#Codebreaking and Chaos

[lucifermurdock]

1 Fictional Character I Seriously Wish For: Robert Langdon Meets Iron Man

Daily writing promptIf you could be a character from a book or film, who would you be? Why?View all responses If I Could Be a Fictional Character… Call Me Langdon Stark Let’s play pretend for a sec.If I could be anyone—book, movie, real life (excluding Virat Kohli on a match day)—I wouldn’t even blink. Two names.Two worlds.One chaotic dream. 🎥 From the Films: Tony Stark (a.k.a. Mr.…

[mandoalorian]

crimson fever [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Synopsis: In the icy shadows of 1944 occupied Europe, you uncover a dangerous Hydra secret that could shift the war’s tide. But Hydra’s ruthless scientist, Arnim Zola, marks you as a threat, unleashing a sinister drug—“crimson fever”—that set your body and soul ablaze with an unrelenting desire. As you fight to protect vital intel, your path collides with Sergeant Bucky Barnes, your childhood friend from Brooklyn, whose unspoken love for you burns brighter than the war’s chaos.

Warnings: 18+ explicit, smut, sex pollen that comes with themes of dub-con, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, exhibitionism sorta, reader is drugged via injectables, descriptions of pain, canon typical violence, torture, one use of Y/N, Winter Soldier foreshadowing.

Word Count: 6700

Author's note: Thank you to @notreallythatlost for helping me with all the German translations. I love youuu. ღ

ᯓ★ Masterlist

✮ PROJECT: WINTER SOLDIER ✮

Objective: Develop a serum enhancing physical strength, endurance, and healing, surpassing the Allied “Super Soldier” serum used on Captain America. The serum is paired with psychological conditioning.

Methods: Subjects— prisoners, captured soldiers, “recruited” operatives undergo experimental injections and brutal brainwashing techniques including sensory deprivation, electroshock, and chemical inducements to break their minds.

Timeline: Initial trials are active in an underground facility, in occupied France. Production to be scaled by 1945. Report to Johann Schmidt.

Der Winter Soldier wird die Zukunft von Hydra sein. (The Winter Soldier will be Hydra’s future.)

You hunched over the decrypted Hydra message, your eyes burning from hours of work, fingers smudged with pencil lead. The office buzzed with quiet urgency—typewriters clacked, a radio hissed static, and your fellow codebreakers murmured over their own stacks of intercepts. You’d been at it since dawn, unraveling Hydra’s coded transmissions, each one a puzzle that could save lives or lose them. Your role as a linguist, fluent in German and trained in cryptography, made you vital to the Allies, but tonight, the weight of what you’d uncovered felt like a stone in your chest.

“Carter, you need to see this,” you called, your voice sharp, cutting through the room’s hum. You pushed your chair back, the wood scraping the floor, and held up the decrypted page, its typed German translated into your neat handwriting. Your heart raced, the words searing your mind: Projekt Winter Soldier.

Peggy Carter, poised in her tailored ATS uniform, strode over, her heels clicking on the hardwood. Her dark eyes flicked to the paper, then to you, sharp and assessing. “What’ve you got?” she asked, voice crisp but laced with concern.

You swallowed, pointing to the key lines. “It’s Hydra. Something called ‘Project Winter Soldier.’ They’re experimenting—on people, not just weapons. It mentions a serum, like what they used on Captain Rogers, but… different. They want to create operatives with no will, no memory. ‘Perfect obedience,’ they call it.” Your voice trembled, and you tapped a name scrawled at the bottom. “Signed by Arnim Zola. He’s running it.”

Peggy’s jaw tightened, her fingers brushing the paper. “Zola,” she muttered, disgust curling her lips. “That man’s a butcher with a scientist’s ego.” She scanned the text, her expression hardening. “This is big. If they’re building mind-controlled soldiers…”

“It’s worse,” you interrupted, voice low, glancing at the other codebreakers—two women, heads down, oblivious. “They’re testing it now. Somewhere in France. Prisoners, maybe captured soldiers. They mention a ‘prototype’ and… something about breaking their minds first.”

Peggy’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. “We need to get this to Colonel Phillips. Tonight.” She turned, barking at the codebreakers. “Eleanor, Joan, wrap up and secure the files. We’re locking down.”

You nodded, heart pounding, but a flicker of pride warmed you. You’d cracked this, you’d found the truth. You thought of Bucky Barnes, your old friend from Brooklyn—his cocky grin, the way he’d sneak you comics, the almost-kiss on that Coney Island pier in ’39. He was out there with Captain Rogers, fighting Hydra. This intel could help him, keep him safe. You tucked the thought away, focusing on the task, and began gathering your notes.

The door crashed open, wood splintering, and you froze. Four Hydra soldiers stormed in, black uniforms stark against the office’s warmth, their rifles gleaming with that eerie blue glow of Hydra tech. Peggy spun, drawing her pistol, but a soldier fired, a blast of energy grazing her arm. She hissed, diving behind a cabinet.

“[Y/N], get down!” Peggy shouted, but you were already moving, shoving the Winter Soldier intel into your blouse, your hands shaking. The codebreakers screamed, scrambling for cover, and you ducked behind the desk, heart hammering. The soldiers barked in German, their voices harsh.

“Die Linguistin! Bringt sie mir lebend!” one ordered—The linguist! Take her alive!—and your blood ran cold. They wanted you. Your codes, your knowledge, or… the intel you’d just found.

You grabbed a letter opener, its dull blade a pitiful weapon, and crouched, peering through the desk’s gap. A soldier loomed closer, his boots thudding, and you lunged, stabbing his thigh. He roared, backhanding you, and pain exploded across your cheek, knocking you to the floor. The room spun, but you scrambled up, clutching the desk, only to feel iron hands seize your arms.

“No!” you yelled, thrashing, but the soldiers pinned you, their grips bruising. Peggy fired from cover, dropping one, but another blasted the cabinet, forcing her back. You kicked, aiming for a groin, and connected, earning a grunt, but a rifle butt slammed your temple, and darkness flickered at your vision’s edge.

“Enough,” a new voice said, cold and precise, cutting through the chaos. Arnim Zola stepped into the room, his small frame dwarfed by the soldiers but radiating menace. His round glasses glinted in the bulb’s light, and his smile was a thin, cruel line. “Fräulein, you are far too valuable to kill.”

You glared, blood trickling from your lip, the intel paper crinkling against your skin. “You’ll get nothing from me,” you spat, voice hoarse but defiant.

Zola chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “Oh, we shall see.” He nodded to the soldiers. “Take her to the transport. We have… experiments to conduct.”

A soldier jabbed a syringe into your neck, and a sharp sting gave way to a creeping warmth, a sedative, dulling your senses. You fought to stay conscious, to memorise Zola’s face, his words. “Winter Soldier…” you mumbled, half-delirious, and Zola’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise.

“Secure her,” he snapped, and the soldiers dragged you toward the door, your legs buckling. Peggy’s shouting your name followed you, but the world blurred, and you were gone, the intel tucked against your heart, a secret you’d guard with everything you had.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You’d been gone for weeks, a fact that gnawed at Bucky Barnes like a wound he couldn’t stitch. He stood against the command post’s wall, dog tags clinking under his olive-drab jacket, his eyes scanning a corkboard plastered with mission lists, reconnaissance photos, and urgent telegrams. His fingers, calloused from gripping a sniper rifle, hovered over a typed sheet, and then froze.

Your name stared back at him, stark in black ink: Allied Linguist, Captured, Hydra Facility, Occupied France.

His breath caught, sharp and painful, like a blade between ribs. You—his friend from Brooklyn, the girl who’d steal his cap and run, laughing, through Prospect Park, the one he’d nearly kissed under Coney Island’s Ferris wheel in ’39—were in Hydra’s hands.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath. He ripped the paper from the board, the pin clattering to the floor, and his hand trembled, betraying the storm inside. Memories flooded him: summer nights on your stoop, your hair tucked under a scarf, teasing him about his latest dame. But truthfully, he only had eyes for you.

“You’ll run outta girls to charm, Barnes,” you’d said, smirking, but your eyes had softened, holding something he’d been too dumb to name.

He’d leaned in, heart pounding, only for Steve’s call to break the moment. Then the war came, you to London cracking codes, him to the front with Steve, and letters faded. Now, Hydra had you, and the thought of you in Zola’s grip—Zola, whose name he’d heard tied to twisted experiments, made his stomach churn.

“Hey, Buck, what’s got you lookin’ like you swallowed a grenade?” Steve Rogers’ voice cut through, steady but concerned. He stood across the room, all Captain America in his blue jacket, leaning over a map with Colonel Phillips. His blond hair caught the dim light, but his eyes locked on Bucky, reading the tension in his friend’s stance.

Bucky strode over, boots thudding on the creaky floor, and slapped the list onto the map, scattering pencils. “It’s her, Steve,” he said, voice tight, low, like he was holding back a shout. “From Brooklyn. You remember her—used to tag along with us, always givin’ me hell.” He swallowed, jaw clenching. “Hydra’s got her. Says she’s a linguist, crackin’ their codes. She’s in one of their damn facilities.”

Steve’s eyes widened, flicking to the list, then back to Bucky. His memory was sparking. “The one who’d sneak us into the library after hours? Yeah, I remember.” He straightened, voice firming. “She’s tough, Buck. But Hydra…”

“She’s more than tough,” Bucky snapped, then caught himself, running a hand through his dark hair. “She’s… she’s family, Steve. And you know what Hydra does…” His voice cracked, and he gripped the table, knuckles whitening. “We gotta get her out. Now.”

Colonel Phillips, puffing a cigar, looked up with a scowl, his weathered face etched with irritation. “Sergeant Barnes, we’ve got ops stacked to the ceiling,” he growled, exhaling smoke. “Hydra’s got captives everywhere—this linguist ain’t our priority.”

“She is to me,” Bucky retorted, his voice low but fierce, eyes boring into Phillips. “Sir, she’s got intel—Hydra’s codes, maybe more. She cracked somethin’ big before they took her. Losin’ her gives them an edge.” It was a half-truth; he’d burn the world for you, intel or not, but he knew Phillips needed a reason.

Steve studied Bucky, seeing the truth—the kind of loyalty that went beyond duty, rooted in Brooklyn’s streets, in quiet moments you’d shared. “Colonel,” Steve said, voice calm but unyielding, “the Howling Commandos can handle this. We hit the facility, get her out, and cripple Hydra’s operation. Two birds, one stone.”

Phillips grunted, stabbing his cigar into the ashtray. “Fine, Rogers. But if this goes south, it’s your ass.” He waved them off, turning to an aide, already dismissing the matter.

Bucky exhaled, tension easing a fraction, but his heart still raced, pounding with fear for you. He met Steve’s gaze, a silent thank-you passing between them. “We’ll get her, Buck,” Steve said, clapping his shoulder. “Promise.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice rough, folding the list and tucking it into his pocket, next to a faded photo—you, him, and Steve at Coney Island, 1939, your smile bright as the summer sun. He headed for the door, the room’s chaos—officers shouting, radio static—fading behind him. Outside, the Howling Commandos lounged near a jeep, cleaning rifles and trading jabs in the grey dawn.

“Sarge, what’s the word?” Dum Dum Dugan called, his mustache twitching as he tossed a flask to Gabe Jones, who caught it with a grin.

Bucky held up the folded list, his sergeant’s calm settling over him like armour, though his voice carried an edge. “We got a job,” he said, eyes scanning the team—Gabe, Jim Morita, Monty Falsworth, Jacques Dernier. “Hydra’s holdin’ one of ours—a linguist, key to their codes. She’s in a facility in France. We’re hittin’ it, gettin’ her out, and blowin’ the place to hell.” He paused, his grip tightening on the paper. “She’s from my neighborhood. Means somethin’ to me. You in?”

Gabe nodded, his smile fading to seriousness. “Always, Barnes.”

Dum Dum cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Hell, Sarge, let’s give them a mornin’ they won’t forget.”

Jacques smirked, twirling a knife. “Pour la France,” he said, voice low, and Jim and Monty murmured agreement, their faces set.

Bucky forced a smirk, but his mind was on you—alone, maybe hurt, fighting Zola’s experiments with that fire he’d always admired. He touched the photo in his pocket, your face burned into his memory, and whispered, so quiet no one heard, “Hold on, doll. I’m comin’ for you.”

The words were a vow, and he’d keep it, no matter what Hydra threw at him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You lay curled on a thin cot in a Hydra cell, your body trembling, skin flushed with an unnatural heat that made your pulse race and your breath come in shallow, desperate gasps. The crimson fever drug, injected by Arnim Zola weeks ago after your kidnapping in London, burned through you, twisting your mind with a relentless need you fought to suppress. Your blouse, torn and stained, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d kept secret, its paper pressed against your chest like a talisman.

You’d overheard Zola’s gloating—his “perfect obedience” experiments, the “winter soldier” prototype—and your linguist’s mind clung to those details, even as the drug threatened to unravel you. “Stay sharp,” you whispered to yourself, voice hoarse, your nails digging into your palms to anchor you against the fever’s pull.

Outside, Bucky Barnes crouched behind a snow-dusted ridge, his M1 Garand rifle steady in his hands, breath clouding in the frigid air. You weren’t there to see it, but you’d have felt the weight of his resolve, his heart pounding with one thought: getting you back. The Howling Commandos flanked him—Dum Dum Dugan reloading his Thompson submachine gun, Gabe Jones checking a radio, Jim Morita adjusting his scope, Monty Falsworth and Jacques Dernier wiring explosives. The plan was tight: hit hard, find you, blow the place to hell. Bucky’s jaw clenched, your face—Brooklyn summers, that Coney Island almost-kiss—burning in his mind.

“Ready, Sarge?” Dum Dum asked, his moustache twitching as he grinned, though his eyes were hard, scanning the bunker a hundred yards away.

“Let’s give ‘em hell,” you’d have heard Bucky reply, his voice low, all sergeant, but laced with something raw. He signalled, and Jacques tossed a smoke grenade, grey haze cloaking the ridge. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, slipping toward the bunker, their boots silent in the snow. Gabe’s radio crackled, confirming Allied distractions were pulling Hydra’s outer patrols away. Bucky’s heart thundered, not for the fight, but for you, trapped in Zola’s nightmare.

A Hydra guard at the entrance barely turned before Bucky’s knife found his throat, a silent kill, blood dark against the snow. “Go,” Bucky hissed, and Jacques’ charges blew the steel door, the blast rattling the night.

Alarms screamed, red lights pulsing inside, and Hydra soldiers poured into the corridor, their blue-energy rifles spitting death. You heard the gunfire, distant but growing louder, a chaotic symphony that stirred hope in your fevered haze. “Help…” you mumbled, clutching the cot’s edge, your body shaking as you tried to sit.

Bucky ducked behind a crate, returning fire, his shots precise, dropping two guards. “Push through!” he shouted, voice cutting through the din. Dum Dum’s Thompson roared, mowing down a squad, while Monty and Jim covered the rear, grenades shaking the walls. “Lab’s that way!”

Gabe yelled, pointing left, where a sign read Forschungsbereich—research sector. Bucky’s gut twisted, Zola’s name a poison in his thoughts. If Zola had touched you…

“Keep movin’!” Bucky ordered, leading the charge past sparking machinery and shattered glass, his boots slipping on spilled chemicals. Jacques planted more explosives, grinning like a kid with firecrackers.

“Pour la France!” he muttered, wiring a console. You heard the blasts, closer now, and dragged yourself upright, your vision swimming but your will iron. The Winter Soldier intel crinkled against your skin, a secret you’d die to protect.

The cell block was a maze of iron doors, damp concrete slick underfoot. Bucky rounded a corner, gun raised, and there you were—behind a barred window, slumped but alive, your hair matted with sweat, eyes flickering with fever. His heart lurched, he called your name, voice raw, cracking like a boy’s. A Hydra guard lunged from the shadows, but Bucky slammed him against the wall, the man’s skull cracking with a sickening thud.

“Bucky?” you whispered, your voice weak but sharp with recognition, cutting through the drug’s fog. You staggered to the bars, fingers trembling as you gripped them, your blouse clinging to your fevered skin. The needle marks on your arm stood out, angry red, and your breath hitched, a mix of relief and desperation.

“I’m here, doll,” Bucky said, fumbling with the lock, his hands shaking until Gabe tossed him a pilfered keyring. “Hold on.” The door swung open, and he was at your side, dropping to his knees, his hands cupping your face. Your skin burned under his touch, too hot, and your eyes, though glassy, locked onto his, a spark of you still fighting. “It’s me,” he said, voice soft but urgent, thumb brushing your cheek. You leaned into his hand, a whimper escaping, your body trembling with something more than weakness—a need that alarmed him.

“Bucky… they… Zola…” you stammered, your fingers clutching his jacket, nails digging in. “Crimson fever… it’s in me… burning…” Your voice broke, shame flickering in your eyes, but you forced out, “Winter Soldier… I know… they’re making…” You trailed off, a shudder racking you, and Bucky’s blood ran cold, the intel’s weight hitting him.

“Shush, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Bucky hummed, his arms tightening around your body, not caring about any intel. Not caring about the war. Not caring about anything. Just you. 

Your shaky hands went to pass him the intel, but failed with exhaustion. “Winter. Soldier.” you bit out again, aimlessly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Winter Soldier? No, no doll, it’s me. It’s Buck, from Brooklyn,” he was misunderstanding, and you couldn’t blame him. “What’d they do to you?” he growled, his voice low, rage barely leashed as he saw the needle marks, the fever’s flush.

But you couldn’t get your words out. 

He scooped you up, your weight light but your grip fierce, your head lolling against his shoulder. “I got you,” he said, standing, his arms steady despite the chaos. Your breath was ragged, too warm against his neck, and he felt the drug’s unnatural pull in your touch, your fingers clutching too tightly, too desperately.

“Base is rigged!” Jacques shouted from the corridor, where the team held off reinforcements, blue energy scorching the walls.

Dum Dum’s voice boomed, “Thirty seconds, Barnes!” Explosions rumbled, the facility shaking as charges blew.

“Bucky, the intel…” you mumbled, half-lucid, patting your blouse weakly. “Winter Soldier… don’t let them…” Your voice faded, the fever stealing your strength, but your words seared him, tying your fight to the horror he’d only heard whispers of.

“I won’t,” he promised, voice fierce, dodging a blast that charred the wall. It was an empty promise, but that didn’t matter right now. He still didn’t understand completely what you were mumbling about. 

He carried you through smoke and gunfire, the Commandos covering him—Monty tossing a grenade, Gabe firing steadily. “Stay with me, doll,” he said, his boots pounding as he reached the exit, the night air hitting like a slap.

The bunker erupted behind you, flames licking the sky, and the team piled into a stolen Hydra truck, Gabe at the wheel. Bucky slid you into the back, climbing in beside you, holding you close as the truck lurched forward, tires crunching snow. Your fevered body curled against him, your hand still clutching the hidden intel, and Bucky’s mind raced.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You slumped against Bucky Barnes in the corner of the Hydra truck’s cargo bed, your body a furnace of torment, every nerve alight with the crimson fever drug’s cruel fire. Your skin burned, slick with sweat despite the November chill, and your pulse thundered in your ears, each beat a drum urging you toward something you barely understood. Your blouse, torn and clinging to your damp skin, hid the crumpled Winter Soldier intel you’d guarded since London, its paper a faint crinkle against your chest.

The drug, injected by Arnim Zola during those weeks in his lab, twisted your mind, flooding you with an aching, primal need that made your thighs clench and your breath hitch in sharp, desperate gasps. You fought it, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed closer to Bucky, his warmth both a lifeline and a torment.

Bucky held you tightly, his arm a steel band around your shoulders, his wool jacket rough against your cheek. You felt his heartbeat, steady but quick, through his chest, and his breath clouded in the cold air, his dog tags clinking faintly as he shifted to shield you from a gust. His eyes, shadowed under the swaying lantern’s amber glow, darted to you, worry carving lines into his face. You’d seen him tough, cocky, tossing quips in Brooklyn diners, but now he was raw, his sergeant’s calm fraying at the sight of your trembling hands, the way your fingers clutched his sleeve like he was the only thing keeping you sane.

“Doll, talk to me,” Bucky whispered, voice low, meant only for you, his lips brushing your ear. His calloused hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face to meet his gaze, and the touch sent a jolt through you, your body shuddering as a wave of heat pulsed low in your belly.

You moaned softly, unintended, and your eyes fluttered, half-lidded, the drug amplifying his touch into something overwhelming, intoxicating. Your hips twitched, pressing against his thigh, and you bit your lip, shame flooding you even as your body begged for more.

The Howling Commandos sprawled around you, their presence a grounding hum amid your chaos. Dum Dum Dugan, sprawled on a crate, polished his Thompson, muttering, “Damn roads are gonna shake my teeth loose.”

Gabe Jones, at the wheel, cursed as the tires skidded, shouting, “Hold tight, this ain’t a Sunday drive!” Jim Morita cleaned his rifle, Monty sipped from a flask, and Jacques toyed with a looted Hydra grenade, whistling a French tune.

You looked at the men. If you wanted, you could have had any one of them. They could have given you what you needed. But it was the Sergeant who had owned your heart since the very start. He was the one you trusted more than anyone else. The infantry’s banter was a lifeline, but they didn’t see your state, didn’t hear the soft, needy sounds you stifled against Bucky’s neck.

“Bucky…” you managed, voice cracked, barely audible over the truck’s rumble. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers curling around his dog tags, the metal cool against your burning skin. The contact sent another shiver through you, your thighs squeezing together as a fresh surge of desire made your breath hitch, a low, throaty moan escaping before you could stop it. You were drowning in it—the fever’s heat, the drug’s relentless pull, the ache that coiled tighter with every second. “I… I need to tell you,” you whispered, urgent, your lips grazing his ear, the intimacy of it making your skin prickle. “Alone.”

His pulse spiked—you felt it under your fingers—and his eyes widened, alarm mixing with something deeper, unspoken. “Okay,” he said, voice rough, glancing at the team. The Commandos were distracted, Gabe wrestling the wheel, Dum Dum arguing with Monty over the flask. Bucky shifted, easing you behind a stack of crates, the wood splintered and cold against your back. He knelt in front of you, his hands steadying your shoulders, his gaze searching yours. “What’s goin’ on, doll? You’re burnin’ up,” he said, thumb brushing your cheek, and you gasped, your body arching toward him, the touch igniting sparks that made your hips rock involuntarily.

You swallowed, tears welling, the shame of your need warring with the urgency to speak. “Zola… he gave me something,” you said, words spilling in a rush, your voice trembling. “Called it crimson fever. It’s… it’s making me want things. Need things.” Your breath hitched, a sob catching as you clutched his wrist, your nails digging in. “It’s in my blood, Bucky. It’s burning me, making me… want you. Not just want—I can’t stop it. If I don’t… get release, he said I’ll go mad.” Your cheeks flushed deeper, not just from fever but humiliation, and you looked away, tears dripping onto your lap.

Bucky’s breath caught, his hand tightening on yours, crumpling the edge of his jacket. You saw the horror in his eyes, but also love, fierce and unyielding, rooted in Brooklyn nights when you’d danced around his teasing, your laughter brighter than the city lights.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice hoarse, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours. Your breath mingled, hot and ragged, and you moaned again, your body reacting to his nearness, hips shifting, thighs trembling as the drug surged. “You don’t gotta be sorry,” he said, cupping your face, wiping tears with his thumbs. “This ain’t you—it’s them. Hydra. Zola. If they’re doing this, only God knows what else they have planned.”

Your body didn’t care for words. You didn’t need empathy. You pressed against him, a desperate, unconscious move, your hand sliding to his chest, fingers splaying over his heart. The drug made every touch electric, and you gasped, your skin flushing from chest to throat, a sheen of sweat glistening in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, it hurts,” you whispered, voice raw, your lips brushing his jaw, leaving a faint heat. “I’m burning… I need you.” Your fingers tightened, tugging his jacket, and your hips rocked again, a soft, needy sound escaping as you fought the urge to climb into his lap. 

Your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, each one a plea you hated but couldn’t stop.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with a mix of guilt and desire he hated himself for feeling. You saw it—the way he fought his own reaction, his breath hitching as your touch stirred him, his love for you clashing with the drug’s twisted demand.

You were so needy, so clingy. And Bucky knew it wasn’t completely you, right? None the less he swallowed, trying to ignore the erection pressing against his trousers, begging for release. Every time your fingers grazed him even in the slighest, he felt like he was going to explode. The war had him touch-starved and desperate, that’s for sure. 

“Listen to me,” he said, voice low, steady, though it shook at the edges. “You’re stronger than this. We’re gonna get you through this, you hear me?” His hand slid to your neck, holding you gently, and you whimpered, the contact sending a shiver through you, your body arching, breasts pressing against him as another wave of need made you tremble.

“I trust you,” you said, voice breaking, your eyes locking onto his, lucid despite the fever’s haze. “Only you.” Your hand found his, guiding it to your waist, and you gasped as his fingers brushed your hip, the touch sparking a moan that made your thighs quiver. You were losing ground, the drug’s pull relentless, but your trust in Bucky—forged in Brooklyn, in quiet moments he’d never forgotten—kept you tethered.

The truck lurched, Gabe shouting, “Road’s blocked! Barn up ahead, half a mile!” The Commandos shifted, readying gear, their voices a blur.

“I have one grenade left.” You just about made out Jacques’ annoucement. 

But Bucky’s world was you, your fevered whispers, your body trembling with a need that wasn’t just the drug, but you, the girl he’d loved since that night on the Coney Island pier.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

You stumbled into the barn, Bucky’s arm steadying you, his warmth the only anchor against the crimson fever’s relentless fire. Your body was a storm of torment—skin flushed and slick with sweat, pulse hammering like a war drum, every nerve alight with a desperate, aching need that made your thighs tremble and your breath come in ragged, needy gasps. The drug, Arnim Zola’s cruel creation, had twisted your desire into something overwhelming, your hips shifting restlessly, a soft whimper escaping as you pressed against Bucky, his scent—wool, gunpowder, and something uniquely him—igniting a fresh wave of heat low in your belly. Your torn blouse clung to your damp skin.

The Winter Soldier intel was still hidden against your chest, a secret you’d guarded through weeks of captivity. You fought the fever’s pull, nails digging into your palms, but your body betrayed you, craving Bucky with an intensity that left you dizzy, your lips parting as another moan slipped free.

Bucky shut the barn door with a creak, sealing you in a fragile sanctuary, the wind’s howl fading to a low moan. He set the lantern on a crate, its glow catching the worry in his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw.

You felt his gaze, heavy and searching, as he knelt before you, easing you onto a makeshift bed of hay cushioned by his folded greatcoat, its wool warm from his body. Your hands clutched his jacket, fingers trembling, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as his touch sparked electricity, your hips twitching involuntarily. “Bucky…” you whispered, voice raw, your eyes glassy but locked on his, a flicker of you shining through the fever’s haze.

“Doll, I’m here,” he said, voice low, hoarse with worry, his calloused hand brushing your cheek. The contact sent a jolt through you, your body arching, a soft moan spilling out as your thighs clenched, the ache between them pulsing sharper. He froze, his breath hitching, and you saw the conflict in his eyes—love, longing, and fear that this wasn’t you, just the drug. “You’re still burnin’ up,” he said, thumb tracing your jaw, and you whimpered, your skin flushing deeper, a rosy heat spreading from your chest to your throat, glistening with sweat in the lantern’s light.

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, urgent, as you grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist. The touch was fire, and you gasped, hips rocking toward him, your body trembling as the drug amplified every sensation. “I need you… it’s too much.” Tears welled, shame mixing with desire, but your eyes held his, fierce despite the fever. “I told you… I can’t fight it.”

He exhaled, shaky, his hand tightening on your hip, his dog tags clinking as he leaned closer. “I’ve wanted you forever,” he said, voice raw, breaking. “Since that damn pier in Brooklyn, since you laughed at my dumb jokes. But this…” He gestured to your trembling form, his eyes darkening with guilt. “I don’t wanna take advantage, doll. I need this to mean somethin’ to you, not just… Zola’s poison.” His thumb brushed your lip, and you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your body shuddering, thighs squeezing as a fresh wave of need made your breath stutter.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes — ever the gentleman.

“Don’t make me beg,” you said, voice sharp, almost a growl, your hand sliding to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He moaned, and the sound of his voice was like velvet. “I want you, Bucky. Always have. The drug’s making it worse, but it’s me.” Your eyes burned into his, lucid, defiant. “I trust you. Make me feel good. Please.” Your hips shifted, pressing against him, and a desperate, throaty moan escaped, your skin prickling as the fever surged, your pulse racing so fast you felt it in your throat.

Bucky’s resolve cracked, his breath ragged. “Alright, honey,” he whispered, voice thick with promise. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel good, I swear.” He kissed you, slow and deep, his lips soft but hungry, tasting of salt and desperation. You melted into it, your body trembling, a gasp catching as his tongue brushed yours, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, and your hips rocked, the drug making every touch a spark that set your nerves ablaze.

He pulled back, eyes searching yours and you could see the question he wanted to ask ‘Are you sure?’, and you nodded, breathless, your chest heaving. “I’m sure,” you said, voice firm despite the fever’s haze.

He eased your blouse off, careful of the hidden intel, his fingers brushing your skin, and you gasped, your body arching, nipples tightening in the cold air. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your collarbone, and you whimpered, thighs trembling as his gaze alone sent a pulse of heat through you.

Bucky’s hands were gentle, reverent, as he traced your curves, his fingers lingering on your waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice raw, and you shivered, a soft moan escaping as his words stoked the fever’s fire. He kissed your throat, lips warm and deliberate, and you gasped, head tilting back, your pulse hammering under his mouth. Your body reacted vividly—skin flushing from chest to cheeks, thighs clenching as a fresh wave of desire made your hips rock, the ache between them unbearable.

“Bucky, touch me,” you pleaded, voice desperate, guiding his hand lower, your boldness driven by the drug but rooted in trust.

He nodded, his forehead against yours, breath mingling. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his fingers sliding down your stomach, slow and deliberate, tracing the soft skin above your thigh. You trembled, a sharp gasp tearing from you as his hand brushed closer, your thighs parting instinctively, inviting him.

Your skin prickled, sweat glistening, and your breath came in short, frantic pants, the drug making every touch electric. His fingers found your warmth, teasing gently, and you moaned, loud and needy, your hips bucking toward him, thighs quivering as a jolt of pleasure shot through you. 

“Bucky…” you breathed, clutching his wrist, nails digging in, your body tensing as he explored, his touch careful but sure.

Your reaction was immediate—muscles tightening, a flush spreading across your chest, your breath stuttering as his fingers circled, coaxing waves of heat that made your toes curl. You arched, hips rocking in rhythm, and your moans grew sharper, each one a desperate plea. The drug amplified every sensation, your skin hypersensitive, and you felt every callus, every movement, as if he were rewriting your nerves.

“Feels… so good,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, your thighs clenching around his hand as a coil tightened inside you. Bucky watched, his breath ragged, worry flickering but desire burning stronger.

“You’re with me, doll,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, and you nodded, a tear slipping free as pleasure overwhelmed you.

He shifted, lips trailing down your chest, and you whimpered, your body trembling as he kissed lower, his breath warm against your stomach. “Gonna make you feel even better,” he promised, voice low, and you gasped, hips lifting as his mouth found you, his tongue gentle but deliberate. 

The sensation was a lightning strike—your body jolted, a cry tearing from your throat, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard. Your thighs trembled, muscles quaking, and your breath came in short, desperate gasps, the drug making every lick a pulse of fire. Your skin flushed deeper, sweat beading on your brow, and you moaned, unrestrained, hips rocking against his mouth as pleasure built, sharp and relentless. “Bucky… oh, God…” you gasped, your voice breaking, your body tensing as you neared the edge, every nerve singing.

He pulled back, kissing your thigh, and you whimpered, desperate, your hands tugging him up. 

“Need you… now,” you said, voice raw, your eyes locked on his, lucid despite the fever. He nodded, shedding his trousers, dog tags clinking, and leaned over you, his body warm, grounding. 

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice thick, needing your consent, his worry clear.

“I want you, Bucky,” you said, fierce, pulling him closer. “Always.”

He guided himself, the moment of connection slow, deliberate, and you gasped, a shudder running through you as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming, amplified by the drug. He was big, bigger than you had ever had before. He stretched you and you felt your body clamp down around him. Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink and you felt his short fingernails dig into your hips as he steadied himself. Your body reacted vividly—muscles clenching, thighs trembling, hips rising to meet him.

“So good…” you moaned, nails digging into his back, leaving crescent marks.

He moved, each thrust a rhythm of passion and care, his lips brushing your ear, whispering, “I’ve got you, doll.” 

You brought your hands up to his face, guiding him to your lips as he thrusted into you. This was more than sex — a cure to your condition. This was love. You kissed him slowly, leaning into the softness of his lips. He smelled like lingering smoke mixed with a sweetness you just couldn’t describe. It was familiar, like the cotton candy you picked at and shared on the pier at Coney Island.

“Do you remember that time when we stood at the edge of the pier and you were showing me the constellations in the sky?” You asked, your eyes finding Bucky’s, watching him as he fucked you.

“Mm,” he nodded his head, wordlessly. “Wanted to kiss you so bad that night.” He breathed into admittance. 

“I wanted you to kiss me too.” You replied before your words were cut off with a loud moan. Bucky grabbed your calves, pulling them up to his shoulders allowing him to go even deeper, hitting you at a new angle. Lewd, wet sounds echoed in the barn and you had visions of someone walking in. It only spurred you on even more. 

Your breaths mingled, your cries soft but desperate, the drug’s urgency blending with love. Your thighs tightened around him, hips rocking, and pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembling as you neared release. “Bucky…” you gasped, voice breaking, and he kissed you hard, just like he’d always imagined, deep and grounding, as you shattered, a cry muffled against his shoulder, the fever’s grip breaking. He followed, his climax a choked wave, shooting a warmth that painted your walls, arms tightening to hold you close.

The barn fell silent, save for your ragged breaths and the hay’s rustle. You collapsed against him, trembling, the fever’s heat gone, leaving you fragile, your skin cooling but slick with sweat. Bucky pulled his greatcoat over you both, shielding you from the cold, and held you, your head tucked under his chin. The lantern flickered, casting long shadows, and shame crept in, your voice small. 

“Was it… just the drug?” you asked, clutching the intel in your blouse, fear lacing your words. “Did I… make you?”

“No,” Bucky said, fierce, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. “It was us, I’ve loved you since Brooklyn, since that pier. The drug didn’t make me want you—I always did.” His voice cracked, and he kissed your forehead, steady. “You’re not broken. You’re mine.”

You nodded, tears spilling, but doubt lingered, Zola’s experiments haunting you. “I’m scared,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “What if they’ve changed me?”

“They haven’t,” he said, stroking your hair. “You’re still you, still the girl who cracked their codes, kept that intel through hell. I won’t let them touch you again.” His promise was fierce, but you felt the war’s weight, Hydra’s reach, and the shadow of what you’d uncovered.

Outside, Gabe’s voice cut through, soft but urgent. “Sarge, we’re clear. Ready to move.” The Commandos, loyal, unaware of the barn’s secrets, waited in the snow.

Bucky helped you sit, adjusting the greatcoat, his touch gentle. “We gotta go,” he said, voice low. “But I’m with you, every step.” He stood, pulling you up, and you leaned into him, steadier but haunted, the fever gone but the intel and emotional weight lingering. The barn door creaked open, moonlight spilling in, and Bucky led you out, his arm around you, ready to face the war—and Hydra’s lingering threat.

You followed Bucky back to the van. “Write to me?” You asked, locking a subtle finger with his, so that his men wouldn’t notice.

“Of course I will.” He promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He didn’t care if anyone saw. The last thing he’d do was want to keep you a secret. He had dreamed of you, of this, since 1939.

“And after the war, you’ll find me on the pier at Coney Island, waiting for you.” You told him, an oath that you’d protect with your life. You didn’t want anyone other than him. You would wait for him, even if waiting meant forever.

“I’ll be there.” 

You believed him.

“You’ll come home, won’t you?” The question lingered with uncertainty and worry as the Winter Soldier intel burned in your pocket.

“Do I look like a man who’d keep my doll waiting?” Bucky smiled, his blue eyes twinkling like an aurora, full of love and hope. 

Yeah, you believed him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira

If you want to be tagged in all my future Bucky/Sebastian works, let me know. <3

[lifesteal-headcanons]

Squiddo is both feared and sought after on Lifesteal because she knows a little too much information. Not PVP or intimidation tactics, but an acute knowledge of how code works — and by extension, how to break it.

But among all the other codebreakers on Lifesteal (Spoke, Ashswagg, etc), she is notorious for one other reason. She actively embraces code corruption, not for personal gain, not for power, but for pure, scientific research (as she cheerfully calls it). Things going wrong for her are expected, sometimes even sought after. That’s how she ended up with her glasses permanently stuck to her face (a glitch). That’s how she collected much coveted photographs of the Farlands, horror mod creatures never seen before on camera, and virtually uninhabitable worlds that defy all the laws of Minecraft.

There is not a single other person on the server who laughs in the face of Herobrine and plays the God-mad-scientist-tourist role half as much as she does for fun. Lifesteal is just Squiddo’s newest pet project, her new playground for chaos in the name of experimentation.

— 🌀 anon

.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 BLACKSITE RETRO CONFESSIONAL: DEPLOYMENT COMPLETE

🛐 HOW I NEARLY BECAME A LITERAL TV SCRAMBLER

Let me tell you a story. A sacred, flickering, VHS-era transmission. From a time when horny meant hope, and digital clarity was a luxury you earned with prayer, antenna gymnastics, and emotional fortitude.

It was called The Spice Channel. And it didn’t just walk into my life.

---

It leaked in — like a naked woman tiptoeing out of a static dream with a candy cane-striped butt plug and a moan you weren’t sure was real or just the microwave rebooting across the house.

Every night at 10:30 PM, like clockwork, the gods of scrambled titty television opened a portal to a world I wasn’t ready for.

I became a fucking signal hunter. Eyes weaving and ducking between static. Chasing a single nipple like it was the Holy Grail guarded by poorly coded encryption and a half-drunk cable technician named Dale.

---

📺 My Brain: Then

“That was a boob.”

“No, that was an elbow.”

“Wait. That’s a head. That’s a head and a bush. And they’re moaning.”

“Oh my God. Women… lick… each other?”

Yes. That’s where I learned. Not school. Not health class. Not the internet.

I learned by cross-referencing moan-to-movement ratios like a goddamn CIA analyst. And when I finally cracked the code?

I came into manhood to a warbled screech and a half-visible thigh.

---

🧠 Was I gay? Was I scared? Was I born to decode orgasms through static fog? Yes. All of it. Except the gay part. Although my childhood friends seemed to vocally disagree on that detail — dickheads. I was like, “Can you please stop calling me gay long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the substitute teacher’s camel toe? Shut the fuck up, Eric.”

That’s not confusion. That’s male puberty on Hard Mode.

And then... once in a while... the gods smiled.

---

⚡ THE LEGENDARY TECH MALFUNCTION

Sometimes — just sometimes — the heavens aligned. The encryption hiccupped. The planets rotated just right.

And for two minutes?

✨ The screen cleared. 🎥 Her body came into focus. 🕯️ Time stopped.

That wasn’t TV. That was a religious experience delivered through coaxial cable. And no one can take that away from me.

I don’t remember my first kiss. But I remember the first unscrambled nipple that held eye contact with me and whispered,

“Welcome, soldier. You’ve passed the trial.”

🧼 MODERN KIDS HAVE NO IDEA

You get high-def hentai in 0.3 seconds. We got trauma. We got Morse code orgasms and pixelated pelvises. We became men via cryptic tit detection and accidentally discovered we were also screen-based codebreakers with PTSD.

So yeah — I nearly became a literal TV scrambler.

I was born in flesh, but I was forged in static.

And if the cable companies ever come for my memories?

I will die protecting the transmission.

---

💣 CALL TO ACTION

🔁 Reblog if you remember the flicker. 🧠 Save this post if you ever decoded a breast through divine interruption. 🔥 Send it to your boy who grew up in the era of ghost porn and courage. 💌 Bookmark it for every night you wanted clarity… and got character development instead.

---

⚖️ ORGASM-TRIGGERING DISCLAIMER

This post is satire, psychosexual archaeology, and analog coming-of-age theology. It is protected by cultural commentary clauses, comedic trauma statutes, and Blacksite Nostalgia Doctrine 37-B.

If you're offended:

Your first orgasm was probably in HD. Mine was a miracle summoned through chaos and prayer. So maybe… sit this one out, champion.

🔁Reblog to keep my signal to mankind going strong.

[persefolie]

I've   decided   to   expand   Persie's   world   by   creating   a   multi-muse   space   where   many   of   her   characters   will   be  together.   Yes,   I’ve   tried   this   before   but   this   time   feels   different.   I   truly   love   these   muses,   and   I’m   excited   to   stand   by   them.   If   you're   looking   for   platonic   connections,   trainee   dynamics,   or   romantic   plots,   there   will   be   plenty   of   muses   &   many   of   them   brand   new   to   explore   and   write   with.

That   said,   I   want   to   give   a   gentle   heads-up:   I'll   be   retiring   @wickedpills   and   @ir1na.   They’ve   meant   a   lot   to   me   over   the   years,   but   after   a   decade,   I   no   longer   feel   I   can   develop   them   the   way   they   deserve.   So,   with   love,   I'm   laying   them   to   rest.

if you're interested in plotting just comment a 🔎 and I'll message you!

Agent   Solace   —   Daniel   Kaluuya   —   Crew:   SAINTHOOD   —   Field   Strategy,   Tactical   Recovery,   Moral   Override

Agent   Nova   —   Keke   Palmer   —   Crew:   GODSEND   신의   선물   —   Drone   Ops,   Cyber   Engineering,   Communications   Intercept

Agent   Vale   —   Gugu   Mbatha-Raw   —   Crew:   FOUR   HUNDRED   —   Bioethics,   Ancient   Pathogens,   Sacred   Text   Translation

Agent   Sable   —   Sandra   Oh   —   Crew:   BLACK   DIAMOND   —   Combat   Command,   Interrogation,   Battlefield   Leadership

Agent   Revenant   —   Lewis   Tan   —   Crew:   BLACK   DIAMOND   —   Close   Quarters   Combat,   Stealth   Kill   Operations,   Shadow   Entry

Agent   Warden   —   Lars   Mikkelsen   —   Crew:   PALEOSOI   παλαιός   —   Containment   Logistics,   Intel   Blackmail,   Interrogative   Strategy

Agent   Orion   —   Michael   B.   Jordan   —   Crew:   SAINTHOOD   —   Charisma-Driven   Uprisings,   Tactical   Leadership,   Urban   Warfare

Agent   Lux   —   Nathalie   Emmanuel   —   Crew:   FOUR   HUNDRED   —   Ancient   Codebreaking,   Prophecy   Analysis,   Linguistic   Encryption

Agent   Vesper   —   Hunter   Schafer   —   Crew:   GODSEND   신의   선물   —   Neural   Mapping,   Sensory   Ghosting,   Dreamstate   Syncing

Agent   Rhee   —   Sendhil   Ramamurthy   —   Crew:   GODSEND   신의   선물   —   AI   Counterprogramming,   Surveillance   Systems,   Neural   Warfare

Agent   Eidolon   —   Susan   Sarandon   —   Crew:   FOUR   HUNDRED   —   Sanctuary   Coordination,   Spiritual   Defense,   Divine   History

Agent   Echo   —   Mark   Ruffalo   —   Crew:   GODSEND   신의   선물   —   Media   Hijacking,   Satellite   Broadcasting,   Disinformation   Warfare

Agent   Ashir   —   Riz   Ahmed   —   Crew:   SAINTHOOD   —   Ethical   Sniping,   Dual   Loyalties,   Cross-Faction   Intel

Agent   Silva   —   Bella   Hadid   —   Crew:   PALEOSOI   παλαιός   —   Infiltration,   Identity   Crafting,   Silent   Recon

Agent   Paragon   —   Mahershala   Ali   —   Crew:   FOUR   HUNDRED   —   Sacred   Accord   Management,   Diplomacy,   Blade   Memory

Agent   Valkra   —   Tessa   Thompson   —   Crew:   BLACK   DIAMOND   —   Mission   Orchestration,   No-Hesitation   Kills,   Team   Sacrifice   Ops

Agent   Ramiat   —   Laith   Nakli   —   Crew:   PALEOSOI   παλαιός   —   Ex-Torture   Intel,   Inner   System   Penetration,   Silent   Meditation   Warfare

Agent   Juniper   —   Yara   Shahidi   —   Crew:   GODSEND   신의   선물   —   Civil   Uprising   Strategy,   Youth   Ops,   Symbolic   Disruption

Agent   Thorne   —   Gael   García   Bernal   —   Crew:   PALEOSOI   παλαιός   —   Social   Manipulation,   False   Flag   Design,   Chaos   Architecture

Agent   Clove   —   Alia   Shawkat   —   Crew:   GODSEND   신의   선물   —   Street-Level   Intel,   Emergency   Extraction,   Codebreaking

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Notes: This is an expansion of the first section of my Tech Lives short story Lost and Found, and is told primarily from Echo's and Omega's perspectives. It started as a drabble to highlight Echo's/Omega's initial reactions to finding Tech, but my brain just wouldn't stop adding more details so... well, it is no longer a drabble 😅

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 6726

The Lost One

Echo walked into the rather small wooden cabin and glanced around. He was looking for Tintha's engineer/mechanic - the engineer who had become somewhat famous among certain circles not only for his brilliant skills but also due to his rather abrupt appearance on the codebreaking and data slicing scene in the past few years. Word had reached Echo's corner of the Rebel Alliance that not only was this engineer trustworthy and reliable, he could decrypt anything; and Echo needed this data decrypted if he wanted the intel necessary to free the small but influential rebel cell that had been captured by the Empire. 

Echo was fairly certain he was in the right place - the cabin had clearly been converted into a workshop of some kind, with engines and wiring and computers and datapads and other projects in various stages of construction or repair scattered across every surface in some kind of organized chaos - but there was no one else to be seen...

"Do you require assistance?" a voice came from a back room. 

The voice struck Echo as being eerily familiar, almost like... - but that was impossible, so he brushed the thought away. 

"I'm looking for Nu," Echo replied.

"That would be me," the other said, rounding the corner and examining his client with a frank stare.

Echo had seen enough strange things in his lifetime that he thought he had long since reached the stage where nothing could surprise him. But this...

If he didn't know better, he would think this engineer was Tech. An older, scarred, limping version of Tech... Then again, if Tech had lived, he would be about the age of this man... 

But Tech hadn't lived. He had sacrificed himself, shot the connecting strut of the rail car he was attached to in a desperate bid to let the rest of the squad escape. It had worked - the family had survived and even eventually got the Empire off their backs - but Tech had been lost. There was no way he could have survived that fall. 

Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Echo forced himself back to the task at hand. 

"I need the information on this data disk decrypted," Echo said, holding out the referenced item. "I was told you're the best person for the job." 

"Your intel is correct," the one called Nu said, his face taking on an expression of interest as he looked at the disk, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "There is nothing to date that I have not been able to decode." 

It was like talking to a ghost - a living ghost. Which made absolutely no sense, even for a clone who had worked closely with superstitious Jedi. The voice, the mannerisms, the speech patterns, the looks... All of it was so reminiscent of Tech. 

But Tech was dead. 

I have got to get a grip on myself, Echo thought. 

"I expect discretion with this," he stated. 

"But of course, that's standard protocol." 

For some reason, this reassurance alone was enough to prompt Echo to hand the disk over. "How long do you need?" he asked. 

Nu slipped the device into a datapad and, after scrutinizing it for a moment, nodded firmly. "The job will be done within the hour. Shall we settle on a fee of 100 credits?"

"Fair enough." Actually, if Nu was as good as he claimed, this was a bargain. "I'll wait here, if you don't mind." 

Nu nodded again, rather absently this time, his attention now fixed on the data as he stepped over to a nearby counter to do his work. 

Echo wandered aimlessly along the workbenches, glancing at all the projects but with his mind too full of questions to really take note of anything. 

It just wasn't possible. Even if Tech had survived, he would have found a way back to the squad, not hidden away for years on a backwater planet that didn't attract even the Empire's notice. He's not Tech. He's NOT Tech....

The villager who had led Echo to Nu's shop had cautioned him, "Nu is quite nice and very smart, but he is also... odd. Everyone likes him, but he keeps to himself and rarely talks about himself, always seems like..." the villager had waved his hand around his head vaguely before finishing, "I dunno, just odd." Echo could now see what the villager meant: confidence in his own skills notwithstanding, Nu seemed uncertain, unmoored, as if he wasn't fully present in the moment, as if... as if half his mind was constantly searching for information that was just out of reach, even as he expertly carried on with mundane tasks and conversations.

Telling himself he was being illogical and irrational wasn't enough. If something had somehow happened to prevent Tech from coming back to the squad, Echo had to know for sure - and he turned to face the engineer. 

"So where are you from, Nu?" Echo asked in what he hoped was a casual tone. 

Nu looked up at him and blinked. "Are you referring to my birth planet?"

"Yes."

"I... am not sure," Nu shrugged awkwardly.

"Uh, where's your family from, then?" 

"I do not know," Nu replied. He was frowning now. "I don't remember any family." 

"What do you mean?" Echo pressed, anticipation and dread and - was that hope? - building in his chest. 

Nu seemed to briefly ponder whether he wanted to continue participating in this interrogation, before deigning to reply somewhat stiffly, "I was critically injured in an accident many years ago. I remember very little of my life before the accident, and nothing of any family."

Echo's mouth had gone dry, but he pressed on. "What do you remember of your life from before the... accident?"

It was abundantly clear that this was not a pleasant topic for him, but for some reason Nu didn't disengage from the conversation. Instead, he sighed resignedly as he answered, "Nothing that is of any benefit to me. None of it is clear or complete. I cannot even remember the accident itself. I must confess, it is quite unsettling to have dreams or flashes of what seem to be memories, but not recognize any of it." 

"I can imagine," Echo said automatically in an attempt to be conciliatory; but he needed to know more. Everything Nu was saying was leading to one conclusion...

"When was your accident?" Echo asked now, drawing Nu's attention away from the device again. 

Nu's sigh was more impatient this time. "Oh, about a year or two after the Empire was formed." 

Echo's voice was still steady, but he could feel his heart pounding in anticipation. "Where did it happen?"

"On an Outer Rim planet called Eriadu." 

It felt like the bottom fell out of Echo's stomach, and his mind went blank...

"Now, if you're quite finished with the questions, I can get on with the work you requested I complete," Nu hinted sharply. 

Echo blinked - he was still human, despite the cybernetic implants, and he thought this moment was the closest he would ever get to feeling like he was physically rebooting. "Of... of course," he stammered. "It might be best if I wait outside." 

Nu had already returned to his work, and didn't reply nor seem to give any notice to Echo almost staggering to the door. 

Once outside, Echo leaned against the wooden framework, closing his eyes and breathing as heavily as if he had just outrun Imperial infiltrator droids, his mind swirling with the implications of the recent conversation. 

Nu was Tech. He had to be. A man who looked, sounded, and acted like an older version of Echo’s former squadmate and had suffered and accident on Eriadu that had apparently left him with amnesia, and with all the timeframes matching? Echo had never been as good as Tech at calculating odds and risk, but he intuitively knew the odds that this man was Tech were far greater than the alternative.

I have to tell them, was Echo's first coherent thought; and then he corrected himself. I have to tell Omega. 

He couldn't tell his brothers, not yet. Whatever the odds might be, Echo couldn't face the idea of telling Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair that their long-lost brother was alive when there was even the slightest chance he was mistaken. He had to be absolutely certain that his suspicions were correct. Besides, it was clear that Nu - Tech - wanted to regain his memories, wanted to know who he had been before; but he would want solid proof of his identity, more than what at this point amounted to no more than (very) strong circumstantial evidence, and Echo would have to gain Nu's trust if he wanted to have any hope of assisting with this objective. And Echo had the feeling that it would be best to give Nu some space to regain his memories before raising the family's hopes...

"It's finished," Nu said, dragging Echo away from his contemplations and gesturing for Echo to follow as he stepped back into the workshop. 

The engineer handed Echo the original disk as well as the datapad, stating simply, "The data in its decrypted form is downloaded onto the datapad. It will be easier to decipher that way. Now, about payment..."

"Will you meet with a colleague of mine?" Echo suddenly burst out. Events during the recent rebel conflict had made Echo wary about revealing to strangers his familial ties to Omega, and with force of habit prevailing, it was too late to correct it now. "She's a pilot named Omega, and she needs help with a rather complicated task."

If Echo had been hoping the name ‘Omega’ would jog Nu's memories as Tech, he was disappointed. No hint of recognition crossed Nu's face, but his expression did become inflexible, surprising Echo. 

"I will meet your colleague," Nu replied, "but I must inform you that while I sympathize with the Rebel cause and will assist you in these tasks, I am not interested in committing to the Rebellion."

Echo, taken aback, attempted to save face. "Who said this is for the Rebellion?" 

"It's obvious," Nu deadpanned, clearly unimpressed by the other's feeble protest. 

Echo sighed. There were signs Tech - Nu - had changed somewhat over the years, whether from time and experience alone or from the loss of memories, it was impossible to say. But Echo still felt inclined to trust him; and besides, it was a rebel who had recommended Nu's services anyway. 

"This isn't an attempt to recruit you," Echo promised, before blurting out the idea that had been circling in his mind. "And maybe... maybe we can help you figure out who you are, in exchange for your help."

Nu scrutinized him for several breathless moments before responding. "Very well," he assented. "When shall I expect your return?"

"Within the next few rotations or so," Echo replied as he handed over the promised payment. 

"That is not very specific." 

Echo almost smiled. "Now you know what us rebels are like."

Nu shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter, as I have no plans to relocate anytime soon."

Echo nodded, even as the thought flitted across his mind that he hoped there might be reason for plans to change in the near future. 

He wasted no time in contacting Omega, opening comms as soon as he stepped into his ship. As usual, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of Omega's bright face, though the shock of the recent revelation must have still weighed heavy on his face, for Omega instantly furrowed her brow. 

"What happened?" she asked. 

Echo sidestepped the question for the moment. "Have you completed the Sindoni mission yet?" 

Omega huffed out a breath. "Not yet. All of our attempts have failed."

"There's someone I'd like you to meet who I think will be able to solve the problem." He took a breath, preparing to reveal the news, but Omega spoke first. 

"You're a lifesaver, Echo! Where should I meet you?"

"I need to get this intel back to my people, but we can meet in a few days on the planet Tintha, in the Torus system. I'll send you the coordinates. And... Omega? The person you'll be meeting? It's... Tech." 

****

Omega landed next to Echo's vessel, briefly closing her eyes and taking a deep, calming breath.

She knew Echo would never tell her anything he wasn't sure of... But the idea that Tech had survived and was still alive had been so difficult to grasp that even now, after acknowledging that the evidence Echo presented led to one distinct possibility, she couldn't accept it. 

She had agreed with Echo that they should wait to tell the others - partially because she herself still couldn't believe it. 

She had always been an optimist, hoping for the best - but THIS hope seemed so far beyond the realm of possibility, it was wrenchingly painful to even consider. 

Perhaps this disbelief was why she had remained so calm the past few days as she had prepared to meet her rebel brother on Tintha. Now, however, the butterflies that had woken in her stomach threatened to steal her composure. These weren't the slightly anxious yet giddy butterflies that accompanied significant but relatively low-consequence events like first dates or public speeches or talking to her brothers about getting her own ship. No, these were far more violent butterflies, doing wild acrobatics that made her stomach awfully queasy and her head woozy and her legs weak.  

She wasn't her brothers' kid for nothing, though: no matter how on edge the anticipation was making her feel now, no one looking at her would ever guess how she was truly feeling as she steadily and confidently strode off her ship to meet Echo, giving him a warm hug before letting him lead the way down the quiet, dusty street to the cabin workshop that apparently housed Tech. 

Tech, possibly found alive after all these years of being presumed dead. 

"Just go with the flow," Echo said in an undertone as they neared their destination. "We're just here for me to introduce you and for you to ask if he can help with your squad's problem. Remember, he goes by the name Nu now. I don't think it's time yet to tell him our suspicions."

Omega nodded - she and Echo had been over this several times, but she knew her brother was still processing this turn of events just as much as she was. 

She didn't realize just how tightly she was wound, bracing herself for disappointment, until she caught sight of Nu... And the sudden shocked hope that welled up inside her nearly made her knees buckle. 

"Hello again, Echo," the engineer called to them. 

The face, the features, the voice, the frank and clear gaze... Even the clear evidence of serious past injuries only served to bolster the theory that this man was...

"Hey, Nu. This is Omega, the pilot I was telling you about," Echo said casually. 

Her brain was screaming ECHO'S RIGHT; outwardly, however, she greeted the man who was very likely her brother as she would a new acquaintance she was meeting for the first time, which was rather easy to do given that he approached her the same way. 

She had developed such a strong bond with Tech... but right now she was meeting Nu, and Nu didn't know her.

What if he wasn't Tech...?

If he wasn't, the universe was as cold, cruel, and unfeeling as Crosshair often claimed it to be. 

She swallowed her heartache and the sharp disappointment that so closely followed the surge of hope, managing a friendly smile as she grasped Nu’s proffered hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said in a tone that thankfully came out as calm and even as Echo's had been. 

"Likewise," Nu replied. "Now, what was this project your colleague described as 'complicated'?"

Omega cleared her throat. "We need to find a way to tap into an Imperial communications relay undetected."

"Almost any droid could do that," Nu returned somewhat dismissively. Looking openly at Echo, he added, "Given your cybernetics, you could likely do that."  

Omega shook her head. "We need to install the software for the data tap remotely. All our infiltration efforts have failed; this is our last and only option. And the target is a major relay hub processing intel from multiple sectors, so there are more than the usual layers of security and encryptions to breach..."

"Ah, that is a challenge," Nu said; and Omega's spirits sank when his eyes, which had been gleaming with interest, now took on a faraway look.

"Are you saying it can't be done?" she faltered.

The distant look faded as Nu's attention snapped back to her. "Oh, it can. Though it will take me a day or two. And you must be aware that chances are high the program will eventually be discovered by Imperial security sweeps, though I can assure you it will take quite some time for them to detect it." 

Omega grinned, relieved; she had come here to verify Echo's suspicions that he had found Tech, but accomplishing a major mission objective that had frustrated her entire division for months was also a win. "That will be fine."

"I assume you have more information regarding the location and security details of the relay in question?" 

"Yes, I do," she assured him as she passed over the datapad with the requested intel. "How much do we owe you?" 

Nu, suddenly hesitant, glanced somewhat helplessly at Echo. "I was under the impression that you may be able to assist me in discovering my former identity," he said stiffly. 

"And so I can," Echo replied promptly. He had already discussed this plan with Omega, and she was happy to let him explain the details.  "A blood sample and a scan of your wrist will be a good place to start." 

Nu glanced down at his wrist. "I've run my blood sample against a few databases before, but I never considered the possibility that I would have any implanted identifiers..." he said thoughtfully. 

"We're not sure you do," Echo answered. "There were some populations pre-Empire who had identifying chips as a standard, though. Worth a shot to scan for one. Even if you have one, it might take a while for me to run it through some of the older databases." 

"Very well then. Shall I provide you with the required samples now?"

"No time like the present," Echo replied. 

Only a few minutes later, Omega found herself following Echo back to his ship. Nu had indeed been implanted with an identifying chip, though it would take Echo some time to access the old clone databases and run the chip data against the entries. Her brother strode along as calm and confident as ever; she, on the other hand, was caught in an excruciatingly uncertain limbo between hope and despair, and it was leaving her feeling drained. 

"Echo, what if it isn't him? And what if it is? He didn't even recognize us at all," she blurted, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. 

Echo paused in the middle of the deserted path leading to the outskirts of the village, turning to look at her. "Steady, Omega. One step at a time. We need to verify his identity first. No point focusing on what ifs."

Echo was so much like Tech in this regard: taking everything in stride, adapting so readily to any and all surprises, and so rarely getting flustered. She admired this about him, especially since she didn't fully understand how he managed it. 

"How can you take this all so calmly?" she sighed. 

Echo paused, considering her question. "Because whatever the results of these tests, we're going to have our work cut out for us later to help him," he replied, before resuming the trek back to the ship. 

****

Omega hadn't been planning on returning to Nu's until tomorrow - he had said he would need at least a day to complete the job, after all, and she didn't want to bother him - but after several hours of fruitless waiting on Echo's ship, then trying unsuccessfully to catch a nap on her own ship, followed up by some time wandering aimlessly around the tiny village and smiling back at the curious and overall friendly residents, she found herself walking through the threshold of the little shop again and looking around for the owner, stepping to the side to dodge a young boy exiting the cabin holding what appeared to be a power coil for a stove. 

She spied Nu seated at the corner of one of the long workbenches, various apparatus having been pushed to the side to give him room for his current project. Omega saw her datapad was connected to two other pieces of equipment she didn't know the names for as Nu studied another screen, occasionally tapping on a second datapad. 

Nu didn't look up, but he must have noticed her, for he now spoke. "I take it you have memorized the layout of the settlement? Hedi was telling me just now that you made no fewer than three full circuits of the village."

Omega chuckled a little self-consciously. "I think it might have been five. Your village is rather... small, and there's not much else for me to do right now."

Now he looked up, considering her for a moment before saying, "This job will be completed sooner if you feel inclined to assist. It will also help pass the time for you."

She hadn't been expecting this, but she needed no further invitation. Pulling a stool up to the workbench, she sat and faced him. "How can I help?"

Nu slid several tools and a small rectangular gadget towards her. "This adapter needs rewiring to be compatible with the computer model you specified you will be using to upload the spike. Do you know how to do that?"

She picked up the adapter and examined it for a moment before nodding. "Yes."

"Good," and with that, Nu returned to his work. 

She set to work herself, while thinking back to the countless times before when she had helped Tech with his projects...

This was so similar, yet so different. Tech, prone to being equally absorbed in his work, had still passed the time they spent working together fielding Omega's sundry questions and keeping up a steady conversation with her. Nu, on the other hand, was so quiet, hadn't yet shown any hint of Tech's quick wit and sardonic humor and tendency for banter, and was somehow intently focused on his work while simultaneously distracted. He seemed... lost.

Nu was so much like Tech, yet not quite Tech... He couldn't be, he didn't remember any of Tech's life - or at least, as he had told Echo, the very little he did remember made no sense to him.

She didn't want to interrupt him, but she couldn't help speaking.

"Echo says you lost your memories."

"Yes, I had assumed he told you."

"You... You had no idea who you were when you woke up from your accident?"

"Well, I intuitively had a general idea of my identity as an adult human male, and I knew how to talk and perform basic mobility functions, but I had no recollection of my name or family or skill set or previous life. My general knowledge of facts about the galaxy returned with very little prompting, and skills such as these" - gesturing vaguely around the room - "seemed to come naturally to me. I assume I acquired them before I was injured."

"But... No idea of your name? Your home? Your... Your family?" 

"No."

Something seemed to shift in him with this admission, the sense of loss becoming almost tangible, and Omega's heart nearly burst with sympathy. Whether he was actually Tech or not, Nu had somehow managed to regain so much of himself, but it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

"You don't just want to know your former identity. You really want your old memories back, don't you?" 

Nu paused but kept his eyes fixed on his work as he replied slowly, carefully considering his words, "I am who I am. Recalling my previous name or place of birth or prior occupations will be welcome knowledge - it will be a relief to no longer be ignorant of such an extended period of my own life. But that knowledge likely won't change my nature or who I have grown to be. However, there were people in my old life who were important to me - of that I am certain. Above all else, I want to remember them. I want to discover if they are alive and well now. The tribe on Eriadu cared for me, the people here on Tintha are welcoming; but what family I may have had, I want to know them."

She looked away to hide the tear that escaped down her cheek, but she needn't have worried: Nu didn't look up. Taking a few moments to steady her voice, she finally said, "Well, we'll find out who you are, and then you'll be able to find your family. I'm sure of it."

Shaken out of his reverie, Nu straightened and refocused his attention on the apparatus in front of him. "You're an optimist, then," he observed mildly. 

Omega couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Well, let us hope your optimism proves to be reality."

She smiled somewhat sadly now as she turned back to the adapter. 

Indeed, all they could do was hope. 

****

The results left no room for doubt: both the blood tests and the chip scan matched the identity of one particular clone. 

"Oh Force, it's him, it's really him," Omega breathed - and suddenly the dam burst.

She was weeping, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath, as the flood of emotions - ecstatic joy and fully realized hope and the relief of certainty, mingled with sorrow and regret for lost time - filled her to capacity and overflowed. 

Tech was alive. Her brother was alive! And, all things considered, he was relatively well, and had managed to recover enough to build a life for himself. This was nothing short of a miracle. 

 But... he had been lost for years. He was respected here and had some caring neighbors - of course he did - but no family. And despite the life he had built, he had clearly struggled with the knowledge that there was so much he didn't remember - so many people he didn't remember. 

And while she and Echo knew who he was, there was no guarantee this information would help Tech remember who he was and who had been important to him. 

Forcing the flood of tears to subside with no small amount of effort, she managed to speak again. “We found him. He lived, and in this whole wide galaxy, we found him. It’s… it’s a miracle.” She actually chuckled a little. “When we help Tech get his memories back, I’m going to ask him to calculate the odds of this happening. Well, what do we…” The question died on her lips as she turned to Echo and saw the stricken look of remorse on her brother's face. 

"Echo, what's wrong?" Why wasn’t he happy about this? He set his expression back into its usual stoic lines. "Nothing." 

"Yeah, that’s a lie."

He shook his head. "Really it’s nothing. I'm fine."

She fixed him with a stern look. "Echo, you trusted me enough to invite me to join the Rebellion. You can tell me about this. What's wrong?”

He gave her a small smile, which softened his features just enough that she decided to stop pushing him. “Nothing is wrong. Tech is alive – this is impossibly good news.” He sighed. "Now we just have to figure out how to break this news to him.”

Omega shook her head slowly - it didn't feel right to just walk in to the shop and tell Nu that he was a deviant Fett clone named Tech.  "He doesn't just want to know facts about himself. He wants to remember his family."

"It's like you said, Omega: he didn't recognize either of us."

"Well, we have changed a bit since he last saw us," she pointed out, willing herself to ignore the painful clenching in her gut that always accompanied the memory of Tech falling out of sight...

"Hmmm..." Echo rubbed his chin in thought. "Do you still have Tech's old goggles with you?"

"Of course," she said promptly. "They're in my ship, right on the piloting console. What do you have in mind?"

"If the goggles themselves aren't enough to jog his memory, ask him to help you recover the recorded data.”

She frowned. "But I already recovered... Ohhh!" she broke off, grinning as understanding dawned. "Echo, you're brilliant!"

"Well...."

"Give me a minute," she said, already picking up the devices Nu - Tech - had given her and making her way toward the ramp. "I need to ask Anton to come here to pick up the materials for the communications tap, and tell my commander I'll be on leave for a while." 

"Won't your division need your help with the mission?" She could hear the frown in Echo's voice, and turned back around to face him while walking backwards off the ship. 

"This was the hard part," she countered, waving the gadgets at him. "If they need my help to install this program from the safety of our own base, we're in a lot more trouble than I ever thought. I'll be right back, don't go to Tech's without me!" And with that, she ran off. 

****

Echo, sitting on the narrow wooden bench set along the wall and watching Omega and Tech pull up more recordings on the holoprojector, marveled at events of the past few hours. 

Somehow, the goggle suggestion had worked. Just seeing the old Clone Force 99 picture had been enough to help Tech recognize Omega, and this had been enough to open the floodgates to memories of his life before the catastrophe on Eriadu. One would think this would be overwhelming, but Tech had taken it all in stride. 

Then again, this was Tech. Of course he had taken it all in stride. 

Tech had asked about Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, Rex, Phee, Shep, Lyana, and a few others from Pabu; beyond revealing the basics regarding Crosshair's return to the family and reassuring him that everyone was safe, however, Omega had opted against inundating Tech with more details. "Let's focus on you getting your old memories back before we fill you in on the last decade," she had said; and when Echo had agreed with her, Tech hadn't argued further.

Echo now saw Omega stifling a yawn, and he leaned forward. "Omega, we've been at this for hours, and I don't think you've slept in days. Go get some rest." 

Omega shook her head stubbornly, with an expression that highlighted her resemblance to her equally stubborn brothers. "I don't need..."

"Perhaps it would be best for me to take a brief respite, too," Tech put in mildly. 

She sighed, relenting reluctantly. "Fine." 

"There are some cushions and blankets in the other room," Tech continued. "You can rest there, if you decide against returning to your ship." 

"I'll do that," she smiled brightly. "Thank you, Tech!" And she bid them good night, leaving her brothers sitting in pensive quiet. 

Tech was the first to break the silence.  

"Did you and Omega join the Rebellion at the same time?" 

Echo shook his head. "No. I worked with a rebel cell for several years before mentioning to Omega that the Alliance needed pilots. Hunter might forgive me for that, someday," he finished gruffly. 

Given Tech's small smile, Echo guessed he remembered how protective Hunter had always been of their sister, and was perhaps relieved to know that some things hadn't changed. 

"Given what Omega said about your success on Tantiss, I assume you were also involved in the events that have become known as the clone rebellion,'" Tech said now. 

Echo raised a brow. "How did you...?"

"Tintha may be sparsely populated and well outside the notice of the Empire, but we are not entirely cut off from news of happenings in the wider galaxy," Tech responded dryly, to which Echo chuckled. "Was Rex part of that uprising, too?" 

Echo nodded, but somehow the mention of Rex and the clone rebellion brought to the surface the needling remorse he had tried to hide from Omega, and he found that he couldn't speak as several seemingly unrelated events coalesced in his mind. 

Rex and Tech had been the ones to free Echo from his captivity, the first friendly faces Echo had seen upon being released from cryostasis. Tech had been the one to take the lead in convincing Hunter to allow the squad to join Echo in infiltrating Eriadu to find Hemlock's base, arguing that they didn't leave their own behind. The lesson Echo’s original squad had learned as cadets, never leave anyone behind, had become an integral part of him; and his drive to do more, to help all his clone brothers as much as he could, had led him to not only free the prisoners on Tantiss, not only help Rex save those they could from being trapped in service to the Empire, but also be a key driver in the push for clone rights that had led to a full-scale uprising. 

He had done all of this for his brothers; and all the while Tech had been abandoned, left behind to recover as much as he could from a fall that had stolen his memories, left behind to fend for himself, all alone with no familiar face, no one to help remind him of who he had once been.

Echo knew his guilt was unreasonable, his shame misplaced, knew he wasn’t to blame for Tech’s loss, knew no one in the family was to blame for Tech’s loss. And yet… when Tech had fallen, they had left, they had all assumed the worst and Echo had recognized the futility of going back later to check and therefore had said nothing of it, and then they had taken Hemlock’s word for it – Hemlock, a man who had every reason to lie to them – they had just accepted his proof, no questions asked.

He knew that if he had shared these feelings with Omega, she would have pointed out that he had never and would never hold Rex culpable for assuming he was dead and moving on, especially in the middle of a combat zone; and she would have been right, which is why he hadn’t bothered telling her. Before now, he had never understood why Rex had felt any measure of guilt over Echo’s captivity – after all, it wasn’t his brothers’ fault for concluding he had died in an explosion that definitely should have killed him, and as soldiers they knew how to honor the dead while moving forward.

But all these truths were not enough for Echo to rid himself of the guilt he now felt for all Tech had suffered. 

"Tech, I'm sorry." 

His brother looked nonplussed. "For what?" 

"For leaving you behind." 

Tech blinked. "I expected nothing else." Realizing, likely from Echo being unable to hide a wince, that this remark hadn't been reassuring, Tech sighed and continued on in the tone he had always used when he was explaining something he thought should be obvious: "I fell and took the rail car with me so you all could live and escape, not so you could be captured trying to retrieve my remains." 

Echo gave an involuntary shudder. "You... you really expected to die?"

"I knew it was the most likely outcome. The fact that I did survive would seem to indicate that at least one of several plans I had devised in an effort to escape the inevitable proved successful. I cannot recall what the plan was, but... perhaps that is for the best." He was quiet for a moment before regarding Echo again. "You did what I wanted you to do, Echo. You lived. You helped the others live. You ensured the risk I took was worth it. If you hadn't escaped... well, it's quite possible we wouldn't be here, together, right now."   

The ghost of a smile crossed Echo's face. "Omega said she'd be asking you to calculate the odds of you surviving and us finding you." 

"That's easy," Tech instantly replied. "Approaching infinity to one, against." 

"I guess she's right in calling this a miracle." 

"I would consider that an apt description," Tech nodded solemnly. He briefly fell silent again, before adding, "Though, considering what happened on Skako Minor, I would term it a coincidence - an unlikely one, but a coincidence nonetheless - that you in particular are the one who found me."

This observation – two clones, both presumed dead, both inexplicably surviving, each playing a significant role in finding and rescuing the other – left Echo stunned, and he was silent for some time as Tech returned his attention to the holoprojector. 

Echo had once heard a Jedi say, "The Force works in mysterious ways, far beyond our ability to comprehend." Echo wasn't sure any Force was actually at work here, but he did know many occurrences in his life were far beyond his ability to comprehend, and this was one of them. 

However, regardless of how circumstances had aligned this way, he found that he was grateful. Grateful that Tech had given them the chance to live, that his sacrifice hadn't been in vain. Grateful that Tech himself had survived the fall. Grateful that others - strangers - had cared for his brother enough to allow him to recover and thrive. Grateful that he, Echo, had come to Tintha to seek the services of a relatively unknown yet respected engineer. Grateful that he had heeded the feeling to probe for answers rather than convincing himself to stay silent. Grateful that Tech had wanted to remember, and now remembered. Grateful that Tech still loved them. Grateful to have Tech as his brother. 

And with so much to be grateful for, he found there was very little room left for guilt. 

Tech had been found, and he wouldn't be left behind again. 

****

Echo had joined Omega in the other room to rest several hours ago, but Tech was still wide awake. He had long since stopped going through his own old recordings, though, opting instead to take some time to sit with the recollections he had regained thus far. 

They hadn't all returned yet, but the flashes of memories he had had before, suddenly given context, now made sense, were recognizable; and the more he sat in thought, the more the details of the memories became clear and connected to other threads of memories that began to expand in their turn, bringing with them the meaning and purpose and need to know that he had been seeking for so long.  

Memories, his memories, filling with light and blazing color a space in his mind that had been achingly dark for some time, filling with warmth and comfortable serenity a void in his heart that had belonged to those loved ones whose names and faces he had forgotten but now remembered with blessed clarity. 

What's more, those loved ones still lived. He had calculated correctly; his gamble had paid off. 

He had told Omega that knowing his name wouldn't change his nature, and he had been right. Knowing now who he had been before, he recognized that over the years since Eriadu he had somehow managed to reclaim himself, much more successfully than he might have ever hoped; on a fundamental level, he had always been himself. But hearing his name, Tech, spoken by one of those individuals whose kinship and familial love he had held most dear - not only had this been the spark that reignited his old memories, it had indeed wrought a significant change in him.

For the first time since he had woken on Eriadu, he felt whole. 

[spookyfluffy]

How to do a Cucurucho Pill Heist (feat. Foolish, Jaiden and Henry)

Be on the server when Cellbit is offline

Sleep next to the recovering president who had a massive character arc with lots of angst regarding the drugs you are currently trying to steal

Play Mission Impossible

Attempt to rob Tubbo to find a crushing machine to make googles (Failure)

Wait for the train to break into your husband's house to use his crushing machine

Accidentally start a raid and run from the pillagers (the cops)

Run away from Missa who recently found out his son is missing and distract him by telling him that his son might be in mortal danger

Attempt to move the entire vault using the Create Mod and Pac's advice (Failure)

Attempt to grow a mushroom into the vault to break blocks using (non-canon) advice from Bad (Failure)

Realise that the Envy mob can break reinforced blocks

Remember that two days ago, you captured an Envy and named it Henry

Use a codebreaker to get into the security chest

Enter the code that Bad told you two days ago (Richas' Birthday)

PROFIT 🔥🔥 NEVER GIVE UP NEVER WHAT 🔥🔥

Take a photoshoot, place evidence in the chest, replace the reinforced blocks and rename it to Bad

DANCE PARTY IN THE CHAOS ROOM TO DORA AND SCOOBY DOO 🎉🎉🎉

[askthequeenandtheabstractedqueen]

*cough* *cough*

.....

I'm not fucking dead yet...

-Blaze

(@crispycrittercreep @byabitcrazy @askadhdanon @ask-cna @ask-velvette @saltythesaltshakerfrfr @jaxfromthatcircus @jester-anon @clear-chaos-collection @ask-ragatha-tadc @pomni-xddcc @single-celled-autism @yejehehe4746 @noahhasbeensummoned @asksicthemessyfella @askobjects @the-h05t @xxmoonduskxx @jax-tadc22 @littleladylav @codebreaker-0 @toothy-anon @artsy-anonymous @ask-kaufmotheclown @askxz0oble @nurbo-the-dragon @ask-the-rcp-crew)

[kuiperblog]

List of novels by Neil Stevenson

README: After neglecting to read the help file before installing a game, the niece of an eccentric tech mogul finds herself drawn into a world of crime.

SEVENELVES: After the moon is unexpectedly destroyed, the only survivors are seven elves who are left to rebuild civilization.

Crypto micron: World War II codebreakers embed hidden messages on micron film. Half a century later, tech geniuses try to decipher the clues to uncover a forgotten treasure cache.

Anthem: A group of cloistered intellectuals come up with a catchy chant.

Snow Clash: A hacker who wields a mythical ice blade must travel from Los Angeles to the summit of Mount Baldy to confront a deadly menace.

Quick Solver: 17th century Enlightenment thinkers invent an electronic calculation device that is capable of instantly answering basic math questions.

The Contusion: A man awakes on a pirate ship after suffering a minor injury.

System of a World: In 18th century London, an inventor creates an electric guitar which becomes the weapon of choice for anti-war protestors.

The Big You: Chaos erupts on a college campus when a secret weapons lab develops a new technology and a student is hit with an expansion ray that causes him to grow to to over 60 feet in height.

The Rise and Fall of Dudes: A Harvard linguistics professor investigates a fraternity house that has been engaging in time travel shenanigans

Inner face: A US presidential candidate faces an conflict between his two sides: the "public face" that he presents to the world, and his "inner face" which only emerges in private.

Polo Stan: A Soviet woman is a really big fan of polo.

[maplemouse-warriors]

OLD GROWTH AU

An AU where the first six arcs are all shuffled around! I wanted to see how long I could keep the Clans in the Old Forest, and play around with a different order for the arcs while still keeping the core plot points and storylines intact. I had some help from @wsoupofpain , and I am super down to talk about this AU at any time!

The Broken Code

POVs: Spottedleaf and Redtail

Thistleclaw, after being killed by Rosetail for grooming Spottedpaw, is accepted into StarClan. He begins planting false signs and eventually possesses Raggedstar, encouraging the Clans to punish and exile codebreakers. The Clans must come together to defeat him.

Brokentail kills his father, Raggedstar, ousting Thistleclaw from his body. Redtail then kills Thistleclaw’s spirit after Spottedleaf utilizes death berries to bring her brother’s spirit out of his body. Redtail becomes deputy.

Culture changes to be more about working together, and encourages treating the Code as being up to interpretation.

The Prophecies Begin

POV: Firestar

Tigerclaw attempts to take over ThunderClan, and eventually the whole forest. Firestar works to stop him, stopping Brokenstar and saving WindClan in the process. Eventually, the Forest Clans must defeat BloodClan, a ruthless group from the Twolegplace.

Culture changes to be more inclusive in WindClan and ThunderClan; ShadowClan and RiverClan are reeling from their support of Tigerstar.

A Vision of Shadows

B1: POV Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw. Squirrelpaw is sent on a journey to rebuild SkyClan. Brambleclaw tags along, and they successfully re-establish SkyClan, saving Petalnose from her Twoleg. In the Forest, something seems to be wrong with ShadowClan…

B2: POV Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt. In SkyCan, the journeying cats must help the new Clan fight invading rats to ensure that SkyClan can survive. In the Forest, Tawnypelt details the worsening condition of ShadowClan under Kin rule, including its eventual dissolution. Some of the remaining ShadowClan cats take refuge in ThunderClan, but many remain with the Kin, and a few simply vanish altogether.

B3: POV Feathertail and Squirrelflight. The Clans band together to drive the Kin from ShadowClan. In the chaos, Tallstar and Deadfoot are killed, leaving WindClan leaderless. The remainder of the Kin retreat to Highstones.

B4: POV Crowfoot and Leaffall. WindClan goes through a Civil War, caused by Tallstar and Deadfoot’s deaths. Before Tallstar’s death, Deadfoot had considered retiring and Tallstar had publicly planned to make Mudclaw deputy. However, Barkface finds a sign of a single slash mark and believes it to indicate that Onewhisker has been chosen by StarClan. However, the Clan cats are unable to reach the Moonstone. The two sides clash, and StarClan smites Mudclaw to end the conflict. The Kin leave Highstones soon after, allowing Onestar to become WindClan’s leader. His first act is to isolate the Clan.

B5: POV Tawnypelt and Brambleclaw. Tawnypelt goes on a little journey to retrieve cats who fled ShadowClan during the Kin takeover, helping to re-establish the Clan. Feathertail comes with her and joins ShadowClan because they are in love. ThunderClan grapples with a yellow cough outbreak. The Clans argue internally about how much they are obligated to help their neighbors when struggling themselves. With all the Clans preoccupied with their own difficulties, the Kin easily take over RiverClan.

B6: POV Squirrelflight and Leaffall. The Clans begin planning the attack that will drive the Kin from RiverClan. Leaffall and Crowfoot leave and return; Cinderpelt dies in the battle; Onestar and Darktail fall over the side of the Gorge while fighting each other, but Onestar is grabbed by Leaffall and Crowfoot, who in turn are grabbed by their families, such that there is a huge group keeping Onestar from going over the edge. With Darktail dead, the remaining Kin members flee the territories for good.

Power of Three

POVs: Jayfeather, Lionblaze, Hollyleaf

The Three are born and Jayfeather and Lionblaze grow into their powers. Hollyleaf is revealed to not be one of the three. Hollyleaf reveals their parentage and kills Ashfur, then flees the territories.

Instead of visiting the Tribe, they visit SkyClan.

The Dark Forest begins recruiting, starting off with cats like Lionblaze and Hawkfrost who have familial connections to the Dark Forest.

The New Prophecy

POVs: Dovepaw and Ivypaw

Journey Crew: Lionblaze and Dovepaw; Heathertail; Goldenheart (Tigerheart); Stormfur and his apprentice, Rainpaw. They swing by SkyClan and Harrybrook joins them; on the return trip they go through the Tribe.

SkyClan joins the Clans on the Great Journey, and live with them at the Lake, taking their canon territory.

Dark Forest trainees are able to recruit other cats on the Great Journey, when the Clans are not in communication with StarClan or the Dark Forest. Ivypaw is the POV where we see this in action.

The Moonpool is “discovered” by Jayfeather via time travel.

The WindClan Coup is replaced by the RiverClan Succession Crisis. After Leopardstar dies, Mistyfoot takes control of RiverClan despite not being able to go and get her nine lives. She chooses Hawkfrost as her deputy. After Jayfeather discovers the Moonpool, Dovewing is sent to RiverClan to share the news. While speaking with Mothwing, she hears Hawkfrost trap Mistyfoot in a fox trap, and runs off to help. Mothwing follows, and the two of them arrive in time to save Mistyfoot, although Hawkfrost is killed by Mothwing in the struggle.

The RiverClan Succession Crisis occurs during the last book of the series; the various problems the Clans encounter while settling in are shuffled to be earlier.

Omen of the Stars

POVs: Jayfeather, Lionblaze, Dovewing, and Ivypool

Relatively unchanged other than most characters being older, and SkyClan being present at the Lake. The Clans must fight against the Dark Forest and their supporters.

Hollyleaf returns with a variety of Clan cats that left the Clans at one point or another, including some SkyClan warriors who chose to remain at the Gorge, some Kin members who want to join or rejoin their Clans, and some other rogues or loners who are interested in the Clan lifestyle. These additional numbers help to make a difference during the battle against the Dark Forest.

Culture changes to be a bit more open to outsiders, including a formal method for joining (or changing) a Clan. Collaboration between Clans is much more common.

[litrpgburrito]

Storm Chosen

In the neon-lit sprawl of New Elysium, where corporate skyscrapers pierced the smoggy sky and cybernetic enhancements were as common as vending machines, there existed an unknown author named Elias Voss. His life was a tangle of half-finished manuscripts, empty whiskey bottles, and the relentless ticking of deadlines. Elias had been toiling away for years on his magnum opus—a cyberpunk novel that defied genre conventions, blending magic, technology, and existential dread.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Elias sat hunched over his antique typewriter, the keys clacking like the footsteps of ghosts. The ending eluded him, slipping through his fingers like smoke. His frustration boiled over, and he hurled the half-empty bottle of bourbon across the room. It shattered against the window, rain splattering the shards like liquid diamonds.

And then it happened—the storm. Not an ordinary storm, but an energy tempest, a maelstrom of crackling lightning and swirling colors. Elias stumbled backward, shielding his eyes as the room trembled. The typewriter danced on its legs, and the manuscript pages fluttered like wounded birds. He felt a searing pain, as if his very cells were unraveling.

When the storm subsided, Elias blinked, disoriented. His body felt different—lighter, yet heavier. He glanced down and gasped. His left arm was no longer flesh and bone; it was a sleek metallic limb, wires and circuits weaving through synthetic muscle. His right eye glowed with augmented vision, overlaying reality with data streams and hidden codes. Elias was no longer just a struggling author; he was part machine, part story.

Outside the window, New Elysium had transformed. The cityscape pulsed with neon hues, and hovering drones zipped between skyscrapers like fireflies. Elias recognized the setting—it was the world he’d painstakingly crafted in his novel. But he wasn’t the protagonist; he was a secondary character, a cybernetic companion to the elusive hacker known as Nyx.

Nyx, with her midnight hair and eyes that held secrets darker than the abyss. She stood before him, her leather-clad form illuminated by the glow of her wrist-mounted hacking device. “Welcome to the real New Elysium,” she said, her voice a blend of mischief and danger. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Elias.”

He stuttered, trying to find words. “I… I wrote you. You’re my creation.”

Nyx smirked. “And now I’ve repurposed you. We’re going to topple the corporate clans—the ones who control this city with an iron fist. They’re not just in my story; they’re real, and they bleed greed.”

Elias’s mind raced. He had no combat skills, no martial prowess. But his cybernetic enhancements hummed with potential. “What’s my role?”

“You’re the codebreaker,” Nyx said. “The one who deciphers their encrypted networks. You’ll infiltrate their ivory towers while I lead the resistance. Together, we’ll rewrite this dystopia.”

And so, Elias became the silent observer—the one who saw the world through augmented eyes, who whispered forgotten passwords and manipulated digital defenses. He watched Nyx’s crew—a motley mix of hackers, martial artists, and rebels—forge alliances and defy the status quo. They danced on the edge of chaos, fueled by rage and desperation.

But Elias wondered: Was this his redemption? Had the storm granted him purpose beyond the page? As he interfaced with the city’s neural grid, he glimpsed fragments of forgotten memories—the taste of ink on paper, the scent of rain-soaked streets. Perhaps he was more than a character; perhaps he was the missing link between fiction and reality.

And so, Elias Voss—the struggling author—became a legend. His words bled into the city’s walls, graffiti of defiance and hope. In the heart of the neon labyrinth, he fought alongside Nyx, not as the hero, but as the whisper in her ear, the binary pulse in her veins.

Together, they unraveled the corporate clans, exposing their sins and vulnerabilities. Elias discovered that endings weren’t fixed; they were malleable, like the lines of code he rewrote. And as the city trembled under their assault, he wondered if he’d ever return to his typewriter, to the unfinished novel waiting in the dim apartment.

But for now, he was part of the story—a cybernetic companion, a fusion of ink and electricity. And in the electric nights of New Elysium, Elias Voss found his purpose, one keystroke at a time. 🌃🔍💻

[sweetstove]

SOME SMALL PREDICTIONS IG BECAUSE I CAN WOO

-Someone in Soulfire is gonna find out Abt Cellbit and Roier and start spreading rumors before they even start dating

-GGN is gonna be forcibly disbanded by the council, and the ex-members will be picked up by whatever club invites them in

-Some sort of egg fight that ends up as a bigger deal between the parents (Mini-codebreakers/pomme and chayanne...), or just the eggs being chaos

-Roier asking Bagi what Cellbit likes, Bagi goes and gossips Abt it to Tina, cue Soulfire being soulfire

-Cellbit showing up after GGN loses a round of something to mock roier

Also some small design things, I like to think Roier fucked up his hair before he joined GGN and had an undercut thing, Etoiles still wears his blindfold bc crowds can be visually overwhelming without, baghera constantly dyes her hair new colours, and Bagi once dyed Cellbit hair as a prank, in response he dyed hers, but she liked it so much she ended up keeping it!!

IM OUT OF IDEAS FOR NOW DHDHD ROTATING QUESADILLA HIGH AROUND IN MY HEAD I HAVE SO MANY CONCEPTS AHHH KEEP ON W YOUR SUPER COOL ART AS WELL I LOVE IT

ill be honest with you

you got some things spot on and that terrifies me(your theories are wonderful btw)

[ask-kaufmotheclown]

So uhh should we get abstracted you a babysitter..?

With Christmas coming who knows what chaos the anons will pull..

Honestly

yes

@codebreaker-0

[justsomestoicguy]

Uh Oh

Y'know, you'd expect Stain to at least be a little bit apprehensive about my declaration after his whole "live a quiet life!" shtick—but no. 

Instead, he seems kind of... pleased?

He nods, a small approving smile on his face.

"We'd be honored to have you join the Vigilante Ops," he says, a touch of pride in his voice. 

...Okay, but— "There's a teeny tiny problem, though," I inform, scratching my cheek. 

"I didn't exactly come here alone. My friends are here with me too. It'll cause problems if they see me basically bail out on them."

Stain doesn't even bother mulling over this. He simply gestures toward the Scourge statue. "Follow me."

Eh?

He walks over to the statue and presses a hidden switch on the pedestal, causing a section of the base to slide open, revealing a concealed doorway. My jaw practically hits the floor.

"What is this?" I manage to voice out, completely dumbfounded.

Why the hell is there a secret passageway in the museum?!

Stain steps aside, motioning for me to enter. "This is one of the entrances to our headquarters. We have relations with the museum's owner, so we were able to build one here."

One of how many?!

And above that—what does he mean by having relations with the museum's owner? 

How deep does their influence go? How much pull do they actually have?

My mind races, imagining all sorts of shady deals and backroom arrangements.

Stop it.

Calm down, me.

You're the one who wanted to join them, so go for it.

Steeling myself, I tread forward.

After all, they're vigilantes, not a corporate entity. There's no way they're as connected as I'm starting to imagine. Right?

Right??

.

.

.

WHY IS THERE A RENOWNED BUSINESS TYCOON IN THE BASE?!

My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as I see the Mizuno Kiyomi discussing something with a disheveled-looking guy hunched over a supercomputer.

"As you can tell, that is Mizuno Kiyomi, alias Cyrilla, the CEO of Mizuno Enterprises." 

Stain snaps me out of my daze when he speaks and motions at her. Mizuno, expectedly, looks all poised and polished with a smile that screams high society.

I'm in denial.

No way Mizuno Kiyomi works as a vigilante.

Why does she even need to be one?!

Before I can stress over it any longer, Stain has already shifted his hand in the slouching dude's direction. "The man beside her is our resident hacking expert, CodeBreaker." 

…CodeBreaker?

What kind of typical hacker name is that? 

At least be original, pal.

But I'll cut him some slack. He looks like he's seen one too many all-nighters.

"Let's continue," Stain says.

I nod slowly before catching up to him.

As we walk further in, I'm struck by the sheer size of the operation. 

The place is swarming with people—some in casual clothes, others in more tactical gear. It's a mix of folks who look like they've been in the game for ages and fresh faces who can't be much older than me. 

"Heya, boss!" a burly man in a tank top calls out, saluting Stain as he passes by.

"Boss Stendhal, welcome back," chimes another, a woman with a clipboard and a serious expression.

Stain merely gives them a nod back.

Boss? 

Stain's a boss?

Huh.

Never took him as the leader type, but here we are.

And I guess he's still Stendhal in this timeline too.

But, uh… I can't help but notice their eyes lingering on me; curious and a bit… predatory? It's unsettling, to say the least.

Nevertheless, Stain steadily leads me through all the chaos. 

"The Ops is made up of several divisions," he begins lecturing, "each specializing in different aspects including combat, intel-gathering, espionage, supply, and training." 

He glances at me. "I'll be taking you to one of our training corps for now, which focuses on preparing new recruits until they're ready to join one of the main divisions."

I nod along, listening intently.

It's actually insane how structured their whole operation is, having multiple divisions and all that.

Why does the Ops have so many members, anyway? I don't remember MHA being infested with this many vigilantes.

But alas, my questions remain unanswered as we stop in front of a laid-back guy with dark skin and a casual, friendly demeanor. Wow.

"This is Jaxon. He'll take us to our destination," Stain introduces. 

"Wassup, man. I'm Jax." Jaxon, er, Jax grins and offers me a fist bump.

"Akako Ran," I reply with a smile of my own, returning the gesture.

Didn't expect there to be foreigners in the Ops.

And as if reading my mind, Jax arches his brow. "Surprised to see someone like me here?" 

I sputter. "Sorry, I—I didn't mean to—"

Jax burst into laughter. "Chill, man. Chill. I'm just messing with ya." He lightly punched my shoulder.

I just chuckle nervously. 

"I mean, you ain't wrong. I was originally from the States. Just ended up here after...some troubles back home," Jax clarifies, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Anyway, where to, boss?" he turns to Stain.

"The 2nd Training Corps," Stain responds.

Jax nods. "Gotcha."

Stain places his palm on my shoulder. "Hold on tight," he instructs.

What?

Jax stretches out his hand towards Stain, snickering knowingly. "Ready?"

"Ready," Stain answers, his grip on me firm.

Before I can process what's happening, Jax and Stain clap their hands together. 

The sound echoes, and a sudden lurch later, the world around me blurs. My stomach twists, and I feel like I'm being pulled through a vacuum. 

Ugh, what the f*ck?!

When everything stabilizes, I'm left dizzy and slightly nauseous.

This is what Stain meant by "take us to our destination"?

"Where...where are we?" I mutter, trying to steady myself.

Stain peers at me with a calm expression. "We're in one of the training corps in Fuji."

"Fuji?!" I blurt out. "Why are we in Fuji??"

"As a precautionary measure," Stain replies. 

"We scattered our bases all over Japan to make sure our operations stay secure. So that even if one base is compromised, the others remain safe."

But still, Fuji?

Sure, we're still in Shizuoka Prefecture, but it's still hella far from Musutafu!

I still haven't informed my group where I am yet! (probably should've gotten to that a while ago)

And what about my history assignment? The project? I still need to visit the library after this, and we have that big test coming up in math!

Then there's Hikari and Kai—how am I supposed to explain this to them? "Oh, by the way, I joined a secret vigilante organization and am in Fuji right now. See you when I see you, suckers!" 

Yeah, right.

Plus, my parents... How'll they react? 

They don't know anything about this. 

I don't even know if I want them to know!

I whip my head to Stain, who's currently speaking with someone I assume is a mentor. 

I can't just drop everything and disappear into the vigilante world.

Not like this.

"Sta—"

"Sensei!"

God damn it!

I turn to see just who the hell cut me off—only to be met by an all too familiar girl with blonde hair and a manic grin. 

I freeze.

Toga Himiko.

WHAT THE F*CK?!

She bounces over to the mentor, her expression bright and excited. "Are we gonna start training soon?" She then spots me and beams wider. "Oh! Are you gonna learn with me too?"

Panic surges through me. 

No, no, no, I can't let this get out of hand-!

Before Stain can answer, I speak up first. "No! No, I'm… I'm still in my trial period. I have a lot to discuss with Sta-uh, Stendhal, right?"

I shoot Stain a desperate look, silently begging him to go along with it. After a tense moment, he nods, his expression neutral.

"Of course," he says, turning to Toga. "He's still figuring things out."

Toga pouts a little but shrugs it off, skipping back to the mentor. 

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, running a hand through my hair.

Okay, lesson learned. Think first before doing absolutely anything.

"Akako Ran."

I jerk as I hear Stain calling me.

"Come with me."

I gulp and nod reluctantly.

Oh, boy. This can't be good.

Stain leads me into a private room, closing the door behind us.

He examines me, brows slightly slanted. "Why did you do that?"

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of my decision pressing down on me. 

"I… I realize that I'm not actually ready to leave my whole life behind for this," I admit, my voice shaky. "I still want to go to school, see my family and friends… I don't want to live incognito just yet."

Stain doesn't respond for a good long while, and I don't dare meet his eyes.

"You don't have to give up everything to be a part of the Ops," he finally says, sounding perplexed.

I jump, gaze darting toward Stain's. "P-Pardon?"

"You don't have to give up everything," he repeats. "Many of our members maintain their lives outside of the Ops. Take Cyrilla, for instance. She still mainly works in the business world."

…

Huh.

I blink rapidly, trying to churn such an obvious statement.

"She… she didn't have to give up or lose anything to join you guys?" I ask, trying to prevent my brain from turning into mush.

"Nothing," Stain affirms. "She became a member because she wanted our intel. And we accepted because we wanted hers."

"And it's not a problem that she doesn't work for you full-time?" I press on.

"Why should it be?" Stain counters. "She does a good job bringing information when she's available and that's more than enough."

I'm left confounded.

"I can keep going to school and meeting my loved ones?" 

Stain looks even more puzzled now. "We're not villains."

Right.

I let out a big sigh of relief.

Oh, thank God. 

"So me going to UA won't be a problem, huh?" I relax, smiling incredulously.

…

"What?"

…

F*CK!!

—

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

[found-wings]

playing around with the potential idea of the federation taking phil to 'fix' him but just making shit worse- this would 100% lead to separation anxiety for these little codebreakers, with the idea that even warping away from each other for too long could leave an opening for a federation worker / cucurucho to take phil back for further 'research'

i don't think it'd be a conscious and noticeable thing though, as if his friend got taken etoiles would probably stay as calm as he can and reassure himself that he'll save him soon. similar to everyone panicking about the eggs and him saying 'I don't know why everyone is freaking out, we're just gonna go save them again like we always do it's chill'. but there'd be a minor shift in behavior, such as taking more breaks in his explorations to plop a waystone and check in with phil and show him new shit he's found, or more busy texts just sent to make sure a response is given and nothing bad had happened.

(in qsmp etoiles uses warp scrolls- probably because it's a quick craft and doesn't have the cooldown that warpstones have, but I imagine in this AU the millisecond etoiles gets phil back he just dumps a stack of scrolls on him like "take it !! do you want to travel and have to wait three to five business days just to grab a single stack of blocks at home ?? i didn't think so-" and acting as if this gift is one of convince and because he 'has too many in his backpack' and not one out of genuine fear for his friend potentially not having the ability to escape a location fast enough because of a dumb avoidable cooldown) - 💿

Oh my god I LOVE THIS AAA

Staying closer around Phil during bigger events ( that are already just chaos pure with the amount of people there ) a little longer than needed is brushed off as there just not being enough space because it‘s logical, before he rushes off to get rid of any enemies around or join in on some silly bantering when there‘s nothing to fight.

More breaks in his travels to check up on others, especially with Phil, are brushed off as simply having forgotten to grab something or similar. It happens sometimes, y’know? If he ends up getting distracted by bantering around with Phil and showing off his new things a little more again, then neither of them mention it.

Every time Etoiles doesn‘t understand why everyone is freaking out over the disappearance of the Eggs or People - when it hasn‘t been the first time it happened now, getting them back just the same was reason enough to show that they were all capable of saving them - he doesn’t notice when his own thoughts start occasionally drifting off to what else the Federation could do to Phil if they got their hands on him again.

And then we have Phil, who does his best to not let anything get to him after the first time.

He can’t help the instinct of always needing to be up high and perched, finding himself on constant alarm almost. He starts maybe building places higher up in an subconscious attempt to find this soothing, safe feeling, while he also battles the urge of wanting to stay inside the wall, in the bunker, all day and isolate again but that is too cramped, too full. And he has things to do, after all!

Phil finds himself subconsciously grabbing at and fidgeting with the warp scrolls Etoiles gave him more often when he’s out and alone & his warpstone is on cooldown, ready to dip at any given moment if need to be.

He finds himself looking for company of other People more often because surely being around others means less of a chance for the Federation to try and take him back again. If he just so happens to stick around Etoiles more than usual too, then nobody else mentions it.

[codebreaker-0]

Listen, Codebreaker. Do not listen to the anons. They are just trying to cause more chaos between everyone. From what I have seen, you both care deeply about one another. That is good. You both seem to like each other. Why not try to start up something?

.. I want to, I just.. I don’t know how to ask.