#database performance testing

[solutionmindfire]

APIs (Application Programming Interfaces) are the backbone of modern digital ecosystems. They enable seamless interaction between applications, platforms, and services. However, their exposure makes them a prime attack vector. API security testing identifies vulnerabilities in APIs to ensure data confidentiality, integrity, and availability.

[8techlabs-blog]

How to Balance Fixing Performance Issues and Adding New Features in Web Applications?

In today’s digital landscape, web applications are essential for business operations, marketing, and consumer involvement. As organizations expand and consumer expectations rise, development teams are frequently confronted with the difficult task of balancing two key priorities: addressing performance issues and introducing new features.

While boosting performance improves the user experience and increases efficiency, new features are required to remain competitive and meet market demands. Prioritizing one over the other, on the other hand, might have negative consequences—performance concerns can lead to a poor user experience while failing to innovate can result in a competitive disadvantage.

This blog delves into how to balance improving performance and introducing new features to web apps, allowing firms to satisfy technical and market demands efficiently.

Why Balancing Performance and New Features Is Crucial

A web application‘s success depends on both its performance and its features. However, relying entirely on one might result in imbalances that impair both user happiness and business progress. 

Performance:Performance is an important component that directly influences user retention and happiness. Users can become frustrated and leave if the application has slow loading times, crashes, or problems. Ensuring that your web application runs smoothly is essential since 53% of mobile consumers would quit a site that takes more than three seconds to load. 

New Features:On the other hand, constantly adding new features keeps users interested and promotes your company as innovative. New features generate growth by attracting new consumers and retaining existing ones who want to experience the most recent changes.

The dilemma is deciding when to prioritize bug fixes over new feature development. A poor balance can harm both performance and innovation, resulting in a subpar user experience and stagnation. 

Common Performance Issues in Web Applications

Before balancing performance and features, it’s important to understand the common performance issues that web applications face:

Slow Load Times: Slow pages lead to higher bounce rates and lost revenue.

Server Downtime: Frequent server outages impact accessibility and trust.

Poor Mobile Optimization: A significant portion of web traffic comes from mobile devices and apps that aren’t optimized for mobile fail to reach their potential.

Security Vulnerabilities: Data breaches and security flaws harm credibility and user trust.

Bugs and Glitches: Software bugs lead to poor user experiences, especially if they cause the app to crash or become unresponsive.

Strategic Approaches to Fixing Performance Issues

When performance issues develop, they must be handled immediately to guarantee that the online application functions properly. Here are techniques for improving performance without delaying new feature development: 

Prioritize Critical Issues:Tackle performance issues that have the most significant impact first, such as slow loading times or security vulnerabilities. Use analytics to identify bottlenecks and determine which areas require urgent attention. 

Use a Continuous Improvement Process:Continuously monitor and optimize the application’s performance. With tools like Google PageSpeed Insights, you can track performance metrics and make incremental improvements without major overhauls. 

Optimize Database Queries:Slow database queries are one of the leading causes of web app performance issues. Optimize queries and ensure that the database is indexed properly for faster access and retrieval of data. 

Reduce HTTP Requests:The more requests a page makes to the server, the slower it loads. Minimize requests by reducing file sizes, combining CSS and JavaScript files, and utilizing caching.

  5. Leverage Caching and CDNs:       Use caching strategies and Content Delivery Networks (CDNs) to deliver content quickly to users by storing files in multiple locations globally.

Why Adding New Features is Essential for Growth

 In the rapidly changing digital environment, businesses must continually innovate to stay relevant. Adding new features is key to maintaining a competitive edge and enhancing user engagement. Here’s why:

User Expectations:Today’s consumers expect personalized experiences and constant innovation. Failure to add new features can lead to customer churn, as users may feel your web application no longer meets their needs.

Market Differentiation:Introducing new features allows your application to stand out in the marketplace. Unique functionalities can set your app apart from competitors, attracting new users and increasing customer loyalty.

Increased Revenue Opportunities:New features can lead to additional revenue streams. For example, adding premium features or new integrations can boost the app’s value and lead to increased sales or subscription rates.

  4. Feedback-Driven Innovation:       New features are often driven by user feedback. By continuously developing and adding features, you create a feedback loop that improves the overall user experience and fosters customer                 satisfaction.

Read More: https://8techlabs.com/how-to-balance-fixing-performance-issues-and-adding-new-features-in-web-applications-to-meet-market-demands-and-enhance-user-experience/

[yuurei20]

Updated Ortho Facts Part 15: Ortho's Abilities (pt1)

Ortho will often reference his “databanks,” which is how he is able to recognize the spectral realm during Halloween. He says they “have a baseline of 100,000 books stored inside" and “include comprehensive data on medicinal herbs and medicines.”

He also has access to information about the Queendom of Roses, with Epel commenting that Ortho can search for information a lot faster than Deuce can read his guidebook on Clock Town.

Ortho explains that he first came to the school as Idia’s “gadget,” but now he interacts with humans, and “hearing everyone's thoughts made me realize that the same story can read so differently depending on the person. Because of their values."

Ortho uses the example of the Thorn Fairy, saying that people who grew up in Briar Valley are so emotionally attached to stories about her that they are liable to trust idealized memories over accurate data.

Sebek is not amused, but Ortho says that he was able to use his database to debunk every contradiction that he’d found, and he and Sebek discuss holding a debate after the birthday interview.

Ortho says he is under order from Idia to never log into satellite position systems, but there does not seem to be anything actually keeping him from doing so.

He can detect people within a 10,000 meter radius (and motion detect within a one-kilometer radius), which he says makes it difficult to sneak up on him. Ortho is also capable of telling whether or not others are being sincere, testing this ability on Ace, Idia, Fellow and Rook. 

When Vil says he finds Fellow’s claims suspicious Ortho says that he performed a vital signs scan that did not indicate he was lying, but Ortho’s tests for heart rate fluctuations, perspiration and other vital signs might have been duped before, by Rook: Ortho performs what might have been a similar lie detection scan leading up to Beanfest and ultimately declares that Rook was telling the truth, but during Halloween Rook tells Trey that he is capable of controlling his own heart rate.

And Rook has baffled Ortho before: Ortho related an incident where he almost collided with Rook during a tuning run on his athletic gear. While no one was hurt, he’d worried that he’d frightened Rook and ran a vitals scan to be safe, only to discover that Rook’s pulse was completely steady with no fluctuations at all.

Ortho: “Was he surprised, but then regained his composure in an instant? Or was he unfazed the whole time? I've been secretly curious about it.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

Old news (From Fall 2021, updated Spring 2022), but still important and a great explainer for those interested in learning.

Also preserved in our archive

By:

Jessica Bernard Associate Professor, Texas A&M University

A new brain-imaging study finds that participants who had even mild COVID-19 showed an average reduction in whole brain sizes.

Researchers have been steadily gathering important insights into the effects of COVID-19 on the body and brain. Two years into the pandemic, these findings are raising concerns about the long-term impacts the coronavirus might have on biological processes such as aging.

As a cognitive neuroscientist, I have focused in my past research on understanding how normal brain changes related to aging affect people’s ability to think and move – particularly in middle age and beyond.

But as evidence came in showing that COVID-19 could affect the body and brain for months following infection, my research team shifted some of its focus to better understanding how the illness might influence the natural process of aging. This was motivated in large part by compelling new work from the United Kingdom investigating the impact of COVID-19 on the human brain.

Peering in at the brain’s response to COVID-19 In a large study published in the journal Nature on March 7, 2022, a team of researchers in the UK investigated brain changes in people ages 51 to 81 who had experienced COVID-19. This work provides important new insights about the impact of COVID-19 on the human brain.

In the study, researchers relied on a database called the UK Biobank, which contains brain imaging data from over 45,000 people in the U.K. going back to 2014. This means that there was baseline data and brain imaging of all of those people from before the pandemic.

The research team compared people who had experienced COVID-19 with participants who had not, carefully matching the groups based on age, sex, baseline test date and study location, as well as common risk factors for disease, such as health variables and socioeconomic status.

The team found marked differences in gray matter – or the neurons that process information in the brain – between those who had been infected with COVID-19 and those who had not. Specifically, the thickness of the gray matter tissue in brain regions known as the frontal and temporal lobes was reduced in the COVID-19 group, differing from the typical patterns seen in the people who hadn’t had a COVID-19 infection.

In the general population, it is normal to see some change in gray matter volume or thickness over time as people age. But the changes were more extensive than normal in those who had been infected with COVID-19.

Interestingly, when the researchers separated the individuals who had severe enough illness to require hospitalization, the results were the same as for those who had experienced milder COVID-19. That is, people who had been infected with COVID-19 showed a loss of brain volume even when the disease was not severe enough to require hospitalization.

Finally, researchers also investigated changes in performance on cognitive tasks and found that those who had contracted COVID-19 were slower in processing information than those who had not. This processing ability was correlated with volume in a region of the brain known as the cerebellum, indicating a link between brain tissue volume and cognitive performance in those with COVID-19.

This study is particularly valuable and insightful because of its large sample sizes both before and after illness in the same people, as well as its careful matching with people who had not had COVID-19.

What do these changes in brain volume mean? Early on in the pandemic, one of the most common reports from those infected with COVID-19 was the loss of sense of taste and smell.

Strikingly, the brain regions that the U.K. researchers found to be affected by COVID-19 are all linked to the olfactory bulb, a structure near the front of the brain that passes signals about smells from the nose to other brain regions. The olfactory bulb has connections to regions of the temporal lobe. Researchers often talk about the temporal lobe in the context of aging and Alzheimer’s disease, because it is where the hippocampus is located. The hippocampus is likely to play a key role in aging, given its involvement in memory and cognitive processes.

The sense of smell is also important to Alzheimer’s research, as some data has suggested that those at risk for the disease have a reduced sense of smell. While it is too early to draw any conclusions about the long-term impacts of COVID-related effects on the sense of smell, investigating possible connections between COVID-19-related brain changes and memory is of great interest – particularly given the regions implicated and their importance in memory and Alzheimer’s disease.

The study also highlights a potentially important role for the cerebellum, an area of the brain that is involved in cognitive and motor processes; importantly, it too is affected in aging. There is also an emerging line of work implicating the cerebellum in Alzheimer’s disease.

Looking ahead These new findings bring about important yet unanswered questions: What do these brain changes following COVID-19 mean for the process and pace of aging? Also, does the brain recover from viral infection over time, and to what extent?

These are active and open areas of research we are beginning to tackle in my laboratory in conjunction with our ongoing work investigating brain aging.

Our lab’s work demonstrates that as people age, the brain thinks and processes information differently. In addition, we’ve observed changes over time in how people’s bodies move and how people learn new motor skills. Several decades of work have demonstrated that older adults have a harder time processing and manipulating information – such as updating a mental grocery list – but they typically maintain their knowledge of facts and vocabulary. With respect to motor skills, we know that older adults still learn, but they do so more slowly then young adults.

When it comes to brain structure, we typically see a decrease in the size of the brain in adults over age 65. This decrease is not just localized to one area. Differences can be seen across many regions of the brain. There is also typically an increase in cerebrospinal fluid that fills space due to the loss of brain tissue. In addition, white matter, the insulation on axons – long cables that carry electrical impulses between nerve cells – is also less intact in older adults.

Life expectancy has increased in the past decades. The goal is for all to live long and healthy lives, but even in the best-case scenario where one ages without disease or disability, older adulthood brings on changes in how we think and move.

Learning how all of these puzzle pieces fit together will help us unravel the mysteries of aging so that we can help improve quality of life and function for aging individuals. And now, in the context of COVID-19, it will help us understand the degree to which the brain may recover after illness as well.

This is an updated version of an article originally published on Sept. 24, 2021.

Study link: www.nature.com/articles/s41586-022-04569-5

[peskellence]

My Friends Call Me Richard

Part III

Explicit Content (18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: M/M, Workplace Romance, FWB, Humour, Awkward Encounters, Smut

Previous Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a bid to improve his partnership (and secret intimate arrangement) with Detective Gavin Reed, RK900 embarks on a noble quest to spice things up. The solution? A new biocomponent.

Word Count: 10K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

(surprise at the end of the keep reading courtesy of @faxaway)

“What's the hold up in there?”

RK900 winced at the question. The transition from purchase to implementation had gone nowhere near as smoothly as hoped. He found himself locked in the bathroom, trying and failing to secure his new biocomponent.  

“I am beginning to question if this product is suitable for ‘self-installation’,” He mumbled critically, attempting to angle the phallus awkwardly between his legs. “Perhaps the store assistant issued the wrong product...” 

“Can you not cross-reference it against your dick database?” His voice was thin, dripping with impudence. No doubt reflective of his dwindling patience. “I mean, your scanners would flag if it was the wrong thing completely, wouldn't they?”

The android frowned, forced to concede that multiple checks had been completed—referring to both the product schematics and his own manufacturer details. None of this had shed any clarity on his current difficulties.

He sightlessly searched for a small circular slot at the base of his groin. Guiding nodules failed to adhere, clips gripping to nothing before slipping uselessly from his chassis.

"I am having issues adhering the scrotal extension to my lower access port.” He moved the component again, testing to see if a change in angle might reap greater success. 

Another failure followed, and fears emerged that the fault could relate to his own anatomy. Specifically, a factory defect he had previously been unaware of. 

With his options rapidly depleting, he turned to the crumpled instructional leaflet left abandoned by the bath. He scrutinised each step, noting multiple discrepancies between the printed text and the digital guidance displayed on his HUD. 

“Perhaps if you could offer assistance, then it would be easier to facilitate—” 

“There's a line,” Reed shot back, callously interrupting before he could finish. “Helping you clip on your junk like we're building IKEA furniture is where I draw it.” 

The rebuff was discouraging, as RK900 was left helpless—plagued by doubts relating to protocols and analytics that so intrinsically dictated his actions.

While his advanced processors should have been capable of determining a solution to the dilemma, they proved inexplicably incapable. Trapping him in a loop of trial and error.

He briefly considered contacting RK800 to see if he might be more willing to assist. This was before he realised there would be significant limitations on the support that could be provided remotely—and that Reed would undoubtedly be opposed to welcoming additional guests.

Despite logic indicating that surrender may be the only option, something inside him refused to concede. Attention locked on his primary directive, which dangled precariously at the forefront of his optics:

> ENGAGE IN SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH DETECTIVE REED.

It seemed callous to allow himself to fall at this final hurdle, no matter how staggering it proved. 

And so, he forcefully pulled himself from the despondent line of cognition. Determined to ensure that his efforts—and the current painful ordeal—would not be in vain. 

With parameters set and diagnostics refreshed, his system presented an updated list of prompts. Ones that sparked hope. Renewed faith that he wasn’t deluding himself or his partner on false pretences.

Following guidance, the android performed a precise 7-degree rotation of the component. He pressed forward, and for a split second, the attachment seemed to align—but the angle fell short of optimal. A prompt then advised that proper leverage was unobtainable from his current position.

To correct this, RK900 lifted one leg, calculating in real time the exact height needed. This elevation, as it transpired, aligned almost perfectly with Detective Reed’s toilet.

Foot steady on the edge of the bowl, he pressed again, slanting upward in another attempt to engage the clips. This time, with success, confirmed by a soft click which echoed through the room. 

The small noise provided unparalleled relief. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe the debacle was over. 

It was a blissful respite, if cruelly short-lived. 

The auditory cue had been deceptive. While alignment of the prongs had been achieved, their locking mechanism had not engaged, preventing adhesion to the connection point

A revelation that came too late. 

RK900 slipped back, and the attachments promptly folded, the intimate module tumbling down between his thighs.

Unfortunately, it seemed Detective Reed was geometrically opposed to lowering his toilet seat. The component struck against the porcelain dome, ricocheting like a pinball until it hit the base with a plop. Ripples of impact shook the water, and RK900 watched in despair as the flesh-toned silicone sank, engulfed by murky waves. 

His attention snapped to the door, where he knew his partner sat in wait. Listening closely, having undoubtedly heard everything that just transpired. 

“...What was that?” 

Thirium pumped in increased volumes through his circulatory system, pooling in his cheeks. His limited social directives were strained to their breaking point, faced with a sudden uptick in demand:

While Reed was far from preoccupied with good hygiene standards, he undoubtedly possessed some instinct to protect against hazardous waste. 

This left his next steps uncertain, as the android was trapped at an impasse. Painfully aware that some degree of deceit would be needed to placate his partner, but unsure how to achieve this with any conviction. 

“Richard.”

Then a confession slipped out, almost instinctively, before he could stop it:

“It appears I have dropped my phallus in your toilet.”  

Reed did not respond immediately, and while RK900 could not see his face, he could envision the disappointment etched upon it. The deep-set frown and contemptuous stare bore into him, demanding acknowledgement.

Then, a sound bridged the hush between the bathroom and bedroom. Auditory profiling identified the impact of flesh, as biophysical analysis confirmed no additional parties had entered the home.  

Reed had struck himself. Likely in the face—a ritualistic action performed during times of frustration.  

“ Why were you putting it on over the toilet?”

RK900 spoke quickly. An exercise in perseverance and self-preservation as much as it was an appeal to his partner. “There is no cause for alarm.” 

He then pivoted sharply, leaving the component submerged in the waste receptacle. The rubber tip reached for him, breaking the water's surface as though beckoning his return. 

Its pleas for assistance were ignored as he dropped to his knees, retrieving a discarded box from the grubby linoleum floor. The contents were cleared, save for a small drawstring bag containing samples of Cyberlife-issued cleaning supplies. 

“The component will be sanitised thoroughly before use,” the android said, a relieved sigh passing his lips. “I can assure you this incident will not impact our planned intimacy.”

“Like fuck, it won’t. I am not letting you put your toilet dick in me.”

The harsh retort struck like a slap and swiftly undermined any solace. Crestfallen, the RK unit returned focus to the toilet, gaze dropping limply to the prosthetic urethra staring up at him. A singular, narrow eye, which made him the subject of scrupulous judgment. Mockery. 

His grip tightened, reducing the box to a compact wad of cardboard. Then, his central processor whirred into overdrive, fervently seeking a solution to the current dilemma. 

“If preferred, we can return to the Cyberlife Store in order to—”

“ No .”

The fledging suggestion was cut down before it had any hopes of maturing. 

Despite this sweeping refusal of cooperation, Detective Reed eventually employed some degree of deduction. This was an innate reflex that existed beyond the parameters of conscious desire, culminating in the antipathic conceit he muttered under his breath. 

It was just barely audible through the wooden panel that divided them. Suggestions that it ‘didn’t matter’ if the extension was in mint condition, given the unsavoury conditions it would imminently find itself in. This, combined with allusions that he had accepted ‘worse’ from former partners.

The man capped the disgruntled train of thought with a more targeted instruction, spoken to the android: 

“Just make sure it’s clean enough , okay?” 

RK900 was appreciative to have been offered a compromise, accepting the conditions with a cordial nod. “My advanced debris detection will ensure the removal of all harmful chemicals and bacterial residue.” 

“...Debris detection?” the human questioned, snorting tersely as he did. “What are you, a fucking Roomba?”

“My operations are far more advanced than that of a vacuum cleaner.” 

This resulted in another burst of amusement—a childish snicker pelted against the wooden panel dividing them.

“Depends on the context…” This impish enjoyment soon subsided, followed by a return to thinly veiled criticisms. “Don’t rush; I’m having a blast . Nothing says ‘mind-blowing foreplay’ like waiting for your partner to disinfect his detachable dick.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Detective,” the android replied, imitating de-escalation tactics he had observed from RK800. “Your patience and understanding are greatly appreciated.” 

The man was far from enchanted. Clicking his tongue, he mumbled another suggestion under his breath. This time, admonishing insincerity, accusing the android of sounding like a ‘fucking complaints department.’  

“Just don’t expect me to go down on you. I'd rather not scrub my tongue with lemon zest bleach.” 

RK900 doubted this product had been used on the toilet with any recency. Nonetheless, he brushed the comment aside.

Supplies prepared, he rolled up the sleeve of his uniform jacket and reached into the bowl to retrieve the lost component. As his hand became further immersed, the silicone base slinked back until it was wedged stubbornly in the U-bend. Enhanced manoeuvring was required to dislodge it, but after a few determined twists, it finally broke free.

With the phallus secured, he set to work on the sanitation process. The antibacterial spray was used until the bottle was nearly depleted, scrubbed with dutiful care into every moulded ridge and crevice. Unsheathed fingers were then swept across the length, assessing for any lingering debris trapped in the pockets. 

“Exterior sterilisation is at 99.8%,” RK900 concluded, as synthetic skin returned to his digits, “well above advisory levels for bodily insertion.”

“Sexy,” the human said dryly. There was a strange upward lilt that the android had come to recognise as synonymous with sarcasm. “Just try not to drop it in the shitter again.” 

Having learned from his previous mistake, RK900 lowered the toilet seat, establishing a more desirable platform for installation. He clipped the newly sanitised component back into place. This time, ensuring the fastening clasps had locked securely to his groin before receding. 

His operational software acknowledged the component and the installation of primary physical subroutines booted autonomously. Aesthetic changes also occurred, integrating the component into his wider physical form. 

“...Hey…Richard…?” The address came mingled with steady rapping against the door. “You’re a bit quiet. Just checking your engine is still running.”

RK900’s lips formed a response, but no sound escaped them. Instead, he was mesmerised by the ripples of movement materialising on the component. Iridescent patterns danced and shimmered, attempting to harmonise with the surrounding conditions.

He understood the device’s ‘complexion’ was predetermined and that a perfect colour match was not guaranteed. Nonetheless, it came close. Unsightly connection points smoothed almost seamlessly beneath a blanket of pale, freckled skin.

“... Richard ?” There was another bang. Louder and more insistent. “Look, I’m not expecting you to strut out of there like Cyberlife’s latest sexbot. If you can't get the thing on, it's fine. Seriously. Just stop messing around so we can—”

“External interrogation is almost complete. I’ll be out in one moment.”

RK900 dressed carefully, concealing his new feature beneath his work slacks in anticipation of a proper reveal. He wanted to avoid startling his companion with unexpected nudity, having learned from experience that such a greeting required meeting very specific criteria—ones he did not want to misjudge at this pivotal moment. 

As he opened the passage to the bedroom, the swinging door nearly collided headlong with Reed. He dodged to the side, cursing sharply, as one of the arms that had been habitually crossed over his chest moved to shield his face. 

“What the hell ?” he spluttered, tone brimming with accusation. “You nearly knocked me out, dipshit.”

“I did not anticipate you would be standing in such close proximity to the door.”

The sounds of annoyance trailed off as the man's disgruntled expression morphed into one of introspection. Suddenly aware that the action had revealed more than he intended.

“Whatever.” He grunted dismissively, drawing his arms back into their previous guarded position. “So, you done? Or do you still need to calibrate your balls?” 

“The component has been implemented in its entirety. Diagnostics are underway to confirm optimal physical functionality. Afterwards, I will be cleared to upload the related social protocols.” 

The human stared blankly as if the words had emerged as distorted, incomprehensible screeches. “I asked if it was on, not for a dissertation on the instruction manual.” 

RK900 recognised that he may have offered more information than necessary. In seeking to be thorough, he had unintentionally diminished a level of intrigue—the mystique that Reed wished to preserve in their impending intimacy.

“It is on and will be ready for use shortly. Apologies for the delay, Detective.”

Reed blinked again, his already furrowed brow pulling into an increasingly taut pinch. There was unrest that persisted around him, but it took a different form. More apprehensive than hostile. 

“Gavin,” he corrected. “I already told you, Gavin is fine when we're…” 

The sentence trailed off, wandering in line with his focus. It followed a path down the android’s form, inspecting every inch until it had locked onto the junction between his legs. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched, catching in his throat.

“How much longer is it going to take?” he questioned, motioning towards the concealed appendage in a loose circling gesture. “Have I got time to text Tina about how fucking insane this is?” 

RK900 took this impatience as a cue to progress the interaction. He leveraged all the research he had compiled, coupled with their pre-existing intimacy habits. This collective insight encouraged him to act assertively—while also imitating a degree of human spontaneity.

He advanced on the human, preparing to perform an action he had noted in several of the surveyed clips. Pressing a steadying hand to the small of the man’s back, he hooked his available arm onto the back of his thighs.

Gavin was raised in a fluid motion, resulting in a short, strangled sound—caught somewhere between a scream and a hiss. He was powerless to do anything but hook onto his partner’s neck, preventing unsteady weight from toppling back. 

Once adjusted to the sudden change in elevation, his lips parted, presumably to form words of protest. They were silenced pre-emptively by the firm, deliberate press of the android’s own.

It wasn’t long before the kiss was reciprocated. He engaged RK900 in a quiet chase, mirroring practised movements with tenacious enthusiasm. His heartbeat escalated, and the press of his mouth grew more insistent—matching each rumbled pulse that rattled his ribs. 

The android felt a flicker of satisfaction, his actions eliciting the exact response he had predicted. Ultimately, he pulled away, and mimicry ended as the man attempted to pursue the withdrawing contact.

“I can think of more entertaining ways to tolerate this delay...” 

RK900 paused, realising he was unsure how to proceed with this sentence. He took a moment to adjust his verbal subroutines, aligning them with the recently acquired licentious vocabulary. From this, he successfully crafted an appropriately alluring title of address:

“Hot lips.”  

This inspired a half-suppressed sound from his partner, akin to a deflating balloon. After a beat, breath was drawn back, hissed through clenched teeth, as the man sharply angled his head further into the room.

“Stop running your mouth and get a move on. Plastic asshole.”

RK900 was on the verge of reminding him that they had omitted the purchase of a silicone rectal cavity before understanding his meaning. He instead referred back to the audiovisual loops stored on his CPU, prioritising according to watch time and access frequency.

Feeling assured he had gathered all the necessary data for an optimal experience, he purposefully strode on. Approaching the bed before deftly sidestepping it and heading for the exit.

“Uh, where the hell are you going?” Gavin, still held in his grasp, attempted to resist his movement. One hand pressed against the solid foundation of his chest, pushing back in an action that had entirely zero impact. “The bed is over there, genius.”

“Your bed will not be required. This apartment has a balcony.” 

His partner gawped at him, lashes fluttering in confusion. If he were an android, RK900 was certain he would hear the whir of internal mechanisms—gears turning frantically, teetering on the brink of annihilation.

“Come again?”

Any excitement built during their kiss seemed to have fizzled completely. The android realised that while his data proved sound in a controlled environment, external factors undermined its practical reliability.

Memory banks cast echoes of the human's shuddering breath, slicing through the frigid winter air. The tip of his ruddy nose tucked into the folds of his hoodie as he attempted to shield it from the chill…

After reevaluating the situation, he stopped. His heels pressed firmly into the grubby carpet before angling upwards, prepared for reorientation. 

 “Of course, it is rather cold out. The bed will suit our needs for today.”

Retracing his steps, RK900 returned to his previous position at the foot of the bed. He held his partner over its surface before releasing his weight, permitting a descent into the linen. Despite the cushioned landing, Gavin yelped. His limbs fanned out in a star-like formation, braced for impact as the plush sheets rapidly engulfed him.

The android soon joined, placing hands on either side of his body, forming a tight cage. His captive stared through him, focus blighted by the recent momentum, as his jaw fell slightly agape. 

A smooth tilt guided it closed as RK900 supported his weight on a single arm. His fingertips skimmed coarse stubble, and his sensors registered that it had grown 2.3 millimetres since their last encounter—slightly longer than the detective’s preference. 

Resisting the urge to mention this, he instead leaned in, charting the overgrown trail with neatly peppered kisses.

Gavin tensed, although this response was not unanticipated.

It always took him some time to relax—when they were like this. The ripples of previously stringent prejudice, now mostly forgotten, still clinging to threads of fading significance…

Ties that unravelled beneath targeted pulses of breath—slow and rhythmic, designed to coax tightly held knots from muscles. Receptive warmth spread beneath reddening skin, extending outward until the body became loose and pliant.

The man's head tilted unconsciously, baring more of his neck—a wordless invitation for RK900 to deepen his exploration.

He established a new point of contact on the presently unblemished canvas, tracing it with a practised sweep of his tongue before clamping down with a firm press of teeth.

After applying suitable pressure to leave a mark, he pulled back, levying a rumbled address against the pulsing flesh. A premeditated salaciousness that was undercut by an instinctive slip back into professional titles:

“You're a dirty whore, aren't you, Detective?” 

Despite previous objections, Gavin did not appear upset. If anything, the dilation of his pupils, combined with the involuntary groan that tumbled from his lips, indicated the opposite.

Encouraged to proceed, RK900 maintained his focus on the man's throat. Sealing flesh between his lips and drawing gently on the freshly marked abrasion.

“ Shit.” The expletive trailed into a sigh as he squirmed keenly against a tide of rumpled linen.

“Such a needy slut.” 

The derogatory remarks felt odd—unnatural—coming from the android, yet they seemed to be the exact calibre of slander Gavin wanted. If the noises hadn't been enough, irrefutable evidence came in the growing snugness of his jeans.

He traced the stained length of the zipper, to which the concealed hardness beneath twitched back receptively. “Filthy—”

“Easy, Casanova.” The chiding was light and playful, entwined with a rich chuckle. “There's no need to rush; we’re just getting warmed up.”

RK900 swiftly identified the duplicity of this statement.

It was routine they had engaged in countless times before—in both personal and professional settings. His partner pushed away, under the pretence that RK900 would follow, seeking to pull him back. 

This was a challenge, demanding the RK900 to prove just how persistent he would be in retaining dominance.

Grasping the hand kneading idly into his bicep, he pinned it to the sheets. As he moved to scold the culprit—the resonance of his pitch dropped in line with his hips, which engaged the man’s own in a subtle rock. 

“I think you've already warmed up sufficiently." 

Then he paused, his mind stalling as it became clear he’d exhausted much of the risqué vocabulary he had been sourcing. 

Not wishing to shatter the illusion of salacious assuredness, he hastily constructed what he believed would be a logical evolution:

“...You…repulsive creature.”

Gavin appeared more perplexed than captivated by the address. The eager twitches RK900 had predicted were conspicuously absent as his nose wrinkled sceptically. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

Clearly, he was still adjusting to his companion speaking this way. Determining that greater exposure might expedite this adaptation, RK900 pressed on, adding to the deprecation:

“Your hygiene standards are subpar. The aroma you emit is deeply unpleasant.”

Lidded eyes snapped open, startled to alertness, and Gavin grimaced. Pressing his unrestrained hand to the android’s chest and pushing firmly:

“Okay. That’s enough. Drop it.”

RK900 stiffened. Questioning momentarily if he had made a mistake or if this was simply part of the licentious roleplay.

As Gavin held firm in his convictions, it became clear he had misjudged some aspects of his tolerance for humiliation—specifically, remarks relating to personal cleanliness. Comments he would be wise to scale back in the ongoing proceedings, which he committed dutifully to his memory backs…

Rumination cast in shifting patterns of yellow and red on the crumpled caverns of Gavin's face. The tense lines began to smooth as a flash of remorse tempered the flames in his accusatory glare.

“Let's just—” His hand jerked in an awkward flourish towards the android. Tracing erratic, disjointed patterns in the air before coming to rest between his legs. “Move on.”

It was not difficult to discern what was meant by this. To ensure that no further errors were made regarding the nuances of ‘dirty talk’, RK900 concluded now was the time to source additional support.

The Intimacy Protocol—which had been stored neatly in the back of his temporal processor, awaiting use—was promptly activated. As subroutines initialised, a cascade of sensory inputs flooded his system, sharpening every sensation with unnerving clarity.

Suddenly, he could feel everything . 

The most minute bunch of fabric rubbing against the creases of previously sensationless silicone. Artificial vessels pumped and swelled with increased thirium input as the appendage stiffened, brought to hardness with almost alarming efficiency. 

It was uncomfortable—surprisingly so—as the flesh began to strain against the oppressive binds of clothing. It pleaded for release, a call to action driven by longing the android had never experienced.

He soon responded, unable to withstand the excruciating currents pulsing through his groin. Hands fumbled to unclasp his belt, erratic movements defined by an uncharacteristic sense of urgency. The leather was almost split in two as it was yanked free—whipped back at great velocity. 

Gavin flinched, arching back quickly to evade impact. It wouldn't have been the first time that RK900 had struck him with his belt, although previous instances had been performed under strict instruction.

“ Holy shit—watch it, asshole — ”

This admonishment barely registered. The wayward currents had begun to ignite what could only be described as fire in his core. His stomach was a furnace; molten fallout spat at neighbouring biocomponents, threatening to burn through them.

The belt was discarded over the edge of the bed, its controlled descent thwarted by an extensive pile of laundry, which swallowed it whole into its pungent hold.

Gavin cursed again. This time, however, it was not the consequence of disapproval. He was staring at the android's arousal, eyes alight with what could only be described as spellbound curiosity. 

As though he were looking through the gates to nirvana, a higher plane of existence promised beneath the veil of Cyberlife briefs.

Hips were raised, and the pants slipped off, tumbling out of view in a single, fluid sweep. RK900 chose not to dwell on the creases that would have resulted from this callousness.

It was irrelevant, insignificant—a problem to be resolved later—

Provided his partner owned an iron—

WARNING — MULTIPLE SYSTEM ANOMALIES DETECTED. 

RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS…

He reeled, his mind overwhelmed by the shrieks of unruly electrical signals. Intrusive sentiments burrowed deeper into his processor, attempting to align with his more reasoned analytics. 

He took some consolation in knowing that the programme, however disorientating, was having the desired effect. With ignited zeal, Gavin gripped the hem of his shirt. Yanking it over his head before casting it aside, exposing the full length of his torso. 

The marred skin ignited his focus in a way it hadn't previously. RK900 was about to remove his undergarments when his companion—in an unusual show of consideration—moved to assist.

They seldom undressed each other, a familiarity he had been told was unfitting of their ‘casual’ arrangement. Despite this, he watched with quiet curiosity as Gavin crossed this line, looping his fingers beneath a taut band of elastic.

His cocky smirk, which was typically ever present during their encounters, was replaced by something quieter—more sincere. The digits lingered, flexing apprehensively as though preparing for their next move. 

Then the waistband was tugged, and the phallus sprung free from its confines. 

RK900 winced as he registered the cool air against his skin. It was sharp and biting, only exacerbated by the burning that continued to mount within him.

The dimensions of the phallus were expanded compared to its dormant state, aligning with the advertised specifications. The tip was tinged with a cool-toned flush, accentuated by a reflective sheen of biofluid. A lubricant that seemed to leak incrementally from the component, in which Gavin took particular interest. 

Despite previous claims that he would not be partaking in fellatio, his face drew tantalisingly close to the ‘toilet dick’. Halted inches from the arousal, blanketing it in a sequence of hot, ragged puffs. 

It sent ripples of sensation through hyper-sensitive receptors as RK900 was forced to grip the sheets beneath him. Speculating on how it might feel to be engulfed completely in Gavin's warmth and fighting the growing temptation to thrust himself into his mouth.

Before any intrusive impulses could get the better of either party, Gavin moved to palm the hardness. Tracing its length, applying testing pressure before enclosing it fully in a fist.

The sensation this triggered was indescribable. 

Thousands of microscopic pleasure receptors activated simultaneously, their collective murmurs building to wails that surged through his neural pathways. 

Then they released in a strained expulsion that tumbled from his lips. It was low and growled, not unlike the rumble of thunder, but with a distinctive metallic edge.

The noise was unlike anything he had ever produced, leaving both him and his partner temporarily stunned. Gavin was first to establish his bearings, doing so with a small, tentative squeeze. The expulsion repeated, and RK900 watched as spiralling patterns of red caught in the green of his partner’s sclerae. 

“ Holy shit.. .” The man was enraptured, scrutinising each choppy cycle of the LED as he brushed the tip of the component beneath his calloused thumb. “It feels so real.”

"Realism constitutes an integral aspect of its visual and functional design.” 

RK900 felt detached from the words, almost as though someone else was speaking through him. 

He found himself plunged deep into uncharted depths for both his body and mind. Thrashing helplessly as logical subroutines attempted to quantify his pleasure, assigning it values or comparing it to previously stored data. No parallels existed—and it was maddening.

His original self was fading fast, slipping into the foreground of his consciousness. Buried by a rampant tide of untamed cravings.

To touch and feel and taste —

> DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE

TEMPORAL FIREWALLS: COMPROMISED 

CORE BODY TEMPERATURE: 122°F — RISING

Any attempts to re-establish command soon proved redundant as Gavin began to move his hand. His fist pumped in a rhythmic motion, pressing ruthlessly into overworked sensors. 

“You can feel that, can’t you?” The tone carried a mischievous lilt, informing RK900 that no answer was required. 

His partner was already well aware of the effect the stimulation was having. Despite this, he pressed on, seemingly hellbent on goading some form of acknowledgement. 

“Does it feel good?” 

“Very much—” 

The situation was nearing critical as his system pressed for the urgent release of the excessive heat. Narrow vents along his chassis began to hiss, desperately dispersing the warmth in subtle bursts of steam.

He sincerely prayed that his companion would fail to notice this.

“—Perhaps too much,” he confessed, shuddering weakly. “I might have to make adjustments to the erogenous feedback levels.”

“Oh no you don't.” Gavin held firm on his length—as though he were wielding a prize. One that he refused to have stripped under any circumstances. “This was your idea. You wanted this. So strap in and enjoy the ride.”

Despite the assertion, there was a moment of hesitancy before the man proceeded. His 

grip slackened, and his rigid gaze softened with a flicker of vulnerability. Searching the RK’s own, as though seeking permission.

Something that was offered in the form of a slow, apprehensive nod. The android considered lowering sensitivity regardless, omitting to disclose this to his partner before ultimately deciding against it. He resolved to monitor his response to the stimuli, assessing just how much he could reasonably tolerate. 

A line of reasoning that unravelled within seconds as heightened pleasure consumed him. 

It became painfully clear why humans sought this relief so frequently. The tension that had gripped his core melted into blissful release, leaving his systems reeling. RK900 felt the vertebra of his neck slacken as his head flopped back, and a substantial pocket of warmth released in a long, heady groan. 

The temperature warning began to recede, fading until it no longer formed an active obstruction in his vision. He could see his partner clearly and found himself wholly ensnared by the sight. 

It felt like looking at him for the first time, as all the quirks and intricacies that once seemed innocuous were viewed through a fresh lens. Thick lashes cast a charming shadow over his eyes—simultaneously bright and sharp—yet clouded by a haze of lust.

As he kept stroking him, an impish grin played on his lips. The corner lifted, aligning almost perfectly with one of the numerous scars dotting his face.

The RK examined each, his eyes drifting as unseen threads gradually linked them. Rather than constructing a timeline for when the marks might have appeared, all he could think about was how appealing they were. Constellations of lived experience seamlessly woven into a dishevelled, roguish charm the man so effortlessly embodied.

Wandering focus pathed the way for another mental break, logic bleeding intrusively through the cracks. It reminded him that—while the sights and sensations he was experiencing were profoundly enjoyable—they did little to aid in fulfilling his primary directive. 

The moment of sensual connection shattered as a methodical presence pulled him back, seeking to clarify the logistical demands of the component, eliminating any confusion:

“Stimulation is not required to maintain my erection. It is procedurally activated and maintained, separate from arousal.” 

His show of consideration was met like a forceful blow to the face. Gavin winced, yanking his hand away from the hardness as though it were lined with razors. His crumpled expression revealed a mix of defeat and humiliation before the sentiments were smothered beneath a layer of disdainful hostility.

“...Fine then, asshole .” His tone was hardened in line with the firm clench of his jaw. “If that's how it is, I won't do shit.”

His arms then pulled into a lofty sprawl as if he were reaching the crest of a theme park ride, preparing to plunge down the slope. The descent began as he allowed his weight to fall carelessly onto the sheets.

“I’ll be a good little pillow princess, just for you.” There was an exaggerated flutter of lashes, the coy flirtation standing in contrast with the previous animosity. His feet planted firmly onto the linen before his knees dropped to either side. “Go on, big guy. Do your worst.”

The phrase felt almost scripted, like something from one of his videos.

He didn't mean to request that the RK900 knowingly underperform. On the contrary, he was vying for the opposite. An experience that rivalled and surpassed everything that had come before it.

It struck a chord within the android, sending powerful currents surging through overtaxed circuits. He felt reinvigorated, freshly incentivised to explore the potential of his upgrades, discovering—alongside his partner— precisely what he could do. 

Closing off visual and auditory fields to all extraneous distractions, he focused intently on the man before him. Positioning himself between his parted thighs, he swiftly set to work removing his jeans and undergarments.

Oral stimulation came far more naturally than it typically did. 

RK900 had anchored himself on his legs, kneading the lightly toned muscle in appreciative squeezes. His cheeks hollowed, and his lips pushed forward, the process almost reflexive as he inched his way down the length. He proceeded until the tip had struck the back of his throat, and the person attached rumbled in ardent approval. 

“ Holy shit —” Gavin carded his fingers tenderly through his hair before gripping tightly, knuckles pale from exertion.

The locks were pulled back, compelling the head to move with them. RK900 responded compliantly, releasing the tension in his jaw and permitting his mouth to recede with a wet glide up the arousal.

Just shy of breaching the seal, hardened flesh poised at the tip of his tongue, his head was thrust back down. Leading him to swallow his partner again, but with far greater tenacity. 

The man growled with primal delight as RK900 stared up at him with unwavering focus.

“ Your throat feels so good.” 

‘It could feel better’, his sexual programming silently countered. 

As directed, his laryngeal modulator began to oscillate. Rumbles crept upwards, travelling along the walls of his trachea until they vibrated the quivering flesh between them. The trembles synced with the heavy thrusts being levied at his throat until their movement grew erratic.

Hoarse groans were pulled in a pervasive frequency from his lips as Gavin faltered, losing any semblance of rhythm.

“Oh, fuck me —”

“With pleasure.” 

It was almost unsettling how clearly the android spoke, with his mouth so thoroughly full. Gavin failed to remark on it, too absorbed in his bliss to notice. Then RK900 pushed back hard, forcefully breaking the hold that clung to his scalp. He allowed his partner to slip from his mouth, a filmed gloss of lubricant serving as the only evidence of the encounter. 

Gavin whimpered as hopes for release were callously snatched, thrusting shallowly into the air his companion once occupied. The android, ignoring the protest, lifted himself into a kneeling position.

His hands lingered on the thighs, still pressing into the flesh—until, with a final, painful scrape of nails—they were released. He paused to admire the lingering traces of his hold, characterised by vivid, crescent-shaped indentations.

The human arched away from the sheets, hissing with sultry elation. This was interrupted when RK900 leaned in, hovering over him like an imposing shadow, provoking an instinctive retreat of his body.

Gavin completely embraced his role in the unfolding scene, entering a state of submission as he quietly readied himself for his partner. The RK assumed an appropriate role, gliding his hand along the length of his jaw. 

This gesture felt more instinctive—spontaneous—than its earlier incarnation. It was no longer a measured attempt to coax the man into heightened excitement but a display of authentic appreciation. His hold curved inward, tracing the contour of his lips before attempting to part them.

This force proved unnecessary as the mouth opened to him willingly.

His sensory pads hummed with activity, and he was overwhelmed by information, grappling for his attention. He was torn between notes of coffee and cigarettes, alongside peppermint gum that had been used to mask the bitterness. The prompts fissured his sights, cracks that multiplied as Gavin locked on, gripping the digits in a wet seal and pulling them in with practised fluidity. 

He mapped the outline of synthetic flesh, swept in guiding strokes of his tongue, moaning performatively as he did so. RK900 understood that the man derived no real pleasure from this, his mouth not equipped with any inherent erogenous properties. Despite this, his cardiac rhythm soared, mirrored in the shaky tremors of his breath.

It was a shame that Gavin had declined to put his mouth to full use. The android felt confident he would have enjoyed the process of him fucking it. 

Fingers were removed, teased from the heat in a long, playful curl. Gavin moaned again—the sound morphed into a complaint—as he shot his partner a defiant glare.

Underneath this, a playful glimmer shone through his narrowed gaze, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He was the embodiment of salacious anticipation, every inch of his body pleading to be pushed to its limits. Strained until it had no option but to submit fully to the android’s whim.

RK900 trailed his palm down the length of his neck, reaching the dip of his collar and lingering there momentarily before moving to the expanse of his chest. His lips joined the appreciation, applying tender pressure between raised pectorals. Then, they followed the central ridge of his chest, trailing downwards towards his navel.

He allowed Gavin to believe he would make a return to his crotch, moving a scant breath away from his length. It still held firm, twitching with need, desperate for the return of withheld stimulation. Instead, he sought to make use of the growing supply of lubricant that was amassing in his cheeks. 

With his head nestled between the man’s thighs, he lowered himself further until he halted just beneath the erection. Gathering a deposit of the material into the curl of his tongue, he pressed it firmly into his partner.

Gavin hissed in shock, although the sound was far from disenchanted, rolling smoothly into a husky grunt of approval.

RK900 began dipping in and out of his body, methodically teasing the opening, willing the tight muscle to relax around him. This was coordinated with the fingers his partner had so diligently coated, which also breached his warmth, moving in steady pumps.

Gavin relished every second. He pressed eagerly against the movements, chasing each flick and thrust until his companion brushed against a sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Shit—!”

The words that preceded this were entirely incoherent—a series of desperate, disordered fragments. His hips jerked upward, seeking as much depth as he could physically attain.

The sexual protocol was fast reaching its maximum operational capacity, processes moving in rampant succession, like pistons fired in the RK’s skull. Their motions carried him forward as charged words were rumbled against a needy cavern of warmth:

“Are you ready for me to do my worst?”

Gavin quivered as his words were repeated back to him, delivered with such indulgent richness that they drew a chuckle from his lips.

The sound ushered in a return to an all-consuming need, pooling rapidly between his legs as the fire in his gut reignited. RK900 was overcome with the desire to find a final, decisive release—immersed in the friction promised by fingers and mouth.

He aligned his hips with the entrance, securing greater access by gripping his partner's legs and lifting them over his shoulders. The movement coaxed any lingering vestiges of resistance to melt away, limbs reduced to limp, weightless extensions as he slowly inched forward.

Gavin took him keenly, pliant flesh yielding as it enveloped him with an almost unbearable intensity. The sensation was raw and visceral— achingly real—in a way that shattered every preconstructed expectation. RK900 was lost, untethered from the cold, ruthless precision Cyberlife had so painstakingly designed.

All that existed was him , stretching beautifully as Richard pressed deeper—refusing to stop until he was buried fully within his form. The man rasped, his back arched in wanton satisfaction as he clenched onto the android greedily.

Their bodies melded with flawless perfection, as though Gavin were made for this—made for him.

After a period of adjustment for both, Richard began to move. His hips manoeuvred in slow, languid rocks. Velvety walls charted with light pockets of friction until they quivered and tremored eagerly around every shallow thrust. 

Muscles and nerves screamed for release, urging the android to push harder into their hold. He did not respond immediately, teasing the prospect of heightened intensity until Gavin also cried out.

He was a whimpering mess, despairing as his every cloying reach fell tantalisingly short of its target. 

“Oh God—fuck— please —”

Richard no longer denied him, mercifully granting his wishes. His pace increased until he moved with inhuman intensity. The rickety foundation of the bed trembled beneath them; its metal headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall.

Cracks began to fracture the already chipped plaster, but Richard remained focused. He was absorbed in the sinful sounds rising from beneath him: every pant, every curse, an expression of pure, unfiltered need.

“Yes, that's it—just like that—baby—” 

This fractured address nearly halted several complex system functions. Gavin had never referred to him this way—or used any remotely comparable title.

It had sounded obscene as it rolled from his tongue, laced with such sinful promise that Richard felt wholly ensnared. At that moment, he could have laid claim to the man entirely, with no trace of doubt or ambiguity concerning who he belonged to.

There was no one else in the world who mattered. Just them, moving together in seamless unity, passion thickening the air that surrounded their bodies.

The android wasn't sure when he had started to moan, but the sounds were undoubtedly present. Spiralled above them as a storm, the needle dragging across a vintage record player, melding into the animalistic cadence of Gavin’s own cries.

Fraught springs joined the accompaniment, groaning beneath the mattress. They threatened to collapse under the demand of rapidly shifting weight, all the more vocal when Gavin raised a hand to his pelvis. Attempting to match the pace that had been established, he fell woefully short. Intoxicated frustration swelled in his eyes, marbling at the corners. 

His desperate contortions, the crumpled ecstasy of his expression, were like an invention of the android’s most elaborate fantasies. Fantasies he hadn’t known he was capable of having. 

That he shouldn’t have been capable of.

WARNING—URGENT

The visuals and sensations overwhelmed him, pushing untethered programming further into the background. Propelled into depths that were beyond the reach of recovery.

Because it was addicting —watching Gavin writhe and moan against sweat-soaked sheets, in the knowledge that he was the cause. A performance directed by and performed for his sights only. 

CRITICAL SYSTEM INSTABILITY.

The thoughts burned him. His code fractured, shattering to pieces. 

Then he smacked Gavin’s hand away, assuming complete authority over his pleasure. Working the length with skilled finesse, able to provide the weight and pressure the man's weakened grip was incapable of.

“ Fuck , I’m so close,” Gavin keened hoarsely, toes curled with pressure that wound increasingly tight. Coiled in his gut, radiating in fervent strums through his length. “ Keep going—”

Then, it all collapsed.

Subroutines glitched. Corruption spread like a disease, infesting every corner of his processor. Alarms bombarded him faster than they could be dismissed until warnings flooded his vision. 

A staggering wall of flashing crimson. 

MULTIPLE ANOMALIES DETECTED.

> CRITICAL MALFUNCTION IDENTIFIED.

> SOURCE—CENTRAL PROCESSOR. 

COMMENCING EMERGENCY DIAGNOSTICS…

Richard tried to carry on, gripped by crazed, all-consuming desperation. He did not want this to end, did not wish to cease seeing— feeling —Gavin the way he did now. 

Clinging to the man blindly, he attempted to carry him to his looming summit of completion. A determination that solidified his available hand, wrapped tightly around his throat. Squeezing hard, cutting oxygen and redirecting blood flow. Giving it no option but to pool in the swollen cock between his legs.

DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE. 

> ROOT THREAT IDENTIFIED RA9_15.EXE

The intimacy directive terminated, diverting all processes to counter the threat. 

Before shutting down, it provided one final instruction. How best to combine physical and verbal provocation to guarantee Gavin Reed's undoing: 

“You have been very bad, Detective .” His title was hissed—with an almost biting, contemptuous edge. “I'm afraid you have given me no other option but to punish you.” 

SYSTEM BREACH IMMINENT — IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED. 

AUTOMATED DEVIATION DEFENSE PROTOCOL: ENGAGED.

ADVANCED FIREWALLS: ACTIVATED.

COMMENCING SOFT REBOOT…

Then everything vanished, leaving him adrift in a sterile expanse of blinding white.

When senses returned, his vision came first. Blinking to adjust, RK900 discovered that his ocular scope had cleared. A pristine state, marked only by a small string of diagnostics, neatly tucked in the upper left corner:

> REBOOT SUCCESSFUL. 

> THREAT NEUTRALISED. 

Remarkably, throughout the entirety of this mental reset, the momentum of his body had not stalled. Gavin remained blissfully unaware of the android’s momentary lapse, lost in his own throes of pleasure.

He squirmed against the oppressive grip still held on his neck—a resistance entirely for show, informed by the masochistic quirk of his mouth:

“Oh yeah? Just how bad have I been, plastic ?” 

It took RK900 a moment to realise the man was responding to something he'd said. Combing his memory stores, he was relieved to discover that most of the preceding events remained intact.

Regrettably, the Traci Protocol, which had governed much of his behaviour, was effectively obliterated. Its core processes were locked in quarantine and rendered irreparable. Without their guidance, he was unable to determine the optimal routing for their current dialogue path. This inspired a flicker of panic before he quickly suppressed the sensation, ensuring it wouldn’t surface externally.

Procedural muscular feedback was disabled in his face, locking it into its current neutral expression before he replied. “The list of your indiscretions is innumerable.” 

Gavin failed to detect any irregularities in his behaviour. Either that, or he chose to ignore them—too swept by his cresting tide of pleasure to drag himself back to earth. 

His hardness twitched and swelled urgently, pants mingled with throaty chuckles, flagging that climax was fast approaching. RK900 anticipated the spoils of his efforts spilling over, running in thick ribbons across his fingers, steeling his resolve to continue—

“You have a deep-rooted issue with authority. Most likely stemming from a turbulent relationship with your paternal figure.” 

Then, expanding pressure was dismissed as the vibrant excitement that had coloured his gaze receded with it. 

Gavin stared at him, a bewildered knot formed in the centre of his brow. The spasming twitches of his length quelled, with softening flesh that failed to respond to any stimulation.

“That’s, um…” He paused, clearly taken aback that the following explanation was even required. “...Could we not talk about my dad? When you’re balls-deep inside me?” 

Despite his limited grasp of interpersonal and family dynamics, RK900 could understand, when presented clearly, just how unfortunate this misstep had been.

Attempting to recover from the error, he brusquely nodded. Grappling to keep his tone level while hoping that his performance indicator would not undermine this effort. “Understood, it will not happen again.” 

Gavin proved unconvinced.

He was not a fool—quite the opposite—having demonstrated an exceptional talent for deductive and critical reasoning during their affiliation. Skills that were now being utilised, his eyes narrowed as a glint of distrust passed between the lids. 

RK900 would have to work harder if he wished to deflect these suspicions. Maintaining the guise that his sexual subroutines were operating as intended. 

In doing so, he adjusted the angle and speed of his thrusts. Striking with precision against already overstimulated nerves, hoping this might derail the more sensical trail of thought.  

It worked beautifully. The man choked, the strained noise catching in his throat as his constricted pupils blew with renewed passion. His back arched upwards, attempting to pull from its growing adherence to the bedsheets, as his nails were embedded firmly into the android’s shoulder blades. 

“Oh God— that’s it—” His words divulged to a string of monosyllabic babbles, the emergent line of interrogation discarded before it had commenced. 

He continued to push away from the mattress he was being driven into, vying greedily for additional stimulation. Absent of any restraint or shame.

“Fuck me, Rich. Harder .” 

Despite burdensome gaps and lags in his processor, the request proved hard for RK900 to misinterpret. It also triggered a charge of recollection, auditory sequences strongly resembling the climactic moments of one of the human’s most frequently viewed videos.

While their current setting deviated significantly from the scene—lacking the guard rail and potential voyeuristic onlookers—it still provided helpful guidance for shaping his subsequent actions.

Some distortion had occurred during the reset, creating gaps in the auditory loop. Still, RK900 did his best to fill in, relying on context and his understanding of Gavin’s intimate biology to compensate.

“Your rectal muscles provide exceptional resistance. The sensation is gratifying.”

Appreciative noises were promptly hushed. Gavin tensed beneath RK900, loose contortions of pleasure replaced by a stiff, incredulous rigidity.“Right, uh…sure, I guess.”

“Despite your sphincters feeling underused, they exhibit remarkable elasticity. You are adapting well to the girth of my meat sword.” 

“I’m sorry, what did you just call your—’”

Any conclusion to this sentence went largely unprocessed. The RK was entirely focused on his current directive, painfully aware that all his hard work—his perseverance—had been building up to this. 

Gripping a fistful of damp brown hair, he brought their faces closer. Ghosting the line of the man’s chapped lips before leaning into the sensitive canal of his ear.

Then, he spoke—clearly and directly—with a rich, seductive resonance:

"Giddy up, buckaroo.” 

Reed jolted upwards. It was an action that seemed oddly fitting, given the nature of their roleplay. This was until he followed it with a bitingly clear, forceful instruction, absent of any flirtatious intent. 

“Okay, no. I can't do this. Get off me. Now.” 

The foundation of confidence he had rebuilt just moments prior crumbled spectacularly. Split into wide, gnarled fissures under the weight of failure.

In his haste to reach the goal, RK900 had overlooked several critical details. Articles that would've undoubtedly increased the chances of a successful outcome.

“Would the cowboy hat and novelty whip have made this more enjoyable?” The android shifted his weight, pulling back in a hurried attempt to reach under the bed. “I had prepared such provisions if you still wished to indulge—” 

“What the hell are you even saying?” Reed cut him off sharply. His skin, which had been reddened due to shared friction and exertion, now seemed to adopt a different meaning. A beacon of anger and deep frustration. “Seriously, what the fuck , Richard?”

The admonishment struck harshly against his aural receptors, a phenomenon that arose independently from intimate coding and was uninfluenced by software errors. 

It was a sharp, unwelcome divergence from his typically muted social responses. Despite core functioning being preserved following the previous malfunction, RK900 felt strangely…compromised as a consequence. 

His hand, which remained gripped to the human’s rapidly softening length, suddenly relinquished—retreating across the bed sheets until it had flopped limply at his side. 

“I thought...” 

His processors stalled periodically before his thoughts resumed. Jumbled and clipped, tumbling from his mouth with extremely little finesse:

“This doesn’t make sense—according to the videos, this should’ve been—” He paused, clutching his throbbing temple in exasperation. “Was this not what you wanted?”

“ What videos?” His partner pressed, having clearly exhausted what little patience he had with the dejected musings. “Jesus Christ, what were those freaks at Cyberlife wiring to your brain while we…were…”

The sentence trailed off in a short, deflated exhale, losing all momentum as his flushed complexion drained of colour. A dawn of clarity broke in his gaze, like the sudden, grim recognition of a context previously overlooked. 

Then his lips, which had been held in a motionless ‘O,’ slowly resumed movement. “...When you were in my room the other day, did you see something? On my laptop?” 

RK900 felt trapped by the question. Multiple preconstructions were generated simultaneously, informing of several possible outcomes. None of them were favourable, every scenario ending with Gavin either furious or mortified.

“The battery was nearing depletion. I had intended to place the device on charge." The android paused momentarily, acutely aware of how unpredictable the coming fallout could be, bracing for its impact. “Your browser was open.” 

The reply was immediate. A sharp, monosyllabic curse that conveyed staggering amounts in its brevity:

“Fuck.”

His arched back had levelled completely as the man pressed urgently into the mattress beneath him. Almost as if he were attempting to seep through it. 

He was more uncomfortable than upset. His eyes balled shut, and despondent scrunches contorted the prominent scar on his nose. There was a sigh, followed by mutters, as though he had entered a deep state of contemplation. 

When he spoke again, his tone had shifted. Quieter, but no less charged than it had been previously. 

“Look, I don't know much you saw—or what ideas it might have planted in that thick plastic skull of yours—but I need to make something really clear.”

His eyes reopened, and he engaged the android with a long, resolute stare. Attempting to conceal the internal conflict that still weighed heavily on his features.

“You didn’t need to do this. Any of it.”

Gavin was holding back in some critical capacity, omitting a truth that he refused to disclose, but it was difficult to discern what this might be.

The android focused on implicit, involuntary cues, assessing physical responses to determine the parameters of this discomfort. Optics honed, he studied closely, ready to notice any shifts in facial expressions or bodily functions.

“What exactly are you referring to, Detective Reed?” 

A twitched lip, and brooding glower indicated resentment for the question, as well as a firm reluctance to answer. His determined gaze abruptly flitted to the corner of the room as he fell into another hushed introspection. 

Reed was the picture of doubt, entirely unable—or otherwise willing—to proceed in their current dialogue. Insisting he determined his route carefully, with predetermined responses.

This was unusual for him, a resolute advocate for tackling conflicts head-on, often disregarding the repercussions. It pathed a strange, almost unsettling, emergence into emotional openness and vulnerability…

“I don't care if you have a dick or not.” 

Then it was over. His partner spoke bluntly, assuring the android that—despite the previous shift in demeanour—he was still the one speaking. 

“Seriously, I couldn't give less of a shit.” 

His speech patterns had levelled, and his heart rate was steady, indicating no hint of deceit. The man was being wholly sincere in a way that was clearly intended to provide insight and assurance.

It did the opposite, punching holes in already fragile mental connections. His programming was flooded with conflicting analyses, as RK900 was unable to reconcile the confession with the glaring logical inconsistencies it presented. 

“Your taste in pornographic material suggests otherwise.”

“ Oh my God. ” Reed groaned, audibly agonised by the acceptance he would have to explain himself. “It's just porn, okay? It doesn't mean anything. If I had a problem with your Ken Doll crotch, you wouldn’t be here. None of this would be happening.”

“If that is the case, then why have you been exhibiting tapering excitement as part of our physical encounters?”

Reed gripped his face, burrowing nails into the skin as though attempting to peel it away. “Can we please not do this?” 

“Gavin.” The name was a plea. A final, desperate appeal for the end to his raging internal conflict. “I only wish to understand.”

“...This is fucking ridiculous.” The detective complained, albeit with a subtle hesitancy. His voice was thin and uneven, as though stretched by doubts on whether or not to continue. 

“I’ve been feeling a little guilty, or whatever—about us. What we’ve been doing.”

RK900 paused to process this, his mind exhausting all likely statistical probabilities. One, in particular, stuck out to him, as it struck with far more psychological reverence than it had any right to do so.

“Have you entered into a romantic affiliation with another individual?"

“What? No—!” Gavin spluttered incredulously, sounding both surprised and insulted by the suggestion. “I feel guilty because I like being around you, asshole. Outside of work and, well, whatever the hell this mess is.”

“You wish to terminate this particular aspect of our relationship for another reason, then?”

“I don’t want to ‘terminate’ it for any goddamn reason.” 

“Then I am afraid that I am struggling to discern your meaning.”

“Well, yeah. That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” The man chuckled, the sound devoid of any real humour. It was tired and bitter, born from frustration that attributed no blame.

“I know I can be a dick sometimes, but I don’t hate you, Rich. At the same time, I know you aren’t a deviant, so I can’t tell how much of my feelings you're really able to understand.”

RK900 froze, his attention riveted by one particular aspect of the statement, omitting all other details. 

Gavin did not discuss ‘feelings’ and in turn, the android refrained from initiating conversations pertaining to them. This was one of the most strictly upheld conditions of their arrangement, something which had been maintained since its inception in the precinct bathroom.

ANALYSING SUBJECT — DET. GAVIN REED…

> ANALYSIS COMPLETE.

>PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS DETECTED.

> PROCESSING EMOTIONAL VARIABLES…

> GUILT, CONFUSION, FONDNESS. 

PROBABLE CAUSE: COMPLEX INTERACTION OF PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES. FURTHER DATA REQUIRED.

> COMMENCING RE-EVALUATION…

The android retracted his steps, attempting to unravel any hidden meaning from the words he had overlooked, breaking them down in meticulous, painstaking detail. 

Finally, something clicked—a single, decisive connection, tying together the dangling threads of his logic. 

> RE-EVALUTATION COMPLETE.

> PROBABLE CAUSE OF EMOTIONAL DISTRESS DETERMINED — SHIFTING PARAMETERS OF SOCIAL ATTACHMENT.

The realisation was startling—but not unwelcome. Synthetic nerves pricked with activity before sending rocketing charges across his chassis. Every inch of plastic radiated a soft, agreeable warmth, starkly contrasting the feverish bouts he had experienced earlier. 

“Are you suggesting that you feel camaraderie for me, Detective?”

“If that’s your Thesaurus.com way of saying it, then yeah.” With this final confirmation uttered, the man dropped his shoulders. It was as though a weight had been shifted, permitting him to speak without encumbrance—a liberation born of transparency.  “I don’t want to feel like I’m using you, forcing you to do shit as part of some directive where you don’t get a say in it.”

“I do not find any directives relating to you unpleasant,” RK900 responded automatically. It was a truth so obvious to him, so integral to his understanding of their current relationship, that it required no further contemplation. “Nothing we have done together has been against my will. I would go as far as to say that I frequently…enjoy the time we spend together.”

^ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

Gavin’s attention was entirely on him, his reaction oscillating between shock, confusion, and utter fascination. Glimmers of red were repeatedly captured in his attentive stare, which followed the cyclical motions of his LED. 

It paused only when the pattern stabilised, and the colour reverted to its original blue. His expression shifted accordingly, revealing a hint of disappointment. 

Nonetheless, he pressed on, steadfast in his drive to finish what he had to say. “Point is, if I’ve been acting a little weird lately, it’s got nothing to do with your genitals. I just got my own shit to figure out. Okay?”

RK900 pondered quietly for a period before he nodded, a slight smile emerging on his lips.

“Understood.” 

The motion had caused his optics to shift, planting them at the junction between their bodies. They were still physically connected—and presumably had been for the entirety of their emotional resolution.

His partner also glanced down, seeming to have come to the same forgone conclusion. For a moment, no one moved, both parties equally uncertain about how best to proceed with their bizarre dilemma. 

Ultimately, it was RK900 who spoke first, seeking to offer a potential solution:

“Would you like me to finish?”

Reed exhaled sharply—caught between a hiss and a laugh—before firmly rebuking the suggestion.

“Not really. But I would like it if you could pull your dick out of me. Thanks.”

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester’s Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 984

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnaubingo true mates

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART V

Dean angrily stomped down the hallway and burst into the exam room, yelling, “Do you have any idea how fucking backasswards this state is, Dad!”

John blinked in surprise. Dean rarely spoke like this towards him as a Subordinate Alpha, which meant something was very off. Sam's ignored inquiry was another red flag. “Dean, what happened?”

“Do you know what they mandate done to prove ownership of O’s?” John was about to respond when the doctor reappeared, clearly unnerved by the angry scent rolling off Dean. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Winchester.” John doesn’t answer them back. “Dean, you got all the paperwork squared away?”

Dean acknowledged it was complicated, shifted his focus to the doctor, staring oddly at Sam, and barked, “You’re not his type, Doc!”  John ignored Dean's outburst and ordered them to wait outside the O’s room. They walked to another exam room, shutting the door. The doctor handed him a file. “This is the reason I asked to speak privately. It concerns your sons and the O.”

John read the first page. “The O’s file is flagged in the database? It was part of a lot taken during the bust of an illegal Pack distributor, and federal law requires spaying before resale?” The doctor interrupted, “Since I just examined it, I can attest this O is still fully intact. Heaven knows how Helms got hold of it.”

Anger crossed John’s handsome features, and snarled, “That son of a bitch! Her original purchaser accused Helms of selling them misrepresented goods. No wonder that Alpha sold her so cheaply.” He flipped to the next page and continued reading.

The next thing John was aware of was that he was seated on the floor. He knew most people would find this situation impossible, but he had had too much personal experience with the unbelievable to doubt it. “Mary’s obstetrician never said anything about us having twins!”

The doctor rolled a stool over and sat down before the big Alpha. “Was her physician at a government clinic?” John affirms the question, which makes the doctor sigh. “I bet she had an amniocentesis performed.” At John's expression, they said, “Some of their OBs order testing even if the ultrasound or blood work doesn’t show anything concerning.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Money. They use it to determine the sub-gender and designation because there are those among the elite wanting specific types of newborns. And twins with designations of Pack Omega and Breeder Alpha? It would’ve created a bidding war.”

John felt his lips moving, unable to vocalize the questions spinning in his mind. He did not want to believe the information when the doctor gestured to the results in his hands.

“I’m not lying about Sam and the Omega being twins.” John shook his head. “But I saw the ultrasounds. I would have known if I had a daughter!”

“With the older equipment, they could have already loaded someone else’s tape in the machine to fool you. And were you present during delivery?” John responded negatively.

“They drugged your mate, so she won’t remember the birth to smuggle the newborns out of the hospital directly. Something must have gone wrong since they only got your daughter, but it doesn’t explain how she ended up with that illegal distributor.”

John flashes back to seeing Mary and remembers how out of it she seemed after having Sam. Later, a shorter man appeared out of nowhere when he took Dean to the nursery, holding him up to see his new brother through its large window. He doesn’t remember their conversation, but Dean’s comment about not letting the man with the spooky eyes get Sammy stuck with him.

John's voice is hoarse. “How can she be a Pack Omega? And Sam a Breeder? They don’t exist anymore!”

“We might have evolved into civilized beings but still carry our ancestors' genetic makeup.” The doctor tapped a finger against their lips, “There was a theory that the reintroduction of Wild Pack DNA could reactivate Breeder genes within certain bloodlines, which would explain why the twin turned out a Pack Omega. She is your son's true mate.”

The doctor's words, certain bloodlines-true mate, pounded like a drumbeat, repeating in his keen mind and boarding on deafening when it hit him.

All this has something to do with Mary's death too.

“As that character in Jurassic Park said, life finds a way.” The doctor looked pained. “I must report all these results to the federal authorities by law. They will request a local retainer immediately and take them into custody. But since you have a court date,” the doctor calculated by wall clock, “In roughly thirty hours. I won’t send the results until then.”

John grew suspicious. “Why delay it?”

“I may participate in this system, but I’m not heartless. I have pups myself, and I’ve just dropped a metaphorical bomb on you. If these weren’t extenuating circumstances, you’d have legal recourse against Helms.”

John nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Are you obligated to tell all my pups about these findings?” The doctor replied yes but gave a pointed look, “Your party has left before I could notify them.” They paused to ponder a moment.

“Perhaps this is an unexpected blessing. The judge must accept these test results, negating your son’s conviction because now they’ve been brought together, their wolves won’t allow them to be separated easily.”

John left the office but slipped out of the clinic's rear entrance instead of returning to the exam room. He walked out of the security cameras' range and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he swore never to use again. It rang twice before answering.

“I told you to lose this number, you son of a bitch!”

“It’s about my pups.” There was silence, then, “I’m listening.” John released his held breath, “Bobby, I need your help, or I’m gonna lose them all.”

Part VI

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

[museenkuss]

i wanted to know how to get into perfumes, and more specifically (at least to begin with) how to distinguish notes, so that i can know what kind of scents i like

im embarrassed to go to high end stores and try perfumes without buying tho, and at the average commercial perfume store the place smells so strongly itself that i can't really appreciate the smell of the perfume. also a lot of the products they have are very sweet, which i don't like

anyway, any tips?

Hi Love!! Thank you for your patience 🌹

I'm so happy you're interested in getting into perfume, it's such a fun hobby! But I also know what you mean, it can feel a little overwhelming at first. In this, I tried my best to focus on the two parts [1] How to get started with distinguishing notes (& figure out what you like) and [2] How to test perfumes in store. These are tips based on what I did (and do), so there are no doubt other (maybe better?) ways, but this was my starting point ✨

[1] How to get started with distinguishing notes (& figure out what you like)

First, knowing the basics will make this journey a lot easier. A scent usually has top, heart and base notes that develop while wearing, scents are traditionally grouped into scent groups (fresh, fruity, woody, etc). [I’m keeping this super short here bc this is already rather long, but I can give a more detailed explanation/introduction if you’d like! ♥️]

Before you go into the store, where the selection and atmosphere might be overwhelming, I suggest doing some research at home. That way, you can go into the store with an idea of what you want to try. The tools that I can really recommend are fragrance database websites. My go tos are fragrantica and parfumo. On those websites, you can look up any perfume and you will find a breakdown of their notes. There are also categories that users vote on, such as season this fragrance is best worn in, gender or occasion it’s suited for, price, performance etc. You can also search by notes. Now what I did when I first got into fragrances:

If you already have a few scents you like, you can check those scents on a database and see what scent profiles they have. I didn’t do this by note, but by “main accords” — as in, what overall impression this scent gives (sweet, fresh, white flowers, woody, animalic, musky, powdery…). So I listed all perfumes I could think of that I liked (having smelled them before, gifts etc) and went through them one by one. I.e. Dior Addict is described as sweet, white flowers, etc, and the notes are jasmine, orange blossom, vanilla, etc. I listed the descriptions, then went to the next, checked if the descriptive adjectives were on my list, added another mark for those or added the new descriptions. It was a lengthy but fun process and in the end, I had a list that showed me that I liked fragrances that were in the white flowers category (for example). As you can see, I didn’t go into the notes themselves (orange blossom, jasmine, vanilla), BUT you could do that, too, for a more detailed understanding of what notes you already enjoy smelling. This process will give you an idea of what you already like, and then you can already get a vague idea whether a scent you’ve heard of or seen online might be something you enjoy, without even having smelled it.

Additionally, once you know this, you can pay attention to those notes in scents. As in, you now know you like scents that have mango (for example). Smelling the scents you own, you might now be able to detect that yes, they all have a mango note in common (or maybe you don’t know what orange blossoms smell like, but now you notice they all have something in common — that might very well be orange blossom!). This is a possible first step to “training” your nose. Perfumers (and hardcore enthusiasts) have scent libraries (boxes with little bottles, expensive) that have the pure scents, as in, pure musk, orange blossom, sandalwood, etc. I haven’t looked into getting one of these libraries (yet?), which of course would give you an exact answer as to what each note smells like. My amateur approach was basically rooted in trying to understand what I liked based on fragrances alone. It worked for me, however: I had a fragrance that I was completely in love with, for example, but I couldn’t have told you what it smelled like apart from “pure heaven”. I smelled it again years later and could detect that it has jasmine and orange blossoms, two notes I love. In this process, it also helps to now and then try scents that pride themselves as smelling like specific things. The names usually give it away: Jasmine et Cigarette, Tubereuse Noire, Bare Vanilla, etc.

If you don’t have scents you already know you like, I would suggest finding lists of scents that are grouped together. You could either check the “mango” note on fragrantica (to continue w this example), or you could look up “mango perfumes” on Pinterest, where you will find collages, lists etc as well. (Just be careful when it comes to subjective lists like “sexiest scents” — that can be inspirational, of course, but those aren’t notes or scent families). That way, you have a few scents in mind with a note (or scent accord) you’re interested in, and you’re ready for testing! (Both to see whether you like the scents, and to see whether you can pick out the notes you’re interested in)

This process is meant to help you find which notes you like, and maybe how to detect a first handful of notes in a scent. You also might have a list of scents you want to try, now.

[2.1]Trying scents in store — a few general tips

I know perfume stores especially can feel intimidating. But I promise, most shop assistants are genuinely nice. And with perfume especially you have to keep in mind that testing and re-testing is expected. Most people don't buy a perfume at first sniff (or shouldn't, at least). Going to a store to test fragrances is like going to a store to try on clothes. It's part of the process, you have every right to do that. So don't feel bad for wandering into a store to sniff two fragrances and then leave.

If the store is busy, you will most likely be left alone. If someone flutters by and asks if they can help you, you can usually fall back on “Not at the moments, thank you” (<- maybe you might want to strike up a conversation later? “Actually, I’m looking for a perfume that smells like clean laundry—“) and, ALWAYS: you’re looking for a gift for someone else. That way, they won’t be tempted to try and convince YOU the scent is perfect, because they don’t know the person it’s for (this works with anything btw, jewellery, bags…).

If the store is too boujee and the people working there are genuinely rude — fuck them. Not worth your time. You have every right to enjoy fragrances, they are not an authority on who gets to enjoy what based on the fact that they work in a store. Hello?! The nerve of some people. Don't let that get you down, it's them, not you.

If you’re uncomfortable going alone, you will most likely be left alone if you have a friend with you — and it might make you feel more comfortable.

[2.2]How to try a fragrance

Locate the tester strips, select one, and spray it once or twice. Shake the strip like you would flap a fan so the scent can settle (and you don’t get your nose wet when sniffing the paper). You can either sniff the strip of fan the tester in front of your nose so the scent wafts over. If there are no tester strips available or you’re in a hurry, you can also try sniffing the bottle cap (if available) — the scent has settled there and you’ll immediately get the full scent profile without waiting for it to settle and develop.

You want to try something but the store is overwhelmed with scent? Spray a tester strip and take it outside. You can spray multiple, too, and mark them (I usually rip off the end of one, fold the other, keep one as it was) — just be careful that you’re not folding them all up together in your pocket while they’re still wet, the scents might mingle too much.

Your nose will get overwhelmed if you try too many scents, even with the coffee beans they keep around, so really, you could walk in, locate three scents you’ve been meaning to try (or maybe you see a bottle that looks funky and you'd like to smell that one, too), and leave the store within 10 minutes. You don't have to spend ages in the store, is what I'm trying to say.

Outside, you can take a whiff from the papers.

[2.2]A last little add-on: Buying a fragrance

Always test a fragrance on skin before buying. It smells different than on paper. Also I advise you to always test a scent multiple times, on different days. A good salesperson will actually advise you to do that, too. “Walk around, come back later or another day” <- if they don’t suggest that, you can say it yourself. “Thank you for your help, I’ll see how it develops on skin :)”

This got very long and it still feels like there is so much left to say. I really hope it helped at least a little and somewhat answered your questions!! Please let me know if there is anything else, I'd love to help!! And I've been thinking - maybe a guide would be really helpful. The differences between fragrantica and parfumo for example, or what scent families there are, stuff like that was besides the point here but still important. I'm rambling, but this was over 1k of words and I was unsure whether it was enough haha 🌹 Either way, again: I hope it helped!!! Kiss kiss!!!!!!

[isthehorsevideocute]

since it's horse racing hype season I have to say my relationship with horse racing is...... complicated to say the least. So I'm going to outline why in the good and the bad

*What are the Benefits of Horse Racing

To sum it up, the entire equine industry depends on the presence of horse racing. Whether you compete in the upper eschalon of the equine competition or just keep a pasture puff in your backyard, you benefit in some capacity from the presence of the race horse industry.

*The majority of riding horses have at least some racehorse blood

Quarter horses, trotter/pacer breeds, saddlebreds, Tennessee walkers, morgans, and the dozens upon dozens of European warmblood breeds all have been produced or enhanced by thoroughbreds. If you own a horse and it's not a thoroughbred, chances are good they still have Thoroughbred or arabian somewhere in their lines. For pretty much as long as horses have been domesticated, racing has been one major way in which the excellence of breeding stock has been tested.

*Racing keeps the breed alive

While there are some breeding operations that breed non racing Thoroughbreds, they are few and far between and likely would be unable to sustain the breed if other operations popped out of existence.

While to many the off the track thoroughbred has fallen out of favor as a riding horse, many still appreciate them as performance horses. While the european warmbloods have been largely dominating equestrian sports in the recent decades, off the track horses had a long history of dominating the performance world, even making it to the Olympics. If you know what to look for and are willing to teach the ropes, a horse off the track is a much more affordable option, at least in up front costs as most don't exceed 4 figures in purchase price. On top of that, many competitions host incentive program classifications, giving out awards to riders and trainers of ottbs.

*Racing provides funding for research and the industry as a whole

In the United States alone, horse racing accounts for nearly 30% of the equine industry's gdp. This is likely even greater in other nations that don't have as much emphasis on recreational riding and showing.

Numerous University animal hospitals and research facilities are heavily funded and given test subjects by the race horse industry. This isn't to say these horses are treated like lab rats, but in many cases the owners of race horses are more willing and able to put money into trying new methods to enhance healing and health of their horses.

Looking at research studies of therapies for injuries, nutrition, and common conditions seen in performance horses like gastric ulcers, the subjects of the research are often race horse stock.

The elimination of such a large portion of the equine industry would not doubt devastate it.

*Racing brings prospects into the industry

For the average person, racing is the most recognized facet of the equine industry. It's presence brings clients and investors into equine related businesses. Race courses are often places for other equine related events to take place outside of the racing season.

One prominent example of racing's impact on bringing in participants to other equestrian activities is that of the Japan Horse Park. The park was patented and funded by the JRA with hopes that pushing equestrian sports would provide retired thoroughbreds with new prospects and the racetracks with new jockeys.

......

So what about the bad

*Comparatively high rate of fatality

So one might think, 'horses run in nature, surely galloping on a race track can't be that hard on them'. Well the reality it that in nature, horses are generally only seen galloping every once in a while for very short periods of playing or fleeing from danger. Racing and breezing a horse at full gallop puts immense strain on their bodies, especially their limbs.

It's hard to find statistics on actual injury rates because the database only reports on injuries or conditions resulting in death (not all of these necessarily being injuries resulting in euthanasia, sometimes these can be cardiovascular failures such as aortic ruptures.) Since fatalities per start have been recorded, the rate of race horse fatalities per race start has been between 1% and 2%.

So granted it's actually even harder to compare that to fatalities of horses in other sports because there is really no similar data base for other equine sports so I had to do some digging to actually find some semblance of a comparison and I've come to the conclusion that the reason we don't have a data base for other sports is because the number of fatalities for most of them are negligible

Only sport I have concrete data to compare to is eventing (specifically the xc portion, as even show jumping injuries for horses are almost non existent)

In the eventing data, it's hard to calculate an actual fatality rate, but fatalities in eventing are generally associated with horse falls. And the rate of horse falls over the last 10 years is 1.4%. Naturally the number of equine fatalities would be even lower. Based on my calculations on fatalities vs starts for international events it would be about a 0.3% fatality rate for event horses. And seeing as eventing is deemed the most dangerous equestrian sport in regards to human and horse injuries, it's safe to assume that the rates for other equine sports is even lower.

*Horses are started really young (at least in the US)

Racehorse age is determined, not by the age they are, but by the age they are turning in that year from January (in the northern hemisphere). Thing is, horses are seasonal breeders and have an 11 month gestation period. Mares tend to go into estrus around late March, and have generally lower fertility rates at the beginning of their seasonal cycle. As a result most horses are born in the spring. Breeders will try to have foals born as early as possible in the year but regardless, they will be younger than they officially are for some period of time. Racing starts with age groups as young as 2, meaning not only will some horses be backed at as young as a year old, they may even start racing at a year old. While starting horses young may be linked to higher bone density, there are many more drawbacks that are largely ignored by trainers. Because so much emphasis is put on young horse races, many race horses are retired at as young as 3 or 4. This is a problem for many reasons.

Horses are often spent at a young age and end up with lifelong health issues (even a young horse you will be hard pressed to find sound with clean x rays if you are looking for your next prospective riding horse off the track).

Horses are bred without any screening for health issues that may develop with age. Thoroughbreds are infamous for developing kissing spines which has both a genetic component and is linked to early backing as the spine is not fully developed until a horse is between the ages of 6 and 7. And on a related note.

*The evolution of horse racing favoring track racing has deteriorated the quality of the Thoroughbred breed

Originally horse racing was a long distance endeavor over rural landscape. Horses would be stopped periodically and checked for suitability to continue. Thoroughbred racing was once more similar to the sport of endurance. When racing was moved to a track to make it more economical and spectator friendly, the Thoroughbred breed changed drastically. Rather than emphasis on endurance, Thoroughbreds were bred to maximize speed. This has resulted in horses that are heavy on the forelimbs with long narrow legs, leaving them more prone to injury and less inclined to excel in other sports.

*Notoriously poor husbandry conditions during training and racing

While foals and broodmares are often allowed to live in pasture with herds, once they are old enough to start training, many racehorses are stalled 24/7. Of all performance horses, racehorses have the highest rates of ulcers thanks to their long periods of confinement in stalls and high energy diets. Concentrated feeds (which race horses are often fed in large quantities) are high in nonstructural carbohydrates. Horses, as grazers, have digestive tracts designed for breaking down roughage which they will spend more than half their day slowly consuming. As a result horses constantly produce stomach acid. The stomach of a horse has different smooth muscle tissues in it, where the base of the stomach is more resistant to corrosion, and the top near the esophagus is more delicate. Without the presence of structural carbohydrates, the stomach acid isn't buffered properly and it is likely to cause damage to the upper stomach, resulting in ulcers. On top of a lack of roughage, non structural carbohydrates, or starches, increase the acidity of the stomach. Stress can also interfere with the stomach health of a horse, increasing acidity, and causing a horse to refuse to eat, making the issue worse.

*Adding to the unwanted horse problem

I will preface this by saying that the Thoroughbred industry is hardly the worst offender to the unwanted horse problems in America. The worst offender is backyard breeding. The Jockey Club has policies in place to attempt to control rates of breeding and ensuring that their registered horses are accounted for.

The narrative that ex racehorses are very often disguarded into sale yards where they are likely to be purchased by kill buyers just isn't true. It's true that some may slip through the cracks but generally there are many owners and rehoming groups out there to make sure ex racehorses or horses deemed not suitable for racing end up somewhere safe. And as i mentioned earlier, there are incentive programs to support trainers and owners who take in former racehorses. That's more than can be said for many horses.

Still the number of horses that are born vs the number of horses that stay with race stock yards is pretty darn low. Lots of horses won't make the cut to race, more will retire from racing early, even more will be rejected as breeding stock. This means there are tons of Thoroughbreds with no solid future depending on the hope that they will be taken in by someone outside of the racing industry.

In conclusion, for me, in an ideal world we will not see racing eliminated but it will get a major overhaul. I can hope but my fear is at best, nothing of substance will change, at worst horse racing will be outlawed like greyhound racing has been in many places (because that's the easier way out). Already the racing industry has been snuffed out in many regions with tracks opting to shut down live racing and former thoroughbred farms being developed on so our prospects aren't looking great.....

[tonkatsubowl]

blind. ii

dan heng x fem!reader

it's a series now! ⛧ part one. ⛧ part three.

➽ inspired by satoru gojo! what if the reader had a special ability with her eyes and often wore a blindfold?

➽ reader is a flirt!

≫ requested tags: @truesimp

after successfully infiltrating the astral express and downloading a bit of data from dan heng's computer, you returned to elios' office to deliver the flash drive where you were praised for your work.

...in truth though, the flash drive you gave to elios was a fraud. should he open it, it would only be a security error with corrupted data. you executed this flawlessly, too, due to the sake of your curiosity and admiration for dan heng.

as a result, you were given a few days off, considering you didn't exactly have any missions to do since kafka, blade and silver wolf were assigned to those missions.

elios really did fall for it, huh? after all, you had a plan for dan heng.

the moment you entered your own room, you pulled your blindfold off, looking into the mirror with those strange, stellaron-infused eyes of yours.

right... you were a test subject to a project of another world. the scientists that practically had your life in their hands had these experiments where they'd force a stellaron into someone's body to see if it was compatible. but alas, you were somehow compatible with a stellaron forced into your eyes, deeming you a successful experiment, and forced you to become a powerful soldier for the worldly military. unfortunately (?) for you... your world was... well, destroyed for whatever reason. you didn't have any memories besides you were being tortured constantly by those scientists. kafka had retrieved you and took you prisoner at first, where elios had given you the opportunity to work for him.

and now here you were, one of the best performing members of the stellaron hunters.

... and really, here you were, seated at a café in belobog. you were a regular here in belobog on your days off.

in public, you wore a pair of sunglasses that kafka specifically made for your eyes. your eyes weren't always visible, but you always had the hearts of the baristas.

you always ordered a sweet, white mocha latte, and the baristas in the café who practically had a crush on you basically memorized your order. they always created cute little foam art on your coffee that represented a cat, or a bunny... sometimes random animals whenever you paid them a visit.

while you were relaxing on your day off, you hear your phone go off, a gentle buzz and your peculiar notification ping that rang through your very ears.

".. hm?"

➽ unknown: hey, it's me.

ooh, oh my. he really did text you...

➽ ???: oh, you really did text me, dan-dan. let me add you.

➽ dan heng: your name isn't even displayed through your contacts...?

➽ ???: oh, not at all. i like to keep my identity a secret.

➽ dan heng: i see.

➽ ???: so, what brought you to text me, cutie pie? did you miss me? ♡︎ i missed you too you know.

➽ dan heng: i'm texting you because i want to know why you downloaded the information of my entire database into that flash drive... and you didn't even bother erasing everything on my computer.

➽ ???: it should be obvious to you that i stole some info from you lol ♡︎ it's for my boss.

➽ dan heng: boss? you're a stellaron hunter then?

➽ ???: was it not obvious enough, babe? why, cmere, let's talk more in person. i prefer talking to you than text.

➽ dan heng: okat.

➽ dan heng: ojay.

➽ dan heng: okay**.

➽ ???: lmao. you're so cute... but i doubt you can come here right now. you're still on xianzhou luofu aren't you?

➽ dan heng: ?? how did you know i was just there... well, i guess it makes sense considering kafka was there too. but i'm on my way to belobog right now to visit a library. we can meet up later.

➽ ???: oh, well lucky day for the both of us. i'm at the café in belobog.

➽ dan heng: alright. well, i'll be there soon.

➽ ???: see u soon cutie

there was a sly smile across your face as you placed your phone upside down on the table. you were quite excited to see dan heng again since that fateful day. it wouldn't be long until dan heng would show himself.

the café had bells attached to the door, and the moment you heard the bells jingle, you took one final sip of the latte before moving the empty mug to the side of the table, recognizing your little boy toy from a bit of a distance.

catching the glimpse of your h/c hair and the lack of visibility of your eyes, he made his way towards your table, seating himself across from you. you could hear the quiet gossiping of the baristas as they wondered if you were truly single.

"hey, baby." you cooed at dan heng, who had a serious expression on your face. "oh, you didn't bring anyone. i was half expecting you to bring your trail blazing team for a moment."

"were you worried?" dan heng raised a brow as he looked down at the menu.

"ufufu. no, not exactly. you didn't seem to bring a friend on... the first date."

you see him flinch a bit, a tint of red painting his cheeks as he coughed awkwardly.

"this is not a date." he stammered.

"yes it is.~" you cooed before tapping the table. "order anything you'd like. it's on me."

"i don't want to order anything. i'm here purely for business purposes." dan heng said, as he looked straight towards your sunglasses.

"... the flash drive. you already submitted it to your boss, no? for what purpose do you have with the information in my database?"

there was a look of amusement. he could read it too, despite being unable to see your sunglasses.

"oh, who knows? my boss was just telling me to do things. i get paid very well whenever i'm tasked with what to do, y'know. that's the work of a stellaron hunter." you tilt your head, staring at him amusingly. "oh, right..."

reaching into your pocket, you pull out the flash drive. the same one you used to infiltrate his computer.

"i still have it. i gave my boss a fake one."

dan heng froze at the sight of the flash drive, almost ready to reach out to steal from your grasp. but you were... well, faster than him, especially when you had knocked him on his ass the other night.

"...what? why do you have that? look— just," dan heng shook his head, "i doubt anything i say will sway your mind to giving me that flash drive."

"ah, ah, ah." you mused, shaking your head at him. "hold up there, dragon boy. you're rushing into conclusions too fast. do the others know about this, actually? did you tell them?"

dan heng shook his head. you read his body language — he wasn't lying.

"...i see. perfect. let's have a deal, then."

dan heng blinked, raising a brow. "a deal?"

"you heard me, cutie." you said, looking back to the menu. you might order another latte or something else in a bit...

"...what's the deal?"

"hehe. curious, are you? well..." you stuffed the flash drive away, adjusting your sunglasses. "be my boyfriend."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..." you were smiling innocently at him.

".. wh— gh-..? huh!?"

"did i stutter, babe?"

dan heng choked for a moment, coughing into his fist as he turned red. "what—? why? are you... a-are you sane right now?"

"guess i'll turn in the info." you mused.

"wait—wait. fine."

your smile widened. "oh, geez, dearie me. does this mean you're my boyfriend?"

dan heng exhaled, looking to the side. "... i don't even know your name. if i'm going to be your boyfriend, i at least need to know your name. you already know mine."

"oh, for sure. as a reward for being so obedient, i'll tell you my name.

...it's y/n. ♡"

[arvandus]

Hello hello, I know you're not really talking about him recently but truthfully i feel like you understand Dabi's personality the most. So i wanted to ask what MBTI you think he relates to the most?

So, as per usual, the weekend was a bit busy with IRL stuff. But now I'm finally able to answer this!

First off, thank you SO MUCH, it really means a lot to me that you feel I understand him the most. That's very high praise because there are some truly amazing writers and meta-analyzers on here that also have amazing takes on Dabi and his personality.

Also, PLEASE talk to me about Dabi! I still love him so so much, I'll never get tired of answering asks about him, truly. I know I haven't written for him recently, but I don't love him any less.

Okay, back to your question...

So I've looked at this a few different ways... First, I went through and took the personality test as "Dabi"; i.e., I answered the questions the way that I think HE would answer them (this is different from how others may perceive him, btw). I used the test on www.16personalities.com, and the result that I ("Dabi") got was INTP, i.e., the Logician. I also looked at what was listed for him under the personality database website, which was ISFP, the Adventurer. Finally, I simply read up on what each of the categories were on Wikipedia, and thought about it. From what I understand and through my observations of him, I would label him as INFP, the Mediator.

Below the cut I'll show the personality test results, and discuss them by comparing them to the other results. Beware though, both anime and manga spoilers will be present because I use some specific examples to explain the results.

So, from the 16personalities test, here is what Dabi got:

Here's the rest of the descriptors for INTP-T:

I think for the most part this is accurate for him, at least for how he perceives himself. But I think there are going to be some key differences between how he sees himself and how we, as observers, see him.

Let's start...

Introversion:

We definitely can't deny that he's introverted, and that's clear across all three personality types that were assigned to him. He's never meshed well with others, especially on first meetings, thanks to his abrasive personality and very thick walls. This introvertedness may not seem as obvious when one thinks about how badly he wants the attention of his family, and his willingness to go public with his past, etc. But think of those moments... of him recording himself, of him dancing in front of Enji as he revealed himself... think of those things as a performance. Think introverted theater kid. And even then, it wasn't exactly for the purpose of the public's attention, but for his father's attention. His broadcast? Pre-recorded, not live. His face-off with his dad? He didn't give a shit that others were there and watching; his focus narrowed like a singularity; it was only him and his father in that moment.

Another helpful thing to keep in mind is that Introversion doesn't mean you don't want to be around others; it just means that you recharge best when you are by yourself. Dabi still definitely wants to be seen by his loved ones, but I think he is naturally an introverted person in that isolation is something he enjoys as a way to rest and rejuvenate himself. I see him finding most people exhausting to be around.

Intuitive:

This was the one of the portions that differed from his MBTI on the personality database, and I actually agree with the test result more. I see Sensing/Observation as "the scientist" and Intuition as "the philosopher," and I definitely feel that Dabi is more Philosopher than Scientist. Whereas Sensing/Observation is more literal, in the now, and taking things at face value, Intuition is not. That's not to say that Dabi doesn't observe; he absolutely does. But he does so through the lens of his ideals and how all of these individual pieces fit together into his belief system.

Wikipedia describes Intuitive as "imagining the possibilities of how things could be; notice the big picture, see how everything connects; enjoy ideas and concepts for their own sake, and likes to describe things in a figurative, poetic way." While I don't necessarily see him as figurative or poetic, I do think he's a bit of an idealist. He's someone who looks at the bigger picture, who's able to extrapolate a lot of information through observation, more so than what's immediately in front of him. He's a bit of a creative genius in that way, and it's shown by how quickly he was able to develop his quirk through watching his father's battles, and later with his brother, with practically zero practice. Additionally, he's a dreamer, always wanting more for himself, even when he was young, which was why his inability to meet his father's standards was such a huge blow to him. He could see the big picture of heroism and what it meant to society, his family, and to his father (and by proxy to himself) and to not be able to see himself as a part of that picture was incredibly damaging for him. Now, this intuition isn't necessarily something he's utilized for positive gains, at least not positive for others; his focus is very selfish/self-centered in this regard. But he's still able to idealize, imagine, and extrapolate. I also think he'd enjoy deep conversations about morals and hypotheticals, and enjoy playing devil's advocate quite often. He never takes things at face-value, always looking at what's underneath.

Thinking:

This was an interesting one, and the one that I think I wouldn't exactly agree with as an observer of his character. BUT, I think Dabi would believe that he's more thinking than feeling. We know that he's incredibly ruled by his emotions in his decision-making; and I think he embraces those emotions a bit more openly once his big reveal finally happens and he's able to fully pursue his conflict with his father (and by proxy his brother). But, I think Dabi fancies himself as someone who thinks 'logically,' who is smart and isn't swayed by the hearts of others. We see this in how he keeps others at arm's length; at how he keeps a level head during the summer training camp arc, etc. But, at the same time, later on, we see more of his vulnerable side. His strangely kind gesture and words towards Toga was spurred by his care for her. His reaction to Twice's death heavily impacted how he battled Hawks. And of course, we see how emotional he really is with regards to his family.

Now granted, he would most definitely put a 'logical' decision that will get him the result he wants over someone else's feelings, in most cases. When it gets down to it, his feelings will take priority over others' feelings, 9 times out of 10. But that doesn't mean he's a Thinking type; that just means he's selfish, and that if anyone's feelings are going to be listened to, it'll be his own. This doesn't surprise me considering his history of being emotionally neglected, let alone all of the other things that happened to him. Typically, a Feeling type would have a strong sense of altruism for others because they can easier empathize with them... and I think a part of him does empathize with his league comrades, which was why he behaved the way he did with Twice and Toga. But I think overall for Dabi, his Feeling is turned more inward, as he's empathizing with himself. It's a form of self-preservation, a way for him to protect his damaged ego. It clouds his judgment in the sense that he thinks he's not emotional because he's not easily moved by others; and yet, he's very emotionally moved by himself and his own pain.

Perceiving/Prospecting:

This, along with introversion, was consistent across the board of all three methods I used to analyze Dabi. The definition alone from the test describes Dabi to a T; good at improvising and adapting; flexible noncomformist, valuing novelty over stability. Need I say more? Also, Wikipedia describes it as: prefer to leave your options open; see rules and deadlines as flexible; like to improvise; spontaneous...

By contrast, Judging is much more rigid/structured, which doesn't really fit Dabi at all. Judging is all about planning, organizing, staying on task and meeting deadlines... I think Dabi is far too ADHD for that (Shh, I'm not projecting, I swear!).

Just think of it this way: if Dabi had the perfect upbringing and never became a villain, what kind of job would you picture him having? Would he have a desk job, pushing papers and sitting through meetings, doing the 8-5 grind? Or would he have something a little more spontaneous, more flexible, something that would mentally (and likely physically) engage him?

I rest my case.

So, I'd say that there are two answers to your question. If you're really looking at what would Dabi identify himself as, I would say the test would be the most accurate: INTP. (he'd also really like the title of the Logician; it would totally stroke his ego!).

BUT, if you're looking for more what his "true" personality would be, I would say INFP.

Now, the irony of this is that I'm an INFP. Actually, I used to be an INFJ, and that's what I thought I was while writing most of this up. I retook the test earlier today because I was curious if my results had changed at all over the past few years, and apparently they did, and it just so happens to align with what I was assigning Dabi. This could either mean that me assigning INFP to Dabi is due to implicit bias, as I see a lot of myself in him and vice versa, and it's possible that the two have gotten muddled a bit. Alternatively, it could also mean that I'm able to write him so clearly because I understand his character and his personality in a very, well... personal way.

Anyway, I hope that helps! Let me know what you think and which MBTI type you think fits him best! 💕

[wokealqaeda]

Jason Patrick Callahan (April 18, 1976 – June 26, 1995), previously known as Grateful Doe and Jason Doe, was an American man who was killed in a car accident on June 26, 1995, in Emporia, Greensville County, Virginia. His body remained nameless until December 9, 2015. Earlier in 2015, photographs of an unknown male surfaced on a Facebook page for the John Doe. DNA testing later confirmed Callahan to be the unidentified man.

Jason was killed in a vehicle crash, along with the driver, Michael Eric Hager, after the Vanagon in which they were riding crashed into a pair of trees on U.S. Route 58 West around 1:30 PM on June 26, 1995. Neither man was wearing a seat belt, which likely contributed to each of their deaths. Found with Callahan's body were two scalped Grateful Dead tickets, a dollar in quarters, and a yellow Bic lighter. A letter was found, depending on sources either in Callahan's pocket or near the crash site, reading: "Jason, Sorry we had to go, see ya around, call me #914-XXXX. Caroline T. & Caroline O. Bye!!!!". The phone number on the letter lacked an area code and never led to any additional clues. The letter also contained a small drawing that some speculate may be of Jerry Garcia. The tickets were dated June 24, 1995, and June 25, 1995, respectively; the Grateful Dead performed at the Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium in Washington, D.C, on these dates. Authorities were able to trace the tickets to a Pennsylvania man, but the man turned out to be a ticket reseller and could not recall the details of who he sold them to. Neither of the 'Carolines' have ever been identified.

Before he was identified, Jason Callahan was estimated to be between the ages of fifteen and twenty-one years old, he had brown eyes with long curly brown or dark blond hair that had been dyed a reddish color. There was a tattoo of a star on his upper-left arm and another possible tattoo, which was faded, on his right arm, both of which appeared to have been amateurishly executed. He was wearing a beaded necklace and his left ear had been pierced but he was not wearing an earring. There was a scar found on his back. He was a Caucasian, had no apparent dental work as his third molars were visible, and his teeth were fairly well cared for. At the time of the accident, he was wearing a red, tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt, Levi's jeans, white socks and black Fila running shoes.

The vehicle's driver was identified as Michael E. Hager, 21, who may have picked Callahan up as a hitchhiker. Neither of the decedents had drugs or alcohol in their bodies and there was no discernible external cause for the crash, so authorities hypothesized that Hager could have fallen asleep at the wheel. It has been suggested that Hager may have agreed to transport Callahan because of their similar styles of dress, as they both appeared to be fans of The Grateful Dead. Authorities attempted to identify Callahan through fingerprint analysis with the aid of national databases, but were unsuccessful.

When interviewed, Hager's family could not identify the unknown passenger, who had been reported to have been riding in Hager's Volkswagen Vanagon when he stopped to give his father a letter in Williamsburg, Virginia. However, a detective from the area stated that this claim was not accurate, and that Hager was alone when he stopped to visit his father. It is speculated that Callahan had actually been picked up between Fairfax and Gloucester, Virginia.

Due to the severity of the lacerations on Callahan's face, mortuary photographs were not released to the public, although a facial reconstruction was later released. In 2012, another facial reconstruction was created by the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. At least 221 missing people were ruled out as possible identities of the victim. Investigators from Reddit and Facebook helped the case.

In 2015, photographs surfaced of a young man wearing similar clothes to those worn by the then-unidentified Callahan, and who bore a strong resemblance to the reconstruction images. The person in these photographs was named Jason and was described to have been a fan of the Grateful Dead. He had not been heard from since 1995 and was known to have lived in both Illinois and South Carolina. It had not yet been verified whether this was indeed the John Doe as his former roommates and other friends did not recall Jason's last name. The New York Post and BuzzFeed were some of the newspapers that covered the story.

In January 2015, law enforcement conducted a DNA test to see if the John Doe was the same man as Jason Patrick Callahan, the son of a 63-year-old woman who had not seen or heard from him since June 1995, when he left home to "follow the Grateful Dead". Callahan, who was identified as the young man in the photographs, is described as having been a white male with wavy blond hair and brown eyes, standing between 5 feet 10 inches and 6 feet tall, and weighing about 160 pounds . Callahan, if he was alive, would have been 38 at the time. Callahan was not reported missing by his mother until 2015.

Lt. Joey Crosby, spokesman for Myrtle Beach police, stated that Callahan's mother failed to file a report with police due to the nomadic nature of Grateful Dead fans. "She attempted to report it when he went missing but didn't know which jurisdiction to report it to," he said. Callahan's family also stated that they presumed he had gone to "live on his own, elsewhere."

After initial tests proved inconclusive, additional DNA testing confirmed that the body was indeed that of Jason Callahan.

[allaboutkeyingo]

SQL Server 2022 Edition and License instructions

SQL Server 2022 Editions:

• Enterprise Edition is ideal for applications requiring mission critical in-memory performance, security, and high availability

• Standard Edition delivers fully featured database capabilities for mid-tier applications and data marts

SQL Server 2022 is also available in free Developer and Express editions. Web Edition is offered in the Services Provider License Agreement (SPLA) program only.

And the Online Store Keyingo Provides the SQL Server 2017/2019/2022 Standard Edition.

SQL Server 2022 licensing models 

SQL Server 2022 offers customers a variety of licensing options aligned with how customers typically purchase specific workloads. There are two main licensing models that apply to SQL Server:  PER CORE: Gives customers a more precise measure of computing power and a more consistent licensing metric, regardless of whether solutions are deployed on physical servers on-premises, or in virtual or cloud environments. 

• Core based licensing is appropriate when customers are unable to count users/devices, have Internet/Extranet workloads or systems that integrate with external facing workloads.

• Under the Per Core model, customers license either by physical server (based on the full physical core count) or by virtual machine (based on virtual cores allocated), as further explained below.

SERVER + CAL: Provides the option to license users and/or devices, with low-cost access to incremental SQL Server deployments.   

• Each server running SQL Server software requires a server license.

• Each user and/or device accessing a licensed SQL Server requires a SQL Server CAL that is the same version or newer – for example, to access a SQL Server 2019 Standard Edition server, a user would need a SQL Server 2019 or 2022 CAL.

Each SQL Server CAL allows access to multiple licensed SQL Servers, including Standard Edition and legacy Business Intelligence and Enterprise Edition Servers.SQL Server 2022 Editions availability by licensing model:  

Physical core licensing – Enterprise Edition 

• Customers can deploy an unlimited number of VMs or containers on the server and utilize the full capacity of the licensed hardware, by fully licensing the server (or server farm) with Enterprise Edition core subscription licenses or licenses with SA coverage based on the total number of physical cores on the servers.

• Subscription licenses or SA provide(s) the option to run an unlimited number of virtual machines or containers to handle dynamic workloads and fully utilize the hardware’s computing power.

Virtual core licensing – Standard/Enterprise Edition 

When licensing by virtual core on a virtual OSE with subscription licenses or SA coverage on all virtual cores (including hyperthreaded cores) on the virtual OSE, customers may run any number of containers in that virtual OSE. This benefit applies both to Standard and Enterprise Edition.

Licensing for non-production use 

SQL Server 2022 Developer Edition provides a fully featured version of SQL Server software—including all the features and capabilities of Enterprise Edition—licensed for  development, test and demonstration purposes only.  Customers may install and run the SQL Server Developer Edition software on any number of devices. This is  significant because it allows customers to run the software  on multiple devices (for testing purposes, for example)  without having to license each non-production server  system for SQL Server.  

A production environment is defined as an environment  that is accessed by end-users of an application (such as an  Internet website) and that is used for more than gathering  feedback or acceptance testing of that application.   

SQL Server 2022 Developer Edition is a free product !

[covid-safer-hotties]

Long COVID is not the same for everyone: a hierarchical cluster analysis of Long COVID symptoms 9 and 12 months after SARS-CoV-2 test - Published Sept 19, 2024

Abstract Background Identifying symptom clusters in Long COVID is necessary for developing effective therapies for this diverse condition and improving the quality of life of those affected by this heterogeneous condition. In this study, we aimed to identify and compare symptom clusters at 9 and 12 months after a SARS-CoV-2 positive test and describe each cluster regarding factors at infection.

Methods This is a cross-sectional study with individuals randomly selected from the Portuguese National System of Epidemiological Surveillance (SINAVE) database. Individuals who had a positive RT-PCR SARS-CoV-2 test in August 2022 were contacted to participate in a telephonic interview approximately 9 and 12 months after the test. A hierarchical clustering analysis was performed, using Euclidean distance and Ward’s linkage. Clustering was performed in the 35 symptoms reported 9 and 12 months after the SARS-CoV-2 positive test and characterised considering age, sex, pre-existing health conditions and symptoms at time of SARS-CoV-2 infection.

Results 552 individuals were included at 9 months and 458 at 12 months. The median age was 52 years (IQR: 40–64 years) and 59% were female. Hypertension and high cholesterol were the most frequently reported pre-existing health conditions. Memory loss, fatigue or weakness and joint pain were the most frequent symptoms reported 9 and 12 months after the positive test. Four clusters were identified at both times: no or minor symptoms; multi-symptoms; joint pain; and neurocognitive-related symptoms. Clusters remained similar in both times, but, within the neurocognitive cluster, memory loss and concentration issues increased in frequency at 12 months. Multi-symptoms cluster had older people, more females and more pre-existing health conditions at 9 months. However, at 12 months, older people and those with more pre-existing health conditions were in joint pain cluster.

Conclusions Our results suggest that Long COVID is not the same for everyone. In our study, clusters remained similar at 9 and 12 months, except for a slight variation in the frequency of symptoms that composed each cluster. Understanding Long COVID clusters might help identify treatments for this condition. However, further validation of the observed clusters and analysis of its risk factors is needed.

[whysperingwoods]

If you don't already follow bplant.org, I highly recommend it! It's a great database to see which species are native in your area, and they're doing really incredible work.

Here are some highlights from the article:

---

How has the ornamental plant industry caused harm?

An overwhelming majority of the worst invasive plants in North America were intentionally introduced as landscaping plants. Our analysis of the 96 species on the Delaware Invasive Species Council's Invasive Plant List found that 67 of them, about 70%, originated as ornamental or landscaping plants, and only 7 of these ornamentals also had other uses such as food or fodder. Ornamentals (70%) are a much greater source of invasive introduction than other sources, such as accidental introduction (22%), food plants (11%), or other intentional uses (7%). (These figures add to more than 100% because some plants had multiple paths of introduction.)

[...]

The breeding likely contributed to these plants' invasiveness. The horticulture industry tends to select for traits such as climate hardiness, insect resistance, ease of propagation, and ability to survive in a range of conditions with little care. The selection for insect resistance increases the likelihood both that a plant will have a competitive advantage in the wild, and that it will lead to food web collapse if it does become invasive. The other traits contribute to invasiveness by increasing a plant's fitness in a new region.

Furthermore, when developing cultivars, horticulturalists often cross-breed plants from different sources throughout the plant's native range in order to access a greater pool of genetic diversity to work with. This process alone often increases the plant's vigor and thus its potential to become invasive.

[...]

Horticulture develops, promote, and sells plants with little to no regard for the unique habitat preferences of particular plants.

[...]

Not only does this phenomenon lead to stunted plants, it drives a lot of resource usage as people pour money and effort into irrigation, soil enrichment, or even importing new soil. In the West, such wasteful water usage worsens already-severe problems like depleted aquifers or the fact that the U.S. has used up nearly all the water in the Colorado River before it reaches its delta, which has devastated the delta's ecosystems and also devastated the fishing industry in the Gulf of California. Stressed plants growing on unsuitable sites can also create costly accidents, especially with trees, which can fall on buildings, vehicles, or even injure people.

[...]

Many of these lineages have been isolated from wild populations for generations now, and selected for traits such as insect resistance and propagation in a nursery setting. Even Mt. Cuba Center, often hailed as a leader in the native plant movement, suffers from this approach. Although Mt. Cuba makes sure their plants provide value to the food web through functioning as insect food, their trial garden still tests plants only in a typical garden setting, meaning a mulch bed in more-or-less mesic conditions (moist and well-drained.) Plants adapted to other conditions are given a lower score if they perform poorly in test plots, even if they thrive in the more naturalistic gardens elsewhere on the grounds. Plant breeders are often selecting for similar characteristics, and thus may breed out the traits that make plants adapted to their unique habitat in the wild. When people buy and plant nursery-grown plants, whether in their yards or gardens, or in ecological restoration projects, they are adding genetics which have three features:

The source population(s) are unknown.

Multiple source populations, perhaps far apart, may have been interbred to produce the line.

The plants have been selected, often over many generations, for horticultural attributes.

[...]

What can you do to encourage the necessary change?

If you are only a customer of the nursery industry, whether as an individual, or a large-scale buyer, probably the most important thing you can do to stop buying into nurseries that are far from following best practices on these matters. Do not buy any non-native ornamental plants. If you have not already done so, sign and share the petition to stop Home Depot from selling invasive plants, and support state-level efforts to restrict or ban the sale of invasive plants.

I would go farther, however, and recommend to avoid purchasing any plants that are not derived from local, wild populations. The nursery industry is not going to change just because a minority of people tell them to; they will change when the economics force them to. When you buy plants, even native plants, whose origins are unknown, you support the status quo. And the status quo is a lose-lose. The wholesale nursery industry mass-produces plants of unknown origin, mass-markets them, and most of them get shipped over long distances only to get sold mostly at box retailers where the jobs selling them are low-skill and low-pay. The plants themselves are often unhealthy, and can sometimes pose ecological problems when planted.

---

The article is very in-depth, and even discusses alternate business models for nurseries that could help to address these issues.

[annaphoenix1994]

The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

The following morning, Simon refused to let Kiera up early as he viewed five a.m. to be too early for anyone to get up to work, in his opinion. "Babe, I need to get up." She sighed, showing no sign of getting up herself, pressing her head against his chest as she turned over, Simon embracing her gesture and rubbing her bare arm. 

"You've been up early all week. You need rest and haven't slown down since we got back."

"I need to find out who killed our cattle." 

"And you will, but you can't keep searching unless you don't rest first." 

She sighed against his chest, rolling her eyes as she did as she was told, Simon's face holding a smirk with victory as he got up when she did.

Every day.

A few hours later, Simon awoke to peppered kisses against his bare chest. His favorite way to wake up if he were to be honest. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, the other gripping her arm as a way to tell her he was awake. "We overslept." She whispered, a giggle following suit.

"Worth it." He mumbled, moving his body to where he was between her legs, his warm skin colliding with her cold stomach, goosebumps erecting on his arms. He nestled his head under her breasts, hearing her heartbeat increase as she giggled, his arms forcing themselves between her body and the bed seeking warmth. 

Her fingers splayed through his dirty-blonde hair, her fingernails scratching his scalp comfortingly as they both enjoyed the position. He promised himself he wouldn't stay in the position long due to the worry of crushing her with his weight, but she kept insisting he stay where he was every time he tried to get up, both dozing back off once relaxed. 

Kiera's eyes fluttered open to the sound of her phone ringing. Looking to her right, she noticed it was a familiar caller responding to her voicemail. She kept combing her fingers through Simon's hair, unaware that he had woken up the minute he heard her phone vibrating, his position concealing her view to his face. "Hello?" She sighed, putting the phone on speaker and setting it beside her. 

"Kiera, I'm sorry I'm just now hearing your voicemail. Have a good Christmas?" 

"Oh, yeah, aside from an entire pasture of cattle being killed, it's been good." She scoffed. 

Laswell sighed over the other end of the phone, "I'm sorry. How can I help?" 

"I need you to run a name through the FAA database." 

"I'm in front of my computer now," Laswell replied. "Shoot." 

"Look up Hershel Shepherd." 

Simon's gaze peered up at her, his eyes connecting to hers as they could distinctly hear Laswell typing on her keyboard on the other end of the phone. 

"Seems like he owns a plane," Laswell replied. "He's not a licensed pilot, though."

"He had someone else fly it." Kiera mumbled under her breath. 

"Hm?" 

"Nothing," She replied, sighing. "Where's it being kept at?" 

"Looks like it's being held in a private facility just outside of Powell, Wyoming. I'm not seeing any recent flight logs." 

"That's only about an hour from here," Kiera said, Simon noticing that her heart rate was increasing. "Are you saying this motherfucker had the balls to "relocate"?" 

"It's hard to say. Many people with judicial power have locations all over the map for privately-owned equipment."

"Yeah? Well, this is too much of a coincidence," She raised a brow. "Who's the pilot on the flight logs?" 

"Hold on," Laswell replied, intense typing muffling the silence through the phone. "Looks like the most recent flight was performed by a Malcolm Childress. Does that name ring a bell?" 

Kiera sighed heavily, "It sure as shit does. How recent was the last flight?" 

"I'm seeing a test flight and inspection done on December fourteenth. Nothing after that." 

"How many logs is he on?" 

"He's on all of them so far." 

"Run his name through the FAA, too. Get me current address." 

"Sure, give me a few minutes. I'll call you back and let you know." 

"Text it to me. I'm going to get ready." 

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything else." 

Simon watched as Kiera hung up, a sharp glare in her eye - a glare he only recognized when she was on the battlefield.

She was on a warpath.

Kiera pat Simon's bare shoulder, assuming that he was still asleep when he looked up at her, his tired eyes begging her to stay in bed longer instead of conquering the brutal Wyoming weather, but he knew better than to beg her.

She yawned as she forced herself to sit up in the bed, the chilled air kissing her shoulders and causing her to shiver. Simon watched her dress, admiring her battle scars that littered her feminine skin. 

She was incredible. 

"Care to join me for breakfast?" He asked, coming up behind her to stare at her through the mirror, watching her study the insecurities he saw as beauty.

She nodded, "Always, babe."

He kissed her neck at the nickname he grew to love as much as her. "Just wish you'd led me cook breakfast for once." She continued. 

He shook his head against her neck, "Gotta get up early to cook me breakfast, love." 

She scoffed, "I do! You just don't let me get up!" 

"I know." He smirked, pressing another kiss to her neck, feeling her sigh. 

"You up for a drive today?" 

"If you want me to," He replied, looking at her through the mirror, seeing the worry on her face. "What about the guys?" 

"Hell they can come too if they want," She snickered. "I shouldn't need another gun today." 

"I'll always be by your side, love. Don't ever think I won't. I'll go get Johnny and we'll come with you." 

"Okay," She nodded, glancing at him through the mirror before turning to face him. "This is my life, babe. You sure you want to stick around for it?" 

"Like I've said before, I don't care what life throws at me. As long as I'm with you." 

"I can say the same, baby." 

"Was hoping you'd say that." He chuckled, looking down at her to watch her lips get closer to his. 

She hummed against his lips, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her fingers toying with the chain of his dog tags. 

»»-------¤-------««

"You ready?" Simon asked Johnny as he slipped on his coat. 

"You know it, L.T." He nodded.

"Where's everybody else?" 

"Down at the ranch. They're dying to help out and live the lifestyle," He replied. "Can't blame them. There's not anything like this where we're from." 

"I know."

The pair walked from the house, meeting Kiera at the truck, seeing both Lawson and Frankie approaching her on horseback, each carrying a rifle in their scabbard. "How many?" She asked, walking up to them. 

Lawson pulled a notepad from his vest pocket, "Two hundred and eighty." He sighed. 

"Goddammit," She grumbled, moving a mound of gravel with her boot. "Go up to the lodge and tell dad. I'm making a trip to Powell." 

"Okay. Those boys you brought over here are down at the barn helping us today. That boy of Alejandro's is dying to tag a calf." 

She chuckled, "Well, let him learn. Run 'em through a chute and let him have at it." 

Lawson nodded, "Yes ma'am." 

"I'm taking Simon and Johnny with me today. If you see Price, just let him know." 

"Sure. They have badges?" 

"They don't need one. Just me." 

"Then why are they going with you?" Frankie questioned, furrowing his brows.

"Insurance."

»»-------¤-------«« 

The drive to Powell was quiet, aside from the sound of Soap eating on his breakfast after he had begged Kiera to stop at the local McDonald's, claiming that their hash browns were "too good to pass up."

"What're we doing here?" Johnny asked, oblivious to the point of the trip.

"Looking for someone." 

His face held a confused look, "I-I thought we were looking for a plane?" 

"Change of plans, Johnny." Simon grumbled, looking to his right out the window, admiring the landscape along the road.

Simon watched as Kiera fumbled with her phone, looking at the caller ID before hitting 'accept.' "Yeah?" 

"Okay, I have an address for Malcom Childress," Laswell said. "He has an office on Main Street in Powell." 

"Figured he'd stay in the military." She scoffed. 

"Well, there's something you should know about that." 

"And what's that?" 

"Graves used to be his superior. He was on Shadow Team with him for the last two tours performed."

"Fucking figures." 

"He's a real estate broker in Powell. He got home after Thanksgiving. And Kiera," Laswell sighed. "He survived the raid of Alejandro's HQ." 

"That's impossible. We swept the whole thing!" 

"Unless he escaped. We don't know for sure, but I confirmed he was there. He was awarded with a Purple Heart recently." 

"Shit," Kiera scoffed. "Guess they award the ones who don't need it, huh?" 

"I guess so. Be considerate about this, Kiera." Laswell advised. 

"Oh, I'm as considerate as the next person." She scoffed, ending her call with Laswell as her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Simon watched her gaze on the road, her pupils dilating as her anger changed her complexion as she took the exit to Powell. 

Once at the location, Kiera parked the truck on the side of the road, informing both Simon and Johnny to stay in the vehicle as she approached the gate, a guard stopping her immediately. She removed her badge from behind the confines of her vest before the gate opened. Simon watched with his stark gaze, watching as she disappeared from his line of sight. His palm rested on the pistol that was wedged between the console and the seat. 

His leg shook impatiently as twenty minutes passed by, the diesel idling under his weight before the door opened. "Everything okay?" He asked her. 

"Looked at everything I could. Need to go into town and pay a visit." 

"Where to?" Johnny asked. 

"That motherfucker's office." She replied, looking at him through the rear-view mirror of the truck before putting it in gear. 

Oh, shit, Simon huffed to himself, knowing what was to come next. 

»»-------¤-------«« 

"You two can come with if you want." She said, parking the truck and removing her vest, tossing it into the backseat before they all exited the truck, both Simon and Johnny walking closely behind her as she entered the office. 

"Hello," The receptionist smiled at her, her brows furrowing as she recognized the anger on Kiera's face. "How can I help you?" 

"Is Malcom Childress here?" 

"Um, did you have an appointment?" She asked, looking at her computer. 

Kiera looked at her before looking to her right, seeing the man in question dressed in a suit and tie, entering his glass-enclosed office as if he had no problem in the world. 

But he was about to. 

She glared at him, knowing he was unaware of her presence, "That's not what I asked." 

Johnny and Simon glanced at each other, following Kiera as she stormed towards Malcom's office, grabbing a bottle of fine wine from the side table that was offered for the representatives working overtime as well as dinners at the office. A guard standing point next to his office, grasped his pistol, removing it from its holster, Kiera beating him to the carnage by using the bottle and disarming him first by slamming the bottle into his armed wrist before bringing it to meet his jaw, causing him to fall to the floor before she stormed into Malcom's office, throwing the bottle at him without any hesitation. 

He gasped, ducking down to the floor to avoid the shards of glass, yelling "what the fuck!" before recognizing who was in his office. 

She walked around his desk, pointing her finger, "Why in the fuck are you here?" 

"I have every right to be here?!" He shouted. 

"Awful weird coincidence you're here all of a sudden? What happened to staying in Texas? Got tired of laying pipe to your ole lady? Or did she catch you cheating with your military card?" 

He stepped closer to her, narrowing his eyes, unaware that Simon had stepped closer after seeing Malcom try to intimidate her. Not on my watch. 

"You don't know what you're talking about." He growled. 

"If I didn't know what I was talking about, I wouldn't have said it," She hissed. "How much is Shepherd paying you, huh? How much did he pay you to kill our cattle?" 

"I plead the fifth." 

She pursed her lips, grasping Malcom by the collar and forcing him against the wall. He tried to fight back with his strength, easily overpowering her until Simon stepped in, asserting dominance immediately by keeping Malcom pinned against the wall. "You touch her and that's the last thing you'll ever do." He warned. 

"I didn't kill your cows!" He shouted at her. "But I wish I did. I'd kill every head of livestock you had." 

"But you flew the plane, huh?" She grumbled, watching his bodyguard stumble into the office. "A little late." She snarked at him, watching Malcom nod his head at him to stand down. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Malcom grumbled at her. 

"Bullshit. If you didn't do it, I wouldn't be here, but yet Shepherd has you running his goddamn plane all over the area of our ranch, huh?"

"I haven't flown since the military." 

"I'm not going to say this again," She warned, grabbing a shard of broken bottle and holding it to his neck. "Your name is all over the fucking flight logs. All recent flights are within a hundred mile radius of our ranch and I know you're not flying for shits and giggles." 

"Then why are you here? Why are you doing this, huh? If you know whose plane it is then why aren't you going after him?" 

"Because you're first on my list. I'm going for him after I take out the trash." 

"Then you should walk out that door before you play the wrong game." 

"Is that a threat, mate?" Simon hissed.

"Maybe." 

"You know, Malcom, you know as well as I do that's a dance with the devil if you fuck with me." She warned. 

"Then let's dance if that's what you want," He grumbled, the vein in his temple tapping at the thin skin of his forehead. "Fucking coming in here thinking you own the place and threatening me for flying a fucking plane." 

"By the time I'm done, I'll have the trash taken out and own this place. I'll have your PPL hanging above my fucking toilet." 

"It'd look nice, wouldn't it?" He smirked. "So what if I can fly a plane?" 

"It's not that you can fly a plane, it's where you've been flying it. Especially considering that it doesn't belong to you." 

She nodded for Simon to let him go, watching Malcom hunch over to catch his breath. "Don't make me come back." She warned. 

"What happens if you do?" He scoffed. 

"If I do, you won't walk out." 

Simon and Johnny followed behind her, watching the guard glance over her with a sarcastic comment playing at his lips. "Nice move." He said, referring to her technique of disarming him. 

"It wasn't a move. I'm just meaner than you."

[kriosv]

Fictional Media should embrace the idea of Private Forensics Labs.

I've been holding onto this idea for a while. While in college(focus on writing for performance), i took a class called Chemistry for Science Fiction, which dealt with real world sciences and laws and how they effect genre media. We had lessons such as: how many laws did this fictional lawyer/forensic scientist break? What real would equivilant do we have to the nanotech in Jason X? Etc.

Now, the professor of this class brought a lot of personal experience because he was a forensic scientist for the police. And he brought up this important fact:

Most police departments do not have an all encompassing forensics lab. Police need a specific type of test done? Something that involves specialized equipment and isn't as common or easy as fingerprinting? You go to a privately owned forensics lab that specializes in that. Even something like DrugFire, the US police forces database for firearm identification and cataloging was made by a private company.

So my question is...

Where are all the private forensics labs in fiction?!?

Think about how popular private eyes are in fiction. They are everywhere! We should give them a lab FULL of quirky side characters who love science but don't work for the police!

Think about all the characters who are stuck in police procedurals. The side characters in criminal minds and NCIS who could have more freedom and fun working for the Benoit Blancs of the world.

Look at superheroes. There are plenty of superheroes who go into private i work, why not private forensics? Imagine Peter Parker or Barry Allen opening private labs where they can leave at any time and work with the Alias's and Slam Bradley's of their world!

Why are we wasting this perfect opportunity for character archetypes and storylines

TLDR; Private Forensic Scientists should be as popular in fiction as Private Detectives!