#Are Russian sniper rifles the best?

[imtryingbuck]

It’s time to come home.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky meets Y/n, and falls in love with her. (I am so terrible at summaries.)

Word count: 7,548

Warnings: fluff. angst. death of main characters. swearing. doesn’t follow the films or timeline & the snap doesn’t happen. Sam being the bestest friend ever. mentions of being shot. bruises(?). reader is smaller than Bucky (not a massive detail). Bucky’s only in cryo for 6 months. Reader knows/learnt Russian (not a big detail.)

Masterlist

When Fury formed the Avengers Y/n was his first person of choice aside from Steve to be apart of the team, meeting the woman when she was only sixteen years old with her pointing a gun to his face, he found out after thirty minutes of trying to negotiate with the girl to put the gun down and that he wasn’t a threat that she had escaped a base that was creating mutants.

He kept her safe and she did the same with him. A year after meeting, Fury found himself being surrounded by a group of men that he was tracking - each of them pointing guns at him and he thought he was done for when a bullet went whizzing by his head, within seconds the group of men were laying on the floor with bullet holes in their heads, he looked up to find Y/n standing on the roof of a building with a sniper rifle in her hands - he chuckled when she waved at him with a smile on her face.

She was the one chasing Steve on foot after he woke up in a different year and confused, shouting at the blond to stop and rolling her eyes when he didn’t, when SHIELD surrounded the pair she was the one that talked softly and slowly to the blond, she was the one that managed to get him into the car.

She was the one that trained new agents in hand to hand combat, she was also the one he confided in and was the only person he accepted advice from.

So it was a no-brainer that she was the first person in mind for the new superhero team.

“Six agents are coming up Cap.” Y/n said from her position on the roof of the opposite building to the one he was in. “Ah, that one just scratched his arse.” She chuckled as she watched the man scratch himself thinking no one was watching.

Steve stood in front of the man that was his best friend, the man that he watched fall to his death, the man who he had mourned trying to convince him to come with him all while trying not to laugh at Y/n’s comments about the agents that were surrounding the rundown apartment block.

“Cap, get down.” As soon as she finished speaking everything went to shit real quick. Bullets went flying from her rifle as she took down the agents, defending her captain and his friend. She had a split second to move out of the way before a bag pack came flying at her, looking up and sees the Winter Soldier. “Hello.” She smiles at him which he frowns at and carries on running. “Rude. Cap, I’m with him.”

“Be careful L/n.”

“Always.” She said then trips over a piece of metal that was on the roof. “I’m fine!”

“Did-did you just fall?” Steve chuckled with a light pant.

“No.”

“Yes you did.”

“Yeah I did.” The Winter Soldier was trying everything to get himself further away from the mad woman chasing after him, surprised that she was able to keep up with him. “Stop running! I’m friendly, I swear!” Just as she was about to grab a hold of him a figure in all black came from nowhere and tackled the man she was chasing. “Hey! Get off him!” She shouts before tackling the man, not realising that they were all close to the edge of the building.

Hitting the hard ground from such a height should have killed them but after a few minutes of trying to understand what had just happened the two men jump up and start running. “No it’s okay guys, I’m fine, no honestly I am.” She says sarcastically before chasing them.

“Y/n, get in!” Steve shouts as he slows down the car that he seems to have stolen. “Are you alright?”

“Honestly Cap? No, no I’m not alright, why? well because I hurt my knee when I fell over and then I fell off a building and the two gentlemen I was with didn’t even bother to stick around to see if I was fine, so no, of course I’m not alright.”

“Will you be fine?” He asks glancing over at her, watching her shrug, before he asked. “Who’s that chasing him?”

“Catman.”

“Catman?”

“Yeah like Batman but he’s a cat.” They watch as the Winter Soldier knocks a man off his bike before grabbing it and flipping it in the air before jumping on it. “That… that’s hot. Hey Cap, your friend? Is he single?”

The blond burst out laughing despite the situation that they were currently in. “I don’t know.”

The brunette blows up the bridge so they jump out of the car and chase after him and the other man, the foot chase comes to an abrupt end when they get surrounded. Catman turns out to be the prince - now king - of Wakanda, and Catman wasn’t what he was called but Black Panther. “Oh, yeah that sounds better.”

“What?”

“I kept calling you Catman.” Y/n shrugs as they sit in the van. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You know how you’re now king? Am I going to be killed for hitting you?”

All three men frown at her question. “You didn’t hit me?”

“You right, I didn’t.” Twisting her body around to face him properly she moves quickly and hits him over the head. “Now I did.”

“W-what was that for?”

“For not asking me if I was okay when we fell off the roof.”

A low amused chuckle falls from his lips. “You are the one that pushed us off.”

“So?”

“And you haven’t asked me if I’m okay.”

“Because I don’t care.”

Just as he goes to reply the van comes to a stop and they’re ordered to get out. Y/n links arms with Sam as they follow behind Steve and T’Challa, everything that’s being said around her goes in one ear and comes out the other as she was to busy checking her surroundings, when the screen comes on and they can see Bucky she squeezes Sam’s arm and whispers. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

A man goes into the room and begins speaking in Russian which causes Bucky to cry out. “W-what’s he doing?” Steve questions, standing closer to the screen.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign? Homecoming. One. Fight car? Wait… no it’s freight car, yeah that makes more sense.” Y/n repeats the words then everything goes black, when the emergency lights come on Bucky’s gone.

As they make their way towards the room Sam speaks up. “I didn’t know you speak Russian?”

“Yeah I learnt it because I was bored.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

Steve deals with the guy who read the words out, Sam and Y/n goes to find Bucky which wasn’t hard as the followed the sound of the gun fire, after they dealt with the agents they both end up having to fight Bucky, he knocks Y/n into a wall before grabbing Sam by his throat and started squeezing. Sliding out the night-night serum as she calls it, from its hiding place she slowly stands up and jumps on the brunettes back. “Night-night gorgeous.”

“Y-you took your time.” Sam coughs once air finally hits his lungs.

“Oh I’m sorry, I was too busy trying to tell the wall that I got to know very intimately that I’m not ready to settle down and get married.”

“How did it take the news?”

“Not good Sammy, not good.”

When Bucky wakes up he comes face to face with a smiling Y/n and his arm trapped. “Hi. Guys, sleeping beauties awake.”

Y/n and Sam chuckle when Bucky outs Steve for putting newspapers in his shoes which causes the blond to glance at them and shrugs his shoulders, then proceeds to tell them that there are more super soldiers out there - which had the trio slightly nervous. He apologises to them for what he had done before telling them that he had nothing to do with the bombing, Sam was skeptical yet Steve and Y/n believed him.

“So… what happens now? You know with us being wanted by the government.” Y/n asked as she happily played with Bucky’s hair, once he finally stopped moving and scowling at her.

No one actually answered her but she found herself sitting in the passenger seat as Steve drove the smallest car he could find, ignoring the plan that the guys were coming up with, she was slightly confused when the car came to a stop in a garage, only to roll her eyes when she saw Sharon standing there.

“Move your seat up.” Bucky grumbled as he kicked her seat to prove a point of being squashed.

“You forgot to say the magic word.”

“Please.”

“Nope.”

Sam barked out a laugh at her response. “You’re evil.”

“Who me? Never.”

Both Bucky and Sam were grinning ear to ear as they watched the two blondes kiss whilst Y/n’s face scrunched up in disgust. When Steve finally gets in the car after standing there with a lovesick dazed look in his eyes even long after Sharon drove away, he asked why she was pulling the face which earned him a side eye glance with no response. Steve and Sam were going to meet with Natasha whilst Y/n took Bucky to the tower where he would be safe which she didn’t actually mind as she was in desperate need of a shower.

Bucky’s eyes went wide as he stood behind Y/n in the elevator when she started undoing her suit and exposing her back to him. The top of her back that wasn’t covered by her vest shirt was bruised as well as the back of her arms. “Erm… s’excuse me.”

“Yeah?”

“Your back is badly bruised.”

“I know, it hurts like a bitch. By the way, my name is Y/n.”

“Bucky.”

“I know.” When the doors finally opened she told him to follow her, as they made their way towards where loud clinking and swearing was coming from Bucky’s eyes took in everything around him, mainly looking for a possible escape route if things went wrong. “Hey Tony, this is Bucky, he’s staying here with us because I said so.”

“Okay?” Tony took a quick glance at Bucky before turning back to what he was doing before. “Where’s Steve?”

“With Sam and Nat.”

“And where are they?”

“With Steve.”

Tony’s head snapped up and looked straight at her as she sat on the counter and started messing around with the objects next to her. “You’re hilarious. And put that down.”

“What is it?”

“Something.”

“What does this something do?”

“Things.”

“What kind of things?”

“I’m not sure yet so put it down.” It was only then that Tony realised that Bucky was standing there. “Who’s that?”

“Him?” Y/n pointed towards the super soldier, wanting to laugh at him as he stood there stiff and uncomfortable. “He’s Steve’s friend.”

“Steve has friends? Surprising.”

“Leave Cappy alone. Anyway I’ll love you and leave you.” Nodding to Bucky for him to follow, she took him up towards where the bedrooms were, finding it amusing how the man trails behind her as his head moves side to side taking in everything around him. “This one is yours, Steve’s next door.”

“Thank you.”

“S’alright.”

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Falling off that building should have killed you, how come it didn’t?” He then realised how his question sounded so he began stuttering and stumbling over his words. “I- that- I didn’t mean to sound rude or wish- I’m glad your okay-”

“It’s fine.” She laughed, cutting him off. “I have some form of the same serum as you and Steve, it’s not as strong as you two though.”

“Oh… did Hydra do it to you?”

“No, an organisation that was creating mutants did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

Shrugging his shoulders because he truly didn’t know what he was apologising for, all he knew was that he needed to start apologising to people for everything he did. “I- I didn’t do it, you know, the bombing.”

“I know, and so does Steve.” He nodded and gave her a shy smile. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” A lie but he was nervous for some reason. “Just tired.”

“Oh okay, well get some sleep and I’ll see you later.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

For a week it was just Y/n and Bucky mainly at the tower - the two getting to know each other better - as Tony was too busy locked away in his office, Steve had been in contact to explain that they were busy trying to clear Bucky’s name as well as their own.

After two weeks of being away the trio made their way back to the tower, each of them dreading about telling Y/n the news. Seeing Bucky in the kitchen Steve gave him a tired smile, his blue eyes finding the person he needed to talk to. “Y/n.” He says softly as he slowly approaches his friend watching as she enjoys her ice cream. “Y/n?”

“You’re back! I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Listen I- I need to tell you something. F-Fury, Nick, he… he didn’t make it.” He stumbled over his words, his heart aching for his friend, knowing how close she and Fury are were.

“What do you mean?”

Sitting down next to her he looked as she fought with her favourite flavour ice cream trying to get more onto the spoon. “He died.”

Barking out a laugh she shook her head. “No he didn’t.”

“I saw it Y/n, it’s true.”

“He’s not dead.”

“Y/n.”

“He isn’t dead Steve.” She speaks slowly as if explaining something to a child. “I know he isn’t.” Is all she says before leaving the room, leaving Steve staring at the spot she was sitting in, leaving Bucky standing in the kitchen with his heart aching for the woman who had treated him with nothing but kindness and respect in the three weeks they had spent together.

Sam and Natasha stood there awkwardly not knowing what to say or do, watching Steve stand up and make his way to where Y/n had gone. “I- I’ll check up on her.” Bucky spoke up, halting Steve’s steps.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I- we’ve- I’ll see if she’s okay.” Steve hesitates for a few seconds before nodding. Bucky had an idea where he could find the woman he had grown attached to, he followed the path towards the gym and that’s where he found her, beating up the punching bag. “Y/n?”

“He’s not dead.”

“But Steve said-”

“I don’t care what Steve said.” Stopping her assault she turned to face him. “He’s not. Okay. He’s fine, I just know it.”

Taking slow and careful steps towards her, he saw the pain in her eyes at the prospect of this Fury guy being dead. “Would Steve lie to you?”

“He… no… but Fury can’t be dead. He just can’t be.”

Seeing the tears well up in her eyes and begin to drop down her cheeks, he quickly closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay. I’m here.” He whispered as she clutched onto him.

Pulling away from him after a few minutes, she wiped her cheeks. “Well that was embarrassing.”

“What was?”

“Me crying on you like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Guiding her to take a seat on the bench he sat across from her. “Are you and Fury related?”

“No.” A chuckle falls from her lips. “Though he always acted like he was my dad and treated me as his very own. He found me after I robbed his wallet, didn’t even flinch when I pulled his gun out of my pocket - yeah I stole his gun too.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“And you’ve been together ever since?”

“Ever since.” She confirmed. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“What am I going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

Tugging at the sleeve of her jumper she shrugged. “Fury was the one that brought me onto the team, he was the one I worked for, if-if he’s really gone then what does that mean for me?”

“Steve won’t kick you off the team.”

“I guess but- oh I don’t know.” She knew Steve wouldn’t turn his back on her, she was just scared of being alone again - not that she would admit that. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For not judging me for crying.” She chuckled softly. “I- I’m going to get some fresh air, want to come with?”

“Sure.”

For a week after being told that the only father figure she had in her life had died, she stayed hidden away in her room where she cried herself to sleep only to wake up and do it all over again. The team had tried talking to her, Sam even sitting on the ground and leaning against her door where he talked to her about everything and anything, but she didn’t respond.

On the second week she finally came out of her room, freshly showered and hungry. She made her way towards the kitchen. Everyone was sitting in the living room when she came in, no one knew what to say as she took a seat next to Steve. “By the way Sam, Jurassic Park is the best film ever made.”

Sam was quick to defend his choice of film which had everyone else chipping in with their own choices. The heated debate came to an end when Maria showed up, needing Y/n and Steve to follow her.

The car ride was quiet as Maria drove, Y/n sat in the back staring out of the window trying to figure out where the woman was taking them. By the time the car came to a stop it was dark outside, Maria told them to follow her as she walked down a corridor, Steve gave Y/n a questioning look whilst she shrugged her shoulders and followed the other woman. Opening a door the brunette woman nodded for them to go inside, there they found Fury sitting up in a hospital bed.

“H-how?” Steve mumbled.

“I needed to pretend to be dead.” The man spoke, his brown eyes landing on the woman who he saw as his own daughter who hadn’t moved away from the door. “Y/n…”

Shaking her head she took a small step forward. “I-I- why? Why didn’t you tell me?!” Walking closer to the bed she kept her eye on the man. “You don’t trust me?” Her voice was quiet and timid.

“I do, sweet girl you know I do, but I needed you to believe I was dead because I knew that someone would be watching you.” Y/n thinking that he didn’t trust her had his heart aching, she was the only one aside from Maria that he trusted with his life. He hated lying to her more than anything. “And they were, they believed-”

“I don’t care. You should have told me! I cried! Like actual tears came out of my eyeballs!” Fury, Steve and Maria all chuckled at her words. “It’s not funny!”

“It isn’t, you’re right.” Fury said as he struggled to stop laughing. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“It’s fine I guess. You’re alive so that’s good.” Walking around to stand by his side she wrapped her arms around him. Whispering in his ear. “You pretend to be dead again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Putting his hand on his heart. “I wouldn’t wish it any other way.”

A week later the team were planning on taking back SHIELD from Hydras grasp, Y/n had to bite her tongue when she came face to face with Alexander Pierce in order not to blow her cover, nodding along to whatever it was he was waffling on about. She and Natasha finally showed their true identity as Fury came into the room, Nat was releasing all the records whilst Y/n stood protectively by the side of Fury as he argued with Pierce.

It came to an end when Alexander Pierce got shot by Nick Fury just seconds after Y/n got shot by Pierce.

The noise of something she couldn’t identify was driving her insane, blindly reaching out to find the source of the beeping she ends up giving up after a few seconds. With a tired groan she opens her eyes, confusion flashes across her face as she sees a sleeping Bucky by her side - lasting only a few seconds before a small smile appears on her lips. Unbeknownst to her he had been by her bedside since Dr Cho removed the bullet from her.

As Bucky stirs awake she falls back to sleep.

The second time she wakes up Bucky is awake too and fiddling with a packet of Oreo’s. “Hi.”

Startled by the sudden change of sound in the room, he accidentally tore up the packet sending the Oreo’s flying in different directions. “You’re awake! Are you okay?”

“I am.” She manages to say whilst laughing. “Are you okay?”

With cheeks going bright red, he nods. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Reaching for a stray Oreo that landed on her leg she takes a bite and shakes her head. “Don’t worry. How long have I been out?”

“About two weeks, you was shot in the chest.”

“That explains why my chest hurts then.” She grins. “Hydra?”

“Gone.” It’s his turn to grin although it doesn’t last. “I don’t think it’ll stay that way though.”

“Then we’ll continue fighting them.” Putting her hand over his. “We’ll fight them together.”

“Together.”

Half an hour later the team came in to see her now they knew she was awake, Sam wrapped his arms around her after pushing Nat out of the way, Steve smiled softly at her as Tony threw a grape at her head as a greeting, Fury and Maria came in shortly after Dr Cho had finished checking on Y/n.

“Has Bucky told you?” Steve asked her as he stretched his legs out.

“Told me- Tony, throw one more grape at my head I’m going to hit you- told me what?”

“I’m not doing anything.” The billionaire said innocently… before throwing another one.

“He’s been cleared of the bombing and T’Challa said that Bucky can go to Wakanda so his sister can deprogram the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s amazing!” Her eyes went to Bucky, smiling as he tried to shrink further into the seat. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

As sleep started to take hold of everyone they bid their goodbyes to Y/n, only Fury and Bucky remained. “Nick, I- I want to go with Bucky.” Looking over to the man, her cheeks burning as his eyes go wide at her words. “If-if that’s okay with you?”

“Y-yeah. I’d like that.”

Fury sat there, his eyes squinting and shifting between the blushing people, a subtle smile on his lips. “I’ll get Natasha to pack your things.”

The next morning Sam pushed Y/n to the hanger in a wheelchair despite telling him that she didn’t need one, after saying their goodbyes Steve, Y/n and Bucky were on the jet on their way to Wakanda.

“Catman!”

A deep chuckle falls from the kings lips as his arms spread open. “Crazy woman, nice to meet you again.”

“How are you?”

“I am very well, I hear you were shot?”

“I was but as you can see I’m still alive.”

T’Challa laughs and nods. “I see that, and I am glad. Gentleman.” He greeted the men and began to lead them to where his sister was waiting.

After the introductions were made, Princess Shuri was proudly explaining how she was going to be able to get rid of the Winter Soldier, her words trailing off as she began to look nervously at Y/n. “Is everything alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Steve started laughing when he realised what was going on. “You were staring at her.”

“Oh, it’s just because you’re really, really beautiful. Sorry.” Shuri blushed and shyly thanked her. “I did the same thing with Natasha when I first met her.” Y/n shrugged.

As Bucky was being prepped T’Challa gave Y/n and Steve a tour of the building they were in, the incredible view had Y/n’s feet leading her towards the window as the men spoke softly between themselves. Completely unaware that it was now just her and T’Challa and some guards in the room as Bucky wanted to talk to Steve, she was startled when the king stood by her side. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine.” She smiled softly. “Your home, it’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. It’s very peaceful here.”

“You don’t mind me being here, do you? I kind of just invited myself.”

“I am more than happy to have you here.” T’Challa smiled. “My father would have liked you.”

“Really?” The young king nodded. “I’ve only ever heard good things about him.”

“He was the best man I have ever known.”

“Can- if it’s okay, can you tell me more about him?”

T’Challa’s face lit up at the opportunity to speak about his father. For over an hour the two sat on the marbled floor, Y/n hanging on to every word that the king spoke. A groan fell from her lips as Steve came into the room, only for her to perk up because Bucky wanted to see her.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

The two of them stood a few feet away from each other with soft smiles on their lips, neither one knowing what to say to the other. Eventually Bucky spoke. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything. You’ve been kind to me even though I didn’t deserve it.”

“Everyone deserves kindness.”

“Not me.”

Closing the distance between them, Y/n placed her hands on his chest. “You didn’t have control over your own mind Bucky, that isn’t your fault and no one can blame you.”

“But-”

“No buts.” She smiled up at him. His ocean coloured eyes went from hers down to her lips, his tongue slightly poking out to wet his own. Without thinking Y/n stands up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his. At first he didn’t react which had her panicking thinking that she read the situation wrong, that was until Bucky wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him all while deepening the kiss.

A not so subtle cough interrupted them.

Steve and Shuri standing there with beaming smiles, T’Challa next to them with a grin on his face. “Sorry to interrupt but we should start now.” Shuri murmured.

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky whispered nervously. “Will you be here when I get out?”

“In six months time this pretty face is the first thing you’ll see.” Gesturing to Shuri - who blushed for the umpteenth time. “Then you’ll see me.”

“You’re the prettiest.” He winked. “I’ll see you soon.”

With Bucky in cryo, Steve decided to stay in Wakanda for a month with Y/n, both enjoying the relaxation and peace the beautiful country had to offer. Two months after Steve left to head back home a jet carrying the team landed with a soft thud - in her absence two new members were added to the team turned family.

Wanda and Pietro.

The day after they landed Y/n and Sam went on a walk so she could get the gossip she had missed out on - to her disappointment Sam informed her that the team would only be staying for a week.

“I need to tell you something.” She wheezed as she caught her breath, Sam always found it weird that she could run from dusk till dawn and not work up a sweat yet walking up stairs always took the air out of her lungs. “We kissed.”

“We did?”

“Not us, idiot.”

“I was going to say, you’d definitely remember kissing me.” He winked whilst puckering his lips. “So who did we kiss?”

“Bucky.”

The only word to describe the noise that came from Sam is a squeal. The five foot ten inches, muscly man squealed. “We did? How was it? Wait… when?”

“It-it was… amazing. And it happened just before he went into cryo.”

“I love that for us!” Sam sighed happily. “So when’s the big day?”

“We only kissed!”

“Yes and kissing leads to marriage and marriage leads to babies, oh please name your baby after me!” One of Y/n’s eyebrows were raised as she watched her best friend jump around in excitement. “Sam works for both girl and boy, I’m going to be the best uncle!”

“Sam!” She shouted. “It was only a kiss!”

“Only a kiss.” He mocked. “You love him, don’t you?”

“I-I-no, of course not.”

“That was so convincing, not.” Heading towards to the steps to go back down, he turned to face her. “Y/n, when you and Bucky get married, can I be your best man?”

“Obviously.”

“So there is going to be a wedding!” Sam only had seconds to duck down as a rock came flying at his head. “No need to get all bridezilla on me.”

“Sam!”

Three months went by faster than she realised after the team spent their week with her, she had received a phone call from Steve to inform her that Pietro had sadly died - even though she only knew the twins for seven days she was saddened by the news, going home for two weeks for the funeral and spending time with Wanda.

“It’s time to wake Bucky up.” Shuri’s soft voice startled Y/n. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled. “Shuri, do you think it’s worked?”

“I do, but we have to wait and see.”

Everything that Shuri was saying went in one ear and out of the other as her eyes remained on Bucky’s face as he came around. “Hi pretty girl.” His husky whispered voice sent shivers down her spine.

“Hey handsome.” Even as Shuri did her checks Bucky’s eyes remained on Y/n, and when it was finally just them in the room neither one of them knew what to say. “So…”

“So.”

“Have a good nap?”

“It was alright I suppose.” He grinned. “Miss me?”

“I suppose.” It was her turn to grin. “How do you feel?”

“Honestly? I feel better. Lighter as if a massive weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Sliding her hand into his, she gave him a gentle squeeze. “Shuri will want to see if it’s worked, do you want me to-”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even finish what I was saying.”

“Were you going to say ‘do you want me to be there’?” Y/n laughs and nods. “Then the answer is most definitely a yes.”

“How are you feeling about it?”

“I’m nervous, what happens if it doesn't work?”

“It will.”

“But-”

“No buts.” She smiles softly. “Oh by the way I told Sam that we kissed.”

“Really?” Bucky chuckles, watching as she nods and grins. “How come?”

“I tell Sam everything.” She shrugs.

“Did you say how it was?”

“I did. I told him that I’d have to try it again just to make sure it was okay.”

“Just okay?” Humming whilst her grin grew, Bucky nodded. “Well we’ll have to try again, won’t we?” He doesn’t give her a chance to respond, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer, he places his lips on hers, kissing her passionately.

After having something to eat it was time to test if the deprogramming worked, hand in hand Bucky and Y/n followed Ayo. As the brunette sat in front of the fire pit staring into the flames Ayo began reading the trigger words, Y/n stood at the side nervously biting her lip - her heart aching seeing the tears well up in his eyes. A huge smile on her face as the warrior told him. “You are free.”

The unofficial couple was given a hut gifted by T’Challa as well as some goats that Bucky absolutely loved and even named them after the team. A month after Bucky was finally free from Hydra's grasp the king showed up at the hut to give him a new arm that Shuri had been working on. For two months they lived together in mostly isolation that was until Fury rang Y/n to tell her she was needed to help out on an upcoming mission, leaving Bucky wasn’t something she wanted to but he understood.

Y/n went back and forth between New York and Wakanda for six months before Bucky decided that it wasn’t fair on her. “We’re going back. Doll.”

“Huh?” She was so focused on packing her bag that she didn’t hear what he was saying. He closed the distance between them, placing his hands over hers. “Buck, I need to get this done.”

“I said we’re going back. Me and you.”

“But… what?”

“It’s not fair on you to keep travelling back and forth, so why don’t we go back together. I’ve been pardoned by the government so there’s no need for me to be here anymore.”

“You love it here.”

He nods in agreement. “I do but I love you more.”

One of Y/n’s eyebrows raised, her lips part slightly as his words bounced around her head. “You- you love me?”

“Of course I do.” He whispered. “I love you Y/n L/n.”

“I love you James Barnes.”

“Oi, don’t call me that!”

“Sorry handsome.”

T’Challa and Shuri were both disappointed when the now official couple told them that they’d be leaving, they thanked the siblings for everything, the king told them. “You will always have a home here, the both of you.”

It’s now been two years since they came home from Wakanda, Steve couldn’t stop smiling as he was reunited with his oldest and bestest friend, Sam kept smiling at seeing his best friend finally happy with someone, Nat and Wanda was just happy to have her back, and Tony wanted to tell Y/n everything he had made since the last time he saw her. Bucky became an official member of The Avengers, Y/n was so happy and excited, proudly leading him away from the party that Tony threw for him, congratulating him in a way that left them both naked and panting for breath.

Leaning against the door frame of their shared bedroom Bucky watched with a soft smile on his lips as her legs fought with the several blankets she had decided to cover herself with, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing as the ice cream fell off the spoon landing on her - his - shirt causing her to groan.

He had it all planned out, how he was going to do it, they were supposed to be dressed up, him in a black suit that cost more than he cared to admit and her in the stunning red dress that had a split on the side to show her thigh. When she showed it to him after her shopping trip with the girls, it didn’t last very long on her body as all his blood went south, and he had even written what he was going to say - at least five papers worth of him telling her everything he loves about her. He had gone with Wanda to pick out a ring and after the second shop they went to, he had found the one.

But he couldn’t wait, he didn’t want to wait until the weekend.

Crossing the room he walked around the bed, his heart fluttering at the sweet smile she gave him when she looked up, pressing a kiss to her forehead as a greeting. “Marry me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay as in I’ll marry you.”

Wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, littering her beautiful face with kisses as she giggles, before he finally captures her lips with his own. “I love you so much.” Reluctantly pulling away he unceremoniously leaned over her chuckling as she slaps his side and complains about how heavy he is. “Hold on, pretty girl, just getting something.”

“You’re squishing me!”

“You don’t normally complain.” He laughs. “Here.” With a groan he lifts up and hands her the small box.

Lifting the lid a gasp falls from her lips. “Oh, Bucky, it's beautiful.”

“You like it?” He whispers, watching as tears fill her pretty eyes.

“Like it? I love it!” Softly grabbing his face with both hands she pulled him closer to kiss him. “You gonna put it on for me then?”

Rolling his eyes, he does as she says and carefully pulls the ring out to place on her finger. “So bossy.”

“It’s only going to get worse when we get married, you do know that, don’t you?”

“That’s fine with me.”

It had been two months since the team got startled awake by Y/n standing in the hallway with a megaphone - that she somehow found - screaming that she and Bucky were getting married. The team watched in horror as Y/n and Wanda performed their amazing dance, said dance they had been practicing for two weeks straight, when it was over much to the team’s relief - everyone burst out laughing. “Hey, stop laughing, we were amazing!” Wanda pouted.

“Y-you both dance like you’re drunk.” Sam said as he struggled to breathe.

The two women stood there with a frown on their faces, deepening as their laughter began to get louder. “I think they dance better when they’re drunk.” Nat chuckled, faking a frown and a slight shake of her head as the women shot daggers at her.

“Rude.”

“I believe we were amazing and super talented and that is all that matters.” Y/n finally spoke, wrapping her arms around Wanda who nodded in agreement.

That comment had the whole team practically crying.

The laughter came to an abrupt end as the whole building shook and the sirens went off.

An organisation that the team were trying to stop, had attacked the tower. After nearly an hour of shooting, dodging bullets and shouting orders, the final man went down thanks to Natasha, the only person who suffered any injury was Clint with a bullet grazing his right thigh. The tower was still standing fortunately but had a lot of damage which had Tony complaining about how much it was going to cost him to get it all fixed. Bucky frantically searched for Y/n, his heart settling once he laid eyes on her as she helped up Sam from the ground. He rushed over to her, his baby blues scanning her body up and down searching for any trace of injury. “Y/n, doll, are you okay?”

“‘M fine, are you?”

Leaning down and pressing his forehead against hers he sighed a breath of relief at hearing her answer. “I’m good as long as you are, you know this.”

“How are you Sam? I’m good. Are you sure? Yeah I’m sure, thank you both for being so worried about me it means a lot.” Two sets of eyes rolled in tandem as a hand rested on their shoulders, Sam only left the couple when he pressed a kiss to both their heads.

“He’s so annoying.” Bucky laughed.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“My dancing isn’t that bad, is it?” He had to bite his lip in hopes to stop the smile off his lips, only to shake his head when Y/n began to pout. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not. Your dance moves are the best, I swear.”

“I knew it!” She cheered, a beautiful smile on her lips as she looked up at him.

Bucky went to respond when he saw one of the members of the organisation slowly get up, raising his arm with a gun shakily pointing in their direction. Before the man could blink Bucky whipped his own gun out from where he had tucked it under his shirt, and fired. The super soldier's eyebrows turned downward in confusion as he realised that he heard two gunshots.

It all happened in slow motion.

Y/n stumbling out of the arm he had wrapped around her.

Her eyes, wide and watery, staring right at him only to slowly move away to look at her stomach.

Her shaking hands moving to touch where the pool of blood was growing.

Her knees buckling, just before she could hit the ground he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.

“B-Buck…” Her words were whispered yet he heard it, could hear the pain in her voice.

“No, no, no you’re alright, you’re fine, you have to be.” He stammered, his voice laced with heartache as he began shouting for the team to help, pleading with her to stay awake as he moved her hands away from the wound in her stomach so he could replace hers with his. “Baby, s-stay with me.”

“I-it hurts.” She had been shot many times before and yeah it always hurt but this, this was something else, she had never felt pain like it. She felt like she was burning up yet felt freezing cold, her limbs felt heavy and numb yet felt as if she was light as a feather. She knew it wasn’t good, she knew that the chances of her going to sleep and waking up again were very low, and so with all the strength she could muster she placed her hands over Bucky’s. “I l-love you so much.”

“I know baby, I know but you need to stay with me, okay? I can’t do this without you, I don’t want to, I won’t.”

“I’m not… I’m- I don’t want to leave b-but I can’t.” Taking in a shaky breath she managed to take her engagement ring off and place it in his hand.

“No! No you keep it be-because we’re still getting married.”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

The team dropped to their knees in unison as Bucky’s guttural screams echoed through the room.

Her death was all over the news, fans of hers and the Avengers placed flowers outside the gates of the compound, the day of her funeral the Tower was lit up in her favourite colour as everyone was dressed in the same colour. Her only request was that no one cries - the team, Fury and the Guardians tried so hard to honour her wishes though none of them kept to it as her coffin was lowered into the ground. They had all lost their friend, their family member, their confidant.

Fury had to hold Bucky up even though his own knees wanted to buckle underneath him. He had to console his unofficial adopted daughter’s fiancé even though his own heart was broken.

Bucky wasn’t the same person anymore. He stopped being himself the second Y/n took her last breath. He grieved in private and threw himself into missions, despite Steve’s worry and voiced concern. When he wasn’t on missions or in the suite that he once shared with his Y/n, he was in the gym - normally spending several hours in there.

The team noticed that every time Bucky was on a mission he was reckless, no longer caring about being injured. Steve had spent nearly an hour pleading with his best friend to snap out of it. “Y/n wouldn’t want-”

“You don’t know what she would or wouldn’t want, she’s not here is she?”

“Buck.” The brunette shook his head and walked out of med bay despite needing a bullet to be taken out of his arm. “What am I going to do, Tony?”

“He’s a man with nothing to live for.”

“He has us!”

“We aren’t Y/n.” The billionaire said sadly before leaving the Captain alone.

A week later there was another mission that Bucky threw himself onto - once again against the wishes from Steve. It was supposed to be an easy one, in and out, however as the team ventured further into the base they were under attack.

Bucky felt the bullets rip into his flesh as he pushed forward, when the last member of Hydra fell the brunette stumbled into an empty room clutching his side where blood was flowing.

Pulling out a photo of Y/n that he kept in his chest pocket, his thumb gently stroked her cheek. “I’m gonna be with you, darling. Real soon, actually.” He can’t help the smile that creeps right up from his heart to his face. He once was afraid of death, not anymore, not now that he knew he was going to be reunited with his girl.

His heart flickered when his ocean coloured eyes moved away from the photo to the person walking closer to him. A small smile on his cold lips, in a broken whisper he managed to speak. “I’ve missed you doll.”

“I’ve missed you too, my love.” As the last bit of air left his lungs and his heart beat came to a slow stop, his angel wrapped her arms around him and whispered. “It’s time to come home.”

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 1 - Breeding

My first published piece for Call of Duty! Like a lot of others I got very much sucked in (c'mon...hot masked man? ya'll really think I'm that strong? I'm far too gay for that. /hj) to this series and hope you all enjoy the content I write for it! Enjoy!~

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

Coming on this mission was nothing short of a mistake. Yet Price wasn’t one to let work build up and overwhelm him. Plus, this was a favor to Nik; he couldn’t just turn the Russian man down with all the times Nik had saved his ass. The unfortunate part of all this was you.

Your relationship with the Captain wasn’t exactly secret. A number of soldiers had caught you two by now. You two really did try to keep things under wraps! But after Gaz and Soap had caught you in his lap, lips passionately discovering the other’s, well…let’s just say the two sergeants weren’t the best at letting it remain a secret. Thankfully for the both of you, Laswell had workarounds, and the entire squad was sworn to secrecy until further notice. It was only recently, during a short shore leave that the conversation came up: kids. “I’m too old for that pup,” he’d chided, casually taking a drag off his cigar. You huffed a laugh quietly.

“Oh c’mon John,” you hummed against his bare chest. Your fingers played idly with the hair that covered his skin. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want to see a little mix of both of us running around base? How happy they’d be with all their uncles and auntie Laswell?” You could see the cogs turning in his post-coitus brain. So many different scenarios played over and over in his brain. On the one hand, the two of you had probably the most dangerous jobs in the world. There was absolutely no way he would let you back out in to the field if he found out you were pregnant. 

But the more he thought about it; you all round with his child, the happy life that would await you two. The idea of him absolutely ravishing you with the sole purpose of knocking you up became more and more enticing. Which was exactly why this mission was nothing short of torture for him.

You were being used as bait, put lightly. And a variety of different people had their hands all over you, guiding you where you needed to be. Now normally, Price was by no means a jealous man. He was rather proud to call you his partner, and was more than happy to show you off and brag about you. But something about the way you were being drug around set some sort of fire in the good captain.

“Ghost, do you have a copy?” He asks over the comms.

“Send traffic,” comes the response of Ghost from the other end of the building, no doubt honing on potential targets through the sight of his sniper rifle.

“Go to the next channel, there’s been a change of plans,” Price tells him as calmly as possible. There are a view other questions from Soap, Gaz, and Laswell, but he leaves them all unanswered as he switches the channel on his radio. “I’m going in after them.” “Price…” Ghost starts to protest. He’d warned the Captain long ago that if Price were to involve himself with a partner, emotions would eventually get in the way. The masked man knew his Captain’s emotions and control over them far better than he’d ever let on. “We can’t afford to complicate things.”

“I won’t,” Price comments sharply, slipping down the embankment to get closer to the building. His aim was to slip in a window to a room where he knew there’d be no guards. He remembers the layout like the back of his hand; his photographic memory worked pretty well for someone reaching forty. 

Again, the Lieutenant sighs heavily over the comms. “Fuckin’ hell…” he grumbles, adjusting his position slightly. “Just don’t get yourselves caught in there old man. Last thing we need is losing two good soldiers in one night.”

The captain chuckles grimly before hoisting himself up onto a few barrels and switching his comm back to the original channel. Ghost can be heard explaining the plan to the team, but Price tunes them out. “C/S, move to that empty room we pointed out on the first floor as you can,” Ghost instructs.

“Copy,” comes your hushed response. Price nods, hauling himself up and into the open window. How their target didn’t think to guard this room was beyond him. Then again, with how much he was struggling to get in, it’s not like it was necessary. “Fuck my old boots,” the man grumbles as he hits the floor, joints protesting at the sudden drop.

“Gettin’ old on us there Cap?” comes your teasing tone. You just barely manage to silently shut the door behind you when your world is sent into a whirlwind, eyes now meeting the brick wall in the dark room. A gloved hand is covering your mouth as the other pins your hands above your head. 

“I’m sorry darlin’,” you hear Price say, right against your ear. “But there’s a thought that’s been plaguing me, and I can’t hold it in anymore, Nikolai be damned.” You try hard to wiggle and protest, but your captain has his boot between your feet, shuffling your legs apart.

You gasp a little as you feel the excitement rush straight between your thighs. “That’s my pup,” Price purrs, warm breath and beard tickling the shell of your ear. “Keep those wandering hands still for me.” Slowly, as if to test your obedience, the good captain lets go of your hands. You do as he orders as you feel him undo the suit pants you’d been put in for the night. 

A gloved hand dips beneath the waistband of your underwear, running over your wet slit. You try to contain your whimper, but your captain was no fool. He knew your body and all it’s sweet spots better than he knew his own. The rough fabric brushes over your nub and you gasp against his other hand. 

“That eager already are we?” The man teases, kissing along your neck. Your eyes close and your brow knits in frustration. Not that you were mad by what was unfolding, oh no. It was because that man’s amazing cock wasn’t in you right now.

Thankfully, you and Price often shared the same brain cell, and you could hear the telltale sound of him undoing his belt, shimmying his pants and briefs down enough to get his member free. Yours were next, the fabric easily slipping down your legs to pool around your ankles. 

Price was as slow as he felt he could be, rubbing the head of his cock over your quickly moistening slit and hole. “Gonna take me so well darling,” he coos, more kisses and nips against the sensitive area of your neck. 

When his member first breaches your entrance, your knees almost buckle. It had been so long since you’d had your captain inside you, you’d nearly forgotten what it felt like. If it weren’t for the glove in front of you, the diplomatic party would probably have heard your shuddered sigh of pleasure as Price fully sheaths himself inside you.

It doesn’t take long, between the time crunch and your warm, wet walls hugging his cock so perfectly, for the captain to start truly fucking you. He went from gently letting you adjust to trying to muffle the sound of your skin meeting so quick it made your world spin. “Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, sliding his hand down your side to grip your hip so hard you knew it would bruise and you’d have to hide your slight limp for the rest of the night.

“Can’t wait to see you,” he murmurs against your skin, stopping in his sentence to moan softly. “--so full with our child, love. Gonna be so perfect for me.” His words have you absolutely gushing, your wetness making the sex even louder. 

You’re not sure how long the two of you had been at this, but the voices growing closer to the room told both you and Price that there wasn’t much time left. “Price, wrap up your business,” Ghost hisses over the comms. The thrill and knowledge of what brought this on has you teetering on the precipice of orgasm.

“Go on pup,” Price growls softly. “Let’s make this the moment. That moment I breed you like you want.” As every good soldier would, you follow your captain’s order, biting down slightly on the fabric of the glove to keep your whimpers from reaching the hall. The good captain isn’t far behind you, quickly spilling his seed inside you. 

The two of you are trying to come down from your respective highs when you hear. “...Is someone in there?” shouted from beyond the door. In swift movements, Price pulls out of you and you’re pulling your pants and underwear up from the floor. Just as you’re finished fixing your hair and your captain slips around the corner does the door open, light flooding the dark room.

“...Y/N?” asks the intruder. You give a sheepish smile, only accented by the flush still on your face. Not like they had to know it was from the sneaky sex you’d just had with your superior who would probably blow this person’s brains out in the next few minutes.

“Sorry, I…got a bit shy. I needed a moment to adjust myself,” you explain. The person shoots you a knowing look before ushering you out of the room. Price waits with baited breath for them to leave and walk away before sighing. He needed to get out of here before the mission changed any further. 

“All finished?” Ghost asks, voice surprisingly calm for how much he detested the change in plan.

“On my way out,” Price advises, pulling a few boxes closer to help ease his escape.

“Good,” the lieutenant answers. “Oh and Price? Permission to speak freely?”

“Go ahead Ghost, send traffic,” the captain answers, just barely getting into the window before he hears the response.

“Turn your comms off next time you decide to fuck your partner on the job.”

[n-e-x-u]

ALEXANDER VOLKOV

MAIN INFO

Name: Alexander Volkov Mikhailovich

Alias: Alex

Age: 23 years old (for the time of 2024)

Orientation: Heterosexual

Native language: Kazakh

Other languages: English, Russian

Nationality: Kazakh

Date of birth: June 30, 2001

Rank: Lieutenant

Place of birth: Karaganda city, Kazakhstan

Eyes: grey

Hair color: dark brunette

Height: 174 cm/5`8

Weight: 85 kg

Body type: strong, athletic

Diseases: heart failure

REALITIONSHIPS/FAMILY

Relationships: -

Father: Mikhail Volkov Gennadievich

Mother: Tatiana Volkova/Verbitskaya (maiden name) Ivanovna (dead)

Sister: (Name is a secret) Volkova Mikhailovna

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Fighting style: Ranged combat

Weapon: L96A1 rifle (used with a silencer)

Special skills: good eyesight, fast running

AFFLIATIONS

A former soldier of the FSPA (Federal Special Purpose Agency), left after an accident. He currently serves in Task Force 141

INJIRIES

A burn on half of his face after the explosion of a rifle, a scar on his arm after the explosion, several scars on his body

PERSONALITY AND TRAITS

Ambivert: in some situations, he can be energetic and sociable, and in others quiet and withdrawn. But in general, he is close to the behavior of an introvert and prefers to be alone, but if necessary, he can talk to someone.

Surface reading: he is able to quickly read the material and memorize information just as quickly

PERSONAL PREFERENCES

Favorite book: "The Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov

Favorite color: monochrome, dark shades, pastel shades

Bad habits: smoking

Favorite drink: does not drink alcohol, tomato juice

Favorite food: shawarma, vegetable salads, dumplings, instant noodles, spicy dishes

Favorite musicians: BI – 2, VULGAR MOLLY, 2rbina 2rista, NERVES

FUN FACTS

He is a programmer by education, but he needed this specialty for his diploma. After completing his studies, he joined the army

He cooks well, if he is in a good mood, he can cook delicious food. He hates eating in the army canteen, which is why he prefers to cook something himself in a hurry, such as noodles or dumplings

Very attentive. Can notice things that others don't notice

Copes poorly with stress. Let him always have a stony face, but he can easily snap at someone

Respects people with high rank

He can use people for his own benefit

BACKGROUND STORY

Alex was born into a single-parent family. His father divorced his mother before he was born. His older sister helped her mother as much as she could and studied at the same time. When Alex was born, his mother was glad to see him, because an heir and a long-awaited son were born. Everything was fine until the age of 12, until the tragedy happened. His mother died at work during a fire. After that, he was sent to an orphanage, from where his sister decided not to take him away because of her personal injuries after his father. After 18, he was kicked out of the orphanage and given an apartment in a more or less normal condition, where he lived while studying and worked in a cafe for a low salary.

When he was 19, a man came to him who offered him a job at the agency where his mother died. When he found out what money they promised him, he immediately agreed. He was an excellent soldier, and in particular a sniper. It may sound silly, but he was the best sniper. That was the end of his skills, he was bad at close combat and therefore decided that he would work from afar.

Of course, there were those who envied him. They envied his luck, because it cost him almost nothing to get to this place, while others were not so "chosen" and they had to gnaw out a place for themselves here. Unknown people decided to get rid of him, and therefore seriously framed him during one of the missions.

During the mission, as usual, Alex took a comfortable position to get a better view from above and cover his own. His task was one, to remove people who would interfere. Shot after shot, everything went like clockwork. But after another shot, the rifle exploded in his hands, thereby hitting the floor of his face and his left eye.

These few hours were like a blur: screams, gunshots, pain, hospital and white light. This event was deposited deep in his head, it's hard to forget. Those months of recovery were difficult both mentally and physically. As a result, he almost completely lost sight in his left eye and his face was disfigured by a large burn. Due to the injury, he constantly wears the darkest sunglasses possible so as not to attract attention to himself once again. After such an event, he immediately resigned, because he did not want to put his life on the brink again.

After his dismissal, he worked from time to time as a mercenary, if someone needed his support, because there were people who heard and knew where he left from. He has no friends or acquaintances, which is why he is very withdrawn into himself. Some time later, an unknown person, as she later introduced herself, Kate Laswell, wrote to him. She offered him a job, helping a certain group in one case by promising a good sum, to which Alex of course agreed.

At the end of their collaboration, Price liked Alex, there would be no extra hands in the team, and invited him to work with them. Alex, of course, thought about his proposal, but still agreed.

APPEARANCE

[yawnderu]

Stray - Chapter II

Author's note: not a lot happening here, just pushing this chapter out of my drafts before I start writing about the MW3 campaign. Sobbed for 4 hours about the fanfic in my head after seeing spoilers💀 No spoilers in this chapter, future chapters will be tagged accordingly and having a warning so you don't get spoiled either.

''Focus.'' Ghost's British accent rung in your earpiece, his deep voice barely above a whisper as you took overwatch with a sniper rifle. He didn't have the heart to tell you he could hear your fast, hard breathing on the comms, memories of the past flooding all over while your brain is stuck visiting people who are still alive in the graveyard of your heart.

''Enemy down, LT.'' You whispered as you took down an enemy guard, your focus on the scope not faltering until you saw the body dropping, blood quickly pooling up around their body before your attention was taken by movement in the distance, immediately using the scope to see better. You could easily make out the shape of another sniper, the camouflage outdated for the season accompanied by movement, yet it didn't seem they could see you yet.

''Spotted an enemy.'' You mutter in comms, keeping them open in case you had to run or took a shot. Ghost mutters a soft ''roger'' on the line and you line up the scope to take a perfect shot, easily finding the enemy sniper's head, who isn't even looking into their scope. You take a deep breath, relaxing your body before your finger pulls the trigger, the slight recoil hitting your body, yet you're still looking to confirm the kill.

''Moving.'' You don't wait for further comms before grabbing your equipment, tactical camouflage draped over your body as you swiftly run around, laying on your stomach and examining the area. It was an easy mission— gather intel and go, the barely secured safehouse making it easier for Ghost and you to complete this and go home.

You scan the area, eyes fully focused on the surroundings, looking for any possible movement. You saw none, though you were still highly alert, focusing on making sure your Lieutenant makes it out alive. It doesn't take long before he gathers the intel and you rendezvous at the helipad, your gloved fist raised slightly as you both settle in, his bumping yours after a few seconds of staring.

You lean closer to Ghost, speaking loudly over the rumbling sound of the blades."You think we'll take down Makarov?" He gives you a side eye for a second before turning his face towards yours, hesitantly nodding.

"We got plenty of good soldiers on our side, luv. There's always a risk, but..." He seems hesitant to answer, knowing he can lay his emotions bare to you, but refusing to do so.

"'M not sure." He finally replies and you simply nod, leaning back on your seat while you look at the background get smaller the higher you go. You both know Makarov is the ultimate threat. The kingfish. A man so deadly who has no hesitation on killing people, over 30.000 deaths caused by him, and truth to be told, you're all scared you'll join the growing number.

"Bonnie!" Soap says once he's back to base, arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you up in the air and spins you, a ritual that started out as a joke whenever you both came back from missions without the other. After over a year of knowing these men and being stationed with them for so long, you eventually develop routines together, no matter how extra and annoying they might seem.

"Played rough with the Russians?" He asked with a cheeky smirk, arm wrapped around your shoulder as you walked back to the barracks. Ghost disappeared the moment you got back, likely to unwind and have some time alone before being practically forced by all of you to go to a bar. He knows the invitation is coming.

"Not many around— Ghost did all the dirty work down there." You shrug, arm wrapped around his waist as you walk, trying your best to ignore the way his toned muscles feel over your fingers. No. Soap is like a brother to you. At least, you've been telling yourself that for the past year or so.

"Sounds like him." He seems more relaxed now, the slight nervousness he gets whenever you or Ghost go on missions without him or more reinforcements slowly dissipating, giving him room to simply enjoy himself. And enjoy himself he will, knowing Price, Gaz and him will force Ghost and you to go to a new bar near base in a few hours.

"Ya should go shower." You raise an eyebrow and look up at him, hesitantly smelling your armpit to make sure you don't smell after hours on the field, laying still in dirt and under the sun. You don't even smell that bad.

"Asshole." Soap finally lets go of you with a laugh, narrowly missing a sharp kick thrown his way, running away like the coward he is.

[zimwy]

LEGAL NAME : james buchanan barnes.

NICKNAME[S] : bucky, buck (prefers this only from steve but will tolerate it from other people), jimmy (doesn't like this from anyone but rebecca), canary, the winter soldier, the revolution. also referred to as bucky bear and buckaroo (if you aren't kobik do not even think about it).

DATE OF BIRTH : 3/20/1925.

GENDER : amab. difficult to define, relatively masculine outer presentation but very feminine inner presentation. generally best described as nonbinary, slightly trans fem, and overall unattached.

PLACE OF BIRTH : shelbyville, indiana.

CURRENTLY LIVING : verse dependent. had a home in indiana, sold it as of 2022 (in irl time). apartment in brooklyn. previously moscow, russia. has small hidden safe locations all over the world. 

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: english, hebrew, russian, japanese, mandarin, spanish, german, french, arabic, vietnamese, conversational korean, ASL, RSL. kind of understands yiddish by merit of knowing hebrew and german. can also read morse code and understand military speak.

EDUCATION : formal education is limited--bucky attended hebrew classes as a child, and maintained some form of public education until he was 10. private coursework continued from 10-15 whilst a ward of the state, but bucky was never fostered--he simply lived among the soldiers at camp lehigh, and as a result, never completed high school. however, he's far from uneducated or dumb; he's an exceptionally talented physical fighter and was scouted by individuals like colonel applegate, he easily catches onto languages, codes, and cyphers. he's one of the most talented technical fighters in the marvel universe and deeply knowledgeable of combat techniques, persuasion, and psychological warfare. if you have a weakness, he's likely to know it.

HAIR COLOR :  chestnut brown in color, densely curled (around a 3a in texture when fully healthy and maintained), thick to a point of being painfully warm in hot weather, bucky's hair fluctuates in length depending on the time period and his well being. as a young man, it was exclusively cropped short in a military standard comb over. however, as bucky lets it grow out, he generally holds it in a middle part, down to the bottom of the neck, sometimes past the shoulders.

EYE COLOR : rich brown. amber-honey in direct light, otherwise saddle brown.

STATURE : bucky never slouches. his standing posture is generally perfect--as a result of it being proverbially whipped into him to stand up straight during roll call, he's never dropped the habit. when he's fighting, he adopts a more relaxed position that clearly conveys he knows what he's doing.

PHYSIQUE : dependent on age; 15-20 year old bucky was quite narrow, only sinewy muscle, albeit his arms strengthened considerably before the plunge due to regular handling of a sniper rifle (rifles are not light; they are around 15 lbs usually). you could colloquially refer 18-20 bucky as a twink. however, the winter soldier bulked considerably. the soldier's weight fluctuated up and down depending on time and use, at one point broaching over 220 lbs in musculature alone without the weight of the arm, but this was deeply unhealthy and is not bucky's natural build. now, he defaults around 170-180, still quite strong and felid, deeply graceful. his thighs are enormous and powerful, his calves strong to the skin; his body is well defined due to his proclivity to acrobatics.

FAMILY INFORMATION

SIBLING[S] : rebecca barnes, younger sister. becs is confined to a hospital in the modern age in the 616, but she's a thriving lesbian side kick in other universes, which bucky would think is fucking awesome.  

PARENT[S] : george barnes, father, long deceased; died when bucky was 10. winnifred barnes, mother, long deceased; died when bucky was maybe six. no adoptive or pseudo parents.

RELATIVE[S] : maksim parnes, paternal grandfather, long deceased. maksim is a russian jewish immigrant, and naturalized his name as barnes when he moved to the US.

CHILDREN : no biological children. one could consider RJ boyle and kobik his trustees/adoptive children, however, even if bucky is very unlikely to ever officially sign off on a government sanctioned guardianship transference.

PET[S] : alpine, a small white turkish angora cat. he found her while on a job, and she latched to him, so he decided to adopt her--he had been looking for a cat for a while, visited shelters and all, but hadn't connected enough with one yet.

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual with a moderate male lean. this isn't something bucky really thinks about often until it becomes pressing and immediate, e.g. intense attraction to a man, a crush, etcetera. he sort of perpetually has a crush on steve regardless of their relationship, and that's been a constant since they met as children. he does find plenty of women attractive, but his desire to genuinely do anything with them, sexual or romantic, is muted until he's close with most of them.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : verse dependent. formerly engaging in a secretive relationship with natalia, bucky has since disengaged (both bc i do not like the Boyish Pining he does when she doesnt remember and has no interest in him, and bc he is not a cheater and i like to ship, lmao). he sort of imagines he will die alone, regardless of if he is dating anyone or is loved by them.

SINCE WHEN : uh. since whenever?

tagged: @snkts mwah mwah tagging: @extravagantliar @yoobiins @murdocktm @velven1th @soulmissed @clawsextended @luposcainus

[never-enough-golden-kamuy]

Warmth of the cold-blooded sniper

I barely finished second WEEK of this semester and I'm already and still getting owned by my uni. I had to write these stories or I will burn out at best.

Over 1,6k words, Vasilyxf!reader, fluff per usual

Enjoy!

The climate on Karafuto was usually cold. However, when Vasily lowered the binoculars and his eyes fixated on a distant point, the temperature seemed to drop an extra few degrees. 

[Y/N] watched as the man knelt on one knee while resting his rifle on his shoulder. It was one, coherent and smooth movement. Years of practice led to perfection and left no room for any slack. Blue eyes followed the victim's movement above the barrel, devoid of any emotion. His entire body seemed to be detached from the surrounding reality, concentrating on the shot like a well-aimed arrow. 

The sound of gunfire pierced the air, causing a minute of chaos. The frightened birds jumped into the air with a terrifying screech. Smaller animals fell through the undergrowth, leaving only torn leaves behind. Even the small cloud of her own breath froze in the air. 

Meanwhile, Vasily didn't even bat an eye. Only with a learned movement, as natural as his heartbeat, did he reload his weapon, ready to finish off the animal. The clicking of the sliding mechanism sent shivers down her spine as the man continued to stare at his prey, as if even a second's distraction would make it suddenly vanish into thin air. The young deer fell into the undergrowth, thrown about with the last jerks of its life. There was no need for a second shot. Sniper precision was flawless as usual. 

Vasily let out a satisfied hum and signaled her that they could now descend the hill. [Y/N] scrambled out of her spot among the bulging roots and followed him. The woman stepped over irregularities in the ground and ducked under low branches, carefully imitating the man walking in front of her. Her thoughts were already too far away for her to pay attention to her surroundings. 

Sometimes she forgot how deadly dangerous Vasily was. The memories of his laughter and affectionate gestures contrasted sharply with the chilling sight from a moment ago. She also never dared to ask how much of the war was still in him. For her, the war was something distant, it never really affected her. She had no father or brother to take part in the draft. News from the front rarely reached the village, and even if it did, it was hushed in the company of a young woman. 

Is now a good time to ask? Is it even a question possible to answer? 

She almost bumped into the man as he tried unsuccessfully to get her attention. He frowned for a moment at her thoughtfulness and pointed upwards. [Y/N] looked up at the quickly darkening sky. 

They won't make it back home before dark. 

* 

[Y/N] stared blankly at the glowing coals, inhaling the musty smell of the woven bunk she was lying on. Little more than 4 walls and a hearth, long ago deprived of its rightful owner, but still standing intact. For years this old cottage has served as a shelter from the night and bad weather for travelers, a proof of the diligent work of the old days. Its usually quiet and dusty interior was now filled with the pleasant warmth of the fire and Vasili's calm breathing. 

How did he managed to fall asleep so quickly? He didn't seem to care about the hard boards and thin blanket. Are these some secret techniques of the Russian military? She looked at the figure sleeping on the floor. Tucked in his own cloak, he frowned even in his sleep. 

The old bunk creaked softly as she reached towards him, ready to see if the two vertical wrinkles on his forehead were permanent or if there was any hope for him after all. She froze, however, when the glow of the fireplace was reflected in the barrel of the rifle lying within his reach. 

The warning flashed before her eyes. The cold of death bit her fingers and ran up her arm, making her shiver. Vasily never talked about his experiences at the front, and she never had the courage to ask what effect it had had on him. What was the chance that, startled from sleep, he would take up arms? She never saw him sleeping so deeply, will it differ from waking up from a nap? 

As a matter of fact, it was the first time they were sleeping in one room. Grandmas from her village would be outraged if they knew. Two unmarried youngsters sleeping in one room? ALONE? 

Suddenly aware of the whole situation, she blushed and withdrew her hand as if it had been burned. She stole a glance, unsure whether Vasily had magically heard her thoughts. Fortunately, he didn't and continued to sleep, unaware of her dilemma. On the other hand, Vasily didn't seem to be a person who cared about what others thought of him. Fixated on his own goals, he could make decisions completely contrary to the views of the village babushkas. Such as deserting, leaving everything and traveling through foreign territory without a yen to his soul just to get revenge. 

Sometimes it seemed so stupid, but at the same time it was what she admired about him. The ability to make his own decisions and even sticking to them. 

Torn, she bit her lip nervously. The sight of the ice-cold sniper clashed with the memories of the same man, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he tried to capture the smallest details in his drawings. Fear froze her in place, but the flame of hope and curiosity burned brighter. 

She could now put aside her worries about the gossips the next day. People will say whatever they like about her anyway. However, there was still the question of Vasily. Will she startle him? Will he be mad? 

[Y/N] rolled onto her back, her head full of shouting voices. The cautious part of her absolutely forbade any antics that would result in being shot or rejected by Vasily. The rational part of her rightly reminded her that Vasily had never miss fired before, and therefore the likelihood of him shooting her blindly was low. Meanwhile, touch-deprived part of her was laying on the debate table drooling at the mere thought of holding hands. 

And how can you make any decisions in such team? Sometimes it may be better not to think at all. 

The woman took a deep breath, seeking agreement between all parties, and rolled out of bed before anyone could change her mind. She landed softly on her feet and glanced quickly at the rifle. Certain that it wasn't pointed at her yet, she gathered her blanket and spread it on the floor, squeezing herself between the man and the fireplace. She watched what he was doing with one eye and the absolute lack of reaction from him with the other. 

Since he decided to stay in the village for a little longer, the inhabitants took advantage of his youthful strength and efficiency in all possible works. Despite their generous payments in the form of money, food and hospitality, the constant tasks must have exhausted him. 

She lay down on her makeshift bed, wrapping herself in her own cloak. She tried to get as comfortable as possible on the hard floor and closed her eyes, still seeing through her eyelashes the hand lying at the level of her face. Without thinking, she covered it with a piece of cloak, protecting it from the cold of the night. 

And suddenly everything went quiet. As the tension drained from her body, the sound of the blood in her ears diminished, replaced by the rhythm of their breathing. The crackling of the dying fire soothed her frayed nerves, slowly pushing her towards sleep. 

At least until Vasily removed his hand. 

[Y/N] blinked in surprise and looked up, meeting piercing blue eyes. The entire world froze, went deaf, and plunged into darkness, shrinking to the size of just the two of them. She had stared at him blankly for decades after someone had dropped a hand grenade into her brain, depriving of all thought. She wasn't sure if she was breathing at all. 

“The bunk wasn't comfortable” she muttered without even the slightest involvement of the brain in formulating this statement. Vasily raised an eyebrow skeptically, but even in the darkness she could see the slightest lift at the corner of his lips. 

He touched his ear and nodded. >>I could hear<< 

The world went up in flames, burning down all her hopes for a decent life. She was fully ready to sink into the ground and never emerge. 

“Sorry to wake you up,” she mumbled, closing her eyes with a sigh, unable to look at the circus show she just performed. She didn't even flinch when Vasily moved. He could go ahead and take the bunk, or walk away from her life forever. It didn't matter to her as she was about to die right where she lay. 

She flinched when she felt a hand on her back, and then, completely effortlessly, she was moved the few dozen centimeters that separated them. Vasily shifted in his seat and held her against his chest, shielding her from the world. And suddenly the wooden floor of this old cottage was the coziest place on earth. She exhaled softly, the tension leaving her body again and the arm around her keeping them from separating. She swung her arm over his side, feeling it rise in rhythm with his breathing. She pressed her forehead against his shirt and the dull beating of his heart allowed her to finally fall asleep. 

He was warm. The cold-blooded sniper was very very warm. 

[sanguinemoralis]

❝ you cannot use someone else’s fire; you can only use your own. and in order to do that, you must first be willing to believe you have it. ❞

alycia debnam-carey. 30. cis woman. she/her. ― i see you meet EKATERINA ARTAMONOV , huh? they are around for… well, it will be YEAR AND A HALF, now. time flies when you are busy and as part of THE MILITIA , they are. if you want to meet them, they live in H2B, i think. people say they are ADROIT + RESOURCEFUL, but don’t piss them off, okay? because they can be also EGOCENTRIC + DETATCHED, so be safe.

INFORMATION

full name ⋯ Ekaterina Yelizaveta Artamonov age ⋯ 30 years old pronouns ⋯ She/Her origin ⋯ Manhattan, New York affiliation ⋯ None position ⋯ militia

SURVIVABILITY

advantages ⋯ adroit & resourceful disadvantages ⋯ egocentric & detached preferred weapon ⋯ falchion & russian orsis T-5000 sniper rifle

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warning ⋯ parental abandonment, abuse

BEFORE THE OUTBREAK ,

oprhaned from the day she was born, ekaterina had all the odds against her. born to a teenage mother who was casted out for carrying a child too young to even understand what motherhood would mean to her. the chances of being influenced by the wrong people were undeniable. when her birth mother found out she was pregnant, her life changed. she was cast aside by the boyfriend and parents, declaring her unfit of being their child any longer. unable to make a decision of her own, her mothers fate got decided for her once she got involved with a man with a purpose of his own in russia.

not long after giving up her child to a man she barely knew, ekaterina's life would become unlike any other. brought to an all girl school, their intentions of raising these girls were nothing but unsavory. preparing for a war that one day would be, all the females were trained and groomed into creatures of destruction. their days would consist of endless knowledge on politics, governments and psychology. everything to prepare them for the day they would used as spies. their bodies were trained and honed into the perfect machines. with the years to come, her training and education would be evolving, yet also became something her life depended on. at the mere age of ten, ekaterina already became an expert in guns and hand to hand combat. her entire life depended on excelling in everything she did. every girl who couldn't keep up and ended at the bottom of the classes would disappear under suspicious circumstances. while the common verdict was that they didn't make the cut, their true whereabouts were far more lugubrious.

with only a few caregivers in her life and mostly teacher who commanded everything and anything from her, ekaterina knew little love in her life. she did however knew how to follow the rules, be the best at everything she does. she therefore already became an agent for this secret underground organisation at the mere age of 16. her orders were always simple and straight to the point. she either needed to seduce or assassinate, something she both did without a seconds thought. it wasn't until she was a few years into the field that she slowly but steadily started to understand her life was far from the norm.

slowly but steadily ekaterina started to unravel the truth behind her origins in life. the only problem was, each and every girl that wanted out had to face it with dead. it therefore became a long and slow process in which she tried to find the perfect opportunity to disappear.

AFTER THE OUTBREAK,

while most saw the apocolyse as a curse, ekaterina was one of the few, perhaps the only one who saw it as a blessing. during the outrage of the outbreak, ekaterina took her chance and got out and as far away from the life that she had only known. the apocolypse brought her freedom and for the first time in her life, she was able to make her own decisions and make something of her life. it was something that both frightened her, as excited her.

it was in ekaterina's nature to be distrustful of everyone she came across, yet at the same time she would manipulate them with ease to get whatever she wanted or needed. ekaterina did not shy away from using anyone and everyone to her advantage, afterall, her entire life she has been used already. now it was her time to use and abuse others like they had with her.

while she did survive making it out on her own, tagging along with groups here and there whenever it suited her needs, she eventually got in quite the predicament. it took a few near to dead experiences and being saved by the domus spei, that ekaterina decided settling down for a little while wouldn't be that bad. now she is living the quiet life, whilst satiating her thirst for blood doing her militia work. while she tries to keep a low profile, allowing others to underestimate her. she just can't help showing off from time to time.

[howtofightwrite]

How big would an army of conscripts, armed with Dragunov pattern marksman rifles and iron sights, with between 1 and 3 magazines each, a radio headset that allows them to take orders on a platoon level (50 troops to be specific), and a single platoon artilleryman armed with an RPG-7 with 5 rockets, with assistance from a Mitsubishi Type 89 IFV (35mm autocannon, 7,62mm M240 pattern coaxial machine gun, tracked) and an aerial command/reconnaisance/attack/close air support aircraft, need to be to deal with an army of 1000 heavy pikemen, 50 elite knights, 200 heavy cavalry, 100 light cavalry and 200 longbowmen? The pikemen are armed with a pike and wear breastplates, pauldrons, gauntlets, a helm and chainmail. The heavy cavalry are armed with a heavy lance, a sword, cuirass and helm. Longbowmen use English yew bows and wear gambesons and a chainmail on the head. Light cavalry are armed with a spear, a short bow, and a small sword. The elite knights are armed with a heavy lance and a sword, and armoured in a full body suit of plate and horse barding, and they will move with the heavy cavalry.

Okay, so, for the record, you're not really supposed to use an SVD's iron sights. (SVD is short for “Dragunov Sniper Rifle,” so, these are formally called, “sniper rifles,” rather than just DMRs.) They were (supposed to be) issued with PSO-1 scopes. This can be a little amusing, because once you know what a PSO-1's range finder looks like, it's absolutely unmistakable, and you will see films and TV shows use them on other scopes. I bring this up, because the SVD has an effective range over 600 meters. (Specifications say it's good to almost 1.3km, but, that's very hopeful.)

However, with optics, those SVDs are going to massive out range any archer.

Your infantry have somewhere between 1k-3k packed rounds. So, if they were the only participants, they would need to be a little careful about ammo conservation. But, when you start factoring in the IFV, it doesn't matter.

This scenario isn't extraordinarily different from early battles in WWI. Where cavalry and infantry charged entrenched heavy machine gun fire, and were annihilated.

This is also a moment when the whole, “elite knight,” bit really doesn't matter. You have a minor noble, who spent almost their entire life training to be a better melee combatant. You put them in the best armor you've ever seen. And, then a bullet fired from a mass-produced sniper rifle, designed to be easily fabricated by anyone with a basic machine shop, and simple enough to be maintained by a barely literate conscript will drop them in less time than it takes to read this paragraph, before the knight even knows that someone is aiming at them.

I will say, this is a little bit of a weird combination, the Type 89 IFV, is a Japanese vehicle. The JSDF (to the best of my knowledge) has never used SVDs. These days, I think their DMR is the H&K 417. Until a few years ago, their primary infantry rifle was the Howa Type 89, which is basically a redesigned AR-18. Prior to that, they used the Howa Type 64, which was a 7.62mm battle rifle. (As far as I know, the Type 64 was domestically designed.)

The Russian/Soviet equivalent to the Type 89 IFV would be the BTR-80. As with the SVD, because it's a Romanized translation, BTR stands for, “armored carrier.” Somewhat obviously, these don't work particularly well if they're not maintained, or if the motor pool Sargent is stripping them for spare parts and siphoning gas to sell on the black market, because the government hasn't paid any of you in six months, but it's still going to have a fairly similar effect on those elite knights from the 11thcentury.

The 50 SVD rifles is weird. Full stop. It's a specialist weapon, not a general infantry weapon. In a situation like that, you'd expect to see conscripts armed with AKMs or AK74s, maybe a few SVDs and RPKs.

Now, if you were looking at a contemporary NATO unit from the 60s or 70s, then, yes, you would likely see battle rifles like the M14, FN FAL, or H&K G3. And, when you're describing using an SVD's iron sights, that's more how you have used one of those cold war era battle rifles. Also, while those rifles do have automatic settings, they're intended for semi-automatic fire.

If you're wondering why I'm not even addressing things like the areal support or the RPG, it's because they really don't matter that much. Areal reconnaissance means never having to wonder where the enemy forces are, but basically anything on this list except the RPG, could probably deal with all of the enemy forces on their own. Stacking them together would be absolutely devastating.

I'm not 100% sure, but I think you could use pretty much any modern IFV as a one-size-fits-all siege breaker if they're dealing with medieval forces.

When you're looking at modern military forces time traveling into the past, the biggest logistical issue is long term depletion of supplies. There isn't really a question of, “who's going to win? A guy with a rifle that's effective at a range of over a 1km, or 10 guys with pointy sticks. The issue is what happens in six months, or a year, when there's only three or four rounds left for that rifle on the planet, and, there won't be any more for another six hundred years.

-Starke

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[mania-sama]

rule #33 - pyre

Rule #33 - Pyre - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Jujutsu Kaisen ❧ Pairing: Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi & Fushiguro Tsumiki & Gojo Satoru ❧ Tags: veteran! gojo, gojo has ptsd, parental! gojo, no curses au, ptsd, heavy angst, implied/referenced child abuse, russian ballet references, gojo adopted the fushiguros, flashbacks ❧ Summary: Gojo Satoru, a young, decorated veteran, is petrified of fireworks. ❧ Word Count: 2,721 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 27 December 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 31: PTSD ❧ Previous Day ❧ Masterlist

Festivals are, generally speaking, the worst times of the year.

Gojo isn’t a killjoy. He enjoys the colors decorating the streets and adorning the yukatas, kimonos, or whichever traditional clothes are being worn in accordance with the celebration just like everybody else. Venders add extra spices and seasonings to their food, the prices are lowered, and the overall atmosphere buzzes with childish joy.

And, despite his best attempt to keep up his indifferent exterior, young Megumi’s eyes light up when Gojo informs him of the special occasion. Toji’s children love festivals like the rest of civilian Japan. Excitement is rare to see in a child like Megumi, so he always arranges for someone to take him and Tsumiki out to experience the fun in Tokyo.

Instead of spending time with Toji’s little goblins that he’s doing his damn best to raise into decent human beings, he sits in the tiniest closet in his penthouse with thick sound-proof headphones to maximize the noise-canceling effect. He brings a weighted blanket to drape over his body so he won’t have to feel any reverberations, either. It has the added use of making him feel secure and grounded.

It isn’t the principle of missing out on the festival, it’s having to answer Tsumiki’s imploring question, “Why can’t you take us to the festival?” with a flippant laugh and a lie. He wants nothing more than to lie on the grass or stand in the streets and watch the dazzling fireworks with them.  But as soon as the first fireworks explode, followed by smaller pops and shattered lights, he thinks that the dirt and grass shards are hiding landmines, or that snipers are blowing off his comrades' heads from the broken-glass buildings. The streets are empty save for the scared civilians holding automatic rifles and enemy soldiers with orders to leave no one alive.

Gojo can’t go to festivals. He can’t listen to the sound of fireworks in his own home without diving under his kitchen table and plugging his nose to hide his panting breaths. Experience has taught him to stay in his closet and keep his headphones and blanket on, no matter how his heart breaks as the children’s faces pull into resignation when he denies them yet another festival.

He is normally a very observant person. He’d been so ever since he was a child, but having been trained to be a soldier since he could walk, it didn’t really mean much regarding innate ability. In any case, he kept good track of the days, months, and years. He prefers to ignore schedules entirely and operate solely on a feel-good basis, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t perfectly aware of the exact time it is at any given moment. It’s a system of behavior he can’t rewrite, unfortunately.

Except in the odd case — when he was without food and water in the Gobi desert, when he mourned the death of his best friend, or when both of his children ran a hundred and three-degree fevers for an illness he doesn’t know the name of. Time stops operating in his mind. He loses where he is, and all he can focus on is nursing Megumi and Tsumiki back to health.

Gojo shouldn’t have run out of the house to buy medicine and stockpile their favorite foods. He knows he shouldn’t have. Logic would reason that he would call or text a friend to bring him what he needs and pay them back later. But Satoru isn’t a Gojo for nothing.

He is the youngest decorated veteran of the last century. He doesn’t rely on other people, because he is the strongest. He only calls for help from his friends for the sake of the children, not for himself. Children should always be put before him.

The best officer of the Japanese military can certainly handle an emergency supply run in a safe environment for two sick children. The store isn’t even that far away. He’s in a rush, yes, but it’s simple work. He’s accomplished much more in half the time.

He notices the people in bright yukatas but he doesn’t pay them any mind. Whatever event is going on, he doesn’t care for. He can view it from the balcony of his penthouse if it's something really important. He runs into the store, nearly breaks his card in his hurry to pay, and walks out with the image of his — Toji’s — children quickening his strides. Pushing past the gathered crowds of dressed-up people, Gojo picks up on a faint whisper of excitement. It causes his step to falter, only for a second. He doesn’t even fully stop.

An even fainter whizzing sound fills the vast space between him and the children. The sky explodes in shattered lights.

It’s a festival. He knows this. But when he looks around, where his feet are carrying him behind the closest building on autopilot, when crouches to the ground and covers his mouth and plugs his nose, he isn’t exactly sure. He’s not sure that the thick concrete support beam is ready to crumble as a part of the dilapidated city from bombs, guns, and missiles. He’s not sure that those gasps out there are from the spray of civilians and soldiers falling to automatic rifles and suicide bombers.

He holds the paper bags in his hands, shaking, feeling a medicine bottle between his fingers. It’s for Megumi and Tsumiki. This he knows. He should know. Yet the guns keep firing, and he is the commander of his unit. He needs to be out there, guiding his men through the kill zone of a Middle Eastern conflict Japan isn’t officially a part of. But then, where is his gun? Where are any of his weapons?

He focuses on the ground and the paper bags holding chips and medicine. Chips and medicine. His hands are trembling. A Gojo’s hands don’t shake. He’s been trained to hold a gun since he could grab objects, and he learned how to perfectly weave in and out of a sniper’s scope by the time he was ten years old. This is no different. It shouldn’t be any different.

He closes his eyes as the guns tear into his men. Why can’t he get back out there? The palm of his hand presses against his teeth, and his back hunches in on itself. He’s crumbling to the ground, even though he is Gojo Satoru, the strongest of Japan, the best of his MOS. The chips in the bag crumble in his hands, and people are dying . His rifle has been lost, somewhere in the river he crossed to get into the kill zone, probably. His knives were sticking out of the poor children he had to kill, for there were bombs strapped to their chests and weapons too big for their hands. His other handguns were given to his unit as they had lost theirs to the river as well. 

He is Gojo Satoru. He doesn’t need a weapon to survive.

Yet. His knees are on the ground and the medicine for his sick and injured soldiers isn’t getting to their proper place in time. He clutches a hand to his hair and wills himself to move, but the pops have him put in place. Panting breaths escape out of his shaking hands, and his heart pounds so hard he fears it’ll break his chest. Fear. He’ll admit it. He’s afraid. But he can’t be afraid. He hasn’t been afraid since his mother and father beat all of the fear out of him and introduced him to the kill zone at the ripe age of twelve. He knows conflict. He knows guns. He doesn’t know fear.

But fear knows him.

Closer, much closer than his dying unit, he hears the soft pull of a stringed instrument. It's an odd mixture of a guitar and violin, and its sound is stunted in fragmented half-seconds. He’s never heard this in the military before. His unit has had talent with instruments, but this is something else entirely.

Another instrument is introduced, a piano, he thinks. It’s high-pitched, laying oddly yet beautifully over the original instrument. The song is unmistakable now. Tchaikovsky’s The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker. He doesn’t know the play intimately, but he has seen one or two ballets in local performances.

He settles against the concrete beam and listens to the music. It plays over the crowd, though he can’t afford to stop listening for them at all. If they grow quiet, then they’re all dead, or they’ve moved out of the area without him. Either way, Gojo’s escape is going to be messy and long. But he’s Gojo Satoru. If he can get off the ground and stop weeping and running and shaking like—

The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy fades out, and Coda plays next. It’s a little more intense, but it runs in and through his ears. It’s so unfamiliar with the kill zone. He’s never heard ballet music in desolated cities. If he hears music, it’s usually the local music in whichever country he’s in or when he’s at base with a mixture of United States military, allied infantry, and Japanese Special Force soldiers, playing music with those languages in it. In general, they usually have words, whether he can understand them or not notwithstanding.

But this, this is new.

He doesn’t know how or why someone would be playing Tchiakolvsky at this time. It doesn’t make sense, and he dares to pry open his eyes. His paper bags are clenched in his hands, but the contents have spilled out onto the ground. Medicine for his soldiers, chips for food. Not practical, but they make do with what they have. He’s eaten bugs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before.

Not on the battlefield, but as training when he was a child. If he had to survive off of nothing but the land, he could do it.

The Gobi desert doesn’t have anything but sand and poisonous animals. So much for that invaluable lesson.

The ground beneath him is concrete, and he dares to look up. Outside gathered is a mass of people in bright yukatas . The Russian ballet has come to an end, and Gojo hears the beginnings of Swan Lake . It’s a comfortable tune, but it will turn intense inevitably. Oddly, he doesn’t find it as disconcerting as it’s supposed to make the listener feel. Satoru imagines the black swan, but the dancer turns away from him, hiding her dark makeup.

He stares at the crowd for a long time. It’s unfamiliar to the kill zone. None of them are little children with bombs on their chests or adults shooting at him with weapons they don’t know how to handle. Somewhere in the distance, in the buildings, someone must be aiming for the crowd, to ruin the festival. He’s seen it happen before.

Swan Lake continues, coming close to an end, and a voice accompanies the next song. “You’re in Tokyo, Japan. It’s 20XX. You’re safe.”

Gojo doesn’t startle at the voice, but he does turn towards it, and he can’t quite comprehend what he’s looking at.

At one moment, he’s looking at one of his men, and he needs to grab him and bring him down behind the concrete pillar to protect him until they can make a move to safety. At the next, he’s looking at a tall man with Tchaikovsky playing from his phone. He’s looking at Nanami. Nanami in uniform, with a gun instead of a phone. Nanami in a pale blue yukata .

“My name is Nanami Kento. You’re in Tokyo, Japan. It’s 20XX,” he says, his voice relaxed. “You’re safe.”

Satoru stares at his friend numbly.

“The fireworks will make another round soon. Let’s go back to your penthouse,” Nanami continues. He doesn’t make any moves, though, and a new song from a ballet he doesn’t know filters through the speakers of Nanami’s phone. He thinks. Gojo isn’t sure.

Nanami repeats his early statement. My name is Nanami Kento. Not an enemy soldier, though they did fight together at one time. You’re in Tokyo, Japan. That explains the yukatas and flashing billboards. It’s 20XX. When was Toji killed in battle? When was Geto? You’re safe.

My name is Nanami Kento. You’re in Tokyo, Japan. It’s 20XX. You’re safe.

Russian ballets don’t play in the kill zone.

Satoru turns away from Nanami and shakily collects the medicine and chips that had slipped out of his paper bags, along with the sunglasses that had slipped off his face. He struggles to remember why he has them in the first place. It most certainly has something to do with Toji and children, but he isn’t quite sure how those two add together. Toji is most certainly dead. He knows this with certainty. Children die around him left and right.

Unless it’s about Toji’s children. Gojo looks at Nanami, and as one of his only surviving friends from the battlefield, he says shakily, “I promised to take care of Toji’s kids.”

Nanami doesn’t reply to him directly, yet Satoru takes it as an affirmative. “We need to go back to your penthouse before the fireworks start again.”

The Russian ballets don’t stop playing even as they push through the crowd with Gojo’s hands covering his ears. He can barely hear it over the sounds of the crowd and his blocked eardrums, but it’s there nonetheless. He focuses on what he can sense close to him — the paper bags, Nanami’s back, the safe ground beneath his feet, and the violins and pianos. 

They make it to the apartment, and Nanami stops in front of the gated back entry. “I don’t live here,” he states simply. That means Gojo lives here. If Satoru has the key, then he lives here.

It’s in his pocket, and he unlocks the gate. They walk in and go in the elevator, not the stairs. Stairs. Too many houses, too many stairs and floors to clear.

“My name is…” Nanami drones on to completion. “You’re safe.”

You’re safe.

The elevator dings, and he doesn’t flinch. The ballet filters through the cracks of his fingers, and the paper bags feel heavy in his hands. He’s carried deadweight bodies a hundred times heavier than the feather-light weight of the paper bags, yet he struggles anyway.

They stand in front of the door to his penthouse. Gojo unlocks it, but Nanami waves a hand for him to stop. “Wait here,” he says, and Satoru complies. He’s Gojo Satoru. He doesn’t comply with anyone but himself. He’s the strongest, the best officer of his MOS.

He does anyway, because inside this penthouse —

“We’re going to play the quiet game. Whoever wins gets to go on a spa day with Satoru.”

— are his children, and they are the most important children in the whole world. His children. His children.

Megumi and Tsumiki.

They’re lying on the couches in the living room. Nanami guides Gojo past them, but he manages to spare them a glance, and he sees Tsumiki’s red-colored face peering worriedly at him. He wants to say something to them, but now they’re being fired at and there’s no more time for any words other than directions to take cover.

His hands are still covering his ears when the pop is followed by so many more. But Nanami has him in the closet, and his sound-proof headphones are on, and the weighted blanket is covering him head-to-toe.

He doesn’t technically hear any more of the gunshot-fireworks. He sits in his closet like he’s hiding from an Iraqi unit outnumbering him fifteen to one and figuring out the best way to take them down and make it back to his unit alive. The medicine and chips have been taken from him, and he squeezes his weighted blanket between his palms.

The light bulb burns overhead. His jackets and small winter coats hang beside him like bodies.

He’s the best officer the Japanese military had ever seen, who retired after his third four-year contract ended.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest of his MOS, who trained for combat since he could walk and enlisted illegally at sixteen, can’t take his kids out to a goddamn fireworks festival by himself.

Gojo Satoru hunches and sobs into his blanket.

[prairiesongserial]

24.21

Vanya cackled as the cardinal wrenched a row of seats out of the floor, bolts popping.

“Man, what is your deal?” he said. He didn’t bother with German or Italian, but the cardinal still seemed to understand him perfectly.

“I’m an agent of the Vatican,” she replied, also in Russian. She hurled the row of seats at Vanya. He dodged, but the impact of the seats made the whole train car rattle in place, including his teeth.

The cardinal darted back in for another round of close combat before Vanya could formulate a reply. Vanya was forced to focus all his attention on the fight. He swung his gun up to deflect a blow, wincing as the delicate instrument gained a new dent in the shape of the cardinal’s fist.

“Say, what do you think about–” Vanya cut off as he dodged a strike. “--shooting each other like civilized people?”

“I prefer not to,” the cardinal said flatly.

“Well then, you should really consider surrendering.”

Vanya parried a strike of the cardinal’s hand, the muscles in his arm bulging with the amount of force necessary to stop himself from being bowled over. He thought he heard a seam pop in his sleeve.

“Surrender is not in my best interest,” said the cardinal.

Vanya was getting tired, going blow for blow. He dodged out of the cardinal’s way and put some distance between them again. The cardinal heaved another row of seats into the air and tossed it; Vanya ducked down, and the seats sailed into the doorway with another tooth-rattling clatter.

“What did you say your name was again?” Vanya asked her. “Salome, right?”

“And you are Ivan Gusev,” said Salome. “A Russian agent for nine years and one half of a Special Team for four. Your Special Team partner is Yuri Ostrovsky. You were personally responsible for the Helsinki fiasco and the assassination of Anastas Radulov.”

“I wouldn’t have used the word ‘fiasco,’ but other than that small error, you speak Russian remarkably well. May I ask how long your Revered Reverend Eminence has studied?”

“That question cannot be answered.”

Vanya dodged another blow; he hadn’t been careful, and he’d let Salome get close again. He was huffing and puffing with effort, muscles trembling under the impossible amount of force Salome was able to command with just her fists. Vanya was going to be covered in bruises.

It was spooky how nothing seemed to so much as wind Salome. There wasn’t a single drop of sweat on her face, and no color either. Even vampires could turn red, if you put the effort in. Dirty jokes sometimes did the trick.

“Why? Would that be fraternization?” he asked, voice strained. “We’re all Hemisphere, here, there’s no need to be shy.”

Somewhere on the train, there was the sound of gunfire. Vanya used the half-second that Salome was distracted to put some distance between them again. He struggled to catch his breath.

“That’ll be our better halves,” he said. “Let me guess–you two also decided to flank us. That’s funny. Despite our best efforts, it’ll be a fair fight, eh?”

Salome didn’t reply. The gunfire overhead was slow and measured. Shot, aim, shot. Vanya could almost fill in the picture of what was happening up there. He could hear the difference between Yuri’s sniper rifle and Frankie’s handgun. She had the advantage of the right gun for the job, but Yuri had a decent chance. You couldn’t beat his marksmanship or his cool head.

Vanya was too slow dodging the next seat Salome chucked his way; it clipped him, and he went down hard in the aisle, head buzzing. The seat bounced off an overhead luggage rack and fell right in front of him, nearly hitting him twice.

Vanya’s pulse hammered in his ears. His sleeves were falling off, he realized. He tore the excess fabric away, which only revealed just how bruised his arms were. Salome stalked toward him down the aisle, each footstep a metallic clang.

“You hear that?” Vanya asked.

Salome stopped a few feet away.

“Be more specific,” she said.

“No more gunfire,” Vanya said with a groan. He’d fallen on his wrist; it was definitely broken. He gritted his teeth and powered through, even though trying to bear weight with that hand threatened to white his vision out with pain. “Who do you think won?”

Salome hesitated. Then she stalked forward again without answering.

Vanya rattled off a barrage of machine gun fire–maybe fifteen bullets–before the gun jammed on him. He’d been using it as a bludgeon, so fair was fair. All fifteen tore through the train seat between him and Salome, and all fifteen buried themselves somewhere in her body.

Salome staggered a few steps back. She made a soft grunt, then stood still. Vanya took his time getting to his feet. It was impressive that Salome was still standing, but sometimes that happened. Shock could offer a few borrowed seconds to the dead, but eventually the heart had to stop.

Salome stood perfectly still, her eyes vacant. Vanya gave a disbelieving chuckle the longer this went on. His laugh turned nervous when he watched her reach into a bullet hole and pluck a perfectly clean bullet from the wound. She did this to several more of the bullets, dropping them carelessly to the ground. There wasn’t so much as a drop of blood.

“Ezio,” Salome said. She scooped the train seat in the aisle up on the tip of her toe then used her leg to hurl it out of the way. “I encountered a bug which affected my prioritization. I was presented a scenario with a high number of unknown variables, and I attempted to predict the probability of a certain outcome.” Salome wrenched another seat out of the floor. “Prioritization should not have been diverted from the movement of an active threat. My reaction time was affected by .001 seconds.”

“Good to know that if not for .001 seconds, we’d be evenly matched,” Vanya said, managing to more or less keep up with the Italian. “Hey, what the hell are you?”

Salome hurled the train seat at him. Vanya dodged. Vanya scanned her up and down. One of her arms moved jerkily, as if injured, but otherwise her movements were fluid. As if he hadn’t just shot her fifteen times. Maybe she was wearing bullet-proof armor under that big red robe. But Vanya had shot her practically point blank. He didn’t know of any armor that good. She should at least have been laid out with a few broken ribs.

“They give you amphetamines or something?” Vanya asked. “Or are you actually not human at all?”

Salome didn’t answer. His mind reached for an advantage, any advantage.

“I think Yuri won,” Vanya said, raising his gun to meet Salome’s punch in a clash that sent reverberations through his broken wrist. “You want to know why?”

Salome didn’t answer. Vanya still met her hit-for-hit, but he was slowing down.

“I said, you want to know why? Why I think your partner is dead?”

Vanya seized an opening and kicked Salome’s knee, popping it out of the socket. Salome staggered, and Vanya slipped away, giving himself a few seconds to rest before the next onslaught.

“One outcome is not significantly more likely than the other given the information at hand,” said Salome.

Vanya waggled a finger at her.

“Ah-ah,” he said. “You see–” He faltered, watching her expressionlessly put her own knee back in the socket, but he recovered. “...You see, Yuri has too much to live for. He’s going on holiday with his wife, just as soon as we submit our final reports. A month in beautiful, temperate Latvia, which he’ll spend snuggled up in a cabin on the Baltic Sea, eating nothing but smoked sprats and Anya’s pussy. That man cannot be killed.”

“You’re attempting to trick me,” Salome said. “That is not the name of Yuri Ostrovsky’s wife.”

Vanya’s smile dropped from his face.

“For God’s sake, don’t tell me,” he said.

Salome rushed forward. Vanya let out a yell as he raised his gun in defense yet again, weathering yet another impossibly powerful blow. The muzzle bent at a ninety degree angle.

“Why would I give you proprietary information?” Salome asked. “Are you possibly losing your cool?”

The truth was, Vanya was at a severe disadvantage. Vanya wasn’t sure how many more hits he could take before he went down. Yuri’s situation wasn’t much better. Assuming he and the other cardinal were an equal match, Yuri still had the wrong gun for close quarters. And he hadn’t eaten. Vanya knew they should have found something in Stuttgart.

Vanya laughed. “Lose my cool? Why would I? You know all about Ivan Gusev and Yuri Ostrovsky, don’t you? So you know we’re at our best in a tight spot.”

Vanya swung out with the bent barrel of his gun, jamming it under Salome’s shoulder blade. He wrenched the gun like a pry bar, and sure enough, her injured arm popped out of the socket. He’d guessed right, that her reaction time would be slower on that side.

The arm should have dangled uselessly for the rest of the fight; instead, it slid out of Salome’s sleeve and clattered to the floor.

“What’s the matter with you?” Vanya asked, kicking the metal arm out of the way. “Still having problems prioritizing? If somebody ripped my arm off during a fight, I’d never live it down.”

“Why don’t you want to know Ostrovsky’s wife’s name?” Salome asked. “I believe I was distracted by your bizarre and illogical statement.”

“That–” Vanya didn’t have a tinned answer ready to go. He swung at Salome with the gun, but this time she caught the barrel and snapped it off. “--That’s supposed to distract me from the fact that your arm just came off? Are you made of metal all the way through? Wait, I knew you had a glass eye, but it actually is both of them, isn’t it?”

The resumption of gunfire from somewhere above them cut the conversation short. 

“Well if that isn’t irregular,” Vanya said mildly. “Are they both still alive, or do we have another stakeholder, I wonder?”

The train came to an abrupt stop, knocking both of them off their feet. Salome’s arm went rolling up the aisle.

“This is not consistent with any of my models,” Salome said. She got to her feet and walked over Vanya, heading for the door. It slid open only when Salome forced it, metal crumpling and warping as she crammed it into its slot.

“What, you worried?” Vanya called from the floor. He was still struggling to get his feet under him with his broken wrist.

“You’re not? What do you know?”

“Me? Nothing.” Vanya joined her by the door. “I have faith in my partner. And the saints would never allow him to lose to a Catholic, I’ve been praying.”

“Bizarre and illogical,” Salome muttered. She started up the stairs, apparently calling their match a draw.

“Bizarre and illogical,” Vanya said, following quickly after.

24.20 || 24.22

[telltalebatman]

introducing: babygirl v (world's most perfect little angel with a sniper rifle)

yvonne anastasia shostakovich-beaumont (ivo for close friends, v for literally everyone else)

half russian, half french

her family life can be summed up as "let's talk about literally anything else"

corpo background

actually had a very short-lived fling with arthur jenkins. she would rather not talk about it.

jackie welles was her ride-or-die best friend and to say his death fucked her up more than johnny's presence in her head ever did would be an understatement

ends up catching feelings for river ward

her relationship w/ johnny silverhand is mostly antagonistic and she is willing to go to any lengths to put this weird part of her life behind

ends up developing a genuine friendship with takemura

padre and wakako are her favorite fixers, and she is their favorite merc. being in their graces eventually helps her to put regina and dino out of business and take over their turfs along with river.

[acesknights]

° × Warlock Background info post ° ×

CW: Small warning for the post as there will be gore art near the end of this post 🫶

I wanted to make a small(ish) post about warlocks backstory/info because I've been practically only relying on what i find in my notes app and what i remember in my head about him

I'll update this as i go / more info is added into this oc

Info under cut <3

// General information //

Name: Adrian Jan Gruszczyński

Aliases: Warlock

Rank: lieutenant

Affiliations: Shadow Company, GROM [formally]

D. O. B: [09/09/1988] September 9th 1988

Age: 37 Years

Gender: Male - Cisgender

Nationality: Polish

Ethnicity: (West) Slavic

Laterality: Right side dominant

Blood type: O+

Languages: Polish, English, Russian

Personality Type: ISTJ

Specialises in: Long-range-marksmanship, CQC, covert infiltration

Weapon of choice: Barrett MRAD Bolt-Action Sniper Rifle + SIG MCX-SPEAR LT Assault Rifle

// Appearence //

Eye colour: Light Blue

Hair colour: Dark Auburn

Height: 187CM

Weight: 75KG

Body type: athletic

Any markings and/or scars: smaller scars on his arms and legs from small accidents while on the field ie - barbed wire, knife/sharp abrasions.

Deep knife lacerations on his back that required stitches [now healed leaving deep visable scarring]

Chemical burn across the right side of his face, going down to his collar bone - his hair, ear, and neck being affected by the said burn - his right eye sustained little to no damage yet that is subject to change but currently the burn had only eaten away at a large amount of his face, exposing/ripping apart part of his lips - leaving half his mouth always shown.

That severity of a burn had led to him requiring a skin graph from his thigh, more surgeries would be needed in the future to better fix this injury.

The same chemical burn scarring also being on his right forearm, the scarring there hadn't caused major damage as it was partially burned from splashback from the chemicals being thrown onto him but still required the same attention and overlook incase it were to damage his ability to use said arm

// Mannerisms //

Best traits: Tactical Acumen , Loyalty , adaptability to situations

Worst traits: Neuroticism, abrasive nature, known to have workaholic tendencies

Mannerisms: He has a tendency to respond in a brutally honest manner - a trait he had picked up from how he was brought up. He's highly observant, frequently assessing his surroundings and the people around him, which contributes to his tactical acumen. Despite his stoic exterior, he shows support for his team through subtle gestures, like a reassuring nod or a brief, reassuring touch on ones shoulder. Adrian may engage in tactile behaviors like adjusting his gear, checking his weapons over when in deep thought or contemplation before deployment.

// Family //

Relatives: [N/A]

Relationship status: Divorced - 'Katarzyna Gruszczyńska' [estranged]

Children: 'Anya Gruszczyńska' [deceased]

Extra: carries romantic feelings towards his Commander 'Phillip Graves'

// Background //

- Adrian had began his career in the Polish Army when he had enlisted at aged 19, specializing in covert operations and unconventional warfare. He excelled in reconnaissance and stealth missions.

- Special Forces Training: Adrian's exceptional skills caught the attention of the top brass, leading to his selection for specialized training within Poland's elite GROM unit. He honed his skills in marksmanship, infiltration, and hand-to-hand combat.

- While Adrian was still serving in the GROM unit, a mission involving counter-terrorism took an unexpected and horrific turn as Adrian was part of an operation to neutralize a dangerous extremist group responsible for multiple attacks across the time-span of three years. During a high-risk raid on a remote compound that was found inside of a large town, a hostage situation had occurred. This tragically claimed the life of their young daughter, Anya - who had been staying with Katarzyna's parents at the time. Adrian had to witness first-hand the death of his only daughter in front of him. The only view he had was from the scope of his Sniper Rifle

- The loss of their child was an unbearable burden on Adrian and Katarzyna as grief and guilt overwhelmed them both - knowing that this turn of events could've been stopped much earlier than before, yet the two of them had tried to overcome this grief in two vastly different and unhealthy ways. Adrian's relentless commitment to his military career as a coping mechanism drove a wedge between them both - he threw himself into his work seeking solace in the missions to distract himself from the loss of Anya. While Katarzyna could not bear the pain and distanced herself emotionally from him, thus straining and ruining their relationship with one another.

- Overtime, It eventually led to their estrangement, with both of them unable to find a way to heal and reconnect amid the painful memories of their once beloved child. The two agreed to their own separate ways and eventually divorced.

- Shadow Company Recruitment: Adrian's skills and experience eventually caught the attention of the private military organization, Impressed by his service history, they offered him a position that aligned with his talents.

- Injury: During one of his mission within Shadow Company, a mission that Adrian was tasked on had gone south all of a sudden - leading to a gunfight with the enemy rather quickly. Said gunfight leading to Adrian getting hit with a nasty chemical burn across his face and upper left arm. This injury left him unable to serve fully for multiple months, leading him to need multiple different facial reconstruction / skin graphs surgeries to help aid in the healing and lessening the look of this injury he had sustained.

// Images below that show his injury: // + coloured in varient

[opspro2005]

The Russian Army had an excellent sniper group in WWII, and their women were among their best killers. And the Mosin not only WAS an excellent rifle, it remains one to this day. Like the finest battle-rifle ever made, the AK-47, it's said that the Mosin fought against itself in war many times. And it won, every time.

A Soviet sniper with her Mosin-Nagant 91/30. The rifle is equipped with a 3.5x PU scope.

[transparentfoxpost]

marvel oc #2

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"Quote"

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BASIC INFORMATION

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『 Real Name 』

Aries Regulus Stark-Huxley

『 Nickname 』

Ari, Reggie, Regulus

『 Alias 』

Viktor

『 Identity 』

Secret

『 Date of Birth 』

August

『 Place of Birth 』

Moscow, Russia

『 Species 』

Human

『 Gender 』

Male

『 Sexuality 』

Homoromantic, demisexual

『 Current Location 』

Unknown

『 Accent 』

Russian

『 Zodiac 』

(star [Gemini, Libra, Cancer, etc] or chinese [Horse, Ram, Rabbit, etc])

『 Status 』

(alive, dead, hospitalized, etc)

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AFFILIATIONS

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『 Relatives 』

Mother: unknown mother

Father: Tony Stark

Siblings: Morgan Stark

Aunts: n/a

Uncles: n/a

Cousins: n/a

Grandparents: Anthony Stark

『 Pets 』

N/a

『 Marital Status 』

『 Crush 』

Bruce Banner

Thor Odinson

Steve Rogers

『 Friends 』

Natasha, Bucky, Thor

『 Best Friends 』

Bruce, Steve

『 Apprentice(s) 』

N/a

『 Mentor(s) 』

N/a

『 Allies 』

The avengers + Loki

『 Partnerships 』

???

『 Teams or Organizations 』

The avengers

『 Education 』

Masters degree in health care, bachelors degree in computer sciences

『 Occupation 』

Model, actor, and future ceo of Stark enterprise

『 Enemies 』

Thanos,

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APPEARANCE

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『 Eyes 』

Blue, thick eyelashes, pretty

『 Hair 』

Brown

『 Height 』

Six feet, five inches

『 Weight 』

Unknown

『 Important Features』

N/A

『 Usual outfit 』

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『 Superhero Costume 』

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『 Sleepwear 』

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『 Formal 』

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HEALTH

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『 Physical Health』he has type a diabetes but overall he's pretty healthy, so 9/10

『 Mental Health 』

Too many mental disorders to list, 2/10

『 Contacts/Glasses 』

Contacts

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ORIGIN

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Describe the origin of the person here.

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POWER GRID

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━━━━━

• Intelligence - 11/10 •

━━━━━

• Strength - 8/10 •

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• Speed - 5.2/10 •

━━━━━

• Durability - 6.4/10 •

━━━━━

• Fighting Skills - 5/10 •

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• Close-Quarter Combat - 4.2/10 •

━━━━━

• Long-Range Combat - 8.2/10 •

━━━━━

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POWERS AND ABILITIES

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• never aging •

He can't physically age so he can't die by old age

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• superhuman intelligence •

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• Name •

Description

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• Name •

Description

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• Name   •

Description

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• Name •

Description

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EQUIPMENT

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• katana •

Description

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• sniper rifle •

Description

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• Name •

Description

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• Name •

Description

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"Quote"

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CHARACTER TRAITS

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• Personality Description •

═════════

•   Good Traits•

•intelligence

•loyal

•stubborn

•pretty

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• Neutral Traits•

•a bitch

•manipulative

•calm

•hard. To anger

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• Bad Traits •

•ruthless

•too strict

•pessimist

•people user

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• Likes •

•books, liberies

•stars, space, astronomy

•animals, nature, bugs, the life cycle

•science, knowledge, documentaries, history

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• Dislikes •

•loud noises, being touched by most people, overwhelming things

•idiots, assholes, homophobes

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• Fears •

•losing his best friend

•heights, more specifically falling

•the ocean, deep water, lakes, rivers, more specially drowning

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• Desires •

•unknown

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• Regrets •

•unknown

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• Triggers •

•being overwhelmed

•a few other small things

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FAVOURITES

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• Colour •purple

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• Music • 50's all the way to 90's work

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• Movie • grease

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• TV Show •full house

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• Food •strawberries

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• Drink •caffeine

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• Leasure Activities • swimming

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NOTES

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He's deaf, and both his voice claim and face claim is Nyle Demarco

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Original template was made by Jess

Edited by Li’l Lilith

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[we-do-a-little-developing]

First-person games

First-person games are any form of games where the player character plays in the first person, seeing whatever the player character would. They have been a staple of gaming since their introduction - particularly with shooters - and have remained consistently popular.

Team Fortress 2:

Team Fortress 2 PC Multiplayer Gameplay #2 | 1080p - YouTube

HAHAA YOU FOOL THERE IS NO ESCAPE

I'm not sorry.

The main draw of Team Fortress 2 [TF2] are how customisable it can be. If you like doing things in video games, you can probably do it in TF2 - there are community fashion shows, sword-wielding scotsmen flying through the skies alongside jingoistic Americans who only stopped his nazi-killing rampage in 1949 or just a huge russian man offering sandwiches. There's also the shooting aspect if you're playing normally which is equally as fun. This is due to the colossal cosmetic options, very large weapon choice options and playstyle options across 9 unique classes

Visuals:

A running joke in the TF2 community is that it's a shooter-themed hat simulator. This is due to the 1795 cosmetics in-game. That's a lot. Because of this, your class can appear however you want. Most cosmetics can also be painted different colours, and unusual effects [big gaudy particle effects on guns, hats and taunts] only add to this. This is a huge draw as it attracts all players, from edgelord I-have-no-soul snipers, to players who just want to spent the entire game doing the conga or sneaking around in a cardboard box. All of this, however, fits with the games dated artstyle [for the most part]. This allows TF2 to feel visually coherent whilst retaining unprecedented levels of player choice in appearance.

Gameplay:

The same approach is also given to playstyles. The best example of this is the Demoman class, who has a grenade launcher and a sticky bomb launcher. This gives him extremely good area denial capability due to the explosion radius of his bombs and how he can use sticky bombs to trap areas players funnel through. However, due to his weapons firing slow-moving projectiles and his low movement speed, the Demoman can be very vulnerable when isolated and caught off-guard. By replacing his grenade launcher with boots, sticky bomb launcher with a shield and bottle with a huge sword, you lose all area denial and instead become able to fly around the map [TF2's physics engine is very weird] and decapitate players as a 'Demoknight' , becoming stronger and faster with every kill. A lot of classes have similar items that completely flip their playstyle, albeit to a lesser extend, from switching from a defensive Engineer to the gun-toting, yee-hawing Battle Engineer, or dropping your huge minigun to play as a massive, slow scout as the Heavy. However, playing a class as intended is still extremely fun! Nearly all weapons are single shot [like a rifle or rocket launcher] rather than sustained fire [like a machinegun]. This results in far more fun while playing, as the sounds for firing a grenade and the explosion upon hitting a player is far more satisfying than a brrrrrt from a machine gun. Also, when you die, you often think how you could have killed that player if you'd hit that last shot rather than if you'd just been better at following them with your crosshair if you're using a sustained fire weapon. All weapons force the player to adopt a different playstyle, whether small changes to aiming or playing a near different class [Demoknight, is only when all 3 weapons have been swapped to drastically different ones] so the game always feels fresh.

Payday 2:

Payday 2 is a heisting game, or a first-person-shooter when you've had enough of sneaking around. Released in 2013 by Overkill Software and published by Starbreeze, it featured two distinct ways of performing a heist - stealth or loud. This allowed for two extremely distinct approaches to be taken to each individual heist, with perk decks and skills built up during gameplay introducing new mechanics to assist during heists [alcoholism heals bullet wounds apparently].

Stealth vs Loud: In Stealth, the player has to complete typically quieter objectives and avoid being seen by guards, cameras and civilians at all costs. If this occurs, the alarm will be raised and police will be called, forcing the heist to go Loud. This can be avoided, however, by killing guards, shooting cameras or cable tying a civilian to make them a hostage [you can shoot civilians but that's very much inadvisable]. In Loud, you shoot first and blow things up. Loud is fun. Instead of sneaking around, you walk into a bank and blow holes in things. Depending on difficulty, you may face traditional SWAT units, shield units which require special weapons or ammo to damage from the front, snipers [i hate], Bulldozers [800lb walking tanks who will obliterate you if you get too close], medics [who make SWAT far stronger] and Cloakers, who will hop out of sewers or vents, backflip over a Ford and down you immediately by introducing your face to the pavement. Whilst most heists can be done Stealth or Loud [Loud is typically simpler but Stealth can be much quicker and you get a bonus], some are Stealth only [Shadow Raid] or Loud only [Counterfeit]. This forces players out of their comfort zone to test different approaches and tools to complete objectives.

Perks and Skills: Perk decks and Skills change how a heist is played, rather than its approach. Perk decks are 9 consecutive cards in each deck that have increasing price but increasing benefits, however only one deck can be equipped. An example of this is Stoic, which gives you the Hip Flask which greatly reduces the amount of damage you just took [it's complicated]. The other 8 perks in the deck improve passive things such as reducing time until you're allowed to use the Flask, how much health it restores and so on. Switching to another deck will replace Stoic's benefits with the other decks, however they can be switched between with no penalty. Skills, however, are 15 different skill trees with 7 individual Skills that can be selected at will to provide cumulative benefits - any Skill you have selected will be active, regardless of what tree it's in. Although neither Skills nor Perks change whether you go Stealth or Loud, they can impact how you play heists in the abilities you have to hand. Skills and Perks can be selected to work well with each other to create Builds, such as a dodge build which just forces a percent of all hits you take to no damage [like you dodged a bullet]. This complexity provides extreme variation in how heists are played, with all approaches having a multitude of ways to perform them using any Skills or Perks

Borderlands 2:

Borderlands 2 is a first-person looter shooter made by Gearbox Software in 2012 [but I don't remember 2012]. In BD2, you can play as one of 4 characters [6 if you purchase DLC], each with a unique action skill and vastly different skill trees. There's a lot of guns in BD2. A lot. Each is one of 5 types [rocket launcher, SMG, assault rifle, sniper, pistol] and may have one of 5 elements [fire, ice, corrosion, slag and explosion] with vastly different stats and designs from one another.

The Characters: I'm ignoring the 2 bonus DLC characters here. Each of the 4 main characters has a separate action skill, from a sentry that attaches to walls/ceilings, magic to keep enemies in place, holograms to duel-wielding guns. These skills have relatively short cooldowns, so the action feels continuous when these are in use. Each class also has 3 different skill trees that function similarly to those in Payday 2, with any selected skills being active regardless of what tree they're in. Each tree also caters to a specific playstyle, such as Zer0 [assassin]'s trees assisting with either keeping his hologram up so the player can stay invisible for longer, stronger melee attacks and bonuses for that or skills to assist sniping. However, these skills can be combined to produce builds dedicated to however you want to play and can be reset [for a price, of course] so the player has a large variety of playstyles and approaches to play with through character choice and skills.

The Guns: Most guns [except certain unique ones] can be of any element from 5 and any rarity from common to legendary, impacting its stats. These elements make them stronger against certain types of enemy but weaker against others and can help some guns feel less redundant. Each gun can also have effects such as firing 3 rounds at once for snipers, or extra critical damage. Because of this, all guns feel unique and can be swapped out at any point for different ones. Truly unique guns, however, are typically dropped by bosses or via quests. They are usually rare or legendary, and have special witty text attached with unique stats and models. These guns are typically extremely strong, and allow the player to perform a 100% completion run finding them all if they so desire. This variety causes the weapons to be varied and feel different regardless of how many times you've completed the game.

War Thunder:

We do not discuss War Thunder.

Bendy And The Dark Revival:

BATDR is a sequel to popular horror game Bendy And The Ink Machine [BATIM] where you play as a character enduring the horrors created by the Ink Machine. The gameplay is extremely smooth for the most part [the enemy AI can be janky at times] with a unique visual style and flair.

The Horror: With a mixture of scripted jumpscares, stealth sections and chase sequences, the horror in BATDR is fairly varied in it's sources. The scripted jumpscares provide obvious shock horror, but they're still fairly effective due to the atmosphere and tension. The stealth sections can be completed if you have sufficient mechanical efficiency to kill all the enemies without dying, however it tends to be extremely difficult. Because of this, stealth sections are particularly stressful due to the tension of the consequences for getting seen. With the chase sequences, the anxiety comes from the lack of knowledge of how far from safety you are, and how close you are to death as there's insufficient time to check. These combine to provide sufficiently varied horror and fear in the player despite acting in vastly different manners.

The Atmosphere: BATDR has a very strong atmosphere due to the story, enemies and visuals. Whilst the story provides narrative reasons for the existence of the game and its content, and conscious tension ['what's [x]'s plan?'], the visuals help provide more unconscious tension ['something's wrong here'] alongside environmental storytelling to suggest what has happened in a specific environment. The enemies also help provide atmosphere dynamically through their mannerisms, movement and appearance.

Generation Zero:

Generation Zero is a cold-war survival game set in a post-apocalyptic Sweden where the player character must navigate through a large island off the coast of Sweden, avoiding [and fighting when it all goes wrong] some pretty cool robots with a variety of weapons found around the world.

Visuals: For a relatively small studio, Gen 0 looks extremely clean. All robots can be distinguished from their environment through a combination of colour palette and movement - the robots are typically of two distinct colours that aren't seen too much in the environment, and are often moving so the player can separate them from the environment. There are also quite a few notably different types of robots, and depending on the location their colour will be different. The playable environment is also easily traversable, with the dedicated routes easily identifiable, and the degree of separation between wide open fields and forests with previously inhabited areas help distinguish locations of note.

Gameplay: All the weapons in Gen 0 feel punchy and powerful, which also makes them very satisfying to fire [maybe not as much as TF2 but still really good]. This is also consistent throughout the game - Gen 0's sound design is excellent and really adds to the experience. Ammo is typically also fairly sparse, forcing the player to decide whether a fight is worth engaging in for the possible loot or to conserve their ammo. Sometimes, however, the player is caught off-guard [this is genuinely terrifying] and has to fight. The robots of Gen 0 are extremely powerful but also fairly balanced - the Hunter has a machine gun that can utterly decimate you at close-medium range, has gas canisters and has a concerningly high movement speed, so in order to counter them, the player has to keep their distance as best they can or use explosives to trap them. Tanks [unfortunately not actual ones] and Harvesters both have extremely thick armour and heavy armaments with heavy machineguns and rocket barrages, but if the player stays behind cover, they can steadily destroy them by attrition. The player environments are also as varied as the enemies, from open plains [bad], to forests, beaches and bunkers.

Subnautica:

Subnautica is a open-world first person game set in a predominantly underwater world where the player's main objective is to survive and upgrade their tools. The world of Subnautica is very visually distinct, with the story told through environmental storytelling and audio logs.

Storytelling And Directions: Subnautica rarely has direct instructions for the player. Instead, the developers used environmental storytelling and voice logs to direct their curiosity, hinting at what may be present in specific areas. Environmental storytelling is the process of utilising the environment to imply past events without direct explanation, such as weird alien monuments suggesting that you may not have been the first here. However, due to the complexity of Subnautica, explanations are sometimes necessary. This is done in another world-relevant method, namely audio logs. This is a form of environmental storytelling as the player can find logs around the world, typically suggesting at past events or will receive an audio explanation after scanning an object of construction. These vaguely direct the players curiosity, suggesting where to go next without forcing the player

I'm pretty sure this is unintelligible. I'm tired.

Environmental Design: The biomes of Subnautica are all very visually distinguishable. From the Jelly Shrooms to the Tropical Shallows, each has its own set of visually and thematically coherent flora and fauna. Materials are always in noticeable locations and either stand out from the background or are so close to the player that they'll bump into them eventually. The water also serves as a good cover for chunk loading as at a certain distance, things just become invisible. The light streams and gradient also help keep the player orientated, something that is very much not there in the depths or in caves.

Superhot:

Superhot is a VR game where the player is tasked with destroying all enemies using whatever they have or can find. Time also only moves when the player move. I imagine that was fun to program

The Time Mechanic: Time only progresses when the player moves. This allows the player to make strategic decisions at effectively lightning pace, relative to the enemies. This can also make the game far more dramatic, as the player gets to control the pace of action and can be more deliberate in their actions.

The Other Mechanics: The other stand-out features of Superhot are that guns can be taken right out the hands of enemies. Used in conjunction with the time mechanic, this can be used for some True Shenanigans. It also allows the player to ping-pong from enemy to enemy, constantly keeping armed. The enemy models are also comically detailed, being made of geometric chunks which will be blown apart when struck or shot for a brilliant visual effect.

In conclusion: video game.

Thank you for attending my TED talk

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eyyyy macarena

[spookygayferret]

Hey, remember that Killing Eve-inspired OFMD AU I mentioned forever ago? Well, the first four chapters of it are up on AO3. Featuring Gentlebeard, some fucked up EdIzzy content, violence, bloodshed, expensive fashion, sex, and literally everyone needing therapy.

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death

Rating: E (Explicit)

CW: Violence, blood, Ed and Izzy and Stede being fucked up little dudes, psychological/emotional/physical abuse, dark humor, hurt/comfort, me getting place names wrong probably

Summary: Three men pulled into each others' orbit by circumstance and bloodshed navigate a high stakes world of intrigue, expensive fashion, murder, and sex.

Edward Teach killed people. He was an assassin. A murderer. The Kraken.

He’d gotten the name off a bottle of perfume. Kraken. The first fancy thing he ever touched, Ed’s first luxury indulgence. A small boutique in Paris, Ed forgot the name. His fingers grazing over the bottle of perfume, a thought about buying it. And a deep voice in his ear, asking him what he would like to be called from now on. He wasn’t Edward Teach anymore.

He asked (in French) about the name. But the store clerk ignored him…at least until Ed picked it up, dark eyes darting to meet his own when he asked after the price.

The Kraken. He was twenty when he chose that name.

The perfume wasn’t bad. It smelled of lilies and sea salt.

Ed was sixteen years old when he pulled off his first kill. The son of a Russian politician, out hiking by himself on a late night. A tumble into a body of water, Ed’s hands coming up to shove decisively against the larger boy’s back and send him toppling off the dock. Entranced and called by the siren scent of lavender on Ed’s skin. Ed was small for his age, he was willowy. But he was smart.

He kept the empty bottle of Kraken, it lived on a shelf in his closet. The stench of lilies and sea salt followed him through pattern, the ghost of it. Ed touched his fingers along the surface of the bottle, the glossy writing along the side and the painted tentacles weaved around the glass like tendrils of smoke.

And he asked himself if he even liked it, the smell of lilies and sea salt. It reminded him so much of that night, sixteen years old and having just killed a boy slightly older than him for reasons he hadn’t been allowed to know. The boy had been soft-spoken and his hair long like Ed’s would eventually be. And Ed had shoved him into the water, he’d turned away and left quickly as the boy shouted for help.

The scent of lilies and sea salt kept Ed up some nights.

Ed’s training started in the harsh Russian wilderness. Ed had memories of it, the nondescript van with the tinted windows he’d been pitched out of and onto the muddy forest floor. But after that was this blur of moving, flashes of blood and almost freezing to death. Ed wasn’t sure how he’d survived, to be honest. He’d spent god knows how long in that place, until his hair grew out and he started to forget the faces of the people who’d brought him there.

And the person who emerged from that wilderness wasn’t Edward Teach. He was The Kraken.

From there he had brief stints in Berlin, Rome, all over the map. Ed traveled more in a year than he thought possible, more than he’d expected to travel in his entire life. Learning to break codes, resist interrogation, pick locks, identify poisons, blend in as best as he could, various martial arts, throwing knives, the delicate art of the sniper rifle. Foreign languages (French, Russian, Italian, German, Spanish, etc.) and the inner workings of a human body.

At twenty, Ed reached the final leg of his training. And that was when he met Izzy Hands.