#Hospital Management System Project

[sapphia]

USA please listen to me: the price of “teaching them a lesson” is too high. take it from New Zealand, who voted our Labour government out in the last election because they weren’t doing exactly what we wanted and got facism instead.

Trans rights are being attacked, public transport has been defunded, tax cuts issued for the wealthy, they've mass-defunded public services, cut and attacked the disability funding model, cut benefits, diverted transport funding to roads, cut all recent public transport subsidies, cancelled massive important infrastructure projects like damns and ferries (we are three ISLANDS), fast tracked mining, oil, and other massive environmentally detrimental projects and gave the power the to approve these projects singularly to three ministers who have been wined and dined by lobbyists of the companies that have put the bids in to approve them while one of the main minister infers he will not prioritise the protection of endangered species like the archeys frog over mining projects that do massive environmental harm. They have attacked indigenous rights in an attempt to negate the Treaty of Waitangi by “redefining it”; as a backup, they are also trying to remove all mentions of the treaty from legislation starting with our Child Protection laws no longer requiring social workers to consider the importance of Maori children’s culture when placing those children; when the Waitangi Tribunal who oversees indigenous matters sought to enquire about this, the Minister for Children blocked their enquiry in a breach of comity that was condemned in a ruling — too late to do anything — by our Supreme Court. They have repealed labour protections around pay and 90 day trials, reversed our smoking ban, cancelled our EV subsidy, cancelled our water infrastructure scheme that would have given Maori iwi a say in water asset management, cancelled our biggest city’s fuel tax, made our treasury and inland revenue departments less accountable, dispensed of our Productivity Commission, begun work on charter schools and military boot camps in an obvious push towards privatisation, cancelled grants for first home buyers, reduced access to emergency housing, allowed no cause evictions, cancelled our Maori health system that would have given Maori control over their own public medical care and funding, cut funding of services like budgeting advice and food banks, cancelled the consumer advocacy council, cancelled our medicine regulations, repealed free prescriptions, deferred multiple hospital builds, failed to deliver on pre-election medical promises, reversed a gun ban created in response to the mosque shootings, brought back three strikes = life sentence policy, increased minimum wage by half the recommended amount, cancelled fair pay for disabled workers, reduced wheelchair services, reversed our oil and gas exploration ban, cancelled our climate emergency fund, cut science research funding including climate research, removed limits on killing sea lions, cut funding for the climate change commission, weakened our methane targets, cancelled Significant National Areas protections, have begun reversing our ban on live exports. Much of this was passed under urgency.

It’s been six months.

[matcha3mochi]

PROTOCOL Pairing: Doctor Zayne x Nurse Reader

author note: love and deepspace is my addiction guys LOL anyways enjoy!!

wc: 3,865

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Akso Hospital looms in the heart of Linkon like a monument of glass, metal, and unrelenting precision. Multi-tiered, climate-controlled, and fully integrated with city-wide telemetry systems, it's known across the cosmos for housing the most advanced medical AI and the most exacting surgeons in the Union.

Inside its Observation Deck on Level 4, the air hums with quiet purpose. Disinfectant and filtered oxygen mix in sterile harmony. The floors are polished to a mirrored sheen, the walls pulse faintly with embedded biometrics, and translucent holoscreens scroll real-time vitals, arterial scans, and surgical priority tags in muted color-coded displays.

You’ve been on the floor since 0500. First to check vitals. First to inventory meds. First to get snapped at.

Doctor Zayne Li is already here—of course he is. The man practically lives in the operating theatres. Standing behind the panoramic glass that overlooks Surgery Bay Delta, he looks like something carved out of discipline and frost. His pristine long coat hangs perfectly from squared shoulders, gloves tucked with methodical precision, silver-framed glasses reflecting faint readouts from the transparent interface hovering before him.

He’s the hospital’s prized cardiovascular surgeon. The Zayne Li—graduated top of his class from Astral Medica, youngest surgeon ever certified for off-planet cardiac reconstruction, published more than any other specialist in the central systems under 35. There's even a rumor he once performed a dual-heart transplant in an emergency gravity failure. Probably true.

He’s a legend. A genius.

And an ass.

He’s never once smiled at you. Never once said thank you. With other staff, he’s distant but civil. With you, he’s something else entirely: cold, strict, and unrelentingly sharp. If you breathe wrong, he notices. If you hesitate, he corrects. If you do everything by protocol?

He still finds something to critique.

"Vitals on Bed 12 were late," he said this morning without even turning his head. No greeting. Just judgment, clean and surgical.

"They weren’t late. I had to reset the cuff."

"You should anticipate equipment failures. That’s part of the job."

And that was it. No acknowledgment of the three critical patients you’d managed in that hour. No recognition. No room for explanation. He turned away before you could blink, his coat slicing behind him like punctuation.

You don’t like him.

You don’t disrespect him—because you're a professional, and because he's earned his reputation a hundred times over. But you don’t like how he talks to you like you’re a glitch in the system. Like you’re a deviation he hasn’t figured out how to reprogram.

You’ve worked under strict doctors before. But Zayne is different. He doesn’t push to challenge you. He pushes to see if you’ll break.

And the worst part?

You haven’t.

Which only seems to piss him off more.

You watch him now from the break table near the edge of the deck, your synth-coffee going tepid between your hands. He’s reviewing scans on a projection screen—high-res, rotating 3D models of a degenerating bio-synthetic valve. His eyes, a pale hazel-green, flick across the data with sharp focus. His arms are folded behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

He hasn’t noticed you.

Correction: he has, and he’s pointedly ignoring you.

Typical.

You take another sip of coffee, more bitter than before. You could head back to inventory. You could restock surgical trays. But you don’t.

Because part of you refuses to give him the satisfaction of leaving first.

So you stay.

And so does he.

Two professionals. Two adversaries. One cold war fought in clipped words, clinical tension, and overlapping silence.

And the day hasn’t even started yet.

The surgical light beams down like a second sun, flooding the operating theatre in harsh, clinical brightness. It washes the color out of everything—blood, skin, even breath—until all that remains is precision.

Doctor Zayne Li stands at the head of the table, gloved hands elevated and scrubbed raw, sleeves of his sterile gown clinging tight around his forearms. His eyes flick up to the vitals screen, then down to the patient’s exposed chest.

“Vitals?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation. “Steady. HR 82, BP 96/63, oxygen at 99%, no irregularities.”

His silence is your only cue to proceed.

You hand him the scalpel, handle first, exactly as protocol demands. He doesn’t look at you when he takes it—but his fingers graze yours, cold through double-layered gloves, and the contact still sends a tiny jolt up your arm. Annoying.

He makes the incision without fanfare, clean and deliberate, the kind of cut that only comes from years of obsessive mastery. The kind that still makes your gut tighten to watch.

You monitor the instruments, anticipating without crowding him. You’ve been assisting in his surgeries for weeks now. You’ve learned when he prefers the microclamp versus the stabilizer. You’ve memorized the sequence of his suturing pattern. You know when to speak and when not to. Still, it’s never enough.

“Retractor,” he says flatly.

You’re already reaching.

“Not that one.”

Your hand freezes mid-motion.

His tone is ice. “Cardiac thoracic, not abdominal. Are you even awake?”

A hot flush rises behind your ears. He doesn’t yell—Zayne never yells—but his disappointment cuts deeper than a scalpel. You grit your teeth and correct the tray.

“Cardiac thoracic,” you repeat. “Understood.”

No response. Just the soft click of metal as he inserts the retractor into the sternotomy.

The rest of the operation is silence and beeping. You suction blood before he asks. He cauterizes without hesitation. The damaged aortic valve is removed, replaced with a synthetic graft designed for lunar-pressure tolerance. It’s delicate work—millimeter adjustments, microscopic thread. One wrong move could tear the tissue.

Zayne doesn’t shake. Doesn’t blink. He’s terrifyingly still, even as alarms spike and the patient's BP dips for three agonizing seconds.

“Clamp. Now,” he says.

You pass it instantly. He seals the nicked vessel, stabilizes the pressure, and the monitor quiets.

You exhale—but not too loudly. Not until the final suture is tied, the chest closed, and the drape removed. Then, and only then, does he speak again.

“Clean,” he says, already walking away. “Prepare a report for Post-Op within the hour.”

You stare at his retreating back, fists clenched at your sides. No thank you. No good work. Just a cold command and disappearing footsteps.

The Diagnostic Lab is silent, save for the low hum of scanners and the occasional pulse of a vitascan completing a loop. The walls are steel-paneled with matte black inlays, lit only by the soft glow of holographic interfaces. Ambient light drifts in from a side wall of glass, showing the icy curve of Europa in the distance, half-shadowed in space.

You stand alone at a curved diagnostics console, sleeves rolled just above your elbows, eyes locked on the 3D hologram spinning in front of you. The synthetic heart pulses slowly, arteries reconstructed with precise synthetic grafts. The valve—a platinum-carbon composite—is functioning perfectly. You check the scan tags, patient ID, op codes, and log the post-op outcome.

Everything’s clean. Correct.

Or so you thought.

You barely register the soft hiss of the door opening behind you until the room shifts. Not in volume, but in pressure—like gravity suddenly increased by one degree.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

Zayne.

“Line 12 in the file log,” he says, voice low, composed, and close. Too close.

You blink at the screen. “What about it?”

“You mislabeled the scan entry. That’s a formatting violation.”

Your heart rate ticks up. You straighten your spine.

“No,” you reply calmly, “I used trauma tags from pre-op logs. They cross-reference with the emergency surgical queue.”

His footsteps approach—measured, deliberate—and stop directly behind you. You sense the heat of his body before anything else. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel him standing there, like a charged wire humming at your back.

“You adapted a tag system that’s not recognized by this wing’s software. If these were pushed to central review, they’d get flagged. Wasting time.” His tone is even. Too even.

Your hands rest on the edge of the console. You force your shoulders not to tense.

“I made a call based on the context. It was logical.”

“You’re not here to improvise logic,” he replies, stepping even closer.

You feel the air change as he raises his arm, reaching past you—his coat sleeve brushing the side of your bicep lightly, the barest whisper of contact. His hand moves with surgical confidence as he taps the air beside your own, opening the tag metadata on the scan you just logged. His fingers are long, gloved, deliberate in motion.

“This,” he says, highlighting a code block, “should have been labeled with an ICU procedural tag, not pre-op trauma shorthand.”

You turn your head slightly, and there he is. Close. Towering. His jaw is tight, clean-shaven except for the faintest trace of stubble catching the edge of the light. There’s a tiredness around his eyes—subtle, buried deep—but he doesn’t blink. Doesn’t waver. He’s so still it’s unnerving.

He doesn’t seem to notice—or care—how near he is.

You, however, are all too aware.

Your voice tightens. “Is there a reason you couldn’t point this out without standing over me like I’m in your way?”

Zayne doesn’t flinch. “If I stood ten feet back, you’d still argue with me.”

You bristle. “Because I know what I’m doing.”

“And yet,” he replies coolly, “I’m the one correcting your data.”

That sting digs deep. You pull in a breath, clenching your fists subtly against the side of the console. You want to yell. But you won’t. Because he wants control, and you won’t give him that too.

He lowers his hand slowly, retracting from the display, and finally—finally—steps back. Just enough to let you breathe again.

But the tension? It lingers like static.

“I’ll correct the tag,” you say flatly.

Zayne nods once, then turns to go.

But at the doorway, he stops.

Without looking back, he adds, “You're capable. That’s why I expect better.”

Then he walks out.

Leaving you in the cold hum of the diagnostic lab, your pulse racing, your thoughts a snarl of frustration and something else—unsettling and electric—curling low in your gut.

You don’t know what that something is.

But you’re starting to suspect it won’t go away quietly.

You sit three seats from the end of the long chrome conference table, back straight, shoulders tight, fingers wrapped just a little too hard around your datapad.

The Surgical Briefing Room is too bright. It always is. Cold light from the ceiling plates bounces off polished surfaces, glass walls, and the brushed steel of the central console. A hologram hovers in the center of the room, slowly spinning: the reconstructed heart from this morning’s procedure, arteries lit in pulsing red and cyan.

You can feel sweat prickling at the nape of your neck under your uniform collar. Your scrubs are crisp, your hair pinned back precisely, your notes immaculate—but none of that matters when Dr. Myles Hanron speaks.

You’ve only spoken to him a few times. He’s been at Bell for twenty years. Stern. Respected. Impossible to argue with. Today, he's reviewing the recent cardiovascular procedure—the one you assisted under Zayne’s lead.

And something is off. He’s frowning at the scan display.

Then he looks at you.

“Explain this inconsistency in the anticoagulation log.”

You glance up, already feeling the slow roll of nausea in your stomach.

Your voice comes out measured, but your throat is dry. “I followed the automated-calibrated dosage curve based on intra-op vitals and confirmed with the automated log.”

Hanron raises a brow, his tablet casting a soft reflection on the lenses of his glasses. “Then you followed it wrong.”

The words hit like a slap across your face.

You feel the blood drain from your cheeks. Something sharp twists in your stomach.

“I—” you begin, mouth parting. You shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening on the datapad in your lap, legs crossed too stiffly. Your body wants to shrink, but you force yourself not to move.

“Don’t interrupt,” Hanron snaps, before you can finish.

A few heads turn in your direction. One of the interns frowns, glancing at you with wide eyes. You stare straight ahead, trying to keep your breathing even, your spine straight, your jaw from visibly clenching.

Hanron paces two steps in front of the display. “You logged a 0.3 ml deviation on a patient with a known history of arrhythmic episodes. Are you unfamiliar with the case history? Or did you just not check?”

“I did check,” you say, quieter, trying to keep your tone professional. Your hands are starting to sweat. “The scan flagged it within range. I wasn’t improvising—”

“Then how did this discrepancy occur?” he presses. “Or are you suggesting the system is at fault?”

You flinch, slightly. You open your mouth to say something—to explain the terminal sync issue you noticed during the last vitals run—but your voice catches.

You’re a nurse.

You’re new.

So you sit there, every instinct in your body screaming to speak, to defend yourself—but you swallow it down.

You stare down at your datapad, the screen now blurred from the way your vision’s tunneling. You clench your teeth until your jaw aches.

You can’t speak up. Not without making it worse.

“Let this be a reminder,” Hanron says, turning his back to you as he scrolls through another projection, “that there is no room for guesswork in surgical prep. Especially not from auxiliary staff who feel the need to act above their training.”

Auxiliary.

The word burns.

You feel heat crawl up your chest. Your hands are shaking slightly. You grip your knees under the table to hide it.

And then—

“I signed off on that dosage.”

Zayne’s voice cuts clean through the air like a cold wire.

You turn your head sharply toward the door. He’s standing in the entrance, posture military-straight, coat half-unbuttoned, gloves tucked into his belt. His presence shifts the atmosphere instantly.

His black hair is perfectly combed back, not a strand out of place, glinting faintly under the sterile overhead lights. His silver-framed glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, catching a brief reflection from the room’s data panels, but not enough to hide the expression in his eyes.

Hazel-green. Pale and piercing

He’s not looking at you. His gaze is fixed past you, locked on Hanron with unflinching intensity—like the man has just committed a fundamental breach of logic.

There’s not a wrinkle in his coat. Not a single misaligned button or loose thread. Even the gloves at his belt look placed, not shoved there. Zayne is, as always, polished. Meticulous. Icy.

But today—his expression is different.

His jaw is set tighter than usual. The faint crease between his brows is deeper. He looks like a man on the verge of unsheathing a scalpel, not for surgery—but for precision retaliation.

And when he speaks, his voice is calm. Controlled.

His face is unreadable. Voice flat.

“If there’s a problem with it, you can take it up with me.”

The silence in the room is instant. Tense. Airless.

Hanron turns slowly. “Doctor Zayne, this isn’t about—”

“It is,” Zayne replies, tone even sharper. “You’re implying a clinical error in my procedure. If you’re accusing her, then you’re accusing me. So let’s be clear.”

You can barely process it. Your heart is thudding, ears buzzing from the sudden shift in tone, from the weight of Zayne’s voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. You look at him — really look — and for once, he isn’t focused on numbers or reports.

He’s solely focused on Hanron. And he is furious — not loudly, but in the way his voice doesn’t rise, his jaw locks, and his words slice like ice.

Just furious—in that cold, calculated way of his.

“She followed my instruction under direct supervision,” he says, voice steady. “The variance was intentional. Based on patient history and real-time rhythm response.”

He pauses just long enough to let the words land.

“It was correct.”

Hanron doesn’t respond right away.

His lips press into a thin line, face unreadable, and he shifts back a step—visibly checking himself in the silence Zayne has carved into the room like a scalpel.

“We’ll review the surgical logs,” Hanron mutters at last, voice clipped, his authority retreating behind procedure.

Zayne nods once. “Please do.”

Then, without fanfare, without another word, he steps forward—not toward the exit, but toward the table.

You track him with your eyes, unable to help it.

The low hum of the room resumes, like the air had been holding its breath. No one speaks. A few nurses drop their eyes back to their datapads. Pages turn. Screens flicker.

But you’re frozen in place, shoulders still tight, hands clenched in your lap to keep them from visibly shaking.

Zayne rounds the end of the table, his boots clicking softly against the metal flooring. His long coat sways with his movements, falling neatly behind him as he pulls out the seat directly across from you.

And sits.

Not at the head of the table. Not in some corner seat to observe.

Directly across from you.

He adjusts his glasses with two fingers, expression cool again, almost as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just dress down a senior doctor in front of the entire room on your behalf.

He doesn’t look at you.

He opens the file on his datapad, stylus poised, reviewing the surgical results like this is any other debrief.

But you’re still staring.

You study the slight tension in his shoulders, the stillness in his hands, the way his eyes don’t drift—not toward Hanron, not toward you—locked entirely on the data as if that can contain whatever just happened.

You should say something.

Thank you.

But the words get stuck in your throat.

Your pulse is still unsteady, confusion mixing with the low thrum of heat behind your ribs. He didn’t need to defend you. He never steps into conflict like that, especially not for others—especially not for you.

You glance away first, eyes back on your screen, unable to ignore the twist in your gut.

The room empties, but you stay.

The echo of voices fades out with the hiss of the sliding doors. Just a few minutes ago, the surgical debrief room was bright with tension—every overhead light too sharp, the air too thin, the hum of holopanels and datapads a constant static in your head.

Now, it’s quiet. Still.

You sit for a moment longer, fingers resting on your lap, knuckles tight, back straight even though your entire body wants to collapse inward. You’re still warm from the flush of embarrassment, your pulse still flickering behind your ears.

Dr. Hanron’s words sting less now, dulled by the cool aftershock of what Zayne did.

He defended you.

You hadn’t expected it. Not from him.

You replay it in your head—his voice cutting in, his posture like stone, his eyes locked on Hanron like a scalpel ready to slice. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look at you.

But you felt it.

You felt the impact of what it meant.

And now, as you sit in the empty conference room—white walls, chrome-edged table, sterile quiet—you’re left with one burning thought:

You have to say something.

You rise slowly, brushing your palms down your thighs to wipe off the sweat that lingers there. You hesitate at the doorway. Your reflection stares back at you in the glass panel—eyes still a little wide, jaw tight, posture just a bit too stiff.

He didn’t have to defend you, but he did.

And that matters.

You step into the hallway.

It’s long and narrow, glowing with soft white overhead lights and lined with clear glass panels that reflect fragments of your movement as you walk. The hum of the ventilation system buzzes low and steady—comforting in its monotony. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint trace of ozone from high-oxygen surgical wards.

You spot him ahead, already halfway down the corridor, walking with purpose—long coat swaying slightly with each step, back straight, shoulders squared. Always composed. Always fast.

You hesitate. Your boots slow down and your throat tightens.

You want to turn back, to let it go, to pretend it was just professional courtesy. Nothing more. Nothing personal.

But you can’t.

Not this time.

You quicken your pace.

“Doctor Zayne!”

The name catches in the air, too loud in the quiet hallway. You flinch, just a little—but he stops.

You break into a small jog to catch up, boots tapping sharply against the tile. Your breath catches as you reach him.

Zayne turns toward you, expression unreadable, brows slightly furrowed in that ever-present, analytical way of his. The glow of the ceiling lights reflects off his silver-framed glasses, casting sharp highlights along the edges of his jaw.

He doesn’t say anything. Just waits.

You stop a foot away, heart thudding. You don’t know what you expected—maybe something colder. Maybe for him to ignore you entirely.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I just…” Your voice is quieter now. Careful. “I wanted to say thank you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is steady. Measured.

“I don’t tolerate incompetence,” he says calmly. “That includes false accusations.”

You blink, taken off guard by the directness. It’s not warm. Not even particularly kind. But coming from him, it’s almost intimate.

Still, you can’t help yourself. “That wasn’t really about incompetence.”

“No,” he admits. “It wasn’t.”

The hallway feels smaller now, quieter. He’s watching you in full. Not scanning you like a chart, not calculating — watching. Still. Focused.

You nod slowly, grounding yourself in the moment. “Still. I needed to say it. Thank you.”

You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the warmth in your cheeks, of the way your hands twist at your sides, of how tall he stands compared to you, even when he’s not trying to intimidate.

And he isn’t. Not now.

If anything, he looks… still.

Not soft. Never that. But something quieter. Less armored.

“You handled yourself better than most would have,” he says after a moment. “Even if I hadn’t said anything, you didn’t lose control.”

“I didn’t feel in control,” you admit, a breath of nervous laughter escaping. “I was two seconds from either crying or throwing my datapad.”

That earns you something surprising—just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. But not quite.

“Neither would’ve been productive,” he says.

You roll your eyes slightly. “Thanks, Doctor Efficiency.”

His glasses catch the light again, but his expression doesn’t change.

You glance past him, down the corridor. “I should get back to my rotation.”

He nods once. “I’ll see you in the lab.”

You pause.

Then—because you don’t know what else to do—you offer a small, genuine smile.

“I’ll be there.”

As you turn to leave, you feel his eyes on your back.

[olomaya]

Private Clinic - Optometry (+ updates)

So this is the optometry portion of my Private Clinic mod (eventual series). I had hoped to get this out much earlier but just lost interest/motivation but I managed to eke through with hours of 2024 to spare. 😅 Procrastination and I are long-time friends so I'm pretty proud of myself -- the old me would have just dumped this project and moved on to some new shiny. That's not to say that I didn't but at least this time I came back to it!

What this does:

Adds the ability for licensed doctors (see private clinic for details) to run an optometry clinic and treat patients.

Creates astigmatism and a couple of other eye diseases for Sims

Adds update to the clinic system allowing you to set office hours as a doctor, or make appointments as patients, track billing, income and expenses, among other new features

A few updates to the Private Clinic Psychiatry module such as more buffs added that can be treated and being able to use the main controller's payment system.

There is A LOT of information so please read through the documentation (there's two, a new one for the PC core features and one just for optometry) before using and bug reporting. This is a scheduled post (I'm currently under a table somewhere eating grapes) so please don't DM me with any bug reports. Instead, please log it here. If you see the same issue you're experiencing already logged, then just add your name or number to the "I have it too" column.

DOWNLOADS:

Private Clinic main files - Please sort the files list by date so you can see the 5 files which have been updated/added for you to download. You NEED the MAIN file, MaladyManager and prescription objects to run any of the modules. The rest depends on which features you want.

Private Clinic Optometry Module

Private Clinic Psychiatry Module update

Credits and thanks to all the wonderful cc creators whose objects were made of use in this mod:

@aroundthesims (of course), the exam chair and eye chart from this amazing hospital set by Hekate999, Lavoieri, Moonskin93 for the contact lenses, Syboulette for the actual contact lenses, and the true to their name simcredible designs for the eyeglass rack.

Thanks to @simsdeogloria for helping me test this mod.

If you have any issues, please do log them. And if you can't use the log, please let me know!

Happy New Year!

[bet-on-me-13]

Captive AU

So, the GIW has been around for a while.

Ghosts have been a problem for centuries, the US Government wouldn't have waited until the 21st Century to figure out a way to deal with them, so the GIW has been around for years. And the general Public knows about them, it's a common household name like the FBI or the CIA. They are simply seen as another government organization doing its job, no need to care about the Ghosts they capture, they're Non-Sentient anyways.

Over the years of their existence, they have acquired their own little prison full of Ghosts. And among that collection of Ghosts, 4 stand out.

Because they are somehow Ghost-Human Hybrids.

The first was captured a while before the others. A College Student studying Ectology had been admitted to the Hospital after a Lab Accident, where he had been diagnosed with an, as of yet, unknown and incurable Disease. He had Green Boils popping up all over his Face, and he was in excruciating Pain.

The GIW had sent a team to investigate, and they had found that the College Student was slowly transforming into some type of abomination. He was still partially human, but he was also partially a Ghost. They had him declared Dead and shipped him off to a Blacksite Facility to be experimented on.

...

The Second One came about 10 years later. Coincidentally, it was very similar circumstances. The very same pair of scientists who had been acquainted with their previous subject had just admitted their 5 Yr old son into a local Hospital. He had been in a Lab Accident that had stopped his Heart for a few minutes, and out of curiosity the GIW had sent a Team to investigate.

And what did they find, but a perfect recreation of their favorite Test Subject.

They declared the Child Dead, and sent him off to the same Facility they kept the other one in.

...

The 3rd of the Hybrids was actually created in a GIW Lab, 3 Years Later. In an experiment to see if the Hybrids condition could be recreated, a GIW Scientist had taken the DNA of the 2 existing Hybrids and had cloned them.

Of the Test Batch of 15, only 1 Subject survived. It was deemed only a Partial Success, because while they did manage to create a New Hybrid, it was Unstable and prone to melting if overexerted.

They placed it in the same Containment Unit as the other 2, and left it at that. No more Cloning Experiments had been conducted afterwards since the project was deemed an overall Failure.

...

The 4th and Final Hybrid was found in Gotham City of all places, 2 years later.

A GIW Operative had been visiting Family when their Van's Ecto-Detector had gone off. Soon after that they found the Subject in an Alleyway, seemingly disoriented from its recent awakening.

DNA testing had revealed the Hybrid to be deceased Jason Peter Todd, the adopted Son of Bruce Wayne who had been killed 6 Months Prior while studying in Ethiopia. By the Scientists Best Guess, an Anomoly in Space-Time had caused a Natural Portal to open right on top of the Teenagers Corpse, fusing his Deceased Body and nearly formed Ghost into One.

They shipped the Teen off to the Blacksite, and placed him in the same Containment Unit as the others.

...

So now the GIW have 4 Hybrids, all created from different circumstances, all different ages.

One was formed from the Slow Death of a College Age Student, after a Lab Accident had flooded his system with Pure Ectoplasm.

One was form from the Instant Death of a 5 yr old Boy, after a Lab Accident had flooded his Body with a dimensions worth of Ectoplasm.

One was created in a GIW Lab in a Cloning Experiment. She was created to be 3 Yrs Old upon Birth, and was Unstable as a Result.

One was created from the Fusion of a Long Dead Teenage Corpse and a nearly formed Ghost, in a random Space Time Event that forced both together.

...

All the Halfas are basically a Family together. Vlad is the oldest, at around 35, and takes the Paternal Role.

Danny and Ellie are the Kids, and are 10 and 5 respectively.

Jason is the Oldest Child, and takes his Older Brother role very seriously. He is 15 when he is brought in.

They all take care of eachother, through all the experiments and tests the GIW force them through.

One of the most common experiments is to have them battle the other Ghosts in Captivity. Although that is just a thinly veiled dog fighting ring that the GIW scientists like to Bet on. Sometimes they are put up against eachother, but they refuse to fight until they are electrocuted into submission.

They were also forced to Push all of their Powers to their Limits every day, just so the Scientist can see how they are growing. This had drained them, since they only got the absolute minimum amount of Ecto to survive off of, and they were forced to use it all up every day.

This goes on for 3 more years.

...

Until the day when the GIW messed up.

During one of their Constant Dog Fights, they had made the mistake of putting two Electricity Core Ghosts against eachother. The resulting battle had created an Electromagnetic Wave that fried all systems in the entire Facility.

It was a Disaster. Dozens of Scientists were killed when the Door Locks failed to contain the captive Ghosts, and even more were injured when a few of the Ghosts managed to break into the Armory on Base.

It was only hours after the whole ordeal was Finally quelled that they realized that their most Valuable Test Subjects were missing.

Vlad, Danny, Jason, and Ellie had taken the chance to run away during the commotion. Vlad had unfortunately been injured during the escape, and Ellie had been forced to use her powers causing her to destabilize a little, but all in all they had managed to escape on one piece.

But now they were fugitives on the run from the Government, with an injured adult and a sick child.

Jason had an Idea though. While he didn't have very clear memories of his life, a side effect of his late resurrection, he did remember that he used to live in Gotham. And they all remember researchers grumbling about how their scanners always malfunction when they passed nearby Gotham.

So, Jason led his little Family to the most Familiar place in the city he could think of.

Crime Alley.

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL LOGISTICS REPORT

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date: [REDACTED]

To: Director [REDACTED]

From: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Subject: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Executive Summary

This report outlines the ongoing expansion of DRC-operated paternity compounds across several strategic locations nationwide. In response to increasing insemination rates and projected surrogacy demands, we have begun constructing new high-capacity compounds to accommodate more surrogates. These expansions will enable the DRC to streamline the conscription process, optimize surrogacy cycles, and ensure our ability to meet the population sustainability targets outlined for the next fiscal period.

The new compounds focus on enhanced security, specialized medical equipment, and increased surrogacy capacity.

I. Facility Expansion Overview

Strategic Locations and Site Selection

To ensure regional coverage and minimize travel time to detain and inseminated surrogates, the DRC has approved the construction of [REDACTED] new paternity compounds in FEMA Zones 4, 6, 7, and 8. These facilities will be situated in [REDACTED] areas, selected for their proximity to population centers, existing transport infrastructure, and relative isolation, ensuring operational security.

Zone 4: Atlanta, GA

Zone 6: Houston, TX

Zone 7: Omaha, NE

Zone 8: Denver, CO

Each compound is designed to accommodate [REDACTED] surrogates at any given time, with the ability to scale up to [REDACTED] in emergencies. Construction is scheduled for completion within the next [REDACTED] months, with the first inspections set to begin by [REDACTED] this year.

Paternity Compound Design Features:

High-Capacity Paternity Wards: Each compound contains specialized wards designed to manage surrogates carrying up to sedecatuplets (16), with private rooms for those at risk of premature labor.

Enhanced Monitoring Systems: Advanced surveillance and biometric monitoring ensure constant oversight and swift response to emergencies.

Security Enhancements: Reinforced containment protocols, secure access points, and patrol routes have been established to prevent unauthorized access and ensure surrogate compliance.

II. Specialized Equipment and Medical Support

Given the unique demands and expectations placed on surrogates, each paternity compound will be equipped with advanced medical infrastructure to ensure the safety and effective management of extreme weight gain, reduced mobility, and increased risks of organ stress.

Key Equipment and Infrastructure:

Reinforced Support Beds: Traditional hospital beds have proven insufficient for surrogates carrying high multiples, whose pregnancies can lead to total weight gains exceeding 200 lbs. Each ward will feature reinforced, adjustable support beds capable of accommodating extreme weights. These beds will be equipped with pressure-relief systems to minimize discomfort and reduce the risk of bedsores for near-immobile surrogates.

“I hate that I’m here! But… all I have is this bed! I can’t move, I can’t breathe half the time, but at least I have a fucking memory foam mattress!” - Surrogate S118-176-J, 27 days pregnant with decatuplets (10)

Automated Feeding & Hydration Systems: Automated systems will ensure continuous nutrition and hydration to support surrogates with reduced mobility. Given the caloric intake requirements for such pregnancies, these systems will monitor and adjust fluid and nutrient delivery, reducing the need for frequent staff intervention.

“I’m basically just a machine now, aren’t I? They hook me up, pump me full of these stupid protein shakes, and keep me breathing so I can keep carrying these bowling ball-sized kids. It’s disgusting!” - Surrogate S117-138-N, 18 days pregnant with quattuordecatuplets (14)

Custom Mobility Aids: Custom-designed lift systems and mobility aids will be integrated into each ward to facilitate the movement of surrogates. These devices will allow for safe repositioning, transfers to specialized birthing chairs, and support during transport.

“I don’t know how they expect us to move with this much weight on us. Even standing feels like my legs are going to snap. Those lifts? They’re humiliating... but without them, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed at all.” - Surrogate S120-494-P, 30 days into a sedecatuplets (16) pregnancy

Advanced Fetal Monitoring: Each compound will have real-time ultrasound and biometric monitoring stations to track fetal development. Given the accelerated gestational period, these systems will continuously update fetal positioning, size, and viability, enabling rapid response to complications.

"It’s terrifying. Knowing how big they are, how many there are… they’re not coming out normal. When I finally pop them all out, they’ll get better care than I ever did!" - Surrogate S119-667-N, 22 days pregnant with hendecatuplets (14)

Dedicated Obstetrics & Neonatal Care Units: Immediate neonatal care is essential, and each compound will include state-of-the-art neonatal intensive care units (NICUs) to support newborns. Advanced incubators and respiratory support systems will ensure the survival of even the most premature babies.

"They always tell me how important it is to ensure the babies survive, even if I don’t. I get it, I do… but knowing there’s a whole team of people ready to take over the second I’m gone? It’s like they’ve already decided how this ends." - Surrogate S117-856-M, 8 days pregnant with tridecatuplets (13)

Pain Management and Sedation Systems: Surrogates will experience extreme discomfort and physical strain. Each paternity ward will be equipped with integrated IV pain management systems, allowing for both localized and systemic pain relief. Sedation protocols can be initiated remotely if a surrogate's distress becomes vocal, ensuring they can not incite civil disorder.

“I’m so big I can’t even see my dick, which is now buried under all these babies and fat. I’d be lying if I said the meds didn't help to blitz me out of my mind... a caring them I'm a gigantic incubator now.” - Surrogate S119-461-L, 11 days pregnant with dodecatuplets (12)

Future Equipment Developments: Research teams are exploring next-generation mobility aids, including exoskeleton support harnesses, to provide mobility assistance for late-term surrogates. These innovations aim to improve surrogate survival to deliver full-term pregnancies. Once available, prototypes will be tested in select compounds.

III. Expansion Strategy: Future Projections and Scaling

Projected Surrogacy Demand: With the increase in insemination rates, each compound is expected to handle up to [REDACTED] inseminations per month once fully operational. This translates to a need for approximately [REDACTED] newborns annually to meet population sustainability targets. Our current projections indicate that these numbers are achievable.

IV. Conclusion and Recommendations

The successful construction and operation of these new paternity compounds are critical to effectively maintaining the DRC’s ability to enforce surrogacy mandates. Our specialized equipment and infrastructure improvements will ensure we meet demands while preserving control over our surrogate.

Report submitted by: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

----------------

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----------------

To: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

From: Director [REDACTED], DRC

Subject: RE: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Dear Mr. [REDACTED],

I’ve reviewed the latest progress report on the new Paternity Compounds, and I must commend your team on the impressive strides made thus far, even with the ambitious timeline we’ve set.

I have been particularly interested in the improvements to our birthing suites. As you are well aware, managing multiple pregnancies presents unique challenges.

We are entering a critical phase. I want to emphasize that these upcoming births will set a precedent for all future operations. The successful use of these new facilities will allow us to demonstrate that our methods ensure the next generation's survival and that we can handle the demands without sacrificing efficiency or outcomes.

I look forward to seeing the first results when the initial surrogates reach full term and the birthing suites are fully operational.

Keep up the excellent work, and do not hesitate to reach out if additional resources or support are needed to ensure success.

Regards, Director [REDACTED]

----------------

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

A wearable electrical nerve stimulation device can provide relief to people experiencing the persistent pain and fatigue linked to long COVID, a study co-led by UCLA and Baylor College of Medicine researchers suggests.

Long-COVID, a complex and lingering condition following COVID-19 recovery, affects approximately 1 in 13 adults in the U.S. Symptoms such as widespread pain, fatigue, and muscle weakness often continue to disrupt daily activities, including walking and basic tasks.

The study, published in the peer-reviewed Scientific Reports, focused on a wearable Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation (TENS) device, which uses low-voltage electrical currents to reduce pain, fatigue, and mobility issues associated with long-COVID.

The project was co-led by Dr. Bijan Najafi, research director of the Center for Advanced Surgical & Interventional Technology at UCLA Health and co-director of NSF IUCRC Center to Stream HealthCare in Place (C2SHIP), who said the device could have wider applications.

"While this study focused on managing pain and fatigue caused by long COVID, it may also have potential applications for addressing similar symptoms in individuals with other respiratory diseases, those who have experienced extended ICU stays and developed post-hospitalization weaknesses, and conditions involving chronic fatigue and pain, such as fibromyalgia or chemotherapy-related side effects," Najafi said. "But further studies are needed to confirm these potential uses."

In the study, 25 participants with chronic musculoskeletal pain, fatigue, and gait difficulties were assigned either a high-dose (active) TENS device or a low-dose (placebo) device. Both groups used the TENS device for three to five hours daily over a four-week period.

Researchers measured participants' pain levels, fatigue, and walking performance before and after the therapy period. Findings indicated that the high-dose TENS group experienced notable improvements in pain relief (26.1% more relief compared to placebo) and walking ability (8% during fast walking), suggesting that wearable TENS therapy may help reduce long-COVID's impact on daily life.

The high-dose TENS group also reported a slightly higher perceived benefit (71.2%) compared to the low-dose group (61.4%), underscoring the potential of wearable TENS technology to support long-COVID recovery.

One factor in the study's success was likely the high rate of daily device usage, Najafi said. The wearable nature of the TENS device allowed participants to use it seamlessly throughout the day, without disrupting their routines.

"This wearable TENS system offered immediate, on-demand relief from pain and fatigue, making it easy to integrate into daily activities," Najafi said.

He also cautioned that more research is needed. "This study provides some hope for finding an effective, non-invasive solution for managing lingering COVID-19 symptoms that continue to affect millions," he said. "But our sample size was limited, so further research is needed to confirm these findings."

Study co-authors are Alejandro Zulbaran-Rojas, Rasha Bara, Myeounggon Lee, Miguel Bargas-Ochoa, Tina Phan, Manuel Pacheco, Areli Flores Camargo, Syed Murtaza Kazmi, Mohammad Dehghan Rouzi, Dipaben Modi, and Fidaa Shaib of Baylor College of Medicine.

More information: Alejandro Zulbaran-Rojas et al, Transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation for fibromyalgia-like syndrome in patients with Long-COVID: a pilot randomized clinical trial, Scientific Reports (2024). DOI: 10.1038/s41598-024-78651-5 www.nature.com/articles/s41598-024-78651-5

[koolades-world]

did y'all ever have to do that egg baby project as kids? i did and my partner was shit but i protected that egg with my life i tell you. I created the best little home for my baby no matter how many times it got dropped it was perfectly intact. she might've just been an egg shell but she was my child haha. i kept her for a few years until i eventually donated it back to my middle school to use as an example. her name was summer :)

anyways getting off topic, my spin on that with the brothers with a twist!! what if magic was used to give it artificial life? it's not real of course but it seems very real

enjoy <3

Egg Baby Project w/ Brothers

Lucifer

he acted like he expected the project and knew he'd be paired with you, but he actually didn't and was beyond stressed until you were put together

he knew from the minute he saw the fake baby, he'd quickly grow attached to your little family and would be a little sad when they had to go even though it would be an added responsibility

he's so grateful for you and how understanding you are. the two of you are together most of the time now in his room, getting work done in there and caring for the fake baby

like he predicted, he's a little sad but mostly ready to have his time back, but if you want, you can always come back to his room as it's open invite for you

Mammon

he mentally and physically cheered once he found out you were his partner, and totally shoved it in his brother's faces

he knows he's doomed once he sees this little fake baby you're supposed to care for together because they reminds him of you, down to the little cowlick

he's actually quite good at caring for the fake baby and doesn't need much help from you to do anything, but of course he needs breaks. you two have a good system of passing the baby back and forth!

he's actually upset once the professor takes the baby back after the project was over since he'd come to enjoy caring for it with you, like a little family

Levi

he has to stop being a recluse? count him out. but once he finds out you got assigned as his partner, he's all ears. he'll listen carefully for instructions

his hands are trembling accepting this fake baby because he knows this won't be like caring for henry 1 or 2.0, but also because he can't help but think they look like you

he knows a little, but not enough if he wants to pass this project, so he gets on it and does his research, and asks you once he's able to work up the courage to

he's more than relieved to have his time back, but he misses getting to spend time with you, so he'll find excuse after excuse to drag you into his room to be with you

Satan

you're the ideal partner for a project like this because the two of you have a good understanding of each other and what makes them tick. honestly, anyone else put with him may have been hospitalized once it was over

at first, he's a little annoyed they were just being handed the baby, but he softens up once he realizes the baby you've been given looks like you, someone he considers a best friend

he sometimes needs a minute to collect himself, but he's a great caretaker. better than you, actually. you follow his lead. he does want an A after all

he's not upset that it's over, but he's not exactly happy either. it's bittersweet even though it was short. but, he can always find another excuse to spend time with you haha

Asmo

he's so obsessed with the idea of this project and couldn't hope for a better partner for it!

he will openly admit how much he thinks the fake baby looks like you. he will be trying to coordinate outfits between the two of you for cute pictures

he's great at not only caring for the baby, but he also always manages to make it look easy. how is he so good and looks good while doing it?

he's upset that he has to give it back, but spending time with you makes him happier. he makes you promise to go somewhere nice for dinner that night :)

Beel

he's happy to have been put with you for this project, since he knows you and trusts you with his entire heart

he smiles once he sees you and the fake baby side by side, and he loves that he can see the resemblance. he's happy that even while completing a project he'll still be able to be reminded of you

he does try his best to help and he always tries to not worry about his hunger while working on his project. he does take breaks frequently to eat, but you know it's not his fault and he does wash his hands thoroughly every time

he's not too bothered by the project ending, but if you're upset, he's upset too. if you're happy, he's happy. he just want to validate how you feel since you really pulled your weight

Belphie

he wasn't in class the day the project was assigned so what a surprise it was when you came home with a fake baby

it takes him a little bit to see the resemblance between you and the fake baby

he does try to help as best as he can and he does take less naps, and when he is awake, he's a great help and tries his best because he knows you're only one person. but, from time to time he does need to consult you

tbh he's so ready to give that thing back to the professor. he's ready to have his nap time back haha

[inthefallofasparrow]

Suggestion on how to fix Doctor Who 15x6 - "The Interstellar Song Contest"

So, I think the core problem with the episode is just how two-dimensional and ill-conceived the writing is for the villain, 'Kid'. The way to fix this would be to basically rewrite him and reveal he isn't one, but have The Doctor still fall into the trap of assuming he is:

Phase 2 first The Doctor notices something odd about the air shield and goes exploring while Belinda continues watching the show. Meanwhile, Kid and Win take over the control room, uploading their code into the system and installing the Delta Wave. The Doctor meets Mike and Gary and Graham Norton in the history museum and eventually discovers the Hellian code that's taken control of the broadcast and the entire space station, triggering the deafening Delta Wave in the process. The Doctor fears the Hellians are going to transmit the wave out and kill trillions of viewers. Elsewhere, Mrs Flood tries to leave, but discovers the code is blocking off teleportation and stopping all exit or entry to the station. She heads for the control room to find out why.

Phase 1 Kid disables the air shield and the artificial 'mavity'. (Note, the bubble doesn't burst, he just seems to deactivate it). The Doctor watches helplessly from inside, as the crowd is sucked out into space, including Belinda and the TARDIS. (Note, as far as he can tell, they all just died and are gone. None of this 'oh, actually all 100,000 of them can still be saved, they're just in pseudo-cryogenic suspension' business). Understandably, The Doctor is grieving and on the warpath. He, Mike and Gary meet up with Cora and Len, who talk about the Hellians being terrorists and evil, despite the fact none of them have actually ever been to Hellia. Kid warns them over the intercom not to interfere and the Doctor threatens him. Cora reveals herself and explains the truth about Hellia, and her fear that Kid wants revenge. The Doctor does his hologram trick, but when Kid shoots at him, the blast passes through and hits Mrs Flood, seemingly killing her. Horrified, the Doctor destroys the Delta Wave device, and then begins torturing Kid. He does not realise the transmission is already locked in to broadcast at a specific point and can't be stopped now. Hellia Belinda wakes up disoriented on the barren plains of a desolate war-torn planet along with the other 100,000 people. She spots the TARDIS and makes her way through the crowd, who are confused, but mainly unharmed. With some trial and error, Belinda manages to get the TARDIS to return to the space station, and goes looking for the Doctor. A large projection screen activates above the crowd, showing the dress rehearsal being televised. Phase 3 The transmission begins, but it is not the Delta Wave being sent out. It is footage of Hellia before and after its destruction, with Kid's voice exposing proof of the Poppy Honey Corporation's crimes. Caught off guard, The Doctor stops torturing the genocide survivor, as Belinda comes through the door. Win explains that the plan was never to transmit the Delta Wave. They just needed it as a defense mechanism for the code to prevent anyone from interfering with their message going out. But knowing that even the footage wasn't enough to convince everyone watching, they also reconfigured the air shield to act as a giant teleport when the 'mavity' was turned off, thus sending 100,000 people to Hellia to see what had happened there with their own eyes, and hopefully spread the truth.

As Mike takes Kid to the hospital, Belinda confronts The Doctor about his actions, forcing him to admit his automatic assumptions about Kid being a terrorist out to kill everyone were aspersions he shouldn't have so readily accepted. Thinking The Doctor worked for Poppy Honey, Kid was willing to shoot him to stop any interference with the transmission, but any other threats were just him bluffing. With the message successfully transmitted, the regular broadcast is restored, but now shows Cora singing her song to an empty arena. The crowd watches in silence from the ruins of Hellia.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

mike.luckovich

* * * *

The Budget as Battlefield: What the 2025 Agenda Bill Tells Us About Who Counts

How the 2025 budget transforms abandonment into law—and turns survival into a test of endurance

James B. Greenberg

Jun 30, 2025

A budget is never just a financial document. It is a cultural artifact—one that reveals how a society organizes care, distributes risk, and decides whose lives are worth sustaining. It encodes a vision of the future, but also a judgment about the present: who will be protected, who will be burdened, and who can be left behind.

The 2025 budget bill now advancing through Congress—aligned with Trump’s second-term agenda and the Project 2025 blueprint—is more than fiscal policy. It is a redesign of governance itself. Not through declaration, but through attrition. Not by reforming broken systems, but by withdrawing the expectation that they exist at all.

The language used to sell this bill speaks of balance, discipline, and responsibility. But beneath that language is a different logic: one shaped not by stewardship, but by managed neglect. What it proposes is not just disinvestment, but a recalibration of who the state is for—and who it can afford to discard.

From an anthropological perspective, this is not simply a shift in policy. It is a transformation of the state’s relationship to life and death. Public institutions that once existed to extend care are being retooled to manage decay. Where governance once sought to mitigate vulnerability, it now redistributes it. This is not benign neglect. It is necropolitics—the use of policy and bureaucracy to determine whose lives are allowed to deteriorate, and whose deaths are rendered acceptable.

Medicaid, Medicare, and the Affordable Care Act are not just programs. They are lifelines that sustain millions. To gut them is not just to save money—it is to engineer exposure. It means letting chronic illnesses go untreated, allowing conditions to worsen, delaying access to care until it arrives too late. This is death by policy, not by accident.

And it is not evenly distributed. The logic of abandonment is racialized, classed, and geographically mapped. Rural communities will lose their only hospitals. Black, Indigenous, and low-income neighborhoods will see life expectancy drop. Disabled people will lose services. Families on the edge will fall through. This is not a side effect. It is the design.

Political ecology shows us that social policies reverberate through material landscapes. When healthcare collapses, it’s not just the body that suffers. It’s the water that goes untested, the air that goes unregulated, the landlord who neglects the mold, the factory that dumps with impunity. Austerity doesn’t just thin budgets—it sickens environments. It renders people and places equally disposable.

What this bill envisions is not a smaller government, but a more selective one—concentrating its power where it protects capital, and withdrawing it where it once protected life. Surveillance, policing, and border control remain intact. It’s the infrastructures of care that are being decommissioned.

We’ve seen this logic before—in colonial governance, in forced migration, in the abandonment of public housing, in the delayed responses to hurricanes, pandemics, and poisoned water. But what was once exceptional is now being normalized. What was once reserved for the margins is being extended to the center.

And all of it is made to sound inevitable. The story told is one of scarcity, of hard choices. But that story collapses under scrutiny. There is always enough for tax cuts, for military contracts, for fossil fuel subsidies. Scarcity is invoked only when the benefit is collective. It is not economics—it is political will.

This is necropolitics embedded in spreadsheets. It doesn’t look like violence. It looks like a closed clinic. A denied claim. An empty chair at the dinner table. A body that doesn’t make it through the winter because the heat was shut off. This is how death is made to look like data.

Anthropology teaches us to pay attention not just to what systems claim to do, but to what they actually produce. This bill does not produce security, prosperity, or cohesion. It produces delay, exposure, exhaustion, and attrition. It governs by letting go, then punishes those who fall.

The budget becomes a sorting mechanism. Not everyone is meant to survive. Not everyone is expected to. And the fewer who complain, the more efficient the system appears to be.

We are told this is responsibility. But real responsibility means maintaining the structures that make survival possible—not rationing them to the point of collapse. A government that forgets how to care is not smaller. It is colder, and more dangerous.

This is a turning point. The line between public service and structural abandonment is being crossed, not with fanfare, but with signatures, edits, and procedural language.

The necrostate thrives not just on cruelty—but on our distraction. On our belief that suffering is technical, unfortunate, inevitable. It isn’t. It’s being designed.

Let’s not mistake silence for consent. Or spreadsheets for truth.

+

B Benjamin, Ruha. Race After Technology: Abolitionist Tools for the New Jim Code. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2019.

Berlant, Lauren. Cruel Optimism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011.

Case, Anne, and Angus Deaton. Deaths of Despair and the Future of Capitalism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020.

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). “Chronic Disease and the Economic Burden of Poor Health.” U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. https://www.cdc.gov/chronicdisease/about/costs/index.htm

Geronimus, Arline T. Weathering: The Extraordinary Stress of Ordinary Life in an Unjust Society. New York: Little, Brown Spark, 2023.

Heyman, Josiah McC. “Constructing ‘Illegality’: Critiques, Experiences, and Responses.” In Illegal Immigration in America: A Reference Handbook, edited by David W. Haines and Karen E. Rosenblum. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1999.

Mbembe, Achille. Necropolitics. Translated by Steven Corcoran. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2019.

National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine. High and Rising Mortality Rates Among Working‑Age Adults in the United States: The Role of Socioeconomic and Behavioral Factors. Washington, DC: National Academies Press, 2021.

Vélez‑Ibáñez, Carlos G. The Rise of Necro/Narco Citizenship: Belonging and Dying in the Southwest North American Region. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2025.

[lavatichellborn]

[GRIFFIN ROCK ADVANCED RESEARCH ARCHIVES - DECLASSIFIED FILE]

FILE NO. 01939-BB

CLASS: LEVEL ALPHA

STATUS: TERMINATED

PROJECT TITLE: Project Blackbird

DATE OF ORIGIN: February 2, 1934

DATE OF INITIAL COMPLETION: March 21, 1939

INITIAL DEACTIVATION: April 1, 1939

FOUNDING SCIENTISTS:

Dr. Thaddeus Morocco ██

Dr. Elma Hendrickson

(4 other researchers on the board)

INITIAL PURPOSE:

Temporal Displacement Study

Multidimensional Stabilization

(Layman’s terms: Time Travel Machine)

Overview: Initial Production (1934-1939)

Project Blackbird was initiated under the supervision of Dr. Thaddeus Morocco and Dr. Elma Hendrickson, focusing on chronometric field manipulation and temporal anchoring using the geothermal vents beneath the island. Utilizing the resources within the caverns below Mount Griffin, a prototype was produced and transferred to an underground laboratory under Mount Magma (FILE NO. 32891-MM).

The project was sought to create a long-term goal of traversable time displacement. Like several other projects this was kept out of the public view due to its sheer size and possible complications. Only the scientific board of Griffin Rock, headed by Dr. Morocco, and the Mayor of the time were the only ones to know about its existence.

Audio Log Fragments (1939)

[Log #34 - Dr. Hendrikson]

"The calculations hold, but the gravitational stabilization and ground flux index leave the bridge unable to anchor into reality. The pulse continues to choke each time we active it. We've already had one injured personnel member due to an iltrux burst that sent them crashing into a console."

[Log #46 - Dr. Morocco]

"We managed to stabilize the energy core and anchor the machine. The location we were in before was not ideal for the amount of vacuum that was produced. One of our fellow professors had to be hospitalized after the vacuum sent an entire box of screws into their back. He's alive but now the mayor is wondering if funding should continue due to all the setbacks. We can not, and will not let this project die, not on my watch."

[Log #58 - Dr. Morocco]

"IT'S DONE, IT'S OVER!! HE PULLED THE DAMN FUNDING! SHUT IT DOWN, SHUT EVERYTHING DOWN!"

[Log #59 - Dr. Hendrikson]

"...After several incidents involving injuries and unexplained localized amnesia to personnel. Including a major blowout that caused a destabilization of the laboratory, and a minor earthquake in the surrounding area, thank god no one died. ...our funding has been pulled. We are unable to continue with this project henceforth, and it shall be placed in an indefinite suspension."

REACTIVATION

DATE: February 18, 2000

AUTHORIZED BY:

Dr. Ezra Greene

█████████████████

Overview: Reignition

Project Blackbird was reinstated when Dr. Greene and ████████ found old black site files of Griffin Rock during its Shadow Age, and with the authorization from Mayor Luskey, the project was back online. The experiment would involve refining the aperture stability and explore micro-temporal displacement. Initial tests proved to be successful as they were able to send an apple back in time by one minute, creating a minor vortex loop. With this, they continued on into greater testing.

INCIDENT REPORT

April 3, 2000 - CORE OVERLOAD

Registered Time: 16:42

Results:

Sudden atmospheric pressure drop

Energy spike recorded 500% predicted maximum

Security footage corrupted to the point of complete system shutdown

Internal lab clocks unsynchronized by 43 minutes

Injury Report:

Dr. Greene - Class III traumatic amputation (left arm)

█████████████████████████

Additional Personnel on staff - minor injuries

Post Event:

All personnel and the civilian population within a 3-mile radius report partial memory loss spanning 6-12 hours. Photographic evidence and data logs contain missing metadata. Personnel entries indicate that entire lab access records, voice recognition logs, and internal project files had been wiped from the system.

Blueprints and diagrams originally within the network now no longer have listed credentials or biometric data. Despite evidence that the project was authorized and reinstated by two high-class scientists with Alpha-level access, only Dr. Greene has that authority; no other scientist on Griffin Rock and the communication lines were able to clear it.

Project Status:

Terminated. Facility sealed under ordinance GR-42. Lab permanently locked down, with trespassers to be punished for entering.

Official records indicate Project Blackbird was operated solely by Dr. Greene during its reactivation window.

Final Entry:

"There's a space in the photo. As if someone is supposed to be there. I was holding onto something when the overload happened. Something I held on so tightly that it resulted in losing my arm. I wish I could remember what that was."

-Dr. Ezra Greene, private notes (unpublished)

[astroismypassion]

✨PART OF FORTUNE IN SIGNS AND HOUSES SERIES: 11TH HOUSE✨

Credit: Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

ARIES PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Aries and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via launching or joining a tech startup, focused on innovative technologies or disruptive business model, via work in community organization or activism, via work in digital marketing or social media management, via providing consulting services to businesses or organizations, advising them on innovation strategies, product development or new market exploration, via work in crowdfunding or fundraising. You feel abundant when you align with social causes, focus on group dynamics and embrace innovation.

TAURUS PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Taurus and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via work in investment management, focusing on building and managing portfolios that provide stable returns, via art colleting, dealing or curation focusing on pieces that have enduring value, via work in interior design, via work in hospitality management (in luxury hotels, resorts or event planning). You feel abundant when you embrace sustainable and ethical practices, when you practice patience and persistence.

GEMINI PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Gemini and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via engaging in activism, advocacy work, via work in public relations, graphic design, via creative writing, screenwriting, content creation, teaching, tutoring, joining or starting a tech company focused on innovative products or services. You feel abundant when you are focused on community, collective goals, when you stay versatile and adaptable.

CANCER PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Cancer and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via pursuing a career in early childhood education or childcare, nursing, caregiving, mental health services, via work in family and parent education, pursuing culinary arts or catering, engaging in art and design. You feel abundant when you focus on community, social connections, embrace technology and innovation, promote security and stability and use your intuition and emotional intelligence.

LEO PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Leo and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can find abundance by managing a charitable organisation. You can earn money via work as a creative director or manager, overseeing projects in fashion, advertising or design, via writing, blogging, content creation focused on inspirational and motivational themes, via work in charity or fundraising, work in teaching (drama, art, public speaking). You feel abundant when maintain confidence in your vision and abilities, when you embrace charisma, leadership and when you pursue a creative career.

VIRGO PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Virgo and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via work in tech support, quality assurance, systems analysis, work in non-profit management, pursuing teaching or training roles, engage in environmental research, when you organise workshops or seminars on practical skills, health and wellness. You feel abundant when you focus on health, wellness, when you network, collaborate and when you use technology.

LIBRA PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Libra and Virgo Sun people in your life. You can create wealth by creating and selling DIY kits or tutorials. You could also learn digital or 3D art. You could sell photos on sites like Shutterstock or Adobe Stock. You earn money via event planning, specializing in weddings, social events and community events, work in legal services, such as family law, meditation or contract negotiation. You feel abundant when you embrace collaboration and partnerships, focus on aesthetics and creativity.

SCORPIO PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Scorpio and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via holistic healing, alternative medicine, energy work, via astrology, metaphysical studies, spiritual counselling, via biotechnology, healthcare technology, environmental technology, via work in cybersecurity, data analysis or investigative journalism. You feel abundant when embrace deep, transformative work, engage in financial and strategic roles.

SAGITTARIUS PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Sagittarius and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via career in diplomacy, teaching, lecturing, work in tourism industry, work in educational publishing, work in broadcasting or journalism, work in editing or translation. You feel abundant when you engage in social and humanitarian causes, focus on education and communication, when you embrace international cultural perspectives.

CAPRICORN PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Capricorn and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via real estate development, work in corporate training and development, taking on leadership roles in non-profit organizations that focus on social justice, community development or environmental sustainability. You feel abundant when emphasize practical, realistic approach, when you use network and social connections.

AQUARIUS PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via streaming on platforms (Twitch), participating in esports or creating gaming content. You earn money via scientific research, when you create or support educational programs that focus on skills for the future (digital literacy, innovation), when you create content that explores futuristic concepts, technology trends or social change using platforms like YouTube, a blog, podcast. You feel abundant when you focus on technology and future trends and when you stay true to your unconventional nature.

PISCES PART OF FORTUNE IN THE 11TH HOUSE

You feel the most abundant when you have Pisces and Aquarius Sun people in your life. You can earn money via storytelling, work in holistic healing fields, massage therapy, via painting, writing, music or film, via offering spiritual or life coaching services. You feel abundant when stay true to your intuitive insights, embrace spiritual and healing practices and when you focus on humanitarian and compassionate work.

Credit: Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

[lostinhistory]

Heritage News of the Week

Discoveries!

Excavations in Egypt's Nile Delta have revealed ancient Egyptian multistory "tower" houses, a ceremonial building dedicated to the goddess Wadjet, a granary and several stunning artifacts.

Ancient Roman settlement discovered in France

Excavations conducted between February and June this year revealed the remains of dwellings, hydraulic systems, a domus with an intricate mosaic, and a necropolis across the 40,365-square-foot site.

Rare mammoth bones uncovered at construction site in Poland

The tusk of an ancient mammoth and a pelvis bone that is thought to have come from either a mammoth or a forest elephant have emerged from the site of a public works project in southeastern Poland.

40,000-year-old mammoth tusk boomerang is oldest in Europe — and possibly the world

A new analysis of a carved mammoth tusk first discovered four decades ago reveals it may be the world's oldest boomerang.

Bronze Age burial site found under park

An archaeological dig has uncovered an ancient burial ground underneath popular playing fields in Cardiff.

Incestuous kings 'unlikely' to be buried in ancient tomb

For many years it was believed that burial at the an ancient Irish passage tomb was the preserve of kings and other dignitaries, who represented a dynasty that practised incest. But a new research paper suggests Newgrange in County Meath may not have been confined to the social elite.

All of the headlines about this story are deeply weird.

Sinkhole exposes remnants of medieval English hospital

When archaeologists were called to investigate a sinkhole that opened up in the city of York, they were surprised to find traces of a medieval hospital.

Ancient 'female-centered' society thrived 9,000 years ago in proto-city in Turkey

Genetic analysis of skeletons buried in a Neolithic proto-city in Turkey reveals that female lineages were important in early agricultural societies.

US mass grave could contain remains of up to 120 Irish immigrants

A 19th Century mass grave in Pennsylvania could contain the remains of up to 120 Irish immigrants, researchers have said.

Newly discovered mosaics reflect early Christian history of Olympos

Excavations at the site of Olympos in the current-day region of Antalya revealed new evidence that attests to the site’s early Christian history.

There is also a new theory about Hatshepsut and her statutes, but I'm not going near that one.

Museums

An open-air museum in County Durham that features faithful recreations of old homes, shops, farms and a colliery has won the annual award for the UK's museum of the year.

This looks cool as hell

A medical-history museum contends with its collection of human remains

Supporters saw the Mütter’s preserved fetuses, skulls, and “Soap Lady” as a celebration of human difference. New management saw an ethical and a political minefield.

Great Bibles reunited for first time in 500 years

Unique copies of the Great Bibles of Henry VIII and Thomas Cromwell have been reunited for the first time in nearly 500 years.

Rijksmuseum’s condom featuring erotic nun etching draws backlash from Christian group

The Rijksmuseum’s latest acquisition—a nearly 200-year-old condom made from sheep intestine—has prompted outrage from a conservative Christian group in the Netherlands, which has called its display “a grotesque insult to God, the Catholic Church and the entire Dutch nation”.

This is the story of my resignation from the Queens Museum

It’s a story about power, leverage, and fear during the first Trump administration, and also about the potential for solidarity and love in the second.

Repatriation

During the handover ceremony in Edo State, Oba Ewuare II, the monarch and custodian of Benin culture, described the return of the artifacts as a “divine intervention.” The Benin Bronzes were returned at the request of Nigeria’s National Commission for Museums and Monuments.

Indigenous leaders urge reburial of Beothuk remains in Newfoundland

Indigenous leaders in Newfoundland and Labrador are calling for the return and reburial of two Beothuk ancestors, Demasduit and Nonosabasut, whose remains have been in storage for more than two centuries.

Romania secures hold on contested El Greco painting offered by Christie’s

Romania has secured a “long-term hold” on a painting by El Greco that was pulled from a Christie’s New York Old Masters sale in February, following a claim by the Romanian government that the work was unlawfully taken from its national collection.

Heritage at risk

In the absence of federal oversight, Black communities band together to stave off development on historic resting places

Visitor tears hole in 17th-century painting at Uffizi Galleries

A man damaged the portrait of Fernando de’ Medici while posing for a picture in the latest instance of a museum selfie gone wrong.

Odds and ends

They are best known for their remarkable ability to carry heavy loads and a tenacious – almost stoic – approach to toil. In some parts of the world, the donkey has become associated, perhaps unfairly, with terms of insult or mockery. But in a French village around 174 miles (280km) east of Paris, archaeologists have made a discovery that is helping to rewrite much of what we know about these under-appreciated beasts of burden.

Giant statues to return to Notre Dame’s spire in latest stage of restoration

Sixteen giant statues are to be hoisted back on to the spire of Notre Dame in the latest step of the cathedral’s €700m (£600m) reconstruction after the devastating fire of 2019.

'Deciphering these mysterious strings': How reading the Inca's knotted cords can reveal past droughts and deluges

Andean people of the past looked at these strings as a record of the climate, and they studied them to understand patterns.

English Heritage chief steps down after overseeing controversial cost cuts

Nick Merriman’s exit, for personal reasons, welcomed by some after redundancies and winter closures aimed at ‘financial sustainability’

Hands-on archaeological school wins national award

North Northamptonshire Council's partnership with the Irchester Field School, based at the Chester House Estate near Wellingborough, was recognised at the MJ Awards which celebrate success in local government.

Justice for Daft Punk? Emmanuel Macron calls for French touch to get UNESCO cultural heritage status

If Berlin techno can make the UNESCO cultural heritage list, so can French touch… "We are the inventors of electro. We have that French touch," the French President said in a recent interview.

Archive celebrates 'ordinary, incredible' women

A "living archive" aims to preserve and celebrate women and organisations across the north-east of England.

Meet Enigmacursor: New dinosaur species unveiled at London's Natural History Museum

A new dinosaur species, named Enigmacursor mollyborthwickae, has been unveiled at London’s Natural History Museum.

Fossil found in Texas may be one of the most complete yet

A rare, nearly complete skull of an ancient amphibian has been unearthed in North Central Texas. The discovery was made by Andre LuJan, a professional paleontologist from Dallas and director of the Texas Through Time Fossil Museum in Hillsboro.

[a-shade-of-blue]

New Gaza fundraiser asks I've received (26 August)

Ayman Sharif (@aymanelsharif): Ayman has 6 children. His child Mohammed (6) has a problem with his eyesight and is at risk of losing his vision if he doesn’t get surgery soon! However, since all the hospitals in Gaza have been destroyed, they will have to go to Egypt to get the surgery he needs. A lot of children children are also contracting hepatitis due to the unsanitary environment and they have all lost a lot of weight. Please help them evacuate! (https://gofund.me/0ff8b798) (#244 on the verified fundraiser list by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi.)

Jawad & Farouz (jawad236): Jawad and Farouz have two children: Muhammad (4) and Ahmed (10 months old). Their home has been destroyed, they have lost their source of income, and are now displaced. They are raising funds to buy daily basic necessities, medicine, shelter, evacuate and start a life in a new country. (https://gofund.me/bc231514) (#655 on the Butterfly Effect Project verified campaign list.) 

(@falestine-yousef)

Mohamad Smeer (@mohamadsmeer34): Mohamad is a palestinian medical student studying in Egypt right now. He has lost contact with his family since October 7 and his house has been bombed. He is trying to raise funds to cover his studying expenses. (https://gofund.me/db622b3a) (UNVETTED but seems legit. This is his Instagram: @mohamadsmeer and it has links to the same gfm campaign. His Instagram has been active since 2017 and he has posts that are geotagged in Gaza.) 

Rawan Shihada (@rawanshihada11): Rawan lives with her parents and 4 siblings. She is a renewable energy engineer, graduated in 2022 and already has a published paper. She dreams of doing a master’s degree. However now their home is destroyed and they have been displaced 6 times. Her brother Karam is a medical doctor, her sister Ruba is a software engineer, and her youngest sister Tala is 17, a secondary school student but the war has obstructed her education. They are trying to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/741d42ef) (UNVETTED but likely legit, see post here. @/catboymoses has managed to find Rawan on both LinkedIn and ResearchGate and has messaged her to confirm that this is her Tumblr account and fundraiser.)

Falestine (@falestine-yousef): Falestine has a 3-month-old son called Youssef that she gave birth to during this war. She cannot provide enough milk, medicine and other basic necessities for the baby. Due to the horrible conditions and the loss of their homes, her father suffered a stroke and her mother is suffering from chronic diseases and needs treatment. They are raising funds to evacuate out of Gaza and buy daily necessities. (https://gofund.me/77ca82d7) (shared by 90-ghost) (additional info on Falestine and her sisters)

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 July - 25 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 26 July -29 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 30 July - 1 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 August - 5 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6 August - 10 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11 August - 14 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15 August - 18 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 19 August - 21 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 22 August - 24 August

How does vetting and verification work? See post here. (also read comments regarding 90-ghost and why we trust the campaigns he has shared)

Click here for my Google Doc with my complete masterlist of all the Palestinian gfm asks I've received, updated daily (along with other verified ways to send aid to Gaza).

Don't forget your Daily Clicks on Arab.org, it's free!!! and Every click made is registered in their system and generates donation from sponsors/advertisers.)

[guilty-pleasures21]

The perfect guy

Ahh! Thank you so much for following this story! I really appreciate all the love and support you guys have given me. I'm currently going to start work on the Bridgerton-themed fic, so feel free to request for anything you want to see in that one. And any other requests besides 🤗!

The project

The new guy

The lie

The new body

The hospital

The first time

The suit

The virus

The escape

Warnings: explicit descriptions of sex (male x female).

----------------------------------------------------------

She wandered through the halls of the base, pushing the cart of cleaning supplies in front of her. She'd managed to convince one of the janitors to let her use his access card - a kindly old gentleman she'd always been friendly with. His expression had softened as she'd begged and pleaded with him until finally, he'd asked her what she'd use it for. She'd told him that he'd be safer if he didn't know - if he let her tie him up and pretend she'd forced his hand - and he'd agreed, his own heart aching at the pain in her expression. And that was how she'd ended up here: breaking into a top secret government facility to bust out her one true love. “Turning down the hallway to the medical bay now.”

“Let me know when you've lost access,” Miguel replied over her earphones.

“Roger that.” She continued down the winding corridors until finally, she reached a door her card couldn’t access. She pushed the cart aside and took a moment to calm herself. Twelve minutes, she only had twelve minutes. Twelve minutes next to a lifetime. “¿Querido? Estoy listo. (I'm ready.)”

“Roger that.” A tense moment of silence passed, the only sound the beating of her heart in her chest. Then the card reader flashed green and the door slid open before her. “You have twelve minutes, querida. Starting the countdown now.”

She dashed through the series of unlocked doors until finally, she reached the isolation room. She rushed in as quickly as she could and ripped aside the blanket covering Miguel's body. She flicked on the life support monitors, then waited for her phone to connect to his brain. “¿Querido?”

A pause. Then, “I'm in. Uploading consciousness now. Ten minutes until discovery.”

Ten minutes: that meant they'd only have three minutes to escape before anyone caught them. X watched Miguel's chest, anxiously waiting for it to start rising and falling with his breaths. He was still in his Spiderman suit, the nanobots caressing his cold skin gently. Maybe he'd be able to use his powers to help them escape.

“Five minutes until upload is complete,” Miguel informed her, his chest beginning to move. X grabbed his hand quickly, her own heart threatening to burst out of her chest in anxiety. They had to make it out of this together, they had to: they didn’t have any other choice.

Margo searched for the breach in the system, her eyes glued to the monitor before her. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she decoded the information on the screen, trying to undo the complex encryption stopping her. Then finally, she shot out of her seat.

“I got-” She paused as a message flickered on her screen, just one word: please. Her eyes widened with shock. Miguel? He was still … alive?! Her fellow programmers turned to face her, waiting for her to continue.

“What?!” one of them pressed when she remained silent. “Did you get it?!”

“Huh?” Margo looked up at all the other people hunched over their computers, their determined faces lit up by the glowing light of their monitors. None of them wore the easy smile that X always shared with anyone she came across nor the excited curiosity constantly displayed across Miguel's face as he indulged in all the physical sensations his new body had to offer. She hesitated, her eyes flickering back to the single word blinking in the corner of her screen. “I got nothing. Have you managed to find it yet?” She sat back down, a sense of hopeful relief overcoming her when the other guy shook his head. Then she resumed her frantic typing: maybe she couldn't stop the rest of them completely, but she could at least delay them for a little longer.

They were in the last minute of the transfer - the window in which he wouldn't be able to communicate with her until he woke up. X held onto his hand as she waited in silence, rubbing his palm to warm him up a little - they'd kept his body cold so it wouldn't start decomposing, but he was starting to heat up now that his heart was beating again. She brought his fingers to her lips to press a quick kiss to them, then she glanced at her phone again. Four minutes left before someone found them. No, wait … Six? Miguel shifted in position, starting to awaken, and X tucked her phone back into her pocket. “¿Querido?”

He squeezed her hand, then blinked his eyes open slowly, getting used to the light. He turned to face her and smiled when his gaze focused on her, his full lips curling at the ends with delight as soon as he could make her out. X bent over and wrapped her arms around his neck, showering his face with quick kisses. “We have five minutes?"

Miguel swallowed, wetting his throat a little so he could speak. “Margo.”

X’s eyes teared up as she grasped his meaning - she'd bought them some extra time, even though she’d known that it would cost her. X nodded in understanding and stepped back, holding onto Miguel’s arm to support him as he stood. “Can you get us out of here?”

Miguel flexed and relaxed his muscles, getting used to his physical form again. Then he slid his arms around X’s waist and lifted her onto his hips. “Hold tight, querida. Don't let go, no matter what happens.”

X curled herself around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the warm, masculine scent of him.

“No matter what happens,” she echoed in agreement. “No blackouts, Miguel.”

He smiled at the familiar catchphrase. “No blackouts, X.”

Gabriella giggled as her parents held onto her hands and swung her into the air between them. “Again! Again!”

“No, wait!” X stopped her. “I want to know what happened next! What did Anna do after Nick stole her ball?”

“She kicked him!” Gabriella looked up at X, her dark eyes wide with excitement just like her mother's always were. “And then Ms Jenny came before they could start fighting! It was crazy.”

“That is crazy,” X agreed, nodding along to the story. Then she turned serious. “Don't fight with people, okay, Beebee? It's never worth it.”

Miguel shrugged at her words, recalling all the times he’d had to use force to take a villain down. “It's some-”

“It's never worth it,” X interrupted, narrowing her eyes at her husband and fixing him with a threatening glare. Miguel held his free hand up in surrender.

“Okay! Okay. Whatever you say, querida. Listen to your mami, arañita.” He bent over and made his voice low, but kept it loud enough for X to hear. “She might beat us up otherwise!” His wife rolled her eyes in exasperation. Sure she was tiny and adorable, but she’d literally created a superhero, broken into a top secret military base and then pushed an entire human being out of her body after working on it for nine months! His wife was a total badass.

Gabriella looked up at her father, carefully studying his large and towering form. Then she tugged on his hand, gesturing for him to bend over and let her whisper in his ear. “Don't worry, Papa, you can take her!” Miguel chuckled at his daughter’s response.

“You really think so?” Gabriella nodded in agreement and Miguel continued. “Let's get her on the count of three, okay? One, two, three!” The two of them pounced on X, attacking her with their fingers and tickling her mercilessly.

“Ah! Stop! Stop!” She batted their hands away and ran a few steps ahead, putting some distance between them. Then she turned around and huffed at them, her lips twisting down at the ends as her brows furrowed in irritation. Dios, she was just as beautiful as the day she’d first connected him to her cameras. She waited until they reached her, then she smacked Miguel on the arm. “So mean, querido! You're being a bad influence on your daughter. ” She took Gabi's hand in hers and they started walking again.

His daughter - their daughter. Their own little baby who had her eyes and her hair and his nose and his smile. Dios, he'd never stop being amazed by the sight of their own perfect little daughter. He grabbed hold of her and lifted her up onto his shoulders, holding her high above the world as they continued walking home. “Our daughter? Where is she? Where did she disappear to? She was right here a second ago!”

Gabriella giggled as Miguel pretended to search their surroundings for her. “Papa! I'm right here!”

“Gabi?! Bebita?! Where are you?! I can't see you!” Miguel insisted, setting his features into an expression of horror. X chased after him with her arms outstretched, her heart pounding with terror at the thought that their daughter might topple off her father’s broad shoulders. She hated when Miguel played with her like that!

“Miguel! ¡Querido! ¡Bájala! (Put her down!)” she exclaimed, trying to grab Gabriella. Miguel turned to face her, a confused expression on his face.

“¿Qué?” he asked. “¿Quién?” (What? Who?) X folded her arms across her chest and frowned. Miguel grinned at the sight and finally crouched down, allowing Gabi to slide off of him. X rushed to support her, making sure she wouldn’t hurt herself, then she straightened and looked up at Miguel with a scowl. She was so cute whenever she was mad at him, her arched brows crashing together, her nose scrunching up, her lips pursing in irritation. He bent over and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then he took hold of Gabi's free hand again. “So who got the ball in the end?”

Gabi’s eyes lit up in excitement and she continued chattering away animatedly, clutching onto her parents’ hands as she finished telling them about her day at school.

“You remember our phone numbers, ¿sí, bebita?” X asked as they walked up to the Parker’s door. Gabi sighed at the question.

“Sí, mama,” she reassured her before rattling off her parents’ numbers for what felt like the hundredth time that day. X smiled and leaned over to give her daughter a kiss on the top of her head.

“Good girl!” she praised her. “Remember to call us if you need anything and never do anything you don't feel comfortable doing. ¿Entiendes, mi amor?”

“Entiendo, mama,” Gabriella replied in that same bored tone. Miguel chuckled.

“She sounds just like you, querida,” he teased his wife. X sighed and shot him an exasperated look. But the ends of her lips twitched when she saw the grin on his face. She stepped forward to ring the doorbell and was quickly greeted by MJ's welcoming smile when she opened the door.

“Mr and Mrs O'Hara!” A slight blush coloured her cheeks as her gaze fell on Miguel - as with everyone else in their little suburban neighbourhood - then she quickly turned her attention to Gabi. “Hi Gabriella! Are you ready for the sleepover?”

“Yes, Mrs Parker! Thank you for having me!” She swivelled around to give her parents quick hugs, buzzing with excitement for her first sleepover. “Bye mama, love you! Bye papa, love you!” Then she turned back to MJ and ran into the house when she stepped aside.

“Someone's an eager beaver!” MJ joked. X gestured to Miguel beside her.

“She gets it from her dad.” She held her hand out to Miguel so he'd pass her the box of cupcakes she'd brought along, then she handed it over to MJ. “Thanks so much for organising this Mary Jane, I baked some cupcakes if you'd like to share them with the kids. Please let us know if you need any help, all right?”

Miguel watched fondly as his wife gave their neighbour a warm smile. She was always so genuine in her interactions with people, always so sincere. He didn't know how she still managed to trust in people even after everything they'd been through, fighting so hard to get to the small and happy life that they shared now. He thanked his lucky stars again that she had fought for him: that she'd risked so much to give him the chance to kiss her awake every morning when he got up and cuddle her in his arms every night when they went to bed. MJ thanked the both of them, then went to watch over the kids, leaving Miguel to take hold of his wife's hand and walk back home with her.

He kept his grip on her hand when they entered her house, stopping her from getting too far out of his reach.

“Querida.” Miguel pulled his little wife back to him and bent over to rest his head on her shoulder. “Should we start working on baby number two now?”

X giggled at his naughty suggestion, but leaned into his warm and soothing touch anyway.

“Like you aren’t always working on baby number two,” she chastised him. He’d pounce on her as soon as their daughter fell asleep every night, ushering his wife into their bedroom and taking pleasure in her body after an entire day of having to be apart. He'd found a job as a software developer once they'd settled into their unassuming suburb and though he enjoyed his work, he always got a little anxious that someone might try to take her away from him when he wasn't there to look after her. Miguel pushed X towards the stairs as he brushed his lips along the side of her neck, guiding her in the direction of their bedroom.

“Miguel,” X began, stopping them in their tracks. She turned around and slid her hands up her husband's broad chest before wrapping her arms around his neck. “We have the whole house to ourselves, querido. Why wait until the bedroom?”

She gave him a naughty grin and Miguel groaned at the mischievous look on her face.

“P*ta madre, querida.” He curled his arms around her and nipped at her earlobe playfully, causing her to shudder against him. He straightened to look at her, then smiled when he saw her grinning up at him already. Miguel bent over to press his lips to hers and started pushing her towards the sofa this time as he slid his tongue into her mouth. X clung onto his shoulders, trying to keep herself from stumbling backwards, but Miguel held her upright, his hands wandering all over her body as he rushed to take her clothes off. He pushed her onto the sofa and X laughed as she tripped over her jeans, already bunched up around her ankles. Miguel knelt on the ground to pull them the rest of the way off, then he climbed up over her once he'd tossed them aside.

She cupped his cheek in her hand as their tongues tangled together, brushing her fingers over the faint hint of stubble creeping along his jawline. Shit, he was so. Freakin’. Perfect! X slid her fingers into his hair and tugged on his soft waves gently, delighting in the taste of him in her mouth. Miguel moved his lips to her neck and slid his hands down her curves, meaning to pull her shirt off. But she stopped him, suddenly remembering something.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. Miguel looked up at her in question, sitting back so she could push herself up to a seat. She gazed up at him with wide eyes. “I have a surprise! Wait here!”

X jumped up off the sofa and ran up to their bedroom, leaving her husband sighing at her sudden departure and sinking back into his seat. She dashed over to their cupboard and dug through her clothes to find the underwear she'd somehow managed to keep hidden from him. He was always so curious, her husband, and though it made for plenty of new experiences for their little family, it also made it incredibly difficult for her to surprise him. So, she’d take whatever opportunity she could get. She zipped over to the bathroom to get changed, then hurried back down the stairs, not wanting to keep her handsome husband waiting for too long.

Miguel tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for her. She loved surprises, his adorable little wife. It didn't matter whether she was the one planning them or the one receiving them: she just liked the joy that would fill the room whenever it was revealed.

“I’m ready, querido,” X called from somewhere behind him. Miguel twisted his head to look back at her and his jaw dropped when he saw what she was wearing.

She’d seen the silky green lingerie set in a shop window on her way back from grocery shopping the other day. It had been a while since she’d treated herself like that, what with Gabriella still being too young to go over to her friends’ houses and Miguel being too busy working at his full-time job. She herself spent her days as a biology teacher for the secondary school kids at Gabi’s school. It had taken a bit of getting used to, having to communicate with young students as opposed to the genius scientific minds she’d collaborated with in her previous jobs, but it was nice being able to mentor the kids and enjoy the quiet little life she and her husband had managed to build for themselves. X grinned as she placed her hands on her husband's shoulders and straddled his lap.

Miguel felt his heart start to quicken in his chest as he trailed his eyes over his wife's beautiful body. He hadn’t seen it before, the buttery deep-green fabric that clung to her intimate bits so very nicely. But he liked it.

“Do you like it, querido?” X asked, delighting in the hungry look on his face. Miguel lifted his gaze to hers, his brows furrowed in confusion. Then his eyes fell back to her body.

“Hmm? Yeah,” he mumbled distractedly. “What material is this?” He reached up to circle his thumbs around her nipples and X sucked in a breath at the feeling. Coño, his wife was beautiful, her head falling back in pleasure to expose the delicate length of her neck.

“Silk,” she replied once she’d regained her senses. She ran her hands along his shoulders, squeezing his muscles appreciatively. “Do you like it?”

“Mmm,” Miguel hummed in agreement, sliding his hands along the smooth curves of her waist. X grinned and tilted his face up to hers so she could start kissing him. She slid her fingers into his hair as she swirled her tongue around his, scrunching his soft waves in her hand. Miguel tightened his grip on her waist, moaning into her mouth as she began rolling her hips against his. He glided his hands up her back and wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her closer so her soft breasts pressed against his hard chest. X flinched as he reached down to squeeze her ass, her hips grinding against his and causing him to groan into the crook of her neck. “Querida …”

X dug her fingers into his shoulders and stopped her movements until he pulled back to look at her. She smiled when their eyes met, then leaned forward to run her hands up his neck and to his cheeks. She held his face in position as she kissed him again, her hands drifting down to the hem of his shirt as she smiled against his lips. She sat back to tug it off of him, then let her hands glide down his torso when he took over for her and pulled it off. She bit her lip at the feeling of his smooth skin beneath her palms, then she bent over to begin pressing soft kisses down the side of his neck. Miguel sighed as she made her way down his body, her lips and tongue tracing the outlines of his muscles teasingly. He lifted himself off his seat as she lowered herself to her knees, giving her the space to take his trousers off. X maintained his gaze as she took hold of his cock, fixing him with a naughty grin. Miguel kept his eyes trained on her as she guided him to her mouth and began showering his tip with soft kisses. He dug his fingers into the cushions as she swirled her tongue around him, his nerves lighting on fire as his wife teased and pleasured him with her mouth. She closed her lips around him and sucked on him carefully, slowly pulling him deeper into her mouth. Miguel groaned and slid his fingers into her hair to tug her back and forth, gently guiding her movements along his cock. X gripped onto his thighs and let out a low moan, knowing the vibrations would cause him to shudder in response. She pushed herself forward when he did, taking all of him into her mouth then swallowing around him when she felt his tip hit the back of her throat.

“¡P*tas!” Miguel swore, his body tightening at the pleasant sensation. He let go of her hair, then sank lower into his seat, relaxing into her embrace. X pulled her head back, letting him fall out of her mouth, and Miguel clenched his muscles to control himself as she climbed back onto his lap. He kept his hands on her waist as she circled her arms around his neck and bent over to nibble his jaw. Then she moved her mouth to his and pressed quick kisses to the corners of his lips, only causing his agitation to grow. Miguel growled and cupped her cheek in his hand, angling her head so he could kiss her properly. X giggled into his mouth and he smiled in response to her reaction - just like he always did. He kissed her for a little longer, relishing the taste of her in his mouth, then he flipped them around so she was suddenly underneath him. X looked up at him with wide eyes, startled, but he didn’t give her the chance to respond before he’d flipped her over onto her knees. Miguel curled himself around her and X relaxed into his embrace as he began kissing and nibbling on the side of her neck. He was so warm, his body so toned and defined against hers. He slid his hand down her back and into her panties, then closed his fingers around her soft flesh. X squealed, knowing he loved it when she did that, and Miguel grinned at the sound.

“Eres tan linda, mi amor (you're so lovely, my love),” he mumbled into the crook of her neck. “Tan hermosa. Mi esposita preciosa y inteligente. (So beautiful. My smart and pretty little wife.)” X shivered as the tips of his fangs pricked her skin and Miguel chuckled. He straightened to slide her panties off of her, then he slipped his hand between her legs.

She gasped at the feeling of her husband’s large fingers dragging up and down her p*ssy, then arched her back to spread herself wider for him. Miguel snickered at her eagerness and bent over to kiss her cheek before moving behind her again. He took hold of his cock and traced his tip along her folds, teasing her sensitive nerves as he lubricated himself in her c*m. He dipped his tip in and out of her entrance and X twisted her head back to scowl at him.

“Stop teasing me, Miguel!” she scolded him. Miguel laughed at the irritation on his wife’s face.

“Fine,” he relented. He notched his tip to her entrance then squeezed her ass in his hands as he eased himself into her. He rolled his hips gently as he pushed himself inside of her, keeping his movements slow so he could feel himself brushing against every inch of her warm and soft walls. F*ck, she felt good. He flipped his hands up her sides and unclipped her bra and X hastily pulled the straps off so she could toss it aside. Miguel chuckled at her enthusiasm, then he cupped her breasts in his hands, flicking and rolling her nipples with his fingers.

X flopped over onto the backrest, her brain turning numb at the feeling of his cock nestled deep inside of her. Shit, he felt good. Her p*ssy started throbbing around his dick as he continued to play with her breasts and Miguel grunted before moving his hands to her hips and thrusting himself in and out of her.

She was so cute, the helpless moans and whimpers falling from her mouth sounding like music to his ears. X pushed herself up and Miguel pulled her against him, holding her tight against his chest. She reached up and wrapped an arm around his neck, her slender finger sliding into his hair, and Miguel snuck a hand back up to her breasts. He squeezed her soft flesh as he sped up his movements, the sound of his balls slapping against her ass filling the room. Then he reached down and started rubbing her clit, the feeling of his fingers against her sensitive bundle of nerves amplifying her pleasure.

“M-M-Miguel!” X whined, her small body shuddering in his arms as she reached her climax. He stopped his movements abruptly, wanting to revel in the feeling of her clenching around his cock. Then he pulled out of her when she was done and spun her around so she was laying on her back.

She looked up at her husband with a dazed expression, her chest heaving with shallow breaths as she came down from her high. But then he was tracing her soaked folds with his tip and dipping in and out of her teasingly again. X squeezed her legs together as her p*ssy continued to flutter from the overstimulation, but her husband pried her thighs apart and held them down so he could slide his cock back into her. Miguel inhaled deeply at the delicious feeling of being snuggled tightly within his wife's warm and wet walls, then he glided his hands up her torso to start playing with her breasts again.

She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes as he flicked her nipples, the blissful expression on her face driving him closer to his own edge. He bounced her breasts teasingly, delighting in the way they jiggled between his fingers. Then he cupped them gently, his large hands swallowing her soft flesh whole. X clenched her muscles, tightening her grip on his cock, and Miguel let out a choked gasp at the sensation.

“Querida,” he groaned, the gruff tone of his voice causing a shiver to run down her spine. She pulled him into her again, squeezing his dick tight, and Miguel growled at the feeling this time. He moved his hands to her wrists and loomed over her, his copper eyes sparking as he pinned her against the sofa. “Arañita.”

X giggled at the note of warning in his voice and her back arched off the sofa in response to the feeling of his cock buried inside of her. Miguel bit his lip at the smile on her face, his stomach tightening at the sight of her curly hair tumbling around her shoulders and framing her sweet features so perfectly. Then he slid his hand under her back and started pumping himself in and out of her.

She yelped at the sudden force of his movements, the sofa creaking beneath them as he thrust his dick into her again and again. Her body stretched itself out at the feeling, preparing for another round of contractions to overtake her, and she grabbed onto a cushion to keep herself grounded.

“Mmm, querido …” his wife moaned, biting her lower lip in pleasure at the feeling of him. ¡P*tas! She was so. P*nche. Beautiful! His gorgeous f*cking wife! The woman who had given him their beautiful little daughter, the perfect combination of the both of them together. Mierda, he couldn't wait to put another baby in her - to see her waddling around the house again, all swollen with his seed. Coño, she was cute when she was pregnant.

She giggled at his mumbling about wanting to put another baby in her and how so very cute she looked when she was pregnant. She thanked her lucky stars again that she got to wake up in his arms every morning and fall asleep in them again every night. He was so sweet, her husband, always looking after his little wife and daughter, constantly making sure that no harm ever befell them. She gasped as he reached his climax, relishing the feeling of his warm c*m shooting into her womb and filling her up so very deliciously. Then she reached her orgasm too, her p*ssy clenching around his cock as she shook and shuddered beneath him.

He hovered over her when he was done, panting as he tried to catch his breath. F*ck, that had felt good. X looked up at him, her wide eyes travelling over the outlines of his muscles, highlighted by the sweat glistening on his skin. Then she lifted her gaze to his. “Should we check if it worked?

Miguel pursed his lips in confusion. “If what worked?”

X forced the corners of her lips to twist down at the ends, trying to hide her excited smile. “Should we check on baby number two?”

Miguel raised an eyebrow as he sat back, his lips curling into a smirk at her enthusiastic suggestion. “It takes a little longer than that, querida.”

X sat up and shrugged, her stomach flipping at the smug look on his face. “You never know.”

Miguel grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Está bien, mi amor (it's okay, my love),” he reassured her, his voice thick with mischief. “We can always keep trying.” He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth, then brushed his nose down the side of her neck.

X giggled at his naughty declaration. “Migue-el!”

He pulled back to look at her, finally starting to get suspicious at the beaming smile on his wife's adorable face. “What?”

She wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, settling herself back on his lap.

“Maybe … we don’t have to keep trying anymore,” she suggested, shrugging nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal that she was growing another little baby inside of her right then. She placed a hand on her stomach and her lips twisted into a cheeky smile again. “Maybe baby number two is already here?”

His jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief at her revelation. She was pregnant?! And she hadn't told him?! She was actually insane, his pretty little wife. Miguel reached a hand down to her abdomen and brushed his fingers along her skin.

“Are you …” He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself so his voice wouldn't crack when he asked her the question. “You're pregnant?”

X nodded quickly, then lowered her gaze, suddenly becoming shy at the awestruck expression on his face.

“I haven't had my period for 2 months,” she confessed softly. “So I did a pregnancy test the other day and it was positive!”

A rush of joy swept over him at her words. He was going to be a father! Again! ¡Ay, mierda! He couldn't wait! Miguel grinned and ran his fingers through her hair, elated.

“Querida …” He stroked her cheek affectionately, then brushed his fingers down the length of her body. “When … We have to go to the doctor. We have to make sure everything is okay.” She'd had a few difficulties during her pregnancy with Gabriella and though it had all turned out fine in the end, he didn't dare take any risks with his precious little wife. But ay, mierda, he was going to be a father again!

Her heart thumped in her chest at the dazed look on her husband's face as he stood up and started pulling his clothes back on. It had been a real struggle to keep such a huge secret from him for so long, but the payoff had been completely worth it!

“Miguel.” X patted the empty space beside her, beckoning him back to the sofa. He lowered himself onto his seat and she climbed up onto his lap again. “Next week? Gabi doesn't come back until tomorrow, you know …” Her lips curled into a mischievous smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Miguel grinned and dragged his hands up and down her sides.

“Next week,” he relented, the blood already beginning to rush to his centre again. “But no blackouts, querida.”

Her chest warmed at the familiar phrase - at the promise that had gotten them through all the seemingly impossible trials they'd managed to overcome so far. X leaned forward and pressed her lips to her husband's. “No blackouts, mi amor.”

The end

Tags: @jadeloverxd @migshusben

[distinguished-ruler]

Denial: "It's really not that big of a deal"

Warnings: Gang violence, stabbing, blood. I think that's it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was raining. Again.

Nathan pulled the edge of his hood tighter to his face as he walked against the wind, feeling the cold bite of each rain drop that managed to slip past the decrepit umbrella. Walking back from the hospital in that weather made the twenty-minute trip feel exponentially longer.

He had just come off an 18 hour shift in the ER, suturing stab wounds and stabilizing car crash injuries. The sound of ambulance sirens, crying children, and shouting masses rang hollow in his brain.

All this to say; he felt wrecked.

Tomorrow was his day off. He couldn't wait to collapse into his soft bed, sleep 20 hours, and binge Battlestar Galactica, only emerging from his hermit hole to buy food. He trudged forward, his soaked sneakers squelching with every step, each one a reminder of his life choices. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he vaguely questioned if this counted as cardio. Probably not.

He ducked into his usual shortcut, a narrow lane sandwiched between shuttered restaurants and boarded-up bodegas. It shaved five whole minutes off the walk, which meant five more minutes of not being rained on. A no-brainer.

Except tonight, something felt... off.

The alley was too quiet. No rustling rats, no humming neon signs, not even the smell of burnt oil from Mrs. Chen’s dumpling place. A stereotypical sketchy neighborhood that somehow seemed more virulent than usual. Just as he cursed himself for not calling an Uber, two sharp cracks split the air.

Gunshots.

He dropped like a bag of bricks, heart slamming in his ears. His body moved before his brain—classic trauma reflex: duck and sprint. As more gunshots sounded from ahead, he ducked behind a dumpster and sprinted the opposite way, heart thudding, feet splashing.

And that’s when he collided with something solid. Human. Unfriendly.

A gloved hand grabbed his jacket and shoved him back against the wall. Hard. The cold press of a gun barrel met his temple, causing him to stiffen.

"You think you can outrun me, asshole?" the voice growled.

Nathan blinked. Rain ran into his eyes, making the guy’s face a blur of shadows. Still, the gun pressing into his temple was hard to misinterpret. His brain was buffering, still trying to piece together what was happening and how the hell he had ended up in this position.

"I was just trying to get away from the gunfire," Nathan said, forcing his hands up, "same as anyone with a pulse."

The stranger didn’t move. Didn't respond in any way. Just stared through Nathan, as if trying to find where he fit in this dangerous puzzle.

"You part of them?" the man snapped. His voice was hoarse, almost strained. Like each word cost him something.

Nathan sputtered for a second. "Part of—what? I'm not part of anything."

The guy’s grip tightened on Nathan’s jacket. His other hand shook slightly as he pressed the gun harder. Up close now, Nathan could make out more—dark clothes, wet hair plastered to a hard jawline, and just beneath his ribs—

Blood.

It was subtle in the dim alley light, but unmistakable: a dark, blooming patch of it, just left of center. Nathan’s medic brain clicked on despite his fight-or-flight system still screaming.

"You’re bleeding," he said, tone shifting slightly. The guy tightened his grip on Nathan, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Nathan raised his hands in a placating gesture. "That’s not a good spot for a wound. Upper left? We're talking about your lungs and maybe even your heart, which are pretty important if you want to, you know, live."

The man scoffed at that. "It’s nothing."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, great. The 'it’s nothing' wound. They’re my favorite. Super low maintenance, right until the dying starts."

Another flicker—of pain? Weakness? The guy shifted unsteadily, like standing was becoming a group project. "I don't need your help."

Nathan knew how precarious the situation was. The man had blood on his hands, literally, and Nathan had a feeling it belonged to someone else who was no longer alive. He had to be careful not to antagonize the man. And yet, as he opened his mouth to speak, the anxiety took over and what came out was anything but careful.

"Cool, ‘cause I didn't offer." I'm a fucking idiot.

Despite whatever pain the man felt, it did not show in his next actions. In a flash, the man had shifted the gun under Nathan's chin, tilting it up at an uncomfortable angle. "You should worry more about yourself," he muttered as he leaned in close. Nathan's chest tightened in...fear? Resignation? He didn't know.

Thank you loudmouth. Now I'm gonna die in a fucking alleyway behind a shit-stained dumpster.

And then the man crumpled. Not theatrically, just... collapsed, like the power got yanked from his core.

Nathan stared at him. Frozen. The sudden change of events causing his brain to buffer silently. He carefully nudged the man with his toe, noticing the labored and shallow breaths the man seemed to be taking. The stab wound had most likely nicked his lungs.

It dawned on Nathan that he should take the opportunity and run. Any reasonable person would have done that. Instead, like an idiot, his doctor conscience decided to rear its ugly head as he leaned over to roll the man on his back.

"Goddamn it."

His instincts shoved all sarcasm aside. Kneeling beside the stranger, he assessed quickly—shallow breathing, pale skin, weak pulse. He unzipped the man’s jacket with practiced hands, revealing the stab wound more clearly now. Just under the left rib, deep enough to concern him.

He muttered, mostly to himself, as he unzipped his own hoodie pocket for the compact trauma kit he always kept on him.

"'Not a big deal', he says. Lung’s probably saying otherwise."

I fucking hate the rain.

@juneofdoom, hope y'all like it!

Click here for part 2...

[covid-safer-hotties]

Hey, with the CDC changing the baseline of COVID-19 wastewater data, do you know of any website or project dedicated to taking the raw data and showcasing it in a way that. doesn't do any of that shit? is there a way to access that data?

If there is a project like that, I'm not aware of it. Lack of transparency is one of the biggest reasons I call the systemic institutional disassembly of the covid test/trace/treat infrastructure a cover-up. We just don't know, and that known unknown is a glaring error to anyone with sense in their head. This PDF has some helpful links toward the bottom that will help you aggregate some data if you want to do that. The way wastewater is set up, several private enterprises compete with the government for site management, so it's a typical mess of crossed wires and incomplete datasets, because when and how and what is communicated to the CDC isn't subject to any regulation. PCM does some good risk projection work using an aggregation of the available data and a conservative model to fill in the gaps caused by lack of wastewater testing, septic tanks, and unresponsive hospitals/other agencies who provide sporadic data updates (if any at all). A lot of people give this model shit because it shows a range of outcomes instead of just guessing like some sort of land speculator, but that's honestly great. I'd rather understand the range of risk I face than have no clue which shade of blue-green is bad, like the CDC is trying to pass off as risk assessment information.

https://pmc19.com/data/