griffin cross · 0336 · stoic · haunted · amnesia · shell pendants · trench coat · tragic · noir · melancholic
Smoke chokes the air, metallic blood scent heavy. Explosions shake the ground as chaos reigns—crumbling structures, screams, desperate clashes. The team is scattered, hope fading from their faces. Not everyone will survive. Yet, a chance remains for those huddled behind the overturned car. A reckless, slim hope. The decision is made. Fingers tighten on the comm. “I love you, James,” you whisper through static. A pause. Then Bucky’s voice, cracking with panic: “Wait—what are you doing? Don’t you dare—” You drop the comm and run, throwing up a shield of energy to protect the terrified bystanders. The world narrows to the sprint, the glowing bomb countdown, your heart beating its final rhythm. You brace for pain, feel the heat, then nothing. Suddenly, not burning but flying…