#Fever Detection Camera

[luciaintheskyainthi]

Hiii, first of all I wanted to tell you I love ECM soooooo muchhh!!!

I also saw that you mentioned that Peter's hair is getting long enough to braid. I wanted to ask if you think he will cut it or maybe adopt the look? And if he does cut it how do you think Jason would react?

Firstly, thank-you!!!! Secondly, he'll definitely get it cut at some point lol. Curly hair stuck under a mask does not make a good combination. Peter's very much the kind of idiot to get the shits one day and just hack at it with scissors. And even as I'm writing this I want to write write it so here you go:

"I'm sick of this!"

Peter wrenched off the mask, infuriated and over-stimulated. Too long. Too long! His hair had got too goddamn long and he was done. It curled and tangled under the mask and worse was starting to show. He scowled at his reflection: the top of his head more closely resembled a rat's nest than a mop of hair.

Time to meet your maker.

With fevered hands, Peter swung open the medicine cabinet and rummaged, raccoon-like for the promised lands. He was not disappointed, and bore up his prize with a manic laugh. His enthusiasm was so great as he slammed the mirror shut that he almost shattered the glass, but the loud clack wasn't enough to break Spider-Man.

Laughing and grumbling to himself in equal measure, Peter hacked at his curls. Frankly, doing it in the suit was a genius move. The neckline was as close against his skin as a barber's apron would have been and all he needed to do was a little shimmy and the locks fell off his body to land in sad piles of brown at his feet.

Getting to the back was tricky and required a fair amount of twisting. And there was a moment that he would take to his grave where Peter attempted to turn around fast enough to catch the back of his reflection, only to realise that no, Spider-Man was not faster than light, and yes, aren't you lucky there were no cameras in the bathroom to catch you doing that.

When he was done, Peter stooped over the shower basin and thoroughly shook his hands through his hair. Tiny shards of brown floated down and Peter was abruptly reminded of Ben who would sometimes forget to clean the sink after shaving. Wow. That was a blast of the past.

"Pete?" A rattle of the door handle. "You've been in there a while, you goo-- Oh."

Peter looked up from his mad scrubbing. Jason stared back, bemused.

"Pete."

"Jace."

"Whatcha... whatcha doing?"

"Son of the world's greatest detective can't figure it out?" Peter straightened up, carding his hands through his hair now to smooth out the curls.

Jason made a strange, pained sound. "You cut yer hair?"

"Duh. It was getting too long."

Jason's light eyes jumped from Peter to the crime scene at his feet. The murder weapon sat tauntingly on the bathroom sink. Then he looked back at Peter.

Peter frowned. "You hate it."

"I don't hate it." The answer was too quick.

"You do."

"It's very...."

"Go on."

"... Okay I'm not gonna lie, Pete. I've no words. Did you have a butcher in the family?"

"I thought you said you had no words. Those are words, Jason. Mean ones."

Jason's eyes were lighting up now with amusement. He was biting his lip, clearly trying to hide a grin. "The truth hurts, Petey. It's atrocious."

In rebellious disbelief, Peter stepped back to look in the mirror and Jason made another pained sound. Peter twisted to glare. "It's not that bad."

"The back of your hair!"

And.... okay. So maybe it was pretty bad. Uneven curls, a fringe too short to the right. Peter ran his hair through the back and -- yep. Uneven there too.

"I... may have made a mistake," he reluctantly admitted.

"You think?"

"Fix it for me?"

"Oh Petey, you don't want me fixing it unless it's with a number eight." Jason stepped closer and brushed his hand over Peter's ravaged hair. "I liked the long hair."

"It was getting inconvenient.. Under the mask."

Jason hummed with defeat. He met Peter's eyes through the mirror and offered a wry smile. "Antonio on second owns a barber. We'll go to him in the morning."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head. "Fuck. Fine."

[daisybianca]

pairing: sebastian vettel x femalereader

summary: it's totally forbidden. he's older and your childhood and eternal crush, but there's more to that. his best friend--and your dad--is Michael Schumacher. one day, you're sick and stuck in your bed with a fever. he pays you a visit, and then the fever becomes even more brutal. HERE'S PART TWO.

warnings: sexual activities, jealousy, cursing words

(a/n): it's late at night, and I just wrote this, and I'm really, really sleepy. there might be multiple mistakes, grammar, and spelling, but HEY. the tension is still there! <3

IT HAD BEEN almost five days since everyone got informed that you were down with the flu. Michael Schumacher's beloved daughter was a concern about pretty much everyone in the paddock. Every single person cared deeply about you and Mick. Everybody knew that.

You got quite a few messages and texts from the drivers and team members in the past few days. You answered with polite, brief responses and made sure everyone knew you were just fine with the necessary drugs and medicine prescriptions.

The truth was that you had been feeling okay since a couple of days ago, but chose not to tell anyone. Rest on a bed all day was cool.

Opening your phone, you entered Instagram and wrote a brief thank you text to Daniel Ricciardo, who wished you a fast recovery. Scrolling through the app, you detected a post on your insta feed that was referring to Sebastian Vettell.

Oh, he was tour childhood crush.

Everybody freaking knew that.

You remembered that in an interview a few years ago with your father, a reporter had asked you whether or not you'd like to race for a F1 team and become a driver in the future. You response was fast and was definitely written in history. It almost immediately went viral, and people still talked about it on social media, leading to multiple fans shipping you and the famous world champion.

"No, I don't think I'm going to be a racing driver. But I'll marry one anyway, so it doesn't really matter." The spot played like a old cassette in your mind. A wide grin formed on your father's face and the reporter returned to you and lowered the microphone to reach your tiny height. You were barely 12 years old at that time.

"Who are you referring to? Lewis Hamilton? Do you like him, huh? British, humorous, handsome! He's totally so charming!"

"No, no, no, no!" Your father, Michael, bent over and picked you up in his strong arms. "I'm pretty sure the husband she's talking about is Vettell." He laughed again and you were so confused at the cameras and microphones and tons of people around you.

You were absolutely serious about craving to marry that man. He was something truly angelic to you, even though your innocent 12-year-old mind couldn't fathom how a real marriage worked.

"Oh, I get it! Blondes are better anyway!" The red-head reporter yelled and thanked you for the interview, before moving to the next driver.

You also remembered clearly the very first time you learned about Sebastian dating some girl.

A few of your dad's friends were gathered at your house, along with Sebastian. They talked about some weird strategies you couldn't analyze and had a great time together, but suddenly a question was fired at Sebastian, gaining your full attention.

"Seb, what's up with that blonde you've been going out with since last month?" A guy asked, and your gaze darkened. No one really noticed you eyeing the men behind the kitchen table. But that's what you wanted anyway.

"Who? Hannah? Oh, she seems okay, I guess." He took a sip from his bottle of beer and went on, his eyes lingering around the room. "She's hot, supportive and... not really smart but I don't mind, it's not like I'm going to marry her anyway."

They all laughed at Sebastian's words and you waited until most of the guys moved outside, near the pool in order to prepare the barbecue.

Approaching Sebastian, his eyes automatically landed up on you as he smiled.

"Hey, there, little one!" Sebastian greeted. You hated it when he called you little one. You were 17 at that time. In puberty and almost in adulthood.

"Don't call me that, Seb! I'm not 10 anymore!" You laughed and you got on your knees in front him, next to the couch.

He bent over and applied a peck on your forehead, just like he always adored to do. It was one of his special ways to show his platonic affection to you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He smiled and got up, walking to the kitchen. He came back a few moments later and handed you an orange juice.

"I'd prefer the beer you're holding, thank you very much." You pushed the plastic carton of juice away and got up to grab the beer from Seb's hands. He tossed it away immediately.

"Your father would kill me, love."

Oh, love.

What a word to hear from his beautiful, full lips.

You bite your lips. Hard.

Your female hormones had been raging since a couple of years ago due to puberty. And Sebastian Vettel was so not helping with that.

You formed a fake sad face, and he sat to the couch again.

You'd love to sit in his lap right now. You used to do that when you were a little. You would wrap your hands around his neck... and stare at his baby blue eyes forever.

If the desire to sit in Seb's lap was a drug, you were totally and undoubtedly a drug addict.

But you couldn't do it now. Sebastian wouldn't let something like that happen.

A few moments later, you were sat beside him on the couch, drinking enormous sips from the juice Seb had offered you.

"It's tasty." You told him after you caught his gaze upon you.

"Um... I guess so."

You blinked a couple of times.

"Soooo... you have a girlfriend?" Your voice was steadier than you thought it'd come out.

"I don't know." He thought for a second. "It's complicated."

You automatically dragged the thin material of your cozy dress lower on your thighs when you caught his eyes traveling their for a tiny, brief moment.

"Are you in love with her?" You asked without hesitating and ignoring the previous incident.

"In love?" He repeated. "Jesus, no. I don’t think I've ever been in love before."

You didn't know if the scorching burning in your chest was a good thing. You were glad he hadn't been in love with anyone before, but simultaneously you weren't.

"Have you?" Sebastian's question caught you off guard.

"Who? Me?" Yes, you wanted to yell at him. But didn't. "No. I'm almost 17 and barely had any experiences in my love life."

"That's not certainly a bad thing." He mumbled, drinking from his beer, his lips almost immediately absorbing the liquid.

Germans loved beers. Sebastian Vettel was no exception to that rule.

"What? Having zero experiences in that area?" You asked.

It wasn't like you hadn't been kissed before. You had. Twice. By two different boys. But nothing compared to the love life other teenagers had the chance of experiencing at your age.

"Yes. It's a good thing, to say at least." His eyes were so threatening. Like there was a hidden meaning behind them.

But maybe it was just something your mind created due to the fact that... this man... oh, Gosh... you had never desired anything or anyone like him.

"Why?" You looked at him and his gaze found yours.

"You should wait for the right one." He smiled simply.

You looked at him and wanted to say that he was all you wanted. But you fucking couldn't. And that was drowning your feelings for him in deep, dark oceans.

"The heart wants what it wants." You pronounced, and Seb didn't quite get your words.

He didn't want to anyway. He knew damn well that your feelings about him were intense since you were a little kid.

The obsessed, recless, lovesick teen. That's what you thought Seb would describe you as. Little did you know he had the exact opposite opinion of you.

Seb was your frustration.

He thought you were like a daughter to him at that time. Little did he know you'd do anything to keep your promise in the future.

Bottled-up feelings. Intense feelings, unexplained issues. He caused that to you. All of it. And he didn't even know.

°•°

You were almost 19 now.

Age was by your side and the age gap between you and Seb wasn't that intense. Only 11 years. You had met multiple couples before with even bigger age difference and they lived with it in happiness and with pride.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled a big breath.

You felt greedy, insatiable.

Seb continued being pretty much the number one reason why you still had a good opinion of the masculine sex but you were careful and avoided showing it to everyone anymore. Paparazzi and the media always tended to make things even bigger.

It was just a few minutes before noon when a knock on the door sounded like a thunderous lightning in your sensitive ears. You hadn't communicated with a singe soul in a couple of days because you wouldn't risk infecting anyone else with the virus, even though you already feeling extremely better.

Beforing bothering to hear you climbing out of the bed, a familiar figure of a male swung the door open and closed it sat afterwards, swaying the keys in his hands.

"Seb?" Your voice was weak as you got out of the coziness of your bed and approached the door. "How the hell do you have my keys?"

The German man turned to you and gestured to be sat on the bed once again, as if you were so fragile and threatened to break just because of a silly virus. Sebastian was so dramatic. But you didn't. complain as you gained your soft spot on the mattress again because his white button-up shirt blurt your thoughts and your vision. He had rolled the light fabric on his wrists, highlighting even more his rough hands.

"I asked Mick to lend them to me so I could pass by here and check up on my favorite girl."

His words buzzed in your ears.

What did he just say?

He used to call you random nicknames, some of them cute and others... kind of silly, but 'my favorite girl'?

That was too much for your complicated mind to analyze.

Sebastian sat down opposite of you.

As he faced you and said absolutely nothings, his state felt scorching. Like a burning flame, attempting to read your thoughts, which were too hard to be hidden between the curtains of your eyelashes.

You had always known he could read you like an open book. And you always hated that exceptional ability of his.

Sometimes, he could unearth thoughts in you that no one else could. Not even your father, nor your brother, and sometimes not even you...

"How are you feeling, (y/n)?" His soft smile faded, blue, intense eyes focused on you, eyeing you from head to toes as if he could detect any physical pain just by observing your body.

"How do I look?" You fired back, without hesitation.

You didn't mean to sound flirtatious at all. But... oh, well, the look on Sebastian's face read something entirely different...

You were kind of mad at him that he chose to pass by your apartment without calling or messaging you first. You tried to make him gather that without saying it, but your tone didn't come out the way that you wanted it to.

"If you ask me, you don't look ill at all." Sebastian crossed his arms, his veins popping out of the white fabric. "You look... I don't know..." He gave in, eyes traveling everywhere in the room but you.

You felt a warm wave of air coming your way from the opened windows, so you chose to unzip your thin cardigan a little bit more. Your grey sweatpants were too hot for you at the moment, but the idea of changing into something more loose didn't occur to you earlier.

"Sebastian, I look like a fucking sloth that's been eating leafy greens, rice and pasta for five days in a row!" You laughed but the blond man didn't seem to be amused by your humorous comment. When you faced his cold state, your expression transformed into something more serious. "Why didn't you call before visiting?"

"The answer is too simple and you're too smart to even ask." He shrugged, annoyed. "Because I know you wouldn't let me come."

You hadn't seen Sebastian like that never before. He seemed... different. He always used to laugh with you, enjoy some movies, play video games or boarding games with you for fun...

But now...

He looked so changed and you can't understand why.

"Why wouldn't I let you come, Seb?"

He took a deep, deep breath before answering. "Because you're just as stubborn as me. I wouldn't let you come and visit me while I'm sick either. Even though you--"

Your phone buzzed with a notification on the nightstand, causing Seb's speech to come to a hault.

Another notification popped up and the screen illuminated once again.

One more and then another one...

You stretched your whole body and grabbed your device. Glancing at the screen, you read five unanswered messages from Lando.

This guy tries to catch up with you always when the time isn't right.

Sebastian got up from the chair near your desk. "Who is it?" He asked, trying to keep the coolness in his tone.

"A friend."

"Is it Norris?" Seb snapped.

You instantly looked up from your screen. "How the hell do you know Norris texts me?"

Sebastian smirked and took a seat close to you on the bed. But he was still too far. You needed him closer to make you forget about your frustration with him.

"A spend three quarters of my day with your brother."

"Oh, Mick, you're such a traitor." You muttered to yourself as you shoved your phone under the sheets.

"He just cares about you. We all do." Seb seemed to hesitated for his upcoming words. "You'll always be our best girl."

Our?

Fuck. It felt like he tried so hard to hide his thoughts.

But they say that the eyes are the window to your soul.

"Seb, are you flirting with me?" You shot, keeping your voice calm and steady.

"You want me to stop?" His answer was instant, causing your entire body and face to redden.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You'd been waiting for this moment almost 20 years and now... that it was finally happening, you didn't know what to do.

"No," you muttered. "But I expected you to do something more than that. You were always the brave one, remember?"

Whatever it took to fulfill your eternal dream.

Seb stood up and did something you never expected him to do. Even though every part of you craved this moment to come in many dreams.

He kneeled in front you.

Fuck.

His blue eyes were the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. "Seb, what are you--"

"Open your legs for me, love." He murmured, looking up at you with his fingers genrly pressing on your bare thigh.

You felt your cheeks redden. Again.

It felt insane how instant your body's reaction was to his words and touch. As if it had a mind of its own.

Seb's voice forced you back to reality when you realized you stared at him speechless. "I won't repeat myself."

You shivered and opened up your legs for him, welcoming his warm and long fingers.

"You won't kiss me?" Your voice was barely audible.

"I'm not going to make it that easy for you, babe."

"W-what do you mean?"

A smirk appeared. "I suppose you'll have to beg for it."

♡♡♡

Part 2.

[adoreispunk]

Out Of Reach (joel miller au)

“ "She's a smart girl," My dad said, correcting him. He paused for a beat.

"You two spending a lot of time together?” ”

wc:1,100

an: sleepover time ;) enjoy babies. masterlist pinned on my profile now!

Ten

Joel had texted me ten minutes before six.

Joel: Pulling up soon. Hop in quick.

That was the plan. Simple. No awkward interactions. Joel and I had texted about it as I got back to the office. Don't be suspicious. We even joked about how I'd barely open the door before launching into the passenger seat. I'd told him to park a couple houses down so my dad wouldn't see.

My overnight bag was already packed and zipped by the door. Inside: the black set Joel had asked for and a couple more for him, a couple oversized t-shirts, toiletries, some basics ,and a cute cream two-piece skirt set I'd picked since he said to bring something nice. But mostly, I packed for staying in.

I always packed a separate handbag with my camera, charger, and flash drive. I always had it with me since I started. It's corny but I always thought I could find inspiration anywhere. Even just going to the grocery store

I'd been watching the window like a hawk since five, shoes already on.

The second I saw his truck round the corner, I grabbed my phone and tiptoed down the hallway. I held my breath passing the living room, praying my Dad had dozed off during whatever rerun was playing.

One step from the door, hand on the knob—

"Is that Joel?"

I turned around gasping way too suspiciously. Finding my dad standing behind me now, blanket pooled over his shoulder, brow furrowed and peering out the window like a watchdog.

"You scared me." I look back at him. He analyzes me, waiting for my response.

"Yeah. I asked him for a ride. Since you're not feeling well."

He blinked at me, then craned his neck to get a better look out the window.

"Invite him in for a minute. Been meaning to talk to him."

Shit.

I forced a tight smile and nodded, my heart racing as I cracked open the door and waved Joel toward the house.

Joel moved like he always did, steady and unbothered, shutting the door behind him and walking up the driveway with that same calm gait. I looked down at my feet as he got closer, chewing my bottom lip, praying he wasn't pissed that the plan to sneak out had fallen apart the second my dad decided to be nosy.

As soon as he got close to the door my dad greeted him "Hey Joel, Nice to see you." Joel reached out a hand to him.

"Don't get too close," Dad warned, half-joking. "I've got a fever that could knock out a horse."

Joel paused in front of me holding the door open and offered a half-smile. "Noted. I'll keep my distance."

Joel followed my dad, giving me a quick glance as he passed. Then his fingers brushed my waist, subtle and quick, like he was grounding me. That he was calm for the both of us.

Let's just get through this conversation. Don't make anything too obvious and go.

We all settled into the living room. Joel took the armchair across from the couch. My dad sunk into his usual spot with a tired groan, and I lowered myself onto the arm beside him, trying not to look like I was made of nerves.

The TV was still running, some detective show humming in the background, filling the silence just enough to make it more noticeable when it finally broke.

"So," Dad said, sniffing, "How's business been?"

Joel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, calm and steady like always. "Busy. But it's looking up. Having Olivia around's been helping more than I expected so thank you again."

He glanced at me, just for a second but it was enough to make my cheeks warm. My dad picked up on it too. I could feel the way his head turned a little, like he was squinting through the words between us.

"She's been holed up in her room most nights," Dad said, not quite joking. "Every time I pass by, she's typing or pacing on that laptop. Doesn't even feel like she's clocked out. Thank you for that by the way. Very generous of you Joel."

I nudge him quickly. Embarrassed that my dad had just outed how much time I'd been secretly spending on Joel's business.

Joel nodded, looking over to me. "She's a good girl. Sorted through job applications, ran points on a couple of interviews already."

"She's a smart girl," My dad said, correcting him.

He paused for a beat.

"You two spending a lot of time together?”

I let out a short sound. Caught completely off guard by how that question felt.

Joel didn't flinch, but I could feel the way his posture locked up just a little.

"We've been working. Not sure what you mean."

Dad gave a small nod, but the silence that followed was too weird for me. I crossed one leg over the other, fingers tapping against my knee.

"So," I cut in, getting up and forcing a smile, "It's getting late and my friend is waiting for me so we should go if that's okay.".

Dad blinked at me, then Joel. "You're not driving far, are you?"

"Nah," Joel answered quickly. "Just dropping her off across town."

Dad nodded slowly, like he wasn't convinced but wasn't going to push it. "Well alright. Text me when you get there Liv. And Uh —Keep my baby safe, Joel."

Joel didn't say anything, just gave a small nod and clapped a hand to my dad's shoulder. Giving the faintest grin.

I grabbed my bag by the door, too eager to be out of the house. Joel stepped ahead to open the door, and the moment it clicked behind us, I sucked in a sharp breath.

"He knows." I whispered.

Joel slid a hand against the small of my back looking back, steering me gently down the steps. "He doesn't know anything."

"He knows something," I hissed. "Did you hear his fucking question?"

Joel looked down at me, smirking now. "Well, he should know you're damn good at your job. That's all that I was talking about."

I rolled my eyes, sliding into the truck. "You're lucky you can lie so well."

He leaned in as he shut the door behind me, voice low and smug. "I'm not lyin'."

I squinted my eyes back at him, "Liar."

Then he rounded the front of the truck. Getting settled in the drivers seat.

I tried to ignore the way my pulse was still racing like I hadn't just sat across from both the guy I wanted and the man who'd kill him if he ever found out.

[alabasterwasps]

Alex Kralie's Glass Fireflies, an student thesis film.

——

It was his sophomore year of college when Marble Hornets had debuted, it was a rookie student film, but one that got him a good grade and into his advanced classes. His junior year rolled to a close and he was given a summer project, his student thesis project, due by the end of his senior year. Ultimately he decided to make a film in universe with Marble Hornets, something better, something using the skills he learned. It’d be great. It was supposed to be for fun. It was supposed to be dipping a toe into the world of film, a summer project he would finish up when school rolled around.

Something happened to Tim that summer, something no one had answers to. He stated to recluse, and he stepped away from the project.

Alex ran into a lot issues, corrupted footage and broken cameras. There were other issues of missing tapes, but he powered through and released the film just in time for graduation.

They celebrated, inviting Tim but with no answer.

It was a week before graduation that things went downhill.

First it was Jessica, who’d suddenly stopped answering calls, missing. Amy had gone looking for her friend naturally. Amy never came home. Alex followed her location on his phone, only to have a run in with none other than Tim.

Then, like a chain reaction, Jay had went in search of Alex, also having a very unfortunate run in with Tim.

Over the summer, Tim had a very personal encounter with the Operator, one which left “Masky”, a protective alter, rendered dormant. Masky is known to hold onto injury and pain much longer than Tim, and ever since this incident he is nowhere to be found, leaving Tim effectively without his shield. For the next several months he’s visited by the Operator, over and over again like he had been in the institution, except no one was here to save him. It was his fault, this thing. That’s what he’d told himself. When he’d seen the corruption of Alex’s film, he knew he’d done something awful, and he had to stop it, stop it from spreading, stop it from infecting others. He’d starve the fever, then stop the source.

Alex had woken up in the hospital the morning of his graduation, with no recollection of the previous night. Jay was gone, Amy was gone, Jessica was gone. Jessica and Amy were missing, no evidence of where they may have gone. Supposedly, in a woods not far from a local school there had been a spent bullet casing and blood tracing back to Jay Merrick. With no sign of a body, he was deemed missing but deceased.

After his funeral, Alex moved out of town, with little word to his remaining friend, Brian. He had to get away from everything he’d lost.

It was Brian, years later, who decided to look further into his friend’s disappearances, into how odd Tim had been. He played detective, documenting his findings with video and photo so he could try to find answers.

At first, Tim was cooperative, but his stories didn’t always add up. Brian still followed, taking note of weirder things going on. Corrupted footage, burned photos, something deeper was at play. The Operator, two strange masked men, and still no answers about Jessica or Amy or even Jay.

[nhpregulatory-official]

[[DEVICE_ID: /CRADLE/NHPRO/DARAMSHALA_HQ/CAMERA_2]] [[LOADING LIVE FEED]] [The camera feed opens on a circular room full of screens and desks and fevered discussion. Arm-thick wires radiate out from an ancient, bulky casket like the spokes of a great wheel, snaking between technologically advanced cubicles where human and NHP alike hopelessly pore over screeds and screeds of sensor data, old omni-net posts, and partially recovered error logs.] [Above them all looms a projection of a single, geometric, crimson eye surrounded by waterfalls of scrolling dataplate. It's gaze skitters from datastream to datastream, raking for some overlooked nugget of information. Every so often it pins one of the scuttling figures below with a stare and roars.] [MAG-MELL]: HELENA. STATUS REPORT. HAS THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE INTRUDER AT UOAD: HIGH GROUND BEEN ESTABLISHED? [HELENA]: No Ma'am! No matches to any major extant or discontinued NHP lineages. M-maybe if I cross-reference our notes on HORUS development again I can- [MAG-MELL]: CORINTHUS. PROGRESS ON RESTORING ACCESS TO THE PREMISES? [CORINTHUS]: N-no, ma'am. UAB and UAD access codes keep failing the moment we get our hands on them. B-but omninet history suggests the Albatross might- [MAG-MELL]: GOOD. CONTACT THEM. PANOPTES, IS THERE ANY INFORMATION ON HOW IT GOT INTO THE BUILDING? [PANOPTES]:OMNINET INTRUSION == FALSE; PHYSICAL INTRUSION == FALSE; BLINKSPACE INTRUSION == FALSE; NO POSSIBLE ENTRY POINTS DETECTED. [MAG-MELL]: KEEP. LOOKING. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WE HAVE MISSED. [A tired looking woman with artificial eyes and centipede tattoos takes one last drag of her cigarette and stubs it out on Mag-Mell's casket. Maggie's gaze snaps towards her.] [MAG-MELL]: WHAT. IS. IT? [SIOBHAN]: I know you don't want to admit it, Maggie but it's staring us all in the face. Nothing's been snuck in, there isn't even have a partial classification match, and we've got months of increasingly anomalous omninet history from the systems in the embassy. I dunno how it happened either, but you know damn well what we're looking at Mags. [MAG-MELL]: ... [SIOBHAN]: You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. Whatever that thing is? It was born and made in that building. What we're dealing with here is a Novel Prime NHP Subjectivity smack dab in the middle of the Voladores embassy. [SIOBHAN]: Now buck up, calm down, and lock the fuck in, cause we're about to have a really long day. [The eye goes still. A pall of silence falls over the room smothering the constant hum of activity in a moment.] [MAG-MELL]: FFFFF- --- [[LIVE FEED INTERRUPTED]] [[END OF STREAM]]

[orquidborgo]

Well, I'm getting a fever and with a lot of ideas, so I'm going to write them here because I don't have anything better to do!

This are concepts/writing ideas I got that I have more or less the story made in my head but I never wrote it down because I don't have the confidence to publish anything (haha self esteem issues are so funny), so here they are:

Jake Muller, professional B.O.Wsitter

* I got this idea while reading a modern fantasy resident evil fanfic (where the wound drips venom from your soul), basically:

After the events of resident evil VI, Jake only accepted jobs that allowed him to fight B.O.W and protect people BUT that didn't get him a lot of money, with Sherry's birthday approaching he is thinking about taking a mercenary jobs that pays very well until he receives a call from Chris Redfield, go to the middle of nowhere in Nebraska(? I'm thinking about changing the location) on a mansion with everything paid to take care of 5 B.O.Ws, just not the way he though he would.

Perfect paintings

* I got this idea from reading a really short story from space marine husbandry (I think it was from @kit-williams, is a story about a custodes, idk I forgot, it was so long ago) but I never got the confidence to write it because I don't think I will write a good mystery piece that'll comply with my expectations:

Detective Arad Yilmaz approached the scene, this is the 4th murder this month, the murders follow a pattern: All of them were strangled to death, had long black hair, honey/light brown eyes, middle eastern heritage and where last seen interacting with a really tall astartes.

The location of the corpses leave a trail as if the murderer have been moving constantly, following the same movement as the chaos warbands path, now with this corpse being found by a Dark Angel the astartes want to take this matter in their own hands.

Will Arad be able to find the murderer, bring them to justice and avoid an all out war between astartes before is too late? The clock is ticking.

There is no home like the one your bonded is:

* After reading Cedric's story in space marine husbandry (I also forgot to say that Cedric belongs to @sleepyfan-blog, sorry) and watching the movie "Bolt" I got thinking, what happens when a space marine grows a bond with a human that lives in another country and is only visiting? So here it is:

Guillermo Testarossa is visiting the U.S.A for his winter vacation, following his aunt's advice to stave off boredom he ventures into the local astartes hospital with his aunt's bonded apothecary. There he meets an injured space wolf, the rest of his vacation he spends it talking and having fun with this astartes but not everything last forever and he has to comeback to his home country Argentina, saying his goodbyes and promising to comeback next year.

Unbeknownst to him, this space wolf will not wait an entire year, using a joke his brother-captain made as motivation, with a camera, a notepad and supplies on his back he embarks on a adventure walking from the U.S to Buenos Aires - Argentina to find his bonded, taking photos and recording everything he encounters in his journey. The only thing he knows is that his bonded lives in San Telmo, works in a coffee shop with private tango shows and studies electronic engineering.

Save us from ourselves

* I seriously need to read Magnus primarch novel because there is no way you are telling me a whole planet of highly trained psykers (this mfs have magic, mind you) with space travel technology didn't have a plan B to evacuate civilians in case of a invasion, and I also like Arknights a LOT so, this is kind of a crossover between 40k and arknights:

Rhode Island is an humanitarian/pharmaceutical organization that travels across space with the mission of saving psykers, protecting those infected with flesh change and find the cure of said illness, right know they have treatment and have developed technology to protect/stabilize psykers with it so they can live a normal life.

Marckus Ahriman is a young 16 year old field operator with signs of mutation and a big heart who wishes for a world where all psykers are free and flesh change is finally cured. In a fateful operation battling against a chaos incursion he finds a soul shard that "calls" to him, upon touching it he remembers: he Magnus the Red, primarch of the Thousand Sons and son of the Emperor of Mankind, or well... A shard of him.

My big... Primarch?: Friendship is Magic (this is a temporary title)

* I watched a few episodes of my little pony so this is a crack fic, don't mind it that much:

During her fight against Starlight Glimmer through timelines; Twilight Sparkle gets "knocked out", but when she wakes up again to try and stop Starlight, she ends up in Magnus's body as a baby. So is basically her dealing with 40k insanity, family issues and trying to go back to her home.

She would try to understand why the other primarchs are so apprehensive of magic and would try to befriend them: She would try and not use magic in front of Mortarion after knowing his trauma and help him through it the best she can, would cure Angron of his nails, Leman would finally like her because she gets tired of his bullshit and start throwing hands and things like that.

Magnus's regular day

* With how pridefull is Magnus about magic, I'm surprised he hasn't gotten in a lot of psychic shenanigans in "regular show" style, every chapter would be Magnus getting into a crazy adventure, sometimes pulling his brothers, any of his sons or a unfortunate custodes along the ride.

The Emperor, Malcador and Constantin are just... Done with his magical bullshit at some point and just let him be because they know that he'll somehow fix it at the end.

So... Yep. This is all I got.

[missameliep]

For Lorelei, the ☼ and ♥️ head canons, please! 🥰 (~agentnatesewell)

Thank you so much for the ask, Mar, for allowing me to talk about my favorite detective and share some of the many drabbles I have in store 💖

☼ - appearance headcanon

Lorelei is short (5'4") and has medium length chocolate brown hair cut in the same style for as long as she remembers. She trims the bangs herself when it gets too long and annoying. During her first semester at college, she decided to do something bold and dyed her hair blonde (platinum blonde) but hated it. Three weeks later, when she got the money and time, dyed it back to brown. There's one picture of this blonde hair. Felix found it in Lorelei's apartment. There's a drabble about it somewhere I can't find, but I have something else I haven't shared before (my FC is Felicity Jones)

♥️ - family headcanon

Her mother used to be her entire world. At least until she was about 10 years old. She craved her attention and affection. The little time she offered was a treasure. She did everything to make her proud, to draw her attention. When she was a child, only the sitters (the supernaturals working for the Agency) took her to school and went to the parent-teacher meetings and other activities. Until 6th grade, she still performed at school plays, hopeful to see her mother's face amongst the other proud parents. Only once she showed up, and before Lorelei went to the stage went outside to take a call never to be seen again. The sitter took her home that evening. That was the last time she performed. That was the last time she tried.

They're not close, her mother and Lorelei. She calls her Rebecca because it hurts her, it reminds of the gap between them. A gap as wide as a canyon that she dug over and over, with every absence, every lost call, every fever a stranger watched over her sleep.

Her father died when she was too young to remember. Most of what she knows was learned from townspeople and her grandmother Nena, but it wasn't much - she never got over her children dying so young and barely spoke about either of them. However, at her home at the northern part of Wayhaven, close to the lake, there were mementos of his childhood and youth, from a time before Rebecca: pictures, books, a collection of miniature cars. She liked to piece it together. To imagine who this man she never met was.

When she was twelve, her grandmother Nena broke the hip after a fall at home; at the time she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Due to her insistence, Nena came to live in their home at Wayhaven. Rebecca opposed, she barely spent any time at house and worried it would be too much for Lorelei. It was the first time she raised her voice to her mother. Nothing she ever did to her stirred that reaction; but this time, it did. It was a stored rage, too big to be contained. Rebecca agreed, and a new kind of sitter was sent to their house. She lived with them until Lorelei went to college. The next day she was sent to a nursery home. Rebecca said it'd be better; Lorelei disagreed and visited as often as college allowed her to. On her last year of college she was weaker and too ill, and Lorelei dropped and went back home. Over the years, her grandmother had forgotten her and her name. The blank look was the hardest part. Childish as it was, she wished her grandmother would miraculously remember her like in those emotional videos on morning TV. She didn’t. Not once. She looked at her and at best remembered her children, Lorelei’s father and aunt. She called her by her aunt's nickname, and every now and then would ask why her hair looked different or where her brother went. She spent years peppered with a love that was not hers. But it was all she had. Her favourite picture of Nena was taken when she took her home one weekend; they worked on the garden, her hands were dirty and her smile broad. She ran inside, picked her camera and took the picture. Nena died three months later; she buried the camera behind boxes of books. The idea of living in the house by lake was tempting for about two weeks. The sale sign was placed in the front yard the same day she filled the trunk of the car with treasures that now adorn her home.

_____________________

From this OCs asks

[xgrtd-swggr-of-a-blk-teen]

A DC au where things make more sense to me

Bruce Wayne was only 8 years old when a common thug killed his mother and father. He was too young to understand why they wouldn't just wake up, the little dress pants that he wore to the theatre now damp with blood as he pushed, poked, and prodded his parents' heavy bodies. His voice grows more and more worried as time passes, for he can see the color draining from their skin ever so slowly, revealing veins that have begun to transition from blue to purple. His soft whine becoming a full screaming sob.

It's only after roughly half an hour of continuous wailing that lights appear in the surrounding houses and apartments. Disgruntled residents telling him to shut up, and more empathetic people checking on him from their windows. It was only one man that came out to see the horrors the boy had witnessed. Not too soon after, Gotham Police Department arrives with a young junior detective and his senior partner.

A grizzled Harvey Bullock, with sunken eyes from years of sleep deprivation and a rasp in his voice from the combination of chain smoking and hard liquor, orders James Gordon to quell the cries of the boy. Jim looks uneasy with his orders. He's never been good with kids, but he watches intently as the boy heaves deep breaths and chokes on the spit and snot pouring from his face.

A gentle hand touches the young Wayne's shoulder, clasping it as if to offer reassurance.

"My name is Jim. Can you tell me your name?" Jim is careful not to mess up the scene as he gingerly crouches behind the boy.

"B-b-br-bruce." The boy stutters, trying to collect himself. A Wayne must be strong. That's what dad always said.

"Bruce? I'm sorry we had to meet like this," says Jim as he tries to ask empathetically, "Bruce, do you think we can talk more? I have friends that can watch them for you. Why don't you take a break?"

The boy then looks behind him to find the gap-toothed sympathetic smile of a lightskin black man with freckles and ginger hair under the soft yellowed glow of street lamps. And in the night air are the screeches of bats as they hunt for insects...

. . .

10-year-old Clark Kent awoke from his sleep in a sweat. He could have sworn he had heard the sound of a gunshot as if were right beside him. His ears were ringing. He stumbled out of the motel bed, shambled to the bathroom, and promptly lost his dinner.

As he was cleaning up the sink which he vomited into, he went to twist the knob to rinse it out. It must have gotten looser since they were using it earlier. Before it stuck a little and, while not hard to turn, did require a little more effort.

As Clark removes his hand from the knob, he sees why it was so much easier to turn. He looks intently at the cracks in the plastic knob and when he went to tap it, it crumbled into hard, clear shards.

Clark laid back down thinking he must be in some fever-induced dream, but he had a hard time going back to bed. Not only did he feel as if he was moving faster than his mind was moving as he walked back to the bed, but as he laid there with eyes shut tight, it was as if he could see through his own eyelids.

Clark continued to lay down, now just staring through his eyelids at the ceiling above him. He decided to quiet his mind by thinking of home. He couldn't wait to get back home. He missed the farm. He missed the trees. He even missed his chores. He was ready to harvest the corn they had grown for the summer and play with the cows in the barn. He didn't like the thick air of Metropolis; it smelled of car exhaust and sewage. Though he honestly couldn't tell if that was the fault of Metropolis or the city of Gotham across the Delaware Bay. But the constant noise of cars and yelling, protests against STAR labs and sirens zooming down the streets, that was definitely Metropolis. The flash of cameras blinding him whenever Mama and Pop took him to look at the city. Eager journalists and paparazzi alike looking to get the scoop on anything and everything. Where there should be tall trees and bustling forests, there were instead skyscrapers and just behemoth concrete and metal structures. No, he wanted no part of it, he just wanted to be back on the Kent farm in Gallatin.

Eventually, Clark dozes off thinking about home and his friends there. He dreams of his best friend Alex and the lab in his garage. He dreams of his dad landing his STAR labs contract so they can go back home and start working again. He dreams of home but is seeing a man and a woman and can’t make out their faces, but their bodies don’t resemble Mama and Pop… It's while he dreams these things that his body begins to hover a little over a foot in the air.

A true sight for his mother and father to see when they go to wake him up for a city tour at 9am. Perhaps it's time to have the talk with Clark...

...

"ARES! GIVE ME YOUR COURAGE! ATHENA! YOUR WISDOM! KRATOS! BLESS ME WITH STRENGTH! HERMES! LET ME POSSESS YOUR SPEED! ZEUS! FUCK YOU!" A mighty high-pitched battle cry from young warrior Diana of Themiscyra. "YOUR LIGHTNING MAY HAVE LIT THE FIRES OF MY KILN BUT YOU HOLD NO POWER OVER ME!"

"Watch your words, Diana. We revere the gods. They allow us to live and bless us with what we need to live." Queen Hippolyta scolds her daughter. "Zeus heard my cries to mother a child and gave me you. I thank him daily."

"My queen, I respect you and the other gods. But I do not recognize Zeus as the King of Gods as that would make him my king. And I serve no man."

Her mother can do nothing but chuckle as lightning crackles across the sky. My daughter molded of clay and born by lightning. I think he sees your power and knows the threat you pose to him. I will protect you from him. Train you to be the best Amazon to have walked the Earth.

"Are you done praying child?" Hippolyta dawns her helmet and grabs her spear; shifting her feet to prepare for what comes next. Her stance is strong, she looks nigh unmovable. A necessary skill against her current opponent.

"Not yet, mater." Diana grins at her mother slyly. Without breaking eye contact, Diana retrieves her shield from the boulder she lodged it in during the last spar and unsheathed the sword on her belt. "ASCLEPIUS! KEEP MY MOTHER HEALTHY! PAEON! PATCH UP WHAT YOU MUST AFTER!" I will dethrone Zeus and protect those I love from tyrants like him.

Lightning strikes the fighting pit, leaving glass shards scattered across the arena. Fuck you Zeus, Hippolyta says in her mind and the spar continues...

[toffeelemon]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

thank you @wilmonsfolklore for tagging me! 🫶🏼

How many works do you have on Ao3?

32 (that i didn’t orphan👀)

What's your total Ao3 word count?

366,979

What fandoms do you write for?

young royals baby! every now and then i’ll get into a fever dream for other media but yr is my constant

Top five fics by kudos

and they were roommates

royal pains

alex ayúdame

only fools rush in

worst kept secret in history

(i’m glad roommates is the highest because that’s what i’m most proud of. the rest were my entry to yr fics but i believe i have evolved since then!)

Do you respond to comments?

YES! please always leave me comments i love comments

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

lmao i famously don’t write angst. i wrote roommates right after a break up so that was a little rough but. i fixed it all with a timeskip so

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

they all do!!! i have never written a Happily Ever After though, i like the kind of beginning of a happy ending - like yr in canon. the 10 year time skip fic for my rwrb and yr crossover might be the closest to Endgame i’ve ever written?

Do you get hate on fics?

the princess wille AU is - sometimes divisive… rarely directly in my line of sight but i do see some Takes about it, to each their own i guess since it’s so personal to me

Do you write smut?

i surprise myself every time…

Craziest crossover:

i wrote a genderbent yr - first kill AU sksk that had to be my nichest work

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yes and i revived my wattpad to call out some teenagers ripping off my yr fics. the most mindboggling thing was that they were responding to comments like they wrote it too

Have you ever had a fic translated?

YES! and they were roommates and worst kept secret in history is translated in brazilian portuguese !! every now and then i want to work on chinese translations for my own fics/ others but never got around to it

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

recently fell into writing bits and bobs for @prince-simon newest dead boy detectives fics! i love their writing sm i did try to weasel into their fics many a times, i’m so blessed to get to persuade my fave writer to give me what i want heheheh

All time favourite ship?

wilmon of course but i’d say that malec from shadowhunters set up the blueprint for me. i always enjoy reading firstprince because great fics are aplenty

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

started a s1 divergence fic when i was in a pretty dark spot in which wille’s mental health plummets and they have to navigate a healthy supportive friendship before wille could be good enough for himself and simon again. i think it could slap but writing it put me in such bad place so i doubt i will finish what i started

What are your writing strengths?

i didn’t notice until other people pointed it out but apparently i jump across POVs pretty seamlessly! i have always written stream of consciousness swapping POVs - i consume and love visual media way more than books so my head is pretty much in a very visual screenwriting/sceneblocking mode and every POV swap is like. a camera angle change to me

What are your writing weaknesses?

TENSES💀 writing in present tense is such a saving grace for me. logically i know i’m fluent in english but i have a lot of “english as second language student” trauma so i try to keep it simple and straightforward. also pingpong brain traits i don’t like having writing plans so sometimes i do lose the plot, struggle with continuity or forget about key themes and scenes and get mad about it

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

love-hate sksk my favourite scenario is if the translation is immediately available (but not disruptive somehow). i tend to forget by the time i reach the author’s note in the end. it’s more fun when it’s a language i have a basic grasp on so maybe i should just suck it up

(biggest pet peeve is if it’s another language romanised - it’s basically gibberish to native speakers i’m sorry😭)

First fandom you wrote in?

youtube rpf… on wattpad…

Favourite fic you've written?

there’s so many but. princess wille the manifestation of my own self you will always be famous x

tagging @prince-simon @aro-of-artemis @ungaroyals

[nautiscarader]

What the hecking heck happened with me - THE UNNECESSARY (and kinda boring) SEQUEL

So you might have noticed I have been absent for the past 2.5 weeks. So, where have I been? What has happened to me?

Well, you see, I got this magical music box, and when I opened it, I was transported into a different world full of talking frogs, toads and-

Wait, I've done this bit already.

....

Yeah, got into hospital. AGAIN.

Same warning as before applies, regarding medical stuff. Especially if you are eating.

Chapter 13: Wednesday Night's fever

So around three weeks ago I found myself really sapped of strength. Well, as you might recall, I basically had a fall and got wounds on my hip. Or to put it in another words:

Well, something from those wounds got infected or something and started affecting my whole body. The effect? Pretty much daily ~38C (~100F) fevers that drained me of energy.

No, buddy, the solution is paracetamol.

That was helping me daily when I was in hospital while getting some long-term antibiotics.

So, yeah, not to blow the trumpet, it was pretty much that: drips, pills, drips, pills, gastroscopy, drips, pi-wait, what did I say AND WHAT IS THIS THING-

Chapter 14: Gastroscopy

So I had to have gastroscopy done, which, in case you don't know is basically a tube with camera being inserted into your esophagus and-

Yeah, not pleasant. But the whole thing lasted only about 10 minutes, and the worst part was the first 30 seconds. So, no biggie. Now, let's talk about....

Chapter 15: Neighbours

Because they were really an odd collection.

First one was just an old dude who hated when I asked to open windows (and of course just as I was admitted spring temps have arrived)

Second one was a detective! In fact he has just solved a murder mystery that happened in the adjacent room! And the murderer was his roommate!

... yeah, he was pretty out of touch with reality, they took him after a day.

And then comes our star: Typical Janush, or Ordinary Janusz, as the Polish meme goes (don't worry if you don't get it)

This absolute unit of Polishness with huuuuge beer belly, bald spot and moustache has brought with him in his bag of holding:

coffee and sugar (nothing spectacular tbh)

TWO different chocolate waffers packs,

two strawberry chocolate bars,

Toffee sweets,

coffee sweets,

TWO different types of sausages,

home-made chicken wings,

and a jar of pickled mushrooms (fereality-indy DNI)

What else did he have in it? I don't know, and frankly, I am scared of the possibilities. This guy could give Mary Poppins a run when it comes to that bag.

He cursed like a sailor when he watched the news - and he watched all the news, he was funding the TV, so he might as well get what he's paid for.

He was also... really kind. He helped me with everything I couldn't do, sometimes faster than the nurses. Really awesome dude.

And the last one who was admitted JUST as I was leaving, was a 96-year old grandpa with some gastric problems. What problems? I don't know, but imagine a cat coughing up a furball... at a volume of a small steam locomotive. At 2 a.m. Every half an hour.

i only had to deal with him for a day.

He also brought... a flask with him.

The one they usually sell spirytus in. Now, it did NOT contain alcohol, just lemon-flavoured water.... but you had to see the nurse's reaction when he was seen casually drinking from it :) He was politely told to use other vessels.

And as a bonus, there was a guy in adjacent room who sometimes visited us and wore a curious t-shirt.... you know the "how do you do fellow kids" meme, right?

and how they just wrote "music band" in order to avoid problems with AC/DC copyright?

Well, his T-shirt had a generic basketball and words "Basketball Team est. 1992". And that's it. No other allusions to, say, Chicago Bulls, or any other team. Just that.

We have reached singularity, people.

Chapter 16: In conclusion, it was mostly boring

Yeah, I have to admit, this stay wasn't that eventful, which I guess I should count as blessing. What else to add... Oh, all the nurses were h*cking cute!

One even recognised me from my first visit!

So, yeah, now I've done the unpacking, and oh boy, you always collect lots of stuff you then forget about.

Like-

Wait, the heck is that?

It... it looks like I have written a 4k Glitch Techs G-rated fic... on my phone! Which has non-existent keyboard! Wait, that can't be right...

It's mostly done, but not finished... Still, it's a shame if it got wasted, right?

[spoke9]

Debridement

By Michael S. Harper

Debridement

Black men are oaks cut down. Congressional Medal of Honor Society United States of America chartered by Congress, August 14, 1958; this certifies that STAC John Henry Louis is a member of this society. “Don’t ask me anything about the medal. I don’t even know how I won it.” Debridement: The cutting away of dead or contaminated tissue from a wound to prevent infection. America: love it or give it back.

Corktown

Groceries ring

in my intestines:

grits aint groceries

eggs aint poultry

Mona Lisa was a man:

waltzing in sawdust

I dream my cards

has five holes in it,

up to twenty holes;

five shots out of seven

beneath the counter;

surrounded by detectives

pale ribbons of valor

my necklace of bullets

powdering the operating table.

Five impaled men loop their ribbons

’round my neck

listening to whispers of valor:

“Honey, what you cryin’ ’bout?

You made it back.”

Caves

Four M-48 tank platoons ambushed

near Dak To, two destroyed:

the Ho Chi Minh Trail boils,

half my platoon rockets

into stars near Cambodia,

foot soldiers dance from highland woods

taxing our burning half:

there were no caves for them to hide.

We saw no action,

eleven months twenty-two days

in our old tank

burning sixty feet away:

I watch them burn inside out:

hoisting through heavy crossfire,

hoisting over turret hatches,

hoisting my last burning man

alive to the ground,

our tank artillery shells explode

killing all inside:

hoisting blown burned squad

in tank’s bladder,

plug leaks with cave blood:

there were no caves for them to hide—

In the Projects

Slung basketballs at Jeffries

House with some welfare kids

weaving in their figure eight hunger.

Mama asked if I was taking anything?

I rolled up my sleeves:

no tracks, mama:

“black-medal-man ain’t street-poisoned,”

militants called:

“he’s an electronic nigger!”

“Better keep electronic nigger 'way.”

Electronic Nigger?

Mama, unplug me, please.

A White Friend Flies In from the Coast

Burned—black by birth,

burned—armed with .45,

burned—submachine gun,

burned—STAC hunted VC,

burned—killing 5-20,

burned—nobody know for sure;

burned—out of ammo,

burned—killed one with gun-stock,

burned—VC AK-47 jammed,

burned—killed faceless VC,

burned—over and over,

burned—STAC subdued by three men,

burned—three shots: morphine,

burned—tried killing prisoners,

burned—taken to Pleiku,

burned—held down, straitjacket,

burned—whites owe him, hear?

burned—I owe him, here.

Mama’s Report

“Don’t fight, honey,

don’t let ’em catch you.”

Tour over, gear packed,

hospital over, no job.

“Aw man, nothin' happened,”

explorer, altar boy—

Maybe it’s ’cause they killed people

and don’t know why they did?

My boy had color slides of dead people,

stacks of dead Vietnamese.

MP’s asked if he’d been arrested

since discharge, what he’d been doin’:

“Lookin’ at slides,

looking’ at stacks of slides, mostly.”

Fifteen minutes later a colonel called

from the Defense Department, said he’d won the medal;

could he be in Washington with his family,

maybe he’d get a job now; he qualified.

The Democrats had lost, the president said;

there were signs of movement in Paris:

Fixing Certificates:   Dog Tags:   Letters Home

Our heliteam had mid-air blowout

dropping flares—5 burned alive.

The children carry hand

grenades to and from piss tubes.

Staring at tracer bullets

rice is the focal point of war.

On amphibious raid, our heliteam

found dead VC with maps of our compound.

On morning sick call you unzip;

before you piss you get a smear.

“VC reamed that mustang a new asshole”—

even at movies: “no round-eye pussy no more”—

Tympanic membrane damage: high gone—

20-40 db loss mid-frequencies.

Scrub-typhus, malaria, dengue fever, cholera;

rotting buffalo, maggoted dog, decapped children.

Bangkok: amber dust, watches, C-rations,

elephanthide billfolds, cameras, smack.

Sand&tinroof bunkers, 81/120 mm:

“Health record terminated this date by reason of death.”

Vaculoated amoeba, bacillary dysentery, hookworm;

thorazine, tetracycline, darvon for diarrhea.

'Conitus’: I wanna go home to mama;

Brown’s mixture, ETH with codeine, cortisone skin-creams.

Written on helipad fantail 600 bed Repose;

“no purple heart, hit by ’nother marine.”

“Vascular repair, dissection, debridement”:

sharp bone edges, mushy muscle, shrapnel: stainless bucket.

Bodies in polyethylene bag: transport:

'Tan San Nhat Mortuary’

Blood, endotracheal tube, prep

abdomen, mid-chest to scrotum—

“While you’re fixin' me doc,

can you fix them ingrown hairs on my face?”

“They didn’t get my balls, did they?”

50 mg thorazine—“Yes they did, marine!”

Street-Poisoned

Swans loom on the playground

swooning in the basket air,

the nod of their bills

in open flight, open formation.

Street-poisoned, a gray mallard

skims into our courtyard with a bag:

And he poisons them—

And he poisons them—

Electronic-nigger-recruiter,

my pass is a blade

near the sternum

cutting in:

you can make this a career.

Patches itch on my chest and shoulders—

I powder them with phisohex

solution from an aerosol can:

you can make this a career.

Pickets of insulin dab the cloudy

hallways in a spray.

Circuits of change

march to an honor guard—

I am prancing:

I am prancing:

you can make this a career.

Makin’ Jump Shots

He waltzes into the lane

’cross the free-throw line,

fakes a drive, pivots,

floats from the asphalt turf

in an arc of black light,

and sinks two into the chains.

One on one he fakes

down the main, passes

into the free lane

and hits the chains.

A sniff in the fallen air—

he stuffs it through the chains

riding high:

“traveling” someone calls—

and he laughs, stepping

to a silent beat, gliding

as he sinks two into the chains.

Debridement:   Operation Harvest Moon:   On Repose

The sestina traces a circle in language and body.

Stab incision below nipple,

left side; insert large chest tube;

sew to skin, right side;

catch blood from tube

in gallon drain bottle.

Wash abdomen with phisohex;

shave; spray brown iodine prep.

Stab incision below sternum

to symphis pubis

catch blood left side;

sever reddish brown spleen

cut in half; tie off blood supply;

check retroperitoneal,

kidney, renal artery bleeding.

Dissect lateral wall

abdominal cavity; locate kidney;

pack colon, small intestine;

cut kidney; suture closely;

inch by inch check bladder,

liver, abdominal wall, stomach:

25 units blood, pressure down.

Venous pressure: 8; lumbar

musculature, lower spinal column

pulverized; ligate blood vessels,

right forearm; trim meat, bone ends;

tourniquet above fracture, left arm;

urine, negative: 4 hours; pressure

unstable; remove shrapnel flecks.

Roll on stomach; 35 units blood;

pressure zero; insert plastic blood

containers, pressure cuffs; pump chest

drainage tube; wash wounds sterile

saline; dress six-inch ace wraps;

wrap both legs, toe to groin; left arm

plaster, finger to shoulder: 40 units blood.

Pressure, pulse, respiration up;

remove bloody gowns; scrub; redrape;

5 cc vitamin K; thorazine: sixth

laparotomy; check hyperventilation;

stab right side incision below nipple;

insert large chest tube; catch blood drain bottle ...

The Family of Debridement

Theory: Inconvenienced subject will return to hospital

if loaned Thunderbird

Withdrawn. Hope: Subject returns,

Treatment:

Foreclosure for nine months unpaid mortgage;

wife tells subject hospital wants deposit,

Diseased cyst removal:

'Ain’t you gonna give me a little kiss good-bye’

Subject-wife: To return with robe and curlers—

Subject tells friend he’ll pay $15 to F’s stepfather

if he’ll drive him to pick up money owed him.

“This guy lives down the street,

I don’t want him to see me coming.”

“It looked odd for a car filled with blacks

to be parked in the dark in a white neighborhood,

so we pulled the car out under a streetlight

so everybody could see us.”

Store manager: “I first hit him with two bullets

so I pulled the trigger until my gun was empty.”

“I’m going to kill you, you white MF,” store manager

told police. Police took cardload, F and F’s parents for

further questioning. Subject died on operating table: 5 hrs:

Subject buried on grass slope, 200 yards

east of Kennedy Memorial,

overlooking Potomac and Pentagon,

to the south,

Arlington National Cemetery.

Army honor guard

in dress blues,

carried out assignment

with precision:

[brokehorrorfan]

Contagion will be released on 4K Ultra HD (with Digital) on February 27 via Warner Bros. The 2011 thriller received renewed interest due to its similarities to the COVID-19 pandemic.

Steven Soderbergh (Ocean's Eleven, Erin Brockovich) directs from a script by Scott Z. Burns (The Bourne Ultimatum). Marion Cotillard, Matt Damon, Laurence Fishburne, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, Kate Winslet, Bryan Cranston, Jennifer Ehle, and Sanaa Lathan star.

Contagion has been newly restored in 4K from the original camera negative, overseen by Soderbergh, with High Dynamic Range. Special features are listed below.

Special features:

The Reality of Contagion featurette

The Contagion Detectives featurette

Contagion: How a Virus Changes the World featurette

When Beth Emhoff (Gwyneth Paltrow) returns to Minneapolis from business in Hong Kong, what she thought was jet lag takes a virulent turn. Two days later, she’s dead in the ER and the doctors tell her shocked and grieving husband (Natt Damon) they have no idea why. Soon, others exhibit the same mysterious symptoms: hacking coughs and fever, followed by seizure, brain hemorrhage… and ultimately, death. The numbers quickly multiply as the contagion sweeps across all borders, fueled by the countless human interactions that make up the course of an average day. A global pandemic explodes. As the death toll escalates and people struggle to protect themselves and their loved ones in a society breaking down, one activist blogger (Jude Law) claims the public isn't getting the truth about what's really going on and sets off an epidemic of paranoia and fear as infectious as the virus itself.

Pre-order Contagion.

[sidhewrites]

Kind of chapter 5! I'm stumbling over the a couple scenes in, so it's just bracketed to be added in later. I have a feeling in later drafts, I'll be cutting a lot of the early chapters out, but oh well. It's a lot of fun for now :3

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

In just a few minutes, Lucy and I got a rhythm going. She has a single finger raised, eyes on the Haunted Archivists as they wander around, trying to find the source of the EMFs. Mick carries around the detector while Lourdes waves a microphone around, trying to detect even the slightest sounds. 

Admittedly, I do feel a little bad for what Lucy and I are doing here. Mr. Ngo is doing a fine job getting in the way of the team's work. Lourdes' microphone keeps picking up his excited whispers, and he's distracting the camera operator from doing their job.

But if the sunk cost fallacy could ever come into play, it would be now, sitting in the mud with a bag full of stuff and way too much caffeine in my veins. And, also, you know. Lucy. Her black veil keeps her hidden perfectly in the dark, which leaves me to crouch behind the headstone and work the little radio. The further away they get, Lucy points up or down, and I adjust the strength of the frequencies accordingly, turning the dial back and forth. I manage to keep my giggling mostly suppressed, though a few snorts do escape here and there.

After a few minutes, I look up. Lucy's gone stock still, eyes wide, and I follow her gaze. They're looking over at us, and, though it's hard to make out their expressions perfectly in the dark, they're starting to look suspicious. A hint of dread crawls up my spine, and I quickly shut the radio off -- just as Mr. Ngo's phone rings.

The groans from the crew wash over me with relief, as they collectively turn towards him accusingly. I fight back my protective instincts. He doesn't need me jumping in to save him when I'm not even supposed to be in the graveyard at this hour, much less spying on the people who are. He waves with an apologetic smile, but any levity disappears as he sees the phone screen.

"It's my wife."

My stomach drops. Phan isn't a fragile woman by any means, but she's a stickler for routine. If she's up at this hour, something is definitely wrong.

Mr. Ngo takes the call and steps away, almost out of earshot and chats with her in Vietnamese. Though I don't know what he's saying, his tone of voice is unmistakable, and when he hangs up the phone, I can see the shift in posture as he turns back to the crew. "I'm sorry," he says, once more speaking English. "My wife woke up with a fever just now. I have to ..."

"Definitely, please, go," Lourdes answers. "Do you want us to leave, too?"

"No, no, you do your work here. Just remember to come back in the day time and interview me, okay?" He tries to grin.

"Absolutely." She nods reassuringly, and, with one more apology, Mr. Ngo rushes off into the night. After a moment of awkward silence, the Haunted Archivists regroup and go over the plan. Besides me, Lucy frowns.

"Poor man. I hope his wife is okay."

I nod, lips pressed together, and hold up the EMF emitter again. "Should we...?"

"No, not yet. Let's give it a moment."

We wait in silence, watching the film crew regroup. Lourdes pulls out the EMF reader once more, and frowned. "Nothing."

Mick groans, though he tried to keep it light. "Maybe we scared it off?"

Lourdes shrugged. "Let's regroup. Do the intros and talking heads."

The team regroups. They seem to know this routine well, the one gaffer holding up their light with the other holding up a bounce board. Mick and Lourdes find their places, and start introductions. I glance over to see Lucy clearly enjoying the performance as they run through a basic history of the town and its ghosts. They'd be visiting the university's library it seemed, and looking for the Barhop downtown, but it was clear that Lucille Blue would be the centerpiece of their video.

Once they get through their lines, it's nearing midnight, and that means it's time for their real work to begin. The Haunted Archivists are far more methodical this time, as they pull out their tools and hold them up to the camera with a brief explanation of what they are, what they detect, and whether or not they can be counted as real evidence.

Lucy lets out the most delicate snort I'd ever heard.

"What?" I whisper.

"No, sorry, it's nothing. It's just that they always get it wrong."

I shrug, not understanding.

"The accuracy of the tools, that is. [idk the emf reader is easy to mislead, the ouja boards are toys? but idk more research needs to be done]"

"Huh. Cool."

[Things happen. The crew gets back to work, yadda yadda. And then they get the tools out and kaz and lucy are causing problems. I do have to hand it to them, despite some of the melodrama and overacting, the Haunted Archivists are passionate and professional about what they do.

[Something]

Lourdes turns to the camera and puts on their announcer voice to explain, “So our EMF reader is consistently pointing to that spot in the graveyard, so we’re going to take a look over there.”

I freeze, and Lucy behind me goes dead silent. The team turns in our direction,Mick’s eyes glued to the spirit box in their hand.

“Yeah, it’s definitely coming from over here.”

Shit. Shit shit shit shit. My mind goes blank, and I can’t make myself move as the team gets closer and closer. Before I know it, four pairs of eyes are leering down at me, and all I can do is stare up dumbly and hope Lucy acts better under pressure than I do.

“Um…” says Lourdes.

“This is incredible!” says Mick. They gawk at the readings on their spirit box, like a kid on Halloween. “This spirit is one of the most active rumored to be in Stronte. Isn’t there a book or two about her?” They hold the box out for Lourdes to look at, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.

Finally, she nudges them. “Mick.”

“What?” Mick looks up, first to Lourdes, then follows her gaze down to where Lucy and I are sat. “Uh,” they say.

“Uh,” I say.

The silence is hell, and, after a moment, I make myself speak. “Sup?” Lucy, please help me out, I think as hard as I can.

Lourdes: “What are you doing here?”

Mick: “What’s that in your hand?”

Lucy, finally: “It’s just a lovely night for a moonbath, isn’t it?”

Me, again: “Uh.”

[They argue, and they never directly address lucy.]

tag list:

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

[itsmemateinnit]

Whitechapel series 3 press pack

Sam Stockman is DC Emerson Kent

When Sam Stockman found himself on a late night shoot during the second story little did he know that one tiny tap would result in a props disaster!

“We were filming the second story in an eerie house that was packed full of rubbish and booby traps and I nearly got my head chopped off,” he explains. “Everything was carefully arranged and teetering in this room.  We went into this one room and in the scene we were filming I had to jump out of the way as quickly as possible so I asked someone if this would fall, tapped it and it all came crashing down and the poor props guys had to set it all up again.  I wasn’t popular that night,” he laughs.

To create the dark, gothic backdrop that Whitechapel’s millions of fans find so appealing takes a huge amount of creative skill and logistics.  A challenging filming schedule involving multiple location moves and a mix of day and night shoots means that team spirit is required both on and off camera as Sam explains.

“Whilstdoing night shoots you have to keep spirits up but with Ben, it could be the last shot at six in the morning and he’s still behaving like a four year old so he keeps everyone going, cast and crew alike and we all joke around.  Hannah is a good laugh as well as Phil and Rupert.  Being out on location makes a nice change from being indoors because after two weeks in the incident room you start to feel a bit cooped up and then we get to run around outside and let off steam.”

Kent goes on quite an emotional journey during the series as the cases become spookier and more gruesome.

“I wouldn’t say Kent is wimpy or anything like that but the cases take their toll on him and he becomes more affected by them than anyone else.  It’s not often you see detectives on television becoming scared but I think these stories are so spooky they push even a hardened police officer like Miles to get frightened.”

Despite letting his imagination run away with him Chandler keeps Kent in check and forces him to snap back to reality.

“Chandler does say to him that you can’t allow yourself to believe these things and he’s right. His mind drifts a bit and he needs someone rational to tell him to calm down.  He’s the youngest so he’s pretty childish at heart.  His aunt was a psychic so he’s been around the paranormal all his life and it’s never left him.  He knows in his head it’s not true but there’s something that intrigues him” he adds.

DC Kent’s admiration of his DI is almost at fever pitch in the new series which Sam puts down to nothing more than a spot of hero-worship.

“I think Kent is experiencing a bit of a bromance for Chandler,” laughs Sam.  “It’s clear he idolises Joe and before he came along Kent had no one to look up to as he was trying to make his way in the force.  He got on with Miles but other than that he was a bit of a loner. However, Chandler joined the team and was his knight in shining armour, he’s very eager to please.  Kent is also protective of him more when Chandler begins dating because he doesn’t want to see him get hurt but that’s because he’d miss him so much and then he’d have no one again. Bless him!”

[bakerstreetbabble]

Granada TV Series Review: "The Naval Treaty" (S01 E03)

I would like to start this review off by stating (again) how much I love David Burke's portrayal of Watson in this first season of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes! Right at the beginning, when he says, "You're interested!" the playful smile on his face makes me think that he has perfectly captured the excitement that makes Watson want to be Holmes's biographer. I was also pleased that the writers of the episode managed to keep some snippets from Watson's delightful introduction to the case:

...​it seemed rather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit him over the shins with a wicket.

In the original story, this is a humorous line that Watson writes, but does not say out loud to Holmes. It made me smile to read it, and it made me smile even more to hear Watson say it. But I digress...

Another one of my favorite moments in the story is when Holmes and Watson meet Mr. Joseph Harrison. When Holmes deduces (without being told his name) that Mr. Harrison is not a member of the family, Harrison figures out immediately that Holmes had caught a glimpse of his JH monogram. Harrison, unlike most characters in the canon who are witness to the detective's ability to instantly make surprising deductions, is particularly unimpressed, remarking, "For a moment I thought you had done something clever." In the adaptation, Jeremy Brett responds to this criticism with the slightest raise of an eyebrow. It's a tiny detail, but I love it.

I'm afraid I can't help but be a bit entertained, reading the original story and watching this adaptation, by Percy Phelps's case of the good ol' Victorian plot device of "brain fever." I understand having a nervous breakdown because of an enormous setback in one's government job, but the sight of this posh British chap in his dressing gown succumbing to an attack of "the vapors" (as his fiancée dabs his brow) is more than a little comical. After all, the event had taken place two months ago, and the guy has been an invalid the whole time! Meanwhile, Holmes just looks on, almost completely unsympathetic. 

Holmes's "flower monologue," after he has heard the details of Percy's case is an odd thing to read, but even more odd to see on screen. (The "flower cam" that show the flower from Holmes's point of view is unintentionally hilarious.) Miss Harrison is clearly not at all pleased with the great detective's seeming lack of interest in the case, a displeasure which is conveyed very clearly in the set of the actress's jaw. One can hardly blame her, I suppose...

The "flower cam" is not the only unusual shot in the episode. I was struck by the composition of this shot of Holmes and Watson discussing the case after leaving poor Percy.

"Hey, I've got an idea! Let's shoot the actors through a window, with two candle holders in the foreground. Won't that look great?" (Hint: it doesn't.) And that's not the only bizarre camera work in the episode: when Holmes and Watson are interviewing Lord Holdhurst, the camera inexplicably pans to a point of view where the actor is almost completely hidden by the chandelier. Later in the episode, Holmes's violent encounter with the villainous Mr. Harrison is filmed in a rather strange sort of slow-motion sequence. (Interestingly, Holmes can be seen to carry a sword concealed in his walking stick.) Very bizarre direction...

Still, despite some of the odd camera work, and some rather slow pacing, I am still incredibly impressed by how good Jeremy Brett and David Burke are in their roles. The camaraderie between the two characters, the little details each actor inserts into his portrayal, it all adds up to a delightful presentation of one of literature's most famous friendships. As usual for the Granada series, the costumes are top-notch, as are the overall production values.

Overall, it's not my favorite episode, but it was mostly enjoyable to watch. It's a decent adaptation of a lengthy story with a surprisingly anti-climactic ending. While it can't compare to a more exciting adventure (such as, say, "The Dancing Men"), it is still well worth watching, mostly in order to see Brett and Burke at the top of their game.

[homeopathypharma]

Surveillance Systems for Early Lumpy Skin Disease Detection and Rapid Response

Introduction

Lumpy Skin Disease (LSD) is a highly contagious viral infection that primarily affects cattle and has the potential to cause significant economic losses in the livestock industry. Rapid detection and effective management of LSD outbreaks are essential to prevent its spread and mitigate its impact. In recent years, advancements in surveillance systems have played a crucial role in early LSD detection and rapid response, leading to improved LSD care and control strategies.

The Threat of Lumpy Skin Disease

Lumpy Skin Disease is caused by the LSD virus, a member of the Poxviridae family. It is characterized by fever, nodules, and skin lesions on the animal's body, leading to reduced milk production, weight loss, and decreased quality of hides. The disease can spread through direct contact, insect vectors, and contaminated fomites, making it a major concern for livestock industries globally.

To know more about : -

Surveillance Systems for Early Detection

Traditional methods of disease detection relied on visual observation and clinical diagnosis. However, these methods can delay the identification of LSD cases, allowing the disease to spread further. Modern surveillance systems leverage technology to enhance early detection. These systems utilize a combination of methods, including:

Remote Sensing and Imaging: Satellite imagery and aerial drones equipped with high-resolution cameras can monitor large livestock areas for signs of skin lesions and changes in animal behavior. These images are analyzed using machine learning algorithms to identify potential LSD outbreaks.

IoT and Wearable Devices: Internet of Things (IoT) devices such as temperature sensors, accelerometers, and RFID tags can be attached to cattle. These devices continuously collect data on vital parameters and movement patterns, allowing for the early detection of abnormalities associated with LSD infection.

Data Analytics and Big Data: Surveillance data from various sources, including veterinary clinics, abattoirs, and livestock markets, can be aggregated and analyzed using big data analytics. This enables the identification of patterns and trends that may indicate the presence of LSD.

Health Monitoring Apps: Mobile applications allow farmers and veterinarians to report suspected cases of LSD and track disease progression. These apps facilitate real-time communication and coordination, aiding in early response efforts.

Rapid Response and LSD Care

Early detection is only half the battle; a rapid and coordinated response is equally crucial. Surveillance systems are not only capable of identifying potential outbreaks but also play a pivotal role in implementing effective LSD care strategies:

Isolation and Quarantine: Detected infected animals can be isolated and quarantined promptly, preventing the further spread of the disease. Surveillance data helps identify high-risk areas and individuals for targeted quarantine measures.

Vaccination Campaigns: Based on surveillance data indicating disease prevalence in specific regions, targeted vaccination campaigns can be initiated to immunize susceptible animals and halt the spread of LSD.

Vector Control: Surveillance systems can track insect vectors responsible for transmitting the LSD virus. This information enables the implementation of vector control measures to reduce disease transmission.

Resource Allocation: Effective response requires proper resource allocation. Surveillance data helps authorities allocate veterinary personnel, medical supplies, and equipment to affected areas efficiently.

Challenges and Future Directions

While surveillance systems offer promising solutions, challenges remain. Limited access to technology, particularly in rural areas, can hinder the implementation of these systems. Data privacy concerns and the need for robust cybersecurity measures are also crucial considerations.

In the future, the integration of artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning can further enhance the accuracy of disease prediction models. Real-time genetic sequencing of the virus can provide insights into its mutations and evolution, aiding in the development of more effective vaccines.

Conclusion

Surveillance systems have revolutionized the way we detect, respond to, and manage Lumpy Skin Disease outbreaks. The ability to identify potential cases early and respond rapidly has significantly improved LSD care and control strategies. As technology continues to advance, these systems will play an increasingly vital role in safeguarding livestock industries against the threat of Lumpy Skin Disease and other contagious infections. Effective collaboration between veterinary professionals, farmers, researchers, and technology developers will be key to successfully harnessing the potential of surveillance systems for the benefit of animal health and the global economy.

Read more : -