#SPIK-

[nnn-lll-nnn]

EMERGENCY ACTION REPORT 311345 ECHO SIERRA TANGO OCT 23

STANDBY, MESSAGE FOLLOWS;

HT2, THIS IS NETZACH, STRIKWARN REQUESTS FROM RELEVANT TARGET "HITLIST" FOLLOWS (THE ENTIRETY OF/FULL HITLIST LIKEWISE ALSO ADDITIONALLY FOLLOW);

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GREENLAND;

NUUK, THULE, ANGMAGSSALIK, NORD, DANMARKSHAVN, SHANNON, DANEBORG, SCORESBYSUND, TINGIARMIUT, KRAULSHAVN, UPERNAVIK, GODHAVN, SONDRE STROMFJORD, HOLSTEINSBURG , SUKKERTOPPEN, GRONDA, NARSAAQ, JULIANEHAB, NANORTALIK, END.

ICELAND;

AKUREYRI, REYKJAVIK, AKRANES, HUSAVIK, END.

THE UNITED KINGDOM and IRELAND;

LONDON, MANCHESTER, GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, NEWCASTLE, DUBLIN, BELFAST, BOLTON, ABINGDON, ABERDEEN, LIVERPOOL, ASHFORD, BIRMINGHAM, ACCRINGTON, LIMAVADY, ALDERSHOT, ALDRIDGE BROWNHILLS, WAKEFIELD, LEEDS, BRADFORD, CARDIFF, BRISTOL, ASHINGTON, NORWICH, IPSWICH, CARLISLE, ASHTON-UNDER-LYNE, AXMINSTER, AYCLIFFE, ALFRETON, ALTRINCHAM, CAMBRIDGE, WOLVERHAMPTON, AMERSHAM, ANDOVER, ARNOLD, ARUNDEL, HULL, SALFORD, SALE, STOCKPORT, CAERNARFON, NEFYN, WELSHPOOL, DERBY, NOTTINGHAM, MATLOCK, SWANSEA, TAUNTON, PLYMOUTH, PORTSMOUTH, BLACKBURN, DURHAM, BRADFORD,DUNDEE, GREENOCK, HAMILTON, LUTON, MAIDSTONE, SHEFFIELD, SLOUGH, SOLIHULL, SOUTHAMPTON, SOUTHEN-ON-SEA, SOUTH SHIELDS, SAINT ANNE, SAINT HELIER, SAINT PETER PORT, SAINT SAMPSON'S, AIRDRIE, ANGLESEY ISLAND @HJ0172WESTFIAR, MERTON, MIDDLESBROUGH, MILTON KEYNES, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE, NEWCASTLE-UNDER-LYME, NEWHAM, NORTHAMPTON, NORWICH, SOUTHWARK, SPENBOROUGH, STAFFORD, STANLEY, STEVENAGE, STOCKTON-ON-TEES, STOKE-ON-TRENT, SUNDERLAND, SUTTON, SWINDON, NEWPORT GWENT, BARKING, BARNET, BASILDON, LANCASTER, LEICESTER, PIEC, LAMBETH, LEEDS, CAMDEN, CANTERBURY, BOOTLE, BOURNEMOUTH, BRENT, BROMLEY, BURNLEY, CHELTENHAM, CHESTER, COVENTRY, GARDEN, COLCHESTER, CRAWLEY, CREWE AND NANTWICH, CROYDON, DARLINGTON, DERBY, EALING, ENFIELD, EXETER, FAREHAM, GILLINGHAM KENT, GLOUCESTER, GOSPORT, GREENWICH, HACKNEY, HARING, HAVERING, HILLINGDON, KINGSTON UPON THAMES, KING'S LYNN, LYNNE, KENSINGTON AND CHELSEA, ISLINGTON, HOUNSLOW, DONEGAL, BALLYCASTLE, ANTRIM, DOWNPATRICK, MONAGHAN, DUNDALK, FARHAN, MUFF, BALLINA, AGHAGOWER, FRENCHPARK, BALLINASLOE, MULLINGAR, WICKLOW, KILLALOE, SHANNON, KILKEE, YOUGHAL, COBH, CORK HARBOUR, CLASHMORE, WEXFORD, NEW ROSS, ARKLOW, RUSH, KILKENNY, END.

GUYANA;

GEORGETOWN, BARTICA, BILOKU, NEW AMSTERDAM, MABARUMA, KAMARANG, END.

/BREAK/

PART 01 OUT OF 050.

/BREAK/

AWAITING EITHER AUTHORIZATION KEY (LLNNNNNN) + ENCRYPTION KEY INDEX (LLNNNNNN) + SPECIAL PERSONNEL INDEX KEY (LLNNNNNN) OR ABORT CODE(S).

ALL PREPARATIONS COMPLETED

READY TO ENGAGE.

[rusty-gloinks]

goodbyeu tumblr !!!!!!!forever !!!!! [jokgin im goign insane right now .I just don’t want spoilers lBYE TUMVLR MOOTS ANDJ FRIENDS ILY /P

[rastronomicals]

3:00 PM EDT October 4, 2024:

Gordons - "Spik And Span" From the album The Gordons (1981)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Gordons were the progenitor to the legendary New Zealand band Bailter Space

File under: Kiwi Skronk

[againstpolicecorruption]

[ajax-mew]

i almost ate my septum spikes earlier

[spiknspan]

Transforming Workspaces: The Rise of Office Fitouts and Refurbishments in Sydney

In the bustling business landscape of Sydney, the concept of office fitouts and refurbishments has gained significant traction. As companies strive to create more engaging, efficient, and inspiring workspaces, the focus has shifted towards designing offices that not only reflect the company's identity but also enhance employee productivity and satisfaction.

The Evolution of Office Spaces in Sydney

Gone are the days when office spaces in Sydney were mere rows of desks and chairs. Today's office environments are about fostering collaboration, creativity, and a sense of community. This evolution is largely driven by the changing dynamics of the workforce and the growing importance of workplace well-being.

Why Office Fitouts and Refurbishments?

Brand Representation: A well-designed office is a reflection of the company's brand and values. It's an opportunity to make a statement about what the company stands for and how it perceives itself.

Employee Productivity and Wellbeing: There's a growing body of evidence suggesting that the physical office environment significantly impacts employee morale, productivity, and overall wellbeing. Natural lighting, ergonomic furniture, and breakout areas are no longer luxuries but necessities.

Adapting to New Ways of Working: The rise of hybrid work models has necessitated flexible and adaptable office designs. Modern fitouts in Sydney often include elements like hot-desking areas, soundproof pods for virtual meetings, and collaborative spaces.

The Sydney Scene: Trends in Office Fitouts and Refurbishments Sydney, being a hub for innovation and business, has seen some fascinating trends in office designs:

Sustainability: Eco-friendly fitouts are gaining momentum, with businesses increasingly opting for sustainable materials, energy-efficient lighting, and green spaces.

Technology Integration: Smart offices with integrated technology for better connectivity and automation are becoming the norm.

Bespoke Designs: Customized fitouts that resonate with a company's unique culture are in demand. This includes tailored artwork, brand colors, and unique furniture designs.

Choosing the Right Partner for Your Office Transformation

Embarking on an office fitout or refurbishment in Sydney requires a trusted partner who understands your vision. Look for a company with a proven track record, an understanding of current trends, and the ability to deliver a space that aligns with your objectives.

In conclusion, office fitouts and refurbishments in Sydney are not just about aesthetics; they are about creating environments that inspire and motivate. As businesses continue to evolve, the office space will remain a crucial element in supporting this growth, fostering a culture of innovation, and attracting top talent. The right office environment can be a game-changer in the way a business operates and is perceived, making it a worthwhile investment for any forward-thinking company.

Source Link: https://www.spiknspan.com.au/transforming-workspaces-the-rise-of-office-fitouts-and-refurbishments-in-sydney/

[merodigiart]

(via "Cactus and Flowers " Tote Bag for Sale by Amr Arida)

[windmills123]

[randomitemdrop]

Item: Spik-R Deluxe Leather Jacket covered in spikes

[dutchjan]

March 29, 2023

[joemama-2]

wc: 1098

“Hey,” you hear from beside you. Your head swivels to your left, immediately spotting the bright grin the pink-haired man sports beside you. Head tilted slightly and leaning against the bar top by his forearm. You spare a brief glance at it, noticing the veins that run up along his flesh, the hint of muscles that peek out from beneath his white shirt. “You all by yourself?” He asks in a friendly tone, getting himself comfortable in the seat next to you.

On instinct, you want to decline. However, it’s a Saturday night, you’re at a bar, a little tipsy…so where’s the fun in that? “Maybe.”

He chuckles, his eyes fixated on your features. Almost too fixated, like he’s actively forcing himself not to look anywhere else. (The way your ass perks out from the way you’re sitting; that dress doing nothing to hide it) “Maybe. Does that mean I can stay?”

“Depends.” You swivel the remnants left of your drink in your glass.

“On?”

“If you make it worth my while.”

His eyebrows raise slightly, but his grin widens, revealing a dimple that only adds to the charm of his boyish features. His honey eyes exhibiting a tiny gleam from beneath the dimmed lighting. “Guess I better start working for it, then.” He straightens, gesturing to the bartender with a casual wave. “Another for me, and…” He pauses, tilting his head toward your glass. “Whatever the pretty woman here is drinking.”

The bartender nods, already turning to prepare your order, and Yuji swivels his body to face you fully, resting his elbow on the bar. “Alright,” he says, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the countertop. “What does ‘worth your while’ mean, exactly? Drinks, conversation, bad pick-up lines?”

You hum thoughtfully, pretending to mull it over. “Well, you’re off to a decent start. But I don’t think a drink’s going to cut it.”

“Oh, I see.” He leans in just slightly, enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne—something clean and fresh, like citrus with a hint of spice. You feel a familiar warmth pool in your gut, having to hold your body back from instinctively leaning in. “You’re the type who needs to be impressed. Alright, fair enough. Let’s skip the small talk, then.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

He grins, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his eyes. “Well, I could tell you I saved a cat from a tree once, but that’d be too cliché, right? Or that I know how to make a killer pancake from scratch.”

Your lips twitch as you try to stifle a laugh. His humor feels enticing and intimate. “And you think pancakes are impressive?”

“Only when you’re craving them,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to suggest he’s enjoying this far too much. “And trust me, I make the best pancakes.”

The drink arrives in front of you, and you take a slow sip, letting his words linger. “Alright, pancake master,” you say finally, setting your glass down. “Consider me intrigued. But I’ll warn you now—flattery’s not going to work on me.”

“Oh, I’m not flattering you.” He smiles, leaning back with an easy confidence that feels entirely unforced. “I’m just stating facts. But if you’re intrigued…” He shrugs lightly, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of determination. “I must be doing something right.”

“Or I’m just being nice and humoring you,” you add on, lifting the glass to your pink lips. His gaze is laser focused on the action, watching you tilt your head back and shift your eyes closed. Seeing your throat bob up once and then back down as you consume the burning liquid. Darting his tongue out to run across his lower lip, clearing his throat subtly and shifting in his seat.

His awkwardness is cute, you think to yourself.

“That’s fine too. I don’t mind.” He ends up saying, resting his cheek against his palm and ignoring the heat that crawls up his neck.

For some reason now, you’re looking at him in a different light. His cologne is pulling you more in by the second, his casual, confident demeanor that’s not too cocky, his spiky hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it, and the way his hand is itching closer to yours. He’s wearing a thin, gold chain around his neck that coincidentally houses a small charm of your first initial.

Huh.

“What’s your name, pretty?” He asks, voice tilting in a curious manner.

You find yourself instantly obeying, telling him your name. The alcohol you’ve consumed is making your skin feel flushed, or maybe it’s the way his smile grows more genuine, his thick fingers gently running over your smaller ones. Weaving them together before feeling across your rigid knuckles. “You know, that happens to be my favorite word.”

“What is?” Your head tilts, turning your hand the other way so he could massage the lines of your palm.

“Your name.”

The laugh that falls from your lips is automatic. “Cheesy.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with cheesy?”

Pulling your hand away, you stand up from your barstool. Overestimating yourself because as soon as your feet hit the hard floor, you’re feeling your body sway backwards. The man works quickly, faster than you could react. Strong arm wrapping around your waist, keeping you tethered to his chest. He looks down at you, eyes flashing with concern.

You’re meeting his stare, the intoxicating scent of his feels more invading than before. But you’re welcoming it this time, head tilting up to nose at the side of his neck. All the while he’s silently bending his head down so you could get a better sniff, smiling to himself with the tip of your nose pokes at a sensitive spot.

After a couple seconds, your arms wrap around his neck. ��God, I told you not to wear this. You know what it does to me.”

He laughs in your ear, pulling his other arm around your waist. “It’s not my fault, you know I love Sauvage.” You grumble as he leads you away from the bar, over to a booth. “So, you lost.”

“Shut up.”

He pulls you down to his lap, tapping lightly at your ass then squeezing, now taking the time to admire your assets shamelessly. “What? It’s true.”

“You almost lost. I saw it in your eyes.” You tell him, lips pulling down into a frown.

He leans forward slightly and places a quick kiss to them. “You know I can’t help it. Your ass is a siren’s call to me. Can I bite—”

“No.”

[peoplemovr]

OH MY GODH. HES INSANE AHGGHH

i drew your march hare ponie.... @peoplemovr

[jayofolympus-writes]

Okay on a lighter note I am now thinking about Soap trying to teach Nikolai Scots and giggling to myself about it

note: I have yet to find a canon source that gives a location for Soap's hometown, so I'm going with what's most fun for me

"So you call it a 'scurry'?" Nik asked, eyeing the bird dubiously as it inched its way closer to them. "But it does not scurry like a mouse does. It is fearless."

"Aye, but have ye seen 'em walkin'? They scurry a little bit," Soap replied. "Oi! Feck off, ye wee shite!" he barked at the bird that had leapt to try to steal his chips.

It earned them both some strange looks and baffled laughter from the tourists around them.

"I still do not understand," Nik confessed.

Soap shrugged. "Eh, that's jist the Doric for ye. An' it's only up by my way they say it; most places they're jist seagulls."

"And this is a dialect of Scottish," Nik clarified, turning it over in his mind. "I think I understand this. Tell me more?"

Soap grinned through a mouthful of chips, looking like a child in his eagerness to share what he knew.

"Right, so if my mum phoned me the now, I'd say I canna spik lang, I'm oot wi' the loons frae work. We jist went for a chippy, an' noo we're hivvin' a gander aboot the toon."

Nik hummed thoughtfully, nodding as he tried to parse the words. Most of it had been reasonably easy to follow, but one word in particular had caught his attention.

"You said the 'loons'. Like the bird? What does it mean?"

Soap snickered, shaking his head. "I'm definitely nae oot wi' the birds frae work," he said, grinning again. "Naw, 'loons' is fit we caa boys. An' 'quines' are lassies. Girls, I mean."

Nik supposed that made as much sense as any other foreign language did.

"Well then, let us go find the other 'loons', and we can continue our day, aye?"

Soap laughed at his stilted pronunciation, throwing the styrofoam container from his chips into the bin beside him.

"Da," he answered, his own pronunciation atrocious.

[rastronomicals]

2:54 PM EST December 20, 2023:

Gordons - "Spik And Span" From the album The Gordons (1981)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

Gordons were the progenitor to the legendary New Zealand band Bailter Space

File under: Kiwi Skronk

[turbulentscrawl]

Reminders of the Horror (Norton & Edgar)

warnings: character death (you), descriptions of heavy gore (I mean it. the Norton one is p bad), angst, lots of blood and pain

Your ears are ringing.

There’s not really any reason for them to be. All things considered, the wall coming down wasn’t that loud, and neither was your screaming. But your ears are ringing like you think Norton’s must have during that horrible event so much like this moment. Aside from the volume, everything is exactly as he’d described it on those late, sleepless nights. The dust, the dark, the agonized cries. (Yours.) Somewhere in your scrambled mind, you’re sure Norton sees the ghosts of his spiteful coworkers littered about him, but it’s just you there, trapped under the rubble of the asylum’s collapsed walls. You’ve seen single portions of wall collapse at the church, but never anything like this. Fools Gold had somehow managed to bring down an entire section of the sprawling building. Right on top of you.

You’re wailing and screaming for Norton, and he’s just sitting there, mere feet from you, paralyzed. His face looks like a dead man’s.

“Norton!” you scream, almost incomprehensible. His name leaves your lips along with all the air in your lungs, the rubble crushing everything out of you. You’d never dared to imagine what this kind of death felt like. Never wanted to experience the horror of it. And the pain is beyond words. Every cell in your body screams wrong, wrong, pain!

The rubble continues to settle, shift, and somehow it all gets worse. Your bones give like fragile chalk. Your abdomen shifts, squeezed from the bottom-up like a tube of toothpaste. When you open your mouth again, blood and bile gush forward, followed by a bulge of something horrifically organ-like that chokes your airways. You claw a desperate hand towards Norton, and he reacts only by numbly pushing himself away.

His back hits the far wall, still staring with unfocused eyes, and through the window above him you spot Fools Gold amble into frame. He’s grinning, albeit tightly.

“Don’t mind him,” the Worse Norton says, stepping through the window. Stepping on Norton like he’s an insect. Stepping right into the pool of your liquified viscera. “Sorry, babe, you know I wasn’t aiming for you. Just trying to give that one a hard time. That sure looks rough, though. Let me help you out real quick.”

You’re crying, but there’s no air to sob. Only bloody, salty tears as your feel yourself about to burst from the mouth. Fools Gold raises his pickaxe—perhaps the one mercy he’s still capable of giving—and brings the heavy point down on your head.

There’s so much blood. Your blood. It’s unnerving despite Edgar’s assurances that it’s good.

From your position, though, it’s hard to see how this is good. Only you two are left in this match against the triplets, and you’re only meters from the exit gate death’s door with a porcupine’s worth of metal thorns lodged in your body. The wrecked wedding venue does not help the mood, and freedom being so close by is but a taunt. You have a win at hand, if only Edgar would flee. Edgar, though, is determined to drag your mangled figure out with him no matter how much it cost.

And it was costing a lot of hurt. The spiks caught in the dirt, in the cobblestone, and pulled on your flesh and muscle, poking and swirling around inside your bruises.

“Go,” you gasp, hiccupping in pain. If he’d go, secure the win, you could die faster too. The pain would stop faster. “Go, Edg—go. I won’t…last. Go.”

“You need to tough it out,” he says through gasps of strained effort. His soft face is twisted with determination. He is not a strong man to begin with, and the added weight of the spikes is only making this harder for him. His skin and hair are dripping with blood, sweat, and mud. “I told you I can do this. Just deal with it a little longer.” In the not-so-far distance, you hear the familiar metal and cloth of the triplets shifting out of their dreaded Breaking Wheel.

“Ed,” you sob, crying dirty tears. Everything is blurry, indistinct. A bubble of blood comes up with your next scream of pain, “Go!”

“I am not afraid of death,” Edgar snaps at you. “Least of all for a situation like this.” Suddenly, he drops you and his hands are all over your body, your wounds, on the ground. Touching until his fingers and palms are running with rivulets of your blood. Then he starts smattering it about his last blank canvas with a desperate speed you’ve never seen utilized for his creations. A mania-like joy overtakes his eyes as he smacks, pokes, and smears your blood into something to distract the Hunter.

“It’s perfect,” you hear him say. When he grabs you up again, you jolt with a scream and realize, foggily, that you blacked out during his creative process. And will black out again, despite the pain’s best efforts to keep you conscious. Edgar starts dragging you again, somehow, miraculously making it to the door. When you look up, you see the triplets there, looking over a propped painting in the aisle. They’re shaking, then howling. With rage.

They grab the canvas and launch it in a tantrum towards your now-immune forms stepping over the invisible line. It clatters in front of your fading eyes, allowing you to see, barely, the butchered forms of the triples painted in your blood. A daring threat from the painter holding you to his chest as you’re swept back to the manor, where you can die and rebirth in peace.

[slurpeefrom711]

I dunno if anyone had pointed this out but y'know what these two have in common??

They both hold the Virtue of Deceit and Silence, which both can be used to hide the truth

One can choose to cover up the truth by shifting it into something its not, hence the name Deceit

While the other one can cover up the truth by choosing to not speak of anything, hence the name Silence.

(well the theory was supposed to end here but ideas came so I'll just keep going-)

Before corruption, Shadow Milk and Silent Salt held the Virtue of Knowledge and Solidarity, and then they turned into Deceit and Silence.

What could they possibly be hiding for them to be corrupted?

Jumping into headcanon territory here, my personal theory is that in Smilk's case he realized that having too much knowledge on anything can cause you to be hella powerful so he started sharing some misinformation to balance things out (this is heavily tied to my hc that Smilk was the founder of blueberry yogurt academy, like bro was literally a professor there)

Meanwhile in Ssalt's case (assuming they're a king of their own kingdom, and was on good terms with literally every other kingdom leader there was) (cuz solidarity),, they knew so much political drama bullshit that they succumbed into silence to not cause war and conflict

Thank you for coming to my ted talk, sorry if I worded some of these weirdly i kent spik inglish