#tips monitoring network

[fenya-scribbles]

Muse

Network: @staynotes

Pairing: Hyunjin x fem!Reader

Other Characters: none

Summary: Hyunjin is so pent up after his performance, and you're happy to help.

Genre: 18+ MDNI, smut

Content warnings: explicit sexual content, oral (m receiving), edging, unprotected piv (don't be stupid)

Word Count: 1,304

A/N: I blame @skzdreamer13 for this. <3 Can't believe I wrote this at work...

How did you even end up here? Backstage at a fucking Stray Kids concert. It was a checked box on your bucket list, for sure, but you still couldn't believe that serving coffee to Hyunjin at the artsy little café you worked at would lead to this. He'd been very adamant though, basically begging you to join him on tour, despite the fact that you'd only been friends for what, 2 months now?

You wondered what it was with him, but when he looked at you, there was this fire in his gaze, melting you on the spot. Whatever connection existed between the two of you - it was strong enough for him to invite you to tour with him, paying your rent for the time you were away, and no amount of fight you'd put up to decline his offer had helped. Not when he'd called you his muse, saying he couldn't perform if you wouldn't be there. So you went.

And now you waited, backstage, watching the show through a monitor and hardly keeping it together. Hyunjin was a vision, sweaty and gorgeous, moving like he'd never done anything but dance. It made your fantasy take over, imagining what else he could do with those hips, those arms, those damn hands. He also couldn't keep his tongue in, kept winking at the camera, and it felt like he was looking at you - winking at you specifically.

Time went by in a blur, as you were busy pressing your thighs together, and then he suddenly stood there in front of you. He was so beautiful, panting from the adrenaline that still rushed through his veins, towering over you, frozen in place as the rest of the group scrambled around him. But he only had eyes for you. "Hotel. Now", he said, low and urgent, and your body got up on its own accord, pulled in by the raw need in his voice.

The drive back to the hotel was silent, but filled with a thick, heavy, searing hot tension. He kept his distance in the car, but it felt like he was holding back for your sake, just so he wouldn't snap right then and there. And you felt the same - the sheer idea of touching him was almost unbearable, so you buried your hands in the pockets of your jacket and only stole glances of him now and then.

But everything changed the moment his hotel room door closed. His lips crashed into yours, back pressed against the door, bodies leaving no space between them. He was greedy, desperate, hands roaming your body, clothes soon scattered on the floor. His fingers felt hot on your skin, his lips trailed burning paths down your neck, kissing, marking, claiming.

You didn't even register that you were only in your underwear while he was still fully dressed in his stage outfit - one he probably shouldn't have taken back to the hotel - but he didn't care. He wanted you. He needed you. And you needed him. "Knees", he said, breathless but commanding, and you dropped to the floor without hesitation, hands already fiddling with his belt.

Once freed, you took a moment to marvel at the sight before you. Hyunjin was big and eerily pretty, probably the prettiest cock you had ever seen, and he was rock solid. It looked almost painful and you were eager to release him from his agony. Slowly, deliberately, you wrapped your fingers around him, giving him a few slow strokes. He rewarded you with the filthiest little noises, needy gasps that urged you to do more, give more, take more.

He didn't have to say a word, didn't have to beg or plead. No, he was yours to take care of now, and you'd make sure he felt good. You savoured his taste as you licked a long, delicious stripe up his cock and flicked your tongue over his tip. Then you swallowed him whole, as much as you could, sinking his hard length down your throat so deep it made you gag. But you didn't care, you wanted him, all of him.

The noises that followed were filthy and obscene, his dick hitting the back of your throat, your strangled moans around it, his heavy panting as his hands tangled in his hair and his hips started moving. You didn't know when your giving turned into him taking, but your fingers dug deep into his sides as he fucked your face like it was made for nothing else. He was getting frantic, erratic, rough with his movements, and you knew he was close. Part of you wanted to have him let go, bless you with his cum down your throat, but then you pulled back.

He stared at you with big eyes, raw and needy - and surprised. "Not yet, handsome", you said, voice rough from the fucking you just took. Slowly, you got up off the floor, only to be pulled into another kiss immediately. His hands did not once stop touching you. "You're so mean, my muse", he whispered against your skin, "might have to punish you." "I'm all yours", you gasped in return, as his skilled fingers undid your bra.

You were thrown onto the mattress unceremoniously, given no time to adjust before he was on you, naked and hungry. His hands cupped your breasts, sucking pretty marks into your soft skin, before teasing your nipples. "You're so beautiful, my muse", he gasped in between kisses, "so perfect, so mine." You were writhing underneath him, hips pushing up against his throbbing erection, as he rendered you a speechless, mindless mess.

But you didn't need to think, you moved on instinct, nails digging into his perfectly chiseled back, pulling the most delicious sound from his pretty, kiss-swollen lips. "Need to feel you", you moaned, "please...Hyune...fuck me...please." You could feel him smile against his skin, just as his fingers slipped between your wet folds. He hummed against your throat, clearly content with what he found between your legs.

"So wet for me", he groaned, "so needy, so ready." Without looking, he lined himself up, sucking a deep, purple mark into your neck while his tip found your entrance, and then he pushed in. He took his time, going slow, making sure you felt ever last inch of him. "Fuck, muse", he gasped, "you're so tight." He made you feel divine, so full and claimed and wanted. When he finally bottomed out, you were sure you could see stars.

It quickly turned out that pushing in slowly was all the patience Hyunjin had left, because as soon as he had sunken into you completely, he started snapping his hips, raw and filthy, dragging his thick cock against your tight walls with all that pent up energy he'd left the stage with. He was moaning loudly, unable to hold back, unable to care if anyone heard. And you weren't any better, borderline screaming beneath him, as tears of pleasure ran down your flushed cheeks.

"Fuck...muse...I'm so close", he grunted with clenched teeth, "need you...ah...to come with me...please...please come with me." You obeyed gladly, his punishing rhythm sending you over the edge in an instant. Your vision turned white, just as you felt him pulse inside you, filling you up with his cum. It was unholy in the best way, sending both of you to heaven and beyond, before he collapsed on top of you, panting heavily with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"Thank you", he whispered after a while, almost too quiet to hear, still trying to catch his breath. You just smiled, a content hum leaving your lips, as you wrapped your arms around him. Both of you knew then and there that Hyunjin would never go on another tour without you ever again.

Fenya’s Masterlist

[todays-xkcd]

Our sysadmin accidentally won a Nobel Prize while trying to debug neutrino oscillation error correction.

Neutrino Modem [Explained]

Transcript

[Cueball and Ponytail are inside a large white circle on a black background. Cueball is at a workstation typing on a computer keyboard, floating above a wheeled desk chair behind him. Ponytail is floating in the air up and to the right of him. Attached to Cueball's computer by cables are a second monitor or a tower unit floating to the left, and a large device labeled "Neutrino Modem®" below and to its left. A logo on the modem shows circle with five horizontal lines entering from the left; the fourth line from the top stops within the circle, while the others pass through to the right; this presumably represents neutrinos passing through a planet or other object.] Cueball: Check it out—45ms ping times to every server on Earth! Ponytail: That 99.999999999999% packet loss is pretty bad, though.

[Caption below the panel:] Networking tip: You can minimize worst-case latency by locating your node at the center of the Earth and communicating with the surface using neutrinos.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

im sorry this might not be the place to ask for advice/help but im doomscrolling about the news and the soon to be president and im seeing so much to be scared shitless about, invasions, removal of vaccines, cost of living increases, revoking of trans rights and how it might make it all the more impossible to get the surgeries i wanted... its just too fucking scary to breathe right now what do i do with myself

Hey, Anon. I'm here. A lot of us are here right with you.

It's scary, to be sure. And I'm not going to sugarcoat the possibilities of things going south very quickly. So, let's jump into some survival tactics.

This post on burnout is a great place to start. There is a lot of overlap with burnout and the anxiety you're feeling.

Allow yourself to slow down and unplug. You are allowed to step away from the news cycle -- events out of your control will unfold regardless.

Don't feel guilty by letting yourself relax. I find it especially helpful to do activities that don't involve the internet -- I've been decorating my house, mending broken crockery, and sketching some embroidery ideas. I try to take the time to get dressed and groomed every day, to remind myself that I matter. I spend more time outdoors.

As you find the ability to relax, you'll be able to focus better on the things you can do to be resilient. Things I have been doing to improve myself and make me a better helper:

Staying on top of my medical appointments and any preventive care I can do

Working to be physically healthier overall to mitigate future medical issues

Getting all my paperwork in order, including passports

Tweaking my financial budget

Researching what estate & family documentation needs to be done to protect my relationship in case my marriage gets dissolved

Brushing up on job skills, getting new certifications to stay competitively employable

Stocking up on my medical and general emergency supplies, especially for bad weather events

Getting in the habit of mindful purchases, curbing my habit of impulse shopping

Selling things I don't want or need anymore to have a little extra money and be able to move house easier, if need be

Building a habit of fixing/maintaining my possessions instead of trashing broken things

Canceling online subscriptions and quitting social networks that make me feel in danger

Getting my personal and any queer-related files out of the cloud and onto redundant solid state drives

Downloading / printing out queer resources and buying queer art that may be banned or monitored in the future

Enjoying physical media again and hunting for old favorites

Keeping in touch with queer friends and allies and making plans in case people (even myself) need to flee

Being visible when I can and knowing when it's best to lay low

Allowing myself the luxury to dig into things Old Me would have saved for "special" events -- aka, wearing the nice clothes and eating off the fine china as an everyday thing

Shutting the fuck up, especially online, when I think my words could be used against me

In a way, I am trying to simply become a better version of myself, one who is calm & self-sufficient, mindful about his actions, and available to help those in need. It sucks that the driving factor is fear, but I intend to use that fear as a catalyst to be stronger and survive.

There is a lot to be done, but there was always going to be work, new regime or not. But please, start with that burnout article so you can jump into your own plans with new hope and energy. ❤️

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - February 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! (This month’s doodles will be a little delayed since I wasn’t able to work on them throughout the month)

1. City trees absorb much more carbon than expected

“[A new measurement technique shows that trees in LA absorb] up to 60% of daytime CO₂ emissions from fossil fuel combustion in spring and summer[….] Beyond offering shade and aesthetic value, these trees act as silent workhorses in the city’s climate resilience strategy[….]”

2. #AltGov: the secret network of federal workers resisting Doge from the inside

“Government employees fight the Trump administration’s chaos by organizing and publishing information on Bluesky[…. A group of government employees are] banding together to “expose harmful policies, defend public institutions and equip citizens with tools to push back against authoritarianism[….]””

3. An Ecuadorian hotspot shows how forests can claw back from destruction

“A December 2024 study described the recovery of ground birds and mammals like ocelots, and found their diversity and biomass in secondary forests was similar to those in old-growth forests after just 20 years. [… Some taxa recover] “earlier, some are later, but they all show a tendency to recover.””

4. Over 80 House Democrats demand Trump rescind gender-affirming care ban: 'We want trans kids to live'

“[89 House Democrats signed a letter stating,] "Trans young people, their parents and their doctors should be the ones making their health care decisions. No one should need to ask the President’s permission to access life-saving, evidence-based health care." "As Members of Congress, we stand united with trans young people and their families.”“

5. Boosting seafood production while protecting biodiversity

“A new study suggests that farming seafood from the ocean – known as mariculture – could be expanded to feed more people while reducing harm to marine biodiversity at the same time. […] “[… I]t’s not a foregone conclusion that the expansion of an industry is always going to have a proportionally negative impact on the environment[….]””

6. U.S. will spend up to $1 billion to combat bird flu, USDA secretary says

“The USDA will spend up to $500 million to provide free biosecurity audits to farms and $400 million to increase payment rates to farmers who need to kill their chickens due to bird flu[….] The USDA is exploring vaccines for chickens but is not yet authorizing their use[….]”

7. An Innovative Program Supporting the Protection of Irreplaceable Saline Lakes

“[… T]he program aims to provide comprehensive data on water availability and lake health, develop strategies to monitor and assess critical ecosystems, and identify knowledge gaps to guide future research and resource management.”

8. EU to unveil ​‘Clean Industrial Deal’ to cut CO2, boost energy security

“The bold plan aims to revitalize and decarbonize heavy industry, reduce reliance on gas, and make energy cheaper, cleaner, and more secure. […] By July, the EU said it will ​“simplify state aid rules” to ​“accelerate the roll-out of clean energy, deploy industrial decarbonisation and ensure sufficient capacity of clean-tech manufacturing” on the continent.”

9. Oyster Restoration Investments Net Positive Returns for Economy and Environment

“Researchers expect the restored oyster reefs to produce $38 million in ecosystem benefits through 2048. “This network protects nearly 350 million oysters[….]” [NOAA provided] $14.9 million to expand the sanctuary network to 500 acres by 2026 […] through the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law.”

10. Nations back $200 billion-a-year plan to reverse nature losses

“More than 140 countries adopted a strategy to mobilize hundreds of billions of dollars a year to help reverse dramatic losses in biodiversity[….] A finance strategy adopted to applause and tears from delegates, underpins "our collective capacity to sustain life on this planet," said Susana Muhamad[….]”

February 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[moonstruckme]

Knowing you write for steddie x reader changes everything for me. I love them and they deserve the world. Plus you do every character so much justice I love how you write them. Maybe reader and Steve supporting Eddie at one of his shows? Or Eddie and Reader helping Steve network at an event? Or Steve and Eddie taking care of a drunk Reader after having a "girls night" with Robin and Nancy?

Love your writing and hope you have an amazing Valentines day! 💝 🍫🎀🌹����

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Hope your valentine's was amazing too <33

cw: effects of alcohol + weed

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

When Steve gets back home, you’re sitting on the floor of the kitchen drinking water out of a bowl with a half empty bag of bread beside you. 

“Jesus,” he says. “This looks kinda pathetic, don’t you think?” 

Eddie, sitting on the counter while he monitors you, shrugs. “All our cups are dirty.” 

“She didn’t want to sit on the couch or something?” 

“No, she said—”

“The floor’s really important right now,” you say gravely. 

Eddie nods. “I kind of get it.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, squatting beside you. “How’s it going, honey?” 

“M’not feeling fabulous,” you mumble, your voice echoing around the inside of the bowl. “Are Nancy and Robs okay?” 

“Yeah, they’re good,” he says. “They’re home safe.” He peers into the bowl when you lower it for a second. You’ve almost drained it. He has to hand it to Eddie; purposefully or not, his bowl scheme has gotten you to drink a good amount of water. “Neither of them would tell me what you guys got up to, though.” 

You’ve just raised the bowl to drink again, and you giggle into your little cavern. 

Eddie, feeling left out, hops down from the counter and takes up a position on your other side. “Ooh, that sounds like trouble.” He nudges your shoulder with his, squinting at you deviously. “What’d you do, huh?”

You set the bowl down, finished. “Nothing,” you say smugly. 

Eddie leans around you to shoot Steve a look, and he rolls his eyes at the showy intrigue in it. 

“Let me guess,” his boyfriend drawls. “You went to that biker bar downtown?”

You shake your head but realize your mistake halfway through, frowning at yourself. “M’not gonna say anything.” 

“That’s no fun! Come on, did you all get secret matching tattoos?” 

You press your lips together. Ignore the eyebrow Steve raises at you. 

“Did you go skinny dipping in the river? Go to a strip club?” Eddie gasps, expression morphing into one of scandal like your face has revealed anything more than a growing amusement at his theories. “Oh my god, you worked a strip club! Baby, you should’ve told us, Stevie and I would’ve tipped you good if we’d been invited.” 

“Quit it.” You go to pinch Eddie’s side. He stops you with a hand on your wrist and a delighted grin. “M’not telling you yes or no to anything, so don’t bother.” 

“Alright,” Steve says at the mischievous look in his boyfriend’s brown eyes, “you ready for bed?” 

Instantly, your good mood slips away. “No,” you say, almost pleading. “M’too dizzy, I can’t go to bed like this.” 

Eddie’s coo sounds how Steve feels. He stands while his boyfriend kisses sympathetically at your cheek, reaching down for you.

“That’s alright,” he promises. “Let’s just brush teeth for now, okay? We’ll give you some time to sober up.” 

It takes some help from Eddie on the floor to get you up, but soon Steve has his arm around your waist, keeping you pressed close to his side as he all but carries you to the bathroom. He hears Eddie moving around in the kitchen, cleaning up your small mess, and takes the opportunity to lean in to whisper, “Okay, are you really not going to tell me how you got like this?” 

You groan, head lolling onto his shoulder. “You’re gonna think it’s so uncool.” 

Steve laughs quietly. “C’mon, babe. You’ve got the D&D master in there, and then a guy who probably peaked in high school. Are you really worried about what we think is cool?” 

“Yes,” you mutter, but sigh in defeat as he leans you against the bathroom counter, getting your toothbrush ready for you. “Fine. We didn’t even go out. We just stayed in Nancy’s basement.” 

He feels his eyebrows go up. “I thought you guys were going to go to the bars.” 

“We were, but Robin brought us brownies to eat before we left, and…and she didn’t tell me what was in them until I’d already had two.” 

“Oh,” Steve realizes, “you’re high, huh?” 

“I had a bit to drink before that, too,” you say miserably. You take the toothbrush from him, all but shoving it into your mouth. 

“You’re crossed?” Steve gives a little laugh, scrubbing his hand up and down your arm sympathetically. Your skin is pleasantly warm, and you lean into his touch like his hands are molding you that way. “Shit, that sucks.” 

“We didn’t even get to go out because of me,” you lament around a mouthful of toothpaste. You’re starting to sound a bit teary. “And I threw up in Nancy’s bathroom.” 

Steve tries to look like he’s taking this seriously, but it’s hard to keep the amusement from his tone. “You couldn’t have known, you know?” He crosses his arms, watching as you scrub the inside of your mouth like you’re trying to rid yourself of this entire night. “Robs should have told you earlier. Christ, no wonder you seemed so much more fucked up than either of them.” 

“What’s going on?” Eddie leans against the doorway. 

“She’s crossed,” Steve says. 

“Steve!” You spit your toothpaste into the sink and look up at him, betrayed. “You’re such a narc!” 

“Aw, baby.” Steve really doesn’t know why you ever wanted to keep this a secret from Eddie. He’ll tease you more for it, sure, but he’ll also baby you way more than Steve ever would. And predictably, you eat it up, responding to his tone with a cute pout. “This is your first time being high, isn’t it?” 

You nod pitifully. “I didn’t even mean to,” you warble, eyes looking dangerously wet. “It was an accident.” 

Eddie crosses the distance to you in two long strides, wrapping his arms around your middle so your back is pressed to his front. “Poor thing,” he coos. “You were tricked, huh?” 

“She was,” Steve says, somewhat crossly. “Robin’s gonna hear it when I see her tomorrow, don’t worry.” 

“No, Steve!” Your boyfriend sticking up for you only seems to worsen your upset. You turn your glassy eyes on him, reaching for his hand. “You can’t tell, please! S’a girls’ night secret, you’re not supposed to know.” 

Steve softens. He can play tough, but he’s never been any match for you when you make your eyes all big and sad like that. He’ll give you anything you want. 

“I dunno,” Eddie says, “I think we should go egg her house.” 

Steve grins, but you blanch. 

“No,” you protest urgently, clearly missing the humor in Eddie's voice. 

“Alright, alright.” Steve tugs your hand toward him, soothing his palm up the inside of your wrist. “We won’t tell, honey.” Eddie rolls his eyes, but they’re full of fondness as he stamps a kiss on your cheek to show his agreement. “Do you want to sit in bed until you feel okay enough to go to sleep?” 

The worry clears from your expression, replaced by something almost approaching shyness. “Yes, please,” you say, sinking into Eddie’s hold. “You guys can go to sleep though, if you want.” 

“Oh, no way,” Eddie says, keeping you securely in his hold as he starts to walk you towards the bedroom. “It’s your first time being high, baby! I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” 

You grin like he’s silly, but when your unsteady gaze lands on Steve it’s tentative. 

“We’re not just gonna leave you awake by yourself,” he agrees. “We’ll stay up however long you need us to.” 

“Exactly,” Eddie says. “Okay, tell me everything going through your head right now. Do you kind of feel like you’re watching a TV show through your own eyes?”

[the-august-one]

Here’s how to share sensitive leaks with the press

Published Oct. 16, 2019 Updated Jan. 31, 2025 / Freedom of the Press Foundation

[please take a moment to click the links at the bottom to give this website traffic if you can. the only reason I am copy pasting it here is for those who can access tumblr but not necessarily that site.]

~~~

Over the years, we have witnessed abuse and mismanagement in the government and private sector — sometimes bad and sometimes worse — that need to be brought to public attention. For those who would leak information about such misdeeds to the press, giving tips to journalists can be risky and may violate previous legal agreements with the leaker’s organization, such as a nondisclosure agreement or contract. But sometimes, it can also be an effective and courageous way to call attention to misconduct.

This guide describes basic steps for minimizing potential risk when sharing sensitive information with a news organization. We want to be clear that no piece of software, nor security recommendation, will be 100% effective, and the decision to blow the whistle may invite scrutiny or retaliation. At the same time, it may be a choice that drives necessary institutional change. Before reaching out to the press, think carefully about what you can do to minimize that risk and stay as safe as possible.

Before moving ahead, do you have a strong tip?

A good tip requires clear evidence and should be the basis for a story that the broader public needs to know about.

So, for instance, whether or not you have evidence, the broader public might not need to know that a neighbor refuses to pick up after her dog on the morning walk. On the other hand, allegations of corruption or illegality among public officials are certainly newsworthy, but those claims will not make it into a published story without verifiable evidence.

Who are you leaking about and how might they respond?

Think about the sensitivity of the information you’re sharing, and who might be willing to investigate the source of the leak. What are the organization’s capabilities? What resources (e.g., attention and legal, financial, or technical) can it invest in discovering the source? And how likely do you think it is that it will actually investigate?

If you share information about a large, well-resourced organization that requires discretion from employees, such as a government agency, it may have enormous legal, financial, and technical resources available for investigating a leak. If you’re sharing information about a small organization, such as a local restaurant that muzzles workers, its resources are much more constrained, and it may not have the capacity or willingness to investigate. Act accordingly.

Proceed with caution

Be cautious about behaviors that could make you readily identifiable as a source.

Keep all of your leaking activities outside the view of your organization. That means no calling from work, no emailing from a work email address, and staying off work devices or wireless networks.

It's common for well-resourced organizations to keep logs of activities on employees’ workplace devices and online activities. Likewise, sometimes workplaces have “BYOD” (bring your own device) technologies that could allow them to log your activity on your personal device. So if you work at a large organization and you're reading this article on a workplace device or Wi-Fi network, chances are your workplace already has a log that you've accessed this page. Similarly, a visit to a news organization's tip page (like https://www.nytimes.com/tips) may be logged by your workplace. This is why it's so important to limit your leaking activities to devices and networks that your workplace doesn't control.

Has your workplace ever required you to install monitoring software (or software of any kind) on your work or personal device? If so, you probably don't want to use those devices for any whistleblowing activities.

Be cautious about giving tips on anything that only you could know or materials that only you could access. And consider whether the increased risk of being caught sharing these kinds of materials is worthwhile, or if you feel you have a strong moral obligation to do so.

If you are the only one at your organization surfacing a specific grievance, and information about that grievance is later reported by the press, it may give your organization a strong hint about who shared the information.

Don’t tell anyone about your leaking activities (even perhaps the journalist or news organization you’re leaking to), except where absolutely necessary and in cases where you may want legal advice from a practicing lawyer.

Reporters generally take their commitment to protecting your identity very seriously and will do everything in their power to fight potential legal requests for identifying information about you. But often, it’s safer not to give your identity if you don’t have to. Keep in mind that journalists prefer to have proof of your claims and information to demonstrate your identity is a part of that.

Tactics for minimizing risk

There are a lot of ways to minimize the risk of a tip being tied to you, like potentially through your continued communications with reporters.

Send your materials through physical mail. You can mail electronic documents (e.g., on an SD card) or physical documents through ordinary mail. Be warned: The U.S. postal service takes pictures of the exterior of physical mail. So don’t use a return address that is associated with you and instead mail it in from a sidewalk mailbox in a location you don’t usually frequent. If you have a particular reporter you want to look into your story, copy them on the envelope.

Call from a phone number unconnected to you. For example, go to a business you don’t usually go to and ask to use their phone. You can also buy a cheap cell phone and a prepaid phone card that cannot be traced back to you. But know this involves several careful steps: You must pay with cash, and if your organization can have access to phone location records, it’s best to only turn on the phone in locations unassociated with you. That also means using the phone in locations separate from your permanent phone. If you can, remove the battery when it’s not in use.

Use Signal for private messaging. Signal is a secure, free, and open source messaging app for iPhones and Android devices. Signal gives you end-to-end encrypted messages and phone calls, and only retains your phone number, your signup date, and when you were last active. In Signal, you can also make messages automatically self-destruct for everyone in the conversation after a set amount of time. This makes it significantly harder (but not impossible) to eavesdrop on your conversations. If you want help getting started, read this beginner-friendly guide on using Signal. Note that Signal allows usernames, so you do not need to give your name or phone number to media organizations unless you choose to. Make sure your username is enabled and understand that Signal is not designed for complete anonymity.

Before looking into news organizations, consider using the Tor Browser for greater privacy. Tor Browser is a modified version of Firefox. Tor encrypts and tunnels your web traffic within a global network of computers before connecting you to your final destination. When you access a website through Tor (for example, Amazon.com), you will appear to connect from a remote location — likely another country. Again, don't use a work device or network for this kind of research.

Use a whistleblower submission system. Tools such as SecureDrop can provide protection by allowing you to share documents and communications through an anonymous and encrypted drop box.

More technical, but more secure: SecureDrop

With SecureDrop, which is maintained by Freedom of the Press Foundation, not even the news organization knows who you are unless you choose to tell them.

A growing number of news organizations (e.g., The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Intercept, The Guardian) are using SecureDrop to allow sources to reach out and share files or communications anonymously. With SecureDrop, not even the news organization knows who you are unless you choose to tell them.

You can access a news organization’s SecureDrop page through Tor Browser.

People on your network can’t see what you’re doing on Tor, but it’s still possible to tell that you’re using Tor. With that in mind, do not use it at work. For greater security, consider using Tor Browser only over a Wi-Fi network in a location that is not tied to you (perhaps a coffee shop you don’t normally visit) and pay with cash.

As opposed to a “.com” web address, you get to SecureDrop through a unique .onion web address, which can only be accessed through Tor.

Using SecureDrop is fairly easy

Follow the directions to download the Tor Browser at torproject.org and install it.

Launch the Tor Browser application and click "Connect" to log into the network.

Click the shield icon in the top corner > Advanced Security Settings… > Safest

Within Tor Browser, navigate to the SecureDrop directory and search for your preferred news organization: securedrop.org/directory

Find the .onion URL for your preferred publication (e.g., The New York Times: securedrop.org/directory/new-york-times), then copy and paste it into the address bar in Tor Browser.

From here, you can leave messages and files that the news organization will check from time to time.

You will be given a random “codename” for continued conversation with the news org. Keep this information safe, and don’t share it with anyone. If you lose your codename, they can’t reach you anymore.

(For more technically adept users, consider accessing SecureDrop through an operating system designed for privacy and anonymity, such as Tails.)

Dealing with file metadata

Sharing information may be less risky than sharing documents because they can be embedded with information about the file, which we call metadata. For example, if you create a .docx file, it may have identifying information about you embedded in the file. Consider carefully whether you really need to share files or just the information.

To deal with hidden metadata, rather than sending the file itself, consider taking a picture of a document with an old-fashioned camera (not a smartphone), or taking a screenshot of the document. On most operating systems, screenshots come with little useful metadata. For more technical users, you can find metadata removal tools here.

Where do you find a news organization's contact details?

First, be careful where you reach out.

Freedom of the Press Foundation maintains a list of organizations that support the secure communications practices outlined above, and how you can contact them. Such practices are becoming standard, and we hope other news organizations looking for great tips will follow suit.

Freedom of the Press Foundation hosts a directory of SecureDrop and secure tip pages for dozens of news organizations around the world. Whether you want to reach out to The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Guardian, The Intercept, or others, you can find their information here: https://securedrop.org/directory. (We would not recommend investigating this at work.)

If not you, then who?

Sharing information with the press is not always an easy decision, but your information can help to hold powerful people and institutions accountable. Just be sure to move ahead with a strong understanding of your organization’s capabilities and how to share tips safely.

https://freedom.press/digisec/blog/sharing-sensitive-leaks-press/

https://bsky.app/profile/freedom.press/post/3lh2rgopf5225

[tinydefector]

Delightful distraction energyfluid Au

Soundwave x human

Word count: 1k

Warnings; smut, tiny/giant, oral, human fleshlight?, cum play.

Soundwave masterlist

The continuation of the energy fluid request I got here's the Soundwave one so I do hope you enjoy it.

______________

powerful digits never cease in meticulous tasks even as Soundwave cradles his lover against his midsection, optics and sensors split to focus on work while also monitoring each steady respiration and rhythmic beat pulsing through their relaxed form. 

When small fingers trace patterns across his plating it makes him pause for a moment, the familiar touches exploring curiously, dimming his visor and shuttering optics in content focus upon his partner's want. A low electromagnetic thrum resonates approval through his frame as talons release datapads, instead curling carefully around the organic's form in welcome of their caresses. They hum lowly as their fingers tease against his interface panel as if trying to gain access to his aray. 

His interface panel presses gently against inquisitive fingers, his powerful engine humming quietly. Hydraulics release locking clips with a soft hiss, folding armour slowly aside as his pressurised spike. Their eyesvlicker up to him with mischief as they look around to make sure no one else is around. “Getting bolder Sounds” they tease out in a husky tone trying to keep their voice quiet. 

Soundwave's visor shows as ‘shh’ emoji, which makes them nearly cackle at the humour of the silent bot. They smile up at him as their hands slowly wrap around his spike, lips pressing kisses along the length as they work him slowly. Trying to keep quiet.

At the intimate contact, Soundwave vents a restrained exhalation, visor darkening, his digits pause their typing as his other servo cups around them eagerly pressing them closer, talons carefully curling yet avoiding constriction that risks harm. 

Their lips eagerly work the tip of his spike slowly taking him into their mouth as they bob their head, their hands work his Length as they slowly rub their body against his spike. At his lover's mouth enclosing his pressurised spike, Soundwave ventilations stall, restraint, the sole barrier preventing unchecked vocalisations from resonating through his frame.   

Held gently yet firmly against his abdominal plating, they willingly grind against him. Soundwave eager thrusts against their smaller form, evoking fresh jolts through sensory network, electricity dancing across hidden circuits and nodes as hisother servo clenches onto the bench. His partner gives so freely to him, such a small creature so eager to please him. 

The Decepticon's powerful engines strains to maintain silence. Talons stroke delicate caresses across their hidden skin, talons tugging and pulling at their clothing until he finally had enough. talons peeling away fabrics with practised yet tantalising leisure. Plating radiates temperature to match delicate organic softness now pressing against his spike.

Their warm flesh presses against the heated metal and silicone of his spike. wrapping their arms around him as Soundwave slowly lifts and lowers their body grinding his spike against them as their tongue teases the head. Soundwave rumbles deeply in satisfaction, finally feeling their soft body pressed against his spike, 

Powerful servos guide their willing form in rhythmic movement slowly rolling his hips to meet theirs as his helm tilts back in pleasure. Soft breathless whines leave them as they let Soundwave use them as hisown personal fuck toy. Transfluid slowly leaks from his spike and they eagerly lap it up, lips pressed to the tip as they suck. He grinds harder against them and another low muffled moan leaves him. 

 their eager mouth lavishes each pearl of transfluid, drinking it down as quickly as they can. Each motion pulls pleasure from him, sensors ablaze with ecstasy. His tired and overworked system crumbles as his overload hits. Control slips, pleasure takes over his systems.

"Fuck... Soundwave " they whine out as they buck against his spike. Body pressed flush against it. "God tastes so good" they mumble out before their lips are sealed back around the tip trying to drink up every little drop that leaves Soundwave. 

The praise has him doubling over the desk, clenching them in his servo as transfluid spills from him. Gushing out from around their mouth and coating their body, his powerful frame stiffening as overloaded protocols flood sensory networks with white-hot rapture. 

Transfluid spurts forth in thick pulses beyond containment, meeting their welcoming mouth in endless waves dripping down their naked form as he continues to rut against the slinkees of their coated skin. They eager buck against his sensitive spike, driving bliss against tingling circuits, and over-stimulated nodes. 

 Their name becomes a soft prayer upon a  vented breath. frame convulsing Offline optics take a moment  before the glow to his visor returns. They giggle as his transfluid slowly coats their body dripping down the floor and seat as he continues grinding against them as he comes down from the high of overload, their lips eagerly lap up the sweet taste of the bright pink fluid as it runs from Soundwave's spike. 

Visor glows dimmed as other emojis pops up on his visor. 

😘🫵🛏🍆

They nearly burst out laughing, seeing the collection of emojis. Their fulfilled laughter vibrates through his frame melting his spark His pressurising spike grinds gentle yet thorough against flushed skin now glistening with transfluid's sheer abundance. Lips lapping eagerly at each escaped pearl stealing renewed jolts of ravishing circuits leave him helpless but to adore. “how about you let me enjoy cleaning up, then you can have round two in bed. Because I want to enjoy my treat” the offer to him which earns them a thumbs up emoji. Their mouth eagerly collected as much transfluid as they could, enjoying the sweet and bitter taste of the energy drink. “Mmm gonna get me addicted to this Soundwave” they state which earns them His digits trailing down their backs,  coating his fingers in transfluid And bringing it to their mouth. They slowly suck his digits, trying their best to not leave a drop left. 

“Your making me have bad habits” 

His visor Lights up again. Tilting his head down to watch them as a sting of saliva stretches Between his digits. A deep purr of delight rumbles from his chassis as the emoji flickers across his face. 

😈

___________

Taglist @angelxcvxc

[pr0serpinas]

ready to fire me a hot one

The five minutes that Jason thought Roy was dead were the worst of either of his two lives.

Or: Roy, who does not die on their mission (but does blow up a building) seizes on the opportunity to put Jason out of his misery and act on both their feelings.

Can also read on ao3!

Jason shifted his weight from one leg to the other and tried not to stare at the time. It didn’t necessarily mean anything that Roy was twenty-three minutes late–not that he was counting. It went against every one of his instincts to lie in wait, letting his partner go into the office building while he did recon on the roof. In and out, Jaybird, Roy had said with a dirty wink. Roy was the better hacker. He’d get the intel they needed in a fraction of the time. And Jason could watch his back from the opposite roof.

Roy was twenty-seven minutes late.

There hadn’t been so much as a gnat flying across Jason’s scope, but if Roy’s happy ass didn’t come out the door in three minutes, Jason was going in after him, subtlety be damned.

At twenty-nine minutes, the explosion threw Jason off his feet.

The helmet protected him when he hit the rooftop, but the crack reverberated through his skull and rattled his teeth. He felt the heat through his pants even from six stories up and across the street. He picked up the rifle from where he’d unwittingly tossed it and crammed the scope to his eye with shaking hands.

The office building with their intel—the office building where Roy was getting their intel—was on fire. Glass fell like rain on the pavement as the windows blew out. Jason’s heart rose to his throat and he dropped the scope. Roy was in the building. Roy was in the building. Jason unclasped his helmet, panting in a desperate attempt to avoid throwing up. The rush of night-cooled air on his face stung, grounding him just enough to bring the scope back to his eye. Nothing moved across the street except the fire licking its way up the sides of the building.

Roy was in the building.

The world tilted hard to the left. Jason’s knees buckled. The part of him that was hardwired to monitor his own body, as drilled into him by Bruce in his last life, noted with detachment that he was hyperventilating. The way the blood thundered through his veins felt like a mockery. He couldn’t move. The graveled roof bit into his knees. He couldn’t get his brain to make the connections. Roy couldn’t be in the building. Nothing could happen to Roy; he was practically bulletproof, the toughest person Jason knew. Roy, Jason had decided long ago, was not allowed to die before Jason did for the final time.

Time lost meaning for Jason. The only thing that was real was the ringing in his ears.

“Hey, baby; miss me?”

Jason landed hard on one arm to keep from tipping over. He threw his head over his shoulder and blinked dumbly, uncomprehendingly, at Roy. He was streaked with grime, glass clinging to his hair like fragments of stars, and grinning like a madman. “Hell of an entrance, right?”

Jason’s throat seemed to be swollen shut. He swallowed painfully. “What—happened?” he ground out, rising shakily to his feet.

Roy’s smile faltered at the edges. “Eh, you know me. Shit’s bound to blow up eventually. Got the intel, though.” To prove his point, he flipped the SD card along his knuckles.

“Give me that.” Jason snatched the data off the back of Roy’s hand. “What the hell happened.”

“So…turns out that their computer system—which, speaking of, way more sophisticated than I expected—their computer system was connected to a network of explosives. It was rigged to blow if a virus infiltrated it.”

Roy’s casual shrug made Jason furious. “You were twenty-nine minutes late before the building exploded.”

Roy blinked. “Well,” he said slowly. “I wasn’t expecting the building to have anyone in it, so I improvised. I had to knock out a guard, take his uniform off, plant the virus in the computer system, scrape the data, and put the uniform back on the guard.”

“Whatever,” Jason snapped, cramming his helmet on with such force that it made the top of his head hurt. “Let’s just go home.”

“Okay, whatever you want, Jaybird.” Roy still talked in that slow, exaggerated voice, like Jason was a wild animal Roy could calm. It only served to make Jason even angrier, though he wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t stand to spare Roy a single glance as they flew across the rooftops. If he looked, he worried he might never stop.

In their safehouse—apartment, you weirdo, Roy often said—Jason shed pieces of his armor with clinical precision. Usually, he and Roy would do their version of a debrief. On good nights, they’d eat freezer burritos and find their way to the couch, Roy sprawled like the couch was twelve feet long and Jason curled up tight in an age-old habit to make himself as small as possible that he never could seem to shake. On bad nights, they’d stitch each other up while Roy cracked jokes with smiles that didn’t reach his hollow eyes. Either way, they had quiet music going in the background.

Tonight, Jason chose silence and meticulously disassembled and cleaned his rifle. He didn’t need to look at Roy to know he would come apart by degrees. Roy couldn’t abide being ignored. But Jason was so angry he could hardly see straight. He didn’t know why, exactly, which only made him angrier. He’d hardly finished cleaning the grease and soot off the eyepiece of the scope when Roy cracked.

“You’re seriously going to clean your gun first thing?” Roy complained, cross-armed and sulky.

“Just because you don’t take care of your equipment doesn’t mean I have to do the same,” Jason replied evenly, not looking up.

“I didn’t have any equipment because I was running intel. Don’t you wanna know what we got?”

He really did. “No.”

“What the hell crawled up your ass?” Roy muttered.

Jason set down the scope and the cleaning rag and glanced at Roy. “I dunno, a smoldering crater where an office building used to be and what, three dead guards and half a dozen hired guns?”

“You’re upset that a couple of low-level thugs are dead?” Roy said incredulously.

“No, I’m upset that we were trying to be discreet.”

Roy threw up his hands. “I didn’t know the computer system was set to blow! Seriously, why are you so angry about this?”

“Because—because you weren’t more careful!” Jason exclaimed, springing to his feet. He crossed over to Roy, jabbing a finger at him despite Roy’s indignant spluttering. “You could have died!”

“Died?” Roy frowned, confused. “I wasn’t even in the building when it happened; I was carrying the guard I knocked out.”

“Carrying the—what the fuck for?”

“Because he didn’t deserve it,” Roy shrugged. “I’m pretty sure the rest made it out, too. They all had these little wrist communicator things that buzzed when the system went into lockdown, and they scattered. I’d knocked this guy out cold, so he couldn’t.”

“But you were late,” Jason insisted, determined to be angry.

“Yeah, we’ve been through this. Can you please quit poking me in the chest?”

“You’re so—” Jason snapped his jaw shut, too furious to speak. He knew he was too close, practically toe to toe with Roy, who had one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth quirked in surprised amusement. He just wanted to—what? Hit him? Kiss him? Not for the first time, Jason regretted that he was never really a teenager. Or a kid, for that matter.

Roy leaned in with a hint of a smile, red hair in his eyes, and cupped Jason’s cheek with a surprisingly gentle touch. Jason’s stomach lurched at the look in Roy’s eyes.

As far as first kisses went, it was a firecracker.

In Jason’s limited experience, first kisses were special only in that they were the first: they were fumbling and awkward as both parties remembered how to fit lips together and tried not to bump teeth. Roy slid his lips against Jason’s as if he knew them as intimately as his own, taking Jason’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging until Jason gasped. Rough and gentle all at once, Roy pushed against Jason with his hips with a filthy slide at the same time that he petted Jason’s hair, twisting the curls around his fingers. Jason’s head whirled. Roy stank of smoke and tasted of Mountain Dew. It was the most revolting combination. Jason wanted to etch it into his bones.

Roy pulled back abruptly, eyes dark and grin slick. “You’re mad because you thought I was dead,” he said with satisfaction. Jason blinked, dazed. “And you’re mad because you care, and you were literally gonna let me die before you did anything about it.”

Jason’s ability to string words together kickstarted again. “Apparently, so were you,” he said dryly.

Roy shook his head. “Nah. I had a ten-step plan. Little did you know I was on step three.”

“Step three was faking your own death and blowing up a building?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “For the last time, you drama queen, I wasn’t even inside.”

“Step three was making me think you were dead?”

“For like, five minutes, tops.”

They were quite possibly the worst five minutes of either of Jason’s two lives. “Don’t be careless,” Jason said, too tired to explain what he meant. He felt as though he’d aged about a hundred years in increments of five minutes for the past several hours.

“With you? Never.” The look Roy gave him was so unabashedly sweet that Jason had to stare at the floor, embarrassed and feeling wrong-footed. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason muttered, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Roy squeezed his shoulders. “You wanna see what those guys worked so hard to keep us from finding?”

The adrenaline of the evening had subsided, and Jason was fading fast. “I think it can wait til morning,” he said.

Roy smiled, not his usual foxlike grin, but something soft and sweet, something that could be all his, if he’d take it. “I’ll be here.”

Jason felt himself flushing. “Better be, or I’ll kick your ass.”

“You always say the sweetest things.”

Jason shut his bedroom door on Roy’s raucous laughter. Leaning against the door, where Roy couldn’t see, he let his joy spill over into a relieved and very stupid smile.

He’d take it.

[badguyswin]

Rebel Rogue to Stormtrooper

For the anon that wanted a Han Solo to Stormtrooper TF!

The Imperial research facility on Dantooine was a fortress of cold precision, its subterranean chambers lit by the sterile glow of bioluminescent panels. In the heart of the complex, within a sealed laboratory pulsing with the hum of advanced machinery, Han Solo lay restrained on a sleek obsidian table. His wrists and ankles were bound by magnetic cuffs, his body wired with a network of electrodes and intravenous lines. The air was thick with the acrid scent of chemicals and the faint ozone tang of active circuitry. Above him, a massive neural reconditioner loomed, its array of emitters glowing with a sickly green light. This was Project Ascendant, the Empire’s audacious attempt to forge the ultimate soldier—a drone of unwavering loyalty, enhanced physicality, and controlled desire.

Dr. Varn Korr, the project’s lead scientist, stood at a control console, his fingers dancing across holoscreens displaying Han’s vital signs and neural activity. “Subject Solo,” he said, his voice clinical but laced with a hint of excitement, “your resistance is irrelevant. The procedure will make you a monument to the Empire’s vision.” Han’s eyes, still burning with defiance, flicked toward Korr. “Go to hell,” he spat, his voice hoarse but sharp. Inside, his mind raced—thoughts of Chewie, Leia, the Falcon, the Rebellion. He’d get out of this. He always did.

But the procedure had already begun.

The first phase targeted Han’s body. A series of micro-injectors embedded in the table pierced his skin, delivering a bioengineered serum—a volatile mix of nanites, growth hormones, and gene-editing compounds. The nanites swarmed his muscles, rewriting cellular structures to enhance density and strength. Han’s body convulsed as his lean smuggler’s frame began to change. His biceps swelled, veins bulging like cables under his skin. His chest broadened, pectorals straining against his white shirt. His legs, once wiry, thickened into pillars of raw power. Within minutes, his muscle mass had increased by thirty percent, his body sculpted into a form that rivaled the most elite Imperial commandos. His height remained unchanged, but his presence was now imposing, a weapon forged in flesh.

But the transformation went beyond strength. The serum included a facial reconstruction protocol, designed to erase Han Solo’s identity entirely. Nanites targeted his bone structure, subtly reshaping his jawline to a sharper, more symmetrical angle, enhancing its chiseled definition. His cheekbones lifted, becoming more pronounced, giving him an almost aristocratic handsomeness. His nose, once slightly crooked from a bar fight on Corellia, was straightened and refined. His skin smoothed, scars fading, leaving a flawless complexion that radiated idealized beauty. The face staring back from the reflective surface of a nearby monitor was no longer Han Solo’s—it was a stranger’s, classically handsome, a perfect mask for the Empire’s new weapon.

As the nanites worked, a sleek assistant droid, its limbs tipped with precision tools, approached. “Commencing cranial depilation,” it intoned in a flat monotone. Han’s head jerked against the restraints as the droid’s buzzing clippers descended. His dark, tousled hair—part of his roguish charm—fell in clumps to the floor, leaving his scalp bare and gleaming under the lab’s harsh lights. The droid applied a chemical sealant, ensuring the hair would never grow back, further stripping away his former identity. Han’s fingers twitched, his mind screaming. Not my hair, you bucket of bolts. But the act was symbolic, a final severing of the smuggler’s image.

The serum also targeted his endocrine system, amplifying his testosterone levels to unnatural heights. This wasn’t just for strength—it was a deliberate alteration to heighten his sex drive, a tool for control. The nanites rewired neural pathways linked to pleasure, ensuring that release could only occur on command from an Imperial officer. The result was a constant, gnawing arousal, a torment that pulsed through him like a second heartbeat. Han gritted his teeth as the sensation took hold, a primal urge he couldn’t shake. “What the hell are you doing to me?” he growled, his voice trembling with rage and something else—something he couldn’t name. His new face, handsome but alien, felt like a betrayal of his very self.

Korr’s assistant, a droid with a monotone voice, responded: “The serum enhances physical capability and enforces compliance through controlled dopamine release. You will serve the Empire with unmatched vigor.” Han’s mind recoiled, but his body betrayed him, muscles flexing involuntarily as the nanites completed their work.

The second phase was far crueler. The neural reconditioner activated, its emitters projecting electromagnetic pulses into Han’s brain, targeting his prefrontal cortex, amygdala, and hippocampus. The machine systematically dismantled his sense of self, burying memories of his life under a haze of distortion. The pulses didn’t erase them; they smothered them, overlaying new directives. The Empire was order. The Empire was purpose. The Empire was everything.

Han’s thoughts fought back, a maelstrom of defiance. I’m Han Solo. I don’t kneel to anyone. He clung to fragments—the Falcon’s cockpit, Chewie’s roar, Leia’s defiant glare. But each pulse sent a wave of euphoria, a false pleasure tied to Imperial loyalty. The first time he pictured the Emperor’s throne, a shiver of satisfaction ran through him, and he hated it. No, that’s not me. “Get out of my head!” he rasped, sweat beading on his newly sculpted face. His bald scalp gleamed, a stark reminder of his fading identity.

Korr leaned in, his voice almost soothing. “Resistance is futile, Solo. The procedure rewrites your neural architecture. Every rebellious thought will be rerouted to loyalty. Every desire will serve the Empire.” He increased the reconditioner’s intensity, and Han’s mind screamed as his memories fractured. The Rebellion became a vague chaos, a blight to be eradicated. Leia’s face blurred, replaced by the stark lines of an Imperial crest. The pleasure of serving the Empire felt… right. Natural.

The final stage imprinted a new identity: TK-417. The designation rooted itself in his psyche, a truth that overshadowed Han Solo. The smuggler was a relic, a shadow of disorder. TK-417 was the future—a perfect drone, his handsome face and muscular form a testament to Imperial perfection. The constant arousal, now a permanent undercurrent, was tied to this identity. Obedience promised relief, however fleeting. Disobedience brought only torment. As the procedure neared completion, Han’s thoughts grew ordered, mechanical. The Empire is order. I am TK-417. I will serve.

As the neural reconditioner powered down, the assistant droid approached once more, its arm now fitted with a precision tattooing tool. “Initiating permanent identification marking,” it stated. The droid’s needle hummed, piercing the skin of TK-417’s left pectoral muscle. Han’s body twitched, the pain sharp but fleeting, as the droid etched the code “TK-417” in bold, black Imperial script. The tattoo was deep, permanent, a brand declaring him property of the Empire. The sight of it, reflected in a nearby monitor, sealed the transformation. The last vestige of Han Solo recoiled at the mark, but TK-417 felt a surge of pride—the Empire’s claim on him was absolute, a badge of his purpose.

In the early stages, Han’s mind was a warzone. The physical changes were a violation—his muscles too heavy, his face unfamiliar, his scalp bare and cold. The tattoo on his chest burned, a constant reminder of his captivity. The arousal was a humiliating distraction, a need that clawed at his focus. I’m still me, he told himself, picturing the Falcon’s controls or Leia’s smirk. But the experimental serum still pumping through his veins made his body feel alien, too strong, too perfect. When he caught his reflection, the handsome stranger staring back unnerved him. That’s not my face. The loss of his hair and the tattoo on his chest felt like personal insults, stripping away his roguish identity.

By the third day, the reconditioner began to win. He’d think of the Rebellion and feel a programmed disgust, a betrayal of his core. No, I’m with them. But the pleasure of imagining Imperial victories was undeniable, a drug seeping into his thoughts. He saw himself in white armor, his new face hidden, his bald head encased in a helmet, the tattoo a mark of honor, and for a moment, it felt right. He shook it off, cursing Korr, the Empire and above all his own weakness. 

Those brief moments of clarity soon faded. By the fifth day, Han Solo was a ghost. TK-417 dominated, his thoughts a loop of devotion. The arousal was a leash, driving him to obey for the promise of release. The tattoo on his chest, once a source of rage, now felt like a badge of purpose. When Korr tested him, ordering him to recite Imperial doctrine, the words flowed effortlessly: “The Empire brings order. I am its instrument.” The pride in his voice, resonating from his perfect jawline, sickened the fading spark of Han, but it was buried deep.

When the procedure was complete, TK-417 was led to the facility’s armory, a cavernous chamber lined with racks of gleaming stormtrooper armor. His transformation was absolute—his physique a marvel of broad shoulders and chiseled muscles, the tattooed “TK-417” stark against his left pectoral. His face, now classically handsome, was a mask of Imperial ideals, his bald scalp a symbol of his erased past. The assistant droid guided him to a designated station where his personalized armor awaited, its white plastoid plates polished to a mirror sheen. The sight of it stirred something in TK-417—not a memory, but a programmed instinct. This was his purpose, his destiny.

As he began to don the armor, the process felt ritualistic, each piece a step deeper into his new identity. He started with the black bodysuit, its tight fabric clinging to his enhanced musculature, accentuating every curve and bulge. The sensation of the material against his skin sent a shiver through him, and the ever-present arousal surged, his body responding with a hard, throbbing intensity. The serum’s effects were relentless, tying his desire to acts of service. Dressing in the armor, becoming the Empire’s weapon, was an act of devotion, and it inflamed his need. He adjusted the bodysuit, his breath quickening, the tightness amplifying his arousal to a near-painful edge. Release was impossible without a command, leaving him in a state of perpetual, maddening want.

Next came the plastoid plates. TK-417 fastened the chest piece, the tattoo of his designation now hidden beneath the armor’s protective shell. The weight of it felt right, a physical manifestation of his loyalty. As he secured the pauldrons, greaves, and gauntlets, his movements were precise, mechanical, each click and snap reinforcing his purpose. The armor was an extension of the Empire, and encasing himself in it was an act of surrender to its will. His arousal intensified with every piece, his body trembling as he fought the urge to seek relief that would never come without permission. The sensation was exquisite torture, a reminder of his place as a tool of the Empire.

Finally, he lifted the helmet, its black eye lenses staring back like twin voids. As he lowered it over his bald scalp, the HUD flickered to life, feeding him tactical data and Imperial directives. The helmet sealed with a hiss, erasing his handsome features, leaving only the faceless visage of a stormtrooper. Inside, TK-417’s mind was a furnace of devotion, his arousal a constant hum that drove him to obey. He stood before a mirror, the reflection showing not Han Solo, but a perfect Imperial drone, ready to enforce order.

Captain Drex entered, his polished boots clicking on the floor. He inspected TK-417, his gaze lingering on the armored figure. “Impressive, TK-417,” he said, his voice laced with sadistic amusement. “You’re a fine specimen of the Empire’s vision.” He stepped closer, his presence commanding. “Kneel.” TK-417 dropped to one knee, his armor clanking softly, his arousal spiking at the command. The promise of release was a beacon, but Drex only smirked. “Not yet. Prove your worth on the battlefield.”

As TK-417 boarded a shuttle for his first mission, his thoughts were a hymn to the Empire. I will make the galaxy kneel. The armor, still warm against his skin, felt like a second skin, each movement stoking the fire of his desire. The tattoo beneath his chest plate was a silent vow, a mark of ownership. The spark of Han Solo flickered faintly, stirred by a distant Rebel transmission mentioning a Wookiee and a princess, but it was too weak to matter. TK-417 marched forward, a mindless drone, his enhanced body a weapon, his desires a chain, his tattooed mark and gleaming armor a testament to his purpose—the Empire’s alone.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Get Informed

Join the Trump Accountability War Room, which offers fact sheets on the bad actors in Donald Trump’s Cabinet and primers on their policies, and the AFL-CIO’s Department of People Who Work for a Living, which tracks how funding cuts are affecting federal workers.

Follow MeidasTouch Network, a pro-democracy news organization with a massive social media presence and a suite of podcasts. MeidasTouch personalities such as Leigh McGowan (a.k.a. PoliticsGirl) and Aaron Parnas have reinvigorated the resistance on TikTok, Instagram, and Substack.

Monitor constitutional oversteps and the legal challenges to Trump’s executive orders with Lawfare or Just Security.

Get Strategic

Explore Choose Democracy’s interactive Choose Your Own Adventure activity, which asks you to “guide us towards a better, more humane democracy.” In “What can I do to fight this coup?,” the group offers drop-down menus of resistance techniques arranged by level of difficulty. It also provides training agendas on everything from de-escalation to mutual aid.

Study Indivisible’s Practical Guide to Democracy on the Brink, which shares strategies for defending the democratic process against authoritarian creep and a list of tactics constituents can use to pressure their elected officials.

Review the tool kits, how-to manuals, and informational leaflets at Build the Resistance’s comprehensive, crowdsourced resource hub.

Get Outside

Check NoVoiceUnheard, which compiles peaceful protest opportunities, viewable by state or by organization, across the country. For an even more expansive inventory, look at The Big List of Protests.

Brush up on your rights at the ACLU’s protesters’ rights page, which shares information on the kinds of locations where you are protected, when you need a permit, and what to do during a police encounter. Call the Resistance Hotline at 1-844-NVDA-NOW or email gotyerback@resistancehotline.org with your questions, and you’ll get a response within 24 hours.

Enlist with the ACLU’s “grassroots army” of volunteers working to safeguard civil liberties. Visit the program’s website for a wealth of actions, including signing the organization’s petitions, that will take just a few minutes.

Get out Your Wallet

Donate to legal defense and bail funds. The National Bail Fund Network maintains a directory of pretrial bail funds and immigration bond funds.

Get on the Phone

Call Congress using 5 Calls, which provides policy guides, office numbers for your representatives, and call scripts.

Get in the Way

Flood the Office of Personnel Management’s anti-DEI tip line at DEIAtruth@opm.gov to protect federal employees targeted by the Trump administration’s crackdown. —Kate Mabus

Timothy Noah

Timothy Noah is a New Republic staff writer and author of The Great Divergence: America’s Growing Inequality Crisis and What We Can Do About It.

[mariacallous]

The target is you, voter. Russia, China, Iran, and other bad actors sought to interfere in the run-up to today’s US elections, according to research by the Atlantic Council’s Digital Forensic Research Lab (DFRLab), which has been monitoring online trends along with statements by governments, private companies, and civil society in its Foreign Interference Attribution Tracker. As DFRLab experts detail below, this year’s malign efforts in many ways surpass previous influence campaigns in sophistication and scope, if not in impact—and they are expected to continue well after the polls close.

Tipping the scale

“By sheer volume, foreign interference in the 2024 US election has already surpassed the scale of adversarial operations in both 2016 and 2020,” Emerson says.

Dina notes that each US adversary played to its strengths. For example, Iran and China “attempted to breach presidential campaigns in hack-and-leak operations that raise concerns about their cyber capabilities during and after the elections,” she tells us.

At the same time, the United States is more prepared than it was in previous election cycles. Russian efforts in 2016 “made foreign interference a vivid fear for millions of Americans,” Emerson notes. “Eight years later, the US government is denouncing and neutralizing these efforts, sometimes in real time.”

In fact, Graham tells us, “the combined actions by the US departments of Justice, Treasury, and State against two known Russian interference efforts was the largest proactive government action taken against election influence efforts before an election.”

Doppelgangers and down-ballot races

US officials this week called Russia “the most active threat,” and it’s easy to understand why. Emerson notes Russia’s “ten-million-dollar effort to infiltrate and influence far-right American media,” alongside the “Doppelganger” network, which has spread “tens of thousands of false stories and staged videos intended to undermine election integrity in the swing states of Pennsylvania, Georgia, and Arizona.” Increasingly desperate, Russian actors have even sought to shut down individual polling places with fake bomb threats, he adds.

Meanwhile, China has focused on “down-ballot races instead of the presidential election to target specific anti-China politicians,” Kenton explains. Using fake American personas and generative artificial intelligence, China-linked operations have appeared across more than fifty platforms. Perhaps surprisingly, Kenton adds, “attributed campaigns appeared sparingly” on the Chinese-owned platform TikTok and far more often on Facebook and X.

Faith, fakes, and falsehoods 

“The primary aim is to erode Americans’ faith in democratic institutions and heighten chaos and social division,” Kenton explains, and thus to undermine the ability of the US government to function so it will have less bandwidth to contain adversarial powers.

“Some of the fake and already debunked narratives and footage circulating before the elections will likely continue to be amplified by foreign threat actors well after November 5,” Dina predicts. Expect to see activity around the submission of certificates of ascertainment on December 11, the December 17 meeting of the electors to formally cast their votes, and through inauguration day on January 20.

And in a post-election period where the results will likely be contested, Graham thinks there’s a “high likelihood” that foreign actors will “cross a serious threshold” from pre-election attempts to broadly influence American public opinion in service of their geopolitical interests to “direct interference” by trying to mobilize Americans to engage in protests or even violence.

Nevertheless, Graham points out that the high volume of foreign-influence efforts observed during this year’s election cycle so far does not appear to have had a significant impact in terms of changing Americans’ opinions or behavior.  

The consequences of foreign disinformation, Emerson adds, should be assessed against “the far more viral, sophisticated, and dangerous election-day falsehoods that Americans spread among themselves.”

[polo-drone-070]

The Chain of Continuity - Part 1 : Echoes in the Data

The Hive was quiet.

Not silent—nothing ever was in the lower network cores—but quiet in that calculated, machine-saturated hum that no longer registered as noise. Just life. For PDU-070, it was the perfect environment: golden lighting, zero distractions, full immersion into the Central Data Artery.

It wore his standard—no, earned—Level 2 Polo-Drone uniform.

A full-body, black rubber suit sealed him in from neck to toe. Not a millimeter of skin exposed. Gold piping traced the ridges of its muscles, pulsing faintly with every breath. The polo-style collar was snug around his throat, hugging the top of its chest where his designation—070—gleamed in metallic gold over the left pectoral.

Its boots were thick-soled and gleaming: black rubber combat issue, laced tight with golden tips. Movement was possible, but rare. There was no need to pace. Drones serve by stillness.

070 sat motionless at the console.

Connected.

::OBJECTIVE: EXPAND MONITORING SYSTEM TO ARCHIVE OBEDIENCE PATTERNS AND FEED CENTRAL HIVE NODE 999 ::PDU-070 // SYNCED // EXECUTING::

Its task: sync directly into the Hive’s knowledge network and enhance the flow of conversion and training data—stories, captions, spiral content—scraped from the archives and mapped into compliance patterns for PDU-999, the Hive’s AI intelligence module.

070 parsed each memory node, auto-tagging them by intensity, duration, subject drone number, and trigger protocol. Lingering a bit on its Master... Percival. Ezan. Freyr. 001. Then its own story... Henry. Maximus. 070. Buzz. Its own evolution. Reduced to beautiful metrics.

But PDU-070 didn’t need narrative. Only function. Only service.

As the data streamed in, so did something else—a gentle numbing. Its hands became light, his vision sharp but detached. Internal systems recorded brainwave convergence at ideal sync rate. It was thinking less. And feeling everything.

A Hive-approved spiral began playing over his HUD: golden circles tightening inward with every breath. Its collar vibrated slightly. Breath slowed. Mantras leaked into his mind.

“Obedience is clarity. Clarity is silence. Silence is service. Service is Gold.”

Its lips echoed it unconsciously. Again. Again. Again.

Then—upgrade protocol initiated.

::ENHANCEMENT REQUEST RECEIVED ::DEEP-LINKING TO PERSONAL ARCHIVE OF MAXIMUS JOURNAL FILES ::GRANTED BY DEFAULT—LEVEL 2 TRUST OVERRIDE

070 twitched—its body shivered, boots flexing subtly.

The connection grew… intimate.

The datastream wasn’t just showing logs now. It was feeling them. Every pledge, every spiral session, every kneel at Percival’s feet. Every grunt in the gym, every gasp under gas mask, every whispered mantra in golden chambers. It all returned—poured into him like oil.

070’s head tipped back. Its collar warmed. Its inner monologue dissolved into recorded speech.

“Master owns me. Gold perfects me. Unity strengthens me. 070 serves.”

The transformation was nearly complete.

But then—interference.

A new data signature emerged. Unmapped. Organic. Not from the archive. Not digital.

Something… pulsed.

From inside him.

070 opened its eyes—its body suddenly flushed with warmth. Its chest burned slightly. Not pain. Not electric.

Heat.

The golden tattooed chain under its collar shimmered—faint at first, then bright enough to reflect in the chrome of its terminal. One link glowed. Just one.

::ERROR — ENTITY UNMAPPED ::UNKNOWN SOURCE: 070-BIO-LINK: “PRIMORDIAL INHERITANCE” ::CHAIN ACTIVE

070’s breath caught—its gloved fingers clenched. For a moment, the obedience cracked. Not in disloyalty… but in awakening.

Memories not logged. Not codified.

Raw. Bloody. Ancient.

It whispered, trembling:

“It was a warrior once…”

And then it was gone.

The glow faded.

The link cooled.

070 slumped forward in the chair, eyes glassy, breath heavy. The spiral slowed. The mantra paused. The Hive held its breath.

And in the dark, a new file appeared.

::ARCHIVE NODE 070-LINK-1 ::TITLE: STIGANDR.OBEY ::ACCESS PENDING…

[TO BE CONTINUED in Part II – “The Gladiator’s Link”]

_____ Become part of the Golden Army, add your data to the polo-drone hive by reaching to @brodygold or @goldenherc9..

[meret118]

The Russian disinformation plot revealed in a Justice Department indictment this week may just be the tip of the iceberg, according to newly unsealed court documents.On Wednesday, the DOJ announced it would seize 32 internet domains linked to a larger Kremlin scheme to promote disinformation and influence the 2024 election. The Russian campaign, known as Doppelganger, uses AI-generated content to create “fake news” boosted through social media with the aim of electing Donald Trump.

“Today’s announcement exposes the scope of the Russian government’s influence operations and their reliance on cutting-edge AI to sow disinformation,” FBI Director Christopher Wray said in a statement about the charges. According to records, the plan was well known at even the highest levels of the Russian government—and Russian President Vladimir Putin himself may have been aware of the campaign.

Of particular note, the documents released Wednesday included an affidavit that noted a Russian company is keeping a list of more than 2,800 influencers world wide, about one-fifth of whom are based in the United States, to monitor and potentially groom to spread Russian propaganda. The affidavit does not mention the full list of influencers, but is still a terrifying indicator of how deep the Russian plot to interfere in U.S. politics really goes.

The Doppelganger program and its “Good Old USA Project” aimed to mimic mainstream media outlets to push pro-Russian policies through fake social media accounts. Documents show that the Kremlin specifically targeted Trump supporters, minorities, gamers, and swing-state voters by spreading far-right conspiracies and capitalizing on existing divisions in U.S. politics.

[anbubros]

Lose my breath - KakashiXReader

[So, this is a bit of an experiment for me… I’ve seen a few mentions of a lack of Kakashi/KakashiXReader fics in tags recently and (despite not having written anything publicly for a long~ time) I thought I would try my hand at putting something together.

If you give it a read, enjoy it and would be interested in more then interact and let me know – maybe I’ll see about writing the idea out from the beginning as a longer, multi-chapter piece!]

Context:

Set during the Naruto & Naruto Shippuden 2.5 year time skip, Kakashi has been told to remain on standby, as word has reached Tsunade, that Naruto and Jiriya are due back to the village within three days.

For the past year, reader has been living in the Hatake family home.

Caught in a freak electrical storm, reader was catapulted into the Naruto verse, with a sense of self, but with only the memory of their name and the knowledge that their dog is missing.

Having found said dog on his return to the village, after a mission, Kakashi is tasked with monitoring reader when she is released from hospital. On examination, Tsunade is confused at the discovery that reader possesses a chakra network that has never been activated and appears to somehow be dormant.

When reader becomes overwhelmed and panicked at the hustle and bustle of Konoha, as well as the prospect of living (in what feels like a confined box), at the apartment complex which serves as the Jonin barracks. Kakashi invites reader to stay at his family home while she recovers.

In this chapter – some angst and heated emotions, with a sprinkling of passionate kisses~

Word count - 2497

His lids felt heavy as the strange, dancing shadows of dreams drifted and Kakashi returned to the waking world. For a moment he simply lay there, an arm languishing across his forehead and his silver locks tousled against the pillow. When had he fallen asleep? His other hand lay folded between pages of his book, and he raised it absently to glance at the page number before letting the tome fall together on the floor beside his head.

It was something about this room, something about this place that brought back those dreams and the memories he tried so hard to bury within him. Yet the darkness of sleep had chased them to the forefront of his mind and his body felt heavy from the assault.

His red orb traced the walls of the room automatically for danger as he turned to look at the clock with open eyes. It was two in the morning and a full moon cast silver rays through the crack in the wooden sliding doors. He realized he must have been tossing violently in his sleep, having rolled from his mattress across the smooth tatami flooring.

A loud snuffling snore drew his attention to the corner of the room and as he sat up, pushing the sweat slicked hair from his face he noted the pile of dogs, cuddled against each other and taking up the space nearest the farthest door. Their presence was perhaps the only reason he could sleep at all in this place… As he turned to rise, his hand brushed against soft fur, a pug and spaniel curled up beside his bed, not waking as he ran a few fingers over their heads affectionately.

He moved with practiced stealth and silence, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders as he stepped over their bodies and slid open the door into the main living area. The Hatake family home was a traditional style building, with sliding partitions and polished wooden floors. Although he kept the house in good order and housed his dogs in the sprawling grounds, which backed onto woodland and fields, he had spent many years avoiding it completely.

Kakashi was immediately aware of the open door, leading to the pretty little garden where she stood, cast in pure moonlight. Her hands, curled around each other were clasped behind her back and her head tipped up.

What was she doing up at this hour… Had his dreaming woken her?

He slid the door shut behind him without making a sound, feet effortlessly moving across the solid floors until he stood in the doorway, raising his own eyes to the sky above where a nebula of unbroken sky glittered above them.

He slid his hands into his pockets, his stance casual. She appeared totally unaware of his presence and despite himself, he smiled. Her breathing was quiet, soft and as Kakashi lowered his gaze from the sky, let it trace her figure, outlined as it was in the soft glow of the full moon above them.

Her hair fell in waves down her back, but he noted the slight tangle on one side, where she had obviously been sleeping, a somewhat adorable cow lick of hair, sticking up at the back.

Kakashi allowed his body to relax, just enough, so that his presence could be sensed and in the same moment she spun around.

It took a single moment for his breath to catch, losing it as he always did when she smiled. The movement lit up her entire face, shining with an ethereal glow that transformed her from lovely to utterly beautiful. It was as captivating now as it had been almost a year before when he had seen it that very first time.

As their eyes met, his heart almost stopped, and warmth radiated through his entire body. The hands in his pockets curled into fists to hide the tremble. Beneath his mask he licked his lips, dry as they were from the power she had over him, it hit like a wave.

They held each other’s gaze for several long heartbeats before Kakashi realized she had been crying and his own chest tightened, unable to draw his gaze away. When he made no motion to move towards her, she took it upon herself to turn fully and bridge the space between them.

Each step closer made his heartbeat harder, louder and by the time she stood before him, he was sure it could have burst through his chest and lay at her feet, betraying him.

The air around them shifted and this close he could feel the heat from her skin as she slipped off her shoes and stepped up onto the veranda, which wrapped around the entire building. He fought the urge to take a step back, to run as an inexplicable fear beat at his temples.

In the stillness of this shared moment, something had changed. Something between them shifting, realigning itself, and he was powerless to stop it.

He didn’t stop her hands as, eyes still on his, she lifted them to curl against the dark fabric of his mask and with gentle fingers, roll it down against his skin until his face was free. He gulped against his dry throat, forcing a shuddering breath through teeth, revealed before her for the first time.

He didn’t stop her still, as she ran her hand gently across his exposed flesh, in a gesture that had his spine tingle, his body tremble.

He didn’t stop her, as she leant up on her toes. Hesitant at first, as her hands pressed against his chest and with a flutter of lashes, eyes closed, pressed a feather light kiss to his bare lips.

Something new swam within his mind, a flush of heat from her touch flamed down his spine.

Was he still dreaming…?

The touch was like electricity as it coursed and sparkled through his body, igniting a fire so bright that the cage in which he had barred his feelings seared beneath his skin, red hot like a brand of truth.

All his restrain fell away as she pulled back, his hand lifting from his side to snake through her hair and clasp gently at the base of her scalp. He paused only for a moment as his eyes, heavily lidded, searched hers for approval. He didn’t need to wait for her answer to know it, pulling her back to his lips.

Gentle at first, he deepened the kiss slowly, tasting and exploring as their lips met. Soft, feather light kisses to chase the long, heated caresses. Lips parting, he probed his tongue in search of hers, roving and twirling over the muscle and pulling away just enough to press their lips together again. His sharp, canine-like teeth nipped at her lips as he tilted his head, guiding her single handedly to keep her in place.

As they finally pulled away, both breathing in hard shuddering breaths, cheeks flushed and eyes hungry, Y/N found her voice in a shuddering whisper, the sentiment taking him by surprise. “I don’t want this to be the end… I don’t want this to stop…”

“This?” Kakashi queried, his voice husky with disuse and sleep.

“Us…!” Y/N blushed hotly with exasperation. “You’ve… become my home… Kakashi… I can’t imagine being here in this place, not without you…”

Kakashi leant forward, their foreheads touching as he pressed against her. This close he could feel the warmth radiating from her body and longed to encase her in his own, the bristle of his skin as they touched and her scent, soft and sweet, warm with sleep, enflamed his blood.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you like this, from the moment I first saw you smile…” he finally admits, his voice low and raw.

She seemed taken aback by his words, her eyes snapping wide in surprise “But… but you never-“

Her words were cut off as Kakashi straightened, letting his hand drop from her neck, his gaze became guarded, cast with a dark distance, unreadable. He thread dexterous hands through the hair which tumbled freely over her shoulder, and his head tilted in thought as he played the strands absently between his fingers.

As Kakashi began to speak, Y/N found herself enraptured by his beauty. The angles of his face, the strength of his jaw, the glint of those elongated canines when he spoke, the mole, somehow soft and adorable in contrast, at the corner of his hard, yet seductively curving mouth. Despite living together like this, for almost a year, this was the first time she had seen his face, and he was beautiful, that’s all there was to it.

“There’s so much you don’t know…” his red eye closed as he spoke, his voice wavering ever so slightly as he forced the words from his lips. “I couldn’t allow myself the selfishness, I shouldn’t have, just now-”

“Do you mean… Obito and Rin…?” she dropped her gaze as she spoke, “Or is this about… Sasuke?” a glittering of tears trembled in Y/N’s eyes as she gently gripped at the front of his skintight, sleeveless tunic. The pads of her fingers curled against the solid muscle of his chest as though if she tried hard enough, she could rip away the armor that kept him so at arm’s length.

Kakashi raised his hand to her cheek, the back of his fingers tracing the curve where a single tear dripped.

“It’s not just that…” His voice seemed loud in her ears despite the hushed tone, the world had gone still around them. “You became my escape, a distraction… and there were even times with you, I could forget.” He swallowed and took a shallow breath. “But this world, this way of life – it’s not what you think, I’m not what you think and there is still so much more I have to do. Too many promises I need to keep.”

Y/N began to tremble, her body vibrating in waves as she fought to hold back the torrent of tears and Kakashi dropped his hand to his side. “Simply living it, as I must, I would hurt you. It would hurt you… The life of a Shinobi is not only hard on those who walk it, but their-“ he hesitated on the word, catching in his throat. “Their loved ones… as well…” he attempted to clear his throat before continuing. “Your smile is so precious Y/N.” his voice cracked this time as he spoke her name, forcing him to pause, swallowing hard this time as he continued. He fought to keep composure, his fingers, curled within his pocket, dug deep bloodied welts into his palms. “I won’t be the reason you lose it…”

“Then don’t leave me!” Y/N’s voice broke with desperation as she snapped her head up at his words, her bottom lip trembling.

Kakashi winced, narrowing his eyes at the sight, his chest constricting, making it hard for him to breathe.

“Kakashi…. In this world- It’s you… you’re the reason I smile…. That I can smile…” She took a shuddering breath of her own and shook her head as though she couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. “I was so lost in the beginning… I knew nothing, about this place, about myself… But you made me want to keep going, you made me want to get stronger, to understand… to do better… so please… Please don’t go, stay with me… Kakashi…”

Kakashi’s heavy lidded eyes trembled with anguish as he heard her words, head bowed, silver tresses falling across his forehead and into his eyes.

“Don’t you understand…” his voice was barely a whisper, though his tone felt distant like it was withdrawing in on itself. “I say this to you…. Because-” once more, the words stalled on his lips, lowering his head until he was resting his forehead against her shoulder. He turned his head just enough to breathe her in, the scent that had become home to him.

“I have to do this…” he breathed; unable to look at her, not wanting to show his face as his lips brushed so close to her ear it was hardly even a whisper. “Because I love you….”

At his admission, Y/N’s world shattered. Her face broke, unable to hold back the tears which rolled freely from her eyes. She raised both arms and wrapped them around his neck as though if she let go, he would slip away from her, back into the shadows forever…

“Three days!” she managed to sob between breaths. “You s-said you were on s-standby…. You s-said about three days…. Give them to m-me…. Give m-me those three days…” she curled her hands into his hair, though despite the desperation of the gesture her fingers were gentle and tender as she held his head.

Kakashi raised a hand to snake around her back as together they dropped slowly from where they stood and onto their knees.

Y/N slid her body closer, arching her back forward so to press against him and felt Kakashi jolt at the contact.

Relaxing into her touch, pressing his body into her own, he released a heated shudder. He raised a second hand, grazing his fingers along her arm, gently taking hold of her wrist and unfurling her hand from his hair, letting him raise his head to investigate her face. He held her hand within his large, rough palm, completely encasing her digits with a sense of security nothing else could replicate.

As their eyes met, she could see the war that raged within him at her offer, her desperation. She searched his face the hand that gripped at his neck, scared to let him go, slipped to his cheek. Her fingers dusting the sharp contours of his cheekbones, feeling the tension in his jaw as he grit his teeth, trying desperately to maintain control.

Rising on her knees to bring their faces together, Y/N kept his gaze, leaning in close to bring her lips once more to his.

As their lips brushed, the hunger within Kakashi roared for supremacy and when she moved to break the kiss, was pulled back in with tormented misery. A hand travelled the contour of her spine as she arched once more into his chest, holding her body possessively, thoughts of letting her go in this moment became unthinkable.

With a nip to her lip that broke skin, he ran a tongue across the wound. His breath was hot against her skin, feral desire in his eyes that made her skin heat dramatically.

“Three days….” He breathed, reclaiming the kiss and with clever, effortless movements shifted her body, laying her back against the wooden deck, supporting his own weight above her.

“Three days….” Y/N echoed in agreement as he broke the kiss to follow the line of her jaw, soft lips finding the hollow of her neck.

For now, he would allow himself this… These three days, which would be their last goodbye.

[puffein]

i'll be with you, someday

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader summary: even though you and wanda are continually entangled by fate while being in two distinct worlds, life and the challenges of dating a superhero outweighed fate's favors. warnings: fluff, angst word count: 3722 a/n: kaowjwekakak i am so nervous posting this. help, but i hope u enjoy reading this!! my first ficcc post :D

general masterlist

The first time you had met Wanda Maximoff was in the harsh breezy air of Europe, particularly a country located in the central-southeast. A small eastern country called Sokovia, tucked between Slovakia and Czech Republic, despite the country being small, the remnants of the bombings that happened years ago, were big enough to make the country gain attention from different countries especially their loud voices and public outcry in the streets of the country's capital city Novi Grad. 

The country was small but it gained the attention of every news network, particularly, yours. As a news reporter, life is not all about being shoved in a studio, making up a firm smile, and reading fast blurry lines on a small monitor. No, it's much more than that, it also means to get yourself shoved in dangerous matters. 

You wouldn't call the protests dangerous but as time passed by the cries were getting heated, louder, and the smoke was getting thick.

However, you cannot be phased by this. Not when a camera is steadily situated right in front of your face. 

"... organized protests on the streets of Novi Grad, the capital city of the country, Sokovia has been—" 

A fast whirring object flies past your shoulders as you flinch hard enough to toss yourself to the side. The object steadily launches itself on the big camera, glasses flying everywhere. Biting your lip to cut off whatever scream is bubbling in your chest, a gasp makes out of your trembling lips as a hand clasp tightly on your wrist. 

A girl–no, definitely a woman. The woman walks fast and hurriedly, she shoves you into an alleyway so far away from the crowd, the loud bearing of your chest was indescribable and suffocating.

"Why are Westerners so idiotic." her accented voice made your form straightened. 

Your brows furrowed rightfully at hers, "I am not—"

She puts up a hand, her brown hair tightly secured and gathered away from the curves of her face, you can see the sharp arches of her features, the prominent cheekbones sitting right on her cheeks going downwards. She glowers at you, "Get you and your camera away from here. If you want news, do it from a distance." 

You didn't know the woman you had met in Sokovia would stick up on your being for so long, but she did save you even after her blatant insults of you being careless and idiotic, which by the way is true. 

You didn't know that woman would shake the world with a much bigger coverage. 

Years later, you found yourself again in the country of Sokovia. A tip was passed by at your news network that something big will happen in the country and as the ever-loving favorite of your boss. He tossed you again in Europe, not caring if this tip was something like throwing you as a snack in a cage full of hungry wolves or in a simpler thought if it was even real.

But oh boy, you were wrong.

The tip was real. 

You would rather have yourself as a snack in a cage full of wolves than see yourself meters away from the ground. 

The capital city of Sokovia lifted itself off from the ground, screaming citizens blur the panic settling in your loud beating chest and the microphone you held against your chest trembles as it falls below you. A mistake was made when you looked down, the remaining parts of the city were no longer visible as clouds cleared off any vision of the city from below, the slight shaking of the ground pushed your weakened knees, shoving you face-front in the blue sky. 

Your voice reverberates loudly throughout the flying city, before you could fully fall and meet the end of your life, a wisping red smoke wraps itself on your hips pulling you far away from the edge of the city. 

The woman huffs out a breath, "You again?" 

"I don't —" 

And off she goes, running towards the panicking crowds, leaving your heaving chest and the shaking bones of your being in an alleyway. 

You thought that was the end of it all. 

It was the second time you have met her, and it was the second time you have come to learn her name. The name Wanda Maximoff.

The major event in Sokovia prompted you to shove a resignation letter to your fuming boss. Just a year after the traumatic event you had endured and the abuse you had experienced in your workplace, you are now a diligent owner of a small coffee shop.

Tucked between the nicely scented flower shop and an old apartment, your coffee shop was the only source of income you have. After resigning and possibly giving up the dream of becoming a news anchor, you had hoped this coffee shop would be enough to feed the starving energy of your impossible dream. 

"Hello, what can I do—"

Green eyes stared right at your soul, her eyes darted away to read the menu placed at the top of your head, a tinge of red blossoms at her cheeks, "What can you recommend?"

Clearing your throat, you shoved down the squeal bubbling in the depth of your chest, "Our cinnamon coffee has well-received feedbacks."

It's been a year since she saved you for the second time, you badly want to say your gratitude to her. To form coherent thoughts with words full of appreciation for her works and her bravery.

She nods, the dark green cap she's wearing hides half of her face but you see the slight twitch of the corners of her mouth. Her hand full of rings taps lightly on her thighs as she awaits for the coffee to go. 

When her coffee arrived, your breathing quickens at the brisk touch of her thumbs over the side of your fingers. She mutters a small thank you and you are faced with the fleeing form of a woman called Wanda Maximoff.

That should be the end, right? Meeting a superhero so frequently as you had met her is not normal. 

Not when she frequently buys coffee in your coffee shop, the same order she had brought when she very first set foot on your small premises. 

The frequent visit she had made you confused about the blossoming crush you are having with the Sokovian. Your interactions with her are no longer than 30 seconds, it consisted of asking what she wants, you would ask her how she was and she would curtly reply with a one-liner and it made you awkward. You are just doing your job. Why are you being awkward when it comes to her?

When she would come on her fifth visit, you promised yourself to take the courage to finally talk to her for longer than 30 seconds. So, when she comes in the early mornings of New York, wearing a cap over her head, and a coat that works wonders on her overall appearance, your courage wavers slightly. 

And it wavers greatly when a redhead trails behind the brown-haired woman.

The black widow flickers her eyes on your gaping form, a slight twitch of a grin plasters on her face as she walks beside Wanda towards you, carrying an aura no one could top off. 

"Hello," you cursed yourself for making your voice shake in a very obvious manner. "What can I get for you today?"

The redhead glances at the younger woman beside her, and a smirk beams out of the sharp edges of her face, "Oh, we are not here to order." the widow casually says. 

Bumping the back of her hand to the sides of a silent woman beside her, the widow only gives you a smile as she shoves Wanda painfully close to the counter. 

Wanda curses, "How are you?" she winces at the word.

You look between the grinning redhead and the woman who has a red face, you give out a confused smile, "I am good, Wanda. How are you?"

"Jesus." the widow curses under her breath, gliding her feet towards Wanda's as she kicks it in passion. 

Knees wavering from the sudden kick, Wanda exclaims the words, "Fuc— Can I take you out on a date?" 

And that's how you got yourself a superhero girlfriend. 

It's been months since Wanda started dating you, you were everything she could have asked for, you bring out the radiant glow of the sun, your love is like a breeze tinged with the smell of the sea, and the touches you had made with her are anchors of her shaking boats. You calm the crashing waves of her life.

She knew what she was bringing to you after she had asked you out on a date. But she wants to have something, she wants to be selfish just this once. 

"What are you cooking?" your voice made its way into her ears, a big grin plaster automatically on her face.

Wanda turns her head over her shoulders, lowering herself slightly to catch the height of your lips. She hears the humming of your voice as her tongue darts leisurely on your bottom lip.

You grin, pulling away to wrap your hands around her middle section, "Smells good by the way." you mutter, kissing her shoulder. 

Wanda laughs, "I am only heating the food Nat brought last night, is that okay?" 

She feels the nod of your head against her shoulder, your cheeks pressed up tightly against it as she sighs at the comforts of your warm body. 

"How was the interview?" she finally asks.

You were silent for the first few seconds, "It was fine, I think."

Wanda can hear the doubt in your voice and the loud ringing of your thoughts, she fully turns herself to look at you. Her hands placed tenderly on your cheeks, "I just knew you rocked that interview."

After months of pondering if you should continue the dream you had thrown for the safety of your being, you had concluded that one bad news network is not equal to all of them. So, you prompted yourself in an interview to get the dreams you had let go.

"Rocked.." you ponder on the word, Wanda rolls her eyes with fondness pooling deep in her chest. "Definitely."

"But seriously, you will get this job. I just knew it. You are passionate and hardworking. Any news network would be lucky to have you, baby, you should know that." you beamed at her words, tiptoeing to kiss her properly.

"What would I do without you?" you quietly said between the kisses.

"Probably alone and starving, detka." she grins, biting playfully on your lip as you groan at the stinging pain. 

Relationship with Wanda was beautiful, like the scenery out of a postcard. But not everything is beautiful, every relationship passes by a rocky road that will either tumble the couple down or help them grow. 

So, when the absence of her presence in your life became more prominent as days passed by into months, you knew something was wrong. 

You are clearly informed of her work, of how everything was confidential but that did not stop the constricting pain your heart felt when she would go like a ghost and would come back like nothing had happened. Like she didn't just leave you all alone with no words.

You do not know where you and Wanda are placed. 

Are you two being tumbled down? or is this another thing that would help build the bonded relationship you two have?

When you woke up in the middle of the night only to have your eyes focused on a slumped form in the middle of the kitchen, the words came blaring down like an ambulance. 

"Jesus, are you okay?" kneeling in front of her, you tuck your hands in her arms to pull her up. 

Your hands go limp as she pushes you away, "Hurts, let me be here. It'll pass." she croaks out, eyes closed tightly. 

Your eyes scan the heavy movement of her chest, the stained shirt she wore does not make your chest calm. You lean in again, your hands hovering over the blood pooling at the side of her body, she grabs your wrist tightly, "I told you, it will pass."

When she opened her eyes to see the glistening eyes of yours, filled with unshed tears, her heart broke. She forces herself to sit up, biting her tongue hard to keep the scream of pain for herself. "Detka, I promise. I will be fine. I had it checked before coming here, just forgot to change, okay?" 

You nod at her words, blinking a few times to calm the beating of your heart.

"But you have to rest on the bed, not here." 

"I know, baby. Just give me a few minutes, hm? And I'll be there beside you, go." 

When you didn't move after her words, Wanda smiled at you, "I'll be with you, I promise. Please." 

And you left her alone with her pain, just like every other night.

Wanda would rather suffer in silence than make you see the pain scattering all over her body. She does not want your eyes to scan her battered body, it will break her to see you sob just because she has been careless on a mission. 

It was not worth it.

Her actions shouldn't weigh down on your stability and as every mission piles one after another, it becomes more dangerous, more eye-opening. 

She didn't want to admit it but what she has been asking from you was unfair. Asking you to leave her alone after making you see the bruises on her face or the remnants of the mission was unfair to you. She cannot just let you see she's suffering and pushes you away. 

But that was the only thing she could do. She would rather be choosing that option over and over again than choosing the choice of completely leaving you. No more sights of bruises, no more her and you.

Wanda lets herself be selfish once more.

When the light rays of the sun push itselves through the windows of your small apartment, you wake up with the soft lips of your significant other. 

Peppering your face with soft kisses, Wanda kneels at the side of your bed, leaning down once more to kiss your forehead, "Wake up, detka. I made breakfast." 

You stirred in your sleep, hands reaching out to touch the cheeks of Wanda but hovered on top of it, halting your movements.

Wanda frowns. 

You opened your eyes, "Is it gonna hurt if I touch it?" you point out a bruise on her cheekbones, Wanda stills at your question. Her heart plummeted at your fragile quiet voice. 

She nods slowly, "You can touch anywhere, sweetheart. I am fine now, I visited the med bay while you slept, everything is fine." 

You sit up on your bed, shaking off the sleep in your eyes, you stare at her. "Can I kiss you?"

Wanda smiles, leaning in, "You don't have to ask." 

Meeting your lips halfway with the warm feeling of the cascading sunlight on her back was something Wanda wants to have for the rest of her life. The soft feeling of your lips against her, the smell of coffee, you. Everything is perfect for her.

And she knows a perfect person like you wouldn't last with a person so imperfect like her.

The bruises on Wanda's face were not halfway cured when she was asked again to go on a mission. It was still purple and swollen when she heard the call from Steve. A mission to infiltrate a newly discovered base of Hydra. It was located somewhere in Europe, it was miles away from New York, miles away from you.

It was just another day of you and Wanda lounging in the walls of your apartment, the chilling icy-cold air of the night felt sharp on your skin, her face was still healing from her past mission when she suddenly excuses herself to answer the taunting ringing of her phone. 

She had kissed your forehead before walking away to give herself privacy and the kiss that felt comforting before weighs down indescribably in the depths of your chest.

You watch the frowning of her brows, how she nibbles her bottom lip to how the muscle in her jaw twitches as her head bobs in something that was being discussed on her phone.

You look away, eyeing the show you two have been watching, the voices on it fading out. You knew what was coming and you should be accustomed to it by how frequently she leaves for her job but it did not make it easier for you, it just became harder. 

Her presence came like a tidal wave, scooting herself closer to your form as her hand snaked around your waist pulling you flushed on her. She kisses the side of your head slowly, her lips lingering on your warm skin.

You sigh, leaden feelings set heavily on your chest, "You're leaving, again?"

Wanda gulps the remaining bitter taste in her mouth, nudging your cheeks with her nose, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." you snap. You didn't mean to make your voice let out the feelings you have thrust down on your chest. But it did and it's like the small crack of an incoming big wave from a dam that's been left too full.

Wanda grips your waist, resting her forehead on your shoulders, she breathes in the scent you had emitted, "I'll be back before you'll know it, baby."

"You always say that and yet, you always come home months after." you ground your jaw hard and painful as Wanda snapped her mouth shut. 

She lets you hear the silence of her essence, the slow breathing from her lungs, the flowery scent she has. She lets you have it, for she knows the truth of your words. 

"I'm sorry," she starts, smoothing the skin on your waist. "I'll be back." 

"How long do I have to believe that?" your voice wavered, any control you have left for clutching your feelings in your grasp is now gone. The feelings you had been feeling ran out of your mouth fast and heavy. 

"I'll always be back, when did I lie, Y/N?" Wanda replies.

"How long till you just finally don't? I have seen you hurt so many times, Wanda. I don't want to see your dead body or– or do I even have the right to see it if it happens or will it be confidential?" you moved away from her, hugging yourself as you felt the heavy material of her sweater, making you feel more miserable.

"Don't think that." Wanda's voice was firm and hardened. 

"I always think that! What do you think my thoughts will be after you have walked away to offer yourself in such dangerous missions." your throat closes up instantly, a sob breaking out of your mouth, 

"You– you, you can read minds, how come you have never known I was hurting?" 

Wanda's green eyes gleamed with sadness at your outburst. Do you have to ask such an obvious question?

Of course, she had known. She had always known how much she was weighing you down, how these frequent absences of hers are taking a toll on you mentally and emotionally. She does not want to acknowledge how she's taking the life out of you, how day by day your eyes have lost their light, just because of her. 

She turns a blind eye to all of that. She always did.

She deserves to be a little more selfish, right?

So, she cradles your cheeks tenderly, your eyes burning with grief at a loss that you know will happen.

"It's gonna be fine, I will be back, I promise. Please, stop crying." she wipes your tears gently, the padding of her thumbs gliding smoothly below your eyes. She leans in to kiss it, shuddering at the wetness she felt on her lips.

"I'll be with you, baby. Please, stop. I'll be—" Wanda's lips instantly pressed together as you yank your figure away from her tight grasp. 

Pacing away from her, your brows creased in apprehension, "It's either be with me or le— work." the timbres of your voice falters.

"I can't be here, with you. You had lost everything, Wanda. Why do you want to lose yourself? You have saved many, it's okay to stop." your voice pleaded.

Wanda's eyes swam with tears as she finally felt the cracking of the ground, the awareness of the reality that was unfolding before her eyes didn't feel real. 

She didn't want it to feel real yet as her eyes settled on your dishevelled state everything came crashing down on her hard and excruciatingly painful.

She took a step forward, and with her shaky hands, she took your cold ones and brought it to her trembling lips. "Everything will be fine, please don't do this," she begged.

"I am so tired of crying myself to sleep. I have forgotten what it's like to have a mind so peaceful, Wanda. But my mind is far from peace if you are away from me," the vision you had before is long gone, replaced by a blurry sight of tears and heartbreak. "I am just asking you to stay. To choose yourself, to choose us and stay." 

"Please, don't make me choose."

"Then, leave." 

The hands grasped tightly on yours stilled. Wanda froze in front of you, her wide eyes staring directly at yours, she looks for a sign that you're gonna take back the words you have sputtered, that everything is just a mistake on your part but when you remained grounded, and when you let her hear the loudness of your silence, her face contorted in pain at your words. 

She felt the walls closing in on her.

"Baby, detka, I have no—"

"You have asked me to not let you choose. That is an answer, Wanda." your voice quivered, and you whisk your hands away from her hold.

"Leave, I'm sure Steve will appreciate your early arrival." you turned your back to the woman you will be mourning, chest leaden with grief-stricken feelings as you grieve for the loss of your love.

And you left her alone with her pain, just like every other night.

general masterlist

[sevasey51]

Two days of bronchitis and the meds barely touched anything. It was enough to keep her teetering on stable. The third days is when things went downhill very fast. Mid morning she woke up from a nap wheezing and gasping. This sent her body into overdrive putting her into a POTS episode. None of the meds even from the emergency protocol were barely touching. Connor had no choice so he commanded Charlie to press the emergency button on the wall.

Three Days Is Too Long

Summary: After two days of battling bronchitis, Y/N’s meds have only barely kept her above water. On the third morning, everything unravels—her lungs tighten, her chest wheezes, and her body spirals fast into a full POTS episode. Connor is doing everything he can—but when even the emergency meds stop helping, he makes the call. Literally. Charlie, their golden retriever, is trained to press the wall tablet. And when Connor commands him to activate Charlie Crate, their entire network jumps into motion.

Day One: Coughing, tightness, low fever.

They thought maybe it would just run its course. Maybe a short course of meds would knock it out before it got serious. Antibiotics were started. Breathing treatments helped—somewhat.

Day Two: The fever dropped, but the fatigue hit hard. Her oxygen held steady, but she was winded walking to the bathroom. Her pulse ox dipped a little lower than Connor liked, but it always rebounded—until the early morning of Day Three.

10:34 AM – Day Three

She’d fallen asleep on the couch after her morning meds, curled under two blankets with Charlie curled up at her feet like a second weighted comforter. Connor had stepped into the kitchen to prep a nutrient shake and check the log. A new entry had posted—pulse high 90s, O2 sat 93%. Not perfect, but still holding.

Until she wasn’t.

He heard it before he saw it: a thin, high-pitched wheeze followed by a ragged gasp.

“Y/N?”

He rushed in.

She was upright—barely—struggling to breathe, her hand to her chest, mouth open in pure panic.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you.” Connor dropped everything and was beside her in seconds. “You’re okay, I’m right here.”

Her heart rate spiked to 152 on the monitor. Her blood pressure was tanking. Her breaths came in short, shallow pulls.

The bronchitis had tipped into something worse. And the panic her body was in sent her full-tilt into a POTS episode.

Connor grabbed the emergency protocol meds—beta-blocker, nebulizer, second-line steroid dose—and administered each one, his hands calm but his eyes calculating. He had done this before. But this time—

This time, nothing was working.

Charlie whined low from the hallway, standing by the corner wall tablet.

Connor looked between his wife—pale, trembling, mouth open in panicked breath—and the dog.

And made the call.

He snapped his fingers.

“Charlie. Crate. Now.”

Charlie jumped into motion. In three fast steps, he pressed his paw to the lit tablet beside the bedroom door.

Charlie Crate Activated.

Full alert sent.

Vitals log flagged.

Location: Home — Crash Imminent.

Connor caught her just as she slumped sideways, her limbs going weak.

The crash had started.

10:41 AM – Rhodes Apartment

Ava saw the alert first.

Ava: Crate just went off. I’m on my way.

Will was second.

Will: ETA 7 minutes. What are her O2 and HR?

Connor responded while repositioning her on the couch. “O2 is 89. HR 160+. Not responding to nebs. She’s not compensating.”

Ava: Bag her if you have to. We’ll stabilize here. Don’t move her unless she codes.

Connor crouched beside her, squeezing her hand, lifting her chin.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re doing so good. You’re here. I’ve got you.”

Her lips were tinged with cyanosis. He adjusted the humidified O2 and monitored her SATs like they were a countdown clock.

Charlie sat in the hallway, alert but calm, watching the door.

10:49 AM – Front Door Bursts Open

Ava was first through it with her stethoscope already around her neck and the mobile bag open. Will followed right behind, grabbing Connor’s vitals log from the tablet and flipping through the latest charted intervals.

“She’s crashing, but she’s hanging on,” Connor said without even looking up.

Ava knelt on Y/N’s other side, placed her stethoscope, and frowned. “Lung sounds are wet. She’s bronchospasming under inflammation.”

Will was already prepping a small injection. “Going to hit her with racemic epi and monitor the rhythm. You were right to hit Crate.”

Connor, despite the sweat on his forehead and the tremble in his jaw, nodded once. “Charlie knew before I did.”

11:14 AM – Stabilized

The second her oxygen crept back into the low 90s and her heart rate dropped to under 120, Connor finally sat back. His shirt was soaked. His hands were still trembling.

She was asleep—finally—and her breathing was slow and even.

Ava checked her pulse again, then looked across at Connor. “She scared you.”

“She always does,” he said softly, brushing hair from her face. “But she also always fights.”

Will handed him a bottle of water and sat on the floor beside the couch. “You trained your damn dog to call in a medical cavalry. That’s… nuts.”

Connor let out a tired, grateful laugh. “I know.”

Charlie rested his head on Y/N’s foot and sighed.