#HEAVY ON THE LAZARUS PROJECT

[mrstevenss]

finishing a show I love feels like departing with my wife that I would trade the world for

[brunchable]

LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x Enhanced!FReader

Part III

Part One | Part Two | Final Words: 11.1K Themes: Angst, Drama, Violence, Action (Fighting Scenes: Steve vs Bucky), Hatred, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Warning: Emotionally heavy? Death. Sneak Peak: Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability that you so rarely showed. “Stark’s a paranoid bastard, but he’s not wrong about everything,” he replied. “HYDRA always had a backup plan.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you turned back to the window. “I’ve got people waiting for us at my father’s old place. People who want to rebel. But if Stark’s right… if there’s something inside me that they can still control…”

A/N: This was difficult to write man, I feel like i keep repeating myself. Anyways this short story is almost done, I'm thinking to make one for bucky in this same timeline, but i dunno.

Tags: @realifelamb @needsleep3000 @vicmc624 @i-can-do-this-all-dayy @mrs-jjmaybank @strepsils123 @nesnejwritings @haruvalentine4321 @feelinthefic @niffala @fantasyfootballchampion @thefandomplace

SHIELD agents moved about the Helicarrier, carrying out their usual duties. The tension from your recent capture still lingered in the air, but for the moment, everything seemed normal.

Inside one of the briefing rooms, the Avengers gathered around a large, circular table. The holographic display in the center flickered to life. Steve stood at the far end, his expression remaining grim. He had been silent since his conversation with you, apart from when he told Fury about the new information about you.

Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, his one good eye sweeping over the assembled team. He cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention as the screen behind him shifted to show a detailed molecular structure—one that looked alien yet familiar.

“This,” Fury began, pointing to the hologram, “is the Lazarus Serum. It was an experimental project conducted by a rogue HYDRA scientist during World War II. What makes this serum different from the Super Soldier Serum is that it’s derived from an unknown foreign DNA, not of earth.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Tony’s brow furrowed in thought, while Natasha leaned forward, her eyes narrowing at the image on the screen.

“So an Alien DNA?” Natasha echoed, disbelief evident in her voice. “How did HYDRA even get their hands on something like that?”

Fury’s expression darkened. “During the war, HYDRA had their hands in more than just earthly affairs. There were rumors that they made contact with otherworldly entities, collecting samples and conducting experiments. Most of these were failures or too dangerous to continue, but the Lazarus Serum was different. It worked, but with a catch. It enhanced the subject’s strength, speed, and durability—just like the Super Soldier Serum—but the side effects were severe: mental instability, increased aggression. . .making them unhinged.”

“And Y/N?” Steve’s voice was low, but it carried a weight that made everyone turn toward him.

“She’s the only known survivor of the Lazarus project,” Fury confirmed. “And because the serum is derived from Alien DNA, its effects are permanent. Y/N is more than just enhanced—she’s on a whole other level. The serum doesn’t just slow aging; it effectively makes her immune to most forms of injury. We’ve seen that she can take bullets without flinching, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

Fury opened up a highly confidential video file named, ‘Lazarus Serum’ and instantly piqued the team's curiosity.

As the holographic footage played, the room fell into a tense silence. The screen displayed a black-and-white, grainy video of a sterile HYDRA laboratory, dimly lit and cold, with the camera focusing on you, strapped to a metal table. The tension among the Avengers was palpable as they watched, the atmosphere heavy with the gravity of what they were about to witness.

You lay on the table, your body weak and trembling. The serum coursing through your veins was taking its final toll, pushing you to the brink of death. Your skin was pale, your breaths shallow, and your heartbeat was erratic, the monitors showing your vitals dipping dangerously low.

Fury’s voice cut through the footage, steady but grim. “This is what our talented hackers are able to salvage, the final recorded moment of the Lazarus Serum experiment. Day 100.”

On the screen, the lead scientist stood over you, his expression hard as he observed the monitors. Despite the clear signs that you were dying, he was refusing to back down. The technician beside him looked increasingly anxious, glancing between the monitors and your convulsing body.

"Her vitals are deteriorating rapidly," the technician warned, his voice shaking. "She's not stabilizing. We should stop."

The scientist’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with determination. "We’re too close. Increase the dosage."

"But sir, she won't survive—"

"Do it!" he barked, silencing any further protest.

The technician hesitated but ultimately complied, injecting you with another dose of the glowing serum. The screen showed your body convulsing violently on the table, the restraints biting into your skin as your body tried to fight the unbearable pain. The lines on the monitors went haywire, your heart rate spiking uncontrollably before it suddenly flatlined.

Steve couldn’t bear to watch any longer. The sight of you, broken and tortured. His heart clenched with a pain so intense it might as well be a heart attack. It was clear that every second of this footage was torture for him, he tried to keep watching but turned his head away, unable to watch life being drained from you. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white as he fought back the tears threatening to spill over. He couldn’t bring himself to see the moment you died, the moment HYDRA took everything from you.

Fury paused the footage briefly, his gaze sweeping over the team. “At this point, HYDRA pronounced her dead. The lead scientist, as you can hear, said to ‘Dispose of the body.’ They believed the experiment was a failure, and that Y/N had died.”

The footage resumed, showing the scientist’s callous order to dispose of your body. The camera caught the technician’s expression—a mix of shock and fear—as he moved to unstrap your lifeless form from the table. The filming stops and the screens go black.

“We can only guess what happened next,” Fury’s voice echoed through the room. “This is why it’s called the Lazarus Serum. Like the Lazarus of myth, it brought her back to life. The woman you knew, Steve, died on that table. What came back was something else.”

“Excuse me.” Steve quietly excused himself from the room, his thoughts too heavy to focus on a strategy. He needed a moment alone, to process what he had just seen, and to prepare himself for the fight of his life.

Tony, who had been deep in thought, glanced up just in time to see Steve slipping out of the door. Something about the way Steve moved—so rigid, so controlled—set off alarm bells in Tony’s mind.

“Hey, Cap—” Tony called after him, but Steve didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn his head. He just kept walking, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he watched Steve go. He knew that look, the one where Steve was bottling everything up inside, pretending he was fine when he was anything but.

× × × × 

Steve barely made it to his quarters before the dam broke. The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, sealing him in the solitude he so desperately needed. For a moment, he stood there, his back against the door, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he fought to maintain control.

But the weight of everything he had just seen and heard—the memories, the footage of your death, the knowledge that you had suffered because of him—crushed down on him with a force that made his knees buckle. He stumbled forward, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

With a choked sob, Steve lashed out, his fist slamming into the nearest object—his desk. The wood splintered under the force of the blow, but the pain in his knuckles barely registered. He hit it again, and again, each impact sending shockwaves up his arm, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

He threw a chair, shattered a picture frame, and ripped the curtains from the window, the fabric tearing with a violent snap. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe through the crushing weight of his emotions.

The door to his room suddenly opened, and Tony Stark stepped inside, his usual confident demeanor faltering as he took in the sight of Steve in the midst of his rampage. Steve didn’t notice him at first, too lost in his own agony to register anything beyond the need to destroy, to somehow externalize the pain that was tearing him apart from the inside.

“Steve!” Tony’s voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos. But Steve didn’t stop. He grabbed the closest thing within reach—a lamp—and hurled it across the room, the glass shattering as it struck the wall.

“Steve!” Tony shouted again, moving quickly to grab Steve’s arm as he reached for another object. Steve yanked his arm away, his eyes wild and unfocused, his chest heaving as he glared at Tony.

“Get out!” Steve’s voice was raw, torn from the depths of his soul. But Tony didn’t back down. Instead, he reached out again, this time catching Steve’s wrist in a firm grip.

“Steve, stop!” Tony’s voice was filled with a mixture of urgency and compassion as he tightened his hold. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Steve struggled but held back in Tony’s grip, his knuckles already bleeding from the impacts against the wooden furniture. But Tony didn’t let go. He could see the pain in Steve’s eyes, the anguish that was tearing him apart, and he knew he couldn’t just leave him like this.

“Damn it, Rogers, look at me!” Tony’s voice cracked with emotion as he forced Steve to meet his gaze. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself!”

For a moment, Steve’s rage faltered, his eyes locking with Tony’s. The room fell into silence, the only sound the ragged breathing of the two men standing in the midst of the wreckage. And then, as if the fight had been drained out of him, Steve collapsed to his knees, his body trembling with the force of his sobs.

“I did this,” Steve gasped, his voice choking with emotion. “All of this.”

Tony knelt beside him, his heart aching at the sight of his friend so completely broken. He pulled Steve into a tight embrace, holding him as Steve’s walls crumbled completely.

Steve fought against it at first, his body stiffening as if trying to hold onto the last shreds of his composure, but eventually, he couldn’t resist. He rested his forehead on Tony’s shoulder, his sobs coming harder and faster, his breath hitching in his throat.

“You can’t blame yourself for everything,” Tony whispered, his own voice thick with emotion as he acted as Steve’s rock. 

“I failed,” Steve cried, his voice muffled against Tony’s shoulder. “I left her when she needed me the most. How can I ever make that right?”

“Damn it,” Tony mumbled, tightened his grip, his own throat constricting as he tried to hold back his own tears, “HYDRA did this, not you. There is always a way.”

× × × × 

Tony entered the cell, his expression devoid of the usual levity. He took a moment to observe you, noticing the way your eyes followed his every move, calculating, waiting.

"Back so soon, Stark?" You broke the silence, your voice a smooth mixture of mockery and disinterest. "Did you miss me?"

Tony didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, folding his hands in front of him. He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze unflinching.

"I think you and I both know there's more to this Lazarus Serum than you're letting on," Tony began, his tone conversational but with an edge of steel beneath it. 

“I see Rogers didn't waste any time, after knowing about my serum,” you chuckled and raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. "Is this the part where you try to psychoanalyze me? Try to figure out what makes me tick?"

"Oh, I don't need to figure out what makes you tick. I already know. You’re angry, bitter, and probably more than a little scared. Not that you’d ever admit it." Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms casually.

Your eyes narrowed slightly, the first crack in your carefully maintained facade. "You don’t know anything about me."

"Don’t I?" Tony replied smoothly, his voice taking on a tone of calculated sympathy. "You were Steve’s girl, right? The one who got left behind, forgotten. You were just a kid when HYDRA took you, and they twisted you into something… else. You’re not angry because of what they did to you. You’re angry because the people who were supposed to care about you—people like Steve—didn’t save you."

Your hands clenched into fists at Tony’s words, the knuckles turning white. "You think you’re clever, now huh? You think you can come in here and play mind games with me?"

Tony leaned forward, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that was hard to ignore. "I’m not playing games. I just want to understand what’s going on here. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing is ever as simple as it seems. You hate Steve, sure. You hate me, too, probably. But I’m betting there’s a part of you that hates HYDRA even more. So why don’t you tell me what they really did to you? What’s the catch with this Lazarus Serum? What are they not telling you?”

You held Tony's gaze, the flicker of something darker passing through your eyes. But you kept your expression as neutral as you could. "You think I’m just going to spill my secrets to you? You’re more naive than I thought."

Tony smirked, leaning back again, feigning a relaxed demeanor. "Oh, I don't expect you to spill everything. Not right away. But I’m pretty good at reading between the lines. And right now, you’re giving off a lot of signals, sweetheart."

The nickname was meant to annoy you, but you didn’t react, keeping your face impassive. Instead, you decided to toy with him a bit. "You really think you’re different from the rest of them, don’t you? Just because you’re a genius in a tin suit? HYDRA, SHIELD, you—they’re all the same. You all think you’re the smartest one in the room. But you’re all playing the same game. You’re all just cogs in the same machine."

Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his cool. "That’s a nice speech. But I’ve been in your shoes, remember? Taken apart, piece by piece, rebuilt by people who didn’t give a damn about what they were doing to me. So why don’t we cut the crap? What did HYDRA really do to you?"

You leaned forward, matching his intensity. "They made me better. Stronger. Faster. Everything your buddy Rogers has, and then some. But you already know that. What you really want to know is how to stop it."

Tony tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "So it’s true then? There’s no off-switch? No failsafe? You’re just a ticking time bomb, aren’t you?"

Your eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you almost let it slip. Almost. But you caught yourself, settling back in your chair with a cold smile. "Nice try. But you’re not as clever as you think you are."

Tony’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes hardened. "You’re right. I’m not trying to be clever. I’m trying to help you. You think you’re untouchable now, but the truth is, HYDRA doesn’t make anything without a leash. You’re telling me there’s no failsafe? No way to control you if you step out of line?"

You didn’t respond immediately, and that was all Tony needed. "See? That, right there. You hesitated. There’s something you’re not telling me. Something even you don’t know."

You clenched your jaw, the silence between you thickening. Tony was getting under your skin, and he knew it. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You think you’re free? You’re just as much a prisoner as you were when they first strapped you to that table. And deep down, you know it."

"You think you can manipulate me with your cheap psychology tricks? I’ve had experts try to break me, Stark. You’re not even in the same league."

Tony’s expression remained unfazed. "I don’t need to break you. I just need to understand. Because if you think for one second that I’m going to let HYDRA have their way with you—or with anyone else—you’re sorely mistaken."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Tony Stark was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. And he was right about one thing: HYDRA didn’t make anything without a failsafe. But what did that mean for you? Did you even want to know?

Tony watched the conflict play out on your face, and he decided to push just a little bit harder. "You can keep pretending that you’re in control, that you’re the one calling the shots. But at the end of the day, you’re just another one of HYDRA’s experiments. And when they’re done with you, they’ll toss you aside like garbage."

Your hands trembled slightly, the anger boiling just beneath the surface. "Shut up, Stark."

He leaned back, satisfied that he had struck a nerve. "We’ll talk again when you’re ready to stop lying to yourself. And trust me, you will."

As Tony stood up to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. The idea that HYDRA could still have control over you, that there was something they hadn’t told you—it gnawed at you. But you couldn’t let him see that. You couldn’t let him win.

Just before Tony reached the door, you spoke again, your voice cold and distant. "You think you know everything now. But it's only the tip of a needle."

Tony paused, turning back to you with a raised eyebrow. "Then enlighten me."

But you didn’t say another word. You simply stared at him, your eyes burning with a mixture of anger and fear. Tony shook his head slightly, a hint of disappointment in his expression before walking out and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

And for the first time in a long time, those thoughts weren’t comforting.

× × × × 

Your eyes snapped open. The blaring sound reverberated through the metal structure of the Helicarrier, signaling chaos above. A slow, cold smile spread across your lips, a glimmer of dark satisfaction in your eyes.

Leaning back against the wall, you tilted your head slightly, listening to the escalating panic beyond the cell door. The symphony of chaos was almost... delightful.

“Finally,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the din.

The lights flickered, the warning sirens growing louder and more insistent as SHIELD agents scrambled to their stations. The Avengers, who had been spread out across the ship, immediately converged in the command center, each of them on high alert.

"What now?" Tony muttered, his face twisting into a frown as he glanced at the flashing red lights. 

Fury's voice boomed over the intercom. "We've got hostiles onboard. This isn't a drill—The Winter Soldier and a squad of HYDRA operatives just breached the perimeter." 

Steve's heart plummeted. He had just started to gather himself after the emotional breakdown of learning about your past and his rage-fueled outburst. Now, hearing about Bucky’s presence, he felt a fresh surge of desperation. He had to stop him from reaching you.

As they ran through the Helicarrier's corridors, the sounds of battle grew louder. Gunfire echoed off the metal walls, and the smell of smoke and burning electronics filled the air.

The Helicarrier shook as explosions ripped through the structure, sending sparks and chunks of metal cascading through the corridors. 

Alarms blared, drowning out the shouts of SHIELD agents and the staccato of gunfire. The team raced through the chaos, dodging falling debris and returning fire at HYDRA agents who revealed themselves.

Natasha sprinted ahead, her movements fluid as she flipped over a barrage of bullets, landing gracefully before taking out two HYDRA agents with precise shots to their heads. She quickly ducked behind cover, reloading her pistols, eyes scanning for the next threat. Clint, perched in a higher vantage point, loosed arrows with deadly accuracy, each one finding its mark in the chest or throat of a HYDRA agent. 

“We’ve got to cut them off before they reach Y/N!” Steve shouted through the comms, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Tony took to the air, his repulsors humming as he blasted through a wall to create a shortcut. 

“On it!” he called out, targeting a group of HYDRA agents laying down suppressive fire from a balcony. His repulsors lit up the darkened corridor as he unleashed a barrage of energy beams, reducing the balcony—and the agents on it—to rubble.

Meanwhile, Steve charged forward, his shield a blur of motion as he deflected bullets and took down any HYDRA operatives in his path. He was relentless, driven by the singular focus of reaching you before it was too late. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from the exertion of battle, but from the gnawing fear of what would happen if Bucky succeeded.

Ahead of him, the Winter Soldier, was a force of nature. He moved with deadly precision, his metal arm crushing through walls and doors as if they were paper. With every obstacle he encountered, he either barreled through or dismantled it.

A squad of SHIELD agents attempted to block his path, but they were no match for his ruthlessness. Bucky dispatched them brutally, his expression unchanging as he advanced toward the detention level.

Steve caught sight of Bucky just as he took out the last of the SHIELD agents guarding the entrance to your cell. 

“Bucky, stop!” Steve shouted, his voice carrying through the smoke-filled corridor.

Bucky turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto Steve. There was a flicker of recognition, but it was quickly buried beneath the cold, mechanical focus of the Winter Soldier. Without a word, Bucky charged at Steve, their collision echoing through the Helicarrier like a thunderclap. The force of their impact sent shockwaves through the surrounding walls, cracking the metal and sending a rain of sparks from the overhead lights.

The fight was immediate and brutal, each man fighting with a desperate intensity that went beyond the mission. Steve knew he had to stop Bucky, not just to protect you, but to save the man who had once been his best friend. But Bucky was relentless, his movements precise and deadly, every strike aimed to incapacitate or kill.

Steve blocked a powerful punch from Bucky’s metal arm with his shield, the impact reverberating up his arm and nearly knocking him off balance. He retaliated with a swift kick to Bucky’s midsection, but Bucky barely flinched, grabbing Steve by the arm and slamming him against the wall with enough force to dent the metal.

“You don’t have to do this!” Steve shouted, ducking under a wild swing from Bucky’s left fist. “You’re James Buchanan Barnes! You were born in Brooklyn, 1917! We grew up together—best friends!”

“Shut up!” Bucky growled, his voice low and dangerous as he swung his metal arm at Steve with murderous intent. “I don’t want to hear it!”

But Steve wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t. “You’re Bucky! You joined the 107th Infantry, you fought in the war, you saved my life more times than I can count!”

“Shut up!” Bucky roared, slamming Steve into the wall again, the force of the impact cracking the metal. “Shut up!”

But Steve pressed on, his voice cracking with desperation. “You’re a brother to me, Bucky! We went through hell together! You’re not this—this weapon HYDRA made you into! You’re James Buchanan Barnes!”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with something dark and twisted as he Bucky’s grip tightened around Steve’s throat, the rage in his eyes burning brighter with each word Steve spoke. “I told you to shut up!”

But Steve, despite the choking pressure on his windpipe, forced the words out. “You’re... Bucky... you’re... my brother...”

With a snarl, Bucky shoved Steve back, releasing his grip only to drive a brutal punch into Steve’s midsection. Steve doubled over, gasping for air, but even as he staggered, he refused to give up.

“Remember... who you are, who I am,” Steve rasped, clutching at his ribs as he straightened up. 

"I don't care to remember who you are but I do remember this. . .”

Steve’s heart surged with a flicker of hope, but it was quickly dashed as Bucky continued, his tone dripping with malice. “I remember the way she used to scream for me, the way she begged because someone couldn't satisfy her.”

Steve saw red.

Steve launched himself at Bucky, his fists flying with a ferocity he hadn’t unleashed in years. All the restraint, all the control he usually maintained, evaporated in the face of Bucky’s vile taunts. He swung his shield with all vicious force, slamming it into Bucky’s side and following up with a brutal uppercut that sent Bucky staggering back.

But Bucky recovered quickly, his expression cold and unyielding as he blocked Steve’s next punch with his metal arm. The force of their strikes echoed through the corridor, each blow landing with the weight of their shared history and the emotional wounds that had been ripped open.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Steve shouted, his voice hoarse with rage as he slammed his shield into Bucky’s midsection again. “This isn’t you! HYDRA did this to you! You’re not their puppet!”

But Bucky just sneered, his eyes filled with contempt as he caught Steve’s next punch and twisted his arm painfully. “She never begged you for more, did she? No matter how much you tried, she always needed me to finish what you couldn’t start.”

The taunt was the final straw. Steve’s vision blurred with a red haze as he let out a guttural scream, wrenching his arm free and slamming his shield into Bucky’s chest with enough force to crack the metal floor beneath them. He didn’t care about strategy or technique anymore—he just wanted to hurt Bucky, to make him pay for every word, every twisted memory HYDRA had implanted in his mind.

Steve pressed his advantage, driving Bucky back with a flurry of powerful strikes. He landed a solid punch to Bucky’s jaw, then followed it up with a brutal shield bash that sent Bucky staggering. For a moment, it seemed as though Steve might actually overpower him. Bucky’s defenses faltered, and Steve took full advantage, slamming him into the wall with a force that made the entire corridor shudder.

“You don’t get to talk about her!” Steve roared, his shield coming down like a hammer, striking Bucky again and again. The fury in his eyes was all-consuming, his movements fueled by a deep, protective rage.

Bucky grunted in pain, the relentless assault forcing him onto the defensive. He blocked a few of Steve’s strikes, but the sheer force behind each blow drove him back, his metal arm straining under the impact.

“You’re not taking her!” Steve shouted, driving his knee into Bucky’s midsection and following it with a devastating uppercut that sent Bucky crashing to the ground.

For a moment, Steve loomed over Bucky, panting heavily, his eyes blazing with anger. He had the upper hand, and Bucky looked up at him with something that might have been fear or perhaps something darker.

But Bucky wasn’t finished. As Steve moved in for the final blow, Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and with a sudden, vicious twist, he swept Steve’s legs out from under him. Steve hit the ground hard, his shield clattering to the side. Before he could recover, Bucky was on him, his metal arm clamping around Steve’s throat, squeezing with unyielding force.

Steve’s vision darkened as he struggled against Bucky’s grip, the initial surge of rage drained him, leaving him vulnerable. Bucky leaned in close, his expression cold and unforgiving, his grip tightening as if to finish him off.

But then, something shifted in Bucky’s eyes. His grip faltered, the anger in his expression wavering. He stared down at Steve, breathing heavily, and for a moment, he looked... lost. The hostility that had driven him was still there, but it was mingled with familiarity.

Steve, gasping for air, could see the hesitation in Bucky’s eyes. “You...will put her in danger if you take her,” he managed to choke out, his voice strained but firm. “You’re more than what they made you.”

Bucky’s hand trembled, the pressure on Steve’s throat easing slightly. He didn’t know why, but the idea of finishing Steve off suddenly felt wrong. There was a nagging feeling deep inside him, something that pushed against the cold, mechanical orders HYDRA had drilled into him.

He released his grip on Steve’s throat entirely, stepping back as if unsure of what he had been about to do. He looked down at Steve, who lay on the ground, coughing and trying to catch his breath, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt a pang of guilt.

“I... don’t care who you are,” Bucky muttered, his voice cracking with an emotion he couldn’t place. “But stay out of my way.”

Instead of delivering the final blow, Bucky turned and walked away, leaving Steve lying on the cold metal floor, bruised and battered but still conscious.

Bucky reached the detention level, his pace quickening as he neared the cell where you were held. The door loomed ahead and he entered the pin that he was given by one of the agents.

He stepped into the cell, his expression softening as he saw you. “Let's go,” he said, his voice filled with a protective tone that left no room for doubt. It didn’t matter who stood in his way—he would protect you at any cost, even if it meant defying the part of him that still hesitated, still questioned, still remembered.

× × × × 

In the hangar bay, Tony arrived just in time to see the transport vanish into the distance. He cursed under his breath, frustration and anger bubbling up inside him as he activated his comms.

“Fury, we’ve lost them. They’re gone,” Tony said, his voice laced with bitterness.

There was a brief pause on the other end before Fury responded. “Get Rogers and regroup. We’ll figure out our next move, but this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

Tony glanced back at the corridor where Steve was trying to get up with a grimace.

He made his way back to Steve, kneeling beside his fallen teammate. “Come on, Cap,” Tony muttered, “We’ve got work to do.”

Steve groaned as got up to his feet, head pounding from the beating he’d taken. The first thing he saw when he looked up was Tony’s face, his expression grim but not without a hint of concern.

“Y/N…?” Steve murmured, his voice weak as he tried to push himself up.

“They got her,” Tony replied, his tone flat. “Bucky took her, and they’re long gone by now.”

Steve’s heart sank, the weight of his failure crashing down on him like a ton of bricks adding to the pile. But Tony wasn’t about to let him wallow in self-pity.

“Save it for later, Cap,” Tony said, helping him to his feet. “Right now, we need to get back to the others. Fury’s not going to be happy about this, but we need to regroup and figure out our next move.”

Steve nodded numbly, still trying to process everything that had happened. The pain in his ribs and the bruises covering his body were nothing compared to the agony of knowing that he had failed again.

× × × ×

The dust began to settle, and the team regrouped, battered but unbowed. The realization of what had just happened—of how deeply HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD—hung over them like a dark cloud. The Helicarrier was in disarray, corridors filled with debris, smoke still curling from shattered panels, and the distant sound of alarms echoing through the vast structure. SHIELD agents, those who remained loyal, were helping the wounded and trying to restore some semblance of order. 

Steve Rogers leaned heavily against a wall, his injuries and the emotional toll pressing down on him like never before. 

Tony Stark, always one to keep moving even when his mind was in chaos, was pacing back and forth, his suit clanking with every step. He had been replaying the events of the past few hours in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word, every move, searching for something they had missed. As his thoughts churned, a memory suddenly clicked into place, causing him to stop dead in his tracks, his eyes widening.

“Dammit,” Tony muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of disbelief. The suddenness of his outburst caused the others to turn toward him, their expressions questioning.

“What is it?” Natasha asked, her tone sharp as she watched Tony with narrowed eyes. She was on edge, the adrenaline of the fight still pumping through her veins, and the last thing she needed was another surprise.

Tony turned to face the group, frustration evident as he pieced it together out loud. “Y/N knew. That cryptic crap she said during the interrogation—it wasn’t just her messing with us. She was trying to tell us something.”

Steve straightened at the mention of your name, his heart tightening as he remembered the cold, distant look in your eyes during the interrogation. 

“What are you talking about, Tony?” he asked, his voice rough with exhaustion.

“She said something about how ‘keep your friends close. . . But your enemies closer,’ and that ‘you’d be shocked at how deep the rot goes.’ At the time, it sounded like she was just spewing nonsense to get under our skin. But now…it makes sense.”

“She was warning us,” Tony continued, his tone filled with a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration. “She was trying to tell us that HYDRA had already infiltrated SHIELD. She practically spelled it out for us, but we were too blind to see it. We were so focused on her as the enemy that we didn’t stop to think about what she was really saying.”

Natasha frowned, her mind racing as she recalled the conversation. “Why didn’t she just come out and say it directly?” she questioned, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew the answer. 

“Because she couldn’t,” Clint interjected, “If she’d said it outright, they’d know. HYDRA would have seen it, and they’d have to shut her down before she could give us anything.”

Steve, who had been standing off to the side, consumed with thoughts of you, felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. He had been so focused on what you had become—so fixated on the idea of saving you—that he hadn’t seen what you were trying to tell them. You had been trying to help them, in your own way, and he had missed it.

“Y/N was trying to help us,” Steve murmured, his voice filled with a mix of realization and sorrow. “But we didn’t listen.”

Tony’s expression softened slightly, though his usual bravado was still present. “She was still playing her own game, Cap. Don’t romanticize it too much. But yeah, she threw us a bone. And we missed it.”

Natasha stepped closer, her gaze firm and unyielding. “So what do we do now? We can’t trust anyone. HYDRA could be anywhere—everywhere. We need a plan.”

Steve’s mind was spinning, this was the last thing they needed. The fight with Bucky, the realization that you had tried to warn them, the knowledge that HYDRA had already sunk its claws deep into SHIELD—it was hard to believe, but that was now the reality.

But he couldn’t afford to falter. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.

“We need to figure out who we can trust, and take the fight to HYDRA. We’ll find Y/N and Bucky, and we’ll put an end to this.” Steve said firmly.

The others nodded. 

They had been blindsided, caught off guard by the depth of HYDRA’s infiltration. But they were the Avengers—they had faced impossible odds before, and they would do it again.

As the team moved to regroup and plan their next steps, Tony lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on Steve. “Cap,” he said quietly, drawing Steve’s attention. “We’ll get them back. Both of them.”

× × × ×

The stolen Quinjet’s engines was the only sound between you and Bucky as the landscape blurred beneath. Outside, the world rushed by in a silent blur of greens and browns, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with uncertainty.

You sat in the copilot’s seat, staring out of the window, mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Tony’s words echoed in your head, a gnawing doubt that you couldn’t shake. You’re just a ticking time bomb, aren’t you? You remembered him saying, his voice laced with the same arrogance that always grated on your nerves. But this time, beneath the bravado, there was something else—truth.

Was there something HYDRA hadn’t told you? Some failsafe, hidden deep within you? The thought made you uneasy in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. You clenched your fists, your knuckles turning white as you fought to keep your composure. You had always prided yourself on being in control, on being the one to pull the strings. But now… now you weren't so sure.

Beside you, Bucky was equally lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the controls, though his mind was elsewhere. Steve’s words from their brutal fight were like daggers in his mind, each one striking a different nerve. He had tried to shut them out, to focus on the mission, but they kept coming back, louder and louder. “You’re James Buchanan Barnes! You were born in Brooklyn, 1917! We grew up together—best friends!”

The memories were there, just out of reach, like a puzzle with pieces that didn’t quite fit. Bucky’s grip on the controls tightened as he fought the urge to scream, to give in to the frustration that was building inside him. But he couldn’t.

“We’re still quite far,” You said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was steady, but there was a tension beneath it that Bucky didn’t miss.

He nodded, glancing over at you. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice gruff.

You didn’t answer right away, your gaze still fixed on the horizon. When you finally spoke, your voice was low, almost as if you were speaking to yourself. “I don’t know anymore. About anything.”

Bucky didn’t press you. He understood that feeling all too well. For the longest time, his life had been nothing but a series of orders, a mission without end. Now, here he was, flying towards a past that he barely remembered, with a woman who was just as lost as he was.

“Stark is right, you know,” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “About HYDRA. About the control they still have over me. Stark… Stark said something that’s been eating away at me. He thinks there’s a failsafe. Something I don’t know about.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability that you so rarely showed. “Stark’s a paranoid bastard, but he’s not wrong about everything,” he replied. “HYDRA always had a backup plan.”

You nodded, biting your lip as you turned back to the window. “I’ve got people waiting for us at my father’s old place. People who want to rebel. But if Stark’s right… if there’s something inside me that they can still control…”

“Then we deal with it,” Bucky said firmly, his voice cutting through your doubt. “We’ll find out what HYDRA did, and we’ll tear it out by the roots.”

You glanced over at Bucky, a serious expression settling over your face. “Now that my plan to sabotage Pierce succeeded, he has new enemies,” you said, your voice steady and sure. “What’s left of SHIELD… and us. I just know he's scrambling to get the upper hand.”

Bucky paused, taking in your words before he asked the question that had been nagging at him. “Why did you help them? The Avengers.”

Your gaze shifted back to the window, your expression hardening slightly. “I didn’t.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, confused. “What would you call it then?”

There was a moment of silence, heavy with the weight of what lay unspoken between you. Finally, you turned to face him, your eyes sharp and unyielding. “Taking down Pierce. That was my only goal. The Avengers were just… a means to an end.”

Bucky studied you, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. “So you used them?”

“Use them, manipulate them, call it what you want,” you replied, your tone firm but devoid of the venom that usually laced your words. “I needed them to believe they had the upper hand. It was the only way, very hypocritical. I know.”

Bucky nodded slowly, processing your words. He could see the logic in it, but there was something in your tone, in the way your eyes darkened when you spoke, that told him there was more to it than you were letting on.

“Do you regret it?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer immediately. Your gaze drifted back to the horizon, your expression unreadable. 

“Regret is a luxury I can’t afford, Bucky,” you said finally. “Pierce needs to fall, and I did what I had to do to make that happen, for your freedom.”

“And yours. . .?” he asked, his voice quiet but insistent. 

You stayed silent, your expression unchanged, but the slight tightening of your grip on the armrest didn’t escape Bucky’s notice. The question hung in the air, unanswered, and he realized that perhaps even you didn’t know the answer.

× × × × 

The next day.

The Quinjet landed softly in the clearing, its engines whirring down to a low hum as the dust settled around it. You stepped out first, scanning the familiar surroundings of your father’s old home. It was a place of memories, both comforting and haunting. The farmhouse had weathered time well, standing as a symbol of resilience, much like those who now sought refuge within its walls.

Bucky followed close behind, his eyes sweeping over the perimeter, ever vigilant. As they approached the entrance, one of your  trusted agents—Agent Lawson—emerged from the shadows, his face grim.

“Welcome back, ma’am,” Lawson said, his tone respectful but tinged with urgency. “We’ve got intel. You need to see this.”

Your exchanged a brief glance with Bucky before nodding to Lawson. “Inside,” you said, your voice steady despite the unease growing within you.

You entered the farmhouse, the interior dimly lit but secure. The agent led them to a small room that had been converted into a makeshift command center. Maps, monitors, and files were spread across a large table, each detailing various aspects of their ongoing struggle against HYDRA.

Lawson handed you a tablet, his expression serious. “Ma’am, the Avengers went public with the exposure of HYDRA. It’s all over the news now. HYDRA’s operations within SHIELD are out in the open, and they’re scrambling.”

Your eyes narrowed as you took the tablet, the screen lighting up with a news feed. On it, you could see footage of Captain America, Steve Rogers, speaking directly to the camera in a broadcast that had gone out worldwide. But as you listened to his words, you quickly realized there was something that felt intimately directed at you.

“If you launch those helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them,” Steve’s voice echoed through the room, his tone calm but behind it, something deeper—something only you would recognize. “I know I’m asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high; it always has been.”

Steve’s voice softened just slightly, a subtle change that might go unnoticed by most, but not by you. “And it’s a price I’m willing to pay,” he continued, his words lingering, as if speaking directly to you, “I’m not afraid to fight for what matters… or who matters.”

Your heart clenched at the unmistakable message, meant for you and you alone. “If I’m the only one, so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not.”

The screen froze on Steve’s face, his expression resolute, but his eyes—those eyes that you knew so well— carried a message meant just for you.

“They’ve dealt HYDRA a major blow, but Pierce is still out there,” Lawson continued, oblivious to the personal significance of Steve’s words. “He’s regrouping, and he’s made it clear that he’s coming after you, ma’am.”

You stared at the frozen image of Steve for a moment longer, your emotions swirling, threatening to break through the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself. But then, with a sharp inhale, you forced those emotions down, locking them away where they couldn’t distract you.

Your face hardened as you shoved the tablet back into Lawson’s hands, your voice clipped and cold. “What’s Pierce planning?”

Lawson, slightly taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor, quickly handed you a folder. “We intercepted some communications from what’s left of HYDRA’s network. Pierce is regrouping, but he’s been severely compromised.”

You opened the folder, your eyes quickly scanning the contents. As you read, your expression darkened further. “What’s his next move?” you asked, your tone flat, all traces of emotion wiped clean.

Lawson hesitated, his eyes flickering to Bucky before he spoke. “He’s going after you, ma’am. Pierce knows he’s lost control of HYDRA’s influence within SHIELD, but he’s not done yet. He’s activated something—something called Project Lazarus.”

“That bastard Stark was right,” You laughed but your grip on the folder tightened.

“He’s desperate,” you said quietly, your eyes narrowing as you pieced it together. “If he can’t control me, he’ll try to eliminate me. He’s betting everything on this failsafe.”

Lawson nodded. “We believe he’s mobilizing the remnants of HYDRA to locate and retrieve whatever information or technology is needed to activate it. If he gets his hands on it, you’ll be his primary target.”

“We need to find out exactly what and where this failsafe is and how to disable it.” you closed the folder with a snap, your expression cold and resolute. “Lawson, I want every available resource focused on this. Find out everything you can about Project Lazarus—what it is, where it’s stored, how it works. We don’t have much time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lawson said, his voice firm as he prepared to carry out your orders.

Bucky stepped closer, the bad feeling bothering his mind increasing intensity. “Y/N, this is a trap. Racing Pierce for this failsafe… it’s exactly what he wants. He’s counting on you going after it, to put yourself in danger.”

“I don’t have a choice, Bucky. If he gets to it first, it’s over. We need to find out exactly what this failsafe is and how to disable it.”

Bucky’s hand twitched, his instincts screaming at him that something was terribly wrong. 

“I don’t like this,” he admitted, his voice low and urgent. “There’s too much we don’t know. Pierce is desperate, and that makes him dangerous. If you go after this, you’re walking right into his hands.”

“Not if we get to it first.” You lifted your hand and placed it over his cheek, “Trust me.”

Not even ten minutes passed by, Lawson returned, his expression urgent. “Ma’am, we’ve got the preliminary intel on Project Lazarus. It’s worse than we thought.”

Your eyes snapped to Lawson, all traces of emotion vanishing as you switched back into mission mode. “What did you find?”

Lawson handed you a small, encrypted drive. “It’s a self-destruct mechanism, embedded within the serum dna. If activated, it will kill the host instantly. Pierce’s plan is to get to the activation device before we can, and if he does...”

Y/N’s grip on the drive tightened, the weight of what Lawson was saying settling over her. “Then it’s game over,” you finished, your voice cold.

Bucky felt his chest tighten as he listened. “Y/N, this is exactly what I was talking about. You’re the one he’s targeting. He knows you’ll go after it, and he’s setting the trap.”

You looked down at the drive in your hand, the realization of what you were up against hitting you fully. But there was no hesitation in your voice when you spoke. “This is why we make sure he doesn’t get there first. We move fast, and we don’t give him the chance to spring his trap.”

“Lawson, get the team ready, we’re moving out in twenty.” You look back at Bucky, giving him a small reassuring smile before you get yourself prepared.

× × × ×

The war room at the Avengers Compound was buzzing with activity. Multiple holographic displays floated in midair, showing maps, satellite images, and streams of data that scrolled rapidly across the screens. The Avengers were gathered around the central table, their expressions tense and focused. Time was running out, and they all knew it.

Steve Rogers stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed as he surveyed the data being fed in by JARVIS. His eyes were sharp, determined, but there was an undercurrent of urgency in his posture. They had to find Pierce before it was too late.

“JARVIS, expand the search radius to include the most recent HYDRA activity,” Tony Stark ordered, his fingers flying over the controls on the table. A new map appeared, showing several locations highlighted in red.

“I have already cross-referenced known HYDRA safehouses and recent communications intercepts, sir,” JARVIS responded, his voice calm and efficient. “However, Mr. Pierce has been taking measures to cover his tracks. He is not using any of the usual channels.”

“We’re missing something,” Natasha Romanoff said, her voice thoughtful as she studied the data in front of her. “He wouldn’t just go dark. He’s got to be coordinating something big. There has to be a pattern.”

Bruce Banner leaned forward, adjusting his glasses as he examined a cluster of highlighted areas on the map. “What about his known associates? Anyone still in contact with him?”

“Most of them are either in custody or underground,” Natasha replied, shaking her head. “But there are a few we haven’t been able to track down. They could be his lifeline.”

Steve looked over at Sam Wilson, who was monitoring a live feed of communications traffic. “Sam, anything on your end?”

“Not much,” Sam said, his brow furrowed in concentration. “But I did pick up a few encrypted messages that could be HYDRA-related. The problem is, they’re using a code we haven’t cracked yet.”

Tony’s fingers paused over the controls, and he turned to look at the team. “We don’t have time to play it safe. We need to flush him out. We hit those locations simultaneously and force him to react.”

“Agreed,” Steve said, nodding. “But we need to be smart about it. Pierce is desperate, and that makes him dangerous. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

“Steve’s right,” Natasha added. “We go in, but we need to be prepared for anything.”

Just then, JARVIS’s voice cut through the tension. “I may have something, sir. I’ve detected a series of anomalous energy readings in an isolated area approximately fifty miles outside the city. The readings are consistent with the signature of a stealth HYDRA base.”

A holographic image zoomed in on the location, showing a heavily forested area with minimal infrastructure. The perfect place for someone like Pierce to lay low.

“That’s got to be him,” Clint Barton said, his eyes narrowing as he studied the terrain. “It’s secluded, hard to access, and easy to defend.”

Steve nodded, his jaw tightening. “Then that’s where we’re going.”

Tony was already moving toward his suit, the familiar whirring of machinery filling the room as the armor began assembling around him. “JARVIS, prepare the Quinjet. We’re wheels up in five.”

The rest of the team sprang into action, suiting up and gathering their gear. The sense of urgency in the room was palpable—this was it. The moment they had been waiting for.

As they headed toward the hangar, Steve couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was off. They had the location, they had the team, but there was still an unknown element at play—something that Pierce was counting on. They had to be ready for whatever he had planned.

In the Quinjet, the team settled into their positions, the hum of the engines vibrating through the floor as they prepared for takeoff. Steve stood at the front, his hands gripping the back of the pilot’s seat as he stared out at the darkening sky.

“We go in fast and hard,” he said, addressing the team. “We neutralize any resistance and secure Pierce. But keep your eyes open—this could be a trap.”

“Isn’t it always?” Natasha remarked, a hint of wry humor in her voice as she checked her weapons.

Tony turned to face the team, his visor down, but his voice clear through the comms. “Remember, Pierce knows how we operate. We need to stay one step ahead.”

The Quinjet lifted off smoothly, banking toward the coordinates JARVIS had provided. As they flew toward what they hoped would be the final confrontation with Pierce, the tension in the air was almost suffocating. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts, preparing mentally for what was to come.

Steve’s mind, however, drifted to Y/N and Bucky. He knew they were out there too, likely chasing the same target. His grip tightened on the seat. He hoped they’d stay out of each other’s way, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t likely.

As the Quinjet sped through the night, Steve glanced around at his team, each one of them ready to face whatever lay ahead. This was the moment they’d been preparing for. There was no turning back now.

“Approaching the target location,” Sam announced from the cockpit, bringing Steve’s focus back to the mission. “We’re going in.”

Steve took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battle to come. “Let’s finish this.”

The Quinjet descended toward the forest below, and the Avengers braced themselves for the confrontation that would determine the fate of their mission—and possibly much more.

The air inside the abandoned HYDRA facility was thick with tension. Dust and debris lined the cold metal floors, remnants of a once formidable operation. Now, it was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of electricity still pulsing through the aging wires. The Avengers moved cautiously, their steps echoing through the empty corridors.

Steve Rogers led the team, his shield at the ready, as they approached the central chamber. His instincts told him they were close—too close for comfort. The door to the chamber slid open with a hiss, revealing a large, dimly lit room. And there, at the center, stood Bucky and you.

The Avengers froze, surprise flickering across their faces as they took in the sight of the two figures. Bucky’s stance was tense, defensive, while you stood beside him, your gaze throwing daggers.

“Well, well, well,” Tony Stark’s voice cut through the silence, dripping with sarcasm. “Look who decided to crash the party. You two got lost on your way to a HYDRA reunion?”

You smirked, crossing your arms as you eyed Tony. “Funny, Stark. I was going to say the same thing about you. Shouldn’t you be off with your lab toys or something? Or is this just another Tuesday for you?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his suit whirring softly as he adjusted his stance. “Oh, you know me, always multitasking. But I gotta admit, seeing you two here is a bit of a plot twist. Care to explain what’s going on, or are we doing this the hard way?”

Bucky’s eyes darted between you and the Avengers, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. He didn’t like how outnumbered you were, and he especially didn’t like the idea of a fight breaking out with Steve standing just a few feet away.

You kept your gaze locked on Tony, a hint of a smirk still playing on your lips. “Trust me, Stark, you don’t want to do this the hard way. We’re not here for you. But we’re also not here for a social call.”

Steve, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward, his shield raised slightly. “Y/N, Bucky, We’re here to take down Pierce. You’re either with us or against us.”

Your eyes flicked to Steve, your smirk fading as your expression hardened. “We’re here for the same reason, Rogers. But our priority isn’t taking down Pierce. It’s beating him first.”

Tony tilted his head, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. “And what, pray tell, what could be worse than letting that slimeball run free? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re cozying up to the wrong side.”

Before you could respond, a slow clap echoed through the chamber, drawing everyone’s attention to the shadows. From the darkness, Pierce emerged, a smirk plastered on his face as he surveyed the scene.

“Well, isn’t this touching?” Pierce drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. “The Avengers, all united in their righteousness, and yet… here you are, just as powerless as ever.”

The Avengers immediately shifted their focus to Pierce, weapons ready, but the tension in the air remained palpable. Your body tensed, your eyes narrowing as you locked onto Pierce.

Steve took a step forward, his voice stern. “Pierce, it’s over. Surrender now, and maybe we can work something out.”

Pierce laughed, a cold, humorless sound that echoed through the chamber. “Oh, Steve. Always the optimist. But you’re wrong. It’s not over. In fact, it’s just beginning.”

He raised a small device in his hand, his thumb hovering over a button. “You all really thought you could stop me? After everything HYDRA has built? The world may see me as a traitor now, but I’m not the one who’s lost here. You are.” 

Pierce’s eyes shifted to you, his expression darkening with malicious glee. “And you, Y/N… the precious little weapon we created. Did you really think you could escape us? That you could fight back and win? You’re a tool, nothing more. And like any tool, when you’ve outlived your usefulness, you get discarded.”

Your jaw clenched, but you remained silent, your mind racing. You could see the cold resolve in Pierce’s eyes, the unmistakable sign that he was ready to press the button at any moment.

Pierce continued, enjoying every moment of his twisted power. “This—this is my failsafe. Our failsafe. HYDRA always plans for every eventuality, and you, Y/N, were no exception. One press of this button, and everything you are, everything we made you, ends.”

Steve’s heart sank as Pierce’s words sunk in. The realization hit him hard—Pierce wasn’t just threatening everyone, he was threatening your life. Panic flashed across Steve’s face, and he took another step forward, his voice urgent and desperate. “Pierce, listen to me. You don’t have to do this. Whatever HYDRA promised you, it’s not worth it. Just… put the remote down, and we can figure this out.”

Pierce’s smirk widened, relishing the fear he saw in Steve’s eyes. “Oh, Captain. You think you can negotiate with me? That’s adorable. But you see, I’ve already won. You’re too late to stop me.”

Steve shook his head, his voice breaking as he pleaded, “You don’t have to end her like this. If it’s me you want, take me. Just don’t hurt her. I’ll do whatever you want—just put the remote down.”

For a brief moment, Pierce seemed to consider Steve’s words, tilting his head as if weighing his options. Then, a cold, cruel smile twisted his lips. “You think I’d trade her life for yours? How noble of you, Captain. But no, this isn’t about you. This is about making sure she never defies us again. It’s about sending a message.”

Steve’s desperation turned to anger as he tried one last time. “Pierce, if you do this, there’s no coming back. You’ll lose everything. We’ll make sure of it. Just… don’t press that button. We can find another way—”

But Pierce’s thumb was already pressing down. 

To Steve, it felt like the world slowed to a crawl. The small, mechanical click of the button echoed in his ears like a gunshot, louder than anything he’d ever heard. His heart pounded, time moving painfully slow as the full reality of what was happening crushed down on him.

“No!” Steve’s voice ripped through the chamber, filled with anguish and fear. He lunged forward, but it was too late. The failsafe activated, and your body reacted instantly.

Your body jerked violently as if a surge of electricity had just shot through your veins. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your eyes widening in shock and pain. You tried to reach out, to grab onto something, anything, to steady yourself but your strength drained from you like water through a sieve. You staggered, your legs buckling beneath you as you collapsed to the ground. Your vision blurred, but you fought for as long as you could, looking at Bucky who assisted you to collapse gently on the floor.

“No!” Steve’s voice was frantic, the raw pain in it reverberating through the room. He dropped to his knees beside you, cradling your convulsing form in his arms as if by holding you close, he could somehow stop the inevitable. “No, no, no, please, Y/N! Stay with me, stay with me!”

But you, through the haze of pain and the encroaching darkness, knew what you had to do. You turned your head slightly, focusing on Bucky. Your voice was weak, but the urgency was unmistakable. “Bucky… run. You have to… run. Don’t… look back.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in confusion, refusal written all over his face. “What? No, I’m not leaving you—”

“Go!” Your voice cracked with desperation as you struggled to maintain consciousness. “Go, Bucky! Now!”

Bucky hesitated for a fraction of a second, torn between his instinct to fight and his need to protect you. But then Pierce’s smug smile caught his eye, and something inside him snapped. With a roar of pure rage, Bucky’s metal arm slammed into Pierce, sending him crashing to the ground.

The fight was brutal, savage. Bucky’s fury was unleashed in every punch, every strike. Pierce barely had time to react before Bucky was on him, his fists a blur of metal and flesh, pummeling the life out of him.

Pierce’s screams echoed through the chamber, but Bucky didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until Pierce was nothing but a lifeless, broken mess on the floor. Panting, his vision clouded with rage and grief, Bucky finally looked up, his eyes locking onto your still form, cradled in Steve’s arms. The sight tore at his soul, but your final command echoed in his mind.

Run.

Without another word, Bucky turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows before the Avengers could even think to stop him.

Steve didn’t notice Bucky’s departure. His entire world had narrowed to you—your lifeless body, the cold stillness of your form in his arms. He rocked back and forth slightly, his grip tightening as if he could hold onto your life, refusing to let it slip away. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his mind reeling with disbelief and sorrow.

The other Avengers stood around him, silent and stunned, the gravity of what had just happened sinking in. They had all faced countless dangers before, but this felt different. 

This felt final.

Steve’s voice broke the silence, a guttural cry of anguish that echoed through the chamber, filled with a depth of sorrow that none of them had ever heard from him before. 

“Y/N!” he cried out, his voice trembling, pleading with a world that seemed to have gone cold and unfeeling. “Please, don’t leave me. You can’t… no…no…please.”

He cradled you closer, his tears falling unchecked, soaking into your hair. Every fiber of his being screamed against what was happening. This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. Not for her, not like this. The injustice of it tore at him, threatening to pull him apart.

But you didn’t respond. Your body remained still, your face peaceful, as if you had simply gone to sleep. The life that had burned so brightly within you was gone, extinguished by the cruel machinations of those who had sought to control you. He couldn’t stop the sob that tore from his throat, his anguish laid bare for all to see. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” he whispered, his voice breaking with every word. 

The chamber seemed to grow colder, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone. Time seemed to stand still, the world outside forgotten, as they all stood in the aftermath of a battle that had been lost in the most devastating way possible.

After what felt like an eternity, Tony finally stepped forward, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “Steve…” he began, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say? There was no comfort, no way to undo what had been done.

Steve didn’t respond. His focus was entirely on you, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He couldn’t comprehend a world without you in it. He didn’t want to.

Finally, after a long, painful silence, Natasha spoke, her voice soft but firm. “We need to get her out of here, Steve.”

Steve nodded numbly, but he didn’t move. It took all of his strength to gather himself enough to even consider letting you go. He didn’t want to let you go. The idea of it was unbearable. But he knew Natasha was right. They couldn’t leave you here, not in this place, not like this.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Steve slowly stood, cradling you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing in the world—because to him, you were. He turned toward the exit, his steps heavy, each one feeling like it might be his last.

Steve couldn’t help but glance back one last time, as if hoping to see some sign that this wasn’t real—that you would wake up, that this nightmare would end. But there was nothing. Just the emptiness of a place that had taken so much from them.

They stepped out into the daylight, the sun glaringly bright against the backdrop of their sorrow. Steve’s grip on you tightened, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his heart breaking all over again. 

“I love you,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat. “I always will.”

But there was no answer, no sign of life. You were gone, and the world felt infinitely colder because of it.

So they left, carrying with him a loss that would never fully heal, a wound that would forever mark him. Steve walked with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, the light in his eyes dimmed by the grief that had taken hold of him. 

[captain-mj]

Bro you cannot just drop prep/jock soap and goth ghost and dip. We need you to give us your brain worms so we can analyze it like a science project

When you have time of course

I will put my worms in a petri dish for you

Soap was an artist! He liked sketching and painting and the act of making art. But he didn't like art essays. The explaining over and over again each detail. Breaking down everything until it felt like a bunch of paint strokes instead of art.

But part of an art degree is a ton of art essays. So Soap went to the museum to write what he needed. He preferred museums to finding art online. A big part of art for him was texture. His preference would've been to touch the art, to feel the paint underneath his fingers. But the assignment specified art from the Baroque period and therefore they had to be older and no museum was going to allow his grubby hands to touch the art.

Soap glanced down one of halls to see if there was anything interesting there when he faltered.

Oh lord.

The man was big. His shoulders. His height. The thighs he had that looked like tree trunks. It was all covered in tight black fabric and silver chains. A work of bloody art himself.

Soap had to hold himself back from wolf whistling.

Once he was done objectifying admiring the man's body, he looked higher up. There was a mask covering the bottom of his face, the only thing visible being his eyes which had heavy eyeliner on them. He could still see the locs of bleached blond hair that surrounded him like a halo.

Soap wanted to paint him.

"You gonna stare all day?" Someone snarked at him and he jumped, glancing at a slightly smaller blond man. He looked at him like he was gross and for a brief moment, he worried he might be about to be hate crimed. The man looked a lot the other one actually now that he was looking closer. Dressed the same way too.

"Aye, what's your fucking problem with it?"

The man's face scrunched. "Ew." He walked away, leaving Soap rather confused but now a bit determined to talk to mystery man.

Pretending to be looking through the paintings, he got closer to him.

Dark brown eyes quickly glanced over at him before glancing back at the paintings.

"Hey. My name is Soap."

"Ghost."

Ooh, he's from Manchester and sticks with his aesthetic. Nice. He'd prefer a not British person, but as far as British people go, he could do worse than Manchester. He glanced at the painting Simon had been admiring.

The Raising of Lazarus by Rembrandt.

"It's a lovely painting." Soap put on his normal charm, acting suave and polite.

"Aye." Ghost gruffed and went quiet again, staring in simple contemplation. His arms were crossed, making already large arms flex.

Soap started to take notes for his assignment. Although he was definitely hoping to score well in more than one ways, he did need to take notes for his assignment.

Ghost glanced over at what he was writing quizzically and Soap answered the unasked question. "I'm doing a project."

"Fun." He huffed and looked back at the painting.

Soap looked down at his chest and licked his hips. "Yeah, it's a good one." He kept writing stuff. "You a college student?"

"Yeah."

"What do you study?"

"Forensics. I'm assuming you're art?"

"Chemistry with a minor in art!" Right as Soap went to mention how funny it was that they didn't share any classes, Ghost interrupted him.

"Wait. Johnny? Johnny MacTavish? We share several classes."

Soap brightened. "Do you dress like this all the time?" There was zero chance he did or Soap would already know his name, address and dick size.

"We have morning classes together. I don't dress up for morning classes." Ghost said decisively. He stretched and shook his head.

How did he manage to not notice the shoulders though at least? The man was huge. He was also several inches taller than Soap and therefore the majority of the class. Maybe if he sat in the back and left later than everyone?

Soap nodded. "Understandable. You look nice."

"Nice huh?" Ghost smiled at him. He could tell cause his eyes scrunched slightly.

"Yeah. Nice." Soap said softly, his chest doing something weird.

They stared at the painting a while before Ghost pulled away to start exploring the rest of the exhibit.

Soap finished up the notes he needed to write his paper and then started to walk with him. He tried to find his opening during all of this.

Ghost stopped at a very specific painting.

ARTEMESIA GENTILESCHI, JUDITH SLAYING HOLOFERNES, C. 1612–1613

The art was... stunning. The red, faded from time and wear, was still beautiful against the white of the blankets.

The women held him down and there was a movement to it that Soap wanted in his own work. His fingers trembled with the want to touch it. To feel the texture of the paint under his fingers. Ridges and bumps and smooth layers of the different strokes.

Ghost hummed. "I don't really get art. It's pretty but some people look at it and it... gives them something. An epiphany."

Soap hummed. "I find touching it helps."

Ghost looked at him, raking his eyes over him. "I see. Do you want to head out then?"

Soap frowned. "Why?"

"You're a piece of art and I'm looking for an epiphany."

[haleswallows]

Uwu what's this? A totally random smutty one-shot that I wrote instead of working on my multiple WIPs?

Enjoy!

Teaser:

Something boils under Jason's skin. He feels half-mad with it. Restless and on edge, he loops around Crime Alley for the upteenth time, head on a swivel. Sticky summer night air whips past as he grapnels but it does nothing to soothe him. Jason only feels more feverish in his wild hunt.

He doesn't even know what he's hunting for.

All Jason knows is something feels wrong. Like the bad feeling before an accident, or an Arkham Asylum breakout. That anxious feeling before Jason springs into action.

He drops into an alley, boots heavy and stands from the crouch. Then freezes.

The creature is… ethereal. That's the only word Jason can think of. Glowing softly, hair pure white and floating around its head. It appears male, lithe and muscled with a swimmer's build. And even though it floats, Jason can tell he has a good head and shoulders over it, maybe more if it puts its feet on the ground.

It whips around at the sound of his boots on the alleyway’s ground. And for a moment, Jason's pinned by its bright green eyes. Not Lazarus Water green, but close. Cleaner, brighter. And framed by white eyelashes. It tracks him closely as he approaches.

It’s otherworldly and beautiful, like a glimpse of the Milky Way. Jason is entranced, drawn in, like a moth to a flame.

Then it opens its mouth.

“Hi, hello! Woah, you are way bigger in person. Like way bigger. Impressive, hot and yet terrifying. Big fan, bee-tee-dubs.” There’s an echoing quality to its voice that sends a thrill through Jason. It tilts its head as he nears and gestures to itself. “Nice to meet you, I’m Phantom. Danny Phantom, he/him.”

[ditzyredrobin]

Before and After

Chapter 1

For Whumptober 2024 Day 27, Before and After, Alternate universe

-

So, I guess I forgot to post this one here? Originally, this was just supposed to be one shot—Dick and Lazarus!Tim bonding but 4,613, chapter 2 is on the way. 😂

-

In a blink, the knife is out of his hand soaring across the living room, towards the intruder. All the while without dislodging the bottle from the fussy pup in his arms. After hours of crying—of soothing, and changing, and singing, and bouncing, and burping she had refused to go down until now and Tim was Exhausted™️.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed the black and blue costumed vigilante was another assassin sent by the League—Nightwing moved with easy grace, easing his way through the window, movement flowing like water and air. But not even the best of the League had managed to crack his security without electrocuting the shit out of themselves.

The room was illuminated by Friends reruns and the Gotham skyline peaking in through the crack in the curtains.

Nightwing ducked and weaved, only narrowly missing a knife through the delt. He rolled back to his feet without a hitch, shocking blue eyes wide and wild with the whiteouts down. The knife stuck in the wall with a satisfying thunk.

Without missing a beat Tim uttered lowly, “Breaking and entering is punishable offense. At the very least it’s C felony, at least 10 years in prison, and upwards of a $250,000 fine.” Not that he could actually get a judge in Gotham to prosecute without a hefty bribe.

Nightwing held up his empty palms in surrender keeping his feet firmly planted. “I’m sorry, we haven’t heard from you and I wanted to check on you.”

Tim discretely adjusted the cashmere blanket across his lap over the pup with a silent prayer she didn’t wake up. “Well, you can tell everyone I’m fine. If I needed help, I would have asked.” He snarks, adding. “But I didn’t.”

I don’t need a keeper.

But that was the thing about bats—they had a tendency to be too nosey for their own good, to pick, and poke, and prod until you were on the verge of wanting to pull your hair out and scream.

Boundaries? I hardly know her.

If Nightwing noticed, he didn’t say anything, opting to remove his domino and tucking it away, his brows were furrowed.

Tim knew how he looked—gaunt, deep purple bags under his eyes, cheekbones sharper than they should be.

Welcome to being a single parent.

“I know you didn’t ask but it’s what family does. I want to help.” Dick sounded painfully desperate earning an eye roll. “No matter what you will always be my little brother.”

Tim scoffed, “If I needed help I would have asked.” What part of he’s fine was not getting through that thick skull of his? Maybe it’s just all the years of vigilante-related concussions. “Maybe in another life we were family but I’m not your brother, Dick,” not anymore , “you don’t even know me.”

Dick breathed a heavy sigh, moving around the overstuffed couch to sit. It took everything in Tim not to bare his teeth and growl. “Of course I know you, Tim. You will always be my little brother.”

“But I’m not!” Tim finally snapped, startling Amalia awake. Her little lip wobbled, her nose scrunched, and Tim went into oh shit mode. Her wails made his inside twist and churn with the need to fix it , as she shook her tiny fists in anger.

He set the empty bottle down and adjusted her so she was upright in his arms to burp her. “Shh, ya Rohee,” he crooned, patting her back.

My soul.

She was his everything—his sun, his moon, to the moon and to Saturn. The only good thing that came of his time with Ra’s after the Council of Spiders and the Pit.

He could feel Dick watching him but didn’t look up, opting to instead rock his infant. She was small, even for a babe of her age, he still had a hard time imagining her anything other than fragile.

He nuzzled her, her patch of almost black, whispy hair tickled his nose, purring softly. It was a little uneven with disuse but it soothed her enough to bring her wails down to whimpers. She smelled milky and soft and like his . He did his best to ignore the hint of spicy incense underlying in her scent from her other father.

She was his and no one else’s. It would change in a few months and maybe he would finally stop seeing him in the shadows.

There was no way she was going down now but he’d lost all hope of that when Dick disengaged his security and decided to sneak in (an issue he would be working on a patch for later).

His eyes felt hot but he ignored it. He didn’t need a nap anyways, right? He’d worked more on less after all. This should be cake , right?

Eventually, as the pup calmed down, Tim dared to glance up at his unwanted visitor. There was a complicated expression that Tim couldn’t quite discern despite all of his training. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. I don’t even know who I am.”

For a long moment, Dick sat with that, a complex flurry of emotions crossed his face before settling on something soft. A fondness, watching the small pup in his arms. “You have a baby?” Talk about understatement of the century.

Tim rolled his eyes, continuing to pat the pups baby. “Yes, last time I checked I did, in fact, have a baby. I have the stretch marks to prove it. You want to see?”

Dick shook his head, “That isn’t what I meant. I just…How old is she? What’s her name?” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees.

Tim had to think for a long moment, back tracking the dates. The escape had been four days following her birth, still sore and as unsteady on his legs like a newborn fawn. There hadn’t been a choice—it was escape or lose Amalia. She had been born weak, words like failure to thrive had been tossed around. Ra’s Al Guhl was gifted with another disappointing heir.

“Well, Timothy, we’ll just have to try again, won’t we? Surely you won’t disappoint your Alpha a second time.” The or else was implied.

He had still been on his back, bleeding from the long birth. His milk supply hadn’t come in and the tiny pup wailed across the room with the wet nurse.

“Tim?” Dick sounded concerned, snapping him back into the present. His grip on Amalia tightened just a hair, her warm weight against his shoulder grounding.

“Amalia,” he said remembering the question. “Her name is Amalia and she’s-“ If he had been in Gotham for nearly a month, days before being found out and the trek from the Cradle to Gotham had taken around two weeks… “Her birthday is July 19th.” He said instead.

Fresh out of the Pit, time was hazy, seasons and dates made little impact on his life and Gotham’s perpetually gray skies.

Dick had a worried look on his face. “What about her other the father?”

“Dead.” Tim said succinctly.

That he made sure of.

Dick made a soft noise of acknowledgement, continuing to watch the baby with a fondness in his eyes. He didn’t push the matter. “She’s beautiful. You did so well.” He croons softly, “I’m sure it was hard for you.” He didn’t know the half of it.

“It was hard,” Tim admitted softly, basking in the Alpha’s praise. Finally, Amalia burped. “I had a few people that helped—Talia and an assassin I saved after-“ before he died, after the Pit, and before Amalia. “After. They made it easier but Talia wasn’t around often. I don’t think she was overly fond of what he was doing.”

“What about the assassin?”

Tim bit his lip, his eyes felt hot. “I don’t feel her bond anymore.” There was a bone deep ache without her. Whether she had cut it herself to save him, or really hadn’t made it out after Ra’s death, was all up in the air. “I’ve looked for her but-“

“But she’s part of the League.” Dick filled in and Tim nodded. He was quiet for a long moment before promising, “We’ll find her.”

Tim looked up from the pup quickly, “What?”

“We’ll find her.” Dick repeated with all of the seriousness in the world. “For you. I promise.”

Tim held his eye for a long moment, gauging the whether or not believe his words but Dick’s resolve never faltered. He felt his pulse pick up and a bright blip of emotion he didn’t want to think about. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What about Batman? He doubt he’ll be a fan of having a member of the League in Gotham.”

“I’ll handle Bruce.” Dick promised. “Just focus on you and your pup. We will find her.”

Tim bit his lip nodding once. He didn’t trust it but maybe… maybe just this once he would try.

[shewasverynice]

Satoru Gojo thought that when he died he'd left this world with no regrets. He was sure that, despite everything, he was happy in the end.

SURPRISE BITCH! NOW HE'S SO BACK AND HE'S GOT ANOTHER SHOT!

A super slice-of-life with emphasis on internal conflict, feelings, emotions, and learning to cope with life kinda story. Drama? Yeah. Curses? Yeah. Kisses? So many.

Gege Akutami can suck my whole ass. I've got this from here.

°.•☆•.° Updates every Monday and Friday! °.•☆•.°

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen 

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death 

Categories: F/F F/M M/M Multi 

Relationships: Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character, Getou Suguru/Original Female Character , Nanami Kento/Original Female Character , Ieiri Shoko/Iori Utahime, Haibara Yu/Original Character, Tsukumo Yuki/Choso

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance, Eventual Smut, Slice of Life, High School Sweethearts, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Marriage, Pregnancy, Children, Drug Use, Alcohol, Curses, Canon-Typical Violence, Break Ups, Time Travel, Reincarnation 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Chapter Links

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-one

Cover art and Sarah

Boe (real name redacted) and Rin Morishita

[wingedflight]

he’s just an angry little boy

So I wrote a dpxdc fic that’s actually more of a fusion. In which Danny isn’t turned into a ghost during the portal accident, he just gains some really bad Lazarus Pit Rage

Title: Half Rage

Summary: Ever since the accident, Danny has been seething with rage.

Excerpt:

A heavy blow knocks the books from his arms. Danny jolts and opens his eyes again as mean laughter fills the stairwell.

It’s Dash, of course. Who else would think it the height of entertainment to corner a lone boy? Danny glares. The fury washes over him again, like he hadn’t almost managed to bury it deep enough to last the rest of the day. He feels hot, sharp with it.

One of the kids behind Dash stops laughing abruptly as he catches the look in Danny’s eyes. But Dash himself? He’s either too stupid or too arrogant to take warning.

“Oho,” Dash says, “Is skunk boy angry at me? You were standing right in my path, Fenton. I couldn’t help it.” He chortles at his own words, and his friends follow suit.

They sound like a pack of hyenas, thinks Danny derisively. This observation is not helpful, not calming.

Miffed that he’s gotten no reaction from Danny, Dash reaches out to flick his hair. “What’s with the skunk stripe anyway?”

Danny doesn’t blink, not when Dash’s finger first jabs towards his face and not when the offending lock of bleached hair drops over his eye. He doesn’t move at all, an utter contradiction to the raging whirlwind in his chest.

“Think this makes you look cool or something?”

The rage is boiling up, seconds from spilling over.

“Think a girl like Paulina would ever go out with a skunk like you?” Dash tugs on the lock of hair, a single jerk hard enough to actually pull a few pale strands out.

And that’s it.

Time’s up.

Danny’s done.

(Read More)

[banamine-bananime]

just listing some of my headcanons (mostly appearance/demographics) because i like listing things and i’m procrastinating hard

caboose - 18-19 in 2552. went straight from hs graduation to basic to sim training to blood gulch. he was gonna do a program where the UNSC provides a hefty scholarship for completion of an engineering degree with a few years of service upon graduation, but got enlisted instead through a combination of paperwork being confusing for bureaucratic nonsense reasons, paperwork being confusing for deliberate predatory we-need-as-many-people-for-cannon-fodder-as-possible reasons, and him being confused by any paperwork. 6'7”, ~250 lb, very muscular and not thin but not quite chubby either, very mixed but mostly latino and arabic ethnicities, thick fluffy 3A chin-length dark brown hair that's always in his eyes, round face with cute fuzzy eyebrows and aquiline nose. him and tucker (and kinda donut and perhaps sarge) are the only motherfuckers here with a stable happy childhood. uses-no-specific-label queer cis dude.

church - we know church is 5 in blood gulch lol but it think he thought he was like 23-ish/jimmy was around that age. in jimmy's body, 5'10, ~230 lb, chubby and "normal" level of muscularity for someone who has a somewhat active job but doesn't work out much, untidy thick straight black hair that's like 2" grown-out from a buzz, face passably similar to the director if you squint but not really (e.g. shorter/squarer face, eyes hazel instead of stupidly light green). epsilon projects a similar bodytype but would probably default to a young-director-ish face if he had to make one. i think he would at some point consciously change it around if he were doing a face with any regularity. bisexual and nonbinary and will probably never fully acknowledge it but she can have some pronouns as a treat (from tex or in her own internal monologue) sometimes.

tucker - 18-19 in 2552. went straight from hs graduation to basic to sim training to blood gulch. enlisted because he was a “fuck around without any motivation or particular goals in life” kind of teenage dirtbag who was like “oh hey predatory recruiters absolutely dominating every career fair in Covenant-war-era earth. i’ve heard being in the military is very sexy and exciting and makes you a chick magnet so sure sign me up”. 5’4”, ~110 lb scrawny guy in blood gulch -> ~135 still pretty skinny but more muscular later. 4C hair with a grown-out buzz from basic in blood gulch becoming locs when it's long enough. *takes you by the shoulders very seriously* repeat after me, his eyes are BROWN. and the only acceptable other option is when they’re turning gray as in a body horror way, gray as in your body becoming something uncanny to you, gray as in the horribly blinding cold light of unfathomably vast stars lightyears away from anything you’ve ever known (read lazarus left the tomb btw. treat yourself). very handsome face in a boy-next-door-looks-very-sweet-until-he-opens-his-mouth kinda way. an only child or had like one older sibling he wasn’t very close to by the time he enlisted. i think of him as a bi cis guy but i enjoy trans hcs.

kai - 20 in 2552. 5’2”, ~200 lb, fat and top-heavy hourglass and broadset. a little muscular (it’s not immediately obvious) as she was always athletic and basic training helped, but she’s made more for endurance (body by “dancing 7 hours and walking home across town drunk and sleep-deprived”) than strength. thick upper-back-length black 2C hair that she sometimes dyes streaks in or ombre (usually brown highlights but she mixes it up). broad face and nose, big adorable eyebrows, life-endingly cute eyes and smile. alternates between no-makeup all-leg-hair realness, and full femme glam for funsies with 5 sets of fake eyelashes trying to take flight (at least three of them are inevitably going to be Just Fucking Gone by some point in the party). pansexual ipsogender intersex gal (tbh the original reason i headcanoned her having mosaic turner’s is the colorblindess [x-linked recessive traits are rarely gonna show up if you have 2 X chromsomes vs having one, so i was like, “hey her retinas could be some of her XO tissues, and with mosaicism, fertility isn’t uncommon, so it doesn’t contradict her having had abortions”] and then years later i thought about it harder and was like wait she has achromatopsia and that’s autosomal. biology nerd fail moment. but anyways she’s intersex.)

tex - her body is modelled after allison aged 33 (when she died), but bigger stronger faster idealized-by-memory-and-wanting-her-to-be-invincible-to-the-point-of-looking-more-like-she’s-on-gear-and-photoshop-than-a-natural-body. 6’2”, body looks like ~220 lb of muscle and low-body-fat (but not like, cut for bodybuilding competition level of low-body-fat), but being made largely metal, she is heavier. whereas allison was like 5’9”, 170 lb, serious-crossfit-competitor kind of build but nowhere near as built as tex. face looks very similar to allison but just… weirdly airbrushed look and looks… sharper. harsher features. more intimidating. but she’s got this crooked smile that looks kinda like a smug smirk but also like she’s not laughing at you exactly, she’s just vibing with you and the inherent comedy of the absurdity of life. but when she’s Not Smiling it's the kind of expression you start backing away from expeditiously. i think of her having shoulder-length hair she wears in a ponytail but i do love short-hair tex dearly. gnc butch gay/bi (mostly attracted to women, uses both labels) cis woman who uses any pronouns.

wash - around 31? in 2552 (would put him being recruited to pfl at about 26 which feels right for being able to slide into the Goofy Innocent Rookie role but also plausibly have achieved a pretty high non-commissioned officer rank). 5’6” -155 lb, functional muscle with a build in-between lean and stocky (“otter” as a label keeps coming to mind). i don’t have a super settled facecanon but picture him as either white or mixed white and east asian. he has not changed his bleach-blonde crewcut since he was 17 and the shock of allowing himself to change it now might kill him. gay ace trans man.

carolina - 29 in 2552 (actually the youngest among the high-ranking freelancers. she would kill (jk) to protect this secret). she did the whole 4 year military academy to commissioned officer training thing and had a couple years of normal UNSC service before unfortunately getting wrapped up in her dad’s mad science pet project. 5’8”, ~150 lb, leanly muscular. i think of her having natural red hair she dyes bright red but i love a black-haired carolina too. we’ve seen her face. straight trans woman (transitioned as a preteen). i know, i wanted her to be in the wlw club, too. unfortunately every time i try shipping her with a woman she’s like “meh. thinking about my weird khaki man.” and i’m like oh. sorry about that affliction.

sarge - 62 (?) in 2552. 5’6”, ~200 lb, stocky and solidly muscular barrel-chested slight-beer-gut old dude. chinese-american. if you somehow catch him without his helmet he’s got wraparound reflective shades so good luck ever seeing his face (he’ll tell you it’s classified). another eternal crewcut guy but his is shorter than wash’s. bi and definitely a robofucker tbh. he is cis or trans depending on what’s funnier in any given circumstance.

grif - 24 in 2552. worked in honolulu a couple years after hs graduation until kai was old enough (17) he felt he could leave. did a year at university before realizing he’s smart enough to be admitted to cornell but not to get the scholarship he realistically needs to not be in crushing debt on graduation and also there’s not nearly enough regimentation to college life to prevent him from rotting in bed paralyzed by Problems. went through basic and stationed on the doomed outpost. that Whole Thing happened and he was reassigned to sim troopers. 5’8”, ~300 lb, fat and a little bit strong against his will from an involuntarily active job (he has valiantly resisted picking up cardiovascular conditioning. he works very hard on unfitness). he’s kinda cute in a “hasn’t washed his face in 5 days and his peachfuzz/stubble patches combo is very uneven but you caught him smiling for 2 seconds and oh no it was VERY charming” way. thick 2C dark-brown hair that’s a few inches long, wears it longer later. gay trans guy (because his little sister is named “younger sibling of the same gender” so like… also lmfao how unfortunate for kai that her name, which she did not choose, misgenders her big brother. like 😭 god it is very on the grif siblings brand of “hello so the circumstances we have been put in mean that my existence [kai]/how i have to leave you here to protect my own sanity [grif] is actively making your life much harder. i am ashamed of this, let us never communicate about it ever. i love you so much.”)

simmons - 23 in 2552. tried to do university several times and had to drop out for mental health reasons (a very polite way of putting “rapid spiral into absolute disaster every time”. it leaves room for giving him the benefit of the doubt that this was a proactive “ah i should take care of myself and this is not working for me :) #selfcare #therapy” decision. this is not benefit of the doubt that anyone who knows him would extend.). I go back and forth on whether to roll with the “suspiciously specific denial of being in a unit that was stranded and had to eat their dog to survive” thing or just say he was assigned straight to sim troopers. 5’11”, ~160 lb, wirey build and has to be standing at attention or else he holds himself so awkwardly. i pretty much go with the Standard Ginger Simmons Fanon Face but light brown hair also feels right and i think his hair should be very short. i really like when people draw his prosthetics very industrial/bare mechanical frame not trying to imitate biological form, just whatever’s functional. Red circle eye, hell yeah. bi and i used to firmly believe “this guy has to be cis because there is NO WAY he would have the hutzpah and willingness to put self-authenticity over doing what he’s Supposed To Do. we’ve seen how he deals with anxiety. he would just be white-knuckling his way through dysphoria to this day” HOWEVER i have really come around to trans simmons

donut - 19-20 in 2552. i see him taking a gap year or two to work on the farm and think about what he wants to do with his life (not productively introspecting on his deeper desires in life and what would allow him to fulfill them, god no, of course not. daydreaming unrealistically. obviously.) before enlisting. i think his upbringing was fairly happy but kinda weird and a bit insular within a small community of some Beliefs and possibly homeschooled. not like exactly Fundie Christian America as you might assume with that background; american subcultures have changed enough over 500 years that this is one of many totally unrecognizable to us. like it has some roots in Fundie Christianity and homesteading-from-a-weird-reactionary-tradfamily-can’t-trust-the-gubernment-place and some in Hippie-dippiness Spirituality, not-actually-a-cult-but-sometimes-you’ll-hear-him-say-things-he-thinks-are-normal-and-you’re-like-ummmmmmmm. (Idek how that headcanon started. i think i was just like so how DO you build a guy like donut). he’s 5’10”, ~185 lb, sturdy build, i don’t think people would consider him chubby but definitely not thin. his face and hair looks like he should be on a 1960s white america boyscouts poster but like, goofy about it. i think of him being mostly white but some latino heritage he’s curious about but was not raised connected to (hence wanting to learn spanish). acearospec and gay (he’s like…. mostly asexual and aromantic but it’s complicated. he is barely aware of being gay let alone ace or aro. he just fully makes up what he thinks sexual attraction and romance are and assigns it to random feelings/experiences). cis dude or nonbinary.

[solesoldier]

this is a breakdown and reference sheet of shepard's scars throughout the timeline of the series including where the scars were acquired and any additional physical or relevant psychological details. tw for medical trauma and mentions of sterilization** ahead. major plot spoilers also ahead. full view on images recommended.

MASS EFFECT 1

the use of shields and medi-gel can heal most moderate injuries when used in a timely manner. Scarification is still mostly permanent but proper treatment can speed up the healing process.

¹ˑ   eyebrow scar, acquired from a husk on eden prime. ²ˑ lip scar, a minor injury during basic training after enlisting. ³ˑ   scar tissue from the remains of a severe injury caused by thresher maw acid on akuze. the coloration has mostly faded to her skin tone but the texture is still rough. shepard is very rarely seen wearing tank tops to keep the injury concealed considering how quick people are to want to talk about akuze, which she is not interested in doing.

MASS EFFECT 2 / 3

after undergoing reconstruction through the lazarus project, shepard is missing her previously notable scars. her official cause of death was asphyxiation as she ran out of oxygen while breaking atmosphere; the velocity of falling from orbit burned her body beyond recognition and the force of impact when she finally landed crushed the majority of her bones. her skull was heavily fractured but her helmet miraculously prevented her brain from being severely damaged.

¹ˑ   reconstruction scars, a series of strange scars from newly placed skin grafts which did not have time to properly heal. they give an oddly manufactured appearance to her as they follow natural forms and planes of the body (much like seams on a production mold would). in anything other than bright light, they give off a faint orange glow due to the cybernetics underneath. shepard is highly self conscious about these scars; mental stress seems to make them more prominent. ²ˑ enhanced optics, the first of several implanted cybernetics, these ocular implants allow for quicker visual recognition and scanning and are able to enhance mental processing to a faster rate. these implants allow her to make quick tactical decisions and auto focus on targets for her (adrenaline rush ability). ³ˑ  titanium reinforced skeleton, only around 10% of shepard's skeleton is made of her original bones. titanium was used as a reinforcement material due to the heavy impact of front line combat shepard regularly faces. after full augmentation and skeletal restructuring, shepard weighs significantly more than a regular human of her height and build. ⁴ˑ   heavy muscle weave, (NOT upgraded) her muscles have been perforated with micro-fibers which greatly increase her natural strength and reduce exhaustion and muscle fatigue. these enhancements can be physically upgraded, along with bone and skin weaves, but shepard decisively chooses not to augment herself any further. ⁵ˑ **most organ systems were returned to functionality, with the exception of the epidermis and skeletal system needing to be fully replaced, however her reproductive system is no longer functional. shepard no longer experiences a menstrual cycle and will never be able to conceive children.

POST MASS EFFECT 3

the consequences of choosing to destroy the reapers are both physically present in the galaxy, but also marked upon shepard herself. her body was found among the citadel wreckage, severely injured and barely alive after massive trauma to the body and brain as well as the catalyst disabling her more intricate cybernetics. shepard's 'recovery' is limited by the available resources in the wake of the aftermath; she is in critical care for minimum three months, repairing her cybernetic-reliant organ systems. intensive physical therapy is needed for several months following to adapt to her new prosthetics and regain her strength. recovery is ongoing.

¹ˑ  heavy scar tissue from multiple sources, some injury from the impact of the beam which transported her to the citadel, the majority being from the explosion within the catalyst. ²ˑ reconstruction scars still present but faded, continuing to fade with time. ³ˑ   cybernetic implants now mostly defunct. through gene therapy, transplants, and extensive hospitalization, her body has learned to cope without the more intricate implants. some of the less advanced ones were able to be technologically repaired. ⁴ˑ   amputated arm, replaced with mechanical prosthetic. her right arm was crushed under a bulkhead on impact from explosion; it was amputated on the scene of recovering her body from the wreckage. ⁵ˑ severed leg from initial explosion, replaced with mechanical prosthetic. the wound was mostly cauterized from the heat of the blast, preventing her from dying of blood loss in the wreckage.

[that1emowitch]

Fire #1 (Jason Todd & Child!OC)

Summary:

Jason finds a young child in an explosion and suddenly feels extremely protective of her. The Pit's effects are also coming back. Wrong timing.

Rating: Teen & Up Audiences (there might be some swears and graphic descriptions of violence)

Word Count: 2,104

A/N:

SO this is my first work on Tumblr and i haven't written in YEARS so please bear with me

Chapter 1: Hood To The Rescue

It was another typical night in Gotham City, with the Red Hood perched atop a rooftop, surveying the familiar cityscape. For a brief moment, nostalgia washed over him, and he could almost convince himself that he was still the bright-eyed Robin, that none of the darkness and tragedy had befallen him. Almost. He yearned to cling to that illusion, to pretend that the tragedies and darkness that had befallen him were mere fictions. But the cruel reality wouldn't allow it. The weight of his shattered past bore down upon him, and the illusion quickly shattered. He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze clouded with a sickening green hue—the haunting color of the Lazarus Pit that threatened to pull him back into its depths, to drown him in the madness it held.

Desperately, he fought against the encroaching memories, pushing them back with every ounce of his being. He knew all too well the consuming power they held—the anger, the fear, the overwhelming sense of isolation. He refused to let it consume him once again. But as much as he resisted, the lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit clawed at the edges of his consciousness, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked within. 

In the quiet recesses of his mind, a tumultuous tempest raged. Memories surged like relentless waves, threatening to overwhelm him. The memories of pain, betrayal, and the unquenchable thirst for vengeance clawed at his sanity. It was a harrowing dance with the abyss—a fierce struggle to maintain control over the demons that lurked in the depths of his being.

His heart pounded, the rhythmic cadence echoing the intensity of the battle he waged within himself. He knew that succumbing to the darkness meant losing himself, losing the fragile sense of self he had fought so hard to reclaim. But the power of the Pit was relentless, tugging at his sanity with an unyielding grasp.

Suddenly, gunshots pierced the night air, snapping him out of his internal struggle. Blinking away the green haze, he chided himself for losing control, especially in such a vulnerable position at the edge of the rooftop. "It's been happening more frequently," he muttered, frustration evident in his voice. "I thought I was making progress... getting better."

Shaking off the disquieting thoughts, he focused his attention on the distant source of the gunshots. His eyes widened in surprise as flames flickered in the nearby warehouse, their glow dancing in the darkness. "Must have missed it during my little internal freak show," he mused bitterly. Determination flared within him, propelling him into action. Without hesitation, he made his way to his waiting bike, revving the engine as he sped toward the scene, ready to confront the chaos that awaited him.

As he arrived at the scene, Hood's eyes widened at the sight of oil tanks ablaze, their fiery threat looming over the entire warehouse. Panic filled the air as masked men scurried about, desperately salvaging the contents within. "Henchmen," he surmised, his trained eyes scanning the chaos for their leader. Their attire puzzled him—it bore some resemblance to the League of Assassins, yet it deviated in ways he couldn't quite decipher.

Seeking cover behind a sturdy stone pillar that seemed unlikely to succumb to the inferno, He observed the unfolding situation with a keen eye. Memories of his own time in exploding warehouses threatened to resurface, but his focus sharpened abruptly as a piercing shriek echoed through the chaos—a little girl in distress. Her face was contorted in fear. Sharp flashes of his childhood pierced through his mental barrier, memories of when his mother had abandoned him in a similar warehouse for the J– No! He screamed mentally. Not right now.

His instincts kicked into high gear. Without hesitation, he darted toward the source of the sound, his mind racing to assess the dangers that surrounded the kid. As he rounded a corner, his gaze landed on her—a terrified figure trapped amidst the pandemonium.

The flames danced dangerously close to her, casting an eerie glow on her frightened face. Without a second thought, Hood sprang into action, his determination flaring like the flames that threatened them both.

He charged into the relentless inferno, his Kevlar suit shielding him from the searing heat. He swiftly reached out and gathered the frightened little child into his protective embrace. The heat engulfed them, searing his throat, but he remained grateful for the mask that guarded his face.

Navigating through the treacherous maze of flames, he raced towards a nearby open space, far removed from the raging firestorm. Every step was fueled by urgency as he yearned to escape the scorching intensity. At last, he burst into the cool expanse of fresh air, feeling relief flood his senses.

Pausing for a moment, he peered down at the child nestled in his arms. She appeared to be around three years old, her innocent features twisted with fear. Whimpering, she squeezed her eyes shut, as if wishing away the terrifying sights that had surrounded her. He quickly checked her for any burns, but fortunately, she seemed to be fine. Unfortunately, the goons had also chosen this open space as a spot to escape to.

"Hey!" One of the goons shouted, his gun menacingly pointed towards Red Hood. "Yer the Red Hood, ain't ya?"

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Jason's features as he gently placed the trembling girl on the ground behind him, shielding her from the impending danger. With a deliberate motion, he raised a more formidable weapon of his own. The sight of his retaliation prompted the other goons to follow suit, all four of them now pointing their guns directly at him.

"Give us the kid, and maybe we'll let you walk away in one piece," the goon who had spoken before threatened, his voice dripping with false bravado. In that moment, Jason felt a tug at his leg as the girl sought refuge, seeking protection behind him.

"Please don't..." she whimpered, her small voice quivering with fear.

The hardened anti hero’s lips curled into a snarl as he locked eyes with the goons, his grip tightening around his weapon.

"Wasn't planning on it, sweetheart," he growled, his voice laced with a lethal edge that conveyed the futility of the goons' threats.

His first instinct was to shoot everyone in sight, but he knew it could be traumatizing for the kid. Moreover, she could get caught in a crossfire. He needed to figure out a way to get to his bike and get her to a safer location. He could always come back and kill these bastards later. 

With lightning speed and precision, Red Hood sprang into action. In one fluid motion, he unleashed a shot that found its mark, piercing the knee of the first goon. The air filled with the agonizing cry of pain as the wounded thug crumpled to the ground.

Before the others could even process what had transpired, Red Hood surged forward, his body transforming into a weapon of its own. With a forceful collision, he crashed into two of the goons, sending them sprawling and disorienting them long enough for their weapons to slip from their grasp.

The fourth goon, still clutching his firearm, attempted to retaliate. But luckily, his aim was terrible and missed. Bullets whizzed past the vigilante, missing their target entirely.

Seizing the opportunity, Red Hood spurred into action. A swift, punishing blow landed square on the nose of one goon, rendering him unconscious with a resounding thud. Without missing a beat, he deftly maneuvered to incapacitate the remaining adversaries, utilizing a combination of strikes, holds, and expertly executed counterattacks.

The skirmish unfolded with remarkable efficiency, each movement a testament to Red Hood's honed skills and unwavering determination. In mere moments, the threat had been neutralized, leaving the goons sprawled on the ground, incapacitated and incapable of further harm.

As the rush of the adrenaline began to subside, leaving him slightly breathless, Red Hood turned to find the young girl watching him from a cautious distance, her eyes widened with lingering fear. It struck him then, the impact his intimidating presence must have on her in his imposing suit. Realizing this, he swiftly removed his helmet, revealing a face marked by scars, and knelt down in front of her, his own expression softening with genuine concern. He gently reached out, taking hold of her trembling hand.

"Hey, hey, calm down," he spoke in a soothing tone, his voice laced with reassurance. "I'm not going to hurt you, and neither are they." He motioned towards the unconscious goons as if to emphasize his point.

She glanced between the subdued criminals and back at him, a glimmer of trust beginning to form in her eyes. The tension in her small frame seemed to ease ever so slightly.

With a tender smile, Red Hood sought to establish a connection, to let her know that she was safe in his presence. "My name's Jason," he introduced himself, giving her the choice to reciprocate or remain silent.

Her hesitation was evident. Her parents must’ve taught her not to speak to strangers. After several moments of internal deliberation, she finally replied in a barely audible whisper, her voice carrying the weight of vulnerability, "Nile."

A warm smile spread across Jason's face, softening the hard edges of his vigilant persona. In that moment, he was not the Red Hood, but a protector driven by a fierce sense of responsibility. The mixture of protectiveness and determination in his gaze spoke volumes about the depth of his commitment to the little girl's safety. He understood the gravity of the situation; there was no time to waste. Every second counted, and he knew he had to find a safe haven for her before any more goons arrived. The priority was her immediate well-being; the search for her parents could wait until her life was no longer hanging in the balance.

With tender care, he gently scooped her up into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. The girl instinctively clung to him, her tiny hands grasping onto his jacket as if seeking refuge in the fortress of his embrace. She looked up at him, her innocent eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and trust. He couldn't help but be moved by the sight—the vulnerability of this young soul, thrust into a world of danger.

A soft yawn escaped her tiny lips, and he knew she was exhausted from the ordeal she had just endured. "I know you're tired, kiddo," he whispered, his voice like a soothing balm, "Get some sleep." His words were laced with compassion, a reassurance that she was now under his protection.

Jason's steps were measured and deliberate as he made his way back to his trusty motorbike, the hum of the engine resonating with an almost comforting familiarity. Each movement was careful, mindful of the precious cargo he held. He settled her into a makeshift seat on the bike, ensuring she was as comfortable as possible. As he felt her nestle against him, seeking comfort in his presence, he knew that he had made the right decision. He would protect her at all costs, no matter what dangers lurked in the shadows of the night.

Leaning in closer, he whispered to her with utmost tenderness, "Goodnight." It was a promise that he would keep her safe throughout the night and beyond. With that, they set off into the darkness, leaving behind the burning warehouse and the bodies of the defeated goons for the Bat to find. He could hardly believe how innocent she looked, just like how innocent he’d once been. But you’re a monster now, a voice whispered in his head.

“No!” He whisper-screamed out loud. I won’t let her turn out like me. I– I’ll find her parents, I’ll find someone to take care of he, to make sure she doesn’t end up like me. Jason's heart weighed heavy with the knowledge of the darkness that pervaded Gotham, but he was determined to be the light that guided this young girl to safety.

As they disappeared into the night, the city's whispers faded, and the echoes of the chaos they had left behind lingered in the stillness. Jason knew that the night was far from over, that more challenges awaited, but for now, he had a mission—to protect this innocent life, to shield her from the harsh realities of a world consumed by darkness. And as the motorbike roared through the city streets, the warmth of his smile persisted, a beacon of hope amidst the shadows.

A/N

I COULDNT FIND ANY FICS WHERE JAY BECOMES A DAD THAT WERE SATISFACTORY SO YA KNOW, WHEN LIFE FORGETS TO GIVE YOU LEMONS, MAKE YOUR OWN! ALSO WHICH SHIPS SHOULD I INCLUDE??? JAYROY? BIRDFLASH? DICKKORI? TIMKON? JOYFIRE? HARLIVY? ANY MORE THAT I MISSED?

Up Next Chapter 2: My Kid?

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Actually due to the Lazarus project, I’m fairly sure the Afterlife Theater would be in chaos right now. I don’t know if there is a higher deity or curator if we are keeping with the theme, but I’m fairly sure they aren’t pleased with Lazarus for cheating death.

Well, it's not my place to get mad about it. I'm not the deity of this place or anything like that.

If anything, I'm happy that these people get a second chance at life! They just went a little astray and paid a heavy price that they didn't deserve.

Maybe if I do decide to go back, I can talk to people about maybe bringing you back?

Ahaha...I appreciate that, but I don't think I could go back even if I wanted to...I...don't deserve it...

[abysel]

[august walker. thirty-three. ex-hitman.]

real name unknown. the lazarus project’s pride and joy. a killer with equal. a murderer, who after years of service, decides to quit under the guise of retirement, his gun had become too heavy in his hand. a retirement that was not taken in kind by his superiors, who decide to terminate him. he knew too much. but how do you kill the unkillable? how do you take down a legend of his caliber? that’s simple. you send the world after him.

main inspirations: the hitman game series / mr. & mrs. smith (2005) / the accountant (2016) / polar: by victor santos (2012). av. verses: canon verse / assassin's creed / dc & marvel / cyberpunk / any apoc. verse / mass effect / metal gear / overwatch / star wars.

[massvoraciuseffect]

Could you eat a matriarch now?

-Mmmm....On the one hand - I doubt it, even the smallest of the matriarchs are twice as tall as me, and 20 times as heavy. On the other hand - Cerberus gave me a vore -implant prototype when they resurrected me in Project Lazarus. So who knows? - Shepard replied thoughtfully

[haleswallows]

DRAGON UPDATE

Fandom: DC x DP Pairing: Dead Tired (Danny/Tim) Rating: Teen High Fantasy AU, Arranged Marriage, and Dragons (oh my!)

Teaser:

Any response Tim may have had died on his tongue as the doors opened. It felt a little like getting caught, like they’d broken an unspoken rule, when Danijel stepped in. But the large man didn’t seem to notice at all the odd mood.

He bee-lined to Jasmine, tugged on a tress of hair and dropped into a slouching recline in front of her feet. Not a word spoken. Jasmine smiled dotingly at the top of his head. As he settled, Jasmine ran her hands over his braided mohawk, began twisting them back into place.

“Like a cat, you are.” She teased, but her tone was flush with affection. Danijel pinched her ankle, earning a light swat to the side of his head in retaliation.

Entirely unbothered by Danijel's intrusion, Jasmine turned back to Tim.

“There isn't much to the wedding ritual, but there are some small traditions we'll ask you to observe. Would you prefer to read them? Or I can do my best to explain. The biography of Lazarus and his wedding are the same traditions we observe today.”

Frankly, Tim would prefer to read it. He wanted to take notes and root out what connections the Infinite Lands had to Damian, to analyze and ask Bruce. But time was not exactly a resource he had an abundance of.

“I hate to demand so much of your time, if you can spare it. May I borrow this book? I should like to familiarize myself with it.”

Jasmine flapped a hand. “Think nothing of it, I need the break from anatomy texts anyway. The book is yours for as long you'd like. Well, it will need to find its way to its owner again at some point.”

“Phantom's favorite,” came Danijels's low rumble. Still, Jasmine's hands worked to twist and tighten the small braids, his eyes half-lidded where he leaned against her shins.

Interesting. Watching the siblings felt like an intrusion, so he focused on Danijel’s words. There was an inkling that there was a man beneath the terror that had been dispensed by his hand. Countless deaths of his countrymen, and now Tim considered him a tentative ally. Had found a delicate trust on the road that extended into the Keep.

It was difficult to parse.

So instead he set his mind to the new information on Phantom. The book of the first high chief’s life was his husband’s favorite. He looked to it for guidance, and so adamantly held its contents in high regard enough for it to be considered a favored text.

Tim would read it with a careful eye.

Jasmine patted her brother’s shoulder, indicating she was done with his braids. Though Danijel did not rise, he simply settled more comfortably. She sighed and jostled him lightly with her feet. “You’re heavy.”

Chuffing, Danijel shifted to lean more against the couch in the space between Tim and the princess.

[transman-badass]

Hi! I'm Coffee, but I plan to self publish under the pen name Vincent Lore. I'm 32 years old and live on the East Coast of the USA. I'm a trans guy, he/him, pre-everything, though apparently my voice makes people think otherwise. I'm physically disabled [long story] with that "lovely" autism/ahdh combo on top of a few other things.

I love cats. Please send me your cat pictures. I also love both coffee AND tea, they're both perfectly good, just for different times and situations.

As for my fiction, I like things dark. My main project is Runner Owen, which you can find more about over at @runner-owen. It's a gothic fantasy series with heavy romance subplot, starring trans man Owen Rosedown and the two villainous men, Prince Aurum the vampire hunter and the vampire called the Scarred Man, rivals who will stop at nothing to have him. If you like Victorian inspired settings, intense thriller/mystery plots, ghosts, dragons, autistic protagonists, and darker situations between characters, you might like this. Everything is tagged as best I can so pay attention to those content warnings!

I also have a few other projects, like my Cthulhu Mythos series Pharaoh Syndicate Investigations, written with the help of my Mythos buddies. That's the story of Lazarus Core and Sadie Goode, two brave investigators who challenge the local crime lord and pay for it. But the story doesn't end there. This one is a bit on hold while I read more Mythos fiction but you can read the first short story, A Meeting at the Sow's Ear, right here on Tumblr.

My current efforts as of writing is a short story, a gothic fantasy/western AU of Runner Owen, tentatively titled The Last Lawman in Nightshade Ridge. It's about Deputy Owen, the only one left to protect Ford Lostblood after the death of the sheriff, confronted with a notorious outlaw gang led by the vampire the Scarred Wolf. Good thing he finds an ally in Knight Ranger Aurum. Too bad Aurum doesn't believe he's the deputy... And is the arranged fiance Owen ran away from five years before!

I also write fanfiction but that's neither here nor there. I think this has gone on long enough! I'm looking forward to meeting new people and hopefully making friends!

We’re going to focus on getting to know each other today. Reblog this post and introduce yourself!

[amaramizuki666]

Dp x DC crossover

Jason didn't really know what to think right now. His head was hurting and the circulation to his wrists cut off. The one time the pit pit was decently quiet the ONE time Jason let his guard down, and he gets kidnapped by fucking cultists. Jason didnt know what they where doing, what they wanted to do with him.

One of the cultists a man covered in a dark green robe with gold accents, wearing a white mask with only one eye hole, grabbed jason by the hair and dragged him to the center of the giant pentagram painted with something that smelled of iorn, so jason could only assume it was blood. He just hoped it wasnt human.

The cultist man waved for two men to hold jason, as the rest where chanting something it what sounded like Latin. One of the men holding jason pulled his head back as the the other pried Jason's mouth open and covered Jason's noise.

The main cultist pulled a flask out as well as a silver chalice. The man poured the liquid from the flask into the cup. Jason felt the pit flare as he saw the bubbling hot green liquid. It was pit water. 'How did these sleazy basterds get Lazarus pit water' Jason panicked he tried to struggle but it was no use.

The leader brought the chalice to Jason's lips and poured the burning liquid into his mouth. Jason tried not to swallow it but he was choking. The man plugging his noise coused him to have no other way to breath. The liquid torched it's way painfully down Jason's throat as the leader chanted.

"∇ΩCΔMUS TΣ, PΩRTΔ UΠΔ, ∇IΠDΣX IΠΩPUM, SΔL∇ΔTΩR IΠҒIRMΩRUM. PΣR ∇ΔLLΣM TΣ ΔΠΠUIMUS, ΣT DΣT TIβI ∇ΔS UT ΔMβULΣS MUΠDUM ∇I∇ΣΠTIUM. Ω GRΔTΣ RΣX MΩRTUΩRUM, PHΔΠTΔSMΔ!"(vocamus te, porta una, vindex inopum, salvator infirmorum. per vallem te annuimus, et det tibi vas ut ambules mundum viventium. o grate rex mortuorum, phantasma!)

Jason was thrown to the ground as the cultists exited the pentagram. The vigilante didnt know what was happening, the pentagram glowed,a heavy mist bloomed across the room. The candle fire turned from orange to green. The room turned as cold as ice and a figure pulled itself from the pentagram only a foot away from jason who was still in incredible amount of pain.

The being at a glowing green aroura around it helping to make it visible. He was a slender male in a black jumpsuit wearing white gloves and boots. The suit had a strange insignia on its chest. He was wearing a cape the looked yo be made of stars and had a crown of green flame above his head. His skin was a light green, he had pointed ears and glowing green eyes. His presence demanded respect.

The cultists fell to their knees looking at the being. "Oh grate one, thank you for heading our call, we offer this man to you as an avatar so you may move about the mortal plane freely" the cultist leader says.

Jason wasnt really paying attention. He was in so much pain. And he was honestly scared. His vision was getting fuzzy and his head was throbbing. Jason couldnt consecrate on listening to what was going on around him.

He looked at the boy floating next to him, who was staring at him. The boy smiled at jason and felt a since of safety he hasnt felt since before his death. The words "SȺFŦɎ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ/ꝀɆɆⱣSȺFɆ/SȺFɆ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ" being projected into his mind.

The boy turned his head to the cultists and his calm smile vanished leaving in its wake a cruel smirk showing off his sharp teeth. That was the last thing jason saw before passing out.

_____________

Danny was having a pretty regular day, well as regular as it can as a Wayne enterprise intern. Yep you heard it folks, danny was able to get his high school diploma *jazz hands*. Being the ghost king really helped he could just order the ghosts to leave him alone when he was studying.

Now hes 19 and lives in Gotham, working in the aerospace department of Wayne enterprise. Being ghost king is going ok. And his parents took him being a phantom pretty good, they even offered to dismantle the ghost portal. Danny told them not to cause he needed it.

Anyway that brings us too now. Danny was talking to one of his few freinds in the city Timothy drake-Wayne. They where just idally chatting at a coffee shop when danny heard some sort of chanting and glowing red sigil appeared below Danny's feet and dragged him in.

He switched to his phantom form and as he pulled himself from the pentagram he viewed his surroundings.

"Oh grate one, thank you for heading our call, we offer this man to you as an avatar so you may move about the mortal plane freely" a man said as he knelt down along with the rest of the other 50 or so people in the room.

Danny was about to say something when he felt it 'SȻȺɌɆĐ/ⱣȺƗN/ĦᵾɌŦƗNǤ/SȻȺɌɆĐ/ⱣȺƗN/ⱣȺƗN/ⱣȺƗN'. The feeling of another being sent directly to his core.

Danny looked down to see a man. Tied up, and dazed. Danny quickly took note that this man was dead he could feel. SEE his core. Well what bit of a core he has. It looks barely formed as if the man just died. And that he had rotten ectoplasm coursing through his body.

"ĐƗĐ ɎØᵾ ⱣɆⱣØŁɆ ĐØ ŦĦƗS?" Danny questioned staring at the leader of the what danny can only assume are cultists. "Yes we fed him the waters of your home so your being can be safely tied to your new body" the leader says joyfully.

Danny looked over at the half ghost on the floor, he felt the ectoplasm in his veins boil. How dare they touch one of his people. A baby no less. Sure the man may be around Danny's age but hes still a baby ghost. His core wasnt even formed probably yet.

Danny's core screamed at him to protect the halfa on the ground. That this man was one of his, his responsibility. ĦƗS to ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ.

Danny felt the baby halfa's eyes on him. Danny looked at the man and sent a gentle smile and sending 'SȺFŦɎ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ/ꝀɆɆⱣSȺFɆ/SȺFɆ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ' resonating throughout his core and aura.

Danny turned to look at the cultists and his gentle smile was replaced with a wicked grin. "ɎØᵾ ȺɌɆ ǤØƗNǤ ŦØ ɌɆǤɌɆŦ WĦȺŦ ɎØᵾ'VɆ ĐØNɆ ĦɆɌɆ" Danny's voice rang through the room.

He was going to dispose of these insects then take HIS new charge to frostbite, to help the baby develop the rest of his core at a healthy pace and to get an ectoplasm infusion.

Danny fully intends to take grate care of the baby halfa he found.