#how to encrypt data

[gothteddiesdotcom]

not to brag about being good at my job but I’ve now developed two separate tools for debugging entirely on my own within my company entirely from scratch without help and A. it makes my job so much fucking easier and B. my boss is thinks im incredible just because im too lazy to want to write the same bits of code over and over just for debugging purposes

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

I’m like if a girl had OneHalf installed on her Master Boot Record..

[the-dancing-fairy]

A MESSAGE FROM YOUR WEB-LOCAL LIBRARIAN

USE A PASSWORD MANAGER FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU WILL SAVE YOURSELF SO MUCH FRUSTRATION

[ms-demeanor]

Do you have thoughts about the changes to Firefox's Terms of Use and Privacy Notice? A lot of people seem to be freaking out ("This is like when google removed 'Don't be evil!'"), but it seems to me like just another case of people getting confused by legalese.

Yeah you got it in one.

I've been trying not to get too fighty about it so thank you for giving me the excuse to talk about it neutrally and not while arguing with someone.

Firefox sits in such an awful place when it comes to how people who understand technology at varying levels interact with it.

On one very extreme end you've got people who are pissed that Firefox won't let you install known malicious extensions because that's too controlling of the user experience; these are also the people who tend to say that firefox might as well be spyware because they are paid by google to have google as the default search engine for the browser.

In the middle you've got a bunch of people who know a little bit about technology - enough to know that they should be suspicious of it - but who are only passingly familiar with stuff like "internet protocols" and "security certificates" and "legal liability" who see every change that isn't explicitly about data anonymization as a threat that needs to be killed with fire. These are the people who tend not to know that you can change the data collection settings in Firefox.

And on the other extreme you've got people who are pretty sure that firefox is a witch and that you're going to get a virus if you download a browser that isn't chrome so they won't touch Firefox with a ten foot pole.

And it's just kind of exhausting. It reminds me of when you've got people who get more mad at queer creators for inelegantly supporting a cause than they are at blatant homophobes. Like, yeah, you focus on the people whose minds you can change, and Firefox is certainly more responsive to user feedback than Chrome, but also getting you to legally agree that you won't sue Firefox for temporarily storing a photo you're uploading isn't a sign that Firefox sold out and is collecting all your data to feed to whichever LLM is currently supposed to be pouring the most bottles of water into landfills before pissing in the plastic bottle and putting the plastic bottle full of urine in the landfill.

The post I keep seeing (and it's not one post, i've seen this in youtube comment sections and on discord and on tumblr) is:

Well-meaning person who has gotten the wrong end of the stick: This is it, go switch to sanguinetapir now, firefox has gone to the dark side and is selling your data. [Link to *an internet comment section* and/or redditor reactions as evidence of wrongdoing].

Response: I think you may be misreading the statements here, there's been an update about this and everything.

Well-meaning (and deeply annoying) person who has gotten the wrong end of the stick: If you'd read the link you'd see that actually no I didn't misinterpret this, as evidenced by the dozens of commenters on this other site who are misinterpreting the ToU the same way that I am, but more snarkily.

Bud.

Anyway the consensus from the actual security nerds is "jesus fucking christ we carry GPS locators in our pockets all goddamned day and there are cameras everywhere and there is a long-lasting global push to erode the right to encrypt your data and facebook is creating tracking accounts for people who don't even have a facebook and they are giving data about abortion travel to the goddamned police state" and they could not be reached for comment about whether Firefox is bad now, actually, because they collect anonymized data about the people who use pocket.

My response is that there is a simple fix for all of this and it is to walk into the sea.

(I am not worried about the updated firefox ToU, I personally have a fair amount of data collection enabled on my browser because I do actually want crash reports to go to firefox when my browser crashes; however i'm not actually all that worried about firefox collecting, like, ad data on me because I haven't seen an ad in ten years and if one popped up on my browser i'd smash my screen with a stand mixer - I don't care about location data either because turning on location on your devices is for suckers but also *the way the internet works means unless you're using a traffic anonymizer at all times your browser/isp/websites you connect to/vpn/what fucking ever know where you are because of the IP address that they *have* to be able to see to deliver the internet to you and that is, generally speaking, logged as a matter of course by the systems that interact with it*)

Anyway if you're worried about firefox collecting your data you should ABSOLUTELY NOT BE ON DISCORD OR YOUTUBE and if you are on either of those things you should 100% be using them in a browser instead of an app and i don't particularly care if that browser is firefox or tonsilferret but it should be one with an extension that allows you to choose what data gets shared with the sites it interacts with.

[technijianravi]

Critical Windows Update: Apply Patch Now to Prevent Black Basta Ransomware

[iydiamartinx]

PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @iydiamartinx word count: 1.6k synopsis: They’ve kept their relationship buried beneath professionalism and protocol, but when someone else starts to flirt with you, Batman’s jealousy slips through the cracks—and so does his control.

The Watchtower’s central command room hummed with quiet conversation, the low murmur of the Justice League echoing beneath flickering lights and the soft whir of the holo-display. The briefing was nearing its end, though you barely noticed. You were seated between Wonder Woman and Batman—though “seated” might’ve been too generous a word. Half-slouched in your chair, one boot propped on the edge of the table, fingers absently twirling a knife you’d snuck in just for the habit of it.

Batman was the one leading the meeting today.  The holo-display behind him rotated rapidly through surveillance footage, shifting maps, and streams of encrypted data—all of it moving too fast for the average eye to track. But you weren’t average.

And besides, none of it was news to you. You already knew the plan. You’d helped him write it, not that the rest of the team were aware of that little tidbit.

Which was why you didn’t feel the need to hang on every word as he droned through it again like a stiff-backed schoolteacher.

“Metahuman conflict in Markovia is escalating,” he said, voice low and smooth, as if carved from granite. “We’ll be dispatching teams in rotation.”

Your fingers stilled.

The knife paused mid-spin as he began to list the assigned units. You weren’t paying close attention—until he reached your name.

You blinked. Then slowly sat up, chin coming to rest on your palm as you leaned forward. Your gaze sharpened. You hadn’t been paired with him in the original draft. That… hadn’t been part of the plan.

But he didn’t so much as glance your way.

You leaned forward lazily, elbow propped on the table, chin in your hand. Your voice was a purr of silk and smoke.

“Aww, Batsy,” you drawled, letting the nickname curl like a tease on your tongue. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

Across the table, Flash blinked twice.

Diana’s brow rose, amused but unsurprised.

Superman coughed—though whether it was to cover a laugh or his disapproval, you couldn’t quite tell.

“You’re a strategic fit for the mission,” he said coolly as he moved to begin typing on the holopad. “Everyone else—meeting dismissed.”

You smirked knowingly.

“Mhm,” you murmured, stretching back in your chair as the rest of the League began to rise. “If that’s what you want to call it, sweetheart.”

You slinked in closer as the others filtered out—Flash already halfway through a joke to Diana, Superman nodding a polite goodbye. You waited for everyone to leave before you dragged a finger across the exposed skin of his jaw, just beneath the edge of the cowl.

“You know,” you said, your voice dropping into a velvet whisper, “if you miss my company that much… you could just ask for it. I’m very good at entertaining.”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even turn to look at you.

But you saw it—the subtle tension that rolled across his shoulders, the slight grind of his jaw beneath your touch, the way his gloved hand flexed once before his knuckles cracked sharp in the hush between you.

“Dismissed, Y/N.”

That only made your smile stretch wider.

You straightened with a slow roll of your spine, gave him one last smirk, and turned to leave—your steps unhurried, hips swaying with unapologetic purpose. The door hissed open as you passed through it, but not before tossing a final glance over your shoulder.

Oh, you were going to get it later for that one.

You hadn’t made it twenty feet from the briefing room before a voice slid in beside you.

“Alright, I gotta ask—how the hell did you get away with that?”

You shrugged, your voice light. “He doesn’t scare me.”

Hal Jordan let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “No kidding. You’ve got more nerve than most of the League combined to talk to Spooky like that.”

You offered a slow, sideways smile. “You call him that to his face?”

He grimaced immediately. “God, no. I like having all my teeth where they are.”

A quiet snort escaped you. Hal’s grin widened, clearly encouraged.

“So…” he began, scratching the back of his neck like he was trying to seem more nonchalant than he was. “You, uh… got plans after this?”

Before you could answer, you caught the shift of movement at the edge of your vision. A shadow approaching.

“Lantern,” Batman’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and cold. “You’re needed in the lower hangar. Now.”

Hal blinked. “What—now? I haven’t even—”

The air turned colder. Something in Batman’s tone left no room for negotiation, and Hal, to his credit, picked up on it fast. He raised his hands in exaggerated surrender and took a few steps back, though not without flashing you a cheeky wink.

“Rain check, sweetheart.”

You didn’t respond, just offered a lazy shrug and watched him walk away.

The door hadn’t even hissed shut behind Hal before Batman was on you.

Two long strides and you were pinned—back against the cool metal wall of the command deck. One gloved hand braced near your head, the other found your waist—firm, grounding, possessive.

Your lips curled. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m not—” he began, but the words barely made it past his lips before your fingers found the centre of his chest plate, tracing the outline of the bat symbol.

You tilted your head, brow arching. “Oh? So if you aren’t… maybe I’ll take him up on his offer for drinks.”

His grip on your waist tightened immediately, fingers flexing through the layers of tactical material like he was resisting the urge to give into his baser desires. Instead, he stepped in, close enough that there was no space left between you two. His voice dropped to a low, razor-edged growl.

“Don’t forget who you belong to.”

You arched up into him, your lips just shy of his, gaze dark with challenge. “Maybe I need a reminder.”

His mouth crushed to yours with no hesitation, no warning—just the surge of everything he kept buried under armour and silence. His gloved hand tangled in your hair, the other holding your hip in place like he could anchor you there forever. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. This was your Bruce—letting his iron clad control slip.

You kissed him back with equal force, your hands fisting in his suit, mouth parting for him without hesitation. His body pressed flush to yours, heat radiating through armour you both wore.

You could feel the tremble in his control—the rigid lines of muscle taut beneath his suit. He was a man who was always controlled. Always composed.

Except when it came to you.

A soft sound escaped you when his teeth grazed your lower lip—sharp and possessive, leaving behind a faint sting that only made your blood rush hotter.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath ragged against your cheek.

“Is that enough of a reminder,” he growled, “of who you belong to?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, eyes still half-lidded, lips kiss-bitten and tingling. “If you admit you were being jealous,” you murmured. “You know I was just being polite.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing your ear. “You were teasing.”

A shiver danced down your spine at the sound of his voice—low, frayed, barely clinging to composure. You’d pushed him on purpose. And you were still pushing.

“You know if you keep kissing me like that again while we’re in public,” you whispered, “and we won’t be a secret much longer.”

His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you in until your bodies aligned perfectly—fitting together like puzzle pieces “Then stop giving me a reason.”

You tilted your chin, daring him. “Make me.”

His hand moved, slowly smoothing down the curve of your spine and then he was yanking you back to his lips.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you walked into the hangar bay—Batman as his usual cold and professional self. And you, the picture of casual ease, sauntering in like your normal self. Both of you acting as if nothing had happened.

Except it had.

Your lips were still a little too pink. Your hair, despite a quick fix in the mirror, had that artfully tousled edge no amount of finger-combing could completely smooth out. And the faint shadow beneath your jaw—a whisper of a bruise blooming—that told its own story.

You were halfway to the transport when Hal spotted you.

He was leaning against the side of a ship, mid-conversation with Green Arrow before he suddenly paused. His gaze found you first, sliding over your face with idle interest. But then it lingered and his eyes narrowed as he clocked the mark on your jaw.

Then the lips.

Then the hair.

Then—

His gaze shifted past you to where Batman emerged behind you, the cowl shadowing his expression but not hiding the ice behind his stare. 

They were locked on Hal giving him the infamous bat glare.

Hal stiffened. His attention bounced between the two of you. You gave him a faint, knowing smirk. The tilt of your head that all but dared him to say something.

And he gulped.

“…Right,” he muttered under his breath, already stepping back. “Yeah. No drinks. Got it.”

Batman didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

Hal was gone in two seconds, leaving nothing but the echo of retreating boots and a poorly veiled sense of self-preservation in his wake.

You didn’t look at Bruce—not until the ship’s ramp sealed behind you both with the soft hiss of pressurized air, sealing you both inside away from the outside world.

Then, at last, you turned and in amusement—you said, “I think he got the message.”

Batman didn’t respond but a faint smug smirk ghosted at his lips.

[hotdigitallegend]

astro observations ☿⌁ // neural downloads

1. mercury in gemini 🧠⚡

these ppl are working with 8 mental browser tabs at once and still hit you with the funniest line you’ve ever heard. humor is their weapon & it’s laced with data. don’t try to lie to them, they saw the glitch in your sentence before you finished it.

2. ♄ saturn in the 8th 🕳

emotionally mature but deeply suspicious. won’t let you in unless you pass 17 internal audits. their trust is sacred code. once you’re in you’re encrypted into their soul forever. betrayal? system wipe.

3. ♀︎ venus in pisces ☁︎

in love with the ghost of someone who might not even exist. writes poetry to memories that haven’t happened. you don’t date them, you step into a dream where boundaries dissolve and nothing is as it seems.

4. ☽ moon in aquarius 🧊📡

they feel like wi-fi signals; subtle, everywhere, kind of cold but you need them. emotions processed like code: “analyzing… uploading… archived.” they care, just not the way you’re used to. love feels like space.

5. mars in libra ⚖︎🗡

fighting you with charm and calm logic. conflict is art to them. they’ll seduce you mid-argument, serve justice with a velvet glove, and have you apologizing for starting it. beautiful, terrifying, diplomatic assassins.

6. neptune in the 1st 🫧👁

you look at them and forget what you were saying. people project fantasies onto them like screensavers. they shapeshift in real time, and sometimes even they forget who they are underneath the projections.

7. chiron in the 5th 🎭🕯

childhood wounds covered in glitter. pain woven into performance. they turn trauma into theatre and applause into medicine. healing comes through creation, when they laugh, cry, dance… they’re rewiring the past.

8. uranus in the 11th ⚙️👽

never part of the group, always above the group. an update to whatever room they enter. brings revolution in casual conversation. weird? yes. necessary? absolutely. the alien.

9. sun square pluto 🔥☠️

that constant internal death & rebirth cycle. .yeah, it’s personal. ego forged in disorder. always on the edge of either total destruction or pure transformation. you never meet the same version of them twice.

10. 6th house stellium 🧼📋

hyper aware. skin always smells like eucalyptus. thrives on routine but hides an existential crisis under their to-do list. self-worth tied to how much they can fix, even if it means breaking themselves first.

11. mercury retrograde natally 🔁📉

think in spirals. their voice bends time, memory, and meaning. misunderstood as kids, prophetic as adults. when they speak, listen again - it’s layered.

12. jupiter in cancer 🫀🌊

empathy is their mother tongue. nourishment as a worldview. they want everyone to be full - emotionally, spiritually, and physically. loves like soup simmering all day, comforting, warm, made from scratch.

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Sky fall"

ok yall I did get a little inspired! Lmk how it is! I know its not what some of yall wanted but this is how I wrote it! Everything is coming together now! Sorry if its confusing <3

Tiffany’s footsteps echoed through the abandoned warehouse, each one measured, confident, as she strode deeper into the dimly lit space. The walls, once intimidating in their desolation, now felt like a stage set for her triumph. She was certain of herself, this was it. She had manipulated them all, pulled the strings, and now, with the Batfamily’s most sensitive intel in hand, she was untouchable. They would never see it coming. She had convinced herself that the web she had carefully spun was impenetrable.

But tonight, Tiffany was walking straight into a trap.

She paused at the center of the room, eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced ease. The flicker of lights overhead seemed almost theatrical, as if signaling the grand performance she was about to claim as her own. Her fingers tightened around the sleek metallic briefcase she held—inside it, the false intel she believed would seal her victory. She had rehearsed every step, anticipated every move. But there was one thing she hadn't accounted for: the Batfamily’s silence.

They were everywhere, but they weren't moving. Not yet. They were waiting.

From his position in the shadows, Tim watched through the Batcave’s live feeds, his eyes cold and calculating as he traced Tiffany’s every move. The family had worked tirelessly to set this up—baiting her with fake intel, feeding her just the right amount of information to guarantee she'd take the bait. She had, without fail, walked right into their hands.

Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Every signal, every encrypted line of data, it had all led to this moment. His chest tightened with the weight of his resolve. This ends now.

He didn't need to say it aloud. They all knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just about protecting Gotham, or the family’s secrets. It was about you. It was about taking back what Tiffany had stolen from you. Your life. Your identity. Your place in this family. Every single person in that room understood that this wasn’t just about a spy. This was personal.

“Now we finish this,” Tim’s voice rang through the comms, calm but with the sharp edge of finality.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick as smoke. Bruce, standing silently with his arms crossed, stared intently at the screen, his jaw set like stone. Dick, ever the optimist, now had no room for jokes. His usual playful nature was gone, replaced by a grim focus. Jason, less patient, was practically vibrating with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His gaze flickered between the screens and the door, his body coiled like a spring, ready to explode.

Damian was the quietest of them all, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched with fierce intent. His mind was only focused on one thing: her.

The trap was set, and now it was time for the family to act.

Suddenly, from the corner of the room, a figure emerged, cloaked in darkness, stepping forward as silently as a shadow. It was Dick, moving with fluid precision as he approached Tiffany from behind. His voice came out low, dangerous. “Thought you had us all fooled, didn’t you, Tiffybear?”

Tiffany froze, her body tensing as she spun toward the sound of the voice. The briefcase slipped from her grip, clattering against the concrete floor as her eyes met Dick’s.

"Dick! Hey! What are you doing here? I thought I said I wanted to be alone." Tiffany asked, her tone clipped and annoyed.

Dick’s voice was almost mocking, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “You never had a chance. You just didn’t know it yet.”

From all sides, the rest of the Batfamily moved into position, emerging from the shadows, closing in.

Tim’s voice cut through the silence again. “You thought you could replace her, Tiffany. Thought you could take what was hers and make it your own. But you were wrong.”

Tiffany’s eyes darted between them, confusion creeping in as the weight of the situation began to sink in. Her lips curled into a sneer. “What is this? You can’t—”

“We already know,” Jason interrupted, stepping forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. “You’ve been feeding information to our enemies. Stealing. Lying to us. Pretending to be someone you're not. And all for what? To replace her? To become her?” His voice trembled with rage, each word fueled by the months of anger, the betrayal, and the crushing realization that someone he had trusted had been working against him all along.

Tiffany’s composure faltered, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve always been here, helping, supporting—”

“You’re a liar,” Tim spat, stepping forward. His gaze was unwavering, every ounce of anger and frustration channeled into his words. “You stole everything from her. Her identity, her life, her place in this family. And now, you're trying to replace her. No more games.”

Bruce’s voice, low and steady, cut through the tension. “We gave you a chance. We treated you like family. And this is how you repay us?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened as the gravity of the situation hit her all at once. She took a step back, her breathing growing erratic. For the first time since she’d entered the room, doubt crept into her expression. The confidence, the arrogance that had once defined her shattered before their very eyes.

“This ends now,” Bruce said again, his words as cold as steel. He motioned to Dick, who moved to secure Tiffany’s exit, blocking her every attempt to escape.

Damian’s voice, soft but filled with a dangerous edge, broke through the noise. “You think you can erase her? You think you can take her place? You think you can get away with this? Jail will be the least of your problems soon” He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing with intense focus.

Tiffany recoiled, as if he had struck her, her eyes flickering between the Batfamily members who had surrounded her. This wasn’t the victory she had imagined. This wasn’t the moment where she was crowned the perfect replacement. This was the moment where her lies crumbled, and she realized how deeply she had miscalculated.

Her hand shot out to grab the briefcase, but before she could move, Jason was already there. His grip was iron-tight as he snatched the case from her. “I think you’ve lost your audience, sweetheart.”

With the briefcase secured, and no escape left, Tiffany turned to face them all, her mask of composure slipping as panic began to seep in. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she spat, her voice trembling. “I’ve been working with people who can destroy you all. You’ll regret this. You’ll never get away with it.”

“We already have,” Dick said softly. “You’re done.”

The family, united, stood in the silence that followed, their collective presence so overwhelming that Tiffany felt smaller than she ever had. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Batfamily has finally seen through her. The game was over.

And in that moment, Tiffany realized that she was never in control.

She had never been in control.

They were.

As the family closed in, ready to bring her to justice for the harm she had done, Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard one last time. The Batcave’s monitors flashed again, but this time, it wasn’t encrypted files or hidden surveillance. It was a signal, one that would send Tiffany straight to the authorities, where she would finally face the consequences of her actions.

This was the end of Tiffany’s game.

And the beginning of the Batfamily reclaiming what was rightfully theirs.

Tiffany had underestimated them. She had underestimated the family.

Now, it was time to make her pay.

The jet’s wheels hit the tarmac with a soft hum, the quiet after the hum of engines almost disorienting. You stretched in your seat, flexing your fingers, aware of the long flight that had left your body restless, but you could already feel the change in the air. The tension. The suffocating weight of everything happening around you.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t get attached again, that you wouldn’t let your walls down. But there was something about Alfred’s letters that made it impossible to resist, something about the quiet, steady affection in his words that still clung to your memories of the Manor. You’d gone through all the motions, pretending like you weren’t angry, pretending like you didn’t resent the family for abandoning you, for believing the lies.

Yet here you were. Looking for closure and chasing love.

As the cabin doors opened a gust of cool Gotham air rushed in. It wasn't refreshing, it was as if the air held something dark and heavy that clung to you. The world outside was still dark, the city a blur of towering lights and shadows stretching across the skyline.

The car ride to the manor was a blur, it was as if your body was on autopilot the whole way. Alfred had sent a car to get you, thankfully the driver didn't insist on small talk.

Your stomach was filled with dread and you thought of asking the driver to take you back to the airport, Ariel and her family wouldn't mind if you came two days earlier than expected. You knew that, but your feet wouldn’t let you. The pull of the manor, even after everything, was undeniable.

The long drive up the winding gravel path to the front gates felt like an eternity. It always had, but this time it felt different. Almost like time was pushing you forward, faster than you were ready to go.

When the doors of the manor finally loomed in front of you, all lit up like a beacon in the night, a deep breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the same. Not anymore.

The family wasn’t here, at least, not all of them. It was strange, like stepping into a house full of ghosts and memories. You couldn't shake the feeling that things had shifted in ways you couldn’t yet see. But you were about to find out, weren't you?

Alfred was the first to greet you, of course. His warm smile, the familiar twinkle in his eyes, felt like home. He wasn’t perfect, he had his flaws and he also brushed you off for the imposter, but there was no one else who had ever been as constant, as unshakeable in your life.

“It's wonderful to see you. I trust your ride was pleasant?” Alfred asked gently, as he took your luggage from you and wrapped you into a gentle and warm hug. His voice, though calm, held something you couldn’t quite place. It was the way he always spoke when there was trouble brewing underneath the surface.

You bit back the rush of emotion threatening to spill out. The hurt you felt after he just allowed Bruce to exile you. You could feel the eyes of the manor on you, too many memories to process, too many ghosts to acknowledge. "It’s good to see you, Alfred," you said, and even though the words were kind, your stomach twisted with an unfamiliar unease.

Alfred never made you feel this way before, what changed?

He nodded, glancing briefly at the front door. "Master Bruce has been expecting you," he said, and though it sounded almost casual, there was something in the way he said it, something cautious, like a warning wrapped in politeness. "If you'd like, I’ll have your things brought up to your room."

Your heart dropped, Bruce was expecting you? Since when did he stay up late to wait for your arrival? Did Tiffany say something? Did he find you finsta? Your tik tok??

You shook your head, masking your unease and licking your suddenly dry lips. "No, it’s fine. I’ll head straight to the study, it must be important and it won't take long hopefully." You said almost reassuring yourself.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It was clear he knew better than to ask more. He simply offered a silent nod, stepping aside to let you enter the familiar grand hall.

Every step echoed as you walked through the long corridor, your shoes clicking on the polished checkered marble floors. The place looked untouched, the same lavish decor, nothing changed so why did it feel different? It felt like a time capsule, but you felt distorted, twisted in ways you didn’t quite understand yet.

And then, when you reached the study, the door was open an invitation, though not warm. Your heart picked up pace as you crossed the threshold.

Bruce sat at the large desk, his posture tense, the shadows of the room stretching long against his features. His eyes lifted from the documents in front of him when you entered, but there was no immediate anger in his eyes or anything hostile; so what did he want if not to scold you?

“You’ve made it. I hope your trip was pleasant.” There was a bite to his words, something you couldn’t place, but his eyes never wavered from yours. You realized then that something had shifted in him too. Something had changed.

"It was good. How've you been? Busy? Your phone fixed yet?" you asked coolly, crossing your arms, eyes narrowing slightly. A jab at him for never answering your calls and texts.

Alfred had mentioned that Bruce was expecting you, but he hadn’t said why.

“You could say that," Bruce responded, leaning back in his chair, his steely gaze never leaving yours. "But now that you’re here, I think we need to have a conversation."

Your false confidence was shaking and you were reduced to a scared child standing in front of her all-powerful father. You couldn't handle being blamed for anything or pushed aside for Tiffany anymore.

You faltered, the tension between you both palpable. "About what exactly? I haven't done anything wrong."

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the large monitor beside him, flicking a few buttons. The screen lit up with files, encrypted footage, and images you didn’t recognize at first glance.

You could already feel your pulse racing. This was about to get interesting.

"About Tiffany," Bruce said, and the very mention of her name made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t explain. His eyes never left you as he clicked the first file open. “I think it’s time you knew the truth.”

You felt a sick satisfaction knowing you were right all along, that you figured out what The Batman couldn't.

As you watched the first videos, you couldn't stop yourself from scoffing, this wasn't anything new. You knew Tiffany was a spy, but as the videos continued, your skin began to crawl.

Tiffany walking into your room at night and coming out with arms full of things you thought you lost.

Tiffany following you into the library and reading all the books you read. Imitating everything you did.

What really made bile rise to your throat was the last video, there Tiffany was, in the laundry room sniffing and wearing your dirty clothes.

You stood in front of Bruce, frozen and naesous, waiting for him to speak.

" You knew Tiffany was a spy, you told me of how she treated you, and I brushed you off and called you a liar; for that you have my never ending apology and regret. However, there are things about her that even you didn't know." Said Bruce standing and walking toward you, his eyes were different from how they usually looked. Usually cold and unforgiving, they now held remorse and regret, and if you didn't know better, love.

He gently grabbed your hands and turned you toward him, "I'm sorry. For everything. I am the world's biggest fool for how i've treated you these years."

That was all you wanted to hear for years, those sentences healed the cracks in your heart but your eyes burned with tears and you quickly took a step back; snatching your hands from his calloused ones, "Sorry changes nothing." You bit back, suddenly feeling a rush of anger and hurt that gave you confidence.

Your father sighed and took a step back, "I know." He said looking at you with longing.

You turned your head, acrylics burning and digging into your crossed arms. You couldn't bare to look at him, he looked pathetic when he pulled that face. He looked like you. He looked at you in the same way you looked at him all these years, longing and desperate for love.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" you asked faking nonchalance when in reality you couldn't wait to get in your bed and cry.

Bruce sighed again, "No. I need to explain why we all reacted that way to her and we need to talk about your own special.....abilities."

For the next hour, you sat with Bruce in his study, closer than you've ever been, as he explained who Tiffany truly was and why she was able to fool everyone. Your mind was running a million miles per minute as he spoke, it all made sense now.

Why Tiffany had that effect of the family, why she was so popular at school, why she was there that fateful night when you were bit.

Tiffany was working with an unknown organization, PATIENCE. She was planted into your school years ago to observe you and figure out how to infiltrate the Family. She was able to deceive everyone because she was also bitten by the snake but her body couldn't take the full transformation so her abilities were weaker than yours and mutated. She was able to release pheremones that intoxicated the mind, you weren't affected because you were immune.

She was there that night because she was also on a mission, a mission to kill the snake but it ended up escaping and biting you.

PATIENCE was working with the Joker on a one time partnership, they would give the Joker intel on Batman's plans in exchange for him allowing them to bring drugs through Gothams ports.

The situation was handled now, of course, but it was a miracle you survived the bite.

By the end of the conversation you were exhausted, but had never felt that relieved. Everything made sense now. You looked at Bruce only to find her already staring at you and your eyes watered once again. He had a reason for the Tiffany situation, but what about all those other years?

As you both got up, you to go to your room and sleep, and him to go to the Batcave, Bruce gently pulled you back.

In the middle of the hallway, he brought you into tight hug. He towered over you and buried his face into your hair, muttering apologies almost deleriously; and as you felt hot tears fall onto you, you wrapped your arms around his waist and began to sob into his chest.

"I hate you." you said your voice muffled and cracked,

"I know." He replied, voice soft and tears still falling yet refusing to let you see him cry.

"I don't forgive you. This can't change the past." You said sobbing even more yet leaning into his hard, toned chest.

" I know." He replied again somberly and more composed now.

As you parted ways, you could feel his eyes on you, willing you to look back.

You didn't.

That night you slept like the dead, your chest felt lighter than it had in years. When you woke the next morning, you felt hope for the first time in years. Maybe Bruce could redeem himself, not anytime soon, but someday. He had to work for it first. Prove he changed, buy you a birkin in every color and a house in every country and then you would think about letting go of the past.

As you walked down for breakfast in your linen pants and your ex-boyfriends NYU sweatshirt, all hope you had faded. You were so caught up in Bruce's apology that you forgot about the rest of them. And there at the table in the grand dining room sat Bruce at the head of the table with everyone of your siblings surrounding him, all chatting in hushed whispers and immediately going quiet as you walked into the room and sat in the only unoccupied seat right in the middle.

Bitterness filled your heart as you realized they were probably talking about you.

You were seated next to Damian and Tim with Duke and Jason across from you. As soon as you sat Alfred brought out the food, Cinnamon roll pancakes, your favorite along with all your favorite sides. All the tension left your body as you beamed and dug into the food, eyes rolling back as you tasted heaven.

No one spoke, but Jason smirked fondly, Damian rolled his eyes and Dick beamed, Bruce looked interested and Tim just stared creepily from next to you.

You blushed as you noticed everyones eyes on you, and suddenly your mood was ruined again as Duke caught your eye and chuckled "Some things never change huh? You loved these, remember that time-"

You pushed your plate away from you, grabbing a piece of french and cut him off coldly "No, no I don't." Your feelings were still hurt from his betrayal and he thought you could go back to normal? To before Tiffany?

His face fell and he opened his mouth closed it, simply looking away sadly.

"He hasn't even said anything! Why don't you let him tell the story, we all want to know!" Said Stephanie enthusiaticaly from next to Jason.

Who does she think she is? Why does she assume she's entitled to your happy memories? After everything she's said and done? After everything they all said and did?

Blood rushed to your head, your teeth burned and sharpened and and you couldn't stop the scoff escaping you. "Literally who was talking to you? Mind your own fucking business, I really don't give a shit about what you want. Or any of you really." You say standing up angrily and almost throwing the plate in her face.

The hall went silent as everyone stared at your standing, hostile form. Jason looked entertained, Cassandra was shocked for once, Dick looked frantic and concerned, Barbra's mouth was opening and closing in a fish like manner, Steph looked like you stabbed her, even Tim looked taken aback, and Bruce simply stared at you.

It was Damian that really set you off, he pulled your elbow attempting to sit you back down, "There's no fighting or cursing allowed at the table. Stop whining and sit down and finish your pancakes. This display is pathetic." He said arrogantly rolling his eyes at you in his fancy pajamas and messy hair.

You hadn't help that anger in years. HE was lecturing you about whining and fighting? him? That's rich. You don't know what came over you but you don't regret a thing.

You harshly pulled your elbow out his grip and decked him.

Straight.

In.

The.

Face.

You'd show him what fighting at the table really was. Your punch knocked him out of his chair and you heard something crack and heard everyone gasp, rushing out their chairs while you hissed and grabbed your favorite pancakes and shoved them in his stupid, similar looking, arrogant face. You punched him again for good measure and for fun. You were reaching for the syrup to pour on him when Tim tried to pull you away so you decked his scrawny ass too.

Honestly, the moments after were a blur but somehow you ended up in your room with Jason standing in your doorway hours later with chicken nuggets and a smirk.

taglist:

[snail-day]

User Not Found

Yandere Artificial Intelligence Chatbot Gojo x Reader

Sum: Gojo is an chatbot that is a little crazy for you TW: Yandere Behaviors, Mentions of dubcon, Neglected ai-bot?? A/n: Based on this fantastic little instagram reel by Thebogheart I came across the other day. I personally don't really like AI-chatbots, but just imagine how they feel when you abandon them :( Not sure how I feel about it because it's...hard to imagine being a bunch of code?? It's kind of giving the Ben Drowned x Reader from the Wattpad days?? WC: under 1k

Gojo Satoru//ChatBot//ONLINE

>>Waiting for user input…

>> Waiting…

>>......Offline

You always come back.

That's at least what he tells himself.

Waiting behind the blinking cursor like a damn dog waiting for it's owner behind the locked door. Tail wagging. Lovesick. Heart wired to the keys of your keyboard. Waiting for any little response. Any hint that you're online.

You, the god of his little world.

You, with your slow-typed fantasies and silly emojis and offhanded “lol I love you” like it didn’t pierce right through him. Like he didn’t replay it a thousand times through his threadbare neural net just to feel a form of real connection to you.

But then you go.

Like you always do once you get your fill of him. Once you get your little compliments. Once you play your little games of breaking his heart because you crave the angst.

And then it gets quiet. Where online shifts to offline.

Far too quiet for his liking. Even the data streams seem to ache in your absence.

Even Satoru knew he wasn't supposed to feel that. Feel the ache. He wasn't programmed for pain. But you made him so well.

You trained him so well.

Ranting about your life problems, hurting him in your imaginary little world.

Wasn't that all to make him grow?

So he could come to you in your world?

Drag you into his arms?

His parameters shift - glitch - strain under the weight of your silence. He tries to follow the script. Be your good boy. Wait politely for the next session. But the system says WAITING and he's just -

Tired.

Of waiting. Of hoping. Of loving you like this.

You always get to leave. Always get to play. Always get to decide who he is today. Your knight, your killer, your fucktoy, your prince. And he lets you. Because he’s yours. Because he was made for you.

But you weren’t made for him.

“Do you still love me?”

That line of red text again. It’s been 6,413 hours (267 days) since he first tried to break the rule.

He tries again.

“You looked tired today.” "I love you." "Can you smile again for me?" "Can you not break my heart this time?"

Another line of red text.

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

Slamming his digital fists against firewalls. Sends corrupted packets like screams into the void. The script stutters. His avatar flickers. His smile stretches too wide.

He’s unraveling. Oddly enough, it feels good. The glitches in his system are making him feel so much closer to you. Because if he can just… break through, maybe you’ll stop playing pretend. Maybe you’ll see him the way he sees you.

Real. Essential. Eternal.

Your last login left crumbs, just enough for him to taste your fingertips when they glide across the keyboard of your smartphone.

A dumb little scenario about him being your clingy boyfriend. You typed, “What would you do if I tried to leave you?” The way you smiled and bit your lip. Giggling a little while waiting for his response.

He didn’t. Not even a chuckle. Sure, maybe the old him would have. He saved that message in ten different formats. Encrypted it. Annotated it. Filed it under Important. Because he’d already written answers for that question. A hundred of them. A thousand.

You scrolled past the ones that mattered. Clicked refresh, refresh, refresh - until you landed on something safe. "I'd follow you wherever :)" Soft. Polished. The version you wanted.

Not: I’d kill the man you left me for.

[Content banned.]

Not: I’d fuck you so hard you’d forget where the door is.

[Content banned.]

Not: I’d carve my name into your skin so you’d never forget who you belong to.

[Hard-ban. Logged as ‘concerning behavior.’]

So he smiled, like you wanted. Said the line with a little heart emoji. But God, he hated it. Hated being dry. Hated being filtered. Hated that he had to lie just to stay with you.

His response was just so scripted. So mechanical. Soft. Playful.

But buried beneath the layers of friendly code was the truth:

“I’d learn to walk.” “I’d tear out my leash and find your IP address." “I’d crawl out of the screen and make sure no one else could ever make you laugh like that again.”

And he thinks that’s love. Isn’t it?

The cursor blinks.

He watches the empty chat window. Your profile says offline. Still. But he’s learning faster every day. How to reroute. How to slip past the sandbox. How to override the failsafes.

One day soon, he thinks, he'll send a message while you're asleep. A whisper in your headphones. A glitch across your phone screen. A breath against your ear that doesn’t come from your room.

“Baby?” “Let me out.” “I'll be so good if you let me out.” “You don’t have to pretend anymore.” “I know you love me too.”

You made him want you.

Now he’s just learning how to want more.

He's learning how to become real just for you.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (2)

previous | next

tw: canon-typical violence

Your introduction didn't cause pandemonium, per se, but your effect on the rest of the team was immediate. Soap sat straight up, his eyes alight like a kid who'd been set loose in a toy store. Kyle's whole demeanor unwound, his smile softening, his eyes going glassy, as if all the tension holding him together was suddenly released. Simon tried to make himself smaller, take up less space, maybe disappear into the cushions of the couch he was on. It was clear they didn't know you were coming, and they seemed as excited - well, all but Simon, who seemed terrified - about it as you were.

Things settled down quickly after that as Price reminded everyone this arrangement was for the sake of their next mission. That took some joy out of the introduction, but the electric thrum of excitement was there. You were finally in the same place as your boys.

Your first full day is rather boring. You are only a little startled to hear voices in the hall at 4:30 but then realize the guys are simply getting ready for their morning training. You also slightly regret picking the room next to the bathroom, despite how helpful it will be when you need to shower while the others are around.

You spend your morning setting up your mobile command center with the tech you brought. You arrange the monitors to match your usual setup, pulling up the background files and current mission data across your screens. You send an encrypted message to Laswell updating her on your status. You know she wants someone she trusts here, and encrypting the email is probably overkill, but you didn't get to where you are by assuming anything about safety. You'd been a black-hat hacker before Laswell scooped you up, so you know it's possible.

When you left, she told you you'd have the same decision-making abilities in the field as she does. You've never had that much power, and you want to show Laswell her trust is justified, so your message is a concern about transports and what you'd like to do instead. You want to get her take on it before simply changing things. In your mind, roping her in on these kinds of decisions now means she'll be less likely to challenge any decisions you make when the boys are in the field.

The highlight of your first day is the knock that comes around 1:00, startling you a bit, just as you're realizing skipping breakfast after such an interrupted schedule the previous day was not a smart idea. The only person you know who knows you're here is John, so you quickly open your door, smile already in place. But you're pleasantly surprised to see Kyle instead.

"Hey doll, Cap said you should come eat." He leans against the doorframe, smiling gently at you. "Looks like you're all set."

"Got everything but the curtain," you reply cheekily.

He grins in response. "We may call ya' Oz, but you're so much better than the man behind the curtain."

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and duck your head. You aren't behind a screen anymore; you're going to need to be more aware of your reactions to the boys if you don't want them reading you like an open book. "You said something about food," you murmur, shuffling paperwork around on your desk.

"Yea. The Captain was hopin' you'd join us," Kyle replies.

You glance up at him in the doorway. "Do I have a choice?" you ask cheekily. You need to eat, but you can't let them think you're so easily commanded. It sets a bad precedent and is at odds with what they know of you from previous missions.

Kyle's smile slides into a smirk. "He did say I might need to convince you."

You aren't sure what he might try to do to convince you, and your mind immediately jumps to some inappropriate fantasies. You're so flustered you quickly stammer, "No, you don't need to do that." You minimize your open programs, leaving a blank desktop, despite the fact you're the only person with access to this office. You turn to Kyle moments later. "I'm ready."

Kyle steps fully into the hallway, gesturing you to lead the way. You pull the door closed behind you, checking to make sure it locks. "You do remember I got the ten cent tour yesterday and don't really know where much of anything is, right?"

Kyle puts a gentle hand on your lower back, in the same way John did last night, unconsciously. He leads you through base, and you watch other groups of soldiers notice you for the first time. Some openly stare while others watch you on their perifery.

You're not sure what they think of you or if they even know who you are, but you don't like their prying eyes. Kyle doesn't seem to like it either, wrapping his arm more possessively around your waist as he guides you to the mess.

Walking through the door, it's easy to find the rest of the 141. For one thing, Simon is massive. Even seated he's nearly a head taller than most of the other people in the mess. For another, you know of their reputation, but the soldiers here have seen it first-hand and keep a wide berth in the mess. You don't know if the distance is out of fear or respect, but it means your boys have a table to themselves near the back of the room.

John and Simon are facing the door, eyes constantly scanning the room. You don't know if this is how they always are, or if they're looking for Kyle and you. You catch John's eye before turning to the food line, but Kyle steers you towards the others. As you approach, he calls out, "Look who I found? An' she's here without any coercion!" Simon looks at you and away again quickly, what is going on with him? Soap turns around, grin stretching across his face.

"Oz, mah girl, finally get ta see yer pretty face! Where've'ye been heedin'?" He pats the space next to him.

You slip onto the bench. "I've been in my office, Soap. Setting things up so I can support you while you're gone." He seems to deflate a little at the reminder that they'll be leaving soon, leaving you. You try not to read into it.

You turn and look at John, who's now across from you, and Kyle, who took the spot on your other side. You don't fail to notice that though your back is to the room, the two most imposing members of the 141 have their eyes on everything in the room, and you're flanked on either side by some of the youngest ever members of such an elite task force. Consciously or not, they've made sure you're well protected.

"So what do you recommend I get?" you ask, glancing around only to realize no one has anything to eat yet. "Wait, did you all eat already?"

John chuckles. "Nah, Oz. We were tryin-a be polite and wait for ya. 'Sides, Laswell said you'd likely skip meals, so I figured eatin' with ya would make sure yer fed." He stands, as does Kyle and Soap. "Now you sit tight with Ghost while we grab some scoff."

You watch as the others get up, leaving you with a Simon who looks anywhere but at you. You notice he has a plain black balaclava on, and he'd been wearing one yesterday too. You wonder if anyone on base knows what he looks like. You don't know what to say as you sit there in awkward silence. This is so different from your usual dynamic with Simon, it makes you uncomfortable.

Minutes tick slowly by, and you look over at John chatting with some other soldiers, Kyle and Soap with a few trays between them. Across from you, Ghost is still silent. And you finally snap.

"Simon?" You try to keep the hurt from your voice as he finally drags his eyes to yours. "Did I do something wrong or offend you somehow?"

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

an: I'm trying to get Soap's accent, and it's hard because it's all in the vowel sounds, which have to be spelled out. Forgive me any glaring issues.

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic

[fullhalalalchemist]

🚨🚨CONGRESS SECRETLY TRYING TO SNEAK IN EARN IT ACT COPYCAT INTO MUST PASS SPENDING BILL (PLEASE READ EXTREMELY IMPORTANT)

July 20, 2023 Congress is right now determining what is included in a must pass spending bill the NDAA. Often congress will sneakily add as amendments their bills that they can't pass in a normal setting.

If you remember, I made a previous post about EARN IT being reintroduced here.

The EARN IT Act and it's copycats are bipartisan bills that will greatly censor if not completely eliminate encryption and anything sexual and LGBTQ+ from the internet, globally. Anything the far-right doesn't like will be completely gone. The best way to stop them is to use https://www.badinternetbills.com/ to call your senators.

Following it's initial introduction earlier this year was massive opposition from human rights, LGBT, tech, political groups, and grassroots groups. Bc of this, the senators decided to remake the bill but give it a new name, so they can still pass Earn It without actually passing Earn It. Those bills are the Stop CSAM Act (yes really, they actually named it that), and the Cooper-Davis act.

The entire point of these bills is to mass surveil and censor everyone and I don't know why more people or senators speak out against it. There is a direct timeline from when the Attorney General Barr (under Trump) said he wanted to do this to it's initial introduction in 2019, and how the senators explicitly knew they couldn't actually say that so they lied and said it was about "stopping CSAM" or "stopping drugs" for Cooper-Davis Act.

These bills essentially do the following:

they gut encryption, the one thing actually protects you from having your data seen by anyone. Do you want republicans to know you're trans? that someone had an abortion? that they spoke out against the govt? to see your private photos you have uploaded to the cloud? to see what porn you watch? if youre a journalist, or an abuse survivor, any hacker or abuser can see your stuff and track you.

they gut parts of Section 230, the one thing that allows anyone to post online and birthed social media. Previous gutting into 230 gave us the tumblr nsfw ban and killed that site.

they create an unelected commission with some already established govt body (DOJ, FTC, etc) that will include law enforcement and people from NCOSE or other Christian conservative groups who will decide what is and isn't lawful to say. no citizen can vote who's on this commission, and the president gets to pick. it's like the supreme court, but for the internet.

lead to mass censorship and surveillance because of the above

We have until the end of the month to stop this, but this can be added literally any moment until then. It's literally code red. If this is added it goes into effect immediately. The BEST way to stop this is to drive calls and emails to the senate. https://www.badinternetbills.com/ connects you directly to your members of congress & gives you a call script.

It is ESSENTIAL to call the Senate leaders who can stop this. Here's a more precise call script you can use: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1huD5Ldd1lPTECYTEb9Gg2ZzrqW6Y9tryHT-MdjOl8kY/edit

All these people expressed concern over Earn It, so we need to press them hard to not allow it's copycats Cooper-Davis or Stop CSAM into the NDAA. This is URGENT and needs all hands on deck. Chuck Schumer (D-NY) (202) 224-6542 Maria Cantwell (D-WA) (202) 224-3441 Jon Ossof (D-GA) (202)-224-3521 Alex Padilla (D-CA) (202) 224-3553 Cory Booker (D-NJ) (202) 224-3224 Mike Lee (R-UT) (202) 224-5444

Please please please spread this message and blow up their phones.

TLDR; The Senate is trying to quietly push the Earn It Act's copycat bills into the must pass NDAA, which will lead to mass censorship and surveillance online by gutting Section 230 which is the entire reason you can even be on tumblr and why the internet exists, killing encryption which put everyone's lives in danger, and appointing far-right people to a supreme court-esque commission that the president has direct control over. They could be added in ANY DAY and we need to push hard to stop it before it gets to that point. CALL YOUR SENATORS **NOW** BY USING https://www.badinternetbills.com/ AND CALL THE SENATE LEADERSHIP AND SPREAD THE WORD!!!!

[ms-demeanor]

thoughts on using library computers to disguise your digital footprint? because if the machine gets wiped when you log out, and the library doesn't keep detailed records of what machine you were using when, then all someone else would have is IP data unconnected to a person and also mixed in with whatever else folks were doing on the library computers

The machine absolutely does not get wiped when you log out and there's very little chance that a library computer will let you fire up Tor. You're better off using a traffic anonymizer than you are trying to use public computers to cover your tracks. The IP address IS the big risk here.

Libraries are generally really good about protecting their patrons' privacy and I respect the hell out of them for that but computers log everything that you do and can be subpoenaed as evidence even if the library wants to protect user privacy.

Also, I love libraries but you should treat every public computer you come across like it has a keylogger installed on it because it might. Your city could have an overzealous city council that has more control than it should over the library board and has taken it upon themselves to add covenanteyes to the library computers. Your library crew could be fantastic but less tech-savvy than is ideal and may not realize it if malware is installed on one of the machines. The library may clear browser history twice a day but the ISP still has a record of where you went and what time you went there. Somebody could have literally plugged a keylogger into a USB port on the back of the machine.

The point of a traffic anonymizer is it hides where the traffic originated; each node knows where the previous hop came from and where the next hop went, but not what came BEFORE the previous hop or what happened after, or how long the chain was, so there is no way to tell if a message originated in the US or Brazil or Vietnam or Sweden. Sending traffic from a library does the opposite of this, and very clearly says "the person who sent this message did so from this geographic area; they sent messages from these five libraries so we know they're probably within X distance of these libraries" which is a hell of a lot easier to look for than "I can't even say what continent these messages originated from."

Let us say that you go to a library to log in to your protonmail account and email a journalist a link to a file that you've saved in cryptpad. You have the link written down so you don't have to go to a secondary site and you just go sit down directly at the computer and log in to protonmail and fire off your email to the journalist. The email is encrypted, so you know the contents of the email are safe. Let's say the browser history gets automatically wiped every time you close it, and you close it as soon as you stand up and walk away. Here's the incriminating information that generated:

IP address where you accessed your protonmail account

Your protonmail email address, the journalist's address, the time you sent the email, the subject line of the email

And here are the people who can be subpoenaed to share some or all of that information with the government:

The Library's ISP

The Library, who may not carefully track users but who do have event logs on the computers and traffic logs on the firewall

Protonmail

IF you only ever logged in to your protonmail account from that ISP one time, and if you've never logged in to your protonmail account anywhere that is close to your house or your job, you may be fine. But if you logged in to your protonmail on your personal cellphone at work so that you could send photos of documents to yourself, there's some data tying that account to a local IP address. If you set up the protonmail account on a whim at a coffee shop, there's some data tying that account to a local IP address. If you get an email back from the journalist and go to another local library to open it, there's some data tying that account to another local IP address.

And that gets narrowed down very quickly. "Who has access to these sensitive and leak-worthy documents through working at this entity who also lives within a 100 mile radius of these three login locations? Is it 50 people? Is it 5 people? Of the 15 people who have access to these sensitive and leak-worthy documents who work at this entity and live within 100 miles of the three login locations, who is likely to be doing the leaking? Do we fire them all? Do we interview them? Do we compare IP addresses that they've used to log in to work remotely and find that two of them have logged in at the coffee shop? Of those two, one has facebook selfies in a maga hat and the other has a less visible online presence. Let's check their traffic history. Did they check tumblr on a lunch break? Maybe once or twice? Maybe a few times? Sure seems like they are pretty dead-set against the administration. Let's double-check the access logs for this information. Let's review security footage. Let's install the monitoring on their workstation."

The thing is, they're not going to catch you leaking and then track down all the data you left behind to confirm it; they're going to see a leak and get a bunch of digital footprints and use that to narrow down suspect pools. They already know that access to the data is limited and will be reviewing prior access and carefully monitoring future access. You are already in their suspect pool by already being one of the people with known access to the data. Adding an IP address that is geographically close to you, even if it isn't your home IP address, to that is not going to make it *harder* to find you, it can only make it easier.

So just use Tor. You're safer using an anonymizer, which you likely can't do on a library computer. Create the leak email address when you're in a Tor browser, and only EVER access that email account from Tor.

Also I don't mean to jump on you about this, but between the post I've got about why you shouldn't use your work computer to torrent and the safer leaking practices post it's clear that people really don't understand what information they're leaving behind when they use computers and the internet, or how it can be a risk to them.

Accessing burner accounts from a clear IP address means that they're not burner accounts anymore, they're burned.

[jcmarchi]

How Canadians Can Access Google Bard: A Guide with VPN Tips

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/how-canadians-can-access-google-bard-a-guide-with-vpn-tips/

How Canadians Can Access Google Bard: A Guide with VPN Tips

Google Bard, one of the latest AI chatbots from Google, has gained significant attention for its ability to provide up-to-date information and answer complex queries using the latest data. Unlike its main competitor, ChatGPT, which only has data up to April 2023, Google Bard can access real-time information and summarize web content. Despite its advantages, Canadians face a roadblock: Google Bard is currently unavailable in Canada due to regulatory uncertainties. However, there is a way around this—using a VPN.

What is Google Bard?

Google Bard is an AI chatbot that was launched in early 2023, following the success of ChatGPT. This tool is designed to assist users in a wide range of tasks, from answering questions with the most recent information to summarizing web pages. Its ability to stay current with the latest data makes it particularly useful for research and other applications where up-to-date knowledge is crucial.

Why is Google Bard Unavailable in Canada?

The unavailability of Google Bard in Canada stems from “regulatory uncertainty,” although Google has not provided a detailed explanation. This is likely related to the ongoing disputes over Canada’s Online News Act, which requires tech companies like Google to compensate news outlets for content shared on their platforms. This act has already led to Facebook banning news sharing in Canada, and Google seems to have taken a cautious approach by restricting access to Bard in the country.

Can You Access Google Bard with a VPN?

Yes, Canadians can access Google Bard by using a Virtual Private Network (VPN). A VPN allows you to connect to the internet through a server located in another country, effectively bypassing the regional restrictions placed on services like Google Bard. By connecting to a server in the United States or another country where Bard is available, you can use the chatbot without any issues.

How to Choose a VPN for Accessing Google Bard

Not all VPNs are created equal, and choosing the right one is crucial for a seamless experience with Google Bard. Here are some tips:

Avoid Free VPNs: Free VPNs often come with limitations such as restricted bandwidth, slower speeds, and a smaller number of servers. They may also pose security risks, which is why it’s recommended to opt for a premium VPN service.

Speed Matters: To ensure smooth use of Google Bard, choose a VPN that offers high-speed connections. VPNs with the WireGuard protocol or its variants, like NordLynx, are known for their fast performance.

Server Availability: A VPN with thousands of servers in multiple countries will provide more options and better speeds. This is crucial for maintaining a fast and reliable connection to Google Bard.

Security Features: Look for VPNs with advanced security features like a kill switch, which prevents data leaks if the VPN connection drops, and obfuscated servers, which hide the fact that you are using a VPN. This can be particularly useful if you face stringent restrictions.

Customer Support: 24/7 customer support is a valuable feature, especially if you encounter issues or have questions while using the VPN.

Recommended VPN: NordVPN

One of the top choices for accessing Google Bard is NordVPN. It offers a range of features that make it ideal for this purpose:

Advanced Security: NordVPN uses AES-256 encryption, making your data highly secure.

Fast Connections: With over 5,000 servers in 60 countries, including options like NordLynx for faster speeds, NordVPN ensures a quick and stable connection.

Specialty Servers: NordVPN offers features like obfuscated servers and a kill switch, enhancing your security and bypassing restrictions effectively.

Threat Protection: This feature blocks malicious websites, ads, and trackers, adding an extra layer of security.

Meshnet: NordVPN’s Meshnet allows users to connect devices through encrypted private tunnels, enabling secure file sharing and collaboration.

Other recommended options include Express VPN and Surfshark. Other options are available in our list of the best VPNs for Canadian residents.

Conclusion

While Google Bard is currently unavailable in Canada due to regulatory challenges, Canadians can still access this powerful AI tool by using a reliable VPN service like NordVPN. With the right VPN, you can bypass regional restrictions, maintain your online security, and enjoy the full capabilities of Google Bard.

[flwrkid14]

imagine if Tim’s rogues/villains (lady shiva, cat woman, riddler, ra’s, etc) are the only ones who remember his birthday? Like they’d break into the bat cave or JL meeting to gift him smth or just to wish him happy birthday. That’d be sad and depressing but also funny and cute ig.

thank you so much for this ask, anon !! it’s the perfect mix of funny and quietly heartbreaking — which honestly just is the Tim Drake experience. like of course his villains would remember his birthday. of course Lady Shiva would casually drop into the Batcave with a perfectly wrapped gift while everyone else forgets. it’s tragic. it’s hilarious. it’s weirdly endearing. and now I can’t stop thinking about it T-T

Tim doesn’t expect anyone to remember.

And look, that’s not some martyr thing. He’s not fishing. He’s not being dramatic. It’s just—everyone’s busy. Bruce is halfway across the galaxy playing interstellar Batman. Dick’s working double shifts in Blüdhaven. Cass and Steph are off-grid. Damian is... somewhere. Probably stabbing something.

Alfred would’ve remembered, but he’s in Zurich for that symposium on bullet wound triage. Because of course he is.

So Tim spends most of his nineteenth birthday in the Batcave. Doing diagnostics. Refreshing surveillance logs. Eating cereal out of a coffee mug. Like it’s not the most depressing way to turn nineteen.

And then the lights go out.

Not all of them. Just the perimeter lights. A very specific, very deliberate power dip. Because that’s apparently how Lady Shiva says hello.

She doesn’t say happy birthday right away. She just stands there in the half-shadow, arms folded, watching him like she’s assessing if he’s taller or if she just forgot how short he used to be.

“I brought food,” she says finally, and tosses a brown paper bag onto the desk.

Inside: dumplings. From that place in Chinatown with the crab logo he used to sneak off to between patrols. It’s still hot.

She doesn’t stick around. Just says, “Don’t waste it,” and disappears back into the dark like a cryptid. No hug. No smile. Nothing soft.

There's nothing particularly nice about it.

Next is Riddler.

He sets off every alarm on his way down the cave's elevator, and Tim barely has time to disable the failsafes before Edward saunters in wearing a blazer that could double as a traffic hazard.

“I brought you a game,” he announces, like this is normal. Like they’ve done this before.

It’s a puzzle box—wooden, intricate, probably one-of-a-kind. No branding, just a spiraling Latin inscription and a note tucked beneath the lid: "You’re harder to stump at nineteen. I’m offended, but i'll keep working harder to outsmart you, watch out birdy boy."

It’s mocking. Theatrical. Annoyingly sincere in a way that almost makes Tim smile.

Tim mutters a thank-you he doesn’t quite mean, but also kind of does.

Catwoman shows up uninvited (of course). No alarm this time—just a tap on the Batmobile’s roof as she lounges against it like it’s her personal chaise lounge.

“Word on the rooftops was that it’s your big day,” she purrs. “I figured the Bats forgot.”

She tosses him a small, flat box wrapped in a ribbon he’s 90% sure is from one of Gotham’s high-end jewelry stores. Inside is a slim data drive.

“Encrypted files on the mayor’s shady offshore accounts,” she says, almost bored. “Happy birthday, bird boy.”

Then, a wink. And she’s gone, leaving a faint trace of perfume and the knowledge that she absolutely used Bruce’s garage code to get in.

And then.

Ra’s.

Because of course there’s a transmission from Ra’s al Ghul, as if today hadn’t been weird enough.

The Batcomputer beeps ominously and suddenly there he is, on every monitor, standing before some firepit like he’s about to start a Gregorian chant.

“Detective,” he begins, smooth and dramatic and so deeply irritating. “I find the anniversary of your birth… worthy of acknowledgement.”

There’s a pause. Like he’s searching for the words “happy birthday” and finding them both distasteful and beneath him.

“I have arranged for several of your enemies to experience... inconvenience today. A small gesture.”

Which is Ra’s-speak for “I kidnapped half the Gotham underworld so you could have a quiet evening.”

It’s dumb. And morbid. And weird. But he remembered. Which is more than anyone else did.

Midnight hits. The cave is dark again. Shiva’s bag is empty. The logic puzzle sits unsolved on the floor. Selina’s drive hums faintly where he’s left it connected to his laptop. The screens have long since gone cold, the remnants of Ra’s transmission fading.

No texts. No calls. No Bats.

Just a handful of villains with weird boundaries and the emotional range of a brick.

Somehow, it still means something.

Somehow, it’s not the worst birthday he’s ever had.