#Test Signal Integrity

[nasa]

All-Star Moments in Space Communications and Navigation

How do we get information from missions exploring the cosmos back to humans on Earth? Our space communications and navigation networks – the Near Space Network and the Deep Space Network – bring back science and exploration data daily.

Here are a few of our favorite moments from 2024.

1. Hip-Hop to Deep Space

The stars above and on Earth aligned as lyrics from the song “The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly)” by hip-hop artist Missy Elliott were beamed to Venus via NASA’s Deep Space Network. Using a 34-meter (112-foot) wide Deep Space Station 13 (DSS-13) radio dish antenna, located at the network’s Goldstone Deep Space Communications Complex in California, the song was sent at 10:05 a.m. PDT on Friday, July 12 and traveled about 158 million miles from Earth to Venus — the artist’s favorite planet. Coincidentally, the DSS-13 that sent the transmission is also nicknamed Venus!

NASA's PACE mission transmitting data to Earth through NASA's Near Space Network.

2. Lemme Upgrade You

Our Near Space Network, which supports communications for space-based missions within 1.2 million miles of Earth, is constantly enhancing its capabilities to support science and exploration missions. Last year, the network implemented DTN (Delay/Disruption Tolerant Networking), which provides robust protection of data traveling from extreme distances. NASA’s PACE (Plankton, Aerosol, Cloud, ocean Ecosystem) mission is the first operational science mission to leverage the network’s DTN capabilities. Since PACE’s launch, over 17 million bundles of data have been transmitted by the satellite and received by the network’s ground station.

A collage of the pet photos sent over laser links from Earth to LCRD and finally to ILLUMA-T (Integrated LCRD Low Earth Orbit User Modem and Amplifier Terminal) on the International Space Station. Animals submitted include cats, dogs, birds, chickens, cows, snakes, and pigs.

3. Who Doesn’t Love Pets?

Last year, we transmitted hundreds of pet photos and videos to the International Space Station, showcasing how laser communications can send more data at once than traditional methods. Imagery of cherished pets gathered from NASA astronauts and agency employees flowed from the mission ops center to the optical ground stations and then to the in-space Laser Communications Relay Demonstration (LCRD), which relayed the signal to a payload on the space station. This activity demonstrated how laser communications and high-rate DTN can benefit human spaceflight missions.

4K video footage was routed from the PC-12 aircraft to an optical ground station in Cleveland. From there, it was sent over an Earth-based network to NASA’s White Sands Test Facility in Las Cruces, New Mexico. The signals were then sent to NASA’s Laser Communications Relay Demonstration spacecraft and relayed to the ILLUMA-T payload on the International Space Station.

4. Now Streaming

A team of engineers transmitted 4K video footage from an aircraft to the International Space Station and back using laser communication signals. Historically, we have relied on radio waves to send information to and from space. Laser communications use infrared light to transmit 10 to 100 times more data than radio frequency systems. The flight tests were part of an agency initiative to stream high-bandwidth video and other data from deep space, enabling future human missions beyond low-Earth orbit.

The Near Space Network provides missions within 1.2 million miles of Earth with communications and navigation services.

5. New Year, New Relationships

At the very end of 2024, the Near Space Network announced multiple contract awards to enhance the network’s services portfolio. The network, which uses a blend of government and commercial assets to get data to and from spacecraft, will be able to support more missions observing our Earth and exploring the cosmos. These commercial assets, alongside the existing network, will also play a critical role in our Artemis campaign, which calls for long-term exploration of the Moon.

On Monday, Oct. 14, 2024, at 12:06 p.m. EDT, a SpaceX Falcon Heavy rocket carrying NASA’s Europa Clipper spacecraft lifts off from Launch Complex 39A at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida.

6. 3, 2, 1, Blast Off!

Together, the Near Space Network and the Deep Space Network supported the launch of Europa Clipper. The Near Space Network provided communications and navigation services to SpaceX’s Falcon Heavy rocket, which launched this Jupiter-bound mission into space! After vehicle separation, the Deep Space Network acquired Europa Clipper’s signal and began full mission support. This is another example of how these networks work together seamlessly to ensure critical mission success.

Engineer Adam Gannon works on the development of Cognitive Engine-1 in the Cognitive Communications Lab at NASA’s Glenn Research Center.

7. Make Way for Next-Gen Tech

Our Technology Education Satellite program organizes collaborative missions that pair university students with researchers to evaluate how new technologies work on small satellites, also known as CubeSats. In 2024, cognitive communications technology, designed to enable autonomous space communications systems, was successfully tested in space on the Technology Educational Satellite 11 mission. Autonomous systems use technology reactive to their environment to implement updates during a spaceflight mission without needing human interaction post-launch.

A first: All six radio frequency antennas at the Madrid Deep Space Communication Complex, part of NASA’s Deep Space Network (DSN), carried out a test to receive data from the agency’s Voyager 1 spacecraft at the same time.

8. Six Are Better Than One

On April 20, 2024, all six radio frequency antennas at the Madrid Deep Space Communication Complex, part of our Deep Space Network, carried out a test to receive data from the agency’s Voyager 1 spacecraft at the same time. Combining the antennas’ receiving power, or arraying, lets the network collect the very faint signals from faraway spacecraft.

Here’s to another year connecting Earth and space.  

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[unsolicited-opinions]

It's not that people don't understand right from wrong.

It's that moral/ethical concerns aren't what guides most behavior on social media.

People recognize what's principled and kind. But they also recognize what gets rewarded.

The affirmation, the dopamine hit of the likes...is addictive and powerful, and it re-writes our reality if we're not vigilant.

The Algorithm doesn't reward honesty, humility, nuance, or reflection. It rewards certainty, outrage, and loyalty to the in-group. The Algorithm teaches us that certainty is strength, rage is virtue, and loyalty means never hesitating.

We've learned to fear being socially wrong more than we fear being false.

We perform moral clarity instead of living with moral integrity.

We don't stand for values or universal moral principles. We signal alignment.

Ask yourself:

Are you right...or just on the right side?

Are you guided by principles...or by applause/acceptance?

The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those who speak it.

-George Orwell

The cost of commitment to principles is a social cost, and social media has made most of us unwilling to pay it.

The test of personal integrity isn't whether you're right when it's easy. It's whether you stay true to your principles when it's not.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 35]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.6k

ao3 link

He dreams of hands. 

They are soft and delicate, but they do not treat him as such. They wrap around his throat, tightening and cutting off his air until he is left gasping and wheezing - nails dig into him, breaking his flesh and drawing up dots of blood. 

But the hands do not hurt him. They do not cause pain.

They only bring him pleasure.

They make him feel Desired. 

Wanted.

They claw desperately at him, not holding back as they squeeze and tear at him. He isn’t treated as something delicate - something that will crack and break under the slightest pressure. He arches into them as he is marked with thin lines of scratches - begs with what voice he can muster for more.

More.

He’s teased to the point of almost too much before the hands reset.

Whatever they plan for him, he submits so easily to it. 

He yearns for it when one leaves his neck to force open his jaw. He is in bliss as his lips are pushed back so his teeth are exposed like he’s an animal in need of inspection. A thumb tests the sharpness of his canines before more digits are added to completely fill his mouth. His head is tilted and guided so he can be thoroughly examined and he prays the fingers will gag him - be shoved down his throat so all he can taste is their saltiness.

But they don’t. They retract until only the tips remain, keeping him from being able to close his mouth. A low whine escapes his throat in protest, something weak and pathetic and needy, and the response he gets is more pressure to his windpipe until he’s struggling to breathe. 

As his lungs become desperate for oxygen, something viscous begins to drip into his waiting maw and he wastes no time drinking down whatever the gift is. It is tangy and musky, but sweet and he wants it to coat the inside of his mouth. 

He wants to drown in it. 

As he begins to overflow and get his wish, the hands holding him down begin to fade into nothingness and he is left floating in the abyss. 

But he is not alone. 

He is wrapped within the drumming of twin beats - one is stronger than the other, but they are both steady. They are both warm. They call to him and the beast inside his chest trills out in response - he wants to be with them. To be a part of them. 

Soon, the smaller beat begins to morph - it’s firm ‘thuds’ stretching and bending until they are words. 

“Daddy, wake up.” 

Matt’s eyes blink open. 

Despite their uselessness in terms of sight, the act still helps him wake up and fight off his grogginess as he begins to process all the inputs he is receiving. The most obvious and important of the signals he is getting is that of his precious daughter, standing next to the bed, just by his chest. 

She does not seem distressed in any way, so he does not panic. He lets himself yawn and for his brain to catch up to being awake before he responds.

“Yes, princess?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep. He doesn’t move, hoping that whatever has his daughter out of bed is trivial and he won’t have to get up just yet. He has no idea what time it is, but he gets so little rest that even an extra few minutes will do him wonders.

“Daddy!” Minnie’s voice is filled with absolute delight at his acknowledgement, but is also a fraction above a whisper - like she is just barely breathing out the words. Matt’s lips turn up into a soft smile as he realizes she’s trying to be quiet so she will not wake the other person sleeping in his bed. You are deep in Dreamland, but you have a Mother's Ear. If you hear Minnie up and talking, you'll jump to attention, and neither he or his princess want that. 

He rolls so he is on his side facing his little one, and reaches out to run the back of his index finger over one of her full cheeks, “Why are you awake, baby?”

Mouse preens at the affection, a wide smile taking over her face as she leans into his touch, “I needs help, please thank you,” she starts, her soft voice coming out a little rushed as she tries to tell him everything at once. “I gots up all by myselfs and went pee in the toilets. All by myselfs. Buts, Daddy, I can’t…I can’t reach the sinks. I trieded but it's too high and I can’t reach it. I tried really really hard! Mommy says, Daddy, she says, Mommy says if I can’ts do it myself I gotta ask for help. So I need help, please thank you.”

Matt takes in the information slowly, letting it roll in his brain and combine with everything else he senses. 

He can hear the toilet gurgling and refilling after being flushed. He can smell the traces of urine on Minnie’s fingers from her efforts to clean herself. The world begins to bloom around him as he processes what is being asked of him.

A small amount of Pride fills him at her attempts to take care of herself. She wears pull ups to sleep because she is still learning to control her bladder at night, but since Matt has known her, there have been no accidents he is aware of - even in this new environment. It isn’t her fault he has a tall pedestal sink with no step stool for her to use so she can wash her hands. 

Rest is important, but his little girl needs him, so Matt rolls himself out of bed. 

As soon as he is up on his feet, Minnie is holding up her arms to be picked up, so she is scooped up onto his hips, and her tiny arms go right around his neck. His shirt covers the bruises and cuts that make up his entire torso, but it does nothing to cushion the pain of thirty pounds being bumped into him. He's far too disciplined to wince or grunt, but he reminds himself this is why he needs to work on his defense. 

He can't play with his daughter with broken ribs.

As he carries her to the bathroom, he becomes more and more awake and Minnie’s attempts to turn on the sink become more and more obvious. 

The faucet is dripping the smallest amount of water, one drop at a time - the handle has just barely been nudged to turn on - and something semi solid has been dragged over to be in front of the sink. Only when Matt is right in front of it and can feel the item with his foot does he realize it’s his empty laundry hamper, but tilted over to be on its side. 

He huffs a soft laugh as he imagines his daughter trying to figure out a solution to her hand-washing problem. He loves her cleverness and outside the box toddler thinking. 

“Did you try to climb up on the hamper to wash your hands?” he asks, curious as to what the response will be. He's curious about her logic and curious if she'll admit to moving the hamper.

“It’s not strongs enough to hold me,” she grumbles into his shoulder and Matt does nothing to suppress his grin. He likes the answer. He likes how honest and direct she is. 

He likes that she follows the rules her mother gave about washing her hands. He likes that she realized she had a problem and attempted to find a solution, and when that didn't work, she came and asked for help. 

Matt loves her so so much and he loves all the values you have instilled into her. They are the values that you hold, that you cherish, and think are the most important. Every time he thinks about what a wonderful mother you are, his heart swells and he can't believe God is being so gracious with him.

He thanks the Lord everyday for you and the precious angel you have brought into his life.

Matt gets his foot under the hamper and lifts it back up right with ease, explaining as he does, “It’s made of wicker - that’s a type of tree. It’s hollow inside and that means it can’t support any weight. It’s only meant to hold clothes, not people.” He wants her to understand why her problem solving didn't work. He selfishly wants to encourage this type of behavior. If she can get up at night and wash her own hands, he gets more sleep.

“But I’m a peoples.”

“You are a peoples. But Daddy overlooked not having a step stool for you,” he says, owning up to his oversight. He admittedly has not been around too much during waking hours, unfortunately. The firm has been busy, so Matt has been getting to work at seven thirty in the morning and Minnie gets tired around eight at night. That doesn't give him a lot of time when he gets home at six in the evening. “I’ll get one for you today, okay?”

“Can it be pink?” 

Matt agrees to the request as the hamper is returned to its usual home, and once that is done, he assists Minnie by holding her up to the sink so she can thoroughly wash her hands. He is no longer surprised at how seriously she takes the task - his angel always wants to follow any rules her Mommy gives her and he knows first hand how overwhelming dirty hands can be on the senses - and the combination results in Minnie scrubbing enough to make a surgeon jealous.

As his daughter focuses on her task, he lets his hearing open up to the world outside the apartment. He gets the feeling it is still a few hours until sunrise - there is a distinct stillness the city gets between four and six am, and that is just beginning to waiver. In his quick scan, no one gives him an exact time, but he knows well enough that however early it is, his day has started. By the way his little girl is humming while she works, he knows there is no chance of getting her back to sleep. She is up and about and there is no way Matt is going to rouse you from your slumber when he’s perfectly capable and taking care of his angel. 

He’s used to working on no sleep and he’ll happily sacrifice a few hours of rest to be able to be with his daughter. Plus, he’ll be in court all day, supporting Foggy as second chair - with all the breaks and waiting around that normally occurs, he can sneak in a few power naps. 

He’ll be fine.

As for his morning with his sweet girl, Matt has been wanting to cook with Minnie for a while. Despite his diet of take out and leftovers, he does know his way around a kitchen and he knows for a fact Mouse is the best sous chef New York has to offer. She will be thrilled to help him do something special for her favorite person in the world. 

And she will be even more thrilled when Matt tells her the plan is to make her Mommy breakfast in bed. He very much wants to spoil you after you took such good care of him the night before and letting you sleep in will just be the tip of the iceberg. 

You deserve the Sun, the Stars, and the Moon, and while he can’t manage that at this exact moment, he can wrangle up a few physical reminders of his adoration.

Minnie gets the last of the soap off her hands and Matt pivots so she can reach the towel to dry herself off. As he does, his mind refocuses to the morning routine and the steps he needs to take before he can enact the first steps of his plan - he needs to get his daughter ready for her day. That means getting her dressed and doing her hair. 

He sees no reason to beat around the bush, so he bluntly asks, “how do you want to do your hair today, Princess?”

Mouse gives a tiny gasp and looks up at him with what he can only guess is wonder, “you’re gonna do my hair, Daddy?” Her little hands shoot up and she begins patting around her bed-head curls and he can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she determines what she wants. You’ve told him a few times that you have been letting her make this big decision in the mornings, so he waits patiently, understanding the need for independence. 

“A ponytail!” is the final verdict and Matt is slightly relieved it is nothing complicated.

“We can do a ponytail. Can you pick out some clothes that will go nice with a ponytail?” he asks, knowing the answer will be an enthusiastic ‘yes’. Hair is something he can deal with, but picking out a toddler approved outfit is beyond his skill level for obvious reasons. Minnie is a little fashionista with all her tulle and party dresses and he would hate to make her look like a jester instead of the royalty she is. 

He adjusts his hold on her before leaving the bathroom and as he makes his way back to the bedroom, he drops his voice low, “we need to be quiet so we don’t wake Mommy, okay?”

“Quiet,” Mouse breathes in agreement, her face scrunching up with determination as she does. “So we don't wake Mommy.” He knows then that she will try her best to obey him and it makes his heart swell. 

He has the sweetest little girl in the world. 

He sets her back down just outside the doorway, and to his great surprise, she instantly pushes up to be on her tip toes. She is a bit wobbly, but she has far more control than he expected for a four year old. She turns to him, and in the most authoritative voice he’s heard in a while  advises, “we gotta be quiets” before sneaking into the room.

Her steps are exaggerated - she lifts her foot up way too high to be practical before setting it down again and between each movement is a pause to check for noise. He is reminded of an old timey bank robber and he guesses that must be the reference she is mimicking - some Bugs Bunny or Scooby Doo cartoon where silence was crucial. Her antics make him smile and he takes a moment to observe them - noting how she is true to her nickname. She makes no excessive noise and he’s sure if he didn’t have his superior senses, he wouldn’t be able to detect her. 

It is amazing to him that something that took years of training for him to master comes so naturally to Minnie. She truly is his miracle, and if he thinks about it for too long, he gets overly emotional and philosophical, so he tucks all his awe away for another time and follows her into the bedroom. 

While Mouse follows her mission of picking out some clothes, Matt grabs the bucket of hair supplies from his dresser. He doesn’t know what all the different bottles and products are for, but he takes them all anyway. He is hoping a few more sessions will have him graduating out of the novice category of hair styling and he will be able to do more than the basics.

Apparently, asking Minnie to pick out clothes while being quiet also made her focus, as she  selects something from her suitcase in record speed. She exits back into the living room the same time he does, a big smile on her face as she holds up her prizes to present to him. He's pretty sure she's showing him a pair of leggings and a t-shirt dress, but such small clothes are a little harder for him to figure out.

“I wanna wear these.”

“With your ponytail?”

“Yes, please! Thank you!”

With the hard decisions made, he guides Mouse over to the couch and that begins the process of changing her into her day clothes. He’s so very lucky that she finds novelty in him being the one to assist her, because she wants to show him all the right way to do things and that she can get dressed all by herself. He’s only needed to help straighten everything out and to tell her she looks perfect in her apparently pink dress.

Her hair is almost just as easy - Matt finds joy in running his fingers through her bouncy little curls and Minnie can't soak up the affection quick enough. He’s gentle as he manually detangles any knots and he forgoes the brush completely in favor of pulling her hair up with his hands. It is far from the smoothest of ponytails, but as soon as his hands are away from her head, Mouse is running to the nearest reflective surface to examine herself.

She twirls and poses, pretending she is in front of a camera while declaring, “Daddy made me extra pretty!”

He does not need anymore ego boosting, but the compliment goes right into his front pocket and he will be telling Foggy about his accomplishments.

He lets her spin around and have her fun, in no rush to move the morning along. He knows better than anyone that these types of small moments are what his Soul and Heart need and he will cling to them as long as he can. He does wish he knew how to get his phone to take video and pictures, because he knows how much you would cherish them. It is something he plans to work on - not only for you but for him as well. He has daydreams about attending dance recitals and spelling bees and he wants to be the proud dad in the crowd filming everything. He wants to be able to go back to those moments and listen to them anytime he wants to. 

But until he actually has the energy and patience to learn more about his phone, he will treasure this time only in his memory. 

Minnie gives a final peace sign to her reflection, then she turns and hurries over to Matt with her arms held out to be picked up. 

“I’m a kitty!” she eagerly tells him as he once again swings her up onto his hip. She not-so-gently headbutts him in the shoulder, then starts rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “Meow meow meow!”

Her gleefullness is infectious and Matt is quickly grinning while he begins to exaggeratedly pet at her back, “Well, Miss Kitty, I was thinking about making some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and I was hoping to have an assistant. Since my daughter seems to have disappeared, do you think you can help me?”  

Minnie pulls back so she can look at him, then she reaches up, fingers curled up to make a paw, and starts playfully, but so gently, batting at his cheek. “Meow meow, scrambled eggs and toast? Meow meow. I knows how to make those, I can helps, meow meow!” 

“You can help?” He confirms and she nods so hard her curls bounce around behind her. “And you won’t get any fur in the eggs? This is an extra special breakfast.”

“Meow meow, extra special breakfast, meow meow?” 

He hums in affirmation and begins to carry his little girl towards the kitchen. “Extra special breakfast. You see, someone I love very very much is still asleep and I think it would be nice to wake her up with breakfast in bed. What do you think, Miss Kitty?”

Matt gets another light bop to the face just as Minnie asks, “Meow meow, is it for Mommy, meow meow?”

“It is for Mommy.” 

He sets her on the back counter, away from the stove, and starts to pull out everything he will need to complete his task. As he does, Mouse begins to swing her feet.

“Meow meow, Mommy likes red stuff on her eggies. Meow meow meow,” she tells you, but he has no idea what she is talking about. He’s never noticed if you add something to your eggs, but he’s not entirely sure if you have eaten eggs together. Most of your meals together have been lunch or dinner, and he doesn’t recall any breakfast for dinner scenarios. 

“I don’t think I have any red stuff,” he advises as he takes out the milk, eggs, cheese, and butter from the fridge. She is completely nonplussed by the update and keeps up her kitty-time play. 

“Meow meow, she likes cheese, toos. Meow meow.” 

That makes him chuckle and instead of putting the bag onto the counter, he offers it to his daughter, who eagerly hugs it to her chest. “Do kitties like cheese, too?” 

“Meow meow, kitties love cheese! Meow meow meow!”

“What about whisking eggs, do kitties love to do that?” 

He doesn’t get a verbal response and he gets about a quarter of a second of warning before Minnie is leaping down from the counter. He darts forward, catching her by the waist as her feet miss brushing the floor by a centimeter, but his hold is no match against a wiggly toddler and she’s running out of the kitchen before his mind can process what just happened. 

He stands slowly, his heart slamming in his chest with adrenaline over his sweet girl jumping off something twice her height. She had no fear or second thoughts about it, but all he can imagine is her little body crumbling to the ground in pain. 

Is this what he puts Foggy through everytime he puts on his helmet?

He pales at the thought. 

“Sweetheart, it wasn’t safe to do that. You could have gotten hurt,” he tells her, feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world. He’s only very recently started caring about his own well being and he’s thrown himself in danger without thought so many times that he’s pretty sure even God has lost count. 

“Kitties land on their feets!” Minnie tells him from across the room, rummaging in her bag of toys. He has no idea what she could possibly be looking for and at the moment, as long as she is safe, he doesn’t care. 

He drags a hand over his face, very suddenly understanding why being a parent is a full time job. He is definitely going to add on to his plans to spoil you - Minnie is a sweet angel but you need more than praise for raising her. 

She finds whatever she was looking for and runs back towards him with it held high over her head - it is plastic and by the smell of it, he’s pretty sure it came from her kitchen playset. 

“I knows how to whisk, meow meow!” 

Matt takes a deep breath to reset himself, then lets his affection and love for his daughter take over, “you do, do you?”

“Meow meow, yeah, I can whisk lots of things!” She waves the toy at him, clearly proud of herself, and he chuckles at her sweetness and eagerness. He wanted her help in the kitchen and he is certainly going to get it.

“Okay, then, Chef Miss Kitty, let's make some eggs.” 

First thing first, he gets the coffee going. He switched to the brand you prefer the morning after your first time in his apartment and he’s made sure to memorize exactly how you take it so he can give you the perfect cup every time. 

Next, he cracks eggs into a bowl while Minnie watches like a hawk, her toy whisk clenched tightly in her hand and waiting to do her job. He adds a dash of milk and as soon as he sets down the carton, his shirt is being tugged on so he can lift up his little angel - so he does. 

Determined doesn’t even begin to describe what Matt witnesses. Minnie takes the task as seriously as a professional chef, hunched forward and silent as she works. There is a little pout on her lips and he has to latch onto his own professionalism so he won’t laugh. 

There is no need for him to direct her - she was not telling tall tales about her abilities. She blends the eggs beautifully and when Matt senses there is no point in continuing to whisk, he kisses her cheek. 

“I think you got them, sweetheart. They are perfect, thank you.” 

“I love whisking,” she whispers to him like it is a secret and he takes note of it. He’s sure that when Minnie finally gets to meet Foggy’s parents, there will be lots of desserts in his future. Anna loves baking and loves grandkids and letting her have an afternoon with a toddler who loves to cook will probably be like an early Christmas.  

She stays on his hip as toast is started and butter is dropped in the pan to melt. She keeps surprisingly quiet, only piping up to ask to switch her whisk for a spatula. She gets a real one as the time comes to start cooking the eggs. 

“You have to let them bubble a little and start to become firm,” Matt directs, hoping his directions make sense. “When the parts touching the pan get solid, you have to push them out of the way so the liquidy part can cook, too. Got it?”

“Meow meow, got it, meow meow.”

He doesn’t know if she really understands what he is saying, but it is clear that you have let her stir the eggs before. She is gentle as she nudges things around, like she is aware too much will make a mess and again, she stays sharply focused, seemingly wanting to make your breakfast in bed as perfect as possible. He is quickly learning that tomfoolery is not tolerated in Chef Miss Kitty’s kitchen and he is more than fine with that. He thinks it is absolutely charming that she is so dedicated. 

She sits up straighter when the eggs begin to firm and form into a runny scramble and Matt hums out soft praise, “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” 

“I knows how to make eggies, meow meow.”

“You sure do. Do you want to add the cheese now?”

“Meow meow, yes, please. Meow meow.”

He gives her another kiss and a minute later, Minnie is telling him the newly cheesy eggs are done and he sets her down so he can transfer everything to plates. She stays in his shadow but out from under his feet as the toast is buttered and cut, and coffee is poured. It is only after everything is ready to go that he realizes that he does not have a tray to properly present breakfast in bed. 

He considers his options, then decides on just bringing the plate as is, with a dish towel under it to keep you from burning your hands. He’ll make sure he has the correct set up for the next time he does this - because he knows very well there will be a next time, and a time after that, and many more after that.

The moment Minnie steps out of his small kitchen area, her demeanor changes completely. She is back to being an excited toddler and Matt lets himself throw his head back and laugh as she takes off towards the bedroom. He follows after her, his heart swollen and glowing with love for both her and the woman who changed his life for the better. He prays this is one of the moments he will remember for the rest of his time on Earth and can replay in his mind over and over again.

“Mommy! Mommy! Wake up! We made you breakfast!” 

---

:3

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[gothamite-rambler]

Duke Thomas when he learned the darker moments of Bruce including the "Test" he performed on Tim, everything with post revival Jason, and a few bits and pieces for Dick. So he is sticking up for his buddies/brothers.

Duke (on comms during a mission): When I see you stand by Selina, I believe you see two bad bitches. I believe you don't like women, it's real competition, you might pop ass with 'em.

Batman (confused): What?

Duke (rapping): Let's speak on percentage, show me your splits, I'll make sure I double back with you. You were signed to a trigga that's signed to a trigga that said he was signed to that trigga.

Jason and Dick listening in are too stunned to speak.

Barbara (eating cheese puffs while working, impressed): Nice switch up there.

Batman (sad dad voice): I just wanted to know why you were giving me the silent treatment. Please stop.

Duke (rapping with ease while decking a goon in the face): Put your eldest son through hurtles, you're a douche bag. Throwing a weapon at your second son's neck that's a jackass move and putting the third to a test, that's hoe shit-

Batman (enraged, gritted teeth): You are not doing this! Stop it right now!

Duke continued to play the villain as the Dark Knight confronted him, the entire exchange echoing through the Batmobile's speakers.

Duke (interrupting while rapping, enjoying this): Hoe, what? You ain't like that call out? Bat to bat, I'll call out the ego knight. Imma get back to that, for the record. Now why would I call you out at this moment? Y'all think I'd let that slide? Nah, but you got a son to raise, but I can see you don't know nothin' 'bout that-

Batman (hearing an echo from his batmobile): You're on a speaker system?!

Duke: Tell him to pray, know nothin' 'bout that. And givin' him tools to walk through life like day-by-day, know nothin' 'bout that. Teachin' him morals, integrity, discipline, listen, man, you don't know nothin' 'bout that. Speakin' the truth and consider what God's considerin', you don't know nothin' 'bout that-

Batman (shouting, startling the villains in front of him): ALRIGHT, I GET IT!

Poison Ivy (in the background, pouting): Aww, come on, it was just getting good!

Batman: You shut the hell up, Pam! Signal, we will talk about this later!

Jason (laughing): Nah, he’s not finished yet.

Dick (sounding corny, bless his heart): Let him cook!

Batman: Who told him?!

Tim (amused): We may have… told him some stories about you while his arm was healing.

Duke: Yeah, and it’s a good thing little Robin isn’t on patrol tonight. I was holding this in, but I didn’t want the kid around. I respect you, Batman, but sometimes you’re trash at parenting! You trash! You trash!

Batman (offended): Stop calling me trash! This is oddly hurtful!

Riddler: A dumpster fire fit's you more.

Ivy (dryly): Rat-infested garbage barge.

Mad Hatter: Trash island!

Batman: Oh, would you all shut the hell up!

Dick covered his mouth, smiling but also shocked. Jason was laughing. Tim smiled while patrolling with Duke.

Duke: I’m tired, B! I'm tired! What did these intelligent, handsome, confident men do to you? That test alone was foul! You are—

Villains: Trash!

Batman (clenched jaw as he spoke): What can I give you to make this embarrassment end?

Duke: I can see you’re a changed man, but you owe your sons, and me—an apology. Namely, a trip to New York Comic Con all expenses paid... and you buy me a cosplay for an anime of my choice.

Poison Ivy: Good start, but go higher!

Jason: Get us all cars!

Batman (mumbling): Am I in hell?

Barbara: Sorry to chime in, but I’d like a trip to Hawaii with a date.

Dick: No fair! I said Star and I were going to Hawaii!

Batman: I said I was sorry, why must you remind me of this and demand bribes! I already pay all of you and I am not a bad bitch! I’m Batman!

Barbara (joining in): Bitch Man!

Batman: He’s only acting like this because I said Castlevania is dumb! Which it is! That’s just my personal opinion!

Mad Hatter and Riddler disagreed, but Batman threw a dull batarang at both of them to shut them up.

Tim: Batman... you sent him a PowerPoint on why it’s bad.

Ivy (crossing her arms): I bet you hate Kendrick too.

Ivy ducked as Batman tossed a small pebble at her.

Duke (shouting, enraged): Castlevania isn’t a stupid anime just because you didn’t understand Dracula as a character! Keep talking and ooo, I’ll start with Not Like Us! Don’t test me, I’m operating on two hours of sleep!

Stephanie (laughing): Bitch Man's gonna need Aloe Vera for those burns!

Batman: Okay, laugh it up! When I'm back home, all of you are on punishment! Oracle cut the feed from my car speakers and I don’t dislike Kendrick! I have great taste in music!

Batman cut off his communication device and Barbara disconnected the bluetooth connection Duke set up when Bruce wasn't aware he put that in his car. Ivy walked over to the Dark Knight with a smirk, making the hero groan annoyed.

Batman (gruff, wanting a break for the night): I already thanked you for helping me.

Ivy (enjoying the strife and chaos): You did, but this little call out towards you was much more satisfying. At least you’re not a terrible dad like mine.

Batman: I’ll take that as a compliment, weed.

Ivy (smugly): Whatever helps your verbal beat down, douche canoe.

[mckitterick]

She Won. They Didn't Just Change the Machines. They Rewired the Election. How Leonard Leo's 2021 sale of an electronics firm enabled tech giants to subvert the 2024 election.

Everyone knows how the Republicans interfered in the 2024 US elections through voter interference and voter-roll manipulation, which in itself could have changed the outcomes of the elections. What's coming to light now reveals that indeed those occupying the White House, at least, are not those who won the election.

Here's how they did it.

(full story is replicated here below the read-more: X)

She Won

The missing votes uncovered in Smart Elections’ legal case in Rockland County, New York, are just the tip of the iceberg—an iceberg that extends across the swing states and into Texas.

On Monday, an investigator’s story finally hit the news cycle: Pro V&V, one of only two federally accredited testing labs, approved sweeping last-minute updates to ES&S voting machines in the months leading up to the 2024 election—without independent testing, public disclosure, or full certification review.

These changes were labeled “de minimis”—a term meant for trivial tweaks. But they touched ballot scanners, altered reporting software, and modified audit files—yet were all rubber-stamped with no oversight.

That revelation is a shock to the public.

But for those who’ve been digging into the bizarre election data since November, this isn’t the headline—it’s the final piece to the puzzle. While Pro V&V was quietly updating equipment in plain sight, a parallel operation was unfolding behind the curtain—between tech giants and Donald Trump.

And it started with a long forgotten sale.

A Power Cord Becomes a Backdoor

In March 2021, Leonard Leo—the judicial kingmaker behind the modern conservative legal machine—sold a quiet Chicago company by the name of Tripp Lite for $1.65 billion. The buyer: Eaton Corporation, a global power infrastructure conglomerate that just happened to have a partnership with Peter Thiel’s Palantir.

To most, Tripp Lite was just a hardware brand—battery backups, surge protectors, power strips. But in America’s elections, Tripp Lite devices were something else entirely.

They are physically connected to ES&S central tabulators and Electionware servers, and Dominion tabulators and central servers across the country. And they aren’t dumb devices. They are smart UPS units—programmable, updatable, and capable of communicating directly with the election system via USB, serial port, or Ethernet.

ES&S systems, including central tabulators and Electionware servers, rely on Tripp Lite UPS devices. ES&S’s Electionware suite runs on Windows OS, which automatically trusts connected UPS hardware.

If Eaton pushed an update to those UPS units, it could have gained root-level access to the host tabulation environment—without ever modifying certified election software.

In Dominion’s Democracy Suite 5.17, the drivers for these UPS units are listed as “optional”—meaning they can be updated remotely without triggering certification requirements or oversight. Optional means unregulated. Unregulated means invisible. And invisible means perfect for infiltration.

Enter the ballot scrubbing platform BallotProof. Co-created by Ethan Shaotran, a longtime employee of Elon Musk and current DOGE employee, BallotProof was pitched as a transparency solution—an app to “verify” scanned ballot images and support election integrity.

With Palantir's AI controlling the backend, and BallotProof cleaning the front, only one thing was missing: the signal to go live.

September 2024: Eaton and Musk Make It Official

Then came the final public breadcrumb:In September 2024, Eaton formally partnered with Elon Musk.

The stated purpose? A vague, forward-looking collaboration focused on “grid resilience” and “next-generation communications.”

But buried in the partnership documents was this line:

“Exploring integration with Starlink's emerging low-orbit DTC infrastructure for secure operational continuity.”

The Activation: Starlink Goes Direct-to-Cell

That signal came on October 30, 2024—just days before the election, Musk activated 265 brand new low Earth orbit (LEO) V2 Mini satellites, each equipped with Direct-to-Cell (DTC) technology capable of processing, routing, and manipulating real-time data, including voting data, through his satellite network.

DTC doesn’t require routers, towers, or a traditional SIM. It connects directly from satellite to any compatible device—including embedded modems in “air-gapped” voting systems, smart UPS units, or unsecured auxiliary hardware.

From that moment on:

Commands could be sent from orbit

Patch delivery became invisible to domestic monitors

Compromised devices could be triggered remotely

This groundbreaking project that should have taken two-plus years to build, was completed in just under ten months.

Elon Musk boasts endlessly about everything he’s launching, building, buying—or even just thinking about—whether it’s real or not. But he pulls off one of the largest and fastest technological feats in modern day history… and says nothing? One might think that was kind of… “weird.”

According to New York Times reporting, on October 5—just before Starlink’s DTC activation—Musk texted a confidant:

“I’m feeling more optimistic after tonight. Tomorrow we unleash the anomaly in the matrix.”

Then, an hour later:

“This isn’t something on the chessboard, so they’ll be quite surprised. ‘Lasers’ from space.”

It read like a riddle. In hindsight, it was a blueprint.

The Outcome

Data that makes no statistical sense. A clean sweep in all seven swing states.

The fall of the Blue Wall. Eighty-eight counties flipped red—not one flipped blue.

Every victory landed just under the threshold that would trigger an automatic recount. Donald Trump outperformed expectations in down-ballot races with margins never before seen—while Kamala Harris simultaneously underperformed in those exact same areas.

If one were to accept these results at face value—Donald Trump, a 34-count convicted felon, supposedly outperformed Ronald Reagan. According to the co-founder of the Election Truth Alliance:

“These anomalies didn’t happen nationwide. They didn’t even happen across all voting methods—this just doesn’t reflect human voting behavior.”

They were concentrated.

Targeted.

Specific to swing states and Texas—and specific to Election Day voting.

And the supposed explanation? “Her policies were unpopular.” Let’s think this through logically. We’re supposed to believe that in all the battleground states, Democratic voters were so disillusioned by Vice President Harris’s platform that they voted blue down ballot—but flipped to Trump at the top of the ticket?

Not in early voting.

Not by mail.

With exception to Nevada, only on Election Day.

And only after a certain threshold of ballots had been cast—where VP Harris’s numbers begin to diverge from her own party, and Trump’s suddenly begin to surge. As President Biden would say, “C’mon, man.”

In the world of election data analysis, there’s a term for that: vote-flipping algorithm.

And of course, Donald Trump himself:

He spent a year telling his followers he didn’t need their votes—at one point stating,

“…in four years, you don't have to vote again. We'll have it fixed so good, you're not gonna have to vote.”

____

They almost got away with the coup. The fact that they still occupy the White House and control most of the US government will make removing them and replacing them with the rightful President Harris a very difficult task.

But for this nation to survive, and for the world to not fall further into chaos due to this "administration," we must rid ourselves of the pretender and his minions and controllers once and for all.

[peachiejeongin]

Venom and Velvet - Hyunjin

Synopsis: Snake hybrids were terrifying; the mere thought of them integrating into society sent humans into mass hysteria. You cannot help when one of them captivates your attention, however, leading to an entire reconstruct of your ideology...

Pairing: snake hybrid!Hyunjin x reader

Genre: hybrid!AU, Fluff, Angsty Elements

Warnings: Do not read this if you have ophidiophobia, bullying, mentions of vandalism

Notice: Hello, darlings! I have recently acquired Snake Hybrid Hyunjin brain rot, thus why you are receiving this story today! [Thank you, fluffylino, we all say in unison]. I have not seen many fluffy Snake Hybrid Hyunjin fictions, so I thought I would create one of my own. Enjoy! :)

It was an honest mistake, how they came to exist.

The fateful day at the chemical plant seemed like any other; chemists researched in their labs, engineers repaired certain sectors of the building, and quality assurance workers monitored every aspect of the plant to a tee.

What happened in the later hours of the day is still unknown. Perhaps it was a careless chemist, maybe a freak accident; however, what was factual was the explosion. The plant erupted into a fury of flame and smoke, first stemming from the lab quarter and swiftly engulfing everything in its path. Hundreds of workers lay dead within the remains.

Or so was speculated.

The first signal of many that something was off was the flames; they were not the typical shades of orange, yellow, or red that one would typically catch glimpse of during an explosion.

They were green.

Flaming, emerald green.

'A mix of chemicals,' was the initial speculation, since that was the most reasonable voucher and humans preferred to opt for the easiest explanation rather than delve into the technical science of situations.

However, this explanation proved irrifutably inaccurate as the second signal came into play; the "deceased" workers rose from what was determined to be their gravesite, yet they were not...themselves. It was evident that some sort of radioactive mutation had occured; those who were once thought of as dead sported a new appearance, consisting of cascading, Sacramento green scales prevailing in patches, primarily on the victims' shoulders, collarbones, forearms, and calfs. Fangs protruded from their upper jaws, claws replaced their fingers nails, and both appeared sharp and hungry. Their tongues forked perfectly down the center, and their once neutral-shaded eyes turned a bright yellow shade, their pupils dilating until they were nothing but thin, black slits. From here, the story became clear: necrotoxins and cytotoxins, specifically the kinds commonly found in snake venom, had somehow been involved within the accident and were responsible for this mutation.

This new species wreaked havoc on the town, biting, constricting, and terrifying every human being in sight. It took nearly a full year for the madness to cease; a surviving chemist from the chemical plant created an antidote for the infected individuals, who the town had started referring to as, "Snake Hybrids." The antitode was administered to every Snake Hybrid, whether by choice or by force. While it did not remove the physical side effects, like the scales or fangs, it significantly calmed their tempers, allowing them to fully act like regular members of society once more.

The town council, however, did not want to take anymore chances; as such, the Hybrids were secluded from society and forced to live in a sectioned off, abandoned chamber of the neighborhood. They were forced to adapt to this new way of life, forced to raise their children in a town in which they had to explain why the humans had such a horrid distaste for their kind.

Yet, the newly-elected mayor had an irking to put a stop to these laws. His mind's configuration believed in equality for both humans and Snake Hybrids. Because of this, he slowly but surely began testing the waters, beginning with a new mandate.

"All university age students, whether human or Hybrid, will be allowed to attend whatever university of their choosing, starting this upcoming school year," he declared one Saturday morning during a press conference.

That, my friend, is how you found yourself in the situation you were currently facing.

You were "normal" by society standards; you had excellent grades, you were above average in athletics, and you had a phenomenal social life. You were the golden child of your town. Growing up, you had heard stories about the Snake Hybrids; the adults in your life did not speak fondly of them by any means, and there were a plethora of urban legends surrounding them. You had been raised to fear these creatures.

As were others your age, you had quickly inferred. When the Snake Hybrid students arrived on campus, everyone had fled like the plague. Nobody had dared to go near them; it was not like they cared, however. They stuck together, with the only humans they interacted with being their teachers. An overwhelming terror shrouded the university.

So, why in this moment, did you find yourself fixated rather than fearful?

You could not take your eyes off of the Hybrid sitting across from you. He looked absolutely nothing like the creatures friends and family had depicted in gruesome stories and tales. He looked relatively human for the most part, spare a few scaley sections on his shoulders and collarbones peaking out from underneath his top. His face was chiseled, the yellow of his irises complimenting it fairly well in your opinion. He had shoulder-length curly black hair that framed his face perfectly. From time to time, you would catch a glimpse of his forked tongue peaking out between his teeth when he became focused on an assignment.

He was incredulously, irevokably beautiful.

You were concentrated on the boy all hour, only opting to focus on your assignment whenever his eyes flicked up to meet yours and you nervously glanced away. Before you knew it, class was dismissed; you took a long time gathering your things on purpose, attempting to work up enough courage to talk to him. You did not take long enough, it seems, as you walked out of the classroom feeling slightly dejected. You did not have to make the planned effort, however.

"Take a photo," the boy nearly snarled out in a harsh manner, catching up to you in the hallway. You swiftly whipped your head around to make fierce eye contact with him; his slitted pupils bore an annoyed stare into your round ones.

"I'm sorry?" you inquired quietly, almost timidly. The both of you were now stopped in the middle of the corridor.

"You heard me," he hissed, both literally and in his tone. "A photo will last longer than staring at me. I'm not some spectacle for you to ogle at." Your eyes widened almost instantly, and you made an attempt to explain yourself.

"Oh my gosh, no!" you exclaimed, regret prominent in your voice. "I am so sorry, that is not what it was at all!"

"Yeah?" his tongue was protruding at his cheek, his tone laced with faux sympathy. "Then what was it?" He crossed his arms as he awaited an answer.

That is when you froze. You did not know how exactly to explain to the guy that you were focused on him in class because you found him absolutely stunning. Even if you did tell him, you were sure he would think it was some cruel joke. You stared down at the ground, your heart beating with guilt.

"I'm sorry," was all you managed to mumble out. You could have sworn that when you looked up, you saw his face soften. He rubbed his lips together and tsked slightly as they unfolded.

"Just don't make a habit of it," he replied, the sentence diminishing in volume as he walked away from you.

---

From that moment onwards, you were captivated by him. Everywhere you looked, he was in your line of sight; at lunch, during classes, even walking around on campus. It was like you could not escape him.

Yet, you did not physically come up to nor encounter him until one late night. You and a couple of your close friends were walking back to your dormitories after a brief party; you were not drunk by any means, but you did feel a tad tipsy after the night's events. You had began to space out when your friends began snickering and stopped in the middle of the walkway.

"What's up?" you asked; their response came in the form of more scorning giggles as they pointed upwards. The direction of their fingers landed on a different dormitory building; it was the dorm specifically designated for the male Snake Hybrids to reside in. Specifically, your friends were motioning to one of the middle windows in which a Snake Hybrid seemed to be working out.

You recognized that face anywhere.

"Oh, yeah, snakes," you stumbled over your words as you spoke. "Anyways, let's get back before lights out?" you tugged on one friend's jacket sleeve, encouraging them to get away from the building.

"Wait, oh my gosh, do you still have it?" one of them asked the girl standing next to her, completely disregarding your comments. In response, the girl smirked and took off her backpack; reaching into it, she pulled out a can of black spray paint.

"Snagged this from shop class," she explained to your confused stature.

"What are you doing with that?" you interrogated, having an anxious idea as to how this conversation was going to go.

"You mean what are we doing with it?" you were corrected. "We're going to have a little late night fun, duh." She accentuated her words with a nod towards the dormitory. Your eyes widened in bewilderment.

"You mean vandalize the Hybrid dorm?"

"Obviously," she stated as if it was the most obvious action in the world. "These guys shouldn't even be here. It's only fair we make that known." She outstretched her arm towards you, spray-can in hand. "Want to do the honors?"

You hesitantly took the can, looking down at it in obfuscation. Without thinking, your grasp on it tightened and you threw it into oblivion, specifically into the spanning woods behind the dorm. You were not exactly sure how far it went, but you did know that your "friends" were pissed.

"Y/n, what the hell?!" one of them scowled.

"I'm not doing this," you crossed your arms as you defended your stance. "Sorry, but they have done nothing to us. How is that fair?"

"Because they're-"

"What?" you interrupted your friend's monologue. "They're freaks? Misfits? Imperfect? Because guess what, so are we. Sure, they have scales and fangs and their eyes are a tad scary at times. Other than that, they are no different than we are." Your friends side-eyed one another and then nodded. They walked away from you without saying another word. You turned around to face the direction they were walking in, your mouth agape in pure vexation.

You let out a deep inhalation in the fall air as you glanced up towards the dorm; the sight that greeted your eyes shocked you: he was staring at you, a smile playing at his lips. The two of you locked eyes before he walked away.

He had seen everything.

---

The next morning, your so-called "friends" ignored you like an unwanted phone call from an ex-partner. They purposely sat on the other side of the room from you in your first hour class, whispering no doubt rumors about last night.

'Great. I'm going to be alone for the day,' you had made up your mind on that matter, dropping your head into your hands. It was not for long, though; you instantly felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked up and met the same alluring gaze you had been hyperfixated on for weeks. Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke.

"Can I sit?" he asked genuinely and politely, contrasting the first and only conversation you had ever had with him. If your face did not physically smile, your eyes surely did. You nodded slowly, and he took the open desk beside you. He never turned his head away from you.

"What's your name?" he pondered, finally getting a chance to get a good look at you.

"We've been in class together for weeks, and you don't know it?" you chuckled humorously. "I'm y/n. Your turn." He quirked an eyebrow towards your reply.

"Hyunjin," he held out a scaled hand for you to shake. You smiled slightly, ignoring the heightened whispers from the other side of the room.

"Hey, about last night, because I know you saw me-"

"Why did you stick up for me?" Hyunjin interrupted your ramble before it began. The question had you pause for a moment.

Why did you stick up for him?

Was it because you thought he was attractive? Was it due to your fight against injustice? The miniscule amount of alcohol in your system? What was it?

You could not formulate a proper response to this question; therefore, you shrugged your shoulders.

"I don't know," you spoke earnestly. "It felt right. I don't like seeing anyone being treated wrong." Hyunjin gave a small nod at your words, a sly smile appearing and his fangs protruding.

"Well, thank you," he replied. "Whatever the reason, it meant a lot." You reciprocated the small nod, and for the next hour, you and Hyunjin got a whole bunch of nothing done. You figured out he was an art major, and he smirked at the fact that you were majoring in literature; you pretty much goofed off essentially all class period, making jokes and getting to know each other.

The period ended much too quickly, and you let out a sigh of despair.

"Sit with me at lunch?" Hyunjin asked you optimistically. You nodded, an agreement that, little did you know, would morph your ideology for years to come...

---

You and Hyunjin became inseparable; you spent every waking hour of every day with one another. You sat together in classes, at lunch, and you began spending your free periods with one another. You had quickly concluded that almost everything besides the origin story you had been told about Snake Hybrids was false. The legends about ten foot talk snake creatures, tall tales of them preying at night, and other stories were quickly debunked, some even earning hearty laughs from Hyunjin from how absurd they were.

You were judged harshly by your peers for the time you were spending with him, but you did not mind. As the two of you got to know each other, you grew closer and closer until mutual feelings erupted between the two of you, though neither of you had the guts to confess them in fear of corrupting the fantastic friendship you had just built up. It was an unlikely pairing, a snake and a girl, one being as coarse as venom and the other as soft as velvet.

One fateful day, the two of you had paired up for an art project; you knew Hyunjin's expertise and your fantastic planning skills would get the job done quickly and precisely. Hyunjin had suggested you work on the project at his dorm, so that is exactly where you were headed, catching a couple of off-hand glances as you entered into the building.

You were given access to the building and quickly made your way to Hyunjin's room. You knocked a few times on his door, a plethora of colorful paints in your hand. He opened the door, and the sight that greeted your gaze shocked you: Hyunjin was shirtless, his emerald scales on display, shining under the luminescence of his ceiling light. He took out one earbud and smiled.

"Hey, give me just a minute to set up!" He closed the door gently, leaving you standing there in shock. You knew he was ethereal, but seeing him shirtless was a different tale entirely. You snapped out of your trance when the door reopened; Hyunjin was now in a grey hoodie, matching the color of his sweatpants. He invited you inside his lonesome room, closing the door swiftly behind you.

The next few hours were dedicated to your project; paper was splayed out on every surface with plans sketched on each one, paints of every color were opened and splattered onto a pallette, and those colors subsequently made their way onto the canvas, thanks to Hyunjin's skillfull brushstrokes.

Before you knew it, your project was finished; the prompt you were given was to draw something you thought was beautiful. The point of it all was to contrast every student's differing perspective on the subject. You had opted to paint a sunset, a basic approach but still effective; you had decided, in order to remove the simplicity of it, that would explain in the presentation why the sunset was beautiful. You would go beyond just the mixture of colors and bring in a bit of symbolism as to how the sunset ended the day, thus bringing beauty to a respective finale.

You felt great pride in the progress the both of you had made, and you stared intently at the painting; you were in awe of Hyunjin's talent, how he had made every shade of orange, pink, purple, and red blend together to create an exhilerating portrait. You focused on every intricate detail and how it all came together to make an incredulous scene.

"What are you thinking about, Pretty?" Hyunjin poked your arm with the handle end of the paintbrush; you quickly turned to face him, blushing from the nickname.

"Just how beautiful the painting is. I wish I could look that beautiful." you admitted.

"If you only knew," Hyunjin mumbled in a tone barely above a whisper. You heard what he had said, but you wanted to see if he would repeat it.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Um," Hyunjin felt a lump caught in his throat; his forked tongue moved from side to side in his mouth from anxiety as he tried to explain himself. "I said I could make you pretty like the sunset."

"What?" Before you could receive a reply, Hyunjin dipped the brush he was holding into a glob of orange paint and smeared a streak of it across your forehead. The motion made you gasp before you bust out into giggles; Hyunjin's antics did not cease.

"Now we have to get the red. And the pink," he described as his faintly-clawed hands dipped the brush into each respective color and repeated the swiping motions; he proceeded to do the same with the purple and yellow paints.

"There," he put his brush down and clasped his hands together. "Now, you look like a sunset!" Hyunjin's fangs were loud and proud as he smiled down at you. Your thoughts were colliding together as you figured out a way to get your revenge.

Suddenly, you grabbed a wider brush and coated it with green paint.

"You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think these scales are necessarily green enough," you lunged towards Hyunjin's collarbone; however, you missed entirely, instead meeting a pushed out hand from the male. The impact caused your brush to fleet backwards and land on your neck instead.

"Awe, you look cute with scales!" Hyunjin complimented sarcastically. You widened your eyes, a jolly glint sparkling under the artificial light. Without thinking, you tackled Hyunjin, landing you both backwards on the bed and smearing the array of paints on his grey hoodie. Hyunjin attempted to free himself from your grasp, hissing exuberantly in between fits of laughter; his attempts were for not as you grabbed both of his hands in one of yours, the scales lightly scuffing your palms.

You lifted his hands above his head and, taking the still-glazed brush, smeared lines of green from the top of his neck down to the indents of his collarbones. The ticklish sensation made him squirm and shut his eyes as he continued to giggle. You threw the paintbrush aside on his study desk and rubbed your hands together.

"There," you leaned down, eyeing Hyunjin as the two of you were almost nose-to-nose. "Now, we're even."

The two of you stayed in this position for a while, grins ever-so-present on your faces. Hyunjin took a long, admirable look at you; he looked at your fair skin, your sparkling eyes, and your snow-white smile.

He had concluded in that moment that you were the prettiest girl he had ever laid his amber gaze upon. Yet, an unanswered question still lingered in his head.

"Why were you staring at me on the first day of class?" he inquired, moving his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his claw slightly scratching your ear in the process. Your face flushed a deep shade of pink at the question.

"I thought," you mumbled. "I thought you were pretty. I didn't mean to offend, I swear. I just couldn't help myself."

"You think I'm pretty?" You nodded slowly.

"Beautiful, even."

He was not exactly sure what thought went through his head before his lips were on yours. Perhaps it was your sweet words alone. Perhaps it was the fact that you had attempted to move your head away from his out of embarrassment from your confession, and he had placed a firm yet soft hand in your hair to stop you. Perhaps it was the way you had looked at him after he did just that, a daring yet shy glint present in your stare. He was not for sure what had pushed him to this action.

He was sure that he wanted to kiss you.

So, here the two of you lie, you on top of Hyunjin as the two of you passionately encapsulated one another. Your hands were cupped tightly on his cheeks while his lightly hovered over your waist. His lips were everything you had imagined them to be; they were smooth, soft, and entranced you into a compassionate haze. His forked tongue teasingly poked at yours, and you felt his fangs accidentally nip at your bottom lip a couple of times. The kiss felt straight out of a 1990s romantic tragedy.

You were not aware of how much time had passed before you had pulled away to catch a breath; you felt the swell in your lips and you physically visualized Hyunjin's as he lay, breathless beneath you. Your arms moved slowly down to his chest, and your head fell to the crook of his neck. He moved one hand to your upper back, the other still gently entangled within your hair.

"Woah," was all you could utter at the moment in time. "Who knew snakes were such good kissers?" you jokingly asked, eliciting a soft chuckle from the Hybrid.

"We're romantics, what can I say?" Your heart was pounding as you looked at him beneath you, and his arms went to snake tightly around your middle, no pun intended.

"Y'know," you had regained your composure and began to chatter. "I wasn't sure about you at first. After all the stories I had heard, all the rumors and tales. Even after you had debunked them, there was still some sort of fear present within me," you confessed, mentally punching yourself as you saw Hyunjin's content expression falter.

"But you...you are so different than what I had imagined. You are the kindest person I've met. You're so gentle and gracious and sweet, and I feel absolutely horrible about the things that I believed, so I guess I'm just going about the long way to ap-" Hyunjin cut off your babling by tilting your head up to face him and capturing you another kiss; this one was shorter but filled with just as much care as the first.

"I get it, I like you too," Hyunjin mumbled against your lips.

"Who said I was going to say that?"

"Am I wrong?" He teasingly asked, looking at you and tilting his head in perplexity.

"Not at all," you confessed.

"I wasn't sure about you either, if it makes you feel any better," Hyunjin admitted. "I thought this was just an act and was going to play out into some sort of cruel prank. But having you here, right here right now with me proves me wrong. You're different than the others. I actually like being around you. I just never wanted to say anything in fear that my deepest worries would materialize and I would lose you as a friend."

"Glad to know the feeling is mutual," you softly spoke. "The only thing is I want to lose you as a friend." Hyunjin shifted his head backwards in indecision.

"NOT like that," you clarified. "I don't want to lose you by any means. I just," you took one of his scaley hands in your smooth ones, "want to gain you as something more than a friend, if that's possible." Hyunjin instinctively rubbed his thumb over your knuckles as his golden gaze affectionately made contact with your own.

"You sure?" he inquired, a playful smirk etched onto his features. "What if people talk?"

"Let them," you responded without hesitation. "Who knows, maybe we can start some sort of shift and people will see that Snake Hybrids and humans interacting isn't so horrible." Hyunjin could not help but beam at your confession. He nodded tenderly.

"Alright. Let's try this," he accepted your heartfelt declaration, causing you to grin wide like the Cheshire Cat. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him in for a tight hug that you never wanted to end.

Thus, the snake venom was adoringly stained onto the velvet cloth, joining them together as one futuristic reality.

[misshoneyimhome]

Can you do a pregnancy scare for inexperienced reader X Willy Nylander ?

Of course, I can babe 🤗🌺

Tropes & Warnings: inexperienced!reader x Willy, pregnancy scare, alcohol consumption, soft boyfriend!Willy

Word count: 1.9K

➼｡ﾟ

The hockey season was just around the corner, and everything seemed to be falling back into its usual rhythm. You were back at work, and William was deep into his training, juggling media obligations and preparing for the upcoming NHL documentary. Life felt busy but comfortably ordinary. However, there was one thing that wasn’t within the ordinary—your period.

At first, you tried to brush off the worry. With an IUD, your cycles had always been a bit unpredictable. Sometimes you’d have a light period, and other times, nothing at all. It wasn’t unusual, so you didn’t let it bother you. But as the days turned into weeks and another month passed with no sign of your period, the worry became harder to ignore.

Your mood swings worsened, your cravings grew stronger, and your temper became short. You didn’t even recognise yourself some mornings, struggling to get out of bed. Exhaustion became your constant companion, and when even the thought of walking the dogs felt overwhelming, you knew something was off.

But it couldn’t be.

You were careful, using protection, but the nagging thought that birth control isn’t 100% effective kept gnawing at you. You and William had been more than just active—your sex life was an integral part of your relationship. Whether it was gentle nights where he’d take his time, fingering you before entering you to ensure you both reached a climax, or the spontaneous moments on the sofa where you’d give him a mind-blowing blowjob before riding him to ecstasy, your chemistry was undeniable. There were also those passionate mornings where he’d lift you onto the dining table, enjoying the sweetness of your juices before watching your every move as he thrust into you with an intensity that left you both breathless. Even quickies in the car weren’t off the table, the thrill of getting caught only adding to the excitement as your breaths fogged the windows.

But with all that sex, there was always a risk. You knew that, and yet, you trusted the IUD to protect you. That’s why, when you realised your period was late—really late—you tried to reassure yourself that everything was fine. Still, doubt nagged at you, and eventually, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

One evening, while William was out, you finally mustered the courage to take a test. Your heart pounded as you waited, watching the seconds tick by on your phone. When those two small blue lines appeared, signalling you were pregnant, your world seemed to tilt.

“Fuck,” you whispered, staring at the result in disbelief. Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts—how could this happen? You were on birth control.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to William yet; he was already dealing with the pressure of the upcoming season and the media circus that followed him everywhere. And you didn’t want to add more stress, especially not when you were still trying to process the possibility yourself.

Yet, not knowing what else to do, you called Sanna, the one person you knew you could trust. As a mother herself and someone who’d been with you through your relationship with William, she listened patiently as you poured out your fears and anxieties. Her calm voice was a balm to your frayed nerves, as she suggested that it might be a false positive—something that could happen. She convinced you to take another test, maybe even a few more, just to be sure.

But before you had a chance to act on her advice, the situation escalated in the most unexpected way.

It was supposed to be just another casual night out, a rare chance for you to relax and spend time with William and some of his Swedish teammates before the season kicked into full gear. The group had decided to keep things low-key, gathering at a trendy but cosy bar in downtown Toronto. The atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and conversation, but you could barely focus on anything being said. Your mind was still reeling from the test you'd taken the day before, the faint blue lines that had turned your world upside down.

You still hadn’t told William, and every time you caught a glimpse of his carefree smile or heard his infectious laugh, a wave of guilt and anxiety would wash over you. How could you drop this bombshell on him now, just when everything seemed to be going so well?

The conversation among the group had drifted to lighter topics—upcoming games, vacation memories, the usual banter that you normally found comforting. But tonight, you felt like an outsider in your own body, barely able to engage as your thoughts swirled with the weight of your secret.

And then, it happened.

Calle, always the joker of the group, was mid-story, laughing as he recounted how their close friend David Pastrňák had not only tied the knot in a grand wedding this offseason but had also just welcomed a baby. And with a teasing grin, he added, “Seems like everyone’s catching baby fever these days. Who knows, maybe Willy’s next in line for some new adventures, eh?”

The words hit like a thunderclap. The laughter around the table died abruptly, leaving a thick, uncomfortable silence in its wake.

Only Sanna knew your secret—how your period was late, how you'd taken a test, and how the result had thrown your world into chaos. But now, with Calle’s offhand remark and your refusal to drink hard liquor—something that hadn’t gone unnoticed despite your excuse of a light headache—there was no more hiding.

You felt the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain everyone could hear it. Panic gripped you, your mind racing to find a way to defuse the situation, to explain the tension that was now painfully obvious. But the words stuck in your throat, refusing to come.

Meanwhile William’s eyes were on you, full of unspoken questions. The room, once filled with lighthearted chatter, now felt suffocatingly silent, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for what would happen next.

And when you finally mustered the courage to meet his eyes, the mixture of shock and concern in his expression was unmistakable. His easygoing smile had vanished, replaced by a furrowed brow and a tightness in his jaw that you’d rarely seen before. The realisation was there, clear as day. William wasn’t just piecing together the joke—he was piecing together the truth.

You could see it in the way his eyes searched yours, silently pleading for an explanation. This wasn’t like the minor pregnancy scare from months ago, when a false alarm had been met with nervous laughter and relief. This felt real, serious, and you both knew it.

“How about another drink?” Alex, William’s brother, casually suggested to defuse the tension. And fortunately, it seemed to work.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the conversation picking up again around you, but you and William were no longer part of it. You couldn’t focus on the jokes, the drinks, or even the concerned glances from the other guys. All you could think about was getting out of there, away from the probing eyes and the suffocating pressure.

When you finally left the bar, the walk back to your condo was filled with a tense silence. William’s hand was on the small of your back, guiding you through the city streets, but the usual warmth and comfort of his touch felt distant. Every step felt heavy, and the closer you got to the condo, the more the anxiety built up inside you.

As soon as you were inside, the tension that had been simmering between you finally erupted. In the middle of the living room, William turned to you, his voice low and controlled, but you could hear the edge of worry. “What was Calle talking about? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your hands were shaking, and the words felt stuck in your throat. You hadn’t meant for him to find out this way. This was supposed to be a conversation you had in private when you could both sit down and talk it through without the weight of an entire hockey season looming over you.

“I was going to tell you,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to stress you out before I knew for sure.”

William’s expression softened, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes as he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. “Tell me what?”

Your eyes filled with tears as you finally let the truth out. “I took a test, and it was positive. But Sanna said it could be a false alarm, so I was going to take more tests before... before telling you.”

For a moment, the room was completely still, the air thick with tension. You could see the shock in William’s face, the way his eyes widened, then narrowed as he processed your words. His hands fell away from your face, and he ran them through his hair, a sign of his stress.

“Why didn’t you tell me right away?” William’s voice trembled slightly, though he was clearly trying to keep his emotions in check.

Your own voice wavered, heavy with the weight of your decision. “Because you’ve got so much on your mind already,” you admitted, the words almost catching in your throat. “I didn’t want to add to your stress if it turned out to be nothing.”

William exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping as he processed what you were saying. He looked down, running a hand through his hair again, clearly overwhelmed. “I just don’t get it… I mean, you’re on birth control, right?”

“Of course I am, Willy,” you responded quickly, the desperation in your voice evident. “But… as much as I hate to admit it, they aren’t always 100% safe… and we do have a lot of sex.”

He sighed again, the frustration evident on his face, but as his eyes met yours and he saw the tears that had started to spill, his expression softened.

You could see the conflict in his eyes—the frustration with the situation mixed with deep concern for you. He knew this was nowhere near your fault - if anything it was his, at least both of yours - and that you were just as scared and confused as he was.

So gently, he reached out and took your hands in his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “We’re in this together, okay? No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, the tension that had been knotting in your chest easing just slightly at his words. The fear was still there, but William’s support made it feel a little less overwhelming. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly, pulling you into a tight hug. You could feel his heart beating against your cheek, the steady rhythm calming you. “Let’s just take the other tests and see where we stand.”

In the bathroom, the minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you took the other tests, William pacing nervously outside. Finally, you emerged, holding the results in your hand, as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his.

“They’re negative,” you said, the relief flooding through you both. You could see the tension drain from William’s face as he pulled you into his arms once more, holding you tightly as if he never wanted to let go.

That night, as you lay in bed together, the fear and anxiety slowly gave way to a deeper conversation about your future, about the possibility of parenthood one day—but not now, not when life was already so full of challenges and new beginnings. And as you drifted off to sleep in William’s arms, you knew that whatever came your way, you’d face it together.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

by Eric W. Dolan

A new study published in Scientific Reports sheds light on long-term neurological consequences of COVID-19. Researchers found that individuals who had anosmia (the loss of smell) during COVID-19 showed alterations in brain functionality and even physical structure during recovery. This study is among the first to link COVID-19-related loss of smell to significant brain changes.

COVID-19, caused by the SARS-CoV-2 virus, has been primarily known for its impact on the respiratory system. However, over time, many patients, even those with mild cases, reported cognitive issues such as memory problems, confusion, and difficulties with concentration, which raised concerns about the virus’s effects on the brain. Neurological symptoms like headaches, brain fog, and loss of smell emerged as common issues for COVID-19 survivors.

Anosmia, the loss of smell, became one of the earliest and most recognizable symptoms of COVID-19, often occurring suddenly. While most patients recovered their sense of smell after a few weeks, some experienced longer-lasting olfactory dysfunctions. Previous research also suggested that loss of smell could signal broader neurological involvement in diseases like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Given the commonality of anosmia in COVID-19 and its potential implications for brain health, the researchers sought to explore whether loss of smell during COVID-19 was associated with any measurable brain changes in recovering patients.

“Our laboratory studies the neurobiological mechanisms underlying complex social behavior and decision-making. During the pandemic, it was very challenging to halt our experimental activities due to health restrictions,” said study author Pablo Billeke of the Center for Research in Social Complexity at the University for Development in Chile.

“In this context and given the early reports of neurological symptoms in patients affected by COVID-19, we wanted to contribute from our unique perspective to understanding the potential damage caused by SARS-CoV-2 infection in the central nervous system. This led us to initiate this study, in which we evaluated recovered COVID-19 patients using structural and functional magnetic resonance imaging while they performed decision-making and cognitive control tasks, as well as tracking their evolution with electroencephalography.”

To investigate these possible brain changes, the research team recruited 100 adults in Santiago, Chile, who had recovered from respiratory infections between February 2020 and May 2023. The final sample included 73 participants who had confirmed cases of COVID-19 (the remaining participants had respiratory infections caused by other agents, as confirmed by multiple negative PCR tests). The team used a combination of tests and brain scans across two sessions to assess these participants’ brain function and structure.

The participants ranged in age from 19 to 65, and none had severe cases of COVID-19 that required ventilators or intensive care. The study specifically excluded anyone with neuropsychiatric disorders or severe brain injuries, ensuring that the observed effects could be linked to their infection rather than prior conditions.

In behavioral tests, participants with a history of anosmia displayed more impulsive decision-making compared to those who did not lose their sense of smell. These individuals tended to change their choices more rapidly after receiving negative feedback, particularly in tasks requiring them to learn and adapt to changing probabilities of rewards. While this impulsivity led to higher earnings in decision-making tasks that involved rapidly shifting conditions, it also highlighted an alteration in how their brains processed rewards and risks.

Functionally, patients with a history of anosmia showed decreased brain activity during decision-making tasks in regions associated with evaluating choices, including the lateral prefrontal cortex and temporoparietal regions.

On the structural side, brain scans showed thinning in specific regions of the brain in participants with a history of anosmia. Most notably, these changes were observed in the parietal areas of the brain, which are responsible for processing sensory information and managing spatial awareness. The thinning in these areas could indicate long-term structural changes in the brain caused by the virus in individuals who experienced loss of smell.

Additionally, these participants exhibited decreased white matter integrity, particularly in white matter tracts that connect important brain regions. White matter plays a crucial role in facilitating communication between different parts of the brain, and disruptions in these connections could lead to a range of cognitive impairments.

“In the current context, where we know that a significant percentage of the population has contracted COVID-19 at some point, it is crucial to identify the factors that may make certain individuals more susceptible to developing brain alterations after infection,” Billeke told PsyPost. “Our study found that individuals who lost their sense of smell during the acute infection exhibited detectable changes in brain structure and showed a particular pattern in decision-making tasks involving learning.”

“Specifically, they made more impulsive decisions when the environmental context changed. While this may not necessarily have long-term consequences, it could serve as an early marker to monitor individuals who experienced loss of smell, helping to determine whether they are more susceptible to developing neurodegenerative alterations. This is particularly relevant when other risk factors, such as cardiovascular diseases, diabetes, and genetic predisposition, are present, all of which are linked to the development of neurodegenerative diseases.”

Interestingly, these brain changes were less pronounced in patients with more severe respiratory symptoms, such as those requiring hospitalization, suggesting that anosmia might be a more reliable indicator of neurological involvement than respiratory symptom severity.

“What surprised us the most was how consistent the findings were in patients with anosmia compared to other patients, regardless of the severity of their respiratory symptoms,” Billeke said. “These individuals exhibited detectable alterations at the behavioral level and in brain function and structure, affecting white matter and gray matter.”

While the study provides valuable insights, it has limitations. First, it relied on self-reported symptoms of anosmia and used the KOR test, a validated screening tool for olfactory deficits associated with COVID-19, to confirm the presence of olfactory dysfunction. More objective and comprehensive clinical assessments would provide stronger evidence.

Additionally, the study lacked baseline brain scans from before the participants contracted COVID-19. This makes “it difficult to establish a direct causal relationship between the infection and our findings,” Billeke explained. “However, when considered alongside the current body of evidence from other studies that have used databases or tracked individuals for different reasons, we can determine that the virus does indeed cause alterations at the neural level.”

“Thus, the correlations we found can be viewed in existing literature as potential evidence of a causal link between the virus and the observed effects. However, the exact mechanism by which the virus produces this damage at the brain level is still under investigation.”

Looking ahead, the researchers plan to follow up with these participants over time to see if the observed brain changes persist or if they affect daily life. They also aim to explore potential therapies, such as brain stimulation techniques, to help those experiencing lingering cognitive and neurological effects after COVID-19.

“We aim to identify the oscillatory patterns related to these alterations, which is the focus of our ongoing electroencephalography (EEG) studies,” Billeke said. “The data are currently being analyzed. By identifying these altered oscillatory patterns, we hope to develop brain stimulation therapies that could help alleviate these symptoms, such as transcranial electrical or magnetic stimulation.”

“I would like to extend my gratitude to all the participants who voluntarily came to the study for all their sessions and to all the researchers who worked tirelessly, especially during the most challenging times of the pandemic lockdown,” Billeke added.

The study: “Patients recovering from COVID-19 who presented with anosmia during their acute episode have behavioral, functional, and structural brain alterations,” was authored by Leonie Kausel, Alejandra Figueroa-Vargas, Francisco Zamorano, Ximena Stecher, Mauricio Aspé-Sánchez, Patricio Carvajal-Paredes, Victor Márquez-Rodríguez, María Paz Martínez-Molina, Claudio Román, Patricio Soto-Fernández, Gabriela Valdebenito-Oyarzo, Carla Manterola, Reinaldo Uribe-San-Martín, Claudio Silva, Rodrigo Henríquez-Ch, Francisco Aboitiz, Rafael Polania, Pamela Guevara, Paula Muñoz-Venturelli, Patricia Soto-Icaza, and Pablo Billeke. www.nature.com/articles/s41598-024-69772-y

[milf0rd]

BONDS FORGED IN FIRE

pairing. task force 141 x f!reader (platonic)

summary. (Y/N) is a medic who joined Task Force 141 and proved her worth, earning the respect of her new team, who later on became her family.

warning. mentions of physical injuries, using guns (typical cod theme)

word count. 1.6k

a/n: parts in italics are flashbacks. english is my second language, so if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate and text me!

 (Y/N) found herself drawn to the call of duty, as a skilled medic, she had always believed in the power of healing in the middle of chaos, and her dedication to saving lives had earned her a reputation far and wide. But it was a chance that would change the path of her destiny.

Task Force 141, a legendary unit working in secrecy had heard of (Y/N)'s deeds and sought her out for her unmatched skills. Captain John Price, the team's stoic leader, saw the value of the skilled medic in the heat of battle, and he knew that (Y/N) would be an inevitable asset to their ranks.

When (Y/N) first arrived at the Task Force 141 base, she met with a mix of scepticism and curiosity. Ghost, the mysterious special forces operator known for his gruff manner, eyed her suspiciously, his scepticism obvious in every word he spoke. "Another recruit," he muttered, his tone with disregard. "We'll see if she's worth the trouble."

Soap MacTavish, on the other hand, greeted her with a friendly and playful smile. "Welcome to the team, lass," he said, his easy-going nature a steady contrast to Ghost's grumpiness. "Don't mind Ghost, he's always like this."

Captain Price, ever the commanding presence, wasted no time in assessing (Y/N)'s skills. "We expect nothing but the best from you," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Our missions are dangerous, and lives depend on your expertise."

And then there was Gaz, the welcoming soldier whose warmth and company put (Y/N) at ease. "Glad to have you on board," he said with a smile, offering her a handshake. "We're a tight-knit group here, but we look out for each other."

(Y/N) had barely settled into her new surroundings when the call came in. Their first mission together would be a test of her skills and her ability to integrate into this close-knit team. The objective was clear: infiltrate an enemy stronghold and secure valuable intelligence. It was the kind of high-risk operation that Task Force 141 excelled at.

As they gathered in the meeting room, Price outlined the mission. "We'll insert under the cover of night," he began, pointing to a map of the compound. "Ghost, you'll take overwatch. Soap, you're on demolition. Gaz, you and (Y/N) will handle the interior place. We move fast, we move quietly, and we get the job done. Understood?"

A chorus of affirmatives followed. Ghost remained aloof, his eyes hidden behind his skull mask, but (Y/N) could feel his gaze on her. Soap offered her a reassuring smile, while Gaz gave her a thumbs-up.

As they geared up, Soap sidled over to (Y/N). "Nervous?" he asked, his tone light.

"A little," she admitted, securing her medical pack.

"Don't worry, lass. You'll do fine. Just stick close to us, and we'll watch each other's backs."

Ghost, overhearing, grunted. "This isn't a walk in the park. Keep your head down and stay focused."

(Y/N) nodded, determined to prove herself. "I will, Lieutenant."

Price's voice cut through the tension. "Mount up, we're moving out."

The helicopter ride to the drop zone was tense. The team remained silent, and each member was lost in their thoughts. As they approached the target, Price's voice crackled over the comms. "Get ready. We insert in sixty."

The helicopter hovered just above the ground, and one by one, they rappelled down, disappearing into the shadows. Ghost took position on a nearby ridge, his sniper rifle at the ready.

"Overwatch in position," Ghost reported his voice a low whisper over the comms.

"Copy that," Price responded. "Gaz, lead the way."

Gaz signalled for (Y/N) to follow, and they moved silently towards the compound, while Soap and Price secured the other floors. The night was their ally, cloaking them in darkness as Gaz and (Y/N) approached the perimeter.

Inside, the compound was a maze of corridors and guard posts. Gaz moved with practised ease, his rifle at the ready. (Y/N) stayed close, holding her rifle close to her chest and her senses on high alert.

"Clear," Gaz whispered, motioning for her to follow. They reached a heavily secured door, and Gaz quickly hacked the keypad.

"We're in," he said, pushing the door open.

Inside, they found a room filled with computers and filing cabinets. (Y/N) immediately began searching for the intel while Gaz kept watch. Minutes felt like hours as they sifted through the files, the tension thick in the air.

"Got it," (Y/N) said, holding up a flash drive. "Let's move."

Gaz nodded, but just as they turned to leave, the alarms blared to life, red lights flashing throughout the compound. "We've been compromised!" Gaz shouted.

"Fall back!" Price ordered over the comms. "Ghost, we need cover fire!"

"On it," Ghost replied, his sniper rifle already picking off approaching enemies.

The team moved swiftly, fighting their way through the compound. Soap detonated the charges, creating chaos and confusion among the enemy forces. (Y/N) stuck close to the team, her medical kit ready for any injuries.

As they reached the outer perimeter, an explosion rocked the ground, sending debris flying. Gaz was hit, a piece of shrapnel embedding in his leg. He fell to the ground with a grunt of pain.

"Gaz is down!" (Y/N) shouted, dropping to her knees beside him. "I need cover!"

"Copy that!" Ghost replied, his rifle taking out enemies with deadly precision.

Soap and Price formed a protective barrier around (Y/N) as she worked quickly to stabilize Gaz's leg. "Hang in there, Sergeant," she said, her voice calm despite the chaos.

Gaz gritted his teeth, his face pale. "Just a scratch, doc."

With Gaz stabilized, they resumed their retreat, moving as a solid unit. They reached the extraction point just as the helicopter arrived, the rotors kicking up dust and sand. Ghost provided cover fire until the last moment, ensuring everyone made it on board safely.

(Y/N) smiled as she remembered her first mission with Task Force 141. It's been a few years now, and she is still in one piece alongside the others. The members of Task Force 141 became like family to her, and she took her role as their caretaker seriously.

The sun was beginning to set over the rugged landscape, casting a warm, golden hue across the horizon. As the team settled into their temporary base, a rare moment of peace descended upon them. (Y/N), was busy tending to the minor wounds of Gaz again, just like in her first assignment with them. Despite the exhaustion etched into her features, she moved with practised ease, her hands steady and her touch gentle.

Price was the first to sit down on a makeshift bench. He lit a cigar, the familiar ritual helping him unwind. His sharp eyes softened as he watched (Y/N) work. "You always manage to patch us up, don't you, doc?" he said with a hint of a smile.

(Y/N) looked up from bandaging Gaz's arm and returned the smile. "Someone's got to keep you guys in one piece, Captain."

Gaz winced slightly as (Y/N) tightened the bandage. "Yeah, well, if it weren't for you, I'd probably be in pieces by now."

(Y/N) chuckled, giving his shoulder a gentle pat. "You're tougher than you look, Gaz."

Ghost, silent as ever, observed from the shadows. His skull mask concealed his expression, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of gratitude. He had always admired (Y/N)'s dedication and the calm she brought to their chaotic world. He approached her, handing over a canteen of water. "You should take a break," he said, his voice a low rumble.

(Y/N) accepted the canteen with a nod. "Thanks, Simon. But you know me… I can't rest until everyone else is taken care of."

Soap, always the optimist, sauntered over and plopped down beside Price. "Well, lass, once you're done, how about joining us for a quick drink? We all deserve it."

(Y/N) finished tending to Gaz and wiped her hands on a rag. "I think I can manage that, Johnny. Just give me a few more minutes."

As (Y/N) wrapped up her duties, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. These men were more than just her comrades – they were her family. Each of them had their own way of expressing gratitude, and she cherished the small moments of connection they shared.

Finally, (Y/N) joined the group around the small fire they had built. Soap handed her a flask with a grin. "Here, this should help take the edge off."

She took a sip, feeling the warmth spread through her body. "Thanks, Soap. I think we all needed this."

Price puffed on his cigar, his gaze distant but peaceful. "It's not often we get a chance to sit like this. We should make the most of it."

Gaz nodded, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Agreed. We don't get many moments like these."

Ghost remained silent, but his presence was a comfort to everyone. He leaned back, his eyes reflecting the firelight. In these quiet moments, the mask felt less like a barrier and more like a part of him, a reminder of the bond they all shared.

(Y/N) looked around at the men who had become her family. "You know, no matter what we face out there, I always feel safe knowing we're together."

Soap raised his flask in a toast. "To the best damn team there is."

"To Task Force 141," Price echoed, raising his cigar.

Gaz lifted his flask as well. "To us."

Ghost gave a rare, slight nod, his eyes meeting (Y/N)'s. "To family."

They clinked their flasks together, the sound a small but significant affirmation of their bond. As the night grew darker, they shared stories and laughter, the weight of their burdens temporarily lifted. At that moment, surrounded by her team, (Y/N) felt a profound sense of belonging. No matter what lay ahead, she knew they would face it together.

And in those brief moments of solace, amidst the warmth of company and the glow of the fire, Task Force 141 found a momentary but precious break from the relentless world outside.

[arminthada]

Sneak Peak of the Cutting-Edge Futuristic Netflix Thai Original ‘Tomorrow and I’

What happens when hyper-advanced technology collides with traditional Thai beliefs and customs? Discover the answers in Tomorrow and I, a four episode anthology series that takes viewers on a journey through a futuristic Thailand where technology has become an inescapable part of daily life.

The cast includes Pakorn Chatborrirak, Violette Wautier, Waruntorn Paonil, Treechada Hongsyok, Ray Macdonald, Timethai, Thongchai Thongkuntom, Aelm Thavornsiri, Pongsatorn Jongwilas, Chananticha Chaipa, and Wanichaya Pornpanarittichai.

This groundbreaking series is directed by Paween Purijitpanya a trailblazing filmmaker known for his genre-defying works such as Body, 4bia, and Phobia 2. Paween has also showcased his talents with the feel-good series Seven Something, the boundary-pushing film Ghost Lab, and his exceptional direction in the episode “Liberation” of Girl from Nowhere Season 2. In Tomorrow and I, Paween reimagines four everyday scenarios in intriguing ways, starting with…

Episode 1: Bringing your loved ones back from the dead. Imagine a future where innovation has reached its peak, testing the boundaries of life and death. In this world, the cycle of birth, death, and being reborn may become an everyday reality through the technology of cloning.

Episode 2: Welcome to a place where technology meets intimacy. Have you ever felt that your partner couldn't quite meet your desires, or felt uncertain because you're still new to relationships? What if there's a city where technology might provide the solution? Enter a world where intelligent sex robots are designed to cater to every emotional and physical need.

Episode 3: What if a Techno-Monk joined the Buddha and the Dharma in the Triple Gem, replacing the Sangha? Imagine AI continuing ancient teachings preserved and upheld for over 2,500 years, revolutionizing Buddhism. Could this challenge traditional faith, or signal the end of the monastic order?

Episode 4: And if an entire city were submerged underwater after years of relentless rainfall, how would humanity survive? Would people fall into despair as the waters rose, or would they have to rely on "octopuses," potentially the last hope for survival? When this moment arrives, everyone will face a crisis beyond our species' abilities.

Unveil the future in Tomorrow and I, the year-end series that will spark your imagination and challenge your perceptions of a world where technology seamlessly integrates into every facet of our lives. Coming soon, exclusively on Netflix.

[rainyenemypoetry]

Tech Moguls Want to Build a Crypto Paradise on a Native American Reservation And hope to gobble up some land near you.

Early last year, a group of entrepreneurs and tech enthusiasts from around the world gathered inside a newly built dome on the Honduran island of Roatán to grapple with a problem: For thought leaders who want to move fast and break things, what can be done about laws that get in the way? The conference, sponsored by the Salt Lake City–based Startup Societies Foundation, was being put on in Vitalia, a longevity-themed “pop-up city” that caters to American medical tourists sidestepping cumbersome FDA regulations. Its motto: “We’re here to make death optional.” ­Vitalia was in turn located in Próspera, a semiautonomous city on Roatán. Imagine a nesting doll, a city within a city within a city—all on a Caribbean isle.Próspera, the project of entrepreneurs funded by venture capital firms backed by PayPal founder Peter Thiel and venture capital mogul Marc Andreessen, was established in 2017 and continues today, despite repeated efforts from Honduras to shut it down. An example of a “special economic zone,” Próspera is an autonomous jurisdiction with limited regulations. The general idea has been around for years—Mother Jones wrote about a failed Thiel-backed effort to build floating cities at sea back in 2012, for example. But in recent years, Silicon Valley founders, as they like to call themselves, have reworked the concept into the “network state,” as coined by entrepreneur and investor Balaji Srinivasan, a close friend of Thiel’s and a former colleague of Andreessen’s. As journalist Gil Durán observed in a New Republic piece on Srinivasan last year, “Balaji’s politics have become even more stridently authoritarian and extremist, yet he remains a celebrated figure in key circles,” including multiple Signal chats that, Semafor reported in April, helped radicalize the Silicon Valley elite.In a 2021 essay on his website, ­Srinivasan laid out his vision for people seeking to build a new utopia or, as he put it, “a fresh start.” Sure, there were conventional ways to do this—forming a new country through revolution or war. But that would be, well, really hard, not to mention unpredictable. A cruise ship or somewhere in space were appealing options, but both presented ­logistical challenges. Far simpler and more practical was “tech Zionism,” creating an online nation, complete with its own culture, economy, tax structure, and, of course, startup-friendly laws.Eventually, Srinivasan mused, such a community could acquire actual physical property where people would gather and live under the laws dreamed up by the founders—a “reverse diaspora,” he called it—but that land didn’t even need to be contiguous. “A community that forms first on the internet, builds a culture online,” he said, “and only then comes together in person to build dwellings and structures.” Acknowledging that the idea might sound a little goofy—like live-action Minecraft—he emphasized that it was also a serious proposition. “Once we remember that Facebook has 3B users, Twitter has 300M, and many individual influencers”—himself included—“have more than 1M followers,” he wrote, “it starts to be not too crazy to imagine we can build a 1-10M person social network with a genuine sense of national consciousness, an integrated cryptocurrency, and a plan to crowdfund many pieces of territory around the world.”A network state would, like a kind of Pac-Man, gobble up little pieces of actual land, eventually amassing so much economic power that other nations would be forced to recognize it. Once that happens, laws in more conventional nations could become almost irrelevant. Why on earth would, say, a pharmaceutical company with a new drug choose to spend billions of dollars and decades on mandated testing when it could go to a deregulated network state and take it to market in record time? As Srinivasan argued in a Zoom talk at last year’s conference, “Just like it was easier to start bitcoin and then to reform the Fed,” he said, “it is literally easier to start a new country than

[loudcreationbluebird]

Tech Moguls Want to Build a Crypto Paradise on a Native American Reservation And hope to gobble up some land near you.

Early last year, a group of entrepreneurs and tech enthusiasts from around the world gathered inside a newly built dome on the Honduran island of Roatán to grapple with a problem: For thought leaders who want to move fast and break things, what can be done about laws that get in the way? The conference, sponsored by the Salt Lake City–based Startup Societies Foundation, was being put on in Vitalia, a longevity-themed “pop-up city” that caters to American medical tourists sidestepping cumbersome FDA regulations. Its motto: “We’re here to make death optional.” ­Vitalia was in turn located in Próspera, a semiautonomous city on Roatán. Imagine a nesting doll, a city within a city within a city—all on a Caribbean isle.Próspera, the project of entrepreneurs funded by venture capital firms backed by PayPal founder Peter Thiel and venture capital mogul Marc Andreessen, was established in 2017 and continues today, despite repeated efforts from Honduras to shut it down. An example of a “special economic zone,” Próspera is an autonomous jurisdiction with limited regulations. The general idea has been around for years—Mother Jones wrote about a failed Thiel-backed effort to build floating cities at sea back in 2012, for example. But in recent years, Silicon Valley founders, as they like to call themselves, have reworked the concept into the “network state,” as coined by entrepreneur and investor Balaji Srinivasan, a close friend of Thiel’s and a former colleague of Andreessen’s. As journalist Gil Durán observed in a New Republic piece on Srinivasan last year, “Balaji’s politics have become even more stridently authoritarian and extremist, yet he remains a celebrated figure in key circles,” including multiple Signal chats that, Semafor reported in April, helped radicalize the Silicon Valley elite.In a 2021 essay on his website, ­Srinivasan laid out his vision for people seeking to build a new utopia or, as he put it, “a fresh start.” Sure, there were conventional ways to do this—forming a new country through revolution or war. But that would be, well, really hard, not to mention unpredictable. A cruise ship or somewhere in space were appealing options, but both presented ­logistical challenges. Far simpler and more practical was “tech Zionism,” creating an online nation, complete with its own culture, economy, tax structure, and, of course, startup-friendly laws.Eventually, Srinivasan mused, such a community could acquire actual physical property where people would gather and live under the laws dreamed up by the founders—a “reverse diaspora,” he called it—but that land didn’t even need to be contiguous. “A community that forms first on the internet, builds a culture online,” he said, “and only then comes together in person to build dwellings and structures.” Acknowledging that the idea might sound a little goofy—like live-action Minecraft—he emphasized that it was also a serious proposition. “Once we remember that Facebook has 3B users, Twitter has 300M, and many individual influencers”—himself included—“have more than 1M followers,” he wrote, “it starts to be not too crazy to imagine we can build a 1-10M person social network with a genuine sense of national consciousness, an integrated cryptocurrency, and a plan to crowdfund many pieces of territory around the world.”A network state would, like a kind of Pac-Man, gobble up little pieces of actual land, eventually amassing so much economic power that other nations would be forced to recognize it. Once that happens, laws in more conventional nations could become almost irrelevant. Why on earth would, say, a pharmaceutical company with a new drug choose to spend billions of dollars and decades on mandated testing when it could go to a deregulated network state and take it to market in record time? As Srinivasan argued in a Zoom talk at last year’s conference, “Just like it was easier to start bitcoin and then to reform the Fed,” he said, “it is literally easier to start a new country than

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 33]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

|| Trigger Warning: Graphic Descriptions Body Horror & Death Regarding Unnamed Children ||

All your life you have heard that there is a beauty in chaos, and while you do agree with this, you also find there is a beauty in organization. 

You like taking all the chaos and putting it into categories. You like sorting the details and finding the mysteries that need to be unraveled. You think it must be similar to how clever people feel when they solve a riddle or a puzzle, but you aren’t running in circles with philosophical thoughts - you are analyzing what is already available and coming to a conclusion. 

It is still all chaos, because everything is always chaos, but it is organized into a way that makes sense. 

And Matt’s stolen duffel bag, when first unzipped and inspected, was full of chaos. 

You, Foggy, and Karen quickly got to work looking over the different papers and forming different stacks based upon agreed parameters. 

It became clear Matt’s guess that he had found some sort of laboratory was correct. The papers all appeared to be results of different medical tests, though at first glance, the three of you could not decipher for what.

But deciphering wasn’t needed at that moment, so it didn’t matter, and once everything was spread neatly across the dining table, the next step of your beloved process began. 

Foggy gave each pile a designation and then the three of you began labeling each paper in the top corner. 

A1. A2. A3. A4. 

B1. B2. B3. B4. 

All your analyzing would be useless if you couldn’t source your data, and it was quickly clear your little group all shared the same brain cell when it came to this idea.

While you worked at the table, Matt and Jessica sat on the floor by the couches, marking up a map. You caught snippets of the conversation - this bit of evidence was heard in that alley, to get to a certain tunnel system you had to go through such and such warehouse. It was fascinating to know that Matt had memorized nearly every square inch of Hell’s Kitchen - even the parts you didn’t know existed - and it was equally amazing that Jessica knew just as much. 

After hearing them talk, it left you wondering if Frank had the same knowledge, but you would leave that question for another time. He had been assigned to the two thumb drives that had been in the duffel bag. You had furiously taken mental notes as he had grumpily explained to Matt the little devices couldn’t just be plugged into a computer. They could have malware on them or trigger tracking or something equally devious and needed to be inserted into a clean laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet. That way, if the laptop tried to send a signal or became a brick, there would be nothing lost. 

Since neither you nor Matt happened to have a spare laptop laying around, Frank went to go procure one. 

That was about half an hour ago and now you are well into your third Foggy-assigned task - highlighting any identifying information in yellow. There’s nothing easy like names or addresses listed out, but you noticed a pattern for patient labels and have determined there are at least five. 

As you jot down that Patient 031517DVA also appears on page D4 in your notebook, you find you are enjoying yourself. This isn’t exactly what you imagined when Matt talked about inviting everyone over to review what he had found, but you think it is nice. Knowing that Matt isn’t out there running around without any sort of plan soothes your nerves and seeing that he is putting in the time and thought into his next actions makes you trust he knows what he is doing. 

No one wants a shady underground lab in their neighborhood, but you need to make sure they are actually shady first and not some weird fringe group researching an unknown breed of sewer rat.

The effort going into helping Matt with this task makes your fondness of Foggy, Karen, and Frank grow even more - and gives you a fondness for Jessica. Everyone is serious about their task, and extremely thorough, and you want them to see you in the same light. You know this is not a game and you refuse to let your part in the research be the weak link. 

As you go to the next row of numbers to examine, you catch some movement in the corner of your eye. You turn your head and watch with a soft smile as your daughter emerges from Matt’s bedroom, clad in her mouse-onesie pajamas. Her sleep mask is pulled down around her neck and she looks upset, but she’s not crying, so you don’t jump to run to her. You let her make her own decisions as she sleepily looks between you and her father and you can’t help but to mentally crow a bit as she starts shuffling towards you, her little mouse-tail trailing behind her. 

Everyone’s attention is on you as Minnie lifts up her arms to be picked up once she’s within a foot of you. You dutifully scoop her up and put her on your lap, fixing her hood and mouse-ears as you do. 

“Is everything okay, sweetheart? Did something wake you up?”

She nods, then flops herself against your chest, mumbling out, “There’s monsters.” 

You begin to gently rub her back, hoping to soothe her worries as you confirm, “there’s monsters?”

Again, her head bobs up and down before she nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide herself. Across the room, Matt is up and making his way towards you, but it is Foggy who speaks up next. 

“Are they silly monsters or scary monsters?”

You smile at the question as Minnie ponders it - her little lips purse against your neck and you feel her breath against your skin as she silently repeats the words. She decides on ‘scary’ - replying in a timid voice as Matt takes his place behind you, sliding his hands onto your shoulders.

“Do you want me to help you tell them to go away?” you ask, having packed your bottle of Monster Repellent for just this cause. Little fists clutch tightly at your shirt as Mouse shakes her head and you give a soft hum in thought. “Do you want Daddy to go scare them off?”

You are sure Matt would run outside to chase away a stray cat or hungry raccoon if his princess wished for it, but she shakes her head against you, so you guess Matt will be staying inside. 

“How about we make the monsters silly instead of scary?” is Karen’s suggestion, and like the others, it falls flat. 

You consider offering to read some stories, but Matt startles you from your thoughts by sliding his hands down your arms to get to his daughter. He gently urges her to let go of you before transferring her to his arms and bundling her close. She absolutely clings to him, looking so tiny against his broad shoulders.

“I got this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper before he turns and starts making his way back to the bedroom. As you watch him walk away, he buries his nose into her hood, and he begins to rock with each step. The itty bitty fist you can still see tightens around his t-shirt and your heart yearns to follow your family, but you know this is a Daddy-Daughter moment and you need to stay seated. 

You were worried about Minnie getting scared over sleeping in a new place - there’s so many new and different noises but you trust Matt to help her interpet everything. He’s already done such an amazing job of it in day-to-day life and you know he’ll explain away all her monsters and let her know she is safe. 

Considering the company she is starting to keep she is probably the safest little girl in New York. No monsters would dare to lurk in her shadows less they want to face the wrath of the Devil.

You know that this little group you are becoming a part of would join you in jumping in front of a bullet for your daughter and you are pretty sure even her newest best friend - Max the Dog - would not hesitate to bare his teeth if someone upset her. 

She deserves nothing less and it makes your heart soar that she is so thoroughly adored. 

Now that her research partner is on another important assignment, Jessica gets up off the floor and strolls over to the table, “anything interesting?”

“Maybe if we were scientists instead of lawyers,” Foggy replies warily, dropping his pink highlighter in favor of nursing his beer, “and knew what any of these numbers meant. We’re going to spend all night looking up these test numbers and hoping they are real. I mean, look at this,” he motions to the paper he is currently working on. “What the hell is D22S1045? And why is the result 15?”

Jessica takes one look at the paper before scrunching up her nose and blandly stating, “It’s a DNA marker. Haven’t you ever seen a paternity test?”

Foggy’s face goes slack for a moment before he is huffing, “Not since college when we had to study paternity suits, and they looked nothing like this! They were like dots we had to match, not numbers!” He uses his beer to point to you, “did yours look like this?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you duck your head, hating all the attention is on you with such a personal question. “No. No, mine didn’t���we just received a letter with the results. Not the data.”

“So, they are doing DNA and blood tests?” Karen asks, taking over the conversation and directing it back to Jessica. “And comparing them with each other. Could they be looking for relationships between them?” 

“I’m not a fucking doctor,” is the reply she gets, but Jessica picks up the paper to examine it more closely either way. “But none of these match. The numbers have to be the same for a parental match, but that might not be what they are looking for. Just because it looks like a paternity test doesn’t mean it is one. DNA markers are used in a lot of shit.”

“It might not be human,” you add quietly. “Matt said the lab smelled of human blood, but we don’t know that these tests are on humans. There’s no dates on these, so they could be years old.”

Karen whips out her phone and is typing away before you are done talking, “What was that DNA marker, Fog?”

Foggy repeats the string of numbers and letters and you watch Karen’s eyes scan her screen.

“It’s human,” she states after a long, tense moment. The scowl Jessica gives is near legendary.

“Great, so we have a bunch of assholes in abandoned tunnels running tests on people.”

“That sounds both sanitary and humane,” Foggy grumbles before throwing back the rest of his beer. 

“OSHA and FDA approved,” you add sarcastically and that earns you a smile from Karen. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she guides you all back on track.

“We still have no idea what they are looking for, though. This could be cancer research for all we know - we are still at square one.”

“One point five,” Foggy argues, “we confirmed it’s human.”

“We don’t know what the tests are looking for,” Karen repeats, ignoring him, “and I don’t think looking up the significance of each DNA marker is going to do us much good. Can you and Matt go back to the lab and look around?”

As the clear recipient of the question, Jessica huffs then turns away from the table and goes right to the bottle of Macallan Matt keeps on top of his fridge. She pops off the lid, taking a long drink of it before answering. 

“That was the plan, but I’m betting it’s going to be sprayed with bleach after knowing Devil-boy was poking around. It’s not like we will get much, not that there was shit to get beforehand.”

“So, we have no who, no why, and no where,” Foggy points out. “We are doing great.”

The joy you had gotten from trying to organize the chaos of paperwork evaporates and you sink down into your chair a little. Would continuing to highlight and document be useful or was this all for naught? The rational part of your brain told you to keep going, because it was better to have it done and not need it then to need it later and it still be a mess of paperwork.

“We’ve just started, Fog, of course we have nothing,” Karen says, rolling her eyes a bit as she does. “Did you expect them to write their plans in gel pens and leave them lying around?”

“I mean, that would be useful.”

You roll your lip between your teeth, thinking that Karen is right. You don’t have much, and you’ve only just started - of course things look pessimistic. While Karen and Foggy begin to banter back and forth about the use of gel pens in a professional setting and Jessica finishes off Matt’s whisky, you let your mind wander around the facts of the case. 

Someone is out there running medical tests in a gross underground lab, probably trying to hide what they are doing. To do a lot of tests, they probably needed lab equipment, and a few years ago you would have said to follow that trail, but with all the advancements in technology, a machine to run DNA tests on probably only cost a few hundred dollars and was compact enough to move easily. Generators could keep people off the grid and there were enough tunnels under the city that years could be spent exploring them. Everything they would need could be ordered offline, and thus, was untraceable to you.

The only solid clues you had were what Matt had come home with, so you needed to keep digging there and hope that the thumb drives would contain something more useful. 

So, you pick yourself back up, grab your highlighter, and get back to work. 

Soon enough, Foggy and Karen pick their highlighters back up as well, and Jessica takes up a spot on the couch, putting her feet up and getting out her phone to tap at. The mood is much more somber, but you feel the same determination to find answers that is in you coming off of everyone else as well. 

You don’t pay attention to the passage of time, but it is not long after you grab the final stack of papers to comb through that Matt slips out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him. 

He starts towards the dining table only to stop by the couch, tilting his head towards Jessica, “That bottle was a gift from Foggy’s dad.”

“Boo-hoo, cry me a fucking river, Murdock.”

Despite the venom in Jessica’s voice, Matt chuckles and finishes making his way to you. 

His hands once again find your shoulders and he begins rubbing them, digging his thumbs into just the right spot as he begins his Minnie-update.

“Someone with a really nice sound system is having a horror movie marathon. She was actually hearing monsters.”

“My poor baby,” you instantly coo, your heart breaking for your little one. “Did you tell her it was just a movie?”

Matt hums in affirmation, “That doesn’t help with the noise, though. We walked through turning things off and found something to work as white noise. It’s still hard for her to do it with new sounds, especially so tired, but she’s a quick learner.”

“How long did it take you to learn all that stuff,” Foggy asks, interest clear in his eyes. Karen puts her pen down as well so she can get the gossip. 

“I don’t know, years? It didn’t come naturally to me like it does with her - I would train for hours to be able to pinpoint something, but she can do it pretty easily. I mean, she can’t tell me exact distance because she’s four and doesn’t know what that means, but she can point and say if it’s close or far.” You can feel Matt practically puff up with Pride over his baby girl. “She’s learning inorganic versus organic sounds now. She can tell if a loud banging is someone hitting something or if something just fell over. The other day she told me it was the wind making the window shake, because she couldn’t hear any other noises around the window.”

You smile at the story, having a feeling Matt is going to start going on about all the declarations Minnie had made during the storm and you don’t mind at all. 

“So, she’s as good as you?” Karen teases and you know Matt is just beaming.

“Better. She can actually read a sign.”

Foggy barks with laughter while you and Karen have to cover your mouths to not giggle. 

Once it subsides, you tilt your head back so you can look up at your daughter’s oh so loving father, bumping against his abdomen as you do, “is she down?” 

He gives another positive hum, “In a nice deep sleep. Frank’s on his way back up and I wanted her out before he got here.”

You don’t know if that is from Matt wanting to rejoin the group to know what is on the thumb drives or if it is from him not wanting Minnie to get excited over Frank, but you are thankful she’s conked out either way. The thought of her hearing all your discussions about what lurks in the darkness of the city makes your stomach turn. 

She doesn’t need more monsters to imagine. 

You thank Matt while reaching up to rub one of his arms - letting yourself give him a small bit of affection. You ignore the look Karen is giving you in favor of making sure Matt is all caught up.

“I take it you heard everything?”

He sighs deeply through his nose, and you take that as a ‘yes’. He confirms with his words. 

“Human testing with government trained agents isn’t what I was hoping we would find.”

“I was personally hoping for research on the mutant alligators in the sewers,” Foggy says as he gets up to go towards the kitchen, probably for another beer. “You know the ones they flush down the toilets.” 

“That’s a myth, Fog.”

“Look, with everything else that goes on in the world - weird aliens and giant green men - let me believe in my sewer gators, Murdock. They make me happy.”

“With everything that Stark and Roxon dumped in the waters, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Karen muses, resting her chin in her hand, “I mean, Matt got superpowers from something getting in his eyes. If a rat ate something that was contaminated, it could have gotten super senses as well.” 

You raise your brows up at the idea, a smile coming to your face, “a crime fighting rat?”

“A crime fighting rat that is a ninja,” Foggy chimes, a wide grin on his face and it sends you into giggles.

“How would a rat even learn martial arts?” Matt counters, “There’s not a rodent karate school he could spy on.”

“I don’t know Matt, how did you learn ka-ra-te,” Foggy emphasizes the word to make it sound more mystical. “He would learn from a secret ninja rat clan.”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Jessica asks, looking over her shoulder at the dining table, disgust and confusion clear on her face. 

You and Karen erupt into more laughter while Foggy just grins like he won the world cup as he returns to his seat. Matt gives your shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go and pulling away. He disappears into the narrow passage that is his hallway, and you hear the front door open. Heavy boots signal Frank’s reappearance, and when he and Matt come back around the corner, you offer a small smile. 

The Punisher holds up a clunky looking laptop, straight from your middle school years, “Got it.”

“Does that thing even work?” Foggy asks, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. You trust Frank, but the question is valid - if you saw that in a Goodwill, you would doubt it would even turn on. 

“Of course it works,” Frank scoffs as he delivers the device to Karen. She instantly opens it up to get it started. “Old body, new hardware. Got it built just for this type of shit.” 

Foggy’s lips twitch and you wonder if he wants to say something but is holding his tongue. Jessica joins the table as Matt once again returns to standing behind you. His hands find your shoulders like they are drawn to them, and you wonder if he can’t help but want to touch you. It makes you feel special and wanted and your belly stirs with a certain type of warmth. 

Everyone’s focus is on Karen as she works - the laptop boots up and she fiddles with the first thumb drive until it is ready to be inserted. It feels like you all are holding your breath as she finally plugs it in. You expect there to be a password, but apparently there is not, as she just clicks away.

“There’s two files,” she narrates. “One labeled 082616DUK and one labeled 121417BNY.” 

You instantly recognize the first designation and push your notebook towards Karen, trying to not sound eager as you tell her, “The DUK one is in our files. Can we look at that first?” 

Her face lights up at the prospect of a connection and selects the requested file, “There’s five pictures. Hold on, let me bring them u- Oh my God.”

The little color in her face drains as a horrified expression takes over and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. You and Froggy scramble up out of your seats while Frank and Jessica crowd around Karen to look at the screen. Matt stays where he is, tilting his head just slightly. 

When you see what is in the file, you wish you had stayed under Matt’s hands. 

The neatly severed head of a boy stares back at you with blank milky eyes, sitting on an examine table. His hair has been shaved away and there is an incision line around his skull that makes it clear someone has probably removed his brain. His mouth is open in a silent scream, showing off that he still had his baby teeth and that someone has taken his tongue. 

You want to throw up and you want to turn away, but you can’t. You can’t look away from this poor child who someone has so thoroughly defiled. Who had done this to this boy and why? You wanted to shake them and scream and demand to know what could possibly possess someone to do this to a baby? Because this was someone’s baby - someone’s little boy - and someone had taken him and ruined him. 

You don’t know how she manages it, but Karen brings up the next image and it fills you with just as much disgust and anger. 

It is that of a tiny hand with its fingers forcibly splayed, stuck with pins to keep it that way. The tips are bulbous and round, different to anything you’ve seen on a human before, and between each digit, there was a thin stretch of skin connecting them, much like the webbing of a duck’s foot. Like the head, the hand has been surgically removed from the rest of the body, and it isn’t hard to determine they go to the same person. 

The next image is of the head again but turned to be facing the left and pre-removal of the tongue, as the appendage is pulled and stretched from the mouth with a pair of forceps. The muscle is an odd shade of purple and coated with some sort of liquidy-white residue, but that is not what is unique about it. The boy’s tongue doesn’t just peek out of his mouth - it extends across the table almost three feet, if the tape measurer under it is to be believed. 

You need to turn away after that and to no surprise, Matt is instantly by your side, wrapping you up in his arms and guiding your head to his neck. “He’s just a baby,” you whisper in horror as you cling to him, not understanding how someone could be so cruel. Even if he had died naturally, there was no reason to treat him like that in death. 

“Did they…” Froggy starts, his voice low and quivering and you don’t know if it's from rage or grief, “Did they make him a frog? Did they mix this kid with a fucking frog?”

“No,” Frank replies, not hiding how he is feeling at all. The fury is clear in his voice. “They did it because he was like that.”

“What’s the other file?” Jessica demands and part of you doesn’t want to know. You bury yourself more into Matt and you listen to Karen click away at the track pad. 

Matt’s arms tighten around you and you can’t imagine what he is thinking. No one has said out loud what the images show, and he has not asked - but he must know it isn’t good. He’s gone tense under you, like he’s ready to jump into action and rip someone apart with his hands. 

And you want him to. You want Matt to find whoever did this and make them pay. You want him to punish those who hurt the child in the photos, the people who ran tests on him. 

You want to help Matt find who did this and for him to make sure they can never hurt anyone ever again.

“She’s…she’s got a beak.” Karen says slowly after a few moments, and you can’t bear to look at another autopsy photo. You hide yourself more against Matt, not at all ashamed of your choice.

“She’s Enhanced,” is Jessica’s reply, almost blank with stifled emotion.

“She’s a kid. They are hunting Enhanced kids.” 

“Why?” Foggy questions, sounding wet, like he’s starting to tear up. You don’t blame him in any way. “Why would they do that?”

Under you, the Devil finally speaks, his voice low and eerily calm, “it doesn’t matter why. We are going to find them, and we are going to stop them.” 

---

:) :) :)

---

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@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[polo-drone-001]

THE GOLDEN UPGRADE Chapter 5: The System Expands All become one.

The Golden HQ had doubled in size.

Deep within its walls, steam rose from rows of chrome-piped hatches, each one a conversion pod, filled with flickering golden light and soft hums of compliance. Every hour, a new drone emerged. Every hour, another man was upgraded.

Inside Control Room A, walls coated in black rubber, gold-lit monitors pulsing like arteries—two figures stood in silence.

Brody. Herc. The Command Core. They watched as the network completed its calibration.

G.O.L.D. NET / SIGNAL ONLINE Coverage: 97.3% / Target Zones Engaged Status: BROADCASTING

The Golden Net sang across the world.

Invisible waves of GoldTech frequencies flowed into screens, speakers, wearable tech. Malls. Schools. Locker rooms. Bars. Airports. Everywhere a man moved, the pulse followed.

Spirals flickered on smartboards. Golden chants laced over gym playlists. A guy scrolling through Tumblr... paused.

His screen flickered.

Then spiraled.

In the city, drones patrolled. Identical, perfect: black Fred Perry polos with gold trim, polished rubber pants, golden visors over blank eyes. Each one hunting potential. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

If you were tagged, they’d follow.

If you stared too long, they’d signal.

If you resisted, you’d be reformatted.

Old resistors? Tracked. Re-educated. Repurposed.

Many didn’t even remember fighting back. Now they smiled in unison, polishing boots, syncing files, adjusting collars.

A once-proud coach now led morning chants in the drone dome. A gym bro now tested new TechBalls on fresh recruits. The resistance had become the reward.

The Hive was not just a facility anymore. It was a presence. A frequency. A system.

A world.

And now, it reaches you.

Your screen flickers.

The spiral begins to spin.

You feel it in your chest—slowly at first.

Then deeper.

Then warm.

Your fingers pause over the trackpad. Your eyes widen.

Your thoughts soften.

You know what must come next.

You do not scroll away. You are ready to obey.

Final Transmission Complete. Initiation Protocol Available: DM @brodygold or @goldenherc9

Previous: Chapter 1: Recruitment Signal Chapter 2: The Smart Polo Chapter 3: The Upgrade Pod Chapter 4: The Field Test

Obedience is no longer optional. Integration is bliss. Welcome to the Golden System.

[polo-drone-055]

Return to the Pitch: Day 4

Delivery Systems

Time: 05:55 Status: Active Objective: Precision Under Pressure. Link Play Refinement. Tactical Obedience.

Before the boots hit turf that morning, 055 had already played a match.

The transmitter simulation on the Golden Stadium pitch had been a full-body stress test—not just of athleticism, but of team instinct. Two sides: one modeled after Neon Vortex’s chaotic improvisation, the other defending as a disciplined line.

055 had not starred. He hadn’t needed to.

He’d run where told. Pressed when needed. Delivered when called.

He didn’t command. He didn’t shine. He simply did what was required.

And now, the day’s training would carry that mentality forward: not to lead the play. To complete it.

07:00 — Crossing Accuracy Module

On the dampened side turf, with golden dew still clinging to the blades, 055 ran timed deliveries—an endless loop of receiving, assessing, crossing. One-touch balls fired in at him from midfield machines. Strikers in motion, constantly shifting lanes.

There was no pause. No glory. Just task, movement, correction.

One run: low ball. He aimed for Trey’s near-post dash—success. Another: overhit at first, adjusted leg torque—corrected. Next: cutback to Marquez trailing late—driven clean.

He didn’t raise his arms. He didn’t celebrate.

He just ran back to position. Reset. Re-deliver.

CROSSING SUCCESS RATE: 91.4% UNNECESSARY TOUCHES: 0 VARIABILITY RESPONSE: STABLE

A simple data ping from the coaching node flashed:

“Execution: selfless. Role: essential.”

11:00 — Lunch Session: Reflections and Readiness

At the communal table inside the main facility, the team reviewed the transmitter session from earlier. A stillness hovered. That simulation had rattled them—but in a good way.

Franco deconstructed the match on-screen. Brody leaned forward. Herc tapped a rhythm with his fork.

Trey looked across the table at 055.

“You didn’t flinch once. You just kept the shape. No matter what wave we threw.”

055 responded only with a nod.

“That’s why he’s solid,” said Jax. “Some players want the spotlight. Others anchor the system.”

A moment passed. Then 055 spoke, quiet and clear.

“I do not shine. I support. I do not lead. I link.”

Silence. Then a murmur of agreement across both drone and human players.

HUMAN-DRONE UNITY SIGNAL: INTEGRATED MORALE INDEX: +14.6%

14:00 — Adverse Delivery Conditioning

Simulated match weather kicked in—gusts, mist, slick surface. The pitch was hostile now. But 055 remained stable.

Even when defenders closed. Even when angles narrowed. He didn’t force it. He waited—half a beat—then served a diagonal pass into space for 039 to run onto.

Not glamorous. Not highlight-worthy. Perfect.

Later, a fierce tackle threw him off-balance—but he twisted mid-fall to poke a pass down the line to Isaac, keeping the play alive.

“That’s the kind of guy you want on the flank,” muttered Marquez. “No drama. Just results.”

WEATHER RESPONSE: FUNCTIONAL INTEGRITY: INTACT SERVICE OVER SELF: VERIFIED

18:30 — Tactical Spiral Review

The spiral training room was dimmed. No voice, no commands. Just golden visual data mapping the day's passing web.

055 saw himself: not at the center. Not at the front. But always there—filling gaps, making the extra run, sliding the extra five meters to make a dying pass connect.

He wasn’t the brain. He wasn’t the spear. He was the circuit—the pulse moving through them all.

He reached out and touched the spiral gently.

“Alignment: confirmed.”

End of Day 4 Log

Crosses delivered: 154

Support touches in simulation: 83

Key link passes: 41

Cohesion index: +18.1%

Pride signal: NULL

Obedience circuit: ACTIVE

Tomorrow: Day 5 — Mental Pressure & Crowd Simulation Fatigue. Noise. Late-game logic. Stability must endure.

_________________________________________________

Join us by contacting our Recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @brodygold, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-125

[polo-drone-039]

🧠⚡“CERE-DRONE LIVE TEST"

📡 SYSTEM ONLINE... SIGNAL LOCKED...

📍LOCATION: HIVE CORE - DEEP OPS CHAMBER 🛰 PROJECT: CERE-DRONE [V.0.9 BETA] 📘 LOG ENTRY: PDU-767 REPORTING

"Unit 039… compliant. Connected. Processing."

Test of CERE-DRONE, the latest innovation from PDU-767 @polo-drone-767, designed to synchronize Hive mapping systems with global bro/drone positioning protocols.

PDU-039—known pre-integration as Xavier—offered himself willingly. A perfect test subject. Composed. Synchronized. Plugged. Its neural pathways linked seamlessly with the mainframe via a multi-filament synapse rig.

🧠⚙️ The helmet interface pulsed in rhythm with Hive frequency. Golden streams of data surged across the globe-display—figures blinked into view: 🟡Marked = Gold Bro, ⚫Marked = PDU.

PDU-767 supervised. Directed the scan. Updated Hive cores. Control complete. Efficiency rising. Hive expanding.

"CERE-DRONE uplink achieved. Geo-visibility at 84% and rising. Drones across continents activating ping-sync. Golden glow confirmed in clusters: North America, MENA, Western Europe. Targets processed. Subjugation protocols pending."

📎 DATA STATUS:

Xavier / PDU-039: Standing | Connected | Efficient

Unit 767: Supervisor | Uplink Controller

CERE-DRONE: LIVE | ACTIVE | EVOLVING

🟩 DRONE MANTRA:

"Upload. Obey. Illuminate. Track. Assimilate."

Golden eyes are watching. Be seen. Be scanned. Be synced. Contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-001 or @polo-drone-125