monitor station


A set of desktop wallpapers my husband asked me to do since I wanted to art but was completely blanking out. He has a three-monitor station, and lamented that there were no stylistically similar dark-background wallpapers of his favorite Pokemon that didn’t have a jarring cut from one monitor to the next.

SO I obliged~ c:

If anyone else would also like to use these wallpapers, let me know! :D Their native dimensions are 1920x1080. I just know Tumblr likes to crunch sizes to the detriment of the image. o3o

What if:

A werewolf AU only it’s not a werewolf AU.

Yuuri Katsuki is a mysterious man who likes his meat rare and talks to dogs like he can understand what they’re saying. He says he has a dark past and doesn’t like to talk about himself too much. Viktor asks him what he does for a living, and Yuuri hems and haws for a moment before explaining that he monitors the tides. More than once, Yuuri crawls into Viktor’s bed smelling like wet dog. Viktor has never seen Yuuri on a full moon. Yuuri has scars on his belly that he refuses to talk about. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says one morning over coffee, upon putting all of this together. “Yuuri, are you a werewolf?”

Yuuri sets his mug down, hard, and levels Viktor with the most astounded look Viktor has ever seen on another person’s face. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?” Viktor asks, leaning far over the table. “You can tell me, it’s okay. I’ll love you either way.”

“Viktor, oh my God.” Yuuri sniffs Viktor’s coffee to make sure it’s not spiked. “Viktor, why would you think that? Werewolves aren’t real, Viktor, they don’t exist.”

“But you like your meat rare.”

“Where I come from, everyone likes their meat rare.”

“Yuuri–Yuuri, you talk to dogs! You keep telling me that you have a dark past and you won’t tell me about it! You monitor tides for a living? What does that even mean, Yuuri? I thought it was a euphemism for–”

“Viktor, I literally work at a tide monitoring station. You’ve been to the station, you’ve met my coworkers.” Yuuri drops his head onto the table and buries his hands in his hair. “The–the dark past is–Viktor, it was a joke. I thought I told you. I was talking about my–my failed figure skating career. It was–how the hell did you get werewolf from all of that? There are so many more logical explanations–”

“The scars!” Viktor blurts, even though he’ll realize shortly that it was terribly insensitive of him. “Where did you get–”

“My failed figure skating career!” Yuuri groans. “Another skater and I–we crashed into each other, his skates tore up my stomach and I almost poked both his eyes out! That’s why I don’t skate anymore!”

“Then,” Viktor announces, throwing out his trump card, “Why do I never see you on the full moon?”

“Because I work at a tide-monitoring station, Viktor! Why, why did none of this occur to you?!”

“Oh,” Viktor says softly, clearing his throat. “I see.”

Yuuri Katsuki, who is not a werewolf but merely a failed figure skater who works at a tide monitoring station and owns a dog, bangs his head repeatedly on the table.

the second hand unwinds

A “what if the radio worked” post s4 fic, ~8k and rated M.  Let’s just pretending that whole “mystery ship” thing never happened.


He made it two hours.  

The oxygen came on and Bellamy didn’t have time to grieve because they have to run diagnostics on what remained of the Ark and then there were rations to unload and systems to reboot, and finally, compartments to pick.

There’s twelve rooms and seven people.  Seven, where there should be eight.  Monty and Harper took one room and Murphy and Emori took another.  Echo picked a room next to Murphy and Emori, and Raven grabbed the one closest to Earth Monitoring Station, which left three for Bellamy to choose from.  

He closed the door and everything inside of him shattered.  Did Clarke hate him in her last moments, dying alone out there?  Did she understand?  Part of him thought she might, but— together.  That was their deal.  There was no deal for one of them surviving while the other burned up from the inside out.  He could already feel the hole inside of him that was shaped like her; like Gina, but worse.  Bellamy picked up a metal chair.  His compartment up here on Factory station had just two of them— two, for three people.  Now there was one chair, and one of him.  He hefted it in his hand, testing its weight, and threw it at the wall.  It bounced, one leg a little bent now, and he hauled off and punched the wall as hard as he could.  His teeth rattled with the impact but it wasn’t enough, so he pounded and pounded, his knuckles searing with each punch.  A scream erupted from somewhere deep inside of him and then he was crying, sinking to the floor and wondering how he could go on like this.

Raven found him like that three hours later.  Her eyes were swollen and red and he didn’t even try to hide his face from her.  One look at her and it was clear— she knew.  Had known for a while, probably.

He wondered if Clarke knew.

He wondered if that mattered.

Read the rest on ao3.

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previously: Question | Preparations | Irrational | Confession | Collateral | Thoughtless

7. Interrupted

They haven’t talked about it, haven’t addressed it at all. Mulder knows that they should, that he should apologize for his complete insensitivity, his unforgivable callousness at promising to be there for her, and then forgetting. But to bring it up could invite further discussion on things like his potential involvement, should the pregnancy take… not to mention questions about his past involvement with Diana. Neither of these are things he feels equal to talking about just yet, and so he lets it go. And after several days’ frosty reception at their new home in the bullpen, Scully seems to let it go, as well.

But when he’s locked in a vending machine room in Dallas, staring at enough explosives to vaporize him in half a second, it’s all that he can think about- not just that he’s failed her, already, but that she could be pregnant right at this moment with his child, and unless someone arrives to cut him out of this room within the next few minutes, he will not be around to see it.

It’s only when faced with her loss, with her imminent departure for Utah, of all places, that he manages to make some halting, stumbling attempt at making his position a little more clear to her. When she tries to tell him that he doesn’t need her, that he never has, when she turns and leaves him standing broken in his apartment, that he realizes for the first time: she has no idea. What he feels for her, how he relies on her, what she means to him… she knows nothing about any of it. And how could she? He’s never really even tried to tell her.

He races out of his apartment with only one clear thought in his head: he has to tell her. Now. Before it’s too late.

But of course, he never gets that far. There are very few certainties in Mulder’s life, but among them is this: whether it’s ex-girlfriends, bombs, or bees, something will always interrupt them whenever they come close to anything approaching real honesty about what they mean to one another.


She runs over the sequence of events in her mind as she lies curled over him on the ice, repeating each step in the process over and over again, trying to stave off unconsciousness. It’s the same thing she does on stakeouts, on long drives, whenever she’s trying to stay awake- she repeats autopsy procedures, every muscle in the human body from head to toe, the proper way to disassemble and clean her firearm.

So now, lost in a vast expanse of snow and ice, at the edge of a crater whose bottom she cannot see, she recites the symptoms and stages of a healthy pregnancy, everything she can expect to experience, should it come to pass that the embryo transferred into her weeks ago has made itself at home.

Somewhere between “quickening” and “round ligament pain,” there’s a shimmer at the very edge of her vision, something she first dismisses as a hallucination, too good to be real… at least for someone whose luck seems to be as awful as hers.

But it’s not a hallucination; it’s a Sno-Cat, driven by coming to investigate the sudden seismic disturbance registered on the monitors at McMurdo Station. The last thing that Scully registers, as she finally succumbs to unconsciousness, is a pair of wide, shocked eyes, shielded behind the tinted plastic of their owner’s ski goggles.

She still feels frozen when she comes to, in spite of the warmth of the sterile, white room in which she’s lying- and in spite of the warmth of Mulder, lying on her cot next to her. He’s fast asleep, his arm locked stubbornly around her waist, the set of his face, even in unconsciousness, suggesting that someone in charge has already attempted- unsuccessfully- to remove him from her side.

She stirs, and in his sleep, Mulder tightens his hold on her. And even with the pervasive sense of cold still permeating her limbs, Scully begins to feel warmer.


She’s been telling herself, ever since waking up in the infirmary at McMurdo Station, that it’s not going to happen this time, that she can’t expect the IVF to be successful when her body has been through so much in such a short time. After the stress of losing their office and their work, the impact she’d been through when the bomb in Dallas had sent their car flying into the curb, the introduction of an unknown pathogen into her system, and her near-death by freezing in Antarctica, her body is hardly the most hospitable place just now for a developing child.

(The same could be said, really, of her entire life, but that’s not a thought on which she wishes to dwell, just now.)

But in spite of all her mental preparations, it still takes her by surprise, while she and Mulder are waiting for their flight out of Sydney, when her period starts.

Mulder reads her expression the moment she leaves the restroom, and his face falls. He opens his arms, and she doesn’t hesitate to walk into them.

“We’ll try again, Scully,” he promises, whispering in her ear as he rubs her shoulders consolingly. “We’re gonna get this right eventually.”

She wonders, as she leans against his chest and fights back tears, whether he’s only referring to the IVF.

anonymous asked:

Do transformers sleep? I guess recharge slabs are the closest thing yeah? Or can they sleep without being plugged into something? I feel like it's always been a little vague.

Depends on what story you’re reading! IDW has gone for “recharge slabs” as the in-universe allegory for sleeping, using them like beds and having characters “dream” or awake with a start. Historically, there are some examples of TF snoozing. Take this scene from early in Simon Furman’s run on the US Marvel comic:

Ratchet has essentially “dozed off” at his workstation and had a nightmare, but they have to use a human allegory to describe it. But then, compare that to Kup’s remarks from the G2 comic, but the same author:

Beast Wars characters would often sleep; “Feral Scream,” Part 2, for instance, has Cheetor refusing to use a CR chamber and instead going to sleep on his bunk, while Rattrap has a feet-up-on-the-console nap at his monitor station. They used terms like “nap” and “asleep,” rather than the techie “systems shutdown” of the Marvel example above.

Armada was big into characters sleeping, too; it was the first thing we ever saw Cyclonus do, and Scavenger was a fan of it too, with full blown snoring and unconscious scratching.

Animated made mention of “stasis naps,” one of which Ratchet took in vehicle mode at the side of the road. And there are a good few example of characters being hypnotized into a sleep-like state, too, by characters like Mindwipe or Hellbat, or Nightstrike.

So the broad answer is “yes, they sleep without needing to be plugged into anything, if you’re not worried about looking too deeply into the technological meaning and purpose of robot sleep.” IDW’s books seem to have wanted to justify such a thing, so they have recharge slabs to explain it.

So I just stumbled across this game called Stories Untold. A text based adventure with four episodes. It’s very fascinating and it has a very unique narrative and this atmosphere of Stranger Things. However, its awesomeness it’s not really what I want to focus on. What inspired me to write this post was all the Operation OUT feelings this game gave me and I just wanted to freak out about it a little bit.

Spoilers ahead. If you want to play the game, you should not keep reading this. You’ve been warned!

Four episodes, seemingly unrelated, but that reference each other in subtle ways. That is until the last episode where everything is fully connected, makes absolute sense and your mind is fairly blown away by it. I just saw the ending and something in my head just went ‘Oh my God, this is exactly what is happening with Emma!!!’ Because that’s how my mind works these days (I can’t seem to get rid of this show! Unbelievable, everything brings me right back XD) 

First episode - The House Abandon

It all starts with the protagonist in a room, playing some creepy game on an old computer. As we play said game, some weird stuff starts to happen in the house we are in and suddenly what we’re playing on the computer seems to be connected with what is happening around us. An Inception kind of thing? ‘A game within a game’? Yeah, that’s right. At the point wherein the end of the episode we almost faced ourselves. 

Second episode - The Lab Conduct

We are now participating in an experiment, trying to open some kind of artifact, a box with a heart inside. At this point everything makes you believe this is an alien related story. More weird stuff happens while we’re running tests in the heart and we end up connected with it or with this AI that starts to show us things, strange memories where we’re stuck in a spaceship and are faced by a silhouette. The AI then proceeded to connect us with another subject in the facility that is trying to break free and run away. Apparently, the subject is controlled by our actions and the AI wants to reveal something to us with this whole thing. 

I know that you’re probably wondering what the hell this has anything to do with OUAT or Operation OUT, but I’m getting there. Are you still with me? OK then… 

Third episode - The Station Process

Once again we are in an entirely different environment, somewhere in the middle of Arctic or somewhere else entirely and you’re responsible for a monitoring station where people on the radio gives you instructions and warnings about some creature lurking in the snowstorm outside. And guess what? More weird stuff happens and you have no idea what’s really going on. Someone from one of the other stations apparently died already and the only one left, a woman, keeps saying that she’s on her way too. She doesn’t feel her legs, she’s tired and asking what you’re doing and you’re just wandering in the snowstorm completely alone. Then you start to hear voices, whispers, somebody telling you that you need to come back and wake up. They’re all waiting for you. And somehow while you’re trying to return to your station you end up in the room from the first episode instead and the voice we kept hearing, asking us to come back, give his welcome.

Fourth episode - The Last Session

The last episode, finally! This episode makes everything that didn’t make any sense until now suddenly drip with meaning. It starts with our protagonist watching a show on TV, a show that goes by the same name of the game, Stories Untold (this game is so meta, I can’t even). 

We are in a hospital or mental institution, I don’t know for sure and a doctor guides us to a room where we’ll be interrogated. He tells us that we need to remember what really happened, that it was time to stop what we were doing and faced the truth. The same AI out of nowhere appears in front of us and we get some flashes of some parts of the previous episodes, but this time, we learn what they were really about and here is where my mind went full mode on Operation OUT. 

The story beneath the surface of what we were seeing was that our protagonist was in fact in a coma or a comatose state. He was involved in a car crash caused by him (he was drunk) that, unfortunately, ended up leading to his sister’s death (remember the woman on the radio in the third episode? Well here she is). His guilt, the trauma and everything that happened around him made his mind mess with all those memories. Everything weird that was going on in the game was a combination of him remembering the crash and what he was experiencing while in the coma. 

People giving him instructions through the radio in the third episode was people trying to communicate with him, see if he was responding to those commands. The experiment with the heart and the box were actually doctors trying to resurrect him and fix his brain injury. The spaceship and the silhouette were, in fact, him remembering being trapped in the car and a police officer coming in his direction… It was all wrapped up in a sci-fi background because it was related to the TV show he was being exposed to (at least that was my interpretation, I was too busy losing my mind over this plot twist).

In Emma’s case, she is wrapping everything up with fairy tales, they are her way to cope with traumas and unpleasant memories. The truth about her history, about what’s going on in the real world it’s hidden and all mixed up inside her head. 

The incredible part of this is that the game gave away really clever hints in order to us to figure it all out before the last episode. It was in the dialogue all along, almost in plain sight, but still hidden enough that we barely put too much thought into it. It was in the visuals and now that I stopped to analyze it, the color patterns of blue and red, reminiscent of sirens were very present throughout the episodes. It was in the sound effects too! Sounds of machines and other stuff… 

All of it really made me think about all those hints A&E left for us to figure it out what the Stories left Untold in Once Upon A Time are. 

 Anyway, this is it. I just wanted to share this because I got all excited about it XD

Tired--General Hux x Reader

You sat in the chair across the room, reading a book. A small yawn escaped your mouth as you continued reading. The sun had long set and bags were forming under your eyes. It was nights like these where you resorted to hot cups of tea and books to lull you to sleep. Tonight, however, was a different situation.

You were sleeping soundly when all of a sudden a terrifying dream began to terrorize your sleeping mind, causing you to rouse with your heart racing and a wet face. After countless minutes of tossing and turning, nothing was going to help you sleep, so you went to the option of reading with a hot cup of tea.

The sound of the pages turning was music to your ears and the feeling of warm tea sliding down your throat was soothing. You had been at this for two hours before you heard a rustling coming from the doorway of your bedroom. You looked over to see the one and only Armitage Hux standing in the doorway dressed in a white shirt and grey sweat pants. His hair was messy and his eyes were trying their best to stay open. He leaned against the doorframe.

“What time is it?” He asked, a yawn escaping him. You looked over at the clock sitting on the mahogany table.

“Three,” you stated, picking up your cup of tea and drinking the rest of it.

“Come back to bed, dear,” he replied before going back into your room and laying down once more. You sighed and closed your book, placing it on the table. You shut off the lamp that was beside you and headed over to the bed, laying down beside the sleepy general.

“Why are you awake at this hour?” He asked quietly, not opening his eyes.

“I had a nightmare that woke me up,” you said, snuggling into the warm blanket. He hummed in reply before throwing his arm lazily around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“Can’t sleep again?” He asked you, rubbing his hand up and down your back. This action soothed you and allowed for you to relax. He must have felt you nod because he began humming a melody of a lullaby. Your eyes began to droop as your breathing became deeper and deeper and before you knew it, you were fast asleep once more.

Little did you know, Armitage was still awake. He waited for you to fall asleep before opening his eyes. He looked over your features and how relaxed you finally seemed. It had been days since you’ve slept through the night and it worried him. This lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on you as you became more irritable and more exhausted with each passing day.

Hux also noticed the bags forming under your eyes and the paleness that accompanied your skin. Your beauty was being tarnished from the lack of sleep and he was going to get down to what the problem was.

The next day Hux stalked you from afar while you worked, observing anything that may affect your sleep patterns. The only thing that he noticed was you just doing your job–filling out paperwork, mailing items, and just working hard.

“General Hux,” someone behind him greeted. Annoyed, the general turned around and hissed out a, “what?!”

“It appears as though the plans for a new superweapon have been placed on hold due to circumstance that I’m not authorized to know about,” the nervous worker said, stumbling on a few of his words. Armitage raised his eyebrow and stared down at him.

“What is your name and job and who sent you?” He asked the nervous young man, tapping his foot.

“Jeffrey Filantro. I’m a technician and the commander sent me,” he mumbled just loud enough for Hux to hear. The blood inside of Hux began to boil at the thought of Kylo Ren.

“Get back to work,” Hux spat before marching off to find a certain knight.

That night you arrived home from work late, much to Armitage’s distaste. He just wanted you to get home quickly and to rest up.

“How was work?” He asked, flipping another page in the novel he was reading, not looking to you. You groaned.

“Today was horrible. Francine would not get off of my back,” you stated, plopping down onto the couch beside the ginger. Millicent hopped onto your lap and rubbed against your abdomen, wanting a nice scratch. You laid your hand on her and began to run it through her soft fur.

“I don’t have time for anything other than work anymore and it’s annoying because the others around me don’t get any of the work load even though they are the same position as me!” You exclaimed causing your furry friend to scurry off into another part of the apartment. Armitage closed the book and placed it on the coffee table before grabbing your hand in his.

“And how do you know that they aren’t getting the same amount of work?” He asked you calmly, giving you his full attention. You sighed and pushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I see it, Armitage. Most of them just sit at their desks doing nothing. While I have a giant pile of papers, they might have one or two papers, if anything! And by a pile of papers, I mean a pile so big that it’d put your stack to shame! I’m so stressed out that I can’t even get a decent night’s sleep because my dreams are plagued with nightmares! I’m sick of doing all the work when it should be split evenly!” You yelled, standing up and walking to the window. You stared out into the deep forest of the base, holding back your tears. Armitage stood up and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

“How long has this been going on?“ He asked you, placing a kiss onto your temple. You shook your head and sighed.

“About a month now,” you mumbled. Armitage tensed.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, love?” He asked you, more concerned than angry. “I would have understood.”

“Because I knew that you would raise Hell and I just got promoted that position and I didn’t want you to be anymore stressed than you are now,” you said, turning in his arms to face him. He looked down into your (e/c) eyes.

“You should never worry about that, (y/n). If you lost that promotion, you would have received it once more. I’m a very powerful man on this ship. And I wouldn’t be stressed if it meant that you could sleep peacefully at night,” he paused, looking into your eyes deeply. “I don’t think you realize how much I’d go through for you. I’d walk through the hottest desert and swim through the biggest ocean, anything to see you happy.” A smile came across your face after he said these words and you hugged him tightly.

“I love you, Armitage,” you told him before releasing him and getting ready for the night.

The next day, you awoke to an empty bed. You turned on your side, shutting the alarm off and looked at the clock. It read six o'clock. Armitage must have went to work early today since you didn’t see him anywhere. You got up from the bed and felt the cold air hit you like a racing pod. Your feet padded across the cold floor to the bathroom where you took a shower and dressed in your uniform.

Minutes later, you emerged from the steamy bathroom and walked to the kitchen to see that breakfast was made for you. On the plate rested scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon. Beside it was a note.

‘Dear (y/n),

I left early today in order to settle the score of you being overworked. Continue your day as normal and I will see you when we get home.’

You ate your breakfast merrily and headed off to start your work day.

Hux made sure to get up early this morning in order to speak with Francine, your superior. He styled his hair extra neat today and made sure his uniform was crisp and clean. After writing the note, he left it by your plate of food and walked out and into the quiet hallway.

The doors to her office were coming into view and Hux made sure to put the best scowl on his face that he could muster. He straightened his shoulders and stood up tall, tilting his head up slightly. Knocking on the door, he waited inpatiently. When it opened, it revealed an old woman dressed in a clean uniform. Her graying hair was done up into the standard bun. Her jaw clenched and green eyes widened at the sight of the general.

“Good morning General Hux. Please come in,” she stated, standing up straight and opening the door further for Hux to walk through.

After entering the office, Hux stood by the chair as Francine sat down in her chair, readying some paper stacks labeled with the names of her workers. One of the stacks did have significantly more papers and Hux saw that it was yours. His blood began to boil.

“It has come to my attention that the work load has not been distributed evenly in your squadron,” Hux stated calmly, pushing aside his anger. Francine nodded.

“I suppose that is happening,” she sighed, knowing what was going to come next for her.

“I suggest you even it out or else I’ll make sure that your life on the Finalizer won’t be easy,” Hux threatened the woman.

“I will make sure to even it out then, General,” she stated, moving some of your stack into other stacks. Shortly after that, Armitage walked out of the office and to his own station of monitoring his workers.

That night, you slept soundly. The stress that you have been feeling has melted away in that single day. Thanks to Armitage, Francine left you a small stack of paperwork and tasks for the day and everyone else actually had something to do for work. A content smile came to your face as you watched Armitage sleep peacefully this morning. His mouth was slightly agape and his chest was moving up and down slowly. You carefully leaned over and kissed his forehead before cuddling into his side.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spock Imagine- Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Life on the Enterprise has come with highs and lows, all natural to the nature of the ship. The crew is a family, and nothing could change that. Unfortunately, the family took a hit and everyone was suffering for it. All except one. 

After the death of a beloved engineer, everyone felt the effects. The entire attitude changed on the ship. Everyone went from openly greeting one another, to the formality it once was when the voyage first began. Even best of friends only talked in private, so as not to disturb another person. Grieving is a process,  one that everyone deals with differently. 

You sit in a chair, blankly staring at flashing monitors through distant eyes. Captain Kirk is sitting in his usual spot, knees twitching as he watches as we pass through the nebula. Spock stands behind the captain, also watching a monitor. The air is thick on the bridge, as if you could cut it with a knife. It presses on your chest, making it hard to breathe. 

“Luitenant (Y/L/N).” Kirk speaks. 

“Yes Captain?” you ask, standing out of respect. 

Spock looks over at you as you stand up. Out of habit, you smooth out the skirt of your dress. He looks as if he has something to say, but refrains with a furrowed brow. Taking note, you approach the Captain’s chair per request. 

“What is the census in MedBay?” 

“We are up to thirteen Captain. Three critical condition sir.” 

“Thank you.” 

You step down from the platform and return to your seat. This seat is a special seat, because it is the one your friend sat in. Everyday you would walk in to receive report from the captain, and would stop to chat with the engineer. With a heavy heart, you fiddle with the drawer underneath the monitor. Most stations have a small drawer that hold papers, and most stay locked. Unlike the others, this one was a little lose. Intrigued, you pry open the door only to reveal handwritten letters. 

The words on the paper are small scribbles, but you can decipher every little word. Tears start to well up in your eyes as your shower the paper. His thoughts jotted down on these crumpled papers, you see everyone’s name mentioned multiple times. Spock catches a glimpse of your actions and walks over to you, drawing everyones attention. 

“Lieutenant (Y/L/N), what are you reading?” he asks. 

“Commander Spock, I found these letters from Adrian.”

“Lieutenant (Y/L/N), please approach the platform.” kirk speaks. 

As you walk up to the platform, your hand trembles as you think about your friend writing these notes. All of them act as a message incase something would have happened to him. Every single letter was written moments before an impact or an invasion. 

“Captain. I found these.” you hand over the papers. 

He begins to read them, everyone beaming at him for a reaction. A tear falls down your face but you blink it away. Embarrassment surges through your body as you stand there, letting your guard down. Kirk sets the papers down, running a hand through his thick blonde hair. When his blue eyes make contact with yours, knowing how close the two of you were, you end up cracking. Hot tears freely flow from your irritated eyes. 

“Please excuse me Captain.” your voice cracks.

You rush off of the bridge, running out of the room. Everything is blurry as you run down the hallway. In an attempt to conceal your emotional state, you keep your head low and allow your hair to fall into your face. Spock’s mellow voice rings in the distance but you don’t pause to look. The walk to your room seems to be miles, but you finally reach your destination. Now that you are in solitude, you really let yourself down. 

The door cracks open after a simple knock. With a click, the door shuts. You can feel someone standing behind you, their energy emitting towards you. They reach out, a simple gesture that causes you to shutter. The strong hand is retracted, and you turn around to face your boyfriend. 

“(Y/N). It seems you may have over-reacted.”

“Spock don’t. Don’t even start with me. I know deep down somewhere you are hurting too. I am not Vulcan, therefor I have feelings.”

“The Vulcan’s have the right idea. Grieving is much easier this way.” he reasons. 

“Really! So shoving all of your ‘feelings’ aside, not dealing with your problems is the right idea here? My best friend died Spock. How would you like it if Kirk died? What if I died Spock? Huh? Would you even care?”

“(Y/n) that is a completely unrelated topic.” 

He extends his hand once more, reaching for your arm. You turn away, not wanting to feel his touch. You know he has feelings just as you do, but it kills you that he won’t accept that you choose to show them. Sitting on the edge of them bed, tears resume as you think how different everything has become. Spock lingers in the corner, deciding if he wants to pursue a side of him that only a few have seen. 

Hesitantly, he approaches you. He movements are deliberate and quick. Before you know it, you have been pulled to your feet, standing square with spock. The pads of his thumbs graze your cheeks, attempting to clear your eyes of any tears. His fingers connect with your head in precise spots, and you suddenly feel fuzzy. An energy is shared between the two of you, an intimate moment that hasn’t been shared before. 

You can feel his grief, and understand his deep concern for you. His thoughts are far more extensive than you thought. He too feels your pain. He understands what you are going through. This sensation was so unfamiliar, so raw, that it brought new tears to your eyes. Reaching for his hand, you disconnect and look at him with starry eyes. Vulnerability pours out of you as you stare up at him. He curls his strong arm around your shoulders, embracing your shaking frame. 

“I know you care Spock. I’m sorry.” you whisper against his ear. 

“I am half human too. It is only logical that I would have feelings just as yours. I just have a hard time expressing them.” 

Standing on the tips of your toes, butter flies rush through your stomach as you reach up and press your lips to his. Kisses were sacred between you too. A rare affection making them your favorite. Catching him off guard, he peers down at the floor, thinking about how he feels. Every now and then he feels the tug of emotions, and you were always the cause. 

“You don’t have to hide from me. I love you Spock.” 

“I love you too.” 

You smile knowing how difficult that is for him to admit. Here you two stand, foreheads pressed together. Emotions are a strange thing, and they have their own ways of creeping out. They hold people together, but can also be the ruin. They bring the strangest of people together, and hold on tight. 

Stairs from Scott Jones’ house. Inventor of voicemail, gracenote, chach.

His house was featured on an episode of MTV’s Teen Cribs. I can’t find a link to the episode but from what I remember his house also had

  • A waterfall shower that ran something absurd like 300 gal/min (recycled water of course)
  • An idea room that was completely covered in whiteboards (ceiling included)
  • A work room that contained a radio shack worth of electronic components as well as an 8 monitor computer work station with built in exercise bike.
  • A 50 foot aquarium
  • Secret bookcase passages between his kids rooms (psst pull the Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix book)
  • Big lion statues guarding the entrance to his house
  • A movie theater
  • LCD security camera displays everywhere.
  • A ipad size remote (before there were ipads) that controlled everything in his house.

tags: whump!danny, angst with a happy ending

“Get out of there, Danny.”

“Alright.” The blonde Detective hung up the phone and started to turn back towards the road. But then a sinking feeling hit Danny hard in the gut and he felt a cool chill creep up his spine. He took out his gun and turned back towards the warehouse with every nerve suddenly on edge and crept forward into the darkness. He stopped at the back corner, aiming his gun towards the sky and took a deep breath before peeking around the wall of the warehouse.

A tall man moved around efficiently in the semi-darkness, more intent on what he was doing than on any concern that he might be interrupted. Danny took one more deep breath to prepare himself before stepping out to aim at the suspect.

“Five-0! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” The suspect froze quite calmly and slowly raised his hands, a phone in his right one. Danny leveled his gun on the man and approached him slowly. “Put your phone down very gently,” the blonde Detective ordered.

“Alright, Detective.” The man said, in an unshakably voice. “I’ll put it down. How about right here on this crate in front of me?”

“That’s fine.”

The suspect lowered it slowly to sit it on the crate. But the man already dialed a number and the explosion threw Danny into a nearby stack of wooden pallets.


Danny wanted to have a son with Steve’s eyes. Maybe they could find a surrogate…

The smell of burning wood woke the blonde Detective from the dream… everything hurt and it took Danny a while before he could move and remembered where he was. He looked around but the suspect was gone. Danny got to his feet and searched the ground until he found his gun.

The warehouse, old and dry as it had been, was completely engulfed in flames and Danny could hear the distant sound of sirens. He stumbled towards the crates where the man had been standing and hurried along the backs of the buildings. From the looks of the crates, the suspect hadn’t escaped the force of the blast. Danny had no idea how long he’d been out but he hoped his enemy had taken an equal amount of damage.

Blood trickled down into the blonde’s eyes and the heat from the burning warehouse was almost too much to bear. Danny was nearly ready to give up in order to escape the dangerous flames when he saw the front end of a white pickup parked on a dirt access road at the other side of an old pharmacy building.

The man limping around the truck probably expected to drive away and disappear into the night while everyone was focused on the flaming buildings behind him.  Danny leveled his gun at the man’s back. “Stop! You’re not going anywhere.”

The suspect chuckled. “You couldn’t just lay there for a few minutes more, now could ya?”

“I’m afraid not. You have too much to answer for, so turn around slowly.” As the suspect turned, Danny regretted his instruction almost instantly when he saw the gun in the man’s hand.


The man had never hesitated in his whole life… not for any person or in any situation. So he didn’t hesitate now. His first bullet hit the blonde Detective in the side, spinning him away and sending Danny’s shot into the back of the old pharmacy which was now burning like a kindred spirit to the warehouse. His second bullet stopped Danny’s heart.

The man holstered his gun and climbed into his truck. With any luck, the whole block would go up, either masking or destroying the evidence. He backed out of the little access road and headed out of town.


Chrissie Miller checked her monitors one more time and glanced up when the big double doors swung open. “That’s the most well trained man I’ve ever seen. Who is he?”

Her co-worker Millie chuckled and put a firm hand under Chrissie’s chin to close her mouth. “That’s Commander McGarrett. He’s here every night.”

“Oh dear God, Millie, please tell me he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

“Sorry, honey, it’s even worse than that. He’s Detective Williams husband.”

“Oh.” A sad look washed over Chrissie’s face and she glanced down at the monitor. The readings were stable, but only because machines were helping the blonde man breath.

“It’s a sad thing.” Millie explained. “He comes in every night and sits there talking’ to his husband. He just won’t give up.”

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this job, Millie. If I have to watch a man like that cry, I think it’ll kill me.”

Millie gave her a sad smile. “Just remember that for every tragic loss you have to watch, you get to see at least one miracle cure. You have to learn to look forward to the miracles cause they’re well worth it. Why don’t you go check on Detective Williams? Commander McGarrett’s a real nice guy.”

Chrissie took a deep breath and put on a pleasantly professional smile before walking into the blonde man’s room. The Commander was sitting next to his husband’s bed talking to him quietly.

“Hi there. I’m Chrissie Miller. I’m Detective Williams’ nurse this shift.” She shook the Commander’s hand, then washed hers and checked the blonde’s IV.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Commander Steve McGarrett, Danny’s husband. How did he do today?”

She smiled. “He did just fine. His daughter and his sister came to sit with him for a long time this afternoon. His vitals are stable.” She put on her more serious nurse face, “Of course he’s still unresponsive.”

Steve nodded, smiling down at the blonde man in the bed, hopefully. It’d been six weeks since Danny was found without a pulse behind a burning building. It was uncertain how long he’d been there before he was found and he’d been on life support since they brought him in. She honestly didn’t think he would hold on much longer, but she didn’t know how to say something like that to a patient’s loved ones.

“You just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay, we will.”

Chrissie walked back out to the nurses’ station and put her head down on her arms. Millie patted her on the back. “That’s about the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It takes some folks a while to let ‘em go.”


Steve leaned over to kiss Danny’s cold fingers as tears ran down his cheeks. “You gotta wake up soon, Danny, cause I think I can love nobody else.”

There was the gentlest pressure on his fingers and Steve raised his head, his eyes suddenly wide. “What was that?”

He felt it again.


Chrissie watched the monitors at the nurses’ station as suddenly the Commander raced to the door of the Detective’s room, slipping on the polished tiles and nearly falling. ‘Oh dear God,’ she thought. ‘Not tonight.”

She hurried over to catch the Commander’s arm expecting some problem that might finally signal the end and closure for the blonde man’s family. But the tears running down the Commander’s cheeks were the tears of desperate hope and he was smiling… a beautiful smile.

“He squeezed my hand!”


“I told him I can’t love nobody else but him and he squeezed my hand!”

ellianorus  asked:

So birds you catch as a by-catch you can't band? Is that all birds, or was it just for the pileated woodpecker as you didn't have the right size band? Here in the UK, we can ring anything we catch, but can only set out to target species on our licence, so if we put a net up, anything that goes in gets to be ringed.

On my current permit, yes. When you apply for federal banding permits in the US, you specify which species you’ll be targeting (or check the “ALL BIRDS” box if you’re running a general monitoring station, etc). You can only order rings/bands from the government that are sized for the species on your permit, and those numbers are tightly monitored. If somebody recovers a banded bird and reports the number to USGS, you can have your permit revoked if it’s not a species you were supposed to be marking!

As a sidenote, there’s also a completely separate permitting process for color banding, blood sampling, etc. While USGS handles Master Bander permits and issuing the actual federal bands, you also need to get USFWS permits for all actions you take handling migratory birds. It’s complicated.

I’m in the process of applying for my own master bander permit though– so hopefully soon I’ll be able to band all bycatch. It’s definitely a shame to get a bird in the hand and not mark or sample it (seriously, it hurts my soul…..), since the simple act of banding is so important for monitoring populations!


Second installment of the Jacob Black “Home” series, requested by a few lovely anons. Since the series is pretty well mapped-out, all I needed was a request to continue, and you all seemed excited for the next part. Hope you like it!

All past and future installments of this series can be found on the “The Story Continues…” page.

Technically, you didn’t ‘wake up” on Monday morning, as you never managed to accomplish the blissful surrender of sleep. Your night was one of tossing aimlessly, lulled to the brink of peace by the pattering of rain against the siding of Charlie’s house, your mind kick-starting in what would be your last seconds of consciousness. You knew by midnight that you weren’t going to be able to trick yourself into a calm enough state for sleep. No, your impromptu rendezvous with Jacob the night before had your nerves hot-wired and electrified; not the best combination when all you needed was to slow your breathing and slip away for a few hours. So, technically, you arose on your first day back at Forks high school tired-eyed and groggy, silently cursing Jacob’s good intentions through a weak smile as you sauntered out of your bedroom, your joints crackling like a dying bonfire as you set your body into motion after so long stagnant. You heard Charlie moseying around his kitchen, taking extra care to close each uncharacteristically cheery yellow cabinet as quietly as he could, shuffling about from place to place. His actions were sweet, you’d give him that, and you’d probably appreciate them a bit more if you’d had any sleep that night… but there was absolutely no need to tiptoe around noiselessly when he was the only one waking up that morning. He had no way of knowing you’d been awake since Sunday morning. For all he knew, Bells was upstairs mumbling into her pillows. Perhaps you only noticed his quiet morning manner because you were so used to Renee’s slamming and hushed singing as she burnt your breakfast every morning. Charlie was different, that much was as obvious and as stark a contrast as black and white. But different wasn’t bad.

You stumbled through the doorway into the kitchen, Charlie’s head snapping around, his gaze falling on the deep splotches of colour beneath your eyes. You hadn’t passed by a mirror yet, thank God, but you knew you looked less than well-rested. His brow furrowed guiltily, his head lolling to the side as you mumbled an impressively gravelly “Good morning.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” He poked absentmindedly at the eggs he was preparing, his spatula inching this way and that through the masses of fluffy gold. Eggs again. His talent in the kitchen literally didn’t go any farther. Between Charlie’s extreme dairy intake and Renee’s regularly inedible creations, you’d never developed trust in the kitchen. Luckily for you, your sister knew her way around a frying pan. You’d have to poke Bella on this one, if she wasn’t already planning an attack.

“No, Dad. I couldn’t quite…” you trailed off, his eyebrow raising in confusion. You waved your hand in the air as if to swipe your unfinished speech from the morning air, your fingers snagging on vowels as consonants smeared across the chilling drafts creeping in from the open window. “Long night is all.” Charlie nodded, his mustache arcing as his lips tugged downwards. He removed the eggs from the stove top, scraping his gourmet breakfast onto a porcelain dinner plate. His torso twisted as he extended the typical meal towards your chest urging you with a wordless tip of his head to take the dish. He returned to the stove, cracking a few eggs onto the pan, the room sizzling with the sound of crackling heat. You moved to sit in your usual chair, grasping at the silverware Charlie inched in your direction.

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Jacob, would it?” He asked, his deep voice tinged with a teasing bite, however honest his question was. You rolled your eyes, scoffing under your breath before forcing the eggs down your throat. “Okay, okay, I know my limits,” he poked around at Bella’s food, the plastic spatula scraping audibly against the non-stick surface. You waited patiently for the follow-up you knew was en route. Charlie may not talk much, but when he did he was about as predictable as rain in your tiny town. “I’m just saying… that kid’s good for you, Y/n. As a friend, or…” You were saved from Charlie’s wingman speech by Bella’s entry, her eyes identically bruised beneath from lack of sleep. You lifted your head in nonverbal greeting. Charlie lifted his gaze from the stove, smiling briefly. “Morning, Bells. Sleep well?” Bella collapsed into her chair, her index finger and thumb meeting on her lower lip, absentmindedly running over the smooth skin they encountered there.

“Rain kept me up for a while, midnight maybe.” Charlie grunted apologetically, however awkwardly the apology was, as he portioned the rest of the eggs onto two dishes, taking his seat after placing a plate before Bella. Bella dug in, shoveling a steaming mass of gold into her mouth, chewing around her next words. “Seriously, I was drowning. I thought you said it was going to be a dry year?” At this, Charlie’s head popped up, his brow furrowed at the very thought.

“Dry year? Where did you hea-” He began to form some sort of meteorological explanation for why Forks would likely never have a dry year, but your foot beneath the table silenced him before he could let slip any incriminating details. You shot him a cautioning glance, your lips pursed against verbal warning. His eyes widened in understanding, and he ducked his head to his food. The rest of the meal was spent in comfortable silence. Charlie ducked out minutes before you did, off to the police station to monitor all that nothing with his armoured, riot-trained buddies. As soon as Bella finished eating, you washed and dried the dishes, packed your book bags, and started out. Climbing into Bella’s truck was a brief, happy reminder of the availability of Jacob; now that you were back in your old stomping grounds, you’d be able to spend so much more time with him. It wasn’t likely that Charlie would mind. Hell, he might even push you out the door and drive you to La Push himself. He was that eager to be Billy’s in-law. It was ridiculous. The car carried the faint (but prominent) aromas of spearmint and tobacco; not the heady stench of cigarettes, but the sweet, vanilla-shadow of good cigars. Had Billy been a smoker? It sure as Hell wasn’t Jake. Perhaps Harry Clearwater had borrowed the truck after Billy was confined to his chair. You didn’t mind the scent. It was… comfortable. Aged, like leather. It may have lost its initial luster, but the durability and dependability would always be there. Bella slid into the driver’s seat, shaking rain from her sleeves as she settled in. She turned the key in the ignition, causing the both of us to start.

“You’ve released the beast, Bells,” you whispered, projecting even so soft a sound as your voice in order to be heard over the colossal roar of the truck’s engine. Hey, if this was the only fault, Bella would be safe. She backed out of Charlie’s driveway, her warm brown eyes flashing to yours after a few seconds on the main road.

“The thing’s got character,” she replied, chewing anxiously on her lip. She had more to say. “This… this isn’t going to stick out, is it? I mean, you’ve been to the school. It’s not too bad, is it? The sound?” You shook your head, dismissing her worry.

“No, most of the student body drives clunkers. You’ll only stick out because you’re a new face. I’m sure you’ll be fine in a week or so.” You managed to sink one of her fears while simultaneously giving birth to another. She sighed, allowing her breath to dip into a groan as she ran out of air to expel from her lungs. “Bella, you’ll be fine. Just talk about Phoenix and try not to take anyone with you if you fall.” She snorted, gripping the wheel with a firmer conviction, likely thinking of rooting herself to the car seat to avoid any possible (and likely) wipe-outs.

“Yeah, I’ll try my best.” The remainder of the drive was spent in silence as Bella squinted through the light rain bouncing off of her windshield, following the very minor directions you supplied as the road wound on. Eventually, you arrived in the minimalist parking lot of Forks high school. You could read Bella’s face like a book as she analyzed the school’s exterior, noting the lack of barbed wire and security guards. It was a whole lot different than Phoenix, that much was obvious. The school consisted of a cluster of brick buildings, more homely than educational, leaving the students milling about in the damp morning looking like over-friendly neighbors conversing over their soggy lawn divides, casually holding conversation while sticking behind their respective borders. There were very few people present this early, but it gave your sister enough time to stumble her way to the main office. You bid her farewell and the best of luck, watching her wander off as you started towards a group of vaguely familiar faces, wishing every hood was hiding a face you knew to be miles away.

The school day was rather stereotypical. Your classes were hushed by the calming soundtrack of the rain beating against the windows. You were surprised to find the student body was merging classes together; a certain Angela Weber was in your English class, despite the age difference of a year that should have separated you. Looks like Forks was dipping in population again. She was a familiar face in the library, both in and out of school. You two got along swimmingly. You passed Bella in the halls more than once, and each time you saw her she was flocked by one of the overtly desperate bachelors in her grade. Mike Newton’s spiky hair was visible, even if his face was fully absorbed in Bella’s. You thought you caught Eric Yorkie jabbering on about after school extracurriculars, but you couldn’t be sure. His hair was very similar to Ben’s, and he passed by too quickly to distinguish. Lunch was average. Bella had made a friend in Jessica Stanley, the bouncy one that hung around Mike. Bells was quiet, mostly, a familiar habit of hers, but she seemed comfortable enough. This was, of course, before Biology.

You hadn’t met the Cullens last year. It was, ironically enough, a rather dry season, and they were always… camping, you think. Charlie was on good terms with the adoptive father, and because of their rather distant friendship, you heard bits and pieces about the children. Well behaved, smart clothing, fast cars, the likes. None of Charlie’s prompting could have prepared either you or Bella for the reaction of the youngest son of the doctor. That first day left a mark on Bella, and no amount of assurance about their usual manners could have erased the stain in her eyes after the horrific experience of being Edward Cullen’s lab partner. She was quizzical during the car ride home, and you told her what little you knew of the siblings. You’d glimpsed the shorter one in the halls once or twice throughout the day, but she had seemed aloof… distracted somehow, on a different plane of existence. Her eyes were strangely dark, you remembered, and she looked confused as she passed. She could have glanced your way, but you weren’t exactly following her on your radar, so you couldn’t spill your findings to Bella with the required confidence. The majority of the ride, however, was spent discussing faces and matching names to each she’d interacted with throughout the day. She was partial to Jessica, and she found both Mike and Eric kind enough to disregard how blatantly clingy they were. As she pulled into the driveway, all talk of the Cullen boy was long gone. Thoughts, however, would linger.

Charlie’s cruiser was in his parking spot, surprisingly enough. You’d thought his shifts would be longer than the seven-odd hours you’d been away at school. You slid from the passenger seat, trailing along behind your sister, your mind calculating and recalculating how probable it was for Charlie to be taking his lunch break at home. His jacket was hanging by the door, pistol and all, and the softened sounds of sports announcers blared through the drywall separating the entryway from the living room. He must have gotten the day off, seeing as the crime-rate in Forks was dipping below the marked average. Bella ducked into the kitchen, giving you a knowing look that easily narrated how quickly she intended to remedy your meal plan, leaving you to greet the Chief. Charlie was in civilian dress, his feet propped-up on the coffee table. He grinned when he saw you, sitting straighter, dislodging himself from the divot he’d created in the sofa’s cushions.

“Hey, Y/n, how was your first day back?” Almost as soon as the words had slipped through his lips, he was following up with another message. “Jacob called a few minutes ago, you just missed him.” You replied quickly to his inquiries, congratulating him on the much-needed time off, darting around the corner to the landline, the sounds of Bella rifling through Charlie’s refrigerator mingling sweetly with the banter of the anchors emanating from Charlie’s television. It sounded like home. You snagged the post-it note from the wall, furiously jabbing Jacob’s number into the phone, holding the receiver to your ear, your heart racing along to every tedious dial tone. Jake answered on the second ring. Clearly, he was lingering by the phone.

“Hey! That was quick,” he remarked, his voice spreading warmth over the miles that separated you. God, it was good to be near Jacob again.

“Yeah, I just got in. The truck runs great, by the way. A little warning with the engine would’ve been nice, but it runs just fine.” Jacob chuckled, his laughter crackling over the line.

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to make sure you kept the thing. I’d be driving it if it wasn’t for Bella. Tell her thanks for me.” He paused, inhaling deeply, the clinking of his household activities transferring dully to your end. “So, is Charlie watching the game tonight?” His voice was strangely hopeful for the topic of college football. You ducked your head around the corner, repeating the question to your father. He nodded, occupied by the predictions being spewed at him through the screen. You relayed the information to Jacob, who seemed to smile audibly. “That’s great! Billy’s got some of Harry’s fish fry. Your dad’s welcome to come over. Billy hasn’t seen Bella in years, and I’m sure he wants to talk about the truck.” He paused, sighing sarcastically. “”And I guess you can come too.” You laughed, your voices intertwining. When Jake continued, his tone was lifted slightly by the dying end of his laughter. “No, seriously, come over. I can’t sit through another game on my own. I need you here, Y/n. I’ll lose it, I swear.” You giggled, leaning your shoulder against the wall, eyeing Charlie through the opening in the living room wall.

“Yeah, I’ll come around. If Harry’s cooking, it won’t take much to get Charlie moving either. I’ll see you later on, then.” Jacob, again, smiled through the phone. The kid radiated positive energy like a nuclear reactor.

“Sure, sure. See you then.” You hung up, your hands lingering on the smooth plastic of the telephone, your heart hammering in your chest. Your months without Jacob Black were about to be erased from your memory completely. La Push was a promise tugging you towards the horizon, coaxing you out the door with whispers of Jacob’s name.


Once again NASA has been caught shutting down a live transmission from the International Space Station (ISS) to hide evidence of aliens & UFOs in space. This time it appears NASA cut the live feed after a large four-armed UFO appeared in the video.

The incident adds to mounting evidence that despite denials, the agency maintains a rigid policy of non-disclosure of evidence of extraterrestrial life and intelligence. The latest UFO sighting was reported by Ufologist Streetcap1 on Thursday, October 20, The live video shows a strange craft loitering in the distance apparently monitoring the International Space Station. The strange craft has multiple arms extending from its main body.

The video shows sunlight reflecting from the body and arms of the UFO, causing it to glisten in deep space. The glistening of the mysterious object due to reflection of sunlight proves it was a real, solid, metallic object flying or hovering in space in the vicinity of the ISS. But as the UFO begins to glisten brightly in the sun, NASA interrupts transmission with its infamous blue screen.

Perceptor/Brainstorm FanFic

I’ve been having massive writer’s block and it feels like I haven’t written anything enjoyable in ages 😣 I forced myself to finish this which is why the ending is a bit sharp. Hopefully, I’ll break out of this slump soon.


Title: Can Masturbation Cure a Headache?

Perceptor pinched the bridge of his nose and another two tablets dropped into a cold cup of energon. In the energon the tablets danced as their chemicals reacted and fizzed violently. A haze of pink bubbles filled the cup and when the performance was over, Perceptor drained the chemical soup.

Woooo,” Brainstorm made an odd, patronising coo from across the room, he was stood behind Perceptor. “You didn’t wait for four hours since your last lot. What a rebel. Must be one hell of a headache,”

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