#Bounding Box Annotation

[globosetechnologysolutionspvt]

https://justpaste.it/bcn8r

[gts1234]

Unlock the Power of AI with Expert Bounding Box Annotation Services

Bounding box annotation is a cornerstone of computer vision, enabling machines to detect and recognize objects in images accurately. From self-driving cars to e-commerce search engines, bounding box annotation plays a critical role in training AI models for object detection and classification. At GTS AI, we offer precise and reliable bounding box annotation services tailored to elevate your AI and machine learning projects. In this blog, we’ll explore the significance of bounding box annotation, its applications, and why GTS AI is your trusted partner.

What Is Bounding Box Annotation?

Bounding box annotation is the process of drawing rectangular boxes around objects in an image to help AI models learn to detect and classify those objects. These boxes serve as the foundation for training computer vision models. Key components of bounding box annotation include:

Object Localization: Identifying and marking the exact location of objects in an image.

Class Labels: Assign descriptive labels to each bounding box to categorize the objects.

High-quality bounding box annotation ensures that AI models can accurately detect and identify objects in real-world scenarios.

Why Is Bounding Box Annotation Essential?

Training AI Models: Bounding box annotations provide the structured data needed for object detection algorithms to learn effectively.

Improving Model Accuracy: Precise annotations help reduce errors and improve the performance of AI models.

Enabling Innovation: Accurate annotations pave the way for groundbreaking applications, such as autonomous vehicles and facial recognition systems.

Real-World Application: Annotated data helps models generalize better, ensuring robust performance across various environments.

Applications of Bounding Box Annotation

Bounding box annotation has a wide range of applications across industries, including:

Autonomous Vehicles: Annotated images help train AI to recognize pedestrians, vehicles, and traffic signs, ensuring safe navigation.

Retail and E-Commerce: Product detection and recommendation engines rely on bounding box annotations for accurate search results.

Healthcare: Annotated medical images assist AI models in identifying abnormalities and supporting diagnostics.

Agriculture: AI models use annotated images to monitor crop health, detect pests, and optimize yields.

Security and Surveillance: Bounding box annotations enable real-time object detection for enhanced safety and monitoring.

Features of High-Quality Bounding Box Annotation

When choosing bounding box annotation services, look for these key attributes:

Precision: Accurate annotations ensure better model performance and reduce false positives.

Consistency: Uniform annotations across the dataset enhance the reliability of AI models.

Scalability: The ability to annotate large datasets efficiently is essential for complex projects.

Domain Expertise: Expertise in the relevant field ensures that annotations align with project requirements.

GTS AI’s Bounding Box Annotation Services

At GTS AI, we provide world-class annotation services to meet the needs of your AI projects. Here’s what sets us apart:

Expert Annotators: Our team of skilled professionals delivers precise and consistent annotations.

Custom Solutions: We tailor our services to your specific project requirements, ensuring relevance and quality.

Advanced Tools: We use state-of-the-art annotation tools to achieve high accuracy and efficiency.

Ethical Practices: Our data handling processes comply with industry standards and privacy regulations.

Best Practices for Bounding Box Annotation

To maximize the impact of your bounding box annotation efforts:

Define Clear Objectives: Specify the categories and objects you want annotated to align with your project goals.

Use High-Resolution Images: Ensure the quality of images to capture fine details and improve annotation accuracy.

Quality Control: Implement rigorous checks to maintain consistency and precision in annotations.

Iterative Refinement: Continuously refine annotations based on model feedback to enhance performance.

Conclusion

Bounding box annotation is a vital step in building high-performing AI models for object detection and classification. Whether you’re working on autonomous driving, healthcare diagnostics, or retail analytics, precise annotations are key to achieving success. At GTS AI, we provide top-notch services to help you unlock the full potential of your AI solutions.

[hhoneylemon]

𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘵. 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢

jess mariano x reader

genre; fluff

word count; 896

summary; jess annotates a book for reader and then proceeds to rethink every decision he’s ever made.

reader pov

I had stopped by at Luke’s Diner to grab a coffee and have a small chat with Jess in the morning. He described a book he had recently read, saying it had been turned into a movie that disrespected the name.

“It’s so bad. Like, they changed multiple events and even one of the characters names. Don’t forget how everyone interacts with each other… it basically just shares the same name as the book is all.”

It was interesting seeing how frustrated he got about it, and I smiled at him.

“What book is this?”

His eyes widen a tad as he realizes he didn’t even say.

“I Know What You Did Last Summer. Lois Duncan.”

I nod, interested. I’d heard of the movie before, I think, in passing from my best friend. She and her mother watch a lot of things together, this might’ve been one she talked about.

“Did you like the book?”

I take a sip from my coffee, allowing the warmth of the drink to wake me up a bit more.

“Yeah, it was good. I annotated it as I read, if you want to borrow it.”

I smile at the offer, nodding along.

“I’d like that.”

And so here I sit, comfortably on my bed as I read the book. Jess’s annotations were always interesting. He didn’t only look at suspicious details in the story, he also had a soft spot for some of the romantic moments. It made me smile whenever I saw one, that goof.

The book was good, as he had said it was. I knew that Jess had written his full thoughts in the very back, so once I finished, I took everything in to form my opinions. I then open to the back to compare.

I didn’t expect a small folded paper to fall out. A little ‘huh’ escapes from my lips as I unfold it, reading it. I almost laugh at the simplicity of it. A note saying ‘Will you go on a date with me?’ with two boxes, one for yes and one for no. I snort in amusement, before placing it beside me to read his thoughts.

They were agreeable. It was well written and the. characters were developed. Barry was an asshole and Ray came off kinda creepy during some parts of the book.

Once I finish reading his thoughts, I turn my attention back to the note. I pick it up and walk to my desk, grabbing a pen. I checkmark the yes box and slide the note back into the book, knowing I’ll drop it off before dinner.

jess pov

What was I thinking.

Metallica pulses through the air as I stare at the ceiling. I’m lying on the floor as I collect my thoughts. I just asked out Y/n, and in probably the most stupid way possible.

What else can I do, I guess? And it’s too late anyways, they’re bound to have seen it by now.

Perhaps it isn’t the end of the world. If they say no, I’ll lose a close friend, but I’ll survive. Maybe I’ll be regretting who I am for a while, but I’ll survive.

The notes of Nothing Else Matters ring in my ears like a bell. I hum along faintly, occupying myself from my thoughts.

I pick myself up when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

“Yes?”

Luke pops his head in, looking at me with tired eyes.

“C’mon. Dinner rush about to come in.”

And so I turn off my CD player and trudge down to the diner, ready to serve the rush. I head to the counter like my uncle asks me to and take peoples orders, scribbling in the notepad and dismissing them to a table. I hand the notepad to Luke to take to whoever’s cooking and repeat the process who knows how many times, when my attention is grabbed by a familiar face entering the diner.

Y/n approaches the counter with a friendly smile, brandishing my copy of I Know What You Did Last Summer. They place it on the counter, and I take it into my hands.

“Thoughts?”

I watch them lean against the counter and think for a moment.

“Well, I thought it was good. Barry was terrible to Helen, Ray was kinda freaky, Julie’s mom was a real one, some of the scenes were cool. The gunshot during the fireworks show was clever, I liked that. A crazed brother is a little silly, I wonder what happened to poor Megan. I feel bad for the parents of the little boy. I liked Helen but thought she was a little dim for not realizing what Barry was up to. His mom was annoying. I also like how you annotate books, by the way. Seeing your thought process is really interesting while I’m having my own, y’know?”

Y/n finishes, looking at me. Their look is knowing, so I know they read the note. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I wonder what they’ll say, if anything. The silence that follows what they say is awkward.

And then, “I’ll go out with you.”

They hand me the note, and I see that they checked off the yes box. I look up and see them smiling at me. I give a small smile back.

Maybe it wasn’t a mistake after all.

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

With a Chance

First posted: August 4, 2018

Focuses on: Bruce Wayne and his horrible children

Favorite bookmark: "they watched homeward bound i'm gonna sue this fic for emotional damages"

Second favorite bookmark: “oh"

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

Title note: This is, of course, a pun—Chance being the narrator for Homeward Bound, as voiced by Michael J. Fox.

Another Whumptober fic that I somehow skipped over annotating? Oops. I mean, I'm largely doing these for me, myself, and I, so I doubt anyone noticed. But still. I'm a completionist.

“It is now eight o’clock, Father,” Damian announced. When Bruce didn’t respond, Damian sniffed and added, “Eight o’clock post meridian. You have been asleep for nine hours.”

Even though the height doesn't actually work for this, I definitely picture Damian peeking over the edge of the bed like Calvin. Just eyes and a nose.

“You have been sleeping an excessive amount lately,” Damian said, his tone cautious as he placed each carefully chosen word after the next.

Criticizing an authority figure is risky for Damian. And, like he states in the next paragraph, it's not like Bruce is known for being lazy, and he does usually need more sleep than he gets, buuuuut...

“Pennyworth is concerned that you are exhibiting classic signs of a depressive episode.” A pause. “Are you?”

I need everyone to know that, based on my own face, Damian likely had both a furrowed brow and a bottom lip that stuck out in a little pout of consternation. There is a MYSTERY to UNCOVER and SOLVE and that mystery is WHY is Father being so weird and how CONCERNED should we be?????

He hadn’t eaten all day. But then, he wasn’t really hungry, and the idea of forcing himself to stay awake when he couldn’t leave his bed sounded maddening. So he slept.

Both here and an earlier mention of using a bell were unobtrusive, low effort ways to start seeding in the details of why Bruce was in bed and why Damian was really concerned. It's not a revelatory writing trick, but it's one some newbies overlook, I feel.

When Bruce awoke next, he was being watched. Alfred the Cat stared back at Bruce with golden, lidded eyes from his comfortable perch atop Bruce’s chest.

My cats, generally, do not sit on my chest. They do walk all over me and one has a bad habit of tapping my face with his paw when he really wants me up. I feel I was inordinately kind to Bruce here.

Bruce thought that was a really judgey tone to take with an injured man. He was about to say so when another figure appeared behind Damian.

Bruce on drugs is a lot looser and his internal monologue is a lot closer to how I write Tim now. Which is awfully fun from a metatextual standpoint, I feel.

“Hey, B,” Dick chirped. “Good, you’re up.”

This was still within my first year of writing the Fam, so I had yet to shake off some of the more robust fanonisms that I had picked up from others. I rewrite some of the characterization now, particularly the verb chirped, though I maintain that Damian calling for backup is the right choice.

“Dames, pick out a movie. Not 101 Dalmatians.”

The movie choices throughout this fic were fun for me to pick through. 101 Dalmatians was a personal Baby Lurker favorite. I still have a stuffed Dalmatian from when I was small in a box somewhere. His name was Patch. He did not have a Patch.

“Don’t worry, B, the one without brain damage is here.” Plastic pieces rattled against cardboard as Tim shoved a pile of boxes into Dick’s arms. “I’ll take care of this. Go stand over there. Or better yet, go help the brat. He was trying to decide between Madagascar and The Secret Life of Pets, and I’m not doing either of those.”

Funnily enough, not a Ric reference, at least not intentionally. Again, movie choices. I'd replace Madagascar with something else if I rewrote this. All three choices mentioned so far have been animated and too humorous. Maybe Milo and Otis.

[Tim] hesitated, always the reserved son, then placed a hand on Bruce’s forehead and rubbed a thumb along the crease carved into the skin. Bruce blinked slowly, a drugged-up cat basking in the warmth.

Children returning physical affection to their parents in the form they received and themselves preferred is such an underrated treat, in my opinion.

“Flamin’,” Cass said by way of greeting, holding up a monster bag of Cheetos.

“Alfred didn’t see you?” Bruce asked. Cass’s only reply was to giggle as she dumped her load—Bruce could hear crinkling plastic, but also rattling glass within the recycled totes—next to his end table.

For those keeping track, Dick brought unidentified snacks, Tim brought board games, and Cass brought Cheetos and drinks.

“Silly,” Cass said, tapping his nose. Bruce quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t stretch.” He rolled his eyes, making her laugh again.

They all have to come inspect him, and touch him. Makes me happy.

At Bruce’s puzzled look, Dick smiled and moved to help Cass unload her bags. “You here, unable to patrol or run away or hide in your office? How could we pass that up?” he teased.

Really, think about it. You're telling me that if Damian called and said "I think Father is depressed" but ALSO their dad was bedbound and unable to escape them? Uninterrupted Dad Time with a lightly drugged Bruce?? Of COURSE everyone showed up!

Jason passed off the food to his clamoring siblings, then strode to the bed and glared down at Bruce. “You made me look like an idiot, you know. I had to hear from freaking Jordan that you banged up your back again. How am I supposed to have any credibility as the puppet master of Gotham’s underworld if I have to hear things third-hand from Hal Jordan, huh? Jerk.”

And that is why Bruce was allowed to rot in bed for five days. Baaaaaaad communication. I also don't remember Hal taking strays in this one, so that's a funny piece of fanon I picked up as well, apparently.

(Bruce, you’re on drugs. You get water. Eat your nasty garbage pizza.) It was not nasty garbage pizza. Choosing everything-with-olives was a defense strategy when dining with five bottomless pits.

This was a friend's father's strategy. As an adult, I now have a better appreciation for garbage pizza, but at the time, it was a handy deterrent for when his kids invited too many friends over and pizza was battled over.

At one point, he was jarred from his careful nibbling of a slice of cheese bread by his mattress shaking as his children leapt to their feet in time with the television and sang (deliberately off-key, he suspected) about chasing a line where the sky met the sea and how far they would go. Even Cass knew the words. He found her dramatic gestures surprisingly moving.

2018 was peak Moana time and I do not apologize for this.

Bruce wasn’t sure exactly when everyone finished their competitive blood feuds and settled in next to him. Somewhere in the second movie, he thought, maybe around the waterfall scene. It was a good scene. He remembered watching it with Dick when his boy was still just a boy, and the way Dick’s young eyes had gone wide with concern.

Baby Lurker also both adored and was supremely stressed out by Homeward Bound. Sassy going over the waterfall was horrible. (This was not helped by my ability to read enough to be able to tell that Sassy was voiced by someone named Sally who sounded, to me, very much like my Nana, who was also named Sally. STRESS.)

Bruce wanted to remember the way Tim sprawled at the end of the bed, his head on Alfred the Cat’s back and his hair curling softly at his shirt collar. He wanted to remember Cass tucked under Jason’s arm, eyes blinking sleepily, and her hand tucked into Bruce’s palm. Bruce wanted to remember Jason’s cheek nestled atop Cass’s head, his gaze open and more unguarded than Bruce had seen in a lifetime, and his feet resting on Tim’s legs in what had started as a joke and what had settled into an excuse for physical contact that didn’t end in bloodshed. He wanted to remember Dick taking up more than his fair share of the bed, spine twisted so his head could rest in Damian’s lap, nearly matching Alfred’s purrs as Damian absently stroked his hair. Bruce wanted to remember Damian tucked up against his side, no protestations about being treated like a child or posturing for the sake of pride.

As with Mother Bruce and It Wasn't Real, I took a particular delight in the finicky logistics of who would end up next to whom and how.

“Shhhh!” Damian hissed, eyes rapt on the screen and the long-anticipated reunion taking place. But he bumped his head against Bruce’s chest fondly and left it there, settling as the lone horn played.

Damian is a cat. Heads butts are his form of affection, I state it then and I state it now.

And if every member of his rough-and-tumble vigilante family teared up as the old golden retriever crested that autumn hill, Bruce would remember but never tell.

Also very much enjoyed the slow buildup to the movie reveal. For readers who had never seen Homeward Bound, the final quote still worked well, but those who knew That Scene felt lightly stabbed.

[faorism]

[nsfw, bdsm, pet play, end of life planning, lev:red 3.01-3 spoilers] it has been a long day of planning around possible disruptions to bre's carol plans, but as head of an international group, parker can't sit back on her laurels. the hong kong team had requested parkers insight on physical actual VHS tapes they found in a mark's lock box. while they could figure out the blackmail material each held on most of them, this last video had them stumped.

when she opened the box mailed to her, parker sniffed the tape and was hit with memories of working with archie, of ripping out shiny black ribbon again and again to hide evidence of their pursuits. she doesn't do that now, obviously; she asked bre to lend her a player from the maker's retro tech hoard, and now parker sits in her living room, in her home away from home away from home, watching a bunch of boring dudes talking about laundering money through laundromats.

the HK team's "fast talker" (a forensic linguist with a bone to pick with the judicial system) gave parker a full transcript plus translation and annotations, but nothing indicated why this was kept so secure. hence, parker pushing into the night after a full day of work, on her third rewatch without a sense of why it would be kept.

at her feet, facing towards the tv as well, eliot kneels, naked and bound and oh so handsome.

she rolls her fingers through his curls, which he allowed to go natural since the last con's barrel seller. each stroke, she can smell the lush smell of his favorite conditioner—coconut, honey, a scrape of peony—rises up from each manipulation. she's going to miss it when he straightens it for their bounty hunter. he's been trying not to burn it straight as much anymore, so his hair has been delightfully voluminous, so any reason that is taken away (even for a short while) makes parker clingy.

so, she pets him. plays with his hair. lets clever fingers dance around locks of eliots hair.

to protect his joints, he is on a kneeler, legs tucked under the seat in a seiza posture. his chubbed cock balance between his thighs, balls parker tucked underneath to give pressure. adding to the sensation is eliots undoubtedly ringing frustration by the small size of the plug inside him. his restraints, though they do not disrupt his hips or legs, indicate parker expects eliot to stay where she leaves him. and he's a very good boy, so he stays instead of shaking his ass to try and get the doggy tail plug to even graze his prostate once.

poor puppy.

thinking of the restraints makes parker want to see them. gloat to herself on how pretty she made him.

so, during a few minutes parker knows nothing is going on, she says, eyes on the screen, as she grabs his hair in a ponytail and pushes his to lean forward, curving his back in a similar slope as when he's presenting his hole to her. he is presenting, in a way.

presenting his collar—the D‐ring at the back that is clipped with a short spreader bar that hangs sweetly down his spine, and this is clipped to a large O-ring on his double wrist restraint. two thin chains are also attached to the ring, trailing to either side, curving around his ribs to the butterfly clamps on his nipples. parker hums, satisfied, looking lower and seeing the tuff of fur from eliots cute little tail.

she reaches down with her free hand and rubs her palm against the plug. eliots breathing hitches but he keeps to exactly where parker wants him. his crack is so warm and perfect, and parker wants to lick him.

so she does. she licks his shoulder, then kisses up to behind his ear. parker licks the curve of his ear, and then bites the lobe.

eliot grunts at her in his Why Am I So Turned By This woof.

parker glances at the tv and continues to see the various dudes quietly waiting. turning her attention back to eliot, she pulls his hair back at an angle. into his ear, she purrs, such a pretty boy.

lip twitches show eliots reaction, but he's locked in on obeying her previous order. this moment she wishes she had chosen the girthier plug, so she could properly fuck him with it as a tease. instead, parker settles on pinching his cheeks where the fat dips into the crack. he whines by the third one, and parker just squeezes harder.

she knows she has a limited amount of time until dialogue starts again. she could just keep playing it, but parker's enough of a professional to not let her horniness interfere with the job. she presses stop. eliot shivers knowing her full attention is on him now.

elllllllliot, parker singsongs. she digs her nails into his cheeks and then pulls twin scratches up his back. im thinking doggie needs a treat. she nibbles behind his ear, along his collar. or maybe i do. parker licks the first knob of his spine below his collar, hair swept aside to expose him. parker nibbles then bites harder, locking flesh between teeth and gnawing. she can almost feel the skin get pink and tender under her attention.

tastes so good, she says, moving to another vertebrae. she pulls at the skin and sucks, and parker wants to just gobble him up and—

knife.

parker draws back quickly at the safeword for pause (a knife can go either way, depending). she undoes his wrist restraints without question even though it wasn't required; she just wants him more mobility, in case he needs it. and then she puts her hands on eliots shoulders, trying not to listen to her jackrabbit heart yelling at her to run and escape because she fucked everything up.

what do you need? parker asks, because she's a good dom.

how'd you figure it out?

parker doesn't like this arrangement. she goes to crawl over eliot, so they can face each other, but he shakes his head.

like this? eliot shakes out his hair inviting touch. she decides to leave her hands but try her face, pressing her nose into his hair. he nods before she can confirm he's comfortable. thank you. now what did i figure out? each word produces a kiss to his hair.

the... wolves. being part of the pack after i... eliot huffs like he always does when he's emotionally vulnerable and trying to hide it. i never said anything.

why didn't you?

you had a hard enough time with nate. didn't want to push it. you. but never thought i'd have a choice. would just die like a dog taking on too big of a fight.

parkers stomach hurts hearing eliot talk about himself like that. she clenches her teeth then relaxes them to push out some pressure. in her best silly singsong, she says, sorry but puppies end up dying as some kind of dog. eliot chuckles. gonna take care of you until youre a nice old doggo who lays around all day and wants scritches all the time.

gonna old yeller me? parker makes a confused sound and then eliot rushes in with, don't worry about it. anyway, heard about your plan for robots so thought any other choice was moot.

parker knows he said it offhandedly, but parker still rushes in with, you always have a choice, eliot.

eliot, probably hearing her distress, drags her hands to cross over his collar, so she can properly hug him. he kisses her knuckles as they pass by. thank you, darling.

can i kiss behind your ear again?

yeah go ahead.

its an awkward angle to hold this position, but she's had much worse in vents, and parker likes how close they are. she kisses him as promised, and then she confesses, i did hear your response to head measuring and robot bodies. it didn't sound like you liked it as much. and that made me sad so i ignored it. she was also very jealous of shipp, she can admit to herself now, even knowing objectively eliot just wanted his own mcsweeten.

what changed your mind?

parker squeezes eliot tight. i love you, el. ill miss you but... i want you happy. and you wouldn't want to be totally alone, so...

and that's it?

you got very upset with the wolf poacher, which helped my guess. parker runs her fingers in circles on eliots collarbone. she wants to touch the rest of him, but this is where he left her hands, so this is where she'll stay. parker feels her tone hollowing out as she swallows down emotions. youre such a good boy, and you deserve whatever you want, after years of good service. the best reward for a loyal pup. and? maybe robot hardison and me can watch over your pack forever and ever and—

take my brain.

really?

it's yours. im yours. and... huffy eliot. and maybe your bodies... said you didn't care about 'em. maybe you can—

—be pack with you?! parker hugs him with most of her strength.

fuck, fuck, spoon, eliot moans their go/green word with a suddenness parker nearly jumps at from the tonal shift.

yeah? eliot yanks her hands to his nipple clamps and makes her squeeze them harder and yank on them. so eager!

sorry, darl—fuck! parker twists his tits hard enough she knows it has got to sting and sting bad. eliot just shivers. theres the slight squeak of wood that signals ah, he is working hard not to thrust and is failing. instead he arches back into parker, who takes the opportunity to peek down at his lap.

ohhh, parker laughs, delighted, at eliots red and proud erection between his strong thighs. i didnt notice but did the praise and respect make my puppy all excited? does body autonomy make a puppy very horny? she twists the other way and pulls outward. at eliots whine, she encourages, answer me.

yes, parker, yes, i—

jerk onto the floor. eliots hands fly to obey her order. his talented fingers ring his cock and work quickly over the readied length.

eliots pleasure is a glorious site to witness. his growly panting, his precision with every tug, how he leans back into his and parkers embrace, desperate for any more touch he can steal. parker would have loved to drag this out, but she suspects eliot was hard for more of the conversation than she anticipated. with a perfectly timed nip twist on the clamps to really drive him wild, eliot groans out her name as he comes in a streak across the wood floor.

good boy, parker repeats again and again into eliots ear. sweet boy.

may i? eliot says the second he's done, almost shy with how soft his growl is.

it may sound like a non sequiter, but parker knows her eliot. go ahead. she works with him to shift over the kneeler so he can rock forward in a pushup, knees and calves still tucked into the kneeler. his tail plug wags happily as he gets into position.

and then eliot finds the first pearly white jizz puddle, and he laps at it.

stunning.

absolutely stunning.

eliot is flushed, his cheeks and neck around the collar and ears and shoulders bright red. his pink tongue flicks out with as pretty a color as he chases the taste of his own come with hungry enthusiasm. parker curls up into her seat to watch him find each speckle of his orgasm. he checks her from the corner of his eye, and eliot blushes deeper at her attention.

parker would have never thought she could have this, once. sex, sure. a subby little puppy, maybe. but this kind of peace? this kind of familiarity? the intimacy of trust? love like this?

parker hadn't thought much of eliot when they first met. a buff guy—a skilled hitter—enough of a danger she wouldn't want to fight him off for risk of injury. she would just stay away from him. easy. hardison was immediately more interesting because he was funny and friendly and sweet. but then eliot became eliot, became so much more, as she reached deeper and deeper underneath the exterior that once stupidly bored her, and as eliot let her in and she let him in in return.

she just... had... to go underneath.

huh.

eliot looks over at her, head tilted in interest just like a doggie.

parker should stay in the scene, but she feels her attention split. no, bad. don't abandon eliot. don't—

eliot stops licking (he's mostly done anyway), and presses his forehead to her knee. parker automatically reaches out to pet his hair. y'got your epiphany face on. very distinctive, he says with a smile in his tone.

im taking care of you.

i got my head about me, darling. not too deep. do what you have to.

i love you, parker says jumping up and running over to the VCR. she ejects the tape and looks it over, finding the screws holding it together. she knows that the HK team has long digitized the tape, and sent the physical copy because parker knows enough about tech now to know that for a mystery this deep, you need to start from scratch. so, there's a copy so she could break it open for expedency, but she decides to take the pick out of her sports bra and use the back end to unscrew the VHS.

huh, eliot says from where he's sat on the floor against the couch. y'woulda thought kwok would've looked there before the trouble of mailing it.

they're young and more coder than hacker. this will be their networked hicks, parker says generously as she can finally break open the shell and—bingo. a rolled up sheet of paper.

she shuts the VHS without screwing it closed again and quickly glances at the paper once she unspools it. its got a cypher, but from the formatting it looks like a bill of sale—not her business, but HK's. she takes some photos with her phone and sends it to the team's point person.

hand it here and i could figure it out? eliot offers

not our homework. parker tucks back into the couch, puts aside the paper, and then pats on the seat beside her. and you're busy. up, boy.

eliot smiles softly. you're spoiling me. he crawls onto the couch, lays his head in parkers lap, sinks in as she pets his hair. she doesn't deny it: after all, it's exactly what her puppy deserves.

[wedarkacademia]

dark academia stationary tips? ideas? please? i beg of you.

Deepen Your Dive into Dark Academia Stationery:

Crafting the Canvas:

Paper: Embrace the tactile – rough-edged parchment, marbled sheets, hand-dyed linen paper. Seek antique ledgers, vintage score sheets, or maps for a truly timeworn effect.

Ink: Let your words drip in history – deep emerald greens, rich burgundy, charcoal grey. Discover shimmering gold or silver for elegant annotations. For an extra flourish, explore calligraphy inks and vintage fountain pens.

Beyond the Basics:

Washi Tapes: Forget the neon, embrace botanical prints, celestial patterns, and antique library stamps. Layer them for depth, use them to seal letters, or decorate journal edges.

Stickers & Tags: Pressed leaves, dried flowers, and ephemera from library archives add a touch of natural mystery. Vintage anatomy diagrams, constellations, and old library catalog cards offer an academic flair.

Sealing Secrets: Wax seals & ribbons elevate simple letters into heirlooms. Choose deep green wax, embossed with a raven, a quill, or your own monogram. Tie with silk or hemp twine for a finishing touch.

Unleashing the Scholarly Spirit:

Journals & Notebooks: Opt for leather-bound volumes, with aged paper and ribbon bookmarks. Decorate with antique maps, pressed flowers, or handwritten quotes from your favorite poets.

Organizing Knowledge: Index cards, vintage library pockets, and antique file folders help categorize your studies. Label them with elegant script and adorn them with botanical sketches or scientific diagrams.

The Scholar's Tools: Antique brass compasses, vintage rulers, and magnifying glasses add a touch of academic ambiance to your desk.

Whispers of Antiquity:

Poetry & Letters: Handwrite in a flowing script, penning sonnets or letters to fellow scholars. Let foreign languages add a touch of mystery, or slip in quotes from forgotten classics.

Ephemera & Found Objects: Tuck pressed leaves, antique botanical prints, or ticket stubs from forgotten museums into your notebooks. Let them spark inspiration and evoke past journeys.

The Art of Storytelling: Create your own dark academia-inspired stationery. Make vintage-themed envelopes from maps, decorate boxes with constellation patterns, or craft your own wax seal stamp.

Remember, dark academia is about embracing an atmosphere. Let your creativity flow, curate your collection with intention, and transform your stationery into a portal to an enchanting world of forgotten knowledge and secret societies.

[pure-ablution]

Are there any apps or certain ways you like to study that you make you enjoy it? Or ways that you organize your notes (colour coordination etc.)? Do you use spreadsheets maybe to organize your thoughts/study plan? Music? Calendars? Favourite stationery? 𖹭

A lot of my study organisation is already written about, under my #study tips tag! If you take a look and scroll way back, you’ll probably find that I’ve answered a lot of questions about my general day-to-day organisation and methods.

I’m quite an analogue sort of student, and I don’t use all that many apps to help me organise my notes and revision. I write most of my notes by hand, using the Cornell method, because I find that I make clearer notes, have more freedom in format, and recall information and structure much better when I’ve handwritten everything myself. I have specific colour codes that signify different things in different subjects (i.e. a red underline or purple highlight means something different in my Aesthetics notes vs my St Augustine notes). I’ve found that this is most helpful, since you don’t always need to draw attention to the same points and features of note in every subject; for example, in Aesthetics, I make the point of visually marking out the structure of the argument, highlighting the value judgements, underlining the main thesis, etc. whereas when I’m annotating St Augustine, I focus more on noting points of syntax, marking out specific voltas in the course of the passage, tracking textual references and philosophical/theological tensions, and so on. I’m a fan of paper flashcards and a Leitner box for continuous recall, and I have flashcards for vocabulary and quotations, argument and essay structures, scholarly debate and secondary literature, thematic connections, and visual prompts (for my art history papers).

I’m not 100% analogue, though, and I like using Zotero to collate my references and annotate primary texts that require a more comprehensive and flexible commentary (see e.g. here). I use Google Calendar to plan out my days with a more focused to-do list written down in my agenda, I organise my course content by term and keep track of my professors’ details using a simple spreadsheet, and I use my phone to record lectures that would otherwise go unrecorded, then type up my own transcripts and print them out for annotation and filing.

As for silly little things like music and stationery: I tend to listen to classical music or choral recordings when studying, but honestly, I can study to practically any sort of music, as long as it is at the perfect volume to block out background noise but not overpower anything—when I was cramming for my Mods, I listened to nothing but Mitski (and now I’ve Pavloved myself into getting the insane urge to read Virgil every time I listen to her music). I’m particular with my stationery, but I don’t buy anything particularly extravagant: I like lined 3x5 index cards, a little scrappy A5 pad for rough notes, spiral-bound A4 pads for ‘final draft’ notes, sturdy lever-arch files, and coloured fineliners and highlighters. I tend to buy from tried-and-true brands like Staedtler, Stabilo, Clairefontaine, and the ‘Black n’ Red’ line of notebooks. It’s nothing especially niche or expensive, and that’s why I like it; the quality is relatively guaranteed, and I can easily find replacements in any high street stationery shop instead of having to pre-order from Japan or whatever.

It’s all simple, really. I enjoy studying because I know how to engage with the content in a way that I understand and that interests me, and I’m reading for a degree I love. There’s no special product or technique that I use that I credit with my good grades or love for learning; it was always just a case of learning what worked for me, and then sticking to that consistently. Consistency is the most important thing, and I always feel a tremendous sense of satisfaction when I fill up another notebook or have a shelf full of neatly-organised and well-divided files. It gives me confidence, too, because I know that I haven’t spent forever on creating the perfect, aesthetically-pleasing set of notes that really mean nothing to me, on getting to grips with yet another new organisation app that promises much the same as the last, or spent money I don’t have on a fancy new iPad or specialist stationery, but rather I’ve actually directed my focus and enthusiasm towards the topic at hand, and used a method that I know from experience has given me proven results.

[averalia]

The Cold Case

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// part 4 (Final)

| Pairing: (platonic)Athens Grant x Reader

| Warning: Warning/s: Attempted kidnapping, assault, guns, death

I Summary: Athena uncovers crucial evidence, your documents and a flash drive with audio recordings exposing a powerful, murderous conspiracy. With Hen's help, she verifies the evidence and anonymously leaks it to an investigative journalist, triggering a public exposé and FBI inquiry. However, the conspirators retaliate with a direct threat to Athena's family, forcing her to move them to a secure, remote cabin as the fight for justice escalates into a personal war.

| A/N: stuff is getting messy

Back in the relative safety of her car, miles from the judge’s old house, Athena finally allowed herself to breathe. Her hands, still gloved, trembled slightly as she placed the small metal box on her lap. The city lights cast long shadows across the dashboard, but her focus was entirely on the unassuming container.

With a deep breath, she unlatched the simple clasp. The lid creaked open, revealing its contents.

Inside, nestled amongst layers of what looked like old, yellowed tissue paper, were several thick manila envelopes. They were tightly bound with rubber bands, brittle with age. Her heart hammered against her ribs. These were the documents Thomas Thorne's father, Judge Thorne, had kept as leverage.

She carefully removed the first envelope. The handwriting on the front was precise, almost calligraphic. "Project Nightingale - Land Acquisitions." Athena pulled out the contents. They were photocopies, faded but still legible, of legal documents: property deeds, zoning permits, environmental impact assessments. But unlike the public records, these had handwritten annotations in the margins, notes, and figures scribbled in a tight, meticulous script she recognized from Y/N's old case file: Y/N's handwriting.

These weren't just copies; they were Y/N's copies, with their own damning observations. One document showed an abnormally low valuation for a prime piece of land, with a note from Y/N: "Appraisal fraudulent. Actual market value ~$10M higher. Discrepancy unexplained." Another detailed a hasty re-zoning request, with Y/N's comment: "Approved in 3 days. No public hearing. Bypass?"

The envelopes contained similar documentation: financial records, shell company registrations, and even a few internal memos from the development firms that contradicted their public statements. It was a paper trail, undeniable and meticulously compiled, exposing the layers of corruption that had propelled the downtown project.

But then, at the very bottom of the box, beneath the last envelope, Athena's fingers brushed against something else. It was small, no larger than her thumb, encased in a hard, clear plastic shell. A flash drive.

Her breath hitched. Thorne had said his father claimed to have destroyed the flash drive, to have melted it down. Yet, here it was. It wasn't a modern USB stick, but an early model, bulkier and more rectangular, likely from the late 1990s, when they were just beginning to become commercially available. The kind that would have required a specific driver to run on older operating systems, something a corrupt judge might have overlooked in his hurried attempt to destroy evidence, or perhaps dismissed as too antiquated to be of use.

This was the holy grail. If Thomas Thorne was right, this flash drive contained the audio recordings. The actual voices of the conspirators, caught in the act.

A shiver of triumph, mixed with profound dread, ran through Athena. This wasn't just proof; it was a hammer, poised to shatter the lives of powerful men. But wielding it would be incredibly dangerous. They had killed once. They would kill again to keep these secrets buried.

She looked down at the old photo of you, Y/N, still in the cold case file on her passenger seat. Your smile was bright, full of life, a life unjustly taken. "Y/N," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "we got them. We finally got them."

The documents and the flash drive now presented a new, even more complex challenge. She couldn't take them back to the precinct and simply hand them over. The reach of this conspiracy, even after three decades, was unknown. She needed a secure, independent way to verify the flash drive's contents and to disseminate this information without exposing herself or her family to immediate retaliation.

She knew exactly who to call. Someone outside the department, someone she trusted implicitly with her life, and with secrets of this magnitude. Someone who had the technical expertise to access a vintage flash drive, and the moral compass to handle the truth, no matter how ugly. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over Hen Wilson's contact. Hen was a paramedic, but she was also incredibly resourceful, loyal, and had a surprising network of tech-savvy friends. This was too big for anyone else.

The fight, Athena realized, had just truly begun. And it was going to be the fight of her life.

Hen picked up on the second ring, her voice a little sleepy. "Athena? Everything alright? It's pretty late."

"Hen, I need your help," Athena said, her voice low and urgent. "Something outside official channels. Something incredibly sensitive. And it involves a flash drive from the late nineties."

There was a beat of silence on Hen's end, then a rustle as she clearly sat up. "A flash drive from the nineties? You found a time capsule? You know I'm usually asleep by now, Athena. This better be good." But the teasing tone was gone, replaced by a note of concern as she picked up on Athena's seriousness. "Bring it over. And bring whatever else you found. My garage is clear, and Denny's with Karen this weekend."

An hour later, Athena was meticulously laying out the contents of the metal box on Hen's workbench, the old documents spread carefully under the harsh glare of an overhead lamp. Hen, in her usual no-nonsense fashion, had already produced a vintage laptop from a dusty box and was fiddling with an array of cables and adapters.

"Okay," Hen mumbled, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose. "This looks like a SCSI drive. Finding a port for this might be tricky, but I think I have an old external reader. My uncle was a tech hoarder."

While Hen worked on the drive, Athena explained everything: Thomas Thorne’s testimony, his connection to Judge Thorne, the chilling implications of the decades-long cover-up. Hen listened intently, her brow furrowed, occasionally letting out a low whistle of disbelief.

"So, Y/N L/N, a whistleblower, murdered by a powerful conspiracy, and a judge helped cover it up," Hen summarized, shaking her head. "This is some deep-state stuff, Athena. Your family could be in serious danger if this gets out without a solid plan."

"I know," Athena said, her jaw tight. "That's why I need to know what's on this drive. If it's what Thorne says it is, it's irrefutable. Names, voices… that's leverage."

After several tense minutes of wrestling with connectors and drivers, Hen let out a triumphant grunt. "Got it! Old school, but it's reading. Let's see what Y/N L/N left for us."

The screen flickered, then a folder appeared labeled simply: "AUDIO LOGS." Beneath it were dozens of files, dated sequentially, starting from months before Y/N's death and continuing right up to the day before.

Hen clicked on the earliest file. A wave of static, then a faint click, and then, a voice. It was Y/N's. Clearer than any audio from the cold case files.

"Entry one, October 12th. Meeting with Mr. Harrison regarding the land swap. He's pushing for a significantly lower valuation than market. Says it's 'to expedite,' but it feels… off."

They listened, captivated, as Y/N's recordings laid bare the insidious process. Meetings, phone calls, hushed conversations. The voices of men, some of them still prominent figures in the city, discussing kickbacks, manipulating zoning laws, and silencing dissent. There was a chilling casualness to their corruption, a blatant disregard for the law and the public good.

Then came a recording from the day before Y/N’s death. The audio was slightly muffled, as if recorded secretly.

"…can't let this get out," a gruff voice snarled. "Y/N L/N knows too much. They're going to the DA. We need to handle it. Permanently."

Another voice, smooth and deceptively calm, replied, "Judge Thorne is sympathetic to our… concerns. He can make sure any complications are contained. But Y/N… they need to be taught a lesson. One that makes sure no one else ever tries this."

Athena's blood ran cold. The voices were clear, identifiable. The chilling nonchalance with which they discussed murder and cover-up was sickening. This wasn't just a conspiracy; it was a criminal enterprise spanning decades, shielded by power and privilege. The flash drive was a smoking gun, a time capsule of their guilt.

"Oh my God, Athena," Hen breathed, her face pale. "This is… this is bigger than anything. These people are monsters."

Athena didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the screen, on the list of audio files that represented your final, desperate fight for justice. The raw evidence, the undeniable proof, was finally here. But the battle was far from over. In fact, it had just escalated to an entirely new, terrifying level.

The weight of the flash drive in Athena's hand, now backed by the chilling reality of the audio logs, solidified her resolve. This wasn't just a cold case; it was an indictment of an entire system, and she couldn't afford to make a single misstep.

"We need to duplicate everything," Athena stated, her voice sharp with renewed purpose. "Every document, every audio file. And we need to do it with an unassailable chain of custody. No one can ever claim this evidence was tampered with."

Hen, already one step ahead, nodded. "Already on it. I have a forensic imaging tool. It'll create a bit-for-bit copy of that flash drive, and generate a hash value. That hash value is like a digital fingerprint – if even one pixel is changed on the copy, the hash won't match, proving tampering. We'll do the same with digital scans of all the documents."

They worked through the pre-dawn hours, the whir of the old laptop and the click of the scanner the only sounds in Hen's quiet garage. Athena meticulously photographed each document before scanning, ensuring a physical record even if the digital failed. Every step was documented, time-stamped, and witnessed by both of them.

"Once we have these verified copies," Athena continued, "we need to decide where to take it. My department… I can't trust anyone there fully with this yet. Not until the top layers of this conspiracy are exposed."

Hen wiped her brow. "So, no local DA, no LAPD Internal Affairs. This is federal, Athena. High-level public corruption. The FBI, maybe? Or the Public Integrity Section of the Department of Justice?"

Athena considered it. "The FBI's Public Corruption Unit is a strong possibility. They have the resources and the jurisdiction to go after this level of criminal enterprise. The DOJ's Public Integrity Section even more so. But we can't just walk in cold. We need a clear, undeniable presentation of the facts, anonymized at first, to get their full attention and protection for Thomas Thorne, and for us."

"Anonymized," Hen mused. "Like a secure leak. We'd need to use burner phones, encrypted messaging, maybe even a dead drop for a physical copy. And we need to make sure it gets to the right person, someone trustworthy within those agencies."

Athena's mind was already racing. "I have a contact, Special Agent Miller, in the FBI's Los Angeles field office. He's a straight shooter, known for his integrity. I've worked with him on inter-agency task forces. If anyone can handle this, it's him."

"But how do you get it to him without putting yourself on their radar immediately?" Hen pressed. "If these people are as powerful as Thorne says, they'll have eyes and ears everywhere."

Athena paced for a moment, her gaze falling on a worn globe in Hen's garage. "We don't go to him directly at first. We use a third party. Someone who can present this information as a 'concerned citizen' anonymously, but with enough credibility that Miller takes it seriously."

"Who?"

"An investigative journalist," Athena decided. "Not just any journalist, though. Someone with a reputation for breaking major corruption stories, someone who values source protection above all else, and who knows how to handle sensitive, potentially dangerous information. If we present it as a potential exposé, it'll force the FBI's hand and give us some public protection."

Hen frowned. "That's playing with fire, Athena. The press can be unpredictable."

"It's a calculated risk," Athena argued. "If we go direct to the FBI, they could bury it, or worse, the information could leak back to the conspirators through compromised channels. A journalist, especially one who's already demonstrated a willingness to go after powerful figures, will create a public mandate for investigation that even these criminals can't ignore."

She thought of the articles she'd found about Judge Thorne's sudden acquisition of properties. That small, independent paper, now defunct, had dared to ask questions. There had to be someone like that still out there, willing to stand up to power.

"I need to find the right journalist," Athena concluded, "and then we package this evidence in a way that screams 'undeniable truth' while keeping our identities completely separate. We'll provide just enough to pique their interest, the most damning audio logs, and lead them to the rest, step by secure step. And we do it from untraceable locations."

The dawn was breaking, casting a pale light through the garage windows. The digital copies hummed softly on Hen's laptop. The physical documents, once buried secrets, lay exposed. The initial fear was still there, a cold knot in her stomach, but it was now overshadowed by a fierce, protective determination. Justice for you, Y/N L/N, was within reach. And Athena Grant-Nash, with Hen's unwavering support, was going to make sure it happened, no matter the danger to herself or her family. The war was on.

Athena spent the next few days in a blur of focused intensity, her mind a steel trap. She researched investigative journalists with relentless dedication, cross-referencing their past work, their awards, and their reputation for protecting sources. She needed someone who wouldn't just break the story, but who had the tenacity and reach to see it through, even against powerful opposition. She settled on Eleanor Vance, a veteran reporter for a prominent national newspaper with a track record of exposing high-level corruption and a fierce, almost legendary, commitment to journalistic ethics.

Next, the logistics of the anonymous drop. Athena and Hen pooled their resources, acquiring untraceable burner phones and setting up encrypted communication channels. They chose a secure, public location for the drop: a locker at a busy, out-of-the-way bus terminal in a different city, one Eleanor Vance was known to frequent for her investigative work. They meticulously packaged the evidence: a heavily encrypted USB drive containing the forensic copy of the flash drive and scanned documents, along with a carefully crafted anonymous letter.

The letter, drafted by Athena and refined by Hen, was precise. It hinted at a decades-old cold case involving a whistleblower, connecting it to the downtown redevelopment project and high-level corruption, including judicial complicity. It stated that irrefutable evidence, including audio recordings, was enclosed and provided clear, but anonymous, instructions on how to access the encrypted files. It also subtly emphasized the potential dangers to anyone pursuing the story, a silent warning to Vance that this was no ordinary leak.

The drop was executed flawlessly. Athena, disguised in a wig and oversized sunglasses, blended into the bustling terminal, securing the package in the designated locker. Hen, meanwhile, sent an anonymous, encrypted message to Eleanor Vance, providing the locker number and code, along with a cryptic hint about "justice long denied."

Then came the agonizing wait. Every news cycle, every headline, was scrutinized by Athena. She knew that once Vance received the package and began her own verification, the clock would truly start ticking. The people implicated in the recordings, if they caught wind of the resurfacing evidence, would be ruthless.

She kept Thomas Thorne in a safe house, ensuring his anonymity and protection. She also tightened her own security, installing additional cameras at home, varying her routes to and from work, and making sure Bobby, though unaware of the full scope of the danger, was extra vigilant with the kids. The casual ease of their family life was now tinged with a constant undercurrent of alert.

Days crawled by. Then, a week after the drop, a small article appeared on page 10 of Eleanor Vance’s newspaper, a brief piece about a "renewed interest in a long-dormant cold case" by an anonymous source. It was a ripple, not yet a wave, but it told Athena two things: Vance had received the package, and she was beginning her due diligence.

Two days later, the ripple turned into a tremor. A small, local news outlet reported that "sources close to the FBI" indicated a "federal inquiry into historical public corruption allegations" was underway, specifically mentioning the downtown redevelopment project from decades ago. Athena allowed herself a small, grim smile. Vance had either reached out to Special Agent Miller, or the FBI had independently come across enough information to open a preliminary inquiry. The net was beginning to close.

The next morning, the dam broke. Eleanor Vance’s newspaper ran a front-page exposé: "Decades of Deceit: Whistleblower's Murder Linked to City's Power Elite." The article was a bombshell. It detailed Y/N L/N's murder, presenting excerpts from Y/N's meticulously annotated documents, and, most damningly, transcribed portions of the audio logs, chillingly identifying the voices of prominent figures. It didn't name Athena or Thomas Thorne, meticulously protecting their anonymity, but the evidence was undeniable.

The city erupted. Calls for investigations, arrests, and accountability flooded the airwaves. The FBI confirmed they had opened a full-scale public corruption investigation. The names mentioned in the article, individuals who had enjoyed decades of unassailable power and wealth, were now under intense public scrutiny.

Athena knew the true danger was only just beginning. The powerful individuals exposed by Vance's article were cornered animals. They wouldn't go down without a fight. The media storm provided some protection, but it also painted a giant target on anyone involved in bringing the truth to light.

She received an anonymous, untraceable text message that night: "You dug too deep, Detective. Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Your family will pay the price."

Athena’s blood ran cold. They knew. Or at least, they suspected. The vague threat was enough. This wasn't just about justice for Y/N anymore; it was about survival. She immediately called Bobby, her voice unwavering but firm.

"Bobby, I need you to listen to me carefully. Pack a bag for yourself and the kids. Only essentials. I'll explain later, but we need to leave the house, now. I'm taking you somewhere safe."

She could hear his concern, the fear in his voice, but he didn't argue. He knew that tone in her voice, the one that meant she was on the razor's edge of a dangerous situation. As she drove to pick them up, her mind raced. The investigation was finally moving, but the conspiracy was fighting back. She had brought justice closer for you, Y/N, but at what cost to her own family?

As Athena steered her car through the quiet streets, the city lights feeling less comforting and more like a stage for unseen eyes, her phone buzzed again. It was a call from an unknown number. Her gut screamed not to answer, but her professional instincts took over. She put it on speaker, keeping her eyes on the road.

A distorted, gravelly voice, clearly run through a voice modulator, spoke. "Detective Grant-Nash. A very brave move. And a very foolish one."

Athena remained silent, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"Did you really think we wouldn't notice the ripples?" the voice continued, a chilling chuckle following. "Thirty years. We've been very careful. And now you come along, stirring up ghosts."

"You killed Y/N L/N," Athena stated, her voice cold and steady, betraying none of the fear coiling in her stomach.

"Y/N made a choice," the voice purred. "A foolish choice. Just like you're making now. You have a family, Detective. A lovely husband. Two bright children. Wouldn't want anything to happen to them, would you?"

A cold dread seeped into Athena’s bones. This wasn't a vague threat anymore. This was specific, targeted. They knew about her family.

"Consider this a warning," the voice concluded. "Drop it, Detective. Bury it back where you found it. Or your loved ones will find out just how deep some secrets truly lie." The line went dead.

Athena slammed her hand against the steering wheel, a wave of rage washing over her. They had crossed a line. This wasn't just about her anymore. This was about Bobby, May, and Harry. Her entire world.

She pushed the rage down, forcing herself to think clearly. They had tracked her. That meant her burner phone was compromised, or her actions had left a trail. She immediately pulled over, removed the SIM card from the burner, and crushed it under her heel.

When she arrived at her house, Bobby was already waiting on the porch with two duffel bags, his face etched with worry. May and Harry, still groggy from being woken up, peered sleepily from behind him.

"Athena, what's going on?" Bobby's voice was low, urgent. "I heard that call. What did they mean, 'my family'?"

Athena didn't waste time explaining everything, not yet. "We're going to Hen's," she said, ushering them quickly into the car. "It's safe there. We'll figure everything out." As she drove, she sent a quick, encrypted message to Hen: Family compromised. En route. Need immediate secure location. Stay alert.

Hen's reply came back instantly: Copy that. Heading to the cabin. Remote. Secure. No one knows about it.

The "cabin" was a small, rustic place Hen and Karen owned, nestled deep in the mountains, deliberately off-grid and miles from civilization. It was a place for escape, for quiet weekends. Now, it was their sanctuary.

The drive was long, the night dark and silent save for the hum of the engine and the quiet breathing of her sleeping children in the back seat. Athena kept checking her rearview mirror, her senses on high alert for any tail. She knew this was a desperate race against time. The conspirators, now exposed, would be frantic, dangerous. They would do anything to protect their power, even if it meant eliminating anyone who stood in their way.

She gripped the steering wheel, a fierce protectiveness swelling in her chest. She had pulled Y/N's case from the cold, bringing justice closer, but at a terrible price. Now, she had to ensure her family survived the fallout. This wasn't just a police investigation anymore; it was a personal war. And Athena Grant-Nash was ready to fight.

What is Athena's strategy once they are safely at the cabin?

[globosetechnologysolutionspvt]

http://justpaste.it/bxnvz

[gts1234]

The Importance of Bounding Box Annotation for Accurate AI and Machine Learning Models

In the age of artificial intelligence (AI), bounding box annotation plays a vital role in training machine learning models for object detection and image recognition. Bounding boxes are the simplest and most commonly used form of data annotation in computer vision, where an image is marked with rectangular borders to identify objects. This method helps AI models learn to recognize objects, faces, and scenes, forming the backbone of many applications like autonomous driving, facial recognition, and retail automation.

At GTS AI, we specialize in providing high-quality bounding box annotation services that are essential for training robust AI models. In this blog, we'll explore the importance of bounding box annotation, how it works, and why it's crucial for machine learning success.

What is Bounding Box Annotation?

Bounding box annotation involves drawing a rectangle around an object within an image, which the AI model uses to identify and categorize the object. This simple yet effective technique provides the labeled data required to train machine learning algorithms. The more accurate and detailed the annotation, the better the AI model can learn and perform in real-world applications.

Bounding boxes are commonly used in:

Object detection: Identifying objects such as cars, people, or animals in images or video streams.

Facial recognition: Detecting and recognizing human faces in images for security, marketing, or identification purposes.

Autonomous vehicles: Cars and drones use object detection to recognize pedestrians, traffic signs, and other vehicles to navigate safely.

Why is Bounding Box Annotation Important?

Bounding box annotation is essential to the accuracy and success of machine learning models for several key reasons:

Training AI Models: Bounding box annotations provide the fundamental training data that AI models need to learn object recognition. Without properly annotated images, machine learning algorithms would not be able to detect objects accurately, leading to poor performance in real-world tasks. Bounding boxes give models the framework to recognize objects by mapping their positions and identifying boundaries.

Accuracy and Precision: The precision of a machine learning model is directly influenced by the quality of the bounding box annotations. Inaccurate or sloppy annotations can lead to misclassification, poor object detection, or failure in critical applications like medical imaging or autonomous driving. Accurate bounding box annotations ensure that models are trained with the right data, leading to improved accuracy in predictions.

Handling Multiple Objects: Many real-world scenarios involve detecting multiple objects in a single image, and bounding box annotations allow models to handle these complexities. By marking multiple bounding boxes within an image, the AI system can distinguish between various objects, improving its ability to perform tasks like scene analysis and object tracking.

Speeding Up Data Processing: Annotating images with bounding boxes is relatively quick compared to other annotation methods, such as polygon or semantic segmentation. This speed makes bounding boxes an efficient choice for labeling large datasets, ensuring that models can be trained faster and with less computational effort.

Versatile Use Cases: Bounding box annotation is used in a wide range of industries. Retailers use it to analyze customer behavior and automate inventory management. In healthcare, it helps in medical imaging by identifying areas of interest in X-rays or MRIs. Security companies use bounding boxes for facial recognition and surveillance systems. This versatility makes bounding box annotation a critical tool for machine learning applications across different sectors.

Key Applications of Bounding Box Annotation

Bounding box annotation is fundamental to several AI and machine learning applications. Here are some of the most impactful use cases:

Autonomous Vehicles: Self-driving cars rely heavily on computer vision to navigate through streets, avoid obstacles, and recognize traffic signs and pedestrians. Bounding box annotations are crucial for training these systems, allowing the vehicles to detect objects in real-time and make informed decisions.

Retail and E-commerce: Bounding box annotations are used in e-commerce to automate product tagging and visual search features. Retailers also use object detection to monitor customer behavior, analyze foot traffic, and optimize store layouts.

Healthcare: In medical imaging, bounding box annotations help AI models detect abnormalities in X-rays, CT scans, and MRIs. These models can assist doctors in diagnosing conditions such as tumors, fractures, or other medical issues, improving accuracy and speeding up diagnosis.

Agriculture: AI is also transforming the agricultural industry. With bounding box annotations, drones and other imaging tools can detect crops, analyze growth patterns, and monitor plant health, enabling farmers to optimize yields and reduce waste.

Facial Recognition and Security: Security systems use bounding boxes to identify and track individuals in surveillance footage. AI models trained on bounding box annotations can recognize faces, track movements, and even detect suspicious activities in real-time.

Challenges in Bounding Box Annotation

While bounding box annotation is a straightforward process, it comes with its own set of challenges:

Edge Cases: Images with overlapping objects or complex scenes can be difficult to annotate accurately. These edge cases require careful attention to ensure that each object is properly labeled without any overlap or confusion.

Human Error: Manual annotation is prone to human error, which can reduce the quality of the data. Errors in labeling can lead to inaccurate model predictions, so it's important to use a trusted provider like GTS AI that ensures precise and consistent annotations.

Scalability: As AI models require large datasets for training, scaling up the annotation process can be difficult. Managing thousands or millions of images while maintaining quality is a challenge that requires expertise and experience.

Why Choose GTS AI for Bounding Box Annotation?

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[sylus-hds-7213]

closed birthday prompt for: @amaraflor

The morning light crept in slowly through the partially drawn curtains of Amara’s window, painting lazy golden streaks across the wooden floor of her room. The air was crisp, touched faintly with the lingering fragrance of early blooms.

Her phone, still tucked somewhere near her pillow, vibrated softly with the memory of a message from the previous night. His name—Sylus—still etched on her screen.

💬 Happy birthday, dear hunter.

But that was only the beginning.

When she stirred, the scent met her before her eyes did—floral, delicate, sweet but wild, like cherry blossoms caught in the wind with something deeper nestled beneath, like rosewood and embers. Scattered across the floor just beyond her door were small bouquets, wrapped in parchment and bound with silk threads, each one unique. Not a florist’s standard fare. Wild flowers, exotic, unusual, carefully selected. A detail too precise to be random. Delivered by mechanical wings, perhaps—she might even spot the soft glint of a crow-shaped automaton perched on her window sill, cawing before it launched into the sky again.

And then the gifts.

Several boxes lay waiting, stacked neatly outside her door, like secrets ready to be unwrapped. Black and red wrapping, polished and high-end, ribboned in matte finishes—powerful, elegant, with an unmistakable Sylus flair. But one stood apart.

The smell of old parchment and lavender oil followed her as she bent to open the first of the packages. Inside were obscure grimoires—some bound in aged leather, others etched with worn silver detailing. Ancient languages, annotated margins. Spells forgotten by most, now hers to rediscover.

Jewellery came next—rings, earrings, and pendants, each with stones that shimmered like stardust. Potion crafting tools laid in another box: vials of blown glass, gleaming with metal filigree, a mortar with an inscription that pulsed faintly when she touched it. Clothing followed, tailored and sleek, some casual, some with the kind of subtle grandeur that followed Sylus.

Soft blush pink, tied with delicate gold thread. The texture of the paper felt like velvet against the fingertips.

Inside, nestled in tissue the color of morning mist, lay a new leather rider’s jacket. Sleek, finely tailored, no garish colors—minimalist, powerful. On the left side of the chest, an S intertwined with an A, so subtly embossed it was only visible in the right light. It whispered of closeness. Of intent.

Tucked within the collar was a note, folded carefully and pressed with his signet.

The scent on the paper was unmistakably him—dark spice and metal, with the slightest edge of something sweet, like cedar and roses.

The handwriting, fluid and sharp, read:

“Happy Birthday, Amata mea.We may have grown in different gardens—you under sunlight and stars, me beneath darker skies. But watching you thrive, seeing the bloom of who you’ve become… it’s nothing short of beautiful. I hope today feels like your own kind of magic. And if you’d allow it—I’d like to be your passenger prince for the day. Just you, me, and the open road.No plans. No strings.Wherever you wish to go. -- And if you still feel like it, come to the N019 later this evening with me. Only if you want to. Everything will be arranged." - S

Outside the window, Mephisto returned, perched on the ledge, ruffling its metal feathers before releasing a soft mechanical coo. It held a small silver envelope in its claw—likely coordinates.

Her birthday had only just begun.

[heygerald]

As always, I adore your writing and am so excited to see a new chapter up (saving it for bedtime with a cup of tea <3) but I had an amazing idea I must share thinking about birthdays, particularly Parker’s. 

Tom has always had an element of wealth behind him, yes? But after meeting Parker his sense of sentimentality increased tenfold, and in wanting to represent his love for her he realises he doesn’t want to buy something, doesn’t want to only open his wallet for the woman who opened so much of his heart. As an actor he’s a creative agent, and automatically assumes that some level of that skill should translate to other creative pursuits. So, when he saunters past a little book binding workshop while walking Jean Claude, he immediately knows what to do for Parker’s birthday, and believes he has it in himself to excel. 

He attends in his most anonymous clothing possible (which may consist of one of Colt’s old jumpers left in Parker’s home), sunglasses sitting low on his nose despite the late afternoon sunset, and pulls out three copies of Parker’s favourite books, pilfered with the help of Melissa and some very poorly concealed questioning over morning yoga / reading. 

He’s absolutely horrendous at bookbinding.

Despite expert instructions, Tom finds his fingers thick with glue and tinged ultramarine from the leather dye. His ties are loose and stripped string litters his workstation, and he leaves with one shoddily bound novel and a heaping of frustration. 

Despite this, he’s back again next week. And the week after next. And again and again he attends, until he is able to shed his disguise and second skin to ask for a one-on-one lesson, to let the owner know love is what is driving him and this seemingly hopeless pursuit.

By the time Parker’s birthday rolls around, there’s on little rectangular gift somewhat misshapenly wrapped on her bedside table, along with her coffee perfectly made. Tom’s early call time stopped him from physically being there, but never emotionally. Never for her.

As Parker’s lithe fingers slide under the papered creases, pulling it free from tape and mystery, she’s greeted with a beautifully bound copy of Contact. It’s complete with skilful leather indents, gold leaf detailing, and a ribbon bookmark. When she flips open to the title page, a familiar coffee stain greets her, one Mrs Grobowski apologised for distant years ago, when she first bequeathed the box of books to Parker’s then humble shop. 

It’s the copy she passed onto Tom, back when his asshole facade was beginning to chip away. And as she cards through the pages, meeting frantic annotations and highlights and little doodles in the margins, the grin nearly splits her face in half. There are plentiful allusions to her own opinions, along with 12 (she counted) reminders to call her about this or that particular passage. Being able to hold such an important piece of their shared history maker her heart swell three times its size. 

It nearly stops when she gets to the back cover, where a yellow sticky note is crowded by her boyfriend’s familiar handwriting:

“Ask Parker to marry you.”

Stopstopstopstopstopstopstop—

This is quite literally too beautiful and cute and on brand and Parker/Tom and—UGH

❤️♥️❤️❤️❤️♥️♥️❤️♥️🩵💚💚🩵🩵💚 literally thank you so much for this talented headcannon it is so beautiful and makes me so happy my story can inspire this sort of stuff 💚❤️💚❤️🩵💚💚🩵🩵♥️

[devinfinzer]

The Ultimate Guide to Lord of the Rings Gifts and Maps

For fans of J.R.R. Tolkien's epic saga, The Lord of the Rings, there’s nothing quite like owning a piece of Middle-earth. Whether you're looking for thoughtful gifts or captivating maps of this mythical world, the possibilities are endless. This guide explores unique Lord of the Rings gifts and the allure of detailed Lord of the Rings maps, perfect for die-hard fans and casual admirers alike.

Why Lord of the Rings Gifts Make Perfect Presents

When considering a gift for a Tolkien fan, themed merchandise has unmatched appeal. Here's why these gifts are so special:

Personal Connection to Middle-earth

Themed gifts allow fans to feel closer to the iconic world of Middle-earth. Whether it’s a replica of the One Ring or a collectible sword, these items evoke cherished memories of the trilogy.

Types of Popular Lord of the Rings Gifts

Jewelry: The One Ring is perhaps the most sought-after gift. Available in various materials, including gold-plated and engraved versions, it’s a timeless keepsake.

Collectibles: From action figures to statues of Gandalf or Frodo, collectibles are a great way to honor iconic characters.

Clothing and Accessories: Hoodies, T-shirts, and scarves adorned with quotes or symbols from the series make stylish and cozy gifts.

Board Games and Puzzles: Immersive board games inspired by Middle-earth adventures are perfect for interactive fun.

Books and Box Sets: Special edition books or box sets of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy remain a classic choice.

Lord of the Rings Maps: A Gateway to Middle-earth

For fans captivated by Tolkien’s intricate world-building, Lord of the Rings maps offer a window into the geography and history of Middle-earth.

The Significance of Maps in Tolkien’s Works

Maps play an integral role in The Lord of the Rings. They provide context for the characters’ journeys, from Frodo’s trek through Mordor to Aragorn’s pursuit of his destiny.

Types of Lord of the Rings Maps

The Original Middle-earth Map: This map, depicting key locations like Rivendell, Mordor, and the Shire, is a favorite among enthusiasts.

The Map of Beleriand: A deeper dive into Tolkien’s universe, this map explores the lands from The Silmarillion, adding layers to the world.

Custom Artistic Maps: Hand-drawn or watercolor versions of Middle-earth maps add a decorative touch to any fan’s collection.

Interactive Digital Maps: Modern digital versions let fans explore Middle-earth interactively, complete with detailed annotations and descriptions.

How to Choose the Perfect Gift or Map

Finding the right Lord of the Rings gift or map requires thought and creativity. Here are some tips:

Consider the Recipient’s Interests

Collectors: Opt for exclusive or limited-edition items, like statues or autographed memorabilia.

Adventurers: Maps or travel-themed items like compasses and journals inspired by Middle-earth are ideal.

Focus on Quality

When choosing a map, ensure it’s well-crafted. Look for high-quality prints or artistically designed pieces that stand out as decorative items.

Practicality vs. Sentimentality

Some fans prefer practical gifts like mugs or T-shirts, while others value deeply sentimental keepsakes, like framed maps or hand-bound journals.

Where to Find Lord of the Rings Gifts and Maps

Online Marketplaces: Platforms like Etsy and Amazon offer a vast selection of handmade and custom-designed gifts.

Official Merchandise Stores: Websites dedicated to Tolkien merchandise provide authentic and licensed products.

Local Bookstores and Gift Shops: Many bookstores stock maps and unique Tolkien-inspired items, making them great places to shop.

Conclusion

The magic of The Lord of the Rings continues to inspire generations, making gifts and maps from Middle-earth more popular than ever. Whether you’re selecting a map that charts the epic journeys of Frodo and Sam or a unique gift to honor a Tolkien enthusiast, the options are boundless. By choosing the perfect Lord of the Rings gift or map, you’re not just offering a present—you’re delivering a piece of the enchanting world of Middle-earth.

[apateau]

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‘⠀ 𝅾 ۡ ⠀ 𝐏 𝐈 𝐍 𝐊 ⠀ 𑁤 𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 🇴​͟🇷​⠀ 𝑑𝑖𝑒 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝑼𝑮𝑯 .ᐟ ⠀ 𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝙵 ⠀› ⠀ 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𓍼 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᑦ ᴬ ᴹ ⠀ ㅤ̸ ⠀ 𝕟̵𝕖̵𝕨̵ 𝕪̵𝕠̵𝕣̵𝕜̵ .ᐣ ⠀ ⠀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ᮫ basics ഒ stats ഒ analysis ഒ wanted c ഒ mobnav.

ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ name: merope eleutheria de valmont. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ nickname: merry, rarely used, only by those close to her. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ age: twenty two. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ date of birth: january 1, 2002. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ ethnicity: french-korean ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ place of birth: seoul, south korea. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ gender & pronouns: cis woman, she/her. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ sexual orientation: pansexual. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ romantic orientation: demiromantic. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ religion: agnostic. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ occupation: senior music major, aspiring composer.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ̸ PERSONALITY

ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ labels: the eternal perfectionist, the porcelain enigma, moonlit muse. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ positive traits: composed, articulate, perceptive, and fiercely devoted to her craft. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ negative traits: emotionally repressed, self-critical, distant, and bound by the fear of imperfection. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ fears: failure, vulnerability, and becoming too deeply known. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ habits: taps her fingers in rhythm to songs in her mind; journals obsessively, filling pages with thoughts she’ll never speak; collects old, annotated sheet music like relics. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ goals: to compose a piece that can express all the emotions she hides, to understand herself beyond her family’s expectations. ㅤㅤ✿ ׄ alignment: true neutral, guided more by self-preservation and a need to maintain her equilibrium.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ̸ HEADCANONS & AESTHETICS

ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ moonlight sonata plays softly in her dorm room as she writes, pages scattered around like echoes of thoughts she’ll never say aloud. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ her silver-blonde hair is always meticulously brushed, each strand falling in place like the last note of a perfectly composed melody. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ in love with the quiet spaces—empty libraries, midnight balconies, gardens at dawn; places where her thoughts can breathe. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ feels a profound connection to the night; it’s the only time she allows her true self to slip past the barriers of expectation. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ keeps old postcards from paris and seoul, weathered edges reminding her of the fragments of a life she’s tried to reconcile within herself. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ perfume bottles and vintage jewellery inherited from her mother sit untouched in her room, pieces of a legacy that both weighs on and protects her. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ merope is enchanted by the timelessness of hand-written letters. she keeps a bundle of letters from family in a satin ribbon, though she rarely replies directly. when she writes, she pours herself into her words, knowing few will ever read them. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ hidden in her dorm room, merope has a collection of delicate music boxes, each one a relic of an era she feels strangely nostalgic for. on sleepless nights, she’ll wind one up and let the hauntingly tinny tune fill the silence. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ to merope, love is like music—intangible, requiring patience, skill, and passion to truly understand. she fears that if she lets someone play her melody, they’ll either abandon her or find her too complex to handle. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ she’s intrigued by the night sky, feeling a connection to its cold beauty, but she doesn’t understand the constellations or planets. there’s something comforting in not knowing it all, in allowing herself to be lost within the vastness.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ̸ FAVOURITES

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ׄ music: beethoven’s moonlight sonata, debussy’s clair de lune, anything sombre and timeless. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ׄ books: french and russian classics, anything that speaks of solitude and introspection; anna karenina, the waves, and jane eyre are among her beloveds. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ׄ colours: silver, midnight blue, soft lavender—cool, subdued tones that match her inner world. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ׄ animal: the swan; beautiful and silent, an elegant creature that masks an underlying strength. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ׄ season: winter, with its quiet beauty, its shadows and secrets veiled in snow. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ׄ element: water—flowing, mysterious, both calm and turbulent.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ̸ QUOTES THAT ECHO HER SOUL

ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ “ i am rooted, but i flow. „ — virginia woolf. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ “ but i have been too deeply hurt, sam. i tried to save the shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. „ — j.r.r.tolkien. ㅤㅤ✸ 𝑖 ֪ “ she was a phantom of delight when first she gleamed upon my sight; a lovely apparition, sent to be a moment’s ornament. „ — william wordsworth.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿ ̸ AESTHETICS

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsilver-blonde waves falling past her shoulders, soft as moonlight; lipstick stains on crystal glasses; ink-smudged fingers on piano keys; a figure on a balcony at dusk, gazing over the city with quiet longing; the scent of old parchment and faded perfume; a porcelain doll, all grace and silence, with eyes that hide too much; the delicate rustle of silk robes at midnight; chandeliers and velvet, all elegance and alienation.