#predictive dialing system

[brattyfics]

Sins of The Flesh II

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC [Riley]

Wordcount: 3,000+

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Alternate Universe (Mike Is Alive), P in V, Spanking Aftermath, Mentions of Heaven/Hell, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Absolute Filth, Breeding Kink, Oral (Female Receiving)

A/N: Part One should be read first. Divider by fireflygraphics. I'm kind of embarrassed, but not really because y'all are nasty too.

“I want grits with a salmon croquette and chicken sausage. Can you get me a strawberry lemonade too? Their lemonade is amazing.”

Riley lay on her stomach in bed, facing Terry, who was propped up against the headboard, cell phone in hand. He rubbed between her shoulder blades, his touch gentle and soothing as he dialed up the brunch restaurant. Freshly bathed and wrapped up in one of his Marines T-shirts, she felt almost like she was floating. Having Terry there, being so attentive and caring, was exactly what she needed after their time apart.

“You want a side of bacon, too?” he asked, eyeing her with a raised brow. He knew her too well—she always said no, but then asked for some of his when the food arrived. “No, I don't need that much. Just a little bit.” She pinched her fingers together, mimicking a tiny portion.

“I’ll just have some of yours. You’ll share, right, baby?” She reached over lazily to rub his forearm, her fingers caressing the scar above his wrist. His expression softened as he gazed into her sweet brown eyes. She was so mesmerizing without even trying.

“Of course. Whatever you want,” he said, placing the order without the bacon but adding on an order of beignets. They were her guilty pleasure and he enjoyed tasting the powdered sugar that lingered on her lips afterward.

He tossed his phone aside after learning the total. “It’ll be here in an hour.”

“An hour?” she sighed deeply, “I’m going to starve by then.” After church hunger hit differently, and his spanking had drained her energy even more. She needed a nap and a big hearty meal to recover.

“You’ll be a’ight,” he grinned, shaking his head slightly as he laughed. "As soon as you take that first bite, you'll be saying it was worth the wait." Riley erupted into laughter, surprised at how predictable she really was. “Quit acting like you got me all figured out,” she giggled, tracing the lines of his palms with her fingers. “Today could be different, you never know.”

“You say that every week, babe.”

“I could change my mind,” she insisted, coming up with all kinds of scenarios—like missing chicken sausage or a plain lemonade that would throw her whole day off. The beignets could arrive soggy or without enough powdered sugar.

"You just talkin' to be talkin', huh?" He cut her off, tickling her sides until she was shrieking and wiggling away from him. She swatted at his hands, enjoying the lightness of the moment and teasing him back, “You know you love when I run my mouth.”

“You got a gift for keeping things interesting, that’s for sure.” He admitted, gaze drawn to her backside as her legs kicked up playfully behind her. The moments when it felt like it was just the two of them in the entire world with nothing else to worry about were her favorite.

“See? I knew you liked all this mouth.”

“Yeah, but that mouth is what keeps getting you into trouble, too.” He reminded her with a gentle kiss, his hands sliding down to her waist. Riley smiled up at him, bright and beautiful, and he knew he couldn’t deny her anything. Her parents had spoiled their only child, and Terry nurtured that spirit, indulging her in every way. She’d run all over him if he let her, which is why their little “checks and balances” system was necessary.

"Let me see what we’re working with," He tugged her closer by her arms, brushing off her protests as he lifted the oversized T-shirt to her waist, eager to examine his handiwork. She’d soaked in an oatmeal bath for half an hour, but her butt was still welted, bearing the marks of his handprints.

"Damn, baby, I really did a number on you."

Riley propped herself up on her elbows. "I'm fine," she assured him softly. "I needed it." The release had allowed her to shed the tension that had built up over the past week, though her body was still aching.

“Let me go ahead and put some cream on that for you,” he insisted.

Earlier, she'd brushed off his offer, insisting it hurt too much and that waiting until after her bath would be best. She groaned, realizing she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Terry was all about that aftercare—always checking to make sure she was genuinely okay. He reached into the bedside drawer, pulled out the tube of homemade cream—a mix of shea butter and aloe vera gel—and then settled in behind her.

He knelt on his haunches, positioned between her legs while she buried her face in the sheets. She heard the cap pop open, followed by the sound of his hands rubbing together to warm the cream.

She hissed as he began to work magic, his touch gentle but precise.

Her eyes were tightly shut, but she could easily picture his arms flexing as he kneaded her skin. He was as skilled as any professional massage therapist. She never questioned where he’d learned that skill or how he’d perfected it. She preferred to remain ignorant. The thought of him using those hands on other women, touching them the same way, drove her up the wall.

That primal instinct constantly gnawed at her, igniting an ugly possessiveness she couldn’t rein in.

The last time they went on a dinner date, she was convinced the older woman at the table next to them was intentionally dropping her napkin just to get Terry to keep picking it up. That lady took every opportunity to touch his hands, leaning in way too close for comfort. It didn’t take all that just to say 'thank you'.

Afterward, she told him she never wanted to go back, pretending it was because the tables were too close together. The truth was, she felt too embarrassed to admit she was jealous of someone old enough to be her grandma for no good reason.

Then there were the young women who couldn’t resist trying their luck. The same girls she grew up with at church would ask, “Terry, can you bring my donations in for me? They’re so heavy. Terry, can you carry these cakes in? Terry, will you come out to the car and grab these cans of soda?”

They knew damn well they were dragging their own donations in before he started showing up. So she made it a point to lag behind on Sunday mornings. They wouldn’t be late, but they also wouldn’t arrive early enough for anyone to take advantage.

And don’t get her started on the women at the grocery store; they were the absolute worst!

They’d whisper and watch Terry as he walked through the aisles. He’d bend down and reach for everything Riley pointed out, completely oblivious to their lingering. They clustered around when he loaded up the cart with water. It drove her so crazy that she eventually started ordering her groceries for pickup, insisting he unload them at home.

All that fine was for her eyes only.

Gradually, the burning sting began to subside. What had felt like a raging fire now simmered down to a dull, tender ache. “Feel better?” he asked, kissing the back of her neck. “Mhm,” she hummed lazily, on the verge of falling asleep.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “I'm supposed to look after you. You don’t need to thank me for that.” She had a way of bringing out his softer side, making him feel more tender than he ever planned to be. “You had it coming, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it.”

“I told you I’m fine, baby.”

"Doesn't mean I can't kiss it better."

She bit her lip, wishing he would finally grant her the one request she’d been making all day. The waiting felt like a tightrope walk—teetering on the edge of cruel and unusual punishment.

“But I gotta make sure I’ve got all my bases covered first," he said as he helped her onto her hands and knees, applying gentle pressure to her back until she arched.

Slivers of light filtered through the closed blinds, bouncing off her moisturized, glossy skin. He watched, enthralled, as her hips swayed back and forth, fueled by all that pent-up energy. He couldn’t look away from the swollen, soft pink. 

"Yeah, I’mma make it all better with a kiss." He pledged, carefully using both of his hands to part her open before pressing a gentle kiss against her slit. She panted, heart racing as he kissed her pussy the same way he kissed her lips—slow and sensual, taking his sweet time before sliding his tongue in.

He teased her with his words in between.

"You always taste so good."

"I missed this pussy while I was away."

"It's all I could think about."

"Such a sweet girl, baby."

Riley jolted forward, squealing in surprise when the tip of his tongue brushed her sensitive clit. “Don’t move,” He instructed sternly, grabbing hold of the back of her thighs. His tongue lavished her wet pussy as she squirmed; warm, wet, methodical, and engineered to drive her wild. Terry was such a fucking menace.

"Wait a second, baby," She tried to gather herself, groaning and shifting her hips, as if another moment would make his teasing any easier to endure. She bit her lip to stifle her sounds, but he wasn't having that. Terry wrapped his arms under her legs until he had her firmly secured.

"What did I say?" She struggled against his grip but found it was iron-tight. "Don't run from me," He warned like he didn't already have her pinned down and at his mercy.

He took full advantage of her vulnerable position, zeroing in on her puffy clit, sucking, licking, and devouring her like a starved man. She clawed at his hands, but it was useless.

“Oh God!" She gasped, convinced he was one of the devil’s soldiers, sent to torment and steal her soul. Nothing else made sense. She’d never met a man so skilled and deliberate in driving her insane. 

“You good, baby?” She heard the smirk in his voice, certain that this was some new form of torture. The only time she caught a break was when he took a second to breathe, and even then, he was right back at it, pushing her limits all over again. His mouth was even more skilled than his hands, working her over soft and deliberate until she was trembling.

Terry was indeed a fucking menace, but she was his willing prey, moaning that it was too much while pushing her hips back for more. Her essence dripped onto his tongue and down his chin, sweet and sticky like ripe mango.

"I'm gonna come!" She wailed, grinding against his face.

Terry pawed at her butt, a surge of aggression washing over him. It took everything not to spank her ass some more. He stuffed his face where she wanted it, letting her ride his tongue until she creamed all over it.

“Shit!” she screamed, collapsing forward as her hips jerked uncontrollably. 

The sound of his shorts falling to the floor faded into the background as blood rushed to her ears, drowning out everything else. Before she realized it, he flipped her onto her back, placing one pillow under her head and another beneath her back to ease the pressure on her bottom. He lifted her hips, positioning himself to slide between her legs.

The tip of his dick leaked as he stroked it, grunting softly as he tried to mentally prepare for the tight fit. Her pussy was still clenching down on nothing, hungry for something more.

“Come ‘ere,” Riley urged, pulling him down to her lips for a deep kiss and moaning wantonly as she tasted herself. She wrapped her arms and legs tight around Terry’s large frame, grinding down against his hard dick. Her chest felt tight with emotions that were too intense.

I love you to death. You mean everything to me. I need you.

Terry could ask her to do just anything in that moment, and she’d say yes without a second thought. She’d agree to have ten children if that's what he wanted. She wanted a permanent connection, something to bind them together forever—a family of their own.

"You ready for more, pretty girl?"

"I'll take whatever you give me," She promised softly, laser-focused on his big dick as he teased at her entrance. She was fatigued, but finally getting what she had been fantasizing about all week. Deep brown skin, mesmerizing hazel eyes, and a strong, muscular build that could surround her completely.

Her face contorted, brows furrowed and mouth agape as he pushed in. Terry pressed his face into her neck, letting out a soft groan as she ran her fingers soothingly along his back. "I love you," she confessed, unable to contain the emotion any longer as he began to move his hips.

Terry could barely think straight with her squeezing him so tightly, but he managed to work up to a steady rhythm, gently pushing and pulling until he was fully sheathed inside her. Riley gripped his arms for dear life as he occupied every inch of her.

“Can’t believe you thought I was giving this to somebody else,” He let out a loud grunt, thrusting deep. "I already got my hands full with you, baby."

Riley was his own little slice of heaven, perfectly crafted just for him. He never imagined he could love someone so deeply that being apart from her felt like he was missing a limb. As he slipped into her, he remembered how she had accused him of cheating when she was the only thing on his mind. Her sweet magnolia scent and those beautiful brown eyes—she was his master, and she didn’t even realize it.

"Fuck me," She ordered with the urgency of a drill sergeant, grabbing his ass and pushing him deeper. She wanted him buried inside of her. “That feels so good.” She growled out.

“Keep fucking me, just like that.”

"Fuck this tight pussy, Daddy.”

“I missed this dick so fucking much.”

“I’ve been thinking about it everyday.”

She didn’t usually speak that way, but something was taking over her, making the vulgar words spill from her lips effortlessly.

It had taken all his restraint not to give in to her earlier, but it was worth it for this moment. The way her heat molded around him, fitting him perfectly as she clung to him, desperate and wanton.

“You’re being so rough with me, baby!” she exclaimed, though there was no hint of complaint. Terry was manhandling her like a ragdoll, and she loved every second of it. Watching such a disciplined man lose control over her was exhilarating.

Terry tried to restrain his darker urges around her, but she was so beautiful when she cried. It only fueled his hunger, driving him to be even more aggressive. She clawed at his back, yelling out when his balls smacked her tender ass.

“I wanna have your baby, Daddy.” Riley confessed with tears in her eyes. She knew she had to be losing her mind, but she meant every word.

Terry’s hips faltered. “What did you just say?”

“I want to give you a baby. I want us to have a baby together. Can we, please?”

Every conversation they’d had about having children had ultimately come down to the understanding that they needed to be married first before starting a family. The pullout method, however dangerous, had worked for them thus far. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, but she knew exactly what to say to get what she wanted out of him. "I want to be the one to give you a baby, Daddy. The only one.”

Terry cursed, struggling to keep his composure. His own mind was foggy with love and lust. Her parents would be furious if he got her pregnant before marriage, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. They could go ring shopping tomorrow and then apply for the marriage license right after. It was just paperwork—he already knew how he felt.

“You for real?” He imagined her big and round, pregnant and filled with his child. Relying on him to help her tie her shoes or assemble a crib for their child.

"Yes!" she replied eagerly, her eyes shining with desire.

“You want me to make you a mommy?”

“Yes, I’m ready to have all your babies, Daddy.” Babies? She always had to take it a step further. The bare minimum was never enough for her. She was utterly spoiled, and their children would undoubtedly be the same.

“How am I supposed to turn you down when you ask so sweet?” Terry leaned in closer, his breath warm against her neck as he let out a low growl. “If you want my baby, you’re gonna have to be a really good girl and keep that pussy open for me.”

“If you keep giving it to me good, I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’ll cum deep in that creamy pussy and give you a baby.”

She was so wet that everything felt slick, her brown eyes glazed over with desire. He knew he should try to be the responsible one, but all he could think about was filling her womb and giving her the beautiful baby she was begging him for. “Tell me you’re mine,” he says, gripping her neck firmly, leaving her breathless.

“I-," The doorbell rings, and it takes her a few moments to process the sound. Terry doesn’t stop, sweat dripping down his face and onto her skin, mixing with hers. It’s as if he’s in a trance, unable to concentrate on anything but his mission.

“Oh my God,” she cries, pushing at his firm stomach for when he strikes a particularly sensitive spot inside of her. Terry forced her up the bed with each powerful motion of his hips, fucking her harder and deeper than he ever had before.

“Relax. It's probably the food," He crooned, brushing her hands aside. "I’ll get it, but I need to give you my baby first.”

“Oh my God,” She braced herself as the pressure built in her belly. Terry was driving himself deep and hard in her pussy like he had a point to prove. He really wanted that baby. With her eyes closed shut, Riley surrendered, pinching and pulling on her nipples until she was soaking Terry and the sheets beneath them. He held her down, ensuring she couldn’t escape as he flooded her with cum.

“Oh my god,” she repeated incessantly, like a broken record. All of his weight settled on top of her, their foreheads touching. She gazed into his eyes, the realization of what they had just done beginning to sink in. She didn’t have any regrets; she was eager to claim him as hers forever. Excited to nurture a child who represented the best of each of them.

Terry leaned in, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss that lingered as if he were trying to memorize the taste of her. When he finally pulled away, it was with reluctance, his gaze locked on hers. He couldn’t find any hint of regret in her eyes, and he certainly didn’t have any himself.

"Thank you, Daddy." She cooed, reaching down to stroke her clit. He watched, entranced as their slick oozed out of her. It felt like he was hardwired for it, instinctively wanting to fill her up again and push in deep. “Whatever happens next, I’m gonna take care of you.” He vowed, his warm hand pressing gently on her belly. He silently prayed for a favorable outcome, hoping it would lead to a little baby in the next ten months.

She brushed the sweat from his forehead with the back of her hand. “I know. I love you and trust you completely. I really want us to be a family.”

“We will be,” he said with a conviction that tugged at her heartstrings.

The doorbell rang again.

“The food,” she reminded him, gently pushing him back before they got too caught up in the moment. She needed a moment to catch her breath anyway. The tension between them was smoldering.

He cursed under his breath as he reluctantly pulled away, picking up his shorts from the floor and then his wallet from the dresser. She heard the faint sound of the door alarm as the front door opened, followed by quiet voices conversing while she stared up at the ceiling.

Her heavy eyelids fluttered shut. There was no way she'd be able to go to work in the morning.

Terry eventually shuffled back into the room, holding the tied bag in his large hands like a prized catch. “Come on. Let’s put something else in your belly before you knock out on me.”

Thoughts? Lol 😂

Tagging the people who asked for a second installment:

@sageispunk @avoidthings @megamindsecretlair @planetblaque

[scientia-rex]

I made that post about how smoking is bad—actually, no, I’ve made two relatively popular posts about how smoking is bad for you. Raises your chances of dying from multiple factors including heart disease and stroke in addition to lung (and mouth, throat, and bladder) cancer.

I am always so baffled by the responses going “well I could die from something else!” Yes. You could. Statistically speaking, you will most likely die of heart disease, stroke, or cancer, if you live in the US. Your average life expectancy is somewhere around 78 for women, 76 for men. Many people die younger than that, for a lot of reasons. Many of my patients have illnesses that will shorten their lives. I hate to split it into “fault,” as if there’s some kind of perfect way to live a blameless life. (There isn’t.) The numbers, however, are both clear and pitiless. People who smoke are more likely to die younger than they otherwise might have.

Medicine is a numbers game. My job is not to psychically predict exactly what will punch your ticket and when. It is to improve your odds. I want you to both live as long a life as possible but also as high-quality a life as possible. I want for you to live a life you enjoy.

It’s that simple; it’s not sinister. I’m not out here going “I’ll tell them not to smoke so they can have LESS FUN before getting hit by a bus at 30!”

Because smoking isn’t actually fun. What it is, is a very quick (and faster = more addictive) reduction in physical feedback systems that heighten anxiety. Withdrawal of an unpleasant stimulus is rewarding. (Technically, it’s a negative reward; the negative doesn’t refer to a moral judgment, but the addition or subtraction of a stimulus.) Something that is very rewarding very fast will be very addictive. It’s why crack cocaine is also so addictive—it is also a very fast and very potent reward. It’s also why benzodiazepines like Xanax are so addictive to so many people; it’s a slower peak blood level but the removal of severe anxiety is profoundly rewarding.

So smoking can make you feel better when you do it. But your body will try to fix any broken signals. It doesn’t just want to be able to signal to you when you need to feel stressed: it has to be able to signal you, or your long-ago ancestors would have been eaten by predators. So it ramps up the signaling. Now you’re not smoking because you feel better than baseline; you’re smoking to get back to baseline.

That’s why quitting sucks. When you quit smoking, all of the sudden your body’s signals of stress that got dialed up to 11 to overcome the nicotine are just out there at full blast, making you feel scared and jittery and irritable. It’s why when you quit benzos (or daily alcohol) cold turkey you can get life-threatening seizures. It’s why when you stop alcohol you’re likely to have sleep disruptions that can persist for weeks to months.

That’s why things that help reduce the suckage can help. Nicotine patches, lozenges, or gum. Chantix. Wellbutrin. Slowly stepping down the nicotine level on your vape. Eating more, eating things you like. (I would 1000% rather have a patient be fat than be smoking. I know other people will be shittier to you if you gain weight. Living is worth it.) Being kind to yourself helps you quit smoking. You need to recognize that “quitting smoking you” is not your baseline you. It is you with an invisible illness that will take weeks to months to get over.

And sometimes you can’t face that hump right now. But if you want to maximize your odds of the longest and healthiest possible life, knowing that any number of terrible things can happen to you at any time, making the effort—over and over again, if you need to—is the best shot you have.

There are a couple of conditions where smoking does markedly reduce symptoms. The well-known ones are schizophrenia and Crohn’s disease. If you feel not just better, but better like this is a medication for you, like you poop blood or hear things without it, talk to your primary care provider, because there are other medicines that might be safer and/or more effective for you. The landscape around pharmaceutical research has shifted dramatically over the last 30 years. We have more options than we’ve ever had before. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the expensive, dangerous medication that half-works for you. And if what you’re self-medicating is your anxiety, nicotine is a pretty crappy medication for that, because it doesn’t fix you; it changes your baseline to an even shittier place.

You have bodily autonomy. You can make your own choices. I will never go to a patient’s house and slap the cigarette out of their hand. But if what you want is the longest and healthiest possible life, smoking makes your odds worse.

The number of people who think that I, as a doctor, would be unaware of how profoundly unfair bodily health can be amazes me. It’s like the first Father Brown story, where Father Brown is explaining to the villain that someone whose main job is to hear about all of the terrible sins people have to confess cannot remain naive. My job is watching people age, or filling out their death certificates. One or the other. I prefer watching them age, but everyone will die. Someday my doctor will be filling out my death certificate. I’ve removed one potential contributing factor from that line—maybe I’ll get diabetes, maybe I’ll get cancer, maybe I’ll have a workplace accident, but “smoking” isn’t going to be on that line anymore. That’s the best I can do. I can’t psychically predict my own death, either; just play the numbers, try to do my best, and hope.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Prologue - Terms and Conditions

A/N: Here we go! I’m obsessed with these two already. Let me know if you are too 🤍

Pairing: Tony Stark x Female Reader

Warning: 18+ slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

The conference room was sharp and sterile, walls lined with glass and egos, and the temperature dialed to “passive aggressive.” The tension wasn’t hostile—it was rehearsed, corporate, polite. Like everyone had agreed to wear their best masks.

Tony Stark lounged like this was a poker night, not a merger signing. Armani suit, sunglasses pushed back into gravity-defying hair, one leg crossed lazily over the other. He twirled his pen as though he was about to sign away someone else’s soul.

You sat across from him, upright and composed, your Novastem folder neatly aligned with the packet of legal documents. The Stark Industries logo gleamed beside your own, as if the two had already shaken hands and agreed to tolerate each other.

A senior board member from Stark Industries cleared his throat and began, “Given the shifting focus toward sustainable innovation, this merger allows us to diversify our portfolio in a way that speaks to future markets. Novastem’s work with nanogrid energy systems has potential applications across Stark’s existing infrastructure…”

Tony’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He caught your eye across the table and mouthed: Nanogrid?

You gave a tight smile, then mouthed back: Look it up.

Another advisor chimed in, “And of course, with Miss Y/L/N’s engineering background and Stark’s R&D capacity—”

“—We’re practically a Hallmark success story,” Tony muttered under his breath. You shot him a look. He responded with an exaggerated shrug and the most unbothered wink known to man.

The rest of the meeting blurred into metrics, projections, and polite nods. You signed your part with efficient precision. Stark, predictably, added a dramatic flourish.

And just like that, you were legally bound to a man who probably hadn’t read a single bullet point on the proposal.

He leaned in, voice just above a whisper, “You realize this is the part where I say something charming and you pretend not to be impressed.”

“I’m not pretending,” you replied smoothly, rising to your feet.

.

Later that evening, the penthouse was exactly what you imagined a Stark-level habitat to be, impossibly sleek, a little cold, and humming with invisible tech you could feel in your bones. It was less home, more showroom, like even the walls were trying to impress someone.

Tony hadn’t bothered with the grand tour. He pointed vaguely toward the hall with a distracted, “Guest room’s the third on the left,” and vanished into the depths of wherever billionaires vanish after signing their souls away on legal paper.

You toed off your shoes by the door and wandered further in, suitcase trailing behind you with a whisper.

The place was… vast. And quiet.

Not eerily so—more like the quiet that wraps around you in the moments between chapters. The air felt charged in that too-clean, too-perfect way, like someone had pressed pause on life and forgot to hit play again.

You passed the living room—chrome and marble and enough screens to surveil a small country—and caught your reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. You looked tired. Or maybe just… transitioning. From who you were this morning, to whoever this was supposed to be now.

You didn’t mean to explore, but your feet led you through the space anyway. Past the kitchen that looked like no one had ever dared to cook in it. Through the hall where the lighting followed your movement, casting soft gold onto minimalist walls. Past rooms with closed doors you didn’t open.

And then, halfway through turning a corner, you froze.

A small sound barely audible, rustling behind one of the plants. Then the lightest little meow.

You blinked.

From behind a steel planter, a pair of eyes blinked back at you. Pale ginger and white, with the posture of a feline who had definitely been judging you this entire time.

“Oh!” you said, surprised. “Hello. You’re… cute. And very out of place.”

The cat tilted her head like she took offense to the ‘out of place’ part.

She sauntered forward with practiced confidence, tail in the air, and promptly began rubbing against your leg like you’d passed inspection.

You crouched slowly. “And you are…?”

There was no collar, but something about her aura screamed named and spoiled rotten.

A voice called distantly from the hallway—Tony’s.

“Try not to let her con you. She’s fluff with zero morals.”

You glanced up. “She yours?”

“She lets me live here, yeah.” A pause. “Dum-E.”

You blinked again. “You named your cat after your robot?”

Tony reappeared in the doorway, towel slung around his neck. He smirked. “Nah. I named my robot after my cat.”

.

A knock at the door startled you.

It cracked open slightly. “Hey,” said a familiar voice. Happy Hogan.

You blinked. “Happy?”

He stepped inside with a hesitant smile. “Thought I’d check in. You surviving the first night?”

“Barely,” you admitted.

Happy gave a small nod toward Dum-E, who was still curled smugly on your suitcase. “Careful. She once hissed at me for sneezing near her food.”

Tony’s voice called out from somewhere beyond the hall. “She was right to. That tuna was artisanal.”

Happy rolled his eyes. “He feeds her better than himself.”

You tried not to smile. Failed. “She’s already claimed me.”

“She does that,” Happy said fondly, then sobered a little. “You good? I know this wasn’t exactly the dream wedding.”

You looked around, then at the cat, then at the impossibly large penthouse.

“No. But I’ll manage.”

Happy nodded. “You’ve handled worse. You’ll handle this. And hey—if you ever need a real person to talk to… I’m around.”

He paused before adding with mock seriousness, “Just don’t feed the cat shrimp. It goes to her head.”

From down the hall, Tony’s voice again: “I told you, it was ONE time—”

You smiled—genuinely this time. “Thanks, Happy.”

.

You curled up in bed a few minutes later. Dum-E had relocated to the window, silhouetted in moonlight, tail twitching as she surveyed her new roommate.

You weren’t sure what tomorrow would bring.

But you knew one thing.

You were already becoming part of the chaos. And for now… that would do.

[earnest-peer]

Everyone loves those gifs of all the different gear systems, but is there a decent overview over mechanical engineering techniques that someone could recommend? I came up with a specific puzzle I'm trying to solve, and while a solution to the puzzle itself would be nice, I feel there should be a general repository of such things.

Idk who to tag in such matters, @squareallworthy ? @andmaybegayer ?

The puzzle below the cut because it's not actually the point of the post.

I have a rotating shaft and a dial. I want to transfer the rotation to two output shafts (easy, any number of solutions, like gears or belts) but with the condition that I can introduce a phase between them by setting the dial; i.e. at the neutral dial setting both outputs are at 12 o clock at the same time, but turning the dial by a quarter means that now, when the first shaft is at 12, the second is at 3.

The phase input can be something else besides a dial, but I would prefer it to be more predictable that just interrupting the rotation of the first shaft for a quarter turn (unless done systematically: if you set the dial to a quarter turn and that interrupts the rotation for a quarter turn, that's fine with me).

The dial need not be able to turn freely, being able to shift phase by a quarter turn would be enough.

[lothlorienlover]

In 1901, sponge divers off the coast of Antikythera, Greece, made a discovery that would baffle scientists for over a century. Amid the wreckage of an ancient Greek ship, they pulled up a corroded, gear-filled lump of bronze. At first, no one knew what it was—until closer examination revealed something astonishing. This wasn’t just another ancient artifact; it was a complex, gear-driven machine, unlike anything else from the ancient world.

Now known as the Antikythera Mechanism, this device is believed to be an astronomical calculator, dating back over 2,000 years—long before such technology should have existed. The intricate system of bronze gears and dials could predict solar and lunar eclipses, track the movements of the planets, and even follow the Olympic Games calendar. This level of mechanical sophistication wouldn’t be seen again until the 14th century, nearly 1,500 years later.

The mystery deepens with questions scientists have yet to answer. Who built it? Some theories suggest it was designed by followers of Archimedes or Hipparchus, two of the greatest minds of ancient Greece. How did such advanced technology exist in a time when most civilizations still relied on sundials and rudimentary mathematics? And perhaps most intriguingly—were there others like it? If so, why have no similar machines ever been found?

Modern X-ray scans and 3D reconstructions have revealed even more secrets, showing it once had at least 37 interlocking gears, each precisely engineered to map celestial movements. But some pieces are still missing, and many of its functions remain unknown. Was it a tool for navigation, education, or something else entirely?

The Antikythera Mechanism remains one of the greatest mysteries of the ancient world. A device so advanced that it challenges everything we thought we knew about ancient technology. Was it the work of a lone genius, a lost civilization, or proof that history is far more complex than we ever imagined?

[wolveria]

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 33

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Are you here to do what they cannot?”

AO3

The elevator came to a rolling stop, and the door parted to reveal a large tunnel ahead, chiseled out of the surrounding bedrock. Hanging fluorescents lit the way, bracketed by pipes and wires that must lead to a separate power generator and cooling systems. You were so far beneath the facility that it had to be isolated from the site’s power and water grid.

A squad of five soldiers waited once the doors parted, and they weren’t any standard security you’d ever seen. In fact, upon looking closer, you saw the Mobile Task Force logo etched into the arm bands of their uniforms.

What was the MTF doing here? Their whole purpose, their advantage, was mobilization to where they were needed, but you’d never heard of them being kept on-site before.

The Site Director offered no commentary or explanation, simply gave a nod, and the Site-20 guards handed you off to the MTFs. They were ridiculously overpowered in their tactical suits compared to your knee-length nightgown, of which did you no service in keeping you warm so deep underground.

Walking no more than five minutes, your group arrived at a massive door at least 10 meters tall, thick enough to sustain a bomb blast by the looks of it. But what drew your eye was a familiar face, already there to greet you.

“I don’t recall inviting you, Amin,” Leahy drawled. Dr. Puli stood straighter, his frown the most severe you’ve seen it yet.

“This isn’t right, Geoff. I must protest.”

“Noted.”

“When the O5 Council learns what you’re doing—”

“Who do you think authorized this project?”

Dr. Puli’s eyes widened, glancing between you and the Site Director, but his jaw clenched into a stubborn hold.

“They would never allow this.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have the clearance level to know for certain.” Leahy motioned his head down the tunnel, back the way you’d came. “Now, are you going to retreat with your tail between your legs? Or are you going to stay, because despite your weak objections, you wish to know what will happen just as much as I do.”

Dr. Puli met Leahy’s stare, the Site Director’s without any warmth behind his rimmed glasses. Your former boss lost the test of wills, stepping aside and sending you a quick glance before looking away.

Leahy scoffed, taking your arm as he pulled you forward.

“Despite being a psychologist, you’re as predictable as anyone else.”

Leahy walked to a panel and retrieved something from his pocket: a flat, rectangular object, its surface solid black but thicker than a typical keycard, and inserted in into a card reader.

“Open it.” The Site Director gave the order to a technical engineer at a console, and he worked the controls, the massive door sliding upwards at his command. Beyond was a catwalk, leading into darkness so black it seemed to be the end of the known universe.

Leahy wasted no time, pushing you forward before letting go.

“Walk.”

Your feet remained glued to the ground, your legs trembling and refusing to budge.

Leahy went to the console and pulled out what looked like a handheld microphone, the kind that belonged to CB radios. He instructed the engineer which channel to dial before he clicked the microphone on.

“049 containment team? Over.”

A small, tinny voice replied, but it was loud enough for all to hear.

“Standing by. Over.”

“Are you prepared to move the SCP into permanent containment? Over.”

“Affirmative, over.”

Leahy stared at you, not needing to say anything more than that. He had you trapped, and it disgusted you that he knew you well enough to know it would work. You wouldn’t let 049 be punished because the Site Director was a sadist, and you could only hope that if this last test killed you, Leahy would lose interest in 049. Maybe, he would move on when his shiny toy was broken, leaving 049 in peace while he found some new victim to torment.

You turned back to the black void and walked forward. Moving past the door, you stopped and half-turned when it began to slide shut behind you.

“What am I supposed to do!” you yelled to be heard over the humming gears.

“Make physical contact with the anomaly!”

“What else!”

Leahy said nothing, even though he had time before the bottom of the door touch the ground, sealing you inside with a final loud series of locks sliding into place.

Your breathing was too loud in the open space, straining to see in the pitch dark, searching so hard that you flinched when the catwalk lit beneath your feet. Walking lights lined the suspended pathway, revealing you weren’t suspended over nothingness. The bottom curve of the tunnel was roughly ten feet below you, but the ceiling was still high overhead. It didn’t bode well why the Foundation needed such a large tunnel for whatever they were keeping here.

With nothing else to do, you moved forward, guessing that Leahy had some method of monitoring your progress. The tunnel was too large to spot any cameras or other equipment, so you kept going, illuminated by the lights stretching out ahead of you, like a runway guiding your path to take flight.

If only you could.

The rock walls had vanished, though you couldn’t pinpoint when, replaced by rectangular, metallic panels curving around the tunnel, leaving you with the impression you were walking inside a giant conductor of some kind. A low humming noise came from ahead of you, and the hairs on your body stood upright.

The catwalk ended in darkness, and as you approached the last few remaining steps, lights flashed on overhead, forcing you to shield your eyes. When you lowered your hand and opened your eyes, you couldn’t understand what you were seeing. The rectangular panels of the round room were raised and aimed at the center, like an array of solar panels, but they were aimed at no sun. Lit in the middle of the room, illuminated by focused spotlights and hovering in the air, was what had to be the anomaly.

It was a writhing, shifting mass of flesh with a spherical shape, constantly moving and turning. At first, it would coalesce into something that resembled a face, though the muzzle was long and filled with teeth, and then it would disappear again into a twisting mess that hurt the mind to comprehend.

And then you realized it wasn’t shifting; the mass was turning itself inside out, over and over. The muzzle appeared again, and this time, it spoke.

“Have the apes finally found a way to end me?”

You went back a step, halfway raising your hands as if to block out the bone-jarring voice.

“Are you here to do what they cannot?”

Fighting down the bile that threatened to rise in your throat, you stared at the mass and concentrated on the features before they could disappear. A long snout, a greenish mane, and grey scales.

“682?”

The SCP rumbled an affirmation that rattled the panels on the wall.

“But… that’s not possible,” you choked. “You were labeled as neutralized after the Site-19 breach.”

682 rumbled again, this time it was closer to a threatening growl. You took another step backwards.

“I am trapped here… in a constant state of eternal agony, unable to prevent my bones from twisting and my flesh from boiling. This… is as close to neutralized as humanity can achieve.”

Even without any eyes at any given moment, the accusation of his gaze was hot on your skin.

“Though, perhaps that has changed, and my torment will be finished. Come. End it.”

You could only stare at the horrific thing that used to be 682.

“I don’t… understand.”

“What is there to not understand?”

“What did they do to you?”

Though you’d never seen 682 in person, you’d seen photos and video footage. The reptilian anomaly could change his size and composition to fit his environment, but this was something else.

682 was silent, though you could swear you heard… or felt echoes of its screams of agony, especially the longer you were in his presence.

“The humans managed to trap me within another entity,” 682 said, his words dragging out as if with reluctance. “A singularity the size of a speck, but capable of consuming my body just as quickly as I can regenerate. I do not think they meant this room to be my new cell, but per their fashion, the apes can do nothing right. I cannot die, but perhaps for the first time, I wish I could.”

The Hard-to-Destroy Reptile was no longer the menacing, humanity-hating entity he had once been, and you actually felt sorry for him. With how many times he had tried to escape, and how many lives he’d taken, it wasn’t a mystery why Leahy wanted you here, to touch the SCP and stop his healing regeneration and adaptive capabilities.

He wanted you to kill 682 permanently.

“What are you waiting for?” the reptile snarled, his teeth bared for the brief moment his muzzle appeared. “Get on with it.”

You shook your head, needing to stall for time, time to think.

“How do you know what I can do to SCPs?”

The monstrous reptile gave an offended snort.

“Even without your Site Director trotting you out like a prized hound, I know you. I would know you anywhere.”

Coincidentally, or to prove his point, one large, slitted eye gazed down on you, malice held in those yellow depths.

“You were sent to do their bidding. I make no illusions, and neither should you. Now, do it. Destroy me.”

“I…” Your mouth was dry. “…I can’t. I can’t kill you.”

682’s roar sent you scrambling backwards, the panels trembling in their positions as bits of dust drifted down from the rounded ceiling.

“Foolish, naïve child! Believing you still make your own choices because you are blind to the leash around your neck! You do not understand your own nature, your ignorance will be an instrument used at their whim. A beast set upon your masters’ enemies!”

682 writhed faster, snarling and biting at the air, his claws lashing at nothing only to disappear inside his twisted body.

“And you dare tote yourself as something better than us, absolving yourself of death even as blood stains your hands. And there will be blood, so much of it. When the leash tightens into a noose, that is when you will be the most dangerous. Your masters are not as foolish as you are. Perhaps, even now, they are building the walls of your containment.”

Your limbs wouldn’t stop shaking; you wanted to run from this horrible place, from the impossible nightmare scene in front of you, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“I don’t… don’t understand. What I am, what you th-think I am. But this is… this is wrong. Cruel.”

“You cannot be cruel to a thing.”

The words were so similar to Leahy’s opinion about 049 that you didn’t doubt he’d said them to 682. You would never understand how a man who despised SCPs had risen to the rank of Site Director.

Another rumble echoed from the twisting mass, this one laden with heaviness.

“If you will not end my suffering, then get out of my sight. I have little use for something like you, clearly in the early stages of infancy. Perhaps with time you would grow to what is needed, but time… is what we both lack.”

You began to back away, your hands no longer curled next to your head but now pressed against your chest.

“I… I don’t know what to do for you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re… sorry?”

The writhing mass twirling and focused on you, pulsing faster.

“I experience a lifetime of suffering within the span of a single moment, and you’re sorry?”

682 roared, and for a moment, his head formed out of the grotesque sphere, cohesive and baring his ancient teeth.

“Your apologies are poison! More insidious than their lies! Make your apologies to 079, and then perhaps your words will amount to more than useless noise!”

The face disappeared back into the mass, giving one last agonizing scream that followed close at your heels as you sprinted back down the catwalk. You slipped and stumbled, your hospital shoes not affording much traction against the surface, but you didn’t stop running until you reached the vaulted door. Trying to catch your breath, you hunched over and braced against your knees, your eyes burning as you alternated between gasping and retching.

They must have known you were there; the door began its arduous slide upwards, guards spilling through the open walkway, half of them aiming their guns at you, the other half moving past you to set their sights down the catwalk. Nothing had followed you, but they clearly weren’t taking any chances.

“Well?”

You raised your head, neck craning as your palms remained on your knees.

“Status report?” Leahy prompted when you didn’t answer.

You wanted to tell him where to show his status report, but instead you said, “It didn’t work.”

Leahy frowned, glancing over you back down the catwalk where you’d come. The MTF no longer had their guns raised, but they weren’t at ease by any means.

“Explain.”

You slowly straightened your spine and stared at him. Your usual mixture of hate and disgust was there, but fear swam under the surface. You wanted to believe that Leahy hadn’t meant to trap 682 in an eternal cycle of suffering, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it either. You were beginning to realize you’d underestimated his capacity for cruel violence.

“I touched him, and nothing happened.”

“The lizard still lives?”

You didn’t bother to correct him that lizards and reptiles weren’t interchangeable terms. All you said was, “Yes.”

Leahy brought up his tablet, swiping over its surface with a frown.

“Disappointing.”

Pressing your lips together, you kept at bay the pleas you wanted to make on behalf of 049, for Leahy not to punish him for your failure. But he didn’t call on 049’s containment team, nor did he make any threats. He merely nodded at the MTF soldiers, and they grabbed you by the arms and led you back down the tunnel.

You looked over your shoulder and watched as the massive door slid into place.

Next Chapter

[idontknowreallywhy]

Practical Suggestions for supporting people with RSD in the workplace

Am reposting my response to this excellent post because of course tumblr never shows reblogs in the tags view… and I’d really like as many thoughts as possible!

RSD and the Workplace

Been searching for things to help explain this to my new boss without it sounding like “I am a sensitive little flower please don’t ever criticise me.”

It’s tricky… the last thing I want is for people to withhold professional feedback because that just feeds into the fear that “I’m getting it all wrong but they are too polite to tell me.”

But at the same time I need to explain why sometimes I may overreact… why a minor issue might be the end of the world for a while and why I will fixate heavily on correcting a mistake (or, more frequently obsess an unhealthy amount over perfecting something just in case there is a mistake that I have missed because that would trigger aforementioned end of world).

Anyone else have any experience in this area? I can’t find many resources from an occupational health perspective and I have a meeting with HR soon to discuss putting something in place. The last slide talks about understand and acknowledging but how does the supportive environment look?

My ideas so far

- it’s not that we don’t want feedback! It just needs to be done in a way that doesn’t prompt the SHOCK chemical reaction in my nervous system. Perceived negativity arriving out of the blue is like being jumped out on from the shadows by a knife-wielding maniac in a clown mask. Receiving feedback in a predictable and expected way is more like approaching an angry dog (having put on protective clothing and made a plan for how to deal with each of the two or three things it might do)

- If you want to discuss something with me please explain exactly what it’s about in the request. “Can we chat later?” will result in every moment of the time between the request and the actual chat being consumed by me overanalysing my every action of the last 12 months and not actually doing any work in the interim. If I know what it’s about I won’t be as highly reactive when the revelation comes (and I will be more able to focus on what you are actually saying as my brain won’t still be lingering on ALL the other non-issues I have tormented myself about in the intervening time).

- Maybe a regular catch up time for informal feedback would work? Don’t wait for issues to get bad before raising them?

- Please be aware that my initial defensive response isn’t a rejection of the feedback, or stubbornness. I might splurge a list of reasons you are wrong or I might shut down and need to take a while to process it. Either way I will eventually come around and take the constructive bit on board.

- One of the silliest things about RSD is that even neutral feedback can feel highly negative at times. (Sort of like how we all accept dropping from “Kind regards” to “regards” is the ultimate professional burn, even though the it’s not written “with deep antipathy” it reads it!!) This is particularly the case with emails actually. I’m not saying fill your emails with smiley faces but if requesting a change of task / focus / adjustment to something or just giving the next instruction, it’s worth knowing that slipping in the slightest acknowledgement of previous work being satisfactory, even a complement or a brief “thank you for doing the previous thing, I’ll look at it later” changes the entire tone and tells the primitive brain that “this is a positive interaction, dial down the fight or flight”

- Finally - FOMO is a thing. But the fear is that you are not included because THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU / YOU ARE NOT TRUSTED OR VALUED rather than concern at missing out on a pleasurable thing. An easy way to deal is to check with your staff whether they want copying in on things or not - some may find constant emails about things they don’t need to engage with overwhelming. Others may see other team members being included and worry about why they are not and what should they know and what if they miss something that causes them to make a Mistake later?) This was a big deal for me as old boss was very kindly trying to avoid overloading me but I spent months assuming she valued everyone else’s opinion over mine.

Obviously I need to condense these a little to make them HR friendly. But.. what else? Can tumblr RSDers (or anyone who works with them) chip in any more practical suggestions?

[emuspringscommunityradio]

The Gnome Knows and Other Garden Grievances

Alright, pull up a stool, maybe grab a biscuit that hasn't mysteriously started whispering yet, and tune your dial. Shirley here, your sonic shepherd through the strange and sometimes slightly sticky landscape of Emu Springs.

Well, folks, the oversized, avocado-dispensing lagomorph of Easter has, thankfully, hopped off into the sunset… or possibly into a particularly dense patch of lantana. We haven't seen it since Easter Monday, though there are persistent rumours of unusually well-nourished feral pigs in the surrounding bushland. Make of that what you will.

However, just when you thought things might return to a semblance of normalcy – and let's be honest, "normal" is a pretty elastic term here in Emu Springs – a new peculiarity has emerged. It started subtly, with a few reports of misplaced garden gnomes. Mrs. Higgins swore her Bartholomew had vanished from his usual spot by the bird bath, only to reappear perched precariously on the chimney the next morning. Then young Kevin from down the street found his gnome, Norman, inexplicably wearing a tiny knitted balaclava.

But it's escalated. Over the past few days, the gnomes of Emu Springs have seemingly developed a life of their own. They've been spotted congregating in the town square after dark, engaging in what witnesses describe as "silent, intense staring contests." Several residents have reported hearing faint, high-pitched chanting emanating from their gnome collections. And old Mr. Abernathy claims his gnome, Agnes, keeps leaving him cryptic notes written in what appears to be some form of ancient dwarvish runes. He's tried using Google Translate, but so far, all he's gotten is "Beware the shiny pebbles" and "The root knows all."

The Shire Council, predictably, has suggested it's likely a mass delusion brought on by the change in the autumn air. They've advised residents to perhaps spend less time tending their gardens and more time indoors, watching television. Which, as anyone who's tried to get reception out here knows, is often a more fantastical experience than any gnome gathering.

Meanwhile, the "Beware: Slightly Damp… and Expecting" sign has been replaced yet again. The latest iteration reads: "Beware: Slightly Damp… and Expecting… Company." The Progress Association's linguist is reportedly pulling all-nighters, fueled by instant coffee and a growing sense of existential dread.

And now, a word from our sponsors. Today's program is brought to you by Rhonda's Really Reliable Rat Traps. Rhonda guarantees to catch any unwanted critters… unless, of course, they've formed a highly organized, miniature society with their own intricate communication system. In that case, Rhonda offers a sympathetic ear and a cup of tea. (Bait not included.)

Welcome back.

We've just received a call from the Emu Springs Historical Society. They've unearthed an old town charter from the late 1800s that mentions a local legend of "the silent guardians," small, earth-toned figures said to watch over the town and occasionally offer cryptic advice. Apparently, they were often placed in gardens as a sign of respect. Could our current gnome infestation be… a reawakening? Or just a really weird coincidence involving a lot of tiny knitwear?

In other news, preparations for the Emu Races continue, and "Barry's Blinder" has been seen attempting to communicate with Mrs. Higgins' gnome, Bartholomew, using a series of frantic head bobs and beak clicks. The bookies are now offering odds on whether an emu will be the first to decipher the dwarvish runes.

Finally, a reminder that the Emu Springs Library is still missing several books on ancient languages and mythical creatures. Agnes would like to gently remind everyone that while understanding the potential motivations of sentient garden ornaments is important, late fees still apply.

That's all for this segment. Stay tuned for Neville's Bush Telegraph, where he'll be discussing the migratory patterns of the increasingly vocal cicadas. Apparently, they've started humming show tunes.

Goodnight, Emu Springs. And remember… keep an eye on your garden ornaments. You never know what secrets they might be silently guarding… or what tiny knitted accessories they might acquire overnight.

[nkn0va]

ArcSys Secret Santa Prompts (2 of 3)

My second contribution to the ArcSys Secret Santa for @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme hosted by @xrd. Thankfully we'll be heading back to my personal specialty with this (very late) holiday prompt!

A day off and on the town with Tsubaki. Enjoying the sights as the holiday spirit gets into full swing.

The block is hitting hard ngl

I definitely went farther off prompt than I woulda wanted

~~~

It wasn't easy by any means to find free time, let alone any free time that matched up with Tsubaki. The military life tended to do that. It was one of the reasons why you looked forward to the holidays, you had the most consistent time off.

Not intending to waste this opportunity, you gave her an airship dock and a time to be there. Confused but happy to spend time with you nonetheless, she met up with you at the appropriate time and place, hopping onto the ship with you as it left, only to land in the Hierarchical City of Kazamotsu. The weather control system was set to allowing a light, comfortable snowfall to match the atmosphere and feeling of late December, days before Christmas.

You had told Tsubaki to come prepared for such weather, which she did in the form of a black sweater vest and cream colored scarf. The sun had already set by the time you arrived, giving way to the full moon and clear sky of stars shining (block this) overhead.

"S/o? What's the meaning of all this," Tsubaki inquired. Her breath came out in mist, evaporating into the evening air as quickly as it appeared. "It's a bit...spontaneous, especially for you."

Ever the conniving little shit, you saw the opportunity arise. "What? You not happy to see me or something?"

As predicted. Tsubaki's eyes went wide, stammering over her words due to her still relative relationship inexperience. "Uh... I-... no it's just..." The poor girl thought she had genuinely offended you somehow, until she finally took notice of the shit eating grin on your face. Upon realizing what happened, she crossed her arms and averted her gaze, pouting in a rather uncharacteristic fashion, though undoubtedly the cutest thing you've seen all month.

"Why do you have to insist on teasing me like that...?"

You hold back a laugh, although with limited success. "Sorry, sorry. Come on, let's get going."

Tsubaki looked back at you, a questioning look on her face. "Where are we even going, anyway?"

In response you give but a dismissive shrug. "Wherever the evening decides to take us. The important part is just being with you, right?"

Your statement, as simple and true as it was, made Tsubaki's heart race as she heard it. The two of you could never seem to find days off together, and as much as she yearned for it, she seemed to grow bashful at the thought now that she was faced with it. "I guess...I wouldn't mind that..."

While her guard was down you went in for your strike. Your hand reached to grab her, beginning to lead her through the city, at least after she recollected her composure, her face starting to turn as red as her hair.

The festive mood was now dialed up to the max in the Hierarchical City. Buildings everywhere were lined lights and tinsel from the low levels all the way up to even the NOL Branch at the city's peak. As well as that, you and Tsubaki were far from the only couple walking around. Locals and tourists from all over lined the streets, from couples holding hands to families with children.

As you two kept walking, at some point you looked back towards, Tsubaki. Her eyes were elsewhere other than you or the lights, piquing your curiosity. "Tsubaki? Is everything alright?"

Her head perked up as your voice snapped her out whatever train of thought she was going down and turned back to you, shaking her head as a way to reassure you and compose herself from being caught off guard like that. "Y-Yes, nothing's wrong."

You slightly raised a brow in suspicion. You knew better than to believe that. The poor girl really was too thoughtful for her own good, you knew she didn't want to worry you or make you uncomfortable with whatever was on her mind. You decided drop it, at least for now, and keep walking, not intent on wasting your precious time together.

Meanwhile with Tsubaki, she was trying to pull her gaze away from a family walking past you and her, with two young children in tow. Those four, along with the many others with children were bringing to mind visions she had of the future. A family like that was what she'd always wanted, yet almost everything seemed to be lined up specifically to rob her of that chance from before she was even born.

But she had the chance to change that now. You'd walked into her life and given it to her. Practically anytime she sees children out when she's with you, especially when they're with their parents, she can only think of a day where she can have children of her own, ones she can have with you, one way or another. The thought of that future she envisioned with you was enough to put her in a daydream-like stupor, which you had unknowingly snapped her out of.

Subconsciously, as if it was a deeply ingrained habit, Tsubaki hung onto your arm as you two walked. You assumed it was mostly because of the cold. While that was indeed part of it, she did crave that deeper closeness that she could only ever feel with you, a hope for the future filling her inside.

And that was what the spirit of the holidays was all about, was it not? Spending that time with the people you loved, learning to truly appreciate what life had given you. As far as Tsubaki was concerned, there wasn't anyone else she would rather have spent it with. As she looked up to the lights hung throughout Kazamotsu under the falling snow, for the first time in a while, she felt at peace.

[flourishing-fagopsis]

🗡 A timepiece (hourglass, clock, sundial, etc)

Yahev's Watch

Synced to the movements of the solar system's planetary bodies, including the sun and certain comets and asteroids. While certainly an intricate piece of technological wonder, it's not immediately apparent how much enchantment has gone into this— however, if you ask Yahev, they will delightedly tell you how much mathematical magic and equations it took to perfectly mirror the timepiece with the solar bodies, resulting in it being able to predict certain anomalies even Yahev wouldn't otherwise be aware of.

The watch moves by itself in sync with real time, but can be dialed forward and backward using knobs on the outer rim.

*It's actually a pocket watch, but you get the idea.

[capsensislagamoprh]

Christophe listened carefully as Emil listed the rank and file of fey who came and went from the mortal realm. Who had changed forms, who had gained rank, or lost power. They were half way into the delicate discussion of bedlam when a puffing Phichit came running into view. Hands dropping to his knees, he gulped in long breaths until he could stand. Clutching a stitch in his side, he held out a hand, flapping the sticky note stuck firmly to a finger. Plucking it off, Emil looked the note over. With each line he read, his brows disappeared more into his eyebrows.

"Oh..." "Emil?" Christophe said, trying to bring focus back to the video call.

"I, uh... yeah. Yes. It's just..." Emil turned towards the screen, ignoring how Phichit folded himself backwards, straining his midsection up until a loud popping could be heard. Emil swallowed. "We might have a problem."

Christophe felt his nervous system begin to fire in rapid response. Cold seemed to trickle down his neck, trying to caress his spine in a trickling terror he barely recalled. "Tell me."

"You recall the... No, you wouldn't. You were in the dream at that time." Emil ran a hand thrugh his hair, eyes drifting upwards. A puff of breath escaped him as he shook the memories away. "There was a spat of unusual activity back in January. People died. Mortal people." Christophe swallowed. "How many dreamers?"

"Over a hundred." Emil sat forward, the chair seeming to pop as he rested his forearms on his thighs, head low. "The damage was done by a volcano. They should have been able to predict it, but..."

"But?"

"It wasn't the usual things. A rift just... opened. No warning. It was just torn. The lava turned itself in the three cardinal directions. Thousands had to move from the aria, leaving it unprotected."

"Wait, three cardinal directions? There are four. Which direction did it not ... Which direction, Emil?"

Emil's bright eyes had a haunted look. "It didn't run towards... South east."

Christophe swallowed. Hard. "All three streams?" Emil nodded. Christophe winced. "South east... What was it reaching for?"

"I don't know that it is. I think... I think it's just trying to gather power." "Are you sure? From nowhere? I mean, this could just be a mortal thing."

Emil shook his head with a resigned little sound. "No." Holding up the note, he showed the numbers to Christophe. "Type them in." One by one Christophe typed them into his phone, not daring to risk his computer. "Before you put in the last one, be ready to jump away."

Christophe's eye shot up, locking on the screen. Rising, he took a cheep metal chair from beside the refrigerator, setting it up in the middle of the room. A metal mixing bowl was put on that. Ready to spring, he put the last number in, dropped the phone, and jumped back.

The phone began to ring, as if connecting a call. A crackle began to sound thrugh the ring, as if the line had connected incorrectly. Soon the sound became a screechy, dial-up modem, ripping eardrums and tearing flesh. As soon as it started, it ended. The spring fey began to advance, to peak in the bowl. "No!" Emil called. Christophe spring back another few feet. Suddenly the phone began to melt, acrid poison steaming up from it as it broke into its most basic parts. Minerals, sands, and oils congealed in the bowl, foaming upwards. On pure instinct, Christophe reached for the roses on his desk. Petals fell away, dancing about his fingers. A flick of his wrist sent them into ever growing mess. Suspended in air, they began to glow, there colors pulsing with the cool melt of spring warmth. The light pulsed, flickered, faded. The petals ashed, spinning into a tornado of organic magic.

"Les dangers lointains nés du feu me disent ce que vous désirez."

Through the computer Emil watched, eyes wide. He'd not heard Christophe use a bunk in a noticeable amount of time. The rose ash spun, trying to draw an answer out of the melted mass. For to long they waited, the place slowly filling with poisonous vapors. "Christophe... Christophe, you may need to run."

The spring fey frowned. His blue eyes flickered into an impossible hew. Teeth sharper than blades flashed a blinding white. His ears showed his sidhe linage, tapering into a wicked point. His hand flexed as he held it stiffly in front of him, pulling glamour from his dross pouch. It sparked to life, taking on the shape of a crocus. His voice called forth the winds of change, everything in the room becoming new and old with nary a breath. The crocus bloomed, then decayed, its rotting corps dusting to gold. The wind picked it up as Christophe intoned, "Sannaste form ropar jag ut dig. Skapare, Förstörare, svara på Drömmen. Jag är förresten Vårens rättigheter. Jag är förresten grejen att tro. Svar till mig med det som skapades, svar till mig, en kropp värd att känna igen!"

The gold speckled wind threw its force into the rose scented tornado spinning against the frothing bowl, each spark fusing with a fleck of ash. As they flowed, the ash began to form into a wildly organic shape. Then they exploded outwards, stopping just shy of touching anything, stuck in the air like a frozen painting. Christophe lowered the hands he'd raised to protect himself. "Emil... are you seeing this?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I am."

"Entropy," they both said, cold seeping into their bones.

"Something is endangering the balance."

"We know that," Emil snapped. "Something is making it worse!" Pressing his palms into his eyes, he slid down his chair, proper posture forgotten. "We are so screwed."

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21, part 22, part 23, part 24, part 25, part 26, part 27, part 28, part 29, part 30

[winterpinetrees]

(the gap years part 4)

This one has the road trip crew, and the Mercuralis family. I switch from present to past tense halfway through and I can’t be bothered to fix it. As always, it isn’t good but it is. Enjoy the ocs!

…………

June 10th 2019

North of San Francisco

They drive north.  The body has been dealt with (Marin “sent it to the elven world”, as if that answered any questions). Clay has judged that the sword slash on Brian’s chest isn’t too serious and they’re all in agreement that they need to get out of San Francisco before more elves return. However, they’re not going to let Brian drive until there’s a normal amount of blood in his body again, so Sierra takes the wheel and leads them across the Golden Gate Bridge on an adventure that will almost certianly kill them. 

She knows the car well. That makes sense, because she basically built it. It’s a heavily modified version of a 2016 Daedalus, an electric car from her father’s trillion dollar obsession with all things that look like spacecraft. To his credit, the car does have that aesthetic. It’s shiny stormcloud gray with falcon-wing doors and huge wrap-around windows. The design is futuristic and sleek and covered in screens. However, real spaceships are built to last, and be safe under any circumstances. Most of the work that Sierra has spent spent working on this car over the past three years has been making sure the brakes work and the doors lock. Sometimes she calls the car the USS Audacity, because how dare it have so many problems. Her friends call it The Pigeon.

So Sierra, her friends, and an elf prince drive north on Route 101. She turns around and looks over the back of the seat at their fantastical aquantaince. (This is fine. The car can drive itself. It can’t drive itself well, but they’re on the highway and adrenaline is one hell of a drug). “Was that gun on the kill setting? Do you even know what that means?”    

Marin narrows his eyes. “Yes. Turn the dial right to stun, and left to kill.”

Another car speeds by them, and Clay reaches out from the passenger seat to grab the wheel. “Sierra, please drive the car”.

“Fine.” She keeps making eye contact with Marin though the rearview mirror. “How’s it work?”

“Magically produced concussive force. Elves are more vulnerable to that.”

“So that gun is a long-range Brian?”

“Please do not expect me to do that again!” Brian explains. He’s understandably distressed about having a body count.

“I’m joking. So do you have bullets too or are you elves really just magic cannon people?”

“Why is this the thing that you are focusing on?” The elf asks. The rich kids have been asking him questions since the second the fighting stopped. Clay is skeptical and keeps asking broad questions, maybe trying to catch him in a lie. Brian wants history and culture, but he’s a bit shell shocked. Sierra is out for blood.

“I think it’s important to know how the guns work if we’re going to be fighting with them!”

Marin explains the basics. There are concussive guns that are far more effective on elves than humans, and strictly magical ones that are more like lasers and have an opposite use. Elves rarely use mundane projectile weapons because any skilled sorcerer can send bullets between worlds before they would hit.

“Why are they more dangerous for you? Are you fragile compared to humans? Do you all have hollow bones?” Clay asks, predictably interested in the anatomy of aliens. Marin stares up at the sunroof. He is pointedly not answering the question.

Clay reaches a reassuring hand back towards the prince. “If you have hollow bones, that is really something that I should be aware of”.

“Can you walk on snow like Legolas?” Brian asks.

Sierra is no longer looking at the road. “Probably with magic.”

Brian starts to laugh, even though all of the adrenaline is out of his system. Clay does too. “Marin. Please. Do you have hollow bones like a bird?"

He relents. “Not like a bird.”

“But you do have hollow bones”.

“More or less”.

Behold. The last hope for a free human race.

…………

Ishtar forfeited the right to reasonable working hours the day she decided that she simply must get her revenge. Even the sturdiest althumans were forbidden from working for more than two fifths of the day and seven days out of every nine, but work never ended for the Apex. Even with an army of aides and an exceptional seneschal, Ishtar hardly ever had time to rest. 

However, she refused to leave her children without a mother after all the work she’d done to stay alive. She made time for them. Revenge had been a hollow thing, after all. Ishtar still dreams of her final battle at the Conservatory, standing over her classmate, her rival, a heir from Gens Adust, and shattering his left wrist with her boot. She’d probably been expected to kill him for what he’d done in that wargame, but he had surrendered in the end. Ishtar did make sure he received his noble vambrace, the visible symbol of his fitness to rule, a full two weeks after the rest of them. That final ceremony where she and Ryn were declared the best of their class while the son of the man who helped murder her parents stood in a cast, was the first and last time she felt satisfied with that kind of violence.

The boy, eventually father as well, was dead now. He’d chosen to die fighting this time, and her husband stabbed him through the heart. His wrist had never healed quite right. Even if Ishtar had killed him, the boy wouldn’t have been the first. She’d directly killed enough elves that she would have lost track if the deaths hadn’t been tallied on her arm. The last one had been the old apex. She’d seemed content, at the end.

Ishtar held a title that killed you one way or another, but tonight she was alive and watching a movie with her family. 

“If I were the captain, I’d throw the alien into the human world. That’s a lot easier than getting it stuck in the airlock”. Suen was old enough to know her own magical limits, and very proud that she could switch between worlds on her own.  

“Moonlight, elves were a lot less powerful back then. I still can’t switch worlds under that sort of pressure”. Ryn patiently explained. Suen was as bull-headed as her mother and likely to be as tall. She had her father’s skinny frame though, and his relentless focus. 

“That’s why I said if I were the captain!” 

They were watching one of the ancient films that Ryn had watched as a Voyager boy. Elf sci-fi from their space age and human sci-fi were shockingly similar. Alien invasions, blinking lights, and blatantly fake science must be universal. Ishtar had seen the film a hundred times. 

“If you were the captain, you’d get eaten.  You’re too loud and can’t hide anywhere!” Her son Chandra replied. He only ever argued with his sister. Overall, the boy was an artist. An artist sure to inherit Ishtar’s colossal strength. 

“I would not. You’re just angry that I’m taller than you.” 

“I am not!” 

The horrible alien charged across the screen after the hero. Her youngest child, Fen, nearly jumped out of his seat. The video quality wasn’t good, but the fact that the movie existed at all after nearly ten thousand years was remarkable. 

Arjuna shook his head and smiled. “Tar, next time we should watch something a little less violent.” He looked at his wife like they were sharing an inside joke. He had one of the highest body counts of anyone in the high nobility, and she had watched nearly her entire family die as an even younger child than any of the kids. He was her shadow. Where Ishtar was loud and confident, Arjuna was quiet and haunted. He had been an assassin once, but two hundred years of violence was too much for him. Arjuna killed a dozen people during the coup and swore to never do it again. Maybe, if they pulled off this scheme, Fen would only ever need to be afraid of monsters on screen. 

Ryn’s vambrace buzzed with a warning. So did Ishtar’s, but she clicks the notification away. Whatever had happened could wait a few moments. 

Outside, the moon was nearly at its highest point. No elf had walked there in eight thousand years. 

In the other world, where three rich kids and a lost prince looked for a place to spend the night, the international space station glowed overhead.

………………

Things that are accurate in this post: the moon on June 10 2019.

Things that are not accurate: how children act. how hollow bones work.

The car is essentially a Tesla Model X. The movie is a pg-13 elf version of Alien (1979).

[denimbex1986]

'Tom Cruise knows how to sell tickets—even to other people’s movies. “This summer is full of amazing movies to see in theaters,” the Mission: Impossible star wrote on Instagram recently, while he and director Christopher McQuarrie posed with tickets in front of posters for rival films. Cruise congratulated Harrison Ford for “creating one of the most iconic characters in cinema history” with Indiana Jones, and identified himself as one of the many people who’d make a double feature out of Oppenheimer and Barbie, which will go head-to-head in theaters as of July 21. His act of goodwill proved to be contagious, as he must have hoped it would. A few days later, Barbie director Greta Gerwig and star Margot Robbie tweeted their own photo shoot, in which they also waved tickets to their rivals: “Mission: Accepted!”

Summer box office used to be the ultimate showbiz blood sport. Now, publicly at least, it’s all kumbaya and collegiality, which says a lot about the industry’s enduring post-pandemic fears. Beneath the gracious social media shoutouts is a pervasive sense that if the public doesn’t fall back in love with in-person moviegoing for good now, the bottom will continue to fall out of the studio system and take stars down in the process. So far, summer 2023 has proven to be a bumpy ride. Sure-things have struggled, surprise sleepers have failed to emerge, and pressure is mounting on a handful of July titles to save the season.

Box office watchers are still predicting that movies like Mission: Impossible—Dead Reckoning Part One and Barbie can help summer ticket sales in the US and Canada hit $4 billion, which would be taken as a sign that the industry has indeed recovered from an anemic three years. But a trail of early underperformers—including DC’s The Flash, Pixar’s Elemental, and Indy’s fifth and final outing, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny—has only stoked worries. With his cheerleading post, Cruise, the man who “saved Hollywood’s ass” last summer with Top Gun: Maverick, is attempting to stage a rescue mission again. This time he’ll have some help from Barbie and the atomic bomb.

Hollywood power brokers are watching all this closely, to say the least. “I was very excited after Super Mario Bros., and then I got a little more concerned after the last four weeks,” says producer Jason Blum, best known for low-cost horror hits Paranormal Activity, Insidious, and M3GAN. “The movie business has in no way bounced back like the live events business has, but I really think that it’s a matter of time.” Few expect earnings to surpass summer 2019 levels—when 32 films brought in $4.34 billion—but anything close will be a win. The industry is used to absorbing bad news—and hoping for last-minute salvation. “Not everything works,” says another studio executive poring over summer ticket sales, “but that’s just the movie business.”

There are reasons to be at least optimism-adjacent. Moviegoers still want to see spectacle—and they are willing to pay extra to see it on premium large-format screens. “2023 has definitely been a much fuller slate than pre-pandemic times,” says IMAX CEO Richard Gelfond. “And for us, it’s even a little more intense because the audience has shifted more to premium on a global basis. IMAX’s market share went up by 50% in North America and it’s gone up by about 40% globally. So it’s not only more competition within the industry, it’s more competition for IMAX screens. We think our box office will be similar to 2019.”

Similar is the new amazing.

Moviegoers signaled that they were ready to return to theaters last summer when they showed up in droves for Top Gun: Maverick, the top performer of the year with a staggering $719 million in US ticket sales, and Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, which outperformed 2016’s Doctor Strange. But the robust performance of a handful of titles belied ongoing challenges. Last winter, as one Oscar contender after another died gasping at the box office, a senior awards strategist told Vanity Fair, “the audience is just not there anymore for these sorts of movies.” One obstacle was simply a volume problem: Even though tentpoles like Avatar: The Way of Water were dominating the weekend, there just weren’t enough movies in theaters.

This summer, every weekend offers multiple options, and they’re often aimed at disparate demographics, as with the showdown referred to in some quarters as “Barbenheimer.” Since May 5, when Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 dropped, there’s been a steady beat of new releases, among them The Little Mermaid, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, and Transformers: Rise of the Beasts. The major studios are expected to release 42 films widely across the country by Labor Day weekend. One studio executive moans about all this in a way that sounds almost nostalgic: “It’s such a crowded summer.”

Before Cruise began his goodwill campaign, the actor was involved in a behind-the-scenes fight for IMAX screens, according to Puck. His latest Mission: Impossible outing will play on IMAX screens for about a week, but then must give them up for Oppenheimer, which debuts a week later on July 21 and has all the screens exclusively booked for three weeks. That has little to do with earnings expectations, and everything to do with relationships. Nolan, a longtime IMAX champion, had struck a deal long before with the exhibitor to guarantee that his movie would play on those screens, regardless of who else parachuted into the market on a motorcycle.

IMAX’s Gelfond tells VF that he worked closely with Nolan and Universal on Oppenheimer’s release date more than a year ago. He visited the Mission: Impossible set and is “a huge fan of Tom’s,” he says, but this is the bottom line: “We made a commitment to Chris. Obviously, I think the movie’s going to be great, but irrespective, we honor our commitments.”

Executives worried about a crowded schedule are one sign that movies are back, baby. “We’ve had really big films since reopening from the pandemic, like Avatar and Top Gun and Spider-Man, but now we’re talking about many titles,” says Elizabeth Frank, the executive in charge of programming AMC Entertainment’s more than 10,000 screens. “People are saying, ‘Well, which one do you want to see first?’ And that’s a different level of excitement. In an industry where momentum is really important, it’s an opportunity for us to build back habitual moviegoing.”

In Hollywood, the weekend box office is treated with the same seriousness as the World Series. “I have a group of friends, we get together at the beginning of the year and we have a draft, we pick all the movies for the year, and points are awarded based on Metacritic score, based on box office, based on awards, and based on profitability,” says Blum, whose company, Blumhouse, has Insidious: The Red Door out on July 7. “We text each other every Thursday or Friday. I’m currently in second place.”

Guys like Blum no doubt pay closer attention to movie ticket sales than the average American, but even he has noticed that more people are following the money as they did years ago. “The box office derby is one of those things that everyone can be a part of,” says Paul Dergarabedian, an entertainment industry analyst for Comscore. “Not everyone has played professional sports or ridden a horse professionally or driven a race car, but we can all sit in a movie theater.”

More scrutiny, of course, means more headlines when movies stumble. For every winner like Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (with its $356 million in domestic grosses) or Spider Man: Across the Spider-Verse ($346 million), there’s something like The Flash, which has pulled a meager $102 million in the US in spite of its reported $200 million budget, or Elemental, whose $29.6 million debut was considered a major flop for Disney’s Pixar. Meanwhile, Dial of Destiny, which reportedly cost $295 million, arguably needed to make a lot more over Fourth of July than it did. One bright spot? Studios are focusing more on profitability, which Blum contends, “everyone forgot about for about five years.” Now, he says, there’s more pressure to rein in costs: “The budget conversation was the last conversation when you were introducing new projects to buyers. Now it’s the first, which makes me happy because I think less expensive movies are often better and more interesting.”

Even before June gloom hit the box office, Hollywood had largely put its faith in Mission: Impossible, Barbie, and Oppenheimer to carry ticket sales. Now it’s even more imperative that all three titles find their audiences. Early tracking—which pegs the Mission: Impossible opening at around $90 million, Barbie somewhere north of $70 million, and Oppenheimer around $40 million—suggests that they will. Though Ethan Hunt will likely be the biggest star of the summer, media attention has focused squarely on the matchup between Barbie and Oppenheimer.

“I do think a rising tide lifts all boats,” says a top film agent. “When we have pictures in theaters that start to feel like they’re ‘watercooler’—which I really think the Barbie-Oppenheimer thing is becoming—it’s incredibly healthy for the box office, because what we’re doing is delivering an experience that people feel like was worth their time and money.”

AMC has been preparing for the summer movie season by extending operating hours at its theaters, hiring more staff, and making sure its Icee dispensers are full. “Increasingly, fans of different films are also looking for movie-themed merchandise and movie-themed drinks,” says Frank. “It makes the moviegoing experience that much more engaging and dynamic. It’s a little complicated, though, to be moving in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cups while you’re figuring out whether you’ve still got a bunch of people who want the Mission: Impossible ones or the Barbie ones.”

Predicting the box office has always been like reading tea leaves or tarot cards. Even IMAX’s Gelfond admits to fixating on the returns—from the first night to the last. “Like a junkie,” he says. “I hate to admit it, but yes. Most of our movies open on Thursday nights because they’re big blockbusters. So by Friday morning, I’m on the phone with our distribution and marketing teams trying to understand what the weekend’s going to look like and what’s working and not working and why and why not.”

If you want to know how summer 2023 turns out, you’ll have to wait for the final reel.'

[businessnews01]

Upgrade Business Calls with VoIP Features That Work

Every growing firm remembers the moment the legacy phone system finally cried. Lines cracked, callers bounced between desks, and monthly bills mocked the finance team. That pain still stings, but it no longer has to. Modern VoIP features turn yesterday’s frustration into slick customer conversations that fuel sales, service, and morale.

Why the Old Handset Now Holds Growth Back

Traditional PBX hardware locks each extension to a desk, squeezes budgets with maintenance, and offers next-to-zero data on caller behaviour. By contrast, a cloud-first VoIP business phone in Manitoba  removes clunky cabinets, enables staff to answer on any device, and drops predictable subscription costs onto a single clean invoice. Hosted telephony’s built-in mobility means even a snow day cannot silence the switchboard.

Five VoIP Features That Instantly Lift Call Quality

Feature

How It Works

Tangible Business Benefit

Smart IVR & Auto-Attendant

Interactive menus greet callers and route them by need or language

Shorter queues; first-call resolution increases

Call Forwarding & Mobile Apps

Seamless hand-off from desk to smartphone mid-ring

Sales reps stay reachable while travelling

Sales/Power Dialer

Autodials contacts and skips unanswered calls

Up to 200% more live conversations per hour

Call Recording & Analytics

Records every interaction and surfaces trend dashboards

Enables coaching, ensures compliance, and supports process improvements

CRM Click-to-Call Integration

One-click dial from CRM records; logs call notes automatically

Reduces admin time and lets agents focus on selling

Notice the common thread? Each feature strips away wasted seconds, turning ring time into talk time. That momentum shows up quickly on the balance sheet. 

Action Plan for a Smooth Migration

Map call flows – Sketch every queue, ring group, and failover rule.

Audit bandwidth – Ensure symmetrical upload speeds and quality of service tagging.

Prioritise features – Start with IVR and recordings, then layer analytics.

Pilot in one department – Prove uptime under real traffic before full rollout.

Train staff fast – Short video tutorials beat 80-page manuals.

Review quarterly dashboards – Tweak routing as seasonal volume changes.

Following that sequence keeps disruption minimal and engagement high.

Local Edge: Support Close to Home

Choosing a provider rooted in Manitoba matters. Bilingual technicians, field-service response within hours, and knowledge of regional carrier nuances all cut downtime risk. Moreover, provincial data residency and Canadian privacy compliance reassure stakeholders long before the legal need arises.

Professional installers integrate VoIP handsets with existing Cat 6A or fibre backbones, label every run, and leave racks tidy, not tangled. That craftsmanship dovetails perfectly with structured-cabling best practices already trusted by schools, care homes, and national telcos across the Prairies.

The Payoff in Plain Numbers

36% lower total telecom spend, on average, after moving to hosted seats.

5–7 extra calls per agent per hour when predictive dialers replace manual dialing.

Sub-three-minute disaster-recovery spin-up thanks to cloud redundancy.

Every statistic above highlights one constant: the right VoIP business phone in Manitoba deployment pays for itself quickly and continues compounding returns.

Ready to Hear the Difference?

Prospects rarely complain about clear audio, lightning routing, and agents who already have their details on-screen. That experience begins with feature-rich VoIP. Map needs, pick a trusted regional partner, and unlock phone performance that finally matches twenty-first-century ambitions.

Phone calls should work as hard as the people making them. Upgrade once, benefit every single ringing minute afterwards.

[fitplchennai]

Plate Load Test - Falcon Industrial Testing Laboratory

In the construction industry, ensuring the stability and load-bearing capacity of the soil is crucial before any structure is built.  At FITPL, we provide accurate Plate Load Testing in Chennai, along with a wide range of geotechnical, construction materials, and environmental testing services.

This blog will cover:

What is a Plate Load Test?

Importance of Plate Load Testing in Construction

Plate Load Test Procedure

Applications of Plate Load Testing

Why Pick FITPL for Chennai Plate Load Testing?

Other Testing Services We Offer

What is a Plate Load Test?

A field test called a Plate Load Test (PLT) is carried out to ascertain the soil's bearing capacity and settling properties under a certain load. A steel plate is placed on the ground, and when weights are added incrementally, the accompanying settlement is measured. The results help engineers design foundations that can safely support structures without excessive settlement.

This test is essential for:

Shallow foundation design

Pavement construction

Assessing subgrade strength for roads and runways

Verifying soil improvement techniques

Importance of Plate Load Testing in Construction

Before constructing any building, bridge, or road, engineers must ensure the soil can withstand the expected loads. Here’s why Plate Load Testing is critical:

1. Determines Safe Bearing Capacity (SBC)

The test provides the maximum load the soil can support without excessive settlement, helping engineers design appropriate foundations.

2. Predicts Settlement Behavior

By analyzing how much the soil compresses under load, engineers can estimate long-term settlement and prevent structural damage.

3. Validates Soil Improvement Techniques

If the soil is weak, techniques like compaction, grouting, or soil replacement are used. PLT verifies if these methods have improved soil strength.

4. Ensures Compliance with Standards

By following ASTM D1194 and IS 1888:1982 (Indian Standard), plate load testing guarantees reliable and consistent results.

Plate Load Test Procedure

The Plate Load Test involves the following steps:

1. Site Preparation

Level the ground where the plate will be placed.

2. Plate Placement

The prepared surface is covered with a steel plate that is either square or circular and typically has a diameter of 30 or 45 cm.

3. Loading Arrangement

A hydraulic jack applies gradual load to the plate.

The load is transferred through a reaction system (either dead weights or kentledge).

4. Settlement Measurement

Dial gauges measure settlement under each load increment.

Readings are taken until the settlement stabilizes.

5. Load-Settlement Curve

A graph is plotted between load vs. settlement.

The ultimate bearing capacity is determined from the curve.

6. Interpretation of Results

The Safe Bearing Capacity (SBC) is calculated by applying a safety factor (usually 2 or 3).

Applications of Plate Load Testing

Plate Load Testing is widely used in:

1. Building Foundations

guarantees that the soil can sustain commercial, industrial, and residential buildings.

2. Road and Pavement Construction

Evaluates subgrade strength for highways, airports, and parking lots.

3. Bridge Foundations

Checks the stability of soil before constructing bridge piers and abutments.

4. Retaining Walls and Embankments

Assesses soil strength to prevent slope failures.

5. Industrial Flooring

Ensures the ground can handle heavy machinery and storage loads.

Why Pick FITPL for Chennai Plate Load Testing?

At FITPL, we are a leading provider of geotechnical and construction material testing services in Chennai. Here’s why clients trust us:

✅ Experienced Engineers & Advanced Equipment – Our team uses high-precision instruments for accurate results.

✅ IS & ASTM Compliant Testing – We follow Indian and international standards.

✅ Quick and Reliable Reports – Detailed test results with professional recommendations.

✅ Comprehensive Testing Solutions – From soil testing to NDT, we cover all construction testing needs.

Other Testing Services We Offer in Chennai

Besides Plate Load Testing, FITPL provides a wide range of testing services:

1. Soil Testing Chennai

Standard Penetration Test (SPT) Chennai

Earth Resistivity Test Chennai

Triaxial Shear Test

California Bearing Ratio (CBR) Test

2. Construction Materials Testing Chennai

Concrete Testing (Compressive Strength, Slump Test)

Steel Testing Chennai (Tensile Strength, Rebound Hammer Test)

Brick & Block Testing

3. Geotechnical Investigation Chennai

Borehole Drilling & Soil Profiling

Groundwater Level Assessment

4. Environmental Testing Chennai

Water Testing Chennai (Drinking, Groundwater, Wastewater)

Air Testing Chennai (Indoor & Outdoor Air Quality)

Pollution Testing Chennai (Noise, Dust, Emissions)

5. Non-Destructive Testing (NDT) Chennai

Ultrasonic Testing (UT)

Rebound Hammer Test

Pile Integrity Testing

6. Specialized Testing

Food Quality Testing Chennai

Wastewater Testing Chennai

One essential geotechnical test to guarantee the stability and security of building projects is the Plate Load Test. At FITPL, we provide accurate and reliable Plate Load Testing in Chennai, along with a full range of soil, construction material, and environmental testing services.

Contact us

Phone Number : +91 8056159517

Website: https://fitpl.in/load-test-pile-integrity-testing-in-chennai.php

[eliteorganic]

Beyond the Buzz: What Every Curious Mind Should Know About 7‑OH

Curiosity about 7‑OH is growing—and for good reason. As more individuals seek innovative, targeted wellness tools that go beyond traditional solutions, 7‑hydroxymitragynine (7‑OH) is emerging as a molecule of interest. But what is it really? How is it used? Is it safe, and what sets it apart? If you're navigating the sea of information and hype surrounding 7‑OH, this guide provides the clarity you need.

What Is 7‑OH—and Why Is It Capturing So Much Attention?

7‑OH is a naturally occurring compound derived from advanced processes that isolate key alkaloids. What distinguishes 7‑OH is its efficiency at small serving sizes, making it particularly appealing for those looking for a potent alternative to traditional supplements without excess bulk or additives.

It’s not about following trends—it’s about performance, precision, and progress. Users report sharper focus, improved daily drive, and an overall sense of mental endurance that supports their wellness journey.

Breaking Down the Structure: Why Purity Matters

Unlike less refined extracts or generalized blends, 7‑OH stands out due to targeted isolation and advanced lab-grade refinement techniques. Each batch of Hydroxy7 undergoes third-party lab testing to ensure:

Consistent potency

Absence of contaminants

Transparent labeling

This dedication to purity creates a foundation for both performance and trust—two pillars critical in the health and wellness industry.

What the Data Says: Quality Backed by Science

Scientific interest in 7‑OH is increasing, with studies evaluating its biochemical characteristics, active duration, and how it is metabolized in the body. Many of these reports highlight that:

A small, calibrated dose delivers impactful support for focus and drive.

It interacts quickly and predictably with the body.

Individual responses are largely dependent on metabolism, hydration, and prior experience with similar compounds.

Unlike many generic supplements, Hydroxy7 provides detailed usage guides based on user feedback and lab research, helping consumers make informed choices.

Real-World Experiences: What Are Users Saying?

We’ve collected feedback from across the United States—from gym professionals and entrepreneurs to digital creators and night-shift workers. What’s the consensus?

“I needed something sharp but manageable. 7‑OH helps me power through without distractions.” — Matt D., Austin TX

“It’s become my secret weapon for focus. I never feel jittery—just dialed in.” — Carla S., Brooklyn NY

“I used to rely on energy drinks. Now I use Hydroxy7 before creative work—it’s a game changer.” — Leo G., Chicago IL

These testimonials reflect a growing community of educated users who value consistency, transparency, and performance.

How to Use 7‑OH Responsibly and Effectively

Understanding how to use 7‑OH matters just as much as why you use it. Here are our top guidelines:

1. Start Low, Go Slow

Begin with the minimum recommended serving and assess your personal response.

2. Stay Hydrated

As with any active compound, hydration helps support absorption and overall well-being.

3. Use Purposefully

Whether it’s for clarity during a work sprint or stamina during long training sessions, pair 7‑OH with intentional use—not as a casual energy lift.

4. Rest and Reset

Use intermittently to avoid overuse and give your system the ability to reset naturally.

Hydroxy7 offers clear serving size instructions and user education, standing apart from unregulated or under-labeled alternatives.

The Hydroxy7 Difference: Built on Trust

Hydroxy7.com was founded with a singular mission: to redefine clarity and energy through carefully engineered compounds. We do this by focusing on:

Lab-verified content for transparency

User education that empowers

Responsive customer care that listens

We’re proud to lead the way in making high-purity 7‑OH accessible, understandable, and responsibly sourced.

FAQs: Your Top 7‑OH Questions, Answered

Q: Is 7‑OH the same as other plant-derived supplements? A: No. While it shares certain structural traits, its effect profile and concentration are entirely different due to lab refinement.

Q: How long does it last? A: Most users report noticeable clarity and drive within 15–30 minutes, with effects lasting several hours depending on the individual.

Q: Can I take it daily? A: Responsible rotation is encouraged. Many users find a few times per week ideal for balance and effect.

Join the Next Generation of Supplementation

7‑OH represents more than a new trend—it’s a movement toward smarter, cleaner, and more strategic supplementation. If you’re ready to go beyond the buzz and make informed, impactful choices for your wellness, Hydroxy7 is here to guide the way.

Hydroxy7 stands at the intersection of science, transparency, and user empowerment��and we’re just getting started.

Conclusion

When your energy dips and your focus falters, you deserve a safe, reliable pick-me-up—without the crash that comes from sugary drinks or anonymous supplements. That’s where 7OH tablets come in: designed with a precise, honest formula to support your mindset without mystery. By choosing Hydroxy7, you're opting for transparency backed by lab-tested consistency. Visit Hydroxy7 to explore how these tablets are engineered to align with your daily energy needs—every time. Think of 7OH as your trusted partner through whatever the day demands. Whether you're powering through a demanding workday, tackling an evening workout, or simply craving a bit more clarity, these tablets are formulated to have your back. No overhyped claims, no empty promises—just purposeful support. Ready for a more focused, energized you? Head to Hydroxy7 and discover how 7OH tablets can elevate your routine with real, reliable results.