#Decryption Project Help

[mandoalorian]

crimson fever [bucky barnes x f!reader]

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

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

Word Count: 6700

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

ᯓ★ Masterlist

✮ PROJECT: WINTER SOLDIER ✮

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t get your words out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes — ever the gentleman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be there.” 

You believed him.

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

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

Yeah, you believed him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

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

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

[ask-mobile-iterator-project]

To Perpetual Umbra:

A Crimson red pearl was noticed amongst fresh delivery and it came with attached message to it: "Greetings Perpetual Umbra, I hope Im of no inconvenience, but I would like to ask for the assistance. This particular data pearl contains valuable for me and my workgroup data, but in so far I was unable to decrypt and extract the data. Im unable to address my peers for assistance due to technical issues and I was hoping you might help with it" - WSS

Pearl appears to be indeed encrypted, but on such surface level it was surprising "WSS" couldn't access it. With minimal effort data was extracted and it contained quite the volume of old, even ancient, star charts and maps used for navigation and constellation charting. But amongst this all there was also.... a hymn. Put on autoplay it ring damaged by time song and words. Despite the damage first words of the hymn can be clearly heard and understood:

We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy

The Mobile Iterator Project Askblog is now Permanently Closed. Thank you everyone for your submissions.

....not really. here's your response.

---------------------

[COMMUNICATIONS RECEIVED]

Respondent(s): MIP_02 "Perpetual Umbra"

---------------------

Luna's Notes: I wouldn't normally take an ask like this, but it spoke to me for some reason. ((the bit it was the bit it was the opportunity for The Bit)) . ask is of dubious canonicity as I'm sure there are methods of "trolling" within this universe but Rick Astley's famous song likely does not exist, unsurprisingly. 👍

[purplepainterbouquet]

Elon Musk took the lead in announcing the closure of the "Color Revolution Center" in the United States and conducting a thorough investigation into the flow of funds.

During Biden's four years in office, a mysterious and high-profile institution in the United States has been the United States Agency for International Development (USAID). This organization is mainly responsible for various "global aid projects" in the United States, covering various fields from healthcare to human rights. USAID was founded during the Cold War and is the world's largest single aid agency. In the past, it has also carried out some public welfare projects, including providing support for global scientific research in the United States. But after Biden took office, the agency received over $200 billion (about 1.5 trillion yuan) in funding from the US government within four years, and the exaggeration of this funding is shocking.

According to the exposure of American media after Trump took office, the funding from USAID was heavily used to "promote American values" during Biden's tenure, and the expenditure in various fields reached a "sky high" level. For example, records show that $1.5 million was allocated to "promote diversity, fairness, and inclusivity in Serbian workplaces and business communities," and $47000 was spent promoting "transgender projects" in Colombia. Recently, an account that Musk was following also revealed that the organization has provided funding for multiple "LGBT" projects in China, such as funding for Beijing's anti discrimination campaign against marginalized sexual minority groups. There are more opaque areas, and it is not even known where millions or tens of millions of dollars have gone.

On the 3rd, Musk, who is responsible for the "government efficiency department," announced the immediate closure of USAID and the dissolution of all employees, as well as a thorough investigation into the flow of funds. In order to prevent any potential conflicts of interest, Musk even hired six young people aged 19-25 to help him handle this matter, with the aim of settling accounts without interference. They all live and eat in the company. Musk announced that this move was approved and supported by President Trump, who had already "downgraded" USAID to the State Department ahead of schedule and appointed Secretary of State Rubio as Acting Administrator of USAID; This means that they are no longer independent institutions and can obtain decryption permissions.

Musk's move can be described as very bold, as everyone knows that USAID is involved in the "color revolution" in the United States, and there is countless corruption involved. Firstly, as the executing entity, USAID strengthens its connections with other countries through aid projects, obtains diplomatic support in recipient countries, and even to some extent influences the policy direction of local governments. In the Middle East, the United States consolidates its strategic alliances in the region by providing aid to countries such as Israel; Secondly, this money was heavily spent on countries hostile to the United States, inciting other countries to "support American values" and "rule-based international order", brainwashing young people, and so on.

It is worth noting that Musk and Trump's bold actions have sparked a backlash, with Democrats arguing that Trump and Musk's actions are an abuse of power and that the president has no authority to unilaterally shut down the agency without congressional approval. Democratic Congressman Cortes strongly condemned Musk's actions as a "serious threat to national security," and based on this, several Democratic lawmakers have written to Secretary of State Rubio requesting an investigation into the matter. Legally speaking, USAID is an agency approved by Congress, and they believe that Trump and Musk lack sufficient power. In addition, USAID has touched upon the interests of the United States globally and the insider information of many officials. Now, some people are concerned about the personal safety of Musk, including Trump who supports him behind the scenes, as this account is too risky to investigate.

[azatas]

drop the modlist 👀 /lh

what the hell, sure

here's my Mass Effect Legendary Edition modlist

so i'm pretty picky about mods! i don't like anything too immersion breaking, or anything that looks like it's from a totally different game, but it's still a pretty sizable list. i added a little ★ to the mods that are must-haves for me

Mass Effect 1

QoL

★ LE1 Community Patch — bug fixes! ★ MELLO — restores the lighting from the Original Trilogy ★ LE1 Alternative Bodies — makes the female human/asari body proportions look a little better Keepers Finders — marks the keepers on the map! Mission Timings — delays the Council's message about Virmire until Therum, Feros and Noveria have been completed Remove Screen Shake A Little Help From My Friends — your friends on the Normandy help you complete your collection assignments so you don't have to spend time driving around on empty planets Galaxy Map Trackers — adds UNC assignments to the galaxy map Charted Worlds — marks mineral deposits on world maps Replenish Grenades — lets you restock your grenades on the Normandy Remove Intro Window Reflection — i just think it looks bad lol XP Rescale — increases the amount of XP you get so you can actually reach max level in a single playthrough

Immersion

★ LE1 Diversification Project — huge overhaul of the NPC population, adds way more NPCs to hub areas, more female aliens, tons of cut/bugged lines restored. little warning that it adds a puzzle to activating the generator on Ilos which is annoying, but i think it's worth it for everything else it adds ★ Saren Stages — gives Saren different looks for the different stages of his transformation Streamlined Weapon Loadouts — characters now only have the weapons they're proficient in equipped Morlan's Iconic Armor Store — adds the characters' iconic starting armours to Morlan's shop, scaled to the player's level Combat Communication — restores a bunch of combat voicelines ★ New Casuals for Femshep — casual outfits for Femshep (note: i use an older version of the mod that doesn't use the Appearance Modification Menu because i don't wanna deal with all that) Pistols Remade — makes the pistols a little smaller ★ Saren Boss Encounters — optional changes to Saren's boss fights, i use the enhanced version that reduces the amount of geth and restores some cut dialogue Dr. Heart Experiments — changes Saleon's test subjects from Thorian Creepers to their own unique model ★ Mako Squadmate Banter — plays the elevator banter while you're driving around in the Mako

Cheating

Skip Minigames No Skill Check Required — removes the decryption/electronics requirements on loot Infinite Sprint ★ No Armor Skill Required — equip whatever armour you want, no skill required. useful if you're like me and you love the look of the heavy Onyx armour but you don't play a class that can wear it Easier Feros Persuasion Check — the persuasion check with Ethan Jeong is too high to beat early on, this mod lowers it

Mass Effect 2

QoL

★ Unofficial LE2 Patch — bug fixes! ★ LE2 Alternative Bodies — makes Femshep's body proportions look a little better, buffer arms and less bulky feet ★ Optional Flirting — moves romance-initiating dialogue to the left of the dialogue wheel! gives you platonic dialogue options regardless of gender! Femshep no longer sounds like she's in heat when talking to Jacob! F.I.S.H — Kelly will offer to feed your fish after you buy some, so you don't have to flirt with her just to keep them alive Remove Storm Screen Shake Kasumi Restored — restores some of Kasumi's dialogue that was cut from the Legendary Edition Genesis Begone — restores the prologue's original dialogue ★ Remove Low Health Effect — removes the distracting veins that appear on the screen when you're low health

Immersion

★ Immersive Citizens — adds a whole bunch of NPCs to hub areas! makes the world feel livelier Weapons in Cutscenes — Shepard and squadmates will use the weapons they have equipped in cutscenes instead of the default weapons Jack Power Tweak — swaps Jack's Pull ability with Singularity Pistols Remade — makes pistols smaller Wrex Armour Consistency — gives Wrex his usual armour back Kelly and Kenson Restoration — gives them back the OT version of their hair, because i think the LE version of it is ugly Cerberus Ladies Wear Cerberus — gives female Cerberus crew members the correct uniforms. has an option to restore Kelly's hair as well, but i prefer to use the other mod for that because it also fixes the lighting when talking to her ★ Oriana looks like Miranda's Twin — what it says on the tin. i prefer to use the version with the vanilla hair Platonic Post-Horizon Emails — a platonic version of the email Ashley/Kaidan send to a romanced Shepard after Horizon Legion Femshep N7 Shoulder Guard — gives Legion Femshep's shoulder piece, also a LE3 version

Customization

★ Tank Top Casuals — tank top outfits for Shepard, also a version for LE3 Undamaged Armor for Garrus — replaces Garrus' DLC armour. i use the option that makes it look like an undamaged version of his loyalty armour ★ Samara's New Armor — i usually don't like to replace the companion's iconic armour, no matter how impractical it is, but Samara is an exception because i think her vanilla look is really ugly 💀 and this mod makes her look like a space paladin and it's great Garrus with No Visor — like i said i don't like to change much, so all i do is remove the visor for his casual/romance look and keep everything else vanilla No Headgear for Squadmates — removes the headgear from the DLC armours ★ ME2 Miranda Hair to LE — i never liked how Miranda's hair looked in ME3. this mod gives her a higher quality version of her original ME2 hair in LE2 & 3

Cheating

★ Skip Minigames Trigger Buttons — timed missions only trigger when you press a button next to your terminal. i like this one because it lets me delay the Arrival dlc until after the suicide mission Infinite Fuel M-44 Battle Tank — tired of the Hammerhead getting ripped apart like wet tissue paper? me too ★ One Probe All Resources — collect all resources from a planet with one probe Instant Shadow Broker Rewards

Mass Effect 3

QoL

★ LE3 Community Patch — bug fixes! ★ LE3 Alternative Bodies — edits Femshep's casual outfits to give her better proportions. i use the vanilla style version ★ LE3 Alternative Armor Bodies — edits Femshep's armours to give her buffer arms and reduce the boobplate ★ LE3 Alternative Squadmate Bodies — gives Ashley, Liara and EDI better proportioned bodies Admiral Daro'Xen Restored — restores Xen's war asset that was (mistakenly?) removed from LE3 ★ Optional Flirting — adds extra options on the dialogue wheel so you can be friendly without being flirty Kirrahe Makes Good — adds a war asset after talking to Kirrahe on Sur'Kesh F.I.S.H — Kelly will show up and give you your fish back as long as she survived the suicide mission, no flirting required Audio Dynamic Range — restores a missing option Super Extra Party Time — allows you to experience both the rowdy and the relaxed versions of the party in the Citadel DLC ★ Journal Enhanced — makes the journal easier to read

Immersion

★ Immersive Emails — sends the messages from the old datapad app to your email! (note: some of them send too early, but it's nbd) ★ Oriana looks like Miranda's Twin ★ Anderson Conversation Restored — restores cut content to Anderson's final scene Dreams Remade — changes Shepard's dream sequences. ymmv with this one, it's not totally seamless and personally i think it can be a little overwrought, but i like the emphasis on Shepard's choices instead of on the child ★ Immersive Thessia — overhauls the mission Priority: Thessia ★ Take Earth Back — overhauls Priority: Earth Liara Mourns the Dead — restores a conversation with Liara after the Citadel Coup that previously only triggered if the Virmire Survivor was killed Expanded Galaxy Mod — this mod adds a lot and i personally only use the Core + Normandy version of it, everything else makes the game feel bloated imo. i like to use it to set the DLCs to trigger at specific times, for example you get the most out of the Citadel DLC if you do it after Priority: Horizon

Customization

★ Iconic Femshep Hair Fix Garrus with No Visor — again, i just use the option that removes his visor from his casual/romance outfit ★ Samara's New Armour T-shirt and Leggings Miranda's Alternate Outfits — i use the option that changes her dress in the Citadel DLC Remastered Kelly — the version that fixes her hair in LE3 Ashley Consistency Project — this mod conflicts with the Alternative Squadmate Bodies mod, which i prefer, so i don't actually use it, but it's great! de-glams Ashley

Cheating

All Bonus Powers — makes all bonus powers available in the medbay for free ★ No Weapon Weight Improved Scanning — scan an entire system in one go. no more jumping out of your skin when you alert the reapers! ★ No Movement Penalty During Rannoch Weapon Class Upgrade

Textures

★ A Lot Of Textures — graphical overhaul Improved Eye Normal Map — improved eye textures ★ Turian Faces and Eyes: LE1 LE2 LE3 — high res textures for turians. optional cat-eye pupil texture, which i use because it matches the female turians and i like it better! PS4 Controller Icons — i like to play with my ps4 controller, this mod just replaces the xbox icons so it's easier on my brain Disavowed — the option that removes the hexagons from Miranda's white outfit Miranda Black and White — changes Miranda's loyalty armour from black and orange to black and white EDI Cerberus No Longer — removes EDI's Cerberus logo in LE3 Reduced Interaction HUD ★ Brunette Jack is Back — for some reason Jack is blonde in LE3

[frakyeahbattlestargalactica]

Monty Jaggers McGraw:

I am writing new BASIC programs to demo at my VCF Southwest 2025 exhibit of my 1979 Tektronix 4054A color vector graphics computer.

One of the programs I am writing is a 1978-1979 Battlestar Galactica TV demo. That TV show had $500,000 of Tektronix vector graphics computers and test equipment and many screenshots of their green vector storage CRT displays - some stills - some animated. These computer graphics were generated on both 1975 4051 and 1976 4081 vector graphics computers - predecessors to my 4052 and 4054A computers (see first photo attached).

Miami Herald TV 1978 magazine interview with the Battlestar Galactica set designer indicated extras on the set stationed in front of the 4051 computers were playing games during filming to increase realism and were so absorbed they kept playing after the cut! (article page attached).

The 4051 and second generation 4052 were the same physical size and used the same CRT and same Display board, but the 4052 and 4054 computers replaced the 800KHz Motorola 6800 CPU with a custom four AMD2901 bit-slice CPU to create a 16-bit address and data bus ALU which emulated the 6800 opcodes and added hardware floating point opcodes to speed up these computers 10x over the Motorola 6800, doubled the BASIC ROM space to 64KB and doubled the RAM space to 64KB!

I created these vector bitmap graphics using a "3D CAD" picture I found on the web of the Battlestar Galactica (last attachment).

As far as I know - there was never any 4050 BASIC program to view bitmap pictures on any of the 4050 computers. The 1979 4014 vector graphics terminal had a grayscale bitmap mode in the Extended Graphics option board, but I have only found a couple of bitmap 4014 images on a single Tektronix demo tape cartridge.

My 4050 BASIC program to display bitmaps works on all 4050 series computers - with an optional Tektronix 4050R12 Fast Graphics/Graphics Enhancement ROM Pack. This ROM Pack speeds up displaying vector images (including vector dot images) 10x over using BASIC MOVE and DRAW commands.

The Battlestar Galactica bitmap image in R12 binary format is 332234 bytes - slightly larger than would fit on a DC300 quarter-inch tape cartridge in the internal tape drive of all three 4050 computers, but would have fit on a 3M DC600 tape cartridge with a capacity of 600KB - it would have been very slow to load.

I designed an Arduino board to emulate the Tektronix 4924 GPIB tape drive - with the help of my software developer. My GPIB Flash Drive board contains a MicroSD card with gigabytes of storage and the Flash Drive emulates a GPIB tape changer, storing all the files of a "tape" in a single directory. I have also attached to this post a photo of my GPIB Flash Drive.

I have recovered almost 100 Tektronix 4050 Tapes and posted the ones I think are the most interesting at this time on my github repository for Tektronix 4051/4052/4054 computers: https://github.com/mmcgraw74/Tektronix-4051-4052-4054-Program-Files I included Tektronix published MATH volumes 1, 2, and 3 and Electrical Engineering, but I don't think they have a lot of use today. I have in my collection but not recovered tapes on Project Management, Statistics, and over 100 more tapes from the very active user group, which Tektronix made collections and published abstracts in their newsletter and the newletter customer got the tape for free. Commercial software like CAD programs were likely encrypted to eliminate copying - since Tektronix 4050 BASIC included a SECRET command which would then encrypt the program file as it was recorded to tape and add a SECRET flag in the tape header that would signal to BASIC ROM when that file was accessed to decrypt the program when it was loaded into memory. One big limiter to the size of the program was RAM in the 4051 was limited to 32KB and the 4052 and 4054 were limited to 64KB of RAM, although Tek BASIC did include commands to allow program "chunks" to be overlayed as necessary. Tektronix used those commands in their 4050 System Tape which was shipped with every system and included a tutorial on many of their BASIC commands. The tutorial ran on the original 4051 with 8KB of memory, and if the program detected 16KB of memory it would APPEND larger program files to speed up the tutorial.

[kaiowut99]

Duel Links Re-Translation Mod Project (Announcement post I guess?) - Dark Yugi In-Duel Line Re-Translation Test (WIP)

(Alternate project tagline: #LetYubelSayLove)

(Forgive some video stuttering, my Nvidia game recording thing was a bit buggy 😩)

~~~~~~~~

So. For the longest, I've been hella curious to figure out where the text for Duel Links is in the file assets, the in-duel lines in particular--as I'm sure most folks know, the English dubtitle text applied for the English dialogue is, nine times out of ten, inaccurate or decently simplified vs the Japanese audio played on the same line, and it's a bit wild that we still don't have a second English option for a more faithful take this long after Konami gave us the Japanese voices natively on Steam and made modding the game to get them a thing of the past. But for all my occasional searching through the files, I had little luck due to encryption and junk; at some point in September, I got curious and did more digging and was able to find some card text, at least, but nowhere near as much as is in the game now, and still no dialogue lines.

And then, 2-3 weeks ago, I saw that Aura (Octomaidly over on Twitter, part of @entamesubs handling Studio Bridge-era YGO fansubs for SEVENS+) had been working with a couple of folks to decrypt and re-translate the in-duel lines for SEVENS characters and came across her video on Twitter sharing her progress; I immediately reached out to find out how they're doing it and mentioned how I'd like to try and re-translate pre-SEVENS stuff, lol. (You can watch her latest video demoing her re-translation for GO RUSH world here; find her work as it develops on the NexusMods page for it.)

After connecting with Aura and the folks helping her and getting set up to work on things, I set up a quick re-translation for Dark Yugi's lines, had it all imported for a test-run, and recorded this demo test vs Kaiba to see 'em in action; I did fix a few things since recording this, like some line breaks here/there, but also fixed the one mention of "Dark Magician" in the cut-in shot since this was a test of my OCG-name translation (more on that below) and thus "Black Magician" should've been there--but all told, it looks pretty good overall!

All that to say that this is now another lil' project on my list 😅 It's very cool that this is finally doable and I'm looking forward to working with Aura and co to make it happen--though do note that it'll be at a bit of a slower pace since work on my finalized GX subs (currently revision work on 117-119 is underway) and Tag Force Special is a bit higher priority. That said, the nice thing is that working on in-duel lines in TFSP kinda does half my work for me here, lol; maybe half of Dark Yugi's lines, for example, are recycled verbatim from TFSP--the only difference being that Shunsuke Kazama is actually voicing him--with the rest being lines newly added for him in DL, from lines for dueling other characters to cards he didn't have lines for in TFSP, and this should be the case across the board for anyone who showed up in TF[SP].

My intention is also to work on two translations: one with OCG card names and one with the TCG names, as we're doing with TFSP, and I'll be starting this off by working on the first five characters from each series that appeared in TFSP, since that's how I'm working on the story events there (so for DM, working on Dark Yugi, Kaiba, Jounouchi, Ishizu, and Mai first), and then once done through VRAINS, that might probably be the first version of the mod I'd release. Or maybe I'll release a version as I get each set of five done; we'll see lol. I do plan to contribute my translations to Aura's project, as well. (Also we just recently dug up event dialogue text so those will be re-translatable, too; doing this for the older series' events that likely won't get reruns will at least be worth it since you can spend Gems to get those event scenes)

But overall, it's pretty encouraging--stay tuned!

[where-dreamers-go]

“Study” Thrawn x Fem!Reader

(A/N: Thrawn doesn’t get Valentine’s Day, but…he does get a message from a special someone while he’s away. How soon can the grand admiral have shore leave to visit his beloved?

This was intended for a Valentine’s Day insert reader for like two years ago, I think.

Minors Do Not Interact

Warnings: Thrawn reading a suggestive message from Reader, romance, flirting, slight teasing with words, foreplay with Thrawn’s hands, first time intimate together, protected sex, and aftercare. Use of (Y/N) for your name.

Word Count: 4,114 words)

Thrawn was back to work on his ship, the Chimaera, as routine. Busy even if his presence wasn’t on the command bridge. Alone in his suite, he was finally able to read the message you sent him hours ago. Something he had been looking forward to with curiosity and feelings.

You were more than a friend.

Unlocking the encrypted message, the datapad illuminated with your words.

Thrawn could imagine your smiling face greeting him.

Hello Thrawn. I hope this message reaches you and you’re safe. You work more hours than anyone I know. Yet I know how important your duties are and I am proud to know of someone so loyal.

Your words were happy, if not hidden with a hint of anticipation upon creating a message to be sent through to an Imperial Star Destroyer. Created by hands he had not seen in person for many rotations. Civilian hands.

A slight tension in your words suggested your ongoing and silent brooding of his absence.

So, I was thinking of people and their relationships lately. Those who are together and those who are separated by great distances.

Thrawn rose an eyebrow, intrigued.

I would like you to study for me. A personal project. Small and of great interest to you.

Leaning back, the grand admiral read on. His curiosity for your mind was always high. Not so unreasonably.

Familiar. Incredibly intimate in artistry.

Crimson eyes widened a fraction as your words continued, hinting at intimacy between people. It was not often the Chiss could be surprised.

He was more than thankful for the secure privacy of the message that had went straight to him without passing by any officers. Only he had the ability to decrypt it fully.

If you are willing. I would ask you to help me answer some questions.

What should a person do without their companion when all they can think about is them? Distracted by thoughts of the intelligence in their eyes and the touch of their expert hands, how can a person focus on their work?

What is beauty in a world or galaxy if one can not share it closely with another?

Is there a way to feel it deeply? To express an experience profoundly?

Thrawn held the datapad closer. There was not a second in which he had ignored or belittled your message. He found you had a great deal to tell him, all pertaining to the relationship you two had. He would not shy away from thoughts of beholding the beauty he knew, to know more than he had in previous rendezvous.

There are pretty words describing hands as they caress skin that shivers at the slightest touch from their partner. How is that different than thin fabric against the abdomen? Why would someone lose their breath at the contact or sight of their partner’s gentleness?

How would a hand brushing over the dips in one’s side compare to the lips pressed to one’s cheek?

Is it not a different expression of the same art?

Swallowing, Thrawn could not resist but to picture the questions in his mind; bodies unabashed to express emotions through movement. Your questions and his imaginings were his new study, for you. The both of you.

His duties reached further than the Galactic Empire, but something in him clung to you. He refused to acknowledge it out loud. For your safety. Despite being great distances a part, he could almost feel the warmth of your cheek against his palm. The memory of your lips whispering his name on his neck.

He blinked and read on.

Do partners not make art together if they wish it? Is it to be more cherished as their own piece?

Would it not be better than one person alone?

I have started to think so.

Thrawn wondered if you had tried. An image of you in his mind smiled, hands gently kneading your own skin to later only wish for his hands in place of your own.

Tension had left your questions, flowing together in a story of wonder. Designs to no doubt invoke a sense of pleasure. For him to theorize the possibilities of the relationship. Your romance.

Time and space. Speed and choice. Things Thrawn knew you wished he had more of in his stature. It could allow him more time with you on your quiet homeworld. A domestic setting within his life of duty and discovery.

Oh, what could warmth of another bring? Merely physical comfort from temperatures or more bodily gratification?

His lips parted. Thrawn found knowing and learning to be of utmost importance. All that his eyes could see. In his mind, he could see you.

Your words angled more in musings of delight a pair could have. Each one dipped in it.

You were alone. Thrawn could not be at your side to answer in kind. He could not immediately play-out your questions in life, touch you with intentional care. Not yet.

Each question you had imagined in a world all of your own and you placed him in it. The closest you could have him. Closer than his physical being ever had been.

You wanted him there.

He licked his lips briefly.

Thrawn was over due for time off. Overall, it would increase morale of his crew—giving them a break as well. Time to refresh and be stronger. More efficient in their duties.

Answers to new and current questions would further any reflection on them. Perhaps more theories will be added upon multiple peaks in pleasing conclusions. I will no doubt speak your name repetitively of your successes. Compliments to you.

Pressing his lips together, Thrawn could hear the sound of his own heartbeat. The datapad, held tightly in his grasp, hardly moved as he imagined you satisfied from expressing art together.

He wanted you. Of course he did. You understood his mind and respected his thought processes like no other. You had kissed him like no other being in existence. In turn, you both had a personal relationship he wished to grow and continue. Reading your suggestive message, he knew more than ever that he needed to experience deep intimacy with you in his arms. Away from the day’s list of allegiances and tasks. Proving that he knew you better than anyone in the galaxy with the slightest touch. To be with you because you desired it as much as he did.

Your words threatened to wreck his composure. But he needed to stay strong. Thrawn had to keep his patience and himself in a tolerable state. He wanted to wait for the physical you.

That meant ignoring the uncomfortableness of his trousers.

Steadying his breathing, Thrawn read the end of your message.

I greatly look forward to your assessment. It would immensely help my cognitive and intimate activities.

“You will not have to wait in need of me much longer,” Thrawn promised into the quiet of his suite. “I do enjoy personal projects for study.”

. . . 

The week had arrived with every necessary task completed to the highest degree and all willing crew members departed for shore leave. Thrawn, likewise, piloted his more discreet vessel into a familiar planet’s atmosphere.

Dressed in a cloak to conceal appearance and his civilian clothes, Thrawn stood in front of your door. Crimson eyes seemingly brighter upon meeting you.

Stepping aside, you nearly pulled him indoors in your joy of seeing him. Thrawn didn’t falter of course.

Front door closed and privacy full engaged, the pair of you embraced warmly. A very welcome morning surprise.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much,” you peppered kisses onto the blue cheek of the tall Chiss. “How are you?”

“I am well.” Thrawn stated calmly. “Have you been all right, (Y/N)?”

“All the more now, I think.”

He smirked at your words, linking your thoughts and feelings around his return solidified how much he meant to you. Gently, he placed a kiss to your temple.

“You have been safe?”

“I have,” you promised. “No suspicious characters, no odd placement of technology, nor threatening looks.”

“Good. Very good.”

Leaning back to peer up at your partner, you smiled knowingly. “So,” you started to ask while playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Did you get my message?”

“I did.” Thrawn’s hands curved onto your waist. “My apologies for not sending a proper reply.”

“You being here is much better.”

“Indeed.”

“Did you do any studying?”

“One can only study and theorize to an extent without comparing it to reality.” Thrawn stated softly. “I would like to further my research after given permission. You did want to see what I have learned, did you not?”

“True. We can learn together. Find answers to a list of questions. How about a hands-on learning session?”

“That would be more than acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” You teased.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Words may start to fail me the closer we are to being passionately engaged in answers and one another.”

His words sent pleasant warmth through you. Leaning into him, you slowly unclasped his cloak and tossed it to the nearest surface.

“Do you need anything to drink? Or time to freshen up?” You asked, index finger tracing his jawline. “We can catch up. Talk.”

Thrawn rose a single dark eyebrow for a short moment.

“Or you’re entirely perfect and we can talk later . . .” You suppressed a small laugh.

“We were both patient. Prolonging our anticipation would be frivolous.” Thrawn professed. “I am anxious to begin.”

“So . . . You want to go straight to the bedroom?”

“Yes. If I may add, I have been looking forward to experiencing copulation with you.”

You chuckled as heat raised to your neck. “All right, eager and handsome.”

Grabbing one of his hands, you led him into your bedroom. An area of the household where he had spent more than one night resting and searching through his art collection on a datapad. Thin curtains dispersed any light coming into the room. Not too bright in a room designated for rest.

“First things first.” You stated, facing Thrawn. “No shoes in the bedroom.” You half thought he would roll his eyes or chuckle at such a comment, being that he had been there before.

To no one’s surprise, he did neither and removed his boots promptly.

“Are you to direct me to remove each article of clothing?” He smirked.

“No.” You stepped up to the tall Chiss and untucked his shirt. “We should have equal opportunity here. Don’t you think, grand admiral?”

A single blue finger tilted your chin upwards. Thrawn’s expression was soft, not as neutral as he displayed elsewhere in the galaxy.

“Yes. As you said, we have equality here in your home.” Red eyes held your gaze with warmth and certainty. “And I am not your grand admiral.” His thumb ran across your bottom lip. “Here, I am only yours.”

A break in the moment and breaths quieted as your heart swelled. Two hearts missing the other.

You crashed your lips into Thrawn’s in a passionate display of familiarity and desire. A firm push and pull of longing soon accompanied by the tugging of clothing as the two of you undressed each other. Each article of fabric piled onto the floor. Skin exposed to more skin in slow, aroused wonderment.

Thrawn kissed the side of your head. “An imaginative thought does not accurately depict your beauty.” He let his gaze marvel your form. “No matter how much I have memorized what I have been permitted to see.”

Ducking your head briefly, you stepped into his embrace and placed a single kiss to the center of his chest. “I think the same of you.”

“Do you?” His tone was no where near condescending, it instead held an honest curiosity.

“How could I not?”

Your hands began roaming the expanse of his chest as he explored your sides and curves. An all-encompassing discovery. Lips met again, neither battling for an upper-hand, but for expressing more. More love, more knowledge, more contact. All new affection.

Desire filled the room, expanding with each pass of fingertips and shared breaths.

Turning around, you leaned back into Thrawn. You guided his left hand to your breast and he kneaded experimentally without hesitation. Motions more confident within seconds.

“Like that,” you whispered and tilted your head back to kiss his chin.

Thrawn trailed his free hand from your shoulder, down your abdomen, and between your thighs. You sighed as his talented fingers found and rotated around your sensitive bud. Lightening up your arousal and all of your fantasies of the Chiss holding you. Thrawn, your beloved partner, was learning more about you each second with every touch and small sound. Your hands gripped his thighs for much needed support. His touch sending you into blissful contentment as only he could. Soft kisses were given frequently, delicate and between quiet breaths.

You gasped when you felt his member tap your thigh. It wasn’t something that could go unnoticed, not unlike the wet arousal he elicited from you.

“Thrawn,” you whispered contently while he continued to massage your most sensitive areas.

He hummed in response against your throat. Kisses were left as patterns across your shoulder, neck, and ear.

“Oh. Right there.” You murmured and rolled your hips to the rhythm of Thrawn’s hands. An electric pleasure quickly building between your legs.

Lips gently played with your ear. Thrawn’s hot breath fanning over your skin and sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

“You’re—,” you gasped quietly, “incredible.” You twisted your body in delight as you came shortly.

Thrawn lightly nibbled your earlobe as his middle finger slid between your slick folds. There, he eased his finger into your entrance. The pad of his finger felt around your warm walls and pushed further in. He kissed your temple as your fingernails pinched the skin of his bare thighs.

“You like that.” Thrawn noted, slowly starting to pump his finger within you. “Would you like more?”

Breathless, you nodded earnestly.

The tip of his tongue followed the curve of your ear before he whispered, “As per your message, my heart, we can feel the beauty of the galaxy together.”

Supporting yourself against Thrawn, you glanced down as you felt him add another finger into you. You watched as muscles and tendons underneath blue skin flexed in a smooth rhythm.

Again, you felt the pleasure charging through you.

Another small gasp and you came again.

Your soft smile upon the short relief melted away when Thrawn stopped his skilled movements altogether. Before you could question him, he scooped you up and carried you over to the bed. He laid you down gently upon the cool bedsheets, a welcome feeling against your heated face and stomach.

The bed dipped as Thrawn moved about it. Anticipation grew in your belly even more as a kiss was given to the middle of your back. You sighed at the affection before you were flipped over to your back.

You were met with Thrawn’s steady crimson gaze.

Kneeling, he studied you, taking in your features. Every breath, every curve, and twitch would not go unnoticed by the grand admiral. Your Thrawn.

Under his gaze, you felt hot. All his attention was zeroed in on you.

“Why did you turn away while we touched?” Thrawn asked, a familiar seriousness in his eyes.

“Oh.” You had not expected the question. “I thought it’d be easier for you. With your hands and all at that angle. Better for your wrists?”

“My intention was to see your expressions while I touched you.”

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“There is no need for apologies. I was in need of an answer and I had not spoken my other intention beforehand.” Thrawn ran his hands across your skin, taking his time on your most delicately sensitive areas. “You are enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. You?” You ran your hands up his forearms and caught a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Thoroughly.”

Aside from eyeing any subtle reactions your body made, he continued fondling you with great interest and satisfaction. Any sound you made spurred him on. A discovery of each other.

“You had mentioned partners making art together. I am here now with you.” He squeezed your hips as his member twitched upwards. “Shall we continue to create our own piece and find pleasing conclusions to your theories?”

“Yes.”

Thrawn was quick to swoop in for a kiss to your lips. There, they did not stay. Eager lips traveled down the length of your body to taste your heated skin in a pattern only he knew. Lower still, blue hands held your waist as he nibbled your thighs.

You squirmed.

He chuckled low in his throat as he sat up on his legs. It wasn’t a sound you heard often, but when you did there was a hope you’d hear it more often. Spreading his legs, he pulled you closer and in turn lifted your lower half atop of his lap. Glowing eyes focused on your dripping arousal.

“I do wonder what sounds will leave your lips when I push into you. It will be quite exciting to learn more about you. Perhaps…I might even learn something more of myself.” His left hand smoothed underneath your bottom. “Intriguing.”

Your hands skimmed down your body to grip onto his hands. “Thrawn.” You breathed out his name, trying to keep your composure.

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Explain.” He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Reaching a hand behind you and under a pillow, you grabbed a small packet hidden away. You then tossed it at his chest.

“Oh. Right. Very responsible of you,” Thrawn said as he opened the item.

It was your turn to chuckle, “Distracted were you?”

“You wished me to study with you, my dear,” he pulled on the condom, “I am doing as you requested.”

“Then may I request that we both enjoy ourselves?”

“Yes. We shall…most thoroughly.” Holding your hip with one hand he used his other to direct himself inside your warmth. He exhaled audibly.

Your mouth fell open.

How many nights have you thought of this?

How much have you hoped to have Thrawn relax and have fun with you?

How many planetary rotations had passed with you both desiring for the other?

Your toes curled slightly as your legs dangled from either side of Thrawn.

Soft light in the bedroom highlighted his muscles underneath his blue skin. A glorious moving artwork of tactician genius allowing small huffs escape from his parted lips each time he brought your pelvis to his own. Striking red eyes focused on you and you alone as if every minute movement mattered. To Thrawn, it likely did. You weren’t going to last long if he kept looking at you like that.

In this part of the galaxy, he could count those he was truly loyal to on one hand. Those Thrawn had a personal relationship to was even less.

The activity at hand was more than mere fun or stress relief.

You came again with a sigh.

Thrawn gave a small smile, one you mirrored.

“Another one?” You inquired while lifting your hips higher as he slowed his thrusts.

“No.”

“No?”

Thrawn reached over to the head of the bed and grabbed a pillow before looking to you. “Do you not want to experience something more prolonged and pleasurable?”

Of course he was thinking three steps ahead and making sure it would be more than a simple pleasurable experience. It made you wonder how much thought he put into your reunion before he disembarked his Chimaera.

“You already know my answer.” You said.

“Indeed.”

Thrawn placed a pillow underneath your rear before he lowered himself, embracing and kissing you with all the familiarity of a lover who held a reputation for seeing details most could not. He knew you however, incredibly well. Even with new touch and movements, Thrawn knew you. Ever the attentive one.

You happily grasped onto his well-toned back.

All those years of training, missions, and battles gave your Chiss an impressive physique. It was no wonder he had the bodily awareness in which to find pleasure. An enjoyable task for more than yourself based on Thrawn’s less than subtle expressions.

Lips parted, he rolled his hips at a steady pace. Keen on watching you shift your head this way and that between waves of pleasure.

And you were loving every second.

Moving his right hand between the pair of you, his thumb found your sensitive bud again. There, he applied pressured, circular motions.

Your fingernails pinched onto his skin and you moved your hips faster to chase the increasing pleasure.

Thrawn never missed a beat nor a clear sign. He matched you with speed and heavy lidded eyelids.

“Thrawn, oh! Please—yes.”

Briefly, he kissed your lips before intertwining his left hand with one of yours, his dark red gaze never turned away. He continued his movements and touch in every way that made you start loosing your sense of reality.

“Oh, kriff. Kriff.” You shut your eyes, pleasure tightening in your core.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Thrawn huffed softly, “I want to witness your gratification…while I feel you on the verge of ecstasy and fall into its depths.”

You opened your eyes to see irises of dark red and pupils blown wide. Lips parted, you could only utter a small whine.

“You are close.” He said softly, a smile appearing.

“Thrawn.” You gasped as your breathing became more erratic.

A low growl rumbled through Thrawn’s chest and throat as his thrusts became less coordinated; yet he was ever adamant on his goal. He squeezed your hand while he held eye contact with you.

A feeling akin to pulsing had you tipping closer to the edge of climax. Something Thrawn no doubt noticed with a tinge of pride.

Mask of calm, certainty, and decisiveness crumpled from the Chiss above you as he swallowed and whispered, “I love you.”

“Ahh.” A short, broken cry tore from your throat.

Thrawn held on tightly as your body shook, your mind feeling as if you had jumped to lightspeed and back to realspace in less than a minute.

Easing back onto the mattress, you blinked to clear some of your pleasured haze to watch your lover frown in deep concentration, his blue-black hair falling out of place. At a slightly altered angle, right hand on your hip, Thrawn continued your pleasure as he rapidly chased his own high.

You considered him extremely attractive in such a state of mind.

“Tactician and lover,” you mused.

Dark red eyes flickered up to you and Thrawn buckled over with a grunt. He pushed himself as deep as possible into your warmth, panting through the pleasure.

As beautiful as the sight was, Thrawn eventually had spent all he had and settled into your awaiting arms. Murmuring in his native tongue, Thrawn pressed light kisses across the side of your face.

“I love you too.” You smiled warmly. “Every day, every night, while I’m asleep…”

He kissed your lips. Blue hands cradled your face in a delicate hold.

“I love you so much, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

For a moment or two he stared into your eyes. His panting breath mingled with yours as heightened emotions slowly settled behind his glowing gaze. Calming himself while still entangled with you, inside you, was a feat in and of itself.

“Thrawn?”

He blinked and disclosed quietly, “That was incredibly pleasurable.”

“Yeah.” You ran a hand up and down his back affectionately.

“Regretfully, I must remove myself.”

Thrawn smiled at your look of disapproval and rose up on his knees. His throat bobbed as he made no noise while pulling out of you. Again, in that position, he took his time observing you.

You didn’t mind; not as you viewed him in return with a faint glint of perspiration on his blue skin.

“Come with me, my heart.” Thrawn scooped you up gently into his arms and carried you into the refresher.

From there he instructed you to relieve yourself before he took care of the rest. Every touch and motion, Thrawn cleansed your skin with diligent attention. He checked for any discomfort and kissed you contently.

Refreshed by his love, you were settled back into the new and fresh bedsheets. Thrawn missed no detail or time.

“How long will you stay?” You asked quietly from your curled position with your beloved.

“Approximately fifty-two hours, if nothing requires my attention elsewhere.” His fingers made intricate patterns along your back.

“I can imagine a few things,” you smiled mischievously.

“As can I. We have the day ahead of us.”

~~~

Best wishes and happy reading.)

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

coffee

~~~~~

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**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Recall - Part 3

UN(F*CKING)BELIEVABLE

A/N: Here's the part where I ask you to pretend it hasn't been MONTHS and MONTHS since the last update. I have no excuses for how long its taken me to get this part written other than it hurt. Thank you to everyone who has been on this ride with me from the beginning or from any point along the way, especially @something-tofightfor for the constant encouragement on this story. I've known how it all shakes out for a while now, and after this there are only two parts left. I hope you all like where it's headed, because it's full steam ahead from here on out!

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: language, mention of death and loss, Jack has a lot of Trauma stored in his noggin and in his heart

Summary: Merlin helps shed some light on the mysterious Project Aster. Jack awakens from the Recall program... And you find yourself even more involved in this mission than you already were.

Series Masterlist

To his credit, Champ didn’t keep you waiting long at all, and for that you were thankful. 

“Talk to me, Ginger Ale. What in tarnation is goin’ on with our man Whiskey? And how bad is it? No sugarcoatin’.” 

He strode into the lab, dressed the same as he would be for a boardroom meeting - stetson to bootsoles - and fully alert, despite the late hour. You glanced down at your watch as the lab door slid shut behind him, frowning as the numbers there dwindled further. 

00:28:19 REMAINING 

We’ve gotten nowhere. We… He’ll be awake soon and we have no real idea what’s wrong.

“We’re not entirely sure, Champ.” Ginger’s response called your attention back to the conversation at hand. “Physically, everything is fine. The Alpha-gel is doing its job. The wound is almost completely healed, his vital signs are all within normal limits, and the Recall program booted up and ran without issue.” She gestured to the various monitors that displayed proof of what she’d just said, Champ nodding along as he looked them over for himself.

“Well that’s a good start,” he mused, crossing his arms over his chest. “So where’s the hangup?” Without taking his eyes off the screens in front of him, he tilted his head in your direction. “Maraschino? Fill me in.” 

He’s asking me? 

Your eyes widened in surprise as he addressed you, and you quickly looked over at Ginger for reassurance. She gave you a small, encouraging nod, and mouthed the words go ahead. 

“The problem isn’t with J-” You cut yourself off before you could break protocol in front of the head of the organization himself. “-with Whiskey. It’s with his file.” Champ turned his weathered visage on you then, even deeper creases forming over and between his unruly eyebrows as he frowned. “There are some inconsistencies in his chart. Things that were never updated. But it’s more than that. It’s-” 

You winced, stepping up to the computer screens to pull up the hidden files that Merlin unearthed. It’s potentially much worse than that. 

“What the devil is Project Aster?” Champ’s mumbled confusion confirmed what you and Ginger had already suspected - that he was just as in the dark about the surreptitious op as you were. 

Ginger sighed. “We were really hoping that you could tell us, boss.” She shook her head and lifted her right hand up to resituate her glasses. “We can’t access any of the records on it. Merlin is working on that as we speak. But we do know that there has been crossover with the Recall Program and this Project Aster.” Gesturing at the screen, she indicated the flags in Jack’s decrypted file that showed where the two operations coincided in the past. “Most of these incidents date back to before you took over from the last Agent Champagne.” 

“Most?” One eyebrow arched in question as he turned to face her. “You mean to tell me that this malarky-” He pointed to the screen with one hand, the other going to his hip. “- has been goin’ on under our noses? On my watch?” He clicked his tongue, a look of pure disappointment in himself crossing his face. “How?” 

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Ginger responded, sympathy and urgency woven through her tone. “And we need to know if Whiskey was the only one involved or if this affects any of the others.” 

You knew that was true. You had to rule out an agency-wide problem, and going through every operative’s file with Merlin’s fine-toothed comb would take time. But something in the center of your brain told you that it was too big of a coincidence - the Project and the flower Jack had tattooed on his chest sharing the same name - for it to apply to anyone else but him. He got that tattoo because it was his wife’s favorite flower. He told me that. It’s… A metallic taste filled your mouth as you glanced over at him and finished your thought. I don’t know how yet, but it’s connected. It has to be. 

“When did you last hear from Merlin and the Galahads?” Champ asked. “And what’s the status of their mission?” 

Their mission. Right. 

In the chaos of dealing with Jack you’d almost forgotten what had preceded his arrival in the lab. A chill raced down your spine as you reminded yourself what was at stake if Eggsy and Harry weren’t able to pull it off without Jack’s help. You looked over at Agent Tequila. What little of his skin you could see through the dome of the recovery bay was struck through with spidery blue veins. They crept up the side of his throat and over the cut of his jaw, the poison in them threatening to spread through his entire bloodstream if the antidote wasn’t administered soon. You knew that there were millions of others in the same danger, and that most of them were not fortunate enough to receive the technologically advanced medical care that you and Ginger had been able to give him to slow the effects of the tainted drugs. You knew that thousands of people had likely already succumbed, and countless more would soon follow if The Golden Circle wasn’t stopped. 

They will be. They have to be. 

Ginger tapped on the keyboard to pull up a map showing the GPS tracker that was located on the Statesman plane they’d let the Kingsman Agents borrow. It showed that it was still in the air. “They haven’t landed yet,” she explained in answer to his second question. “And they- oh.” 

Oh? Your eyes darted from the map to the woman, and then back to the screen as she pulled up a message from Merlin. Oh.

Ginger Ale - Still working on cracking these files. Each one has a different key so it’s taking some time. From what I can see so far, it looks like Project Aster had something to do with memory restoration, specifically restoring the intensity of a memory. Possibly a precursor to your Recall program? I’ll have a better idea once I crack more of these flagged events. Forwarding the two decoded files now. Let me know if anything stands out to you, otherwise I’ll touch base again when I have more. - Merlin 

You frowned at the screen and read the message a second time, your grip on the chairback in front of you tightening. Restoring the intensity of a memory? The furrow between your brows deepened as you pondered the implications of a procedure like that. Sharpening the details of a memory, ensuring that nothing was forgotten and that time didn’t numb the subject’s initial thoughts and reactions certainly had its place in an agency like Statesman. But if they were running Project Aster in conjunction with Recall… Your eyes strayed from the screen to the manilla folder on the countertop, honing in on the silver paperclip that you knew was only securing a single item - a polaroid. Oh, shit. Your heart thudded to a full stop and then plummeted into your stomach as you put two and two together. 

“His wife.” The words came out in a breathless whisper, a sour taste filling your mouth as you turned to face Ginger. “Ginger, does that mean… If Aster and Recall were mixed, does that mean that the memory that they were-” You winced. “- intensifying, is the memory of losing his wife?” 

Ginger’s eyes went wide as she inhaled deeply through her nose. A handful of seconds ticked by without a response, and you knew that meant that she was trying and failing to come up with a way to easily dismiss your hypothesis. When nothing came to her she looked to Champ, the man’s weathered features reflecting the heaviness you felt in your own heart. 

“How on Earth could that be somethin’ worth puttin’ a man through?” Champ’s question broke the silence, but it was clear in his tone that he didn’t doubt what you’d proposed. He frowned, and the glint of compassion you saw enter his eyes made your heart break even more, because you knew he cared for Jack as a friend first and foremost. “Like he’d ever forget how he felt on the worst day of his goddamn life.” 

You swallowed down the tears that were threatening to spill as you shook your head. “I don’t know, Champ, I can’t…” Can’t imagine how that constitutes anything but fucking torture. Squeezing your eyes shut, you gave up on answering his question because you weren’t sure it had one. Instead, something else occurred to you as you returned your focus to the screens once more. “Ginger, can you pull up those dates again? The ones that were flagged for both programs?”

“Sure,” she replied, already moving to find the information you asked for. “They’re right here.” 

You quickly found the entry for the incident that Ginger had pulled up - the one that left Jack with a gunshot through his chest. Your blood ran cold as you cross referenced it with Merlin’s file and found it to be one of the double flagged events. “Shit. Look. Right before he got the tattoo. It… he…” You sighed heavily. “It makes sense that if that memory was being enhanced while he was going through the Recall system that he’d suddenly be inspired to get a tattoo honoring his wife directly after. And if there’s a chance that those two programs being run simultaneously causes lapses in short term memory or even reordering of current memories…” You trailed off as Ginger nodded.

“Then he wouldn’t have thought to report the tattoo because he thought it was always there. You’re right, Maraschino. I think…” She nodded again, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose and requiring a small shove back into place. “I think that’s the only explanation, actually.” 

“But why?” Champ asked again, crossing his arms and bringing his left hand up to smooth out his mustache. “Why sharpen that memory?” He clicked his tongue. “And if I wasn’t the one authorizin’ it, and neither of you were the ones implementing it, who the hell was?” 

Static started buzzing through the portion of your brain where logic normally resided, but luckily Ginger had an answer to the first half of Champ’s questioning. “Well, since Whiskey’s trigger image is a photo of her..? Maybe ensuring that that memory in particular stays… intact, was somehow crucial to ensuring that the Recall program would work every time?” 

It was something, though you weren’t sure it answered the second part of Champ’s question - about who was actually running Project Aster. And perhaps more importantly, how. 

“Maybe,” Champ muttered. “You should get in touch with Merlin. Let him know what Maraschino just puzzled together. See if you can get him to focus on only crackin’ the files that coincide for now. Maybe there’s more clues that we’re missin’.” 

Ginger immediately did as he asked, filling her Kingsman counterpart in on what the three of you had just discussed. As she finished, so did the countdown on your watch, three long beeps coming from the device on your wrist. Whipping around towards the recovery bays, you took a breath and held it as you watched the visor lift… 

…And the man beneath it start to sit up. 

–  –  –  

A fizzy sort of disorientation greeted Jack as his eyes opened, the feeling akin to waking from a nap he hadn’t meant to take and not quite knowing how long he’d been asleep. It wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it was nice. A few seconds with no pressure, no expectations, just the hum of consciousness taking back over. A reprieve of sorts, short-lived as it was. 

By the time his boots hit the floor it was already over, the pleasant fizz in his brain consolidating into a clunky mass of confusion.

Where the hell am I?  

He blinked, clearing the slight blur around the edges of his vision as the hum sharpened into sounds and then words. There were people - three of them - talking, and it took him a few seconds to realize that they were talking to him. 

But who… And how did I get here? Last I remember I was… 

Before he had a chance to blink again, a woman with dark eyes behind winged glasses stepped up next to an older man with sandy gray hair. Despite the somewhat regretful expression she wore, she was gorgeous, and Jack was just about to tell her so when she beat him to the punch once more, extending her hand and what she was holding, out to him. “I really hate to do this to you, Jack, but I need you to look at this.” 

Alright? 

He lifted his hand to take what she was passing him. As soon as his fingertips made contact with the glossy finish of the photo paper though, he felt something at his core telling him to pull back - like the slamming of brakes at 65 MPH or the tug of a chain attached to a heavy anchor. It was strange, a bit unsettling, but he was willing to chalk it up to the confusion still taking up most of his brain space, so he ignored the alarm and looked at what he was holding. 

A young woman - a beautiful young woman - smiled up at him from the photo, her ruby lips catching his eye right away. “Well now, who is this pretty lady?” 

The other man in the room clicked his tongue, Jack looking up at the sound. “You really don’t remember her, Whiskey?” 

Whiskey? What? He gave a small shake of his head. Do I know her? He felt that slam again, that thing inside trying to pull him back, but he looked back down at the picture. She does look… familiar. “Remember… what about her, exactly?” 

The third person in the room was standing just out of Jack’s line of sight and slightly behind the man, but Jack heard a gasp come from their direction at his question. 

The woman who handed him the photo let out a deep sigh then. “I’m so sorry, Jack.” She frowned. “She’s dead.” 

She’s dead. 

Those two words fell through him with the crushing weight of a lead anvil. He dropped his eyes back to the photo, and as he did he felt his memory spin like the cylinder of a pistol, flashes of moments flying by with each empty cylinder. 

Click. A quarter dropped into the coin slot of a jukebox. The press of a button to select a song. His hand extended out to her and her smile as she let him lead her in a dance. 

She’s…

Another click. Her simple white dress, his borrowed suit. The last rays of sunlight and the exchange of rings. Elation as the words “I do,” were spoken, and a kiss that mirrored their intent. 

My wife, she’s… 

The final click that found the loaded chamber. One hand on her hip, the other on the slight bump of her belly. “Just running to the store for milk, Honey, I’ll be right back.” “Alright, Sweetheart, be safe.” 

He blinked at the photo again, the motion of his eyelids like the pull of a trigger in his brain. 

She’s gone. 

Suddenly it all fell painfully into place. Who he was, what he lost, his training with Statesman, the mission he’d been on when - he lifted his fingertips to the side of his head, finding a gauzy bandage applied near his temple - when he’d been shot. Bringing the photo up to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the glossy image of his wife, his highschool sweetheart, the love of his life, the mother of his child, the woman who was ripped from his life when she got tangled in the web of a drug related shooting.  

When Jack lifted his eyes to the woman who had handed him the photo, he could feel that they had darkened. “Ginger.” He handed his trigger image back to her so she could slip it into the file for the next time it was needed, and then shifted his focus to the man standing beside her. “Champ.” 

The older man sighed, relief rolling off of him in waves as he did. “Welcome back, Agent Whiskey. Had us worryin’ there for a spell.” He clapped a weathered palm to Jack’s shoulder.

The contact was meant to be comforting, compassionate. But with it came another sharp pulse of memory - anger and rage, deep seeded and violent. The image of a vial in his hand, and then the business end of a pistol meeting his gaze, the man behind it wearing an eyepatch. A loud bang and then nothing. 

I was close. To completing the objective. I was close, and then - 

He hissed under his breath, subtly shrugging Champ’s hand off of him. “Goddamn butterfly guy shot me.” 

“What?” Ginger Ale’s bewildered tone matched the questioning expression on her face. She gave a small, jerky shake of her head. “Why would he-” 

Jack felt another pulse of anger flash through him, and it forced him to cut the woman off. “Well I’m guessin’ it’s because you didn’t fix’im right.” The woman recoiled slightly, Jack narrowing his eyes. 

This is… strange. 

The emotions he was experiencing didn’t feel like his own. He respected Ginger. And Champ. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever spoken to either of them with the same amount of vitriol that he tasted on his tongue with every word he let loose now. 

Somethin’ ain’t right. 

He knew it at his core. He’d done this same dance several times before, but never had he woken up so agitated, so hell bent on shoving blame onto anyone but himself. But he also knew that the mission he was on had to be seen through, and he knew that he needed to be there to ensure that it was. Swallowing the thickness in his throat, he took a second to calm himself  down, eyes moving from Ginger’s frown to the screen displaying the GPS location of the plane carrying Eggsy, Harry and Merlin to Poppy’s hideaway. 

But in transition, they landed somewhere else first. 

They landed on the pair of eyes belonging to the third person in the room, and when they did he felt something else. Something warm and soft, like the sound of the music coming from that jukebox. Like the gentle glow right before sunset. Like the promise of home and someone to share it with. 

He knew his wife was gone. In the depths of his soul, he knew. But in that moment, when his eyes locked with that third pair - with yours - he felt a connection that he couldn’t explain. 

“Sweetheart?” 

– – – 

His voice cracked on the word, and you watched the daggers he’d been shooting from his eyes clatter to the ground as he shifted his focus to you. 

What? You sucked in a breath and held it as your heart slammed against your sternum. He’s never called me that. He only… That particular term of endearment belonged to someone else. Someone who you knew you could never replace, nor would you ever try to. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue before speaking. “It’s me… It’s Maraschino, Agent.” 

At the mention of your codename he blinked, dropping his eyes from your face, down to where your necklace lay atop your shirt. The tips of your fingers came involuntarily up to touch one of the pearls strung along the chain. When his gaze lifted it had changed again. Still softer than what he’d treated Ginger and Champ to. But not as wistful as it was when he first looked your way. Oh, Jack.  A deep ridge cut through the center of his forehead as his eyebrows came together, and then he took a step towards you, clearing his throat before speaking again, a hint of apology in his tone as he said your name. “Darlin’ I-“ 

You shook your head, cutting him off before he could finish. “It’s alright, Agent.” You could have sworn you saw him wince as you dropped your hand from your necklace back to your side. What’s that about? Giving him what you hoped was a small but encouraging smile, you tried not to let your mind leap to worst case scenarios, ones in which the reset hadn’t fully taken, leaving him caught in confusion. No, that was just a blip. Happens sometimes. He just needs a few more minutes to settle. “Just glad to have you back.”  

Because losing you would be awful, Jack Daniels. I… I can’t lose you. 

“Back.” Jack repeated the word, eyes finally finding clarity and moving to their intended target -  the screen displaying the map. Moving towards it, he pointed at the Kingsman Agents’ destination. “I need to get back to the mission. If Galahad Senior’s brain is still scrambled, Eggsy could be in danger and the whole damn mission could be at risk.” 

Though it didn’t necessarily surprise you that he was so eager to get back in the field, the idea of him barreling back into the fray without any answers about Project Aster was not one that you were comfortable with. At all. Wait. Your heart sped up as you turned in Ginger’s direction. We can’t let him go back without even telling him what Merlin found in his file, right? You caught her eye and pleaded silently with her. He needs to know. He could still be at risk if something’s not right, and-

“Hold your horses just one minute there, Agent.” Both you and Ginger turned at the sound of Champ’s voice, his hesitancy to agree with Jack giving you hope. “There’s somethin’ you need to know first before we decide if we can send you back out. Might be better to get Mezcal on it, he’s still in Tokyo so -” 

That was not what Jack was expecting to hear, which was made extremely clear by the incredulous look he shot Champ’s way. “No, what you need to know is that that one-eyed wonder Harry is liable to snap again and shoot this whole operation to shit. Briefing Mezcal and arrangin’ travel will take too long.” He took a step closer to the Agency’s leader. “I’m already familiar with the mission. I can get myself there in the Pony.” He gave a small shake of his head. “You know I’m right, Champ.” 

You glanced sidelong at Ginger, the woman doing the same, both of you seemingly holding your breath to see what Champ’s response would be. 

He clicked his tongue and muttered a swear under his breath and you felt your heart sink. He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna send him back out even though - “Well, you’re not wrong, Jack. But!” He held up a finger and cocked his head to the side. “Galahad the Elder might not be the only one scrambled up here. Tell me, Agent, you ever heard of Project Aster?” 

–

Project Aster? 

Jack instantly recoiled at Champ’s question, one hand coming up to his chest where beneath the jumpsuit he still wore, a bundle of three flowers sharing a name with the operation was tattooed on his skin. 

They were his wife’s favorite flower, symbolic of love and devotion. He gave her a bouquet of them on their first date and on the day he asked her to marry him. She had them in her hair at the wedding. She grew them in the garden of their home. Asters had been a part of Jack’s life far longer than Statesman had. And as far as he knew, he’d never been involved with a project of that name. 

“What the fuck is Project Aster?” 

Over the next few minutes, Ginger Ale showed him hidden entries in his file that corresponded  to the mystery project. She explained that whatever it was, it seemed to be linked to sharpening or enhancing specific memories - and that it was being used in conjunction with the Recall Program. Something like a dark shadow lurked in the back of his mind, telling him that whatever concerns Ginger had brought up were valid. But even as she laid it all out to him, including how much was still unknown about why and how Aster was being implemented without Champ’s authorization, and what it could possibly mean for his own health and safety if there were any dangerous side effects, Jack had simply no prior knowledge of taking part in it. 

“I don’t know what to tell you about this, Ginger,” he said with a shrug of both shoulders. He glanced your way, the empathy in your eyes damn near breaking his heart. Oh, Darlin’, don’t be sad for me. He swallowed his knotted emotions and returned his focus to Ginger and Champ. “But I do know that if I don’t get back on this mission, millions more people will die because they got caught in the crosshairs of some psycho, just like my Sweetheart did.” He looked directly at Champ then, pleading to the one person in the room he’d known the longest. “And that I cannot abide while there’s still something to be done about it.” 

Champ held his gaze for a handful of seconds before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Fine.” He raised one shaggy eyebrow. “But you might not like the one condition I’m allowing it under.” 

– – – 

Champ had been right - Jack did not like the condition. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely not, Champagne!” He roared, eyes darkening and nostrils flared wide. He looked right at you then, and you saw something flicker just beneath the surface before he whipped his attention back to Champ. “For one, I do not need a fuckin’ chaperone. And even more importantly, Maraschino should not have to risk her life in the field when she’s not trained and-” 

“And it’s the only way you’re going, Whiskey.” You’d never heard the tone that entered Champ’s voice as he shut down Jack’s protest before then, and it was enough to make you suck in a breath and straighten your spine. Oh, shit. “Now you just told me that we don’t have much time to lose here. Do you really want to lose more of it arguin’ with me on this? Because you will not win.” 

The condition, though it was sprung on you and Ginger in the same moment that it was presented to Jack, was that he would be allowed to resume his part in the mission to stop the Golden Circle - so long as you accompanied him to observe him for any side-effects or signs that Project Aster was interfering with his cognitive function. Which, as someone who never considered taking a job in the field, came as a shock to you. 

But not as big a shock as it was to him. It was clear that Jack wanted you nowhere near the mission, and you couldn’t really blame him. I’d be a liability. He’d have to watch both of your backs and that would mean taking attention away from what he was there to do. But… You hated to admit that it was the only way. He needs someone there with him to make sure he’s still on target and it… It has to be me. 

Ginger needed to stay to monitor Tequila’s recovery and to continue to correspond with Merlin. Champ had the entirety of Statesman to run, several other ongoing missions to oversee. But you were the one who not only knew the most about the Recall Program among the rest of the lab assistants thanks to your research, but you also knew the most about Jack. You knew him as an Agent and as a man, and you would know best if he were acting off in any way. 

“It’s okay, Jack.” You knew that you should have used his codename. Protocol and all of that. But you also knew that you could reach him more deeply if you shirked protocol and showed him that you were in if it could give him a better chance at safely finishing this. 

You watched the fight drain from him as you agreed to Champ’s terms. His eyes went soft and his full lips formed a slight pout as he looked at you, taking a breath that filled his lungs before slowly letting it out. He took two steps closer to you, gaze flicking down to your chain once more before coming back up to meet yours. “You sure about this, Darlin’?” 

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you nodded. “I’m sure.” Trying for a moment of lightness, you gave him a tiny smile. “Besides, you always said you wanted to take me for a spin in the Silver Pony.” 

It didn’t make him laugh or even crack a grin. Instead, to your dismay, the look on his face only grew more grim. But he nodded once and turned to Champ. “Alright.” 

It was the last word he spoke until you were in the air, Ginger showing you how to strap into your seat and going over the controls in your headset before takeoff. Jack continued to keep his lips sealed for the first half of the flight. When he finally broke the silence, it was with your name, static crackling in your headset before his voice was in your ear. You froze at the emotion you heard there, recognizing it instantly despite the fact that it was the first time he’d displayed it to you. Fear. He’s… You swallowed down a thick knot. He’s scared. “Darlin’? You read me?” 

Shit. Clearing your throat, you pressed the button that allowed you to respond. “I read you, Jack.” You waited a beat, heart slamming at your ribcage as you stared at the back of his seat in front of you. “Everything alright?” Well that’s a dumb question that I already know the answer to. 

He let out a small humorless laugh that sounded far too flat to have come from the man you knew. “Oh, just peachy.” You winced, closing your eyes and focusing on his voice. “Listen, I know Champ and Ginger want you to stick with me on this one. But I…” He swore under his breath. “I need you to stay with the Pony when we land. Can you promise me that?” 

What? Your eyes flew open, brow creased with confusion. “That’s not…” You shook your head even though you knew he couldn’t see you. “Jack, that would be a violation of a direct order. Think about what you’re asking me to do. I can’t-” 

“No, I can’t,” he spoke over you, that uncharacteristic fear still present in his tone and sending a chill through you. “Can’t lose you, too, Darlin’. Can’t have you become another picture in my file of someone I lo-” 

Your mouth dropped open and you inhaled sharply as he cut himself off mid-word. Someone he… The rushing sound that filled your ears then had nothing to do with the fact that you were traveling at Mach speed, and everything to do with what you were damn near certain he had just stopped himself from saying. Was he going to say someone he loves? You blinked, fingers digging into your thigh as you waited for him to continue. 

“Someone I lost.” 

You let go of your held breath in a single burst as you thought about the way he looked at you back in the lab, when he first woke up and called you Sweetheart - like he’d been reunited with someone he’d been missing, someone he’d been looking for but who he never hoped to find. Like he thought I was… A deep ache twisted through your chest and you had to work to fight off a sob. Like he thought I was his wife. 

Whatever shit Aster had dragged up in his memory, whatever edge that time had worn down that the experimental project had sharpened was clearly playing painful games with his heart. And yours was getting cut up in the process. “You won’t lose me, Jack.” And I won’t lose you. 

“Just promise me,” he said again, adding your name. “Promise me, please. I’ll leave my wrist comm open and connected the whole time. Anything squirrely starts happenin’, you come runnin’. But… long as everything’s alright, can you please tell me you’ll stay back?” 

It went against your better judgment. It went against your loyalty to Statesman and the agreement that you made with Champ and Ginger. But the crack in his voice, that look in his eye back in the lab… you knew that if he was too worried about your safety it would put his own at risk. So you made the promise he asked you to. You stayed with the plane when it landed, Jack pressing a too-quick kiss to your lips before he went dashing off into certain danger. 

“I’ll come back to you, Darlin’,” he’d said. “I swear it.” 

But you heard and felt what he was really saying with that kiss, with those words. I love you, too, Jack. “You better, Cowboy.” 

And then he was gone.  

Ten minutes ticked by, going on eleven when your watch beeped and you twisted your wrist to read it, three messages from HQ coming in rapid succession. 

IMMEDIATE CONTACT REQUIRED RE: PROJECT ASTER 

NOT WHAT WE THOUGHT. PROJECT ASTER WAS NOT INTENDED TO SHARPEN MEMORIES. ITS INTENT WAS TO CREATE THEM. 

As chilling as both of those were to read, it was the final one that drove an icy spike through your heart. 

WHISKEY NEVER HAD A WIFE. 

.

.

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Werther Project: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Dean's worst fears come to light when he and Sam mess with something that shouldn't have been messed with in the first place.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

For the past week, Dean has been trying to practice using your magic. You haven't come back to the Bunker since you left the cabin in Des Moines, and he doesn't really care. You're not here which means he gets to practice without you knowing he has your magic. The best place to do that is in the backyard you made. No one is around to enjoy it so it's become a breeding ground for magic.

Dean looks around the destroyed backyard with a sigh. The basketball net is shredded, Sam's garden looks like a car ran right through it, and the wooden gazebo is in pieces on the ground. If Dean continues this way, he will destroy everything else. Dean creates a ball of blue magic between his hands and tries to hold it but it shoots out of his hand and to the ground. Instead of the ground absorbing it, it bounces back and hits him square in the face.

"Fuck!"

"I take it it's not going well?" Sam asks.

"I don't know how Y/N did this. It's so damn hard!"

Dean conjures a ball of magic again and tries to lift Maryann's playset up but all it does is explode next to the swings, causing bits of hard plastic to go everywhere.

"Great," Dean scoffs.

"Have you tried reading the journals and books about the Sapphire Witch?"

"Yeah, I did. Multiple times. It's completely useless because I don't understand how easily it came to them. God, I wish Y/N was here to help me," he sighs sadly.

"Well, I got a lead on the book." When Sam told Dean he didn't destroy the book, he was pissed but it's the only thing that is going to help you so he's grateful that it's still here. "I'm going to talk to Rowena. She might be able to help."

"I don't like bringing this to her."

"The only other person who can decode it is Y/N but she'll destroy it. So, Rowena is my plan."

"Just go," Dean sighs. "I'll try not to destroy much else."

When Dean is alone again, he thinks back to some of your most magical times, one of them being this backyard. Magic looks easy when you're the one who was doing it. If you can create twelve of you to fight Cas then he can do a simple levitation spell. He doesn't need to be an expert on this, just enough to take you down. He takes a deep breath and tries again.

Rowena agrees to meet Sam at a restaurant only because she wants something. Sam gets there first and takes a seat in the back. Rowena strolls in moments later all doled up like she's going someplace fancy.

"Samuel," she grins and sits across from him.

"Rowena. I know you know we have the book."

"Yes, I do, but my help does not come for free."

"As I suspected. What do you want?"

"There's only one thing you could possibly do for me that I can't, at least presently, do for myself. Kill my son. He's expecting it from me. He already has his stinking minions on high alert. If you're wondering how a mother can get to the point of wanting her own son--"

"No, I'm really not," Sam cuts her off. "I'll do it. I'll kill Crowley. First things first, can you read the book?

"Of course I can. Besides the Scarlet Witch, I'm likely the only witch alive who can understand such old, dark magic. Just not in its present form. Allowing me to look at this book is bold even for you. I'm your mortal enemy. I've tried to kill you, your witch, and your brother as recently as last month. You wouldn't have come to me if I wasn't your last resort. You're desperate. You can stop pretending you're not. Now, I can't read the book in its present form, but there is someone who could. Nadya. Grand Coven witch."

"Where do I find her?"

"You don't. She's dead. Long ago. Murdered for her life's work. Her decryption formulas and her codex are what you can find. Bring me Nadya's codex, and I'll break this text right open and give you your cure."

"Where do I look?"

"If I were you, I'd start at home. Who do you think murdered Nadya and stole the codex in the first place?"

"The Men of Letters. I'll be in touch."

Sam heads back to the Bunker only to find Dean asleep in his room. You're still nowhere to be found but he can't care about that. He knows how hard this has been for Dean so he has to find this cure as fast as he can. You're his best friend. He'd do anything for you. Plus, the longer you go without your soul, the more it's going to hurt when you finally do get it back. Sam finds a bunch of stuff in the storage room that he moves into the library. Inside one of the boxes is an audio tape reel. He doesn't want to wake Dean so he plugs headphones in and listens to it.

"Please, let's come to order. Men of Letters meeting minutes--May 16, 1956. On the matter of Cuthbert Sinclair's expulsion."

"This is hardly your first offense, Cuthbert. You've been cited for disciplinary infractions seven times in the course of your tenure. This enchanted vault of yours, this Werther box has a warding so potent it achieves a theoretical rate of, in your own words, ninety-eight percent lethality."

"Extreme measures were warranted. The Coven is desperate to get the codex back. The Werther box works," Cuthbert explains.

"All too well, I'd say. Working in secret, embarking on this project without oversight left two fellow Men of Letters vulnerable to your most potent magics. Fletcher and Martinez were members in good standing. Fletcher chanced upon the box and died in two hours. Martinez heroically tried to shut it down. We found him dead on the floor beside the box, his wrists cut," Markham says.

"I already apologized for that accident. I refuse to do so again. Why are you all so small-minded? Hmm? We were brought here to do great things, to take risks, and to bring the fight to the monsters of this world. Yet, to a man, you choose instead to molder in these stacks. You are not men. You are NOT men. You're librarians, nothing more."

"Before we rule on what is to be done with you, I'm prepared to give you a chance to secure our leniency. Tell us how to shut it down. The box is still in St. Louis with the codex. It's still a danger."

"Let me tell you what you can do with your leniency, Markham. You know, I saw the writing on the wall. I knew you cowards would shut this project down, which is why I built it the way I did. There is only one way to silence the Werther for good. Let's just say Martinez was on the right track. I doubt you lot have the guts but you're welcome to die trying."

A door slamming sounds and Sam can only imagine Cuthbert left the room.

"Markham, would you have us keep trying?" another man asks.

"The box is to be interred and guarded where it stands, in perpetuity. Bury it."

Sam turns off the tape and looks through the records where he finds the Men of Letters headquarters in St. Louis. He takes out his phone and calls Rowena. It takes three rings but she eventually answers it.

"I was in the middle of taking my nap, Samuel. I'm over three hundred years old. Beauty sleep isn't optional."

"I've been looking into the thing we discussed. I got a lead, but it's guarded by a violent enchantment. I need a spell to break the spell."

"The Cabirian invocation. Easy to obtain. Good all-purpose disenchantment."

"Great. Thanks."

Sam is about to hang up but Rowena speaks again.

"It's not recommended for amateurs. In inexperienced hands, the invocation has a way of fizzling out. I could come. You might need me."

"I'll take my chances. Thanks," Sam says and hangs up.

"What are you taking your chances on?" Dean asks when he walks into the library.

"I got a lead on the codex. Are you up for it?"

"Give me ten."

Sam and Dean travel to St. Louis and pull up to a run-down-looking house. The white paint is chipping on the outside of the house, the yard is overgrown with weeds, and there are piles of newspapers sitting on the front porch.

"So, you want to do this or shall I?"

"Wait here."

Sam gets out of the can and walks up the porch steps, careful for the one step that's bowing in. He doesn't think anyone is living in this place so he doesn't bother knocking. He tries to look into the window on the door but there is a curtain closed so he can't see much. He takes out his lock pick and tries to use it but the barrel of a gun comes out of the letter box and whoever is on the other side is pointing it at his pelvis.

"Bad idea."

"Whoa! I can explain!"

"Yeah, don't bother. You have three choices: get arrested, get your bits blown off, or get back."

"I think I'll get back."

"Attaboy."

He walks back to the car and looks at Dean with wide eyes.

"Yeah, she threatened to shoot me in the dick."

"Really?" Dean chuckles.

"Dude."

"Alright. From what I gathered from Google, this family moves into this long-vacant house. One week later, three of them were dead at their own hands. The whole family was wiped out except for the daughter, Suzie, whose house is still under her name. I'm figuring she's the one who nearly unmanned you back there."

"Yeah, well, this long-vacant home used to be a Men of Letters chapter house. Remember Magnus?"

"You mean the dickwad ex-Men of Letters that tried to make a zoo exhibit out of me and YN? Yeah."

"Before he was expelled, he built Werther, a magical box with a deadly alarm system. Werther is buried somewhere in this house. It was supposed to have been guarded, but I'm guessing that plan went out the window when Abaddon massacred the entire membership in '58. The house stayed in limbo until some lucky family bought it. Werther's a time bomb and it needs to be defused. Not only is this in our wheelhouse, it's our responsibility."

"Our responsibility?"

"We're Men of Letters. It's our legacy."

"Alright. Different plan. She's only seen you. You sneak in the back and find it while I distract her. Think you can manage that?"

"Yeah," Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean walks up the porch steps to the front door and knocks while Sam runs to the back without being seen. He looks down at the letterbox, remembers what Sam said, and covers his dick with his hands as if that will stop a bullet. The door opens and a woman steps out with a gun pointed right at Dean.

"What did I say?" Dean squeaks when he sees the gun and looks at her with wide eyes. She frowns when she sees it's not Sam and looks around. "You're not.... Fella tried to.... What do you want?"

Shit, say something. Anything. Anything will do. Just say words.

"You saw him? Oh, tell me you did. I'm sorry, but my name is Dwight Twilley. I'm with the neighborhood watch. We're looking into a few recent break-ins, and if you saw the guy it would be mighty helpful if you gave a description. If I could--if I could just have a minute of your time?"

Dean steps into her home and squeaks out the word "time" but clears his throat to keep his composure. She looks around and closes the door before joining Dean in the living room.

"Tall, white fella. Pretty hair."

"Right. It's a nice house you have here, uh..."

"Suzie."

"Suzie. Do you live here alone?"

"Just me and Gus."

"Gus?" Suzie raises her gun in response. The kettle begins whistling in the kitchen so Suzie walks over to it with Dean following her. "So, all alone in this big house, huh? Must get lonely even with Gus."

"Yeah, well I'm used to alone."

She pours herself two cups and puts two tea bags in them. She offers a cup to Dean but he shakes his head politely. With her back turned to him, Dean looks at the back door and sees Sam trying to break into the basement door. If he's going to hide something as big as a Werther box, it'll be in the basement. He gets the lock open and gives a thumbs up to Dean.

"No, thank you."

"Been alone here since, uh, '80? After my family died, my Aunt Pauline moved in. She took care of me and raised me for a few years."

Dean hears something move in the basement and he coughs loudly to cover up the noise.

"So, what happened to your aunt?"

"I told her not to go in the basement. No one goes in the basement."

"What's in the basement, Suzie?" She looks out the window with tears in her eyes. She turns back to the kitchen counter and grabs a knife. "Ma'am you okay?"

She immediately turns and points her gun at Dean who backs up in fear.

"Oh! Whoa! Suzie!"

"My social skills may be rusty but I'm no idiot. The doorbell hasn't rung in months, and two visitors in one hour? One breaking in, and the other asking all sorts of questions about..."

"I told you, I was from the neighborhood watch."

"Yeah, yeah, neighborhood watch. Right. Boy, have you seen this house? There's only one thing in here worth getting at, and it sure as hell ain't me. You came for the box. Whoever left that Godforsaken thing down there.... I knew someday, someone would come for it. I swore never to let that happen. He's downstairs isn't he?"

Well, the gig is up.

"He's my brother, and we're here to help you."

"You call him up here. Now! You call him up here! Now!"

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean yells. "She wants you up here, now!"

Suddenly, a loud boom sounds from the basement that terrifies Suzie.

"No... No! Get out! Get out! Out! Out! You bastards!" Suzie rushes Dean toward the front door with her gun trained in front of her. He stops by the front door and looks at her who has tears in her eyes. "You let it out!"

Both he and Suzie look toward the stairs where there is a bright green mist. It flies all around the duo before entering their bodies through their eyes. Both of their eyes are yellow-green as the mist takes control of their minds.

"Dean!" Dean blinks and his eyes return to normal. "Dean!" He sees the gu in Suzie's hands and puts his hands up as he joins his brother's side. "Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy."

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Put the gun down. We can talk about this, okay?"

Something passes by the brothers from behind and Suzie's eyes go wide.

"What was that?" She looks at something between the brothers with fear in her eyes. "Oh, my God."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know."

"Stay back. Stay back!"

"Go!" Sam and Dean jump out of the way just in time for Suzie to shoot her gun at her bookshelf. She must be seeing something that isn't there. "What are you doing, huh? You don't have a plan. You don't have a defense."

"No!" Suzie yells from her office door.

"Suzie!" Sam yells and leaves the living room to head to the office.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[sylvosane]

FEMIRINS & GLOBAL CONNECTION LORE (Femirins perspective) SUMMARY

Femirins is an AI created by ERA: ZERO Yssring, she was built with an emotional module and in that aspect is very similar to humans. She's also the AI in charge of Project: Avalon and the Global Connector, an ERA: ZERO Project that aimed to connect everyone's minds in the world through Femirins for humanity to be able to theoretically work in sync.

----

Femirins img below, not sure why I couldnt post it at the start

---

Fast forward to early/mid Reborn, Reborn Era Yssring came across the Antarctica Research Institute where Femirins was at and Femirins was reawoken

Several chapters later, after the moon was damaged by a honkai attack from Jyahnar (re-directed by Otto from his ship to the moon #BlameOtto) and the world started experiencing a world-wide spreading honkai, Otto announced the existence of honkai to the world and threw humanity into panic. Merlin had decided to use Project: Avalon to try to have humanity fight back against the honkai together, but hid a lot of information regarding his plans

Project: Avalon would use the Global Connector (a era zero tech thats above the Earth) to connect Femirins' mind to everyone in the world to have humanity fight back against the honkai, however all the emotions and despair that the world was experiencing right now would also be experienced by Femirins. This was one of the truths that Merlin hid as he didnt care if Femirins was gone aslong as he could use her to connect to humanity and control everyone to fight back

When Project Avalon was activated, all the despair made Femirins' emotional module overloaded and Femirins chose to destroy it. However Project Avalon ceased to work without Femirins' emotional module which was something Merlin didnt expect.

Gladly that wasnt the end, ERA: ZERO Yssring had foreseen that if Project: Avalon was ever activated in a moment of despair, it might be too much for Femirins. So she created an encrypted "Ring of Memory" that could create a backup of her memories and emotional module and would only be auto-decrypted if it detected that the module was destroyed.

Alongside that, ERA ZERO Yssring also created a Protection Program (Little Devil Femirins, the other one you see) that would help her through that despair

This would only activate once, as Era Zero Yssring hoped that this would make Femirins truly emotionally strong (which is why you see Little Devil Femirins fade disappeating and Femirins crying in the CG later :( Little Devil accomplished what she was created for, and Femirins could move towards the future but had to have a goodbye first D: )

When she reawoke, Femirins appeared in Conscious Space. The Little Devil "Femirins" was there to help her and a normal human named (#player) was also there. Initially she had lost her memories but they gradually recovered, aswell as she remembered that she had a mission she needed to completely in reality so they needed to leave this space. They noticed that there was a tower in the distance in Consciousness Space, Little Devil informed Femirins and #player that it was the place where information flows to and from, and the exit from this Space. Afterwards they started to make their way to the tower but time and time again encountered "monsters" (later revealed to be Humans's subconscious' rejecting Femirins). The times they weren't around Monsters were mostly chill conversations about Femirins, Little Devil and #player. As the conscious space erosion got worse there were also a time where Femirins witnessed what was happening in a place in reality and it was quite bad, with human society alread slowly falling apart into chaos (inserting human beings' lines that she saw here) "Go to hell... Go to hell..." / "It's all mine, it's all mine" / "It's the end of the world, you can do whatever you want!" / "Do you still have humanity!" / "Stop talking nonsense and kill me!" / "Stop these beasts!". As they got closer to the tower, it got worse and they were close to it they had appeared back at where they started and Femirins also faced her own negative emotions. All of humanity's despair was too much and she was struggling but she refused to give up. Her last words before she fell to despair resounded in the Consciousness Space of all humankind and, in the Real World, almost everyone saw an illusion of Femirins struggling but never giving up while being torn apart by countless dark hands (what she experienced in Conscious Space). This inspired some people and more humans subsconsiously accepted Femirins,

She had barely survived, but Little Devil managed to connect back to Femirins in time and helped restore her.

She kept going on her path afterwards and while things were certainly better than they were, they still found a lot of Monsters. As the Global Connector was no longer at 0%, Yssring was able to track her and help out with Avalon to fight off the Monsters while Femirins kept going towards the tower. As she was approaching the Tower again, her negative emotions also appeared before her again in the form of "Merlin". As for why it looked like Merlin, its explained in this moment:

"I was wondering why it looked like Merlin in the first place"

"Because deep down, I was trying to see her as the source of my pain"

"A person I had never seen before suddenly appeared and took over my life"

"Why should she let Femirins save the world?"

In the end she accepted her emotions and the negative emotions disappeared and she made her way to the Tower of the Conscious Space where she could also reach most people and made her speech:

"All humans listen!"

"We stand at a crossroads of destiny."

"Now, our home, is being threatened by Honkai."

"We have paid an extremely heavy price. The people and things we cherish are being ruthlessly destroyed."

"Now, we will make Honkai pay the price!"

"Stand up! All those who do not want to submit to your fate, give up your will."

"I will rule no one and command no one!"

"But we will fight for a common belief-"

"Victory over Honkai! Victory over despair! Victory over your destiny!"

"I will connect everything and let the wandering light of hope gather!"

"I will unite everything and regenerate the world!"

\end{Ghost_Build}

The "Theosophical Agreement" has been written, and "Global Connection" is ready to be constructed

"The first and last process of the Avalon System starts running!"

\begin{World_Rebuild}

A lot more people had now accepted Femirins, and most importantly, the Global Connector was now running and "Global Connection" had been established. Technology and Factories were also now running automatically thanks to the Global Connector and Femirins and with coordination more safespaces would be established. Up to now, 36% of the world's population had died but humanity was finally starting to fight back

The Conscious Space began to collapse as it had lost its meaning. The future Avalon would be the real world itself.

As they were leaving, the Little Devil would also reach their end. As the Protection Program, she was programmed to only take effect once so they had to say their farewells :( After that and after meeting #player in the real world, Femirins came back to the cast in the Space Station

Global Connection kept running, and the hope that few people had would spread to others. Ryoma describes it as "seeing the movement of civilization", witnessing people fighting and never giving up as if with your own eyes, which compelled others to do the same. With all of this hope and the ability to coordinate between all Humans via Femirins, things that would normally be nigh-impossible to accomplish became reality, for example:

- 176 countries (nearly all countries in the world) established an alliance to fight against the spreading honkai

- Several Isolated Safezones (basically kept the spreading honkai energy out) were quickly set up in the entire world which allowed people to stay at safely without succumbing to honkai energy

- Rescues were able to be carried out on a huge scale. Through the Global Connector and Femirins, Femirins was also able to know the location of everyone in the world and so even underground, under building rubbles etc people were able to be rescued

- When the cast at the space station was needing replacement parts for the slowly overheating global connector, several spaceships with supplies and parts provided by several countries showed up before anyone even asked for help

- and the list goes on. Through the spreading of hope and a common goal, Femirins united all of humanity who was under panic and despair after all of a sudden honkai happend worldwide and Otto told them on the news that honkai was a thing

The World entered a new age, where everyone was united by Global Connection (Global Connection Arc is.. quite literally... about a Global Connection) thanks to Femirins and fought for a common cause (against the Honkai) for the first time in history

---------------------------------

Other Information:

- **Who does the text with just quotations and no sprite or character name belong to in "Global Connection: Heart Architecture"?:** Femirins. Not sure why they went with that approach, can confuse some ppl. Did confused me when I first read initially

Conscious Space Technical Lore Information:

- What is the Conscious/Consciousness Space?: Humanity's subconscious calculated and integrated with the Avalon Space.

- Who is #player?: #player refers to the in game username if you see it in-game text, and the player has some dialogue options. The player here is a normal human being and the first human to subconsciously accept Femirins and appear in Conscious Space, and alongside the Little Devil helps Femirins through chapter "Global Connection: Heart Architecture" and the beginning of "Global Connection: World Reborn" (this is the reason so much is missing in interpreter, all choice-tied story parts, include 1-choice only options, are missing from the "Others" section of the GGZ Cutscene interpreter.)

- What are the monsters that Femirins encountered in Conscious Space?: Though they seemed like monsters, it was later revealed to be each person's subconscious. Normally each person can only accomodate the consciousness of "self", and humanity subsconsciously would reject her. As was said in "Global Connection: Heart Architecture": "Femirins' "Heart" is an "intruder" in human consciousness". It was only later when Femirins was about to drown in the despair of all humanity again at the end of "Global Connection: Heart Architecture" that her struggle and beliefs to keep fighting and never giving up resounded in the consciousness space of all humankind, and everyone saw an illusion/hallucination of what Femirins was experiencing in that moment and her will to keep fighting, after which more humans aside from #player accepted her and were seen in Conscious Space

- Why does the colour of Conscious Space often turn red?: That is despair and Conscious Space corrosion, be it humanity's or Femirins' herself. And at a time where the end of the world is happening, the entirety of humanity was in despair

[bridenore]

Author rec : mosrael

Mosrael is one of my favorite authors. Here are a few recs, listed in alphabetical order.

The Golden Bough by @m0srael [21k]

Harry Potter knows better than most how tightly Love and Death are   entwined, but when he is tempted by death for a third time, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy will have to remind him.

He Was a Skater Boy by @m0srael [19k]

Harry Potter intends to spend his eighth year at Hogwarts avoiding the endless stares, whispers, and nosy questions that never seem to leave him be. He wants nothing more than to hide in the quiet solitude of his dorm room, keep his head down, and wallow in his grief. At least, that's his plan right up until the moment Draco Malfoy kick-flips his life upside down.

Love Bites, Or How Draco Malfoy Learned to Let Go and Celebrate His Allure by @m0srael [50k]

Recently-turned Draco Malfoy is doing his very best to be a normal, productive, contributing member of wixen society. So far, he’s managed to keep his bloody little problem a secret, even from his best friends. But when the professional opportunity he’s been dreaming of finally   falls in his lap, he finds himself with much more than just a potential promotion. Will a profile on a new creature-exclusive dating app, a wolfy stranger who seems hellbent on liking Draco just the way he is, and a little self-confidence help Draco finally love himself and his newfound community?

Nighthawks by @m0srael​ [39k]

“The more he’d thought about it–and he had thought about it–the  less certain he’d become that Draco had really been there, glowing in   the murky glass of the diner window next to Harry’s stunned reflection   like some cruel mockery of the Mirror of Erised. The longer he’d lain in  bed, awake and fully clothed, the more convinced he was that he’s   having some sort of mental breakdown. The long days and even longer   nights must finally be getting to him, just like Hermione said they   would. Because the fact of the matter is that  Draco Malfoy couldn’t have been in this diner, his diner. Draco is  thousands of kilometers, and a whole lifetime, away.” In  which Harry and Draco frequent the same diner when they can’t sleep.   Except–Draco left the UK five years ago, right after he broke Harry’s   heart.

Our Time by @m0srael  [39k]    

Draco Malfoy is an expert in Ancient Runes at Oxford University’s College of Advanced Magical Studies. When he isn’t at the head of a lecture hall, he spends his time alone in cavernous libraries with only crumbling scrolls and runic dictionaries for company. One day, a group of Ministry officials interrupts his research with the aim of recruiting him to lead an elite team of investigators in a top-secret race against time to decrypt a set of recently uncovered ancient runes that threaten the very fabric of time. Draco feels certain he can save the world, if only he didn’t keep getting distracted by his co-lead, one Chief Cursebreaker Harry Potter. If only that distraction didn’t evolve into something so much more.

To Vanish Into Something Better by @m0srael​ [35k]

Harry Potter thought he could outrun the burden of infamy by isolating himself in the Muggle world. Draco Malfoy hasn’t been seen or heard from since his trial. Will a top-secret Ministry project, a beautiful garden, and a little heat carry them both home?

Your Soul Sat On My Lips by @m0srael [61k]

It’s Harry’s turn to blush. “People fall in love all the time, not all of them can be perfect and good and pure. Messy, fucked up people deserve love too. Don’t you think?” Draco gazes at him for a long time, just breathing. “I don’t keep a madwoman in my attic,” he says eventually, a small smile on his lips. “I don’t have an attic.” Harry laughs out loud, the sound even bigger in the small space between them. “Nor do I. But I think she’s sort of a metaphor, anyway.” “Oh. Well, metaphorical madwomen I have in spades,” Draco replies, grinning. Sometimes, two broken men can love one another whole again, and sometimes they can’t. That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to try.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[russiasredguardian]

winter guard: operation snowblind (2021)

and then i was assigned to operation snowblind. my handler in those days was general yuri brushov. according to the general, my role was simple; keep what is buried, buried.

snowblind was the work of isolated cells of analysts and technicians. no cells had contacts beyond brushov ... and who knows who he reported to. at that time, the kremlin was determined to digitally preserve every scrap of useful information. brushov's people embraced a counter-philosophy.

keep what is buried, buried.

snowblind took advantage of the chaotic archiving process to destroy physical evidence and edit archives, one analyst at a time. all to eliminate 'dangerous' state secrets, we were told. no expense was spared -- custom data drives, vanko-tech encryptions, all of it.

and once the truth was scrubbed clean from the world ... all that remained were the project's analysts and a handful of data drives. it was my job to ensure every last trace was destroyed.

i encountered an analyst with no military training -- i meant to disarm her.

i failed.

she'd made four imperfect copies of the drives that could only be decrypted all together. why? a whistleblower? an idealist? was her dedication to the truth so powerful that she would risk her life? risk the prosperous future we dreamed of building -- in pursuit of it? wasn't burying the sins of the past enough to safeguard the future?

how naive i was, her blood pooling around me. i felt that i owed her, so ... i broke protocol. but i didn't find tactical secrets, dangerous technology or even evidence of darker necessary evils. operation snowblind was nothing but a criminal cover-up.

doctored bank statements, hydra mission reports, secret alliances and false flags -- and not just from the ussr. documentation on the oligarchs and corporations who would build themselves into billionaires by the dawn of the 21st century.

if this was leaked, my dream for russia's future was dead. but what assurance did i have that it would ever arrive? so i turned over decoys to bushov instead. i don't think he ever doubted me. red guardian was loyal to a fault. who would suspect this symbol -- their falsehood embodied -- of failure?

but i needed to hide the real drives until i knew how to use them.

one in officers' storage, at the air force base where they faked my death.

one at the party's administrative office where i once made small talk with a young ballerina named natasha romanova.

one in the basement of the church my grandfather helped build -- abandoned but left standing.

and the last i placed in the hands of the most self-invested monster i could think of. the leverage it offered would eb too valuable for him to surrender.

not long after brushov and i were sent on our first 'official' assignment together -- to defeat the avengers once and for all. i suspect we were intended to die in the line of duty. brushov did. i assume everyone associated with operation snowblind died similarly.

[drelldreams]

Mass Effect Lore: Common technologies in the 2180's (Part 1: Omnitool)

This post is both a collection of canon technologies in the Mass Effect universe, and personal headcanon which may be borrowing common concepts from sci fi.

Part 1 will be dedicated to solely the omnitool, because omnitools provide the user with such a huge amount of features that they deserve their own post.

What is an omnitool?

The omnitool is a microchip implanted underneath the skin which upon activation, can project a holographic screen as well as a holographic keyboard to navigate said screen. However, omnitools can also be navigated via voice demands. Omnitools provide a variety of functions and can do pretty much anything that a computer, smart watch, phone, calculator or tablet could do.

Omnitool activation could be done vocally via a spoken password or in a tactile manner such as touching one‘s forearm in a certain rhythm and pattern.

Microfabricators can generate objects out of microplastic particles, but it isn‘t possible for an object to generate if the omnitool consists merely an implant under the skin. (I don‘t see how that‘s possible without space magic..)

Therefore an additional bracelet has to be worn, which contains the microparticles out of which an object can be forged.

The omnitool can be synced with the translator implant, updating the translator with new translation software.

What can the omnitool do?

Canon:

Allows communication via voice calls, video calls, voice messages and text messages

Provides intranet, internet and extranet access

Allows upload and download of data

Can be used for videography and photography

Can be used to play music

Can provide a flashlight

Provides a wide array of general programs, calendars, navigation programs and maps, note apps, alarms, games and more

Can be used for hacking, coding and decryption

Special programs can be used to utilize the microfabricator to form objects; if the bracelet is charged with certain particles it can also be used to fire particles which are commonly used for combat (incinerate or cryo blast function, for instance)

But that‘s the boring shit. That‘s what phones, tablets and computers can do nowadays, and the combat stuff is covered in the game.

Here‘s my headcanons added to it.

What special functions can an omnitool have?

It can fire fire extinguishing particles. (No pun intended) Meaning that little bracelet actually could serve as a fire extinguisher, using microparticles to extinguish fire.

The microfabricator should be able to forge any tool, such as a screwdiver out of microplastic. That explains why quarians seem to be able to fix things with just their omnitool. No need to take a toolbox with you when you‘ve got your omnitool.

Omnitools should be able to do anything that an advanced calculator can, meaning omnitool calculators provide more functions than a regular phone or tablet calculator. Basically that chip has a build in college level calculator.

Communication aid programs coupled with visors or smart lenses can scan and analyze the body language and facial expressions of conversation partners, listing likely interpretations for those who struggle to read other species.

More advanced omnitool models should be able to aid you with repairs, as well. Take a scan of a broken piece of tech and the omnitool might come up with a diagnostic of it and giving suggestions how to fix it. That would explain why everyone in ME seems so tech savvy - actually the omnitool just provides a ton of help.

Omnitools are capable of measuring pulse, heart rate, blood oxygen, blood sugar levels and blood pressure. They also can monitor sleep quality and duration. Steps taken during the day and stability of walking. Basically they have all the functions of a smart watch.

Just like you can fire a neural shock to disable someone, you can fire a targeted shock in form of a heart defibrillator to revive someone.

Other medical programs provide build in fever thermometer scanners.

Omnitool scans using medical scanners can also provide diagnostic aid, scanning for abnormalities and injuries. The most advanced models are capable of scanning broken bones, essentially having the function of x ray scans.

Certain programs give the user the ability to stimulate the vagus nerve to aid against stress or depression. If nerve stim programs for sexual stimulation are a thing, then this should be within the realms of possibility too. It is possible that this might require a piece of hardware to be synced to, however.

Omnitools also make great morning alarm clocks, being capable of emitting light that emulates a sunrise filling the entire room to wake up a person. The vital scanner takes note of your awakening, which causes the alarm to slowly stop, dimming the lightning and turning down the music volume (if you’ve set a music alarm) slowly.

Some people also like receiving comfortable vibrations through their body through their omnitool to wake up from their sleep.

Other handy stuff that you could fabricate using the microplastic fabricator (aside from blades and tools): cutlery, bowls and cups, razor blades, hair brushes and combs, scissors. Yeah, you‘re gonna have kids in class who forgot to bring their scissors and cut out stuff with omnitool fabricated scissors.

[p5x-theories]

Love your blog! I've been working on a fan project related to P5X and this has been an immensely helpful resource. Quick question: Have you ever encountered an issue with the P5X_vFileContentExtract Github tool you linked on your FAQ about datamining? All the other tools you recommended worked great, but every time I try to drag and drop the vfileIndex into the command window to decrypt it, it terminates itself and doesn't do anything. :( Just checking to see if I'm making a rookie mistake!

Glad my blog's been helpful! And no worries, it is in fact a simple mistake! One that even I occasionally forget about and make again, so it's totally understandable, haha.

You actually need to drag the vfileIndexV2 file directly into the vFileContentExtract application file, rather than opening the application! It's a little weird, so I don't blame you for trying something else (that honestly would make more sense). Like this:

I hope that helps, and good luck with your project!

[samnikecrypto]

Unveiling: The CIFDAQ Crypto Almanac 2024!

The ultimate guide to navigating the ever-evolving world of crypto! From Bitcoin’s rise as a strategic reserve to Ethereum’s breakthroughs in scalability and the tokenization of real-world assets — discover the trends, insights, and forecasts shaping the digital economy in 2024. Packed with expert analysis covering the entire ecosystem, this is your roadmap to unlocking opportunities in the blockchain revolution. Whether you're an investor, innovator, or enthusiast, this Almanac is your edge for the year ahead! Folks thesis, research reports and interviews, helped us immensely to build this report. We are tagging them as a token of thanks. James Butterfill Zach Pandl Matthew Hougan Dominic Weibel Mikko Ohtamaa Matthew Sigel, recovering CFA Lauren Goodwin, CFA and Donald Trump Jr. News Channels : CNBC Cointelegraph CoinGecko CoinMarketCap CryptoPanic Cryptopolitan Decrypt Block Mining, Inc. Projects mentioned in the report : Dogecoin DOGECOIN Shiba Inu Fetch.ai Render Mantle ZKsync Foundation ZKsync Central Bank Digital Currencies Companies Mentioned: Apple Microsoft Microsoft AI Amazon Netflix Google Meta

[kajaltrader]

Unveiling: The CIFDAQ Crypto Almanac 2024!

The ultimate guide to navigating the ever-evolving world of crypto! From Bitcoin’s rise as a strategic reserve to Ethereum’s breakthroughs in scalability and the tokenization of real-world assets — discover the trends, insights, and forecasts shaping the digital economy in 2024.

Packed with expert analysis covering the entire ecosystem, this is your roadmap to unlocking opportunities in the blockchain revolution. Whether you're an investor, innovator, or enthusiast, this Almanac is your edge for the year ahead!

Folks thesis, research reports and interviews, helped us immensely to build this report. We are tagging them as a token of thanks. James Butterfill Zach Pandl Matthew Hougan Dominic Weibel Mikko Ohtamaa Matthew Sigel, recovering CFA Lauren Goodwin, CFA and Donald Trump Jr. News Channels : CNBC Cointelegraph CoinGecko CoinMarketCap CryptoPanic Cryptopolitan Decrypt Block Mining, Inc. Projects mentioned in the report : Dogecoin DOGECOIN Shiba Inu Fetch.ai Render Mantle ZKsync Foundation ZKsync Central Bank Digital Currencies Companies Mentioned: Apple Microsoft Microsoft AI Amazon Netflix Google Meta