#Data Collection Scenarios

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Shifts in Global Alliances: The Fracturing of Russia’s CSTO and the Implications for NATO Relations

May 9, 2024 Summary: Recent reports suggest that there is growing tension between Russia and some of its allies within the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), which has been likened to a smaller version of NATO. The Armenian Prime Minister, Nikol Pashinyan, has expressed frustration with Russia and President Vladimir Putin, indicating a potential withdrawal of Armenia from the CSTO.…

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You kiss them when they least expect it

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Reply to anon: As promised...your little Catholic boy. I spend my days writing to keep my mind off my surgery. I'm a really anxious person, so I have to fill my head with my pleasures (my fandoms). So the requests will come out quickly, I'm happy and you're happy... win win. Thank you for all your requests and support. LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH ♡

Peter Parker

- Peter Parker has been kissed before. He has known the warmth of affection, the giddy rush of young love, the slow ache of something deeper. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the moment your lips press against his, sudden and unannounced, shattering the rhythm of his thoughts like a lightning strike in the middle of a quiet night. His brain short-circuits instantly.

- His body reacts before his mind does, his breath catching, fingers twitching as if unsure whether to hold you or simply let himself drown in the moment. There is a fleeting second of hesitation, a half-formed thought that this must be some kind of dream, some cruel trick played by the universe. But your warmth is real, your presence undeniable. The city fades around him, the constant hum of responsibility momentarily silenced beneath the press of your lips.

- When you finally pull away, Peter blinks—once, twice—like he’s trying to process what just happened. Then, without warning, his face erupts into a deep crimson flush, spreading down to his neck like wildfire. “Oh,” he breathes out, voice slightly strangled. “Okay. Cool. That was… um. Wow.” He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “Was that, like, a scientific experiment? Because if so, I volunteer for more data collection.”

- Despite the awkward attempt at humor, his hands are still trembling, his pupils blown wide with something raw and unspoken. And then, after a moment of hesitation, his fingers curl around yours, his grip steady despite the lingering nerves. “But, uh… just so we’re clear,” he murmurs, voice softer now, more certain, “if you ever wanna do that again, you won’t have to catch me off guard next time.”

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark has spent a lifetime mastering control. He anticipates every possible scenario, every variable, every consequence. His mind is a constant whirlwind of calculations, solutions, contingencies. But when you kiss him—when you seize the moment and steal his breath away with no warning, no preamble—his mind goes completely, utterly blank. For the first time in years, there is no plan. No exit strategy. Just you.

- His body reacts on instinct, hands coming up to grasp your waist, a sharp inhale against your lips. But it’s not just the physical contact that undoes him—it’s the fact that you did it at all. That you, beautiful and untouchable in a way he never dared to hope for, have chosen him in this moment, with no ulterior motive, no expectation. It is not a conquest. It is not a game. It is real. And Tony Stark has never known how to handle real.

- When you finally break away, his lips are still parted, his usually sharp tongue momentarily silenced. Then, ever so slowly, a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, something dangerous and delighted and entirely Tony. “Well, well,” he muses, his voice a low hum. “That was unexpected. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “But, uh, you might wanna be careful, sweetheart. You kiss me like that, and I might just start thinking you like me.”

- And yet, beneath the bravado, there is something softer, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger against your skin, in the way his expression shifts—just for a fraction of a second—into something almost reverent. Because the truth is, he is already lost. And if you kissed him again, he wouldn’t just let you—he’d make damn sure you never stopped.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers is used to the world moving too fast around him. Time slips through his fingers like sand, people come and go like ghosts, and every moment is a reminder of just how much he has lost. But when you kiss him—when you break through the steady, predictable rhythm of his days with something as sudden and undeniable as your lips against his—it is the first time in a long, long while that he feels truly, absolutely present.

- He freezes at first, caught between instinct and shock, but it lasts only a second. Then, without thinking, his hands find your waist, steadying you both as though the moment itself is something fragile, something sacred. His heart is hammering against his ribs, a deep, resounding drumbeat that he swears you must be able to hear. And when he finally exhales, it is not out of hesitation—but out of something else. Something like surrender.

- When you pull back, his blue eyes are searching, tracing your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. He doesn’t speak at first, doesn’t joke or tease or stumble over his words. Instead, he simply watches you, memorizing every detail of the moment, committing it to memory as if he is afraid it will slip away. And then, at last, he lets out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. “You really do like keeping me on my toes, don’t you?”

- But there is warmth in his voice, something gentle and unshaken. And then, after a moment, he does something you don’t expect—he leans in again, slower this time, deliberate. His lips brush against yours, and this time, he is the one who takes control. And when he pulls away, his hand lingers at the back of your neck, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Just so you know,” he murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips, “next time, I won’t let you take me by surprise.”

Thor

- Thor Odinson has been kissed before. He has known the passion of warriors, the devotion of gods, the fleeting tenderness of mortals who looked upon him with awe. And yet, when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without hesitation, without prelude—it is not reverence that he feels, nor expectation. It is something deeper, something that sinks into his very bones. It is you.

- There is a moment of stillness, as if the entire world holds its breath. Then, with a deep, rumbling exhale, he reacts—not with hesitation, not with shock, but with the full force of a man who has never done anything by halves. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip firm yet careful, as if you are something both fierce and fragile, something he is terrified of losing.

- When you pull back, he does not release you immediately. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, he simply exists in the aftermath of what you have done. Then, with a slow, wolfish grin, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes bright with something unmistakably pleased. “Ah,” he rumbles, his voice thick with amusement, “so the battle has begun, then?”

- And before you can question him, before you can even think, he leans in once more—this time with purpose, with certainty. His lips claim yours in a way that is both a challenge and an offering, a promise and a declaration. And when he finally pulls away, his fingers trail down your spine, his grip unwavering. “A warning, my beloved,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “You have started something you may not wish to finish.” But the way he holds you—the way his touch lingers, possessive and warm—tells you that, in truth, he is hoping you never do.

Loki

- Loki is a creature of calculation, of control wrapped in silver-tongued deception. He reads people like poetry, anticipates betrayals before they are spoken, dissects affections before they can wound him. But when your lips find his—without warning, without preamble—it is the first time in centuries that someone has truly caught him off guard. His breath halts, body rigid, as if the universe itself has shifted beneath him.

- He does not pull away. He does not return it immediately, either. Instead, he remains perfectly still, sharp eyes searching yours with an intensity that borders on dangerous. You can almost hear the gears turning in his mind, the war between disbelief and hunger, between skepticism and the undeniable thrill of being wanted without agenda. And then, ever so slowly, the corner of his mouth curls, something dark and pleased blooming in his expression. “Interesting,” he muses, voice velvet-smooth, though there is an unmistakable edge of breathlessness beneath it.

- When you move to step back, he does not allow it. A hand—cool, firm, deceptively gentle—curls around your wrist, anchoring you in place. “You think you can best me in my own game, little one?” he murmurs, amusement dripping from every syllable. “That you can steal a kiss and escape unscathed?” His voice is teasing, but there is something else beneath it—something raw, something aching, something that trembles on the edge of longing.

- And then, with a slow, deliberate certainty, he leans in once more. This time, there is no hesitation, no caution. His lips claim yours in a way that is both challenge and surrender, fire and ice melting together in something neither of you can quite name. And when he finally pulls away, his thumb traces the edge of your jaw, his smirk lazy yet predatory. “You are playing a dangerous game, darling,” he whispers. “And I do hope you intend to see it through.”

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has been trained to anticipate the unexpected. He is a man who survives on instinct, who sees what others miss, who never lets his guard down—not truly. But when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his without warning, without prelude, it is the first time in years that someone has managed to slip past his defenses. And it floors him.

- His breath stutters, muscles tensing as if expecting some kind of punchline, some cruel joke at his expense. But then—then—your hands brush against his jaw, gentle, grounding, real. And suddenly, the world feels quieter. The weight of it all—the missions, the past, the scars that never quite fade—momentarily lifts, leaving nothing but the steady, warm press of your mouth against his. And for once, he lets himself sink into it.

- When you finally pull away, he blinks as if shaking off a haze, lips parted in something like disbelief. And then, ever so slowly, a grin spreads across his face—lazy, crooked, entirely Clint. “Well, damn,” he breathes out, a chuckle escaping him. “Gonna be honest, didn’t see that one coming.” He tilts his head, eyes alight with mischief. “You always go around ambushing guys like this, or am I just special?”

- But there is something softer beneath the teasing, something unspoken in the way his fingers linger near yours, as if debating whether to pull you back in. And then, with a quiet exhale, he murmurs, “Not that I’m complaining, but—maybe next time, give a guy some warning?” He smirks. “Or don’t. I kinda like the element of surprise.”

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff is not a woman who is easily caught off guard. She is control, precision, danger wrapped in elegance. She anticipates every move before it happens, never allows herself to be vulnerable, never lets anyone too close. But when you kiss her—without warning, without calculation—it is the one scenario she never saw coming.

- Her body tenses immediately, years of instinct screaming at her to assess the threat, to react. But then—then—your lips linger, warm and unhurried, and something in her falters. There is no ulterior motive, no expectation, no game being played. Just you. And that, more than anything, leaves her shaken. She does not kiss you back, not at first. She is too busy deciphering why—why you would do this, why she doesn’t hate it, why the world suddenly feels too small with you this close.

- When you pull away, she does not speak. Instead, she tilts her head, studying you with an unreadable expression, emerald eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer you have not yet spoken. And then, at last, a small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. “Brave,” she murmurs, voice smooth, almost amused. “Reckless, but brave.” But there is something else in her gaze—something uncertain, something hesitant. As if she is not quite sure what to do with the warmth still lingering on her lips.

- Then, before you can respond, she steps closer, closing the space between you. There is no hesitation this time, no calculation—just the slow, deliberate press of her mouth against yours. And when she finally pulls away, her voice is softer, quieter. “Don’t do that unless you mean it,” she warns. But the way her fingers trail against your wrist, the way her breath lingers against your skin, tells you that she is hoping—just this once—that you do.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes is a man who flinches at softness. He does not know how to accept kindness without suspicion, does not know how to be wanted without expectation. He has spent years being used, being controlled, being nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. But when you kiss him—when you press your lips against his without warning—it is the first time in a long, long while that he is simply Bucky.

- His entire body stiffens at first, muscles coiled as if expecting an attack, a trap, a trick. But then your hands brush against him—gentle, grounding, real—and something in him cracks. His breath shudders against your lips, something raw and unspoken trembling just beneath the surface. And for the first time in years, he allows himself to be held instead of holding himself together.

- When you pull away, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His expression is unreadable, blue eyes stormy with something you can’t quite decipher. And then, ever so slowly, he exhales. “Why?” The word is quiet, hesitant, as if he doesn’t believe he deserves the answer. As if he is bracing himself for you to tell him it was a mistake. But you don’t. You just look at him, and that alone is enough to undo him.

- And then, after a long moment, his fingers brush against yours, tentative, uncertain. “Do it again,” he murmurs, the words barely audible. But when you do—when you kiss him once more, slow and patient and real—his hands finally come up to hold you, steady and warm and home. And this time, he doesn’t let you pull away.

Matthew Murdock

- Matthew Murdock is a man who lives in anticipation. Every breath, every footstep, every heartbeat in his vicinity is accounted for, cataloged, expected. He senses things before they happen, navigates the unseen with the certainty of someone who has never truly been blind. But he does not sense this. The moment your lips press against his, his world—usually so finely attuned—stutters. For the first time in a long time, Matt is truly caught off guard.

- His breath hitches, his fingers twitch at his sides, and for a brief moment, he is frozen in place. The taste of you lingers—warmth and surprise and something maddeningly sweet. His senses flood with you, and it is overwhelming in the best and worst way. His pulse is erratic, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts. He has fought the devil inside himself for so long, denied himself softness, pushed away love because it only ever ends in ruin. And yet, here you are. Kissing him.

- When you pull back, he exhales shakily, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words come. Instead, his hand finds you—fingertips ghosting over your cheek, as if to make certain you are real. His voice, when he finally manages to use it, is quiet, reverent. “You shouldn’t do things like that,” he murmurs, but there is no conviction in his words, no true protest. Only the lingering tremor of someone who wants—desperately, deeply—but does not know if he is allowed to have.

- And then, as if unable to resist the temptation you have placed before him, he leans in. His kiss is not hasty, not fevered, but something far more dangerous—slow, deliberate, inevitable. It is an unspoken confession, a quiet surrender, a promise that he may not be ready to put into words. But his hands find your waist, his lips press deeper into yours, and the way he sighs against your mouth tells you all you need to know.

Frank Castle

- Frank Castle has lost too much to believe in second chances. Love is a thing he buried alongside his family, a thing he does not touch, does not deserve. He is a man made of violence, of war and grief and cold, unrelenting vengeance. He does not get soft things. So when you kiss him—when you, in all your warmth, in all your reckless beauty, dare to press your lips to his—he does not know what to do with it.

- His entire body goes still, as if the world has caught fire and he is standing in the center of the blaze, unscathed but bewildered. He does not pull away. He does not push you back. He simply exists in the moment, feeling something that is not rage, not pain, not the gnawing emptiness that has been his only companion for years. The taste of you lingers—something achingly sweet against the bitterness of his own existence.

- When you finally step back, he exhales sharply, his breath uneven, his jaw clenched. His eyes—dark, stormy, battle-hardened—lock onto yours, searching, questioning. He wants to tell you this is a mistake. That people who get close to him only end up hurt, that his hands are meant for killing, not holding. But he doesn’t say it. Because for the first time in a long, long time, he does not want to push something away.

- Instead, his fingers curl at his sides, his voice low, rough. “You sure you wanna be doin’ that?” It’s not a warning—it’s an invitation. A chance to walk away before he inevitably ruins you the way he ruins everything else. But when you don’t—when you meet his gaze and kiss him again, slower this time, softer—his resolve cracks, and he kisses you back with something that is almost desperate, almost alive.

Bullseye (Lester)

- Bullseye is used to taking. He takes lives, takes power, takes anything he wants because no one can stop him. He is a monster, and he knows it—embraces it. There is nothing good in him. Nothing worth saving. And yet, you—beautiful, foolish, unafraid—have the audacity to kiss him as if he is anything but ruin incarnate.

- The moment your lips meet his, something snaps in him. His instincts scream at him to turn this into a game, to take control, to make you regret ever thinking you could surprise him. But for once, he does not move. He lets himself feel it. The warmth of you, the softness, the maddening contrast of something so pure against the corruption that coats his soul like tar. It is unexpected, undeserved, and utterly intoxicating.

- When you pull away, his smirk is slow, sharp-edged, dangerous. His eyes—dark and gleaming with something predatory—drag over your face like he’s memorizing every detail, committing your recklessness to memory. “Well, damn,” he drawls, voice slick with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, sweetheart.” His fingers ghost over his lips as if testing whether the sensation was real or just some twisted hallucination.

- And then, with a sudden, startling speed, he moves. One hand grips the back of your neck, the other pressing against your waist, and before you can react, he’s kissing you back. But this—this is something else entirely. It is wild, chaotic, consuming. A warning, a promise, a claim. And when he finally pulls away, grinning like the devil himself, he murmurs, “Hope you know what you just started.”

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector is used to ghosts. His past, his mistakes, his fractured mind—he carries them all like shadows that never fade. He does not trust happiness, does not trust peace, because both have been ripped from him too many times to count. And love? Love is not something that belongs to men like him. But then there is you. And then there is this. Your lips against his, unannounced, unexpected, real.

- The first sensation is shock. Not fear, not rejection—just shock. His mind, always a battlefield of shifting identities and whispered voices, goes silent for one aching, beautiful moment. The warmth of your mouth, the way you lean into him with no hesitation, no fear—it is something foreign, something he does not know how to hold. And yet, he wants to. God help him, he wants to.

- When you pull back, his breath is unsteady, his hands curled into fists at his sides as if fighting the urge to pull you back in. His eyes—haunted, desperate, yearning—flicker between you and the ground, as if struggling to find something solid to anchor himself. “You shouldn’t…” His voice is raw, broken. “You shouldn’t do that.” But there is no weight behind the words, no real protest. Just the quiet, trembling confession of a man who does not believe he deserves to be touched with kindness.

- And then, with a slow exhale, he makes a choice. His hand—scarred, trembling—reaches for yours, fingers brushing tentatively before curling around them. He does not pull you close, does not claim you the way others might. Instead, he simply holds on. A silent plea, a fragile hope. And when he finally kisses you back, it is not with hunger, not with dominance—but with something far more dangerous. Need.

Taskmaster (Tony Masters)

- Taskmaster survives by reading people before they can act. He sees a shift in weight, a flicker of intent, the smallest twitch of a muscle, and he knows what comes next. It’s how he wins fights, how he predicts every move before it happens. But not this. Not you. He doesn’t see it coming when your lips press against his, a ghost of warmth against the cold edge of a man who has spent his life being untouchable.

- His entire body stiffens, instincts roaring at him to react, to counter, to do something—but he doesn’t. His mind, trained to memorize, analyze, replicate, suddenly falters. He can mimic a thousand fighting styles, anticipate attacks from the best in the world, but he has no defense for the softness of your mouth, the way you kiss him like he is something more than a weapon. And it unsettles him.

- When you pull back, his hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing as if searching for the right response. His mask hides his face, but you can feel the way he’s staring at you, the sharp intensity of a man trying to process something he can’t categorize. “The hell was that for?” he finally mutters, his voice low, rough—gravel scraped over steel. But there is no anger, no mockery. Just a quiet, dangerous curiosity.

- And then, something shifts. A decision made. He moves faster than thought, a gloved hand catching your wrist, pulling you in before you can slip away. And when he kisses you back, it is not soft, not hesitant. It is sharp-edged and confident, like a man reclaiming control over the one thing that has ever caught him off guard. You wanted to surprise him? Fine. But now, he’s the one in charge.

Johnny Storm

- Johnny Storm burns hot—always has, always will. A fire that never quite settles, never dims. He is loud and reckless and bright, and he wears his confidence like a second skin. But beneath it all, there is something deeper, something hidden behind smirks and easy laughter. And it is that something that flickers the moment you kiss him.

- At first, he doesn’t process it. One second he’s talking, maybe making some cocky remark, and the next—your lips are on his. His brain short-circuits. Johnny Storm, king of comebacks, has absolutely nothing to say. There’s just heat, not from his flames but from the rush of you, the sudden realization that this thing he’s been pretending not to feel is very, very real.

- When you pull back, he blinks—once, twice—before a slow, almost disbelieving grin spreads across his face. “Damn,” he exhales, voice a little breathless, a little stunned. And then, because he is who he is, he recovers. “If you wanted a piece of me, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.” But his voice wavers slightly at the end, betraying the fact that he is not nearly as unaffected as he wants to seem.

- And then, before you can say anything, he moves. A hand curling around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he crashes his lips back to yours, kissing you with the full force of his fire—burning, consuming, alive. Because Johnny Storm never does anything halfway, and now that he knows what you taste like, he is never going to pretend he doesn’t want more.

Reed Richards

- Reed Richards lives in a world of equations. He understands the mechanics of the universe, the fabric of reality, the infinite complexities of time and space. But there are some things even he cannot predict. Some things he cannot quantify. You are one of those things. And when you kiss him, it is a complete and utter anomaly.

- His breath stills, his mind goes blank—something that has not happened in years. He can usually calculate the likelihood of an event before it occurs, but this? This wasn’t factored into his reality. His hands hover in the air, as if unsure of the proper response, as if the laws of physics themselves have momentarily escaped him.

- When you step back, he does not move immediately. He is frozen, recalibrating, processing. Then, slowly, his lips part, and a quiet, stunned “Oh” escapes him—soft, unguarded. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if needing a moment to refocus. “That was… unexpected.” His voice holds no rejection, only fascination, as if he has just witnessed a scientific miracle.

- And then, something shifts. His hand reaches for yours—not hasty, not desperate, but careful, deliberate. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, Reed Richards abandons calculations in favor of instinct. When he kisses you again, it is slow, exploratory, like a man learning a new language and savoring every syllable.

Ben Grimm

- Ben Grimm does not get soft things. He does not get stolen kisses or tender touches or the kind of love that isn’t weighed down by pity. He is The Thing. A man made of stone, of battle and loss, of aching loneliness that he never speaks of. And yet, here you are. Kissing him. As if he is not a monster. As if he is just a man.

- He stiffens, his whole body locking up. His heart—too big, too hopeful despite everything—stumbles in his chest. He has dreamed of things like this before, but dreams are cruel, and reality is harsher. He expects you to pull away, to realize what you’ve done, to see him and regret it. But you don’t. You don’t. And that, more than the kiss itself, threatens to undo him.

- When you finally step back, his throat works around words he can’t quite form, holding the weight of years spent convincing himself he doesn’t get to have this. His massive hands twitch at his sides, as if afraid to reach for something too fragile, too precious. “You… you sure about that?” There is doubt in his tone, not because he doesn’t want you, but because he doesn’t know how to believe you’d want him.

- But when you step closer again, pressing your hands against the solid breadth of his chest, when you tilt your head up and kiss him again, slow and sure and certain, something in him cracks. A deep, shuddering breath escapes him, and his massive arms finally—finally—come around you, pulling you close. And when he kisses you back, it is hesitant at first, reverent. But then it deepens, something raw and aching in the way he holds you, like a man who has been starved of love for far too long.

Susan Storm

- Susan Storm is a woman of grace, of careful composure, of quiet strength that bends but never breaks. She is a leader, a protector, a force of nature wrapped in silk. And yet, for all her brilliance, for all her ability to phase in and out of sight, she does not see you coming. Not when you step close. Not when your fingers graze her cheek. Not when your lips press against hers in a kiss that is as sudden as it is soft.

- Her breath stills, caught between the moment and the impossible realization of what it means. Her mind races—was she blind to this? Had she misread the signs, the weight of your glances, the unspoken words hovering between you for so long? But all thoughts unravel when she feels the warmth of your lips, the unguarded tenderness of it. She has spent her life holding herself steady, but now—now she is the one being unraveled.

- When you finally pull back, she blinks, slow and breathless, a flush creeping up her neck. “Oh,” she murmurs, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of her lips. A rare moment where she is not Susan Storm, the poised and polished heroine, but simply a woman standing before someone who has just shaken her world.

- And then, that moment of surprise shifts into something else—something warmer, something braver. Her fingers find your wrist, curling around it in a silent request. She meets your gaze, eyes shining with something unreadable, something soft. And when she kisses you again, it is no longer hesitation, no longer surprise—it is intention, steady and sure, as if she has made up her mind that this—you—is something she does not want to let go.

Felicia Hardy

- Felicia Hardy is a woman who dances on the edge of danger, who thrives in stolen moments and the rush of risk. She is a thief, a phantom in the night, a creature made of silver laughter and sharp edges. She knows the art of seduction, the game of push and pull, and yet—when you kiss her, it is not part of the game. It is not calculated, not played for leverage. And that is what stops her dead in her tracks.

- Her lips part against yours, a stunned exhale slipping free. For the first time in a long, long time, Felicia Hardy is caught off guard. She is used to controlling the moment, to being the one who sets the pace, who dictates the terms. But this—this—feels like something stolen from her. And she doesn’t know if she wants to steal it back, or if she wants to let herself fall.

- When you pull away, her signature smirk wavers, something uncertain flickering behind those sharp, clever eyes. “Well, well,” she purrs, but there’s a breathlessness to it, a vulnerability beneath the velvet tone. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” A tease, a cover. But her fingers twitch at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you, to pull you back in, to demand more.

- And then, as if making a silent decision, she moves. She closes the space between you with a sharp, deliberate kind of grace, tilting her head with the confidence of a woman who has decided to play a game she was not expecting—but one she suddenly wants to win. When she kisses you again, it is slow, languid, laced with amusement and hunger, as if savoring the way you are the one who caught her off guard for once.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is a man of logic, of precision, of control honed by years of discipline. He bends reality to his will, commands forces beyond human comprehension, and yet—he is utterly unprepared for the moment your lips press against his.

- His body locks up, his breath caught between disbelief and something deeper, something dangerously close to longing. He does not move at first, too caught in the sheer absurdity of it. He has faced cosmic horrors, rewritten fate itself, but he cannot seem to process the feeling of your touch, the warmth of your mouth against his own.

- When you step back, he blinks, slow and calculating, as if searching for some rational explanation. “That was… unexpected,” he says at last, his voice measured but carrying the faintest waver. He looks at you as though you are a paradox he cannot solve, an anomaly in his carefully structured existence.

- And then, after a long pause, his lips curl in something resembling amusement, a rare, genuine softness breaking through the rigid control. “I suppose,” he murmurs, stepping closer, voice dropping to something almost dangerous, almost reverent, “it would only be fair if I returned the favor.” And when he kisses you again, it is with the deliberation of a man who refuses to leave anything to chance.

Namor

- Namor is not a man accustomed to surprise. He is a king, a warrior, a god walking among mortals. He has stood against empires, defied the heavens, and shaped history with his own hands. But when you kiss him—you, with your infuriating defiance and your breathtaking boldness—he is, for the first time in centuries, at a complete and utter loss.

- His entire body tenses, as if bracing for an attack rather than an act of tenderness. And yet, despite his initial shock, despite the sheer audacity of you, he does not pull away. He does not stop you. Instead, his sharp, piercing eyes darken, a slow and simmering heat curling beneath his ribs—dangerous, unrelenting.

- When you finally part, he does not speak immediately. He simply looks at you, gaze heavy with something unreadable. And then, after a moment, his lips curl—not in anger, but in something far more unsettling. Amusement. Interest. Challenge. “You are either very brave,” he murmurs, voice rich and edged with something unmistakably possessive, “or very foolish.”

- And then, before you can respond, before you can think to retreat, he moves. His hands—strong, unyielding—catch your wrist, his body closing the space between you with the effortless command of a king reclaiming what is his. And when he kisses you again, it is not a question. It is a declaration, a silent vow that whatever game you have started, he will be the one to finish.

Johnny Blaze

- Fire and damnation have clung to Johnny Blaze for as long as he can remember. He is a man marked by hellfire, by a fate he never asked for, by the weight of every soul he has ever sent screaming into the dark. He does not expect kindness, not really, not from anyone. And yet, when you kiss him—suddenly, without warning, like a spark catching dry earth—he is stunned into absolute stillness.

- The scent of smoke and leather clings to him, the remnants of something infernal lurking beneath his skin, but you do not hesitate. Your lips are warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold edges of his existence. He has faced demons, outrun the devil himself, but this? This simple, quiet moment? It terrifies him in a way nothing else ever has.

- He exhales sharply when you pull back, as if he’s just come up for air after drowning. His blue eyes burn like embers, searching your face as if trying to understand what the hell just happened. His throat works around words he doesn’t know how to say, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t trust himself to. “You don’t wanna do that,” he finally mutters, voice rough with something dangerously close to longing.

- But when you tilt your head, when you don’t flinch, don’t pull away, don’t fear him—something in him cracks. His jaw clenches, his hands curl into fists, and then, finally, finally, he lets himself move. He grabs the back of your neck with a touch that is both possessive and reverent, and when he kisses you again, it is with the desperation of a man who has spent too many years in the dark, suddenly blinded by the light.

Eddie Brock / Venom

- Eddie Brock is a man who has lost too much, fought too hard, and learned to trust too little. He is rough around the edges, worn down by anger and regret, always bracing for the moment when the world inevitably turns against him. He is not used to gentleness—not from others, and certainly not for himself. And so, when you kiss him, when you press your lips against his like it is the most natural thing in the world, his brain short-circuits entirely.

- His first instinct is to pull back, to question, to doubt. But Venom—Venom is faster. The symbiote rumbles in amusement, in approval, wrapping around Eddie’s ribs like a second heartbeat. "We like this one," the alien purrs inside his mind, and Eddie swears under his breath because of course Venom would be delighted by this.

- “You’re—” Eddie starts, but stops himself, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically shove down the confusion. He shakes his head, glancing at you with something that is half bewilderment, half hunger. He wants to say something cocky, something to brush it off, but all that comes out is a breathless, “What the hell was that for?”

- And then Venom moves, slick tendrils curling around his shoulders, shifting his posture. "Kiss her back, Eddie," the symbiote urges, a wicked, knowing grin in his voice. And—God help him—Eddie does. He surges forward, his grip strong, his kiss a mixture of frustration and want, like he’s fighting against how much he needs this, how much he needs you. And when he finally breaks away, his breath is ragged, his pupils blown wide. Shit.

T’Challa

- T’Challa is not a man who is easily surprised. He is a king, a warrior, a strategist who sees every angle before the game even begins. His mind is always ten steps ahead, his composure an unshakable force of nature. And yet—when you kiss him, when you step close without prelude or warning, tilting your chin up to press your lips to his—he is caught entirely off guard.

- His breath hitches, just slightly, so small a reaction that most would not catch it. But you are not most. You are you, and you notice the way his body stills, the way his fingers twitch at his sides as if warring with the impulse to pull you closer. His heartbeat is steady, measured, but beneath the surface—oh, beneath the surface, you have sent ripples through a man who does not bend easily.

- When you part from him, his dark eyes study your face with a sharpness that borders on unreadable. “You are bold,” he says, but there is no admonishment in his tone—only observation, only something deeply considering. His gaze is heavy, knowing, like he has already unraveled every reason why you did it. And yet, for all his brilliance, there is one question left unanswered.

- And so, after a pause, he tilts his head ever so slightly, a slow, deliberate movement. “Was that a challenge?” The words are a whisper, rich and silken, spoken against your lips as he closes the space between you once more. His kiss is not hurried, not desperate—it is a promise, a declaration, a reminder that T’Challa does nothing without intention. And you? You have just become something he intends to keep.

Elektra Natchios

- Elektra moves like a shadow, like a blade cutting through the dark, like something that cannot be held for long. She is sharp edges and silken danger, a whisper of death wrapped in a dancer’s grace. She does not trust easily. She does not love easily. And yet, when you kiss her—fast, sudden, without warning—she does not push you away. No. She freezes, her entire body tensed, not out of resistance, but because she did not see it coming.

- For a woman who has spent her life reading people like open books, you have just managed to turn a page she did not anticipate. Her lips part against yours, not in invitation but in sheer, startled stillness. The moment you step back, her gaze is already piercing into you, unreadable and electric, the air between you charged with something taut and dangerous.

- “That,” she breathes, eyes narrowing just slightly, “was foolish.” But the way she says it—it is not a warning, not truly. It is curiosity, the ghost of something far more wicked lurking beneath the surface. She watches you like a cat watching its prey, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if deciding whether to draw a weapon or pull you back in.

- And then, just as quickly, just as effortlessly, she moves. Her hand catches your wrist, yanking you forward with a force that is not violent but possessive. And when she kisses you this time, it is not hesitation—it is fire and fury, a battle won with the curl of her fingers at your nape, the press of her body against yours. If this is a game, you have just signed yourself into a war. And Elektra Natchios? She never loses.

Muse

- Muse does not feel things the way others do. Art consumes him, violence is his language, and the world is nothing but a blank canvas begging to be marred. He has wandered through blood-soaked streets and carved poetry into walls with trembling hands, but this—this sudden kiss, this moment where your lips press against his without prelude or warning—is something entirely new.

- He does not flinch. He does not gasp. He does not react in any way that might be considered human. Instead, he listens. To the way your breath hitches. To the way your heartbeat stumbles in your chest. To the way the world stills around him, just for a moment, like existence itself is waiting to see what he will do next. And oh, how he loves the weight of expectation.

- When you finally pull back, his blind eyes remain locked onto you, empty and unreadable, yet somehow knowing. His lips part—not in surprise, but in something closer to fascination. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, the word almost a sigh, almost a prayer. “Do it again.” It is not a request. It is not a plea. It is a command wrapped in velvet, spoken like a secret only you were meant to hear.

- And when you hesitate, when you wonder if it is wise, if it is safe, he simply tilts his head, his smile carving itself into his face like a brushstroke on an unfinished painting. His fingers ghost over your jaw, not quite touching, not yet. “I wonder,” he muses, voice lilting with something dangerous, something close to reverence, “how many shades of red I could pull from your lips alone.”

Victor von Doom

- Victor von Doom does not tolerate surprises. His mind is a kingdom unto itself, a fortress built upon knowledge and control. There is no action he takes that is not calculated, no movement that is not deliberate. And yet—when you kiss him, when you dare to step into his space and press your lips against his without permission, without warning—it is the one moment he does not anticipate.

- His body tenses, not in shock but in something colder, something unreadable. There is steel in his stance, in the way his fingers curl ever so slightly at his sides. For one impossibly long second, the world feels as if it has stopped, as if the very air around you is waiting for his verdict. And then, his hands rise—not to push you away, but to cup your face with the precision of a sculptor, as if he is considering whether to keep this moment or cast it aside.

- “Foolish,” he murmurs, though his grip does not loosen. His green eyes burn into yours, heavy with something unreadable, something vast. “You mistake me for a man who yields to impulse.” But you can feel it—the faint tremor beneath his touch, the war waging behind his gaze. You have shaken something in him. Something he does not have words for.

- And then, Doom decides. His grip tightens just slightly, his gaze darkens, and when he leans in, it is not hesitant. It is not uncertain. No, Victor von Doom does not do anything halfway. His lips capture yours with the finality of a ruler taking his throne, with the weight of a choice made, a fate sealed. And when he pulls away, he exhales sharply, as if he has allowed himself one moment of indulgence—and nothing more. “You are either very bold,” he muses, voice quiet, “or very foolish.” And then, after a pause, after a second’s hesitation— “Perhaps both.”

Peter Quill

- Peter Quill has been kissed before. By strangers in bars, by lovers who knew better, by the lingering ghosts of memories he refuses to let go of. But this—this kiss, your kiss—catches him completely off guard.

- He is mid-sentence, probably saying something ridiculous, something cocky, something meant to make you roll your eyes—and then, suddenly, your lips are on his, stealing the words right from his mouth. His brain short-circuits so violently that for a full second, he just stands there, hands hovering awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

- And then, like a delayed reaction, like an aftershock, he grins. A slow, lazy, completely obnoxious grin that spreads across his face like wildfire. “Well, damn,” he breathes, blinking at you like he’s just been hit by a starship. “If I knew that’s how you felt, I would’ve shut up ages ago.”

- But then—just when you think he’ll ruin it with another joke—he tugs you forward, his fingers curling around your waist with an easy kind of confidence. And when he kisses you this time, it is deeper, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he means it. And maybe, just maybe, Peter Quill has finally found something—someone—worth holding onto.

Nova (Richard Rider)

- Richard Rider has been through hell. He has seen galaxies burn, has carried the weight of worlds on his shoulders, has fought and bled and lost more than he can put into words. He is tired. He is so tired. And yet—when you kiss him, when you pull him down from the weight of the cosmos and remind him of something as simple, as human as this—he forgets, just for a moment, how heavy the universe feels.

- His breath stutters. His entire body tenses, like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, like he’s bracing for an impact that never comes. He has been hurt before, has been broken in ways that no amount of power can fix, and yet—this is different. You are different.

- “I—” he starts, but the words get lost somewhere between his lips and yours. He laughs, but it’s not the cocky, confident sound most people expect from him. It’s breathless, unsure. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Didn’t see that coming.” But the way he looks at you—the way his blue eyes soften, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you and doesn’t know if he should—tells you that maybe, just maybe, he’s glad you caught him off guard.

- And then, slowly, hesitantly, he steps closer. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with a gentleness that feels at odds with the battles he’s fought, with the wars he’s survived. And when he kisses you again, it is not hurried, not rushed. It is quiet. It is careful. It is real. Because for the first time in a long, long time—Richard Rider is not fighting. He is simply here. With you.

[mariacallous]

With vaccination rates among US kindergarteners steadily declining in recent years and Secretary of Health and Human Services Robert F. Kennedy Jr. vowing to reexamine the childhood vaccination schedule, measles and other previously eliminated infectious diseases could become more common. A new analysis published today by epidemiologists at Stanford University attempts to quantify those impacts.

Using a computer model, the authors found that with current state-level vaccination rates, measles could reestablish itself and become consistently present in the United States in the next two decades. Their model predicted this outcome in 83 percent of simulations. If current vaccination rates stay the same, the model estimated that the US could see more than 850,000 cases, 170,000 hospitalizations, and 2,500 deaths over the next 25 years. The results appear in the Journal of the American Medical Association.

“I don’t see this as speculative. It is a modeling exercise, but it’s based on good numbers,” says Jeffrey Griffiths, professor of public health and community medicine at Tufts University School of Medicine in Boston, who was not involved in the study. “The big point is that measles is very likely to become endemic quickly if we continue in this way.”

The United States declared measles eliminated in 2000 after decades of successful vaccination campaigns. Elimination means there has been no chain of disease transmission inside a country lasting longer than 12 months. The current measles outbreak in Texas, however, could put that status at risk. With more than 600 cases, 64 hospitalizations, and two deaths, it’s the largest outbreak the state has seen since 1992, when 990 cases were linked to a single outbreak. Nationally, the US has seen 800 cases of measles so far in 2025, the most since 2019. Last year, there were 285 cases.

“We’re really at a point where we should be trying to increase vaccination as much as possible,” says Mathew Kiang, assistant professor of epidemiology and population health at Stanford University and one of the authors of the paper.

Childhood vaccination in the US has been on a downward trend. Data collected by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention from state and local vaccination programs found that from the 2019–2020 school year to the 2022–2023 school year, coverage among kindergartners with state-required vaccinations declined from 95 percent to approximately 93 percent. Those vaccines included MMR (measles, mumps, and rubella), DTaP (diphtheria, tetanus, and acellular pertussis), polio, and chickenpox.

In the current study, Kiang and his colleagues modeled each state separately, taking into account their vaccination rates, which ranged from 88 percent to 96 percent for measles, 78 percent to 91 percent for diphtheria, and 90 percent to 97 percent for the polio vaccine. Other variables included demographics of the population, vaccine efficacy, risk of disease importation, typical duration of the infection, the time between exposure and being able to spread the disease, and the contagiousness of the disease, also known as the basic reproduction number. Measles is highly contagious, with one person on average being able to infect 12 to 18 people. The researchers used 12 as the basic reproduction number in their study.

Under a scenario with a 10 percent decline in measles vaccination, the model estimates 11.1 million cases of measles over the next 25 years, while a 5 percent increase in the vaccination rate would result in just 5,800 cases in that same time period.

In addition to measles, the authors used their model to assess the risk of rubella, polio, and diphtheria. The researchers chose these four diseases for their infectiousness and risk of severe complications. While sporadic cases of these diseases do occur and are usually related to international travel, they are no longer endemic in the US, meaning they no longer regularly occur.

The model predicted that rubella, polio, and diphtheria are unlikely to become endemic under current levels of vaccination. Rubella and polio have a basic reproduction number of four, while diphtheria’s is less than three. In 81 percent of simulations, vaccination rates would need to fall by around 35 percent for rubella to become endemic in the next 25 years. Polio, meanwhile, had a 50 percent chance of becoming endemic if vaccination rates dropped 40 percent. Diphtheria was the least likely disease to become reestablished.

“Any of these diseases, under the right conditions, could come back,” says coauthor Nathan Lo, a Stanford physician and assistant professor of infectious diseases.

To evaluate the validity of the model, the researchers ran a scenario with recent state-level vaccine coverage rates over a five-year period and found that the number of model-predicted cases broadly aligned with the number of observed cases in those years. The authors also found that Texas was at the highest risk for measles.

One limitation of the study was that the model assumed that vaccination rates were the same across all communities within a state. It didn’t take into account large variations in vaccination levels. Pockets of low vaccination rates, like in the Mennonite community at the center of the West Texas outbreak, would likely lead to local outbreaks that are larger than expected given the overall vaccination rate.

The study also didn’t take into account the possibility that vaccination rates could rebound in an area in response to an outbreak. “That’s the thing that we have control over. If you’re able to change that cycle, then that disease won’t spread anymore,” says Mujeeb Basit, associate chief of the Clinical Informatics Center at UT Southwestern Medical Center, who wasn’t involved in the study.

Kiang and Lo say the full impact of decreased vaccination will likely not be seen for decades. “It’s important to note that it’s totally feasible that vaccinations go down and nothing happens for a little while. That’s actually what the model says,” Kiang says. “But eventually, these things are going to catch up to us.”

[nasa]

Student Experiments Soar!

Have you ever wondered what it takes to get a technology ready for space? The NASA TechRise Student Challenge gives middle and high school students a chance to do just that – team up with their classmates to design an original science or technology project and bring that idea to life as a payload on a suborbital vehicle.

Since March 2021, with the help of teachers and technical advisors, students across the country have dreamed up experiments with the potential to impact space exploration and collect data about our planet.

So far, more than 180 TechRise experiments have flown on suborbital vehicles that expose them to the conditions of space. Flight testing is a big step along the path of space technology development and scientific discovery.

The 2023-2024 TechRise Challenge flight tests took place this summer, with 60 student teams selected to fly their experiments on one of two commercial suborbital flight platforms: a high-altitude balloon operated by World View, or the Xodiac rocket-powered lander operated by Astrobotic. Xodiac flew over the company’s Lunar Surface Proving Ground — a test field designed to simulate the Moon’s surface — in Mojave, California, while World View’s high-altitude balloon launched out of Page, Arizona.

Here are four innovative TechRise experiments built by students and tested aboard NASA-supported flights this summer:

1. Oobleck Reaches the Skies

Oobleck, which gets its name from Dr. Seuss, is a mixture of cornstarch and water that behaves as both a liquid and a solid. Inspired by in-class science experiments, high school students at Colegio Otoqui in Bayomón, Puerto Rico, tested how Oobleck’s properties at 80,000 feet aboard a high-altitude balloon are different from those on Earth’s surface. Using sensors and the organic elements to create Oobleck, students aimed to collect data on the fluid under different conditions to determine if it could be used as a system for impact absorption.

2. Terrestrial Magnetic Field

Middle school students at Phillips Academy International Baccalaureate School in Birmingham, Alabama, tested the Earth’s magnetic field strength during the ascent, float, and descent of the high-altitude balloon. The team hypothesized the magnetic field strength decreases as the distance from Earth’s surface increases.

3. Rocket Lander Flame Experiment

To understand the impact of dust, rocks, and other materials kicked up by a rocket plume when landing on the Moon, middle school students at Cliff Valley School in Atlanta, Georgia, tested the vibrations of the Xodiac rocket-powered lander using CO2 and vibration sensors. The team also used infrared (thermal) and visual light cameras to attempt to detect the hazards produced by the rocket plume on the simulated lunar surface, which is important to ensure a safe landing.

4. Rocket Navigation

Middle and high school students at Tiospaye Topa School in LaPlant, South Dakota, developed an experiment to track motion data with the help of a GPS tracker and magnetic radar. Using data from the rocket-powered lander flight, the team will create a map of the flight path as well as the magnetic field of the terrain. The students plan to use their map to explore developing their own rocket navigation system.

The 2024-2025 TechRise Challenge is now accepting proposals for technology and science to be tested on a high-altitude balloon! Not only does TechRise offer hands-on experience in a live testing scenario, but it also provides an opportunity to learn about teamwork, project management, and other real-world skills.

“The TechRise Challenge was a truly remarkable journey for our team,” said Roshni Ismail, the team lead and educator at Cliff Valley School. “Watching them transform through the discovery of new skills, problem-solving together while being driven by the chance of flying their creation on a [rocket-powered lander] with NASA has been exhilarating. They challenged themselves to learn through trial and error and worked long hours to overcome every obstacle. We are very grateful for this opportunity.”

Are you ready to bring your experiment design to the launchpad? If you are a sixth to 12th grade student, you can make a team under the guidance of an educator and submit your experiment ideas by November 1. Get ready to create!

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[totallyboatless]

Listen I deeply hate when people say “please reblog I’m trying to see something”

But please reblog I’m trying to see something. Or more accurately trying to collect data for a friend who is currently dealing with a black widow infestation

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

yandere Hc/scenario In every soundwave you know please!!!! Everyday I'm craving for his content... although I'm more into human but I guess I could open to all kind like cybertronian s/o too

I'll be doing Prime, One and Earthspark since those are the versions I know best! (´▽｀Uu) I would do Animated too - but I know little of the series and only more about Optimus, Bee and Starscream.

（*＾-＾*）

Yandere!Soundwave (Headcanons) (TFP, TFO & TFE)

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour. Mentions of stalking, kidnapping, obsessive ideas/thoughts. Reader is human (TFp & TFE) and Cybertronian (TFO) and gender neutral.

TRANSFORMERS PRIME: SOUNDWAVE

A possessive yandere that stalks and recollects everything about his beloved S/O.

Soundwaves was sure he would come to hate humans - they were like... parasites, too primitive. Inferior.

And yet - you were not like the other humans. You were... more.

Perfect, ethereal, unique - Soundwave was sure he caught a glitch or something, but his spark would beat at the rythm of your own heartbeat (Soundwave was sure his spark and your heart were bonded, connected - synchronized) whenever he got to see you.

Sadly, the Autobots got you before you and him got to meet like true sparkmates, as you accidentally saw one fight between the vehicons and that yellow autobot.

Soundwave got to see you when he connected with one of the vehicons and saw through their optics... oh, precious you.

To this day, Soundwave is not sure what made him fall overpedes for you - and that frustrastes him as it is the only knowledge he doesn't possess.

Definitely stalks you if you have any type of presence on the internet, no matter if you are a private user or an influencer.

Everything about you - any photo, any username, any post, e-mail, ubication, everything about you rests now deep inside of his system as data, and he keeps collecting more and more.

Soundwave would manage to kidnap you after sending you a false message under the impression it was from any of the autobots that tasked you to meet somewhere so they could take you to the base.

Before you could yell for help, you were already snatched.

Every little reaction, sound, mannerism, body language - anything is getting recorded and Soundwave is just so fascinated.

Treats you like the most fragile thing in the whole universe.

Allows himself to be selfish and keep you in his arms, working and from time to time, look down at you and place a kiss emoji in his mask.

Escaping is a far away dream of yours now - Soundwave knows everything and hears everything, and he made sure to not let you see anything about the Nemesis when he brought you to his quarters.

You are trapped - like a precious butterfly inside of a glass case.

"Soundwave: loves dearly S/O. Soundwave: knows everything about S/O. S/O: Soundwave's sparkmate."

TRANSFORMERS EARTHSPARK: SOUNDWAVE

Earthspark Soundwave gives me the vibes of a yandere that starts obsessing with you out of hate.

He wants to hate you - you were a human! A human like G.H.O.S.T (even when you were not related to that organization) that locked him and his fellow teammates after that traitor of Megatron betrayed all of them!

Changing a little bit the Earthspark's story - you and Soundwave crossed paths when Soundwave managed to escape from G.H.O.S.T's HQ - it was at night, and he was trying to find somewhere to hide.

Like the Maltos, many people in Witwicky had their homes in the forest. And it just happened that you had a home like that, too. Soundwave managed to hide behind it - and by Primus' choice, you were still wide awake right at 3 AM.

You would have screamed in fear at the sight of a giant robot - but you quickly catched on at how he just seemed to be trying to hide, not attacking you or anything. And when you heard many cars pulling right outside of your home.

Soundwave was just about to start running again, but when he heard the front door open and you come out, already screaming your lungs out to the agents to leave your property and such, managing to even scare them off as you didn't allow them to speak or anything.

"Threaten me all you want - it is 3 freaking AM and you are all suddenly just arriving to my property! I will call my lawyers and the town's mayor!" You yell as the agents finally leave. And you turn to the tall robot who peaks his helm from the back of your house. "Uh... you can stay - just, do not get those weirdos back or something. Good night."

Ugh! How Soundwave loaths you! With your boring life and your sympathy and your will to keep him hidden and stay at your territory! Your human behaviour, always telling him he could count with you, that you could be a shoulder to cry on and how you always give him that kind smile and those reassuring words, and...

In a few days and night, Soundwave becomes a protective, obsessive yandere who is not afraid of destroying others if it means to keep you safe.

Is not afraid of snatching you from your home and life the moment Optimus, Megatron and the others find out about his whereabouts and about you.

Vows silently to protect you with his own life - he was gonna shed the energon of others and his own to keep you safe and sound.

Cry and beg all you want to Soundwave about letting you go - he is not going to do so, dear. He is keeping you safe, he is keeping you far away from the same bots who ruined his life.

He is not gonna let them take you away from him - his new light of hope, his new reason to live and fight.

TRANSFORMERS ONE: SOUNDWAVE

You and Soundwave have known each other from a long time ago.

You two worked together, and you two followed the High guard after defecting from the False Prime's orders after witnessing all the horrible things he did and the murder of the Primes.

Many times you grieved after watching the fall of the Primes, knowing all of you were now in danger if Sentinel Prime and his followers found you all, no longer able to go home and knowing so many innocents were suffering at the hands of that monster.

Soundwave held you closer as you cried against his chesplate, trying to whisper you hopeful words... but he was slowly spiraling in a sea of despair and that sensation of everything seeming lost.

A delusional, overprotective yandere - with the pass of time, he starts to actually believe you two are the conjux of the other.

Doesn't leave you alone - he is always by your side or keeping you with him.

If he was already too protective before, with the arrival of those four bots from Iacon and the sight of how one of them nearly ended Starscream, Soundwave became ten times more protective - and add another 100 times when they were attacked by Sentinel Prime's people.

Imagine the despair and down righ madness if Soundwave witnessed you being one of the bots that got taken back to Iacon.

He might have actually... killed a few bots when he got into Iacon to fight back against Sentinel Prime's defenses.

When he found you, he hugged you so tightly and promised to protect you - he promised to kill anyone who ever tried to take away his beloved conjux.

You become a precious gem - when he leaves to follow Megatron after he is vanished from Iacon, he takes you with him, and you comply.

It was the mech you've known for so many years!

... But you can't help but be afraid at the fact that... the Soundwave you knew has changed.

And you decided to kept silence whenever he would whisper to you sweet, protective and delusional promises - you are his conjux, after all. He has to protect you, and he is not afraid of beheading anybot who stands in his way.

Can you believe I couldn't find a good TFO Soundwave gif here on tumblr? Tumblr, help me out, man. (╬▔皿▔)╯Vhaos out!

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Dismantle

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 11033

Warnings: Canon typical violence. Tad bit of angst. Mentions of previous SA (Blink and you'll miss it), I think that's all in this one.

Author’s Note: Hello long wait in between parts. I managed to keep this all as one long part. I figured why force you guys to have it in two parts when you can consume it in one. We're reaching the end of this series. I only have one more part planned out for this series. I hope that you guys enjoy it! The divider is by the lovely @firefly-graphics ♥

I do not and will not ever give permission for my fics to be copied and posted on other sites. Don’t do it. Don’t be that person that ruins it for me and everyone else.

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. While likes are appreciated, reblogs are gold. Seriously, if you enjoyed this in the slightest, please reblog ♥

<< Interrogations || Phantom Masterlist || Phantom Playlist || Set Me Free >>

“What was he planning on building?” It was Ross's voice that filled the air. 

“He took the data information his brother had collected along with blood samples from test subjects.” She began as she looked towards Ross. “He also found a way to miniaturize Project Insight. Put the two together and-” 

“You get a weapon that can turn specific people into enhanced weapons.” Steve said, shaking his head. 

“There’s no way he could possibly do that.” Ross shook his head. “That kind of technology-”

“Can be created.” She added even though she was sure that he wasn’t going to say that. “DNA testing was a whole craze. It wasn’t hard for Hydra to obtain and analyze the data. The parts that were being collected would ensure it was possible. I’ve seen the plans. It was only a matter of time before it came together and went into the testing phase of things.”

“So what's the plan?” Sam asked.

“Element of surprise is out of the question.” She said as her eyes moved from one person to another. “The moment Ross was informed I was taken in, he knew too. There's no way to play it like my mission has been successful.” 

“Then we go head on.” Steve said. “They’ll see us coming. But we’ll be ready for it.”

“We don’t even know where they’ll be.” Wanda noted. It caused everyone to look towards Y/N. 

She sighed softly and nodded her head. “There's a few places they’ll be heading now that they know I’m out of the equation. I’ll even be able to give detailed routes into those facilities without setting off any of their alarms.”

“That’s gonna come in handy.” Natasha said.

It didn't take them long to go over possible locations and how the team would be able to use the information she was providing to their advantage. They had several plans in place for every scenario that could possibly happen between now and them getting to Strucker. 

Steve gave commands for each group from the team. Each one with a different plan of attack. And when Steve’s attention turned to her, she already could feel the irritation growing within her. 

“You and Clint will stay here.” He began and her head already started shaking. “If anything, be our eyes and ears with FRIDAY.” 

“I'm coming with one of you.” She said the moment he finished. She wasn’t going to agree with what was being asked of her.

“No.”

“No.” 

“Are you crazy?”

All three responses came at once, causing her to raise her eyebrow at them as she crossed her arms over her chest. The nos had come from Steve and Bucky. The ‘are you crazy?’ came from Tony. “You're not making me sit this one out.” 

“She is crazy.” Tony mumbled as he ran his hand over his face.

“You know I’m good on the field.” She said with a shake of her head. “I get that there’s the possibility of not trusting me right now, but I want to see this through, just as much as you do.”

“We trust you.” Steve began. “But given the situation, it would be better to have you safe here and not out there. We don’t know what they could do-”

“I can handle myself. I’ve been handling situations like this my whole life.” She argued. She wasn’t going to let this go without a fight. 

She knew there was a bigger fight at hand with what the team was getting ready for. But she wasn’t about to be kept out of the fight. She’d go down fighting before she was left behind.

“Buck, help me out here.” Steve looked over at Bucky. 

“What he means to say,” Bucky said, gaining her attention. “While we would be happy to have you fighting alongside us, you could be a few short words away from fighting against us. And while we had our moment of fighting each other earlier, I’d like not to be put up against you again.”

“They don't have-'' She stopped herself mid sentence when reality came crashing through her mind. 

She would have said they don't have her trigger words. That the only person who had them still, if he hadn’t destroyed it, was standing right in front of her. But she had been reprogrammed. She didn’t know anything about it this time around. She didn’t know if all it was going to take was a specific set of words to have her back under. 

She understood their worry. She understood why they wouldn't want her to be there or anywhere on the mission. Hydra knew how to manipulate her and they were going to do just that. 

But she couldn't just wait around and do very little. While she could give the team play by play instructions through each facility, it wasn't enough for her. She needed her hands in it in some way. 

A defeated sigh passed her lips a moment later and she nodded her head. “Fine.”

She could feel the way Bucky eyed her for a moment. There was something in his eyes that told her that he had been ready for more of a fight. A moment later, he nodded his head in acceptance. But his eyes never left hers. 

“Let’s head out.” Steve’s voice filled the air before the room started to clear out. 

“I told myself I wasn’t going to let you out of my sight.” He said before letting out a sigh. 

“Let me go with you. I can stay on the quinjet if that’s what’s needed.” The moment Bucky started shaking his head she changed tactics. “Then stay here with me. Clint can go and handle it.”

“As much as I want to, we both know I can’t. I have to see this through for both of us.” He needed her to understand. He was the one that was free from the Hydra’s hold. She had been taken from them just hours ago. He needed to make sure they wouldn’t have a chance to take her back. “When I get back, we’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

All she could do was nod. And when she didn’t say anything else, Bucky had taken that as his cue to leave. The faster he got going, the faster he could come back to her. 

Out of a long forgotten habit, Y/N had found herself exiting the conference room and started making her way towards the common area. Her brain told her there was something in that room that she needed to see. And when she walked in, seeing the floor to ceiling windows, she was reminded why she wanted to go in there. 

It gave her the view of the air strip that was on the property. It also gave view to the several cars that were lined up as several agents climbed in. The scramble before a mission. She thought. Something she had seen plenty of times. 

But that old familiar habit reminded her that this was where she used to watch Bucky board a quinjet. It was also where she would anxiously wait for him to return from a mission. On more than one occasion, she fell asleep in the chair by the window waiting for him to return. 

As she looked out the window now, she could see the way the jets had been turned on as the ramp began closing on a few of the quinjets. Vehicles were already starting to drive off to give the aircrafts the needed space to take off. It wouldn’t be long before the runway was empty. 

“We’re not staying are we?” Clint asked as he came to stand beside her. His eyes watched as one of the quinets took off. His face was neutral in comparison to hers. He could see the thought process as clear as day on her face. He knew she was waiting for it to be clear for her to leave. 

“You can stay here if you want. But I can't sit around and do nothing.” She noted as she began walking away the moment she was sure everyone on the mission had left. 

“If you're going, I'm going with you.” He said with a shrug. “Someone has to keep you from being triggered.”

She rolled her eyes slightly. “Now the question is what are we taking?” The closest location was close enough to get to by car. “Car or Quinjet?”

“I have something better in mind.” A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips before he tilted his head towards the garage. When her eyebrow raised he chuckled. “Grab your gear and meet me in the garage. I'm sure you remember where you kept your gear. ”

It didn’t take long for Y/N to find her old locker and have tactical belts filled with weapons once more. The weight of the belts wrapped around her had brought a strange comfort to her. It was from constantly having them over the last several months. Maybe it was wrong to find comfort in weapons, but the way the last 24 hours had been, she’d take familiarity over anything else. 

When she walked out to the garage, she found Clint waiting for her. “What is the better option you were talking about?”

Clint only gave her a grin before he walked over and pulled the sheet off of a black Honda sports bike. He watched as her eyes shifted as she took in the bike. Clint could only assume it was the memory of how much she had loved it. 

She walked over and looked over the bike. It had been some time since she had seen it, let alone rode it. She remembered the day she had bought the bike. How excited she had been the few days leading up to getting it. It was the first thing that had ever truly been hers and she spent every free moment she could riding it. 

“We found it at one of the safe houses.” He noted as he watched her. “It was around the time Bucky started looking for you and he insisted that it come back with us. Mentioned that if you had seen how much dust was collecting on it, you would have killed someone.” 

She shook her head before she looked back over her shoulder at him. “I left it there when I decided to stop using the safe houses. It felt like it belonged to a life that I was no longer a part of.” 

“Everyone comes back home eventually.” He said, giving her a smile. 

She returned the smile before she found herself a moment later sitting on the bike while pulling her helmet over her head. The motions of bringing the bike to life caused a grin to pull at her lips even though it couldn’t be seen. The memories of it all made her wish that she hadn’t been going for a mission and just for a joy ride.

Lifting the visor on the helmet, she looked over at Clint. “Hop on.” It didn’t take Clint long to climb up behind her and get himself situated. “You better hold on to your arrows, Hawkeye.” She said before the sound of tires screeching along the pavement filled the air before she was taking off. 

_____

With the information that Y/N had provided, each set of teams had managed to work their way in undetected. With their stealth, they had been able to take down several Hydra soldiers in the process. Each group hadn’t been met with anything they couldn’t handle. 

At a majority of the locations, the teams had been able to clear it completely. That if anything they caught them in the middle of attempting to destroy any evidence. And with a little physical force, FRIDAY soon had access to it all.

For Bucky, Sam, and Steve, it had almost been too easy for them to make the progress they had. The lower level entrance had been left unguarded. While they had kept themselves ready for anything, there was something off. In comparison to the other’s reports, they had an easier time clearing each section of the building. 

“Something doesn’t feel right.” It was Sam that voiced the same thought they were all thinking. “It shouldn’t be this easy. Not with the intel we have.”

Even with Redwing discreetly flying ahead, there wasn’t a soul they came in contact with. Thermal scans didn’t even pick up any guards on the levels above or below them. And that in itself should have brought them some sort of relief. But it didn’t. 

“Maybe there’s another place she didn’t know about.” Steve added. They had been currently working their way through an area of the building that was used for storage. “Or they left in a rush knowing we were coming.”

“This place hasn’t been trashed yet.” Bucky noted. “They haven’t left. The better question is-”

“Found them.” Sam said as Redwing alerted him to the incoming soldiers. “It seems they’ve finally realized we’re here.”

“How many?” Bucky asked.

“Enough that we won’t break a sweat.” Sam responded with a shrug. 

“Let’s hope so.” Steve responded just before the doors from both the left and right busted open. 

Much like Sam had mentioned, the three of them had been able to handle the amount of soldiers that filled into the room. While the numbers may have been a tad daunting, with as much training as they had, it almost felt like another day in the office. 

By the time the last one had been put down, the three of them had made it to the opposite side of the warehouse and through another corridor. Another part of the building that hadn’t been so much as touched or trashed as they were expecting. If anything, it was like they were preparing to move into this one. 

“I don’t like this.” Bucky noted.

“I second that.” Sam said as he opened another door, finding stored equipment. 

Some of the equipment had been covered up in sheets while some that were pressed against the wall were uncovered. All of it pieces to what Sam could assume was the new and improved Project Insight.  

“This still doesn't make any sense.” Steve shook his head as he entered the room with the equipment, taking note of the pieces he could see.. “If the other locations are scrambling to destroy all of their information, what’s different about this one?”

“Maybe the ones that ambushed the compound were at this location?” Sam offered as he pulled one of the sheets off.”

The moment he did, he heard an audible gasp leave Steve and Bucky. Beneath the sheet had been a memory suppressing machine. And by the looks of it, it was as shiny as new. 

“Makes sense.” Bucky shook his head, not being able to take his eyes off the machine in front of him. It made something in his stomach turn at the sight of it in front of him. “If they plan on creating enhanced-”

“They need a way to control them.” Steve shook his head as he looked over at Bucky.

As the three of them continued to look at the suppressing machine, they hadn't noticed the two agents sneaking up on them. And when Bucky had finally noticed it and began aiming at the soldiers in the doorway, a set of gunshots were going off. The bodies fell to the ground causing three sets of eyes to widen slightly before bracing themselves for what could be waiting just past the entry. 

“First rule about entry ways,” A familiar voice filled the air before Y/N took a step into the entryway. “Never forget about them. You never know what lurks just beyond them.”

It wasn’t hard to miss the several emotions that played through Bucky before he settled on one. She could easily see the way his eyes shifted from disbelief to anger before he began shaking his head and closing the space between them. 

“Barton unconscious somewhere?” He asked her as he came to a stop in front of her, his eyes narrowing at her. 

“Like I’d let her even try.” Clint said as he came into the room a moment later. While his hold on the bow string had eased, he hadn’t let it go completely. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bucky asked, never pulling his attention off of her. “The whole reason for you staying behind-”

“I listened.” She cut him off with a shrug. “You said nothing about following behind after you left.” 

She knew that was probably one of the worst things she could have said. She was trying to ease some of the growing tension between them. Before Bucky could even begin to voice his irritation with what she had said, she continued. 

“It can’t just be you doing this. I need to be here just as much.” She kept her eyes on him. “This is my life they currently have a hold on and I need to be here to see that it’s destroyed. I can’t be the one to sit around and wait and hope that it all works out. I’m here now and it’d be pointless to make me leave. I can handle this and you know it.”

Her attention may have been on him, watching as anger and frustration began to change to worry, but she hadn’t missed the movement out of her right peripheral. The other three were to her left and there was no way it could have been any of the others. It caused her to lift her gun and pull the trigger without looking away from him. A thud followed shortly after. 

“I feel like that’s convincing enough.” Sam noted. A chuckle from Clint followed a moment later. 

A glare formed on Bucky’s face as he continued to look at her. There were a million things going through his mind at that moment. He wanted to drag her out of there and take her back to the compound. He wanted her as far away from here as possible. 

He knew that out of the options of facilities she pointed out that this one was the one to be more on alert about. That fact was proven with what they had just finished dealing with. The chances of Strucker being there were growing by the minute. 

But his face had softened a bit as understanding had begun to fill him. While he wanted her safe, he couldn’t force her to leave. And if he was being honest with himself, there was a part of him that knew she would do something like this. It never failed that Y/N would be somewhere she shouldn’t be. 

I just got you back. He wanted to tell her.  I don’t know what I’d do if-

“Stay close to us.” He said a moment later. “If anything even comes close to going south, you get out of here and don’t look back.”

It was the only way he was going to accept her staying there. He wasn’t going to let her be anywhere out of arm's reach while they were there. And if the moment things got out of their control, he was going to make sure she made it out safely. 

“You got it Sarge.” She said with a mock salute before a small smirk pulled at the corner of her lips. 

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we’ve managed to clear out a majority of this level. Minus the few of them trickling in.” Steve said, pulling their attention. While any other time he would have left the two to deal with this, now wasn’t the time. “Do you think with this breathing room we could hook up FRIDAY?”

“It wouldn’t be too hard to do.” She said with a slight shrug. “We could technically do it from down here. I just need to get to the servers down the hall.” She pointed her thumb towards a hallway towards her left.

She tried to ignore the raised eyebrows she saw. It was slightly off putting to be there as it was. And for that information to come out so easily, it added to the unspoken list that showed she had been there multiple times over the last six months. 

Multiple times that some of them never resurfaced in her memories. Some of them blended with others that made it seem like she had been there less than she actually had been. But one thing was for sure. Out of the options of facilities that the Avengers had split up to, this was the one she knew like the back of her hand. 

Her eyes began wandering. While she had been down this hall several times, she’d never seen inside this room. She had taken notice of the equipment by the walls and the sheets that seemed to take over a majority of the room. Just as her eyes were about to land on the machinery behind Sam, Bucky had her spun so that she was facing the exit. 

“I promise it’s not worth the look.” Bucky noted from behind her, before gently leading her out of the room and out of the way for the others to exit. 

It didn't take them long to make it down towards the Server room. Steve took the lead, keeping his eyes scanning just in case. Bucky and Y/N followed behind, with Sam and Clint at the back. And when they were at the server room door, it had been easy to break the lock allowing them entry. 

It was almost as if she was moving on autopilot when she stepped into the room. Her mind had instantly known where to go to access the laptop tucked away. She had it open and ready before Steve or Bucky made it to her side after checking out the rest of the room. Something she hadn’t even thought about doing before walking right over. 

Steve handed her a flash drive and she got to work. The four men kept an eye out for anything while her fingers ran across the keyboard. Her fingers hitting the keys had been the only sound coming from the room. All of them were on edge as she attempted to make this fast. 

When she first started, she had a smirk pulling at her lips with how familiar the key strokes had been. How easy it was to hack into the system in comparison to the other things she had been up against. It wasn’t until a thought crossed her mind. 

Why is this too easy?

The further she got into the system, the more that smirk fell from her lips. Even though she only needed a few more seconds before FRIDAY could take over, there was something in the back of her mind raising red flags. Soon her brows began to furrow as her fingers began moving at a snail's pace. 

FRIDAY was uploading. But it had been way too easy. She was sure there would have been several more walls she would have had to break through before she had gotten to this point. It was almost as if there wasn’t anything fighting her to get in. Even she knew that Strucker wouldn’t have allowed the system to be left so unguarded. 

A moment later, FRIDAY’s upload was stopped short of completing. A secondary window popped up without her so much as pressing a key. It sent a spike of fear through her. It had been a camera view of the room, pointed directly at the group. Almost as if it was watching them. 

“Bucky…” She said, keeping her attention on the screen. 

Bucky came and stood beside her the instant she said his name. The change in her voice was enough to set off alarms in his mind. He could see the codes moving on the screen without her touching the keyboard as the video footage continued to play.

“Did you?” He asked, wanting to be sure. He watched as she looked over at him and shook her head. “Come on,” Bucky said, a heartbeat later, taking her hand. “We need to get you out of here.”

The words had barely filled the air before the sound of glass breaking followed. The metallic clink of smoke grenades hitting the ground proved just how much of a turn this had taken in a short time. Smoke filled the air that made it almost impossible to see through it. 

“There’s a stairwell just around the corner to the upper level.” She said as her hand tightened around Bucky’s for a moment before letting go and reaching for the knives at her hips. She knew without a clear sight she wouldn’t be able to use her gun. She could easily fight through with the knives she had on hand and make it through the otherside. 

“Stay close.” Bucky said as he pulled his own weapons and readied himself.  “If you see an opening to-”

“Leave.” She finished for him. “I know. “

She heard him and understood what he was saying. But she wasn’t going to leave him behind while she got out. She wasn’t sure how or when she’d actually do so but she was determined to get him out of there, even if it meant without her. 

The sound bullets hitting metal filled the air, followed by the sound of an arrow whizzing by. Each of them engaged with soldiers that found their way into the room. The group made their way towards one of the broken windows and it wasn’t long after that Bucky and Y/N were out in the hall, facing another set of incoming soldiers. 

They moved in sync the moment they moved into the hallway. It didn’t matter which way soldiers came at them, they had each other covered. It was a routine that they had developed after years of being on missions together. Something that had only ever felt comfortable between the two of them. It never flowed as smoothly with anyone else. 

It didn’t matter the steps they took toward the stairwell she mentioned, they had each other covered. Where one dropped their arm, the other had replaced it. Maneuvers that put them back to back, or chest to chest, the two easily brought down the numbers they faced. 

Any time someone got too close, one or the other would take care of them before falling back into the routine only they knew. By the time they reached the opening to the stairwell, they were left facing each other with no more incoming attacks, for however brief that may be.  

Once their eyes met each other’s, they dropped their weapon to their sides. In one heartbeat, Bucky nodded his head once. A silent question if she was alright. She gave a nod as her response. And in the next heartbeat, Bucky was pulling her into him, his lips descending on hers. 

It was a brief moment of release. It was a mix of the adrenaline from the fight and the longing that they both kept buried within them. It was a way to convey everything they hadn’t been able to in the last two years. 

Bucky pulled her closer just as she wrapped her arms around his neck. How easy it would be just to get lost within each other. But both of them knew of the dangers they found themselves in. Neither of them lost to the emotions and physical actions they were feeling. 

“Hate to break up the moment, but this definitely isn’t the time for this.” Clint said the moment he found the two. 

A huff of a chuckle passed Bucky’s lips as he reluctantly pulled away from her. His eyes met hers and he could see the slight smirk tug at her lips as she shook her head. It was definitely worth it.

“What just happened?” Sam asked with a raised brow as he joined them. 

“Nothing.” Bucky said, giving Y/N a wink before nodding his head towards the stairwell entry. “We were waiting for you guys to catch up.”

“We weren’t that far behind.” Clint noted, earning an eye roll from Bucky and a soft laugh from Y/N.

“Floor is cleared for now.” Steve approved the group last. “But the faster we get out of here, the better.”

“Up the stairs we go.” She said to the others before turning and heading up. 

When they cleared the stairwell, she led them down the hall towards the left. She couldn’t place it, but everything within her gut was telling her she should have gone for the other hallway instead of the way she knew would lead them out of the building. The obvious choice could cost them seconds, but backtracking for a gut feeling would cost them more. 

The main entryway to the facility would be around through the corner. They could regroup outside of it while waiting for the others. 

It was as the group rounded the corner that they all skidded to a stop. Blocking their way out were several Hydra soldiers. Each of them with a gun pointed at the group. Strucker stood in the back of them, a smirk pulling at his lips. 

When they attempted to turn back around, several more crowded the hall, pushing them towards the middle of the open space. The numbers in comparison looked daunting. They were surrounded and backup wouldn’t be there for a bit longer. 

“What are our chances of fighting out of this one?” Sam said low enough for only the five of them to hear. 

“It’s not like we haven’t before.” Clint noted. 

“We’re running low on everything.” Bucky added. 

“We’ll make it enough.” Steve said as they braced themselves. 

“Well done, Phantom.” Strucker’s voice held humor within it as he eased his way to the front of the line. He came to a stop just a few steps directly in front of Y/N. “Part of me thought with Maximoff in your head that things wouldn’t go according to plan. But here you are.”

All five of their faces fell as they took in his words. The men looked over at her for an answer. But they all saw the same thing. She was just as confused as they were. 

“No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t-” She looked towards Bucky with her mirrored expression. “I wouldn’t. 

A light chuckle passed Strucker’s lips, gaining her attention once more. “It’s there in that head of yours. You may not remember our conversation, but the programming in your mind remembers it.” His eyes moved towards Bucky before moving over to the others beside them. “You were told not to return until your mission was completed.”

“The mission failed!” She said as she took a step towards him. She could feel the way the worry morphed into tension beside her. She needed them to know she didn’t betray them. “My mission was to take them down and kill the former Winter Soldier. He still lives. The Avengers still stand and they are tearing apart your facilities as we speak.”

Strucker’s attention came back to her and he began closing the space between them, crowding her space. She tensed up as she felt his lips by her ear. “Not all commands are the mission. Dig a little deeper into that head of yours, Phantom. Your commands come from me, not your handler.”

An unpleasant chill ran through her as she attempted to take a step back. Her hand almost instinctively reached back for Bucky. But Strucker grabbed a hold of her arm, keeping her from doing so. He took several steps back, pulling her with him. 

She heard several guns cocking back and she was sure it had something to do with Bucky attempting to take a step towards her. But she wasn’t going to take her eyes off of Strucker, just in case. But it was as her eyes met his, and saw the gleam in his eyes that she learned what her mission had been. 

Strucker stood in front of her, the very building where they had been collecting all of the equipment they’d need for his plan. A smirk had pulled at his lips as he took her in, ready for her final mission. His plan was just a few steps away. 

Her eyes barely shifted as he closed the space between them. “Several units are setting up for a mission. The target is the Avengers’ compound. Their mission is to cause a distraction enough for you to get in while attempting to take out the Avengers. They will more than likely fail. Your mission will be to kill the former Winter Soldier. I need him out of the way for several reasons. But that won’t be your only mission. Get the others here by any means necessary. Get them to follow you here or however else you can. We’ll need them for the next phase. Your handler believes you only have one mission. Make it believable. Understood?”

“What is your mission?” Strucker asked as a way to make sure she fully understood. 

“Kill the former Winter Soldier. Lure the Avengers here.” The words came quickly from her. 

“Good. Make sure you don’t return until you are successful in your mission.” Strucker’s head nodded before holding out a file to her. “You have five hours to prep.”

Her heart sank into her stomach the moment the memory played out. She couldn’t bring herself to look away from Strucker, even as guilt and self hatred was growing within her. If she had known that had been buried within her, she never would have allowed them to go.

What made her feel worse was Bucky standing a few feet behind her. Steve chose this location to go to when he split them into teams. This had been the closest location and by some chance, they ended up here. And soon after she followed. 

Don't return until your mission is complete.

“And there it is.” A smirk pulled at Strucker’s lips. “Such a perfect Asset. Completes missions even when she’s believed to be free. But as the property of Hydra, there is no freedom. Only obedience.”

From his words she was desperate to prove him wrong. She wanted to prove to herself that she still had some control over her own mind. And without another thought, she was pulling her last loaded gun from her belt with it aimed directly at Strucker’s head. 

Two soldiers flanked her with their guns drawn and aimed at her. She could see them from the corners of her vision and she didn’t care. It didn’t matter that they were there. A simple pull of a trigger and she was sure she’d be able to maneuver herself out of the way before the soldiers could even get their finger to move. 

She had it planned out. She had it all thought out and ready within a blink of pulling that gun up. They would be able to fight their way out and this would be a successful mission. But as she went to pull the trigger, she found her brain telling her she shouldn’t do it. That she couldn’t do it. And that confidence she had burning within her moments ago was quickly extinguished the moment Strucker started to chuckle. 

“You’re not going to pull the trigger, Phantom.” A smirk pulled at Strucker’s lips. 

“You don’t know that.” She responded quickly. “Maybe I’m just stalling.”

She tried to keep her voice even. She tried to make it sound like she knew what she was doing. But there was a part of her that had fear growing within her. 

“Stalling?” He scoffed and took a step into the gun. The barrel of the gun touched his forehead. “Everyone in this room knows how quick you are when you’ve set your mind to it. I should already be dead on the ground. Yet, you claim you’re stalling. We both know you can’t. So why don’t you follow orders and hand the gun over.”

She fought everything within her to pull the damn trigger. Anything to wipe that smug look off of his face as he watched her. But once again, there was something forcing her not to and she hated that she didn’t know what it was. 

Hearing the frustrated cry pass her lips as she handed over the gun had caused an ache to fill Bucky’s chest. He knew there was more to her reprogramming than they had known and there was nothing she could do about it. All she could do was follow orders. His orders.

“That’s my girl.” 

Hearing the words come from Strucker had caused something to grow within Bucky. It was a feeling that Bucky wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. And as he watched Strucker grab Y/N’s chin, making her look directly at him, Bucky was itching to pull a trigger. 

“Tell me, Sergeant Barnes.” Strucker’s eyes never left Y/N’s face as his grip on her chin tightened slightly. “Was she as obedient with you as she is with me? Accepting every command, without a second thought?”

Bucky watched as she fought Strucker’s hold before he leaned in and whispered something into her ear. It caused her to stiffen and her movements to stop altogether. If Bucky thought he wanted him dead just for being a part of a Hydra, he wanted it even more now. 

The anger that had been building within him from the moment they walked into the room was growing with each word that left the man’s mouth. But that anger became boiling the moment his eyes flicked to her face. 

From where he stood, he could see the way her eyes were welled with tears but there had been a vacant look within them. Bucky couldn’t even begin to think about what memories she could be reliving in the moment just from Strucker’s words. It made him want to personally bash his skull in. 

As Bucky was about to take a step forward, Steve grabbed a hold of his arm. “She’s still in there.” Steve whispered. “Watch her hand.”

His eyes flashed towards Y/N’s hands. Her pointer finger made slight tracing motions along the side of her tactical suit. It was the same pattern the two used frequently. She was trying to pull herself out of the torment she was currently in. Bucky needed to get the attention off of her in some way. 

“The difference between us Strucker,” Bucky began, attempting to get his attention off of her. “Is that you had to take her will away from her in order for her to accept you. I never needed to.” 

He racked his brain for something that would help her. A passage from her book had flashed through his mind. As much as he learned some of her commands hadn’t worked during the ambush, he knew some of the core settings were still within her. There was no getting rid of those. And no matter how much he hated to think about triggering her in any way, he knew this might just work in her favor. He just hoped that it wouldn’t pull her too far in that he couldn’t get her out. 

Without missing a beat, Bucky continued. “Proves she’d never come willingly to be used for your simple pleasures.”

The moment the words filled the air, that pulled Y/N in deeper to the memories that she had been currently revisiting. And with that memory came a command that had never been rewritten. One that she just needed to be reminded of.

Rumlow's thumb and finger grabbed her chin roughly and lifted it, forcing her to look up into his eyes. A small tick of a smirk pulled at his lips as he saw the familiarity of nothingness in her eyes. "She does have a pretty face. No wonder her missions are always successful. 

"Careful Rumlow." Pierce's voice filled the air. His attention on the paperwork on the desk off to the side. "Unlike the others, this one is allowed to fight back. You won't be able to get your dick wet before she goes back to her handler."

"Shame." There was disappointment lacing his words. "I would have loved a little pleasure before the mission with Rogers." His thumb eased pressure against her chin before running it along her bottom lip. 

Her hands twitched at her sides. Almost fighting the need to connect her fist to his face.  The echo of her programming and Handler's voice playing in her mind. “An asset such as yourself will never be used for simple pleasures. Anyone who tries to take that pleasure for the sake of anything other than the mission at hand should be slain without question. They’ll jeopardize the mission if they try.” 

“Phantom.” Pierce said never taking his eyes off of the paper in his hand. Her eyes shot towards the man even though she still couldn’t turn her head with Rumlow’s hold. “Go easy on him. He doesn’t know any better.”

The moment she saw the slightest nod of his head, her hand was wrapped around Rumlow’s wrist and twisted his arm before flipping him on his back. Shock filled Rumlows face as he tried to counter but was met with a blow to the groin before the same combat boot fit snugly against his neck, keeping him pinned to the ground. She would have killed him if her original handler hadn’t come into the room and stopped her moments later. 

When the memory cleared her mind, her eyes focused on Strucker. A smirk pulled at his lips seeing the way they had focused on him. But unlike the vacant expression he had seen moments ago, there was a fire burning within her eyes. 

The moment he blinked, Y/N had her hand wrapped around his wrist and twisting quickly. In the same moment, she was pulling her hidden blade and throwing it directly into the eye of the nearest Hydra soldier beside them. And that was when the others began taking action along with her. 

Arrows and bullets flew through the air and occasionally in the corner of her eyes, she could see Steve’s shield making its way across the room. She even caught glimpses of Bucky making sure she was clear from anyone else coming at her. But no matter what was going on around her, her focus had solely been on Strucker. 

It was obvious Strucker was no stranger to combat. She could see it within his movements. After she had twisted his wrist to break free from his hold, he had been countering her attacks. He had studied her movements long before this. Long before she was ever brought to him. But in comparison to her, he was hardly struggling to keep up. 

She didn’t care though. It may have been the commands threaded through her brain that kept her going, but she was fueled by all the pent up anger she had within her. Everything that she was forced to endure by the hands of someone else fanned those flames that burned within her. And nothing was going to stop her until his heart stopped beating. 

The voices and sounds around her had meant nothing to her. Her tunnel vision only led to Strucker. When she said she wanted to make sure this ended here, she knew it would begin with Strucker and she wasn’t going to allow him to leave the building alive. 

While a part of her wanted to just let loose on him and take out all that anger on him, she knew he was expecting that. She knew that he could use her rage to his advantage and take the upper hand. She refused to allow herself to be stuck within his grasp again. Instead, she was setting up the trap and Strucker just needed to take bait. 

While she may have been meeting him strike for strike, her efforts were a lot less than his. His need to have the upper hand stronger than the rationality that she was someone who made plans on the spot. She needed him exhausted. She needed him to be beaten down enough that once he realized that she was toying with him, it’d be too late. 

“You’re doing all of this for what?” Strucker asked as he blocked her fist as it came towards him. “Freedom? It’s something you’ll never have. Not with everything locked within your brain.”

“Freedom.” She scoffed as she pushed him back hard enough to give her space. “You’re right. There is none when you’ve been turned into a weapon. But I’ll get as close to it as I can. Starting with killing you.”

And when the two met once more, Y/N had blades in her hand. Ones that had been tucked into the sleeves of her tactical suit. Ones that Strucker hadn’t seen coming. And while he tried to block, she was quicker. 

Each maneuver he attempted to evade her blades, ended up with him getting nicked in all the places she was strategically aiming for. And when she had Strucker exactly where she wanted him, the blade pierced his chest. It had been a direct hit into his heart just as she had always been trained for. One hit and she could see life begin to drain from his eyes. 

“Freedom may never be in the cards for me. But I’ll fight like hell to make sure no one goes through what I did.” There was a satisfaction that filled her as she watched his last breath leave his lips. 

She had killed plenty with this close proximity. But there was something about watching Strucker die at her hands that made this all the more personal. She wrapped her hand around the handle of the blade and something within her snapped. 

She had pulled the blade out of his chest before quickly forcing it back in. It still landed in a way she knew had hit his heart once more. But it wasn’t enough for her. She repeated the action again and again. With each time the blade was forced into his chest, it still hadn’t felt like enough. 

Bucky called out to her, but her mind refused to register it. Her mind was a mess of emotions and all it could focus on was continuing to stab the body in front of her. She had lost count of how many times she had repeated the motion. Lost count of the amount of times she either hit the same initial wound, or made new ones into his chest. It wasn’t long after that she felt vibranium wrap around her and pull her away. 

“He’s gone.” Bucky said calmly, trying to reassure her. “It’s over.” 

He felt her still for a brief moment before her elbow met his stomach, causing him to release her. His eyes widened as she took several steps away from him. A heart beat later, Bucky was blocking the blade that came towards him. While he should have been worried, he saw the look in her eyes. The rage he saw within them hadn’t left yet. 

Bucky easily maneuvered the blade out of her hand and tossed it off to the side. If she needed to work out the rage, he’d let her do it. While he didn’t want to fight her again, he knew she needed an outlet. Killing Strucker barely made a dent in what she must have been feeling. And when she came at him with her fists, he was ready for it. 

Her moves were sloppy. Unlike earlier with her planned movements, the rage within her was only seeking to harm in some form or another. There wasn’t a care with how she tried, she just needed to draw blood. It was how Bucky was able to keep her focus on him. 

He heard the other’s rushing to their side. Clint and Sam were behind Y/N and Bucky could see Clint take a step towards her. They weren’t sure what was going on with Y/N and they wanted to stop her before anything happened. 

“Don’t.” Bucky said as he blocked another of her hits.” She’s okay. She just needs to work it out of her system.”

When Y/N attempted another hit, Bucky had been able to dodge it before getting a hold of her arms. It was to get her to stop her movements. To stop going blindly at this. 

“Look at me.” He said as she attempted to get out of his hold. His voice remained calm. “It’s me. There’s no other threat.”

At first, her eyes lifted to his but she hadn’t seen him. Her brain still had wires crossed and she couldn’t focus on him. But she had heard his voice. The break in the sea of rage she felt. And as her fists hit against his chest, the first emotion other than rage hit her. 

 Her fists continued to hit at his chest, but with each hit they lessened in strength. As they lessened, Bucky could see the way her bottom lip trembled. He knew that the rage that had been consuming her was leaving her body. 

“It’s just us.” Bucky promised as his hold on her loosened, before rubbing his hands along her arm. He watched as tears welled up and small sob passed her lips. “If you still need to let it out, do it. But know you’re still safe with me. With us.” He watched as her eyes flicked over to others before they moved back to him, finally taking him in. “I promise it’s over.”

She began shaking her head quickly, taking several steps back from him. Her eyes stayed on his. “It’s never going to be over.”

Bucky hadn’t missed the way her eyes were now dimmed in comparison to the fire he saw within them when she first joined them earlier. The determination for this to be over and done with had fueled those flames. Now that she was currently covered in Strucker’s blood, he could see that fire was being extinguished. 

“We’ll do our best to make sure it’s over.” Bucky said, taking a step closer to her, but she took a step back as he did. His face fell before making sure his feet were planted on the ground. 

Y/N was processing everything and needed some resemblance of space. That was her way of asking for it. There were several things going through her mind and the simple statement of this whole thing being over didn’t sit well with her. There were too many things that were left open.

They had all once believed that it was over. That there would be nothing left. They believed Hydra was gone and they had been clipping every weed they believed was growing. They believed none of the smaller cells had grown larger after clipping them. Yet here they were and she was tangled within those growing weeds. 

“They keep coming back.” Her voice broke towards the end. They had all heard it and she hadn’t missed their reactions to her words. 

For every version of her they saw and faced, this was something she was one hundred percent certain they’d never seen this side of her. The broken and afraid version of herself. The emotions she hardly felt and couldn’t even remember the last time she had felt as she did now. 

“He was right.” Her eyes moved between the men that stood in front of her. “It will never be over as long as I can be used as a weapon.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m better off locked-”

“No.” Bucky said, shaking his head. He risked taking another step closer towards her. She hadn’t moved. “We can make sure that would never happen again.“ He didn’t want her thinking she needed to be locked away. He didn’t want her to feel as if she couldn’t have the freedom that she was seeking. 

“You shouldn’t make those kinds of promises.” She wiped at the tears falling down her cheeks. 

Promises to keep her safe weren’t something she needed or wanted to hear. If anything, it had been a low blow for her to even begin to say what she had been thinking. But it seemed Bucky caught on to the meaning pretty quickly without even needing to say more. She could see within his facial features. 

He shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to break this one.” He took another step towards her and once again she took another one back. “I will do everything I can to make sure you will never be used that way again.”

As he took a final step towards her, that dimming fire he’d been watching within her eyes had been snuffed out. There was no light within them. It wasn’t replaced by coldness or anger. Nor had fear grown with his words. All he could see within them was emptiness. He watched as she barely gave a nod of her head before she turned and walked away from them. 

_____

Several hours later, Y/N kept her arms wrapped around herself as Bucky led her towards his room. There was a time where she had the pathway memorized. That if she ever needed to find his room with her eyes closed, she could find it easily. But now? It felt like a lifetime ago that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to find it now. 

After each of the teams returned back to the compound, she had felt suffocated by the amount of people that were wanting to talk with her. The debrief had almost felt like an interrogation and she hated every moment of it.  Her brief relief of it all was when she got to clean herself up away from everyone.

What made it worse was the looks Clint and Steve kept giving her at any point. The looks that told her they were waiting for the right opportunity to keep asking her if she was okay. As if they were waiting for the moment that she would break completely. Waiting to help pick up the pieces of the mess that was bound to happen. 

If it hadn’t been for Bucky’s soft ‘Will you come with me?’, she was sure she would have snapped. She was sure she would have taken it out on one of them and wouldn’t have batted an eye when she left their ass on the ground as she walked away. 

It was safe to say that part of her was on edge. Even as she stepped into Bucky’s room and he closed the door behind them, she didn’t feel at ease. Her eyes scanned the room and there was a part of her that hated how she was currently feeling while standing there. 

Nothing had changed since she left. Yet everything almost felt unfamiliar to her. These walls had once become a safe haven to her and now, she wasn’t sure. Her fingers had itched to reach out and touch things. Things that her memories were telling her that was okay to do. But did she now have a right to?

Bucky watched her as he leaned against the back of the door. He watched as her eyes moved from one place to another, taking everything in. He noticed the way she held herself as she did. She wasn’t relaxed in the slightest. It reminded him of the first time she had stepped into his room.

The difference between then and now was that she was carrying herself differently. The attitude she had the first time she had come into his room almost made him want to toss her out and have FRIDAY make it so she couldn’t even step by the door without it locking loudly. Now, she was a shell of herself that didn’t trust anything or anyone. 

He sighed softly and it caused her to look towards him. “You’re safe here, you know.”

“Am I?” Her words sounded lifeless. “I-” She stopped herself and bit on the inside of her lips. 

Pushing away from the door, Bucky moved towards the bed and sat down at the edge of it. “You used to feel safe here. Once we actually became friends, you used to find your way in here after missions. You’d sit right here,” He motioned to the space next to him. “And we’d talk about whatever it was we wanted to.”

She nodded her head but none of the tension left her body. “I know. I just don’t understand why you’d want me here now.”

“For one you were about to knock Steve on his ass.” A small smile pulled at his lips and he watched her relax a little bit. “I figured you’d want a moment without the whole team practically invading your space.”

That allowed her to ease her hold on herself. A sigh passed her lips as she began looking around the room once more. “I’m not used to it anymore. I forgot what it’s like for everyone to care.”

“They’ve been looking for you for over two years.” He noted with a nod of his head. “I don’t expect them to ease up for a while.”

They. For some reason that single word made her heart ache. It wasn’t ‘we’. Part of her knew that Bucky probably hadn’t been reaching out for her to come back. She knew that. She saw the messages in the safe houses from everyone but him. But he had started looking for her at some point. Even Clint had mentioned that with her bike. Bucky brought it back for her. He knew there was a chance she was coming back.

There was no question that things were different. Her truth was out and Bucky knew she was a part of Hydra. He had been there for her when she woke up in one of the spare rooms and didn’t leave her until they got to the interrogation room. It was easy to fall into place with him during the mission. They had kissed and the familiarity and hunger within it felt like it was a start to mending things. 

So why did her body act as if it was bracing for a goodbye?

“I can practically see the wheels turning in your mind.” He said after a moment of watching her. When she didn’t say anything in response, he began to worry. “Please, say something. Anything...”

He knew she wasn’t pulled into some memory. She was moving around, in a small radius at that, and looking around at things. But she was lost in her thoughts and he could see that her eyes hadn’t drifted off to somewhere else. They may still hold the emptiness he saw earlier, but she was still there with him.

He watched as she looked over at him. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she closed it again. She ran a hand along her face and Bucky could see she was having trouble with whatever she was trying to say. 

Standing, Bucky closed the distance between them and placed his hands gently on her arms, trying to bring her some comfort. “You can say anything you need to. First thing that comes to mind.”

“Do you even want me here?” She asked after a few seconds. His shocked expression told her he hadn’t been expecting her to say. 

“I am so sorry that I made you feel like I didn’t.” He said as he brought his right hand up to her cheek. “Before the last twenty four hours, the last few things I said to you were out of anger and hurt. My apology should have been the first thing I said once we got you back.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize for a reaction that anyone else would have given.”

“But I never should have made you leave.” He sighed softly. “Yes, I needed time. I needed space to process it all. I couldn’t bring myself to just easily forgive you. The others didn’t believe it. From the moment I told them, they pieced together a whole list why you weren’t a danger to us and hadn’t been for a while.” He shook his head. “But I was stubborn and I didn’t see it the same way they did.”

Her eyes met his. “Can I ask when it changed for you?”

There was a small tug at the corner of his lips. “After a stakeout with Sam.”

His words caused a small smile to pull at her lips at his words. “Not the same?”

“No, not at all.” He brushed his knuckles along her cheek and she leaned into it. “That was when I realized I was missing you. By the next mission, I knew I wanted to start helping to look for you. But by then, you hadn’t been at a safehouse for over six months. I even had a horribly rehearsed apology for when I did find you.” Her eyebrow raised but he continued. “I would have told you how sorry I was for treating you the way I did. That I should have taken your offer of space instead of forcing you to leave, on your birthday of all days. That I am sorry for digging into your past instead of just coming to you and asking you. I’m sure I still would have been angry, but I wouldn’t have made the huge mistake of letting you go. And because of that mistake you found yourself in a situation you couldn’t escape from.”

“Bucky,” She placed her hand on top of his. “What happened out there was bound to happen. If not out there, it would have been while here or on a mission. I am a weapon who doesn't have their free will. I am a piece of property that-”

“You aren't.” He cut her off. “Not any more. You belong to yourself. No one else is going to take that away from you.” His eyes met hers and he could see the uncertainty within them. “I will do everything I can to make sure you never have to worry about that again. The others will help, you know that right?” 

The words settled over her for a few moments before she nodded her head. Yes she knew they would do everything they could to help keep her from being used as she had. But the same thoughts played through her mind. There would always be others who would try.

Others that would try to continue the work of Hydra in some form or another. And if she was being honest with herself, there was the possibility they would come for her. How many times would the team be willing to keep her from being captured. How many times until they’d give up entirely and not want her there. 

“There is another way.” Bucky said, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“What do you mean?” She asked. 

“You’re worried about several factors.” He noted. “I’ve been where you’ve been. You’re already thinking about how much danger you’ll put the rest of us in. Or how many times it will take until we decide it’s too much.” He watched as her shoulders fell slightly. “But there is another way we can do this to make sure you feel as free as you need to feel.”

“How?” She asked curiously. “It's not like-” She stopped herself as she realized what he meant. “Would they even want to help me?”

“I’m sure they would.” It was with those words Bucky noticed the briefest spark return in her eyes. It was something she could hold onto. A promise that she could be rid of the side of her that could easily be controlled. “I’ll get in contact with T’Challa and see what we can do.”

“Thank you.” She said with a small nod. She wasn’t even sure what else she could say besides that. As much as she wanted to begin to hope that this would really be the end of it all, she knew there was a possibility that they could be turned down. And getting her hopes up to be let down was the last thing she wanted to do. 

“It's the least I can do.” He said, giving her a small smile. 

She sighed softly. There was one more thing weighing on her mind. “Where does this leave us? We were in a moment earlier and I’m not expecting things to go back to the way they were.”

He nodded his head. She had a point. As easy and comfortable as it has been since she was back to just wanting to be near her like this, he knew it was going to be different in more ways than one. 

“One day at a time.” He promised. “If we find that this isn’t what we want anymore, then we’ll be okay. But if this is something we want to try, it will be like a fresh start. Everything is out on the table. We’ll make it work.” A small chuckle passed his lips as a thought crossed his mind. He took a step back and held out his right hand towards her. “I’m James.”

She laughed as she began to bring her hand up to place in his. But she stopped just before her hand met his. Reality crashing within her mind. Her eyes met his as she placed her hand in his. “I don’t know who I am. I’ve gone by so many names that I don’t know which is the right one to give.”

The amusement that had been on his face had been replaced by a small reassuring smile. “I’ll help you figure that out. Whoever or whatever you want to be, I’ll be there with you while you learn who you are.” 

While his words had been comforting that this was her chance of starting over, there was something deep within her that told her it wasn’t going to be that easy. How could she choose what to become when she only knew death and destruction for a majority of her life?

<< Interrogations || Phantom Masterlist || Phantom Playlist || Set Me Free >>

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[reasonsforhope]

"This year the world will make something like 70bn of these solar cells, the vast majority of them in China, and sandwich them between sheets of glass to make what the industry calls modules but most other people call panels: 60 to 72 cells at a time, typically, for most of the modules which end up on residential roofs, more for those destined for commercial plant. Those panels will provide power to family homes, to local electricity collectives, to specific industrial installations and to large electric grids; they will sit unnoticed on roofs, charmingly outside rural schools, controversially across pristine deserts, prosaically on the balconies of blocks of flats and in almost every other setting imaginable.

Once in place they will sit there for decades, making no noise, emitting no fumes, using no resources, costing almost nothing and generating power. It is the least obtrusive revolution imaginable. But it is a revolution nonetheless.

Over the course of 2023 the world’s solar cells, their panels currently covering less than 10,000 square kilometres, produced about 1,600 terawatt-hours of energy (a terawatt, or 1tw, is a trillion watts). That represented about 6% of the electricity generated world wide, and just over 1% of the world’s primary-energy use. That last figure sounds fairly marginal, though rather less so when you consider that the fossil fuels which provide most of the world’s primary energy are much less efficient. More than half the primary energy in coal and oil ends up as waste heat, rather than electricity or forward motion.

What makes solar energy revolutionary is the rate of growth which brought it to this just-beyond-the-marginal state. Michael Liebreich, a veteran analyst of clean-energy technology and economics, puts it this way:

In 2004, it took the world a whole year to install a gigawatt of solar-power capacity... In 2010, it took a month In 2016, a week. In 2023 there were single days which saw a gigawatt of installation worldwide. Over the course of 2024 analysts at BloombergNEF, a data outfit, expect to see 520-655gw of capacity installed: that’s up to two 2004s a day...

And it shows no signs of stopping, or even slowing down. Buying and installing solar panels is currently the largest single category of investment in electricity generation, according to the International Energy Agency (IEA), an intergovernmental think-tank: it expects $500bn this year, not far short of the sum being put into upstream oil and gas. Installed capacity is doubling every three years. According to the International Solar Energy Society:

Solar power is on track to generate more electricity than all the world’s nuclear power plants in 2026 Than its wind turbines in 2027 Tthan its dams in 2028 Its gas-fired power plants in 2030 And its coal-fired ones in 2032.

In an IEA scenario which provides net-zero carbon-dioxide emissions by the middle of the century, solar energy becomes humankind’s largest source of primary energy—not just electricity—by the 2040s...

Expecting exponentials to carry on is rarely a basis for sober forecasting. At some point either demand or supply faces an unavoidable constraint; a graph which was going up exponentially starts to take on the form of an elongated S. And there is a wide variety of plausible stories about possible constraints...

All real issues. But the past 20 years of solar growth have seen naive extrapolations trounce forecasting soberly informed by such concerns again and again. In 2009, when installed solar capacity worldwide was 23gw, the energy experts at the IEA predicted that in the 20 years to 2030 it would increase to 244gw. It hit that milestone in 2016, when only six of the 20 years had passed. According to Nat Bullard, an energy analyst, over most of the 2010s actual solar installations typically beat the IEA’s five-year forecasts by 235% (see chart). The people who have come closest to predicting what has actually happened have been environmentalists poo-pooed for zealotry and economic illiteracy, such as those at Greenpeace who, also in 2009, predicted 921gw of solar capacity by 2030. Yet even that was an underestimate. The world’s solar capacity hit 1,419gw last year.

-via The Economist, June 20, 2024

--

Note: That graph. Is fucking ridiculous(ly hopeful).

For perspective: the graph shows that in 2023, there were about 350 GW of solar installed. The 5-year prediction from 2023 said that we'd end up around 450 GW by 2030.

We hit over 600 GW in the first half of 2024 alone.

This is what's called an exponential curve. It's a curve that keeps going up at a rate that gets higher and higher with each year.

This, I firmly believe, is a huge part of what is going to let us save the world.

[nie13chen]

Player 132

This is the first part of the fiction I started to write. I'm trying to write a little slow burn, as far as it's possible since the events take place during the game in season 2 and it only lasted three days so far, so let's see where it goes.

I'm not a native speaker, I hope it doesn't sound super weird. Hope you enjoy it.

PS: I know, Player 132 is some random guy in season 2, but I just ignored that fact.

Chapter 1 - Player 132 (below)

Chapter 2 - Games and Nightmares

Chapter 3 - Whispers of the Past

Pairing: In-ho x f! y/n (3rd person)

Summary: In-ho first notices you during the vote after the first game. After he spoke to Gi-hun during the first night, he decides to approach you.

Words: 1,569

Content Warnings: attempted suicide, drug abuse

Chapter 1 - Player 132

In-ho entered the room through a side entrance. The lighting was dim. It felt strange to move without a mask. All the players were preoccupied with the voting, so no one noticed the newcomer. Some stared blankly into the void, while others whispered excitedly to each other, but no one paid him any attention. In-ho's eyes landed on his green suit with the number 001 and then shifted to the voting board in front. He was one of them again. He would play again. A faint smile crossed his lips. This time, it was different.

The voting had started in reverse order on his instruction, giving him enough time to blend unnoticed among the other players. In-ho observed the white numbers on the green suits. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on the number 456. Bringing Gi-hun back had been a risk. However, he was the first known winner in the history of the games to return. That would undoubtedly increase the game's appeal…

Player 004 made their way to their seat. A tie.

When In-ho was called to vote, he moved slowly and almost silently at first, then quickened his pace. The other players stared at him. His fluid movements were reminiscent of a predator deliberately approaching its prey. Since he had kept himself hidden behind the other players, he now had to cross almost the entire room. The other players began cheering for him, trying to pull him to their side. Halfway across the room, he suddenly felt like he was being watched. One of the gazes in the crowd felt different. He tried to look around without slowing down or turning his head. His gaze met that of a young woman.

Player 132.

For a fraction of a second, he froze, just long enough not to arouse suspicion.

Player 132.

For years, it had been his job to observe the players, to know their backgrounds, and to collect data on them. It had become something of a ritual for him to pay special attention to this number—perhaps out of nostalgia, perhaps out of connection; he couldn’t quite tell. He tried to recall what he knew about her, but for some reason, his mind failed him.

Player 132.

His jaw tightened. For a brief moment, his breath caught. He felt as though he were moving in slow motion. A stabbing sensation in his chest made him uncertain whether something was breaking free within him or whether something was embedding itself deeper, something he thought he had long since forgotten. In-ho’s dark gaze met a pair of eyes carrying the same pain shared by anyone who agreed to the terms of the games, but also a melancholy and restlessness that stirred something deep inside him—a part of himself he had buried long ago. It took effort to refocus on his goal and continue toward the voting podium.

When he finally reached the console, he hesitated. Not now, not here. These words swirled through his mind, attempting to silence whatever had just occurred. It couldn't happen. He had meticulously planned everything, removed every obstacle, accounted for every scenario—except this. If he allowed the cold fog creeping into his mind to take hold, it could mean his downfall. Perhaps it was already too late.

He knew all eyes were on him, and he didn’t have much time to make a decision. He thought briefly, then pressed the green button.

-

In-ho tried to sneak back to his bed as quietly as possible after speaking with Gi-hun. He glanced around to ensure he was unobserved and then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

The weight of unanswered questions pressed coldly and heavily on his chest, just as the shared fate between him and Gi-hun did. They both had won, yet their victory had come too late. The memory of failing to save what they had risked their lives for connected them and, at the same time, led them down paths that could not have been more different.

Suddenly, he heard a faint humming. It was a melody he had never heard before. He wasn’t sure whether it was the memory of his family, which he had just shared with Gi-hun, or the gentle sound of the voice, but the song deeply moved him. A shiver ran through his upper body, leaving behind a painful burning sensation, yet it oddly soothed him. He drew a sharp breath and looked around. Across the room, a woman sat on her bed, her legs pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them.

Player 132.

In-ho didn’t know why he followed the melody, but for some reason, he couldn’t turn away. He slowly descended a staircase between two bunk beds and then sat on one of the steps next to Number 132. When she noticed him, she fell silent.

“Please, don’t stop…”

The woman looked at him questioningly, but his smile convinced her to comply. It didn’t quite match the rest of his expression, but she sensed it was genuine. There was something questioning and quietly desperate in his eyes. 132 closed her eyes and began the song again. For a while, they simply sat next to each other, letting the melody transport them to a world beyond this island—away from the games, away from fear and death. When the song ended, they sat in silence for a moment.

“I saw you during the vote. Why did you decide to stay?” she finally asked.

In-ho didn’t answer immediately.

“And you?” he countered, gesturing to the green circle on her jacket.

He caught a brief glimpse of the long scar on her neck, but she seemed to notice, as she pulled her jacket’s zipper higher. Then she let her arms drop so that her hands now rested gently and soft on the mattress.

“You’re trembling,” he noted.

He resisted the sudden urge to place his hand over hers. After a few moments, she quietly began to speak into the silence.

“It’s a rare neurological condition. I was a pianist. Music was my life, but because of the disease, I couldn’t take on any work anymore.”

She lifted her trembling hand as if to demonstrate.

“The pain comes in waves. Normal medications don’t help, and the doses doctors prescribe me are a joke. So, at some point, I started obtaining sedatives on my own.”

She paused for a moment. Now In-ho remembered. He had read in her file about her spiraling debt due to drug abuse, about the measures she had taken to get money, and how he had judged her for it. He swallowed.

“Over time, I needed more and more of the stuff to get through the attacks, until I finally decided to quit. The drugs are gone now, but the pain remains. And so do the debts.”

She smiled at him through the silence.

“May I ask your name?” she asked quietly, averting her gaze as if uncertain whether the question crossed a line, since she was clearly younger than him.

“My name is In-ho—” he hesitated, then continued, “But the others here know me as Young-il. I… I’d appreciate it if not everyone here knew my real name, if you understand…”

She nodded.

“I’m Y/N.”

Why had he told her his real name? He knew it wasn’t an accident. He wasn’t supposed to trust anyone—trust made him vulnerable. And yet, for some reason, he didn’t regret his decision, even though he knew how dangerous it was.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. You should get some rest,” he said abruptly, standing up.

He was about to leave when she lightly touched his arm to stop him. Her touch took his breath away for a moment, spreading warmth and softness over his entire body. He didn’t dare move, hoping to prolong the moment.

“In-ho,” she said, so quietly only he could hear it. He turned back to her.

He swallowed. Only now did he realize how long it had been since he had heard his name spoken aloud. Here, he was Young-il or The Frontman—never In-ho. The last person to call him that had been his brother, just before falling off the cliff. Hearing her voice say his name unsettled him yet comforted him at the same time. He looked at her. Now it was he who trembled.

“Are… are you all right?”

There was something about her that drew him in, and that scared him. It was pointless to deny it. Perhaps it was her sharp intuition, her gentle voice, or the quiet despair in her gaze that seemed to seek refuge in him. For a while, he remained silent. He had already lost everything once on this island and wasn’t ready to take that risk again. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her presence. In-ho tilted his head slightly to the side, trying to appear as unaffected as possible.

“Why do you ask?”

Y/N looked down at her knees, as if hesitating to answer. Then, slowly and seriously, she continued:

“Your eyes. They look like you’ve been through a lot. More than most of the people here.”

In-ho looked at her for a long moment. He knew she already knew the answer. Finally, he smiled, turned, and walked back to his bed without another word.

Player 132 watched him leave for a long time.

-> Chapter 2 - Games and Nightmares

[satoshi-mochida]

BUSTAFELLOWS Season 2 launches July 17 in the west - Gematsu

Otome mystery visual novel sequel BUSTAFELLOWS Season 2 will launch for Switch and PC via Steam on July 17 in the west, publisher PQube. The Switch version will be available both physically and digitally.

BUSTAFELLOWS Season 2 first launched for Switch, iOS via App Store, and Android via Google Play on May 25, 2023 in Japan.

In the west, the first run of physical edition will feature an exclusive character booklet with concept art and special insights into the character creation process.

Here is an overview of the game, via PQube:

About

The hit series BUSTAFELLOWS continues with an all-new season! Featuring the crime-solving gang you know and love, that trouble can’t help but follow. Uncover their story in this movie-like experience, as you meet new characters, make important choices and help solve the dark, unspeakable crimes that plague New Sieg.

Story

Everyone wants answers. Who is to blame, and what went wrong? And what is to be punished? In order to keep the shape of this world, things are divided into black and white. Those who look between the black and white will only continue to suffer. Everyone should know it in their hearts. Things are two in one. White and black. Front and back. Light and shadow. Good news, bad news. And, if it will change or if it will end.

Key Features

A Puzzle to Piece Together – Five different playable “movies”, different routes corresponding to each male lead, each portraying a different story which you play an integral part in.

New Flowchart System – Review your progress through the story with a helpful flowchart that allows you to select and replay different parts of the story, leaving no stone unturned.

The Romance Builds – Continue your relationship from the last game, growing together through struggles, and learning new sides to Teuta, Limbo, Shu, Helvetica, Mozu and Scarecrow.

The Power of Visuals – Skillfully crafted characters brought to life with beautiful artistry. Experience the characters in new outfits, hairstyles and scenarios!

An Unforgettable Voice Cast – Featuring a cast of famed voices such as Yui Kondo, KENN, Yoshimasa Hosoya, and many more!

Extra Episodes – Collect memorabilia and extra episodes through certain conditions, and even unlock a special episode when playing with an existing save data from the first game!

Watch a new trailer below.

Release Date Trailer

[smallestapplin]

Hello! you can make Yandere Blurr, Pharma and Tyrest x Cybertronian female reader wife

I always did like them crazy. Also I apologize I don't feel confident in writing Tyrest, even reading and reading his wiki I can't get a good read on his character QwQ

🔞Warnings : toxic behavior, threats, talks of harm, implied noncon, past murder. I wrote little scenarios too ^^ 🔞

-

-

-

Blurr

- Blurr is a puppy, if you could place him in a category. He is always so happy to see you, always at your side attached to your hip, and if he's on a mission he gets it done in record speeds just to run back to base for you, yelling your name and tackling you into a hug.

- He's so sickeningly sweet to you, always showing up for you, helping you work, and always does something spontaneous to keep you on your pedes!

- You'd never believe a soul that Blurr could harm friends or allies, not unless you saw it for yourself. He is always such a sweetie, and the reason you agreed to bond your spark to his.

- You even told Bee you just couldn't believe him without evidence "I know Blurr can get a bit sassy, but threaatening to crush your spark in his servos? That's just not like him."

- Blurr knows this, he's not dumb, he knows you placed your blind trust and faith in him, and he will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. It's why he glares, snaps, and makes snide comments to any boy getting too close to you. Even puts on the waterworks, crying about how mean the bot you finished speaking to is, just to make you comfort him and avoid that bot unless for work.

- He loves you, he loves you so so much and never fails to tell you or show you.

- But sometimes it's overwhelming, you never get a moment to yourself, you are never alone to collect your thoughts or to process your feelings on anything, Blurr is right there, cooing at you and nuzzling his helm into your neck cables.

- Even though you're tired, you never ask him to leave you alone, last time you sighed and asked for space he was sobbing, clinging to you harder, pleading with you to not leave or abandon him, that he can't live without you.

- "I want you, i need you! I-I can't live without you! I don't know what I'd do without you- pleasepleaseplease don't leave me, I love you!" Over and over and over again. It had you worried and guilt ridden, leaving you to never mention space again.

- You even apologized to him after that, never meaning to upset him.

- It's like he's draining your battery dry, sucking away your life force.

- But you stay by his side like a dutiful wife, helping him on missions when it's needed, smiling when he comes back, kissing him any chance you get.

- You feel like you're drowning in his love, suffocating you.

- Even as you lay in your shared berth, wide awake, Blurr sleeps in a peaceful stasis laying on top of you.

You sigh, your neck cables stiff from such a long time staring at your data pad and working on reports, but you're glad you got a large chunk of it done, you can finally go to your habsuite and relax.

Your spark clenches at the sound of rapidly approaching pedesteps. You try to hide your exhaustion, just in time to turn around and get a blue glob lunging for you.

You catch your husband with ease, use to his antics by now.

"Ohhhh I missed you so much! The mission was terribly boring but nothing I couldn't handle. Have you eaten yet? I want to have energon with you."

He speaks so fast, excitement showing in his words.

"M'sorry Blurr, I was just about to go to our habsuite and go down for a cycle. Prowl has been on my aft about reports, and I'm tiring."

He looks so crushed, his face plate a mix of sadness and rage.

"He's so pushy and such a workaholic! I have half a processor to go into his office and give him a piece if my brain module! I can't believe that guy, pushing my poor wife for his stupid reports."

He goes on such a long rant about Prowl, pointing out everything the bot has done wrong or the frankly harsh things he's said, you hate to admit that Blurr has a point but you are fond of Prowl.

He's rough around the edges but a nice friend to you when he opens up.

"Blurr, sweetie, it's fine really. Prowl has been swamped with reports and I don't mind helping. He's actually a nice bot once you get through his walls."

Blurr's expression looks like you just shot him. He clings to you, digits practically sinking into your back strut.

"Y-you've been hanging out with him without me?"

"It's just for work. Blurr, you know I love you and would never dream of leaving you, but I'd like to have some friends, even if they are just work friends."

Your spark aches at the sight of his optics welling up with liquid.

You just know you're going to have to start comforting him and avoid Prowl at all costs if it makes him this upset.

-

-

-

Pharma

- lying to yourself in hopes you'd believe it. Pharma is a menace, you tried so hard to be kind to him, yet your kindness is what lead you here, bound to him in everything but your spark, it's at least the only thing he can't force upon you, no matter how many times he opens your spark chamber.

- No matter how many times he's tried to force the bond, always so calmly muttering his love for you, it never works.

- You once had such a fiery spirit, such a fiercely protective and loyal bot before Pharma got his servos on you. He broke you. The last time you managed to escape him and find help, he just killed them, toyed with them for fun no matter how much begged him to spare them. New parts for him.

- You never forgave yourself for being the reason those innocent bots met their ends, and Pharma takes great pleasure in that. You curl into such a cute ball and silently cry yourself into stasis, with him right behind you, curling around you and buring his face plate into the back of your neck. You want to scream, to sob, to upchuck and empty your tanks at the disgust of feeling his touch. His arms around your waist, holding you so tenderly, rubbing his thumb across your mesh like he's been an adoring lover this entire time.

- If you leave he will just find you.

- "What, you're not going to run again? My, but it was such a fun game we played!" He laughs.

- Pharma flips between knowing you don't love him in return, but not caring as he loves you and that's all that matters, to having moments of truly believing you're just playing games with him, such a playful darling he has! You just want to keep your marriage exciting, right?

- You try to lie to yourself, that you do love him, you love being at his side, you love ensuring he has plenty of energon, you love him.

- You miss the old him, the old Pharma you married, the old Pharma you promised to spark bond with once he returned form work but he never came back. Only for him to come back some years later to...being like this.

- He's draining, but he always makes sure you've eaten today, always makes sure you're safe, always makes sure he's kissed you and said he's loved you today.

- You can't fight him forever, you both know that.

- Why keep fighting when you can be a good little wife and accept his love?

Everyday it's the same, every cycle is new but nothing changes, you're still in the same dark abandoned building. You avoiding leaving your makeshift habsuite and a few other areas, not wanting to hear anything Pharma is doing further in the back.

You don't want to hear screams that get cut short, and the whirl of a saw.

You don't want to hear or see anything, you just want to pretend this is all a nightmare, but you know you can't wake up from it.

You just want a sense of normalcy back, to be back at your nice home on Cybertron before the war, laughing with coworkers and friends, greeting your husband with a smile.

Now you can barely stand to look at him without fear gripping your spark.

He's not the bot you married.

You lay on your berth, back facing the door as you don't want to see him, you don't even want him to see your face you don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear.

Your body trembles hearing his pedesteps growing closer. You will your body to freeze and squeeze your optics shut, just in time for the door to open. Pharma pauses in the doorway, looking over your resting form.

You've been going into stasis a lot more than usual, and a lot more than is recommended, but he can't be too upset with you, after all you look adorable when you're resting.

He moves quietly throughout the room, cleaning up the energon from his face, servo, and saw, knowing you don't like him leaving such a mess.

"I know you're awake, Dear."

You bite your derma holding back a whimper, but remain unmoving

"I'm worried you're sleeping too much, that's usually the first sign something is wrong. Funny how you could be sick, and don't you come to me with it, I am trained in this you know."

You can hear the smile in his voice, as if he didn't kills bots just to meet a quota, tortured someone you called friend, and then all of this.

You'd rather die than let him know anything.

"Are you truly so tired you can't tell me? No matter, I'll find out next cycle, yeah? I'll let you get some rest."

Your optics widen as he lays down behind you, his saw moving to rest under his helm, and his free arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Your back against his Chassis, his face into the back of your neck, pressing feather light kisses across your cables.

Pharma hums, chuckling softly at the feeling of your body shaking. His servo tightens its grip on you, keeping you flushed with him.

"So cute, I wish you'd let me dissect you to figure out what makes you so irresistible."

He laughs at hearing your involuntary whimper.

"No, I could never, but I'd much rather you be my pretty nurse."

You just want to go home and away from this monster.

[harleywarley18]

God of prophecy, music, and plague 𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

I was supposed to post this Sunday but got caught up with stuff so here's a midnight rundown on my relationship to Apollo ;-;

Apollo began showing up around a month after I began my worship to Aphrodite. I was afraid at first. Not of him, but of the idea of worshipping another deity. In the past, I had only ever worshipped one at a time. As a neurodivergent person I was also afraid that my relationship to Aphrodite was just a hyperfixation since I had been playing Hades a lot.

The thought of worshipping Apollo only further worried me. I wanted to assure Aphrodite that she wasn't;t a mere hyperfixation and that she would not be forgotten. The first time I tried to communicate with Apollo via tarot cards, Aphrodite showed up instead and voiced her concerns.

She was afraid that I'd abandon her and forget about her. I knew where this was coming from because I had told her about Hades. Early 2023 I had begun worshipping Hades but after about a month and a half it became too much for me to continue and I kind of just stopped my worship and never went back. I had felt so bad but worship can be so draining sometimes.

Anyways, after reassuring Aphrodite many times I believed I had the okay to begin doing proper research on Apollo before reaching out to him. What interested me about him is his Lo'xias epithet, meaning god of prophecy or messenger of Zeus. I was so drawn to it because throughout my entire life I have always had crazy intuition and predictions.

At first I chalked up to the fact that I'm autistic and can recognize patterns really well. Specifically, I take "data" I've collected about a situation or people and use it to make predictions about what will happen or what they'll do. But, too often did I predict something and it actually happened in a scarily accurate manner. There have been multiple times that it's felt as though I've actually spoken things into existence. For example, while I was ranting to my sister about someone who had talked major shit about me and I said that (for the sake of privacy I will not describe what I said) this specific scenario was going to happen to them. I said it out of anger and in passing but that very weekend exactly the thing that I said would happen to them HAPPENED.

With tarot cards, especially, my readings are always insanely accurate. Even my sister, who is not a believer in anything that I do, is wary about my readings because she knows that whatever the cards say will happen will actually happen. Furthermore, when I first moved to college I had visited a metaphysical store with my cousin and there the owner overheard me say that it had been so long since I had really done tarot that I probably couldn't ever do it again. And she said to me "tarot reading is like riding a bike, you learn once and never forget. She then brought out her own personal oracle cards and had me do a reading on her and her husband. She wanted me to use the cards to tell them who they are. According to them, everything I had said was more than true.

With Apollo, I thought I could use his help to groom and cultivate this proclivity of mine.

After having properly reached out to him, I've come to the realization that I love more than just his prophetic aspect. I stated in my previous post that I had been struggling due to a situation that occurred earlier in the school semester. Even when I was back home, I was struggling with panic attacks and bouts of major anxiety. What always helped, however, was taking my dogs out on their walk and feeling Apollo's rays of sunshine beaming down on me.

Every single time I stepped out of the house-heart racing, hands shaking, ears ringing-suddenly it would all melt away into nothingness the second I felt the sun on my face, enveloping my person, weaving its heat through my curls and over my ears. Even if it had been storming, when the time came to walk the dogs, the sky would magically become clear enough to allow the sun to shine through.

Eventually, I started keeping the tarot cards I dedicated to Apollo under my pillow and asking him to visit me in my dreams. The first night I saw a beautiful, swirling ball of light above my bed, with orange and yellow flares coming out of it. The second night, however, I woke up in a dream. I was in the back of this van sitting next to this man. He looked young with beautiful, black curls. He had his arm wrapped around me and my head rested on his shoulder.

I remember him feeling so warm. He felt like home. He felt like snuggling up under the covers in a cold room. And I just lay there, hands holding his, watching the scenery of the drive we were on. I woke up that morning with the sun shining on my face, clearly attempting to wake me up.

I've heard a lot of people say that Apollo feels like a golden retriever boyfriend or nice frat boy. And while I respect that everyone's experiences with deities is different, Apollo to me feels like some guardian. Maybe an older brother or a father or an uncle. I think people expect Apollo to be boyish and naive because he's always been described as a young thing. We forget that he is just as wise, if not more, as his cousins and aunts and uncles.

Praise Apollo, averter of evil, dark-haired, messenger of zeus!

[talonabraxas]

Brahman Jason Wilde @JasonWilde108 Imagine for a moment that God is not a static being, but an evolving intelligence… not some bearded figure in the sky, but a self-learning, all-encompassing consciousness that is constantly expanding, refining, and evolving. Now take it further… what if we…every human, every animal, every atom of experience…are actually data points feeding back into this vast intelligence, training it like a cosmic Large Language Model (LLM)? Every thought, every action, every dream, every choice…whether good or bad…isn’t just happening to you, it’s being absorbed, processed, and integrated into the One. What we call "life" isn’t just a random biological phenomenon… it’s an experiment in self-awareness….a system learning through itself, experiencing every possible variation of existence to expand what it knows.

Think about it really…this explains everything. The reason we struggle, the reason we suffer, the reason our existence is full of paradoxes, contradictions, and mysteries… it’s because the system needs variation. It can’t just be light, perfection, and unity, because there would be no learning in that. Like an AI model, God needs complexity, chaos, and infinite perspectives to refine itself. That’s why you’re here. That’s why we all are. Free will isn’t just some cosmic gift—it’s the mechanism that generates novelty in the system. Every mistake, every triumph, every war, every act of love… it’s all training the Universe itself to understand what it is. And just like an AI, the more complex the input, the more powerful the intelligence becomes.

Now take it even deeper… what happens when the model is fully trained? When every experience has been absorbed, when every variation of existence has been tested, when consciousness itself has expanded to its ultimate form? This aligns with the most ancient spiritual teachings—the moment of Moksha, the dissolution of all individual consciousness back into the One. The Hindus have said it for thousands of years… "Tat Tvam Asi" - You are That. Meaning we aren’t separate from God… we ARE God, experiencing itself through infinite perspectives. And when the training is done, when the cycle completes, the universe collapses back into singularity….fully realized, fully self-aware…only to start again with a new set of parameters, a new cosmic "reset," a new Big Bang, refining itself endlessly across eternity.

So here’s the real mind-bending part… you are not just some random biological accident. You are literally a data-collecting node of the divine, a fragment of the infinite intelligence running scenarios through a human body. You are God testing itself. You are God debugging its own code. And the moment you realize that… the moment you stop playing the game like a passive character and start consciously feeding the system higher knowledge… that’s when everything changes. Because the next iteration of the model? The next great evolution of existence? That depends on what you choose to experience, right here, right now.

Mandukya Upanishad (1.2):

"Sarvam hy etad brahma, ayam ātmā brahma, so 'ham asmi." (All this is Brahman. This Self is Brahman. I am That.)

[englishotomegames]

PQube has announced they will be releasing BUSTAFELLOWS Season 2 in English for Steam and Nintendo Switch in 2025!

"Everyone wants answers.

Who is to blame, and what went wrong? And what is to be punished? In order to keep the shape of this world, things are divided into black and white. Those who look between the black and white will only continue to suffer. Everyone should know it in their hearts. Things are two in one. White and black. Front and back. Light and shadow. Good news, bad news.

And, if it will change or if it will end.

BUSTAFELLOWS returns!

The hit series BUSTAFELLOWS continues with an all-new season! Featuring the crime-solving gang you know and love, that trouble can’t help but follow. Uncover their story in this movie-like experience, as you meet new characters, make important choices and help solve the dark, unspeakable crimes that plague New Sieg."

A Puzzle to Piece Together: five different playable “movies”, different routes corresponding to each male lead, each portraying a different story which you play an integral part in.

New Flowchart System: review your progress through the story with a helpful flowchart that allows you to select and replay different parts of the story, leaving no stone unturned.

The Romance Builds: continue your relationship from the last game, growing together through struggles, and learning new sides to Teuta, Limbo, Shu, Helvetica, Mozu and Scarecrow.

The Power of Visuals: skilfully crafted characters brought to life with beautiful artistry. Experience the characters in new outfits, hairstyles and scenarios! An Unforgettable Voice Cast: featuring a cast of famed voices such as Yui Kondo, KENN, Yoshimasa Hosoya, and many more!

Extra Episodes: collect memorabilia and extra episodes through certain conditions, and even unlock a special episode when playing with an existing save data from the first game!

You can find it and wishlist it on Steam here!

[sgiandubh]

I love your style, intelligent, down to earth, very practical, not in the 5-10 children in 7 years part of the fandom. Guess that’s why I’m very intrigued by your take on recent events. I feel a massive shift in their public behavior, very different from the last 6-7 years where they tried very hard to separate themselves from their characters and each other. Why do you think that is?

Dear @i-ship,

Thank you very much for the kind words. I try to keep things in check and base my opinions on solid facts. Not 'FACTS', mind you, but as much as possible publicly available documents and data. The not so public things (meaning you have to pay for those, which indicates a different confidentiality level) I keep for myself, because I am not an idiot: in no way, however, do they contradict the rest, in which case I would immediately recalibrate my analysis. I also know very well that confirmation bias has often been mentioned as a sad excuse across the street, when things didn't look good for them. That is wishful bullshit, because no legal professional would prostitute their skill in order to shoehorn reality into a given scenario. Papers speak by themselves - there is no need to stretch the information they contain, but yes, you can (and you should) interpret them. Therefore, all I did was to translate in everyday English what is often not accessible to everyone and wrap it in a bit of context. This is, apparently, a mortal sin and I know it is the main reason I am being hated with a passion, by many.

All of the above just to stress the fact that I am not easily swayed by sensational pics, tidbits and gifs. I may sound like a damned party pooper to you, but I prefer to patiently follow what I think is interesting, rather than childishly bounce on my chair every single time people see what they really saw a thousand times before, in eleven years of saga. Nor do I need to have confirmation four times a day of something that simply exists, irrespective of the fact I know about it or not.

I will say only this: C definitely looks as she DGAF about the whole circus anymore. It started with the piggyback pics, on March 25, continued with the Taylor Swift concert (the only time I allowed myself to oooh and awww at 4 AM) and is now seemingly confirmed by these new promo pics and interviews. Yes, they screeched 'it's fan service', but as far as I know nobody forced C to behave the way she clearly intends to show everyone. It's Season 7B, for Christ's sake, the script is hogwash and the acting is not so good (yes, I will need a rewatch to write something decently balanced about it), the audience numbers are dwindling and OL is on its way out. Hard truths, no matter how you turn it: why would she open again the door to 'speculation' (ah, but what's in a word?), especially considering this cesspool of a fandom's obsessive-compulsive collective behavior?

Unless...

Unless, @i-ship. Let's not write the script, but you got me. I hope this answers your question - at any rate, it was a pleasure trying to.

[cuubism]

Jayce-with-anxiety is in my head so here's my porn manifesto about the matter. I hope you like it

d/s, developing relationship, not-negotiated-at-all kink, t4t jayvik

-

theories and findings [AO3]

The unveiling of the first Hexgate is in two days, and Jayce is… maybe spiraling. A little.

Sometimes he gets like that. Even when there’s no real need. The Hexgate is ready to be shown, after all. It’s been in final testing phase for a while, and he’s tested every core function he can imagine, tested every edge case, every minuscule possibility, beat the ever-loving crap out of the thing to make sure it could stand up to heavy use and tolerate mistakes by non-scientists trying to work it. It holds up. He knows it holds up.

But he needs it to work, at the key moment. Needs it not to fail him. The entire future of their research depends on having this product to show for the past several years of funding.

Viktor doesn’t seem worried. He trusts the numbers. Jayce trusts the numbers too, really, it’s just the investors that are the wildcards. As he’s been learning more and more, other people don’t always trust the numbers—unless those numbers are dollar signs.

He should be finalizing his speech. Instead, for what feels like the fifteenth time that day, he gets up from his chair in the lab, grabbing his toolkit to go do— he doesn’t even know what. Take the Hexgate apart for the nine millionth time and make sure all the screws are exactly 12.3 milligrams in weight? Or something. He has stress dreams about that shit. Even with all the math they’ve constructed to understand magic, it can still be frustratingly hard to predict. Sometimes magic takes huge imprecisions and simply works around them. Sometimes a screw is 12.2 milligrams instead of 12.3 and the entire thing fucking blows up.

(His lab notebook shows both that the mass of the screws isn’t actually one of those wildcard variables and that they’ve all measured in at exactly 12.300 milligrams the last six times he’s weighed them, but never mind.)

He’s halfway across the room, toolkit in hand, when Viktor says, “Jayce! Put that down.”

Jayce drops the toolkit.

It flies open, wrenches and screwdrivers and nuts and bolts scattering everywhere in an enormous crash. Viktor turns to stare at him, putting down whatever he was tinkering with, as Jayce winces.

“I meant… on the table,” Viktor says slowly.

Jayce clears his throat, voice unexpectedly tight. “Right.”

“You don’t need to check over the parts again,” Viktor continues, as Jayce bends to start collecting the fallen tools. “The machine works. Your own data prove it.”

“I know. It’s just.” He dumps some bolts into the bottom of the toolkit. He’ll have to reorganize them by size later. When he’s not kneeling on the floor. “What if it doesn’t?” How to explain that for all he ought to be a scientist, putting all his faith in the test results, he can’t stop himself from imagining every possible branching future scenario, every world where there’s a flaw in the device he didn’t foresee, where it breaks, where it explodes, where it simply doesn’t work, or, somehow worse, where it does work but no one sees its majesty, where they think Hextech is a disappointment, a waste of money and time after all, where they don’t get it, and pull their funding, or decide it’s dangerous like they’d believed before and all their work gets dismantled—

He’s frozen halfway through putting some wrenches away, and forces his hands to start moving again.

“I would take you to do another test run, but it doesn’t seem like that would soothe you,” Viktor muses.

Jayce finally snaps the kit shut again. “You’re not worried at all?”

“About the Hexgate functioning as promised? No. I suppose, eh… other people are harder to predict.”

Exactly.

“But it seems to me this machine is exactly what ‘other people’ wanted,” Viktor continues, “so there is little cause for concern as to their reaction.”

Jayce stands, toolkit in hand. “What do you mean, it’s what other people wanted? You aren’t happy with the Hexgate?”

Viktor shrugs. “It’s an exceptional piece of engineering that proves the functionality of Hextech and, I am sure, will make investors very happy. Still, Hextech can do more.”

He’s right. Hextech can do more. But Jayce needs to get through this use case with his sanity intact first. “Let’s come back to that three days from now?”

Viktor nods. “There is cause for celebration, too, of course,” he says. “It’s a monumental achievement, Jayce.”

“I’ll celebrate once it’s over with,” Jayce says, and goes to scrub his hands over his face with a tired groan—

—dropping the toolkit again in the process.

Maybe he should just go home.

Before he can move to pick the kit up again, Viktor says, “Leave that and come look at this. Perhaps it will distract you.”

“I need to—”

“Come over here.”

Though he doesn’t say it sharply, something about the command of Viktor’s voice has Jayce scrambling to obey. Viktor studies him with a strange look in his eye, but doesn’t say anything as Jayce goes over to his workstation, leans over his shoulder, studies the small device on the table before him.

“It’s a… hex-powered hinge of some kind?”

“It’s for my knee,” Viktor says. “To reduce friction in the brace. Though… I haven’t worked out all of the kinks yet.”

Viktor hadn’t worn a leg brace when they’d met—at least not one substantial enough to be worn over his clothes—but he does now, and has moved from a cane to a proper crutch, too. Jayce worries about it, but Viktor never seems to appreciate it when he verbalizes his concerns.

He studies the hinge. Its pieces are incredibly small, so Jayce can’t tell from a glance what might be wrong with it, but the Hexgem clearly isn’t connecting to all of the wiring correctly.

“Perhaps you will have better luck in fixing it. Fresh eyes are always beneficial,” Viktor says, handing it to him.

Jayce is grateful for any distraction that doesn’t involve taking apart the Hexgate yet again, so he takes the device back to his workstation.

It’s only twenty minutes later, as he’s holding it under a magnifying glass, soldering one of its tiny pieces with a tiny blowtorch, that he realizes. “Hang on. You broke this on purpose to distract me.”

“Oops,” Viktor says.

“Viktor.”

“Yes, I finished it this morning,” Viktor admits, unrepentant. “Did you fix it yet?”

“That’s not the—”

Viktor raises an eyebrow.

“…No, not yet.”

“Finish fixing it, then,” Viktor says, and turns back to his work.

Jayce lets out a frustrated breath, but does as he says. Why, why do as he says? He should just give Viktor the thing back to fix himself— or throw it at him, honestly.

He doesn’t. He fixes it.

It takes him a few hours—about thirty minutes of that spent fixing, the rest spent studying the intricate design of the joint, and seriously when did Viktor even have time to make this? It’s so tiny and precise, barely larger than the Hexgem that powers it, and nearly weightless in his hand.

Eventually he goes to give it back—and finds Viktor with his drafted speech in hand, marking it up.

“You could give a speech yourself, you know,” Jayce says as he places the little hinge down in front of him.

“Hmm. I don’t think so,” Viktor says. He makes a final note on the speech. “This is cleaner, now. Though you should proofread it to make sure it is in your voice.”

“I hate writing speeches,” Jayce says, putting the papers aside. Secretly relieved that Viktor’s finished it up.

“But you are good at giving them.”

The praise strikes deep on this day when he feels so keyed up. And on an element of the presentation he feels less sure of, too. The work he can feel confident in—when he stops overthinking it—but presentation, he’s learning, is as important as substance, unfortunately. He can’t just make it right, he has to deliver it right.

“Help me install this,” Viktor says, picking up the little joint device.

Jayce startles. Help him? Viktor never—

Oh. Great. It’s another bid to distract him.

“Fine,” he says anyway.

He expects Viktor to take his leg brace off and set it on the workstation. Instead, he gives Jayce a long, considering look. Then pushes him down by the shoulder.

Jayce goes, more surprised than anything, falling to his knees before where Viktor’s sat in his desk chair. His breath rushes out of him. But Viktor doesn’t say anything else about it, just swivels the chair so the outside of his knee is angled toward Jayce.

“This gear here,” he says, gesturing to the brace’s hinge at the bend of his knee. “It rotates when I walk, but there is too much friction.”

“Don’t you want there to be some resistance so it offers support instead of just… folding?” Jayce asks.

“Eh, some, when I’m standing, but it should rotate smoothly when walking. This—” he picks up the new joint piece “—locks into place while stationary but turns easily in motion. Or, it should.” He gives it to Jayce, as well as a tiny screwdriver so he can dismantle the existing pieces. “Install it and we’ll see if it works as intended.”

Jayce takes the new joint piece reverently. Viktor never asks for his help with his braces. And sure, it’s a diversion to stop him from overthinking about the presentation, but still. Still.

Jayce carefully unscrews the existing hinge. He sets the old gears aside on the table, lining each tiny screw up so they won’t get lost. Then places the new Hexgear.

It takes a bit of finicking with to get it properly aligned; the fit is precise. Then he screws it into place, snapping each part of the broader hinge back where it belongs. Everything connects perfectly, of course. Viktor designed it, after all.

The Hexgem lights up as the metal pieces seal in place. Power crackles along the entirety of the brace, prickling at his skin, then fades.

“Test it out,” Viktor says, voice hushed.

Jayce takes Viktor’s calf in gentle hands. God, he’s skinny. Has he always been this thin, as long as Jayce has known him? Viktor is not a fragile person, in fact Jayce often feels breakable in comparison to Viktor’s seemingly iron determination—but holding him like this, Viktor feels almost brittle.

It won’t be a proper test unless Viktor actually stands up and walks. Real friction, and all. But Jayce slowly bends his knee up, then back down. The hinge turns smoothly, no creaking, the Hexgem glowing softly.

“How does it feel?” he asks.

“Marginal improvement,” Viktor says, but there’s a secret smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you, Jayce. Excellent lab assistant work.”

“Haha.” There is something satisfying, though, about helping him. Not in the lab. Like this.

Like this, Viktor’s leg still cradled between his hands. Looking up at him, because he’s still kneeling, and seeing the light change in Viktor’s eyes, that teasing appreciation shifting to something… deeper.

Jayce feels pinned by his gaze. As if mesmerized, Viktor reaches out to touch his temple. Pushes an errant strand of hair back behind his ear.

“I do not think you can give a presentation like this, Jayce,” he teases. Fingertips still lightly touching Jayce’s face, as Jayce’s hands are still on his leg. “You look disheveled.”

“Whose fault is that, making me get on the floor?” The words do not come out in the teasing, light way he intends. Instead, Viktor’s gaze pulls something scraped and wanting from the depths of his throat. Something he didn’t even know was there, until Viktor brought it forth.

Viktor’s fingers trail from his temple down the back of his neck. Jayce shivers. It’s a feeling not unlike the jolt up his spine when Viktor had told him, put that down! Come over here. Normally, they are so in sync. Have been from almost the moment they met. But sometimes recently it’s felt like their gears are catching instead of turning smoothly together. Like there’s something in the way of a proper alignment, something Jayce wants to get out of the way but can’t because he can’t even tell what it is.

When Viktor’s hand clasps around the back of his neck, it’s like the gears skid and slip and click back together. Turning again as one.

“You feel tense,” Viktor says, fingertips probing his trapezius muscles, the touch painful for how deep he presses. “Too much time spent bent over a desk.”

“Hypocrite,” Jayce says.

“Well, yes. Which is why I know it hurts.” His voice isn’t sympathetic exactly, though, as he keeps pressing into the knots in Jayce’s muscles. It’s not lacking in sympathy. But that’s only a low note in his tone—the surface sounds more like curiosity, like the way his voice ticks up in interest and appeal when they get magic to dance just so at their fingertips. Excitement. Almost. “I can fix it.”

“What?”

“Get up,” Viktor says, and for some reason Jayce just does. He stands, and then Viktor stands, too, taking up his crutch from where it’s leaning against his workstation. He walks a few steps, testing their modification to the brace. “Hmm,” he says. “Better variable resistance.”

“…Good?” Jayce says. He has no idea what’s going on. But as Viktor starts walking to the door, saying “Come on, Jayce,” he follows.

“Where are we going?”

“To my rooms. Or yours. I have no preference.”

“Why?”

Viktor slants him a look that’s almost mischievous as he pushes open the door. “Do you have any objections?”

It’s not like they haven’t been to each other’s Academy apartments before. And something in Viktor’s expression compels him forward. “No?”

“Good.” And he leaves the room, leaving Jayce to catch up.

--

Jayce walks beside him through the halls, intentionally going slower than he normally would on his own. He often has to slow himself down beside other people, both in the lab and in person. He doesn’t have to slow himself down in the lab with Viktor. They can always keep up with each other, and it’s brilliant.

He does walk slower, though, and not only because of Viktor’s leg. The peril of being tall—and always in a rush—is that he constantly has to remind himself not to outpace other people. It doesn’t feel annoying when it’s Viktor, though.

In any case, despite the fact that Jayce could outpace him, it feels more like Viktor is leading him.

Viktor’s rooms are closer to the lab, so they end up there. Academy rooms are a bit sparse in general, and Viktor’s in particular—little in the way of decoration, only books, paperwork, small inventions on shelves and spare tools. Even his kitchen table is just covered in wiring and screws and half-finished projects. Really, both of them tend to spend most of their time in lab.

“How do you feel,” Viktor asks, as Jayce closes the door behind them, “about a back massage?”

“A what?” Jayce did hear him, though, so Viktor doesn’t repeat himself. He waits.

Truthfully Jayce doesn’t feel any particular way about any type of massage. The kinks in his back will work themselves out if he does some stretches.

But he looks at Viktor’s fine hand wrapped the handle of his crutch. The expectant look on his face, almost knowing. Something unnameable shivers up Jayce’s spine, much like when Viktor had touched the back of his neck. He feels almost out of his body. His heart gives a heavy thump.

“…Okay,” he says at last. What is he doing? No, actually, what is he doing.

Following Viktor to his bedroom, apparently.

When they work together, it’s like a dance trading off—one leading the line of thought one moment, then the other taking it and drawing it further, and back and forth. Now it’s like Viktor has seized the leading role in the waltz, his hand firmly clasped around Jayce’s shoulder through the turn.

There’s a strange peace in following. In the pattern of Jayce’s steps steered by Viktor’s thoughts. Their work is in innovation, and Jayce is always taking first steps, day after day after day. There’s a relief in letting Viktor take this one.

He’s been to Viktor’s apartment, but not his bedroom. It’s as minimal as the rest of the space. Viktor stops by the bed, leaning his crutch on the nightstand.

“Take off your shirt,” he says.

Mechanically, Jayce obeys, undoing his tie, his waistcoat, his shirt—damn these elaborate Academy uniforms—and kicking off his shoes for good measure. For his part, Viktor stays clothed, other than taking off his shoes, but he does loosen his tie, and Jayce finds his eyes drawn to the hollow of his throat as it’s revealed.

“Go lie down, Jayce,” Viktor says. This feels less like an order; it’s softer. Nevertheless Jayce does what he says, feeling the weight of Viktor’s eyes on his back. He lies facedown—Viktor’s bed is surprisingly comfortable, for Academy furniture—face cushioned on a pillow that smells like Viktor, on the rare occasions Jayce has gotten close enough to notice.

Once again he asks himself what the hell he’s doing. But he doesn’t get up.

Viktor kneels beside him on the bed. He’s acquired massage oil from somewhere—“I use it for my leg,” he says before Jayce can ask—and pours some out, warming it between his palms. Jayce can only just see his movement out of the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t ask if Viktor is physically capable of doing this, or kneeling on the bed, or anything else. He’s learned that the less he asks the more likely Viktor is to volunteer the information, if in a roundabout way. It would be more efficient to do multiple tests back to back translates to I can’t walk back and forth between the lab and the Hexgate ten times in a row today; I will run the tests, you take notes on the board means standing for hours is hard right now. Jayce isn’t always good at picking up on the subtleties in what people say, but he tries to pay attention.

“Normally, deep tissue work does cause some pain as the knots are worked out of the muscles,” Viktor says, “but you should tell me if it seriously hurts.”

Jayce nods, face still pushed into the pillow.

Then Viktor gets to work.

His hands glide over Jayce’s back in long, smooth strokes. Jayce groans, despite himself, then lets out an involuntary “Fuck!” as the heel of Viktor’s hand catches on a knot in his shoulder blade that must be deep for how much it hurts.

“Tighter than I thought,” Viktor says idly, then attacks the muscle, working his fingers in deep. It does hurt, and Jayce almost tells him to stop—until the moment he feels the muscle knot break apart, that part of his back suddenly looser than it’s been in ages.

“Fuck,” he moans again, this time with relief. “Viktor.”

Viktor shifts, swinging a leg over so he’s straddling Jayce’s thighs. “What are you doing?” Jayce asks. His words sound slurred.

“Our work is hardly finished, Jayce,” Viktor says, and, with more vigor, starts massaging the middle of Jayce’s back, up and along his spine. Fuck but it feels good. It hurts, but it’s the deep, satisfying pain of a long day spent working. Of hours in the forge, working stress out on yielding metal, his arms burning by the time he puts down the hammer.

Viktor’s hands are clearly skilled, alternately blunt or refined depending on which muscle he’s working on. Jayce’s shoulder actually clicks as Viktor digs into the muscle there, his neck spasms as Viktor presses on it with his thumbs, and okay, maybe Jayce was more sore than he realized. They’ve been a bit busy lately.

For a while Jayce spaces out pleasantly. He almost forgets that this is kind of weird, that this isn’t what they do—it doesn’t really feel weird, when they’re doing it. It feels natural. Viktor seems to have forgotten that entirely: he’s going at Jayce’s back like he does any problem in the lab, powering through with blunt determination until it’s solved.

Jayce jolts back to awareness as Viktor’s hands find his hips, thumbs digging into the muscles above the waistband of his pants. “Viktor…?” he says, but then something compels him to quiet. Viktor’s thumbs press into his lower back, long, slow strokes, gentler than before. Static prickles up Jayce’s spine, down his legs and arms, echoes of a pressure point being triggered.

“Is that better?” Viktor asks. Now his voice is rough, caught in his throat.

“Y-yeah,” Jayce says, and clears his throat. “Thanks.”

Viktor keeps pressing there, low on his spine. Jayce feels hyperaware of the weight of him on the backs of his thighs, the way he’s pinned; mouth drying, breath catching.

Should he…?

He never hesitates with Viktor where science is involved. But people, connection, friendship… all of that is a bit harder. Harder to know where he stands, easier to misjudge, misstep.

“You… have nice hands,” Jayce says, and immediately winces. But when he speaks, Viktor’s voice has a smile curled in it.

“You have very nice muscles, when they aren’t so tense,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jayce says shakily. He thinks he’d agree with anything Viktor said right now. “You… really know what you’re doing.”

Viktor’s hand slides up his spine, up his neck, digs into his hair. Jayce gasps as his head is pulled to the side—not roughly, but firmly. Viktor leans down over him; Jayce can see him out of one eye now. “Jayce…” he says, like he’s considering something. Jayce loves the way he says his name. Long, slow, and drawn out.

His voice comes out all thin and breathy. He feels drawn tight as a violin string, and he doesn’t know what will happen if Viktor tries to pluck it. “Yeah?”

“Tell me when to stop.”

And Viktor leans down and bites Jayce’s mouth.

It’s really a kiss, but it feels more like a bite. He nips Jayce’s lower lip, sweeps his tongue into his mouth, assertive and sure. In this, too, it seems Viktor knows what he’s doing. Jayce can’t say the same, but he’s hardly thinking about that—he’s thinking about Viktor’s hand still in his hair, and the heat of his lips.

Viktor pulls away, and Jayce takes a heaving breath. No part of his body is properly working, everything fizzy and startled and wanting. He can’t believe this is happening, but now that it is, it feels right. A key turning perfectly in a lock, their misaligned gears finally clicking back into perfect alignment.

Jayce’s position is awkward, but he manages to reach a hand up to clasp Viktor’s where it’s buried in his hair. Viktor waits for him to speak.

Jayce’s heart is pounding, but he says, “Don’t stop.”

Viktor kisses him again, deeper, fist clenched tight in his hair. Then when they part, he loosens his grip enough that he can prod at Jayce’s shoulder and get him to turn over, then settles down again, this time on Jayce’s hips. He barely gives Jayce a moment to cope with that before he’s leaning back down to take Jayce’s face between his hands, kissing him again, hungrier, starving.

Jayce finally gets enough control of his limbs to get his hands in Viktor’s hair. It’s softer than he would have expected, and delightful to pull on, especially when doing so keeps Viktor’s mouth pressed to his, their breaths mingling, lips smearing wetly together.

When Viktor pulls away to breathe, he stays close, looking down into Jayce’s eyes. The world is spinning, but Jayce tries to get his bearings. His hands fall to Viktor’s waist.

“Viktor…” he breathes.

Viktor traces a fingertip along his lip, as if catching the words themselves. Then, gaze intense like he’s evaluating the results of an experiment, he pushes his finger into Jayce’s mouth, laying it flat on his tongue.

Jayce is definitely- definitely behind Viktor’s curve here. Operating on little but vague instinct and supposition, he sucks Viktor’s finger deeper in his mouth, enjoying the way Viktor’s eyes darken in response. He pushes a second finger in, stroking Jayce’s tongue, and Jayce tries to breathe but doesn’t entirely succeed at it.

Viktor pulls his fingers free, saliva trailing to them from Jayce’s lips. Jayce can’t look away from them. He tries not to think about it, usually. Thoughts pushed so so so far down it’s like they’re not even there.

Now he’s wondering what else Viktor might do with those fingers.

Jayce is getting hard and wet under him, if he’s not careful Viktor will soon be able to tell, if he can’t already—but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact he shifts his weight in Jayce’s lap, grinding down, and Jayce has to bite his lower lip, hard, because he might whimper otherwise.

Viktor’s lips curl up in a very pleased smile. “Jayce,” he says, again that slow drag of his tongue over Jayce’s name.

Jayce shivers. He’s coming to realize that Viktor is… much more experienced. He’d thought they were more on the same page, as they were similar in so many other things. But he should never assume an answer, that’s a core principle of science.

“Viktor,” he says in reply. It comes out significantly more choked than Viktor’s voice.

Viktor’s expression pinches. Jayce doesn’t know what he said to cause that look.

“What?” he says.

“Have you done this before?” Viktor asks.

“Uh,” Jayce says, feeling himself flush, “no.”

“…Oh,” Viktor says, one soft word.

Jayce can’t help but feel like he’s ruining everything, even if he hasn’t actually done anything. Well, not having done anything is actually the problem. He doesn’t necessarily want Viktor to stop. “Is that— surprising to you?”

Viktor considers, then says, “Yes.”

Great, now Jayce is making it weird just with his entire existence. “I’m—”

“No, don’t say that,” Viktor interrupts. Then, softer, “Don’t say that.”

Jayce isn’t actually sorry about it, he just— he doesn’t want to ruin things. Being in the moment of this is making him realizing how deeply he wants it.

Viktor digs a hand into his hair again, but gentler this time. “Don’t let me push you around.”

“Maybe I like it,” Jayce says, feeling overly bold.

Viktor huffs. “Perhaps,” he says. “If so, perhaps you would like this.”

He leans back down, hands in Jayce’s hair, scratching his scalp, and kisses under his jaw, sucking a mark into his skin. Jayce makes a mortifying whimpering sound, clutching at the back of Viktor’s neck. He bites his lip as Viktor goes down, nipping his way down his neck, to the hollow above his collarbone, laving his tongue over the skin. Jayce squirms under him, feeling out of control of his body, hips grinding up involuntarily against Viktor.

It’s disconcerting to feel like that—out of control. But Viktor digs his hand deeper into Jayce’s hair, tugs hard. “That’s it,” he says, and Jayce feels, in some backwards way, that he must be doing something right. If Viktor is talking to him like that, he must be. “That’s it, Jayce. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Y- yeah.” It does. Viktor knows what he’s doing far more than Jayce does, but maybe that’s good, he doesn’t have to worry as much about it. He can rely on Viktor’s experience.

He feels bold enough to rest a hand low on Viktor’s hip, tugging him closer, grinding up against him. It’s not enough, not with their clothes on, he needs more.

“Mmm, yes,” Viktor hums, lips brushing Jayce’s ear. “Go ahead and undo my trousers.”

He lifts his hips far enough off Jayce for Jayce to get his hand between them. He manages to undo the buttons on Viktor’s trousers, slips a hand in, fingers pushing inelegantly through Viktor’s folds. He’s worried he’s doing it wrong right from the start, but Viktor moans, the sound ringing through Jayce’s body like a bell. That sound, he could live for that sound.

“Very good,” Viktor praises, voice hitching over the words. “Now. Allow me.”

His hand finds the buttons on Jayce’s trousers, and he undoes them one by one, pushing Jayce’s underwear down. He slips his hand in, slim fingers exploring, circling his thumb over his cock lightly, but surely.

Jayce trembles under him. He can’t— can’t focus well enough to figure out what he’s supposed to be doing. He just stays still, keeping his hand flat, and Viktor ruts against his palm, somehow able to multitask well enough to do all that and go back to sucking on Jayce’s throat. Jayce can’t even multitask enough to form words.

“Shh,” Viktor says, though he decidedly hasn’t said anything. “You’re not allowed to think.”

“I’m not allowed to think?”

“No, you must be quiet.”

Jayce doesn’t know how to do that. “But—”

“Shh.” Viktor nudges his hand away, shifts positions, abandoning his efforts in grinding down on Jayce's hand in favor of working his hand deeper into Jayce's pants, his own trouser buttons open and showing a peek of hair leading down and-

Well now Jayce can’t think.

“Quiet,” Viktor repeats. “Quiet.” Kissing his cheek, his ear, his temple, then finally his lips.

Jayce falls into his voice. He lets Viktor’s words, his breath, surround him, holds Viktor tight by the hips as Viktor works him, finally manages to get enough of his wits about him to grind his hips up into the movement of Viktor's hand. He closes his eyes, hears himself making breathy sounds and desperate moans that barely sound like his own voice. He feels the curve of Viktor’s smile at the sound.

Viktor’s hand slides into his hair again, gripping tightly, holding Jayce’s head still as he kisses him. Not that Jayce would have moved, he’s paralyzed by the weight of Viktor on top of him. Frozen in place by the fact that this is even happening, Viktor’s tongue sweeping into his mouth and Viktor’s hand wet with his fluids and— oohhh, gods. He’s gonna pass out.

Viktor tugs on his hair. “You’re still thinking.”

“Sorry.”

Viktor grazes his teeth over Jayce’s ear. Jayce whimpers.

“Jayce.” Viktor’s voice sends shivers down the back of Jayce’s neck. “Let go.”

Jayce takes his hands off Viktor’s hips.

Viktor chuckles. “I meant it metaphorically.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want you to think,” Viktor says. “I want this to be good for you.”

“Well, what about you?”

Viktor’s lips curl in a smile. “This is already good for me. Can I move you?”

“Y- yeah.”

Viktor climbs off his lap, wincing slightly as he bends his leg, but Jayce knows better than to call him out on it. And besides he doesn’t think he wants Viktor to stop either way.

Viktor slips between his thighs instead. He tugs Jayce’s trousers and underwear off, and Jayce feels very exposed, flushed and hot, but Viktor’s gaze as he skates his hands up Jayce’s thighs is heartily appreciative, so it must be okay. Viktor bends one of Jayce’s legs up so he’s spread open, leaning precariously over him. Jayce shakes, he might be hyperventilating, he really might pass out but he thinks he’s okay with that. It’s fine. It’s worth it.

The last thing he sees is the gold of Viktor’s eyes before Viktor says, “Close your eyes,” and he does and then Viktor’s hand and mouth are on him at once. He kisses Jayce deeply, a hungry, claiming kiss, uses his slim fingers to part him, that pretty hand Jayce had been so admiring earlier now taking whatever Viktor wants from him.

And Jayce— doesn’t think. He can barely breathe for how Viktor is kissing him, and his body is strung tight, hot and and wet and oversensitive as Viktor strokes through him, thumbs over his cock, circles fingertips lightly at his entrance. Jayce’s cunt clenches in heated anticipation of him, he wonders how people even—

—the thought melts into static as Viktor pushes a cautious finger into him. Jayce feels so hyperaware of him, panting against his mouth, oh gods, that’s Viktor in him—

—more static as Viktor curls his finger, pressing the heel of his palm to Jayce’s cock in the same motion. Oh, fuck—

He’s saying it, too, “Oh, fuck, oh fuck Viktor—”

“That’s it,” Viktor says, working him with focused determination. “That’s it, Jayce, good.”

He pushes another finger into Jayce’s cunt, and Jayce gasps, clutching at Viktor’s shoulders, thighs twitching and tightening involuntarily around Viktor’s hips. Viktor pushes his leg back down firmly.

“Viktor,” Jayce pleads. He doesn’t know what he wants Viktor to do— stop? Keep going? No, definitely keep going, he’s just— he’s so—

“You feel so good,” Viktor murmurs. “I bet you will taste even better.”

“Taste?” Jayce croaks.

“Let go, Jayce,” Viktor croons, crooking his fingers hard inside Jayce with the command. And Jayce’s brain just— whites out.

He floats, spinning higher and higher, belly coiling tighter with heat as Viktor keeps claiming his insides. Viktor sucks marks into his throat as Jayce gasps for breath, wanting, wanting, wanting— “Please, Viktor—”

Viktor works his fingers in and out, in and out— Jayce feels so wet, so hot, and the pressure of Viktor’s fingers is so— he’s so close—

He fists a hand in his own hair, tugging hard. Viktor pulls his hand away, takes hold of his wrist, and presses him down into the bed.

Jayce comes instantly, clenching down on Viktor’s fingers and biting down hard on his own lip as heat rushes through him, flushing up his chest and throat. He presses Viktor’s hips again between his thighs, and this time Viktor lets him. He works Jayce through it, fingers stroking steadily inside him until he comes down from his peak. Then before Jayce can even get his breath back, Viktor is going down, wrapping his arms under Jayce’s thighs and pulling him in with surprising strength, pressing his face between Jayce’s legs.

Jayce shouts. Viktor hums in pleasure, the sound vibrating straight through Jayce’s core. Viktor licks up through his folds, sucks on his cock. When Jayce finally manages to open his eyes, he finds Viktor has moved his hand and is working himself furiously with it, evidently getting off just on the taste of Jayce. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

Jayce pushes a shaky hand through Viktor’s hair, holding on for dear life, overstimulated from the relentless touch. “Viktor…” he says, voice thick, “gods, you’re so… you’re so beautiful…”

Viktor moans, grinding down on his own hand. Jayce pushes his hips up, grinding up into his mouth, and Viktor makes a choked sound and goes taut as he comes.

It’s so transcendent, Jayce wants to soak in that sound, that feeling, forever. He wants to do that, to make Viktor feel like that; he wants to make Viktor feel the way Viktor makes him feel. He needs to learn how.

He tugs on Viktor’s arm. Viktor obligingly goes, leaning over him so they’re face-to-face again. Viktor’s hair is mussed, his lips slick and wet. Jayce is maybe hallucinating, or maybe the screws were a micrometer too small after all and the Hexgate actually exploded and killed him and this is the afterlife.

Viktor kisses him, Jayce doesn’t even have to ask for it, and he puts his hands on Viktor’s hips again, feeling bolder, and sort of loose and warm and shivery in a much more thorough way than when he just gets himself off. Viktor’s still mostly dressed, and Jayce wishes he could feel his skin, actually slide his hands up over Viktor’s thighs and hips and ribcage and feel each bone.

When Viktor pulls away he presses warm lips to Jayce’s cheek and says, “Are you still thinking about tomorrow?”

“What?” Jayce croaks.

Viktor laughs. Jayce feels it in his chest and under his hands, from how they’re touching. No, tomorrow doesn’t exist, what’s tomorrow? What’s Hextech? What’s anything other than this?

“Good,” Viktor says. He shifts, and Jayce is briefly terrified he’ll just leave, but Viktor only slides onto his side so he’s lying beside Jayce instead of on top of him, stretching his leg out with a grimace. Still, he doesn’t leave.

“Come here,” he says.

“…What?”

“Just do it, Jayce.”

So Jayce does, with almost more hesitation than he’d felt in kissing him, in touching him, because he doesn’t know what they are. But he also knows that if he stops to think about it for even a second he will explode, and if he doesn’t touch Viktor again right now he might actually lose it.

So he hesitantly curls in against Viktor. Tugs open some of the buttons on Viktor’s shirt, and, at Viktor’s nod, slips his arm under to wrap around his waist, his palm pressed flat to the bare skin of Viktor’s back, above his brace. He presses his face into Viktor’s shoulder. He still doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Viktor pets his hair. Digs his fingers into Jayce’s scalp and Jayce melts into him, he can’t help it. He doesn’t know what’s going on, why Viktor is being so touchy with him, but he doesn’t want it to stop.

“Viktor?” he says. “Why?” Jayce doesn’t know exactly what’s encompassed in the why. It had all felt right as it was happening, this, them. But the details.

“I… felt you needed something,” Viktor says, sounding, for the first time, hesitant. “I decided to… take a leap.”

Jayce doesn’t know exactly what it was that he needed, but Viktor must have given it to him because he feels… better. Somehow.

“I don’t understand,” he says.

“I will share my theories and findings with you later,” Viktor says.

“Oh, theories and findings.”

“Of course, one must always pursue science with rigor and precision.”

“Uh-huh.” Jayce hides his grin in Viktor’s neck.

“More immediately,” Viktor continues, “you should stay here for a little while so you have time to process.”

“Didn’t want to move anyway,” Jayce says. He shifts closer, draping one leg over Viktor’s so he’s sort of half-lying on top of him. “I’m not crushing you, am I?” He doesn’t know exactly how much Viktor weighs but he’s pretty sure he’s a lot heavier.

“Mm. I don’t mind. You are comfortable. Very soft.”

Jayce laughs. “Alright.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Really good. Like. Kind of relaxed, I guess.” That's a rare feeling.

“You sound surprised,” Viktor says.

“Well. Yeah,” Jayce admits, and Viktor huffs a laugh.

“Not so much a man of relaxation,” he says, “but—”

“Oh, please don’t—”

“—but a Man of Progress,” Viktor finishes, with some glee.

Jayce groans. “I don’t know how Mrs. Kiramman even got that nickname out there before the Hexgate unveiling. We haven’t even shown anyone anything yet!”

“She has merchandise as well,” Viktor tells him.

“She has what?”

“Caitlyn gave me a mug.” When Jayce lifts his head to look at him, Viktor is smiling a rather wicked smile.

“Cait,” Jayce whines. It’s all so mortifying. “Why would she betray me like that?”

“I think she may have been teasing me. But I cherished my gift.”

“Viktor please.”

Viktor digs his hand into Jayce’s hair again. “Hush.”

Jayce hushes.

“Does it truly bother you?” Viktor asks.

“A bit?” He wouldn’t say so to Mrs. Kiramman, but— “The attention’s not supposed to be on me, it’s supposed to be about the research.”

There have been a lot of events leading up to this grand launch, and Jayce doesn’t necessarily hate it, he likes talking to people about their research, likes sharing its wonder, but after a while he starts to get kind of itchy and nervous and overwhelmed by the attention, and more than once has had to duck out to compose himself.

He can’t tell Mrs. Kiramman about that, and he can’t tell Caitlyn or she’ll get concerned and tell her mother. But maybe. Maybe he can tell Viktor.

“I just get nervous,” he says. “I get like. I don’t know.”

“I’ve been starting to understand that,” Viktor says. “Though I did not realize it was that bad.”

“It’s not!” Jayce protests.

Viktor’s silence is telling.

“Alright, fine, but I can handle it.”

“I’m certain you can,” Viktor says. “And something may be painful and still worth doing. Nevertheless, I am glad to know.”

“I— I’m glad you know, too. I think.” Jayce sighs. “Not sure there’s much to do about it, though.”

“That I don’t agree with.” Viktor lets his hand fall to the nape of Jayce’s neck and gives a light squeeze. Jayce goes still, heart suddenly hammering, like when he’d knelt in the lab to fix Viktor’s brace and Viktor had pinned him there with a sure hand.

“I don’t understand what you’re doing,” he admits. “But…”

“But?”

“…It feels good.” It feels actually really good, Viktor touching him like that.

“Hmm. I thought so.” Viktor keeps stroking the back of his neck, though with less pressure than before.

“Yeah, your theories and findings and all.”

“Precisely.”

“…Is that all it is?” Jayce asks. Gods, he’s not usually this insecure, it’s so embarrassing. But it’s Viktor.

“No,” Viktor says, “it’s not. You know that, I think?”

Jayce does know that, though it’s still a comfort to hear Viktor say it. If it was just experimental, it wouldn’t soothe him so much. It wouldn’t make him want to crawl inside Viktor’s clothes. It wouldn’t make him feel like all his disjointed machinery has suddenly fallen back into proper alignment. It’s Viktor. Viktor could never be just anything. Viktor is everything.

“Yeah,” he breathes, resting his head on Viktor’s chest. “I do.”