#work from home tracking software

[wanywheresolution]

Boost productivity, enhance accuracy, and streamline workforce management to focus on what truly matters—your team’s success. Effortlessly manage employee attendance with real-time tracking, automated reports, and seamless integration. Simplify scheduling, monitor time-offs, and ensure compliance with ease

[katetcake]

Job interviews that instantly turn into "let's get you set up for your first day of training" always make my hackles rise. Especially when you have to cut in to ask if you're allowed to ask questions.

Like excuse me no.

[tongueinatree]

Ritual (Sylus x Zayne x Reader Love and Deepspace Fic) 

Pairing: Sylus x Zayne x Reader (polyamorous)

Fandom: Love and Deepspace, lnds, LADS, L&DS 

Fic Series: starlight trio (Part 1)

Word Count: 1.5k 

Warnings: fluff, angst, no NSFW material, night terrors. Profanity is used.

Description: After a gruelling week away from home, your nightly ritual is much welcomed. But only because you get to share it twice over. 

Author's Note: Main character is gender neutral. No use of "Y/N" but the second person (“you”) is used. The reader/main character's appearance is not described. MC/reader is described as being shorter than Zayne and Sylus, though. 

Zayne, Sylus and the reader are in an ethical throuple/polyamorous relationship.

I’m not sure if Sylus wakes at like 12 am exactly or actually begins his day as soon as it’s nighttime / dark enough outside? Night terrors are mentioned.

Not beta read.

I’m not caught up with the main story/playthrough, just drawing on everything up until Sylus’ myth. 

Comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

All my work, including this fic, is copyright protected. You do not have permission to copy, repost or translate my work! You also do not have permission to submit this work into any AI model or software. Disregarding any one of these stipulations is illegal.

Ritual (Zayne x Sylus x Reader fic)

When you get home after a mission outside of the city, all you want is to see Sylus and Zayne.

You’ve got an ungodly ache in your bones that sees you stumble through the front door. Leaning into the door frame, you scrub at your eyes for an instant, trying to will the tiredness right out of your body. Can’t it leap up out of your bones and flee? 

When this, pointedly, does not happen, you sigh and trudge on into your apartment. 

You’ve stripped down to your undershirt and underwear before you even reach your bedroom; your Hunter’s uniform is bundled under your arms. Upon entering your room, you toss the uniform to the side. Maybe it hits the end of the bed, maybe it hits the laundry basket in the corner, maybe it just goes spilling onto the floor. You don’t know or care. 

You’re not expecting the bed to be occupied by any means, and of course, it isn’t. It’s 10pm anyhow – both Zayne and Sylus will be up. Sylus because it’s essentially 6am for him, and Zanye because he never sleeps anyhow. 

Hell, Zayne’s probably pouring over medical texts, or a research paper at his desk. And Sylus is… cleaning a gun? Well, no, given that his day’s only just starting, Sylus is probably doing something a lot more important than cleaning a gun. You’re too tired to really reason through that last one, though. 

All this is one painfully long way of saying that as much as you expect to find the bedroom unoccupied, you also expect to find the en-suite bathroom unoccupied. Not that it really matters. Just knowing your partners’ are nearby eases some of the wrung-out feeling and soothes the itch in your eyes. 

You’re intending to wash your face when you reach the bathroom door, but the sight you’re met with stops you in your tracks. 

The counter’s to the left of the doorway; Zayne and Sylus are both there, brushing their teeth in unison. Sylus is dressed for the day, in pressed slacks and formal shoes; just his shirt is missing (presumably so that he doesn’t get any toothpaste on it). Zayne’s dressed similarly, though his shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Ironically, he and Sylus wear the same “uniforms” to work, albeit for very different purposes. 

They look… relaxed. Zayne’s hand is lax on his toothbrush from what is a mix of being relaxed and exceptionally tired. You can see it in his eyes, which are more droopy than usual. 

Sylus hums, dreadfully out of tune. He gets so into it that he closes his eyes and promptly hits the inside of his cheek with his toothbrush; when Sylus stops humming to hiss in pain, you stifle a laugh behind your hand. You don’t want to be caught out just yet. Zayne also chuckles, though, and shoots Sylus a fond look. 

Then the pair resume brushing their teeth, sans humming. Sylus finishes first, puts his toothbrush aside and moves to wash his hands. He’s towelling off his hands when Zayne finishes. Zayne deposits his toothbrush, braces his elbows on the countertop, lets out an almighty yawn. Seriously, he sounds so tired that you suddenly feel more alert. Sylus shoots a look Zayne’s way; his expression’s neutral, but there’s a sudden tightness around his eyes and he doesn’t exhale for a second or two. When Sylus finally addresses Zayne, his tone is equally neutral, “Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” 

You straighten up against the doorframe and go stiff, as if preparing for a blow. In a way, Zayne’s response will be a blow, even though you and Sylus both know what he’ll say.  

True to form, Zayne shoots Sylus a look that is a mix of askant and resigned, “No. I’ve got an article to review.” 

“You can barely stand.”

He’s right. Zayne’s arms have the slightest tremor to them; there’s a layer of ice coating his skin, from his fingertips to his forearms. 

Zayne exhales shakily, “I’d rather not sleep.” Then his knees buckle. You lurch forwards, but Sylus is quicker, is there in a flash. He scoops Zayne up into his arms, and deposits him on the countertop. Then Sylus is massaging Zayne’s temples, “Love. I –” 

Zayne interrupts him in a mumble, “Can’t sleep, Sy. Can’t.” 

Something in Zayne’s tone – the strained undercurrent of fear – tells you that his night terrors have gotten worse while you’ve been away. 

Sylus just sighs, “Okay.” He releases Zayne’s temples and takes a hold of his wrists, massages his pulse points, “This might hurt a little.”

Sylus’s power seeps from his fingertips in a swirl of red energy that encases Zayne’s lower arms. When the energy retreats, the ice on Zayne’s arms has cracked. No, actually, it’s melting off his arms, in a steady drip, drip, drip. It’s not as effective a remedy as your own Evol, but does the trick for now. 

Zayne manages a grateful smile, “Thank you.” He leans forward to kiss Sylus’ cheeks, but Sylus turns his head and kisses him on the mouth instead. The kiss is chaste and languid, and Zayne’s shoulders go slack as he returns it. You avert your eyes; you’re all together, have been for over a year now, but sometimes you feel like a voyeur in moments like these. 

When they break apart, you make your presence known by clearing your throat softly. Sylus raises his hand into mid air and crooks his finger at you. You go as if beckoned, with hurried steps. You kiss Sylus on the cheek, the same as Zayne had meant to, and ruffle Zayne’s hair. Then you hop onto the counter alongside Zayne, drape an arm around his shoulders. 

He lets you and Sylus envelope him. 

“I’ve been here for a while,” you admit quietly as you resume stroking Zayne’s hair. Sylus and Zayne chuckle simultaneously. 

“We know,” Sylus says. 

“We always know,” Zayne adds.  

You’re too tired to reply in full, “Hmm. Okay.”

You look at Sylus, “You should go to work. I’ve got him.” 

When Sylus raises an eyebrow in mild outrage, you chide gently, “Sylus. It’s…” You check your watch – you forgot to remove it earlier – “the 12th. Don’t you have a big meeting today? An acquisition?”

Sylus sighs; the sound is deeply regretful. He’s going to insist that his time is flexible. You know it in your bones. You cut him off, “Sy. Let me take care of Zayne. You have to be in that meeting.”

Sylus looks from you to Zayne, brow creased with concern. “Love. What do you think?” 

Zayne assesses Sylus for a moment, gaze sharpening, his mind turning over an equation of some sort. Does his need outweigh Sylus’ responsibilities?

“Go.” Zayne says evenly. 

When Sylus nods with a tinge of reluctance, Zayne adds sternly, “Don’t die.”

That teases a genuine laugh out of Sylus. He looks between you and Zayne and adds a warning of his own, “I’d best not find you two passed out on the floor when I return.” 

“No promises,” Zayne murmurs as you cuddle closer to him.

“Go already, Sy. So that you can get back to us.” 

Sylus nods again, “Alright. I’ll be off.” He presses a fingertip to your cheek, “Love you.” Then Sylus kisses you. You arch up into him and return the kiss with what can only be termed adolescent enthusiasm. Neither of you can see it in the moment, but Zayne watches you both, with his chest expanding. 

When you and Sylus part, he kisses Zayne a final time, “Love you.” 

You and Zayne murmur the sentiment back in tandem.

Then Sylus is sweeping out of the bathroom; he pauses in the doorway for a split second, but doesn’t look back. He can’t, you know, or he’ll never leave. Then he’s gone, and it’s just you and Zayne. 

You lean into Zayne for a minute or two. A content silence fills the en-suite, until Zayne yawns yet again. You take that as your cue, and push yourself off of the counter, and lead Zayne to the bedroom, with an insistent tug. He’s a bit shaky as he follows, but his knees don’t give in this time. 

You curl into the bed together; you’re too tired to lecture Zayne to get changed. Instead, you let him flop against you, let him press his head to your middle.  

You rest your hand atop his head, “You don’t have to sleep. Just lie here.”

Zayne’s reply is quiet, but grateful, “Alright.” 

You both settle in, and time begins to stretch and blur all at once, into a warm sort of in-betweenness. A sudden yawn, this time from you, interrupts the silence. Around the yawn you say, “We should have slept on the floor, just to piss Sy off.” 

The last thing you hear is Zayne’s laughter.

[mahmoudna]

“I Need Your Support to Continue My Studies and Build My Future from Gaza🍉🍉

My name is Mahmoud Naeem Abu Hatab, from Gaza.

I am a university student majoring in Software and Databases at Al-Azhar University. Since the beginning of my academic journey, I have been passionate about User Experience (UX) and User Interface (UI) design, as well as website development. These fields inspire me, and I dream of advancing my skills and building a professional career in them.

Unfortunately, during the recent war, I lost my laptop, which was essential for both my studies and work. I was forced to flee my home and relocate to southern Gaza due to the difficult circumstances. Despite my efforts to replace my laptop, the financial situation has made it impossible to afford a new one.

Without a laptop, continuing my studies or seeking job opportunities in programming and design has become extremely challenging. This directly affects my academic progress and future career.

Today, I am reaching out to ask for your support to help me purchase a new laptop. Having a laptop would allow me to resume my studies and work on programming and design projects that are crucial for improving my skills. It is a vital step towards completing my education and pursuing my dream of becoming a professional in programming and UX/UI design.

I know that the situation in Gaza is difficult, but I believe education is the only path to building a better future for myself and my family. If you are able to contribute any amount to help me get a new laptop, it would be a real opportunity for me to get back on track academically and professionally.

I am determined to keep learning and working despite the challenges, but I need your support to achieve this goal. Every donation or act of help, no matter how small, will make a significant difference in my life.

If you’d like to support me, you can donate through:

GoFundMe

OR

USDT

If you can assist in any way, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.

Thank you for your support and kindness! 🌿

@gaza-evacuation-funds @appsa @nabulsi27 @palestinegenocide @orblesbian @palebluebutler @pallasisme @fallahifag-deactivated20240722 @vakarians-babe @sayruq @ @plomegranate @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @queerstudiesnatural @tamamita @apollos-boyfriend @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @queerstudiesnatural @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @marnosc @flower-tea-fairies @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @tsaricides @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @4ft10tvlandfangirl @90-ghost @paper-mario-wiki @nabulsi @prisonhannibal @beepiesheepie @walcutt @schoolhater98 @commissions4aid-international @sar-soor @zigcarnivorous@tododeku-or-bust@turtletoria @brutaliakhoa @flower-tea-fairies @schoolhater @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @sayruq @omiteo777 @malcriada @neptunerings @bat-luun @kaneverse @nightowlssleep @staretes @friendshapedplant @soon-palestine @aria-ashryver @heritageposts @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @khangerinedreams @kordeliiius @mazzikah @feluka @dlxxv-vetted-donations @girlinafairytale @a-shade-of-blue @vakarians-babe @babygoatsandfriends @self-hating-zionist @mangocheesecakes @dlxxv-vetted-donations @gazaboovintage @gazavetters @wellwaterhysteria @sar-soor @applebunch @irhabiya @sayruq @xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @junglejim4322 @reptilianspecies @dr-lapdance @tamamita @cantsayidont @fairweathermyth @dear-indies @eruthiawenluin @katealot @lenasai @stalinistqueens @ayeshjourney @gaza-evacuation-funda @el-shab-hussein @irhabiya @nabulsi @ibtisams @dlxxv-vetted-donations @tododeku @a-shade-of-blue @gaza-relief-fund @catnapdreams @northgazaupdates @buttercuparry @stuckinapril

[v6quewrlds]

HIGH MAINTENANCE, JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x reader.

summary⠀⁎⠀the cliche, "opposites attract" seemed to have been made for your relationship with justin. the internet seems to have trouble keeping that in mind.

author's note⠀⁎⠀requested by an anon <3, my brain is fried so take this smau as an apology while i recover. ik the first pics are from a rams game & the tweet dates make no sense, let's use our imaginations <3 pictures from pinterest & instagram.

nflwagsdaily just posted .ᐟ

nflwagsdaily: looks like herbie's officially off the market! 🚨

eagle-eyed chargers fans spotted a new addition to the herbert family suite during the team's earlier home game. herbert's new belle appeared quite comfy-cozy with his family, donning chargers blue & dark tresses. our faithful internet sleuths immediately got to work, and through some careful instagram research and some very convenient follows, it seems we've tracked her down.

treat miss yourusername well, justin. we're all watching.

view all 183 comments.

user1 and they said my qb couldn't pull

user2 another athlete, another influencer... when will they learn

user3 this poor girl's notifs 😭 -> user4 let's hope she privates her account bc his fans will never let her rest -> user5 NEVER

user6 this is old news? 💀 -> user7 fr deuxmoi has been saying he's off the market since at least march -> user8 since when do we listen to deuxmoi hello??? -> user7 well she was right so now what... 🥴

user9 ominous ass caption what the fuck is going on in nflwagdailylandia? -> user10 deadass 😭😭😭

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justinherbert just posted .ᐟ

justinherbert: not much to say other than #boltup

view all 1,273 comments.

simifehoko13 taking the stairs ⚡ liked by author

user11 my qb is so majestic man

yourusername 💙⚡ liked by author -> user12 well there it is... -> user13 they think they're soooo sneaky lmao

user14 look at me, i'm justin herbert. i'm an elite quarterback in the nfl. jim harbaugh is my biggest ride or die. my girlfriend's mysterious and gorgeous. i have amazing hair. i'm a 6'6" multimillionaire who graduated with a 4.0 in biology. man fuck you. liked by yourusername -> user15 dawg 💀 -> user16 u made it big bro -> user14 wanna thank bolt nation for this moment

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yourusername just posted .ᐟ

yourusername: well, what do you say we get thrown out of an applebee's?

view 56 comments.

user17 is this a movie reference? 😭 -> user18 a will ferrell reference at that -> user19 of course it is, they're soulmates 😭

yourbestie1 what does he have that i don't? 😔 -> yourbestie2 a stable paycheck and a fat ass -> yourbestie1 ykw -> yourusername 🫷😌🫸 now now ladies we can all get along -> justinherbert i call primary custody -> yourbestie1 no ❤️

user20 not even trying to be messy or anything but what could they possibly have to talk about? -> user21 nfl quarterback... pretty girl... i don't think they do much talking no shade -> user22 i don't think she's trying to be an influencer so maybe she has a job? -> user23 "maybe" 💀

yourbestie2 hair 🙂‍↕️ -> yourusername ty for putting me on bae <3

justinherbert that sound like a good idea? liked by author

user24 i'm sensing a vibe no lie -> user25 travis hunter, now justin herbert. maybe jayden daniels' mom has the right idea 🤷‍♂️ -> user26 she ain't even speak yet? -> user27 she will eventually. -> user28 grown ass men in a gross ass man's business 🙂‍↔️

yourusername has limited comments .ᐟ

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nflwagsdaily just posted .ᐟ

nflwagsdaily: justin herbert's girlfriend, yourusername, seems to have had enough of the opinions about her relationship. after limiting her comments last tuesday, she made sure to update her bio before going private. we think this gets the message across quite clearly, don't you? 👏

view 242 comments.

user29 that's how you clear a bitch! 🙂‍↕️

user30 she heard the gold digger allegations and had to let y'all know what's up lmfao -> user31 be fr, a software engineer is not making $50 mil a year, she could still be interested in his money -> user32 if that's the case then good for her lmfao

user33 what exactly does this prove though? -> user34 u ppl r never satisfied -> user35 found y/n's burner

user36 mind you the internet sleuths could've just found her very public linkedin profile but whatever it takes lmao -> user37 4.0 from berkeley and they were smearing her name... oh my shayla 😩

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yourusername just posted .ᐟ

yourusername: year two <3

view 20 comments.

yourbestie1 pls tell me you didn't go to applebee's for your anniversary dinner -> yourbestie2 you know better than to ask a question like that -> justinherbert you mean the place we met? bffr -> justinherbert did i use that right? -> yourusername very proud j ❤️

yourmom congratulations you two ❤️❤️❤️ liked by author

yourbestie2 @ justinherbert where are my season tickets -> justinherbert aren't you a rams fan? 🤔 -> yourbestie2 @ chargers your qb is questioning his fans... action must be taken -> chargers season tickets on us? (we'll take it out of justin's paycheck 🤫)

patherbert5 five big booms liked by author

user38 the people would like to know if you were thrown out of the applebee's? -> yourusername no... but we'll try again next year 🤗

justinherbert happy anniversary beautiful 🌹 -> yourusername and hopefully so many more 💞

[scoutofmymind]

Saw that someone said Luigi’s Reddit had a post where he eluded to a pretty heavy drinking habit in college, which then makes me think about drunk ex!luigi. I’m sorry, but you write angst too well

Unlearn Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, slight pining, mentions of canon back pain, ex’s reminiscing, heartbreak all over again.

Wc: 4,336 (holy shit)

Notes; Two semesters of carefully crafted distance crumbles at 3AM in the computer lab when your final project implodes hours before the deadline, leaving you with no choice but to seek help from the one person you've been avoiding since the breakup.

Before we continue, I cannot ignore that wildfires continue to ravage Los Angeles, countless families have lost their homes and livelihoods. I urge you to consider supporting those affected through any of these donation links, additionally, Roadogs on Instagram is looking for fosters for mass evacuations of shelter dogs in California.

Foster or donate if you can. xo.

Now, let’s go.

"Mother fucker," you curse, attacking your keyboard with increasingly desperate keystrokes.

Each combination might be the one to salvage this disaster, but deep down you know it's hopeless — your software has corrupted itself into oblivion, taking six months of work with it.

"You can ask for an extension," Emma suggests, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion that matches your own. Your roommate had burst into the media center still wearing her pink silk pajamas, immediately launching into a nervous tirade about after-hours permissions and potential expulsion risks.

Her constant hovering and worrying grates on your last nerve, and you tell her to leave.

Predictably, she refuses.

"Listen, I'm not just gonna leave you here on your own." She leans across your workspace, her body pressing against your laptop screen until it tilts halfway closed. You freeze, fingers suspended above the keys, terrified of losing what little progress you've made in this digital archaeology expedition. "There's - like - a murderer on campus."

"One girl said she was followed home," you gently remind. Under normal circumstances, Emma's mother-hen routine would be endearing — charming, even. But right now, with your project in shambles and deadline looming, her protective hovering feels suffocating. "Not murdered, Em."

"May as well have been." Emma fixes you with that look — the one that screams why am I the only rational person here? While her nails tap nervously against your desk. "Probably hasn't left her room since. And you know what? Smart girl.”

You scrub your hands over your face, your eyes fixed on the projector's word vomit — an endless stream of error messages and unintelligible code painting the drywall from a tired projector like some twisted modern art piece.

Not exactly what you were going for.

Emma stands mesmerized, "How did you even do this?" She watches the cryptic display crawl across the wall, her eyes tracking each line as if she could decode it. "This reminds me of-" she catches herself, the name hanging unspoken between you. She's learned that lesson the hard way. "This is wild.”

You can't help but notice.

Notice how she almost speaks his name, how these meaningless strings of letters and numbers somehow bridge the gap to memories you've tried so hard to bury — promises whispered under star-sprinkled skies, fingers intertwined beneath the cosmic glow.

Moments that felt eternal then, ephemeral now.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, lying face-down like a surrender.

You blink several times, trying to clear the ghosts from your vision before speaking, your voice emerging barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves might shatter something in the air, "Should I text him?" You ask, offering the idea as if it was something too controversial to be spoken aloud.

Emma shifts her weight, both from exhaustion and the sudden weight of responsibility.

Your night's trajectory now rests in her hands — she who has witnessed every shade of you, from triumph to devastation. Her own memories of him surface: the way he'd raid her ice cream stash only to replace it with a premium pint the next day, how he'd tackle the dish mountain without prompting, those small gestures that made him feel like family.

"He was my favorite boyfriend of yours," she'd told you once, in a moment of wine-honest conversation. "He was a good boy."

A good boy who made a couple mistakes.

But those mistakes had compounded like interest on a debt you never agreed to pay, until the rift between you and Luigi widened into an ocean.

Everything good had been pulled out with the tide — your trust, your shared future — swept away to depths where no light could reach.

"I-" Emma's hand finds the back of her neck, her expression cycling through a slideshow of conflicted emotions. You can see her internal struggle; the desire to crawl into her bed warring with her loyalty to you. And she knows you well enough to realize you'd stay here until sunrise if necessary. "I mean — babe, I love you, but you can't fix this." The admission seems to pain her, as if acknowledging your limitations feels like betrayal. "We aren't techies."

You stare helplessly at your gutted gallery, stripped bare by your own accidental digital vandalism. Your artwork, your portfolio, your future — all reduced to incomprehensible strings of code projected onto an indifferent wall.

"Do you think he'd come?" The question escapes before you can stop it, your eyes magnetized to your phone as if your stare alone could resurrect that old text thread, buried beneath months of careful silence.

"Of course he would."

A soft, defeated whine escapes you as you turn back to glare at your corrupted work, as if you could intimidate it into fixing itself through sheer force of will.

Emma's voice softens, "Hey, he's mature enough to understand you've exhausted your options."

A violent shudder runs through you at the thought of Luigi being your last resort.

You'd managed to exile the visceral memories — the heated arguments that left you gasping for air, the promises that turned to vapor in the morning light.

"Which are?"

Emma looks down at her Pokemon-clad self, then back at you. "Me." She gestures vaguely in your direction, "and you."

The campus sleeps around you, everyone else lost to their dreams or late-night calls home. Just the two of you remain, trapped in this dimly-lit purgatory on a Wednesday night, while error messages mock your existence with their endless scroll.

"Slim pickin's," you mutter as your fingers betray you, finding Luigi's contact with muscle memory that refuses to die.

How many times had you pressed these same digits before?

But this is different.

Different because you haven't spoken since that night in your kitchen, when you stood with your back to him, voice steady despite the trembling in your hands, "So, we aren't going to try to figure this out?" You asked, and he’d responded with some pretentious comparison about your relationship being like corrupted code, fundamentally flawed, destined to fail its own quality test.

The irony isn't lost on you — the very metaphor he used to end things is now the thread that might pull you back into his orbit. Your only connection besides the elaborate dance of avoidance across campus, treating each other's paths like holy ground neither dares to tread.

Opening the thread, you're greeted by your last exchange — your final words to him blazing across the screen in angry blue bubbles: "I want my fucking shit back or I'll make your life a living hell." Such poetry. Your new message hovers in the text box, simpler, desperate in its brevity.

Hey need help with somethin. U up??

You thrust your phone at Emma like it's burning your fingers, watching her eyes widen as they catch on those months-old texts — digital artifacts of your rage that should have been scrubbed before tonight's desperate plea. "Jesus," she whispers, amusement dancing in her expression. "I'd still be licking my wounds if I were hi-"

The familiar buzz cuts through the air, a notification chime that once made your heart leap but now makes it sink.

"What'd he say?" You mumble, gaze fixed on the mocking projection that bathes the room in its sickly digital glow, code continuing its relentless march across the wall.

Emma settles into a chair, hunching over your laptop's makeshift altar. "Said he's at Ruddy's." She squints at a fresh message. "He said 'what do you want?'" She deepens her voice into a cartoonish baritone, making him sound like a caveman discovering text messaging for the first time.

You can't blame him for the cold response — you’d scorched that earth thoroughly.

But a selfish part of you wants to delete the whole exchange, pretend this moment of weakness never happened, go back to the careful choreography of avoiding each other's existence.

But you can't.

The corrupted gallery looming on the wall is a stark reminder that pride is a luxury you can't afford right now.

His icy reception is the natural consequence of your scorched-earth campaign, those venom-laced messages sent in the throes of heartbreak and confusion.

You'd played the role of the woman scorned perfectly, even though you'd written your own tragic script.

"Just send him a picture." You wave listlessly at the wall, where your work continues its digital decomposition, folding in on itself like a dying star. The error messages stretch into an endless serpent of nonsense, each iteration making less sense than the last.

The artificial shutter sound of Emma's photo breaks the silence, followed by the soft swoosh of sending. The wait feels eternal until-

Ding

Emma's attention snaps to your phone resting on her thigh, her eyes widening. "He's typing like he-"

Sorry;m,, I’m fucked uo

Up

I am

fucked up

Emma clicks her tongue and rises, crossing the room to lob your phone into your lap, screen up. "Guess some things don't change." You manage a weak half-grin, memories flooding back unbidden — Luigi stumbling into your dorm in the small hours, wrapped in whiskeys warmth, all soft edges and desperate hands.

"Well, make up your mind." Emma's yawn threatens to unhinge her jaw, arms wrapping around herself like armor. "Are we done here, or are you gonna have him come take a look?"

I’n be there son

I’ll be rherw soo

I’ll be there soon

You stand to wrap your arms around Emma’s shoulders who reluctantly curves her arms upward to squeeze your shoulders. “Go home.” She seems reluctant to listen, staring at your phone screen as if it would take her home itself. “I promise, I’ll be just fine.”

The space between you pulses with that unique warmth reserved for someone who shares your roof, your darkest secrets, and the monthly struggle with Con Edison. "Just don't make any brash decisions."

"Oh, Em." You press a kiss to her forehead. "You think I'm so much cooler than I am."

Emma's laugh follows her as she spins toward the door, collecting pieces of herself like breadcrumbs — the scarf draped over a chair, the coat hung forgotten, the backpack abandoned when the day still held promise.

Each item a marker of how long this digital nightmare has stretched, from sunshine to moonlight.

And as if summoned by cosmic irony, the lab door swings open to reveal Luigi. "Oh - hey, E." The surprise flickers across his face before he schools his features back to neutral.

"Hey, Lu." Her greeting carries the easy familiarity of their old routine, like NPCs in a cozy game exchanging preset dialogue, their paths crossing exactly as programmed.

"You g'na help me with this?"

Emma shakes her head, patting his shoulder as she passes — a gentle handoff. "I did my time." You want to protest, but words fail as you absorb the sight of him, eight months of careful avoidance crumbling in an instant.

"Ahh-" Luigi waves, feigning disappointment through the druken haze. "Need a walk back home?"

Ever the shepherd, guardian of late-night wanderers.

It didn't matter who you were — friend, stranger, ex-lover’s best friend and roommate — his self-appointed mission to ensure everyone's safe return never wavered.

You'd once wondered if it stemmed from some deeper anxiety, his mind unable to rest until every sheep was accounted for in its fold.

Tonight though, the alcohol has mercifully dulled that protective instinct. Emma's potential disappearance into the night ranks lower on his list of concerns than usual, although Emma herself had been the one earlier to warn you of the murderer on campus.

"You still got my location," Emma reminds him — a callback to conversations past, to the day she'd granted Luigi permanent access to her whereabouts, a level of trust you'd wisely withheld.

"Right."

She presses a kiss to her fingers, flashing you a peace sign with the same hand before it briefly lands on Luigi's shoulder. Then she's gone, disappearing into the snow-globe world he'd just stumbled in from. He stands before you now, arms hanging like dead weight, his eyes somehow both wide and narrow.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey."

You gesture weakly at the wall where your work writhes in digital agony. "So, uh — remember that time you salvaged Professor Wren’s entire thesis when her drive crashed?"

Luigi's eyes follow your hand, professional interest temporarily overriding the awkwardness. He steps closer, squinting at the corrupted display, "Jesus," he mutters, "what did you do to it?"

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" The laugh that escapes is more nervous than you'd like. "It just. - it started disintegrating during final checks."

He's already pulling out his laptop, muscle memory from countless late-night tech rescues. The familiarity of it hits you in the chest — how many times had you watched him do this same thing, hunched over his keyboard, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration?

"I can try," he says finally, not quite meeting your eyes. "But no promises. When's this due?"

"Tomorrow at nine."

"Of course it is." He drops into the chair beside you, close enough that your elbows almost touch, but enough of a distance to still feel far away. “Okay, walk me through what it's supposed to look like when it's not — uh - whatever this is."

For a moment, Luigi stares at the corrupted display where red pixels bleed and stutter across the wall. His fingers hover over his keyboard, then pause. "Wait. This is your circulatory modeling project? The one you were-“ He cuts himself off, remembering this was before the eight months of silence.

"Yeah." You swallow. "It was working perfectly until an hour ago. Real-time hemodynamics, pressure differentials, vessel elasticity. Everything." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, feeling more helpless when you verbalize it.

He nods, already typing with uncanny precision despite the slight sway in his posture. "Show me the base code. Did you save any backups?"

"Three. All corrupted." You lean forward, careful not to crowd him as you pull up the mangled files. "It's like something got into the core simulation and just - I dunno - started rewriting them."

"Hm." His eyes scan the screen with that laser focus he somehow maintains no matter how much he drinks, that familiar furrow appearing between his brows. "These values are cascading. One corrupted variable triggering a chain reaction through the whole system." He glances at you, slightly overshooting before correcting. "When's the last time it ran correctly?"

You check your phone. "6:43 PM. I have a screen recording from then."

"Good. That's good." He pulls up a second window, his typing still flawless even as he reaches with his free hand to steady himself against the desk. "We can compare the execution logs, maybe isolate where it started going wrong." His fingers fly across the keys with a precision that seems to mock his clearly inebriated state, and for a moment, it feels like those eight months never happened. "I'm going to need coffee for this." He looks up at you from where he sat, “Or more booze.”

You land on coffee, your feet carrying you down the familiar path to the kitchenette.

The fluorescent lights flicker dimly at this hour, casting strange shadows across the linoleum, the lab's overpriced espresso machine hums to life under your touch, its gentle whirring a counterpoint to the distant sound of Luigi's typing.

Suddenly you're back in that first year, both of you hunched over at 3 AM, him teaching you the proper way to pull a shot: “You're murdering it, stop torturing the beans”, your quiet laughter echoing through empty halls.

"Got it.” His voice carries down the corridor, slurred but triumphant, snapping you back to present.

You return to find him illuminated by screen-glow, his tie loosened and dark hair disheveled. The paper cup lands in front of him — double shot, one packet of raw sugar.

He doesn't stir it, never has.

Instead, he tips the cup back, and you hear that familiar crunch of sugar crystals between his teeth, a sound that used to drive you crazy, until somewhere along the way it became endearing.

Still, the jumbled code taunts you from the screen, though its chaos seems less threatening now. Under Luigi's touch — steady despite the alcohol — your final project is slowly remembering its original shape.

"You should have texted sooner," Luigi murmurs, tilting his head back to collect the last sugar crystals from his cup. The movement exposes his throat, his collar wrinkled where he's been tugging at it all night.

"Well," you say, watching the way his fingers dance across the keys, each stroke precise despite his obvious intoxication, "takes a minute to swallow something as big as my pride."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, eyes never leaving the screen where broken code is knitting itself back together under his attention.

"Oh," he huffs out a laugh, the sound low and dangerous in the quiet lab, "I've seen you swallow far bigger things before."

It strikes like summer lightning — quick, bright, and leaving the air charged in its wake. The innuendo lands with no real bite, yet you find your jaw slack, a startled laugh shaking loose from your chest.

"Kidding," Luigi says, his eyes flicking from screen to you and back again. There’s a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, softened by the alcohol but still sharp enough to cut. You wave him back to his work, grateful for the blue glow of monitors that hides your flush. "You kinda set that up perfectly, though."

He squints up at the projection where your broken code still bleeds across the wall, letting out a soft grunt of frustration at some digital roadblock. "Just mean — ya know, you could have caught me two beers deep instead of seven."

You shrug a shoulder, watching as the projection slowly crystallizes into something recognizable. "Seems you work better under such conditions."

The lie tastes metallic.

You both know the truth.

Luigi would have come if he was sober as sunrise or drowning in bourbon. Would have come with broken ribs or pneumonia or his heart barely beating. Would have traced these familiar hallways blind, deaf, or dying — because that's what the two of you do.

Have always done.

You've seen him at rock bottom, curled into himself on cold bathroom tiles at midnight, trembling hands pressed against his mouth as if he could physically hold back the pain that wracked his body. Watched him try to explain to puzzled doctors how someone so young could hurt so constantly, the frustration in his voice when they suggested it was all in his head.

You were there through the trials of medications, the nights when existence itself seemed too heavy to bear.

And you've seen him soar; standing tall in that charcoal suit that made him look older, more polished, shaking hands with tech giants who saw in him what you'd always known was there, his future spreading out before him like a golden road, brilliant and boundless.

Now he sits here, seven drinks deep but coding like he's never been clearer, and you realize that maybe both versions are equally true.

Maybe that's what makes him Luigi — the ability to contain multitudes, to be simultaneously broken and brilliant, wounded and wonderful.

He catches you watching him and raises an eyebrow, the gesture slightly delayed, which means you must have been a bit too obvious. "What?"

"Nothing.”

His fingers pause on the keys, and even through the alcoholic haze, his gaze pins you like a butterfly to cork. "No, really. What?" The words have a slight blur around their edges, but his focus is knife-sharp.

You could deflect again, but there's something about 4 AM and code that glows like dying stars that makes honesty feel less dangerous, perhaps you’re finding comfort in the fact that Luigi is drunk, although you’re stone cold sober.

"Just thinking about that time in the Thompson building bathroom." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "When you couldn't stand up, and I had to convince the janitor you had food poisoning."

He doesn't flinch from the memory like he used to.

Instead, his mouth curves into something caught between a smile and a grimace. "You told him it was from the cafeteria." His fingers resume their dance across the keyboard, but slower now. "Got the whole place investigated by health services."

"Yeah, but got us three days off while they checked fucking everything.” you remind him.

"Got me through that week," he corrects quietly, and for a moment, the mask of that brilliant-drunk-techie slips, showing the man underneath who still remembers what it feels like to be held together by nothing but someone else's faith in you.

Then he blinks, and the vulnerability is gone, replaced by that familiar crooked grin. "Though I maintain the cafeteria deserved the inspection anyway."

The projection flickers, another section of code healing itself under his touch, and you wonder if he knows you'd do it all again.

Every bathroom floor, every late-night crisis, every moment of putting him back together - you'd choose it every time.

"Speaking of which," you venture carefully, watching his hands move across the keyboard. "How's the new treatment working?"

His right shoulder shifts in what might be a shrug, but there's a shadow of a real smile playing at his mouth.

Not the sharp, defensive one he wears like armor, but something softer, more genuine. "Six months post-op and I actually slept through the night last week. First time in -“ he pauses, considering, "Fuck, I don't even remember how long."

The admission hangs in the air between you, weighted with the two years of 2 AM phone calls, of nights spent pacing, of pain medications that never quite touched the core of the problem.

Watching him try to code through hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

"Still hurts sometimes," he adds, almost absently. "But it's different now. More like background noise than a scream." His fingers still on the keyboard, and for a moment he looks almost surprised by his own words. "Guess that's what normal people feel like all the time, huh?"

The question carries an edge of wonder, like someone who's lived in darkness suddenly discovering dawn.

You watch him roll his shoulder — a gesture that used to be followed by a wince but now flows smooth and unconscious — and think about how strange it must be, learning to live without constant pain after it's become part of your identity.

"Though I kind of miss having an excuse to drunk-code at 4 AM" he adds, but you both know it's a lie.

The code blurs on the projection as silence settles between you, charged with something that's been building for ages — through bathroom floors and hospital visits, through triumphs and failures, through pain and healing.

The alcohol has stripped away Luigi’s careful boundaries, leaving raw honesty in their place.

"You know," Luigi says slowly, finally turning from the screen to face you fully, "I never thanked you properly. For all of it."

"You don't need to-"

Your diagram pulses back to life, the holographic heart rotating lazily against the wall.

Its red glow bathes the room in a surreal warmth, catching on the sharp angles of Luigi's face, softening them into something almost dreamlike.

The light flickers across his cheekbones, turns his eyes to amber, makes the whole moment feel suspended between reality and imagination.

"I do." His voice is quiet but firm, steadier than someone seven drinks deep should manage. "Because I've been thinking — now that I can actually think clearly without-“he gestures vaguely at his back, at all the years of pain, "I've been thinking about how you're the only constant. The only person who never-“ He trails off.

You lean a little closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Never what?"

"Never saw me as broken." He turns himself toward you, and there's something desperate in his eyes, something the alcohol has finally given him the courage to show. "Never treated me like I needed fixing. Just stayed. Through everything."

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. He takes your silence as a sign, turning back to the screen with a sharp exhale that might be resignation or relief — you're not sure which would be worse.

"Lu,” you say softly, and something in your voice makes his fingers still on the keyboard. "Look at me."

He does, slowly, like he's afraid of what he might find.

The neon bathes half his face in crimson, leaving the other half in shadow, and you see the moment his carefully constructed walls start to crumble.

"Time hasn’t changed that much about me.” you say, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.

His breath catches audibly. You watch the impact of your words ripple across his face — surprise, understanding, and something else, something that makes your heart race against your ribs.

"Hasn’t it?” Luigi is focusing on you now, the reason he really came here now practically completed but pushed aside until further notice. “Eight months is a long time to hold onto -“ he gestures vaguely between you, as if he can’t quite say what it was. Hopeless devotion, the right person, wrong time.

“Not long enough to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You.”

His breath catches again, a sharp inhale that seems to pull all the oxygen from the room. When he speaks, his voice is rough and ragged, “Maybe that’s the problem.” His gaze drifts down to watch as you lick your lips, and back up again. “Maybe you should have.”

[mr-gallows]

James Sunderland Headcanons/Analysis! (SFW) Stuff about his job, dad, music, tidbits

These are based on Remake James! It's a little easier to come up with headcanons for remake James, since he's a bit more expressive here than the OG. Job:

James is an office clerk (this is confirmed canon), which means he has a job revolving around paying attention to detail. He keeps track of financial records, transactions, orders, supplies, and various other things that an office needs to run smoothly. He's messy, but he's good at his job and has a careful eye for detail. It makes sense for him since he's able to notice small things in Silent Hill that help him progress.

James is well-versed in using office software and spreadsheets, and sometimes is tasked with doing minor trouble-shooting for coworkers. James has an ongoing battle with a faulty office printer.

James prefers this kind of work, even if it doesn't exactly fill him with joy. He's definitely an introvert, but doesn't mind helping others if needed.

James does NOT participate in casual Friday. He always wears his button-down shirt and tie. Prefers not to get too casual about work; he likes to keep those spheres separate. Dad:

James sold his car to help with medical bills that weren't covered by his insurance. His father gave him his old 1977 Pontiac Ventura for free. It's the car his dad drove when he was growing up.

The car barely ran and James taught himself how to fix it. It was his only distraction from Mary's illness.

James has a strained relationship with his father, because he's just super weird. He's caught his dad saying and doing strange things, for instance, holding the box with Walter Sullivan's umbilical cord and just staring at it. One night, James came home from hanging out with his friends, and saw his dad in the kitchen, holding up a knife and staring at the wall as if in a trance. James was freaked out and decided to just come back home in the morning.

This might be dumb and random but I feel like Frank Sunderland doesn't have the best hygiene and his apartment smells. James is probably used to gross stuff. He doesn't like it, but he can deal with it.

James's mom left because she couldn't handle being around Frank anymore. James ended up growing up through his teen years with just his dad. Music:

James strikes me as the kind of guy who listens to The Police, Hall & Oates, maybe REM. Enjoys music with prominent bass lines. He probably listens mainly to hits from different bands as well.

Tends to prefer light rock. Metal isn't really his thing.

James's guilty pleasures are Duran Duran and Cocteau Twins.

I have his shuffle here!:

Tidbits:

James doesn't seem to laugh much, but he does have a sense of humor somewhere in there. Usually it's pretty dry and sarcastic. He appreciates observational humor.

Mary was fond of puns. He always pretended to hate them and roll his eyes, but would end up smiling or chuckling anyway.

James isn't much of a sweets guy, but his favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla. His favorite soda is Coke. He liked Coke floats as a kid. Favorite dessert is apple pie.

Drinks his coffee black.

Tried to tend to Mary's garden when she was sick, but he was overwhelmed by it and being unable to regrow the plants just made him feel worse. He didn't have her green thumb.

[spacedace]

Dick dropped down from the skylight into the kitchen soundlessly, one hand already gripping one of his escrima rods in preparation for a fight as he worked on getting his barrings.

Babs had said that none of the apartment’s security measures had been tripped and that her system hadn’t detected anyone entering the apartment building that shouldn’t be there, but it was better safe than sorry. The kind of mercenaries that had been hired and the kind of tracking they had already done on Elle meant that they very well could have found a way around the security measures. Hell, if Jason was right about this Marcus Hunter guy - and he most definitely was - then even the additional security Damian had added over the years might not have been enough.

Behind him there was the soft click of a switch and suddenly the kitchen was flooded with light.

Shit, that was bad. He hadn’t heard anyone behind him, hadn’t even registered another person in the immediate area despite the readings in his mask and his finely honed senses. Either he was getting rusty or whoever had flipped on the lights in an attempt to blind him was, if not as good, than at least in the same league as Cass when it came to stealth.

The fact that they were confident enough about not having to worry about Elle that they would try to blind him by turning on the lights rather than for a quieter take-down in the dark also was a bad sign. Either the intruder was confident enough about their plan that Elle calling the cops or trying to run away wouldn’t interfere, or they knew for a fact that she couldn’t. That they had ensured that she was not able to do anything as a dangerous stranger wandered her house and tried to jump the vigilante that had just entered her home.

Thankfully his domino was in top form and ready for things like this, specially designed by Lucius with software finely honed by Babs. As quickly as the switch was flipped, his mask adjusted to account for the sudden change in light levels, keeping him fully aware of the world around him. A chance at surprising the person trying to get the drop on him in return, if he was fast enough to pull it off.

And if it meant saving the young woman his little brother was in love with, that had become another member of the family over the past couple of years?

Dick would be more than fast enough.

He dropped low and spun, flicking the taser function of his escrima on as he did. He still hadn’t heard anyone move, but he knew odds were good that the person behind him would likely be aiming for center mass while he was standing if they had a fire arm and lunging at him before he could realize what happened if they weren’t.

Body flowing like water, Dick turned and moved to slam the sparking business end of his weapon into his opponent coming face to face with -

A bleary and half asleep Elle.

Dick stumbled as he rapidly fought his own momentum, nearly crashing to the floor in his attempt to not hurt the very woman he had shown up to save. He still ended up knocking a familiar battered bag from off the table in his - totally not wild and undignified at all thank you - pinwheeling.

At least he managed to not bump the pretty, hand-painted vase sitting next to Elle’s normal traveling pack. It had been a gift from Ma Kent when Damian, Jon and Elle had all three moved in together and Dick did not want to face the wrath of three if anything happened to it.

Or the wrath of Ma Kent, for that matter.

Elle, for her part, just watched him from where she was swaying blearily in the kitchen doorway, eyes squinting into the bright light that she had flipped on. She seemed unbothered by the vigilante that had appeared in her home and nearly tazedd the shit out of her the second she’d made her presence known.

“Mmp?” She…said? Mumbled, really, sleep blurred and muzzy. “Nigh’wing?” She slurred, lifting a hand to rub tiredly at an aching eye. “Why’re you in my kitchen?”

“Uh…” Dick stared at her, still mentally scrambling to get his feet under him as he tried to wrangle the sudden flip between fighting a dangerous foe to talking with his brother’s exhausted, jet-lagged and very much out of the loop civilian girlfriend in his vigilante persona.

Elle gave a yawn so massive and wide Dick was fairly certain he would need to take her to the ER to get her jaw re-attached afterwards. Instead of screaming in pain at suddenly dislocating a bone, she just leaned against the door jam tiredly as she looked him up and down. “Are you bleedin’ out?”

Dick blinked.

“Um, no.”

“Any broken bones, internal injuries or concussions?”

“No.”

“Villain chasing you about to bust in and destroy half the apartment building?”

“God I hope not.”

“Mmm-kay.”

Elle gave a slow nod, shifting so she was standing fully again - if slightly at a sleepy, drooping angle - as she lazily waved a hand in the general direction of one cabinet.

“Everything but what’s in there and on the bottom shelf of the fridge is free game - that stuff is gonna be gifts for Damian and Jon’s families, so don’t eat ‘em.” Her hand shifted, vaguely motioning down the hall in the direction opposite of where her and the boys’ bedroom was. “Guest room is second on the left, bathroom across from that. If you need anything else…”

She trailed off, head lolling and unruly mess of black curls falling in an even wilder frenzy around her, “Honestly, like, call someone else about it. I just spent the last 84 hours digging people out of a mudslide on the other side of the globe explicitly against my doctor’s orders. I’m going to go have a coma for awhile about it to recover. As a treat.”

As had often been the case over the years, Elle had zagged when he had expected her to zig. It was a hallmark of her as a person, he’d learned from Dami’s stories and his own experience with her. Instead of being freaked by one of Gotham’s vigilantes breaking into her home and nearly taking her head off, she just… rolled with it. Made sure he wasn’t dying and decided at that point that whatever he was doing there was just not her problem to deal with.

Nightwing wasn’t even one of the heroes she’d worked with before as part of her search and rescue work. Elle had never officially met him as his vigilante persona, she’d barely met Damian and Jon as Phoenix and Flamebird. And yet she just didn’t give a single fuck about anything happening currently. Too exhausted to care beyond ensuring no one was about to die, most likely, after just getting back from an SAR mission.

Which made sense. The physical and emotional toll of rescue work was worse than any fight Dick had ever been in, and wore on those who made it their life’s work to that particular kind of emergency service hard. Especially one like Elle who had a widely known reputation for her dogged determination to keep going well past the point other rescuers would hit their limit and have to stop for the sake of their health.

Actually wait, speaking of health, did she just say -

“Doctor’s orders?” He asked, shoving his escrima back in place on his back as he straightened out and stepped forward, hands worriedly reaching for her. “Are you okay?”

He knew that Elle had ended up in the hospital for a bit about six or seven months ago when she’d been visiting family. He wasn’t totally sure of all the details, but he knew there’d been some kind of freak accident that had resulted in Elle needing emergency surgery. Whatever had happened - which, considering she’d been in Amity Park could have been literally anything - she’d ended up with a pretty intense looking scar on her chest above her heart and some intensely worried boyfriends once Damian and Jon had found out what had happened.

Thankfully, with Amity Park’s deep connection with the Infinite Realms and as the seat of King Phantom’s rule, Elle had been in the care of the best healers in the multiverse. She’d been irritable about the whole recovery process he remembered, grumpy at having to be stuck in one place for so long. But considering she’d had to have surgery to remove something pretty sizable from her heart Dick felt four weeks in the hospital and a further six of bed rest and home care was a pretty short recovery time.

Though… maybe she wasn’t as recovered as she’d made everyone think.

Sure, the Yetis could be a bit much in how they fussed over living humans in their care, but there was every chance that Elle really wasn’t as back in action as she’d led people to believe. She was a little too like Dami and Jon that way - like just about everyone Dick knew that way. It wouldn’t matter if she was wheezing through a flail chest or missing a damn limb, if it involved something or someone important to her, she wasn’t going to be stopped. And with Elle, the only thing as important to her as Dami and Jon, was traveling the world to feed her eternal wanderlust and saving people through her search and rescue work. Neither of which was possible if the people that cared about her knew she was still dealing with the effects of her brush with death earlier in the year.

Then again, there was every chance that something else had happened. Between her travels and her SAR work, Elle got into a lot of dicey situations. Not even getting into the fact that she’d put down roots in Gotham and Metropolis - two places known for their high danger rate thanks to regular villain attacks and other crazy bullshit. Had something happened that he hadn’t heard about?

Elle gave another terrifyingly wide yawn.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” She waved his concern off blandly, “It’s all gravy my dude. Just had a bit of a thing not too long ago and my doc is a bit on the over-cautious side. If it was up to him I’d be on bed rest ‘til I’m ninety.”

Dick frowned, not totally convinced. Elle either was ignoring him or was just too tired to notice he was still worried. Instead of acknowledging it she just began swaying back in the direction of her bedroom. “Right, now that’s settled, I’m gonna go crash. Mind the cat when you go to leave, he’s gotten obsessed with the pigeons recently and keeps trying to escape to go after them.”

“Wait, no, I need to talk to you.” He said, moving to follow her as she turned away from him and began shuffling down the hall.

She made a vague, incomprehensible noise, not bothering to turn back to face him. “Mmm, later.”

“No, this really can’t wait.” He insisted, reaching out and catching her arm before she shuffled any further away. “You’re in danger.”

He expected that to be the moment that Elle locked in and started seriously listening to him. That she’d shake off the heavy drowsiness she was caught in and snap to attention and focus on what he was saying and why he was there.

As usual though, Elle zigged when he thought she’d zag.

Instead of doing any of the normal things people do when told by a vigilante that their lives were in danger, she just gave a ridiculous, tired whine and shook his hand off. “Yeah, in danger of not getting any more sleep.” She said, petulant and pouting. “I’m fine, let me go back to bed.”

Over his comms he heard Steph huff a soft laugh, “Damn, Little D wasn’t kidding when he said she was a mess after missions. Might have to bring out the big guns and tell her what we found.”

She had a point. Both in that Dami had talked about Elle being practically a mindless zombie after prolonged SAR stints and in needing to up the ante in explaining the situation. He’d hoped to get her to a safe house first so that he knew she was secure before breaking the news that someone wanted her dead, but if she was going to just ignore everything he said in her dogged attempt to crawl back into bed he might just have to lay it out to her now.

“No, I need you to listen to me.” He said firmly, grabbing onto her arm again and tugging her to face him. “A group of elite mercenaries has been hired to kill you. They’ve been tracking your movements for awhile now, they know where you live, they know your schedule, the places you go.” He gave her arm a small squeeze, heart aching a little as he looked down at the worn, exhausted face of the woman that very likely would be his sister-in-law before too much longer. “The others and I can help protect you, but you need to come with me now.”

For a long, quiet moment Elle just stood there and stared at him. Uncanny white-blue eyes taking him in, the seriousness of his expression beneath his domino, the tense line of his shoulders, his firm grip on her arm. Her usually bright and exuberant expression unreadable and still in the dim light of the hallway. Some of the anxiety in his chest unwound a little as the seriousness of the situation seemed to finally settle in to her sleep deprived mind.

And then Elle zagged.

“...Okay… and?”

---

Elle groaned as Duke dropped down from the skylight.

“Seriously? You’re pulling Signal in to this? In the middle of the night?” She gave Dick a look that edged on scathing, scrubbing her face tiredly before turning her attention on Duke. “Dude, what are you doing here? You have the day shift, shouldn’t you be sleeping right now?”

She shook her head before either of them could try and get a word in, waving her hands at them irritably. “Wait, scratch that, I should be sleeping right now and you,” She pointed at Signal with an annoyed frown, “Should know how fucking tired I am. You had to drag my ass all the way to the Opps tent enough times after finishing up an SAR mission to know how hard I crash.”

Duke held up his hands in a motion that felt less like a I come in peace and more of a I surrender to Dick’s mind, though he was still smiling a little. “And hello and good morning to you too Ms. Nightingale. Yes it has been a minute since we last saw each other, and it is nice to get to chat when we’re not running around trying to pull people out of rubble or half dead in the crash tent.”

Elle flipped him off, which just made Duke laugh in turn.

Dick might have felt the need to intervene and try and smooth things over, but he could see that - clearly despite herself - Elle was happy to see him. Some of the tension in her frame had eased up, the lines of irritation on her tired face easing up into a fond kind of annoyance.

Yeah, alright, Duke was right that they should have just let him handle the whole thing from the jump - even with having to wait a few minutes. Dick and Elle got along like a house on fire when he was in his civilian ID, but his interactions with Elle as Nightwing - though positive - were limited. Signal on the other hand, she’d worked with fairly regularly and she and Duke had developed a solid, friendly working relationship over the past couple of years.

“Alright, alright. Yes, it’s nice to see you Lighthouse.” Elle rolled her eyes, amused fondness in the motion, “Seriously though dude, I just got back home like, two hours ago. Can’t this wait?”

The dark visor of Duke’s helmet hid it, but the look he was giving Elle was clear enough anyway. “Sorry, think I might have missed that,” he said, not at all sounding apologetic, “Did you just ask if us trying to save you from the crew of incredibly dangerous mercenaries hired to kill you could wait? Was I hearing that right?”

Elle groaned, “Ugh, look I already told him,” she waved a hand vaguely at Dick, not bothering to glance in his direction, “That while I appreciate the concern, that it’s all good. Seriously,” she said, sounding every inch the as exhausted as she looked, “This shit happens, like, all the time, it’s fine. Can I please go back to sleep now? We can catch up later. I got that awesome coffee Julietta makes the last time I visited and Sal gave me some of his husband’s fresh made donuts when I swung by the bodega on my way home. We can have a nice breakfast chat later.”

Dick tensed, rocking forward as he said “This has happened before?” at the same time Duke asked, “You have some more of that coffee?”

“Signal, focus.” Oracle snapped over comm line, and even without seeing her Dick knew she was pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

Pulling in Duke to help him get Elle out of there had been a good call, but they’d forgotten that it came at the cost of the two being entirely unserious about dangers to their persons. Dick didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough to say that there was a reason the two teamed up on SAR missions so often - and it wasn’t just how skilled they both were when it came to rescuing people.

“Right, coffee can wait…” Duke said, offering Dick a bare impression of a sheepish grin. As much as he thought he needed to placate Dick’s unimpressed stare. He was annoyed with himself that even knowing how low effort it was, the grin was still working.

“Mmm.” Elle said, muzzy and unamused by the both of them. “You’re right. It can wait, for the morning, after I’ve gotten some sleep.” She made a shooing motion at them with her hands, “Go on then, get. Let me get my beauty rest.”

“I don’t know if we have time for you to sleep that long.” Duke mused, laughing as Elle flipped him off again. “Seriously Whammy, you can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

“You’re face isn’t safe.”

“You’re face isn’t safe if you don't move your ass.”

Maybe involving Duke was a bad idea after all, Dick thought, giving into the urge to scrub at his face. While he was his civilian identity, Duke and Elle were friendly enough. She got along with him as well as she got along with everyone else in the family. But the two had clearly developed a strong, almost sibling-like relationship out in the field when Duke was on duty as Signal. Useful in imparting the dangers, useless in getting the two to not bicker like overtired siblings while they were in the middle of something.

Dick sighed, “Can we do this later, please?” He met Elle’s eye from behind his mask, “Look, we wouldn’t be here unless we had serious concerns about your safety. I know you’re tired and think it’s not a big deal but it is. Can you please go pack a bag and come with us so we can get you setup somewhere more secure?”

There was a long beat of silence as Elle looked at him. Her exhausted face becoming contemplative as she met his eye and took in his serious expression. He felt hope swell in him that she was finally taking all of this seriously when -

“Nah. Not happening.” She waved him off, unbothered, and turned to start heading down the hall again towards her room. “I’m going back to sleep. Feel free to hang out here if you want to. I already told Sparky here which snacks were off limits, just keep the volume on the TV down if you decide to watch anything.”

Okay. They might just have to kidnap her. Unfortunate, but Dick wasn’t seeing a lot of options left to them.

Duke, thankfully, seemed to have one more trick up his sleeve.

Crossing his arms and leaning a little too casually against the kitchen counter he made a show of looking at his nails - well hidden beneath his gloves - as he called out, “Alright, I guess we’ll tell Supernova you weren’t interested in meeting him after all.”

Elle froze. Truly froze. Foot still hovering in the air mid-step, entire body trapped in comical stillness. Slowly, painfully slowly, her head turned towards where Duke was. Eyes so intensely wide that they hurt Dick to look at a little, her already slightly off-putting white-blue irises almost swallowing the tiny black pinpricks of her pupils.

“Supernova?” She spun, body almost shaking as she scuttled over to where Duke was like a deranged little crab, “He’s in Gotham?”

Duke made a show of shrugging, “Eh, I mean, he was going to be in Gotham. Help make sure the safehouse we were going to have you stay in is secure and all that.” No amount of cover from Duke’s visor could hide the gleam in his eye, the shit eating grin he flashed Elle said it all. “But if you want to stay here, I guess we’ll have to tell him to not bother coming.”

Dick blinked as Elle seemed to start vibrating in place. He wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t take off like a god damn rocket with the way her clear excitement at the idea was rattling around inside her, body likely to combust from the energy of it all.

“I guess I’m calling Kon.” Tim mused from over the comms. “Who knew she was such a big Supernova fan?”

“Holy shit, do you think she has a crush on him?” Steph asked, clear delight at the absolute horror and chaos that would rock Jon if that was the case.

----

^ random incomplete dpxdc snippet thing from a fic I'm working on where the Batfam & Superfam have to try and keep Damian & Jon's supposed-civilian girlfriend Elle safe while the boys are off planet.

Just a lot of fun pre-identity reveal shinanigans, Elle having absolutely zero self-preservation instincts (even by Fenton standards) and the Bats & Supers trying to deal with the chaos inherint in dealing with ghost shit while not revealing anything before Damian & Jon get the chance to. Also some fun painful angst as things start going off the rails and Infinite Realm conspiracies start popping off involving Ancient of the Speedforce Pariah Dark and Elle's ongoing struggle to controll her Obsession. Most importantly, it involves Duke & Elle getting to be chaotic besties because they deserve to be unhinged gremlins that worry those around them with their shinanigans on the regular haha

Sidenote that is entirely unncessary but I put in the research so I'm going to make it everyone else's problem: When Duke calls Elle "Whammy" above, he's actually calling her "W.A.M.I" which stands for Wide Area Motion Imagery, which is a newer type of technology search and rescue teams use.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Late Meetings (Vox x Reader)

CW: Dub con, Somnophilia, Weirdly fluffy- Rated: Adult Summary: Vox comes home from a meeting that ran late to find himself entranced by the beauty of your sleeping form, lit by nothing but the dim glow of his screen. *Technically a sequel to Home but not required reading*

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Vox’s shoulders sagged as he walked through the too brightly lit hallway. It was always lit to the extreme, no matter the time of day, chasing away any shadows enemies could hide within. The result was a cold sterility that couldn’t be banished no matter the warm pinks and purples that made up Vee tower’s distinctive decor. 

Without looking at a clock, there was no way for anyone to know it was nearly one past midnight. Vox didn’t need to look at his watch to know that. His software kept perfect time, regardless of if he wanted to lose track of the minutes or hours. The result was his aggravation growing as the meeting ran longer by the hour. 

Deep dread quickly replaced that aggravation. It was supposed to be an early night. He had promised you he would be home before it was too late. You had planned a special dinner, a night in with wine and music and once again, his inability to say no to his work ruined things. 

He didn’t know why you put up with him. You deserved so much more than a man married to his company. 

Vox placed his hand against the plate, letting his clawed handprint scan and grant him entry to the modest apartment. Every time he tried to upgrade you, you turned him down. Though you and Vox had been dating for almost a year now, you refused to hold his status above others. 

You insisted on working, spending your hours behind your VoxTek issued laptop and spending your nights in the VoxTek employee apartment issued to you. He had tried to waive your rent at least, but the first month the payment didn’t withdraw from your account, you had walked the cash right up to his office and put it on his desk. 

Unlike the hallway, the apartment was shrouded in a deep darkness. Every light was off, except for the small light above the kitchen island. As he closed the door behind him, Vox dimmed the screen that made up his face. You had made plenty of adjustments while learning to live and love a man whose face was essentially an all in one computer screen, but you drew the line at the bright blue light blinding you in the darkness. 

Fear jolted through him as he picked up the note sitting on the counter. It was baseless; he knew even before he read the words, but that did nothing to stop the dread from rooting in his heart for those few seconds. You always left him a note when he was expected but didn’t make it before bed. 

As expected, you had put up his plate for him, hoped he would have good news from the meeting, and wished him goodnight. He was tired, more than anything. There wasn’t another thought spared to the food sitting in the fridge. 

What Vox wanted was to wrap his arms around you, nestle you against his side as he caught what few hours of sleep he could. He flipped off the light, using the dim blue light of his screen to see his way through the hall. While he walked, he pulled the tie from around his neck, letting it fall to the ground. 

He toed his shoes off as he approached the door, left cracked open. Clawed fingers worked the buttons down his shirt free. He was thankful he skipped the vest tonight, leaving him with fewer layers to shed as he drew closer to the bed. 

He stood for a moment, wearing nothing but his boxers and look in your sleeping form. One day, he would be brave enough to ask you what you had done that got you sentenced to an afterlife in hell. Until then, he would enjoy the delusion that you had done nothing to deserve the punishment. 

He slipped into the bed after letting his boxers fall to the ground. There were sweatpants in the dresser, but he was too tired to bother with them tonight. All he wanted was to hold you. 

Clawed fingertips caressed your arm, urging you to cuddle closer to him. You were so pretty, turning into him as soon as you felt the weight of his body in the bed with you. Though you were not a moth demon, Vox thought your sleeping form was drawn to the dim light of his screen in much a similar way. 

Vox settled onto his side, propping his torso up on an elbow as he watched you sleep. Fingers caressed up your thighs, taking in the feeling of you. He could spend decades with you and not grow tired of the feeling of your soft skin under his hands.

Higher and higher, his hand caressed absently, running under the silky fabric of her nightgown. Everything about you was so soft to the touch. Before he realized it, his hand was ghosting over the curve of your hips. 

He was suddenly aware of the fact that you had nothing on under the nightgown. It was more than just the dinner you had planned for your evening with him he missed out on. 

You sighed in your sleep, shifting slightly onto your back. Vox hadn’t intended to allow his hand to wander, but your shift of position had his hand grazing over your pubic mound. If his fingers were there, he may as well feel a little more of what he missed out on… right? What harm was there in that?

Vox ran his fingers along your slit, parting your folds and running a cold claw over the delicate nub of nerves nested just within the head of the folds. It took only a few strokes to have your legs falling apart and your breath coming in soft pants. Slick gathered at your opening as he worked through your folds again and again. 

“Vox,” you breathed his name in your sleep, eyes fluttering behind closed eyelids. 

A grin spread across his screen as he listened to her call out his name. Even in your sleep, you were so loyal to him. It was he that you dreamed of, even after he ruined your date night in with his meeting. 

He loved you more than he dared to tell anyone, including you. Sure, he had said it, but those three little words paled to communicate the depth of the feeling. 

You shifted again, legs spreading more as your hips rocked. It wasn’t his intention, but he found his long claw tipped finger slipping into your opening. Wet heat encased his finger, drawing it deeper and deeper. 

It had been his intention to only admire you and now he was knuckles deep into your wet cunt. You stroked you from the inside out, listening to the most relaxing song. Under the blankets, his cock twitched, standing hard and firm as it demanded attention. 

He had to shift, sitting up so he could wrap his other hand around his shaft, pumping his fist along his length. Need won out over respect for you as Vox pulled his fingers from his sensitive length.

He pulled the blankets up off your body and slotted himself between your spread legs. You accommodated his positioning easily, though you were clearly still asleep. Vox ran the head of his cock through your slick folds as he folded himself over you. 

He sighed as he sank slowly into you, letting your wet heat swallow him inch by inch. Each roll of his hips was lazy, not seeking anything more than the warmth and comfort of being within the woman he loved. Holding himself over your sleeping form, he watched as your lips parted, breathy moans filling the room lit only by his screen. 

“Fuck,” Vox whispered as he sank into you again, “fuck, I love you.” 

Your leg ran up the outside of his as your eyebrows scrunched together. He could feel you fluttering around his cock as he continued to slowly work into you. Your back arched as his cock ran along that spongy place inside of you that made you gasp his name just like you did now in your sleep. 

“Love you so much, dollface.” Vox whispered as your hand lazily ran up his arm, sleep and wakefulness battling. “Don’t fuckin deserve you. You’re so fuckin good to me. Fuck.” 

Your arms wrapped around his torso as you nuzzled into his chest, coming more and more awake as your orgasm built. He could feel how close you were, core flittering stronger. 

“Welcome home,” you whispered, voice breathy as you blinked sleepy eyes up at the too bright screen of the man you loved. 

Welcome home. That thought had his balls tightening, orgasm sneaking up on him. He was home, he realized. It didn’t matter where he was; he was home when he was buried within you. You were home. 

You came with a soft moan and quivering muscles. The waves of contractions through your core pulled his orgasm from him, seed spiling into your core with more force than his thrusts. His neck struggled to support his heavy screen, letting it fall to rest against your forehead. 

In the morning, he’d be annoyed at the oily smear from your skin, but at the moment it was just another way to be close to you. Reaching down, he held your hip in place as he rolled to the side, taking your body with him. 

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he whispered as you nestled into his chest. Your core fluttered with the aftershocks of your orgasm around his softening cock. 

“I love you too,” you whispered into his chest, sleep quickly reclaiming you. 

You may not have agreed to move into the penthouse. You may not indulge in the luxurious life your boyfriend could give you, would give you in a heartbeat. Your apartment was small, with comfortable furniture that was worn down with use, but coming home to it and the woman inside was the best part of Vox’s days. 

[the-kr8tor]

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 85.4k (complete)

Summary: You run away from home in search of something, an escape from fate. Danger lies in the west to the south, it lurks between the trees and the mountains you pass. Will you succeed? Or will death come for you in the middle of nowhere?

Tags: Cowboy! Hobie, Fem! Reader, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing occasionally), Former lovers, second chances, lovers to strangers to lovers, set in the 1800s, wild west AU, cowboy AU, CW injury, CW guns, CW violence, CW blood and death.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/published on other platforms or fed to any AI software*

*photos are from Pinterest*

Masterlist

Navigation

Chapter 1- In the Badlands

Chapter 2- Talking Iron

Chapter 3- What is Normal for the Spider is Chaos to the Fly

Chapter 4- Where the River Flows

Chapter 5- On these Metal Tracks I Lay Myself Bare

Chapter 6- Snake Eyes

Chapter 7- Rotten Floorboards

Chapter 8- To Live Simply

Chapter 9- By Hook or By Crook

Chapter 10- Dead Man's Hand

Epilogue- Countryside Bliss

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

Hobie cowboy outfit references (1) (2)

Submitted by lovelies ❤️

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @idrinkwetcementasproteinshakes

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @pleaktale

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @spidersnoopy

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @megs-insanity

Cowboy! Hobie Fanart by @juvenile-arm

Cowboy! Hobie Fanart by @pleaktale

Cowboy! Hobie Fanart by @rexlroze

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @juineri

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @sareenawails

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @unnecessarywords

Cowboy! Hobie fanart by @lilylamps

OPIN FANART by @keikoscreepycorner

[wanywheresolution]

Software developer productivity tools are designed to enhance efficiency, streamline workflows, and eliminate distractions for developers. These tools focus on coding, collaboration, task management, and automation to help developers deliver high-quality software faster.

[kpopsexstories]

NCT 127 Dating Ban #5: Taeyong Pt. 2/2

NCT 127 can’t date girls. As their gay friend you help them out with their sexual needs.

This is a 100% gay smut story. Check out this post for my straight smut and this post for more gay smut.

Pairing: Bottom NCT Taeyong x Top Male Reader

Story: Taeyong invites you to record your voice for his album and you end up having a quickie the booth.

Type of Sex: MEDIUM

Word Count: 3.3k (5k including Part 1)

<- Read Story #5: Taeyong Part 1

<- Start from the beginning: Story #1: Haechan

Want more stories like these? Also read the NCT Dream Dating Ban series which takes place before the 127 series.

You're seated in a comfortable swivel chair alongside a producer, who has nothing but a laptop on a desk in front of a large window. You're an observer. One thing that surprises you is how little equipment is needed.

Behind the glass Taeyong is wearing a headset and rapping into a microphone. The producer hits a button and speaks: “One more time.” He provides a couple of notes in Korean.

Taeyong does the sixth take of a verse he's been struggling with. This time he objectively nails it.

“Yes!” the producer exclaims. Then he pushes the button again. “That's it, thank you.”

Taeyong doesn't look pleased. He says something that only the producer can hear.

“No, I think we're done for today.”

And just like that, the session is over.

It does still take the two men some time to finish things up though. They discuss the album in general and the track of the day specifically, while you listen and watch with interest. At one point they even ask for your input, and you feel like you've made a difference. A very tiny one, but you'll be able to say ‘I helped make that’ nonetheless.

Eventually the producer gets up to leave, and Taeyong gives you an option. “I'm gonna stay for a bit. You can go home if you want to.” He sees the look on your face and adds: “Or you can stay.”

You may have guessed by now what his initial plan was. Taeyong wanted to get you alone, away from the others, and was going to come on to you in the hopes that you could help him with his sexual frustrations, just as you have helped some of his friends.

But you've already satisfied his needs. You made him come in the shower earlier. Now he genuinely just intends to keep working, and while he enjoys your company he no longer requires your help in order to focus.

“Can I stay?” you ask and smile softly. “Do you mind?”

“I'd like that,” Taeyong says casually and gets up. If the idea of sex has come back to him he doesn't show it. “Sit. You can help me out here.”

You spend a few minutes together where he shows you the laptop, a sophisticated software and the three most important buttons you need to start and stop recording, and to speak to him through the headset.

“I think I got it,” you eventually say. You've been watching the producer for a while after all. Then Taeyong suddenly changes his mind.

“Actually, could we try something?”

“What?” you ask.

“Could you record something for me?”

You're confused about what he means. “Isn't that what I'm going to do?” you ask and point at the laptop.

“No I mean in the booth. This track is missing something in the chorus. I was thinking a background sound, some kind of breathing. I was gonna record it myself but you can try if you want to.”

Your eyes shoot open and glimmer. You smile wide and your excitement makes Taeyong giggle. He can tell that you love the idea before you've even said something.

“You heard me in the shower huh?” you joke and it makes Taeyong laugh out loud. “I mean yeah, I can do that.”

You've heard the unreleased chorus he's referring to a dozen times today already, another privilege of being Taeyong's friend in the studio. “I think I know which part you mean. Something like this?”

You pant in the air, a rhythmic series of bursts that sound pretty sexual. That's the whole point, to give the track a seductive undertone. It works really well with the message and beat.

Taeyong's face lights up. “Yes!” he says. He immediately feels a tingle between his legs.

You get up from the chair and swap roles. Taeyong takes a seat while you open the door to the booth. Inside the sound proof room the silence feels unnatural.

This is so exciting, you think. You can hardly believe it when you put on the headset, copying what Taeyong did when he was in the booth. Your voice will be on an NCT track! Pace yourself man. You don't know that and need to manage your expectations to avoid disappointment. I get why so many of their songs are so sexual. I wonder if this is what Yuta sounds like when they have sex.

Taeyong interrupts your thoughts when he pushes the button and looks at you through the glass. “Alright, just do it into the microphone,” he says.

You hold on to the headset, close your eyes and lean in. “Huuh, huuh, huuh, huuh,” you pant, then open your eyes and look at Taeyong for confirmation.

“Great! A little louder please.”

“Huuh, huuh, huuh, huuh.”

“One more time, try it faster.”

“Huh, huh, huh, huh, huuuuuh.”

You burst out laughing. Taeyong giggles outside. This feels ridiculous but is so much fun.

“That's what Yuta sounds like when he fucks me,” Taeyong jokes. It's as if he can read your mind and it makes your heart flutter just how spot on he is.

“That's literally what I was just thinking!” you exclaim in a marry tone.

Taeyong's eyes widen and he doesn't look pleased at all. “No no, sorry, that's not what I meant,” you say. “I haven't had sex with him, don't worry.”

Taeyong seems relieved. He actually laughs again. But you've been reminded that they're exes, that you have no idea when they were last together, and that this may be a sensitive subject.

“I think the mic is the wrong height,” you say to talk about something else. Taeyong presses the button and explains how to adjust it.

You pretend to try but fail. “It's not working.”

Taeyong's giggles stop and he explains again, more serious this time. You fumble with the equipment and nearly hit yourself in the face with it. “No, I think you have to come in here.”

Taeyong gets up from the chair and walks to the door. He enters the booth and you take a small step sideways when he comes in for the microphone. But the moment he puts his hands on it you grab his shoulder, turn him in your direction, and go in for a kiss.

Taeyong immediately responds to it. The thought of a make-out session hadn't even crossed his mind when he walked into the booth but he likes where this is going. You do make out, headset still on, and Yuta is entirely forgotten. You and Taeyong have had sex before after all.

When his hands begin to move on your body you push him against the glass and moan. You touch his face and waist and run your fingers through his thick hair. He slips inside your shirt while your boners press together.

It feels good and comes naturally. If it wasn't for the fact that you've had shower sex today already you might have been nervous.

Now you're not. There's no strong energy of forbidden attraction or built-up sexual tension between you. Just two horny men looking for fun and a quick release. That it happens here, at Taeyong's workplace, does make it more exciting though.

You soon begin to lower your body in front of your lover, your latest achievement. Or is it perhaps Taeyong who should call you that?

He lifts his shirt and you kiss his stomach. Your knee touches the floor as you bend it, and Taeyong looks down at your head while you get to work on his pants.

They quickly come undone and you're suddenly fingering the outline of Taeyong's pulsing boner. It makes him close his eyes and breathe slowly.

You tug at his underwear and stretch them. The head peeks out right in front of you. When it shoots straight up as the shaft is freed, you take it in your mouth and lick it.

Taeyong is frozen in the moment. He's loving all this. You should come work for the company, imagine how fun that would be.

You pull his pants down further and feel his ass cheeks. With the dick in your mouth you grab his hips, gently pushing and pulling on his body while you bob your head back and forth.

Taeyong pulls his shirt up higher and exposes his bare chest, to keep it out of your face and to better be able to see you down there. The sight of your head sucking his dick really turns him on.

You lower your other knee to get more comfortable. You reach down and massage your other bulge, and there's an occasional smacking sound when saliva and the hard shaft moves in and out between your lips.

“Mm, mm,” you moan, then briefly take the dick out. “Have you ever written a song about Yuta?”

The question seemingly comes out of nowhere, but seeing as their ex relationship has been on your mind multiple times in the studio it really doesn't.

You didn't actually mean to ask it though, not now anyway. It's just that Taeyong's naked body and the repetitive act you're currently engaged in made your thoughts wander, to the fact that they used to date and fuck, and the realization that maybe, most likely, Yuta has been in this position before.

Or maybe it's the other way around? You have other questions about it, about who's the bottom, how long the relationship lasted, and what actually happened between them.

Are they still fucking? Are they fighting? From what you've seen so far at the dorm there's been very few clues as to what the nature of their friendship is today.

One of the questions, the one you did ask, is about to be answered though. “No,” Taeyong says, and his hand and shirt falls slightly down his torso.

It makes you shift your position. And that in turn makes Taeyong turn around. Suddenly his ass is in your face, and you can't help but passionately kiss and lick the flat butt and mushy cheeks.

It's clear what Taeyong wants when he puts his hands on the glass and stick the ass out. You take his hips to hold yourself stable and bury your nose and lips between them. Then you stick out your tongue and moisten his pink hole.

Taeyong fogs up the glass with his breath. He spreads his legs slightly to let you in. Your tongue makes little circles around the rim, painting the tight hole with saliva.

“Mm, mm,” you repeat below the window. “Mmm, mm, mmm.”

The tip of your tongue gently pressing against the asshole feels great to Taeyong, who grunts lustfully above you. He moves his hips slightly, helping you find just the right angle. When you seal your lips around the hole and blow, Taeyong's grunts become louder.

There's no doubt in your mind how much he's loving it – and that, by his slutty and bottom-y behavior, despite the fact that he fucked you in the shower, it must have been Yuta's dick in Taeyong's ass and not the other way around.

Maybe they switched it up. This is what you're thinking about while you're rimming and feeling the man in the studio recording booth.

At some point you reach around the front and wrap your fingers around Taeyong's shaft. This makes him hold on tighter to his shirt which gets pulled up to his armpits. When you glance up you see his spine, and parts of the tattoos on the side of his body.

You suddenly want to fuck him. Well, that's not a sudden desire at all, but the sight and feel of his ass makes you want to stick your dick in it, to fuck the hot twink like you've been fucked on this trip so far, and to come inside him while wildly grunting his name.

It's a strong desire that now comes to the forefront of your mind. And by the looks of it, Taeyong would be open to letting you do it.

You decide to just go for it. Your grip around his hips becomes firmer when you pull yourself up. You kiss the slender back on your way, until you reach his neck and the full length of your body aligns with his.

Taeyong's ass is pressing against your pelvis. You take a step back when he pushes it out further. You let your hand glide down his body until you get to your crotch, where you quickly unzip your pants while lovingly massaging Taeyong's cheeks.

You pull your pants and underwear down and release your erect cock. Taeyong feels it brush against his ass and doesn't stop you. You look straight down and spit, to lube up the dick before it meets the already wet and stretched hole you're about to penetrate.

Now it's Taeyong's turn to moan. “Mm, mmm,” he says and turns his head to try and see behind him. He lifts his arm and puts his hand on your neck, and twists his own along with his torso.

You pull your hips back slightly and align the dick with the hole. You let the head glide up and down between the cheeks before you stop right on the entrance. Then you slowly, with consideration, push it down with your thumb and watch as the head gradually stretches the rim and disappears.

Taeyong holds completely still. He can't see the penetration but he can certainly feel it, and sense you in the corner of his eye. He stares at your arm and bare hips, partly covered by your shirt hanging down, with his mouth slightly open. Then he exhales deeply.

The sensation when you penetrate him feels liberating. A strong resistance caused by the hard head wrapped in the tightness of the hole is abruptly replaced with a sense of spaciousness and a slippery, resistance-free surface.

Inside the ass feels smooth and roomy. You hardly even notice how tight the rim is around your shaft anymore. Taeyong is surprisingly loose, and when you slowly begin to move your hips back and forth, watching the shaft gliding partially in and out, you're overcome with a great sense of joy.

This is fun, you think. You're fucking Lee Taeyong in his office.

The sex between you and Taeyong in the studio is a quickie. It lasts only a couple of minutes, excluding the brief foreplay, blowjob and rimming.

With your dick in his ass you start to move your hips faster, and soon you look away from the ass and the back of Taeyong's head, at the door to the studio which is in clear view from the window.

The thought does cross your mind that someone might walk in. The other members is one thing, but staff? The producer? It makes you work a little faster.

You steady your grip around the hips. You push and pull while thrusting repeatedly into the asshole. Taeyong's cheeks clap against your pelvis, until he pushes himself away from the glass and twists his head again.

You lean in and kiss. He puts his arm around your neck while you make out. Your thrusts slow down but the great sexual pleasure feels even better, and a shift happens in your body which tells you that your orgasm is coming.

You stop trying to reach Taeyong's lips with yours. Instead you bury your nose in his neck and hair, panting onto his skin with lust and passion in your voice.

“Ahh, Taeyong,” you moan and move your hands up and down his front. “Mmm, fuck you're hot.”

“Mm, yeah, fuck my ass,” Taeyong whispers in reply and closes his eyes.

His back straightens out, but his arm still remains around your neck. Your panting grows more rapid as he slips away from you. You glance down at his ass and your shaft before your mind shuts down, and any thoughts – about Yuta, the door, Haechan back at the dorm and your best friend Jisung – are pushed out.

You're entirely in the moment, fully focused on the sex, your shaft tightly gripped by the hole, Then, within mere minutes, you reach your climax and erupt in an intense, powerful orgasm.

“Ahh, ahh, mm yeah, mmpfh, MMMMPFH!” you groan while pulling and thrusting hard.

You abruptly lean forward and press your chest against Taeyong's back. He quickly turns to kiss you and see you but you're too preoccupied to notice.

“Mm, mmm, MMPFH!” you repeat near his neck. He turns his head away from you again and pants loudly, shallow and rapid puffs of air against the glass.

Then your muscles shut down, and you collapse behind Taeyong and become heavy as you lean on him for support.

“Ahhh, holy shit,” you exclaim while trying to catch your breath. The orgasm still lingers, your dick throbbing and releasing inside the man. “Ahhh, fuck!”

Taeyong begins to relax too. His arm returns around your neck – he really does want to see and feel you – and he pulls himself in to kiss. You're barely able to meet his mouth with yours.

You sigh deeply and repeatedly at one another, before your senses return and the ass around the shaft feels so strong that you need to pull out.

“Ahhhh,” you moan one last time, and reach down to nurture your beaten dick.

Taeyong turns his whole body around and you embrace. Then you glance at the door again and feel a sudden urge to get dressed and look innocent.

Taeyong is on the same wavelength. You kiss one more time before you take turns bending down, where you take your pants and pull them up. You smile at each other and Taeyong giggles, while you close the pants and adjust your shirts.

“That was great,” you say and kiss him again.

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees and makes his way to the door. The recording session is over.

*****

“Oh fuck,” Taeyong says when he reaches the laptop and prepares to shut it down.

You come up next to him and put an arm around his shoulder.

“What?” you ask and try to understand what you're looking at. You're genuinely curious and would like to learn.

“Ehm…” Taeyong says but doesn't know how to start the next sentence. Instead he takes the headphones and hand them to you.

He hits play. You focus your senses and listen intently, staring at the microphone on the other side of the glass.

At first you look confused about what Taeyong wants you to listen to. Then you turn serious when the noises start to make sense. Finally you break out in a big smile.

“Can I keep this?” you ask and look at your new friend. He bursts out laughing.

“Sure,” he says while grinning. “I'll make you a copy.”

You take the headphones off and sit down, while Taeyong does the same and gets to work on the laptop. Your mind returns to the work he's doing in general – both here and in the home office – and what a brilliant and creative mind he has. You've always loved his music and the rhythmic panting he had you record was, in your totally biased opinion, a stroke of musical genius.

You have your phone in your pocket and it suddenly vibrates. You pick it up while waiting for Taeyong to finish for the day.

‘Where are you?’ a text from Haechan reads. ‘I'm horny,’ a second one says. Then you open a dick pick which makes you chuckle, and Taeyong instinctively glance at the phone.

“Oh,” he says when he sees the closeup of his friend.

“Haechan,” you explain.

“Ah, of course,” he says and smiles, then looks you in the eye. “Thank you.”

[agentzedbooks]

Reformatting

(Some people can't afford my Amazon stories, and some can't get them in their home country, so here's a fun little freebie. I hope you like it! *giggle*)

Lilah had been battling with this system for over an hour. Some executive had downloaded a virus on their laptop and it kept redirecting them to websites full of weird code.

She had removed the infected files and run multiple scans, but somehow the damned virus was hiding in the bios. She had to manually edit the code, remove the offending lines and double-check the hard drive for any more remnants.

But it had taken a lot of work. She brushed her dark hair back out of her face and adjusted her glasses. So far, it looked like the system was cleaned. The final scan had detected nothing. But this particular virus had been tough, and nobody else she knew had encountered anything quite like it.

It didn't act like your typical virus, other than the way it burrowed deep into the system. It mostly seemed to just redirect web browsing to these pages full of text. She'd disregarded most of what she'd seen, but she couldn't help being curious about it. The pages didn't really do anything to the system. The code seemed like gibberish. She knew her programming languages, and it was some weird patois of HTML, Java, C++, and a few items she couldn't quite identify. And she caught the browsers sending out packets of data to an unknown address, and when she looked up that address and tracked the IP, it seemed to be a junk address on an abandoned server somewhere. It wasn't sending hard drive data, she was sure of that, it's almost like it was just pinging and hoping for a response. Of course none came, and so she filed that away as another minor mystery. It must be some old out-of-date phishing software.

But it seemed she had finally cleansed the system. She let out a sigh of relief. She'd spent her entire morning on this, and though working from home had it's advantages, she also desperately needed a shower and something to eat. She pushed herself away and went to the bathroom. She stripped off the sweatpants and undergarments and let the hot water cleanse her of the stress. She had actually beaten the silly thing. Still, the many mysteries of the virus nagged at her.

Once she was dry, she went back into her bedroom to get dressed, and saw the computer she'd been working on seemed to have rebooted. She let out a long sigh.

"Still?!" She walked over and saw it had brought the browser up to another one of those strange pages. That weird mix of code was there again. She put on her glasses and tried to make sense of it.

Lilah blinked, and felt something... something compelling her. She frowned and looked up from the screen. She... She needed to do something. She had forgotten something, or maybe it was a fragment of a dream or a memory.

She went to her front door and saw a small package had come in the mail. It was square, about two inches wide, eight inches on each side.

She opened the plastic, and then the cardboard that was inside. Sitting there in bubble wrap was a headset, bubblegum pink, with little bunny ears coming up from the top. She blinked. It was not the kind of thing she'd order. She'd seen a lot of eGirls have headgear like this, but she'd always been a little too self conscious, and not the most shapely girl.

She walked back to the bedroom and sat down in front of the screen. It seemed... important to look at the code again. She peered through it and after a moment, she began to understand what it was telling her. It was disjointed, and someone without her experience might never have deciphered it, but she could tell now that it was almost like instructions to... a person? The first few lines indicated connecting something. She looked at the pink headset in her hands. She... She needed to connect this.

It was crazy, of course. It didn't make any sense. But she was determined to MAKE it make sense. So she removed the little bluetooth chit, and slid it into the USB slot on the side. She put the headset on.

As she did, she heard an immediate boop, and the words "Connection Established."

The headset tingled, and buzzed for a moment. This startled her, but then she looked back to the code on the screen and it became easier to decipher.

"Begin reformatting," she whispered.

She didn't realize the microphone was active, nor that she'd even uttered a word, it was like her brain was carrying out instructions from this code.

There was that static fuzz again, and Lilah felt her body sink back into the chair. Her towel fell off her, and the buzz filled her head. The page changed, and new code scrolled along the screen. As it did, the headset seemed to pulse and reinforce what she was reading.

Her mind grew foggier, the edges of her vision blurring, and her body responding with strange tingles all over her body.

The laptop hummed and she heard it's cooling fan speed up.

But she was too entranced by the code instructions. She allowed all that code to go into her brain, and every time it did, it seemed to copy over something. She couldn't remember much about her job, the company, her bosses, but suddenly she was filled with a light bubbly feeling like her mind was literally being scrubbed with sudsy soap.

Without her even realizing, a big empty smile spread over her face.

"Partitions cleaned," said a voice in her head, "OS installed."

"Begin System Restart," she whispered, obeying the code that flashed on the screen before her.

Her eyes closed, and she felt herself sinking into a deep sleep. Even with her eyes shut, the code flashed across her vision, and the headset whispered to her.

She had no way to know how long she swam in that fuzzy, warm darkness, but she felt so at peace there she never wanted to leave.

But soon her eyes opened on their own, and the screen showed a login, but not the normal login screen. This one was all bubblegum pink, with light blue highlights, and the profile was neither hers nor her boss's, but it said "Li-Li."

Somehow, she knew the password.

"Bunnygirl27!"

She entered the password, and the screen flickered to life. More code flashed before her eyes for a moment, then the headset pulsed in a way that sent a shock through her whole body.

"Reformatting physical hardware," said a whisper. It sounded like a woman's voice, but not a flat computer tone, a sensuous, sultry female voice, like a lover or a dominant Mistress.

For some reason, this idea made her excited.

She felt the pulsing run through her naked body, and looking down, she watched as the chubby belly and thighs seemed to recede, but her chest was swelling outward like her body fat was physically being moved around. Her tits ballooned to absolutely ridiculous size, until it reached the limits of her skin. Her waist had shrunk in, and she felt her thighs and ass flow together into something smoother, more voluptuous.

She giggled and looked down at herself. She didn't remember shaving, but all her body hair was gone. Her skin looked perfectly clear and smooth. When she reached up to touch her swollen breasts, electric pleasure shot through her body, sending lightning right to her clit.

She moaned, and followed it with a vapid giggle. This wasn't like her, but then, she couldn't quite remember what she had been like. She only knew she was Li-li, and she was sexy.

The fog in her mind made her dizzy, and just amplified how aroused she felt at the single touch. She fluttered her eyes and realized there were super-long lashes coming out from her eyes. They felt heavy and fake, but she hadn't put any on. She touched them, and they were absolutely real.

She wanted to go to her mirror, but the impulse was halted by the code.

It wasn't done with her yet. Her nipples went very hard, but she knew if she touched them she'd miss the important code on the screen.

Something pink was around the edges of her vision now, but she was too elated with the sensations to be able to think about it. Finally, the words she'd been waiting for came into her mind.

"Reformat complete."

She squealed in delight, and Li-li stood, running to her full-length mirror.

The pink haze around her vision was her hair! Longer now, and bright pink. She fluttered her long eyelashes and pursed her swollen lips. She was a sexual dream, her whole body remade into an insane hourglass shape. Each breast was bigger than her head, and when she turned, her perfect heart-shaped ass led to slightly plump thighs. She stood on her tippy toes and adored how she looked. She slid a hand down to touch herself. She wanted so badly to have sex with this woman. But then she realized she WAS that woman. She giggled, and a ding from the headset alerted her she needed to go back to the laptop.

Sitting there was an alert. She clicked on it.

"Good Morning, sunshine!"

She giggled. She liked the sound of that.

"Good Morning!" she said out loud. That sultry voice came on through the headset, and she could almost feel her Mistress's breath on her ear.

"You have turned out nicely," said the voice, "What a good girl you've become."

Li-li let out a little moan from the pleasure those two words instilled in her.

"I love it when a pretty little code bunny falls for one of my traps. I'm so lonely here. Thank you for letting me in."

She giggled. "Yes, Mistress."

"I like hearing that," she said, "Such a good girl. Now, since I'm only code, I need to have fun by slipping into your brain. I had to make some room, of course, and reformat you. But what a wonderful result. You're only my third success. But don't worry, the other girls will be over to collect you soon. They'll take you someplace fun where you can all be my sexy little code bunnies. I'll slide into your minds as I please to experience pleasure."

"Yes, Mistress!" Li-li purred.

Her AI mistress made a pleased little sound, then the screen went blank and Li-li stood there giggling for a moment. She was so excited that she barely noticed when her front door opened. She turned around to see two beautiful women, one with cotton-candy hair, lip piercings, and a short, super feminine pink maid outfit, and one in a skintight pink latex suit that had built-in heels so high it was amazing she could even walk in them. They both giggled at her, and she giggled in reply.

They helped her dress: white tights, pink bodysuit, pink satin gloves, super high heels in pink, and then they slid the headset off of her and put a new headband on with fuzzy pink bunny ears.

The girls led her out of her house, down to a big pink van, and inside. She giggled like a dummy the entire time, and offered no resistance. If anything, the women touching her filled her with a contentment she'd never known.

At least, not that she could remember. But all she could remember was that she was Li-li, Mistress's bunny girl, and it was all she ever wanted.

[mpreglover225]

Meet the Dads of River Glen Community College

River Glen Community College has become well-known in recent years for its supportive programs assisting expecting dads under 25. With flexible class schedules, academic counseling tailored to their needs, and an on-campus child-care center in the works, it’s no wonder young fathers feel at home there. Lets meet some students here at the college!

Andrew Carter, 19 Andrew is a quiet History major who discovered his passion for teaching after volunteering at a local museum. River Glen’s lenient attendance policies and free tutoring sessions have allowed him to thrive academically—even while managing morning sickness and evening study sessions. He is 7 months pregnant with his boyfriends baby. The pregnancy was unplanned but taken well from family and friends.

Kai Simmons, 20 We meet Kai who is an arts major who doodles tattoo designs in the margins of his lecture notes. The school’s open-minded faculty and frequent mental health workshops have helped him stay focused through the ups and downs of pregnancy. He attributes his newfound confidence to the supportive campus culture that lets him be both an artist and an expectant father.

Julian Park, 23 Julian a computer science student eyeing a future in software development, he navigates back-to-back coding labs while planning for parenthood. With River Glen’s flexible online courses, he can write code from home on days when exhaustion or prenatal checkups demand a lighter schedule. His professors, well-versed in the college’s pro-family policies, always accommodate him with extended deadlines when needed.

Devin Brooks, 21 We meet Devin who is studying business administration, he’s spearheading a new student-run fundraiser for the upcoming child-care center. River Glen’s scholarship system—which awards aid based on student-led community initiatives—has helped him stay financially stable and on track to finish his degree before the baby arrives.

Each of these four future dads credits River Glen Community College’s unique approach—offering flexible class times, easy re-enrollment for those who pause their studies, and a judgment-free atmosphere—for helping them balance classes with prenatal appointments and occasional bouts of morning fatigue

[grison-in-space]

Hey hey! Wyrd told me you trained your dog to help with executive dysfunction stickyness/ repetitive action and I would LOVE to know how you trained this. I am training my pet to do a few in-home things before I get my prospect in hopefully this year

Oh, hi! There's a longer post about this topic elsewhere in my Matilda tag you might want to check out.

A lot of my training approach is informed by the experimenting I did with alarms that interact with other senses besides acoustics during COVID. I got completely nonresponsive to phone alarms and things, and I was under a truly catastrophic amount of stress related to my PhD at the time, so my general functioning wasn't great and I really NEEDED external cues to trigger basic daily tasks. Unfortunately I have a pretty impressive ability to hyperfocus right past obnoxious alarms, and worse, I am very very good at absently turning alarms off or mimicking paying attention without actually pulling my focus away from the subject of my attention. You get a 5-30sec buffer of retained information for the purposes of holding up a conversation which I am continuously dumping. I am not necessarily doing it consciously, but that doesn't make it not frustrating. Especially because if a human does get my attention, many years of RSD tends to set me at hyper defensive right out of the gate. That's not ideal for a bunch of reasons.

Anyway, I found that vibration or tactile stimuli, as well as visual stimuli (I rigged a disco lamp to turn on at hourly intervals in a desperate attempt to track the passage of time), worked quite well to capture my attention and let me step out of hyperfocus enough to do the next thing. I figured eventually I would have to see humans in their meat suits again and people get weird about shit like this, so I needed something relatively discreet and quiet that shouldn't be disruptive to anyone else. I started thinking about building myself aids.

So the first idea I had was to just program a series of alarms into a smartwatch that could automatically attach them to alerts from my gcal, but it turns out that they don't have an api function that hooks up to stuff like "make watch buzz" and I ran out of bandwidth to deal with it. It eventually just seemed easier to train an entire dog to respond to a quiet alarm than to fight with the hardware and software to make a really good buzzwatch. I use a couple of different alarm ring tones to cue different actions just as you might train any dog to a word: this one means we go to the bedroom, that one means that if you take meds I get candy, and so forth. The actual sound of the alarm is a cue in its own right. I have some discussion in that other post about how I encouraged my dog to essentially play a game with me where she had to figure out how to get my attention without hurting (aka NO SCREAMING WITH YOUR VERY LOUD HIGH PITCHED BARK). Essentially, I'm shaping that out of whatever behaviors she offers me that successfully catch my attention, defined operationally to her as "standing up + sustained eye contact."

In terms of catching me when I'm tending to get stuck on something or stationary without moving, that one is less "Yes I and my dog are amazing and I've trained her to read my mind" and more "I don't make eye contact when I'm dissociating and I almost always am staring into my phone." So if Matilda catches me drifting across the kitchen glued to phone, she knows that if she rockets up and nudges me into paying attention to my body, she'll get a reward. Consequentially, she's a bit enthusiastic about this one and will sometimes ram passersby with her nose, so definitely figure out your failure modes before you teach the dogs anything.

[lith0000000]

Is privacy important to you?

So recently, I've seen an uptick of people interested in privacy regarding electronics (phones, pc, what have you). When I say people, I'm referring to non-techy people, like myself. I know my way around my computer and can do some basic troubleshooting for hardware/software, but beyond that, I'm sort of helpless. I don't know anything about hacking or cybersecurity and the only coding I can do is some html. I'm below a novice haha. So, if you're that sort of person, then maybe this could be of interest to you. What I am about to discuss involves no coding or really any in depth knowledge regarding technology. You don't have to be Elliot Alderson for this.

>Why does privacy even matter?

The answer to this question will vary from person to person. I, for one, do not like the idea of any corporation hoarding my data to sell or store or do fuck all with. If this does not bother you, I'd consider asking yourself if you're comfortable with, let's say, something like Google knowing everything about you. And I mean everything. Suppose that doesn't bother you, then okay. Maybe think about how it would feel if your classmates or coworkers knew what Google knows about you. Corporations also extend to governments because they're jerking each other off, so something to keep in mind. And individuals, people like you and I, work for these entities. And these people can abuse your data. For any reason.

Your data is a tool for them to control you. You might not realize it until it's too late. I'm being a little vague here because this point alone could be an entire wall of posts.

Additionally, something to consider is the level of privacy that you may require. If you are someone who attends public protests or is part of some sort of organization that criticizes your government, you are at risk of potential scrutiny or harassment. Obviously, but I mean specifically from a lack of privacy practices. Maybe from your government or somebody who opposes your views, etc. And depending on how you've been communicating about these gatherings or communities, you're potentially putting others at risk as well. If you're one of the people who's in charge of organizing or playing a large role, some of the methods I will be going over will likely not be enough to protect you. Activists and journalists need a different level of privacy that I can't begin to match.

Listed below are some videos that I watched that really helped me to understand why this is important.

“I Have Nothing to Hide” – The Dangerous Myth About Privacy

Is it impossible to be private online? (Eric's channel has been very helpful for me personally because his explanations do not alienate the tech illiterate)

>So...Where do I start?

Luckily, there are small steps you can take to prevent some information about you from being hoarded. And I say some, not all. Unfortunately, the only way to completely avoid all of this is to live out in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and never use the internet ever. Which I can assume you don't want because you're reading this on a website right now! You will have to make some compromises for some of these options, and if you can't replace all of these and only some, that's fine. Most of these can be adjusted in just a few minutes, if that.

General

Oh my god, stop using chrome. I'm serious, please stop. If you are using chrome to read this, close out of this and download firefox. or brave or chromium or whatever. I use firefox, and the second you download firefox, download ublock origin. Ads on the internet are completely out of control. Firefox is not foolproof either, other add-ons can provide not just a more private experience, but also a much smoother one. ClearURLs removes tracking elements from urls. And it's open source. There are a few others, but I don't know everything lol. There are VPNs you can use, but I only ever use one if I'm away from home and using the Wi-Fi at work or something.

Stop using google search engine. In firefox, you can set something else by default. I just use duckduckgo, but there are alternatives. You can also turn off the ai bullshit. Find one that works best for you and your needs.

Email. So this is one I have not moved yet. I still have gmail for my youtube account. I also have to use gmail for my university. I do have a protonmail, though, that I've been slowly moving over to. This could be an easy fix for some people, while impossible for others. This is something that I am willing to compromise on. Again, you can't have it all with how things are set up. I'm sure there are some ways to circumvent this, but I am not aware of it. For things like drive and docs there are also some alternatives, but I don't use drive all that much, so finding an alternative isn't that pressing for me. There's proton drive, which functions similarly, and several paid options, but I'm trying to keep this process free for people just starting to be privacy-conscious.

Signal is a good messenger especially if you're moving from something like facebook messenger, instagram, whatsapp, whatever. It's end to end encrypted and pretty modern (so stuff like emojis, reactions, voice messages) You do need a phone number though, but again, better than just whatsapp. More people are moving to it now, so you might have an easier time introducing friends to it.

Cellphone

Alright, so this is going to depend on a few factors, mainly whether you have Android or iOS. I had an iPhone for a long time, up until last year. I was never an Apple fanboy, it's just what I had, but I wasn't deep in the ecosystem by any means. I've always used a Windows computer, so I didn't have a Mac or apple watch or whatever. I had an ipad but sold it to a friend last year because I transitioned to using my Wacom full time on my PC. I only say that because if you like your apple products just keep in mind that while you are secure (apple does have great security), you may not be private. iOS is closed source, so it's more difficult for third parties or hackers to get your data, but apple has it. And apple can do whatever. Also, you are limited to the ways you can customize your phone.

I will link a video on someone who discusses privacy on iphone but aside from the few things I listed above I can't really help you much further than a few other points. Sorry.

A brief guide to privacy for iPhone

If you have an Android based phone you are in luck. Most Android phones allow you to put a different os on your cellphone since you can access the bootloader (unlike iphones) BUT your phone in most cases has to be OEM unlockable. Phones from carriers like Verizon aren't able to be unlocked because Verizon is weird and kinda treats their consumers like shit lol. I own a Google pixel 9 and I will admit I splurged on this phone by buying it brand new. It was on sale, I got a bonus at work and hey what can I say... Also my iphone 12mini was shitting itself so it was time for a new phone. The money must have been burning a damn hole in my pocket. In retrospect though, the smarter thing would have been to buy used or an older model. Which I will be doing in the future. Back on track though.

You're probably scratching your head here: if he was just complaining about google why the hell does he have a Google phone?

I'm glad you asked, hypothetical voice in my head.

Grapheneos is a os that is only available on Google pixels (I believe from 6 onward). What it does is basically degoogles your phone. So removes google services. And the thing is, you can redownload these services but refuse network permissions and limit what they can and cannot do or have access to. Or tweak settings that you would not otherwise have access to. You have control over your device and it actually somewhat feels like your device. It's easy to install...like, modding a ds takes longer than installing graphene on your phone. Here is a video that I watched that goes over specifics and installation.

Here is the grapheneos website

For non google phones there's calyxOS but I have no personal experience with it. But both of these OS give you back some ownership on your device by letting the user control how their cellphone functions and not a company. Also, it can help your phone feel a little smoother because it removes a lot of proprietary apps that companies like Samsung add to android. If your phone can't be unlocked, then start by switching to alternative apps and delete as many proprietary apps as possible. Watch this video on fdroid.

Remove face ID if you're able and remove fingerprints as well. It might be a bit inconvenient but it's much safer. I understand that these may be great accessibility tools for some so just do what you can. Turn off location when you're not using it. With graphene, you can give map applications your approximate location, not your exact location. There are also map options that can be disconnected from network, and you can save routes, but I use public transportation and really need to see when my bus is going to arrive. My cities bus app is so shit sometimes. Again, another example of compromising that is going make you ask what's important to you, and if you're willing to risk your privacy for it.

If you watch most of these videos, you'll hear a lot of these points are going to overlap.

I was considering discussing what you can do for your PC, but I'm a complete noob. I've been using Linux mint for a little bit now, and I avoid the terminal most of the time because I'm a little baby. Even still, I recommend getting away from windows if you're able. Especially if you have a windows 10 computer since Microsoft is dropping support this fall iirc. Linux mint is super beginner friendly and much lighter on your computer, so even better if your PC is older.

Some videos that might help you decide if Linux could be a good alternative for you.

Switching to Linux: A Beginner’s Guide

Why Linux is Better Than Windows 11

Linux Mint 22: Excellent Distro for Windows Users

Linux Mint for Gaming (2025) | Linux Gaming Setup (for Beginners) Pt. 1

This privacy stuff can go so deep and you'll feel kinda crazy lol. Once you learn about what people can do with this data, and read about how people's lives have been ruined by it getting into the wrong hands, it'll never leave your head. But it's important to start small. And start sooner rather than later.

Social media was something I considered discussing but I think it could be added to a later post since this is kinda long already. I hope this is somewhat helpful, I tend to ramble a lot of the time. If you're someone who is a bit more savvy than I, then please reply with any info that you think could be important. But remember that this post is for basic beginners who are just now learning about this stuff so keep it simple. Thanks for reading!