#Courier Tracking System

[studyblr-perhaps]

20/08/24 || Tuesday

Happy belated Rakshabandhan to the ones who celebrate! (For the ones who don't know what it is, its a festival when sisters tie an ornamental band on brothers wrists in exchange for protection. Now it's symbolic and we tie the bands in exchange for gifts lmfao). I got a watch as a gift from my cousin brother!!! At the perfect time too, cause I forgot both my watches at home while coming back to uni.

My thesis work is finally moving a bit and it's equally daunting as is exciting. I'm looking forward to the coming year haha.

[myacecourierandservices]

My Ace Express Courier in Rajasthan: India’s Fast & Reliable Same-Day Delivery

In today’s fast-moving world, speed and reliability are crucial—especially when it comes to deliveries. That’s where My Ace Express Courier steps in, offering one day to one week delivery services across Rajasthan, India. Whether it’s an urgent document, a time-sensitive parcel, or a last-minute gift, My Ace ensures your delivery reaches its destination on time, every time.

As part of the growing network of courier services in India, My Ace Express has carved a niche for itself with swift logistics, secure handling, and exceptional customer service. Businesses benefit from quick turnaround times, while individuals enjoy the ease and convenience of sending important items without delay.

Same-day delivery is especially valuable in today’s e-commerce and business environments, where customer satisfaction and rapid response are top priorities. My Ace Express supports this demand with real-time tracking, optimized delivery routes, and a dedicated team, ensuring every delivery is smooth, safe, and efficient.

What truly sets My Ace apart in the Indian courier landscape is its commitment to quality and reliability. With affordable pricing, flexible service options, and a strong local network, the company effectively bridges the gap between cities, towns, and even rural areas throughout Rajasthan.

If you're searching for a trusted name in courier services in Rajasthan (India), especially for urgent, same-day deliveries, My Ace Express Courier is your dependable partner. Occasion the perfect blend of speed, service, and professionalism—customized for Rajasthan and beyond.

[maahiparcel]

Best Logistics Provider | Maahi International

In today's rapidly changing and connected world, efficient logistics management plays a key role in a company's success. Whether you are a small e-commerce start-up or a multinational corporation,  a reliable logistics provider can have a significant impact on your operations. From warehousing and transportation to inventory management and order fulfillment, our world-class logistics partners can streamline your supply chain and improve overall efficiency.

What makes a logistics service provider the best in the industry? It's a combination of factors such as experience, expertise, and a customer-centric approach. The best providers understand the unique needs of different businesses and tailor their services accordingly. They have a well-developed network of warehouses, distribution centers, and transportation channels that ensure the smooth movement of goods around the world.

A key aspect that distinguishes the best logistics providers is their technical prowess. We use state-of-the-art software and systems to track shipments, monitor inventory levels, and optimize routes. Real-time insight into your supply chain allows you to make informed decisions and respond quickly to disruptions. In addition, advanced analytical tools enable you to identify trends, forecast demand and optimize inventory levels, ultimately reducing costs and increasing customer satisfaction.

Another important factor to consider when choosing a logistics service provider is its commitment to reliability and timeliness. The best suppliers have a track record of on-time delivery and efficient order processing. Robust processes are in place to handle unforeseen circumstances and minimize disruption. By partnering with such a provider, you can confidently meet customer expectations and build a reputation for reliability. Additionally, the best logistics service providers focus on customer service and communication. We have a dedicated team to provide timely updates, answer questions, and proactively resolve issues. Transparent and responsive communication channels keep you informed and enable you to effectively manage your supply chain.

In summary, choosing the best logistics provider is an important decision for any business that depends on a smooth and efficient supply chain. By partnering with a vendor with deep experience, technical expertise, and a customer-centric approach, you can streamline your operations and stay ahead of the competition. So take the time to research and choose a logistics partner that fits your specific needs and goals. It is an investment that will give you great returns in the long run.

[awellboiledicicle]

My bf playing Death Stranding is really showing me that I very much exist in the spheres on tumblr that like it a lot but never uttered a goddamn thing about story or world building.

Which makes sense, really.

Because it's all fucking loony tunes bonkers.

The main character has an autoimmune disease that makes him allergic to ghosts. This is considered a useful thing to his work, since it is walking through large spans of countryside full of ghosts that very much will kill you if you don't get a heads up and avoid them.

Theres a showering system in game that tracks how nasty Sam, the mc, is. Because the grosser he is, the more wastewater his showers make. Which a guy stores to make into grenades to use against ghosts bc the ghosts are allergic to it.

The baby in the tank on his chest has a like mechanical purpose but the gist is that it's a fetus that got to 28 weeks in a braindead pregnant woman, was removed and placed in the tank to trick it into thinking it's still unborn, and it does. Things. It never ages further. You have to rock it to sooth it if it gets upset. It has facebook. We know it has Facebook because it gives Sam likes on his photos and stunts.

He's paid in likes.

So yeah the baby is a coworker. I assume being fired for them is being allowed to age long enough to fill out unemployment paperwork in crayon.

Sam is covered in hand prints. These are what happen when ghosts touch him.

There is a faction called Mules. They are mail carriers turned raider faction, essentially, because they became so addicted to the rush of completing a delivery that they actively rob other couriers to just. Have a package to put somewhere.

The ghosts is internet bc the afterlife is basically a naturally occurring global network. For free.

Theres a guy named Die Hardman. He wears a skull mask. He works with the president.

This isn't even all the weird shit. This is just what my bf has passed along to me.

And no one fucking told me before this year that the reason the whales are all dead on the beaches was bc rain speed ages you and all the rain ends up in the ocean. I could have been theorizing about the fucked up super aged lobsters this whole time

[clonerightsagenda]

Thank you for applying for a library card!

We are a large metropolitan library with twelve branches here in the city and a consortial agreement with ninety-seven different timelines (and counting). Your card is your ticket to our physical and digital collections, where we have something for everyone.

You’ve indicated that you are licensed for time travel and regularly travel in time or between timelines for work purposes, so you are eligible for our trans-timeline borrower’s card. Please read this document carefully to ensure you’re using your new card to its fullest potential and in compliance with library policy.

Our services:

The library has a floating collection, meaning items remain at the branch where they were returned rather than being sent back to the lending branch. However, we do return inter-timeline loans to their home universe to minimize temporal strain. If you’re browsing the shelves and see a book phasing in and out of existence, alert an employee. It’s probably misshelved.  

Our new online system allows you to keep the same login information in all timelines. No more keeping track of dozens of passwords! If you previously created multiple logins tied to one card, visit the circulation desk, and we’ll merge your accounts for you. No, this will not make you responsible for alternate selves’ outstanding fines, and any version of yourself telling you that is lying to you.

You asked, and we listened. Our new online catalog displays reviews from patrons from all relevant timelines on items exceeding a 90% similarity score. We request that patrons keep debates over the superiority of their timeline’s version to venues other than our catalog.

Although our staff members are not medical professionals, they have been trained to recognize signs of temporal instability. If you are experiencing characteristic symptoms (faintness, disorientation, physical and/or mental age changes, etc.), a staff member can administer grounding agents until emergency services arrive.

The library has a robust inter-timeline loan system. If you’re looking for a book or article not published in this timeline, fill out our online form or ask at the circulation desk. The average wait time for an ITL request is five business days. That’s shortened to three if you’re requesting an item stored at the James Patterson Interdimensional Warehouse. (Note: This estimate may change as the warehouse continues to expand under its own power, or if our courier gets lost there.)

Our policies:

We do not accept returns before the publication date (month and year). Cataloging books paradoxically created through stable time loops gets too complicated. You can check a book’s month of publication in a review journal like Booklist, which we make available online and in our non-circulating magazine collection.

We’ve recently gone fine-free in this timeline, meaning we no longer charge fees for overdue books. This policy varies between consortium timelines depending on whether certain people on the board of directors have retired yet.

If a book is damaged beyond repair, lost in a Time Hole, or overwritten out of existence by timeline changes, you will be responsible for the replacement cost or a flat fee of $30, whichever is lower. We do not recommend attempting to rewrite time to avoid losing or damaging the book, as we would prefer to purchase a new copy rather than tear a hole in the fabric of reality.

Patrons may use our computers for two hours. You can extend this time if there are no other patrons waiting. Show respect to other library users and do not abuse time travel to circumvent the policy when there is high demand. We will notice if there are two of you at our computing stations. Yes, even if one of you is wearing a funny hat.

The library values your privacy. We will not disclose account information or the content of reference transactions to anyone, including alternate versions of the account holder. The library also does not keep a record of the materials you check out. However, some of our databases do track user data. If you need to conceal your presence in this timeline to avoid paradoxes, the Time Cops, or your ex, we keep a collection of electronic resource licenses at the reference desk so you can judge which products to avoid.

Holder vs. Holder found that copyright protections extend across timelines and prior to publication, and copyright is exclusive to the iteration who created the work. Patrons attempting to copy library materials and publish them under their own name will have their cards revoked, even if they created the material in another timeline. This policy was adopted after consultation with our legal team. Trans-timeline copyright enforcement is very aggressive.

The library respects the personhood and autonomy of patrons no matter their timeline of origin. However, this respect is not always universal. If you need to know what the laws are for time travelers/alternate selves/dimension-hoppers/“timeclones”/etc. in this dimension (or the terminology used to refer to them), stop by the reference desk.

Violence is against library policy. If you are about to battle your alternate self from another timeline because you ran into each other in the cookbook section, take it to the parking lot.

In conclusion:

Libraries are committed to free access to information, and with the resources of dozens of timelines available to us, our mission has only gotten bigger. In fact, we’re hiring! If you’re looking for somewhere new to apply your time travel certification, we’re looking for team members in our inter-timeline loan department. Entry-level courier positions do not require an MLIS. Familiarity with James Patterson is a plus.

We can’t wait to see you in our library. (Maybe we already have.)  

[littlejoyss]

𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 5

“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

Stray Kids - Felix x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 17k

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 ← 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 → 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

Today, you were able to try a bodice on Seojin that your assistants finished last night.

The fabric hugged her frame perfectly, with clean seams, delicate embroidery, and a neckline that fell exactly where you imagined. 

“Hold still,” you murmured, fingers adjusting the fit at her shoulder. “Okay… turn.”

Seojin spun slowly on the platform, eyeing herself in the mirror with growing excitement. “This is gorgeous. Like, I knew it would be, but this is insane.”

You exhaled through a small, relieved laugh. “We’re getting there.”

Still, your eyes flicked to the corner of the room where three unopened garment bags hung on an empty rack, mockups for other models who hadn’t even seen their pieces yet. And the rest of the collection? Still missing in shipping limbo. 

Shin Jiwoo’s assistant, Hyejin, was in the prep studio again today. She looked surprised. “Oh, you managed to get a piece together already?”

You straightened a bit, brushing a loose thread from Seojin’s shoulder. “Yeah,” you said, trying to keep your tone even. “We had to stay up stitching it by hand, but it’s one of the few designs I had enough materials for.”

Hyejin stepped closer, arms folded, sharp eyes scanning the bodice. “It’s clean. Impressive work under pressure.”

“Thanks,” you replied, though your jaw clenched slightly at the edge in her tone.

Seojin, still glowing from seeing herself in the mirror, turned toward Hyejin. “She’s kind of a miracle worker.”

Hyejin gave her a small hum before moving back to her station.

You were curious, “Is Shin Jiwoo ever going to drop by? I don’t recall seeing her yet.”

Hyejin glanced over her shoulder, pausing as if considering how much to say. “Jiwoo doesn’t usually come to fittings until the final week. She prefers to work remotely unless something’s absolutely urgent.”

You tried not to let the relief show on your face. Shin Jiwoo was notoriously competitive. The fewer interruptions from her this early on, the better for your fraying nerves.

“Well,” you said, smoothing a hand down the side of the bodice, “lucky for us, we’re making progress.”

Hyejin just nodded and returned to her tablet, tapping in notes like she was logging potential threats. You turned back to Seojin and whispered, “She’s watching me like I might set the building on fire.”

Seojin grinned. “To be fair, you kind of look like you haven’t slept in three days.”

“I haven’t,” you muttered. “But I’d rather crash after the show than now.”

Seojin struck a pose. “Then I'd better make this dress look worth the insomnia.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Bora continued arguing with the customs agents while you stood there awkwardly, clutching the printout of the tracking number. “I don’t understand how it was released and then rerouted,” Bora said, her voice carefully restrained but strained. “That shipment was marked urgent, high priority. You guaranteed it would clear four days ago.”

The customs agent, an older man with an officious clipboard and a perpetually raised eyebrow, flipped through his papers with all the urgency of a snail. “Ma’am, as I explained, the shipment was flagged by the system and canceled by the listed third party.”

You blinked. “Canceled? What do you mean canceled?”

Bora turned toward you, eyes stormy. “Apparently someone with administrative permissions logged into the courier system and redirected the shipment. It wasn’t us.”

Your stomach dropped. “Redirected where?”

The customs agent pointed to the document in his hand. “According to the entry, the packages were transferred back to the original shipment center.”

You gasped. “You mean they’re back home!”

The customs agent nodded, clearly unmoved by the rising panic in your voice. “That’s correct. They were rerouted to the origin facility where the items were shipped.”

Bora stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then, slowly, like she was trying to keep herself from exploding, she said, “You mean to tell me that someone canceled the import, rerouted all our materials back to the original shipping center, and not one person flagged this for fraud?”

The man sighed. “I don’t handle digital security, ma’am. I just read what’s on the manifest.”

You looked down at the printout again, your fingers trembling now. “They were there. The packages were here. All they needed was clearance.”

“And now,” Bora finished grimly, “they’re in a different country.”

“Can we recall the shipment?” you asked quickly, desperate. “Get it rerouted back now?”

“Too late for that,” the customs agent said, flipping his clipboard closed. “Once a package is scanned and loaded for return, it’s out of our jurisdiction. You’ll have to contact the original shipping partner and hope it hasn’t left the distribution center yet.”

Bora already had her phone to her ear again, dialing furiously. “I’ll try to intercept it,” she muttered. “If I can get someone on the line who isn’t reading from a script.”

“I need to get back to the studio,” you said. “I need to recreate everything from scratch.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It was around seven in the evening now, and you were the only one still working in the prep studio.

The overhead lights cast long shadows across bolts of fabric and abandoned sewing kits, but you barely noticed. Your fingers moved with mechanical precision, pinning a new bodice draft onto the mannequin in front of you. You hadn’t eaten. Your feet ached. But there was no time for either.

You glanced at the half-finished sketch on the corner of the worktable, your revised version of Look Six. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even what you wanted. You started to grow a hatred towards this collection.

Your phone buzzed. You didn’t look up until the second buzz came. You sighed and finally reached for it, already bracing yourself for more chaos.

But it wasn’t Bora. It was Felix.

Felix ❤️: Just finished practice! How’s your day going? And don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.

You stared at the message for a second, your chest tightening. You had to smile, just a little.

You typed a reply with one hand while still holding a pin in the other. You: Let’s just say… I’ve had better days. Felix ❤️: Uh-oh. That bad? You: Try catastrophic. My whole shipment got rerouted. Someone canceled it. Felix ❤️: What?? That’s sabotage, right?  You: To be honest, I didn’t even think about that possibility until now.

There was a long pause on his end, the typing bubble appearing and disappearing again, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase something without making things worse.

Felix ❤️: I know I joke a lot, but I’m serious now. If someone did that on purpose, that’s not just competition. That’s cruel. You worked so hard, and they’re scared. That’s the only reason anyone would pull something like this.

You: I’ve never felt this defeated before, Lix. Even if I redo everything, I won’t have time to give it the polish it needs. I’m going to be presenting rushed mockups next to industry veterans with full teams and zero sabotage.

Felix ❤️: You’re not alone. And I don’t care if I sound dramatic, but even if you showed up with a potato sack, I know you’d style it into something no one else could pull off. Also, a side note, keep calling me Lix. It’s cute.

That earned a quiet laugh from you, the kind that cracked just a little at the edges. 

You: How do you always know what to say?

Felix ❤️: Soulmate perks. Comes with the contract. I can bring dinner after I shower. Doesn’t have to be a whole thing. I can just sit and keep you company while you work. Or we can eat in total silence, and you can pretend I’m a houseplant. Your call.

You smiled again, properly this time. 

You: You’ll really come? I thought you weren’t free until this weekend.

Felix ❤️: Already grabbing my keys. And you're right, I’m not free during the day until this weekend. I assumed you wouldn’t want to hang out with me this late. Tell me what you want to eat and send me the address of the prep studio.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Felix sat criss-crossed on the floor, eating his chicken while watching you work.

You looked over at him, “Do you want to sit on my chair? You’re probably exhausted from practice.”

Felix shook his head with a grin, cheeks full of chicken. “I’m good down here. It’s kind of cozy. Plus, I like the view.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning back to the mannequin with a soft snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously supportive,” he corrected through another bite. “Don’t forget that part.”

The prep studio was quiet again, save for the rustling of fabric and the occasional sound of Felix’s chopsticks tapping against the edge of the container. The silence between you wasn’t awkward, it never had been. 

You adjusted the neckline on the bodice again, then stepped back to squint at it. The proportions were still off. The embroidery was rushed. Your hands twitched to grab the seam ripper, but then-

“Hey,” Felix said softly, sensing the shift in your body language before you even touched the fabric. He pulled gently on the golden thread between you two. It heated up lightly. “You’re about to rip the whole thing apart and start over. Again.” He didn’t look pleased.

You let your hand fall away from the seam ripper. “Because it’s not right, Lix. It’s not good enough. Not yet.”

Felix tilted his head, finishing his bite before answering. “Okay. But hear me out: what if it doesn’t need to be perfect tonight?”

You turned toward him slowly, face worn and serious. “It has to be. It’s all I have left to control.”

The golden thread hummed gently again. Felix wrapped it once around his pointer finger, the light glow dimming and brightening with every breath. “You’ve been in survival mode for so long, you’ve forgotten you’re allowed to create.”

You sank down onto the floor beside him. You looked down at the thread still tethered between you. “I hate how right you are sometimes.”

He gave you a crooked grin. “Because I know if you keep working in a stress fog, you’re going to stab yourself with a pin and start bleeding on your masterpiece.”

You couldn’t help the weak laugh that bubbled out of you. “That did happen once. During finals.”

“I rest my case.”

For a moment, you let the silence settle between you again. Your shoulder lightly bumped against his. 

Felix nudged the takeout bag toward you with his foot. “Eat while it’s still warm.”

You gave him a sideways glance. “How did you know this was my favorite?”

“I didn’t…I just kind of knew…”

The golden thread wrapped around both your pinkies glowed again. 

“…Of course you did,” you whispered, voice barely audible. You looked back down at your lap, at the glowing thread, and then at the mannequin just a few feet away, still imperfect, still unfinished. But maybe… maybe it didn’t need to be perfect right now.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmured.

Felix turned his head and gently bumped your shoulder. “Wrong. Even the universe thinks so.”

You finally reached for the takeout container and opened it, the aroma washing over you like comfort and home. “I really was going to keep working until I collapsed, huh?”

“Oh, a hundred percent,” Felix leaned in a little closer, his tone low and teasing now. “Honestly? I was fully prepared to carry you out of here like some overworked damsel in distress.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “You calling me a damsel, Lix?”

He popped another piece of chicken into his mouth with a shrug, grinning. “If the glass slipper fits…”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear a slipper when I could design a six-inch heel that doubles as a weapon.”

“Oh,” he said, mock-swooning. “Please threaten me with couture. That’s how I know it’s real.”

You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch. “Unbelievably into you.”

Your heart did an Olympic-level somersault, even if it was cheesy. 

His gaze then softened. “Can I touch you? I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but…” He looked down at the string between you two. “I don’t think our connection is normal.”

You looked down at the golden thread looped between your pinkies. You’ve both had this since you were eighteen, and you've finally found each other.

“…It’s not normal,” you agreed quietly. “But I don’t want it to be.”

Felix looked up at you then, eyes wide with something like hope and affection and a little disbelief, like he hadn’t quite expected you to say that out loud yet. Like he was still getting used to the idea that you were real. 

You reached out first, slow and deliberate, and placed your hand gently over his.  Felix let out a breath he’d been holding, his fingers turning under yours to intertwine with them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, gaze locked on yours. “I think I’m definitely going to kiss you when you finish that collection.”

You smirked, feeling bold now. “Why wait?”

Felix blinked, stunned for exactly one heartbeat, and then his smile bloomed like sunlight cracking through a storm. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I literally just did.”

He leaned in, the golden thread now a halo between you both. But he didn’t rush. Even now, he hesitated just enough for you to close the final distance and meet him there, steady and sure.

The kiss was soft. Warmer than you expected. Not fireworks, but something better, like finding the exact seam where two pieces fit. Like exhaling after holding your breath too long.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a quiet smile still playing on his lips. “So…”

“So… I think you were right. I should go back to creating.”

taglist (comment to be added): @shinygubbins @lizzygd @btch8008s @under--space @monniemons @chimmyn0chu @wickedbutlovely @hyunjinsculpture @beal-o @valkirymin @moonlitcelestial @wolfhallows4m @beepybeesnuggets @eridanuswave @lynastrawberry @multiifanbigbang @yxna-bliss @chasinghxran @velvetmoonlght

[aspen78]

Chapter 6: How it all Byrnes

<<prev chp>>

--

Government buildings rarely whispered, but this one? The Pentagon? This floor of the Pentagon? 

It stopped whispering long ago. It held its breath.

Sound didn’t just fade here--it was put on mute.  

This was the kind of silence you didn’t break with a cough. The kind you didn’t fill with footsteps unless you knew where you were going. 

Everything was all steel walls and buried secrets. No windows. No clocks. Time moved differently here--like it could be redacted just like anything else.

Air down here buzzed with something more than fluorescent lighting--something buried beneath miles of earth and silence. Most people didn’t know this wing existed. Most who did pretended it didn’t.

And, for what goes on down here. It was probably for the best.

(Y/n)--Vireo, whatever you want to call her, all of her--had a bad habit of showing up in these sort of places. Places she technically wasn't cleared for.

Another set of mechanized doors swished open for the girl as she dropped the “borrowed” key card and the silicone swatch of an authorized fingerprint back into the pocket of her blazer. Even through leathered loafers, her steps plodded through the maze of halls inaudibly.

She moved through the system like a courier. Quick. Unimportant. Boring. Belonging.

Security cameras tracked her, but what were they going to do with footage of a person who so very much looked like another agent? 

Black blazer? Check.

Pressed button up? You know it.

Glasses? Exactly the kind you’d never notice.

Badge? Got it… stolen, but still got it.

Finger ready to be scanned? The wonders of 3D printing are truly amazing.

People didn’t question confidence in this place. They questioned mistakes. Glitches. Broken lines of protocol. They looked for the hacker in the hoodie, the grunt with the sweaty hands. No one looked twice at an unmemorable face.

(Y/n) passed another checkpoint like it was just a suggestion. She didn’t smirk. But she wanted to.

Cecil was going to be pissed.

But she was already pissed.

Her taking their defense system for a joyride was the start of making things even. 

A few turns later, and she was standing in front of a vault-grade door marked with no nameplate.

It slid open before she could even attempt to rewire it.

“Come in, Byrnes.”

She sighed. “You’re no fun anymore.”

Cecil’s office was less of a room and more of a cold war command center dressed like a broom closet. Low lights. One-way mirrors. A single screen flickering static-blue across his desk. And the man himself, standing behind it like he hadn’t moved in hours.

(Y/n) stepped in, slow, deliberate. She didn’t take off the glasses. Didn’t drop the mask--not the real one. 

He gestured to the chair across from him. “Have a seat.”

She remained standing.

Cecil didn’t push it. He didn’t need to. 

“You’re not subtle,” he said, adjusting a file on his desk that wasn’t really a file. Just a thin stack of hollow pages, light-reactive and probably encrypted six different ways.

“I was,” she said flatly. “You’re just not normal.”

“You broke in through seven layers of biometric security and knocked one of my guys out.”

(Y/n) folded her arms. “You say that like it’s impressive.”

“It is,” Cecil admitted. “Still doesn’t mean I like it.”

She shrugged before reaching into her pocket. “You’re still alive after your late-night talk.”

Her eyes narrowed to hone in on the faint bruising around his neck. “I take it that it went well.”

He just rubbed his jaw with a sigh like he hadn’t slept. “Define well.”

“You’re breathing.”

“Barely.” He glanced up from the terminal embedded in his desk. “Nolan doesn’t like being questioned. And he's on edge right now.”

Her fingers grazed a small flash drive, letting her thumb run across the smooth surface of it. Thinking. Debating.

To her credit, this was quite a decision to make. It was essentially synonymous to hovering over the button that would nuke the world.

She rolled the flash drive between her fingers once, then twice more, like it might decide for her.

Then she set it down on the edge of his desk. Soft. Final.

It made no sound. But the weight was there.

He looked at it, eyes glaring. He didn’t reach for it yet.

“And what’s on this that I haven’t already seen?”

“Proof,” she murmured, cautious of how loud she spoke this into existence.

Cecil slowly picked up the drive, turning it between his fingers. “Of what?”

(Y/n) met his gaze, somewhat amused, but mostly annoyed. “How long are we going to play 20 questions, Stedman?”

Cecil didn’t answer right away.

He stared at her, like he was searching for the catch hidden in the words she hadn’t said yet. Then he looked at the drive again, almost like it might burn a hole through his hand.

Finally, he sighed and slotted it into the reader embedded in his desk.

The lights dimmed slightly as the screen lit up--not a clean data stream, but a patchwork of spliced footage, metadata, satellite timestamps, and audio pulled from black box files that were never supposed to exist.

And there he was.

Nolan Grayson. Omni-Man.

Not just standing. Not just moving.

Killing.

The Guardians.

No interference. No defense. No unknown third party.

There was only him. And them. And red.

The footage wasn’t long. It didn’t need to be. You didn’t need ten minutes of betrayal to know it happened. You only needed one frame.

As the room came back to a still quiet, both of them sighed.

“Why bring it to me now?”

She shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. “Because I’ve been called a lot of things, but not suicidal.”

Cecil allowed himself a bitter smirk. “Yet you broke into my base to hand me the trigger we’d have to use on the most powerful man on Earth.”

His eyes lingered on the screen for a long time, even after it darkened again. His fingertips tapped the desk--once, twice--then went still.

“I already had Darkblood sniffing around,” he said after a long beat. “He’s been circling the edges of this. Hasn’t found this yet, though. But he’s still… pushing too close.”

(Y/n) watched his face scrunch up in annoyed frustration. “You don’t like him?”

“I don’t trust him,” Cecil corrected. “But that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“He isn’t,” she confirmed, her eyebrow raised. “It’s plugged into your computer now. It’s not a theory anymore, Stedman. It’s not ‘he’s off.’ It’s not ‘he’s hiding something.’ It’s him. In that room. I can ID the timestamp, the body language. I watched him crack Red Rush’s skull on repeat just to be sure I wasn’t projecting.”

It was a long second of just eye contact. Scrutinizing. Uncomfortable. Eye contact.

“You realize what happens if we move too soon, right? No backup plan. No replacement. No safety net. If we spook him-”

“We all die.” She said it like she was stating a grocery item. “I know.”

“And if we wait too long-”

“We still all die.”

Cecil nodded grimly. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“I don’t think glad is the right word,” (Y/n) scoffed at that. “And I didn’t bring this to you for you to give me orders on what to do and what not to do.” 

“What are you doing in preparation for this.”

Her mouth pressed thin when he didn’t have a response. “You’re waiting for the perfect checkmate while Omni-Man is already moving pawns,” she said, voice dropping lower. “You think he’ll slip. That you’ll come up with a plan so airtight, you can tip the king with a smile on your face.”

“In an ideal world, that would be the plan. But I think we both know ideal is so far from reality now.” She leaned closer across the desk--not threatening, but unwavering. “Stop waiting for ideal. Or you’re gonna be the director who let the world burn while he waited for it.”

“I know,” he finally said, quiet. Not reluctant. Just weighed. “I know.”

He sat back in his chair like it aged him. The static-blue monitor dimmed. The flash drive still blinked at the base of the desk like a tiny red eye.

She could see it behind his tired eyes. The rotations of a dozen emergency scenarios. The unspoken calculations about damage, fallout, and what--if anything--could stop Omni-Man.

(Y/n) watched him. Not like an ally. Not like an enemy. Like someone who refused to be either.

“Whatever you’re thinking? It won’t be enough,” she sighed. Deeply. “There isn’t going to be one perfect play. We’re going to need play after play. Hit after hit.”

“We can’t be stupid enough to delusionize a win. We’re here to buy time.” Running a tense hand through her hair, she tugged on the very ends of it like they could anchor her, stressed. Distraught. Scared. “For him.”

Cecil watched her for a moment, then looked past her. Maybe at the wall. Maybe through it. Then, he closed his eyes. “You saw the file.”

“I saw the file.”

He tried justifying himself, “Mark is the only one who stands a chance-” 

��I know, Stedman,” (y/n) cut in.

Her voice didn’t spike. It dropped. Soft. Dangerous. Like she was tired of repeating herself but still doing it anyway--because no one else would.

“I know what he is. I know what he could become. I know what he might have to become.” 

For the first time since she stepped down here, she let go of her facade. 

The edge in her voice dulled, not from weakness but from wear. The glint in her eyes faded, no longer pretending she was only a third party. The rigidity of her posture loosened under the weight of sentiment. A quiet kind of resignation.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The moment didn’t last. It never did.

(Y/n) ran a hand down her face, reeling in whatever was left unsaid, before her spine reset into something colder--straighter. She gave one last glance to the blinking drive.

“You’re the director,” she muttered, already prepping to leave. “Direct.”

His mouth twitched, barely. An unrestrained movement breaking through. “Watch it.”

Her brow arched, just slightly. “Or what? You’ll assign me more teenagers to babysit?”

Cecil gave her a dry, unenthused look. “You’re exhausting.”

“So are you. What’s new?” She rolled her eyes with a small smirk. 

She finally took a step back, her stance loosening by degrees. “I’m thinking with you. But y’know, you get paid for this.”

His eyes bored into her, and he deadpanned--yet again, “Exhausting.”

Her smirk grew enough. And, the door behind her hissed open again for her to turn to leave.

“But Byrnes?” his voice hooked in the air, catching her right before she stepped out of the frame.

She paused. 

“If something happens to you before we act--”

“Don’t pretend you’ll avenge me,” she cut in, calm but cold. “You’re not that sentimental.”

Cecil didn’t deny it. Just tapped the desk once more. “Fine. Then try not to die. I’m short on people who actually get it.”

(Y/n) gave no reply. Only a faint lilt of a chuckle as she disappeared into the corridor.

Still the same steel-and-silence tomb they’d always been, but she now felt heavier walking through them this time. Like the walls had swallowed her voice whole. Like the decision she’d just made had soaked into the soles of her shoes.

She passed another security junction, nodded at a guard who didn’t look twice, and slipped into a nondescript elevator bound for the upper floors.

She adjusted the blazer again. Straightened her cuffs. She didn’t need to, but it helped. Rituals did. Something to focus on besides the knowledge she’d just handed the end of the world to a man with a scar and a death wish. 

The Pentagon aboveground was louder--barely--but even this high up, the silence dragged behind her like a shadow.

The elevator doors dinged open.

She stepped out into a sterile hallway--bright, bland, somewhere between reception and regulation. Not her style. Too clean. Too conscious of itself.

And then she turned a corner--and collided with someone.

Hard enough that the wind almost knocked out of her. Not from the impact. From the recognition.

“Whoa--sorry, I didn’t see-” A voice halted mid-apology.

His hands had automatically caught her shoulders. Gentle. Familiar.

His fingers froze.

Her eyes snapped up. Met his.

Brown. Wide. Familiar.

Mark Grayson.

Oh, great. 

Impeccable timing as always. Just what she needed after pawning off a flash drive labeled "End of World, Probably."

She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Not at first.

Because she knew he was already squinting.

And not in the normal awkward-teenage-boy way. The I-know-you’ve-kicked-someone’s-ass-in-front-of-me-before kind of squint.

The blazer. The glasses. The hair. She still looked like someone he should walk past in a hallway. But her eyes?

He’d seen them behind a visor. Under smoke. Just before the sword moved. 

And he watched them move over him. The way she looked at him made him nervous, self-conscious even. Made him automatically look down at his suit for any oddly placed tears. Made him fix his windassaulted hair. Made him grip his mask even tighter. Made him sweat.

He may not be squinting in the normal awkward-teenage-boy way, but he sure was fidgeting in the normal awkward-teenage-boy way. 

Meanwhile, she was facing the quiet internal siren in her head screaming at her to switch from contain nuclear secrets mode to oh no, social interaction mode.

“Uh…” Mark blinked. “Hi?”

(Y/n) adjusted her glasses--not because they’d slipped, but because she needed a second. Maybe two. Maybe a decade.

“…Hello,” she said, cool and even. Polite. The way school acquaintances say it when you spot them in public.

He squinted again.“Wait a second...”

“Nope,” she said immediately, backing out of his hold. “Wrong person. Very flattering though.”

He frowned. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“You were about to.”

“Was I?”

“You always are.”

 “Okay, that sounds like something someone who knows me would say,” he spluttered with a half-hazardly thrown finger gun, confident he was fully caught up with the scene now. 

(Y/n) groaned under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. And her stomach did a slow, sarcastic spin. Of course. Of course.

This was not on the agenda. Not after footage. Not after war prep. Not after giving Cecil the flash drive of doom and telling him to think faster.

And now she was arguing with a half-sweaty teenage hero in the middle of a hallway that probably had thirty surveillance cameras.

Whiplash.

Absolute whiplash.

“Your eyes give you away,” Mark said, like that settled it. And settled himself against the wall, arms crossed and teeth smiling.

“That’s creepy,” she deadpanned, her face pinched to show her distaste--amused distaste, but still distaste. 

“Is it?” he asked, smile widening like he thought he was winning something. “Because I think it’s poetic. Like--Shakespeare-level poetic. Or at least early Poe.”

She let a long sigh through her nose. “Grayson.”

He grinned. “Wow, last name. I must really be getting to you.”

(Y/n) scrunched those eyes he was so very familiar with, apparently.

“C’mon,” he said, taking a small step closer, tilting his head like he was trying to line up her current form with the battle-ready image in his memory. “You think a pair of glasses and a blazer are gonna throw me off?”

“They usually do,” she muttered. “That’s half the point.”

“Well, they don’t. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re saying it like you’re in a cheesy romcom.”

He chuckled. Real. Stupid. Warm. His smile was crooked now. Warm. And it hit her in a way it absolutely shouldn’t have. Not right now. Not when she still felt the blood pumping cold from her last conversation.

(Y/n) stood there a beat longer than she meant to. Her shoulders were still squared like they hadn’t realized the war room was gone. Her mind was still back on the screen. The footage. The future.

But Mark? Mark was just there. Waiting. No knives. No suspicion. Just the same awkward warmth that had somehow become familiar.

She opened her mouth. The beginnings of a sentence tried to leave her, but then stopped. It swerved into a breath, and she pressed her lips together. Then, she tried again. 

“I’m going now.”

She took a step back. He took one forward.

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes. 

He saw it, because of course he did. 

“I’m not- I’m not following you,” Mark spluttered, unconvincingly, still with a smile. “I’m just… walking the same direction at the same time. Like a coincidence. Or fate.”

She quickened her pace slightly, but he matched her again, too persistent for someone who was just “walking the same government hallway.”

(Y/n) huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face as her shoes mutely hit the sterile tile. “You’re unbearable.”

Mark didn’t miss a beat. “You say that like it’s a new development.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, then, at least I’m consistent.” He grinned at her like that was a badge of honor.

She finally cracked--air that almost became a laugh escaped her nose. And she hated how easy it was. How damn fast he melted the steel she hadn’t even unclenched since the sublevels. The shift in her tone, her spine, her pulse--it was too fast. Too much. Whiplash.

She immediately covered it with a cough. And, Mark pretended not to notice, but his teeth shone even brighter than the white lights.

“You are the only person who talks to me like this,” she tried to scoff.

Mark grinned like that was the entire point.

“Yeah, well--maybe I’m just the only one who knows how,” he said, easy, shrugging one shoulder.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes so hard it was practically audible, but she didn’t stop walking. Didn't tell him to leave. Didn't tell him not to follow, either.

They walked in silence for a few steps. Or rather, they moved in parallel--(Y/n) all control and solitary, Mark more of a friendly orbit, like a moon too interested in a planet that very clearly did not want to be the center of anything right now.

It should’ve been irritating.

It was irritating.

But it also wasn’t.

Because he wasn’t asking. He wasn’t pressing. He wasn’t even demanding she confirm who she was, despite the fact he clearly knew. He just walked with her, making the atmosphere lighter whether she wanted it or not.

…She hated him a little for that.

Not real hate. Not the kind that sticks. The kind that flares when someone makes it too easy to breathe after you’ve nearly drowned.

“Do you always do this?” she asked after a moment, gaze forward, voice low.

He tilted his head. “Do what?”

“This,” she motioned vaguely with a hand. “Miraculously time it so you catch me at my worst moments and use that to try to be my friend.”

Mark smiled. Not like before. Just simple. Like the kind of smile you pull on when you don’t know how to respond. 

“...Aren’t we friends?”

She stopped walking.

Not with some dramatic skid or gasp or swing of the arms--but like a machine whose program had hit a wall. Like the word itself broke a cog inside her head. Friends.

Her jaw didn’t drop. Her breath didn’t catch.

She just paused.

Long enough that Mark realized he’d said something heavier than it sounded.

He blinked. “I mean--I thought we were. Or at least heading that way? I mean, I hoped-” He was doing that thing again. Rambling. Filling the air. Hands trying to catch his own words as they tripped over each other. “It’s not like I have a quota or anything, I just--well, you’re you, and I like being around-”

“Mark.”

She said it like a pressure valve.

He shut up.

The hallway, the lights, the sterile silence--all of it blurred for a second.

She wasn’t looking at him.

Her posture was still straight, still calculated. But something in her face--something in the space just beneath the skin--looked tired.

Not from walking. Not from running.

From carrying.

“…Aren’t we friends?” he asked again, a little more carefully this time. A little less certain.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away.

She stared down the hallway instead. Like she might find the right words hidden between fluorescent hums and security cameras.

Then she said, “You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to,” he said, quiet.

That got a glimpse of something behind her eyes. Not warmth. Not cold. Something unfinished.

She looked at him fully now, and it hit harder than it should have--how much was behind that expression. Grief. Steel. Hesitation. All fighting for the same square inch of space.

“You’re not supposed to,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

She gave a breath of something like a laugh, but it didn’t reach very far. “Because if you do, it gets harder.”

“For who?”

“For me.”

That landed with more weight than either of them expected.

Mark’s mouth opened--some clumsy kindness ready to leap out--but her look stopped it before it formed.

She stepped back once. Not far. Just enough to reset the space between them.

“You’re… good,” she said. Like it hurt to admit. “And I’m trying to keep you that way.”

Mark swallowed. “…You don’t have to protect me.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I do.”

She didn’t say it like a martyr.

She didn’t say it like someone brave.

She said it like it cost her something.

It hung there.

Simple. Unadorned. Heavy in a way that made the silence around it feel thinner, stretched like glass.

Maybe it was in the way she avoided looking at him. Or maybe it was in the way bits of guilt and sadness peeked out.

But he understood something now--something he hadn’t put words to until this second.

She wasn’t pushing him away because she didn’t care.

She was doing it because she did.

He shifted his weight, eyes flicking to her hands, her shoulders, her jaw--every part of her holding still like movement would make everything spill out.

“You always do that,” he sighed, shaking his head the way you do in every frustrating argument. 

It took a beat of hesitation for (Y/n) meet his prying stare. “Do what?”

“That thing where you decide everything for everyone. Like if you hold the weight long enough, the rest of us get to keep pretending this is… normal.”

She flinched. Barely, but enough. 

He saw it.

And, she had to look away for her next words. 

“Well, that's sort of the point.”

Mark’s brow creased. 

“If I hold it,” she mumbled, steadily. Almost eerily so. With that hollow undertone of someone reciting something implanted deep within them. “Then maybe you don’t have to. Maybe you still get make your stupid jokes. Still worry about that test you forgot about. Still flail at every attempt to impress the girl. Still wake up and want something.”

He couldn’t respond to that. Not right away.

Not because he didn’t have something to say--god, he had too much to say. Too many arguments, too many reasons she was wrong, or brave, or unfair to herself. 

But none of it would’ve mattered. None of it would’ve reached her the way he wanted it to.

Because she wasn’t asking for comfort.

She was explaining her logic.

And that’s what bothered him the most.

“…You think that’s what I want?” he asked finally, his voice lower now. “To be protected from the world like I’m still some kid who doesn’t get what’s coming?”

“No,” she stated, softly. “I think it’s what you deserve.”

That undid something in him.

Because there it was. Not pity. Not distance. Just… belief. In him, more than she let herself believe in anything else.

He stepped forward--not to grab her, not to reach, but to narrow the space again. Make it real.

“I don’t want to deserve normal if it means you don’t get to have it too,” he said.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper now, but it was still the loudest thing to him. “That’s not how this works.”

She looked at him then, and it almost ruined him.

Because it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t armored.

It was sad.

Not the kind of sadness that breaks down crying--but the kind that’s lived in someone’s bones so long, it’s just part of how they move now.

“You think I don’t want it?” she asked, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. “You think I don’t lie awake wishing for something as simple as a bad grade or an awkward party or a real conversation that doesn’t come with collateral damage?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer. He didn’t try to.

“I want normal more than anything,” she said, voice flat--not because she didn’t feel it, but because she felt it too much. “I don’t even get to pretend to have it as ‘me.’ I don’t go to school anymore. I head a company. I argue with men twice my age. I date to keep the tabloids distracted. I flirt when I’m supposed to, smile when it’ll make a better headline, and leave before anyone can ask a real question.” 

Finally, (y/n) met his eyes. Tired meeting pity. 

“And everyone keeps telling me I’m impressive. That I’m composed. That I’m handling it.” She paused, her jaw clenching. 

“I’m already fighting to keep two lives.” She looked away again. “I can’t handle adding a normal one.”

Mark didn’t back off. No, he stepped closer. Grazed his hand on her shoulder enough to get her attention again.

“Maybe…” he started, not sure and full of uncertainty, but earnest. “Maybe you don’t need another life.”

She didn’t move, but something in her eyes flickered. Caution. Skepticism. Bracing for some hollow reassurance.

“You can take--you’re allowed to take a moment for you. Just five minutes? Where none of that matters. Not the headlines, missions, or- or anything,” he smiled, asking for any form of consideration. “The world won’t fall apart that quickly, right?”

She stared at him like he’d just spoken in a language she hadn’t heard in years.

Five minutes?

Her throat tightened around the idea. Not because it was absurd.

But because it was dangerous.

Because it sounded a little too much like hope.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dropped--not out of guilt, not even hesitation, but calculation. Like she was weighing the cost of softness in a life that had no room for it.

He wasn’t asking for forever. Wasn’t asking her to tear down everything she'd built just to let him in.

He was asking for five minutes.

And she didn’t know how to say yes to something so simple.

Because if she said yes now, what would happen the next time someone needed her?

What if five minutes turned into ten? Turned into a habit?

Turned into her wanting more?

And want was dangerous.

Want was weakness.

Want was how people got kill-

Shit. How did it get this bad? 

Even when someone is asking for five minutes where you don’t spiral into your responsibilities, you still were.

(Y/n) shut her eyes, letting a new breath cycle through her lungs. She let herself breathe. Just once. Fully. 

Then it came out as a curt huff. Just like the ones when you can’t believe how stupid you were.

Her (e/c) met his patient brown ones and a small, pressed smile was willed into existence. Not a smartass smirk. Or that photo perfect grin. 

Just her smile.

“...Well,” she said, her tone somewhat neutral. “You got time for a coffee? Or should we keep standing here making eye contact until one of us combusts?” 

Mark’s grin was immediate. Stupid. Earnest. Real. 

Very Mark.

(Y/n)’s was tentative. Uncertain. But cracked open enough to be real.

Possibly (Y/n).

--

*bonus scene (b/c i felt like writing it but the chapter officially ended above :] )

The overhead lights in the break room buzzed with the faint flicker of neglect. One of them stuttered every now and then like it was trying to start a conversation. But it doesn’t. Because even the lights know better.  

Everything was beige or gray. Tables were bolted down. Chairs were stackable. Coffee machines looked like they have been through war.

Still, there was something oddly comforting about it. 

Maybe it was because no one spared the brightly colored hero or the ‘intern’ a second glance. In the eyes of everyone else, they simply just got another two bodies in the bureaucratic purgatory. 

The pair stood at the far end of the self-serve station. Mark stared at the array of options like it was a minefield. (Y/n) watched him with a vague sense of amusement, still trying to unclench the knot between her shoulder blades.

“So…,” he gestured with both hands, eyes squinting at the row of burnt carafes. “Do I risk the ‘hazelnut’ or the mystery third pot?”

She picked up a paper cup and lightly snorted, “I think you’ll regret either.”

He nodded solemnly, watching as she picked up the safe pot in the middle. “Cool, cool. Regret it is.”

Grasping the third pot, Mark watched the dark liquid slosh around the glass and swallowed. He filled the cup halfway and immediately winced at the scent that hit him. 

“Holy shit,” he groaned, shoving the cup away from his face. “That smells like battery acid and depression.”

(Y/n) hid a shit-eating grin behind her own cup, sipping at the bland, watered-down black coffee to cover a laugh. “That’s actually the Pentagon house blend.” 

He gave her a sidelong look, lips quirking. “I forgot you could joke.”

She gave him a look over the rim of her cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m hilarious.”

Mark let out a soft snort.

“You’re just never in the crowd,” she finished, deadpan.

He chuckled as they walked their drinks over to a corner table tucked between a vending machine and a bulletin board littered with outdated training memos.

(Y/n) sat with her back to the corner. Old habit. Strategic. Eyes facing the room. One foot hooked around the leg of her chair like muscle memory never quite let her go.

Across from her, Mark plopped down ever so gracefully, staring at his cup like the coffee might melt through.

Still, he, of course, sipped it. Grimaced at it. And, immediately regretted it.

“I’m ninety percent sure this is paint thinner,” he muttered.

She finally let the smile fully break through. Not wide. Just... unguarded. “You’re the idiot who picked the mystery pot.”

He leaned on one elbow and pointed at her, mock-offended. “Excuse you, I was misled. You told me I’d regret both. That made this sound like a fun gamble.”

(Y/n) arched a disapproving brow at him, but the tilt of her lips gave her away. “So it’s my fault you chose to melt your tastebuds.”

Mark threw both hands up, still grinning. “Hey, I take responsibility for most of my terrible decisions. This one’s only, like… seventy percent mine.”

“Generous.”

“You’re welcome.”

She shook her head at his attempts of getting her to laugh, but she didn’t cover the tiny grin on her face.

Mark set the cursed cup down like it might explode if provoked further. He leaned back in the chair and glanced at her again, letting the grin settle into something softer. 

Seeing her in this light felt illegal for him. Not that she wasn’t allowed to be normal… adjacent. But with how she usually moved through the world, this felt new. And rare. And kind of good in its own weird, quiet way. 

She wasn’t armored up. Not fully. Not right now. No bird-mask. No shield. No mission reports or tactical evasions. Just her. Shoulders still a little tense. Foot still wrapped around the chair leg like she was expecting a breach. But her mouth? Still tilted in something that looked dangerously close to relaxed.

Mark tried not to stare. He did a bad job.

“So…” he started again, grasping at straws for a normalish topic. “No school?”

(Y/n) squinted at him as if asking “really,” but answered with a shrug anyway. “Not anymore.”

His eyes bore into her when she didn’t explain further, almost daring to pour his coffee in her watery one.

Snatching her cup from him, she gave a light glare. “I-um I graduated already.”

Mark blinked. “Wait. Really?”

(Y/n) took a swig from his coffee cup purely out of spite, grimaced, and set it back down like it personally offended her.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, voice recovering around the aftertaste. “Graduated.”

“High school?”

A quiet sip of bland chaser filled the air for a drawn out second. She gazed into the murky brown like it might offer a better way to say what came next. Because how do you admit to this without sounding pretentious? Or… like a government science experiment with a student ID.

“Um. Yeah, high school…” she started carefully. “And, uh. College.”

She could feel him trying to pry more out of her, but she didn’t look at him. Just sipped again.

“Wait.” Mark blinked like his brain was buffering. “College college?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re joking.”

She shook her head, the tiniest twitch of her mouth made a smirk. “I really wish I was.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again--this time with something that sounded like a confused half-laugh, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.

“Hold on,” he said, holding out a hand like he could physically stop the revelation from snowballing. “You’re how old again?”

She leaned back slowly in her chair, arms crossing loosely, smirk already spreading. 

“Older than you,” she said, annoyingly smug.

He squinted harder at her. 

And, as if it actually managed to pull a real answer from her, she gave in. “...by a few months.”

“You’ve got that much mysterious aura and you’re barely older than me?”

“Some of us peak early,” (y/n) shrugged, smug still intact. “Besides, it’s not hard when you don’t sleep and already know half the curriculum because you’ve been hacking into government databases since middle school.”

Mark blinked again. “...What.”

She handed his cup back with a faint, innocent shrug. “What?” 

He waited for her to crack and admit it was all a bit. She didn’t. 

She smiled. “Is this really what you want to spend five minutes of normal wrapping your head around?”

He made a face. “Okay, fine, but if this is you being normal, I want a refund.”

Clicking her tongue, she put her cup down and corrected him like she was reading the fine print of a contract, “Five minutes of normal. Not five minutes of ordinary.”

"Right, my bad," He huffed a laugh, sinking into his chair like the weight of the day finally remembered it existed. His hand toyed with the edge of the coffee cup, rotating it slowly. “Y’know, for what it’s worth… I don’t think normal’s all that great.”

(Y/n) tilted her head--subtle, questioning.

“I mean, sure, it’s nice,” Mark continued, eyes still on the cup. “Simple. Safe. But--I don’t know. It’s hard to pretend I still fit into that.”

He glanced at her again, searching. Not pushing--just looking. Like he wasn’t sure if what he’d said made him sound ungrateful or just honest.

She didn’t give him an immediate answer. But she didn’t look away, either.

So he took that as permission to keep going.

Mark cleared his throat, “I keep trying to pretend I still care about pop quizzes and gross cafeteria food. But then there’s this whole other life I’m living that I’m not supposed to tell anyone about.”

He paused, swirling the coffee again like it might say something back this time.

“And, then I finally asked out this girl I like,” he said, almost as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or wince. “You saw how that went.”

The girl across from him just sat with him. Listening without interruption. Letting him have the air, because he needed it too.

“It was great for the most part. She was great. But I kept having to lie to her, or just leave stuff out,” he admitted, words slowing like they were dragging more weight than expected. “I mean, it was the first date… it’s the first try at getting to know someone you like, and I was already leaving out half my life.”  

He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers tangling slightly in his hair. “I want to be normal for her. I really do. But trying to just made me understand what you meant at the bench.”

(Y/n)’s gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it softened--but not in a way most people would notice. Just enough for someone who knew how hard she worked to keep things out of reach.

“You said it,” he added, voice a notch softer. “That’s not how this works when your life becomes fragments.”

She looked down at her hands. One still circled the rim of her cup like it was muscle memory. The other flexed slightly, resting against the edge of the table, fingers twitching like they were fighting the urge to hold something real.

“…Yeah,” she said after a long moment and then she let go of an admission. “I tried to give you a little buffer from that realization.”

His eyes flicked up only to see she wasn’t meeting his but her cup’s.

“Stedman said you were taking a night off so I picked up the alert for you,” she half shrugged as if it was nothing. “I didn’t think you should have to get electrocuted and broken up with in the same hour.” 

Mark let out a quiet breath, somewhere between gratitude and humor. “I was wondering how you showed up that fast. Don’t you live in New Jersey or something?”

“Stedman kidnapped me, so I was in the area,” she muttered with a grudge.   

He raised both eyebrows. “Like… literally kidnapped?”

She sipped her coffee again like it was a legally binding NDA. “The man has a teleporter at his disposal.”

“So… yeah. Literal kidnapping.”

“Technically, he asked first. I just didn’t realize ‘for what?’ was legally binding.”

He chuckled, a small, disbelieved one. 

“But, thanks…” he said quietly. “For taking the alert.”

(Y/n)’s eyes snapped to him for a half-second before she brushed the thanks off with a wave of her hand. “It wasn’t charity. You were busy. I wasn’t.”

“That’s the same tone Cecil uses when he wants me to think he’s not being nice.”

She scoffed, “Well, you both complain the same amount, so.”

“Still,” he said after a beat. “It helped.”

“Sure,” she offered an ounce of acknowledgement through a quirk of the lip. 

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just let the scent of the--pathetic excuse for--coffee fill the air between them. No one else was in the room but them now. Two teens who didn’t feel like teens. Sitting across from each other--not like it was normal, but like normal didn’t matter. 

(Y/n) tapped her finger lightly against the rim of the cup again. A rhythm, faint and even. Mark watched the motion--not because it was loud, but because it was grounding. The kind of thing people did when they were still working out if they were allowed to be at peace.

“You think there’s anyone out there who doesn’t care about the ‘normal’ part?” he asked, faintly, almost like he didn’t want her to hear it.

A pause. Measured. Careful.

“Someone who gets it.”

That landed between them like a quiet echo. Not loud enough to demand anything--but not soft enough to ignore, either.

(Y/n) looked at him fully now, the weight of that last line filtering through her in real time. Something passed behind her eyes--quick, quiet, not quite visible. But it was there.

A flicker of recognition.

Of warning.

Of want.

She swallowed once. Then shifted an inch apart from him, gaze narrowing just slightly--not cold, but sharp. Assessing.

“Someone who gets it,” she echoed, carefully.

Not mocking. Not dismissive. Just… weighing it. Like she was trying to decide whether he even knew what he was asking.

Mark didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. He didn’t double down either. He just held the question where it was. In the air. Waiting.

“You’re looking for the wrong person then,” she said, voice quieter now. Less clipped. Less armored.

Mark tilted his head. “Yeah?”

She looked down again, like the words had to be mined from somewhere deeper than she was used to digging. Her next sentence came out like a confession whispered into a storm drain.

“You don’t want someone who gets it,” she said, voice lower. “You think you do.  But it’s a different kind of weight when someone understands exactly how much you’re carrying.”

“They don’t say, ‘I’m sorry you’re going through this.’ They say, ‘Yeah. Me too.’ And that’s worse, ” (Y/n)’s voice softened, somewhere between apology and resignation. “Because it’s not just shared. It’s mirrored. And sometimes, you don’t want a mirror. You want a window. A door. Something that opens out instead of in.”

Her eyes flicked back to his then--cautious, a little raw, but direct.

“That’s what normal people give you. Even if it’s fake, even if it’s fleeting. The chance to look at the world like you’re not trapped in it.”

She didn’t say "someone like me can’t give you that."

She didn’t have to.

It was written in the space between her posture and the tired set of her shoulders.

“I think you should give an actual shot with her.”

He could’ve said okay. He could’ve said maybe. He could’ve said nothing at all.

Instead, he leaned forward just slightly, elbows on the table, and said:

“But she doesn’t know this part of me.”

“It didn’t feel real.” His fingers tapped against the side of the cup again, mirroring her rhythm without realizing it. 

(Y/n) noticed. She always noticed. And for a moment, she said nothing.

Then--softly, without lifting her gaze-- “Maybe that’s why you tried.”

Mark tilted his head. “Because it wasn’t real?”

“No,” she said. “Because it could be.”

There was a pause.

Just long enough for the weight of it to settle between them. Not heavy--just exact. Measured. Like the moment had stopped pretending it was just casual.

Then his voice cut back in, low but sure.

“You think this--” he gestured between them, between the silence and the rawness and the edge of a conversation that wasn’t supposed to happen, “--feels fake?”

His tone wasn’t biting. It wasn’t dramatic. It was… quietly daring. Like he was offering her a way to deny it—if she needed it. But hoping she wouldn’t.

“No.” (Y/n) gave the smallest laugh. The kind that had too much honesty in it to be sarcastic. “But it’s messy.”

“It always is,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean it has to suck.”

“It kind of does, though,” she said. “If it didn’t suck, we wouldn’t be here drinking coffee that tastes like liquid regret pretending we’re allowed to have five minutes to feel human.”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Look, just try for the door before you’re stuck without an exit.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, lips pressing into something between a smile and a frown.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “But what if the door is locked?”

(Y/n)’s eyes flicked to him, guarded. “Then find another one.”

“And if I still end up circling back to the same room?”

“Then you’re not looking for an exit. You’re just stalling.”

His mouth quirked, more wry than amused. “Maybe. Or maybe…” he leaned in slightly, just enough to shift the air between them. “Maybe some rooms are worth getting stuck in.”

Exasperation filled her face. “Mark.”

She said his name like a warning. Like a sigh. Like a bruise she didn’t want him pressing on, even if part of her didn’t mind the weight.

“I don’t…” she hesitated. Then met his gaze--really met it, like she was pleading with him to let it pass through his thick skull. “I don’t want to be the reason you get stuck… Please, just try.”

“Okay,” he said again. Not flippant. Not blindly hopeful. Just steady. Like he understood what she meant, even if he didn’t agree with all of it. “I’ll try.”

(Y/n) exhaled. Not dramatically. Just enough to loosen the breath she’d been holding since the moment got too close.

A beat passed. They sat there, two weapons forged too early in the fire, trying not to need things they couldn’t name.

Then she glanced at the clock. Five minutes had long since passed.

And yet--

She didn’t move.

Didn’t push away.

Didn’t reset.

Instead, she nodded toward the cup he’d been rotating this whole time.

“Drink that again,” she said, deadpan. “Let’s make sure you suffer enough to remember me in a bad light.”

Mark laughed--actually laughed this time. Not the awkward, teen-fumbles kind. The real kind. Like something in his chest loosened.

And when he lifted the cup again in mock salute, (Y/n) laughed with him--moreso at his immediate gag. Letting another five minutes slip through her clock.

--

<<next chp>>

<3 -> @jiyeons-closet @heiankyonoeiyuukun

[dykedvonte]

hi i actually have so many questions to ask!!! hope youre doing well, your posts are always so fun and gutwrenching to catch up on

can you explain more about the post-capitalism world??? i always found the ship looking so…. belly of a rusted metal ship to be weird but also offputting in a way that gets the atmosphere in the game so good. like i know its mostly to do with PE being a cheapskate company and using the lowest quality possible materials INCLUDING interior design but like damn, it reminds me of the ferries you take your car on across channels, all the furniture a bit dirty and outdated. we know the ship passed inspection and that the Tulpar is clearly quite old with the comment curly makes but like duuuuude i would not trust that thing, is that why swansea always has so many things to do??

also, the Pony Express name itself. i cant take it seriously with how deep and serious the rest of the game goes 😭 i know its probably done on purpose but it always gets me out of the headspace haha, chosen to show how ridiculous these kinda companies can be??? thoughts… so many….

For this i'd actually like to start with the Pony Express and it's name. The name comes from the irl Pony Express. TDLR is that it was one of the first cross country delivery service that specifically relied on the labor of undesirables as they traveled across the country in harsh conditions. It's likely named off the fact the game PE does the same thing and likely uses the horse as a call back to how all the couriers for the irl Pony Express rode on horse back.

It was also fazed out by a more automated, not man led, system just like what happens to the crew in the game.

The game gives a lot of insights to how humans are treated in heavy labor environments and how companies clearly maximize profit over employee safety/comfort. The first sign is that collective pay is permitted and that it seems minor mistakes and infractions can heavily deduct from that payment. Even if one crate is accidently broken, they don't get paid when most companies would have a set minimum take home in light of infractions.

The fact that the only places that lock are the places with the most expensive equipment is also a sign that it's late enough post-capitalism that they don't even carry pretenses about worker safety or privacy. I mean, they actively discourage sleeping over 5 hours with pay cuts and Swansea even bitterly jokes he isn't jeopardizing anything with his break time. All their food is synthesized slop that only one person can make to discourage food theft and they have to ration that, especially since they added a member knowing they didn't have enough room. It's that they have their own training courses for each position so they don't have to pay someone what their qualified. Everything is designed with a purpose of being tracked, the code scanner likely having inputs on how often something was used and put back to document penalties.

The biggest thing is the Pony Express holding out for so long against other companies. It's not for care of their workers but because human labor is objectively cheaper. It's implied so many companies left human workers behind because while the overhaul is expensive, what they make up in a lack of safety requirements and pay make up for it. It's a sort of retro-futuristic post-capitalism where it won. Things were set back because they no longer have to worry about the people, with very few being deemed worthy to move up.

It's telling that none of them are shocked by the conditions of the Pony Express more just tired of being there.

[pijawki-project]

>> Compiled (and commented) by Emil, Scholar of Gamayun, Disciple of the Minister of Knowledge.

Now this is where things become truly fascinating. Messengers are produced almost exclusively from the bodies of death-row criminals and ex-convicts. I know, I know—it sounds grim, but it’s arguably the most ethical part of the entire system. Most of the "volunteers" would have been killed and disposed of anyway, and the Agency is always happy to accept what others would discard.

Once delivered to the Agency, the condemned are executed via freezing—a technique that keeps the body in pristine condition for necromantic reanimation. The ritual does not bring them fully back. Their minds regress, typically to something resembling infancy. Most are little more than instinctive shells by the time the ritual is done. But every so often, one retains fragments of their former intelligence. These rare cases are cultivated—refined into higher class messengers through rigorous (and often horrific) training.

Their bodies are unmistakably cadaverous: pale yellow-blue skin, frostbitten extremities blackened and blotched, and peering empty eye sockets(if a head is there at all). Most times, the eyes are removed early on—it makes them more obedient, and easier to direct (allegedly according to the necromancer, though I suspect she simply has a penchant for collecting eyes.).

Anyway, once killed and brought back, messengers are mummified while still fully conscious, dried and ritually embalmed to halt decay (this step was not there at the beginning of the Agencies' inception, but people did not appreciate the foul smell and corpse goo on their deliveries).

And yes, they do retain personality. very slightly. Though most are trained to suppress any hints of it. Only high-status messengers are permitted any freedom of expression.

An odd note: messengers are forbidden from wearing shoes. This is not due to practicality, but principle. Footwear is a luxury reserved for the living. They recoil at the very idea even touching shoes—an aversion that speaks to the severity of their conditioning.

Messengers are overwhelmingly drawn from the Lowly races and individuals. This is not because of the lowly inherently being more valuable ingredients, but rather the opposite. Nobles condemned to death are typically disassembled—harvested for their magic rich organs, bone, and blood. Most necromancers would faint at even the idea of a noble messenger, I mean if one is going to use a noble corpse in necromancy, they should make it into their prized warrior not a Currier. Not to mention Noble undead are famously hard to train as most retain their personalities after conversion. Even if they don't, they are like wild beasts, ones you have to muzzle, chain and practically throw at enemies to get any use out of.

Perhaps because it is such a outlandish idea, that Arch Necromancer made one. I head about it in my social circles and grew extremely curious, however when I went to her to look for it she said she had sadly lost it and was actively looking for it. Apparently it broke all the tracking and security devices she placed into it and disappeared god knows were.

After such an embarrassing incident she banned any necromancer under her from using nobles for necromancy, more in fear in some necromancer below her making a tame noble courier and embarrassing her further rather than the fear of unleashing uncontrollable monsters out to the word…

[themonsterthing]

Millenial Art Musing

Gather round, younglings, I’m about to tell a story about ye olde days. *rocker creaks*

My first and most beloved art form, the art that made me who I am, that made me as good as I am at what I do, is dead, is gone, is unreachable.

That might sound dramatic, but I mean that literally. My art form does not, can not, exist anymore. And that's a good thing, because of what it says about accessibility.

I was listening to one of my favourite ever albums when I had this realization today, Johnny Hollow’s 2003 self titled symphonic goth masterpiece. How I found this album was because they had an amazing website. No, really. Amazing. It was a flash masterpiece, where bugs crawled across the screen, different sound clips echoed over different sections, and you unlocked hidden tracks if you answered riddles. It was an artistic triumph. I do believe it won awards.

To modern internet users, that sounds absurd. But I was a web designer back in the days of hard coding, of fixed resolution design, of the surety that everyone was looking at your work from a very similar setup. I got out of web design when it become about scalability, when content management systems were becoming the new norm. Flash hasn’t existed in years, as a design form.

HTML is still the bones of the internet, but it has grown wings and learned to fly. This is good. My art form was not about making things as useable as possible - it was about individual design. Oh what, you have trouble reading 8px Courier in low-contrast color tones? Oh well! It’s art.

The internet should be for everyone, and what I was designing was not that. Yes, it was beautiful, but it was definitely art, not for conveying useful information or accessing tools. Would it be cool if I could make that kind of art again? As pure art? Yes. But there would be no way to make that happen, unless you did something scalable but artistic for the eight million ways people access the internet now. Which is not possible, so maybe if you could control every aspect of the way it was consumed. Which is not possible. Maybe I could do it as an art exhibit, where people came and sat on computers and clicked through incredibly slow pages on 56k to the humming of the computer fan. Ah, the old days.

I am who I am because of my first art. I became a programmer to make Sailor Moon websites, back in the days of Geocities and Angelfire. I learned whole other languages, could speak them fluently, still know common hex codes. (People ask my favorite colour, and I always say French Grey. But really it’s #E6E6E6.)

It is a bizarre and beautiful world to have come from. I miss the camaraderie of the my fellow web designers, those of us trading CSS hacks and joking about the best font style. One person with a credit card who owned a domain and hosted all their buddies, the joy of ridiculous subdomain names.

I am delighted by what the internet has become. But oh, the olden days.

</ramble>

[safrona-shadowsun]

"Have you ever... "lost"' or "misplaced" a letter or missive in your work as a courier- for any reason?""

"Absolutely," Safrona admitted easily. "It's almost expected in the work when you deliver. A very unfortunate rite of passage for every herald, postmaster, courier, or runner. And it can be a mess to navigate steps to take afterward, but much easier to either put in an acceptable tracking system or handle damages and fallout with a client when you're part of a team. Which is why I now try to bring in freelance couriers and runners under my wing. Much better business to take on when you have support."

The professional paused as she let herself recall a particular run gone wrong. "It's all more of a risk when you are contracted as a runner on the field carrying correspondence that someone doesn't want you delivering. One of my most unfavorable circumstances was on the time-shifted Draenor some years ago, when I was shuttling resources and correspondence between garrisons. I was interrupted on my route, and my shipment was taken. And the shipment was never recovered."

Her fingertips idly shifted upward to adjust the high collar of robes and choker, which hid the lacerated scars that she wore. "It was uglier business then, but my client had been forgiving enough."

[sharpthornes]

⋆ ˚ don't you 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 look out your 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒘, darling, everything's on 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆

─ a retelling of the story of gale hawthorne, written by teddy, for mockingjaysfm ─

that’s  GALE HAWTHORNE, the THIRTY-SIX year old LICENSED GAMEKEEPER/UNDERGROUND SMUGGLER from DISTRICT 12.  they’re so lucky to be in the capitol for such a special hunger games.  they’ve been here for long enough to gain a reputation for being so LOYAL, and simultaneously UNFORGIVING.  they remind me of faded scars shaped like animal teeth, a worn flannel that smells like wood and smoke and home, a soft voice mumbling apologies to a fallen deer, which makes sense since they’re always listening to BREATHE, DESPERATELY by from indian lakes. let’s hope they’re up for all this work ahead of them this year 

ABOUT ᝰ.ᐟ

for years since the 74th games, gale did the best he could to survive and care for his family in district 12. of course, he grew up since those fateful games. matured. but also became colder and distant to those around him, though not heartless.

he eventually left the mines and took up work as a licensed gamekeeper in district 12, allowing him to hunt the surrounding forests legally. he was permitted to obtain food for himself and his family, so long as he also provided meat for daily capitol quotas.

but those weren't the only mouths he fed. he also helped the families the system left behind, becoming a lifeline for the starving families in the district. he trades what he can, shares what's safe, and helps when no one's watching.

he soon familiarized himself with the terrain surrounding the district like the back of his hand, navigating and memorizing patrol routes and noting capitol blind spots. eventually he discovered a secret network of black market traders and smugglers that formed across districts. couriers would secretly move small packages between districts, sometimes disguised as capitol shipments.

he began to provide food, medicine, and any other essentials available to him. he hid supplies in tree hollows, traded with trusted contacts at night, and memorized symbols and ciphers and safe drop points to avoid detection.

smuggling wasn't just trading goods, it became his and the district's means of survival. strict rationing from the capitol left families starving for decades, and any legal resources went straight to the wealthy or well-connected. so gale filled in the gaps quietly, keeping children fed and sick elders cared for while evading suspicion from peacekeepers.

when rumors of a second uprising began during this year's games, gale didn't wait. as soon as he learned of the existence of thirteen, he slipped away. now, he works with the rebellion full-time.

his years of experience and discipline as a smuggler and working under surveillance are what primarily serve him now in the resistance.

gale carries the weight of everything he's seen in silence. he's not the boy he was eighteen years ago. years of watching the games go on, his loved ones and his district suffering, made him sharper. colder.

he's so much more focused and determined now. every action is deliberate after years of surviving quietly and under capitol surveillance.

he doesn't let himself hope easily, but he keeps moving, keeps fighting, because he knows what will happen if no one does.

STATS ᝰ.ᐟ

name: gale hawthorne

age: 36

pronouns: he/him

birthday: november 11th

chart: scorpio sun, capricorn moon, sagittarius rising

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: active member of the resistance

positive traits: loyal, resourceful, protective, disciplined

negative traits: unforgiving, stubborn, impulsive, emotionally distant

likes: being in the woods alone, freshly caught game because it means another day someone gets to eat, waking up early, making maps, children's laughter and anything else worth protecting, rain because it covers tracks and gives him a reason to hide, quiet loyalty that doesn't need to be spoken or returned - just lived.

dislikes: the capitol (duh), people who talk too much because he values action over speeches, wasted resources (food, time, energy...), public attention, power-hungry leaders, staying idle (he needs to do), false hope and sweet lies, being underestimated (he's used to it, he just doesn't forgive it).

[neeraj943]

Dematerialization of Shares in India: Digitizing Equity Ownership

In the journey toward a more digital and secure financial system, the dematerialization of shares in India has proven to be a game changer. This move from physical to electronic shareholding has made investing in the stock market significantly more efficient and investor-friendly. The transition not only streamlines transactions but also enhances transparency, safety, and convenience for shareholders.

What Does Dematerialization Mean?

Dematerialization is the process through which physical share certificates are converted into digital form. Once dematerialized, these shares are stored in a demat account, eliminating the need for paper-based securities. The system is facilitated by depositories—NSDL (National Securities Depository Limited) and CDSL (Central Depository Services Limited)—that work through intermediaries called Depository Participants (DPs).

Every investor intending to hold or trade shares in the Indian stock market must now operate through a demat account. This account functions similarly to a bank account but holds securities instead of money.

Key Advantages of Dematerialization

The popularity of dematerialization stems from the multiple benefits it offers:

Elimination of Risks: Physical share certificates are susceptible to loss, theft, forgery, and natural damage. Dematerialization completely removes these risks.

Streamlined Transactions: Buying, selling, and transferring shares is much faster and more reliable.

Lower Administrative Costs: No physical handling or courier expenses; stamp duty on transfers is also waived.

Online Access: Investors can manage their portfolios digitally from anywhere at any time.

Better Record-Keeping: Each transaction is accurately recorded, making it easier to monitor investments and comply with tax regulations.

Steps in the Dematerialization Process

To dematerialize physical shares, follow these basic steps:

Open a Demat Account: Choose a DP registered with either NSDL or CDSL.

Fill Out a DRF: The Dematerialization Request Form must be submitted along with the original physical share certificates.

Submission to Registrar: The DP forwards these to the concerned company’s registrar for verification.

Electronic Credit: Upon successful verification, the shares are credited electronically to the investor’s demat account.

Regulatory Framework Supporting Dematerialization

The Securities and Exchange Board of India (SEBI) has mandated dematerialization for all publicly traded shares. The Depositories Act, 1996 provides the legal foundation for this digital system, ensuring that the rights of investors are protected and that markets operate smoothly.

Moreover, SEBI's ongoing efforts to enhance investor awareness and improve operational standards among DPs and brokers have further strengthened trust in the demat system.

Growing Importance in Today’s Market

With the rise in retail investing and the popularity of online trading platforms, dematerialization has become more critical than ever. It supports fast-paced transactions, easy tracking of holdings, and digital reporting—all vital in today’s financial ecosystem.

Even for new investors entering the market via mutual funds or IPOs, a demat account is essential. Many companies now issue shares only in dematerialized form, making it impossible to participate in equity investments without going digital.

Conclusion

The dematerialization of shares in India represents a fundamental shift in how equity ownership is managed and transferred. It has introduced unmatched ease, security, and reliability into the Indian capital market system. For investors, holding shares in demat form is not just an option—it’s the new standard that aligns with India’s digital future.

[maahiparcel]

How Maahi Technology Strengths Can Power Your SME

1. Comprehensive Courier Solutions

Maahi International Courier Services is not just a courier company; it’s a complete solution provider. They handle all types of courier services, catering to the diverse needs of SMEs. Whether you need to send important documents within the country or ship products overseas, Maahi Technology has got you covered. Their services are designed to be flexible and scalable, accommodating both small shipments and large cargo.

2. Domestic and International Reach

In today’s globalized economy, having a reliable partner for both domestic and international courier services is essential. Maahi International Courier Services excels in providing seamless service across borders. They have a vast network that spans major global destinations, ensuring that your parcels reach their destination safely and on time. This extensive reach helps SMEs expand their market presence without worrying about logistics.

3. Advanced Tracking System

One of the standout features of Maahi Technology is its state-of-the-art tracking system. This system provides real-time updates on the status of your shipments, ensuring complete transparency. For SMEs, this means less time spent on follow-ups and more time focusing on core business activities. Customers can track their parcels from dispatch to delivery, which enhances trust and satisfaction.

4. Reliability and Speed

In the fast-paced world of business, timely delivery can make or break a deal. Maahi International Courier Services prides itself on its reliability and speed. They understand the importance of meeting deadlines and work tirelessly to ensure that your shipments arrive on time. This reliability helps SMEs maintain their reputation and meet customer expectations consistently.

5. Cost-Effective Solutions

Maahi Technology understands the budget constraints that SMEs often face. They offer competitive pricing without compromising on service quality. By providing cost-effective courier solutions, they help businesses manage their logistics expenses efficiently. This financial advantage allows SMEs to invest more in growth and development.

6. Customer Support

Exceptional customer support is another area where Maahi International Courier Services shines. They offer dedicated support to address any queries or issues that may arise. For SMEs, having a responsive support team means that any logistical challenges can be swiftly resolved, minimizing disruption to business operations.

7. Security and Safety

Security is a top priority for Maahi Technology. They employ stringent measures to ensure that your shipments are secure throughout the delivery process. From tamper-proof packaging to secure handling, they take every step to protect your parcels. This commitment to safety gives SMEs confidence that their goods are in safe hands.

Conclusion

Maahi Technology’s comprehensive, reliable, and cost-effective courier services make it an invaluable partner for SMEs. By leveraging Maahi International Courier Services, businesses can enhance their operational efficiency, expand their market reach, and focus on growth. Whether you need domestic or international courier services, Maahi Technology’s advanced tracking system, speed, and exceptional customer support will ensure your logistics are seamless and stress-free.

Empower your SME with Maahi Technology and experience the difference in your logistics management. For all your courier needs, domestic as well as international, trust Maahi International Courier Services to deliver excellence.

For more details Visit our Website: https://www.maahiparcel.com/

[rohanshah2025]

TCI Express: The Largest Logistics Company in India Delivering Excellence in Express and International Courier Services

Introduction

The logistics industry is the lifeline of modern commerce, enabling the seamless flow of goods across cities, countries, and continents. In India, where geographical diversity and market demands are incredibly vast, finding a logistics partner that combines reliability, speed, and scale is vital. That’s where TCI Express, the largest logistics company in India, stands out.

With decades of experience, advanced infrastructure, and a customer-first approach, TCI Express has emerged as a leader among every top transport company in the country. From express logistics services to full truck load services, and from international courier services to temperature controlled transportation, TCI Express offers a comprehensive suite of solutions that serve businesses of all sizes and industries.

In this blog, we will explore how TCI Express is revolutionizing Indian logistics with its unparalleled capabilities and why it is considered the best courier service in India for both domestic and international needs.

TCI Express – The Largest Logistics Company in India

A Legacy of Excellence

TCI Express is a part of the Transport Corporation of India (TCI) Group, a pioneer in the Indian logistics sector. Over the years, TCI Express has evolved into a standalone powerhouse, with a razor-sharp focus on express logistics services and next-day delivery across the country.

With more than 950+ branches, 40,000+ pickup and delivery points, and state-of-the-art sorting centers, TCI Express ensures nationwide reach and consistent performance.

Key Features:

ISO 9001:2015 certified operations

Listed on NSE and BSE

Next-day and same-day delivery options

Specialized services for multiple industries

Unmatched network and infrastructure

TCI Express as a Leading Transport Company

TCI Express is not just a courier provider but a full-fledged transport company offering services that span across road, rail, and air networks. With an expansive fleet, digitally connected delivery models, and route optimization, it caters to both B2B and B2C logistics with precision.

Services That Define a Top Transport Company:

Express surface transport

Rail and air cargo integration

Intercity and intracity delivery

Specialized supply chain solutions

Customized solutions for SMEs and large enterprises

With its integrated approach and multimodal transportation systems, TCI Express stands as a dependable partner for businesses seeking scalable logistics solutions.

Express Logistics Services – Speed with Reliability

The demand for quick, safe, and reliable delivery is higher than ever. Express logistics services are critical for industries like e-commerce, pharmaceuticals, electronics, and FMCG. TCI Express delivers high-speed logistics without compromising on safety or accuracy.

Advantages of TCI Express Logistics:

Guaranteed same-day/next-day delivery

Real-time tracking and updates

GPS-enabled fleet for route efficiency

Optimized pickup and drop-off timelines

Door-to-door services across India

TCI Express ensures that urgent shipments are never delayed, giving businesses a competitive edge in time-sensitive markets.

Best Courier Service in India – What Makes TCI Express Stand Out?

There are numerous courier providers in India, but TCI Express has earned the reputation of being the best courier service in India for its unmatched performance, wide coverage, and commitment to customer satisfaction.

Key Differentiators:

Service to over 29,000 pin codes

Specialized handling of fragile and high-value goods

24/7 customer support

Transparent pricing with no hidden fees

Fast and reliable returns management

Whether it’s documents, consumer goods, or medical supplies, TCI Express ensures on-time and safe delivery across urban and remote areas alike.

International Courier Services – Bridging Borders with TCI Express

In today’s global economy, cross-border logistics is essential for businesses expanding internationally. TCI Express offers reliable and fast international courier services that make global shipping effortless.

International Capabilities Include:

Door-to-door global shipping

Priority and express international delivery

Custom clearance and documentation support

Strategic partnerships with global logistics companies

Real-time international tracking

Whether shipping to the USA, Europe, Southeast Asia, or the Middle East, TCI Express provides cost-effective and secure international courier services.

Full Truck Load Services – For Heavy and Bulk Shipments

For businesses dealing in high volumes, full truck load services are an essential component of their logistics chain. TCI Express offers both part truckload (PTL) and full truck load (FTL) services across India.

Benefits of TCI’s Full Truck Load Services:

Dedicated truck capacity

Customized delivery schedules

Secure transport of bulk goods

Optimal pricing based on load and route

Reduced transit time and fewer handling points

These services are ideal for industries like construction, textiles, agriculture, and manufacturing that require large-scale transport.

Temperature Controlled Transportation – For Perishable and Sensitive Goods

Certain goods such as food, pharmaceuticals, and chemicals require precise temperature regulation during transit. TCI Express offers advanced temperature controlled transportation solutions that maintain the required environment from origin to destination.

Why Choose TCI’s Temperature Controlled Logistics:

Refrigerated and insulated trucks

24/7 temperature monitoring systems

Compliant with international cold chain standards

Custom temperature settings (cold, chilled, frozen)

Ideal for perishable goods and vaccines

This makes TCI Express a reliable partner for businesses in sectors like healthcare, food processing, and life sciences.

Industry-Specific Logistics Solutions

TCI Express provides tailored logistics for the following industries:

E-commerce: Fast reverse logistics, COD handling, return management

Healthcare: Cold chain delivery, safe pharma handling

Automotive: Component and parts delivery

Retail & FMCG: Timely restocking and inventory delivery

Electronics: Anti-theft packaging and safe transport

Technology Driving Logistics Innovation

TCI Express is a tech-savvy logistics leader. Its digital-first approach improves efficiency and enhances customer experience.

Tech Innovations:

Automated sorting centers

Online freight booking and rate calculator

Real-time parcel tracking

Digital proof of delivery

AI-based route optimization

By blending human expertise with automation, TCI Express ensures accuracy, visibility, and responsiveness.

Safety, Compliance, and Sustainability

Logistics is not just about speed but also about safety and responsibility.

TCI Express Values:

100% adherence to safety protocols

Environmentally responsible fleet management

Training for drivers and handlers

ISO certifications for quality and compliance

Reduced carbon footprint through rail and EVs

TCI Express’s Nationwide and Global Reach

With service across 40,000+ locations in India and growing international partnerships, TCI Express is well-equipped to support businesses looking to expand their reach both within the country and abroad.

 Conclusion

In today’s highly competitive and time-sensitive market, choosing the right logistics partner can make or break your business operations. TCI Express emerges as the all-in-one solution that combines speed, scale, and innovation.

As the largest logistics company in India, TCI Express offers unmatched service across every logistics vertical—from express logistics services and international courier services to full truck load services and temperature controlled transportation.

Whether you're an entrepreneur, manufacturer, exporter, or a multinational corporation, TCI Express has the infrastructure, technology, and expertise to deliver beyond expectations.

FAQs – Frequently Asked Questions

1. Which is the largest logistics company in India?

TCI Express is recognized as the largest logistics company in India, offering pan-India express delivery and comprehensive logistics solutions.

2. What kind of transport company is TCI Express?

TCI Express is a full-service transport company offering multimodal logistics across road, rail, and air with express delivery as its core strength.

3. What are express logistics services?

Express logistics services involve time-bound, high-speed delivery of goods. TCI Express specializes in same-day/next-day delivery across the country.

4. Is TCI Express the best courier service in India?

Yes, TCI Express is widely regarded as the best courier service in India due to its speed, reliability, customer service, and network coverage.

5. Does TCI Express offer international courier services?

Absolutely. TCI Express provides fast and reliable international courier services with door-to-door delivery and customs support.

6. What are full truck load services?

Full truck load services involve booking an entire truck for transporting large volumes of goods. TCI Express offers secure and customized FTL options.

7. What is temperature controlled transportation?

Temperature controlled transportation ensures goods are shipped under controlled conditions. TCI Express offers refrigerated trucks and monitoring systems for sensitive items.

8. Does TCI Express offer real-time tracking?

Yes, TCI Express provides real-time tracking for all domestic and international shipments through their website and mobile app.

9. Can individuals use TCI Express or is it only for businesses?

Both! TCI Express caters to individuals as well as businesses, offering personalized courier and logistics services for all types of shipments.

Explore Services: Express Services | Surface Express | Domestic Air Express | International Air Express | Rail Express | E-Commerce Express | C2C Express | Cold Chain Express

[iam-hypernova]

Alright. Time to talk abt one of my fav bands.

This is Invent, Animate's Everchanger (2014).

An album heavy on themes of grief, existential crisis, maybe even depression. This is a band that stands out from the standard metalcore scene, because of the more proggy riffing and ambient sounds integrated into a perfect musical collage. The music is filled with so much emotion, it helps build a coherent psychological profile for the narrator. For most of the album, it's angry and angsty, withdrawn, hopeless, but also very emotionally repressed. However, I want to dive deep into each song:

Sol: Referring to the Sun, and the note (G minor), it's the kickass starter of the album. It's already very angsty: "Don't believe in love, it will let you down, I believe in loss, when I hear the sound, the song in the distance". And then proceeds to cry out the most harrowing scream. A simple soft guitar riff along with the angsty guitars makes me imagine the protagonist screaming in a nightly forest. Lyrically, it's a lament. On how imperfect and cruel everything is. On how the protagonist suddenly finds himself in a lot of hurt and disappointment, longing for love he can't have. He feels like he want it all to end. For the dark to consume him. He's very angry "Pull me back into the dark, it's been calling me for years, it's been taking my time, and it's taking my life. Pull me back!". The song ends suddenly, the drums echo. But alas, it isn't over. A sad ambient melody plays, with an echoed effect, which feels like it's coming from the distance.

Naturehold: "TAKE NOTICE, THE EVERCHANGING IS ALL AROUND YOU! TAKE NOTICE, THE EVERLASTING IS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND!". Coming on strong, continuing the song in the distance left in the end of the precious track, this song is an anxiety attack. He can't process how everything around him, and even his own emotional world, changes ever so quickly and violently. Thus navigating his soul as if he's lost in a forest. Heavy themes of death are present, but aren't explored deeply yet. The protagonist merely understands and laments around the concept, instead of revealing what is going on exactly in his head. "As you fall and sink to the ground, some loved ones die, some loved ones fight to survive". He feels weak. He can't survive, and he can't control his emotions, they fully dictate his life at this point. "I've been under siege and overthinking it. Thinking endlessly and now I know the truth. Walls are meant to be broken down. It's all built to be broken down. FUCK!". While still blurry first time going in, it helps paint the picture of what actually happened to him even more.

Nocturne: Lost faith : He has no support system. As he said, "he lost the only crutch that he had". He's become cynical. Cold, dismissive of people. He has lost faith in everyone, including himself. "I lost faith in you. I lost faith in me". He tries to navigate the present hiding from people "draped in a cloak that hides my skin, but not my shame". He screams in doubt, revealing something big: "where do I turn when I question myself? Where do I turn when I lose someone else?"

Courier: And thus our fate ridden protagonist tries to establish his boundaries to the world. A world that has continuously disrespected them all his life. He keeps asking "Who's on my side?" in his mind. But he is done with questions. He wants to act. "I'm not answering questions anymore". While he still laments, he drops a big bomb: "I still have this message to send, the family tree is dead to me". He cut off his family. A family that once again, disrespects the message: "Return to sender".

Moon phase: He is completely lost. Wandering within the moonlight ridden forest with the dead weight off his back. This song marks the first positive turn for the album: He uses that change in his environment to navigate the forest. He finds potential for growth. "Wandering with no intention gave me a reason to stay and grow, I will not decay". However, he still doesn't feel like he's home. He doesn't know what that feels like, merely asks "Take me home" repeatedly. One more repeating phrase on this song is "I am the only constant". His conscience is the only constant in an everchanging psyche, environment, universe. He finds resolve and finds his home: "I will shift with the winds, and I will grow as my own. I am home". As if staring at the moon, after the tall trees hid it for too long. That resolve is his home.

Forest haven: But what now? He starts panicking about the future. He reluctantly starts looking forward instead of to the past, but it's scary. "Hold on, hold on! A future's what I fear!". He revisits his loss. Speaks to his loved one: "You made me, shaped me into exactly who I need to be. I don't wanna lose you, but I know I have to". He doesn't wanna let this carry on, he wants to face everything: "Onward! To the future I fear so much!"

The desperate are the calm: He is aware of how deep down he is. Hills, rabbit holes, mountains from above, trenches. He looks into the sky, desperate but tranquil. "Fall deeper with me, the further we fall, the more beauty we'll see". One with the audience, he repeatedly sings "reveal". He is locked out of the truth, since his grief repressed all the memories that are too painful. He unleashes his independent mind and dives right in, and calls the whole world to do so as well: "Uncage the free mind, unshackle the free hands". He wants to dive down. And the further he falls, the more beauty he'll see.

Native intellect: He has a mental breakdown. Facing the unknown completely and utterly breaks him. "I have so much faith in the fact that things will all go wrong, I'll never doubt that, I'll never doubt it again". His need for the truth and his need to survive are battling each other. "I need a chance to survive!". He acknowledges the outside world and speaks of how he wished he were different and better. "I know that I always assume the worst, but I know the world assumes the worst of me!". He surrenders himself to the truth: "Go on, expose the truth for what it is".

Half-Life: Strap on, this is a roller coaster. We find the protagonist young and idealistic, accompanied with his dear brother (Armin and Eren energy). As if they are together in the sunny forest. He warns him of the dangers of the world. He doesn't want him to stray too far. Like a big, protective brother would. They enjoy themselves and they plan for the future. They want to reach the sun, the sky, and make it theirs. In other words, they want to be free: "We are one, we are forever". They hug as one life. One whole life, one organism. Wait, the song title... And then his brother, along with the song, literally FADES...

Luna: The truth is out. His brother committed suicide. Our dear protagonist finally accepts his emotions, and lets them dance, like a white ballerina radiating sunlight in the night forest. This song, the closer of the album, is the first and last song of the album that isn't at all emotionally repressed. On the contrary, it's all led by emotions. Sadness, grief, love, all dance together like sparkles in the night sky. The lyrics may sound angry still, though. He completely breaks down in tears. He laments what could have been. The better life he could've had with his bro. "Despite what I've said, I'm not bitter, only regretful of the time we didn't spend, the laughs we didn't share... The brother you could have been".

Can you tell this album made me cry so much? It's a fucking masterpiece. While not strictly advertised as a concept album, the continuity is always there and brings the album together very intuitively. It's one of a kind, and it always feels like it's one level up the standard metalcore scene, at least for me. Infinity out of ten. Definitely give it a listen. Maybe it will change something in you, who knows.