#wave interference pattern | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

princessaffirms · 1 month ago

Text

you don’t hope to shift — you COLLAPSE the WAVE FUNCTION. 🍎✨

the SCIENCE of reality shifting/law of assumption

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚��.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

is there any SCIENTIFIC EVIDENCE that reality shifting is real? what about the law of assumption? you might be surprised by how much QUANTUM PHYSICS already aligns with the shifting/loa concepts you know and love.

in quantum mechanics, there’s this core concept called WAVE FUNCTION COLLAPSE, first introduced by the copenhagen interpretation. it says that particles like electrons or photons don’t exist in one set state — instead, they exist in a state of SUPERPOSITION, meaning all possible states at once. but the moment they are observed, the wave function collapses into a SINGLE OUTCOME (zeilinger, 1999).

Figure 3. The Copenhagen Interpretation: Wave Function Collapse (World Science Association, 2020).

before observation, there is NO FIXED STATE. reality exists as an infinite, limitless wave of probabilities. and the observer’s awareness is what selects one of those possibilities and collapses it into experience (zeilinger, 1999). this doesn’t just tweak physics. it REDEFINES what we call reality.

and in quantum mechanics? this isn’t just hopeful theorizing.

this is experimentally proven FACT.

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🤍✨ THE DOUBLE SLIT EXPERIMENT

this experiment is currently one of the CLEAREST PROOFS of how observation determines outcomes. when particles like electrons are fired through two slits without being observed, they act like waves — creating an interference pattern. they behave as if they went through both slits at once (arndt et al., 1999).

but the moment you observe which slit they go through, the interference disappears. the particle behaves like a solid object and chooses one path. the act of observation alone changes the result (arndt et al., 1999). this collapse is not metaphorical — it literally happens.

^ a visual of this experiment! courtesy of tumblr <3

this experiment is truly powerful because it physically DEMONSTRATES how conscious measurement collapses potential into outcome. aka, HOW YOU CONSCIOUSLY SELECT THE REALITY YOU EXPERIENCE!

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🤍✨ REALITY SHIFTING = WAVE FUNCTION COLLAPSE

this is what reality shifting and the law of assumption point to. you’re ALWAYS FOCUSING your awareness (consciousness, identity, energy, whatever you want to call it) into ONE specific reality from an infinite quantum field (thaheld, 2005).

that INTENTIONAL ASSUMPTION collapses the wave function, making that version real for you. you don’t chase it. you don’t pull it in. you assume it’s already yours, and the quantum field reflects.

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🤍✨ BELL’S THEOREM & EXPERIMENTAL CONFIRMATION

“but what if the particles are ALREADY in a fixed state, even with no observer present?”

WELL…physicist john bell mathematically proved that NO HIDDEN VARIABLES (aka no underlying mechanics) can explain quantum behaviour, UNLESS we accept that observation itself changes outcomes.

(which is literally THE BASIS OF SHIFTING/LOA!! 🤭)

his theory was put to the test in the ASPECT EXPERIMENTS, and the results confirmed it: entangled particles (more on quantum entanglement soon!) react to each other instantly, across vast distances, and ONLY WHEN OBSERVED (aspect, dalibard, & roger, 1982). these interactions defy space and time, and yet they STILL depend on measurement (aka observation).

“SO WHAT’S THE IMPLICATION OF THIS?” 🤨

form doesn’t exist until it’s consciously interacted with. MEANING: realities don’t “lock in” until your awareness CHOOSES one.

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🤍✨ WHAT THIS MEANS FOR SHIFTING + LOA

so when we say reality shifting and loa are real, we’re not talking fiction — we’re talking PHYSICS. the universe literally doesn’t finalize outcomes until you observe them. your assumption is the observation. your inner state is the collapse (chalmers & mcqueen, 2021).

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🤍✨ FINAL THOUGHTS?

this isn’t “woo”. this is physics.

the universe is built on PROBABILITIES, and you are the one collapsing the wave function. every assumption, every shift of identity is a quantum-level decision.

your chosen reality is always waiting. so which version are you READY to assume?

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

i tried my best to simplify this info so it’s more easily digestible, but as always i recommend doing your own research and reading up on the sources listed below if you’re interested in more! i hope this post helped bring you some insights and clarity. 🫶

love and light always <3

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🍎✨ REFERENCES

feynman, r. p., leighton, r. b., & sands, m. l. (1965). The Feynman lectures on physics: Vol. 3 Quantum mechanics. Addison-Wesley.

aspect, a., dalibard, j., & roger, g. (1982). Experimental test of Bell’s inequalities using time‐varying analyzers. Physical Review Letters, 49(25), 1804–1807. https://doi.org/10.1103/PhysRevLett.49.1804

zeilinger, a. (1999). A foundational principle for quantum mechanics. Foundations of Physics, 29(4), 631–643. https://doi.org/10.1023/A:1018820410908

arndt, m., et al. (1999). Wave–particle duality of C60 molecules. Nature, 401(6754), 680–682. https://doi.org/10.1038/44348

thaheld, f. h. (2005). Does consciousness really collapse the wave function? BioSystems, 81(2), 113–123. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0303264705000237

chalmers, d. j., & mcqueen, k. j. (2021). Consciousness and the collapse of the wave function. arXiv. https://arxiv.org/abs/2105.02314

a study on the interaction between human consciousness and artificial intelligence in refik anadol’s quantum memories: the creation of quantum memories by the many worlds interpretation of quantum physics – scientific figure on researchgate. (2020). world science association. available from: https://www.researchgate.net/figure/The-Copenhagen-Interpretation-Wave-Function-Collapse-World-Science-Association-2020_fig2_380334190

1K notes · View notes

chocodile · 7 months ago

Text

Amaranthine Magic System PART III: Spellcraft for… Everyone Else (Including Unicorns)

This is Part III of a three-part worldbuilding set.

Part I - Part II - Part III (you are here)

So, we’ve now established how magic works and how it can be manipulated by a wizard. But wizards aren’t the only ones capable of using magic... as mentioned in Part I, even a tree can do it. How does THAT work? Surely it must be pretty rare, right?

Well, actually, a number of plants and animals have evolved to harness magic. Something about them—either a physical organ, body part, or some sort of instinctual behavior—is able to warp magic in a way that happens to be beneficial. Some examples:

A predatory cat that can use magic to bend light around itself and appear “invisible” thanks to the molecular structure of its fur

A mole that can vibrate its claws in such a way that they increase the charge of magic in the earth around it, causing solid stone to temporarily liquefy

A flower whose roots absorb magic from the earth and use it to resist freezing, allowing it to bloom all winter long

A bird who sings at a strange, disorienting, warbling song, the vibrations of which interfere with the magical frequencies used by its most common predator

A carnivorous plant that paralyzes its victims not with venom, but with numbing bolts of magic produced by a specially evolved structure whenever it detects nearby movement

You may notice that, with the exception of the carnivorous plant, all the other examples are simply using magical energy already in their environment rather than producing it themselves. Which brings me to the next detail… magic can be “cast” from two types of sources:

“Enchantments”/Ambient casting/passive casting: Happens by gently shaping the background radiation of magic already in the environment, like most of the examples above. It is typically done by passing the magical energy through some sort of physical structure in order to alter its frequency. Most enchanted jewelry functions on this principle. Studying animals that perform passive casting can be useful for wizards to learn new casting and enchanting techniques themselves, and many methods of spellcraft are based on patterns of magic wave manipulation first observed in nature. 99% of animals and plants that use magic fall into this category. Also, this sort of magic waxes or wanes in power depending on the ambient background magic radiation levels of the area… your magic locket may fail you at the worst possible moment if you take it someplace with very low magical background radiation levels.

Active casting/”Casting spells”: Magic where the power source comes from within the creature itself and can be actively turned off or on, such as the carnivorous plant example above. Animals and plants that are capable of active casting are typically quite dangerous indeed, though their bodies tend to make for incredibly valuable spell ingredients and materials for crafting magical devices. Luckily, this ability is extremely rare in nature… the ability to truly “cast a spell” is found almost exclusively in wizards.

As a half-celestial, Ambroys sits at sort of a weird position. He technically is an active caster, as he has his own magical field and he can summon his abilities up at will (or, more often in his youth, accidentally) using his mind/will as the primary trigger. However, half-celestials and half-infernals have the shape of their magical “filter” predefined by their heritage and physical anatomy—it is not consciously shaped the way a wizard’s is. They may be able to choose which of these predefined forms their magic takes, and may even discover new variations on their powers throughout their life, but they can never consciously teach themselves brand new spells from scratch, and will never be able to switch fluidly through several different types of similar magic without interruption the way a wizard could.

To Hyden, this makes Ambroys closer to a beast than a person, magically speaking (no offense, of course). He can’t talk spellcraft with him because he’s not doing anything on purpose… he’s just brainlessly clicking his silly little claws together to dig through rock like the mole mentioned earlier. He will never truly understand all the complex mental hoops Hyden jumps through every time he conjures up a flame to light his opium pipe, even if Ambroys can do the same exact thing by just thinking “ok, fire time now”. It’s just not the same, you know?

Aaand that wraps up the Amaranthine magic guide! This should hopefully provide a clearer view of how everything works in this setting. :)

#worldbuilding #fantasy wordlbuilding #furry #anthro #furry art #anthro art #my ocs #hyden #others' ocs #ambroys #kwillow #verse: amaranthine

193 notes · View notes

alexanderlightweight · 3 months ago

Note

Your writing has made me come to love Wednesdays!

I've been thinking about when Alec had to raincheck Magnus on that date to wrangle Clary, the "playing hard to get, i do like a challenge" scene.

What if Magnus called again and got rainchecked again and instead of going with it he decided to magically ground Jace, Izzy, Clary, and Simon so he could whisk Alec away.

I too love Wednesdays because of the writing and have missed it so i'm hopeful that it will return to that feeling soon.

i had quite a bit of fun with the new verse this prompt inspired especially because I think season one malec just desperately deserved some time to get to know each other without constant interruptions before valentine returned and the shadowworld exploded and alec's parents returned and took away

i firmly believe that if Alec and Magnus had actually gone on a date or just spent some real uninterrupted time getting to know each other (not drinks and an exhausted night spent after sharing energy because of an emergency) Alec would never have taken his parents 'arranged marriage bullshit'. the minute Alec gets a taste of what actually being with Magnus and the happiness he could have is like there's no going back for him.

Also Alec is Tired and most of that is the fact he can't trust anyone to stay put.

the precipice of duty

Magnus blinks down at the now blank phone in his hand.

This goes beyond playing hard-to-get and has entered the realm of ‘outside interference’. Something that Magnus never allows when going after what he wants, especially when what he wants is someone.

He rearranges his schedule with a wave of his hands, sending out a flurry of fire messages as he snaps away his clothes and steps into his massive wardrobe. Despite trying to appeal to Alexander in a softer way, Magnus thinks that perhaps it led to letting himself be misunderstood by others. Hardly a crime yet unacceptable when it gives people the assumption of power in a game where they are nothing more than pawns between Magnus and his prize.

This is the third time that Alexander has agreed to go out with him only to cancel before they can even meet. Each time, Alexander’s voice is more distracted, chipped away at with both guilt from canceling and exhaustion, as if in a mere span of days he’s been drained of energy.

It’s ludicrous and not something Magnus will stand for.

Do they expect him to keep helping when the benefits are only for themselves? Magnus is in this for one very specific reason and that is to woo his handsome shadowhunter.

The shirt he picks is a sleek abyssal black, embroidered with golden thread to match the buttons and pattern of the dark storm-blue coat he adds. It flares when he walks and while the pants and shoes may be less of a statement, the black demon leather of his trousers and the sharp cut of his bone tipped boots are equally complementary and ominous.

It’s a far cry from the softer look he’d presented Alexander with just days before, but it’s who Magnus is and pretending otherwise has never led to anything good.

Instead of looking overwhelmed or annoyed at Magnus’ arrival and presence, Alexander looks awed. There is a reverence to his gaze as he drinks the entirety of Magnus in that threatens to undo Magnus’ tenuous self-control. Perhaps Magnus has been overthinking Alexander’s interest to him this entire time. Instead of attempting to flesh out what would hold Alexander’s interest, perhaps he should have just remembered the fact that their very first meeting — rushed though it was — had left Alexander speechless and stuttering at a mere introduction to Magnus.

Alexander leads Magnus away from the control room where everyone is very much out of control. There’s defeat in the slump of his shoulders as he again apologizes for canceling, the reason once again that despite promising to stay put, his siblings take off after a reckless Clary time and time again.

“And what if I laid a ward keeping them from leaving the Institute for a minimum of seventy-two hours?” Magnus offers, laying his hand on Alexander’s arm with a daring squeeze to the well-defined muscles of an archer.

“You would do that?” Alexander leans into Magnus’ touch as he asks not in doubt of Magnus’ abilities but incredulous that he’d offer.

“I would insist upon it. As much as I’d love to whisk you away for a meal across the world this instance, it’s clear you haven’t gotten any real sleep for days.” Magnus isn’t expecting to be as worried as he is but Alexander responds so sweetly to true concern and interest that he lets go of the instincts he’s been holding back.

There’s a moment where Alexander’s face falls, just a little before his serious expression wipes it away and Magnus has an idea, even as Alexander looks warily back at the control room he’d left the troublemakers constantly keeping Alexander from Magnus.

“And yet, if I leave you here I feel as if you won’t be any more rested by nightfall.” It’s bold, but boldness seems to work well with Alexander — as long as he follows it with sincerity — and Magnus makes sure no one is around them even as his fingers cup Alexander’s jaw and his thumb brushes over the arch of his cheek. “Come back with me?”

“Come back with you, just so I can rest?” Alexander seems confused, as if the idea of Magnus — of anyone truly — just wanting to ease the weary tension weighing him down is difficult to comprehend.

“Just for sleep.” Magnus promises and he smirks and leans closer, “as much as I’d love for more, you need rest Alexander. One without constant interruptions.”

Magnus pulls his hand away and insead extends his palm out, a gentle and unassuming gesture for an offer that if Alexander takes, will change both of their lives.

There will be no turning back after this.

As exhausted as he is, Alec is clearly conscious of the fact that taking Magnus up on his offer is a choice not hastily made. To put himself in Magnus’ protection, to sleep in his lair for even just a day, is placing himself under the authority and protection of the High Warlock of Brooklyn.

It will be a declaration that even if secret, cannot be unmade.

Cool, calloused fingers take his own and Alexander takes his hand with an expression far calmer than the racing pulse beneath Magnus’ touch.

“I’ll send a message with my orders then.”

“You don’t need anything before we go?” Magnus asks before he can bite the question back, he doesn’t want to give Alexander any chance to change his mind.

There’s a moment where Alexander considers it but then he looks back again to the control room and shakes his head.

“If you’re willing to go through all this trouble, I imagine you’re willing to help me with whatever I’ll need.”

Willing is putting it lightly, Magnus thinks to himself as he begins layering the ward that will let him finally have uninterrupted time with Alexander.

Knowing that Alexander will end up using Magnus’ own personal products and clothing is an extra gift that fills Magnus with glee.

This entire excursion is going far better than he thought it would.

Magnus had rearranged the loft before leaving and he’s glad he did as they passed through the portal and into the casually comfortable study Magnus had set up.

Alexander pulls his hand free and Magnus would have grabbed it back except Alec has messages to write and orders to give. Instead Magnus distracts himself by snapping away his jacket and boots and rolling up his sleeves as he summons a book and a drink to the table he’d set up earlier.

Alexander’s face seems leaner than the last time they spoke and Magnus frowns and tugs at Alexander’s jacket the second he turns off his phone and slips it into his pocket. It’s easy to pull it off and then throw it and the phone it carries to the side. If it slips away into a magical pocket then Magnus will just summon it back later, once a good amount of time has passed.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I’ve been mostly using nourishment runes,” Alexander admits and he wrinkles his nose in agreement at Magnus’ admonishing look. “I do know they’re not healthy or maintainable but they’re better than nothing. Half time I normally use to eat, rest and do extra work is being taken up by the sudden flood of demonic and Circle activity and everything else is consumed by the Institute's current and main complication.”

“Clary.”

“Yes.” Alexander sighs and rubs at his forehead as if to wipe away the thought of her.

“A nap first then, before something to eat.”

“Our dinner and drinks that I keep missing?”

“Oh no, this is merely preparation for our outing together, darling.” Magnus feels daring as the pet name slides easily off his tongue. “A little slumber to give you some ease then a meal, shower and a true rest cycle. Only then will I be satisfied that I'll have your full attention during our date.”

Instead of Magnus summoning a new room or leading Alexander to his own bed, he sits at the couch he’d enhanced earlier. It’s magically comfortable in a way that eases aches and pains rather than adds to them.

“Indulge me?” He asks, offering his hand and Alexander’s brow arches in bemusement as he toes off his heavy hunting boots.

“This is what you consider indulgence after everything you’ve given me?”

“Even if someone else has been bold enough to offer their lap and lair to you, I doubt you’d have accepted. Is it so strange that I want what no one else has been given?.” It’s both a taunt and a test, because Magnus wants to know if he’s right. If Alexander feels the strange connection that ties them together in ways deeper than Magnus can yet comprehend.

Magnus’ answer is Alexander’s startled but quiet laugh, the amusement that peeks through his exhaustion and instead of sitting down next to Magnus he lets himself lay down. There’s a quick moment of hesitation before his cheek presses against Magnus’ thigh and the back of Alexander’s head tucks against Magnus' belly.

“Do you trust me enough to sleep, Alexander?”

Magnus boldly runs his fingers through Alexander’s hair and feels the hitch of his breath against Magnus’ thigh from the caress.

Magnus’ answer to his teasing is in the way Alexander melts into him, a tired nod causing his cheek to rub against Magnus’ pants as sleep claims his coherency at last.

sleeping in front of something, trusting enough and lowering your guard is a huge deal. Magnus is absolutely thrilled and taking no chances in making sure Alexander will be coming back to him for rest and safety again and again

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #the precipice of duty #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #cursing

110 notes · View notes

f0rcee · 4 months ago

Text

Thought this was interesting, consciousness is based in quantum physics

Evidence of the Power of Thought on Perception and Reality

1. The Observer Effect (Double-Slit Experiment)

• In the famous double-slit experiment, when particles (like electrons or photons) are shot through two slits, they create an interference pattern, acting like waves.

• However, when a conscious observer measures or observes the particles, the wave function collapses, and they behave like particles instead.

• This suggests that observation (or measurement) influences the state of reality, raising the question: Does consciousness play a role in shaping what we perceive as physical reality?

2. Entanglement and Nonlocality

• Quantum entanglement occurs when two particles become linked, meaning a change in one instantly affects the other—no matter how far apart they are.

• Some propose that consciousness or thought itself might be capable of influencing entangled systems, implying a deep interconnectedness between mind and matter.

• Experiments by John Bell and others have confirmed that entangled particles communicate instantaneously, suggesting an unseen, nonlocal connection that defies classical physics.

3. The Wigner’s Friend Paradox

• Physicist Eugene Wigner proposed a thought experiment where one observer (his “friend”) measures a quantum system inside a lab while Wigner himself observes from outside.

• The paradox arises because, in quantum mechanics, the system remains in superposition (both states at once) until measured—implying that reality is dependent on who is observing it.

• This suggests that multiple realities could exist simultaneously, and consciousness plays a role in “collapsing” one particular reality into being.

4. The Orch-OR Theory (Consciousness & Quantum Processes in the Brain)

• Proposed by Roger Penrose and Stuart Hameroff, this theory suggests that consciousness arises from quantum processes inside brain microtubules.

• If true, this would mean that thought itself has a quantum basis and could interact with reality at a fundamental level.

5. Delayed-Choice Experiment (John Wheeler’s Thought Experiment)

• A variation of the double-slit experiment where the observer’s choice after the particle has passed through the slits determines how it behaved in the past.

• This implies that reality is not fixed until it is observed and suggests that the past itself may be influenced by present conscious choices.

These experiments suggest:

• Consciousness is deeply intertwined with quantum processes.

• Reality is not fixed and may be influenced by observation.

• Nonlocal connections between particles might extend to consciousness itself.

93 notes · View notes

bigfan-fanfic · 1 year ago

Text

Rainbows in the Dark (Batdad Headcanons)

@sweetheartsofmidsummer If you still do batdad, maybe taking Dick and Bruce out to his first pride parade? Just a small Dick on the shoulders of Bruce, watching with amazement as the colourful wagons and people pass by, thatd be cute, or organising the first pride parade for Gotham and somehow managing to get Superman the gay flag as a cape?

It's definitely not easy being a public figure, sometimes.

You're not a celebrity in the way that an actor or entertainer is, which means people are much more willing to let you have a private life - Businessman Bruce Wayne and his husband are much less interesting to the average media consumer than say, a movie star, or a singer.

Bruce is a little more interesting since he recently stopped being missing from traveling round the world, and of course, because he's insanely hot.

But luckily, even as an out gay man, most people are content to let you and your bisexual husband do you.

Dick mentions the Pride parade first. Saying that his parents were going to take him - some of Haly's Circus was meant to perform there before... well.

In any case, it's Bruce's first Pride as well, as Alfred encouraged you two to carry out your burgeoning love in private to avoid having any paparazzi ruin it for you.

You went each year that Bruce was gone traveling and training - it was good to feel like you weren't alone; like you were part of a community.

You even have some friends there who are happy to run interference to ensure you and your son and husband remain safe from being accosted.

Bruce has been Batman for a couple years at this point, and Dick has not yet become Robin, though he's been with you for almost a year, and knows about Batman. So you're still in the mindset that maybe you three can become a simple family, safe and together after tragedy.

"Dick, Bruce, this is Davy, my friend. Davy, this is Dick, my son, and Bruce, my husband."

Davy is dressed in a bright, rainbow-patterned recreation of Batman's cowl and armor, and he looks really good. "Nice to meet you, citizens! The Rainbow Knight welcomes you to Pride!"

Dick grins. "You look really cool, sir."

"Well, since the Dark Knight couldn't be here, I'm filling in for him."

You give Bruce a sly look before you get a picture of Dick next to the Rainbow Knight.

Dick did ask about what Pride meant to you both. And you explained as best you could that it's about community and working towards a future where love and equality can be assured without fear or hatred.

And of course, coming from the circus, Dick's rather at home amongst the chaotic but vibrant atmosphere.

Bruce is a little more uncomfortable, not so great among huge crowds, so he takes a while to become at ease at the parade.

But one of your other friends starts to talk to him, getting him to open up and calm down, and you keep an eye on Dick, getting him an awesome scarf that he puts several pins on.

He gets the Pride flag painted on his cheek by someone too, looking adorable with his radiant grin.

Gotham's Pride Parade has been pretty safe, ever since Sal Maroni's daughter transitioned socially and came to Pride. Now it's kind of the neutral event of the year in which nobody tries to make any moves.

So you truly feel safe when you walk with Dick among the stalls, before returning to your friends and husband.

"The Rainbow Knight ran off." Bruce chuckles.

You laugh. "Didn't scare him off, did you?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's saving the day somewhere."

"Pops, B, the parade's about to start!" Dick whines, and Bruce scoops up the boy, grinning as he sets Dick on his shoulders.

You get another picture of them, looking so much like father and son, the small acrobat grinning ear to ear as he sits on the shoulders of the broad-shouldered, smiling man beneath him.

The Rainbow Knight turns out to be the grand marshal for the parade, waving and dancing on the first float, making Bruce laugh and cheer wildly.

He turns out to be Gotham Pride's greatest gem, always hoped for and beloved.

But floats and wagons and dancers walk by, beautiful and graceful and wild and free.

Dick watches all of them with happiness in his eyes, and knows he's among his people, even then.

You didn't know it'd become a tradition for you three, even when Dick left for Bludhaven. He'd come back and the three of you would go to the parade. Helping people, but mostly bonding as a family, beyond Batman and Robin and Gotham itself.

As queer people part of the same family, sharing love and pride for each other and yourselves.

As more of your family and friends make appearances, the party grows, but at the core remains you, your husband, and your son.

Because it's one of your favorite memories - Bruce protective and fatherly and grinning, among actual friends, and his son - your son - with a matching grin and feeling happy and safe and willing to be himself.

What more could you ever wish for?

And one day, maybe Dick will find love with someone and bring them with you, and the family will grow even more.

And truly, you couldn't be prouder of your family.

#batdad reader #batman x male reader #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x reader #batman headcanons #dc headcanons #headcanons

210 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months ago

Text

Bruce McKinnon

* * * *

Every effort matters—now more than ever!

March 3, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

It is a tough time to be an ordinary American who believes in democracy, the rule of law, and the value of good government. From the cheap seats, it appears that all three are under a brutal assault from Trump and Musk designed to weaken America as a global force for good. In a bizarre twist worthy of The Twilight Zone, Trump and Musk’s campaign of destruction seems carefully crafted to benefit the world’s worst dictator and sworn enemy of American democracy, Vladimir Putin, a goal that is warmly embraced by a party that only a decade ago wrapped itself in patriotism and pro-democracy foreign policy.

But America’s political and media classes seem oddly unconcerned and detached from reality. True, Democrats in Congress express concern—but in the same way, they express concern about policy fights over revisions to the tax code. (To be fair, a handful of notable exceptions are out on a limb without the support of their party.) Our Democratic leaders use their minority status in Congress to justify their strange quiescence—an explanation that accepts defeat as the status quo.

The media is a husk of its former self. Firebrands and self-styled crusaders who took Biden to task for every inconsequential verbal slip now report on grotesque lies and unprecedented betrayals by Trump with the ennui of a weatherman predicting increasing darkness in the late afternoon and early evening.

What is wrong with these people?

I spent the better part of Sunday speaking with Americans living in London. They care deeply, passionately about the fate of their homeland’s democracy. They are stunned by the inexplicable ability of Democratic leaders to fashion a unified front to challenge the blitzkrieg of lies emanating from the Oval Office each day.

Is the failure of Democratic leaders a lack of ability? Of desire? Or the triumph of personal ambition regarding 2028 presidential politics over their willingness to serve as a leader of the loyal opposition in our nation’s hour of need?

The silence is deafening. There is a grand disconnect. I had no answer for Americans abroad wondering why the deep pool of talented politicians in the Democratic Party was missing in action at a moment of crisis for their beloved country. But I was able to assure them that the grassroots movement is responding to the call without waiting for politicians to lead the way.

Organic protests are spreading across the US, including protests targeting Tesla dealerships. See News24, 'We are taking action': 9 people arrested at Tesla dealership as anti-Musk protests break out in US. (“Throngs of protesters also descended on the electric vehicle maker's showrooms in Jacksonville, Florida; Tucson, Arizona, and other cities, blocking traffic, chanting and waving signs . . . .”)

Like the Civil Rights Era in the 20th Century and the anti-war movement of the 1960s, we are experiencing a moment in our history where the people drag their leaders kicking and screaming into the future��at which point those reluctant leaders will take credit for victory. So be it. We must stop asking, “Where are our leaders?” and start doing the work until they show up to join us on the front lines.

The pattern behind Trump's embrace of Putin in Friday’s Oval Office meeting

The events of the lastthree days have revealed a disturbing change in the US-Russia relationship.

On Friday, Trump ended 80 years of alliance between Western nations by attacking and dishonoring the leader of the European nation on the frontlines of the effort to halt Russian expansionism. As Trump berated President Zelensky, Trump characterized himself and Vladimir Putin as “co-victims” of the US investigation into Russia’s interference in the 2016 election.

The next day, Elon Musk agreed with a tweet asserting that the US should leave NATO and the UN.

When European leaders met on Sunday in a pre-planned security conference in London, Russia’s former president Dmitry Medvedev condemned the meeting as an “anti-Trump Russophobic coven [of witches].” Medvedev speaks for Putin.

On Sunday, the NYTimes reported that the US Department of Defense has unilaterally ceased cyber operations against Russia, hobbling the US’s ability to understand Russia’s true intentions at a critical juncture in world politics.

Late last week, The Guardian reported that the US no longer views Russian cyberattacks against the US as a priority. See The Guardian, Trump administration retreats in fight against Russian cyber threats. There is no indication that Russia has stopped cyberattacks against the US or that it has “de-prioritized” American cyberattacks on Russia.

In the span of 72-hours, Trump effectively surrendered to Russia in a cyberwar that has been waged continuously for decades. Trump's disgraceful actions in the Oval Office on Friday must be viewed in the broader context of Trump's embrace of Russia.

The media is failing to tell that broader story by trivializing a foreign relations debacle into a “Will he, or won’t he?” story about Trump's ludicrous demand for Zelensky to “apologize.” See BBC report, Laura Kuenssberg, asking Zelensky if he would “express[] some regret to President Trump after your heated confrontation at the White House on Friday.”

At least the BBC reporter didn’t ask Zelensky if he would resign, which has become the new talking point for MAGA politicians in the US: Following Trump's Lead, His Allies Lash Out At Zelenskyy And Suggest He May Need To Resign | HuffPost Latest News

DOGE hackers shut down key IT unit designed to coordinate US government public-facing computer networks

DOGE has summarily dismantled a key information technology group at the center of the federal government’s public-facing computer systems. See Josh Marshall in Talking Points Memo, In-House Gov Tech Unit for State of the Art Web Portals Disbanded by Doge.

The unit that was disbanded was known as “18F.” Its job was to make public-facing websites of the federal government more user-friendly and functional—things like making it easier to complete and file your tax returns for free on the IRS website.

The now-former employees of 18F published a letter on Sunday that explained what they did and why their dissolution will hurt the American people. See 18F: We are dedicated to the American public and we're not done yet. The letter reads, in part, as follows:

[The terminations were] a surprise to all 18F staff and our agency partners. Just yesterday we were working on important projects, including improving access to weather data with NOAA, making it easier and faster to get a passport with the Department of State, supporting free tax filing with the IRS, and other critical projects with organizations at the federal and state levels.

All 18F's support on that work has now abruptly come to a halt. Since the entire staff was also placed on administrative leave, we have been locked out of our computers, and have no chance to assist in an orderly transition in our work. . . .

Before today’s RIF, DOGE members and GSA political appointees demanded and took access to IT systems that hold sensitive information. They ignored security precautions. Some who pushed back on this questionable behavior resigned rather than grant access.

The chaos-termination of the 18F computer group is being repeated across the federal government. Doge has apparently targeted 50% of the Social Security Administration staff—a move that will hurt service levels for seniors who depend on SSA payments to meet basic living expenses.

These cuts are painful and will cause chaos. That chaos and pain will spur a backlash against Republicans that should allow Democrats to take back the House (and possibly the Senate) in 2026 if only the Democratic Party can get its act together—PRONTO! We need a daily news conference with effective messaging by dynamic, charismatic leaders who are not Chuck Schumer!

Litigation against Trump / Musk / Doge

In a significant ruling, US District Judge William Alsup ruled that the federal Office of Personnel Management does not have the authority to fire federal employees. The ruling reaches 16,000 probationary employees dismissed by a directive from the Office of Personnel Management. See Democracy Docket, Judge Says Trump Administration Ordering Mass Firings Was Unlawful.

Judge Alsup wrote, in part,

The Office of Personnel Management does not have any authority whatsoever under any statute in the history of the universe to hire and fire employees at another agency.

Alsup acknowledged that agencies—not the OPM—can fire probationary employees but that those agencies cannot be compelled to do so by OPM. Alsup also acknowledged that he cannot compel the rehiring of employees. The ruling may, however, provide a basis for the wrongfully terminated employees to seek damages from the US government based on their unlawful terminations.

In a separate matter, US. District Judge Amy Berman Jackson has again ruled that Trump unlawfully fired the head of the US office charged with oversight of whistleblower claims. See Bloomberg, Trump’s Firing of Whistleblower Agency Head Ruled Unlawful. Judge Jackson ruled that Trump failed to make a “for cause” finding to justify the firing of the special counsel.

Judge Jackson noted that circumventing the “for cause” requirement would amount to “a constitutional license to bully officials in the executive branch into doing his will.”

Concluding Thoughts

Apologies that this newsletter is more like a rant and less like my usual call to action. But I am reflecting the frustration and anger that I am hearing from readers (both in person and in the Comment section). There seems to be a disconnect that is exacerbating an already mind-boggling situation.

The good news is that everyone seems to “get it”—other than politicians and the media. As I noted, they will be dragged along with the tide of history—a tide whose course we will determine by our actions.

It is up to us to save democracy—a situation that does not distinguish this moment from the thousands of perilous moments that have brought us to this point.

I acknowledge that we are living through an extraordinarily difficult moment. Our most important task is to not quit. If all we do is endure and keep hope alive, that will be enough. That is what Winston Churchill did during the darkest hours of WWII. If we can do the same, we will see victory in 2026 and 2028.

But we can do more—much more. The tide is turning. Republicans are retreating from their constituents. Spontaneous protests are spreading across America. It is happening. Be part of the movement in whatever way you can. No effort is wasted. No gesture is meaningless. No voice is unheard. Everything matters—now more than ever.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

#Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter #The Democratic Party #leadership #mass firings #DOGE #Litigation against Trump Musk DOGE #The American Public #democracy #the EU

59 notes · View notes

beifong-brainrot · 6 months ago

Note

Considering what most tlok fans vs tlok haters feel about the setting of tlok, what are your personal opinions regarding the setting of Korra? Because at first I thought it felt jarring with the way it felt more “Americanized” mainly because of how Republic City appeared, but then some said it does resemble (maybe?) east asian cities like Hong Kong for instance. But then I’ve also heard about the reason why it felt jarring to begin with was more so the idea it poses in terms of the Industrial Revolution and it’s relations to imperialism (post below):

https://medium.com/@nettlefish/the-inescapable-whiteness-of-avatar-the-legend-of-korra-and-its-uncomfortable-implications-debc76bbf7f

Honestly, this is a subject I've tried to not speak of directly, being neither American, nor a member of the nationalities primarily depicted in Avatar. So take my response with a heaping portion of salt, ok?

I personally have a love/hate relationship with Republic City. I like the idea of an are where the four nations intermingle, prompting progress and growth. I also have talked at length about how much I hate the fact that the plot seems to revolve around this shitty poorly utilised oriental reskin of New York.

As for the question of whether RC is 'orientalised Western cities' or if it was actually based on actual East Asian cities, I think it's a bit of both. Mind you, I only have access to old photos and drawings, so my comparisons won't be ideal, but it seems the general buildings of the 'bulk' of Republic City do resemble cities like Hong Kong, Shanghai and Tokyo at the time.

It does however seem that the named buildings and areas, eg. places with actual importance seem to be be mainly inspired by actual western buildings.

Of course, there is also the issue that a lot of the buildings of major Eastern cities at the time looked the way they did due to western interference, and so we are posed with the question if Republic City, a city in a world where there are close to no European influences would even look like said cities.

But relying on these aspects of history leads us to irreversably tying westernisation to progress, which I cannot even begin to describe as a problematic and untrue idea. This further muddles the concept of tlok's industrial revolution, as it follows a very western pattern, eg. the devlopment of for example electrical power, telephones and telegraphs, and train lines which is what enabled another wave of colonialism. Trying to consider what would happen in a world where that never happened would be fascinating, and probably liberating for many cultures.

For example, would the world of Avatar even have a need for electricity in a world where Spirits and people who can control the elements with their minds exist?

I admit, it would probably be difficult to envision a modernised world without western/european influences off the cuff, but it is possible. It would take a lot of research and imagination, but it is possible. It would require isolating western influences and trying to establish new patterns in how the world could evolve without white ppl sticking their noses into everything. (I actually have personally been trying to 'reengineer' Republic City fashion bacause I want to redesign the Krew so I'm kinda in the depths of research hell on this lol. The things I do cause I miss sewing apprenticeship...)

The author of the article says that tlok is steampunk, which is an easy mistake to make, one I have made in the past. That still isn't the best choice for a post atla world, in my opinion. I believe tlok is actually more diesepunk. However, I'd say that if tlok wanted to cling to Avatar's clear wuxia inspirations, it should've opted for something like silkpunk, which, in simple terms, melds East Asian aesthetics, history and philosphies with fantastical technology. I say insimple terms because there is a lot more to silkpunk than just that, and not every "Asian scifi" is silkpunk, but if a creator were to attempt to do something of the sort, silkpunk would be a good jumping off point.

Here are some sources I personally used when researching the genre.

Ken Liu, the Author who coined the term Silkpunk explains the term

Interview with Ken Liu

Interview with silkpunk artist, James Ng

Now, when it comes to the sociopolitical narratives around imperialism and colonisation in tlok, I can only comment so much. But I agree with the author of the article that the Fire Nation imperialism and its results should've been explored more. And it would be SO easy. For example, in the comics we see a wealth disparity in between Fire Nation citizens and Earth Kingdom citizens of the area that would later become the Republic.

How would this develop over time? If we look at irl examples, we could see this gap become even wider due to lack of affirmative action. And, lo and behold, don't we already have an incredibly wealthy family canonically descended from Fire Nation settlers. Hiroshi may have described himself as just a humble shoe shiner, but it would be so easy to rework his backstory into being a nepo baby feeding off colonialism. Driving that point further, how would Mako and Bolin be treated as children of q mixed union? Would they be treated differently based on their bending abilities, or their appearance?

This could be easily incorporated into the characters' storylines and characterisation and would probably lead to some interesting dynamics, especially from the perspective of Korra, an outsider.

But the silence on the potential issues of discrimination in an america based city created off colonialism and imperialism is a symptom of another point. That Republic City is not only 'oriental America', it's also idealised 'oriental America.'

A lot of tlok feels like a very odd American centric fanfiction of history, with the America stand in always shoehorned in as important. Despite president Raiko being presented as an all around dickwad, Republic City itself is posed as a bastion of impartial fairness and as having a say in solving international conflicts. We're shown and told that extreme poverty exists in Republic City but we're never told why, we simply have to accept it as a fact of life, why don't we all go look at the cool rich ppl, look at Asami and her big airship, don't think too hard about Mako and Bolin's past.

The characters in charge of most of Republic City's important militias are nepo babies to soem extent, and skate by on their likeablity. Iroh II was cool for the ending of B2 and then got relegated to Raiko's spineless lackey. Lin is, in my probably very controversial opinion, a really bad chief of police in the most stereotypically American way possible.

I've talked ay length at how frustrating it is that we keep coming back to Republic City even when the actual plot is going on somewhere else. B2 and B4 have this problem in particular.

Instead of showing us primarily the perspectives of actually dealing with Kuvira or Unalaq's agression, throughout most of the seasons, the Krew are sorta chilling in Republic City talking how much it sucks that war crimes are happening somewhere else. It's giving American self centeredness to the max. But I think I've already screamed into the void about this a lot.

I will, however, say that the author of the article you sent me makes some crucial mistakes relating to the actual plot and scenes of tlok, which I wouldn't hold against her if it weren't the fact that she uses them to back her points. Points which are, mind you, mostly valid. But the author seems to misremember or falsely represent facts in the show to bolster these points, which is never a good look, even if you are making good points. For example, claiming benders being the only ones with political power in RC, as well as saying that the Council was made of benders, which is false. As is accentuating Korra's role as a Southern Water Tribe princess, whose father is somehow chief, despite also being the shamefully exiled brother of the Northern Water Tribe chief to bolster her opinion on tlok's theme on focusing on those in power. Korra is already the Avatar, a divine vessel. And her father being chief happened later in the show, after Unlaq was revealed to be a little shit. It is ultimately inconsequential to Korra's character, and makes her no more a princess than Katara was.

I can see what the author is trying to do and I think she makes good points, but it feels like she either didn't watch tlok very carefully, or is either intentionally or subconsciously skewing facts to fit her arguments. Making mistakes and oversights like this sours the whole text and is probably the reason I feel like agenda came first in this article. Be it a good agenda, it still leads to certain parts of the article feeling disingenuous to a cerain degree.

However, I do still see a lot of merit in the articke and agree with a lot of its points. I wish Republic City and tlok as a whole had delivered on the amazing concepts it offered, but due to a probable myriad of reasons, tlok will always feel slightly lacklustre to me.

54 notes · View notes

worldofsaia · 3 months ago

Text

MICHAEL TALBOT ;

the holographic universe • 1991

what if reality isn’t as solid as it looks? what if it’s more like a projection from something beyond?

TALBOT explores an idea—taking principles from the legendary physicist DAVID BOHM, and neuroscientist KARL PRIBRAM that suggest that behind the projection, there's interconnected existence.

in THU, quantum mechanics connect to paranormal experiences where current technologies fail, and this suggests that consciousness might be non-local, influencing reality like the observer effect.

these cases follow: telepathy, near-death experiences, synchronicities, and psychic abilities.

¹ ˙𖦹 *∴ A HOLOGRAM BRAIN

KARL PRIBRAM, in his research, realized that memories were not localized to any specific brain region, and, inspired by the holography concept, began to explore how the brain processes and stores information, leading to the holonomic brain theory.

the brain has FOURIER-LIKE PROCESSING, rendering information using wave interference patterns.

╰╼ a fourier transform is a math construct that takes complex signals (like sound waves) and breaks them down into simpler parts (like individual notes). your brain is doing this with information all the time, i.e;

— you suddenly remember a song you haven’t heard in years.

— a childhood memory pops up randomly.

— people with brain injuries sometimes recall after amnesia, or even access entirely new skills and epigenetic memory.

in these moments, your brain isn't like a hard drive storing data in little compartments—it’s more like a receiver, tuning into a bigger field of information.

and if that’s the case, is your brain creating consciousness, or is consciousness something bigger that your brain is just accessing?

other theories state that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of the universe, with the brain acting as a receiver or filter, it's the blueprint that allows the brain to do what it does, or even better, a physicalized avatar of consciousness, the same as the body and the world.

²˙𖦹 *∴ A HOLOGRAM REALITY

In the 1980s, DAVID BOHM thought mainstream quantum physics was missing something. dissatisfied with conventional copenhagen interpretations of his time, he proposed that reality itself is a projection from a deeper, invisible order—like a video game rendering a 3D world from 2D code.

consider: you think about someone, and they text you. you think of a number or an animal, then you see them everywhere, you convince yourself so thoroughly that you'll fail your driving test, and do so spectacularly awful it feels prophetic.

coincidence? maybe. or maybe your brain is tuning into a frequency—filtering reality based on what you’re focusing on—just like the sims 4—where the game only loads what you’re looking at.

physics states that particles remain connected even when they’re light-years apart. this is called nonlocality; everything in reality is deeply connected.

in bohm’s holistic view; these connections undeniably imply an “unknown and undescribable totality” which he calls the “holomovement,” which is the fundamental ground of all matter or; implicate order, which our observable reality, aka explicate order, comes from.

even black holes are theorized to store reality on their horizion surface, like a hologram—so what if the whole universe does the same? if our reality unfolds from a largely unseeable, unknownable infinity, it's right to call it a projection.

³ ˙𖦹 *∴ TIME, SPACE, MATTER

if reality is really holographic, then time, space, and matter are illusions emerging from a deeper level of unity.

we've already connected non-locality with space, so what about the other two? in quantum physics, TIME doesn’t always flow the way we think it does.

entangled particles not only connect to each other, they can also act on each other across what appears to be impossible distances in no time at all.

time dilation (proven by EINSTEIN) shows that time slows down near the speed of light, shows that time is relative.

even in daily life, time feels different depending on what you're doing (boring class vs. fun weekend). that's why we have calendars, watches, units and systems to measure something that, otherwise, doesn't exist unless we're paying attention to it.

as a matter of fact, ‘time’ seems to happen without time. the projection we watch (our observable universe) still follows its own internal “script” that includes processes like aging and cellular decay. even if you don't know time, you know progress, because you expect it.

okay. what about MATTER? when we look at the world around us, everything seems solid, right? your phone, your chair, your body—all solid objects. but at the smallest scales, where they become particles, collectives of atoms participating in unison, none of these things behave the way we think they do.

even stranger—particles (like electrons or light) can either act like solid little particles (like a tiny ball) or like waves (like ripples in the water), when we observe them closely. they “choose” to behave as particles.

this means at the most basic level, matter isn’t really “stuff”—it’s more like potential until we observe it. it’s only when we look that it “decides” to act like a solid thing.

⁴ ˙𖦹 *∴ SHIFTING W/ HOLOGRAPHIC MODEL

if we take the holographic universe theory seriously, reality is a hologram, then your consciousness is the projector. shifting should be as simple as changing the film running in that projector, right?

yes. and you've shifted so many times! it's just that the more you ‘try’ to shift, the more you reinforce a reality where you're trying to shift—not the one where you've already shifted. and your brain filters out changes to keep you itself stable and safe. this is why reality feels so monotonous, even though it's constantly shifting in little ways.

to break out of the loop, you need to glitch reality—enough that your brain stops autopiloting and lets your consciousness move freely. it's important to note you're not traveling anywhere, you're just wiping your glasses—aka, consciousness, the lens of your reality.

STEP ONE

the fact that you even know about shifting means it’s already happening. you’re just stuck in the “trying” loop. reality runs on predictable patterns, and your brain fills in gaps to make it feel stable. naturally, the quickest way to shift is to mess with that stability.

here are some ways to do that, stick with one or two of them or all of them, it doesn't matter:

— walk into a room and act like something changed (without checking). even if things look the same, in your mind, keep running the “program” that you're already in your dr.

— misremember something on purpose (“Wait, wasn’t my blanket blue?” Even if it never was.)

— when you do anything, like check your phone, act like it’s your DR phone. what would be on your screen? if your DR has no phones, imagine you’re reading a book or getting a message another way.

— if someone talks to you, mentally swap their words for what they’d say in your DR.

— throughout the day, remember that you shifted, mentally say: “Wait, when did I shift?”

— or ask yourself: “Wait, what was I doing again?” (in your DR) it doesn’t matter if you don’t “believe” it, act like it’s obvious.

STEP TWO

notice how you shift realities when you least expect it? when you’re half-asleep, zoned out, or so exhausted you stop caring? that’s because caring too much locks you into your current state.

— before bed, or when making an attempt, prime your mind by saying: “I actually don’t care about shifting anymore,” or “Shifting isn't so important after all.”

you’ll either 1) shift because you stopped resisting the process, 2) wake up feeling slightly different, which means you did shift but your brain is pretending nothing happened.

NOTE

if it feels weird, good. that means your brain is questioning it. when your brain starts doubting reality, it will try to restabilize by convincing you, “this is normal, nothing happened.”

your consciousness moves faster than your logical brain, meaning 9/10 you literally shifted—but your brain is reconstructing old memories to keep things feeling ‘normal.’ so if you keep asking, "did i shift?", you’re just reinforcing your old reality.

#unsunderedsaia #reality shifting #shifting blog #shiftblr #shifting realities #guide #law of assumption #shifting community #neville goddard #manifestation #loa tumblr #loablr #loa blog #success story #instant manifestation

34 notes · View notes

jamneuromain · 2 years ago

Note

Divorce with either Steve/Andy I'm feeling angsty.

Whether happy/sad ending is up to you :)

Hi bestie <3 I'm sorry it has taken more time than I thought but my drabble turns into a one-shot before I can even realize skjksjskjskjksj

hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lie, Lie, Lie

Steve Rogers x You (Mutant!Reader)

Warning: Swearing, Angst, Divorce, (also asshole-ish Avengers?)

W/C: 5.4 K

Summary: A small leak will sink a great ship. -- Benjamin Franklin

A/N: My first entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

It starts with a minor, insignificant detail.

Just some static in the phone, really.

A snippet of sound that common people would interpret as bad signals, considering that Steve is phoning you from thousands of miles away, while you are using the landline.

For holy Mary’s sake, who the hell still uses landlines today?

Apparently, the academic conferences you attend do.

Steve notices the small static buzzing the call you are having, after which you grumble in frustration, “Stupid signals, can’t even function properly.”

He smiles, knowing that you can’t see the expression on his face. You are cute even when you are complaining.

You sigh deeply on the other end of the phone, your voice slightly distorted from the electronic, or wireless, transmission, “I miss you, Stevie. Can’t wait to come home.”

“It’ll only be two more days,” Steve reassures you with his soothing timbre, “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, alright? First thing you’ll see after getting off that plane.”

“Okay.” You know he can hear you pouting, but you pout anyway, “Gotta have some sleep now. I’m going to the keynote tomorrow morning.”

“Take care of yourself.” Steve holding on to his phone, wincing again as the static buzzes again, but it appears only on his end, as you seem unaffected by it, “Take care of my favorite scientist and my favorite girl for me, okay?”

“I am your favorite girl. And you know I have my powers.” You try your best to stifle a large yawn, but Steve senses your tiredness right away.

“Sleep tight, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Steve blows a kiss, hoping that it would travel across oceans and lands via the phone, and reach your forehead.

“Night, Steve.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You are about to hang up when the static tortures his ear again.

You hang up.

Static isn’t a problem for most people, who, unlike Steve, don’t have super hearing and super memory.

Steve could think that the static is a minor interference, however, static that appears during phone calls are hardly inconsistent. And if he has learned a thing or two during the time that landlines are still fairly popular – 40s, by the way – is that static doesn’t go on and off, nor does it blur on different pronunciations since static should naturally have a pattern.

Since Stark phones issued by the friendly billionaire is certainly off the question, he suspects that someone might be tapping into your landline.

Something is off. His intuition is telling him. So, he called Tony and asked for a favor.

After some analysis that Steve couldn’t fully understand, Tony presses his index finger to his lips tightly, humming to himself.

“Anything?” Steve watched as Tony chugged down the fifth cup of coffee ten minutes ago, and now Tony has been unusually quiet.

Tony spins his chair around, looking thoughtful. He waves his fountain pen in midair, pointing at his screen in general, “This isn’t some sort of prank Bruce asked you to play, is it?”

“Prank? Tony, this is my wife we’re talking about.” Steve is about to lose his patience. He crosses his arm, dead serious, “What is … this? Am I being paranoid or …”

He wouldn’t dare to think about you in actual danger and he’s sitting cozily in Avengers Compound. He could’ve been risking your precious rescue time. Or warn you, somehow.

Even knowing that you have your special powers.

Your mutant powers.

Still, there are hundreds of ways for you to be defenseless.

A collar could suppress all your powers. A shot of the new dose of Mutant Serum could make you lose your X-gene once and for all. And all those terrible things that could happen to you.

Tony scratches his goatee, his expression is puzzled, to say the least, “this static that you provided, looks like the interface Bruce and I were cooking up for a Friday-upgrade.”

“English, please, Tony.”

Tony magnifies the example of static extracted from the recording that is automatically stored on Stark servers, and pulls out a random MRI brain scan from Steve’s health exam last year, “See what I mean?”

Steve watches the two waves on the screen closely, almost stuttering from what he is summarizing, “They look … similar.”

“Exactly.” Tony throws the MRI scan off the screen and points to the static, “This? This isn’t sound. This is human thinking. Hell, thinking, I’m not even sure it’s human. And it has a purpose. The reason you are hearing the ‘static’ – I’ll name that thing later, is that it serves as a relay, that patches you through its – thinking, whatever, and directs your call to Y/N.”

“It isn’t Friday?” Steve blurts out the only AI he could think of.

“If it is Friday, the Nobel committee is handing me the award right this moment.” Tony snorts, but he turns serious as soon as he notices Steve’s worrying look, “but with this fragment, I can locate Y/N,” and with a few taps on the keyboard, a global map appears in front of them.

Tony mutters to himself, “Can’t track the relay itself, but I can … ”

Another few keystrokes and a red dot blip.

“… in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Tony isn’t even sure about what the blipping dot shows, “Now this can’t be right-” Tony looks back at Steve, whose eyebrows are tying up like knots, “Where did you say she’s having this academic conference?”

“Leipzig, Germany.” Steve answers without a second thought, “Quantum 2023.”

Tony looks awe-struck.

“I’m sending a team to get her.” Steve stands up from his seat abruptly, heading to the doorway, but Tony’s words make him stop.

“Quantum 2023 is next week, Steve. And it isn’t held in Leipzig.”

“But that’s impossible,” Steve turns on his heels, glaring at Tony, “She told me that she came into contact with some Professor, who invited her to this conference because she was doing so well with her panel back in January.”

“And what’s that panel?”

“CPS Quantum Computer-”

“CPSQ was never held this year.” Tony shakes his head, “The conference was cancelled because a main member of the CPSQ committee passed away last December. What else has she told you?”

“I can’t tell you.” You dare not read his face. Your gaze lands on the marble counter that you and Steve agreed on two years ago, instead of him. You lied. And you know you lied. And the fact that you know that you can tell him nothing, makes you even more scared and frightened, as you are well aware the last things Steve would tolerate are betrayal and infidelity.

Your shared home, once a sanctuary for you and the love of your life, now withering and shaken, cold and gloomy. It no longer is a safe haven for you.

“Did anyone blackmail you with anything?” Steve asks calmly.

He’s prepared for the worst things to come.

He spent the whole night with Tony trying to figure out the so-called “academic conferences” you were supposed to be a part of, and there were eight of them during the last three years.

Some calls were too old to trace, but Tony has figured out it with the recent three conferences, you weren’t doing Keynotes or presenting your results to academia, but in the same spot in the Pacific doing God knows what.

It was undocumented waters. Tony could only gather so much info that the islands in the vicinity were bought by a mysterious wealthy man who paid through his Kaymen Island account.

And you were visiting it almost every four months. Like clockwork.

There were a few heat signatures on the island, but with no visible vehicle, neither ferry nor helicopter in sight, Tony would have to guess that you would need someone who can transport you from where you were to the island.

“No.” You have no excuse. No reasons. No idea what you should say.

But you weren’t blackmailed. You went there voluntarily.

His gaze feels heavy on your shoulders. From the corner of your eyes, you can see he’s looking at you intensely. Trying to figure out whether you are still lying to him.

“Are you cheating?”

The other possible explanation he has thought of. Frightening, if an answer of certainty comes out of your mouth, but it would explain your lies. Steve curls his hand into a fist, the veins on his hand popping briefly onto his skin.

The hands that caressed your hair and your jaw, cradling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. All the gentle moves. Treating you as a soft and delicate being. Now a hard fist on the table.

He didn’t touch you on your way back to your home. Nor did he accept your hugs and kisses at the airport.

He was very disappointed.

“No.” You answer, with your head low.

How could he doubt your relationship? How could he doubt your love for him? Waiting for him to return after every battle, taking care of his wounds, having-

How could he think all of those were lies too?

“Then what are you hiding?”

Steve maintains his best manners not to crush the table under his fist into bits and pieces. He wants you to answer. Something. Tell him why he has been kept in the dark.

Anything.

You open your mouth, but no word comes out.

“I can’t tell you.” You whisper, your resolve of keeping the secret faltering under his piercing gaze. But you can’t tell him.

There’s turmoil in your stomach, wreaking havoc in your guts. You want to throw up when thinking about the truth, but cannot say it. Not with your teeth and tongue. Not with pen and paper. You cannot. You physically cannot.

Nothing remorseful or any expression similar appears on your face, as Steve observes your reaction closely.

“Please, Steve. I promise I’ll tell you, but now is not the time. It was – is an important … deed, to do.”

Steve stands up from his chair slowly.

Not even looking at you anymore, he sounds emotionless. Cold.

“I thought for a moment you were kidnapped. Tortured. Lured into a trap.”

“Steve-”

“I was this close,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, “sending a full-blown rescue tactical team, to get you out.”

“Steve, please, just listen-”

“And are you talking, Y/N? Are you telling me what I need to hear?” He stands with his back to you, shaking with uncontrollable anger. “The truth, that’s all I want.”

“I can’t-”

“I can’t, either.” He interrupts you. For the entire time you can remember, from his cute and sweet attempts to ask you out on a date, from his chivalry of taking you out and asking you to be his wife, from the start of your happy marriage, he hasn’t once interrupted you when you were talking.

Tears roll down your eyes as you are tongue-tied, unable to utter a sound.

But Steve didn’t see those tears. If he did, he would have some idea that you are truly sorry for what you have done.

Steve stands with his back to you.

“I’ll save us the trouble and ask Tony to wipe our marriage from the system.”

Almost a shriek, your hands and feet are placed in the bottom of the ice pit, “You can’t-! I- You can’t!”

Your sobbing fills the room that was occupied by a dreadful silence. From your husband.

You would never imagine that a lie would go this far.

“Watch me.”

He can’t, not when you are-

Not when you are working on-

Not when you are trying to-

He can’t.

Realization dawns on you that even if you did tell him one thing that you can say to make him stay, he would consider it a lie.

Or an effort you make, trying to be bound to him.

That your trust is broken forever.

With that realization hitting you, he leaves the room.

Five years later, somewhere near Hawaii.

“This is really nice, what you got over here,” Tony comments in honesty, taking a step back to observe the rippling portal gate, “How long has it been put into use?”

Jean, the woman with flaming red hair and a scarf around her shoulders, has an impeccable smile on her face, leading the way as Natasha and Steve boarded the small vehicle up ahead, “Four. We used to transport to and from all over the world with the help of mutants who can create a portal. But as larger machines and construction materials were needed on Krakoa, the very land that you are standing on, our top scientists decided to benefit us all by inventing an instant portal device- Devices, should I say.”

As there are three large portals, each the size of a house, standing next to each other on the founding stones.

“Why are we even here?” Steve murmurs to Natasha, sounding confused, “I thought bargaining was Tony’s specialty…?”

“Smile, Rogers.” Natasha murmurs back, her eyes scanning the tropical island for any anomaly, “It’s a diplomatic event, not a business one.”

“Like a photo Op?”

“Like a peace offering.” Nat lowers her voice as she notices a mutant with bright green hair start the engine of their car, and take the position as their driver, “Krakoa now has the most efficient cancer eradication solution, and if we all behave and act like adults, the world would accept the possibility of the first mutant country. The UN is considering whether to add Krakoa as a new member country as we speak.”

“And if we blew it, WW3?”

“Worse. We will be hanged before we could say ‘assemble’.” Natasha sits straighter when Tony and Jean, the woman with red hair approaches the vehicle, and asks with a louder voice, “Would you mind telling us about the three-day trip planned on Krakoa?”

“Certainly.” With a look from Jean, the green-hair starts the car and drives away from the beach, heading towards a road that leads to the Krakoa city center. “We don’t have anything planned for this evening, so Lorna – our temporary driver - and I will show you around this place in general and escort you to your residence, where you will have dinner with our high council tonight. Tomorrow you’ll visit our university facilities and our most advanced laboratory, with our head scientist Hank. If you would like to visit any place else, feel free to tell us and we’ll try our best to satisfy your demands…”

Their residence is a small building near the city square. After a brief tour of the area, Jean tells them that normally they wouldn’t expect many visitors, so the building, though more well-equipped than most hotels, only resides the three of them, plus Jean for now.

Natasha strides across the room as Tony takes voice notes on his phone.

“… Their technology is at least two decades, if not three, more advanced than our top scientist.” With that as a summary, Tony stuffs his phone in his pocket.

And the room is filled with deafening silence.

“Do you think they cleared this place out when they are expecting us?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Tony and Natasha.

“They are afraid of us, as we are afraid of them.” Natasha says slowly. Not really answering Steve’s question, but hinting at the opinion that she has in mind. Her striding comes to a halt, “The looks we had on our way here? Not all friendly.”

“Too bad we don’t have a mutant as a middleman.” Tony clicks his tongue, moving around his jaw like he has a toothache.

“Tony-” Starts Natasha warningly.

They all know one mutant who helped around in the Avengers a few years ago. They know one mutant was exceptionally close to Steve. Hell, they were even there to witness the wedding of-

“I’m gonna go get some air.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a long exhale, before walking out of the room.

Of Steve and you.

You were not a powerful mutant. But you would be helpful, under a circumstance like this.

But Steve divorced you a few years back.

No one knows why. No one knows any information regarding the terrible divorce that made Steve leave you, leave the States for months.

Except that you were “missing” from time to time.

Natasha sits on the other armchair in the room, looking closely at Tony, and his greying beard. She chooses her words very carefully, “Was she…” Were you cheating back then? On Steve?

Tony shakes his head, “He never told me.”

“But is it possible that…”

“I wanted to believe the other way.” Tony nibbling at his bottom lip. In the end, he looks back at Natasha, the former Russian spy, “But the incident right after she left…”

A breach that erased all of your data, along with the data of three staff within the Avengers Compound, happened a few months after you left the Compound and disappeared. Not only the records of your information, but also calls and texts, almost every trace of your presence was erased completely from both Avengers Compound and the government system as well.

The three staff later identified as mutants. They fled from the compound on the same day of the incident.

No one knew where you were. No CCTV or surveillance camera has recorded your prescence ever since.

It's a shame to admit, but no one bothered to look either.

After all, there were no demands or ransoms asked. And they were too busy saving the world to care for such trivia.

Nothing else was missing.

A few printed photos that Steve kept in his office survived. Printed photos of you and him together. That he had kept in the bottom of his drawer ever since your divorce.

A week later, Krakoa was established, announcing itself as a country and providing shelters for all mutants.

Steve suspected that the two events might be connected somehow, but Krakoa banned anyone who isn’t a mutant from entering the territory and has been moving on the map ever since, refusing any prying eyes.

Steve wanders into the patch of green a few hundred inches away from the hotel, heading towards the beach.

He was painfully reminded of you.

Of your happy times together.

And the determination you showed when you refused to tell him about your affair.

Yes, your affair. Even though you denied it. Steve believes that you were lying to him. About your location, about your everything.

About your lover.

“… come on down little monkey!” A familiar voice ghosting his ears.

A little girl screams at the top of her lungs, before giggling and sitting at the far end of a branch on a tree a few meters away, “But it’s out of power-Hi, Uncle Hank!”

The girl has blonde curly hair, bouncing as she jumps on the thin branch that could snap at any second. Steve is about to sprint to rescue when he hears you.

Your familiar voice.

“Come on, Mommy will catch you.” You clap your hand, your back facing Steve, who is hiding in the bushes. Your arms stretched wide open, urging the little girl to come down.

Urging your daughter to come down from the tree? From a branch seven feet in the air? How are you even encouraging the little girl while she could break her neck is unfathomable to Steve. This is stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. A total -

“Come on, little monkey.” You clap your hand again, “It won’t be half as fun if I have to come up and get you.”

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know that the rocket boots will die so soon,” begins a man on your side, apologizing. A thin man with glasses in his 40s. “The battery is supposed to last five hours when I put them on- Oh.”

“Yes.” Steve hears your grumpiness, “Batteries. Hank. My expertise.”

Steve knows your expertise.

Although you studied quantum physics and its application, your interest in Physics derived from your ability to absorb power and power transformation. However, you were not particularly interested in fighting bad guys, that’s why you weren’t on missions as often as he thought you would.

Batteries. You would absorb electricity from it in an instant, even when you are not intentionally doing so.

“Exhibiting her abilities so soon?” Hank gasps in disbelief, raising his head to look at your daughter jumping on that twig, “Normally it would be until their teen years.”

You chuckle, “Missing out on the latest Bio lab, aren’t you? They just published a paper about how mutant parents would cause a higher rate of mutant children, and as a result, their abilities tend to show earlier. Even so,” you kick the sand under your feet, your voice less exciting, “Hers is showing earlier than I did.”

“You showed your ability when you were five, right?”

“Two months till five. But yeah, pretty early. She made the light in our room flick on and off, starting from a month ago.” You make one last attempt at your daughter, who is having her fun with those thick rocket boots on her feet, “Be a sweetheart and come down, alright? Mommy is getting tired and we haven’t had dinner yet.” You plead softly.

“Alright, Mommy.” The little girl answers.

As Steve watches from afar, worrying sick that your daughter would fall from the tree, she spreads her arms and falls from the tree. But like a piece of paper, descending slowly into your arms.

Absorbing gravity to cancel it out. One of your typical moves too. Steve thinks bitterly. No doubt the little girl is your daughter.

Hank offers something as you three walk further from Steve and the bush he’s hiding. Steve didn’t quite catch what he said, but he hears you reply with a certain “Yes”.

Your voice trails away, “But it’ll be fine. Won’t we, little monkey?”

The little girl giggles again.

“Do you want Daddy back, Mommy?” Your daughter Maddie asks abruptly as you take out the storybook before bed.

“I-” It would be a lie, to say that you do not want Steve. But years have gone by and you’ve built your life around Maddie and Krakoa. While you were desperate, wanting him back when you found yourself pregnant with Maddie, the night when he left your house, you knew that the only reason Steve would stick around, which is knowing that you are pregnant. Despite the responsibility he would be burdened with, he would also doubt whether he’s raising some other people’s child, since he already suspects that you were cheating, and your life would be miserable with his indifference.

You remember your panicking and fearing his leave.

Thinking that he can’t leave you, not when you are pregnant, not when you are working on a home and a shelter for your future children, trying to create a safe haven for you and your family.

But he left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You tuck a strand of her blonde curls behind her ears, gazing into her beautiful cerulean eyes, “I hurt your father really bad when I made the big mistake that we talked about. And he hurt me too. Not that he wanted to, but he left me alone in this world.” You kiss her short chubby hand, placing her hand on your cheek, “We won’t be happy ever again. Because I lied to him. And he will always remember it.”

“Oh.” Maddie sounds disappointed, scrunching her little face together, “But Daddy knows you are doing the right thing, right? Building Kra-Kra-Krakoa and our home?”

She tried a few times to pronounce the word “Krakoa”, making you smile.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You explain to her with more patience than you can ever imagine, “I have never seen your father ever since.”

“He should!” Your daughter curls herself up into a ball in your arms, nuzzling your soft pyjamas, “He should be proud of you. And what you did. You help build the island, Mommy. Daddy should know. And he will forget your lying.”

Kids. Always thinking everything in the world is so simple. A small grin creeps up your lips.

But in your heart, the bitterness swirls into a dark pit.

Everyone else understood. Other mutants who had a family, who told their partners they will be gone for a while, who lied to their partners that they were needed for a job.

Their partners did. Their partners understood the cruelty of separation and the pain that those mutants cannot utter a word about their whereabouts, or the details of the job. The worst you’ve heard of, aside from yourself as an example, was a huge fight between Lorna and her boyfriend, but in the end, she forgave him after a week, having enough trust for both of them to continue their relationship and got married two years ago.

But no. Not Steve.

Steve, who quickly jumped to the conclusion that there was no need to continue this marriage.

Steve, after leaving word of divorcing you, left. To some shit-eating place in South Africa, for two whole months.

Two months. Two months of prying eyes and prodding questions from the Avengers, which you knew they were being kind and helpful, but you couldn’t stay there. Not when it brought pain and scars to your chest every time you’d see some possession that belonged to him, and cry your eyes out, nearly losing Maddie as a result. Not when they were also suspecting that you cheated on Steve and scolding you lightly, telling you to “speak to Steve and ask for his forgiveness”.

They were his family. Not really yours.

Yours is here.

You kiss her forehead, tucking her in, “I sure hope so. Good night, sweetheart.”

Your smile fades as your mind drifts to the human delegation that is alleged to arrive today.

You asked to be kept out of the loop and out of the trails that the delegation is visiting. You even confirmed with Hank today that you would take these three days off from the lab.

You blocked all relevant information regarding those visitors.

You were raised by this mutant family, by mutants such as Jean and Hank and befriended them, and you had your heart broken in the human world. You don’t want anywhere near humans ever again.

“These are some state-of-the-art devices. I have to say, I’m very impressed.” Tony tilts his head to the side, reading the metrics recorded on the screen in the up-state Bio lab, “This is not quite my expertise though, the project you are operating here.”

Hank magnifies the part Tony is observing onto the huge screen behind them, “We are trying to incorporate human thoughts into robots, but in a wireless form. With a thought-” Hank, the man in glasses, places two stickers onto his head, and a robotic arm on the far end of the lab begins writing “Welcome”, stopping dead when it comes to “O”. Hank shrugs, not even bothered by the failure of the demonstration, “We have a talented specialist that helps with coding, but there are always some interferences with the transmission.”

Natasha clears her throat to gain their attention, “I’m also very impressed with the construction of the island as a whole. A construction this large should take … what, five years and a couple hundred workers?”

“Two and a half, to be precise.” Hank gestures for them to move forward onto the Physics lab, peeling the stickers off his temple, “About three dozen mutants involved. It would be sooner if it weren’t…” As if he suddenly was reminded of something, Hank let out a short “Ah”, and a brief pause, “if it weren’t some … unintentional held-up with one of our finest mutants.” His eyes land on sulking Steve, only for a few seconds.

Hank said it with a proud smile on his face. It didn’t take Steve forever to recognize the man from the beach last night, who gave your daughter, very irresponsibly, Steve might add, rocket boots.

Your daughter’s father is very irresponsible too. Not even showing up when your daughter is in danger. He thinks, clenching his jaw, praying for strength that he would punch that guy in the face if he ever meets him.

Natasha and Tony exchange a glance behind Hank, failing to notice Steve and his stern expressions.

“But it must have been a huge effort, even with three dozen, to keep them silent?” Natasha jokes light-heartedly, “There’s hardly any secret in the Avengers Compound without the full staff knowing it in three days.”

Hank nods politely, holding the door for them to come through, “Well, yes. But as you are well aware, a few of our best mutants are telepathic, meaning they could plant a gag order in our heads,” Hank taps his temple with his knuckle, “We couldn’t speak to anyone else about Krakoa for three years until it’s established. Our mind forbade us to speak of it because of the gag order.”

“Masochists, and they are proud of it,” Natasha whispers to Tony in a rush.

“It is troubling. Misunderstandings and arguments have aroused based on the gag order and its implementation.” Hank walks them through the long hallway from one building to another, “But we agreed it’s for the best at that moment.”

Tony makes a face that isn’t as obvious, but Steve and Natasha could tell that’s his disapproving face.

As Hank opens another door for them, the first thing they see is a little girl playing with her toy car on a tall chair. She slides the car down from a colorful track, and the track would deliver the toy car back to her hands.

“Maddison!” Hank rushes to her side, looking up and down to see whether the girl got hurt, “What are you doing here?”

“Mommy needs to pick up something.” Maddie points at you, cheering, “Look! Mommy Mommy!” She drops her toy car to the ground, and jumps off the tall chair, running to you and hugging your thigh.

Steve stops breathing. Seeing you, well and alive in front of him, with your daughter, in a rosy-pink dress that you bought while dating him a few years back.

You look … the same.

“Get behind me, Maddie.” You tug the little girl on her arm, to have her shielded fully behind your legs. An undetectable shakiness in your voice.

Maddie peeks from behind you. She doesn’t understand where this tension is coming from, but she understands one thing: “Mommy, is that Daddy?” She raises her head and asks.

You hate to lie to your daughter. But you are not going to let her be exposed to Natasha and Tony, and most importantly, Steve.

“Christ. It’s Y/N.” Tony mutters.

“Mommy, he looks exactly like the photo you showed me.” Maddie asks in confusion, pointing towards Steve, “He looks exactly like Daddy?”

“Maddison, not now.” It takes all your willpower not to push them all out of the lab at once, “Hank, would you mind?” You glance icily at Hank, urging him to solve the problem at hand.

“Yes, of course.” Hank starts to head the other way, “I’m sorry, but we’re behind schedule. If you would come with me-”

“No one is coming anywhere until we deal with this,” Tony announces, one hand already on his wristwatch, which you know contains a small plasma canon if he activates it.

“Is she…?” Steve knows the answer to his question before he asks. The hair and the eyes are similar to his, and the nose and lips resemble yours-

“Boys,” Natasha raises her voice, “Let’s be civil, shall we?”

“How old is she?” Steve feels a lump down his throat, “is she-”

“Civil?” You let out a dry laugh, the exact opposite of amused, “Tony Fucking Stark is ready to attack when he pulls out that wristwatch. And Natasha, long time no see, the same goes for your widow bites too. Yeah, I saw the glowing blue under your sleeves. You are trying to take my child away from me in a heartbeat and call yourself civil?”

“Tony, Nat.” Steve speaks.

Two words that bring the two of them away from their weapons.

You pick Maddie up from the ground, having your back to the Avengers, protecting your daughter from their grasp, “Let’s go, Maddie. I am apparently not welcomed here.”

“Y/N!” Steve calls to your back, “Y/N, please!”

Natasha is tempted to step forward and ask you to stay and talk this out, being blocked by Hank.

“I assume it is best that you stay right where you are,” Hank says politely, though his thin body has no intention of moving.

Maddie hugs your neck, laying her head on your shoulders. Her blue eyes focusing on Steve while you walk away.

Find my The Slumber Party Present Bingo Challenge here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers angst #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america angst #writing challenge #the slumber party writing challenge

729 notes · View notes

tenderwatches · 3 months ago

Text

summary: Viktor and Jayce get a little too close in the lab + a look at how viktor learnt the rules of surviving in Piltover as an Undercity transplant cw: this chapter contains ableist language (canon, self-referential) and descriptions of medical suturing

When Viktor first became aware that he’d die early, he’d been angry.

It hadn’t been pretty. He’d yelled at his mother, at his father, had thrown things—his cane, books, half-assembled inventions. He’d cried and screamed until he’d worked himself up so badly that his father had needed to sprint to a breathing station with Viktor on his back in hopes that the cleaner air would dampen his desperate wheezing.

After that, he’d been listless for days, lying in bed, trying to conjure up the motivation to work for anything when his time would be so short, so inconsequential.

And then he remembered Rio.

The waverider was a huge creature he visited where a strange man in a strange place beyond the ravine kept her. She was like a salamander glistening in shades of blush and blossom, with big eyes full of curiosity and a tongue that craved sweet nectar. Such a simple creature, but he still thought of her, even years after he’d last seen her. He still thought of her and of the man who was so determined to keep her alive that he had not cared if she lived.

He thought of infants, cold in their cradles, their lives snuffed out, breaths robbed by the Gray. He thought of children wasting away, disfigured by the slicks of toxic chemicals oozing from chemtech seams deep in crevasses, and how he, at least, knew sunlight.

Since then, Viktor has done his best to ensure that every moment of his short life contributes to something greater than himself. The people whose lives he’s saved in the Undercity will go on to have families; they’ll impart their knowledge upon others who will do the same, who will do the same, who will do the same.

Life, like an object in motion, stays in motion.

Energy can neither be created nor destroyed—it can only be transformed.

Viktor hopes that after his death, the energy that was once heat in his body will permeate into the ether, atoms ricocheting into the endless universe.

Until then, he’s resolved to stay in motion.

This determination presses his lips into a thin line of concentration as he makes minute adjustments to the dials on the microscope before him. Crystalline structures resolve into sharp focus, forming wild geometries that defy every principle of natural formation. Unlike genuine hex crystals with their orderly lattices, the synthetics’ birefringent patterns are irregular, and the arcane’s response is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

Viktor pauses to scribble a few words alongside one of Jayce’s diagrams, adding to the existing maze of their notations. They’ve managed to offset interference caused by the unexpected new compounds identified in their lab tests, but there is still residual output to deal with. He takes this moment to rest his forehead in his hand, momentarily closing his eyes. The urge to surrender to sleep swells slowly, like a building tidal wave, and he forces his eyes open before it can break over him.

One of Jayce’s hexscopes (an adaptation of one of his early designs) sits open on the table, tracking arcane energy as it moves through the crystal matrix. He stares hard at the pen attached to the end of its thin metal arm, scratching softly on continuously rolling paper as it records the waveforms. The resulting bonds are irregular with equally unpredictable chemical reactions—

Chemical reactions! Viktor straightens up so quickly that the momentum almost carries him over backwards. Head reeling, he stumbles to steady himself against the desk, pulling the diagrams in for a better look before jamming the microscope against his eye again, squinting hard at what he sees under the lens. These erratic bonds must be the cause of the arcane’s volatile reactions and inconsistencies. They’re brittle instead of strong, releasing energy in unexpected spurts. They’re illogical, full of contradictions. Only chemtech can force such incompatible combinations to hold.

Simultaneous thoughts fire off in all directions—what this means for the outputs they’re attempting to handle (harness? Eliminate? Neutralise?), the tenuous nature of these bonds, the undersized reactions sustained by the crystals—and the nagging feeling he’s seen this all somewhere before. Somewhere in Zaun, near the seams, where, in his youth, anger at the injustice of his life had gotten the better of him. Somewhere he'd nearly gotten buried in collapsing pipes, flashing fuchsia and green in the darkness of the sump.

He drops away from the microscope and back into his chair. Perhaps he should consider bringing some of this work back to the lab Heimerdinger had set aside for him. It’s closer to his Academy-issued apartment than Jayce’s lab is, and with the constant travel across the city, he often finds himself exhausted before he’s even really gotten started. Today, just like many other days, his leg aches as if he’s been standing for the entire morning, though it’s only been a couple of hours since he arrived. The considerations of the crystals, his small inconveniences, the way they all still stagger him, make the walls begin to feel oppressive. The clean lines and polished brass are a far cry from the corrugated metal and improvisation he was used to in the Undercity, and yet—he’s now facing the same kind of problem. These synthetic crystals with their arcane violations bear toxicity here, whilst below, poison is a by-product of unholy greed.

In both places, they stand to lose so much, and yet the eyes of the elite are perpetually closed.

Viktor’s teeth grind as he grips the edge of the workbench to pull himself up again, ignoring how his muscles protest. He begins recalibrating the containment field to account for an array of chemical reactions, instead of only the ones they’d adjusted for earlier in the week. If he can just isolate the unstable compounds, maybe apply some of the principles he’d developed during his academy years, they can counteract or capture the arcane fluctuations.

He’s so deep in focus that he almost jumps when Jayce walks in, chatting before he’s even crossed the threshold. “I thought you might want to see the latest stability readings from—” He breaks off, and Viktor knows his eyes are fixed on the modified containment field setup. “What are you doing?”

“Testing a theory.” Viktor doesn’t look up from the controls. The crystal’s glow intensifies, casting flickering shadows across his hands. “The synthetic crystals are made with chemtech. The instability isn’t a flaw—it’s a signature.”

“Testing a wh—wait, chemtech?” Jayce’s footsteps quicken across the floor. He unceremoniously drops his papers onto the desk, knocking the pen of the hexscope out of alignment. It continues to dutifully work through arching waves, up and down. “Hold on, you can’t just—we don’t even have protocols for working with—”

“We don’t have time for protocols,” he hisses, sharper than he intends. He forces patience into his voice. “It’s like Councillor Medarda told you—every day, Clan Ferros grows more restless—”

“Viktor, wait—”

The crystal flares with brilliant lances of blue-white light, shattering into shards that streak across the lab, acid green and electric purple tails in their wake. Viktor recoils from it and finds himself crashing first into the chair behind him, then the ground.

His breath leaves his lungs without being replaced by another—it’s a second too long before he can gasp again, sucking in air that smells of Jayce’s aftershave. Sandalwood mingles with the smell of sulphur and iron. Stars shrink and grow in his eyes.

“Are you—” When Jayce speaks, Viktor slowly becomes aware that he’s caged by a pair of smooth, sturdy forearms. His former partner is propped above him, but not so much that their bodies aren’t pressed flush together. Heat grows between them. Jayce’s chest heaves as his own gives, and for a moment, Viktor can’t speak.

A gentle furrow forms between Jayce's brows as he quickly pushes himself up onto one palm, the other coming up to cup Viktor's cheek. The motion is gentle and unthinking, fraught with the effortless care these kinds of gestures bore in their past. His eyes search Viktor's face with worried intensity, thumb brushing along the angular line of his cheekbone and coming away bright red and wet. “Hey, V—” he soothes, voice soft with an intimacy that makes Viktor's chest tight. “V-Viktor—hey.” The feeling dissipates.

Viktor pushes Jayce’s touch away and tries to sit up. He slides his hand back to support himself as he does, successfully forcing Jayce back on to his heels. Viktor finds the resulting breadth of air between them too cool on his skin, and wheezing feels like a flurry of knives in his chest. “I’m fine, Jayce,” he dismisses, muffling an accompanying cough in the crook of his elbow. He winces at the taste of copper in the back of his throat, hot embarrassment coursing through him. He can’t meet Jayce’s eyes; they are too bright with concern, honest anxiety spilling forth, unguarded. “You did not have to—” But both the words and his irritation die in his throat as dark droplets begin to dot the tiles at Jayce’s feet. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh.” Jayce twists slightly to look over his shoulder, but immediately relaxes his posture when the movement elicits a wince. “It’s nothing. Besides, you are, too,” he points out, vaguely indicating Viktor’s cheek.

“A scratch.” Viktor feels nauseous. Not only did Jayce need to protect him like a helpless child, but he’d gotten himself hurt in the process. He leans forward, breath escaping him in a frustrated huff. “You’re bleeding on the floor. Let me see.”

“Viktor, really, it’s—”

“Take off your shirt.”

Jayce’s amber eyes turn into burning discs, his dark brows lost in his messy hair. Viktor feels the back of his neck flush with heat. “Your back, Jayce. Let me see,” he repeats, mortification sharpening the edges of his demand.

Viktor tries to ignore the inherent eroticism of demanding that Jayce turn around and strip—only to immediately fail when Jayce simply does it. By the time the two of them settle again (the lab’s robust first aid kit to one side of Viktor, Jayce sitting cross-legged in front), Viktor is dizzy. He wishes he could say it’s purely due to the sheer amount of bronze skin on display, but the headache blooming up from the base of his skull tells him otherwise. He concentrates on applying a local anaesthetic to the scattering of gashes across Jayce’s broad shoulders, then dabbing each with an antiseptic. “Well, the good news is you’ll live,” he jests, managing to thread a thin, curved surgical needle. His movements are slow but steady, and when he leans in closer to begin his work, the room rocks by only a small margin.

“Thanks, doc, what a relief.” Jayce turns his laugh into a soft snort, presumably so as to not disrupt Viktor’s stitching. Though he hasn’t needed to exercise this skill in months, the repetitive motions return to him with ease. They sit in stillness a while longer before Jayce hesitantly raises the question, “What… were you saying about chemtech?”

In spite of himself, Viktor smiles. What he wouldn’t give for the world to have the kind of insatiable curiosity that Jayce Talis has.

He walks his former partner through the process of his discovery, naming the impossibilities, the idiosyncrasies, and the ways in which he suspects the arcane clashes with the chemical compounds. Jayce is just as intrigued as Viktor, and Viktor can’t help but think that, had Jayce been in his position, they might have ended up in this same situation despite the other man’s usual adherence to safety precautions. Words of science, math, and discovery pass between them with the easiness of butterflies on a breeze, punctuated by an occasional excited exclamation from Jayce.

His progress on Jayce’s back is clean and methodical—habits formed from years of treating injuries in the Undercity, where wounds proved you couldn't stay out of trouble and seeking proper care marked dependency. He uses a pair of forceps to guide the needle through each wound, stopping only to tie off each suture as he moves from one cut to the next.

“When did you learn to do this?” Jayce has never been good at silences.

“Long ago.” Viktor keeps his eyes fixed on his work, feeling perverse as he notices the warmth radiating from Jayce’s skin, even through the sterile gloves he’s donned. “I have always fixed things. Mending clothes or skin, it makes little difference to me.”

His hands have moved now, lower down, from the broad muscle of the trapezius. He rests his fingers there for a second too long, and the name of the muscle floats through his mind, 'latissimus dorsi', as if the words are a subconscious effort to pull him from other thoughts.

“I had to learn some of this too, actually. In the forge—hot metal doesn't always go where you want it to,” Jayce offers, and Viktor’s hands still, his thoughts returning to the present.

The differences in their circumstances are not lost on him, but he recognises Jayce’s attempt to… relate to him. “I suppose we both learnt through trial and error,” he acknowledges.

“Not that—not that it’s, uh, the same.”

Viktor hears the uncertainty in Jayce’s hurried addition, as if he’s waiting for a sign from Viktor to indicate he’s irritated that Jayce has drawn the comparison. “You can relax, Jayce.”

Viktor pulls the gloves from his hands and sits back to survey his handiwork. He’s stitched four lacerations in total, covering each with neat squares of gauze taped down over Jayce’s tanned skin. The damage, thankfully, wasn’t worse than any of the other countless accidents they’ve had in the lab, but Viktor still feels that curl of shame at being impatient enough to have caused this one.

Silence expands to fill the gulf between their differences—Viktor’s skills hard-won through necessity, Jayce’s forged with the security of his family and promises of a bright future. And yet, an uncanny symmetry has brought them to this point, just as it had years ago; one extraordinary moment in which their paths converged.

“Why would you risk this?”

Back then, he’d told Jayce that he hadn’t aspired to be an assistant for the rest of his life—and that was true. But beyond that, he’d known he was running out of options.

Every action, every movement, all the things he’s ever contributed, has an impact, however imperceptible in the long line of the universe. But it’s not enough for him to simply have been; he wants to be remembered.

Though energy can neither be created nor destroyed, human legacies are far more fragile things.

𐡸.:𐫱:.𐡷

Summertime, 978 AN - fifteen years ago

Nothing tasted as bitter as cruel irony, Viktor thought, as he made his way up what had to be the seventh staircase between him and the first stage on which he’d have to parade himself like a show dog. Progress Day in Piltover arrived with fanfare, as always, and the usual thrum of city life had become more of a coursing roar.

From Glasswell Street to Sidereal Avenue and Incognia Plaza, crowds gathered around vendor carts and at the colourful merchant tents, blissfully caught up in the spirit of innovation and promise.

Not one seemed to remember that, centuries ago, this day had not been marked by celebration but by terror and half a city being swallowed by the sea.

In the four years since his arrival at the University of Piltover, Viktor had marked each Progress Day by lighting a candle in remembrance of those Zaun had lost in the disaster. Earthquakes, resulting from the blasts detonated to clear the way for the Sun Gates, had thrashed the streets of the Undercity, sacrificing thousands of lives to the ocean—all in the name of progress.

Now, here he was, prepared to submit himself to the judgement of those who had so greatly benefitted from the influx of trade the Sun Gates had ushered in. He had only two destinations in mind, but the journey to the merchant families’ tents was already enough to send pain lancing up his leg. Maybe it was his penance walking over those watery graves to attend their school, study their sciences, and pretend like he was one of them.

He felt that he was doing a rather shoddy job of it, by the way the artificers peered at him with narrowed eyes that flicked between him and his papers. This overt display of suspicion made him curse Professor Heimerdinger for forcing him into this lavish ordeal. Auditioning had never been in Viktor’s plans—he knew better than to fool himself into thinking he could join the ranks of Piltover’s apprenta.

Rule number one: They will not make space for you.

He could build bridges upon bridges over the work his classmates created, but the city’s artificers, ruled by the wealthiest of the merchant class, would sooner retrofit their workshops with last year’s scrap metal than take on a cripple from the Undercity, even when the dean of the academy and head of the council himself had singled him out.

Graduation loomed ever closer, and despite his time at the academy, the future felt uncertain. Piltover’s clean air and bright sunlight had undoubtedly improved his health (incredible what being able to breathe did for a person), and the prospect of returning to the Undercity daunted him. He needed an apprenticeship probably more than anyone else stood waiting in the chamber, and yet, he was certain that he was the least likely to receive one, no matter how sound his work was.

“Name?” One of the artificers asked as she handed back the paper that clearly bore his name. He tightened his grip on his invention in an effort to hold his tongue.

“Viktor.”

“Full name?”

“It’s… just Viktor.”

She treated him with the kind of disdain that only someone with a meagre amount of power could manage. He hated her for it, and then hated that he did. It was too petty to warrant such a response from him, but his entire body was sore now. He’d pushed himself through the uneven cobblestone streets faster than he should have dared. He’d even risen with the sun, well before he’d needed to. He wanted to give them as few reasons to dismiss him as he could manage, thinking his dedication to punctuality might also communicate his regard for their time and win some small amount of their favour.

From the placid way the artificers looked at him, he could see that was not the case.

Of course, he’d known this and had even explained such to Heimerdinger when the dean had urged him to take on the auditions. How difficult it would be for him to simply make the physical journey in a process that was designed to showcase resilience and determination; how his accent would immediately mark him as ‘other’, and how the inventions he was proudest of were things that would not sparkle and flash the way Piltover expected. His progress was for the Undercity, and thus, it might as well have been invisible.

Already, their attention drifted, and other hopefuls surrounding the tent seemed to bear down on him. He grimaced as he set up his contraption of pipes and dials that looked out of place within the sleek lines of the tent. It wasn’t until his machine began hissing shrilly and emitting puffs of Gray that the artificers paid him any mind. One of them started shrieking, making it very difficult to explain that he’d also released an aerosolised alkali to neutralise the toxicity—the whole point of the showy demonstration.

Rule number two: their grace is precarious.

Whilst he’d never been foolish enough to think that the artificers might like what he brought to the auditions, he’d not been expecting their fury. With stomach-piercing fear, he realised that they, in all their self-aggrandising glory, seemed to think that his audition was an assassination attempt of the mercantile family. The absurdity nearly made him long for simpler days, when people merely saw his mistakes as proof of unworthiness, and his greatest lament was how they judged his errors more harshly than his peers' mere learning experiences.

He’d packed his machine in a hurry and practically fled the tent, almost tripping himself like he’d not done since he was a child in his haste to slip into the crowd.

Rule number three: They will lie to you.

By the time the day ended, he’d attended only one more audition, though he was hardly sure that it counted. He hadn’t spent very much time at the Holloran tent, but the experience still clung to him like a stubborn mood, even as he sat in the safety of his favourite haunt in Piltover. The mechanical oasis overlooked the promenade level of the Undercity, waters running through the ravine below, where he’d played as a child. He’d always appreciated the serenity of this place, finding even in his youth that its quiet tranquillity suited him.

“Viktor, my boy,” called a reedy voice from behind him, and he lifted a hand off his cane in greeting without turning to look at Professor Heimerdinger. “How did your ventures go today?”

“I don’t believe it really ‘went,’” he responded wryly, easing himself into a seated position in the arch of the open-air window, legs relaxing over the ledge. “Can you say it ‘went’ if one family thought I was attempting a murder, and the other refused me at the door?” Heimerdinger’s poro scurried over his lap and around his back, which he found both ridiculous and… cute. It made his bitter remark come out with a slightly amused lilt, even if there wasn’t much to find amusing in being turned away, only to almost be knocked over by the next hopeful student when the Holloran family admitted them mere moments after.

The professor gave a soft hum, a gloved hand at his chin in the perfect pose of refined thought. “What will you do?”

Viktor rolled his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “I still have some time. I will need to finish the year, of course, and then… Well, then, probably the, ah, how do they say? ‘Crunch time’? Comes?”

Heimerdinger’s moustache twitched in a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, even though Viktor thought that his use of the colloquialism had been rather apt. When the professor spoke next, his words were soft and cautious, as if he thought that Viktor might snap. “Why don’t you consider being my assistant, lad? You could stay on at the academy, and though I’m sure you’d rather be doing something more ambitious, you’d have time to pursue your own projects.”

Silence hung in the air between them for a moment. Viktor tried to read the expression in Heimerdinger’s eyes but only saw a soft sorrow there. “I appreciate your offer, Professor,” he started, the words tasting of defeat even before he’d spoken of any decision.

Heimerdinger seemed to sense Viktor’s aversion and interjected before he could continue. “So you’re aware, Viktor, this isn’t mere charity.” The professor turned inwards, eyes downcast, a slight droop to his large ears. “I was… perhaps hasty,” he admitted, still looking at the cement floor, “in urging you to audition.”

Viktor had never known Professor Heimerdinger to be prideful, but the dean’s guilty posture struck him, even so. His kindness still burnt; Viktor’s stubborn independence made him reactive to the idea of being handed anything out of pity, particularly given the assumptions of other students who already believed his mere presence was an excess of anything he had any right to. “Thank you, Professor.” He found that he meant it. Heimerdinger had always believed in his potential, even when doing so set him at odds with the rest of the faculty. “Perhaps… give me some time to think it over,” he relented, looking back out at the city below. The streets still bustled with the activity of Progress Day, even as the sun began to cast warm, dusky shadows amidst the revelry.

“Take the time you need, my boy. The offer stands.” With that, the professor retreated at a quick trot, his ever-present poro shuffling along behind him. Viktor sat in the wake of their departure, contemplating the glint of mechanical contraptions dotting the landscape (so far as he could tell, they were only constructed as decor for the day, which was an awful waste, considering what you could buy in the Undercity after selling parts of just one). Perhaps it had been a blessing that he’d not managed a successful audition. Being the assistant to the academy's dean would mean he would have access to lab spaces and materials that most others would not, including unusual things that would need to be assessed for danger.

That could be interesting.

𓊈 first chapter | previous chapter | next chapter on AO3 𓊉

an: this chapter was SO fun to write - definitely one of the ones we were most looking forward to when we were posting on AO3!! i'm so bad at these tumblr updates im going to try to get a bunch of them scheduled at once and see what happens haha anyways tho we just posted chapter 23 yesterday on AO3! 🙌🏽 fic come so far 😭

30 notes · View notes

aldryrththerainbowheart · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 2: When Red Hood Comes Knocking

Gotham City is no stranger to chaos. But the recent wave of violence sweeping through the city feels different, colder, and more unsettling. It wasn't the usual chaos; this was…different. Instead of the usual flamboyant theatrics of rogue villains, Gotham is witnessing a series of precise, calculated attacks that are leaving both the criminal underworld and innocent civilians reeling. Surgical strikes, executed with cold efficiency. A gun smuggling ring ripped apart at the docks, leaving behind neatly stacked crates of useless components instead of weapons. A drug lab in the Narrows, its entire digital infrastructure wiped clean, production crippled.

However, the precision stops there. A delivery driver caught in the crossfire at the docks, a low-level dealer left bleeding in an alley near the lab. The GCPD, stretched thin and already battling a crippling morale deficit, is struggling to maintain order, let alone unravel the mystery behind these escalating assaults.

"It's like watching a surgeon with a tremor," commented Detective Renee Montoya during her interview at GNN, frustration etched on her face. "They know where to cut and what to target, but their execution is… sloppy.” The news report was unwelcome but necessary background for our investigation.

At moments like these, Batman’s absence is felt more keenly than ever.

Back at the Belfry, the clock tower felt smaller, more claustrophobic than usual.

The Gotham Knights were stretched thin. Dick, Barbara, Tim, and Jason – trying to contain the spreading tendrils of this new kind of chaos. The city's wireless network was stuttering, plagued by glitches and outages, as if some unseen force was playing puppeteer with its digital arteries. Tim and Babs were running diagnostics day and night, but they were chasing ghosts. The disruptions were too sophisticated, too fleeting.

Not even the Watch knows what's going on. Some whisper of a new player entering the game, a shadowy organization with a vendetta against Gotham's underworld. Others suspect a rogue vigilante, someone taking the law into their own hands with a disregard for collateral damage. The lack of a clear motive and the seemingly random selection of targets only fuels the paranoia.

"They're hitting crime where it hurts, but they're leaving bodies in their wake," Dick said, pacing a tight circle in the tower’s central area. "This isn't justice, it's…execution."

Barbara, tethered to her screens, her face illuminated by the swirling data stream and surveillance feeds, sighed. "The intel they're acting on is flawless. They know the exact location of every drug den, every arms dealer, the security protocols, the patrol patterns, everything. Someone's feeding them information from the inside."

Tim, hunched over the Batcomputer, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration, muttered, "The network interference is…complex. Almost elegant, in a way. It's bypassing firewalls that should be impenetrable. It's like watching a master craftsman at work.”

"Elegant? People are getting hurt, Tim!" Jason snapped, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. The damn helmet was doing a number on it, and the weight of the situation was pressing down on him. The anger simmered just below the surface, a volatile cocktail of frustration and the ever-present guilt.

Dick stopped pacing, his gaze locking onto Json’s, a flicker of something he couldn’t quite decipher in his usually cheerful blue eyes. "This… this feels familiar, Jason. The ruthlessness, the focus. It reminds me of…your early days."

The words hit Jason like a physical blow. His jaw tightened. "Don't you dare compare me to this, Dick. I learned my lesson. I paid the price. I don't leave innocent people in the dirt. And I sure as hell don't orchestrate executions." The words came out sharper than intended, laced with a defensiveness he couldn't quite control.

Dick visibly winced, the implication of his words stinging him as much as they stung Jason. He held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "I didn't mean... I just…" He trailed off, unable to articulate the unspoken past that haunted all of them. The air crackled with unspoken accusations and old sins. Dick hadn't accused Jason outright, but the shadow of his past hung heavy in the air. They were all haunted by ghosts, but Jason’s seemed to have a louder voice than the others.

Thankfully, Tim's voice cut through the tension. "Guys, I think I've got something!” he announced. He spun around in his chair, its wheels squeaking in protest. His eyes were wide with a mixture of excitement and concern. “I've traced some of the network disruptions back to a central source." He leaned forward. "Whoever's doing this is a genius. They're using a layered encryption I've never seen before. I'm losing the trace, though. We need to move, and fast." His voice dropped, brimming with urgency. "This is our only chance.”

"Alright," Dick said, his voice regaining its authority. "Who's going?"

Before he could even finish the question, Jason was already at his gear locker, pulling on my helmet. "I'm on it."

Jason didn’t wait for arguments. He just needed to get out of there, to chase down this lead, to prove to himself that whatever was happening, he wasn't part of it. This was a constant weight on his heart, and he was desperate to shed it.

Jason hit the streets, the roar of his motorcycle a welcome distraction from the voices in his head. Leather creaked against his skin as I leaned into the turns, the wind whipping past his face. He followed the digital breadcrumbs Tim had provided, each trace a faint glimmer in the murky depths of the dark web. The GPS glowed, guiding him through the labyrinthine streets. The encrypted comms used by the perpetrators, the data dumps of intercepted police frequencies – they all funneled back to one place, and Jason could only guess what or who could bring city to its knees in such a short time.

These weren't your garden-variety cyber attacks. This was something… different. Gotham had always been a city of uncertainty and chaos, where fists and bullets spoke louder than lines of code. But now, the very fabric of the city was being unwound, thread by digital thread. Power grids flickered erratically, communication lines were choked with encrypted gibberish, and even the security systems at Arkham Asylum had reportedly experienced a brief, terrifying hiccup.

He tightened his grip on the handlebars, the cold metal a familiar comfort against the rising tide of anger within him.

The GPS beeped, signaling a turn. He leaned into the curve, the bike responding with a satisfying growl. The closer he got to the signal's origin, the more agitated the city seemed to become.

He slammed on the brakes as a phalanx of GCPD cruisers blocked his path near the Gotham Docks. Blue and red lights pulsed, painting the rain in harsh, alternating hues. Officers, clad in riot gear, swarmed the area, their radios crackling with static and panicked voices.

"Hold it right there! Bike off, hands where we can see them!" a burly officer barked, his voice amplified through a megaphone.

Jason let out a low growl. This wasn't good. He considered blasting past them, but that would only escalate things. He powered down the bike, slowly raising his hands.

"Just passing through, Officer," he said, his voice modulator making him sound neutral, almost robotic. "What's the commotion?"

"Don't play dumb with us, vigilante," another officer shouted, leveling his weapon. "We know you're out here. And we're arresting anyone causing trouble tonight."

"Trouble? I'm fighting it," Jason retorted, his hand twitching towards his holster. He knew how this dance went. The GCPD, especially on edge like this, saw him as just another criminal.

Before the situation could escalate, a sleek, black sedan pulled up beside the cruisers. A man in a tailored suit, his face obscured by the shadows of the car, rolled down the window. It was Sal Maroni, one of Gotham's oldest and most ruthless crime lords.

"Officers," Maroni's gravelly voice cut through the night. "What seems to be the problem?"

The lead officer hesitated, clearly uncomfortable interacting with Maroni, but he still answered. "We're apprehending a vigilante, sir. Possible suspect in the recent… disturbances."

Maroni chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down Jason's spine. "Disturbances? Hardly. Seems like someone's finally leveling the playing field. Let him go, Officer. He's under my protection."

Jason raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. His protection? What was Maroni playing at?

The officer, clearly not wanting to cross Maroni, reluctantly nodded. "Alright, sir. But keep him in line."

The cruisers parted, and Jason found himself face-to-face with Maroni's driver.

"Get in," the driver instructed tersely. "The Boss wants a word."

Jason hesitated. Entanglement with Maroni was the last thing he needed. But curiosity, and the unspoken threat hanging in the air, won out. He holstered his weapon, leaving the Batcycle behind, and climbed into the back of the sedan.

As the car pulled away, Jason could hear the officers grumbling behind them. The city, already teetering on the edge, was now a three-way power struggle: the GCPD trying to maintain order, Maroni vying for control of the digital chaos, and him… trying to stop it all. And maybe, just maybe, get a piece of the pie for himself.

"So, Maroni," Jason said, his voice still modulated. "What exactly do you want with me?"

Maroni's silhouette remained unreadable. "The city's bleeding, Red Hood. Bleeding data. And you seem to know where the tourniquet is. Whoever's doing this has power, technology… assets that could be very valuable. I want them. And I believe you can help me find them."

Jason leaned back, a grim smile forming behind his helmet. "What makes you think I'd help you?"

"Because," Maroni said, his voice laced with menace, "Gotham's a city of choices. And you can choose to work with me… or against me. But trust me, Red Hood, you don't want to choose against me."

The car sped deeper into the heart of Gotham, leaving the rain and the flashing lights behind. Jason knew he was walking a very dangerous line. But sometimes, the only way to fight fire was with fire. And in Gotham, fire was Maroni's specialty. The car stopped at the location of Jason’s bike.

“Remember what I said, Hood,” was Maroni’s last words before the car sped away.

Jason's jaw clenched. Maroni wasn’t alone. This wasn't just a turf war; it was a scramble for control of the information, the power, that this digital chaos represented. Every villain with a modicum of tech savvy was hunting for the source.

As he revved his bike once again, he spotted a trio of goons, patched with the tell-tale signs of Freaks gang colors, lurking in an alleyway. They measured each other from a distance, the tension palpable in the air, but to Jason’s surprise, they just walked away. It seems that both of them have bigger fish to fry.

He sped off, leaving the goons in his dust. A couple blocks away, Red Hood roared past a GCPD cruiser, its siren a mournful wail in the distance. The cops were scrambling, their communication radios spitting static and fractured orders. His comm caught snippets: "…power outage Sector C…," "…firewall breach at Wayne Enterprises…," "…attempted data theft from Gotham General…"

This was getting messy. He has to find the source sooner rather than later.

After several minutes of speeding through Gotham, Jason finally found the source: a small, unassuming IT shop tucked away on the edge of Bristol. Neon signs flickered in the window, advertising "Data Recovery" and "Custom PC Builds." He cut the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the pounding in his ears. Jason peers through the shop windows for any sign of movement. A small flicker of light flashes in the back.

Without hesitation, he kicked open the door.

#gotham knights #gotham knights fanfic #gotham knights jason todd #gk jason todd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x reader #hacker!reader #dc #jason just loooves kicking door open for no reason

34 notes · View notes