#Voice recognition system

[precallai]

AI Voice Bot for Business Automation: Turn Client Communications

AI voice bot for business automation change how companies communicate with customers today. Businesses need faster response times and better customer service. Traditional phone systems cannot handle the growing demand efficiently. PreCallAI offers a revolutionary solution that transforms phone conversations completely.

Our advanced voice bot technology automates customer interactions naturally. Businesses save time while improving customer satisfaction rates significantly. Manual phone handling creates bottlenecks and missed opportunities daily. PreCallAI eliminates these problems through intelligent conversation automation.

Companies across industries struggle with limited phone capacity. Staff availability restricts business hours and response capabilities. Customer expectations continue rising for instant service delivery. PreCallAI bridges this gap with 24/7 automated phone conversations.

What Makes PreCallAI Different

PreCallAI creates game-changing voice bot solutions for modern businesses. Our technology understands natural language and responds appropriately. Advanced AI algorithms learn from every customer interaction continuously. Speech recognition accuracy exceeds industry standards consistently.

Real-time conversation management handles complex customer requests effectively. Integration capabilities connect with existing business systems seamlessly. Customizable voice personalities match your brand identity perfectly. Multi-language support expands your customer reach globally.

Appointment scheduling happens automatically without human intervention. Lead qualification processes identify high-value prospects efficiently. Customer support automation resolves issues instantly. Sales conversations nurture prospects through personalized interactions.

Advanced Features That Drive Results

PreCallAI voice bots handle multiple conversations simultaneously. Call routing directs customers to the appropriate departments automatically. Sentiment analysis detects customer emotions during conversations. Escalation protocols transfer complex issues to human agents.https://precallai.com/

CRM integration synchronizes customer data across platforms. Analytics dashboards provide detailed conversation insights. Performance metrics track success rates and improvement areas. API access enables custom integrations with specialized software.

Voice recognition works with various accents and speaking styles. Background noise filtering ensures clear communication always. Call recording provides quality assurance and training materials. Backup systems prevent service interruptions during peak times.https://precallai.com/

How AI Voice Bot for Business Automation Transforms Operations

Implementing an AI voice bot for business automation delivers immediate operational improvements. Response times decrease from minutes to seconds consistently. Customer satisfaction scores increase through faster service delivery. Operating costs reduce while service quality improves dramatically.

Staff productivity increases as employees focus on complex tasks. Missed calls become extinct with 24/7 availability. Consistent messaging ensures brand uniformity across interactions. Scalability allows growth without proportional staffing increases.

Revenue generation improves through automated upselling capabilities. Data collection provides valuable customer insights automatically. Lead conversion rates increase with instant follow-up processes. Appointment booking rates improve through immediate scheduling.

Business owners gain complete control over customer communications. Real-time monitoring ensures quality standards are maintained. Customization options adapt to specific industry requirements. Training time is reduced significantly compared to human staff.

Industry-Specific Applications

Healthcare practices benefit from automated appointment scheduling systems. Patient reminders reduce no-show rates significantly. Medical offices handle prescription refill requests efficiently. Dental clinics manage follow-up calls automatically.

Real estate agencies automate lead qualification processes effectively. Property inquiries receive instant responses and information. Showing appointment schedule automatically based on availability. Follow-up calls nurture prospects through sales funnels.

Professional services streamline client intake procedures completely. Legal practices handle initial consultations efficiently. Accounting firms manage client communications during busy seasons. Consulting businesses qualify prospects before human interaction.

E-commerce companies improve customer support capabilities dramatically. Order status inquiries receive instant, accurate responses. Product questions get answered immediately without delays. Return processes initiate automatically through voice commands.

Implementation Process Made Simple

PreCallAI simplifies voice bot implementation for any business size. Initial consultation identifies optimal use cases and strategies. Custom script development reflects unique business requirements perfectly. Integration planning connects systems without disrupting operations.

Testing phases ensure optimal performance before full deployment. Staff training covers system management and monitoring procedures. Quality assurance protocols maintain service standards consistently. Performance optimization continues throughout the implementation process.

Business goals align with technology capabilities through strategic planning. Customer needs receive priority consideration during development. Workflow integration maintains existing processes while adding automation. Change management supports smooth transitions for all stakeholders.

Measuring Success and ROI

Key performance indicators track system effectiveness accurately. Call volume metrics demonstrate capacity improvements clearly. Response time measurements show service delivery enhancements. Conversion rates indicate lead generation success.

Cost savings calculations compare traditional staffing with automation expenses. Customer satisfaction surveys reveal service quality improvements. Revenue attribution demonstrates direct business impact. Productivity metrics quantify staff efficiency gains.

Monthly reports provide comprehensive performance analysis. Trend identification reveals optimization opportunities. Comparative data validates technology investment decisions. Strategic insights guide future expansion planning.

Real Business Benefits

PreCallAI customers experience dramatic operational improvements immediately. Phone capacity increases without additional staff hiring. Customer complaints decrease through faster response times. Sales opportunities multiply through automated follow-up processes.

Administrative tasks are reduced significantly through voice automation. Data entry happens automatically during conversations. Scheduling conflicts resolve through intelligent calendar management. Customer information updates occur in real-time.

Competitive advantages emerge through superior customer service delivery. Market expansion becomes possible with multilingual capabilities. Operating hours extend to 24/7 without staffing complications. Service consistency improves across all customer touchpoints.

Brand reputation is enhanced through reliable customer communications. Customer retention rates increase with improved service quality. Referral generation improves through positive customer experiences. Market differentiation occurs through advanced technology adoption.

Getting Started Today

PreCallAI makes voice bot implementation straightforward and efficient. Free consultations identify specific business needs and opportunities. Custom demonstrations show exact benefits for your operations. Flexible contracts accommodate varying business requirements.

Technical setup happens quickly with minimal business disruption. Training resources help teams maximize system capabilities. Ongoing support addresses questions and optimization needs. Scalability options allow growth without system limitations.

Transform your customer communications with PreCallAI voice bot technology. Experience automated conversations that build relationships and drive results. Contact our team to discover how an AI voice bot for business automation revolutionizes your operations. Schedule your consultation today and start improving customer communications immediately.

Conclusion:-

AI voice bot for business automation revolutionizes customer communications with 24/7 availability, instant responses, and seamless integration. PreCallAI transforms operations by reducing costs, increasing productivity, and improving customer satisfaction. Experience automated conversations that drive results and business growth today.

[zentranstech]

Automated Call Routing with IVRS

Deep Dive into Features and Benefits of Automated Call Routing with IVRS One of the most important technologies in modern telecommunication is the Interactive Voice Response System. It supports automated call routing and enhances customer experience. It also improves operational efficiency. In this section, we are going to look more deeply into the features of automated call routing using IVRS.…

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Freeze Incentive.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 6.8k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Kidnapping + Prolonged Imprisonment, Mentions of Past Suicide Attempts, Lasting Suicidal Ideation, Age Gap (Reader is Mid-Twenties, Bruce is Late Forties), Obsessive Behavior, Masturbation, and Gratuitous Pseudo-Incest. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Finale]

You were released from the hospital after forty-eight hours exactly. Bruce never ate, never slept, never left your side. You didn’t speak to him, but he didn’t force you to.

His hell spawn kept their distance. Once, the first time you fell asleep, you thought you might’ve seen Cassandra in the doorway as you drifted off, but it couldn’t have been her. Even she wasn’t slippery enough to come and go under the vigilant radar of your new, raging paranoia.

By hour forty-nine, you were being shepherded into an apartment on the opposite side of Gotham. “The walls and windows are bullet-proof,” Bruce explained, as you shuffled through a long, narrow entryway. There were two doors – both made out of a brilliantly silver, blindingly reflective metal and requiring some combination of facial recognition, fingerprint scan, and physical keys to unlock. That apocalyptic level of security might’ve made you feel a little more safe if you hadn’t already known that the people you were afraid most of would be able to come and go as they pleased.

“The ventilation system is on its own rig, and there are cameras in every room – dormant. Just raise your voice above a normal speaking volume if you want to activate them.”

You coughed out a laugh. “Why? Trying to get baby’s first assault on film?”

Bruce didn’t answer. Your tour ended abruptly, and he held you in a vice-grip against his chest as he made up for two days’ worth of sleep.

The penthouse was, for lack of a better point of comparison, not all that you’d imagined it would be. Floor to ceiling windows encircled the living room, providing an unending bird’s eye view of the city. The second guest bedroom had been converted into a makeshift art studio, stocked with materials for every hobby you’d ever had and most that you hadn’t. All the bedsheets were in your favorite color and all the mounted art was to your tastes and there was a poster of your favorite local band in the kitchen – an design they’d only sold once at a concert that’d happened years before you discovered them. But, all the walls were painted an unfeeling shade of off-white, and the balcony door had been sealed shut, and the band poster had been framed – locked behind glass and hung with a perfectionist’s precision.

You would’ve used glue-dots.

You had the poor thing pinned to a countertop, butterknife in-hand as you tried to pry it out of its entrapments, when you noticed Tim.

Dark and lanky, looming in the corner of your vision. He was dressed in his civilian clothes – all over-sized pullovers and ill-fitting jeans. He smiled when you glanced over your shoulder, but his expression fell as you whipped around, holding out your butterknife like it was ex-fucking-calibur.

“Bruce!” You called into the penthouse, keeping your back pressed against the edge of the counter.

“There was a fire in the warehouse district. We traded posts early.”

Of course. You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to say goodbye. “Touch me and I’ll slit my own throat.”

“With that?” He laughed, the noise airy. “We had the edges of the cutlery dulled. Anything sharp enough to break skin is—” Tim cut himself off, shrugging. “You’ll have to ask, if there’s anything you want to use. Standing flight-risk and all.”

God. If you’d known trying to kill yourself would cause this many problems, you would’ve made sure to get it right the first time.

Tim took half a step closer. You squared your shoulders.

“I’ll hang myself with the bedsheets.”

“Tear-away. They can’t hold anything heavier than fifty pounds.”

“I’ll drink boiling water.”

“The stove is bioencrypted. And the microwave. And the kettle.” Tim smiled apologetically. “I’m not going to do anything, I promise. The others, they’re a little—” Another abrupt pause, this one followed by a dry swallow. You wondered if Bruce had briefed him on what to say to you, or if his siblings had been the one to put a script together. Your little stunt probably didn’t help with that, either. Proving you could get hurt put the idea of protecting you into their minds. It gave them an excuse to treat you like something fragile, something that didn’t know any better. The narrative could be rewritten, their fixations tailored to better fit the new angle. You wondered if the Oedipus complex of it all would crack and give way under the added pressure, but ultimately decided not to hope for silver linings in rock-bottom scenarios.

“—overzealous,” Tim finished, finally. “I get it, though. You need your space. I’m just here to keep an eye on you.”

You scowled, wearily. “That doesn’t sound like giving me space.”

“Give me a chance.” His grin brightened. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

You were always going to try and pretend he wasn’t, obviously. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d make it easy.

You kept the butterknife with you, even if it was too blunt to puncture and too small to inflict substantial trauma. Never more than thirty feet away, Tim followed after you as you wandered through the apartment, trying to pass the time without letting your guard down. You flipped through the clothes overflowing from your new, Bruce-tailored closet. Tim watched. You sat in front of a window, trying to make out the world miles below. Tim watched. You tried your hand at embroidery. Tim cringed every time you pressed the needle into fabric, and he watched.

You were pretending to read a book (a low stakes romance, more fluff than substance, something Bruce would’ve picked out with distraction in mind) when Tim broke the tense silence.

“You’re supposed to take a shower, now.”

You eyed him wearily. “You know I'm almost a decade older than you, right?”

He grinned, his face going a telling shade of pink. Okay, that was on you, but still – gross.

“Whatever.” The master bath seemed the most private, the most tucked-away, so you fled in that direction. You were a few inches away from slamming the door shut when Tim’s hand caught the edge, pushing it open despite your best attempts to stop him.

“Bruce’s orders,” he explained, shrugging. Like that made up for the red now steadily creeping towards his ears, the way his breathing seemed to hitch as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Like he’d ever listened to Bruce a day in his life. “You have to understand why he’d be touchy about bathrooms.”

The anger was hot, thick, and immediate. You didn’t have to understand anything. It’d been your body folded up and lifeless on the tile floor. All he’d done was call the ambulance.

“Either you leave or we spend the night here.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Get out.”

Tim chuckled. “You’re being so stubborn.”

“Out.”

“Take your time.” He propped his back against the door. “I’m not going anywhere. We have all day, literally.”

Butterknife be damned. You were going to kill him with your bare hands.

You took a long moment, evaluating your options. Tim had always ranked on the lower side of your danger scale – creepy and perverted, but too buttoned-up and close to Bruce to ever do anything more direct than stealing your panties or planting mics in your bedroom. Their new arrangement would change things, sure, but Bruce’s ongoing denial that kids were here to do anything but protect you seemed to have a dampening effect, keeping the scales from tilting quite as dramatically as they might’ve, otherwise.

You were also, undeniably, scared. Scared of testing the waters so quickly, scared of finding out how Bruce would handle disobedience, scared of who might be taking over after Tim. You pictured Cas, undressing you with care, then Jason, smile cutting into your throat as he forced you under freezing cold water. Tim wasn’t good, but he was preferable. The lesser of many, many evils.

“Face the wall. With a towel over your head.” Tim’s smile quirked, but he complied. You waited until he was fully turned towards the door, pitch-black fabric blocking his peripheral, to go on. “Bruce has every room bugged. If I scream, he’ll be here in minutes.”

A lie, but a fair one. Tim nodded slowly, as if processing new information. Bruce must’ve been keeping a few of the penthouse’s security measures to himself. Even he didn’t trust his kids when left to their own devices.

Getting undressed was the worst part. You were caught between the logical awareness that ripping off the Band-Aid would ultimately prove less painless and the gnawing instinct to cling to what might keep you safe for just a little longer. Forcing your conscious mind to a distance, you kept things military – water, soap, rinse, repeat – and let yourself think only of how thankful you were to finally wash off the hospital grime. You were only a minute or so away from being done when you heard something over the water’s rhythmic pattering. A clicking sound, except it was a little too wet, a little too off-beat. For a second, you were delusional enough to consider that one of the pipes in Bruce’s ten-trillion-dollar apartment might’ve sprung a leak.

Then, dread cold and hollow in your chest, you looked to Tim.

He wasn’t facing you. Thank God, he wasn’t facing you. What you could see of him like this, though the fogged glass of the shower stall, was bad enough. He was hunched over, his forehead pressed against the wood of the door. His left hand was planted at the same height while the right worked between his legs, moving in time with that awful, repetitive noise. The towel had fallen to his shoulders, but you could see that his eyes were clenched shut, like he was still trying not to violate your one boundary. In his mind, you were sure this didn’t count as an overstep.

Vaguely, you remembered Stephanie saying something about Tim being the voyeur type. You wondered if the fact that he wasn’t technically looking made this any better.

Your original goal was immediately forgotten. You stayed where you were until the water went cold, until you could hear Tim’s strained breathing and see white dripping from his hand. You waited for him to clean himself up before moving on to the salvage – towel, clothes, etc. You kept your eyes low, your lips pursed, but Tim wasn’t as stand-offish. He orbited around you as you shrugged open the bathroom door and stepped out, his voice chipper. Giddy. “Feeling better?”

“When’s Bruce coming back?”

“Can’t be sure. His schedule’s the hardest to pin down.” He rested a hand on your shoulder by way of apology. Your skin crawled. “Barbara has the next shift.”

You mumbled something affirmative. Still fully dressed, you crawled into bed and pulled the sheets over your head.

Tim watched.

~

You were right. Bruce’s insistence on the pretense of deniability put the others on-guard, all reluctant to be the one to condemn their father’s favorite lamb to death.

Some were worse than others. Barbara let you watch a season’s worth of some perfectly generic, perfectly mindless reality T.V. dating show in one sitting, only occasionally looking up from her laptop and paperwork to yell at the screen on your behalf. Cas pawed at your tits through your shirt while cuddling until you were too sore to lay on your chest. Damian took advantage of the art studio to paint a terribly forlorn, but relatively flattering portrait of you while you struggled with a crochet hook. Stephanie had you try on three shopping bag’s worth of lingerie, snapping pictures all the while. Kate told you every piece of gossip she’d picked up during Gotham’s social season. Jason stayed away, which was the worst thing he could’ve done. Even serial killers had the decency not to leave their victim’s corpses to the scavengers.

And Dick…

Dick let you out.

Never to go very far, never for very long, and always to somewhere mind-numbingly civilian - a café, or a boutique, or the nicer stretch of docks tourists tended to flock to in the summer. Like the rest, he’d established his own set of boundaries, as defined as they were irrational. He never talked about Bruce, to Tim, or any of the others. He kept his distance when you two were alone and held your hand when you weren’t. If you had to say anything, he said it for you. It was weird, but nothing you couldn’t live with. No – your fears were more abstract than that, more likely to take the form of ticking clocks than groping hands. Things were bad, now. You could live with that. You understood that.

You were just having trouble keeping yourself sane while you sat around, wasted time, and waited for things to get worse.

“Don’t like the view?”

Ah. You must’ve been lost in thought again. You glanced towards Dick, your head resting gingerly on his shoulder, then outward, to the grassy plains of the local park. It was a good day (or Gotham, at least) so you weren’t entirely alone. Couples jogged. Families picnicked. Children played. It might’ve been nice if Dick hadn’t decided that you’d spend the day rooted to a bench on the outskirts, a half-eaten cup of ice cream melting to your side, his arms slung over the backrest and some part of you always making contact with some part of him. So he could be sure you didn’t run, he’d claimed. As if any amount of distance would be enough to get you away from him.

“Just wondering why you’re doing this.”

He chuckled. “What do you mean?”

“Taking me outside. Making me look at happy, smiling people.” Delaying the inevitable. Giving you false hope. “It’s a little mean, considering I’m just going to be rotting again in a couple hours.”

“Better than leaving you locked up all day, right?”

You scuffed your heel into the dirt. Dainty kitten heels – nothing you’d ever been able to run in. “I guess the fresh air is nice. And the lack of security cameras.”

At that, Dick cringed. You were still testing for sore spots, trying to find holes in the fabric that held your captors together, less as part of some future plan and more to keep yourself busy. Bruce’s near-constant invasions of your privacy was, rather transparently, one of Dick’s. “Tell me he’s not recording you.”

“He’s not supposed to be,” you sighed. “I think Stephanie might’ve gotten into the system, though. She’s been on an amateur photography kick.”

It was his turn to sigh, to groan, to let his head collapse onto your shoulder. His arm found its way around you, hauling you that much closer to his chest. “…I don’t like it,” he admitted, his reluctance layered on so thickly, it was hard to believe he didn’t choke. “You know I don’t like it, right?”

“How the others treat me?”

“That they know you exist.” Another groan. You kept your eyes trained straight ahead. “B told you I was the first, right. I… I think I’m always the first. He knows I can handle the deep-end.” And then, more sentimentally, “He knew I’d fall in love with you at first sight.”

Hands curled into fists. Eyes forced open. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t blink. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“But it’s true. I used to let myself into your apartment at night – you always left the door unlocked. And remember the last time you went out with your coworkers?” You did. One minute, you’d been at the dive-bar closest to your office, happily accepting another round of shots bought on the company card, and the next, you’d been waking up in your own bed, undressed and hung over. You’d figured you’d managed to get yourself home despite blacking out, but the way Dick was grinning against your throat suggested otherwise. “It should’ve been like that all the time. Just you and me – taking care of each other.”

You couldn’t blink. You couldn’t blink. You’d fall apart the second your eyes closed, and you couldn’t keep letting them break you like that.

“B’s mind works on a switch,” Dick explained. “He can turn it off whenever he wants to, but I’m not like that. I can’t decide when not to love you.” He paused, smirked. “Even if you could be a little nicer to me, some—”

“Help me escape.”

The sound of your own voice caught you off-guard. Dick jolted against you, raising his head, equally surprised. Your face suddenly felt warm, and your heart was beating too quickly. It was by someone else’s – someone stronger, someone dumber - volition that you went on, digging your grave that much deeper. “If you hate the way I’m treated, if you think you love me, then help me leave. I’ll go wherever you want to, I just—” The air hitched in your throat. “You know I can’t stay here, any longer.”

For a second, Dick didn’t respond. For a second, he stayed there, pressed against you, all-but unmoving.

Then, he straightened and laughed, taking your hand in his. He squeezed gently, like he was trying to show you that he cared. Like he loved you.

“Bruce’s shift is coming up. We should get you home, right?”

You let your eyes fall to the ground. Not blinking hadn’t helped – you could feel tears forming in the corner of your eyes, regardless.

“Right.”

~

It rained on your walk back, despite the clear sky. Neither of you had brought an umbrella, and the downpour was too sudden to seek cover, so you were soaked by the time you reached the apartment. The artificial chill clung to you like a second skin, turning your body to shell hostile to its contents. In hindsight, you probably should’ve taken it as an omen of things to come. Or, maybe you just should’ve expected calamity in general – predicted or otherwise.

You were late, too. Bruce was already there by the time you finally made it through that suffocating entryway – sitting on the foot of your bed, a suit jacket hung over his knee and the first few buttons of his collar undone. With a nod by way of acknowledgement, you moved to scurry past him and find something dryer to wear, but he caught your wrist on the way by. “Can you stay for a second, honey?”

Absolutely not. No way in hell. You’d rather die. “…I guess so.”

There was a gentle squeeze by way of gratitude, then he turned to Dick. “Be honest with me. Have any of you touched her?”

Dread formed a bottomless, pitch-black well in your chest. Even Dick seemed reluctant to answer – setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. Making himself into one of Bruce’s soldiers, rather than his son. “No. Not like that.” He swallowed. “Not since Jason.”

“Good. I was hoping we could talk, first.” With his free hand, he waved Dick closer. Silent and unquestioning, Dick obeyed.

The blocking of your little scene was awkward. You were too close to Bruce and Dick was too close to you while the distance between them was left deliberately more vast. Dick didn’t touch you. He never would, not with Bruce watching, and Bruce seemed to know that. “It’s alright,” he said, with the same stoicism he might’ve showed to a wild, rampaging animal. “Go on. I want to see how you handle it – if you can handle it.”

Dick glowered. “This isn’t something you can train out of me, old man.”

“I’m not trying to.” You made a half-hearted effort to pull your hand out of Bruce’s hold. His grip only tightened, in response. “Show me that you know how to put your hands on something without breaking it.”

There was a second’s worth of hesitation, but not much longer. One of Dick’s hands wrapped around your forearm, replacing Bruce’s, while the other caught your chin. He kissed you – messy, sudden, hard – and you wondered if you really did die on the bathroom floor that night, and this was your own special brand of hell.

When Dick came up for air, there was no pretense of consent, no pause taken to assess you for the mutuality Bruce always seemed so desperate for. His lips pressed into the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the corner of your throat – lingering there while his hands dropped to your waist, pawing at the fabric of your sundress. On instinct, you thrashed, shoved at his chest, dug your claws into his chest. Dick only laughed, pulling you that much closer against him. “C’mon, sweetheart, we’re just making up for lost time,” he mumbled into your ear, his breath warm and tacky against your skin. “You remember what I said last time, right? It’s just you and me – you don’t have to think about anybody else.”

“I don’t even want to think about you, little prick complex-having fucking bast---” Your hissed insults were cut off by Dick’s hands on your hips, by your feet suddenly being torn from the ground as he half-lifted, half-threw you onto the bed. The collision was rough, sudden, knocking the air out of your lungs and giving Dick time to get on top of you. Two fists found the collar of your dress and tore, cold air rushing over your chest, your navel, your legs. You tried not to think about the technicalities of it – how planned it seemed, how little hesitation there was, how his grin stretched wider with each inch of mutilated fabric. Your mind was more focused on broader concepts – the all-encompassing hateyou felt for both of them, the acid sitting heavy and thick on your tongue. The fact that you’d already showed Bruce what you do if your life ever turned from unpleasant to unbearable, and the haunting awareness that he was sitting there and watching it happen again, this time from the comfort of his own bedroom.

Dick wasn’t helping. You hadn’t expected him to, but there was still a fresh sort of sting to the feeling of his mouth on your neck, to the sound of his voice in your ear. “So pretty,” he muttered, cupping your cunt through your panties. You lashed out at random, scratching at his chest, but Dick only chuckled, leaned into your assault as if he could pretend it was the sweetest, most saccharine form of affection. “So perfect, and all mine. Could’ve been doing this months ago, in a better world. Would’ve, if I had it my way.”

His thumb pressed harsh circles into your clit, made coarser by satin fabric. You let out a miserable whine, and Bruce clicked his tongue. “Too rough. She’ll bruise.” He moved closer to the side of the bed. “Use your mouth. She prefers it.”

Dick nipped at curve of your throat – another pitchy, humiliating sound. “I don’t hear any complaints.”

“Have I ever told you that, when I first brought you home, Alfred suggested having you neutered? Less hormones that way. A smoother rebellious phase, when you hit teens.” He drummed his fingers against his knee. “I wonder if it’s too late to reconsider the offer.”

Dick grumbled, but the message was clear enough. With one more lingering kiss, he was on his stomach between your legs, head buried between your thighs and tongue drawing shapes into the seat of your panties. You tried to keep your eyes shut, to imagine you were anywhere else, and when that failed to blur the images of claustrophobic car interiors or stop Dick from pulling the now-soaked fabric to the side, you went rigid and tried to sit up. Emphasis on tried. Bruce was already there, of course, holding your shoulders, easing you back down. He always seemed to be at your beck and call when you didn’t want his help.

He wasn’t smiling. You could still feel Dick’s as he ground the bridge of his nose into your clit, but Bruce wasn’t smiling. His gaze bore into your expression appraisingly, occasionally flitting to Dick to make sure his grip was still loose, his teeth kept behind lips. It took seconds for him to break, and even then, the extent of his falter was a sigh, a new set of crow’s feet on the corners of his eyes as he leaned down, pressing his lips into your forehead. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered, pulling away. As if you cared. As if he hadn’t already been yours. “Keep that pace. She’s getting closer.”

You weren’t. You really, really weren’t. But, you’d gotten so used to Bruce touching you every minute of every day, and you hadn’t even touched yourself in weeks, and Dick was moaning unabashedly as he fucked his tongue into your cunt – the reverberation steady and pulsing. You didn’t let yourself cum. You wouldn’t let yourself cum, but your thighs kept trying to shut around Dick’s head, and your skin felt like it was on the verge of melting away, and Bruce wouldn’t stop looking at you with the same slight, softened expression he put on whenever you tripped over your own feet or cried after a spanking. Dick’s fingertips bit into the plush of your thighs, and Bruce’s hand came up to cup your cheek. You tried to push him away, but even lifting your arms off of the mattress felt like a waste of energy. You wondered if playing dead would be more effective, would make them stop. You knew it wouldn’t. It hadn’t the first time.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, leaning down to kiss you. His lips were chapped, and his teeth scraped against your bottom lip too roughly, too clumsily. “And so generous, too. I always hoped you and the kids would get along but—” He paused, chuckled. “It might’ve gotten a little out of hand.”

You tried to open your mouth, to tell him he and his hoard of orphaned sex fiends could go to hell, but all that made it past your lips was a cracked, trembling sob. Bruce hushed you with a low coo, calloused fingers carding through your hair. “Daddy’s right here, honey. Just lie back and bear with me for a little longer, alright?”

As if you were having a tooth pulled. As if his oldest son didn’t have his head buried between your thighs, as if he wasn’t tracing his own name into your cunt over and over and over again. The flat of his tongue ran over your pussy, your clit, and with a stifled gasp, you were pushed over the edge, sent plummeting into an abyss of heat and tension and bright, white lights. Dick nursed you through your orgasm lovingly, but hastily, and Bruce turned his attention away from you to ruffle Dick’s hair. You tried not to linger on the gesture longer than you absolutely had to.

Eventually, Bruce moved aside, and Dick was on top of you again, his chest pressing into yours as he rushed to pull his shirt over his head, to undress in a way you hadn’t been given the choice to. You thought about calling out for Bruce, reaching for him, begging him to make it stop, but you were really too old to be entertaining fantasies. He’d already told you what you needed to do: lie there, shut up, and take it.

Dick wasn’t so pragmatic. He pushed a long, open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck, sucking and biting until you could be sure that you’d wear the bruise for weeks. You felt something hot and blunt slot against your entrance, but did your best to pretend it was only your imagination.

The contact was too much, too hot, too stifling. Dick’s tongue ran over your cheek, then he dipped lower – hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you.” And then, again, like there was a quantity of desperation that would make you believe him, “I love you.”

He might’ve believed it. You almost did, but then hips were grating against yours, his cock thrusting into you, and suddenly, you weren’t in a state to believe in love at all.

~

It was dark by the time you were allowed to leave the bedroom. Bruce insisted on a long, well-monitored bath and Dick held you against his chest like he was afraid you might be taken away from him, but eventually, Bruce took a call from Barbara and Dick fell into a deep enough sleep to make slipping away something more than a delusional, escapist fantasy.

Once free, you made your way to the kitchen, tore the framed band poster off the wall, and smashed it against the tile floor until the glass shattered. Dick found you less than a minute later, trying to pick up a few of the larger pieces with your bare hands.

He was still grinning. The expression seemed more off-kilter jagged than it should’ve been in the dim light, more patronizing as he lifted you onto the counter, checking your hands over for hairline cuts or other micro-injuries before squeezing them in his. “Stay right here. I’ll get something to clean up with, and—” His eyes moved from your hands to your face, and his voice cut out abruptly. “You’re so perfect,” he sighed, leaning down to press his lips into the apex of your wrist. “Let’s do it.”

Something sharp and hot stabbed into the back of your throat. More out of self-preservation than curiosity, you asked, “…do what?”

“Leave. Run. Get out of here.” Another kiss, this one to the base of your ring finger. It wasn’t hard to picture what kind of life he was imagining for you. “I’ll get a new place in Bludhaven. You’ll lie low for a little while. We’ll be together.”

You grit your teeth. Bruce and his ilk weren’t the type to play mind games with you, but only the most idiotic man you’d ever met, so deeply entrenched in his own delusions that there was no hope of ever dragging him back to the surface again, would’ve believed you had any love in your heart for him after you’d called him so many awful names. After you’d spent hours practically catatonic in his arms. After tonight.

Thankfully, the most idiotic, delusional man you’d ever met was standing in front of you right now. Little miracles, you guessed.

“You make me so happy, Dick.” You ran your fingers through his hair, and he melted into your palm. “It’s just – there’s one thing I’d like to do, first.”

“Anything. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

“I think I should talk to Jason.”

Immediately, Dick’s expression fell. “Why Jason?” 

“Just to tie off loose ends. Make sure I’m not leaving anything behind.” You forced yourself to smile, letting your head tilt to the side. “And then I’ll have the rest of my life to spend with you, right?”

You could practically see his eyes glazing over, the same way they had when he found you reading to Damian or chiding Duke for getting himself hurt. Your current reality immediately substituted for a glossier, more appealing replica – or, more appealing to Dick, at least.

“Right.” And then, with one last kiss pressed into your knuckles, “I love you.”

For once, the words didn’t taste so bitter on your tongue.

“I love you.”

~

Dick was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar. Bruce clung to you for the next few days – monitoring your diet, watching you sleep, fucking you with more care and more fervor than he ever had before. When he was forced to leave, he held you up until the point he absolutely had to go, then spent another few precious seconds promising Tim would take his place in twenty minutes. That didn’t matter, though. Jason was there in five.

You found him in the living room. He’d come through the balcony, left the door ajar and everything. A handgun was strapped to his thigh, and his helmet sat on his knee. He’d never worn it around you, not so far as you could remember.

Ever the coward, he left it up to you to break the silence. That was fair, in a way. You were the one who wanted to talk.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“You look like shit.”

He rubbed one of the dark, sunken circles under his eyes with the back of his hand. “B can’t keep us all trapped inside and sedated. Some of us have to be outdoor dogs.”

“Guess so.” You let a measured beat pass, then asked, “Wanna get out of here?”

There was a twitch at the corner of his lips, a spark of something familiar. By the time Tim was due to arrive, you were on the back of a black and red motorcycle, miles away from the nearest sky-scrapper.

Jason’s apartment was just how you remembered it – albeit, slightly less intimidating in daylight. Bloody clothes and dented body armor laid over couches and cluttered and tables. Drawers filled with bullet casing and pocketknives sat open, on display, while anything comforting or sentimental remained hidden in safes or behind closed doors. His corkboard had gained a few more pictures, and in the corner, there were new sketches of Dick and Bruce. They looked recent.

Steering clear of the makeshift bedroom, you collapsed onto a worn leather couch, sinking into the beaten cushions and savoring the feeling of a well-loved piece of furniture. Jason skirted around you, never lingering, never edging too close. You followed his erratic pacing in the corner of your eyes while you spoke.

“You haven’t visited me.”

One step forward, two back. Both hands shoved into pockets. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I’ve been bored to tears.” A pause, a breath of a laugh. “I didn’t realize how much I relied on you, back at the manor. The only people I can talk to now are either in on it or completely oblivious. I’m pretty sure Damian thinks I’ve driven his father insane.”

“He was like that before he met you.” A lap around the couch, then to the nearest window. “They all were. Dick can’t stand being along and Tim would jerk off to a cardboard box if it looked at him the right way.”

“It’s the girls now, too. I think Steph’s just having fun, but Cas…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “I feel a little bad for her. I mean – she’s so young, and she’s already been through so much. It’s hard to blame her for taking after a marathon of bad examples.”

That was enough to have Jason turning on his heel, making a beeline for the front door. You caught his wrist as he passed by. “Slow down. You’re acting like the building’s on fire.”

“Sorry, I just—”

You squeezed, and he sucked in a harsh breath, shutting his eyes. You did your best to keep your voice light, gentle. “When was the last time you got any sleep, Jason?”

“It’s been—” He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on you before quickly moving away. The answer was obvious enough. “—a while.”

“C’mon, Jay. You can’t live like this.” You tugged on his hand. “Why don’t you lay down for a few minutes? I don’t want to watch you fall apart on me.”

He swallowed, his shoulders squaring. There was a moment of reluctance, of hesitation before he asked, “Can I…?”

It wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted, not with his eyes trained so intensely on your lap. Smiling, you nodded, and in an instant, he was on his knees, limp and clutching at your ankles as he laid his head over your thighs. The position was awkward – he was too stiff, too tall – but you tried to make the best of it, running your fingers through his hair. At least he’d asked, this time.

“I’m sorry.” And then, again, his voice raw enough to break, “I’m sorry. I thought they’d back off, or we’d run away together, or—”

“You didn’t want to run away with me.” With your free hand, you patted down your jacket pocket. “And that’s alright. You’re a part of a family. I was never going to ask you to leave them.”

You could practically feel him try to deny, try to say that if you ever asked, he would’ve in a heartbeat. In the end, though, it was all he could do to sigh, sinking further into you. “I love you.”

How many times had you heard that, lately? You tried to remember if Bruce had ever parroted the same phrase. “I love you too, Jason.”

Tucked inside, your fingertips brushed against something hard and jagged. You curled your hand around it. “Every day, I had to watch them pretend they felt the same way about you, watch you pretend to tolerate it. It was like having to rip my own heart out of my chest.”

A sharpened edge sliced into your palm, breaking the skin. You ignored it. “That must’ve been hell.”

“I shouldn’t complain. You had it worse. Obviously, you have it worse.” His nails bit into your calves. “I’ll kill them. If they’ve so much as looked at you, I’ll kill them.”

You hated it when they lied to you.

You couldn’t wait any longer – didn’t have a reason to. In one motion, you tore the long, ragged piece of glass out of your pocket and stabbed it into Jason’s shoulder.

You’d managed to hide it before Dick found you huddled over the broken frame, stowed it away on your person as soon as you realized Bruce was going to take his eyes off of you. Reflexively, Jason jerked back, clamoring for the gun on his waist, but he was staggered, caught off-guard, and you weren’t. Your fist was already curled around the grip, already dragging the weapon out of its holster and forcing the muzzle against his stomach. Your index finger rested on the trigger, the safety disabled, but you didn’t shoot.

“Please,” you whispered, instead, as Jason froze against you. “Don’t say anything, don’t stand – just back up. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he did as he was told. Staying on his knees, he edged back, giving you enough space to push yourself to your feet. You kept the gun trained on his chest, never once turning away. His distraught expression had twisted into something more raw, something more angry. Not hateful, but hurt, betrayed. You knew the look well.

“Drop it, (Y/n). You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You tilted the barrel down, shut your eyes, and fired. There was a crash of deafening noise, the pure force of recoil, and then Jason’s muffled cursing. By the time you could bring yourself to look, he was  clutching his ankle, fresh blood seeping through his fingers. “I spent a lot of time with Alfred. I mean, a lot. Basically whenever I wasn’t on the verge of getting molested by you and your gang of traumatized fetishists.” You took a step backward, then another, inching your way to the door. Eventually, your back pressed into wood. “I know you keep cash on-hand – for when Bruce finally cuts you off. Slide it to me.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” His laugh was awful, barking, pained. “Go ahead, baby. I’ll finish the job myself if you leave me.”

He wouldn’t. Jason wasn’t that directly self-destructive, none of them were.

Thankfully, you’d always had a little more motivation.

The muzzle was hot against your skin where you pressed it into the underside of your jaw. Jason’s expression didn’t drop, but it changed, stilled, every thought save for those of preservation erased in a fraction of a second.

You didn’t have to make your demands twice. He rummaged one of the holsters on his belt, and then, a stack of hundred-dollar bills was lying at your feet, secured by a single band pulled taut. You let the gun drift from your jaw to your temple as you bent to pick it up, watching Jason all the while.

Finally, you grappled for the knob behind you, sliding deadbolts out of place and turning locks until you stood in an empty doorway. You were free to leave, free to go, but you lingered, keeping your eyes on Jason.

“If you ever really loved me,” you said, fighting to keep your voice even, your hand steady. “You won’t try to find me.”

He might’ve said something. He looked like he was going to, but you were already over the threshold. The door was shut before he could try to convince you to stay.

Once safe on the other side, you lowered the gun to your side, took a deep breath, and started to run.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ignorantia Neminem Excusat

(Ignorance excuses no one, lat.)

"Commissioner."

Jim Gordon doesn't jump. They are years and years into this rodeo, he's stopped actually jumping at Batman's silent approach a long time ago. Yet, Bruce still notices the way his shoulders twitch just the tiniest bit, and his hand makes an aborted motion to his gun holster. Still got it.

The man turns around. Bruce can see the 'must you always do that?' in his slightly narrowed eyes. He presses his lips tightly together in order to not smirk: Batman doesn't do that, even if it's admittedly funny to see the seasoned Commissioner get spooked every time.

"There's a kid that wants to speak with you."

Bruce frowns. A kid that warranted a BatSignal? Not that he minds, but this is highly unusual for several reasons; however, Jim is not the kind of man that would fall for puppy eyes of any level, so it must be something more important than an autograph session or a victim of any of the recent cases.

Besides, the way Commissioner worded it implies that the kid, whoever they are, requested Batman specifically.

"He is a hacker," Jim puts both his hands in the pockets of his coat — he is either cold or uncomfortable, and Bruce highly suspects it's both. What's more, he starts to understand why. "I'm sure you're aware we were trying to track the person responsible for the few recent cyber attacks on GCPD servers," Jim glances at him, and Bruce nods. He is aware, yes, but the case was low-priority — it wasn't even an attack, really, someone just accessed the system foregoing the passwords and clearance levels, went through a few files, seemingly at random, and did a fairly decent job of hiding their traces. Bruce would have even thought it was Tim, if this happened a few years ago, when the boy was just learning the ropes.

Commissioner sighs and looks away, "But when we brought him in, the boy said he will only speak to you, and none of us have been able to make him say a word since." He pauses, a grim kind of expression on his face, "This was six hours ago."

Bruce is grateful for the way his cowl hides how his eyebrows raise. There are hundreds of scripts officers, detectives, and social workers can use to establish contact. Quite a lot of them could be attempted in the span of six hours.

Whatever the kid wants to tell him, Bruce decides it's worth a try. If not anything else, he can at least admire the sheer stubbornness.

—×—×—×—

The kid sitting in the interrogation room looks... younger than Bruce expected. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He is dressed like any other homeless kid in Gotham — a hoodie and a jacket over it, jeans that look a size too big on him, sneakers with mismatched shoelaces — but he clearly hasn't been out in the streets for that long. His hair is braided into cornrows, and it looks professional, even if the roots have grown out so now it's just messy. What's more, he is missing that telltale wariness in his posture that Bruce has seen in every other street kid that has been brought into a police station. They always slouch and curl into themselves.

This boy is sitting with his back straight. Yet, there's a tension in his body that Bruce can only associate with a battle stance — give him the slightest reason, and the kid will lunge.

He steps into the room.

The boy — he hadn't given a name, and there wasn't a single ID on him — zeroes on him instantly. His eyes are a very pale, almost translucent green: a rather strange feature for a black-skinned person, genetically speaking, but Bruce doesn't dwell on it. Yet.

But then, the face recognition program comes up empty.

As in, 'there's not a trace of this person's prior existence' empty. Not a single camera footage, no records or reports of missing, no pictures, no social media, nothing. Bruce frowns.

"Hi," the kid says, his voice raspy, "My name is Tucker Foley. According to the government, I don't exist, so if your recognition program doesn't find anything on me, that's why."

Bruce doesn't say anything. Tucker wanted to speak with him, and previously, he was only merely intrigued by that request. However, as of right now, he wants to hear everything the kid has to say before asking any follow-up questions.

Because that always present, cautious and bordering on paranoid voice in the back of his mind tells him he is about to get into something way more serious than he expected.

Tucker moves — he kept both his hands on the table, palms open and visible, but now he closes one into a fist. Although, before Bruce can react to it, he opens it again. A small, the size of a flash-drive, dimly glowing green object rests inside.

"Do you know what this is?" The boy asks. He hasn't looked away from Batman's face once; Bruce is not even sure he blinked at all since he entered the room. Come to think of it, even with his tense, rigid posture, Tucker is too still, almost unnervingly so.

Bruce glances down to the boy's hand.

"Yes," he answers curtly, and there it is, the smallest shift in Tucker's face: he clenches his jaw like he's trying to hold the words inside his mouth. Bruce doesn't like it.

"What is it?" Comes the next question, but it's not curiosity that prompts it. It's a test of some sort. Bruce likes that even less.

"A power source," he decides on a neutral answer, not entirely certain what the boy is expecting to hear.

It seems to be a wrong answer because for the first time, Tucker's emotions slip from under his mask, and he takes a sharp breath in, looking like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. It lasts only a moment — Tucker closes his eyes for a moment, slowly exhales, and speaks again, calm and focused once more.

"And what exactly powers it?"

It's an important question, judging by the desperate, searching look in Tucker's eyes. His hands are not shaking, and there are no visible signs of distress, but for some reason, Bruce just knows that the boy's whole life seems to depend on the answer.

But.

"It's classified." Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the boy, but he still fails to see when he gets to his feet; the movement is quicker than the blink of an eye. All he knows is the aftermath of it, the screech of the chair legs on the floor and the loud slam of Tucker's palms on the table.

"Fuck the classified!" The boy yells, his face twisting in an awful mix of anger, hurt and a broken, terrified sort of hopelessness that almost breaks Bruce from the inside. "I need to know what they've told you, I have to- Tell me you think it's just a battery! Tell me you've never broke one to see what's inside, tell me you believe in science! They've showed you the research, didn't they?" Tucker's voice, so agonizingly different from the composed way he was talking before, breaks into a sobbing, almost hysterical laugh. His pale eyes are wide open and almost panicked, searching Batman's face for something he is not sure he can find.

"Tell me you've never seen one being made," this time, the boy doesn't yell, he whispers, his breath hitching and his knuckles white. "Please," he adds a moment later, and Bruce knows this kind of plea.

It's the plea of someone who is begging for the world to have mercy on them. A plea of a boy standing on their parents' grave, a plea of a man kneeled in front of his son's corpse.

Bruce swallows the bitter taste on the back of his tongue and takes a step closer. He sees the boy in front of him lean back and bend his knees, like bracing for impact, but he answers before any more misunderstandings can occur.

"I have seen the research. It provided enough information that I've never investigated further," he offers, and Tucker's shoulders slump like months and months of living in a constant state of fight-or-flight leaving his body all at once. Then, the boy's hands start trembling just slightly.

"Really?" He quietly asks, his eyes still glued to Batman, and there it is, the hesitant, uncertain hint of hope in his voice.

Bruce suddenly feels like not only this talk will be much, much worse than he ever feared, but also like in the end this will be another one of the things he will be blaming himself for. Things he could have prevented if he just tried a little harder.

"Really," he nods, taking a seat opposite from Tucker. "So explain what I've missed."

The boy keeps looking at him for a few more seconds, like trying to x-ray his thoughts for any sign of a lie. But then he blinks — for the first time, maybe — and rubs his face with his palm before all but dropping back in his own seat.

"Okay," he breathes out, evidently trying to collect himself and go back to the strong, focused self, "Okay."

[ part 2 -> ]

[customantibodymarket]

https://www.maximizemarketresearch.com/market-report/voice-recognition-system-market/1108/

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown 🌑 Lilith in the Houses

There’s a part of you that doesn’t ask for permission. A part that remembers what it felt like to be silenced, shamed, exiled, for simply being whole. That part has a name: Lilith.

In your birth chart, Lilith shows where you’ve been told your power is “too much.” Too loud. Too angry. Too sensual. Too intuitive. It’s where you carry a refusal to shrink, even when doing so would make you easier to love.

1st House

They noticed you before you had the chance to know who you were. You were named, labeled, sexualized, misunderstood, before you even chose your own reflection. People projected onto you what they feared or wanted. You learned to either shrink or fight back, but either way, you were never neutral. Lilith here isn’t asking for softness, she’s asking for ownership. You don’t have to be likeable to be real.

2nd House

You were told to want less. Need less. Be grateful. You learned that wanting more made you selfish. That pleasure had a price, and value had to be earned. So you kept shrinking your needs until they looked polite enough to keep. Lilith here is done with that. Your body knows what it’s worth. Your hunger is not a flaw, it’s a compass.

3rd House

You learned to bite your tongue before your words ever found their edge. Maybe you spoke up too soon. Or too much. Maybe you were told to keep the peace. Or stay small. Lilith here holds the grief of being silenced before your truth could bloom. But that truth? It's still there. And it doesn’t need permission to be said anymore. You don’t have to be digestible to be understood.

4th House

You made yourself quiet to be loved. Love came with rules: be good, be still, don’t ask for too much. Lilith here carries the ache of inherited shame, the kind that gets passed through generations like china: fragile, silent, sacred. But you weren’t born to carry your lineage’s guilt. You were born to end it. You are allowed to be safe without being small.

5th House

You learned to edit your joy. You turned the volume down on your radiance. Because someone said it made you “too much,” “too loud,” “too visible.” Lilith in the 5th remembers a time when being seen was dangerous. But she’s also the voice that says: Be bright anyway. Be messy, be wild, be luminous. And stop apologizing for the art of simply being alive.

6th House

You were taught to disappear into service. Your usefulness became your identity. You overperformed. Overextended. Overgave. And somewhere in the repetition, you forgot what it felt like to just exist. Lilith here is tired of being a machine. She demands that you stop calling self-sacrifice love. You don’t owe anyone your depletion.

7th House

You kept abandoning yourself for love that didn’t know how to stay. You played roles, softened edges, dimmed your truth to stay chosen. But Lilith in the 7th house holds a mirror to every relationship that asked you to disappear. She doesn’t want revenge. She wants recognition. Love doesn’t mean losing yourself. You can be chosen without being edited.

8th House

You were taught that power lives in secrecy. But secrets become cages. You’ve seen how intimacy turns to control. How sex can become currency. How silence can rot you from the inside. Lilith in the 8th wants the whole truth. Even if it shatters the illusion. You’re not here to perform closeness. You’re here to reclaim it.

9th House

You were told what to believe. Who to be. What to worship. But your soul doesn’t follow rules, it follows resonance. Lilith here sets fire to false teachers, empty doctrines, and the quiet ways belief has been weaponized. You don’t want to rebel. You want to be free. And freedom starts with trusting your own questions more than their answers.

10th House

You’ve been punished for your ambition. Or worse, praised for it in ways that felt like control. You’ve been told to behave. To lead politely. To climb without taking up space. Lilith in the 10th house isn’t interested in pleasing the system. She wants to dismantle it. You don’t owe the world a sanitized version of success. You’re allowed to lead in a way that doesn’t leave you empty.

11th House

You’ve learned what it means to be tolerated instead of truly seen. Lilith here has been exiled from the group. Not because she was wrong, but because she was inconvenient. Your vision makes people uncomfortable. Your truth challenges the collective script. Good. This is where you stop trying to fit in. And start building spaces where you never have to ask if you belong.

12th House

You’ve hidden so much of yourself you forgot what was yours. Lilith in the 12th house is a quiet scream. She’s the part of you that still flinches when you feel too much, want too much, remember too deeply. But she doesn’t want to be healed. She wants to be held. This is where you stop exiling your shadow. And finally let the unseen be sacred again.

🌙 Your birth chart holds more than traits — it holds truth. 📖 Decode it with my book, step by step.

[jasonryudotnet]

SK텔레콤, 업그레이드된 자동차 전용 AI 플랫폼 '누구 오토 2.0' 선보여

SK텔레콤이 업그레이드된 자동차 전용 AI 플랫폼 ‘누구 오토 2.0’을 선보였습니다. ‘루틴 서비스’를 비롯해 편의성을 높이는 한편 다양한 인포테인먼트 콘텐츠가 추가되었습니다. #sk텔레콤 #누구오토 #음성인식ai #볼보

SK텔레콤이 2023년 10월 16일에 업그레이드된 자동차 전용 AI 플랫폼 ‘누구 오토(NUGU auto) 2.0’을 선보였습니다. ‘누구 오토’는 자동차 사용에 최적화된 음성인식 전처리 기술을 적용한 SK텔레콤의 자동차 전용 AI 플랫폼으로, 2021년 9월에 처음 선보인 이후 2년여 만에 큰 규모로 업데이트가 이루어졌습니다. SK텔레콤의 ‘누구 오토 2.0’ 실행 화면 누구 오토 2.0 업데이트에서는 사용자가 별도 조작 없이 운전에 더욱 집중할 수 있는 ‘루틴 서비스’가 새로 선보였고, 그밖에 다양한 인포테인먼트 콘텐츠도 추가되었습니다. ‘루틴 서비스’는 운전자가 차에서 자주 쓰는 기능들을 한 번에 실행할 수 있도록 개인화된 경험을 제공하는 것이 특징입니다. 운전자가 반복해서 사용하고 확인하는…

[cyberclouddream]

Inheritances from Mother

This can also be hidden or suppressed aspects of your mother or key maternal figure.

Aries/Mars in the 12th House

sharp intense gaze with bright eyes; high energy levels or quick metabolism; strong or angular facial features, like prominent cheekbones

impulsiveness or eagerness to take action; competitive streak, or a natural drive to "win" or come first; very direct communication style, often blunt or straightforward

prone to headaches or stress-related tension; strong cardiovascular system; quick recovery from minor injuries or illness

Talents: strong athletic ability; natural leadership skills; starting projects enthusiastically; rallying people together

Mars: hidden injuries or tendencies to ignore signs or stress or fatigue; tend to have sudden bursts of energy followed by exhaustion, benefiting from alone time, repressed anger or competitive spirit

Taurus/Venus in the 12th House

sturdy or well-defined build with natural strength; smooth, often attractive skin; love for physical comforts, like blankets, plush toys, or scented candles

stubbornness and persistence in achieving goals; appreciation for luxury, beauty or sensory pleasure; tendency to take your time, like preferring a steady, relaxed pace

struggles with weight management; sensitive throat or neck, making you prone to colds or allergies; good stamina

Talents: eye for beauty and aesthetics, whether in art or design; culinary skills, particularly at making delicious meals; strong gardening or nurturing abilities

Venus: tendencies towards indulgence or escapism, particularly through food and comfort, which can lead to weight fluctuations or emotional eating

Gemini/Mercury in the 12th House

quick movements and expressive hands; youthful appearance, often look younger than their age; clear, communicative voice, often melodic/musical or chatty

curiosity or thirst for knowledge; "gift of gab", with a tendency to talk a lot, like carrying a conversation for ages without breaking a sweat; restless mind, always jumping from what idea to the next

energetic but may experience anxiety or insomnia; respiratory issues, like allergies or asthma; fast metabolism, tend to keep their weight in check without much effort

Talents: excellent communication skills, both written and verbal; quick adaptability to new situations or environments; talent for storytelling or entertaining others through humor

Mercury: mental restlessness and difficulty expressing feelings; anxiety and overthinking, benefiting from outlets for their thoughts like journaling or talking to friends

Cancer/Moon in the 12th House

round, gentle features or a soft face; sensitive stomach or digestive system; drawn to nostalgic objects, like family heirlooms or photos

deep emotional intuition and empathy; protective instincts, especially toward family or loved ones; moodiness, emotions shift easily

sensitive digestive system, affected by stress or emotions; tendency to hold onto water weight, making hydration important; strong immune system but may feel physically off when emotionally drained

Talents: great at understanding emotions; good intuitive abilities; nurturing skills, whether in caregiving or teaching; strong artistic talents, especially in visual arts or music

Moon: strong connection to your subconscious; strong emotional sensitivity; fluctuating moods or struggles with boundaries

Leo/Sun in the 12th House

thick, voluminous hair that draws attention; strong, upright posture with natural confidence; eye-catching personal style, with a tendency towards bold colors or statement pieces

need for recognition or acknowledgement; big-hearted and generous nature, often giving freely to those they care about; natural leadership qualities, with a tendency to step into authority or inspire others

tend to recover quickly from ailments; prone to heart-related issues, if they don’t manage stress well; high energy levels, benefiting from activities like dancing or sports

Talents: charismatic or performance skills, whether in acting or music; creative talents, particularly in theater or visual arts; strong leadership abilities that motivate and uplift others

Sun: struggles with self-identity and recognition, leading to feelings of insecurity; may experience burnout from needing constant validation, which impacts their mental health and energy levels

Virgo/Mercury in the 12th House

clear, glowing skin due to focus on health and cleanliness; precise, meticulous hand movements or gestures (type to fold a fitted sheet perfectly); good physical health, with a focus on taking care of themselves

always noticing small things or obsessed with details in some way (may ask questions often); analytical thinkers, love to solve problems and make sense of things; super organized, their space tends to be tidy and efficient

health conscious, often focusing on nutrition and wellness; prone to digestive issues due to stress levels or perfectionism; good overall health but may struggle with anxiety or overthinking

Talents: exceptional organizational skills and attention to detail; analytical abilities, particularly in problem-solving or research; talents in health and wellness, whether through fitness or nutrition

Mercury: perfectionism or overcritical thoughts, potentially resulting in anxiety or health issues; difficulty in recognizing own needs

Libra/Venus in the 12th House

symmetrical facial features or well-balanced appearance; graceful movements, often with a sense of poise; knack for fashion, good at stylish or coordinated outfits

diplomatic nature, tends to see all sides; people-pleasing tendencies; love for aesthetics, beauty, and creating balance

prone to stress-related issues, especially when dealing with conflict; strong skin and overall health but may need to watch their weight; social activities often promote your overall wellbeing

Talents: diplomatic skills and ability to meditate conflicts; aesthetic talents, particularly in design or fashion; creative writing skills, especially in poetry or romantic themes

Venus: people-pleasing behaviors that mask your own needs; tendencies to be stressed or anxious in relationships (romantic, platonic, domestic)

Scorpio/Mars/Pluto in the 12th House

intense, piercing eyes that seem to “see through” people; strong physical endurance or resilience; drawn to dark or mysterious objects, like amulets or crystals

super passionate, going all in on what they love; inquisitive nature, having a knack for uncovering hidden truths; natural air of mystery, keeping people guessing

strong stamina and resilience; prone to emotional stress, which can manifest as physical symptoms; strong immune system, tends to recover well from illness

Talents: ability to understand complex emotional dynamics; talents in investigation, whether in research or detective work; creative expression through deep, impactful storytelling or art

Pluto: struggles with deep-seated fears or hidden emotions, which can manifest as intense psychological experiences

Sagittarius/Jupiter in the 12th House

long legs or a tendency towards an athletic build; strong, healthy liver and digestive system; fondness for travel gear or souvenirs from different places

adventurous spirit, always seeking new experiences; optimistic outlook, with a natural sense of humor; restlessness, always seeking freedom or something new

often need regular physical activity to feel their best; prone to accidents or injuries from their adventurous spirit; good digestion but needs to monitor caffeine intake

Talents: natural teaching abilities, especially in philosophical or cultural subjects; gifted storytelling or public speaking skills that inspire others; athletic talents, particularly in outdoor sports or activities

Jupiter: tendency to seek escapism through travel or adventure; struggles with excessive optimism, leading to disappointment when reality doesn’t match their expectations

Capricorn/Saturn in the 12th House

strong bone structure, often with prominent features; natural resilient, especially to illness; inclination towards classic or timeless objects, like leather wallets or old watches

strong sense of responsibility and duty; practicality and grounded approach to life; discipline and perseverance, often willing to work hard

strong bones; prone to stress-related issues, especially from work; tend to have good long-term health habits, benefiting from routine and discipline

Talents: strong work ethic and determination to achieve goals; natural leadership skills, especially in structured environments; talents in business or finance; particularly in strategic planning

Saturn: feelings of isolation or self-doubt, often related to stress-related health issues; challenges with letting go of control

Aquarius/Saturn/Uranus in the 12th House

unique facial features or unconventional beauty; slim or wiry build, with a tendency towards quick movements; love for tech or quirky objects that showcase their individuality

independent spirit, needing their freedom and space to be themselves; unconventional thinking, often challenging norms; friendly yet somewhat detached in social situations, hard to read sometimes

generally good health, but may experience sudden illnesses due to their busy lifestyle; prone to circulatory issues or cold extremities due to their “unique” physiology

Talents: innovative think and problem-solving abilities; talents in technology, science, or humanitarian efforts; creative expression through unique art forms or performances

Uranus: unconventional thought patterns and a sense of detachment; struggles with feeling misunderstood, which can affect emotional health and relationships

Pisces/Jupiter/Neptune in the 12th House

dreamy, often soft or gentle eyes; sensitive feet or appreciation for comfortable shoes (like therapeutic socks or shoes); drawn to water-related objects or environments, like the beach, rivers, or fountains

highly intuitive and in tune with emotions; imaginative, with a natural artistic or creative flair; empathetic and compassionate, often feeling others’ emotions deeply

sensitive immune system, often catch colds or infections more easily; prone to stress-related issues, especially if they don’t take care of their mental health; tend to escape through food or habits that aren’t always the healthiest

Talents: creative abilities in music, art, or writing that resonates with others; strong intuition and empathetic skills; tend to be good listeners; talents in healing or counseling, particularly in spiritual or holistic practices

Neptune: deep connection to collective unconscious, leading to heightened sensitivity and empathy; struggles with escapism; need to be mindful of their emotional boundaries

[pathologicalreid]

central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

[precallai]

How AI-Based Contact Centers Are Transforming Healthcare Support

Introduction

In recent years, the healthcare industry has undergone a technological revolution, and one of the most transformative innovations is the integration of artificial intelligence (AI) into contact centers. AI-based contact centers are redefining how healthcare organizations interact with patients, manage inquiries, and deliver timely support. These advanced systems offer a powerful combination of automation, data-driven insights, and personalized communication that can significantly enhance patient experiences and operational efficiency.

The Need for Smarter Healthcare Support

Healthcare is a complex and sensitive industry where timely and accurate information can be a matter of life and death. Traditional contact centers, which rely heavily on human agents, often struggle to keep up with increasing patient volumes, regulatory complexities, and the need for 24/7 support. Long wait times, inconsistent service, and data management issues have plagued these systems for years.

With growing patient expectations and the increasing demand for telehealth and remote care services, the need for smarter, more efficient support systems is more pressing than ever. Enter AI-powered contact centers.

What Are AI-Based Contact Centers?

AI-based contact centers leverage technologies such as natural language processing (NLP), machine learning (ML), voice recognition, and predictive analytics to automate and enhance customer interactions. These systems can understand, interpret, and respond to voice or text-based communications in real time.

Key components of AI-based contact centers include:

AI-powered chatbots and virtual assistants for first-level support

Voice recognition and speech analytics for real-time call routing and analysis

Predictive analytics for understanding patient behavior and anticipating needs

Intelligent routing systems that connect patients with the most appropriate resource

Automation tools for appointment scheduling, billing inquiries, and follow-ups

Benefits of AI Contact Centers in Healthcare

1. Improved Patient Access and Experience

AI-based contact centers provide 24/7 access to information, helping patients get answers to their questions at any time—without needing to wait for business hours or a human representative. Virtual agents can handle common inquiries like clinic hours, prescription refills, and appointment scheduling, allowing human agents to focus on more complex or sensitive issues.

For example, a patient can interact with a virtual assistant to reschedule an appointment or request lab results, improving the overall experience and reducing frustration.

2. Reduced Wait Times and Operational Efficiency

One of the most noticeable impacts of AI in healthcare contact centers is the dramatic reduction in wait times. Automated systems can simultaneously handle thousands of interactions, eliminating bottlenecks. This scalability is particularly important during public health emergencies, seasonal flu outbreaks, or vaccine rollouts when call volumes surge.

AI also streamlines internal workflows by automating routine tasks, reducing the burden on healthcare staff and allowing them to focus on patient care.

3. Personalized Patient Engagement

AI systems can analyze a patient’s previous interactions, medical history, and preferences to deliver personalized support. Whether it’s reminding a diabetic patient to check their blood sugar or notifying a patient about a needed screening, AI enables proactive outreach based on individual health profiles.

Such personalized engagement improves patient adherence to treatment plans and fosters a stronger relationship between patients and healthcare providers.

4. Enhanced Data Management and Compliance

Managing patient data securely and in compliance with regulations like HIPAA is a major challenge in healthcare. AI-based systems are designed to handle data with high accuracy and security. They can automatically log interactions, detect anomalies, and ensure that sensitive information is stored and transmitted safely.

Additionally, AI can help monitor calls and messages for compliance breaches, flagging any potential risks for review and helping organizations maintain regulatory standards.

5. Better Resource Allocation

AI contact centers can intelligently route calls and messages based on urgency, subject matter, and patient history. For instance, a patient calling about chest pain can be prioritized over someone calling for a routine appointment. This ensures that critical issues are addressed quickly while reducing the workload on clinical staff.

Moreover, analytics generated by AI tools help administrators identify peak call times, common issues, and areas for improvement, allowing for better planning and resource deployment.

Real-World Applications

Several healthcare providers and organizations have already implemented AI-powered contact centers with impressive results:

Cleveland Clinic uses AI to streamline appointment scheduling and answer general health questions through virtual assistants, significantly reducing call center volume.

Kaiser Permanente has incorporated AI chatbots into their patient portals to assist with FAQs, prescription management, and test results, freeing up human agents for more nuanced care coordination.

UK’s National Health Service (NHS) piloted AI tools to manage COVID-19-related inquiries, which played a critical role in triaging patient needs and distributing information during the pandemic.

Challenges and Considerations

While AI-based contact centers offer significant benefits, they also come with challenges:

Privacy and Security: Protecting patient data is paramount. AI systems must comply with strict healthcare regulations and implement robust cybersecurity measures.

Accuracy and Reliability: AI tools must be trained on diverse and representative data sets to avoid errors, miscommunication, or bias.

Human Touch: Not all patient interactions can or should be handled by machines. Ensuring a seamless hand-off from AI to human agents is crucial for maintaining trust and empathy in care delivery.

Cost and Implementation: While long-term cost savings are significant, the upfront investment in AI infrastructure can be substantial, particularly for smaller healthcare providers.

The Future of AI in Healthcare Support

As AI technologies continue to advance, the future of AI-based contact centers in healthcare looks promising. Integration with electronic health records (EHRs), wearable devices, and remote monitoring systems will enable even deeper personalization and automation.

Voice-enabled AI assistants may soon conduct basic triage, schedule follow-ups, or assist clinicians in documenting patient visits. Predictive analytics will become increasingly sophisticated, allowing providers to proactively intervene before a patient’s condition worsens.

Moreover, AI’s role in multilingual support and accessibility for people with disabilities could make healthcare more inclusive and equitable.

Conclusion

AI-based contact centers are not just a technological upgrade—they represent a fundamental shift in how healthcare organizations interact with patients. By improving access, efficiency, personalization, and compliance, these systems have the potential to dramatically enhance both patient outcomes and healthcare delivery.

As the healthcare landscape continues to evolve, organizations that embrace AI-powered communication will be better positioned to meet rising patient expectations and navigate the challenges of modern care. The future of healthcare support is not just smarter—it’s more human, more responsive, and more connected than ever before.

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 2nd through the houses

when you track the ruler of the 2nd house through the houses, you’re looking at how you make money, where your values lie, what you prioritize, and what brings you a sense of security and self-worth.

1st House 🏡:

I am the resource.

Your body, presence, or identity is a source of value. You might attract wealth through personal branding, entrepreneurship, or just being YOU. Confidence = currency. You naturally radiate value, but must learn to own it.

2nd House 🏡:

Born to build.

This is a powerful placement for money, stability, and long-term growth. You naturally know how to build wealth and manage your resources. You’re probably very grounded and value quality over quantity. Shadow side hoarding, fear of change, or stubbornness.

3rd House 🏡:

Money through the mind.

Your voice, ideas, or communication skills are your goldmine. You might make money through writing, teaching, media, or even tech. You value curiosity, mental stimulation, and versatility. Prone to having scattered energy or difficulty monetizing ideas. Your Strength = quick thinking, adaptability, networking = resource magnet.

4th House 🏡:

Home is the foundation of wealth.

You could inherit money, make money through property, or work from home. Emotional security and family support directly affect your money flow. Your values are deeply rooted in your upbringing.

5th House 🏡:

Creative currency.

You attract money through self-expression, creativity, pleasure, or even romance. Think artists, performers, designers — or people who monetize their passions. You value joy, fun, and being seen. Shadow side here = risky money behavior; tying worth to external validation.

6th House 🏡:

Work = worth.

You build wealth slowly and steadily through dedicated effort, skill development, and service. You might work in healing, wellness, administration, or service industries. You value discipline and reliability. Overworking or tying self-worth to productivity may be a problem for you. Relax and give urself grace.

7th House 🏡:

Money through others.

Your values and income may come through partnerships, collaborations, or clients. Business and romantic relationships affect your money deeply. You value harmony, balance, and reciprocity. Be careful of falling into financial dependency or people-pleasing around money.

8th House 🏡:

The wealth alchemist.

You’re drawn to shared resources, investments, and transformative wealth. You might make money through occult work, finance, psychology, or sex-related fields. Power, trust, and depth play a big role in your money story.

9th House 🏡:

Expand to receive.

You attract abundance through travel, teaching, spirituality, law, or publishing. You value freedom, knowledge, and growth. Belief systems around wealth are HUGE here — mindset is everything.

10th House 🏡:

Public success = personal wealth.

You may gain money and security through career, status, or reputation. You value ambition, recognition, and doing something that matters. This placement often pushes you toward visible leadership or high positions.

11th House 🏡:

Money through the collective.

You earn through networks, innovation, tech, or social causes. Think online businesses, group work, or digital platforms. You value progress, originality, and future-oriented thinking. Be careful of being overreliance on external validation or digital platforms. Your unique ideas, group alignment, big-picture wealth building is where it’s at.

12th House 🏡:

Mystical money flow.

This is the most non-linear placement. You may make money through spiritual work, healing, art, or behind-the-scenes roles. Money may come and go mysteriously, and your values are more ethereal than material.

[rikizzts]

──── RISKY WHISPERS

✎ᝰ.ᐟ A night out at a crowded club with Heeseung takes a thrilling turn when his teasing touches in public ignite a desire neither of you can resist.

♡ જ⁀➴ Idol!Heeseung (ENHYPEN) x Female Reader

જ⁀★ Smut, public sex, slight exhibitionism, fingering, unprotected sex, explicit language.

The club was a pulsing, chaotic sea of lights and music, the bass vibrating through your body as you moved with the crowd. Heeseung’s hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you through the throng of dancers, his touch a constant reminder of his presence. You’d come out with him and a few friends, a rare night where he could blend into the crowd, his cap pulled low to avoid recognition. But even in the dim lighting, you could feel the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes lingered on you like you were the only person in the room.

You wore a tight dress that hugged your curves, and you knew from the way Heeseung’s jaw tightened when he saw you that it was driving him crazy. Now, pressed close to him on the dancefloor, you could feel the heat of his body, his hands wandering just a little too low, his fingers grazing the hem of your dress.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured into your ear, his voice low and husky, barely audible over the music. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “This dress… you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

You smirked, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am,” you teased, swaying your hips to the beat, brushing against him deliberately. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, and you could see the restraint in his eyes starting to fray.

“Careful,” he warned, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. “You keep that up, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

“Who says I want you to?” you shot back, emboldened by the alcohol in your system and the electric atmosphere of the club. His eyes darkened, and before you could say another word, he spun you around, your back pressed against his chest as he pulled you close.

His hands slid down your sides, one settling on your hip while the other slipped under the hem of your dress, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh. You gasped, the touch sending a jolt of heat through you, but the crowd was too caught up in the music to notice. The thrill of being touched like this in public, where anyone could see if they looked too closely, made your pulse race.

“Heeseung…” you whispered, your voice shaky as his fingers inched higher, teasing the edge of your panties. The club’s darkness and the press of bodies around you gave you just enough cover, but the risk was undeniable.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck. “You wanted to play, didn’t you? Let’s see how quiet you can be.” His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding you already wet, and he groaned softly against your ear. “Fuck, you’re so ready for me.”

You bit your lip, stifling a moan as his fingers slid over your clit, slow and deliberate. The music drowned out any sounds you might’ve made, but you were hyper-aware of every touch, every movement. His other hand kept you anchored against him, his hips subtly grinding against your ass, letting you feel how hard he was.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” he whispered, his voice rough with want as he circled your clit, his fingers dipping lower to tease your entrance. “Knowing anyone could see… does that turn you on, baby?”

You nodded, unable to form words, your head falling back against his shoulder as he pushed a finger inside you. The stretch was subtle but intense, and you clenched around him, your body begging for more. He added a second finger, curling them just right, and you had to grip his arm to keep yourself steady.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a low growl. “Taking it so well right here in front of everyone.” The words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and you felt yourself spiraling, the risk and his touch pushing you dangerously close to the edge.

“Heeseung, please…” you whimpered, your voice barely audible. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for—more, or for him to stop before you lost control entirely.

He chuckled, the sound dark and promising. “Not yet,” he said, pulling his fingers out just as you were about to tip over the edge. You whined at the loss, but he was already moving, guiding you through the crowd toward a darker corner of the club, where the lights were dimmer and the crowd thinner.

He pressed you against a wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he caged you in. His lips crashed into yours, hungry and desperate, and you kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands tugging at his shirt. “Need you now,” he muttered between kisses, his hands already hiking your dress up to your hips.

“Here?” you asked, breathless, the thrill of it making your heart race. The alcove was secluded, but you could still hear the music, still see the faint outlines of people dancing just beyond the shadows.

“Here,” he confirmed, his eyes blazing with desire. “Want everyone to know you’re mine.” His hands moved quickly, undoing his jeans just enough to free himself, and you gasped at the sight of him, hard and ready.

You lifted one leg, hooking it around his waist, and he steadied you with one hand while the other guided his cock to your entrance. The anticipation was almost too much, your body trembling as he teased you, rubbing the tip against your slick folds. “Tell me you want it,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes locked onto yours.

“I want it,” you gasped, desperate. “Please, Heeseung…”

That was all he needed. He pushed into you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely, and you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. The stretch was intense, the angle perfect, and the knowledge that you were doing this in public only heightened every sensation.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust. But the restraint didn’t last long. His thrusts grew harder, faster, each one hitting deep inside you, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to stay quiet, but every thrust made it harder. The wall at your back was the only thing keeping you upright, the rough texture grounding you as Heeseung fucked you with a desperation that matched your own. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Taking me so well… my good girl.”

The praise sent a shiver through you, and you felt the familiar coil tightening in your core. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles that had you teetering on the edge. “Heeseung… I’m gonna…”

“Come for me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “Let me feel you.” His thrusts didn’t falter, his fingers relentless, and you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you trembling. You clenched around him, and he groaned, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he muttered, his eyes flicking to the crowd just beyond the alcove. The idea of someone catching you, seeing you like this, only seemed to spur him on. “Gonna fill you up, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasped, still sensitive from your climax but craving the warmth of his release. “Do it, Heeseung.”

With a final thrust, he came, spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan. The sensation pushed you into another wave of pleasure, your body shuddering against his as you rode out the aftershocks. He held you close, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting, slick with sweat.

For a moment, you just stood there, catching your breath, the club’s music a distant hum. He kissed you softly, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before, and you melted into him, your heart still racing.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, a breathless laugh escaping you.

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You love it.” His hands smoothed down your dress, helping you adjust so you looked less like you’d just been thoroughly fucked in a club. “Come on, let’s get out of here before someone actually notices.”

You nodded, still dazed, and let him lead you out of the alcove, his arm around your waist like nothing had happened. But as you slipped back into the crowd, you could feel the warmth of him inside you, the secret thrill of what you’d just done, and you knew you’d never forget this night.

[ara-the-great]

Cw: Allusions to suic*de, depression and self isolation.

Authors note: this is purely written in self interest if you aren't comfortable with it please don't read it. There is nothing gory but just sad.

Sylus had not heard from you in three days now. It might not seem like much to anyone else but knowing the relationship between you two, it was unnatural. It was completely unheard of. Something was wrong. He tried texting, he tried calling, he tried emails, letters, mephisto and even hacking into the security system of your apartment. But to no avail. Mephisto found all your windows locked and curtains drawn shut. The security cameras never showed you leaving your apartment.

Sylus feared the worst. By the afternoon of the third day he was in front of your door. When you didn't open the door for the doorbell or knocking, his desperation took over. With a flick of his wrist he opened the door, his evol swirling around him- as if to shield him from anything he might find in your apartment. A few steps is all it took for his keen ears to pick up on the sound of you crying from inside the house. A few steps is all it took for him to start sprinting towards your broken voice, for his heart to beat like a war drum- ready to lay waste to whoever hurt you.

Sylus might have unintentionally broken the door off the hinges if it wasn't already wide open. When his eyes fell on your crumpled form his heart broke into a million little pieces. There you were curled up in the corner of your bathtub, softly crying. Your eye shot up to him.

You didn't want him to see you like this. Weak, broken and pathetic. You wanted to reach out to him so many times over the last few days, you wanted to hear his voice, you wanted him to find you. But not like this. Not like this.

His step faltered for just a second before he scrambled to your side. "What is it my love, are you hurt? Where? What happened? I'm here. Tell me what happened? Wh-" His voice was strained trying to be soft enough to comfort you and to suppress the vengeance bubbling inside him again whatever or whoever hurt you.

"Sylus- " it was all you could manage before fully breaking down sobbing into his open arms. He picked you up off of the tub and held you close to him. Confusion plagued his mind as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

"Look at me my love, I need to know if you are hurt. Please, y/n- please " his voice cracked as he he held your face tenderly trying to get you to respond.

All you could do was weakly shake your head. And all he could do was hold you closer.

After a while when you had calmed down a bit, you tried to wipe off the tears soaked into his shirt in a desperate attempt to erase the pathetic picture you painted for him. "I'm sorry, I ruined your shirt" you croaked

"Are you really worried about a silly shirt right now kitten?" He said wiping the rest of your tears off of your face. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

You didn't respond. How could you respond. What would you say.

"You know, I was worried that a little kitten got hurt and was hiding away to lick her wounds. It seems like I was right to worry." He said wiping the tears that stained your cheeks.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice broken beyond even your own recognition. You couldn't look at him so you looked at the object previously in your hand that was now laying at the far end of the bathroom

"Wh-" Sylus followed your eyes to see the glinting object on the floor.

A knife.

His blood turned cold as the realisation hit him. You were drowning in much more than you had let on

"Kitten? Why is there a knife here" his normally smooth voice wavered - begging for you to prove his assumptions wrong. But you didn't.

You didn't speak, rather couldn't speak. Silent tears rolled down your delicate features.

"Y/N answer me. Please wh-why?" He choked

"I am tired Sylus. I'm so tired. I wasn't made for living. I wasn't meant for all this. I don't deserve you- I'm sorry" you finally met his eyes wildly looking for some forgiveness and all you could see was him falling apart.

And all he could see was you vanishing from his arms. He softly covered your eyes- which were too wild and restless, too hurt, too hopeless for him to bare. He placed an ever tender kiss on your forehead and he whispered "Rest. I'm here for you. We'll be ok. I'll make sure of it. Life will bow to our whims my love. You can rest and as long as I live, you won't have to worry about what is, has been and will be. I'll always be here, with you and you, with me." Tears silently fell from his eyes, tearing his soul apart to see you drown and it is then he vowed to give you everything you could ever hope for and more.

[midtalissa]

# ‘TESTING WATERS’

-> Other parts: two

-> Summary: Jason Todd drags you into his violent world— but you’re not here to fix him. You just want to remind him what love feels like.

-> Pairing: AK!Jason Todd X F!Reader

-> WARNINGS: hurt/comfort but mostly hurt for a small part; but other than that, if it even counts, maybe nothing except amateur writing??😭

masterlist right here!!

Life hadn’t been so good— not since Jason came back. The boy you once loved, the one who used to be all soft grins and bad jokes, was now… something else. Changed. Warped. Bruised beyond recognition.

Everyone at the base whispered that Joker left scars in Jason’s body and mind. You didn’t need to ask. That jagged mark on his cheek said more than enough.

And his eyes? Tired. Haunted. Full of something unreadable, like static behind glass. He barely talks now, but you can tell he tries. And that means everything to you.

How did he find you? Probably hacked a dozen systems, tracked your every step. One day, some militia kid knocked on your door and just said, “Jason Todd wants to see you.” Like it was normal.

And out of desperation, you followed without thinking about the worst.

Now he’s in a briefing you’re not allowed to sit in on. Not like you even wanted to. You couldn’t care less about his army or whatever revenge plan he’s making for Batman. You just care about him. The Jason you remember. Your Jason.

He’s basically a walking, barely-talking landmine. Notices everything. Like that one time you were too tired to shower and said you’d do it in the morning?

When you woke up he was on his side of the bed, placing his armor in place and getting ready to leave for whatever reason he had.

But before he left the room, he looked at you, deadpan, and muttered, “The bathroom is fully functional.” Then left. No further comment.

“Y/n? Boss wants you back in your quarters.” A guard— armed, of course— spoke.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just getting my steps in. Which, by the way, have lowered drastically since I moved in here, thanks.” The tension, though? Thick enough to cut with a knife. He seemed to straighten up more than he already was. Why?

“Then maybe you should leave, if your steps matter that much.” Jason’s voice cut through the air like a blade. That’s why. You turned, heart sinking, and saw him stepping out— men flanking him on both sides.

“I was joking.” you called after him, softer this time. But he didn’t look back, taking a corner with two lieutenants behind him.

Later, you went back to your assigned wing and started a video call with a friend, Tori. “Girl, when are you gonna let me meet this mysterious man of yours?” she asked, eating some expensive chocolate she probably got from one of her 8 talking stages.

She was lounging in her room, you were slumped in yours— bored, overthinking, slightly confused and guilty. These four feelings swaying in a pot brewing other sentiments.

“He’s busy. Like— always. I can’t even sneak in a hug, let alone a kiss,” you muttered, frowning at your chipped nail polish.

“You know what, babe? Listen to me.” Tori tilted her head, sipping from a glass of wine she absolutely wasn’t classy enough to hold. “You live in Otisburg, right?”

You nodded. “Perfect. There’s this lingerie shop near there— think it’s called ‘For My Man’ or something. I’ll send the location.” She was already typing. “Maybe you’ll find some, y’know… stuff in there too.”

You broke a smile. “Thanks. I’ll see what I’ll do.” you said, already knowing damn well you weren’t doing any of that.

The call dragged on for another couple hours, the way it always did— Tori gossiping, you half-listening, heart full of someone else. Eventually, you ended the call, cleaned up a bit and waited.

As expected, about half an hour later, the door clicked open. You padded toward the sound and found Jason— alive, intact, and as emotionally unreadable as ever.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the wall casually. “How was patrol?” “Fine.” He kicked his boots off, not looking at you.

“Good. Amazing, actually.” you replied with a smile he didn’t see. He brushed past, heading for the bedroom. “You know, Jason—” you called, and he paused mid-step, turning just slightly toward you. “Go on.”

“I missed you.”

He didn’t say anything. Just… stared. You could practically see the gears turning, the way he chewed over your words like they were something dangerous.

He also seemed to be analyzing your words, trying to figure out an answer not to hurt you. But you didn’t need words— you didn’t need a reply.

So you stepped forward, gently took his arm, and turned him to face you fully. Then, slowly, carefully, you closed the distance— until you were close enough to wrap your arms around him.

At first, he didn’t move. His body was stiff, tense, like it wasn’t used to this sudden kindness. One hand hovered at your back, then finally rested there, soft and unsure. And then— he leaned into you. Just barely.

“I love you,” you whispered, hands rubbing gentle circles into his back armor. “I never stayed out of pity, or guilt, or fear. I stayed because you never left my mind. You still haven’t.”

He shifted like he didn’t know what to do with the words. His hand patted your back. Once. It was awkward and silent and made your chest ache in the sweetest way.

You pulled back, smiled, and kissed the armor plating over his chest. Didn’t expect anything. Didn’t push.

Later, after he’d showered and had space to breathe, you found him on the couch, hunched over a tablet. Some mission data, probably.

You plopped beside him without a word. He didn’t react. No flinch, no sigh. Just kept tapping away. So, naturally, you pushed your luck— snuggled a little closer, shoulder to shoulder.

Still nothing. Just a faint sigh. Not annoyed. Just… Jason-ish. “Y/n.” “Yeah?” you asked, trying to keep your face soft, warm. Not too eager.

“About the hug…” He scratched his forearm, eyes flicking away. “You can do that. When you want. Just… not unexpectedly.”

You bit back a smile. “Noted.”

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, emetophobia warning, domestic fluff, birthdays + Christmas, some emotional instabillity.

Notes — I hope you guys love this one. It's so full of sweetness. A bit of frustration too, but mostly sweetness.

December 2023

The lights in the MTC's build bay always felt too bright. Amelia squinted up at them in annoyance, then turned her gaze back to the car.

Her car.

Not hers in any legal or possessive way — it belonged to the team, to the season, to the wind tunnel and CFD modellers.

But the final profile of the MCL38-AN was a shape that had lived in her brain before it ever existed in carbon fibre form. It had existed exclusively within spreadsheets and flow charts and headaches. Whiteboard scrawls at two in the morning. Phone calls to her dad. Arguments with aero. Hours of simulations. Hours of starting over.

And now it was real. Sitting right in front of her.

Orange and black, sleek and hungry, its chassis caught the overhead lights and glowing.

Amelia didn't move. She needed minute. She just stood beside the rear wing, arms crossed tight over her chest, soaking in the project that had consumed every spare hour of the past two years of her life.

She had half a muffin in her bag from breakfast four hours ago. She'd forgotten to eat it.

The name on the spec sheet was just technical: MCL38-AN. The suffix had started as a quiet claim — her way of signing something no one could take from her. Years ago, her father had passed off one of her ideas as his own. "AN" for Amelia Norris, scribbled on a draft after too much coffee, felt like insurance. But the department kept using it. Zak hadn't stopped them. And now it was printed on the official build list, black ink and daring her to believe it was really hers.

Her name. On a car.

"Staring at it won't make it disappear," came a voice from the other end of the garage.

Amelia didn't look over. "I'm aware," she replied flatly.

Anthony, one of the build engineers, chuckled and walked closer, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. "Just never seen you stand still this long before. Thought maybe you'd short-circuited."

"Internally," she replied. "I'm experiencing the Blue Screen of Emotion."

He laughed again. "Hell of a machine you designed."

She didn't correct him.

Instead, she stepped forward and laid one hand on the side-pod. The material was cold and smooth under her fingers. She could feel the vibration of the building, the faint hum of tools and voices and fluorescent life, echoing back through the structure.

"This was all in my head once," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "And now it's... this."

Anthony, thankfully, didn't say anything saccharine. Just gave a nod and let her stand there.

Amelia walked slowly around to the front of the car, fingers trailing against the bodywork. Her brain was already scanning for imperfections — minor details to flag, alignment to double-check, tolerances to run again. But beneath that, buried under years of ruthless professional calibration, was something quieter.

Pride.

Not loud or dramatic or showy. Just a quiet click of recognition.

This was good work. And it was hers.

"Can we run power systems later today?" She asked.

Anthony nodded. "Soon as Oscar finishes his lunch."

"Tell him I said no mayo on the telemetry."

"I don't even know what that means."

Amelia didn't clarify. She just smiled faintly to herself and stepped back, surveying the car one more time.

MCL38-AN.

Not bad for a girl who used to line up her Hot Wheels in exact weight-to-downforce order as a kid and got sent home from school for correcting her teacher's physics formulas.

She pulled out her phone, snapped a picture of the car, just for herself, then typed out a message to Lando.

iMessage — 14:33pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Almost ready for testing. I'm so proud it's making me nauseous.

A second later, another text.

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Or maybe that's just the pregnancy.

—

Amelia sat cross-legged across from Lando, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands despite the lingering warmth in the air. Lando was barefoot, legs stretched out, half a grin on his face as he finished the last bite of cake she'd awkwardly cut with a plastic knife.

They were on Max's boat, rocking gently in the Monaco harbour. They'd stolen it for the day.

"Bit late," he teased, licking frosting off his thumb. "Birthday was like... three weeks ago."

"You were busy," she said simply. "So was I. And also I needed time."

"Time?"

"To figure out what to give you." She said. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small, square box; plain brown kraft paper, tied neatly with black ribbon. No card. Of course there was no card. She hated cards — never knew what to write in them.

Lando raised an eyebrow as he took it. "Not socks?"

"No."

He peeled the ribbon open and lifted the lid.

Inside was a tiny frame. Minimalist. Neutral. Inside it, a single page torn from a notebook — lined paper, slightly smudged pencil. On it: a series of racing lines drawn from memory. His best qualifying lap from Silverstone. Annotated in her handwriting with tiny notes. Brake here. Open throttle earlier. Turn-in felt cleaner than expected.

He stared at it for a long moment before speaking. "This is..."

"You told me you wanted to frame that lap. I had the data sheet, but I wanted to draw it from memory," she said, eyes on the water instead of him. "That way it's both yours and mine. More special."

Lando didn't speak. Not right away. Just set the frame down carefully and crawled across the cushions to kiss her — soft, deliberate. One hand cupped her jaw; the other rested over her heart like it was helping him breathe. When he pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously glassy. "I think that might be one of the best birthday presents I've ever received," he said. "And I love it."

She gave a tiny shrug. "Good. You're really hard to shop for. You buy everything you want as soon as you decide that you want it."

He laughed, pulling her into his chest.

The boat rocked gently, and the sun sank lower, and for once there was nothing they needed to do, nowhere they needed to be. Just a belated birthday, and a perfect lap, and the girl who knew every corner of it better than anyone ever would.

—

The ultrasound room was dim, lit mostly by the soft blue glow of the monitor and the faint flicker of winter sun bleeding through the frosted windowpanes. The air smelled faintly sterile, like clean cotton and antiseptic.

Amelia lay back on the table, her t-shirt folded up over her stomach, the thin paper drape rustling every time she shifted. One hand was clenched tightly in Lando's — not out of nerves, exactly, but out of that taut, quiet focus she always wore when she didn't have full control of a situation.

She eyed the plastic bottle in the technician's hand with thinly veiled suspicion.

"What is that?" She asked flatly.

"Just ultrasound gel," the technician said, chipper and entirely unprepared.

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "What are the ingredients?"

The woman faltered, eyes darting to Lando and then back to Amelia. "Um..."

Lando looked at his wife.

Amelia didn't look at him. "I just feel like if we're going to lather something all over my body, I should know whether it contains...you know, petrochemicals or carcinogens or hormone disruptors."

The technician blinked. "It's... mostly water-based," she said finally. "And glycerin. No dyes. No perfumes."

Amelia stared a second longer, then gave a short, diplomatic nod. "Fine."

Lando leaned over and whispered, "You sure?"

"Yes," she muttered.

The technician, clearly deciding she'd earned the right to proceed, gently pressed the probe to Amelia's stomach. She flinched, not from pain, but from the cold smear of the gel, and made a disgruntled little noise in the back of her throat.

Lando squeezed her hand once, smiling.

And then the screen flickered. A faint, grainy image bloomed into view, shadow and static and light, and the whole room seemed to still.

"Ah, a very easy one. There we are," the technician said softly, her voice shifting into something gentle. "One very small someone."

Amelia blinked at the monitor. "That blob is a baby?"

The tech chuckled. "That blob is your baby."

Lando's breath caught in his throat. He shifted closer to her side, eyes locked on the flickering movement onscreen — a heartbeat, tiny and fast and impossibly loud once the audio kicked in. It sounded like wings. Like something about to take off.

Amelia didn't speak for a long time. Just stared. Her mouth parted, eyes wide. She looked stunned, like her body had already figured it out, but her brain hadn't quite caught up.

"Is that..." she finally whispered. "That flicker, is that... the heartbeat?"

The technician nodded.

Amelia's mouth wobbled. Her fingers clenched tighter around Lando's. "It's going so... fast."

"Perfectly normal at this stage."

Lando, who had been quiet until now, suddenly straightened and leaned in closer, eyes glued to the screen. "Wait—how fast? Like, beats per minute?"

The technician glanced at the monitor, tapping a few keys. "Right now, it's about 170. A bit faster than an adult's, but that's exactly what we expect this early on."

Lando's eyes widened. "One seventy? That's incredible. Is that—like—normal?"

"Yeah, perfectly normal. It usually starts slower around five weeks and then speeds up."

Amelia's voice was quiet, but steady. "How many weeks are we exactly?"

"About seven weeks from the last menstrual period," the technician replied, smiling gently.

Lando glanced at Amelia, then back to the screen. "So... when's the due date? When can we expect... I mean, when—?"

The technician switched the screen to a small calendar. "Based on measurements, your due date should fall somewhere around August 14th."

Amelia exhaled slowly, eyes still on the grainy image of that tiny flickering heartbeat. "August 14th," she repeated. "Between Spa and Zandvoort, then."

Lando grinned and squeezed her hand. "That's... just over six months away. Feels proper real now."

Amelia's lips twitched in a tired smile. "Yeah, it's a bit overwhelming."

Lando's voice softened. "Overwhelming in a good way?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

He looked at her with such tenderness that it made her throat tighten.

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Maybe," Lando said softly, "instead of letting this make us feel out of control, we need to learn how to trust that our little person is just... doing its own thing."

Amelia closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, the flickering heartbeat was still there — small but unmistakably alive. "Okay," she said quietly, "yeah. Okay."

The technician smiled again, dimming the monitor as she packed up. "You're doing wonderfully. We'll schedule your next scan in three to four weeks time, but for now, just try to enjoy this moment."

Lando squeezed Amelia's hand.

—

The Norris house was full of noise — crumpled wrapping paper on every surface, half-eaten mince pies on plates, Christmas music playing softly in the background, and the fire crackling with the kind of persistent warmth only a real log burner could offer.

Amelia sat on the arm of the couch, a mug of peppermint hot chocolate in her hands (the only thing that didn't make her nauseous that week), watching Lando and his siblings messily construct some kind of Christmas LEGO set on the floor.

It was chaos. The good kind. Lando was wearing a Santa hat and trying to boss everyone around. Cisca was curled up in the other armchair watching them fondly, and even Adam was getting involved, despite pretending he was "too old for LEGO" about twenty minutes earlier.

Amelia felt warm. Not just from the fire, or the hot chocolate. But that kind of rooted, grounded warmth she hadn't felt since childhood.

Lando glanced up at her from the rug. His cheeks were flushed, curls a little wild, still in pyjamas. He grinned that stupidly wide grin of his; the one she could never not return.

"Okay," he said suddenly, clapping his hands together. "We've got one last gift."

His siblings groaned dramatically. "You're just trying to win Christmas," Flo said, already suspicious.

"No," Lando said, glancing up at Amelia. "This one's from both of us."

He got up and walked to the tree, pulling out a small box, about the size of a mug, wrapped in deep green paper and a lopsided gold bow. He handed it to Flo, gesturing for her to open it.

She peeled it back, frowned... and then blinked.

Inside was a tiny McLaren onesie, size newborn, folded neatly next to a photo printout of the ultrasound. On the front of the onesie was a little stitched helmet — and underneath it, "Team Norris. Arriving August 2024."

There was a beat of silence.

Flo stared.

"Shut. Up."

Adam whipped around, eyes wide. "Oh my god."

"No way," Flo said, already scrambling up from the floor.

Cisca covered her mouth, eyes wide and glassy. "Are you—? Are you serious?"

Amelia nodded, quietly overwhelmed by the whole thing, but smiling anyway, caught in the centre of a hug from Lando's siblings as they collapsed into her, cheering and yelling and somehow knocking her mug over (Lando caught it just in time).

Flo kept staring at the ultrasound photo like it was a sacred relic. "I am going to be the best auntie."

Adam walked over to Lando and gave him a tight hug, a forehead kiss, and a pat on the back.

Cisca hugged Amelia gently, brushing her hair back. "I had a feeling," she whispered. "You've had that glow."

Amelia laughed. "The glow is just sweat from the constant nausea. But thanks."

Lando wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, chin on her shoulder, warm and soft and safe."Merry Christmas," he murmured.

She leaned her head back against his. "Merry Christmas."

—

January 2024

The new apartment smelled like fresh paint.

It was bigger, with big windows and tiled floors and way more space than their old place. But in that exact moment, it mostly looked like a war zone. A mess of cardboard, bubble wrap, and various limbs sticking out from behind furniture.

"Why does your wife own so many pairs of shoes?" Max asked, squinting as he pulled box after box labelled Amelia: Shoes from the back of the moving van.

"She likes having options, Max," Lando replied from inside the apartment. "You wouldn't get it."

"I've already seen three pairs of the same sneaker!"

"Sometimes she wants them to look newer, sometimes she wants them to look worn!"

Amelia stood frozen in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around a single lamp. Not because it was heavy, it was from IKEA, but because she'd very quickly reached her max input for the day.

People talking, laughing, doors slamming, someone (probably Charles) putting a Spotify playlist on the TV at full volume, Celeste asking where the boxes marked kitchen - fragile had gone (answer: behind the miscellaneous - Lando's gamer shit), and her mom trying to organise snacks that everyone had insisted they didn't need but everyone was happily eating.

It was chaos. Warm, well-meaning chaos. But chaos all the same.

"Breathe, baby," came Lando's voice, suddenly right behind her. His hand gently closed over hers, guiding the lamp to the floor. "Let go."

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"You're vibrating."

"I'm self-regulating."

"You're about to pop like a champagne bottle on the podium."

She blinked at him. "Lando."

"It's fine," he whispered, kissing her cheek. "Go sit. I'll turn down Charles' shit music."

She nodded once and retreated to the kitchen, or, well, what would be the kitchen, once all the boxes weren't stacked like a cardboard skyline.

Her dad followed her a moment later, holding a garbage bag full of what looked like packing peanuts. "Need anything, sweetheart?"

Amelia, dazed, looked up at her dad. "A new brain."

"I meant, like, a juice box."

"Oh. Do we have any?"

"I'll ask your mom." He laughed and kissed the top of her head before disappearing to the balcony.

Celeste popped in with a stack of throw pillows and collapsed beside her. "Remind me never offer to help anyone move again."

Charles, sliding by with a box labeled guest bathroom, raised his hand. "You're all weak."

"You hired movers," Max called from the hallway.

"Because I am smart," Charles countered.

Eventually, they made enough of a dent in the chaos to pause; boxes stacked in corners, the couch unwrapped, the kitchen sort of navigable. Everyone collapsed onto furniture, floor cushions, or each other.

Lando dropped next to Amelia with a thud. "Jesus," he said. "I'm never standing up again."

Tracey passed around bottles of water.

And then, without thinking, because she was tired, overwhelmed, and slightly frantic, Amelia looked at the empty room across the hall and said aloud. "Oh, cool. I'll be able to start putting the nursery together."

The silence was instant.

Zak froze mid-sip. Tracey turned so fast she almost knocked over Celeste. Charles blinked once, then again. Celeste slowly tilted her head like a confused golden retriever.

Only Max continued scrolling on his phone. Lando looked suspiciously casual, but his eyes had gone wide.

"Sorry," Charles said slowly. "Did she just say nursery?"

"She did," said Tracey, standing like she was ready to break into dance or faint, unclear which.

Amelia, blank as ever, looked up. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

"You're pregnant?" Celeste screeched, immediately launching across the couch.

"About eight weeks," Amelia said matter-of-factly.

"Oh my gosh—"

Lando, grinning now, tugged Amelia into his side. "We were gonna wait a while. But she's obviously forgotten the whole secrecy part."

"Not forgot," Amelia said. "Just... didn't filter."

Tracey shrieked. Charles stood and clapped. Celeste immediately demanded to know every detail. Her dad was just staring at them, his jaw slightly ajar.

Max looked at Lando and deadpanned, "Told you she'd blurt it eventually."

"You knew?" Tracey barked.

"Of course I did." Max said.

Celeste swatted him. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Amelia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, buried in a couch cushion, legs tucked under her, chaos all around her, but warm. Safe.

Loved.

"I'm going to have to help you build nursery furniture, aren't I?" Charles asked.

"Yes," said Lando.

—

Amelia sat on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, wearing her comfort pyjamas and cupping a warm mug in both hands. Her mom was rifling through a drawer looking for teaspoons and her dad was standing far too close for someone who'd said "I'm not gonna hover."

"You're hovering," Amelia said without looking up.

"I'm not," Zak replied, absolutely hovering.

Tracey gave him a look as she passed. "Sit down, Zak."

Amelia smirked faintly.

Zak pulled a stool out beside her but didn't sit. He just sort of... rested one hand on the counter and stared at her in that way dads do. "You keeping anything down?" He asked.

"I'm eating a lot of toast," Amelia said. "And drinking ginger tea."

He looked vaguely panicked. "Should we be calling someone? We have dietitian's, or—?"

"Dad."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant. Nausea is normal."

Zak muttered something about "precautionary measures" and "just checking" and "your iron levels, you never know," and finally Tracey grabbed his sleeve and tugged him to the other side of the kitchen.

"Let her breathe," she said, soft but firm.

He sighed but relented, pouring himself a cup of tea and stealing a look at Amelia like he still couldn't believe it. Like some part of him was seeing her as a baby again in his arms; not a woman, not a race engineer, not someone capable of growing a human. Just his daughter.

"I'm going to be a granddad," he said eventually, more to himself than anyone else. He blinked a few times, then smiled like he'd just realised it wasn't a prank.

Amelia raised her eyebrows, lips twitching. "Has he only just realised that?"

Tracey chuckled. "Oh no, honey. He's already ordered some books on newborn safety."

Zak tried to look insulted. "One of us has to be prepared."

Tracey ignored him and turned her attention back to Amelia, warm eyes softening. "You know," she said gently, "that first night at dinner, when you got all worked up about Lando... I just knew."

"Knew what?"

"That this was going to be something magic," she said. "You had that look on your face. Not the 'I'm in love' one, not yet. But that one you get when you've found something you'd fight for. And I thought, ah. There it is."

Amelia blinked, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed again, unsure how to respond.

Tracey smiled knowingly. "You've always been complicated. Precise. A little special in a systemised way. But with him? You were safe. Not smaller, not quieter; just... steadier."

Zak, finally sitting, looked from his wife to his daughter, then back again.

Tracey walked over and touched Amelia's hair, smoothing it back without thinking. The kind of motherly gesture that was muscle memory. "We're very proud of you," she said softly. "Not just for the baby. For the life you're building. For letting yourself build it."

Amelia didn't answer right away. Just looked down into her tea and let that sit in her chest like a warm ache. "Thanks," she said finally, quiet.

Tracey smiled. "Now come sit with us in the living room and let your dad lecture you about your fiber intake."

"Oh no."

"I made a PowerPoint," Zak added helpfully.

Amelia stared at him. "I—I eat enough fibre. I swear. I promise. Don't make me sit through one of your terribly constructed PowerPoints."

—

Five hours later, the apartment was finally quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came after the storm; post-laughter, post-chaos, post-Max dropping a full pizza box face-down on the kitchen floor and Charles chasing Celeste with bubble wrap around his head like a helmet.

Everyone was gone now.

Some boxes still weren't unpacked, the dining table was holding an array of loose screws and takeout containers, and there was one singular sock hanging off the new lighting fixture that neither of them remembered installing.

But it was quiet. And theirs.

Lando lay stretched across the couch in sweats and a hoodie, one leg propped up on a box labeled BED LINENS???. Amelia was curled on top of him like a blanket folded in half, her cheek resting against his chest, arms wrapped around his middle.

She was half-asleep, her body finally relaxing after hours of overstimulation and problem-solving and people asking where things were that she did not know. "Is it weird I don't feel like this is real yet?" She murmured.

Lando looked down at her. "The apartment?"

"All of it. The space. The nursery. The fact I told everyone because I accidentally emotionally short-circuited. I mean, who announces a pregnancy like that?"

"You," he said, brushing his fingers through her hair.

She huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan. "My brain was tired. My mouth just... decided."

"Hey." He tugged gently on a loose strand of her hair until she looked up at him. "It was perfect. So you. I mean, Tracey looked like she was about to cry and throw you a baby shower in the same breath."

Amelia groaned and buried her face back into his hoodie. "She's going to buy so many pastel things. I'm not emotionally equipped for pastel."

Lando laughed. "We'll make a blacklist. No tulle. No gingham. No text that says 'Born to race' or anything cringe like that."

Amelia was quiet for a moment. "Do you think it's okay we're doing this now?"

He didn't ask what this meant. He knew.

The baby. The life. The shift. The permanence of it all.

"I think it's us," he said simply. "And I think whatever that ends up looking like is okay."

She let out a breath. "I don't know how to do any of it. Not even the parts people think I'm supposed to be good at. I couldn't find the dish towels today."

"That's what the box labels are for."

"And you?"

"I'm just here to kiss you when your brain melts and tell you you're brilliant anyway."

She finally looked up at him again. Her eyes were tired — not with sadness, just the fatigue of too much change all at once. But they were also soft. "You're annoying," she said.

"What, being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly handsome is annoying now?" He teased.

"You're a good human weighted blanket, so I won't argue with that."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "It's a privilege, honestly."

They lay there for a while, the hum of Monaco outside their windows, the buzz of city life just distant enough to feel like background music. Inside, it was soft. Warm. Familiar.

Eventually, Amelia whispered, "We really live here now."

Lando tightened his arms around her. "Yeah, we do."

"And we're gonna have a baby here."

"Mmhm."

"I have to start nesting. Like... soon."

"Tell me what you want built. I'll blackmail Charles and make him do it."

She laughed quietly against his chest, a sound full of exhaustion and affection.

Then, softer, almost to herself, "I think I'm happy."

Lando didn't say anything right away. He just turned his head and kissed her temple again, slow and sure, before whispering into her skin, "I know."

—

The morning had not been kind.

Amelia had thrown up twice before she even made it out of bed, once more in the sink when the smell of coffee drifted through the apartment. Her stomach had settled into that weird, hovering nausea, not quite sick, but never okay, and everything around her felt a little too much.

Too bright.

Too loud.

Too far from stillness.

The apartment was still full of half-unpacked boxes. One of them had exploded into a mess of packing peanuts by the bookshelf because Lando had tripped over it while trying to carry a lamp. That had made her laugh, for a moment. But now even that memory felt distant and staticky.

She hadn't eaten anything. Her body felt too heavy and too floaty at the same time.

So she wandered into the room off the living room and stood in the doorway, barefoot and still in one of Lando's shirts, staring at the swing.

The sensory swing hung from a reinforced hook in the ceiling, an enclosed hammock-style cocoon of soft dark grey fabric.

She hadn't used it yet.

But now... now she needed to be held by something.

Amelia walked over slowly, pulled the soft stretch of the fabric down, and climbed inside like she was folding herself into a shell. It wrapped around her shoulders, her hips, her knees. A full-body compression hug.

She let herself swing gently, letting the quiet motion do what words and plans and spreadsheets couldn't. The light filtered through the gauzy curtain. The outside world muffled. The only sound was her breathing.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her muscles finally, finally relaxed.

And then, maybe because the relief was so sharp in contrast to how awful she'd felt all morning, or maybe because everything just hit all at once, Amelia cried.

Just soft tears slipping down the sides of her face into the swing's fabric as her body unclenched. She didn't even try to stop them. Didn't need to understand them. Her hands cradled the soft swell of her lower belly as she rocked gently in the cocoon, the comfort so complete it almost hurt.

The motion, the weightlessness, the compression; it was like someone had pressed a reset button on her nervous system.

"I love you very much," she whispered, hand on her stomach, words falling into the soft dark of the swing. "Even if you are already making me throw up five times a day." She gave a little wet laugh. Then sniffled. Then rocked some more.

Eventually, Lando peeked his head around the doorframe.

He didn't say anything. He saw her there, bundled up like a sleepy moth, puffy-eyed and peaceful, and his whole expression softened.

"You good, baby?" He asked gently.

She nodded, still sniffling, half-smiling. "It works."

He smiled back. "Good" He walked over and pressed a kiss to the fabric where her shoulder must've been, still swaying. "Want toast when you come out?"

"Only if it's with the nice jam. The apricot one we got from the market last weekend."

"Anything you want. We're celebrating the swings debut, after all."

"Dramatic." She said.

"I know," he grinned.

And then he left her to swing, warm, wrapped up, and for the first time all day — completely okay.

February 2024

Amelia woke to the smell of espresso and something sweet (cinnamon, maybe) and the distinct sound of someone failing, very quietly, not to clatter around in the kitchen.

She blinked, groggy, and rolled over to find Lando's side of the bed empty. A sliver of warm morning light streamed in through the curtains. The apartment smelled like flowers and coffee and... possibly burning toast.

By the time she made it out of bed, hair a mess, t-shirt halfway sliding off one shoulder, she found him standing in front of the kitchen island, proudly staring at a tray of slightly overdone croissants, a half-burnt omelet, and a mug that said engineers do it with precision.

He turned the second he heard her. "Don't say anything," he warned, waving a spatula at her. "This is a labour of love."

"I can see that," she said, amused. "How's the toast?"

"Charcoal adjacent."

She padded over and leaned into his side, arms looping gently around his middle. "Morning."

Lando pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Happy birthday, baby."

He guided her over to the table, where a small stack of wrapped gifts sat beside her laptop — one of them unmistakably from Oscar if the cartoon scribble on the tag was anything to go by. Another looked suspiciously like it had been wrapped by Max's girlfriend Celeste, given the glittery ribbon and note that just said DO NOT OPEN NEAR ZAK.

"Did you do all this this morning?" Amelia asked, eyeing the slightly lopsided croissants.

"Well," he said, handing her the mug, "I tried to sneak out of bed early. But then you curled up in the blankets and made that sleepy sound you make and I lost, like, twenty minutes just watching you sleep."

Amelia sipped the coffee. Ugh. Decaf. "Weirdo."

"Your weirdo."

They sat together, eating what they could salvage of the breakfast. Lando gave her a small, leather-bound notebook for scribbling car notes (with custom embossing: A. Norris, Race Strategist / Best Mummy Ever). She rolled her eyes, but she didn't stop smiling.

Later, while she was cleaning up plates, he appeared behind her with one last gift, this one small and velvet. Her breath hitched when he opened it. A pendant: a tiny silver disk with a barely-there engraving.

A heartbeat. The one they'd seen on the ultrasound.

"I wanted you to have something that was just... for you," he said quietly.

She touched the charm gently, thumb brushing the engraving. "I love it," she said, voice slightly wobbly.

He kissed her temple again, arms wrapping around her. "I love you."

The rest of the day was full of small joys; visits from friends, a video call with her mom, cupcakes delivered from a café Oscar insisted was life-changing. Max and Celeste swung by with a gift bag full of baby-safe skincare and a framed photo of the four of them.

At one point, her dad had messaged her.

Happy birthday, kiddo. Love you so much. See you soon.

To which Amelia replied.

Love you too.

That night, after the guests had left and the candles had flickered low, Amelia found herself curled up in her sensory swing by the window, legs folded up under her, pendant resting in the middle of her collarbones. Lando lay on the sofa nearby, watching her with quiet contentment.

"I think this was one of my best birthdays," she said softly.

He smiled. "Even with the burnt toast?"

She nodded. "Especially with the burnt toast." And then, after a pause, "Next year, we'll have someone else around to help us celebrate."

Lando's eyes softened. "Next year," he echoed.

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

George R.

Welcome to the 2024 rookies!

Oh wait.

LOL.

Nevermind

Lando N.

Someone get this man a rookie asap

Charles L.

Bro we are all still here 💀

Alex A.

Just the same 20 people trying not to crash into each other

Esteban O.

Consistency is key 😂

Oscar P.

George is out here welcoming imaginary friends

Carlos S.

Rookie of the year is the Ferrari catering team

Lewis H.

I vote my physio as rookie of the year tbh

Yuki T.

I still feel like a rookie emotionally 😮‍💨

Fernando A.

I feel younger every season 😎

George R.

Ok ok I made one mistake

I was being polite

What if someone snuck in overnight. Like a stealth rookie

Pierre G.

Bro this isn't among us

Max V.

Let him live he tried ✋

Lando N.

He tried and failed. Spectacularly

George R.

Blocked. All of you. I'm blocking all of you.

—

The main presentation hall at the MTC was cold, the hush of anticipation a physical thing. Staff, engineers, drivers, media teams, and execs milled around in soft clumps, all eyes drawn to the shrouded figure on the platform. Silver satin draped across carbon fibre; sleek, taut, and humming with promise.

Amelia stood off to one side, arms crossed over her chest, one foot tucked behind the other like she was bracing herself against something invisible.

It was familiar, this room. She'd stood in it a dozen times. But this time was different.

This was her car.

She heard footsteps and didn't have to look to know it was Lando. He came to stand beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, gaze fixed on the covered car like it might move if he blinked.

"It looks like a spaceship," he murmured.

"It's as complex as one," she said simply.

He grinned. "I'm gonna drive a spaceship."

"You're going to win in it."

Her dad walked out onto the stage, some carefully crafted speech on hand, but Amelia barely registered it. Her ears rang with something heavier; a low, surging pressure that sat in her chest and refused to settle.

She heard her name, heard Zak referencing her as lead technical design engineer on the project, and the soft ripple of polite applause. She didn't move. Didn't blink.

When the cover was pulled back and the MCL38-AN was finally exposed under the lights. Lean, mean, shimmering with graphite and papaya — the room went reverently silent.

It was beautiful. Sharp and elegant and mean in all the right places.

And hers.

Her hands trembled slightly where they were folded. Lando noticed. He reached down, laced his fingers through hers without saying anything. She didn't look at him, but she held on.

Oscar appeared at her other side, chewing a protein bar. "It looks fast," he said through his mouthful.

"It is fast," Amelia replied, deadpan.

He nodded. "Good. I hate slow cars. Bad for my numbers."

Lando snorted. "Your numbers are fine."

"I want more numbers."

Amelia ignored them both. Her eyes were fixed on the low spoiler, the curve of the side-pod, the subtle detailing near the rear suspension she'd fought tooth and nail to implement — backed up by three sleepless weeks of CFD simulations and one argument with the floor design team that she'd very nearly won with sheer stubbornness alone.

"Do you want to go look at it up close?" Lando asked, gentle.

Amelia shook her head. "Not yet."

He didn't press. Just stayed beside her as people filtered forward. Cameras clicked. Flashbulbs strobed. Somewhere, someone asked Oscar to smile more. Zak was already doing a walk-around with Sky Sports.

But Amelia stayed back, hand in Lando's, watching as her car, her beautiful, terrifying, finely-tuned monster, greeted the world for the first time.

Finally, Lando leaned in, voice low against her ear. "I'm so proud of you."

Her mouth twitched, just a little. "I know," she said.

Then, after a beat, "I'm proud of me too."

—

There were two weeks until they were due to fly out to Bahrain for testing.

The smell of carbon composite and metal dust still clung to the air. Most of the lights had been dimmed in the engineering wing of the McLaren Technology Centre, but not in Bay 2. Bay 2 was lit up like a crime scene — bright, clinical, unrelenting.

And Amelia was pacing.

"You changed the front wing flow guide without flagging it to me." Her voice was flat, but her tone cut sharp enough to peel paint. "It's not a minor tweak. It alters the pressure delta across the entire front third of the car."

Across the table, three senior aero engineers; experienced, respected, and visibly nervous, stood their ground, albeit quietly. One of them, Benji, cleared his throat.

"We didn't go behind your back," he said carefully. "It was discussed at the Friday meeting—"

"I wasn't at the Friday meeting," she snapped. "I was with Oscar for simulator calibration. You knew that."

"We had to lock a version in for pre-season aero scanning," said another engineer, trying to be the reasonable one. "You were behind schedule finalising the nose cone parameters—"

"I was behind schedule," Amelia repeated, eyebrows arching dangerously, "because I was rewriting your cooling duct schema so it wouldn't explode in Bahrain."

Silence.

Lando stood quietly just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching. He wasn't saying anything — yet. But his eyes never left Amelia.

"You've added drag," she said after a beat. "I ran the updated airflow map through CFD myself after I saw the render. It introduces wake turbulence at high yaw, and we already struggle with straight-line pace. You've made us slower on the straights to gain — what? Four points of front downforce?"

"Four points could help balance in the high-speed corners," Benji offered.

"At the expense of the entire overtaking window!" Amelia barked. "You want Lando and Oscar to defend for twenty laps in DRS zones with a car that drags like a parachute because you like the numbers it spits out on paper?"

Someone muttered something; too low to catch. Amelia's head snapped around like a hawk.

"Say it louder," she said. "You clearly thought it was clever enough the first time."

The engineer paled slightly. "I just said... maybe you're too attached to this design."

Lando stepped in before Amelia could respond.

"No, see, here's the thing," he said, tone deceptively easy. "You don't get to say that. Because her attachment? That's why this car is visibly better than last year's. She is the reason why we had the third-fastest chassis on average post-Zandvoort last year. Because she gives a shit. And if Amelia says it's wrong? Then it's wrong."

The room froze. One of the engineers swallowed hard.

Amelia, though, didn't say anything for a full five seconds. She just stood there, arms folded, staring down the table like she was willing the numbers to change.

Then, calmly, "You're reverting to the previous design."

"We can't. Not until—"

"I'll update the approval file myself," she continued. "I want the renders sent back through me. If you're going to make changes to a car with my name on it, you'll run it by me first. Not the group chat. Not Zak. Not the test team. Me."

Stillness.

Eventually, Benji nodded, his jaw tight. "Alright."

She left the bay without another word, her footfalls even, deliberate. Lando followed a few paces behind, catching up only once they hit the corridor.

"You didn't have to jump in," she muttered.

"I know," he said. "But I wanted to."

They reached the elevator. Amelia punched the call button too hard.

"They're not wrong," she said quietly, not looking at him. "I am too attached."

Lando nodded. "Yeah. And that's why you're the only one I trust with it."

—

The hum of the wind tunnel was a low, constant growl behind the soundproof glass. Screens lined the wall of the operations room, flooded with live data — airflow vectors, pressure maps, drag coefficients, temperatures.

Amelia sat perfectly still in the front row, staring at the monitor.

The numbers were wrong.

Not wildly, not catastrophically. Just... wrong enough.

Behind her, the aero lead, one of the few who hadn't been at the shouting match in the engineering bay days before, was going over test notes in a too-cheerful voice. "And that's run twelve with the revised front-wing guide and standard rear beam. A bit of turbulence in the crosswind scenario, but nothing unmanageable."

Amelia's fingers twitched against the armrest of her chair.

Zak stepped in beside her. "They've already locked the transport containers for Bahrain," he said in a low voice. "The old spec wouldn't make it through the scans in time."

"I know," Amelia said without looking at him.

"We'll revert before Melbourne," Zak added. "That's the plan."

"I know."

She said it again, like repetition might dull the edge.

Zak hesitated. "I get it. I do. But it's one race."

"It's the first race," Amelia said quietly. "It sets the baseline. The whole development curve starts from that data. Every upgrade, every refinement — it's all going to skew unless we compensate."

Zak didn't argue. He didn't need to. They both knew she was right.

But it didn't matter.

Because the parts were packed, the plane was leaving in 48 hours, and the wrong spec was going to touch asphalt in Bahrain.

She stood abruptly. The chair creaked as it slid back.

"Amelia," Zak said. "I know this is hard for you."

She turned, her voice clipped but steady. "It's not hard. It's inefficient."

And she left the room.

—

The lights were low. Her desk lamp cast a soft amber glow across a table full of design sheets and scribbled notes, crossed-out margins, red-circled flaws, annotations that no one else in the department could read but her.

Her iPad was open to the Bahrain track layout. She wasn't crying — not even close. But her jaw was clenched hard enough to ache. Her hands flexed, restless, unable to do anything.

She hated that feeling.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Go away," she said without looking.

It opened anyway.

Lando leaned in, holding two takeaway drinks. "I come bearing peace offering. Decaf vanilla chai for my beautiful, smart wife."

She didn't move.

"I know," he said gently. "It sucks."

"I'm not angry anymore," she said.

He gave her a look. "Don't lie to me, baby."

She finally looked up, and he crossed the room to set the drink beside her keyboard.

"I spent a year making it perfect," she murmured.

Lando touched her shoulder. "And it still will be."

Amelia looked back at her notes. "I hate being forced to let something go when I know I'm right," she said. "Just because I'm one person versus an entire team — and I know that it's not fair to expect them to just blindly trust everything I say, but it makes me so mad.'

"Okay," he whispered. "Time to go home, I think."

—

"Do you need six pairs of sunglasses?" Amelia asked, holding Lando's McLaren duffel open.

Lando didn't even look up from where he was rolling socks. "Yes."

"You only have two eyes."

"It's called fashion, baby."

She rolled her eyes and shoved the sunglasses back in, making sure the soft case separated the orange-tinted pair from the purple ones, because God forbid they get scratched.

Their bedroom looked like a tornado had touched down; open suitcases, half-folded clothes, a stack of electronics chargers that Amelia had labeled with colour-coded cable ties two seasons ago and still didn't trust Lando to keep organised.

Her own packing was... slower. More deliberate. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her own suitcase, a checklist open on her iPad and a faint, lingering wave of nausea rising every few minutes like a passive-aggressive tide.

"Are you sure you're okay to fly?" Lando asked for the third time that afternoon.

Amelia clicked her Apple Pencil against her teeth. "I'm pregnant, not ill."

"Still."

"I have packed ginger chews and compression socks."

He looked up. "You hate ginger chews."

"I also hate throwing up at 30,000 feet. Sometimes compromise is necessary."

He grinned. "That's very mature of you."

Amelia waved vaguely in the direction of the ensuite. "Can you grab the skincare bag? Not the one with my regular stuff — the one with the unscented moisturiser that doesn't make me gag."

"Yes, your highness."

She threw a sock at his head.

The packing process stalled every few minutes for various reasons: Amelia needed a snack; Lando forgot where he'd put his phone; Amelia remembered she hadn't downloaded the Bahrain telemetry files onto her personal iPad; Lando insisted on reorganising his racing gloves by colour.

Eventually, Amelia sat back with a soft groan, rubbing a hand over her belly. Not that there was much to feel yet, no bump, just the persistent hum of her body shifting quietly into something new.

She felt... heavy. But not in a bad way. Just full of lists, of responsibilities, of life. Literally.

"Hey," Lando said gently, crouching in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded, slow. "Yeah. Just... tired. Everything feels like it takes twenty-percent more effort."

"You want to skip testing?"

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "Lando."

"I'm just saying—"

"No. Don't even suggest that. I need to be there for Oscar and I want to be there for the cars first proper run. I have to see how it holds up."

He smiled softly. "Just checking. That's my job now, remember? Worrying about you."

Amelia's expression softened. "I'm fine. I'm just slower than usual. I'll sit. I'll drink plenty of water."

Lando stood and offered her a hand, helping her up off the floor with the ease of long practice. They zipped the last suitcase together, and she stared at the organised chaos around them with a long, contemplative sigh.

"Think this baby is gonna like Bahrain?" She murmured.

He shrugged. "Hot. Loud. Feels like it's already genetically predisposed that baby is not going to have a good time."

She laughed, quietly, the sound curling in her throat.

They were flying out in the morning. Testing started two days after that. And in a few more weeks, the  2024 season would roar to life; full throttle, no mercy, no brakes.

But for now, there were just bags and chargers and familiar, cluttered rhythms. And them.

Just them.

For now.

[astrolook]

🚀✨Jupiter’s Transit: Time for a Glow-Up or a Wake-Up! 💫👀

Note: These are my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years, so take what resonates and leave the rest. Let me know in the comments if this hits home! This is based on Vedic astrology, so it might feel different from other systems. These are general interpretations and would change according to what planets are in those houses. 😊✨

Jupiter enters Gemini on May 14, 2025, and will stay there until October 18, 2025. After that, it briefly moves into Cancer for a couple of months. This post will focus on the May 14, 2025 - October 18, 2025, Gemini transit. Just 2 days to go! Also, long post!

For Aries Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 3rd house and aspect your 7th, 9th, and 11th houses.

3rd House: Expect a lot of short trips, new friendships, and opportunities to get your voice heard. It’s a great time to make purchases in your favor, meet new people, or even consider a move to a new place. If you have a sibling, your bond can grow closer.

7th House: This aspect could bring new romances into your life. For those focused on their career, it’s a favorable time for partnerships and receiving local support in your professional endeavors. If you wanna start a business or any career change, Jupiter will widen your horizons and says YES! GO FOR IT!

9th House: Jupiter’s aspect here may open doors for foreign travel, higher education, or trading. Moving abroad or going on faraway vacations could also be on the horizon.

11th House: Expansion of your social circle is likely. Great connections are on the way, along with more time spent online learning new things. If you’re considering online courses, this is an excellent time. It’s also a good period for starting a YouTube channel, podcast, or live-streaming (especially gaming, if that’s your thing). For bloggers and influencers, expect positive growth. Long-distance relationships may also blossom during this time.

For Taurus Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 2nd house, with aspects to your 6th, 8th, and 10th houses.

2nd House: This transit can bring potential financial growth, including gains through family, property, or selling goods. If you’re in sales or business, this is a great time to boost your income. There’s strong potential for accumulating wealth, but Jupiter here can also make you spend freely, so watch your expenses. Investments and savings both have long-term benefits now.

6th House: If you’ve been struggling in your career or are unemployed, this aspect can bring job opportunities or helpful connections. For those in toxic work environments, things may either get worse (pushing you to make a change) or finally shift for the better. Students may find career-related support or internships opening up.

8th House: This aspect may spark interest in the occult, hidden knowledge, or taboo subjects. It’s a good time to explore deeper topics, but also a warning to be mindful in intimate relationships, as Sagittarius in the 8th can bring sudden, intense connections, including risks like STDs. Prioritize your well-being.

10th House: This is a very positive influence for your career. Whether you're employed or self-employed, growth and recognition are possible. It's also a great time to pursue learning, training, or certifications that support your professional path.

For Gemini Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 1st house, with aspects to your 5th, 7th, and 9th houses.

1st House: This transit can bring positive shifts in how you see yourself and how others see you. It’s a great time for personal growth, confidence, and visibility. You may be drawn to leadership or management roles. However, Jupiter can also make you overextend, like taking on too much or indulging too often, especially with food or stress, so take care of your health and energy. Your voice holds power now, so use it wisely.

5th House: A great time for creative pursuits and reigniting old passions. If you've been waiting to start something artistic or expressive, this is your cue. For those married and hoping to conceive, this transit is favorable for a healthy pregnancy. Romantically, new connections may enter your life, some with long-term potential. Dating might feel overwhelming or rewarding depending on how you approach it.

7th House: Partnerships, romantic or professional, can flourish now. Trustworthy collaborators may appear, and serious relationships can begin or strengthen. It’s a good time for making commitments.

9th House: Opportunities for long-distance travel, higher education, or working with international clients may arise. Some may consider moving in with a partner, eloping, or planning a destination wedding. Spiritually and mentally, it’s also a time of expansion and learning. You can even get your voice heard through activism or supporting the unfortunate.

For Cancer Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 12th house, with aspects to the 4th, 6th, and 8th houses.

12th House: This is a deeply spiritual and reflective time. You may feel drawn to solitude, healing, or even exploring or settling in foreign lands. It's a period of inner growth, dreams, and gaining insight into your future. However, it's not ideal for new commitments in love or business. Some may experience endings, like breakups or divorces, but these can ultimately feel freeing and bring long-awaited closure or peace.

4th House: Expect improvements in home and family life. You might spend more quality time with loved ones or invest in property, furniture, or home upgrades. Emotional bonds with family members, especially children, can deepen. Inheritance or family wealth may also come into the picture.

6th House: This aspect can stir up emotions at work or in school environments. Challenges may arise through hidden enemies or betrayal, so stay alert and guard your energy. This aspect can teach you who’s truly on your side. At the same time, it can push you to improve your daily habits and health routines.

8th House: Sudden gains, inheritance, or exposure to deep, transformative topics are possible. You might find yourself drawn to occult studies, psychology, or unconventional communities (like spiritual groups, support circles, etc.). Take care of your mental health, as emotional intensity may rise; this can be a time of healing or overwhelm, depending on how you handle it.

For Leo Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 11th house, with aspects to the 3rd, 5th, and 7th houses.

11th House: This is a great time for expanding your reach and being seen. Whether you’re into blogging, YouTube, podcasting, activism, or social reform, you could gain more visibility and even grow your follower base. People may see you as a leader or someone with wisdom and clarity. Your goals feel more achievable now, and support from influential circles is likely.

3rd House: Expect stronger local connections and support. You might spend more time with siblings, friends, or in your neighborhood, or even move to a new area. Social outings like restaurants, concerts, shopping, or clubs could increase. Communication improves, and networking opportunities grow.

5th House: A great time for dating, romance, and creative expression. You may get into new hobbies, watch a lot of films, or explore your artistic side. If you’ve been wanting to start a passion project or even learn something new, like a language or coding, this is the time. It's also a positive aspect for pregnancy or planning a child.

7th House: Jupiter’s aspect here can bring serious romantic prospects or deepen an existing relationship. In a career, it’s a good time for forming partnerships or collaborations that have long-term potential.

For Virgo Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 10th house, with aspects to the 2nd, 4th, and 6th houses.

10th House: This is a powerful time for your career. Jupiter here can bring recognition, promotions, or the opportunity to start something new, like a business, blog, or startup. If you’re job hunting, you may land a role with better pay and visibility. Leadership skills are highlighted, and others may start seeing you as a figure of authority or inspiration. Big moves in your professional life are very possible.

2nd House: This aspect supports financial growth, especially through career opportunities. It’s a good time to focus on saving, investing, and building long-term financial stability.

4th House: Favorable for real estate, relocating, or investing in your home. You may also feel emotionally more connected to family, and it's a good time to nurture those relationships, especially if you're younger or living with family.

6th House: New work connections are likely, especially with people from different backgrounds or fields. Some of these may be valuable allies, others not so much. Stay discerning, especially in competitive or high-pressure environments.

For Libra Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 9th house, with aspects to your 1st, 3rd, and 5th houses.

9th House: This transit opens doors to foreign connections, clients, and opportunities to earn through international means. You might find yourself speaking or learning another language, traveling, or engaging with global platforms. It’s a great time for higher learning, spiritual growth, or expanding your worldview.

1st House: Expect a boost in self-confidence and presence. If you’ve been feeling low in self-worth, this aspect can help restore a sense of purpose and pride. You might also feel inspired to invest more in yourself, like your appearance, goals, or personal development.

3rd House: Your voice carries farther now, literally and figuratively. Whether it’s writing, singing, or speaking, this is a powerful time to share your ideas. Travel or relocation could also be on the table. If you’ve ever wanted to turn writing or music into a career, this aspect supports that.

5th House: Creative energy flows in, rewarding past efforts and reigniting passions. You may finally get recognition for the work you’ve done in previous years. It’s also a great time to start new hobbies or creative pursuits that could eventually evolve into a profession.

For Scorpio Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 8th house, with aspects to the 12th, 2nd, and 4th houses.

8th House: This transit can bring sudden events, like unexpected inheritance or money, deep transformations, or even going viral (for better or worse). You may feel drawn to explore intense topics like human suffering, psychology, or the hidden layers of life. Toxic relationships may fall away, making space for new partnerships that could also become an additional source of income. It’s a powerful time for healing and reclaiming your worth.

12th House: This aspect may trigger deep introspection or even an existential crisis. You might feel low or isolated at times, but solitude here brings growth, not punishment. It's a good time for spiritual work, rest, and understanding your inner self on a whole new level.

2nd House: Financial gains through foreign currency or foreigners, joint investments, or property sales are possible. This is a favorable time for managing finances, especially in areas involving partnerships or passive income.

4th House: Unconventional people may enter your personal life, whether as romantic partners or collaborators, your family ends up embracing. You could be drawn to alternative lifestyles, such as age-gap relationships, interracial relationships, same-sex partnerships, minimalist living, or even being a stay-at-home partner.

For Sagittarius Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 7th house, with aspects to the 11th, 1st, and 3rd houses.

7th House: This is a major green light for serious relationships. You may meet a potential life partner, enter long-term romantic or business partnerships, or experience more balance and success in existing ones. You could find yourself taking the lead in partnerships or attracting people who elevate your status and growth.

11th House: A great time for expanding your social network, especially online. You may join new communities, explore different cultures, or form valuable friendships and connections, even if some are short-term. This is also a highly supportive period for launching an online-based business or side hustle. Expect opportunities to gain profits and stand out in digital spaces.

1st House: You’ll feel more driven to take life seriously and commit to long-term goals. This aspect can bring a shift in self-image, responsibility, and how others perceive you. Confidence gets a boost, and there may be a change in status, personally or professionally.

3rd House: You might find yourself living in a multicultural setting or becoming friends with people from a wide range of backgrounds. Hobbies like online gaming, content creation, or language learning could lead to new connections. This is a fun and stimulating time to express yourself and explore new interests.

For Capricorn Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 6th house, with aspects to the 10th, 12th, and 2nd houses.

6th House: This transit highlights health, work, and daily routines. If you’ve been struggling with health issues, there’s potential for recovery, but if you’ve been neglecting your health, Jupiter might amplify existing problems. It’s also a mixed bag for your career, as some may face setbacks or job loss, while others could land new roles or promotions. Consistency and discipline will be key.

10th House: This aspect brings momentum in your professional life. It’s a good time for job hunting, career changes, or stepping into leadership, but expect a few early delays or challenges. Boss moves are possible if you stay focused and don’t give up.

12th House: This can be a heavy emotional time. Feelings of loneliness, isolation, or endings (like breakups or divorces) might surface. But Jupiter here is trying to teach you that solitude can be healing. You’ll realize your inner strength and learn how to stand on your own. Be cautious with health and travel issues, like back pain, overexertion, or travel-related stress or accidents may arise. Hospitalization is possible if you're not careful.

2nd House: Finances may fluctuate. Jupiter expands whatever it touches, so if you’re doing well, expect more gains; if you’re struggling, it can exaggerate losses. Budget wisely and save for the future to stay grounded.

For Aquarius Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 5th house, with aspects to the 9th, 11th, and 1st houses.

5th House: A vibrant time for creativity, self-expression, and passion projects. Whether you’re pursuing a career in the arts, media, sports, or any field that makes you stand out, this is your moment to shine. Applause and recognition may come your way. It’s also a favorable time for pregnancy, romantic interests, and being admired for your talents.

9th House: Opens doors to international opportunities, foreign clients, studying abroad, or spiritual exploration. You might start trading in foreign currency, connect with teachers or mentors abroad, or even enter a long-distance relationship that brings growth.

11th House: Expands your network, especially with people from different cultures or backgrounds. Touring, cultural exchanges, learning a new language, or engaging in online platforms can be rewarding. If you’re in a digital or online-based career, this aspect supports major growth.

1st House: Jupiter’s blessing to your ascendant boosts your confidence, personal growth, and social standing. You may feel more seen, respected, and aligned with your purpose. It’s a time to take yourself seriously, and others will too.

For Pisces Ascendant, Jupiter will transit your 4th house, with aspects to the 8th, 10th, and 12th houses.

4th House: This transit brings emotional focus to home, family, and your sense of inner peace. You may reconnect deeply with loved ones or feel the need to cut ties with toxic family dynamics. It’s a great time to support and care for your close circle but be mindful of emotional overwhelm. Buying property or making your living space more comfortable is also likely.

8th House: Some may face sudden shifts in family members' health or even loss in rare cases. This aspect also stirs deep introspection and curiosity about the hidden or taboo, think therapy, occult, or healing work.

10th House: Favorable for career growth, though it may feel intense or heavy at times. A strong push toward foreign or remote work is likely. You might also take on more responsibilities that push you to step up in your profession.

12th House: Spiritual detachment becomes a theme as you may explore holistic healing, solitude, or unconventional belief systems. Some connections may fall away as you move toward a future more aligned with who you’re becoming. This is also a powerful time to prepare for relocation or engage in meaningful connections abroad.

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