electronic databases


For those who have missed the last Live Stream Installation or want to watch it again, a recorded 32 minute version is now available online!

Another Carter?(2/?)

Summary : You’re Peggy Carters grand daughter, living as much as a normal life as you can with a giant secret weighing on your shoulders. What happens when you  ripped from your normal life, and thrown into the avengers hands?

Avengers x Reader (so far)

Warnings: Swearing , fluff

 { This Part is a build up chapter, between this one and the next a lot will be explained about the reader!}

 Marvel Master list

Chapter 1

 /n’s POV

“Come on Tony , any fucking day now .” You mumble as you scan the sky for any sign of your uncle. I’ve managed to stay off the radar this long, how did HYDRA find me ? You finally see a jet zoom through the clouds, moving to hover over the rooftop you’re currently pacing . Tony jumps from the opening , flying down to you in his iron man suit . He lands with a clank in front of you , his mask flipping up as he does . You place your hands on your hips , sending him a ‘wtf’ look. ’

“ well hello to you too dear. looks like the cats out of the bag .” He says casually .

You shake your head, sighing while you walk closer to him . “ Can we just get out of here .”

Originally posted by thesillybus

You leap up & wrap your arms around his neck. His mask closes, he tightly holds you to him as he lifts off the roof. You spend the ride trying to figure out how anyone could of Found out about you . Your grandmother had those files sealed in a vault the second the project was complete . The only people that knew of you and your capabilities are Nick Fury, Maria Hill , Clint Barton ,Tony Stark , and your grandmother . The files are only paper copies, nothing was entered into the electronic database . As far as the world is concerned , you’re just normal y/n carter , a nurse; or so you thought ,apparently the secret slipped .

  When you arrive back the To tower , Tony grabs onto your hand before you can step out of the jet . His suit was disassembled, leaving him in his t shirt and jeans. He tugs you to him in a hug, squeezing you roughly .

“ We are going to have to explain to the team . ” he warns you, his voice taking a calming tone.

 You sigh , shoving your face into his chest .

“ On the plus side, Barton is thrilled to see you !” He says, leading you to the elevators. When you first agreed to be the subject for the program , Clint was there with you . He was a high level agent , and he became your shoulder to lean on during the process .

  Your grandmother found an alternate serum , nearly matching Steves (minus a few elements). SHIELD would only administer it to someone who fit the qualifications , which are the same ones they held in the ‘40’s ; they didn’t want someone who was a good soldier , they needed someone who was a good person  - someone who wouldn’t take advantage of the new power but use it for good . Some one matching Steve Rogers heart , loyalty and ability to do what is necessary to save others . Sure there was many candidates, but Peggy’s mind immediately went to her granddaughter. You never understood why she picked you, you honestly believed your cousin Sharon would of been a better option.

 As you follow Tony around the tower ,you continue to think back to when you underwent Project EAGLE ( they got really creative, didn’t they? So lame ) . You were 22, it didn’t take much for your grandmother to persuade you . The world was in need of another savior, That was until they defrosted the original . The minute steve was found , you bowed out . You went back to your normal life , and you didn’t mind . There was too much stress on your shoulders , the weight of the world almost literally on your shoulders . You were some what relieved that they found him before you actually had to be a hero . The fear of  messing up ate away at you, it was quite different than when you use to beat up bullies as a child . The worst that could happen then was you’d be sent home , now though people’s lives , the world was on the line . Clint kept in contact for a while , but eventually faded out the longer your stayed out of the life .

  As you walk behind tony, the glass doors of the lab sliding shut behind you break your from your haze . You look up, eyes locking with beautiful light blue eyes . Oh shit , Steve Rogers .

Originally posted by stallingdemons

Before anyone says a word, you’re being enveloped into a pair of strong arms .

 You giggle , already knowing who is swinging you around . “ I missed you too Clint .”

  “ Hate to tell you kiddo, but -”

“ yeah yeah the secrets out . I kinda figured when I woke up tied to a damn chair old man .”

  He sets you down , giving you a stern look . “ There’s no staying out of this now Y/n, if hydra knows about you , it’s time to break out the hero .”

Originally posted by sssssssim

“ I’m sorry, but can someone please explain ” the man you recognize as Bruce Banner asks. You look around the room , sending a shy smile to all the avengers .

“ I suggest you take a seat , it’s story time !” Tony says as he rubs his hands together . You rolls your eyes ,

“ so are you telling MY story Uncle Tony ?” You question with a smirk .

  “ oh no darling , this is all you . FRIDAY, popcorn please ?”

You groan , hiding your face in your hands . Although Tony does help ease the tension ,it can’t completely erase the nerves of explaining yourself ; especially to the man that stole your grandmothers heart . You take a deep breathe, looking to everyone with an uneasy smile ,

“ so.. Any one here ever heard of Peggy Carter ? ”

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

Originally posted by lovelyelenas

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Martha White | Investing in Tech to Tackle an Awful Annoyance: Lost Luggage
The number of stray bags is lower than ever, attributable both to new technology and charges for checking luggage, but there’s room for improvement.
By Martha C. White

RFID in airlines luggage tracking:

The new bag tags are embedded with RFID chips (for radio-frequency identification), which means the location of bags is tracked and electronically crosschecked against a database to make sure that they are in the right place at the right time. Airline and airport management say this increases security, since each bag is linked to a ticketed passenger. It also speeds up the discovery of a bag in the wrong place so the process of reconnecting a bag to its owner can begin sooner.

“RFID, from a customer experience point of view, has brought transparency to the customer,” Mr. Joyce, of Delta Air Lines, said.

“We’ve invested about $50 million in deploying this tech across our organization,” he said. That investment includes integrating this data into the Delta mobile app. “If you’re traveling and you check a bag, you get a push notification when your bag is loaded,” Mr. Joyce said.

Representatives from American, United and Southwest also said they were building similar systems with advanced bag-tracking capabilities.

At most airports in the United States, the airlines have operational control of their terminals, so it is incumbent on them to add new technology. But Mr. Drummond said airports also had a stake in making sure their airlines were doing their job. “If an airport had a lot of mishandled bags and passengers see that, that reputation will precede that airport,” he said. “So the incentive there is with the airport as well.”

That is one of the reasons the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, which operates a portion of Newark Liberty International Airport’s Terminal B, has spent $2.3 million installing a more sophisticated, RFID-based tracking system. “As terminal operator, we have a responsibility to ensure a certain level of service in that terminal,” said Diane Papaianni, the airport’s general manager.

That kind of tracking is going to become more the norm. By June of next year, the International Air Transport Association has stipulated that all airlines must maintain an accurate inventory of passenger baggage by tracking when each piece of checked luggage moves on, off or between planes.

alright so if ya’ll don’t know, i work for the local sheriff’s office and it’s my job to take police reports after the fact and enter them into the electronic database for deputies that are either too technologically incompetent to do so or simply too busy (more common, believe it or not).

Tonight I had literally the best call I’ve ever gotten from a deputy so I want to share it with you. This was originally posted in Discord so forgive the formatting:

So I get a call from this deputy and he goes “I did the most embarassing thing of my entire law enforcement career”

and he tells me this story that it’s like 3 in the morning, he’s just on patrol, and he’s passing by this building when somebody spots his patrol car and quickly darts into an alley

well that’s fucking suspect as hell so he stops and investigates

He follows the alley and comes out the other side to the front of a building and the dude is sitting at a table in front of the building (like, set up for a salvation army kind of deal, but it’s 3am so obviously nobody was there but this dude) and sitting on the table are two fist sized bags

and the deputy goes “I swear to fucking god, I thought they were bags of crystal meth.  They looked JUST LIKE crystal meth”

So he points at the bags and says to the guy, “What is this?”

and the dude goes “They’re not mine,” which is exactly what absolutely everyone says about bags of drugs that are definitely theirs

So the deputy handcuffs the guy and detains him in the back of his patrol car, takes the bags and then opens them up to do a field test to confirm they are what he thinks they are.

and the deputy, over the phone, almost in tears says to me

“it was a bag of onions.  It was a goddamn bag of diced onions.”

“I mistook onions for crystal meth”

“And you know what the worst part of it is?” he says to me, “the worst part is that if he had done what so many drug users do and just shoved the onions in his mouth, I could have arrested him for tampering with evidence because I thought it was crystal meth, ‘based on my years of training and experience’ which apparently DON’T COUNT FOR SHIT”



at the end, he goes “i have to email you three photos of onions now because I detained the guy, so if I don’t include photos, my corporal is gonna chew me out”

and he sent me an email titled “ONION METH” which sure enough, contained three pictures of fist sized bags of what was blatantly diced onions

so really the life lesson to be learned here is that if you’re doing crystal meth and trying to hide it from cops, shove it into a bag full of diced onions

sterek au: record halestiles sees a help wanted sign in the window of the record shop derek owns.

happy birthday to my tumblr bff, foreverblue-navy! you are the best and deserve all the awards for putting up with my fandom whining and ranting and flailing, and all my real life stuff too. thanks for being my cheerleader and my friend <3 since this is one of many sterek aus i’ve promised to write you, i thought i’d give you a taste of your “derek owns a record store” idea until i have time to turn it into a proper fic :D


Stiles is walking towards the coffee shop on the corner, counting the change in his pocket and hoping he has enough for even the smallest cup of coffee. But he’s distracted when the hand-written HELP WANTED sign in the nearby window catches his eye. The script is messy, written in a thick black marker. The store sign painted on the window simply reads Records. Plain. Understated.

Stiles looks at the change in his palm, fifty cents short of a basic cup of black coffee, and enters the store. How hard could the job be? Nobody even listens to records anymore.

The store is small and cluttered, but in a homey sort of way. Shelves upon shelves of vinyl lined the walls, and crates were sitting randomly in the floor. There is a guy on the floor with huge headphones plugged into a turntable, listening to a record and bobbing his head. A couple of girls are browsing through the shelves.

As Stiles makes his way towards the back, he catches sight of a display of cassette tapes, and is that – omg 8tracks. Stiles leans on the counter, taking it all in while he waits for someone to notice he’s there. The song playing overhead is familiar. Some seventies rock song he thinks his mom used to listen to.

He’s combing through his internal music database when an extremely hot guy walks out from the back. He’s wearing a black Johnny Cash t-shirt, a loose grey cardigan pushed up to his elbows, and tight jeans. Stiles tries not to slip in his drool. It’s no better when he raises his eyes and sees dark stubble and black, thick-rimmed glasses. He has to work here, his sex life demands it.

“Can I help you?” The man sounds more angry than helpful, and Stiles wonders if trying to apply for a job in a tiny, hipster record shop while wearing his lego Spiderman t-shirt was the best idea.

The man is still glaring, so Stiles stupidly blurts out, “Is this America?”

The guy’s eyebrows furrow as he looks at Stiles like he’s an idiot. “I mean, the song, not the country. I mean, duh, I know we live in America. ‘Ventura Highway,’ I think?” The man nods, but says nothing else. Stiles can’t stop from staring at his eyes, so bright and odd behind the spectacles. After a few awkward, silent moments, the main raises his eyebrows in question. Stiles is pretty sure he has spoken more with his eyebrows in the last few minutes than with words. “I was here to apply for the job.”

“It’s yours.” The man turns and starts back inside the back room. “Be here tomorrow at 11.”

“Wait!” Stiles yells, and the man halts in the doorway and glances over his shoulder. “That’s it? I just get it like that? No application, no interview, no social security number and references and tedious work history?”

“Do you want the job or not?” the man asks, exasperated.

“Yes!” Stiles exclaims, and the man looks like he’s already regretting his decision. “But why?”

The man shrugs and points to the ceiling. “America. You’re the first person who came in here who recognized my music and didn’t wax poetically about how shit like Bruno Mars and Katy Perry is actually fucking music or try to impress me by mentioning some hipster bullshit like Radiohead, LCD Soundsystem, or goddamn Lana del Rey.”

The man disappears into the back, and Stiles is left there, mouth agape.


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We are finite
We are temporary

The bone that you broke in the first grade
Will soon be turned to dust
Dust that will not serve a purpose
Dust that will make up the ground someone marries on
Dust that gets stuck to the pant leg of a child who played too hard
And loved too fiercely

The girl whose lips you found peach trees in
Whose eyes found you on that bridge
And whose scent identifies her
As she sneaks up behind you
Will never be recorded
Will one day cease to be read
Will loose her scent over time
Until her security is found in new fruit
In the nostrils of a star crossed lover

And the boy who you spent hours for
Pouring into a cd
Filling every electronic database
With the screaming sounds of your love
That still wasn’t enough to change his mind
Won’t impact the universe in any way
But the girl of 3000 will feel your breath
In the sobs you whispered to your pillows

Our language
Our culture
The men we built libraries out of
And the women we brushed under our feet
Until they forced us to look at them
Won’t matter
Their struggles
Won’t matter
And their fears won’t matter
And who can say what equality will look like in a hundred years
Or when we are all covered in the ash of the apocalypse
And death is our only friend?

We’ll be reduced to a textbook
And then to a sentence
And then to a word
And then to a grouping
Of the thousands of words and sentences and textbooks of cultures that have been here
But exist now only in the remnants
Of our coagulated human experience
That bloodies the floor
Of the bathroom we still cry in
Even though the tears will dry
And our problems will be reduced to nothing
Until they’re picked up by future wanderers
Who have no words for the emptiness left inside them

Do you understand?
Every pin drop in a silent room
Every day we waste or fill
Every song we’ve sung
Screaming or weeping
Every ounce of what makes you you
Your identity and your pursuit of anything more than what you’re currently experiencing and your secrets and lies
Will one day
Be no more real
Than the first name
On the tombstone
In the graveyard down the street

Do you understand?

We are finite
We are finite
We are finite

But we are heartbeats and metaphors
New ideas and old adages
We are young and breathing documentaries
Cameras with a bloodstream
And our brains may turn to mush
Or maybe someday they’ll turn us into projectors
And play our lives at cinemas
Until they learn the meaning of what it is
To be a part of the human experience
A part of a continuing story
That erases itself to replace itself
With the same feelings on new faces
With new toys and new heroes
But same mantras
And same tenacious will to survive
Despite everything that tells us not to

We will stop our living
And stop our way of life
But we will never stop existing
Our footprints will never be erased from the earth
Even if the earth has fallen into cataclysm
The ghosts of our memories
Will cling to the outer reaches of the galaxies
Ad infinitum
And when the stars too fade
And all that is left of our existence
Of our starry nights
And suicidal tendencies
Will be


And yet still, we live
That is what courage looks like
And I’ll be damned if we are labeled
As anything else



(inspired by myvictorianpantaloons + a night full of friends)

russianspacegeckosexparty  asked:

Headcanon: Sam fancies himself a 'handyman' but in truth, he's not just bad at it, but he's so abysmally awful at fixing the most basic household electronic that SHIELD databases categorized him lvl 10 threat because the time he tried fixing a television, he winded up setting up communication with an alien planet and gets intergalactic channels now

That sounds like the exact opposite of a problem until Sam gets ‘abducted’ to join an alien game show. 

Incarcerus: Chapter 2

summary: AU. Vampire and bail bondsperson Emma Swan is drawn into a supernatural murder mystery that entangles her with strange forces, dark secrets, a far-too-charming, handsome, and enigmatic fellow vampire named Killian Jones, and the ultimate questions of how to start a blog on Fangd, get a parking spot in Boston, and avert an immortal war. She is confident love is nowhere in the plan.
rating: T
status: WIP
available: FF.net and AO3
previous: chapter 1

Dawn was cracking the smoke-grey sky in rosy ribbons, giving her an unpleasant itching sensation like small insects scuttling across her skin, by the time Emma wearily trudged up the steps of her building, wondered what the odds were of encountering one of her neighbors in the stairwell if she blitzed up it at immortal speed, and got into the elevator instead, just in case. She lived on the eleventh floor, which was a bit of a trek even for a vampire at the end of a long night, and watched the glowing numbers beep upwards until the car stopped, she stepped off, and jogged to her door at the end of the hall, fumbling for her keys. Technically, she probably didn’t need to lock it, as most humans kept an instinctive distance from a bloodsucker’s lair – not even by conscious knowledge, but by the same primeval cognitive function that warned them against walking down dark alleys late at night, or jumping into a tiger’s pen at the zoo, or any of the normal ways not to place themselves at the mercy of a predator. But habit was habit, and besides if humans were drunk or on drugs or otherwise chemically enhanced, that part of their brain responsible for self-preservation shut down, and they could barge right in here while any number of their higher mental faculties were shrieking vainly at them. Emma was not about to take any chances of some pothead criminal, or perhaps one of the bail-jumpers she chased down, finding out where she lived and breaking in, and so she kept it locked.

Inside, she threw her stuff on the counter, pulled the drapes against the encroaching light, and tried to stay awake long enough to stumble to the bathroom and change into her pajamas. It was almost impossible to fight the physical shutdown of your body when the sun was above the horizon, which was why vampires preferred to be safely in their houses and in general reach of something soft and horizontal by the time it arrived. Otherwise, they could be knocked out for the count in some random public place, proved impossible to wake, carted off to the hospital, and discovered to be medically dead, which was hard to explain to the drop-jawed young resident in polka-dot scrubs who just wanted to take your blood pressure. Emma herself had learned that the hard way, and now made sure she left plenty of time between her last errand for the night and the scheduled sunrise; vampires had a smartphone app (someone with a rather diabolical sense of humor had named it SleepyTime) that customized itself to your geographical location and sent you alerts for astronomical, nautical, and civil twilight so you could make sure to hustle your undead ass out of the way beforehand. If it sensed you were still out and about even after these three warnings, it would then proceed to yell, “GET INSIDE, MOTHERFUCKER!” at the top of its tinny robotic voice-assistant lungs. It tended to have compatibility issues with iPhones. Siri’s burning hatred of it could probably be blamed.

Emma struggled out of her clothes and washed her face. The no-reflection thing was a problem when you were trying to do your makeup or ensure you’d gotten it off; she could make out a faint cloudy image of herself, but no details. She had wondered if the reason vampires had no reflections was to head off the fact that otherwise they’d probably spend the entire time taking selfies; they were so vain that the song was definitely about them, and well, they were, as a rule, very hot. But it was another reminder of your inhumanity, that you couldn’t even see yourself anymore; you got used to catching glimpses of yourself in windows or walls or in the “beauty face” setting on your phone, remembered who you were, the image you presented to the outside world. To simply not show up in it anymore left you feeling truncated, invisible, cut off and isolated – a reminder that while you could mingle with humans all you wanted, you would never pass or blend in or truly feel like one again. Some geeks were working on inventing a vampire-compatible mirror, but they hadn’t gotten close to a market version yet.

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Long before we had electronic databases or comprehensive scientific tomes filled with information about herbs, humans knew and understood the healing power of plants. I am convinced that this knowing came from an intrinsic sense of relationship with the plants, not simply a trial-and-error process, as we often postulate.
—  Rosemary Gladstar, Herbal Recipes for Vibrant Health