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bokettochild · 5 months ago

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Ketto's Whumptober 2024 Prompt Master List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK - Kit & Violet (r by localicecreambiter)

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES - Warriors (anon)

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE - Legend & Sky (requested by notadragon)

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS - Legend &/or Warriors (anon)

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED - Legend (requested by tiredkiwilol)

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES - Time (FD) & Wind (requested by chuchujellybean)

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION - Hyrule (requested by starwolfie)

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD - Legend (also tiredkiwilol)

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE - Four (requested by mermain123)

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION - Wild

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY - Wild & Four

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA - Wind (requested by mermain123)

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS - Wild (requested by zips-quips)

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO - Wind (theoneeyedgoldenwolf)

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE - Sky (requested by icy-hot-0111)

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL - Twilight (r by toyouhellohowareyou)

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST - Warriors (requested by aeghina)

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR - Wind & Four (requested by tritailed-shenanigans)

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES - Hyrule (requested by mermain123)

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE - Time (requested by boingobeepis)

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING - Wild (requested by abbycrashing)

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY - Twilight & Warriors (mermain123 again :3)

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES - Legend (requested by mermain123)

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS - Twilight has a Violet Incident (requested by zips-quips)

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY - Wind & Legend & Warriors (because I want to!)

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Feel free to send in requests for this year! Any relationships (barring romantic) are optional, and you can give as much or as little detail for what you'd like to see as you like! And if the prompt you wanted is already claimed, no worries! I AM capable of whumping multiple boys at once >:)

(NOTE: I can see your requests best in the post replies, asks WILL most likely get lost in the slew of my askbox!!!!!)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap - Four and Wind (tritailed-shenanigans)

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages - Wild (requested by zips-quips)

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober #linked universe #linkeduniverse #ketto writes

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 6 months ago

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1967 Toyota 2000GT

When James Bond star Daniel Craig was asked what his favourite Bond car was, the answer was a bit surprising as it was from a film made many years before his time as 007. It was the Toyota 2000GT that starred in the 1967 film 'You Only Live Twice'. Its the one where Sean Connery is disguised as a Japanese citizen despite being about a 18" inches taller than anyone else...

Apparently James Bond was a very big deal in Japan and Toyota were very keen to allow the makers to use one of their cars and the 2000GT was chosen and 2 coupes were supplied.

However the first problem was that Sean Connery was simply too tall so Toyota went off and made two convertibles which also made filming inside the tight car a touch easier. they were the only two roadsters ever made.

Next problem was also slightly daft: the actress who played Bond's lady friend, Akiko ‘Aki’ Wakabayashi, couldn't actually drive so in the end Toyota had to supply a couple of their own drivers to operate pedals and gears.

Toyota and Sony kitted the car out with typical futuristic Bond gadgets such as CCTV, a VCR, cameras behind the front number plate, two-way radios, voice-controlled tape recorder and an audio system.

I think three of the four cars used still exist; one was reputedly crashed and written off though there were rumours that it had been sold on anyway.

#Toyota 2000GT #toyota #2000gt #car #cars #james bond #Bond #sean connery #Akiko ‘Aki’ Wakabayashi

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raisindave · 7 months ago

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[Chapter 68] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content warning: Descriptions of violence.

From a patchwork collection of various CCTV angles, you watched your four comrades make their way past the barricade. Context was given to a persistent rhythmic murmur as, to your shock, a crowd of protesters had gathered at the police's line. Painted signs decried the government's inaction in the weeks-long hostage crisis, gnashing teeth chanting for retribution for one of the dead hostages. Rows on rows of gathered civilians formed an uproar in protest of your presence, and a handful of signs even denounce the SAS' presence altogether. It's easy to lose said soldiers in the crowd, but you barely spotted the top of Ghost's cap as he stood over a head taller than the rest. To a lively crowd of agitated protesters, four foreign soldiers in kits and uniform attempting to blend in would've seen to them being drawn and quartered in record time. Price had the foresight to know as much, and their plainclothes let them slink through the sea of signs and fists without a passing glance, evaporating in the commotion.

Now on the other side, the four soldiers split, and you wrung your hands in anticipation. Two groups of two, weaving in branching paths toward the inner city. Another camera angle showed a grainy vista of ferries churning along stone canals, dashed with arching bridges with iron fences. Stalls occupied with bouquets of tulips and sunflowers in crinkling paper contrasted the undercover soldiers marching by, wolves in sheep's clothing. Even though the CCTV wouldn't pick up audio, you were forced to imagine the songs coming from that lively street busker Price and Gaz just passed.

Blocky red brick and grey stone apartments heaved above streets lined with leafy trees. Your other colleagues' weaving path finally brought them to their point of interest. Another angle from outside a small corner store showed Soap glancing over his shoulder as Ghost slipped into the glass doors of a particularly run-down apartment building. They disappeared into the building, and your legs crossed at the ankle. Seconds turned to minutes, then it felt like hours. Each passing minute was illuminated on the bottom corner of nearly every LED screen, a nauseating reminder. Deafening silence. Eventually Gaz sparked a cigarette, using it as an opportunity to stand idle vigil, puffing clouds of white smoke as he rocked his heels. All of you were patiently waiting for an update from your colleagues in the apartment, and you couldn't help but glance at Laswell to gauge her sense of urgency.

"Soap, what's your status," Laswell called after a click.

No response.

"Ghost, what's your status," after another click.

No response.

Utter silence.

You gnawed on your thumbnail, not even daring to see if your present company matched your level of subtle discomfort. The collar of your shirt felt tight around your throat as the lack of feedback was mortifying. All eyes were glued to the screen, and your ears were desperate for any stimuli other than distant chanting and humming electricity.

"Watcher, we have the oracle. I'm sending pictures your way," Soap's voice finally cracked through the speakers.

"Nice work," she spoke into the mic, turning to you to meet your wide stare. "Standing by."

There was motion on one of the screens, and Laswell brought up an encrypted messenger from a censored cell number. After a few tense seconds, the empty inbox was suddenly flooded with waves of image files. Clicking them open with a heavy click of her mouse, half the empty screens along the van wall sparked alight, illuminating dozens of photos. All four of you leaned forward in sync, studying the stimuli with raking eyes.

The keys looked almost like a calendar. A square block of characters, with a column and row highlighted in each, with a secondary line below highlighting the axis of the text in blue letters. Once a section of ciphertext is aligned with the adjoining keyword, the plaintext message that contains the orders comes unravelled. This was your initial scramble to gather context, analyzing every shape on the screen to make sense of the images.

Laswell's clearing throat cut above the tapping of keys on laptops and whirling pens. The corner of a white page flickered in your focused vision; you blinked, meeting a piece of paper being thrust into your field of view. You were about to tap your comrade's shoulders to get their attention, but their eyes were already scanning the page. A simple block of text handwritten on ripped paper, the new orders. While it might be odd to wait this long to give you this critical info, it's wisest to hold the top-secret communications until the last possible moment, reducing the risk of a mole upending the scheme.

They will bring the hostages to the Dressing Room at the northeast of the building and rendezvous the tangos to the Lower Hall and await further instructions. In the case of detonation, the demolition experts assure us that the remote explosives won't penetrate the brick wall separating the Dressing Room from the main theatre. The first entry squad will use the ground-floor fire escape at the back of the Dressing Room to secure the hostages. A secondary and tertiary squad will enter through the foyer and the basement, cornering the tangos in the Lower Hall. Get them to unload their firearms.

The orders were clear and sensical. Not that you'd have much of a say if they didn't make sense. Now, your task is to make those orders come to fruition, and your mind starts to whirl with forming sentences. In an earlier life, you would've been expected to manually go into what's essentially a game of cryptogram and use up precious minutes breaking messages one by one. Luckily, you're in the digital age, and algorithms expedite the process to a supernatural level. After a collective ten seconds spent gathering information, Kraus immediately got started on his task. One of the batches of photos was pages from a book, keys to the ciphertext. The ciphertext, in a coffee-stained folder Soap's gloved fingers spread across a cluttered kitchen counter, was Kraus' task to unravel. While he gathered key context, you were still waiting on more, and just as the question manifested on your tongue, a new batch of photos came in. The birds.

One of the pigeons in a wiry cage had what looked like a bandage around its leg, but after closer inspection was the message that was to order the execution of the hostages. A storyboard of images created a series of events that you were forced to stifle a laugh at. Image by image, it told the story of Soap identifying the pivotal pigeon. Another shot at a closer angle, a third with his glove gripping the startled bird with blurred wings, three accidental pictures taken during a frenzied scuffle, then Soap's hand tarred with white feathers presenting the small scroll. It's hard to say who was victorious, as when Soap's fingers spread the unravelled message, pink dots and nips along his wrist showed a tentative victory for the pigeon.

That was the information that had you and the KKpt on the edge of your seats, and a deep breath felt foreign in your tight chest. While Kraus was tapping away at the text, already with half a dozen translated messages, KKpt's screen matched the key to the text. As you suspected, the text the computer algorithm spat out was a nauseating order. To bring one of the hostages to an upper-level window, within view of distant television crews, and terminate a preselected hostage, one of the chaperones. There's something about reading someone's execution order scrawled on a piece of parchment that makes you feel lightheaded. Termination of human life reduced to a handful of scrambled letters. In this case, the oracle decodes their messages into four lines of 15 characters each, a total of 60 characters to portray an entire message. The thing about one-time pads is that you're working with a strict character limit. Usually, a multiple of five and a certain number of characters must fit in a certain number of lines, so abbreviation is common. It comes to show a disturbing glimpse into the inner communications of a fanatic group, where these armed terrorists seemed to refer to themselves as 'apostles' and the hostages as 'disciples,' abbreviated to APTL and DCPL, respectively. An important note Kraus underscored is that the oracle always leaves OCL at the end of their message as a signoff from their leader, the oracle. That'll have to be incorporated in the limited text.

Meanwhile, Laswell didn't need to be told that this was everything you needed to get started as she took it upon herself to update the boys that the linguists were getting started. In your focus, you vaguely overheard Ghost's voice updating Laswell through the mic, but all your ears caught was the female voice in the background calling Ghost a wide variety of German insults and slurs.

"We've got some company out here," Price's voice cut through the radio, and Laswell lept to flick between camera angles.

"Two big guys are trailing us," Gaz added, sounding like he was walking briskly.

"Split them up and use the needle if you can," Laswell spoke calmly. "You know what to do."

It's hard to stay focused when the situation outside that apartment gets more intense by the second. Gaz and Price have been spotted by whatever guerilla militia is protecting this religious group, and they have neither the armour nor the cover to handle this like they usually do. You couldn't afford the mental bandwidth, but still snuck a glance at Gaz's silhouette on an angle from across a street, showing a hulking figure in a thick out-of-season jacket gaining on his heels. Another angle showed Price standing in an alley just across from the apartment building with one of those industrial green garbage bins at his side. The letters were falling into place after a few flustered seconds of panic, but Gaz's mic cutting through sapped your concentration.

"Easy there, champ," Gaz chuckled in an unnervingly jolly tone loud enough for passing civilians to hear. "One too many drinks, eh?"

Your brows furrowed as suddenly the man slumped into Gaz's shoulder, softly lowered into a park bench. He lifted his hand from its placement on the jacketed man's stomach, folding a silvery needle back into his pocket. Just like that, Gaz's would-be assassin was reduced to a rowdy barhopper on his last stop of the evening.

"D-did he just kill that man?" Kraus barked, his voice trembling.

"A light sedative. He'll wake up with a mild headache in about twenty minutes," Laswell cooed, and you shot Kraus a glance that told him to shut it.

And it's lucky that the professor dutifully ducked his head to divert his full attention back to the laptop just as Price was forced to take more drastic action. An overhead angle of Price in his tan bomber showed him being forced to drop his cigar as the second man, significantly bigger, cornered your captain. His explosion of movement was fast, but Price was faster. An extended silencer for a pistol surely would've ensured the pop would be essentially inaudible in the busy street, yet your heartbeat halted. Both men slumped into one another, and for a moment, you weren't sure who was struck. Price's knees buckled, and in an instant he was heaving the immense figure over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, dumping him into the trash bin at his side. Only after the lid was brought down to shield the body did you see the inky M-15 under his would-be killer's coat. Kraus definitely would've thrown a fit if he saw that unfold, and Price can't be pleased that he was forced to waste a perfectly good cigar.

The Korvettenkapitän passed you a note, the first draft of the text, that you scanned and flipped over to Kraus. He was to ensure the verbiage matches the language style prior notes, then back to KKpt and then to you to be a final pair of eyes on the transmission before it's given to Laswell. It has to be perfect, there's only one shot. The orders you're giving to the terrorists are inherently odd, not the kind of orders they will be expecting, so you're working on borrowed trust. A typo or failure to cohere to an established communication convention could spike suspicion. One failed queue or signoff could compromise the entire theatre of kids and your colleagues in the lion's den.

"The seal-" you blurted.

"Boys, once we send you the message, you'll need to get her to comply and add the oracle's seal to the order." Laswell caught your implication instantly, meeting a chorus of acknowledgements in response.

Whatever was going on from the other end of that radio was beyond you. Hopefully she's complying, even if it might be satisfying to get a few good smacks in on a person who orders the execution of schoolkids. It's not a matter of if Ghost and Soap will get her to comply, it's a matter of how much violence they have to promise until she does. At times like this, it becomes difficult to see yourselves as the good guys.

The three of you linguists moved as a trio, each playing a different but critical role. You each bow and bob out of the shift of staring at the collective screen before you, deferring to notes and comparing previous messages, murmuring corrections and sparing notes. It's relaxing to have teammates to catch any critical errors, but frankly, it makes you miss working alone. Fireman passing notes back and forth, taking the time to review slashing lines in blue and red pen strokes over previous work. Laswell's presence at your shoulder serves as an inherent reminder that you're working on a tight clock, if the rallying cries of distant protesters weren't reminder enough.

As soon as you pass this note to Laswell, she transmits it to Soap, who delivers it to Ghost, who compels the oracle to mark it for approval, giving it to a pigeon to communicate to the terrorists while at the same time, Laswell tells a ground crew to await entry and save the hostages. It's safe to say there's a lot of weight on your shoulders, and walls upon walls of text offer a daunting task. But with the combined efforts of three experts in this craft, you nervously pinch your lower lip in thought as you read the final message, limited to a tight character limit. After consideration from Kraus' experience in their use of code, a final version sprawled on paper was now clasped in your clammy fingers.

MOVE-DCPL-DRSNG ROOM-LEAVE-WPNS FORTFY-LWR-HALL AWAT-INSTNS-OCL

Brutish but legible. Move the so-called 'disciples' to the dressing room and leave your weapons behind, then fortify the lower hall where they will keenly await further instructions, signed off by their beloved oracle. Most importantly, it aligns with the key that the terrorists would be expecting to use with the initial message, making it a perfect dupe. With Ghost's confident assertion that the oracle will assist in providing the seal and sending off the carrier, you tried to resist the bubbling thoughts of how he got such eager compliance. It's unfortunate that the German entry team will have to face a fortified group of terrorists, but their being unarmed will hopefully level the playing field. In the case that the explosives detonate, the lower hall is far enough from their location in the main theatre to make dust inhalation the extent of the possible injuries for the German soldiers, assuming they're making a rapid exit. A slow nod you shared with your colleagues made you astutely aware of a kink in your neck from constant tension, and you tentatively handed Kraus' paper to Laswell.

She barely even passed her eyes over the paper before she slid it into a fax machine, occupying the messenger box to Soap with a digital rendition of your code, now encrypted into the appropriate ciphertext. They continued on over the radio about writing out the message, how to fasten it to the bird again, and adding a wax seal. Your role is done. You've passed the torch for the last time, and now your role is on the sidelines. Tidal waves of pride and deep breaths filled your chest, and the KKpt's fist gripping your damp palms tried to shake the shock out of you. Like little girls at a slumber party, the professor and Korvettenkapitän leaned in, sharing giddy whispers about the task. But for some reason, the tension won't dissipate for you just yet. Red dots on a street view map showed Ghost and Soap still well within the apartment block, and the Korvettenkapitän's grip halted when she heard what you heard.

A scuffle. At first, Soap's radio clicked on, and muffled audio screamed into the van. Your eyes shot to the screens, frantically searching for something, anything, any indication as to what the fuck just happened. Price called through, commanding the infiltrating duo for an update. Another click through the radio, two more clicks, then someone gasping. Your own arms instinctively pulled yourself into a hug, making use of trembling hands and all heat drained from your face. Now, silence.

"What happe-"

"Shh," you hissed at the professor.

They have to get out of there soon. The guy Gaz sedated will wake in a few minutes, and their trail is clearly hot. Who knows how many more waves of goons are out there, now acutely aware that two of their guards are suddenly silent.

"Conta-" Soap's Scottish accent filled the speakers. "We had contact, four tangos down."

"Is the oracle one of them?" Laswell's fingers whirled along the keyboard.

"Negative. She's complying, but she had one last trick up her sleeve before she gave in," Soap panted. "I'm gonna need a few stitches, and Ghost took a bade to the gut, 'plate stopped the worst of it though."

"Can't say I've ever been stabbed with a trowel before," Ghost spoke, eerily calm as the disgruntled oracle belted more German curses in the background.

"There's a first for everything. Boys, you're officially hot. Send the message and exfil," Laswell commanded into the microphone at her lips.

"Sending the message now, stand by," Soap added to a chorus of panicked cooing from one of the poor pigeons he was trying to wrangle.

Relaxation was still a distant concept, and the single swig of coffee you'd swallowed was on the edge of coming back up. You've worked yourself up into an icy dread, all while Laswell was calm as ever at your shoulder. A skill you once knew, but mental exhaustion or perhaps being in tight quarters made you particularly on edge. Trained breathing practices and self-soothing kicked in, and you willed yourself to match the drilled calm you're expected to have in this field. What're you so worked up about anyways? It's not like these guys aren't specifically trained for and selected by their elevated ability to singlehandedly handle armed contact. The professor seemed greatly relieved, where for a second, you were sure he was about to hyperventilate and faint.

"The message has been sent," Ghost affirmed flatly, and for a second you detected a faint creak in his voice.

"I'll tell the entry squad to get in position," Laswell spoke, clicking open a flip phone and pressing send on a pre-written text. "Now make your way back so we can enjoy the show."

The tension in your chest lifted, and Laswell rose from her seat. By the arrangement of the van, a domino effect compelled the rest of your peers to rise along with her, shuffling onto the warm pavement. Fresh air made you gape like a fish out of water, and a simple hand motion commanded you to return to the restaurant before those blond bangs hopped into a jog down the street. You didn't need to be told twice, even if the professor did. You palmed the sleeve of his blazer and whisked the three of you behind the glass doors of your restaurant-turned-cave. It's hard to say if you feel better or worse now that your role has been played. On one hand, you're no longer expected to pull a rabbit out of a hat and magically solve an unbreakable cipher. On the other, the reigns are no longer in your grip, and your participation is written in stone. Now, it's just up to the passage of time to determine the fate of your actions, and you can do nothing but wait, yet again.

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miniar · 2 months ago

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saw a mention on here that they've arrested a suspect in the shooting of the CEO of a health insurance company and...

... a lot of things seem Really,... REALLY... weird about it...

Like.. sure, he kinda looks a little like one of the guys they showed cctv footage of... and you know that those images aren't all of the same guy, I mean, I can see it and I have fucking face blindness.

But...

They're saying he "made" the gun, from a kit or whatever, 3D printed at least part of it.... and he supposedly still had it in his backpack when he was arrested? Instead of getting rid of it?

And that he was carrying a handwritten manifesto... despite having made his statement, his intent, super fucking clear with the written words on the bullets... and HAD IT WITH HIM... IN THE SAME BACKPACK AS HIS DISPOSABLE GUN... ??????

I'm aware that the biggest reason people get caught when they do illegal shit is because people have a tendency to be fucking dumbasses about this... but this beggars belief.

And then, the cherry on the cake, is that they're claiming that he has not spoken a word to police, not even to invoke his rights to a lawyer?

Pardon the fuck?

The man they arrested got a fancy education and he doesn't know to speak the magic words "I'm invoking my right to a lawyer"?

And on top of all of this bullshit.. they genuinely want everyone to believe.. that the very professional imbecile they arrested is a deplorable human being in some way to try and get people against him so that they can get back to "normal" instead of the reaction people are having to "guy who caused tens of thousands of preventable human deaths got assassinated" being "good".

And everyone's just supposed to play along with this whole story?

Like... is ANYONE buying this shit?

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lealdern · 1 year ago

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How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch7

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

First - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Dating Dick Grayson is strange, to say the least. You see him more than you had before but there’s still some distance that he keeps between you, like a glass wall neither of you can cross, though you both linger at the barrier all the same.

There’s no reason for this that you can think of beyond his emotional availability. That first night when he’d held your face in his hands and looked at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t even think he could articulate was the beginning of something wonderful, but it wasn’t the solution you think he hoped it was.

He’s attentive, and caring, and an amazing lover… When he’s there.

And he’s been low contact for over a week now, only sending short reassuring messages when you text him, and you’re concerned but not annoyed: You understand he’s like a tide that flows in and out of your life. Sometimes he’s an all-consuming presence that sweeps you away in his roll and tumble, other times he’s so withdrawn while you’re left high and dry.

Resigned to another night of late work alongside some frozen leftover soup you start to head to your bedroom to change when you hear a tap on the window: The window that’s seven floors above the ground with no fire escape outside of it.

It slides open before you have a chance to move, to grab pepper spray from your handbag or a knife from the kitchen, and a figure tumbles in, clumsy and groaning.

Nightwing.

You’d never seen him before but you’re familiar with the grainy CCTV images the newspapers and magazines sport when he’s done something they deem worth writing about.

There’s a large gash across his stomach and side, blood flowing much too freely to be anything good.

He mumbles something as you run into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and your first aid kit, though you know it doesn’t contain anything useful for this situation: Plasters and a shock blanket can only go so far. When you come back, phone in hand and 911 dialled you startle when his hand wraps around your wrist in a snake-like strike.

“No- No ambulance.” He murmurs your name, hand reaching up to his face to peel away the mask over his eyes and you’re staring at the glazed eyes of Dick Grayson. He winces, words lost in his throat as you press the towel down against the gash on his stomach, well aware of the blood that’s already coating your knees where you kneel on the floor.

“I can’t fix this,” the words are a near hiss, fear and anger mingling together to create something that dilutes the shock of what is happening; of knowing your boyfriend is Nightwing at the same time as you know he’s far too pale and the wound is far too deep. “You’re going to bleed out.”

“He’s- he’s coming,”

“Who?”

“Bat… Batman.” Dick swallows thickly and you see his eyes go over your shoulder just as you become aware of the displacement of air in the room, molecules shifting to make space for the hulk of void that stands behind you.

For a moment you freeze, body coiled and tight, ready to attack at a hair trigger movement, even if the primal part of you knows that the Batman is something to run from. If he sees the fight in your eyes, the way you shift to block Dick away from him, he doesn’t say anything, and instead crouches next to you and pulls something from his belt that folds open to a white sheet, about hand towel size. He moves your hands away from Dick’s side, gentle considering the urgency of the situation but still firm, and presses the sheet to his side.

The bloody towel feels sickly-warm in your hands and you watch as the sheet moulds against Dick’s side, seizing and puffing up while a low groan escapes Dick’s mouth.

“Does he have clothes here?” Batman looks to you, white of his lenses piercing white and you feel like a deer in headlights, “Jeans, tshirt, anything?”

“Y-Yeah.” You stand, rubbing your bloody hands across the front of your tshirt as you do, and head to your bedroom to fetch the clothes Dick had left in the drawer you’d emptied out for him to use. For a moment you startle at the sight of the blood on your hands as they hover over a black tshirt and blue jeans.

When you return, Dick looks far too pale, hair plastered to his forehead as he blinks slow and speaks to Batman, who is steadily removing the Nightwing suit from his body.

“Call an ambulance,” Batman instructs, taking the clothes from you, “tell them he got attacked and came home and passed out.” The orders are clear and it’s what you need right now to function, so you nod and kneel down next to Dick on the opposite side to Batman.

The call feels distant in your mind, thoughts a rush as Batman manoeuvres Dick into the tshirt first, and then the jeans. He takes the bloody towel and squeezes out some of the soaked-up blood to coat the tshirt clothes in just the right places, before he takes a knife to cut the tshirt in a near perfect imitation of the slash on Dick’s stomach.

You rattle off your address to the man on the phone, distracted as you think on how this is like a well-rehearsed costume change backstage at the theatre, fine-tuned and precise to the minute.

Dick’s hand slides into your sticky one and you startle, looking down to find Dick looking up at you with what he must think is an encouraging smile but is more a waning grimace.

You squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back, weakly.

“Stay awake,” you can hear the waver in your voice, knowing you’re close to that first choke of a sob, “Don’t you dare pass out.” The words are harsh, spoken through clenched teeth as you fight to keep yourself grounded and useful.

The man on the phone assures you that the paramedics are nearly there and you look up to see Batman lifting up Dick’s t-shirt, hands settling at the side of the stiff white bandage-like-thing that’s keeping Dick’s blood where it should be: Like he’s about to peel it away.

“What are you-“ He ignores you, focusing- listening even, for something you can’t hear.

Dick squeezes your hand, “’s okay, don’ worry,” he slurs and you look at him gone out.

Anything you were going to say is lost when batman peels away the thing and presses the towel back against Dick’s side as there’s a pounding at your door. You stand, vaguely hearing the woman on the phone telling you to open the door for the paramedics, and you open the door.

When the paramedics walk through you turn to watch them surround Dick, and see that Batman is gone, the dark outside of the closed window suspiciously void-like.

You dismiss him, heading back to Dick’s side as they stabilise him as best as they can before putting him on a gurney.

He drifts in and out, skin looking more grey than anything else, eyes truly glassy as his breathing shallows and you rub a sticky thumb over the back of his hand, both of you marked by his blood.

It’s as though you drift in and out as well, the journey to the ambulance, to the hospital, feeling like abstract snapshots. At the hospital he’s swept away, and a kind but distracted nurse guides you away from the staring eyes of others in the emergency room, takes you somewhere you can wash your hands.

Even when your hands are clean you linger in the quiet for a moment longer, the hum of the white light above and the tightness of the walls around you makes it feel like a liminal space, somewhere it’s okay to linger for just a moment because time won’t pass here, and nothing terrible will happen.

Taking a deep breath, you head back out and the nurse finds you again, a more alert look in her eyes, “Come this way.”

She guides you along the corridor to a private room, the white board on the outside having ‘Grayson’ written in thin green marker. She shows you inside and you wait, the space where the bed would be feeling like a marker of something awful, so you avert your eyes and stare at the blood that’s guttered in your fingernails and dried, blood you couldn’t scrub off without a nail brush.

The cream coloured t-shirt you were wearing has a gory smear of your handprint on it, the sight keeps your attention until someone clears their throat at the doorway, and you look up.

Bruce Wayne.

You know of him without an introduction.

You’d forgot Dick’s-… Bruce, would likely come.

“How is he?” He asks, voice a rumble that fills the room even if it’s low and quiet.

“Still in surgery,” you answer blandly.

He nods and the room quiets; you have nothing to say to this man on a good day, nothing that Dick would forgive you for saying, anyway. Right now, you feel like a frayed live-wire; a quiet danger that, if touched or prodded, would likely deliver a fatal charge.

You wait, quiet, camped out on opposite sides of the room like the strangers you are, until the connection that tethers you both is pushed into the room on a bed, unconscious and hooked up to slow-dripping blood and fluids. Swallowing at the sight of Dick, still grey, still wan with dark under-eyes, you bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood: The assurance that he’s going to be fine assuages your collapsing heart, but the sight of him laying there, having been so close to death, still pulls everything good from you.

“What happened?” Bruce Wayne asks, the first words from his mouth since your solemn and silent vigil began.

“Muggers.” You say, quiet and without explanation, and Bruce nods, seemingly satisfied, though at what you’re not sure.

Dick is… Vulnerable: You feel like an animal protecting their wounded, and in your mind, Bruce is a threat: It’s taking a lot not to snip at him with bared teeth and sharp words.

You think Bruce knows; he stays a quiet solid presence across from you that feels just as lethal as your own.

There’s something to be handed to the man, though, he doesn’t even try for small talk in the hours that you’re sat waiting for the moment Dick cracks open his eyes with a low hitch of a breath turned groan. You don’t say anything about what you’d seen: The costume, The Batman, the blood on both your hands. Instead, you run your fingers through his hair and try not to cry, try to ignore the void of a man that watches you as you press your forehead to Dick’s as you both just breathe in each other’s air in relief.

Everything else can come another day, or even never, that’s fine by you.

Next Chapter

A/N: In my head the “bandage” expands and packs the wound internally but I didn’t know how to explain that while not coming out of the narration, if that makes sense. Inspired by 'Your Biggest Mistake' by Ellie Goulding. Initially this chapter’s inspiration song was supposed to be Tribute by Tenacious D but I let myself skip that one when it came on shuffle for obvious reasons.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dc x reader #my writing #dick grayson reader #nightwing reader #nightwing/reader #dick grayson/reader #HTSCWYD

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volucerrubidus · 2 months ago

Note

☎️ - Kitty

Contact Info II Accepting

Contact Name: Kit-Kat

Ringtone: The Geeks Will Inherit the Earth by I Fight Dragons

The Last Text Tim Sent: "Thank god that CEO shooting was in NYC. Not our territory, so we don't have to do anything about it! 😜"

Contact Picture: A stolen CCTV screengrab of Kitty nearby Tim's apartment

#{answered asks}#cataclysmgrcve

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pinnaclecases · 6 months ago

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Why Hard Cases Are Essential for Safeguarding Delicate Gear

Introduction:

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#engineeredprotection #professional #upgradeyourstyle #pelican cases #medical equipment cases #professional hard cases #cctv demo kit #customised demo cases #transport cases #home automation demo kit

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insipid-drivel · 9 months ago

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This is why we shouldn't use night vision CCTV in the swamp

As is probably well established by now, I live in a swamp that's in the same region as a lot of Bigfoot sightings. I've grown up in this wilderness my whole life, seen and experienced a whole lot of weird crap that is filed away in the "Hey, don't worry about it," part of my brain with the rest of The Horrors.

My mom also did most of her growing up here, but more in the woodlands and plural spaces around housing developments and cities. Basically, where you're more likely to encounter a homeless person or a pigeon in the underbrush than a cryptid or some cool wildlife.

I grew up so deep in these forests and swamps I stay the hell inside after dark and live in blissful ignorance of what goes on outside my bedroom window every night. Some shit I've seen looking in at me. Sometimes it's animals (which was how I found out a storm had knocked over our neighbor's horse fence one night - I suddenly had a Welsh pony pull up to my bedroom window like it was a Wendy's) - sometimes it's just eyes in the shadows that may or may not speak, who cares? Definitely not my little brother's girlfriend who confirmed she sees them too whenever she's here and goes out after dark for a cigarette and runs inside panicked every time they appear. Let's not dwell on it. Moving on.

My mom decided, after becoming thrilled with the huge amount of bird and squirrel traffic I get with my small seed-and-pollinator garden outside of my bedroom window, to set up a motion-activated night vision camera pointed at my feeders to see what may visit in the dark.

Fully-bragging here, but I pretty much have every single species of native bird (and a couple of fucking starlings) that isn't a raptor visit my garden every day. Yesterday I completed my Pokedex when a family of quail came visiting. It's not weird for there to be 15-20+ birds in my garden at once with at least 5 or more individual unique species eating and (mostly) getting along (which some of us could learn from by example, starlings).

I made the tactical decision to bite my tongue about the camera, because this morning, I found I actually wanted to see some of the footage.

Everything was fine when I woke up this morning; my feeders were still rapidly being depleted of birdseed I spend too much of my disability checks on so I can delight my cat and feel like I'm taking care of some of my local wildlife. I use a small trough that I fill will feed for squirrels and the occasional deer that usually takes a couple of days for the locals to empty.

This morning, after having just ROUNDED OFF the ground-trough-feeder with a fresh supply of food the day before, I found the trough completely clean and empty, and dragged several feet away from where I usually leave it. So I asked my mom if she'd review the camera footage, figuring it was probably the same derpy yearling buck with slightly wonky baby-antlers that I've seen eating out of it before.

Nope.

Just a mom with kids to feed. My mom was appalled at the number of them (one of the ways I know she's still domesticated), but I quietly approved and told her that it was probably a mother raccoon and her adolescent babies. I've seen raccoons raising up to 5 kits at a time in places where food is plentiful and the predator count is relatively low. I let my mom know it's totally fine; that the ground feeder is there to feed the nocturnal as well as the diurnal.

The morning quiets down for a few minutes, and I get ready to snooze to the birdsong outside. My mom is still on her phone, half-birdwatching at the foot of my bed, half-scrolling through clips of footage from the rest of that night (which usually is just moths and a stray cat or two setting the camera off), and that's when I heard what I like to wearily call the "There's A Cryptid On My CCTV Gasp".

Look. If you set up cameras in a place like this, you're GOING to see weird shit you can't explain. Part of why I like living out here is because only other people that understand this also live out here. My neighbors and I are all out of our fucking minds, but that's why The Swamp embraces us. If you don't have the psychiatric diagnostic equivalent of a ghost pepper in your brain, you probably won't do well out here. The Swamp is nature's Void: If you gaze long into it, it will gaze back into you. My System of alter personalities smile like idiots and wave into the Void while some of them full-on make out in front of the Void with reckless abandon.

My mom just stammers at first, and and then is like, "I... don't know what that is? It looks like a cat? But I've NEVER seen a cat that big..." Ironically ignoring my cat, who I rescued as a tiny "standard size" kitten from a shelter and found out the hard way that she's actually very much a Maine Coon.

My mom, shaken, shows me the best still she could get from the clip the camera took of The Creature:

She's pale, and visibly unnerved as she brings me her phone with the actual clip of this animal in it. Of course the footage is shittier than when we just had raccoons out there. Didn't you read what I just wrote? The Swamp will not abide your attempts to spoil its fuckery.

But I nevertheless watched this 2-3 second clip of this animal walking by the ground feeder. It's about the size of a medium dog, has no tail, and walks with a very feline gait. My mom is practically freaking out at this point, her voice actually trembling when she keeps asking me "What do you think it is?"

There's a long, heavy silence as I replay the clip a couple more times, just watching this thing move and confirming that, indeed, it's too big to be a domestic cat, but too small to be a mountain lion, and has no discernible tail.

"Mother, it's a bobcat."

"That can't be!"

>therewere5raccoonsthereandit'sabobcatgoodlordmom.mp4

So I pulled up a google search and showed her:

"Oh."

#swamp #cryptid #cctv #long post #true story #paranormal #this swamp will fuck with you

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sharpeagle-tech · 1 year ago

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Benefits of Having Vehicle CCTV camera system on Forklift Trucks

Busy warehouses with plenty of forklifts are often sites of heavy accidents. Forklifts were involved in almost 70 fatalities in 2021, and around 7,300 nonfatal injuries — including non-work related accidents! These are worrying numbers and one has to wonder how to lower them down?!

In comes the CCTV safety gear! This is a wonderful way to mitigate the risks of forklift accidents from many different angles.

With global concerns about workplace safety and security rising, investing in vehicle CCTV systems makes good sense not only financially but also as an additional safety measure for anyone working with lift truck machinery. Read on to learn more about the benefits that having vehicle CCTV can offer!

Driver Protection

Drivers of forklifts and other heavy-duty equipment need protection – not only from theft or vandalism but from accidents as well. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reports that almost 26,000 workers are injured every year due to forklift-related accidents. Security cameras installed on forklifts can therefore provide an additional layer of safety for drivers by monitoring the work zone and allowing for prompt response in the event of any hazards or obstructions in the area.

It’s always easy to blame the driver for the accident that occurred. But with CCTV footage, now you can protect your staff from false accusations and prove with footage what has happened. Our devices have a long enough shooting time before the data is overwritten, giving you enough to access what has happened!

People Protection

Ensuring the safety of pedestrians in warehouses and other excessive-traffic areas is a significant concern for employers, as it can help to reduce the number of accidents that occur every year. Security cameras that are placed on forklifts help to ensure the safety of pedestrians by offering an invaluable layer of protection - they allow operators to be able to identify and respond to potential dangers immediately. Installing security cameras on forklifts helps the environment stay safe and secure to preserve everyone’s well-being.

CCTV systems give people a unique feeling of safety at your facility, and drivers especially feel more confident about their daily tasks, knowing that you’ve got their back! With this safety system in place, you’ll keep all employees and customers safe!

Improvements Identification

Imagine how many accidents happen because of repeating causes and you’re not even aware of what they are! Moreover, security cameras on forklifts not only provide improved safety in the workplace but also allow for higher levels of productivity. The observation and analysis of footage taken from strategically placed security cameras can lead to the identification of operational deficiencies such as improper maintenance, inefficiencies, and other areas where money can be saved through investments.

Such insights are invaluable in helping companies achieve their goals, and using surveillance as part of a comprehensive approach to forklift operations can help maintain operating costs while improving quality and efficiency.

Now you have a unique view into anything wrong with your safety protocols so that you can improve them and prevent any kind of warehouse accident — not just the ones including your forklifts!

Training Tool

In addition to supplying insightful security data, these systems offer an immersive and interactive experience to operators, allowing them to better navigate the implications of their decisions while using a forklift. With this insight, management can provide valuable lessons to help train operators, promoting consistent adherence to safety regulations and operational procedures.

All the footage collected from your safety cameras can be used to show good and bad examples of safe driving procedures to your new members. Inducing new drivers, providing safety education to standard staff, you name it — it provides a unique learning experience, simply because people will see a familiar space!

Crime Prevention

Security cameras are a great way to help prevent crime in material-handling settings and promote the safety of personnel and equipment. Installing a security camera system can provide tangible evidence and real-time monitoring, helping to protect against theft, vandalism, or damage caused by uncontrolled access.

Criminals and perpetrators don’t like to see cameras on the premises they’re raiding. The very presence of safety gear on your forklifts will deter criminals from snooping around the warehouse in an instant! They will think twice before they commit the act they were about to. Also, think about the staff you’ll be protecting if they’re innocently working in a space nearby!

Conclusion

In conclusion, investing in security cameras for your forklifts can provide a multitude of benefits. Drivers are better protected, pedestrian safety is improved, and the system can be used to help identify operational improvements. Plus, forklift security cameras can serve as a valuable training tool, promote improved driver performance and even help to prevent theft and vandalism.

Now that you’ve seen these benefits, a professional CCTV system shouldn’t be a matter of question any longer! Of course, you’d want only the best gear used at your premises — so acquiring it from a known dealer should be your top priority.

‍Check out our offer of safety cameras that will help you reap the benefits of having them around!

You can call us at +971-4-454-1054 or mail us at [email protected]

‍

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