#ambient security

[karialtmann]

Still from Smart Mobility: Reworlding, 2024 by Kai (Kari) Altmann

[cctvarchive]

ANTWERPEN, BELGIUM.

[wewantclimateactionnow]

"Humans have used greenhouses for generations to help plants thrive outside of tolerable settings. As it turns out, rather than greenhouses, we might be better off building red houses. The red spectrum of light encourages plant leaves to generate more chlorophyll, and an Australian agricultural start-up is using this fundamental science to make thick red films to cover greenhouses to improve plant productivity beyond what the sunlight or greenhouses are capable of. "

[cienie-isengardu]

MK1 fanfiction

EDIT: now all chapters will be collected under the title of Cracked mirror of black, cold soul

No one asked for it, but as I did not get enough Bi-Han & Shang Tsung interaction, I was forced to write about them myself. The first part is at least done, we will see if I managed to finish the second. Mainly written as a character study of MK1!Shang Tsung, a bit about his relationship with Damashi, General Shao and potential partnership with Sub-Zero post story-mode.

There was a time when Shang Tsung was nothing more than just a pitiful loser clinging to an even more pathetic life. All he could do to survive was to pretend to be someone else, someone better, wiser; someone worthy of trust, someone people like and listen to. Lying to people was easy. Lying to himself anyone would care if he died came much harder and harder with each passing day. 

Then came Damashi and offered him not only power but also kindness, a praise for making progress, be it for fulfilling her plans or for his own growing skills. He would gladly burn the world just to earn her smile, a good word, anything really. She made him for the first time in a long long time feel valued, appreciated, even liked despite who he was under all the polite words and charming smiles.

But that was a lie too. A lie he foolishly fell for, like a stray, hungry dog falls for a kind pat on the head and a little treat before the new owner will kick it for fun.

Shang Tsung was many things but definitely not a dog to be kicked, be it by Liu Kang or his Titan self. If none of the gods cared for him, he wouldn't care for them either. And now, after he ran away from prison and a terrifying storm washed him ashore on a deserted island full of magic secrets to unlock, he had time and means to repay each of his pursuers, to make all the realms if not respect his skills then fear them.

Since Damashi’s - his own Titan self’s - betrayal many days and nights have passed and with each Shang Tsung’s mastery of magic grew stronger, his knowledge deepened, his confidence restored and strengthened. He claimed the island as his new home, the impregnable fortress secured by the most wicked, devilish and brilliant traps he could think about and for the first time in ages, he finally felt like belonging to the right place.

It was as good a life as it could be. Not perfect, as Shang Tsung still needed to figure out how to secure his food supplies before he would tame the wild land, unused for years and maybe the animals lurking in the shadows could be useful too. A domestic cattle would be a great addition for sure, as it was the only type of animal he had any skill to maintain but then again, there was no way he would engage in tedious farming. He had no time nor patience for that kind of work yet he did not want any stranger on his island either. All he could do for now was to eat the catched fishes and some plucked from tree fruits while bringing all the needed ingredients and supplies from a quick trip to the land. Using magic portals was a tricky solution - magic brought unwanted attention and once used, always left some traits to follow but after the last storm he did not feel safe on a boat sailing through the open sea. On the land, he did run into some of his former allies, exchanged important news and some secrets here and there, never truly betraying where he was hiding. The General and his men treated Shang Tsung with suspicion, always demanding more than he offered. On the other hand, he and Quan Chi worked well in the past, but after the last betrayal, Shang Tsung couldn’t trust anyone anymore. Everyone blamed him for his Titan self’s lies, like he was the one lying to them all. The Royal Family wanted his head, the Earthrealm Champions hunted him too. It was a mess, amusing and irritating at the same time. 

He was going to deal with that matter too, when the right time came. For now, Shang Tsung enjoyed the new found magic - the power awaiting for those who will dare to reach out for it. A power he didn’t need to share with anyone.  

Everything would feel much better though if Sub-Zero didn’t somehow find a way to break into his new home like all the deviously set up traps meant nothing.

Shang Tsung should know something was off the moment he felt coldness creeping into his bones, but in all fairness, it was always cold here. He did not have yet an idea how to heat the interior of an abandoned fortress and as much as he liked to not freeze in his own sleep, luxury like that was not on his priority list. He should be more cautious, more focused on the change in the air about him than walking straight into his own room and then be dumstocked at the sight of Sub-Zero looking through his books as if he had lived here forever and Shang Tsung was the unwanted guest.

“Your security is shitty” was all he got as a greeting. Cold, sharp, uncaring words judging him as an incompetent idiot. The bastard did not even bother to look at him, just kept rummaging through the books like it was the only thing worth this attention.

Shang Tsung wasn’t sure what offended him more - being ignored or watching as his precious belongings were touched without his permission. He liked books way more than he liked people. 

In the last few years he killed people for less than that yet he smiled his most charming smile, the gears in his head working fast and furious on how to turn the unpleasant situation for his own advantage. The fact that Sub-Zero allowed him to see himself in the open instead of lurking in the shadows to cut his throat gave Shang Tsung a reason for a bit of optimism. As far as he heard from his former, maybe-still-maybe-not allies, Lin Kuei rejected Liu Kang’s authority and were on their own. It of course did not mean that Sub-Zero was his friend or ally nor that he wouldn't murder Shang Tsung at the end of day, either to reconcile with Fire Lord or to bribe the god to let the Lin Kuei be in peace.

Shang Tsung couldn’t blame Bi-Han for that - in this cruel world, everyone was looking after their own best interest, but the vision of losing his life did not sit well with him at all. He wasn’t afraid of fighting and he did beat down great Champions in the last battle, but out of all opponents, it was Sub-Zero's ice axe that was the closest to beheading him for good.

He did not plan to forget that anytime soon.

“What an unexpected surprise,” he said, all the soft, so sweet smile, velvet voice and sharp eyes analyzing the danger standing before him. “What can I do for you, my friend? Or did you just miss my humble company?”

He teased with feigned innocence because men hated when he said ridiculous stuff like that. Shang Tsung hated it himself, because he knew no one would miss him at all.  

“For one, drop the false politeness” came Sub-Zero’s cold reply, a mix of disapproval and command that Shang Tsung was so used to, because this was how people treated him, the real him, all his life. “We are not friends.”

There was a flare of anger in Shang Tsung now, the desire to prove himself the superior, not a pitiful dog anyone could kick and command - but he knew better than to allow this fire to burn inside him. Emotions were a weakness he couldn’t afford. Did the man even know how much he provoked the sorcerer with his cold disdain? Shang Tsung had no idea. He heard a lot of stories about Lin Kuei; even in the backwater hole from which he crawled out everyone heard the terrifying tales of Fire Lord’s secret army. Of the ice demons stealthier than shadows and more deadly than night itself and for a long time Shang Tsung did not think of them as living beings from this world.

Still… Sub-Zero was mortal, wasn’t he? A special one no doubt, with control over ice yet he could bleed too. Shang Tsung wondered for a moment what he could find under the fine, cold skin if he ever had a chance to look for the answer. An ice demon, human or hybrid of both?

“But we are still allies, aren’t we?” he asked, still polite and careful, yet walking up to the other man with his typical swagger. Not close enough to be in arm reach, but close enough to show he wasn’t that easily intimidated. 

The great military hero of Edenia always looked down on his movements; how he fought, how he gesticulated, how he walked. No self-respecting soldier would walk like some pleased prostitute after a well-paid job, the General said not once nor twice and all Shang Tsung could do then was to smile the brightest smile and thank him, like his disdain was the best praise he heard that day. The only thing they really have in common, beside the desire to take down Sindel’s regime, was being self-made men for both worked hard to be who they were. Yet General came from an old, aristocratic family with even older military tradition and everything that did not fit his narrow-minded idea of the world was treated with hostility and contempt. 

Shang Tsung’s skinny body, swagger, shrewdness, curiosity and wordiness unsurprisingly annoyed the great warrior and to say he took no pleasure in that fact would be a blatant lie. Even if it was childish and unproductive pleasure, it amused him to know how little effort he needed to test the patience of such a stern and manly man. 

Sub-Zero reminded him a lot of Shao and he suspected it was the soldier thing; the body built for fight and hardship, no-nonse attitude and the way both men moved - with deadly precision and confidence only a person that in fact killed an enemy in battle could muster. Even the way they spoke sounded similar, a barked command that everyone around instinctively wanted to obey, either out of respect or fear.

For that similarity alone, Shang Tsung expected the Lin Kuei Grandmaster to snarl at him some nasty remark about how his Titan self betrayed them all and thus how little he himself was worth of anyone’s trust. Anything to put the sorcerer down even a bit, to remind him what a failure he was.

“That is yet to be seen” was all the Grandmaster said, finally glancing from the book to Shang Tsung. 

It was hard to read anything from the man’s face, as half of it was hidden behind that damned Lin Kuei mask. All he could do was to rely on the move of a brew and the incantation of voice, each syllable, a moment of pause. It was a hard task, as the man showed no emotions and spoke so little so far. But the sorcerer knew there was anger, always lurking in each word spoken by Sub-Zero, but also… an excitement at finally being free of Liu Kang’s control. As Damashi foretold.

Shang Tsung couldn’t help but to think there was something much deeper about Damashi's interest in breaking Lin Kuei from Fire Lord than he ever suspected before. Back then the choice sounded logical - every action that would deprive Liu Kang of the advantage was worth taking so he did not question his benefactor. How could he, really? Now though? The truth burned him to the core and he learned the hard way that each of Damashi’s words had a hidden meaning, each action served a different goal than was promised; the victory he was in fact never part of. Yet… even the deepest shade of lie had a grain of truth. He knew that one well, for he lied all his life.

His Titan self for some reason wanted not so much the Lin Kuei itself as the Sub-Zero specifically on his side. Maybe more than Titan Shang Tsung even wanted his own younger self, corrupted by Liu Kang. 

The mere thought made him want to curse all gods alike. There was no difference for him between Liu Kang and his Titan-self, as both played him like some pawn, not even an important figure. Just pawn, to hold away from power, to sacrifice it when times would come. 

But there was more to it than just jealous anger and the never ending feeling of never being good enough. If Sub-Zero meant so much, if not in the grand scheme of things itself then just for personal satisfaction of Titan, then maybe he could be important to Shang Tsung’s own plans. Allies were hard to come by and these days he could use some, well, not protection really, he was done with living under someone else's wing but he wouldn’t say no to some partnership or at least casual support. The little favor here and there where things were still thick and troublesome to deal on your own. After all, freedom always came at some cost. 

Maybe Sub-Zero came to the same conclusion and his unexpected visit was just a reconnaissance. They were more alike than one would think, as similar desires drove them into this madness of Titans. To prove their own might and skills to all those that looked down on them their whole life. But above everything else, to be free and powerful enough to keep that freedom.

To his own surprise, Shang Tsung took comfort in that thought.

If they were meant to stay allies - or as close two stubborn outcasts with grudge against gods could rely on each other, some sacrifices were to be made. Shang Tsung did something he rarely did - he dropped the false politeness under which he hid himself for years.

“How did you find me?” he asked Sub-Zero directly, raising his chin challengingly. He was not afraid of Lin Kuei, just curious.

“You are not as careful as you think you are” Bi-Han answered with no less challenging stare, yet the flick of an amusement in his eyes was unmistakable. Shang Tsung knew the man was smirking under that damned mask and that thought alone made him puff in anger. 

The brown eyes shone even more.

Sub-Zero moved from his place, slowly walking from one bookshelf to another. His fingers traced books, never stopping at any particular volume, but always touching the book spines, like there was something interesting in their textures. The man did not pay attention to Shang Tsung and not really to books either. He was studying the room itself. The sorcerer couldn’t place why it bothered him so much but he knew better than to allow Sub-Zero to learn even the most trivial things about himself or his fortress. 

Damashi warned him against that the first day when she spoke about Lin Kuei. They are thieves, the mysterious being said, all grace and patience and praise for the unwanted Shang Tsung who drank in her words like the wisdom of gods, who will steal your fortune, life and secrets. Always be on your guard around them, especially around the one named Sub-Zero. If only he was smarter back then, less in need to please his generous benefactor, maybe he could hear in her sweet voice the longing for something, someone, that was not anymore. For the old partnership that was broken and defiled by Liu Kang’s peaceful vision of the world. But he was a fool who thought her yearning was for him alone. 

Shang Tsung was done with being played like a fool.

“Who told you about my island?” he demanded, voice still quiet yet no less burning with an old anger. He would get his answers, whatever kindly or by force.

A long sigh escaped Sub-Zero’s lips and frankly it took him out by surprise. Shang Tsung - or rather his Titan self -  knew the man was running on frustration for years, but that sounded as a whole new level of annoyance.

“I heard about it from Havik, who heard that from Rain, who heard that from Reiko, who heard that from Shao, who heard about it from Quan Chi. But the whole Sun Do is full of similar gossip.”

For a moment none of them spoke. Shang Tsung stared at Sub-Zero’s impassive, half-hidden face that still somehow emanated his disgust at their maybe-allies-maybe-not-but-definitely-idiots who apparently couldn’t keep a secret to save their own life. The feeling was mutual, because this was the reason why the sorcerer hated working with others. No one apparently could keep their mouth shut down if you didn’t help make that permanently. 

He closed eyes and rubbed his forehead, like that could ward off all the bad thoughts assaulting his mind right now.  His fingers were cold, too cold for his liking, unpleasantly stiff and numb. He did not like how the mere presence of a cryomancer affected his body, how it made him shiver and weak. He was an Edenian for fuck’s sake, and Edenia did not even know what winter cold was. He did not know that himself, until Damashi led him to a snow-covered fortress and he almost freezed there the first night. 

It took him a moment to realize something bad was happening. He couldn’t focus, all his senses dulled, body so clumsy and weak. As if his energy suddenly dropped to zero and fatigue was taking over. A flash of panic crossed his mind, but he was too tired, too cold to even be afraid for his life.

He had no idea how long he remained in the grip of this piercing soul frost. A few seconds? Days? He couldn’t even say. What mattered was that once the control of his senses came back, he was still alive and Sub-Zero gone.

And the fact the bastard stole a few of his precious scrolls and books.

***

The books showed up on his desk a few days later. There was no thank you or sorry about that note, not even the fuck you, loser. Shang Tsung both admired the man's boldness and hated him for it. Still he appreciated the books were returned in a good condition, as there was not a single scratch on any of them, not even a new page crease. He had no idea if that was some sort of weird Lin Kuei’s way to test him, disrespect or Sub-Zero took the books simply because he wanted to read them but he was a bastard with no sense of social politeness to just ask as any normal human being would. Damashi mentioned cryomancers were naturally difficult like that.

Shang Tsung had better things to do than to wonder what the check was wrong with Sub-Zero yet he was too curious for his own sake. Sadly, the titles alone did not say anything useful on the matter and even though he read each book just in case, there was hardly anything worth the time it took to finish them. No grand secrets revealed, no magic or military knowledge, not even historical value. Just some technical nonsense that bore him to death and if Sub-Zero was into stuff like that then no wonder the man lacked any social grace. 

The Grandmaster of Lin Kuei so far did not try to kill him and returned the books so Shang Tsung decided to give him the benefit of doubt and so he did not cross out the man from the list of potential allies. It did not stop him however from improving the traps just in case the man decided to return solely to steal again.

***

The scrolls showed up on his desk three days later. Their appearance actually worried Shang Tsung, not just because the trap again turned out to be useless. He was not worried even by the possibility Sub-Zero found some secret entrance he did not know about yet. No, what worried him was the fact he spent the whole morning in his chamber and walked out for like twenty minutes at best and when he returned, the scrolls WERE. THERE. 

That actually unnerved him much more than he wanted to admit. 

The scrolls turned out to be written in a language Shang Tsung did not even know and the implication that Lin Kuei could read it only added to the feeling of cold unease. There was however a note left on the scrolls; a small paper with only Royal Army searching the coast written in Shang Tsung’s own language. 

He was not afraid of empress Mileena’s army but he did appreciate the warning. Of course, the warning could be a fraud, a means to build trust only to betray him. The common sense advised caution yet there was a weird sense of peace within Shang Tsung. A hope or hunch, he did not know, but deep in his heart he felt everything was alright.

All he could do for now was wait to see if Sub-Zero will lead the enemy to his fortress or not. So he waited.

(The fact that another book disappeared with Sub-Zero did not surprise him much. Irritated, yes, but not worried. For some reason he felt everything was like it should be, like some almost forgotten memory of past life came back to him and the sense of deja vu was weirdly comforting.)

[wukongfeetpics]

benrey wearing a vest over a hoodie/sweater because while he enjoys the looseness of comfy clothes he also needs the familiar weight of a vest

[kishorxox]

Optical Sensors Market to be Worth $55.4 Billion by 2031

Meticulous Research®—a leading global market research company, published a research report titled ‘Optical Sensors Market—Global Opportunity Analysis and Industry Forecast (2025-2032)’. According to this latest publication, the optical sensors market is projected to reach $55.4 billion by 2032, at a CAGR of 12.3% from 2025 to 2032.

The optical sensors market is experiencing growth driven by the rising demand for optical sensors in consumer electronics and the increasing integration of highly sensitive light sensors in automotive applications. However, limited range and line-of-sight requirements hinder market growth.

In addition, the increasing utilization of optical sensors in healthcare applications and the expanding adoption of advanced light-based technologies for contaminant detection in the food sector present significant growth opportunities for market participants. However, the market also encounters challenges, particularly the high cost associated with advanced optical sensors. Moreover, prominent trends in the optical sensors market include the rise in the adoption of 3D sensing technology in photoelectric sensors and the growing trend of Industry 4.0, IOT, and cloud computing.

Key Players:

The optical sensors market is characterized by a moderately competitive scenario due to the presence of many large- and small-sized global, regional, and local players. The key players operating in the optical sensors market are Broadcom Inc. (U.S.), Renesas Electronics Corporation (Japan), Analog Devices, Inc. (U.S.), Texas Instruments Incorporated (U.S.), TE Connectivity Corporation (Switzerland), Leuze Electronics Pvt. Ltd. (Germany), Honeywell International Inc. (U.S.), Rockwell Automation, Inc. (U.S.), Vishay Intertechnology, Inc. (U.S.), Hamamatsu Photonics, K. K. (Japan), ams-OSRAM AG (Austria), ROHM Co., Ltd. (Japan), ipf electronic gmbh (Germany), SensoPart Industriesensorik GmbH (Germany), and Festo SE & Co. KG (Germany).

The optical sensors market is segmented based on product, type, and end user. The report also evaluates industry competitors and analyzes the optical sensors market at the regional and country levels.

Among the products studied in this report, the photoelectric sensors segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The high demand for photoelectric sensors, which enable non-contact object detection, along with the increasing need to improve system performance and efficiency in high-speed operations, are key factors contributing to the segment's leading position in the optical sensors market.

Among the types studied in this report, the intrinsic optical sensors segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The significant share of intrinsic optical sensors, known for delivering precise measurements of light intensity and wavelength, along with their expanding applications in temperature sensing, pressure monitoring, and chemical detection, are driving the segment's dominance in the optical sensors market.

Among the end users studied in this report, the consumer electronics segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The substantial share of optical sensors in consumer electronics aimed at improving usability and user interaction, combined with the rising demand for smaller, more portable devices and the increasing use of image sensors to enhance camera capabilities for high-resolution photography, are key factors reinforcing the segment's dominance in the optical sensors market.

This research report analyzes major geographies and provides a comprehensive analysis of North America (U.S. and Canada), Europe (Germany, U.K., France, Italy, Spain, Netherlands, Switzerland, Sweden, and Rest of Europe), Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, India, South Korea, Malaysia, Australia & New Zealand, Indonesia, Singapore, and Rest of Asia-Pacific), Latin America (Mexico, Brazil, and Rest of Latin America), and Middle East & Africa (UAE, Saudi Arabia, Israel, and Rest of Middle East & Africa).

Among the geographies studied in this report, North America is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The expansion in the adoption of smartphones, electric vehicles, and diverse smart home applications, alongside the rising demand for advanced safety systems and vehicle technology and the increased use of optical sensors in healthcare applications within the region, are key factors contributing to the market's dominant position.

Download Sample Report Here @  https://www.meticulousresearch.com/download-sample-report/cp_id=6040

Key Questions Answered in the Report-

What is the value of revenue generated by the product, type, and end user?

At what rate is the global demand for optical sensors projected to grow for the next five to seven years?

What is the historical market size and growth rate for the optical sensors market?

What are the major factors impacting the growth of this market at global and regional levels?

What are the major opportunities for existing players and new entrants in the market?

Which offering segments create major traction in this market?

What are the key geographical trends in this market? Which regions/countries are expected to offer significant growth opportunities for the manufacturers operating in the optical sensors market?

Who are the major players in the optical sensors market? What are their specific product offerings in this market?

What recent developments have taken place in the optical sensors market? What impact have these strategic developments created on the market?

Contact Us: Meticulous Research® Email- sales@meticulousresearch.com Contact Sales- +1-646-781-8004 Connect with us on LinkedIn- https://www.linkedin.com/company/meticulous-research

[kingzkustomz]

How to Choose the Right Car Upholstery Service for Your Vehicle

The upholstery for your car is very important as a vehicle owner you need to take care of all of the things. The right upholstery will give you some tips to maintain it to enhance the comfort, synthetics as well as functional wheel of the vehicle. Thus, it is important to choose the right service for your vehicle to maintain it within a specific degradation. When the aesthetics are appealing it is especially in terms of comfort. It is essential to choose the aesthetics and practicality which add to your experience.

Visit:- https://www.bloglovin.com/@kingzkustomz/how-to-choose-right-car-upholstery-service

[whifferdills]

a qr code in your email is the top tier of ticketing systems. i do not want to download your app please

[karialtmann]

Stills from Smart Mobility: Reworlding (Sleep With One Eye Open), 2024 by Kai (Kari) Altmann

[cctvarchive]

HAMAMATSU, JAPAN.

[techdriveplay]

ACCENTUM True Wireless delivering the essential Sennheiser sound experience with modern features

Today, Sennheiser introduces the latest addition to its portable lineup, the ACCENTUM True Wireless. This cutting-edge device combines signature Sennheiser acoustics, dynamic wireless capabilities, and an innovative ergonomic design, making it the perfect choice for those with an on-the-go, connected lifestyle. “ACCENTUM True Wireless builds upon the renowned qualities of our over-ear…

[rosemaryhoney27]

“Ghosts, Greens, and Gotham Gays”

aka: Danny Becomes Harley and Ivy’s New Favorite, Vlad Loses More Hair

Vlad was begging Bruce at this point. Begging.

“Keep him inside for one day, Brucie. Please. For my heart. For my blood pressure. For Gotham’s structural integrity.”

Bruce just took a sip of his black coffee and said, “He’s helping Ivy. It’s fine.”

Vlad gaped. “Helping—Ivy?!”

“Mmhm. Something about cross-referencing chlorokinetic frequencies with ecto-resonance.”

“That’s NOT A SENTENCE A CHILD SHOULD SAY—”

Bruce: “He asked first.”

Meanwhile – Ivy’s Greenhouse (Technically a Crime Lair)

Pamela Isley stood with arms crossed, watching as Danny held a softly glowing green hand over a wilting rose hybrid.

He hummed.

The flower perked up.

The surrounding vines quivered, then bloomed in synchronized delight.

“…He’s not Photosynthesizing,” Ivy whispered.

Harley peeked out from the couch, where she was doing her nails and sipping a neon slushie. “He’s ghost-synthesizing! Told ya!”

Danny looked up and smiled. “It’s like ghost CPR. I’m not a botanist, but I can nudge their ambient soul energy.”

“…Plants don’t have souls,” Ivy said, a bit flat.

Danny patted the vine beside him. It curled around his wrist like a cat and purred.

“…I stand corrected.”

Chaos, But Make It Helpful

Harley was already calling him “Spooky Nibbles” by hour two. (“'Cause ya nibble on chaos, kiddo!”)

Danny, somehow, was:

Helping Ivy revive a nearly extinct bioluminescent flower.

Fixing Harley’s blender with ghost tech so it never jammed again.

Casually mentioning he once made a haunted terrarium that ate cheaters in lab.

“I like this one,” Ivy said, very seriously. “Can we keep him?”

Harley nodded. “He’s got Big Gremlin Energy. Like me but with glowy hands.”

Danny beamed. “Thanks! Uncle Vlad says I’m a walking supernatural violation.”

Pam looked at Vlad, who had finally shown up and was hovering at the doorway like a stressed Victorian governess.

“You never said your godson was delightful,” she said.

“He’s not!” Vlad hissed. “He’s a menace with manners!”

Harley leaned over and whispered to Ivy, “He’s got good ankles too. Vlad’s lucky I’m married.”

Ivy: “So is Vlad.”

Later That Day: A Totally Normal, Casual Ghost Plant Uprising

The rogue CEO of GreenerCorp—an evil pharmaceutical company known for shady testing—arrived to “reclaim his investment” and “teach Isley a lesson.”

Danny stared at him across Ivy’s garden.

CEO Guy: “You’re just a kid. I’m not scared of you.”

Danny: “Oh. That’s okay.”

He raised a hand.

The temperature dropped.

The soil glowed.

Plants started whispering in languages no one understood. A massive vine rose behind Danny, pulsing with ghostly energy. The CEO tripped backward into his own security guard.

Danny took a step forward and said, very politely:

“You should leave before the ghost roses start asking questions.”

The CEO screamed. Ivy gave him a sticker that said “You Messed With The Wrong Garden.” Harley filmed the whole thing and posted it with the caption: “Our spooky nephew made a man pee himself 💚🖤🌿👻”

Later – Back at the Manor

Bruce watched the footage. Vlad was face-down on the couch, groaning into a throw pillow. Tim had already turned the video into a meme. Damian was inspecting one of the ghost plants Danny brought back. “Can I keep it?” Cass nodded. “It likes you.” Jason: “He’s now officially in the Ivy-Harley inner circle. That’s better than the damn Mayor.”

Danny poked his head in from the kitchen, covered in potting soil and ghost glitter.

“I made ecto-compost cookies! They’re great for photosynthesis and graveyard shifts.”

Vlad: screaming internally again

Bruce patted Vlad’s back. “He’s doing well.”

“He joined a villain gardening cult.”

“They like him.”

“EVERYONE LIKES HIM.”

“Maybe you should try it.”

Vlad made a sound like a dying Roomba and walked straight into the wall.

[juliaridulaina]

Mesura i desmesura//Measure and excess//Mesura y desmesura

Sabent que en algun lloc concret hi ha un forat.., de segur que no hi cauríem, veritat? PUNT: Fer quelcom petit o gran depèn del vostre intel·lecte. Tot és una qüestió de ser conscient. Si estem alertes de com estem pensant pel que fa a alguna cosa que estigui passant o del caràcter d’algú que tinguem al davant, tindrem la mesura adequada de com és la situació o de com s’ha de parlar amb…

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Welcoming Party

In all the time Bruce knows James Gorgon, the man had asked him for a favor exactly three times.

The first one was back when he wasn't even Batman yet, and Jim wasn't a Commissioner. He asked Bruce to stay out of trouble and promised to find the man who killed his parents in return.

The second time was years later, when Jim found out who was under the Batgirl's mask and asked Bruce to keep his daughter safe.

Both of those things Bruce hadn't done. With Barbara, he tried and failed; with trouble, he hadn't even considered keeping his word.

Now, he is standing on the roof of GCPD building, the light of the BatSignal outlining Jim's tired figure, smoke slowly rising up from the man's cigarette. He wonders if this time, he'd be able to give Gordon whatever he called him here for without the bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth.

"You're aware of the Realms' delegates arriving this week," Jim starts. It's not even a question: the whole wide world is aware of peace talks between the UN and the afterlife dimension. Bruce nods anyway.

"Can't imagine why they've chosen Gotham out of all places," Jim takes the last drag and flicks the cigarette down — Bruce knows he'll pick it up later, it's only a gesture of frustration. He also knows why the Infinite Realms decided on this city: the crime rate here is the highest in the country, if not the world, which means there's a lot of ambient ectoplasm, afterlife energy, here. For the denizens of the Underworld, it must be comfortable.

He waits, watching Jim collect his thoughts.

"Listen, I know this will not be the most appropriate thing to ask from you and your team, but would you mind running security for them?" Gordon is not looking him in the eye, saying it all in one breath, and Bruce feels his eyebrows shoot up without his control. Good thing his cowl hides it.

"Publically," Jim puts the last nail in the coffin of Bruce's dignity.

The reasonable — the only — answer he can realistically give is 'no'. He can't. They are not glorified heroes or public personas, they are not even considered real by a third of this city's population, not to mention the world at large.

But Jim Gordon never asks him for favors, and the peace talks are important enough to break some rules. Like the concept of 'diplomatic relationship with the afterlife' is already breaking a few rules, anyway.

Bruce tilts his head forward just slightly.

"I'll discuss it with the others," he says. It's not a 'yes' because he actually does need to discuss it with his kids, although he doubts they'd refuse.

But Gordon looks relieved.

[ part 2 -> ]

[comatosebunny09]

2am | sylus

sum: your famous actor boyfriend takes you out for a drive, and then some. 2.6k words of cheesiness, vibes, and filth.

cw: actor!sylus au, female reader, fluff, language, p-in-v, pregnancy jokes, period mention, slight overstim, biting, marking, fingering, nipple-sucking, cheesiness, mdni

now playing: seoul city - jennie 0:01 ❍─────── 2:43 ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺

“Hungry,” you bemoan, rubbing your tummy. Your bottom lip juts out for good measure beneath the ambient wash of golden light in his bedroom. “I want chocolate.”

A light huff, followed by deft fingers closing around your wrist beneath the silken glide of bedsheets, answers you. “Late-night cravings again? You sure you aren’t pregnant?”

He chuckles and cringes away when you swat at him, expression not the slightest bit amused. 

“You know I’m not pregnant. And if I were, I’d kill you.” 

He props himself on an elbow and hand to study you, dragging the backs of his fingers down your exposed belly, tracking their lazy descent with smoldering, scarlet eyes. “I think you’d look beautiful carrying my child.”

Another smack, another laugh, another rustle of sheets. “Sylus, I swear to God—”

“Relax, sweetheart,” your boyfriend—God, it still makes you all warm and tingly calling him that—assuages, panning in for a taste of your lips. 

You groan into his mouth, a little lightheaded, a little breathless—a distraction. Of course. 

He draws back with a hand at the nape of your neck before you can fully surrender yourself.

“I’m merely teasing you. But you’ve had a sweet tooth nearly every night this week.”

You chew on your lip, sinking into the doughiness of his bed, toying with the stitching of his comforter. “My period must be coming on.”

He smooths his palm over your belly. The sheer size of it—how it swallows up the bulk of your flesh—makes your throat thicken. 

He’s contemplative, circling your navel with a short nail before exhaling slowly through his nostrils. “Would you like to go for a drive?”

You sit up faster than he can blink, the hem of his shirt brushing your thighs, radiating the energy of a golden retriever. “Can we?”

Sylus chuckles, an enamored sound, smile unguarded and wide as he boops your nose. “Sure, sweetheart. Get dressed.”

You don’t have to be told twice. And it’s comical, watching you fight the bedsheets for freedom, before you snatch your clothes from his armchair to race into the bathroom.

—

Sylus is territorial by nature. 

He’s not the biggest fan of people touching his things, especially the expensive ones. But you, being one of said things he covets, he gives a pass.

He lets you fill the cockpit of his car with your music, the sultry croon of R&B. It helps that he listens to everything. That you have similar tastes in music, and he’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with it, bobbing his head, mouthing the lyrics.

You’re adorable, do you know that? So cute, he lets you roll down the windows and shove your head out, the summery, night air lapping over your cheeks and threading through your teeth and hair.

He grabs your thigh, gentle yet firm, kneading your warm skin. Can’t help the grin rounding his mouth, the warmth spilling through his chest. 

The street lights flanking the road glaze over the sleek outline of his car, the windshield, and he finds himself thinking he’d give it all up for a bit of normalcy with you like this every day.

—

It’s a quarter ‘til midnight when Sylus pulls his car into the convenience store’s parking lot. 

He parks on the side, tucked beneath the shadows and in the security cam’s blind spot. It’s alarming enough to see a luxury car at a store so quaint. He doesn’t want to draw too much attention to you—your relationship is pretty low-key, and he respects your desire to keep it that way, lest his fans and the press have a field day with your face.

After killing the engine, he tucks his hair into an obsidian baseball cap. Draws up the zipper of his leather jacket to his chin, slipping a mask over his nose and mouth. He contemplates putting on shades, but then he’d look too suspicious.

You follow suit, donning a matching hat—God, you’re both disgusting. He’d bought it for you when he got his, because, as he said, “couples should match.” 

You rolled your eyes when he presented it to you, accepting it with a smile, playful yet genuine.

You hold hands when you exit the car, fingers laced, tucked into his side, giggling and shoving against him.

The store’s motion sensor chimes when the pair of you duck inside, the cashier looking up from her magazine with a warm smile to greet you. 

He’s reluctant to, but he lets your fingers slip from his when you meander down the candy aisle, lost in your own little world. He shoves his hands into his jacket’s pockets, skimming over the various snacks and trinkets lining the shelves. Head on a swivel, on the lookout for anyone who might recognize him. Luckily, you’re the store’s only customers. 

He sidles up behind your bent-over form, a finger held to your chin in contemplation as if you’re defusing a bomb. He gives you a once-over, eyes crinkling. You fill your jeans to filth. He can’t help himself, molding his hand to the shape of your ass.

You give a start, casting a surprised look at him from your shoulder before narrowing your eyes. 

“Sir,” you clip, tone impish, haughty, “I’m a minor.”

Sylus scoffs, breath warm against the cloth of his mask. “If you’re a minor, then I’m an infant. Now who’s robbing the cradle?”

He stiffens, anticipating a smack. It never comes, but he winces when you brush past him, instead pinching his side, in pursuit of the freezers. 

He follows you like a watchful Doberman. Rolls his eyes at the junk food filling your arms, dropping his shoulders in defeat. He gives you wiggle room around this time of the month where he’d typically give you shit for eating like that.

When you’re done perusing nearly every aisle, you retreat to the front counter. You deposit your wares on the countertop, colorful bags spilling down the pile like lava. One of your candy bars slips, careening to the floor. He reflexively catches it, tapping you on the head with it before tossing it onto the counter.

“Would you like me to buy the entire convenience store next time?”

You pull a face, clearly sick of his shit. 

“I don’t know this man,” you say, turning your attention to the cashier. 

You tug your wallet from your back pocket to pay. But he beats you to the punch, that telltale black card held to the PIN pad with lightning speed. 

You exchange a look, a wordless argument, before your chin juts out defiantly. You gather your bags of processed junk before the cashier stops you, crow’s feet lining her eyes to match the mischievous cant of her lips. 

She slips something with a suspicious-looking rhino on its cover into one of your bags, sealing whatever drug deal she’s made with a wink. 

Sylus doesn’t miss the mortification sinking into your features before you zip out of the store, leaving him to blink bewildered at the trail of dust clouding in your wake.

—

He pretends to be annoyed when, on your way back to his penthouse, you fix him with those beseeching, puppy eyes, gentle fingers clasped around his wrist, begging him to stop at a drive-in restaurant for a milkshake. More specifically, a chocolate one.

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” he taunts over the quiet purr of his engine, garnering a fist to his chest.

He humors you nonetheless. He lives for these moments with you, free of the blaring set lights and scrutinizing eyes. Where he can adore you freely, have you all to himself, unhindered by your positions, your status. 

He watches you talk all sweet into the mic with his chin in his palm, elbow propped on the center console, ordering more than just a milkshake. 

You look back to ask if he wants anything, eyes round, face gorgeous, haloed by the halogen glow of the spotlight. He declines, figuring he’ll snatch whatever’s in your bag when you’re not looking. 

Food always tastes better when it’s someone else’s.

You swat at him when he digs into your carton for a mozzarella stick, blissfully munching on your spoils. 

“I asked if you wanted anything, and you said no.” You make a face, turning your chin up, mouth full of fried cheese.

The mild annoyance on his face transitions into something impish. And before you can blink, he pitches himself over the center console, kissing you nice and slow. Greedy, teasing, slipping his tongue into your mouth to milk a gasp from you. 

He draws back, fingers loose on the steering wheel, grin shit-eating. You’re gobsmacked, a half-eaten mozz stick pinched between your fingers, frozen halfway to your mouth. 

“Tastes better when it comes from you, anyway.”

You scoff, calling him a dork as he starts the car, trying to hide that shy little smile behind your hand.

—

It’s two in the morning by the time you’re back in his penthouse. Swathed in the soft glow of his cabinet lights, seated on the crisp kitchen floor in front of the fridge, legs entangled, laughter filling the tranquil atmosphere. 

You’re feeding each other chocolate-dipped strawberries. Your idea, donned in your bra and panties, Sylus in boxer briefs, as you try and fail to toss chocolate chips into his mouth. 

It’s sensual. Something like a dream. Two lovers untouched by the world, existing in each other’s presence without the fear of it being front-page news. 

Chocolate sauce drips down the swell of your cleavage while you’re halfway through a strawberry. He follows its languorous descent with ravenous eyes before pulling you, laughing and squealing, onto his lap. 

“Such a messy eater,” he drawls, smiling against your lips, your sides warm and doughy between his fingers. 

He kisses you, once, twice, the tang of strawberry intermingled with the flavor of your mouth. He then ducks down to seal his lips to your breast to swipe at the ganache sliding down with his tongue. Your giggles transition into a pleasured breath out, fingers automatically burying themselves into his hair, head thrown back. 

He growls low against your flesh, nipping it, sure to leave a bruise. You wind your hips against him, so deliciously out of your mind, so pretty, the apex of your thighs grinding pleasantly against his girth.

“Here?” he husks, moving to pay your unattended breast the same homage. “On the floor?”

You nod, biting your lip to contain your smile, your eyes closed. It’s increasingly difficult to focus with his mouth moving like that. With his teeth scraping your skin, with his cock bumping your clit just right, his arms wound tight around your waist, so thick, so reassuring.

He’s laying you down onto your back before you can think, slow and meticulous like an offering laid onto an altar, open-mouthed on your neck, voice thick and lustrous. 

You arch your back to let him unclasp your bra, lift your hips to help him slip your panties off. You adopt a look of innocence at the coquettish glimmer of his eyes. Trade it for a shaky sigh when he blisters your sternum with kisses, honey slow, maddening. 

He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. Tortures you, circling it with wet precision, and when you bow into him, he closes a hand around your muff, two devilish fingers curling inward to test the stickiness of your opening. 

You lose it when they slip inside, slow and teasing at first, before splitting you nice and open. And you feel so full, complete, as he presses in, knuckle-deep, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. Curls, pistons, scissors his fingers, maneuvering his mouth to seal around your other nipple, never once releasing you from the smoldering fire of his gaze.

When you’re writhing and begging in fragmented moans—more, please—pulling at his shoulders, his back, and you’ve thoroughly saturated his hand with your essence, he grants you mercy. Withdraws his fingers from the hot suction of your cunt, bringing them to his mouth for a sample.

You bear down on yourself, throb, at the sight, burning hot. He chuckles, watching you, voice smoky as mountain air, before reaching down, down, down to palm the intimidating swell of his cock beneath his briefs. 

Pulling himself free, underwear kicked off, he strokes himself, his massive hand swallowing up the bulk of his cock, the flared, angry-red tip. Your stomach pinches. Mouth waters. You sit up on your elbows, desperate to feel him stretching your jaw. But he pushes you back down with a hand at your belly, a flash of a furrow between his brows before that playful mask returns.

“Later,” he croaks as if reading your thoughts. Sensing your desire to please, to take care of him, much like he’s spoiled you from the moment he asked you to dinner some months back as you pressed concealer and powder beneath his eyes, to now.

You’re drawn from the cloud of your thoughts with a strained sound pushed between gritted teeth, as Sylus rubs his shaft between your labia, coating it with your slick. He’s pushing into you before you can think, blisteringly hot, thick, splitting you nice and open, the obscene squelch of your union luring twin groans from your throats. 

His biceps flex as he pitches himself forward, balancing on his hands on either side of your shoulders. And he eases fully home after a few agonizing strokes, buried deep, teeth gritted, eyes hooded as if struggling to keep himself from fucking you raw into the glacial, marbled floor.

He searches your gaze for any signs of discomfort. Offers you an out, a means to push him away in case you don’t want this. You smile fondly, tangling your fingers in his hair to draw him down for a kiss. Always so considerate, seeking reassurance, consent, despite having spread you open like this countless times before.

He takes his time breaking you down on his cock to build you back up. And it’s blinding white. Transcendental, how you leave your skin, your body, Earth, as your orgasm sparkles through you after what feels like hours of moving as one, your nails digging waning moons into the backs of his forearms, heels locked in the divots of his back.

He kisses you honey-slow. Loving, leaning on his elbows as you come down, thumbs swiping stray tears from your cheeks, before rocking into your shuddering walls in search of his own release.

He carries you, all boneless and spent, smiling like a fool, to his bedroom once you’ve both had your fill. Curls around you in his bed like you’re his primary source of warmth, his treasure, chin notched in the dip of your shoulder, hair ticklish against your cheek. 

“Sleep,” he tenderly instructs, exhausted, enamored. 

And as if under his command, you slink below the shadowy surface, heralded there by the evenness of his breath and the rigid safety of his body melded to yours.

—

You’re not at all surprised when you awaken the next morning to a suspiciously familiar, towering silhouette with a black cap plastered all over every major social media app. “With his mysterious lady friend,” reads every caption, your face luckily shrouded by the shadows of your cap in each grainy photo.

You groan, tossing yourself against his pillows. He grins sheepishly in your periphery, a naked Adonis beside you, winding those long arms around you to draw you back against him.

“Sorry,” he ruefully offers, blistering your neck and shoulder with apologetic kisses. “I should’ve known someone would recognize me.”

You plaster a hand over your face. Try not to smile. To laugh. Cry. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone spotted you together, before the rumors started, though you’re grateful your face was at least hidden.

You shake your head, stroking over the protruding bone of his wrist with a soothing thumb.

For now, you’ll risk your anonymity—continue to risk your career—if only to remain by his side.