#Quick Prototyping Of Assemblies

[avalontec]

Avalon is a company that offers PCB assembly services for various needs and applications.

Avalon has more than 20 years of experience in PCB assembly technology and has processes that save time and money for customers.

Avalon’s PCB assembly facilities can handle chip mounting for rapid prototyping or high/medium/low volume product manufacturing.

Avalon’s SMT lines can handle complex PCB assemblies with very high yields.

[bayareacircuitsusa]

What the Future May Have in store for printed circuit board fabrication

The future of electronics is closely tied to innovations in PCB manufacturing company processes, where precision, speed, and customization are becoming key. As technology evolves, companies are investing in smarter solutions to streamline production, meet higher demands, and support rapid development for a range of electronic devices across industries.

Innovation and Speed in PCB Assembly

Modern advancements in Quick-turn PCB assembly are reshaping how we think about electronics production. As demand rises for faster delivery and higher accuracy, manufacturers are incorporating automated systems and AI-driven design to reduce lead times without compromising quality. This evolution is especially critical for printed circuit board fabrication, where reducing time-to-market is a competitive advantage. Connected to this is the growing need for reliable PCB prototype service that ensures these PCB circuits are ready for scaled manufacturing. Businesses now rely on partners that can deliver agility and consistency.

Searching for cutting-edge PCB solutions. Bay Area Circuits offers a suite of services tailored to meet modern demands from prototyping to full-scale production with unmatched precision. Visit their website to explore their services.

To continue reading, Click here - https://bayareacircuits.blogspot.com/2025/04/what-future-may-have-in-store-for.html 

[pcbcircuit]

Benefits of Multi-Color PCBs in Circuit Design

Multi-color printed circuit boards (PCBs) are transforming the landscape of electronic design by blending functionality with aesthetics. One of the primary benefits of multi-color PCBs is that different colors can indicate specific circuit functions or components, helping engineers and technicians quickly identify issues during manufacturing and testing. , the use of multi-color PCBs can improve thermal management and signal integrity

[blowmoldedsolutionsllc]

Welcome to Blow Molded Solutions, where innovation meets precision in blow molding. At Blow Molded Solutions, we recognize the paramount importance of timely delivery and unparalleled quality when it comes to your blow molded parts. Catering to a diverse range of industries since our inception in 2009, we have consistently met and exceeded the expectations of clients in sectors such as lawn and garden, power sports, large truck, pool accessories, construction, consumer markets, and many more.

Address: 225 Commerce Dr, Mayodan, NC 27027 Phone: (336) 949–4107 Website: https://blowmoldedsolutions.com/ Business Email: info@blowmoldedsolutions.com

Social:

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/blowmoldedsolutions/ LinkedIn - https://www.linkedin.com/company/blow-molded-solutions/

Hours: Mon - Fri: 8AM - 5PM | Sat - Sun: Closed Payment: Debit Card - Credit Card

[keepingitneutral]

Digital House, Wismar, Germany,

the “Digital House” is a prototypical building entirely digitally designed, fabricated, and assembled without the need for tools. Julian Krüger (Munich University of Applied Sciences) and Benjamin Kemper (Wismar University of Applied Sciences) developed a sustainable, cost-effective building system based on innovative plug-in construction methods.

In a grove not far from the Faculty of Architecture and Design at Wismar University, a small house with a shiny, silvery facade and a steep, west-facing mono-pitch roof stands 6.5 m high on a footprint of 3.3 × 4.9 m. Light enters the spacious interior through a continuous window ribbon and four large windows cutting through the facade made from recycled aluminum sheets.

The house features an inventive wood construction system CNC-milled from 24mm plywood, allowing two people to assemble it quickly without any tools or hardware, such as screws or nails. This flexible system, which allows for disassembly and reuse, strengthens the project's approach to sustainability.

The wooden structure is clad with plywood panels inside and a vapor-permeable wood fibreboard on the outside and insulated with eco-friendly wood fiber.

The "Digital House" rests on six ground screws, enabling quick and traceless disassembly and eliminating the need for concrete or groundwork.

Julian Krüger + Benjamin Kemper

[royalinkblot]

Wings of Home—Chapter Eleven: Where We Land

It had been 13 months since the twin chaos of Nikola and Ace’s birthday. The pastel fighter jets and chocolate frosting were long gone, replaced with science fair trophies, new prototypes of robotic drones in the garage, and stacks of college-level textbooks—despite the fact the twins were still only in high school (the skipping of the grades having surprised no one)

But even in a house full of genius, today marked something even bigger.

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, now officially the Secretary of the Navy, stood at the polished podium on the Pentagon’s west terrace, sunlight gleaming off his uniform’s newest set of bars. Cameras flashed. Reporters murmured. Admirals straightened in their seats when he raised his chin.

He didn’t smile much in public, but when he said, “My office will remain in San Diego,” the corners of his mouth quirked just enough. The message was clear: I’ll lead, but on my terms.

Back in San Diego, the Kazansky-Mitchell home buzzed with quiet pride. The black ops mission Maverick had led weeks earlier was still classified, but the results had rocked certain circles. It was quick, brutal, successful. A rogue cell neutralized. Hostages rescued. Zero casualties.

And Captain Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, still technically retired, was once again the name whispered with reverence through secure comms and briefing rooms.

Now, he was home.

His boots were back on the porch. His arms around Tom. His smile softer, the lines around his eyes deeper.

“Got home in time for the awards assembly,” Maverick said that morning, ruffling Ace’s hair as the boy wrestled with his backpack, which had a holographic F-35 sticker and a football keychain.

“You always do,” Ace said, grinning. “I already told everyone my dad’s the coolest human missile alive.”

Maverick snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

Nikola rolled her eyes but smiled, her platinum blonde hair flowing down her back in sleek sheets. Her green eyes, so sharp and curious, narrowed over her breakfast code—a logic puzzle she was solving with one hand while brushing her hair with the other.

She had her father’s heart-shaped lips, a perfectly sloped button nose, and the same delicate beauty mark on her jaw that Tom had carried since his first day at Top Gun.

She was stunning, effortlessly so, but it was the intelligence in her gaze that could stop you cold.

“Are we going to talk about the fact that I was asked to design a cyber fortress for the base’s AI system… at seven?” she said coolly, twirling her stylus. “I should be paid for this.”

Ace scoffed. “Only if you let me pilot the drones.”

He had Maverick’s mouth—full, expressive, constantly smirking—and Tom’s jawline and beauty mark. His hair, a dark honey blonde, fell in straight angles just like his sister’s, and his eyes—blue-grey storms—were always calculating.

He was loud. He was brave. And when he wasn’t helping Nikola hack into simulation servers for “educational reasons,” he was designing new wing shapes out of cereal boxes.

They were chaos. They were brilliant.

And they loved each other ferociously.

Later that night, when the house settled into the low rhythm of post-dinner quiet, Maverick stood on the back deck, watching the kids through the kitchen window.

Tom joined him, now changed out of the ceremonial uniform into sweats and a soft tee. Still impossibly regal.

“You really said no to the Pentagon,” Maverick murmured, leaning against him.

“I said yes to you. And them.” Tom’s arm slipped around his waist. “And my office gets a view of the ocean. So.”

Maverick smiled.

Inside, Ace was showing Bradley a new design—Jake looking over his shoulder like a proud big brother. Nikola sat beside Carole at the kitchen island, arguing playfully over frosting ratios for another cake while Goose loaded the dishwasher and sang Fleetwood Mac.

Their life was a constellation of what should’ve been impossible. But it was real. Built through grief, love, war, survival, and the kind of devotion that didn’t break under pressure.

Just like them.

Maverick took a breath, let the wind ruffle his hair.

“I like where we landed,” he said softly.

Tom kissed his temple.

“We haven’t landed yet,” he said. “We’re still flying.”

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter ten

Chapter twelve

[shadyfestivalperfection]

The Black Viper’s Heart~Oneshot

Summery: A mafia gang called The Phantom Vipers attack Tony Stark and his wife-Y/n on their third wedding anniversary Gala. What happens when Tony finds out that Y/n is not only a software engineer but also an ex-assassin called The Black Viper….

Characters: Husband!Tony Stark x ex-assassin!wife! Female reader

Note: All characters except The Avengers are mine!

||Master List||

Tony Stark never thought he’d be the kind of man to settle down. Women came and went, relationships flickering out as quickly as they sparked, but none of them left a lasting impression—until Y/n. She didn’t just catch his eye; she left a mark that he couldn’t shake.

It all started at a tech conference in San Francisco. Tony was the keynote speaker, effortlessly commanding the room with his charm and brilliance, while Y/n was there to present her groundbreaking research on adaptive AI. During the Q&A, just as Tony was basking in the applause, Y/n raised her hand and, with calm confidence, pointed out a subtle but significant flaw in his latest software. The room fell silent, anticipating Tony’s reaction, but instead of feeling insulted, he was intrigued.

Rather than brushing her off, Tony saw an opportunity. He approached her after the session, genuinely curious to hear more. One witty remark led to another, and soon he was inviting her for drinks. What was supposed to be a quick meeting stretched into hours of conversation. They argued passionately about AI ethics, debated the merits of classic versus modern programming approaches, and swapped stories about their favorite bad movies—both surprised at how easily the conversation flowed.

By the end of the night, Tony knew he’d met someone who could challenge him, keep up with him, and even make him laugh without trying. That was five years ago, and he still remembers that night as the beginning of everything.

The soft hum of Tony’s latest AI assistant filled the lab, weaving through the quiet like a comforting melody. Y/n leaned over the sleek workbench, her fingers deftly assembling a new security module for Stark Tower. Tony had insisted on upgrading the tower’s defenses—again—but Y/n couldn’t complain. Working side by side had become one of their favorite pastimes, a blend of work and play that always made the hours slip by unnoticed.

“Careful with that, sweetheart,” Tony called from across the lab, his gaze flickering between his tablet and Y/n’s handiwork. “If that wire crosses the capacitor, you’ll short-circuit the whole system—and probably blow us both to kingdom come.”Y/n arched an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “You mean like the last time you tried to add a ‘self-cleaning’ function to the armor? You know, the one that almost turned your suit into a glorified dishwasher?”

Tony’s mouth curled into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “That was a prototype. Besides, it worked… eventually. Kind of.”

Before Y/n could fire back another playful jab, the lab doors whooshed open, and Steve Rogers stepped inside, looking slightly exasperated yet somehow managing to keep his composed demeanor.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony greeted without looking up, still tapping away at his tablet. “Here to remind me about the gala again?”

Steve cleared his throat, giving them both a pointed look. “Actually, yes. It starts in an hour, and neither of you have changed. You do remember it’s your anniversary celebration, right?”

Tony glanced at Y/n, sharing a conspiratorial grin. They both burst into laughter, the sound bright and unguarded. Steve just shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips.

“You two are impossible,” Steve muttered, trying and failing to look stern.

Y/n wiped her hands on a rag, stepping away from the workbench with a lighthearted sigh. “We’ll be ready, Steve. Just give us a minute.”

With a resigned nod, Steve left the lab, muttering something about stubborn geniuses. As the doors slid shut, Tony wrapped his arm around Y/n’s waist, pulling her closer, his face inches from hers. “You heard the Captain. We should probably suit up.”

Y/n smirked, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Funny, I thought you preferred taking suits off.”

Tony’s eyes glinted with wicked amusement. “Who says I can’t do both?”

Later, as Tony adjusted his tie in the bedroom mirror, he couldn’t help but smile at how much his life had changed. A man who once scoffed at commitment was now nervously perfecting his formal look for a gala celebrating three years of marriage. Just as he finished straightening his tie, Y/n stepped in, draped in an elegant, dark blue gown that shimmered under the soft glow of the room.

Tony froze, momentarily speechless, his gaze tracing every detail of her silhouette. Y/n gave him a teasing smile as she straightened his tie once more. “You clean up nice,” she whispered.

Tony cupped her cheek, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “You look… breathtaking,” he murmured.

A soft laugh escaped her lips. “Keep looking at me like that, and we’ll be late,” Y/n teased, though her cheeks flushed under his adoring gaze.

⸻

The grand ballroom of Stark Tower glittered with opulence, crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of well-dressed guests. Soft music played in the background as servers weaved through the crowd, offering drinks and delicacies. The Avengers were scattered throughout—Natasha charming a group of diplomats with ease, Clint sneaking hors d’oeuvres when he thought no one was looking, and Thor regaling a small crowd with one of his epic tales of Asgard.

Tony and Y/n made their entrance hand in hand, and heads turned almost instantly. Tony couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he guided her through the crowd. It wasn’t just because she was stunning—it was because she was his.

They made their way to the bar, where Bruce was nursing a glass of sparkling water, clearly more comfortable on the outskirts of the social scene.

“Still hiding from the crowd, big guy?” Tony asked with a smirk.

Bruce offered a sheepish smile. “Just… not really my scene. But congratulations, by the way. Three years? That’s a record for you.”

Feigning offense, Tony placed a hand over his heart. “Hey, I’m a changed man. Y/n’s good for me.”

Y/n squeezed his hand affectionately. “He’s not wrong.”

Just then, Sam appeared, nudging Tony’s shoulder with a knowing grin. “You guys planning a big announcement tonight? Natasha’s taking bets.”

Tony raised a brow, intrigued. “Announcement? What are we announcing?”

Sam winked, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know… maybe a Stark Jr. on the way?”

Y/n nearly choked on her drink, her cheeks heating up. Tony just laughed, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “Not yet, but I’ll let you know when that happens. Gotta keep Nat on her toes.”

As Sam sauntered off, Y/n gave Tony a playful glare. “You know he’s going to start spreading rumors now.”

Tony shrugged, grinning as he pulled her close. “Let him. Gives the gossip columns something to chew on. Besides, I’m not opposed to the idea… eventually.”

Y/n softened, her expression turning thoughtful. “One thing at a time, Stark. Tonight’s about us.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Tony replied, pressing a quick kiss to her temple as they swayed gently to the music, completely content in each other’s arms.

The night was going smoothly—the music flowed, laughter filled the air, and Tony couldn’t help but feel a rare sense of peace. Then the lights flickered. A collective murmur rippled through the room before the sound of rapid gunfire shattered the celebration.

Instantly, Steve and Natasha sprang into action, seamlessly slipping into combat mode. Steve moved to secure the exits, signaling guests to get down, while Natasha scanned the perimeter, her hand on the concealed knife strapped to her thigh. Tony’s instincts kicked in, trying to assess the threat and reach for his watch, which housed a compact version of his suit.

The grand doors burst open, and a group of masked assailants stormed the ballroom, guns raised and barking orders. They seemed coordinated, targeting the high-profile guests at the center of the room. One aimed his weapon directly at Tony.

Before he could react, Y/n moved with impossible speed, her form a blur as she closed the distance. She disarmed the attacker with a precise strike to his wrist, the gun clattering to the marble floor. In a swift, fluid motion, she twisted his arm behind his back and flipped him to the ground, incapacitating him in seconds.

Tony froze, eyes widening as he watched Y/n expertly sidestep another attacker’s knife thrust. She countered with a lightning-fast elbow to the ribs, followed by a kick that sent the assailant sprawling. Another lunged at her from behind, but she ducked and delivered a backward punch to his jaw, leaving him gasping for breath.

Amid the chaos, Tony caught Natasha’s eye, her expression a mixture of shock and awe.

“Since when did she learn to fight like that?” Bruce whispered, staying low as he moved closer to Tony.

“I have no idea,” Tony murmured, too stunned to process what he was seeing.

When the last attacker fell, thanks to Steve and Natasha’s intervention, the ballroom fell silent. Guests cautiously got to their feet, murmuring in confusion and fear. Tony didn’t take his eyes off Y/n, his mind racing.

Once Sam and Clint ensured the area was clear, Tony pulled Y/n aside, his heart pounding. “Care to explain?” he demanded, barely managing to keep his voice steady.

Y/n glanced around the room, still tense, as if expecting another wave of attackers. “Tony… there’s something I haven’t told you.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “You think?”

Her gaze softened, guilt flickering across her face. “I swear, I never wanted you to find out like this.”

Before she could say more, Natasha approached, holding a torn patch from one of the attackers’ jackets. The emblem was a stylized black snake coiled around a dagger—a symbol Tony had never seen before.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she handed it over. “Any idea who these guys are?”

Y/n’s face paled as she recognized the symbol. “The Phantom Vipers.”

Tony looked at her, confusion mixed with hurt. “Who the hell are they, Y/n?”

Taking a shaky breath, Y/n met his gaze. “They’re a secret organization of assassins… and I used to be one of them.”

⸻

(Back in the Safety of Their Suite)

Tony paced back and forth, trying to make sense of everything. Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling despite her earlier display of lethal efficiency.

“So… you’re an assassin called The Black Viper?” Tony finally asked, his voice quieter, less accusatory.

Y/n nodded, her shoulders tense. “I was. Not anymore. I was trained from a young age after being orphaned. The Vipers take kids like me—orphans, runaways—and shape them into perfect killers. It was like the Red Room.I was one of the best. But I got out. I faked my death to escape that life.”

Tony’s anger softened, replaced by a mix of concern and curiosity. “How did you pull that off?”

Y/n hesitated, swallowing hard. “One day, a mission went too far. It was supposed to be a simple hit—a target with supposed criminal ties. But… the there was a child. An innocent. I couldn’t do it. I froze. When I tried to refuse, my handler reminded me of the punishment—being strapped to a chair and shocked until I couldn’t stand. They didn’t care about right or wrong. Just results.”

Tony knelt in front of her, his hands gently cupping hers. “So, what did you do?”

“A few nights later, I staged a mission to go wrong. Set a fire, made it look like I got caught in the blaze. The others thought I died. I knew I couldn’t keep living as a weapon. I just… wanted a chance to be human again.”

Tony took a deep breath, processing her words. “And you never told me because…?”

Y/n’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I wanted to. So many times. But every time I looked at you—how happy we were—I couldn’t bear to ruin it. When I met you, I didn’t expect to fall in love. I thought I was too broken, too damaged to deserve someone like you. But you… you made me feel like I could have a normal life. You made me feel human again.”

Tony squeezed her hands, his gaze softening. “You could’ve told me, Y/n. We don’t keep secrets from each other—remember?”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I know. I just… I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Tony brushed the tear away with his thumb, his touch gentle. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m just… processing. I’ve seen a lot of things, Y/n. Hell, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But this? You survived. You got out. And you found your way to me. That’s what matters.”

“I never asked you to protect me. I just wanted you to trust me.”Tony continued after taking a deep breath.

Y/n, teary-eyed “I was terrified you’d look at me differently. Like a monster.”

Tony pulls her into a tight embrace. “You’re not a monster. You’re my wife.”

Y/n’s voice broke as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Tony. I never wanted to put you in danger.”

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his voice steady. “We’ll figure it out. Together. But you have to trust me. Let me in—all the way.”

Y/n nodded, a tentative smile breaking through the fear. “I do. I always have.”

Tony pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, his mind still spinning but his heart anchored by the woman in his embrace. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

The next morning, the atmosphere in the living room was tense. Y/n stood in front of the Avengers, hands clasped tightly, eyes downcast. Tony stood slightly behind her, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The others gathered around, curiosity and unease clear on their faces.

Taking a shaky breath, Y/n finally spoke. “I owe you all an explanation. About my past—about why I never told any of you the truth. I used to be an assassin. The Phantom Vipers took me in when I was a child. They trained me to be their weapon. I thought I could leave that life behind, but… clearly, I was wrong.”

Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to break your trust. I just… couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I was scared. Scared of losing the family I found here. Scared of being judged.”

Steve’s expression softened, though his voice remained firm. “Y/n, we’re angry—no one’s denying that. But we also understand. Sometimes it’s hard to open up about our pasts, especially when they’re… dark.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly, crossing her arms. “Forget about us, Y/n. You could have told Tony. It’s been five years since you two met—three years of marriage. You broke his heart.”

Y/n couldn’t bring herself to respond. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she bit her lip, holding them back. The guilt was suffocating.

Tony finally spoke, his tone calm but guarded. “Nat, I get it. I was angry, too—still am. For a moment, I thought she’d just used me as a cover, that none of it was real. But that’s not true. Y/n would never do something like that. Not now, not ever.”

Sam chimed in, his gaze shifting between Natasha and Clint. “Think about what she went through. You, Clint—you both know what it’s like to be trained as a weapon. You know how hard it is to break free from that. If anyone understands, it’s you two. Maybe it’s time to forgive her.”

Natasha glanced at Clint, who gave a small nod. She sighed, some of the tension leaving her posture. “I know how hard it is. But keeping something like this from us—especially from Tony—it hurts. We’re a team. We’re supposed to trust each other.”

Before Y/n could respond, Thor spoke up, his deep voice filled with concern. “Y/n, will these Phantom Vipers come back for you now that they know you live?”

Y/n straightened, forcing herself to meet Thor’s eyes. “Yes. Now that they know I’m alive, they’ll definitely come for me. And if I refuse to return, they’ll try to kill Tony. That’s how they operate—they destroy anything that could be seen as a weakness.”

Clint frowned. “There has to be another way to deal with them. You can’t just hand yourself over.”

Y/n took a deep breath. “There’s only one option left.”

Tony’s eyes flashed with fear and frustration as he grabbed Y/n’s shoulders, pulling her closer. “No. You’re not going back to them. I don’t care how strong they are. Let them try to come after me—but I’m not letting you go.”

Y/n gently placed her hands over his. “Tony, you don’t understand. They’re stronger than they look—more powerful than the Red Room. They don’t just kill; they dismantle lives. If I don’t go to them, they’ll keep coming—after me, after you, after everyone I care about.”

“There has to be another way,” Tony insisted, his voice softer but still determined.

Y/n hesitated. “Maybe there is… but it’s risky.”

Tony released her shoulders, stepping back. “Whatever it is, we’ll do it together.”

Y/n squared her shoulders, finding her resolve. “I’ll have to pretend to rejoin them. Get back on the inside and gather intel—figure out how to take them down from within.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s dangerous. How do you plan to convince them to take you back after you faked your death?”

Y/n looked around the room, her voice unwavering. “I know they will. I was their best assassin. They’ll see me as a valuable asset. If I can convince them that I faked my death for strategic reasons—or that I was injured and only recently recovered—they might buy it.”

Thor’s expression hardened. “You risk much, Lady Y/n. What if they see through your deception?”

Y/n swallowed hard. “If they do, they’ll kill me. But it’s the only way to stop them for good. I can’t keep running, and I won’t put all of you in danger because of my past.”

Steve approached, his hand resting on Y/n’s shoulder. “We’re not letting you face this alone. If this is the plan, we’ll back you up. We’ll find a way to support you without blowing your cover.”

Tony reached out, his fingers intertwining with Y/n’s. “You’re not going in there alone. We’ll figure out the logistics, but we’re doing this as a team. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself anymore.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with gratitude as she looked at him and the rest of the team. For the first time since the attack, she felt a sliver of hope. “Thank you. All of you. I won’t let you down.”

Natasha nodded, finally offering a small smile. “Just promise us one thing—you make it back. Alive.”

Y/n gave a determined nod. “I promise.”

___

Y/n stood in front of the mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the collar of her black leather jacket. The early morning light spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom. She was about to leave for the Phantom Vipers’ Manhattan base—the same place she had once called home, and now, a battlefield.

The call had come the night before, just as she’d expected. The Viper King’s most trusted lieutenant had spoken in a cold, clipped tone: “Come to the Manhattan base at dawn. If you refuse, Stark dies.”

Tony stepped into the room, holding something small and delicate between his fingers. “Here,” he said softly, walking up behind her. “Wear this.”

Y/n turned slightly as he fastened the necklace around her neck. It was a simple piece—elegant, almost forgettable—but she knew Tony well enough to expect more.

“What is it for?” she asked, running her fingers over the cool metal.

“It’s got a tracker embedded in the clasp,” Tony replied, his voice calm but edged with tension. “And if anyone so much as lays a finger on you without your consent, it sends an alert straight to me—and the team. We’ll be there. Fast.”

Y/n turned fully to face him, her gaze locking with his. “I love you so much, Tony,” she whispered, her voice breaking just slightly.

Tony cupped her face gently, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “I love you more. Just… please be careful, okay?”

She leaned in, their lips meeting in a deep, desperate kiss—full of emotion neither of them could fully voice. When they pulled apart, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face into his chest.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured. “I promise.”

She walked over to the bed and opened a wooden box that had been sitting there all night. Inside, nestled in black velvet, lay a pair of gleaming golden stiletto daggers. Each blade was about a foot long, sleek and deadly, with the symbol V9 engraved into the hilt. The Viper King’s 9 most trusted members were called the V9-Y/n being one of them. She was the strongest and the most trusted.

Tony walked over slowly, eyeing them. “Are those… your weapons?”

Y/n picked them up one by one, the weight of them familiar—almost too familiar. Her fingers traced the V9 symbol as she sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at them. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s been a long time since I held them. These daggers… every time I used them, I didn’t just take a life. I lost a piece of my soul.”

Tony sat beside her without a word and pulled her into a firm, protective hug. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her silent tears soaked into his shirt, and he just held her tighter, letting her cry until the weight on her chest loosened.

After a few moments, she straightened up and wiped her face. She slid the daggers into the hidden sheathes sewn into the lining of her jacket. Her expression hardened, resolve settling in her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon, Mr. Stark,” she said with a faint, teasing smile.

Tony stood, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Take care, Mrs. Stark. And come back to me.”

She nodded once, kissed him on the cheek, and walked out the door—toward her past, toward danger, and toward whatever it would take to protect the man she loved.

___

Y/n stepped out of her car, parked discreetly in a shadowy alley just off a quiet Manhattan street. The morning was cool, the city waking up around her, unaware of the dark web she was about to re-enter. She took a steadying breath and adjusted her black leather jacket, her fingers brushing against the hidden daggers inside.

Across the street sat an unassuming flower shop with ivy crawling over its sign: Blossoms and Blooms. The storefront window displayed bright arrangements of tulips and lilies, the very picture of innocence.

Y/n pushed open the glass door, a soft chime echoing overhead.

“Welcome to Blossoms and Blooms!” said a cheerful blonde woman behind the counter. She wore a warm smile, her hands dusted with pollen. “I’m Venessa. How can I help you today?”

Y/n’s gaze remained cool, composed. “I’m looking for a special bouquet,” she said smoothly. “It’s called Nine Violets.”

Venessa’s smile faltered just a fraction. Her eyes sharpened. “Of course,” she said softly. “Follow me.”

Y/n followed her through the store, past buckets of roses and fragrant herbs, into the back storage room. On one wall hung a vibrant painting of sunflowers in a field.

Without a word, Venessa reached out and pulled the picture aside, revealing a hidden scanner. A soft click echoed through the room, and the wall in front of them slid open with a mechanical hum.

Y/n stepped through the hidden entrance. Immediately, two men in black tactical gear stepped forward, blocking her path.

“Who are you?” the first man demanded, voice hard.

Y/n met his gaze without flinching. Her tone dropped, cold and deadly. “Tell your boss… the Black Viper is back.”

The second man’s phone buzzed. He answered quickly, his eyes never leaving Y/n. “Yes, sir… she’s here. I understand.” He hung up and gave a small nod to his partner.

“She’s been summoned.”

Without another word, the two men turned, and Y/n followed closely behind. As she walked deeper into the underground base, her eyes scanned everything—security cameras hidden in corners, the layout of the corridors, the number of armed guards. Every detail burned into her memory.

Eventually, they arrived at a heavy wooden door. It swung open, revealing a lavish room—mahogany-paneled walls, rich wooden floors, and an arsenal of weapons mounted like trophies. Guns, swords, and daggers gleamed beneath warm lighting.

Behind a large desk sat a tall, broad-shouldered man in a custom charcoal suit. His silver-streaked hair was slicked back, and he carried himself with the authority of someone used to power. Benjamin Blackwood—the Phantom Viper King.

As Y/n stepped in, Benjamin stood from his chair with a slow smile.

“Gentlemen, leave us,” he said.

The guards exited, but another man entered—leaner, with sharp eyes and a twisted smile. Lucas Chamberlain, Benjamin’s right-hand man.

Benjamin walked over to a small bar and poured himself a drink, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “It was quite a shock to us,” he began, “when the legendary Black Viper ‘died’ in that fire. Especially for me. I couldn’t accept it. I told Lucas—there’s no way she went down so easily.”

Y/n said nothing. Her expression remained unreadable.

Benjamin chuckled, taking a sip. “When we couldn’t find a body, part of me hoped you’d survived. We searched, of course. For months. But eventually… we moved on.”

Lucas stepped forward, folding his arms. “Then, a few years later, news broke that Tony Stark had married—but no one knew who the wife was. Naturally, that piqued our interest. After digging around, imagine our surprise when we discovered that Stark’s mystery wife… was you.”

He smirked. “To confirm, we sent a team to the gala two nights ago. Cameras on their gear caught your face. Elegant dress, perfect smile—and deadly reflexes. There you were. Alive and kicking.”

Benjamin leaned back against the desk. “Why?” he asked, voice cool and quiet. “Why did you leave us, Y/n?”

Y/n finally spoke, her voice calm but heavy. “Because I couldn’t keep killing. I didn’t want to be your weapon anymore. I wanted to live… really live. I found something better. Someone better.”

Benjamin narrowed his eyes. “And yet, here you are again. Back where you belong.”

“I know what I am,” Y/n said. “I know what I was made into. And if returning is what it takes to protect the man I love… then I’ll do it. Just please—don’t hurt Tony. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Benjamin’s lips curled into a predatory grin. He gestured for her to sit, then glanced at Lucas, who stepped forward with a black folder.

Lucas handed it to Y/n. “This is your first assignment.”

She opened it. Inside were schematics for a new Stark Industries prototype—an advanced component used in Tony’s blaster tech.

“We want that,” Benjamin said. “You have five days to get it. Fail… and Stark dies.”

Y/n’s eyes flickered over the documents. “What do you want with this tech?”

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, you’ve been gone a long time. You don’t earn answers anymore. You prove yourself.”

“And how do I do that?” she asked sharply.

“You complete this task,” Lucas said, “and three more after it. Earn our trust again. Then maybe… we’ll talk.”

Y/n closed the folder, her jaw tightening. “Fine. I’ll get it done.”

Benjamin gave her a slow nod. “Welcome back, Black Viper.”

Without waiting for another word, Y/n turned and exited the room, the file tucked under her arm—her heart pounding. She wasn’t just walking back into her past.

She was walking into war.

___

Y/n stepped out of the flower shop, the chill in the evening air biting against her skin as if the city itself sensed the storm building inside her. She kept walking, blending into the crowd, her expression unreadable. But inside, her chest was tight—rage, fear, guilt, and the weight of what she had just agreed to twisting like barbed wire in her stomach.

By the time she returned to the Stark Tower penthouse, night had fallen.

The elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open. Tony was already waiting by the window, arms crossed, eyes on the skyline. He turned the moment he heard her steps. Relief flickered in his eyes—followed by worry.

“You’re back,” he said, voice low but steady.

Y/n nodded slowly, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her. She didn’t speak, just walked toward him until they were only a breath apart.

“Did they… did they hurt you?” he asked gently.

She shook her head. “No. But they made it clear what they’re capable of.”

Tony reached out, brushing her hair back. “Did they threaten you again?”

“They threatened you, Tony,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “They said if I didn’t do exactly what they asked… they’d kill you.”

He took her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Let them try,” he growled. “They won’t even make it to the front door.”

Y/n shook her head. “You don’t understand. This isn’t like Hydra. This isn’t the Red Room. The Phantom Vipers work in the shadows—erasing people before the world even knows they existed. And they want your tech.”

Tony’s jaw tightened. “What exactly do they want?”

“They gave me five days to steal the prototype from your lab… the new energy core you developed for the upgraded blaster system. That’s what they’re after. And if I don’t give it to them…” Her voice trailed off, but her eyes said the rest.

Tony turned away, running a hand through his hair. “Goddammit.”

“I had to pretend I wanted to rejoin them,” Y/n said quietly. “I told them I was willing to earn back their trust. It’s the only way I could get close enough to take them down from the inside.”

He turned back to her, his eyes scanning her face. “Do you even hear how dangerous that sounds? They nearly killed half the gala just trying to confirm you were alive. You walk back into that world, and it’s a miracle you made it out today.”

“I know. But if I run now, if I hide, they’ll come after you. And I will not lose you, Tony.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment—heavy, trembling.

Then Tony exhaled and walked over to the small bar. He poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to her. She took it gratefully, her hands still slightly trembling.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said suddenly. “Not anymore. I get why you didn’t tell me. You were scared. Hell, I’d be scared too.”

Her eyes welled up. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I know. But next time, let’s protect each other.”

She nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “They gave me three more tasks after this one. I don’t know what they are yet, but whatever they ask—I need to stall them. And buy us time to figure out how to bring them down.”

Tony took her glass and set it aside, then pulled her into his arms. “Then we do it together. You’re not alone in this anymore, Y/n. You never were.”

She buried her face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him, grounding herself in the only piece of peace she had left.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For not giving up on me.”

Tony kissed the top of her head. “Always. You’re my wife. And they messed with the wrong Stark.”

___

Tony’s lab buzzed with activity. The holograms danced around him as he stood at the central console, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp with focus. On the display was the blueprint for a new arc-based energy core he’d been developing for a next-generation repulsor weapon system—B.A.S.T.E.D. (Bio-Active Stark Tactical Energy Drive). Only this time, he wasn’t refining it—he was creating a decoy.

“I’ve layered the real core with a scrambled nanite field,” Tony muttered, mostly to himself, but Bruce, who was assisting remotely via video link, responded.

“Smart. So even if they scan it, it’ll read as functional. But if they try to use it—”

“It’ll short out and self-destruct within seconds,” Tony finished with a smirk. “They’ll think they got what they wanted. Meanwhile, we trace the signal and expose their infrastructure.”

Behind him, Y/n leaned against the glass wall, watching him work. Her arms were crossed, eyes tired but focused. “You sure they won’t catch on?”

Tony glanced back. “It’s cloaked with just enough tech to make them greedy. Trust me. I’m good at fake shiny things.”

Y/n cracked a faint smile. “I know. I married one.”

Tony gave her a mock look of offense, then softened. “You sure you want to do this?”

Y/n walked toward him and gently rested her hand on his. “It’s the only way. We get close enough to Benjamin, find their supply chains, take them down from the inside. Just… don’t stop tracking me.”

“I won’t,” Tony said, pulling her into a tight hug. “We’re in this together.”

⸻

Early morning. Stark Tower was quiet, save for the soft buzz of the security systems and the hum of lab equipment. Y/n entered the lab through the biometric scanner Tony had temporarily rigged to accept her override. The decoy energy core, safely secured in a titanium briefcase, sat on the workbench, waiting.

She picked it up, the weight of it far more than just physical. Turning toward the door, she whispered, “See you soon, Tony,” and disappeared into the morning haze.

From the living quarters, FRIDAY’s voice rang gently in Tony’s ear. “She’s passed the perimeter, Boss.”

Tony nodded, staring at the tracking screen. “Let’s see what snake pit she’s walking into.”

⸻

(Back in the Safety of Their Suite)

Tony paced back and forth, trying to make sense of everything. Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling despite her earlier display of lethal efficiency.

“So… you’re an assassin called The Black Viper?” Tony finally asked, his voice quieter, less accusatory.

Y/n nodded, her shoulders tense. “I was. Not anymore. I was trained from a young age after being orphaned. The Vipers take kids like me—orphans, runaways—and shape them into perfect killers. It was like the Red Room.I was one of the best. But I got out. I faked my death to escape that life.”

Tony’s anger softened, replaced by a mix of concern and curiosity. “How did you pull that off?”

Y/n hesitated, swallowing hard. “One day, a mission went too far. It was supposed to be a simple hit—a target with supposed criminal ties. But… the there was a child. An innocent. I couldn’t do it. I froze. When I tried to refuse, my handler reminded me of the punishment—being strapped to a chair and shocked until I couldn’t stand. They didn’t care about right or wrong. Just results.”

Tony knelt in front of her, his hands gently cupping hers. “So, what did you do?”

“A few nights later, I staged a mission to go wrong. Set a fire, made it look like I got caught in the blaze. The others thought I died. I knew I couldn’t keep living as a weapon. I just… wanted a chance to be human again.”

Tony took a deep breath, processing her words. “And you never told me because…?”

Y/n’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I wanted to. So many times. But every time I looked at you—how happy we were—I couldn’t bear to ruin it. When I met you, I didn’t expect to fall in love. I thought I was too broken, too damaged to deserve someone like you. But you… you made me feel like I could have a normal life. You made me feel human again.”

Tony squeezed her hands, his gaze softening. “You could’ve told me, Y/n. We don’t keep secrets from each other—remember?”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I know. I just… I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Tony brushed the tear away with his thumb, his touch gentle. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m just… processing. I’ve seen a lot of things, Y/n. Hell, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But this? You survived. You got out. And you found your way to me. That’s what matters.”

“I never asked you to protect me. I just wanted you to trust me.”Tony continued after taking a deep breath.

Y/n, teary-eyed “I was terrified you’d look at me differently. Like a monster.”

Tony pulls her into a tight embrace. “You’re not a monster. You’re my wife.”

Y/n’s voice broke as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Tony. I never wanted to put you in danger.”

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his voice steady. “We’ll figure it out. Together. But you have to trust me. Let me in—all the way.”

Y/n nodded, a tentative smile breaking through the fear. “I do. I always have.”

Tony pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, his mind still spinning but his heart anchored by the woman in his embrace. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

The next morning, the atmosphere in the living room was tense. Y/n stood in front of the Avengers, hands clasped tightly, eyes downcast. Tony stood slightly behind her, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The others gathered around, curiosity and unease clear on their faces.

Taking a shaky breath, Y/n finally spoke. “I owe you all an explanation. About my past—about why I never told any of you the truth. I used to be an assassin. The Phantom Vipers took me in when I was a child. They trained me to be their weapon. I thought I could leave that life behind, but… clearly, I was wrong.”

Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to break your trust. I just… couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. I was scared. Scared of losing the family I found here. Scared of being judged.”

Steve’s expression softened, though his voice remained firm. “Y/n, we’re angry—no one’s denying that. But we also understand. Sometimes it’s hard to open up about our pasts, especially when they’re… dark.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly, crossing her arms. “Forget about us, Y/n. You could have told Tony. It’s been five years since you two met—three years of marriage. You broke his heart.”

Y/n couldn’t bring herself to respond. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she bit her lip, holding them back. The guilt was suffocating.

Tony finally spoke, his tone calm but guarded. “Nat, I get it. I was angry, too—still am. For a moment, I thought she’d just used me as a cover, that none of it was real. But that’s not true. Y/n would never do something like that. Not now, not ever.”

Sam chimed in, his gaze shifting between Natasha and Clint. “Think about what she went through. You, Clint—you both know what it’s like to be trained as a weapon. You know how hard it is to break free from that. If anyone understands, it’s you two. Maybe it’s time to forgive her.”

Natasha glanced at Clint, who gave a small nod. She sighed, some of the tension leaving her posture. “I know how hard it is. But keeping something like this from us—especially from Tony—it hurts. We’re a team. We’re supposed to trust each other.”

Before Y/n could respond, Thor spoke up, his deep voice filled with concern. “Y/n, will these Phantom Vipers come back for you now that they know you live?”

Y/n straightened, forcing herself to meet Thor’s eyes. “Yes. Now that they know I’m alive, they’ll definitely come for me. And if I refuse to return, they’ll try to kill Tony. That’s how they operate—they destroy anything that could be seen as a weakness.”

Clint frowned. “There has to be another way to deal with them. You can’t just hand yourself over.”

Y/n took a deep breath. “There’s only one option left.”

Tony’s eyes flashed with fear and frustration as he grabbed Y/n’s shoulders, pulling her closer. “No. You’re not going back to them. I don’t care how strong they are. Let them try to come after me—but I’m not letting you go.”

Y/n gently placed her hands over his. “Tony, you don’t understand. They’re stronger than they look—more powerful than the Red Room. They don’t just kill; they dismantle lives. If I don’t go to them, they’ll keep coming—after me, after you, after everyone I care about.”

“There has to be another way,” Tony insisted, his voice softer but still determined.

Y/n hesitated. “Maybe there is… but it’s risky.”

Tony released her shoulders, stepping back. “Whatever it is, we’ll do it together.”

Y/n squared her shoulders, finding her resolve. “I’ll have to pretend to rejoin them. Get back on the inside and gather intel—figure out how to take them down from within.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s dangerous. How do you plan to convince them to take you back after you faked your death?”

Y/n looked around the room, her voice unwavering. “I know they will. I was their best assassin. They’ll see me as a valuable asset. If I can convince them that I faked my death for strategic reasons—or that I was injured and only recently recovered—they might buy it.”

Thor’s expression hardened. “You risk much, Lady Y/n. What if they see through your deception?”

Y/n swallowed hard. “If they do, they’ll kill me. But it’s the only way to stop them for good. I can’t keep running, and I won’t put all of you in danger because of my past.”

Steve approached, his hand resting on Y/n’s shoulder. “We’re not letting you face this alone. If this is the plan, we’ll back you up. We’ll find a way to support you without blowing your cover.”

Tony reached out, his fingers intertwining with Y/n’s. “You’re not going in there alone. We’ll figure out the logistics, but we’re doing this as a team. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself anymore.”

Y/n’s eyes filled with gratitude as she looked at him and the rest of the team. For the first time since the attack, she felt a sliver of hope. “Thank you. All of you. I won’t let you down.”

Natasha nodded, finally offering a small smile. “Just promise us one thing—you make it back. Alive.”

Y/n gave a determined nod. “I promise.”

___

Y/n stood in front of the mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the collar of her black leather jacket. The early morning light spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom. She was about to leave for the Phantom Vipers’ Manhattan base—the same place she had once called home, and now, a battlefield.

The call had come the night before, just as she’d expected. The Viper King’s most trusted lieutenant had spoken in a cold, clipped tone: “Come to the Manhattan base at dawn. If you refuse, Stark dies.”

Tony stepped into the room, holding something small and delicate between his fingers. “Here,” he said softly, walking up behind her. “Wear this.”

Y/n turned slightly as he fastened the necklace around her neck. It was a simple piece—elegant, almost forgettable—but she knew Tony well enough to expect more.

“What is it for?” she asked, running her fingers over the cool metal.

“It’s got a tracker embedded in the clasp,” Tony replied, his voice calm but edged with tension. “And if anyone so much as lays a finger on you without your consent, it sends an alert straight to me—and the team. We’ll be there. Fast.”

Y/n turned fully to face him, her gaze locking with his. “I love you so much, Tony,” she whispered, her voice breaking just slightly.

Tony cupped her face gently, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “I love you more. Just… please be careful, okay?”

She leaned in, their lips meeting in a deep, desperate kiss—full of emotion neither of them could fully voice. When they pulled apart, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face into his chest.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured. “I promise.”

She walked over to the bed and opened a wooden box that had been sitting there all night. Inside, nestled in black velvet, lay a pair of gleaming golden stiletto daggers. Each blade was about a foot long, sleek and deadly, with the symbol V9 engraved into the hilt. The Viper King’s 9 most trusted members were called the V9-Y/n being one of them. She was the strongest and the most trusted.

Tony walked over slowly, eyeing them. “Are those… your weapons?”

Y/n picked them up one by one, the weight of them familiar—almost too familiar. Her fingers traced the V9 symbol as she sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at them. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s been a long time since I held them. These daggers… every time I used them, I didn’t just take a life. I lost a piece of my soul.”

Tony sat beside her without a word and pulled her into a firm, protective hug. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Her silent tears soaked into his shirt, and he just held her tighter, letting her cry until the weight on her chest loosened.

After a few moments, she straightened up and wiped her face. She slid the daggers into the hidden sheathes sewn into the lining of her jacket. Her expression hardened, resolve settling in her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon, Mr. Stark,” she said with a faint, teasing smile.

Tony stood, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Take care, Mrs. Stark. And come back to me.”

She nodded once, kissed him on the cheek, and walked out the door—toward her past, toward danger, and toward whatever it would take to protect the man she loved.

___

Y/n stepped out of her car, parked discreetly in a shadowy alley just off a quiet Manhattan street. The morning was cool, the city waking up around her, unaware of the dark web she was about to re-enter. She took a steadying breath and adjusted her black leather jacket, her fingers brushing against the hidden daggers inside.

Across the street sat an unassuming flower shop with ivy crawling over its sign: Blossoms and Blooms. The storefront window displayed bright arrangements of tulips and lilies, the very picture of innocence.

Y/n pushed open the glass door, a soft chime echoing overhead.

“Welcome to Blossoms and Blooms!” said a cheerful blonde woman behind the counter. She wore a warm smile, her hands dusted with pollen. “I’m Venessa. How can I help you today?”

Y/n’s gaze remained cool, composed. “I’m looking for a special bouquet,” she said smoothly. “It’s called Nine Violets.”

Venessa’s smile faltered just a fraction. Her eyes sharpened. “Of course,” she said softly. “Follow me.”

Y/n followed her through the store, past buckets of roses and fragrant herbs, into the back storage room. On one wall hung a vibrant painting of sunflowers in a field.

Without a word, Venessa reached out and pulled the picture aside, revealing a hidden scanner. A soft click echoed through the room, and the wall in front of them slid open with a mechanical hum.

Y/n stepped through the hidden entrance. Immediately, two men in black tactical gear stepped forward, blocking her path.

“Who are you?” the first man demanded, voice hard.

Y/n met his gaze without flinching. Her tone dropped, cold and deadly. “Tell your boss… the Black Viper is back.”

The second man’s phone buzzed. He answered quickly, his eyes never leaving Y/n. “Yes, sir… she’s here. I understand.” He hung up and gave a small nod to his partner.

“She’s been summoned.”

Without another word, the two men turned, and Y/n followed closely behind. As she walked deeper into the underground base, her eyes scanned everything—security cameras hidden in corners, the layout of the corridors, the number of armed guards. Every detail burned into her memory.

Eventually, they arrived at a heavy wooden door. It swung open, revealing a lavish room—mahogany-paneled walls, rich wooden floors, and an arsenal of weapons mounted like trophies. Guns, swords, and daggers gleamed beneath warm lighting.

Behind a large desk sat a tall, broad-shouldered man in a custom charcoal suit. His silver-streaked hair was slicked back, and he carried himself with the authority of someone used to power. Benjamin Blackwood—the Phantom Viper King.

As Y/n stepped in, Benjamin stood from his chair with a slow smile.

“Gentlemen, leave us,” he said.

The guards exited, but another man entered—leaner, with sharp eyes and a twisted smile. Lucas Chamberlain, Benjamin’s right-hand man.

Benjamin walked over to a small bar and poured himself a drink, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “It was quite a shock to us,” he began, “when the legendary Black Viper ‘died’ in that fire. Especially for me. I couldn’t accept it. I told Lucas—there’s no way she went down so easily.”

Y/n said nothing. Her expression remained unreadable.

Benjamin chuckled, taking a sip. “When we couldn’t find a body, part of me hoped you’d survived. We searched, of course. For months. But eventually… we moved on.”

Lucas stepped forward, folding his arms. “Then, a few years later, news broke that Tony Stark had married—but no one knew who the wife was. Naturally, that piqued our interest. After digging around, imagine our surprise when we discovered that Stark’s mystery wife… was you.”

He smirked. “To confirm, we sent a team to the gala two nights ago. Cameras on their gear caught your face. Elegant dress, perfect smile—and deadly reflexes. There you were. Alive and kicking.”

Benjamin leaned back against the desk. “Why?” he asked, voice cool and quiet. “Why did you leave us, Y/n?”

Y/n finally spoke, her voice calm but heavy. “Because I couldn’t keep killing. I didn’t want to be your weapon anymore. I wanted to live… really live. I found something better. Someone better.”

Benjamin narrowed his eyes. “And yet, here you are again. Back where you belong.”

“I know what I am,” Y/n said. “I know what I was made into. And if returning is what it takes to protect the man I love… then I’ll do it. Just please—don’t hurt Tony. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Benjamin’s lips curled into a predatory grin. He gestured for her to sit, then glanced at Lucas, who stepped forward with a black folder.

Lucas handed it to Y/n. “This is your first assignment.”

She opened it. Inside were schematics for a new Stark Industries prototype—an advanced component used in Tony’s blaster tech.

“We want that,” Benjamin said. “You have five days to get it. Fail… and Stark dies.”

Y/n’s eyes flickered over the documents. “What do you want with this tech?”

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, you’ve been gone a long time. You don’t earn answers anymore. You prove yourself.”

“And how do I do that?” she asked sharply.

“You complete this task,” Lucas said, “and three more after it. Earn our trust again. Then maybe… we’ll talk.”

Y/n closed the folder, her jaw tightening. “Fine. I’ll get it done.”

Benjamin gave her a slow nod. “Welcome back, Black Viper.”

Without waiting for another word, Y/n turned and exited the room, the file tucked under her arm—her heart pounding. She wasn’t just walking back into her past.

She was walking into war.

___

Y/n stepped out of the flower shop, the chill in the evening air biting against her skin as if the city itself sensed the storm building inside her. She kept walking, blending into the crowd, her expression unreadable. But inside, her chest was tight—rage, fear, guilt, and the weight of what she had just agreed to twisting like barbed wire in her stomach.

By the time she returned to the Stark Tower penthouse, night had fallen.

The elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open. Tony was already waiting by the window, arms crossed, eyes on the skyline. He turned the moment he heard her steps. Relief flickered in his eyes—followed by worry.

“You’re back,” he said, voice low but steady.

Y/n nodded slowly, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her. She didn’t speak, just walked toward him until they were only a breath apart.

“Did they… did they hurt you?” he asked gently.

She shook her head. “No. But they made it clear what they’re capable of.”

Tony reached out, brushing her hair back. “Did they threaten you again?”

“They threatened you, Tony,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “They said if I didn’t do exactly what they asked… they’d kill you.”

He took her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Let them try,” he growled. “They won’t even make it to the front door.”

Y/n shook her head. “You don’t understand. This isn’t like Hydra. This isn’t the Red Room. The Phantom Vipers work in the shadows—erasing people before the world even knows they existed. And they want your tech.”

Tony’s jaw tightened. “What exactly do they want?”

“They gave me five days to steal the prototype from your lab… the new energy core you developed for the upgraded blaster system. That’s what they’re after. And if I don’t give it to them…” Her voice trailed off, but her eyes said the rest.

Tony turned away, running a hand through his hair. “Goddammit.”

“I had to pretend I wanted to rejoin them,” Y/n said quietly. “I told them I was willing to earn back their trust. It’s the only way I could get close enough to take them down from the inside.”

He turned back to her, his eyes scanning her face. “Do you even hear how dangerous that sounds? They nearly killed half the gala just trying to confirm you were alive. You walk back into that world, and it’s a miracle you made it out today.”

“I know. But if I run now, if I hide, they’ll come after you. And I will not lose you, Tony.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment—heavy, trembling.

Then Tony exhaled and walked over to the small bar. He poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to her. She took it gratefully, her hands still slightly trembling.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said suddenly. “Not anymore. I get why you didn’t tell me. You were scared. Hell, I’d be scared too.”

Her eyes welled up. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I know. But next time, let’s protect each other.”

She nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “They gave me three more tasks after this one. I don’t know what they are yet, but whatever they ask—I need to stall them. And buy us time to figure out how to bring them down.”

Tony took her glass and set it aside, then pulled her into his arms. “Then we do it together. You’re not alone in this anymore, Y/n. You never were.”

She buried her face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him, grounding herself in the only piece of peace she had left.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For not giving up on me.”

Tony kissed the top of her head. “Always. You’re my wife. And they messed with the wrong Stark.”

___

Tony’s lab buzzed with activity. The holograms danced around him as he stood at the central console, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp with focus. On the display was the blueprint for a new arc-based energy core he’d been developing for a next-generation repulsor weapon system—B.A.S.T.E.D. (Bio-Active Stark Tactical Energy Drive). Only this time, he wasn’t refining it—he was creating a decoy.

“I’ve layered the real core with a scrambled nanite field,” Tony muttered, mostly to himself, but Bruce, who was assisting remotely via video link, responded.

“Smart. So even if they scan it, it’ll read as functional. But if they try to use it—”

“It’ll short out and self-destruct within seconds,” Tony finished with a smirk. “They’ll think they got what they wanted. Meanwhile, we trace the signal and expose their infrastructure.”

Behind him, Y/n leaned against the glass wall, watching him work. Her arms were crossed, eyes tired but focused. “You sure they won’t catch on?”

Tony glanced back. “It’s cloaked with just enough tech to make them greedy. Trust me. I’m good at fake shiny things.”

Y/n cracked a faint smile. “I know. I married one.”

Tony gave her a mock look of offense, then softened. “You sure you want to do this?”

Y/n walked toward him and gently rested her hand on his. “It’s the only way. We get close enough to Benjamin, find their supply chains, take them down from the inside. Just… don’t stop tracking me.”

“I won’t,” Tony said, pulling her into a tight hug. “We’re in this together.”

⸻

Early morning. Stark Tower was quiet, save for the soft buzz of the security systems and the hum of lab equipment. Y/n entered the lab through the biometric scanner Tony had temporarily rigged to accept her override. The decoy energy core, safely secured in a titanium briefcase, sat on the workbench, waiting.

She picked it up, the weight of it far more than just physical. Turning toward the door, she whispered, “See you soon, Tony,” and disappeared into the morning haze.

From the living quarters, FRIDAY’s voice rang gently in Tony’s ear. “She’s passed the perimeter, Boss.”

Tony nodded, staring at the tracking screen. “Let’s see what snake pit she’s walking into.”

⸻

(The Viper Base)

Benjamin Blackwood stood by the tall windows of his office, sipping wine when Y/n arrived. Lucas was seated nearby, flipping through files.

“You’re right on time,” Benjamin said without turning. “Punctuality… I’ve always admired that in you.”

Y/n stepped forward, opened the case, and presented the decoy core. “Here. The energy core for B.A.S.T.E.D. You’ve got what you wanted.”

Benjamin turned, inspecting it with greedy eyes. “Brilliant work, Black Viper. See? I knew you hadn’t gone soft.”

Y/n forced a smile. “What’s the next task?”

Lucas stood, picking up a black folder and handing it to her. Inside were images of a man in his late 30s—short cropped hair, scars across his jawline, and piercing green eyes.

“Oscar Wesley,” Lucas said. “He was one of us. Your right hand, if I recall correctly. He betrayed us, sold intel to a rival syndicate. We need him gone.”

Y/n’s fingers tightened around the folder. “You want me to kill him.”

Benjamin’s eyes narrowed. “I want you to prove your loyalty. You’re not hesitating, are you?”

Y/n shook her head. “No. I’ll take care of it.”

⸻

Y/n found Oscar in an abandoned warehouse in Queens—their old meeting spot, long since deserted. The moment he saw her, his eyes widened.

“Y/n? Shit—I thought you were—”

“Dead?” she interrupted. “Yeah. You and everyone else.”

Oscar stepped forward. “Are you back with them? Why?”

“I don’t have time to explain. They want you dead. I’m supposed to kill you.”

Oscar raised his hands slowly. “So why haven’t you?”

Y/n pulled out a vial from her belt. “Because I have a plan. You’re going to go down, Oscar. Just not permanently.”

She uncorked the vial and poured a few drops into a cloth. “This will knock you out for six hours. No damage. When you wake up, vanish. Disappear for good.”

Oscar stared at her, disbelief all over his face. “You’re risking everything.”

“I have to. I won’t become what they want me to be again.”

Oscar nodded, trusting her. “Do it.”

She pressed the cloth to his face. Moments later, he was out cold.

Y/n laid him against a crate, splattered fake blood from a hidden pouch across his chest and shirt, placed a blade next to him, and snapped photos to send to Benjamin.

She whispered, “Stay down, old friend,” before slipping back into the shadows.

___

(Later That Night – Back at the Viper Base)

Y/n stepped back into Benjamin’s office, the dim light casting long shadows across the weapons-laced walls. She handed Lucas the file of photos—Oscar’s lifeless-looking body sprawled across cracked concrete, bloodstained shirt, blade in hand.

Lucas flipped through the images, nodding. “Convincing. You still have that old touch.”

Benjamin grinned from his seat. “The Black Viper returns to form. I’m impressed. You hesitated before, but now… you’re proving your worth.”

Y/n said nothing, her face blank, voice cold. “What’s next?”

Benjamin stood, walking toward the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a drink and one for her, though she didn’t take it.

“There’s one final task,” he said. “After this, you’ll be reinstated. Full access, full status. No more tests. But I need something… delicate.”

Lucas stepped forward again, holding out a slim encrypted flash drive. “The Avengers. We want their next mission plans. Locations, rosters, tech deployment—anything we can use to stay one step ahead.”

Y/n’s stomach tightened. She kept her expression neutral. “You want me to spy on my own team.”

Benjamin tilted his glass toward her. “Not spy. Just… gather. You’re close to Stark. He trusts you. Use that. Think of it as protecting us from future ambushes.”

Y/n took the drive, slipping it into her pocket. “I’ll get you what you need.”

⸻

Back at Stark Tower, Y/n met with Tony in their private suite, away from FRIDAY’s regular surveillance.

“They want intel on your next missions,” she whispered, sitting close to him on the edge of the bed. “If I don’t give them something useful, they’ll know I’m stalling.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. We feed them fake data. Enough to look real, but nothing that actually puts anyone in danger.”

He opened a private terminal, projecting a map of a location in Kazan, Russia—a known but abandoned Hydra outpost. “What if we make it look like we’re planning a strike here? We can fabricate troop deployment plans, tech specs, even mission logs.”

“I can plant it in our encrypted server,” Y/n said. “They’ve got bugs tracing my movements—I’ll make it look like I hacked the drive.”

Tony looked at her for a moment. “You sure you’re okay doing this?”

Y/n nodded. “They want me to prove my loyalty. Let’s give them a show.”

⸻

(Three Days Later – Phantom Vipers Base)

Y/n handed over the flash drive to Lucas, who ran it through a decryption scanner.

“Looks legit,” he murmured.

Benjamin took a puff from his cigar. “We’ll move our supplies from the secondary Kazan base. Just in case.”

The following day, the Vipers narrowly escaped a surprise “raid” they believed was meant for them. Empty warehouses, but still—they had bought the lie.

Benjamin poured Y/n a glass of aged whiskey and offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You saved us. If you hadn’t brought that intel, we would’ve walked into a death trap.”

Y/n held the glass in her hand but didn’t drink. “I said I wanted to earn your trust.”

Benjamin chuckled. “You’ve done more than that. Welcome back, Black Viper.”

⸻

(Stark Tower – That Night)

Tony stood on the balcony, wind tousling his hair as he watched Y/n enter their suite.

She walked into his arms without a word, pressing her forehead to his chest.

“You did it,” he whispered. “You got in.”

“But we’re not done yet,” Y/n said quietly. “I’m going to find out everything—where they keep their data, their leadership structure, weapon supplies, everything.”

Tony gently tilted her chin up. “We’re going to burn them to the ground.”

Y/n’s eyes flared with determination. “And I’ll be the match.”

___

Now fully reinstated into the Vipers, Y/n moved through the base with calculated ease—wearing the face of a loyal assassin, while silently turning the organization against itself.

In the tech wing late one night, Y/n entered the secure server room with a confident nod to the guard outside.

“Routine diagnostics,” she said flatly, flashing her old clearance badge—one Benjamin had reinstated himself.

Inside, she opened a panel beneath the main communications array. Hidden inside her jacket sleeve, a micro device from Tony slid easily into the system port. The screen flickered. Mission logs, field reports, and direct messages between Viper operatives began to corrupt, replacing orders with false coordinates and conflicting intel.

“Let’s see how long you last without your voice,” Y/n whispered.

⸻

Over the next three days, explosions rocked the base—small, precise, and always in weapon storage areas.

Boom. A crate of prototype grenades detonated in Sector 4.

Boom. A stash of energy rifles short-circuited in the West Wing vault.

Every time, the cause was ruled either faulty wiring or a possible external attack. Y/n made sure of it—using Tony’s remote timers, leaving false traces of rival organization signatures.

“Whoever’s doing this,” Lucas growled one morning, “wants us weak.”

Y/n stood silently at Benjamin’s side, eyes wide with feigned concern. “What if the Red Room’s behind it?” she offered softly.

Benjamin narrowed his eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe someone inside’s been bought off.”

Perfect.

⸻

Y/n moved like a ghost through the barracks, planting seeds of doubt.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” she whispered to one guard, “but I saw Caleb meeting Lucas after hours. Door was locked for a while. Weird, right?”

To another: “I heard Benjamin’s been asking about who’s loyal… and who isn’t.”

Rumors spread like wildfire. Friends stopped trusting friends. Some guards even turned their weapons on each other during drills.

The base was a mess. Communication failures. Explosions. Infighting.

Benjamin’s once iron grip on the Vipers was slipping—and he knew it.

“I want all my movements locked down. No one enters this office without my word,” he barked.

Lucas frowned. “Even your guards?”

“Especially them.”

Benjamin started isolating himself, relying on fewer and fewer people. Paranoia etched into his features. His private quarters—once guarded by four elite men—were now down to one. His faith in his empire was crumbling.

And Y/n saw it.

⸻

Late that night, she connected with Tony through the necklace tracker, now modified with a mini comm-link.

“They’re cracking,” she whispered into the device, hidden behind her collar. “Benjamin’s isolating himself. Just a little more time.”

“You’re doing incredible,” Tony replied. “We’ll be ready when you give the signal.”

“What about the Viper data vault?” she asked.

“Natasha and I are working on the infiltration route. Once you confirm the location, we’re in.”

Y/n took a deep breath. “Soon, Tony. I promise. We’re almost there.”

___

It was past midnight when Y/n finally found it.

She was walking down a rarely used corridor in the Phantom Vipers’ underground base when she noticed something off—two guards posted silently outside what looked like a janitor’s closet. They stiffened when she passed.

She doubled back later, unseen, and hacked the hidden keypad. Inside: reinforced steel walls, laser grids, and a biometric scanner. Labeled on a plaque just beside the door was the name: Project Grave Serpent – Classified Intel Vault.

This was it. The Vipers’ entire intelligence bank.

Y/n stepped back, her heart racing. She didn’t need to break in—not yet. She just needed to tell Tony.

⸻

Later that night, hidden in the deserted north wing of the compound, Y/n activated her comms.

“The data vault is beneath Sector Nine,” she whispered, her voice low. “Labelled Project Grave Serpent. Double-guarded and sealed. We’ll need—”

She froze.

A faint creak.

She turned slowly—Lucas.

He stood in the shadows behind a pillar, wide-eyed, one hand on his own earpiece.

“Lucas,” she said carefully, “how long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to know you’re not here for redemption,” he growled.

Y/n moved before he could run. In a fluid motion, she struck his throat with the edge of her hand, cutting off his breath, then twisted his arm back and plunged a dagger into his ribs—clean, fast, silent.

Lucas crumpled.

“I really liked you, Lucas,” she murmured, dragging his body to a utility shaft. She wiped the blood off her blade and turned away.

⸻

The next morning, Y/n entered Benjamin’s office with a hardened look.

“We had a traitor,” she said, tossing Lucas’s communicator and a charred piece of plastic onto his desk. “I found this in his jacket—a Stark prototype explosive.”

Benjamin’s brows rose. “Lucas?”

“I overheard him talking to Stark through a hidden channel last night. He must’ve been feeding intel for weeks,” she said coldly. “He knew about our internal failures. He was going to sell you out.”

Benjamin clenched his fists, pacing slowly. “He was like a brother to me…”

“He was going to bring you down,” Y/n said sharply. “I did what I had to do.”

Benjamin was silent for a long time. Then, with a bitter smile, he looked at her. “You’ve proven your loyalty, Black Viper. When this is over… there’ll be a place beside me again.”

Y/n bowed her head.

“That’s the plan,” she thought.

⸻

Later that day, Benjamin summoned the council.

“The time has come,” he announced. “We strike Stark Industries. A final move to send a message to every government, every Avenger, every rat who’s tried to shut us down.”

Y/n stepped forward. “Let me lead the mission.”

Benjamin tilted his head. “You sure you’re ready for that kind of responsibility?”

“I need to prove my loyalty. Give me this chance, and I’ll burn Stark’s empire to the ground.”

Benjamin studied her face… then nodded.

⸻

Back in her quarters, Y/n activated the encrypted comm Tony had given her.

“They’re moving tomorrow. Midnight. But listen, we’re turning this into an ambush.”

Tony’s voice crackled in response. “Tell me where and when. We’ll be ready.”

“They’re splitting into three assault units. I’ve altered their map—two units are going to fake locations where your teams will intercept them. I’ll handle the third.”

“You won’t be alone, right?”

“I’m meeting you and Natasha at the real rendezvous. You’re going in disguised.”

“I hate the idea of you surrounded by Vipers, Y/n…”

“I’ll be fine. Just make it convincing.”

⸻

The next morning, Y/n casually dropped a coded message into a public conversation with two operatives.

“Strange… Lucas warned me about a leak before he died. Said there were more traitors.”

She saw it work. By nightfall, half the squad was watching the other half with suspicion.

⸻

At midnight, the Vipers mobilized.

Y/n led Strike Team Alpha to a shipping yard in Brooklyn—the “Stark Systems distribution center.”

“Team Beta, head to the Stark Research Annex,” she instructed. “Gamma, you circle around and cut their power grid.”

Both locations were decoys. Waiting there, in silence, were Steve, Sam, Clint, and Bruce—all ready to take the squads down.

Y/n arrived at the actual rendezvous—a dockside warehouse—flanked by a dozen Vipers.

Tony and Natasha waited nearby in full Viper gear, faces obscured by helmets.

Y/n glanced at them briefly, just a flick of recognition.

Then the “shootout” began.

Gunfire echoed. Smoke bombs filled the air.

From above, Y/n shouted, “We’re under attack! Rival mercenaries!”

In the chaos, she slipped through the smoke, silently disabling two Vipers. Natasha took down another three with stun darts. Tony locked the door from the inside, trapping the remaining Vipers.

By the end of the night, half of the Phantom Vipers’ force was neutralized. The other half were either captured or thrown into complete disarray.

And Benjamin Blackwood… still didn’t know what was coming.

Under cover of night, a team of Avengers—Steve, Natasha, and Sam—descended on the Phantom Vipers’ underground compound. Y/n had disabled the internal security grids just before their arrival, granting them five minutes of undetected access.

“Sector Nine,” Y/n’s voice echoed through their comms. “North corridor, second floor below the armory. You’ll find the vault labeled Project Grave Serpent. Hurry.”

Steve and Sam took out the guards with precision strikes, while Natasha used a mini EMP to short the biometric lock. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing rows of hard drives, schematics, and encrypted files.

“Copying everything now,” Steve said, pulling out a Stark Industries drive. “Give us five.”

“You’ve got three,” Y/n replied, her voice tense. “Something’s wrong. I feel it.”

⸻

Y/n was on her way back to her quarters when she felt it—silence, too heavy, too still. As she turned the corner, Benjamin emerged from the shadows, flanked by two guards.

“Going somewhere?” he asked coolly, sipping a glass of dark red wine.

“I was just—”

“No need to lie,” he said, lifting a small device and pressing a button.

Footage played—security cam shots of the fake ambush, audio of her conversation with Tony, and even the image of her helping Natasha out of the compound. The blood drained from her face.

“You betrayed me,” he whispered, the calm in his voice more terrifying than a scream. “You were always my masterpiece. And now you’ve chosen to destroy your creator.”

He tossed the wine glass aside.

“Guards—leave us.”

The room exploded into violence.

Y/n lunged first, twin golden stilettos daggers flashing. Benjamin countered with brutal strikes—he was older, but still powerful. He slammed her into the wall, cracking concrete.

“You think Stark loves you? You think they’ll ever see you as more than a weapon?” he snarled, grabbing her by the throat.

“I’d rather be their weapon than your pet!” Y/n shouted, headbutting him and slashing across his chest.

Blood spattered. Benjamin staggered—then, in one quick move, pulled a hidden pistol and shot her.

Y/n gasped as the bullet tore into her abdomen. She collapsed to the ground.

“Y/N!” Tony’s voice echoed as his Iron Man suit smashed through the ceiling, landing hard beside her.

He blasted Benjamin back with a repulsor shot and dropped to his knees.

“Stay with me, baby. Stay awake. I’ve got you. J.A.R.V.I.S, get a med-evac team here now!”

Y/n’s lips moved faintly. “Don’t… do…anything Tony…”

Benjamin stood, coughing blood, laughing.

“You won’t save her,” he said, voice hoarse. “Because if she dies… I die. And if I die… she dies too.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Benjamin grinned, lifting his shirt slightly to reveal a glowing implant above his heart.

“When I found her, she was barely alive. But her instincts—her rage, her precision—I knew she was special. So I made her mine. We’re connected.”

“You linked your hearts?” Tony growled.

“I made her essential. I made her eternal. If I die—so does the Black Viper.”

Tony’s voice turned ice-cold. “You’re insane.”

He lunged, unleashing a brutal flurry of punches. Benjamin barely fought back, laughing between blood-choked gasps.

“She’s mine…”

Suddenly—Y/n stirred. Through the haze of pain, her hand closed around the golden dagger beside her.

With all her strength, she twisted her body and hurled it.

Thwack.

The dagger buried itself in Benjamin’s chest, just above his heart.

Benjamin gasped, stumbling backward—eyes wide in shock. Then he crumpled to the floor.

But at the same time, Y/n cried out in agony, clutching her chest.

Tony caught her just before she fell. “No, no, no. Stay with me.”

Her breathing was shallow. “Tony… I knew…”

His voice cracked. “You knew about the device?”

She nodded faintly. “I was just waiting… for the right moment.”

He held her tightly, voice shaking. “We’re not losing you. I swear. Hang on.”

⸻

Back at Stark Tower, the medical bay buzzed with urgency.

Tony carried her in bridal style, blood staining his arms. “She’s crashing. Get Bruce.

NOW!”

Bruce Banner rushed in. “Vitals are weak. We’ve got minutes, Tony.”

The two men worked side by side—removing the bullet, then prepping for something far more dangerous: extracting the core implant from her heart without triggering the kill-switch Benjamin had described.

“Her heart rate’s dropping!” Bruce yelled.

“Come on, sweetheart. Come back to me,” Tony whispered, sweat on his brow as he made the final incision.

Then—silence.

A single beep. Then another. And another.

Bruce exhaled. “She’s stable.”

Tony sat back, his hands trembling, eyes misting.

“I got you back.”

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of monitors. Golden light from the evening sun filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Y/n lay in the recovery bed, pale but peaceful, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A small bandage peeked out beneath her hospital gown, covering the place where Bruce and Tony had removed the device.

Tony hadn’t left her side.

He sat in a chair beside the bed, head resting on his folded arms. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair, and the arc reactor in his chest blinked softly in the low light.

The door slid open quietly. Natasha entered, holding two cups of coffee. Steve and Bruce followed.

“She’s stable,” Bruce said softly. “Vitals have been normal for hours. She just needs rest.”

Tony didn’t respond at first. He lifted his head, rubbing his face. “She shouldn’t have known about the implant. And she did. For years.”

“She was protecting you, Stark,” Natasha said, handing him a coffee. “In her own way.”

Tony looked at her, pain still flickering behind his eyes. “She was ready to die for me. Again.”

A soft groan broke the silence. Y/n’s fingers twitched, and her eyes fluttered open.

Tony was up in an instant. “Y/n? Hey—hey, I’m right here.”

Her vision blurred for a moment before focusing on his face. She gave a weak smile. “You look terrible.”

He laughed through his relief. “You almost died and I look terrible?”

She reached up slowly, her fingers brushing his cheek. “You saved me.”

“I wasn’t going to let you go. Not again.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “The device—”

“Gone,” Tony said gently, cupping her hand. “Bruce and I got it out. You’re free, Y/n. For real this time.”

She blinked, letting the words sink in.

The team gathered in the lounge, surrounding Y/n with warmth and quiet support. Steve handed her a blanket, while Sam placed her favorite tea on the side table. Even Thor had shown up, setting down a basket of Asgardian fruit beside her.

“You were very brave,” Steve said. “You took them down from the inside. That takes more than strength. That takes heart.”

“I just… I wanted to fix what I broke,” Y/n said softly.

“You didn’t break anything,” Natasha replied, taking her hand. “You survived what no one else could. And you still came back.”

Tony cleared his throat. “I think it’s time we stop treating her like the assassin who hid her past… and start calling her what she really is.”

Everyone looked at him.

“My wife. The one who just brought down an international kill squad with her bare hands and a couple of fancy daggers.”

Y/n smiled. “You forgot charm and sarcasm.”

Tony grinned. “Right. Deadliest combo.”

Later that night, Y/n and Tony lay together on the balcony, wrapped in a soft blanket under the stars. The city below was alive, but their world was still.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” Tony whispered.

“I thought I was going to lose myself again,” she replied.

He kissed the side of her head. “No more secrets.”

“No more assassins,” she added with a smirk.

He looked at her. “You know what the craziest part is?”

“What?”

“I’d still fall for you. Even knowing everything. The Vipers, the danger, the heartbreak… I’d do it all again. For you.”

Y/n leaned into him, eyes misty. “Then let’s make it count this time. No more running.”

Tony took her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Together?”

“Always.”

They watched the stars dance above, comforted by their shared promise.

-The end

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 36

Paper Hat

     Ford was hunched over his workbench, one sleeve neatly rolled to the elbow, the other pushed haphazardly, leaving uneven creases in the fabric. His hands moved with meticulous precision, the fingers of his left adjusting a capacitor, the right tapping out a sequence against the prototype’s frame. The lab was warm, though not uncomfortably so. The scent of solder, machine oil, and something distinctly metallic made the air feel thicker. 

     The room itself had taken on the character of its occupants: cluttered but deliberate so, walls lined with diagrams and lists, ideas scrawled in Ford’s handwriting, some scratched out, some circled, some so buried beneath layers of notes that their original intent has been lost. The workbench was no better—wires, discarded scraps, stray tools resting inches from where they should be but never so far as to be misplaced. 

     Ford scribbled a quick note in the already-cluttered margin of a schematic, then adjusted the chamber of his latest project—a new kind of pistol. The breakthrough was in the power source. No ammunition, no external fuel—just raw energy, self-sustaining, cycling indefinitely. Destruction and renewal in perfect balance. If it worked, the blaster wouldn’t just be a weapon; it would be an extension of the one who wielded it—seamless, inexhaustible.

        A month. That’s how long it had been—

     The thought was interrupted by Fidds walking past his peripheral. He didn’t look up from his clipboard as he moved, muttering under his breath about the perimeter drones—their responsiveness, the way one had nearly clipped him in the shoulder earlier. He reached the nearest half-assembled unit and smacked its side with the flat of his palm. It hummed to life, hovered uncertainly, sputtered, and dropped back onto the table with a disheartened clunk.

     Ford finally glanced up. “They teach you that one in undergrad?”

     Fidds shrugged, shifting his gum to the other side of his mouth. “Works on the TV.”

     Ford allowed a small, satisfied smile. They had made progress—more than they had expected. Weeks of late nights and half-finished meals, of heated debates over energy outputs and wiring configurations, of long hours hunched over diagrams and test tubes chasing something just beyond their grasp—all of it had transformed the ore from an enigma into a solid foundation, a power source unlike any other.

     Later in the evening, when the rigors of the day softened into a quiet melancholy, the cabin’s clutter seemed to settle into an unspoken agreement with the night. Ford remained where he’d been for hours, bent over his desk. He’d been at it too long, the lines between progress and obsession blurring, his focus narrowing to a point so sharp it threatened to cut straight through him.

     The smell reached him first—something rich, heavy, unmistakably familiar. He barely had time to glance up before a bowl of stew clattered onto the desk beside him.

     “Here, big guy. You can’t think straight when you’re runnin’ on fumes,” Fidds said, his tone carrying the casual wisdom of someone who’d seen this scene play out one too many times.

     Ford paused in his work—a calculated sigh escaping as he reluctantly eased himself into a creaking chair, leaning back just enough to stretch his aching shoulders before pulling the bowl toward him. He picked up his spoon, skimming the broth, his eyes narrowing in bemusement. “Did you spill some motor oil, or what?” he inquired, his voice laced with equal parts incredulity and affectionate mockery.

     Fidds, content in his habitual irreverence, waved the comment away with a dismissive gesture. “Hush. Grease is good for you,” he replied, as if asserting a profound, albeit absurd, truth of the universe. Ford raised an eyebrow—a silent question etched on his face—while Fidds, with a small pat on his own chest, continued, “Good for the soul. That’s where all the flavor comes from.” He punctuated the statement with a wagging of his finger, a practiced, knowing gesture.

        Ford smirked. “How about the arteries?”

     Without missing a beat, Fidds deadpanned, “Shut the fuck up, Ford.” He pointed his spoon at the untouched bowl with something like exasperation, hiding his amusement. “Eat.”

     “Okay, fine,” Ford conceded, pushing himself to his feet. “Just let me finish this one thing.” His voice was light, casual, a small indulgence in his own stubbornness.

     Fidds hummed, already halfway through his bowl, barely looking up as Ford stepped away from the desk.

     Ford turned toward the cabinet above his desk, barely paying attention as he reached inside. His fingers brushed against cool metal, searching for the spool of wiring he’d left there earlier—a sudden, sharp, needle-like pain struck his finger.

     Ford jerked his hand back on reflex with a sharp yelp—his mind still catching up to the sensation when his eyes finally registered the thing clinging to him. For the briefest, most hideous second, it dangled from his finger, its weight impossibly small but its grip vice-tight.

     Ford recoiled, his entire body reacting before thought could form, and with a sharp, snapping motion, he whipped his hand through the air. The creature was sent flying, spinning, limbs flailing like some grotesque airborne parasite. It slammed against the far wall with a thwack before tumbling to the floor. Then, it righted itself and hissed—a sound that echoed in the silent moment that followed.

        Ford didn’t think.

     He snatched the energy pistol from the counter, pointed it toward the advancing creature, and pulled the trigger.

     The blast hit dead center, bathing the room in a brief, searing glow. The creature didn’t shriek, didn’t thrash—it simply ceased to exist. One second there, the next gone, reduced to nothing but a blackened scorch mark on the wooden floor and the unmistakable stench of singed hair.

     Across the room, Fidds had gone completely still, his spoon suspended mid-air, stew dripping back into the bowl.

     Ford exhaled, tossing the pistol back onto the workbench with a dull clunk. His free hand clamped around his wounded finger, palm pressing down hard to stem the slow, seeping blood.

     “Mother… fucker,” he muttered, voice tight with pain, the curse dragging out through clenched teeth. He winced as a fresh sting pulsed through the wound, sharp and deep, radiating up through his knuckles.

     Behind him, Fidds scraped his chair back with a jolt, his food entirely forgotten. He was already moving, crossing the room in a few quick strides, his attention fixed on the blackened scorch mark still smoldering on the floor.

     His head jerked toward Ford, eyes sharp. “Why the hell did you shoot it?”

     Ford’s breath was still uneven, fingers curling around the wound. He looked at Fidds like he was insane. “It bit me!” He thrust his injured hand forward for emphasis, palm up. The crescent-shaped puncture wounds glistened in the dim light, small but deep, wells of fresh blood pooling at the edges.

     Fidds’ gaze flickered between the burn mark on the floor and Ford’s hand. “Jesus Christ…what was it?”

     “I don’t know, I didn’t get a good look—” Ford groaned and flexed his fingers, testing the mobility. His whole hand ached with a dull, throbbing heat, but nothing felt broken.

     “Alright,” he muttered, shaking out his wrist like that might dispel the pain, “Fuck, let’s make sure this isn’t gonna make my fucking arm fall off—goddamn it, that smarts!” He hissed as another sharp twinge lanced through his hand, flicking his wrist again as if he could shake the pain loose—no such luck.

     Ford moved toward the microscope, his focus narrowing to the task at hand, already scraping the saliva from around the wound, letting it pool at the tip of the sterile swab before sealing it inside a container.

     Behind him, Fidds powered up the diagnostic equipment, the machines humming to life with a low, steady whirr. He yanked open a drawer, rummaging through its contents—gauze, alcohol wipes, medical tape. Nothing for venom, not unless Ford started seizing on the floor, in which case they’d have bigger problems.

     “Damn thing really latched on,” Ford muttered, rolling his bitten finger between his thumb and index. The sting was already dulling, but—

        Then—

           Something shifted.

     It started at the edges, subtle, creeping in like a slow warping of reality. His vision flickered—sharp one second, hazy the next. The overhead light took on a strange, too-bright quality, each bulb casting halos that seemed to stretch and breathe. His skull felt light, like it was floating just above the rest of his body, tethered only by the vague suggestion of a neck.

     He blinked. Once, twice. A third time, harder. The  sensation didn’t pass.

     Fidds turned just in time to see Ford’s posture go slack, his frame sagging slightly where he stood. His hands hovered over the microscope, but he wasn’t looking at it.

        “Ford?”

     Ford lifted his free hand, studied it. He moved it back and forth, slowly at first, then flicked his wrist, watching the way his fingers bent, the way they left faint trails in the air, fixated.

        “…Weird,” Ford mumbled.

           Fidds squinted. “What’s weird?”

     Ford’s fingers flexed, then stilled. His eyes glazed over, lost somewhere just past the periphery of reality. Then, as if some delayed realization clicked into place, his tongue ran over his teeth. He frowned.

        “My mouth feels fuzzy.”

     Fidds stared at him. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

     Ford gestured vaguely toward his face, his motions strangely loose, uncoordinated. “Y’know. Fuzzy. Like—like static.” His fingers twitched as if trying to grasp the sensation. “Like I—I can feel my teeth.”

     He pressed a finger against his front teeth experimentally, then slid it further back, running it along the ridges of his molars. His lips parted slightly as if considering something profound.

        A pause.

     “God, I got big teeth,” he slurred around his finger.

     Fidds leaned in, peering at Ford’s face with growing concern. His fingers found Ford’s chin, tilting it up as he clicked on a penlight and shined it into his eyes. 

     “Oh, fuck—”

     Ford’s pupils were blown so wide that the thin ring of blue around them was nearly swallowed. His irises barely existed—just black voids reflecting the glare of the penlight. Fidds swore under his breath, shifting his grip to Ford’s wrist, pressing two fingers against the pulse point. His heart was hammering, a rapid-fire rhythm against his fingertips.

     “Jesus, your heart’s about to jump outta your chest.”

     But Ford just giggled, the sound hollow and distant, like it was coming from some far-off place.

        Fidds stiffened. “…What?”

     Ford’s breath stuttered between laughs as he waved vaguely in Fidds’ direction. “You—you’re—” He squinted, “You got, like…a muppet thing goin’ on.”

     Before Fidds could react, Ford leaned forward with an eerie sort of curiosity, his hand floating toward Fidds’ face with slow, deliberate intent.

     Fidds jerked back immediately, grabbing Ford’s wrist and shoving it away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

     Ford was unbothered. “Your skin looks like felt. They ever tell you that?”

     Without another word, Fidds gripped Ford’s shoulder and pushed him back down into the chair.

           “Okay, buddy, you just sit tight—”

        Ford grinned, lopsided and unfocused. “Okay.”

     Fidds turned his back for a second—just one second—to rummage through the medical supplies, looping a stethoscope around his neck.

     Something shifted.

           He glanced back.

     Ford was halfway out of the chair, leaning over the desk, reaching for something just beyond Fidds’ view.

        Fidds gritted his teeth. “Sit down.”

     Ford blinked up at him, eyes round and innocent, like he wasn’t just caught red-handed. “I am.”

     Fidds didn’t even dignify that with a response—just hauled Ford back into the chair with a firm tug. Ford flopped into it bonelessly, more amused than anything, letting his head loll back against the rest.

     Fidds unbuttoned the front of Ford’s shirt, brushing damp fabric away from his collarbone.

     “Ew, perv,” Ford snickered, the sound thick with delirium. “Take me out to dinner first—”

     Fidds didn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah. You’re real funny.”

     He pressed the stethoscope to Ford’s chest. Beneath the cool metal, Ford’s skin was flush, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out along his collarbone. His heart was fast, but the rhythm was steady—no skips, no arrhythmia, no warning signs of something worse.

     Fidds exhaled, but didn’t relax. Whatever the hell was in that bite, it was working fast.

     Fidds tried to keep Ford seated, his hand firmly pressing against Ford’s shoulder to maintain some semblance of control. He needed to run tests, track any changes—but Ford wasn’t making it easy.

     “Ford, just stay put for a minute, would ya?” Fidds urged, his voice thick with frustration. But Ford didn’t comply. His hands reached for the stethoscope around Fidds’ neck, his fingers curling around the rubber tubing with a curious look in his widened eyes.

     Fidds intercepted the movement, swatting his hand away, his expression a mix of urgent exasperation and growing concern. “Ford, wait—just a minute, okay? I’ve gotta check this sample to make sure you’re not gonna… turn green or somethin’.”

     That made Ford laugh—an unsettling, childish sound that felt too innocent for the madness playing out in front of them.

     Fidds took a deep, steadying breath, trying to hold onto his last shred of control. “Focus,” he ordered, his voice snapping with authority. “Acknowledge that you understand what I’m saying.”

     Ford sat up straight, his posture suddenly proper. He nodded his head with exaggerated solemnity. “Sit in the chair.”

     Fidds gave a nod of approval, a tight smile pulling at his lips despite the situation. “Very good.” He turned back to the microscope, refocusing on the sample, though he could still feel Ford’s presence like a weight in the air.

     Ford started spinning in the chair. His hands gripped the armrests as he whipped around, leaning into each centrifugal spin like it was a game, the chair creaking beneath his erratic movements.

     “Sit still before you hurt yourself,” Fidds said over his shoulder, a warning in his voice.

     Ford didn’t stop. In fact, he spun faster. “You just said sit,” he called out gleefully, his voice rising as he faced Fidds. “I am sitting.” He added, his voice fading as he turned away.

     Ford’s spinning picked up speed, a frenetic energy, the spins escalating into a blur of motion. Fidds gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Sit still, Ford,” he said again, but it was too late.

     Ford’s body jerked to the side, tipping dangerously backward. He lost his balance entirely, and with a crash, sprawled out across the floor, limbs splayed in an ungraceful heap.

     “For crying’ out loud,” Fidds grumbled, pushing his hands into his hair in frustration. He hurried over to help Ford up, his motions rougher than usual. But more of Ford’s laughter bubbled up from the floor, a disjointed sound. His limp body offered no resistance, too lost in his haze to even try to right himself.

     Once Ford was back in the chair, Fidds looked at his dazed face, trying to ignore the weight of the bizarre scene unfolding. He huffed out a sigh. “You have to sit still so I can figure out what this stuff is doin’ to you.”

     Ford offered a small grin—a quiet nod. Fidds, with a determined set to his jaw, turned back to the microscope and the cluster of diagnostic equipment arrayed before him, the room alive with the soft whir of machines and the muted clatter of their busy sanctuary.

     Fidds began his work with a steady hand. First, he isolated the bioactive compounds in the creature’s saliva. Using a calibrated pipette, he carefully transferred a measured drop into a sterile test vial, watching as the extract settled.

     The compounds were unlike anything he’d seen before. Their molecular signature, though organic, was marred by an unusual instability. Fidds next performed a pH assay: he dipped a high-sensitivity litmus strip into the yellow-green liquid. The reading came back mildly acidic—nothing extraordinary at first glance, but the indicator’s color shift sent a ripple of unease up his spine, as if the substance itself were whispering warnings.

     Then, Fidds carefully mixed a small aliquot of the saliva extract with a sample of Ford’s blood. Every second, he scrutinized the mixture for signs of coagulation or any abnormal interaction. Nothing happened—no clumping, no visible reaction. A small relief, fleeting and tentative, that this was not an instantly fatal toxin.

     For his final assay, Fidds retrieved a preserved sample of rat skeletal muscle tissue—a remnant from earlier calibration tests. With deliberate precision, he introduced a minute amount of the saliva extract to the tissue sample. For a long, suspended moment, nothing occurred; then, as if shocked by an unseen command, the muscle fibers contracted violently. The tissue spasmed, its fibers convulsing in frantic, uncontrolled energy, before collapsing into a disturbingly limp state devoid of the tension that once defined its structure.

     “Bingo,” Fidds breathed, the word feeling hollow—like a whisper of triumph quickly swallowed by the weight of its implications. Neurotoxin. The term clung to his mind, sticky and dark.

     Fidds’s eyes snapped upward from the microscope, and he froze—the chair where Ford had been was now empty, still spinning slightly as if haunted by the ghost of its recent passenger.

     “Ford?” he called out, his voice low and edged with worry. Silence.

     “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. His mind raced: he never heard the door creak open, never noticed any sign of someone leaving the room. There’s no way Ford could have walked out. So, where the fuck did he go?

     Pushing himself up from the desk, Fidds scanned the lab in a growing haze of dread. Every shadow seemed to shift with ominous intent. “Ford, quit screwin’ around. Where’d you—” he began, his words trailing off as a soft shuffle emanated from a darkened corner.

     A nervous flutter tightened in his chest as he edged toward the pitch-black side of the lab. Another rustle—a subtle, deliberate sound—made him jump, his heart pounding in his ears. “Ford, I swear to God—if you try to jump out and scare me!” he exclaimed.

     Before he could reach the source of the sound, a clamoring noise from the stairs shattered the tense stillness, as if someone—or something—was scrambling upward. Without a second thought, Fidds bolted to the stairwell, eyes flicking to the lab door at the top. It hung half-open, swaying slightly.

     Fidds launched himself up the stairs after Ford, his heart pounding from the chase. He stepped into the living room, and the tension in his shoulders eased a bit. There, in the middle of the floor, was Ford, laying flat on his back, arms folded neatly across his chest like he was in some sort of bizarre repose. 

     Ford didn’t even look up as he spoke, “I don’t like the color on the ceiling here. It’s dingy.”

     Fidds squatted down beside him, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Then stop smoking in the house.”

     Ford snorted, his lips curling into a lazy grin. “Yeah, right—”

     With a roll of his eyes, Fidds gripped Ford’s arm, hauling him up with the intent of dragging his ass right back to the lab. But Ford, loose-limbed and erratic, moved with a sudden, mischievous energy, twisting in Fidds’ grip. There was a spark in his dilated pupils.

     “Cut it out,” Fidds warned, though there was an unmistakable note of amusement creeping into his voice.

     But Ford, clearly riding the high, dipped into a loose, defensive stance, arms hovering in front of him like he was squaring up.

     “Ford, I’m warning you—” Fidds began, but Ford cut him off with a quick reach, his hand going for the grab. Fidds spun, swatting Ford’s hand away.

        “C’mon, Fiddy—like we used to,” Ford goaded.

     Fidds huffed. “Like when I’d whip your ass every time?”

     Ford giggled again and stepped closer, as if to prove a point. “I’m really strong now,” he boasted, the words tinted with a half-lucid bravado.

     “That don’t mean nothin’.” Fidds sidestepped as Ford made a sloppy grab for him, a smirk tugging at his lips despite himself.

     Ford shifted—Fidds could see the subtle twitch of Ford’s muscles before he moved in to try another grab, and he smacked Ford away again. “Go back downstairs, you maniac—you’re experiencing a serious medical emergency,” Fidds warned, half-laughing as he tried to use a firm tone.

     Ford paused for a second, expression flickering—then he pivoted, faster than expected, and suddenly hooked an arm around Fidds in a haphazard hold.

     Fidds reacted, shifting his weight. He locked his leg around Ford’s ankle, and swept him to the ground in one sharp motion.

     Ford hit the floor with a dull thud, letting out a breathless oof—then, to Fidds’ mild disbelief, Ford started laughing—his face turning red as his shoulders quaked with every breathless burst—laying there like an overturned bug, wheezing.

     For a moment, Fidds just watched him, lips twitching despite himself. He hadn’t seen Ford like this in a long time—unguarded, his laughter spilling out without restraint. It was almost a relief to hear that laugh again, despite everything.

      Still. He wasn’t about to let the lunatic run loose.

     With an affectionate grumble, Fidds grabbed one of Ford’s legs, tucked it under his arm, and started dragging him back across the floorboards.

“Alright, Van Damme—back to the lab.”

     Fidds gripped Ford by the shoulders and wrestled him back toward the lab chair after somehow managing to get him down the stairs. Ford, for his part, wasn’t exactly fighting him, but he was definitely not cooperating either, his limbs all loose and unhelpful—like trying to wrangle a particularly stubborn drunk into the backseat of a cab.

     Fidds managed to get the stethoscope to Ford’s chest for about three whole seconds before Ford shifted again, slipping right through his grasp like water, his attention suddenly hooked on something across the room.

           The chalkboard.

        Fidds exhaled. Alright. Fine. This was fine.

     “Hey—hey, yeah, the chalkboard,” Fidds said quickly, latching onto whatever thin thread of focus Ford had left. “We love the chalkboard, don’t we, bud?”

     Ford hummed, brushing his fingers against the wooden ledge beneath it. “I do like the chalkboard,” he murmured in earnest, voice half-lost to whatever fog had settled over his mind. His head tilted slightly, contemplative. “Can I write on it?”

     “Absolutely, you can write on it.” Fidds was already scrambling, erasing the board with a frantic sweep of his sleeve before shoving a piece of chalk into Ford’s waiting hand. “Just—stay here, yeah? At the chalkboard.”

     Ford looked down at the chalk in his hand, as if momentarily puzzled by its presence. Fidds, not about to lose his best shot at keeping him in one spot, grabbed his wrist and lifted it toward the board, encouraging the first few strokes.

     Ford didn’t resist. He placed the tip of the chalk against the slate and, with a few careful strokes, began to write.

     Fidds released a deep, relieved breath, taking a cautious step back. He held his hands out, as if physically willing Ford to stay put. “Okay, good—chalkboard. Just… please, stay at the chalkboard.”

     Fidds moved quickly back to the workbench as ford continued to write, refocusing on the samples and running the next set of tests with more urgency than than before. Carefully, he cycled through his procedures: using high-performance liquid chromatography to confirm the presence of neurotoxic peptides, running spectrophotometric analyses to track the half-life of the active compounds, and noting the mild physiological changes in Ford’s blood sample.

     The hallucinogenic properties were undeniable, but what unsettled him most was the compound’s lingering persistence—its propensity to bind with organic material. The venom wasn’t lethal, that much was clear—but whatever trip it had Ford on had only just begun. Fidds realized, with a hearty sigh, that he’d be on babysitting duty for a while.

     After a few more minutes, he looked up to check on Ford—the board was already half full.

     At first, the sheer density of it was overwhelming. Ford’s handwriting—normally so precise, so measured—had transformed into something frantic. Equations stretched across the slate in wild, feverish scrawls.

     Fidds knew Ford’s expressions: the measured way he structured his math—full-bodied, logical and balanced. But now, the chalkwork twisted and veered without restraint, warping in a chaotic flit. Symbols, some of which Fidds didn’t even recognize, fractured and reformed into singular configurations. Theorems flowed together unexpectedly, spinning into entirely new movements—it was unlike anything Fidds had ever seen. Ford wasn’t merely constructing; he was improvising with a creativity that shattered logical structure, unburdened by rigidity.

     Lost in his creative surge, Ford pressed the tip of the chalk against his temple and began to rub it in slow, circular motions. Fidds stepped closer, watching as Ford muttered softly. His free hand twitched at his side, fingers tapping rhythmically at the heel of his palm as though counting out beats. 

     Ford’s murmurs grew louder, disjointed, until he was speaking clearly—seemingly in heated dialogue with another side of his mind. His voice took on a passionate edge as he conferred with the unseen interlocutor, gesturing toward the mess on the board.

     “Maybe these transition states aren’t what we think… this is something more exotic.” His tone dipped low, thoughtful, as he scrawled another equation onto the board. “See here? VEV is non-zero…”

          Ford’s chalk strokes paused. Then, he giggled with a tilt of his head—as though someone had just tickled his ear.

        “Stop it—” he chided, playful, fond.

     Whatever Ford was interacting with—whatever conversation he was locked in—Fidds couldn’t tell if it was constructive or flirting. Maybe both. Either way, it was fucking bizarre.

     And Fidds just observed, concern creeping deeper into his expression as he monitored Ford’s behavior.

     “I am not—no, you are!” Ford said, smiling, his words flowing out in a tone Fidds didn’t think he’d ever heard from him—he sounded absolutely twitterpated. Then, abruptly: “Listening? Who’s listening?”

        He turned. Looked straight at Fidds.

           For a long moment, neither of them moved.

     Then Ford, matter-of-factly: “New state of matter.”

        Fidds blinked. “What?”

     “A new state of matter,” Ford repeated, more insistently this time. He turned back to the chalkboard, rubbing his forehead with the side of his wrist, smearing a pale streak of chalk dust across his head.

     “It doesn’t obey fermionic behavior,” Ford said, jabbing the board with his chalk. “It’s in a topological domain, non-Abelian—”

     Ford’s face shifted suddenly, his expression going distant. “That’s why it reacts to him.”

     “What does… to who?” Fidds asked, his confusion only growing with every string of words.

     Ford just turned back to the board, his words returning to that fevered, self-contained murmur. His hands moved without hesitation, filling the remaining space on the slate, equations twisting out of him like instinct. His penmanship deteriorated as he ran out of room, symbols crammed into corners. He grumbled a bit, tossing the chalk over his shoulder before turning on his heel.

     He snatched a stack of loose papers and began scribbling equations across them, barely pausing in between. One page finished and was carelessly discarded; he grabbed another, and soon the discarded sheets were scattered across the lab floor. Fidds watched the growing pile with a mixture of exasperation and concern. He sighed, bending down to collect them, smoothing out ragged corners as if he could restore some order to the chaos—knowing that when, or if, Ford ever returned to himself, he’d want to review these notes with the clarity of a well-organized mind.

        A minute passed. Then another.

     Fidds heard the rustle of paper but no further scribbling. He looked up sharply. There, on the floor, Ford lay still, his latest sheet of paper folded carefully between his hands. He creased it slowly, deliberately, as if performing a ritual. Fidds paused, watching for a long, uncertain beat before asking, “Whatchya got there?”

     Ford folded the paper with a precision that contrasted his earlier frantic strokes, then sat up, holding the finished product aloft—a crude little paper hat. “The Mexican Hat Potential,” he declared, as though the phrase alone could clarify the unspoken depth of his musings.

        Fidds stared at him. “The what?”

     Ford tilted his head and shook the paper hat lightly, as if it were a living token of some esoteric truth. “Haven’t you heard of it?” he asked before rising to his feet.

     “Quantum field potential—” He rotated the hat between his hands, his voice picking up a delirious cadence. “I’m thinking… false vacuum state, only appearing inert until perturbed…” He chuckled, a strange, echoing sound, and repeated, “perturbed—” punctuating the syllables as though the sounds amused him.

     Fidds was still staring. “Ford, what the fuck are you talking about?”

     Ford just kept turning the little hat in his hands, his expression shifting—first focused, then puzzled, as though he’d only just realized what he was holding. He looked up at Fidds. Smiled.

     And then, unceremoniously, he reached forward and placed the paper hat onto Fidds’ head.

     Fidds closed his eyes for a long, long moment. Exhaled through his nose. “Right,” he said flatly. “That clears things up, thank you.”

     Ford nodded, satisfied with himself, and turned away. He took a deliberate step before halting abruptly, pointing at the floor.

    “Hey,” Ford called, “you shouldn’t leave that lying around.”

     Fidds glanced down where Ford was pointing, finding nothing more than a scattering of loose sheets. “Leave what?” he asked, perplexed.

     Ford lifted his foot and stepped deliberately over Fidds’ shadow, his hands hovering near his chest before awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I could have tripped,” he remarked lightly.

     Then, as if propelled by an unseen current, Ford pivoted toward the workbench, his stride suddenly more fluid, almost dance-like in its unpredictability.

     Fidds exhaled a quick, resigned breath and sank back into a chair—preparing himself for what promised to be a long, arduous night.

     As the hours dragged on, Fidds sank deeper into his work, his focus narrowing to the microscopic world beneath his lens. He kept one ear tilted toward Ford, occasionally glancing up to check on him. More than once, he had to pry sharp objects from Ford’s hands—a screwdriver, a scalpel, at one point a soldering iron—before the man could do any real damage. But for the most part, Ford seemed content to let his frenzied calculations run their course, equations spilling from his mind like floodwater, scribbled onto any available surface. 

     Every so often he paused to mutter arguments under his breath or laugh outright at some unseen presence—it was unnerving, sure, but at least it gave Fidds the time he needed to further analyze the neurotoxin’s properties.

     Organic matter exposed to it burst with frenetic, almost desperate energy, only to sputter and collapse in an inevitable, silent crash. He refined his mental calculations, factoring Ford’s height, weight, and metabolic rate against the observed kinetics, running the numbers again and again. If his estimates were right, the inevitable crash should begin in just about—

     A loud clatter split the quiet, a sharp, jarring sound that sent a bolt of alarm through him. Fidds’ head snapped up. The place where Ford had been walking was empty, only a few loose pages drifting to the floor in his absence.

        “Ford?”

     Fidds pushed away from the workbench, scanning the lab. Then he spotted him—collapsed on the ground, limbs splayed at awkward angles, as if he’d gone down mid-step. The residual tension in Ford’s body suggested no graceful surrender—only a sudden, harsh cessation.

     “Ah, hell—” Fidds cursed, already moving to crouch beside him. He pressed two fingers to Ford’s neck, feeling for a pulse. There it was: steady and slower than before, with shallow, regulated breathing. Ford’s skin was clammy, the flush of his earlier fervor rapidly faded into pallor.

     Fidds exhaled sharply and scrubbed his hand down his face, a bitter recognition settling over him. He should’ve seen this coming.

     With a grunt, he shifted Ford’s weight, hauling him into a more stable position. “Dammit, boy,” he muttered, half-exasperated. “You couldn’t’ve sat down before your brain shorted out?”

     Ford didn’t answer, of course. The only response was a soft, rhythmic sound—Fidds realized, with some mixture of amusement and offense, that the bastard was already snoring.

        “Unbelievable,” Fidds muttered.

     His gaze flicked to the papers strewn across the floor around them—equations, diagrams, and notes scrawled in frantic, near-illegible handwriting, the last remnants of whatever wild spiral Ford’s mind had torn through. Fidds knew that some of it would be gibberish, half-formed thoughts lost to the fevered delirium, but some of it—some of it might be worth something.

     With a resigned grunt, he hooked his hands under Ford’s arms and started dragging him away from the narrow passage he’d collapsed in. It was awkward work, Ford’s dead weight an uncooperative burden, and it took longer than it should. By the time Fidds finally got him settled in the middle of the lab floor, beads of sweat had gathered along his brow.

     Ford, for his part, slept through the whole ordeal.

     Grumbling, Fidds grabbed a blanket and threw it over Ford, tucking it haphazardly around his shoulders before straightening up with a quiet groan. His own exhaustion had caught up with him now, pressing heavy against his limbs.

     He took a step back, eyeing the unconscious man as though waiting for him to stir, to sit up and launch into another manic, indecipherable monologue. But Ford had finally gone still.

     Fidds exhaled, long and slow, and dropped into his desk chair, stretching out with a sigh. He watched Ford for a few long moments, arms crossed, something like reluctant guardianship settling over him.

     He leaned back, blinking against the weight in his eyelids—they would have to hunt down whatever it was that had bitten Ford, leading to this predicament to begin with—but that could wait until morning.

[Previous Chapter][Next Chapter]

[Read Entire Work Here]

[inviisiiblelee]

Vintage

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 2,224 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags:

Mentioned Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Velvet (Hazbin Hotel), Vox is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, Lost Love, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Fluff, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered.

Notes: An entry for Tumblr RadioStatic Week Day 2: Vintage. I'm late by a week, but I will be writing for each prompt anyway. This definitely falls much more under the unrequited vibes. Vox is obsessive.

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

Glowing red eyes focused on the blueprints on the table. Vox’s hands were deft, gentle with the small pieces he was fitting together in front of him. The blueprints were as detailed as he could think to make them, but he rarely worked with wood products anymore. It had been years, maybe even decades since he had touched the material, especially a rosewood as beautiful as this. He usually worked with metals, able to use his power to work holes of good sizes and engrave himself. But he also hadn’t worked anything by hand in years just as well. The factories produced everything now, and while he often made prototypes of certain products, he still didn’t usually work the material himself anymore. He would put it together and handle the tech parts and the programming. 

But this was a simple wooden build, with only a few moving parts for a reason. Of course, those parts were metal, shiny and well polished brass. Recreating and making things a little more efficient was something he was good at, even if he didn’t do it often. He could cut out a few in between parts in favor of newer, modern pieces, while still maintaining the original effects. He had hired someone especially to make sure the music piece would play properly, and he was able to make those pieces himself with clear instruction. His fingertips could get hot and were easily sharpened, and he was more than familiar with ensuring holes in metal were an appropriate size. Plus, he had several sheets of brass ready in case he did need a few trial runs.

His work bench was covered in wood shavings and dust, the smell of burning fibers. But a few screws, several hours, an infuriating amount of time spent bent over into the light, engraving into the wood with red-hot fingertips and listening to the same little tune over and over again until it was perfectly placed. Vox stepped back to look at the completed box, closed and fully varnished and dried, something he’d done to the pieces days before assembly. The outside looked about the way it should have at the time of the original designs, in the late 1890's or so, clean corners and raised layers. A shiny little keyhole for a simple lock and key to turn and open it. The top lifted up, Vox had taken time to engrave the image of a deer on the inside in the unvarnished wood, grazing on some grass between trees. The inner parts of the box were otherwise everything they needed to be, the disk of brass meant to spin and pluck along a musical comb underneath. It looked perfect, and it put a smile on Vox’s screen, before it fell slightly. He tipped the box over, and there was the false bottom.

With the hollowed space opened up, he picked up a small sheet of paper that he folded into fourths before tucking it in and placing the bottom over it. A screw in each corner and it was hidden away. It was … unlikely to ever be found. But that was fine. 

Another quick set of checks before Vox gathered the music box, tucked it away in a bag, and left his little workshop area. He didn’t use the room often, it branched off of his office, something he’d built into the VoxTech building but hadn’t used almost at all since the early 2000’s. Sometimes he would build a thing or two, but that was typically at his desk, not in there. It was fairly late in the night, nothing unusual for him to be up at, but a time he knew the majority of the building would be shut off, Valentino and Velvette probably having already retired to bed. So it was very easy to make his way out of the tall towering office without any incident. He walked with purpose, entered one of his smaller vehicles that would garner almost no attention, and made his way to the inner city. 

Vox parked a few blocks from the destination, intending to walk the rest of the way. He didn’t have a clear idea of why he was really doing this. He didn’t … have a good reason. This was silly, a ridiculously sentimental impulse to have indulged for the last week. He supposed he thought he would give it up halfway through, and even now, he thought maybe he would make it to the front door, and then he would abandon ship. He could still go back. Destroy the thing, or repurpose it. 

But no, he was walking his way right up to that stupid Hazbin Hotel, and stood at the double doors for a little while. It was two in the morning, and it was unlikely anyone was in the lobby. He didn’t want to risk leaving the thing out on the steps, it would be far more likely to be destroyed before ever even being spotted. Or stolen. He pressed one hand on one door and pushed, feeling it give and open with slight pressure. It was quiet and quick, and he peeked inside. The worst that could happen was … well. A confrontation, he supposed.

But he was lucky. The lights were low, only a few around the bar left on to illuminate the area, which appeared to be empty. No patrons, no staff, and that was perfect.

A few steps in, closing the door behind him. The remodel had clearly gone smoothly, and it was definitely for the better, given what glimpses of the interior he had gotten before. It helped that Lucifer had led the efforts seamlessly, it took them all less than a day to construct. Lucky bastards. But as he idled in the lobby, he noticed a television set around the sitting area on the other side. Perfect.

A quick approach over to the tech, and Vox dug the box out of his bag. He placed a single note card on top, bearing the name to whom the gift was for.

Alastor.

Single spaced, typed out, using the basic Arial font. He didn’t want to be connected to this. The back of the card bore a simple set of lines. Enjoy. Hand-made for your listening pleasure. He didn’t think hand-writing the note would be a good idea. Signed or not, he was sure Alastor would remember what his penmanship looked like, given it had hardly changed in over fifty years. So typed it was. A soft sigh left him as he stepped back, looking at the gift left on the television for a long moment before turning and making his way out.

“Alastor! There’s something down here for you!” Charlie called out excitedly from the lobby. Alastor was not really in the vicinity to hear, but he did quickly appear at her call, as he always did, emerging easily from the shadows, smile wide. 

“Oh? What do you have for me?” he asked smoothly, glancing down at the wooden box that she was holding. He read the card bearing his name, and his brows furrowed slightly. If it were a gift from Charlie, why would she bother with a card as such?

“It’s not from me, and no one else is owning up to it either,” she said, also looking a little confused. “It was just sitting in the lobby when Husk came to open up, and he gave it to me when I came down.”

“Well, let’s take a look together, shall we?” Alastor said simply, placing his microphone in the crook of one arm and taking the box in his hands. It didn’t seem to be anything inherently dangerous.

“I did open it,” Vaggie admitted as she approached out of curiosity. “It doesn’t look like anything too weird, or like any sort of weapon.”

“Vaggie! It’s just a gift!”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Charlie. Vaggie has the right idea, triple-checking things.” Meanwhile, he turned the card around and read the few lines typed out on the back. For his listening pleasure? Hand-made? Odd.

The key taped to the card – or rather, re-taped by Vaggie – was clearly needed to open it, so he pulled it off and opened the box, peering at the inside. The scene of a grazing deer, engraved by some sort of heat into the wood, greeted him first, and he found himself blinking in some surprise. There was no signature, no name anywhere inside, and he wondered if the hand-made comment was simply a lie. But there was a certain amount of humanity in the lines, flaws here and there that convinced him more that it wasn’t the case. It was clearly a music box. There was a crank left on the music disk, and he inserted it into the hole it was clearly meant to fit into. Setting the box down, he went ahead and turned it to allow the box to begin making its music.

The song began to play, and Alastor felt something shift in his heart. It was a song he recognized, a song that he was most familiar with in the 70’s, and his mind was left trying to figure out who would make such a thing, or send such a thing. His smile wobbled, but he forcefully kept it up, as a single name arrived as a possibility that he quickly shook away. There would be no reason he would do any such thing, surely. Charlie and Vaggie both appeared entranced by the music, and Alastor seemed stuck in place, so the song played in full and eventually stopped to leave them in silence. Alastor stepped forward and snapped the box shut, tucking it under his arm.

“That’s such a nice gift, do you know who- oh. Where did he go?” Charlie spoke to Vaggie, realizing Alastor had disappeared amongst the shadows again.

The Radio Demon was back in his room, and the box was back in his hands, opened and being examined. He was searching it for just about any semblance of information on who had sent the pesky little thing. He shook it a little in his hands in frustration when he found nothing at all. But he heard something seem to slide against the wood inside of it. 

He paused. Was it just a mechanism piece? Another shake gave the same noise, but it didn’t sound like anything that should have been in there.

He sat down with it, examining the well-crafted item, noting the screws on the bottom of the box after a closer look. He produced a small screwdriver and worked the metal out of their holes, finding the hollow spot where the folded paper resided. 

“Ah-ha!” 

A triumphant little noise and he withdrew the folded note, placed the music box gently down on his desk, and read it. 

Alastor.

Today marks it being officially eighty years since the day you saved me from Hell, in every literal and figurative sense. Technically, a total of a hundred years since meeting you for the first time. Things are weird and different now, and I wish that wasn't the case, but hopefully you have fond memories about this song, that maybe it can remind you of what we used to be. Who I … used to be. And maybe it'll bring you a little happiness, too.

With love, Vox.

Oh. 

So it was Vox's doing as he first thought. Somehow, it was almost relieving. That no one else seemed to be aware of that part of him, or that it ever existed. There were really few who remembered that once they used to be close, but … truly Alastor had thought that Vox was one of those people. There was a mix of feelings boiling in his chest, he felt like, and he couldn't begin to sort out what was more prominent. Anger? Rage? Something … softer? Sentimentality? Regret? 

His fingers pulled the box back into his lap, flipping it back over. He cranked the handle and let the song play again, his expression softening. He thought he'd buried most of this decades ago. He thought Vox had buried this all decades ago. Alastor was more than aware of the date, though he had no intention of being so actionable on it. It meant Vox came during the night, and Alastor hadn't noticed. For once, he had been able to sleep, and it appeared it had been conveniently during the time he had arrived. Stepped right into his domain to drop off a ridiculous gift that he made plenty of effort to be unattached to. 

He could remember the many times they'd danced to this song. It was an original piece by someone more local, Vox had been enamored by it, and Alastor had agreed that it was very good. Vox bought the record without question and when they lived together, back in the 70’s, they would often play it. 

Alastor shook his head, trying to dispel the memories. It hadn't been like that for so long. Vox moved out a couple decades later, abandoned him for work and profit and frivolity. Lost himself to the corporate world somehow, though it was frankly surprising he'd managed to go so long with any individuality in the first place. 

But he couldn't seem to harshen the smile on his face as the song played. 

Thank you, old friend.

[princesskenny1998]

Ghostbusters | Trevor Spengler x f!confident!reader ~ Or both?, PT.4

In the dimly lit workshop, tools and gadgets were strewn across the tables, wires dangled from the ceiling, and a faint hum of machinery filled the air. Your mind was in deep concentration, completely absorbed in perfecting the prototype for a ghost trap upgrade. You wore your goggles, smudged from days of relentless work, and a smudge of grease marked your cheek, a testament to your dedication. Time seemed to fade away as you worked on calibrating the equipment, lost in the satisfying whirl of bolts, wiring, and sparks.

You didn’t even hear the door creak open or the voices murmuring behind you as the Ghostbusters, led by Trevor’s mother Callie, made their way into the lab. A familiar figure approached, the footsteps soft but distinct, and only then did you glance up, spotting Trevor. Without thinking, you wiped your hands on your coveralls, grinned, and leaned forward to greet him.

“Hey babe,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “you’re here early.”

Trevor smiled, though his eyes widened slightly, darting to the side. You blinked, taking in his nervous expression. That’s when you heard the barely concealed cough, and, out of the corner of your eye, saw his mother, Phoebe, and Gary, all staring at you with varying expressions of surprise.

Realization hit you like a ton of bricks. You pulled back, heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at Trevor’s mom, his sister, and Gary, all now eyeing you with unfiltered interest.

“Oh. Uh, hi... everyone,” you stammered, pulling off your goggles and feeling intensely aware of every smudge and oil stain on you. “I didn’t... realize you’d all be here too.”

Trevor rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he was both amused and embarrassed, while his mother raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk appearing on her lips. Phoebe simply stared, unimpressed, and Gary looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Interesting greeting,” Callie said, her tone teasing. “I thought we were just here for some equipment, but apparently, we’re getting a bit of a show, too?”

Trevor laughed awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, this is... kind of a recent development.” He shot you a reassuring smile, though you could tell he was as flustered as you were.

Phoebe crossed her arms, her face an amusing mix of mild disgust and curiosity. “So, this is why Trevor’s been disappearing all the time?” She smirked, glancing at her brother. “I thought you were meeting up with Lucky and her friends or something.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the initial awkwardness easing up. “No, no. Just... well, I’ve been, you know, hanging out here. A lot.”

“Clearly,” Gary chimed in, giving Trevor a playful nudge. “Didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

Trevor rolled his eyes, his cheeks slightly red. “Thanks, Gary, really boosting my confidence here.”

Callie gave you both a soft smile. “Well, now that the secret’s out, I guess we can relax and get down to business. Though,” she added, giving Trevor a mock-serious look, “we might need to have a little talk later, young man.”

“Mom,” Trevor groaned, but the lightness in his voice showed he wasn’t too worried.

You let out a small laugh and cleared your throat, trying to shift focus back to the work at hand. “Right, uh, let’s get started on the equipment upgrades, shall we?” You gestured toward the table, where the new prototypes lay in varying stages of assembly.

As you started explaining the upgrades, you felt Trevor’s gaze on you, his soft smile a comforting presence. The Ghostbusters crew watched with interest as you described the enhancements, gesturing animatedly as your passion for the project took over. It wasn’t long before the teasing and the awkwardness melted away, replaced by genuine interest in the tech.

Phoebe, who was fascinated by the technical details, stepped closer, peering over your shoulder. “How did you manage the power distribution without frying the core?”

“Basically,” you said, pointing to a trap with reinforced coils, “this version should have a stronger containment field and an adjustable power output. You’ll have more control over the energy levels, making it more adaptable to different classes of entities.”

“Oh, that’s the fun part!” you replied, animatedly pulling up a set of schematics. “I created an insulating layer with a modified polycarbonate blend. It’s a bit experimental, but it can handle higher voltages without compromising the trap’s integrity.”

Callie listened with a bemused expression, impressed but a bit overwhelmed by your enthusiasm. “I can see why you and Trevor get along so well.”

Trevor, standing close by, chuckled. “Yeah, she kind of amazes me every day.”

You shot him a quick smile, your heart doing a little flip at his words. For the rest of the demonstration, you went through the traps, proton packs, and some of the new gadgets you’d been working on, explaining each upgrade in detail. Occasionally, you’d meet Trevor’s gaze, and each time you did, he’d give you a small nod or smile, his expression filled with pride.

Finally, you finished the demonstration, stepping back to let them inspect the equipment up close. Callie looked at you with a mixture of gratitude and amusement.

“These look incredible. Thank you for all the work you’ve put into this,” she said warmly, her tone genuine.

“It’s my pleasure, really,” you replied, feeling a little self-conscious but pleased. “And, uh... about earlier,” you added, glancing at Trevor, “sorry if that was... unexpected.”

Gary waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, kiddo. Just glad to see Trevor’s managed to, uh, ‘woo’ someone as smart as you.”

Trevor looked horrified. “Gary, please never say the word ‘woo’ again.”

The room burst into laughter, and you felt the last bit of tension dissolve as everyone settled into the moment. They packed up the new equipment with your help, Trevor occasionally brushing against you in subtle gestures of affection. Every touch sent little sparks through you, a reminder of the depth of your connection. It was hard to believe that something that had started as a simple flirtation had grown into something this meaningful.

As the Ghostbusters loaded up the last of the equipment, Callie approached you, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Thank you, again,” she said softly. “And... I can see why Trevor’s so taken with you. He’s lucky to have someone like you in his life.”

The warmth in her tone made you smile, and you nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude. “Thank you, Mrs. Spengler. And I’m lucky too—he’s... he’s pretty great.”

She nodded, smiling in a way that made you feel like you had her approval, and you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

With everything packed up, Callie, Phoebe, and Gary headed out, leaving you and Trevor alone in the lab. He turned to you, his eyes sparkling with relief and happiness.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, right?” he asked, grinning.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Speak for yourself! I think I’ll be embarrassed for a week after that.”

Trevor laughed and stepped closer, his hands slipping around your waist. “Hey, you handled it like a pro. Besides, it’s kind of nice not having to keep it a secret anymore.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, resting your hands on his chest. “Though I wouldn’t have minded a few more stolen moments.”

He smirked, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Well, there’s no one here now.”

You felt your heart skip as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. It was gentle at first, but the warmth quickly deepened, and you lost yourself in the feeling of him. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you met his gaze, and the look in his eyes made your heart swell.

“I don’t care who knows, honestly,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I want this... us... to be real. For everyone else as well.”

A warm smile spread across your face, and you nodded, resting your forehead against his. “Me too, Trevor. Me too.”

With that, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss, the lab quiet except for the soft sounds of your laughter and shared happiness.

[lapsedgamer]

Inscryption (PS5)

An interesting little game about game design which sacrifices mechanical elegance and overall tidiness so that it can expose the difficulties in designing and balancing a deckbuilding card game, and particularly how extra mechanics can give players an assist without undermining tone or intent. It's a little hard to describe how the trick works without spoiling some of the fun, but suffice to say that this horror-tinged roguelike card battling game is more welcoming than that combination of words implies. Well worth a quick look if you've got one of the subscription services where it's currently free.

SPOILERS below:

So this is very clearly a game about trying to prototype and execute a good computer card game. Throughout, it revels in letting you discover and exploit overpowered combos, and ultimately best the game through breaking the design. If this was trying to be the next Magic the Gathering, it would be an unbalanced disaster, but as a lesson in game design, and as a way to encourage the player to think carefully about the way cards interact, it's very effective.

Starting at that first fully-developed act in Leshy's cabin, we're presented with a very nicely balanced and mechanically nuanced roguelike deckbuilder which requires careful thought to progress, plus the occasional leg up from the items around the cabin. This is by far the most challenging part of the game, perhaps a bit too much so. The Failure dialogue implies you're meant to have bested Leshy multiple times before you discover the trick that will let you break out of his loop, but I've yet to encounter a player who didn't have all the necessary stuff unlocked when they first reached him. There are mechanics here that can be exploited for an easier win - unkillable squirrels, say - but they're rare enough to be unpredictable.

Nevertheless, this sets a baseline for what comes next. Here's this game as its best self, you've had a satisfying time mastering it, and then you find yourself somewhere else entirely.

The second act is game design at war with itself. Every conceivable mechanic for the game is on display, and also immediately at hand in your deck, and it makes intentional play and deck design almost impossible. I think this is entirely intentional, an opportunity to see the different prototypes of what would become Inscryption literally fighting it out. It's initially maddening, and methodical players will be frustrated by the fractious decks they're forced to assemble in the early rounds and the lack of explanation of how the new mechanics work.

However it's also clear that this interlude is not meant to be played with care and deliberation. There's an "autofill" option for deck design; battles can be repeated at will; and the actual challenge level is considerably lower, aligned to the Pokemon style graphics. This is a game to be hashed through, a quick guided tour of all the possibilities that this particular card game format could offer, and an explicit narrative instruction that only one of these possible designs can "win".

So we get in to Act 3 and that toad P03 clearly bullshitting his way through his game's narrative, but carefully and gently re-introducing each of the mechanics used in act 2. Here is another way Inscryption could've turned out, we see. The return of the locked room puzzles from the cabin emphasises this, but they're noticably toned down, presumably so as not to interfere with the arch rules beard's vision for how everything will play out.

For all that it's aesthetically apalling and narratively unsatisfying, P03's version is a genuinely excellent card game in its own right, demonstrating that the rules we encountered previously could've worked in harmony. That realisation adds to the bittersweet tone of the finale as the rest of the Scrybes reluctantly embrace the void. Leshy's final duel is actually touching, and the quick excursions to the two other possible game styles draw a tidy line under a very untidy game.

Exposing its own design process and integrating that material in to the story and structure makes Inscryption a bumpy ride, and will alienate players who buy strongly in to the refinement and style of the first act, but it's a unique journey. I was less convinced by the overarching meta-narrative about a CCG player who discovers the game is a bit of a dud, and would've been improved if some of the more foundational information from the game's ARG were included. "The game's disk was home to a malign force" could've been on the critical path somewhere. However these are little details around the edges of a confident fusion of process, play, and storytelling.

[pcbcircuit]

Beginner’s Guide to Free Sample PCB Assembly in India

At PCBcircuit, we understand the importance of prototyping in the electronics industry. That’s why we offer Free sample PCB assembly in India to help innovators and engineers bring their ideas to life without the burden of upfront costs. Our experienced team provides high-quality assembly for various PCB designs, ensuring precision and reliability in every project.

[autisticaradiamegido]

Haiiii!

You're that senshi cosplayer right?

My brother is trying to cosplay him, do you have any tips?

Oh man Senshi involved a LOT of firsts for me cosplay-wise, so I am not sure I did everything in the best or most efficient way. But! Here is a quick rundown of what I did. Skirt and Bracers w/ the fur: - this is a pretty basic sewing project! i just bought some brown faux-leather at joanns and made some slightly tapered tubes based on my waist and arm measurements. very easy and very little patterning involved!

The top: - literally just wore a gray tank top i already had

The armor: - Oh man okay this was my first time doing proper EVA foam armor, so take everything I say with a grain of salt BUT!! basically, I patterned everything out in paper first to get a decent idea of how it would fit on me. then i traced it out on some EVA foam rolls I had lying around from other cosplay prop builds, just a little bigger than my paper mock-ups to account for The Thickness of the foam. -The helmet was absolutely the hardest part and my main advice here is to be at peace with the idea that you may have to redo a lot of stuff and build a lot of prototypes to get that thing to fit your head right. - Once you have the foam base, you can build on top of it with foam clay to clean up the seams/add more organic shapes and details/etc. and if you use water to blend it in with the foam it can turn out reeeeally nice and seamless! I got all those supplies at michaels. -then after making sure all of that is nice and smooth and sculpted how you want it, you can sand and carve in any last details. THEN it's time to seal that shit for painting and durability! -for this, i used Plasti-Dip. it is basically a spray paint that creates a rubberized coating over top of the foam. this means the foam wont just soak up the paint when you apply it, AND it helps stiffen everything up a bit while still leaving it flexible AND toughening it up against dings and dents. -then painting! my biggest painting tip is WEATHER THAT SHIT!!! painting a single solid color can get it all unified but what'll really sell the look is going back over those base colors with watered down black to get it into all the little imperfections and stay there, bring out the details and add texture. makes the armor feel lived-in! -ALL THAT SAID: I actually found out later that a number of people have put out 3D print files for the various armor bits AND the helmet, so if you either HAVE a 3D printer or are willing to shell out for somebody else to print those for you to assemble, that might be an easier way to go about it! all up to you, i cant vouch for how that goes re: fitting it to your specific body and all that, plus idk how comfy itd be in comparison? but it certainly seems easier lol The sandals: -same as above only i attached the armor bits to a pair of flip flops i already had and thought were comfy. senshis foot armor situation is kinda wacky ngl. i have no idea what that weird crescenty bit on top of his toes is for. but thats what the reference images show sooo what can ya do.

THE BEARD: -oh man so this was another first but i REAAAAALLY loved the result. okay so my tip is this: if you want your wig and beard to match exactly? just buy two of the same wig. one goes on your head, and one gets flipped turned upside down and cut into a beard shape!!! -i will tell you a cheap lace-front wig is a LOT more affordable than one of those fancy hand-laced beard pieces, and it LOOKS waaaay better than like, the usual party city fake pirate beard you will probably find when searching for affordable costume facial hair, particularly if he's gonna want the option to remove the helmet and go full Hot Senshi Mode.

-literally i just had to cut a hole in the wig for my mouth and trim up a decent mustache above the mouth hole. -then you can use the little uhh.... elasticky bits? with the hooks?? that go inside the wig and help you adjust it to your head size? i literally just stretched them up and hooked them onto my wig cap and i BARELY needed to tack anything down with spirit gum. it held that thing up like a fucking champ and, all things considered, was pretty comfy!! didnt have to hook anything over my ears or anything!! -oh if you dont have any experience with spirit gum tho MAKE SURE YOU ALSO PURCHASE SPIRIT GUM REMOVER. it leaves such a nasty residue after, and its a son of a bitch to scrub off. i super recommend the remover.

oh and remember to add some blush to your nose when you go out wearing the full thing. rly adds to the overall Senshi effect i think! uhhh i think thats it??? for senshi's pan i literally just bought like a big fucking wok and strapped it to my back. it wasnt as heavy as youd think tbh but then i am kind of a tryhard. and for the little walking mushroom... idk! my mom crocheted it for me a while back and i thought it would be a really cute prop!

[miiilowo]

How did Dispatch come to be? (like in terms of being manufactured by humans, assumedly). Are they like a proprietary design created in response to rumors of the V series in order to try and also occupy the market niche of killing Earthmovers or smth like that? I think like given their smaller size (approx v1 size i think) and also desire for superior movement capabilities (whiplash enjoyer moment) they would be quite well-fit for the same roles that v1 hypothetically would have been designed to fill. or perhaps, in accordance with their namesake, the chainsaw tail (is that a chainsaw tail? i think that is a chainsaw tail) could actually be an implement designed to allow dispatch (ok so the train of thought is derailing a little because i thought dispatch meant like search and rescue but i am also usually wrong) to enter large piles of rubble and recover technology and/or blood sources from it to preserve resources used in the war effort.

please stop the ideas from flooding my head the bookshelf is waterlogged god this shit is unreadable

I will be so real with you I barely have any lore figured out. this reply is going to be very stream-of-consciousness bare with me

I did have stuff figured out before, but with the design change it makes less sense than it used to. The name 'dispatch' in this sense is [as google says]

deal with (a task, problem, or opponent) quickly and efficiently. // "they dispatched the opposition"

ORIGINALLY, before the redesign, they were a precursor to streetcleaners that would cut through swathes of people and/or machines and dismember the bodies (hence the giant swords) for easier assembly and cleanup, but since streetcleaners were much more efficient they got phased out pretty quickly and there was only a couple petering around Anywhere. they're definitely agility > strength/health

this doesn't work as well now since the sword arm is a swordsmachine augment ^_^ i dont mind the Repurposed V Model idea, but i feel like i see it around a lot and i'd wanna go for something a bit different. what that is i dont know. i could just make it so the normal arm is an augment and the sword arm is an original design feature

The dispatch i draw is definitely supposed to be a unique one that's modified itself to high hell and back. The tail, sword, and various Sharp Bits would be some highlights. this is to say that, while they're generally supposed to be quick and efficient, this specific robot REALLY REALLY REALLY likes being quick and efficient. i do tend to draw them with v2, so theres a solid chance they caught a glimpse of it fucking shit up (and saw the whiplash arm) and took notes from it i guess

Your proposal that they'd fill the same niche as v1 does make sense. They could be an earlier model or prototype that didn't make it to full production because there was elements that weren't optimized or buggy and they went back to the drawing board, which would make the desire for Speed make more sense. something something wanting to prove a point

[amy-hitechpcb]

BGA PCB Assembly

What’s BGA PCB?

BGA PCB is Printed Circuit Boards with Ball Grid Array. We use various sophisticated techniques for making BGA PCBs. Such PCBs have a small size, low cost, and high packaging density. Hence, they are reliable for high-performance applications.

What’s BGA PCB Assembly?

Ball Grid Array (BGA) assembly technology is a surface mount packaging technology applied to integrated circuits, which is often used to permanently fix devices such as microprocessors. BGA assembly can accommodate more pins than other packages such as Dual in-line packages or Quad Flat Packages, and the entire bottom surface of the device can be used as pins , instead of only peripherals available, and also have a shorter average wire length than peripheral-limited package types for better high-speed performance.

Our BGA assembly services cover a wide range, including BGA prototype development, BGA PCB assembly, BGA component removal, BGA replacement, BGA rework and reballing, BGA PCB assembly inspection, and so on. Leveraging our full-coverage services, we can help customers streamline the supply network and accelerate product development time.

Benefits of BGA PCB Assembly

Efficient Use of Space – BGA PCB layout allows us to efficiently use the available space, so we can mount more components and manufacture lighter devices.

Better Thermal Performance – For BGA, the heat generated by the components is transferred directly through the ball. In addition, the large contact area improves heat dissipation, which prevents overheating of components and ensures long life.

Higher Electrical Conductivity – The path between the die and the circuit board is short, which results in better electrical conductivity. Moreover, there is no through-hole on the board, the whole circuit board is covered with solder balls and other components, so vacant spaces are reduced.

Easy to Assemble And Manage – Compared to other PCB assembly techniques, BGA is easier to assemble and manage as the solder balls are used directly to solder the package to the board.

Less Damage to Leads – We use solid solder balls for manufacturing BGA leads. Hence, there is a lesser risk that they will get damaged during the operation.

In a word, BGA PCB assembly, have these advantages, high density, better electrical conductivity, lower thermal resistance, easy to assembly & manage are some of the advantages of BGA PCB.

Stringent BGA PCB Assembly Testing Process

To achieve the highest quality standards for BGA assembly, we use a variety of inspection methods throughout the process including optical inspection, mechanical inspection, and X-ray inspection. Among them, the inspection of BGA solder joints must use X-rays. X-rays can pass through the components to inspect the solder joints below them, so as to check the solder joint position, solder joint radius, and solder joint thickness.

Inspection of BGA PCB

We mostly use X-ray inspection for analyzing the features of BGA PCBs. This technique is known as XRD in the industry and relies on X-rays for unveiling the hidden features of this PCB. This kind of inspection reveals.

* Solder Joint Position

* Solder Joint Radius

* Change in Circular shape

* Solder Joint Thickness

The Hitechpcba advantage lies in a whole range of aspects, beginning from the fact that we have the proven technology available at our disposal. With over 15 years of experience in a wide range of PCB Fabrication and Assembly techniques, what we also have is trained manpower and importantly, robust industry experience and best practices that you can benefit from.

Our unstinting devotion to quality and customer satisfaction means that once you partner with us, you can rest assured that you will get nothing but the best. The customer-oriented approach also shows up in your commitment to delivery times. With quick turnaround times, you can reap the benefit of quick time-to-market, which, in turn, can be a major source of competitive advantage.

Whether your requirement is BGA PCB design, BGA PCB, BGA PCB layout, BGA PCB Assembly or BGA rework, you can rest assured that you will get superior quality and performance, that will in turn, positively impact the performance of your final product.

With our efficient network of component suppliers and the many economies of scale that we enjoy, that you will get optimal costs, is a given.

Please feel free to contact us (sales20@hitechpcb.com) if you have any other special request on the BGA pcb assembly.

[cynthia-hitechpcba]

Printed circuit board manufacturing which is our major business, I think you already know, we are a PCB manufacturer. We have 3 branch factories dedicated to Quick Turn PCB Prototypes Manufacturing, Small and Medium-volume Printed Circuit Board, FPC Manufacturing services and PCB assembly services. Our market target is the High Multilayer PCB, High Density PCB, Flexible PCB, Rigid-flex PCB, Heavy copper PCB, Rogers PCB, Ceramic PCB and Special Materials Printed Circuit Boards.

Also, we can help customer sourcing components, wire PCB assembly and provide one-stop service.

Hitech Group is capable of providing full turn-key and partial turn-key PCB assembly services. For full turn-key, we take care of the entire process, including manufacture of Printed Circuit Boards, procurement of components, order tracking, continuous monitoring of quality and final board assembly. Whereas for partial turn-key, the customer can provide the PCBs and certain components, and the remaining parts will be handled by us.