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ms-demeanor · 2 months ago

Note

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.

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jaewritesfic · 10 months ago

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Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid.

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving.

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously.

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride.

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible.

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer.

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.

Part 5

Masterpost

#dp x dc #danny phantom #tim drake #red robin #duke thomas #signal dc #tim isnt just pissed about the bee movie script #hes pissed because there could be information hidden in it #so he knows hes going to have to READ the ENTIRE BEE MOVIE SCRIPT and read it closely #spoiler alert #there are no clues #its really just the bee movie script #danny accidentally got a job as an engineer for the bats #and is cackling away while he drives them nuts

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sematarygirls · 6 months ago

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GONE GIRL. masterlist

if you know the whereabouts of this person, please call 911 or contact the kildare county sheriff's department at 252-290-6688

NAV ! Part One. Part Two.

CASE NUMBER: 2023-KILDARE-002

CASE NAME: L/N, Y/N - Missing Person

DATE SUBMITTED: July 24, 2023 (Investigation Ongoing)

AGENCY: Kildare County Police Department

EVIDENCE TECHNICIAN: Officer J. Gingham

ITEMS ENCLOSED:

1. Incident Report

2. USB Containing Witness Statements

3. USB Containing Suspect Interviews

4. Anonymous Tips & Alleged Sightings

5. Manilla Folder of Crime Scene Photos

6. Subpoenas for Phone Records

6.1. Victim's Call Logs

7. Subpoenas for Text Messages

7.1. Victim's Text Messages

8. Search Warrant for 313 Lakeshore Drive

8.1. Bottle of Unidentified Pills (Pending Analysis)

8.2. Encrypted Flashdrive (Pending Analysis)

8.3. Victim's Diary

8.4. Threatening Letter (Pending Handwriting Analysis)

8.5. Calender with Day of Disappearance Circled

8.6. Shattered Picture Frame of Victim and R. Cameron

8.7. Cellphone Charger

8.8. Hairbrush (Collected for DNA)

9. Search Warrant for R. Cameron's Room at 115 Kingsford Street

9.1. Pair of Victim's Underwear

9.2. Collection of Naked Photos of Victim

9.3. "R" Pendant Necklace (Victim was Last Seen Wearing)

9.4. Bloody T-Shirt (Pending Analysis)

10. Victim's Purse (Recovered at Old Church on Whickam Road)

10.1. Wallet with ID

10.2. Torn QuickFuel Reciept

10.3. Baggie with Unidentified White Powder (Pending Analysis)

10.4. ChapStick Classic Cherry Lip Balm

10.5. Keyring: House Key for 313 Lakeshore Drive, House Key for 231 Bradford Road, Unidentified Key, Heart Locket Keychain with R. Cameron's Picture Inside

10.6. White, Silver, and Red Sobriety Chips

10.7. Sunglasses

10.8. Lo Loestrin Fe Birth Control

10.9. Crumpled Photo of Victim and Unidentified Man

10.10. Pink Hello Kitty Lighter

10.11. Switchblade

10.12. Trident Pineapple Twist Gum

11. Copy of Missing Person's Flier

12. Incident Reports from 313 Lakeshore Drive

13. Subpoena of Victim's Bank Statements and Financial Records

13.1. Victim's Bank Statements and Financial Records

14. Subpoena of Victim's Medical Records

14.1. Victim's Medical Records

CHAIN OF CUSTODY LOG INCLUDED

notes .ᐟ the layout isn't very pretty, but you get the idea. it's a detailed account of everything in the evidence box thus far

taglist .ᐟ @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @fallbhind / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 / @riaras-everthroner / @memoirofasparklemuff1n / @rafeysangelbaby

୭ৎ

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hillbillyoracle · 2 months ago

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When cell phones and internet go down...

If you're in one of a myriad of marginalized groups who know they can't count on the government to help them, then this post is for you.

I feel like I'm cramming messages into bottles from my fairly niche interest (radio, emergency comms) and chucking them into the sea of Tumble in the hopes it reaches people it can help. What happened in Spain and Portugal recently and some of the cell outages we've seen in recent years - they're is a great example of why back up communication methods aren't just for doomsday preppers.

If cell phones and internet (and possibly power) went out, how would you communicate in an emergency?

Note: this is geared toward the US. It's where I am and it's all I know.

If I only had ~$25

I'd grab a Beofeng UV-5R ($18-$25) if I thought I might study to get my ham license eventually ($15-$25 test fee + $35 FCC fee),

If I knew I didn't want to test for a ham license and thought I might pay $35 for a GMRS license eventually, I'd pay a little extra up front and get a Beofeng UV-5G plus GMRS radio (~$35)

While this would not allow me to transmit usually, this would allow me to:

call for help in an emergency - the license requirement for transmission is lifted in the event of a genuine emergency

listen to weather frequencies - it will not turn on and give you the alert but if you know bad weather is coming, you can turn it on and listen for alerts as they come in. Weather stations give alerts for a fairly broad area so you'll be able to hear about any significant storms as the move into and through your area.

listen to local repeaters - repeaters, in my experience, are kind of a combination of a megaphone and an internet chat room. You set the frequency and the PL tones (password sounds your radio sends) for the repeater and then you can hear people from much further away. This is one, just fun to listen to on a given day but two, a great way to find out information if your area is experiencing an event but you don't require help. Some even have EAS weather alerts (thought this still won't turn your radio on if it's off in an emergency). Use repeaterbook to look for repeaters in your area and use CHIRP to program them into your radio - tutorials abound.

For ~$15 more you can upgrade the UV-5R to a bigger battery and USB-C charging (UV-5G comes with USB-C charging).

This can be thrown in a go bag if you need to evacuate or your housing is unstable. You can have your handheld radio monitoring a local repeater while you have a car or portable radio listening to commercial or public stations for updates.

If I only had ~$100

I would get a GMRS license ($35) and a Beofeng UV-5G plus (~$35) and a single Meshtastic node (~$25).

If I had a little extra, I'd grab a second Meshtastic node for a roommate, partner, family member or nearby friend.

This would get me the ability to not only monitor frequencies but the ability to talk on them in non-emergency times which would be helpful practice. Some GMRS repeaters have regular "nets" - it's basically a meeting on air where someone invited folks to tell them/radio in their call sign (radio license ID basically) and then they confirm they heard you. This gives you a chance to test your equipment.

The GMRS license covers your family so they can pick up a radio as well and then you'd be able to communicate with them as well (as long as they're close enough; 1-5 miles but varies by terrain, more range if using a repeater). It's not a phone so the conversation would be heard by other people but this is great for wellness checks or a quick check up.

Meshtastics add the ability to text people and share GPS coordinates with people near by - encrypted if you so desire. The range is much less (I've only tested it to about a mile currently though with tweaking more is possible). This adds an important link in your communication plan - asynchronous communication. As long as the device is on and paired and in range, you'll most likely receive a message. It does drop occasionally but that's pretty rare. My nesting partner and I often have to rely on them because the internet and cell signal is so poor up here but they serve us incredibly well for that. Beyond the Emergency Comms use, it's just nice for morale to be able to text during an event. Best part is, if you're in an area were other people have them too, you can bounce your signal further for no additional power.

Past this amount of money, I'd still get my GMRS license and encourage my friends and neighbors who didn't want to study for the ham license to get theirs. Then I'd get my ham license and buy the best handheld I could afford - probably one of the value Yaesu models - so I have several ways to both coordinate among my loved ones and get any needs to a net in the area during a disaster.I'd get and pass out several meshtastic devices to people who were within range that I might want to commincate with. I'd look into back up power for recharging (I like my Jackerys).

Amateur radio is a deep well and this barely touches on it of it. Don't let how vast it is keep you thinking it's too complicated for you. I promise it's not. I'm very much a noob myself but I'm happy answer any questions that I can.

This is part of self care - ensuring you can care for yourself during chaotic events and emergencies to the best of your ability. Even a little bit of preparation can keep something like storm outbreak or power outage from turning harmful or even deadly. Learn what you can. You've got this!

#ham radio #prepping #GMRS #emcomm

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harryssyndrome · 1 month ago

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The Red Key | h.s (AU)

summery: When a rogue agent threatens global security with a deadly bioweapon known as Red Key, two operatives-Harry and YN-are drawn into a high-stakes mission where trust is fragile and betrayal cuts deep. YN, hiding her true identity behind a glamorous cover, must get close to a man from her past, while Harry races against time to stop a looming catastrophe. As the lines between duty and desire blur, the duo must outwit a cunning enemy and confront secrets that could destroy everything.

word count: 2.8k || Masterlist 🔫❤️‍🔥

A/N: Felt a little inspired by mission impossible II so why no 😌 I hope it’s nice little thing to read😅 warning? not proofread. It’s a mini series so a part or two. I’m sorry if it’s shit, I tried my best. my life’s a mess so… I’m not at my best, I’m posting after so long. it’s been in my draft for months, I promise dadrry are better. Like & reblog are appreciated, let me know if you wanna be added to the tag-list, feel free to leave comments. Mwah! 💋

Tag-list: @wheredidmyeyesgo @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @cherryloveshs @harryyloverrr | Tag-list is OPEN || Request are OPEN

The grandeur of the gala was designed to impress. The sprawling ballroom was a display of unapologetic wealth, with every detail meticulously curated to reflect the stature of its host. From the cascading crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in a soft golden glow to the opulent red-and-gold tapestries adorning the walls, everything screamed excess. Waiters moved like shadows, weaving seamlessly through the crowd with silver trays balanced expertly in their hands. Glasses of champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres passed from tray to guest in a rhythm as choreographed as the string quartet’s melody.

YN stood near one of the massive arched windows, her reflection a shimmering silhouette against the night. Her dress—a figure-hugging gown of midnight blue sequins—caught the light with every subtle movement, transforming her into a walking constellation. She looked every bit the rising singer she claimed to be, her soft smile and easy confidence drawing glances from all corners of the room.

But beneath the surface, her mind was focused and sharp. This wasn’t her world—no, it was her stage. And tonight, her performance was a heist.

Her mission was clear: retrieve the Red Key. Hidden somewhere in this labyrinthine estate was a device that could destabilize the world’s balance of power. The encrypted USB, codenamed the Red Key, housed a revolutionary program capable of dismantling even the most secure systems. For YN, this wasn’t just a job—it was a gamble. The paycheck was astronomical, enough to wipe away her debts and buy her freedom. But failure? Failure meant more than just losing her reputation—it meant death.

As YN surveyed the room, she felt the weight of her double life settle heavily on her shoulders. On the surface, she was a singer—a talent just beginning to garner whispers of fame. Her soulful voice and enigmatic stage presence had made her a subject of intrigue in elite circles. But in reality, her music was a façade, a clever cover that granted her access to places like this. She wasn’t here to perform. She was here to steal.

Her target was Lord Carlisle, the eccentric billionaire hosting the gala. Known for his insatiable appetite for collecting rare and dangerous artifacts, Carlisle was rumored to have acquired the Red Key through the black market. It was locked away in his private server room, and YN had spent months studying the estate’s layout to plan her approach.

She sipped her champagne as her eyes roved over the crowd. Carlisle stood near the center of the room, surrounded by sycophants and admirers. His laughter boomed over the delicate strains of music, his booming voice a sharp contrast to the otherwise refined atmosphere. YN’s lips curved into a small, calculated smile.

The first step was simple: blend in.

YN wove through the crowd with practiced ease, exchanging polite smiles and nods with other guests. She stopped briefly to admire a display of Carlisle’s prized artifacts—ancient relics encased in glass—and engaged in small talk with a curator who seemed all too eager to share their knowledge. It was all part of the act.

But as she moved toward the east wing—the restricted area where the server room was hidden—a prickle of awareness crawled up her spine. Someone was watching her.

She turned her head just slightly, catching the gaze of a man leaning casually against the bar. His tailored black tuxedo fit him like a second skin, and his dark curls fell perfectly into place, framing a face that seemed carved from marble. But it was his eyes that held her attention—intense and unrelenting, like they could see straight through her.

She recognized him instantly. Harry Styles.

MI6’s golden boy.

Her stomach clenched. If Styles was here, the stakes were higher than she’d anticipated. MI6 didn’t send agents to fancy galas for no reason. They sent them to stop people like her.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and he raised his glass in a mock salute. His lips curved into a faint smile, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his gaze.

YN forced herself to return the smile, her mind racing. If Styles suspected her, she couldn’t afford to let it show. She turned away and resumed her path toward the east wing, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Nice voice,” a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts.

YN stopped mid-step, cursing inwardly. She turned slowly, schooling her features into an expression of mild curiosity.

Harry stood just a few feet away, his posture relaxed but his eyes razor-sharp. Up close, he was even more disarming, his presence exuding a quiet confidence that was impossible to ignore.

“You haven’t heard me sing yet,” she replied, her tone light and playful.

“I don’t need to. I have an ear for talent,” he said, raising his glass to her.

YN kept her smile intact, though her mind raced with contingency plans. “Good to know. But I should be going—people to meet, champagne to drink.”

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you,” he said, stepping aside with an almost imperceptible bow.

But as she walked away, she felt his eyes follow her, a constant weight pressing against her back.

The east wing was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of the gala. August moved swiftly, her footsteps muffled by the plush red carpet. She reached the server room without incident, her fingers brushing over the keypad as she punched in the code she’d memorized.

The door clicked open, and she slipped inside.

The room was a technological fortress, lined with sleek black servers that hummed softly in the cool, climate-controlled air. YN pulled a decoy USB drive from her clutch—a fake designed to bypass the system’s defenses—and plugged it into the main console.

Her fingers danced over the keyboard as she navigated the system, bypassing layers of encryption with practiced ease. But just as she accessed the folder containing the Red Key, a voice shattered the silence.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Her blood ran cold. She spun around, her heart hammering in her chest.

Harry stood in the doorway, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp gaze told her he wasn’t here to make small talk.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her throat.

“I could ask you the same,” he replied, stepping closer. “But I already know. You’re here for the Red Key.”

Her mind raced, calculating her options. She could lunge for the taser hidden in her clutch, but something told her he’d see it coming.

“And you’re here to stop me?” she asked, her tone edged with defiance.

“Not exactly.” He glanced at the flashing red light above the door. “You tripped a silent alarm when you accessed that panel. Guards will be here in less than a minute.”

She cursed under her breath. The system must have detected the decoy USB.

“Fine,” she said, stepping away from the console. “But this doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“Good,” he replied with a smirk. “I don’t trust you either.”

The escape was chaos.

The guards arrived in droves, their shouts echoing through the hallway as they fired warning shots. YN and Harry sprinted down the corridor, their movements perfectly synchronized despite the tension crackling between them.

“In here!” Harry barked, pulling her into a narrow service elevator.

The doors closed just as a hail of bullets slammed into the metal.

YN leaned against the wall, catching her breath. “This isn’t exactly how I planned my night.”

“Really? I thought you were enjoying yourself,” Harry quipped, adjusting his cufflinks as if they weren’t running for their lives.

She glared at him. “Don’t get used to this partnership.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

The chase ended in the estate’s garage, where Harry hotwired a sleek black car with alarming ease.

“You’re full of surprises,” YN muttered as she slid into the passenger seat.

“You have no idea,” he replied, revving the engine.

The tires screeched as they sped out of the garage, leaving the estate and its chaos behind.

The car sped down a winding road that cut through a dense forest, the headlights slicing through the darkness. Harry’s hands gripped the steering wheel with practiced ease, his gaze focused on the road ahead. YN sat beside him, her arms crossed and jaw clenched, the tension between them palpable.

She broke the silence first. “You didn’t have to get involved, you know.”

Harry glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. “And let you fumble your way out of a shootout? Tempting, but no.”

“I had it under control,” she said, her tone sharp.

“You’re welcome,” he shot back, his voice tinged with amusement.

YN exhaled sharply, turning her gaze out the window. The forest blurred into streaks of black and green, but her mind was fixed on the mission. The Red Key had slipped through her fingers, and she wasn’t sure if she could salvage the situation. Worse, she was now tethered to Harry Styles, MI6’s golden boy, whose motives remained frustratingly opaque.

“Where are we going?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“To regroup,” Harry replied. “You’re not the only one who wants the Red Key, you know.”

YN frowned. “So, what’s your angle? You swoop in, play hero, and then what? Hand it over to your bosses so they can lock it up in some classified vault?”

Harry smirked. “Something like that.”

Her frown deepened. She couldn’t afford to let MI6 take control of the device—not when she was this close to securing her freedom. But for now, she needed Harry’s help to stay ahead of Carlisle’s men.

They reached a secluded safe house an hour later, a modest cabin hidden deep in the woods. Harry parked the car and stepped out, moving with the casual confidence of someone who’d done this a hundred times before.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, unlocking the door.

The interior was spartan but functional—a single-room space with a kitchenette, a worn sofa, and a desk cluttered with maps and surveillance equipment. YN took it all in with a raised brow.

“Charming,” she said dryly.

Harry ignored the jab, heading to the desk and pulling out a laptop. “We don’t have much time. Carlisle’s men will be searching for us, and they won’t stop until they recover the Red Key.”

YN crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s the plan?”

Harry looked up at her, his expression serious. “We work together.”

She scoffed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “You’re good, but you’re not getting that device on your own. Carlisle has an army of guards and the best security money can buy. You need me.”

“And what’s in it for you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it would have to do.

As the night wore on, the two of them pored over the intel Harry had gathered on Carlisle’s estate. Blueprints, security codes, and surveillance footage littered the desk, creating a mosaic of the billionaire’s heavily fortified world.

“His private jet leaves tomorrow morning,” Harry said, pointing to a flight plan on the screen. “If he takes the Red Key with him, we’ll lose our chance to intercept it.”

YN frowned, tracing her finger over the estate’s layout. “Then we hit him tonight.”

Harry raised a brow. “Bold move.”

“Desperate times,” she replied with a shrug.

He studied her for a moment, his gaze unreadable. “You’re not what I expected,” he said finally.

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “And what did you expect?”

“Someone colder. Detached. But you… you’re different.”

YN’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Don’t let it fool you. I’m as dangerous as they come.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Later, as they prepared for the mission, YN caught Harry watching her again.

“Something on your mind?” she asked, slipping a knife into her boot.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Why do you do it? The heists, the double life… What’s the endgame?”

She paused, considering her answer. “Freedom,” she said simply. “I’ve spent my whole life running—from debts, from mistakes, from people who wanted to control me. This job… it’s my way out.”

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Fair enough.”

“And what about you?” she countered. “Why MI6? Why risk your life for a government that probably sees you as expendable?”

His smile was faint, almost wistful. “Because someone has to. And I’m good at it.”

Their eyes met, a quiet understanding passing between them.

The mission began under the cover of darkness.

Harry and YN slipped back into Carlisle’s estate, their movements silent and precise. This time, they worked together seamlessly, their strengths complementing each other in ways neither had anticipated.

Harry disabled the perimeter alarms while YN picked the lock on a side entrance. Inside, they navigated the maze-like corridors with practiced ease, avoiding guards and security cameras with the skill of seasoned professionals.

At one point, they found themselves pressed against a wall, a pair of guards passing just inches away. YN could feel Harry’s breath against her ear, his presence both reassuring and distracting.

“Stay close,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.

When they finally reached Carlisle’s office, the tension was nearly unbearable.

The Red Key sat on his desk, a small but menacing device that seemed almost innocuous in its simplicity.

“Is that it?” YN asked, her voice low.

Harry nodded. “That’s it.”

She moved to grab it, but Harry stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Wait,” he said, pointing to a faint red beam of light scanning the desk. “Laser tripwire. He’s not taking any chances.”

YN cursed under her breath. “Can you disable it?”

Harry smirked, pulling a small device from his pocket. “Watch and learn.”

The extraction was flawless—until it wasn’t.

As they exited the office, an alarm blared, shattering the silence. Carlisle’s men were on them in an instant, their shouts echoing through the halls.

“Go!” Harry shouted, shoving YN ahead of him.

They sprinted toward the exit, dodging bullets and ducking behind cover as the guards pursued them relentlessly.

When they finally reached the car, YN turned to Harry, her eyes blazing. “You planned this, didn’t you? You wanted the distraction!”

He didn’t deny it. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Before she could reply, the sound of approaching engines cut through the night. Carlisle’s men weren’t giving up without a fight

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greatkittencloud · 17 days ago

Text

TW: Mild Violence

Black Nova

Chapter 15

Location: RAF Base

Time : 0900 Hours

The warmth of the cabin was long gone.

The halls of Base buzzed faintly with lights and distant voices. Everyone was back in gear. Uniforms, weapons, the weight of duty settling on their shoulders like armor again.

Nova walked down the corridor, silent, sharp-eyed, back in soldier mode.

But something hung in the air.

Tension.

A hum behind the silence.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

Only Price and Ghost stood in the dim room. A single desk lamp glowed. Outside, the base moved like clockwork.

Price didn’t speak at first. He just pulled a folder from a drawer slim, but heavy in implication and slid it across the desk toward Ghost.

Ghost didn’t touch it yet. “Something’s wrong?”

Price nodded slowly. “I got a call. While we were still at the cabin. Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

Ghost finally opened the folder.

Inside:

Timestamped images.

Encrypted comm logs traced to compromised frequencies.

One redacted document with Nova’s name tagged in the corner.

A USB pulled from a burner laptop marked with her initials.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed behind the mask.

"You think she’s the mole.”

Price’s jaw worked as he stared at the ops board. “I don’t want to. But the intel lines up. Out of thirteen missions, six were compromised.”

Ghost stood still, silent for a beat. “And she was on all six.”

Price nodded slowly. “Every single one.”

Ghost’s voice was tight. “That’s not proof.”

“No,” Price admitted. “But it’s a pattern I can’t ignore.”

Ghost clenched his fists. “She nearly died on two of those ops.”

“I know,” Price said, voice low. “Which either makes her innocent or damn good at selling the act.”

Ghost didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to.

Price looked around. “I want facts, not feelings. Until we’re sure, she’s grounded. No missions, no comms access.”

Ghost finally spoke, voice low. “You planning to tell her?”

Price’s mouth set into a grim line. “She’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Location : Base Gym

Time: 1600 Hours

Punch.

Breathe.

Nova moved like a machine fists slamming into the heavy bag, sweat dripping, breath sharp. The sound echoed in the mostly empty gym.

But not empty enough.

From the corner, she felt the eyes. A flicker of silence where there should’ve been movement. She turned just fast enough to catch Ghost stepping away from the glass, pretending he hadn’t been watching.

She frowned.

Noted it.

Later same day Soap looked up, halfway through a joke with Ghost and Gaz. Their table had space.

She started toward them and the laughter dipped.

Only a second.

But enough.

Price.

He was talking to a logistics officer down the hall — nothing major. Normal base chatter.

But when he passed her, he didn’t stop. No small talk. No briefing. Just a faint glance.

Neutral. Careful.

And that’s when she knew.

Something had changed.

Not one person had said a word to her directly but the silence was louder than any bullet she’d ever heard.

Her mask was still on.

But behind it, her eyes were burning.

Low hum. Cold blue lights. Surveillance monitors blinking.

Nova stood alone.

Gloved fingers flew across a terminal she was deep inside files. Her eyes scanned decrypted data faster than most could read.

“If I’m being framed… someone must have left a trace...”

A shadow shifted in the reflection of the screen.

Too late.

Nova sat in a stark white room, hands cuffed to the table. Her mask was gone. Expression unreadable.

The door opened.

Price stepped in. Grim. Stone-faced. Behind him Ghost, unreadable beneath the mask.

Price tossed a folder onto the table.

Inside: logs showing her unauthorized access. A second USB — this one found in her quarters, matching the one linked to the mole transmissions.

Nova stared down at it.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s not mine.”

“Then someone went through a lot of effort to make it look like it is,” Price said. “And right now, Command believes them.”

She looked up at him betrayed, desperate. “You know me.”

“I knew a soldier,” he said. “Right now, I’ve got a suspect.”

Ghost didn’t say anything. Just looked at her too long, too hard.

Then Price turned to him.

“Take the investigation. Full authority. I want truth. Whatever it takes.”

And just like that, he walked out.

Leaving Ghost.

And Nova.

Alone.

Thankyou for reading!

Taglist: @hyperfixiation-station , @massivescissorsthingperson , @sheepispink , @adalia-lovelace , @sweetybuzz25 , @kaoyamamegami , @warrior-xe , @n-ae-vis , @enfppuff .

#ghost cod #john price #john soap mactavish #cod fandom #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #black nova #call of duty

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sanzaibian · 1 year ago

Text

“Sir, here are the Beatty files.” The young woman told me, handing a USB key.

I have heard a lot about these files. They were intercepted in the town after which they’re named by the secret services a while ago, but were encrypted in such a puzzling way that only now can we view them. And of course, I am the first one to be able to review its content.

I know a lot of things, as it is my job to be informed of anything and everything happening around the world. I know the plans of China over Taiwan, the successor to the Ayatollah, the contents of the talks between Putin and Kim Jong-un, and all the current US military strategy. In my line of work, everything can happen, yet at no single point could I make sense of the Beatty files. Nor could anyone else for that matter.

I excused the young woman, bidding to her my thanks for the deciphering team, and went to the unused laptop I had prepared. When it comes to matters of national security, I cannot afford to be careless, and let anyone unlicensed to get access to this. So brand new laptop, created by us, which has never been opened, to open these files.

And so I fiddled with the parameters a bit, entering the secret code, and inserted the USB key to view its contents. Inside were a few files, all of which videos. Their names were not informative, since I know for a fact that their original names were not recovered, so I just opened the first file in the list.

The video opened looking down in a white cubic room, meaning it was very likely a security camera recording. In addition, there was the time indicated on the bottom right, yet something felt weird about how it was displayed… 15:58… 15:59… 15:60 ???... 16:01, etc. Why is it not counting time correctly ? Nobody indicates time like this ! It’s wrong, it’s incorrect ! I just opened it and there’s already something I cannot in any way explain !

Taking a deep breath, I look at the center of the screen, in which I have a good view of a man sat in a chair. He has tanned skin, black hair and black stubble, and a very developed musculature. He looks to be a very attractive middle-eastern man, although I cannot say which ethnicity he precisely has.

The chair he’s sitting on is quite massive, and he looks almost as if he is… restrained in it ? Yes, there seems to be little handcuffs tethering him to the armchairs. But most striking are the numerous tubes going out from his arms, legs, torso and even head, linked to some types of medical appliances I cannot recognize, as well as to a sort of glass tank.

Suddenly, I notice the deep voice of a man. I up the volume, and hear… a language I cannot understand.

“Tzai en 19/03, 2:17, en tzoujkbruoi odogattzion program en Scipio Labratory. Ny hse Hk. Adtem, tzai widt nyn hskadiais, Sjd. Fingtrosy ÿ Sd. Vagohs, ÿ naum wom fill no tzoujketvÿsn ekspÿrians widt no #1073 bymarjen.”

At first I get some German vibes from it, but then it seems to be Polish, and then French… Whatever that language might be, it is not one I have ever heard. The man in the chair looks around, seemingly half-dazed, as if he was drugged. I don’t know what will happen to him, yet I get the feeling that it won’t be a desirable fate.

Suddenly, another voice, that of a woman by the looks of things, speaking in that same strange language.

“Hsüzmalhsÿv drël en im.”

Then a buzzer sound. There seems to be some white substance flowing inside the man’s body, through the tubes from the medical appliances. As it flows, I can see his eyes starting to become more droopy, before fluttering, and then closing. At the same time, his body starts floundering in the restraints, as if he was keeping himself from falling asleep. But as time went on and the white liquid ran dry, all of his muscles were relaxing and his stance become limp, like that of a dysfunctional robot. However, looking at his accelerating breathing rhythm, it seems to my trained eye that he is not actually asleep. It’s only his body refusing to function correctly.

“Drël ingkatzt. Etvÿsn harjimÿll.” Says another voice, deeper than the last one, but not as deep as the first one.

I don’t really know what’s happening. If the counter on the bottom-right of the screen wasn’t ticking up, I would have thought that the image was frozen. But then, suddenly, I can hear a low sound in the recording. And that sounds starts creeping higher and higher, as if something was charging up… Yeah, definitively charging up, since I almost saw some lightning sparks going off from the chair…

I don’t know what’s happening, but it seems to be malfunctioning. The sparks make themselves more and more intense, and it almost seems as if the machine is ready to explode...

Just as I say that, the first deep voice makes itself heard once again, but this time more in a frustrated or worried tone than an official one.

“Sel heont havy… Go huop sel hstill pÿrdont...”

But suddenly, the sparks stop, and while the sound doesn’t stop, beige liquid start flowing into the pipes… from the man to the tank ? What is that thing ? I don’t understand ! However, I can hear cries of rejoice in the audience, with all three voices I’ve heard since then saying incomprehensible stuff that I wouldn’t even be able to transcribe. I guess they also didn’t think… whatever this is would work ?

I take a drink from my water bottle as I keep an eye on the video. However, since I need to reach my bag, I cannot actively monitor it. Besides, according to what I hear, nothing of note seems to be happening... But when I have put down the bottle, I stop the video. I rub my eyes, but even then, I still see it.

The man seems smaller.

Somehow.

I go back in the video to the time where the man with the deepest voice sounded worried and… Yeah, looking like that, it’s even more apparent. The man has been losing mass. And the tanks have been filled by this beige skin-color liquid… Heh, if I didn’t know I was in reality, I would have said that this is muscle-juice, but this is ridiculous…

Especially since the body mass hasn’t been the only thing to change.

As I play back the video and continue through the long haul of high-pitch noise and not much else, I notice that the man’s stubble seems to be disappearing… and his head hair growing as well, somehow ? It almost seems as if he’s becoming less masculine by the second, if it even makes any sense, even though nothing about this video actually makesanysense. If I didn’t know who supplied it to me, I would have said this was a fake…

As his pecs were shrinking, his arms were thinning, his waist narrowing and his legs slimming, his stance almost seemed to be relaxing further – if it’s even possible. I mean, I don’t know ! It’s just the impression that I’m getting ! As the last of his stubble vanishes, at least according to what I can see through the pixels, he almost seems to be getting cuter ? Whence more relaxed ? Fuck, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever…

Oh. I know why I get this impression. It’s not anymore weird or nonsensical, but at least in this context it seems to make sense… I think he also is losing height. Yes, actually. Height. It’s almost as if someone took the textbook definition of a “twink” and decided to impart its characteristic on this poor fellow – don’t ask me why I know what it is.

As I continue watching in horror, the woman’s voice says, gleefully :

“Entzony as hen !”

How can they sound so… happy ? Happy to torture a man like this ? To, quite visibly, drain his muscles into those tanks that look more and more full ? It just goes beyond me ! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen my fair share of horrible and unethical treatments, and a ton of unethical human experiments. But this by far takes the cake of the most disturbing thing I have ever seen ! They’re taking away what he is, his identity ! Him ! That’s the most cruel violation of human rights I have ever seen ! To gleefully disfigure someone like that…

The tanks have finished filling up, and the sound starts lowering in intensity. The man left looks only like a shadow of who he was. He still looks like himself, except devoid of any… meat, may I say ? When the machine was well and truly turned off, the deep voice rejoiced, seemingly announcing the success of that terrible plot.

“Fÿstyfuroll ! Oll fod havy kotzvong !”

Funnily enough, the first word made me think of “feast for all”, which just feels wrong given the context. On that, they all seem to have left the premises, as a nurse came in and untethered the poor man from all the equipment, and taking with her the tanks filled of muscle juice.

I continued watching, hoping that I would get to see the young man wake up.

And wake up he did, looking around, before standing up… and immediately falling. Presumably due to him not expecting to be this skinny. He then looked at himself, and had an utterly horrified look in his eyes, as if he was processing the fact that he was irremediably different.

He crawled towards the wall, and using that, he climbed back to standing, managing to take a position so that he could be looking at the camera.

And on that, the video suddenly stopped, leaving me on this freeze frame :

I absolutely don’t know what to do with that. Now I not only understand, but also feel how confused the secret services were by intercepting this message. It just seems wrong in so many ways, so much that… it might not even have occurred on Earth for all I know ! The language is unknown, but familiar. The way to count time is disturbing, but otherwise identical to ours. The events depicted are of typical mad experimentation, but in a manner that is unthinkable in my knowledge of the world.

I don’t have the strength to view any of the other videos, since they’re likely all the same amount of disturbing. So I close the laptop, and already starts asking myself the question I need to give an answer for my superiors :

Just what the hell are the Beatty files ?!

#male transformation #male tf #jock to twink #twink tf #twinkification #muscle loss #muscle drain #transformation #tf story

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xiao-come-home · 1 year ago

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stone faced anon (💫 anon if it's free) here; as someone who has a hyperfixation in IT and coding I also think it would be very funny if Boothill had an s/o who wasn't necessarily a mechanic but like a software engineer or just a real big nerd about coding or something. He'll be experiencing a malfunction or a memory leak and go "oh yeah this happens sometimes don't worry about it" and then 10 minutes later he's sitting down plugged into a laptop listening to his s/o rant about how terrible his code is (crack hc: boothill's code was written in javascript) and how it's a wonder he hasn't bricked* yet

Would also be mad funny if Boothill ever got hacked and his s/o basically says "no you're not" and uses a previously made system restore point or something because of course they would both use and design every feature imaginable to keep Boothill in control of his own body, can you imagine the stress that losing control would cause him?? Even better if whoever designed him originally intentionally left a backdoor incase he ever went against their orders and when they try to use it his s/o just goes "oh yeah I quarantined and encrypted all the old files related to that backdoor and whatever else you were planning on a partition as bait and personally rewrote every file and function involved since your code is *an actual crime against technology*. by the way i'm going to go ahead and format that partition i mentioned, boothill- we won't be needing anything on it now that we can trace whoever made it. trust me, this won't be happening ever again."

*(bricking is a term mostly used to refer to hardware that's been rendered basically completely nonfunctional and beyond saving by using it wrong, mostly by messing with system files. Kinda like how windows can't even repair itself if you delete the system32 folder. Though i guess you could still install it with a usb stick if you formatted your pc- i digress you get what I mean. also since this almost happened to me recently: if you manage to fill up a hard drive to the brim, with literally 0 bytes of space left, that bricks it. reminder to check your storage thoroughly and often!)

Honestly wow I read it all and I'm a little bit speechless 🥹 thank you 💫 anon, it was great 🙏

Boothill would DEFINITELY appreciate a s/o who's a tech savvy in general! I think at some point, he'd be pretty shocked you're so knowledgeable and just sit there, listening to you rant.. and just letting you do your thing.

Don't get me wrong, he definitely knows a lot about his body, his system and the way he works, but once you start to get in the zone and explain stuff to him, berate his code even, he just sits next to you, plugged in to your laptop, leaning his cheek against his hand listening to you like he obviously understands everything you say.

His other hand begins to gently play with a stand of your hair, humming deeply when the soft clicking sounds of your keyboard reach his ears; he twirls your hair with his fingers and chuckles, "mmm, really now?" Boothill raises an eyebrow, "encryptin' this, encryptin' that... How about we do somethin' more fun instead?" And then you shut him down from your laptop (😭).

Jokes aside, he'd feel very secure with you especially when he first got his new body, just knowing you'll probably fix a lot of things that could possibly blow up his face in no time, maybe even improve his life even more.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #boothill x reader #boothill hsr #boothill #.💫 anon #.anon thirst

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lilmarshie · 22 days ago

Text

Echoes of Absense

Hidden Agendas Chapter One

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Bob is devastated at the fact that you were taken from him. But he will stop at nothing to get you back home safely.

The silence that followed from your absence left a hollow hole and a deep, physical weight on Bob’s shoulders. It was a suffocating and painful force that was unrelenting. Just mere hours ago, laughter and joy filled the now empty room, a chilling reminder of what happened. His dear lover, respected teammate, and confidant was ripped from his grasp. Vanished without a trace, leaving behind only the lingering scent of unease and a gnawing knot of dread in his stomach.

He was the type of man who prided himself on wisdom and logic, but now he found himself adrift in a never ending sea of the inky, black unknown. It troubled him to no end. The police investigations were already well underway, with detectives swarming the area for prints, questioning witnesses ie. him, and asking the same questions over and over again. Bob knew that this wasn’t just any other missing persons case. You had gone digging in a place that you shouldn’t have during one of your investigations and now it’s caught up with you. The Shadow Syndicate was at play and they wouldn’t back down with out a fight. A clandestine organization shrouded in secrecy, whispered about in hushed tones in the darkest corners of the internet, a group you had been tracking for months for a story, a group that specialized in making people disappear.

Fueled by a potent cocktail of guilt and determination, Bob began his own investigation. He started with the your digital footprint, meticulously combing through emails, social media accounts, and online activity. He retraced your last known steps, revisiting the coffee shop you frequented, the bookstore you loved, the park where you often walked. Each clue, no matter how small, was a breadcrumb, a potential lead in the labyrinthine world of the Shadow Syndicate. He knew the risks. He knew that getting too close could paint a target on his own back. But the thought of abandoning you to such a fate was unbearable. Bob Reynolds was going to war and he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

As the sun dipped slowly over the horizon, casting shadows across the city, Bob found himself back at the apartment. The police tape adorned across the door was a stark reminder to the void that was left behind. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something, a crucial piece of the puzzle hidden in plain sight. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes scanning the room, searching for anything that might have been overlooked. His gaze landed on your desk, the top of it that was normally filled with papers, photographs, and half finished projects was now eerily empty and clean. Too clean. It was as if someone had meticulously scrubbed away any trace of your presence. A chill ran down Bob's spine. The Shadow Syndicate wasn't just making people disappear; they were erasing them.

Driven by a sudden surge of adrenaline, Bob approached the desk, his fingers tracing the smooth work down surface. He noticed a faint scratch near the edge, almost imperceptible to the naked eye. He pressed down on the spot, and a hidden compartment sprung open, revealing a small, encrypted USB drive. “You really did have your secrets, y/n.” He smiled to himself as he reached down and plucked up the small, USB drive.

Hope flickered in Bob's chest. This could be it, the key to unlocking the truth behind your disappearance. But he knew that accessing the data on the drive wouldn't be easy. The Shadow Syndicate was known for its sophisticated security measures, and attempting to bypass them could trigger alarms, alerting them to his investigation. Bob hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks. He could hand the drive over to the police, but he didn't trust them. They were too slow, too bureaucratic, and potentially compromised. He needed to act fast, before the Shadow Syndicate covered their tracks completely.

With a deep breath, Bob made his decision. He would crack the encryption himself. He spent countless hours hunched over his computer, fueled by caffeine and a burning desire to find you. He wrote complex algorithms, ran simulations, and tested every possible vulnerability. Days blurred into nights as he battled the Syndicate's digital defenses, inching closer to the truth with each passing moment. With each passing day, the clues became clearer and the Syndicate become far more powerful than he had ever imagined.

The tangled webs of lies led down dark and twisted paths that could take down entire countries and which would take place across continents. It was a deeply sick and flawed system that the Shadow Syndicate had established. But Bob knew that he was close to unlocking the clues to take the Syndicate down.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the encryption shattered. The data on the drive flooded his screen, revealing a series of coded messages, surveillance logs, and financial transactions. Bob's heart pounded in his chest as he pieced together the fragments of information, uncovering a web of deceit and corruption that reached far beyond anything he could have imagined. He had done it. This had been what you had tried so hard to accomplish. And he had cracked the code. With this newfound knowledge, Bob knew of the Syndicate’s next move, and he had the sites of all of the hidden underground tunnels and bunkers that the Syndicate had established.

Bob's resolve hardened. He knew he was walking into a dangerous game, one that could cost him his life. But he couldn't back down now. He owed it you, the love of his life, to bring the Shadow Syndicate to justice, to expose their secrets and dismantle their empire of lies. Bob Reynolds was ready for war, and this time, he was armed with the truth.

#lilmarshie #marvel x reader #marvel thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts bob #bob x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds fanfic #marvel imagine #thunderbolts imagine #hidden agendas #hidden agendas fic

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atlasthegreatest · 5 months ago

Text

Late Nights and Love Notes / Barbara Gordon x Gender Neutral! Reader

Barbara spends so much time analyzing crime reports and hacking databases that she almost forgets it’s Valentine’s Day. But when she opens one of her old notebooks, she notices something—tiny, handwritten notes in the margins, left by someone who knows her better than anyone.

Word count: 2814

Warnings: Established relationship. Slightly suggestive scene at the end. Fluff.

Barbara had spent the past seven hours surrounded by glowing screens, fingers flying over her keyboard as she cross-referenced encrypted databases, police reports, and underground networks. The Batcomputer hummed softly in the dim light of her clock tower hideout, illuminating her sharp, determined expression. Somewhere outside, Gotham pulsed with life—sirens, distant shouts, the city’s heartbeat relentless as ever.

She barely noticed.

Her mind was a thousand steps ahead, mapping out criminal patterns, tracking movements, and deciphering codes. The usual. What she hadn’t tracked, however, was the date.

It wasn’t until she absentmindedly reached for an old notebook, flipping through pages of scribbled notes on casework and hacker exploits, that something caught her eye.

A tiny remark in the margins.

“You’re overthinking this. Again.”

The handwriting wasn’t hers.

Barbara blinked, momentarily pulled from her digital world, and traced her fingers over the words. The handwriting was familiar—too familiar. It was Y/n’s.

Curious, she flipped further. Another note.

“You look cute when you’re focused. But also kind of scary.”

Her lips twitched. The teasing was so them, slipping into her notes like a whispered comment over her shoulder. Her fingers brushed over the ink, almost hearing their voice.

She turned another page.

“Take a break, Babs. The bad guys will still be here in the morning.”

And then, at the very bottom of the last page:

“Meet me on the rooftop at midnight.”

Her breath caught. She glanced at the digital clock. 11:53 PM.

“Oh, hell.”

Barbara shoved back from the desk, heart pounding. She hadn’t forgotten on purpose, but still—Valentine’s Day. And Y/n had known she would get lost in her work. Knew her well enough to leave breadcrumbs in a place she was bound to find them.

A rush of warmth spread through her chest.

She grabbed her jacket, barely stopping to lock down her systems before making her way up the metal staircase leading to the rooftop access. Gotham’s cold night air hit her instantly, sharp and crisp against her skin. And there Y/n was—perched on the edge of the rooftop, a knowing smile playing on their lips, hands tucked into their jacket. The moonlight traced along their features, making them look impossibly beautiful.

“Took you long enough,” they teased.

Barbara shook her head, still catching up to the moment. “You left those notes on purpose.”

“Obviously.” Y/n grinned. “Had to make sure you didn’t miss the date.”

The red-haired stepped closer, eyes softening. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

Y/n raised a brow. “Mm-hmm. That’s why you were holed up in the clock tower, running crime stats like it was just another Tuesday?”

Barbara sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “…Maybe.”

Y/n laughed, and the sound sent warmth through Barbara in a way no glowing screen ever could. Then, without another word, they reached into their pocket and pulled out a small box.

Barbara blinked. “What’s that?”

“A late Valentine’s Day gift.” Y/n pressed it into her palm, their fingers lingering over hers.

She opened it cautiously—and immediately bit back a laugh. Inside was a USB drive, sleek and black, labeled “For Emergency Use Only.”

“I figured if I gave you chocolates, you’d forget and let them melt in the Batcomputer.”

Barbara smirked, rolling her eyes. “You know me too well.”

“Always.”

She looked up, meeting Y/n’s gaze fully, and for once, let herself step out of the endless cycle of Gotham’s chaos. Just for tonight. Just for them.

Barbara leaned in, her voice softer now. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Then, with the city stretching out beneath them, she kissed Y/n—slow and certain, like a promise.

Y/n tasted like the cold night air and something distinctly them—familiar, grounding, the kind of warmth that seeped past her walls no matter how much she tried to keep herself locked in Gotham’s never-ending battle. Y/n fingers curled around her waist, tugging her closer, and Barbara let herself melt into it.

For once, there were no crime reports, no endless streams of data, no looming threats demanding her attention. Just this. Just Y/n.

When she finally pulled back, Y/n’s lips were curled into a smug little smile. “See? Wasn’t that better than sitting in front of a screen all night?”

Barbara huffed, shaking her head. “Debatable.”

Y/n gasped, dramatically clutching their chest. “Wow. Unbelievable. I spend all this time planning a cute, romantic moment—even leave you little love notes in your own notebook—and this is the thanks I get?”

She smirked. “You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Y/n crossed their arms around the redhead's waist and couldn’t quite keep the grin off their face. “That’s why I left you something useful.”

Barbara glanced down at the USB in her palm, curiosity flickering in her sharp green eyes. “So, what’s actually on this?”

Y/n rocked back on their heels, feigning innocence. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Barbara narrowed her eyes, flipping the drive between her fingers. “If this is a prank file with ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ on loop, I will get revenge.”

Y/n cackled. “Damn, now I wish I did that.”

She shook her head fondly before slipping the USB into her jacket pocket. “I’ll check it later.” Then, she tilted her head at them. “So, what now?”

Y/n considered for a moment before holding out their hand. “Now, I steal you away from your data-obsessed life for a few hours.”

Barbara arched a brow. “Steal me away where, exactly?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She hesitated, glancing back toward the clock tower, where Gotham’s endless cycle of crime and responsibility still loomed. But then she looked at Y/n—standing there, waiting, offering her something rare and fleeting in this city: a moment just for her.

Barbara sighed, but it was the kind of sigh that meant she was giving in. She took their hand, lacing her fingers through theirs, and let Y/n pull her toward the rooftop’s edge.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Surprise me.”

And with that, they both disappeared into the Gotham night.

————————

The city stretched out beneath the couple in an endless sea of flickering lights, but for once, Barbara wasn’t focused on tracking patterns in the chaos. Instead, she was focused on Y/n—the way their fingers curled around hers, the slight bounce in their step as they led her across the rooftop, the satisfied little smirk that told her Y/n had something up their sleeve.

She let Y/n lead her toward the fire escape, and they both descended with practiced ease. It wasn’t long before the couple reached the street, weaving through Gotham’s quieter alleys, far from the usual crime-ridden hotspots. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of rain and concrete, but there was something oddly peaceful about the moment.

After a few blocks, Barbara finally caved.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or am I supposed to hack into traffic cameras and figure it out myself?”

Y/n glanced at her over their shoulder, grinning. “You could. But where’s the fun in that?”

Barbara sighed, shaking her head. “You enjoy messing with me way too much.”

“Oh, way too much,” they teased, squeezing her hand before finally slowing their pace.

Y/n stopped in front of a small, tucked-away café—one of the few places in Gotham that didn’t come with a side of criminal activity. It was the kind of place most people overlooked, hidden between towering buildings, with soft golden lighting spilling from the windows and the faint sound of jazz playing from inside.

Barbara blinked. “Wait. This is—”

“Our spot?” they finished for her, eyes twinkling. “Yeah.”

The redhead let out a small breath of laughter, a rare moment of unguarded affection in her expression. “You thought of everything.”

Y/n shrugged, nudging the door open. “Of course. I know you, Babs. I knew you’d lose track of time, so I left you those notes. I knew you’d spend all night hunched over your computer, so I got you out of there. And I knew you wouldn’t want some big, crowded Valentine’s thing—so I brought you here.”

Barbara stared at her partner for a moment, her usual sharp, analytical mind suddenly blank.

Because no matter how much data she could process, no matter how many patterns she could predict, Y/n always managed to catch her off guard in the best possible way.

“…You’re kind of incredible, you know that?” she murmured.

Y/n smirked. “I do know that. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

She rolled her eyes but let them tug her inside, where the warmth of the café wrapped around them both like a secret. The barista gave Y/n a knowing nod before sliding over two mugs—her usual order and theirs, already waiting.

Barbara raised an eyebrow. “You planned this far ahead?”

Y/n grinned, taking a sip of their drink. “Like I said—I know you.”

Barbara just shook her head, lips curling into a small, affectionate smile. She picked up her mug, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers, and let herself relax into the moment.

Gotham would still be there in the morning. But right now?

Right now, she had Y/n.

————————

The couple had settled into a corner booth, tucked away from the few other late-night patrons. The soft hum of jazz blended with the quiet clinking of cups and whispered conversations, creating a rare bubble of peace in a city that never seemed to stop moving.

Barbara let out a slow breath, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of her mug. It wasn’t often she allowed herself to just exist—to sit down, to savor something as simple as coffee, to be here with Y/n instead of chasing the next lead or running through an endless list of threats.

But Y/n had a way of grounding her, of pulling her out of her head just when she needed it most.

She studied Y/n over the rim of her cup, taking in the content little smile on their lips as they stirred their drink. The fact that they’d gone out of their way to plan all of this—leaving her notes, leading her here, making sure she didn’t let the day slip away completely—it meant something.

More than she could say out loud.

So instead, she smirked and leaned forward slightly. “Alright, I have to ask—what’s actually on the USB?”

Y/n grinned, clearly enjoying the suspense. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

Barbara narrowed her eyes. “You do realize I could find out in seconds, right?”

“Oh, I know.” Y/n took a slow sip of their drink, utterly unbothered. “But that’s no fun.”

Barbara huffed, shaking her head. “You are ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me anyway.”

Her breath hitched—not because she didn’t know it was true, but because Y/n said it so easily like it was the simplest fact in the world. And maybe it was.

She swallowed, glancing down at her cup. “Yeah. I do.”

Their teasing smile softened just a little, and before she could say anything else, Y/n reached across the table, fingertips brushing over hers.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The café bustled quietly around them, but in this little pocket of warmth, it didn’t matter.

Then, because she couldn’t help herself, Barbara smirked again. “Still hoping this USB isn’t just a giant Rickroll.”

Y/n groaned, pulling their hand back. “Wow. Moment ruined.”

Barbara laughed, and Y/n shot her a mock glare before reaching into their pocket. “Fine. If you have to know, I guess I’ll let you see it early.”

Y/n slid their phone across the table, the screen lit up with a file list. Barbara’s eyes flicked over it, expecting a prank—but then her heart stuttered.

A collection of audio files. A folder labeled For Babs.

She glanced back up at them, brow furrowing. “What is this?”

Y/n hesitated for the first time all night, suddenly looking a little shy. “Just… something I put together.”

Barbara tapped the screen, opening one of the files.

And then—

“Hey, Babs. If you’re listening to this, it means you actually took a break. Which, honestly, I’m kind of impressed by.”

Her eyes widened. It was Y/n’s voice—clear and warm, laced with the usual teasing affection.

“Anyway, I just wanted to make you something you could listen to when I’m not around. Something to remind you to get your head out of the Batcomputer and, I don’t know, breathe once in a while.”

Barbara swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the phone as she scrolled through the other files. There were more recordings—some just of Y/n talking, somewhere they were reading passages from books they knew she liked, somewhere they were just rambling about their day.

Something she could listen to on long nights alone in the clock tower.

She glanced back up at them, stunned into silence.

Y/n shifted in their seat, rubbing the back of their neck. “I know it’s not, like, a fancy gift, but I figured—”

Barbara didn’t let them finish.

Instead, she leaned across the table and kissed them, hands cradling Y/n’s face as her lips pressed against theirs—soft, warm, grateful. Y/n made a surprised little sound before melting into it, fingers curling into the sleeve of her jacket.

When she finally pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s perfect.”

Y/n’s breath hitched slightly, and for once, they were the ones left speechless.

Barbara just smiled, tapping the screen of Y/n’s phone before slipping it back toward them. “Now, c’mon. You went through all this trouble to plan the perfect night.” She laced her fingers through Y/n’s again, squeezing gently. “Let’s make the most of it.”

And with that, the couple let the world fall away for just a little longer.

Bonus Chapter:

A few days had passed since the couple's impromptu Valentine’s night out, but Barbara still found herself replaying the moments in her mind—Y/n’s teasing notes in her margins, the way they had practically dragged her out of the clock tower, the warmth of their lips when she finally kissed them in that quiet little café.

And, of course, the USB drive.

She’d listened to a few of the recordings already—soft snippets of Y/n’s voice, some laced with laughter, others full of gentle reminders to breathe, to take a break, to eat something that isn’t coffee and sheer willpower.

It was ridiculous. And stupidly sweet.

And it made her miss Y/n more than she expected.

Which was probably why she found herself making the rare decision to step away from the Batcomputer before midnight.

She grabbed her leather jacket, tucked the USB drive into her pocket, and made her way out of the clock tower.

—-——————

Y/n’s apartment wasn’t far.

Y/n wasn’t expecting her—Barbara knew that. It wasn’t like she texted or called to let them know she was coming. But the second she landed lightly on their fire escape, she caught sight of the faint glow of Y/n’s living room lamp, the soft sound of music filtering through the window.

She knocked on the glass once.

A few seconds later, Y/n appeared, blinking in sleepy surprise. Then, when they saw who it was, a slow, knowing smile spread across their face.

“Babs,” they murmured, unlatching the window. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Barbara smirked, stepping inside with practiced ease. “Thought I’d return the favor. You stole me away from my work the other night—figured it was my turn.”

Y/n arched a brow. “Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Barbara didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the USB drive, holding it up between her fingers.

“I listened to it,” she admitted softly.

Y/n’s teasing bravado faltered for a moment. “And?”

Barbara took a step closer, letting her free hand trail up their arm. “And I might have actually taken your advice for once.”

Y/n looked down at her, eyes searching, before their lips curled into a softer smile. “That’s a huge win for me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

Barbara laughed, shaking her head. Then, without another word, she pulled Y/n in—slow and deliberate, her lips brushing over theirs in a way that made Y/n sigh against her mouth.

This kiss was different from the one on the rooftop, different from the café. This one was unhurried, lingering, like she was making up for a lost time. Like she missed them.

When she finally pulled back, Y/n was looking at her with something warm and unreadable in their eyes.

“Stay,” they murmured.

Barbara hesitated. Gotham never sleeps. The Bat-Signal could light up at any moment. There’s always another case to solve, another crisis to track.

But then Y/n laced their fingers through hers, squeezing gently.

And just like that, the decision wasn’t so hard.

“…Yeah,” she whispered. “I’ll stay.”

And for the first time in a long time, Barbara Gordon let herself have a night off.

#dc comics #dc universe #barbara gordon x reader #barbara gordon #gender neutral reader #fluff #established relationship

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exitwound · 2 years ago

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