#and tech is alive I still didn’t see a body

[chewbaccawithouthan]

I don’t want to go into the new year yet.

Why?

Cause that truly means that the Bad Batch isn’t coming back for a 4th season. 2024, where the last season was, is coming to an end.

We���re shutting the door, basically. Washing our hands of it. I’m not ready man. I’ve spent the whole year with them on my mind constantly. Especially after the ending.

[chaotic-kitty]

THE BAD BATCH SPOILERS!!!!

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[keravnos-kori]

hey😁 how are you coping 😁😁😁

i’m in denial.

[hannyoontify]

die with a smile - kim mingyu

member | husband!mingyu x reader

genre | dystopian!au, apocalypse!au, angst, fluff

word count | 1.7k

synopsis | if the world was ending, mingyu would want to be next to you

warnings | mentions of death, blood, doom’s day?, reader has a smaller build than mingyu, you can guess the ending..

notes | yes, this was based off the legendary collab between lady gaga and bruno mars’ and the song ‘die with a smile’ pls check it out if you haven't this is literally one of the best songs ive ever listened to in the year of our lord 2024

can be read as a stand-alone or as a prequel to this mingyu fic!

‘Come on, slowpoke! Catch up!’ 

You were running in a green meadow and the tall, swaying grass that reached right below Mingyu’s hip tickled his knees with every step he took in your direction. The view in front of him was the definition of a living dream. The meadow went past the horizon for as long as the eye could see and the bright blue sky seemed large and vast as it loomed over him. The big, round clouds seemed to sway with the wind that blew gently past him, scattering his bangs that were swept across his forehead. Up ahead, you continued to run and skip through the boundless field, a bright giggle leaving your lips as you continued to taunt Mingyu.

‘Last one is the rotten egg!’

A part of Mingyu thought that he would be okay with dying like this.

‘Wait up!’ He picked up his pace and jogged towards you. ‘Baby-'

A loud rumble interrupted his next words as the bright and clear sky turned dark and murky. It was a gradual change, like storm clouds rolling on a sunny day. The rich, healthy grass under his feet began to shrivel up and dry as the dirt ground began to crack and shake. 

‘Babe? Mingyu-!’ And right in front of him, the ground gave away and swallowed up the love of his life whole.

‘NO! [NAME] NO-‘ Mingyu reached for you, his outstretched hand too far away to grab your flailing limbs. ‘[NAME]! NO!’

“NO!” Mingyu jackknifed awake, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and with a hand still outstretched for someone who could never be saved.

“Another nightmare?” Your voice seemed to snap Mingyu back in reality. He cleared his throat and climbed out of his tattered sleeping bag to sit by you at the entrance of the cave. The sky was similar to his dreams; dark and murky but now, there was also red. Everywhere. Mingyu gave up trying to differentiate what the different reds were: blood, lava, fire. It didn’t matter. All of it was going to kill him in some way or another.

He settled down next to you and rested his head on your shoulder. “It was the meadow one again.” Mingyu mumbled quietly. Although the sky was permanently the same kind of color all hours of the day, you and your husband tried your best to stick to some kind of circadian rhythm to try and keep yourselves alive for as long as possible. Right now, according to our bodies, it was the middle of the night and you were on guard duty. 

“What do you think it means?” You asked quietly as you reached up to run your fingers through Mingyu’s matted hair. Neither of you bothered to care about the blood on your fingers or the grime in his hair. You were far too deep into this to care about hygiene anymore.

“We’re all going to die,” Mingyu mumbled. “But I refuse to watch you die in front of me like that dream. I want to be next to you until our very last moment.”

You pressed your nose into your husband’s temple and breathed in a deep breath. It was random love confessions like these that reminded you of how much you loved Mingyu’s spontaneity before The Incident happened.

Before the first asteroid hit, you and Mingyu were a normal couple. You each had your respective jobs; Mingyu as the head of his own architecture firm and you as a research analyst at a biomedical tech company, and both jobs was more than enough to financially support your little party of two. The two of you spent your days together exploring the city and traveling the world together. On random Friday evenings, he would show up to your office 20 minutes before you got off with a bouquet of flowers and sheepish smile. Although he understood nothing about your work, he would ask questions and listen to your responses with a loving look in his eyes. He would hold your hand in the hallways, your matching rings glinting under the fluorescent lights as you clocked out. 

That childhood, innocent side of Mingyu disappeared after the world turned upside down. He became more dark and serious, almost never cracking jokes and fixated on keeping both of you alive. He also had a rotation of nightmares that visited him every night. They were different variations of the same vision; losing you first as the world ended.

“Guess what,” You whispered. “I got us some food. Real food.” 

Mingyu’s ears perked up at that. “Food?” 

The past 48 hours were full of rationing Haribo gummies, water, and granola bars. Although it was a difficult switch for you to get accustomed to, it was even harder for your husband, who was much bigger and needed more nutrients than the ones he received from gummies, water, and granola bars. It pained you to see the man you loved constantly struggle with hunger but didn’t even let out a single peep of complaint to you.

“They were really desperate for first aid so I did an emergency medical procedure in exchange for some instant camping food.” So that explained the new blood stains on your fingers. Mingyu kept his eyes trained on your trembling, bloody hands as you tried to open a package of camping food. The label read ‘Instant Lasagna. 2 Servings’.

Mingyu could already feel his mouth watering at the thought of real food. And lasagna? That was a total luxury that almost nobody could afford right now.

“Baby, can you start up a fire and boil some water? We need hot water for this.”

Fifteen minutes later, and the food was ready. Your eyes glistened with a newfound joy as you opened the seal and held out the first spoonful of lasagna towards Mingyu. “Take a bite and let me know how it tastes.”

He shook his head. “No, you first.”

“Mingyu, I know how much you’ve been struggling because of our rations. If you don’t eat first, I’m going to get mad.” 

And he definitely didn’t want that. He took the first bite.

“Oh god, that’s heavenly.” Mingyu’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as he groaned. As a head of a thriving architecture firm, Mingyu’s had his fair share of luxury dinners and fine dining in his 13 years of working, but this single spoon of instant lasagna cooked in a dark cave while the world was reaching its expiration date was better than anything he had ever tasted in his entire life. 

You beamed. “Really? That’s great. Have another bite-“

Mingyu held up his hand to stop you. “Your turn. I refuse to take another bite until you do.”

“Touche.”

This was your favorite position. Your back pressed against the front of Mingyu’s chest with his strong arms wrapped around you. It had always been your ultimate favorite way to cuddle, especially because Mingyu liked to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck at random intervals and deep in a deep breath that tickled the hairs on the back of your neck. The current temperature (read: fire, lava, the basically non-existent ozone) would usually have you push Mingyu and complain that it was too hot, but now, every second counted.  

Another asteroid shower had started not too long ago. Usually, this meant packing up everything and moving further east, but both you and Mingyu came to a silent mutual agreement that you were too tired to continue. The two of you were beginning to come to terms with the fact that the world was ending and your time together was also coming to a close. 

With every distant thud you heard in the distance, you felt Mingyu take in a shaky breath and nuzzle his face further into your neck. “Gyu…”

“Shhh… I just wanna hold you right now.”

“Gyu, it’s getting closer,” You felt his arms tighten around you. He also knew what that meant. “Lie down with me.”

Mingyu spread his sleeping bag across the stone floor of the cave and gently lowered your head onto the floor, treating you so gently, like you were a piece of glass bound to shatter at any moment. He made himself comfortable next to you, letting you use his arm as a pillow as you buried your face into his chest. “Can you hold me like this?”

“Of course. Today, tomorrow, and every other day you ask me to.” Mingyu kissed the top of your head and sighed.

The two of you remained in silence like that for a while, your sweaty skins slick against each other from the heat, but you didn’t care. You were being held by the man you loved the most. The resounding thuds of the falling asteroids served as a constant reminder for the impending doom waiting for the two of you at the end of this as it drew closer and closer to the cave you were in.

“Look at me, my love,” Mingyu’s voice was ever so gentle and loving. He gently tipped your chin upwards to face him and his eyes roamed your face, as if he was committing every bit of it to memory. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for allowing me to love you and be loved back.”

You smiled. “I’m going to find you in my next life. I promise.”

“That, I won’t doubt for a single moment, my love.” Mingyu dipped his neck lower to capture your lips with his. Soft and gentle. Like Mingyu. A kiss that represented every kiss the two of you ever shared and the ones you will never be able to have anymore. “I love you so much.”

Through your bleary eyes, you tried to commit every part of Mingyu to memory. Under all the grime, sweat, and blood, was the Mingyu you first fell in love with during your freshman year of college. The boy who sheepishly asked for your number after the lecture only to lose to you horribly on your first date at your campus’ bowling alley. 

“I love you too.” You whispered.

Mingyu smiled. “Good night, [Name]. Thank you for being mine.”

“Good night, Mingyu. I love you.” Your lips tugged up into a bright smile. 

“I’ll love you in every universe. Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

reblogs and feedback are always appreciated ^-^

[motthe]

I know probably everyone has asked tis but- how about a smoll blurb on S2 Viktor and reader in the lumen au? Maybe reader also tries to bury themselves by helping Jayce or Mel (I’m more inclined to Mel in particular)

thank you so much for requesting! (the inbox is currently empty so you’re the first to request!!! how exciting~)

SPOILERS FROM ARCANE S2 ARC 1

Days went by, each longer than the last. Neither you nor Jayce had anything to show for it besides the lab left in ruins and dark circles weighing your eyes down.

You two had never been particularly close, always busy running in different circles, but you shared the same important people in your lives. What Mel was to him, Viktor was to you and vice versa. Mel was your confidant and Viktor was his—truly it would make more sense for you and Jayce to be closer. Then again, Viktor hadn’t been all that interested in befriending Mel either.

Not all circles merged, it seemed.

“How is he?” Jayce asked every morning, hovering by the cot you’d taken in the corner of the room. You stopped responding on the third, holding Viktor’s lumen out from where you kept it cradled to your chest.

In the wake of Jayce’s last ditch effort to save him, all that was left of Viktor’s soul was a wispy bronze overtaken by that violaceous magic that had swirled within the hexcore. Where it had been the size of your palm, now it barely filled the center, a few millimeters bigger than the hex tech gemstones.

It was brighter than it had ever been, but that tawny gold that had dulled to a muddied brown in the rise of his illness—that lumen you would know blind—had been stripped away.

He was still alive. That pulsing block encasing him had left his face bare, his breath stable. But whatever it was doing to his body was blurred. You could see the outline of his arms and legs, thin but prominent.

Whatever was going on in there reflected on his lumen, as it barely remained conscious. He couldn’t fly. Where he loved to sit between your neck and shoulder had become cold as he didn’t have the strength to hold on. The warmth of him remained, and some days he managed to move, always wiggling deeper into your palm.

Your heart kept breaking. If someone took a stethoscope to your chest they might only hear the crunch of glass with each breath. It might soon be dust if nothing changed.

Your name brought you out of an empty sleep, a warm hand brushing back hair in desperate need of a wash. The cold metal of a ring had tears filling your eyes.

“Mel,” you whispered, opening your eyes to her gentle features.

“Oh, dearest,” she murmured, throwing her arm around you as you curled tighter, shoulders shaking. It took so much energy to cry, you wish you wouldn’t.

“Where’s their lumen?” You were drifting as you watched Mel turn from Viktor’s prison. “Was it—?”

“No. It’s there.” He gestured to a metal birdcage he’d taken from one of the academy classrooms. Your lumen was inside, pressed against the side facing Viktor. “I put it as close to him as I could.”

“Jayce,” she said, words hardened. “Take it out of that. Now.”

“I can’t!” he breathed, running his hand through his hair. “It keeps trying to go to him and whatever the hexcore did could end up absorbing their lumen, too. This was the best I could do!”

“Put them in a cage?!”

“Mel,” you murmured from your corner. She turned, eyes brought with fury. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Her nostrils flared, her hands waving towards you. “Look at you! You’re sick.”

“I’m heartbroken,” you said, holding Viktor’s lumen impossibly closer.

“They’re injured,” Jayce explained, guiding Mel to the other side of the birdcage. The council woman choked on a gasp as she lowered, taking in the vein-like strips of purple worming out from your lumen. “It tried to take it in. I managed to pull it out of the vortex before the hexcore did that to Viktor.”

Mel rushed back to you, looking you over. You smiled weakly, lifting your shirt where that same injury pulsed under your ribcage.

“It doesn’t hurt as bad anymore,” you promised.

“But it’s not healing,” Jayce pointed out, “and Viktor hasn’t shown any signs of waking up.”

“Heimerdinger?” Mel asked, running her fingers through your hair again. Your eyes closed, tension ebbing away just a bit.

“Missing,” whispered Jayce. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

Their voices strung together, tones bleeding into one persistent hum. You were exhausted. Everything took so much out of you, even breathing. It was as if you could sense each trickle of energy as if left. All the while, that stain on your side grew hotter.

So tired, you thought and fell back into an empty slumber filled with the distant sound of something gurgling.

.

Viktor woke abruptly, his name echoing somewhere just out of reach. Every movement was hindered, the sensation too uncomfortable to stay in as he struggled to freedom. His hands emerged first, his first step bringing him to his knees. He was used to that.

But not this. Not these limbs, deadened and stripped to muscles trickling with the color that stained the black behind his eyes. The metal of his back brace had combined with the flesh, just as the one on his leg had done with the hexcore experiment. His palms and knees scraped the ground like prongs on porcelain.

He stared at his hands, finding his breath and processing the sensations. Retracing his steps had him in the council room—votes entering the air, Jayce’s hope-filled smile as he turned to Miss Medara and that refraction of light as glass shattered.

Viktor stared at his hands, not anything like they were, when they shielded your lumen from the onslaught of something. An explosion?

Where are you? he thought and passed that ethereal purring in his head, something rattled.

His head turned and blearily, he made out a cage just shy of his foot. Your lumen, flushed against the bars, flashed in worried little increments.

He groaned, pushing back into his calves as he reached, dragging the cage to him. The simple lock flicked open and the small hinges nearly broke as you burst out, burying into his cheek. The cage lied abandoned as he held you, a new strength in him as he spied his cane and Jayce out-cold on the desk nearby.

Your lumen slid from his cheek. He just managed to catch it before it dropped from the air and it’s then he saw the new color bleeding out, purple veins trailing from a spot at your center.

Viktor…

He swiveled, eyes widening at the body curled on a cot against the wall. Even under a blanket he knew your outline, your hair falling off the edge of the cheap bed. Your face was tucked into your chest, one hand outstretched towards his prison, fingers brushing the floor.

Grabbing his cane, he didn’t bother to watch as it elongated under his touch. Now a staff, it brought him to you, dead to the world as he tilted your head back, brushing the hair from your sickly colored skin.

A light drew his attention to the cover over you. Peeking out from beneath was his lumen, changed and pressed against your skin where your shirt had ridden up. The same scar on your lumen pierced your side, the color of the veins flashing as he brought his hand closer to observe.

The memory of Sky cut into him. Those colors pulling at her face as she disintegrated into dust.

The hexcore had attempted to take you.

“Vik…tor?” Your eyes fluttered, breathing mere puffs as you tried to focus on him.

“Be still,” he murmured, the voice strange in his ears. “I must fix this.”

His palm smoothed over the stain, his other hand holding your lumen as white wisps curled around them. He took a breath, fingers quivering. A blinding light flashed through his eyes. Your back arched as if pained, your weak cry echoing.

Jayce’s voice called for you as you dropped onto the cot, panting.

“Viktor?”

He ignored him, taking in the silver scared lines left behind on your side and lumen. It floated from his palm, twirling as if shaking off the excess energy.

You sat up with a gasp, crumbling off the cot into him. He wrapped his arms around you, a memorized response. The warmth he knew from you was the same and yet it did not seep into him as it once did. The sensations were all distant.

“Viktor,” you whispered into his neck, clutching him. He stared down your back at his arms. Holding a hand up.

“What…am I?” he questioned.

“You’re alive!” shouted Jayce, kneeling next to him with a hand on his shoulder.

Viktor wasn’t sure if that was the answer he needed, but as you pulled back and looked up at him, there was a…charge. Familiar, yet new.

Whatever he was, if he could still be with you, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

[thepixelelf]

superhero cheol x tech whiz reader warnings: coarse language, death threats, manipulation, injury, gunfire. wc: 1.7k

read part 1 & part 2 first

[anonymous nights 3] Seungcheol didn’t burn down the entire building. Minghao wouldn’t let him.

In fact, despite the urgent need find you within the maze that was the old seafood packaging factory and warehouse, now known as the sketchiest place in northern uptown, Minghao’s focus was completely on damage control. Seungcheol could feel Minghao constantly at the back of his mind, keeping him in check when all he wanted to do was burn the stupid place to the ground — after finding you of course. While Seungcheol barged through each and every door in his search, Minghao made sure he didn’t kill anyone in his way, and Seokmin lagged behind, healing said people with his rejuvenation and slapping them in zipties to deal with later. 

No one else was with them. Seungcheol had rushed out too quickly for anyone to call for backup, and only Minghao had the foresight to grab three masks before dashing from headquarters. That was why they were running so haphazardly through the warehouse — they had no one to guide them. None of them even stopped running to put on their masks, each fitting perfectly to their faces thanks to your latest invention in the supersuit department. 

It was when Seungcheol busted through a door roughly labeled “Storage Unit 3″, flames and all, that he finally froze.

“No sudden movements, hothead.”

You were in the middle of the empty unit, tied to a chair with your head hung limp. A man, the one who spoke, stood next to you, the tip of his gun a mere inch from your temple.

Seungcheol felt blindingly hot rage flow through his blood, but although every nerve in his body screamed at him to rush forward, he stayed frozen. His fingers couldn’t even twitch.

No sudden movements, Minghao reminded him in his head. Normally, Seungcheol would try anything to block Minghao out of his mind, but he had to get his priorities straight. He tried to clench his teeth, but couldn’t.

They’re alive. Let’s try to keep it that way.

I get it, I get it! Seungcheol barked back in his thoughts, hoping Minghao could hear him. He felt the hold on his control loosen.

Seokmin’s still back there, we need to—

“What, nothing to say, dear heroes?” the man interrupted without knowing, his voice reverberating off the cold stone walls. “I must say, when I found out that idiot lackey of mine let this little bitch get a phone call, I expected the cops.” He waved his free hand as he spoke, gesturing towards Seungcheol. “But who would’ve guessed this twerp was all cozy with the hero brigade?”

The man’s laugh rang hollow, and it sent a shiver down Seungcheol’s spine. He never shivered.

Can you get in his head?

He’s a goddamn psychopath, Minghao complained.

But can you?

It’ll take a minute. Keep him talking.

“Ignoring me now?!” the man yelled. His finger twitched on the trigger, the sight causing Seungcheol to dig his nails into his palms. “Maybe I’ll just shoot them right now, just for pissing me off.”

“Touch one fucking hair on their head and I'll turn you to ash!” Seungcheol bellowed, his restraint finally lost. Minghao’s hold on him had completely let go once he started focusing on getting into the motherfucker’s head.

“Oh, he has a voice,” he teased. “Solar Flare, isn’t it? Everyone’s favourite fiery hero. Well I have news for you, wonderboy—” his jaw tensed “—I’m already dead.”

Flame erupted from Seungcheol’s hands, but he stayed still. The man laughed again, dry and cynical.

“So why don’t you just let it happen, huh? Neither of us—” he waved the gun at your head “—are getting out of here alive. You could let me end it quickly and painlessly, or…” Seungcheol bit his lip as he watched the man’s disgusting smirk grow wider. The man spun your chair so that Seungcheol could only see your side, and he stuck the barrel of his gun in the dip of your eye socket. “…I could rain so much hell, you’d have to bury a faceless body. You decide.”

“Just let them go.”

“I could,” he said casually, “but a deal like that needs a trade, don’t you think?”

“What kind of trade?”

He laughed. “For their life, I want mine in return. All you have to do,” he explained through a smirk, “is let me walk away.”

“Fine.” It didn’t matter what Seungcheol agreed or didn’t agree to as long as Minghao could stop him. (Though he was taking his damn time.)

“And.” The man paused, cocking his head to the side with an air of confidence. “I want a plane.”

“I’m not fucking SWAT. I don’t have that kind of power.”

“Well then we don’t have a deal, do we?”

You used to tell him about the books you would read as a kid, and the strange things that would happen in them. One thing you would always complain about was the “slowing down time thing” that you claimed people used too much in both books and movies. “That doesn’t happen in real life,” you’d said. “Unless we find a time-controlling superhero. You know what? That’s a great idea actually, remind me to write that down.”

But Seungcheol felt it now, the way time slowed as he watched the man’s finger tighten over the trigger, and he felt as if the fire burning in his hands no longer had the power he's feared his entire life. His voice couldn’t come out in time. The step forward he tried wasn’t fast enough.

He lost.

A thundering gunshot echoed throughout the room, and Seungcheol barely registered that he had closed his eyes. He battled with himself over whether to look, to finish that bastard off right then, but a strangled scream forced his eyes open to watch as the man collapsed to the ground, the gun clattering to the floor as his eyes bulged. He thrashed and squirmed on the ground before falling still, his eyes turning blank.

“Shit,” Minghao breathed out behind Seungcheol. He fell to his knees, clutching at his own hair with eyes screwed shut — evidence of overworking his mental powers. “Fuck.”

Seungcheol took a shaky step towards you, his feet slow as everything began to settle. The room was silent save for Minghao’s uneven breaths and the distant sound of Seokmin’s footsteps. He wanted to ask Minghao if you were alive, to check with his power because he was too scared to get close without knowing, but he could tell Minghao was in no condition to get up, much less get a read.

So he stumbled your way, uncertainty driving him.

Minghao had to have saved you. That was what they did. Save people.

You had to be okay.

You had to.

The adrenaline seeped from him, leaking out so that he could finally hear the pounding of his own heart. He fell to his knees at your feet, first looking at the floor, then slowly raising his head. Cupping your face in his hands and lifting it up, Seungcheol let out a breath of relief when he saw nothing on your slack face other than a few scrapes.

He’d never cried in front of you before, but today, now, he allowed himself to let go, dropping his face into your lap. You were still unconscious anyways.

After a while, he dimly registered voices whispering behind him, and when he lifted his head again, Seokmin had his hand on the back of your neck, his eyes closed as he focused on healing you. It wasn’t as simple as that, but Seungcheol felt solace knowing that you’d live to see tomorrow.

Once Seokmin finished, you began to stir, and Minghao clapped Seungcheol on the shoulder. “We’ll be outside,” he said. “Seokmin, grab the guy on the ground. He’s not dead yet, but I don’t want him waking up before backup gets here.”

Seungcheol watched as they left and dragged the lump of a man with them, then focused on you as your eyes scrunched tight. You let out a pained groan.

“Hey,” he said softly, untying your restraints. With you freed, he gently guided you to the floor with him so that you sat on your knees, your top half slack against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, one landing on your back where his thumb rubbed in circles. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s me.”

You tensed in his hold for a second but relaxed after another few, soothed by his quiet assurances. A small, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you, and Seungcheol shut his mouth.

“A fucking cult,” you mumbled into his shirt. The words were so quiet that Seungcheol barely heard them.

“What?”

You laughed again, and while ten minutes ago, Seungcheol had been begging any god he could think of to hear your laugh again, he didn’t want this. You sounded so… sad. Defeated.

“A cult, Solar Flare,” you said louder this time, though he could tell your throat was dry. His heart panged at the use of his alias, recalling how real his actual name had sounded during that phone call. He wondered if you would ever call him that again. You clutched your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, which was starting to get soaked by the tears he hadn’t noticed before. “That son of a bitch was sacrificing kids to some fucking moon god and I — fuck, I don’t know. I just wanted to get a closer look. I didn’t think… I didn’t…”

You took a deep, ragged inhale, the breath shaking your entire body in Seungcheol’s arms, which only made his grip tighten. Another bout of laughter escaped your lips, but he knew it was to cover up your crying. Though Seungcheol was the superhero, you were always the one wearing a mask — one to cover up how you actually felt.

“Fuck, Solar, I was so fucking scared.”

He gave you a few pats on the back. Then, quietly, “Well maybe don’t get any ‘closer looks’ from now on.”

Nothing sounded better than your real laugh.

“You’re probably right,” you admitted.

“Of course I’m right. You may be the brains of the operation, but you can be a real dumbass sometimes.”

As you giggled into his shoulder, Seungcheol closed his eyes as the world aligned itself once more. You were alive, You were laughing.

“That was really smart of you,” he said after a short while. He didn’t know how long you needed to recover, but he also didn’t want to stay in the storage unit for long. It already had bad memories. “You know, the tracking chip thing.”

“Oh, that?” You raised your head, meeting his eyes with a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll have to disable it and install a new one for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Well—”

He gave you a look -- the one you tended to give him.

“Fine. There won’t be a next time. I’m still installing a new one though.” Slowly, you stood, shaky on your legs with Seungcheol to steady yourself on. You kept your hands on his shoulders. “And Seungcheol?”

He paused, hands on your upper arms in his attempt to help you stand.

“Sorry about what I must've said. You know, on the phone. I know I probably made you uncomfortable, but I’ve kinda had that scenario written down for six years, so I didn’t really have a choice. I didn’t mean to weird you out with all the gushy first date stuff… Sorry, I’m making it awkward again.”

Dropping your head, you sighed and moved to go, but Seungcheol held you still, making you look up at him with question.

“So the things you said,” he began to ask, his words slow with doubt as he licked his lips. “You didn’t mean any of it?”

“No?” Your brows furrowed. “What? Did I say something weird?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really… The guy knocked me out, and before that I only remember one of his followers letting me have a phone call. But you’re here, so I must’ve told my cover story. What did I say?”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened. “Um, you said… uh.”

“Uh…?” You gestured for him to go on.

“Forget it!” Seungcheol gulped down whatever he wanted to say and dropped his hands from your arms, swiftly turning and walking to the exit.

“What?!” you exclaimed, following after him and catching up at his side. You turned your head as you walked, but Seungcheol kept his eyes forward. “What do you mean forget it? I’m trying to remember what I said to you. C’mon!”

“No. It was stupid.”

“Well now I really wanna know,” you whined. “What did I say? Did I confess to stealing your chips because if I did I was lying. That definitely wasn’t me. Or was it that I have two stray cats in my apartment that I need you to take care of because I promise you, now that I’m alive, I can take care of them by myself. Wait, I didn’t tell you where I live, did I? Because that’s against company policy and I really don’t want boss finding out that—”

“You said you love me!”

At his outburst, the both of you froze in the middle of the hall. Seungcheol’s hand rose to cover his mouth, but the damage was already done, he’d already said everything. A terrible few seconds passed where nothing happened, and Seungcheol wished he could just steal Minghao's powers and snap his fingers to make you forget any of this ever happened.

Your face twisted with a playful smile, eyes lit with your classic mischief. You began to laugh, your own hand coming up to your face.

Fuck. Obviously that was part of the script. No one could love him. All he did was burn things. All he could do was destroy.

You couldn’t love him, not in a million years.

“Seungcheol.”

His name again. Hearing it in your voice (for, what, the fourth time?) brought pause to his melancholy thoughts. You stepped closer, leaning in to take his hands in your own and hold them between you.

“Of course I love you. I love you in a way I’ve never loved anyone before. And I choose to feel that way. You know that, right?”

“I…”

“And you care about me too, Seungcheol. I know that. We might not be like that high school couple I talked about on the phone, but we’re a team. We have each other’s backs. I trust you with almost everything I have, and you? You came all the way to this shithole just to save your tech assistant.” You squeezed his hands, not minding the heat that seemed to rush through them, nor the red on Seungcheol’s cheeks. “We’re partners in crime. Or I guess, partners in fighting crime, and we’re here for each other. If that’s not some type of love, I don’t know what is.”

Seungcheol trembled, unsure of what to ask out of the hundreds of questions he had on the tip of his tongue.

“C’mere,” you said, pulling him into a hug.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding tight because if he let go again, he wouldn’t know what to say. In his head, he whispered, I love you, over and over again.

I love you I love you I love you.

One day, he thought as you brought him outside by the hand, your features outlined — illuminated — with the red and blue lights of the police car sirens. One day, he’ll tell you out loud.

part 1 | part 2

[iloveboysinred]

Cw; angst no comfort, complicated feelings of grief, mostly how i think reader would feel when Suguru leaves. Minimal editing (sfw but mdni) came to me in a dream i just woke up and wrote it

Masterlist

2007 was the last time you'd seen or heard of him. You don't even remember the date or time of your last conversation, your brain only retaining that it happened sometime in the month of September with the sun being out, and a crowd full of people passively witnessing as your lover broke your heart and stomped it into dust.

Your heart felt open and raw in your chest, bleeding with every unanswered text, and every call that went straight to voicemail. You knew he was receiving your messages, but it somehow made the hole in your chest cave in deeper knowing that he was ignoring you. He could see your pain clear as day, and still choose not to answer.

Why? you felt like it was audacious to ask. What did you mean "why?" It was obvious Suguru was going through something-- you knew why. He had confided in you how he felt like everything he had been working towards had been for nothing. How many nights had he woken up in the middle of the night, because he just couldn't get the image of Amanai's lifeless body out of his head? He had reassured you that he was fine. Promising you that everything would be alright, kissing your worried eyebrow creases away and teasing you about wrinkles. You wanted to be angry at him for lying, and you were, but you were also angry at yourself for believing him.

Anger, resentment, and hurt tied themselves into tight bands around your fragile heart, pressurizing your blood to the point you felt like you might burst. You thought about every person you and Suguru had known, desperately trying to form a picture in your mind of who you could blame for this. A million faces flooded your mind, and the air was stolen from your lungs as you cried for him.

As time passed by, you tried to push the thoughts of Suguru Geto to the back of your mind. It had been weeks since he'd left Jujustu Tech and you couldn't continue to allow grief to hinder you from your work.

You found solace in Saturo, who needed your company just as badly. On the surface, it seemed like he had been taking Suguru's departure just fine. He retained his usual bubbly personality with everyone else, taking up excessive missions nobody else could handle and really growing into his title as the strongest.

But, he visited Suguru's abandoned dorm room with you often. The two of you would sit there, not touching a thing. It felt like his energy still resided in the room, the two of you finding comfort in his belongings in your own way. You loved him in two different ways, and experienced who he was in different ways as well. It brought you together, and for the first time you felt like you had an anchor.

For 10 years your mind occasionally drifted back to him. What was once crushing pain dulled into unpleasant aches whenever you thought about him.

You sat by yourself on the steps of your apartment, loosely holding onto the top of a paper coffee cup. Yesterday you’d heard the news— Geto’s residuals had been recently detected in the same place where your students had gone on a mission. You didn’t know what to think. The pulsing pain in your chest forced you to close your eyes, painful memories infiltrating your heart. But you also felt..glad. He was alive and he was close. You didn’t know if you were allowed to feel the way your stomach twisted with hope? Fear? You didn’t know.

Bringing the cup to your lips, you failed to notice him standing there, just a few feet away and tucked into the darkness of a neighboring alley. He wanted to come forward, to say something to you. But he was too close to his goal, too close to having to steel himself when he inevitably faced you and Saturo when he showed up to the school. So he slinked away, ignoring the gnawing at the back of his mind.

Days later, Suguru Geto Declares war.

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

Step Into The Daylight

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Requested - @cc--2224 as part of @cloneficgiftexchange

Prompt - "Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do anything about it.” “You... What?” &  "I never wanted anyone to feel bad for me, especially not you"

The sun streaming through the windows did little to fight against the coldness he felt, he knew the room was warm, he knew the cold he felt deep in his bones wasn’t there and yet he couldn’t fight the shivers that wracked his body. It didn’t matter that he could see the small room his brother’s had shown him to once they landed on the planet, in his mind he was still there, still in that cold, small cell with no hope of escaping.

He’d been there for so long, long enough that he had lost track of the days. He could have planned an escape, could have made some attempt to leave their torture but what for? There was nothing waiting for him outside of his cell anymore.

Gone was his relationship with his brothers, gone was the easy back and forth banter with Wrecker, gone were the late night talks with Hunter, gone were the days him and Tech would sit together, his brother’s voice filling the silence without expecting anything back from Crosshair, gone was Echo’s steady presence, at his side whenever he needed it.

Gone were you.

Gone were the early mornings when the rest of his brothers were still asleep, only you and Crosshair awake in the cockpit holding a warm cup of caff and filling the space with softly spoken conversation. Gone were the days spent trying to stick by your side, gone were the stolen glances and lingering touches, gone was sneaking away after missions to explore together, gone were the chances he took to watch you smile, gone was the promise he’d tell you how he felt tomorrow.

Crosshair had run out of tomorrow’s a long time ago.

After all he had done, all the pain he had put his brothers through, the pain he had put you through, this was the least he deserved. 

And so when the chance came to make his escape, to leave the pain and the torture behind he hesitated. The cell door was open, it would be so easy to leave and yet he hesitated. 

If the kid hadn’t been there, if her life didn’t depend on him getting her out he knows he would have stayed where he was, he would have rotted in that cell for as long as they decided he was useful alive.

Now he was free and somehow he felt more confined than ever. It wasn’t just because Hunter wouldn’t take his eyes off him, it wasn’t because Wrecker hovered or the fact Omega had seemed to attach herself to him. It didn’t even have anything to do with the fact that you were here, stars above Crosshair couldn’t think of a time he would ever have ignored your presence and yet now he did everything to stay away from you, not able to face you yet.

No, it wasn’t because of you or his brothers that Crosshair felt confined. It was because he didn’t deserve this freedom, in his head he was still in the cold cell, destined to rot away.

Crosshair stood from the floor, unable to lay there any longer. The room had a bed tucked against the wall but Crosshair had only managed about ten minutes of tossing and turning on it before he gave the bed up for the floor, the bed too soft compared to what he had become used to.

Everyone else was still asleep as he made his way outside, no real destination in mind. His feet carried him through side streets until they grew sore and only then did he make his way back, stopping not too far away from where the others were to sit on the sand, the sun shining blindingly on the water. 

He didn’t deserve to be here.

“I used to come here.” A voice interrupted him some time later, a voice he recognised all too well. “It’s quiet, no one ever comes here.”

Crosshair didn’t turn to look at you, he couldn’t bring himself to do it but when you sat next to him it was too much. He went to stand but your hand softly grabbing his stopped him.

“Please stop running away.” You pleaded softly and Crosshair didn’t have to look at you to know your eyes were teary but he did anyway, his heart aching for having made you this way.

“I can’t do this.” He told you quietly, forcing his gaze away from yours and looking back out at the water. 

“I don’t know what happened to you,” You said after a moment's silence and Crosshair balled his hand into a fist, silently begging you to stop talking. “I don’t know what they did to you and you don’t have to tell me but-”

“But nothing.” He spat angrily, glaring at the sea and instantly hating himself for lashing out at you, so he tried again, softer this time. “But nothing. What they did to me was nothing less than I deserved.”

“Don’t say that.” You said, head shaking as you tried to compose yourself.

“It’s the truth, I tried to kill you, kill my brothers…I hurt you all and for what? For the Empire to throw my loyalty in my face.” Crosshair shrugged. 

“For what it’s worth, I never gave up on you.” You told Crosshair, looking away from him as you spoke. “It didn’t matter what you did, how far you strayed from us, I never gave up on you.”

“You should have.” He muttered. “Everyone else did, Hunter doesn’t trust me, Wrecker wants to but he knows I’m nothing more than a lost cause.”

“That’s not true. Hunter’s just being Hunter, he needs time to adjust, needs time to figure things out in his head and then he’ll want to talk to you. Yeah you’re both gonna throw out words you don’t mean, maybe a punch or two but after that…it’s Hunter, he’s glad you’re back. As for Wrecker he wants to come to you, you know that as much as I do but he’s scared, he doesn’t want to spook you so he’s waiting for you to make the first move.” You explained, keeping your voice soft, not turning to face Crosshair as he turned to look at you.

“What about you?” He finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I was with Wrecker. I kept my distance and waited to see what your move was. Turns out your move was to avoid everyone.” You laughed and Crosshair felt himself relax a little, the sound one he hadn't heard in so long and it somehow managed to push out some of the cold he felt. “I feel for you, Cross, I do. Stars only know what the Empire did to you but you’re free now, don’t let them win, don’t shut us out.”

“I never wanted anyone to feel bad for me, especially not you.” Crosshair said after a long pause of silence and you laughed again.

“We all feel bad for you, despite everything you’re one of us.” You told him so sincerely that Crosshair felt like he’d been punched in the stomach at the speed his breath was stolen from him.

You turned to face him, a small smile on your face and you hesitated for only a moment before you reached out and took his hand in yours, entwining your fingers together.

“I don’t deserve any of this,” Crosshair forced out and you smiled at him softly. “I don’t deserve you, you should be running away from me, leave me behind and move on.”

“Well, I’m sorry but I fell in love with you, okay?” You told him, watching as his eyes widened in complete disbelief. “It happened and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You…what?” Crosshair choked, for so long he had dreamed of you and him, of a life where you could possibly want him but it was such a far off dream, something that would never become a reality and now you were saying the words he had longed to hear for years.

“You’re stuck with me, Cross, I’m not going anywhere, I’m not running away. You’re it for me, always have been.” You said, laughing as a tear or two managed to slip down your cheek and Crosshair only second guessed himself for a moment before his hand cupped your cheek and he softly brushed the tears away, his thumb caressing your cheek bone.

“I don’t deserve you.” He repeated and you smiled brightly at him. “But I will spend the rest of my life trying.”

“I love you.” You told him again, watching as his eyes became watery and he rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you too, so much.” He choked out and you couldn’t stop yourself from closing the small distance between the two of you, Crosshair not hesitating to meet you in the middle.

Crosshair’s hand on your cheek moved to your hair, pulling you impossibly closer as he kissed you, savouring every second of the feeling, something he had longed for and convinced himself he could never have.

Eventually the two of you needed to pull apart for air, breathing heavily but not going far from each other, foreheads together as you both smiled at the other.

For the first time in so long Crosshair didn’t feel a single bit of cold, his body was warm, his heart racing as he held you close. For the first time in a long time Crosshair didn’t feel numb, he didn’t feel pain or fear.

It felt like he was finally off that awful planet, it felt like he had finally left his cold cell behind and stepped into the daylight, able to feel the sun of Pabu for the first time and it was because of you, you were the source of this warmth, this love, this joy, this overwhelming relief that things would be better.

For the first time in a very long time Crosshair felt like things would be okay, he had you, he swore he’d make amends with his brothers, spend the rest of his life making up for everything, spend the rest of his life proving he was worthy of yours and his brother’s love. It felt easier, it felt doable with you at his side once again.

----

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[maybe-im-dark]

INT. X-MANSION MEDICAL WING - DAY

Logan walks into the pristine, high-tech medical wing of the X-Mansion, his face twisted into a mix of discomfort and annoyance. His signature leather jacket is unzipped, and for once, the once rock-hard abs are nowhere in sight—his belly has grown soft, bulging over the waistband of his jeans. He’s felt bloated for weeks now, and the morning sickness is becoming unbearable.

Hank McCoy (Beast) looks up from his clipboard as Logan enters, raising an eyebrow.

HANK: (smiling, curious)

"Logan, this is a surprise. You look... different."

LOGAN: (grumbling)

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t start. I’m not here for a chat. Something’s wrong. I’m sick in the mornings, can’t keep food down, and I’ve… (gesturing to his belly) ... put on weight."

Hank's expression shifts to concern, motioning Logan to sit on the examination couch.

HANK: (slightly teasing but professional)

"Take off your jacket and shirt, and let’s see what’s going on."

Logan does as he’s told, lying down, shirt lifted to expose his swollen abdomen. Hank applies gel to Logan's belly and picks up the ultrasound device, pressing it against Logan’s skin.

The screen flickers to life, and Hank’s eyes narrow in concentration, moving the wand carefully across Logan’s stomach.

HANK: (after a long moment)

"Hmm… there’s definitely something here. Alive, even."

LOGAN: (snapping, a bit panicked)

"A parasite?! Goddammit. Figures. Just cut it out of me, Hank. I’ll heal up fast."

Hank holds up a hand, continuing to study the screen, his face serious but calm. He moves the ultrasound wand slowly, taking his time.

HANK: (softly, almost in awe)

"No, Logan. It’s not a parasite."

He glances up at Logan, eyes meeting his with an unreadable expression.

HANK:

"Congratulations, Logan. You’re… pregnant."

Logan stares at him, his jaw going slack. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to comprehend the words, but then—

LOGAN: (stunned, almost laughing in disbelief)

"You’re joking, right? I mean, I don’t have the parts for that!"

HANK: (shaking his head, still serious)

"It appears that your mutation allows your body to adapt and create what’s necessary to carry a child when the situation demands it. You’re capable of impregnating others, and it seems, under the right circumstances, of being impregnated yourself."

Logan blinks, utterly taken aback by this revelation.

HANK: (pause, delicate but firm)

"I have to ask, Logan… Did you have intercourse with a man recently? Without protection?"

Logan exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair, and nods, a slight smirk tugging at his lips despite the situation.

LOGAN: (soft chuckle, resigned)

"Yeah. I slept with Wade. I mean, we’re both immune to diseases. Didn’t think there was any risk…"

Hank nods thoughtfully, continuing with the examination.

HANK:

"You’re about two months along, but since your mutation derives from wolverines, I estimate you’ll carry for only around 215 days—about seven months in total. The child is developing quickly. You’ll need to make a decision now."

Logan’s eyes soften, and for once, the tough exterior fades.

LOGAN: (tentative, vulnerable)

"Can I… Can I hear it? The heartbeat?"

Hank offers a small, reassuring smile and adjusts the machine. A soft, rhythmic sound fills the room, quick and steady, and Logan’s breath catches. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of that tiny heartbeat, and Logan feels something bloom inside him.

LOGAN: (whispering, a gentle smile forming)

"I’ve always wanted a kid. Never thought… (laughs softly) Never thought I’d be the one carrying it, though."

He looks at Hank, eyes shining with emotion.

LOGAN:

"But I’m keeping it."

Hank places a hand on Logan’s shoulder, offering him a moment of silent support.

HANK:

"Then we’ll make sure you and the baby are taken care of, Logan. You won’t be alone in this."

Logan nods, eyes drifting back to the screen, his hand unconsciously resting on his swollen belly. For the first time in weeks, the nausea, the discomfort, the fear—all of it melts away, leaving only the quiet, overwhelming joy of hearing his child’s heartbeat.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 2: The Darkest Fairytale, In The Dead Of Night.

Summary: After multiple failed attempts at retirement, you keep getting pulled back into action by Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant bickering and teasing, there’s an undeniable tension between you and Bucky—something everyone else sees except the two of you.

When a new threat involving stolen Inhuman tech emerges, you reluctantly join Bucky and Sam for one more mission. As the stakes rise, your playful banter with Bucky deepens into something more, and the emotional walls you’ve both built finally begin to crumble.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Smut.

 The air crackled with tension, the ground shaking beneath your feet as you sent another of Thanos’ soldiers flying into the dirt, the impact forming a crater that mirrored the turmoil inside you. Blood trickled down the side of your face, your chest heaving with every breath, but you couldn’t stop. The battle raged on, pulling at every last reserve of strength you had left. Your body screamed for rest, but your heart kept you moving.

You felt him before you saw him.

A familiar presence, steady and unwavering, just on the edge of your awareness. You turned, and there he was—Bucky. His rifle fired off sharp, precise shots, covering you without missing a beat. For just a moment, the chaos around you faded, replaced by the overwhelming relief that he was here. Beside you. Alive.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, choking back the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. “You took your sweet ass time,” you rasped, your voice rough from the strain of fighting, but the teasing tone still slipped through.

Bucky didn’t look at you right away, his focus still on the enemies ahead as he reloaded his weapon with practiced ease. “I was busy,” he shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching in a familiar smirk.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. God, you missed this.

“Slacking off, more like it,” you quipped, forcing yourself to keep the banter going, like old times. “You always leave me to do the heavy lifting.”

Bucky shook his head, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, why else would I keep you around?” His voice was dry, but there was something softer beneath it, something you hadn’t heard in a long time, “You irritate the hell out of me.”

Then, the moment hung between you, heavier than the battle around you, heavier than the years of war and separation. Something had shifted. The banter stalled, and suddenly, words didn’t seem enough to fill the space between you anymore. The sounds of battle faded into the background, distant and unimportant for just a heartbeat.

You clenched your fists, your fingers flexing as if trying to channel the nervous energy that was now thrumming through you, but it didn’t help. Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward, your hands shaking slightly as you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice cracking on the last word.

For a moment, Bucky froze. His rifle hung loosely at his side, his body rigid beneath your touch. You could feel the hesitation, the way his breath stilled like he wasn’t sure whether to pull away or hold on tighter. His metal arm hovered above your back, uncertain, as though he didn’t quite trust himself to hold you, as though he was afraid of what it might mean if he did.

But then, slowly, he moved. His arms came around you, tentative at first, almost like he was testing the weight of the moment. But once his grip tightened, it was as if something inside him broke free. He pulled you closer, his hands pressing into the small of your back, holding you like he’d been waiting for this—for you.

His breath was warm against your hair, ragged and uneven, and you could feel the tension in his muscles slowly ease as he held you. He wasn’t the same Bucky who once fought beside you—there were new scars, new ghosts in his eyes—but right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he was here, and so were you.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost like it hurt to admit it. But there was no denying the truth in his words, the rawness of it. He held you tighter, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You made your way up the long gravel driveway, the crunch of rocks beneath your boots the only sound breaking the silence. Behind you, Bucky and Sam trailed behind. The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of pine and damp soil, a stark contrast to the sun that hung high in the mid-morning sky, casting long shadows over the forested landscape around you

At the end of the path, nestled between towering trees, stood the safehouse. It was a modest structure, almost unassuming, camouflaged by nature and time. The house was a compact, two-story building, its weathered wooden exterior blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest. The paint had long since faded to a dull gray, chipped and peeling in places, revealing the raw wood beneath. Vines crawled up one side of the house, their green tendrils having claimed the walls as their own over the years.

It wasn’t the sort of place that would catch anyone’s eye, and that was the point. It was isolated, tucked far enough into the woods that it was nearly impossible to spot from the main road, but close enough to offer a quick escape if necessary.

As you drew closer to the house, the details that set this place apart from a typical cabin became more apparent. The front door, while appearing weathered and worn, was reinforced with thick metal bars cleverly concealed beneath layers of aged wood. The locks seemed ordinary at first glance, but you could tell they were far more advanced than they let on—high-grade security hidden in plain sight. Above the door, under the eaves, a small security camera was almost invisible, its lens blinking faintly as it tracked your approach. It was unobtrusive but sharp, recording every movement with quiet vigilance. There was likely a backup generator hidden around the back of the house, in case the power was cut. And inside, you could almost guarantee there were stashes of weapons and gear tucked behind false walls or beneath floorboards. This place was more fortress than cabin.

“Nice place,” Sam muttered, his voice tinged with sarcasm as his eyes swept over the house. He adjusted his pack, glancing at you with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. His sharp gaze, trained from too many missions in too many dangerous places, picked up on the same details you had. “Real cozy.”

You grinned, undeterred by his tone. “It’s cute. I like it,” you said simply, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder as the straps dug into your skin. The weight of it had been a constant companion for miles, but you barely noticed anymore.

Sam shot you a sidelong look, one eyebrow raised. “Of course you’d like it. It’s rustic,” he commented, his voice light but teasing. He had a way of poking fun at you that always seemed to walk the line between annoyance and affection.

You narrowed your eyes playfully and corrected him, “Homey,” you said with a nod, your tone making it clear you weren’t backing down. “Peaceful.” As you said it, your gaze drifted toward the treeline, the quiet forest stretching out in every direction. Despite the house’s fortified appearance, something about the isolation, the stillness of the woods, felt calming in a way you hadn’t expected.

Stepping up onto the porch, you paused, your eyes scanning the area. Something felt… off. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just a certain awareness, like the house was too still, too quiet. “Is someone here?” you asked, your voice low as you turned back to Sam and Bucky.

Bucky, who had been trailing slightly behind, stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, as always. He hadn’t missed anything. “Fury said we’d be meeting someone here,” he replied, his tone measured, as if this was just another routine mission. But there was a subtle tension in the way he stood, the way his metal hand flexed at his side. He was always ready for something to go wrong. You reached for the handle, fingers curling around the cool metal as you twisted it slowly. The lock disengaged with a soft *click*, and the door creaked open, revealing the darkened interior of the safehouse. You pushed it wider, stepping over the threshold and into the entryway. The air inside was warmer than you expected, carrying the unmistakable scent of cooking—garlic, onions, and something rich simmering on a stove.

Your brow furrowed in mild confusion. This place was supposed to be empty, at least until your contact arrived. But clearly, someone was here.

You paused in the middle of the entry hall, your boots scuffing the worn wooden floor. The smell of food lingered in the air, homey in a way that felt out of place in this kind of hideout. You let your bag slide off your shoulder, the weight of it thumping heavily onto the floor. The sound seemed to echo through the quiet house, and you could feel the presence of Sam and Bucky as they stepped in behind you, equally tense, equally curious.

The three of you exchanged a quick glance, the silent communication of people who had been through enough together to know when something wasn’t right. Sam’s brow arched slightly, his expression asking the question you were all thinking: Who the hell is cooking?

“Hello?” Sam called out, his voice carrying through the house.

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft crackle of something cooking in the distance, and then—

“Hello.”

The voice was feminine, thick with a Russian accent, and casual in a way that made you instantly more alert. You turned toward the sound just as a blonde head poked around the corner from a nearby hallway. Her hair was loose, a few strands falling into her face, and her expression was relaxed, almost amused as she took in the three of you standing there like you’d stumbled into the wrong house.

“Come, make yourselves at home,” she said, her voice a lazy drawl, as if this was the most natural situation in the world. “I’m cooking lunch.”

Before any of you could respond, she disappeared back around the corner, presumably returning to the kitchen, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

You blinked, glancing first at Sam, who looked as surprised as you felt, and then at Bucky. He hadn’t moved, his body unnaturally still, but his jaw was tight, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something you hadn’t seen in him since the last time you crossed paths with someone from his past.

“Bucky?” you prompted quietly, noticing the way his metal fingers flexed unconsciously at his side.

He exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he finally spoke. “Yelena,” he said, the name falling from his mouth with a weight that made the air in the room feel heavier.

You frowned, looking between him and the corner where the woman had disappeared. “Who?”

“Yelena Belova,” Bucky answered, his voice flat, though his jaw clenched as he spoke. “She’s a Black Widow.”

The name hit you like a punch, and you immediately understood why Bucky’s entire posture had shifted. The Black Widows were notorious—ruthless assassins trained from childhood, their loyalty hard to win and difficult to understand. You knew Natasha Romanoff, of course, but this was someone different. And judging by the tension radiating off Bucky, there was a history here, one that ran deeper than what he was willing to say aloud.

“Great,” Sam muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he glanced toward the kitchen. “Just what we needed.”

You cast another look at Bucky, but he didn’t return it. His gaze was fixed on the hallway, his mind clearly elsewhere, caught between the present and whatever memories this woman had dragged back to the surface. His silence said more than his words ever could.

You inhaled deeply, trying to ground yourself in the moment, but the unease lingered, sharp at the edges of your awareness. The comforting scent of food—rich and savory—still filled the air, but now it seemed oddly out of place. It wasn’t just the smell that felt foreign; it was the entire situation. The warmth of the kitchen, the domesticity of a meal being prepared, didn’t match the undercurrent of tension that hummed in the background. It was as if the two realities were clashing, and you couldn’t quite reconcile them.

“Friend or foe?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flickered between Bucky and Sam.

Bucky’s expression remained unreadable, his shoulders tight. He shrugged slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. “Depends on why she’s here,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenched as if holding back more than he was willing to say.

“Assuming she’s who Fury called?” Sam offered, his voice carrying a note of skepticism as he glanced toward the kitchen where Yelena had disappeared.

Bucky hesitated, then responded, “Mostly friend.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, your unease deepening. “Mostly?”

Before Bucky could elaborate, Yelena’s voice floated in from the kitchen, cutting through the quiet tension like a knife. “Are you coming or not?” she called out, her tone casual but laced with a hint of amusement. “Or are you just going to stand there gossiping about me?”

You exchanged a quick look with the two men—Sam’s expression was a mixture of curiosity and wariness, while Bucky’s was harder to read, his eyes still narrowed in thought. Taking a breath, you steeled yourself and made your way toward the kitchen, the weight of Bucky and Sam’s footsteps following closely behind.

As you stepped into the kitchen, you couldn’t help but pause for a moment, taking in the scene. The space was small, almost cramped, but surprisingly cozy. The walls were lined with rustic wooden cabinets, their paint chipped and worn with age. A narrow window, partially obscured by a tattered curtain, let in a soft stream of sunlight that illuminated the room in a warm, golden hue. The countertops were cluttered with mismatched pots and utensils, as if someone had been living here for a while, despite the house’s remote location.

In the center of the room was a small wooden table, just big enough for four people. Yelena stood by it, casually placing bowls down, one after the other, as though this was some kind of normal family dinner and not a meeting between wary allies. The bowls were filled with what looked like a casserole—steaming, aromatic, and far more appetizing than you’d expected from a safehouse kitchen in the middle of nowhere.

The table itself was battered, its surface scarred with years of use. A single chair sat askew, its wooden legs uneven, while the others were mismatched entirely, as if thrown together without care for aesthetics. Despite the disarray, there was something oddly welcoming about it, a strange contrast to the high-stakes tension that had settled between all of you.

Yelena placed the last bowl down with a soft clatter, looking up at you with a smirk. “Sit,” she said, motioning to the chairs with a wave of her hand, as if this was her house and you were her guests.

Awkwardly, the three of you settled in around the table. As you eased into your seat, the wooden chair creaked beneath you, the air feeling thick with unsaid words. You glanced down at your bowl, the rich aroma of the casserole rising to meet you. Tentatively, you took a bite, surprised at how delicious it was—savory, hearty, the kind of comfort food you hadn’t expected. It felt almost surreal, eating a home-cooked meal in a place like this, with the looming presence of a Russian assassin watching over you.

Sam sat beside you, his expression one of bemused curiosity as he chewed slowly, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. Across from you, Bucky leaned back in his chair, his posture stiff, his eyes never leaving Yelena. He wasn’t eating—not yet. His gaze was intense, as though he was waiting for something, his jaw still tight with unspoken history.

Yelena, on the other hand, seemed utterly unbothered by the tension in the room. She took her seat, her movements fluid, graceful in a way that only someone with her training could manage. She took a bite of her own food, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before her gaze flicked up to meet yours.

“So, you’re the back-up Fury sent?” she asked, her tone casual, but you could sense the probing curiosity behind her words.

You swallowed your mouthful of food, glancing briefly at Sam and Bucky before answering. “Apparently,” you replied, your voice steady despite the strange circumstances.

Yelena’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Interesting,” she said, leaning back slightly in her chair, her eyes sweeping over the three of you. “I knew Fury liked to keep his cards close, but this…” She gestured vaguely at the table, as if you were some kind of puzzle she was trying to piece together. “I didn’t expect the Winter Soldier and Captain America to be coming.”

Bucky's eyes darkened at the name, but he remained silent, his metal fingers tapping idly against the table. Sam smirked slightly, clearly amused by the situation, but didn’t say anything either. The weight of their shared history hung in the air, thick and heavy, and though you didn’t know the full extent of it, you could feel it pressing down on the room like a storm cloud waiting to break.

You took another bite of the casserole, the warmth of the food doing little to ease the knot of tension tightening in your chest. Each chew felt deliberate, like you were trying to ground yourself in the mundane act of eating while navigating the strange, precarious atmosphere that hung over the table. Every second stretched out, the weight of Yelena’s gaze heavy on you. Her sharp, calculating eyes missed nothing, and despite the casual air she tried to present, you could feel the undercurrent of something more simmering beneath her words. This wasn’t just small talk—this was an interrogation of sorts, a test to see what you knew, how much you understood about the situation you’d walked into.

“So,” she asked, her voice deceptively soft but with an edge that made your skin prickle, “what exactly did Fury tell you about this little operation?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should speak, but Sam beat you to it. His voice was steady, though you could sense the same unease beneath his calm exterior. “Inhuman weapons going missing. Inhumans themselves going missing,” he stated, his words clipped, to the point.

Yelena nodded, her expression unreadable. “Yes, but I think this goes deeper than just some weapons and missing people,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of something more sinister.

A chill crawled up your spine at her words. You leaned forward slightly, your curiosity starting to eclipse the tension. “How do you mean?” you asked, trying to keep the edge of apprehension out of your voice.

Yelena shrugged, her nonchalance almost unsettling as she took another bite of food, chewing slowly like she had all the time in the world. “So while I was waiting for you three to show up, I decided to do my own thing,” she said, leaning back in her chair with the kind of casual confidence that only came from someone who was always ten steps ahead. She stood up, moving to the counter with a fluid grace that reminded you exactly who she was—a deadly assassin, a predator always watching, always calculating.

Your eyes followed her as she picked up a thick file from the bench, flipping it open briefly before walking back toward the table. There was something about her movements, the way she handled the situation, that made your pulse quicken. She was in control here, and the fact that you didn’t know what she knew gnawed at you.

“This is every Inhuman who’s gone missing that I believe is linked to this,” Yelena said, her voice cool as she slammed the file down on the table with a heavy thud.

The sound echoed in the small space, and you felt your breath hitch slightly, the weight of the file a physical manifestation of the gravity of the situation. You pulled it toward you, sliding your half-eaten bowl aside as your fingers brushed against the rough surface of the papers. The file was thick, crammed with missing posters, police reports, and data sheets, all staring back at you like silent accusations.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you flicked through the pages, the faces of the missing Inhumans blurring together in your mind. What was Yelena seeing that you weren’t? What was the pattern she had noticed that had eluded everyone else?

“What am I looking at?” you asked, frustration tinging your voice as you glanced up at her, your eyes searching her face for some kind of answer.

Yelena raised an eyebrow, her expression challenging. “You don’t notice it?” she asked, her tone almost mocking, like she was testing you, waiting for you to catch up to something she had figured out long ago.

You shook your head, flipping through the pages again, frustration building as you sifted through the documents. Reports, names, faces—nothing was standing out. “I don—” You stopped mid-sentence, your fingers freezing on the edge of one of the pages. Something clicked in your mind, a pattern starting to emerge as you stacked the papers back into a neat pile, going through them all one more time, this time with a sharper eye.

Yelena’s smirk widened slightly, her arms crossing over her chest as she watched you with a look of quiet satisfaction. “You notice it now?” she asked, her voice almost smug, like she was enjoying this little game.

You didn’t answer immediately, your heart racing as your eyes narrowed, scanning the reports again. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and you felt your stomach twist with the weight of it. “No one noticed this?” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else, disbelief coloring your tone.

Bucky, who had been silent up until now, shifted in his seat, his metal arm resting on the table as he leaned closer. “What?” he asked, his voice low as he scooted his chair closer to you, his eyes darting between you and the file.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “There’s no men,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with a growing sense of dread. You pulled out one of the missing posters, holding it up before flicking through the rest of the stack. “None of the missing Inhumans are men. Every single one of them is a woman.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, his gaze snapping back to the papers in front of you. Sam, too, leaned in, his expression darkening as the realization dawned on him as well.

Yelena nodded, her arms still crossed, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips, though there was no real humor in it—only a hard edge of knowing. “Almost two thousand Inhumans have gone missing, and not one of them is male,” she repeated, her voice calm but carrying a darker undertone, like she was laying out a puzzle you were only just starting to piece together. “Why?”

The question hung in the air like a guillotine, sharp and heavy, slicing through the room’s tense silence. You stared down at the papers spread out in front of you, your fingers still resting on the thick stack of missing persons reports. The weight of the information pressed against your chest like a lead blanket, making it harder to breathe as the implications crashed over you, one after another. Two thousand Inhumans—two thousand—all women, all gone without a trace. The numbers alone were staggering, but the specificity of it, the fact that not one of them was male, sent a chill crawling up your spine.

Your mind raced, running in circles as you tried to make sense of it, but every question only led to more questions. Why only women? What was happening to them? And how had no one noticed this pattern until now? Fury hadn’t said a word about this when he briefed you. Were the disappearances that well-hidden, or had no one been looking closely enough? The thought made your stomach twist.

You glanced up at Yelena, pulse thudding in your ears. She was watching you carefully, her face unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something sharp and dangerous, like she already knew just how deep this rabbit hole went. She wasn’t just showing you this to pass the time. She was waiting for you to understand, to see the gravity of what she’d uncovered. This was something bigger, something far more dangerous than any of you had anticipated when you first walked into this safehouse.

Your throat felt dry, and you swallowed hard before speaking, your voice a little rough around the edges. “So, years ago…” you began, trailing off as you gathered your thoughts. The words felt heavy on your tongue, like you weren’t sure if you should say them, but you pushed forward anyway. “Now, I might be out of line here, so bear with me.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Sam leaned forward, his attention fully on you now. Yelena stayed silent, still watching, her expression carefully neutral.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their eyes on you, but more than that, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. “Years ago, there was this theory. About Inhumans. It was mostly dismissed, just something people were throwing around, but…when there’s smoke and all that.”

The silence in the room thickened as all eyes stayed fixed on you. You could almost hear the gears turning in their minds, waiting for you to continue.

“It wasn’t official, more like rumors that started circulating online—conspiracy theories on the street that sort of thing. People were talking about the genetic differences between male and female Inhumans. The idea was that female Inhumans might have something… unique in their genetic makeup. Something that made them more powerful, more valuable. It was all just rumors, but the theory went that certain organizations, maybe even governments, were interested in… experimenting. Harvesting something from female Inhumans.”

You paused, feeling the weight of the words settle into the room like a suffocating blanket. You could see the skepticism in Sam’s eyes, but he didn’t interrupt. Bucky’s face remained impassive, though his jaw tightened slightly, the only sign that he was processing what you were saying. Yelena, for her part, remained unreadable, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—recognition, maybe. Like she’d heard this theory before, or worse, seen it in action.

Sam finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “You’re saying someone’s targeting female Inhumans specifically because of their genetics? For experiments?” He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as the words hung in the air, doubt lacing his tone.

“We’ve dealt with crazier,” you admitted, your eyes flicking between them, “and I don’t know if that’s what this is. But two thousand women, all gone without a trace? There has to be a reason. Something about them that makes them a target.”

Bucky’s voice cut through the tension, cold and sharp. “If this theory’s even remotely true, then Fury’s right. This is planned. Coordinated.”

Yelena nodded slightly, acknowledging Bucky’s words. She stepped forward and tapped the file with her finger, her gaze hardening. “It’s no coincidence. Someone’s been doing this for a long time, slowly, methodically. Not enough to raise alarms right away, but enough that by the time anyone noticed, they were already deep into whatever they’re doing.”

Her voice was steady, but there was an edge of anger in it, the only crack in her otherwise unflappable demeanor. She wasn’t just showing you this information because she was curious—she wanted to stop it, whatever it was.

You leaned forward, your heart racing as you flipped through the missing reports again, your fingers trembling slightly. The faces of the missing women stared back at you, their eyes haunting, as if they were silently pleading for answers you didn’t have.

“But what could they be doing with them?” you asked, not really expecting anyone to have the answer, but needing to voice the question all the same.

Yelena’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes dark as they met yours. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “What do they want from them?”

The room felt colder, the implications of her words sinking in. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just abducting Inhumans—they were harvesting something from them. Experimenting, maybe. And two thousand women were already gone.

Sam let out a slow breath, his expression turning grim. “If this is some kind of experiment, we’re already way behind.”

“And they’re still taking more,” Bucky added, his voice low, his eyes hard as steel. “Which means they haven’t finished.”

The silence that followed was thick with dread, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of you. The casserole in front of you, once comforting, now felt like lead in your stomach, and you pushed the bowl aside, unable to eat another bite.

Yelena crossed her arms again, her sharp gaze sweeping across the three of you, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a challenge. “Are we going to sit here and speculate, or are we going to do something about it?” she asked, her voice cutting through the room with a tone that left little room for argument. “We need to find out who’s behind this. And we need to stop them, before it’s too late.”

Her words lit a fire in your gut, but the enormity of the situation still weighed heavily on your mind. This wasn't just a few missing people—this was thousands of lives, and there was something deeply sinister behind it. You could feel it in your bones.

Sam, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. “First, we need to figure out what exactly female Inhumans have that males don’t,” he said, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. “If we can understand that, we might get closer to figuring out what they’re targeting.”

All eyes turned to you. You felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken question hanging in the air. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, shrugging as you met their gazes. “I don’t know,” you admitted, frustration creeping into your voice. You had lived with these abilities, but what made female Inhumans different from males? You hadn’t the faintest idea. “They don’t exactly give you a welcome pack when we get our abilities. All I got was a dozen broken cups and a broken rib when I fell through the wall.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow, a look of mild disbelief crossing her face. “You are an Inhuman, yes?” she asked, her tone laced with a hint of impatience, as if your ignorance was an inconvenience.

You nodded, feeling the slightest bit defensive under her scrutiny. “Yeah.”

“So all we need is a male’s genetic makeup to see the differences,” Yelena said matter-of-factly, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. She spoke with that same blunt directness that people like her often had—the kind that came from years of seeing the world’s complexities as problems that just needed solving, no matter the cost. There was no room for hesitation in her mind, “We’ve already got you here to be able to get a sample from.”

You blinked, staring at her incredulously. “Is medical consent not a thing here?” you asked, unable to stop the dryness from seeping into your voice. “Plus where the hell are we going to get a male sample from? I don’t exactly have a list in my phone of people to call.”

Yelena’s smirk returned, that same knowing, almost smug expression that made you wonder if she already had this all worked out before you’d even arrived. “In the labs,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What labs?” Bucky asked, his voice low and skeptical as he crossed his arms, clearly not appreciating being left out of the loop.

Yelena let out a soft groan, rolling her eyes as if she couldn’t believe how much of the briefing had been lost on you all. “Do you not read the briefings Fury gave you?” she asked, her tone dripping with exasperation. She glanced between the three of you like you were schoolchildren who hadn’t done their homework.

You felt a flicker of embarrassment, but it was quickly overtaken by a wave of indifference. You’d seen enough in your time to know that plans never really went according to script, and scanning a few bullet points had always been enough to get the gist. “I glance over them,” you said simply, trying to keep your voice casual.

Yelena shot you a pointed look, and you could tell she wasn’t impressed. “Clearly.”

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, okay, so what are these labs?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “What are we walking into?”

Yelena leaned forward, resting her hands on the table as she spoke, her eyes sharp and focused. “There’s a facility not far from here, isolated, off the official record. It’s an old Hydra lab that was repurposed—government-run now, technically. And it just so happens they’ve been doing research on Inhuman genetics for years. Quietly.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at the mention of Hydra. Even though they were supposedly long gone, the remnants of their operations still haunted the world in ways that were both obvious and insidious. An old Hydra lab, now in the hands of the government? It sounded like a bad idea waiting to explode.

Bucky’s jaw tightened at the mention of Hydra, his metal arm flexing unconsciously. You could almost feel the memories stirring in him, the ghosts of a past he’d rather forget. “How do you know about this place?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Yelena’s smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, but only just. “Let’s just say I have my sources,” she replied cryptically. “The lab’s been under the radar, but I’ve been keeping an eye on it. If anyone’s got the genetic data we need, it’ll be there.”

“And you’re sure they won’t see us coming?” Sam asked, though you could tell by his tone he already knew the answer wasn’t going to be comforting.

Yelena shrugged, her expression indifferent. “I’m never sure of anything. But if we’re going to figure out why female Inhumans are vanishing, this is our best shot. We go in, we get what we need, and we get out before anyone knows we were there.”

You let out a slow breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on you even more. Breaking into a government-run lab, one with Hydra’s fingerprints all over it? It was risky, dangerous even. But what other choice did you have? Two thousand women were already gone, and whoever was behind it wasn’t going to stop.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he considered Yelena’s plan. “This lab… they’re not just going to let us walk through the front door.”

Yelena’s eyes gleamed with something close to excitement. “No, they won’t. But that’s half the fun, isn’t it?” You exchanged a glance with Sam, who looked just as wary as you felt. This entire situation was a gamble, a dangerous one, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest like a vice. But if Yelena was right, this was the only solid lead you had. The thought of going in blind, not knowing what kind of horrors or traps you might face, sent a spike of anxiety through you. Yet, the alternative—doing nothing, letting more women vanish, letting whatever dark force was behind this continue unchecked—was far worse.

You took a steadying breath, trying to focus your thoughts and push down the unease. “Okay,” you said slowly, looking around the table. “So assuming the missing women and the stolen weapons are connected somehow… Why would they need the weapons? I mean, they already have hundreds of powerful people in their hands, right?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression grim and thoughtful. “Maybe the weapons are a way to keep them in line. You said it yourself, there’s hundreds of powerful people under their control now—Inhumans with all sorts of abilities. Could be they need the weapons as a fail-safe. Something to neutralize them if they get out of hand.”

The idea made your skin crawl. The thought of someone not just kidnapping these women but also holding onto weapons specifically designed to keep them subdued, as if they were nothing more than dangerous tools to be controlled, felt sickening. It was a possibility you hadn’t fully considered, but now that Bucky had said it, it made a horrible kind of sense.

Sam, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly shrugged, his brow furrowed in thought. “Or maybe,” he said slowly, “they’re repurposing the weapons.”

Everyone turned to him, the silence thick with anticipation. You were the first to speak, frowning as you tried to grasp the idea. “Repurposing them? How?”

Sam leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table as he pieced the idea together. “Hypothetical situation here,” he started, his voice careful, as if he was still testing the theory in his own head. “They started by taking the women. Maybe they were looking for something specific. Something unique in their genetic makeup. After realizing whatever it is—whatever makes the women different from the men—they decide to use it.”

Yelena gave a small, amused shrug, her lips quirking into a smirk. “We’re already genetically superior, but go on.”

Sam shot her a look, not in the mood for her snark. “They figure out that the women’s genetics have some kind of advantage. Maybe it’s an enhancement, maybe it’s something that can be extracted or replicated. Then they start wondering: what if they can incorporate that into the weapons? Use whatever they’re harvesting from the women to make the weapons even more dangerous.”

A cold chill ran down your spine at the thought. You leaned forward, trying to wrap your mind around the terrifying implications. “So you’re saying… they’re not just taking the women for experiments or control. They’re using them. Their powers, their genetics, maybe even their blood—whatever it is, they’re weaponizing it.”

Sam nodded grimly, his expression dark. “It’s possible. Think about it—if they’ve figured out how to extract something from these women that enhances power or makes weapons more lethal, it would explain why they’re targeting them specifically. It’s not just about keeping them captive. It's about making them part of whatever twisted operation they’ve got going.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as the weight of Sam’s words settled over all of you. The idea was horrific—women being abducted, experimented on, and turned into living resources to fuel some kind of monstrous weapons program. The thought of what they must be enduring, what their captors might be doing to them, made your stomach churn.

Yelena’s smirk had faded, her expression sharp and focused now. “If that’s true, they’re not just building weapons. They’re building an army,” she said quietly. “And they’re using Inhumans to do it.”

Your heart raced as the pieces started to fall into place. The stolen weapons, the missing women, the government labs—all of it was connected. You could feel it in your gut. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just kidnapping Inhumans. They were turning them into tools, into something far worse than just captives. And if Yelena was right, this was only the beginning.

Bucky, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly spoke, his voice low and filled with a quiet fury. “If they’re using Inhumans to build weapons, then they’re planning for something big. You don’t go through all this trouble just to sit on an arsenal. They’re preparing for a war.”

The room fell into another tense silence, the truth of Bucky’s words sinking in. If this was about more than just control, more than just experimentation—if this was about war—then the stakes had just skyrocketed. And whoever was behind this wasn’t just a threat to the Inhumans. They were a threat to the entire world.

You could feel the tension building in your chest, your mind racing as you tried to figure out the next step. “So what do we do about it?” you asked, your voice quiet but determined. “If they’re building an army, if they’re using these women to power their weapons, how do we stop them?”

Yelena’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, her smirk returning, but this time it was sharper, fiercer. “We hit them where it hurts,” she said simply.

Sam frowned. “And where exactly is that?”

Yelena leaned in slightly, her voice lowering as she spoke. “The lab I told you about earlier. That’s where they’re doing the genetic research. That’s where they’re extracting whatever it is they’re using from the women.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of adrenaline starting to build. “So if we hit the lab, we cut off their supply?”

Yelena’s smirk widened. “Exactly. We go in, we get the data, and we destroy whatever they’re working on. If we can figure out what they’re using, we can stop them from making more weapons.”

Silence filled the table as you all took on the severity. “We plan today, we hit tonight,” Bucky said lowly. <><><><><><> Bucky stood in the doorway, his broad frame leaning against the wooden frame as he watched you methodically unpack your bag. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from a single bedside lamp casting long shadows over the walls. You moved with practiced ease, laying out your weapons on the bed one by one—a few knives, a set of knuckle dusters, small items that could easily disappear into the folds of your clothing. Each item was familiar in your hands, your fingers tracing the edges of the blades with a calm precision that spoke of experience.

But Bucky knew better than anyone that the calm on the surface wasn’t the whole story.

He watched as you unsheathed a blade, testing its sharpness with a careful thumb, before sliding it back into its holster with a quiet, almost reverent movement. There was something about the way you moved—so controlled, so deliberate. It reminded him of himself in ways that made his chest tighten. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the slight stiffness in your posture that belied the storm that was no doubt raging inside you. On the outside, you looked like a well-oiled machine, a soldier preparing for the next mission. But underneath, Bucky knew your mind was racing, swirling with the weight of what lay ahead.

And it was his fault.

A pang of guilt twisted in his chest, sharp and unforgiving. He’d dragged you into this. Into something dangerous, something personal. He hadn’t wanted to—he’d tried to keep you out of it, tried to shoulder the burden alone—but you’d come anyway. You always did. And now, as you prepared yourself for the battle ahead, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed you. Failed to protect you from the darkness that seemed to follow him everywhere.

There was a part of him that hated seeing you like this—so focused, so hardened. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle yourself. He knew you could. Hell, you were one of the few people he trusted to have his back. But seeing you like this, preparing for something that could very well get you hurt, or worse, because of a mission he’d pulled you into—it made something tighten painfully in his chest. You shouldn’t have to be here, shouldn’t have to fight this fight. Not for him. Not for anyone.

And yet, you were here. Just like you always were.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he watched you slide a knife into the sheath on your ankle. You were here because you cared. Because you didn’t want to see him go through this alone. And that, more than anything, made his guilt twist into something deeper, something more complicated. He didn’t deserve your loyalty. He didn’t deserve the way you looked out for him, the way you always seemed to know when he needed someone by his side, even if he’d never ask for it.

Bucky's gaze softened as his eyes traced the familiar lines of your face, watching the way your brow furrowed slightly as you tested the weight of the knuckle dusters in your hand. You were beautiful in a way that both calmed and terrified him. Beautiful in the way you carried yourself, in the quiet strength you exuded, in the way you faced danger head-on without flinching. But there was something else, too—something that made his heart ache every time he looked at you like this.

It was the vulnerability you hid so well, the weight of the world you carried on your shoulders even when you tried to hide it. It was the way your hands, so steady now, had once trembled when you’d told him about your own past, your own demons. Demons that, in some ways, mirrored his own. Maybe that was why he felt so protective of you, why the thought of you getting hurt in any way made his chest constrict with guilt and fear. You understood him in a way most people didn’t. You saw him—not just as the Winter Soldier or the broken man trying to make amends, but as all the pieces in between. And that scared him.

Bucky sucked in a quiet breath, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. He didn’t say anything at first, just moved closer, his presence steady and grounding as he stood next to you. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with an unspoken tension. He watched as you packed the last of the weapons into your bag, your movements deliberate, almost mechanical. He could tell you were trying to stay focused, to keep your hands busy, but he also knew that wasn’t really what was going on.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and careful, as if testing the waters.

You glanced up at him, a familiar smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Of course,” you said, your tone light, almost casual. “Another day, another fight.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced. He could see through the bravado, through the tough exterior you always put on before missions. He’d seen it enough times to recognize it for what it was—your armor. He watched you for a moment longer, then quietly moved to the chair near the bed, settling into it with a quiet sigh. His gaze never left you, though, as you continued packing. He knew you were trying to stay busy, trying to keep your mind from wandering too far into dangerous territory. But he also knew you well enough to see the cracks in your calm exterior.

You’d been shaken since learning the details of the mission. He could see it in the way your hands moved—just a little more tense than usual, a little more deliberate. You’d done this dozens of times before, faced down impossible odds without flinching. But this time was different. The risks were more personal now, too close to home. This wasn’t just about the missing women anymore.

This was about how easily it could have been you.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze softening as he watched you. “But it isn’t though, is it?” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence like a gentle but firm nudge.

You froze for a moment, your hand hesitating over the strap of your bag. The words hung between you like a thin thread, fragile and dangerous to tug on. You straightened, turning to face him, your expression guarded. “Look,” you began, your voice sharp but not angry, more defensive than anything. “What do you want me to say? That I’m what, scared?”

The question lingered in the air, and for a moment, you let your guard down, just a fraction. The flicker of vulnerability in your eyes was brief, but Bucky caught it. He always did. You were scared.

You shrugged, pushing past the moment and forcing that smirk back onto your face. “I’m okay, Bucky. Really.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his blue eyes searching yours. He could see the lie behind your words, the way you were trying so hard to convince yourself as much as him. He’d seen this before. Hell, he’d lived it. The way you told yourself you were fine, over and over, until you started to believe it—at least on the surface. But underneath, the fear was always there, gnawing at the edges, waiting for the right moment to break through.

“I know you are,” Bucky said softly, his voice carrying a note of quiet understanding. He would play along, just like he always did. It was a game the two of you had perfected over the years—a silent agreement where you pretended you were fine, and he pretended to believe you. It was easier that way. Less messy. Neither of you had to confront the deeper feelings swirling beneath the surface. It was a dance you’d done countless times before, and like always, Bucky would be the one to keep a close eye on you, watching for the cracks in your armor, waiting for the moment when you needed someone to catch you.

You finished zipping up your bag, then turned to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked under you while the other rested on the floor. You gave him a small, playful smile, trying to shift the mood. “So, on a lighter note,” you began, “during my brief stint of retirement—”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What time?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but amused. “Well, considering that I’m still retired and this is just a favor—” you reminded him, your tone dripping with faux seriousness.

Bucky pulled a face of exaggerated disbelief. “Uh-huh, sure.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. “Anyway, as I was saying, I went on a road trip to Washington. I hadn’t been there since, you know… SHIELD, helicarriers, you trying to kill me.” You waved a lazy hand like it was no big deal, but your grin betrayed the humor behind the jab.

Bucky shook his head, letting out a soft, almost regretful sigh. “I was brainwashed.”

“I had my abilities for like, two minutes,” you countered, your voice drifting off as the memory came back to you. You remembered your first encounter with him—when he was The Winter Soldier. How Steve and Natasha had dragged you into their mission, how you’d gone hand to hand with Bucky, both of you relentless, neither letting up. You could still picture the cold efficiency in his eyes as he fought, the crack of each punch, the sheer force behind every block. The fight had been brutal, violent, and terrifying. “I had no idea what I was doing.”

Bucky gave you a look, his lips quirking up slightly. “I apologized,” he pointed out, his tone just a little defensive.

You laughed, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. Can I finish my story? You’re gonna love it, I promise.”

Bucky settled back into his chair, gesturing for you to continue with a mock-serious expression. “By all means,” he said with a smirk.

“So, like I said, I went to Washington, and I thought, ‘Man, I wonder if they’ve updated the Smithsonian since Steve ya know, ‘retired’—’”

“I thought you didn’t like history,” Bucky interrupted again, his eyebrow raised in challenge.

You shot him a dry look, one eyebrow arched. “You’re just gonna keep right on interrupting me, huh?”

Bucky lifted his hands in surrender, fighting back a grin. “Sorry, sorry.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was a playful glint in your gaze. “As I was saying,” you emphasized, “I went and took myself to the Smithsonian—”

At that exact moment, Sam strolled through the doorway, arms crossed casually over his chest as he leaned against the frame. His expression was all easy charm, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “What are we talking about?” he asked, his tone light, though you knew he was always looking for a chance to stir the pot.

You threw your head back in mock frustration, letting out an exaggerated groan. “How they’re about to make a Netflix series about me going postal because no one will stop interrupting me.”

Sam chuckled, clearly amused by your antics as he sauntered over to lean against the dresser, arms still folded, a smirk playing on his lips. He was enjoying this far too much. “Hey, sorry, sorry. Please, by all means, continue,” he said, the faux innocence in his tone making it obvious he wasn’t sorry at all.

You shot him a playful glare before glancing at Bucky, who was watching you with a faint smirk of his own. You took a dramatic breath, as if preparing for the biggest reveal of your life. “They’ve expanded the Howling Commandos exhibit.” You shrugged, “Looks kinda cool.”

At that, both men perked up slightly. Bucky’s brow furrowed with curiosity, the teasing air around him shifting just a little. “Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice a bit more genuine now. The mention of the Commandos always did that—brought something quieter, more thoughtful out of him.

You grinned, feeling the moment hang deliciously in the air as you let the suspense build. “Apparently, a woman named Connie donated some letters you wrote to her.” You sucked in some air through your teeth dramatically, your grin widening as you watched Bucky’s eyes narrow, clearly trying to place the name.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, an incredulous smile breaking across his face. “Whoa, hold up—Bucky was out here writing love letters? Ol’ Winter Soldier, the romantic?”

Bucky’s face immediately hardened into a defensive scowl, but the tips of his ears were turning pink, betraying him. “I didn’t—” he started, but you cut him off, enjoying every second of this.

“Oh, no, no. These weren’t just letters,” you said, your voice dripping with mock seriousness. “They were passionate letters. Full of longing. Full of ‘I fought in a war, but the real battle is in my heart’ kind of stuff.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re exhausting.” He commented shaking his head at you.

Bucky leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you closely as you bantered with Sam. He could see the way you were trying to brush off the weight of everything—using humor to mask the tension that had been building since the mission brief. It was something he understood all too well. Deflecting, joking, pretending things weren’t as heavy as they were. He did it all the time. But he also knew that underneath the teasing, you were carrying more than you let on.

Sam, oblivious or just enjoying the lighthearted moment, burst out laughing, his voice filling the room as he leaned forward on the dresser. “Man, I have to see these letters. Bucky Barnes, the romantic. Who knew?”

You grinned, shooting Sam a playful look. “Oh, trust me, we’ll go spend the day when we get back,” you said with a sly wink, relishing the little jab at Bucky. “You’re gonna love it. Reading those letters and trying to compare it to the Bucky I know now? Impossible. I mean, they’re so... heartfelt.”

Bucky gave you a half-hearted glare, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. He was trying to play it off, but you could tell he wasn’t as mad as he pretended to be. “You two done?” he asked, his voice gruff but without any real bite behind it.

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Sam grinned, leaning back again, arms still crossed over his chest like he was settling in for a long show. “Tell us more, though. What else was in this exhibit?”

Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes but not saying anything. He was used to this by now—the endless teasing, the jabs at his past. But you could see the way he was watching you, his eyes sharp and focused, like he was waiting for you to drop the facade. He knew you too well. Knew all of this was just a way to keep the conversation light, to keep from thinking too much about what you were all walking into.

You decided to pivot, your tone suddenly serious as you fixed your gaze on Bucky. “Okay, I’ll give you credit for this—”

Sam’s eyes widened in mock surprise, immediately cutting in. “Oh, hold up. Are you about to give him a compliment? Somebody mark the date and time!”

You nodded, keeping your face serious as you glanced back at Bucky, your tone shifting ever so slightly. “Have you seen his long-distance shooting record?”

Sam blinked, a mixture of surprise and curiosity crossing his face. “Wait, what?”

You nodded again, turning fully to face Bucky now. “Not bad,” you said, your voice carrying a note of genuine respect. “There’s a whole section on it at the exhibit. They’ve got targets he hit from crazy distances. It’s impressive.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He wasn’t used to getting compliments, especially not from you. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sam beat him to it.

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up,” Sam said, holding up a hand, his tone incredulous. “Are you telling me Bucky’s a sniper legend? I mean, I know he’s good, but legendary?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips as you looked at Bucky. “Well, when you’re fighting Nazis, I guess you pick up a few skills.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to this kind of praise. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, his voice low. “Oh, it’s definitely a big deal,” Sam said, leaning forward with a grin that stretched ear to ear, clearly enjoying this moment far too much. “I mean, I knew you were good, but this? We’re talking about museum-worthy accuracy here, man.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a quiet chuckle under his breath, something soft and amused in the sound. “You guys are killing me with this. Really, top-notch stuff. Hilarious.”

Sam crossed his arms, his grin widening with satisfaction. “Oh, we know,” he said, his tone dripping with mock arrogance. “But back to the main event—love letters, Barnes? Seriously?”

You couldn’t help but join in, your grin playful as you chimed in. “Hey, it was wartime,” you said, glancing over at Sam with a shrug. “My grandparents always said that despite the war, it was a whole different time. People fell in love hard and fast because they might not have tomorrow.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking mischievously. “So what about you?” he asked, leaning in as if he were about to uncover some scandalous secret. “You ever sweep anyone off their feet with some heartfelt letter? Maybe a little romance on the battlefield?”

You laughed, shaking your head before he could even finish the thought, already anticipating where this was headed. “Me? Please,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Could you imagine me sweeping some poor asshole off their feet? I’d probably trip them over. I’m much more of a ‘stumble into someone and hope they don’t notice I’m a mess’ kind of person.”

In the background, Bucky’s laugh broke through, warm and unguarded, the kind of laugh that came so rarely from him. “Nah, you’ve got a certain charm about you,” he teased, leaning back against the dresser with a smirk that was equal parts amused and fond. “A kind of, uh—what’s the word—chaotic energy.”

You shot him a mock glare, arms crossing over your chest in faux indignation. “Oh, thanks, Barnes. That’s exactly what every girl wants to hear—that she’s a natural disaster.”

Sam, never missing an opportunity, jumped in, clearly having the time of his life. “Hey, he’s not wrong! You’ve got that whole unpredictable, keep-‘em-on-their-toes vibe. Some people are into that, you know?”

You scoffed, grabbing a nearby pillow and chucking it at Sam, who caught it with ease. “You’re full of it, Wilson.”

Sam was still laughing, his grin never faltering. “No, no, I’m serious! It’s like... you’re the kind of person who’d accidentally knock over a bookshelf, but then somehow make it look like you did it on purpose. There’s a strategy to your chaos.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you waved him off. “Great. So I’m a charming disaster. That’s really working wonders for my confidence.”

Sam raised his hands in mock defense, his grin wide and playful. “Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it. You’ve got personality, that’s all I’m saying.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. The banter with Sam was easy—light-hearted and fun, the kind of back-and-forth that made everything feel just a little bit lighter, even with the weight of the mission hanging over all of you. It was normal for you and Sam to mess around like this, and you were comfortable in the rhythm of it, not thinking too much about it.

But what you didn't notice was the way Bucky had gone quiet.

Sam, however, wasn’t as oblivious. He picked up on it almost immediately—the subtle shift in Bucky’s demeanor. The way his easy smile faded just a little, the way his eyes lowered as he leaned back against the chair, retreating into himself. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t something that most people would catch. But Sam knew Bucky better than most. He could read him like a book, and right now, that book was telling him something was up.

Bucky’s jaw tightened ever so slightly as his eyes flicked to you, lingering longer than they should. It wasn’t just a passing glance—it was the kind of look that held more than just casual interest. There was something deeper there, something quieter. Something Bucky wasn’t saying.

And it wasn’t the first time Sam had noticed.

Since coming back from being dusted—since being thrust back into a world that had moved five years without him—Bucky had changed in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. To everyone else, he was still the same old Bucky Barnes: stoic, brooding, and reserved. But Sam had spent enough time around him to see the cracks forming beneath the surface, the subtle ways Bucky’s once hardened exterior had softened.

It was in the small moments when Sam caught Bucky watching you, his expression unguarded, like he forgot for just a second that someone might see. Back when they were first regrouping after the Blip, Sam had noticed the way Bucky’s entire posture would shift when you entered the room. At first, he thought it was just Bucky being cautious—observing, like he always did. But the more Sam watched, the more he realized it wasn’t wariness in Bucky’s eyes when he looked at you. It was something else entirely.

There was that one time, when you were all holed up in some dingy safehouse between missions. You had been pacing, frustrated about something that had gone wrong, your voice sharp with irritation as you vented to Sam. Bucky had been sitting on the other side of the room, seemingly uninterested, quietly cleaning his weapon. But Sam had noticed the way Bucky’s eyes followed you, his movements slowing as he listened to every word you said. And when you’d finally thrown yourself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, Bucky had glanced over at you, his expression softening in a way that was almost imperceptible. Almost.

Sam had even noticed the way Bucky’s mood would shift depending on how you were feeling. If you were having a rough day, Bucky would be quieter than usual, his eyes tracking your movements like he was waiting for the right moment to step in. If you were in a good mood, cracking jokes and teasing him, Bucky’s responses would be a little sharper, his banter quicker, like he was trying to keep up. But it was when you weren’t around that Sam noticed the biggest difference. Bucky was always more withdrawn when you weren’t there—more closed off, like he was missing something essential.

It wasn’t just about attraction, either. Sam had seen that before, the way people looked at each other when they were interested. This was different. This ran deeper. It was in the way Bucky seemed to need you, the way his edges softened when you spoke to him, even in passing. The way his gaze would flick to you when he thought no one was looking, his expression quiet, contemplative, like he was memorizing every detail.

Sam hadn’t said anything, of course. Bucky wasn’t exactly the type to talk about his feelings, and Sam wasn’t about to push him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed. It was hard not to notice when Bucky’s entire demeanor shifted around you.

It was the kind of quiet, unspoken affection that ran deep—deeper than Bucky probably even realized. The kind of feelings that had been building slowly, over time, in the small moments between missions, in the comfortable silences and the shared glances. And Sam, ever the observer, had been there to witness it all.

So when Bucky’s gaze lingered just a little too long during moments like this, Sam wasn’t surprised. He’d seen it before. He’d seen it in the way Bucky’s eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his body seemed to relax ever so slightly when you were near. It was a look Sam had seen on Bucky’s face more times than he could count now—a look filled with quiet admiration, with something unspoken and profound.

And maybe Bucky wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet. But Sam knew. Sam had always known.

[drafthorsemath]

Home

A/N: I still want Tech to be alive so I’m making it happen and all working within the scope of canon. Here we have old man Tech and Phee.

Warnings: disabled Tech, talk of his fall and the aftermath, discussion of broken bones and almost bleeding out

Word Count: 1.534k

There was a lot of hustle around the rebel base. Several pilots were headed out, but Tech was more concerned with who was coming in. Omega had comm’d to say she left Pabu and was on her way. Tech sighed. Just as she was coming he would be going. More than that, while he and Phee stopped by so they could use their skills to fix up an old ship for a new crew, Omega would be out in the thick of it and he was worried for her. He knew they were all worried about her, but just as he respected Echo’s choice and Crosshair’s choice in years past, he respected hers as well. She was as ready to be a rebel pilot as ever, very much in part to the lessons he gave her back on Pabu.

“Hey Brown Eyes,” Phee said with a hand on his shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Nearly,” he replied, smiling as she ran her hand through his graying and still thinning hair.

He reached for his spanner on the side of his hoverchair and continued to work on the power booster in front of him. He flinched just slightly as he made some adjustments. The arthritis wasn’t making it any easier. Still, he was pleased that while there he and Phee showed some new recruits as many skills as they could.

He put his tools back in place along the side of the humming hoverchair and took a breath. Phee smiled down at him. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. She was as lovely as ever. Gray streaks in her hair and small wrinkles forming on her face, but no amount of time dulled her spirit. He could never forget the day he finally made it back to Pabu and the relief he felt to see her and his family. Echo was off with Rex, but he was assured he was safe. Omega and Crosshair were home and Wrecker and Hunter had started easing into island life. 

“Better late than dead?” he asked the first time he saw Phee after stumbling off a ship.

She threw her arms around him with tears in her eyes and despite the pain he was still in, he embraced her warmth.

“So much better late than dead, Brown Eyes.”

His body had been through so much. Bones had taken months to mend and he knew that some of them hadn’t healed properly. He went through the painful process of a doctor rebreaking and resetting them. Phee sat with him through every procedure and he knew for sure that he wanted her in his life for however long it was. He woke up in agony after the worst of it, his lower back and legs in braces. She sat in a chair and rested her head on the bed near him. He softly smiled and put a hand on hers. 

During his recovery they started running low on med patches. She flew into imperial territory just to get more for him and to restock the supply on the island. It was during that time he was able to catch up with Crosshair. Both men were relieved to see each other and it didn’t take long for them to find their way into a comfortable mix of conversation and shared silence.

“How did you do it?” Crosshair asked. “Survive?”

“I thought that was probably going to be the end of me,” Tech admitted. “But I was able to change the angle of my fall and thankfully I hit the edge of a body of water and softer ground. The impact probably would have killed me otherwise.”

He went on to explain that all he could remember was trying to take his helmet off because his comms had died and his helmet cracked. Somewhere along the way he lost his goggles and slowly realized a piece of broken armor had pierced his abdomen. He kept it in place to reduce the risk of bleeding out as he stumbled along, but the terrain quickly became the familiar stone they saw poke above the mist. All he remembered was passing out and waking up briefly on a ship. When he got to this part of the story, he recalled Phee warning him not to run off with any pirates. Of course it was the pirates who saved him. Granted, they thought they could get some money selling his armor and possessions and were unable to get the elaborate set up off his body with his chest plate twisted as it was, so they just took all of him. One of the pirates couldn’t stand to watch him bleed out and so got him some minimal medical treatment that ended up being just enough to save his life. He spent months trying to get back to Pabu and contact his brothers, but the Empire was everywhere at this point and he had to focus on not getting caught since he couldn’t very well run from them. His best bet was to be friendly with the pirates and help them in an attempt to help himself. He knew the coordinates to some useful planets and knew how to fix just about any broken thing put in front of him. He essentially hitched a ride around the galaxy while his body tried to mend.

Tech looked at his brother with a bit of a grimace.

“I decided if they want to use me for my skills then fine. It kept me alive and I used them as transport in return. Eventually we made it close enough that I knew I could probably get here without a major medical event. I took a small ship, left while they were out drinking, and finally made it to Pabu. You know the rest.”

Crosshair put his hand on Tech’s shoulder just as his brother had done with him countless times.

“We survived and we’re here now,” Crosshair said. “That’s all that matters now.”

It took weeks for Tech’s body to heal the rest of the way, but this time he had hope and real help. Even on days when he could barely move, Phee and his brothers helped him get up and down, made sure he had something to eat, made sure he had something else to keep him occupied, and helped him in and out of the refresher. Once he was ready, Tech accompanied her on trips to recover artifacts. Phee was extra careful, knowing that his soldiering days were very well behind him and never wanting him put in too much danger. Still, he had a few tricks up his sleeve and was very creative when it came to making technology work for him even when his body struggled. More than that, he simply wanted to be with Phee any way he could.

Unfortunately as time went on, his old injuries made it difficult to walk very far. He crafted his own hoverchair, but could still go from the chair into bed or another seat. He still walked short distances, but the chair supported him for the most part. He was not-so-secretly fond of asking Phee to sit in his lap and taking her for “a stroll” around the island.

When Echo got word that the rebellion needed help rebuilding a ship, Tech’s face lit up. There was no stopping him. He and Phee would be back to Pabu after this one last job. Just one more ship to rebuild and then he could rest. Of course Phee knew better and shook her head. As much as his body was giving out on him, his head would never rest and it was one of the things she loved most about him. He always kept his mind occupied, exceptional as always.

They finished loading some items onto their ship, but stayed to greet Omega when she landed. He embraced his sister before grilling her on piloting procedures only to be met with a familiar pair of rolled eyes and an affectionate smile. Omega invited them up to see the upgrades she made to her ship. Tech greeted Gonky and was satisfied as he looked around. They said their goodbyes and Omega promised to come back and visit when she could.

“I still don’t know why she insists on keeping my old goggles with her,” Tech said as he and Phee boarded their ship.

“Because it reminds her of you,” she replied.

“Not one of our fondest memories,” he said, gazing up into his beloved’s eyes with a sad smile.

“No, but it’s all we had to hold on to for months as far as physical items,” Phee countered. “You know Omega. She brought Lula with her. She likes having those things to hold on to.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re right.”

Tech lifted himself from the hoverchair and gingerly moved to the co-pilot seat. Phee was right there ready to lend a hand, but he still had enough strength to move himself. She parked his hoverchair right behind them and pressed a kiss to his forehead before sitting in the pilot seat and punching in the familiar coordinates to Pabu. It was time to go home.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Somethin’ Stupid

It’s been a while since i’ve written anything for the Sacred Realm, but here’s something for my wife, @trippygalaxy. <3 Worlds content because she’s a simp

Cw: minor/light gore

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The majority of the spirits within the Realm were quite similar. Equally as chivalrous and heroic as the last. They lived up to their titles, to their reputations and tales.

They were all Links.

They were all the Hero of Hyrule.

All except for Worlds.

Now, that’s not to say those labels didn’t fit him exactly— because they did. He was a hero, he was a Link, he did save Hyrule. But to the same effect, he also wasn’t purely just a hero. He wasn’t just Link and he didn’t just save Hyrule.

He was so much beyond what he was made out to be.

Which was why it was so frustrating when he still wasn’t enough.

Time and time again he’d save people, slay the bad guy, relinquish evil only to be called upon again. His hands never left his sword and his mind never left the battlefield. He was a Hero, through and through.

Even if it meant he’d never be seen for what he could be if he’d just be laid to rest.

He was tired of falling short, too.

Tired of watching people and things he loves slip past his fingertips in the name of ‘Heroism’.

Time got to fall in love, despite his sourness.

Twilight had a wife and child, a whole life outside of purging darkness from Hyrule.

Wild got to enjoy his life in somewhat solitude, wandering around his Hyrule and working on his tech.

Even the newest Link got to keep some part of himself alive and whole.

So why couldn’t he just have someone something.

Sky thought it was because he wouldn’t let himself. That despite the many times hope has been ripped from his hands, it’s not Hylia that’s made him let go. Maybe it’s just that he stopped holding on. That he let go. That he made himself move on.

He wouldn’t let Sky be right.

Not this time, at least.

Not while you lay bloodied beyond recognition.

Not while malice chews at your flesh, and leeches off your life.

You were too good. To him, To the world.

There aren’t many people who would thank him so sweetly for things he did. There are fewer then who would throw themselves under the wide arch of a sword to keep him safe, even if he can’t be harmed in this state.

He was real to you.

Living and breathing beyond just being the spirit of a hero, he was real to you.

He knew you were too good to slip past him, to leave him with that sickening feeling in his gut at what he should’ve done. What he should’ve said.

He wouldn’t let himself lose you.

He couldn’t.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

And He didn’t.

Many potions and fairies later, you were stable. Drowsy as you were, your lungs drew breath and your heart limped along. You were weak, but it didn’t matter.

Awkwardly, he stood by your cot, staring down at you with a mix of thought and feeling running through his mind. Sorrow, anxiety and that odd feeling of anticipation you stirred in his gut.

He didn’t quite understand it— you. Your motives were foggy in his mind, your actions lacking any motivation he thought compelling enough to risk your own life. He didn’t understand the guilt he felt. He felt bad, of course. You were injured and he was the only one to blame. That he understood well and clear. But it was the heavy feeling, looking down at you now as your body struggles to work that he feels like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He’s scared.

“Enjoying the view?” You croak, sitting up and downing the glass of water set at your bedside. The amusement in your eyes has his heart running so familiarly.

“I didn’t know you could get more gross.” He rolls his eyes, shoving back the apologies as they claw in his throat. Slightly, he winces at the hostility in his tone. He never was good at letting himself be, was he? “But here you are”

“Oh that’s right, I forgot spirits can’t see their reflection” Your voice is light, as if genuinely recalling some lost fact. A light smile pulls at your lips, emphasising the teasing in your tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He squinted.

“Nothing” You shrugged him off. The room is quiet. Somewhere he can make out Link shuffling about, but the Inn is still aside from that. Dust dances in the last few beams of sunlight, and he mourns how long it’s been since he’s been able to recall such detail.

You tend to do that to him though.

“Y’know” He starts, picking at his cuticles “You should really give more warning before you do something dumb like that.” He pauses to look at you as you huff.

“Look, I’m fine-“ You start, throwing your hands up defensively.

“You almost weren’t” His voice is sharp, silencing any argument you might’ve brought, “You were in a horrible state. And I’m not quite sure if you haven’t realised, but you don’t get a second chance.” His voice begins to pick up his panic, quickening as he remembers just how much he’s lost to be here.

Things he wants you to never go through.

“You do something stupid like that and don’t stop to even consider what might happen. What you might be leaving behind. And I can’t always be there to hold you back. I can’t always be there to make sure you’re safe.” He sees the doubt in your eyes. The pleading argument that you’ll be ok. That he’s worrying too much. That he can let you go.

But for the life of him, dead as it may be, He doesn’t care.

“I know you’re capable. I know you’re strong. But you won’t always be strong enough. You won’t always make it out fine. And We-“ His throat seizes, and he lets himself just be vulnerable.

“I need you alive.” His eyes search your own for any response, any answers. Your pursed lips don’t move to form words, and he’s ready to just consider it a loss.

“So maybe let’s stop with the dumb choices, o-“ He doesn’t even get to finish his sarcastic remark before you tug him by the collar to your lips. Between every journey through hell and back, there’s never been more relief than in this moment. Your lips are cracked and bloodied, but sweet nonetheless.

“Only if you stop it with the sarcasm” you mutter against his lips.

“Oh, well then we’re both at a loss” He rolls his eyes, pulling you closer again.

[steeb-stn]

Bad batch ficlet

So after @not-so-mundane-after-all’s most recent fic knocked me flat i was like ‘what if hunter got to hold omega as a baby’ and i was like ‘timey-wimey stuff could make that happen’ and just decided to go for it. Who needs plot. 400ish words of pure schmoop

also techs alive in this bc im in charge here and i said so

-

“Hunter.”

Hunter doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look away from the little face cradled in the crook of his elbow.

“Hunter. We have to go.”

Her face is so peaceful in sleep, her little eyelashes fluttering across cheeks flushed and soft with baby fat. They had decided it might be better to let her fall asleep before they left, but now that she has, Hunter can tell it will be no easier to tear himself away from her. 

It will be no easier for her, either. Either way, she won’t understand why he’s left her.

A gentle hand settles on his shoulder. A gesture of kindness, and a cruelty. He knows that Tech feels this parting keenly too, but he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t understand how many times Hunter has daydreamed this very scenario. Most often when she was parted from him, during the awful months she was on Tantiss.

Lying in his bunk, trying to sleep and yearning for her, his mind would conjure up images of Omega as a small child, of sweet smiles and screaming laughter, of sweeping her up in his arms the way he had seen men on Pabu do with their young children. Of holding her little body safe in his arms and rocking her to sleep.

And somehow those dreams came true, and now he has to leave her. 

Impossible.

He hitches her up to his shoulder, careful to keep her neck supported, so he can kiss her forehead. He lets his lips linger on her temple, at the crown of her head. Lets her soft baby hairs tickle his lips as he sways gently from side to side.  Sees Tech out of the corner of his eye, shyly reaching out to stroke sunshine-colored curls.

Their Omega is waiting for them. He knows that. Their brave girl, so grown up, all gangly limbs and teenage attitude and burgeoning independence. His Omega who grew up here in this sterile lab, alone, with a scientist who didn’t know how to nurture a young human the way she deserved. Until he found her. And she still needs him. 

But how can he leave? How can he leave this baby to her lonely childhood?

Will she remember this? Is his Omega the same one he holds now in his arms? He doesn’t know. He has left the particulars of their predicament to Tech, divergent timelines and alternate universes and such.  It makes Hunter’s head hurt to think about it.

He only know that this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

[ilovelovewithallmyheart]

Hiii i lovee your ficsss and i especially love the red string of fate workkk you should definatelyyy make that a seriesss

Thank you anon!!!

I shall deliver🫡

First part of the red string series here

(this is a gojo satoru fanfic btw)

Tag: @sapphireandange

-Quick overview-

In this world where the mythical red string that connects you to your soulmate exists, the type of string indicates what your relationship will be like.

Y/n's string is perfect and smooth, indicating that her relationship with her soulmate will be perfect.

Unfortunately for Y/n that luck doesn't extend very far because her soulmate keeps trying to sever the bond (which causes pain to both parties) and Y/n is currently unemployed. But have no fear! In this chapter, she gets recruited for the job as a manager at Jujutsu Tech.

Fingers crossed her new boss isn't an egotistical prick whose red string is connected to hers!!!😍😍😍

**

“Jesus Gojo. This would be your…twenty sixth manager this year?” Shoko picked up the records from the table, eyes widened with incredulity. Gojo shrugged, clearly taking it as a compliment. “I’ve scared off all of them.” Pride was laced in his words. “It says here that your seventeenth manager didn’t even last a day - what do you do to your managers?” Nanami looked over Shoko’s shoulders, then back at Gojo disapprovingly.

“Nothing. My presence is too great for their puny little weakling brains.” He crossed his arms, and Nanami understood why those managers all left. Gojo was, for lack of a better word, an absolute prick to anyone who was weaker than him so…he was a prick to everyone.

“I’m supposed to be meeting my new manager today actually.” Gojo grinned like a hunter meeting prey. “What was your bet again?” Gojo said as an afterthought. Nanami thought bets were pointless, but nontheless he still raised a bet. “I bet $50 that your new manager won’t last a week.” 

Shoko chuckled. “You’re too kind Nanami. I bet $100 that they won’t last a day.”

**

Okay Y/n. This is it, you thought.

The only thing seperating you and your future boss were the tatami doors in front of you. You thought you were having a conniption.

He’s NOT going to be as bad as you think he’s going to be, you reasoned. Brains just have a tendancy for expecting the worst.

Right?

With that optimistic though in your head, you slid the doors to the side and stepped in.

Your boss was sitting face first on the table, completely motionless. HIs hair was white - you’ve never seen anyone with that kind of hair before.

God, his stillness was offputting. It was almost like he was-

DEAD? Terror seized your gut and sirens immediately began to shriek in your head.

You were panicing, freaking out, and you had absolutely no idea what to do. If you were the main character of a shounen anime, perhaps you would’ve checked the body, or done something heroic. But you, Y/n, were a failed jujutsu sorceror. 

So naturally you reached for the tatami doors to get out-

Someone grabbed your wrist.

You turned around, surprised there was someone else in the room.

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!” 

You supposedly ‘dead’ boss was standing, completely alive and well, somehow crossing the room in literal milliseconds. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was deep and rough. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, turning his back to you to look out the windows overlooking Jujutsu Tech. He stretched, his yawn obnoxiously loud.

“To the…bathroom!” You wanted to melt into a puddle in the ground and evaporate. “You’re my new manager. But I call the shots around here.” He said, broad back still facing you. You nodded, then realised he couldn’t see you nodding. “Yes. Okay.” 

“First rule as your boss: you’re not allowed to go to the bathroom when you’re on duty.” 

…what.

You blanched. 

How the hell were you supposed to do your business?

You bit your tongue. Remember Y/n...you’ll get paid. Your first paycheck. Come on….you urged yourself not to run out of the room.

“Okay.”

“Second rule. You’re not allowed to raise your voice above 60 decibels. Your scream nearly made me go deaf.”

You seriously didn’t know how you could tell how loud your voice was at all times, but you forced yourself to picture the feeling of the smooth, paper envelope. How the envelope slightly bulged in the middle, due to the money inside. You imagined yourself peeling it open and taking out the money- 

“Third rule. I expect you to answer me whenever I tell you something.” His voice was already disapproving, and he turned around to coldly asses you, his blue eyes sharper than knives-

He stopped dead.

For some reasons, without even initiating the red string vision, it flickered to life. 

Huh? You thought. You glanced down at your ring finger. 

Why is the vision on…? You wondered as you followed the thick red string further, and further…

Until it tied in a neat bow on your boss’ ring finger.

[techs-goggles9902]

Can you do at Tech lives fan-fic (like if Tech is CX-2)??

CX-2 is all that remains

Warnings: prosthetic stuff, mentions of blood and stuff, contact lenses 💀 scars and stuff, bacta usage, memory issues (ik nothing super bad but what if you had a fear of contacts??) TBB SPOILERS

Word count: 1457 (WHOA I WENT OVERBOARD)

A/N: IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG ANON. I genuinely love the bad batch but I HATE WRITING THEM SOMETIMES 😭 I feel like I’m butchering their characters. But I gotchuuuuu!!! Lmk if I should continue this.

Requests are open! See Masterlist for details!!!!

IMPORTANT NOTE: some of this was supposed to be italicized but my copy and pasting removes it, so some of this stuff are their thoughts. Just an FYI

“You recognized it, too,” Hunter whispers to Crosshair as the group hurries up the rocks.

”I did. You said he died on Eriadu,” the sniper replies in a low mumble.

“He did… Wrecker watched him fall.”

”Well, obviously he survived. Next move?”

”Follow through with the plan, Cross. I’ll have Echo double back and take us down there.”

”But… it’s him?”

Hunter pauses. When he speaks, his voice cracks, “Tech’s alive. And with the Empire.”

Tech - no, CX-2! He had to get used to that - needs to get out of the water, and fast. The current pulls at him as he grips a narrow rock beneath the surface.

His helmet can only keep him alive for so long, he needs air sooner rather than later.

This isn’t ideal. The cybernetics will never last if their circuits are drenched.

His slender fingers lose their grip on the rock. One, two, three. The Shadow loses his grip entirely, his gloves ripped apart at the seams as the sharp ridges cut into the calloused flesh of his fingers.

The current throws him back into another rock, his backpack absorbing most of the impact.

There, he thinks as the water starts to seep into his body suit, I just need to make it to that ledge and my odds of survival increase significantly.

He feels his cybernetics digging into the tender flesh of his legs. The part where the river meets land was so close, yet so far. Reaching out a bloody hand, his shredded fingers are met with rough sediment.

Finally…

”Echo, Rex, please. It’s him! I feel it,” Hunter says, trying to keep Echo from making the jump into hyperspace.

“Hunter, what if it’s n-”

”Rex, your buddy isn’t coming after us. He let us go. There’s no risk in going down there,” Crosshair cuts in. Echo and Rex glance at each other.

Rex, Echo’s expression says, what if…

Echo, Rex’s body language reads, you said it yourself. He’s gone.

You didn’t give up on me.

Rex’s gaze softens. “Fine. You have ten minutes.”

Hunter lets out a breath, clasping Rex’s shoulder. He says, “I owe you.”

”You owe me a lot, Sarge.”

Echo lands the ship just off the riverbank but is still hidden in the trees in case Wolffe changes his mind. The ramp opens with a soft hiss and plants itself on the rocks with a gentle thud. The river laps against the rocks like white noise, the water running down the cliff adds to the effect.

And there, lying on the rocks, still half in the water, lies the Shadow. Barely conscious and panting, his bloodied fingers groping the sediment.

“Maker… Gregor, get the med kit!” Echo yells back into the ship as Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker trip over themselves to get down to the riverbank.

“Shit… Hunter, is he…” Wrecker asks in a low tone, kneeling down beside the semiconscious clone.

“His heart’s beating,” the sergeant replies.

“Damn… Wrecker, can you get him on the ship? Gently?” Echo asks, leaning down to check the assassin’s pulse.

“I got him.” Wrecker slowly turns the clone onto his back and snakes an arm beneath his knees and back. “I gotcha, I gotcha…”

CX-2 feels himself being lifted up off the ground, his helmet removed, his head resting on someone’s shoulder plate. He hears voices calling out to him, hands lowering him down onto something somewhat comfortable. A bunk?

His armor taken off his wet bodysuit, said bodysuit is either peeled or cut away from his body.

“Cybernetics aren’t the best quality… just a pawn in Hemlock’s game,” a gruff voice says.

“Oh, Tech…” a softer voice says.

“I told you that you should’ve taken medic training,” a different voice comments. A scoff follows.

“Stow it, Cross.” Cross… that seems so familiar to CX-2. All the voices do, even the soft, feminine one. A warm liquid oozes out of where prosthetics meet flesh. Blood.

“Shit, Gregor, hand me the gauze,” He knows this voice…

“Echo, keep pressure. I’m getting him bacta,” Echo… warm hands trail down his body, checking for further injuries.

“Crap… these prosthetics are absolute trash, I should know. Not even connected properly… Tech, if you were awake to see this mess…” the voice, Echo, scoffs. CX-2 hears a smile in his voice.

“Are…are they as good as yours?” CX-2 hears his own voice ask that. He doesn’t know why he said that. In fact, his mouth moved on its own accord. All sounds around him cease and everything’s quiet except the soft hum of the ship.

“I… no, sorry, bud…mine are cooler,” Echo responds. CX-2 feels a subtle smile tugging at his own lips. Why? These are the enemy. Someone tends to his mangled hands, cleaning them and wrapping them tenderly.

“Tech…” CX-2 hears that name being called over and over again. Whispered in his ear. Murmured into his forehead as soft lips make contact with the scarred skin. Breathed into his hands as someone holds them gently.

His eyes open, just for a moment, meeting the gaze of five pairs of brown eyes. “Tech is gone,” he says. “CX-2 is all that remains…” He’s out like a light a second later.

Hunter’s heart felt like it was stabbed, trampled, cut out of his chest, and thrown out onto a rock to die. Tech is gone… the words echo through his mind all the way back to Pabu. This wasn’t the reunion he had in mind when he realized the Shadow was actually his little brother.

Crosshair doesn’t know how to feel. He abandoned his squad, his family, for the Empire. Is this karma, he thought.

Nonsense, Tech’s voice whispers in his head, this has nothing to do with you. The rational explanation is that the Empire succeeded in turning me into an assassin where they failed to turn you. Do not blame yourself, Crosshair. There was nothing you could do to stop this.

But I could’ve known, Crosshair’s voice whispers back to Tech’s, we would’ve been at Tantiss together.

And how could you possibly have known that, Cross?

Wrecker just tries to keep Omega away from their unconscious brother. “He needs his rest, Meg.”

“I won’t leave until he wakes up,” the blonde replies, crossing her arms. “I’m not bothering him, anyway.”

Wrecker sighs, placing a hand on her scrawny shoulder. He mutters, “Tech’s always been the one to take care of us… it’s weird that we’re taking care of him.”

“I know… what did he mean by ‘Tech’s gone’?”

“I… I don’t know. Cross said the Empire erases their previous lives while they turn them into… this. He’ll pull through and we’ll be losing to him in dejarik in no time.”

Echo was confused. Tech had just asked him about his cybernetics, meaning he did in fact remember them, at least somewhat. He stares out the viewport in the cockpit, his fingers picking at his scomp link. Tech always hated when he did that.

The next time CX-2 resurfaces, he’s staring up at a - wooden? - ceiling, definitely not a ship’s. A house? Hut? Cabin? He groans, lifting a hand up to pinch the scarred bridge of his nose. His face was littered with thick, ragged scars. Ever since Eriadu.

He looks at his hand in surprise as he sees its bandage has been changed recently. Where is he? CX-2 sits up slowly, orienting himself as he goes. The room is warm, small but not small enough that you feel claustrophobic. A window is above the bed he’s currently lying on, soft light filtering through the translucent curtains. He strains his neck to peer out of it.

Pabu…

He gets off the bed, looking down at his prosthetics, which start just below the knee. They’re sturdier as he stands and they don’t restrict his movement like they used to. They’re… comfortable.

He quietly - as quiet as you can get with two durasteel feet - leaves the room, examining the hallway. A kitchen is down the hall, so he heads there. Wincing, he looks around the corner to see if anyone’s there.

There is.

Crosshair…

“C’mere, Tech,” the sniper says, gesturing to the seat at the island beside him. CX-2 hobbles over to it, taking a seat silently.

“I’m not the brother you remember,” he rasps, looking out the window.

“No shit… no goggles?”

“Hemlock thought I should wear contacts so the goggles don’t break out on a mission.”

Crosshair hums in response.

“Why did you come back?”

The sniper takes a moment to respond, “Couldn’t leave you behind.”

It’s CX-2’s - no, Tech’s - turn to hum in response. He feels Crosshair leaning against him slightly.

“You’re not who you used to be, but we’ll get there. Right?”

“Possibly.”

Crosshair scoffs, “Good to have you back.”

Taglist: @will-is-silly @fionajames @sevdidntdie @hellhound5925 @dangraccoon @skellymom

Please let me know if you want to be taken off or join the list!!!

[starwrighter]

I am not a baby!!(Yes you are)

(Prompt)  (Masterpost) (Previous) (next) (Ao3 link)

( Part three bby! Come get ya’ll juice) @unknownthreat @avelnfear @adeniumdream @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23  @ashoutinthedarkness 

“Zero human life signs detected" A terrifying string of words to hear after crawling out a lifepod. It didn’t sound plausible, there were dozens of life pods on that ship! Dozens of pods that should have launched with him in the crash, that means dozens of people who should be more alive than him were wandering around this planet. They had too be!

Alterra tech wasn’t as advanced as the corporation wanted him to believe. A thorough scan of the entire planet couldn’t be performed in a matter of seconds. The tablet was impressive sure, but it couldn’t replace the complex tech and the brilliant minds from the brightest of space programs. Living people were unpredictable, especially in times of disaster like this. It would’ve been easy for them to accidentally walk out of range or be skipped over by whatever scan was sent out. All he knew about this planet was that there was water as far as the eye could see. There had to be people somewhere on the planet. The area he landed in was safe from what he could tell, he could only hope the same for the others.

Shallow water surrounded him a tropical warmth to it. The ground was a mix between soft sand he could dig his feet and stone. Giant coral tubes were scattered throughout the area and Danny found himself giggling as he darted through them as fast as he could manage.

“Vital signs abnormal. Self scan recommended,” Danny frowned glaring down at the PDA, a flashing light dutifully reminding him to head up for air. Scrunching his nose Danny dismissed the notifications. Notifications and reminders that would be lifesaving for a normal human would be inaccurate and possibly harmful if you applied it to him. His body needed less oxygen so his heart was slower. It made perfect sense to him but it was very difficult to explain to a trained medical professional that he was just built different without exposing the existence of halfa. Explaining his existence to the Ai was a task he wasn’t looking forward to. Maybe he should play along and pretend to be a dumb baby so he didn’t have to. Explaining how he’s still alive when his heart wasn’t pumping anywhere close to the speed needed for his circulatory system to function.  

Maybe if he scanned himself like his PDA suggested he’d get accurate medical information for once in his half-life. His semi normal life was over the moment he melted into goo and his grave was dug the moment the PDA noticed the irregularities, no harm in digging himself a deeper grave right? Better to be comfy in your grave than fight to be tossed in a ditch. 

Swimming up to the surface Danny allowed himself to think deeply about his situation for the first time since landing on this rock. Alterra drew it’s information from building off confirmed databases, creating new ones and synthesizing theories when they lacked information. For all the GIW’s and his parent’s hard work their research on ectoplasm and ecto entities didn’t exist in any official database outside of fairytales and myths. To his PDA ectoplasm was something they’ve never seen before; something that they’d study without the bias of his parents or the GIW skewing the results. 

Jazz and his friends would still accept him no matter what conclusion the PDA drew on his existence. If worse came to worst he could always pull a couple strings with Technus or ask tucker to wipe it’s memory for him when he got home.

With a small gasp for air Danny dove back down into the shallow waters. Brightly colored fish roamed, nibbling at plants and flitting away in terror when he drew near. Only one of the fish didn’t seem to mind his presence. A slim yellow fish with purple fins, goldish stripes and stalked eyes that gave it resemblance to that of a crab or a snail. It glided slowly through the water, ignoring Danny in favor of munching on bits of greenery growing out of the sand. Danny took to ignoring it right back, it was boring, and not as fun to spook while he scrounged for materials.

A creature that was 60% eye was the most entertaining to startle. Despite the little blue fish being bigger than his head it was still terrified of him, darting away at a sped Danny could just barely keep up with. They dodged and weaved leading him in circles until he either got dizzy and lost sight of them or got bored of spinning.

He plucked mushrooms out of the ground, the purple ring surrounding pink insides left a chalky residue that stung his finger tips. Danny didn’t even want to chance eating these, they felt compressed like all it would take was one wrong cut for them to explode into a million pieces. According to his PDA they could be used to make batteries . Rumor has it, battery acid doesn’t taste that good. A high pitched whistling similar to a dog whistle played from his PDA getting louder and higher in pitch the closer he brought the mushroom to his mouth. It was funny how the PDA thought it could stop him if he really wanted to eat poison. Though, if it would stop the PDA from screaming Danny would graciously hold the battery mushrooms in his backpack not his mouth.

Danny used Wilson to bash up stone outcrops, praying the fire extinguisher wouldn’t break against the stone. Shoving chunk after chunk of titanium into his backpack he prayed Alterra had something in their storage modules separating the possibly explosive thing away from each other. Copper was what he needed yet it seemed like it was as rare as gold here. All he needed was one piece, one single piece to make the battery needed for a scanner. Did copper even exist on this planet? It was the main component to most things technological so if it didn’t exist here he was screwed. Hoarding massive amounts of titanium wouldn’t make up for it’s lack in conductivity. Powering tools took electricity, and he didn’t exactly want to risk using a faulty battery in the middle of the ocean. Copper was a must have for the machinery he needed, the fabricator wouldn’t let him substitute materials nor did he have the materials to substitute. For now, he was forced to continue his search, smacking away at the limestone in hopes of the ancients deciding to show mercy and give him what he needed.

 Breaks for  air were few and far between, the PDA catching on to the difference in biology quicker than he thought it would. Who knew not drowning when all data says you should leaves one eager to reevaluate their data. Oxygen alerts popped up after a minute and a half instead of the normal thirty second warnings. It wasn’t anywhere near his breath holding record before the crash but it was enough to make the PDA slightly less annoying so he considered that a win. When copper finally dropped from an outcrop, he almost cried from relief; not that his tears would mean anything in the ocean. Relief soon morphed into annoyance as every single one of the outcrops he broke afterwards dropped copper. Of course the moment he didn’t need it anymore was the moment it became the only thing that would ever drop! Why wouldn’t it work that way? Clockwork was laughing at him right now he could feel it. Swimming into the nearest cave to drown out of spite didn’t seem that bad of an idea anymore.

“Detecting sulfur deposits in the local cave systems. Sulfur is an essential component of the repair tool.” A colorful, yet morbid animation played on the screen. It depicted a small child putting sulfur into their mouth before being stamped by the image of a skull. It covered the child’s entire body and as the skull faded off screen so did the child, a small grave stone replacing them. This warning was unnecessary but an accurate assumption of his survival skills. Jazz always said he was like a toddler, putting anything and everything he could in his mouth. While not exactly true, she’d seen him eat a plastic spork and watched him drink ectoplasm so he couldn't plead his case without proving her point. Eating random objects was one of his favorite ways to freak people out! 

A piercing shriek broke through his thoughts. It sounded like someone taking a wheezing breath when they had the flu and it was rapidly approaching him. A flash red entered his his vison and Danny only had time to make brief eye contact with an alien that vaguely resembled a pufferfish before it exploded sending a cloud of loose sand into the water. 

What the hell was that thing!? It just self destructed for no reason! There wasn’t even time for him to get a good look at it before it exploded! It was like the fish took one look at Danny and decided a violent death by self-destruction was the only answer. Why the hell would the PDA warn him about sulfur deposits when their were living tracking missiles swimming around? Did he swim into their territory? Was it protecting something? Ancients he hoped he hadn’t stressed a parent into killing itself to protect it’s babies.

 Heading deeper into the caves, he swam towards where he saw Bomberfish emerge. A plant, with a dark beige base almost blended in with the sand. If not for the vibrant red petals with yellow lining bloomed around what looked like pollen but smelled like rotten eggs he might’ve missed it. The pollen was brittle crumpling into a powder like state that sifted though his closed fist. It didn’t take long for him to realize this “Pollen was actually one of the sulfur deposits he was warned about. A gurgle was heard and he twirled around to face the noise. An eye was peeking out through a plant the familiar red petals hiding the boom fish from sight. These things were ultra territorial, or maybe they were guarding the sulfur for some reason? There weren’t any eggs nearby for them to protect. “Living grenades nearby” would’ve been a more fitting warning than “hey you probably shouldn’t eat this” Then again if you told him directly that there were grenade fish in the caves, he would be rushing in there to see it with his own two eyes. The whole point of a warning would be null if it unintentionally encouraged people to rush towards danger with the promise of seeing something cool. He kicked the sand, hiding himself behind the open sulfur plant and waited for the agitated fish to go back into hiding. A cluster of mushrooms nearby illuminated his face as he carefully pocketed the sulfur. Fleeing the cave, he ignored the bomber fishes warning cry as he swam away fast enough to avoid triggering it.

Now all he needed was to craft a battery for the scanner and silicone rubber for the repair tool. Silicone rubber could be made with something called a creepvine seed cluster. Creepvine sounded like a plant your camp counselor would warn you about before going on nature hike. Something that would give you ugly rashes when you inevitably stumbled into a patch of it. The PDA showed him what the materials he needed looked like but not where they were found. Creepvine seed clusters were bulbous yellow seeds that like the name suggested grew in clusters.

It was just his luck that the thing he needed wasn’t in the shallows. In fact, it was located in one of the places he’d been avoiding. Bordering the shallows, tall stalks of kelp grew so tall it almost breached the surface and dense enough that to classify as a forest or at least the ocean equivalent of a forest. The seed clusters were bioluminescent, growing off certain kelp stalks while others remained seedless. The glowing bulbs illuminated chunks of what he could only assume were pieces of the Aroura. A creature long and sleek with jagged teeth lurked in the green tinted waters. Watching, waiting, and ready to strike the moment it’s pray wandered from the safety of the shallows. Often it snatched up pieces of metal, thrashing around with it like an alligator with it’s prey. Sometimes it wandered to the shallows, drawn in by the metallic sheen of scrap and scattered storage crates or lured by dozen of vibrantly colored fish that flourished in the shallows. They never stayed for long, perhaps an instinctual knowledge that scaring prey into migrating elsewhere wouldn’t be good for it’s survival. Picking off stragglers and hunting occasionally was much easier than having to hunt down your preys new breeding ground whenever you wanted to eat. 

While their trips to the shallows were short, he didn’t trust a particularly tasty looking prey wouldn’t give them the confidence to venture farther into the shallows. There was no way of knowing a metal muncher wouldn’t stalk him back to the shallows if they saw him on his little errand. No way of telling if their interest in metal was limited to just scraps. The fabricator was his only lifeline right now, his only hope for tools and drinkable water. A fabricator that was built into the wall of a lifepod made primarily of metal that would look oh so tasty to a jagged toothed alligator with a craving for titanium. 

There were a lot of things he wanted to do on an alien planet but he didn't want to swim into the home of the metal munching monsters! It was safer to just stay here where the only real threat was a living grenade with territorial issues and the gasmask manatee. The Metal muncher was gigantic and Danny was the perfect bite sized snack! Most of the tastier looking fish were smaller than he was and all Danny had to defend himself was a fire extinguisher and ice powers with the effectiveness of a slushy machine. He’d be the appetizer to tide them over before the main course of a life pod slightly charred! 

Impulsiveness and an apparent lack of self preservation was what he was known for by his community but contrary to popular belief Danny didn’t want to die. Back home, he had the strength to hold his own against the attacking ghosts and the friends to back him up when brute force and bullshittery failed. Now he had neither. Hours after the crash and he still couldn’t go ghost; trying to access his powers was as helpful as it’d been during the crash. Worst of all, his friends were lightyears away with no way of reaching him or even knowing what happened. The situation was dire and rescue couldn’t save him or the other potential survivors if he acted stupid and got himself killed. Believe it or not impulsiveness isn’t the same as stupidity; the two could come hand and hand but that didn’t make them the same when they’re separate. No matter what his grades said about him he wasn’t stupid. 

Daniel James Fenton, that’s who he is and Fenton’s aren’t stupid.

 Common sense ran scarce in their family but intelligence was plentiful. Jazz might be hoarding all the common sense but Danny had just enough to make his own rational decisions every once in a while. Provoking something that big without at least the foundations of a plan would cross the line of impulsiveness and land him with a dunce cap sitting in the corner of his lifepod. That is if he wasn’t torn to shreds first

He couldn’t beat a metal muncher in face to face fight, better to avoid it as much as possible. Out maneuvering  one of them wasn’t even an option. His swimming was slow and uncoordinated like the rest of his tiny body. At least stealth would be easier for him like this. The kelp twirled into itself an easy place to hide. Hiding wouldn’t help if they smelt him, the gators snout was long enough to snatch him out of any hiding spot he found. What he needed was something to defend himself but unfortunately, the only weapon he was allowed to fabricate required silicone rubber to make. So unless he wanted to blunt force one of them to death with a fire extinguisher his wit was his only other weapon. Metal munchers seemed to get distracted easily, diverting their attention from him would be an easy task. If he could spare some titanium or catch some of the smaller slower fish he could sneak through the kelp forests mostly unbothered.

Offering food was the safer bet. Carrying around a chunk of metal would slow him down and give the overgrown gators a chance to eat him and his peace offering. Danny chased down fish, snatching up the slower ones in his little hands. They slipped out of his grasp often, his dull nails did nothing to keep  the fish from squirming out of his grasp. Sharpened canines although small did great work to puncture and kill whatever unfortunate creature he caught in his maw. It they tasted terrible but what more could you expect of holding a raw fish in your mouth? With a dead fish in his hand, he surfaced for one long gasp of air before delving into the kelp forests. Hope the metal muncher didn’t prefer live feedings.  

“Life on this planet grows in distinct and diverse ecological biomes. Further study recommended.” The PDA piped up, playing another short animation of a child using a scanner. The child had three extra fingers sprouting on their wrist and there was an eerie emptiness in the eyes that screamed AI generated. Dismissing the notification Danny began to stalk around the biome. Chunks of sandstone dropped silver, lead and, sometimes gold. A notification popped up for two of the three. Blue lights flashed in his face and Danny had to duck away, hiding inside the curling vines of kelp. The PDA instructed him on handling lead including the usual warning of “Don’t eat it,” given whenever he picked up anything that wasn’t a fish. 

It wasn’t his fault that rocks looked so tasty! The only rock he actually put in his mouth turned out to be salt give him a break! A pain in his gums made the concept of chewing on things he wasn’t supposed to more appealing then it was. 

A loud shriek erupted, so loud it made his ears ring. Gnashing teeth and dilated pupils stared back at him through the creepvine. With a scream Danny chucked a fish at the creatures face hitting it square in the jaw. Shoving as many seed clusters into his backpack, Danny swam as fast as he could towards the shallows. An indignant shriek of a gator no longer distracted by its snack rang out behind him motivating him to swim faster. 

His life pod was in sight, so close yet so far away. With a monster chasing him the short distance felt like miles. Fish scattered in all directions at the sight of his pursuer distracting the gator just long enough for him climb the latter to the top of his lifepod. Air burned his lungs adrenaline rushing through his veins as he stared intently at the retreating form of the metal muncher. The PDA was talking to him. Words that sounded vaguely comforting were drowned out by his rapid breaths and the ringing in his ears.

“Scary,” His voice came out hoarse way too young to belong to him. A string of certain words didn’t make it past his lips. He didn’t know what he was calling scary specifically, everything that’d happened in the past twenty four hours was terrifying. From the crash to the feeling of helplessness he got from being shrunk and hunted. The sky was darkening, soon, the only light he’d have would be from the flames ravaging the Aroura. Another terrifying thought, the Aroura was a tough ship, what could’ve possibly caused that much damage. When Danny was recruited the ship was hyped up as unbreakable, a perfect example of mankind’s brilliance. It wasn’t negligence or a maintenance error, the ship was fine before entering this solar system. With his duel obsession he should have been at his strongest. It couldn’t be a coincidence that his powers went kaput the exact moment the aroura crashes. Something was fishy here and it wasn’t just the living grenades.

The top hatch was heavy and difficult to open. An air tight seal just like the bottom hatch doing more to keep him out than it could with any water. It’d be a lie to say the hiss of air that escaped when it opened wasn’t satisfying If he wanted to investigate further, he needed to repair his life pod. He watched in awe as the fabricator took things from his backpack and turned into something else. Creepvine seeds to silicon rubber, copper and mushrooms to a battery. Silicone rubber, sulfur and titanium to an O2 tank, fins, the survival knife, and the repair tool. A battery and a single piece of titanium built up into a functional biometrical scanner. It was incredible, in just a few minutes Danny went from having nothing to having a knife and other less important tools. If things stayed this easy he’d be ready to fight a minor deity in a matter of days! 

A barrage of PDA messages hit him, all somewhat snarky congratulations for crafting but Danny couldn’t care less. His focus was fixated on repairing all the sparking bits and bobs of the lifepod. It was like magic the lights flickered to life as if they’d never been broken in the first place

“Lifepod secondary systems online. Running full environmental diagnostic and outputting results to databank.” The PDA pinged as Danny stepped over the puddle of goop to get to the radio. 

“Radio online. Broadcasting emergency distress signal, ”Just like the lights the radio was fixed in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t push down the giddy hopefulness at the sight of blinking red light, a message already was a good sign.

“This is Aurora. Distress signal received. Rescue operation will be dispatched to your location in 9...9...9...9...9.. hours. Continue to monitor for emergency transmissions from other life pods,”

That... That did not sound good.