#sentry project file
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hqwkeyes · 22 days ago
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I've seen a bunch of discourse regarding Bob's background and all, so I thought I'd share the decoded version of that part of his file, as seen online.
I'll add a cut for thunderbolts* spoilers and potential triggers, including drug use and domestic abuse.
Reynolds, Robert Biography:
Earliest available hospital records indicate Robert "Bob" Reynolds was a victim of domestic abuse throughout his childhood. There are no records of criminal charges filed in relation to these reports.
Following a car accident, Reynolds was addicted to orally-administered morphine during middle school, but was able to finish 8th grade before ultimately dropping out less than a year into high school.
He has a history of drug-related arrests for nonviolent crimes including breaking and entering, larceny, and burglary.
His hometown is also listed as Sarasota Springs, Florida. And his age isn't listed, but he's estimated to be in his late 20s/early 30s.
Also, for reference, larceny is essentially just theft of property without the use of force (so just stealing), and burglary involves the unlawful entry of a structure with the intent to commit a crime, which is not always necessarily larceny.
Just a little something to help people understand his character a bit more, either in general or for writing purposes!
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rubbady-pubbady · 3 days ago
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I'm crying laughing - that file was probably about HIM and he just threw it away because "What the hell is Sentry Project?"
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uyinq · 14 days ago
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THE CONTAINMENT INITIATIVE ☆ B.R
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chapter 1 — incomprehensible
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[bob reynolds x AFAB! reader, psychic!reader, empath?reader,slow burn,fluff,angst,slow burn,eventual smut, messy co-dependent relationships]
❱�� WORD COUNT ﹕4,652
❱❱ SUMMARY﹕
The Thunderbolts need the Sentry, but they can’t have him without the Void. No matter how hard Bob Reynolds tries to hold himself together, he comes apart again and again, like a runaway train on decaying tracks. Unstable. Unstoppable. Dangerous. They decide he needs an anchor. Valentina finds you by accident, a psychic empath barely holding yourself together, broken in all the right ways to be useful. Your job is simple on paper: connect with Bob before and after each mission. Keep him calm. Keep him grounded. Keep the Void at bay. But the deeper you go, the more blurred the lines become– between Sentry and Void, between duty and feeling, between who’s saving who.
❱❱ WARNINGS ﹕ profanity, violence, trauma, eventual smut, psychological horror, mentions of: needles, injections, torture, and human testing
❱❱ NOTES ﹕ this is such an amalgamation of ideas lord help me
(divider from uzmacchiato)
★ chapters ﹒﹒ masterlist
★ tags - empty for now (ask to be tagged!)
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CONTAINMENT INITIATIVE : SENTRY PROJECT  —  SUBJECT FILE 08L
Designation: [REDACTED]
Classification: Psychic Empath
Status: Operational
Assignment: Psychological support for Sentry [Reynolds, Robert]
Notes:
Subject displays high neural receptivity with touch and proximity to others. Side effects on the Subject have not yet been quantified.
Directive: Maintain controlled contact. Under no circumstances is Subject to engage the Void directly.
— END LOG —
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You were lost when Valentina found you.
Living above a dingy laundromat in a 500-square-foot apartment that was far too small to count as a home. She let herself in, turning her nose up at the… quaintness of it all. She plastered on her deceptive little smirk when you poked your head out of the bathroom, furrowing your brows.
“Am I getting evicted or something?” 
You remember saying, watching the way her eyes widened as she burst into condescending laughter. 
“No, no. Not really. Something much better than that.”
Then she handed you the file. A plain manila folder, “CLASSIFIED” stamped across the front in red. You flicked it open as she spoke, scanning military jargon and vague test logs–  impersonal language meant to describe you.
You remember glancing up at her, downright terrified, with a worried crease on your forehead. You thought you kept your head down once you were free from captivity, after Prometheon Labs was outed for genetically tampering with humans and their minds. You thought you could stay unnoticed.
You thought she’d come to kill you. Or blackmail you. Or worse– send you back.
But she gave you that fake motherly smile and touched your shoulder gently.
“We need someone emotionally resilient,” she said. “Someone who can handle the weight.”
You didn’t say yes.
You just didn’t say no.
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The more you read, the worse it gets. 
His file is thick. Heavy. Dense with information you’re not sure you want, even if you need it.
“A victim of domestic abuse throughout his childhood… was addicted to orally-administered morphine during middle school… history of drug-related arrests for nonviolent crimes…” 
You groan at the fine print, even though you’re in the back of a moving cab. The whole thing reads like a warning sign duct-taped over a power plant.
No wonder he went full nightmare-mode and turned New York into a psychic hellscape. You’ll never forget that day– because for a solid hour, you were right back where you started. Clawing at restraints. Crying in silence. Begging for it to end.
When the driver lurches to a stop, you gasp and slap the file shut. The driver gives you a look in the rearview. You mutter a quick apology and pass crumpled bills through the divider before stepping out into sunlight and steel.
The newly renovated Avengers Tower looms overhead — bigger, sleeker, colder than you'd imagined. It feels less like a monument and more like judgment. It’s bustling with activity, analysts and interns buzzing around like bees in a hive. 
You scan your temporary keycard– the one Valentina gave you a few days ago – and the elevator dings open. Warm light. Brushed chrome. Sterile peace.
You hesitate.
But your feet don’t.
You step in.
You press the button for the top floor.
Whatever's waiting for you up there, bright future or dark end, you’ll meet it head-on.
When the doors slide open again, your breath catches in your chest. A quiet hallway stretches out ahead. You take one cautious step, then another, until your gut takes over and you start walking with more purpose.
A sharp left turn, and there it is.
A massive steel door, sealed with a gleaming “A,” stands between you and whatever this job actually is.
You scan your card. The center twists counterclockwise with a mechanical groan, and the door yawns open to reveal the newly renovated penthouse.
You know you’re in the right place the moment you feel it– that crushing weight that settles into your bones. The weight of being at the top of the food chain. At the top of the Tower.
You move quietly, footsteps soft as you enter, peeking around corners, instinctively cautious. A few steps down into the sunken center of the room, and you’re already planning your retreat. 
You're halfway to turning around when–
“Look who made it!”
Valentina’s voice cracks through the silence like a gunshot.
You jolt, whip around. Her heels clack across the floor as she emerges from a hallway you hadn’t noticed before, all polished smiles and cruel charm.
She’s beaming, arms wide, practically glowing with smug satisfaction, and she’s not alone.
Behind her, the new team follows in her wake.
The Thunderbolts.
It’s not as grand as you expected. They all look vaguely uncomfortable, like Valentina just dragged her children into the living room to show them off to her guests. 
You offer a polite smile. A nod. Valentina sweeps through introductions with a breezy indifference, rattling off names and blurting some oversimplified version of their abilities and feats.
Then she grabs someone lurking near the back by the arm.
You hadn’t seen him at first.
He looks… different than he did in the file. Still emotionally wrecked, still carrying that buried-glass kind of tension– but not quite the same. His hair is a sun-warmed shade of gold-brown, catching the light that spills through the penthouse windows.
And there’s something distant in his eyes. Like he’s here, but not really.
Valentina gives his arm a little tug and announces, all cheer:
“And this ball of anxiety is Bob.”
You’d chuckle at his introduction if he didn’t look so confused and uncomfortable.
Matter of fact… they all look confused.
Finally, someone says it. 
“And who the hell is this?” 
The voice belongs to the petite blonde with a thick accent, Yelena. She’s waving a dismissive hand in your direction like you’re someone’s plus-one at a funeral.
Honestly, it tracks. Very on-brand for Valentina Allegra de Fontaine to make secret plans, to neglect filling anyone in, especially at someone else’s expense. 
She just laughs it off, breezy as ever, letting go of Bob only to drape an arm awkwardly around you instead.
“Oh, did I not tell you? Seriously?”
She grins. You brace yourself.
“This is your new team member.”
The groan that echoes around the room is unanimous. A blond man throws his head back dramatically, while someone with a mop of dark hair just shakes his head in defeat. Yelena scoffs in disbelief– and you’re really starting to wish Valentina had maybe run this whole idea past someone before now.
“Team member?” the blonde snaps. “Look at her, Val. She’s dressed like a secretary. What’s she gonna do, ask our enemies for their coffee orders?”
Ouch.
You weren’t going for a secretary look. You were going for the ‘young-but-intelligent therapist’ look. 
“I think personal assistants take coffee orders, not secretaries.”  
The words are out before you can stop them. Crisp. Clipped. Not exactly friendly.
The room goes dead silent.
Then Bob laughs.
It’s an awkward little chuckle that breaks the tension, and everyone suddenly remembers why they were annoyed in the first place. 
Valentina steps behind you, squeezing your shoulders in a way that’s meant to be reassuring, but just feels like control.
“She doesn’t look like much, I get it,” she says, all syrup and smirk. “But she’s got powers. Real ones. She can touch one of you and render you completely useless with a little poke.”
The blond man– John Walker, if you remember right– crosses his arms.
“Do it, then.”
You glance back at Valentina, searching for reassurance.
She just gives you an overly friendly shove and a wide, sharp smile.
“Go on.”
Something about that smile says don’t fuck this up. Or you’ll regret it.
You step forward slowly. Hands loose at your sides. Not threatening– but not exactly sure what you are, either.
He doesn’t flinch. Just watches you with that steely, judgmental stare.
You barely touch him– fingertips brushing the fabric of his uniform– and he hits the ground like a sack of bricks. 
Everyone takes a half-step back, one girl laughs, and the big man, Alexei, beams from ear to ear.
“I like her!”  The russian bear chimes, already pushing past everyone else to wrap you up in an abrupt, bone-crushing hug. You barely get to wheeze out a breath as he whisks you off your feet, squeezing you like he’s trying to kill you. 
“Welcome to the team, zaika!” 
Yelena hits him on the arm, her steely gaze fixed on Valentina. 
“Put her down, Dad.” 
The man pouts before releasing you, making sure you’re stable before he crosses his arms, suddenly remembering that he’s supposed to be angry with the woman standing across from him. 
“Fine, she has powers. But why do we need some sort of touch-starved psychic?” The Russian woman gestures wildly as she speaks, her words sharp enough to draw blood. You’d laugh if the target wasn’t you.
Valentina is suddenly beside you again. Too close. Her voice honeyed. Her smile pure performance.
She presses her head against yours, mock-affectionate.
“You don’t need her,” she says. “Bob does.
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You get settled into your room without many issues. It’s barren, nothing like your cluttered apartment in Brooklyn. It feels like a hospital room, empty save for the essentials. The bed, the desk, the closet, the bathroom, the nightstand. 
You make a point of sorting out the few things you had delivered a few days prior, making sure your clothes are neat and sorted in your closet. That everything on your desk is square or touching a corner.
You plop down on the edge of your bed once you get settled, opening Bob’s file again while you gnaw on your lip. 
You flip through the pages, trying to figure out exactly what you can do or say to bring him back to Earth when he starts slipping without having to use your powers.
It feels… wrong. The whole idea of using your ability to pacify his sadistic counterpart.
You flip another page. Then another.
Psych evals. Mission transcripts. Eyewitness reports that were written with trembling handwriting.
There’s a pattern in all of it– not just chaos, not just destruction. It’s pain. Repetition. A man who wants so badly to stay good, and a force inside him that keeps pulling him apart molecule by molecule.
You stare down at one phrase, underlined three times in red.
“Sometimes I feel like I'm watching myself rot from the inside.”
You close the file.
It does feel wrong. To be someone’s leash. Someone’s handler. To reach into someone’s head and force quiet when the storm rises. You didn’t sign up to be a human tranquilizer.
But it’s not like anyone asked him if he wanted to be the Sentry, either.
You’re still chewing that thought when there’s a knock at the door.
Not urgent. Not hesitant. Just… there.
You stand and cross to it, unsure who you’re expecting. When you open it, your heart stutters a little.
Bob Reynolds stands in the hall, hands in the pockets of a faded hoodie, like he just woke up from a nap.
His eyes flick past you, toward the bare room, then back.
He doesn’t say anything right away.
Then;
“Is she making you do this?” You shift, leaning against the doorframe with furrowed brows and a soft laugh.
“Define ‘this.’”
Bob shrugs a little, eyes flicking to the side like he’s embarrassed to ask.
“This… ‘anchoring’ thing. The… psychic babysitting.”
You tilt your head, studying him. He looks awkward, not afraid. Uncomfortable in his own skin.
“No. She didn’t make me.”
He nods, slowly, like that answer just raises more questions. You don’t blame him. You’ve got your own.
“Did she tell you what happens...?” he asks, voice quieter now. Like he’s afraid of the answer.
“She gave me a file,” you say. “But I don’t think that counts.”
A beat. Then another.
Then Bob murmurs:
“She thinks I’m a bomb.”
You frown. “Are you?”
He doesn’t smile. Just meets your eyes and says, plain and honest:
“Yeah.”
You don’t flinch. That feels important.
You cross your arms over your chest, considering him, then you give him a soft smile.
“Just tell me which wire to cut.” 
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The room is white. Or grey. Or something in between. It's hard to tell under the LED lights that hum like bees in your skull.
No windows. One door. A camera in the corner pretending not to be watching.
Bob sits across from you, hands clasped, thumb digging into the edge of his opposite palm like he’s trying not to fly apart. You’re seated opposite him, a tablet on the desk between you. No notes yet. You’ve been sitting in silence for awhile now.
“So,” you start, voice light. “This is the part where we ‘establish baseline compatibility.’”
He looks at you. Then down at his hands.
“Right. Sure. That.”
You tap the tablet. Still not writing.
“I’m supposed to take readings. Monitor your stress levels. Track fluctuations in your–”
You pause and don’t even hold back a grimace. “–psychospiritual field.”
Bob snorts. You roll your eyes.
“Where do they come up with this shit?” You grumble under your breath, scrolling to another blank space that you’ll eventually have to fill out. 
The tablet isn’t helping. The room isn’t helping. The silence isn’t helping.
So you just shut the screen off and sink back in your chair, crossing your arms.
“If you could be any animal, what would you be?” The childish question catches Bob off guard, and he glances up to meet your gaze with a perplexed look. 
He raises a brow, suspicious. “Seriously?”
You shrug, legs crossed now, thumb tapping lightly on your upper arm. “We’ve been sitting in silence for ten minutes. Gotta start somewhere.”
He hesitates, thinking with a little grunt. “I don’t know. A crow?”
You blink. That’s honestly one of the last answers you expected. You watch him for a moment, the way he stares at you expectantly. You just give him a look that encourages him to continue. 
“Well,” he says, sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “They’re scavengers. Messy. Smart. They remember people’s faces.”
There’s a pause. Then he adds, a little softer:
“They carry grief. Like a… like a flock.”
You study him, that quiet weight of something unspoken curling at the edges of his words.
“That’s actually kind of poetic.”
He snorts again, but there’s less edge to it now.
“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your animal?”
You grin. “Opossum.”
That draws an actual laugh from him–brief, involuntary, almost like it surprises him.
You sit up straighter, proud of yourself. “They fake their death when things get stressful. Wish I could do that.”
Bob shakes his head, still smiling faintly. “God help us.”
You don’t answer that. Just let the moment settle. Let the silence fill with something that isn’t heavy.
Eventually, you turn the tablet back on, slowly this time.
“I’ll mark this down as a ‘moderately successful initial sync,’” you say lightly.
Bob raises an eyebrow. “Moderate?”
“Well,” you glance at him sideways, “you haven’t stormed out or vaporized me yet, so I’m counting it as a win.”
There’s a beat of quiet. And then, surprisingly, a murmur:
“Thanks for not… Treating me like a bomb.”
You look at him for a long moment.
“I won’t,” you say. “Unless you start ticking.”
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Your sessions with Bob start to feel like therapy. Not just for him, but for you. You’re nowhere near being a licensed psychologist, just because you can feel the way people think and alter the way they think doesn’t mean you know how to fix them naturally.
You haven’t used your powers on him. Not a single time. It feels like a violation. Like you’re reaching into someone’s head and forcing their cells to collide and neurons to fire a certain way– the way you want them to. 
Bob doesn’t deserve that. Not when he smiles so sweetly every time you make a joke under your breath or snap back at John like you’ve been on the team as long as everyone else. Not when he finds you in those awkward moments when you feel like a stranger in the Watchtower– like you somehow don’t belong just because you came in later. 
Valentina’s been trying to ease him back into missions, letting him monitor the team from the tower while they’re working. You’re with him the whole time, trying to keep his emotions and worries at bay when someone narrowly dodges a bullet or takes a kick the wrong way. 
It’s one of those casual afternoons, where the world is quiet and the Thunderbolts can actually unwind. It feels… odd, to say the least. As much as they’d fight tooth and nail to deny it, they like each other. Their banter is effortless, and their smiles and laughter are contagious. 
You’re curled up on your corner of the couch, sinking into the cushions and your hoodie, when Bob plops down beside you. He’s fully immersed in the movie from the moment he enters the common area, a bowl of popcorn in his lap as he leans back against the couch.
You watch him longer than you’d like to admit– the way his eyes twinkle in the dim lighting of the room when the scene gets a little brighter. The way the corners of his lips turn up at a poorly written joke or emotionally charged scene.
You turn back to the screen, reaching over for a handful of popcorn, when it happens.
You touch him. 
Just a graze of your fingers against his own.
The lights flicker, and a sharp jolt of electricity shoots up your arm and down your spine.
You jump, yelp, and meet Bob’s gaze.
It’s flickering, blue, gold, black.
Gold wins. 
And you’re on your back in half a second. 
You hit the rug with a thud, the breath knocked clean out of you. Bob is hovering over you, jaw twitching and eyes narrowed. 
But it’s not quite Bob, is it? 
You had read enough to know it wasn’t him.
It’s Sentry. 
He had seen you plenty of times before. Felt your presence like a buzzing fly that wouldn’t quite go away. He didn’t think much of you–you were nothing to him. He didn’t see you as a threat or something that could reel him back in. Not until you touched Bob for the first time.
Then he felt you. Felt what kind of power was lingering in your touch. 
Right before he can get his hands on you– the blue comes back.
Your chest heaves. The room spins. Your head is still echoing with static and a thousand half-formed thoughts that aren’t your own. Heavy boots pound the floor. A hand grips the back of Bob’s hoodie and yanks, hard, dragging him off you.
Bob slams into the far wall with a grunt, more startled than hurt. He blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to blink the world back into place.
You flinch at the sound but don’t move, too dazed to do anything but stare up at the ceiling lights–still flickering.
A gentler hand finds your arm.
“Hey. Hey. You with me?”
Yelena’s voice. Grounding. Sharp but not unkind.
You nod, or try to.
“Jesus,” someone mutters. Probably Walker. “That was not normal.”
You sit up slowly, ribs aching. The rug is rough under your palms.
Your eyes find Bob across the room, where Bucky is crouched down talking to him. Probably trying to keep him calm.
He’s sitting with his back against the wall, hands in his hair, curled in on himself. Mute. Shaking.
It wasn’t his fault.
But no one else in the room looks convinced.
Valentina bursts in not two seconds later, and the look she gives you is less concerned and more… calculating. Like she’s doing the math. Wondering just how useful you’re going to be after this.
Now, more than ever, you’re certain.
You have to be his anchor. 
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The buzzing of the LEDs seems louder than usual.
Bob hasn’t looked at you once. He’s staring down at his lap, hands fidgeting as you type on your tablet nervously.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Your voice cuts through the silence, breaking him out of the invisible box he’s been trapped in for days. He still won’t look at you. 
He shifts, fingers curling tighter around the hem of his hoodie. The fabric is worn thin from how often he picks at it. You pretend not to notice.
“Bob,”  You whisper his name, hand sliding halfway across the table. You don’t touch him, though.
“It wasn’t you. It was me.” 
He swallows hard. His voice is a scrape of gravel when it finally comes.
“It was him.”
You blink. “What?”
“You touched me,” he says. “He noticed. He felt you. That’s why he lashed out.”
His hands tremble. He presses them flat against his knees like he can still feel the leftover electricity there.
“You grounded me,” he adds, and finally, he looks at you. “And Sentry didn’t like it.” 
A beat passes. Then another.
Bob takes a shaky breath, reaching out to find your hand. Your fingers touch– but sparks don’t go flying this time. It still feels a little unsteady, like a warped battery waiting to explode.
“He thought he was invincible until you touched me.” 
Your fingers twitch beneath his, but you don’t pull away.
You can feel it, even without trying. The echo of something immense. Coiled just beneath his skin like a dormant storm.
But he’s trying. Grounded. Human.
You meet his eyes, your voice barely above a whisper. “And what do you think?”
He hesitates. That flicker of gold threatens to rise again in his eyes, but it doesn’t. He keeps it at bay. For you.
“I think…”  He whispers, jaw ticking as he glances off again. “I’m scared he’ll hurt you. Because, as far as I’m aware, you’re his only weakness.” 
And that, somehow, doesn’t terrify you.
His words settle over you like smoke, thick and lingering.
You don’t know what to say at first. Weakness isn’t the word you’d use. But maybe it is, to something like him. To something that sees compassion as a fracture. Humanity as a flaw.
“I’m not afraid of him,” you say softly. “I don’t want to lose you to him, though.”
That gets his attention. His eyes snap back to yours, something like surprise flickering there– followed by something gentler. Sadder.
“I lose myself to him all the time,” he says, his voice thick. “I just… don’t want to take anyone else with me.”
“You won’t,” you say, with more certainty than you feel. “Not if we keep doing this. Together.”
His hand tightens around yours again. Firmer this time. Like he’s trying to anchor himself to the words, to you.
“I don’t need a leash,” he murmurs.
“I don’t want to be your leash,” you say, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I’d rather be your tether.”
That word sits between you for a long moment.
And then he nods.
“Okay.”
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The next day, you’re in one of the Watchtower’s reinforced training rooms.
Everything is steel and sterile white. No windows. No warmth. Just flickering fluorescent lights, a two-way mirror, and the quiet hum of surveillance.
Bob stands across from you, arms loose at his sides. His hoodie’s gone. Replaced with standard issue training gear. You hate how clinical it all feels — how observed.
Valentina’s watching behind the glass. So is Bucky. You can feel him.
Your voice is soft, meant just for Bob. “You okay?”
He doesn’t answer at first. Just nods once. Tight. Nervous.
You take one step forward, slowly, like you’re trying to keep a cornered animal calm.
“Hold your hand out.”
He listens after a half-second of hesitation, holding his hand out, palm up, low enough for you to reach without struggling. You take a deep breath, your gaze scanning his face as you take another step closer.
“Relax.”  You murmur, and he tries his best to. But he’s failing.
“Just… tell me if it’s too much, okay?” You whisper, and he nods once. You realize he’s ready when his gentle features turn a little harsher, brows furrowing and jaw clenching.
You place your hand in his slowly, fingers gliding over his palm before they rest at the edge of his wrist. 
This time, the world doesn’t crack. But you can feel it wanting to. Something is simmering beneath his skin like lightning behind cloud cover. His palm twitches beneath yours, but you don’t pull away. You can feel it now– not just the storm, but the fear buried underneath. Not fear of you. Fear for you.
“What are you feeling?”
His throat works as he swallows.
“I don’t know how to let it out without…” he trails off, blinking hard, “...without giving him the reins.”
You nod once. “Then don’t let it out. Just tell me where it lives.”
His eyes meet yours. That gold shimmer is there, flickering again, barely restrained.
And slowly, he lifts your joined hands to rest against the center of his chest.
“Right here.”
Your breath catches. You feel it– all of it. Not just the power. The panic. The pain. The constant hum of restraint.
Behind the glass, Valentina shifts. You feel the sudden spike of her interest.
But you don’t look. You keep your eyes on him.
“You’re doing fine,” you whisper.
And he starts to believe you. 
Your fingers are still pressed to his wrist when it happens.
One breath, you’re there– in the sterile training room, the chill of steel underfoot, Valentina watching behind the glass.
The next?
Black.
Not just darkness– absence. The hum of the lights is gone. The air is gone. The room is gone. You're gone.
You're standing somewhere else now, barefoot on damp concrete. The air is thick. Heavy. Pressed against your chest like a weighted blanket soaked through. You see yourself in the corner of the dim room, curled into a ball as you chew at the sleeve of your hospital gown. 
Your younger self is a mess. Red-faced, eyes bloodshot, skin worn and covered in angry red marks. She sniffles softly, eyes wide and unfocused as they dart around the room. The door behind you shifts, and it opens with a loud, familiar creak. 
You turn around, watching the man who plagues your nightmares saunter into the room. Standing in the hallway is Bob, eyes wide as he steps forward, trying to find your gaze.
This isn’t his void. It’s yours.
“I didn’t mean to–” He croaks. 
You don’t look when the memory starts to play out. You– screaming as he holds you down and injects you with whatever he feels like injecting you with that day. The way you try to fight him off is hard to ignore, and Bob is torn between stopping it and trying to distract you. 
"Where are we?" he asks, and his voice sounds wrong here. Softer. Distorted, like it's passing through water.
You can't answer. You can't breathe.
But then, something changes.
The pressure begins to ease, not because the void is gone, but because he’s grounding you this time.
Bob lifts a hand, slow and deliberate, he takes your hand. A mirror of what you once did for him.
"I'm here," he says, and the room begins to dissolve.
The voice fades. The shadows recede. The void doesn’t vanish, but it retreats. Yielding.
When you blink again, you're back on the cold training room floor, on your knees. You're gasping. Shaking.
Bob is right in front of you, shaking as he struggles in his mind. He’s scared to touch you again.
Scared to take you right back to that awful place in your head. 
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to see.”
You want to believe him. But it’s hard to when there’s a golden twinkle in his eye. 
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thunderbxltss · 2 months ago
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𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐩𝐭.𝐈) | 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 “𝐛𝐨𝐛” 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
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WARNINGS -> swearing, mentions of injury, thunderbolts spoilers
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VALENTINA, UPON THEIR INTRODUCTION, had told her that she was a vague, impressionist painting of her father.
“I mean, you obviously have his intellect and wits but there’s something missing,” Valentina had mused with an eerie nonchalance, tapping her pen emphatically against her desk.
Sitting across from the woman, shoulders pinched, Y/N briefly rued her agreement to this meeting. Sam and Bucky had forewarned her in their own capacities, and had both collectively failed to capture the sheer bluntness and callosity of Valentina.
“Like, something’s been sucked out of you,” the older woman feigned a commiserative sigh. 
The sleek black pen now danced almost mockingly around the file she had on y/n, edging deliberately at the red, bold stamping of ‘ENHANCED’. She tilted her head to further the portrayal of sympathy, “And all that is left is a broken, broken girl.”
The itch of regret of not sticking Valentina with an exclamatory “fuck you” and leaving the office that afternoon, had swarmed beneath her nerves each day since it passed. But, her gripes of should-haves seemed self-serving when she recalled to herself why she had agreed to be Valentina’s asset that day.
Whispered D.C. gossip - speculations - of a human enhancement program orchestrated by Valentina had piqued Bucky’s attention.
“How much do you know?” y/n questioned, sucking in her bottom lip fleetingly as if to brace herself for his answer. The pair of them - both products of similar initiatives — stood staunchly across from one another at his kitchen island.
“Enough,” was his clipped response, though his threadbare expression betrayed the terseness of his voice — it was enough in his standards but the politics of it all pinned them in a situation of formalities, “But Congress needs physical proof of this project for impeachment. Sam is dodging my calls and-”
“I’ll do it, Buck,” she was swift to interject, his words encroaching on the reality that there wasn’t anyone anymore to call on in these circumstances.
The dim light offered by his dining room illuminated the solemn glint in his eyes that implicitly reflected how he’d take her place if it weren’t for his place in Congress.
The pursuit of physical proof had culminated into a brush with a fiery demise, and a crapshoot escape that entailed tangled limbs and frustrated exclaims from a group of misfit mercenaries of Valentina’s own design. John Walker (a jackass rendition of Captain America), Yelena Belova (the sister Natasha had reminisced here and there about), and Ava Starr (a fellow SHIELD pawn).
And him - Bob.
Adorned in pale blue that functioned well with his meek, rather off-putting demeanor, he had been a begrudging addition to their escape — his presence being fought for mostly by Yelena and her.
Now, as Yelena and John tossed bickers over how they’d manage their way out of the O.X.E facility, y/n spared a moment afforded by their contention to glance over the file she had plucked before the incineration.
Sliding a gradually bruising finger along its crevice, she flicked it open to be exposed beneath the dim light peeking from the walls and ceiling. The words PROJECT SENTRY were welcomed by the soft illuminance. A photograph of strewn body bags was upholstered haphazardly alongside hurried penmanship: project unsuccessful, all participants declared deceased shortly after administration of serum.
A fleeting shiver tendrils down the length of her spine, the sensation wrenched away when movement flashed above the rim of the file.
“What’re you looking at?” Bob questioned, overstrung fingers toying with the hem of his shirt.
y/n promptly closed the file, aware that her hastiness painted suspicion despite the words pooling on her tongue. She feigned offhandedness in her sidelong glance at him, “Nothing.”
Bob nodded, slow and as if tempted to say more yet refrained, his pinched posture reminiscent of an abject child.
Then, in the midst of a stride towards the others, her fingers brushed against his own as she tucked the file into her tactical vest. Her offhandedness faltered, the lapse pooling in a foreboding familiarity as the dim lighting flashed into a murky grey. Dampness and a nerve-scathing bitterness swam around her now. The cries — anguish-traced, raw — of a little girl echoed in a directionless taunt as the prickled stab of a needle pierced y/n’s forearm. Confused and knee-locked, she could only clamp her palms over her ears.
“Stark!”
John Walker’s irritable proclamation echoed from beyond the grayness and shrieks of a little girl meant to remain buried.
y/n blinked, chin jerking upwards and being embraced by the golden hue of the room once again. Her bewildered gaze leveled with Bob’s blue eyes that flitted with panic, both equally perplexed as to what had happened.
Walker’s plussed voice rang out somewhere from behind Bob, stance drawn taut as he signaled her out, “Are you gonna help or continue to ogle at Bobby there?”
As if he held a finger to a flickering flame, Bob took a sharp step away from her, hands curling in against his sides. y/n still stared at him — at how the warm amber of a particularly close light swept across the disdain, the self-loathing, that he held in his clenched jaw.
“Stark,” Yelena beckoned from alongside Walker, recalling her once again to their situation.
“I know,” y/n brusquely remarked, begrudgingly stepping away from Bob as the flashbulbs of the little girl and the coldness ticked off in her brain.
“Tell me again why we have another ragtag freak coming with us,” John mumbled with an ill-concealed huff beneath his whisper after noting y/n’s dismayed expression.
“Same reason we’re keeping your douche-self around, Walker,” Ava smirked with an impish lean of her head.
“Do you even have a plan or have you just stood there bitching the entire time?” said y/n, wagering a glance towards Bob in anticipation of John’s likely pissed-off reply. Matted hair framed his downturned head as he mumbled to himself, hands clenching and unclenching frenetically against the crease of his pants.
“I’ll talk to him,” Yelena, as disinterested in John’s response as y/n was, mumbled. She stepped past him, a scowl perched against the dried blood on her high cheekbones, looking at him as if he were an insect smothered on her boot.
As Yelena walked towards Bob, a rather feeble scoff permeated from John, the tense noise a manifestation of the sudden fluster he felt from the three daunting woman he was trapped with.
“Yelena and I have-” he started after assuming a gawked stance for a moment while collecting coherence.
“No, just Yelena,” Ava swiftly interposed from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
John briefly pursed his lips, mended his temper with a concise nod to himself, and continued, “Anyway, we’re going to cut the power to this place and ambush the Calvary of Assholes outside. Ava steals a getaway car, Yelena is going to trip the power-” he gestured a lone finger between himself and y/n, who peered at him undiluted apathy, “- and you and I are going to take out these dumbasses.”
Her eyes fashioned with the churns of annoyance towards the leering mop of blonde across from her, “I’m honored.”
John subtly clicked his tongue, fingers percussing an agitated tune against the curve of his shield, “Trust me, Miss Stark, I’d rather have to deal with Barnes and Wilson than you and your insufferable ego.”
y/n tilted her head towards him with a gleam of a sharp smirk as she mused, “Well, we’ve seen how that ends up for you.”
His own pique challenged hers in a fair competition now, fingers now flexed in a firm grasp on his shield.
“Ugh, enough of the pissing contest,” Yelena groaned, traipsing back towards them with Bob loitering a few paces behind her shoulder.
A tug of coldness wedged into her stomach as his eyes reluctantly roamed across all of them, settling on her with the ghosts of blame and — perhaps anger — still abound amongst the azure of them.
Upon clocking her glance on him, he darted his gaze away, jaw clicking subtly as his fingers once again were abound in the blue cloth of his shirt, this time with more tension. What happened to you? the question wandered through her mind, a furthering of the initial judgment she had made when he had roved out from behind the crate and into their clusterfuck.
The hairs on the nape of her neck edged upwards as he spared a wary glance at her, a flash of surprise poking through loathing at himself — he hadn’t expected her gaze to still be on him, unmoving but void of rebuke for what had happened… what he had caused.
“Alright, let’s all get the fuck out of here,” Walker exhaled markedly, peering around at them as if they were an itch he couldn’t wait to rid himself of, “No funny business - just do as you were assigned.”
“As if you weren’t just keen on smashing one of our faces in with your shield,” Ava countered, sweeping away debris flecks from the cloth of her jacket as she sauntered towards one of the far walls, promptly disappearing through it.
“Okay, enough with the bickering - I’m already nursing a concussion-induced headache here,” Yelena chided, flitting out a wisp of breath that tressed the frayed hair that framed her face.
Her eyes pondered over at Bob, who she gestured at flippantly to tempt away his gaze from y/n, “Bob, you’re with me.”
A coil of reluctance drew his attention away, and as his head turned towards Yelena, Walker had already took his stance in y/n’s periphery.
“If you’re done gawking - we should go get in position,” he smoothly remarked, eyes flashing down at her as her narrowed stare found quick residence on him. A glimmer of a simper fashioned on the corners of his mouth at the irritation that bloomed across her expression.
“You like to think you’re all high and mighty, but from where I stand,” she jabbed a lone finger into the mesh of his suit, “You’re nothing more than a jackass with a glorified frisbee.”
There was a divine moment where his face cramped into an unblinking expression of perplex, as if his brain couldn't comprehend the frankness of her words.
Nearly too belligerently, she turned her heel away from him, the sole of her boot pinching out a squealed whine as it twirled against the marmoreal floor beneath them.
“Try to not kill each other,” Yelena proclaimed from where Bob and her approached the stairwell to the electrical room, “At least wait until we’re the fuck out of this place.”
Walker spewed a colorful array of words beneath the guise of an exhale as he brushed past y/n with a disposition akin to a scorned child.
y/n spared the behavior a fleeting eye roll before she waved her hand back in Yelena’s direction, an implicit acknowledgment of her words. Aversely, she pursued after Walker towards the corridor the tactical team would be entering first through.
And, before enveloping herself into the darkness of the hall, y/n cast a brief glance over her shoulder and to the retreating silhouette of Bob as he guardedly traipsed after Yelena.
The cursory glance lapsed no longer than a heartbeat, as the cold from earlier sheathed over her shoulders and aloof cries of a little girl inched forward from its rotten residence in her mind.
Fingers still abuzz from where they had fallen against his own, she turned away, hastily minding the gap between John and her.
TRULY, THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES HAD ALL BEEN A BLUR.
In her half-concussed mind, she could recall through the radiating ache that they had all managed to scramble off in an SUV from a remarkably pissed off Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.
Somewhere amidst the disarray of screaming at each other and the screech of tires, Bob had fled the sanctuary of the SUV’s rear, wielding an automatic rifle in some semblance of a heroic delusion of grandeur.
The manic effort at diverting attention away from their escape surely had been an oddity in his sheepish tendencies, yet came to pale in comparison to what hung on the heels of it.
In the beacon of a string of blinding SUV headlights, a half moon structure of tactical forces closed in on Bob, whose blue shirt danced with an entanglement of red lasers. The spent casings of his rifle were littered around his bare feet.
The night air, imbued with the fog of dissipating tear gas, stalled in silence as every party present anticipated their adversaries next move.
y/n, tautly nestled between Walker and Yelena, watched with a crackle of breath in her throat as she braced forward on the dashboard.
For a rather over-verbose group, they were collectively resigned to a fixed silence.
Then, a cacophonous chorus of spraying bullets splintered the wired stillness. A hand - Walker’s, she determined by the flash of subdued American colors in her periphery - promptly came to lean her head down from the windshield.
Despite the anchor of his palm against the nape of her head, y/n finagled her neck to peek over the dashboard. The smoke that had billowed from the mass exodus of bullets consumed the lower glass concave of the windshield, yielding a blurred image of where Bob had been.
“What the fuck?” Ava blurted from where she had assumed a similar hunch beneath the arch of the steering wheel.
“What is it?” Walker’s harsh whisper flittered hotly against y/n’s ear, cueing her to their forced proximity in the cramped front seat.
“He’s alive,” Ava jerked her chin towards a fracture in the smoke, the four of them simultaneously turning their heads as if stringed along by a puppeteer.
A rumple of brown hair and a dull blue clothing arrangement poked through the smoke and throng of black tactical gear. Bob. y/n squinted, wincing subtly as the scrunch of her eyes vexed the raw cut on her eyebrow. Though the hemming of his shirt was sorely tattered, it bore no crimson blemish of wounds.
Somehow, he was unscathed.
As if enduring the violence of a thousand bullets like they were no more than pokes against his skin, hadn’t baffled them properly, then him vanishing into the night sky did.
“He legit just whooshed on into the sky and crash landed into Valentina’s lap,” Yelena uttered, gesturing emphatically in concert with her retelling of what they’d witnessed. Standing over her, the juice from her cactus fruit lightly aerosolized towards y/n, who lay on the desert ground, arms entangled over her eyes as if to mitigate the discomfort of her concussion.
“And you all heckled me when I suggested we leave him to toast,” Walker snapped through the evening briskness as he sat wide-legged on the perch of a rock, the rumpled carcass of his fruit beside his hip.
Ava groaned from where she leaned against the coolness of stone, a noise that signaled it was fair game as to if her aching body or John Walker were vexing her more in that moment.
y/n favored ignorance to the tightrope of squabbling that was being strung around her, peering up at the stars that split the black marble of the sky.
The file tucked into the velcro of her vest abruptly felt heavy — sodden with an uncomfortable realization. What if not all the test subjects had died? And that’s why Bob was down in that vault, tucked away and unknown - perhaps even to Val herself.
An ache distinct from that of her ribs and head settled into her stomach. What had Valentina done to him?
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brookghaib-blog · 1 month ago
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Silence between hearts - IV
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Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader
Summary: After Project SENTRY fails, Robert Reynolds is declared dead and sealed in a glass coffin to be hidden by O.X.E. Y/N, a doctor who secretly fell in love with him after a complicated path between them, refuses to believe he’s gone—fighting to save what’s left of him while grief and denial consume her, the path to look for him would ruin her, but to what extreme.
Word count: 7,1k
Warning: self-esteem issues, parental negligence, death
Chapter III
--
Y/N had barely slept.
She’d left Bob’s room without another word. Just a soft parting glance. The kind you give when you’ve already said too much, and anything more might make you crumble.
Now, she stood in the sterile bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, her toothbrush hanging loosely from her mouth. Her lips still tingled faintly. Not from the pressure. From the meaning.
She turned the faucet on too hard. The water splashed.
She told herself to stop thinking about it. About him.
But the lie didn’t stick.
He’d held her like she was something he’d never been allowed to touch before. And it wasn't lust—not the kind she was used to. It was... longing. Slow, cautious. Honest.
It terrified her.
Bob hadn’t slept either.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall like it might provide some answers. His shirt was on now. Pants too. But he still felt bare. Exposed.
She kissed him.
And he kissed her back.
His heart had hurt. Not in a bad way. In a way he hadn’t let it feel in years.
No. Longer.
And now?
Now he didn’t know what the hell to do.
They saw each other again just after seven.
Y/N entered the lab with her tablet in hand, her hair tied back, white coat buttoned up to the collar like usual. On the surface, everything looked normal.
But the second their eyes met, something invisible passed between them.
Bob was already seated on the medical bed, legs swinging slightly, waiting like he always did for the morning checkup.
“Morning,” she said, casual. Maybe too casual.
“Hey.” His voice was low, quieter than usual.
She looked down at the file in her hands. “You slept?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
A pause.
She stepped closer, reached out to take his pulse like she did every morning. Her fingers touched the inside of his wrist, and for a second, it was like last night had never ended. Her hands stilled.
He looked at her—not intensely, but gently.
Like he was asking: Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?
But Y/N didn’t meet his gaze. Not yet. Her throat tightened slightly. She cleared it and moved to take his temperature instead.
Bob said nothing.
Not because he didn’t want to.
Because he knew. If he said the wrong thing now, she might retreat completely. And she was already slipping into her walls again.
Instead, he offered her something soft. Something careful.
“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I liked talking with you last night.”
That was all.
Her hands paused. A beat of silence.
Then she finally looked up at him. And she nodded—just once.
“Me too.”
The day moved on. Tests. Readings. Silence broken by clinical terms and scribbled notes. But every now and then, something shifted:
—She handed him a glass of water and their fingers brushed just a little longer than necessary. —He cracked a joke about the ECG machine stuttering whenever she got close—and she didn’t deny it. —She sat closer than usual during their conversation at lunch. Not touching. Just... there. Present.
They didn’t talk about the kiss.
But everything had changed.
Their laughter was warmer. The silences were heavier. The space between them—the physical distance—felt charged now, like the air between magnets waiting to click.
And maybe they didn’t know what they were yet.
But they were something.
--
It began with a kiss. And then it kept going.
Not in declarations or confessions—those were too loud for the world they lived in. Their affection became a shadow, slipping between the cracks of duty and responsibility. Quiet, but constant. Never acknowledged in daylight, but always there—undeniable.
For days on end, Y/N and Bob carried on their secret like glass between their fingers.
It started subtly: she’d check his vitals longer than she needed to, her fingers brushing over his skin like she couldn’t help herself. Bob’s eyes would follow her when she walked across the room, his gaze soft, reverent, like she was some painting he was still trying to understand. At night, when the lab was dark and cold, they began to meet in secret.
Y/N had quietly programmed a five-minute camera loop override. It wasn’t perfect. It was dangerous. But it gave them enough time.
She never said why she did it.
And Bob never asked.
The first few nights, they only talked. Sitting across from each other, knees barely touching. Her hair would be down by then, her face stripped of the formal steel mask she wore during the day. Bob always looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like if he blinked, she might disappear.
Sometimes he would just stare at her in silence, then apologize.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You don’t,” she always said. Even if it did. Even if the way he looked at her made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel here.
One night, she turned off the cameras and walked into his room, and instead of sitting on the couch, she sat beside him on the bed. It was small. Cold. Not built for comfort.
But it became theirs.
He reached for her hand like he’d done it a thousand times. Her fingers hesitated—then laced through his.
No words.
They weren’t ready for words. They didn’t talk about what they were doing. Not really.
To speak it into existence might make it too real—might make it vulnerable, and they couldn’t afford that. Not when everything else in their lives was clinical and cold. Not when the world around them was full of white walls and threat analysis and the smell of antiseptic in the air.
So they built a world inside the silence.
In that world, he told her things he didn’t know he remembered: about the time he was six and fell off a tree and cried because his dad didn’t care, about the first time he tried meth in a motel bathroom. About the months before Malaysia when he’d stayed in an abandoned building, waiting to die, waiting for his powers to consume him or the drugs to finally dull it all for good.
And she listened. She didn’t look away. She didn’t flinch.
She held his hand tighter.
She told him things too—though never as easily. She told him about the university lab where she used to work, where her theories got mocked until her father stepped in and suddenly everything she did was "a gift from a legacy." She hated how they never saw her. Just a replica of a man she didn’t even trust.
“I didn’t want to use his methods,” she whispered one night, curled under a blanket beside him. “But I didn’t believe in my own enough to stand on them.”
Bob touched her hair, brushing it behind her ear like it was instinct. “Then why did you keep going?”
Her voice cracked when she said it: “Because when I found you, I had a feeling I wasn’t wrong.”
During the day, they went back to playing roles. Doctor. Subject.
Cold. Professional.
But it wasn’t clean anymore.
Sometimes her hand would linger just a little too long when checking a reading. Sometimes he’d lean too close when answering a question. Sometimes they’d lock eyes in the middle of a room and both forget where they were for a split second.
Dr. Ilari noticed the change. He never said anything directly, but the way his eyes lingered on her longer than usual after team briefings told her he was starting to suspect. One afternoon, he passed her in the hall and said, “You seem… lighter.”
She only nodded. Didn’t offer more.
He didn’t press.
But she could feel the edge of danger now. The tightrope between what was growing and what would happen if anyone found out.
And yet she kept going back.
They were sitting in his bed again. No camera, no clipboard, no reason. Her head was on his shoulder. One of his hands played absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt. Neither of them had spoken in almost ten minutes.
“Why do you keep coming back?” he asked softly.
She lifted her head. Looked at him. “I don’t know.”
He turned his face toward hers, so close now their noses brushed.
“I think I do,” he whispered.
Their mouths hovered.
He kissed her again. Slower this time. Gentler.
The kiss deepened, and time lost all meaning.
Bob's hands, careful and trembling, held the back of Y/N’s neck like he was afraid she’d break—or worse, pull away. But she didn’t. She leaned in. Pressed harder.
Her shoes had already dropped to the floor, and now her fingers were splayed across his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin shirt the lab had issued him. She could feel his heartbeat—it wasn’t steady. Neither was hers.
When they finally pulled apart, the silence was heavy. Not awkward. Just... fragile.
Bob searched her face like he was trying to read a language he didn’t speak.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered, voice rough with something that wasn’t just shock—it was self-doubt, buried shame. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Y/N exhaled shakily. Her fingers lingered near the collar of his shirt.
“I know,” she said softly. “I wanted to.”
He stepped back slightly, like he needed to be sure. “Why?”
Her voice caught for a second. Then, after a pause:
“Because I think I’m starting to feel something. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
Bob blinked.
“I understand,” he said. “I thought after a couple days you go grow tired, part of him thought that maybe this...was just another psychological experiment from you.”
She shook her head. “I was scared.”
His brows drew together. “Of me?”
“No. Of this.” She gestured between them. “I don’t know what we are. I don’t know what this means. But… when I’m with you, I feel like myself. And I don’t remember the last time I felt like that.”
He looked at her, stunned. Like someone had handed him something too valuable to touch.
“I thought I ruined it,” he admitted quietly. “After what I did that day. Hurting you.”
“You didn’t,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “That wasn’t you. And I knew that. I just didn’t know how to separate the parts yet.”
He stepped closer again, cautiously. “And now?”
“I see you, Bob,” she whispered. “And you make it easy to forget everything else when I do.”
Something shifted in him. His hand found hers again, tentative and reverent. “So what do we do?”
She let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “We keep quiet. We don’t name it. We don’t plan ahead. Not yet.”
“And if it grows?” he asked, almost afraid to ask.
“Then we let it,” she said. “One moment at a time.”
He nodded, then leaned forward again—his forehead gently resting against hers.
“I’ve never had anything like this,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed to.”
Y/N’s hand slid up to his face, her thumb brushing across the stubble on his jaw. “Me neither.”
And then—slowly, tenderly—they kissed again.
How could everything go down so easily.
--
2 weeks after - New York
The heavy oak door creaked closed behind her, muffling the hum of the Manhattan street outside. The air inside the townhouse was still—unchanged from her childhood years. The scent of aged books, old leather, and her father’s cologne clung to the air like ghosts she never quite escaped.
She walked slowly down the hallway, her heels echoing against the hardwood. Every step forward brought memories she had long buried—standing by the doorway after school with trembling hands, waiting for him to ask about her grades, to see if she had earned his approval or punishment. The hallway was still lined with framed articles, academic degrees, newspaper clippings of her father’s accolades. Not a single photo of her.
“Y/N.” His voice rang from the study down the corridor. Crisp. Controlled.
She straightened her spine, walked through the doorway of the room that had once terrified her, and saw him—Dr. Marcus L/N—sitting at his desk, papers spread before him, a glass of scotch half-full in his hand. He didn’t rise to greet her. He never did.
“Father,” she said curtly.
“About time,” he muttered, not looking up yet. “You were supposed to be here yesterday.”
“There were weather delays in Singapore,” she lied. “I came as soon as I could.”
His eyes flicked up at her then. Piercing, familiar, and devoid of warmth. “Excuses. You always had those.”
Y/N’s jaw tensed. She walked forward and placed a black folder on the desk between them.
“These are the results of the latest testing. Neural response time, muscle adaptation, cognitive expansion. He’s stabilizing. The uncontrolled episodes have decreased in frequency and strength since I took over the project.”
Her father snorted, flipping through the pages with practiced speed. “Stabilizing,” he repeated mockingly. “After how long? Two months and he’s still barely showing what the serum was designed for.”
“It’s not just a serum. It’s psychological conditioning. Emotional triggers. This is a different approach.”
“A soft one,” he muttered, setting the folder down. “That’s what I read between the lines. You’ve been coddling him.”
“I’ve been rehabilitating him,” she said firmly.
“And how does sleeping in his room fit into rehabilitation?”
Y/N froze.
Her breath hitched—barely, but enough that he noticed.
“I have eyes everywhere, Y/N,” he said, with a smug look. “You really thought Valentina wouldn’t mention the inconsistencies in your schedule? The missing footage logs? You think you’re smarter than us now?”
“No,” she said, calmer than she felt. “I think I’m better than the methods you forced down everyone’s throats. You turned every subject into a corpse. I'm trying to create something alive.”
“You were always too emotional,” he said. “Too delicate. You want them to like you. That’s your weakness.”
She felt her fists clench at her sides. “He’s not just them. He’s not like the others. He’s surviving—he’s responding to this. He’s not disposable.”
Her father stood up, slowly walking around the desk. Towering, still. His voice lowered.
“And what happens when he turns on you again? When he snaps your neck in his sleep? He doesn’t love you, Y/N. He’s addicted to whatever comfort you’re giving him. You’re playing nursemaid to a weapon.”
“I don’t want him to love me,” she lied, trying not to let it crack in her voice. “I want him to live.”
Her father scoffed. “That’s why you’ll fail. Again.”
She bit down on the anger. The shame. The way his words always cut too deep.
“I’m going back in a few days,” she said. “I’ll be done with the supplementary files and analysis by then.”
“Good,” he replied coldly, already walking back behind the desk. “Try not to lose sight of your purpose, Y/N. You weren’t hired to fix broken men. You were trained to make them useful.”
She didn’t answer.
She turned and walked away, her chest tight, heart heavier than when she arrived. The house felt smaller now. Colder. She passed by the childhood photos stored in drawers.
Y/N moved up the familiar staircase slowly, her fingers trailing over the polished mahogany railing. Her father’s words still echoed in her head—cold and clinical, weaponizing every inch of her life’s work and threading it back to her old insecurities. But it wasn’t over. Not in this house.
She hesitated outside the guest room at the end of the hall—her mother’s room now. A soft classical tune filtered through the door, piano-heavy, somber. She raised her hand to knock, but before she could, the door flew open.
“Y/N!” her mother cried out, eyes wide, arms outstretched.
Y/N didn’t have time to prepare. The woman nearly crushed her in a perfume-heavy embrace—familiar and suffocating. Her mother’s touch had always been too much, clinging like guilt.
“Oh my baby, finally. I was told you arrived hours ago! You didn’t think to see me first?”
Y/N gave a tight, awkward smile, her arms barely reciprocating the hug. “I had to meet with Dad. Project work.”
Her mother pulled back, holding her face between her manicured fingers like she was inspecting a glass figurine. “Mmm. You’re pale. Not sleeping, are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Her mother clicked her tongue, eyes trailing down. “Your hair’s dull. And what are you wearing?” She stepped back slightly, waving her hands at Y/N’s plain blouse and slacks. “You look like a secretary. Not a researcher.”
Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes a second time. “I didn’t come here to walk a runway.”
“Well, clearly. You could’ve at least done your lips. Or something with that hair.”
“Mom,” Y/N sighed, shifting her weight. “Can we not start this?”
Her mother blinked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, you used to be so pretty when you tried. You used to turn heads in this house.”
Y/N gave a dry smile. “Yeah. I remember. It’s probably why Dad ignored my science awards and only mentioned my prom dress.”
Her mother laughed lightly, missing—or ignoring—the venom in the words. “He’s old-fashioned, you know that. But you were always my little star. You could’ve done anything with that face. TV, fashion, even modeling.”
“I didn’t want to be looked at,” Y/N said under her breath, almost too soft.
Her mother didn't hear—or didn’t care. “But now?” She touched Y/N’s shoulder lightly, like she was brushing off dust. “There’s still time. You just need to take better care of yourself. A few spa days, maybe a personal stylist. You could still be stunning.”
Y/N stepped back, her smile completely gone now. “I'm working. I’m building something. That’s what I care about.”
Her mother tilted her head. “Working so hard you forgot how to be a woman?”
Y/N clenched her jaw and looked away, biting back the sudden rise of heat in her chest.
She’d come here for a week. A handful of days. And she was already fighting the ghosts that raised her.
“I’m going to bed,” she said abruptly.
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive—”
“I’m not,” Y/N cut in. “Just tired. Of being dissected like one of my subjects.”
And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out of the room.
--
The sun hadn't even reached its peak when Y/N sat curled on the old study chaise, papers spread around her like fallen leaves. Her laptop hummed quietly as she updated her final findings to send to the board—gene response patterns, neurological baselines, all the data from the last month. Her fingers moved mechanically over the keyboard, but her mind was elsewhere. On gold eyes. On the way his voice changed when he was tired. On the way they hadn't said a single word about what was happening between them, but couldn't seem to stop touching.
Then the screen lit up.
Dr. Ilari - Incoming Call
She blinked. Clicked. “Doctor?”
His voice came in strained, shaky. “Y/N. How fast can you get back to Malaysia?”
She paused, blinking. “Uh, I don’t know—maybe two or three days. I’m finishing the reports now—why?”
There was a long, breathless silence on the other end. Then—
“Bob lost control.”
Y/N froze.
Ilari’s voice cracked through the line like broken glass. “It just—happened. We don’t know what triggered it. Two of the doctors are dead. He—Y/N, he tore through the lab like a storm. We barely got him contained. He’s locked in his room. Still not responding. His vitals are erratic. Whatever’s inside of him... it's awake. We need you here now.”
She was already moving before the call ended.
Y/N slammed her laptop shut and scrambled to her feet, swiping all the papers off the table into her bag. Her mind was racing. This couldn’t be happening—not now. Not after everything. You promised to keep this one alive.
She grabbed her phone, throwing open her bedroom door.
Down the hallway—her parents' voices.
“Y/N?” her mother called as she appeared in the doorway, startled. “What’s going on?”
“Why are you packing like this?” her father followed behind, voice sharp. “What happened?”
“I have to go. There was an emergency—back at the facility,” Y/N said, yanking open drawers, stuffing clothes into a suitcase with frenzied hands. “Something went wrong. Bob—he—” Her voice caught for a second. “He lost control.”
Her mother gasped. “Isn’t he the subject you said—?”
“I don’t have time,” Y/N snapped. “I have to be there. Now.”
Her father stepped into the room, arms crossed. “You’ll send me the research before you go, then.”
She stopped, mid-zipper.
“I’ll email it to your lab by tomorrow. I’m done here.”
“You know that’s not how we do things. I expect a full debrief. In person.”
Y/N turned to him, eyes blazing. “You want me to sit across from you while you rip it all apart? While you tell me I failed—again?”
“You can’t run every time—”
“I’m not running,” she snapped. “I’m choosing. For once.”
He glared at her. She didn’t care.
“You’ll get your report. You always do,” she said bitterly, hoisting the bag onto her shoulder. “But this time? I’m not giving you the satisfaction of killing it in front of me.”
“You’re being dramatic,” her father said, exasperated.
Y/N looked him in the eye. Cold. Certain. “And you’re still pretending you understand what I’m building.”
She turned to the door.
“I’ll tell you I failed over the phone. That’s what you want anyway.”
And without another word, she pushed past them and ran down the stairs—out of the house, out of her childhood, out of the old world that never saw her worth—and into the storm she was now part of.
Bob needed her.
She doesn't recall how many hours she was there stuck on that plane full of anxiety, her gut was telling that everything would be okay, but at the same time, she had only gone by two days how could this happen, she would only be gone by a week.
Her mind is foggy, going on autopilot, doing all of her ride and hours it took thinking about Bob and how he's suffering. Her team had received strict orders on what to do, but she had only schedule some trainning for him, knowing even if they wanted, they could hurt him, but could understand how to make his powers manifest and how strong he was getting.
The car ride from the airstrip blurred past her window like a dream she didn’t want to remember. The moment the vehicle stopped outside the hidden entrance of the facility, she was already sprinting. Her ID badge barely scanned before she was storming through the corridors like a hurricane, ignoring greetings, ignoring protocol, ignoring everything.
Lab coats turned as she passed. Some stepped back. They knew better than to get in her way.
“He’s in Operating Room 3,” a nurse called out. “Still unstable.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. Her legs pushed harder. Faster.
When the automatic doors hissed open, her heart nearly stopped.
Bob was strapped to the operating table, wires and sensors taped to his chest, arms, and head. His body was shaking—convulsing—his veins glowing faintly gold like molten cracks in stone. His skin was slick with sweat, chest heaving erratically. He looked half there. Half gone.
A team of doctors stood around him, frantically typing into tablets, adjusting IVs, shouting measurements. Panic radiated through the room.
“What the hell are you doing to him?!” Y/N screamed.
Heads turned. Her voice cracked the sterile silence like lightning.
She stormed across the room, pushing through the cluster of scientists without care.
“Move! Move!” she shouted, yanking a man away from Bob’s side. “You’re scaring him! You’re hurting him—get the hell away!”
“Y/N, he’s seizing—” someone said.
“He’s confused!” she barked. “None of you even know what’s happening—he’s not a machine! He doesn’t respond like one!”
She grabbed Bob’s face with both hands. His eyes were fluttering open and shut, dazed. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m here. I’m here now, Bob. You’re okay.”
She stroked the side of his cheek. “I got here as fast as I could.”
His fingers twitched.
Then—
Flatline.
The monitor behind her let out a sharp, deafening wail.
A long, straight line stretched across the heart rate monitor.
“No.”
Y/N turned, frozen.
“Get the defibrillator!” someone yelled.
People rushed forward—but Y/N held up a hand, stepping between Bob and the rest.
“Don’t touch him!”
“Y/N, we have to restart his heart!”
“No!” she screamed, her voice cracking in agony. “He’s in there—I know he is. Just—give him a second. Please.”
“His heart stopped—”
“I SAID WAIT!”
She turned back to him, leaning down until their foreheads touched. Her tears slipped onto his skin.
“You promised me,” she whispered. “You told me I gave you a reason to live. You don’t get to leave me now. You don’t.”
She pressed her lips to his temple, desperate, trembling. “Come back to me, Bob. Please. Please, come back.”
A cold, crushing silence fell. Time seemed to freeze.
“Bob... no.” Her voice was barely a whisper, broken.
Tears welled unbidden, blurring her vision.
The team scrambled to restart him, but Y/N felt frozen, her hands still on his cold skin.
He was gone.
The man she had begun to care for, the man she promised to keep alive... was dead.
Y/N’s world felt like it shattered into a thousand pieces, the sterile walls closing in around her as she stared at Bob’s lifeless form. The frantic beeping of the defibrillator ceased, replaced by an eerie, suffocating silence.
Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open with a sharp clang.
Valentina entered, her presence commanding and cold, eyes scanning the scene with clinical detachment.
She had arrived just as the finality settled in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, slicing through the heavy air.
Dr. Ilari had called her as soon as Bob spiraled out of control, and now, standing before the still form of the man they all feared and pitied, she wasted no time.
Valentina’s voice was low but sharp, slicing through Y/N’s panic like a blade.
“Protocol 6X. Initiate termination.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, her body trembling with disbelief and rage.
“No,” she whispered, her voice cracked and desperate. “You can’t just—he’s still—”
Valentina’s eyes narrowed, her tone unwavering.
“Bob is unstable, uncontrollable. The risks outweigh any potential benefit. You know this, Doctor. The project’s safety comes first.”
Y/N’s hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, fighting the overwhelming wave of helplessness crashing down on her.
Tears burned her eyes, but her voice was steadier now, fierce with unspoken defiance.
“He was more than an experiment. He was a person... someone I cared about.”
Valentina’s gaze flicked coldly to Y/N, unyielding.
“Feelings don’t change facts. The termination will prevent further loss.”
The lab team moved quickly, cold and efficient, beginning preparations to remove Bob’s body from the room, as if he were nothing more than a failed project to be discarded.
Y/N stumbled back, her heart breaking anew with every step they took away from her.
She wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of the moment pinned her down, crushing hope beneath the sterile lights.
She runs, trying to stop everyone, someone, took him away from them, there's no way Bob was dead.
--
The glass was thicker than it needed to be. Reinforced, sealed with polymer layers, and bolted into an alloy cradle designed to survive a small war. But none of that mattered to Y/N. All she could see was him inside it.
Bob.
Still.
Cold.
Lying there like a man who’d simply fallen asleep with no promise of waking.
The O.X.E. lab—once bright, bustling, and full of scientific ambition—now reeked of sterilizer and silence. They were shutting everything down. His project had failed, they said. Too unstable. Too dangerous. Too powerful. And now—too dead.
“Project SENTRY has been terminated. Containment protocol 6X is in effect,” droned a voice over the speakers. The kind of voice that never wavered. Not for ethics. Not for grief. Not even for love.
Y/N stood frozen as technicians fastened the final clamps onto the glass coffin. Her coat, still stained with dried blood from trying to stabilize him, hung limp around her. Her hands trembled. Her face was pale. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no sound came out.
Two security guards hovered behind her.
“Dr. L/N,” one of them said gently. “You need to let them take him.”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she stepped forward, eyes locked on the body within. Bob’s chest didn’t rise. His face was pale, serene—eerily calm for a man who had been made of light and rage. His golden hair framed a face that once radiated warmth, now drained of it entirely.
“No,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like splintered glass. “You don’t get to box him up. You don’t get to just erase him.”
“Doctor—”
“He’s not dead!” she snapped, finally spinning on the guards. Her voice echoed through the corridor, sharp and broken. “He’s not dead, he’s not—he’s not—”
But her knees buckled before her words could finish. She collapsed to the floor, her hands catching her barely an inch above the cold tile. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one scraping her throat like rusted nails.
The guards hesitated, unsure whether to comfort her or restrain her.
Valentina didn’t.
Her heels clicked against the floor as she approached—always polished, always calculated. “This isn’t a romantic tragedy, Doctor,” she said, arms crossed. “This is containment. He was compromised. If you’d like to keep your clearance and your career, I suggest you walk away now.”
Y/N lifted her head slowly, tears streaking her face.
“I don’t care about clearance,” she hissed. “I cared about him.”
Valentina’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’re a liability.”
The moment stretched like wire pulled too tight.
And then, Valentina gave a cold nod.
“Seal it,” she ordered.
Technicians obeyed.
Y/N watched as a final hiss of hydraulic steam sealed the edges of the glass. The lighting inside dimmed, bathing Bob in a faint blue glow, like he was being buried beneath a glacier.
They strapped the coffin to a magnetic dolly, preparing to roll him out—out of the lab, out of history, out of her reach. Like he’d never existed. Like the nights they’d spent in quiet corners of the lab, whispering about the sky and everything he’d forgotten about being human, had never happened.
Like she hadn’t kissed his trembling hands after his first breakdown.
Like he hadn’t told her he was scared of the darkness inside him.
Like he hadn’t looked at her the night before the meltdown and said, “If I lose myself, don’t let them lock me away. Just tell me you loved me once. That it mattered.”
She scrambled up, stumbling toward the coffin, arms outstretched. She never told him that loved him. Once.
“Wait!” she cried.
The guards tried to intercept her, but she ducked around them, slamming her palms against the glass.
Her voice cracked as she spoke, forehead resting against the cold surface. “Bob. I’m here. I didn’t leave. I—I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry. But I remember you. Do you hear me? I remember everything. I do love you.”
No response.
She pressed her hand over his heart, her eyes tracing the shape of his closed eyelids, the curve of his lips. She could almost believe he was sleeping. Almost.
“Please,” she whispered, softer now. “Please come back. Just open your eyes. Just—just breathe. I’ll take all of it, everything I did to you. Just come back to me. I'm sorry I went away, I'm sorry I wasn't here, I'm sorry I never told you.”
Silence.
Valentina made a gesture. The guards pulled her away, gently but firmly.
“NO!” Y/N screamed, kicking and fighting. “You don’t get to take him! He’s not—he’s not a thing! He’s a person! He was mine! He didn't get to live what...what I promised, no, we didn't have our time yet Pleasee!”
But Bob remained still, and the glass began to fog slightly with the temperature shift as the containment unit rolled toward the freight elevator.
Valentina didn’t look back.
And Y/N—struggling in the arms of men who didn’t know who Bob was, what he had become, what he meant—finally went limp.
Her voice, barely a breath now, rasped, “Please don’t leave me here without you…”
The elevator closed with a heavy clang.
Then he was gone.
--
The days after Bob’s death passed like smoke. Thick. Suffocating. Fleeting. Y/N found herself moving through them without weight, her steps soundless on the cold tile floors of the lab, her hands numb even as they gripped report files, tablets, clipboards—anything to feel tethered to something.
His room remained sealed, but sometimes she still stood outside of it, pressing her fingers to the keypad even though she knew the access had been revoked, even though she knew he wasn’t inside. Not anymore. The air still felt like him. The silence was heavier than when he was there. And every time she blinked, she could see his face again—bright-eyed the night she’d kissed him first, tired and grateful the mornings after their stolen moments, hollow and terrified in that final room.
She didn’t sleep. Nights had become tormenting. The moment the lab’s synthetic lights dimmed and the halls emptied, her mind rushed back to them. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, laughing about stupid things. Her curled under his arm while they watched old movies from a pirated USB. Him whispering into the shell of her ear that he didn’t deserve her, and her telling him to shut up and just let it be good for once. Just let it be soft.
The bed was too big now. She hadn’t noticed how small she was until she tried to lie still, pretending it was his arm wrapped around her waist. His warmth. His breathing slowing. Her hand still clutched the bracelet he gave her one night—a silly little leather band he found during one of their “raids” of the storage closet, where they'd been looking for snack rations and instead ended up wrestling on the floor like teenagers. She had scolded him for acting like a child. He had kissed her like it was the last time.
But she hadn’t told him she loved him.
And now it was too late.
Every hallway held a ghost. Every chair, every lab monitor, every sample. There were notes in her drawer still written in his handwriting, things like: Don’t forget your coffee, boss. You get mean without it. She used to roll her eyes. Now she kept that note folded in her pocket, as if maybe, by having it on her, she could pretend he was still here. Still smirking behind her.
Dr. Ilari had tried to talk to her. Repeatedly. She hadn’t said a word. Not since the day of Protocol 6X.
Valentina had stood over Bob’s body like it was a failed machine. Cold. Ready to dispose. She hadn’t cried then. Not in front of her. Not even when she’d screamed that he wasn’t an object to terminate—that he was a man. That she loved him.
The tears only came when she was alone, curled in front of the door of Bob’s room, replaying the sound of his heartbeat disappearing from the monitors. Now she uses them to help her go to sleep, listenning to them as if he's there, somewhere. A sound that cut through her more violently than anything she’d ever known.
She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.
She would never again hear him laugh. Never again feel his hand in hers. Never again hear that shy, broken voice asking her, “Why would you care about someone like me?”
And now, all she had was the answer she never got to give him. That he made her feel alive. That he reminded her she had a heart. That maybe, just maybe, broken things could still love, and be loved, and heal.
She didn’t tell him. And she would regret that for the rest of her life.
The lab hummed around her like a distant storm. The world was moving on.
But she wasn’t.
And she didn’t know if she ever could.
The lights in the lab had never felt so sterile.
Y/N stood in the same office she had once stormed into, full of confidence and bright-eyed ambition. The walls hadn’t changed. The old monitor still flickered faintly on the far desk, and the whiteboard behind Dr. Ilari was still covered with scrawled calculations, doodles from late nights when they’d been too tired to keep their minds on science, but too stubborn to give in to sleep.
But now, all of it felt like an echo of someone else’s dream.
Dr. Ilari leaned back in his chair, watching her. He wasn’t smiling this time. His usual warm humor was gone, replaced by something quieter. Sadder.
“So,” he said, softly, “you’re really leaving.”
Y/N nodded, arms folded across her chest like she was holding herself together. “I already booked my flight. I should be back in New York by tomorrow evening. My father... he’s expecting me. There’s a position open in his lab.”
Ilari sighed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course he is. And I’m sure he’s thrilled to hear his daughter’s project failed. He always struck me as the ‘told you so’ type.”
A hollow smile tugged at her lips. “He said he’d keep the seat warm.”
“Is that really what you want, Y/N? To go back to him? To... that lab?” Ilari’s voice was still gentle, but the concern in it was unmistakable. “After everything, after what you built here... you’re really going to let him pull you back?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers dug into her sleeves as she looked down at the floor, her voice strained. “The project’s done. Labeled ‘infeasible’ and ‘dangerously unstable.’ It’s over. And honestly, I can’t... I don’t have it in me to start over. Not again.”
Ilari’s brows knit. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I do,” she replied quickly. “I know.”
He waited. Gave her space to speak if she wanted. And for a moment, she almost told him everything. About the nights. The stolen time. The kisses, the laughter, the soft way Bob used to look at her like she was the only person on earth who hadn’t given up on him.
But instead, she only said, “He was the first subject I chose myself. The first time I felt like the project was mine. And I ruined it. I used my father’s methods. I treated Bob like a blueprint, not a person. I was so focused on proving myself that I forgot he wasn’t just data. He was...”
Her throat closed. Her eyes burned.
Ilari didn’t push her. He just waited, his silence louder than anything he could have said.
Y/N turned away from him, pacing toward the window that overlooked the jungle canopy outside. She watched the birds in the distance—free, weightless. The opposite of everything she felt. “Bob made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time,” she said, finally. “Alive. Like I wasn’t just surviving for someone else’s legacy. Like I mattered. To someone.”
Ilari rose slowly from his chair, stepping around his desk. “You loved him.”
She turned to him. Didn’t confirm it. She didn’t have to. Her eyes did the talking.
“I suspected,” he added quietly, “when the cameras started glitching every night at the same time. I didn’t say anything because... I figured it was the only joy either of you were getting in that place.”
She let out a soft, broken breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He placed a hand on her shoulder—steady, kind. “I just wish you’d told me sooner. I wouldn’t have stopped it. Hell, I might’ve encouraged it. God knows that man needed someone in his corner.”
Y/N’s lip trembled, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes, it does,” Ilari said firmly. “Because you loved. You risked it. That’s more than most people can say by the time they retire. And it meant something. Even if it ended.”
Y/N dropped her eyes. “It didn’t just end. It was ripped away.”
She hadn’t cried in front of anyone—not since the room. Not since his body went still under the operating light, while she screamed for someone to do something. But now, in front of Ilari, the tears came. Silent, hot, unapologetic.
Ilari wrapped her in a gentle hug, like an older brother or uncle—safe, understanding. “You don’t have to go back to him, Y/N. Not your father. Not that place. You can do something else. Something you want. Anything. Just... don’t let this grief turn into a cage.”
She nodded into his shoulder but said nothing.
When she pulled back, she wiped her face and gave him a crooked, sad smile. “You were always the best part of this lab.”
“Damn right I was.” He chuckled, but his eyes were misted, too. “You’ll always have a place here. If ever you decide to stop letting your dad control your career—or your life. Just say the word. I’ll make room.”
She laughed softly. “If I ever come back, it’ll be for the mango tea and your terrible jokes.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He grinned, but it faltered at the edges. “Goodbye, Y/N.”
“Goodbye, Ilari.”
She turned toward the door, suitcase in hand. But before leaving, she paused in the hallway, just once, and looked back over her shoulder—like maybe, just maybe, he’d come walking through one more time. Laughing. Teasing. Kissing her softly like the world outside didn’t exist.
But it was just silence.
And she left.
Back to New York. Back to the city that raised her. Back to the legacy she never asked for. But this time, something in her heart had changed. Because even if she never said it out loud, she had loved someone—truly, deeply. And now that love would live in her like a scar.
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fandomnerd9602 · 2 months ago
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Home on the Run (3)
Yelena Belova x Venom!Reader
Set during Thunderbolts*
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You, Yelena, Walker and Ava continued walking.
“Lena, what’s Project Sentry?” You asked your bride.
“It was a rumor,” Walker speaks up, “OXE was trying to find a way to create a superhero. Apparently a lot of test subjects didn’t make it. We get sent to clean it up”
“I guess that one success…was Bob” Yelena says, handing some files she took to Ava.
“The poor guy” Ava intones. She hands a few to Walker who reads it over.
“So Bob is basically…Superman?” Venom asks.
“Minus the red cape and tights” you reply “I can already see Val trying to mass market it”
“We need to get home as soon as possible.” Yelena answers back. “I don’t want to even think about what she may do to our podaroks!”
Ava and Walker look to you a little confused.
“Our children. That’s what Yelena always calls them.” You give a soft smile, “our little miracle babies”
Walker looks off sadly before immediately leaning down and cutting some cactus berries. “Yeah. I know the feeling” he gently mutters.
“You got kids?”
“A son” Walker answers, “I…I think I failed him and his mom”
“How old?” You gently prod
“He’ll be a year old soon” Walker sighs, “I was so caught up in what I lost I…I forgot what I gained”
Ava sighs, “so…super soldier has a heart”
You look to Walker a little sadly, “it’s never too late you know”
Walker shrugs but passes out cactus berries to everyone. “…I guess” Walker answers, giving you a weak smile.
The four of you settled in for the night in some little cave, hidden away from prying eyes of the OXE group or Val.
You found yourself sitting in a hammock made from Venom’s tendrils. Yelena sits down next to you and Venom. “Hey” she whispers softly, her hands a little fidgety.
“Hey” you gave her a soft smile. “It’s…it’s been awhile since you and I just…talked”
“Yeah…I mean we do but…it’s always about what soccer game Natalie has or how Alex is shooting spikes of symbiote or blah blah blah”
Lash materializes and gently nudges Yelena, “go on Momma, tell them”
“I’m getting there, Lash, my podarok” Yelena rolls her eyes, “my symbiote is so pushy sometimes,” she looks to you nervously, “I…I looked up your search history…why was divorce on there?”
You take a deep sigh. “It was one reactionary search a month ago”
“Reactionary? Why would you even think about—?” Yelena began raising her voice. Q
“Because of my—!” You briefly yell before immediately stopping yourself. “I’m sorry. It was because of my father.”
Yelena looks to you sadly. Her soft hazel-green eyes peering into yours, as if searching, probing for the answer.
“There’s a reason why the kids have never met their paternal grandfather.” You stare off blankly, Venom gently petting your shoulder, “he was a drunk. An angry one. No repenting or anything like that”
Yelena’s mind was already piecing it together, “And when I started drinking…you saw him again?”
You could only nod. “Lena. I love you. I don’t want our children to ever have to deal with what I went thru.”
Yelena gently wraps her arms around you. “I’m sorry. I thought these missions were getting me back out there. I love Natalie and Alex but…they are growing. Soon it will just be you and me and…” she trails off.
“It wasn’t easy for Venom and me either. Quitting for the kids. But…they need their heroes more…close to home.”
“I know. My greatest joy has and always will be…you, you and our children” Yelena tears up a little. “And I almost lost you”
You gently take her by the hips and pull her into your lap. Yelena lets out a happy gasp.
“Keyword…almost” you whisper before kissing her softly.
Yelena moans softly, wrapping her arms around your neck, kissing you back softly. Venom’s tendrils gently wrap around her. Lash’s begin wrapping around you.
“I love you” she whispers against your lips.
“Love you” you respond. You kiss once, twice, the months of physical separation melting away before your eyes.
“That is both so sweet and so disturbing at the same time.” Walker shakes his head a little.
“For once, I agree with Walker” Ava smirks as you and Yelena quickly separate. Venom produces a tendril and gives Walker and Ava the middle finger.
“Don’t you believe in love?!”
“Poppa we don’t use that!” Lash gently chides your symbiote father.
“Sorry little one”
The next morning, the four of you made your way thru the desert. A sight caught your eyes.
“What is that?” You gently said, peering at a metallic shape moving across the sandy roads, coming towards you.
And then came the horn, Yelena practically flinched. “Oh no” she muttered.
“Is that a limo?” Ava asked as it barreled towards the four of you, honking urgently.
It came to a stop and Alexei jumped out in full Red Guardian attire.
“Yelena!!! It’s your Dad!!!” He jumped around waving his arms frantically. “Don’t go in there!!! It’s a trap!!!”
“Grandpa?!” Lash squinted her eyes.
“Alexei?!” Venom practically growled, “who’s watching the kids?!”
To Be Continued…*
Tags @supercorpdanbeau @marveldcfandom @ma1egamer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @multi-fandom-enjoyer @scarletquake-n7 @deafeningsharkslimeempath @sparks123123 @revanshand @sweetheartlizzie07 @russianredassassin @marvelflame2010 @texaswolf23 @iamnicodemus @abimess @julieromanoff @madanalyst @catswag22 @baylegend6
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authorchariot · 1 month ago
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ACCESSING FILE: [NSFW_PERSONALITY_PROFILE]
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ENTERING RECORD…
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aftercare: how do they treat their partner after intimacy?
so many cuddles and little kisses. he's so clingy. he might also need reassurance that he did a good job because his self-esteem is down the drain and he needs you to reassure him that he was good enough. other than that, it might be time for a tall glass of milk, maybe a snack and then a nap
head pats. head pats and giving you little praises (if you deserve it) then another round. mister perfect doesn't take no breaks and he won't let you slack off until he's running on fumes. might take a few days
aftercare? what's that? lol
body part: their favourite part of their partner's body?
your hands. he likes absently playing with them when you're out in public or holding on tight when you're in the bedroom
your ass. absolutely your ass; squeezing it, slapping it, kissing it. sentry is an ass man; confirmed
your eyes, particularly when you realise he's about to deliver a punishment or something of the like. he likes the power
control: do they prefer to dominate, submit or switch?
bobby is not really in the right headspace to be doing anything dom/sub-related. as stated previously, i think this man needs a lot of cuddles, a slow blowjob and then lots of cheek kisses and he'll be having a wonderful time
dom, specifically a very cocky, teasing dom. he will tie you up and tell you to beg and then give you praise. edit: if he feels safe enough with you, he could be a very good slut puppy 🐶🐶
a mean dom (cred. libby). he's going to spit in your mouth, face-fuck you and then berate you/laugh because you look like shit
dirty talk: how vocal are they? do they enjoy talking dirty?
he tries. god, he tries so hard. but he never has the conviction behind the words and he usually just ends up a flushed, stuttery mess. he likes when you do it though. in terms of being vocal, he whines a lot
yes, yes, yes. he has the confidence to say the dirtiest stuff imaginable. especially if it gets you off as well, he will say some absolutely filthy, reprehensible shit without hesitation
yes but in a mean way. very degrading with lots of backhanded compliments; which is great, if you like that kind of thing
experience: how experienced are they?
none of them have a lot of experience but they all deal with it in different ways. in my head, the last time bob got laid was probably before the sentry project (i don't know how long the period is between those two points in bobby lore), when he was dealing with his drug addiction. i feel like he probably slept around a bit at that point, maybe got a few stds that had to get checked out
fantasy: what's their ultimate fantasy?
bobby wants to be claimed and marked up good. but it more the symbolism of that that excites him. it's feeling like he was worthy enough to be chosen by you, being cherished enough to claim and, especially if you mark him in visible places, that you like him enough to show the world that he's valuable enough to belong to someone. it's less about being below someone and more about feeling safe and worthy in that environment
anything that makes him feel powerful; rough sex, spanking, choking, biting, face-fucking, tying you up and edging you, shoving you up against a mirror so he can watch while he's fucking you, being called a god during the act, etc. literally anything where he can establish dominance. he's a narcissist and he fully plays into it but he loves praise and gratitude from his sub
he wants a pet, a personal fuck toy; using your holes whenever and wherever he wants, without shame and without question. lots of degradation, face-slapping and probably spit kink just to be extra nasty
grip: how physical do they get? handsy, rough or gentle?
very handsy and clingy. he prefers holding your hands while you guys are at it but he'll also take spooning you from behind or something similar. if you're getting intimate with bobby, he always needs something to ground him in the moment
handsy and usually in a rougher way. he likes choking and hair-pulling specifically but he has the capacity to be gentle once he's completely rundown, if you're still conscious (or alive) that is
not completely certain about everything to do with void but i feel like he's more detached in this department unless he feels like his hold on you is in jeopardy and he tends to be pretty confident that he's possessed you; body, mind and soul
hair: groomed, natural or styled a certain way?
bob doesn't really care as long as it isn't getting in the way of anything so he'll keep it natural for the most part
sentry prefers to go the whole 9 yards; having his taint and between his cheeks professionally waxed and having the hair at the base of his cock manicured, making sure to leave just the lightest happy trail down his abdomen
void could not care less honestly. you'll take him as you find him
intimacy: are they more emotionally or physically driven?
very emotionally driven. intimacy is more about being present with you and the both of you enjoying the time together which is why he clings to you and constantly checks if you're feeling okay during the act
more physically driven but he's not completely immune to emotion. it just has to be with a very special person where he lets his guard down and lets that part of him show
again, more physically driven but this leads well into the next section
jealousy: how do they handle competition or flirtation?
bob tends to kind of curl in on himself and put himself down, telling himself that you deserve better than him. even though you always come back, there's always that fear that this time you won't because you've finally realised what a shitty guy he is. of course, when you come back he's so so thankful but he still needs that reassurance
he doesn't take kindly to people thinking they can take his partner. with sentry, he puts most of the blame on the person hitting on you. he'll try and schmooze them first (have a bit of a dick-measuring competition) but if they're still going after you, he will just threaten them. god forbid they touch you....
again, he doesn't take kindly to it but this time he just gets really possessive and touchy-feely. you're his, not anyone else's, and he won't let you forget it. that being said, if someone touches you, he will just poof them
kinks: what are their top kinks?
he's not really much into kinks but he likes little symbols of affection, whether that be; hickeys, scratches, creampies (rare) and praise. he loves to be reminded that he's doing well and that you love him
breeding kink, dirty talk, dom/sub, facials, multiple rounds, pet names, praise kink (giving and receiving), spanking, etc
begging from you, degradation, marking you, spit kink, etc
location: favourite place(s) to get intimate?
bedroom, for sure. it's quiet, private, comfortable and safe. some might argue a little boring but like.... don't bully him maybe? he's a soft boy. if you won't take him at this safe stage, you don't deserve him at his experimental stage 😤😤
he loves putting on a show so maybe on a balcony or against a window in the watchtower where, if people just looked up, you could see what he was doing to you
quiet, dark corners, whether that be in the bedroom or in the back of a truck after a mission or down some corridor in the venue of a charity event. if he wants it, he'll get it, wherever you are
moans: are they loud, quiet or somewhere in between?
loud. we know how loud he is when he's just trying to stop himself from sneezing. can you imagine how loud he is when he's about to cum??
loud and kind of animalistic, grunting and groaning as he ruts into you oomph
quiet breathing down the back of your neck and whispers against your ear
nudes: do they send or receive? how do they feel about it?
nonononono he does not have the confidence for that just yet. maybe as he gets to be more comfortable, later in the relationship, but for now nudes and sexting just kind of send him into a bit of a tizzy. if you send him nudes though? he's absolutely going to need like 10 mins alone in his room/the bathroom so he can take care of himself
will absolutely send nudes. expect ones when he wakes up with morning wood or when he's getting ready and he's checking himself out in the mirror. i mean, he's able to just look in the mirror and see how sexy he is. why not share with the less fortunate, right?
no, if he's horny, he's hunting you down. get that digital shit out of here
oral: do they enjoy giving or receiving more?
bob's nervous about both giving and receiving due to his lack of experience but he gets really excited when he receives oral because it's just so nice to be cared for! but he'll take time learning how to give oral as well because he does get satisfaction from hearing you moan and praise him as he does it
prefers receiving but he will give, if you've been good
definitely receives more but he enjoys teasing and edging you if you really beg for his mouth on you
pace: do they go fast and rough, slow and sensual or mix it up?
prefers slow and caring sex but occasionally gets himself worked up and is in need of a quick grind
varied. it can be slow and deep or fast and rough, it really depends what kind of mood he's in
slow but deep and punishing. he wants to take his time and make sure you know who you belong to
quickies: are they into quick encounters or do they take their time?
he prefers to take his time but, as above, that's not always what he needs. that being said, if he just needs to cum, he'll usually go take a shower or bust one out real quick in the bedroom on his own. if he's with you, he prefers to savour it
absolutely. if you're down for a quickie, he'll find the closest semi-private spot and just go to town
no, it tends to be long encounters. they can be hours that feel like days of just torment but every time it's worth it
risk: how adventurous are they?
he'll slowly start to open up to new things; maybe toss in a vibrator or a pair of handcuffs and slowly up the ante. it'll take a while to find the things he likes but, once he's open to it, he loves experimenting with you
he'll do anything that strikes his fancy but he makes sure you're into it as well. if it's a hard no, he'll steer clear because, at the end of the day, if you're not enjoying it as well, it's not worth the time. if you're dating, he respects you and respects your choices
i mean, fucking the void is like an eldritch horror-like experience anyway. what more do you really want?
stamina: how long can they last? do they go multiple rounds?
maybe a round or two? he gets pretty easily overwhelmed
he can go for literal days. you'll probably pass out before he's fully drained his balls so don't expect to keep up with him
it's difficult to tell when one round ends and the next begins. it feels like it goes on forever
teasing: are they good at teasing or do they break easily?
as mentioned in dirty talk, bobby isn't very good with things like this as he usually gets himself wound up just thinking about it before he actually says anything
sentry absolutely teases. he loves getting you on your knees and giving you orders not to touch yourself or touch him
teasing is his forte. he won't give you want until you're crying and begging for it. and even then he might still say no just to see you whine and beg more
unsafe: how serious are they about safe sex?
bobby prefers having it raw but he obviously respects if you ask him to wear a condom. he usually asks first and, if you prefer him to wrap it beforehand, he'll have a stash on his nightstand and will just do it automatically. when it comes to this, he's all about your safety and comfort level
prefers to go in raw. he's clean in terms of stds and, if you're afab, you should be thankful if he knocks you up (he's actually kind of hoping for it) because he's carrying some ✨stellar✨ genes
raw. every time. i'm honestly still debating whether or not you could get pregnant from the void....
volume: how much do they cum?
the regular amount; maybe about a teaspoon or so?
half a cup to a cup. this man's body (and his balls) are on a whole different level
similar to sentry but, again, i feel like i'd need to develop a whole new biology for the void to fully answer this
wildcard: a random nsfw fact about them
bobby is absolutely down for anal. when you first start sleeping together, he might not have actually done anal play with another person before but the thought gets him really excited and he's absolutely fingered himself before
has a little bit of a breeding kink and gets super turned on when he sees his massive load dripping out of you, secretly praying that it'll take. he won't open up about it until a long time into the relationship but he really likes the thought of becoming a parent; succeeding where is own parents failed
goes into a bit of a frenzy if he's feeling like you might be slipping through his fingers. if you're starting to question your love for him or if you've been seen talking to other people, he starts to get nervous ergo aggressive and this can lead to really long, passionate sessions where he insists on possessing you or it can trigger bob to come back out and he just really needs you to hold him and tell him everything's okay
x-rated: do they watch/read porn?
yes but it tends to be the amateur stuff because it feels more real to him. he has a list of channels on his phone of his preferred creators, usually ones who are married or are in long-term relationships so they have real chemistry
he prefers to make and watch his own porn. he likes knowing that other people are getting off to it and it means he can get new angles and watch them as many times as he wants. and you too can now subscribe to the sentry's onlyfans for only $9.99 a month!
no, why bother when you're sat right next to him or if you're in the next room? if you're away then that's trickier but he prefers to dig through the laundry hamper and smell your underwear to get off or something of the like
yearning: how often do they crave intimacy? are they always in the mood?
he's always craving intimacy but it doesn't have to be sexual. even if it's just holding hands or cuddling, he usually likes to be close and have some kind of physical connection to you. even if you're away, he might insist on wearing a sweater of yours just to keep you close
yes, constantly horny but he can push it down if he really has to 😒😒
again more like bob but in more of a possessive way. he likes having some form of contact, whether that be his fingers around your wrist or his hand on the back of your neck. just something to remind him that you're his
zzz: how do they act after intimacy? do they cuddle, sleep or leave?
lots of snuggles, lots of kisses and falling asleep in a comfortable tangle of limbs. he usually gets super sleepy after sex
he'll make sure you're okay, might curl up with you for a bit, especially if he's got you really fucked out
he will just straight up leave. you usually get bob afterward, apologising if void said anything or did anything that was out of pocket while he was out
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taglist: @ingoldthewizard @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii
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terrimisu · 5 days ago
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Just Bob • robert reynolds
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Chapter 1: Poke and Prod
Fandom: MCU | Thunderbolts (Sentry)
Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader (Y/N), ensemble cast
Warnings: mental health themes, dissociation, trauma flashbacks, emotional breakdown, telekinetic burst, subtle horror, past overdose
Word Count: ~2.4k
Summary:
At Valentina’s request, Yelena walks Bob into his session—this time, all the way in. But something cracks beneath the surface. And when someone from his past reappears, what he’s worked so hard to suppress erupts, in ways even the Tower can’t contain.
Bob felt more on edge than usual—especially as Yelena stepped out of the elevator with him, heading toward his psychiatrist’s ward.
His brows furrowed as he turned to her.
“What are you—”
“Let me come with you,” Yelena cut him off, her soft gloved hand brushing his shoulder. She took his wrist firmly and led the way.
His eyes lingered on the back of her head—on how strands of blond hair bounced with each step, the polished floor beneath echoing the soft squeak of her boots.
It was a strange companion sound that made his usual trip feel less lonely.
But as they neared the hallway—passing the lobby and a few pieces of equipment—his vision blurred, warped at the edges. He stopped in his tracks and squeezed Yelena’s hand.
“S-Stop,” he stammered.
Yelena quickly turned back as they reached the door.
“I… You shouldn’t—” he stumbled, tongue heavy as he tried to think of an excuse for why she shouldn’t come in.
But she looked at him with soft, pitiful, caring eyes—then opened the door to his psychiatrist’s office.
“Valentina told me you’d be coming,” the doctor said, peering over the edge of her glasses before pushing them up the bridge of her nose.
Yelena gently ushered Bob forward, and he hesitantly took his usual spot on the green faux-leather couch. He glanced at Yelena as she sat beside him.
“V-Valentina told you to come?” he asked, almost disappointed—like he’d hoped Yelena had come of her own accord.
“Something like that,” she said.
The psychiatrist didn’t wait long to interrupt.
“We haven’t been talking much in sessions. She wanted to see if this would help.”
She flipped through her notes—barely more than bullet points. Most of them pulled from OXE’s files when Bob was first admitted for the Sentry project.
“You don’t have to have her here,” Bob muttered. “I… I want to do this on my own.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. He cleared his throat.
Behind the ward walls, Valentina watched on a secure monitor.
“Did you ever have anyone help you in moments like this?” the psychiatrist asked.
Bob bit the inside of his cheek. His eyes dropped to his hands.
“No. Not really,” he answered. Then: “I mean…”
He trailed off. Like he’d tasted the words on his tongue—and decided to swallow them instead.
“Sort of?” he tried again, unsure.
An image flickered in his mind.
A woman’s voice. His name on her lips like light at the edge of dark. Like something sacred and gone too soon.
He could hear it.
A memory tucked behind louder stories: the ones he told to explain himself—his father, the overdose, Malaysia, the meth-fueled summer job. Things that sounded heavier. Things people believed.
But this one was different. This one stayed buried deeper.
“Bob, stop.”
“No, please, I have to try. It’s my fault that—”
The words echoed inside him like a replay on loop. His eyes shut tight. The office disappeared. No Yelena. No psychiatrist. Just the darkness he floated above for years.
“Bob.”
A woman’s voice. Weak. Distant. Familiar.
“It is your fault.”
A chill slithered down his spine.
Void.
“Stop!” Bob yelled.
The camera feed flickered. The walls cracked.
In the observation room, Valentina jumped back.
As if on cue, Mel opened the door.
“The building just shifted,” she reported, stepping aside to let someone in.
“She’s here.”
Valentina turned—and froze.
A woman stood in the doorway.
(H/C) hair framed her face in soft waves, neat but natural. Her skin wasn’t airbrushed, her features untouched by glamour—real. Distinct. Her (E/C) eyes shimmered with nerves, her lips trembling into a cautious smile.
“You must be Valentina,” she said, extending a hand.
“Y/N,” she introduced. “I’m surprised you didn’t hesitate. Most would, when special operatives show up at their door.”
Valentina turned back to the monitor.
“Sit. Mel, close the door.”
Y/N sat beside her. Her voice came out hoarse, like she hadn’t spoken much—like it hurt.
“That’s him. That’s really him,” she whispered. “I saw the photos you sent but… oh my god.”
She lifted her hands to her mouth. As if in prayer.
“Bob,” she said softly. Her eyes welled. “Oh, Bob.”
The monitor glitched. Static bled into the screen.
The lights flickered.
Back inside the ward, Bob’s breathing was shallow, erratic.
Yelena’s hand gripped his—tight, anchoring.
“Hey,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
He exhaled hard through his nose, his shoulders trembling.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he stammered. “I keep thinking about it again—this time it doesn’t hurt like the rest.”
“What happened?” the psychiatrist asked.
Bob’s eyes twitched, unfocused. Gold shimmered faintly inside deep blue.
He opened his mouth to speak—then froze.
“Bob.”
No one in the room had said it. It was something external…or internal?
He felt a sinking feeling inside of him, its darkening depth looming in the pit of his stomach and rising to his chest.
It’s just the Void, he thought, that part of him that weighed him down in silence, but seemed to be breaking the barrier more than usual.
“Bob.”
It came again.
Not condemning. Not afraid.
Not questioning or clinical.
It was grateful. Relieved. Almost warm.
He focused on it. Let it in.
“Oh, Bob.”
The sound rang sharp in his ears—like bells next to his head. His name echoed and landed.
His eyes opened.
And this time—they glowed brighter. Warmer.
His hand clutched Yelena’s tighter. The room began to shake.
“Whoa—okay,” Yelena said, voice tight. Her other hand steadied his forearm.
“You’re squeezing a little too hard.”
The psychiatrist looked terrified. Confused. Like she was realizing this wasn’t part of the manual.
“Bob, calm down.”
His gaze shot upward—to the security camera tucked in the corner.
Not angry. Not monstrous.
Just scared. Terrified. Like a child waiting for punishment.
“She’s… no.”
His heart raced, and his eyes gleamed a bright light of a thousand suns.
“Y/N.”
The camera sparked—and snapped. Machinery dangled from the wall and thudded against the room. The psychiatrist shrieked — covering her head from stray cinders.
“Who’s—” Yelena began, but her words halted.
Her hand suddenly felt weightless.
She looked beside her.
Bob was gone.
📝 A/N:
Finally we meet Y/N, and it seems she not only shakes up Bob, but the whole tower. Next chapter will be released soon! Kinda wanna get the ball rolling.
Taglist:
@werewolfgirl1995
@naushtheaspiringauthor
@sapphirest0nes
@articel1967
@horrormovielover2000
Taglist open. DM to be added.
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howtodisappear444 · 8 days ago
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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄?
thunderbolts* fanfic! (bob reynolds x oc)
🥧 ˖ . ݁₊💌 ˖ . ݁₊⚡️
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| summary: Mara De Fontaine was the first test subject for Project Sentry. After unknowingly being scrapped from the program, she soon wakes up in the Red Room with little to no idea as to how she got there in the first place. She began questioning her mother’s motive, finding herself on a journey to understand why the project failed, or if it ever really did.
| author’s note: hi loves!! (first and foremost) I haven’t written a fanfic in over year so I’m a little nervous about posting this loll BUT I do hope you give Mara and Bob’s story a chance. as of current I do not have a writing schedule since I’m still playing around with the plot itself.
all credits to marvel and their own characters! this story will CONTAIN mature contexts and topics—I’ll always put a warning before every chapter begins.
english isn’t my first language so apologies for any future errors. I hope you enjoy reading Mara and Bob’s story just as I do writing it :)
| don’t HESITATE to comment/leave suggestions I’d love to hear your thoughts!
for now here’s a little preview/prologue to What Are We?
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| creds to @houseofaegon for these moodboards! 💝
but all my life I’ve been looking for this
it seems fitting that things go to hell
now that I’ve found it…
- lizzy mcalpine
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“there it is again, that funny feeling”
00 | prologue
IF there's one thing Mara is so sure of, she isn't her mother. Valentina, who feeds on greed, power, and anger, so much anger misplaced towards her daughter.
   Fighting was something Mara had become accustomed to growing up. Shouting echoed, rocking back and forth around the walls like a routine. She grew up with the idea that it's normal for parents to raise their voices at each other.
  
   It didn't come as a surprise when her parents got divorced. The signs were overwhelmingly obvious, and Mara knew they'd eventually reach that stage of their relationship.
 
   What she wasn't expecting was feeling something she had resented never to feel and practice—anger. It felt like a sin, so tempting to repeat over and over again.
  
   Mara's father, Everett Ross, entails rather a different story. He supported her dreams and tended to her childhood nightmares, soothing Mara with stories that filled her belly with happiness.
  
   Everett was always present at his daughter's school activities or performances. Never missing out on fear, he won't be there to watch Mara grow up as he grows old.
  
   Except that stopped eventually, sooner than he anticipated—parting ways from Valentina, who filed for the divorce. Since then, he hasn't been able to reach his daughter or Valentina.
   SENIOR year of high school came relatively quickly for Mara. College applications were submitted from left to right, majoring in Law, she hopes to get into Yale.
   She dreaded high school. Mara often sat in the library reading or writing to pass the time during lunch breaks. If she's not busy with her hobbies, you'd find her comfortably enjoying a bucket of popcorn in the movie theaters.
   Her love for films was something she got from her father. Mara had tried to get a hold of Everett a million times, but it's as if he didn't exist.
   Nonetheless, she continued to excel in all her classes. Never missing a day of school unless a new movie or a book she's been anticipating releases.
   Mara sat in bed every night, staying up late learning and researching Yale's Law Program. Although the results don't come until Friday, her gut tells her she got in. She has to.
  
   Of course, Valentina had other plans for her daughter. After coming home from work one night, her eyes held a mischievous look upon seeing a blue envelope sitting vulnerably on a wooden table.
   Opening the letter ahead, bold letters appeared proudly granting Mara De Fontaine a full ride based on her academic achievements.
   Valentina scanned the letter once again before denying the offer herself.
   A cold Friday morning greeted Mara as she woke up. She has never felt so anxious and excited at once, as the results can come in any minute now.
   Mutterings of "I got in!" from her classmates danced around her throughout the day, making her restless as she waited for her lunch break.
   And so the hour came, as usual, she sat comfortably in the library. Mara typically reached for her current read or journal to write, but she couldn't contain her excitement; instead, she reached for her laptop.
   "We're deeply saddened to hear you deny your acceptance and won't attend this year's law program. We wish you nothing but the best, and we hope to hear from you again in the future.
Sincerely,
Yale's Law Admissions."
   "OH, there you are, Mara! You're just in time. I made dinner reservations for us, and we're heading out in a few minutes. Remember to smile and be polite, cameras could be everywhere."
   "Why?"
   "Why what?" Valentina replied cluelessly.
   Mara's voice softened yet laced with pain,"Why did you do it, Mom?"
  
   Valentina scoffed, "You're accusing me of something I don't know about Mara. How can I do something without ever knowing what it is in the first place?"
   "You denied Yale's offer. You went behind my back, knowing I got accepted. God, I was so close to leaving this place, and here you are again, holding my life back, it's like I have this leash around my neck and it's suffocating."
   "Oh, that." Valentina now stands face to face with her daughter. "You're going to become a lawyer, then what? You kept refusing to be a part of my O.X.E organization, so I denied their offer because you can be more than that, Mara. You can be powerful. A hero. Save the world shenanigans."
   "What if I just want to be Mara? Has the thought ever crossed your mind? I don't want to save a world that has failed me long enough. And if this you advertising for your Sentry Project, you've gone insane."
   "Don't be stupid, Mara. I may not love you, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you—."
   "If becoming the first test subject for your new project will make you love me, I'll do it. If sacrificing myself will equate to you showing just an ounce of love for me, I'll do it, Mom."
   Valentina's face shows no reaction. Only a subtle nod and a taint smirk appeared. If you're observant enough, you'll be able to notice it.
   "Sure. You can be the first test subject, Mara." She replied with no hesitation.
   "Will you finally love me after this is over?" Mara remained hopeful to a figure who holds no hope for this relationship to work.
   Her mother didn't provide a verbal answer. Instead, she kissed her forehead–giving Mara a glimpse of what it's like to feel wanted or perhaps love, before exiting the living room.
   If Mara is sure of one thing–she is her mother. She's becoming the figure she resented growing up. Returning to an old sin, she was sure she had cleansed and prayed for to go away.
   Feeding on anger may not be such a bad thing after all. Mara pondered over this idea quietly. Standing in the same living room, where she had promised as a child to never let it consume her.
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if you’re reading this, thank you for taking the time to read my story. it means a LOT to me.
much love, mari ! 💋🦢
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jpitha · 7 months ago
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Painfully Bright
The humans tend to go… a little overboard when designing things, this is known, and the rest of the Coalition understands. Years of interaction and experience has taught most of the Coalition that sometimes… you just let them get it out of their system. 
This time, I wasn’t so sure though. 
I swear to the voice of my ancestors I don’t know why they insist that we… witness their next wild development. It’s like they have a burning desire to show the Coalition what they built. It’s like their latest toy doesn’t exist until they show it off. 
This time, we were all ferried into one of their smaller - though still gigantic by our standards - frigates and brought to - literally - the middle of interstellar space. By the fur of my children, I am not lying! When we Flipped, we came back into what I could only describe is an… arena, hundreds of kilometers across. They had built massive gantries and hung lights off of them, the shadows cast by the lights were talon sharp. I have no idea how they were able to build lights that bright. Honestly, I think that my administration would be more interested in those lights instead of… whatever is on the platform in the center. I’ll ask after the demonstration. 
With unaided visio, the platform was a simple black speck. Helpfully, the screens in the observation room were connected to telescopes, and a high resolution image was projected next to the real-time view. Additionally, our pads were tied into the camera feed so that we could all change what scopes we were watching, if we wanted to see a detail that the main camera wasn’t showing. It was all very professional and set up to make sure we could all see and observe. 
More Coalition members filed in after me, having spent more time at the refreshment tables than I. The humans did their best, and some members found their cuisine quite intriguing, but I for one could not stand it. Too loud, too flavorful, too… much like them. I had a water bulb, and got a good seat while everyone else stuffed their inputs. As they came in and found seats, I had noticed that some humans, and even a few other Coalition members walked quietly in behind the guests and took up positions around the room. They were all wearing a sharply tailored uniform, black, with a white undershirt peeking out behind an open lapel. The humans had a name for this outfit, I remember them saying it. Ugh, I can’t remember. 
A few more minutes were spent waiting, and then a human walked to the front of the room and addressed the gathering; “Friends, Sapients, thank you for attending our demonstration. We here at StrossCo are incredibly excited to demonstrate our new power reactor. We are convinced that this wholly new design which is smaller, more powerful, and yet has the same operating costs will enable everyone in the Coalition to more easily power their ships, stations, and anything else that requires power. I wish to apologize that the demonstration reactor is so far away, but unfortunately HIDA regulations-” I noticed his eyes flick over to one of the people stationed around the room, and then nearly as quickly back to the audience, “-require it. Rest assured, it is perfectly safe, and will pose no danger to anyone when in regular operation. Now, if you please-” He gestured dramatically, and with a clunk and a noise like something spinning down, the lights went out. The screens went dead, and even the ever-present thrum of the environmental systems ceased. I felt light in my seat, and noticed my water bulb drifting slowly. All the power was off.
There were mumbles and murmurs of conversation as realization set in, and then, almost as quickly as the power went off, it returned. First gravity, then environmental, then lights and finally cameras and screens. Everything was back on, and the human in front was grinning wickedly. “Now, everything here - this frigate, the lights in the arena, all beacons, sensors, sentries and ships - everything - is being powered by our new reactor.”
What was previously a murmur of conversation rose in intensity when realization set in. If they were not lying - and they had no reason to lie - their singular reactor was powering more than nearly a dozen Coalition reactors. The power output was positively titanic. I could see notes being quickly written, and some others were muttering things into comms and dicts. Everyone was interested in this. I looked at the large screen, and noticed that the magnified view was gone. We could only see the small speck of the platform. I attempted to call up the magnified view on my pad, and could not access it. I stood and ruffled my feathers. “Pardon me. I notice that the magnified view of the reactor has been turned off. May we please get a close up view of the reactor in action?”
The StrossCo rep looked at me, and then I saw his eyes flick back to one of the suited humans. I didn’t see their reaction, but I could tell the rep was disappointed. “Er, no, I’m sorry. It seems to be… technical difficulties. Our tech teams are working now to get everything back up as quickly as possible.”
That couldn’t be right. Something felt off. I made my way past other members taking notes and making calls, and walked up to the screen. I got as close as I could and tried to get a better view. “Is there a physical viewport here? As you are aware, Innari have excellent vision. I would like to look at the reactor with my own eyes.”
“Uh, I’m afraid that is quite impossible right now; as you are aware -er, Sapient, human frigates have very few physical windows as they are a deliberate hole in the hull and are a structural weakness and-” 
His rambling defence of not letting us see the reactor was cut off by the lights beginning to grow painfully bright. At the edge of my vision, I could see strobing. The environmental fans increased from a gentle movement of the air to a stiff breeze. Fortunately, the gravity remained the same. I looked up at the rep and all the color had drained from his face. “Pardon me” he said, absently and then ran out of the room. Not willing to give up learning what was going on, I followed. 
He ran past the reception hall, towards a control room deeper in the ship. As we entered, it was a frantic commotion of movement and noise. One of the suited humans at the door noticed me, and raised an eyebrow, questioning, but said nothing. 
“It’s overspeeding again! I told you it wasn’t ready to demo.” A human sitting at a station said to the rep as he walked in.
“Shut it down. Nobody has seen the reactor yet, we can switch back to shipboard power and Flipwarp everyone out of here before they see.” The rep had placed his hand on the back of the human’s chair and was peering over his shoulder at the screen. I couldn’t read the text, but I knew the humans used red to delineate problems, and the screens had a lot of red.
“What about the bird?” Another human looked over their shoulder at me and inclined their head. “They’re going to see the whole thing.”
“Don’t call them birds, you took the HR class same as me” the rep said, as he ran over to another station and pressed a few buttons. “He’s an Innari and one of the Coalition observers and we can have him sign an NDA. He wanted to see what the reactor looked like anyway.”  He stood and looked at me. “You’re going to sign an NDA when this is all over.” It was not a question. I nodded - a human gesture.
“Can I see the reactor now?”
One of the black suited humans stepped into the room, the one that was by the door when the demonstration was going on I think. She exuded this… authority. She wasn’t dressed any differently than the other suited humans, but at her entrance, everyone calmed down, became more subdued. “Show him. He’s already agreed to sign the NDA.”
“But, the frame-dragging-effect will be-” the Rep’s protestations were weak.
“Show. Him.” 
Without another word, he pressed a few more buttons on the panels, and a large screen in front of everyone lit up. It was the same view of the platform as before, but this one was magnified and much clearer than the ones we had in the demonstration hall. 
Something was wrong with the reactor. I looked wrong. When I looked past it the gantry in view, the lights, the interstellar stars behind it were… spiraling. Everything directly behind the reactor from our vantage point was gently spiraling. Without a word, I looked at the woman who had ordered me to see it.
“It’s frame-dragging.” She said, with a sigh. “Again.” She looked down at me, and noticed my confusion. She must have some training with Innari body language. “Some of the components in the reactor are spinning relativistically, which is causing the local space-time fabric to… spin.”
“Is it spinning, or are we?” I said, confused.
“Yes.” She said and sighed again. “They can't stop it if it’s already frame dragging, it’s going too fast. The pseudomass is too high. We either have to disconnect it and hope it spins down or…” she trailed off.
“Or what?”
“Or everyone finds out why we ordered this demonstration to be done two parsecs from any inhabited world.”
Well, that explained that at least. I looked back at the woman who seemed to be in charge. “So, why don’t we just Flipwarp away?”
“Yes, Allan, why don’t we just Flipwarp away?” She said pointedly, while looking at the Rep. 
“The investment at this point is in the kilotrillion Stars, we can’t just abandon-” he started, but then there was a flash of binding light from the reactor and I had thought it had detonated, but it… just… stayed.
“Oh, goody.” The human in charge said, flatly. “It’s started to accrete matter. Didn’t this happen the last time you ran a test Allan, and didn’t HIDA say that it was not to happen again?”
“Administrator McKay please, if we could only-” the human apparently named Allan said before he was cut off.
“No. This demonstration has finished. I am declaring an emergency, HIDA is now in charge.” Administrator McKay clicked a com on her wrist. “Captain, you will Flash us away right now. Best speed please.” There was a crackle of static and a small voice said something I couldn’t hear. “What do you mean, you can’t switch back to internal reactors?” More static and crackled voices. “No, that doesn’t make sense, the connections to-” before she could finish, there was a lurch, and I could feel the gravity begin to swing wildly, trying to compensate for the motion, but moving just an instant behind so it felt like I was being pulled in multiple directions. 
“Administrator! The pseudomass has transitioned to physical mass! We are being pulled by the reactor’s gravity. Stationkeeping reports that the thrusters are being overwhelmed. If we don’t Flash soon, we won’t be able to.”
“Damn you, Allan.” She said, snarling, “If we survive this StrossCo will go back to being an indie publisher, I will personally ensure it.” She looked down at me. “Innari! You’ve been deputized. Come with me.” Without checking to see if I was following she took off down the hall.
I followed, what else could I do? Her long strides made her deceptively fast, but she never fell out of sight, and we reached a room deep within the ship. On either side of the bulkhead were two armed and armored guards. When Administrator McKay came into view, they saluted sharply. 
She returned the salute quickly and said “We need to disconnect the umbilical to StrossCo’s test reactor so we can flash home on ours.”
“Right away Administrator,” and the guard on the right palmed a pad next to the door. There was a chirp and a green light, and the door slid open.
I’m an administrator, I’m not a reactor technician, a commander, or even an engineer. I talk to people, make deals. What I mean to explain is that I have no idea what a reactor hall - let alone a human reactor hall is supposed to look like. 
I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to look like this, however. 
The room was painfully bright with sharp, stark shadows being cast by what I can only describe as a cable, stretched taut running down the middle of the hall. People wearing white suits with smoked helmets were running around the hall, trying to control something. I covered my eyes with my feathered hand, trying to not be dazzled, when Administrator McKay handed me a pair of goggles. Curiously, they were for Innari bodyplans. I wondered why she had those. Regardless, I put them on, and found that they were able to block the worst of the light from the cable while still enabling me to see. “Come along Inn-” She stopped. “What is your name? It feels rude to just call you ‘Innari.”
I couldn’t help myself. Even during an emergency, introductions must be done right. I stood up a little straighter and said “In the common parlance, I am called Howling Wind, though that is not my given name.”
“Nice to meet you, Howling Wind, I am Administrator Tiff McKay. Now that introductions are out of the way, I need you to go over to that panel, next to the cable.” She pressed a comm button into my hand, and almost reflexively, I clipped it to some feathers near my auditory input. Before I could ask why, she had taken off at a dead run towards the other end of the hall.
“Howling Wind, are you in position?” She asked a moment later. 
I had made my way to the panel she indicated. I was much closer to the cable than I preferred to be. It’s not that it was… hot, but it almost radiated something beyond heat. It radiated the impression of heat. That would be fine right? Probably. Innari aren’t as susceptible to ionizing radiation as humans are, but this wasn’t radioactive, I thought. “I am at the panel Administrator McKay.”
“Good. While looking at the panel, there are a series of three buttons along the top right corner. They’re normally red and blue but with your goggles and the light from the cable that is probably washed out. Press them one time only moving from left to right.”
I pressed the buttons, and there was a click below me
“A panel will have opened up. I’ll need you to duck into the panel and tell me when you are in position.”
I looked in, and sure enough, an opening barely large enough for someone of my size had opened. I leaned in nearly all the way. “I am.. In the panel.”
“To your right is a lever. It has a trigger near the base. You must pull the trigger first and then push the lever. Do it now.”
“What will it-”
“Just do it Howl, there isn’t time.”
Mentally shrugging, and whispering a prayer to my Ancestors - may they watch over me and not laugh too much - I pulled the trigger, there was a detent and then I felt something like a spring release, and pushed the lever. 
It was very hard to push. I had to put my whole body into it, and at first it felt like I wasn’t doing anything. I braced my back against the top of the panel, and pushed as hard as I could. When I thought I couldn’t push anymore, there was a clunk and a whipping, metallic noise and I was plunged into darkness. I could hear shouting and boots thundering around me, then there was the prismatic flash of light that filled the reactor room for an instant that indicated that we had Flashed. 
I slowly slid myself out from under the panel, only to find Administrator McKay looming over me. She held out a hand, and I gladly took her help to get back on my talons. Sliding the goggles down from my face, I looked at her. “Just what… did we do?”
“We - er, you initiated a manual disconnect of the umbilical from the overspeeding reactor so that the frigate’s reactors could Flash us to safety. You saved everyone Howl.”
As she spoke, some of the reactor technicians took off their smoked goggles and took a look. I could feel their eyes staring at me.
I could only think of stupid things to say, so I just said it. “Why me?”
McKay laughed. “Just lucky I guess. There was a serious amount of ionizing radiation coming from the connector and I knew that Innari were much more resistant to radiation than humans, so I was able to get you to disconnect it. We’ll take you to med, but I think you’ll be fine. How are your hands?”
My hands? I looked down and… yes, some of the tiny feathers on my digits had turned gray, and were falling off, dead. It didn’t hurt though. Shouldn’t it hurt?
“Ah yes, some minor damage to your hands.” She said. “We’ll fix it up, don’t worry.”
“Why doesn’t it hurt?” I asked, dumfounded.
“It doesn’t hurt?” She seemed surprised. “I didn’t think Innari went into shock, so maybe the nerve endings were destroyed.” She patted my shoulder. “Regardless, you saved us all today Howl, thank you.” There were smiles and noises of thanks and congratulations coming from the reactor team, it was… odd.
“Everything happened so suddenly. I didn’t have time to question my reactions.” I said to her, as we walked down the hall towards med.
“Yes, that’s how emergencies go Howl. You did well. In fact-” She reached into her pocket and took out a small white card and placed it into the pocket of my sash. “When your hands are all healed, call me. We can always use people who can think on their feet.
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leafy-heart · 1 month ago
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so I have this idea for the fic I'm writing where the reason why Sam is mad at Bucky and is filing a copyright lawsuit is because
Valentina tries to take Bob away on multiple occasions because she wants to continue Project Sentry and need him for experiments
Not only that she had some more heinous operations
Th team wants to get away but can't because Valentina holds power over them by withholding information about Sentry from them & she probably has multiple kill switches
So they decide to corrupt her by taking away power from her step by step
One of the steps is to take away "Avengers" from her
But they can't be the one to file the lawsuit, because, again Bob and Valentina
So Bucky asks Sam to do it (also it makes much more sense in the public eyes)
Sam is on with the cause because he didn't buy the new avengers shit for a second anyway, but mad because why does he have to do it? It's so much work
I read this somewhere and I can't find the original post, but Sam will be the most understanding of all people, he's a veteran, helping people with dark past is his thing, and he listens
I refuse to believe in the whole Sam is super mad at Bucky thing, he's just mildly inconvenienced
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tigerlyla-of-metinna · 7 months ago
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The Roles We Play (Chapter 12):More Than Blood
Summary:
Emhyr presides a funeral. Morvran Voorhis gets a reality check on what it takes to be emperor.
Morvran tugged at his collar, loosening the first two buttons. He was in his dress uniform, custom tailored to fit him perfectly with ease of movement and comfort in mind. That comfort did not include ventilation. He could feel sweat beading his face, soaking his collar, and took out a monogrammed handkerchief. His officer sword (decorative in purpose, Morvran keeps it sharp when things get ugly and calls for practical solutions) slapped his hip, jingling with each step. The approaching night brought cooling night air that did not reach him: the evening sentries were lighting the lamps and torches denying him relief.
Morvran saw a familiar figure staring at the garden pond. Emperor Emhyr var Emreis.
As Morvran walked closer, he noticed Emhyr was scowling at the pond’s denizens. Something about the large watery decor bothered the sovereign.
“There is a fish missing in the pond. One of the tenches, in case you are wondering.” Emhyr offered the answer to Morvran’s mental speculation while standing as still as a statue.
“Your Imperial Majesty?”
Emhyr glanced at him, brows still has that lingering scowl.
“Who invited you to their funeral feast?” The emperor- dispensing with the formalities- asked curiously.
“Dromirs’ wife Olga. She knew her husband and I used to frequent the races during our deployment in Novigrad.”
“The feasts usually last till dawn. What made you leave?”
“The late Dromir is… was a famed wine connoseur when he isn’t serving in the cavalry division, and for his high alcohol tolerance” Morvran added with a chuckle. “Dromir could consume an entire barrel and still stay on the saddle, lance in hand. That isn’t idle boast, I witness the feat with my own skeptic eyes. There were more spirits in that feast than the graveyard, and the food was heavily salted to maximize the consumption. I have an early warehouse inspection duty on Tarnhann, as well as checking the available supplies of our military bases there. I won’t show up nursing a hangover.”
“Discipline, dedication and diligence. Commendable traits in an officer of your prestigious rank.” Emhyr turned his attention back to the pond. The carp swam in solitary splendor, unbothered by the fluttering goldfishes in its presence. The golden tenches kept their respectful distance, flitting between the decorative rocks and the lily pads tastefully scattered around, eternally keeping the habitat clean and in working order.
Morvran directed his embarrassment at the pond, pretending to admire the graceful fishes flitting about beneath the rocks and lily pads. Commendations were a rare treat from the emperor: criticisms were doled out in abundance, but the few compliments and praises were earned.
Morvran still finds simple praises from the emperor, genuine or otherwise, a sore subject on his qualities that Emhyr deemed needs improvement.
“I’m honored by your praise, Your Imp-”
“-unfortunately, that is all you can achieve.”
Photo from my files with a screenshot BG from my gameplay.
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thunderbxltss · 1 month ago
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𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈) | robert “bob” reynolds
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taglist -> @bigteefsmallbrain @baylegend6
WARNINGS -> language, mention of injury
translations -> Детка (baby)
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THE ARID BREEZE bristled the still crude, swollen laceration above her eye as it funneled through the rear window of Alexei’s limousine.
The ramshackle remnants of the Red Guardian had found them the following morning, bursting with what one could place as masochistic joy — all to the humiliation of Yelena, who had shrunk in on herself like a mortified teenager in the passenger seat.
The sight played like a memory lost amongst time. Where she’d be exasperated with red-pinched cheeks at some off-the-cuff remark made by her father. He’d chuckle at her, nudging playfully at her shoulder until she relented with a smile.
Though she could have — wanted to — yield to the record spin of nostalgia, she had to abandon the thought, allow it to become a ghost once more. In the wake of its dissipation, she still felt astray from her body, riding the waves of longing…of grief.
The dull tap of a boot’s tip drummed against her ankle, drawing her eyes to John Walker across from her, the tides that churned her soul wading into the shadows for now.
“You’re abnormally non hyper-verbal,” he observed, bedraggled blonde hair becoming tussled in the drag of warm wind.
She stilted an eye roll, “As if you’re worthy of my attention.”
Perceiving the tension that was being stirred by their bridged, blazing gazes, Ava interjected to cauterize the situation, “So, what else do you know about this Project Sentry?”
Fiddling absentmindedly with the keen edge of the file, y/n pursed her lips fleetingly and in spite of the gash at the corner of her bottom lip, “Not much beyond knowing Valentina spearheaded it and everything in this file.” And how it subjected all those people to a death sentence, except for Bob.
The somber tone of dread nicked at her nerves; was he ok?
“Whatever she did, it’s not the shit they injected Steve Rogers with,” Walker remarked airily, easing into a nonchalant slouch against the suede bench seating, “Or Barnes or you.”
A silence momentarily prevailed amongst them beneath the din of the engine and droning discord between Yelena and Alexi.
The circumstances of her superhuman enhancements had seldom been made existent beyond typed words on her SHIELD file that framed it candidly: HYDRA insurgents, abduction from father’s convoy in France, injected with quasi-Erksine serum, profiled abilities - superhuman strength, heightened endurance, and accelerated agility.
The discomfort that then irked amidst the injury on her face made him aware that he had waded into a place he wasn’t welcomed. He itched at the nape of his neck as if to shoo out the awkwardness that came to intermingle with vehicle fumes and dry air. Though, the creep of something akin to understanding edged dimly at his expression.
“We have to go back for him!” Yelena abruptly shouted above the rumble of the unsound engine, inelegantly twisting herself to face them with her hands planted on the leather seat.
“If we enter even a mile within the radius of Valentina, she’ll know, and kill us,” Ava proclaimed in return, a flush of criticism in the tenor of her voice. Her eyes subtly squinted towards Yelena, an implicit questioning of Yelena’s line of thought.
“Or sick Bobby on us like some submissive attack dog,” Walker bluntly remarked, shrugging ever mildly and unbothered with his unfiltered rambles.
The three women simultaneously peered his way, expressions resolutely unimpressed.
“Does your brain ever hurt from all the rotten garbage that is in it?” Yelena mulled, fluttering a mocking gesticulation towards him.
“Oh, kiss my ass, Belova,” he countered eventually, temper propelling him to point a stern finger back at her.
“And catch whatever diseases you carry?” she poised a brow at him before casting a sidelong glimpse out the window and to the warm and expansive golden brown of the dirt road.
The blue makeup smudged beneath her eyes twitched as her gaze broadened, “Fuck.”
Walker, wired with militant hyper-vigilance, scrambled his torso around in the rather tight space of the rear seat. Ava and y/n stretched themselves to peer over his shoulders.
Three tactical SUVs pigmented the sandy horizon, veering sporadically toward the red limousine, gun turrets trained intently at their vehicle.
“I thought we lost these assholes-” Walker started to grumble, sharply interjected upon by a spectacular spray of bullets at the back windshield.
The din of metal denting resounded around them as the bullets skidded against the car’s red shine.
The limousine skirted into a chaotic spell of veers and jerks as Alexei feverishly attempted to elude the gunfire. The hitched crusade he was leading them on had their fingers dug into the seat cushions for stability, bracing their faces from the vulnerability posed by the glass around them.
With one hand hooked on the tattered cushion beneath her, y/n haphazardly collected the file in her lap and huddled it back into her vest.
“Don’t worry your tiny, tiny blonde head - she’s bulletproof!” Alexei shouted, almost too exultingly.
A thousand glittering fragments then scattered on the leather around them as the window fell out from the bullets’ ferocity. John promptly perched up his shield in the whipping gap where the window had been. He hunched against its metal curve, angling it as to sanction some of its protection towards y/n and Ava.
“What happened to bulletproof?!” he bellowed back at Alexei, face scrunched in recoil at the thunder of bullets and wind whirling around them.
“Bulletproof-ish!” Alexei’s yell was strewn with newfound tension, his knuckles flashed white on the steering wheel.
“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Ava groused in song with Yelena’s groan as the blonde perched herself forward towards her open window.
Gun propped in her hand as she was jostled around, Yelena finagled herself on the sill.
“Because shooting a pistol at three armored vehicles will save us,” Walker rolled his eyes, and y/n mulled briefly over the ponder if he ever spared a thought before opening his mouth.
With the exasperation of someone who had worn thin with patience, she then shouldered herself away from the protective sheath of his shield. Head achingly bowed, she maneuvered herself in a cumbersome scoot towards the nearest window, crook of her palm weighted on the hammer of her own pistol.
“And hiding behind your shitty shield like a little bitch will?” she bit back, a lithe finger flicking off the safety mechanism.
Peeking over the rubber edge of the blown window, y/n gauged the potential angles she could fire from to strike at the wheels of the foremost SUV.
“Not everyone can have a designer shield!” Walker lamely shouted, tone akin to that of a petulant child.
A cadence of metal thwacks and clunks bounced around beneath the tires whine and ambush of bullets from his shield, as he twisted himself around to inch closer to the window she braced against.
A bridge of vague wrinkles curled around his eyes as he squinted at the opponents that outgunned and outmanned them. The flash of contemplation poked through the ash and bruise on his face, seemingly as if he mused over how he could throw himself into a position of braggart heroism.
Finger still wavered in a flirt towards discharge, she knocked her boot rather harshly upon his calf that had been hurriedly angled against the door, “Move your big head or I’ll blow it off.”
His hand flailed unceremoniously towards her, his sprawled fingers nearly propelling the pistol from her clasp. Instinctively, she reinforced her grasp on the weapon’s handle, fingernails embedding light half-moons on her skin in a spark of agitation.
“Would you-” she started to grunt with a tasteless amount of frustration radiating from her, only for his belligerency to stifle her in a sharp shush.
Her hand was all too keen to intercept his bobbing wrist that danced at the tip of her eyes and nose, “Don’t shush me-”
The shriek of an explosion abruptly then belittled her agitated spurt, her grasp falling lax on his wrist as to reinforce her balance on the seat as the ground resounded with a terrible echo.
A dull push poked at her back that leaned against the passenger seat as Yelena swept herself back into the tottering sanctuary of the limousine.
“What the hell?” Ava huffed out in a grunt, craning her head around the rooted profile of Walker, eyes assuming a narrowed frame — though it was fruitless with the breadth of his shoulders and shield in landscape of the blown out window.
“Can this shithouse-on-wheels go any faster?” Yelena shouted contentiously at Alexei, the ferocity of her bristle rivaling the fiery remnants of the overturned SUV skidding off the road behind them.
“Your hostility wounds her - she is trying her best,” Alexei wagered a sole, stern finger up from the fists that were wound around the steering wheel, pacing it towards Yelena.
Their tit-for-tat fussing was smothered in y/n’s already ringing ears by the throttled backfire of a motorcycle from alongside the two remaining SUVs.
Bracing her hand against the cushion once more, she dared a generous peek around the rubber corner of the window.
“Perhaps try not to give them something to shoot at?” Ava exclaimed over the cacophony of engines around them, ogling y/n as if she were rather unperturbed by the precariousness of her blithe lean out the window.
The limousine lightly bounced in an uneven jaunt as it rattled over a dispersion of rocks, y/n’s head jostling against where it was pressed up against the curve of the window. She rolled her eyes at the remark, aware that the gesture would go unnoticed by Ava on behalf of the angle her head was perched at.
Rattled with a tinge of nausea from the jounce her concussed head was committed to from its current position, y/n tilted away from the window with a few fingers wavering at her temple.
Another metal clang reverberated alongside her as Walker careened his shield away from him as to gauge a more expansive view from beneath the bow of the car roof. She slid her thigh away from the propel of his boot as it clumsily reinforced his heft of weight in the compact area.
“Wait - is that Bucky?!” he blundered out in a rush, his tawny hair askew in the dalliance of wind that gusted through the back.
With a similar air of ebullience, y/n trained her head partially out the window, stray hairs from her ponytail flittering in the tear line of her eyes. Blinking them away, she peered through the dainty plume of dirt and smoke and to the motorcycle readily matching the pace of the leading, last SUV.
Curious, her eyes flickered promptly to the gulley most immediate to her, finding that - amidst the hotheaded quarrel that thrived amongst them - the rider had taken out one of the two SUVs with a shotgun blast to the front tire. The shotgun’s work was suggested by the billow of smoke from the black rubber that permeated around the disabled vehicle now angled down in the sand.
The motorcycle then halted, the rearward tire arching like a pulled-back rubber band at the abruptness of the rider’s braking. For a fleeting few moments, the lone SUV fishtailed away from the rider with the fever of a prey evading a pursuing predator.
“Some savior!” Ava pointedly exclaimed, her hand impulsively aligning to the activator of her mask — an implicit “someone has to save our asses”.
The shrill reverberation of brakes stuttering and subsequently spinning rattled through the limousine, everyone’s faces simultaneously flashing a scrunched grimace.
With fluidity and lithesome skill, the SUV was yanked back from where it was inches from the limo’s taillights. Their pursuer was plucked from the road as if it were featherlight and a mere pebble on the path, rolling over repeatedly as it pummeled amidst the debris of one of the other SUVs.
The pallid harshness of the desert sun weaved amongst the gleam of familiar metal where the grappling hook was embedded into the ground. Bucky. y/n briefly indulged a swirl of relief, the rigidity finely spun in her shoulders easing.
“Yes! I told you!” John clamored obnoxiously.
“Ah - the Winter Soldier!” the boisterous twang of Alexei’s accent came in concert with Walker’s, a blend that was equal parts irritating and childlike. The older man’s thundery laughter buoyed for a few beats afterwards as he obsessively cast his eyes up at the rear view mirror to catch Bucky’s distant silhouette.
y/n relented to a sly roll of her eyes, reckoning that Yelena and Ava shared similar sentiments of irritancy at the duo of men that were evidently ego blind.
She maneuvered herself back from the window, rumpled hair composing itself in a mussed ponytail as she smoothed a hand over the crown of her head.
“You-” she then craned herself as to intercept Alexei’s gaze in the mirror, fingers clenched on the shoulder of his seat in a cumbersome brace, “— stop the car.”
A frown inched onto his forehead at the impromptu demand, as if not familiar to being bossed about - particularly by the likes of someone such as herself.
“She think I’m chauffeur,” a poor excuse of a mumble poked through the corner of his mouth while shaking his head.
Yelena pursed her lips in ill-concealed indignation, favoring silence rather than a verbal stoking of his obstinacy.
“Oh, shit!” Walker’s blurted to no distinct recipient, y/n and Yelena duly twisting themselves around to him and the point of his plight, both bowed down to acquire a better viewpoint.
“That’s not good,” Yelena bitterly murmured.
Bucky’s motorcycle swerved curtly onto their tail end, shotgun propped sky-bound but metal finger poised precariously about the curve of the trigger.
“Stop the car!” y/n’s, Ava’s, and Yelena’s voices verged into a clustered shriek above the roll of the approaching motorcycle’s engine.
Consistent with his ploy of daft idiocy, Alexei lightly smacked his lips in feigned contemplation until he loosely gestured, “Until your name is on side of car, you hush.”
y/n then hastily sprung forward from between Ava and Yelena, hand clasping firmly onto the overhead strap to steady herself fleetingly, “Fine.”
Tightly securing her pistol, she tossed her hands onto the steering wheel in a clasp that rivaled the enhanced strength of Alexei. She roughly wrenched the steering wheel with purpose, Yelena — quick to discern her intentions — jostling alongside her as to jam her foot towards the brake pedal.
It was a perilous string of seconds as the bulky vehicle careened to a halt in a muddle of tossed up gritty sand and dirt. Frazzled and subtly whiplashed, y/n’s hands remained affixed to the steering wheel, Yelena’s scattered breathing flitting against the flush of her cheeks as the blonde glanced at her in tacit questioning — “did we really just pull that off?”.
“I say no touch and then you hijack my Детка,” Alexei’s gaze weighed her with the revolt he’d behold a pestilent rodent with.
y/n only shown him a mirror of the abhorred expression, nose scrunched amongst the lines of a sneer. She vehemently reinforced herself off the steering wheel, unabashed when her elbow jostled his shoulder in passing. A spluttered scoff sprang from the man now behind her as she propelled open the dented in door with the sole of her boot.
The door seldom had a moment to bounce at its springs before it was caught at the upper right, the whir of a telltale, metallic clinch accompanying it.
“y/n?” the sun haloed around Bucky as he partially bent down into the outline of the door.
By virtue of instinct, his blue eyes poked and prodded at her - at the bold and bright bruises, at how she stilled a heedful hand at the crook of her ribs. His atypically troubled gaze leveled with hers and she nodded dismissively with a threadbare smile - “don’t worry”.
“Hey, thanks for not, well, blowing us up,” Walker’s voice spilled out from behind her, bolstering himself at her right side with a hand planted against the doorway.
Bucky’s jaw visibly clenched at the sight of the man who had smugly sauntered into Steve’s legacy and got a power trip from it.
“Alright, before the two of you dick-fight, we have a bigger problem than your fragile egos,” y/n lightly waved off Bucky’s cornered stance towards her, sidling out of the car upon his measured step backwards.
A brush of his fingers against her elbow came as her maneuver onto firmer ground rippled with a quaver, a reminder of looming irks of the ordeal of the past three hours. Her own fingers chased away the lithe grace of his grasp as she mainlined her posture, steadying her hands on the top rim of the door, gaze finding Bucky’s stern, brilliant blue eyes.
“What are you doing with him-” his chin jerked intentionally towards the misfit puzzle assembled in the car, “— with any of them?”
“For a former assassin, you’re shit at subtlety,” Yelena remarked flippantly, catching him through the angled rearview mirror.
“They were sent by Valentina to the same compound I was, told that the other was their target. It was a trap and she tried to kill us,” y/n explained, her tone drawn composed despite the grimness of the circumstances she mulled over, “Obviously, we got away but…”
Her mouth stalled much to her chagrin. Surely, Bucky had heard and seen his share of uncanny oddities in his century’s worth of life — but a nag in her nerves whispered that, for some reason, this time was different.
Bob was different.
The young man, unassuming, with a stature pinched like a wilted flower. The one that swayed on an emotional pendulum with a fond smile one moment, and harsh, disparaging mumbles the next.
“It’s probably for the best that I don’t go with you guys,” Bob gave her a half-sheepish smile, fingers twitching as he fiddled them.
She had looked at him with a frown. The words struck uncomfortably at a knot squeezed behind her ribs.
“I-I,” she then cleared her throat, “-we all get that thought stuck in our heads…let it dwell, swallow us…like a..” a lonesome ache greeted her as an old friend would, the one that had bubbled painfully in her everyday since her dad died.
Bob looked at her with an afflicted intensity that budged with a flare of understanding, “Like a void.”
Her hand that had flitted at accident with his own then hummed in mockery amidst the rumination of him — of who he is.
“We encountered someone else down there,” Ava offered in the stretch of silence, “Bob. Valentina did something to him…enhanced him.” Evidently, she was skirting around the term “experimented” with a prickle of discomfort at the corner of her eyes.
Bucky stood there for a pause, blinking with something verging on tenuous patience. Then, he looked at y/n, “Bob?”
“Bob,” her confirmatory response melded with that of the others idling in the car, a couple of their voices distinct with exasperation that he was sparing the time to doubt them.
Bucky proved ceaselessly unfazed, and y/n cast a frowning glance at him as he spoke solely to her now, “I’m taking them in to testify in front of Congress at the impeachment hearing. That’s why I tracked you guys here.”
y/n lightly scoffed, a few sputters of laughter hissing from the rifts of her lips, “Take them in — when we’re telling you there’s something that could stick her ass in prison for good? I have the file on what she did that’s better than the testimony of a band of depressed, morally questionable mercenaries, Bucky.”
“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black of you, Stark,” Walker hummed, thudding an arrhythmic tune against the doorframe with his bruised knuckles.
“She is very crooked in the mind! Taking wheel of car and jerking it about like maniac,” Alexei feverishly contributed to the rip into her holier than thou facade.
She sobered her tongue to her cheek rather than beckon a serpent of anger into the already unsteady atmosphere.
Bucky regarded her then as if his assumptions of the throng hanging around in her vicinity had been aptly confirmed.
“You told me to find evidence of the enhancement project and I did,” she flitted an accusative finger towards his chest, frustration clenching her jaw.
“A file is nothing when you’ve got firsthand accounts of her operations,” he exhaled with forced measure at her pistol-shot attitude. His tone inherited a ring of finality then, “I already have a ride on its way to bring us back to D.C.” He surveyed her for a generous second — “don’t fight me on this”.
This was a losing battle, y/n could see that. Wherewithal and common sense told her that any further demonstration of attitude was going to be smothered swiftly by the likes of his bleak resolve.
“Pawns in your little stunt as a Congressman? Please,” Walker, indifferent to any murmur of sense that may have dissuaded his arrogance, scoffed.
“Congressman? Go from Winter Soldier to a cuck in tailored suits,” Alexei clicked his tongue disapprovingly without much care that Bucky had heard him.
“You can’t be serious,” Yelena fully turned to Bucky as he blandly motioned for her to get out of the limousine. Her narrowing stare found purchase on y/n, “Stark?”
“She’s already made up her mind,” Ava assessed, a trace overconfident. She tilted her head up at y/n in a challenge of her words as she departed the vehicle.
“And what about Bob?” Yelena murmured sternly, now at y/n’s side with hands rendered useless by a pair of binders behind her back. Her eyes were broad with conviction as the nascent rays of the sun caught them.
y/n knew that tossing forward the rather irritating Stark stubbornness against Bucky was plain foolhardiness — for all intents and purposes, the man wouldn’t hear another word about Bob or Project Sentry, having found a swifter resolution in their collective testimony. Futile, drawn-out testimony before a government she had told to kiss her ass during the Sokovia Accords. She wasn’t going to sidle up to them because Bucky was suddenly straight and narrow.
She often granted Bucky Barnes a hefty dose of benefit of the doubt. Yet, uncertainty rattled like a pebble amidst the generosity she approached him with. Does he think Valentina will back off because a group of unstable former assassins and human experiments tattled on her? y/n wouldn’t wager Bob on a blind hope that she would.
“We’re going to need all the help we can get to get out of this shithole,” she remarked, frisking a few fingers over the rear of Bob’s head that had been propelled against the wall by Walker.
The roam of her touch — concerned, warm, cautious — at the nape of his neck made him cramp in a slight recoil out of instinct. She instantly dropped her hand from the brown tufts, his shoulders withering in what favored frustration more than relief.
He glanced at her almost apologetically, though a glint of resent cracked the gentler tone to his eyes as they flickered over at Walker. Clocking his animosity-strung stare, y/n cocked her head as to obscure some portion of Walker’s profile in Bob’s gaze.
Nearly instantly, softness whetted the entirety of eyes as he looked at her through the dappled light.
The corner of her mouth livened in a reassuring but resolute smile, “We aren’t leaving you here.”
She glanced at Yelena’s eyes that hadn’t lingered off her, speaking carefully and out of Bucky’s keen earshot, “We’re going after him.”
There was a little raise to Yelena’s lips — a simple smile — and y/n mustered a nerve to reflect it. A silent understanding to do what was needed.
She just hoped they weren’t too late.
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jcmarchi · 2 months ago
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Claude Integrations: Anthropic adds AI to your favourite work tools
New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/claude-integrations-anthropic-adds-ai-to-your-favourite-work-tools/
Claude Integrations: Anthropic adds AI to your favourite work tools
Anthropic just launched ‘Integrations’ for Claude that enables the AI to talk directly to your favourite daily work tools. In addition, the company has launched a beefed-up ‘Advanced Research’ feature for digging deeper than ever before.
Starting with Integrations, the feature builds on a technical standard Anthropic released last year (the Model Context Protocol, or MCP), but makes it much easier to use. Before, setting this up was a bit technical and local. Now, developers can build secure bridges allowing Claude to connect safely with apps over the web or on your desktop.
For end-users of Claude, this means you can now hook it up to a growing list of popular work software. Right out of the gate, they’ve included support for ten big names: Atlassian’s Jira and Confluence (hello, project managers and dev teams!), the automation powerhouse Zapier, Cloudflare, customer comms tool Intercom, plus Asana, Square, Sentry, PayPal, Linear, and Plaid. Stripe and GitLab are joining the party soon.
So, what’s the big deal? The real advantage here is context. When Claude can see your project history in Jira, read your team’s knowledge base in Confluence, or check task updates in Asana, it stops guessing and starts understanding what you’re working on.
“When you connect your tools to Claude, it gains deep context about your work—understanding project histories, task statuses, and organisational knowledge—and can take actions across every surface,” explains Anthropic.
They add, “Claude becomes a more informed collaborator, helping you execute complex projects in one place with expert assistance at every step.”
Let’s look at what this means in practice. Connect Zapier, and you suddenly give Claude the keys to thousands of apps linked by Zapier’s workflows. You could just ask Claude, conversationally, to trigger a complex sequence – maybe grab the latest sales numbers from HubSpot, check your calendar, and whip up some meeting notes, all without you lifting a finger in those apps.
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For teams using Atlassian’s Jira and Confluence, Claude could become a serious helper. Think drafting product specs, summarising long Confluence documents so you don’t have to wade through them, or even creating batches of linked Jira tickets at once. It might even spot potential roadblocks by analysing project data.
[embedded content]
And if you use Intercom for customer chats, this integration could be a game-changer. Intercom’s own AI assistant, Fin, can now work with Claude to do things like automatically create a bug report in Linear if a customer flags an issue. You could also ask Claude to sift through your Intercom chat history to spot patterns, help debug tricky problems, or summarise what customers are saying – making the whole journey from feedback to fix much smoother.
[embedded content]
Anthropic is also making it easier for developers to build even more of these connections. They reckon that using their tools (or platforms like Cloudflare that handle the tricky bits like security and setup), developers can whip up a custom Integration with Claude in about half an hour. This could mean connecting Claude to your company’s unique internal systems or specialised industry software.
Beyond tool integrations, Claude gets a serious research upgrade
Alongside these new connections, Anthropic has given Claude’s Research feature a serious boost. It could already search the web and your Google Workspace files, but the new ‘Advanced Research’ mode is built for when you need to dig really deep.
Flip the switch for this advanced mode, and Claude tackles big questions differently. Instead of just one big search, it intelligently breaks your request down into smaller chunks, investigates each part thoroughly – using the web, your Google Docs, and now tapping into any apps you’ve connected via Integrations – before pulling it all together into a detailed report.
[embedded content]
Now, this deeper digging takes a bit more time. While many reports might only take five to fifteen minutes, Anthropic says the really complex investigations could have Claude working away for up to 45 minutes. That might sound like a while, but compare it to the hours you might spend grinding through that research manually, and it starts to look pretty appealing.
Importantly, you can trust the results. When Claude uses information from any source – whether it’s a website, an internal doc, a Jira ticket, or a Confluence page – it gives you clear links straight back to the original. No more wondering where the AI got its information from; you can check it yourself.
These shiny new Integrations and the Advanced Research mode are rolling out now in beta for folks on Anthropic’s paid Max, Team, and Enterprise plans. If you’re on the Pro plan, don’t worry – access is coming your way soon.
Also worth noting: the standard web search feature inside Claude is now available everywhere, for everyone on any paid Claude.ai plan (Pro and up). No more geographical restrictions on that front.
Putting it all together, these updates and integrations show Anthropic is serious about making Claude genuinely useful in a professional context. By letting it plug directly into the tools we already use and giving it more powerful ways to analyse information, they’re pushing Claude towards being less of a novelty and more of an essential part of the modern toolkit.
(Image credit: Anthropic)
See also: Baidu ERNIE X1 and 4.5 Turbo boast high performance at low cost
Want to learn more about AI and big data from industry leaders? Check out AI & Big Data Expo taking place in Amsterdam, California, and London. The comprehensive event is co-located with other leading events including Intelligent Automation Conference, BlockX, Digital Transformation Week, and Cyber Security & Cloud Expo.
Explore other upcoming enterprise technology events and webinars powered by TechForge here.
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crestinfosystems · 1 year ago
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What's New in Flutter 3: Everything You Need to Know
Google developed Flutter many years ago, intending to build the best cross-platform software framework for mobile applications. One of the greatest advantages of using Flutter is that it can help build robust and scalable mobile applications for multiple platforms, such as Android, iOS, Windows, macOS, Linux, and even the web, using the same codebase. 
Although both Windows and Linux were in beta when building apps for Windows back in February, those platforms were still in stable support. But that has changed thanks to Flutter 3, which stably supports macOS and Linux during this year's Google I/O. In its announcement, Google highlights two points: The first is the low-cost Linux support provided by Canonical (Ubuntu’s publisher) and Google's collaboration to "offer a highly-integrated, best-of-breed development environment for developers".
Thanks to the hard work of our Flutter contributors who made Flutter now stable for macOS and Linux, in addition to Windows. There are various exciting things to come with the release of the Flutter 3 version, including the update on Flutter’s support for macOS and Linux, huge performance enhancements, mobile & web updates, and many more. 
Research shows that more than 91% of developers agreed that Flutter is a much smoother and seamless platform that doesn’t take much time to create and publish an application. On top of that, around 85% of developers mentioned that they could publish their app on multiple platforms than before. 
This article will explore what’s new in Flutter 3, including new features, performance improvements, and recent updates one by one. Let us dive in!
What’s New in Flutter 3?
Let us get a close look to see what’s next in the new release of Flutter 3.
Firebase Support in Flutter
There are more tools and services needed by app publishers than just the UI framework to allow them to move forward in terms of developing, releasing, and operating the apps, including data authentication, device testing, cloud functionality, and storage. Various services like AppWrite, Sentry, and AWS Amplify have received Flutter’s back for enhanced functionality.
Research shows that over 63% of app developers make use of Firebase in their mobile applications. The suite of Firebase plugins for Flutter has now become a key part of Firebase's offering in response to the real-life reality and the growth of Flutter. That means plugins now come under the Firebase’s repo and website. In addition to this, Google focuses on building new Flutter widgets that make it easier to use Firebase in your application.
Additionally, you can now get an overview of your app's stability via the Firebase Crashlytics plugin, which will allow you to identify the bugs simply by tracking the errors. They are built around critical metrics such as "crash-free users", which make it easy for you to keep an eye on the stability of your app.
Linux and macOS Support
In the days when Flutter was released, the developers' community was highly appreciative of it - Flutter is, to this day, considered to be the most powerful cross-platform development framework on the market. It is now also possible to build apps for Windows, Web, and embedded devices directly from the framework, in addition to Android and iOS apps. 
Flutter developers no longer face any challenges in creating applications for macOS and Linux devices since Flutter 3 is now available. Developers no longer have to do the tedious work of adding platforms to their products.
Gradle version update
You might have noticed that the generated files in Flutter 3 use the latest versions of the Gradle and Android Gradle plugins while creating a new project using the Flutter tool. While in an older version of Flutter, you used to crash the versions to 7.4 for Gradle, and 7.1.2 for the Android Gradle plugin manually.
Dart 2.17
The latest version of Flutter 2.17 features a new Dart SDK, a version with a new language - regardless of whether you use Flutter, these new features are accessible to all developers. 
The hallmark feature of Dart 2.17 offers app developers the ability to extend enums and override its default functions quickly and more efficiently. It allows enums to work very similarly to custom-written classes.
Flutter’s Games Toolkit
The Flutter 3 is way more focused on casual gamers and has released an easy-to-use casual games tool kit for game developers. It comes as a starter kit of templates and credits for Ads, and cloud services. 
The most interesting fact about Flutter 3 is that its engineers have created a fun pinball game powered by Firebase and Flutter’s web support, showing the versatility of the latest Flutter 3 update.
Theme Extensions
Theme Extensions allow app developers to add anything to the ThemeData of the material library. Developers no longer need to extend ThemeData and implement copyWith, lerp, and other methods, and they can now mention ThemeData.extensions to get their job done in no time. In addition, they can offer ThemeExtensions as a package developer.
Menu Cascading and Support for the MacOS System 
The latest version of Flutter offers a wide range of features, including interactive models for compilation to build support, internationalization, and fresh inputs for platform-specific integration, and offers the best accessibility. 
The main objective for all these updates is to offer complete flexibility in using the operating system and share optimal UI and logic based on requirements more effectively. The new features of Flutter offer great support to the platform beyond rendering pixels.
Ads
With the new release of Flutter 3, it is now possible to create personalized ads based on the unique needs of publishers and manage Apple's App Tracking Transparency (ATTT) requirements. Google provides a User Messaging Platform (UMP) SDK that substitutes the previous open-source Consent SDK.
Web and Mobile Updates in Flutter 3
Let us take a look at the following features of Flutter 3 in terms of web and mobile
For Mobile Updates
iOS Variable Refresh Rate Support
Flutter 3 will now support variable refresh rates on iOS devices that have ProMotion displays, along with iPhone 13 Pro and iPad Pro. The increase in refresh rates for Flutter apps from 60 Hz to 120 Hz can provide smoother animations on these devices than they had earlier been able to. 
Foldable Phone Support
Foldable mobile devices will be supported and will have a great collaboration with Microsoft. With these new features of Flutter 3, Flutter app developers can now create dynamic and productive experiences on foldable devices. 
Streamlined iOS Releases
Flutter 3 offers a new option to create an ipa command that helps app developers to launch their iOS applications more efficiently than before. 
For Web Updates
Web App lifecycle
Flutter 3 comes with its new lifecycle API for web applications that gives complete flexibility for developers with full control over the bootstrap process of their Flutter app from the hosting HTML page. 
This helps Lighthouse to determine the speed of your app and can be applied to various use cases to streamline the development process.
Image Decoding
The image decoding feature in Flutter 3 made it possible for Flutter Web to perceive and use the imagecoder API in the browser automatically. Asynchronously, this API decodes images with the browser's codecs to ensure there is no interruption to the main thread. 
Thus, images will run twice as fast without blocking the main thread, and it will remove all the junk caused by images previously.
Significant Improvements in Flutter 3
The development of Flutter isn't just about the extended platform support of the framework. In addition to the new support for Material Design 3, the framework has added a host of other features and functionalities to make it easy to use.
Furthermore, Flutter is now fully native to Apple silicon for development. When Flutter was released, it was compatible with Apple M1-powered devices. Now, Flutter takes full advantage of Dart's support for Apple silicon, enabling much faster compilation on M1 devices and universal binaries for macOS application development.
What to Expect Next in Flutter?
The major highlight of Flutter 3 is that it is now available on 6 different platforms: Android, iOS, Web, Windows, Mac, and Linux. Now the next and most important question that people may have is ‘what to expect next in Flutter?’
According to Google's product manager for Flutter, Tim Sneath, the project will support both Chrome and Firefox. The goal of building support for those platforms has been to provide Flutter with a robust platform to develop. 
Moreover, Google will continue to enhance Flutter in two significant areas: improving developer productivity and expanding its capabilities in the upcoming years.
Closing Line
Therefore, it can be said that the latest release of Flutter 3.0 shows the massive success of Google, which will attract many more businesses to join its community. As a result, the Flutter community is expected to grow continually much faster with the increasing number of Flutter applications. Finding technology better than Flutter is a question to think about when building applications for multiple platforms to cover a wide range of audiences and provide the best experiences. 
If you are planning to build an application for multiple platforms and are not sure how to get started, I would recommend you hire an experienced Flutter developer from a leading Flutter app development company that can help build robust, scalable, and feature-rich applications at affordable prices.
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foileadeux · 2 years ago
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CURIOUS- What is your process when making your animatics? And what do you use your individual programs for most? (Ei: csp for art and moment / vegas for effects or somn)
Also, I recently got csp ex for animatic/animation stuff myself- You have any tips for how to make big projects alike yer animatics/tions ?
SO. umm. if im being good and professional i'll do the smart thing and do thumbnails for my animatics to outline the gist of what i want. but uhh if im being honest i only did that for lavender town of which you can watch the wip of here! (for some reason i also animated a little bit within these thumbnails which you shouldnt really do but whatever)
youtube
but for the rest of my animatics ive thumbnailed in my brain which is very bad and i advise against it. bc i can remember a few times in toba the tura, my heart still beats and mama where im just sitting there like. uhh. what next HAHA so its just good to draw out smthn beforehand or plan ahead even if its messy!!! my only saving grace is how fast i am at drawing so im able to make up for this LMAOO dont be like me for each of my animatics i make one Big csp file (and a backup) which stores all the frames for that animatic (its usually just titled "a" or smthn i am very uncreative) these bitches get huge. So many layers. theres around 600 layers for lavender town alone. if i were smarter id split these files up so it didnt take ages to load and save but alas i am not. But this is where i do my frame by frame animation basically, i just lower the opacity of a frame and draw over it (onion skinning is the term for this iirc), usually i draw key frames of movement and then just inbetween them so they look a little smoother (e.g: a head turning to the side, id draw the back and then the side profile, and then draw the inbetweens of that motion) , im fond of the choppy lower fps look so thats what i go for! i definitely do not set out for super ultra smooth animation or id be collapsed on the floor rn i think as for editing with sony vegas pro, i import all the frames from csp and use "track motion" and "pan/crop" to tween stuff! (like... make it go from left to right, move the camera around yknow) which is a huge crutch for me Especially in toba the tura, i did very little frame by frame animation for that one LMAOO (not shitting on tweening u can do some really fuckin fun shit with it, like that shot of pk stabbing the lance sentry in toba the tura) i do overall prefer the look of frame by frame but i use a hybrid of the two!! theyre both super cool, complicated and fun in their own ways tbh.
heres some extra stuff, the fucked up looking timeline of my mama animatic and a look at some of the raw frames (hair lego pieces)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
funniest part of my Animation process is wanting the hair and body to be paced differently so i have to slot the hair in like its a fuckin lego piece on a different layer. this truly was the hell of the mama animatic. theres also just an entire layer dedicated to mouths for lip syncing. very funny anyways thats about it, i hope this has been enlightening!! if you have any like super specific specific questions feel free to dm me! i dont have too much experience animating using an art program's animation features specifically tho, so i can't speak to those! i compile and pace all the frames on a timeline in sony vegas pro basically so csp is just for drawing each frame out for me!
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