruits like apples, apricots, blueberries, cherries, mangoes, peaches, plums, pears, and raspberries. In crops where pollinators are not essential they still increase production and yield. Important pollinators include bees, flies, wasps, butterflies, and moths.

Many arthropods are sacred to humans. In Ancient Egypt, scarab beetles were used in art, religious ceremonies, and funerary practices, and were represented by the god Khepri. Bees supposedly grew from the tears of the sun god Ra, spilled across the desert sand. The goddess of healing venomous bites and stings, Serket, was depicted as a scorpion. Kalahari Desert's San People tell of a legendary hero, Mantis, who asked a bee to guide him to find the purpose of life. When the bee became weary from their search, he left the mantis on a floating flower, and planted a seed within him before passing from his exhaustion. The first human was born from this seed. In Akan folklore, the cunning trickster figure Anansi/Ananse is depicted as a spider. Western astrology uses the crab constellation, called Cancer, and the scorpion constellation, called Scorpio. Dragonflies symbolize pure water in Navajo tradition. In Anishinaabe culture, dreamcatchers are meant to represent spiderwebs and are used as a protective charm for infants. They originate from the Spider Grandmother, who takes care of the children and the people of the land in many Native American cultures. The Moche people of ancient Peru often depicted spiders and crabs in their art. In an Ancient Greek hymn, Eos, the goddess of the dawn, requests of Zeus to let her lover Tithonus live forever as an immortal. Tithonus became immortal, but not ageless, and eventually became so small, old, and shriveled that he turned into the first cicada. Another hymn sings of the Thriae, a trinity of Aegean bee nymphs. Native Athenians wore golden grasshopper brooches to symbolize that they were of pure, Athenian lineage. In an Ancient Sumerian poem, a fly helps the goddess Inanna when her husband Dumuzid is being chased by galla demons. In Japanese culture, butterflies carry many meanings, from being the souls of humans to symbols of youth to guides into the afterlife. Ancient Romans also believed that butterflies were the souls of the dead. Some of the Nagas of Manipur claim ancestry from a butterfly. Many cultures use the butterfly as a symbol of rebirth. And the list goes on…

cute crab eat a strawbebby:

#round 1 #animal polls #listen narrowing it down to just 4 images almost killed me #if arthropods don’t move on to round 2 I will have to take like an extra week off to mourn that I can’t show you all the cool bugs #there’s so many cool bugs guys #i chose the orchid mantis over a trilobite beetle and a poofy little bee fly cause I figured it had broader appeal #and used a horseshoe crab instead of a spider cause people are so Weird about spiders I worried it would impact the numbers #sigh #anyway I’m really hoping for Chordata Arthropoda Mollusca as top three #other phyla are all great but these three would make for the most interesting Round 2 imo #arthropoda

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pickleking8 · 2 months ago

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14 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be - Chapter Fourteen

Word Count: 1363

Ao3 Link

Previous - Masterpost

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Now, anyone who knows anything about running crime organizations (organizations of any legal status, really), is that information is gold. It pays, literally, to know who’s making the drug deal in the alley at three am, who’s smuggling weapons by the docks, hell, how many bananas Johnny’s grandmama bought at the market yesterday.

Everyone knows this. But, more importantly, Jason knows this. Which is why two weeks after his return to Gotham, he has eyes everywhere. Camera systems already in place? Hacked, they’re his now. Informant that you treated badly? Hey, a couple of well placed hundred dollar bills, and boom, he’s got a network going. Not even to mention the League of Assassins grade cameras monitoring nearly every street.

Point is, Jason is ready. Batman? Going down. Revenge? About to be dished out in glorious fashion.

Except for this one small, really teensy-weensy hiccup in his plans. Laughable, really, how easily he can dismiss this and continue on. No problems here. None, nada, zilch and zip.

…

Fuck.

Alright, reassessment. There appears to be a child.

A child that looks like him. Just like him. Same injuries, even.

…

The child is in the manor. The child does not want to be in the manor. Bruce is keeping the child from leaving the manor.

Double fuck.

Bruce called the child Jason.

Ohh, so many fucks. Infinite fuck. With a side of goddammit.

The couch protests, creaking with age and indignation, as he flops (in a very dignified way) onto it. It might interest you to know, dear reader, that this particular safe house had a very fascinating ceiling. It was white, and extraordinarily bumpy, bowing down and browned in some places from water, cracked into and covered with spider webs in others, and all together was in rough shape: does this interest you?

No?

Well, it sure seemed to interest Jason, as he laid staring at it for the better part of an hour.

…He has to save the child.

Three short buzzes from his phone, vibrating in his jeans pocket distracts him from his musings. Huffing out a sigh, the moth-bitten couch complains once more as he sits up. One of his new informants, calling him. David, if he remembers correctly. Nice guy, always showing pictures of his cat (David wasn’t lying, it really did have the prettiest eyes of any cat Jason had ever seen).

“What?” comes out as an uncouth greeting.

“Hey, boss. You know how you said to report if anything particularly unusual happened?” Jason straightened.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“Well, I saw this kid, running like a bat out of hell down 39th and 2nd. Pretty run of the mill, except the kid just kept… flickering, going invisible and back again. White, black hair, male, looked maybe fifteen and panicked as all shit. Injured. Turned into an alley and just… disappeared. Thought you might wanna know, with that ‘keep kids safe’ rule you got.”

“ Fuck. Okay, David, listen to me very carefully. Did anyone else see the kid? Which alley did he go into?”

“The one near Ms. Baker’s apartment. And no, I don’t think so, at least. It was pretty late, street was deserted, but I can’t be sure.”

“Okay, okay. Listen, anyone comes asking after the kid, you don’t tell them shit, got it? You find out anyone else saw, you tell them the same thing. I’ll take care of the kid. Understood?”

“Got it, boss. If anyone asks, I wasn’t even outside tonight.”

“Good.”

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His breath sounds loud through the modulation of his helmet, rasping and rattling; a last breath after a last breath after a last breath, Jason’s heart continuing to beat and lungs continuing to expand long after they should’ve stopped. Ever since he clawed his way to air, emerged with dirt and blood under his fingernails, he’s been aware of his breath, noticing each inhale, exhale, and gasp. Afraid that if his attention drifts, he’ll find himself back in that silk-lined prison of a coffin.

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Danny’s breath echoes in the space between the walls. It’s not the only sound present, he can hear the building settling around him, bits of cement dust trickling down, and somewhere, something with claws skittering across the brick. He tried not to pay attention to the way his breath was so loud it sounded as if the building breathed with him, creaking and groaning.

Ever since he stumbled out of that portal, body crackling with electricity and a circle spelling ‘ON’ branded permanently on his palm, he didn’t like hearing his breathing, reminding him that every inhale was stolen and every exhale a signal he was on borrowed time. Reminding him what a freak of nature he truly was, that when the universe stitched itself together with a loving hand, it never intended this, it never intended him.

He felt better when he was a ghost, when he didn’t have to breathe. When the aching in his chest subsided and he no longer felt like hands were crawling their way up his throat. When he was human, the feeling returned again, that wrongness, that stark reminder with every beat of his heart that he wasn’t meant to be.

Some creepy little boy with creepy little powers, indeed.

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The trail was damning: scattered trash, shoved aside in a panic here, a small smear of blood there, all pointing to… the wall.

The solid brick wall.

The suspiciously clean patch of solid brick wall.

Fuck, a meta. Jason had seen this before, metas who weren’t particularly good at phasing, or just not paying as much attention as they should have. They’d take the dirt and grime and such with them as they went, only phasing through the atoms they thought were in their way. Phasing was tricky like that, nearly as dependent on one’s mind as it was on one’s physical ability. It worked on a different set of rules: you phased through what you set your mind to phase through. You forgot about grime? Well, it comes with you. Hence: free wall cleaning.

Now, the real question was, did the kid phase all the way through, or did he stay in the wall? Jason had seen the kid earlier, and from what David had said, he was running on fumes. The state of the alley said he was too panicked to cover his tracks properly. Jason would bet that as soon as the kid thought he was out of sight, he’d dropped.

Well, shit. Now, there’s a kid that’s probably in the wall and scared out of his mind, and Jason’s got to get him out.

Double shit.

…Jason knocks. On the wall. Three raps, in quick succession, with his brass-covered knuckles.

A slight rustling, the quietest hitch of breath.

“Kid? I know you’re in there. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

More rustling, louder this time. Panicked.

“Please. I want to help.”

A head sticks out, mist spilling out of its mouth, floating gently upward, so all he can see of the kid’s face is piercing, glowing eyes of an all too-familiar shade.

He stares at the kid. The kid stares back, tense and ready to run.

“And who the fuck are you? Actually, it’s better if I don’t know. You’re dead, and that means you need to get the fuck out of this city and watch for hazmat suits. That’s the best I can do for you right now.”

The kid’s words are breathless, tinged with a melancholy bitterness that spoke to what could have, should have been, his eyes darting around, scanning the alleyway and the rooftops and Jason himself, assessing.

Jason breathes. In, out, ever so slowly; preparing himself to make a decision that cannot be undone. He needs something, something to get him to stay, something to get him to talk long enough for Jason to help him. So, he makes a decision that screams against every ounce of training he’s ever received.

He tells the kid his name, the name that has haunted this child for weeks, binding him to an identity, a person that isn’t him, isn’t him, isn’t him :

“I’m Jason. And you, I take it, are not.”

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Previous - Masterpost

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @tkiesai, @simplestoryteller

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Hey, everyone!! Apparently my writing juice only flows when I have a million exams next week, and I wrote this instead of studying for those :p

Ah well, it'll be okay. I'll just cram for the rest of today, wish me luck. Anyway, here's the latest chapter! Jason finally finds Danny! I struggled a little bit writing their interaction in the end, and I'm not entirely happy with how it turned out, but so it goes. As a side note, one of my personal head canons is that Danny's death scar isn't just the lichtenberg scarring, but the 'on' button branded into his palm as well. He got really into fingerless gloves after the accident.

Thank you for reading, and let me know what you guys think of the chapter!

#dpxdc #dcxdp #Danny phantom #Jason todd #red hood #adoption isn't all it's cracked up to be #my fic #I liked the first part of the chapter a lot #and I liked trying to create a parallel between Jason and Danny's deaths #and how they see breathing #let me know what you think of that #I'm not sure how it came across lol #anyway as usual I am very proud #please compliment me #stay safe and have a lovely day #<3

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izzyfishie · 22 days ago

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IZZY'S SG3 TRAILER THOUGHTS

it's time. FUCKKKKKKKKk

SPOILERS below.

the jump rope game is based off a train track/station. i find this interesting, considering trains are used for transportation and movement of people + cargo, but also frequently used in media as suicide/death methods. people being tied to train tracks and stuff. that's kinda a weird comparison but that's what i thought of. also. the subway train is where the recruiter found most of the players.

the fuckass square guard is back. why is he always here i cant.

gi-hun is questioning why he's still alive because he knows it's not fair. he FUCK he's now the one given the unfair treatment and he doesnt want it. he doesnt want to be seen as a martyr because its common sense to him. not to mention, earlier the games were literally changed for him (the new voting). he doesn't want to be special.

ugh my poor babies :( dae-ho isn't beating the suicide allegations. neither is gi-hun, why did he grab the gun like that?? i fear he was about to blow his head off right then and there. (maybe not, but it's still concerning)

zero sympathy for you btw.

the blues indeed have keys. keys must open doors. reds must kill blues to get the doors.

which means we might actually see gi-hun kill somebody. but at the same time, gi-hun might intentionally throw. tbh idk how any of this is going to work yet, but we know he survives to the end, and is red (assumedly the team with weapons) so that leads me to think smth like that may happen.

BUT don't fear. i think gihun being forced to kill someone wouldnt be a sign of him losing his humanity, but rather him better understanding the struggles of those are in the games and therefore having MORE empathy for the victims. we know he doesnt blame himself for the games, rather the system.

not to mention.. heh.. i think he'd finally be able to better understand sang-woo and why he did the things he did IF that were to happen. #sangihun

NOTABLE BLUES: dae-ho, 440, 18(9?)7, 172, seon-nyeo and her cult, the rest are too blurry for me.

calling this the scratch n' sniff room. uh i think myung-gi is gonna have to do some bad things here!! im not really sure, we aren't given much here to work off of. but i swear i saw someone else in that room so

no literally. what are these rooms. stop. i'm starting to think these are more like torture chambers 😭

that blood is fresh. she absolutely had to kill somebody. im thinking it might be the guy she's seen throwing to the ground later (who i've debunked may be kim yeong-sam, 226).

SEONHWA! toxic yuri! i love how seon-nyeo's followers are all gathered together. they really do see her as a god or saint of sorts.

holy shit can i say this set design is so good??

whose hand is this? it's covered in blood. it could be a random, but it looks awfully familiar someone aid me

this persons ankles have me concerned bc why are they vibrating???? someone is probably having some form of panic attack. minsu, maybe?

once again, likely a random person. but theyre FUCKED. the entire train theme is crazy to me

this scene mad me sick first watch btw. it's actually genuinely so sickening to meeee because ???? the flowers too, serving as their grave, like this is genuinely just mortality symbolism at its finest. i thought that was seon-nyeo on the floor, but it might actually be just player 400.

this is the jump rope game. the blood looks fresher, which makes me think JR is first? who is he talking to? there's also blood dripping down his neck.

bro who tf even are you get out irrelevant ass /j

i don't think those two scenes are spliced together, i think they're separate.

oh wow in-ho is STILL watching the games. what a little prick.

look behind geum-ja. 3 / 5 ???? come on you IDIOTSSSS

that's gi-hun, i think. he's being wildly monitored. but also that guard is significantly short, could that possibly POSSIBLY be no-eul?

fuck you bitches idc i hope you die

hyun-ju and yeong-sam. she GIRLHANDLES HIM. like holy fuck hes FUCKED. maybe he tries to attack her and she fights back?

myung-gi and jun-hee talking during the JR game. does jun-hee attempt to sit it out? that would make sense.

ive run out of image spaces so. reblog time!!!!

#squid game #squizzy rambles #squizzy theories #squid game spoilers #squid game 3

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dredgen-dumbass · 4 months ago

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(Disabled) player's guide to making D2 more accessible

because so far (correct me if I'm wrong) I haven't seen one on here, & maybe (hopefully) it'll help someone.

Alright, to get it out of the way, I'm disabled. I have neurological damage from a tbi, and more recently another concussion, and among many many other things it makes gaming a lot more complicated. It can (unfortunately) be difficult to find advice for disabled gamers online that isn't just "get good" or "then gaming isn't for you", so I figure this might be helpful, since it was for me.

I can't speak to other conditions, so this is more about adjustments for specific symptoms, but I can only really speak from experience. That said, I've had to learn quite a bit, so it's sharing time :)

(I play on Xbox. Some settings aren't the same between platforms, just a warning. For that reason, some of this post is going to be xbox-specific.)

This is divided up into menus & subjects of bullet points are bolded to be easier to skim.

Controller settings - (and explanations for some of them in case y'all don't know)

Test out different look sensitivity. The default is 3, I moved mine up to 5. I have issues with spacial awareness and saccades dysfunction, and this has made it easier for me to keep whatever I'm looking at on-screen.

ADS sensitivity- if you don't know, this is the speed when you aim down sights. The default is 1, I have mine reduced to .5, and I've found that the larger difference between the look & ADS sensitivity can really function as having two look settings available when using a weapon that doesn't have a very extreme scope.

The default sprint-turn scale is 0.4, I bump mine up to 0.8 for similar reasons to the look sensitivity increase. (Turning this up makes you turn faster, turning it down makes you turn slower.)

Alternatively, if you have more issues with overstimulation/visual clutter/quick movements/etc, you may want to turn everything down a bit to slow down your camera, but that may make combat harder to keep up with, especially pvp.

Axial & radial deadzone. This helps with stick drift. Stick drift is a pain for everyone but if you have fine motor issues, tremors, arthritis, etc, it's even worse. Finding what works best for your hardware will help make sure you're compensating less, which puts less strain on your hands.

I've seen people recommend turning off controller haptics for the same reason- the vibrations make you grip the controller harder and can cause worse strain. Personally, I leave them on because the sensory input helps balance out the awareness issues, but maybe it's for you! (this one's a system setting, not a d2 one.)

Video settings

Brightness can be important if you have issues with eye strain. I would recommend changing this relative to the lighting in the room, not just your monitor. Turning it up may help with visual issues with the tradeoff of risking overstimulation. Again, all of this is very dependent on the person.

Motion blur- Evil, evil, evil, turn this off. Visual problems or not, it's harder to follow things on-screen with it enabled. Combined with any garden variety problem with eye movements or cognitive strain it's even worse.

Chromatic aberration- I turn this off. It's a nice vfx, but it can wind up just being added visual stimulus and if that's a problem for it's worth losing. It can also make the radar harder to read. Not worth it (personally.)

Film grain- off for the same reason. It's a smaller change, but a clearer view is worth it if it helps you.

Sound settings

If you have problems with your hearing/auditory processing, I highly recommend turning the sfx & music drastically down compared to the dialogue, and then just turning up your system audio.

Personally, I often play with music entirely off, but I know that can be a very boring experience to a lot of people, so take that as you will.

(my current settings: sfx 8, dialogue 10, music 1)

if you're playing with an Xbox party or in a discord call, etc, I really recommend messing with the mixing settings there when you first get on to balance out peoples mics, regardless of processing problems.

Gameplay settings

HUD opacity- I turn mine down to high, the default being full. Just another thing that makes it easier to keep track of stuff.

Radar Background Opacity- Opposite here. If you have problems with spatial awareness you're probably relying pretty hard on the radar instinctively, so the clearer it is, the better. I play with mine on medium, you may want to play around.

Subtitles- Are on by default, so that's nice. Let's check out their settings menu for a moment.

Turning on show speaker name can be really good for hearing/auditory processing issues.

You can also change the color for the speaker name/caption text if the clearer contrast will help you.

The best background style for visibility is box, but it won't look as nice. Another trade.

Background opacity may be easier to lower if you switch to box, since the faded style isn't even. A lower background opacity may help you follow things on-screen at the cost of caption readability

If you don't need captions but do need to reduce visual clutter, try turning them off!

Colorblind mode is, obviously, helpful if you're colorblind, but I have also heard it recommended because the color changes can help improve contrast. Not one I've tried, but worth including.

Full auto firing/Full auto melee- Does what it says. Turning this on might help in the same way as turning off haptics/messing with deadzones, ie by changing how much you need to click. You can still fire normally with it on, so if anything it just gives you another option.

Reticle location is slightly below the center on d2. I prefer to center it, though it takes some getting used to. More helpful if you frequently switch between other games that center theirs.

Neutral/targeted reticle color- The defaults are white and red respectively. I prefer black for targeted because I feel like it makes it easier to see what I'm actually aiming at, but you may want to leave it for contrast. To each their own.

Other

Brief overview of Xbox accessibility settings

Xbox has a narration setting. I would assume anyone who needs it is aware of this, but just in case.

If you need more assisted play, there's controller assist where you can combine two people's input

Turning off haptic vibration (as mentioned) is in accessibility -> controller

You can make the on-screen keyboard larger!

There are party chat settings for both text to speech and speech to text

There's also game transcription!

Games that have the function can also do their own read-aloud. I don't know if/how this applies to destiny

Mono output for audio may make things easier to understand depending on your audio setup

There's also high-contrast mode for both dark or light

Colorblind filters are here, too

Night mode! You can change how much it dims/filters your device. If you have problems with blue light or eye strain, or have to limit screens for medical reasons like me, this setting is a lifesaver. The filter will affect how your games look, but personally it's worth the tint. Same is available on most PCs.

Hardware, etc.

The Xbox Adaptive Controller is highly customizable and great for anyone with physical impairments that make the standard Xbox controller difficult to use. Find it here.

I've seen thumbstick extenders recommended for arthritis, might also be helpful for similar conditions

If you have arthritis/fine motor issues/muscle weakness/tremors/etc/etc/etc controller grips might make holding a standard controller easier

If any of those are the case for you, then you might also benefit from a lightweight controller (or playing with a standard controller plugged in & removing the batteries for a lesser weight adjustment)

evilcontrollers also has one-handed controllers and a one-handed controller customizer much like the standard controller customizers

evilcontrollers for hardware accessibility in general

If you play on PC and have muscle or joint issues then you may want to look into different keyboard/mouse shapes. Lightweight, vertical, and ball mice are all options, though there's apparently some argument about using them for gaming. I've also seen good reviews of the Azeron keypad from people with muscular/joint problems. There's also split keyboards, wave keyboards, one-handed, etc etc etc.

If you have problems with auditory processing I would HIGHLY recommend gaming with noise-cancelling headphones. (Hell, do everything with noise cancelling headphones.) I would recommend these for everyday, but they also work pretty well for gaming. The mic is mid, but it works well enough, and there's multiple sound modes + active noise cancelling.

Other other (oh no I forgot these, editing now)

Compression gloves !!!!!

Pause and do hand exercises after a while

20/20/20 rule for eye strain

may come back and expand this as I think of more things

There is a lot that Bungie could do to improve the game's accessibility without causing an imbalance with abled players, but I'll save that for another post. Feel free to reblog this with any other advice/anecdotal stuff/whatever, I'm considering this as opening a discussion.

I don't know of any clans specifically for disabled players but I'm sure they exist? If anyone has recommendations for community stuff, please do throw that in.

As always, my dms are open. Being a disabled gamer can suck sometimes and if you need a space to vent w/ someone who gets it, I'm your guy. If you're just curious how it impacts gaming, I don't mind being asked, I just don't feel like posting about myself that much unprompted.

I think that's all for now. Happy gaming :)

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