#the dust brigade

[f0point5]

Why does Esteban Ocon have one of the most incredible built in narratives and psychology only to be super annoying (and I know this is a contradiction because all of the backstory is quite clearly informing his personality but the whole thing is so unsatisfying).

So many things about this guy are my Roman Empire and literally need to be studied (not least the fact that Max is literally his villain origin story), but he’s so irritating that you can’t even dig into it without rolling your eyes.

[captainmvf]

A Hipster, Rocker, and a Hippie walk into the arena with undead vivosaurs. Stop me if you've heard this one before...

[thetimelordbatgirl]

With all the mystery around who Ruby is and who her mom is, I really, really hope it isn't actually the Trickster like others have been saying, because while yes it would be nice to see something from SJA appear in current DW, it also would just feel weird at this point as the Trickster was such a Sarah Jane villain that it just feels wrong to give him to the Doctor as an enemy just because Sarah Jane is gone.

[frauleindermorgen]

♫

send me ♫ for a song relating to our muses | accepting

Oh, I've been there before / I've been a soldier in that war If you take it in your stride / you might just see the other side Just breathe, breathe Because everything you see / is just a stone throw away

Help me understand the best is yet to come Take me by the hand before I come undone 'Cause all this emptiness has left me feeling numb But it's darkest right before the sun

-The Best is Yet to Come / Sheppard

[depravednotdeprived]

[hangesdarling]

Can I ask for hate sex with hange?

(Hope this fits within your rules!)

commitment — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader SYNOPSIS. Commander Hange find it difficult to commit into a relationship with you. CONTENT. 18+, MDNI, biting, leaving bite marks, vaginal fingering, oral sex (hange receiving), overstimulation, panty stuffing, scissoring, angst, alcoholism, teasing, dirty talk (lmk what else) WORD COUNT. 4.1k (i got carried away 😭) A/N. School may be killing me but at least I get to write this angsty smut for Hange (sorry for taking so long anon, and yesss, this fits with my rules 💕)

Your privilege from birth remained an indelible mark and only strengthened when your father rose to rank in the military police brigade. Those itchy elegant clothes at private parties, or of wearing a proper pin-up dress when you want to cross the road without a word of judgment became a pervasive familiarity.

Maybe even freedom contorted itself to your comfort and safety for you only saw Titans in those publications. Hange thought of you as an entitled woman untouched even by the dust from Shiganshina as expected from someone who lived in the inner walls from birth. 

But you love playing with fire. You love Hange's esoteric yet strangely fascinating eye bored through you across that expansive room. It was full of people in the usual fancy setting you were used to. Empty words were exchanged through them as if a common meeting could create another layer of peace to prevent such bonds from breaking. 

However, tonight was not so tasteless when you're exchanging wordless conversations and suggestive glances with the Commander of the Survey Corps. 

The party was not fascinating but the eventual meetings that followed were. For some time, your father almost believed you were interested in a position in the military from how you frequented the headquarters. Your surreptitious meetings with Hange came once a week, turning twice or thrice later on. Eventually, their vision of you as an entitled woman shattered under one kiss followed by sloppy lovemaking in their office. 

"So you weren't so stuck up after all," Hange mused, their lips stained with the gloss from your lips. 

"And you weren't so sophisticated, Commander." A teasing smirk rose on your lips, fingers circling the angry kiss marks trailing up from their chest to their neck. Your hips mounted to reposition yourself in their lap, earning an appreciative smile from them just for your boldness. "Taking me right here in the office? Really?" 

Your banters flowed like fluid robbed of viscosity, a free-flowing connection to the soul. Hange has this charming, relaxed smile, a glimpse of their youth smothered by the weight of responsibility on their shoulders. Your presence became a prying tool, each loving word uttered lifting the heaviness within them. 

You relished on those weekdays you had to pretend that you were not fucking the Commander. A sensational thrill shot through your body, even to the tips of your toes just from writing each lipstick-stained letter, each lewd word placed upon paper to be mailed directly at their office disguised as a formal letter. 

Lately, your meetings have thinned to twice or thrice a month, putting intense yearning upon waiting for a familiar letter in your mailbox. It wasn't frequent but Hange had a way with words, and it was enough to make you read their letter the way a devotee reads their bible. 

However, upon another chance of meeting after such intense longing, you found Hange in haste, bounding your conversation into half an hour based on how the clock on their wrist ticked. 

So you hugged them, you nestled your head on their chest like you always used to as if doing so would merit their stay. 

"Sweetheart, I really have no time for this," their tone sounded apologetic, as if in repentance for your yearning bounded by their time. "Say what you want to say, Y/N."

"Tell me, Hange. What are we?" It was soft yet so pointed that Hange stirred from your touch. They can't find a way to scoot around the topic with your tone of adamance. Their lips pursed into a thin line before sighing. 

"Y/N, we've talked about this." 

Your fists clenched at their olive uniform, your face remained buried on their chest. 

"But Hange... We've been seeing each other for such a long time now. And I..."

Hange knows you cannot finish your sentence, each word snatched from your mouth for fear of sounding pathetic. 

"Y/N, look, I wasn't carved out for such a commitment," they pulled away gently, lifting your chin to look at them and letting go eventually when you shook their hand off. "I care for you, Y/N. But we can't do this now." 

That's what you always say, you wanted to scream out. That this wasn't the right time, that it would be best to keep things this way not to hurt each other. You always do this as if there was always a better time than now.

Your hand clenched around their coat once more then let go all at once. Hange's watch ticked twice.

"I hate you," your lips moved in scorn, in an angry desperation to not burst into tears. It took all Hange's strength to not argue back, to resist your statement and pull you back in their arms so this parting wouldn't hurt as much. Their watch ticked again and like any other meetings, they didn't have time. 

Hange sighed, squeezing your hand and letting it go as they stepped back. "I'm sorry, Y/N. We'll talk about this when I get back."

Your eyes welled with tears as their footsteps grew fainter from where you stood frozen. You tried to walk away silently but the sound of their train leaving clutched you in an urge to scream. 

-

Maybe Hange was right that being in an official relationship wasn't any better.  I have to grow up, you told yourself. Hange has this mature view of things that smothers their imaginative side. Their decisions felt like the safest yet most terrible ones you couldn't wrap your heart around. You grew up knowing that things you want would materialize the moment you wished for them. It contrasts all the harsh experiences Hange had outside the walls all those years ago, not only fighting titans but the corrupt humans themselves. This isn't a fairy tale, Y/N, your mind spoke in Hange's voice. 

But you want to stop longing, to await for a love that does not dither, for a piece of commitment you could hold onto each time you wait for Hange to come back. Just the slightest verbal evidence that you're the person they come to as a lover. But your attempt to get their heart in your care failed once again. 

Maybe you were never their lover. You're just another one of those women they invited over for a fortnight of pleasure. You just happen to last long enough because they weren't tired of you just yet. You scoffed to yourself, pouring yourself another drink later that night day when Hange left. They should be getting on the ship as of this time based on your estimate. Another few weeks of not seeing each other, but this time parting with such bitter words. 

I hate you. 

Did you truly mean it? Maybe you hate their choice, but not them. Or perhaps it was irritating how much you cannot fully place hate on their name even if you tried.

You drank the bottle of wine to the last droplet, mind considering a visit to your father's headquarters early that morning. 

-

Not long ago, you earned a temporary job in the headquarters as an excuse to see Hange. It was rather tedious but you're not aversed about reading lengthy reports and sorting them when you could always meet the Commander afterwards. But with Hange's absence, the papers were getting more difficult to bear that you had to avert your eyes from the pile for at least an hour. 

However, you left the room later on, remembering you shouldn't have to bear with such things when you have a privilege placed on your name. You could always pay that kind soldier trying to help you out. But later that noon, he won't accept monetary payment, but rather a chance to take you out on a drink until night. 

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad offer since you needed a drink yourself. A splash of alcohol might hopefully erase Hange's face from your mind. You haven't even written a single letter since they left and planned to keep it that way. 

The bar where soldiers of low ranks weren't as sophisticated, and the cheap drinks tasted unique. Your first drink burned your throat but you were too thrilled by the new environment to even protest. You tried to imagine Hange in place of the guy next to you. Hange would have looked at you in amusement, maybe even tried to down a bottle to show you a glimpse of their previous life before they became Commander. 

But that daydream blurs and vanishes into a tasteless reality as you down a few drinks. This place only reminded you of Hange's absence, an environment far too cruel for you to bear. It was clear that you wanted to leave the bar and cut that night short. The man who brought you here has been a help in your tipsy state, and much to your distaste, he began a shaky confession of why he brought you here. 

His hands were cold when they met yours, you wanted to roll your eyes at how he was trying to meet your eyes. You're beautiful, you're friendly enough. I always see you frequent the headquarters. 

Shallow confessions, you thought to yourself, and yet it all sounds tempting especially now that the alcohol was kicking in. 

You tried to kiss him mid-sentence, tasting the cheap beer on both of your lips. His lips felt strange, unfamiliar, and almost cold from the air outside. You retracted almost immediately, the tempting whispers of the alcohol in your system diminished all at once. It was a terrible kiss and it will never feel good when your lips keep searching for Hange's sweet and loving ones. 

You're not one to toy with other people's feelings but the kiss stirred and hazed your mind back to soberness that you ran away into the frigid night. You tried to wash away the taste with another glass of wine when you got home but the feeling of betrayal lingered.

But then again, it wouldn't be a betrayal to Hange because you were never theirs. They've made it clear a few more times than enough. 

We can't do this now. There wasn't an ‘us’ to begin with. 

Later that midnight, you tried writing several letters addressed to Hange but none felt right. All ended up in a discarded pile beside your bed, your inked hands unwashed as the alcohol inched you closer to slumber. 

-

Returning to Paradis without you in sight made the morning all the more bitter for Hange. Not a letter from you, nor an answer for all the letters they sent while they were away. They remember the hatred laced with your words the last time you saw one another. 

Against all the bitterness nestled within them, they remained wishing that you never meant your words. 

Later that afternoon in the headquarters, they wanted to come to you but decided against it at the last minute. They need a few hours to themselves. Maybe for sleep or other things. However, Hange cannot sleep now that their mind is occupied not just by the pressing issues in the military, but also by you. 

They thought of your sweet, blushing face in their hands whenever they kiss you, or how you make a seat for yourself in their lap whenever you're in the mood to be playful, but above all that, they longed to feel you after such a tedious time away. Their mind was plagued with questions of where you were and what had happened while they were gone. Do you still resent them? 

However, their questions were beginning to be answered in such an unlikely manner when they overheard a conversation among soldiers drinking at work. The Commander wanted to burst in and admonish them for misbehavior when they heard your name being spoken along degrading words. A slut. A woman easily persuaded by an invitation to drink. Hange proceeded to listen, fists clenched as the soldier you kissed not even a week ago decided to warp his story of rejection to your disadvantage.

Hange glanced at these soldiers, remembering the names and faces they would subject to grueling military work later that day. They forgot their tiredness and went out of the headquarters to look for you.

-

Hange didn't want to believe that man's words. They placed their trust in you to that extent. However, their reasoning shattered when they heard it from your mouth. 

You resent them because seeing them makes your heart ache. You wished to hurt them the way they did when they broke your heart. 

 "I was never yours, Hange. You've made that clear several times so why bother to snoop around to what I'm up to?" you glared at them when they stood blocking the way out of your room. 

"Are you telling me these things because you're bored of me and wish to have a new plaything, or is this your petty attempt to make me mad?" Hange gave you a tired glare, arms crossed over their chest. They were too exhausted to deal with your temper at that moment and wished for a more civilized conversation. 

Your brows rose from their claim and said, "I'm not one to find playthings, and toy with them until I'm satisfied. Maybe you should look at yourself, Hange."

Your attempt to storm out of the room was interrupted when Hange caught your arm and brought you back to face them. "You think I'm toying with you?" Their tone only indicated that you managed to anger them with that statement. 

"What am I supposed to think when we only met several times just to fuck each other and yet you seem revolted by the idea of even calling me your lover?" you jabbed a finger on their chest, your tears more unbridled than that of your last meeting. "Was it easier to dedicate your life protecting a hopeless, godforsaken land than loving me?" 

Your claims were making Hange snap but they couldn't let themself lose control now. 

"You misunderstood me entirely," they muttered as if speaking any louder would prompt them to break. "And don't you dare call Paradis hopeless. You know nothing about it."

"You think so low of me, don't you? You think I'm too stupid to know what's happening here?" you argued, hastily wiping your tears so they wouldn't blur your vision. "It's obvious we don't understand each other. Maybe it's better if we stop all of this entirely."

Their grip on your arm tightened unconsciously. "You don't mean that," they scoffed. 

"Don't challenge me, Hange. You must be a fool if you think I can't replace you," you said coldly, earning a glare from them. Hange couldn't hold themself any longer, the frustration from work coupled with your behavior towards them irritates them further. 

They swiftly locked the door and pulled you towards them, arms circled tightly on your waist. Their face was centimeters away from you, their warm breath brushing against your lips, "This is not what I'm expecting when I come back here, Y/N. You're such a clever girl so you must know what I'm feeling right now."

Their hand went to the back of your head, lips touching yours as they whispered, "I'm so damn fed up and not just that..."

Hange dragged you back to your bed, forcing you to sit down. Their silent aggressiveness scared you when they slowly pressed their body against yours, their frame caging you firmly like one would do to a prey. Your legs dangled over the edge as their knees pressed on your sides. The bruising kisses they gave dug into your skin, almost like Hange was trying to tear the soft surface apart until you bled. 

"Hange, not here," you hissed, pushing on their shoulders. They groaned on your neck and gathered your wrists over your head.

"Don't act like this is the first time I fucked you here," they retorted, completing the cruel necklace of love bites surrounding your neck. Hange rolled up your skirt to your waist, their other hand pushing at the back of your thigh so you would lay open for them. 

"My father's at home, you asshole."

"I don't care," they replied almost immediately. "Let your father hear us. Let him know I'm already defiling you so he'd force me to marry you. After all, that's what you want, right?" 

"You twist my words," you argued. 

"I'm just learning from you," Hange muttered, their desperate lips now kissing on your chest. Hange could feel that your wrists were starting to relax on their grip. "Do you know how much irritates me when you think I don't love you?" 

"Maybe you should ask yourself why I think that way," you shot back. 

"If I'm so terrible in your mind then let me prove you otherwise," Hange told you like a firm promise, letting go of your hand to undo your clothes to the last button. Their hand kneaded on your waist, finding their way to settle on your breasts. 

You hated how much your body leaned into their warmth, of how you let yourself become so vulnerable and bare in their eyes. Your resentment felt so shallow when you fall apart every time their hands touched you.

Hange breathed onto your neck, their hand passionately locked around yours while the other glided over your folds. You gave their neck the same treatment from earlier as you left bruising kisses on their skin, making sure that their subordinates will see through the marks even with their uniform. 

Hange kept your moans muffled with their mouth, their usual loving whispers gone and replaced by a desperateness to have you, to make you come all over their hands once more. Your fingers gripped and dug into their uniform, the coil on your stomach tightening with each thrust. 

"Hange..." you whispered their name and repeated it like a fervent prayer as their lips never left your body. You clamped a hand over your mouth as your hips rocked against their fingers.

"Louder, sweetheart. You want people downstairs to hear you, right?" Hange smirked, their lips and thrusts both deepening as if in punishment for the moans you were trying to muffle. They tore your hand from your mouth and bit on your skin, earning a whimper from you.

You desperately closed your legs in between their hands but Hange only pulled them farther apart.

Come again for me, sweetheart, they would whisper, and you would collapse onto them over and over again the way rocks gently wear away against the crashing of waves.

Hange pulled their calloused fingers from your dripping cunt, groaning when they felt your teeth biting them again once more.

You wrapped a leg around them, shifting your body weight so you could straddle them. Hange felt your hands ripping at the zipper of their pants, the button securing the band disconnecting from the fabric.

 "Ease down, Y/N, damnit," they grunted as you strip off their button in haste. You bite on their lip as you kiss, letting them know you're in no mood to be gentle nor loving like you always used to. Your passion was coarse and carnal, grating through their flesh. Your hands found their underwear, slipping it off their legs without letting them say a thing.

You balled the fabric into a loose gag before stuffing it on their mouth. Your lips curled into a smirk before kissing their forehead, saying,  "You talk too much, Commander, it’s irritating. So you better keep that on until I'm done with you."

Hange groaned softly, patiently watching you settle in between their thighs. Your eyes bored onto theirs as the soft pad of your thumb circled their clit. Their hands found your hair, gripping onto them the moment your tongue glided along their slit. Hange whined at how torturously slow you used your tongue, getting them to the edge and pulling away when they needed it most.

Hange kept their mouth stuffed as you wished but proceeded to brutally use your mouth later on in accord with their liking.

"That's right, put your mouth to good use," they grunted, spitting out the gag later on, their inner thighs pressing on your head as their cum smeared your lips and chin. They delivered a wet, warm kiss on your lips, fingers resting on your chin as they said, "That's a lot better than arguing with me, don't you think?"

You groaned at that remark, yet your stamina was too depleted to protest when they're shifting you into another position. 

"I'm tired, Hange," you mumbled. 

"And I'm not, Y/N," they answered back, lifting your leg so they could settle in between. "I'll stop once you cease this bullshit with me, and handle your temper so we could talk."

"You wish," you rolled your eyes. 

Their hand circled around your throat as they inch closer to your face and spoke, "Then shut your mouth and take it."

Hange pushed your legs further, your soaked entrances meeting. Hange groaned as they felt the friction building up close to their pelvic region. They gave your throat a light squeeze as their hips moved against yours. You pulled onto their collar for a kiss, distracting both of you from how the bed creaks just by your movements escalating to roughness. 

Your intimacy was full of marks, of bites that drew blood. Your bodies moved in such a way where a stronger emotion could be felt other than desire. Perhaps it was longing, or an immense unresolved yearning of two hearts who could only find understanding through the flesh. 

Hange's lips trembled against yours as they came, their grip loosening so their hands could trail along your back. They placed a band of love bites that turned to purplish bruises, their tongue licking along the ones that managed to bleed. It took a while before your breathing stabilized enough.

Hange untangled their body from you and dressed up silently a few minutes later, mumbling about how it was getting too late, that it would be suspicious for them to stay. You're too tired to sulk as you shift your body to turn against them, finding comfort from the warm sheet encasing your body. Fine, just go, you wanted to mutter in defeat. 

However, Hange walked over to you, kneeling down so they could meet your eyes once more. They tucked the stray hair from your face as they spoke, "I'll talk to your father first thing in the morning."

You were alerted, brows creasing as your eyes tried to scan their intentions. "For what?" 

"Well," Hange sighed softly, playing on the loose strands on your face. "You have quite a traditional family so I'll formally talk to your father about us. I hope to merit a positive response."

"But I thought you don't want a committed relationship with me..."

"I know I told you that several times before," Hange traced a thumb over your cheek. "Truly it scares me because I know what I'm like. I can't give you all my attention, Y/N, and I don't want that to hurt you. But I've hurt you several times already because of my refusal. My fear is not worth breaking your heart over."

Their solemn gaze met yours, and you could feel another layer wearing away from them. Another vulnerability they're willing to hand over to you. You couldn't have guessed that they would bare their heart this way.

"Hange..."  There are things you wanted to say but couldn't find one where you could subdue your intense, profound appreciation. Your hand went to their cheek, gathering their warm skin onto your hand. 

"Y/N, you deserve more than I could give you. I can't promise to be everything you wished for. And perhaps it scares me terribly that you'll end up hating me for it," Hange continued, their gaze softening. "But I'll try, alright?" 

"Alright," you smiled, absentmindedly fixing their collar and tugging on it as a subtle plea. "Could you... stay for a bit longer?" 

Hange's responsibilities await like an undesirable visitor at their desk, waiting for them to get through their office door and pounce upon them. It thins their energy and will, a fuse burned into blackness within their heart. Staying with you would only create another opportunity for work to pile up higher, and yet, they couldn't find the heart to refuse. They felt like a charred, pitiful wick that once burned brightly. Your loving embrace, and intoxicating touch, your insistent love they cannot shut down for much longer— all made them forget their inanition and diminished vigor within.

"Of course I can stay," Hange smiled before letting themself sink back into your embrace, drowning themself into your depth until they couldn't breathe. 

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

[covid-safer-hotties]

The next pandemic is inevitable. Australia isn’t ready - Published Sept 23, 2024

(Before you Americans yell at me, It's already the 23rd in Australia. This is very late-breaking)

I thought this was a really good breakdown of the current situation given the government-approved covid denial we live in. Long, but worth a read.

By Kate Aubusson and Mary Ward

Top infectious disease and public health veterans at the nerve centre of the state’s war against COVID-19 are sounding the alarm.

NSW is less prepared today to fend off a deadly pandemic despite the lessons of COVID-19, say top infectious disease and public health veterans at the nerve centre of the state’s war against the virus.

And we won’t have another hundred years to wait.

NSW’s gold standard Test-Trace-Isolate-Quarantine and vaccination strategies will be useless if a distrusting population rejects directives, refuses to give up its freedoms again, and the goodwill of shell-shocked public health workers dries up.

A panel of experts convened by The Sydney Morning Herald called for a pandemic combat agency akin to the armed forces or fire brigades to commit to greater transparency or risk being caught off guard by the next virulent pathogen and misinformation with the potential to spread faster than any virus.

“It’s inevitable,” says Professor Eddie Holmes of the next pandemic. A world-leading authority on the emergence of infectious diseases at the University of Sydney, Holmes predicts: “We’ll have less than 100 years [before the next pandemic].

“We’re seeing a lot of new coronaviruses that are spilling over into animals that humans are interacting with,” said Holmes, the first person to publish the coronavirus genome sequence for the world to see.

“People are exposed all the time, and each time we are rolling the dice.”

The independent review of NSW Health’s response to COVID-19 opened with the same warning: “No health system or community will have the luxury of 100 years of downtime.”

Pandemic preparedness needs to be a “permanent priority”, wrote the report’s author, Robyn Kruk, a former NSW Health secretary, “rather than following the path of those that have adopted a ‘panic and forget strategy,’ allowing system preparedness to wane”.

Why we don’t have 100 years to wait for the next pandemic The World Health Organisation has declared seven public health emergencies of international concern since 2014, including the current mpox outbreak.

Climate change is turbocharging the factors that coalesce to create the perfect breeding ground for a pandemic-causing virus, including population increases, bigger cities, and better-connected global markets and migration.

“Animals will be forced into more constrained environments, and humans that rely on those environments will be again constrained in the same environments. There will be more wet markets, more live animal trade that will just increase exposure,” Holmes said.

“It was clear that we weren’t ready [for COVID],” said Jennie Musto, who, after seven years working for the World Health Organisation overseas, became NSW Health’s operations manager for the Public Health Emergency Operations Centre, the team responsible for NSW’s COVID-19 contact tracing and containment.

“Everyone had preparedness plans gathering dust on a shelf, but no one was actually ready to respond, and so everyone was on the back foot,” Musto said. “Perhaps none of us really thought this was going to happen. We were waiting 500 years.”

Who would willingly become the next doomed whistleblower? Eddie Holmes, known for his repeated assertion that SARS-CoV-2 did not come from a lab, is deeply concerned that when the next pandemic-causing virus emerges, chances are it will be covered up.

“My worry is that if the virus appeared in a small population, say, somewhere in Southeast Asia, the people involved wouldn’t blow the whistle now, given the fact that you would get blamed,” he said.

Li Wenliang, the Wuhan doctor who tried to raise the alarm about a virulent new virus, was reportedly reprimanded by police for spreading rumours and later died of COVID-19.

The global blame game, culminating in a deep distrust of China and accusations that the virus was grown in a Wuhan lab, is why Holmes believes “we’re in no better place than we were before COVID started, if not worse”.

“I work with a lot of people in China trying to keep the lines of communication open, and they’re scared, I think, or nervous about saying things that are perceived to counter national interest.”

From a vaccine perspective, our defences look strong. There have been monumental advancements in vaccine development globally, driven by mRNA technology. In Sydney this month, construction began on an RNA vaccine research and manufacturing facility.

“But the way I see it is that nothing has been done in terms of animal surveillance of outbreaks or data sharing. The [global] politics has got much, much worse,” Holmes said.

Combat force Conjoint Associate Professor Craig Dalton, a leading public health physician and clinical epidemiologist, called for a dramatic expansion of the public health workforce and the establishment of a pandemic combat force that would routinely run real-time pandemic simulations during “peacetime”.

“No one is upset with fire brigades spending most of the time not fighting fires. They train. A lot. And that’s probably how we need to move,” he said.

“We need exercise training units so that every major player in pandemic response is involved in a real-time, three to four-day pandemic response every three to five years at national, state and local [levels].”

The federal Department of Health and Aged Care recently ran a health emergency exercise focused on governance arrangements involving chief health officers and senior health emergency management officials, a spokeswoman for Health Minister Mark Butler said. The outcomes of this exercise will be tested later this year.

Dalton said desktop simulations and high-level exercises involving a handful of chiefs didn’t cut it, considering the thousands of people working across regions and states. He instead suggested an intensive training program run in the Hunter New England region before the 2009 H1N1 pandemic provided a good model.

“We were ringing people, actors were getting injections, just like a real pandemic,” said Dalton, who once ordered a burrito in a last-ditch effort to contact a restaurant exposed to COVID-19.

Our heroes have had it The expert panel was emphatic that our pandemic response cannot once again rely on the goodwill of the public health and healthcare workforce.

According to the Kruk review, what began as an emergency response ultimately morphed from a sprint into an ultra marathon and “an admirable (yet unsustainable) ‘whatever it takes’ mindset”.

They were hailed as heroes, but the toll of COVID-19 on healthcare workers was brutal. Workloads were untenable, the risk of transmission was constant, and the risk of violence and aggression (for simply wearing their scrubs on public transport in some cases) was terrifying.

“We got through this pandemic through a lot of people working ridiculous hours,” Dalton said.

“You talk to a lot of people who did that and say they could not do it again.”

Tellingly, several expert personnel who worked at the front lines or in the control centre of NSW’s pandemic defences were invited to join the Herald’s forum but declined. Revisiting this period of intense public scrutiny, culminating in online attacks and physical threats, was just too painful.

So long, solidarity Arguably, the biggest threat to our pandemic defences will be the absence of our greatest strength during COVID: the population’s solidarity and willingness to follow public health orders even when it meant forfeiting fundamental freedoms.

The public largely complied with statewide public health orders, including the stay-at-home directive that became the 107-day Delta lockdown, and other severe restrictions prevented many from being at the bedside of their dying loved ones, visiting relatives in aged care homes and attending funerals.

“My worry is that next time around when those sorts of rules come out, people may say, ‘Well, don’t worry about it.’ They relax it in the future. Why don’t we just not stick to the rules?” said Professor Nicholas Wood, associate director of clinical research and services at the National Centre for Immunisation Research and Surveillance.

“I’m not sure we quite understand whether people [will be] happy with those rules again,” he said.

Dalton was more strident.

“I tend to agree with Michael Osterholm … an eminent US epidemiologist [who] recently said the US is probably less prepared for a pandemic now than it was in 2019, mostly because the learnings by health departments in the COVID pandemic may not make a material difference if faced with a community that distrusts its public health agencies,” he said.

“If H1N1 or something else were to spill over in the next couple of years, things like masks, social distancing and lockdowns would not be acceptable. Vaccination would be rejected by a huge part of the population, and politicians might be shy about putting mandates in.”

As for the total shutdown of major industries, people will struggle to accept it unless the next pandemic poses a greater threat than COVID, said UNSW applied mathematician Professor James Wood.

The risk of the virus to individuals and their families will be weighed against the negative effects of restrictions, which are much better understood today, said Wood, whose modelling of the impact of cases and vaccination rates was used by NSW Health.

“Something like school closure would be a much tougher argument with a similar pathogen,” he said.

A previous panel of education experts convened by the Herald to interrogate pandemic decision-making in that sector was highly critical of the decision to close schools for months during NSW’s Delta lockdown.

Greg Dore, professor of infectious diseases and epidemiology at the Kirby Institute, said the public’s reluctance to adhere to restrictions again may, in part, be appropriate.

“Some of the restrictions on people leaving the country were a bit feudal and too punitive,” he said. “Other restrictions were plain stupid, [for instance] limitations on time exercising outside.”

Meanwhile, the delays to publicly recognise the benefits of face masks and the threat of airborne transmission “ate away at trust”, Dalton said.

“We shouldn’t make those mistakes again,” he said.

Transparent transgressions Uncertainty is not something politicians are adept at communicating, but uncertainty is the only constant during a pandemic of a novel virus.

Vaccines that offered potent protection against early iterations of the COVID virus were less effective against Omicron variants.

“[The public], unfortunately, got hit by a rapid sequence of changes of what was ‘true’ in the pandemic,” James Wood said.

Political distrust can be deadly if governments give the public reason to suspect they are obfuscating.

The expert panel urged NSW’s political leaders to be far more transparent about the public health advice they were given before unilaterally enforcing restrictions.

There was a clear line between public health advice and political decision-making in Victoria. The Victorian chief health officer’s written advice was routinely published online.

In NSW, that line was blurred as Chief Health Officer Kerry Chant stood beside political leaders, most notably former premier Gladys Berejiklian, at the daily press conferences.

Public health experts said that they looked for subtle cues to determine the distinction between the expert advice and the political messaging during press conferences, paying attention to body language, who spoke when and who stayed silent.

“It is fine for public health personnel to have a different view to politicians. They have different jobs. What is not OK is to have politicians saying they are acting on public health advice [when they are not],” he said.

The ‘whys’ behind the decisions being made were missing from the daily press conferences, which created “a vacuum for misinformation”, said social scientist and public health expert Professor Julie Leask at the University of Sydney.

“The communication about what you need to do came out, and it was pretty good … but the ‘why we’re doing this’ and ‘what trade-offs we’ve considered’ and ‘what dilemmas we’ve faced in making this decision’; that was not shared,” Leask said.

The infodemic In the absence of transparency, misinformation and disinformation fill the vacuum.

“We had an ‘infodemic’ during the pandemic,” said Dr Jocelyne Basseal, who worked on the COVID-19 response for WHO in the Western Pacific and leads strategic development at the Sydney Infectious Diseases Institute, University of Sydney.

“The public has been so confused. Where do we go for trusted information [when] everyone can now write absolutely anything, whether on Twitter [now called X] or [elsewhere] on the web?” Basseal said.

A systematic review conducted by WHO found misinformation on social media accounted for up to 51 per cent of posts about vaccines, 29 per cent of posts about COVID-19 and 60 per cent of posts about pandemics.

Basseal’s teenage children recently asked whether they were going into lockdown after TikTok videos about the mpox outbreak.

“There is a lot of work to be done now, in ‘peacetime’ … to get ahead of misinformation,” Basseal said, including fortifying relationships with community groups and teaching scientists – trusted and credible sources of information – how to work with media.

In addition to the Kruk review’s six recommendations to improve its pandemic preparedness, NSW Health undertook a second inquiry into its public health response to COVID-19, which made 104 recommendations.

NSW Health Minister Ryan Park said: “We are working hard to ensure the findings and recommendations from those reports are being implemented as quickly as possible.”

The expert panellists spoke in their capacity as academics and not on behalf of NSW Health or WHO.

The ‘As One System’ review into NSW Health’s COVID-19 response made six recommendations 1. Make governance and decision-making structures clearer, inclusive, and more widely understood 2. Strengthen co-ordination, communication, engagement, and collaboration 3. Enhance the speed, transparency, accuracy, and practicality of data and information sharing 4. Prioritise the needs of vulnerable people and communities most at risk, impacted and in need from day one 5. Put communities at the centre of emergency governance, planning, preparedness, and response 6. Recognise, develop and sustain workforce health, wellbeing, capability and agility.

[sayruq]

The IDF: Hamas is surrending! They're all surrendering

Hamas:

Tw: Gunfire, explosions, a soldier stands at a window seconds before getting blown up but you don't see anything except fire and dust/debris clouds

Things are so crazy that it's now the norm for the Resistance to release multiple videos a day. Tw: Gunfire, explosions, a man gets shot repeatedly by a sniper until he dies (you don't see his wounds or the impact of the bullets that kill him but you don't see him struggle to find cover until he stops moving)

The IDF took a huge hit when the Golani Brigades got ambushed and 10 officers died in one operation

Here are more signs that the IDF is taking a huge hit

Pretty much

Things have been heating up in Jenin, West Bank

Today's update

And finally

[rabiesofficial]

Can you imagine a lesbian post where the, “lesbians can like cock too,” brigade doesn’t show up. Peace and love on planet earth when they bite the dust. Imagine… a world where women aren’t constantly reminded they should like wiener… have you considered peanus? Have you considered being drawn and quartered by horses and having that video uploaded onto the internet as, “ugly MAN learns to leave lesbians alone.”

[pianokantzart]

Broken Warp Pipe AU

Based off of a concept by @multicolour-ink and @wiz-witch​ where the warp pipe in Brooklyn breaks down, leaving Mario and Luigi stranded separate dimensions: X.

From there I just went off the rails.

Mario (Brooklyn Side)

Mario has not stopped working toward finding a way to The Mushroom Kingdom since he and Luigi were separated, and has run himself ragged in the process.

He started off trying to discover if there is a working warp pipe somewhere else in the world. After all, if there was one just under their noses in Brooklyn, surely there’s another somewhere! He just needs to search, and search hard.

He’s always on the move, working some side-gigs to stay afloat while spending every second of free time pursuing and studying warp pipes. He eats bad, sleeps bad, and even smokes sometimes when he’s sleep deprived and can’t focus (though he always feels guilty about it afterward. Luigi would NOT approve.)

Mario hates being alone, but spends most of his time alone, because he feels that’s what he deserves at this point. He’s reached so many dead ends he feels like he’s already failed his brother, but refuses to slow down all the same.

When he’s feeling particularly hopeless or lonely, sometimes he talks to nobody as though he’s talking to Luigi. This helps a little. 

He calls his family every couple of months to let them know he’s okay, and to see if there’s any sign that the Brooklyn warp pipe is working again. These phone calls are brief, and he never properly explains where he is or what he’s doing.

 Mario has stolen (and usually returned) many ancient artifacts and documents, and broken into many a location trying to uncover a warp pipe. He hasn’t hurt anyone, but his impatience and determination has earned him a bit of a criminal record in the human world. 

In his travels, Mario found one or two working warp pipes, but they led to weird alternative dimensions not even close to The Mushroom Kingdom. He has done some heroism in these places whenever the situation presents itself (he’s still a good guy), and has been rewarded with helpful information about warp pipes and how they work.

Through knowledge he gleaned from his travels, combined his own advanced skills with traditional plumbing, Mario eventually pieces together how to repair warp pipes, which he uses to fix his own pipe back in Brooklyn.

Luigi (Mushroom Kingdom Side)

When Mario first got trapped in Brooklyn, Luigi desperately tried to fill his brother’s shoes until he returned. When Bowser inevitably reattempted to destroy The Mushroom Kingdom, Luigi tried to channel his brother by taking the tyrant on alone. He was very nearly killed as a result. DK, Toad, and Peach successfully fended off Bowser in the end, but Luigi was left physically and emotionally scarred in a way he has not quite recovered from.

Luigi still does his best to be a hero despite everything, but is only barely functional unless he has someone backing him up. Princess Peach sticks close to him whenever possible, and Toad is ecstatic to have him as a friend and adventuring buddy.

 Luigi has an official place on the Toad Brigade, and is happiest when he’s doing missions with them.

He eventually develops into one of the most formidable heroes in the dimension, especially after he gains the powers of the thunder hand. He rarely gets recognition for this though, because he very much does not behave like the traditional hero, and far prefers the sidekick position. He wouldn’t have it any other way.  

Luigi does not spend a lot of time in his and Mario’s house, save to keep it clean and tidy. He has not moved any of his brothers things, except to keep them dusted. A part of him still holds out hope that he’ll be back one day.

Princess Peach hooked Luigi up with an apprenticeship with Professor E. Gadd during one of his slumps, and he spends most of his nights sleeping over at the lab. The professor is happy to have him around; Luigi keeps the place so neat and organized, and makes the best cup of coffee!

Though they have some wardrobe changes, both Mario and Luigi have their original hats, and are extremely protective of them. 

[hiemaldesirae]

thinking of a witch/fae radiostatic au after rereading some of my guilty pleasure fandom fics hhhhhnneuhg

basically the gist of it is, unseelie king alastor gets kidnapped by witch vox's village and now vox needs to figure out how to keep alastor from dying because his death means the rest of the court coming for blood while also trying to make sure the fae king doesnt try and fucking eat him or something. oh also they knew each other before.

Vox's mother always used to say, there's comfort in routine.

Perhaps that's why Vox finds himself redoing the same three-card spread over and over, despite always managing to get the same results. He chews on his fingernails as he frowns harder, reshuffling once more.

"Whatcha doing?" Angel Dust, the only other witch in the village, pops up behind him, startling Vox, who sighs and relaxes once he realizes who's behind him. "I thought you were busy helping the healers, man. Are you just doing tarot readings while we're working ourselves ta' the bone?"

Vox frowns, pressing his lips together.

He doesn't have anything against Angel, really, it's just difficult talking to people who aren't Vel or Val. And maybe it's more difficult talking to Angel because of his relationship with Val, but that isn't something he's willing to admit in front of his best friend's boyfriend. "Well, I got basically put on house arrest today because apparently, the fae they brought back was so strong they didn't trust me not to get too interested in them and throw the whole plan off."

"Couldn't they've least stationed ya with the healers? You can serve that house arrest after we make sure no one's dead," Angel groans. "I mean, didya see the state everyone came back in?"

He had. Vox had watched with white knuckles as they'd brought Velvette and Valentino's unconscious forms across to the healers lodge and tents, doing and redoing protection spells around their home and the village wards. He had wanted to help as soon as he'd seen them, but the village chief had ordered for him specifically to stay home.

So he'd busied himself with tarot cards. But it seemed even that wasn't working out for him, because...

"Oh, shit. This is... a pretty fuckin' bad spread, ain't it?"

"You tell me," Vox grouses. He shuffles the cards again and tries another time, only for those same three cards to appear again as if mocking him. Three of Swords. The Tower. And of course, Death.

Now, of the three, death was probably the most positive card of the spread. All it meant was change- not necessarily as dark as its name. But the tower and three of swords... well. Those only spelt out foreboding fates.

"What didya even ask?"

"It's about the fae they brought in." Vox taps his hand against the counter before starting to reorganize his cards. No sense in leaving them out now, after all: their message had been clear and simple. This was a mistake. You're all fucked. "Apparently, they're on par with royalty. Which as you can probably guess, isn't very well known for their kind tempers. So I was doing readings to try and see what might happen from keeping them here, and..."

Angel grimaces. "So... you're saying that we're fucked, basically?"

"You can do your own reading if you want," Vox says cryptically as he stands up, stretching his limbs. "Anyway, I'm going to go and strengthen the protection shield on the village wards. Not much else to do while I'm stuck here, anyway."

"Right... well, guess I'll see ya round then."

"Mm, see you."

When Angel leaves, Vox breathes a sigh of relief. He unclenches his hand to regard the skeleton key he'd stolen from the chief hours earlier on complete autopilot, hardly even realizing he'd taken the damn thing til he'd gotten back home and started performing frantic readings.

It was the key to the village cellar, a place located on the edge of town. Vox, Val and Vel lived closest to it- which worked out well, considering of the three of them, two were part of the village's elite fae hunting brigade and the last was one of the villages only two witches, and the more experienced one at that. He supposed, given the circumstances, that the fae who'd beaten his friends to a pulp was probably down there. And, well... Vox was nothing if deathly curious.

So that night, on a half moon, Vox quietly exits the house, being sure not to accidentally trip an alarm on the way. He makes his way to the outdoors cellar and unlocks the door, making his way downstairs into a damp and cramped room. His eyes are immediately drawn to the large iron cage hanging in the dead centre of the room, sucking in a breath as he takes a small step back. The cage is impressive, but what's inside of it...

A mass of shadows writhe and twist around a restrained figure, dispersing slightly around where the fae's eyes must be. Vox flinches back when a ghostly grey-black hand reaches out for him, its dark tipped claws so sharp he's sure the fae could have sliced him to ribbons had they not been restrained by their shackles and prison.

It serves its purpose: Vox is immediately and incredibly intimidated. Having said that, he came here for a reason, and he's not so much of a fucking coward that he'd simply flee with his tail between his legs at the first sight of an adverse reaction from the captured faerie.

"Hey, uh... I know you probably don't believe me- and you probably shouldn't, honestly, but- er, I'm here to help you. As much as I can, anyway." Vox raises his hands up in the air as he moves slowly toward the cage, keenly aware of the fae's fixed gaze on him all the while.

He reaches out and slowly, cautiously, places a small, dead rabbit on the precipice of the cage's platform. It was one he'd caught with a trap that afternoon, under the excuse of storing away fresh meat for Velvette and Valentino when they returned- but, well, there were other animals he'd caught, too. They wouldn't miss one tiny rabbit.

The shadow cloaked faerie regards the mound of fresh meat for only a second before jerking forwards and swallowing it whole.

Vox watches with rapt attention, mesmerized by the faeries brutality. He almost doesn't notice when the fae turns to address him, voice raw and scratchy and deeper than the ocean. "What did you do that for?"

"Cause..." Vox worries at his lip.

He doesn't really want to lie to the fae- he's not dumb, alright, that'd be a practical death wish, even if he was lying with good intent- but he's also not so sure how it will react to being told he only did it out of curiosity. Because he wanted to see just what it was that his reading deemed so dangerous to their little town. "I guess... I wanted to see what was so strong that they took down half the village guard."

The fae startles at this. The shadows surrounding their cage shrinks back a little, finally unveiling enough of their appearance for Vox to put a face to a... well, for Vox to get a good look at them.

Dark reddish brown hair with black streaks at the edges sharpen into pointed deer ears, with two short buck antlers growing from the fae's head. They have deep crimson eyes, tinged with flecks of bright green- it pairs well with their skin, a deep, rich brown that reminds Vox of rich autumn soil at the harvest. He's... pretty sure this fae is a man, but appearances can be deceiving, and he's not quite keen on being cursed for assuming blindly.

"Hm. Well, you weren't among the host that came to attack me, were you now?" The faerie's eyes narrow as Vox stutters out a faint no, babbling out excuses to lead them away from the conclusion of him being a witch (and thus always placed under pseudo-house arrest when time comes for a fae hunt). "Then, you don't realize what a mistake your village has made, do you, dear?"

Vox pauses. "What do you mean, mistake?"

The room's temperature drops almost the moment the question falls from his lips, and Vox pulls his cloak closer to himself as he distances himself from the cage, willing his arms to stop trembling as he watches. The shadows around the fae pull close again and coalesce into a cape of sorts, rising above the faerie as they entwine themselves around the fae's head, almost like- almost like-

A crown.

"Oh, shit."

The Unseelie Fae King gives Vox a tight lipped smile. "So, do you see now?"

Well. At least that answered what the tarot cards were trying to tell him.

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1911 the Gaelic poet, Sorley MacLean, was born on the island of Raasay.

Sorley (Somhairle MacGill-Eain)was brought up within a family and community immersed in Gaelic language and culture, particularly song. Sorley studied English at Edinburgh University from 1929, taking a first class honours degree and there encountering and finding an affinity with the work of Hugh MacDiarmid, Ezra Pound, and other Modernist poets. Despite this influence, he eventually adopted Gaelic as the medium most appropriate for his poetry. However, it should be noted that MacLean translated much of his own work into English, opening it up to a wider public than the speakers of the Gaelic language.

During the Spanish Civil War, MacLean was torn between family commitments and his desire to fight on behalf of the International Brigades, illustrating his left-wing - even Marxist - political stance. He eventually resigned himself to remaining on Skye. He fought in North Africa during World War Two, before taking up a career in teaching, holding posts on Mull, in Edinburgh and finally as Head Teacher at Plockton High School.

It is often said that what Hugh MacDiarmid did for the Scots language, Sorley MacLean did for Gaelic, sparking a Gaelic renaissance in Scottish literature in line with the earlier ‘Scottish Renaissance’, as evinced in the work of George Campbell Hay, Derick Thomson and Iain Crichton Smith. He was instrumental in preserving and promoting the teaching of Gaelic in Scottish schools. Through the diverse subject matter of his poetry, he demonstrates the capacity of the Gaelic language to express themes from the personal to the political and philosophical.

MacLean’s work was virtually unknown outside Gaelic-speaking circles until the 1970s, when Gordon Wright published Four Points of a Saltire - poems from George Campbell Hay, Stuart MacGregor, William Neill and Sorley MacLean. He also then appeared at the Cambridge Poetry Festival, establishing his fame in England, as well as Scotland and Ireland, where he had become something of a cult figure thanks to a fan base including fellow poet Seamus Heaney. A bilingual Selected Poems of 1977 secured a broader readership and a new generation began to appreciate his work.

Latterly, he wrote and published little, showing his concern with quality and authenticity over quantity. Never a full-time writer, he was also a scholar of the Highlands with a vast knowledge of genealogy, and an avid follower of shinty. Amongst other awards and honours, he received the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 1990. He passed on in 1996 at the age of 85, and was survived by his wife and two daughters.

I have posted many times about Sorley, and probably overused Martyn Bennet’s Hallaig, but if you haven’t heard it, please go to Youtube and search for it, you won’t regret it.

The Two MacDonalds Sorley MacLean

You big strong warrior, you hero among heroes, you shut the gate of Hougomont. You shut the gate and behind it your brother did the spoiling. He cleared tenants in Glengarry – the few of them left – and he cleared tenants about Kinloch Nevis, and he cleared tenants in Knoydart. He was no better than the laird of Dunvegan. He spoiled Clan Donald.

What did you do then, you big strong hero? I bet you shut no gate in the face of your bitch of a brother.

There was in your time another hero of Clan Donald, the hero of Wagram, Leipsig, Hanau. I have not heard that he cleared one family by the Meuse or by any other river, that he did any spoiling of French or of MacDonalds.

What a pity that he did not come over with Bonaparte! He would not clear tenants for the sake of the gilded sheep, nor would he put a disease in the great valour of Clan Donald. What a pity that he was not Duke of the Land of the Barley And Prince of Caledonia!

What a pity that he did not come over with Bonaparte twenty years before he did, not to listen to flannel from the creeper Walter nor to gather dust from the old ruin but to put the new vigour in the remnant of his kinsmen!

What a pity that he did not come to succour his kinsmen!

Dá Dhómhnallach Somhairle MacGill-Eain

‘Na do ghaisgeach mór láidir; ‘Nad churaidh miosg nan curaidhean, Dhùin thu geata Hougomont. Dhùin thu ‘n geata ‘s air a chùlaibh Rinn do bhráthair an spùilleadh. Thog e tuath an Gleann Garadh – Am beagan a bh’air fhágail dhiubh – Is thog e tuath mu Cheann Loch Nibheis Is thog e tuath an Cnóideart. Cha b’fhearr e na Fear Dhùn-Bheagain: Rinn e milleadh air Cloinn Domhnaill.

De rinn thusa ‘n uair sin, A churaidh mhóir láidir? Fiach na dhùin thu aon gheata An aodann do ghalla bráthair?

Bha ann ri d’linn-sa fear eile, Curaidh eile de Chloinn Dhómhnaill, Curaidh Bhágram, Leipsich, Hanau. Cha chuala mi gun do thog esan Aon teaghlach mun Mheuse No mu abhainn eile. Cha d’rinn esan milleadh Air Frangaich no air Dómhnallaich.

Nach bochd nach táinig esan Le Bonaparte a nall. Cha thogadh esan tuath Air sgáth nan caorach óraidh, ‘S cha mhó chuireadh esan gaiseadh Ann an gaisge mhóir Chloinn Dómhnaill. Nach bochd nach rodh esan ‘Na dhiuc air tir an Eórna Is ‘na phrionns air Albainn.

Nach bochd nach táinig esan Le Bonaparte a nall Fichead bliadhna mun táinig, Cha b’ann a dh’èisteachd sodail O’n t-sliomaire sin Bhátar No a chruinneachadh na h-ùrach As an t-seann láraich, Ach a chur an spionnaidh ùrair Ann am fuidheall a cháirdean.

Nach bochd nach táinig esan Gu cobhair air a cháirdean.

[rawvnoisevcruster]

If you had to describe crust and all its various subgenres, how would you? Defining sounds, aesthetic, etc all wrapped up in one. What makes something crust

This actually hits on a vary interesting part of the crust scene to me. "Crust punk" is more then just crust too me. It's all sorts of music from all over punk/hardcore/metal. D beat is a good example, d beat isn't crust but every crustie loves d beat. Same for grind, uk/us hardcore, death/black metal, noise punk. So describing the crust scene and describe actual crust punk music (as apposed to music crustie like) is two different situations

AS FOR A ANSWER the core crust sound that all other come from its that first wave uk/us thrash and first wave bm, the Bristol style anarcho punk (ie disorder, chaos uk etc), discharge and it's clones (crucifix, disattack, anti cimex), and the more out there anarcho punk like antisect, dirt, conflict.

For individual sounds it's heavy influence on a fuzz and gain heavy guitar play simpl punk riffs with a almost thrash sound to em.Bass is vary gangly, distorted and low for both guitar and bass there both distorted to the point you can't hear the individual strums of the guitar. Drums have a high snare and cymbols with low toms to make the drum fills stand out. Lots of rolls,crash cymbol hits and odd poly rhythms. And the high hat is played open instead of closed. And finally the vocals can be done all sorts of way bouncing from crass style rhythmic saying of words, metal style growls, hardcore yells, to even singing (at least in the the us scene for some reason), focusing on angry and gloomy political topics taken spoken about in a broad view, less personal and more third person

First distinction in style (excluding scenes crustie like but aren't crust proper, agin dbeat, grind, etc)

Stenchcore: much more metal, more odd rhythms, and more riffs over speed. Many times slower, more intricate, cleaner, & atmospheric guitar. Also tends to describe its politics in a more esoteric style (see deviated instinct, life, sword wielder)

Crasher crust: uk early crust with a more frantic style. More quick, jumpy. Less atmospheric and moody guitars and bass, focusing on more extreme noisy & and that high guitar low bass sound. And a more hardcore yelling vocals then growls (see gloom, atrocious madness, death dust extractor)

Stadium crust: heavy Scandinavian dbeat influences, much clearer less distorted sounding bass and guitar. More pushing drum and less fills, and more intricate riffs (see wolf brigade, victims, dis fear)

Neo crust: lots of melodic but dark riffs. break downs of slower sludge metal riffs, simpler black metal influenced drums. Plus more slower atmospheric sounds. (See his hero is gone, habak, ekkaia)

Blackend crust: early uk crust and neo crust with a heavy influence of bm (as the name suggests) heavy on rhythm. Simple drawn out riffs, less fuzz on guitar and bass (see iskra, dodsrit, martyrdöd)

I know there's more genres but I need to get this out so I'll put the others in a re blog plus soon the genres get messy and muddy as far as hard line differences

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Pretty in pink

Another reason why I always knew Clairmy was never gonna be endgame.

This piece of meta has been sitting in my drafts for months. Since I watched S2 for the first time, back in January. After yesterday's teaser, I thought I just might dust it off and hang it out to dry in the sun, so here it is and actually, this is much better timing because I get to supplement it with more and newer meta I came up with later on.

So, the second I heard the first few tunes of the soundtrack I just knew.

The Bear | Pop | 02x05

Storer wasn't subtle.

I just knew that C was gonna end up with someone else, or just letting him go, and when I heard Carmy saying these words:

and they rang soooo untrue and unhinged and even forced or coaxed coming from him and in that context, so OOC, etc... I took it as all the confirmation I needed to firmly stand my anti-clairmy ground even before I got to know her.

It was obvious to me that that was not Carmen Berzatto talking, but The Bear Jr., the kid in HS who grew up isolated and under Michael's shadow.

He was coming from a place of complete and utter stuckness, a stagnant position he regressed to, the second his frustrated HS sweetheart won this battle:

He wasn't necessarily lying when he said he liked her, at least not consciously:

But the TENSE was the problem. He said "I like you so much" when it was the HS stuttery kid the one talking, the one who wished SHE talked to him more, so he didn't have to because he was too shy. He should have said liked if he was being honest with himself and her.

He should have told her something along the lines of: "I had a crush on you in HS, and when you came onto me, I choked. This is so not the right timing for me to do this because I'm tied up with the restaurant, and I just... instead of telling you all of that, I took the easy and cowardly way out and gave you the wrong number. Sorry."

BTW, that's a pattern he will have to outgrow because of Syd if he doesn't wanna lose her. He will have to start telling the woman he loves in proper timing how he feels and why and do the chasing if he must because Syd, unlike C, is NOT A CHASER, she's a walker (pattern she will have to outgrow herself too, as I mentioned → here). No more room for the shy kid, he's gonna have to man up in S4.

After delivering those lines that to me were OOC and plain blatant, he turned into Logan to fit in the party and in C's life (or make her fit into his, whatever).

So, my point is that when I heard the Pretty in Pink soundtrack I immediately drew these parallels:

Duckie is Carmy and Andy is the C person. IDGAF who was gonna play Blane, I assumed that character was gonna be introduced to us later in the series, or not at all. But Andie and Duckie do not end up together because they are not right for each other even though they grew up together. They are just not right for each other because coming from the same place doesn't determine shit in life, the choices you make do. In the movie, they didn't choose each other. PerioT. That was a hell of a musical foreshadowing and I thank the sadist for it because the second I associated that musical piece of data with ep 01x03 I was like: “OK, how much more obvious can you be, Storer? Really? Try harder, please.”

Because why would he give Molly Ringwald such important lines in S1 if Pretty in Pink was not a huge lead we needed to follow in S2 when the same plot of one of her biggest hits made a cameo on the show, right?

So, anyway... I always knew these 2 were endgame:

Waayyyy before Syd said it. Actually, Syd didn't say it bc we don't know who she was talking about, it was STORER who did that in the teaser, HE IS THE ONE WHO SYNCS UP THE MUSIC WITH THE FRAMES OR SIGNS OFF ON WHAT THE EDITORS SYNC UP AS PER HIS REQUEST AND HE'S THE ONE WHO DECIDES WHO ARE ENDGAME ON HIS SHOW. So it's Storer who yesterday told us Pretty in Pink doesn't get the guy, which was pretty obvious, if you ask me :)

Bonus track: Syd is his redemption plot. Syd is his endgame, sure, but first, he has to grow up to be the man he can be as opposed to the bear he is. I always said his whole redemption arc is Kierkegaardian:

And he even looks like him, c'mon!

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[reincrimination]

skipping out on work again?

9-1-1 | eddie diaz x evan buckley

content warnings: major character injury

collection: buddie week 2021 (reposted sept. '24)

read on archive of our own

Buck’s foot is still held in a hand, like a tether, so he uses his other leg to help clear debris and then there’s a person standing over him, and it’s Eddie, it’s always Eddie. He is sooty and the only clean spot on his skin is where beads of sweat have cut through the soot like Moses in the Red Sea, but he is Eddie, and he grins wide and bold when he reaches down to grab Buck’s hand. “Skipping out on work again?” Eddie quips. Buck grabs back with a matching grin, and then screams when Eddie pulls, but he is already up. Off-balance, he surges forward and stumbles right into Eddie. His shoulder throbs when it makes contact with Eddie’s chest, but his other arm, that Eddie had just grabbed, is dangling useless and on fire by his side. Not literally on fire, right?

The entire ranch is engulfed in flames by the time the 118 pulls up on scene. The truck is still rocking from the potholes in the dirt road leading up through the archway that reads “Lucky Chance Ranch” when they begin to hop out. The rig is nestled in-between haphazardly parked horse trailers, packed to the brim with squealing horses.

Buck’s running towards the flames before his boots hit the ground, Eddie at his side. A white horse with a phone-number spray painted across its side in blue paint runs past them, barely missing the pair, but they’re focused on adding themselves to the brigade of other firefighters already trying to knock down the fire in the main barn.

It’d hopped from the dry wood of the hay barn to the horse barns and eventually the ranch house, with no sprinklers or fire alarms in sight, leaving a groom to have run to the nearest road to get a signal to call first responders in.

The other grooms had been working to get the horses out, and now, apparently one was trapped in the first barn that was engulfed.

“He went back for a horse and didn’t come out, five minutes ago!” a station commander yells at them. They nod and take off.

The barn is falling apart at the seams as the fire snaps and crumbles the wood supports. There isn’t an ounce of metal in this thing that hasn’t either melted or been bent beyond recognition, and Buck is struggling to find a way in.

“Here!” Eddie yells, and Buck turns to find him gesturing at a stall door that is burnt to a crisp but not currently smoldering. 

Then, as they watch, a small black horse busts through the crumbling door, sending shards of burnt wood everywhere. That’s when Buck realizes the horse isn’t actually black, but is covered in ash and singed from the fire enough to appear that way. The next thing Buck realizes is that there is a man being dragged behind him, lead rope wrapped around his arm like a snake.

Buck gets in front of the horse, arms out placatingly, and it skids to a halt instead of barreling through Buck like its first instinct might’ve been. Buck grabs the rope of its halter and holds it with all his strength as the horse tiptoes around him anxiously, tail swishing, the ends charred. Eddie uses his shears to cut the lead rope and Buck grabs the small, swinging tail end that’s left and hands the horse off to the nearest person he sees. Then, he goes to help Eddie move their victim, because the fire is closing in.

“Help!” someone screams, and then there’s a deafening bang. Buck snaps his head up just in time to see a cloud of dust and smoke rising from the other barn, and he’s sharing one communicative glance with Eddie before whisking away.

The second barn’s back half isn’t completely fried yet, but Buck can see where the beams caved in to trap someone in a stall. He fights his way through the smoldering wood, noting how the barn is absolutely littered with hay and other combustibles. The stall that the beam caved in on is right next to licking flames, and the smoke is so dark Buck can hardly see in front of him. He snaps on his oxygen mask and tosses a chunk of wood out of the way, finally able to see the stall door. It’s open, and inside is a girl, with a horse and what Buck is assuming is its foal. The foal is cowering in the corner, terrified, and the mom is refusing to leave it, no matter how hard the girl tugs on her halter. To make matters worse, a large beam is now separating them from the door where Buck is standing.

He tries to lift the beam, but it’s far too heavy and the entire roof creaks when he does.

“I’m coming!” He yells, and runs out of the barn. 

He makes it to the other side, searching for the door he thinks should lead to the outside of the stall. He finds it, flips the metal latches up, and opens the door with a bang.

“Go!” he yells at the girl, whose hair is now within catching distance of the flames encroaching on them. She looks between Buck and the horses with a pained expression, before tugging harder on the mare’s halter.

Buck shoves his way into the stall, shoulder scraping painfully along the underside of the beam, and wiggles his way behind the foal. It’s young, so he’s able to hoist it up like a big dog and stumble out of the stall. The mare springs into action and snatches her lead rope from the girl’s hand to follow Buck and her baby. The girl runs on ahead to flag someone down.

Then, there’s a creak and a snap, and the wall of the barn is coming down towards Buck.

Instinct takes over for the mare, and she dodges the falling debris, but Buck, weighed down by a few hundred pounds of baby horse, cannot. It all goes black for a second, but Buck doesn’t think he passed out, because he can still hear the roar of the fire, the confused scream of the horse, and the chatter of the other firefighters as they descend upon his predicament. Eddie. Where’s Eddie? Eddie would fix this.

He’s fallen so he’s shielding the horse, whether intentional or not, and he tries to shove his way back to his feet but is met with hundreds of pounds of resistance. The wood is either burned or burning, and as he looks, the orange glow of fire shines through the cracks of the debris and grows ever-closer. The foal is struggling, its little legs kicking deceptively strongly at the planks and supports they’re buried in. They’ve fallen in an inconveniently strong formation, where the weight of each piece is keeping the rest locked in. If one were to be pulled off the top, they’d be able to fight their way out. The wall itself wasn’t thick, but Buck thinks some of the above loft and even roof must’ve come down with it.

The horse keeps kicking, and finally, the pile shifts. Buck goes to stand up, using his shoulder to heave the loosening wood up and off of them, but he’s stopped when a pained yelp tears itself from his throat. His shoulder doesn’t feel right. Panic surges inside him, and he shifts to try and use his other arm to push stuff off of them, but that one hurts, too, an awful tingling burn that spreads from his elbow to his fingertips. He takes a huge, panicked breath, and only inhales wood shavings and ash. 

He coughs and splutters- realizing he lost his oxygen mask somewhere along the way- and starts to kick. His boot breaks through the shell of wood and then is caught- by a hand, he thinks. Then, more hands are reaching through the hole and heaving pieces off of him one-by-one. The light from the floodlights the police had set up around the ranch starts to bleed in, honest and cool, and he surges towards it. The foal gets the message first, and shoves Buck to the ground as she (Buck thinks its a she, just because) surges out. Someone screams out, “Woah!” Like they didn’t know she was in there, and another throws their arms around her neck and wrestles a rope over her head, and then hauls her off to her mother.

Buck’s foot is still held in a hand, like a tether, so he uses his other leg to help clear debris and then there’s a person standing over him, and it’s Eddie, it’s always Eddie. He is sooty and the only clean spot on his skin is where beads of sweat have cut through the soot like Moses in the Red Sea, but he is Eddie, and he grins wide and bold when he reaches down to grab Buck’s hand.

“Skipping out on work again?” Eddie quips.

Buck grabs back with a matching grin, and then screams when Eddie pulls, but he is already up. Off-balance, he surges forward and stumbles right into Eddie. His shoulder throbs when it makes contact with Eddie’s chest, but his other arm, that Eddie had just grabbed, is dangling useless and on fire by his side. Not literally on fire, right?

He looks down, sees that his turnout sleeve had been ripped away in the collapse, and that yes, he had literally been on fire as the pile of wood had smoldered away with him trapped inside. His skin is sweltering and angry and covered in dirt and ash and he wants to vomit, he thinks. The longer he looks at it the more he feels it, and he tries to move his fingers but they barely twitch.

“Medic!” someone screams.

Isn’t Eddie the medic? Eddie is supposed to be the- the world shifts on it’s axis and then Buck is on the ground again, this time being gently guided down with Eddie’s hands on his shoulders. There’s something hard under his back, and yellow, and then he’s in the air again but no one is touching him- why is he floating, what the fuck- he rips his head to the side and looks at Eddie, looks for Eddie, who is getting farther and farther away as the team carrying him leaves.

“Eddie!” Buck screams, his throat wrecked, and he reaches out with his marred arm because he can’t move his other arm at all. Eddie takes a big step towards him but is stopped by some captain (not Bobby, because Bobby wouldn’t do that) and then Buck is inside an ambulance and the door is shutting and his world is ending because Eddie is- God, not like this. The ones carrying him leave and it’s just him and a paramedic, and Eddie’s not there, and his whole body hurts and what if he loses his arm, and he wants Eddie.

Then, there’s a fist on the door but it’s not telling the ambulance it’s good to go, it’s banging like it’s a trapped animal, and the paramedic opens the door just enough for Eddie to worm his way inside and next to Buck. There’s an angry shout of, “Diaz!” from the outside, but the ambulance starts moving as soon as Eddie sits down.

“Hey, Buck, I’m right here,” he says, reaching around the other paramedic to grab a bottle of water and a compress. He pours the water over the compress and chucks the bottle to the side before wringing out the compress and gently settling it over Buck’s arm. It’s cool and it burns in a cold way. “I’ve gotcha, you’re gonna be fine, it’s not that bad, alright?”

Buck’s eyes are wide and his pupils are locked on Eddie, watching every movement as he’s jostled with the motion of the ambulance. The sirens echo in the back of his head but he also hears rushing water- they’re not near a beach, are they?- and his ears are ringing. The ringing is louder now, the water receding.

Eddie takes the shears and slices through what’s left of his long-sleeve shirt. Buck yells as it peels off some of his skin with it, and then red blood is gushing from the blistered area. Eddie takes another gauze compress and grits his teeth before applying it, looking away when Buck bites off his scream and settles on a gut-wrenching whimper.

“Eddie, make it stop,” he begs. His eyes still track Eddie’s every movement but they’re far off, now. “Get it off, get it off!”

“Get what off, Buck?” Eddie’s voice is raw with panic. 

Behind him, the paramedic is cutting through his gear on the other side to get to his other shoulder. It’s blue and purple from what Buck can see, but then Eddie moves and he can’t see it anymore.

“The truck! My leg,” he sobs, thrashing against Eddie’s hold.

“Woah! Buck!” Eddie curses, reapplying the gauze and compress and lifting his arm up so it’s held against Eddie’s chest, above Buck’s heart to decrease blood flow. “He’s disoriented. Did you give him anything?”

“Trying to start an IV now,” comes the curt reply, and then there’s a needle in his other arm, but his other arm is also numb, so it’s fine.

“Buck, your leg is fine, listen,” Eddie leans in real close, so close he can see the soot and sweat and tears and snot all over Buck’s red face. “Your arms got hurt, but it’s okay, we’re gonna help you.

We’re almost at the hospital.”

His face slackens and then it scrunches up and he starts crying again, each falling tear shredding Eddie’s heart. “Don’t take me there, please, I don’t- I don’t want to-.”

“He’s in shock,” the paramedic mutters. “I'm giving him fluids and pain medication.”

Eddie changes out the gauze for a clean cold compress and covers the rest of the burn with it. He checks underneath the first and isn’t horrified by what he sees- he doesn’t see bone or tendon, so Buck will be alright.

“Dislocated shoulder and broken clavicle,” the paramedic rattles off on the phone with the hospital, and Buck moans.

His breaths are getting shallower. Eddie curses and cups his jaw with one hand, slapping his cheek gently to rouse him, but his head just lolls against the contact as his eyes whiten and then close.

The next time they open is to piercingly white lights. Buck groans before even assessing his surroundings, and tries to sit up, push himself up with his arm, and then he howls in pain and stops. His eyes blink rapidly, aching and feeling like they’re crusted shut, and he takes in the appearance of his arms.

One is in a sling, tight to his chest, and the other is covered in bandages from mid-hand to elbow. It doesn’t hurt anymore now that he’s stopped moving, but he also feels loopy, so he’s sure he’s drugged to the high heavens.

Eddie.

Where’s Eddie?

Buck whips his head around and then is met with a comforting hand on his chest. It’s the only place anyone can touch him; the rest of him is swollen or burned. He keens embarrassingly as Eddie shifts his chair forward so he can rest his chin on the railing of Buck’s bed.

“When will I be back at work?” he croaks out, and Eddie groans good-naturedly.

“Really, Buck?” he murmurs, then grabs a cup of water from the side table and helps Buck sip from it. It shouldn’t feel so practiced. “In a few months.”

“So, I will go back?”

“Yes,” Eddie placates. He sets the water down, reaches out with his other hand to smooth Buck’s gross hair out of his face. “You scared me, asshole.”

“What happened?” Buck groans. “I don’t- I remember you pulling me out of the rubble, and then…”

“It’s better you don’t,” Eddie says, curt, and Buck wonders just what he put him through.

“I wanna know-.”

“I’ll remember it for the both of us, yeah?” Eddie says, reaching down to take the tips of Buck’s fingers, red but not burned, in his own cool hand. Buck curls them back around him as much as he can.

There’s a beat of silence. Buck flexes his fingers, concentrating hard, ignoring the pull of the skin.

“All that for a horse?” Eddie asks.

“It was a baby,” Buck justifies. “Is it okay?”

Eddie hasn’t been back to the ranch, evidently, but, “I saw them walk away with it, yeah.”

“At least this wasn’t for nothing,” Buck tries to joke, but his tone comes out too high, too pinpoint. “How did- there wasn’t that much on me, right? How did I get so…?”

“Do you not remember the horse running directly over you as the wall fell?”

Buck laughs, but it’s not that funny. “Oh. No, I don’t.”

“To think you saved her baby for her and that’s the thanks she gave you.”

Buck shakes his head, poorly timed tears rising up behind his lids.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, thumb sweeping soothing circles over his swollen fingers. “C’mon, it’s not so bad. You get three months at the Diaz home.”

His eyes snap open, tears be damned, his voice thick when he says, “Really?”

“Unless you want to try and get around your loft with about half of one functional hand,” Eddie squeezes his fingers, so gently. “Even if you do, you’re still coming home with me. My turn to take care of you.”

“At least I wasn’t shot,” Buck manages, before Eddie turns up the pain medication and his eyes flutter. “Thank- thanks for being there.”

“Always, Buck. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[writethrough]

The Stranger Things Collection

The Collections

I do not permit anyone to copy, repost, and/or share my work anywhere, translated or otherwise. However, please feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

All rights to the media and characters below belong to the original creators and writers.

Moodboard by @steph-speaks

BILLY HARGROVE

Bad Boy Type (Fem!Reader) ⊹ Girls' night at Billy and Max's new place takes a turn when El insists on you marrying Billy.

By the Lakeside (Fem!Reader) ⊹ You're spending the day at Lover's Lake with everyone when Jason decides to humiliate you. It's a good thing Billy and Eddie are there.

Connection (GN!Reader) ⊹ You stumble across Billy when you go to stargaze. He seeks you out each time after.

Found You (GN!Reader) ⊹ You give Billy what he's always needed.

I Know Better (Fem!Reader) ⊹ You've heard every rumor about Billy Hargrove—from the girls, the guys, the teachers, the parents—it never interested you all that much. Until one of those pesky rumors involved you.

Life Guard (Fem!Reader) ⊹ It's the middle of summer and everyone decides to go to the pool. You don't know how to swim, but at least Billy's on duty.

Lost Things, Found Beginnings (GN!Reader) ⊹ You find Billy's ring on your way into work and can't stop the swirling thoughts on how to return it. How does he react when you do?

Morning Blue (GN!Reader) ⊹ Waking up with Billy.

The Only Destination (GN!Reader) ⊹ Sometimes you can’t stand all the noise and the people. You want to run and hide, but you don’t know where to go. Until you spot the one person who you’ll always run toward.

A Place to Land (Fem!Reader) ⊹ You told Billy you love him. And he knows it's time to break up with you.

Refuge (GN!Reader) ⊹ Billy seeks you out after another incident with Neil.

A Sign of Heat (GN!Reader) ⊹ Billy's a textbook Aries, and you tell him as much...with a little twist.

Still A Thing (Fem!Reader) ⊹ You and Billy are visiting Hawkins for the week, and of course, you run into Tommy H. who still has trouble shutting his mouth.

Sun Daze (GN!Reader) ⊹ Warmth comes from more than the sun.

EDDIE MUNSON

By the Lakeside (Fem!Reader) ⊹ You're spending the day at Lover's Lake with everyone when Jason decides to humiliate you. It's a good thing Billy and Eddie are there.

Little Chickadees (GN!Reader) ⊹ Eddie signs you both up to work the petting zoo, but just because he likes to hang out with kids, doesn't mean you do.

Track Two (Fem!Reader) ⊹ As you and the gang are trying to stop Vecna, save Max, and clear Eddie's name, you see something that shakes you to your core.

STEVE HARRINGTON

Fill In the Cracks (GN!Reader) ⊹ There's no way someone like Steve would love you. It's only a matter of time before he forgets you.

BONUS CONTENT

⊹ Billy's Love Languages

THE BRAIN ROT BRIGADE PRESENTS...with @bookshelf-dust and @steph-speaks

⊹ Billy As A Firefighter ⊹ Billy at Disney ⊹ Billy Giving You the Look ⊹ Billy Knowing When You Need to Be Grounded (Part I / Part II) ⊹ Billy Working at Target ⊹ Eddie Letting You Play With His Hair