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ellieslaces · 3 months

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CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. (prologue)

presenting: Umbrella’s Hunger Games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: the Hunger Games, an annual show of brutal control the Capitol has over each of the twelve Districts. the Games’ number one sponsor: Umbrella Corporation, the creator of the Games’ most horrific torture strategies and nightmare inducing deaths. these games have always been cautionary, always a far away but constant threat — until you find yourself Reaped and thrown into an area full of your worst fears with 23 other Tributes, all out for blood.

content warnings (future): harsh language; heavy violence; gore; torture; heavy themes of murder; infanticide; social injustice; class discrimination; brief mention of suicidal thoughts; angst; character death; eventual smut; enemies to lovers

notes: this is inspired by the Hunger Games (no 1) and takes place in the universe; if topics such as violence murder infanticide etc trigger you, skip this series; the reader is said to be a Career Tribute

Chloe talks: posting a my prologue for my new Leon Hunger Games series before the next strike tomorrow! please enjoy, I’m convinced this will be my magnum opus :)

word count: 768 (it’s a prologue, so it’s short)

now playing: can’t catch me now ; olivia rodrigo

how you can help Palestine! 🇵🇸

Images of dark alleys, of scorching hot deserts, of raging icy tundras, of sickly beautiful yet dangerous forests haunted each child’s dreams. Not for any reason in particular other than the fact that the images were fed to them since birth. Spoon fed into their heads — the showings of each years annual Hunger Games.

Decades upon decades ago, the ocean swallowed nearly half the continent in a devastating and unprecedented tsunami. States and even smaller countries were lost to the depths of the sea, leaving the remaining forty percent of the country overflowed with a surplus of population.

Women, men, and children with nowhere to go, now crowded the north part of what once was the United States. Now twenty of the fifty states remained, thousands upon thousands of casualties, leaving too many for the forty percent of the country to support.

The government handled it with the worst of ideas, their support was lost, their lack of understanding and empathy led to an inevitable uprising. People stormed the gates of the White House, threatened to kill — and did kill — senators, and representatives, and judges, and even their families.

This uprising nearly destroyed the country as a whole. Thousands were slaughtered, bloodlines were destroyed, families killed by the rebels. Until a group of unknown power that had been hiding behind the scenes for decades stepped forward, taking control of the people. This led to a bloodbath of violence, political control, and the people finally were forced to accept their defeat.

From then, the country was divided into thirteen Districts, each with its own purpose of serving the new country’s Capitol. This new country — Panem — was run with a ruthless government, a controlling President with no mercy and a clever mind. He was cruel, and heartless, and as dangerous as he was calm.

No one dared to object him, no one dared to take his power for fear of the consequences. So, for decades, President Ozwell E. Spencer ran the country. His company — one he started long before he was elected as President — Umbrella was the sole sponsor and creator of the annual Hunger Games.

Where each spring, twenty four children between the ages of twelve and nineteen were picked at random by pairs to represent their District in a fight to the death.

One boy, one girl from each District, chosen by random to be plucked, and bathed, and painted, and paraded, and eventually murdered for the sake of entertainment. Once, these Games were a reminder of what revolution could do, how it could crumble a nation. But that notion was long gone, all that now remained was the entertainment value of their deaths. Deaths none of them deserved. Deaths you never imagined you’d actually witness, much less cause yourself.

The intricacies of these Games were lost upon you, all you knew was to survive. Despite being a so called ‘Career’ and had as close to luxury as you could for someone from one of the Districts, you hardly had the stomach to commit things such as murder. Much less upon other children, people your age.

District One, luxury items, riches, and favor of the Capitol itself. Careers, the title of the Tributes that were put into the Games each year. These Tributes were raised with advantage, raised with early training available to them. Available to you.

For the majority of your life, since you were able to understand what the Games meant, you’d been trained by Victors, the Redfield siblings. Chris and his sister, Claire, were once Tributes themselves, in consecutive years.

Chris Redfield won at nineteen with pure brutality, physical strength and power, partaking in the bloodbath and taking out a good majority of the other Tributes in the beginning. Chris’s Games lasted a mere week.

While Claire Redfield managed to outsmart each and every other Tribute in her arena, successfully becoming the Victor by simply waiting for them all to die by natural causes, or killing themselves with their own stupidity. Her Games lasted three, the ending of said Games pushed quickly to be brought to a conclusion. Leading the girl to become Victor at a mere thirteen.

So, despite the fact that you weren’t technically supposed to be trained by Mentors unless Reaped, the Redfield siblings trained you behind the curtain. They prepared you for the possibility of you being Reaped, of being subjected to the horrors they’d seen. To the murder they had to commit to stay alive. They wanted you to win, to have a chance of survival.

But, maybe they should have just let you die. Maybe they shouldn’t have taken you under their wing when they found you shivering in the rain after a school bully had taken your pack and shoes and jacket.

Maybe they should have just let you be killed. Then you wouldn’t have to live with the memory of him.

#can’t catch me now.#re2 leon #Leon Kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x fem reader #Leon Kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #Leon Kennedy fanfiction #hunger games #the hunger games #the hunger games au #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil au

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adhdduckie · 3 months

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from the outside. teen!g.s. x reader.

my masterlist

irl mutuals dni

music choice; yo bro wtf

word count: 1.5k

synopsis; your best friend gojo and you through the eyes of shoko and getou.

warnings; not proof read.

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i. geto suguru, gojo's other best friend.

gojo and getou's relationship was a strange one. they had been friends as soon as they joined jujutsu tech high. In the years that they had known one another, they had grown to read each other like a book they had known forever.

ever since riko's death, things have been hard for the both of them. the elders force gojo to work more, and getou is left mostly alone. you're there sometimes to help him if he needs it, and sometimes he thinks it's the only thing that's keeping him sane.

The four of you are standing outside the halls, while gojo shows you his limitless technique for the first time. it's impressive, to say the least. The rubber thrown at him by shoko bounces off his head, and the pencil stops moving, it doesn't get close enough to him to hurt him.

a couple of weeks later, getou notices that gojo has it on all the time. there is not a moment in the day where gojo doesn't have infinity on. walking through the rain as a group, gojo's the only one that doesn't get wet at all. You're soaking, regardless of having been under a large umbrella.

gojo nudges and laughs at you, but no matter how many times you push him away from underneath the umbrella, he doesn't get wet, and you groan in irritation.

a couple days later, getou's at the vending machines, buying a couple cans of soft drinks for all of you. You, gojo and shoko are sitting around a table, gojo facing away from getou. getou walks up behind, with the cans in hand, attempting to press the cold can to gojo's cheek like he used to do.

but he realises he can't. his hand doesn't pass through the limitless barrier, and instead of saying something, he just sets the can down in front of gojo, as he says something stupid to change the topic. you all see how tired gojo is sometimes, but he takes on all of the jobs he's given, cuz after all, he's the strongest, right?

shoko is unable to touch him, too. a couple days later after the incident with getou, she tries to swat at him after gojo steals a fry off his plate when you're all sitting in the KFC booths. like getou, she can't touch him.

after KFC, you all head to the arcade. it's a rare day where you are all free, so you gotta make the most of it. getou and shoko are staring at some basketball game, and after awhile, they decide to play it.

you're staring at some cute little plushy inside the claw machine. it's a scam, you know. but that little white cat with the black sunglasses reminds you too much of a certain someone, and if you can't have him, you'll take the cat.

since claw games are a total scam, you spend three tokens trying to get that little cat, which you've mentally dubbed as mini 'toru, and when those three tokens are wasted, you sigh, pushing away from the machine and go find something else to do.

unbeknownst to you, satoru has been watching the entire time, and while you're prancing on the dance dance revolution with shoko, he gets it for you. getou watches, not commenting on anything at all, just smirking as he watches from afar.

he walks up to you, while you beat shoko's ass by a substantial amount. he taps your shoulder, and when you spin around, your face breaks out into a wild grin. completely forgetting about the game, you jump, throwing your arms around gojo.

getou flinches in preparation, fully expecting you to slam face first into the impossible barrier. but when he doesn't hear the sound of you getting hurt, he opens his eyes, not really noticing when they fluttered shut.

the sight that meets his eyes is astounding. your arms are wrapped around gojo's neck, and you're grinning at him happily. gojo's got his arms wrapped around you to stop you from falling.

getou hears a gag behind him, and turns around to see shoko being dramatic, gagging at the lovey dovey sight. they catch each others' eyes, and grin at each other, knowing that something more might just blossom between you and gojo, as his infinity was not on around you. i mean, getou's slightly hurt that it's on around him, but he's more excited than anything.

ii. shoko ieiri, your own best friend.

it's been a long, exhausting week. actually, it felt more like a year. you've spent ages doing paper work and killing curses, spent hours inside the infirmary. you've barely seen gojo all week, and you bitch and moan about being busy next to shoko as she patches you up.

"shut up." she tells you, pulling a wrap tightly together, as you let out a soft hiss.

you glare at her, before a notification pings on your phone. shoko watches as your face lights up immediately when you see who sends you the message, and much to shoko's joy, you shut up.

curious to know who it is, she leans over your shoulder, gently pushing your face to see better. she rolls her eyes, noticing satoru's name and profile pic popping up, and she turns around, going back to wrapping you up.

it's an invitation to watch a movie with him, to have your weekly movie marathon. you send a quick, speedy reply, agreeing to meet him, simply stating that you'll grab the snacks and drinks and meet him in a hour.

shoko rolls her eyes again, watching as you stumble quickly off the table, grabbing your stuff, while she yells after you to be careful, and that she hasn't even finished.

"i'll be fine!" you yell back at her. she sighs, shaking her head, glancing back to her monitor, a photo of the four of you up in the background. even in the photo, you're looking at gojo.

in the image, he's staring at the camera, but your eyes are trained on him, a smile on your lips. getou and shoko are laughing, and you have your arm slung over shoko's arm.

she sighs again, stretching her neck out as she thinks. your love for him is so obvious, it's a wonder satoru hasn't noticed yet. she sits up straight again, getting back to her work.

the hours go by quickly as she fills out paperwork. it's dark by the time she finishes, way past midnight. all she can hear is crickets chirping, and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

she stands from her chair, stretching out her long arms, cracking her back. she walks through the school's halls, reminiscing about her past.

at the end of the hall, where the common room is, there's a harsh glow of a light, the tv still playing. shoko walks closer, expecting either you or satoru to have forgotten to switch off the tv when you went to bed.

she's surprised to find you both still there, as she stands in the doorway. from her position, she can only see the back of the couch, yours and gojo's head. as she quietly stalks closer, to remind you to go to bed early, especially after being hurt.

as she walks closer, she sees the food you went and bought still spread around the table, an open box of cheese pizza, several bags of chips, and three boxes of satoru's favourite kikifuku you somehow managed to get despite his favourite store being an hour away.

as her eyes drag over the mess in front of her, mostly satoru's, you would say if you were awake, since there's popcorn all over the couch and on the floor, she notices the spots you and satoru are in.

she slaps her hand over her mouth, forcing the laugh down. the two of you are cuddled close together, like satoru and you can't even bear to be apart while asleep, or as if, while sleeping, there was something pulling you together.

satoru's legs are tangled with yours, his arm over your shoulder, your face hidden in the crook of his neck. she smiles again, pulling her phone out and snapping photos for you, since she knows you'd love having them.

as she tucks her phone away, and switches off the tv, as to not disturb your peaceful sleep, she sees a small movement in the corner of her eye. when she looks, the movement immediately stops, but she sees a smile curve across satoru's lips.

ah. he's been awake this entire time. his eyes flutter open, and they make eye contact. satoru pulls up the hand that's not wrapped around you, and brings a finger to his lips, shushing shoko.

she laughs, shaking her head. the little shit. she bets he's planned this entire thing out. she turns on her heel, walking back to her own room, quickly sending the photos to both you and satoru, and sending another to getou. his response is immediate.

'how much longer do you think this will last?' getou wagers in his text

'not much more pining, i think. it's about time, i believe.' shoko states.

she's right. it's not long before you finally get together, and getou and shoko heave a sigh of relief.

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imsobadatnicknames2 · 4 months

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What's OSR? I've seen you mention it several times in your RPG posts. Is it like a genre of rpg or...?

Hey, sorry I took so long to reply to this lol you probably already just googled it by now.

But like. Anyway.

OSR (Old-School Revival, Old-School Renaissance, and more uncommonly Old-School Rules or Old-School Revolution, no one can really agree on what the R means) is less like a genre and more like a movement or a loosely connected community that seeks to capture the tone, feel and/or playstyle of 70's and 80's fantasy roleplaying games (with a particular emphasis on old-school editions of Dungeons and Dragons, particularly the Basic D&D line but pretty much anything before 3e falls under this umbrella), or at least an idealized version of what people remember those games felt like to play.

There isn't exactly a consensus on what makes a game OSR but here's my personal list of things that I find to be common motifs in OSR game design and GM philosophy. Not every game in the movement features all of these things, but must certainly feature a few of them.

Rulings over rules: most OSR games lack mechanically codified rules for a lot of the actions that in modern D&D (and games influenced by it) would be covered by a skill system. Rather that try to have rules applicable for every situation, these games often have somewhat barebones rules, with the expectation that when a player tries to do something not covered by them the GM will have to make a ruling about it or negotiate a dice roll that feels fair (a common resolution system for this type of situation is d20 roll-under vs a stat that feels relevant, a d6 roll with x-in-6 chance to succeed, or just adjudicating the outcome based on how the player describes their actions)

"The solution is not on your character sheet": Related to the point above, the lack of character skills means that very few problems can be solved by saying "I roll [skill]". E.g. Looking for traps in an OSR game will look less like "I rolled 18 on my perception check" and more like "I poke the flagstones ahead with a stick to check if they're pressure plates" with maybe the GM asking for a roll or a saving throw if you do end up triggering a trap.

High lethality: Characters are squishy, and generally die much more easily. But conversely, character creation is often very quick, so if your character dies you can usually be playing again in minutes as long as there's a decent chance to integrate your new PC into the game.

Lack of emphasis on encounter balance: It's not uncommon for the PCs to find themselves way out of their depth, with encounters where they're almost guaranteed to lose unless they run away or find a creative way to stack the deck in their favor.

Combat as a failure state: Due to the two points above, not every encounter is meant to be fought, as doing so is generally not worth the risk and likely to end up badly. Players a generally better off finding ways to circumvent encounters through sneaking around them, outsmarting them, or out-maneauvering them, fighting only when there's no other option or when they've taken steps to make sure the battle is fought on their terms (e.g. luring enemies into traps or environmental hazards, stuff like that)

Emphasis on inventory and items: As skills, class features and character builds are less significant than in modern D&D (or sometimes outright nonexistent), a large part of the way the players engage with the world instead revolves around what they carry and how they use it. A lot of these games have you randomly roll your starting inventory, and often this will become as much a significant part of your character as your class is, even with seemingly useless clutter items. E.g. a hand mirror can become an invaluable tool for peeping around corners and doorways. This kind of gameplay techncially possible on modern D&D but in OSR games it's often vital.

Gold for XP: somewhat related to the above, in many of these games your XP will be determined by how much treasure you gather, casting players in the role and mindset of trasure hutners, grave robbers, etc.

Situations, not plots: This is more of a GM culture thing than an intrinsic feature of the games, but OSR campaigns will often eschew the long-form GM-authored Epic narrative that has become the norm since the late AD&D 2e era, in favor of a more sandbox-y "here's an initial situation, it's up to you what you do with it" style. This means that you probably won't be getting elaborate scenes plotted out sessions in advance to tie into your backstory and character arc, but it also means increased player agency, casting the GM in the role of less of a plot writer or narrator and more of a referee.

Like I said, these are not universal, and a lot of games that fall under the OSR umbrella will eschew some or most of these (it's very common for a lot of games to drop the gold-for-xp thing in favor of a different reawrd structure), but IMO they're a good baseline for understanding common features of the movement as a whole.

Of course, the OSR movement covers A LOT of different games, which I'd classify in the following categories by how much they deviate from their source of inspiration:

Retroclones are basically recreations of the ruleset of older D&D editions but without the D&D trademark, sometimes with a new coat of paint. E.g. OSRIC and For Gold and Glory are clones of AD&D (1e and 2e respectively); Whitebox and Fantastic Medieval Campaigns are recreations of the original 1974 white box D&D release; Old School Essentials, Basic Fantasy and Labyrinth Lord are clones of the 1981 B/X D&D set. Some of these recreate the original rules as-is, editing the text or reorganizing the information to be clearer but otherwise leaving the meachnics unchanged, while others will make slight rules changes to remove quirks that have come to be considered annoying in hindsight, some of them might mix and match features from different editions, but otherwise they're mostly straight up recreations of old-school D&D releases.

There are games that I would call "old-school compatible", that feature significant enough mechanical changes from old-school D&D to be considered a different game, but try to maintain mechanical compatibility with materials made for it. Games like The Black Hack, Knave, Macchiato Monsters, Dungeon Reavers, Whitehack, etc. play very differently from old-school D&D, and from each other, but you generally can grab any module made for any pre-3e D&D edition and run it with any of them with very little to no effort needed in conversion.

There's a third category that I wouldn't know how to call. Some people call then Nu-OSR or NSR (short for New School revolution) while a small minority of people argue that they aren't really part of the OSR movement but instead their own thing. I've personally taken to calling them "Old School Baroque". These are games that try to replicate different aspects of the tone and feel of old-school fantasy roleplaying games while borrowing few to none mechanics from them and not making any particular attempts to be mechanically compatible. Games like Into the Odd, Mörk Borg, Troika!, a dungeon game, FLEE, DURF, Songbirds, Mausritter, bastards, Cairn, Sledgehammer, and too many more to name. In my opinion this subsection of the OSR space is where it gets interesting, as there's so many different ways people try to recreate that old-school flavor with different mechanics.

(Of course, not everything fits neatly into these, e.g. I would consider stuff like Dungeon Crawl Classics to be somewhere inbetween category 1 and 2, and stuff like GloG or RELIC to be somewhere imbetween categories 2 and 3)

The OSR movement does have its ugly side, as it's to be expected by the fact that a huge part of the driving force behind it is nostalgia. Some people might be in it because it harkens back to a spirit of DIY and player agency that has been lost in traditional fantasy roleplaying games, but it's udneniable that some people are also in it because for them it harkens back to a time before "D&D went woke" when tabletop roleplaying was considered a hobby primarily for and by white men. That being said... generally those types of guys keep to themselves in their own little circlejerk, and it's pretty easy to find OSR spaces that are progressive and have a sinificant number of queer, POC, and marginalized creators.

#ttrpg #osr

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neverniko101 · 16 days

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Ay, here’s some news: Stp x Utmv is officially getting a comic dub! Stay tuned for more info, or join the Discord to help out (or just say hi)

———

Masterpost

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odinsblog · 3 months

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“I sometimes hear people say that Russia was forced to attack Ukraine because Ukrainians wanted to join NATO. Those people also often say that NATO promised it would not expand to the East, but later broke this promise. And this, allegedly, is the reason why Russia keeps attacking its neighbors.

If you have ever heard people say something like that, please know that this is not true. And it will take me less than five minutes to prove with facts that both statements are false.

First, let's have a look at the timeline of events.

Russia first invaded Ukraine in February 2014 by occupying the Crimea peninsula. At that moment, Ukraine was a neutral country by law and expressed no intention of joining NATO whatsoever. For instance, during the Revolution of Dignity, the protesters insisted on Ukraine joining the EU, not NATO. It was only in autumn 2014, after many months of war, that Ukraine abandoned neutrality.

So what came first? Russia attacking Ukraine, or Ukraine wanting to join NATO?

The answer is clear.

Had Russia not threatened Ukraine's existence, there would be no reason for our country to seek collective security. So please do not repeat the lie that, I quote, “Russia attacked because Ukraine wanted to join NATO,” end of quote. This does not correspond with the facts.

Now let's have a look at the story of NATO allegedly promising not to expand to the East.

If you ask people who say this, when exactly, such a promise was made and who made it, most of them will not be able to provide a clear answer. Spoiler, because no such promise has ever been made and the whole story is a Russian fairy tale.

Those more sophisticated will tell you that the promise was made to the President of the USSR, Mikhail Gorbachev. They may even refer to the 1990 U.S.-Soviet negotiations on the reunification of Germany. Again, let’s consider the timeline.

In summer 1990, when these talks were held, the Soviet analog of NATO, the Warsaw Pact, still existed. Its dissolution, let alone the Soviet Union's dissolution, was not on the cart. No one even talked about it or imagined it. It was only next year, in 1991 that the Warsaw Pact, and later the USSR, quite unexpectedly ceased to exist.

Now explain to me just how the very issue could be even discussed in the summer of 1990. It is not surprising that Mikhail Gorbachev later himself refuted this falsehood. When asked by a journalist whether any such promise had been made, he said this was a myth.

Now let's look at it from another perspective. How could NATO even promise anything like that?

Initially, it is not NATO that decides which country joins it. Countries themselves need to want it. And actually, the membership criteria are very difficult. It requires a lot of political will and reform. All the NATO members that joined it after 1991, really wanted to be part of it.

Their people wanted this.

And here comes the most uncomfortable question for Russia: Why were all of the nations that had been part of the Soviet Union or the Socialist bloc so eager and desperate to join NATO?

Well, maybe because in three decades, Russia has invaded or incited war in at least three of its neighbors, Moldova, Georgia and Ukraine. At the same time, Russia has not dared to invade any of its NATO neighbors.

Do you see the pattern?

The only reason for countries in the vicinity of Russia to seek NATO membership has always been and remains the need to protect their people from Russia.

Therefore, Moscow has only itself to blame for the fact that all of the central European and Baltic nations ran away from it and hid under the NATO umbrella as quickly as they could.

Do not let Russian officials or their supporters in the West fool you. Russia attacked Ukraine not because NATO expanded to the East, or because Ukraine wanted to join NATO. Russia attacked because it denies Ukraine's right to exist and wants to conquer our land and kill our people. It is through our shared strength that we can and must stop Russia and put an end to its aggressive plans for the rest of Europe.

For this to happen, keep supporting Ukraine and don't buy Russian lies.”

👉🏿 https://www.brookings.edu/blog/up-front/2014/11/06/did-nato-promise-not-to-enlarge-gorbachev-says-no/

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/686191406300184576/appeasement-does-not-work-appeasement-didnt

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/684530801484922880/believing-putins-reasons-for-invading-ukraine

👉🏿 https://www.tumblr.com/odinsblog/742088177664344064/violated-agreements-1991-russia-cosigns

#politics #ukraine #russia #dmytro kuleba #russian propaganda #nato #russian colonialism #nato expansion #russian imperialism #mikhail gorbachev #russia is a terrorist state #warsaw pact #russian expansion #russian fascism ☭#soviet union #tankies #vladimir putin is a war criminal #baltic states #🇺🇦

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smallgodseries · 8 months

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[image description: Against the Klieg lights of a dark city, the glowing bright eyes of this sneering night stalker are in direct contrast to his extravagantly silly, er… ‘eccentric’ rubber (or is it leatherette?) headgear. Text reads, “64, The Scowl ~ The Small God: Vigilante Headgear”]

It’s raining in Dark City.

It’s always raining in Dark City. Urban legend says the clouds cleared once and the sun broke through, on a Thursday afternoon in the middle of July. Men vomited, women wept, non-binary people fled shrieking from the light, and a surprising (not surprising) percentage of the city’s population was revealed to be vampires looking for a safe refuge.

The streets are silver in the moonlight, barely brightened by the glow of street lamps that haven’t been cleaned since the industrial revolution. People hurry, their coat collars popped high, their hats drawn low, their hands oddly empty of umbrellas. There’s no point in Dark City. Umbrella or no, you always wind up getting wet.

The sound of screams splits the night, shrill and insistent, and what seemed to be a gargoyle on a nearby rooftop straightens and springs into action, revealing itself to be a lithe, long-limbed man who is inexplicably wearing skin tight gray spandex while he does his evening parkour. No one who sees him bats an eye. He is justice. He is the law.

He is a private citizen with no legal authority or training in conflict de-escalation. Dark City has never had a police shooting. The police are too busy helping the criminals—many of whom had to be bussed in from other communities; the people of Dark City are smart enough to choose safer professions, like lion-taming or shark-fluffing—through their recovery and rehab.

Somehow, they never seem to catch The Scowl. Even though he seems like he’d be fairly easy to find, they’re all too scared to put the hours in. Last year he paralyzed a man for tax evasion, and broke another’s legs because he’d been seen jaywalking.

The people of Dark City are afraid. But when asked why they don’t leave, they shrug and ask, “Have you seen his hat? Cool hat like that, he must be a good guy.

“He must be on our side.”

He’s not.

#small gods #smallgodseries #seanan mcguire #lee moyer #icons & stories

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saltsicklover · 1 year

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Title: The Weather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,160

Rating: PG13 - FLUFF

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

It took James Barnes three months to speak more than a 'hello' and an appointment time to the beautiful woman that sits behind the front desk in Dr. Raynor's stuffy office. She is the opposite of Dr. Raynor, her edges are still soft, her soul not bared to the world- covered in blood and devoid of sacrifice and suffering.

At first, James found her intriguing. The way she sat, stick straight, attention always on her work. Her hair was never quite perfect, a sweet halo of frizz adorning her head, complimenting the way her eyes seemed to always crinkle at the corners whenever she would smile at him. She would always smile at him while keeping her hands busy with paperwork, tucking loose pages into files- paperclips, pens, and highlighters strewn around her desk.

Every day he talked himself up in the mirror and then again on the train, saying that today would be the day he would speak to her, finally catch her name, maybe even give her a real reason to smile- something more than just being customer service friendly. She's the one thing that seems to radiate positivity and light in the near desolate office he visits once a week.

Today it is raining, somewhere between pouring and deluge and Bucky trails a small creek into the office with him. The water streaks down his face, hair sticking to his forehead. Droplets race down his leather clad body, pelting the tile floor.

"Good morning, Mr. Barnes," The dame behind the desk speaks, her voice like fresh honey and it washes a tidal wave of warmth over Bucky. He shivers, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Bucky is clammy and cold to the touch but it doesn't seem to bother him. The wet droplets that roll off his body don't either. Finally, the women looks up at Bucky, a bit of shock rolls over he features before before it's replaced with a chuckle and her signature smile, eyes crinkling but still shinning under the florescent lights. "Looks like that storm's gotten pretty bad since I got in this morning," She comments, standing up from her chair to greet him, "Don't you own an umbrella?"

Bucky can't help the laugh that escapes his lips, deep and full like the sweetest expresso she's ever tasted. Her body buzzes from the sound, joy vibrating under her skin at the change in his usually stony demeanor. The furrow of his brow is lessoned now, a smile threatening to pull at his lips, but his expression remains neutral. Yet, somehow, it's like a smile had reached his eyes with the way he look at her.

"Oh, you know, didn't think I'd need one but the weather really took a turn and now I'm swimming in my boots," He almost laughs, almost, the squelching sound of his boots and the harmony of the squeaking floor with each step he takes towards the desk makes him feel the most on display he has in years. The full tooth smile she gives him makes it worth it. "I have an 11:30 with Dr. Raynor."

"I've already got you all checked in, but," his confidence faulters a bit, as does her smile, "Dr. Raynor was called into an emergency meeting this morning, about an hour ago, and she still isn't back yet. She called to let me know that she is on her way, and she wanted me to ask you to wait. So, if you could take a seat and hang out, that would be lovely," She rambles a bit, spinning one of the many rings she wears on her delicate fingers. She plays with the large gem, spinning the band round and round as if she could twirl her anxiety away with each revolution of the silver band.

"Yeah, uhh-" Bucky stutters a bit, brushing back his bangs then attempting to flick the water off of his fingers with the shake of his wrist, "I can wait, definitely." He nods at her like he has any other choice, and she nods back, the awkwardness of the whole scenario becoming more palpable with each tick of the clock.

She sits back down too, after a moment, tucking her skirt under her backside with a quick motion before she turns back to the paperwork in front of her. The only sounds in the room are the light piano music playing over the speakers, almost too quiet for the average person to hear, and the clicking of the keyboard as she types. Bucky can almost hear her breathing, if he strains to listen, the small breathes pushing past her lips and then back in.

Bucky watches as she works, her tongue poking out of her mouth from between her lips as she concentrates. His heart flutters at the sight, and he thinks he might pass away right then and there when she drags her bottom lip between her teeth.

He watches the clock too. It hangs on the plain wall behind her, and the minutes seem to tick by slower and slower with each passing glance. But time seems to stand still as he watches her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He notices the diamonds and pearls decorating her ear, a site he isn't quite used to yet but still finds intriguing. The idea that someone might purposefully stab themselves to then adorn their bodies is something he finds perplexing and she finds irresistible.

"Hey, can I ask you somethin'?" Bucky finally breaks the silence, the clicking of her keyboard slowly dissipating. She flashes that grin of hers at him and he melts.

"What's up, Mr. Barnes?" She stands to look him in the eye over her computer. He sits in the waiting area, off to the side of her desk. He plays with the cuffs of his coat, fingering at the zippers and tugging at the fabric.

"I just realized, I've been coming here for a while now and it has never occurred to me to ask you your name," She laughs a bit at him, one of those small laughs that comes from the back of the throat. She gives him her name and it gently falls from her lips like it's the easiest thing in the world and he decides that it is. Bucky repeats her name back, it's liquid sugar on his tongue- he wears a shy smile now, the rest of his body useless, like he's been zipped into a body bag as his mind spins.

The rain is turning to hail, the small bits of ice pinging off of the windows, echoing though out the office. The lights flicker, off, on, then back off, leaving them sitting in the dark. Bucky tenses, his hands tightening around the arms of his chair as his companion lets out a huff in irritation.

"Well, so much for getting any sort of work done now," She grumbles, pushing herself away from the desk. She moves around her desk, but not carefully enough. A low smack, the sound of bone hitting wood is heard throughout the room, and so are the swear words and grumblings that leave her lips.

"Are you okay, doll?" Bucky asks too quickly, jumping to his feet.

"Oh yeah, I'm- I'm just great. My knee just wanted to make friends with the corner of my desk, that's all," She informs him, rubbing her sore knee with her hands. She moves to sit in front of her desk, making home on the floor, her back pressed against the wood. Bucky tries to make out her form in the dark, but he can barely see her from where he stands. He pulls his cellphone out, clicking the flashlight on to illuminate the room. He places it on the floor, nudging it with the toe of his boot so it sits between them.

She offers him a quiet thank you, devoid of a smile.

"Can I ask you something, now? The way I see it, it's my turn," Bucky hums in approval, "What's going on in that head of yours?" Bucky is thrown by the question and it hangs in the stale air. "Let me rephrase, because I'm not asking about the shit you come here to talk to Dr. Raynor about. What do you think about when you're not avenging or chitchatting with the good doctor?"

Bucky's thoughts flash through his mind quickly, the nightmares and the amends he has left to make. He thinks about Steve, and he thinks about Sam. He thinks about the community Sam has built with his family and the way they take care of each other. He thinks about how he lacks all of that. The family, the community, the honor. But mostly, he thinks about her and the way her eyes crinkle and that one time her hair was braided back and the way he could see her whole face for the very first time.

"I like the weather," He says simply, sitting himself down on the floor to meet her level.

"The weather?" She asks him, leaning towards him curiously.

Specks of dust flutter through the air, visible only through the glow of the flashlight. Each speck seems to dance in the tension around them, her question going unanswered for a few beats before he sighs in an attempt to relieve the strain building in his ribcage.

"Yeah, the weather. It seems to be the only thing I really understand anymore. That, and I like the rain," He concludes with a hand tugging through the mess of hair atop his head. He can't tell her that the sun doesn't come close to shining as bright as she does, so he settles with liking the rain. It seems more than honest. She tries to hold back a giggle at his answer. The causal air of it and the simplicity of the choice he has made. She doesn't push the topic further, not truly believing that he often thinks of the weather. But she knows better than to challenge the fact.

Maybe if they were in a different universe, or following a different timeline. One that they may be able to reach out in and dust their fingertips over if it weren't for the fabric of space time holding them firmly in place. Maybe, one universe over, just to the left of where they sit now, they are still sitting together, but not on the floor of a government sanctioned medical facility, but in a cafe.

They sit together, knees touching underneath the small bistro table in the corner of the cramped cafe. He calls her 'sunshine', because she is. She calls him 'lover', and he hates it in the way to say that he has never loved being called something more.

Their fingers are intertwined on the table top, not caring who sees them together. Bucky would be drinking coffee, something with actual flavor because he would actually let himself enjoy it. She still drinks black coffee because it makes her soul feel at home. They both wear genuine smiles, talking and laughing, enjoying each other's company. Definitely somewhere between date fifteen and twenty, planning their lives side by side but not yet together.

In the timeline on their right they are together, in their apartment. Sunny, that's what he calls her there, is painting the walls sage green. James, sits in the middle of the room attempting to build a coffee table that they purchased from IKEA earlier that week. He grumbles about missing pieces, rummaging through the little plastic baggies and Sunny just laughs at him.

She walks over and dabs a bit of the paint on his nose; both of their faces end up covered in green by the time they are done locking lips. They lay on the floor, surrounded by half finished projects, completely head over heels in love with one another.

She has no idea about the ring he has hidden in his sock drawer, or the way his heart beats just a little bit faster every time she goes into that drawer to steal a pair of his socks just because she claims they are more comfortable than her own. He really needs to find a new hiding spot, but he has been so caught up in the life they are creating he really hasn't bothered to think of a better place.

There is another universe about an arms length away where they are meeting for the first time. One where Bucky is quicker to forgive himself and more gentle with his own soul, with himself. She hasn't been given a nickname here, at least not yet. They cross paths on the train- she is stepping off and Bucky steps on. Their knuckles graze over each other, both turning to whisper an apology just as the doors shut.

They lock eyes and Bucky offers her a kind smile, one that has come easy to him for years now. She offers a small smile in return, one that is much more shy and reserved than the one she has just received. Just then, the train begins to pull away, their lives once again headed in separate directions.

She watches as the train pulls away, eyes still on the brunet, feet planted firmly in place. Bucky starts walking towards the back of the train, eyes still fixed on the woman who holds his attention like a vice. When he finally makes it to the end of the train, he is left with nothing to do but offer her a wave and a smile. She returns it in kind.

But here and now they sit in the darkness, a storm raging outside, leaving them trapped inside with nothing but each others company and the glow of the flashlight between them. Neither one has been brave enough to speak for a little while. They have made themselves comfortable on the floor and in the shared silence.

Bucky can't help but think about how beautiful she is. The way that she lights up the room with nothing more than her presence. He mulls over the fact that he took so long to talk to her, and the tightness in his chest seems to linger the longer he beats himself up for it. He twiddles with his fingers, fidgeting where he sits. He is almost dry now but his boots are still soaked through, squelching when he moves. She pretends not to notice it, stifling a laugh with the heel of her hand pressed firmly against her lips.

"I think I'm going to call you Solntse," He says absentmindedly, more to himself and maybe the room than to her directly. "Yeah, Solntse, it suits you."

"What does that mean, Mr. Barnes?" Solntse questions him, peering through the harsh beam of the flashlight.

"It means sun. It's Russian. And please, call me Bucky, or hell, I'll even take James, but please quit calling me Mr. Barnes," He speaks candidly, rubbing over his face with his flesh hand. He pulled off his gloves a few minutes ago, the action going unnoticed.

"Okay, Bucky. Russian sun it is," Solntse chuckles, crossing her ankles out in front of her.

"That is, if you don't mind- I guess I should've asked first," Bucky attempts to backtrack, fumbling over his words as the embarrassment wells inside him. A blush begins to bloom over Solntse's face and neck, a raspberry hue covering her skin.

"I don't mind, Buck, truly. Plus they say you can't pick your own nickname. It goes against the whole point of having a nickname," She chuckles, a smile spread wide across her face as the pink tint begins to fade. She doesn't know what comes over her but she crawls over to Bucky, plopping herself down in the spot next to him. Bucky can't help the way his heart quickens at he movements, the proximity of her body to his and the scent of her perfume make him dizzy.

They sit next to each other like that for a while, the silence taking over again. It's not too long after they are plunged back into darkness, the flashlight in front of them shutting off without warning. The sudden darkness catches Solntse by surprise, causing her to jump and let out a little yip of surprise. She grabs onto Bucky, hands wrapping around his metal arm, squeezing tightly. It all happens in a split second; each party feeling a complete and sudden shift in the air around them.

They turn to face one another, noses almost brushing. Solntse can feel the deep blush burning on her skin again, the heat taking over her senses. Bucky lets a small chuckle escape him. It sounds full and comforting, even if it is at her own expense.

"You're safe, doll, I've got you," Bucky whispers, pulling her as close as he can in their current position. Solntse can feel the way his fingertips dip into her flesh, the feeling grounding her in the moment, to him and his closeness. She squeezes him back.

"Thank you," She whispers, voice barely audible. A smirk slips onto Bucky's slips and it goes unnoticed by Solntse until she leans forwards and closes the gap between them. The movement is clumsy in the dark, their noses bumping together at first.

The kiss is slow and sweet, lips mingling together as if they have a thousand times before- and they have in the universes that surround them. The way their lips move together is not new to the universes else where, and neither is the way Bucky moves to pull her into his lap, her knees finding purchase on either side of his thighs. He tangles his hands in her hair the same way he always has and always will. She pulls at the lapels of his jacket all the same. The newness of it all sparking tingles beneath their fingertips, reverberating all over their bodies and the way they mingle together in this place, in this now.

She pulls back from his lips, just mere millimeters, far enough to cause a small whimper to leave Bucky. "I think about the weather too," She confesses, the meaning just as deep to her as it had been to him, even if he thought she hadn't originally picked up on that fact.

"Let me take you somewhere, anywhere you want to go. Coffee, food, drinks, hell I'll take you anywhere, just say the word," He almost pleads, but the words come out more smooth than needy.

"I have a shift to finish, and you still have an appointment, but you can pick me up from my place tonight," She punctuates her sentence with a brush of her lips against his, "And you can take me to get a pizza and beer on draft and we can talk more."

"About the weather?" He questions her, smirk across his lips.

"Yes, about the weather." She confirms just before closing the gap between them again.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes goes to therapy #marvel x reader

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